#i want to run my fingers through his hair

[moonlightwritingf1]

When Absence Speaks | LN4

🔥 summary ━━━━━━━ After not seeing each other for weeks, Y/N accidentally squirts during sex with Lando. He's so fascinated and turned on by her that he decides he wants to make her squirt again and again.

🔥 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

🔥 word count ━━━━━━━ 6k

🔥 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, squirting, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, handjob, multiple orgasms

Based on this request.

The air in the room was thick with tension, the kind that prickled your skin and made your breath catch in your throat. Y/N paced the living room of her flat, her heart pounding in her chest. It had been over a month since she last saw Lando, and the weight of his absence was almost unbearable. She had tried to distract herself with work and her friends, but nothing could fill the void he left behind.

The sound of the front door unlocking made her freeze. Her breath hitched as the door clicked open, and there he was—Lando Norris, standing in the doorway with a suitcase in one hand and a wicked grin on his face.

“Miss me?” he teased, his voice dripping with that familiar charm that always made her stomach flip.

She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. “Not even a little,” she lied, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to keep it steady.

Lando chuckled, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He dropped his suitcase and crossed the room in a few long strides, pulling her into his arms before she could protest. His lips were on hers in an instant, hot and demanding, and all thoughts of resistance melted away.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as their tongues tangled in a desperate dance. It had been too long since she felt his touch, too long since his hands roamed her body with such possessive urgency. He broke the kiss, his breath ragged as he stared down at her with dark, hungry eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “Every night, I’d lie in bed, imagining what I’d do to you the second I saw you again.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, but she couldn’t deny the heat that pooled between her thighs at his words. “What stopped you from calling?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He smirked, tracing a finger along her jawline. “I wanted to make you wait. I wanted you to miss me as much as I missed you.”

She rolled her eyes, but the way her body pressed against his betrayed her true feelings. “You’re such a tease.”

“And you love it,” he countered, his lips brushing against her ear.

He was right, and she hated how easily he could see through her. She didn’t say anything, instead capturing his lips in another searing kiss. Her hands roamed his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. She couldn’t wait to have him inside her, to feel that familiar stretch as he filled her completely.

Lando’s hands moved to the hem of her shirt, tugging it over her head in one swift motion. His lips trailed down her neck, nipping and sucking at her skin as his fingers deftly unhooked her bra. She gasped as his mouth closed over one of her nipples, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud.

“Lando…” she moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair.

He pulled away, his eyes locking with hers as he undid the button on her jeans. “I’ve been dreaming about this,” he admitted, his voice rough with desire. “About how you’d feel around me, how you’d moan my name.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as he stripped her of her jeans and panties, leaving her completely bare before him. His gaze roamed over her body, and she felt a shiver run down her spine at the intensity in his eyes.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, his hands moving to the waistband of his own jeans.

She watched as he kicked off his shoes and removed the rest of his clothes, her eyes widening at the sight of his arousal. He was already hard, his length straining against his stomach. She licked her lips, the heat between her thighs growing almost unbearable.

Lando stepped closer, his hands gripping her hips as he pressed her back against the wall. He leaned down, his lips brushing against hers. “I need you,” he murmured, his voice thick with need.

“Then take me,” she breathed, her heart racing in anticipation.

He didn’t need to be told twice. In one swift motion, he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he positioned himself at her entrance. He paused, his eyes locking with hers. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want you,” she whispered, her voice trembling with desire. “Please, Lando.”

He thrust into her with a force that made her gasp, the air rushing out of her lungs as if he’d punched it from her chest. Her back arched instinctively, her body seeking more of him, more of the heat and pressure that only he could give. His length stretched her in ways that bordered on overwhelming, every inch of him filling her completely, pushing against walls that had been empty for far too long. She felt him everywhere—her core, her thighs, the way her pulse throbbed in time with his movements.

Her nails raked down his shoulders, leaving faint red trails in their wake, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he groaned, low and guttural, the sound vibrating through her as he buried himself to the hilt. The sensation was electric, a jolt that shot straight to her spine, making her toes curl and her breath hitch. Her body clenched around him, desperate to keep him there, to feel every ridge and vein of him as he moved.

“Fuck,” she choked out, her voice breaking on the word. It wasn’t just relief—it was hunger, a deep, aching need that had been building for weeks. Every thrust sent sparks skittering across her skin, lighting up parts of her she hadn’t realized were dormant. Her hips rocked against his, meeting him stroke for stroke, each one deeper, harder, more consuming than the last.

His hands gripped her hips tighter, fingers digging into her flesh as he pulled her closer, impossibly closer. “You feel so good,” he growled, his voice rough, almost feral. “So fucking tight.”

She couldn’t respond, couldn’t think beyond the way he filled her, the way his body moved against hers with a rhythm that was both familiar and new. Her moans spilled out unchecked, raw and unfiltered, each one a testament to how much she’d missed this, missed him. Her legs tightened around his waist, locking him in place as if she could fuse them together, making this moment last forever.

The room was alive with the sounds of their bodies colliding, the slick slide of skin on skin, the ragged breaths that mingled in the space between them. Every movement was deliberate, calculated to drive her higher, to push her closer to the edge. 

“God, I missed this,” he growled, his voice rough, the words brushing against her ear like a promise.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. Her hips rocked against him instinctively, searching for that familiar rhythm, that perfect friction. The weight of him, the heat of him, the way he filled her so completely—it was overwhelming, intoxicating. Her thighs tightened around him, pulling him deeper, and he groaned, low and guttural.

“You feel... fuck, you feel incredible,” he panted, his breath hot against her neck. His hands slipped under her thighs, shifting her slightly, adjusting the angle, and the tip of him brushed against something that made her eyes roll back.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, her voice breaking as sensation surged through her like a storm. “Please, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. His hips moved with a rhythm that was both punishing and tender, each thrust driving her higher, closer to that edge she was desperate to fall over. The sweat-slicked heat of their bodies pressed together, the slap of skin against skin, the way he groaned her name—it was too much, and not nearly enough.

She clutched at him, her fingers tangling in his hair, her legs wrapped so tightly around him she might’ve left bruises. But he didn’t care. If anything, the way she clung to him only spurred him on, his pace growing more frantic, his grip firmer.

“You’re mine,” he muttered, his lips finding hers in a messy, desperate kiss. “All mine.”

Y/N’s head fell back against the wall, her nails digging into his shoulders as he pounded into her with relentless force. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body, and she couldn’t help the moans that escaped her lips.

“I missed this,” she gasped, her legs tightening around him. “I missed you.”

Lando’s lips crashed against hers, his kiss hot and possessive. “I missed you too,” he murmured against her lips. “So fucking much.”

Their bodies moved together in perfect sync, each thrust driving her closer to the edge. Y/N’s pussy clenched around Lando’s cock, her walls stretching to accommodate his thickness, pulsing with every inch he pushed into her. She gasped as he filled her completely, the familiar stretch igniting a fire in her core she had missed for far too long. He groaned, the sensation of her tight wet heat enveloping him making his knees weak. “You feel fucking incredible,” he rasped, his voice strained as he watched her body take him completely.

She could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as he moved inside her, the sensation overwhelming. Her legs tightened around him, pulling him deeper, desperate for more. “I missed this so fucking much,” she moaned, her voice trembling. “I missed you filling me, stretching me out, making me feel so full.”

Lando’s hands roamed her body, gripping her hips firmly as he thrust into her harder, faster, eager to hear more of her desperate cries. His hands found her breasts, cupping them tightly, thumbs brushing over her nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers until she arched into his touch. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” he growled, his breath hot against her ear. “How much I’ve missed feeling you wrapped around me.”

Her gasps turned into cries, her nails raking down his back as their bodies moved frantically, each thrust driving her closer to the edge. “Lando, I need more,” she begged, her pussy clenching around him.

“Tell me how much you’ve missed me,” he demanded, his hands sliding down to her hips, lifting her higher as thrusts came even faster, deeper.

“Every damn night, every day,” she cried. Her mind was unraveling.

Lando reeled further. “What about it? Tell me everything.”

“I’d touch myself thinking about you,” she confessed, making Lando grunt as he tortured her swollen ring with thumb and pinky tightening even further. “Thinking about how you feel inside me, how you stretch me, how you make me feel so fucking full.”

“Fuck, me too,” he admitted, and she arched an eyebrow, her cheeks flushed. “I’d jerk myself through these endless nights, imagining this, imagining how tight and warm you’d feel wrapped around me. Imagining how you moan when I press myself into you until there’s nothing more to give.”

Their breathing grew ragged, their movements rougher, messier, the room filled with the sounds of flesh slapping flesh, her moans, his grunts. “I’m close,” she gasped, her nails digging into his skin.

“So, what are you waiting for?” he teased, his voice ragged and breathless. His cock throbbed inside her, the thick vein along its length pressing against that perfect, sensitive spot deep within her. “Come for me.”

The words were a command, a challenge, and she felt her body respond instantly. Her walls clenched around him, her hips bucking as the pressure built to an unbearable peak. She could feel it—the edge of release, so close, so tantalizingly close.

“Lando,” she gasped, her nails digging into his back. “I’m... I’m going to—”

“Do it,” he growled, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. “Let go. I want to feel you come undone.”

Her body tensed, every muscle coiled tight as Lando’s thrusts grew harder, faster, more desperate. The pressure inside her built to a breaking point, a white-hot heat that threatened to consume her entirely. She could feel it—the edge of something she’d never experienced before, something primal and uncontrollable.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation. “I think… I think something’s happening.”

He didn’t slow down, his hips slamming into hers with a force that made her cry out. “Let it happen,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. “I want to see you fall apart.”

And then it hit her—a wave of pleasure so intense it stole her breath. Her pussy clenched around him, her walls pulsing in rapid, uncontrollable spasms. She felt it before she saw it, the sudden rush of warmth as her body betrayed her, gushing streams of liquid that soaked them both.

“Fuck!” Lando’s eyes widened in shock as her pussy pushed him out, his cock slipping free just as the first wave hit. He stared down at her, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief. “Did you just…?”

She couldn’t answer, her body still convulsing with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her legs, once tightly wrapped around him, now hung limply, barely able to hold on. Her whole body felt like it was collapsing, but Lando’s arms were there, strong and steady, holding her against the wall.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, his voice filled with wonder. “You squirted.”

She blinked up at him, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. “I… I didn’t know I could do that.”

A slow grin spread across his face, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “Neither did I. But fuck, that was hot.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through her at his words. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, yet so completely seen. And in that moment, she knew there was no one else she’d rather share this with than him.

Lando tightens his hold on Y/N. 

“You’re not going anywhere, princess. Not until I make you scream my name again.” 

Y/N’s body shuddered at his words, her legs still trembling from the intensity of her first orgasm. The sensation of his skin against hers, the way he looked at her with pure hunger, made her heart race. She could feel the heat pooling between her thighs again, her body already responding to his every touch

Her breath catches in her throat, her heart pounding as she clings to him, her wetness still lingering on her thighs. With a determined grip, he carefully lifts her off the wall, his strong arms cradling her as he carries her toward the bedroom. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips brushing against his jawline as she whispered, “You’re insatiable, Lando.” He chuckled, the low, throaty sound sending a shiver down her spine. “When it comes to you? Absolutely.”

He laid her gently on the bed, her back sinking into the soft mattress. Lando stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes raking over her naked form with a predatory gleam. She felt exposed, vulnerable, yet completely safe in his presence. He crawled onto the bed, positioning himself between her legs, his hands resting on her thighs as he leaned in closer. His breath was warm against her sensitive skin, his lips hovering just above her core.

“I’m going to make you cum again,” he murmured, his voice dripping with promise. “And again. And again. Until you forget your own name.” his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down her spine. His hands glide up her thighs, his touch firm yet tender, as if he’s memorizing every inch of her. “I can’t get enough of you.”

Y/N’s breath hitches as his fingers brush against her sensitive core, her body instinctively arching toward him. She’s still reeling from the intensity of their first encounter, the way he made her lose control completely. And now, he’s looking at her with that same determination, that same fire in his eyes.

“Lando…” she whispers, her voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and nervousness.

“Shh,” he interrupts softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her inner thigh. His lips are warm, his breath hot against her skin. “Let me take care of you.”

Her stomach flutters at his words, her body already responding to his touch. He places a trail of kisses along her thigh, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring every moment. When he finally reaches her center, her breath catches in her throat, her hands gripping the sheets tightly.

His tongue flicks against her clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through her entire body. She gasps, her hips lifting off the bed as he begins to lick her with a slow, teasing rhythm. His hands grip her thighs, holding her in place as he explores her with an expertise that makes her head spin.

“You taste so good,” he murmurs against her, his voice muffled but filled with admiration. He licks her again, his tongue swirling around her clit in a way that makes her moan loudly, her fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer.

Her entire body is on fire, her pleasure building with every flick of his tongue. She feels herself getting closer, her thighs trembling around his head as he continues to lavish her with attention. Just as she’s about to tip over the edge, he adds two fingers inside her, curling them in that perfect spot that makes her cry out.

“Oh God,” she gasps, her back arching off the bed as she feels the familiar rush of pleasure surging through her. Her body tightens around his fingers, her orgasm crashing over her in waves as she squirts again, her release soaking his hand and the bed beneath her.

Lando doesn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to draw out her pleasure for as long as possible. Her moans grow louder, her body writhing beneath him as he pushes her to new heights of ecstasy. When he finally pulls away, her body collapses onto the bed, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath.

He looks up at her, his lips glistening, his eyes filled with desire. “That’s two,” he says, his voice smug but filled with admiration. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Y/N’s heart skips a beat at his words, her body still tingling from the intensity of her orgasm. She’s never felt so alive, so consumed by pleasure. And yet, the look in his eyes tells her he’s just getting started.

Before she can respond, he climbs up her body, his lips capturing hers in a deep, passionate kiss. She can taste herself on his tongue, the sensation sending a fresh wave of desire through her. Her hands grip his shoulders, pulling him closer as she kisses him back with equal fervor.

He breaks the kiss, his eyes locking with hers. “I’m going to make you cum at least four times tonight,” he says, his voice filled with determination. “I want to break your record. I want to make you perfectly mine.”

Her breath catches at his words, her body already responding to the promise in his voice. She doesn’t know if she can handle more, but the look in his eyes tells her she doesn’t have a choice. And honestly, she doesn’t want one.

Lando kisses her again, his hands roaming her body as he positions himself between her legs. She feels the tip of his cock pressing against her entrance, and instinctively, she wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice low and filled with anticipation.

She nods, her eyes never leaving his. “Yes,” she breathes, her voice trembling with desire.

He thrusts into her in one smooth motion, filling her completely. She gasps, her nails digging into his back as he begins to move, his pace slow and deliberate. His eyes never leave hers, the connection between them palpable as he takes control of her body once again.

Her pleasure builds with every thrust, her moans filling the room as he brings her closer to the edge once more. She doesn’t know how much more she can take, but she doesn’t care. All she knows is that she never wants this moment to end.

“Lando…” she gasps, her voice trembling as her pussy clenches around him, the sensitivity building with every thrust. Her body feels electric, overstimulated, yet still craving more. “I don’t know if I can… again.”

He doesn’t slow down, his hips driving into her with a restless rhythm that makes her toes curl. His hands grip her thighs, spreading her wider as he leans in, his breath hot against her ear. “You can. You will.” His voice is low, commanding, and it sends a shiver through her.

She whimpers, her nails digging into his shoulders as he fucks her harder, deeper, each stroke hitting that spot inside her that makes her vision blur. The pressure builds, unbearable and exquisite all at once. Her back arches off the bed, her moans growing louder, more desperate.

“That’s it,” he growls, his eyes locked on hers, dark with hunger. “Let go for me.”

Her orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing as she cums even harder than before. Her pussy tightens around him, pulsing wildly, and then—she squirts again. A gush of liquid spills out of her, soaking his cock and the sheets beneath them. The force pushes him out of her, his dick sliding free as she trembles through the aftershocks.

Lando stares down at her, mesmerized, his chest heaving as he watches her come undone. He brushes a strand of hair from her face, his touch tender despite the intensity of the moment. “Fuck, you’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with awe. “Look at you.”

She’s too spent to respond, her body limp and boneless as she tries to catch her breath. But the way he looks at her—like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—makes her heart swell. She reaches up, her fingers brushing his cheek, and he leans into her touch, his lips curving into a soft smile.

When she finally comes down from her high, she looks up at him, her eyes filled with awe. “Three,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

He smirks, his eyes filled with pride. “One more to go,” he says, his voice filled with determination. “I’m not stopping until I’ve broken your record.”

Her heart skips a beat at his words, her body already responding to the promise in his voice.

Lando’s hands glide down her body, his touch deliberate and teasing. She’s still trembling from the last orgasm, her skin hypersensitive, but he doesn’t give her a moment to recover. His fingers find her clit, rubbing slow circles that make her gasp, her hips jerking involuntarily. 

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with desire. “Even after all that.”

She whimpers, her hands clutching at the sheets as he slips two fingers inside her, curling them just right. Her back arches off the bed, a moan escaping her lips. “Lando… I can’t—I don’t think I can again.” Her voice is shaky, breathless.

“Yes, you can,” he growls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through her entire body. His eyes lock onto hers, dark and unyielding, filled with a hunger that makes her stomach clench. 

“You’re not done yet.” He leans down, his breath hot against her sensitive skin, and she feels the first flick of his tongue against her clit—light, teasing, deliberate. The sensation is electric, sending sharp jolts of pleasure radiating through her already overstimulated body. Her hips jerk involuntarily, a gasp escaping her lips as his fingers curl inside her, pressing against that spot that makes her see stars.

Her thighs tremble around him, her muscles tense and quivering as he works her with a relentless rhythm. His tongue swirls around her clit, alternating between soft licks and firm pressure, while his fingers thrust deeper, faster, hitting every nerve ending with precision. She can feel herself unraveling, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in her core until it’s almost unbearable. Her moans grow louder, more desperate, her hands clawing at the sheets for something to hold onto.

“I’m close,” she gasps, her voice breaking as the pressure builds to a crescendo. “So close…”

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, a gravelly vibration that makes her thighs tighten around him. His lips hover just above her pulsing clit, his breath hot and wet against her slick, swollen folds. She feels exposed, raw, every nerve in her body alight with anticipation. 

“Cum for me.” His tongue lashes against her clit—hard, fast, unrelenting—and his fingers curl inside her, pressing firmly against that spot that makes her vision blur. Her nails claw at the sheets, her hips bucking uncontrollably as she feels it building, that relentless pressure coiling tighter and tighter in her core.

Her pussy quivers around his fingers, clenching and releasing in erratic waves, so sensitive now that every stroke of his tongue feels like an electric shock. She can feel herself drenched, her arousal pooling beneath her, the sound of his fingers moving in and out of her loud and shameless. Her moans are desperate, guttural, her toes curling into the mattress as she wavers on the edge.

And then—she breaks. Her orgasm crashes over her with a force that steals her breath, her back arching off the bed as she cums harder than she’s ever thought possible. Her pussy spasms wildly around him, her release gushing out in a flood that soaks his hand, his wrist, the sheets beneath them. The sensations are overwhelming, an exquisite mix of pleasure and overstimulation that makes her cry out, her voice cracking under the intensity. Her thighs tremble violently, her muscles clenched so tight they ache, but Lando doesn’t stop. His tongue circles her clit relentlessly, his fingers thrusting deeper, pushing her higher, squeezing every drop of ecstasy from her shaking body. Tiny gasps escape her lips, each one sharp and uncontrolled, as the aftershocks ripple through her in endless waves.

When he finally pulls away, she collapses onto the bed, boneless and utterly spent. Her chest heaves as she struggles to catch her breath, her legs splayed open, trembling. She can still feel the echo of her orgasm coursing through her, her pussy throbbing with the remnants of pleasure. Lando sits back on his heels, his eyes devouring her as droplets of her cum glisten on his chin, his lips curved into a satisfied smirk.

“That’s four,” he whispers, his voice filled with pride. He pulls his fingers out slowly, bringing them to his lips and tasting her. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” 

She looks up at him, her chest heaving, her eyes glazed with exhaustion and satisfaction. “You’re insatiable,” she breathes, her voice barely audible. 

He smirks, leaning down to kiss her softly, his lips lingering against hers as if savoring the taste of her. “And you’re mine,” he murmurs, his voice low and possessive. He pulls back just enough to look into her eyes, his gaze dark with admiration. 

“Fuck, Y/N, you have no idea how hot it is when you squirt. I can’t believe I made you do that—especially for the first time.” His thumb brushes her cheek, his touch tender despite the intensity in his voice. “You’re incredible. Absolutely fucking incredible.”

She feels a flush rise to her cheeks, her body still tingling from the aftermath of her orgasm. The way he looks at her—like she’s something extraordinary—makes her heart race all over again. She doesn’t know what to say, so she simply reaches up, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, and he leans into her touch, his smirk softening into something more intimate.

Lando’s eyes linger on her, dark and unreadable, as he traces a finger along the curve of her hip. His touch is feather-light, almost reverent, like he’s memorizing every inch of her trembling body. She’s sprawled out beneath him, completely spent, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Her pussy throbs, raw and sensitive, still pulsing with the echoes of her last orgasm.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, filled with awe. He brushes a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek. “I can’t believe you just did that. Squirted for me.” His lips curve into a slow, satisfied smirk, but there’s something softer in his gaze now—something that makes her heart flutter despite the exhaustion weighing her down.

She blinks up at him, her vision still hazy, her body too weak to do much more than lie there. “I… I didn’t know I could do that,” she whispers, her voice hoarse, barely audible. Her thighs are slick, the sheets soaked beneath her, and she can still feel the faint trickle of her release between her legs. It’s overwhelming, the way her body feels both destroyed and alive, like every nerve ending has been set on fire and then doused in ice.

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips warm against her skin. “You’re perfect,” he says, his tone so sincere it makes her chest ache. “Four times, Y/N. We broke your record.” There’s pride in his voice, a quiet satisfaction that makes her blush despite herself. His hand slides down her side, settling on her hip, his thumb brushing lazy circles against her skin. “And you squirted. Fuck, I’ll never forget that.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, her fingers twitching as she reaches up to brush against his jaw. “You drive me wild,” she breathes, her voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and affection. “I don’t think I can move.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and warm, and shifts beside her, pulling her into his arms. She nestles against his chest, her head resting over his heartbeat, steady and strong. His fingers trail up and down her back, soothing and possessive all at once. “You don’t have to move,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against her hair. “Just let me hold you.”

She closes her eyes, letting herself sink into the warmth of his embrace. Her body feels heavy, every muscle limp and boneless, but there’s a strange sense of peace in the aftermath. The room is quiet except for the sound of their breathing, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat and something uniquely them.

“Lando?” she whispers after a moment, her voice barely audible.

“Hmm?” His hand stills on her back, his attention fully on her.

She hesitates, her fingers curling against his chest. “Thank you,” she says softly, her cheeks flushing. “For… for making me feel like that. Like I’m…” She trails off, unsure how to put it into words.

He tilts her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes are soft, filled with something that makes her breath catch. “Like you’re mine,” he finishes for her, his voice low and certain. “Because you are, Y/N. Completely mine.”

Her heart skips a beat, her chest tightening with an emotion she’s not ready to name. Instead, she nods, her lips curving into a small, tired smile. “Yours,” she agrees, her voice barely above a whisper.

He kisses her then, slow and tender, his lips moving against hers with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the intensity of what came before. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers. “Get some rest,” he murmurs, his hand sliding back down to her hip. “I’ve got you.”

She closes her eyes, letting herself drift in the safety of his arms. Her body is wrecked, her mind blissfully blank, and for the first time in a long time, she feels utterly, completely at peace.

She closes her eyes, letting herself drift in the safety of his arms. Her body is wrecked, her mind blissfully blank, and for the first time in a long time, she feels utterly, completely at peace. But then she shifts slightly, her thigh brushing against him, and she feels it—the hard, unyielding length of him pressed against her. Her eyes flutter open, her breath catching as she realizes he’s still hard, still throbbing with need.

“Lando,” she whispers, her voice soft but tinged with concern. She tilts her head back to look up at him, her brow furrowing. “You didn’t… you didn’t cum.”

He chuckles low in his chest, the sound warm and reassuring, but there’s a flicker of something darker in his eyes—something hungry. His hand slides down her back, settling on her hip, his thumb brushing lazy circles against her skin. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint. “I was too focused on you.”

Her heart skips a beat, a mix of guilt and something else—something hotter—stirring in her chest. She shifts again, her hand sliding down his stomach until her fingers brush against him. He inhales sharply, his hips jerking involuntarily at her touch. “Y/N…” he warns, his voice strained, but she doesn’t stop.

“Let me take care of you,” she says softly, echoing his earlier words. Her fingers wrap around him, her touch tentative but firm, and she feels him pulse in her hand. His breath hitches, his grip on her hip tightening as she begins to stroke him slowly, her movements deliberate and teasing.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head falling back against the pillow, his eyes closing as she works him. His hips buck into her hand, his cock slick with precum, and she can feel the tension coiled in his body, the way he’s holding himself back. “You don’t have to…”

“I want to,” she interrupts, her voice steady despite the exhaustion weighing her down. She leans up, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, her hand moving faster now, her thumb swiping over the tip of him. “You gave me so much. Let me give this to you.”

His breath hitches, sharp and uneven, as his body tenses beneath her touch. She can feel the way his muscles coil, every fiber of him tightening like a spring ready to snap. His cock pulses in her hand, hot and heavy, slick with precum that smears across her fingers as she strokes him with deliberate precision. Her thumb swipes over the sensitive tip, and he lets out a low, guttural groan, his hips jerking off the bed as he thrusts into her grip.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasps, his voice raw and broken, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turn white. His chest heaves, his abs flexing with each ragged breath, and she can see the strain in his face—the way his jaw clenches, the way his eyes squeeze shut as if he’s fighting to hold on just a little longer. But she doesn’t let up, her hand moving faster now, her fingers tightening around him just enough to push him over the edge.

With a deep, shuddering moan, he cums, his release spilling over her fingers in thick, hot spurts. She feels it pulse against her palm, the warmth of it coating her skin as she keeps stroking him, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until his body goes slack, collapsing back onto the bed. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his breath still coming in shallow gasps, and she can see the faint sheen of sweat glistening on his skin.

She slows her movements, her hand still wrapped around him, feeling the way he twitches in her grasp, oversensitive but utterly spent. He looks up at her, his eyes dark and hazy, filled with something that makes her heart skip a beat. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse, his lips curving into a lazy, satisfied smirk. “You’re incredible.”

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t pull away, her fingers tracing idle patterns along his length as she watches him come down from his high. His hand reaches up, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his touch tender despite the intensity of the moment. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with gratitude.

She smiles, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Always,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. And as she settles back against him, her head resting on his chest, she knows there’s nowhere else she’d rather be.

[pucksandpower]

The One Left Behind

Max Verstappen x Lewis Hamilton’s ex!Reader

Summary: your first love was a seven-time world champion with a chip on his shoulder who would stop at nothing to finally get that eighth … even at the expense of you. Your second (and last) love is a five-time world champion with racing in his blood who proves, once and for all, that he would give it all up for you without even being asked … and regret absolutely nothing

Based on this request

The rain taps softly against the glass walls of the penthouse. The lights of Monaco shimmer beyond the windows, reflections dancing across the polished floor like scattered stars.

You sit cross-legged on the oversized couch, Lewis sprawled beside you, his legs stretched out, an arm slung casually over the backrest. He’s scrolling through his phone, something about sector times and telemetry, but his attention isn’t fully there. Not tonight.

“Lewis,” you say, gently nudging his side with your foot.

“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up.

You nudge him harder, and this time he glances your way, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “What’s up?”

“I need you to focus for, like, five minutes.”

“I am focusing,” he says, holding up his phone as evidence. “Race prep.”

“On me, Lewis.”

That gets his attention. He sets the phone down on the coffee table, screen still glowing with data, and leans back, giving you his full, undivided gaze. “Alright, I’m all yours. What’s on your mind?”

You hesitate for a moment, fingers curling into the soft fabric of your sweater. The words are there, sitting heavy on your tongue, but saying them feels like stepping off the edge of something solid. Still, you’ve been together for almost six years. If you can’t have this conversation with him now, when can you?

“I’ve been thinking,” you start, your voice steady but quiet, “about us. About the future.”

Lewis tilts his head, curiosity flickering across his face. “What about it?”

You take a deep breath. “I want to get married, Lewis. I want to have a family. With you.”

His expression shifts, not into shock or annoyance, but something harder to read. He doesn’t respond right away, which only makes the silence stretch uncomfortably between you.

“I know the timing’s not perfect,” you add quickly, trying to fill the gap. “I know you’re in the middle of-”

“The most important season of my career?” He finishes for you, a wry smile softening his tone.

“Yeah, that.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Babe, it’s not that I don’t want those things with you. I do. You know I do.”

“Do I?” The question slips out before you can stop it, and you see the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“Of course you do,” he says, his voice low, almost defensive. “Six years. That’s not nothing.”

“I know it’s not nothing. But sometimes it feels like we’re stuck in the same place. Like we’re … waiting for something that never comes.”

Lewis scrubs a hand down his face, the faintest hint of frustration breaking through his calm demeanor. “It’s not that simple, love. You know how much this season means to me. Winning an eighth title, it’s history. Legacy. Everything I’ve worked for my whole life.”

“And what about after that?” You press, leaning closer. “What happens when you get it? Then what?”

His eyes search yours, and for a moment, he looks almost … unsure. It’s a rare thing, seeing Lewis Hamilton unsure of anything.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’ve never really thought about it. Not in detail.”

“Well, maybe you should,” you say, your voice soft but firm. “Because I have. And I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with just being … your girlfriend forever.”

Lewis winces at the word, like it stings. “That’s not what you are to me. You’re everything. You know that.”

“Then prove it.”

He leans back again, running both hands through his hair as he exhales sharply. “God, you don’t make this easy, do you?”

“It’s not supposed to be easy. It’s supposed to be real.”

For a long moment, he just looks at you, his dark eyes searching your face like he’s trying to solve some impossible puzzle. Then, slowly, he nods.

“Okay,” he says, his voice steady now, resolute. “When I win this season — when I get that eighth title — I’ll retire.”

Your breath catches. “What?”

“You heard me,” he says, a small, almost mischievous smile playing on his lips. “I’ll retire. I’ll hang up my helmet, put a ring on your finger, and we’ll start trying for that family you’ve been dreaming about.”

You stare at him, equal parts stunned and skeptical. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“Lewis, you can’t just say that to shut me up.”

“I’m not trying to shut you up,” he says, reaching for your hand. His fingers are warm, steady, and when he looks at you now, there’s no hesitation, no uncertainty. “I’m saying it because I mean it. When I win, it’ll be the perfect ending. The perfect time to step away. And then it’s just us. No races, no travel, no distractions. Just you and me.”

“And a baby,” you add, because if you’re going to dream, you might as well dream big.

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich, and pulls you closer until you’re half in his lap. “And a baby,” he agrees.

It feels like a promise, one sealed with the way he presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you like they’re anchoring you to him.

But somewhere, deep down, a small, cautious voice whispers: what if he doesn’t win?

***

The suite is silent except for the faint hum of the minibar fridge and the muffled sounds of celebration filtering in from somewhere outside. It’s as if the entire world is rejoicing, but here, in the confines of this hotel room, everything feels like it’s crumbling.

Lewis hasn’t said a word since you got back. He walked in, dropped his helmet bag by the door, and slumped onto the edge of the bed, still in his team gear. His shoulders are hunched, his head bowed, his hands clasped tightly between his knees.

You stand a few feet away, arms crossed over your chest, unsure whether to approach him or leave him to his thoughts. The weight in the room is unbearable, pressing down on your chest until it’s hard to breathe.

“Lewis,” you say softly, testing the waters.

He doesn’t move.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

You take a tentative step closer. “I know it hurts-”

“Don’t,” he says sharply, cutting you off. His voice is hoarse, raw from the screams and protests he let out over the radio hours ago. He still hasn’t looked up.

You flinch but press on, refusing to let the conversation die. “I’m just trying to help.”

“There’s nothing to help,” he snaps, finally lifting his head. His eyes are bloodshot, his expression a mix of devastation and barely restrained fury. “It’s done. Over. What’s there to say?”

Your heart twists at the sight of him like this — so broken, so unlike the unshakable man you’ve always known. “I just thought-”

“Don’t you get it?” He interrupts, his voice rising. He stands abruptly, towering over you, his frustration bubbling over. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to sit here and dissect how it all fell apart. I want to forget.”

You step back, your own emotions starting to fray at the edges. “You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. You need to face it.”

“And what good would that do?” He shoots back, pacing the room now like a caged animal. “Would it give me my title? My win? Would it change the fact that I got robbed tonight?”

His words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

“Yeah,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Me too.”

The silence stretches again, but this time it’s different. More fragile. You can feel it cracking under the weight of what you need to say next.

“Lewis,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “About what we talked about. Before …”

He stops pacing, turning to look at you with a frown. “What?”

“A few weeks ago,” you clarify, taking a shaky breath. “You said when you won, you’d retire. That we’d start … building a life together.”

His jaw tightens, the muscle ticking as he stares at you.

“I know you didn’t win,” you continue hesitantly, “but does that really change anything? Can’t we still-”

“Don’t,” he says sharply, holding up a hand. His expression is hard now, a stark contrast to the vulnerability he showed earlier. “Don’t do this right now.”

“Why not?” You ask, frustration creeping into your tone. “Because it’s not convenient? Because it’s easier to bury yourself in racing than deal with what’s happening between us?”

“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice rising again.

“Isn’t it?” You challenge, taking a step closer. “You made me a promise. And now, what? You’re just going to pretend it didn’t happen because things didn’t go your way?”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You don’t get it. You’ve never understood. Racing isn’t just something I do — it’s who I am. Walking away now, without that eighth championship … I can’t. I won’t.”

Your chest tightens, and you feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “So what about me? What about us? Do we just stay on pause forever while you chase this thing that might never happen?”

His face twists with something you can’t quite place — anger, regret, maybe both. “This isn’t just about you,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “I’ve given everything to this sport. Everything. And I’m not quitting until I finish what I started.”

