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jedisupernova · 4 months ago

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old school love with choi seunghyun

notes minors dni contains fem reader, non idol au, seunghyun and reader are in their early twenties, always written with plus size reader in mind as i am myself but anyone can read, takes place in the late 2000s (hence the mention of specific phones, references to certain media, songs linked throughout, and party culture,) awkward yet cute first meeting, this very much slice of life, slight angst (a silly misunderstanding during the meet cute, reader brings up insecurities from not being experienced), tooth rotting fluff, a few appearances from jiyong because yes!, mentions of smoking and drinking, reader is inexperienced (never been kissed, never been confessed to; seunghyun is her first love), reader has strict parents which leads to seunghyun and reader having to sneak around, seunghyun and reader are down bad, smut (over the phone, in the car, oral f receiving, dirty talk, foreplay, p in v), and some inevitable typos.

requested? no, this is an original idea! this was initially inspired by the mention of old school love in this song by zayn. i've always heard of the concept, and this is my take on it, told through vignettes of gentle young love. please request something if you'd like, and don't hesitate to check my pinned post. i love this man tenderly. please tell me you see the vision. enjoy!

new year's eve 2007. there's still three hours to midnight, and seunghyun's wondering why he chose to wear a hoodie with long sleeves underneath to a crowded house party. luckily he's got his own corner of the compact living room, standing between two friends he hitched a ride with there—his third being the host—so he aptly distracted himself from how hot it was with their banter as best he could, laughing into his red solo cup before taking a swig of whatever concoction his friend mixed for him in the kitchen earlier tonight. he hid his soured expression over the taste well, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. seunghyun remembers asking for a rum and coke, and he can definitely taste the latter ... but he'd know his enemy smirnoff anywhere ... it was way too stuffy to move, so he humbly took the loss.

"there you fuckin' are!" seunghyun looked up to see jiyong, the one hosting who already looked as if the night had taken its toll. "holy shit, man. i've been looking everywhere for you guys!" seunghyun had to squint to hear him over the loud music. the fact there wasn't much lighting besides a few lamps and multi-colored rotating disco party lights didn't help either. "c'mon. she just got here—in the kitchen." jiyong motioned his head to the left, the trio following him into the crowd. the kitchen was much more well lit and slightly less congested, but seunghyun nonetheless had to put his weight against the fridge to grant enough room to stand comfortably. he offered a polite grin and wave to the friend group mainly comprised of women his age in front of him, the one in the middle introduced as jiyong's girlfriend. you were closest to the counter, the left of everyone, cracking open a hard seltzer you picked from the cooler stationed beside the sink. you grimaced after taking a sip, bringing the can to your eyes to see the flavor that wronged you: lime. "christ, that's horrible." you shook your head, expression soured.

seunghyun didn't overhear, because he was too busy looking over his shoulder in amazement upon hearing one of his suggestions for the party mixtape blare throughout the house. reverting his attention back with a smug grin on his face, his eyes fluttered past you tugging at the collar of your sweater, pulling at it repeatedly for what looked to be air flow. seunghyun wondered if the party felt like an oven to you, too, and if you overdressed like him, because he started fanning himself without realizing.

an hour later, he couldn't take it anymore. "be right back, i'm going out for a smoke." he told a friend sat beside him on the couch. he could not have cared less that it was below freezing outside, or that the leftovers from the snow storm three weeks ago had probably frozen over into patches of black ice littering the deck—he needed to cool off. he closed the sliding door with a relieved huff, the party now muffled. the feet of his sneakers crunched against the snow, hands pushing his hood off his head, fingers brushing through his sweaty hair. "holy shit." he muttered to himself, pulling his sleeves up to his elbows. seunghyun could see his breath when he exhaled, and goosebumps rose along his bare arms, but as far as he was concerned, he would stay out here to ring in the new year if it meant he wouldn't have to suffer a heatstroke inside. he walked to a spot behind the wooden railing framing the entirety of the deck, his hand reaching into his pocket for his marlboros. he took out a cigarette, hanging it between his lips, searching for his lighter next. it was then he looked up and saw you standing at your own spot along the railing some feet away, having looked over your shoulder to see who else had come outside.

it was too late to ignore, or act like you didn't see each other, so he did the favor of making things less awkward. or trying to, as any twenty-something year old hopes: seunghyun took the unlit cigarette out of his mouth. "hi," he spoke uncharacteristically quietly. "you're—" thank the universe he remembered her name, because the irrational nerves over making conversation were mounting quickly. "—friend, right?" you nodded. "you're jiyong's?" you asked. he smiled, nodding too. "i'm seunghyun. we met earlier, in the kitchen?" his tone asked if you remembered, his hand gesturing to the sliding door. "yes!" you responded a bit more enthusiastically than you intended to in your head, internally cringing. "i remember, i remember." you said, nodding. you didn't know what else to do. seunghyun must've felt the same, because he nodded at nothing.

you looked away from him, feeling flustered. he mimicked, hands balled up in his pockets. "you—" he cleared his throat. "you liking the party?" "hm?" you didn't expect him to continue the conversation. "yeah!" here you went again, sounding animated to the point that even he, a complete stranger, could tell you were over-compensating. "i mean," you let out a breath, shrugging your shoulders. "its okay. i don't really go to parties often, so i guess i could say i misjudged how hot it'd be to show up in a sweater with a thermal underneath." seunghyun exhaled through his nose, an upside down grin tugging at his lips. "i know." he agreed. "hot as shit in there, bro." you chuckled. "hot as shit indeed."

silence brewed. seunghyun didn't turn away, so you took it as your turn to fill the air. you pulled out the only card you had (bringing up a mutual friend,) even if he'd done so already: "how long have you—" the sudden dryness of your throat was certainly a sign from the universe to shut up, but it was too late to cut yourself off completely. you swallowed, continuing: "how long have you known jiyong?" "since we were kids. middle school, i think." seunghyun doesn't know why he implied he didn't know, because he certainly did. he also wondered why he nodded, again, at nothing. who boldfaced lied when they said your preteen years were the most awkward? because he wanted to curl into a ball right the fuck now. he was usually fine at making small talk, what was the difference now? why couldn't he stop nodding?? "how about you?" oh, great. now his voice was a noticeable octave higher, clearing his throat.

you knew what he meant. "we met each other our freshman year. she was in my first year seminar, and we kind of just clicked." "you go to school around here?" "mhm," you nodded. "the university that everyone we know goes to, it feels like." you quipped, making that upside down grin appear on his face again. "how about you?" "the community college that no one goes to." he answered, voice back to normal. "but i'm in the middle of transferring there, funnily enough." then ushered in another characteristically young adult conversation: your studies. it was standard and harmless. even so, you came across a different reason to break a sweat despite the bitter cold beginning to numb your cheeks, or the sharp, quick breaths through your periodically chattering teeth. seunghyun took a step closer to you in the midst telling an anecdote about the last exam he had before the holiday break, inadvertently putting himself in your direct line of view. you realized not only oh, wow. he's pretty tall, to yourself, lifting your head a little to look at him, but also oh, wow. he's pretty cute, when your eyes met. or when he continued looking at you, because he finished saying his piece some seconds ago, yet you hadn't said anything. the fleeting silence only made you become more flustered, really coming to terms with just how fine he is; all clashing with how you have no idea how to talk to someone this attractive.

"yeah, that sounds fucked up." you attempted to mask the fact that you did not process a word of what he just said with a chuckle, gaze lowering momentarily to your hands, tugging at your sleeves to shield them from the cold, or just to do something. the words felt foreign in your mouth��your inner monologue making you feel like you were trying too hard—though you weren't allergic to profanity whatsoever. seunghyun smirked to himself, his own gaze falling to the snowy deck, until you spoke: "i had, like, three exams all in one day—the day before break." you said, glancing up at him before chickening out, reverting back to your hands which were completely engulfed by your knit sweater. your thumb poked out of the sleeve, nail picking at a fraying thread. "i guess i'm still feeling the repercussions of it." the volume of your voice dwindled somewhat coupled your shy grin, your shoulders shrugging, looking up at him. even through his chuckle with a smile making the corners of his eyes kiss, or his affirming "its brutal. i get that.," you mentally berated yourself: holy shit, is that the best i can do? just continue talking about school? get yourself together!

the next bout of silence lasted for at most ten seconds, but with how you were scrambling, it felt like years; working against an invisible timer. unbeknownst to him, this was seunghyun's turn to look at you. the only word coming to mind was sweet. he was smart enough to put two-and-two together as to why you were, admittedly, visibly nervous as he's had a girlfriend before. he wasn't the type to use that to inflate his ego, but found it charming nonetheless. seeing the curvature of your cheeks when you looked down made his heart soften—his lips molding into that damn knowing grin—and it could've very well been the minute gust of wind, but the glint in your eyes when you looked at him, nodding politely ... he was a little taken aback. you were devastatingly adorable.

your eye caught the cigarette in his hand. "you smoke?" you blurted out without an iota of a thought, so quick that your tone was almost bland—a moment where the subconscious beat rationale. oh my god. you momentarily closed your eyes, shocked at yourself. are you kidding me? seunghyun held in a laugh, trying his best to wipe his smile off his face when you opened your eyes. you mistook it as a sign of second-hand embarrassment. "oh my god. i'm so sorry, i don't know why i said—" "—it's okay, you're good." seunghyun shook his head as further affirmation, waving his free hand. he had completely forgotten he was still holding the cigarette, anyway. "but, yeah. i do. sometimes." his face started to feel warm. not because he felt shamed, or belittled, or judged, but because he caught sight of your eyes again. he could've sworn they'd grown in the last fifteen seconds. "d—do you?" he suddenly became very aware of how deep his voice is. "my voice has always sounded like this." he explained, gesturing to his throat. he knew he was being irrational, but like you before, it was too late to cut himself off. "i'm not like—uh—dying, or anything." he brushed off with an animated chuckle.

you felt like the worst person in the world. the nervous smile on your face didn't move a millimeter. "i don't." you shook your head. "and it's okay! i didn't mean to—i like your voice." your eyes widened. seunghyun raised his eyebrows. "you do?" he couldn't hide his smile. he returned the boldness, even if yours was a slip of the mouth. "i like your face." he meant it. there isn't a timeline out there where that wouldn't be the truth. your surprised expression made him exhale through his nose, an admiring grin on his face. oh, he wanted you. flashes ran through his head: squishing what looked to be the softest cheeks in the world between his palms, pulling you close to his chest to help you warm up; pressing his cheek against yours as a makeshift heater since you've truly made him that flustered, and how you'd react upon him calling you "my girl." sure, he was moving a little quickly, considering he's just realized he never asked for your name, but that's what just crushes do. seunghyun could not help the dream-like state he entered, placing his hand on the railing, the unlit cigarette slipping from his fingers, lost in the grass below. you, on the other hand, were speechless. never before have you ever been flirted with—this was flirting, right? like, you weren't misreading anything, or making shit up? "you ... you do?"

before seunghyun could answer, the sliding door opened, the ruckus of the party no longer blocked out. "seunghyun!" it was jiyong. "it's thirty minutes 'til the ball drop. i need help setting up the champagne." jiyong saw you, nearly cowering at seunghyun's scathing look reading are you fucking serious? "m-my bad, you guys." jiyong laughed awkwardly, putting a hand up in surrender. "seunghyun, just come in whenever." the door closed, leaving you two alone again. you were sheepish out of your goddamn mind, unable to look at seunghyun, content with the fact that your eyes may just stay on the deck forever. "i meant it, by the way." you looked up. "hm?" "i like your face." seunghyun repeated. your full smile that appeared ... his knees might have buckled. "oh," a giggle left your lips. yeah, he was a goner. "thank you. i ... i like your face, too." your voice was gentle. it felt indescribable, flirting back. you weren't sure if you were doing it right, considering you were suddenly really interested in the shape of your pointer finger's nail bed right about now, thwarting this fire-pit of feelings in your chest ... to be desired, chatted up, or pursued like this ... by a fine ass man nonetheless ... after being sidelined for your whole life, watching your friends experience something you wanted so badly too. oh my goodness—maybe your friends weren't just trying to make you feel better when they told you ad nauseam that it comes when you least expect it. because out of everything, and you mean everything you expected to happen tonight, this wasn't even in the realm of the realm of the utmost realm of possibilities.

you warded off wanting to hold his hand by interlacing your fingers together. seunghyun couldn't stop the stupidly big smile stretching across his face if he tried. "cool," he said, nodding. "that's .... that's cool." his hand came up, scratching the back of his neck. "listen, i .. uh—" he gestured to the door. "i gotta go back inside and help jiyong with the—with the champagne. could i get your number? i'll call you tomorrow, if that's okay with you." "yes!" your heart stammered over how he smiled so big his eyes smiled with him. seunghyun gave you his nokia flip phone, letting you type your number in. "call yourself so you can have my number, too." said seunghyun, pulling his sleeves back down. you did so, satisfied hearing your phone ring, pulling it out of your pocket to end the call. "i never got your name." he said, putting his phone back into his pocket. when you told him, he didn't stop his inner monologue from adding his surname. call it a random impulsive thought or whatever, but he was being serious. "i'll see you inside?" he asked, halfway through walking to the door. "mhm!" you responded. "see you inside." seunghyun smiled, disappearing back into the party. you missed his fine ass already . . .

so there you were, the next evening, repeatedly glancing at your phone. you felt fine for a majority of the day; sleeping in after coming home late the night previous, treating your hovering hangover with plentiful amounts of water and falling asleep yet again, but within the first hour of fellowship of the ring (it was your first time in recent years defying your self-made new year's tradition), and hurriedly bringing your phone within eyesight if it did so much as beep. you wondered if seunghyun would actually call . . . it all seemed too good to be true . . . and you hoped that he'd just magically show up, looking over your shoulder and out the living room window for his car (did he even have one?) and walk up to your door (he hasn't the faintest clue where you live) with a bouquet of roses (he doesn't know they're your favorites. well, at least not yet) to profess his undying love to you (working on that too. the to do list is in your head). so when your phone rang after dinner, your hair still very much wet from your shower; the towel having just been thrown behind your desk chair, you momentarily froze. you grabbed your phone from your desk, confused by the unknown number. but then you recognized the area code as your own, realising that in the midst of your yearning, you completely forgot to save his number.

you pressed the answer button, bringing your phone to your ear. "hello?" "hey!" my goodness, it wasn't too good to be true. "happy new year! i wasn't able to find you after the ball dropped. so, yeah. here's me wishing you." he descended into a short, slightly nervous chuckle. he was looking for me!? oh my god!? "happy new year," you said back, closing your bedroom door. "you were looking for me? i left at around two, i think. how about you?" "five, maybe." seunghyun dodged the other question, his face already feeling warm not even a full minute in. "jiyong needed help cleaning up, and kicking people out." "five!?" you exclaimed, sitting on the edge of your bed. "and here i was, fighting sleep all day, whereas you sound unscathed." seunghyun laughed heartily. "i slept in until, like, two today. so i wouldn't say i was completely unaffected." "that's fair." you nodded, despite him not being able to see.

"how about you, hm?" he asked, voice smooth and low, even over the grainy audio. "did you sleep good?" "i did. better than usual." seunghyun smirked, fingers toying with the drawstring cords of his sweatpants. "how about you?" he heard your sweet voice ask. "i slept good, too. knowing i'd be talking to you the next day." you hid your eyes behind your palm, elbow resting atop your thigh. how you were able to get words out, you had no idea. "seunghyun," he could hear that on a loop for the rest of his life and he would die a happy man. "you can't just say shit like that." "why not?" the gentle, yet teasing lilt to his words made you feel dizzy. it was as if the universe finally aligned in your favor. what he would do to see the look on your face right now . . . "what? have you never been flirted with, or something?" he quipped playfully without much thought. "i haven't, no." you answered truthfully. "but you still can't say shit like that, seunghyun. i need a warning or something. it's like my mind stops working." you chuckled, pressing your phone to your ear like its the last thing you'll ever do.

seunghyun's eyebrows flinched in and out of a furrow. "no one's ever flirted with you? what do you mean?" the question aired out before thinking. the realised insensitivity of his words coupled with the unintended belittling tone made him backtrack almost immediately: "that was low of me to say. i'm sorry, that's my bad completely." he shook his head completely. "it's okay!" you shook your head, too. "you didn't know. it's fine." you took a breath. "but if we're being honest . . . no. i've never done anything like that before. i'm more used to seeing it happen to other people than experiencing it, if that makes sense." "it does." seunghyun was quick to affirm, nodding whilst he listening to your words carefully. "yeah," your palm slid up and down your thigh, subconsciously trying to self-sooth. "so . . . last night, when we were talking . . . i thought you were making fun of me. or pulling my leg. but then i realised my brain just wasn't letting me accept that . . . oh, this guy might think i'm cute, too." "i do. i do think that." seunghyun sat up in his bed, determined. "i would never do that. i'm not that type of guy. i don't know who you've met, or made you feel like this, but know i'm not like that."

there was a brief moment of silence from your end of the call. "are you sure you're not just saying that to me to be nice?" "of course not." he said sincerely, tone soft. "of course i'm not saying it to be nice. i mean it. i'll be honest, when i met you last night, you have some of the most kissable cheeks i've ever fucking seen." he pulled his legs up to sit criss-cross. this was serious to him. "how about when you casually mentioned you won an award for a policy paper you wrote about education? i didn't know i'd be at the same party as the future president." "oh my god!" you laughed, face feeling as if it was ablaze. "you're crazy." "look, people have decided to miss out on you, but i won't. are you free on friday? no—scratch that, we're on break until next week. are you free tomorrow?"

for the first time in your life, you didn't feel the need to convince yourself you were worthy of romance, because the universe rooted for you, too. "i am. all day." you said. "i'll take you to dinner. do you want to see a movie?" "i like them, yeah. but . . . i mean, i was watching fellowship of the ring earlier today." just say it. he's right there, on the other side of the line. just say it. ". . . but, i like talking to you. i'd—" you cleared your throat. "i'd rather do that then wait two hours to—uh—do so, if that makes sense." your palm started soothing your thigh again. seunghyun had the stupidest smile on his face. he refrained from hiding his head underneath his pillow. "but we can watch a movie! next time! if that's . . . if that's what you want!" your eyes closed in defeat, hiding your face from no one. "oh god, i'm digging myself into a hole here. i have no idea how to do this." "you're doing really well." said seunghyun. "enough to make my face feel like i have the highest fever ever." "you too." you responded sheepishly. "we'll finish fellowship of the ring on our second date. it's my favorite after return of the king, anyway." you hit the jackpot. "okay," you responded, how fucking sweet you sounded made his heart palpitate. "sounds good, seunghyun. i can't wait."

three months later, you beginning to feel those love songs you've heard all your life were onto something. something you come to terms with would pass you by as a way to cope—but here he was now, bending down onto his knee in the middle of a busy bookstore to tie your shoelace; buying the cds of your favorite artists that you mention either intentionally or off-the-cuff, downloading them to his ipod to listen in between lectures, doing coursework, or storing them into his cd wallet in the center console of his car to listen on his way to pick you up; or spending a lot of his time kissing those precious cheeks ("you're so sweet, you know that? so pretty, too." "seunghyun . . ." "see, that's what i mean.") he's a very smooth talker, doting, and affectionate. primarily because he cannot get enough of the look on your face whenever he makes a move, but also because you breath more life into him when he does so. to seunghyun's fault, however, he can get a little ahead of himself, and forget how shy you can be. so when the tension had been brewing throughout the entirety of your third date, you two sat in bashful silence in his car, him parked some feet away from your house. the music had since been lowered; one of the many cds he's bought since you started dating. seunghyun leaned over the center console towards you, only to retract somewhat when he heard a small gasp. "i'm sorry," he said. "did i—was that too quick?" "no, no. it's okay." you nodded in reassurance. "i just . . . i've just never kissed anyone before. sorry, i know that probably sounds really annoying by now." your hands were in your lap, thumb running over your knuckles to thwart the warmth traveling up your neck.

seunghyun shook his head. "its not. i told you its not." he said sincerely. its true, he has told you that it is and will never be a problem. how he giggles over the phone and presses kisses onto the back of your hand whenever he holds it serves as testament, but that voice in your head can be a bit louder. "i want to." you tell him, eyes meeting with his. seunghyun looked so fine it was almost offensive; his grown out black hair and choppy bangs messily framing his face albeit with effortless charm. he's told you he thinks it makes him look weird, hence how often he wears beanies and puts his hood up, but the moment you muttered "i think it makes you look really handsome," over the phone two nights ago, he showed up tonight letting it breath no problem. "but i don't know how." you told him, shaking your head. "its okay, baby," seunghyun reassured tenderly. it was the first time he called you that pet name, but he didn't think twice as it felt akin to natural instinct to call you that. you, on the other hand, were struggling to keep it together in the passenger's seat. i only have so much strength as a woman . . . you thought to yourself.

