#little worried about tomorrow. things to do places to be
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
⏾ SOMEWHERE IN THE HAZE, GOT A SENSE I'VE BEEN BETRAYED | jack hughes x singer!reader
summary : how y/n found out vince cheated the first time
word count : 1.3k
warning(s) : cheating (poor baby y/n ☹️), arguing, mentions of k wording Vince, Vince is a fucking asshole (sorry lol), crying (i hate to see my baby sad)
a/n : AHHHHHHH okay okay this is my first written part and I hope I did it justice bc as much as I love angst, it's hard to write it! anyways, I'm glad I decided to do this because it challenges me to not only go deeper for yall to understand reader it also kinda makes you see what she had to put up with (what the fuck vince) okay that's all I had to say! send me asks about this series bc I love talking about teehee OKAY BYE ILY
series masterlist
The stars glisten upon the midnight-colored skies. The clock that sits on your nightstand on the right side of the bed, has officially struck midnight, signifying a new day. You turn a page of the book you're reading, And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie, a re-read. The early January winds whip through the city of Seattle. Draped upon you is a lavender-colored fuzzy knitted blanket. Handmade by Vince's mom, Tracy.
In the far distance, you can hear the water leaving the showerhead; Vince is taking a shower. The thought of joining him crosses your mind, but you shake the thought away and continue reading. You go to turn the 129th page, but Vince's phone dings before the next page is revealed. It takes a small fragment of a moment for your eyes to find where it sits. Once you do, you make a B-line to its location. You don't notice how his phone was placed face down until you reach the dresser.
Your eyes burn holes into the back of the phone. The clock is ticking. The more time passes, the less time you have to decide whether or not you're going to snoop through your boyfriend's phone. Your internal dialogue fights between two actions: Pick up the phone and read the text messages waiting for a response, or ignore it and continue reading your book. The little devil on your right shoulder wins the battle.
Before you even think about any consequences if Vince were to catch you, you find your right hand already reaching for the phone. The screen illuminates your face, reflecting against the blue lenses that sit across the bridge of your nose. The first thing you notice is the time, 12:34 am. Who in the hell is texting him at this time? The second thing you notice is how Vince no longer has you as his lock screen. Instead, you're faced with a picture of him on a golf course with some of his buddies. If it weren't for the worry about who was texting Vince this late a night, you probably would have cared. The third and final thing you notice is the simple "D" that had given him a notification four minutes ago. You don't have to unlock Vince's phone to read the message, FaceID recognized your face the moment you picked up the phone.
D
goodnight, can't wait to see you tomorrow 💋
*one image*
Waves of anxiety hit you like a tsunami. You reread the text message over and over, thinking that it'll change every time your eyes scan the last half of the message. It's imprinted into your mind, no matter how hard you try, it will never go away. The thought of pressing the message to fully see the picture makes bile rise up in your throat. Knowing it most likely contained some type of nude picture. Whether it was a picture of some nice expensive midnight blue lingerie, maybe even clear water teal, or a picture of the girl's tits, it was going to taint you for eternity. You weren't stupid. Things like this happen to stupid girls, but not you. It couldn't.
You don't hear the water coming to an abrupt stop or Vince walk into the room until he questions what you're doing. "Why do you have my phone?"
Your head whips up to where Vince stands, at the door frame that connects his master bedroom to the master bathroom. His light caramel curls rest on his forehead, beads of water drip down his chest, and his right hand rests on the knot in the towel that's wrapped around his waist. You don't realize the tears that started falling just moments ago until Vince asks, "Why are you crying?"
The gut-wrenching sadness you once felt slowly simmers down and a deep rust color of rage clouds your vision. Without delay, you chuck Vince's phone at his chest and scoff.
"Why do you fucking think?" You wipe the tears that stream down your face with the sleeve of your cream-colored cotton long sleeve, mascara ruins the once-clean shirt. Vince contemplates whether he wants to deny or openly be truthful with you, he unfortunately chooses the first option.
"Babe, come on!" He looks away from the lasers that are practically coming out of your eyes. He knows deep down he's screwed.
"No, Vince! You fucking listen to me! You better be so fucking grateful that I leave first thing in the morning because I'd probably kill you if I didn't!" Lungs working overtime so you can get all of that out in one go. Vince still stands at the doorframe, he doesn't plan on moving anytime soon.
"Who is she?" The question leaves your mouth under a breath, afraid of the answer that might leave Vince's mouth.
"I'm not telling you that." It leaves Vince's mouth at lightning speed, but you move even faster. Your feet carry you rapidly to where Vince stands, once he's in arm's reach, your hands start hitting his chest. You switch between curling your hands into a fist and punching, to slapping his chest. Uncontrollable sobs leave the depths of your chest, and tears cloud your vision to the point where you can only make out the silhouette of the man you never would have thought would betray you.
"I lo-lo-loved you! An-and you d-d-do this to me?!" Your sobs interrupt your ability to say the sentence in one go. Your body finally begins to feel the heartbreak. Your chest and nostrils burn, your head finally starts to pound, and your legs start to feel like jelly. Letting the sobs control your body and legs giving out, you finally accept defeat.
Your eyes close and you start to drop to the ground, this is a fight you aren't going to win. You wait for your body to hit the ground but it never comes, instead you're met with Vince's damp hands on your arms. He steadies you, "Woah, hey there. You're okay I got you."
Wasting no time, you shove the 6'0 man off of you, and before he can say anything else you spit out, "Don't fucking touch me."
Vince puts his hands up in defeat, "Okay! okay, I won't." Following Vince's response, you dash your way to the front door. The professional hockey player follows hot in your trail.
"Hey hey hey! Where are you going?" He tries to grab a hold of your shoulder to turn you around, your reflexes do you wonder and you shove his hand with all the willpower you have left. Disregarding Vince's question, you take your purse and suitcase -which had been placed right next to the door after you finished packing before you got into bed.
"I'm staying at a hotel for the night." Exhaustion hits your body, a bed -not Vince's- sounds amazing right now.
"No, stay. You leave in the morning."
"I'd rather be in some cheap hotel than spend another night with you." The backhanded comment leaves the boy stunned, you take it as your chance to finally leave. You unlock the door and guide your suitcase to follow you out the door. Vince never intervenes. You don't even bother looking back when you slam the door in his face.
Adrenaline courses through your veins, it doesn't dissipate until you're sat on a hotel bed. The mattress is hard, but you've gotten used to it when touring throughout your career. You take notice that the comforter won't do you any justice during the night but that isn't the first thing that's disappointed you today. Tears that stopped falling start to pour again, your chest aches and your heart feels like it's missing. You take a moment to finally acknowledge everything that had happened 25 minutes ago, and once you forcefully come to terms with it, you fall into a deep sleep. Not noticing the 64 missed calls and messages from Vince.
#meet me at midnight series ⏾#jack hughes smau#jack hughes imagine#jack hughes smut#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes#vince dunn#vince dunn imagine#vince dunn smau#vince dunn x reader#ex!vince dunn#ebs writes things!#ebsedits ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ⏾
91 notes
·
View notes
Note
Dunno if this has been asked already but what was Haley's life like growing up? What led them to become a burglar?
I am actually surprised I have never talked about Haley's backstory. Anyways, here it is 💕
Haley, (whose birth name is Harini) was raised as the eldest daughter (nonbinary now) in a Desi (Tamil) family, growing up Haley always had numerous hefty expectations placed on their shoulders without much reward for their efforts. Haley was raised in Chennai, but when accepted into a prestigious university program abroad (where our story takes place), their parents pressured them to enroll. This program was at a top university but extremely expensive. Despite being somewhat pressured into the decision, Haley didn't want their parents to have to worry about money, so they lied and said it was a full ride scholarship.
Haley still needed to pay for the program. So they decided in this new place they would go by a fake name to create a degree of separation between their identity and what people around them knew them as. This name 'Haley' was chosen when their younger sister referred to them as it as a joke about becoming westernized. Using their ability (which they discovered and honed from a young age) Haley would burgal what they needed to make tuition payments, always doing extensive research into the targets and proper fences before taking any action. Eventually, their work was noticed by the general public for it's mystery and flawless execution. Never greedy, always a perfectionist, always picking the best targets that were never sympathetic figures in the public eye, Haley never made a mistake, they were raised not to, so of course they would excel at this too.
They have since graduated from the program where for a few years after they worked at a local coffee shop and then eventually opened up their own. They have since become stable enough to not need to burgal, but then became headhunted by Miles's family to train him into a villain (something Hal couldn't exactly say no to).
One of my favorite things about Haley is their 'reluctant helper' aspect of their personality. For example, if there is a stray cat they say that it has to be owned by someone else so they won't take care of it, but they still feed it, and if it's there tomorrow they will feed it and make it a little shelter, and if it's there for another day they will let it inside... and so on until they are basically fully caring for it. This is kinda how Haley ended up being close to MC. Despite Haley giving off an 'I don't care' vibe, caretaking is in their nature and they can't help but to take responsibility. But they still may feel frustrated or slightly bitter that THEY are the person that had to because others either push it on them or aren't competent enough to trust.
Haley also has one younger brother and a youngest sister.
68 notes
·
View notes
Text
/2025.SAMIWOK/
{ NSFW } — A Valentine’s day gift,
pairing : Rafayel x fem!reader
summary : it’s Valentine’s Day and Rafayel invites you to spend it with him at his place. the night goes pretty well and it ends up just the way you expected.
content : 6k words. chocolate aphrodisiacs ?? ; use of handcuffs ; oral sex : reader receiving ; soft sex ; Rafayel teases a lot
note : the explicit smut part isn’t that long it’s mostly the tensed atmosphere before that is well written but i’m planning on improving about that. anyway. that’s the first lads fic but there’ll be more heh
“Valentine’s Day is a stupid and commercialized holiday.” Those were your own words for many years.
You’re a grown adult and you still see Valentine's day as a scam; something made up completely by a capitalist society forcing people to spend money. Because truly.. who wouldn’t want to see their loved ones smile ? Of course you still think that it is the reality behind that holiday.
Yet it’s different this year.
Because this year you have him. Him, who texts you daily to check on you. Him, who stares at you like you’re the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen. Him, who makes you feel loved simply by smiling back at you.
So yeah.. Valentine’s Day is stupid. Stupid and made up to have stupid people spending their stupid money on stupid things to give to their lovers. Stupid holiday. Yet you crave to spend it with him. You crave his gifts, his touch.. well, his attention.
You’re still in the street, walking home from today’s assigned missions. Your eyes wander around the city. Couples.. Families.. And in the middle of that, single souls, wandering around the streets, looking lonely just like you.
Lonely… Yeah, perhaps you should try and call…
Oh ?
You take your phone out of your pocket and see the familiar face of the one you think about a little too much these days. “Incoming call : Annoying fishie…<3”
You smile at the only presence of his name on your screen, because the truth is he’s got you wrapped around his fingers. So much so that you’re smiling at your phone in the middle of the street, excited to hear his voice before you even pick up the call. You cough slightly before you do. After all, you wouldn’t want to give him the confidence he needs to tease you.
“Hello ?” You reply, quite calmly and your voice almost sounds a little cold.
“Hmph. Finally ! I thought you’d never pick up the call.” And there he goes, complaining not even five seconds into the call. You sigh longly. He’s always so dramatic.. and for what ? That man is 24 after all and still pouting like a little boy whose mother refuses a toy. Ridiculous. But even that part of him makes him lovable to you.
“Don’t even start-“ You reply and he interrupts with a soft laugh that warms your heart. You instinctively smile because you can picture his lips curling up as he laughs and his eyes matching the playful tone of his voice as he speaks.
“Is my Miss bodyguard free tonight, by any chance ?” He asks so politely. Usually, he would tell you to join him wherever he wants to see you. Who would’ve imagined him being so sweet as he suggests a plan to you.
You take a look at your watch quickly and it displays 5:21 pm. It is not late. Your plans for tonight were mostly about heading home, showering, eating dinner and sleeping. You worked today and you have to go back to work tomorrow. Yeah… Stupid holiday which doesn't even allow a resting day.
“My weeks are only filled with meetings with colleagues and wanderers.” You reply right away, complaining a bit about how tired you feel. The question was not about it, yet Rafayel still replies to you with worry and encouraging words.
On the other end of the line, he’s looking around the garden. It is empty; just the way he feels when you’re not by his side. He respects your job, knows it’s hard and doesn’t want to be a bother yet he’d be ready to beg for you to come see him everyday.
“Need a massage, cutie ?” He asks and you can almost picture that annoying smirk on his lips from here.
Of course he was going to flirt with you. There is no way he calls you and doesn’t try his tricks on you. Because he loves the way you always let out a little blank before you reply, as if thinking hard about a perfect answer.
“…How much will it cost ?” You hear a slight humming sound as you reply. It’s not the first time you flirt back, but it always feels so surprising for him.
He chuckles and his breath on the speaker almost tickles your ear with its sweetness. “We’ll figure something out.” He replies and the sound of his voice drives you crazy. His low voice is so unusual it strikes a special feeling inside of you.
You want him. Oh God you do.
There is a brief silence, quickly interrupted by Rafayel. “7pm at my place ?” he asks. You ponder for a while and agree. If this is going to be the first Valentine’s day you spend with him, you might as well make it unforgettable for both of you, right ?
There’s a few more brief exchanges and you hang up the phone the minute you step through the door to your apartment. You head towards the living-room and lay on the sofa.
Tired… You think as you close your eyes for a few seconds. You were gonna prepare of course, but a small nap never killed anyone.
You open your eyes and stare at the ceiling that is only lightened up by the colored lights of the bar that’s on the other side of the road, right in front of the building you live in. It goes from a flashy purple to various shades of pink before it turns to a light blue. It goes in a loop and it reminds you of Rafayel’s color palette.
You smile at the thought of him. Again. Oh how desperate you look like when your brain replays hundreds of memories of his pretty eyes devouring you alive.
You grab your phone that’s vibrating right next to your ear in a quite annoying way and hold it up pretty close to your face as you’re still laying down.
You open Rafayel’s message and your cheeks get slightly red. “do you like surprises, miss bodyguard ?” he asks and his message is joined with a picture of half of his naked chest and his hand holding out a pair of handcuffs.
You never tried this before yet the photo instantly turns you on. Perhaps it’s because you know it’s him holding them out that you want them on your wrists so bad.
You gulp before responding almost immediately. “Want me to tie you down to the bed ?” You tease and surprisingly he instantly responds “…who knows. im eager to see you try” punctuated with playful emotes.
Of course he was gonna text this. That man just has a way of driving you crazy that is incredibly strong and even though you’re used to it by now, he somehow still manages to get you giggling every single time.
You take a quick shower, not wanting to be late for your date with your very first Valentine. And because your hair today is especially beautiful, you decide not to wash it to be the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. When you get out of the shower and head over to your bedroom, the clock displays 6:02. You’re right on time to make yourself pretty with a bit of makeup and the stunning clothes you have in mind.
That man deserves it, with the way he makes you feel : loved and safe; Respected and interesting. You take a good look at yourself in the mirror and you feel so beautiful you would almost want to kiss yourself.
Perfect. You grab your phone and quickly type a message before going out of the building.
“Will be there in 20.”
As you head to his place, the night is slowly falling. You look around and realize the streets are empty. The ocean is pretty agitated tonight and the warmth in the air surrounding you is a sign of a storm incoming.
You’re not really fond of huge storms, at least not at Rafayel’s place since he lives so close to the ocean. Your eyes are fixed on the horizon and before you even realize it, you’re right in front of his place. It’s a pretty immense ground, definitely way too big for a single person.
Rafayel likes his loneliness but what he craves even more is your presence by his side. Therefore, he walks towards the door the second he realizes you’re here.
You push open the front gate. The lights are on all along the way towards his house. And as you walk up the stairs, he opens the door, slowly leaning against it. He wears his usual white shirt and fancy black pants tonight. He looks good, stunning even, as always; yet you have to admit you feel a bit… disappointed, maybe ? After all, you put on a fancy dress, and high heels for the night. It was not the most comfortable but you felt it was needed to appear perfect for him. Meanwhile, he’s standing there, looking perfect with little to no effort.
“My miss bodyguard made herself extremely pretty.” He points out the obvious. You do look perfect. Your hair is soft and placed perfectly well. You wear a long red velvet dress he has never seen before and it matches the lipstick you chose earlier. Your eyes stare at him in a way that’s making him forget about everything that isn’t you.
Rafayel stares at you in awe and he cannot take his eyes off. You’re beautiful. Always. And when you look like that, you are like a muse to him, his source of inspiration. He wishes his brain could photograph you under the moonlight so he could always wake up with that image of you as you walk up towards him for the whole night.
The whole night.
A whole night to yourselves.
It almost sounds like a dream, yet, when his hand grabs yours and his thumb rubs the palm of your hand, you realize it’s real. All of it. From his soft gaze to his gentle touch to the intoxicating scent of his perfume that’s making you crazy about him. It is definitely real. He is here with you.
It’s the lovers holiday and he decided to spend it with you.
“Are you cold, cutie ?” He asks and he’s ready to go running, and get one of his numerous cardigans to put on your shoulders to protect you from the soft breeze because nothing could ever be allowed to hurt his beloved.
You shake your head. “No. It’s quite warm, actually.” You add, and just when you try avoiding his gaze he flashes you a smile. “Come with me, then.” You walk into this big house of his and even though you’ve come here multiple times before you never get used to how luxurious it seems.
The hall of the house is decorated with glorious statues and large, beautiful paintings made by Rafayel himself. You stare around as if discovering a whole new world and quickly reach the garden. As you set your feet on the wooden patio you realize he’s been preparing a big surprise for you.
There are flowers. Lots of them. Bouquets, all as beautiful as the others. There’s food all over the table, and it’s literally everything you adore. The music playing in the background is from the playlist you once made for him. You gulp, and turn to him, a bit emotional about all of this.
“My God, Rafayel. You didn’t have to do all that.” You don’t even find the right words at this point and maybe you sound a bit ungrateful right now but he knows you well enough to know this actually pleases you, so much that you struggle expressing your genuine feelings.
“Indeed. I didn’t have to.” He repeats, a bit sassy as he approaches you, pulling on your hand until he feels your body pressed against his and he can whisper against your ear. “My Miss Bodyguard works hard daily to protect me, I must repay her the right way.”