“So I’m just supposed to wait?” You ask, your voice cracking. “How long, Lewis? Another year? Two? Five? When is it going to be enough?”

“I don’t know!” He shouts, the words bursting out of him like a dam breaking. “I don’t know, alright?”

The room falls silent again, the weight of his outburst settling over both of you.

“I can’t do this,” he mutters after a moment, shaking his head. “Not right now.”

Before you can say another word, he grabs his jacket from the back of a chair and heads for the door.

“Lewis, wait,” you plead, your voice trembling. “Don’t walk away from this. From me.”

He pauses, his hand on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn around. “I just need some air,” he says, his tone clipped.

And then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality that makes you flinch.

You stand there for a moment, frozen, staring at the door as if willing him to come back. But the only sound is the muffled celebration outside, a cruel reminder of everything that’s been lost tonight.

Finally, your legs give out, and you sink onto the edge of the bed, burying your face in your hands as the tears come. They’re hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks as sobs wrack your body.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. None of it. You were supposed to be celebrating together, planning your future, looking ahead to the life you’d been dreaming of for so long.

But instead, it feels like everything is slipping through your fingers, and no matter how hard you try to hold on, it’s all crumbling around you.

You don’t know how long you sit there, crying into the silence, but when the tears finally stop, you’re left with an emptiness that feels even worse.

And for the first time in six years, you wonder if maybe Lewis Hamilton isn’t the man you thought he was. Or maybe he is, and that’s the problem.

***

One Year Later

The glass facade of the clinic looms above you, pristine and intimidating. Every time you glance at the sign — Centre de Fertilité de Monaco written in bold looping letters — your stomach churns. You’ve been standing outside for almost fifteen minutes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, arms crossed tightly against the chill in the air.

The city is alive around you, luxury cars humming down the streets, the faint sound of waves crashing against the marina in the distance. But you feel like you’re in a bubble, trapped in your own swirling thoughts.

This is what you want. You’ve thought about it a hundred times, planned every detail, read every article, and filled out every form. And yet, your feet refuse to move.

“Just go inside,” you whisper to yourself, though the words feel hollow.

You take a step toward the door, but your hand falters just shy of the handle.

“Y/N?”

The voice is familiar, low and slightly accented, and it stops you in your tracks. You turn to see Max Verstappen standing a few feet away, a look of surprise etched across his face. He’s dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, but there’s no mistaking him.

“Max,” you breathe, startled.

He takes a step closer, his brows knitting together. “What are you doing here?”

You glance at the clinic sign and then back at him, your heart hammering in your chest. “It’s, uh … personal.”

Max’s eyes narrow slightly, curiosity and concern mingling in his expression. “Personal enough that you’re standing outside looking like you’re about to throw up?”

Your face heats, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself, as if that could shield you from his gaze. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” He pauses, studying you. Then his eyes flicker to the sign again, and something seems to click. “Wait … are you-”

“Yes,” you blurt, cutting him off. There’s no point in pretending now. “I’m here to get artificially inseminated.”

Max blinks, clearly not expecting that answer. “Oh.”

You look away, embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal. Lots of women do it.”

“Without anyone here to support you?” He asks, his tone soft but pointed.

You shrug, your voice defensive. “It’s my decision.”

Max doesn’t respond right away, and when you finally look back at him, he’s frowning. “Why?”

The question catches you off guard. “Why what?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want a baby,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And you can’t … I don’t know, meet someone?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Right, because it’s that easy.”

Max shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re serious about this?”

“Yes, Max,” you snap, your patience wearing thin. “I’ve been serious about this for a long time. Just because my relationship didn’t work out doesn’t mean I should have to give up on what I want.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he says quietly, “So you and Lewis really broke up.”

You nod, swallowing hard. The mention of Lewis still feels like a punch to the gut, even after all this time. “Yeah. A while ago.”

Max hesitates, his hands shoved into his pockets. “And now you’re just … what? Picking a random donor from a catalog and hoping for the best?”

The words sting, and you glare at him. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” He presses, his voice still calm but insistent. “You deserve more than that. You deserve more than a child fathered by some random man you only know as lines of descriptions on paper.”

That’s the moment you break. The tears you’ve been holding back for weeks, maybe even months, come flooding out. You cover your face with your hands, trying to stifle the sobs, but it’s no use.

“Hey,” Max says quickly, stepping closer. “Hey, don’t-”

But you can’t stop. It’s all too much — Lewis, the clinic, the choices you’ve had to make on your own.

“I just want-” you choke out, but the words dissolve into another sob.

“Come here,” Max says softly, wrapping an arm around your back and gently tugging you closer. You collapse against him, your face buried in his shoulder as the tears keep coming.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just holds you, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles over your back. His hoodie smells faintly of cologne and something clean, like fresh laundry.

After a while, your sobs start to quiet, and you manage to pull back, wiping at your face. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, embarrassed.

“Don’t be,” Max says, his voice low. He tilts his head, his blue eyes soft but serious. “You’re clearly not in the right state of mind to be making life-changing decisions.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off.

“Look,” he says, “I’m not saying you shouldn’t do this. I’m saying maybe today isn’t the day. You’re upset. And I don’t think you should do something this big while you’re feeling like this.”

You hesitate, his words sinking in.

“My apartment is just around the corner,” he continues. “Why don’t we go there? We can talk, or not talk. Whatever you want. But at least give yourself a little time to think.”

You hesitate, glancing back at the clinic. The weight of the decision presses heavily on you, but so does the thought of going through with it now, like this.

“Okay,” you whisper finally.

Max nods, a small, reassuring smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Come on.”

He keeps his hand on your back as he guides you down the street, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel entirely alone.

***

Max’s apartment is modern, sleek, and surprisingly warm. The large windows overlook the Monaco skyline, the twinkling lights of the city reflecting off the sea in the distance. You sit on the plush gray couch, clutching a mug of tea Max handed you just moments ago. The ceramic is warm in your hands, grounding you as the weight of everything presses down on your chest.

Max settles in the armchair across from you, his long legs stretched out, one elbow resting on the armrest as he watches you carefully. He hasn’t said much since you got here, and you’re grateful for it. But now, with the tea steeping between your fingers and his steady gaze on you, you feel the urge to fill the silence.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max shrugs lightly, a faint, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “Start anywhere.”

You exhale shakily, staring into the dark liquid in your mug. “Lewis and I were together for six years. Six years of my life … and for a long time, I thought we wanted the same things.”

Max’s brows knit together, but he stays quiet, letting you continue.

“I thought we were building something together,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “I wanted to get married. I wanted kids. He said he did, too. But there was always something in the way — another season, another championship, another goal. And I kept waiting because I believed in him, in us.”

Your voice cracks, and you take a sip of the tea, letting the warmth soothe your throat. Max leans forward slightly, his blue eyes fixed on you with an intensity that’s both comforting and unnerving.

“And then last year …” You pause, trying to steady your voice. “He promised me that if he won his eighth title, he’d retire. That we’d finally start the life we talked about. And I believed him. I really believed him.”

Max’s jaw tightens, his knuckles pressing against his chin as he listens.

“But he didn’t win,” you continue, the memory still fresh, still raw. “And instead of keeping his promise, he said he couldn’t walk away. Not without that eighth.”

“Unbelievable,” Max mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

You glance at him, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “I thought maybe I could wait. Maybe I could put my dreams on hold for him a little longer. But it wasn’t just about the title — it was about him always choosing racing over me, over us.”

Max leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “So you broke up.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you say, your voice trembling. “I couldn’t keep waiting for someone who would never choose me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unspoken. You’ve said them to yourself before, in the quiet of your bedroom, in the midst of sleepless nights, but saying them out loud now feels different. More final.

“And now you’re here,” Max says after a moment, gesturing faintly toward the direction of the clinic outside the windows.

You nod, tears pricking at your eyes again. “I still want a family. I’ve always wanted that. And after everything with Lewis, I realized I can’t keep putting my life on hold for someone else. If I want a baby, I have to make it happen myself.”

Max stares at you, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I get it,” he says finally. “I do. But … I don’t know. It just feels wrong. Like, you shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you say, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “Not everyone gets a happy ending. Some of us just have to make do with what we have.”

He shakes his head, leaning forward again. “That’s not what I mean. I mean someone like you shouldn’t have to settle for this. You’re smart, beautiful, caring. Any guy would be lucky to have you. Hell, if it were me-”

He stops abruptly, his face coloring slightly as if realizing what he’s about to say.

“If it were you, what?” You ask, your voice softer now, curious.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “If it were me, I wouldn’t have made you wait. I wouldn’t have let you go, period. I would’ve dropped everything the second I got out of the car in Abu Dhabi.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut — not because they hurt, but because they’re so unexpected, so honest.

“You don’t mean that,” you say quietly, though your heart betrays you, fluttering in your chest.

Max’s gaze is unwavering. “I do. You deserve someone who sees you as their priority, not as something they’ll get to when it’s convenient. If I had someone like you …” He trails off, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t need anything else.”

The room falls silent, and you don’t know what to say. Your hands tighten around the mug, and you feel your cheeks flush under his intense stare.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, leaning back. “That probably crossed a line.”

“No,” you say quickly, surprising even yourself. “It’s … nice to hear. I guess I just don’t believe it.”

“Why not?” He asks, his brows furrowing.

“Because if that were true, Lewis wouldn’t have left,” you admit, your voice breaking. “If I were really worth all that, he wouldn’t have walked away.”

Max shakes his head vehemently, leaning forward again. “That’s not on you. That’s on him. He couldn’t see what he had. That’s his loss, not yours.”

You blink back tears, his words cutting through the doubt and self-blame you’ve been carrying for so long.

“Look,” Max says softly, his voice gentle now. “You’re not alone in this, okay? I know it feels like it, but you’re not. And whatever you decide to do, just … don’t rush into it because you think you have to. You’ve got time, and you’ve got people who care about you.”

The sincerity in his voice almost breaks you all over again. You nod, unable to speak, and Max offers you a small, reassuring smile.

“Finish your tea,” he says, standing up and heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll grab us something stronger. Tea’s good for a talk, but this feels like a whiskey kind of conversation.”

You laugh softly, the sound surprising you. For the first time in a long time, the weight on your chest feels just a little bit lighter.

***

The first time you showed up at Max’s apartment unannounced, it was a particularly bad day. The ache in your chest had been unbearable, the quiet of your own place suffocating. You hadn’t even thought twice before texting him: You home?

His response came within seconds. Always. Door’s open.

You found him lounging on the couch, his two bengals sprawled out lazily beside him. When he saw you, he didn’t ask questions. He just stood, grabbed two Red Bulls from the fridge, and let you curl up on the floor to play with Jimmy and Sassy while he sat nearby, chatting about nothing in particular until the knot in your chest loosened.

It became a ritual after that. On the days when life felt too heavy, you’d make your way to Max’s. Sometimes you’d talk, sometimes you wouldn’t. But more often than not, you’d end up on the floor with the cats while Max watched with quiet amusement.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Jimmy pounces on the feather toy you’re dragging across the rug, his sleek body moving with a precision that reminds you of Max on the track. Sassy, the more aloof of the two, lounges nearby, watching her brother with disdain until she decides to join in.

You’re lying on your back now, laughing as the two cats leap over you, chasing the toy you’re holding above your head. It’s the first time you’ve laughed all day, maybe all week, and it feels good.

“Careful, Jimmy,” Max calls from the couch, his voice warm with affection. “She’s not a scratching post.”

You tilt your head to look at him, still holding the toy above you. He’s sitting sideways, one arm slung over the back of the couch, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Jimmy would never hurt me,” you say, grinning as the cat lands lightly on your stomach before darting off again.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Max warns, shaking his head. “He’s a menace.”

“He’s perfect,” you counter, turning your attention back to the cats.

Max chuckles softly, but he doesn’t respond. You’re too distracted by Sassy’s sudden burst of energy to notice the way his gaze lingers on you, the way his smile fades into something softer, something deeper.

After a while, you sit up, your hair slightly disheveled and your cheeks flushed from laughing. Jimmy jumps into your lap, purring contentedly as you stroke his fur.

When you look up, Max is staring at you.

“What?” You ask, your brow furrowing.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are warm, almost tender, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

“Nothing,” he says finally, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re just … happy. I like seeing you like this.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you glance away, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s the cats,” you say lightly, trying to brush it off. “They’re good for my mental health.”

“It’s not just the cats,” Max says, and there’s something in his tone that makes you look at him again.

He’s leaning forward slightly now, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze locked on yours. You feel your breath catch, the air in the room shifting, thickening.

“Max …” you start, but you don’t know how to finish the sentence.

“You don’t see it, do you?” He says softly, his voice almost reverent.

“See what?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“How incredible you are.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unshakable. You stare at him, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

“Max, I …”

Before you can finish, he’s on the floor in front of you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. He reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, and you don’t pull away.

“You’re amazing,” he says, his eyes searching yours. “You’re strong, and kind, and funny, and … God, Y/N, do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you forget how to speak.

“Max,” you say finally, your voice trembling. “This … this is a bad idea.”

“Why?” He asks, his hand still resting against your cheek.

“Because I don’t want to ruin this,” you admit, your eyes filling with tears. “You’ve been my rock these past few months. I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t,” he says firmly. “I promise you, you won’t. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

You’re silent, your heart warring with your head. But when he leans in, his lips brushing softly against yours, all your doubts fade away.

The kiss is gentle at first, hesitant, as if he’s afraid you might pull away. But when you don’t, he deepens it, his hand sliding into your hair as he pours everything he’s been holding back into the kiss.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“Wow,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

Max chuckles softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Yeah. Wow.”

You stare at him, your mind racing. This wasn’t what you expected when you came here tonight, but now that it’s happened, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

“Max,” you say softly, your voice filled with uncertainty.

“It’s okay,” he says, cutting you off. “We’ll figure this out, whatever it is. I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I promise.”

And to your surprise, despite the broken promises still shattered beneath your feet, you really do believe him.

***

The bedroom is bathed in the soft golden glow of the evening lights spilling through the windows. The Monaco skyline twinkles faintly in the distance, but you’re not paying attention to it. You’re wrapped up in Max’s arms, his warmth seeping into you as his fingers draw lazy patterns on your back.

You’re lying on your side, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His free hand brushes through your hair, the motion slow and soothing. Every so often, he leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head or your temple, murmuring something sweet against your skin.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says, his voice low and gentle.

“I’m just … content,” you reply, tilting your head to look up at him. “This is nice.”

He smiles down at you, his blue eyes soft with affection. “Yeah, it is.”

His fingers trail up to your jaw, tilting your face up so he can kiss you. It’s slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that makes your toes curl and sends warmth blooming in your chest.

When he pulls back, his lips linger near yours, his breath fanning against your skin. “You know, I could get used to this,” he says, a playful lilt in his voice.

“You mean you’re not used to it already?” You tease, nudging him lightly.

“I mean forever,” he says, and the sincerity in his tone makes your heart skip a beat.

You smile, your fingers idly tracing the lines of his collarbone. “Forever sounds nice.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, filled with the soft sounds of your breathing and the occasional distant hum of the city below.

After a moment, you glance up at him, your heart beating a little faster. “Max?”

“Hmm?” He hums, his fingers still trailing along your back.

“Have you ever thought about … kids?” You ask hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stills for a moment, his hand pausing mid-motion before he shifts slightly to look down at you. “Kids?”

“Yeah,” you say, suddenly nervous. “Like, have you ever thought about having them?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his brows furrowing slightly as if considering your question. Then, to your surprise, he lets out a soft laugh.

“Honestly?” He says, his lips quirking into a small smile. “I’ve thought about it pretty much daily since I met you.”

Your eyes widen, and you push yourself up onto your elbow to look at him more closely. “Seriously?”

He chuckles, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t thinking about it before. But now? With you? I think about it all the time.”

“Max,” you whisper, your heart swelling at his words.

“I know it sounds crazy,” he continues, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek. “We haven’t been together that long, but … I don’t know. When you know, you know, right?”

You nod, unable to speak, your throat tight with emotion.

“And I know,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You’re it for me, Y/N. There’s no one else. There’s never going to be anyone else.”

Tears sting at your eyes, and you laugh softly, leaning into his touch. “You’re really something, Max Verstappen.”

“I mean it,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “So … what do you think? Would you want to have a baby with me?”

You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The question is so outlandish, so unexpected, and yet it feels right.

“You’re serious?” You ask, your voice trembling.

“Dead serious,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’re going to be an amazing mom. I can already see it.”

You laugh, covering your face with your hands as the weight of his words sinks in. “This is insane.”

“Maybe,” he says, pulling your hands away from your face. “But it feels right, doesn’t it?”

You look at him, at the way his eyes shine with hope and love, and you know he’s right.

“It does,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

He beams, his grin so wide it’s almost boyish. “So … is that a yes?”

You laugh, leaning down to kiss him. “Yes, Max. Let’s have a baby.”

He kisses you back, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you closer. The kiss is different this time — deeper, more urgent, filled with the promise of what’s to come.

When you pull back, you’re both grinning like fools, your foreheads pressed together as you laugh softly.

“This is happening,” he says, his voice filled with awe.

“It is,” you reply, your heart swelling with joy.

“And just so you know,” he adds, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips. “I’m not leaving this bed until we make it happen.”

You laugh, swatting at his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he counters, flipping you onto your back as his lips find yours again.

The night stretches on for what feels like forever, filled with laughter, whispered promises, and the kind of love that feels like forever.

***

The moment you see the two pink lines on the test, your heart stops. For a second, you don’t breathe, don’t blink, don’t move. Then, a rush of emotions crashes over you all at once — joy, disbelief, terror, excitement. You sit on the edge of the tub in your bathroom, staring at the test in your shaking hands, trying to make sense of it.

“Max,” you whisper to yourself, and the thought of him steadies you.

He’s in the kitchen when you step out, his back to you as he busies himself with something at the stove. The faint smell of eggs and toast fills the air, but you can barely focus on it. Your hand tightens around the test in your pocket.

“Morning,” he says when he hears your footsteps, glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile. “Hungry? I made breakfast.”

You don’t answer, your feet rooted to the floor.

“Y/N?” He says, turning fully to face you now. “Everything okay?”

You nod, though you’re pretty sure you don’t look convincing. Your chest feels tight, and suddenly, you don’t know how to say the words.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

His hands find yours, grounding you in the way only he can. You take a deep breath and pull the test out of your pocket, holding it up between you.

Max stares at it for a moment, his eyes wide.

“Is that-”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. “It’s positive.”

For a second, he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Then, a slow, disbelieving grin spreads across his face.

“We’re having a baby?” He asks, his voice almost a whisper.

You nod, your own tears welling up as you watch his expression shift from shock to pure, unfiltered joy.

“We’re having a baby,” you repeat, the words finally sinking in.

Max lets out a breathless laugh, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the ground. “Oh my God, Y/N, we’re having a baby!”

You laugh through your tears, clinging to him as he spins you around. When he finally sets you down, his hands frame your face, his eyes searching yours.

“Are you okay? How do you feel? Do you need anything? Oh my God, we need to call the doctor, right? That’s what we do next?”

“Max,” you say, cutting him off with a laugh. “I’m okay. We’ll figure it all out.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding quickly. “Okay. But, wow … we’re having a baby.”

The way he says it, like he can’t quite believe it, makes your heart swell.

From that moment on, Max is all in.

***

Max surprises you at every turn. Where you once thought the worlds of racing and family couldn’t coexist, he proves you wrong with every thoughtful gesture, every sacrifice, every time he puts you first.

At first, you hesitate to bring it up. You know how important racing is to him, how much of his life has been dedicated to it. You don’t want to be a distraction, don’t want to pull him away from something he loves.

But Max is quick to shut down any of those thoughts.

“You and this baby come first,” he says one night, his hand resting gently on your still-flat stomach. “Always.”

You blink at him, your throat tight. “You don’t have to say that, Max. I know how much racing means to you.”

“And I know how much you mean to me,” he counters, his voice firm. “This doesn’t have to be one or the other. We’ll make it work. I promise.”

And he does.

***

You don’t feel ready to travel yet, and Max doesn’t push you. He understands when you tell him you’re not ready to face the paddock, to face him. It’s still too raw, too soon. Max doesn’t question it.

“It’s okay,” he says, kissing your forehead. “You don’t need to explain. You do what’s best for you. I’ll come to you.”

And he does.

Even in the middle of the season, when his schedule is packed and his commitments are endless, Max never misses a single appointment. He’s always there, whether it’s for the early check-ups or the first ultrasound.

“Can you believe that’s our baby?” He whispers during the first scan, his voice filled with awe as he watches the tiny flicker of the heartbeat on the monitor.

You can’t answer, your own emotions overwhelming you. Instead, you squeeze his hand, and he leans over to press a kiss to your temple.

***

The weeks pass, and soon it’s time for the big ultrasound — the one where you’ll finally learn the baby’s gender. Max is in São Paulo for the Brazilian Grand Prix, and you’ve convinced yourself he won’t make it back in time.

“It’s okay,” you tell him over the phone the night before. “You’ve got a race to focus on. I’ll record everything for you.”

“Y/N,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m not missing this.”

“But-”

“I’ll be there,” he promises. “Trust me.”

True to his word, Max walks into the clinic the next afternoon, still in his favorite set of sweats for traveling, his hair slightly disheveled from the flight.

“Max,” you say, standing up from your chair in the waiting room, your heart swelling at the sight of him. “You made it.”

“Of course I did,” he says, pulling you into his arms. “I told you I would.”

The ultrasound room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the machine and the occasional click of the technician’s keyboard. You’re lying on the examination table, Max sitting beside you, holding your hand tightly.

“Are you ready to find out?” The technician asks, her eyes crinkling with a warm smile.

You glance at Max, and he nods, his excitement barely contained.

“Let’s do it,” you say.

The technician moves the wand across your stomach, and a moment later, the screen lights up with the image of your baby.

“Congratulations,” she says, her smile widening. “It’s a girl.”

A girl.

Max lets out a laugh, his hand flying to cover his mouth as he stares at the screen. “A girl,” he repeats, his voice filled with wonder. “We’re having a girl.”

You laugh through your tears, your heart full to bursting. Max leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your nose, your lips.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“For what?” You ask, your own voice shaky.

“For this. For her. For everything,” he says, his eyes shining as he looks at you.

You don’t have the words to respond, so you just squeeze his hand, your heart so full it feels like it might burst.

And in that moment, you realize: Max was right. Racing and family don’t have to be at odds. They can coexist, as long as you have someone who’s willing to make it work. And Max? He’s more than willing. He’s all in. Always.

***

It’s been a long start to the season, and the 2024 championship is already shaping up to be a nail-biter. The RB20 is much more unwieldy than its predecessor, the points gap narrowing with a DNF in Australia. The pressure is on, and you know it. Max knows it too.

But despite everything — the late nights, the media frenzy, the endless travel — he never wavers in his commitment to you and the baby. Even as the world watches him fight for the title, Max’s focus always returns home.

As your due date approaches, the Japan Grand Prix weekend looms closer on the calendar. Suzuka is pivotal, everyone says. The kind of race that could determine the championship. The team is counting on Max to deliver.

But Max doesn’t seem fazed by any of it when you bring it up one evening in bed, your hand resting on your swollen belly while his fingers gently trace circles over the skin.

“You know Suzuka’s right around the corner,” you say hesitantly, watching his expression.

“Hmm,” he hums, his eyes focused on your stomach, his lips quirking into a small smile when he feels a kick.

“Max.”

He glances up at you, his gaze softening. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitate, unsure how to phrase it. “I just … I know it’s an important race. And my due date is so close. What if-”

“I’m not going to Japan,” he says firmly, cutting you off before you can spiral.

You blink at him, startled. “What?”

“I’ve already told Christian and Helmut. They’re putting Liam in the car for the weekend.”

“Max,” you whisper, your heart swelling. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” he says, his voice steady. “This is our daughter we’re talking about. There’s no way I’m missing her arrival, not for any race, not for anything.”

Tears sting at your eyes, and you blink them back quickly. “But the championship-”

“Doesn’t matter as much as this,” he interrupts again, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Y/N, I love racing, but you and our baby? You’re everything. You’re my world. If I have to miss a race, so be it.”

You stare at him, your throat tight, and you can’t stop the tears this time. “I love you,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “I love you too. More than anything.”

***

When the weekend of the Japanese Grand Prix arrives, you’re still pregnant, and Max is at your side, refusing to let you lift a finger.

The race plays out on the television in the background while Max spends most of the day doting on you. He rubs your feet, makes you tea, and checks on the hospital bag for the millionth time, making sure everything is in order.

“Max, sit down,” you say, laughing softly as you watch him double-check the contents of the bag again.

“I just want to make sure we’re ready,” he says, zipping it up and placing it neatly by the door.

“We’re ready,” you assure him, patting the space next to you on the couch.

He finally sits, pulling you close and resting his hand on your belly. “You’re sure she’s not coming today?”

“She’s not on your schedule, Verstappen,” you tease, and he laughs, leaning in to kiss your temple.

***

But she does come.

Two days later, in the early hours of the morning, the first contraction wakes you. At first, you’re too groggy to register what’s happening, but when the second one hits, you gasp, clutching at the sheets.

“Max,” you manage to get out, shaking his shoulder.

He bolts upright, his eyes wide and alert. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I think … I think it’s time,” you say, your voice trembling.

Max is on his feet in an instant, grabbing the hospital bag and helping you out of bed with remarkable calmness for someone who was sound asleep just seconds ago.

“You okay?” He asks, his arm around your waist as he guides you to the car.

You nod, though your breaths are shallow. “Yeah. Just … hurry.”

***

The hours in the delivery room pass in a blur of pain and anticipation. Max never leaves your side, his hand gripping yours tightly through every contraction, his voice steady and reassuring as he encourages you.

“You’re amazing,” he says, brushing the hair from your sweaty forehead. “You’ve got this. Just a little more, liefje. You’re so strong.”

When the moment finally comes, and the sound of your daughter’s first cries fills the room, both of you dissolve into tears.

“She’s here,” Max whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s really here.”

The nurse places the tiny, wriggling bundle in your arms, and you look down at her, overwhelmed by a love so powerful it takes your breath away. Max leans over your shoulder, his face close to hers, his tears falling freely now.

“She’s perfect,” he says, his voice breaking.

You glance up at him, your heart swelling as you see the pure adoration on his face. “She looks like you.”

“She looks like us,” he corrects, his fingers gently tracing the curve of her cheek.

***

When the nurse takes her to be weighed and cleaned up, Max stands frozen for a moment, watching her with wide eyes. Then, when they bring her back, he hesitates.

“You want to hold her?” You ask, smiling through your exhaustion.

He looks at you like you’ve just handed him the most precious thing in the world. “Can I?”

“Of course,” you say, carefully passing her to him.

Max cradles her in his arms, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving her face. He looks utterly awestruck, his tears still streaming down his cheeks as he rocks her gently.

“Hi, little one,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I’m your papa. And I already love you more than anything.”

Your heart clenches as you watch him, the way he holds her like she’s the most fragile, most important thing in the world.

“You okay?” You ask softly, reaching out to touch his arm.

He nods, but when he looks at you, his expression is serious. “Y/N,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “If you or she ever said the word, I’d stop. I’d walk away from racing tomorrow and never look back.”

“Max-”

“I mean it,” he says, cutting you off gently. “I don’t need any of it. All I need is right here.”

Tears spill down your cheeks as you reach for his hand, your fingers lacing through his. “You don’t have to stop, Max. I don’t want you to. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” he says, his gaze dropping back to your daughter. “You and her — you’re everything.”

The three of you stay like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other and the overwhelming love that fills the room.

And as you watch Max rock your daughter, his eyes shining with tears and joy, you realize that this is it — this is the life you always dreamed of.

***

The Australian Grand Prix marks the beginning of the 2025 season, and the paddock is alive with its usual chaos: reporters shouting questions, cameras flashing, and engineers rushing to and from garages. But for you, it feels like an entirely different world as you step onto the paddock with your daughter perched on your hip.

She’s bundled in a tiny Red Bull jacket Max had custom-made, her baby blue eyes wide as she takes in the flurry of activity around her. She giggles as a gust of wind tousles her fine blonde curls, and you can’t help but smile, brushing them back into place.

“Are you sure about this?” You ask Max, who stands beside you, his hand resting lightly on your lower back.

He glances at you, his expression soft but resolute. “You’re my family. I want everyone to know.”

Your chest tightens, equal parts touched and nervous. “It’s just … people are going to talk.”

“Let them,” Max says simply, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. Then he shifts his attention to your daughter, gently tickling her chin. “Aren’t they, prinsesje? Let them say what they want.”

Her delighted squeal pulls a laugh from him, and for a moment, your nerves melt away.

But the attention is immediate. As soon as you cross into the paddock, a ripple of recognition sweeps through the crowd. Photographers pause, their lenses snapping up. Team personnel do double takes. Whispers spread like wildfire.

You’re prepared for it — at least, as much as you can be. What you’re not prepared for is running into Lewis.

You spot him before he sees you, standing just outside the Ferrari hospitality area in conversation with Fred Vasseur. Your stomach twists as you consider turning around, but before you can move, Lewis glances up.

He freezes.

His gaze locks on you, then drops to the baby in your arms, and his expression shifts from shock to something darker. He mutters something to Fred and strides toward you, his movements purposeful and tense.

“Y/N,” he says, stopping a few feet away. His eyes flicker to Max, who hasn’t left your side, and then back to you. “What … what’s this?”

You take a steadying breath. “Hello, Lewis.”

He ignores the pleasantries, his attention fixed on the child in your arms. “Is that your-” He stops, his jaw tightening. “Is that his?”

Max steps forward slightly, his hand now firm on your back. “Yes,” he says evenly, his voice calm but unyielding. “She is ours.”

Lewis’s eyes narrow, his gaze darting between you and Max. “How long has this been going on?”

“Lewis, I don’t think-”

“How long?” He snaps, his tone sharper now.

You glance at Max, who gives you a reassuring nod. Turning back to Lewis, you say, “A little over two and a half years.”

Lewis exhales sharply, shaking his head as if trying to process the information. “Two and a half years. So, what? You moved on that fast?”

“Don’t do that,” you say quietly, your grip tightening on your daughter. “It wasn’t fast. You know that.”

“Do I?” His voice is bitter, his expression unreadable. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure looks like you didn’t waste any time replacing me.”

Max stiffens beside you, but you place a hand on his arm, silently urging him to let you handle it.

“I didn’t replace you,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “I moved on. There’s a difference.”

His gaze softens for a moment, flickering with something like hurt. But then he looks at Max again, and the hardness returns. “With him?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, your chin lifting.

Lewis laughs bitterly, running a hand over his face. “Unbelievable.”

“Lewis,” Max interjects, his tone measured but with an edge of steel. “This isn’t about you. It’s about her. And our daughter.”

“Your daughter,” Lewis repeats, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Right. And you think this is going to work? Bringing her into this circus?”

Max’s jaw tightens, but he stays calm. “It’s already working. She’s happy. We’re happy.”

Lewis scoffs, his eyes narrowing. “You think this is happiness? Dragging a baby into this environment? Do you even understand what kind of life you’re giving her?”

You step forward before Max can respond, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “Don’t you dare judge me. You don’t get to do that. Not after everything.”

Lewis falters, his anger giving way to a flicker of guilt. “I’m not trying to-”

“Yes, you are,” you interrupt. “I get it, okay? You’re hurt. But you don’t get to stand there and act like you know what’s best for me or my family. Not anymore.”

There’s a long, tense silence. Finally, Lewis looks away, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I just … I didn’t think it would end like this,” he mutters.

Neither did you. But you don’t say it. Instead, you adjust your daughter in your arms, her tiny fingers clutching at your jacket, grounding you.

“It’s not about how it ended,” you say softly. “It’s about how we move forward.”

Lewis looks at you, and for a moment, you see the man you loved — the man who promised you a future he could never give. His eyes drop to your daughter, and his expression shifts, softening in a way that makes your heart ache.

“She’s beautiful,” he says quietly, almost reluctantly.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Max steps closer, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently. “We should go,” he says, his voice low but kind.

You nod, giving Lewis one last look before turning away.

***

In the Red Bull motorhome, you sink into a chair, your emotions crashing over you. Max kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees as he studies your face.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You nod, though tears blur your vision. “It’s just … hard. Seeing him. The way he looked at me.”

Max leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t owe him anything. Not your guilt, not your sadness. Nothing. You’re here with me now, with our daughter. That’s all that matters.”

His words soothe you, and you reach up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you too,” he says, his voice unwavering. Then he glances at your daughter, who’s dozing peacefully in her stroller. “And I love her more than anything.”

You smile through your tears, your heart swelling with gratitude and love. No matter what challenges lie ahead, you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

Nine Months Later

The final race of the 2025 season is a sea of chaos and celebration. The Yas Marina Circuit glows under the floodlights, the air electric with cheers as Max steps onto the top of the podium for the fifth time in his career. Champagne sprays from the bottles, glistening under the lights, but Max barely seems to notice.

His eyes search through the crowd, scanning the blur of faces until they land on you. There you are, cradling your daughter in your arms, her little Red Bull ear protectors sitting snugly over her head. She’s clapping her hands in that uncoordinated, infant-like way that makes his chest ache with love. And you — God, you. Your smile is soft but radiant, tears glinting in your eyes as you look up at him.

Max feels his heart tighten, his grip on the champagne bottle slackening. He’s been chasing dreams for as long as he can remember — titles, wins, perfection on the track. But now, looking at you and the life you’ve built together, he knows none of it compares to what he has waiting for him off the podium.

He knows what he has to do.

As the podium ceremony winds down, Max fumbles at the inside pocket of his race suit. His fingers brush over the small velvet box he’s carried with him for weeks, waiting for the right moment. This is it. There’s no better time.

Lando Norris, standing to Max’s right after clinching second place, notices his movement and raises a brow. “What are you up to?”

Max doesn’t answer, too focused on what’s coming next. His fingers close around the box, and his pulse quickens.

He steps forward, champagne still dripping from his suit, and motions to the crowd below. “Can we … can someone help her up here?” He calls, his voice cracking slightly with emotion.

You blink, confused, as several Red Bull mechanics glance at each other before moving to you. One of them gestures toward the podium. “Come on,” he says, grinning. “You’re part of this moment.”