"we'll take it slow. just close your eyes and take a breath for me, okay? the rest'll come naturally. i promise." "okay." you nodded, trusting him. seunghyun leaned in again. you saw his eyes glance at your lips before returning to yours, your lids darkening your vision only when his nose brushed against yours. his lips were soft and wet as he had licked them before kissing you. yours were so fucking warm against seunghyun's, making him want to kiss you all the more harder, but he steadied himself, reconnecting gently. the side of his nose nestled against yours. "how was that?" he whispered. the cd had finished playing, so the car was quiet besides you and him. "good." you whispered back. "how did i . . . how did i do?" "good," he nodded, glancing at your lips again. "just . . . try kissing me back. don't think about it," your felt his hair tickle your forehead as he shook his head. "i know you'll be good."

to his delight, you were the one that closed the small gap between you. the kiss was so soft, almost nurturing; all the more intoxicating. you reconnected the kiss, pressing your lips onto his in a way that made his arms feel like tv static. "a little softer." he murmured, half-talking to you, but more-so to himself to come down. seunghyun went to kiss you again, but his lips landed on the corner of your opened mouth. "i-i'm sorry." "no, no. it's okay, baby," he tutted softly. christ, that fucking voice of his was going to end you one day. "come here. come here, baby." he got your lips back on his, but you broke it again, obscenely flustered. your heartbeat was in your temples, your palms sweaty in your lap. "seunghyun," you pleaded in that voice he would go to fucking war for. "you can't just call me that." "i can, and i will." he said. "now, come here, baby."

his hand reached over, holding both of yours beneath his palm. you brought a hand up to his jaw when he kissed you, feeling him hum against your lips in encouragement. seunghyun tilted his head a little to the left, deepening the kiss but not by too much, monitoring your reaction. his muscles relaxed upon feeling your exhale through your nose brush along his cheeks. the kiss ceased after a few moments by you once again, only this time to catch your breath. he rested his forehead against yours, breathless himself. "you're really good at this." he said, heartbeat stuttering when he heard your quiet "thank you." seunghyun blurted out this next question without much thought or reason, since he imagined the moment where he asked this to be more romantic, but he simply could not hold himself back: "can i—can i be your boyfriend?"

"yes, yes you can." you responded. both of your hands now held either side of his face, feeling his hand squeeze your thigh a little. "you can be my boyfriend, seunghyun." a grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "i'll—i'll get you flowers and card, and ask you more properly next time." "its okay, its fine." you nodded against his forehead. your thumb traced his bottom lip, "just kiss me right now. i—i need—" you did not need to tell him twice. seunghyun reunited your lips, hand gripping your thigh when your fingers slipped into his hair.

even though you were well over the appropriate age to start dating, you just knew your parents would freak out if they knew you were running around with a boy. you didn't even think to employ the thought; it just wasn't an option. it would be something about distracting yourself from your studies (your grades were nowhere near subpar), or moving too quickly (hey! you're in college, by the way), or being subject to the ongoing mass, unreasonable hysteria over teen pregnancy perpetuated by national news editorials and shitty reality shows, making parents believe by standing near the opposite sex their daughters will somehow be with child (again, you're in your twenties and in college, and its also not your fault parents around the country treat mtv like its the second coming of the satanic panic of the eighties)—so you saved yourself the trouble. seunghyun understood wholeheartedly and took no issue with it, but that doesn't mean he didn't dare go against the grain.

a week before your two month anniversary, your ringtone rang, slightly muffled atop your duvet. you got up from your desk chair, leaving your coursework behind and walked to your bed, clicking the green call button. "hi seunghyun," your voice was soft. "everything okay?" "hey baby," he said. "i'm good, i'm good." he stuffed his free hand into the pocket of his puffer jacket, shivering. "how was your day, hm? i missed you." "fine," you answered, keeping your phone to your ear by raising your shoulder, flipping your textbook to the next chapter you needed to read to complete an assignment. "just a lot of work to do. you know how sundays are. i missed you, too." "i know, baby." his hand left his pocket, using the side of his thumb to wipe his nose. "you know, i'm happy to hear that you missed me, because i'm outside." you raised your head, alarmed, eyebrows knit in confusion. "what do you mean you're outside?" "i mean that i'm outside." "outside where?" "your window." his laugh was masked with a cough. "shit—it's really cold out here, baby." he muttered, looking around at the street lamps, his car parked some distance away. your room was on the lower floor of your family's home; the window on the side of the house and had some height to it, but not enough to ward off seunghyun's idea. so here he was, acting on it.

you hurriedly closed your bedroom door. "are you crazy!?" you whispered. "it's freezing outside! how long have you been out there?" "about ten minutes," seunghyun's tone was calm, as if it was just another day. "there isn't that much distance between your house and the street, but it took a while because i had to avoid the frozen over snow." "you're insane." you muttered. he smiled even wider. "let me see you, baby. c'mon. i miss you." you hung up the call. seunghyun watched the window before him, his upside down grin showing proudly when the curtains opened, revealing you. the snow crunched crisply underneath his feet, walking up when you unlocked and opened the window. "you're utterly insane," you said, resting your elbows on the windowsill, hearing him laugh. "its almost midnight. we both have class early tomorrow, and my parents could wake up at any moment!" you voice descended into a loud whisper. seunghyun waved his hand dismissively. "what did i tell you the other night? i'll drive you. you don't need to take the bus anymore." he spoke quietly, understanding the circumstance, even if he enjoyed teasing you. "you know what else you did the other night that you could've done now? call me." you retorted, but it was really hard to act upset. "you don't like my gesture?" he asked, not hiding his knowing smirk. "i'm saying you saw me two days ago, and you're seeing me every day before our anniversary." "i'd see you every hour in between, if i could."

you didn't have anything smart to say, so you succumbed to your flustered state. seunghyun, looking so princely in his puffer jacket with no beanie in sight, the distant cast of your nightside table lamp weakly illuminating his slightly reddened cheeks from the bitter cold, stepped closer. "give me a kiss and i'll go, baby. just needed to see you." your knees nestled onto the carpeted floors, your torso leaning out the window. seunghyun grabbed onto the ledge, hoisting himself onto the tips of his toes. it was enough for his head to be leveled with your bedroom, but not for long as his eyes fluttered closed to the feeling of your palms holding his face, bringing your lips to his in a tender, sweet kiss. his chin brushed against the ledge, tightening his grip when he re-connected the kiss, feeling his mouth thaw from the cold and ignoring how his under arms were beginning to burn. "can't last twelve hours without you." he murmured against your lips. "learn to." you whispered, kissing him back. "don't wanna." seunghyun took a quick breath when you kissed him one last time, the soft squeak of your lips parting making him feel light-headed.

he watched you in a daze when you returned to resting your elbows against the windowsill; you were as beautiful as a deity, so effortless with your allure. a content smile appeared on his face, eyes twinkling. "thank you, baby." his voice was smooth, turning his head to kiss your palm upon your fingers fixing his hair. he slowly let go of the ledge, paying no mind to how his palms ached. he glanced below him, "i'm sure if i bring a step stool big enough, it'll be no problem next time—" "—next time?" seunghyun looked up. "what? you don't want there to be a next time?" he asked, that goddamn teasing lilt in his voice. "i . . . i do." you spoke so sweetly, he thought he could muster the strength to jump inside. "but at least tell me ahead of time so you won't freeze to near fucking death."

seunghyun kept his word, because the night after your anniversary, he was back outside your window equipped with a step stool. thus began your very risky sneaking around: his arrival at your window at around 10 pm (or thirty minutes later if you went on a date, giving you enough time to return home without suspicion over where you've been, shower, and get ready for bed; either way, he was waiting for your signal of opening the curtains), speed walking to your window after locking his car, step stool in the other hand, climbing into your room after you opened your window, and settling beside you in bed. you spoke in the quietest of whispers, giggled into each other's shoulders, and shared delicate kisses. other times, you brought out your portable dvd player, snuggling into his chest whilst his arms wrapped around you. "my baby. my beautiful girl." he murmured into your supple skin before planting kisses on your forehead, laying his head atop yours. you two read the subtitles in peaceful silence—not daring to raise the volume—either fighting sleep or keeping awake with each other's lips.

he usually left at around one, but one night on the cusp of four months together, both of you fell asleep. you stirred awake, feeling the dvd player lodged uncomfortably underneath your thigh, gradually turning onto your side. seunghyun was in sound slumber, breaths coming in quiet, but curt whistles. your room wasn't completely dark, squinting at the lamp you forgot to turn off next to your bedside digital clock. you jolted awake upon seeing the time: 4:17 AM. "oh my god—" you murmured to yourself, yanking the duvet off of you and getting up in a panic. you turned to seunghyun's sleeping state in utmost dread, remembering he's a deep sleeper, and its a battle to wake him up. "fuck!" you whispered. you tried to think of something, lifting to the duvet further, spotting his ipod and wired headphones. you grabbed it, seeing it there was still half charge. you turned seunghyun's head upright, lodging the headphones in his ears. you scrolled through his library briefly, turning the dial to amp up the volume. "i'm sorry." you whispered apologetically, clicking play.

he stirred awake, sitting up on his elbows, headphones falling out of his ears. "whhaa—" "seunghyun? seunghyun, baby? its four in the morning." you whispered. he slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. "its four am?" he mumbled, voice riddled with slumber, sounding lower than usual. "yes, baby," you whispered, the bed dipping next to him as you sat. "we fell asleep. i—i don't think my parents came in. but you have to go home." "i know. i know, baby." seunghyun mumbled, pushing the duvet off his jeans. "just—just give me a moment." "thank you." your hand lay on his cheek, bringing the closer one to your lips. seunghyun puckered his lips, still lost in his lingering sleep, humming lowly in satisfaction when he felt your chaste kiss. he climbed out of bed, leaving his ipod behind, stuffing his feet into his shoes by the window. you unlocked it, hearing him yawn, his palm covering his mouth. "i'll come back at ten." he told you, more awake than before. "okay." you spoke softly, entering his usual embrace, your arms wrapping around one another. "i'll see you then. call me when you get home." "i will, my beautiful girl." his breath was hot against your temple—your height only barely reaching his shoulder—pressing a kiss onto your skin before you lifted your head, bringing your lips to his. his thumb kept your chin in place, kissing you back. "i love you, baby." "i love you too, seunghyunie." with that, he climbed out of your window. he grabbed the step stool, walking to his car. the sunrise peered over your neighborhood, only to be shunned out with the closing of your window and drapes. it wasn't until you tucked the dvd player and his ipod away in your nightside drawer did you realize . . . wait . . . we just said i love you.

weekends are typically reserved for dates which largely consist of getting coffee, taking the train into the city to visit museums (and seunghyun nudging his forehead into your temple shyly whenever you lock your arm with his), or passing time walking throughout the mall; looking through various shops and boutiques with your hand in his (and him keeping his gaze on the kay jewelers for a little longer than he intended), sitting next to you as opposed to across during dinner, and ending the night by making out in the backseat of his car. your hand on his cheek, his on your thigh; tongues in fair play. you broke the kiss to look at the small analog clock on his dashboard, biting your bottom lip when his lips found their usual spot on your neck, barely hiding your whimper. "fuck." he muttered, moving to the other side of your neck. his hands rested on either of your hips, humming in content upon feeling your fingers find his hair. "s-seunghyun," you fought to keep your eyes open. "it's 11:10. i have to go inside." "your parents can wait five more minutes." he said. the feeling of his voice vibrating against your skin made your eyes roll back, thighs rubbing together. a small gasp reverberated through the car when seunghyun started running his tongue repeatedly over a spot of your warm skin, sucking and popping off of it. "i really have to go inside—" "—at least let me finish this, baby. the last one healed too quickly." "o-okay," you let out a shaky breath, holding the back of his head, letting your eyes flutter closed. "don't make it too big." "i won't."

sundays were spent at the university library. you two are in your own worlds, sharing a spacious table with various pieces of coursework, required readings, and notebooks sprawled out in a way that only makes sense to your respective minds—seunghyun with his hood up, wired headphones in and reading glasses on. your pen cap between your teeth whilst you read the third of five passages for an upcoming essay you had due; back and forth between taking notes and highlighting lines. you didn't study together much during the week since your lectures did not align most days. but on the mornings where it did, neither of you having classes until the afternoon, seunghyun came over no matter the time he slept or if he was there the night previous, but neither of you studied. he meant it when he said he would spend every hour with you if he could, because he wakes up early just to be with you. it doesn't matter if its to fall right back asleep in your bed after your parents left for work at nine, he was there.

his personal favorites were early saturday afternoons (bonus points if you were going to a party later that night): him laying on top of you, his temple against your chest, taking a nap. he would fall asleep to the sound of you turning the pages of your book, coupled with the steady rise and fall of your chest. by the sound of his quiet snores, you started to feel sleepy by proxy. you would give in after nearly dropping the paperback book on his head, putting it aside on your bedside table. your hand reached down your side for his hand, fishing it out of the warm duvet to set an hour timer on his watch. you brought the pads of his fingers to your lips, kissing them softly before nestling in for your own nap, holding your baby close to you.

you loved and trusted each other to the point of peaceful co-existence. you and seunghyun were alone in the house one saturday evening; him in your room, you in the bathroom down the hall. you were going to a mutual friend's party to dually celebrate both her birthday and the end of finals week that night. your bedroom door was wide open, seunghyun overhearing the rustling of your makeup bag as his eyes looked through your shelf of cds. songs in a minor, alicia keys .... everyone else is doing it, so why can't we?, the cranberries .... b'day, beyoncé .... parachutes, coldplay .... his copy of pink floyd's dark side of the moon that he lent you a couple weeks ago .... grace, jeff buckley .... until he came across the miseducation of lauryn hill towards the front of the shelf, carefully pulling it out and opening the case. he placed the cd in your player on the shelf below, closing the lid and pressing play. he skipped to track 4, lowering the volume to have it blend seamlessly into the background, feeling content.

"seunghyun?" "yeah, baby?" he called back. he turned around, seeing you at the doorway, holding two eyeliner pencils in your hand. "which one: black or dark brown?" he walked over, taking the pencils from your hands, looking them over his palm. "hm. . ." he pondered with genuine thought. "this one is metallic," you pointed to the dark brown liner. "so it has a little shine to it." "i remember," seunghyun nodded. "you wore this one when we went for brunch a couple weeks ago. it looked really pretty." "thank you." you said quietly, glancing down at the carpet. you still felt flustered receiving his compliments, even nearly half a year into your relationship. "so the brown liner, then?" "mhm." "okay. thank you, my love." your hands reached up to his face, bringing him in for a quick kiss. "anything for you, my beautiful girl." said seunghyun, placing purposeful kisses onto your temple and cheek.

you took the liners from him, your sweet laughter ringing in his ears as his arms made residence around your waist, pulling you close to him. your arms took in his shoulders, giggling at the ticklish feeling of his lips kissing a part of your exposed shoulder from the loose collar of your shirt. "my beautiful, beautiful girl." he murmured into your soft skin, kissing your lips once more. you loved how clingy he could be . . . though he would look like a deer in headlights, melting into a puddle of his own pride if it was pointed out. he loved being called seunghyunie. better yet, add "my" in front of that, and he'll have to take laps around the room. he's buried his head into your neck on many nights he snuck over, or even in his own bed, hiding his bashful state with incoherent mutterings of anything from "i'm going to go into heart failure early in my life" to "you make me lose all reason, and i love it."

you kissed him back, feeling his tongue collide with yours. seunghyun went in again, but you parted your lips, turning your head as a smile stretched across your face, his lips finding the corner of your mouth. "you're my big baby." you said sweetly, looking up at him. "my big, tall baby, seunghyunie. how's that, hm?" you erupted into a fit of giggles when seunghyun's forehead fell against your temple—a tell-tale sign that you hit the right bashful nerve—that, as far as seunghyun was concerned, sounded a whole lot like wedding bells. "baby . . ." he elongated his last syllable, voice so low it took a moment to understand. "see? you're already living up to the name." you said. your arms slid off the back of his shoulders, hands resting atop them as best they could whilst you held the liners, briefly standing on your toes to kiss his lips. "i have to go get ready." seunghyun's arms left your waist, resting on your hips. "i like the nickname." he admitted in a murmur. "i know." you nodded. "and i love you, too." "i love you so much." seunghyun couldn't help himself, lips peppering kisses onto the supple skin of your cheek, planting a final one on your lips.

one thing about seunghyun is he loves parties, but none more than being able to show you off. so when he's sat on one of the stools lining the host's kitchen island, you stood between his legs, your arms wrapped around his shoulders as his are tenderly around your waist; hands traveling your lower back—he feels like the hottest shit because he's got the hottest fucking girl. he will unabashedly pepper sweet kisses onto your neck and cheek if you're talking to somebody, or press his cheek against yours as you people watch together from your spot in the kitchen; giggling amongst yourselves in a way that would make even a pessimist's heart begin to thaw. it tugs at his heartstrings even more-so when you find him later in the night after catching up with your friends, a little tipsy with your red solo cup in hand, making residence on his thigh. seunghyun carefully took the cup out of your hand after the drink sloshed around in the midst of your abrupt movement, setting it on the coffee table before his hands dotingly rubbed the side of your thigh, looking up at the love of his life. he's long past the point of caring when his friends are around seeing you squish his cheeks together, kissing the pout that forms on his lips with an extra loud "muah!" that can be heard in the few seconds between songs. he's actually the one pulling you into the small crowd of people dancing in the living room, swaying together to the music.

to seunghyun, he might have looked awkward dancing—but to anyone else who caught a glimpse either from squeezing their way through the crowd to get to the other side of the room, or if they just looked up: you and seunghyun looked smooth; complementary; on the same wavelength. it was one of those moments they would recall to your mini-me twenty years down the line, opening the anecdote with "i remember when your parents . . ." he brought his forehead to yours—earning him the flustered laugh he could get drunk on—bringing his lips to yours when you pulled him in by the rims of his beanie. you turned around afterward, pressing your ass against him, starting to dance again. seunghyun got the message. he followed your movements, arm wrapping around the front of your waist, leaning down to kiss your cheek upon feeling your hand reach back for his hair.

seunghyun played a large hand in improving your confidence, especially when it came to intimacy of any kind. you've come a long way from your posture stiffening when he put his arm around you in the movie theater; your ghost of a returned grip when he held your hand; or backing out mid-makeout on his couch because your face felt so hot, the movie paused and long-forgotten about, the dvd logo bouncing from one side of the tv to the other ("i-i'm sorry—" "—it's okay. come back here, you were doing so good.") it wasn't as if you were a brand new person, but he nurtured a different side of you to come out; honored he was the one deemed worthy enough to witness it. he fucking loved it when you were stood in your own corner at a party, feeling dizzy whenever yours hands traveled underneath the hem of his shirt and around his waist . . . holy fuck . . . and the way you kissed him afterward, so soft and slow, deliberate . . . you might as well make him a father right there.

the tension brewed over time. you may be learning things as you go, but you would be remised to not pick up on seunghyun's not-so-subtle ways. every time he readjusted his position in your bed, arms holding you, you felt his hand traveled just a little lower down your hip. his lips kissed your cheek before returning his attention to space documentary he picked up from blockbuster before sneaking over, reading the captions on the portable dvd player propped up atop the duvet. he thought he was being slick. but when the documentary inevitably ended, and you inevitably pulled him into your lips to make him stay longer, his hand slipped underneath, squeezing your right globe. he'll never forget your sharp inhale, or how hard you kissed him in return.

or when you were stood in line at the mall food court (yes, you read that correctly), his fingers holding yours. he was being so sweet and flirtatious, looking at you with an admiring grin whilst you read the menu. he went back and forth between laying his hoodie-clad head atop yours, kissing your cheek, or leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. you saw in your periphery how he would stare and stare both longingly and knowingly. you didn't give in, until you couldn't hold it in anymore, failing horrendously at hiding your upside-down grin. "what?" you nudged his bicep with your shoulder, hearing him chuckle. "i'm just looking." he responded, voice smooth. you tsked, shaking your head. "you don't make any sense." his kiss to your temple brought your gaze back to him, looking up when he rested his forehead against yours. "that's because you take all of it from me." seunghyun lined the side of his nose with yours, bringing his lips to yours. he's done this countless times before, but it was how his lips lingered for a second or two that made all the difference . . . how they parted so slowly and deliberately . . . it made you think oh . . . this man may very well want me to have his baby! it wouldn't be far-fetched either, since on your four month anniversary, he told you he was ready to introduce you to his parents after your third date.

then came those saturday mornings . . . or mornings where neither of you had class until the afternoon . . . when you got up from bed, and he sees your shorts have ridden completely up your thighs in your sleep . . . how fucking delectable they look. your back is turned to him as you stretch your arms out and yawn, but seunghyun's stare is unabashed and hard. it starts as a sideways glance, like he doesn't want to get caught. but then he sees how they jiggle with every minute movement . . . he's enamored. he turns onto his side fully, studying how your cellulite adorns your skin so specifically . . . then his palms start to tingle, wanting to reach out and feel you in his hands. but all he does is cast his hand against your crisp bed sheets, wrinkled where you laid just moments ago. seunghyun then notices the slight sheen of your skin when you step into the sunlight pouring in from the window; the remnants of your moisturizer you apply before you sleep, he was sure. this is what makes his teeth rake against his bottom lip, quickly glancing up to see if you were still turned around, which you were. then came those imperfections he wanted so badly to kiss, to linger his tongue over: the small, translucent forever-bruise on the side of your left thigh that never healed; standing in a crowded train after spending the day with each other in the city, temporarily squished against the arm rest of a seat to make room for incoming passengers. your fucking tan line from your go-to denim shorts you wore during the summer jesus christ . . . and how some of your stomach spilled over your shorts, the thick curvature of your body akin to a fucking goddess's. what he would do to be trapped between them . . .

