#it was already for nothing but even more so now.

[sai-int]

fwb!simon, reader catches feelings- NO. FWB!SIMON BUT SIMON CATCHES FEELINGS.

it's quite simple.

simon comes home from a mission, he's restless, twitching, pacing, can't figure out what to do with his hands.

so what does he do? he knocks on your door, waiting anxiously until you open it and he's scooping you up, hauling you across the hall and into his basically empty apartment, and fucking you into the mattress for the night.

and you're just so good at taking it—whatever he gives you and whenever he gives it. you cry, whine, beg and plead for his cock in all the ways you know how—until you go blue in the face—and simon fucking revels in it. he's all harsh words and degrading names, calling you a filthy slut, his cocksleeve, a fucking cumdump—you name it, he's probably said it.

it's perfect, until it's not.

he's spent months fucking you stupid, night after night. he fucks you even when he's not restless. he fucks you when he's bored, when he's lonely. especially when he's lonely.

simon riley's a gridlocked man. hardly anything ever gets past him, but it didn't take many rendezvous between your thighs for him to forget that.

his mask would come fully off—not just above his lips—and you'd still kiss him breathless, still scream his name until your throat went hoarse. you weren't afraid of everything underneath. if anything, you liked it.

It's not like the both of you frequently exchanged actual conversations, but he could tell by the way you dripped and soaked his sheets even more than you ever had.

after that, he even began to gather enough courtesy to let you get some rest after he fucks you, letting you stay wrapped in his sheets for whatever sliver of the night was left.

you never pushed, and that's what he liked most about you. you always went by his terms because you never really cared as long as you got fucked six ways from sunday.

so, you always left when he woke without a problem. that was the arrangement and you were more than fine with getting a good fuck only a few steps away from your own home.

then even you began to notice the shift.

simon could never fuck you badly, per se. but he began to fuck you more softly. tenderly, as if he was suddenly aware that humans shouldn't be bent in half as long he's had you pinned underneath him in the past. he'll rock his hips into you with similar fervor, but he'd caress you, rather than grab at you. hold your forehead to his, rather than choke you with his thick hands.

then came the praise. god, it's like fucking a completely different man. from one week to the next, you're no longer a slut or a hole, you're pretty girl and angel. it makes your head spin. you try to pinpoint the change and why it happened, but you can't. somehow, you cum twice as hard now.

it all came to an ugly head when he spent the better part of 2 hours between your thighs, moaning and groaning as if you were doing him a service.

now, you weren't going to complain, but love just wasn't in the cards for you right now, and the looks simon was giving you from where he lapped at your cunt were filled with adoration, like he was waiting for you to tell him how good he was doing.

hell, you could see a phantom tail wagging each time his eyes met your own. and after a session that felt more like making love than an explosion of pure lust, you could feel his eyes lingering on you as you slipped your panties back on.

"what?" you hum, not wanting to face him in fear you'd see that godforsaken look in his eyes again.

and you were right, because he's staring at you like he's about to drop to one knee. "nothin'."

you toss your shirt back over your head and steel yourself as you turn to face him.

"simon," you start and he's already hanging on your words, "what's going on with you lately? i don't mean to sound rude but—"

this is it, he thinks. it has to be now, or nothing will change. he's not a religious man, but if he's ever prayed to god for anything, it's for this to become something real.

"'m in love with ya."

one blink, then two. two to three, three to four. you stare at him as you try to piece together what he's saying.

"simon, i don't think you understand—"

"—i do. i do understand and i want ya, bad. so bad, i can't even stop thinkin' bout ya, sweetheart. even when y'not 'ere im thinkin' about ya. everything about y'is perfect, and i don't think i can function without y'with me."

this is the most emotion you've ever seen out of simon and it rocks you to your core. if you didn't know better—and if the lighting wasn't so dim—you'd think he was tearing up.

you didn't know how to break it to him.

[bitchlessdino]

Good Roommates Don't (m)

for @ddeonghwa-s secret cupid collab i recieved you @haologram! Secret Cupid Masterlist found here!

Pairing: roommate! Minghao x barista!afab!reader Word count: 14.1k rating: R Summary: Xu Minghao had been the most ethereal being you've ever laid your eyes on to the point being unable of functioning like a normal person, but now you're roommates. Only time will tell when you lose your mind keeping your hands to yourself, so there needed to be a list of things you don't do if you wanted to be a good roommate. tags: meet-ugly, strangers to roommates to lovers, college au, barista au, down bad!reader, mentions of band, brief bdsm, mc fell first he fell harder, cum swapping, spitting, oral (giving and receiving), face riding, unprotected sex author note: thank you @lovetaroandtaemin and @gyubakeries beta-reading this with me. after writing towtsyfdtotbycf (holy shit) i was in a little bit of a slump and had several and i mean SEVERAL versions of this and for months racked my brain how i wanted to do this. Alta, i care for you deeply and we've gotten close in the last year or so, so i really wanted to write something that would amuse you and that you'd enjoy. and if you hate it you can use it as leverage to berate me on discord lol. but please, my valentine, enjoy my gift to you. happy Valentines day Alta (and tell me was i really not that slick) <3

When you first met Minghao, you almost killed him trying to save his life. At least, that's what you thought you were doing.

All you had to do was bear a normal shift at the Coffee Shop, attempt a semblance of a smile for the oncoming customers, and clock out at your normal hour, but the universe couldn’t even give you that. Instead, they sent you the hottest guy imaginable, along with the swiftness of a gazelle, the strength of a gorilla, and the intuition of a garden gnome. That day just confirmed that some things were better left alone.

A few things were already going wrong that day. For one, your alarm didn't go off. The alarm being your mom, who usually kicked you out of bed first thing at 9 am, since she had a doctor’s appointment. Fair enough. The strings of fate got you there. All the more reason why moving out seemed like a distant dream rather than a close reality. Were you really capable of being a functioning adult? 

Then there was the bus and having to shell out twenty bucks for a Lyft when the next scheduled bus was reported to have broken down and was no longer an option. That twenty bucks could’ve been your meal for the next week, but no, being fiscally responsible was a circus act, and you were the clown being pied in the face repeatedly. As if you weren’t already putting on a face and juggling multiple things enough on a daily basis, today was no different. 

And then, you were late to work—which again, was nothing new—but you were hoping that Nayeon, who was scheduled as the shift manager, she’d let you off with a warning. Yet, somehow, that went wrong as well, seeing that the shittier manager on your shift, Manager Fi, was present instead. And, by the look in the old man's eyes, he wasn’t happy about it either, especially considering he assigned you bathroom duty for the end of your shift to make up for your tardiness. He never liked you since you started. Then again, he didn’t like anybody, and vice versa.

This morning was bad omen after bad omen.

Leading up to finally meeting Minghao—tall, scorchingly hot Minghao, , with lips that looked soft as clouds. You hadn’t seen him around before until today, and perhaps it should’ve stayed that way, because you couldn’t see yourself facing him ever again.

He walked in with his large group of friends, all almost nearly as charming as him with a handful of faces that you’ve seen once or twice, but none that stood quite out like his. He had the kind of face that made you want to paint murals, write ballads, or stare long enough to linger too long over the same spot you were cleaning on the counter, windshield wiping until the wet streaks you wiped off devolved to discoloration and damaged the countertop’s cheap sealant. Eventually, you averted your gaze to conceal your flushed cheeks—turning away in clear embarrassment, thinking about how much of a fucking creep you probably looked overtly gawking at him—but you’d soon realized that was the least of your worries. You’d soon wish it ended with you looking like a creep.

The next moment you lifted your eyes towards him again, you found him in a compromising position, one that had you thinking—and that was your first mistake. His face twisted with discomfort, and he gasped as he covered his mouth. A million thoughts raced through your mind, considering all the possible reasons for his distress, and one screamed the loudest above all, setting off alarm bells. So you—being meddling and troublesome you—acted on instinct.

Hopping over the counter, you raced towards him, pulled him off the booth which he was luckily on the edge of, and immediately attempted the Heimlich. Finally, your CPR certification could be put to use. You embraced him from behind, putting pressure on his ribcage as you launched and thrust yourself against him, forcing whatever was lodged in his throat out of his body.

“I’ve got you!” you exclaimed heroically.

You put in as much strength as you could muster, truly hoping to save a life today, thinking out of all things that have gone wrong today, at least this would be one thing you’ve done right. You could feel your ancestors looking down on you to witness a proud moment in your otherwise boring and mundane life. 

After several rough collisions with his body, he eventually spat something chewed up and unsightly onto the booth’s table, drawing the attention of several onlookers if your boisterous shouting hadn’t already. His friends were quick to look away, wincing in disgust while the cute boy doubled over in pain, holding himself by the ribs as you ran your eyes over at him in concern.

“Are you alright, sir? That must’ve been terrifying to suffocate on something so suddenly.”

He then finally lifted his head. His cheeks were flushed as anguish took over his features. “I wasn’t choking,” He rasped.

“...Come again?”

“Oh my god!” A third-party witness stood up dramatically from their seat. “This barista just saved this young man’s life!”

Suddenly, you were punished with attention, cheers specifically. All except the people who sat at the cute boy’s table clapped for you—or, rather at you now—and gave you standing ovations for your grand heroic act, when in fact, it wasn’t heroic at all. Meanwhile, you attempted to settle them down, flapping your hands dismissively and growing hot all over. You looked over the man you so-called saved as he strained to sit back in his seat, being tended by the friends he came with.

“Dude, you okay?”

“Shit, that looked like it hurt.”

“You probably shouldn't have been drinking it that fast, Minghao.”

It turned out you had severely miscalculated the situation. What appeared to be choking, prompting you to improperly administer a rough but appropriate Heimlich maneuver, was simply a mildly exaggerated reaction to hot coffee followed by a muffin to alleviate his burnt taste buds. You, of course, profusely apologized, as if you weren’t embarrassed enough for staring at him the whole time working your entire shift at the coffee shop because he was the most breathtakingly stunning person you’ve ever seen in your life. You might’ve just about broken his ribs and made his life flash before his eyes by abruptly slamming your body against him repeatedly, and not in the fun way.

Rather than an apartment, you were in desperate need of a hole deep enough to lead you to the core of the Earth to hide you from everyone else on the crust, ideally with cheap rent and good air ventilation. 

You bowed your head in humiliation, unable to meet any of their eyes, especially with the possibility of them remembering your face with a lawsuit waiting to happen. “I can’t believe that happened, I am so sorry. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, please let me know.”

“It’s okay, really, but I think we’ve had enough excitement for today if you don’t mind.” 

The attractive stranger—or Minghao, as you’ve learned from his friends who immediately rushed to him in concern—shook his hand in the air reassuringly. “Just, no more of that, alright? Make sure someone’s actually choking before trying to save them.”

“Right, please have a wonderful rest of your day,” you said, before returning to your station and disappearing behind the breakroom, screaming into your cubby and avoiding human interaction for as long as you could.

That scene replayed in your mind over and over like a recurring nightmare, burning the image of his beautiful face with such disdain for all eternity, while his name etched into your brain in permanent ink, embedded in every wrinkle in your brain. Minghao. A devastatingly beautiful name for a devastatingly beautiful owner.

Ugh. Get a fucking grip.

You just needed to get through the rest of the day. It would just be a couple more hours until your shift ended, and then you’d leave on the dot. It’d be just in time to make your appointment to meet your new potential roommate. Hopefully, it would be the silver lining of today’s catastrophic mess.

You met on electronic class forums while attending the same Cultural Studies course and somehow ended up relying on each other for notes. By your chat history, you seemed to have a lot in common—with the exception of his preference for tea over artisanal coffee—and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t get giddy seeing the green circle next to his username. Recently, he had just talked about moving into town after pondering the idea for so long, and as fate may have it, you’ve been looking for your own place to stay. You figured he seemed nice enough, and he even offered a reasonable quote on rent. It wouldn’t hurt to take a look. You just hoped he was as friendly in real life as he was online—with the day you had, you needed a win.

And, that win started with Chinese food, his choice, and it was a good one. You hadn’t been at this location before, taking note of the old-fashioned aesthetic touched by the harshness of modern neon signs that lit even the darkest of hallways. You were now thinking you ought to come more often as the heavenly notes of soy, ginger, and whatever concoction bled through the kitchen curtains and wafted through your nostrils the moment you passed through the double doors. Immediately, you were greeted by the host, visibly tired and overworked, with dark circles under his eyes, before he led you to a table in the center of the restaurant. You settled your nerves with a glass of water, trying to let the horrific events from today fade to as black as the soy sauce loitering on your table, waiting for a plate of dumplings to accompany them.

Funny how you could still have an appetite after everything that happened.

It wasn’t too long after you heard the same doors you walked through open, setting off the familiar sound of its wind chimes. You peered behind you, catching a glimpse of the new arrival, and immediately spun back in your seat, startled by the face that passed through your eyes. Trepidation brewed within you as the unsolicited visitor had your stomach in knots. 

You couldn’t take another incident tonight. 

You slunk into your seat, burying your chin in your shirt, hoping you’d somehow camouflage into your seat, facing away from the new arrival. Meanwhile, his eyes skimmed the room, walking in with purpose without guidance and greeting the employees as if he were right at home. Fortunately, he had yet to notice your presence as you slinked out of view the moment he passed by you to sit at the bar, while you made way into a booth in the dark corner of the restaurant, cursing the fates for their cruel games once again. You just had hoped that your new roommate would hurry it up already so you could get out of here before you were discovered.

And after about ten minutes, it felt as if all hope was lost. There was no sign of them and you were wondering if you had been stood up. Amid your anticipation, you were forced to pay attention to the person you were avoiding, seeing his patience wear thin with the tap of his foot as he sipped the last of his iced tea. Not a moment too soon, you saw him pluck his phone out from his pocket, fingers skittering over the screen before bringing it to his ear and scanning the restaurant’s floor plan. In the same instant, your phone went off,  blaring your cursed ringtone, ‘Pocketful of Sunshine’, and the realization—along with the panic—quickly set in. 

Alerted by the noise, his head whipped up from his screen. His eyebrows rose in shock, not all expecting the outcome that arose, and he dropped to his feet and quickly darted toward the sound that you—for the life of you—could not turn off fast enough. His footsteps matched the rate of your heart pounding in your chest, growing louder and closer until he found the source and located you cowering in the corner.

You lifted your head to lock eyes for the first time since this morning just as you finally managed to silence the ringtone and gave him an awkward laugh, waving with your phone in hand. Taking a nervous gulp, you awaited his disappointment, expecting him to make his quick exit after evaluating in the two seconds of your meeting that this arrangement would not work out because you were a deranged psycho with a savior complex. To your pleasant surprise, that didn't happen. Instead, you were met with a gentle smile and a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “There you are.”

You forced a sheepish chuckle. “Here I am, ha.”

Minghao softly chuckled before tucking his phone in his back pocket. “And to think just this morning you ‘saved my life.’”

You shut your eyes tightly, hands pressing together as if begging for forgiveness. “Again I am so, so sorry for that. It did look like you were choking.”

He shook his head reassuringly. “So you’ve said. I’m Minghao, or PalE8. Nice to meet you, CafeMixr0.”

“Is it…nice to meet me?” You asked dubiously.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

You blinked incredulously. “Well, for several reasons.”

He shrugged before entering the booth and leaving a healthy distance to sit just across from you. “Can’t think of any. Have you ordered anything yet?”

You shook your head, befuddled by his nonchalance, waiting to see the catch, if there was any.

“Good thing I know everything worth ordering.” His hand shot up before grabbing the attention of a server to get his order taken.

You weren't sure where the night was going. All you knew was the boy that you almost killed this morning was sitting across from you looking as breathtaking as he did this morning, even while slurping up his stir fry that was glossed with a sheen of chilli oil and swelling up his already full lips. Rather than a roommate meetup—if that was still the case—it felt like a date, a date you were exceedingly ill-prepared for.

Suddenly, you could feel the sweat on the back of your knees, feeling the strong urge to sniff the clothes on your back, unsure when the last time you did a fresh load of laundry and if your current attire was included in that load at all. Not to mention that bathroom duty that was forced upon you, which no doubt seeped into your clothes. You were better off naked, but then that would be an entire different kind of meeting, wouldn’t it?

“You’re okay, right?” You asked, trying to distract yourself from your spiraling thoughts as you barely finished your portion of chow mein—which was absolutely heavenly, to put it lightly.

He let out a light chuckle before kindly reassuring you. “How many times are you going to ask me? You and everyone from this morning. I’m fine, able-bodied and everything.” 

“I just felt really bad. You looked really hurt.”

He couldn’t suppress his grin, finding your cautiousness amusing, but it only added to your unease. “I was hurt. You’re really, really strong.”

You winced. “Again. I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s a quality of a good roommate.” He finished the last bit of his meal before dropping a couple of bills without asking for the tab. “Come on. I’ve got to show you the apartment.”

You raised an eyebrow while sipping your warm tea before tapping your mouth with a napkin. “You still want to room with me? After this morning?”

“There’s not a lot of good options for roommates in the city, and what are the odds that you’ll try to kill me twice?”

He had a fair point, and it wasn’t like you had options lining up either. You just had to hope he didn’t regret taking this chance on you.

A big reason why you wanted to move out was to learn to be on your own, but in addition to that, the city had pretty much everything to offer. The city had it all, from job opportunities to the right people to meet, and the apartment Minghao led you to was the center of the entirety of it. High above the town square, in a room several floors up, there was a nook that had a view through a large window overlooking everything within about a two-mile radius. If there was anything nice to say about the city, it definitely looked better from where you were standing. The street lights illuminated streets, neon signs brought the local businesses to life, and people that ran the night life lived it to the fullest in the flashiest clothes imaginable. You had never seen your city like this before.

Meanwhile, the apartment itself was gorgeous and already fully furnished with stylish furniture and greenery that touched the kitchen and living room. It was graced with Minghao’s taste in art and an eccentric—but tasteful—color palette of warm browns, olive greens, and rustic oranges. It felt like walking into Minghao’s mind, seeing into his world, and you were given the opportunity of it being yours, being part of his world. He was generous enough to even let you pass through the front door.

“So?” he asked, gauging your interest, watching as you looked down at the city from the large window nook in awe.

You softly scoffed, unable to take your eyes off the beautiful view calling to you like a siren at sea.  “Um, I’m sorry, you had trouble finding a roommate, how?”

He crossed his arms, admiring the sight with you, glancing at you through his peripheral vision and grinning when he saw the childlike sparkle in your eyes. “I’m new to the city, and everyone I know here has their own living arrangements. I didn’t want to go too far in looking for a new roommate. I thought we'd work well together, since we’re based in the same city now and have a lot in common based on our conversations.”

“I almost killed you this morning,” You’ve pointed out to…death.

“Although you’re…impulsive and unpredictable, I’ve seen worse. I think I’ll manage.” He splayed his hand in front of you, gesturing for a shake to officially seal the deal. “What do you say? Do you still want to be roommates?”

Everything about this screamed it was a bad idea. Putting aside the fact that you nearly killed the man, you could barely stand in the presence of him without your mind drifting to dark waters. It didn’t take rocket science to understand that putting you in that same living quarters with Minghao meant you might have to live every day together with your hands tied behind your back and thighs taped shut. You’ve surprised yourself with how you’ve managed to keep your composure sharing the same air—the air you were even thinking of savoring as you contemplated this offer.

You were down-righteously-bad. You weren’t a fit roommate for Minghao in the slightest.

Yet, you took his hand, letting his cool palm clash with your warmth as his digits wrapped around you in a tight squeeze before shaking. “Let’s do it.”

And that marked the start of a new chapter of your life, unraveling the challenge of being Xu Minghao’s roommate. Only, he wasn’t the challenge. He was a breath of fresh autumn air. He was kind beyond words and accommodating in every step of your move. You were already familiar with his gentle and patient nature, as he had frequently taken the time to clarify complex ideas for class, and you’ve learned about the majority of his interests prior from your online discussions, but seeing PalE8’s traits in person—embodied in Minghao—was bizarre. You realized he was still a stranger after all. A stranger that claimed your breath with a single bat of his eyes and turned your stomach inside out worse than a bad case of food poisoning, no less.

Meanwhile, the neighbors knew him by name, were endeared by his presence, and found him to be a delightful conversationalist as well as a helping hand when the situation called for it. He was better than your friendly neighborhood spiderman. He was your kind, considerate, intricately woven, beautifully complex, and knees-bucklingly handsome Minghao. 

You weren’t usually a sexual deviant, at least not to this extent, but Minghao brought something out of you that you hadn’t felt for another person. However, if you were going to live together, that had to change. This crush was going to have to dwindle out of existence if you wanted to live together—emphasis on you—in peace.

So, that’s when you decided to make a list of rules that only you had to follow. Sure, you were an adult, and the thought of giving yourself rules to keep your hands to yourself was juvenile and stupid, but for the sake of your sanity, you were looking for anything that might work. That’s when you decided to make a list of things “good roommates don’t do”, thinking it would be shorter and easier to sum up than a long redundant list of things good roommates would do, and the first thing to top the list was easy.

Good roommates don’t almost kill each other (again).

That seemed easy enough to remember, considering the first time was traumatic enough, and fortunately, it didn’t take too much effort, considering you hardly saw each other despite living together. 

You ended up taking up more shifts at work, desperate enough to even join the catering team, to keep yourself busy and afford the new expense of rent, sacrificing a lot more of your free time. Meanwhile, Minghao’s work schedule was not only demanding, it was inconsistent. Working at a popular art gallery as an artist and attendant with frequent and erratic events to go to until late at night prompted your roommate to be seen home a lot less than expected. By the time either of you got home, there wouldn’t be so much of a hello or goodbye either, just the sounds of bodies falling on beds in either rooms as the day’s fatigue engulfed you until you succumbed to sleep.

You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t a little disappointed by these circumstances, but then again, perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. Seeing him as little as you did meant less opportunity for you to screw things up around him, because it seemed to happen quite frequently when he was around. The few times you did cross paths, you still found ways to humiliate yourself.

“That’s mine.”

You held the toothbrush mid-scrub, bubbles foaming at the corners of your mouth, “Eh?”

“I think you’re using my toothbrush.”

Your cheeks immediately grew warm, and you shielded your face with the back of your hand. You spat into the sink and splashed water on your face to rid yourself of toothpaste residue before turning back to respond, his words jumbling in your head and bouncing from corner to corner to process them. “I-I don’t think so, this is the one I always use.”

He snickered, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms, delectably dressed down in a gray tank top and sweatpants. The tempting taste of domesticity was sweet and permeated your tastebuds. “If that’s the case, we’ve been sharing, because I’ve always kept my brush there in the marble cup. Yours should be behind the medicine cabinet where you first left it.”

“What? You sure?” you pinned the used toothbrush on the sink’s porcelain before cracking open the medicine cabinet. “I’m pretty sure I took it—Ah!”

Startled by your findings, you dropped the toothbrush you gripped in your hand onto the floor when you’ve proven Minghao right as his toothbrush fell to the ground, now defiled with your oral bacteria and whatever was on the floor. The one day you take a shift later than usual because a member begged to take on more shifts, it blew up in your face. Seokmin, you will rue the day. “I-I’ll clean it!” You offered in a panicked tone.

He pushed himself off the threshold, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t, please. It’s dirty; I can just replace it.”

Filled with guilt, you stepped aside to watch him pick up the dirty brush before disposing of it in the waste bin, “Sorry.”

“You say that a lot.” 

He pulled a fresh toothbrush out of a drawer and ripped it out of its packaging. It was notably identical to his previous and your current abandoned toothbrush, down to the bristles. “No worries. See,” he turned the new hygiene tool for inspection, “Clean.”

“Regret having me as a roommate yet?” you joked anxiously towards his reflection in the mirror.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nothing I can’t manage. I lived in a boarding house full of guys that shared things without asking and it didn’t stop at toothbrushes. You’re the first roommate I’ve had that’s apologized. I say that’s an upgrade.”

He went on to brush his teeth with his newly obtained brush, christening the bristles with a squeeze of fluoride toothpaste before scrubbing against his pearly whites. He never ceased to amaze you with his aloof attitude towards the situation, as if he’d become accustomed to your chaos when he didn’t need to be at all. This situation, however, did indicate that you had another thing to be added to the list.

Good roommates don’t use each other’s toothbrush (even by accident)

In your room just before you left for work, you haphazardly added to the list you put on a crumpled piece of paper you kept in your wallet, ensuring you held your list close before setting the pen aside. Your heart pounded against your chest, thinking what that had meant all this time. How you’ve pretty much swapped saliva nearly every day with Minghao since moving in. The fact that it had gone on for so long repulsed you, but not anymore than the tiny part of yourself that maybe had always known and continued to do it. 

You held your digits to your lips, brushing the pads against the slit of your mouth, ragged breaths slowly leaving your lungs as you reached your enamel. Tension pooled in your stomach as the images that infiltrated your dreams were currently being conjured in your consciousness, while arousal chased down your legs as you clenched them together. Jolted back to reality, you wound your eyes shut, remembering how little he cared about the matter, how nonchalant he was when he found out. Meanwhile, here you were: perverse, losing your mind, and letting your imagination run wild like a hormonal teenager with her celebrity crush. 

Fuck. You needed a night out. You had been cooped up in the apartment for too goddamn long. The only other place you went was work, and knowing labor laws, they had to give you a night or two off for all the time you’d been putting in. There was a whole outside world, and you needed to buck up and take advantage of it. You had to do something other than fawn over your very hot roommate. Losing some spare change was worth the sanity. At least, you hoped it was.