“What? No, I-” you stammer, clutching your daughter closer. “I’m fine here-”

“Y/N,” Max says from above, his voice carrying across the noise. His tone is warm but insistent. “Please. Come up.”

Your heart races as you glance around, overwhelmed by the attention, but the mechanics are already helping guide you to the platform. Before you know it, you’re being hoisted onto the podium, your feet landing on the cool metal as you steady yourself.

Max steps toward you, his eyes locked on yours. His gaze is tender, but there’s a flicker of nerves there, too. The crowd’s roar dulls in your ears as he takes a deep breath, his focus entirely on you.

“Y/N,” he begins, his voice trembling slightly. He drops to one knee, the champagne bottle rolling away unnoticed. In his hand is the small velvet box, now open to reveal a sparkling diamond ring.

The crowd erupts.

Your breath catches.

“Y/N,” Max says again, louder this time, his blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I once thought winning a championship would be the best moment of my life. But then I saw you. Holding our daughter, looking at me like that, and I realized the best thing I’ve ever done has nothing to do with racing. It’s us. It’s you. It’s her.”

Tears blur your vision, your hand covering your mouth as you stare down at him.

“I love you,” he continues, his voice cracking. “I love you more than anything in this world. You’ve given me everything I never knew I needed. You’re my family, Y/N, and I don’t want to wait another second to make it official.”

He swallows hard, his hands shaking as he holds the ring toward you. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment, everything seems to stop. The crowd, the cameras, the other drivers — it all fades away. All you can see is Max, his face open and vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely seen. The man who’s always so composed under pressure, the fierce competitor, is looking at you with nothing but love and hope.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice breaking. Then, louder. “Yes, Max. Yes!”

The crowd explodes into cheers as Max lets out a breathless laugh, his face lighting up in relief and joy. He stands quickly, wrapping one arm around your waist while slipping the ring onto your finger with the other. It fits perfectly.

Before you can say anything else, Max cups your face and kisses you, his lips warm and urgent against yours. The kiss is met with an even louder roar from the crowd, but all you can focus on is him — the way his hands tremble slightly, the way he pulls you closer as if afraid to let go.

Your daughter giggles in your arms, and Max pulls back just enough to glance down at her. He grins, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “What do you think, prinsesje? Did Papa do okay?”

She babbles something incomprehensible, and the three of you laugh.

***

Later, in the quiet of his driver’s room, the chaos of the podium ceremony behind you, Max pulls you into his lap as you sit together on the small sofa. Your daughter sleeps soundly in her stroller nearby, her tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm.

Max toys with the ring on your finger, his expression thoughtful. “You know,” he says, his voice soft, “I’ve won a lot of things in my life. But this … this is my greatest victory.”

You smile, resting your forehead against his. “You’re pretty good at making me cry today, Verstappen.”

He chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Get used to it. I plan on spending the rest of my life making you cry happy tears.”

You hum, leaning into his touch. “Good. Because I plan on spending the rest of my life loving you.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms tightening around you. “Deal.”

And in that moment, with Max holding you close and your daughter sleeping nearby, you realize that this — this is your podium. Your victory. Your forever.

***

The night is impossibly quiet for Abu Dhabi, the hum of the city dulled by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse suite. The celebrations are over, the crowds dispersed, and now it’s just the three of you. Your daughter sleeps soundly in her cot near the foot of the bed, her tiny face relaxed in peaceful dreams.

You’re wrapped up in Max’s arms, the weight of the day finally catching up with both of you. His chest is warm against your back, his heartbeat steady as his fingers lazily trace patterns on your arm. The ring on your finger catches the faint glow of the bedside lamp, a small, perfect reminder of the life-changing moment you shared hours ago.

“You’re quiet,” you murmur, shifting slightly to glance up at him.

Max’s gaze is soft, his blue eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. “Just thinking,” he says, his voice low and a little hoarse from the day’s shouting and champagne sprays.

“About?”

He pauses, his fingers stilling on your skin. You can feel the hesitation in him, the way his body tenses ever so slightly. It’s not like Max to be unsure — he’s always been decisive, charging into life with the same fearless determination he has on the track.

“Max?” You press gently, turning fully to face him now. “What’s on your mind?”

He exhales a long breath, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he starts, his accent curling warmly around the words. “But after today … I think I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

His hand moves to yours, thumb brushing over the ring he gave you just hours earlier. He stares at it for a moment before meeting your gaze, his eyes clear and steady.

“I’m going to retire,” he says softly.

The words hit you like a jolt. For a second, you’re sure you misheard him. “Retire?” You repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his expression unwavering. “Yeah. I’m done.”

“Max,” you say, your brow furrowing. “You just won your fifth title. You’re at the peak of your career. Why would you …”

He shifts slightly, sitting up so he can look at you more directly. “Because I don’t need it anymore,” he says simply. “I’ve achieved everything I ever wanted in racing. More than I ever thought I could. But now …” He pauses, his gaze flicking briefly to the cot where your daughter sleeps. “Now I have something I want more.”

Your chest tightens, emotions swirling in a chaotic mess you can’t quite untangle. “Are you sure? I mean, Max, this is huge. Racing has been your entire life.”

“I know,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “And I’ll always love it. But I don’t want to spend the next ten or fifteen years chasing something I don’t need, not when it means missing out on moments with you. With her.” He nods toward your daughter, his face softening.

You sit there in stunned silence, trying to process what he’s saying. “But what about the team? And your fans? You love the thrill of it, the competition-”

“Y/N,” he cuts you off gently, reaching for your hand again. “I love you more. I love our family more. And I don’t want to be the kind of dad who’s always gone, always distracted. I’ve seen what that does. I don’t want that for her.”

His words hit you square in the chest, a wave of emotion crashing over you. Tears prick at your eyes as you search his face, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all you see is love and certainty.

“You’re really serious about this,” you say softly, your voice trembling.

He nods. “I’ve thought about it for months. After last season, I told myself I’d give it one more year. One more title. And then I’d walk away. Today, seeing you and her in the crowd, knowing everything we’ve built together … it made me realize I’m ready.”

You reach up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. “Max … I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say you’re okay with it,” he says, a small, teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Say you’ll let me stay home and annoy you every day.”

A laugh escapes you, watery but real. “I think I can handle that.”

He leans forward, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because this is what I want, Y/N. You, her, our life together. That’s enough for me. More than enough.”

For a while, you just sit there in the quiet, wrapped up in each other. Your mind is still racing, but your heart feels full, overflowing with love for the man beside you.

“So,” you say after a moment, your voice lighter, “what’s the plan? Are you going to call Christian in the middle of the night and drop this bombshell on him?”

Max chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. “I’ll give him a day or two to recover from the title celebrations first. Then I’ll tell him.”

“And how do you think he’s going to take it?”

“Oh, he’ll try to talk me out of it,” Max says, rolling his eyes. “He’ll tell me I’m too young, that I’ve got years left in me, that I can win even more. But I’ve already made up my mind.”

You smile, resting your head against his chest. “He’s going to miss you. They all will.”

“I’ll miss them too,” he admits. “But this isn’t goodbye forever. I’ll still be around — just not on the grid.”

“And me?” You ask, your voice teasing. “What if I’m not ready to have you home all the time?”

Max grins, his hand sliding around your waist to pull you closer. “Too late. You’re stuck with me now.”

As the night stretches on, the weight of the day starts to fade, replaced by a quiet sense of peace. Max lies back against the pillows, pulling you with him until you’re nestled against his side.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice drowsy but warm, “I used to think racing was everything. That I’d be lost without it.”

“And now?” You ask, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest.

“Now I know it was just a part of me. A big part, yeah, but not the most important one. Not anymore.” He pauses, his hand brushing over your hair. “You and her … you’re my everything now.”

Tears sting your eyes again, but this time they’re tears of joy. “Max,” you whisper, your voice catching. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he says, his words a soft promise against your skin.

And as you drift off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, you know that no matter what the future holds, you’ll face it together.

***

The room buzzes with an electric energy, the kind that only the FIA Prize Giving Ceremony can create. It’s a night to honor champions, to toast to a season of victories, and to revel in the highs of motorsport. The crowd is a mix of drivers, team principals, engineers, and journalists, all dressed to the nines. You’re seated in the front row, a place reserved for the most important people in the room.

Max is on stage, holding his freshly polished World Championship trophy, the applause still roaring from the moment his name was called. His tuxedo fits him like a glove, and there’s a boyish grin on his face that makes him look impossibly proud — and a little nervous.

In your lap, your daughter wiggles, her tiny hands clutching at the hem of your sparkling gown. She’s too young to understand what’s happening, but the excitement of the room has her wide-eyed and curious. You adjust her slightly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as you watch Max step up to the microphone.

“Wow,” Max begins, his voice carrying over the hushed murmurs of the crowd. “What a year. What a … career.”

There’s a ripple of surprise at his choice of words. You feel it too, a sharp intake of breath as he pauses. He hasn’t told anyone outside of your family and a select few about his decision yet, and it hits you that this is the moment.

“I want to start by saying thank you,” Max continues, his accent thick with emotion. “To everyone who made this season possible. To my team at Red Bull — Christian, Helmut, GP, the engineers, the mechanics — every single person who has been part of this journey. We did this together. Five championships in the last five years … it still feels surreal.”

The room breaks into another round of applause, but Max raises a hand to quiet them.

“But tonight isn’t just about this trophy or this season,” he says, his voice steady despite the emotion creeping into it. “It’s about something bigger. About knowing when it’s time to close one chapter and start another.”

Your heart races, and you tighten your hold on your daughter as Max’s words hang in the air.

“When I was a kid, all I ever wanted was to race,” Max says, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. “I grew up at circuits, watching my dad, dreaming of being in Formula 1. And for the last decade, this sport has been my whole life. It’s given me everything. It’s taught me more than I ever imagined — about hard work, about resilience, about pushing beyond what you think is possible.”

He pauses, his eyes flicking down to where you’re sitting. The faintest smile plays on his lips as your gazes meet, and you see the love and certainty there.

“But these past two years,” he continues, his voice softening, “I learned something else. That as much as I love this sport, there’s something I love more. Someone I love more.”

The murmurs in the crowd grow louder, heads turning to you. You feel your cheeks flush, but you keep your focus on Max, your heart pounding.

“Last season, I became a father,” Max says, his tone warming with pride. “And it changed everything. It changed the way I see the world, the way I see myself, and the way I think about my future. I realized that as much as I love racing, I don’t want to miss the little moments … the things that really matter.”

The room falls completely silent, everyone hanging on his every word.

“So,” Max says, his voice unwavering now, “tonight, as I accept this trophy, I also want to announce that this was my last season in Formula 1.”

Gasps ripple through the crowd, followed by stunned silence. Your daughter squirms in your arms, oblivious to the magnitude of what’s just been said.

Max smiles faintly, taking in the shocked faces in the room. “I know it might seem sudden,” he says, “but this is something I’ve thought about for a long time. I’ve achieved everything I could have dreamed of in this sport. I’ve worked with the best team in the world, competed against the best drivers in the world, and I leave with no regrets. But now, it’s time for me to focus on the next chapter of my life. On my family.”

He glances down at you again, and this time his gaze lingers. “Y/N, you and our daughter … you’re my everything. You’ve given me a reason to look beyond the racetrack, and for that, I’ll always be grateful.”

Your vision blurs with tears, and you can’t help but smile up at him. The crowd erupts into applause, some people rising to their feet in admiration and respect.

After a moment, Max raises a hand again, signaling for quiet. “I want to thank the fans,” he says, his voice growing steadier. “You’ve been with me through every win, every loss, every crazy overtake and late-breaking move. You’ve pushed me to be better every single day. And while I won’t be on the grid next season, I’ll always be part of this sport. It’s in my blood, and it always will be.”

The applause grows even louder this time, the room filling with a wave of emotion and admiration. You clap along, your daughter bouncing slightly in your arms at the sound.

When Max steps down from the stage, he comes straight to you. The cameras follow his every move, the flashes almost blinding as he crouches in front of you.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, your throat too tight with emotion to speak.

He reaches for your daughter, lifting her into his arms with ease. She giggles, grabbing at the shiny lapel of his tuxedo, and Max laughs softly, the sound breaking through the tension in the room.

“We did it,” he says, his eyes locking with yours.

You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. “We did,” you whisper back.

***

The rest of the night is a blur of congratulations, handshakes, and emotional farewells. But through it all, Max stays by your side, his arm around your waist or his hand in yours.

As the event winds down, you find yourselves back in the car, your daughter sleeping peacefully in her car seat. The city lights blur past the windows, and Max leans back against the seat, exhaling deeply.

“That went better than I thought,” he says, his voice tinged with relief.

“You were incredible,” you tell him, resting your head on his shoulder.

He glances down at you, his expression soft. “Are you happy?”

You smile, lacing your fingers with his. “More than I ever thought I could be.”

And as the car carries you through the quiet streets, you realize that this is just the beginning of a new adventure — the one Max always knew was waiting for him.

***

Two Years Later

Lewis doesn’t plan to be on this street. He’s never liked taking the busy Monaco thoroughfares, even after all these years of calling the principality home. But a morning run had turned into aimless wandering, and now he’s here, jogging along the promenade, music blasting in his ears, trying to clear his head.

The past two years since Max retired have been strange. No fierce wheel-to-wheel battles with Verstappen, no reminders on the track of the rivalry that defined his career for so long. And yet, Max still lingers in his thoughts — like an echo, a shadow, a specter. Every headline about the Verstappens pops up in his feed: Max is spotted at home with his family. Max is thriving in retirement.

But it’s not Max that Lewis thinks about most. It’s you. It’s always been you.

Lewis slows his pace as he nears the bakery that used to be your favorite. He has no idea if you still come here, or if Monaco even feels like home to you anymore. He shakes his head, chastising himself for thinking like this. You’re gone. You’ve been gone.

But then, he hears it. A child’s voice, high-pitched and sweet, chattering happily. He instinctively looks over, and his feet stop moving altogether.

There you are.

You’re walking hand-in-hand with Max. Max, who looks completely at peace, a little older but no less recognizable. Beside him, a little girl. She’s animated as she talks to him, her tiny hand curled securely around his. And then, there’s the stroller. A navy blue, high-tech design Lewis recognizes from catalogs. Inside is a baby boy, fast asleep, his chubby face serene as he snoozes against the soft fabric.

Lewis feels the air leave his lungs.

You don’t see him. You’re busy talking to Max, laughing at something he says. You’re dressed casually, a flowy sundress swaying around your knees, sunglasses perched on your nose. Your free hand rests on the stroller handle, the gesture almost instinctive. The sight of you like this — effortless, happy, and surrounded by a family — sends a sharp pang through Lewis’ chest.

It’s everything he could’ve had. Everything he pushed away.

His feet are rooted to the spot. He should turn around, jog in the other direction, forget he ever saw you. But he can’t. He watches, transfixed, as your daughter stops mid-sentence to look up at you. “Mama,” she says brightly, tugging Max’s hand. “Can I have a croissant?”

Max chuckles. “You already had one,” he tells her, his voice gentle.

“But they’re so good!” She says, throwing her head back dramatically.

Lewis can’t stop staring. The little girl is Max’s spitting image, but there’s something about her smile, the way her nose scrunches, that reminds him of you.

And then, she notices him.

Your daughter’s bright eyes land on Lewis, and she grins like she’s just seen a new friend. “Hello!” She says, waving enthusiastically with her free hand.

You glance up, confused at first, following her gaze. Lewis freezes.

But it’s not him you’re looking at. It’s a man unloading bags from his car in front of him, and you nod politely before turning back to Max and your daughter.

Lewis exhales shakily, a mix of relief and a pang of disappointment. He steps back, half-hidden by the awning of a nearby café, watching as you and Max resume walking.

The little girl waves once more, still beaming, before Max gently nudges her along. “Come on, prinsesje,” he says. “Let’s not keep your brother waiting for his nap to be over.”

Lewis stays there, unmoving, as you all walk away. He watches the way Max leans toward you, saying something that makes you laugh again. He watches the way your daughter skips a little ahead, still clutching Max’s hand, her voice bubbling with excitement as she points to a pigeon fluttering by. And he watches you look down at the stroller, adjusting the blanket over the baby boy who sleeps so peacefully, oblivious to everything around him.

It’s a picture-perfect scene. A life filled with love and joy, one that Lewis now realizes — painfully, completely — he could have been part of.

The memories flood in uninvited.

The nights spent on this same Monaco promenade with you, your hand slipping into his as you admired the lights reflecting off the water. The quiet mornings when you’d sit at the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and talking about what life might look like after racing. The promises he made and didn’t keep.

He thinks about the last time he saw you, about the anger and hurt in your eyes, about the way he walked out that night because he couldn’t bring himself to say the words you needed to hear. And now, here you are — walking down this same street with someone who isn’t afraid to put you first.

Lewis sinks onto a nearby bench, running a hand over his face. His chest feels tight, his breathing shallow. He thinks he’s moved on, that he’s made peace with the choices he’s made. But seeing you, seeing your family — it’s a wound he didn’t even realize was still open.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at the spot where you disappeared from view. Minutes? Hours? Long enough for his playlist to loop back to the beginning.

A group of tourists wanders past, laughing and snapping photos of the marina. Lewis doesn’t look up. He stays on the bench, shoulders slumped, the weight of what he’s lost pressing down on him.

By the time he makes it back to his apartment, the sun is setting over Monaco, casting the city in hues of orange and gold. He heads straight for the balcony, leaning heavily on the railing as he stares out at the water.

It should be a beautiful view, but tonight it feels empty.

For years, racing has been his everything. It’s been his escape, his purpose, his identity. But now, for the first time, he wonders if it was worth it.

Because no trophy, no title, no amount of glory could fill the space you once inhabited.

And for the first time, Lewis feels like the one who’s been left behind.

[navybrat817]

This man. This gif!

Take Them Off

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky just wants to read. You have other ideas.

Word Count: Over 900

Warnings: Established relationship, implied smut, teasing, slight possessive behavior, dirty talk, mentions of spanking and fingering, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Another quickie, but I hope you lovelies. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t ask for a lot. In fact, all he wanted to do today was finish his book and not move from his chair. Very simple, and he should’ve known you would take it as a challenge.

Since he said he didn’t want to move from his chair, you decided to tease him and strut around the place in just your underwear as you did chores. And not just any pair of underwear. You had a pair specially made that had “Property of Bucky Barnes” written on the front and back. He was hard and aching for what felt like hours thanks to you.

He could admit it was fun when you teased him, but he could only take so much.

“Take them off.”

Three simple words. All you had to do was listen. Bucky sure as hell put enough authority in his voice, and he knew damned well you heard him since you looked over your shoulder with a playful smirk.

“What was that?” you asked, toying with the band of your underwear. “You want me to take these off?”

He exhaled slowly and gripped the arms of his chair. It was an impressive feat that he hadn’t done any damage to the furniture. “Yeah. Take them off. Now.”

You pretended to think about it. “Or what?”

Bucky snarled when you darted just out of his reach and had the audacity to shake your ass at him, which only made you smirk more. Whenever you got close to him, you moved away with a giggle. Both of you knew he could catch you if he wanted to, and he would, but he was trying his best not to leave his chair.

But once you got close enough, he’d put you over his knee. Maybe spank you. Maybe yank that special pair of underwear down and fuck you with his fingers until you came all over them, only after you begged for it. And after a little edging for all the teasing.

The question was if he wanted to fuck you with his metal fingers or not.

“Or I’ll cut them off,” he threatened.

You faced him as you played with the band again, his cock ready to burst from his pants when you pulled them down enough to show him your mound. Just as quickly as you pulled them down, you pulled them back up. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“You drive me crazy,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. His scalp tingled at the thought of you pulling on the long strands. A very good kind of pain.

“And you love me for it,” you smiled.

His gaze momentarily softened. You were the light of his life, always. “I do. Very much,” he swore, brandishing a knife from his pocket and twirling it for you to see. “And maybe I can turn that threat into a promise if you get over here.”

You gasped and he didn’t have to look between your legs to know there was a wet patch on the fabric. “Is this the part where I go ‘is that a knife in your pocket or are you just happy to see me’, Barnes? Or are you planning to stab me with your dick?”

His blue eyes darkened when you took a step closer. As much as he wanted to put you over his knee, he also wanted to lavish your gorgeous breasts with the attention they deserved. “I’m going to destroy all of your holes tonight, and I might just fuck your pussy last,” he said, going in for the kill. “Or maybe I won’t fuck your pussy at all since you’re a fucking tease.”

He wanted to smirk when you narrowed your eyes and took two steps closer. Close enough for him to grab you. “A tease doesn’t back up their words and you know damned well I always-”

Careful not to cut you because he’d never hurt you, he gripped your wrist and chuckled when he yanked you over the armrest. “Follow through. I know, baby. I know.”

He half expected you to squirm or struggle, but you only moaned when brought the blade to your hip. He saw you rub your thighs together. The teasing had worked you up, too. Good. “Are you really going to cut these off?” you pouted.

He sank his teeth into his lip when he read the words along your ass. It would be a shame to destroy them since he was already going to destroy what was underneath. “Maybe, maybe not,” he mused, grazing the blade along your skin to make you shiver. “I’ll think it over while I finish my book.”

You tensed up and slowly turned your head. “You’re still going to finish your book? Are you kidding me?” The fire in your eyes almost made him lose his cool, but he used to be the Winter Soldier. He didn’t break so easily.

“You knew that was my plan today. Not my fault the sight of me gets you hot and bothered,” he smiled, rolling his hips up so you could feel just how hard he was in his pants. To be fair, the sight of you did the same thing to him. “So sit tight, get comfortable, and we’ll see if you can figure out which hole I’m fucking first.”

Because if you got to tease him, he got to tease you, too.

Once again, nothing to see here, lovelies! Go about your business. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[enha-stars]

Meddle About ; P. Jongseong

I'd take you back to my house, so we could meddle about

Pairing: Boyfriend!Jay x F!Reader

Synopsis: Jay’s been a bit busy at work and hasn’t given you the attention you deserve, and now, you’re making him work for it. No problem, he loves the chase. (7.7k)

Warnings: Porn with almost no plot at all, SMUT, p in v, MDNI, alcohol, clubbing, kissing, praise, fluff, minor exhibitionism (in da club), oral (fem), spit, reader is shorter than jay, overstimulation, teasing, pet names, yn lowkey a brat, (minor) brat!tamer Jay, reader has long-ish hair, fingering, think that’s it! 

A/N: Gasp! She’s alive! Yes, I am. Barely. But! I wanted to get something out before Ramadan (lol) and originally Jake's hands were making me feel some type of way but then Jay... yeah. Anyways. Enjoy! Sorry if it sucks. Reblogs appreciated!

The warm steam still clings to your skin as you step out of the bathroom, a towel loosely wrapped around your body. Your damp hair drips onto your bare shoulders as you walk into your dimly lit bedroom, the soft glow of the city skyline filtering through the window. A slow, sultry beat hums through your speaker, something from your ‘Sexy Nite’ playlist that you can’t even name but it lulls you to sway your hips in rhythm, moving to the vanity. 

You take your time, dragging a shimmering body oil over your legs, watching the sheen catch the low light. The scent of vanilla and amber lingers in the air as you smooth it over your collarbones, letting the moment stretch, relishing in the quiet anticipation of the night ahead. It has been a busy week, meetings and presentations getting the best of you, but for now, it’s just you, the music, and the slow, deliberate ritual of getting ready. 

A night out on a warm Friday was all you needed to drown out the misery and exhaustion of the week. You weren’t originally going to accept, choosing to stay home with your boyfriend but when he texted you, letting you know that his meetings are running later than usual, you accepted the invitation. 

You slip into a purple lace bralette, fingers trailing along the delicate fabric, thinking back to the time you had first bought it, the way it was gently stripped from your body by Jay, his eyes lingering on it, long enough for you to buy a few more. You reach for the top draped over your chair and just as you’re about to pull it over your head, you hear a faint click of the front door unlocking. 

Then, footsteps. 

“Baby?” Jongseong’s voice, low and tired from the day, echoes down the hall. At the sound of his voice, one you hadn’t had the chance to hear today, your lips curved into a small smile, an ease settling into your bones. 

Before you can respond, he steps into the doorway and his eyes land on you, frozen mid-motion, the top still halfway in your hands. You turn to face him, a soft smile on your lips, and his gaze, once tired, darkens, slowly raking over your figure. The exhaustion from his day evaporates instantly, replaced by something huskier, something that makes the air in the room heavier, despite the seeping steam from the bathroom. 

“Shit” he exhales, his voice thick with something you recognize all too well. His tie is already loosened, sleeves pushed up, but now his fingers flex at his sides, like he’s debating whether to close the space between you. 

He hasn’t seen you all day, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead as he ran out the door this morning. He’s missed you, he always misses you, so as soon as his meeting finished, he flew out the door and sped home, hoping to catch you before you left. 

A smirk tugs at your lips as you slip the top over your head, watching his jaw tighten, his eyes lingering a second too long. You bought this top, black and lace, with him a few weeks ago. He made you try it on and then he took it off you in the changing room, mumbling against your skin about how beautiful you looked. 

“Hi, baby. You’re home early,” you murmur, turning back towards the mirror, pretending not to notice the way he’s still looking at you like he wants to ruin your plans for the night. You would’ve let him, but you were feeling a bit mean tonight. 

Jay exhales a slow, amused breath, leaning against the doorframe, head tilted slightly as he watches you. You catch his eye in the mirror briefly and have to look away instantly because the heat in his eyes, the love and promise, was enough to make you cave. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “Lucky me.” 

He blinks slowly, trying to ease the want and desire that drips out of him. He’s not sure why he’s having such a visceral reaction to you, but he knows it could be anything. A combination of your body wash, the sight of you in that top, or just you, looking so pretty and relaxed. 

You pretend not to notice the way Jay’s gaze lingers, hot and unrelenting, as you turn back toward the chair where the rest of your outfit is laid out. The music pulses through the room, wrapping around you like a second skin, heightening the thick tension that settled in the room. 

With knowing slowness, you reach for your mini skirt, sliding it up your legs inch by inch, smoothing the fabric over your hips. It’s a little tight, tighter than you would like, but with the way his eyes were drinking you in, you knew you couldn’t change it. You can feel his stare like a touch, burning into every movement you make. The hemline barely covers what it should, and when you glance at him through the mirror’s reflection, his jaw is locked tight, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip like he’s trying to keep himself in check. 

You loved this look on him, the loose constraint, the way his lips were pinched tightly, almost as tight as his jaw. It made his tanned skin glisten, the veins in his arms making an appearance. He looked absolutely edible. 

Jay breathes sharply, then lifts his hands to his collar, tugging his tie looser with slow, measured movements. The silk slides between his fingers as he pulls it off completely, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he watches you shift, adjusting your skirt in place. He has half a mind to usher you to bed, using his tie to keep you from squirming. 

“That’s the outfit for tonight?” His voice is rough, deeper than before. His throat is parched and he feels like a bitch in heat but he can’t help it when you look like that, when you look at him like you want to eat him as much as he wants to eat you. 

Your smile twists into an innocent pout and you finally turn to face him. “Yeah. Why? You don’t like it?” You can see the physical evidence of how much he likes it, but you wanna hear it. 

Jay lets out a low chuckle, but there’s no humour in it—just heat, thick and dark in his tone. He pushes off the doorframe and takes his time walking further into the room, every step heavier than the last, like a predator closing in. 

“I like it,” he answers quietly, eyes never leaving you.

“You look beautiful.” 

He sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide, one arm resting on his knee while the other rakes through his hair. He looks devastating like his—tie abandoned, top buttons undone, sleeves pushed up, the definition of dangerous, divine, and delicious. You want nothing more than to push him back on the bed and kiss his skin, knowing how he’d taste. Like oakwood and sweat. 

You swallow the lump of heat in your throat, heart thrumming in sync with the low string-heavy song playing. “Are you going to shower? I thought you were tired.” You were baiting him, he knew it, but he couldn’t help but want the hook anyways. 

Jay tilts his head, watching you carefully. “I was.” His lips curl into a smile, something sinful. “Then I walked in on my girl looking like this. And suddenly, I’m not so tired anymore.”

You step towards the vanity, pretending to focus on your jewelry, but the weight of his gaze makes it impossible to do anything. He’s in full control of the room without even trying, and when he leans back slightly, one arm keeping him up and one running a hand along his thigh, you know exactly where this is going.

“You weren’t planning on coming,” you say, reminding him as you fasten a gold necklace around your neck, one he had bought you for your birthday. 

Jay hums in agreement, rubbing his jaw, his fingers grazing his bottom lip. “Changed my mind.” 

You raise a brow at him through the mirror, amusement and knowingness dancing in your expression. “Oh? And why’s that?” 

His tongue swipes across his lip again before he finally stands, closing the space between you in a few strides. His hands find your waist, fingers grazing the bare skin between your top and skirt, pulling you in just enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. 

“Because,” he says, his lips brushing just over the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “There’s no way in hell I’d miss seeing you in this little outfit.” 

Your fingers play with the strings of your top, struggling to breathe for a moment before you meet his eyes in the mirror, the heat of his body seeping into yours. His scent wraps around you like a second skin and you breathe him in. 

“Hook this for me?” You ask him, voice softer now, laced with something breathless. You push your hair to one side, exposing your semi-bare back to him.

Jay exhales through his nose, a quiet but familiar sound, but you hear the way his breath stutters slightly. His hands find your back, warm and steady as he sliders the clasp into place. His touch lingers, fingers grazing along the curve of your spine before trailing lower, skimming over the exposed skin above your skirt. 

“Are you doing this on purpose or am I losing mind?” His voice is rough, strained.

You bite your bottom lip, suppressing a smirk, but before you can say anything, his hands tighten on your waist, pulling you back until your spine meets his chest. You gasp, just slightly, but he catches it, revels in it. 

“Missed you, baby,” he breathes, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss just behind your ear. “I’m sorry I’ve been so fucking busy. Haven’t had a second to touch you.” 

His words send a shiver down your spine but settle your heart. You had been busy too, but you were still home sooner than him and he knew it. His hands start to roam, slow, pressing, like he’s relearning every inch of you. The tension between you both becomes suffocating. He palms your hips, thumbs pressing into the dip of your waist before sliding down over your thighs, gripping at the soft flesh. 

Before you can react, he moves.

In one smooth motion, he forces you to step back with him, turning you, and pulls you down onto his lap, your back flush against his chest. His hands find their place again, gripping, kneading, taking his time. You feel him everywhere. The heat, the need, the way he’s been holding back for days. 

You press your hands against his thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress pants. Your head falls back just as his hands inch towards your breasts. Your mouth feels dry and there’s heat pooling in your stomach. 

With one firm movement, he lifts you slightly, maneuvering you off his lap and onto the bed, your ass hitting the plush covers. A small whimper escapes your mouth, so incredibly turned on by his sheer strength, the way his entire body reacts to you. Just as you blink away the need that clouds your eyes, Jay sinks down to his knees in front of you, his hands slowly trailing down your thighs as he looks up at you, spreading your legs so he slots himself between them. 

Your breath hitches. “Jay–” There’s need in your voice, clear as day, and he smiles at you sweetly, a dark contrast with the blistering heat in his eyes. 

His fingers press into your thighs as his lips ghost over the inside of your knee. “Please?” 

You wet your lips and almost nod, but just as his lips press against the skin of your knee, you inched your foot up and pressed it against his chest, pushing him back. He looks up at you with bright eyes. 

“I don’t wanna be late, Jay. If you’re coming with me then you need to change.” You cup his cheek and stand, sliding your hand into his hair and patting his head. You brush your calf against him as you walk back into the vanity, picking up your rings. 

You watch him through the mirror, the way his shoulders drop and he exhales a long breath. He pushes himself up and glances at you, unbuttoning his shirt. His smile is sharp, borderline threatening. 

“Whatever you say, princess.” 

The city lights blur past in neon streaks as Jay drives, one hand gripping the wheel while the other rests on your bare thigh. His fingers flex every so often, tightening slightly, like he’s reminding himself that you’re right there. That he can touch, but only so much. 

He knows the game you’re playing. He knows you're teasing him, testing him, simply riling him up so when he does taste you, when he does slide into you, you’ll understand how much he misses you, how much he loves you. 

You shift, crossing your legs deliberately, your skirt riding up just enough to make his grip tighten. Just because he knows what you’re doing and that he accepts it, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t effect him. He’s losing his mind.

He doesn’t look at you, just clenches his jaw, the muscle feathering under his skin as his fingers press into your thigh. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he mutters, voice low and dark. 

You hum, leaning slightly towards him. “Maybe.”

Jay exhales a loud breath, adjusting his grip on the wheel, but you see the way his knuckles whiten. He still wants to be here with you, still wants to play along, even as frustration simmers just beneath the surface. He’s not sure how long he can last. 

When he finally pulls into the club’s parking lot, the tension between you is thick, electric. The second the car is in park, Jay shakes his head, lips twitching in amusement. “You’re a menace.”

Instead of answering him, you lean forward and press a soft kiss to the edge of his lips. “I’m glad you’re here, Jay.” 

His eyes and exterior soften and he lifts his hand, resting it gently on your cheek. He brushes the skin under your eyes lightly, afraid he might mess up your makeup, and guides your lips to his. 

The kiss is soft, his pink lips moving against your glossy ones. He pulls away too quickly, like he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop if it continues. “Me too, baby.” 

The moment you step inside, the club’s atmosphere crashes into you–thich bass pounding through the floor, music loud enough to drown out every other sound. The air is heavy with heat, bodies moving in sync, the scent of liquor and perfume mixing together in a way that makes your head spin. 

You’re glad you’re busy enough to only accept a few invitations a month, if that. The club scene isn’t one you love, but it is nice once in a while. 

Jay moves behind you, a steady presence as you weave through the packed space. His hand finds your lower back, warm and firm as he presses against you, guiding you through the throng of bodies towards the bar, where your friends are waiting. 

Jake and Sunghoon spot you first, both grinning as you approach. Jake pulls you into a quick hug as Sunghoon slaps Jay on the back, teasing him about his new promotion. Letting you go, Sunghoon pulls you into a quick hug and only frowns when you mess up his hair a bit. Jake has his arm around Jay’s shoulder, a bright smile on his face. 

“Glad you could make it, dude,” Sunghoon says, a small smile on his face. “It’s been a while.” 