"i'll be right back." your voice took him out of his trance, seunghyun looking up to see you opening the bedroom door, walking to the bathroom down the hall. "okay, baby." his voice was gravely, clearing his throat afterward. seunghyun turned onto his back. he lifted the duvet, peeking underneath to see the bulge in his sweats. he let out a disbelieving huff, running his hands over his face. it's not even ten am yet. he thought to himself. it should be no surprise that when you came back into bed, his lips made residence on yours, hand slipping by your hip and grabbing your ass. seunghyun stopped periodically to place kisses on your chest, or moving the strap of your cami to trace the tip of his tongue along your stretch marks lining your shoulder before kissing them, too. "wanna try something new, baby." he murmured against your skin. "okay," you said, fingers brushing his hair back, watching as his lips returned to your chest. "what is it, seunghyun?" "wanna put these in my mouth—'nd taste you."

you nodded, hair rubbing against your pillowcase. "o-okay," your voice fell to a whisper, the birds chirping outside rivaling your volume. "go ahead, seunghyun." he lifted his head, kissing you. "tell me if it's too much, okay?" "i will." you said, kissing him. a shallow breath left your chest as his lips traveled down your chest. he's fondled your breasts before—in the backseat of his car, and when the portable dvd player is mere background noise, but nothing could have prepared him for now your left breast recoiled when he tugged that side of your cami down. it was so perky, so cute; happy to see him. he captured your areola in his mouth, running his warm tongue over it slowly. he's never heard you gasp like that before. "s—seunghyun!" you barely breathed, shuddering oxygen in and out. he quickly detached—"is it too much—" "—no, no! keep—keep going!" you whimpered, pushing the back of his head back down. he sucked with bliss, readjusting himself when you arched your back, his other hand kneading your right breast. he tugged that side of your cami down, showing that nipple less mercy than the other. "f-fuck!" you gasped, hand coming up to your mouth. "yes, yes! oh my god, seunghyun!" your body squirmed, thighs enclosing around his waist. he needed to move on. if he didn't, he was going to ruin his sweatpants.

he popped off of your hardened nipple gently, bringing his lips to yours. you latched onto him with needy fervor, kissing him quickly. "i'm gonna eat your pussy, okay baby?" he spoke against your lips. you whimpered into his mouth, eyebrows turning upward in desperation, hands holding onto the back of his shoulders. "gonna take care of you. tell me if you want to stop." "o—ngh!—okay." seunghyun pushed the duvet off the both of you, making his way down your body, leaving kisses in his wake. he stood on his knees as he pulled your shorts and underwear off, discarding them on his usual side of the bed. his hand slid down your left thigh, fingers running over that small bruise. he leaned down, pressing a kiss. he moved a couple of inches down the bed, settling his knees onto the carpeted floor, propping the upper-half of his body up with his elbows. you separated your legs. his tongue ran over his bottom lip, mouth watering.

he kissed the inner parts of your thighs, trailing where you needed him most. seunghyun wasted no time after that, plunging his tongue between your puffy folds. oh . . . you tasted good. the sensation was indescribable for you—a curt gasp all you could muster those first few seconds, palm covering your mouth as you devoured the unbelievable sight below you. your eyebrows were so deeply furrowed; a choked moan leaving your diaphragm as his tongue explored your divine essence. seunghyun separated your lips with his pointer and middle finger, trying to find that sweet bundle of nerves. he placed his tongue higher than before, taking note of your gasp. he pushed his head in deeper, knowing he was coming closer when your thighs brushed against his ears. seunghyun hit the jackpot when he pushed in a little deeper, arms quickly wrapping around your waist to keep you as still as he could when your body jolted, thighs closing in on him, effectively putting him in a still-moveable headlock. "o—oh m-my god—ngh! hngh!" you moaned helplessly. "s-seunghyun!" you cried, fingers disappearing into his hair, tugging. "feel good, baby? that feel good?" he asked quickly, voice muffled, not liking going mere seconds without you on his tongue. "y-yes! keep—keep—"

you couldn't finish your sentence, but he needed no further instruction. he nursed your clit unabashedly, his hand reaching up and kneading your right breast. "s-seunghyun, i'm gonna—i feel—" your breathing was heavy, eyes squeezed shut. "cum in my mouth." was all seunghyun said. your legs opened abruptly, back arching higher than before as your orgasm washed over your entire body. seunghyun kept working your clit, popping off of your sweet pussy through your delicate moans and mewls. he swallowed whatever you gave him, humming into you in satisfaction, relishing in how you breathily whined his name. he gradually latched off with tongue-led kisses, palming himself through his sweatpants. he left your pussy swiftly when he felt a wet patch, looking down to see that he, indeed, ruined his sweatpants.

then came a week later, when you made love for the first time at eleven am on a fucking tuesday morning. "breath for me." he told you gently, positioning his condom wrapped tip between your soft, puffy lips. "in," he inhaled through his nostrils, you mimicking. "and out." you exhaled together. he kissed your divine lips, hand coming up and holding your cheek. "my beautiful girl," he whispered. "i love you so much." "i love you too." your hands held the back of his neck, kissing him back. "this might hurt a little. we have all the time in the world. we'll take it easy." his lips pressed against your cheek, hearing your gentle "okay." he slowly pushed himself in, stopping halfway when you held tightly onto his shoulders. "f-fuck, ngh! it . . . it hurts." you whispered. "i know, i know baby." he low voice cooed, his hand holding your cheek, bringing the one closest to him to his lips. "keep going. slowly." "i will."

he thrusted slowly with half of his cock inside of you, listening to your every breath. "any better?" he whispered. he sucked in a tight breath, feeling how tight you are. "a . . . a little. try adding more each time." "anything for you." he kissed your temple, following your words. silence filled the room, nothing but the slight creak of your bed frame, shaky breaths, and rustling of the duvet against the linen. seunghyun's ears perked up when he heard a quiet moan, feeling your nails starting to dig into his bare shoulder. "s-seunghyun . . . m-more." "which one? faster or deeper, baby?" "deeper." you said, voice breathy. your eyebrows twitched as you were mostly adjusted, bottom lip captured between your teeth as he stretched you out. "mmf!" you yelped. "does—f-fuck—that feel g-good?" seunghyun was losing himself in you, struggling to keep his mind clear. "y-yes!" you moaned. "g-go faster, seunghyunie. p-please." "god fucking damn—f-fuck, baby!" he mewled, moaning into your ear. "you feel so fucking g-good, oh my god!" the rest of that morning was a haze of grunts, sweat, and chanting each other's names like prayers. to think you were in your intro to international democracies lecture not even four hours later was obscene.

neither of you trusted yourselves to keep quiet when he came over, but that doesn't mean you at least tried . . . albeit, over the phone. "you drive me fucking crazy, baby—fuck!" his phone fell from his ear, his free hand quickly grabbing it, his other showing little mercy to himself. you could hear the wet, slick sounds of his cock from your side of the line, your thighs trapping your wrist between your legs. "the—the way you—hngh!—l-looked at me from over your shoulder, the way you sounded when i fucked you from b-behind." he spoke into the phone lowly. "you looked so beautiful, and felt so f-fucking good. did it feel good baby, hm? did it feel good when i pounded that sweet pussy?" "s-seunghyun—" you sounded so delicate, so fragile. "i—ngh!—i n-need you so bad. i can't take it anymore." he heard your shaky gasp, sure you were close. "tell me, baby. i know you're close, i can hear it." he moaned hearing you whimper at his words, feeling the knot in his abdomen begin to unravel. "t-tell me—s-shit!—i-i'm, i'm close t-too. tell me, baby. you know you can tell your seunghyunie anything, right?"

when that wasn't enough (it never was), you took it to the backseat of his car. it was an unspoken rule; nonverbal pattern of events when he was to drop you home, but that something was in the air and could not go unaddressed—like the night of your friend's birthday party. he unlocked his trunk, folding the backseats forward to allow enough room for you to lay on your back. in your defense, you tried to keep quiet. you really did . . . considering it was well past one in the morning, your house was one measly block away, and your neighborhood was very much a quiet suburb. but the car was shaking, your toes pressed against the rear windshield, and his hand was slipping off the steaming window. if anyone walked by—universe help your neighbor that worked late shifts and walked his dog at this hour—a vague, passive aggressive memo in the neighborhood newsletter would certainly find you.

the torn condom wrapper fell between the seats, lost in a reach-less nook of the car as seunghyun fucked you deep and good. the sound was wet and mind-numbing, the heel of your left foot resting on his lower back whilst he pummeled you. "f-fuck! just like that, just like that!" you gasped, your moan sounding intoxicatingly needy, fingers rummaging aimlessly through his hair. seunghyun was a sweaty mess, his hair sticking to his forehead as he boiled in his long sleeve. but he could not have given less of a fuck. you felt fucking divine. he needed this, every last second, every last drop. your gummy walls and puffy lips were a blessing he would thank whatever higher force that existed out there for the rest of his life. "just like that? yeah?" he grunted, looking down at the scene, watching his cock disappear and reappear. "s-such f-fucking good pussy—fuck!"

there's a digital camera you both share (he bought it for you for your one year anniversary), housing the archive of your relationship. there's tons of photos on numerous sd cards: a photo of you two kissing in front of a mirror, the camera covering your mouths even after seunghyun's hilariously laborious attempts at angling it correctly, photos of you looking so effortlessly beautiful in your bed; elbow propped on your pillow, palm holding your cheek, the glow of the portable dvd player evident on your face, or one you took of him in his bed after you imitated his low laugh which made him laugh even harder, photos of seunghyun climbing through your window with a shy, unexpected smile on your face or looking cool driving his car, lots of photos with friends, and at parties; one in particular of him pretending to eat your cheek and your wide smile, drink in hand. he can hear your laughter whenever he looks at it.

several months after your two year anniversary, seunghyun found himself at the mall. he was free for the rest of the day whilst you were in for another two lectures. but, of course, he was picking you up for dinner that evening. he perused for your graduation gift; settling for a perfume, a book by your favorite author, and two cds of musicians you loved. like clockwork, his eyes found and stayed on kay jewelers. but unlike before, he walked in. he found the engagement rings with ease, even going as far as to tell the consultant that he was thinking about getting married. however, seunghyun didn't walk out with a ring. he figured well, we should graduate first . . . get jobs . . . move in together . . . and then talk about marriage. he's been locked in since your first kiss, but that's besides the point. but there's no harm in starting to save up for that ring, is there . . .

honey's taglist! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა: @gongyoosgf, @infinetlyforgotten

#choi seunghyun #bigbang #bigbang imagine #choi seunghyun imagine #choi seunghyun x reader #top x reader #t.o.p x reader #top imagine #squid game #choi su bong imagine #thanos #squid game 2 #squid game smut #seunghyun #seunghyun imagine

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pitlanepeach · 17 days ago

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The Long Way Home I Chapter One

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — Eek, welcome to the chaos! This one is going to be a whirlwind of emotions. Send me all of your thoughts on the fic and of course what you think of our new OFC, Harper!

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

Harper had never meant to like it here.

The East dorms smelled like cheap PVA glue and the radiators hissed like they were always pissed-off, and the girls who lived in the room two doors down were always either screaming at eachother or crying; sometimes both.

The shower water was always lukewarm, the food was worse, and the uniform blazer made her shoulders itch.

Still, she stayed on for term after term. Because slowly — it'd become a safe haven. Better than being at home.

And that, she'd long ago decided, was its own twisted kind of victory.

She sat curled on the window ledge, bony knees pulled to her chest, one cheek pressed against the cold glass. Down below, the grassy stretch was all muddy edges and stone paths. There were a few boys dragging suitcases across it with frowns and hunched shoulders — like they'd rather be anywhere else.

"New intake," said Jane, her roommate, from behind a cloud of dry shampoo and Juicy Couture perfume.

Harper didn't turn around. She just scrunched up her nose and gave the boys another curious kind of look. "Bit late for January, innit?"

"A few brats who've just come back from spending the winter in the Alps. And some kid from Australia — sports scholarship. Karting prodigy or whatever. They've already decided he's going to be the next Hamilton."

Harper snorted. "Because nothing says motorsport champion like dragging your arse to this hellhole."

Jane laughed and rolled her eyes. "You're such a debbie-downer."

Harper didn't answer. She just stared at the last boy stepping out of a black car — tallish, quiet-looking, a duffle slung over one shoulder. He didn't glance up at the windows or anything like that.

Smart.

Most people stared at the building like it was Hogwarts, and were met with heckles for their trouble.

But not him.

Something in her stomach — something small and sudden, like a hiccup of curiosity.

She ignored it.

She moved out of the window and picked up her biology folder. "Come on, Janie. If we're late again, Mr Jones might spank you in the cleaning cupboard."

Jane shrieked. "Shut up, Harper! I told you already — that was just a stupid rumour!"

—

That night, Harper couldn't sleep.

She never slept well in winter. The wind scraped at the windows like it was trying to get in, and the heating clicked off at midnight like clockwork. Their bedroom was pitch black, quiet except for Jane’s breathing and the occasional fox scream from outside.

She slid her notebook out from under her pillow — soft cover, edges frayed, ink smudges all along the bottom corner where her hand dragged. The majority of the pages were full of doodles and fragments: half-written poems, to-do lists, thoughts that she would never say out loud.

Things I Am: • Hard Work • Sarcastic • Ungrateful

Things I Am Not: • Dumb • Ugly • My mother

She paused, pen hovering.

Then, she flipped the page and started sketching instead; a silly half-formed thing. A boy with a duffle bag and a face you could never forget.

⸻

The next morning, they crossed paths.

It wasn't dramatic. Just two kids reaching for the same packet of Weetabix in the dining hall, and then awkwardly backing off. He nodded. She didn't.

"You take it," he said, accent all weird and sunny like it hadn't registered the grey skies yet.

She shrugged and took the box without saying thank you.

Harper didn't do small talk before 9am. Or at all, really.

She wasn't mean. Or snobby. Or any of the other things that people liked to label her as.

She just didn't have the patience required to be the kind of girl with all soft edges.

⸻

Later, in English Literature, he was there again.

Mr. Callahan gestured toward the front of the room. Smiled with his sweetcorn coloured teeth. Gestured with his wrinkled, age-spotted hands. "Mr. Piastri, care to introduce yourself to your new classmates?"

There it was. The ritual humiliation. Worse than being the new kid — being the new kid asked to introduce yourself.

Harper didn't look up, didn't want to make it worse for him by adding another set of eyes. She just stared at the blank margin of her workbook, pen poised like she might be taking notes. She wasn't.

"I'm Oscar Piastri," he said. Accent clipped and his words a bit slanted — probably because he was embarrassed. "I'm from Melbourne. In Australia. I like maths. I, uh, moved to England to work on my career."

The class rippled with whispers. A few people snorted derivatively. Someone in the back muttered something about "wannabe Mark Webber," and a boy near the window pretended to rev a car engine.

Harper bit her lip.

I like maths.

Brave thing to say in front of Mr. Callahan, a man who had once declared long division "the enemy of poetic soul."

Still, it was honest. Or maybe just literal. Boys like him — boys who were not British — usually were.

Moved to England to work on my career.

Not many people her age had a single clue what they wanted to do with their lives — let alone any of them actually have the guts to travel halfway across the world and actually do something worthwhile for the sake of their futures.

She imagined what it might've looked like for him — saying goodbye to his mum at an airport gate, suitcase heavier than his bones, chasing speed across countries when most kids their age couldn't catch a bus on time.

Harper's pen shook. Just for a second.

Mr. Callahan cleared his throat. "Thank you, Mr. Piastri. Seat behind Harper, second row."

She felt, more than saw, the shift as he passed her. Quiet footsteps. A soft cough. And then the sensation of being watched — not in a creepy way, just... watched.

For the rest of the lesson, Harper didn't turn around. But she caught herself pressing harder into the page than usual, the letters carved into the page instead of written.

He smelled good.

Like soap and something else that she couldn't put her finger on.

It was a nice change from the boys who usually just stank of B.O and cheap beer.

—

That night, curled into a ball on her side in bed, she added something new to her notebook.

People to pay attention to: • Oscar Piastri

—

The next morning, the Weetabix basket was empty.

Harper stood in front of the cereal shelf, arms crossed and expression soured. Rows of sad Cornflakes and soggy-looking bran flakes mocked her.

Someone had left a single Shreddies square on the counter like a bad joke.

She didn't say anything. Didn't need to. Her pout said it for her — the subtle downturn of her mouth, the slight tightening around her eyes, the way her shoulder rose just a touch as she turned to walk away, resigned to jam on toast or something equally as boring.

"Hey."

She turned around.

Oscar Piastri was stood a few feet away, breakfast tray in hand, holding a fresh, unopened box of Weetabix. He offered it toward her without a word, just a faint shrug, like no big deal.

Harper blinked. "What, you just... found it?"

"Got it just now," he said, quiet and a bit sheepish. "Last one. Figured you might want it."

Harper stared at him for a second too long. Not in a swoony way; she'd never admit to that, but in a what-kind-of-person-actually-thinks-that-far-ahead kind of way.

"You were thinking about me?" She asked dryly, reaching for the box. Her tone was classic Harper: half-defensive, half-a-test.

Oscar didn't flinch. "Nah. Just noticed you looked kinda gutted yesterday when there was almost none left."

She stared at him.

Noticed.

Most people only noticed Harper when she said something sharp or raised her voice. Not when she was quiet. Not when her disappointment stayed on the inside of her mouth.

"Thanks," she mumbled, trying not to sound like it hurt to say. Then, a little louder, with a tilt of her head. "You're nice."

He smiled; barely. "Yeah. People say that a lot."

They stood in the middle of the cafeteria; two awkward kids who weren't quite sure what to do next. Harper shifted her tray from one hand to the other.

"You sitting with anyone?"

Oscar glanced around. "Nah."

"Cool. You can sit with me, but don't talk for the first ten minutes. It's a no-chat zone until I've eaten my cereal and drank my juice."

He nodded sagely, like she'd given him an important instruction and not a ridiculous one. "Understood."

They walked side by side toward the back table where Harper usually sat, their footsteps quiet, their trays clinking with spoons and silence.

And Harper didn't say it aloud, obviously. But that morning, for some weird and unnamable reason, her Weetabix tasted better than usual.

—

Three weeks later, breakfast had quietly become a thing.

Neither of them ever said it out loud, least of all Harper, but it was a foregone conclusion.

Oscar always got there early and saved her at least one box of Weetabix. She gave him half of her toast when the dining hall ran out of the nice raspberry jam. They sat at a table toward the back windows, never exactly chatting, but never not aware of each-other.

He'd wait for her before eating every single morning — even if she was running late. She'd roll her eyes like he was somehow annoying for doing it. Then she'd sit down next to him and they'd divvy out their trays like it was the most normal thing in the world.

This morning, she dropped her tray beside him and flopped into her usual seat with a tired mumble of 'Morning'.

He held out the box wordlessly.

She took it and gave his bed head an amused glance. "Nice hair," she said, poking the corner of the cereal box with her thumbnail.

Oscar shrugged, chewing on a bite of toast. "Grew it myself."

"Fuck off." She said. "Were all the pancakes gone?"

He swallowed. "Probably. You're later than usual."

She made a face. "Yeah. Sorry. I got stuck queuing for the bloody shower block. Jacqueline, you know her? The blonde one with the red lipstick? Yeah. She was hogging the third stall all morning, and everyone knows that the third stall is the only one that has warm water in the mornings."

He scratched at the back of his neck. "Boys showers are disgusting so I just... avoid them at all costs. Middle of the night is safest, right after the cleaners have been."

She hummed. "I peeked my head in there once. Wanted to see if you guys had more room than us — you know, sexism and all that. All I managed to actually see was three inches of disappointment and enough steam to know for a fact that you get way more hot water than us."

He gave her that awkward half-smile he did sometimes, like he wasn't totally sure if he was joking or being serious.

They ate in silence for a bit after that. Harper mashed her weetabix into her milk and then set it aside for a second to thicken up.

Oscar tilted his head toward her notebook, which was sat open on the table beside her tray.

"Is that the code for that website you're building?"

Harper tensed — just slightly. "You can read upside down now?"

He blinked. "Sorry. Didn't mean to be nosy."

She stared at him, then exhaled. "Sorry. Got defensive. It's still early. But — yeah. It is."

He peered over at it again. "It all looks... really complicated."

"It's not." She shrugged.

"You say that like it doesn't look like the Matrix just threw up in your notebook."

She cracked a reluctant smile — God, he was so dry. So unfunny. "It's just logic, Osc."

Oscar squinted at the page. "But that's, like... maths."

"No," she said sharply. Then, after a beat, she softened and said. "Well — yeah. But no."

He frowned at her.

"I suck at maths," she added, quieter this time. "You know that already. It's why I'm in a lower bracket than you even though we're the same age. And it's not like... normal bad either. It's 'wired differently' bad."

Oscar's brow creased.

She sighed. "It's called dyscalculia. It's like dyslexia, but with numbers. Different for everyone, but I can't read clocks properly. I count on my fingers, even if it's just like seven plus two. I fail every single timed test they set. I swap digits in equations and don't even realise I've done it." She took a breath and gave her weetabix a poke with her spoon. "I used to think I was just stupid. Teachers thought I wasn't trying. My mum used to just call me lazy, which, in hindsight, is hilarious. Because I haven't been relaxed since I was eight."

Oscar's lips tugged up slightly — a bit wry.

"But coding," she continued, "that makes sense to me. It's all structure. No weird fractions or mental math traps. Just... clear instructions and consistent answers."

She expected him to nod absently, like he'd stopped listening a while ago. Or change the subject. Or say something vaguely patronising.

But Oscar just said, "That's kind of cool."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "That I'm a functionally useless human being?"

"Well, no, you're not." He argued flatly. "But I meant that I think it's cool that your brain works differently and you still taught it to do that." He waved at her notebook.

Harper blinked. For a second, she forgot to be sarcastic. "You're so weird," she muttered, but there was no venom in it.

"Thanks," he said, smiling into his spoon like he didn't know what else to do with his mouth.

She looked back at her code. Then at him.

He was chewing on his toast and staring at his phone. He had the latest iPhone. It had a blue case.