You run a hand through his hair and stare at him for a few seconds, eyes intensely screaming how hard you want him and he gets it immediately. His lips crash into yours, capturing your mouth for a passionate kiss and it almost feels like you have not met for years with how hard you’re both clinging to each other.
You pull his hair gently and he almost moans into the kiss. The kiss feels like it’s never-ending and it takes all of his energy to pull away from you.
He takes a step back, catching his breath and without any surprise : he jokes again.
“Let’s not eat dessert yet, mhm ?” He says as he points to the table and all of the delicious food he’s prepared before you come.
Your thumb brushes against your lips as you follow him to a new topic after that steamy kiss you just shared. “Did Thomas help you do this ?” You ask, a bit curious as to how he managed to do this in only a few hours.
Rafayel pouts slightly, his arms crossed as he turns his back on you, “Hmph. I can do things on my own, you know.”
You smile and walk towards him. His back is still turned on you. You wrap an arm around his neck, kissing his cheek softly, your hand caressing his jawline until it reaches his chin, locking it between your fingers and forcing him to look at you.
“Rafayel ?” You say. You raise an eyebrow, a bit suspicious. Your voice is low, almost menacing and his eyes look away from yours, capitulating. “Fiiiine.” he says, still pouting slightly “He helped me a bit.”
“You little liar !” You accuse him but his angel eyes make you forget about it pretty quickly. They’re screaming his innocence despite him the fact he just admitted trying to hide Thoma’s help in his surprise.. “I technically did not lie.” And you shake your head, brushing it off.
As you take a step back, pulling away from him, you cross your arms against your chest in an elegant way. Your eyes are almost challenging him to do something, and he clears his throat quietly.
Rafayel smiles and pulls your hand once again, making you follow him towards the sofa near the table. He remains standing for a few seconds, his eyes hypnotized by the attractive sight of your low-cut neckline given by the angle.
It’s only when you move your head and call out his name once again tonight that he snaps out of his thoughts. “Yeah, yeah, yeah” he quickly says, his head shaking as if it helped chase the dirty thoughts away.
The music changes to the next track, and it’s a much calmer one. The instruments used in that one have the power to change your mood right away and when your eyes meet his, you know your minds are connected. You think alike a lot of times, and now is no exception.
He wants you.
His eyes are filled with lust and he’s practically taking off your clothes with them. His Adam’s apple moves as he tries gulping his desires away discreetly; and fails. His head rests against one of his hands, his index finger tapping regularly against his temples as if he was waiting for something. A sign maybe ? Your consent to him touching you.
You want him.
You blink several times as if it would be enough to hide the perversion of the numerous secret thoughts reflecting in your eyes. Your legs are crossed and subconsciously rubbing against one another, desperately seeking some sort of pleasure. And your breathing… It betrays your needs.
“A glass of wine ?” Rafayel is the first to break the silence between you two. And thank God he does, otherwise you wouldn’t have lasted much longer before jumping on his lap and ripping both your clothes off.
You nod. You don’t drink so much wine, and aren’t into it either but you’ll take anything he’ll give you. Also the kiss you shared just before and the tense atmosphere that seem to surround the two of you does not give you a good reason to turn down his offer. You’re thirsty and it’s not wine nor water that is going to slow it down.
He hands out your glass to you and then his. “Cheers.” He says with a pretty smile matching the softness in his eyes as you stare into them before clinking softly your glass against his.
“Cheers.” You respond and your eyes never once leave his face as you take a first sip of the drink. It’s good. Really good. It’s probably the best wine you’ve ever tasted. At least, the only wine that is not making your face contort in disgust as if being inflicted the worst sufferings in the world.
You put the glass down and smirk at him.
“Shall we play a questions game ?”
You feel a little bolder than usual, and judging by the gaze in his eyes at your proposition, he’s into it. His lips mirror yours, curling up in a playful smirk. “Go ahead and ask a question then.”
You squint as if thinking hard about your question when in reality : you suggested it only because you knew exactly what to ask and where it would lead.
“Then… Let’s start easy. What do you think of my dress ?” You ask innocently caressing the velvet fabric. It feels so soft against your fingertips and you love it. You stare at him as you wait for the verdict.
Rafayel looks at the dress, fully, and his insistent gaze could almost feel uncomfortable if you didn’t want him right here and now.
“It perfectly accentuates that beautiful body of yours, miss Bodyguard,” He replies confidently. “My turn now. What do you hide under that perfectly cut dress ?”
He asks so quickly you can’t even grasp the compliment he just gave you. You gulp and decide to flirt again. “Why don’t you take a guess ?”
“That is not the rule of the game.” He says so low you almost can’t hear him.
“Who cares about rules ?” You say. You could tell him what you wear of course. But you want him to discover it himself for you’ve been dying to see the look on his face when you’d reveal your lingerie to him.
Rafayel approaches dangerously on the sofa. “Careful, cutie. I care about rules, and I’ll make you apply them if I have to.” His eyes are slightly menacing when he accentuates the first person pronoun. His words are an obvious threat but also a challenge. Another. Because the truth is, Rafayel knows you. He knows you, like the back of his hand and he knows the dirtiest part of you is ready to receive a punishment.
That wouldn’t even feel like one, considering some of your fantasies.
You smile and stare as he keeps approaching you slowly, almost like a predator that is about to catch his prey, a prey he’s been going after since they first met.
“I said : take a guess.” You repeat. Your voice is low and your heart feels like it’s about to explode from all the tension between you two. Rafayel’s lips are slightly parted and he sighs. “Can I have a hint ?” He asks, giving up resisting your little game.
“Too easy… Try guessing without a hint and you’ll be rewarded if you’re right.” You say. The bold words come out of your mouth so quickly you can’t even think before you speak. That makes him laugh a bit and he looks quite menacing when he does.
He keeps approaching and at some point you end up laying on your back with him crawling over your body, his hands resting on both sides of your head on the sofa, as if he’s caging you with it.
His eyes narrow as he looks at your lips and then back to your eyes. You don’t even know how divine you look right now. His mind is getting dysfunctional from all the thoughts he’s having, from how bad he wants you. At this point he’s not even trying to hide it anymore.
“Bold of you to assume I won’t claim that reward anyway.” You’re about to protest, when his lips find yours once more tonight. If the kiss from earlier was filled with the desire you both feel for each other; it is no different now, except it’s more pressed, more needy. You bite his lips as a slight punishment for his lack of obedience.
He pulls back and touches his lips you’ve just bitten. “You…” He whines, before he gets up and lifts you up the sofa.
He takes a few steps towards the house and leaves the untouched food on the table along with both your wine glasses. His room is the door that’s right on the left and as he opens it you see how he carefully decorated his room.
There’s a box of chocolate on the nightstand and a few other things. Rafayel carefully put you on his bed. He takes a step back and stares at you from head to toe.
The music that was playing outside is now playing on the small speakers he put in his room. As the next song plays, a smile paints on his lips. He slowly leans over you, his hands delicately taking off your heels. He looks down at you as you’re laying on your back and he’s still standing by the bed.
He looks at his left and opens the chocolate box. “Do you know that chocolates have aphrodisiac virtues ?” You heard about this before, but despite eating chocolate before, you’ve never felt anything special.
You gulp and he’s handing you a chocolate. “They say when the chocolate melts into your mouth, it creates a pure euphoric sensation in your whole body that’s making you crave something else.” He smirks and approaches the chocolate to your mouth. His long and thin fingers rub against your lips as you part them slightly to bite into what he’s giving you.
Your eyes never once leave his, and the expression on your face speaks thousands of unsaid words. He gives you a chaste kiss and eats the other part of the chocolate.
“What do you think, Miss Bodyguard ? Does eating that chocolate strike a special spot inside of you ?” He asks but the answer he wants isn’t about this. What he truly wants to know is whether you want him or not. And he knows you do, because, well, it’s written all over your face. But he wants you to say it.
He kneels on the edge of the bed, his hand pulling up your left leg, bringing it higher until you’re able to rub your feet against his lower back. His long and thin fingers feel so soft against your skin. “Say the words.” Rafayel commands, but the softness in his voice makes it sound like a plea.
He’s containing himself, but he knows he won’t be able to hold himself much longer if you keep staring at him like that while pulling his body closer to yours on his bed, with the sensual music playing in the background.
He grabs the zipper on the side of your dress, pulling it down and you bite your lip when his mouth finds its way down into your neck, dropping gentle kisses and eagerly sucking on your skin. “You drive me crazy.” He whispers between two kisses. His warm breathing on your neck mixed to his growing erection rubbing against your own most intimate parts make you let out a moan.
“I want you. Rafayel, please...” There you are, begging him to go further. Judging by the instant smirk on his lips as he pulls away from you to take off his shirt, he’s been craving to hear this.
Seeing him shirtless got you biting your lower lip, again. His body is perfect. Because it’s him. His chest punctuated here and there with a few moles make him extremely attractive. The way his abs are drawn make you want to admire it. The dim light only allows you to see his curves in the dark yet you still think of him as a work of art.
But you don’t even have time to think about what you’re staring at. Rafayel lays on top of you, whispering things against your ear that probably got you blushing. “Should I be gentle ? Or would you prefer me being rough ?” He asks and it’s most likely the most intimate question you’ve ever been expected to answer.
“Why don’t you take out my dress first ?” You say and you’re surprised yourself. Because you have no energy left in your body to resist him, you just crave to feel him inside of you yet you still try gaining time over that.
He chuckles. Part of him is quite irritated not to have an answer yet. His frustration leads him to be quite in a hurry as his hands start pulling down on your dress. Quickly, your bra is revealed and he’s almost salivating at the sight.
“Beautiful.” He whispers against your skin as he pulls you off the bed. You’re standing now and as if he was your loyal subject, he kneels before you. His eyes are practically devouring you right here, dropping kisses along your chest while pulling down your dress to reveal your full body.
“Beautiful.” He repeats as his mouth goes down on your body. Your skin is burning from the initial heat in the room mixed to the heated exchange with him just a few seconds ago.
You gulp and hold your smirk when the dress finally reaches the floor. With grace, you hold onto his shoulders and get rid of it, throwing the dress away in his room.
“Happy Valentine’s Day.” You mutter and his eyes almost sparkle at the sight of your stockings. “You-“ He starts and he stops himself. He’s got too many things to say, but he prefers to show you instead.
Too many words could bore you. But his hands ? Oh no there’s no way his expert hands bore you. He brings your left leg to his shoulder, and with his eyes closed he starts kissing your inner thighs. He knows it can get quite a sensitive spot when you’re so desperate to be loved, physically.
His mouth moves fast towards your pussy and it catches you off guard, your mouth letting out a few moans as you almost beg him to stop. You surely don’t want to cum just yet, but he has the entire night to make you. And it’s starting now. All of his senses are focused on hearing your sweet moans and teasing your wet sex. He loves to hear you and the smirk on his lips as you get louder only grow larger.
“Did you- mh like the lingerie I’ve chosen ?” You still manage to ask. You’re not one to beg for compliments, but you know the garter belts made him lose his mind for a second. And that’s the exact reason he’s still kneeling, despite the floor of his room not being comfortable, and for what ? Only to pleasure you.
“It’s perfect. You’re so divine it makes me crazy…” He whispers, opening his eyes to check the reaction on your face, and seeing the evident blush on your cheeks, he’s fully satisfied.
“Why don’t I show you just how much I love them ?” He asks, whispering, his fingers grasping the black lace thong that’s the only thing separating his eager mouth to the sweet spot that could make you a moaning mess. You gasp when he pulls it down, without ever taking his eyes off yours.
“Stay still, cutie.” He drops a kiss first, and quickly sticks his tongue to your clit.
“Rafayel- ah…” Your hands grip his hair instinctively.
As his tongue works hardly against your clit, almost desperate to make you cum quickly, you pull his hair harder. He’s good. He’s so good, you actually wonder how many times before he did this, and to who.
“Focus. Look at me, pleasuring you.” The way he accentuates his last word almost sounds like he can hear your train of thought.
Rafayel hums against your clit, and it sends a special feeling in your entire being. His tongue is lapping faster now and his eyes are dangerously staring at each of your reactions, memorizing them.
It is the most beautiful sight ever. You’re having a great time, he reads it on your face, and he’s just so proud he’s the one making you feel that way.
“I’m gonna.. I’m gonna cum if you keep going.” You warn. And he stops, at least for a second. “Then cum.” He says and it’s almost cruel how he commands you around. He wraps his hands around your thighs, locking you here with him sucking on your clit as if it was the source of the euphoria in his entire body.
And it might be at this point. You feel yourself getting close and he feels it too. With a smirk on his lips, he eats you out harder. Faster. Anything to hear his name fall out from your mouth. His eyes are practically screaming “Go on”.
Suddenly you feel yourself losing your balance, because the wave of pleasure submerging your body is simply too good. It’s been a long time and your legs are shaking so hard. But before you have the time to worry about falling, Rafayel lifts you off the floor and throws you on the bed.
“Have you had enough, cutie ?” He asks and he’s so obviously provoking you with that question. He smirks proudly as he sees you, still panting and the sheets becoming wet between your thighs. It’s his work of art.
You chuckle and shake your head. “Didn't you promise me a surprise ?” You say, referring to the earlier texts. He laughs too. He knows what you mean, yet he didn’t know you’d be into it as well, to the point of asking for it.
He opens the drawer and takes out the pair of handcuffs. “Shall I ?” He asks softly as you approach your wrists, allowing him to put them on for you. He bites his lip, carefully staring as he handcuffs you. His moves are slow, he obviously never did it before. And it somehow warms your heart to know you’re trying things together already.
“There. Does it hurt ?” He asks gently, his eyes scanning your face in a search for responses. “No. Now… I believe we’re not done yet.” You say, extending your leg so that your feet could rub against the obvious bulge in his pants.
As soon as you ask for it, he delivers. He takes off the rest of his clothes and his hard cock bouncing back up makes you bite your lip. It’s long but not too thick, just like you expected it to be.
He comes back on the bed and none of you waste time. You both know you’ve been wanting this ever since the beginning of this date. No. Ever since you first kissed.
You spread your legs, your wrists still tied to the bed.
He seizes your waist, pulling your body closer, and of course he doesn’t give you what you crave immediately. Instead, he rubs the tip of it against your clit and smirks down at your desperate expression.
“Put it in.” You command and it’s quite obvious from the hurried tone in your voice that you’re getting frustrated. He loves it when you moan, but he loves it even more when you beg.
His arrogant eyes stare down, and with his hands he takes off your bra, revealing your beautiful breast. He pinches one of your nipples, while his mouth eagerly sucks on the other. “You better ask nicely if you want it.” He whispers against your skin.
His chuckle makes you want to push him down the bed and ride him yourself. But you’re unable to move since he tied you up just before. Now you’re almost pissed off by his attitude, because of course he was gonna push his luck and your limits with it.
“Rafayel.” You say. “I only listen to good girls.” He replies.
He’s making you crazy, in all the ways he can. You want to scream because it feels so frustrating right now. But his cruelty somehow makes him so attractive to you.
“Rafayel please… I need you.” You say, eyebrows pinched together and angel eyes begging for him to stop teasing.
That gaze of yours is all he needs to change his mind and the soft sound of your voice as you beg for him to take you is more than enough.
He doesn’t warn, doesn’t say anything and pushes himself into your wet cunt, and it’s squeezing him so good. He whines with each of his thrusts, desperate. “Mhh.. you’re so good” He moans into your ear.
His hands are holding you in place, and your body’s not flinching, not even when his thrusts become harder and more desperate.
“Rafayel… Kiss me.” You say, almost pleading him to agree and as he obliges, his lips finding their way toward yours, you’re reduced to a moaning mess.
His thrusts switch from delicate and filled with some sort of desire : one to make you feel loved to a more brutal and rough way that doesn't show any mercy to your overstimulated body.
He loves that you take him without complaining. You let him do as he pleases, mostly because you like it that way too, but also because seeing him so free with you feels good. He feels good enough with you to be able to show both sides of himself.
“You’re so good…” Rafayel moans into your ear and he said it before but you never get tired of hearing it. His voice is softer than usual, more serious yet more relaxed at the same time.
His hands caress your thighs, throwing your legs behind his back and you wrap them together, pressing his body together with yours. You crave his voice, his scent and his touch. You want him to fill you up completely because he’s yours and you are his.
“Mine…” He moans against your neck as he sucks on it gently, but still hard enough to leave a mark of his affection.
He thrusts harder, deeper. He’s in a hurry to cum. He wants to make you feel good, wants to moan your name and make you feel like you’re the only woman in the world because, truly, you are the only one that matters to him.
The way he clings to you, and the way his voice calls out your name several times as he keeps burying himself deep inside of you, it just feels right. It feels like the only thing that was ever certain.
You are meant for him.
That’s the only thing that’s on both your minds as you reach orgasm together. And the room is filled with both your moans of each other’s name. Now it’s you and him, no one else matters.
As he cums, he nuzzles his head into your neck, one of his hands caressing your soft hair as you’re both panting and desperately trying to catch your breath. He’s still inside of you and he doesn’t want to pull away.
He feels good in your embrace. It’s warm. It’s filled with your love and that’s the only thing he needs. Now and forever you’re the only one.
Rafayel stares at you for a few seconds and he drops a loving, gentle kiss on your lips. “You’re the only one I want.” He says softly and it brings an instant smile on your lips as you kiss him back.
“I love you.” He thinks but doesn’t say it, after all, there’s still plenty of time to make you feel his love.
A whole night. An entire life. Together always. That’s pretty much the only thing he’s sure of. Yeah. Together, always.
#love and deepspace#lads#lads rafayel#rafayel smut#rafayel x reader#rafayel x you#rafayel x y/n#lads smut
112 notes
·
View notes
Text
Greg "Mouse" Gerwitz x Reader
When you take a place on a task force and get hurt Mouse has to face his entire world falling down
Warnings: talks of death, gunshot wounds, suicidal ideation?
You sat in the middle of the bed in the hotel room holding your laptop across your legs as Mouse’s face came into view. A smile split your face the moment you saw him “Well hey there handsome” “Hey beautiful. How’s New York?” he asked and you sighed “Not as good as Chicago, you’re not here”
When Sergeant Benson and Erin had asked you to join the task force SVU and Erin’s team had put together for a six week operation you’d been on the fence. That was a long time in your opinion to be away from home, from Mouse and your unit but you could do some good well a lot of good. You’d hesitantly agreed with Voight’s blessing on the job front and Mouse’s blessing on the personal front. After Erin left Chicago that was his push to join the academy and as soon as he could Hank pulled him for intelligence. You loved working with him and knew he loved having his girlfriend and best friend right there at his side most days.