You watch as Jay’s shoulders relax, as the music enters his skin and the stress melts from his body. His smile is genuine and your heart flutters at the sight. “Thanks, man.” 

Before you can say anything, Jay leans in, Jake’s arm dropping, his lips brushing against your ear, voice thick and warm against your skin. “I’ll get our drinks,” he murmurs, his hand giving your waist one last squeeze before he pulls away. 

You nod, barely getting the chance to respond before Giselle suddenly appears, grabbing your wrist with a bright, excited grin. “Y/n! You’re here! Come on,” she shouts over the music, eyes gleaming. “We’re dancing.” 

You only have enough time to toss Jake your purse before she’s pulling you into the sweaty crowd. She pushes through bodies with her elbows until she reaches Karina, shouting your arrival. Karina pulls you into a quick hug and immediately starts swaying her hips.

The music takes over, and soon, you’re moving, letting go. The bass pulses in your chest, and the rhythm controls your every step. Giselle laughs, spinning you, before pulling your hips against hers. Karina quickly finds someone that captures her attention but stays close. You three are completely lost in the music. 

And you don’t notice Jay watching. 

He stands by the bar, drink in hand, but his gaze is locked onto you, his grip tightening around his glass as he slowly brings it to his lips. The club’s neon lights flicker across his sharp features, highlighting the way his eyes darken as he watches you move. 

It’s like you’re completely unaware of the effect you have on him. But he knows that you know. 

Jake and Sunghoon notice. Jake nudges Sunghoon, tilting his head towards Jay. “Dude, look at him.” 

Sunghoon raises a brow. “Oh, he’s completely whipped.” They both snicker, knowing what he would have said if he had heard their conversation. 

Jay doesn’t even register them. 

Because you’ve just caught his gaze. 

And you smile.

It’s subtle, enticing, but it’s enough. His jaw flexes again and before he can think twice, he throws back the rest of his drink, setting the empty glass down with finality. 

To Jake and Sunghoon’s shock, Jay moves. He mutters something about your drink, how he’ll buy you a new one, and moves through the crowd, through the flashing lights and moving bodies, straight to you.

You don’t notice at first, not until you feel the warmth of his hands, strong and sure, as they find your hips from behind. You can recognize him by touch alone and a sharp inhale catches in your throat as he pulls you back against him, pressing close, the heat of his body settling against yours. 

“You’re fucking killing me here, princess.” His voice is low, right against your ear, thick with amusement and something darker. 

You smile, pressing yourself into him as you roll your hips in time with the music. “Took you long enough.” 

He laughs quietly, fingers tightening around you. You bring your hand to his neck as he moves against you, not as smooth, but still to the beat. He’s pushing your back flush against his chest and when your ass perfectly brushes against his hard-on, his hips jerk into you. 

Gasping, you spin in his arms, needing to look at him, needing to watch the way his eyes dance with different emotions, so much more expressive than the rest of him. You wrap your arms around his neck as he slots one of his legs in between yours. 

He’s guiding your hips back and forth, finding his own rhythm. His jean-clad thigh brushes closely against your pussy and your eyes flutter shut at the feeling. He watches you carefully, taking in every single twitch of muscle and movement. His grin widens when you start playing with the hair at his nape, pulling him closer, until your lips are just shy of touching. His breath is heavy, warm against your mouth, and his eyes make your stomach clench in want. 

His hands slide lower, fingers splaying over the small of your back before he drags them down your ass, squeezing once. Your head falls into the crook of his neck and the friction, the heat, its dizzying, almost too much, but not enough all at once. 

“You’re driving me fucking crazy, Y/n. You know that?”His thumb dips below your skirt and massages the skin there. His breath is hot against your ear as he angles his body, making sure his dick rubs right against your pussy. “Bet you’re just as wet for me as I am for you.”

He nibbles on your ear, dragging his tongue across the lobe. 

You tilt your head up, eyes glazed. You knew what you were getting into when you pushed Jay away back home, but you didn’t think he’d let you continue your little game. You should have known better. Here you were, underwear almost ruined as he nips and licks your skin. 

He uses one of his hands to lift you a little higher, presses you harder against him as his fingers graze the skin of your inner thigh. “Will you let me check, baby?” His voice is sinful, borderline gravel. 

You can only nod, too buzzed by the music and his scent, the heat of his body, to answer him. You knew if you opened your mouth, you’d moan out his name and you had some shame. Even without any alcohol, your mind was hazy, overcome by lust and desire. 

Jay smirks against your head as you continue to grind against him. There’s so many bodies pressed up against you both but he only cares about you, about the way your nails dig into his scalp as his fingers inch closer to your heat. 

He can feel the slight stickiness before he reaches your cunt and he bites back a groan. Here he was, losing his mind, and you were dripping for him on a dance floor. Matching your pace, he waits until your hips press against his pelvis and then he brushes his index finger against your underwear, eyes rolling into the back of his at how wet you are. 

He does it once more, arm tightening around you as your legs shake. He doesn’t press hard enough to offer you any relief, simply brushes against it featherly, but it's enough to coat both his fingers.

He removes his hand, dropping your skirt before lifting it to his mouth. You watch him with wide eyes, a sight to behold. He looks so sinful, lips curved into a devilish smile as the lights bounce on his sweaty skin. 

His arm is still around your waist as he lowers his slick coated fingers to your lips, a full blown smile spreading on his face when you tilted your head, mouth parting in invitation. He touches your bottom lip with his fingers before sticking them in his mouth. His eyes flutter at the taste and you watch with dazed amazement as he sucks his fingers clean, eyes hooded as they stare you down. 

You can’t help the small whimper that leaves your mouth and it has Jay surging forward, capturing your lips with his. His lips move roughly against yours, nothing like the sweet kiss you shared in the car. He licks your bottom lip and slips his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your groan as you taste yourself on his tongue. 

He cups your cheeks and deepens the kiss, not a single thought in his head besides you and how much he loves you and all the things he’d like to do to you. You nip at his lips before kissing down his throat. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tries to keep still as you suck on his skin. When you lick his skin once more, he knows he’s had enough.  

Threading his fingers into your hair, he pulls as gently as he can to pull you away from his skin. You look up at him with plump lips, covered in spit, eyes wide and blinking. He tilts your head and kisses you once before his lips are pressed against your ears. 

“Please, princess, let’s go home. Let me take care of you properly.” Despite the desire that drips from his words, you hear the plea, the need. He’s never, not once, let things get this far before he’s made you cum on his tongue. 

Hurriedly, you nod at him, your own need evident in the way you clutch his shirt. “Yes, okay, let’s go.” Hand still on the neck of his shirt, you step into the crowd but he tugs you back, arm wrapping around you. 

“What about your friends?” His eyebrows are furrowed and you have no idea how he’s thinking about anything that isn’t your pussy or his dick but your eyes soften and you pat his cheek. 

“I’ll text them.” You clear your throat, trying to look as composed as Jay. “Though, they can probably guess.” Eyes raking over him, you take back your words. He doesn’t look composed, not at all. His hair is slightly messy and his thin sweater is all rumpled. 

“Okay, baby,” he says, taking a step forward and guiding you through the sea of bodies, hand in hand. He doesn’t spare Jake and Sunghoon a single look as he pulls his keys out of his jeans. 

Hiding a bright smile, Jake tosses your purse to you and you simply wave, too embarrassed to look them in the eye. Jay rests his hand on your lower back as he guides you out of the club and outside, taking your purse with his other hand. 

Once you get to his car, he looks down at you and there’s a wicked glint in his eyes. He unlocks the car before he places the keys in your hand. You look up at him in question and he shrugs as he opens the driver door for you. 

“I’m drunk.” He states, simply, eyes ablaze. 

You clutch the keys tightly, already coming to terms with his plan. “You had one drink, Jay.” 

He smiles at you, dimple forming. He leans against the car, arms crossed. You swallow, breathing heavily. Under the moonlight, he’s glowing. He looks so handsome, so fucking beautiful and you’re about to lose your mind. 

“There’s still alcohol in my system, baby. Can’t risk your safety, can I?” His words are sweet, but with the way he tilts his head, licking his lips, you know that your safety isn’t the only thing on his mind. 

When your shoulders drop in defeat, he pushes off the door and raises an eyebrow at you. Sighing, you quickly made it to the drivers side and sat in, trying to adjust your skirt. Jay leans down and grabs the seatbelt, face close as he buckles you up. The faint click rings in your ear when his eyes meet yours and before you can lean over and kiss him, he moves back and gently shuts your door. 

You blink at the space he just occupied before taking in a deep breath. It was only a ten minute drive. You could do this. All you had to do was ignore him and the wetness between your legs and then you’d beg him to fuck you. 

Jay slides into the passenger seat and clicks his seatbelt into place. He watches you out of his peripheral vision as you start the car and pull out. He watches the way your throat bobs and your fingers shake on the wheel. 

He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue to suppress an amused laugh. You look the way he looked driving here. A small, miniscule part of Jay reveled in it. In the way you kept squeezing your thighs shut, glancing at the rearview mirror when you had the urge to look at him. 

“You okay there, baby?” Jay sounds genuine and you know he is, he always is, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a twinge of mockery in it. 

“Just perfect,” you grit out, turning at the light. 

“Yeah?” He rests his hand on your thigh, an innocent enough gesture if you hadn’t just almost cummed on his fingers in the club. His thumb starts rubbing your skin and you exhale sharply, trying your best to focus on the road. 

His fingers inch towards your heat slowly and you unconsciously spread your legs, skirt hiking up even further. He smiles at the way your body responds to him and grazes his nails close to your cunt. 

“Jay,” you whisper, a bit broken and a bit out of breath. “Please.” You meet his eye for less than a second before gripping the wheel harder, eyes back on the road. 

He leans back in the passenger seat, legs spread. His bulge is incredibly noticeable and it’s taking everything in you not to acknowledge it. His index finger brushes against the soaked and thin fabric and he tsks. “Are you dripping all over my seats, Y/n?” 

You don’t respond and he chuckles, eyes bright. He uses two fingers and slides them across your covered lips, eyes zeroing on the arousal that has soaked your underwear and slowly drips onto his seats. Your legs shake and he presses the palm of his hand into your thigh, keeping you still. 

“Focus on the road,” he murmurs, voice low but curt. It has you squirming but you listen anyways, gripping onto the steering wheel for dear life. 

Slowly, Jay uses his middle finger and hooks your underwear to the side. It’s sticky and ruined and he’ll definitely be pocketing them later, but for now, they’re in the way. He slides his middle finger between your folds, back and forth, mesmerized, before he watches your greedy cunt swallow up his long, bony finger to the knuckle. 

Your entire body jerks forward and a breathy moan escapes your lips, eyes fluttering at the first intrusion into your pussy in days. You’re gasping as Jay slides his finger in and out of your pussy slowly before curling it, pressing just enough pressure to have you leak arousal all over his hand and leather seats. 

Just as he picks up the pace and you almost swerve the car, he pulls out and you yell, tears of frustration on your lash line. He presses on your clit once, grinning ear to ear at the moan that rips out of you. 

He pulls his hand away completely and sticks his finger into his mouth, staring at the side of your head the entire time. He makes sure to make a show out of it, swirling his tongue around just like he would in your cunt, purposefully being noisy. 

You’re shaking, legs trembling as you turn onto your street. The sight of your apartment is enough to have you press down on the gas, not caring about the speed limit or how Jay sighs at your behaviour. 

“Watch your speed, baby. There’s cops on this street.”

He leans closer to you, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, fingers brushing against the shell of your ear.

“You’re so fucking mean,” you whisper, voice broken and hoarse. You’re not really thinking as you say it, more focused on pulling into your designated spot without crying or cumming. 

Jay simply raises an eyebrow at your words, a slow smirk pulling at his lips. “Am I?” 

Your heart jumps at his words and you put the car in park. You keep your eyes forward when both of your words registar in your mind and your head snaps to look at him, an apology on the tip of your tongue but he’s already out the door.

You watch helplessly as he rounds the car and opens your door. You say nothing as he undoes your seatbelt and gingerly pulls you out of your seat. You try to ignore the way your thighs stick to the seat or the sheen you leave behind, focusing on Jay’s hand wrapped tightly around yours. 

Wordlessly, he gently guides you inside your building, still holding your purse with that small smile on his face. You look up at him and he looks down at you as you wait for the elevator. You part your lips, ready to apologize, when the doors open and he pulls you in. 

Pressing the button to your floor, he leans against the elevator wall, still holding your hand. You look down at your joined hands, at how soothing it feels to have his strong, slightly calloused hand in yours. Jay watches you, a softer smile on his lips when you bring your joined hands to your lips and kiss his knuckles. 

It says everything you haven’t yet. 

Following your lead, before you can drop your hands, he lifts them to his mouth and kisses your knuckles, eyes staring directly into yours. Then, he kisses the back of your hand before slowly dropping them, eyes focusing on the elevator doors again. 

You swallow the lump in your throat and press yourself into his side. If he wasn’t mean earlier, he definitely will be later. You purse your lips, want and desire leaking out of you, dripping down your legs. 

Finally, the elevator dings open and he’s pulling you towards your apartment, footsteps fast as you try to match his pace. When your door comes into sight you have the urge to fall to your knees and beg Jay for forgiveness. He unlocks the door slowly, turning the key like he has all the time in the world and you unconsciously squeeze his hand in anticipation. 

He pushes the door open and you stop breathing, mouth going dry. He doesn’t turn to look at you as he guides you into your home. You watch as he sets your purse on the little table, along with the keys and his wallet. 

“Jay, baby, I’m–” He cuts you off by turning quickly and slamming his lips against yours, pushing you into the door, a hand on the back of your hand and hip. He swallows your gasp of surprise and kisses you ferociously, pressing his chest against yours. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back just as messily, teeth against teeth. He slips his tongue into your mouth and you clutch at his hair. He sucks on your tongue as he fits his leg between yours, his thigh once again, rubbing against your pussy. 

You can barely breathe but you kiss him deeply, head falling back when he pulls away and begins kissing down your neck, nibbling and licking down your throat, hand unclasping your top and pulling it off of you, only pulling away to pull it off your head. His lips reattach to your neck and he kisses down to your collarbone, biting down on your skin. Your hands tighten in his hair and his grip on your hip becomes bruising. 

You grind on his knee, moaning at the friction. Jay kisses up your neck before capturing your lips in another hated, messy kiss. His hand travels up your body and he slightly presses down on your throat sucking on your tongue before pulling away.

“I wanted to be mean. Show you how mean I really could be,” he pants into your mouth, lips hovering over your swollen, bruised ones. His thigh rubs against your pussy and you whimper, eyes opening. He presses a soft kiss on your forehead before brushing his nose against yours.

“But I missed you, baby. I’ll take care of you, yeah?” His voice is soft, loving, unmistakingly ridden with lust. He begins kissing down your body again, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses to the skin above your collarbone before he unclasps your bralette, tossing it on the floor. 

His lips hover over the skin between your breasts and his eyes flicker up, meeting your dazed ones. “Did you miss me, princess?” 

There’s tears in your eyes as you nod, sniffling from the overwhelming urge to cum and bare yourself open to him. “Yes, Jay, Gosh, I missed you so much.” 

He smiles at you before kissing your skin, licking and sucking, swallowing the sweet taste of your sweat and vanilla. You were a mess above him, head thrown back and eyes sewn shut, incoherent mumbles and whimpers leaving your lips as you pull and scrape his hair at the nape of his neck. Your entire body is on fire. 

Jay presses a soft kiss on one of your breasts, his fingers brushing the nipple of the other. He kitten-licks the aching bud before latching on, sucking and circling his tongue. His other hand pinches the other nipple before he latches onto that one. He jerks his leg upwards to give you more friction and you’re overwhelmed, almost to the point of hysteria and tears. You can feel your orgasm building up and you mutter something to him, something incoherent, but he knows. 

Sinking to his knees, Jay looks up at you and you don’t even notice the bit of drool that drips down your chin. Your knees buckle at the look he gives you before he slowly pulls down your skirt and underwear, tantalizing and slow. 

He lets the skirt drop and you step out of it. He stares at your dripping, glistening pussy with a hunger you don’t normally see. He wets his lips as his eyes darken completely and he surges forward and buries his face in between your thighs, nosing your clit. Your head hits the door when he inhales, almost crying out when he presses a wet kiss to your pussy. 

He spreads your legs even further, gets impossibly closer. His nose brushes against your slick folds. “Fuck, you’re perfect. Prettiest pussy in the world, princess.” The vibrations of his words went straight to your core and you whine. 

You pull at Jay’s hair and he moans as he licks a harsh stripe of your core. You arch your back at the feeling and he presses his face closer to your cunt as his tongue pushes in and out of your sopping hole, licking and sucking loudly. He drags his tongue along your pussy, holding your hips still as he sucks on your clit. 

The tears in your eyes become heavier as he presses his nose against your clit and you moan out a broken, whiny version of his name as he laps up all your juice. The sounds he makes, the slurping and lip smacking has your legs shaking and you feel the tightness in your stomach, the orgasm that’s been building. 

He curls the tip of his tongue upwards and you almost scream, tears falling down your cheeks at the sheer pressure of pleasure. “Yes, Jay, yes” you chant, not caring about who hears you. You begin feverishly moving your hips against his face and Jay grants into your cunt, making your insides vibrate. Your legs are pulsing and your walls clench around his tongue and he knows you're close. 

Using one of his hands, he spreads your folds open wider and licks you even harsher, teasing your clit with his nose as he fucked his tongue into you. “Oh, Jay–” Your vision blurs as you moan, loud and broken, your stomach uncoiling as your orgasm washes over you and you gush all over Jay’s face. 

He hums in pleasure as he continues to push his tongue into your pussy, greedily swallowing your juices. He licks and sucks until your legs begin to shake and you pull at his hair harshly, trying to pry him off you. You’re mumbling something, a string of sentences neither of you can decipher as he slows his tongue, kissing your cunt once. 

You glance down at him and your legs buckle at the sight of him; eyes wide and hair wild as your cum and slick coats his face, his sun-kissed skin glowing with sweat as he smiles at you with swollen lips. 

He licks the skin around your pussy, cleaning you up a bit and then kisses up your thighs. You thread your fingers into his hair and tug, he stands slowly and you pull his face to yours. His eyes rake over you, grinding slowly at the fucked out look on your face, the tears staning your cheeks, swollen lips, and wide pupils. 

You tilt your head and kiss him, pressing your lips flush against his, licking his bottom lip, slipping your tongue into his mouth. You groan into his mouth as you taste yourself on his tongue. He deepens the kiss, holding your trembling legs up as you quickly pull his top over his head, working on undoing his belt. 

You pull away from his lips and kiss down his throat, licking and sucking his skin. His hands work to undo his belt and his breath hitches when you kiss his adam’s apple, licking a long stripe of his neck. “Fuck, baby.” 

He pulls the belt off, throwing it somewhere and undoes his jeans as you lick and bite his collarbones. He slides his jeans off, stepping out of them as you work your way up his neck. He wraps one hand around his hard, leaking cock and slides up and down once. 

“Still okay, love?” Jay kisses your cheek, concern in his eyes. You kiss his chest and wrap your hand around his, squeezing the base of his cock, eyes widening when his entire body shudders. 

“Fuck me, baby.” Your thumb brushes against his pink, leaking tip. “Need you so bad.” 

Jay swallows and brushes the back of his hand against your cheek before he presses you into the door and slides his hand under your thigh before lifting your leg, urging you to wrap it around his waist. 

Exhaling, Jay grips his cock and lines up with your entrance. The soft scrape of his tip against your pussy makes you both groan and he slowly pushes himself in. The satisfying tightening and burn of his veins against your gummy walls make you both moan in unison and his head falls into the crook of your neck as your pussy swallows his dick. 

“Fuck,” he groans against your skin. “Fuck, baby, feels so good.” You press a soft kiss to his neck and he jerks his hips upwards, filling you to the brim. He kneads the flesh of your ass before he grips your hips tightly and thrusts in you. 

He begins fucking into you at an unsteady pace, your jaw going slack from pleasure as his tip presses against your cervix, making your eyes roll back. You could feel every vein bulging against your walls as he pounds into you, your hands clawing at his back as his pace becomes rougher. 

He sucks the skin of your neck, licking as he bites into your skin sharply, almost breaking skin, and you whimper loudly, tugging his hair. He hips have a mind of their own as he fucks into you roughly, bringing you both closer to your release, abdomens twisting and churning.  

Your walls squeeze around his cock and desperation claws at him as he thrusts erratically and he pushes your body flush against his, forcing your hips to match his bruising pace as more slick poured from your cunt, down his legs, your needy moans mixing with his broken ones. 

“I’m, oh, close–” you stutter out, eyes fluttering shut as Jay’s fingers brush against your clit. Your walls squeeze around him again and he feels the euphoria build in his chest. Stars dance around your eyes as he tilts his head and presses his lips against yours, mumbling against your lips. 

“Cum for me, baby. Please, cum all over my cock,” his voice was desperate, sweet. 

He thrusts into you a few more times and your eyes roll into the back of your head as you come undone for him, falling limp against him as your legs shake. Jay’s hands are all over your body, caressing your skin and mumbling sweet nothings to you. 

His lips press soft kisses to your skin as you coat his dick in your cum, thrusting into you once more as warm ropes of his cum fill you up. He mumbles your name like a prayer as he continues to kiss you, continues to cum, filling you up. He’s hips are still moving slowly against yours as he fucks his cum into you, whispering quiet praises of love against your skin.

Your entire body is shaking and you can barely feel your legs and Jay slides both of his hands under your thighs before lifting you up, your legs wrapping around him securely as his dick twitches inside your sopping cunt. 

When your eyes meet, he parts his lips to tell you he loves you, but you pull him into a burning kiss, tongues and teeth clashing. You moan into his mouth at the intimacy of it all–the way his cock is still buried inside you, the way your mixed juices leak out of you and down his legs, the gentle caress of his hands as he whispers loving praises into your mouth. 

You pull away and your lips curve into a smile at the way Jay’s lips glisten, at the way he keeps his eyes shut for a moment longer before his eyes meet yours. You’re both sweating, panting, ignoring the fact that your neighbors definitely heard you. He smiles at you and you brush the hair sticking to his forehead. 

“I love you, Jay.” 

His eyes soften considerably and he presses his forehead against yours, nose brushing yours before he smiles. “And I love you, baby.” 

You cup his cheek and a wicked, insatiable glint enters your eyes and Jay’s cock twitches inside you, making you both hum. You tilt your head and smile at him widely before grinding your hips against his, pulling a groan out of him. 

“Now,” you press a kiss against his jaw. “Fuck me on the bed.” 

Jay’s already moving to your shared bedroom, making sure to walk slowly as his cock slides in and out of you at the movement. He presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

“As you wish, princess.” 

[florihaei]

• ౨ৎ ────────── 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 ₊ ˖ ་.

엔하이픈 ꒰ 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖽𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝗇𝗁𝗒𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿𝗌

• ( 858 ) bf.enha 𓂃 est relationship + kissing, pet names, suggestive / ( FLORIHAEI VALUT )

reblogs and feedbacks are greatly appreciated!!, credits to boyfhee for the idea!!

HEESEUNG !

the second you stepped into the living room, heeseung’s eyes darkened, and his tongue swipes across his bottom lip. he leans back against the couch, arms stretched over the backrest, like he’s trying to keep himself in check.

“where do you think you’re going looking like that pretty girl?” his voice is lazy, but his gaze is anything but. it burns into your skin, traveling from the curve of your neck to the way your dress hugs your waist.

you tilt your head “out baby, why?”

heeseung chuckles, slow and deep before patting his thigh “c’mere for a second” when you hesitated, he grins “just wanna get a closer look at my baby before you make everyone else loose their mind.

when you do step closer, he doesn’t waste a second, catching your chin between his fingers before pulling you down for a kiss, slow and teasing like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you. he hums against your lips smirking “too bad i can’t keep you all to myself”

-

JONGSEONG !

jay’s fingers freeze on the cuff of his sleeve as you enter the room, his breath hitching slightly. his eyes trail down your figure, admiration and something else flickering behind them.

“you always look beautiful, but this?” he exhales shaking his head “it’s unfair..”

you smirk, steeping closer. “unfair?”

he hums, reaching for your hand and tracing slow circles on your wrists. “because now all i want to do is keep you here all to myself” his voice drops as he pulled you closer. “but you worked so hard getting dolled up, i guess i should let you go.. right princess?”

before you could answer, he leans in pressing a soft kiss against the corner of your lips, then another right at the edge of your mouth, teasingly slow. when you shift impatiently, he chuckles. “go on then, before i change my mind”

-

JAEHYUN !

jake was mid sip of his drink when you walked in, and now he’s just holding it frozen, mid air, staring

you quirk a brow, “are you going to say something?, or just keep staring at me baby..?”

he swallows, placing his glass down before standing up and closing the space between you. “oh im definitely going to say something” his fingers ghost over your waist before he leans in, lips barely brushing your ear “you look breathtaking sweetheart”

a warmth creeps up on your neck, but jake just chuckles, tilting your chin up. “your blushing already sweetheart?, i haven’t even started yet”

his lips find yours before you can even respond, the kiss deep and lingering, when he finally pulls away he lets out a low whistle “yeah.. i might need a minute to recover”

-

SUNGHOON !

sunghoon watches as you adjust your earring in the mirror, his arms crossed as he leans against the doorframe. his gaze is sharp, but there’s softness hidden in it too.

“you’ve been staring for a while” you tease, turning to face him “do i look okay?”

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “that’s the problem, you look too good”

you laughed, stepping closer. “that’s a problem?”

sunghoon wraps an arm around your waist pulling you in. his breath tickles your lips as he murmurs “yeah because now i either have to let you go and suffer, or convince you to stay” his grip tightened just slightly. “what do you think princess?”

you barely have time to answer before he kisses you, like he’s trying to make you second guess yourself leaving. when he finally pulls away, he smirks “still sure about going out?”

-

SUNOO !

sunoo stops mid step when he sees you, eyes going wide. he blinks a few times as if making sure he’s not imagining things. “oh my goodness..”

you laugh at his reaction, twirling slightly. “is it that good?”

“that good? babe, you look unreal” he rushes over, holding your face between his hands. “like i always knew you were gorgeous, but this? this is next level”

you pout playfully. “so you’re saying i don’t always look this good?”

sunoo gasps, holding his hands up jokingly like he’s offended. “excuse me? you always look amazing, but this” he gestures dramatically. “this is lethal, i might actually faint.”

before you can protest further, he presses a soft peck against your lips, grinning “there, a little good luck charm for tonight.”

-

JUNGWON !

jungwon had been focused on his phone until you walked in. now he’s sitting up straighter, brows slightly raised as he takes in the sight of you.

“you…” he exhales. “ love… wow”

you chuckle, smoothing out your outfit. “that’s all you have to say?”

jungwon stands, closing the distance between you. his hands find your waist as he gazes down at you, voice softer now. “i just don’t know if i want anyone else seeing you like this love.”

you roll your eyes. “possessive much?”

he only hums, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “can you blame me?” his lips graze your temple before he sighs “at least promise me you’ll come back soon”

and just to make sure you do, he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, it was brief but sweet enough to leave you wanting more.

-

RIKI !

niki’s reaction is more subtle than the others, but you don’t miss the way his eyes widen slightly when he first sees you. he tilts his head, studying you before nodding in approval.

“you look cool” he says simply.

you laugh. “cool?.. that’s it?”

he shrugs, but there’s a small knowing smirk on his lips. “would you rather i say you look really really pretty?”

you pause before nudging his arm. “i mean… yeah”

niki rolls his eyes but playfully ruffles your hair. “fine, you look really really pretty, happy now?”

you beam. “very”

he shakes his head but smiles. “good now don’t take too long, or i’ll get bored waiting for you to come back baby”

[svtiddiess]

Now Baby

Synopsis: What better way to make use of the adrenaline rush from the stage than a post-concert fuck?

Pairing: Seungcheol x stylist!afab!reader

Genre: smut, established relationship, series

Rating: mature

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don't do this!), creampie, exhibitionism(?), semi-public sex, orgasm denial, dom!Seungcheol, sub!reader, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: Surprise! The celebration doesn't stop until I say so! Enjoy the final fic for the celebration, a bonus to the Quiet Baby series!

Thank you Ally @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading!

Quiet Baby | Kneel Baby | Louder Baby | Now Baby

Click here to join my taglist!

Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

You rock back and forth on your heels, waiting backstage as the muffled cheers of the crowd bring a smile to your face. They're all here for Seungcheol—your Seungcheol. Even after months of being together, the thought of calling him yours still makes you giddy.

You both tried to keep your relationship a secret, but in Seventeen, secrets don't exist. The rest of the members figured it out almost instantly. Luckily, management is still in the dark—otherwise, you'd be at risk of losing your job, and that's the last thing you want (not that Seungcheol would ever let that happen).

Your eyes stay glued to the monitor as the group takes their final bow, officially wrapping up what felt like an endless concert—courtesy of their never-ending "Aju Nice" encores.

Your grin widens the moment you spot Seungcheol stepping off stage, heading straight for you. Before you can even greet him, he grabs your hand and pulls you deeper backstage.

"Cheol, where are we—" Your words cut off as he shoves you into an empty green room, locks the door, and crashes his lips against yours in a hungry kiss.

You melt into his embrace, completely consumed by the kiss—messy, heated, and desperate. His hands roam eagerly over your body, gripping and exploring every curve. A soft moan escapes your lips as his hands find your breasts, squeezing them with a hunger that sends a jolt of pleasure through you.

"I need you. Now," he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and urgent, before capturing your mouth in another searing kiss. He guides you to the couch, laying you down with a gentle yet firm insistence.

"Cheol, what if we get caught?" You whimper, your voice trembling as his lips trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

"Then we'll just have to finish before the others get here, baby," he smirks, his tone teasing but laced with desire before his lips crash into yours again.

A shiver runs through you as his calloused hands slide beneath your shirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. In one swift motion, he pulls your shirt off, leaving you exposed in just your bra. He leans in, his breath warm against your skin, and teases your bra-covered nipple with a slow, deliberate lick. A whine escapes your lips, your body arching instinctively toward his touch.

"Don't tease," you pout, your voice laced with playful frustration, drawing a low chuckle from him.

"Such a spoiled princess," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin as he deftly unclasps your bra, letting it fall away and leaving your chest bare.

A shiver ripples down your spine as the cool air kisses your exposed skin. Without hesitation, Seungcheol's mouth finds your nipple, his lips sealing around it as he sucks gently, his hand teasing and toying with the other. Your fingers instinctively tangle in his hair, tugging him closer and urging him to take more. A sharp whimper escapes you when he bites down, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure mixed with pain through your body.

You feel yourself growing wetter by the second, the heat between your thighs intensifying as waves of pleasure surge through you. The sensation of your damp panties clinging to your skin is almost unbearable, and your hips begin to grind against his of their own accord, desperate for more friction. Seungcheol chuckles softly at your needy state, his lips trailing a slow, deliberate path down your body, inching closer to where you need him most.

With deliberate slowness, he peels off your pants, his grin widening as he notices the obvious damp spot on your panties. "Already so wet for me," he hums, his voice thick with desire. He drags a finger over the soaked fabric, making you squirm and whine in frustration.

"Cheol, you said we should hurry," you whine, your voice trembling with need.

"Hush, baby. Or I won't let you cum," he growls, his tone both commanding and teasing. You pout at him, but he only grins in response, clearly enjoying the control he has over you.

He slowly slides your panties down, his breath catching at the sight of your glistening, exposed core. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath before slipping a finger inside you, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

You squirm instinctively as his finger begins to move, the sensation overwhelming. "Stay still," he growls, his other hand pinning you down firmly. His fingers work you with precision, curling and thrusting in a rhythm that leaves you breathless. The wet, slick sounds of his movements mix with your moans, filling the room.

A choked mewl escapes your throat when he curls his fingers just right, hitting that sweet spot that sends sparks shooting through your body. He knows you too well, and he knows exactly how to push you to the edge with practiced ease.

Your moans grow higher and more desperate as you feel yourself teetering on the brink of release. But, just as you're about to tip over, he suddenly withdraws his fingers, leaving you gasping and writhing, your orgasm ripped away before you can reach it. A loud, frustrated wail escapes you, your body trembling with unfulfilled need.

"Did you really think I'd let you cum on my fingers?" He chuckles darkly, his voice dripping with amusement. "No, baby, you're only allowed to come on my cock." With that, he pulls down his pants, freeing his hard length. The tip is flushed and glistening, beads of precum already leaking as he positions himself between your legs.

In one swift, unrelenting motion, he slams into you, the force of it knocking the breath from your lungs. Your hands fly to his shoulders, gripping them tightly as if they're your only anchor. He sets a brutal, animalistic pace, each thrust driving you deeper into the haze of pleasure. His fingers dig into your hips with a possessive intensity, sure to leave bruises as a reminder of this moment later.

The air around you is thick with the heady mix of sex, sweat, and the faint trace of his cologne, overwhelming your senses and leaving you lightheaded. Your mouth falls open in a silent cry, your eyes rolling back as you surrender completely to the raw, unrelenting pleasure coursing through you.

"Perfect pussy, made just for me. Isn't that right, baby? You're meant to be fucked by me, only me," he growls between thrusts, his voice rough and possessive. All you can do is moan in response, your mind too hazy to form any coherent words.

"Did I already fuck you dumb, baby?" he teases with a low chuckle. Your only reply is another desperate moan.

Your body feels like it's melting beneath him, every thrust hitting that perfect angle that sends electric jolts of pleasure shooting through you.

Knock knock!

The sound of knocking at the door makes you choke back a gasp, your eyes widening in alarm as you glance at Seungcheol. But, he doesn't stop—if anything, his pace becomes even more relentless, his grip on your hips tightening as he drives into you with a ferocity that leaves you breathless.

Suddenly, the air feels heavier, charged with a dangerous thrill. The thought of being caught only fuels your arousal, and Seungcheol groans when your walls clench around him, as if your body is reacting to the risk.

"Shit, you're so tight," he groans, his voice strained. "Fuck, you're such a slut," he chuckles darkly, his breath hot against your ear. "You want them to come in and see how good I'm fucking you, don't you, baby?"