His t-shirt was creased and his hair was still an absolute mess.

And still, she couldn't stop looking at him.

—

It was a Saturday, grey and windy, and Harper was buried under a school-issued fleece blanket in the common room, laptop on her knees, headphones on.

She wasn't working on anything important — just cleaning up a chatbot code, fiddling with syntax like it was a loose tooth. Her headphones were playing some lo-fi thing she didn't even like. She just needed the white noise to help her focus.

Across the room, the door creaked open. She didn't look up until someone said, "You'll get square eyes."

Oscar.

She paused her music and pushed her headphones off, raising an eyebrow at him. "Yeah? Fucking ace. I'll go on Britains Got Talent and become a niche celebrity."

He grinned sheepishly, his cheeks going a bit red, and then nodded behind him. "Didn't come alone."

Behind Oscar stood a man in a zipped-up jacket, casual slacks, and sneakers that were too clean to belong to a teenager. Same posture as Oscar. Same gentle eyes.

"This is my dad," Oscar said. "Chris."

Chris stepped forward and offered a hand to shake, like Harper was a grown-up and not a fourteen-year-old-girl who'd spent the last two nights using toothpaste on her forehead acne to try and get rid of it. "You must be Harper. Oscar's told me about you."

"Oh. Right. Cool," she said. Then she stumbled to her feet, abandoned her laptop and her headphones and the fleece, and hastily shook his hand before it become awkward. "I'm Harper."

Chris laughed, warm and unbothered. "I know. Oscar told me you've been helping him with his English work."

Oscar made a noise of protest. "Dad, come on."

"I'm yeah," Harper said. "He's awful at it. Can't string together a sentence to save his life." She gave Oscar a teasing glance.

Chris turned to his son. "One failed class and you're risking your scholarship. Don't let that happen."

Oscar stared at him. "I won't fail any of my classes." He said, without missing a beat.

She bit her lip and looked between them — the way Oscar didn't shrink even a little bit around his dad. The way he could be quiet and awkward and it was fine. Safe.

"Anyway," Chris continued, "just wanted to say hi before I head home. I fly out tomorrow."

Harper blinked. "Back to Australia?"

"Yeah. Stuck around to help Oscar settle in. Make sure his gear arrived in one piece, check out the karting circuits, learn how to pronounce Hertfordshire without offending the locals."

Oscar rolled his eyes. "He's still saying 'Hurt-Fard-Sheyre'"

Chris laughed. "Don't let the Brits fool you, son. They put vowels in weird places on purpose."

Harper smiled before she could stop herself.

Chris checked his watch. "Right. I'm going to have a word with the headmaster about Oscar's travel plans, but it was really nice meeting you, Harper."

"Yeah. You too." She said.

Oscar sat down next to her, picking at the corner of the couch cushion.

"Your dad's cool," she said, and meant it.

"Yeah," he replied, but his voice was smaller now. "He is."

"You okay?"

Oscar hesitated. Then nodded, but not very convincingly. "Just weird. Makes the whole staying here on my own thing feel more... real. Now that he's leaving too."

Harper looked at him carefully. "You can call him whenever, though, right?"

He snorted. "Yeah. And about seven backup methods. He's the type to send a courier pigeon if I don't answer a text within ten minutes."

She wanted to say 'you're lucky'. But that would make it sound like she was bitter. And she wasn't. Not exactly. So she just said, "That's... nice."

They sat in silence for a beat.

Then Oscar added, a bit shyly, "He liked you."

Harper shot him a look. "I was terrible. I don't know how to socialise with adults who don't expect me to be, like, all stuck-up and perfect."

"Right." Oscar said, a bit awkwardly. "I mean, he just — I think he's glad I've made a friend, you know?"

Harper's chest clenched. She didn't know what to say to that — so she didn't. She nudged his knee with hers instead. "You're not bad," she said.

Oscar smiled at her.

And then Harper opened her laptop again, and when Oscar picked up her legs to drape them over his legs so he could sit back on the sofa, she didn't even blink.

—

The chill of the late Hertfordshire night nipped at Harper's cheeks as she and Jane sprinted across the empty quad, sneakers barely squeaking against the dew-slick paving stones. Their hushed giggles echoed in the dark. Jane, always the instigator, had convinced her to sneak out—"Just for five minutes! I swear!"—to the locked astroturf behind the science block.

They slipped through a gap in the fence, flashlights off, relying on moonlight and adrenaline. Harper dropped to the ground, fingers brushing the fake grass. "Feels like we're on another planet," she whispered. Jane flopped down beside her, smirking. "The planet of the incredibly bored."

Ten minutes later, just as Harper dared to close her eyes and breathe in the strange peace, floodlights blazed to life like a stadium mid-match. "Run!" Jane hissed.

They didn't get far.

Now, Harper sat in the back of a golf cart, arms crossed, heart racing, as one of the groundskeepers muttered something about "ridiculous girls" and "Headmaster's office come morning." Jane had managed to charm her way into walking.

Across the dormitory court, high up in the boys' wing, a window cracked open.

Oscar, hoodie drawn up, leaned on the sill. He squinted into the brightness—and there she was. Harper. Eyes wide, lip curled in protest, being hauled across the lawn like a criminal. The surreal procession made him chuckle despite himself.

She looked furious. Or maybe mortified.

Their eyes met, briefly.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

Harper, red-faced, stuck her tongue out at him.

—

Harper sat on the edge of her narrow dorm bed, fingers frozen around her phone. The headmaster had promised one call home "just to inform," but of course her mother had demanded a personal conversation. She always did. Control disguised as concern.

The line clicked.

"Harper Grace," her mother's voice hissed like steam through a cracked teapot. "I knew leaving you at that school was a mistake. God forbid I get one term without a phone call from some smug administrator telling me my daughter is playing fugitive on school property!"

Harper clenched her jaw. "It wasn't like that."

"No? Then do explain it to me. You snuck out. You trespassed. You embarrassed yourself and—by extension—me. Again."

Harper swallowed the ache in her throat. "It was just the astroturf. Jane—"

"Oh. Jane. Of course. I knew that girl was trouble the minute I saw her on your Instagram. She's got you playing shadow to someone else's mess — just like you always do. No spine. No judgment."

There was a pause. Harper didn't speak. That was the trap—engage, and her mother won.

"You're wasting every opportunity I've broken my back to give you," her mother continued, voice tightening. "You are not some ordinary girl, Harper. Do you think your tuition fee grows on trees? Do you think I work hard every single day so you could roll around on fake grass like a delinquent?"

Harper stared at the ceiling, eyes hot. "No, Mum."

"Exactly. So you'll fix this. You'll write an apology letter to the headmaster. You'll stay away from that Jane girl. And you'll remember who you are. Because I will not have my daughter become another pathetic little scandal. Do I make myself clear?"

A long silence stretched between them.

"Yes," Harper said softly. "You're clear."

"Good," her mother snapped, already moving on. "Now go and do something useful, will you? Preferable something that won't ruin your life and discredit our family name."

The call ended.

Harper sat frozen, the low hum of the disconnected line ringing louder than the yelling ever had. She didn't cry. She hadn't because of her mum in years. But her chest felt splintered all the same—like something small and important had cracked.

From the hallway, she heard Jane's laugh—unapologetic, alive. For a moment, Harper wished she could step into her skin and exist in the peace for just one beautiful day.

Then she put her phone face down and stared out the window, toward the corner of the West building, where Oscar's light was still on.

—

Saturday breakfast at Haileybury was always quieter than weekdays—no teachers barking about uniforms, no ridiculous assemblies looming. Just a murmur of voices, the clink of spoons on bowls, and the comforting scent of burnt toast and cheap blackcurrant cordial.

Harper found Oscar already at their usual corner table, grey school hoodie half-zipped, one hand absently twirling a spoon through a rapidly dissolving Weetabix. She slid in across from him without asking.

He looked up. "Hello, criminal."

She rolled her eyes. "Very funny."

"Did they handcuff you?"

"I was in a golf cart. Not a police car."

"Same thing."

She tried to suppress a smile, then gave up and let it bloom. "Shut up."

Oscar nudged a plate of toast toward her without looking. She took a slice. Their fingers brushed but neither of them blinked.

The conversation, such as it was, drifted between silence and occasional muttered words. Harper hated explaining herself, and Oscar never asked too many questions. She liked that. He was content to just exist, solid and easy.

She reached for the plate of butter and jam packets; he slid it toward her before she could ask. A beat later, her socked foot bumped his under the table, and when she didn't move it, neither did he.

Oscar leaned his elbow on the table, close enough that their arms almost touched. His pinky brushed hers once, twice. Stayed.

"You're quiet," he said, not looking at her. "Did you get in actual trouble?"

Harper shrugged, chewing toast like it was a strategy. "No. Just a warning. I'm just... tired."

"Yeah." A pause. Then, "Your mum?"

She hesitated—long enough that Oscar glanced at her. She didn't meet his eyes, but her hand drifted over the table between them, her fingers brushing the cuff of his sleeve. Light, thoughtless. He didn't pull away.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "She was... her usual self."

He didn't say sorry. Didn't offer advice. Instead, his hand turned slightly under hers, letting their fingers rest together for a moment—awkward, warm, electric.

Harper blinked. Neither of them looked down.

Somewhere across the room, Jane shouted something about hashbrowns. Plates clattered. The world moved on.

But at their table, it seemed to pause. Just for a brief moment.

—

It wasn't a date.

That's what Harper told herself when Oscar muttered, barely above a mumble, "If you're not doing anything tomorrow... I've got a session. Karting. Local place. You could come, if you want."

She hadn't answered right away—just nodded and said, "Sure," like it wasn't the most exciting offer she'd received in months.

Now she stood behind a sagging wire fence at Rye House Kart Raceway, the tang of petrol thick in the air, her hands jammed into her coat pockets. The morning was all grey light and loud engines, but something about it felt oddly calm. Like a different frequency from school life. Like she'd somehow stepped into Oscar's world and it'd welcomed her with open arms.

He was already out there when she arrived—helmeted, gloved, tucked low into the kart like it'd been built around him. She might not know the first thing about apexes or tires, but she could tell that he was fast. Efficient. Focused.

The kart didn't fight him; it moved with him.

One of the mechanics, a guy with oil-stained hands and a thick Northern accent, noticed her hovering. "You Harper?"

She blinked. "Yeah?"

"Well, shit. He told us you might show up today. Nice to meet you. Kid doesn't stop talking about you."

Harper flushed. "Oh."

The man grinned and pointed toward the pit lane. "You can stand closer. He won't mind. Nobody will say anything — I'll make sure of it."

So she did.

She leaned against the low rail as Oscar pulled in, lifting his visor with one hand. His hair was plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed red from the cold and the adrenaline.

"You came," he said when he saw her, his eyes slightly wide.

"You invited me." She said with a shrug.

"Didn't think you would actually come." He admitted.

She raised an eyebrow. "Do I seem that unreliable?"

He gave her a sarcastic once over. "A little bit."

She nudged him with her shoulder. He nudged back—more of a lean, really, casual and warm, his helmet tucked under his arm.

He glanced down at her hand, fiddling with the cuff of her coat. "You wanna sit in it?"

She froze. "What?"

"The kart. You'll fit. You're smaller than me. Won't make you drive it. You can just... sit. See what it's like."

Her heart kicked up—something small but definite. "Okay."

He guided her by the wrist, gently, like he didn't even realise he was doing it. The kart was lower than she expected, more cramped. When she settled in, Oscar crouched beside it, adjusting a loose strap around her shoulder like it mattered; even though she wasn't even moving.

"Suits you," he said, voice cracking. His cheeks flamed red as he cleared his throat.

She looked up at him, her knees scrunched and her spine stiff against the plastic shell of the seat. "I feel like I'm going to get a foot cramp."

Oscar snorted. "Yeah. You get used to that." He crouched beside her, the team-branded grease-stained hoodie pulled over his head, a smudge of oil near his temple he hadn't noticed—or didn't care to. He leaned on the side of the kart like it was his second skin, completely at home here.

Harper squinted up at him. "You don't look like you've ever had a cramp in your life."

"Permanent state of cramp, actually," he said. "But the adrenaline outweighs the pain."

She rolled her eyes and laughed. The sound seemed to catch the attention of the crew around them.

One of the younger mechanics, a guy maybe nineteen with bleached tips and a cheeky grin, sauntered over. "So this the infamous Harper, yeah?"

Oscar looked vaguely alarmed. "Don't call her that."

The guy stuck out his hand. "I'm Cal. Oscar's part-time therapist-slash-punching bag. You hungry? We usually get a delivery of sausage rolls around eleven."

She blinked. "I mean... yeah. I wouldn't say no to a sausage roll."

That was all it took.

Within half an hour, Harper had been half-dragged, half-adopted into the garage crew's rhythm. Someone threw her a hoodie—two sizes too big, slightly smelling of petrol.

Someone else tossed her a bottle of orange Lucozade. They didn't ask who she was or where she came from. No grilling. No polite smiles that felt like there razors hidden underneath.

They just let her be.

Oscar didn't hover. He just looked over now and then between runs on the track—when she laughed at Cal's bad imitation of an Aussie accent, when she actually tried the sausage roll and grumbled in bliss at the greasy goodness, when she leaned back against a stack of tires, hoodie sleeves rolled over her fingers like she belonged there.

He caught her eye once across the pit, and her smile was quieter. Less amused, more... settled.

After the second session, she walked the track with him, boots crunching on gravel, their shoulders brushing once, twice, until finally she just left hers pressed against his.

"You l like them," he said, not a question.

"They're..." She trailed off. Words felt clumsy again. "They're nice. Kind. Easy."

Oscar glanced at her sideways. "Not like the people you normally meet, then?"

She shook her head. "My mum would have a full meltdown if she saw this place. She's big on etiquette and thinks that men belong in office buildings."

He let out a bark of laughter. "What does that mean?"

Harper smiled, but it was the sad kind. "It means I grew up learning how to be a cold-hearted bitch instead of... a good person."

Oscar didn't say anything for a while. Just walked next to her, silent. Then, in a voice barely above the hum of tires cooling nearby, "I think you're a good person."

She blinked hard at the ground, heart tight in her chest.

And then she reached out, without thinking, and hooked her pinky through his.

He didn't look at her.

He didn't let go, either.

—

By the third weekend — no one blinked when Harper appeared trackside.

She knew where the best shade was. Knew which toolbox to sit on without getting yelled at. She'd learned to nod like she understood when Cal rattled off tire compound jargon, and even managed to not flinch when someone dropped a torque wrench three feet from her head.

Oscar never really invited her anymore; she just showed up. Like clockwork. Like she belonged.

And the weird part? She kind of felt like she did.

Today, the garage buzzed louder than usual. Something was off; not in a bad way, just... more charged.

Harper felt it before Oscar even pulled back into the garage from the track. A couple of the guys were cleaning things that didn't need cleaning. Cal was actually wearing a clean team polo. And it'd been ironed.

Harper raised an amused eyebrow. "Who died?"

"No one died, mate," Cal said. "It's who's coming."

Before she could even ask, a black SUV pulled up just beyond the gravel lot. Out stepped a tall, broad-shouldered man in dark jeans and aviators.

Oscar appeared seconds later, clambering out of the kart and instinctively holding out his hands for Harper to unstrap his gloves.

She did so without thinking, keeping her eyes on the guest of honour. "That's..." Harper frowned. "Is that Mark Webber?"

Oscar nodded. "Yeah. He's my manager. Mentor. Basically part-time third parent." He shrugged. "No big deal. Hey." He said to Mark as he approached.

Mark clapped Oscar on the shoulder, firm and familiar. "Hey, kid." Then his gaze drifted to Harper. "And this is?" His Aussie accent was smoother than expected.

Harper stood quickly, brushing dirt from her jeans. "I'm Harper. I, uh—I go to school with Oscar. I just, kind of... hang around here. Sometimes. Sir."

"Yeah. She's really good at it," Oscar teased, smirking.

Mark offered her his hand. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Harper."

She laughed, nervous but charmed. "Yeah. You too."

Later, after a test stint that had the crew whispering about sector times and potential upgrades, Oscar was called over to one of the race officials' tents. When he came back, his expression was unreadable.

Harper swung her legs over the tire stack she'd claimed and watched him approach.

"What did they say?" She asked.

He didn't tell her anything right away. Just stood there, squinting against the sun. "They offered me a spot in WSK. Full calendar."

Her mouth parted slightly. "Oscar... that's—oh my god."

He nodded. "Yeah." He exhaled.

There was a long pause. People moved around them, laughing, working, shouting. But in the middle of it, everything else blurred.

"You're gonna take it, right?" She asked, trying to sound excited, not scared.

He didn't answer at first. Just looked at her for a long time. Like he was memorizing her.

"I think I have to," he laughed dryly.

She nodded, heart thudding too hard. "Yeah. You do."

Oscar took a step closer. Close enough that she could see the flecks of black in his eyes. "You'll still come to watch me practice, yeah?"

"If I'm allowed." She bit her lip.

"You're always allowed." He said; like he was daring anyone to say something different.

She smiled. And without thinking, she reached up and fixed the strap of his race suit, the way she'd seen him do a hundred times.

It wasn't a kiss. It wasn't even a hug.

But when their fingers touched, briefly and completely, it felt like something.

NEXT CHAPTER

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dirtyvulture · 3 months ago

Text

The Maid - Part 4

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 2245

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: Thank you for the continued support! You all make my day with your comments and theories. :)

Read part 3 here.

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

You sit at the kitchen table nervously, drumming your fingers on the wood. You knew Wanda would be home late–she never had the respect to give you a proper timeline for her outings. The clock tells you that it’s a little past midnight, and sleepiness burns in the corners of your eyes, but you told yourself you aren’t going to bed until this is all over.

You run the lines over in your head. What you want to say to her exactly, what you’ll counter with if she reacts well or poorly. You’ve waited long enough to have this conversation, perhaps too long, but Natasha finally gave you the push you needed.

“Do you still love her?” Natasha asks softly after you tell her the whole story of your wife’s philandering.

You don’t answer. Deep down, you know your love for her was being tested to its breaking point, and you weren’t so sure it would survive after this. “I’ll talk to her tonight, when she comes home,” you say. “You should probably go home. I can’t imagine it’ll be a pretty conversation.”

“I’ll stay if you want me to,” Natasha insists. “You shouldn’t be alone to do something like that.” Your heart melts, and for a moment you want to get up and kiss her. Not that you wanted to pull a Wanda, but you couldn’t ignore how beautiful and generous your maid was. She was excellent at her job; never complained and went above and beyond, even when your wife was being a total bitch. She treated you with the respect and kindness you deserved. She was everything you wanted in a partner and more.

But you were stuck with Wanda. For now, at least.

“Are you sure? Wanda might be home late and I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay just for me,” you say.

“It’s fine. She won’t even know I’m here. I can leave out the back door,” Natasha says.

“Thank you, Natasha.” Her support means more to you than you’re allowed to express.

“You’re welcome.”

Now, with Natasha hiding in the kitchen, the two of you wait.

***********************************************************************

You accidentally doze off and wake with a start when you hear the garage door open. For a moment, you don’t even remember where you are or why.

“Natasha? Are you still here?” you whisper as loud as you dare.

“Yes.” Her head pokes out from around the corner of the kitchen.

Relief fills you. You were worried she would ditch you after all, not that you would’ve blamed her in the slightest. “Wanda’s home,” you tell her, and she nods and disappears again. At least you didn’t have to face your wife entirely alone.

You sit rigidly still on the couch until your wife walks in, almost passing you at first.

“You’re back,” you say, and she jumps, reaching for the light switch and revealing you on the couch.

“I said I’d be back tonight,” she says.

“Who were you out with?”

“My girlfriends.”

“No.” You stand up and walk over to her. You are a great deal taller than her and for once she looks like she feels her size around you. “Who did you go out with tonight?”

Wanda doesn’t make eye contact with you. “You know…Carol, Darcy–”

“Are you fucking them too?”

“Excuse me?” Wanda draws back from you until she bumps into the bookshelf.

“You heard me,” you say through clenched teeth. “Were you fucking them too?”

“No. Why the hell would you think that?”

“Because I know you spend all your free time fucking anything that moves behind my back.”

The silence in the air is electric. Your heart is thundering in your chest so hard you wonder if Natasha can hear it. Wanda’s eyes widen.

“I...I’ve never done that,” she says, but her falter shows her lie. “How dare you suggest–”

You take your phone out and show Wanda the screen. She squints at it in confusion at first, then a shadow of horror passes over her face when she realizes it’s the camera view from the little ceramic turtle you planted in the china cabinet, now showing the two of you standing there.

“You hid a camera in my own home–” Wanda starts.

“I hid a shit ton of cameras in our home,” you say.

“So this is why your business is failing,” she cackles, and the switch in topic throws you for a loop. “You spend all day watching and stalking me in our home when you’re supposed to be working. No wonder you don’t bring home any money. Not only are you a shitty spouse, you’re also a shitty worker.”

Anger explodes inside of you, and for a moment your control slips. You lunge for Wanda, not even sure what you’ll do once you grab her, but she slams her palms to your chest and sends you staggering back. She turns and yanks a book off the shelf, removing a revolver from the pages and pointing it towards you with trembling hands.

“Don’t get any closer to me, you fucking creep!” she yells.

Your anger dissolves into concern. “Put the gun down, Wanda. Please. Let’s just talk about this like adults–”

“Oh, now you want to talk like adults?” Wanda laughs manically. “Where was this before you started illegally recording me in my own home?”

“You’re fucking cheating on me!” you scream, losing your composure again. “I moved us into this big house, in this nice neighborhood, and you’re just so fucking ungrateful for any of it!”