He smiled “I miss you too love. You don’t have much longer and you’ll be home” you turned to get comfortable against the headboard and he grinned “Taking me to bed with you Detective?” you laughed lightly “Why yes officer Gerwitz, just don’t report me to the ivory tower. Might see it as me using the fact that I’m higher ranking than you to get you in bed” “Lucky me I say” he teased.
You listened while he caught you up on things you’d missed in Chicago and you told him about some of the things in New York. “Promise me when I get home we don’t have to leave our apartment for like two days solid. I just want to curl up in your arms” you told him and the smile he gave you made your heart flip “How could I turn that down?” you smiled “I love you so damn much Greg” he grinned “I love you too sweetheart. Get some rest, you have another bust tomorrow. I don’t want you tired going into it” you nodded “Tell everyone I said hey. I’ll call you around noon your time” “I’ll be waiting”
It was a little after twelve and Jay knew Mouse was getting worried even if he was trying his best not to show it. You always checked in right on time with him. When Jay’s phone rang he nearly knocked it off the desk trying to answer it and when Erin’s voice hit his ear his heart dropped to his feet “Jay?”
He hadn’t really spoken to her except via text since she’d left. You and her kept in contact regularly hence you taking the place on the task force. If she was calling him…. “Jay, are you there?” she asked and he replied “Yeah I’m here”
She took a deep breath and he heard her voice shake at the end. Something was wrong, really wrong. “Is Mouse around you?” he cut his eyes across the room where Mouse was texting you again “Yeah, you want to talk to him?” “I can’t Jay…He he doesn’t need to hear this from me” he could hear the tears in her voice “Erin what happened” he didn’t even think about the fact that he probably shouldn’t have said her name but Mouse’s eyes flew up and everyone in the room turned to look at him.
“There was..there was a perp..he had a hostage and Y/N drew the fire to herself..everything happened so damn fast…I promise you I tried to get to her…I tried to stop him..”
Mouse stood up from his desk to walk towards Jay only to feel his entire world shift when Jay asked Erin “Is she dead?” The next few moments were the longest of his life. He could read Jay too well. He could feel his legs try to go out from under him but Kevin moved to grab his arm. “Yeah I’ll call you” Jay hung up and walked towards him.
“Is she dead Jay? Is the love of my life dead?” he asked and Jay took a deep breath “It’s bad man. You can try to get a plane but she might not make it until you land” he nodded “I’ve got to try” “I’m going with you” Jay told him, looking back at Voight who’d come out of his office and caught the end of the phone call “Go”
Erin sat just outside of surgery, your blood drying on her skin. She could only keep replaying those moments in her mind. The bullets tearing through your vest, how your body dropped. When she got to your side the way you’d looked at her and how scared you’d looked when you’d told her “It doesn’t hurt Erin…why doesn’t it hurt?”
This was her fault, she’d called you onto this task force. If you died she killed her best friend. Her hand was wrapped around Mouse’s dog tags you always wore, it didn't feel right leaving them in a patient belonging bag when she knew how much they meant to you. “Tell Greg I love him” was the last words you told her before you’d lost consciousness. Your heart stopped and she’d done CPR until the ambulance got there. She only hoped it was enough.
__________________
Mouse was numb the entire plane ride. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to break down but it was like the entire world was holding its breath. His entire being needed to see you, needed to see if you were alive. He couldn’t think of a world without you in it. What was he without you? You were everything to him, the reason he was still here. The reason he’d fought to stay clean when he’d nearly slipped after getting the job at CPD. You were there helping him every step of the way. You were the one person who never got annoyed with him, never yelled at his rambling when his mind wandered.
You were the love of his life. Every thought of the future was of you. If there was no you there was no him. If you died? He had no reason to keep living. Erin had said you drew fire from a civilian, a kid that was about fourteen. That was you to your core, always saving someone even at your own expense. If he lost you, who was supposed to save him?
When they landed in New York Sergeant Benson had uniforms waiting to take them to the hospital. You were still in surgery but at least that meant you were still alive. You were still holding on.
“Erin!” she flinched when she heard Mouse’s voice. She glanced up and saw him and Jay walking towards her. His eyes went to her shirt, jeans and hands. “Is that her blood?” she nodded slowly “Mouse, I never meant for this to happen..”
“I know” he whispered, eyes glued to her bloody hands. She held out his dog tags “She made me promise to tell you she loves you” Mouse took the dog tags in his hand, fingers tracing over the drying blood that he knew was yours “Erin, how bad is it?” He saw tears slip down her face as she said “She told me it didn’t hurt, she was so afraid because it didn’t hurt” he pulled her into his arms and they both finally broke sobbing against each other, one for her best friend, one for the woman he loved. Jay stood to the side not knowing how to comfort either of them.
The surgery took a total of five and a half hours. Your insides were shredded from the bullets. When the surgeons finally walked out they asked for your family so Erin, Mouse and Jay stood up. “This is her boyfriend and best friend” Jay explained so the doctor nodded “She’s alive but in critical condition. The next twenty four hours will tell if she makes it or not. The bullets did extensive damage. We repaired what we could, it's up to her body to do the rest”
“Thank you” Jay replied knowing neither Erin or Mouse was in the shape to talk. “Can they see her?” he asked and the surgeon shook his head “I’m afraid only one visitor is permitted in ICU”
Erin looked at Mouse “You go” he nodded “Ok” the surgeon waved him through “A nurse will show you the way”
__________________
A nurse led Mouse through the hallway to your room. When she walked him inside he froze at the foot of the bed. The body laying there didn’t even look like you. It was like you were already dead, there was no life left. Wires and tubes stuck out of you in every direction. Bandages covered every inch of your body and dried blood covered your face.
He walked to the side of the bed, fingers lightly skimming your hand, careful of the iv. “Is there any hope for her waking up? I don’t want the sugar coated answer. This woman is everything to me” he turned to look at the nurse and saw the answer in her eyes before she ever spoke “If she wakes up sir I will believe in miracles” then turned and walked out of the room.
Mouse watched her go then looked back at you. The tube in your mouth helping you to breath making a soft noise with every inhale “They don’t know you do they baby?” he whispered, eyes filling with tears. “Wake up for me love, please? I need you, the world needs you. Please don’t leave me. It feels like I just got you. I can’t lose you now”
He knew it was probably hopeless but you’d never given up on him. He wasn’t giving up on you until the moment your heart stopped beating for good, even then he’d still love you with everything he had and probably wouldn’t be far behind. There was nothing on this earth for him if you weren’t in it.
Follow You
#greg mouse gerwitz x reader#greg gerwitz angst#greg gerwitz x reader#greg gerwitz drabble#mouse gerwitz x reader#chicago pd fanfiction#chicago pd fic#chicago pd fanfic#greggerwitz x reader
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
day 3 - rushed urshreko for the heart, soul and sleep deprived artist
original photo under the cut!!
#yttd#your turn to die#kimi ga shine#alice yabusame#reko yabusame#ursheen yttd#urshreko#samurai yaiba#notyoinara art#alice yabusame art marathon 2024#ignore the fact they look a little off i didn't have much energy today#little worried about tomorrow. things to do places to be#but i'll do my best!! :3
35 notes
·
View notes
Text
1. it’s my 24th birthday today, so my goal of being published by the time i’m 25 is now a one year looming monster, but i never specified what kind of published and am currently looking in various literary magazines that are recommended for writers who have yet to be published, so i’m surprisingly confident that i can make it work? and tbh even if whatever i write isn’t officially published before my 25th birthday, if i have someone in the process of being published then i’ll be happy!! no matter what though, i’m gonna try to be proud of myself for at least giving it my best shot!!
2. i honestly love that my birthday is on the ides of march because the ides of march meme shitposting is only a thing on tumblr but it also being my birthday makes it easier to like. be excited about the ides of march outside of tumblr. like even in person i can be like “it’s my birthday! i’m an ides of march babe (:” and if someone is like oh what’s that? or if they say something along the lines of oh like julius caesar? i can be like yep!! and even if it’s a small thing outside of tumblr it brings me immense enjoyment and amusement being able to bring it up off of tumblr
3. transportation situation has been very rough since june 2023 when i totalled my car, my gap insurance are being assholes and i ended up putting my foot down on the phone with them yesterday which i’m pretty proud of because i am NOT a confrontational person (something i’ve been working on this past year, so seeing some improvement with my ability to hold my ground and not be a pushover yesterday was very cool!!) i was told i’d get a response from them by friday next week no matter what, and if i don’t then friday of next week i will continue to wreak havoc upon them. but my moms car which i’ve been using since my accident broke down yesterday, hopefully it’s fixable but my parents were saying it might be done for, so trying to think of how i’m gonna get to work next week is kind of stressing me out lmao, but for now i’m just gonna focus on enjoying my birthday the best i can because i don’t want to start off being 24 with an overwhelming anxiety for something that won’t be a potential issue until monday. plus i already messaged my boss today to let her know that i’m going to do everything i can to make it work out but just so she’s in the loop and knows of the potential of me not being able to make my morning shifts (one of my coworkers said she’s more than happy to give me a ride for our afternoon shifts which does help relieve some of the stress!) and i told her i’d let her know for sure sunday so that if necessary she can have time to figure out someone to fill in for me in the mornings!
overall: life is weird and i ended being 23 yesterday with a shitty situation but a positive outlook and i am going to enjoy my first day of being 24 no matter what because honestly i fucking earned it. happy friday everyone, i hope it’s a good day for you and me both!
#aritalks#i did cry a little bit when i first woke up because i dont really know what to do about work and also i hate not having a car i can use#not only because of the work aspect but also getting my license when i was 18 gave me a freedom i didn’t have before#and i don’t like having to rely on other people just to like go to the fucking store or something yk#but then my best friend/roommate messaged me happy birthday and i was like fuck it! today is going to be a good day!#the stressful uncertainties can wait until tomorrow#also one of my best friends who hasn’t said happy birthday to me the past two years#(not intentionally im p sure they were just busy on my birthdays the past two years#and then had that moment of ‘oh shit i didnt send a message fuck i think its too late now’ which i totally get bc anxiety things yk)#was one of the first people to message me happy birthday!!#i’m also hoping to still be able to go see my mom and then stay the night at my dads tonight#so i can see both my parents and also my baby siblings for my birthday#my dads working today but after he texted happy birthday i sent him a text asking if he thinks we could still make it work#my mom is asleep still i think (she called me at midnight and left a voicemail singing happy birthday!! but her sleep schedule has been all#over the place recently so i’m waiting until 11:30 to call her which is in like 30 mins)#but she said something yesterday about driving out to me to give me a hug and also bring me my diabetes stuff that got delivered#(her house is my mailing address because i know it’s not going to change bc it’s my great grandparents house that she’s partially inhereting#when my great grandpa dies but since i have moved out of my dads my address has changed twice and i didnt have a mailbox at my last place so#just for the sake of consistency and not having to worry about important shit getting sent to the wrong address i’ve had her house as my#mailing address since i moved out of my dads at 19)#so i think i’m gonna ask her if she can just pick me up instead so i can go to her house w her and hang out with her#and hopefully my dad will be able to at least stop by with my siblings so i can see them too#i’d like to stay the night with them but if we can’t make it happen then i can also stay the night w my mom and hopefully tomorrow figure#out the car situation. might have to rent a car for a week if i can afford it? best case scenario is my moms car can be fixed but i still#dont know whats wrong with it ik there are two potential problems and one is fixable the other is not#the fixable one would cost like $150-$400 to fix depending on if we get a used part or a new one#if its $150-$200 ish i can probably afford to pay for the whole thing or at least most of it#but if its more than that hopefully my dad or one of my family members can help#and i can just pay them back in like $50 increments with my next few paychecks#just realized i said i wouldnt worry abt the car thing today and also i think im at tag limit to i’ll stop now lmao xoxo gossip girl ❤️
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
i love festa i’ve been waiting all year its my favorite thing ever and im so excited to see what they’ve been preparing for us... im in this bangtan sonyeondan shit for life
#my 6 years with bts passed exactly a month ago and i hope i'll have so many more years with them#as soon as like 2 years passed and i was still loving them more every day i realized this was something special#all of my previous fandoms had lasted for maybe a few months#to this day i havent been continuously active in any other fandom for more than like a year or so#there might be things i still like yknow like for example i got into my sports animes a little before bts and i still love them#but ive moved on from the fandoms and i dont rly keep up with news very actively or anything and i dont think about them all the time#but with bts its like every day i find new things to love about them and new ways to interpret their music#new details in their songs i'd never caught before new tidbits from old interviews i'd never seen before#every day i love them more and more and more until i think there cant possibly be any more love left in me#and then tomorrow comes and i love them even MORE!!!!#i will never act embarrassed or joke about being cringe bc i like bts i just will never do that. they have saved my life#and not only have they saved it they've directly improved it. they've made me the person i am#without them i might be in a completely different place or even a similar place but feeling so much more miserable and worried about things#i know that i am content with where i am solely because of bts' impact on my mindset and my perspective on life and living and growing up#this has turned into a love letter but yknow what its good practice for the letter im gonna write them in my journal on 6.13 <3#aeron.txt
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
I can't stop thinking about Ghost being a better boyfriend than your ex, even without establishing that title....
This is a continuation of part one.
warning: mention domestic abuse
💀
Simon was there every night you worked. You never gave him your schedule, but he'd show up and settle onto one of the stools like clockwork. Soap often joined him, and while they carried on like always, you knew Simon's gaze lingered on your body. You could practically feel the weight as you took drink orders and pulled pints. It wasn't unwelcome. In fact, it made everything easier knowing you weren't alone if your ex dared show his face.
When your shifts ended, Simon would walk you back to your new place. The one time you insisted he didn't need to do that, he grunted and said, "What if I want to?"
You didn't mention it again. Instead you got into a routine of giving him a fifteen minute warning when your shift was going to end, and you'd head out into the cold night with him at your side. He was mostly quiet while you chatted about whatever was on your mind. When you'd ask him about himself, he'd reroute the conversation back to you. Then he would wait while you unlocked your door and stepped inside.
You always had the urge to invite him in, but you were taking up so much of his time already. And what would you do with him anyway? This hulking military man with kind eyes?
You thanked him and gave him a little wave before ducking inside, and you knew he always waited until he heard the sound of your door locking before he left.
"Y' alright, love?" he asked one night when you were starting to feel particularly good about yourself again. Your split lip had healed which required less makeup. You felt stronger for having left your ex in the dust. You were wearing a new top that made you feel sexy.
"Yeah. I'm alright, Simon. I feel really good, actually."
You served him a drink and refused to let him pay. You really ought to make him stop tipping you at this rate. He was doing so much for you and getting nothing in return. He was doing all of the boyfriend duties just as he had promised, but he never so much as touched you other than the occasional hand hold.
What if you wanted more?
He broke into your thoughts as he said, "I can tell. Ya' been smiling more. Almost ready to go?"
Tonight you felt like you were floating along the dirty sidewalk with your hand tucked in Simon's massive paw. He was keeping you warm without doing anything, and he listened to your nervous rambling as you tried your best to work up your courage. But the two of you reached your front door all too quickly.
"Get inside," he said, voice deep and tender in spite of the command. "An' lock up."
When he started to pull his hand away, you didn't let him. And you didn't budge when one of his eyebrows inched higher. "Not quite yet," you whispered, toe tapping the cement step you were standing on which put you slightly closer to him in height. "I have to tell you something."
Simon's lips pressed together in a tight line, and his chin dipped in a slight nod. "I need to tell ya' something, too. Just don't want to."
"What?" you asked immediately, the lightness you'd been feeling instantly replaced with a lead brick inside you.
"I'm leaving. Late tomorrow night. Not until after I make sure ya' get home from the pub."
"Leaving?" you whispered, heart pounding faster. He was in the military. Some sort of special mission involvement. You knew that much. And you could read between the lines to know that someone who looked and behaved like he did was probably about to risk his life, not for the first time. "Simon, where are you going?" you asked with tears in your eyes even though you figured he wouldn't be able to tell you.
Simon shook his head, his lips curling into a soft smile. It was a rare sight, and it made you dizzy. "Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be worried 'bout me." You wanted to tell him you would be. You'd worry nonstop until you saw him again. You'd come to rely on him, but mostly you liked how you felt when he was around. "There'll be someone to walk ya' home from work every night. I can promise that."
You wanted to lean in and kiss him, but instead you threw your arms around his neck. He was so solid and warm, and the scrape of his facial hair on your cheek was somehow comforting. "But I'll see you tomorrow, right?" you asked, voice breaking on a sob.
"I'll see ya' tomorrow, love."
He didn't move an inch as you extracted yourself, and the sound of his receding footsteps could only be heard once you'd locked yourself inside.
💀
Part three
#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley cod#simon ghost riley#ghost simon riley#simon riley#simon ghost x reader#simon riley imagine#simon ghost x you#ghost call of duty#ghost cod#ghost imagine#ghost riley#call of duty x reader#cod x reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#call of duty fanfic#simon riley fanfic#ghostsprincess
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
i can fix him and fuck him.
18+ [logan x female!reader]
nobody can break through logan's walls with ease like you can. and he actually lets you, welcomes it even. he needs it to breathe and when he's ready to walk out of the gifted youngsters door, there you are again.
word count: 5,737
logan sulks. he’s so devoid of love and compassion that he sulks. he’s confused most days, too. unsure of who he is and what he even wants. the people who are somehow closest to him can’t even find their way past the fire breathing dragons that guard the drawbridge to his heart. (scott jokes that he doesn’t have a heart and that the adamantium replaced it and he’s fully pumping cold, hard metal).
logan is a man who answers to himself and doesn’t give people even the slightest chance to ask him a dumb fucking question because he’s not in the fucking mood. he’s never in the mood…unless you put him in one. usually a good one.
you earn a smile from logan as easy as the sun makes it seem to rise every morning and the moon to take its place at night. it leaves the team dumfounded. they believe if you weren’t here, logan would have left a long time ago. they’re right. logan used to search high and low for any excuse to leave. he never knew where he’d go, he’d just…go. but you didn’t dare let him out of your sight. not ever since the professor had brought you to what you call home a little over a year ago now.
deep down, he wanted reasons to stay. somewhere deep inside that metal frame…he wanted things to be right again. he’d find it tiring most days to carry around his grief and anger. but you gave him reasons to stay just one more day.