“You going out tonight?”

Hearing a familiar tenor voice, your head lifted up from fixing the strap of your shoes to see him remove his coat and store it away in the front entrance closet. “Oh, you’re home,” you stated.

“Yeah. The gallery is closed tonight for a bigger show this weekend, so I have a couple days where I’m off earlier than usual.”

More time for Minghao to be at home. Great. 

You nodded, keeping your cool at the sight of his turtleneck hugging his lean and toned frame, making your heart work overtime in place of you this evening. “I see, but yeah. A couple of my friends and I are trying out that new place that just opened up in midtown.”

“Oh, let me know how that goes. Me and some friends had plans to go there too.”

“Okay.” You hurried your way to the door. “Don’t wait up.”

“Wait.”

Hand on the door knob, you cursed under your breath, squeezing your eyes shut as if bracing for impact before opening them, and turned around with an innocuous expression. “Yes?”

He held out his hand. “Your phone please.”

“Hmm? Why,” you asked, unlocking it before complying.

He smiled accepting it, before swiping his fingers off the screen. “I’m sending myself your location.”

And there your heart when pitter-patter again at thoughtful and kind hot as fuck Minghao. “I just told you where I’d be.”

“That could always change. Here,” he said, handing your phone back, beaming back at you warmly. “Just in case something happens, and you can always call me if you feel unsafe, okay?”

You gave a soft pout, cheeks growing warm at the thought of Minghao’s concern over you. It pleased you more than it should’ve. “Thanks. What are you gonna do tonight?”

He shrugged, taking a quick glance over his shoulder. “Maybe do some light reading and tea, paint if inspiration hits me.”

You gave a small grin, thinking just how Minghao those activities sound. “Sounds enlightening. Okay. I’ll be home soon.”

“Be safe.”

Even long after you’d left, you kept thinking about that interaction. How domestic it felt, how safe it made you feel, how seen you really were. It made you wonder if he was tracking you right now, looking at his phone, staring at the dot indicating where you were located. You wondered if he was thinking about you right now, because you were most certainly thinking about him.

Your mission of trying to forget Minghao by going out definitely was not working, but you took that as a sign to keep drinking. Your friends didn’t get to see you often with how much you worked, so they were just happy to see you were having a good time, not knowing you were trying to drown out the consuming thoughts of a certain man with a peculiar color scheme. 

They wouldn’t have known the way you let yourself get felt up by a stranger near the dance floor, standing so close you could smell the knock off cologne he was practically bathing in as his breath hung in the air against your neck. When it went nowhere, he eventually left, looking for prospects elsewhere, while you stuck to your mission, seeing it work at some point at night. Until it didn’t, but you didn’t remember because eventually it’d all fade to black.

Your eyes ripped open, waking up with the biggest headache, blinded by the natural rays of light bleeding through blinds—only your room didn’t have blinds. You specifically made sure to have blackout curtains because you couldn’t stand waking up to the sun, and that hasn’t ever changed. Grumbling irritatingly along the lines about who turned on the lights, you flipped on the other side of the bed with a half awoken daze, your blurry vision making out a lumpy figure underneath the covers.

You drew closer in confusion, trying to make sense of what you were seeing before taking in the fact the lump had a face as blinding as the sun you turned away from, startling you upon recognition. Your eyes shot open, wide awake now, and you nearly stumbled out of the mattress before his arms grabbed you, latching on you before you could fall off and safely secured you in his tucked embrace. 

“It’s a bit early for your charming antics, isn’t it?” Minghao chucked with closed eyes.

You blinked back at him, licking your lips anxiously. “How am I here right now?”

His eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the light. “You mean alive or in bed with me?”

Your cheeks grew hot. “B-both.”

“I wish I had an answer for the first question, but it seems your creator had more plans for you. As for your second concern, you seemed confused and tired, and I assumed you confused this bed for yours.”

“You should’ve kicked me out.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, rubbing his hands over your shoulders and sending a chill down your spine. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

You let out a soft sigh, ridden with guilt. “I’d deserve it. I must’ve been annoying to deal with.”

He knitted his brows together, the corner of his lips softly turning down. “You really don’t like yourself.”

“No—well, maybe not lately. Maybe I’m just coming to the realization I’m not a good roommate.”

“No one is good at anything their first time.”

“You’re not denying it!”

“You’re a fine roommate.” Patting you on the back, he threw off the covers and pushed himself out of bed, leaving his room to trod toward the kitchen. You followed after curiously, like a duckling that imprinted on its mother, watching as he pulled out ingredients from the fridge’s shelves. “Anything you’re allergic to?” He asked over his shoulder.

“Nothing comes to mind.” You answered hesitantly.

“Good. The recipe is fairly easy anyway, it shouldn’t kill you.”

Your eyes widened and you quickly stood by his side as he set all the items down, he followed with gathering bowls and cookware. “You’re cooking for me?”

“Mmh-hmm.”

“You don’t have to.”

He turned his head slightly. “You have a headache, don’t you?”

“Yes but—”

“It’s just egg drop soup.” He patted your shoulder nodding his head over at the counter stool either of you would often have breakfast. “Sit. It’ll be done in a few minutes.”

You sat patiently by the counter, watching him chop and throw ingredients into a small pot, which filled your shared residence with a savory aroma. As soon as he was done, he presented the dish in front of you, garnishing it with fresh chopped scallions and parsley. He picked up a serving with a soup spoon and gently blew on the top before taking a quick sample and grinning at the result. Scooping with the same spoon, he held a serving towards you with proud eyes.

“Try it,” he urged.

As you accepted the offering, you tried not to think about how you were about to share yet another household item that would enter both your mouths and let the simple flavors fan out on your tongue, the warmth of soup dispersing throughout your body. You hummed in delight, already feeling it work its magic. “It’s delicious,” you said softly.

He grinned. “Feel better.”

“Thanks, Minghao.”

“No problem at all.” 

As you enjoyed your thoughtful breakfast, your roommate cleaned up his mess. He wiped down whatever residue was left behind before heading to his room and coming out properly dressed in brown slacks and muted green patterned sweater when you were just about done eating. “Heading to work now.”

“You had work?” You asked surprised, “Why did you waste time cooking? You could have left already.”

He softly scoffed heading to the door. “I spent—what, five or ten minutes? It’s fine. See you later.”

In the last 24 hours, Minghao managed to make sure you were safe by tracking your location, gave you a good night's rest by not disrupting your sleep, and made you breakfast right before work. Then there’s you, black out drunk with almost no memory of last night (probably good you didn’t), annoying your overly nice and overly hot roommate, hogging a bed that isn’t yours, and eating a home cooked meal that probably set back his schedule. You were the worst. All the more reason for a new addition to the list.

Good roommates don't sleep in their other roommate’s bed piss drunk (again)

It seemed that this list of “don’ts” was getting longer, probably because you’re an awful roommate, and if there was a reward, yours would already be at the front door. You really, really had to make an effort to do something about this arrangement. Now that some time had passed and these interactions were becoming more frequent, avoiding him seemed to be out of question unless you wanted to give him the wrong impression. You would just have to become a better roommate, and that started with making up for this morning.

In the following months together, to atone for the bed incident and good deeds that followed suit, you shared the occasional breakfast if you had time (that is if you didn’t burn anything), even sometimes grabbing dinner or a late meal in the small gap before or after work. While in the late hours, when both of you should’ve been sleeping, you’d have a cup of your favorite beverages. He’d have his brew of tea for the night while you’d have a mug of coffee, awake under the stars and basking in the night, watching from the nook that you both grew fond of that was in the direction of the moon when it’s at its peak.

Of all people to share these moments with, you couldn’t imagine it with anyone else but Minghao. He was the peace amongst the chaos, the quiet you came home to after dealing with the noisy world that helped you heal like nothing else. You liked that about him, and now you were liking him too much, to the point you thought of him every day. What it’d be like for him to hold you in his arms, letting his warmth envelop your entire being the way his voice naturally does with a simple “it’s okay.” 

You’d imagine how he’d look at you, how lovers do when they ache for one another so desperately they could feel it down to every atom. You’d thought of the words he’d say to you, the words he’d say to someone he’s madly, irrevocably besotted with, and every letter and word and sentence would be spoken poetry. He’d feel like love. You didn’t think it was possible for you to grow more attracted to him, but learning all these wonderful things he does and seeing up close and personal how beautiful inside and out he was, you were developing feelings and growing all these desires that you were ashamed to admit out loud.

And with that, you pulled out your list and a pen, jotting in a new item.

Good roommates don’t live in every waking moment staring at them or thinking about wanting to kiss them (no matter how hard it is)

You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve already broken that rule, but the least you could do was hold yourself accountable.

However, writing the rule didn't prevent future instances. Not from fantasizing, not from wet dreams, not from imagining a life together where you rid all your inhibitions and clothes and succumb to drowning in each other. Unlike every other rule that you’ve managed to avoid, this one was the outlier, flipping your world on its head and preoccupying every second of your thoughts with all things Xu Minghao. And what sucked was you were so guilt ridden, you couldn't even let yourself enjoy it. 

This was your roommate for crying out loud. Your wholesome, nice, forgiving, and tolerant roommate that went beyond what was necessary to make you feel at home and comfortable. Only time will tell when he’ll see through you and finally kick you to the curb.

“Let’s go out.”

Your head lifted up from your phone with eyes large as saucers. “What?”

“We haven't really done anything together,” he suggested, cleaning up the dishes of the dinner you both had just had.

It was one of the few nights that you were both free. The coffee shop had more than enough staff, and you’ve exhausted the hours put in, while the art gallery was planning a grand exhibition, so they needed all hands on deck for the mornings for a few weeks, but evenings would be free until the week of. That left you two a lot more free time than you knew what to do with.

“We see each other all the time,” you pointed out.

“At home. We don’t hang outside the apartment aside from that one dinner the first day we met, so let’s go out.”

You blinked, watching him grab his coat before you could argue as he waved you over, his smile luring you closer and putting you under his spell without you realizing until it was too late. “Uh, where? It’s 9PM.”

“Anywhere.”

For someone who had only arrived in town a couple months ago, Minghao knew a lot of the good spots in the city.  If it wasn’t food, it was book stores. If it wasn’t book stores, it was tea shops. He had a clear plan of the city, and without so much looking at a GPS, he could find his way around better than any native. And considering all the people he came with that day you met the coffee shop and all the staff at the Chinese restaurant, his index didn’t stop at places. He seemed more familiar with the people in your hometown than you were. Between you two, he looked like the real local.

Walking alongside your roommate, you turned to him curiously, “How do you know the city so well when you’ve moved in somewhat recently?”

He gave a soft smile looking into the distance, as if the gust of wind that passed through you both hit him with a wave of nostalgia. “I’ve been visiting for about four years. I only had the guts to become a resident recently.”

“Why’d it take you so long?”

“Student visa processes, paper work, all those things. Also, this city is great, and everyone I've met and have become close with is amazing, but home is just home. It’s all I’ve ever known.” He let out a deep sigh, taking in a deep breath before stretching out his arms and let fall back to his sides, turning slightly to you. “This country and town has become a second, though, some things even my home can’t beat.”

You mused at that, intrigued that he could find something appealing in here, then again you've been here all your life, yet Minghao showed you more you could ever imagine of it. “Like what?”

He simply smiled as their feet stopped at their final destination, a location they both aimlessly walked towards just a little off the center of the town. “I’ll tell you, as soon as we try this place out.” 

Just off the center of town was a bar you had never heard of with a theme you’d never thought to put together on your own and definitely a place you��d never think to walk into with your roommate you were trying to keep platonic feelings for.

“Hey sexy babies, welcome to the Love in Leather BDSM Bar, where all your sexy dreams can come true.”

Oh, my god.

You were petrified. Every wall was decorated with leather or latex, either on display in a box, on a vulgarly displayed mannequin, or on an employee that was dressed in next to nothing, leaving no room for imagination. You weren’t shy about the theme of BDSM—there was always a small part of you curious about it—but it’s not like you’ve talked extensively about it with Minghao. The same person you were trying really hard not to think about sleeping with, which was especially hard in a place that served ‘cum shots’ and with their special for tonight being ‘buttery nipples.’

Glancing back at your roommate to get his reaction, he seemed to be just as startled with his findings as you were, but perhaps not as terrified as he should be, taking you by the wrist and weaving through the crowd with a marveled expression. You were grateful for the loud music playing the explicit versions of songs you wouldn’t otherwise hear on the radio, drowning out the sound of your heavy breathing and the loud thrum of your heart. You just had hoped he couldn’t feel your pulse under his fingertips, unable to untangle from his grasp as you felt the heat of his touch spread out through your whole body. You were trapped in a web you didn’t want to leave and that was the hardest kind to be in.

Suddenly, lights poured on the center stage of the bar. The music then slowed down, transitioning to another song, and a scantily leather clad woman entered that would erupt cheers of all clients seated in the chairs in front of her, to which she sent an air kiss and wink. Following the crowd, both you and Minghao decided to cheer along with them, your sounds of encouragement drowned out in the more enthusiastic and obscenely creative audience members of the establishment. Walking across the stage, she made a show of it, caressing her body in ways that would have a man on his knees howling at the moon (which you swore you heard once or twice in there) as money was thrown strewn stage like confetti, enough to pay for a few nice dinners uptown. After garnering the excitement, she descended down the steps of the stage, walking into her live audience. Her eyes skimmed through the endless crowds of people, landing on and picking one lucky front row member—a young, spry man no older than twenty-five—and brought him on stage, ensuing roars and applause, indicating the start of the real show.

What happened next was something you did not want to get into detail, but in layman’s terms, that audience member was having the time of his life with the use of a flog while everyone watched. You could only make the distinction of excruciating pain and pleasurable pain by the very loud affirmations coming out of his mouth and bouncing off the board he face planted on, and the words that passed through one of your ears and never wanted to come out the other. You were slack jawed from the scene, not at all expecting this scene today, and holy shit, you could not feel more suffocated knowing Minghao was witnessing all of this beside you. 

He stared back at the scene, expression unreadable, but he seemed interested and unable to look away like it was an oncoming train wreck, looking as if he was stuck on the tracks and was making sense of what he was seeing. Suddenly, his eyes locked with yours and you watched as they softened with a glint of something behind them before you swiveled your head, feeling yourself burn from your face to your ears, clenching your free hand. This felt eerily like a date, but unlike the first dinner, this felt like a real one. An immense sexually charged one. 

You were surrounded by sex at all angles, being tested to the most extreme degree. Tonight, you’ve learned dominance wasn’t particularly your thing, but if it were Minghao, perhaps you wouldn’t have minded. 

But this, this was overwhelming. As if sensing your turmoil, Minghao tugged your wrist, making you fix your gaze on him again and read the words that he mouthed from his lips. “Time to run.”

Your fingers interlocked and feet picked up speed as you headed toward the door, running aimlessly for miles out of the bar in fits of smiles and laughter. There was no plan and no destination, you both just wanted out, and you’d only stop running when you reached a bridge, both your bodies collapsing against the metal railing. You both gave out in heavy pants, your breaths mingling as you faced one another. 

“That’s crazy,” you managed to rasp. “Why did we think we could go in there?”

He gave you a tired grin back, looking in the direction from which you came. The light layer of perspiration made his shirt cling to his skin, and you get a sliver of his chest as he aired it out for comfort. “I don’t know. Try something new, but that.” He pointed where he faced. “That’s how I know so many places, I just walk inside.”

You ran your hand over your chest, baring the biggest grin. “Gosh. I feel like dying.”

“Iced coffee?” He kindly suggested.

“And tea?” You cared to offer.

Nodding back at each other, you both decided to walk the rest of the way back around, making a stop at a light night cafe and occupying their second floor balcony to taste the crisp air. As you sipped on your iced coffee and Minghao sipped on his warm tea, you quietly basked in the moonlit sky, as you’d done many times before. The adrenaline of tonight coursed through you still while you leaned against the railings and stared up at the stars, your elbows grazing close enough to spark that electricity that you’d feel whenever he ever got too close. This time, you were too tired to fight it, or you learned it’s about time you stopped trying to.

“I don’t drink coffee.” He abruptly confessed, penetrating the silence.

You softly scoffed, turning your head to him, taking his reminder as a jab for your ‘inferior’ tastes before taking a bigger sip of your delicious fresh roast press. “I know that. You prefer tea.”

“I mean, I don’t drink coffee, but the day you ‘saved me,’ I did.”

You hummed. “Oh. Yeah, you did. Funny. You got a coffee that day instead?”

He shook his head, smiling. “No, ask me why I drank coffee that day.” 

You rolled your eyes, placing your drink on the side table before leaning your elbows over the railing. “Okay. Why did you drink coffee, Minghao?”

“I drank my friend’s mug on accident, thinking it was my tea, then tasted how scaldingly hot and wretched it was—”

You gasped, offended as a barista, “I work really hard on those!”

He waved his hand to calm you down. “Let me finish. I mistook my normal tea for coffee…all because I got distracted, unable to stop thinking about the cute barista who wouldn't quit staring at me from behind the counter.”

“...I apologize for being a creep.”

He shook his head smiling and set his tea cup aside. “Not my point.”

You stared into the contents of your drink, shaking the ice inside as you stirred the straw, trying to find any remains of your beverage and stalling for time to follow up with a response. Lips pressed in a firm line, you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, silence met on the other end as he keenly observed you, mirroring your posture while he sipped his tea. “So…You thought I was cute,” you managed to sum up.

“Thought…think…know.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” You timidly asked.

“We’re roommates,” he reminded you, plain as day. “We should be honest with each other, right?”

“Honest,” you repeated, lethally soft.

“Yes, honest,” he confirmed just as quietly. “Don’t be afraid to tell me whatever is on your mind, just as I’ve told you what was on my mind.”

His honesty was cute, flattering. Your honesty could write up a restraining order. “Is that necessary? We only really live together.”

“It’s necessary because we live together, so yes, be honest about your feelings. Let me in on your thoughts, whatever they may be.”

Good roommates don’t forget to be honest about each other’s feelings.

He stood in front of you dangerously close, the lingering smell of his cologne that reminded you of the ocean wafting into your nose as he drew near. His gaze beckoned you close without so much a word passing through his lips, and you felt his presence close in on the distance as he leaned against the railing. You softly batted your eyes, adjusting to your sense being overtaken by all things Minghao, mind just filled to the brim with Minghao, as if you couldn’t get enough of him.

“You’re really committed to being a good roommate. I respect that,” you stated, harshly gulping. “Honesty. Where can I start?”

“Well, what are you thinking about right now?” He asked, face mere inches away from you, lips so plush you let out a wistful sigh.

“I’m thinking that…it’s really hard to think with your face so close in front of me.”

Despite that, he didn’t move, and instead he pushed a lock of your hair behind your ear, brushing against your helix to feel your flustered warmth bloom between his fingers. “Fair enough. What else?”

You wrapped your hand around the railing, stabling yourself on the floor in hopes of not falling over on your two feet, your breath being stolen in real time by your roommate who was looking more and more inviting by the second.

“And if I knew any better, I’d think you're about to kiss me.”

“Let’s wager that then,” he said as he reeled even closer, his fingertips once in your ears now guiding your chin, letting the surface of your lips feel the ghost of his as your breaths mingled against one another. “You can predict one of two things. One, I kiss you. Or two, I pull away. You get a prize if your answer is correct.”

“How is that a fair wager? You can easily change your response depending on how I answer,” you pointed out, ultimately playing along.

“I won’t,” he reassured in a coaxingly smooth tone. “I’ve made my choice.”

You raised a brow, attempting to look only subtly intrigued when in reality you’ve let him enchant you. “What’s my prize?”

“Loser grants whatever the winner wishes.”

“That’s irresponsible.”

“Knowing you, your request would be far from unreasonable.”

“I’m talking about you.” You narrowed your eyes, swallowing at seeing him come at you so close. “But, okay. I’ll play.”

The corner of his lips lifted mischievously, tilting his head to the side as his eyes narrowed back at you. “So, what’s your answer?” 

Your eyes flickered up to him, rounded up in intrigue as you tried to follow his gaze. “You’ll…pull away. Public displays of affection are cute, but maybe not your cup of tea, at least not grand ones like kissing, unless maybe it’s one the cheek or on the forehead.”

He smiled and gently tilted his head, eyes piercing into yours and taking a sharp breath before pulling away, crossing his arms with a soft pout on his lips. “You’re good.”

You felt the sting of rejection despite your victory, as if you’d hoped you’d be wrong. That he’d take you right there against the railing and give you a fervid kiss that broke you down to your knees and you could even taste in your dreams, but a win was a win. A predicted loss was better than a false victory.

“I guess I won.”

He sighed defeatedly, crossing his arms. “You did. So tell me, what desire would you like for me to fulfill for you?”

You shuddered at his choice of words, clamping your legs together. “Well, what would you have wanted me to do if I got the answer wrong?”

“Is that your wish? For me to answer the question?”

You softly scoffed. “Don’t be so cheap.”

He rolled his eyes before taking a sip of his tea, “Doesn’t matter, you didn’t get it wrong. You get the wish. So go on, tell me your wish.”

“…Fine. Grant me your wish as if you had won.”

“You want me to grant my own wish? That defeats the entire purpose,” he chortled with knitted brows.

“It’s my wish, so come on. What’s your wish?”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“And we didn't have to place bets, but it doesn't seem like there’s any rules against it, so go ahead. Tell me.”

Minghao sucked his teeth before complying. “Fine.” 

He moved toward you, hands settling over your hips and settling you on the floor beneath your feet as he gravitated toward, steadying his gaze on you. His face, inches away from you, and your breath hitched in your throat as he drew his lips near your ear. You heard the subtle squelch of his tongue as they licked his teeth, moments before the wish he dared you to grant poured out from his lush lips. “My wish is for you to…make me tea every morning, afternoon, evening, and every time I ask you to. Like my little tea gremlin.”

“Now that’s just evil, Xu Minghao,” You protested, lightly shoving him off.

He laughed. “No, it’s not! Think of it like pour over coffee.”

“Don’t try romanticizing it like it’s anything like my beautiful beans. Tea is tea. Coffee is coffee.”

“It was your wish to grant my wish.”

“Can I take it back?” You whined.

“It’d be dishonorable.”

You groaned. “Fine.”

He chuckled, “Let’s go home, hmm?”

Heading back home, you were embraced by a warm comfortable silence. There was a kind of silence that sanctioned your amicable living arrangement with Minghao to turn into something warmer, feverish even, something that you can’t even help but notice and your hands would occasionally graze one another on the way back, taking turn exchanging timid glances at you walked your path home.

“That was fun,” You admitted, taking off your shoes at the front door.

“Yeah, I think so. We should do it more often.”

You smiled at each other’s reflections as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, seeing you take the same tube of toothpaste and started brushing your teeth. You smiled as he purposely bumped into you, raising his eyebrow as you stared pointedly at him in the mirror, not expecting you to retaliate with a light shove. Ensuing a nudging war, you attacked each other’s shoulders, getting caught in fits of giggles before you forced yourselves to split up, knowing nothing would get done if you both let it go on.

“Do you work tomorrow?” You asked through the gaping door of your room as he cleared a glass a water before bedtime, freshly out of a shower and the smell of his clean, light fragrance was beguiling even from a distance.

“Yeah. Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“Mmh.” He stalked over in your direction, a feign innocent smile on his lips. “That's too bad. We only really have nights like these together, it seems at least only for a little while.”

“It is,” You said, lathering up the last bit of lotion up your legs, feeling his eyes on you as they traveled the path of your hands.

The silence engulfed you, as if both of you were waiting for the other to make a sudden move, yet both of you remained still. Like a predator with its prey, unsure who was who, you both stood with uncertainty and palpable tension hanging in the air, waiting for the other to strike when the moment was right. Even the usually confident Minghao stood back as he observed you from a distance, eyes flickering over at you as you strided slowly towards him guarded with crossed arms.

“I guess, I’ll go to sleep now,” You finally said.

His gaze softened, nodding. “Okay,” he smiled, “good night.”

“Good night, Minghao. Sleep well.”

If only you had taken your own words to heart. 

That night, you couldn’t help but stare back at the ceiling, fiddling with the covers as the night’s events replayed in your head like a home movie, your thoughts traveling at a million miles a minute, too fast for you to stop and collect them—let alone process them—and stole your precious slumber. So, as you lay in bed awake at night, squeezing your eyes shut and waiting for the night to take you, waiting for the fatigue and sleep to come, it never arrived. Instead, your eyes ripped open, heart pounding in your chest as you sat up from the mattress and tore the covers off your body. Your legs pushed you off the bed and lifted yourself off, carrying yourself out the room and out the hallway with determined steps until faltering at the threshold of another front door before you softly knocked. 

You turned the knob, the door creaked open and you peeked your head through to see your roommate on the other end in bed, torso visibly bare as he slowly sat up at his late night intrusion. “Hey,” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “You’re up.”

“I think it’s the coffee,” you excused, clutching the edge of the door, “I can’t sleep.”

Wordlessly, he nodded, stretching an arm to beckon you towards him, and you slowly inched closer to him until you were completely under the covers. Occupying the space beside him, you nestled into the contours of his body as his arm cushioned the side of your head before facing one another, silence enveloping you. The only sound that bit into the silence was muted traffic, infinitely alive outside the walls of your confines. While it looked peaceful, and you felt as though you could melt into his arms, neither of you looked as if you were trying to sleep.