“I didn’t want any of it to begin with!” Wanda returns.

“Why not? Because you had to leave behind your fuck buddies in our old neighborhood?”

“You’re the exact same person here as you were over there. A self-righteous piece of shit,” she seethes.

“If you’re so sick of me, why don’t you divorce me?” you ask. “Oh wait.” You snap your fingers. “I bet no one would want to sleep with a washed-up divorcee. Because where’s the fun in that?”

Wanda turns the gun around and points it at her temple. “I’ll kill myself if you divorce me,” she says, then shifts the gun to point towards her chest, “But I’ll make it look like you did it.”

The blood in your veins chills at the thought. “Give me the gun, Wanda.”

“Take it from me,” she goads.

While you have very little confidence in your disarming tactics, you do know you’re stronger and faster than Wanda. You also don’t fully believe that she’ll kill herself right here, so that gives you an advantage of time.

Before a plan even forms in your head, you reach out with your arm and slap Wanda’s hand away from her chest. She startles and drops the gun; you expect her to dive after it but instead she whirls around and punches you in the face. Despite all of her faults, she’s never outright hit you before, and your vision swims as your head whiplashes against the bookshelf.

“You crazy motherfucker,” Wanda screeches, punching you again and you fall to the floor, instinctively curling into a ball to protect yourself. Her foot slams into your ribs and for a second, you can’t believe you’re getting the beating of a lifetime from your own wife.

Meanwhile, Natasha is in utter shock at the events unfolding in front of her. She feels like she’s overstepping some serious boundaries, but she can’t leave you now, especially with Wanda having the upper hand.

“Wanda, stop!” she hears you gasp as Wanda grabs hold of Crime and Punishment uses it like a weapon, raising it behind her head and smashing it against your body over and over. Natasha can’t bear to stand there anymore. She has to protect you from your insane, deranged wife.

Natasha crosses the living room in four leaping strides and picks up the revolver. Wanda looks shocked more by her presence than the fact that she’s now staring down the barrel of her own gun.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” Wanda says.

“Get away from Y/N,” Natasha says, holding the gun in both hands. The weight feels disconcertingly familiar, and despite her nerves, she isn’t shaking.

“Are you fucking her?” Wanda suddenly turns to you. “You’ve got some nerve watching me get it on with the neighbors when you’ve been fucking our maid–”

“Shut up!” Natasha yells. “I’m not doing anything with Y/N!” she says, although she wishes that wasn’t the truth.

“I don’t believe that.” Wanda marches over to Natasha, leaving you unraveling on the floor. Blood drips from your nose and mouth, and Natasha can see the purpling bruise on your cheek. “Vision told me Y/N took you to see Wicked on my anniversary–”

“Because you couldn’t be bothered to remember and go yourself!” Natasha says.

Wanda is too enraged to quiet. “How dare you enter my house, take advantage of my kindness, and take my partner to bed–”

“Back off!” Natasha says, raising the gun until it’s almost level with Wanda’s eyes. “Not everyone is a cheating whore like you.”

Both Wanda and Natasha seem shocked by her choice of words. Natasha’s arms shake as they drop a few inches. She won’t hold back anymore–but neither will Wanda.

“You little bitch.” Wanda draws her arm back. Natasha flinches and squeezes the trigger.

BANG.

The gunshot is much, much louder in an enclosed space, and Natasha’s ears ring so hard they hurt. Wanda stands before her, her jaw dropped in shock. A stain of blood grows on her shirt, centered over her bellybutton.

“Oh my God. Wanda, I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Natasha gasps, unable to wrap her head around her own actions.

“You…You shot me,” Wanda says, grabbing her stomach as she falls. Natasha tries to catch her but misses; you appear behind Wanda and lower her slowly to the floor. “How is that possible?” She looks up at you and your face is pale with shock. “You fucking shot me!”

“Nat,” you whisper. “Nat, give me the gun.”

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” Natasha cries, handing you the weapon and backing away from the two of you. “I thought she was going to hit me and–”

“It’s okay.” You stand up, wobbling a little, and rush to her side. “Go home Nat, okay? Go through the back door and jump the fences if you have to. And if anyone asks where you were tonight, you weren’t here.”

“No, no.” Natasha fights the tears threatening to spill out. “That’s wrong. I did this, I want to take responsibility for it–”

“No,” you say. “With your background, you’ll be locked in prison the rest of your life, if you don’t get deported first.”

“M-My background?” Natasha stammers. “How do you know about–”

You shake your head, indicating now is not the time to have this discussion. “For the record, it never made me trust you any less.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You reach out and grab her hand. It calms Natasha instantly. “Go now. Let me handle this. I’ll come find you when this is all over.”

“I’m so sorry,” Natasha sobs.

“It wasn’t your fault. Now get out of here, please!”

Natasha doesn’t wait to hear you instruct her again. She looks at you, her savior, one last time, completely ignoring Wanda laying on the floor, before dashing off towards the garage. It’s pitch-black, but she doesn’t dare turn on a light, and fumbles for the back door. Outside, the air is nippy and her breath clouds in front of her face. She takes a deep breath to orient herself, then runs headfirst towards the neighbor’s fence, hauling herself over it as quietly as she can, crossing their yard, and leaping over the next fence.

She has to jump over two more yards before she gets to the street, racing to her Nissan and peeling away down the street. In the safety of her car, the realization crashes over her and she can’t stop the waterworks.

She can’t believe she shot your wife. She can’t believe you knew her background. Clint had told her no one would find out what she had done in Russia after she assumed a new identity, but you had found out somehow. And yet, you were still okay hiring her even after you knew she had killed her former boss.

The sounds of sirens pierce her thoughts and Natasha seizes up. A black-and-white police car races by. Either you had called them, or a neighbor had heard the shouting and gunshot. Natasha prays her presence had gone undetected. She had never been more thankful Wanda forced her to park down the street, where her car was less likely to be seen.

She wonders if she’ll ever get to see you again.

***********************************************************************

After Natasha leaves, you take a moment to absorb your surroundings. Wanda is gurgling and crying on the floor, pressing her palms against her stomach, blood spilling through her fingers and on the tiles Natasha had mopped earlier that day.

Your grip tightens on the gun as you move to stand over Wanda, where she can fully see you. Your body throbs where she hit you, and you know you don’t look much better than her. Blood bubbles out of her mouth. She can’t speak anymore, but her eyes are fiery and pleading.

You lift the gun, which feels like a thousand pounds in your hand.

“Someone should’ve done this a long time ago.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Welp, that escalated quickly. Will Wanda live? Should she?? 👀

Click here for Part 5.

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

#natasha romanoff #black widow #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader

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dixons-sunshine · 1 month ago

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What Ifs | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: While cuddled up in bed one night, Daryl springs a question onto you, one that made you think. After seeing Daryl truly caught up on the ‘what ifs’, you took it upon yourself to reassure him as best as you could.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Alexandria

Warnings: None, other than a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it allusion to past sexual activity.

Word count: 1.1k.

A/N: This one’s for my Daryl lovers! Yes, I am very much still writing for Daryl, even though I’ve started writing for Joel lol. I haven’t forgotten my roots. Anyways, I had this idea and (kind of poorly) executed it (also please ignore how meh the summary is. I struggled coming up with one). I hope y’all like this!

“D’ya think we would’a been together? Under different circumstances, I mean?”

The sound of Daryl’s surprisingly soft, tentative question filled the quiet, blissful air. The room was dark, the only source of light being that of the moon that trickled in through the window and spilled past the barrier of the curtains. The hour was late, probably nearing midnight, with owls hooting in the distance and crickets chirping outside the window. Sleep tugged at your eyelids, but the archer’s question kept you awake.

“What do you mean?” you inquired in a voice just as soft, raising your head from its position on his shoulder to peer down at him. Your fingers trailed over the bare flesh of his chest, being extra gentle whenever you came across one of his many scars. Blankets covered you both, tugged over you by your partner after a night of pleasure.

Daryl did not answer. Not at first. He stayed silent, his eyes—blue like the water in the ocean—looked anywhere but at you at first. The door, the dresser, his crossbow leaning against the wall, the curtains, until finally they landed on you. His gaze was uncertain, insecure, like he was scared his question would make you mad, and your heart ached.

“Daryl,” you began, making sure to keep your voice soft, gentle, almost honey-like, “it’s okay. You can tell me.”

Inhaling shakily, Daryl ducked his eyes down again. He drew lazy circles over your hip, hoping to anchor himself before he got lost in the abyss that was his mind. Despite his build, he looked so small in that moment, so vulnerable, and it made you want to hug him tightly and soothe his troubles away.

“I don’t really know how to explain it,” Daryl started slowly, swallowing at the lump that threatened to form in his throat. “Jus’... if we met under different circumstances, maybe earlier in life or in a world where none’a this bullshit ever happened, would we still be here today? Together? Or…”

Daryl couldn’t finish the question. He didn’t want to finish the question. Voicing this worry out loud made him feel foolish. Why did it matter? You were with him now. You were his woman, and he was your man. You loved each other. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?

You took a minute to ponder over his question. You wanted to say yes, but you couldn’t say that for sure. Thinking back, you and Daryl lived two completely different lives. You had a job, an apartment, a life that seems like a pipedream compared to the one you led now. Daryl… his life hadn’t been that simple, and he never truly had any roots. If you had met in a world where the apocalypse never happened, would you have spared him a second glance? Would you have asked him out, introduced him to the people closest to you, done all the things couples did back then?

Then there was Merle to consider, the life Daryl lived with him before the outbreak. Would that have hindered Daryl from keeping in contact with you if you two met in a world where the outbreak didn’t happen? Would he have tried to break free from Merle’s shadow and live his own life, a life that wasn’t dangerous to have you involved in?

The answer wasn’t as simple as saying yes or no. There was a lot to take into consideration. You both lived very different lives before the apocalypse, but would fate have come into play? Would you still have ended up together? You couldn’t say.

“You want my honest answer?” you asked after a good minute of silence.

Daryl’s heart dropped at that, fearing the worst, but he nodded nonetheless. “Yeah, I do.”

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully. “I want to say yes. I want to believe with my whole heart that destiny would have brought us together regardless of how or when we met, but I can’t say that for sure.” Laying your head back down on Daryl’s shoulder, you kissed his pulse point, smiling to yourself when a shiver rolled over his spine. “But I choose not to think about that. You wanna know why?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah.”

“Because I have you now.” You pressed a string of soft, loving kisses against his neck, before continuing. “In a weird way, I’m grateful that the apocalypse happened because it led me to you.” You paused. “Although I definitely wish we didn’t have to lose so many people because of all of this.”

Many different faces flashed through Daryl’s mind when you said that. “Definitely could’a gone without all the losses.”

You nodded in agreement. Willing your mind away from thinking about all the friends you lost since the quarry, you spoke up again. “But my point is that it doesn’t matter. The ‘what ifs’. We have each other now, despite everything we had to overcome. So what if some alternate versions of us don’t end up together? We are together in this universe, and that’s all that matters. And for as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be yours. I love you, Daryl, and I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Daryl didn’t know what to say. He had never been good with words, and no words would ever perfectly convey just how much Daryl loved you, how grateful he was to have you in his life, to be able to share his life with you. You deserved the world, and for as long as Daryl was alive, he would try to give you that.

“I love ya, too,” Daryl finally whispered quietly, his arm that held you to him tightening slightly, pulling you even closer. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Shh. Don’t talk like that. Of course you do.”

He didn’t address everything you said. He didn’t need to. You knew he had heard everything you said, knew he appreciated it. Daryl was a man of few words, but his eyes showed it all, and you saw everything in those beautiful blue pools. You knew he appreciated what you said. Would that feeling—one he had for reasons you didn’t know of just yet—of his go away after one speech? Most likely not, but thankfully, you had time to show him just how much you loved him, and that he didn’t have to get caught up on the ‘what if’ scenarios.

“Daryl?” you said after a few minutes of silence.

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad I know you now. There’s nobody I’d rather take on the apocalypse with.”

Daryl chuckled at that and tenderly kissed the top of your head. “Me too, Sweetheart. Me too.”

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shadowkoo · 3 months ago

Text

Did You Miss Me?

→ Summary: Chan surprises you when he comes home early from his trip, waking you in the sweetest way. But as the night unfolds, it becomes pretty clear that you’re definitely more than just roommates.

↠ bang chan x f.reader | 3.2k words | 18+ ↠ genre: fluffy smut, roommates au, friends to lovers

→ Prompts: #31. "Did you miss me?"

→ Warnings: unprotected sex, soft sex, oral (female receiving), body worship, praise, slight dry humping, chan is determined to show you how much he wants loves you, he like to call you pet names like dove, multiple orgasms, no real major warnings kinda just fluffy smut lol (wow how rare of me)

→ Networks: @ksmutsociety @k-vanity @keopihaus @lapydiaries

→ Author Note: Thank you for requesting anon! Learn more about my mini requests here. Also a big thanks to Thea @yoongihan for beta editing this for me <3 As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3 divider credit

⋆˙⟡ m.list ⟡⋆⟡ ao3 ⟡⋆⟡ wips ⟡⋆⟡ updates ⟡⋆⟡ shadow realm ⟡˙⋆

You sigh, checking your phone once more (the tenth time in the past five minutes), willing a notification to appear. But your screen remains stubbornly blank, mocking you with its silence.

Chan was supposed to text once he landed, but hours have passed, and still no word from him. He’d been visiting his family for the past week and was returning home tonight. You’d planned to stay up, wanting to be awake when he walked through the door, to ask him how his break was. But as the time creeps closer to midnight, your eyelids grow heavy by the minute, and the cozy warmth of your couch makes staying awake feel impossible.

As much as you’ve enjoyed the past few days of having the apartment to yourself, something felt off. Maybe it’s been the way it’s too quiet, too clean.

Something’s missing. Him.

You bury yourself deeper into the oversized black sweatshirt you stole from him before he’d left. Well, technically, you borrowed it on a chilly night and haven’t given it back yet, but it’s been long enough that you’re semi-confident that it’s a permanent acquisition. The sleeves swallow your hands, the hood flopping over half your face, cocooning you in familiar comfort. It faintly smells just like him, warm, clean, and just a little bit like citrus from the fancy shampoo he swears he doesn’t use.

At some point, without really meaning to, you fell for him. Hard.

Maybe it’s the way his laughter lingers in the air even after he’s left the room, the way he always saves you the last slice of pizza even though you know he wanted it for himself, the way he never complains when you steal his hoodies, even though he absolutely notices.

And you’re pretty sure he likes you back. Like, 99% sure.

But that lingering 1%? That tiny, infuriating sliver of doubt? It’s enough to keep you from doing anything courageous, like admitting that you’ve been secretly crushing on him. You’re too afraid to make the first move, just in case it all blows up in your face. In case he only sees you as a friend. Or worse, as just a roommate.

God, you really, really hope that’s not the case.

At some point, your exhaustion wins, and you drift off without realizing it. You don’t hear the soft click of the door unlocking or Chan’s quiet footsteps as he comes inside.

He exhales, shaking off the lingering weariness from his delayed flights. Kicking his shoes off, he drops his bag by the door before stepping further inside. The apartment is dimly lit from the streetlights, the soft glow filtering in through the curtains. Then, he sees you.

You’re curled up on the couch, nestled in his sweatshirt, your face half-hidden beneath the hood, breathing slowly.

His heart pounds at the sight.

Chan planned to surprise you by coming home early, hence why he didn’t text you back. But fate had other ideas; his flight was delayed not once, but twice tonight. The dinner reservations were long past. The flowers he bought were starting to look a little sad.

But none of that matters now. Not when he was standing in front of you, watching you sleep so peacefully.

He had decided on day two of being home that he missed you badly. That the apartment, his routines, even his favorite coffee shop, all felt off without you in them. And somewhere between the restless nights, long days, and delayed flights he realized something else.

He wasn’t just missing his friend, his roommate.

He was missing you, the person he hadn’t been able to get out of his head.

Chan was planning to tell you that tonight, along with all the other words he’d left unsaid for far too long.

After gently setting down the bouquet of soft, pastel and white colored flowers, he kneels beside the couch.

Carefully, he lifts the edge of the hood covering your face, pushing it back. The warmth in his chest grows as you stir, slowly waking up. Your brow scrunches slightly before your eyelids flutter open, widening when you realize he’s in front of you.

He smiles. God, you’re perfect.

“Hi, dove,” he murmurs softly. “Did you miss me?”

Still caught in the hazy lull of sleep, you loop your arms around his neck as you pull him down onto you, pressing yourself into his warmth like you never want to let go.

“Mmm, so much,” you confess, your voice thick with drowsiness, and the honesty slips past your lips before you even realize it.

Chan freezes for half a second before melting into your embrace, a low chuckle rumbling through his chest. His arms wrap around you, holding you just as tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Good,” he whispers, pressing the softest kiss against your skin. “Because I missed you more.”

He pulls back as his fingers graze along your jaw, tilting your chin up to guide you toward him. Chan’s touch is gentle, his thumb brushes over your skin like he’s memorizing this moment. Your half-lidded eyes meet his, hazy with sleepiness and something softer, something that makes his heart race.

Before he can think better of it, he leans in again. This time he closes the space between you with a long-awaited kiss.

His lips press against yours tentatively at first, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away, to stop this before it becomes something that can’t be taken back.

But you don’t. You won’t.

Instead, you sigh into him as your arms tighten around his shoulders, like you’re afraid this is a dream and he’ll disappear.

Your hands grip his beanie and tug it off without a second thought. You toss it somewhere—anywhere—because all you care about is threading your fingers through his hair. You tug lightly at the soft strands you’ve been dying to touch for longer than you care to admit.

Chan groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating between you. It sends a delicious shiver down your spine. Heat coils low in your stomach, setting every nerve on fire.

He moves without thinking, climbing over you, pressing you deeper into the couch cushions as he molds himself against you. His body fits perfectly against yours, warm and solid, as if he were always meant to be there.

His grip slides down to your waist, fingers tightening like he needs to hold onto something real, something grounding, as he shifts closer. And then, god, he rolls his hips down against yours, a teasing friction that steals the breath from your lungs.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. Chan exhales sharply, like he’s barely holding himself together, which sends a thrill through you.

He’s so familiar, yet right now, he feels like something entirely new. Something you’ve wanted for a while.

The kiss deepens, his tongue traces along yours, tasting you, learning you. It’s slow but searing, a quiet confession wrapped in every press of your lips, every lingering touch that’s shared.

There’s no more uncertainty. It’s just you and him, tangled together in the quiet of your apartment, finally giving in.

Chan leans in again, lips brushing over yours, voice barely above a whisper, “Tell me you want this too.”

You nod, knowing there’s no going back.

Thank god.

Your hands trail down his firm back, fingers exploring the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. Needing more, you tug at the hem, silently asking for it to go.

Chan pulls back just enough to strip it off, tossing it aside. His gaze drops to you, dark yet soft, and then he’s helping you out of yours, the one you’ve practically lived in since he left.

He temporarily forgets to breathe when he realizes you’re bare beneath it.

A low, appreciative sound rumbles in his chest as his fingers lightly trace over your skin. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with something heady, something possessive.

Then his lips are on you again, trailing down the curve of your neck. He leaves a path of open-mouthed kisses that make you shiver while his hands skim your sides, mapping the dips and curves of your body like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s waited too long for this moment to rush through it.

He pauses just above your breasts, his breath warm against your skin. Looking up, he asks a silent question with his eyes, waiting for permission.

You give him a small nod, tilting your head back in anticipation.

That’s all the confirmation he needs.

His mouth closes around the soft peak of your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud, drawing a gasp from your lips. The heat of it sends a rush of pleasure straight through you, making your fingers tighten in his hair.

His other hand moves to your other breast, kneading gently, his thumb circling and teasing in tandem with his mouth. He groans against you, the sound vibrating through your skin, making your body arch into his touch, desperate for more.

Chan lifts his head just enough to meet your eyes again, his lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he says, his voice a velvety rasp against your skin.

Then he lowers his mouth again, determined to worship every inch of you.

Chan doesn’t rush. He never does, but definitely not tonight, not with you.

He switches sides, his mouth leaving a wet trail as he latches onto your other breast, giving it just as much attention as the first. His tongue flicks over the sensitive peak before he sucks gently, pulling a soft moan from your lips.

You writhe beneath him, your back arching into his warmth, silently begging for more. He groans against your skin at the way you respond to him.

When he feels like you can’t take anymore of his teasing, his lips begin their descent, leaving a slow, burning trail of kisses down your stomach. His tongue sneaking out every so often to taste you, to savor the way your skin shivers under his attention. His hands smooth over your sides as he moves lower and lower, until he reaches the waistband of your sweatpants.

Chan pauses, glancing up at you with hooded eyes, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. His fingers hook into the band, dragging it down just slightly, just enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“You’re already so needy for me, dove,” he murmurs, his voice thick with something dark and addictive.

You don’t get the chance to respond before he tugs your sweatpants down in one fluid motion, helping you out of them with ease.

And then he sees it.

The damp patch coating the thin fabric of your panties.

Chan sucks in a sharp breath, his jaw clenching as his fingers ghost over the evidence of your arousal, his touch barely there but just enough to make you squirm. His eyes flick back up to yours, burning with unspoken promises.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice raw with restraint. “Look at you…”

He presses a teasing kiss just above the wet spot, whispering against you, “I need to taste you.”

“Please, Channie,” you whimper, your voice laced with desperation. Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging him closer. “I want you to.”

A deep groan escapes his lungs. He loves the way you plead for him, the way his nickname sounds falling from your pretty lips.