“so we’re working on that thing for charles together tomorrow right?” you asked on a wednesday, standing so cutely in the threshold of his door that it was almost annoying to him.
“so we’re catching that movie downtown with ororo and hank tomorrow right? it starts at 6!” you asked on a thursday.
“heeyyy, lo…do you possibly, maybe think you could sub for scott’s morning classes tomorrow? he has a dentist appointment…,” you shyly asked on a very late sunday night. (logan heard scott’s jokes about his heart so he made you ask. logan was the only one available.)
but behind his stoic stature and intimidating glare fixed on his face accompanied by knitted brows, he’d always say yes…to you. you were his reason for staying. he knew it but would never admit it. you knew it but played the oblivious part well. and the rest of the team would gossip about it when you two weren’t around. but as long as you were here, logan has nowhere else to be.
although as of late, you’ve been busy. much busier than usual. charles has you creating plans for a mission happening soon. when you’re not teaching mutant ethics 101 to freshmen, you’re hauled up in the lab or library; sometimes darting back and forth between the two multiple times a day leaving very little time to worry about logan.
tonight, you brought your work back to your dorm. as you cleaned up a rough draft of an exit strategy, rain began to tap lightly on the window. you had lit candles littered around the room as well as grouped on your table, a small desk lamp illuminated the surface further. as you reached up to stretch your aching back muscles, you were startled by the sound of a throat clearing.
your eyes shot to the sound at your door where logan stood, leaning against the frame; arms crossed and still like he had been glued to the spot.
“hi lo,” you say. “y’scared me, heh.” you aren’t used to logan greeting you often, especially not this late. he’s over 150 years old, of course he’s grumpy and an early bird. you’re usually the one at his door with requests and invitations to social events he assumes can be nothing short of insufferable. he sighs, his stare dropping to burn holes in the ground. “logan, are you-“
“i think i’m gonna get out of here, bub.”
those words felt like an arrow hitting the bullseye in your chest and then another splitting the first one right through the center.
“wha-what do you mean?…you’re leaving?” you asked, confusion and frustration trembling in your voice.
“it’s too hard being here.”
with that, you stood up from your chair, beelining to him. “c’mere,” you say hushed, pulling on his leather clad arm, trying to unfold them and get him out of the door frame. he doesn’t budge and you pull “the look” that you know he can’t say no to. “come sit with me please, lo.”
he unfolds his arms which allows you to grab his hands to lead him to take a load off on your bed. your bare feet pat on the hardwood floor as you quickly go back to close the door.
you walked back over to him, assessing his body language. ever since he let you use your mutation to “read him” a few months ago, you told him you’d never do it again without his permission. one gaze into his eyes and a touch of his skin and you could feel everything wracking around in his head. anxiety, rage, hate but love, pain. it was hard to feel just for a moment and your heart cracked knowing he was riddled with those feelings constantly.
but right now you couldn’t help it, he was slouched on the edge of the bed, his head dropping to rest in his large hands, and apparently ready to walk right out of the door. your powers are amplified with a touch and even more when you can look into their eyes. from a distance, you could feel a sense of unease and something else… a pressure…built up in your stomach as you surveyed your friend. it didn’t feel bad though…it felt familiar. a good familiar. you stopped reading him and did your best to shrug off the aching stomach feeling and care for your disheveled logan.
he wasn’t emotional, like ever. he hid all that, only showing you what you wanted to see; what he believed you wished him to be — happy, whatever that was. but that couldn’t’ve been farther from the truth. sure, you want him to be happy but also just whatever he wanted to feel, you wouldn’t suppress it or try to change it to fit some ideal of who people on the outside want him to be. yes, he was one of the meanest motherfuckers you had ever met but he was your mean motherfucker. (whatever that means because nothing has ever really been clear between you two).
you walked closer to him, forcing yourself in his diabolical bubble. you stood between his legs, removing his hands from his face to wrap them around your waist. you scooped your hands under his scruffy chin, pulling up to get a look into his bloodshot eyes. oh, he’d been crying.
“lo…,” you muttered. “why were you crying, wolv?” you slide a thumb across his cheek where tears had stained the skin. “why do you want to leave?”
he pulled his face away, breaking his stare with you. he dropped his head forward to rest on your stomach, wrapping his arms around your legs so his hands rested on the back of your thighs. he began to slowly rub the exposed skin of them that your very short night shorts didn’t cover. he lifted the hem of your shirt slightly to press his hot face into the soft, cool skin underneath. he hummed into it, allowing you to feel the vibration.
“logan,” you softly moaned his name under your breath. his fingers press firmly, inching closer to the crease in the skin where your ass meets thigh.
“is this okay?” he asks lowly, when he looks up for confirmation to keep going, you’re already looking down at him nodding. “say it’s okay for me to touch you like this, bub.”
“yes, keep going, logan,” you said curtly. in your voice there is a hint of need. you hadn’t been touched like this since jean’s christmas party, tipsy off spiked egg nog in the garden with a guy whose mutation was a very wet, long tongue. flirting with him seemed intriguing in the moment, but five minutes later, it rendered itself utterly useless due to user error. the sexual tension between you and logan is so potent it usually clears out a room. aside from accidental brushes of hands and quick looks at each others lips mid conversation, neither one of you has acted on it.
his hums turn to growls and soft whimpers as your hands ran through and tugged his hair. your fingers found their way to his nape, splaying out to grip the hair there in your fist. he managed to place a single kiss on the skin right above the elastic of your shorts before you pulled his head back to scrutinize his face.
“you don’t have permission to read me,” he groaned. before you could ask how he even knew that’s what you were doing he said, “you get this serious, focused look in your eyes. i can feel you in my head.”
“logan, what are we doing?” you ask, releasing his hair and stepping out of his bubble.
his hands drop from the absence of your thighs onto his lap and his sighs frustratingly.
“what do you mean?” he asks, admiring your body in the dim light with a semi pressing on the denim of his jeans through his boxers.
“i’m…not doing this with you…if you’re just gonna disappear from my bed before the fuckin’ sun comes up. i’m not doing this,” you said, with your hands on your hips.
he pressed his hands into his knees to push himself up to tower over you. he took two big steps forward and stood in front of you. his hand raised up to brush the back of his fingers across your cheek to cup it and rub his thumb over the warm skin.
he pressed his lips to yours, skillfully allowing his tongue access to it. you let him. “i give you permission,” he moaned in your mouth. “read me. feel how i feel about you…how i’ve always felt about you.”
he welcomed the hesitant slip of your hands past his jacket and under his shirt, shivering and chuckling “mm, cold” into your mouth. you rested your cool touch on his hips and with his mouth obsessed with yours, you read him.
your head dizzied instantly and the hair on the back of your neck stood up. you had never felt anything as strong as this. you could almost taste the colors in logan’s head. your heart dropped to your stomach like you were on a rollercoaster, feeling sick from adrenaline in the best ways. and then, returned that good familiar feeling. this time buried even deeper in your stomach, moving it’s way lower…and lower until logan was swallowing the noises escaping you. before you literally passed out, you dropped your hands and took back ownership of your lips and tongue. breathing heavily, you moved away from him to collect yourself.
a beat of silence followed by a heavy sigh and a “well, say something” from logan passed and you opened your mouth to speak before shutting it again.
that…was the best thing you had ever felt. no drug could compare to the euphoria that a minute of kissing logan could bring. you could practically feel yourself lubricating and your upper thighs unconsciously squeezed together as you scrambled to find thoughts.
there were none. your mind already dumb and wanting more of him…more of the feeling. your fists planted firmly on both your hips as if you were grounding yourself to the floor to avoid buckling. you eyed the ground, looked back up at him and forwarded with another heated, taking-in-each-others-breath kiss. your hands found their way to the same place gripping the hair on his nape to which he praised the tug with a moan. he supported your balance as your whines got more whiney and needy and your hands held onto him like life support.
“lay down,” he said into your kiss. it wasn’t really a command, more of a warning because he tossed you on the bed like unfolded laundry.
he stood over you as you collected yourself, darting your tongue out to taste the spit he left behind. you propped yourself up on your elbows to get a look at the man casting a shadow over you. without the sounds of pleasure exclaiming in each others mouths, your ears absorbed the comforting sound of the battering rain. a tree branch smacked the window as thunder rumbled outside.
logan took a moment to admire your presence. starting at the top, he gazed upon your hair that he associates with vanilla and roses and the times he’d touch himself wondering how it’d feel being wrapped around his hand and pulled.
as he removed his leather jacket, he took his time mentally undressing you. feeling even more pressure build in your clit, you bore your hips down into the mattress, rolling them in circles to stimulate the swollen nub. he beheld your tits, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip at the sight of your hard buds under your very thin, white tank top. he threw his heavy jacket to the side, letting it thud in a ball on the ground.
“you look so beautiful, sweetheart,” he said, deeply enthralled by your scantily clad figure laid out in front of him. unable to stop staring, you could see the bulge in his pants get larger and it ridiculously turned you on. with you making eye contact with the crotch of his jeans, he effortlessly unfastened his belt buckle. the metallic buckle clanked to the floor as his jeans and boxers pooled around his ankles.
he stroked himself while he looked upon you. it was like you could read his mind, because you began to touch yourself. the twitch of his lips and darkening of his eyes validated your teasing. letting yourself drop back on the bed, you caressed your body for him. one hand occupied by cupping your tit and pinching and twisting your nipple while the other is exploring the wet spot left on your panties. not being able to handle eye-fucking you any longer, he dropped to his knees on the edge of the bed between your legs. logan hooked his arms under your knees, pulling you close which in your intoxicatingly lustful brain you found funny, so you laughed.
logan spread your thighs open so he could fit in between them to leave wet, sloppy kisses all over your skin. he nibbled here and there, earning soft hisses and hums from your parted lips.
kiss kiss nibble hiss mmm kiss hum nibble nibble bite kiss suck
he spent about a minute just doing that, leaving warm welts in his mouths wake. “i need these off of you, princess.” once he had kissed his way up to the elastic of your shorts, he snapped it. you nodded and he did the honor of pulling them down and flinging them across the room like he was opening presents on christmas morning.
he let out an amused scoff as he ran his trembling hand down his face, caught between ecstatic disbelief at the sight of your black lace panties with little black bows adorning the seams. you mentally thanked your past self for slacking on doing laundry and only having your “special occasion” panties left to wear.
“d’you know how pretty you are,” he said. his eyes traced over every inch of you in excitement like you were artwork he stole from the louvre and made out like a bandit with.
his hand disappeared to slickly stroke himself, his mouth watering in anticipation for your taste. his chest heaves as he takes in the sight of you, studying every curve prettily laid out before him; thinking about every position he wants to see you in and every way he wants to please you. without another groan inducing thought, he lunged forward to press a kiss to your lips, his tongue demanding attention. you drink his breath like liquor becoming completely intoxicated by him. he needed this, he needed you.
“need…to taste…you,” he breathed in between kisses. with this mouth obsessed with yours, his hands caress your tits, his thumbing circles on one of the nubs while he’s pinching and pulling on the other. your head falls back and your neck rolls at the sensation, earning profanities from your pretty, swollen lips. your tit misses the hand that he proceeds to run down and up your thigh to locate the spot in your panties you were playing with a moment before. as he parts from your kiss, he’s hooked two fingers under the elastic, pulling those off swiftly.
you yelp when he pushes your torso down. you stare up at the decorative ceiling as he savors you, kissing and massaging your thick thighs. he’s enjoying playing with you as much as possible before allowing himself any pleasure. he wants your juice to cover his face…his neck…his arm…the bed…the floor too when he gets you to pop like a water balloon.
“logan…please, please,” you beg, pawing at his hair. you lift your head to watch the man between your legs taking in the sight and smell of your pretty, wet pussy. even in the dim light, he could see how much you ached for him. he not so secretly got entertainment from watching you lightly buck your hips up to his face and he would’ve let it continue but your pheromones became overwhelming for him; engulfing his head in it’s enchanting aroma.
like fresh pie on a windowsill, he was drawn into you. logan opened wide to swipe one flat tongued lick up your slit. he had one goal — to knock all sense out of you, to fully engulf you in pleasure. he wants you dumb and begging for him to stay right where he is — at the mansion and also all over you.
logan audibly sucked and popped your clit in and out of his mouth, teasing the most sensitive bit. he’d suck and pop and then lick up your slick, repeating the act. one of his big hands reached up to cup your tit, pinching and twisting and circling. from his hair to the tit he wasn’t playing with, you clawed at whatever would ground you. being eaten by logan felt like floating above the stratosphere.
your wet soaked his beard and it only made him more horny, his cock dripping and throbbing in his fist. tasting you, inhaling you, winning pretty sounds from you, knowing he’s the one making you buck up and fuck his nose only made his appetite for you insatiable. he let go of himself to push his pointer and middle fingers into your needing pussy. you hissed and cursed. the thrill of him devouring you began to reach its peak. his fingers pumped relentlessly into you, curling them to stimulate your g-spot. moans, curses, the gushing of your wet cunt, his sucking and popping and vibrating moans mixed with the rain and thunder grumbling outside filled the dorm like mozart’s symphony no. 25.
he wanted to kiss you, so he did. with his fingers still coaxing an orgasm out of you, he shared the sweet taste. he got back on the bed with you, sliding his free hand under your back to push you up to further to see the mess you were making on the sheets.
“look at how good you’re taking my fingers,” he groaned, inching closer to your ear so you could hear his dirty language loud and clear. “you can come for me, baby.” he peppered a few kisses to your forehead, removing his hand from behind you so he could press it into your stomach. this only heightened the overwhelming wash of pleasure coursing through you.
“lo…logan, i’m-“
“fuck my fingers, baby. use them…oh that’s it…that’s it…i feel that clenching, c’mon you can do it for me. go big baby, make me happy.” his dirty mouth and sporadic clit circling and pumping in and out of you with his tireless wrist pushed you over the edge. you cowered into his neck, pulling on his white tank top and biting the salty skin below his ear as your pussy obeyed, erupting with your juices. out of breath and fucking dumb already, you could feel the wet soak the sheets under your ass.
logan pulled his fingers out of you, landing a light smack on your pussy before licking you clean off of his digits. you fell back on the bed, your arms above your head as you heaved and saw stars.
“‘m not done with you, princess.” he slid off the bed, still delighted by your taste and engulfed in your aroma.
“fuuuck,” you groaned. the pulsing lightning feeling spread throughout both legs as an effect of your rocking orgasm. logan was wicked with his tongue, a devious magician with his fingers and you were his sole audience member wondering about his tricks for sleight of hand.
he quickly tossed his tank, that had tug marks from your attempt to ground yourself, to the side, his muscles flexing under his skin. as he let your post orgasm, cock-dumb brain fog clear, he spit in his hand to fuck his fist. his saliva mixed with the pre-cum leaking from the head, he groaned and sighed heavily at the feeling of giving his dick some sort of relief. you, needy for another hit of him, propped yourself up on your elbows to watch the most delectable creature pleasure himself.
just the sight of him illuminated by candles and flashes of lightning outside as he gets off to how fucked out and dumb you look was enough to have you open up again and play with yourself. the sensitivity from your swollen nub required a delicate touch but your pussy ached, clenching around nothing. his knitted brows relaxed, eyes darting from your pretty face, to your tits, to your fingers rubbing circles where his mouth resided moments ago back to look longingly into your eyes.
“you’re gonna stay,” you said. your hand reached your mouth, your tongue swiping a lick up your middle and ring fingers, wrapping your lips around them to coat them in your saliva. “tell me you’re going to stay for me,” you elaborated. your wet fingers found your aching center.
“there’s no where else i want to be,” he answered. he paced closer to the bed where you laid, his dick basically making eye contact with you as he stopped a few inches away. “you’re mine, you know that?” he noticed your hand slow, “keep going,” he commanded. logan reached out to cup your face, tilting his head to get a look at you obeying his every request. “your face…your mouth…,” his thumb swiped across your lips as he spoke. “your body…your cunt.” he leaned down to kiss your mouth, leaving a string of spit attached to your lower lip. “your laugh…your heart,” he said kindly, his hand massaging your scalp. moans earned from his praise escaped you. “you’re all mine. is that okay with you, baby?”
you’re so bewitched by his aura and his subtle touches make your heart race so fast that you can’t do anything but try to maintain his torrid eye contact and nod.
“use your words, honey.” his thumb returned to the softness of your parted lips.
“i’m yours, logan,” you said, taking his thumb in and closing your lips around it. “if you’ll stay with me, i’ll be yours forever,” you breathed around his thumb, speaking from a mix of eager lust and the terrifying need for him to not to be an asshole, just once.
“i’m not going anywhere…i promise,” he said matter of factly before leaning back down to hungrily devour your kiss. “i need to…fuck you…now,” he cursed in between swallowing moans.
“do what you want…i’m yours,” you said just clearly audible over the storm rumbling outside. you two shared eye contact so intense that you noticed his dick twitch from your peripheral. you took his dick in your drooling mouth, reaching up to squeeze the base of him. it twitched from the warmth, pressure and tongue swiping rhythmically around his angry, red tip. you kept yourself enveloped around his length, bobbing your head to hit your gag reflex. the added lubrication drove him crazy, his abs twitching under the toned skin of his abdomen. you moaned around him purely from the enjoyment you got out of having him stretch the corners of your mouth, feeling the sting from it.
logan reached down with both hands to hold your head steady while he sped up thrusting into your throat. your gags and gasps for air, his praise and the storm filled the room beautifully.
“fuuuck, baby, keep that throat open for me please,” he begged. his hands left their position to find a new one — one supporting his thrusting hips, the other petting your head. “oh, you look so fuckin’ pretty with my cock down your throat…you’re taking me so good, sweetheart.”
he pulled his dick out of your mouth to smack it on your face, complimenting how gorgeous you look. he kissed and licked the mess off of your mouth.
“mm, baby i need to know how good you feel.” with that, he rounded the bed to lay down. “c’mere, baby.” you turned around, crawling on all fours to obey him. his cock in its usual place to be, in his fist, leaks pre-cum in anticipation for you to smother it with your warm, clenching pussy.
“lay down,” he said.
“damn, yes sir,” you say, jokingly annoyed with all of his demands. you lay down next to him, your knees instinctively parting slightly. he lays on his side, resting his hand on your stomach, rubbing his large hand in flat circles.