Rather, you stared at one another, making sleep even harder to attain as you traced every feature and took them in as if they were brushstrokes on a painting. Minghao may have worked with art every day, but he was a work of art in his own right, and you couldn’t help favor him above all others. You didn’t need a Van Gogh or Picasso, you had an original, a one of a kind Minghao.

And that’s when you saw his eyes begin to drift, lowering to the bottom half of your face, lips parting in intrigue as his breath fanned lightly against your cheeks. Your face flush in response, pushing your bottom lip between your teeth before they were caught, finding yourself doing the same with him and watching his mouth move in anticipation. You felt your pulse in your throat as much as you felt it between your legs, feeling arousal pooling and soaking your shorts.

“Do you want to wager another bet?” Minghao softly offered.

“What kind?” You breathed.

“The same bet, same prize. Do you think I’ll kiss you, or will I pull away?”

You mused at him, fingers extending toward him reluctantly, aiming for a lock of his hair laying stray on his forehead before smoothing it over his head, softly stroking him, feeling him lean into your touch. “Hmm, this time you’ll…kiss me,” you whispered with absolute certainty. “The tension is practically eating you alive.”

A grin stretched wide across his cheeks as a hand softly clasped over your face, thumb swiping across your cheek. “Right again.”

He closed the gap, slotting his lips between yours and languidly moving against you, letting you chase after his pace. You sighed against him, feeling his hand on your hip as he pulled your torso against his, the other rested against the nape of your neck as he reveled in your heat. Hands flying in his hair, you softly moaned as he kneaded your skin, feeling him trace the inside of your mouth with his tongue before he roughly pulled your weight from the mattress to topple you over him, letting your legs card between his.

“Minghao,” you quietly sounded against his lips, crushing your hips against his groin and hearing his sweet moan in response.

His muscles tensed as you pressed against him, while his legs clung to your thighs. His hands ran over the shape of your figure, unearthing an ungodly moan from your lips as he slipped beneath your shorts, etching over the curve of your ass and claiming your raw flesh in his hands, pushing you against him assertively.

You whimpered, grinding against him. “I know my wish.”

“Anything,” He tenderly mumbled.

“Call off work tomorrow.”

He smiled against your lips, bringing one of his knees to pin your bodies closer together. “Means you should too.”

“Oh, definitely,” You confirmed before reconnecting your mouths in a frenzied liplock.

Feeling the grind of your hips as his pelvis crushed against yours, his grunts slipped through every caress as his hand moved up your back. Soon, you started feeling something you had yet to see from Minghao in all your time living with him, the part of him you managed to evade but have envisioned a multitude of times, growing in his sweatpants and rubbing against your thigh the closer your bodies were.

“I have never wanted someone so bad,” He whispered in a soft ache. 

His hands crept underneath your shirt, brushing against your skin, pressing against the small of your back. Pressing his torso towards you, his erection adhered to your thigh, the tension coiling in your stomach burned like wildfire, at an unstoppable rage. “Minghao,” you mewled, impatience singeing on your tongue.

“Somehow, I can still taste coffee on your breath, but I don't really mind it. It tastes really good on you,” He admitted before kissing you deeper, his moans buzzing against your mouth, hungry and alive as his hands dug into your flesh with utter greed.

“You taste really good too.” Your hand body scoured south, cupping his size under your palm and tasting his gasp as you sucked him between your lips. “I wonder what else tastes good.”

“You are something else,” he mumbled, through quiet chuckles. “Just like you to act on impulse.”

You let out a light scoff. “You are so—”

“Don’t start things you can’t finish,” he softly warned with a smirk.

“I’m not the one you have to worry about finishing.”

You moved down, the covers draped over your head as you kept your eyes on him and resting on the hem of his sweats. Minghao’s breath hitched in his throat, gulping while he felt your nails lightly claw against his bare torso, tugging the waistband off the tent he forged, revealing the lack of underwear and restraint he had left, now sprung against your face.

“Shit,” you said grinning, claiming him by the shaft, thumbing over the precum glistening at the tip. “Even your cock looks pretty.”

A soft pink decorated his cheeks and a hand meekly shielded part of his face. “You staring is how I got myself hurt in the first place.”

“Then I’ll be careful not to hurt you this time—that is, unless you want me to.”

You spat on his cock, a translucent ribbon stretching from your tongue to his length. Your saliva lubing your knuckles, you squeezed his girth in your grip as you stroked and felt him pulse in your hands, growing bigger the tighter you clenched. Minghao’s arms propped himself up and behind him as his chest heaved, blood pumping with every drag of your fingers, shallow breaths slipping out of him as he fisted the sheets beneath him.

You kissed the curve of the head, lips pursed to wrap lightly around him, suckling down his shaft, and feeling him twitch against your mouth when you chuckled. He softly whined, his hand extended toward you to tenderly caress the side of your head and tacitly pleading with you as you teased him. Showing him mercy, you took him with an eager mouth, closing your lips around his cock as you steadied your gaze on him. Moans vibrating around his girth, your tongue tucked on the underside of his shaft, hands wrapped tightly around his base.

“Mmmh like that.” He swallowed, exhaling through his teeth the deeper you took him. His abdomen flexing overtly as you moaned around him, vibrated against his skin, your pink muscle tracing over his veins as you worked your jaw to hug a tighter grip. “God, you’re perfect. Don’t stop, please…” he panted.

He palmed at your hair headily, his motor skills not properly functioning as he sucked in his breath, feeling his presence explore deeper. He leveraged his hips to regain some ounce of control, but the sounds of moisture and squelching burned his ears, and the heart in his chest was running like a marathon. His eyes, fluttering in and out of focus, trained his gaze on you while his stomach tensed, grasping the vision of you getting wide-eyed and bold as you gingerly ate him alive. Burning the image into his retinas, it made him want to explode inside you.

Threading through your hair, he pulled them up and off your shoulders, showing off your pretty features, doing everything in his power not to give his climax an early appearance. “I’ve never seen such a pretty mouth take my cock so well. Then again, I’ve never had a pretty roommate like you, or anyone like you.”

Flustered from the flattery, you sucked him like your life depended on it as you grew hot, making Minghao’s task to regain control strenuous to achieve. You hollowed out your cheeks, leaving no room to breathe, and felt him in your throat as your vision rolled to behind your skull to the point your language deduced to the sounds of gagging. You gripped his hips, nails plunged into his flesh as your drool dribbled down his groin, slobbering over his cock in an erratic, hungry mess.

“Yes, like that. My god,” He praised through ragged breaths, hips jerking gently up into you. He lightly threw his head back, the urge to ram himself down your throat getting exceedingly more tempting, but he suppressed it as he dug his nails into his own palms. “I’m so close to cumming, can I–in your mouth or should I…?”

You hummed a confirmation before you swallowed him whole until you met the base, meeting his groin as he vanished inside you, breathing oxygen not even an afterthought. Images in front of you dulled in color, pictures shapeless and unclear, and you pushed past your boundaries to let him find home in your mouth, deeply intent with him finishing inside you one way or the other.

“F…f…fuck...”

Pleasure rippling through him, Minghao pushed himself up from his position, thrusting weakly as he cradled your head, pouring his thick, ivory load into your mouth, which was insistent on receiving every drop. He filled your cheeks, allowing warmth to coat the inside of your mouth as he tenderly stroked your hair in gratitude. Cupping your cheeks as he let his hips falter, he gently pulled himself out of your mouth, amused at how carefully you were trying to not let any of his cum seep past your lips as you sat between his legs.

His fingers danced under your chin. “Are you gonna swallow?” Minghao tiredly chuckled.

With smiling eyes, you tilted your head, as if asking if you should.

He pushed your hair behind you, softly pressing his lips against your tightly shut lips. “Don’t if you don’t want to.”

An idea occurred to you then, and in an instant you pushed yourself up to board him as your knees took either side of him, looming over him. His hands naturally found your waist as you lifted his chin, eyes staring at you curiously as his hands ran up body and gently clawed down, awaiting your next move. You then thumbed over his bottom lip before dipping between the slit of his mouth and saw it naturally part, taking the digit and settling it between his teeth.

Now confidently, you lowered your head, swirling the contents in your mouth before pushing your thumb deeper, prying the entrance wider, and finding no protest as he sanctioned it. He dug the pads of his digits into your flesh in anticipation. His eyes fluttering, he watched as your mouth withdrew the generous gift he gave to you before you gave it right back to him as it gracefully streamed down on his pulsing, eager tongue. And nothing satisfied you more than hearing him sigh wistfully as it landed.

It sent you shivers how beautiful he looked despite how vulgar the act was. Only Xu Minghao could make tasting his own cum look so ethereal, and it only made you wonder what other things a face this beautiful was willing to do. You swiped whatever fell from the corner of his lips with your thumb, sucking the residue like leftovers before you connected your mouths, sharing and tasting his lewd tang in violent swirls, and pulling away to watch it stretch between your tongues.

“I guess toothbrushes aren’t the only things you like to share,” Minghao teased before pushing you on your back, grinding his resurrecting arousal against your clothed heat and lathering the thick, viscous substance flat between your tongues in your mouths as it dribbled down your chins until there was nothing but slobber. It was a mess, and the most unmannerly you’ve ever seen him, and you’ve never been more turned on.

“My turn.”

With a rough hand, he tugged you by your legs towards him, hearing you let out a yelp, and shoved down your shorts to expose your glistening, mouth-watering, arousal soaked entrance. Be still his heart. He felt himself throb seeing you ruin his bed, but hell if he wasn't going to be sucking those juices out of the sheets until he’d tasted every drop.

He kicked off his sweats, leaving him entirely vulnerable while you witnessed his cock slowly twitch back to life before he laid on his stomach between your arched legs. “If we want to talk about pretty things, your pussy is high up on that list.”

Not waiting for a response, he licked a thick stripe up your inner thigh, flickering over your folds before sucking them in his mouth, using the tip of his tongue to tease your entrance. He felt the flutter of your core before spitting, lathering at the juices, coating at entrance but not peeking to see what was inside. “You’re already so wet, fuck.” 

“Hao…” You whined.

“Mmmh, I love how you sound,” he chuckled, running long strokes up your slit, wedged through you with every swipe, looking arm around your leg to hold you in place as his thumb brushed over your clit. “Are your moans always this delicious? Or are they reserved for when you’re thinking about me?” 

Shaking your head, you were too turned on to answer verbally, while his mouth closed around your clit and sucked, utilizing his fingers to assume their previous position. You clenched your stomach, fisting into the sheets as you spread your legs, feeling them already clam up from the tension as his tongue flicked against your sensitive bud in unison with his fingers twisted up into, and you couldn’t help but writhe underneath him.

“Yes, spread those pretty legs for me,” he encouraged with a haughty smile before burying his face, his moans vibrating up your walls as his tongue massaged your walls and tasted your cock pulsing nectar, sending chills up your spine.

You mewled, and feeling reserved, you held your hands up to your face to shield the tears collecting at your eyes threatening to fall, but Minghao grabbed you by the wrists, roughly pinning them to the bed.

His eyes narrowed back at you before softening almost menacingly, “Don’t cover your pretty face, watch me.”

“But—”

“I want you to watch me fuck your pretty pussy with my mouth. Don’t make me say it twice.” He warned before he got you a quiet nod, earning you a kiss against your inner thigh.

His hand flattened against your inner thighs again, pressing them further away from another and delving his tongue deeper as he rubbed your clit, working your insides until he tasted every inch of you possible. He buried his face, but his eyes were clear, staring at you as he worked his jaw, engorging with his mouth that sent you above and beyond and his eyes that saw you at the result of your undoing. You had no choice but to cling on, freeing yourself from his grasp to have your fingers fly in his hair, navigating him as you took him for a joy ride, his tongue shifting gears as it picked up pace.

“S-shit!” You rolled your hips, threading your fingers through his locks and clamping his head between your thighs as you pushed him deeper.

“Yes, ride my face—fuck, use me, please,” he pleaded in a cracked voice, pouring his heart into his feast until he was practically suffocating, worth it to worship you and bring you to the highest peak of your pleasure.

Your legs trembled as his moans infiltrated your heat, the intense flicks of his tongue titillating you to the brink of ecstasy until he used it to fuck you in time with his fingers thrusting inside, clutching you as you held him in place and grinding against him. “My god, Hao!”

Hips shaking, you bucked into his mouth, and even after your release, he made no effort to stop, lifting you to his mouth as he got on his knees, eating you like a meal he’d never have again until he worked his tongue raw, tasting you and only you as your cum coated his mouth. You squirmed, the suction of his lips on your sensitive core in tandem with his tongue viciously swirling inside you overwhelming you beyond words, unable to kick him off as he held both your knees above his head.

“You’re gonna kill me, Hao,” you cried desperately. “Just put it in me.”

He chuckled before setting you down, meeting your lips halfway as he stroked his fully erect cock, massaging the evening’s concoction against your tastebuds, mingling the contrasting flavors as they battled in your mouth while the knowledge of it all pebbled your skin. Meanwhile, he ran his hands over you beneath your shirt, found your nipples, rolling them against his thumbs as his cock rubbed between your folds, ebbing your moans as they buzzed against his lips. “What if I want to play with you first?” He taunted.

You whined, brushing your lips repeatedly over his. “I want you inside me.”

“You’re cute even when you’re needy,” he gushed.

You clasped your hands over his soft, warm cheeks. “Minghao, please…”

He playfully rolled his eyes, kissing into your palm then down your wrist before his teeth playfully started nibbling at your skin. “Fine, because you asked so nicely. Just to let you know, though, I don’t have a condom on me right now, but I’m clean.”

“Then, we don’t need one.”

He grinned, stroking the back of your head. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

Rubbing his tip down your slit, he savored your whimpers as he drew circles against your clit before sliding his length through your folds and stretching your walls, letting you slowly adjust to his presence. Your jaw slightly dropped as you took a sharp inhale, fingers digging into his shoulders and clinging on to him before you felt him sink deeper inside you, pacing his thrusts in a steady rhythm. Your eyes flit to meet his, feeling the back and forth of his hips as they snapped, while you reveled in each collision.

“Yes please…”

Before losing himself in his pleasure, he was determined to remember how you looked getting lost in yours, taking in your features as they distorted under his care. He first found your eyes–lost in a galaxy with an infinite amount of stars out of the way. Then, his eyes started to follow the slope of your cheeks, flushed to the touch against the back of his hand, saliva leaking out of your swollen lips. And your body with the shirt adhered to you by the sweat on your skin, clinging to your form and proving to him time and time again that you were not only the object of his desires, you were something straight out of his dreams.

“You look, taste, and feel good? Where have you been all my life? Really?” He landed a harsh thrust, pressing down on your nipples and smiling manically at how you whimpered in response, clutching you as you shuddered against him. “You like that?”

You nodded, clawing your hand up his back.

“Mmh, me too,” he drew his lips to your ear. “And I like you. A lot. I wouldn’t let someone go on and use my toothbrush for months if I didn’t.” He slowed down his thrusts, cupping your face to meet your eyes. “You like me too, right?”

Feeling your ears burn, you frantically nodded again, mewling after you felt him nip at them, teeth scraping under your earlobe before an open mouth pressed against the side of your neck. The warmth of his breath sweltering against you as you struggled to carry on with the conversation Minghao was determined to have.

“Yeah, you want me to take you on a real date?” He said into the nape of your neck, moaning into your skin as he dragged his hips, rutting into you like an animal.  He barely made out your soft ‘yes’s in your sharp gasps. He gritted his teeth, taking you by the hips, pushing himself flushed against you. “Fuck, you’re so cute,” he groaned.

His hips took flight while he separated your mouth in a loud moan, feeling you becoming malleable under his touch and growing weaker as you recoiled against him. He lifted your shirt above your chest and neared your stiff peaks, rolling your bud against the base of his tongue as he pinched the other, moving out of pure instinct. You threw your head back, going mad with sexual gratification. Your body spasmed out of your control, yet you craved more.

“Harder,” You gasped.

He scoffed under his breath in disbelief. “You want even more?”

“Yes…I want you to cum inside me. I want to feel everything that’s yours, Minghao.”

Knees buckling at your titillating request, he gripped your ass in both palms, clutching you against him as he rammed himself up inside you, and you’re forced to hold on. “I’ll do you one better,” he offered, “why don’t I just make you mine?”

“I…Oh, god…” Your brain was becoming mush, only processing the sound, taste, smell, sensation of Minghao’s cock as he plunged himself inside you. It fogged up your thoughts, clouded your judgement, and only formed incoherent gibberish that took place of real vocabulary as they passed through your swollen lips.

“Be mine, hmm?” He asked, pleading. “That way I can be yours.”

Captivated by his words, you nodded, feeling him suck the life out of you as your body felt close to giving out, the hilt of his cock bottoming out inside you. You anchored your legs around him, following his pace before you felt something within reach, just seconds away from ripping a scream out of your throat that would surely ensue a noise complaint from one of your neighbors.

“Hao, I’m going to cum, I’m really close,” you meekly warned.

His hand settled against your thigh, nodding. “I can feel it. You’re shaking so hard. Let me have it, I’ll catch you. Every last bit of you.”

Ecstasy was just a word, but Minghao was everything, and you could breathe in that everything. 

Your bodies crushed against each other, lost in heat as you became one. Breaths blended, bodies embraced, only faltering after you long finished the initial orgasms, coming back for more. You embraced  the sheer carnivorous lust that quelled this several month long push and pull, adhering you by the sweat misted on each other's skin before your mouths tenderly met repeatedly.

Sleep felt futile, while the night felt everlasting. Minghao’s company was more than you could ever ask for, and by the time you did sleep, you were too tired to move. You collapsed against each other, bodies drowning in each other’s releases, sheets and pillows stained by the arousal from the evening’s lack of inhibitions. Minghao should’ve been just as tired, but instead he tended to your tired body, leaving kisses in its wake as he cleaned you off and slept alongside you in your clean bed, letting him worry about laundry in the morning.

With your eyes closed, mind in another world, Minghao was brushing the hair away from your face, softly smiling as you gently stirred and nestled closer to him. In response, he pressed a sweet kiss to your temple, warmth blooming in his chest as a grin developed on your face.

“I’ll take you on a proper date. I promise,” he said while you slept. “And If I don’t, pull the bad roommate card on me. You can punish me however you like.”

“…ok, I will.”

[thebestsetter]

"Men used to go to war, now they..."

Isagi Yoichi

...follow you around like a lost puppy.

Need to cook something? Yoichi can help! (Not really, since he doesn't know batshit about cooking and burns everything he touches, but it's the thought that counts, right?) Are you going out? No problem! He's gonna sit put and still on the edge of your shared bed, watching with a fond look as you rummage through your wardrobe trying to find the perfect clothes to go out! (Even though he thinks all of them look perfect on you) Need help shopping? He's already holding all of your bags for you! (Even if he looks ridiculous holding so many bags, but he refuses to let you touch a single one of them). In the end, he's just a lovesick boy who loves acts of service and some good old quality time, so just let him follow you around, yeah?

Chigiri Hyoma

...gossip and do skincare with you.

He literally hates the girls you talk about without even meeting them in real life. Like, what do you mean that Penelope lady cheated on her husband because he was on a 20 days trip? Ridiculous.

Anyways, skincares are a must in your relationship. You guys do it everynight, and, when he's away (for soccer reasons), you facetime to do it. It became a little tradition: he calls you the night before an important game, askijg if you already treated your skin. Then, when you say that you didn't, his eyes visibly, clearly - and a little comically too - light up (even though he already knew the answer. It's the same one everytime. You never do it without him). After that, you both just talk and laugh, trying to calm his nerves down before the game. Most of the times, the call only ends when one of you end up falling asleep. It's honestly cute how comfortable you are with eachother.

He swears he plays better when you do that. His many hat tricks can confirm that.

Nagi seishiro

...can't sleep if it isn't on your lap.

He physically can't anymore, and it makes him pissed.

His sweet pillows that looked oh so comfortable before must as well feel like rocks right now, because NOTHING compares to the fluffiness of your lap mixed with you petting his head. He feels like he's in heaven everytime you do it. He HATES when he's travelling and has to sleep on a 5 star hotel's bed, because how is it SO uncomfortable?? What the heck??

And you can BET the first thing he does when he comes home after his soccef trips is sleep. For a long time. Like, "hibernating" kind of long. One time, you seriously thought he was dead. But it was just the effect your lap has on him. Deal with it.

Reo Mikage

... spend an unholy amount of money on you.

This isn't even surprising. I mean, it's Reo we're talking about: the boy who has more money than what to do with it. And his financial situation obviously reflects on your relationship.

Looked at that hair product for 0.2 seconds more than the last product you saw? He already bought it! Want ice cream? He'll have 4 scoops, please!

The thing is that he was taught money=love (especially by his parents, who tried to make up for their absence by giving him money), so that's what he thought would swoop you off your feet. But it wasn't. It was the tender moments, the gentle kisses on your knuckles, and the goals dedicated to you. So don't think he only gives you money - he gives you PLENTY of quality time too!

Perhaps a part 2 will be written

[pucksandpower]

#ExposeFIA

Max Verstappen x forensic accountant!Reader

Summary: when the FIA keeps targeting your boyfriend, you decide to do something about it by digging into their financials and learning what skeletons they have hidden in the closet … nothing could have prepared you for what you unearth or the domino effect that follows

Warnings: corruption, kidnapping, violence, and murder

Based on this request

Max slams the door shut behind him, the sound reverberating through the hotel room. His jaw is tight, his hands balled into fists as he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the back of the couch. You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor with your laptop open, spreadsheets and case files scattered around you.

At first, you don’t look up — this is just Max being Max after a bad day — but then you hear him muttering in Dutch, sharp and venomous under his breath.

“What now?” You ask, closing the laptop with a quiet sigh.

Max rakes a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table. “The FIA fined me again.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “For what?”

“For cursing!” His voice rises, and he gestures wildly, his frustration spilling out like a dam breaking. “In the press conference. They called it inappropriate. Inappropriate! It wasn’t even that bad — just one word!”

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh, but he catches it.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” He stops pacing, leveling you with an incredulous look.

“Max,” you say slowly, rising to your feet, “you do curse like a sailor in every other sentence.”

“Not every other sentence,” he protests, crossing his arms.

You arch a brow.

“Okay, fine. But that’s not the point!” He starts pacing again. “They only do this to me! I swear, it’s like they’re waiting for me to screw up so they can slap me with another fine.”

You fold your arms, leaning against the couch. “How much this time?”

“Fifty thousand euros,” he says bitterly, kicking the edge of the rug.

“Fifty thousand?” Your jaw drops. “For cursing?”

“Exactly! It’s ridiculous!” Max looks at you, his blue eyes blazing with anger and just a hint of something more vulnerable underneath. “Lando swears all the time, and no one says anything to him. This is personal, I know it is.”

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. Because, honestly, he’s not wrong.

Max keeps going, his words tumbling out in a rush. “They’ve been on my case all season. The penalties, the warnings — it’s like they can’t stand the thought of me winning again. They want to knock me down, and they don’t care how they do it.”

You let out a long breath, watching him as he paces. He’s like a storm contained in human form, all fire and fury and relentless energy.

“They can’t keep getting away with this,” you say finally, your voice low but firm.

Max pauses mid-step, turning to face you. “What am I supposed to do? Complain? They’ll just call me a sore loser and fine me for that too.”

“No, not you,” you say, a sly smile creeping onto your face. “Me.”

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the FIA,” you say, your mind already racing. “You said it yourself — they’re out to get you. So, let’s find out why.”

Max blinks, caught off guard. “You want to investigate them?”

“I’m a forensic accountant,” you remind him. “Digging into shady organizations is literally my job. If there’s something fishy going on with their finances, I’ll find it.”

“And then what?” He asks, skeptical but intrigued.

“And then we use it against them,” you say simply.

He stares at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You’re serious about this.”

“Dead serious.”

Max exhales, running a hand through his hair again. “You don’t have to do this, you know. It’s not your fight.”

“Of course, it’s my fight,” you say, stepping closer. “They’re targeting you. And that means they’re targeting me.”

His gaze softens, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders eases. “You’re crazy,” he says, but there’s a trace of affection in his voice.

“Crazy for you,” you shoot back, grabbing your laptop and plopping down on the couch.

He groans. “That was awful.”

“Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me.”

Max flops onto the couch beside you, resting his head against the back of it. “What are you even looking for?”

“Anything that doesn’t add up,” you say, your fingers flying across the keyboard. “Expenses that don’t make sense, hidden accounts, payments to people who shouldn’t be getting paid. Everyone leaves a paper trail. Even the FIA.”

He watches you in silence for a moment, his expression a mix of curiosity and apprehension. “You really think they’re dirty?”

“I think it’s worth finding out,” you say. “Worst case, I waste a few hours and we’re no worse off. Best case …”

“Best case?” He prompts.

“Best case, we blow this whole thing wide open,” you say, grinning.

Max leans back, a thoughtful look on his face. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Compliments won’t get you out of trouble, Verstappen,” you say without looking up.

He smirks. “Didn’t say I was trying.”

For a while, the only sound in the room is the soft clatter of your keyboard and the occasional frustrated sigh from Max as he scrolls through his phone.

“What if they come after you?” He asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

You glance at him, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. “Why would they?”

“Because they’re the FIA,” he says bluntly. “They don’t play fair. If they find out you’re digging into their finances, they’ll find a way to shut you up.”

You pause, considering his words. “Let them try,” you say finally. “I’m not scared of a bunch of bureaucrats.”