His words send a shiver through you, and you can't help but moan loudly, your body tightening around him again. Seungcheol groans in response, his pace quickening as if he's determined to make sure whoever's on the other side of the door knows exactly what's happening.

You try to muffle your cries, but Seungcheol won't let you. His hand snakes down to your clit, rubbing it with expert precision, drawing loud, unrestrained wails from you.

"That's it, scream my name, baby. Let them know how good I'm making you feel," he purrs, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

With a few more deep, punishing thrusts, you're pushed over the edge, crying out his name so loudly you're sure it echoes beyond the room. Seungcheol follows soon after, his own moans muffled against your neck as he spills into you, his hips stuttering as he rides out his release.

For a few moments, you both lie there, catching your breath as the intensity of the moment slowly fades. Seungcheol brushes a few strands of hair from your face, his touch surprisingly tender, before leaning in to capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. It's a sweet reminder of the love that underlies the passion, and you can't help but smile as you melt into it.

After pulling out, he helps you get dressed, both of you cleaning up as best as you can. Seungcheol gives you one last kiss before unlocking the door.

It swings open to reveal Minghao, his expression a mix of disgust and exasperation as he takes in the scene.

"You guys are absolutely disgusting," he scoffs, shaking his head. "You really couldn't wait until you got home? You just had to taint the room with your…horniness?"

Your face burns with embarrassment, and you instinctively hide behind Seungcheol, who only shrugs, looking far too smug for someone who just got caught.

Minghao sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I swear, it's the same thing after every single concert," he mutters, stepping past you to grab the phone he'd left behind. He shoots you both one last disapproving glare before storming out of the room.

"Cheol, you said we wouldn't get caught," you whine, your cheeks still flushed.

He laughs, pulling you close. "Don't act like you didn't enjoy it, baby," he says with a grin, sealing his words with another kiss.

And you can't help but grin back because, well…he's not wrong. You did enjoy it—a lot.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @iwannakisspoutycheol @foxiesgf24 @livelaughloveseventeen @aliiikareed @jennwonwoo @brownsugarbaybee

[peter-pumpkin-eater]

Bite

Caleb x gn!reader

summary: Sitting on Caleb's lap while sleepy might be a bad idea (you'll do it again)

warnings: slightly suggestive (nothing mentioned but hinted at), yearning, one (1) gendered pet name (pretty girl), biting

word count: 607

You were curled up in Caleb’s lap. Something was playing on the tv but you weren’t paying attention. Your half lidded eyes weighed heavy with exhaustion. It also didn’t help that Caleb’s fingers were running absentmindedly on the outside of your thigh that was tucked against him. Caleb dropped his head in the crook of your neck and stifled a yawn against your skin - the puff of hot air making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You melted further into him, his warmth seeping into your bones. He dragged his lips up your neck before resting behind your ear and taking a deep breath. Your scent flooded his senses and he wasn’t thinking, he was too tired and the feeling of you pressed against him was overwhelming. His lips ghosted back down your neck and the sleepy tilt of your head giving him a little more access was his breaking point.

He opened his mouth slowly and the feel of his teeth grazing across your skin set you on fire. You were suddenly wide awake. Before you could fully process what was happening you felt his teeth sink into your neck. It wasn't a hard bite, but you know that it’ll probably leave a mark.

“Ah~” You gasped before throwing a hand over your mouth. The sound you made not only startled you but also Caleb. He froze against you before you could feel the curl of his lips against your skin.. 

“You like that?” Caleb’s gravely voice chuckled against the shell of your ear. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, still having a hand over your mouth. Caleb wrapped his arms tighter around your torso, the hand that was on your thigh snaking under it pulling you closer against him. 

Your heart was beating so fast you were sure Caleb could feel it through your back. His lips moved to your shoulder and you shivered. 

“Talk to me, baby.” He purred against your skin before sinking his teeth in again, gentler this time. You think you could feel his tongue run over the bite mark.

“Mm!” you moaned against your hand before dropping them to claw at Caleb's arm around you. You needed to get off his lap before you embarrassed yourself further. Another chuckle puffed against your ear. 

“Does my pretty girl like being bitten? Naughty.” He teased. 

“Caleb. Need t-” you gasped using both hands to try and peel his arm from you.

“Need to, what?” He spoke as he ran his nose against your pulse point. He was taking this too far. He should stop. He doesn't want to scare you away, but the way you're shaking on top of him and those oh so pretty sounds falling past your lips were a drug he will never stop trying to get now that he’s had a taste. 

You wiggle against him trying to break free. “I- I need to get up” You stuttered out.

Caleb had to let you go now. It was getting harder for him to control himself and if anything, this was a perfect test to see how far he could push you. He loosens his arms around you and you bolt from his lap and up the stairs. He sighs heavily with a smile on his lips and leans into the couch. He adjusted his sweats and was sure you had felt his own reaction to this against you. 

Upstairs you had locked yourself in the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face. You looked up at yourself in the mirror and groaned at the very obvious bite mark on your neck. You were fucked.

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.7

Chapter Seven: What Are You Doing To Me Now?

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, 

Word Count: 8.3k

A/N: ISTG last chapter— ya’ll comments had me wheezing and dying of laughter PLEASE— MY BAD, I DIDN’T MEAN TO GIVE PEDRO A HEART ATTACK LMAOOOO. Anyways, enjoy this little filler of a chapter. That’s 8k words long LMAO…

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: The blue by Gracie Abrams

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

“You still need to change.”

The words tumble out before you can stop them, and you immediately want to crawl into a hole. Out of everything you could have said, that’s what your brain decided on?

Pedro blinks at you.

Then, as if just realizing it himself, he looks down at his suit—a bright, unmistakable blue, the bold insignia stretched across his chest.

Mr. Fantastic.

A literal superhero, walking through the lot, guiding you with steady hands like you were the fragile one. It’s so utterly absurd you almost laugh.

“Huh,” he says, eyebrows raising in mild amusement. “Guess I forgot.”

You shake your head, half-exasperated, half-fond. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, leaving a dull ache in its place, and for the first time since the accident, the weight of everything presses in.

The stitches in your arm pull when you move too fast, a sharp reminder that this was real. That you’d actually shoved Pedro out of the way and taken the hit yourself.

He hasn’t let you forget it, either.

Not in the way his fingers still ghost over your wrist, as if testing to make sure you’re solid. Not in the way he keeps looking at you, his expression unreadable, like he’s trying to work through something in his head but hasn’t found the words yet.

And now, on top of it all, you still need to check in with Jess, confirm with Matt that you’re cleared for the day, and figure out if you need to file for medical leave.

So much for an easy afternoon.

You make your way across the lot, Pedro still at your side, his presence warm and steady. When you find Matt and Jess, they’re already deep in conversation with Rob Beggs, the safety manager. The area where the light rig fell is cordoned off now, crew members carefully maneuvering around it as they assess the situation.

The moment Jess spots you, her face crumples into something equal parts relief and guilt.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” she asks, stepping forward like she wants to hug you but stops herself at the last second, eyeing your injured arm. “Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“Jess, no,” you interject quickly, shaking your head. “This wasn’t your fault. Accidents happen.”

“Still, I feel awful,” Matt adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “We should have double-checked the rigging before calling everyone in.”

“And we’re going to,” Rob says, tone firm but even. “I’m running a full investigation on this. We’ll figure out where the breakdown happened and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You nod, appreciating the sentiment but also not wanting to linger on it. The last thing you want is for everyone to start treating you like glass.

“I’m okay,” you say, offering them what you hope is a reassuring smile. “Just a few stitches. I’ll live.”

“Damn right you will,” a familiar voice cuts in.

Daisy.

She and Omar appear from the side, both of them looking equally relieved and exasperated.

“You scared the hell out of us,” Omar says, shaking his head. “One second everything was fine, and then—boom. We see you on the ground, bleeding.”

You wince. “Yeah. That part wasn’t fun.”

“No shit,” Daisy mutters. Then her eyes flick to Pedro, who still hasn’t strayed far from your side. Her gaze sharpens just slightly.

“You sticking to her like glue for the rest of the day or what?” she teases, but there’s an underlying note of curiosity there.

Pedro doesn’t even hesitate.

“Yep.”

You glance at him, surprised by how easily the answer leaves him. His expression is relaxed, but there’s something in his eyes, something quietly unwavering, that makes your stomach flip.

Daisy arches a brow, but she doesn’t push.

Instead, she just shakes her head, smirking slightly. “Figures.”

Omar huffs a laugh. “Well, at least she’s in good hands.”

You feel your face heat, and Pedro, the absolute menace, just looks utterly unbothered, like he was always meant to be standing here next to you. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Alright,” Jess sighs, rubbing her temples. “You’re cleared for the day. If you need extra time off, just let me know.”

You nod. “Thanks, Jess.”

“Now,” Matt adds, giving Pedro a once-over, “please tell me you’re not actually taking her back to the hotel like that.”

Pedro glances down at himself again.

Then he shrugs. “I dunno. Kinda think it adds character.”

You groan, covering your face with your good hand.

“Just go change, man,” Omar snorts.

Pedro grins, but then his attention shifts back to you, and the humor fades just slightly, replaced with something softer. Something quieter.

“I’ll be quick,” he says, voice low. “Stay here, okay?”

You nod, and the second he steps away, you exhale, feeling the weight of everything settle just a little heavier on your shoulders.

Daisy nudges you.

“So,” she drawls, a knowing glint in her eye. “Anything you wanna share?”

Your face burns.

“Nope.”

Omar snickers. “Yeah, sure.”

You huff, shaking your head, but you don’t say anything else. Because honestly?

You’re not sure how to explain what just happened.

Or how you’re supposed to go back to normal after it.

You don’t know how Pedro managed to convince Matt and Jess to call it an early day, but somehow, he did. Maybe it was the way he asked, firm yet gentle, leaving no room for argument, or maybe they saw the concern in his eyes—the kind that couldn’t be faked. Either way, production had been shut down for the day.

Besides, Rob had said they needed to check the cameras, review the footage, and determine exactly what went wrong.

Now, you were surrounded by Vanessa, Ebon, and Joseph, their voices overlapping as they checked in on you.

“Oh my god, are you sure you’re okay?” Vanessa asked, wide-eyed, her hand hovering near your arm as if she was scared you’d break.

“Yeah, you took quite the hit,” Ebon added, shaking his head. “Looked bad from where we were standing.”

Joseph crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. “They need to get that sorted out before we continue filming. It could’ve been worse.”

You nodded, offering them a small smile, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline and the way their concern made you feel more fragile than you wanted to admit.

“I’m fine, really,” you reassured them. “Just a couple of stitches. No big deal.”

But your voice wavered slightly, betraying the truth. Your hands were still cold, your heart still hadn’t settled into its usual rhythm. You wanted to be strong—to be the girl who brushed things off with a laugh. You’d always been that girl.

Then Pedro emerged from his trailer.

He’d finally changed out of the Mr. Fantastic suit, trading in the blue spandex for a soft black sweater and dark jeans, but he still had that look—the same one he’d had since the moment the accident happened. Like he hadn’t been able to let out a full breath since.

His eyes found yours instantly.

“Hey.”

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “Hey.”

Pedro ignored everyone else, his focus entirely on you as he closed the distance between you. The warmth of his presence was immediate and grounding, and when he reached out—his fingers ghosting over the bandage on your forehead—you felt yourself sway slightly.

“You should be resting,” he murmured, his voice lower, softer, meant just for you.

“I’ll rest when I get home.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “You sure you’re okay?��

You nodded, but something in your expression must’ve given you away, because Pedro exhaled through his nose, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face before he could think better of it.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, barely there, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. You were very aware of the way the others had fallen silent, watching the moment unfold. But Pedro didn’t seem to care, and you... you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“I didn’t mean to.” The words came out quieter than you intended.

His brows knit together like he was about to say something else, but then Matt called out from the other side of the lot, breaking the moment.

Pedro sighed, dropping his hand, but not before giving your shoulder a small squeeze. “Let me take you back to the hotel. You shouldn’t be dealing with all of this right now.”

Your instinct was to protest, to insist that you were fine, that you could handle it. But the truth was, the idea of getting away from set, from all the eyes and whispers, sounded... nice.

So you swallowed your pride, glanced up at Pedro, and nodded.

“Okay.”

His shoulders loosened slightly, like he’d been waiting for you to agree. “Okay.”

And just like that, he was guiding you toward the parking lot, his hand ghosting over your lower back, protective, steady, like he was ready to catch you if you stumbled.

You exhaled, letting yourself lean into the warmth of him, just a little. Just for now.

The black van was already waiting at the curb, engine humming softly as the late afternoon light spilled golden streaks over the lot. Pedro kept a firm but gentle hand on the small of your back as he guided you inside, like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.  

Albert, the driver, glanced back as you climbed in. “Miss,” he greeted with a polite nod, his eyes flickering briefly to Pedro as if silently assessing whether you were okay.  

You gave him a small smile. “Hey, Albert.”  

Once everyone was settled, the doors shut with a soft thud, sealing you into the familiar bubble of the ride back to the hotel.  

“I think after today, we deserve drinks.” Joseph stretched out his legs with a groan, his head thumping lightly against the headrest. “Preferably something strong. Maybe something that could wipe today from my memory entirely.”  

You let out a quiet laugh but shook your head. “Thanks, but no alcohol for me.” You scrunched your nose, pulling a face. “Kind of wanna keep all my blood inside me for now.”  

Pedro made a noise next to you—something between amusement and disapproval—as he shot you a sidelong glance. “Yeah, no tequila shots for you, querida. Not when you just got stitched up.”  

“Ugh, I was gonna say wine, but sure, make me sound like a total mess,” Joseph quipped.  

Vanessa smirked. “You are a mess.”  

Ebon chuckled. “At least you admit it.”  

The conversation carried on, the lighthearted teasing making the tension from earlier slowly fade. You felt yourself relax, your body sinking a little deeper into the seat. But even as the laughter filled the van, you remained acutely aware of the warmth beside you—the way Pedro’s thigh pressed lightly against yours, the way his arm rested along the back of the seat, close but not quite touching you.  

And when you glanced at him, you found his gaze already on you, something unreadable in those deep brown eyes.  

You looked away first.

The drive back to the hotel stretched longer than expected, traffic turning the usual route into a slow crawl. London streets, thick with impatient drivers and red taillights, blurred into a haze outside the window. Rain had started to drizzle, streaking the glass with soft, uneven patterns. The low hum of conversation filled the van, punctuated by the occasional groan from Joseph whenever the vehicle lurched forward, only to stop again moments later.  

You let your head rest against the window, watching the world pass in slow motion. The warmth of the van, the steady rhythm of the rain, and the quiet murmur of voices lulled you into something close to drowsiness. Your body ached—not unbearably, but enough that exhaustion tugged at you with each passing second.  

Pedro shifted beside you, the movement drawing your attention. His arm, which had been loosely draped along the back of the seat, dipped slightly, fingertips ghosting over your shoulder in a touch so light you almost imagined it.  

“You okay?” His voice was low, meant only for you.  

You hummed, turning your head slightly but keeping your gaze on the rain-slicked streets. “Yeah. Just tired.”  

His fingers flexed, the briefest hesitation before he let his hand settle—gentle and warm—on your arm. Not overbearing. Just there. Just enough.  

You should sit up straighter. You should move, make some joke, shake off the way his presence settled around you like something protective, something safe. But you didn’t. Instead, you let yourself relax, the weight of exhaustion pressing heavier against you.  

The next time the van jolted to another stop, your body leaned instinctively toward the nearest solid thing—Pedro.  

You felt it the moment your head made contact with his shoulder. The way he stiffened, just for a beat, before exhaling like he’d been holding his breath. You started to move away, an apology forming on your lips, but before you could, his hand found your knee—just the lightest touch, grounding, reassuring.  

“Stay,” he murmured.  

You weren’t sure if he even realized he’d said it.  

But you did. And you stayed.  

The voices around you blended, fading into the background as your eyelids grew heavier. Pedro’s breathing was steady beneath your cheek, the rise and fall of his chest lulling you into something dangerously close to comfort. His scent—faint traces of cologne and whatever they used to take off the makeup from set—wrapped around you, familiar and warm.  

Outside, the rain kept falling. The city moved in slow motion.  

And in the middle of it all, you slept, tucked safely into the space Pedro had made for you.

Pedro stilled when he felt the full weight of you against him.  

At first, he thought you were just resting your eyes, letting exhaustion settle in after the long, chaotic day. But then your breathing slowed, deepened, the kind of rhythm that only came with sleep.  

Carefully, he glanced down at you. Your face was relaxed now, lips slightly parted, the tension that had clung to you all day finally melting away. A soft, barely-there snore slipped past your lips, and—fuck—his heart clenched.  

Then he felt it.  

A faint warmth against his shoulder.  

He shifted ever so slightly, and sure enough—yep. You were drooling.  

He should probably mind. He should probably shake you awake or shift you off of him. But the thought didn’t even cross his mind.  

Instead, he swallowed past the lump in his throat and stayed perfectly still.  

Because if this was all he got—this fleeting moment of quiet, of you trusting him enough to let your guard down, to lean on him like this—he wasn’t about to ruin it.  

Still, guilt gnawed at him. The scene kept playing in his head. The accident. The way his stomach had dropped when he saw you hit the ground. The way you had looked up at him afterward, trying to play it off like it was nothing, even though he knew better. Even though he knew you.  

He could have lost you today.  

The thought made his grip tighten ever so slightly against his knee, his other hand twitching with the urge to reach for you. To make sure you were really here.  

And then there was that look.  

The one you had given him. The one that sent something sharp and undeniable curling in his chest. The one that told him—without words—that whatever this was between you, it wasn’t just in his head.  

He could have kissed you then.  

He should have.  

But it hadn’t been the right time. Not after what had happened. Not when you were still reeling from it, still patching yourself up.  

But fuck, it’s going to keep him up at night.  

He wants you.  

And he knows—knows—that you want him too.  

The van hit another bump, jostling you slightly, and instinctively, he shifted, tucking you closer so your head wouldn’t slip from his shoulder.  

You murmured something in your sleep, a soft sigh, curling the tiniest bit toward him. And Pedro?  

Pedro let himself enjoy it. Just for now. Just for tonight.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING  

A gentle voice coaxed you from sleep.  

“We’re here.”  

You stirred, warmth pressed against your cheek, the rhythmic hum of the van’s engine fading as the vehicle rolled to a stop. Your mind felt sluggish, still tangled in the remnants of sleep, but then—oh God.  

Your head had been resting on him.  

Panic flickered through you as you jerked upright, realizing with horror that you had not only slept on Pedro’s shoulder but also left a small damp patch on the fabric of his hoodie.  

“Oh my—shit.” You wiped hastily at your mouth, mortified. “I didn’t mean to—Jesus, I drooled all over you. I’m so—”  

Pedro chuckled, low and amused, shaking his head. “It’s fine.” His voice softened. “Just don’t move too much. Remember—your stitches.”  

The reminder stopped you in your tracks. Right. Your stitches. Your ribs ached dully, a reminder of the accident earlier on set. You swallowed, nodding.  

“Right,” you murmured.  

Across from you, Joseph twisted in his seat, smirking slightly. “You good?”  

“Yeah.” Your voice was still rough with sleep. You cleared your throat and tried again. “M’good.”  

Vanessa gave you a sympathetic look, her expression warm. “You should probably head up and rest.”  

You nodded again, still feeling a little disoriented. The van door slid open, letting in the cool London air. One by one, everyone filed out, stretching and murmuring about what to do next. Pedro moved to step out, then hesitated, glancing back at you.  

“You coming?” he asked, voice low, just for you.  

You blinked, forcing yourself to move. Your limbs felt heavy, your body still craving rest. As you started to climb out, your footing wavered slightly—maybe from exhaustion, maybe from the dull ache in your side.  

Pedro was there in an instant.  

His hand hovered near the small of your back, not quite touching, but close enough to steady you. Close enough to say, I’ve got you.  

You inhaled, just for a moment, letting yourself take comfort in his presence. 

The warmth of the hotel lobby wrapped around you as you stepped inside, the soft hum of distant conversation and the faint scent of polished wood and expensive cologne filling the air. Pedro stayed close, his presence a quiet reassurance, his hand hovering near your lower back again, never quite touching, but there.  

You made your way toward the elevators, pressing the call button. When the doors slid open, you stepped inside with a sigh, exhaustion settling deep into your bones. You tapped your keycard, pressing the button for your floor before instinctively pressing Pedro’s as well.  

“Nope,” he said immediately, crossing his arms.  

You turned, blinking up at him. “What?”  

“You’re staying with me tonight.”  

Your lips parted in surprise. “Excuse me?”  

Pedro sighed, like he had already expected you to put up a fight. “Someone needs to look after you.”  

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Pedro, I’ll be fine. They’re just stitches. I’m just gonna head to bed early—” You punctuated the statement with a yawn, covering your mouth with the back of your hand.  

Pedro gave you that look. That firm, stubborn, no-room-for-argument look, the one you’d seen him use when he was absolutely set on something.  

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”  

“Just stay in the suite,” he said, softer this time. “Please. You can use your old room.”  

Your brows furrowed. “Pedro, my stuff is still in my room.”  

“Then I’ll stay with you.”  

Your breath hitched. “What?”  

Pedro shrugged, like it was the most casual suggestion in the world. “If you won’t stay in my suite, then I’ll stay in yours.”  

You stared at him, your heart thudding a little too loudly in your ears. The idea of sharing a space with Pedro for the night—of waking up knowing he was just a room away, of the quiet intimacy of existing in the same space—made your stomach flip.  

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, voice quieter now.  

He tilted his head, studying you. “I want to.”  

The elevator dinged, signaling your floor. The doors slid open, but neither of you moved. The air between you was charged, thick with something unspoken, something there.  

You hesitated. He was giving you a choice.  

You exhaled, already knowing you were going to give in before the words even left your mouth.  

“Fine…” you muttered, crossing your arms. “If it makes you feel better.” You glanced up at him and sighed. “Now put away your puppy eyes.”  

Pedro grinned, all smug warmth and victory, but there was something softer in his eyes—relief, maybe. Like he was glad you weren’t pushing him away.  

“I’ll just grab some of my stuff. I’ll be right back,” he said, already stepping back toward the elevator panel to press his floor again.  

You shot him a teasing look. “Better hurry, or I might just pass out before you get there.”  

Pedro narrowed his eyes playfully. “Seven minutes,” he said, like it was a challenge.  

You smirked as the doors slid shut, leaving you alone with the quiet hum of the hallway.  

By the time you got to your room, exhaustion was already creeping in. You barely had the energy to kick off your shoes before flopping onto the bed, sighing into the plush comforter. You told yourself you’d just close your eyes for a moment—just a second.  

Then, exactly seven minutes later, the sound of your doorbell rang through the room.

You rolled off the bed with a groggy sigh, rubbing your eyes as you shuffled toward the door. When you pulled it open, Pedro was standing there, looking so effortlessly comfortable it made your stomach flip.  

A plain black tee stretched across his broad chest, the soft fabric hanging loosely over the curve of his arms. Grey sweatpants sat low on his hips, the kind that made your brain short-circuit for a second longer than you wanted to admit. He’d traded his usual contacts for his square-framed glasses, the ones that made him look just a little too good, like a university professor who knew exactly how to ruin you with a well-placed argument.  

In one hand, he held a small duffle bag, the strap slung over his shoulder like he belonged here, like this was routine. Like you’d done this before.  

Pedro’s gaze flicked over you, taking in your half-lidded eyes and the way you leaned against the doorframe, still fighting off the edges of sleep.  

“You didn’t pass out,” he noted, amused.  

“Almost did,” you mumbled, stepping back to let him in.  

Pedro walked past you, his familiar scent trailing after him—clean, warm, a mix of something woody and subtle, like cedar and spice. He moved easily around the space, setting his bag down by the chair, toeing off his sneakers before glancing back at you.  

“You should get some rest,” he said, softer now.  

You folded your arms over your chest, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you were still in the clothes you wore earlier, your sweater slightly rumpled from your half-nap. “I was resting until someone rang my doorbell exactly seven minutes after leaving.”  

Pedro just smiled, unapologetic. “I said I’d be quick.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small grin tugging at your lips.  

Then, as if the weight of the day finally caught up to him, Pedro let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw before tilting his head at you. His gaze softened, the humor fading just a little.  

“How’s your side?”  

You hesitated, glancing down like you could see the stitches through your clothes. “Fine,” you said, but it wasn’t very convincing.  

Pedro’s brows pulled together. “Let me see.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“Just—let me check, make sure it’s not bleeding or anything.”  

You frowned, the shyness creeping back in. “Pedro, I can—”  

“You could,” he interrupted gently, stepping closer, “but you won’t.” His voice dipped into something quieter, something coaxing. “Just let me take care of you, okay?”  

Your breath hitched.  

You should’ve argued, should’ve batted away his concern with another stubborn insistence that you were fine. But he was looking at you like that—like you were something fragile and precious, something worth worrying over.  

And maybe a part of you wanted to be taken care of.  

You swallowed, nodding once.  

Pedro exhaled, something unspoken passing between you, before he gestured toward the bed. “Sit.”  

You did.  

He knelt in front of you, hands careful as he helped you lift the hem of your sweater, just enough to check the bandages covering your side. His fingers barely grazed your skin, but it was enough to send a shiver up your spine.  

Pedro stilled.  

His gaze flicked up to yours, like he’d felt it too.  

For a moment, neither of you moved. The room felt smaller, the air thicker.  

Then, finally, he spoke—voice rough, quiet.  

“You scared the shit out of me today.”

“So you’ve said…” You mumbled.

Pedro huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he carefully smoothed the fabric of your sweater back down. His hands lingered for half a second too long, fingertips brushing against your waist before he pulled away.  

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to it—just exhaustion, something fond underneath.  

You swallowed past the warmth creeping up your neck and cleared your throat. “I, uh—I need to shower.”  

Pedro’s expression shifted instantly, concern knitting his brows together. “Careful with your stitches.”  

“I know,” you sighed, already pushing yourself up from the bed. “I just—” You hesitated, suddenly aware of how gross you felt. Your sweater was stiff in places, dried with sweat and blood, and your skin itched from the grime of the day. “I just need to wash this all off.”  

Pedro’s gaze softened, but his jaw ticked, like he was biting back a hundred different things he wanted to say.  

Instead, he nodded. “Okay.”  

You quickly gathered your pajamas and underwear, started toward the bathroom, then paused at the door, glancing over your shoulder. “Don’t—” You hesitated, shifting awkwardly. “Don’t leave, okay?”  

Pedro blinked, something flickering behind his eyes before he nodded again. “I won’t.”  

That was all you needed.  

You closed the bathroom door behind you and exhaled, pressing your forehead against the cool wood for a second longer than necessary. Your heart was beating too fast.  

You shook it off, moving to turn on the water, making sure it wasn’t too hot—you didn’t want to irritate the stitches. The mirror caught your reflection, and you winced. You looked exhausted, dark circles under your eyes, dried blood streaked near your collar. No wonder Pedro had been hovering.  

Carefully, you peeled off your clothes, mindful of your injury as you stepped under the spray. Warm water cascaded over you, washing away the dirt and the tension, and you sighed in relief.  

The moment you stepped out of the bathroom, warmth wrapped around you—not just from the plush hotel robe you’d thrown on, but from the scent of food lingering in the air. Something rich, comforting.  

Pedro sat on the edge of the couch, scrolling through his phone, but his head snapped up the second he heard you. His eyes flickered over you, scanning for any signs of discomfort, lingering too long on the bandages at your side before he forced himself to meet your gaze.  

He offered you a small smile. “I ordered room service for dinner. Figured you needed something to eat before your next set of meds.”  

Your stomach answered before you could, a low grumble betraying just how little you’d eaten today.  

Pedro smirked. “Guess I made the right call.”  

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you were grateful. The thoughtfulness of it made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with your stitches.  

“What’d you get?” You padded over, tucking damp hair behind your ear as you settled onto the small couch beside him.  

“Chicken soup, because, you know—doctor’s orders.” He lifted the lid with a flourish, steam curling into the air. “And some pasta, just in case you wanted something more solid.”  

Your lips twitched. “You really thought this through, huh?”  

Pedro shrugged, too casual. “You’re my responsibility tonight.”  

Something about the way he said it made your breath catch. He didn’t say it like it was an obligation. He said it like it was a fact. Like he wanted it to be.  

You looked away, focusing on the soup as you picked up a spoon. “Thanks,” you murmured.  

Pedro watched you for a beat before nodding. “Anytime.”

The silence between you was warm, familiar. The kind that didn’t need to be filled.  

You focused on your food, spooning up the broth, letting the heat soothe you from the inside out. The warmth of it settled deep in your chest, easing away the tightness that had been there since the accident. Pedro had been right—this was exactly what you needed.  

Across from you, Pedro twirled his fork through his pasta absentmindedly, but he wasn’t eating much. His eyes kept flicking toward you, like he was checking, making sure you were still here, still breathing.  

“You should eat,” you murmured, not looking up from your bowl.  

Pedro let out a small breath of amusement. “You sound like me.”  

You lifted a brow. “Guess it’s contagious.”  

He smirked but didn’t argue, finally taking a bite of his food. You kept eating, but the weight of his gaze never fully left you. It sat there, unspoken, lingering between the spaces of your breath and the scrape of silverware against ceramic.  

After a while, you set your spoon down and leaned back against the couch, stretching your legs out. Pedro’s eyes flickered to your bandages again, his jaw tightening slightly.  

Pedro’s gaze flickered down to your bandages again, his jaw tightening slightly.  

“You have no idea how much you worried me today,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges.  

You exhaled slowly. “I know.”  

“I mean it,” he said, setting his plate aside. He shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours, grounding himself in the warmth of you. “One second, you were fine, and the next…” He shook his head, running a hand through his curls. “I keep thinking—if things had gone differently…”  

“Hey.” Your voice was soft but firm. You reached out without thinking, resting a hand over his. His fingers twitched under yours, like he was resisting the urge to hold on.  

“I’m okay,” you reassured him. “It was just an accident.”  

Pedro let out a humorless huff. “That doesn’t make it any less terrifying.”  

You swallowed, your fingers curling slightly over his. “I know.”  

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The distant sounds of the city hummed beyond the hotel window, the murmur of footsteps passing by in the hallway. But here, in this quiet little bubble, it was just the two of you.  

Pedro’s fingers twitched again, then slowly, finally, curled around yours. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t hold too tightly. Just enough to tell you he was still here. That he wasn’t letting go.  

Your throat felt tight, emotions tangling up somewhere in your chest.  

“Pedro,” you started, but you didn’t know what to say.  

He looked at you then, really looked at you. And for the first time all night, you didn’t look away.  

There was something in his eyes—something raw, something real. It made your heart stumble in your chest.  

He swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. “You need to drink your meds.”

“Right.” You nodded and reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand and twisted the cap off with a sigh. Pedro, ever watchful, pushed the packet of pills closer to you with two fingers.  

“Go on,” he urged, tilting his head.  

You huffed but took the meds anyway, popping them into your mouth and swallowing them down with a gulp of water. The whole time, Pedro watched you like a hawk, arms crossed over his chest, his face full of barely restrained concern.  

“There. Happy?” you mumbled, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.  

Pedro narrowed his eyes slightly, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Very.”  

“You’re being a little much,” you teased, setting the bottle down.  

He arched a brow. “A little much?”  

“You’re hovering. You’re being—” You gestured vaguely at him. “Like a mother hen.”  

Pedro let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Damn right I am. Someone’s gotta make sure you’re not out here trying to tough it out on your own.”  

You looked away, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. He wasn’t wrong. You’d spent so much of your life trying to prove that you didn’t need anyone, that you could handle things on your own. But having him here, fussing over you, making sure you took your meds, ordering you food—it was… nice.  

Really nice.  

You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling warm all over. “Well, thanks,” you muttered, voice softer this time.  

Pedro studied you for a beat, then gave a small nod, like he understood. Like he saw right through you.  

You busied yourself adjusting the pillows, trying to ignore how much your heart was racing. But then you froze.  

There was only one bed.  

Your eyes darted to Pedro’s, and you saw the exact moment he noticed, too. His lips parted slightly, gaze flicking from you to the bed and back again.  

“Oh,” you said.  

Pedro exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can take the floor.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“The floor,” he repeated. “I’ll sleep there.”  

You frowned, looking between him and the thick, undoubtedly uncomfortable carpet. “Absolutely the fuck not.”  

Pedro smirked, clearly amused by your sudden shift in tone. “Wow. Strong words.”  

“I’m serious, Pedro.” You crossed your arms. “Your back will hate you forever.”  

His smirk widened into a grin. “Are you calling me old?”  

Your mouth opened, then closed. “No! I—I’m just saying, you’ll wake up sore as hell and—ugh.” You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples.  

Pedro chuckled, shaking his head. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”  

You glared at him, flustered beyond belief. “Not funny.”  

“Very funny.”  

You threw a pillow at him. He caught it effortlessly, still grinning like a damn idiot.  

“You’re sleeping in the bed,” you grumbled, trying to regain some of your dignity.  

Pedro held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. But if I wake up with an elbow to the ribs, I’m filing a complaint.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.  

One bed. Pedro Pascal. You.  

You were doomed.

You climb into bed first, carefully maneuvering around your injury as you settle against the pillows. Pedro follows soon after, turning off the last of the lights, leaving only the bedside lamp casting a soft, golden glow over the room. The space between you is small—closer than what two people who are just friends probably should be—but neither of you move to fix it.  

For a moment, the only sounds in the room are the quiet hum of the heater and the occasional creak of the hotel settling. Then, Pedro shifts slightly, resting his head on his hand as he looks at you.  

“Isn’t it weird?” he murmurs.  

You blink sleepily. “What?”  

“You changed rooms… and now we’re in the same bed.” His voice is thoughtful, like he’s only just realizing the weight of the situation.  

You snort. “Maybe I’m cursed.”  

Pedro chuckles, low and warm. “Nah, can’t be cursed if you end up spending more time with me.” His grin is downright smug.  

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Okay, superstar, calm down.”  

Pedro huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I’m just saying. If this is a curse, it’s not a bad one.”  

You open your mouth to argue—because really, who just casually says things like that?—but the words catch in your throat when you realize how close he really is. His face is relaxed in the dim light, his eyes dark and unreadable, his curls a little mussed from the day.  