“d’you know how long i’ve thought about this moment with you?” he asked, leaning in to kiss and suck the skin in the crook of your neck. you lustfully sighed at the sensation of his hot breath. his hand finds its way between your legs again, tickling and tapping at your slit. “i want you to read me the whole time i’m inside…can you do that?”
“are you—“
“yes i’m sure, i feel so fucking good right now and i haven���t even felt you. i want you to feel that and more,” he explains, pulling your chin in to taste the desperation on you.
before he came just from your kiss and rutting against the sheets, he hovered above you. his lips stayed attached to your chest, kissing lower and lower to suck a tit into his mouth, flicking your nipple with his tongue then biting softly on the nub. his hand disappeared from the side of your head to grab hold of his shaft, flicking his tip against your clit. his head dropped as he watched and listened to your slick coating his cock. he quickly swiped up and down your pussy trying to savor every fold and feeling. his brows furrowed, not being able to resist your warmth, he lined himself up with your hole, using his hand to guide just the tip into it.
“oh…fuck,” he groaned in excitement. he pushed in just a little more which caused you to hiss. his head shot up and eyes scanned your face for any sign of regret or unsureness. “are you okay? d’you want to stop?”
“no, baby,” you giggled, lifting your arms rest around his neck, one hand always finding a way into his dark locks. “just been a while…keep going, i’m okay.”
with your permission, he pushed in a little more. he let out a deep groan at the feeling of you stretching to form perfectly around him. you gasped, pressing a hand into his chest, feeling a similar sting to the one you felt in the corners of your mouth earlier. against his want to start thrusting his whole length into you, his went slow, watching your demeanor for cues to keep going.
“you feel…fuck…like it was made for me,” he said which caused the butterflies in you to flutter their wings even faster. “are you okay?” his chest heaved and his breath fanned your face.
“fuck me…please logan,” you said. your hands reached his hips, pushing them down onto you. without wasting another minute, he did.
he bent your knee more to press it into your chest as his hips repeatedly slammed down hard, his balls smacking your ass. with one hand giving him better access by positioning your leg higher, the other cupped and squeezed your bouncing tit.
“oh my…fucking god,” you moaned. you had let the walls of your mutation down, allowing yourself to be flooded by not only your pleasure…but the love logan feels for you plus the absolute sheer euphoria that he was experiencing deep inside of your pussy. it coursed through your body like a steam engine leaving the station. it had felt like you had been brought to five earth shattering orgasms before the one that was bound to shake you again soon.
“you know you feel so good, look at that fuckin’ fucked out smile. can you feel it? can you feel how good you make me feel, baby? don’t stop readin’ me, princess. it’s all for you,” he praised for you to hear every word.
“holy shit…mm fuckin’…ahh!” your hands couldn’t help but find their way above your head, subconsciously reaching for the bed post for something to ground you again.
“here, baby, hold onto me.” logan grabbed your wandering wrist with his free hand, slapping your hand on his chest which you pressed into as if you were pushing him away. before your cock drunk mind could register what happened, he had flipped the two of you so you were on top.
logan looked so fucking pretty under you. you took a second to breathe and take in the view before bending your knees to put yourself in a squatting position on his cock. you placed your hands on his heaving chest for support as you started to bounce your ass on him. ‘oh this is so fun’, the thought making you giggle in elation as you drilled down your hips, rocking them back and forth to feel him stimulate the deepest parts of you. his thumb bored into your clit, drawing circles on it.
as you kept bouncing your wet pussy on him just how he liked, logan lifted his knees up behind you and pushed you back onto them. he moved his hand away from your clit and picked his head up to watch his dick disappear deep inside you. then, he spit. his saliva landed on your pussy and stomach. he went back to stimulating you, fully realizing how much that turned you on from the tight clench around him and the extra juice running down his ass onto the sheets under you two.
he, still playing with your clit, summoned your face closer to his with the middle and ring fingers on the other hand. once closer, he grabbed your neck to kiss your fiercely.
“you’re my good girl, huh?”
‘mhmm’ was all you could muster with his hand around your throat and his hips still ramming his cock into your stretched out hole.
“use those words for me, baby. are…mm, fuck…you my good girl?”
“ye…sss, baby i’m your…good…oh my fucking…girl!!”
“open your mouth.” he fucking spit in it. you moaned tasting him again and feeling it on your face. “good…fuckin’ girl,” he complimented, kissing you and then squeezing your cheeks to spit on your tongue again.
your body started to go limp and your eyes were practically glued together. you could feel the searing hot orgasm burning up inside. you could feel logan in a way that you never thought possible. everything.
his love, his passion, his longing, his fear, his anxiety, his lust, his heart…everything was yours in this moment. high on his feelings, you let your head fall back coming undone on top of him.
“oh you’re so pretty…that’s pretty, baby, keep…fuck…use me, it’s all for you.” his words took you further and further into ecstasy. it was a really good fucking trip that you never wanted to end. the pain of his cock fucking you out and his grip clutching your skin like he’d fall off earth without doing so made you moan so intensely that not even the thunder outside could compete.
he could tell you were a few fucks away from collapsing but so was he.
“baby…you keep clenching around me like that…i’m gonna fuckin’ fill you,” he said. you kept bouncing on it, wanting him to even feel a fraction of how he just made you feel. he closed his eyes trying to last as long as possible in the heaven that he found in you. his thumbs bore into your hips as he used them to ground himself.
“i want it, baby…fill your good girl up.” you leaned down to speak into his ear and then carry on kissing his neck, letting him claim your moans as trophies.
“fuuuuck…fuuuck,” he moaned as his thrusting became sloppy and you weren’t bouncing as much anymore. his abs twitched again along with his face.
SNIKT!!
you hissed at the cool metal of his claws against your skin and the feel of him throbbing severely inside you as he let himself paint your walls. you thanked him in pleased moans before falling on his chest. still semi-hard inside, he kissed the top of your head to which you looked up and he gave you a proper kiss. he let himself twitch out a few more dribbles of cum inside you before pulling his claws back in to carefully rub your back.
a few beats of silence went by as you listened to each others hastened breaths and the rain tapping the glass.
“…i love you, logan.”
“i think you know how much i love you, baby,” he said, smugly remembering how you looked coming on his dick, further escalated by his letting you read him.
you two snuggled naked under the covers and as you laid on his chest and listened to his light snoring, you read him again.
ease and silence…and love.
#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett smut#xmen fic#wolverine smut#i hate everyone but you#logan howlett#wolverine#hugh jackman
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
It Burns For You
𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏʀʏᴏ ɢʀᴏᴡ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴘɪᴛᴏʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴇꜱ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ
𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: ɴᴏɴᴇ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ. ᴏᴏᴄ ᴄᴏʀʏᴏ, ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʜᴇᴇʟꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ. ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ!
ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ
Coriolanus is 12 when he sees you for the first time. Your red uniform is pressed perfectly and your school bag looks brand new. Your lunch consisted of a hearty-looking sandwich with roast beef and lettuce and a container of fresh fruit that had his mouth-watering.
"Do you want a piece? Our maid always packs too much and I can never finish it. You can have some if you want." Your voice fills his ears
A delicate-looking hand is holding a juicy-looking strawberry in front of him. He reaches for it and it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to shove it in his mouth. Instead, he takes a small bite and thanks you for sharing.
"Don't you have a lunch today?" You ask
He doesn't. The school had said they would start supplying the students with lunches soon but how soon? Coriolanus had already been attending for a number of years and still nothing.
"I already ate it." He lied
"You're still hungry though. You can have the rest." You say with a smile as you push your fruit bowl to him.
"Is it your first day?" He asks
"Yes, my mother thought that my governess wasn't doing a good job so she had my father enroll me here. I miss being at home with my new kitten though. She has long white hair and she is the cutest thing in the whole world." You said
Coriolanus can't believe that you had your own governess, let alone a pet to call your own. He later learns from Arachne that your father became incredibly rich by manufacturing weaponry for the Capitol. Despite your inherent wealth, you've never flashed it around him.
You and Coriolanus are 15 when you discover all the lies he tells at school about his family. He had left his uniform jacket behind on his chair and you got his home address from Sejanus, meaning to give it back so he'd have it for tomorrow. Instead, you had discovered the Snow's decrepit-looking building and barely functioning penthouse. Coriolanus' heart nearly stops when he emerges from his room to see you and his Grandma'am sitting together as she compliments your shoes.
"What are you doing here?" He asks, ready for your judgment and teasing words
"I wanted to return your jacket, Coryo. You'll need it for tomorrow."
The red of the jacket in your arms matches his face as he ushers you to the door, trying to hide the fact that Tigris was preparing cabbage in the kitchen that would undoubtedly stink the entire place up with the scent of the Snow's poverty.
"Stop rushing me, your cousin invited me to stay for dinner." You say trying to stop the way he is leading you to the door.
"You don't want what she is making. Tigris is a terrible cook." He said
Tigris lets out a shout of disagreement from the stove and Coriolanus ignores it.
"How about, I go out and get something to add to the meal Tigris is cooking, and by the time I get back you change your attitude about me staying for dinner Coryo. "
And with that, you walk out the door and slam it in his face. He's rather stunned at your declaration but knows you're serious. He rushes around their home, trying to clean up what he can while Tigris laughs at his frantic motions. Then, just as he was debating whether or not he wanted to change out of his uniform, you return from your short trip to the closest market.
"I wasn't sure what Tigris is cooking so I got a couple of things." You say placing the bags on the table.
Coriolanus is sure you spent a fortune on what is in these bags. Fresh bread accompanied by a sickly sweet fruit spread and a block of butter sits in one while the other holds something else in a brown box. You take your seat next to him at the ugly little table he has eaten too many meals at and cut a piece of the bread for Grandma'am. He is worried when Tigris starts portioning out the cabbage she cooked on the stove. Coriolanus watches your expression as you take a bite but nothing that he expected happens. You don't knit your brows in disgust or get up to leave and take your fresh bread and mysterious box with you. Instead, you go back for a second bite and compliment what Tigris has done with the food.
He sits stiffly next to you and can barely accept the slice of bread you offer him. You excuse yourself to use the bathroom and Tigris reaches across the table and pinches his shoulder.
"Stop sitting like that, Coryo!" She scolds
"Like what?" He asks,aware that Tigris meant how oddly straight his back was.
"You're making her uncomfortable. You've been friends with her for years she isn't worried about what our home looks like." Tigris says
"She might not be but what happens when she goes to school tomorrow and talks?" He asks
He shuts up when he hears the sound of the bathroom door opening again.
"That was lovely Tigris. I've never had anything like it, I'll have to invite you all to my own home for dinner sometime. Our cook makes these pastries that are simply wonderful. They even get sold at local markets, which leads to this..."
His eyes widen when you finally unveil what was hiding in that second bag. A dozen expensive looking deserts sit in the brown box you brought, each one decorated differently.
"I hope I picked something everyone would like. I know Coryo mentioned that Grandma'am liked chocolate so I picked this one just for her."
Coriolanus feels a wide smile stretch across his face as you pass out your little desserts. His worries about you gossiping to their peers fade from view as he bites into what he thinks is a croissant. You laugh at his reaction and toss a napkin at his face which is most likely covered in the gooey fruit filling that was in his pastry.
He walks you back to your home that night and thanks you for making his night. He can't remember the last time Grandma'am had smiled from eating chocolate. You accept his thanks and gently tell him that he shouldn't be ashamed about his financial situation. He never gets to disagree with you though because a soft kiss is pressed to his lips followed by a rushed,
"Goodnight, Coryo! Thanks for the cabbage!"
He walks back to his own home with a jump in his step. Thoughts of you consume him as he smiles to himself, proud his first kiss was shared with you. He feels his heart burn with something that felt like it was going to come up and out his mouth as he finally made it back to his room, you officially had him wrapped around your finger.
Your room is flooded with sunlight the first time Coriolanus sees it. A soft, silky-looking bed spread sits atop one of the biggest beds he has seen as you beckon to your cat, Maisy to come and say hello to him. He looks at the oversized wooden dresser that sits against one wall. He sees the photograph of him and you that was taken a few weeks ago at your 17th birthday party nestled among little knickknacks. Books Coriolanus has never even heard of line your shelves as he you place a record on the player that sits on your desk. Soft sounds of a piano and the words from an unnamed singer fill your gorgeous room as he turns to you.
"Do you want to dance?" He finds himself asking
You accept and he leads you or well tries to. You're rather stiff and it turns out dancing is harder than it looks because he isn't any good at it either. You laugh as he trips over his feet and end up falling with him, landing on the ground entangled in each other. Your fingers brush his curls from his eyes as his nose brushes yours.
"What're you doing?" You ask quietly
"Nothing." He responds, his eyes flicking to your lips.
The moment his lips touch yours, a tingle shoots down his spine. This is a real kiss, not what you gave him when you were both 15. He cups your face and your hands are tangled in his hair as he deepens it. He felt his head spin as you moved against him, almost as if you wanted him to swallow you whole right here on your bedroom floor. A giddy feeling swelled in his chest when he pulled away for air.
"Coryo...what was that?" You ask
"I thought you'd know by now. That was a kiss, darling." He laughed brushing his thumb across your lip
"I know that...but why'd you give me one?" You ask
"Don't you know?" He smiles and places a chaste kiss on your lips "My heart, it burns for you, it always has."
Part 2 is out now!
Series Masterlist
#the hunger games#fanfic#coriolanus snow#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus snow x reader#katniss everdeen#mockingjay#peeta mellark#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#lucy gray baird#tom blyth#rachel zegler#jennifer lawrence#coriolanus snow fluff#coriolanus x you#sejanus plinth#tbosas#thg#young coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow smut
9K notes
·
View notes
Text
The Perfect Mate
Day 28 → A/B/O 💋 Oscar Piastri
Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent, and breeding
Kinktober Masterlist
The news comes like a sudden storm, the kind that rolls in on a summer day when the skies were blue just moments before. You’re in the kitchen, setting the table for dinner. Your mother is at the stove, stirring something that smells faintly of rosemary and garlic, a comforting scent that usually makes you feel at home. But tonight, it’s different.
You can feel it in the air, the way your father is pacing by the window, his hands tucked into his pockets like he’s trying to keep something inside. Your mother’s voice is too steady when she finally speaks.
“We got a call today,” she says, without turning around. The spoon in her hand trembles slightly. “From the school.”
The school. The words drop into the room like stones, rippling through the quiet. You know what she’s going to say next, even before she says it. You’ve been dreading this conversation for weeks, ever since your first heat hit you like a freight train, your body burning with a fever you couldn’t understand.
“They’ve made a decision,” she continues, and now she turns, her eyes finding yours across the room. “They think it’s best if you … attend a different school. A special one.”
“A special school,” you echo, the words hollow in your mouth. You know what she means, even if she doesn’t say it outright. A school for omegas. The kind of place where they send girls like you, girls who’ve just discovered they aren’t like everyone else.
You stand there, frozen, while your father finally stops pacing. He comes to stand beside your mother, his face tight with the strain of holding back his thoughts. You’ve seen that look before, on the faces of other parents in town when they talk about “those schools,” the ones far away where no one can see what really happens inside. But now, it’s your parents standing there, and it’s you they’re talking about sending away.
“I don’t want to go,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I want to stay here.”
Your mother sighs, a soft, defeated sound, as she wipes her hands on a dish towel. “It’s not safe for you here anymore, sweetheart. Not now that you’ve … presented.”
Presented. It’s such a clinical word for something that feels anything but. You feel exposed, like your skin has been peeled back to reveal something raw and vulnerable underneath. You cross your arms over your chest, trying to protect yourself from the inevitability of it all.
“But what about my friends? What about school here?” Your voice cracks, and you hate how small you sound, how desperate.
“It’s only for a little while,” your father says, stepping forward. He’s trying to sound reassuring, but there’s an edge of worry in his voice that betrays him. “Just until you’ve had the training you need. Then you can come back.”
You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t need training. I’m fine the way I am.”
“You don’t understand, Y/N,” your mother says gently, moving closer. She reaches out to touch your arm, but you pull away. “This is for your own good. There are things you need to learn … things we can’t teach you.”
“Like what?” You snap, anger flaring up to replace the fear. “How to be an obedient little omega? How to bow down to an alpha and let them control my life?”
“Y/N,” your father warns, but there’s no real force behind it. He’s just as lost as you are in this moment, and you can see it in the way his shoulders sag, the way his gaze shifts to the floor.
You look between the two of them, your parents who have always been your rock, and feel a chasm opening up between you. This is the moment when everything changes, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
“When do I have to go?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Your mother hesitates, glancing at your father before she answers. “Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. The word echoes in your mind, a death knell for everything you’ve known. There’s no time to say goodbye to your friends, no time to prepare yourself for what’s coming. It’s happening too fast, like a tidal wave sweeping you off your feet.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur. You barely taste the food on your plate, pushing it around with your fork until your mother finally sighs and takes it away. You retreat to your room after that, curling up on your bed with your thoughts spinning like a storm.
The reality of it all doesn’t hit you until much later, when the house is dark and silent. You lie awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of what’s to come pressing down on your chest.
You’re leaving. You’re being sent away because you’re different, because you’re an omega. The word still feels foreign on your tongue, something that doesn’t belong to you. You’ve heard stories, of course, whispered in the halls at school, but they were always about other people, distant and unconnected to your life.
But now it’s you. You’re the one being whispered about, the one whose life is being uprooted. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
When morning comes, it’s like watching someone else’s life unfold in slow motion. Your mother helps you pack, her hands gentle as she folds your clothes and tucks them into the suitcase. Your father lingers in the doorway, trying to find the right words to say, but nothing comes out.
You don’t say much either. There’s nothing left to say. You’re numb, moving through the motions without really feeling anything. It’s easier that way, easier than letting the fear and anger take over.
The drive to the school is long and silent. Your parents don’t turn on the radio, and the only sound is the hum of the car’s engine and the occasional rustle of paper as your father checks the directions. You stare out the window, watching the world blur by in a wash of green and gray.
When you finally arrive, the school is nothing like you imagined. It’s a sprawling estate, with tall iron gates and manicured lawns that stretch out as far as the eye can see. It looks more like a prison than a school, and the sight of it makes your stomach churn.
Your mother parks the car, and you sit there for a moment, staring up at the imposing building. It feels like a bad dream, one you can’t wake up from.
“Are you ready?” Your father asks, his voice quiet.
You nod, even though you’re not. But what choice do you have?