Max looks at you like he wants to argue, but then he just shakes his head and mutters something in Dutch.

“What was that?” You ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing,” he says quickly.

“Max.”

“I said you’re stubborn,” he admits, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.

“Takes one to know one,” you shoot back, your eyes already back on your screen.

He laughs, the sound low and warm and surprisingly light given the circumstances. For the first time all evening, he looks like the weight of the world isn’t pressing down on his shoulders.

“You really think you can take them on?” He asks after a while.

You glance up, meeting his gaze. “I know I can.”

Max leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Then do it,” he says, his voice steady and resolute. “If anyone can, it’s you.”

You smile, a little spark of determination igniting in your chest. “Damn right it is.”

For the next hour, you work in companionable silence, Max occasionally throwing in a sarcastic comment or a half-hearted complaint about how long this might take. But underneath it all, there’s a quiet sense of solidarity, a shared purpose that feels unshakable.

By the time you close your laptop for the night, you’ve barely scratched the surface of what you’re looking for. But you’ve got a starting point, and that’s enough.

“You coming to bed?” Max asks, standing and stretching.

“In a minute,” you say, glancing at your notes.

He hesitates, then leans down to kiss the top of your head. “Don’t stay up too late, detective.”

You smile, your fingers already back on the keyboard. “Goodnight, Verstappen.”

As he disappears down the hall, you feel a surge of determination. If the FIA thinks they can push Max around, they’ve got another thing coming. Because they’re not just dealing with him anymore. They’re dealing with you.

***

The apartment is dark and silent, the kind of stillness that only comes in the dead of night. Max is fast asleep, his breaths soft and steady, the rise and fall of his chest a calming rhythm. You’re lying beside him under the covers, your laptop propped on your knees, the faint glow from the screen illuminating your face.

You should have gone to sleep hours ago. You told yourself you’d close the laptop after one more file — just one more. But then there was another, and another, and now it’s nearly 4 AM, and you’re running on pure caffeine and spite.

Max shifts in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent in Dutch. You glance at him, your heart softening for a moment. He looks so peaceful, so unaware of the storm you’re wading through just inches away from him.

“Soon,” you whisper, your fingers flying over the keyboard. “Just a little longer.”

You’ve been combing through every financial record you can find, hacking into databases and piecing together spreadsheets like a forensic puzzle. And then, finally, you see it — a string of payments that makes your stomach turn.

The account is buried deep, hidden behind layers of shell companies and off-the-books transfers. But the numbers don’t lie. Over the past three years, millions of euros have been funneled out of the FIA’s discretionary budget and into a series of private accounts.

At first, it’s just suspicious. Then it’s horrifying.

You zoom in on the details, your pulse racing. The money trails lead to names — government officials in multiple countries, shady contractors with histories of fraud, and even one account linked to a known arms dealer.

“What the hell …” you mutter, your hands trembling slightly as you open another file.

It gets worse.

The payments aren’t just bribes or kickbacks. They’re tied to contracts for military-grade surveillance technology and riot control equipment. The kind of things no racing organization should have any business buying.

“Why would the FIA need …” Your voice trails off, your thoughts spiraling.

And then it hits you. They don’t need it. Someone within the FIA is using their funds as a cover to funnel resources for something darker — something illegal.

You feel a chill creep up your spine as you uncover more details. The timing of the payments coincides with major FIA controversies, including rulings that massively benefited certain teams or drivers. It’s almost as if the penalties and decisions were distractions, designed to shift the focus away from what was really happening behind the scenes.

Your throat tightens. This isn’t just corruption. This is criminal conspiracy on an international scale.

You close the file and lean back against the headboard, staring at the screen in disbelief. Your mind is racing, the pieces of the puzzle snapping together faster than you can process them.

The FIA isn’t just targeting Max. They’re using their position as a global governing body to launder money and traffic illegal goods. And if you’re right, they’ve been doing it for years.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, your heart pounding.

Beside you, Max stirs, his hand brushing against your arm. “What time is it?” He mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

“Uh …” You glance at the clock. “Four thirty.”

His eyes crack open, and he frowns. “You’re still awake?”

You hesitate, your mind still reeling. “I found something.”

He rubs his face, sitting up slightly. “What kind of something?”

You turn the laptop toward him, your hands shaking as you scroll through the files. “Look at this. These payments — they’re using FIA accounts to fund illegal activities. Weapons, surveillance tech, bribes. It’s all here.”

Max blinks, trying to wake himself up. “Wait — what? The FIA is buying weapons?”

“Not for themselves,” you explain, your voice trembling. “They’re covering for someone else. Someone higher up, maybe even multiple people. It’s a money-laundering operation disguised as legitimate spending. And the worst part?” You click on another document. “They’re timing these payments to coincide with penalties and controversies. Like yours.”

He stares at the screen, his jaw tightening. “They’re creating distractions.”

“Exactly.” You meet his gaze, your chest tight with anger. “They’re using you — using all of you — to keep people from noticing what’s really going on.”

Max is silent for a moment, his expression darkening. “This can’t be real.”

“It’s real,” you say firmly. “I’ve traced the accounts. I’ve seen the contracts. It’s all there.”

He exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “This is insane. How are they getting away with this?”

“Because no one’s looking,” you say bitterly. “They’ve built a system where no one questions their authority. They hand out fines, penalties, rulings — it’s all smoke and mirrors.”

Max shakes his head, his anger simmering just below the surface. “So what do we do?”

“We expose them,” you say without hesitation. “We take this to the press, to the authorities — whoever will listen. We make sure everyone knows what they’ve been doing.”

He looks at you, his eyes blazing with determination. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” you say, your voice steady. “They’ve messed with you for the last time, Max. I’m not letting them get away with this.”

Max leans back against the headboard, his expression unreadable. “You know this won’t be easy. They’ll come after you.”

“Let them,” you say fiercely. “They’re not invincible, Max. They think they are, but they’re not. And now we have the proof.”

He reaches for your hand, his grip firm and grounding. “We do this together, okay?”

You nod, your resolve hardening. “Together.”

For the first time in hours, you close the laptop. The fight isn’t over — not even close. But for now, you have what you need.

The FIA has no idea what’s coming for them.

***

The findings sit like a live grenade between you and Max for weeks. Every time you try to talk about it, the conversation spirals into an argument that feels more like a desperate plea than a disagreement.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table one morning, coffee in hand, staring at the spreadsheet open on your laptop. Max leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you like you’re about to pull the pin and toss the grenade straight into his life.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice careful, like he’s trying not to spook you. “You can’t post this. It’s too dangerous.”

You glance up, meeting his intense blue eyes. “Max, we’ve been over this. Dangerous for who? The FIA? Because it sure as hell isn’t safe for anyone else if they keep getting away with this.”

He shakes his head, frustration etched into his features. “No. Dangerous for you.”

You sigh, shutting the laptop and leaning back in your chair. “And we’ve been over this too. If it’s tied to me, and they come after me, it only makes them look worse. They’d be shooting themselves in the foot.”

Max pushes off the counter, pacing across the small kitchen. “You think they care about how it looks? These people are untouchable. They’ve been untouchable for decades. What if they don’t care about subtlety? What if they decide to make an example out of you?”

“Then they’ll prove my point,” you counter, setting your mug down harder than you meant to. “Max, they’re laundering money. Funding illegal operations. Covering up fraud. This isn’t just about you or me anymore. This is about them and what they’re doing to-”

“To you,” he cuts in, spinning to face you. “This is about you, schatje. You think I can just sit back and watch them destroy your life? Watch them drag you through the mud — or worse?” His voice cracks on the last word, and it stops you in your tracks.

“Max …”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I can take the fines. The penalties. Whatever bullshit they throw at me, I don’t care. But I can’t …” He falters, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I can’t lose you over this.”

The words hang heavy in the air. For a moment, you don’t know what to say.

You stand, crossing the room to him. “Max.” You reach for his hands, pulling them away from where they’re clenched at his sides. He looks up at you, his jaw tight, his eyes filled with a storm of worry and frustration.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you say softly. “But you can’t ask me to do nothing. Not when I have this.”

He shakes his head, his grip on your hands tightening. “There has to be another way. Something that doesn’t put you in the crosshairs.”

“We’ve talked about this,” you say, your voice gentle but firm. “The longer we wait, the more time they have to cover their tracks. This needs to come from me. Not you, not a journalist. Me.”

Max pulls his hands away, pacing again. “Why does it have to be you? Why not anonymously? Why not through someone else?”

“Because,” you say, your voice rising just enough to make him stop and look at you, “if it’s anonymous, it’s easier for them to discredit. If it’s me — someone with a background in forensic accounting, someone who has proof — it’s harder for them to bury.”

He stares at you, his jaw working, his frustration palpable. “You’re playing with fire.”

“And you’re worth it,” you shoot back, your words cutting through his anger like a blade.

Max looks at you, his expression crumbling. “This isn’t just about me anymore. It’s bigger than that now.”

“I know,” you say, stepping closer to him. “That’s why I have to do this.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then Max sighs, his shoulders slumping. “If you do this … if you put this out there …” He trails off, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know the risks,” you say, reaching up to cup his cheek. “But we can’t let them keep doing this. If I don’t say something, who will?”

He leans into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. “I hate this.”

“I know,” you whisper.

The next few days are a blur of preparation. You draft the post, meticulously double-checking every link, every piece of evidence. Max hovers in the background, equal parts supportive and terrified, his tension radiating through the apartment.

Finally, the day comes. You’re sitting at your desk, your phone in your hand, the post ready to go. Max stands behind you, silent but solid, his presence grounding you.

“You sure about this?” He asks, his voice low.

You nod, your finger hovering over the “post” button. “It’s time.”

He exhales, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Then do it.”

With a deep breath, you hit the button.

The tweet goes live:

The FIA has been hiding more than bad calls and unfair penalties. They’ve been laundering money and funding illegal operations for years. Here’s the proof #ExposeFIA

The moment it’s posted, your phone buzzes with notifications, the retweets and replies piling up faster than you can process.

You lean back in your chair, your heart racing as the reality of what you’ve done sinks in. Max squeezes your shoulders, his grip firm and reassuring.

“It’s out there now,” you say, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and exhilaration.

“Yeah,” Max says, his voice steady. “And they’ll never see it coming.”

***

The world ignites within hours of your tweet.

Your phone buzzes nonstop, the notifications climbing into the thousands. News outlets pick up the story almost immediately. By mid-morning, your name is trending worldwide, alongside “#ExposeFIA” and a slew of related hashtags.

Every major publication, from The Guardian to The New York Times, runs with the story. Formula 1 Twitter is a battlefield, with fans, journalists, and even ex-drivers weighing in. Some praise you as a whistleblower, others call you reckless, but everyone is talking.

Max, watching it all unfold from the sofa, looks like he’s about to break the remote he’s gripping too tightly. “This is madness,” he mutters, shaking his head as he scrolls through his phone.

“Madness is putting it lightly,” you say, typing out a message to your lawyer, who’s already fielding calls from investigative agencies and reporters.

By noon, the FIA releases a statement calling your accusations “unfounded” and “a gross misunderstanding of internal operations.” They promise transparency, cooperation with audits, and a full investigation. It’s almost laughable how carefully worded it is, especially given how many people have already found red flags in the documents you posted.

“They’re scrambling,” Max says, glancing over at you.

“Good,” you reply, leaning back in your chair. “They should be.”

By the evening, things escalate even further. International agencies — Interpol, Europol, and financial crime units from multiple countries — announce that they’ve opened formal investigations into the FIA’s financial practices. Max reads the headline aloud from his phone, his tone a mix of shock and vindication.

“‘Interpol launches probe into FIA money-laundering allegations.’” He lets out a low whistle. “You’ve set the whole world on fire, haven’t you?”

You shrug, though your heart pounds in your chest. “Someone had to.”

But the sense of triumph doesn’t last long. By the next morning, the darker side of the storm begins to roll in.

Your email inbox floods with threats, your social media accounts are bombarded with harassment, and reporters camp outside the apartment building, cameras ready to capture every move. A particularly ominous email arrives from an anonymous account, promising that “justice will come” for what you’ve done.

Max reads it over your shoulder and immediately storms out of the room.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s back, phone pressed to his ear as he paces the length of the living room. You catch snippets of his conversation. “Former military … no, only the best … round-the-clock.”

When he finally hangs up, you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “What was that about?”

“Bodyguards,” he says flatly.

You blink. “What?”

“I’m not taking any chances,” Max says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ve hired a team. They’ll be here tonight.”

“Max, that’s-”

“Not negotiable,” he interrupts, his eyes blazing with determination. “I don’t care what it costs. I don’t care if it feels over the top. If they’re sending you threats, you’re not walking around without protection.”

You let out a slow breath, recognizing the sheer fear underlying his anger. “What kind of bodyguards are we talking about?”

“Ex-special forces,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “They’re the best. Trained for high-risk situations. If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, they’ll handle it.”

You can’t help but laugh, though the sound is hollow. “Max Verstappen, hiring a private army. Who would’ve thought?”

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he steps closer, his expression softening. “I mean it, liefje. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

You reach for his hand, squeezing it gently. “I know.”

By nightfall, your new security team arrives. Four men and two women, all dressed in plain but professional attire, introduce themselves with clipped, no-nonsense precision. They’re intimidating, to say the least, but Max seems relieved the moment they walk through the door.

The leader of the team, a former SAS operative named Sam, lays out the plan in a low, calm voice. “Two of us will be stationed outside the apartment at all times. Another two will rotate shifts inside. We’ll also have someone following you whenever you leave the building. Discreet, but close enough to act.”

You nod, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and discomfort. “Thanks, Sam. Really.”

“Just doing our job, ma’am,” he says with a curt nod.

Max hovers nearby, watching the exchange with hawk-like focus. Once the bodyguards take their positions, he pulls you aside, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Feel safer?”

“Honestly?” You say, glancing toward the door where Sam is stationed. “It feels like we’re in a spy movie.”

Max cracks a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Better a spy movie than a tragedy.”

The following days are surreal. The FIA is in complete disarray, with high-ranking officials resigning or being placed on administrative leave as the investigations intensify. Every news cycle seems to bring another bombshell revelation: hidden accounts, off-the-record meetings, connections to corrupt government officials.

Even Formula 1 teams begin distancing themselves from the governing body. Drivers are asked about it in every interview, and while most offer diplomatic responses, a few — like Lewis and Charles — publicly voice their support for you.

Through it all, Max stays glued to your side, protective in a way you’ve never seen before. Whenever you leave the apartment, he insists on going with you, even if it’s just to grab groceries.

One evening, as you’re scrolling through Twitter, you stumble upon a post from a well-known journalist.

@yourusername’s bravery has set off one of the biggest scandals in motorsport history. But the question remains: how deep does the corruption go? #ExposeFIA

You show the tweet to Max, who nods grimly. “They’re right,” he says. “This is just the beginning.”

You lean back against the couch, exhaustion weighing on you. “Yeah. And the FIA is going to do everything they can to bury me before it gets worse for them.”

Max wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “They can try,” he says quietly. “But they’ll have to go through me first.”

You smile faintly, resting your head against his chest. The fight is far from over, but with Max by your side — and a small army of bodyguards watching your back — you feel ready for whatever comes next.

***

Max’s voice cuts through the quiet of the apartment. “Don’t go to Austin, please.”

You look up from your laptop, brows furrowing. He’s standing in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His hair is damp from the shower, but his expression is dry — serious, almost pleading.

“I already told you,” you say, your tone firm but calm. “I’m not hiding.”

“It’s not hiding,” he says quickly, stepping closer. “It’s being smart. Let them think whatever they want. You don’t have to prove anything by being there.”

You push your chair back, turning fully to face him. “If I don’t go, they’ll think they’ve won. That I’m scared of them. I’m not giving them that satisfaction.”

Max exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t about pride, Y/N. It’s about your safety. They’ve already made it clear they’re willing to play dirty.”

“They’re already under investigation by half the agencies on the planet,” you counter. “They wouldn’t dare try anything now. Not in front of the entire world.”

His eyes narrow slightly, his frustration bubbling just under the surface. “You’re underestimating them.”

“And you’re underestimating me,” you say softly, standing up. You walk over to him, resting your hands on his forearms. “I’m not cowering in fear. I refuse to let them intimidate me.”

Max’s jaw tightens, his hands twitching as if he wants to pull you into him but can’t quite let himself. “I can’t …” He pauses, his voice dropping. “I can’t focus on the race if I’m worried about you the whole time.”

You tilt your head, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “Then don’t worry. I’ll be in the garage, surrounded by your team and my guards. Nothing’s going to happen.”

He stares at you for a long moment, the conflict in his eyes almost unbearable. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders sagging. “Promise me you’ll stay close to the guards. No wandering off, no risks.”

You nod, squeezing his arm. “I promise.”

***

The Circuit of the Americas is buzzing with energy as you and Max arrive for free practice. Fans line the paddock entrance, waving flags and shouting his name as you walk toward the Red Bull garage, flanked by two of your bodyguards. Max’s hand hovers protectively at the small of your back, and you can feel the tension radiating off him.

“You don’t leave the garage,” he says as you reach the entrance, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not for food, not for interviews. Nothing.”

“I know,” you say, trying to soothe him with a gentle smile.

Max leans down, his voice low and fierce. “I mean it, schatje.”

“I know,” you repeat, softer this time.

Satisfied, though still visibly uneasy, Max kisses your forehead before heading off to change into his race suit. You settle into a chair near the engineers, watching the monitors as the mechanics fuss over his car. Sam stands just a few feet away, his eyes constantly scanning the room.

Max appears in full gear, his helmet tucked under his arm. He glances at you one last time before stepping toward the car. “Stay here,” he says firmly.

“Go drive, Verstappen,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

He doesn’t smile, but his gaze lingers on you for a moment before he nods and climbs into the car.

The first twenty minutes of the session pass uneventfully. Max is quick on track, his name lighting up the timing screens. The garage is busy but calm, the sound of the commentators droning faintly in the background.

And then, chaos.

A car bursts into flames on the back straight, smoke billowing into the air. The screens in the garage flicker to a red flag, and people jump into action, radios buzzing with updates.

“Car 23, it’s Albon!” Someone shouts. “He’s out, but the car’s on fire-”

Everyone’s attention is glued to the monitors, watching the marshals scramble to extinguish the flames. The smell of burning rubber seems to seep into the garage, and the noise level spikes as mechanics, engineers, and team officials bark orders and updates.

You glance at Sam, who nods reassuringly. “Stay put,” he says.

But in the chaos, no one notices the shadow slipping through the crowd behind you.

A hand clamps over your mouth, and something sharp pricks the side of your neck. Your vision blurs instantly, the world tilting sideways as your body goes limp. You feel yourself being dragged, but your limbs won’t cooperate, won’t fight back.

Sam’s voice echoes dimly in the background. “Where’s Y/N?”

You try to shout, to move, but the darkness swallows you whole.

And then, nothing.

***

When you wake, it’s like surfacing from a deep, suffocating void. Your head throbs, and your limbs feel heavy, almost disconnected. The first thing you notice is the faint hum of fluorescent lights above you. Then the sharp sting in your wrists and ankles — tight bonds cutting into your skin.

You’re tied to a chair, the cold metal frame unforgiving against your back. The air smells faintly of damp concrete, and the room is dimly lit, industrial — like the basement of a forgotten building.

Panic blooms in your chest as you struggle against the restraints, the rope biting into your skin with every movement. You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to think, to focus. You remember the race, the chaos in the garage, and then — nothing.

Footsteps echo down a hallway. Steady, deliberate.

Your heart pounds in your chest as a figure steps into the room. The man is immaculately dressed in a tailored suit, his dark hair slicked back, his face a mask of cold disdain.

The FIA president.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he says smoothly, closing the door behind him. He walks toward you, his polished leather shoes clicking against the floor. “I was beginning to worry the dosage was too much. I’d hate to have overdone it.”

You glare at him, your voice hoarse as you manage to croak out, “What the hell … is this?”

He stops a few feet from you, clasping his hands behind his back. “This,” he says, his tone almost casual, “is what happens when you ruin someone’s life, Miss L/N.”

Your heart sinks, but you keep your expression steady. “You kidnapped me?”

“I prefer to think of it as … leveling the playing field,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “After all, you didn’t hesitate to destroy my reputation, my career — everything I’ve built over the last three decades. Surely you didn’t expect there to be no consequences?”

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound rough and unsteady. “You destroyed your own career by being corrupt. All I did was expose the truth.”

His jaw tightens, a flicker of anger breaking through his calm façade. “The truth,” he repeats, his voice dripping with venom. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The FIA is in shambles. Investigators are tearing through every document, every bank account. Major sponsors are pulling out. Drivers are threatening to boycott. All because of you.”

“Good,” you snap, your voice gaining strength. “You deserve it. Every single one of you who let this happen deserves it.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. Do you think the world will thank you for this? For dragging motorsport into the mud? You’ve made enemies far more powerful than you can imagine.”

“I’m not scared of you,” you spit, though your heart is racing.

He smiles, but it’s cold and cruel. “You should be.”

The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. Then he leans down, his face inches from yours.

“You ruined my life,” he says softly, his tone icy and deliberate. “So the least I could do is ruin yours.”

You hold his gaze, refusing to flinch. “Do whatever you want to me. It won’t change anything. The truth is out. You can’t bury it now.”

He straightens, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps not,” he says, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “But I can make you wish you’d never posted that little tweet.”

You don’t respond, your breath hitching as he turns and walks toward the door.

Before he leaves, he pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “Enjoy your stay, Miss L/N. It’ll be your last taste of freedom for a very long time.”

The door slams shut, and you’re left alone in the dim, silent room, your heart pounding and your mind racing. You tug at the ropes again, desperation clawing at you, but they hold firm.

You have no idea how much time you have — or if anyone even knows where you are. But one thing is clear: you’re not giving up without a fight.

***

The moment Max hears the words, it’s as if the world tilts on its axis.

“She’s gone.”

The voice comes from Sam who’s pale and shaking despite his years of military training. The garage is chaos, but Max doesn’t register any of it. The team radios, the mechanics shouting about the car, the fans outside the paddock — it all fades into a dull hum.

“What do you mean, gone?” Max’s voice is low, dangerous, the calm before an eruption.

Sam hesitates, and that hesitation is enough to snap Max’s restraint. He takes two steps forward, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt.

“What. Happened?” Max snarls, his grip tightening.

“She — someone — must have used the chaos to grab her,” Sam stammers, his voice faltering under Max’s fury. “I was right there. I don’t-”

“You were right there?” Max shouts, his voice echoing in the garage. His mechanics freeze, everyone suddenly aware of the storm brewing in the middle of their space. “Then how the hell is she gone?”

“I-I don’t know,” Sam admits, looking down, shame written across his face. “It was fast. We didn’t see-”

Max releases him with a shove, his hands trembling with rage. He feels like he’s going to explode, his chest heaving as he tries to breathe.

“Find her,” Max spits, his voice low and filled with venom. “Or I swear, you’ll regret ever taking this job.”

Sam nods quickly, already pulling out his phone, barking orders to the rest of the security team. But Max doesn’t wait to hear more.

He storms out of the garage, shoving past anyone who dares step in his path. His vision is a blur of fury, his ears ringing. People call his name — Christian, his press officer, even a few reporters — but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

The first FIA official he sees is standing just outside the paddock offices, talking to a group of staff. Max doesn’t even pause to think. He closes the distance in seconds, grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him against the nearest wall.

“Max!” Someone yells behind him, but he doesn’t care.

“Where is she?” Max growls, his face inches from the man’s.

The official — a younger man with wide eyes and a trembling mouth — raises his hands in surrender. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Don’t lie to me!” Max shouts, his voice raw and unhinged. He tightens his grip, the fabric of the man’s shirt bunching in his fists. “If even one hair on her head is hurt, everyone involved will wish they were dead. Do you understand me?”

“Max, let him go!” Christian’s voice cuts through the chaos as Red Bull staff rush toward him, trying to pull him back.

“Stay out of this!” Max snaps without looking, his eyes locked on the trembling FIA official. “You know something. You all do.”

“I don’t!” The man insists, his voice cracking. “I swear, I don’t-”

“You’re all complicit,” Max growls, his voice low and menacing. “You’re all covering for each other, just like always. But if anything happens to her, I will burn this entire sport to the ground.”

“Max!” Christian’s hands are on his shoulders now, trying to pull him back. “This isn’t helping. We’ll find her. You’re just making it worse!”

For a moment, Max hesitates, his breathing ragged. Then, with a frustrated snarl, he shoves the man away, releasing his grip. The official stumbles, gasping for air, but Max doesn’t even look at him as he turns to Christian.

“They took her,” Max says, his voice breaking for the first time. “She’s gone, Christian.”

Christian’s face softens, his usual calm demeanor tinged with worry. “We’ll find her, Max. I promise.”

But Max shakes his head, his jaw clenched. “Promises don’t mean anything if she’s hurt.”

He storms off again, ignoring the cameras and the whispers that follow him. His mind is racing, a thousand thoughts colliding at once. Who has you? Why? How?

And then the worst thought of all … what if he’s too late?

***

The shed is suffocatingly small, barely more than a wooden box. Its peeling paint and sagging roof make it look like it’s been abandoned for years, forgotten in the middle of rural Texas farmland.

The search had stretched for days, involving everyone from local sheriffs to federal agents to Interpol. Max hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten. He’d barely spoken, except to bark orders and demand updates. And now, standing in front of the shed, his heart feels like it might stop altogether.