Your heart stumbles.  

It should be weird, lying here with him like this, but somehow… it isn’t.  

Somehow, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

The quiet hum of the night settles around you, the warmth of the sheets and the steady presence of Pedro beside you making it all too easy to forget the chaos of the day.  

You should be sleeping, but instead, you’re scrolling on your phone, the dim glow illuminating your face as you read. The soft, rhythmic sound of Pedro’s breathing makes you think he’s fallen asleep—until his voice rumbles low in the quiet.  

“You always do that before bed?”  

You nearly jump, clutching your phone against your chest. “Do what?”  

Pedro’s lips twitch in amusement. “Read.”  

You swallow. Shit.  

“Yeah?” you say, trying to sound nonchalant.  

Pedro props himself up on one elbow, peering at your phone. “What are you reading?”  

Your body goes rigid. Oh god.  

You’re reading fanfiction. Specifically, his character’s fanfiction.  

Absolutely not. You cannot let this man know.  

“Nothing,” you say too quickly, locking your phone and placing it screen-down on the nightstand.  

Pedro raises a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure.”  

You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, and you turn away, mumbling, “It’s nothing important.”  

Pedro hums, amused, but thankfully doesn’t push further. Instead, he settles back down, stretching one arm under the pillow.  

“Alright, secrets,” he teases, voice laced with sleep. “Guess I’ll just have to wonder.”  

You groan. “Go to sleep, Pedro.”  

He chuckles, the sound warm and deep. “Fine, fine.”  

A comfortable silence blankets the room, the kind that makes your eyelids grow heavier. The warmth of Pedro beside you—solid, steady, real—only adds to it, pulling you deeper into rest.  

And before you know it, you’re asleep.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY MORNING

The muffled chime of your alarm cuts through the quiet, dragging you from the depths of sleep. You groan, blindly reaching for your phone on the nightstand, smacking at the screen until the sound dies out.

As you settle back into the pillows, intending to steal a few more minutes of sleep, that's when you feel it.

Warmth. Solid and everywhere.

Your drowsy brain takes a second to catch up, to process the strong arm slung over your waist, the steady rise and fall of a broad chest against your back, the way his legs are tangled with yours, locking you in place.

And then—oh.

Something hard presses against the curve of your ass.

Your breath catches.

Oh.

Heat floods your face instantly. The realization slams into you with the force of a freight train. Pedro is wrapped around you, his body flush against yours, and—yep, there’s no mistaking that.

You go completely still, hoping—praying—that maybe, maybe he’s still asleep, that he’s not aware of how intimately you’re pressed together.

A slow, deep inhale against your shoulder tells you otherwise.

Shit.

You can feel the moment he wakes up, the way his breathing shifts, the faintest tensing of his muscles. And then—

A sleepy, raspy groan vibrates against your skin.

Pedro shifts slightly behind you, his grip on your waist tightening for the briefest moment before his entire body goes rigid.

Silence.

You can practically hear the gears turning in his still half-asleep brain.

“…Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire.

His hand flexes against your stomach before he very, very slowly starts to pull away, but in doing so, he shifts again—and you feel everything for a split second longer than you should.

A tiny, humiliating sound escapes the back of your throat.

Pedro freezes.

Oh, god. Kill me now.

“…Did you just whimper?” His voice is still thick with sleep, rough and laced with amusement.

“No…” you mumble, barely above a whisper.

He shifts slightly, just enough for you to feel him again, solid and unmistakable.

Your breath stutters.

Pedro lets out a low, knowing chuckle, his lips brushing against your shoulder as he murmurs, “Mmm. I think you did.”

You want to die.

Or maybe kill him. Either option seems preferable to this moment.

“You’re imagining things,” you mutter, voice strained as you try to ignore the way heat licks up your spine.

“Am I?” His arm tightens slightly around your waist, his fingers splaying against your stomach in a way that makes your breath catch.

God, he’s so warm.

You swallow, heart hammering against your ribs. “Pedro.”

Pedro hums in response, low and teasing, the sound vibrating against your skin.  

You shiver, heat pooling deep in your stomach. He’s still so close—his breath warm against your jaw, his fingers resting against your waist, firm and grounding.  

You don’t know who moves first.  

Maybe it’s you, tilting your head just slightly, your lips parting in anticipation. Or maybe it’s him, the way his nose grazes your cheek, the way he exhales shakily, like he’s been fighting this just as much as you have.  

And then his lips are on yours.  

Soft at first, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away, to stop this before it can spiral into something neither of you can take back.  

But you don’t pull away.  

Instead, you press into him, fingers gripping onto the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.  

Pedro groans low in his throat, something almost desperate unraveling between you. His hand slips under your shirt, fingers splaying against the bare skin of your waist, not pushing—just holding. His lips part against yours, deepening the kiss, tongue sweeping against yours in a slow, intoxicating glide.  

You sigh into him, utterly lost in the way he tastes, the way he feels.  

Then he shifts, leaning more of his weight onto you, and a sharp twinge shoots through your side. You inhale sharply, wincing.  

Pedro immediately freezes.  

His lips break from yours, breath warm and uneven against your jaw. “Shit.” He pulls back, eyes scanning your face, concern flickering in the deep brown of his gaze. “Did I—did I hurt you?”  

You shake your head, blinking away the haze of want clouding your thoughts. “No, I’m okay. Just… a little sore.”  

His lips press into a thin line, and then he’s pulling away completely, his hands gentle as he brushes a thumb over your hip. “I shouldn’t have—”  

You cut him off with a soft laugh. “Pedro, you didn’t break me.”  

His brows pinch together, still looking unsure. But then his gaze flickers to the clock on the nightstand, and he mutters a quiet fuck.  

You glance at the time. “What?”  

“I have to be on set in thirty minutes.” He groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “I gotta get dressed.”  

Your heart sinks.  

You don’t even try to hide it, the disappointment settling deep in your bones. But it’s not just that he has to leave—it’s the way he pulls away so fast, the way his hands are gone from your skin, the way reality rushes back in like a cold slap to the face.  

What if that kiss was a mistake? 

What if he didn’t mean it, not really? What if it was just the heat of the moment, an impulse he already regrets?  

You swallow hard, trying to school your expression, trying not to let the spiral show on your face.  

But Pedro catches it anyway.  

He stops halfway through buttoning his shirt, his gaze snapping to yours. His brows furrow, that warm, knowing look settling into his features. “No.”  

You blink. “What?”  

He shakes his head, stepping closer, voice firm. “No. I know that face.”  

You press your lips together, looking away, but Pedro doesn’t let you retreat.  

His fingers find your chin, tilting your face back toward him. His eyes are soft, earnest, searching yours. “That kiss wasn’t a mistake.”  

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.  

Pedro exhales, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I like you.” His voice is rough, almost exasperated, like he can’t believe he even has to say it out loud. “Fuck, I like you.”  

Your stomach flips. “You do?”  

His lips twitch into a small, crooked smile. “Yeah. I do.” He presses his forehead against yours, letting out a breathy chuckle. “And I really wish I didn’t have to leave right now.”  

You let out a soft laugh, the tension in your chest easing just a little. “Me too.”  

Pedro lingers a second longer before groaning, pulling away. “Okay. I really do have to go.” He finishes buttoning his shirt in record time, shoving on his jacket, running a hand through his messy hair.  

And yet—before he reaches the door, he turns back, pointing at you. “Take your meds. We’ll talk more later when I get back.”  

You roll your eyes. “Yes, dad.”  

“I’m serious,” he says, giving you a pointed look. “Rest, take your meds, don’t do anything stupid.”  

You huff, crossing your arms. “You’re really bossy, you know that?”  

Pedro smirks, walking backward toward the door. “Yeah? And you really like it.”  

You grab a pillow and launch it at him.  

He laughs, catching it before it can hit the floor, and then he’s gone—leaving behind the ghost of his touch, the lingering taste of his lips, and the undeniable truth that you are absolutely, utterly screwed.

The moment the door clicks shut, you stare at it for a solid five seconds.  

Then—  

You let out a muffled squeal, practically throwing yourself onto the bed, hugging your pillow close to your chest as you kick your feet.  

Oh my god.  

Oh. My. God.  

Did that really just happen? Did Pedro fucking Pascal just kiss you? Did he say—no, did he actually say he likes you? Out loud? Like, in real life?  

You bury your face into the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut. This has to be a dream. Some fever-induced hallucination from the painkillers, because there is no way this is actually happening to you.  

Your stomach flips as you replay every second of it—the warmth of his hands on your skin, the way his lips moved against yours, the way he groaned into your mouth. Jesus. Your body feels like it’s buzzing, and you don’t know if you’ll ever recover from this.  

Then, like a bucket of cold water, a terrifying realization crashes over you.  

He doesn’t know. 

You push yourself up, staring blankly at the wall as the horror sinks in.  

He doesn’t know you’ve been reading fanfiction about him. About his characters. About him doing things that— 

You slap a hand over your mouth.  

Oh God.  

This is the worst thing that has ever happened to you.  

What if he ever finds out? What if he ever catches you again, peeking at your phone, and this time you don’t have the composure to hide it? What if he sees the ungodly amount of saved bookmarks you have?  

You flop back onto the bed, groaning into your pillow.  

Oh. Oh no.  

The fanfiction was bad enough. But then—  

Your stomach drops.  

The TikTok edits.  

The candid photos.  

The folder.  

You physically sit up in bed, gripping the pillow like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. The folder on your phone—hidden in the depths of your camera roll, labeled something totally inconspicuous like Receipts or Taxes—is filled with candid pictures, behind-the-scenes clips, and so many thirst edits of Pedro Pascal set to unholy audio.  

You squeeze your eyes shut, cringing so hard your whole body tenses.  

You can never let him near your phone.  

Ever.  

What if he finds the one edit with him as Jack Daniels? The one that made you short-circuit the first time you saw it? Or the compilation of him laughing, looking stupidly charming, set to some overly romantic Taylor Swift song?  

Jesus Christ.  

You groan, flopping back against the pillows, dragging your hands down your face.  

This is bad.  

Like, really bad.  

Because not only have you been a lowkey (very highkey) fangirl for years, but now you’ve kissed him. Now he likes you. Now there’s a very real possibility that this could actually go somewhere.  

And if he ever finds out just how deep your obsession goes?  

You’re changing your name and moving to a remote island.

End Notes:

Well… IT HAS BEEN HINTED AT. TIME AND TIME AGAIN. That you are a fan girl so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Oh God, what if he finds out 😃

Ya’ll they kissed! YAYYY!!

Awww you have a week off to rest and heal up girlieeee heuheuh

Look at Pedro being a mind reader. Love that for you!

We love a reassuring king. Gimme that shit. 

Yes, this is a little filler chapter before absolute chaos… oh hrm I meant… nothing what?

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta @suzysface @reidsworld @xmaykeca @dontlookatme121 @mandaloriankait @picketniffler @pedrofan @mystickittytaco @enchantingchildkitten @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @ro-nahime-things @senhoritamayblog @hermionelove @ashhlsstuff @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @youusunshineyoutemptress @klajmekkk @aomi-nabi

[moody-alcoholic]

Inspired by: Service Dog Johnny by the amazing void-my-warranty. I had the idea of; what if the roles were slightly different. What if Johnny invited Simon to come and fuck his girl to get over his fears.

Anyway. I'm super nervous about this because I really don't think I can do SDJ justice but enjoy none the less. Also void if you're seeing this you're awesome thank you for gifting the world SDJ.❤️

Part 1

Summary: John MacTavish x reader x Simon Riley (kinda), WC: 3.2k

CW: +18 content MDNI, Voyeurism, exhibitionism, fingering, angst, implied past abuse.

Enjoy <3

---

It’s Friday when Johnny springs the news his friend is coming round that evening. He didn’t give you much time to prepare, or get the house clean but you do the best you can. Johnny does go to the store for you and picks up some beer for them both. 

“You don’t need to do anything special.” Johnny says opening a beer. 

“I don’t mind, it's not that big of a deal, I like cooking.” You say, he comes over and wraps his arm round your waist kissing your neck.

“What exactly does he need help with?” You asks stirring the food. 

“Well, it’s.” He sighs, taking another sip of the beer. You turn to look at him, he seems nervous. 

“Would you ever be up for a threesome?” He asks suddenly. The question shocks you a little, you reach over and pick up your glass of wine. You weren’t expecting that, not the most unusual thing Johnny has asked you about when it comes to sex though.

“I mean, would you?” You ask taking a sip to quell the nerves. 

“Depends on who the other person is.” He says, running his hand through his hair. You take another sip and put the glass down. 

“What has this got to do with Simon? Is he the person you would want to have a threesome with?” You ask frowning. He takes another swing of his beer. 

“It’s not that simple.” Johnny says, you shake your head, now you’re even more confused. 

“I want to help him have sex.” Johnny says, holding his hands out. 

“Help him have sex by having a threesome?” You ask. 

“There’s more to it than that. It’s not just a threesome.” Johnny says. “He’s, he’s been through alot. Being intimate, it’s something he’s not very used to.” 

“Okay. Is he shy?” You’re not sure what to say, you've never even met him. 

“Shy? No, not Simon, well-” Johnny’s sentence gets cut off by the ringing of the door. 

“Just trust me, okay?” He says coming over to you and resting his free hand on your shoulder. You nod, you trust him. Now all of a sudden you feel nervous, you weren’t nervous before now, Johnny leaves the room to answer the door. So he’s invited Simon round for sex? Did Simon ask for this or is this one of Johnny’s master plans?

Or well, maybe he’s not here for sex because Simon has intimacy issues apparently. He should be talking to a therapist, what does Johnny expect to do? You have to keep a straight face though, you don’t want to make him more uncomfortable then he probably already is.

You turn off the stove hearing Johnny laugh as he comes in with Simon. You turn and smile at him, you put your hand out to shake it as Johnny introduces you. He’s not what you expect and he doesn’t seem shy. 

He’s massive, bigger and taller than Johnny, he’s definitely good looking, fit, brown eyes and blonde hair. With the way he holds himself you can tell he’s a soldier, Johnny does the same when he’s nervous, he probably doesn’t even realise it. 

“Thank you for cooking, you didn’t have to.” Simon says as you all walk over to the dining table. 

“I told her the same,” Johnny says, nudging him.  

“I don’t mind, besides when was the last time you had a home cooked meal?” You say going back into the kitchen while Johnny and Simon sit down. You finish your glass of wine swallowing the nerves, it’s going to be fine. What's the worst that could happen, you all have sex? 

That wouldn’t be the worst thing. 

…

Johnny and Simon seem to get on great, after a beer they both relax. You just enjoy listening to them talk about their last deployment. You don’t mind letting your second glass of wine mull you out. After everyone is finished and your stomach’s have settled Johnny insists on moving to the living room.

You all end up on the sofa, you find yourself relaxing against Johnny as he wraps his arms around you. Maybe Johnny won’t bring it up or maybe he’s waiting for Simon to bring it up. It’s not your job surly, you look up at Johnny, blinking at him, maybe he’ll get the idea. 

He smiles and kisses your forehead. Maybe not. You sigh looking back over at the bottle of wine and unopened beer cans on the table. 

“When was the last time you got laid LT?” Johnny asks suddenly. You snap your head back up to look at him. He’s got a cheeky grin on his face looking over at Simon. You hear him clear his throat, now you feel bad. Fucking epitome of subtle as always Johnny.

“Why do you want to know?” Simon replies, you look over at him. He’s resting the beer on his knee, he doesn’t seem nervous. More irritated that Johnny asked him. 

“Just looking out for you Si. Need you to blow off some steam before we’re back to work and you’re busting my balls again.” Johnny chuckles, at least that makes Simon smile. 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” You ask him trying to steer the conversion away from the awkwardness hanging in the air. 

“No.” You swallow the lump forming in your throat. You let out a breath sitting up. Johnny frowns at you. 

“I’m going to the bathroom.” You say, Johnny smiles his hand resting on your hip for as long as can. 

When you make your way back down you hear Johnny talking. You hang back for a second and eavesdrop. 

“I wanna help you Simon.” Johnny says.

“You don’t have to.” Simon replies.

“Well of course I don’t have to. I want to.” Johnny replies, Simon sighs and you hear a can open. “I think it would be good for you, if you want. We’ll take it slow, promise.” 

You feel a lump rise in your throat at Johnny’s words, you always knew he was close with his unit but you didn’t know he was this close. You let out a breath and slowly walk back into the room. You see Johnny move his hand off Simon’s thigh and you go over to pick the empty cans off the table. 

“Need anything?” You ask, trying to keep your voice level. Johnny and Simon both shake their heads. You go into the kitchen anyway to throw out the cans. You hear Johnny coming in, his hands slip round your waist. You smile at his touch and turn to face him. 

“Do you mind doing this?” Johnny asks, his thumb comes up to brush your cheek. 

“Do you?” You ask. He smiles, nodding his head. You smile back, reaching up and kissing him. 

“We’ll take it slow. You want to stop at any time we will.” Johnny says his hand rubbing your arm. 

“I don’t think it’s me you need to be worrying about.” You say. 

“Sorry I sort of sprung this on you, I didn’t know if he would agree.” He says, you frown. 

“Did you speak to him about this before tonight?” 

“I hinted at the idea.” 

“Hinted?” You scoff. “John MacTavish, you're the least subtle person I have ever met.” You wrap your arm around his waist pulling him against you. He hums with that cheeky grin on his face. 

“What happened to the bra?” He asks. You smile. 

“One less obstacle.” He kisses your forehead. You follow him back into the living room, Simon has moved onto the recliner. This time when you sit back on the sofa you don’t lean against Johnny. 

Simon seems to be suddenly extremely interested in what’s going on on the news. Johnny’s hand lands on your thigh and rubs it. He turns and leans in to kiss you, he takes his time mapping your mouth out, you relax into the kiss forgetting Simon’s there for a second.

Johnny’s hand slips up your shirt groping your breast. You hum in his mouth and he pulls away from the kiss. He removes it, gripping the hem of your shirt. You raise an eyebrow at him, what you’re just going to fuck while he watches or maybe joins in.

Johnny tips his head to the side smiling. You swallow the nerves and hold your hands up so he can slip your top off. A satisfied noise leaves Johnny and before you can start to feel really embarrassed about anything he’s already locked his mouth round one of your nipples.

You can’t help moaning and running your hand through his hair. He had it cut while he was away, you want him to grow it out again so you have something to grip onto. Johnny’s tongue flicks your nipple and he gently nibbles it before he pulls his mouth off with an audible pop. 

“What do you think, Si?” Johnny asks, looking over at him. You look over to see Simon press his lips together. “Pretty ain’t she?”

You feel heat rush to your cheeks as he nods, it doesn’t last long though. Johnny pulls you closer to him, planting his lips on yours and pressing his tongue in your mouth while his thumb rubs circles on your nipple still wet from his mouth.

He breaks from the kiss pressing his forehead on yours. “How ‘bout you go show Simon how good you are?” He says, it’s almost a whisper. You nod and he gives you one last quick kiss before you stand up. 

Johnny's hand lingers on the small of your back for as long as he can as you step over to stand in front of Simon. He doesn’t look that nervous, you know he is though, the way his lips are pressed together avoiding your eye line. His hands gripping the chair arms. You’re not sure what to do, make sure you don’t freak him out is probably a good start. 

“I’m not a virgin.” He says, you clench your jaw feeling awkward. “It’s just been a while, I'm out of practice.” 

“How long?” You ask.

You bring his hand up and place it on your breast. “I like having my nipples played with.” You say letting go of his hand, encouraging him to squeeze. You smile at him, you need to keep yourself open and calm. 

“Couple of years,” he says, like it's the most embarrassing fact in the world. Now you just feel bad for him, again. You reach down for the hand resting on the chair arm and pick it up. You can see the bulge in his pants, that's good, one less obstacle you need to worry about. 

His hands are rougher than Johnny’s, his grip is tighter, you’re not sure if it’s out of nerves or not. If he relaxes it will be easier, you don’t think that's going to be happening any time soon. His thumb brushes over your nipple and you reward it with a hum, trying to make your body relax even more. 

His other hand comes up to your other beast and before you know it he has both his thumbs running over your nipples. It feels good, if this were any other situation-or Johnny you might be able to cum just like this. 

You feel Johnny step up behind you, his hands land on your waist as he pulls you back against him. 

“Wanna see what else she likes?” He asks, resting his chin on your shoulder. Simon looks up at him and nods. Johnny leaves you and Simon drops his hand as you both watch Johnny move the coffee table out the way. When he’s done he goes over to the sofa and pulls the throw down on the floor, sitting down with his back against the sofa. 

“Come.” He says gesturing at you, you raise an eyebrow and walk over anyway, he spreads his legs and pats on the floor between them.

“Pants off, back on my chest.” He says, you nod pulling them off. This time you don’t get embarrassed thinking about Simon seeing you. You sit down between his legs and rest up against his back. You look over at Simon who’s face has turned a light red. Maybe this is too much, too fast. 

He hasn’t said stop though. Johnny reaches over and pulls your knees up so Simon has a perfect view of you spread out against him. You can feel his own cock pressing against your lower back, his hands run down your thighs eventually pressing on your clit. 

You try not to squirm, keeping yourself still. You let out a breath as Johnny moves his fingers round soaking them in your juices before pressing them back on your clit. You moan this time at the new sensation, his fingers pressing little circles with ease. 

That’s good though right? You should be looking like you’re enjoying yourself. This is a fun activity not something to be afraid off. 

“She likes this too, Si. Wanna feel?” Johnny says then presses a kiss into your neck. You watch as he shifts in the chair, for a second he looks like he doesn’t know what to say. He lets out a sigh and stands up out of the chair, he steps over then kneels down in front of you. He watches for a second as Johnny changes his strokes. 

You see Simon swallow before he reaches out. Johnny’s fingers are replaced with his. It’s a whole different sensation. His movements are slower, more unsure but the pressure is there and from having them both play with your nipples your body is slowly building up to that sweet release. 

“Put your fingers in her.” Johnny says after a few seconds. Simon looks up at him then quickly to you, you smile and nod at him. He shuffles on his knees again taking his fingers off your clit almost like he’s unsure. 

You watch his adam's apple bob then he presses a finger into you. You can’t help moaning, his finger stops, you smile at him and he continues to press it in until he can’t anymore. You feel Johnny’s cock twitch behind you. He’s enjoying this, he moves his fingers back to your clit. 

“Feel good love?” Johnny asks in your ear, you nod. “Use your words darlin’ tell him how good you feel.” 

“Your finger feels good Simon, you can use more if you want.” You say looking up at him. You think you see the faintest smile creep onto his lips. The next time he pulls his finger out he adds another. The new stretch makes you part your legs further, scooting your position slightly so his fingers rub against your g-spot with each thrust. You moan again, this time tipping your head slightly. You want to come but not until Simon’s ready, you don’t want to scare him. 

“See not so scary after all.” Johnny says, you can hear the smile in his voice. You look up at Simon who seems like he’s in a world of his own, maybe that's where he needs to be to get through this. You wonder what happened to him, you didn’t bother asking Johnny. It must have been something horrible. 

You let out a moan trying not to clench down on Simon’s fingers, you don’t want to spook him. Johnny hums in your neck, you know he’ll know you’re close, sometimes it feels like he can read your body better than you. 

“What to make her cum?” Johnny asks, you almost want to nod and scream yes. Simon looks up again, he hesitates for a second, his fingers stopping in you. He nods and you smile at him. 

“Just don’t take your fingers out okay?” Johnny asks, you swallow, you don’t want either of them to take their fingers off you. Simon nods again, his fingers start moving again, he makes sure to press in all the way. He speeds up too, you’re not in control anymore, maybe it’s for the best. 

Johnny’s fingers on your clit are relentless, you’re focusing on not spooking Simon or clenching around his fingers until you cum. Johnny hums in your ear and it sends shivers down your spine. He can tell your close cock twitches behind you. You’re not sure if you need to give an audible warning to Simon though. 

Your breathing increases as does your moaning, you’re close and you need to make your mind up. 

“Johnny.” You call his name, it’s almost like you need to wait for his permission, you’re not sure what to do.

“Yeah baby, come for us.” His voice low in your ear. Christ, that's all the permission you need, you tip your head back and close your eyes moaning as you clench down on Simon’s fingers. He stops moving but you don’t care. Johnny rides you through the orgasm as Simon’s fingers leave you. 

“See, not so bad.” You hear Johnny say. You open your eyes as you feel Simon get up to his feet. 

“Si?” Johnny asks as he moves to leave the room. You sit up.

“Bathroom.” Is all he says as he leaves the living room.

“Is he okay?” You ask leaning forward between Johnny’s legs. You turn to look at him watching out the door. You both hear the downstairs toilet door close. Johnny looks back over at you and smiles, you can see the concern in his eyes though, he’s not as slick as he thinks he is. 

“You did great.” He smiles, leaning forward to kiss you. You can’t help feeling like you’ve done something wrong though. Maybe it was all too much for him. 

“I’ll go check on him.” Johnny says helping you to your feet. You smile at him and nod. Maybe he just needs a second. You feel bad all of a sudden. Johnny leaves and you shiver, the room suddenly feels cold. You’re just standing there naked, you’re not sure if things are going to continue. 

You reach over pulling the other throw off the couch and wrap yourself up. At least this way if he wants to keep going you don’t have to go through the hassle of taking all your clothes off. You want to sit down but your curiosity gets the better of you and you head over to the living room door. 

You hear the toilet door open. No one says anything, you make sure to keep out of sight of the hall, trying to focus on listening. 

You hear Johnny sigh. “You did so well mate.” There’s a sniffle in response, is he crying? Now you really feel bad for eavesdropping. 

“Wanna stay the night?” Johnny asks, there’s no response.

“Want a mask?” He asks, you frown, a mask? “Guest room, in the chest of drawers.” You hear movement and step back over to sit on the sofa. You’re still getting comfy as Johnny walks in. He smiles at you and comes over to sit next to you. His arm comes round your shoulders and he pulls you up against him. 

“Simon’s going to stay the night.” He says kissing the top of your head. You nod trying to swallow the guilt of eavesdropping on their conversation. Johnny reaches over to pick up the remote and unmute the TV. 

“Is he okay?” You ask. 

“He’s fine. He just needs a minute.” Johnny says. You nod 

“Thank you.” He says. “Really I mean it. You didn’t have to do this.” You look up at him and smile, it makes you feel all warm inside.

“I love you johnny.” You say. 

“I love you too.”

---

[multific]

More Than a Gamble

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: You and Mattheo have been secretly dating, and though you love him, you hate hiding.

The Slytherin common room was dimly lit, the glow of emerald flames flickering against the stone walls.

You moved quietly through the space, your heart fluttering with excitement.

It had been weeks since you and Mattheo started sneaking around together, stealing kisses in empty corridors, meeting in secret corners of the castle. Every touch, every whispered word had convinced you that what you had was real.

You loved him.

And even though you hated keeping your relationship a secret, you held onto the hope that soon, things would change. That one day, he would hold your hand in front of everyone.

But as you neared the hallway leading to the boys’ dormitories, voices carried through the air.

You froze.

“Alright, mate, just admit it,” Theodore’s voice was laced with amusement. “We all knew about the bet. We knew you were dating her.”

Your stomach twisted.

“What’s your point, Nott?” Mattheo’s voice came next, steady, unreadable.

“The point is,” Theo continued, “you lost.” He chuckled. “You were supposed to take her out once. One date. But what’s it been now? Over a month? Don’t tell me you actually caught feelings.”

A cold weight settled in your chest.

Mattheo had to ask you out on a date… as a bet?

Your world blurred as silence stretched between them, each second suffocating you.

Then, finally, Mattheo spoke.

His voice was quiet, but the words were clear.

“I don’t regret it.”

The weight in your chest cracked open into something sharp.

You turned and ran.

You barely registered the sound of your own sobs as you ran through the corridors. You didn’t care if anyone saw you. Didn’t care if they heard. You just needed to be alone.

You threw yourself onto your bed, curling in on yourself as the tears kept coming.

It had been a lie. All of it.

The touches, the kisses, the promises and the late-night whispers.

Had he ever truly wanted you? Or were you just a game to him?

The door to your dorm burst open.

“Y/N.”

You shivered at the sound of his voice.

Mattheo stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling as he had run straight from the common room. His dark curls were a mess, his lips parted, his eyes filled with something close to desperation.

“Please,” he breathed, stepping inside. “Just-just listen.”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to sit up. Your voice trembled. “So it’s true?”

Mattheo flinched. “No.” Then he exhaled sharply. “I mean-yes, but not the way you think.”

A bitter laugh escaped you. “Not the way I think? You made a bet, Mattheo. A bet to take me on a date. Was anything real?”

He took a step closer, his hands clenched at his sides. “You. You were real.”

Tears stung your eyes again. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

His jaw tightened. “Because I was a coward.” His voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I never thought I’d fall for you. I asked you out for a stupid, stupid reason. But that first night, when you laughed at something I said when you looked at me like I wasn’t just some reckless bastard, that made it real. And every moment after that was never a joke to me. I never told you because I was afraid you’d walk away.” He let out a shaky breath. “And I couldn’t lose you.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

Mattheo Riddle, proud and untouchable, stood before you completely unravelled.

And despite everything, despite the pain, you still loved him.

“I hate what you did to me,” you whispered.

“I hate myself for it,” he admitted. “But I swear to you, I would never hurt you like that again.” He stepped closer, reaching out hesitantly. “I love you, Y/N. And if you tell me it’s over, I’ll walk away. But if there’s any part of you that still believes in us-” He swallowed hard. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that I never needed a bet to want you.”

You closed your eyes, your heart waging war against your mind.

But when his fingers brushed yours you realized the truth.

You still wanted him.

But you were no fool.

"I want to believe, I really do. But... I was hiding my love for you, and you played me. I cannot look past that. You lied to me."

"Y/N, please I really meant what I said, I want you. I don't want to hide anymore."

"Would you have said the same if I didn't overhear you? Would you have said that you love me?"

"I don't want to lose you."

"You lost me the moment you played me. Please, leave. I need to be alone." you turned away from him, you only heard as he closed the door behind himself.

You wanted to believe him. But this truly hurt. Knowing he only started dating you because of a bet. Now, all of his words seemed like a lie.

---

Days passed and although Mattheo followed you almost like a lost puppy, you tried your best to ignore him.

He tried to find opportunities to speak to you, but you didn't allow it. You ran away. You figured he would give up.

He will move on.

He will find a new girl to play with.

You just had to hold out until then.

But then days turned into a week, a week turned into a month.

Now the entire school was whispering about you and Mattheo.

He didn't give up.

It got to a point where you had to hide from him, hiding in the school grounds. You finally managed to find a tree that hid you from the others.

But of course, Mattheo found you.

"Can I sit?" he asked but you didn't look up from your book. He sat down next to you on the ground, he kept his distance.

Everything in you told you to leave, except for your heart.

Your heart, as if it had its own way of life, begged for you to go to him so he could hold you as if your heart was missing its other half.

And what your heart desired, made your mind daydream. You were reminded of the way everything used to be.

How you two were hiding behind trees and bushes, how he looked at you. How he still looks at you.

You looked up from your book just as he got ready to light his cigarette.

You groaned and reached out, snatching it from his lips, you broke the thing in half.

"I told you to quit," you said before moving back to your place and trying your best to read your book.

But you were only pretending. You could see him watching you from the corner of your eye.

"I want you back. I need you. I don't think you truly understand just how much." you looked up at him from your book, his eyes were intense, and they held meaning and purpose.

You closed your eyes for a moment, you needed to think. Your next move will decide everything, the weight of that almost crushed you.

So you opened your eyes and whispered, “Then prove it.”

And he did, he moved so fast, your mind didn't even register it.

You only realised that he was right in front of you when his lips met yours, it wasn’t just a kiss.

It was a promise.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔 𝗣𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗞𝗘𝗗!! lando norris x  fem! girlfriend! reader (fluff) fic summary . . . because why wouldn't you prank your boyfriend?

( my master list | more of lando norris ) ( requests )

You stretch, a lazy smile on your face as you glance over at Lando. He’s still lying in bed, propped up on his elbows, catching his breath, but his eyes are glued to you with the most intense, bewildered look on his face.

You had just finished a vigorous round of sex, and now . . . well, now it was time for a little fun.

You slowly swing your legs over the side of the bed, making sure to deliberately ignore Lando’s wide, panicked eyes. You grab a random shirt from the floor, straighten it, fold it, and toss it into the laundry basket, all the while acting like absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

You walk across the room, tidying up, folding the blanket on the chair, and fluffing up a pillow like it's just a regular day.

Lando’s staring at you in absolute horror, mouth hanging open. He shifts on the bed, his entire posture stiffening like he’s trying to figure out what kind of alternate universe this is.

Finally, after a few agonizing minutes, he speaks. His voice is tight, unsure. “Yn . . . ?”

You turn casually, still not looking at him. “Yeah?”

“Are . . . Are you, uh . . . Are you just gonna . . . clean up? Like nothing happened?”

You finally turn to look at him, and that’s when you see the panic and anxiety in his eyes—the dread written across his face. His hands, which were nervously playing with the sheets, suddenly drop to his lap.

Wait . . .

You suddenly feel a little guilty.

He looks like someone who’s just been told the world’s ending. There’s no denying it: the man’s face is full of genuine concern.

Lando hesitates, his voice barely a whisper. “Yn, was it . . . bad? Am I that bad that . . . you’re just gonna go, you know, clean up instead of . . . cuddle? Or, you know, do some aftercare?”

Your stomach does a little flip, your heart softening at the sight of him, still lying there like he’s been rejected in the worst way possible. You realize exactly how horrible your little prank might have seemed to him.

You walk back to the bed, your face suddenly more serious, and crawl onto the mattress, straddling him. Lando’s eyes are still wide, like he’s waiting for you to tell him the worst news of his life.

“Babe,” you say softly, cupping his face in your hands. “You know I love you, right?”

He nods quickly, still looking terrified. “Y-Yeah, but you just . . . You looked so casual, and I thought I…” He trails off, clearly too embarrassed to finish his sentence.

“Lando,” you say gently, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was just pranking you.”

His eyes widen, clearly confused. “A prank?”

You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. “Yeah, a prank. I wanted to see if you’d freak out because you thought I was too busy to cuddle.”