They walk you to the gates, your suitcase rolling behind you on its tiny wheels. A woman in a crisp uniform meets you there, her smile too bright, too practiced. She introduces herself, but you barely catch her name. It doesn’t matter.
“This way, Y/N,” she says, leading you through the gates. Your parents follow behind, their footsteps heavy on the gravel path.
Inside, the school is just as cold and unwelcoming as the outside. The corridors are wide and echoing, with polished floors that reflect the fluorescent lights above. The woman leads you to an office, where you’re asked to sit while she speaks with your parents in hushed tones.
You sit there, staring at the walls, trying to hold yourself together. You can hear snippets of their conversation, words like “curriculum,” “discipline,” and “safety,” but they all blur together in a meaningless jumble.
Finally, your parents return. Your mother’s eyes are red-rimmed, and your father’s face is pale. They both hug you tightly, whispering words of reassurance that feel empty and hollow.
“We’ll come visit,” your mother says, her voice trembling. “As soon as we can.”
You nod, but you don’t really believe it. You can see the fear in their eyes, the uncertainty of what lies ahead. They don’t know any more than you do.
When they finally leave, it feels like the ground has been pulled out from under you. You’re alone, in a strange place that feels more like a cage than a school. You want to run, to escape, but there’s nowhere to go.
The woman who met you at the gate returns, her smile still fixed in place. She leads you to your dorm room, a small, sterile space with a single bed and a desk. Your suitcase is placed at the foot of the bed, a reminder of the life you’ve left behind.
“Get some rest,” she says, her tone brisk and efficient. “Tomorrow is a big day.”
You don’t respond. There’s nothing to say. She leaves you there, closing the door softly behind her, and you’re left alone with your thoughts.
You sit on the bed, staring at the blank walls, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. You’re an omega. You’re in a school for omegas. And there’s no going back.
The tears come then, hot and silent, sliding down your cheeks as you curl up on the bed. You don’t know how long you lie there, crying until there are no tears left. You feel empty, hollowed out by the weight of it all.
Eventually, exhaustion pulls you under, and you drift into a restless sleep, your dreams filled with shadows and echoes of the life you’ve lost.
***
The days at the school have a way of blending together, each one indistinguishable from the next. Morning rolls into afternoon, which slides into evening, and soon enough, another day is gone. You’ve learned not to think too hard about time, how long you’ve been here, or how many more days you’ll have to endure. It’s easier that way.
There was a time when you counted the days, marking each one on a small calendar tucked away in your drawer. You kept track of your parents’ visits, circled in red ink, little reminders that they hadn’t forgotten you. But as the months turned into years, the red circles became fewer and farther between until they disappeared altogether.
You can barely remember the last time you saw their faces, the way your mother used to smooth your hair back with gentle fingers, or the way your father’s hugs felt strong and safe. They promised it would only be for a little while, just until you had learned what you needed to know, but that promise dissolved like sugar in water, leaving a bitter taste behind.
Now, all you know is this place, the routine that keeps you tethered to some semblance of sanity. Wake up at dawn. Breakfast in the dining hall. Classes in the morning — Etiquette, Obedience, Mating Practices — each lesson designed to mold you into the perfect omega. Lunch, more classes, then an hour of exercise before dinner. Evenings are quiet, filled with studying or silent contemplation in your room. Lights out at nine, and then it all begins again.
You’ve learned how to be a good omega. It’s second nature now, a reflex as automatic as breathing. You know how to keep your head down, how to smile politely, how to answer questions with soft, submissive tones. You know how to hide your emotions, how to tuck away the anger and fear that once simmered just beneath the surface. Those feelings have dulled over time, like a blade worn down from overuse.
The other girls are much the same. You’ve made a few friends — if you can call them that — but it’s hard to be close to anyone here. Everyone is too focused on survival, on making it through another day without drawing unwanted attention. You share polite conversations, exchange small smiles in passing, but there’s an unspoken understanding that it’s every omega for herself.
It’s a Tuesday evening when everything changes. You’re gathered in the dining hall, the long tables lined with girls dressed in identical uniforms, their heads bowed over plates of bland, tasteless food. The room is filled with the clatter of utensils and the murmur of quiet conversation, the same as it always is.
But tonight, there’s a different energy in the air, a tension that makes your skin prickle with unease. You notice it in the way the other girls are sitting a little straighter, their eyes darting toward the head of the room where the headmistress stands, her sharp gaze sweeping over the crowd.
You don’t look directly at her — no one ever does — but you can feel her presence like a weight pressing down on your shoulders. The headmistress is a tall, severe woman with iron-gray hair pulled back into a tight bun. She commands the room with an authority that brooks no defiance, and when she speaks, everyone listens.
“Good evening, girls,” she begins, her voice cutting through the low hum of conversation like a knife. The room falls silent immediately, all eyes fixed on their plates as she continues. “I have an important announcement to make.”
You steal a glance at the girl sitting next to you, a slight, mousy-haired omega named Emily. Her hands are clenched in her lap, her knuckles white, and you can see the same fear mirrored in her wide eyes.
The headmistress pauses, letting the silence stretch out until it’s almost unbearable. Finally, she speaks again, her tone measured and calm. “As you all know, we are approaching a very special time of year. In just a few weeks, we will be hosting our annual adoption day.”
A collective shiver runs through the room, a ripple of unease that you can feel in your bones. Adoption day. The words hang heavy in the air, charged with a meaning that everyone understands but no one dares to speak aloud.
“This is a significant event,” the headmistress continues, her gaze sweeping the room. “It is a time when alphas from all over the continent come to our school to choose which one of you will become their mate.”
Your breath catches in your throat, your stomach twisting into knots. You’ve heard about adoption day, of course. It’s the day every omega dreads and hopes for in equal measure. The day when your future is decided, when you are chosen — or not — by an alpha who will take you away from this place. It’s supposed to be an honor, a privilege, but you know the truth. It’s a sentence, a life chosen for you, one you have no say in.
“Over the next few weeks,” the headmistress says, “you will be preparing for this event. You must be on your best behavior at all times. The alphas who come here expect nothing less than perfection, and it is our duty to ensure that you meet their expectations.”
She pauses, her eyes narrowing as she surveys the room. “You will be evaluated on your obedience, your manners, your appearance, and your ability to perform the duties expected of an omega. Failure to meet these standards will result in … consequences.”
The word lingers in the air, heavy with unspoken threats. You know what she means. You’ve seen what happens to the girls who fail, who don’t measure up. They’re sent away, to places even worse than this, places where omegas are little more than property, where they’re broken down until there’s nothing left of them.
You swallow hard, trying to push down the rising tide of panic. You’ve been good, you remind yourself. You’ve done everything you were supposed to do, followed every rule, learned every lesson. But the fear gnaws at you, a constant, insidious whisper in the back of your mind.
The headmistress gives a tight, satisfied nod. “I trust that you will all rise to the occasion. This is your chance to prove your worth, to show the alphas that you are deserving of their attention. Do not disappoint me.”
With that, she turns and strides out of the room, leaving a heavy silence in her wake. No one moves, no one speaks, the weight of her words pressing down on all of you.
Emily is the first to break the silence, her voice trembling. “Adoption day … I thought it wasn’t for another few months.”
“They moved it up,” says another girl across the table, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s sooner this year.”
You can feel the tension in the room ratchet up another notch, the fear palpable. Everyone is thinking the same thing: sooner means less time to prepare, less time to make yourself worthy of being chosen.
“What are we going to do?” Emily asks, her voice small and shaky. “What if … what if no one picks us?”
The question hangs in the air, the unspoken fear that everyone is too afraid to voice. What if no one chooses you? What happens then?
“We just have to be perfect,” says another girl, her voice tinged with desperation. “We can’t make any mistakes. We have to be exactly what they want.”
“What if that’s not enough?” Someone else murmurs, and the question sends a chill down your spine.
You stare at your plate, your appetite long gone. The food sits untouched, congealing in the dim light of the dining hall. You know you should say something, offer some kind of reassurance, but the words stick in your throat. What can you say? How can you comfort anyone when you’re just as terrified as they are?
Instead, you focus on breathing, on keeping yourself calm. You’ve been through worse, you tell yourself. You’ve survived this place for years, learned how to navigate its dangers, how to keep your head down and stay out of trouble. You can survive this too.
But deep down, you know that this is different. This isn’t just another test or lesson. This is your future, your entire life hanging in the balance, and there’s nothing you can do to change it.
The rest of the meal passes in a tense, uncomfortable silence. No one speaks, no one even looks at each other. The only sound is the clatter of dishes as the kitchen staff clears away the plates, their movements brisk and efficient.
When the meal is finally over, you file out of the dining hall with the other girls, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. The usual chatter and laughter are absent, replaced by a heavy, oppressive silence. Everyone is lost in their own thoughts, their own fears.
Back in your room, you close the door and sink down onto the bed, your mind racing. Adoption day. The words echo in your head, a relentless drumbeat of anxiety. You try to push the thoughts away, to focus on something else, but it’s no use. The fear is too strong, too consuming.
You lie there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm the storm inside you. But no matter how hard you try, the fear lingers, a dark shadow that refuses to be banished.
You’re not ready for this. None of you are. But it doesn’t matter. Adoption day is coming, whether you’re ready or not.
***
Oscar Piastri doesn’t let his emotions show, not when he crosses the finish line, not even when the roar of the crowd hits him like a physical wave. It’s a monumental moment, the kind of victory that defines a career. His first win in Formula 1, and he’s only just begun. He keeps his face impassive as he steps out of the car, giving a quick nod to the team that rushes toward him. His hands are still gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality.
The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving behind a strange emptiness that gnaws at him as he makes his way through the post-race chaos. Congratulations are thrown his way, hands clapping his back, but it all feels distant, like he’s watching it from somewhere else. This is supposed to be the pinnacle, the culmination of years of hard work, but instead, it feels … muted. He’s already thinking about the next race, the next victory, how he can improve.
In the quiet of the team’s private room, Zak Brown walks in, a broad smile on his face. He’s the kind of man who fills up the space just by being in it, his presence magnetic, commanding. Oscar looks up from where he’s sitting, unlacing his gloves methodically, and meets Zak’s eyes.
“Congratulations, Oscar. First of many, I’m sure.” Zak’s voice is warm, but there’s an edge to it, something unspoken hanging in the air.
“Thank you,” Oscar replies, his tone measured, controlled. He’s careful with his words, always. Never lets anything slip.
Zak takes a seat across from him, leaning back casually. There’s a glint in his eyes, something calculating. “You’ve made quite an impression today. The team is proud of you.”
Oscar nods, but he can tell there’s more coming. Zak doesn’t waste time with pleasantries unless there’s something else he wants to discuss. He waits, patient, knowing that Zak will get to the point when he’s ready.
Finally, Zak leans forward, his expression serious. “You’ve proven yourself, Oscar. And with that comes certain … privileges. Opportunities that are only available to those who reach the top.”
Oscar raises an eyebrow, intrigued. He’s heard whispers of the kind of rewards that come with success, but he’s never paid them much attention. He’s focused on one thing — winning. Everything else is secondary.
Zak watches him closely, gauging his reaction. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
Oscar stays silent, waiting for Zak to continue. He’s not about to show his hand, not yet.
“There’s a tradition in this sport,” Zak says slowly, choosing his words carefully. “When an alpha driver wins their first race, they’re given the chance to choose an omega. It’s a recognition of your status, your dominance. It’s something that’s been done quietly, behind closed doors, for decades.”
Oscar keeps his expression neutral, though his interest is piqued. He’s aware of the dynamics in the world, the power and control that come with being an alpha. But this — this is new. He’s never been one to indulge in the usual trappings of success. He’s always been too focused, too driven to let anything distract him. But this … this is different.
Zak smiles, seeing the curiosity flicker in Oscar’s eyes. “You’ve earned this, Oscar. You’re one of the best, and you deserve the best. That’s why I’m telling you about the upcoming adoption day.”
Oscar’s gaze sharpens. “Adoption day?”
“It’s an event held at the most prestigious omega training school in Europe,” Zak explains. “Only the top omegas are put up for adoption, the ones who have been trained to perfection. They’re chosen by alphas who have proven themselves — like you. It’s not something that’s widely advertised, but those in the know understand its significance.”
There’s a pause as Oscar processes the information. The idea of choosing an omega, someone trained specifically for him, tailored to his needs, is both intriguing and unsettling. He’s always been in control, always made his own decisions, but this is different. This is a life he’s being asked to shape, to take responsibility for.
“What makes this school so special?” He asks, his voice calm, steady.
Zak leans back, crossing his arms. “The omegas there are trained from a young age. They’re taught everything — how to please their alpha, how to be obedient, how to fulfill their roles perfectly. They’re the best of the best, Oscar. There’s no risk, no uncertainty. Any omega you choose from that school will be exactly what you need.”
Oscar considers this. The idea of having an omega, someone who’s been trained to understand him, to know what he needs without him having to say it … there’s a certain appeal in that. He’s always been surrounded by people who expect something from him, who look to him for leadership, guidance. But this would be different. This would be someone who exists solely for him, who understands her place.
“There’s no obligation,” Zak adds, watching Oscar carefully. “If you’re not interested, you can walk away. But if you are … it’s a rare opportunity.”
Oscar doesn’t respond immediately. He’s weighing the options, the consequences. He’s always been careful, methodical in his decisions. But he can’t deny the temptation, the curiosity that’s starting to take root.
“When is it?” He finally asks, his voice giving nothing away.
Zak’s smile widens, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. “In a few weeks. We can arrange everything for you — discretion guaranteed. You won’t have to worry about the media or anyone else finding out. This is strictly between you and the school.”
Oscar nods slowly, his mind already working through the possibilities. It’s a lot to take in, but he’s not one to shy away from something just because it’s unfamiliar. If anything, the challenge of it, the control it represents, is what draws him in.
“I’ll think about it,” he says, his tone decisive, leaving no room for further discussion.
Zak rises, clearly satisfied with Oscar’s response. “Take your time. There’s no rush. But remember, opportunities like this don’t come around often.”
Oscar stands as well, shaking Zak’s hand. “I understand. Thank you.”
As Zak leaves the room, Oscar is left alone with his thoughts. The noise of the celebrations outside is a distant hum, and he finds himself pacing, the adrenaline from the race still thrumming through his veins.
He’s never been one for the typical alpha-omega dynamics. He’s always valued independence, his ability to navigate the world on his terms. But this … this is something else. The idea of having an omega, someone trained to understand him, to be exactly what he needs, it’s both thrilling and terrifying.
He knows what’s expected of him. As an alpha, as a champion, there’s a certain image to uphold, certain roles to fulfill. But he’s never been one to simply do what’s expected. He’s always pushed the boundaries, challenged the norms.
Oscar stops pacing, his mind made up. He’ll go to this adoption day. He’ll see for himself what this school has to offer. But he won’t make any decisions until he’s certain. This is too important, too personal to rush into.
But deep down, he knows that the decision is already half-made. The idea has taken root, and it’s only a matter of time before it blooms into something more.
With a final glance around the empty room, Oscar leaves, heading back to the celebrations. There’s still a victory to enjoy, a race to celebrate. But in the back of his mind, the thought of adoption day lingers, a tantalizing possibility that he can’t quite shake.
As the night wears on, surrounded by his team, the media, the fans, Oscar can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have an omega by his side. Not just any omega, but one who’s been trained specifically for him, someone who understands him in a way no one else does.
The idea is intoxicating, and for the first time in a long while, Oscar feels something stir inside him — a hunger, a desire for more than just victory on the track. He wants control, he wants power, and maybe, just maybe, he wants someone to share it with.
But not just anyone. It has to be the right omega. The perfect one.
As the night winds down, and the celebrations give way to the quiet of his hotel room, Oscar lies awake, his mind racing. He’s never been one to second-guess his decisions, and he knows this won’t be any different.
He’s going to that adoption day. And he’s going to find the omega that’s meant for him.
***
The morning is cold, colder than it has any right to be for early September. You’re standing in line with the other omegas, every one of you wearing the same pristine white dresses that flutter slightly in the breeze. The sun hasn’t fully risen, and the world is cloaked in that quiet, expectant blue that only exists before dawn. You can feel the nervous energy crackling in the air, though no one dares to show it.
You’ve been preparing for this day for as long as you can remember. Every lesson, every order, every correction has led to this moment, and yet you feel more like an imposter than ever. Your hands tremble slightly as you clasp them in front of you, willing the nerves to subside. You can’t afford to look weak now, not when everything is at stake.
The headmistress is pacing in front of the line, her sharp eyes taking in each omega with a practiced gaze. She’s dressed impeccably, as always, her posture a perfect representation of control. “Remember, girls,” she says, her voice slicing through the silence, “today is your chance to prove your worth. You’ve been trained for this moment. Do not embarrass yourselves, or this school.”
You swallow hard, keeping your gaze straight ahead, though every instinct is screaming at you to run. You can’t, though. There’s no place to go, and you know it. This is your life now, and you have to make the best of it.
The first of the alphas start to arrive, their footsteps echoing ominously as they enter the grand hall. You can hear their low voices, the murmur of conversation as they evaluate the line of omegas, as if you’re nothing more than merchandise on display. You keep your eyes down, as you’ve been taught, but your heart is hammering so loudly you’re sure everyone can hear it.
One by one, they move past you, some taking a moment to appraise you before moving on, others barely sparing you a glance. The tension builds with each alpha that passes, your nerves fraying more and more. You want to shrink away, to make yourself invisible, but you know that’s the last thing you should do. Instead, you focus on keeping your breathing steady, on maintaining the composed exterior you’ve been drilled to perfect.
Then you hear the headmistress speak, her voice softer, almost deferential. “Mr. Piastri,” she says, and you feel your breath catch.
You’ve heard whispers about him, the young alpha who’s taken the racing world by storm, his name a force to be reckoned with even outside the omega circles. You’ve imagined what he might be like, but nothing could prepare you for the reality.
You feel his presence before you see him, the weight of his gaze as he approaches. There’s something different about the way he moves, the way the other alphas seem to step aside for him, as if acknowledging his dominance without a word. He stops in front of you, and for the first time, you dare to lift your eyes.
Oscar Piastri is taller than you expected, his presence somehow larger than life. His face is expressionless, unreadable, but his eyes … his eyes are sharp, assessing, as if he’s looking right through you, stripping away every defense you’ve carefully built.
He says nothing at first, just studies you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed, vulnerable in a way you’ve never experienced before. The world around you seems to fade, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of silence.