“Max,” Christian says, his voice a low murmur from behind. “Let them go in first.”

But Max shakes his head, already moving forward. A Texas Ranger tries to stop him, but Max glares, and the man steps aside, the air between them crackling with unspoken understanding.

The door creaks as Max pushes it open, the sound loud in the eerie stillness.

Inside, the air is stale, thick with the scent of mildew and dust. The dim light from the open door spills into the room, illuminating the figure slumped against the far wall.

You.

Max freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

You’re tied to a chair, the ropes biting into your skin, your wrists and ankles raw from the restraints. Your head is slumped forward, but at the sound of the door, you stir, lifting your face ever so slightly.

Bruises bloom across your cheekbone, your arms, the pale skin of your neck. Dried blood streaks your temple, and your lips are cracked, split in places. But it’s your eyes — glassier than he’s ever seen them, unfocused yet somehow still searching — that shatter him completely.

“Liefje,” Max breathes, his voice breaking.

You blink slowly, struggling to process. And then, somehow, against all odds, your eyes focus on him. Recognition flares, faint but unmistakable, and your lips move, though no sound comes out.

Max falls to his knees.

The world blurs around him — voices shouting, footsteps rushing in, hands grabbing for you. But all he can see is you. He crawls forward, his knees scraping against the rough floor, until he’s right in front of you.

“Y/N,” he says again, louder this time, his voice shaking. “I’m here. It’s me. It’s Max.”

Your head tilts slightly, your lips parting as if to say something.

“Don’t,” he whispers, his hands trembling as he reaches for you. He hesitates, afraid to touch you, afraid of causing more pain. “Don’t try to talk. Just … just stay with me.”

Tears blur his vision as he takes in the state of you. Every bruise, every cut feels like a dagger to his chest. He wants to scream, to rage, to destroy whoever did this to you, but he pushes it all down, forces himself to focus on you.

You manage a weak sound — barely more than a rasp — but your eyes never leave his.

“I’m here,” Max repeats, his voice fierce now, as if sheer force of will can keep you tethered to him. “You’re safe. I swear to God, you’re safe now.”

“Max …” you whisper, your voice so faint it’s almost lost in the chaos around you.

“I’ve got you,” he says, leaning closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “I’ve got you, schatje. They’re never going to hurt you again.”

Behind him, medics and agents flood the shed, their voices urgent as they assess the scene. Someone touches Max’s shoulder, but he shrugs them off violently.

“Not yet,” he snaps, his tone deadly. “Give me a second.”

The medic hesitates, then backs away.

“Max,” you say again, a little louder this time, your voice raw and broken. Your eyes fill with tears, spilling over as you look at him.

“I’m here,” he whispers, his own tears falling freely now. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

For the first time, the faintest flicker of a smile ghosts across your lips. It’s fragile, barely there, but it’s enough to make Max’s chest tighten.

He leans forward, pressing the gentlest kiss to your forehead, his hands finally settling on your knees as he grounds himself in your presence.

“They’ll pay for this,” he murmurs, his voice dark and unyielding. “Every single one of them. I promise you.”

Your head tips forward, leaning against him as the medics finally step in, their voices careful and quiet. Max doesn’t let go, not until they’re lifting you onto a stretcher, not until they’re absolutely sure you’re stable.

Even then, he doesn’t leave your side.

***

Max sits in the darkness of your shared apartment, his fingers steepled, his eyes fixed on the glow of his laptop screen. The names are all there. Every single one of them.

The investigation, spearheaded by law enforcement and fueled by global outrage, had revealed the tangled web of corruption that led to your kidnapping. At the center of it: the FIA president and a handful of high-ranking officials who had conspired to silence you for what you’d uncovered.

Max stares at their faces, the headshots lined up on the screen like a hit list. And in his mind, that’s exactly what it is.

There are many things about his childhood that Max tries not to think about. His father’s cold, unrelenting discipline. The constant berating. The punishments for anything less than perfection. Jos Verstappen hadn’t raised a son … he’d forged a weapon.

For years, Max had hated him for it. But now, for the first time, he feels a grim sense of gratitude. Because Jos had taught him something important: how to be cruel.

Max isn’t naïve enough to think the justice system will fix this. No prison sentence, no public disgrace will ever feel like enough for what they did to you — for the bruises that painted your skin, for the fear in your eyes when they finally found you.

These people had tried to destroy you. Max is going to destroy them first.

***

The first one falls within days. A minor official, the logistics director who had helped orchestrate your transport to the shed. He’s found in his sprawling Paris apartment, lying facedown in a pool of his own blood. The police call it a robbery gone wrong, but Max knows better.

The second is a middle manager in finance who’d helped funnel bribes through FIA accounts. He vanishes without a trace, his car abandoned on a lonely stretch of highway.

Each one is different. A tragic accident. A sudden disappearance. A stroke of bad luck. But the common thread is unmistakable. The officials complicit in your kidnapping are dropping like flies, one by one, their fates tied to their betrayal.

Max doesn’t get his hands dirty — not directly. He doesn’t have to. Money buys silence, loyalty, and an army of people willing to do what he can’t.

He watches it all unfold from a careful distance, his heart cold and steady. The guilt, if it comes, is fleeting. These people made their choices. Now they’re paying for them.

***

The FIA president is last.

Max makes him wait.

For weeks, the man is forced to watch as his associates vanish, as the walls close in around him. The investigation has left him disgraced, stripped of his title, his assets frozen. He’s a man on the run, hiding in the shadows of his former power.

But Max knows where he is. He’s known from the beginning.

It happens in the dead of night, in the decaying mansion the president had fled to somewhere in the French countryside.

Max doesn’t send someone else this time. This one, he wants to see for himself.

***

The president is sitting at a desk, the room lit by a single dim lamp. He’s aged years in a matter of months, his face gaunt, his hands trembling as he rifles through papers. He doesn’t hear Max until it’s too late.

The sound of the door closing makes him freeze.

When he looks up, Max is already there, standing in the doorway, his face blank but his eyes burning with a quiet, lethal fury.

“Hello,” Max says, his voice calm.

The president’s face goes pale. He stumbles to his feet, the chair scraping against the floor. “W-what are you doing here? You have no right-”

“Sit,” Max says sharply.

The man stops mid-sentence, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He sinks back into the chair, his movements stiff and jerky.

“You ruined your own life,” Max says, stepping closer. His voice is measured, even, but there’s an edge to it that makes the air in the room feel heavier. “But that wasn’t enough for you, was it? You had to try to ruin hers too.”

The president’s hands shake as he grips the edge of the desk. “I-I didn’t-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Max interrupts, his tone icy.

The man flinches, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape. But there’s nowhere to go.

“You didn’t just hurt her,” Max continues, his voice low. “You left her tied to a chair in the middle of nowhere, beaten and bleeding. You thought no one would find her. You wanted her to disappear.”

The president tries to speak, but the words die in his throat.

Max leans forward, his hands resting on the desk. “I’ve let you live longer than you deserve. But this ends tonight.”

The president shakes his head frantically, panic overtaking him. “You can’t do this! I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Max asks, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Run to the police? Tell them what you did? They’d love to hear about it.”

The president’s breathing becomes ragged, his chest heaving as he realizes there’s no way out.

Max straightens, his gaze cold and unrelenting. “You took her because you thought I’d let it go. Because you thought I’d be too afraid to fight back. But you were wrong.”

The room falls silent, the weight of Max’s words settling over them like a storm.

When it’s over, the only sound is the faint rustle of the wind outside.

Max walks out of the mansion, his hands steady, his heart unyielding.

The world will never know what happened to the former FIA president. But Max doesn’t care.

All that matters is that it’s done. You’re safe. And no one will ever hurt you again.

***

You wake with a jolt, the scream clawing at your throat but never making it out. Your chest heaves, your skin slick with sweat, the remnants of the nightmare still vivid behind your eyelids. The ropes, the shed, the bruising grip of strangers. You can still feel it, can still hear the taunts of the man who orchestrated it all.

For a moment, you don’t know where you are. Your hands tremble as you clutch the sheets, the darkness of the room suffocating. But then you feel him.

“Schatje,” Max whispers, his voice thick with sleep and concern. His arms are around you instantly, pulling you into his chest. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re with me.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, your breathing erratic as you cling to him like a lifeline. His scent, his warmth, his steady heartbeat — these are the things that tether you back to reality.

“It was just a dream,” he murmurs, his hand running up and down your back. “Nothing can hurt you here. I won’t let it.”

You don’t say anything, but the way your fingers fist the fabric of his shirt tells him enough.

Max tightens his hold, his lips pressing to the top of your head. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I let you down. I should’ve protected you. I-”

“Stop,” you croak, your voice hoarse from disuse. You pull back slightly, enough to meet his gaze. His blue eyes are raw, rimmed with red, his guilt carved into every line of his face. “It wasn’t your fault.”

His jaw clenches, and he shakes his head, refusing to meet your eyes. “Yes, it was,” he says, his voice rough. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve been there. If I had-”

“Max,” you interrupt, your voice soft but firm.

He finally looks at you, and the weight of his guilt makes your chest ache.

“You didn’t let me down,” you say, your hand cupping his cheek. “What happened was their fault. Not yours.”

“I’m supposed to protect you,” he says, his voice trembling. “And I didn’t. I failed.”

“Max.” You sit up straighter, your other hand framing his face. “You didn’t fail me. You saved me. You found me. You’ve been here for me every second since. That’s what matters.”

He tries to argue, his lips parting, but you don’t let him.

You lean forward and kiss him, cutting off whatever protest he was about to make. It’s gentle at first, a soft reassurance, but then it deepens, your hands slipping into his hair as you pour everything into it — all your gratitude, your love, your need to make him understand.

When you pull back, he’s breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “And you didn’t let me down. You’ll never let me down.”

Max’s eyes close, a shuddering breath escaping him as his hands settle on your waist. “I’ll never let anything happen to you again,” he murmurs. “I swear. No one will ever hurt you again.”

“I know,” you say softly, your fingers brushing through his hair. “I trust you.”

The room falls quiet again, the tension melting into something softer as Max holds you close. The nightmare still lingers at the edges of your mind, but with him here, it feels manageable.

You close your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing lull you back toward sleep, your head tucked under his chin.

***

The world looks different now. Formula 1 has been turned inside out and rebuilt piece by piece, its foundation gutted, its walls scrubbed clean of rot. The FIA, once untouchable, now stands as a phoenix reborn — smaller, humbler, and watched under a microscope by a public that no longer trusts blindly.

And the man standing at its helm?

Sebastian Vettel.

His appointment shocked everyone, though in hindsight, maybe it shouldn’t have. A four-time world champion with a reputation for integrity, sharp wit, and an inexplicable love of bees, Sebastian had been the last person anyone expected to re-enter the fold. Yet here he was: a symbol of hope and accountability.

And now, sitting in your living room.

You stare at him, still trying to reconcile the fact that Sebastian Vettel is perched on your sofa, a cup of tea balanced in his hand, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. He wears a suit, though the top button is undone and his shoes scuff slightly on your rug — small signs that, for all his new authority, he’s still Sebastian.

Max, seated across the room with his arms crossed, is visibly tense. He hasn’t said much since Sebastian arrived, choosing instead to lean back in his chair and observe. Protectively.

“Just to be clear,” you say, leaning forward, “you want to hire me?”

Sebastian smiles faintly, setting his tea down on the table. “Yes. You.”

“As a forensic accountant?”

“Yes.”

“To audit the FIA?”

Sebastian leans back slightly, his expression soft but serious. “To make sure nothing like what happened ever happens again. To hold us accountable, to make sure every financial and ethical line is crystal clear. You’ve proven yourself, Y/N. The FIA needs someone sharp, honest, and relentless. You’re all three.”

You blink, thrown off balance. You’d been bracing for congratulations or polite pleasantries — not this.

“Why me?” You ask finally.

Sebastian doesn’t hesitate. “Because you’re the only person I trust to do it right.”

That knocks the air from your lungs.

Across the room, Max shifts, his brows furrowing. “You’re asking her to put herself in the middle of it again,” he says, his voice low, edged with a protectiveness Sebastian doesn’t miss. “After everything.”

Sebastian turns to Max. “I’m asking her to fix it. If anyone can make sure the FIA stays clean, it’s Y/N.”

Max’s jaw tightens, and you can feel the storm brewing inside him. He’s fought so hard to keep you away from anything that even smells like danger. You know he hates the idea of you stepping back into this mess, even from a position of safety.

But you also know he won’t stop you if this is what you want.

You take a deep breath, turning your attention back to Sebastian. “You understand what you’re asking, right? I’ll find everything — everything. Even the things you don’t want me to.”

Sebastian nods. “That’s the point.”

You study him for a moment. There’s no hesitation in his face, no flicker of doubt. He means it. He’s really here to clean house, and he’s offering you a key role in ensuring that it happens.

Your fingers twist in your lap as you weigh the choice. You could walk away from it all, leave the FIA in someone else’s hands, and never think about its corruption again.

But then you think about the shed. The ropes. The bruises. The quiet corruption that enabled people like the former president to go unchecked for so long. You think about how close they came to breaking you — and how they’ll never get the chance to do it again.

Because you won’t let them.

You straighten in your seat, your voice clear. “If I do this, I want total autonomy. No limits on what I can investigate, no oversight. If I smell anything remotely off, I follow it wherever it leads.”

Sebastian smiles faintly, like he expected nothing less. “Done.”

“And if I say something needs to change, it changes. No delays, no excuses.”

“Done,” he says again.

Max exhales sharply, his frustration rolling off him in waves. “Y/N …”

You glance at him, softening. “It’s my decision.”

He shakes his head, staring at the floor for a moment before looking back up at you. “I don’t want you anywhere near them again. I don’t care who’s in charge.”

Sebastian clears his throat, respectful but firm. “This is her choice, Max.”

Max shoots him a withering glare but doesn’t argue further. Instead, he looks at you, his expression raw. “You just got out of this. Why would you go back?”

You reach across the space between you and take his hand. “Because if I don’t, someone else will. And they won’t be as careful, or as ruthless.” You squeeze his fingers gently. “You don’t have to like it, but you know I’m right.”

Max doesn’t reply immediately. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, his brow furrowed in deep thought. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping just slightly.

“I don’t like it,” he says quietly, “but I’ll stand by you.”

You smile faintly, your chest warming as you meet his eyes. “I know.”

Sebastian, ever perceptive, chooses that moment to stand. “I’ll give you some time to think it over,” he says. “But … I hope you say yes.”

You nod, your decision already made. “I’ll think about it.”

Sebastian gives you both a small smile before making his way to the door. “Take care of each other,” he says as he leaves.

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you and Max alone in the quiet.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then Max groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Sebastian Vettel as president of the FIA? I didn’t see that one coming.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Me neither.”

His hand drops, and he looks at you, his expression serious again. “If you’re really going to do this, I’m not letting you out of my sight. Bodyguards, security — whatever you need.”

“I’m not going to war,” you tease gently.

“You say that now,” he mutters, his voice darkening. “But I know how this world works. You’re making enemies the second you start digging again.”

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve got you to protect me, isn’t it?”

Max exhales, his arms looping around you as he pulls you close. “Always.”

You nestle into his chest, letting his heartbeat steady you, the weight of the decision settling over you. You know what you’re walking into. You know the risks.

But you also know you can’t look away — not now, not after everything.

The FIA has been reborn. And you’re going to make sure it stays that way.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Javelin

Ona Batlle x Reader

Summary: You and Ona are each other's homes

The first time you met Ona, she kicked you in the face with a football.

In revenge, you threw it straight back at her and she accidentally lost a tooth from the impact.

You'd been best friends ever since then and your parents could barely keep the pair of you separated.

And as with all things like that, a relationship was naturally the next step.

Fumbles in the back rooms of the family home, making out in your room during family reunions, a kiss after Ona scores in an important match.

And all of those soft, teenage fumbles transformed into something much more beautiful.

You'd followed her to Manchester when she left Spain.

It had taken a lot, uprooting your whole life and moving to a different country whose language you hadn't paid much attention to in school.

Ona helped though.

Ona always helped.

That had always been the case.

Ona helped you and you helped her.

Your training never really went as long as hers. You weren't away from home as often as Ona was. Throwing a javelin wasn't quite as physically draining as football was so you were able to cook dinner and clean up and go to almost all of her matches to support her.

"That smells good."

Arms close around your waist gently and a head rests between your shoulder blades.

"Taste," You say, bringing a spoon up to Ona's lips straight from the pot," Good? Too salty? Not salty enough?"

"Perfect," Ona says," Perfect like always. You spoil me."

"You deserve to be spoiled."

Ona giggles a little, a soft kiss being pressed against your neck as she moves away. "I'll grab the plates."

You make a home in Manchester together before Barcelona come knocking and you're more than willing to return to Spain again.

You get another coaching team. You train in the heat.

You and Ona discuss a dog but nothing has come of it just yet. You bask in each other's company. You return to family reunions and seeing Ona's family on the weekend right until the summer.

The run up to the Olympics is brutal.

You're both tired and drained but it's a dream to represent Spain on a stage like that, to show people around the world just what you can do.

People watch events that they don't usually watch and if you can even convert one person into a javelin fan then it'll be an Olympics well spent.

You have your goals for this Olympics and Ona has hers.

And you hate seeing that her goals will be left unfinished.

"Hey..." You say gently as she approaches you at the barrier," I'm sorry."

You can see her putting on a brave face. You know it's fake.

You lean over and gently draw her closer.

Spain hadn't made it to the final. They'd lost the bronze medal.

Ona had lost the bronze medal.

Your own gold medal for javelin feels like a weight in your bag, heavy and you wish you could throw it in the river so Ona wouldn't be able to see it.

But you know that she knows you won it.

She'd sent a very long rambling text before setting up an accompanying phone call where she declared her love for you and told you how proud she was and how she couldn't wait to see your medal.

Now though, you don't want her to see it.

You don't want her to see it because you know she'll be reminded of what she's just lost and you can't do that to her.

You won't do that to her.

You refuse to do that to her.

So you hold Ona against you now as she rests her head in your shoulder and you play with the soft baby hairs that rest on the back of her neck.

"We've got a break now," You whisper to her, voice quiet and soft and everything she needs to hear right now," We'll go somewhere hot. With a beach. We'll relax and have some fun before the season starts again. Relax and reset."

"I wanted to win you a medal," Ona chokes out against your skin," I know you've already got one but-But I wanted to get you another one."

"I don't need another one," You assure her," I've got you. That's enough for me."

[wonderjanga]

Honk Mimimimi 💤

This is inspired by one of the head canons from this post! Thank you @toobytoobs :D !

Billy is often tired. Really tired. Between being the Whiz Kid, heroing, and any paperwork from the JL, he doesn’t get a lot of sleep. So, whenever he’s Billy, he tends to doze off at the worst times.

Billy: “Right! So this just in-” *passes the fuck out and face plants onto desk*

He slept for a solid fifteen minutes until one of the Whiz employees came by and woke him up.

Whiz Employee: “Billy? Billy the hell are you sleeping in the studio?” *shakes him awake*

Billy: *still groggy* “Sorry, sir.”

Whiz Employee: “You don’t have to apologize.” *helps him stand up* “But at least sleep on one of the staff room couches.”

Billy: “What about the broadcast?”

Whiz Employee: “What broadcast-” *sees that the mic is still on and they’re still live* “How did you…? Never mind. *clears throat and changes to a transatlantic accent* “Sorry about this folks! Due to difficulties, our Whiz Kid won’t be able to broadcast today!” *flicks a button to turn the mic off*

Billy: *already starting to doze off again*

Whiz Employee: *shakes him awake again and starts walking him to the staff room* “Let’s get you somewhere better.”

Billy: “Thanks, mister.” *falls right back asleep as soon as he touches the couch*

When that happened, surprisingly, Billy didn’t think anything of it because that was the only time it’d happened. Now, it’s important to remember that up until this point it only been happening when Billy was Billy he didn’t expect it to bleed into Marvel. Then…

Marvel: *floating in space, snoozing, curled up into a ball with his cape wrapped around him until his head bumped into the moon*

That woke him up, as it rightfully should’ve. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. All he remembers is that he was that he was flying through space and then nothing else. He even doesn’t remember falling asleep. When he checked his comm, he had a bunch of worried texts from other heroes cause the thing is… he fell asleep on the way to a mission. Which isn’t good. Thankfully, he answered their concerned by saying he got sidetracked and continued on his way to the mission and was able to complete it without difficulty.

Then it happened again.

During a meeting…

Marvel: *like with Billy, just passes out and face plants on the desk*

JL: *all look to him*

Batman: *was presenting* “Captain?”

Supes: *sitting next to him and shakes him* “Cap?”

Marvel: *does not wake up cause he is just GONE*

Supes: *shakes him again but with more force* “CAP??”

Marvel: *continues snoozing* “Honk mimimimi…”

They hauled him off to the med bay and put him on a cot, to which he immediately curled up into a ball and wrapped his cape around himself. They realized that he wasn’t in a sudden coma and was sleeping. They just let him sleep because clearly he needed it if he was passing out mid meeting.

[megumismyhusband]

“how long was the bet supposed to last?”

rin freezes.

your voice is calm. too calm. the kind of calm that feels unnatural, like the quiet before a storm. but there’s no storm in your face—no anger, no hurt, nothing at all. just an empty, unreadable expression that makes his stomach churn.

“who told you?” his voice comes out rough, forced.

you shrug, like it doesn’t even matter. like he doesn’t even matter. “does it make a difference?”

it doesn’t. he knows that. he also knows that this is bad. really bad.

“was it a week? a month?” you tilt your head slightly, staring him down. “or were you just gonna keep going until you got bored?”

his jaw tightens. “it wasn’t like that.”

“really?” you let out a breathy laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “because from where i’m standing, it kinda seems like it was.”

rin clenches his fists, frustration curling in his chest. frustration at himself, at shidou, at the whole stupid situation that never should’ve happened in the first place.

“you weren’t a joke to me,” he says, voice low.

“that’s funny,” you murmur. “because i kinda feel like one.”

he wants to fix this. to reach out, to grab your wrist, to tell you the truth—how the bet stopped meaning anything the second he got to know you, how he tried to find the right moment to come clean but was too much of a coward to risk losing you.

but he waits too long.

“say something, rin,” you say quietly. “anything.”

he opens his mouth. closes it. because nothing he says right now will be enough.

so you nod, like you expected this, like you already knew how this would end.

“got it.”

and then you walk away.

rin lets you. because what else can he do?

—

the next day, your favorite drink is waiting on your desk.

you don’t touch it.

the day after, rin is standing by your locker, holding out your books.

“you don’t have to do this,” you mutter, not even looking at him.

“i know.” but he still shoves them into your arms before walking away.

the day after that, he shows up at practice late because he spent an hour in line getting that stupid pastry you like.

“you think buying me stuff is gonna fix this?” you ask, raising a brow.

“no.” he stares at the bag in your hands. “but i know you like them, so just take it.”

you sigh, but you don’t give it back.

on friday, he carries your bag before you can complain, waits for you after school even though you ignore him the whole walk home, and when you finally snap and ask what the hell he’s doing, he just says, “making it up to you.”

saturday morning, you open your door to find him standing there, hair messy, dark circles under his eyes, holding a stupidly large bag of snacks.

“seriously?” you cross your arms. “you’re still on this?”

“yeah.”

“why?”

he exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “because i’m not giving up on you.”

you blink, caught off guard by how sure he sounds. how raw he looks.

he looks tired. frustrated. desperate.

like this actually means something to him. like you actually mean something to him.

you chew on your lip, eyes flicking between him and the bag in his hands.

“…you got my favorites?”

“obviously.”

“did you get the right drink this time?”

he exhales, shoving it into your hands. “yes.”

you stare at it for a moment. then sigh, stepping aside.

“fine. come in before you start looking even more pathetic.”

rin doesn’t need to be told twice. he steps inside, and for the first time all week, his chest feels a little lighter.

he still has a long way to go—he knows that. but if you’re letting him in, even just a little, then maybe, just maybe, he still has a chance to prove that this was never just a bet to him.

[whor3ing]

𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝑻𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 | 𝑴.𝑺

Matt Sturniolo!bf x f!reader

WARNINGS : smut, phone sex, talking you through touching yourself, FaceTime, public, established relationship, teasing you at work, lots of dirty talk, tapping it on the screen, mutual masturbation, mentions of breeding! usage of “slut" & "good girl"

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

IN WHICH.. You head to work while Matt, who has the day off, decides to make your morning anything but productive—sending you teasing texts, a filthy voice message, and finally calling you, pushing you to sneak away and give in to him.

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

word count : 5k ♡

✶ Matt version of Between Words, but it's in public!

00 : Morning After

Matt had barely stirred when you slipped out of bed this morning, mumbling something incoherent before rolling over and burying his face in your pillow.

His hair was a mess, strands falling over his forehead, lips slightly parted as he exhaled slow, steady breaths.

The covers were tangled around his waist, his bare shoulders peeking out from beneath the sheets, smooth and warm under the early morning light filtering through the curtains.

You’d been jealous, just for a second—knowing he got to spend the day wrapped in blankets while you had to clock in for another long shift. He looked so peaceful, so comfortable, his body molded perfectly into the mattress like he belonged there. His lashes fluttered slightly, lips parting as he shifted, pulling your pillow closer like he could still feel the warmth you’d left behind, as if nothing had ever happened.