His fingers find their way between your thighs, pressing against the soaked fabric of your panties. He rubs slow circles over your aching core, teasing you, testing you, driving you to the edge before he’s even truly begun. The sensation sends another shudder through you, and when your moan spills into the air, it intertwines with his own.

“Anything for you, dove,” he breathes, his voice thick with devotion and desire.

Chan hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, gently dragging them down your legs. He takes his time, savoring every inch he reveals, watching as you tremble beneath him.

Then he sees all of you.

He sucks in a breath, his pupils blown wide with hunger as he drinks in the sight of your slick, glistening folds. He swallows hard as his arousal painfully strains against his pants, twitching at the mere thought of tasting you.

Lowering himself between your thighs, he presses soft kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, his lips barely grazing where you need him most. The anticipation is maddening, and he knows that he has you squirming. He smirks as your hips instinctively tilt toward him, silently begging.

He chuckles, but obliges.

Chan’s nose nuzzles against your swollen, needy clit. As he breathes you in, his own restraint hangs by a thread. His tongue delves into your slick heat, firmly parting you as he groans into you, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure straight through your core.

You cry out his name, your back arching off the couch. Your nails dig into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as waves of pleasure crash over you.

Chan tightens his grip on your thighs, holding you open as he’s determined to make you fall apart beneath him. He’s waited to fucking long for this.

“Oh, fuck,” you mewl, you voice becoming shaky. “Chan, I’m gonna come.”

His chest swells with pride, impressed at how quickly he’s unraveled you. He’s barely touched you, and yet here you are just about to fall apart for him.

“That’s it, dove,” he rasps against your slick skin, his tongue relentless, pushing you right over the edge. “Let go for me.”

Your body tenses before shattering into pure pleasure. Waves of ecstasy wash over you as you cry out his name. He groans as he feels you come undone against his mouth, your release coating his tongue. Hot, sweet, and so intoxicating.

Chan doesn’t stop, not until he’s wrung every last drop from you, his tongue lapping up the remnants of your pleasure, drinking you in like he’s starving. He finally lets up once you're a quivering mess beneath him.

He sits up, satisfaction glinting in his darkened eyes as he admires your flushed skin, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Especially the dazed, blissed-out look on your face.

Fucking breathtaking.

You don’t give him long to revel in his work before you sit up to face him. Your fingers grip the nape of his neck as you pull him closer, pressing your lips to his in a feverish kiss. You don’t care that you can taste yourself on his lips; in fact, it only fuels the fire burning between you.

Your hands slide down his toned stomach, finding the waistband of his pants. With a teasing tug, you pull back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes wide, lips parted, pure temptation in your expression.

“I want to return the favor,” you murmur, voice still heavy with the remnants of your pleasure.

Chan groans, his head falling forward, his resolve hanging by a thread. His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing over your swollen lips as he exhales a shaky breath.

“Dove,” he rasps, his voice straining with need, “as much as I’d love that, I need to be inside you.”

Your lips curl into a playful, breathy giggle. “Even better.”

Without another word, you push his pants and briefs down in one smooth motion, freeing him, finally seeing him in all his aching glory.

And fuck, you want him just as badly as he wants you.

Chan positions himself at your entrance, his tip teasing your slick heat for just long enough to make you shiver with anticipation. But he’s too desperate to feel you, to claim you.

With one smooth thrust, he buries himself deep inside you. He fills you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way. Your fingers digging into his arms as a broken moan falls from your lips.

“Shit,” Chan groans, his forehead dropping against yours as he fights to steady himself. “So tight…so perfect for me.”

He rolls his hips, setting a slow rhythm, his thick length dragging against your walls in a way that has your toes curling. His body trembles with restraint, every muscle tense as he battles the overwhelming urge to let go, to ruin you right here and now. But he knows better, there will be plenty of time to fuck you into the couch like there’s no tomorrow.

Right now, he wants to savor this moment.

Chan nuzzles into your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he exhales shakily. A hand grips your waist, holding you steady as he thrusts again. His cock brushes against that divine spot inside you, causing you to let out a sharp gasp.

“Chan, ohmygod,” you whine, your voice breathy and ultimately wrecked. “Feels so good,”

He lifts his head, his dark, lust-blown eyes locking onto yours as a smirk tugs at his lips.

“Yeah?” His voice drips with affection and need. He rolls his hips again, slower this time, ensuring his thick head hits that perfect spot with maddening precision. “Then let me make it even better, dove.”

Chan’s grip moves to your thigh, his fingers press into your heated skin as he lifts your leg over his shoulder. The shift sends a jolt of pleasure through you, the new angle allowing him to sink even deeper into you.

Your breath stutters, a strangled moan spilling out as white-hot pleasure floods your senses. His name falls from your mouth like a mantra, broken and breathless, as the coil inside you winds up impossibly tight. Then it snaps.

A cry rips from your throat as pleasure crashes over you, your body trembling. The intensity leaves you breathless, your head tipping back as you succumb to the sheer bliss of Bang Chan.

Chan watches you with hooded eyes, mesmerized by the way you fall apart beneath him. His control is slipping, unraveling with every squeeze of your walls around his cock. His lips reattach to yours, swallowing your moans as your fingers dig into his sweat-slicked skin.

He groans, his rhythm faltering as he feels you tighten around him, gripping him so perfectly. He clenches his jaw, fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts through your orgasm, chasing his own.

“Shit, baby. I’m—”

Chan’s voice breaks into a strangled moan as he finally tumbles over the edge. He buries himself deep, his release spilling inside you. His body shudders against yours, every muscle trembling with the force of his pleasure.

Completely spent, he collapses onto you, his weight warm and comforting as you both catch your breath, your bodies still tangled together in the aftermath. For a moment, you lay there wrapped in each other, the only sound filling the room is your mingled, steadying breaths.

Chan shifts slightly to press soft, lingering kisses along your jaw. His lips are warm and tender against your skin, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. And then he whispers something that makes your heart swell.

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice thick with sincerity.

Your lips curl into a smile, warmth spreading through your chest. Before you can respond, he adds teasingly, “But just so you know… I will be confiscating my favorite sweatshirt back from you.”

You let out a sleepy giggle, fingers lazily tracing patterns along his back.

“Good luck with that.”

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f1fantasys · 10 months ago

Note

uhm so i have an idea where Lando is working out alone to release his emotions, perhaps after a bad day or bad race. but suddenly, you enter the gym, which annoys him because he wanted to be alone right now.

however, as you start working out, he kinda ogling your 🍒 and eventually decides to approach you to talk and that led to the spicy part when he starts touching you and fucked you on one of the bench using you to let out his anger 🫣 tysm!!!

THIS!! I don't feel like I've done this INCREDIBLE request justice. So someone please write a better one and tag me in it! @ccsainzleclerc5516 you would do amazing at this!

POST RACE WORKOUT

Warnings - smut!! need i say more?

2.4 words. IDK why it's so short - feel like i have writers block.

The Monaco weekend was always a fun one. Fun, but extremely busy, especially being a Sky presenter. From the Monday leading up to the weekend you'd been in and out of meetings, events, and not to mention recording and being live on air for several hours a day. But you loved it, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

But now that the race and post-race shows were finally over, you still had a lot of adrenaline and energy to burn, which is why you currently found yourself walking up the stairs to the gym, wearing the tightest tights and a sports bra. It was well past midnight, but, having connections had its perks, so here you were.

You pushed open the door and stopped in your tracks. There was some distant music playing and as your eyes scanned the room you definitely weren't expecting to find Lando Norris who was currently lifting weights, shirtless, might I add. He stopped what he was doing and stood up, eyes shamelessly searching your body, but an annoyed look on his face.

''Uh, hey'' you greeted.

All he did was nod his head.

''You good?'' you couldn't help but ask at the way he was looking at you. You felt you own cheeks heat up as you gawked at his body that was riled with sweat.

''Yeah'' was all he said as he turned around and continued what he was doing.

You of course have had a lot of interaction with Lando - several interviews and social media videos which meant you'd spent quite a lot of time with him. Obviously, he was one hell of hot man, and yes, you looked, but you'd never touch. Your work was too important to get involved with any of the drivers. You'd also noticed him looking more often than not, but you never allowed your mind to go there.

As you stood there for a few minutes you couldn't help but feel bad for the guy. He'd had a shitty race - mclaren had fucked his strategy, once again, and he didn't get the win. So you totally understood why he was in the gym at the time - also trying to get rid of the adrenaline.

You dragged your feet to the treadmill and hopped on, setting a medium pace, trying to focus on something else and not the half naked man across the room.

After about 15 minutes you slowed your pace down a bit, grabbing your towel to wipe the sheet of sweat over your face and arms. As you walked over to do some weights, you looked ahead in the mirror and locked eyes with Lando. He was standing drinking his water, and you watched as his eyes left yours and shamelessly looked your body up and down again. To be fair - you were swearing the skimpiest gym clothes which left nothing to the imagination.

What you didn't know was that Lando had been eye fucking you the full 15 minutes you were running. He had wanted to be alone, let out his frustration, but that changed the minute he realized it was you who walked through the door. He licked his lips as he saw how your tights wrapped around your ass so perfectly, how your boobs were bouncing and threatening to spill out of your bra, how you back muscles flexed as you ran, and how sweat covered your body making you glisten under the lights. Lando had always found you attractive to say the least, and now he was painfully hard by just watching you workout. He wanted nothing more than to walk up to you and rip your clothes off, bend you over, and rail into you.

You tried your best to ignore him and focus on your task, so you sat on the bench and started brench pressing, heavy breaths leaving your mouth.

Suddenly, you saw Lando standing above you, staring down, and his own breathing just as heavy as yours.

Before you could react and say anything, he held onto the weights and pryed it out of your hands.

''Lan-'' you started, but he cut you off.

''Shh'' you said, before walking around and facing you as you sat up. He took a seat in front of you, legs on either side of the bench as yours were.

You swore you heart was beating out of your chest right now. He looked so heavenly. Bright green eyes, curls messy and sticking to his forehead. And not to mention his god-damn beautiful torso. Muscles taught and defined, with sweat dripping down, his own body shining in the lights.

''Eyes up here'' he said, smirking, catching you out for staring.

''Fuck'' you mumbled to yourself, before you looked up at him.

You felt as his hands found your waist and effortlessly slid you closer to him, and now your breaths were mingling, the heat in your body rising.

As you found yourselves in an apparent staring contest, Lando's hands started roaming your body He traced your arms up and down, your shoulders, you back, and your breath hitched as he suddenly slipped them under your sports bra, feeling up your boobs and fondling with them.

You closed your eyes and tried to calm your breathing, but that was impossible with the fact that he was sitting right in front of you and touching you. Now he was rolling your nipples between his fingers, pulling at and tugging them, earning himself a moan from you.

''Lando'' you panted, needing more, almost grinding yourself on the bench.

''I know baby''

The nickname gave you goosebumps, and you couldn't help but open your eyes and smile at him.

Soon after, Lando tore your bra off of you, revealing your perky boobs. He lowered his head and latched his mouth onto your left nipple. Biting and sucking on it before using his tongue to sooth over.

Your hands found his hair and you pulled at his curls, edging him on, begging him some more. ''Lando, please'' you said, grinding down on the bench harder than before.

He lifted his head and crashed his lips to yours. It was eager and messy, tongues clashing and spit sliding down both yours and Lando's chin. He bit on your lower lip and you felt him slide his hands through your tights to grope at your ass. By now you were cupping his face, pulling him impossibly closer. While his one hand stayed on your ass, the other slid round to your front and cupped your cunt.

The action has you arching off the bench, breath increasing ever so much as he slid his fingers through your folds, which were soaking by now - something that didn't go unnoticed by him.

''Already dripping for me, love?'' he asked, voice thick and hoarse with his British accent.

''Uh huh'' was all you managed to say, biting your lips at the feeling of his calloused fingers rough against your clit, which he found rather quickly.

He captured your lips with his as he thrust two fingers through your entrance, the swift movement making you tremble in his arms.

''Ride my fingers y/n'' he said between breaths.

And so you did, you rode his fingers hard and fast, and just as he curled them at just the right time, feeling you soft cushiony spot inside of you, you felt a warmth begin to build in your stomach.

No word spoken and Lando added a third finger, sending you trembling over the edge as you latched onto his shoulder for support to ride you through your orgasm.

He slowed his fingers, eyes never leaving yours, before pulling them out and shamelessly licking them clean of you cum, moaning at the taste.

''Hmm, so fucking delicious'''he said, smirking, as you watched, mouth agape.

''Lando please'' you panted. ''Need to feel you in me'' you said, looking at him with longing eyes.

When you looked at him again, his whole demeanor changed. His eyes became ridiculously darker and the emotion he wore on his face was a mix of sudden anger and frustration.

He didn't say anything. Instead, he man handled you to lay down before he ripped your tights off of you and stood up to free himself of his constraints.

You watched as his hard cock bounced first then stood tall and angry.

''Fuck, he's big'' you thought to yourself as he placed himself between your legs.

Lando leaned down to kiss you as you took him in your hands and pumped him a few times, using your thumb to spread his pre cum around his tip.

The movement had him bucking forward, grunting into your mouth.

He pulled back and looked you in the eyes. ''You sure?'' he asked.

''Please. Please fuck me''

He lined himself up and wasted no time in slamming into you, bottoming out in one thrust.

''Shit'' you gasped. He was definitely the biggest you'd ever had, and the sting was intense. But this was Lando Norris, and you were determined to let him have his way with you.

He finally started moving, setting a pace that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your nails dug deep into his skin.

''So fucking tight, fuck y/n''

''Oh, Lando, yes, please, yes'' you cried out, unable to keep your moans at bay.

Lando continued to fuck into you while his mouth found your boobs and sucked hard at them, surely leaving purple bruises for tomorrow.

Within minutes you could feel your walls begin to clench around him, your orgasm approaching fast.

''Fuck, gonna cum Lan-'' you started but before you could finish he pulled out. You whined at him, an annoyed whine which you knew would edge him on further.

He scooped you up with such an ease, and suddenly you were flipped over and on your tummy, Lando sliding into your cunt with force again.

He bunched up your hair and pulled it tight, earning pornographic moans from your mouth straight to his ear.

''Can't win a fucking race but at least I got you begging for me'' he said through bated breaths, finally railing you the way he wanted from when you first walked in.

''Fuck Lando, you won. You won for me'' you moaned. You didn't care what the outcome of the actual race was - in your eyes, he was always a winner.

''Doing so well for me babygirl. That's tight.''

This time your orgasm gave you no warning. Hearing him call you babygirl pushed you over the edge, your body shuddering underneath him and your juices spluttering all over.

You moaned his name as you came, and if anything, he sped up his movements briefly before sliding out of you again.

This time he sat facing the mirror and pulled you up to sit down his lap, facing the mirror as well.

You immediately sank down on his now throbbing dick, setting a harsh pace as his hand snaked its way around you and settled on your throat.

''Want you to watch yourself fuck me'' he roughly whispered in your ear.

You kept your eyes on each other while you rode him, Lando's occasionally dropping down to watch how your boobs bounced up and down with each thrust.

''Fuck'' you hissed as you felt another orgasm approaching.

''Fucking me so good baby, go on. Be my slut'' he urged you to carry on.

Your movements were becoming sloppier, unable to hold yourself up and able to continue to thrust so Lando had to take matters into his own hands.

He was now fucking into you again, but at a relentless pace, clearly chasing his own orgasm as well.

''Together, yeah?'' he asked, his hand sliding down to toy at your clit.

You couldn't hold it in anymore. ''Fuck, Lando, now. I need to cum'' you said, as you felt his cock twitching inside of you.

The room now filled with grunts and moans, swear words flying everywhere as you both reached your climax, juices spilling out of you like the end of the worlds. Lando made sure to empty his load painting your walls white with his warm splutter.

You sank back down on him, letting your weight fall back leaning on him.

You locked eyes in the mirror again, both trying to catch your breaths, sweat dripping down the both of you.

Now that he got his release, Lando couldn't help but feel ashamed at the fact that he used you. Although this was the best sex he'd had in a long time, he felt he needed to apologize, and hope he hadn't fucked up a chance at anything more.

You could feel him softening inside of you, but neither made any attempt to move.

''Lan-''

''Wait. Fuck. I'm sorry if I was too rough'' he said, shyly.

''What?''

''I'm sorry i called you a slut. It was a complement, actually. I just had all this adrenaline from the race. And you were there. And...Fuck, i couldn't help myself'' he was rambling.

''Lando stop.'' you said firmer than you intended to. ''I didn't say I didn't enjoy it. Did I?'' you asked.

He shook his head.

''Really, it was so fucking good, and I'm glad it was me. I'm glad you used me''

''I-What?''

''Yeah, think I needed it as much as you did'' you said.

He wrapped his arms around you holding you tighter.

''Well then I'm glad you walked through the door. Thank you'' he cooed.

You smiled at him and slowly got up, letting him slip out of you, when something dawned on you.

''You ripped my clothes, Lando! literally'' you shrieked, eyes wide and a chuckle filling the air.

He stood up and pecked your lips.

''Well then, you'll just have to come home with me'' he said, smirking, but throwing his t-shirt to you to wear.

As he watching you put it on, he couldn't help but notice the stickiness dripping out of you.

''Fuck'' he mumbled, more to himself.

''What?'' you asked, as you didn't even release he was still watching you.

He didn't say anything, instead he bent down and licked your core, collecting the mixture of both of your cum.

The action had your breath hitching, not expecting it at all. You held onto his head as he did what he did, before he stood back up and let the juice slide out of his mouth and into your, before he kissed you roughly again.

''So fucking hot. Round 2 at mines?'' he asked.

You just smiled and walked to the door, opening it while gesturing him to follow you out.

REMEMBER - requests are open!

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 #lando norris #lando x reader #f1 fic #lando norris smut #lando smut

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sophiethewitch1 · 8 months ago

Text

What We Want - Chpt. 8 - Jason Fucking Todd

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Well, look on the bright side of things. You’re not crying right now. That’s nice. You’re not an intern anymore. That’s nice. You struggle to think of anything else. Oh yeah, you’re rich! That’s also nice. You’re not dead. Nice.

This is kind of pathetic. You just feel bummed after having to break up with George a second time. And getting smacked right in the face by him. Which you know, anybody would be, you think. You don’t think a single soul has ever known the George Lancaster Break-Up Special more than once. And you didn’t think anyone would be stupid enough to fall for that asshole more than once.

You couldn’t fake a brave face anymore, you just didn’t have the energy for it.

…And let’s not forget almost dying via Joker goon. Not even the man himself, just a random lackey. You think of how he literally disappeared in front of your eyes, and decide you are going to stop thinking. It’s doing you no good anyway.

Instead, you just start walking. Letting your feet and your intimate knowledge of Gotham’s streets, even in this area you don’t often frequent, guide you. You find yourself at the train station. With little consideration, you buy a ticket to the southern part of the city. The bad side of town, the docks, where your apartment used to be.

You feel like a little rat scurrying back into the sewers as you hop on the subway, tucking yourself in between people who don’t recognise you, probably because of your general dishevelment.

Shoulders knocking against strangers, you feel the most at home since this whole disaster started. You stare across the train car, watching a baby babble to its mother. It catches your eye, gives you a big toothless smile, and some snot dribbles into it’s mouth. The mother notices and cleans the baby up with a tissue. When she catches you staring, you give a very awkward but friendly smile, and she smiles back.

A tiny weight lifts off your shoulders. Surrounded by the chaos of Gotham, as the subway exits the tunnels and heads up onto the sky rails, you find yourself warm by the rays of sun through the clouds. The view is beautiful, as it always is. Usually, you’d be looking at your phone, too busy to enjoy the sights. But it really is beautiful.

It’s only when you hear the announcer calling out that you realise you did this for a reason, and dart out of your seat and through the narrowly closing doors. The metal closes behind you with a small hiss. The Docks station, for most people, would be one of the better Gotham train stations. Newly built, and with all the tourist money it was clean. Well, clean as it could get. You’d read some article about the bacteria the rats were carrying being not found anywhere else on earth, and you’d decided to stop reading articles.

Anyway, for you, even the shining marble of the station was a sad sight. Because you only ever came here on your very worst days.

This seemed like one of them.

The familiar streets flit past you, barely something you’re even cognisant of. This part of the city was mostly new, the concrete fresh under your feet instead of littered with potholes. Still, it wasn’t at the centre of the blast radius, so it hadn’t been totally demolished.

No, that was just up ahead. And like everything else in this weird new world, you immediately noticed something different. Where your family had died was… still there, for some reason.

With confusion, exhaustion, and no small bit of despair, you stop in the middle of the pathway outside the remnants of what used to be an old diner and was now just a pile of rocks. Some very charred rocks. Looking at the wreckage, you raise your brows. Its crumbling form is still under construction after all these years. The yellow caution tape is only a deterrence to you because you don’t want to end up on the gossip reels for a second time today. Looking around, you find yourself further confused. Lots of other parts of the pier had been redeveloped, but this piece of the puzzle still lay bare.

It didn’t, in your home, your world. It had been replaced with high-rise apartments, and since they were so close to the water, so pretty and new, you had no hope of affording them. It probably wouldn’t be very good for your mental health even if you could. Still, you’d taken many walks past the street. Enjoyed the little bit of dirty white concrete that had survived. You and your siblings had signed your names into it, and you’d stroked the sidewalk like the weirdo you were many times.

Like you did today. And today, for some reason, the rest of it was here. Untouched. A remnant of the disaster. As you run your thumb along the sharp edge of Julie’s J, you find yourself once again lost in your memories. They were like honey traps to you these days.