You don’t move, don’t breathe, barely even blink. Your whole body is tense, waiting for his judgment, his decision. You don’t know what to expect, and the uncertainty is unbearable.
Then, slowly, he reaches out, his fingers brushing your chin. The touch is light, almost delicate, but it sends a shiver down your spine. He tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze fully. There’s a pause, a moment where everything hangs in the balance, and you feel like you might break under the pressure.
But you don’t. You can’t. You’ve been trained for this, prepared for this moment, and you will not fail.
Oscar’s eyes search yours, and you wonder what he’s looking for. Strength? Weakness? He’s so close now that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, and it’s dizzying, overwhelming in a way you can’t quite describe.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he turns to the headmistress. “I want this one,” he says, his voice calm, decisive.
The headmistress smiles, a tight, satisfied expression, as if she expected nothing less. “Of course, Mr. Piastri,” she replies smoothly. “She’s one of our finest.”
There’s a rush of relief that crashes over you, mixed with a new kind of fear. He’s chosen you. Out of all the omegas here, he’s chosen you. It should be a victory, but all you feel is a creeping sense of dread. What does this mean for you? What will your life be like now?
Oscar’s hand drops from your chin, and you lower your gaze again, as you’ve been taught. You can still feel the imprint of his touch, like a brand on your skin. The other omegas around you are silent, but you can sense their curiosity, their jealousy, their relief that they weren’t chosen.
“Prepare her things,” Oscar says to the headmistress, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be leaving with her shortly.”
“Of course,” the headmistress repeats, her voice smooth, almost too smooth. She turns to you, her expression hardening. “You heard him. Go with Miss Parker to gather your belongings.”
You nod, obediently turning to follow Miss Parker, who gives you a curt nod before leading the way out of the hall. Your mind is spinning, your emotions a tangled mess of fear, confusion, and something else — something that feels dangerously like excitement.
As you walk down the corridor, away from the other omegas and the alphas who are still making their selections, you steal a glance back at Oscar. He’s already moving on, his focus shifting to some conversation with the headmistress, but you can’t shake the feeling that he’s still aware of you, even if he’s not looking your way.
Miss Parker doesn’t speak as she guides you to your room. There’s no need for words. You know what’s expected of you. You’ve always known.
When you reach your room, the small space that’s been your whole world for so long, Miss Parker hands you a simple, nondescript suitcase. “Pack quickly,” she says, her voice brusque but not unkind. “Mr. Piastri won’t want to wait.”
You nod again, mechanically moving to gather your things. There’s not much to take — just a few pieces of clothing, some personal items that you’ve been allowed to keep, all of it carefully selected to fit the image of the perfect omega. As you pack, you try to steady your breathing, to push back the rising tide of panic.
This is it. This is what you’ve been trained for, what your whole life has been leading to. And yet, standing here, on the edge of the unknown, you feel more lost than ever.
Miss Parker watches you, her expression unreadable. You wonder if she feels anything at all, if she remembers what it’s like to be in your position, or if she’s long since forgotten what it means to be afraid.
When you’re done, you stand, holding the suitcase tightly in your hands. Miss Parker gives a small nod of approval. “Good. Now, remember what you’ve been taught. Mr. Piastri is your alpha now. You will obey him in all things, without question.”
“I understand,” you reply, your voice steady, though you’re not sure how.
“Then let’s go,” Miss Parker says, turning on her heel and leading the way back down the corridor.
The walk back to the grand hall feels shorter, as if time is compressing around you. Before you know it, you’re standing in front of Oscar again, the suitcase a heavy weight in your hands.
He glances at it, then at you, his expression still inscrutable. “Ready?” He asks, though it’s clear he expects no answer but one.
“Yes,” you say quietly, your heart pounding in your chest.
“Good,” Oscar says, his tone final. He turns to the headmistress, giving her a brief nod. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“Of course, Mr. Piastri,” the headmistress says, her voice tinged with satisfaction. “We wish you and your new omega all the best.”
Oscar says nothing in return, just takes your suitcase from you with one hand, his grip firm, and gestures for you to follow him. You do, of course, because what else can you do? This is your life now, whatever that means.
As you leave the school, stepping out into the crisp morning air, you feel a strange mix of emotions — fear, yes, but also a flicker of something else, something that feels almost like hope. Maybe this will be better. Maybe it won’t be as bad as you fear.
You steal a glance at Oscar as he walks beside you, his expression still impassive, but there’s a calmness about him, a quiet strength that’s undeniable. He’s your alpha now, and while the thought terrifies you, there’s also a small, tentative part of you that wonders if maybe, just maybe, this is how it’s supposed to be.
***
Oscar stands in the grand entrance of the school, his eyes sweeping across the opulent hall as he takes in the scene. Everything about this place exudes prestige, from the intricate detailing on the marble floors to the quiet efficiency with which the staff move about. This is where the finest omegas in Europe are trained, where alphas come to find their perfect matches. He’s never been one to doubt his choices, but today, there’s an edge of curiosity that’s unfamiliar, even unsettling.
“Mr. Piastri,” the headmistress greets him, her voice smooth and practiced, an air of deference in her tone. “We’re honored to have you here.”
He nods, acknowledging her words without much thought. His mind is elsewhere, focused on the task ahead. He’s done his research, learned about this place, about the selection process. He knows what he’s looking for, or at least he thinks he does. It’s supposed to be straightforward — a practical decision, not one driven by sentiment or instinct. But even as he tells himself that, there’s a part of him that knows better.
“Shall we begin?” The headmistress asks, her eyes watching him carefully, as if she’s trying to gauge his mood.
“Yes,” Oscar says simply, his voice even, controlled. There’s no need for pretense; he knows his presence here speaks for itself.
She leads him into the hall where the omegas are gathered, all dressed in identical white dresses, their heads bowed slightly in a show of submission. It’s a carefully curated display, one meant to impress, to showcase their training. But as Oscar enters the room, a different sense takes over.
It’s the scent that hits him first, a mixture of soft florals and something else, something sweeter, more intoxicating. It’s subtle, almost elusive, yet it cuts through the air like a sharp blade, setting his senses on high alert. For a moment, he’s thrown off balance, the unexpectedness of it catching him off guard.
He’s been around omegas before, of course. He knows how their pheromones work, how they can influence alphas, but this … this is different. This scent isn’t just pleasant, it’s magnetic, pulling at something deep within him that he hadn’t even realized was there. He finds himself scanning the line of omegas, searching for the source, his heartbeat quickening despite his attempts to stay composed.
“Mr. Piastri?” The headmistress’ voice cuts through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. She’s watching him, a hint of curiosity in her eyes.
“Go ahead,” Oscar says, waving her off as if everything is under control. He’s used to this, the scrutiny, the expectations. But right now, there’s something else at play, something he’s not sure how to navigate.
He moves down the line, his eyes sliding over the faces of the omegas, trying to identify the one whose scent has captivated him so thoroughly. There are many who glance up at him, hopeful, eager for his attention, but none of them seem to be the one he’s looking for.
Then, he sees you.
You’re standing near the end of the line, your posture perfect, your head slightly bowed like the others. But there’s something about the way you hold yourself, something different. And then there’s the scent — the one that’s been driving him to distraction since he walked in. It’s stronger here, more potent, wrapping around him and holding him in place.
Oscar’s steps slow as he approaches you, his gaze narrowing as he studies you more closely. You’re trembling slightly, he notices, though you’re doing your best to hide it. There’s a fragility to you, an air of vulnerability that he wasn’t expecting. But beneath that, there’s something else — an inner strength, a quiet resilience that draws him in even further.
Without thinking, he reaches out, tipping your chin up so he can see your face. The moment your eyes meet his, something clicks into place, something he can’t quite put into words. You’re beautiful, yes, but that’s not what’s holding his attention. It’s the way you look at him, a mix of fear and determination, as if you’re ready for whatever comes next, even if it terrifies you.
Oscar takes his time, letting the moment stretch out, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. Your scent is everywhere now, filling his lungs, clouding his thoughts. He knows he should be more objective, more calculating, but for the first time in a long time, he can’t bring himself to care.
“She’s one of our finest,” the headmistress says, her voice cutting into the moment like a knife. Oscar barely registers her words, his focus entirely on you.
“I want this one,” he says, his voice steady, final. There’s no hesitation, no doubt. He knows what he wants, and he’s not going to waste any time pretending otherwise.
The headmistress nods, clearly pleased. “Of course, Mr. Piastri.”
Oscar lets go of your chin, watching as you lower your gaze once more, obediently stepping back. The connection between you isn’t severed, though; if anything, it’s stronger now, more tangible. He feels it in the way his chest tightens, the way his instincts are screaming at him to keep you close, to never let you out of his sight.
He steps back, allowing the headmistress to take over, but his eyes never leave you. Even as she instructs you to gather your things, even as you turn to follow her orders, his focus remains on you. He’s never been one to act on impulse, to let his emotions dictate his actions, but right now, all he can think about is how he needs to get you out of here, to take you away from this place and claim you as his.
It’s irrational, and he knows it. But it’s also undeniable.
The minutes that pass feel like hours, each second dragging as he waits for you to return. He finds himself pacing, a rare show of impatience, his mind racing with possibilities. What will you be like, once you’re away from here? Will you still be this quiet, this controlled? Or will you reveal a different side of yourself, something more untamed?
When you finally reappear, suitcase in hand, Oscar feels a surge of something close to relief. You’re here, and you’re his, and that knowledge settles something deep within him. He reaches out, taking the suitcase from you, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment. The contact sends a jolt through him, and he wonders if you feel it too, if you’re as affected by this as he is.
“Ready?” He asks, his voice softer now, though still firm.
“Yes,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, but it’s enough. It’s all he needs to hear.
He turns to the headmistress, giving her a curt nod. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“It’s been our pleasure, Mr. Piastri,” she says, her tone just as polished as before, though there’s an undercurrent of satisfaction now. She’s done her job, and she knows it.
Oscar doesn’t waste any more time. He takes your hand, guiding you out of the hall and into the cool morning air. His grip is firm, possessive, as if he’s afraid you might slip away if he lets go.
As you walk beside him, he feels that same pull, that same magnetic force that’s been with him since the moment he caught your scent. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and he knows he’s in dangerous territory, but there’s no going back now. He’s made his choice, and he’s going to see it through.
The car is waiting at the curb, sleek and black, and Oscar opens the door for you, gesturing for you to get in. You do so without hesitation, and he follows, settling into the seat beside you.
The driver doesn’t say a word, just starts the engine and pulls away from the school. Oscar glances over at you, taking in the way you’re sitting so still, your hands folded neatly in your lap. There’s a tension in your posture, a lingering uncertainty, and he can’t help but wonder what’s going through your mind.
“Are you comfortable?” He asks, breaking the silence.
You nod, though it’s clear you’re still on edge. “Yes, Mr. Piastri.”
“Oscar,” he corrects, his tone gentler now. “You can call me Oscar.”
You hesitate, as if you’re not sure if it’s a test. “Oscar,” you repeat softly, and the sound of your voice saying his name sends a shiver down his spine.
There’s so much he wants to say, so many questions he wants to ask, but he holds back, giving you time to adjust. He knows this is overwhelming for you, that you’re probably terrified, but he also knows that you’re strong, that you’ve already proven yourself in ways that matter to him.
As the car speeds down the empty roads, Oscar leans back in his seat, his eyes never leaving you. He can’t predict what the future holds, can’t say for certain how this will all play out, but one thing is clear: you’re his now, and he’s not going to let anything come between you.
The scent that first drew him to you still lingers in the air, a constant reminder of the bond that’s forming between you. It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced, and he’s not sure how to navigate it, but he knows one thing for sure — he’s not going to let you go. Not now, not ever.
***
The cabin of the private jet hums with a quiet, luxurious calm, a stark contrast to the swirling storm of emotions inside you. You’re seated in a plush leather chair, staring out at the expanse of sky through the window. Clouds drift lazily by, but your thoughts are anything but tranquil.
Oscar sits across from you, his posture relaxed yet commanding. He’s been on his phone, dealing with some business matter, but even so, his presence dominates the space. You’ve barely spoken since boarding the jet, and every minute that passes feels like an eternity.
You steal a glance at him, trying to read the expression on his face, but it’s as composed as ever. You wonder what he’s thinking, if he’s having second thoughts. Your stomach twists with anxiety, not just from the uncertainty of what’s to come, but from something deeper, something that’s been building inside you ever since this morning.
Oscar finishes his call, slipping the phone into his pocket as he turns his attention fully to you. The weight of his gaze is almost unbearable, and you quickly lower your eyes, focusing on the smooth leather of the seat beneath your fingers.
“Monaco,” he says, breaking the silence. His voice is rich, deep, and it pulls your attention back to him. “I have an apartment there. That’s where we’ll be staying.”
Monaco. The name conjures images of sun-soaked coastlines, of wealth and glamour that you’ve only ever heard about. But all of that feels distant, almost unreal, compared to the reality of what you’re feeling right now.
You nod, swallowing hard. “Thank you,” you manage to say, though your voice trembles slightly.
Oscar watches you closely, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Something’s on your mind,” he states rather than asks. There’s no judgment in his tone, but the authority in his voice leaves no room for avoidance.
You hesitate, unsure of how to even begin. The words stick in your throat, the truth too uncomfortable to voice, but you know you can’t keep it hidden. Not from him. Not when it’s so important.
“They …” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “They gave us something … this morning.”
Oscar’s brows draw together, his expression shifting to one of concern mixed with something darker, more dangerous. “What do you mean?”
“They gave us heat inducers,” you confess, the words tumbling out in a rush. You don’t dare look at him, instead focusing on your hands as they clench and unclench nervously in your lap. “They wanted to make sure that if any of us were taken by an alpha today, our heats would start soon. So that … so that we could be … mated as quickly as possible.”
The silence that follows is heavy, oppressive. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, but you don’t dare look up, afraid of what you might see in his eyes.
Then, there’s a low, rumbling growl that reverberates through the cabin. It’s a sound that sends a shiver down your spine, both thrilling and terrifying. You risk a glance at Oscar, and what you see in his expression nearly takes your breath away.
His eyes have darkened, his jaw clenched tightly as he processes what you’ve just told him. There’s a fierce protectiveness in his gaze, but also something more primal, something that calls to the omega in you.
“How long?” He asks, his voice rougher now, as if he’s barely restraining himself.
“I … I don’t know,” you admit, your heart pounding in your chest. “It’s already starting. I can feel it.”
Oscar doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stands, moving with a predatory grace that sends your pulse racing. He crosses the small distance between you in just a few steps, and before you know it, he’s kneeling in front of you, his large hands resting on your knees.
The touch is electric, sending heat rushing through your veins. You gasp softly, instinctively trying to pull back, but Oscar’s grip tightens, holding you in place.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice leaving no room for disobedience.
You obey, lifting your eyes to meet his. The intensity in his gaze is overwhelming, and you feel yourself trembling under the weight of it.
“You’re mine now,” Oscar says, his tone possessive, yet there’s a tenderness there too, something that reassures you even as it stokes the flames of your heat. “Do you understand that?”
“Yes,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. But it’s the truth. You’ve known it from the moment he chose you, from the moment his hand touched your chin and your world tilted on its axis.
Oscar’s eyes soften slightly at your answer, but the fire in them remains. He reaches up, his fingers brushing against your neck, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear where your mating gland is. The contact sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you bite your lip to stifle the moan that threatens to escape.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing gently over your gland, his touch both soothing and maddeningly arousing. “When the time comes, I’ll make sure you feel good. I’ll make sure you know exactly who you belong to.”
The promise in his words sends a wave of heat crashing through you, and you shudder, unable to contain the small whimper that slips out.
Oscar’s grip on you tightens for just a moment, and he leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “I want you to tell me everything you’re feeling,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “No hiding, no holding back. Understand?”
“Yes,” you manage to say, though it’s more of a breathless gasp than a proper response. Your mind is spinning, the heat building steadily inside you, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation.
He studies you for a moment longer, as if assessing your readiness, then slowly rises to his feet, pulling you up with him. The sudden change in position makes your head spin, and you find yourself leaning into him for support, your body seeking out his warmth instinctively.
Oscar wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close as he guides you to the couch on the other side of the cabin. He sits down first, then pulls you onto his lap, positioning you so that you’re straddling his thighs, your bodies pressed together intimately.
The new position brings your core into direct contact with the hard length of him, and the sensation is enough to make you gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders for balance. You can feel the heat pooling low in your belly, your body responding to his in ways you’ve never experienced before.
“Tell me what you need,” Oscar demands, his hands settling on your hips, holding you firmly in place. The look in his eyes is dark, intense, and it makes your heart race faster.
You hesitate, your mind foggy with desire, unsure of how to put your needs into words. But the pressure of his hands, the way he’s looking at you, tells you that he’s not going to let you avoid the question.
“I … I need you,” you finally admit, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Please … it’s so hot, and I can’t … I can’t think straight.”
Oscar’s eyes flash with something predatory, and he shifts beneath you, his grip on your hips tightening. “That’s because your body knows exactly what it needs,” he says, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “It’s instinct, omega. And it’s only going to get stronger.”
He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks, sending shivers down your spine. “I want you to let go,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. “Don’t fight it. I’ll take care of everything.”
You moan softly, the sound involuntary as his words sink into your mind, the command laced with something deeper, something that resonates with the omega inside you.
Oscar’s hands begin to move, one sliding up your back to cradle the nape of your neck, the other slipping down to cup your ass, holding you firmly against him. The heat between you is palpable, and you can feel yourself growing wetter, your body readying itself for what’s to come.
“Good girl,” Oscar murmurs, his voice filled with approval. The praise makes you whimper, your body arching into his touch, desperate for more.
He chuckles softly, a sound that’s equal parts amusement and satisfaction. “You’re already so responsive,” he notes, his hand sliding up your thigh to the hem of your dress, fingers teasing the sensitive skin there. “It won’t be long now.”
You can feel the truth in his words, the heat inside you building to a fever pitch, your body trembling with need. It’s almost unbearable, the ache, the hunger, and you press yourself against him, seeking out any form of relief.
Oscar’s fingers trail higher, pushing the fabric of your dress up your thighs, exposing more of your skin to the cool air of the cabin. The contrast only heightens your arousal, and you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as your hips start to move instinctively, grinding against him.
“Shh,” Oscar soothes, his hand sliding up your back to cradle your head, guiding you to rest your forehead against his shoulder. “I know, sweetheart. I know it’s hard. But I’m right here. I’m going to take care of you.”