It was hard not to focus on the feeling of the night before, the argument still lingering in the air between you two, even the make-up sex hadn't fully fixed it.

You hadn’t meant to fight, but somehow, the words had gotten out of hand. You had both said things you didn’t mean, and now, this morning, there was a heavy silence in the room, an uncanny feeling of anger and unrequited love.

But watching him like this, so vulnerable and unaware, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt, even with how annoyed you were.

It would’ve been so easy to slip back under the covers, to press yourself against him and let the morning slip away in slow, lazy kisses, kisses that rung with both forgiveness and love. You’d thought about it—lingering for just a moment longer than necessary, watching the way his fingers twitched slightly against the sheets, like he was dreaming.

But reality had other plans.

With a sigh, you’d forced yourself to move, brushing a kiss over his shoulder before quietly slipping out of the room.

Now, sitting in your car in the parking lot, you can’t help but think about him again—probably still in that same position, arms hugging your pillow, still lost in sleep while you have a full day ahead of you.

You hate how professional you look today, wishing you could just wear something that didn’t remind you of work. The blazer feels too stiff, the fabric scratching against your skin, and the blouse underneath feels tight, like it’s hugging you in all the wrong places. Your slacks aren't any better, they're dark, tailored, and perfectly pressed to you, but not at all comfortable.

Maybe if you’d worn something different—something more comfortable, like his clothes, the clothes you’d had on just a few hours ago when you were tangled in his sheets.

Just as you grab your bag and push the door open, your phone buzzes in the cup holder. You barely glance at it as you step into the warm morning air, figuring it’s just some work notification.

But as you step into the elevator and pull it from your pocket, Matt’s name flashes across the screen.

You sigh, leaning against the back wall as the silver doors slide shut, unlocking your phone. He has the day off—why was he even up this early?

Matt: Mornin’, pretty Matt: Bet you’re already stressed.

Your lips press together, rolling your eyes as you type back.

You: It’s too early for this.

Matt: Too early for what? Conversation? Love? Affection?

You: Too early for your bullshit, Matt

The dots appear almost instantly, and you can practically hear the smirk in his next message.

Matt: Damn. Someone’s cranky

Matt: Almost like she didn’t get properly taken care of again before leaving for work

You freeze, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You: Matt.

Matt: What? Just saying…

Matt: I woke up alone. Kinda rude, don’t you think?

You swallow, shifting on your feet as the elevator dings, doors sliding open to the familiar hum of the office.

You: You’ll live.

Matt:Yeah?

Matt: Or maybe I’ll just entertain myself

01 : Irresistible Urges

You feel a rush of heat crawl up your neck at his words, your throat suddenly dry with anticipation.

Entertain himself? What the hell does that even mean?

You step off the elevator, trying to shake the sudden nerves, but the thought lingers as you make your way to your desk. The buzzing of your phone in your hand feels like a constant reminder of everything that's waiting for you at home and you can’t help but glance down at the screen again.

The office around you is buzzing with energy, but it’s the kind of quiet, focused energy that only comes with the first few hours of the workday.

The hum of computers and the soft clicking of keyboards fill the space, and the sharp smell of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, mingling with the faint scent of printer ink and paper.

The corner of your desk is still covered in the usual clutter—sticky notes with things you’d meant to do yesterday, a picture frame with a smiling photo of you and Matt on a lazy afternoon. The frame is tucked between your coffee mug and your keyboard, a silent reminder of him, even here, even now.

The phone in your hand vibrates again as you settle into your desk and you can’t help but glance down at it.

Matt: Don’t forget about me while you’re pretending to work, wouldn’t want you getting too focused on something else, sweetheart

A moment later, your phone vibrates again. You glance down, the screen showing a picture from Matt.

It’s a photo of him, laying back on your bed, his shirt slightly lifted to reveal the faintest line of his abs, this v-line, and his hips. His hair is still messy from just waking up, and there’s a teasing, almost smirking look on his face, one that makes your stomach tighten.

He’s holding the phone with one hand, the other casually resting on the low waistband of his sweatpants, his black boxers peeking out at you, as if he’s got nothing better to do than send you this.

You quickly glance around the office, your breath hitching when you realize how exposed you are. The last thing you need is someone catching a glimpse of the picture Matt just sent you.

You shove the phone into your lap, pretending to focus on your computer screen, but all you can think about is that damn picture.

The way he looked, so casually teasing you, as if he knew exactly how much it would affect you. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, but every time you think about typing, your mind wanders back to him—his smile, the way his veins ran down his side, trailing to his v-line, just visible enough to make you want more.

Matt: You still there? Or am I distracting you too much?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard again, fighting the urge to respond too quickly. After a moment, you finally reply.

You: You’re distracting me more than you know

You hit send before you can overthink it, your breath heavy as his response comes through almost instantly.

Matt: You’re distracting me too, you know that? I can’t stop thinking about you… About how badly I want to see you again.. how much I fuckin' miss you baby..

You: And who's fault is that?

Matt: Oh, you wanna play that game?

Matt: Pretty sure it’s yours for leaving me all alone this morning. Cold bed, no good morning kiss… felt kinda cruel, baby.

Your breath hitches as another message comes through.

Matt: In fact… I think you owe me. Wanna know how?

You: I’m almost scared to ask.

Matt: Almost? So you’re curious then…That’s cute.

Your thighs press together as you shift in your chair, your eyes darting around the office, making sure no one is paying attention to you.

You: I have work to do, Matt.

Matt: And I have a problem that only you can fix, baby. Laying in your bed, thinking about last night… about you…

Matt: Kinda hard not to, when I can still smell you on my sheets..

Your breath catches, heart pounding as you stare at the screen.

You: Matty…

Matt: Mmm, there it is. That little warning. Like you don’t want me to keep going.

Matt: But you do, don’t you slut?

Another picture comes through. This time, his hand is lower, fingers teasing at the waistband of his boxers, his sweats barely hanging onto his hips.

You inhale sharply, your heart hammering in your ears, echoing through your skull, and before you can even process what’s happening, the screen flashes again.

It’s a voice message.

You press the phone to your ear, putting the volume as low as it can possibly be before pressing play.

The soft crackle of static fills your ear before Matt’s voice pours through—low, smooth, and dripping with sex.

"I can't stop thinking about you.." He pauses, lewd noises spilling from his mouth as he strokes his dick for you over the phone.

"fuckin' bouncing on my cock with your tits out.. god..baby.. yes"

Matt groans, pumping his cock for you, the sound echoing through your head, making your pussy soaked.

"God.. if I was there," He pauses, a whimper escaping his lips. "I would sit right next to you and put my fingers in you now— I don't fucking care I would finger you under your desk and make you come for me in front of everyone—your fuckin' boss, your stupid colleagues... oh fuck.."

The voice message ends abruptly, and for a moment, everything goes still.

His words hang in the air, replaying in your mind, leaving your heart racing. You slowly pull the phone away from your ear, your hand shaking as you try to steady your breath.

It doesn't take much time for your phone to vibrate again, but this time, instead of another teasing text or voice message, Matt’s name flashes across the screen with an incoming call. Your breath catches, fingers hovering over the answer button. You know exactly what he’s doing—pushing you, making the wetness between your legs impossible to ignore.

You glance around, making sure no one is watching, before quickly pressing the phone to your ear.

"Matt," you whisper, voice barely steady.

“Go somewhere,” Matt breathes into the phone, his voice is rough and breathy. the sound of shuffling and wetness coming through the phone as he urgently continues.

“Anywhere. Back to your car. Now.”

Your pulse jumps. “Matt, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he cuts you off, voice dropping even lower. “C’mon, baby. Be a good girl and listen to me, or i'll fuckin' make you come with me right here."

"God— fuck okay.." you whisper, the words barely leaving your lips before you’re already standing, your legs feeling a little unsteady beneath you, your pussy so wet you can feel it nearly dripping onto your thighs.

You’re so fucking aware of the absolute heat between your legs, the way Matt's voice echoes in your mind, pushing you to do exactly what he wants.

You glance around, making sure no one sees you leave, leaving the hum of the office behind you as you enter the sleek silver elevator doors once again; Matt's groans still pressed to your ear.

Once you reach the parking lot, you slide into your car, your heart thumping in your chest as you slide into the backseat, the cool leather of the seat beneath you making you shiver. You don’t even bother with anything else—just pressing the phone back to your ear and covering the windshield with some random fucking blanket kept in your backseat.

Matt’s voice is immediately there, waiting for you. “Good girl,” he purrs. “I knew you’d listen to me you fucking slutty girl."

His voice drops to a low, husky tone, sending shivers down your spine. "I was thinking about you baby, and I couldn't focus on anything else, I had to fucking stoke this cock for you..I couldn't wait anymore baby."

You feel a warm blush rise to your cheeks as you hear his words through the phone, your pulse beating faster, so loud you can nearly hear it through your ears as you slide off your slacks, pushing them to the floor. "What were you thinking about?"

"Going to work with you... eating you out under your desk while you moan for me, that pussy is so fucking good, I miss fillin' it up with all my come."

"How your back arches when I fuck you so deep," He murmurs, his voice exasperated. "When I tell you to keep bounce that ass on my cock and let go for me.."

His words leave you breathless and full of desire. You can feel your face burning with heat as your back slides against the backseat.

You're so nervous to be in the parking lot like this, but god you can't help but be so fucking slutty, all for Matt.

Your nipples harden against the fabric of your blouse with every word he murmurs, mixed with the rough groans and lewd sounds of his wet cock from through the other end of the line.

His voice is dripping with desire when he talks again, "I miss you, let me see you, baby.. let me show you how I'm stroking this fucking cock for you .."

You smile, pressing the familiar FaceTime button, and as the camera flickers to life, you adjust yourself to fit in frame, the phone propped up against the back of the driver's seat.

Matt's camera flutters to life soon after, and there he is, propped up against the headboard, his phone right on his abdomen, teasing you.

His hair, is tousled and messy as if he's been running his fingers through it since he woke up. The soft light of your shared bedroom and the sun outside of the window catch faint white undertones onto his skin, making him look as if he were to radiate light itself.

His jawline catches the light when he shifts slightly to look closer at you, the shadow of his stubble visible to you as a grin forms at the corners of his mouth, a grin that makes you ache from head to toe.

He shifts slightly, the camera from his phone slipping just enough to tease, his fingers dragging over his stomach. “What, baby? Couldn’t focus? Kept thinking about me all warm in our bed stroking this dick.. while you sat there all tense at your desk?”

Your breath catches, fingers tightening around your phone as you press yourself deeper into the car seat, pressing your thighs together.

Matt smirks, clearly enjoying how worked up you already are. “I bet you kept checking your phone, just waiting for me to text you again,” he taunts, voice smooth and slow, like he has all the time in the world to unravel you. “And when I did? You practically ran out of there.”

He shifts again, the screen still propped up, the smallest view possible of the side of his cock filling the screen, teasing you with what you can’t have. “Look at you now,” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement. “Sitting in your car, squeezing your fuckin' thighs together, trying to pretend you’re not losing your mind over me.”

His fingers find the base of his dick, moving up and down against his shaft as he continues, “Go on, baby. Show me how much you missed me.”

You exhale sharply, your free hand gripping your thigh, trying to keep yourself grounded. “Matt,” you warn, but it comes out weaker than you’d like.

He just laughs, low and smug. “That’s all you’ve got? Just my name?” He tilts the camera slightly, giving you a better view of the way his fingers tease along his stomach, dipping just beneath the sheet before pulling back. “You rushed out of the office for this, didn’t you? Got all worked up at your desk, couldn’t sit still, had to run out before someone saw how flustered you were.”

He pauses, watching you, his voice dropping even lower. “Tell me, baby. Did anyone notice? The way you kept shifting in your chair, biting your lip, staring at your phone like you were desperate for more?”

“Mmm.” He hums, his cock filling the screen as he strokes it just for you, his eyebrows bunching as he groans through his words, “I think they did.” He smirks. “And I think you liked it.”

Matt leans a little closer to his screen, his piercing blue eyes sharpening as he takes you all in. His eyes travel over your frame, lingering for a moment before his lips part slightly, his voice dropping just a bit. "Fuck.. you look so good—so beautiful, angel.."

Matt’s smirk deepens as his eyes fixate on you, a teasing glint in them. “Take off your blouse,” he commands, his voice smooth and demanding. “I want to see you, baby. Now.."

The heat in his words wraps around you, a mix of desire and hesitation flooding your chest. His eyes stay locked on yours through the screen, waiting for you to follow his command.

“Do it slow,” he adds, groaning as the lewd wet sounds from his cock fill the speaker, his voice drops lower, sending a shiver down your spine as he continues, “I want to watch you take it off, piece by piece.”

His gaze intensifies as he leans back, visibly impatient, yet thoroughly enjoying this control he’s got over you. “Come on, baby. You know you want to.”

Adrenaline and desire course through you as you slowly take off your blazer, throwing it onto the seat beside you.

You slowly lift the hem of your blouse, just enough to tease him, right below your breasts, allowing them to peek out, just a little bit. His reaction is immediate—his eyes are glued to the screen, his jaw falling open as he takes in the sight of you. .

You drag your fingers down your body, feeling the slight shiver of anticipation in your fingertips as your hands move instinctively, pulling your shirt off, your tits falling out from underneath his shirt, as you set that beside you too.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful."

Your fingers find your tits, trailing over your nipples, pinching them for him. You can see his smile through the phone as he angles the camera at the base of his cock, capturing every inch of his hard cock for you. Matt chuckles, moving forward only slightly to gently tap his tip directly against the camera a few times, the whole screen flooding with the pink skin of the head of his cock.

"Do you like what you see, baby?" he asks, his voice low and seductive as his cock stands straight up, his fingers beginning to slowly stroke against his rigid shaft.

“Do you like it when I slap this dick on this camera for you, just like how I should be slapping it against your clit while I make you cum for me with my fingers.”

"take those fucking useless panties off baby... let me see all of you."

You slide your fingers between your legs, pushing your panties aside, revealing your wet pussy to Matt. You feel a rush of excitement as you watch him on the screen, his eyes glued to the sight of your bare pussy as his hands work his cock. "Oh fuck, baby.. you're so sexy," he breathes, his fingers moving faster against his cock.

You lean forward, pressing your breasts against the camera, moaning softly as you tease yourself, rubbing your clit against the fabric of your panties.

Matt's voice cuts through the haze of pleasure, "Stop touching yourself, baby. Listen to me—let me have control over you fuckin' slut.."

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you pull your fingers away from your pussy, reluctantly removing them from your clit. You listen intently as he begins to speak, his voice low and seductive.

"Now, I want you to take a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth." You do as he says, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. "That's it, good fuckin' girl.."

His fingers stop on his cock, his hand moving to hold it at the base, angling it towards the camera, all for you to see.

"I want you to imagine my cock is inside you, filling you up, stretching you out. Imagine how good it feels, how tight you are around me—but don't fucking touch that cunt yet, baby.." He pauses, groaning a small whimper escaping his lips, "just think about it— think about me fucking you so deep, think about all of my come inside of you, dripping out while I fuck your needy cunt raw.."

You bite your lip as he speaks, his voice like your own personal drug. You watch as Matt's hand wraps around the base of his cock, pumping it, just for you.

"Mmm, you're such a dirty girl, aren't you?"

He moans, biting on his lips as he watches the way you squirm, knowing you can't touch the one place you, really, truly want to.

"You love watching me jerk off over the phone for you, don't you?"

He gives a slight thrust of his hips, his cock twitching in his hand. "I bet you'd love to taste it, wouldn't you? To have my cock in your mouth, down your throat, choking on it as I fuck your face."

"Take your hand and spit in it—oh fuck, make your wet pussy even fuckin' sloppier for me," he moans out, his hand working magic on his cock as he strokes it even faster for you.

You can see so much precum, so much of his spit running down the sides of it with every stroke he makes against his shaft. You can't help but wish that it was your spit, that his precum was deep down your throat, deep in your cunt.

You wish you could run your tongue against the shaft of his dick, you wish his hand could be replaced with yours. You wish it was your mouth he was fucking into instead of his hand, wishing that it was your pussy making him whimper and moan.

He groans as he sees you start to rub your pussy, smiling with his tongue over his teeth as he sees you sink into the seat, spreading your legs up, your fingers working needlessly on your soaking clit.

"Oh fuck," he breathes, his voice thick with need. "I wish I was there with you."

The tip of his cock swells, his shaft hard and rigid, just aching for you, and his hand immediately picks up the pace on his dick as he imagines that it was his hands on you. "I want to breed that needy pussy so bad," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. "I want to rub that fuckin' clit while I fill you up with my cock—god."

He groans, his hips thrusting forward as if he could push his cock through the screen and into you, if only it were that simple.

He leans back, bracing his head against the wall as his hips piston forward, fucking into his hand. "You're such a needy slut," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "You want my cock so bad, don't you?"

"Cmon—be a good fuckin' slut and put your fingers in there for me. Don't pay attention to anything, don't think about how fucking desperate you are to do this in your car with me.. just feel so fuckin' good for me.."

You nod frantically, not hesitating as you moan, taking your fingers and sliding them into your wet pussy, your other hand still teasing at your slick folds.

"Oh fuck," he groans, his eyes fixed on your fingers working their magic inside you. "You're so fucking hot." His voice is thick with desire as he watches you sink deeper into the seat, spreading your legs wider apart to give him a better view.

“You’re so damn tight, baby—that fuckin' pussy looks so good.."

Without warning, he spits on his hand and starts stroking his cock in time with your movements through the screen, making you whimper as your fingers work inside of you. Matt holds the camera with his other hand, his dick completely soaked in his spit and his precum, the saliva dripping onto his hand as he pumps it faster for you.

Your eyes widen in surprise, but you can't help but moan louder as his rough, saliva-slick fingers slide against his cock, while your own, fill up your pussy.

"Fuck, that feels good," he mutters, his hips jerking forward as he gets closer to his release. You watch in awe as he starts to breathe harder, his muscles tensing under his skin, the muscles and veins in his hand so prominent and strong as he works his dick for you.

Such a good slutty girl… making yourself feel good for me,” the second those words leave his parted lips, only within an instant, Matt can’t seem to hold himself anymore, his eyebrows furrow together and his chest heaves, his groans becoming more erratic.

"Come for me baby," he groans, struggling to keep his eyes open to look at you. "Come all over your pretty hands for me, yes.. God yes."

“Please, Matt,” you whimper, your voice pleading, desperate to come with him, “I need you to come with me, I need you to pretend you're filling me up.."

"Show me how much you need me, come for me in your fucking car— just like that," he moans, stroking faster. "Show me baby, let me watch you do it, cmon—"

Matt leans forward, his lips parted as he breathes your name, his hand still gripping the phone tightly, positioning it so he can see you, and you can see him.

You move your fingers faster, harder, needing that release more than anything else. You hear him do the same, his hand moving faster, each stroke pushing him closer to his own release, a release that he is so needy for.

You gasp as you feel the familiar tightening in your stomach, the urge to come overwhelming you. You bite your lip, trying to hold back the moans that threaten to escape your throat.

Matt's breathing becomes more labored, his eyes darkening as he watches you, his hand moving in perfect sync with yours.

Your legs twitch as you come undone for him, and as promised Matt follows right behind you, his moans louder than before, you can hear the sound of him finishing, his voice raw with pleasure and love. You watch as his come drips from the tip of his cock, wishing that it had gone inside of you instead.

On the other end of the screen, Matt collapses back onto your bed, laying fully down, bringing his phone with him, his face is flushed and his hair messy, his cum all over his stomach.

03: On Edge

Matt's voice softens, his earlier teasing replaced by a hint of sincerity as he looks at you through the screen. He shifts, wiping his face with the back of his hand, still out of breath."So you really went to your car to get off with me, huh? Couldn't even wait for tonight? Damn, you're so fucking naughty, baby.

You bite your lip, feeling your cheeks flush as the memory of his begging still lingers in your mind. You laugh softly, sitting up a little straighter and grabbing the phone, a playful grin on your face. "You’re the one who made it impossible to wait, Matt. You didn’t exactly help me.”

Matt pouts, leaning closer to the screen with a mischievous grin. "Did you like the pictures, though? You better have, I put in some serious work for those. You owe me a good review or something.”

You lean back in your seat, looking at him through the screen with a raised eyebrow. "A good review, huh? I’m not sure you deserve one after getting me all hot and bothered while I’m stuck here at work.”

“Oh, come on. You know you loved it. I made sure those pictures were just for you, everything you like. All that effort for my favorite girl.”

He chuckles, messing with his hair, the strands falling in front of his face, "Maybe I’ll do this more often… keep you on edge all day long. I kinda miss you, you know.”

You smile softly, unable to hide the effect he’s having on you, "you miss me? That’s sweet… but I don’t know if I can handle you getting me all worked up like this every single day.”

Matt leans back, a mischievous grin forming on his face as he gives you a playful, knowing look.

“You’ll just have to, baby.”

thank you for reading ! ♡

lowkey i wrote this to the hannah montana soundtrack

𖧧 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

taglist! : @chriss-slutt @55sturn @chrysiie @il0vey0um0st @trustinsturniolos @v4lsturn @shitttttypoet @mattsplaything @emely9274 @pip4444chris @whore4mattsturniolo @sweetshuga

[luvyeni]

ONE MORE BEFORE YOU GO ♱. ── ( 엔하이픈 )

trying to get them to stay and go another round …

𝓲𝓲 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒𓈒 ( 엔하이픈 x fem!reader )   ─── ❛ genre ⸝⸝ smut. content warning. allusions to sex , cursing word count. 0.8k 「 req? ⦂ yes/no 」 library  !

𝕼 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒 yeni’s note .ᐟ i was so confused on how to write this , idky

﹙ 𝐢𝐯. 정원 : jungwon﹚ .ᐟ

“that pouty face isn’t gonna work this time.” he said looking down at your pouty face , you were wrapped up in nothing but a sheet. “it worked last time.” you purred , purposely letting the blanket fall. “fuck , you’re really pushing your luck.” he looked at the time — he was gonna be only 5 minutes late if he left right now. “why worry about the time when you can just stay here.” he chuckled. “stay here , and what fuck you all day?” you shrug, you perfect mounds on display. “doesn’t seem like a bad idea to me.”

“you’re insatiable.” he said ; the entire time he’s slowly losing jus mind. “you know you want to.” you said , he checked the time once more — he’ll be 10 minutes late if he leaves now… but he won’t be late at all if he just doesn’t go , plus he’ll be able to feel you all over again. “i promise this is the last time this will ever happen.” he said kissing your lips. “let’s see how wet you are for me.”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯. 희승 : heeseung ﹚ .ᐟ

hearing you whine for the 10th time as he put his clothes on makes him laugh. “glad to know my suffering brings you happiness and entertainment.” you roll around in the bed , barely clothed , normal that would be enough for heeseung; but he was already 30 minutes late to practice. “im laughing because you’re just too cute baby , whine and throwing a tantrum because i wont fuck you again , even though i just made you cum three times.”

“but im still horny.” you said sitting up on your knees. “please , just once more.” you pouted. “and then you’re free to go.” you said , pulling at his belt loop. “you’re crazy.” he said , his lips barely brushing against yours. “for you yes.” he giggled , time long forgotten. “you what baby fuck it , lay back.” he said , hovering above you. “i can’t leave my girl all needy and this wet for me can i , what kinda boyfriend would i be?”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯. 제이 : jay ﹚ .ᐟ

sighing as you rub his shoulders; he knows what you’re trying to do. “what if you’re just 20 minutes late?” you purr into his ear. “what can it hurt?” you kissed behind his ear — you were gonna kill him in the best possible way. “because 20 minutes will turn into a hour messing around with you princess , the boys are already blowing my phone like crazy and — fuck.” he threw his head back as you kissed his neck some more. “please.” your hands working on his chest. “you know you want to.”

he couldn’t hold back anymore; turning around , hovering above you. “you’re so spoiled baby.” he said , wrapping your legs around his waist. “it’s all your fault.” you bit back playfully. “yeah?” he smirked , bring his thumb to your bottom lip. “let me take full responsibility then , fuck you the way you should be.”

﹙ 𝐢𝐯. 제이크 : jake﹚ .ᐟ

he literally has to fight himself internally to get out of the bed and leave you every morning even when you don’t have mind blowing morning sex , but it’s 100x times harder leaving out the door when you’re still begging for another round. “baby.” he whined. “i can’t i'm already late.” keep in mind he’s still hard himself and your begging isn’t doing him any good. “please jake , i need you so much.” he really needs to leave , his phone has already been blowing up.

he falls for it everytime ; the ole ‘just a kiss before you go.’ bending down to kiss you ; only for him to deepen the kiss , he can’t help it , he just loves kissing you ; it gets him all worked up. “fuck you do this all the time.” he moaned against your neck. “jake please fuck me.” you moaned… safe to say jake showed up to practice an hour late that day.

﹙ 𝐢𝐯. 성훈 : sunghoon ﹚ .ᐟ

his shirt isn’t even buttoned up; as he rushes to put his pants and shoes on. “shit im so fucking late right now.” you on the other hand; you’re up and on one already. “see so it doesn’t matter; you’re already late.” you said , he stared at you , you were the reason he was late now , you looked so good in the morning he couldn’t help himself. “we’ve been at it since early this morning , im not sure how im gonna stay awake during practice.” he said. “how are you still so fucking needy.”