For a moment, Lando doesn’t say anything. Then, after a beat, he groans and flops back against the pillow, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“You’re a menace,” he mutters, clearly both relieved and embarrassed at once.

You smile, running your fingers through his hair. “But you love me.”

Lando sighs dramatically. “I don’t know. After that stunt? Maybe I should rethink that.”

“Oh please, you know you’re obsessed with me,” you tease, pressing your body closer to his.

He lifts his hand to look at you, raising an eyebrow. “I’m obsessed with cuddles and aftercare, actually.”

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Well, then let’s get to that.”

Lando grins mischievously. “I was thinking more of revenge.” He smirked, flipping you over and hooking your knee above his shoulder.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

My Fault London: Nick Blurbs

A/N: Kind of headcannons, kind of blurbs, all around just wanted to write for Nick :) Spicey Ver. Here!

Fast, Calculated

Nick’s car hums beneath you, the engine smooth as he weaves through the streets at an almost effortless speed. You know he’s in control, but that doesn’t stop your pulse from spiking every time he threads through tight gaps between cars like they aren’t even there.

“Nick—” you start, gripping the edge of your seat.

His smirk is almost lazy, but his eyes never leave the road. “Relax.”

“Relax? You’re going ninety in a fifty zone—”

Before you can finish, he smoothly takes a turn down an empty side street, braking just enough for the car to slide into place at the curb. His hand lands on your knee—firm, steady.

“You don’t trust me?” he asks, his voice softer now.

You exhale, your fingers still clenched against the seat. You hate that he always does this—pushes the limits, then pulls back just in time. Never reckless, but always toeing the line.

He watches you carefully. His hand doesn’t move. “I know what I’m doing,” he murmurs. “You know that.”

You swallow, heart still racing. Slowly, you force yourself to breathe.

Finally, you meet his gaze. “I do.”

His smirk fades into something almost unreadable, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. Then, as if the moment never happened, he pulls away and taps the wheel.

“Good,” he says, voice back to its usual cocky drawl. “Now, you picking the music, or are we just sitting in silence all night?”

Protective to a Fault

The party is too loud, too crowded. You regret coming the second you realize how packed it is, but Nick insisted he wasn’t letting you stay home alone.

“You gotta get out once in a while,” he had teased. “Or I’m gonna start thinking you secretly hate fun.”

You had rolled your eyes, but now, as you shift uncomfortably in the too-warm space, you almost wish you had stayed home.

Especially because the guy you’ve been trying to politely brush off for the last five minutes isn’t getting the hint.

“Come on, sweetheart,” the guy slurs, leaning in too close. “One dance—what’s the harm?”

Your stomach twists. “I said no.”

“That’s not what your eyes are saying—”

And then suddenly, Nick is there, standing between you and the guy like he was waiting for this moment.

“Hey, buddy,” Nick says, voice light, but there’s something dangerous underneath. “Didn’t she just say no?”

The guy scoffs, barely glancing at Nick. “Who the hell are you?”

Now normally Nick isn’t one for talking much. He likes to use his fists to communicate. But after promising his mother promising you, not to be so violent, he finds his restraint ticking like a clock at the moment. Nick tilts his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Someone with a short temper and a lot of free time. You wanna find out what happens when you ignore her again?”

The guy sizes Nick up, like he’s thinking about pushing his luck. But then Nick shifts slightly, and you know he’s already decided what will happen if this guy takes another step toward you.

The guy mutters something under his breath before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Nick doesn’t watch him leave. Instead, he turns to you, scanning your face. “You okay?”

You nod, exhaling. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything—just hands you the drink from his own hand instead of yours.

You frown. “What—”

“Mine’s not spiked,” he says simply.

The realization hits you all at once. You glance down at the drink you were holding. Had that guy—?

Your stomach churns.

Nick sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I told you,” he mutters. “You gotta stop trusting people. I get to do that for you.”

Soft Spot for Animals

It’s past midnight when you walk into Nick’s garage, expecting to find him working on his car. Instead, you see him crouched down beside a tiny, scrappy-looking kitten, offering it a piece of leftover sandwich.

You stop in your tracks, biting back a grin. “Are you—”

Nick looks up sharply. “Shut up.”

You raise your hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t say a word.”

He mutters something under his breath and focuses back on the kitten. It hesitates before snatching the food from his hand, its little ribs visible under its fur.

“You’re keeping it,” you say, matter-of-fact.

Nick scoffs. “Hell no.”

Two days later, you walk into the garage and find the same kitten curled up in his lap while he absently scratches behind its ears.

You smirk. “Not keeping it, huh?”

Nick doesn’t even look up. “It’s temporary.”

Sure.

Night Owl

Your phone buzzes at 2 AM.

Nick: Come outside.

You sigh but grab your hoodie anyway, stepping out into the night air. He’s leaning against his car, arms crossed, looking up at the sky.

“You always do this?” you ask, stuffing your hands into your pockets. “Show up unannounced in the middle of the night?”

He tilts his head toward the passenger seat. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured you couldn’t either.”

You blink. He’s not wrong, but… how does he know that?

Still, you don’t argue. You get in.

He drives with the windows down, the air cool against your skin. Neither of you speak, but the silence is comfortable. Eventually, he pulls up to an overlook where the whole city stretches below.

For a while, you just sit there, watching the lights. Then, out of nowhere, he says, “You ever think about leaving?”

You glance at him. “Where would we go?”

He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “Somewhere new. Somewhere no one knows us.”

Something in his voice makes your chest tighten.

“You’d take me with you?” you ask quietly.

Nick turns his head toward you, his expression unreadable. Then, just as softly, he says, “Wouldn’t go without you.”

Actions Over Words

Nick isn’t the type to say he cares.

Instead, he just shows up.

When your car won’t start in the middle of the night while you’re over late at a friends house, you don’t even get through the second ring before he picks up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Car won’t start,” you mumble. “I—I didn’t know who else to call—”

“Where are you?” he asks, already moving.

Fifteen minutes later, he pulls up beside you. He doesn’t say a word—just pops the hood, fixes the problem in five minutes, then leans against the car with his arms crossed.

“Next time, don’t wait so long to call me,” he says.

You sigh, rubbing your arms. “I didn’t want to bother you—”

He clicks his tongue. “Dumbest thing I’ve heard all night.”

You smile. “So… I’m not a bother?”

Nick gives you a look. Then, to your surprise, he reaches out and flicks your forehead.

“You better not be,” he mutters. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

[400badrequest]

a bit presumptious | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

SUMMARY: Mr Murdock is a good boss - it's not his fault that you day dream about him fucking you.

WORD COUNT: 4.6K

cw: enthusiastic cunnilingus, gratuitous smut, office sex, age difference

A/N: ik i spelt the title wrong this is a cross post from AO3 here

Interning for Nelson and Murdock was supposed to be good. Well, it was, but it was exhausting. While it was definitely better than the other less ethical options there was always so much to do. Your desk was constantly buried in paperwork no matter how late you stayed, things to be sorted, filed, signed by Mr Murdock (“Please. I know I’m older than you, but Matt is fine.”) or Mr Foggy (“Better than being called Mr Nelson!”). You were beginning to understand why Karen said fuck it and decided to pursue a journalistic career. It didn’t help that the heating was always broken and that even with your scarf and stockings you were still freezing your nips off. 

“Mr Foggy left some files on your desk before he left for his date,” You tell Matt when he arrives from the cold outside, watching as he tugged off his bulky coat. “Said that Detective Sergeant Mahoney wanted a second opinion on them.”

The wind had left his soft hair tousled, and he huffs a little as he runs his fingers through it in an attempt to fix it - you bite back a laugh as he somehow manages to make it worse. “Thank you,” Matt says softly, a gentle smile on his lips. “I can’t believe Foggy and Marcy’ve been together for two years now.”

You can’t help but watch as he takes his glasses off to wipe the rain off them, immediately locking onto his soft, unfocused eyes. He rarely took them off around you and tended to slip them back on when you entered a room. Foggy had explained once that he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable with the empty vacant look that they always had, glazed as he looked slightly past you - and you’d never really quite known how to tell him you didn’t mind.

“They’re cute,” you offer as he walks past you to his office. “Mr Foggy said something about um- Danny being an angel? They’re going to the Met for dinner.”

“ Danny?” Matt says from the doorway of his office. “That’s one hell of an anniversary date.” There’s a fond chuckle in his voice as he turns around. “Ow.”

“You okay?” You stand up quickly, heels clicking as you dash to his office. He waves you off, hand resting on the edge of the corner of his table, fingers rubbing at the corner. Your breath stutters as you can’t help but watch as his index and middle finger part over it, circling slowly.

“Bumped the desk,” he admits. 

“Oh uh- that’s my fault,” you say, embarrassment colouring your voice. “I ran into it when I put the paperwork on your desk - I completely forgot to move it back, I’m so sorry-”

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” he chuckles softly, shifting the table back. “Accidents happen.”

You can’t help but hover awkwardly in the doorway as he sits at his desk. The only light filtering into the room is from the dandelion yellow street lamp outside, peeking through the slats of the open shades. Shadowy impressions of rain trace their way down Matt’s face, tinted glasses almost black. Your eyes trail down with a droplet that slips down the window, following as its dark echo dancing down his throat and shirt, until it disappears into the shadow hidden behind his desk. He hums, fingers tracing the braille of the file. 

“Do you want coffee?” You blurt. “I- yeah. I need coffee. I’ll get you some-”

You turn on your heel and beeline for the tea station that Karen had set up ages ago. Matt’s chuckle follows you while you click on a new pot of coffee.

It made you feel like a perv - tracing your eyes across him when he’s across the room, watching his hands flex when he held his coffee cups, staring at his scruff when he smirked. Foggy sometimes stifled laughter at your rising flush whenever Matt pressed his hand to your lower back to move you out of the way, or to figure out his way around an unknown space. It was even worse when it felt like Matt had caught you, head sometimes tilting in your direction when you looked. You knew he couldn’t see you, but still. 

You sigh as you slump against the counter, fighting the want to bury your head in your hands and scream. The crush you were fostering on your boss was just a crush (at least that’s what you told yourself). It stemmed from admiration - Matt was so terrifying and silver tongued in court, but kind and soft spoken to clients. And it didn’t help that he liked to act like he cared about you sometimes; making sure you were sleeping, eating, draping his coat on you when it got too cold, tsking softly and exasperatedly when you prioritised studies over basic needs.

It wasn’t helpful either that you’d seen the types of women he went for - slim, willowy and assertive. You… you weren’t that. You didn’t have the genetic gifts of mile long thin legs and a godly metabolism. Your tummy pressed up against your pants whenever you tucked your button downs in, and the insides of your thighs rubbed together when you walked. Marcy said it made you a real woman, not some waif - but that didn’t stop you from believing that despite his lack of sight, Mr Murdock would somehow know.

Giving in, you groan into your elbow as the pot dings, giving yourself a single minute. Then, you straighten your blouse, pour two cups - both with milk, one with sugar - and walk back to Matt’s office. 

“Coffee,” you say, putting it on his desk, careful not to place it on any paper. “6 o’clock, 7 and a little bit inches.”

Matt hums as he grabs it smoothly. “You’ve gotten better at that,” he praises and you flush as you lean in the doorway, trying to ignore how hot the coffee is as it burns down your throat. 

“I’m trying,” You reply, a grin in your voice. “Helps that you’re easy on the eyes.”

“What?” Matt startles with a laugh, looking up at you with a raised eyebrow. “Uh-” you stumble over your words. “I mean- like- as in y'know- um-” A small grin starts to curve at Matt’s mouth. “I watch you.”

“You watch me.” He rises at that, hands braced on the table. It’s starting to spread into a proper smirk.

“Wait, no, not like that.” You say, affronted. “As in like- uh- watching how you do things, how you move so I can make it easier.”

“Mm, really.” There’s a chuckle weaved in his words. “ That’s what you mean by ‘easy on the eyes’?”

“Yes,” you squeak, lie tumbling out. “Absolutely.” You can feel your palms start to sweat, and it is not from the heat of the cup in your hands. Somehow, Matt has managed to get around the table, now leaning on it with his ankles crossed, hand braced behind him. You can’t stop your eyes tracing from his dress shoes, up to his belt and hovering there before your gaze crawls to his face. Matt’s head is cocked slightly to the side, as if listening to something. 

“So the way you’re undressing me with your eyes has nothing to do with you finding me attractive?” 

“Jesus Christ, how did you-?”

“I’m blind, not stupid,” Matt says with a smirk, and you can’t help but swallow thickly at how the shadows cut across his front, biceps tight in his dress shirt. 

“Never said you were,” you reply weakly. 

“Vision isn't the only sense that humans have, you know." He says wryly.

“I know that!”

"Do you?” His voice is teasing as he steps forward. “From the sound of your voice, the way you walk, how you always swallow when I touch you - I don’t need sight to know what you like.” You can’t stop the shiver that runs up your spine as he takes the cup from your hand, placing it on a filing shelf. “I can feel the heat coming from your body, the way it radiates off you."

Your head bonks against the door frame as you groan, face colouring with fluster and embarrassment. “Shush. Shut up, sir.” You grumble, doing your best to not look at him. 

His voice is tinged with amusement as he talks. "What's the matter?”

“C’mon sir,” You whine a little. “You’re being unfair.”

"I never knew I could cause you to have a crisis by just speaking." Matt murmurs. You can smell his laundry powder - it’s faintly floral. For a moment you’re glad he’s blind, knowing he can’t tell you’re staring at the soft curve of his bottom lip. 

"I- fucking- I’m going home,” You rush out. "I can't do this. I can't do feelings, feelings for my boss " You moan, face hot with what feels like shame. Maybe it’s arousal. 

“Wait." Matt murmured, the tone of his voice taking on a more serious edge. A small frown pulled at his lips. "You don't have to go. We can just ignore this entire conversation - forget it even happened." His voice is genuine, gentle and concerned. “Please.”

You swallow thickly, having to tilt your head up to look up at him, door frame digging into your spine. 

When you don’t speak or move, a smile lifts the corner of his mouth. His step forward is quiet, and even with your back already against the frame, you can’t help but push into it a little more. “What do you want?” He murmurs softly, gently cupping your hands with his. The calluses of his palms are rough against your smooth knuckles, the contrast jarring. 

“I- I don’t-” You stutter, voice caught in your throat. What the fuck was happening?

His thumb lightly brushed against the palm of your hand, gentle and comforting as he felt across your love line. 

Matt took another step closer, so close you could nearly feel his breath on your cheek, his firm chest gently pressing against the swell of your breasts. 

"What do you want?" He repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

You let out a small whimper, looking up at the scruff on his jaw, the aged lines on his face, the greys starting to grow at his temples. Matt- Mr Murdock was much older, more experienced. There was the faint sparkle of greys in the stubble around his mouth too. 

Without a word, he reached up and gently cupped your soft jaw in his hand. The pad of his thumb gently stroked across your cheek, and you did your best to breathe as he tilted your face up to meet his unseeing gaze behind his glasses. A flush had warmed your face - he could feel the vestiges of innocence in the curve of your face. 

You could tell that even through the darkened shades he was doing his best to focus all of himself on you. Your heartbeat thumped hard in your throat - hard enough that he could feel it on the fingers curled gently around your jaw. 

He leaned in slightly, his breath ghosting over your skin. "Just tell me what you want," he whispered again, his voice low and husky, a tinge of pleading in his tone.

"Please," You whisper, tilting your face up. " Please."

"Please, what?" He tilted his head to the side. He was so close, his lips almost brushing against yours. He could smell the sweat and desire on you, you were sure of it. "Tell me what you want," he said again, his voice almost guttural. Your eyes flutter shut on instinct - from need or shyness, you don’t know. Your free hand twists into the doorframe. 

You know he can’t see you. But at that he groans and holds you still as he presses a firm full kiss on your waiting mouth. It’s slow and gentle, and for a moment he just holds you there - until you groan just the tiniest bit.

It’s like a switch flips - he drops your other hand, gripping at your plush hip and presses you hard into the jamb, squishing your soft tits and the swell of your tummy into the muscled planes of his body. The hand that was once gentle on your face snakes up into your hair, tugging until it’s out and then tangling his fingers firmly at the base so he can manipulate your head so he can deepen the kiss into something wet and filthy. 

You gasp, pulling him in closer with the front of his shirt, scrambling for purchase as you twist your hands in the fabric. As your mouth opens, Matt licks in - he tastes like sweet coffee and spit and sin. A whimper leaves you, unbidden, as he continues to paw at your soft hips, body lighting up from the inside. You know your underwear is ruined as it sticks to your cunt, already dripping from the feeling of him on you. 

He made a groan of his own, the sound escaping low and deep in his throat. His face is flushed, eyes lidded as he pulls away, still holding you in place.

"Oh fuck-" You whine as he pull away, you bosom heaving against his solid chest. "What the fuck, come back-"

Matt wets his swollen lip, his breath heavy. You know that you probably look the same - if not worse. He leaned down and brushed his lips over the soft exposed skin of your neck, leaving soft, feather-like kisses as he used his grip in your hair to gently guide your head to the side. "So impatient," he teases.

At that you moan reedily. “Oh- Matt-”

His grip on your hip tightened, pulling you firmly against him. You squeak as your breasts squish into him, pelvis to pelvis - you can feel him thickening in his pants, a flush climbing your cheeks.

Matt’s lips rove lazily over your skin. He could feel your pulse flutter against his lips, racing harder and faster. You could feel his sharklike grin as he hummed softly against your skin. "Be patient," he chided, biting gently at your throat.

A strangled groan rips from you as you feel him slide the hand on your hip to your chest, gently palming your full tits. “Okay?” He murmurs quietly. You don’t have the brain to be embarrassed about the pudge of your tummy being smushed.

“ Yes,” you whine. “Yes, just- please, Matthew.”

That’s all it takes for him to break - his mouth is back on you, fierce and possessive. “Again. Say it again,” He demands between kisses. You hear a clatter - he’s ripped off his glasses, throwing them carelessly behind him.  

“Matthew,” you breathe out as you slide a hand so it's pressed against his firm abdomen, heel against your abs, fingers ghosting his belt buckle. Matt growls at that, dragging you to his desk roughly - papers and pens alike hit the floor. 

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He grinds out as he tugs open your pants. "Any?” “Matt-!” You squeak as he rips your blouse open, buttons flinging across the room. Your soft breasts sit heavy in your utilitarian bra, and he tuts when he feels it. His fingers are adept and nimble as they quickly unhook the back, wrenching it off - it skitters when it hits the wood floor. 

“ Fuck-” he bites out as he palms the dove soft, squishy flesh of your tits, roughly palming at your nipples. A small shriek pops out of your mouth when he twists a perk nipple, standing proud in the cold. In turn you start to fumble with his belt but he gently smacks your hand away, dropping to his knees.

“Matthew?” You ask confused - but he shoves his way forward, lifting one of your legs so it's hooked over his shoulder. Embarrassment floods your face when he mashes his face directly up against your clothed cunt.

“Matt!” you can help but protest, as he groans and you yelp as you feel him grab at the zip and rip your fucking pants so that your drenched panties are on display. “ Fuck,” He snarls, hands on your soft thighs, fingering at your stretch marks, kneading at them. “I can smell you from here.” Matt sounds enamoured, and he whines as he presses his nose to your soaked cunt, lapping at the cloth. 

“Oh my guh-” You can’t get the full word out - he shoves your panties to the side, latching onto your clit with his mouth and sucking. Your brain shorts out for a moment, all forms of conscious thought disappearing. His moans are almost as loud as yours when he finally unlatches to smack the flat of his tongue against your wet messy slit. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Matt whines, throaty and wrecked. Your heart stops for a moment when you look at him, where he’s cradled in your thighs - for the first time, you can see the proper softness in his unseeing gaze, the longing crease between his eyebrows. “Can I-”

“Yes, yes,” You rush out, nodding frantically. “ Please, Matthew.”

Normally, Matt was incredibly pedantic about making sure his partners knew what they were agreeing too - but you. You . You made him toss common sense on the window. He groans and shoves his face back into your slick cunt, ignoring your yelp when your legs are stretched open further to accommodate his broad shoulders. He stands so he can shove harder into your wetness, cheeks smearing your arousal everywhere. Spit and slick dribbles down your taint and arse and over Matt’s stubble - but he can’t find himself to care as he laps at you, trying to eat his fill. The rasp of his five o’clock shadow against your hole is sickeningly delicious. The smell of your arousal was so heady and intoxicating that he couldn’t even find it in him to be embarrassed at how desperate he was acting.

He can’t help but groan, realising you can barely see him over the chub of your mons and plush tummy. Your body is so delightfully soft and Matt can’t resist the urge to grab and paw at your soft pudge - your stomach, your padded hips, your thighs. The way your heart ticks faster when he starts grabbing at you only urges him on more. One of his hands drifts back to your swollen clit, still sensitive and puffy from being sucked on - your hand grabbing firmly at his hair when he starts deftly rubbing tight circles as it. The pulling and yowling seems to encourage him of anything, licking more firmly. 

The press of his fingers, the fingers you’d spent hours daydreaming about, finally press into your sloppy hole as he switches his mouth back to your clit. “Are you even breathing?” You can’t help but ask - the rumble of his laugh tells you he’s probably not doing it enough. “Oh fu-” Your back bows as he rubs methodically against the spongy bit at the roof of your cunt, stupid noises babbling out of you when you grip at his hair. “Ma- Matt, Matthew, oh God, oh o -”

His fingers stop moving as much, just pressing hard as your cunt starts to seize, your body curling tightly as your muscles tighten immensely at the precipice of your orgasm. Your clit twitches as the nerves under the skin continue to be abused by Matt’s mouth that was firmly suctioned to flesh directly under your soft mons. His nose was pressed into the flesh, squished happily into you. A hiccuped noise of pleasure rips out of you, reedy and desperate. “I- Plea-”

He doesn’t stop when you cum - he pulls his fingers out of you, yes, but he immediately starts lapping at your now puffy and leaky cunt like a dog, as if desperate to make sure he eats all of your dripping slick and cum. You shriek a little as he shifts you, licking at your taint to clean up all of it. “Mat- that- oh my god-”

“ Fuck , you’re such a good fucking girl,” Matt says, desperately out of breath. Your slick and his spit shines on the lower half of his face, and he doesn’t even attempt to wipe it off before standing and dropping his weight onto you to grab your face, kissing you wetly. You can taste your own thick arousal in his mouth, and can’t help but squeal when the seat of his pants bumps up against your sensitive sex.

“T-thank you-” You hiccup out between the press of his open mouth to yours. “I- please lemme-”

“Yeah sweetheart, hold on-” Matt rushes out as he tugs open his pants, groaning when his engorged cock slaps out against his stomach. It’s as large and as thick as the rest of him, nestled in a thatch of curls. Precum drops onto his shirt, and you can’t help but reach up and deftly unbutton it. Matt huffs a laugh at your gentleness - he’d all but ruined your blouse. Your eyes widen - you knew he was built and had some… rough history, but nothing prepares you for how the yellow street light dips and fills the curves of his trim muscles, the starkness of the thin gnarly scars that sit slashed across his full chest. 

“Jesus, Matt,” you exhale, fingers gently tracing them. His expression softens as he hears the concern taint your arousal. 

“I’m okay,” He murmurs, pressing his forehead to the roundness of your shoulder. His hands are gentle as he pulls you away from running your own over the scars - not to stop you, but to comfort. “It was a long time ago.”

You know there’s nothing you can say here - so you let him guide your face up so he can kiss you silly again, the head of his cock nudging at your cunt. Matt takes it slow, gently laying you out on the table so he can grip at your hips, revelling at the feeling of his fingers sinking into the soft padding. 

“You’re so soft,” He can’t help but murmur, kneading at your hips like a cat. The raised smoothness of your stretch marks feel like a soft pulled silk against Matt’s fingertips. “Feel so pretty…”

“Matthew,” you whine, face pinking. “That’s- you’re my boss, you can’t say that!”

Matt laughs at that - a little disbelieving. “Sweetheart, I just ate you out until you came on my face, and I’m about to fuck you raw. I think I’m allowed to appreciate how beautiful you feel under my hands.”

“Fair enough,” you gasp out as he rubs the fat head of his cock up and down your slit. Matt groans, eyes shut tight with his free hand kneading your plump hip. The heady heat of your dampened cunt makes his senses blur at the edges, the world narrowing down to the throb of your pussy. 

“Tell me I can fuck you,” Matt says, desperately, voice rough. “Sweetheart, please-”

“Yes, fucking damn it, Matthe- ah-”

Your breath catches as he notches the head of his cock into your cunt. It’s thick and hot, burning you from the inside out. “You can take it baby,” He grinds out, teeth clenched as he slowly slides all the way in. “There- there you go, good girl-”

You can’t help but gasp wetly as he bottoms out, eyes slamming shut as he gently starts rolling his hips. His heavy sac kisses against your taint and furled arsehole with each careful thrust as Matt carves a space in your cunt, slowly driving himself in harder and harder , until the table starts to shake with the force of it, your little ah, ah, ah ’s turning into gasped wails, as he whines into your shoulder. “Matthew-” you sob out as he grips tightly at your love handles so he can drag you onto his fat cock in time with his heavy thrusts. “Oh fuck- fuck-”

“So good,” Matt praises, strained as he pounds into you, hips snapping. He’d lowered himself onto you, his firmness pressing against your soft plush front. “Feel so good-” his tendons strain under your hands as you try to ground yourself by gripping at his wrist, spinning embarrassingly fast towards your orgasm. 

“It’s alright, c’mon,” Matt pants out - he noses under your ear. “Cum for me, please- cum for me sweetheart-”

The noise you let out is high and animal, desperate - your stomach tenses awfully and hard, legs shaking as your orgasm rips through you. Matt’s arms tighten around you as he murmurs softly in your ear, hips still rolling gently. “That’s it, that’s it-” His voice is strained and raspy. 

A wet sob gutters you. “Matthew, Matthew-”

Matt groans into your neck - you feel it when he cums, your throbbing cunt ripping the seed out of him. He chokes out a curse, his weight dropping down onto you, sweaty and pressing wet kisses onto your throat. “Good girl, you’re such a good girl.”

It’s like lying in a dense fog when Matt pulls out of you with a wet schlop. “Oh fuck,” You mumble, blinking hazily. Matt chuckles.

“Good?” He asks softly, free hand coming up to cup at your cheek, thumb running softly under your eye. You whimper a little - you can feel the slick and cum dripping out of your puffy wet cunt, pooling onto the table. Matt chuckles. “That good, huh?”

Before you can reply, Matt hums, slowly ducking his head back between your legs. “Matt-” He shushes you softly. “Let me clean up the mess, baby.”

His tongue is gentle as he laps at the mess between your thighs. Matt can’t help but groan at the smell, the bitter salty and heady taste. He’d missed this - being able to indulge in a sweet used cunt, a woman sobbing in pleasure above him. With work and his growing affection for you, he’d lost the want for casual sex. Father Lantom would’ve been proud. Matt locks his lips to your hole and sucks, swallowing down the mix of your cum and his. When your whines turn from pleasured to overstimulated, pained, Matt pulls away, with a final soft kiss to your puffy clit. Then a soft press of his lips to your thigh, and your hip. 

Matt looks like a damn vision when he looks at you - face flushed, hair sticking up in every direction. His smile is soft and heavenly as he gently eases you back into your pants, “Ah- sorry about your shirt, sweetheart,” He says sheepishly.

You can’t help but laugh a little. “You’re impossible,” You murmur, reaching forward and helping him button up his shirt - you’re still out of breath, and Matt’s skin is hot to the touch when you wipe the sweat off his brow. When he leans slightly into your touch, your heart stutters in your chest. Matt cocks his head a little, a small smile ticking at his lips, as if he can hear it. 

He hums, pressing a small kiss to your cheek - then your lips. “Hello,” Matt murmurs - his expression is soft, the street light seeping across his face like water colour paint on a wet page. 

“Hi,” You whisper, almost shy. Oh God, you’d just slept with your boss - your boss who was gently kissing your face as he dressed you. His hands are gentle on you, despite the rough pads of his fingers - like the rasp of sandpaper on silk. Matt chuckles. 

It had started to drizzle outside - the faint sounds of sleet hitting the roof soft and cold as a faint breeze sneaks in through the gaps in the windows. Matt doesn’t say anything - just grabbing his coat off the back of his chair and gently pulling the heavy material onto your shoulders as he tugs you into his lap. 

“Would it be presumptuous for me to take you out for dinner now?” Matt asks after a moment. A laugh startles out of you.

“Pretty presumptuous, yeah. But… I’d like that.”

[blushsturns]

𝜗𝜚 can you get off from just matt sucking on your tits?

title: needy

warnings: f!receiving, m!receiving, grinding, use of nicknames (baby, sweetheart, doll), fingering, handjob, titty play, degrading (if you squint), pure filth!

word count: 3866

There was something about being in Matt’s lap as you straddle his waist, your hips coming in contact with his hardened bulge against your hot core that drove you absolutely crazy. You don’t know what had gotten into you, but you were feeling extra needy tonight and after hours of waiting for Matt to finish streaming with Nick and Chris, you couldn’t wait any longer. You were so close to getting between his legs and sucking him off while he tries to focus on his game, but you knew better than that. You almost cried in relief when Matt finally turned off the stream and took off his headphones. You had caught him sneaking glances at you, without trying not to get too distracted from the game, and all you were doing is laying on your stomach on your shared bed with your shirt raised up and your pretty ass cheeks swallowed by 

Here you were now, perched onto Matt’s knee and rubbing yourself up against him in only one of his oversized tees and your lacy panties covering your already slick arousal. You could feel his hardened cock twitching immensely against your core through the fabric of his sweatpants.

Your breathing was becoming more rapid as the seconds passed, your heart was already beating straight out of your chest from the exhilaration running through you. 

Matt groaned as you continued to rut your hips against his hardened bulge and using it to your own pleasure and satisfaction. You couldn’t help it; you were so damn needy and needed him in all the ways he was willing to give you. 

Both of your eyes locked together in an intense gaze, his strong, larger hands placed against your hips to hold your body in place as you rolled your hips onto him causing both of your moans to mix together and echo throughout the four walls surrounding you. Your panties were damp already, leaving a wet spot on the front and seeping through onto Matt’s sweatpants. Neither of you cared; it was actually quite a turn on to see how turned on you get for him. 

“Fuck, you needy little thing.” Matt breathed out through labored pants, his hands moving up underneath your oversized tee shirt and running his fingers along your bare skin causing an immediate shudder to run down your spine at his touch. “You just couldn’t wait for me to finish streaming could you? You just had to act like a little slut, making it hard for me to concentrate on my game with you right behind me, looking gorgeous and sexy as fuck knowing damn well what you were doing, didn’t you?”

You whimpered at his words, rolling your hips against him and gasping softly at the friction between his hardened cock and your needy, dripping core. You nodded your head at his words, moving your arms to wrap them around his neck to pull him impossibly closer to your body. Your hand moved up into his hair, your fingers running throughout his tousled locks and gave them a gentle tug causing a groan to escape his lips. “I can’t help it, baby. Hearing you groan and cuss in frustration.. reminds me what you sound like when you’re pounding into me rough, and deep, just the way I like it.” Your words were filled with need, want, lust. You wanted him more than ever and you were getting needier and needier by the second.

He growled at your words which only seemed to turn you on even more and without saying another word, he pressed his lips against yours in a deep, passionate kiss causing you to gasp in surprise. He moved his hands to cup your jaw with a bit of force, his thumbs digging into your cheekbones as your eyes fluttered closed and immediately pressed your lips back onto his hungrily, a soft moan muffling against them.

Your fingers tug onto his hair to pull his head impossibly closer to you, your lips moving together in perfect unison. You could feel his cock continuing to pulse and twitch against your clothed core, your slick arousal practically dripping inside of your panties and against Matt’s thigh.

He moved one of his hands away from your jaw to your neck to wrap his fingers around it in a firm grip, causing you to gasp out against the kiss. Your lips moved together hungrily and the taste of his lips on yours only drove you more insane, making you want him even more. He traced his tongue along your bottom lip, begging for entrance which you gladly accepted and parted your lips to collide your tongue with his almost immediately. 

Your tongues moved together messily, battling for dominance before he began to suck on your tongue causing a slight moan to escape from your lips against his mouth as you rut your hips forward into his hardened crotch. 

Kissing Matt was like the first time every single time. He knew what to do, and how to do it. Your body was on fire, your heart was racing quick, and butterflies roamed in your tummy from the feeling of his lips on yours, and his tongue in your mouth. You could feel yourself growing more wet in your panties, and fuck it was driving you insane how much you needed him. 

He was the first one to pull away, both of you breathless and gasping for air. That didn’t stop him from pulling his hand away from your neck and moving both of his hands underneath your shirt, running his fingers up and down your bare sides as he began peppering kisses to your jawline and down to your neck and against your collarbone. 

The feeling of his lips against your skin made your body tingle all over and your heart to continue to race rapidly in your chest. Your head tilted back to give him more access to your neck, a soft whimper leaving your lips as his tongue traces against your collarbone and towards the base of your neck, leaving love bites behind for a story only the two of you will share. You loved being covered in love bites by Matt, it was a little reminder that you were his and no one else’s. Your fingers threaded through his tousled hair and tugged onto a fistful of his hair as he continued to suck, lick, and nibble against your skin. 

“Matt..Please.” You whimpered out desperately, pushing your hips forward into him and biting gently onto your own bottom lip which still had Matt’s taste lingering against it. Your slick arousal coated your panties and against his sweatpants. You swore you never been more turned on in your entire life, your body buzzing with electricity and exhilaration. 

His hands caressed your bare sides before gripping your hips tightly to push your body up against his even more. The pad of his thumbs pressed into your hip bones, moving slow, lazy circles against your skin and causing a drawn out moan to escape from your lips. “Such a needy girl, aren’t you, sweetheart? What do you need, hm?” His words were velvety smooth, filled with desire and need. He slowly lifted your shirt up over your head and allowing it to fall onto the ground, revealing your plump, pretty breasts to him. Your nipples were already hard, sending a cold sensation to brush against them and a shudder to run down your spine. 

You gasped softly as his fingers immediately traced over your hardened nipples, his thumb and index fingers tweaking the nubs between his fingers, causing a louder moan to escape your lips and an instant gush of wetness to pool in your panties. You fucking loved your nipples being played with, and Matt knew that.