The mum-and-pops diner had been run by your uncle. It’d been in the family for three generations, and he was incorrigibly proud of it. You’d all had your birthday parties there, because it was free and you were poor. It wasn’t like your uncle would let you pay for the food anyway, it was just one of the few times Mum could stand the generosity. She didn’t like it when you had disappointing birthdays, and no matter how much you tried to fake your happiness, she could always see to your core. Eventually, you and your siblings all gave up on trying.

You were late. You were often late, but this time it was… it was the difference between life and death. If you’d been a few blocks further, a little bit earlier, you’d probably be dead too. Or at least have some serious hearing loss instead of just suffering mild tinnitus.

You had felt more than seen the destruction. The earth had rumbled, and a deafening roar had swept through the streets. You remember falling to your knees, the worry about being late morphing to worry for your best clothes to a true terror when you realised where the blast had come from.

When you realised your family was in the epicentre.

You sometimes wish you were on time that day. That you’d gotten to see them all, even if you went with them. It didn’t sound so bad, really. At least you wouldn’t be alone. Hmm, you should probably stop thinking like that. Or maybe go to a therapist about it.

Not that you could afford it. Oh, right. Rich now. That was really taking some getting used to.

You wonder if people who won the lottery felt the same way. Probably not, because the rest of the world reflected the changes the person felt. They’d have to go pick up the check, go to the bank, and if they let their family and friends know, deal with the consequences of that.

You’d just woken up rich. No time to adjust, your new life was here and it was demanding your attention very loudly. And soup-ly, unfortunately. After a few minutes of staring blankly at the rubble, you look towards your left, where you know the Memorial awaits you. It’s in the centre of the new shopping district, built on top of the bombed parts of Gotham. It sits right next to the water, the cold breeze a comfort that you’d turned to on more than one occasion.

You’d feel bad if you didn’t change your clothes. You told Grayson you would, and you already felt bad enough about... everything to do with him. You suppose he was your brother. Your ex-brother. Ex-step-brother. The ex-step-brother of a woman who you weren’t.

Really, he was just a stranger. It seemed he didn’t feel that way, though.

You start the walk towards the shopping district, and into the first clothes store you see. The prices on the tags would usually make you flinch, but well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing seems to matter. Your survival is now guaranteed, might as well wear some clothes that feel nice on your skin.

You walk out of that store looking like you just robbed it. Even the clerk had given you a weird look but accepted the black card tucked in your phone without much complaint. It’s an improvement if a small one.

Once you’re done, like a moth to a flame, you drift towards the Memorial centre. You’re following all the steps you used to in the past, but somehow, it all feels a bit alien. The world looks a little different, a little uncomfortable. Your shoes are worn in, and yet they still feel too tight.

Uncanny valley. You feel unwelcomed here, unwanted. Like the very earth can tell that there’s something wrong in this scene, some intruder. You ignore the feeling as best you can.

The Memorial is just as unfamiliar as the diner was, maybe even more. You know that your mother was a Wayne before she died. You know that. But still seeing your family’s framed photos, right alongside Jason's is so shocking you nearly jump. It takes a moment of wide-eyed staring before you can manage to get past that. When you do, for some reason you still go back to your old habits. You walk by them, the bouquets and to where their names used to be in thin letters.

You count with your fingers, finding the fifty-second line.

A man’s name replaces the spot where your mother’s is. The little grooves the oil in your fingers had left behind were gone, and instead was sharp stone like when the monument was first erected. It cuts at your fingers. It no longer welcomes your touch.

James Whitaker. That’s the name of the man who took their spot.

You can already feel a rising obsession with the random dead man. If you were going to psycho-analyse yourself, you’d recognise that you didn’t feel that the images of the Waynes you’d created were no longer real, no longer safe to your escapist mindset. You’d realise, that this was all pretty unhealthy, and you really, really needed therapy.

Instead, you give the guy your condolences and start reading the other plinths. They seem largely the same. It’s not like you hadn’t read all of these towers of stone at one point or another, your eyes glazing over the many, many names. So much devastation, all in one moment.

And still, this was not even a tenth of all the lives the Joker had taken. You kinda wanna go take a kick at one of the Bat signals littered around the city. Maybe that’d make you less… broiling with incompetent rage.

Again, maybe you should just go to therapy. You should call Jeanine about that or something.

Eventually, you circle back to your family and Jason’s shrines. You know, back then you’d been jealous that Jason Todd had been so well mourned. You’d wished your family had gotten the same treatment.

Now, you… felt jealous again. Possessive, over their memory, their image. You didn’t really like that random strangers that never knew them… knew them. That Sam always got As in English and Art class but would sometimes skip math and would hide in the bathrooms to do so. That Chasey had struggled with going to school because of her anxiety but kept going because she had a friend going through the exact same thing. That Julie was the ace of her school’s soccer team, and that she’d almost gotten them to nationals even in the presence of all the super-rich schools in Gotham. That your Mum was a great cook but genuinely hated doing it, but for some reason, baking was her favourite thing even as she had never made a proper macaron.

They didn’t know them. They knew their faces and a facsimile of them, but they didn’t know them. It reminded you of the people at the orphanage. Nice, but not kind. They’d had their own lives, they didn’t want some bratty, demented teenager who was going down and planning on taking everyone with her.

You really couldn’t be happy, could you? Maybe you didn’t know what you wanted. What you want now. What you’d wanted for a while, actually.

Ugh. You close your eyes and let out a deep, soul-shaking sigh. It takes a moment for you to shore up the willpower to open them again. Come on, flower shop, finish your weird little ritual then you can go home and hide for the next millenia.

The walk there is the same as always, if a little more morose. It’s in a good spot, near the church just a block away and the memorial on its other side, as well as less sombre atmospheres down near the pier. Well, as little sombre as Gotham can manage.

You feel like you blink and you’re there. Too quickly, you find a rainbow of blooms in front of you, the scent of the blossoms washing over you. When you walk into the flower shop, the bell at the door rings the same as it always does. On autopilot, you walk over to the small, cheaper buds. Your hand clenches around the crinkly wrapping paper, a bundle of posies in your hand. You go to the counter with your prize in hand.

Larissa, the counter worker, smiles at you. Your breath hitches. It’s a working smile, not one of the real, toothy ones she used to give you.

“Oh wow, I thought all the posies had sold out. Lucky you!”

You think of something to say, but the moment passes and you don’t. She rings you up, tells you the price, and when you pay, asks sweetly if you want a receipt.

She doesn’t say your name. Doesn’t acknowledge how you come here every week and buy this same handful of flowers. She doesn’t ask about your job or the weather. She doesn’t cheerfully tell you about how her apprenticeship is going, or about the next sweet thing her partner has done. No, she just stares at you, growing more uncomfortable the longer it takes for you to answer.

She doesn’t even seem to recognise this other version of you. It feels like another string that tied you down to the earth has been snipped. You have an image in your head of a child losing a balloon, desperately grasping at the air. You’re going to float up into the atmosphere, and then you’re going to pop.

You can see the foil glinting in the sun’s light, so, so clearly.

You squeeze your eyes shut, “Yes, a receipt, please.”

Taking it blindly, you barely flutter your eyes open as you walk out of the shop. She didn’t know you, didn’t remember you. That doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. You hadn’t really known her. It doesn’t matter. There’s no real difference, it doesn’t matter.

It’s okay, it’s okay, it never really mattered. You keep telling yourself this as you walk back over to the memorial. As you lay your flowers down with the others, the little posies are dwarfed by the other donations. It didn’t matter. You didn’t know her. None of this matters. Their flowers don’t matter.

You don’t matter. You hit that errant thought with a mental fly swatter.

Exhausted, you sit down next to the monument. You used to be able to lay your head on the stone, able to feel your family in the warmth it had absorbed in the sun. Now you just sort of, awkwardly reached out to the small bit of uncovered plinth at the side. You have to stick your hand through a wreath to do so.

It’s not warm. You wonder if your family are sad. And then you wonder if you’re an idiot for attributing feelings to a literal rock.

After a while, you get up. Cross your arms. You stare at your family's portraits, eyes moving over their smiles. One by one. You recognise some of the photographs, those are your favourites. A smile cracks across your face when you see the picture of when Chasey lost her two front teeth. She still grins cheekily at the camera, uncaring for any changes to her appearance, as all kids shouldn’t.

Your shoulders fall just the slightest bit when you see the picture of Jason Todd. It’s one of his older pictures. Probably seventeen or something. He’d always been a lovely boy when he was younger. And he still was up till he died but you’d always thought you’d seen something start to change in him. That sparkle of innocence, dulled, just the slightest.

And then he’d died. And you’d wondered if maybe he’d felt it was coming.

You certainly hadn’t. It had been like a hurricane tearing through your life. You’d ended up on the other side completely abandoned, the only friend who’d bothered to keep seeing you being one who’d learnt to dodge train ticket costs like a damn ninja. And you’d had to decide whether you could keep doing this, whether you even wanted to.

You were an obsessive creature by nurture. It had been all you could do to hang onto the Waynes, pretend they would love and care for you even if they’d have never even noticed you in real life. You weren’t sure that was strength or simple human survival. Dying was scary. Of course, you were scared of dying.

Your whole family had died. So, you told yourself, that Jason Fucking Todd would be sad if you killed yourself, and somehow, you had made it all these years.

And now here you were, and the Waynes did notice you in real life. You were important to them. You didn’t want to be, but you were. And again, you have to ask yourself, what would Jason Todd ask of you? What would he want you to do now, in this impossible situation you’ve found yourself in?

You stare at the picture. Stare at the way the sun hits his dark hair and blue eyes. Stare very, very hard. Like he might crawl out and give you a detailed list of what to do. You’d really like a detailed list. Or any guidance at all. Maybe you could go hit up a seance or something.

Your head falls forward into your sun-warmed palms. This is so stupid. No answers are going to fall from the sky, you need to find them yourself. And you’re not going to find them here.

Someone walks up beside you to the old memorial, and you quickly tuck yourself back into an acceptable image. Fold in all the rough edges you can. A tall and well-built man, with a face mask, sunglasses and a trucker hat, he looks like he could be a celebrity or something. Someone important, much more than you.

And you weren’t, not technically, at least. The universe had done the equivalent of a shelving error, and now here you goddamn were.

He does an odd pose next to you, something military-esque, where he clasps his hands together and bows his head. With a quick flick of your eyes you confirm, yes, his feet are equal with his shoulders. It’s obvious that he’s paying his respects so you do your best not to judge him too hard.

And then he speaks to you.

“I’m sorry.”

You look up, startled and confused.

“For your loss,” the deep voice finishes, jerking his head toward the pictures in front of the two of you.

“Wha- oh uh, um,” you blink and then realise that this person has recognised you, which would make sense since you are literally in one of the photos in front of you, and manage to pull your fading conscious mind back together for a moment more.

“Thank you, uh-” you stare at him a moment longer, “You too?”

Almost worse than that time you told the barista who gave you your coffee you hoped she enjoyed hers too, but not quite. Well, you know, he’d probably lost someone here too. You don’t know why he’d be here otherwise unless he wanted an autograph or something. The thought almost makes you laugh.

He snorts at your words. You don’t know what to make of that.

He looks back down at the pictures and flowers. You think he does, at least, from the slight shifting of his head. He’s kind of mysterious. Pair that with the deep voice, the muscular and tall physique, and you’re an odd mix of attracted and socially anxious. Not that you’re not always socially anxious, but this guy feels… strong. Dumb again, you can see his biceps from here but…

You just can’t quite shake it off. Strong. Strong.

“They didn’t deserve it, none of them did,” he speaks again, and you wonder what the fuck he’s going on about at all.

You admit, you sound a little bitter when you mutter, “Well, that’s obvious.”

He lets out a bark of laughter, and you see his eyes flash to you from under his sunglasses. A shade of blue. There’s another odd pause, and then he turns to you. You don’t know why he’s looking at you. He crosses his arms, and seems to size you up.

“What are you doing here?” he asks you like he knows you.

Your brow furrows. Okay, kind of losing any hotness points here. Bothering someone who was grieving could’ve been seen as rude from the very start, but you’d just thought he was weird. Now, you thought he was weird and rude.

“…Paying my respects. Obviously,” you gesture downwards, “My mother, my siblings, and…”

Well, how would you describe the relationship between you and Jason Todd now? He was still just a stranger to you and-

“With who, that guy?”

Now, it isn’t often that you’re stunned into silence, but at the moment you can’t find it in you to do anything but stare and gape. Frankly, you’re astonished! You’ve never met anyone who spoke so rudely of the dead, and well, he couldn’t have picked a worse person to do it in front of.

“Excuse me?” your voice can’t seem to convey even half of your offence, even as you sound like you’re about ready to bite a second person for today. The man pauses like you’ve surprised him, which- what the fuck is going on? Why do you feel like an alien crash-landed on Earth these days?

“No, I just meant-” he huffs, shakes his head, and continues, his voice now offended too, “What the fuck am I saying? Yes, I did mean that. That little twerp was a naive idiot who was manipulated by the people he believed in most.”

You stare, absolutely speechless, as the stranger goes on a damn-fucking-near crazed rant about one of the people most important to you. Never met? Sure. Dead as hell? Absolutely. But still, he was one of your lifelines. Your candlelight in the dark, guiding your way even when you felt completely lost. And now he’s calling him a naive idiot? You can practically feel the steam coming out of your ears.

“He changed nothing, made no difference in the end-”

“Nothing?!” you practically shriek, finally able to find your voice just to use it to shout, “He changed… so much! He donated millions of dollars, did heaps of charity work, was practically a treasure to our city… He made multiple homeless shelters, an orphanage, helped rehabilitate criminals and countless other things.”

Your fists are clenched tight enough that they shake. You hide them behind your back, but you still feel like he can probably see them. Your emotions are simmering too close to the surface, bubbling over and onto the floor. About to burn his sneakers to ash.

“You seem like you care a lot,” he says, sounding reserved.

“Of course, I care.”

“…It’s just, you didn’t seem the type, on the TV,” he keeps talking, poking at you for some god-awful reason, and you bark out a harsh laugh.

“Maybe people need to stop making so many fucking assumptions, then? It certainly hasn’t gotten you anywhere,” you throw your hands up, damn sick of all the constant fucking surveillance you’re under. You can see why this version of you lost her mind. You’re near about to as well.

He stares at you for a moment longer, and you start feeling too uncomfortable. It’s a stupid and useless protectiveness that has you staying. Like he’ll somehow try and harm the shrine to your people. It’s happened before, Joker fanboys defacing it and such. This guy could be one of those bastards.

And yet… somehow you feel…

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he finally says.

“Good, you do that.”

“But in the end, nothing’s really changed. Joker’s still out and about, as you well know.”

You physically flinch like you’ve been slapped. For a good minute there, all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. You raise one shaking fist, and lift one trembling finger, pointing. The man looks in the direction you’ve pointed, and when he doesn’t see anything, turns back to you. His sunglasses reflect the grey afternoon sun.

“Go,” you order, voice shaking just like the rest of you.

He just keeps staring at you. You wish he’d take off those dumb fucking glasses, so you could see this asshole’s face. Etch it into your mind. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t take any action. He simply waits for you to… Well, you don’t know what you’ll do. You haven’t known what you’d do since you left Dick behind two hours ago.

“You need to go,” you say again, and again, he doesn’t fucking move, “You… there’s… you have no right.”

You can hear the buzz of the city around you, the wind rushing by. His clothes rustle in the wind. Your voice sounds too loud in your ears, but he won’t just… he won’t leave. You don’t want this stranger here, watching you. Judging you. It’s all…

“Jason didn’t do anything wrong,” you say, and you think to yourself, desperately, ‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’

There’s a slight shift in the stranger’s posture. His shoulders tensed.

You think you’ve offended him.

“The Joker… That’s nobody's fault but the government for not just sucking it up and giving him the death penalty, or Batman’s for not doing it himself a long time ago. They’re all fucking useless, but they’re the ones who are supposed to be dealing with this!” you continue, your words growing more heated. It’s only the already looming threat of an assault case that keeps you from shoving the guy. Not like you’d be able to move him an inch, of course, he was huge.

You’re sure it would feel good, though.

“It was never some random teenager's responsibility, and it wasn't mine either,” you say, but find yourself pausing for a moment when you hear the end of your sentence. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like it wasn’t obvious anyway.

You’d tied yourself and Jason up together in your head. To you, you were both two sides of the same coin. One foot in the grave. You’ve got one foot in the grave…

“Jason Todd was a good person, and he made the world a better place.”

You look down at the portrait of the boy, his toothy smile twisting at your heart. None of this was fair. None of this had ever been fair. Why was this guy acting like anybody here had ever been able to do anything about it? Like Jason should’ve been smarter, and avoided a fucking bomb blast?

It was stupid. This was stupid, and you were over it. You were tired.

“And I miss him.”

It’s quiet after you say that.

“I don’t know how you can think it’s fair to act like his death was pointless when… of course it was, all of this was pointless,” you say, throwing your hands wide and gesturing to the entire memorial. “This was a tragedy, but Jason was a victim. And I’m sick of people like you who think they can decide whether someone else’s life was lived right. It’s not your damn right.”

“Now… fuck off!” you announce, and to your shock, he does. He fucks right off. The man gives you one last lingering look, and then turns and leaves without another word. Not like you needed them.

You huff out a shocked breath, and then turn back to the memorial.

The framed faces of your loved ones stare back at you, and for all you know it’s stupid, you can’t help but feel embarrassed for the display. You know your mother would’ve scolded you for your language, at least.

“Sorry,” you say, and you’re unfortunately reminded of that irritating man again. Likely that won’t be the first time he pops up again in your head. He seemed well, insane. Which wasn’t that odd in Gotham but… god, you just couldn’t seem to let it go.

It pissed you off to high heaven. His rudeness was something you’d usually be able to shrug off, especially from some random stranger, but, but, but-! Argh, damn it all. And it wasn’t like that was the first time you had had that sort of conversation, but it was certainly the first time someone had been so bold as to bring it up in front of your dead mother’s smiling face.

Earlier today had snuffed out the fire in you, but that encounter had been the spark to reignite it. More than that, actually. It had made you so damn pissed, made your blood boil in a way you just couldn’t ignore, to the point that you wanted to prove him wrong.

Jason Todd had mattered and had made a difference and change in Gotham. He had made a change in you. You put your hands on your hips, stare down at the flowers, and make a decision.

You’re going to fix your goddamn life. For Jason Fucking Todd.

Your body feels like shit, your brain feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool, and yet this is the greatest opportunity you’ve ever been given. You have a chance to save yourself, and save your friends, and fix all the tiny little problems in Gotham that you’ve suffered through since childhood. Surely just throwing enough money at all your problems would fix some of them.

You were rich. If you couldn’t fix your life with millions of dollars available, then you had no chance.

And yeah, you don’t know what you’re doing. You know you can’t really change what happened. Back then or even just a few days ago. But you hate that. You hate it so much. You hate how weak you are in the face of loss. How both then and now, there’s nothing you can really do. And maybe if just out of spite, towards that asshat, Batman, Joker and everyone else, you want to make a change.

You want to be able to do something about it. You want it, so fucking bad.

First order of business?

…You want more flowers.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #batfam x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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starrysan · 5 months ago

Text

killin it

masterlist

pairing: biker!wooyoung x baker! fem!reader

warnings/prerequisites: enemies to lovers, swearing, yn almost gets killed by wooyoung's bike??, yeosang, mingi, and jun cameo, not proofread 😓

a/n: this idea came to me after consistently almost getting hit by bikes that don't obey any traffic laws..! title is a p1harmony ref

[2.3k words]

3rd person pov

after a long shift at her horribly paying bakery job, y/n was waiting at the crosswalk for the light to change, a batch of cupcakes in hand. as it changes to the walk signal she starts to walk she had just gotten yelled at by her boss and was already having a bad day when she hears a motorcycle revving up and quickly turns to the side.

before she knew it a bike was about to hit her. "holy shit!" she exclaims as the bike comes to a stop. "watch where you're going" the mystery person says behind his helmet.

"watch where im going?! watch where you're going!" y/n yells back. the cyclist takes his helmet off to reveal the guy she had been arguing with. "if you were paying attention this wouldn't have happened" wooyoung tries passing the blame which of course failed miserably.

"me? can you not see its a red light for you?" y/n practically yells. "pfft who looks at those anyway?" wooyoung chuckles. "you're unbelievable." y/n says angrily crossing the street and continuing on with her day.

she walks into her apartment frustrated on the phone with her best friend yeosang. "he almost fucking hit me then tried to blame me" she groans into the phone. a faint 'that's horrible' from yeosang comes through the phone as she goes to press the elevator button and who was waiting for it as well. "..sangie let me call you back" she says, hanging up the phone before yeosang could say goodbye. "talking about me so soon?" wooyoung says almost cockily.

why does he live here? since when does he live here? y/n thought to herself but wooyoung breaks her out of her thoughts first. "what? you've really never seen me around?" wooyoung rolls his eyes. "no?" y/n scoffs. "why would I want to know that a killer lives in our building?" she replies. "a killer?" wooyoung looks at her dumbfounded. "my bike didn't even touch you"

"yeah because I yelled at you" y/n says exasperated. "yeah well-" wooyoung starts. "can you two argue some place else?" jun, the building's doorman asks a bit annoyed. "sorry jun" the two say in unison. they get into the elevator standing in opposite corners. y/n goes to press her floor, wooyoung going at the same time and their hands graze each other as the two practically jump backwards.

y/n presses the 10th floor as wooyoung presses the eleventh. "great you live right above me" y/n sighs, getting off the elevator. she quickly walks to her apartment not wanting to engage with him anymore.

it was a quarter past midnight and y/n was trying out a new recipe when all she could hear was this loud banging and music from upstairs. she groans throwing her apron on the couch and heading upstairs as she pounds on the door. her upstairs neighbor mingi opens the door.