“because you look good.” you smiled with a look anything but innocent. “how about you stay home then?” he scoffed. “of course you’d say that.” he said , yet he’s the one kicking his shoes off , crawling back in bed. “are you gonna call the guys and tell them you were being such a needy slut for me today that’s why i didn’t show up?” you nodded. “if you stay in this bed and fuck me all day then i’ll tell them anything.” knowing sunghoon he’s gonna definitely hold you to it.

﹙ 𝐢𝐯. 선우 : sunoo ﹚ .ᐟ

“sorry my love.” he said quickly trying to get ready while you persuade him to stay behind. “but i can’t stay any longer.” you looked so good laying in bed , but sunoo was already so late. “why.” you pouted. “i miss you already.” you said. “what about one more round , then i guess you can go and leave me here to die.” he shook his head at how dramatic you were being , but alas he couldn’t tell you no , even if jungwon was currently blowing his phone up.

“just one more okay.” he crawled back into bed with you. “then i really have to go my love.” he kissed both sides of your cheeks. “so pretty.” he whispered , grinding his lower region against yours. “how can i ever say no to you.”

©️LUVYENI

[bogboy420]

fr im legit considering getting a typewriter

tbh w all the algorithms and ads and subscription fees and ai bullshit i genuinely find myself abandoning newer forms of technology more and more in favour of smth more analogue, like not entirely, i'll still use newer tech when it's useful 4 me especially w my disabilities but tbh i feel like the internet as it is rn is genuinely so inaccessible already and becoming moreso as companies carve out features 2 make us pay more money 4 them

on top of that the fact that my brain has no attention span which is not the fault of technology im just neurodivergent but damn does modern tech love 2 prey on that shit, like more and more im finding that this idea of "everything on 1 device" that these companies use as a selling point is honestly more of a hindrance bc of my low attention span, i just end up spending hours on my tablet and then not getting anything done bc everything is on there but nothing is on there in a way where i can rly focus on it, idk sometimes i wonder how much of that was intentional? like if the point was 2 get ppl hooked on smart phones and tablets while feeling like they r not getting anything done, thus making them sad and spending more time scrolling,,,

ik this isn't every1's experience but 4 me it's enough that im genuinely trying 2 make some changes 2 how i approach new tech and again 2 b clear im not saying all new tech bad and all old tech good, it's not that simple but 4 me i find that especially having smth like that right up near my face is rly bad 4 that bc it makes me pay less attention 2 my surroundings so im not looking at all the stuff around me, this has in my life at least lead 2 my surroundings gradually getting more cluttered ect but also i find having a smart tv helpful bc while yes it has a bunch of stuff on it it's all just watching tv stuff, it's not trying 2 b literally everything at once, and it's not right in my face it's across the room from me so i can still very clearly c my surroundings, i use consoles exclusively 4 video games now instead of pc like i used 2 use bc i don't like the stress of troubleshooting pcs but also bc w a pc it's more in ur face? even when i tried hooking up my pc 2 a tv it didn't rly work as well since i still needed 2 use a mouse and keyboard and that doesn't rly work very well w how my hands r especially when im trying 2 relax

4 music im trying out switching over 2 cassette tapes since i can record stuff onto them if i figure out how 2 do it right and then i don't need 2 hav a bright screen in my face when i wanna listen 2 music i can just switch out the cassette, thinking of mayb doing that 4 audio books as well

4 writing i am genuinely considering getting a typewriter since it would mean smth that isn't a bright screen and i could set it up on a desk in a specific corner of the house that could b just 4 my writing

4 having video games on the go atm im using a tamagotchi uni but i basically only use it when ik im gonna hav a doctors appointment and im gonna b stuck in a waiting room, i then just play the mini games on that and i find that they r good since they r low stakes so i don't feel stressed abt putting it down when the appointment starts

and like, idk while ik op was joking and it was very funny 4 me at least it can b helpful 2 know that there's a way of trying 2 cut out some of the more harmful parts of technology w/out abandoning technology completely, i think it's nice how embracing older technology is becoming more normalised and also how it's becoming more normalised 2 cut out technology that is harmful 4 u as an individual while still using technology that is helpful 4 u as an individual,,, even tho tech companies try rly hard 2 bury any alternatives 2 the tech they want u 2 buy

idk late night disabled ranting from me ig

"We have a new AI feature!" "With the power of AI..." "Our AI..."

I am going to abandon technology and start only inscribing things on clay tablets

[bambi-lamb]

getting into trouble

Summary: Dating Wanda is always getting you into trouble—not the bad kind, mind you. After all, Mommy Wanda is always so loving, honey-sweet words tumbling past her lips even as her hands roam freely—but that's where the trouble lies, with reassurances murmured into your ear while she wrings orgasm after orgasm out of you.

Tags: wanda maximoff x f!reader, 18+, smut, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, oral sex, cunnilingus, fingering, mommy kink

WC: 1,365

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY LIZZIE OLSEN!! also, detka = baby. hope y'all enjoy this one as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

It always starts out the same way. Well, actually, scratch that. It never really starts the same way, but it always ends up producing the same result.

That is to say, Wanda Maximoff is possibly a danger to society—definitely a danger to your sanity and composure.

Of course, there's nothing all that special about the day that leads up to this moment. It's been a good day, and Wanda came home from work even-tempered and content, especially upon learning that you had already made dinner.

After dinner is when the trouble starts.

It's always an innocent invitation and a soft smile that get you into the same old situation. You end up on the couch, watching an old sitcom or a modern rom-com with Wanda. It's her favorite way to unwind, and, unbeknownst to her, despite your pretense of reluctance, her taste in films and TV shows is growing on you.

She picks The Proposal, one of her all-time favorites, for tonight. You end up nestled in her side, leaning into her shoulder and breathing in the smell of vanilla as Wanda watches the flickering screen.

Soon enough, her hands begin to stray, and that's the hidden danger behind cuddling up to Wanda Maximoff. She always starts soft and gentle, her calm demeanor masking a darker desire. Her hand lands on your hip, thumb rubbing comforting circles over your skin. Eventually, always without you noticing or realizing, her hand ends up nudged between your legs, pinky creeping up toward the apex of your thighs.

"Wan…"

"Shh, my love. I just want to feel how soft you are. I promise. That's all," she reassures, cooing softly down at you.

Never once has she kept that promise.

Her hand always manages to slip up and over the edge of your waistband, fingertips trailing over your skin until she's managed to work her index and middle finger down into your panties and over your sticky cunt.

And that's when she's really caught you. She knows you can't stand being teased, can't ever handle the thought of her pulling away after working you up. And that's how it goes every single time.

"Mommy… please." With tears welling in your eyes, you plead with her, already desperate for more.

And that's when Wanda knows she has you, knows with full confidence that there's nothing you wouldn't do now to come around her fingers, on her tongue, any which way she wants.

"Yes, detka? What do you need?" Caring and cruel all in one.

"Need more," you can't help but beg, and the trap snaps shut.

"My darling girl," she always coos, fingers rough where they're pressed to your clit, rubbing in tight, sharp circles until you're digging your heels into the couch cushions and tipping your head back to whine to the heavens.

"So lovely for me like this, detka." Satisfaction oozing from her voice when you shiver apart in the first orgasm of the night.

And when you inevitably whine at the overstimulation, she retreats, softly pulling away and promising she'll just be a moment, she just wants to clean you up is all. Wanda likes to slide to kneel as gracefully as possible, floating down between your legs before pulling your pants and underwear down to join her on the floor.

"Just relax for me, pretty girl," she murmurs, and even though you know what's coming next, you always listen, melting back into the couch cushions as she leans in for a taste.

She's not wrong, at least not at first. Her mouth is always gentle, careful. In the beginning, anyway. She's slow and cautious, lapping steadily over your leaking cunt until you're keening high into the air. But she never stops. She just keeps her hands on your thighs, pinning you down even as you try to squirm away from her overzealous tongue.

"Oh, detka, just a little more, hm? Be good for mommy."

And you always want to make mommy happy, but your nerves are sparkling with stimulation, glittering with overwhelming pleasure.

"Mommy, please," begging for her to stop, begging for more. It doesn't matter.

"I've got you, sweet girl."

Even as she murmurs sweet nothings against your clit, teeth grazing softly over raw nerves, she doesn't stop. She keeps her voice low and steady, even as she presses the length of her tongue into you, hands firm when she helps you rock your hips forward and down onto her face.

"Just let mommy make you feel good, detka."

The second orgasm never comes easily, but she refuses to stop until she gets it. Her tongue is a desperate, fierce thing, lethal in her efforts to make you come again. Even as the pain of overstimulation bleeds back into euphoria, you can't stop squirming, wriggling in her grasp. But Wanda is nothing if not thorough, and she remains steadfast, fingers digging into your hips as she moans into your cunt.

"You always taste so good, pretty girl. Why don't you come for mommy, hm? Be a good girl and come."

You're always shivering, twitching uncontrolled as she rolls your hips down against the flat of her tongue, as she seals her mouth over your clit, sucking so hard you nearly black out, eyes wide as she drinks in the sight of you falling apart again. She always moans when she tastes you gushing into her mouth, and then it's back to kitten licks and soothing assurances that she's just going to clean you up.

For your third orgasm, sometimes she uses her mouth again. Plenty of times, she eats you out for hours on the couch. If it's a weekend, she'll keep you up until the sun peeks over the horizon. On weekdays, like tonight, she likes to feel you around her fingers, likes to wring out at least another two or three shattering, world-ending orgasms until you're convinced you won't be able to stand up tomorrow morning.

Again, it's always a careful, gentle build-up. She leans up for a kiss, switching her mouth out for her fingers, soft and sweet where they dip just at the opening of your cunt.

"Just want to feel how warm you are, detka," she soothes.

"You're so lovely like this, I just can't help myself," she excuses, just before she stuffs you with two fingers, curling them cruelly, battering the sensitive spot just behind your belly. When you curl in on yourself, whimpering and whining as your nerve endings burn themselves raw, she just murmurs sweet nothings against your neck, lips mouthing softly at already-bruising skin.

"Come for me, detka, just one more, yeah? Just one more, my love," she murmurs, thumb rubbing your clit raw as she stretches you open. With your nerve endings screaming at the unrelenting overstimulation, you give in to her, crashing and burning with another orgasm as she scissors her fingers open, an edge of a grin at the corner of her mouth even as she whispers into your ear.

"Oh, my sweet girl, my darling, you've been so good for mommy," even as her fingers continue thrusting, rough and unyielding where they coax yet another orgasm out of your ruined cunt.

"You have another for mommy, don't you? Just one more, detka," she murmurs, offering it up like a fair trade, sounding more and more reasonable with every passing moment that her fingers fuck into you.

And if you ever whine, a complaint of too much, she pulls away gracefully, offering soft apologies as she slides to her knees yet again. "It's alright"s and "just let mommy clean you up"s sweet on her tongue as she spreads your thighs open yet again.

Her promises are nothing more than empty words, a fact both of you are well aware of. Yet, when Wanda murmurs her nonsensical, hollow oaths against your feverish skin, it feels like something forever-binding, holy and intangible.

When you come crashing down to earth under the hold of an all-too-real orgasm—again and again and again—you can never bring yourself to hold it against her. After all, you've always had a knack for getting yourself in trouble. And if it makes Wanda happy, well, that's worth all the trouble in the world.

[missdynamighttt]

acidentally snooping on bf! katsuki's phone and seeing something... kinky.

you were just on katsuki’s phone, playing subway surfers. you honestly didn’t even remember because the moment you accidentally swiped to his notes app, your eyes landed on a particular note titled “shit to try w/ her” and curiosity got the best of you.

at first, you thought it was something mundane—maybe new date ideas, training routines, or even a new recipes. but as soon as you opened it, your face went hot.

because it was a list. a very detailed list of all the filthy things katsuki wanted to do to you. some of it was stuff you’d already done—rougher, filthier things that had you squeezing your thighs together just remembering them. but then there were the others. the things he clearly hadn’t brought up yet.

shit to try w/ her

- overstimulating her (worse than usual. she looks so pretty when she cries on my dick)

- mirror sex while making her watch (want her to see how fuckin’ pretty she looks fallin’ apart.)

- recording it (for us only).

- thigh riding while i just sit back and watch (bet she'd whine so fuckin pretty too)

- more praise. (she likes that. she gets all shy. cute as fuck.)

- see how many times i can make her come in a single night.

your eyes widened at that last one. oh.

you kept scrolling, your thighs pressing together involuntarily. you knew katsuki was a freak, but seeing it written out like this, with all the little notes and thoughts he’d clearly been holding onto—made your breath hitch.

this was… a lot. not that you were opposed to most of it, but the fact that katsuki was sitting on this list, keeping it to himself, planning? that was almost hotter than the list itself.

you were still staring at the screen when you heard the bathroom door open. before you could react, a shadow loomed over you.

“the fuck you doin’?” katsuki’s voice was gruff, but he sounded relaxed—like he was toweling off his hair as he walked into the room.

you scrambled to lock his phone, but it was too late. the second he saw the look on your face, the way you were gripping his phone like you’d just uncovered a government secret, his eyes narrowed.

“…what did you see?” his voice was cautious now, tinged with suspicion.

you slowly turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “me? what are you doing making a list of all the filthy things you wanna do to me?”

katsuki froze .a slow, deep flush crept up his neck, spreading to his ears. his jaw clenched, his hands twitching at his sides like he wasn’t sure if he should snatch his phone away or act like nothing happened.

“…you weren’t supposed to see that.”

your smirk widened. “oh? and when was i supposed to?”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “dunno. when i fuckin’ brought it up.”

you leaned in, voice teasing. “well, damn. didn’t know you had all these filthy little fantasies about me.”

“shut up,” katsuki sputtered, face burning, his hand swiping for the phone. he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “fuckin’ kill me.”

you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “y’know, all you had to do was ask, baby.”

his fingers dug into your waist, his jaw clenching. “don’t—”

“i can’t believe you wrote it all down,” you teased breathlessly. “you’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.”

katsuki groaned, muffled against your neck. “i’m gonna kill you. you keep runnin’ that mouth, and i’ll start checkin’ shit off that list right now."

you bit your lip, feeling bolder. “you know… we could. cross something off the list.”

his eyes snapped to yours, darkening in an instant.

“…get on the bed.”

and then, without another word, he crushed his lips against yours and, well—you did end up checking something off that list that night. particularly, the last one.

you lost count somewhere after the third orgasm, but katsuki didn’t. oh no, he kept track. every time your body seized up, every time you sobbed his name, every time you gasped that you couldn’t take anymore—he whispered the number into your ear like a reminder.

“four,” he’d growled, dragging his thumb over your swollen clit. “look at you, fuckin’ cryin’ for me.”

“five,” he rasped later, his grip on your thighs tightening when you tried to squirm away. “told ya you could give me more.”

by the last one, your body was boneless, your voice gone, and your mind a hazy blur of pleasure. katsuki finally relented, collapsing beside you and pulling you into his chest.

you felt his lips press against your temple, his breathing uneven as he whispered, “fuckin’ champ.”

the morning after, you were sprawled across katsuki’s chest, his arm draped lazily around your waist as the sun peeked through the curtains. your entire body ached in the best way possible.

you groaned softly, shifting to get more comfortable, and his chest rumbled with a low chuckle, his fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare back. "you alive?"

"barely," you mumbled into his chest. "my legs hate you."

he chuckled, the sound vibrating beneath your cheek. "told ya you could take it."

you huffed a laugh, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. his crimson eyes were soft in the morning light, the usual sharpness replaced with warmth—and just a hint of smug pride.

“well, i didn’t know you were gonna go for the damn world record,” you teased. “how many times was it?”

his smirk deepened. “seven.”

your jaw dropped. “seven?”

“mhm,” he squeezed your waist. “you were real fuckin’ cute, too. cryin’, beggin’, squeezin’ me like that. thought you were gonna pass out on number six.”

your cheeks burned. “oh my god, stop.”

“why? can’t handle hearin’ how fuckin’ pretty you were last night?”

you covered your face with your hands, groaning. but katsuki was having none of it—he pried your hands away and pinned them to the mattress, leaning down until his lips brushed yours.

“seven,” he repeated against your mouth, grinning when you squirmed beneath him. “and next time? we’re goin’ for eight.”

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

[covenofagatha]

Four times Agatha fails at cockwarming (and one time she doesn't)

The Third Attempt

Based on the third part of this brainworm

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: g!p Agatha, cockwarming, breeding kink, spanking, jealousy, bratty!reader, light degradation, mommy kink

When Agatha comes downstairs in the morning the next weekend, wearing a purple crewneck and gray sweatpants with loose hair, you’re already awake and doing yoga in the living room in nothing but a bra and underwear. 

She takes one look at you and snorts, already in tune with the game you’re trying to play. “What happened to wearing clothes while working out?” 

You shoot her an impish wink from a tree pose. “Didn’t you hear, mommy? Clothes are so restrictive, especially for yoga. You want to have a full range of motion so you can bend any way you want.” Your voice drops suggestively low and she squints and nods like you’re making perfect sense. 

“Of course, why didn’t I think of that?” 

Shrugging, you put your foot down and shake out your aching limbs. You haven’t done yoga in months, but you just felt in the mood for something different. Absolutely no ulterior motives whatsoever. “I would’ve done it completely naked, but that would’ve been indecent.” 

Agatha actually laughs. “You—indecent? Never, honey.” You blow her a kiss as you assume warrior pose and she walks into the kitchen and you hear her pouring herself a cup of coffee. 

She walks back in and takes a seat on the couch, slurping from her mug and watching you with scrutinizing eyes. 

“Want to join?” you ask, a little out of breath when you finally sit down and bend your knees, pushing the soles of your feet together in the butterfly pose. Coincidentally, also giving her a perfect view of the already-wet gusset of your underwear. Even the mere sight of her is enough to get you turned on.

Agatha shifts on the couch before shaking her head. “I’m good to just watch.” 

You smirk and lay on your back, legs bent in the air, and you grip your ankles in the happy baby pose. She chokes on her coffee. “Babe, can you help me for a second? I think I need to get into more of a stretch.” 

“It looks good to me,” she says, voice taut, and you have to bite on your lip to stop from laughing before fixing your face into a pleading look. 

“Please? I can barely feel anything. And if I can’t feel it, that means I’m not going to make any progress,” you pout. She raises an eyebrow. You both know you’re not trying to progress to anything in yoga and you’re just trying to tease her. 

Because even after Agatha fucking you every single day this past week, you’re still insatiable and your need to be a brat will always prevail. 

So she sighs and slinks off the couch, crawling over to you on her knees and putting her hands on the underside of your thighs, keeping her body a safe difference from yours. “Is this okay?” she murmurs and gently pushes your legs up more. You notice the pointed effort she’s making to not look down at your covered cunt that is positioned right toward her face. 

“I think I need to have a deeper stretch,” you say and yank her closer by the collar of her crewneck. Her hands let go of your legs in surprise and catch herself on the floor, her face above yours and her bulge now positioned right against your pussy. She sucks in air quickly and moves to pull away, but you lock your legs around her back, crossing your ankles. “There we go.” 

“I somehow doubt this is proper form,” she rasps, her gaze darting from your eyes to your lips and then back up. 

You raise your hips gently and smirk. “What do you mean? Doesn’t it feel good, mommy? This is what yoga��s all about.” 

Her jaw clenches and her cock twitches against you. “Oh, yeah? Yoga’s all about being a needy slut?” You gasp, heat tearing through you, and you grind up again before nodding with a grin. 

“Exactly.” You peck her lips with yours. “Now it’s time for child’s pose.” You push her off you and she clears her throat before giving her cock a quick stroke through her sweats. You turn over onto your hands and knees, giving her a perfect view of your ass. She sharply inhales and you smirk to yourself before sitting back on your heels and extending your arms out. 

It does actually feel really good and you can’t help but wonder how it would feel for Agatha to fuck you like this. You might not have to wait long to find out, judging by how easily affected she is. 

“Agatha, can you?” you prompt and she tentatively reaches out to cup your asscheeks with both hands and rock you forward. Her labored breathing echoes through the room. “Not like that. Like, lay on me. It’s the only way you’re really going to be able to help.”

She grumbles something unintelligible, probably about how full of it you are, before you hear her scooch forward and then her weight drapes on top of you. Her loose hair spills down and tickles your cheek and her cock is pushed into the cleft of your ass. You sway your hips from side to side, enjoying the whimper in your ear.  

Then you clench your cunt around nothing and she moans—heat spreads through you and pools in your underwear because you didn’t think she’d actually be able to feel it. 

“Mommy,” you admonish, just because you want to push her further, “I’m just trying to get a good workout in and you’re trying to distract me by pressing your hard cock against me like that. Now who’s the indecent one?”

You can practically hear her roll her eyes before she growls, “How many times do I have to fuck you speechless before you learn to stop being bratty?” 

Chuckling, you rise back to your hands and knees, moving Agatha with you as well, and you feel her cock throb. “Time for cat-cows.” 

Before she can ask what that is, you arch your back and look up to the ceiling, pause for a quick breath, and then round your back out, tuck your chin inwards, and look towards your belly button. You repeat the motion over and over, essentially twerking your cunt against her throbbing cock until she grabs onto your hips with a steel-like grip. 

“I think you’ve got it from here,” she gasps, pats your ass, and then stands back up. You turn over so you’re sitting on the mat and you watch her limp back over to the couch before starting to look for something. 

Your brows furrow as she digs through the pillows before she whirls around to you. Her cock is prominent through her gray pants and you can actually see the outlines of the veins because of how hard she’s straining. Your mouth waters—you want her cock in your mouth right now.

“Have you seen my phone?” Agatha asks, breaking you out of your horny stupor. You shake your head. You’re not even sure you saw her bring it downstairs. “Can you call it?” 

Grabbing your phone off the coffee table, you hold down the side button and make eye contact with her, a wicked grin on your face. “Call mommy,” you say. 

She scoffs. “Yeah, right, that’s not my contact. You have a job, what if I called—” 

“Calling mommy,” Siri says and then there’s a ringing noise from the kitchen. You wink smugly at her stunned face. Obviously you have to be very careful when checking your phone at work and you’ve definitely come close to an embarrassing moment a few times, but this was so worth it. 

Agatha swallows before going to get her phone and when she comes back, she’s scrolling on it with a frown. 

“Everything okay?” you ask, still on your spot on the ground. 

She purses her lips and looks up to you. “You know that annual teacher thing we do?” You nod. Each year, the school Agatha works at does a gala for all the staff—super fancy, great food, even an auction. You’ve gone to the last three of them with her and you always have a fun time for the most part. “I completely forgot it’s tomorrow afternoon. You don’t have to come if you’re busy or working or doing more yoga.” 

You laugh sarcastically before standing up and wrapping your arms around your middle and pushing your tits up and together so she gulps. “Will Rio be there?” you ask cautiously and she gives you a stern look. 

Rio Vidal is the Biology teacher and you are absolutely convinced she has a crush on your wife. Every gala you’ve been to, Rio has found a way to steal Agatha away from you for at least half an hour and you see the way Rio looks at her. 

“Yes, Rio will be there,” Agatha sighs. “And for the last time—” 

“What about Wanda?” you interrupt and Agatha’s gaze narrows. Two can play this game and you know exactly the right buttons to push. “You know, the English teacher, the one with the red hair and the green eyes who always wears the most beautiful outfits?” 

She nods curtly. “Why do you care if she’ll be there?” 

You shrug with a simper and slowly start to sashay over to where she’s standing before perching on the edge of the couch. She arches her brow and you can see the heat in her eyes. “She’s really nice and always keeps me company when you run off with Rio, leaving me all lonely.” 

Agatha’s nose flares and the vein in her head twitches. “You need to be careful,” she seethes. 

“Or what, mommy? Going to punish me?” You pout mockingly, knowing you have her right where you want her. “Remember what happened the last two times you tried to cockwarm me? I bet if Wanda had a cock, she wouldn’t blow her load before she even got inside me.” 

Her growl is animalistic and you think you may have crossed a line before she grabs onto your wrists, pulls you up, and then spins you around and bends you over the side of the couch. “You are such a brat,” she says and roughly spanks you, making you moan loudly. 

“Fuck, mommy.” 

She slaps your ass again and your hips jerk forward against the couch, your clit pulsing. “Tell me who you belong to,” she demands and you shake your head. You want her to make you say it. 

Agatha chuckles dangerously before tracing two fingers up your clothed slit and pushing the soaked fabric into you. You groan and arch your back for just a bit more stimulation. 

But then she spanks you again and you jump. “First, you rub yourself all over me while you’re doing yoga like a slut. And then you try to make me jealous? God, you’re really just asking for it, aren’t you, honey?” 

You look over your shoulder at her and bite your lip with big, doe eyes: the picture of innocence. “Asking for what?” 

She scoffs and runs her tongue against her bottom lip before spanking both asscheeks simultaneously. “Who do you belong to?” Your head drops down with a groan. 

“Please, mommy, I need you,” you whine. Another spank. Your cunt is throbbing right now, absolutely aching for her cock. “I need you to fuck me so bad right now.” 

Agatha soothes your raw skin. “I know, honey. I’ll give you what you want if you just tell me. Or else, I’ll just have to get creative.” 

The promise makes you perk up. Your wife loves to get creative—and it can either be heaven or hell for you. The time she made you ride her while holding a vibrator to your clit until you squirted all over her was one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had. Making you wear a vibrator and edging you over ten times in public and then not letting you cum until the next day was tortuous. 