Whether they were being played with, pinched, or sucked on, you fucking loved it and it turned you on immensely. Matt was aware, loving the way your head falls to your shoulder and your face full of bliss and pleasure, your lips parted with the sweetest little moans falling from them. It was like music to ears and he swore he could get off just from seeing you receive the pleasure he gives you. 

You roll your hips along his knee to grind against it, the friction of his knee rubbing against your soaking wet and needy pussy only causing you to moan out some audible sounds, sounding needier than ever. “Matt..” His name falling from your lips as you gasp softly when you feel him lean forward to begin flicking his warm tongue along your hardened bud and swirling it around before immediately latching his lips against it, sucking onto it like his life depended on it, a muffled moan escaping his lips. You gasp softly as you only rut your hips against his knee even messier, moving your arms to wrap lazily around his neck, your fingers finding fistfuls of his hair and tugging onto it to push his face closer to your breast.

“Hm? I can’t hear you.” He pulled away from your breast to speak, his lips curving up into a devious smirk as he looks up at you, his ocean blue eyes had darkened, clouded with lust and desire. He used his free hand to grope your other breast, his thumb circling along the hardened bud. “I need to hear what you need, sweetheart. What is it that you need? Tell me or I won’t do anything.”

You practically groaned in desperation, your pussy drooling with your own arousal and clenching around absolutely nothing as you roll your hips against his sweatpants. You moved one of your hands down in between your bodies and lifted your hips slightly so you can help pull his sweatpants down just enough to allow his cock to spring free and instantly moaning at the sight of his hardened cock, the pink shiny tip glistening with pre-cum. Your hand immediately wrapped around his cock and squeezed the base, causing a groan to erupt from Matt’s throat. 

Your body was shaking with adrenaline and desperation, heat pooling in your tummy and your heart beating rapidly in your chest. He tilted his head onto his shoulder, constant groans leaving his lips as you continued to pump his cock in your palm, your thumb circling along the glistening tip before pulling your hand away to bring your thumb up between your lips and immediately taking it past your lips for a quick taste. The delectable, satisfying taste made your taste buds go crazy, closing your eyes as you take in the sweet taste, a soft moan escaping from your needy lips. 

You open your eyes to see Matt staring at you so intently like he could eat you in seconds if you’d let him, and God you wanted him to right this very second. You brought both of your hands back to place against his shoulders to hold yourself up to keep yourself stradling on his waist. “Need you in all the ways, baby. Please. I can’t take it anymore. Need you so badly.” You moan out in desperation, biting gently onto your bottom lip, tasting him still on your own lips. 

He moved his hand between the both of you and immediately found your soaking wet, throbbing clit and began to rub you through your lacy, completely soaked panties. “Fuck, you’re literally drenched f’me, sweetheart.” He moaned out in approval, moving forward to pepper kisses against your jawline, his tongue tracing along your sweet skin and causing your head to roll back against your own shoulder as you press your hips into his hand. You were so needy at this point, so desperate, and willing to take anything that he was willing to give you. Absolutely anything. 

His finger practically slipped into your slick pussy without even moving your panties out of the way, as they were completely drenched at this point. You swore you had never been more soaking wet in your entire life, but you weren’t complaining, and obviously neither was Matt. 

Matt fucking loved eye contact, especially during intimate times like this. He kept his eyes on you the whole time as his finger found place deep inside of your cunt, immediately hearing the way it squelched against his single digit and feeling it clench. He let out a moan of approval, licking over his lips in a hungry motion as his eyes fall down to between your bodies as you begin to rut your hips against his finger buried in your cunt as he began to thrust in and out your tight pussy, going deeper within each and every thrust. “Oh..fuck.” You gasped out in pleasure, your heart beating rapidly in your chest and sweat glistening against your forehead and pooling into your hairline as you throw your hair over your shoulder to get it our of your way.

You rode his singular finger, his palm cupping your entire center and brushing against your clit with each and every movement. His cock twitched against your thigh as you rubbed yourself against him, heat radiating off your body and onto him. He used his strong grip to rip your panties from off you, causing you to gasp as the shredded material fell to the ground. 

Watching Matt be truly in his element was such a turn on and you needed him desperately. Your slick arousal was coating his bare leg as you pushed your hips into him, immediately gasping out loud as you felt him slip his ring finger inside of you, motioning the “come- hither” with both of his fingers now deep inside of your cunt. 

Your cunt was filled with his fingers, immediately clenching around them as he began to thrust them in and out of your tight hole, his palm cupping your pussy as the sounds of your wet pussy squelches around his long, slender fingers. “Fuck fuck fuck!” You moan out in pure ecstasy, your tits bouncing nearly in Matt’s face as you continue to rut your hips against his lap. His cock twitched immensely against your thigh as you moved your hand down to wrap your fist around his leaking, throbbing cock and began to pump him at the same pace as his fingers were moving inside of you. 

“God, you look so fucking pretty f’me, don’t you, doll? Taking my fingers deep inside this tight little cunt. It’s like your cunt was made for me, wasn’t it, sweetheart?” His words were thickened with lust and desire as he peppered kisses against your collarbone and moving his lips further down to the top of your breasts, running his tongue along your sweet skin. Your body shuddered at his words and the feeling of his tongue against your skin. 

You rode his fingers like it was your full time job, putting in the work and effort to get the job done, but the bonus was it made you feel so fucking good and you didn’t want it to end. His palm created friction against your throbbing clit with each and every movement of his fingers deep inside of you. Your cunt swallowed his fingers perfectly and squelching with each and every thrust. 

“Tell me, doll.” Matt said with a bit of sweetness in his voice, looking up at you as he grabs your plump breast and flicks his tongue over your hardened nipple once again. “Tell me this cunt is mine. Tell me that no one else has ever, and will ever make you feel this good, but me. This cunt is all f’me. isn’t it, doll?”

You nodded your head instantly as you listened to him speak, incoherent moans falling from your lips as he begins to suck onto your hardened bud, his tongue flicking around it repeatedly as he continues to stare up at you. You continue to ride his fingers as they only dive deeper into your tight, wet cunt, your hand trying desperately to keep up with pumping his throbbing hard cock, but all you could seem to focus on was your pleasure, as selfish as that was.

He didn’t seem to mind, though. His attention was solely focused on you and making sure you feel good and finally getting you to cum.

But then he pulled his fingers out of you, causing you to immediately whine out desperately at the loss of contact, rutting your hips against his leg and crying out, “Matty, why did you do that?” You almost were on the brink of tears, your face flushed and your body shaking tremendously. “More. Need it.”

He let out a laugh, immediately bringing his fingers that were coated in your juices to his own lips and sucking them clean while moaning in satisfaction at the delectable taste. “Gonna make you cum just from me sucking on your nipples and playing with ‘em, baby. Think you can do that?” 

You’ve never done it before, but Matt knew how soaking wet you got just from him paying full attention to your tits. He loved playing with them and sucking on them and honestly, you loved watching him do it. That alone could probably get you to cum in seconds.

You were already so damn close to your orgasm, your pussy dripping your arousal against his leg. Your hand moved up and down his shaft, feeling it twitch against your fist as your thumb circled the shiny tip, repeating the same motion as you watched Matt’s eyes roll back to his head, pleasure filling his entire body from your hand alone.

“Fuck, keep doing that while I suck on your pretty tits, baby. Wanna see you make a mess on my thigh.”

Your body was shaking and glistening with sweat and all you could focus on was Matt now giving his full attention to your tits, sucking onto your nipple while his pointer finger and thumb tweaked the other hardened bud. You were such a slut for nipple play, you loved it so much and Matt seemed to love sucking on your tits just as much, if not more.

Matt licked, sucked, and nipped your hardened nipple, his eyes staying locked onto yours the entire time as you pushed your pathetic, desperate hips onto his lap, your slick arousal creating a wet patch on the sheets below and down his leg and he moaned against your nipple as he rolls his tongue along it. 

You looked down to watch him in his element; his lips latching around your nipple like he was made specifically for this, just to pleasure you and get you to cum. 

Your hand wrapped around his aching cock harder, squeezing him with each and every tilt of your wrist, your thumb circling along the leaking, shiny pink tip. Your hand movement was sloppy, but Matt didn’t seem to notice, or care given his moans we’re only growing louder against your flesh, rutting his own hips up against your hand. 

He paid attention to your other nipple, giving it the same attention as the other, sucking and licking the hardened bud along his tongue which his fingers pinched the other, causing your body to shake with pleasure rolling through you, mewling out desperate whines that echoed the four walls before you, your hand sloppily pumping his hardened cock as it twitched immensely, signaling he was close, just like you were.

The feeling of your sopping wet pussy grinding against his leg and the feeling of mouth on your tits was too much to bare. “G-gonna cum, baby! Fuck!” You cried out desperately, throwing your head back onto your shoulder and rolling your hips along his lap.

“Come on, sweetheart. Cum all over me like the good girl you are. Just from me sucking on your tits, huh? Pathetic little slut.” He sucked onto your nipple, rolling his tongue along it and flicking it repeatedly, his eyes staying locked onto yours the entire time.All it took was Matt’s encouraging words and the final permission for him to let you cum and you tipped over the edge. 

Loud moans spilled from your lips as the pressure snapped and you allowed your orgasm to take full control of your body while rutting your hips up into Matt and dripping your well deserved arousal against his leg and spilling on the bed sheets before you. Your body shook with pleasure with a shudder running down your spine and electricity shooting through your veins. Your breathing was labored as you tried to breathe properly, your vision hazy from the intense orgasm that just rippled through you. You could feel your sweet slick against his thigh, your hips coming to a halt as you finished riding out your orgasm. 

“Fuck, baby.” Matt moaned out, watching you the entire time in complete and utter awe. “So fucking good f’’me.” He pulled away from your now overly sensitive nipples, rutting his hips up into your hand, his eyes now gazing down before you both, looking at the mess you made on his thigh, his lips curving into a devious smirk. “So good f’me. Can you be a good girl and make me cum, hm?”

You nodded your head immediately to his words, a soft moan leaving your lips as you put your attention solely onto Matt and making sure he reaches his orgasm. Your hand picks up the pace, squeezing and twisting your hand against his shaft as you pump his cock repeatedly, squeezing him fully as your thumb continues to circle along the tip. He immediately groans in pleasure, throwing his head back against his shoulder and pushing his hips up into your hand. 

He fucks your hand, his breathing growing quicker and his moans becoming louder. “Fuck, gonna cum. Just like that, sweetheart. Yes, so good.” He hissed his words out before eliciting another loud groan, pushing his hips up into your hand as you squeeze his cock and immediately gasping in surprise as his cum shoots out in white, sticky ropes against his abdomen and yours, and all over your hand as he fucks your hand through his intense orgasm, your name falling from his lips. 

You loved watching Matt cum, especially knowing you could get him to feel like this. He waited a couple seconds before opening up his eyes to look down at the mess he made against the both of you, a lazy smirk appearing onto his lips. “Fuck, and all of this started because you were such a needy little thing.”

You flashed him a proud smile before taking your cum coated fingers and bringing them to your lips, instantly placing them between your lips and taking in the sweet taste of his cum. You licked over your lips once you pulled your fingers out, leaning forward to press a sweet, soft kiss against his lips so he can taste himself on your lips. 

He moaned against the kiss, kissing you back fully and deeply, a smirk still evident on his face as he pulled away, your forehead resting against his. “You like it though, hm?”

“Fucking love it, and you, my needy girl.”

You were his needy girl, and damn proud of it.

notes: first smut that i wrote in awhile. i hope you enjoyed this. if you have any requests or just wanna chat, my inbox is always open!

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@strangelife122 @rina3476 @chrissturnioloslvt @sturnslutz @sturns-mermaid @matthewsturnsgf @rinahasspots @222wall876 @chris-hallelujah @izzylovesmatt @strniloslvts @oopsiedaisydeer @sophand4n4 @xclusivedesires @mattsplaything @mattsbunnyxx @pair-of-pantaloons @chrissweetheart @slutformatt17 @sturnl0ve @pasteldreams @h3arts4harry @marrykisskilled @wh0remikasas @sturnzslut @camzeecorner @alesturniolos @emely9274 @2muchofaslvt @sturnslux3 @bowsandsturniolos @moustacherryismyhusband @rafesapprentice @ivysturnss @headzgonewest @il0vey0um0st @violetstxrniolo777 @bigbeefybitch @raesturns @courta13 @sofieeeeex @tylerthecreatorsglazr @kittyyyyykats @sturniszn @estellesdoll @freshsturnzx @ivyyyyyysposts @sturnberries @sturniolochrismatt @lovesturni0l0s

-nessa

[sv3t1ana]

SYNOPSIS ᯓ You were always meant to be nothing. A servant, a shadow in the grand halls, another soul swallowed by his world. And yet, he sees you. Knows you better than you want to be known. When you stop running, was it ever a chase at all?

PAIRING ᯓ trueform! Sukuna x fem! reader

WARNINGS ᯓ fem! reader, throat fucking, Sukuna is murderous, choking (barely), oral (m + f receiving), two cocks (one hole), second mouth, he's lowkey down bad for you, stomach bulge, he cries, choking on it, he wants everyone to hear you, you're lowkey jealous because he fucks you so well.

WORD COUNT ᯓ 3.4k

SERIES ᯓ GOJO ⋮ GETO ⋮ CHOSO ⋮ SUKUNA

No time for anything but duty.

Dawn was yet to break when you stirred from your thin, pearl white bedding, the distant toll of a gong signaled the start of another day to service the King of Curses. Frigid air coming from your open window causing goosebumps to kiss your skin, fingers stiff while you pushed upward to swing your feet off the bed.

The grand hall awaited.

Moving quickly through the dim corridors, your footsteps slapped against the stone. Other servants were bouncy, murmuring among themselves as they hurried to their own tasks. For some reason, Sukuna preferred you. That fact alone ensured you were allowed no leisure, no freedom, no pleasure.

The grand hall was vast, towering pillars with gilded braziers. It was your responsibility to rekindle them, to sweep away the remnants from last night’s indulgences. Scattered bones, wine stains, the destruction Sukuna left wherever he went. You worked in silence, sweeping, scrubbing, making sure to leave not a trace of mess before he entered.

By midday, your monotonous duties led you to Sukuna’s chambers. A cavernous space lined with dark silks and the ever-present scent of blood. You moved with your usual practiced efficiency, wiping down the lacquered surfaces and straightening furnishings. All while listening, there was always something to hear.

Today it was Uraume’s voice, calm and collected.

“They begged for mercy.”

Sukuna chuckled, low and amused. “Did they?”

“You slew them anyway.”

“Their supplications did but offend me,” he spoke, tone laced with disdain, waving his hand dismissively. “To levy demands upon one such as I… how unworthy the breath spent.”

Uraume didn’t argue. They never did. No one did.

It was always like this, he destroyed for no reason. No one dared to question it.

A heavy presence filled the room as you straightened the last piece of furniture. A kind of presence that made the hairs along your arms raise before you turned. You knew what was about to happen.

“You are slow today.”

His voice was smooth. You kept your eyes down, focusing on the task at hand.

“I am thorough,” you corrected, wringing the cloth in your hands over the soapy water bucket.

“Hm.”

A single sound. You’ve been here long enough to hear his smirk.

You swallowed the sharp retort that rested on your taste buds and moved toward the door when you finished your last task. Before you could reach it—

“Woman.”

You stopped, not by choice but because it was a command. Even if it wasn’t meant to be.

“Do you find my chambers displeasing?”

You blinked once, face expressionless. “I find them filthy.”

Another pause, then a laugh. Though not cruel, but entertained.

“Good.”

He merely watched as you turned on your heel and left.

You hated him.

You hated everything about him.

His arrogance, his amusement of suffering, the way he looked at you as though he were waiting for something, like one day you might offer him more than disdain.

You hated being here at all. That all your life was to serve him. Losing all purpose and reduced to serving a homicidal monster who thought himself a god.

And yet, he preferred you. That was the worst part.

He would never let you be. That's why you were the only servant allowed to perform duties inside his personal chambers. It made you wonder why you were always given the task of cleaning up after him, it was like he wanted you to see what he did.

It had been weeks of the same grueling routine of your new schedule, of enduring his presence and feeling the unwieldy weight of his gaze even when you weren’t looking. You should have expected it, that sooner or later he would grow tired of the silent treatment.

Your summons came at dusk. One of the lesser servants palpitating as they spoke.

The lord has requested you.

His chamber was dimly lit, braziers casting shadows against the silk-draped walls. Sukuna was reclined, one arm against the curve edged atop his throne.

“Woman.”

You stopped a few paces before him, reluctantly bowing to the floor.

“Lord.” The word seared your tongue, burning like embers from a growing flame.

A slow smirk grew on his lips. “How obedient.”

He studied you for a moment, tilting his head and squinting his eyes. Exhaling through his nose like he was disappointed, “you hate me.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Is it amusing to state the obvious, my lord?”

He chuckled, “I find amusement in many things.” A pause, then quieter, more deliberate, “you, most of all.”

Your fingers twitched, brows furrowing slightly as your eyes narrowed. “Then find new entertainment.”

His smirk widened. More certainty than mockery from before.

“You loathe me,” he mused. “And yet, here you stand. When I call, you come.”

“I am a servant.”

“A servant whose words do not wane. And yet, you do not leave.”

You swallowed, no response to give. Truth is you took up being a servant for added protection and the free rent. Beforehand, you had been struggling to make ends meet for years. Now, you are one of the longest lasting servants Sukuna had the pleasure of employing. You could leave, sure, at the expense of your life. But you already gave your life up to serve him. It was this or death.

Sukuna leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Is it duty that keeps you here?” His eyes flickered, “or something else?”

Your breath caught halfway down your throat.

There it was, the shift. The shift you refused to acknowledge, the one he stoically waited for you to realize.

The thing is, he didn’t demand it. He didn’t ask. He simply made it inevitable.

And you hated him for it.

The silence between you stretched. You should have scoffed and turned on your heel already, leaving without another word. But here you were, feet remaining on the polished floor, fingers gripping the inside of your sleeves.

Sukuna only watched, an unreadable expression you’ve grown to detest. He had no smug grin, no sharp amusement. Only patience. He was waiting like he always did.

Your jaw clenched while your eyes darted to the floor. “You are mistaken if you think—”

He shifted and rose to his feet in one shift motion. The space between you disappeared too quickly. His presence was overwhelming, looming over him the thousands of innocent lives taken for the sake of amusement. Entertainment. One clawed finger reached forward, catching the edge of your chin and tilting your face upward.

“Am I?”

His voice was low, deep. Something sent heat crawling through your blood vessels, blaze threatening to set your skin on fire.

“You assume much,” you bit out. Resisting the instinct to pull away, resisting the urge every cell in your body was screaming at you for to pull away. After all, he would win if you did.

“I assume nothing.” His thumb brushed the curve of your jaw, cocking his head back to truly look down at you. “I see.”

Your breath was uneven, rage and something else twisting in your chest creating the perfect mixture of rage, uneasiness, desire? “And what is it you think you see?”

A deliberate smile spread across his face slowly.

“A human who does not flinch.” His fingers traced lower, skimming your throat before resting his fingers around the back of your neck and thumb resting lightly in the curve between your collarbones.

“A human who has spent years writhing over a hatred that wavers.”

“No.” You answered, “you’re wrong.”

He hummed, stepping back and releasing the hold around you. Giving you just enough space to breathe, but not enough space to release you from the metaphorical tether he tied, binding you both together.

“Perhaps,” he pondered. “Or perhaps you are afraid of what hatred becomes when it festers too long.”

There was an invitation, a challenge in his tone. Something else entirely different from the usual amuse present in his gaze.

You should leave.

Walk away.

Turn and never come back.

But you didn’t.

That was all the answer he needed.

The worst part was he never saw you as weak, he didn’t dismiss you like he did other servants. He knew you would kneel before him willingly so there was no point in asking. Instead, he lured, pulled, and twisted until you were the one standing too close.

He leaned in, breath ghosting over your ear and down your neck. “Tell me, human,” he murmured. “If your hate is so pure, why is it that you linger?”

You could only shake your head, will your heart to stop its swift pace.

Moments of silence pass, Sukuna feeling you through his eyes, arms crossed across his chest while you kept your gaze low and head slightly bowed.

“What is it that you want?”

He smiled, slow and knowing. “Ah,” he said, tilting his head and bringing his hand up to his chin as if he was in great contemplation. “Finally, the right question.”

“You know what I want,” he continued, his voice nothing over a small rumble. “The real question is, what is it that you seek?”

Your breath stilled, he was doing it again.

Twisting, digging, forcing you to see something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You hated him.

And yet—you wanted him.

He hummed and walked away, turning around half way to curl his finger at you, petitioning you to follow. You did just that, unsure of how this all happened. How had you got here in the first place? Your own feet brought you here, yet you barely remember the journey. Here you remain, following your lord where his bed lay.

It’s then that he grabbed your body whole, whipping you around to face him while he sat on his bed as you stood between his legs.

“Well?” He began after moments of stillness and silence. “On your knees.” While he gripped the crown of your head and pushed you to the floor.

You didn’t resist. In fact, you obliged without hesitation.

You skillfully opened his robe to reveal his rock hard length. Holding back a gasp at the sight before you—two cocks. Nimbly gripping both with each hand, choking each while you lapped your tongue on both tips, spitting and letting it drip to his base, giving each equal treatment.

He watched before you, an expressionless face as you loved on his cocks, reacting indifferently.

You gazed up with inquisition to watch his reaction as you dragged your tongue down one and began pumping a steady rhythm with the other in hand.

He let out a quiet hiss, almost too quiet for your dept ears to hear when you completely enveloped him in your mouth, tongue swirling around his length while his cock head grazed your uvula, causing you to gag. You coughed around his cock, letting dribbles of spit mixed with his precum drip from your mouth to his base. You sucked and sucked, pinching your cheeks around his thick veiny circumference.

You only popped! your mouth off him when you felt his hips jerk in attempt to throat-fuck you. It wasn’t now that he was allowed that control. Not after the nauseating consciousness he forced upon you earlier.

Lowering your lids while you traced the veins up and down his second cock, using your free hands to jerk his other, twisting in tandem, squeezing tightly when you reached his angry red tip. You pointed your tongue and circled his tip and opening, as if to tease the one you serve.

You watched as his eyes narrowed, you saw the way he held back his moans. You saw the way he had to fight his body going limp by positioning his arms to brace his upper body behind him.

You embraced his second cock in your mouth, this time letting one hand pump the length your mouth couldn’t reach. He brought his hand out to smack yours away, gripping the back of your skull and pushing you down.

You choked, coughed, gagged. Tears brimming the corner of your eyes when you moaned and adjusted to the sensation of his cock in your throat.

And he was so deep you were sure he could see the outline of it. His breath quickened for a moment before he pulled you off. “Enough.” He said calmly. He wasn’t calm.

He grabbed your forearms to pull you atop him, forcing your clothed pussy to graze his spit covered, sloppy cocks.

“Your garments. Remove them at once.” He demanded.

You did as told, taking your time in attempt to mock him. Pulling your shirt over your head slowly to reveal your braless chest. You watched his blank face, not missing the way his pupils dilated ever-so-slightly when your rotund tits bounced out from the fabric holding them back. He gripped one firmly in his large hand, letting the plush tissue of your breast pillow between his fingers as he massaged with greedy desire, letting out a quiet hm like he was deciding something, or rather, coming to a conclusion.

He wanted this just as much as you.

When you removed your pants and panties he grabbed your waist tightly to position you so your pussy would grind against his cocks that lay on his naturally-defined abs.

“Hah,” he laughed. Feeling your dripping cunt coat him in even more of your sweet fluids. “Ready for me already, are you?” He still gripped you with two hands, using an extra hand he slapped your pussy. The sound of it squelching filled the empty room as he kept slapping it, causing your eyes to roll back into your skull.

You splayed your fingers on his chest for support, looking up at him with a distressed look on your face when he positioned his first cock at your entrance.

“Human, can you not handle me?” It was a rhetorical question. Not that you’d give him the pleasure of hearing your answer even if it wasn’t.

You furrowed your brows and sat down as if to prove a point, filling yourself up immediately with one of his cocks, ignoring the pain, the sting you felt while he nearly tore you apart.

He gritted his teeth, “I see now.” He smiled, “you are too inexperienced.”

You stuffed yourself repeatedly, almost seeing stars every time your hips descended at the limited capacity your small body had in comparison to him. “Inexperienced?” you huffed out between breaths, tears rolling down your cheeks and eyes pinched shut. “My lord… should you… expect me to… lay with more men?”

“I never said such a thing.” He growled, seeking the strength to resist stuttering his hips from your painfully languid pace. He didn’t want to hurt you too much.

You felt your walls begin to flutter around his cock already, your clit hitting the wet tongue of the mouth on his stomach every time you filled yourself with him. It had been only a few minutes of this, and yet your body still hasn’t adjusted. He had a good two inches that wouldn’t fit. His tip was already kissing your cervix, the ache that rang through your entire body like a bell when your poor pussy couldn’t keep up with even a slow pace. He was painfully large.

“Make haste, human.” He spoke, lowering his lids and sucking an inhale through his lips. “Hasten your pattern. Reach your precipice.”

You felt the building pressure in your stomach when he spoke, the coil tightening in your abdomen as you lost composure and came from a single one of his cocks alone when you felt him internally grunt and muscles tighten beneath your palms. Your body nearly went limp, as when you went to collapse forward he caught you, switching positions quickly so you lay on your back with him between your legs, now pulled out from your entrance.

“Inadequate,” he voiced, gripping both cocks with either hand, centered at your entrance. “This shall be rectified at once.”

And before you knew it, he was inching both of his cocks inside you. It burned, it felt as if he was searing you apart, like you were a fly compared to an elephant. The throb you felt radiating through you that started at your center, the sweet, sweet throb.

You saw the way he looked up at you, looking for permission to continue. You threw your head back whimpering, gripping the sheets at your sides with your mouth agape. Looking at him once more to see him avert his concerned gaze turn into a more nonchalant one.

“You must take this.” He looked down, having the tongue on his lower stomach dart out to lap at your folds, caressing your clit with care as if to soothe your pain.

He took the hint when you linked your ankles behind his sculpted back, pulling him in. He gripped your thighs, threw your ankles above his shoulders and pulled your body to him. Letting him fill up as much as possible before hitting the limit.

Getting in another inch or two, he began his erratic pace. Grunting as he thrusts, he held a wicked, evil smirk on his face while he gripped your waist like you’d run away.

“I… I still hate you,” you reminded him. Sukuna made you drunk. It was the pain, the pleasure, the agony from losing this fight with him. He only let out a demented laugh in response.

You panted loudly, clenching around his length as if it were a lifeline. You’d gotten somewhat used to his size with just one cock, and now he fucked you apart with both. It was truly a transcendental experience, pain morphing into pleasure, hate turning into a reluctant passion.

He removed one cock and began fucking you at an erratic pace with the other. His other cock slapping your stomach each time he snapped his hips, rutting into you and grunting like an animal.

You were still so tight, and now his one cock could fit fully inside you, like he really did stretch you out to fit him. He saw the bulge of himself outlining your lower abdomen, giggling to himself.

“You humans,” he huffed out, voice low and gritty, “are so fragile.”

Your moans only became louder when he pounded faster, deeper. At one point deciding to cover your own mouth in attempt to lower your voice from being heard, he smacked it away.

“You must not.” He commanded. “The estate must be apprised of our connection.”

He then brought his calloused hand to rest at the base of your neck, teetering on the edge of just barely gripping you but still keeping you in his hold. Your fingers linked behind his neck, beckoning him to come closer.

Your lips met, kissing for the first time and sharing breaths, moaning in his mouth. And fuck, was he a good kisser. You wondered if he’d ever done this before… and with who.

His lips devoured yours like he’d been waiting years for your arrival. Like he could never get enough. It was such a stark contrast to his usual bloodthirsty demeanor. He was ruthless in having you, lying in wait for you to realize what you already knew. The festered hatred splitting in two to create something new. The fire burning in your chest with hate wasn’t so different from the fire in the pit of your stomach as his cock alone made you cum for the second time tonight.

Sukuna rarely demanded, and he never chased. He simply stood, watched, and waited.

When the moment came, and years lying in wait for the moment when you turned toward and not away, he would not gloat. He would only smirk, as if to say, finally.

For all his taunting, smug certainty, he was just as bound to you as you were to him, your lord. Something about you was different than the rest of the servants. The care and precision you put into your duties was different than their usual mindless acts of submission. Your defiance was sharp and deliberate. You may serve him, but you never belonged to him.

And that was what he sought most from humans and rarely found. Not a servant, not obedience, but you. Entirely and willingly consumed by something stronger than hatred.

That’s why he gravitated towards you, and that’s why he picked you to be the first human to ever become intimate with him.

Therefore he waited. He waited for the moment you’d stop resisting the inevitable. For the moment you were his just as he, in the depths of his cruel, stubborn heart, was yours.

Which is why when he expended himself, painting your walls with thick ropes after ropes of cum, room filled with the slowing slap of skin, grunts, panting, smelling of shared sweat and sex, you just had to ask,

“My lord, are you crying?”

[mattsstarlet]

fully introducing… dilf!brat tamer!chris and soft!brat!reader.

contains: smut (fingering, p in v), unprotected sex (creampie), rough sex, dom!chris, orgasm denial, slight degradation (?), pet names.

note: thank you for 1k :3 love u guys <33

you huffed for what would’ve been the tenth time that night; you crossed your arms but immediately put them down as soon as chris’ low, stern voice spoke into your ear. “be a good girl, doll; you’re gettin’ on my last nerve.”

it was a warning, something that should’ve gotten you to behave. though you couldn’t help but ignite the cheeky girl in you as his tongue poked the inside of his cheek, trying to remain calm. you loved testing his patience, getting him to his breaking point. deep inside, chris knew that, but oh, how he loved taking the last laugh.

“but i want to go home,” you pouted, tugging on his jacket as he scanned his surroundings, checking to see if anyone was watching you throw a fit. he was furious, to say the least; you had been acting up the second the two of you arrived at a party he was invited to. he was rooting for having a good time, then if you were good, he was going to reward his pretty doll afterwards.

“please? this place is so boring and m'getting cold.” you whined, giving him your best puppy eyes. however, chris was completely over it; all he wanted to do was get home and use his toy. “you wanna go home, dollie?”

your face perked up, a giant smile tugging at your lips. you won. or so that's what you think. “yes. i want to go home now.” you said confidently, chris couldn't help but bite down his smirk. “yeah? get y’ass in the car and wait for me; i’m gonna go say ‘bye’ then.”

you squealed as chris’ hand came in contact with your bare ass, your skirt hiked up to your waist—not even daring to take your clothes off. he had you on his bed, face down, ass up, as he stood behind you, his hand finger-fucking your swollen cunt.

“do you think you deserve my cock or to cum after whinin’ in my ear all night? huh?” he roughly asked, his fingers curling inside you, making your own toes curl. he had denied you two orgasms already, making you desperate and sticky. you shook your head, whimpering as yet another knot forms in your stomach.

chris removes his hand from your ass cheek and to your hair, gripping it to give you a nice, harsh tug. “i’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you, mama. y’going speechless on me all of a sudden?”

“n-no,” you blurted out, your eyes leaking rain on the wrinkled sheets as your thighs shook. you were on the edge, about to cum, when chris took his fingers out of your sloppy heat once again.

he chuckled hearing your desperate sobs, “no, what, toy? use your fuckin’ brain and talk right.”

you whimpered, your hole clenching around nothing as your orgasm fades away. “n-no, i don’t deserve to cum… or your cock.” you cried, your tears staining your flushed face, ruining your makeup. you looked like a fucking wreck, but chris always thought you looked best in tears.

“say you’re sorry and that you won’t throw a fit when i'm with friends.” he demanded, his fingers running through your puffy folds. both his ring and middle fingers drew circles onto your clit, making you jump up from the stimulation.

you gasped, pulling the sheets to get a firm grip. “won’t do it again. m'sorry, baby, please.” you begged, no longer feeling his touch anymore. you squirmed, wiggling your ass in the air as you heard a soft thud—his jeans falling onto the floor. you almost lifted your head to look, but you knew your chances of getting a release weren’t guaranteed.

chris stroked his dick, coating himself with the remainder of your arousal on his hand. he thought about leaving you like this, needy and messy with your slick folds. though, he couldn't do that, not when he wanted to give you a deep fixing.

without a warning, chris plunged his cock into your pussy, holding you down by the back of your neck with his hand. “yeah? not gonna do it again right, mama? y'gonna behave like the pretty doll you are?” he groaned, hearing the wet noises your heat was making against his dick.

“uh-huh,” you breathed out; it was all too much for your brain—your eyes were droopy, and muffled sobs, along with saliva, left your lips as his hips snapped against yours. chris’ nails dug deep into your skin, leaving crescent moon marks.

chris groaned; your gummy walls gripped onto his angry length each time his hips pulled away. his hand on your hair pulled you back against his chest, nuzzling his face into your neck. “wakey, wakey, dollie,” he cooed, licking a strip up to your earlobe, tugging it with his teeth.

“did you learn your lesson now, baby? hmm?" he smirked, his free hand snaked around your tummy, feeling himself each time he thrusted. “or do i need to deny you another orgasm?”

“no, chris, please no. i’ll be a good girl, i promise.” you whined, your hand looped under his arm, gripping onto his bicep as if your life depended on it.

he placed a kiss onto your neck, his low voice whispering into your ear, “yeah? go ahead and cum on my cock, then, ma. show me what a good girl you can be.”

your own nails dug into his skin as a loud moan escaped your lips—finally getting the release your pussy ached for. your tummy clenched as he continued to fuck you, aiming for his orgasm. your mouth hung low; noises that came out sounded almost like screams. your mind and body felt too overwhelmed, as his load spurted deep.

“fuck,” you fell forward; your body felt weak and tired. your eyes fluttered shut, almost snoozing off till you felt a light shake followed by a kiss onto your cheek.

“good girl, doll. all good? yeah?” he smiled softly as he watched you nod, rubbing your back to provide ease and comfort. “head up, dollie. gotta clean you up and put you in pjs first.”

© 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗌𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖾𝗍

for @marrykisskilled , my argentina baby