"mingi can you keep it down? its late and I can hear you through the walls" y/n asks softly. "oh shoot sorry y/n" mingi says genuinely apologetically, the two having known each other for a while just through being floor neighbors.

"thanks" she says, as she's about to walk away, she spots a familiar face in the crowd. "mingi how do you know that guy?" y/n asks right before mingi closed his door. "oh him? he's my new roommate he just moved in last week name's wooyoung." mingi replies before telling someone to lower the music. "ah" was all y/n said before wooyoung spots her and comes to the door.

"oh perfect, y/n this is-" mingi starts. "don't worry mingi.. we've met" y/n sighs. "y/n? nice to put a name to the face" wooyoung says. "yeah I think this is my cue to leave. goodnight mingi" y/n waves heading to the elevator.

"what about me?" wooyoung questions. "why would I say goodbye to a killer?" y/n asks not even turning to face wooyoung. "I didn't-" before wooyoung could say anything y/n enters the elevator closing the door behind her.

"what was that about?" mingi asked, closing his apartment door and heading back inside to the ruckus (as y/n called it) he called a party. "this morning I might've.. almost hit her with my bike?" wooyoung confesses.

"and you apologized right?" mingi questions but asks again from the lack of response from wooyoung. "..right woo..?" he asks. "okay so what if I said no.." in a matter of seconds mingi sent wooyoung down to y/n's door because according to him "it was easier to apologize than have y/n as your enemy"

he knocks quietly on the door hoping she'd be asleep and as he started to walk away the door swings open to reveal a man who was certainly not y/n. "can I help you?" the man asks. "..is y/n home" he asks almost nervously. "y/n!" he calls from inside the apartment. "some guys here to see you" he says stepping a bit to the side. "come in? I guess?"

"who is it sangie.. oh" y/n stops dead in her tracks. "what?" she sighs. she had an apron on with cats all over it, flour on her face and getting in her hair. "uh.. mingi told me to come apologize so-" he gets cut off. "mingi told you to apologize? so you're not actually here to apologize you're just here because your roommate told you to" she raises an eyebrow.

"I mean when you put it that way-" before he knew it he was standing outside as y/n shut the door on his face. "so much for that" he says before walking back upstairs. "how'd it go?" mingi asked, the party over now as he picked up plastic cups from the floor. "she slammed the door in my face" wooyoung sighed.

"yeesh yeah she's tough to get through but once you do she's really sweet." mingi says, getting a bag of garbage together. "are you sure that's not just her nice twin that you talked to or something?" wooyoung sighs. "does she bake? I saw her wearing an apron."

"yeah she works at the bakery down the street" mingi replies finishing up the last of the clean up. "what am I supposed to do?" wooyoung asks. "to get y/n to like you?" to which wooyoung nods. "get lucky?" mingi says honestly. "how'd you get her to like you? you cant be her favorite with these loud parties."

"oh I bribed her." mingi says nonchalantly. "did you see the baby blue kitchen aid mixer in her room? I bought that for her for Christmas. I know my parties are loud and I know she likes baking and that her job dosent pay well so I got her the mixer and now she's chill about the parties." mingi continues. "after that we would say hi to each other in the halls and now we're friends. she comes over to coffee every once and a while and she brings me dessert" mingi nods with a smile. "I see.." wooyoung says finally.

the next day wooyoung was hard at work in the kitchen there were boxes of cake mix on the counter as well as all the mixing bowls they owned. he worked hard trying to make the best cake to win y/n's forgiveness. he finished the cake off by adding pink icing and using the piping bag to write 'sorry' sloppily on the cake.

the next evening he heads to y/n's apartment knocking on her door. y/n on the other end looks through the peephole. "yes?" she says through the door. "i.. bear cake?" wooyoung says, to which y/n bursts out laughing and opens the door. "sorry.. for almost killing you? then being an asshole about it after" wooyoung says holding out the cake.

"I accept your apology.. wanna come in?" y/n offers, opening the door. wooyoung steps inside taking his shoes off and hanging y/n the cake. the two sit at the table and eat the cake. "cake is great your decorating could use some work" y/n hums, a fork in hand.

"I tried my best with what I had" wooyoung sulks. "mingi dosent have a kitchen aid like the one he got you he just has a whisk I whisked this whole thing by hand" he continues with a frown. "then I guess its alright" y/n giggles.

the two talk till it gets to dinner time. "want to stay? yeosang is bringing Chinese food I can ask him to get more. invite mingi too" y/n hums scrolling on her phone. "I don't want to intrude" wooyoung says. "you're not intruding we're neighbors aren't we?" y/n smiles.

yeosang arrives with the food, mingi arriving short after and the four eat together. "so you two made up?" yeosang asks, eating his orange chicken to which y/n nods her mouth full of noodles. "he apologized with a cake" y/n points to the cake left sitting on the table. "I see" yeosang laughs in response.

after a while mingi and wooyoung go back to their room. "so.. are yeosang and y/n dating? what's up with them" wooyoung asks for no reason (lies). "them? not that im aware of they're friends" mingi replies. "why?" mingi asks with a brow raised. "just curious" wooyoung hums. "alright.." mingi says suspiciously.

after a while, wooyoung and y/n had gotten closer. the four would have dinner together when they could, y/n brings over desserts when there was extra at the bakery. "if the bakery pays so bad why do you still work there?" wooyoung asked as the four had sat down to have their monthly movie night.

"it pays shit but it pays" y/n replies grabbing the bag of popcorn from the microwave and pouring it into a bowl. "then what do you want to do?" wooyoung questions. y/n thinks for a bit. "I want to open my own bakery" she says finally. "y/n's sweets? that's probably what I'd call it" she nods. "why don't you?" wooyoung asks "with what money? my $12 an hour?" wooyoung hums and looks like he's thinking as yeosang starts the movie.

wooyoung, y/n, and yeosang were hanging out in y/n and yeosang's place while mingi was at work when y/n excused herself to the bathroom. "you like her don't you?" yeosang asks as the bathroom door clicks shut. "what're you talking about" wooyoung says not at all convincing. "we all know" yeosang hums snacking on the cupcakes y/n had made.

"maybe I do.. but I doubt she likes me bac-" yeosang interrupts him. "you two are so dense. its like we all know but you two. she talks about you all the time I was starting to get sick of it if im being honest" yeosang sighs. "really?" wooyoung asks in disbelief. "even the first day you guys met she was talking about how hot you were." yeosang says thinking about the phone call they had.

flashback to a month ago: "he's so hot its a shame he almost fucking hit me then tried to blame me" y/n groans into the phone. a faint 'that's horrible' from yeosang comes through the phone.

"she said that?" wooyoung says in almost shock. "yes" yeosang says exasperated as the bathroom door swings open and the two immediately shut up. "why're you two acting suspicious?" y/n says. "no we're not" the two say in sync y/n decides to let it go.

wooyoung and y/n were alone now, yeosang "having some fashion emergency and leaving the apartment". "so what were you two talking about?" y/n asks slightly cuddling into wooyoung's arm. "nothi-" y/n sighs loudly. "I know it wasn't nothing" y/n argues. "if I tell you, you have to promise not to make fun of me" wooyoung says. "why would I-"

"I like you y/n" wooyoung blurts out. "you.. wait really?" she says in surprise. "yeosang was just telling me that he knows and mingi knows" as he finishes his sentence y/n leans over to him pressing her lips onto wooyoungs as he gasps. "shit sorry" y/n says pulling back quickly, but before she could get too far, wooyoung pulls her back into another kiss. "thank god" y/n mutters into the kiss. "for what?" wooyoung hums. "that you also like me back duh" y/n sasses which gets a laugh out of wooyoung.

some time later wooyoung was leading y/n to.. somewhere. y/n didn't know she had a blindfold on. "woo are we there yet?" y/n says impatiently. "almosttt" wooyoung smiles. "okay ready?" wooyoung says taking y/n's blindfold off. "open your eyes!" as y/n blinks her eyes open she witnesses what wooyoung had been tirelessly working on for the past couple months. it was a building decorated with the prettiest things. the sign read 'y/n's sweets' y/n gasps.

"you didn't.." she says in disbelief. "I did" wooyoung smiles. "you're unbelievable how'd you pull this off?" y/n says still in awe at the building infront of her. "I think I might die of shock" y/n says. "don't die who will I kiss if you do?" y/n rolls her eyes, pecking him on the lips as he hands her the keys. "shall we head inside?" wooyoung asks to which y/n nods.

"help me bake?" y/n asks as she starts up the ovens. "am I getting promoted to baker" wooyoung grins. "as long as you learn how to ice cake properly then yes" y/n giggles. wooyoung starts icing the cake. "how am I doing.."

"you're killin it" y/n replies kissing his cheek.

tysm for reading! if you have any requests pls send them my way!!

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leafyln4 · 20 days ago

Text

"Can you keep a secret? I hope not."

warnings: sub!reader, dom!lando, switch!oscar, threesome, p n v, unprotected sex (wrap your willy, silly), blowjob, lando x oscar, lots of lando x oscar, reader gets fucked silly, carlos's mentions, dirty talking, degradation, praises, the smut is actually really short lol. angst if you squint. tell me if i forgot to add anything.

author's note: this is part of an au i'm working in. reader is way too dumb and naive for her own good. also, my first time writing a threesome and its not proofread... hope you guys enjoy!

Lando was bored out of his mind. He didn't feel in the mood to go club hopping, he didn't feel like playing videogames and he wasn't in the mood to get his creative thoughts out of his head. But he was bored. And a bored Lando is a rather dangerous Lando.

His phone was thrown across the room, his right arm wrapped around the sleeping girl besides him. He let out a deep sigh, looking down at her. She was sweet, cute, an easy fuck, but she wasn't his. No. Everyone knew who her owner was.

And that pissed Lando off so damn much. Fucking Carlos Sainz. It was almost ironic how a guy he hated so much got his hands in the only person that Lando ever really cared about. Well, besides him, of course. Ha. How ironic.

She was so pretty. An angel, even. Her naive, yet innocent, behaviors, how she worshipped the ground he walked. God, he didn't deserve her. But neither did Carlos.

Lando didn't really know why he hated Carlos so much. Maybe it was the fact he had it easier than him, maybe not. But one thing was for sure: he wanted Carlos's girl all for himself. Okay. Maybe he could share with a guy or two. At the same time, mind you.

He kept caressing your hair with his left hand, his hold on you tightening ever so slightly. He didn't want to wake you up, but something inside of him was stirring, bubbling up. He felt like he wanted to explode. Or explode someone. He didn't care.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his mind. Carlos really made sure to tell everyone how you were his, right? What if he proved you weren't? So, while you were still fast asleep, he texted Oscar, his dearest friend, the one who understood all too well what Lando was feeling.

mate, you up?

lando, it's way past midnight???

i have a crazy idea lol

what if we shut carlos up?

i'm hearing.

come to my place and i'll tell you everything

He felt like he was going crazy with the wait. Oscar was taking soooo damn long to get to his house, he was afraid of you waking up with his absence on the bed. He was louging on the couch, almost biting his nails off in that anxious habit of his.

The bell ringing was a reassurance, really. He was by the door in seconds, opening it so the aussie could enter his apartment. They both sit on the couch, silence hanging heavy on the living room as Lando pondered how to word his idea.

"She's here?" Oscar's voice was low, almost as if he was considering his words before he said them. He knew Lando was a dangerous path, one he fell for too many times to count. "Or is she with him?"

"Fast asleep. My bed. Wouldn't allow her to go straight to him after a day with me." It was a matter of dignity. Lando would probably die if you spent so long with him but ran to Carlos as soon as you could.

The baker shakes his head, not fully grasping what Lando's wonderful idea was. Not that he said it was wonderful, but it was in the air. Lando was arrogant, of course everything he did was the most wonderful thing in the world... To him.

The DJ seems to feel Oscar's confusion, opening and closing his mouth for a few times before talking, his voice low yet charged with something similar to determination, "Carlos should learn a lesson. She is not his property. I'm done with this shit."

"Oh, yeah? And what are you planning to do? Go fist to fist with one of the most influential guys on the world? Lando, this is a terrible idea and--"

But Lando cuts him off, that devilish grin on his face.

"Not fist to fist. No. I won't even touch him." He paused, waiting for Oscar's reaction. Noticing the younger still seemed rather confused, his grin widened. "Her. She's already fucking wipped. Gonna fuck him out of her mind. And you are going to help me, Osc, won't you?"

Lando's voice was low, seductive, manipulative. He knew the effect he had on Oscar, he knew how to make the younger baker do whatever he asked of him. It was endearing and so fucking hot, in a twisted way. Lando loved how easily he was able to break and fold Oscar.

"I don't know, Lan... It's-- It's Carlos, he could try to take my bakery off of me if he found out I helped." Oscar was clearly hesitating, his whole body tensed up. His bakery was his most important thing and Lando knew that. He would never allow anyone to take Oscar's bakery out of him, for sure.

The brit's left hand rests on the aussie's right thigh, his thumb running up and down the so familiar place. Oscar shivered, Lando smirked. He didn't care if it was risky for Oscar this time, though. He wouldn't allow Carlos to take his bakery out of him.

He wanted Oscar to know that.

Lando leans closer to Oscar's ear, whispering softly. "No one has to know. We're going to fuck her, like many times before. I will fucking mark her up, claim that pussy mine and she will go to Carlos's with our marks all over her. Imagine his face, hm? Don't you want to make him shut his mouth, too?"

At this point, Oscar was too far gone to even refuse anything. So he agreed to the plan, making Lando smirk as he knelt down in front of him, wanting to make sure Oscar knew how proud Lando was of him.

You wake up earlier than you should, stirring into the bed, heavy eyelids opening slowly. The other side of the bed, where Lando should've been, was cold, making a small whine leave your lips. You were rather clingy after waking up, so the fact Lando wasn't there was really bothering you.

So you get up on your feet, knowing it would be useless to just stay in bed and sulk. Not even bothering to put on your slippers or checking the time, you head straight for the living room. You didn't expect to see Oscar there, your half-asleep state immediately dropping on Lando's lap.

Good, Lando thought, he didn't even have to do anything go get you exactly where he wanted. His arms wrap around your frame, his mouth planting small kisses along your cheek and then up to your ear. He whispers some sweet words, some compliments, but you're not awake enough to do that.

"Hm... Hello, pretty girl. Won't you talk to Osc? Thought I fucked that attitude out of you, hm?" Your sleepy state, eager to please Lando, turns t Oscar and mutters a really quick 'hi'. The aussie only giggles, used to the way you acted. He had his few experiences with you, too, after all.

Carlos's personal slut being passed around through everyone they knew, kind of ironic. Especially considering how possessive Carlos was of you. But you just couldn't help. They were all so attractive. It was not your fault your poor cunt got wet only by seeing them.

You couldn't help but let them taste you. Not when so many of them said it was good for your health! Not when so many of them were so nice to you! Especially Lando and Oscar. And Carlos, of course. But there was something special about the first two. You just couldn't tell what.

Lando tsks, clicking his tongue as he shifts you around in his lap. His hands mess with the waistband of your sleeping shorts. Oh, how much of a slut you were, wearing those slutty little shorts and the tiniest tops to sleep.

Oscar was very obviously staring at your ass, hypnotized by how tight the shorts were. He could already feel his cock getting hard at the thought of you rubbing against him, desperately grinding on him. He could never degrade you like Lando, but he couldn't disagree on how desperate you were.

Always begging, always pleading. So, so sweet for them. He was so hard, it was almost painful. Lando wasn't that different. The thought of claiming you over Carlos's was hotter than it should be. So he slowly starts to tease you, not letting you fall asleep yet.

You can feel your whole body shiver, his touches getting closer and closer to your pussy. When his hands finally get into your shorts, under your panties, you're already breathless and so wet. Lando groans, it never failed to amuse him how wet you always got at the smallest touches. Such a good girl.

He signals for Oscar to come closer, the two of them sandwiching you on the couch. Lando's left hand was on your chin, making you look him in the eye, while his right one messed with your clit, rubbing tight circles on it. Oscar was holding your waist with both hands, trailing kisses up your neck.

He makes eye contact with Lando, silently communicating with the brit. Then, he sucks a deep purple mark right on your neck, in a place anyone could see.

Your mind was dizzy, your body fully awake and burning up. Little gasps and moans leaving your lips, Lando's eyes admiring how much of a good girl you were for him. You felt like you were going to explode.

One of his fingers enter your tight cunt, a groan leaving his mouth as he feels just how tight you are. You shift around in his lap, wanting more, needing more. He pumps that finger in and out before adding a second and a third one at the same time. He knew you could take it, you were his good girl. His.

Meanwhile, Oscar kept marking you up, your top now long forgotten at a random corner of the living room. You feel Lando's fingers leaving your cunt, just so he could take your bottoms off and turn you around, making you face Oscar.

The younger man settles between your thighs, assaulting your breasts like it's his last meal. Lando's fingers go back to your sweet cunt, making you throw your head back in pleasure.

"You like this, don't you? Getting used by the two of us like the slut you are. So pretty. So ours. Who you belong to, hm?" He wanted to hear you say this. He needed this like he needed air to breathe.

"You! Ah, you! Lan--" His fingers keep pumping in and out, his other hand toying with your clit. You could feel your orgasm building up, your tight walls clenching around his fingers. Oscar's hands hold your waist, to make you stop squirming around.

Soon enough, you cum all over Lando's fingers, a loud moan leaving your lips of both of their names. Oh, but they weren't done with you at all.

Lando makes you stay on all fours on the couch, taking off his pants and boxers in a swift motion. He positions himself with your entrance, Oscar mimicking his actions and positioning himself in front of your pretty lips. "Such a dumb girl, already fucked out of her mind. Gonna use you like the whore you are."

Lando was mean, his words making you blush. But it didn't bother you at all, it only made you clench around nothing. In one move, he thrusts his cock into you, a groan leaving his lips and a loud moan leaving yours. Oscar takes advantage of this and, gently, inserts his cock in your mouth.

You felt on Heaven. Your mind too fucked out to even think about the scene, to even think about anyone other than the two of them. Lando's thrusts are hard, rough, fast, making you gag around Oscar's cock at each of them.

The younger was gasping, his eyes filled with small tears of pleasure, just like yours, as Lando talked you both through this. His two pretty sluts. You cum for a second time, your liquids gushing down the couch.

This only fuels the fire in Lando, making him fuck you even harder. You were sobbing on Oscar, the sight of you so pretty like that making him come down your throat, a whine leaving his own.

But Lando doesn't stop. Not until he has you trembling. He holds your body up, one of his hands on your waist while the other fidgeted with your nipples. He wanted you to cum again. "Come on, baby, I know you can. Just one more."

Oscar, still hard, jerks himself off by the sight of you two. His hand pumps his cock up and down, his eyes never leaving the sinful view in front of him.

Finally, you come for the third time, triggering Lando's own release. He cums deep inside of you, Oscar cumming on your stomach and couch. You were all breathless.

Lando makes you lay down, admiring your body. You were all marked up. Hickeys, hand prints, everything. So fucking hot. So fucking his. His. His. His. His. His. His girl. Well, his and Oscar's, that is.

They clean you up, Oscar taking his sweet time to soothe your shaking body before dressing you. Lando took pictures of you, knowing his memory wouldn't do this justice.

You didn't have a clue of how many hickeys and marks there were on your body. And Lando would make sure that it stayed like that. He wanted Carlos to see. Carlos wouldn't see if you covered it with makeup.

But it didn't matter, you soon went back to sleep. Oscar was also fast asleep, both of you naked, even though he didn't see when Oscar undressed.

So he decided he should sleep, too. And sleep he did, cuddling you and Oscar.

The next morning comes fast, both boys with waking up before you. You tried to stand on your feet, but your legs were obbly and your body was sore. But you do your best, nonetheless! And manage to stand up and walk to the kitchen, your mouth feeling dry.

A pair of hands hugs your waist, Lando's head resting on your shoulder. "Good morning, baby. Slept well?" He murmurs against your ear, pressing his hardness against your ass. God, that would be the death of you!!

"Lan... Please..." So needy. Just woke up and was already begging for him. So he sat you up on the counter and spread your legs. You were already naked, so it was really easy to slide into your cunt.

He fucks you slow, deep. Each thrust gaining a moan from you. Your legs wrap around his waist, your hands stay on his shoulder, nails digging into his skin. It just felt so good, poor you. Clueless about his real intentions.

"So tight f'me. Fuck, baby... D'you want me to cum inside, hm? Make you full with my cum? You're just a cumdump, aren't you? Good girl, yeah."

You couldn't form a coherent sentence, your pussy clenching around his cock. You were milking him, coming around his cock as soon as he came inside of you. Your eyes roll, your head thrown back as he still kept moving, overstimulatating the both of you.

He comes inside of you a second time, wanting to make sure you took all in. Maybe if he fucked his baby into you, you wouldn't leave him for Carlos, right? Poor Lando.

After you're done, he helps you down, a mixture of his cum with your own juices dripping down your thighs. And you wore it like a fucking slut, you didn't care about it. Such a dumb girl, that must be why you let everyone into your pussy. Dirty girl.

Oscar comes into the kitchen not long after, murmuring you a soft "morning" before planting a small kiss on your cheek. He ignores Lando's cum dripping down your thighs.

When you go back to Carlos', saying the older called you for "important matters", Lando has the biggest smile on his face.

He would love to see Carlos face after he saw you.

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