“Creative, how?” you ask and she spanks you even rougher than the ones before, making you yelp. Heat has flushed through you and your breathing is heavy—you know you won’t last long no matter what she does. 

She hums, rubbing your ass while thinking about it. “Maybe I’ll just tie you to the bed and not touch you for the rest of the day.”

“Why don’t you show me that you can cockwarm me?” you suggest, voice thick with desire. You would do anything to get her inside your empty pussy right now. She spanks you one last time before grabbing you by the scruff of your neck and pulling you up. 

“Tell me who you belong to and I will,” she says lowly and you don’t have it in you to resist anymore. 

“I’m yours, mommy, I’m all yours—please, I need you so bad,” you pant and she nods in satisfaction before ordering you to get upstairs. Your panties cling to you with every step that you take and her footsteps echo behind you all the way to your bedroom. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, chewing on your bottom lip, while Agatha strips off her crewneck, sweatpants, and boxers. Her cock is, no surprise, pointing right at you, hard, red, and leaking precum onto the floor. She gives herself a quick stroke and then freezes—you think she might lose it right then and there, but she doesn’t. You let out a breath of relief. It would’ve been slightly disappointing to have her not even get inside you again. 

There’s something about the pressure of cockwarming that really gets to her. Every other time she has no problem fucking you. 

Or maybe it’s because of the incessant teasing you give her that has consistently been proceeding it. 

“Mommy,” you whine and she snorts before stalking over to you. Agatha stands over you and cups your cheek gently before roughly shoving two fingers into your mouth. You gag around them and she begins to fuck your mouth, her cock twitching and weeping onto your legs. 

She pulls out and smears your saliva all over your face before climbing onto the bed and sitting next to you. She nods and you straddle her, your covered cunt finally against her bare cock and you moan at the heat radiating from it. 

Agatha’s arms wrap around your back to unclasp your bra and then she slides it down your arms and throws it somewhere in the room. She reaches down to move your underwear to the side and slides her fingers through your wet folds and she tosses her head back when your wetness drips onto her cock. 

She rubs your clit but you’re done waiting—you push her down so her back is on the bed and then position your entrance at the tip of her cock before sheathing her inside you in one motion. You say a silent prayer that she doesn’t cum. 

You both groan and your eyes close, her cock filling you deliciously. Agatha bucks beneath you, but she doesn’t lose control. 

“I’m impressed,” you tease and she thrusts sharply into you before she realizes that it only makes it harder for her too. The stretch is satiating the ache, but you need so much more, so you begin to rock back and forth slowly. 

Agatha’s hands shoot out and grab your waist, stilling you. “This is your punishment,” she grits out. “Don’t move.” You pout but obey, the hunger in your cunt coming back with a vengeance. She’s so deep inside you, the tip of her cock resting against your g-spot, and tears prick your eyes with how it feels. 

So it’s really not your fault when you can’t help but start to rut occasionally and she whimpers, nails digging into your skin. Her face has turned red, her mouth is open and panting, her eyes are dark and pleading. 

“Mommy,” you say slowly and she whimpers. As hard as this is for you, it looks like it’s even worse for her. “Please? Can you please fuck me?” 

She shakes her head with a muffled, pained grunt. “Not until you learn your lesson.” 

If the lesson is that your wife is less composed than a horny teenager when it comes to you and your cunt, you think it’s safe to say that you’ve learned it. She’s going crazy right now—and all you have to do is turn the tables a little. 

“I’m yours, mommy,” you say breathlessly and start to grind. Her eyes go wide and you coax your own nipples to hardness with your fingers. She instinctively thrusts up into you and you moan loudly. Her hair is sprawled out beneath her and she looks like she might cry. “These tits? All yours.” You slide a hand up to trace your lips and then suck on two fingers like she made you do earlier. “This mouth? All yours.” 

The muscles in her neck are taut and she’s making even more sounds, especially when you clench around her cock to accentuate your words. 

You reach between your bodies and rub your clit. “This cunt? All yours.” You make sure to press your wet fingers against her cock as you roll your hips and she bucks again. 

“Honey, honey, please,” Agatha begs, a slight sheen of sweat breaking out on her chest, “you need to stop. Stop moving. Please, I can’t—” 

You brush your hand against her nipple and she cuts herself off with a loud groan. “Come on, mommy. It’s okay. You can just give in and fuck me.” 

She shakes her head and screws her eyes shut tightly when you lift yourself up and then drop down on her cock. “Honey,” she pleads quietly and she throbs inside you. 

Leaning down, you start to pepper kisses along her collarbone and chest. “I know you need to fill me up, right? You need to breed me?” 

Agatha whimpers like she’s been wounded and her cock twitches violently. You slowly inch up, feeling her veins drag against every ridge inside you and then you drop down fast and she keens, her back arching off the bed. You’re still very impressed that she hasn’t cum yet and you’re getting close as well. 

“Baby, please,” she whispers, hands grappling at your waist to try and hold you still again, but it’s weak and you keep steadily riding her, “this isn’t even cockwarming.” 

You muse on that and then stop, opting to just clench around her and she groans. Both of you know that you don’t need to be moving to make her cum. You swirl your tongue around her nipple and tug on it with your teeth and she squirms and breathes louder. “I need you to fill me up, mommy,” you whine and she sobs before bucking up just once. “I need you to breed me. Need you to breed my hot, wet cunt that’s all yours. It was made for you, mommy—I was made for you.” 

“Oh, fuck—honey, fuck,” she babbles and her cock swells. A thrill runs through you and you clench involuntarily. “Gonna breed you, mommy’s gonna fill you up, you’re gonna be so full of me.”

Tension builds in your lower back and you decide to give her what she needs. “Cum for me, mommy,” you say hoarsely, rocking your hips and scraping your teeth against her breast and her cock throbs before she lets out a long, guttural cry of relief and you feel her hot seed paint your walls white. 

She flips you onto your back so she’s on top and starts thrusting wildly into you through her orgasm, finding your clit and rubbing it while she sucks on your nipple, and you can feel her cum being pumped into you and then leaking out. 

“Fuck, mommy,” you whine and she’s getting softer but she doesn’t stop until you cum too, adding to the mix of fluids seeping out of your cunt and onto the bed. 

Agatha collapses on top of you, pressing kisses to your sweaty forehead and then she finds your mouth and she tugs on your bottom lip. Your limbs are entangled and both of you are sticky now, but you lay like that for a few minutes, just soaking each other in until she finally sits up and pulls out of you. There’s a gush of cum from your pussy and you weakly hump up against nothing when you watch Agatha’s cock twitch. 

“Little Aggie did such a great job making it that long,” you mumble, still slightly delirious from your intense orgasm. 

Your wife chokes and looks down, flabbergasted. “What did you just call my cock?” 

You giggle. “You don’t like it? I think it’s cute.”  

“Little Aggie? She’s not even little,” Agatha scoffs. “And I’d like to point out that if you had actually cockwarmed me correctly instead of moving around and talking, I would’ve lasted even longer.” 

“Pfft,” you wave dismissively. “Please, you never stood a chance, you can’t blame that on me. Not my fault you’re too desperate for me.” 

She leans in to kiss you, long and slow. “It’s all your fault.” 

“You know what?” you ask, breaking away and resting your forehead against hers. “I think I’ll take full responsibility for that. And don’t worry about failing again. There’s always next time.” 

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1 @loneliestafterparty

[walnutbun]

OK so here's my take on this.

I can understand people who voted for Trump in 2016. I can even forgive voting for him in 2020, before the insurrection attempt. What I can't forgive or understand is voting for him in 2024, after the blatant insurrection attempt which only failed because his sycophants are even more incompetent than he is.

This man literally refused to acknowledge the legitimate results of a democratic election (and continues to do so to this day), ordered a massive group of his supporters to march on the Capitol building, did nothing while those supporters broke into said Capitol building for the express stated purpose of terrorizing elected representatives into overturning the results of a democratic election, and only backed down even slightly when he was banned from Twitter.

Anyone who supported him after that is a threat to everyone. Not just the country, or democracy, but everyone. I don't care how bad they thought Biden was, or how bad they thought the economy was, or about all the bullshit that idiots like Ben Shapiro vomited into their mouths - they voted for a literal terrorist. This man committed high treason. There is a convicted felon in office now because of them, and he's already causing insane amounts of chaos. It hasn't even been a fucking month.

On top of that, we literally spent the better part of a decade spelling out exactly what problems he caused and what problems he will continue to cause, and they didn't fucking listen. And don't give me the whole "well they just didn't see it" shit - they had to actively avoid looking. This goes beyond just willful ignorance - they're actively hostile towards the truth.

The only reason that any of these people care now is that they're hurting. They didn't care when he was hurting other people, and most of them are still 100% on board with the rest of his promises. They already gave him exactly what he wanted, and they're only upset now that he's begun to implement his campaign promises. Except they're only upset about some of his promises - the promises that negatively affect them. Hell, some of them aren't even upset about all of those, still choosing to believe that his tariff threats are just bluster, or a "negotiation tactic".

I will not - I cannot - build community with people who truly lack empathy, as these people have repeatedly demonstrated they do.

[ebodebo]

Friends Who Kiss!

with Jason Todd.

...it's okay to kiss a friend. right?

You catch a whiff of cheap beer and weed from a mile away, even before stepping into the party.

The scent hit you like a wall as the door swung open, revealing a crowd of crossfaded college students behind a plastered guy who could barely hold it together.

“Yo! Who brought the strippers?” He shouts, slurring his words, clearly trying to joke about you and your friend.

“Knock it off, dipshit,” your friend shoots back, rolling her eyes as she shoves him aside and reaches for your hand, pulling you inside behind her.

It felt oddly surreal.

You had been to countless college parties at both sororities and fraternities, yet nothing could quite prepare you for the atmosphere of this place.

To your left, a couple was grinding, nearing dry-humping, against each other on the tattered couch.

To your right, a group of friends were passing around a blunt, all while downing shots of vodka.

And ahead of you and your friend, a raucous game of strip beer pong was in full swing. 

The two guys, their competitive spirits high, were down to their boxers while the girls remained fully clothed.

Who knew that most college guys, the self-proclaimed beer pong champions, were so ass at the game?

As you approached the kitchen, the smell of stale beer and sweat hit you. "You want a drink?" Your friend chimes, her voice barely audible over the thumping bass.

Her hand was already reaching for two plastic cups and a bottle of straight Jägermeister.

"Getting straight to it, huh?" You reply, grinning as she pours a heaping shot for herself.

"Gonna need the alcohol to deal with these fucking moron guys," she laughs, automatically pouring a shot for you too.

"You know I have an eight a.m. tomorrow?" You raise an eyebrow as she slides the liquor your way.

With a smile, she takes hold of her plastic cup. "All the more reason for you to drink," she replies, her lips brushing the rim.

"You're a bad girl," you tease, a playful spark in your eye as you quickly grab the cup and bring it to your lips.

"The baddest," she purrs, and you both down the shot in unison.

The tangy citrus liquor burns as it goes down, leaving a fiery trail in its wake.

"Tastes like shit," you hiss, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as the intense aroma lingers on your tongue.

"All the booze that gets you fucked up tastes like shit," she corrects, picking up a left-out slice of lime and sucking the juice from it.

"Here," she offers you a fresh lime wedge.

You bite into the wedge, the juice washing away the harsh taste of the potent liqueur.

"Let’s pour another," your friend suggests, already reaching for the bottle of Fireball on the counter.

You roll your eyes but didn’t turn down the offer.

After all, you had been pretty good these last couple of months, only enjoying the occasional glass of wine.

As she fills the plastic cups with whiskey, the remnants of Jägermeister mingling with the liqueur, you notice some commotion by the entrance.

Your gaze drifted over to the front door, curious about the sudden influx of people that seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

"I knew you’d show up!" A guy shouted excitedly.

"Dude, you've got to try this new stuff I brought back from Ibiza!" Another one yelled.

"What’s all the fuss about over there?" Your friend remarks, Fireball dripping from her lip down to her chin in her usual carefree style.

You side-eye her, glancing at her now empty cup.

"Sorry! It was just calling to me," she says, raising her hands in mock surrender.

"It’s a liquid," you reply dryly, adding to the playful banter.

"It was!" She insists with a grin.

You roll your eyes at her playful antics and turn your attention back to the commotion, where an apparent celebrity has caught everyone’s attention.

To your surprise, it was Jason, someone you recognized well, making his way through the crowd.

Guys were clapping him on the shoulder, and girls were gazing at him as he passed by.

A truly ridiculous sight.

When his eyes locked onto yours, he veered off course and headed straight towards you and your friend.

You shook off your disbelief and chuckled as he approached.

"Ladies," he greets with a smile.

"Hi, Jason," your friend timidly greets.

"Blondie," he tips his head towards her.

"Big man on campus, huh?" You tease, a playful glint in your eye. 

He shrugs, rolling his eyes. "You know how they are."

"Thought you'd be in Gotham tonight?" You cut in before he can greet you separately, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

"Eh. Plans changed," he remarks, a sly smirk on his lips.

You pick up the plastic cup with Fireball, placing the rim on your lips. "Have they?"

"Yeah," his eyes wander to your cup. "You gonna drink that?"

"I was planning to—" You begin before Jason takes the cup and downs it in one gulp.

"Sorry. Was a little thirsty," he suspires, wiping the alcohol from his lips.

Your eyes narrow. "Yeah. I'd say so."

"Well...I'm gonna leave you too," your friend beside you says. "Nice to see you, Jason," she beams.

"Likewise," he winks at her as she walks away, almost hitting the wall. "She's cute," he remarks.

"What were your plans before you detoured here?" You ask, eyebrow raised, paying no mind to his previous comment.

"That's classified, Sweetheart," he says, his voice a mix of authority and warmth.

"Oh, right," you nod along, moving closer to him. "I almost forgot you habitually swing around Gotham at night."

"Hey, hey!" He mutters, ushering you to a nearby empty hallway. "What the hell is up with you?" Concern laces his tone.

"You totally flaked on me yesterday," you mutter, annoyance in your tone. "Had to go eat dinner with my mom alone."

"What do you—oh shit," he sighs, realization dawning on him. "That was yesterday?"

You nod. "Yeah, and you ditched me."

He runs a hand over his face, a mix of frustration and regret evident in his expression. "I'm—fuck. I'm really sorry."

There is sincerity in his tone, but you’re not ready to let him off that easily.

You wanted to bust his balls a little.

"I'm still mad at you," you say, turning your head away from him and crossing your arms.

He lets out a breathy laugh at your display. "Is that how it's gonna be?" He remarks, his voice low.

"Seems so," you reply matter-of-factly.

"That's a shame," he mutters gruffly.

You glance at him, arms still crossed. "Why's that?"

"Well…I just. Nah. Never mind," he says, raising his hands as if to shoo away the question.

You turn to face him fully. "Now you have to tell me!" You exclaim, playfully pushing his shoulder with your hand.

"I was just thinking we could, you know, do another shot?" He suggests. "Have a little fun?"

You purse your lips. "Hmm. It depends on what the shots are."

He smiles. "Whatever the hell you want."

You give him a curt nod, satisfied with his answer. "Good answer."

Grabbing him by the forearm, you pull him back to the kitchen, where you pour a mixture of whiskey, vodka, and juice into two plastic cups.

"This is gonna taste like shit," Jason groans as he peers into the cup on the counter.

"Yeah, but it's what I want," you pass him the cup, taking the other in your hand.

He rolls his eyes playfully. "Okay, okay."

You both knock back the shots simultaneously.

It tastes...well, like shit.

But, whatever.

You just wanted to get fucked up.

And maybe bust Jason's balls some more.

Only time will tell.

"We can't. We're just friends," you murmur, a hint of desperation in your voice.

You've known Jason for years, and your friendship has always been a safe haven, a place where you could be yourself without any romantic complications.

But tonight, something has changed.

"Come on, Sweetheart," Jason coaxes. "We can have fun. Can't we?"

You're struggling to understand how this unexpected turn of events has shaped your night.

You and Jason weren't even really that drunk, just tipsy.

Not slurring words or wobbly when walking, just loose lips apparently.

After that weird cocktail mix you made, you and Jason took one more shot of straight vodka, made your way to one of the rooms off the kitchen, and simply sat on the ground in front of the bed and talked.

Talked for how long?

You're not entirely sure.

But somewhere in between talking about your exam next Wednesday and Jason's nights spent as a vigilante, things became more intimate.

Because now he was trying to convince you that one kiss won't hurt.

You do want to kiss him.

Desperately actually.

But the fear of losing his friendship or changing the dynamics holds you back.

"I don't know..." You trail off as Jason's hand brushes against your cheek. "Won't it be weird after?"

"Not if we don't make it weird," he hums, eyes staring at your lips.

You release a small breath as his hand moves to cup your jaw.

"You tell me no if you don't want to," his voice is serious, and his eyes lock with yours.

You nod, teeth digging into your lip. "I think...just a small kiss won't hurt. Right?" You try to convince yourself as you find yourself leaning closer.

"Yeah," he says mechanically. "Small," he affirms as his lips press into yours. 

You weren't entirely sure what you expected, but, holy shit, it wasn't this. 

Your skin sizzled, and a fire ignited in your stomach. 

His lips were so soft against yours. 

Although it was meant to be a brief kiss, just a fleeting moment of connection you both knew you shouldn't indulge in, the pull was too strong and the desire too intense to resist. 

It was a battle you were losing, and you didn't even want to win. 

Your lips moved in perfect sync. 

Why the hell would you want to stop that?

You placed your hand gently on his jaw, drawing him closer and deepening the kiss.

A soft groan escapes from him, and you catch it in your mouth, causing you to whimper.

Jason can't help it.

The soft sounds you were making were slowly driving him up the wall.

His hands moved to grip your waist, pulling you onto him so you straddle him.

You never stop kissing him.

Not even to complain about him moving you onto his lap.

You can't even find it in you to be bothered.

Your hands are moving through his hair, as his messily skim over your hips, occasionally squeezing your ass.

"Can’t believe I waited so long to kiss you," he whispers against your lips.

"Feels so good."

A soft moan escapes your lips at his compliment, and you can feel a wave of tingles spreading over your skin.

"Yeah?" You murmur, your teeth playfully nibbling at his bottom lip.

"Oh fuck," he mumbles, fingers digging into your waist. 

His heavy-lidded gaze catches yours. "Yeah, feels so good, Baby."

You let out a soft breath in response to his endearing words. "Should we...stop?" you ask hesitantly, your fingers gently running through his hair.

Internally, hoping he says no.

“No, Sweetheart,” he replies softly, his gaze fixed on your lips with undeniable fascination. “Unless you want to.”

Just as you’re about to respond, a loud banging on the door startles both you and Jason.

"Occupied!" You shout back, turning towards the door.

You shift your focus back to Jason's eyes, and in that moment, something pulls you back into reality.

"Oh, fuck," you exclaim, shifting off his lap and settling onto the carpet beside him instead.

"You oka—" Jason begins, sensing your frenzy before you interrupt him.

"Oh my God. We totally just made out," your hands are anxiously gliding through your hair. "And I liked it!" 

Jason lets out a shallow laugh as his hand gently rests against your shoulder. "It's alright," he coos. “I liked it, too."

Your eyes flick to his. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, it was...really nice," he awkwardly says. 

Your lip quips at his awkwardness. "It was," you agree.

"Listen, I—" He starts to say, but is cut off once more by a notification on his phone. It’s from Barbara, alerting him about a local crime circuit in Blüdhaven.

"Shit," he curses as he moves to stand. "I'm really sorry. I have to—"

"It's okay, Jason. I get it," you say with complete assurance. "Gotta go play vigilante."

"I'm in a rush, so I'm not going to touch on that," he shoves the phone into his pocket. "Can I come by your dorm after?" He carefully asks.

"Yeah. Okay..." You nod your head, pursing your lips awkwardly.

"You're being weird about it," Jason tips his head down.

"No! No! I just...let's talk later, alright?" You exhale deeply, doing your best to suppress your shyness.

He gives a nod before leaning down to kiss your forehead, then turns and walks out of the bedroom.

As he steps out, you lean your head against the bed's edge, allowing yourself to dive deep into your thoughts.

It wouldn't be the worst if you and Jason started dating.

If that's what he wanted.

He's kind, charming, and quite attractive.

You're unsure if it's just your inebriated state of mind.

But then you remember drunk words are sober thoughts.

So, yeah…you may be totally crushing on one of your greatest friends.

There are worse things to have happened.

author’s note: sorry to tease, but writing smut is too much atm lol also tried a new format hehe i’m kind of feeling it. not proofread!

divider by @/saradika-graphics!

[scoupsakakitty]

Could you do svt finding out reader has been skipping meals while they were away on tour? Like they come back from tour and notices how the s/o is looking?? Lmk if you’re uncomfortable with that

SVT reacting to s/o losing weight/skipping meals

tw: weight loss, skipping meals

S.Coups:

His heart drops the moment he sees you. You look smaller, weaker—your usual glow dimmed. He pulls you into a tight hug, resting his chin on your head. "Did you wait until I was gone to do this to yourself?" His voice is strained, a mix of frustration and worry. He pulls back to look into your eyes. "You think I wouldn’t notice? You’re already perfect. Stop trying to fit into something that will never love you back the way I do."

Jeonghan:

He eyes you up and down, his usual playful smirk nowhere to be seen. Instead, there’s a cold seriousness in his gaze. "Y/N, be honest with me." He crosses his arms. "Did you stop eating just so you could fit some beauty standard?" His voice is sharp, but his hands are gentle when he reaches for yours. "I know how bad this industry can get, but I won’t let you do this to yourself. Not while I’m here."

Joshua:

Joshua sighs, shaking his head as he cups your face. His thumbs brush against your cheekbones, now more defined than before. "This isn't healthy, Y/N." His voice is calm but filled with concern. "You don't have to do this to be beautiful. You already are. The people who make you feel like you aren't? They’re wrong." He pulls you into his arms. "Next time, talk to me, okay? You don’t have to do this alone."

Jun:

Jun doesn’t speak right away. Instead, he sets down his bag and slowly approaches you, his gaze scanning over you carefully. "Did someone tell you to do this?" His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it. When you don’t answer, he exhales sharply. "I get it. I really do. But hurting yourself like this… it won’t make you happy." He squeezes your hand. "Please, Y/N. Let’s eat together, okay?"

Hoshi:

Hoshi pouts dramatically at first, pinching your cheek. "Where did all your energy go, huh? You look so tired…" But then, his expression shifts, eyes darkening with worry. "You were waiting for me to leave, weren’t you?" He sighs, shaking his head. "I know what it’s like to be told you have to lose weight to be accepted. But you’re not an idol, Y/N. You don’t have to go through this." He takes your hands in his. "Even if you were… I’d still tell you the same thing: you don’t have to change for anyone."

Wonwoo:

Wonwoo is quiet. Too quiet. He studies you carefully, his sharp gaze missing nothing. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft but firm. "Y/N… why?" He exhales deeply, shaking his head. "I get it. I know why you’d feel this way. But I also know it won’t bring you the happiness you’re searching for." He pulls you into his embrace. "Let me take care of you. You don’t have to do this alone."

Woozi:

Woozi’s jaw clenches the moment he sees you. His hands curl into fists at his sides before he forces himself to relax. "You think I don’t know what it’s like?" His voice is bitter. "To be told you’re not enough unless you fit a mold that someone else decided for you?" He steps closer, his gaze locking onto yours. "I won’t let you go through this alone, Y/N. I know how hard it is to fight it, but you don’t have to fight alone."

DK:

DK’s smile falters the second he takes a good look at you. His usual warmth turns into concern. "Y/N… have you been eating properly?" He already knows the answer, but he wants to hear you say it. When you look away, he gently lifts your chin. "Please don’t do this to yourself. I love you just the way you are." His voice cracks slightly. "I don’t want to see you hurting yourself over something so meaningless."

Mingyu:

Mingyu’s excitement from coming home quickly fades when he sees you. His hands instinctively reach out, brushing against your arms. "You… lost weight." His tone is careful, but his eyes are full of worry. "Did you stop eating while I was gone?" When you don’t answer, he exhales sharply. "Y/N, I love you, but I won’t pretend this is okay. You’re beautiful just the way you are. Please don’t hurt yourself like this."

The8:

His expression is unreadable, but his voice is laced with quiet disappointment. "You’re trying to fit into their beauty standards, aren’t you?" He sighs, shaking his head. "I won’t tell you that it’s easy to ignore them. But I will tell you that it’s not worth it." He gently cups your face. "You’re more than just the way you look, Y/N. Please don’t forget that."

Seungkwan:

Seungkwan is visibly upset, his usual bright energy completely gone. "Did you really wait until I was gone to do this?" His voice is uncharacteristically quiet. He swallows hard, trying to keep his emotions in check. "You think being skinnier will make you happier? That it’ll make you prettier?" He grips your hands. "You’re already the most beautiful person I know. Please don’t do this to yourself."

Vernon:

Vernon furrows his brows, staring at you for a long moment before finally speaking. "You think being thinner will make you fit in more?" He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I get it. I really do. But I also know that it’s not worth losing yourself over." He steps closer, resting a hand on your shoulder. "You’re enough, Y/N. You always have been."

Dino:

Dino immediately frowns when he sees you, his expression unreadable. "You didn’t have to do this." His voice is filled with frustration, but not at you—at the world that made you feel like you had to change. "I know how hard it is to ignore the pressure. But I wish you had talked to me before doing this to yourself." He squeezes your hand. "I don’t care what anyone else says. You’re already perfect to me."