Oscar’s touch is electric, his fingers gliding with a deliberate slowness up the inside of your thigh. The sensation sends shivers through you, your body reacting to every subtle movement. You cling to him, your breath ragged, heart pounding in your chest as the heat deepens, spreading like wildfire.
He’s still cradling you on his lap, his other hand steady at the nape of your neck, holding you close to him. The intimacy of the moment is almost too much to bear, and yet, you crave more. The pressure building inside you is overwhelming, a desperate need that only he can satisfy.
Oscar’s hand inches higher, slipping beneath the thin fabric of your panties. The touch of his fingers against your slick folds draws a gasp from your lips, your hips instinctively bucking against his hand. He hums in approval, his voice a low rumble against your ear.
“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “Your body’s more than ready, isn’t it?”
You can only manage a breathless nod in response, your mind too clouded with desire to form coherent words. His fingers explore with a deliberate slowness, tracing the contours of your body, heightening your arousal with every teasing stroke. When he finally brushes against your swollen clit, your body jerks, a soft cry escaping your lips.
Oscar’s grip tightens slightly, holding you in place as his fingers begin to move in slow, torturous circles. The pleasure is almost too much, and yet it’s not enough — nowhere near enough to satisfy the gnawing hunger inside you. The need for more, for him, drives you to the brink of madness, and you find yourself whining, pleading with him for release.
“Please, Oscar … more … I need more …” Your voice is a desperate whimper, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing anchoring you to reality.
But Oscar doesn’t relent, doesn’t give you what you’re begging for. Instead, he keeps his movements slow, controlled, as if testing your limits. His touch is maddeningly precise, each brush of his fingers sending waves of pleasure coursing through you, yet never quite enough to push you over the edge.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice soothing but firm. “You’re not ready. Not here.”
His words are both a comfort and a torment. You understand what he’s doing, why he’s holding back, but it doesn’t make the ache inside you any less excruciating. The heat is becoming unbearable, and you grind yourself against his hand, seeking more friction, more anything, to ease the burning need.
Oscar’s fingers dip lower, sliding inside you with agonizing slowness, and you cry out, the sensation almost too much to bear. He stills for a moment, allowing you to adjust, his other hand gently stroking your back as you pant against his neck.
“So tight,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, his voice laced with a mix of pride and possessiveness. “You’re going to feel so good around me when the time comes.”
You whimper at his words, the thought of what’s to come sending another rush of heat through you. But just as you start to lose yourself in the pleasure, in the feeling of his fingers moving inside you, the jet gives a sudden lurch, signaling the start of your descent.
Oscar’s touch freezes, and you blink in confusion, your dazed mind struggling to comprehend what’s happening. His hand slips from between your thighs, and you make a small sound of protest, your body trembling with the sudden loss of contact.
“I know, sweetheart,” he says softly, his voice tinged with regret. “But we’re landing. We have to wait.”
“No …” The word slips out before you can stop it, a pitiful, desperate plea. The idea of stopping now, of having to endure this unbearable heat without relief, is almost too much to bear. “Please … don’t stop …”
Oscar sighs, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, gently tilting your head back so that you’re forced to meet his gaze. There’s a softness in his eyes now, a tenderness that contrasts sharply with the heat between you.
“Not here,” he says firmly, though there’s a note of apology in his voice. “When we get to the apartment, I promise I’ll take care of you. But not here.”
You shake your head, tears of frustration and need welling up in your eyes. The logical part of you understands — knows that he’s right — but the omega in you, the part that’s driven by instinct and need, doesn’t care. You need him, now, and the idea of waiting feels impossible.
Oscar’s thumb strokes your cheek, wiping away a stray tear, and he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I know it’s hard,” he murmurs against your skin. “But I want our first time to be special. Not rushed, not in some cramped cabin. You deserve more than that.”
His words, his touch, they soothe you, if only slightly. You nod, though the movement is reluctant, and he smiles softly, pressing another kiss to your temple.
“Good girl,” he praises, his voice filled with warmth. The words send a small thrill through you, even as your body continues to throb with unmet need.
The jet gives another lurch, and Oscar shifts, carefully lifting you off his lap and setting you down beside him. The sudden distance between you makes you whimper, but he’s quick to wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to his side.
“Just a little longer,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair. “Then I’ll make sure you get everything you need.”
You nod again, leaning into his warmth as the jet begins its final descent. The anticipation is almost unbearable, the knowledge that relief is so close yet still out of reach making every passing second feel like an eternity.
When the jet finally lands, Oscar is the first to rise, holding out a hand to help you to your feet. Your legs are shaky, and he wraps an arm around your waist to steady you as you make your way to the door.
The heat is building, every step sending a fresh wave of desire coursing through you. By the time you reach the door, you’re trembling, your body barely able to contain the need that’s threatening to consume you.
Oscar notices, of course. He’s been watching you closely, his sharp eyes missing nothing. As the door opens and the cool night air rushes in, he pauses, turning to you with a look of concern.
“Are you alright to walk?” He asks, his voice gentle, but there’s an underlying tension there, as if he’s barely holding himself back.
You shake your head, your legs too shaky to trust, the heat making it hard to think straight. “I … I don’t think I can …”
Oscar doesn’t hesitate. In one smooth motion, he scoops you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he steps out of the jet. The sudden movement makes you gasp, but you quickly wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him as he carries you down the steps.
The car is waiting at the bottom, the driver standing at attention, but Oscar doesn’t spare him a glance. He moves with purpose, his grip on you secure as he carries you to the car and slides into the backseat with you still in his arms.
Once inside, he positions you so that you’re straddling his lap again, your bodies pressed together. The door closes behind you, and the car starts moving, but all you can focus on is the feel of him beneath you, the heat of his body seeping into yours.
“Oscar … please …” The words slip out before you can stop them, your voice filled with desperation.
He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your lower lip as he studies you, his expression a mix of concern and desire. “I know, sweetheart,” he says softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I know how hard this is for you.”
You whimper, your hips instinctively rocking against his lap in search of relief, but Oscar’s hands grip your waist, stilling your movements.
“But not here,” he repeats, his tone firm despite the longing in his eyes. “I won’t take you for the first time in the back of a car. You deserve better than that.”
His words are both a comfort and a torment. You understand what he’s saying, know that he���s trying to do right by you, but the need inside you is growing stronger with every passing second, making it hard to think, hard to focus on anything other than the burning desire to be claimed.
Oscar’s hand slides up to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ll make it worth the wait,” he promises, his voice a low, seductive rumble. “I’ll make sure you feel every second of it.”
The words send a shiver down your spine, and you moan softly, pressing your forehead against his shoulder as you try to steady your breathing. The heat is almost unbearable now, your body trembling with the effort to hold back.
Oscar’s hands continue to roam, one slipping beneath your dress to caress your thigh, the other trailing up your spine in a soothing gesture. He’s trying to comfort you, to ease your suffering, but it’s a losing battle. The need is too strong, too overwhelming.
“Just hold on a little longer,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “We’re almost there.”
By the time the car pulls up to the sleek, modern apartment building, you’re trembling uncontrollably, your body nearly vibrating with the intensity of the heat that’s been steadily building since you left the jet. Oscar, ever aware of your condition, doesn’t waste a second. He’s out of the car and around to your side before the driver can even think to open the door for you.
“Hold on, sweetheart,” he murmurs as he reaches for you, his tone soothing despite the underlying urgency in his movements. His strong arms wrap around you, effortlessly lifting you from the backseat. As he stands, you feel the dampness between your legs spread, leaving a wet spot on his pant leg.
A flicker of something dark and possessive crosses his face as he notices, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he tightens his grip, holding you closer against his chest as if shielding you from the world. His pace quickens as he heads toward the entrance of the building, your soft whimpers filling the space between you.
“Oscar … please …” Your voice is barely more than a breathy moan, the plea escaping before you can stop it. The need inside you is too overwhelming to contain, and you’re desperate for him to finally take you, to claim you as his.
His jaw clenches, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves, but he doesn’t stop. “I know, baby,” he replies, his voice rough with restraint. “Just a little longer. We’re almost there.”
The elevator ride feels like an eternity. You’re wrapped around him, clutching his shoulders, your face buried in the crook of his neck as you try to suppress the sobs of need that threaten to escape. Oscar’s hand rubs soothing circles on your back, his other arm securing you tightly against him. Every touch is a lifeline, but it’s also torture, reminding you of everything you’re not yet getting.
When the elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, Oscar strides out without hesitation, his eyes fixed on the door to his apartment. You whimper, your hands fisting in his shirt as the desperation in your voice grows. “Oscar … please … I can’t …”
“You can,” he insists, his voice low and commanding as he finally reaches his door. “Just a few more seconds, and then I’ll take care of you, I promise.”
He fumbles with the keys, the tension in his body palpable. You can see the struggle in his eyes, the barely controlled restraint that’s holding him back from giving in to your pleas right there in the hallway. Finally, the door swings open, and he carries you over the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him.
He drops the luggage carelessly by the entrance, his focus entirely on you. The moment the door clicks shut, something shifts in him. The restraint he’s been clinging to snaps, and he moves with purpose, his steps quick and sure as he heads straight for the bedroom.
You’re practically panting by the time he sets you down on the edge of the bed, your legs weak and trembling beneath you. Oscar’s eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire as he looks at you, his gaze intense, predatory.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with possession. “You’re so desperate for it, aren’t you? I can smell it on you, how badly you need me.”
You nod frantically, your hands reaching for him, trying to pull him closer. “Please, Oscar … I need you … now …”
He smirks, the sight of your desperation clearly affecting him, but he doesn’t give in right away. Instead, he takes a moment to savor the sight of you, his eyes raking over your trembling form as he steps between your legs.
“I’m going to make sure you never forget this,” he promises, his voice a low growl as his hands slide up your thighs, pushing your dress up over your hips. “You’re mine now, and I’m going to make sure everyone knows it.”
A shudder runs through you at his words, the possessiveness in his tone only fueling the fire inside you. You lean back on your elbows, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you watch him with wide, pleading eyes.
“Oscar, please … I can’t wait any longer …”
His eyes darken further, and he lets out a low, rumbling growl as he finally gives in, his hands moving to strip away the last of your clothing. The cool air hits your heated skin, and you whimper, your body arching toward him, craving his touch.
Oscar wastes no time, his hands everywhere at once, touching, caressing, teasing. His mouth follows, lips and tongue tracing a scorching path along your neck, down to your chest, and lower still. Every touch, every kiss, only heightens your arousal, pushing you closer to the edge.
When his hand finally slips between your legs again, you let out a broken moan, your hips lifting off the bed in search of more contact. He chuckles darkly, his fingers parting your folds and slipping inside with ease, the slickness of your arousal making the movement effortless.
“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice laced with satisfaction. “So ready to be claimed.”
You can only moan in response, your body writhing beneath him as his fingers begin to move, slow and deliberate, dragging out your pleasure until you’re on the verge of tears.
“Oscar … please … I need you inside me …”
He growls at your plea, his control slipping further as he pulls his fingers out, making you whimper at the loss. But then he’s undressing, and your eyes widen as you watch him, the anticipation building with every second.
When he finally joins you on the bed, his body hovering over yours, you reach for him, your hands shaking with need. He captures your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head as he settles between your legs, his gaze locking with yours.
“This is going to be intense,” he warns, his voice low and rough with desire. “But I need you to trust me, okay?”
You nod frantically, your body aching for him, needing him more than you’ve ever needed anything in your life. “I trust you,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Please, Oscar … make me yours …”
That’s all the encouragement he needs. With a low growl, he positions himself at your entrance, and with one swift, powerful thrust, he’s inside you, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, and you cry out, your back arching off the bed as pleasure and pain mix together in a heady, intoxicating blend.
Oscar stills for a moment, letting you adjust, his breath coming in harsh pants as he struggles to hold back. His grip on your wrists tightens, his other hand sliding down to grip your hip, holding you in place.
“You’re so tight,” he groans, his voice strained. “Fuck, you feel so good around me …”
You whimper, your body trembling with the effort to hold still, the overwhelming sensation of being so completely filled making it hard to think, hard to breathe. But the pain is already fading, quickly replaced by a deep, aching pleasure that leaves you desperate for more.
“Move,” you plead, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Please, Oscar … I need you to move …”
He lets out a shuddering breath, his control hanging by a thread as he slowly pulls out, only to thrust back in with a force that makes you see stars. The pleasure is immediate, a sharp, intense burst that has you crying out, your body arching into his.
Oscar’s pace is relentless, each thrust deep and powerful, driving you closer and closer to the edge. You’re lost in the sensation, your world narrowed down to the feel of him inside you, the heat of his body against yours, the sound of his growls and your moans filling the room.
“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice rough and possessive as he pounds into you. “All mine … I’m going to make sure everyone knows it …”
You’re too far gone to respond, your body trembling as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak. It’s too much, too intense, and yet you can’t get enough. You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you feel yourself teetering on the edge of release.
Oscar’s hand moves to your neck, his thumb brushing over your mating gland, and you cry out at the sudden jolt of pleasure. “Do it,” you plead, your voice breaking. “Please, Oscar … bite me … claim me …”
He lets out a guttural growl, his control finally snapping as he lowers his head to your neck. His teeth graze over your gland, and you shudder, your body tensing in anticipation.
“Mine,” he snarls, and then he bites down, his teeth sinking into your flesh with a sharp, searing pain that quickly turns into the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt.
The orgasm hits you like a freight train, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. You scream his name, your voice raw and broken as you unravel completely beneath him.
Oscar growls against your neck, his hips slamming into you with a renewed intensity as he rides out your orgasm, his own release following close behind. He thrusts deep inside you, filling you with his seed as he marks you as his, the bond between you solidifying with each pulse of pleasure.
When it’s over, you collapse against the bed, your body trembling with aftershocks, your mind dazed and blissfully blank. Oscar’s breath is hot against your neck, his body still pressing you into the mattress as the intensity of your shared cliDylan begins to ebb. You’re both trembling, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through your veins as your minds struggle to grasp what just happened. He’s still buried deep inside you, his knot holding you together, and the thought of being this intimately connected with him sends another shiver of pleasure down your spine.
He nuzzles into your neck, his lips brushing over the fresh bite mark he’s left on your mating gland, the sensation making you whimper softly. “You did so well, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky with satisfaction. “So good for me.”
You’re too spent to respond, your body heavy and exhausted from the intense pleasure he’s wrung out of you. Instead, you nuzzle closer to him, your eyes fluttering shut as the heat in your body temporarily dies down, leaving you in a blissful haze.
Oscar shifts slightly, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him so that you’re lying on his chest, still intimately connected. His hands stroke soothingly down your back, and you let out a contented sigh, feeling safe and secure in his arms.
“You should get some sleep while you can,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble beneath you. “There’s going to be another wave soon, and you’ll need your strength.”
You know he’s right, but the thought of sleeping while you’re still so tightly bound to him feels almost impossible. You’re too aware of his presence, of the way his knot is still lodged deep inside you, of the steady thrum of his heart beneath your ear. But exhaustion is quickly catching up with you, and before long, your eyes are drifting shut, your body relaxing fully against his.
“Stay with me,” you whisper, your voice drowsy as sleep begins to pull you under.
“Always,” he replies, his voice filled with a quiet promise.
The last thing you feel before sleep claims you is the gentle press of his lips against your temple, the warmth of his body surrounding you, and the comfort of knowing that, for the first time in your life, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
***
When you wake, the room is dark, and the only sound is the steady rise and fall of Oscar’s breathing. Your body is warm and heavy, still draped over his chest, still connected to him in the most intimate way. But as your mind begins to shake off the lingering remnants of sleep, you become acutely aware of the insistent throbbing between your legs, the undeniable need that’s starting to build once again.
You shift slightly, your movement eliciting a low groan from Oscar as the motion tugs at his knot, still firmly in place inside you. The sensation sends a wave of heat through you, and you let out a soft whine, your body instinctively pressing closer to him.
Oscar stirs beneath you, his hands sliding up to rest on your hips, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re awake,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.
“Mmhmm,” you reply, your voice breathy as you nuzzle into his chest. “I need you …”
He lets out a low chuckle, his hands beginning to trace soothing patterns on your skin. “You’ve got me, sweetheart. I’m right here.”
But it’s not enough. The need inside you is growing stronger, more insistent, and you can feel the heat beginning to rise again, demanding more. “I need more than that,” you whisper, your voice laced with desperation. “Please, Oscar …”
His hands still on your hips, his body tensing beneath you. “It’s too soon,” he says, his voice rough with restraint. “This is only your first heat with me. We have time, plenty of time for that later.”
You shake your head, a whimper escaping your lips as you press closer, your body aching with need. “No, I need it now. I need you to knot me again … I need you to give me pups …”
Oscar’s breath catches in his throat, his hands tightening on your hips as he tries to maintain control. “Sweetheart, listen to me,” he begins, his voice strained. “I want that too, but this is your first time going through heat with me. We should wait-”
“No,” you cut him off, your voice firm despite the desperation lacing it. “I can’t wait. I need you now, Oscar. Please … I need to feel you knot me again, to know that I’m yours completely …”
He lets out a low growl, his control slipping further as your words push him closer to the edge. “You are mine,” he snarls, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. “You’re already mine. I’ve marked you, claimed you-”
“Then show me,” you plead, your voice breaking as you grind down against him, desperate for the friction. “Show me that I’m yours … knot me and fill me, Oscar. Give me pups …”
His restraint snaps completely at your words, and with a feral growl, he flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him as he pulls out of you, only to thrust back in with a force that leaves you breathless. The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure as his knot stretches you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
“You want my knot?” He growls, his voice rough and possessive as he pounds into you with an intensity that has you seeing stars. “You want me to fill you with my pups?”
“Yes,” you cry out, your body arching off the bed as you cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Yes, please, Oscar … I need it …”
He’s relentless, his thrusts deep and powerful as he chases his own release, the sound of your cries and pleas only spurring him on. The heat between your legs is almost unbearable, the pleasure building to a fever pitch as his knot swells inside you, locking you together once again.
“I’m going to give you everything,” he growls, his voice low and rough as he drives into you with a single-minded focus. “You’re going to take all of me, every last drop …”
You can’t form coherent words anymore, your mind too lost in the overwhelming pleasure, but you manage a breathless moan, the sound desperate and needy as you beg him for more.
Oscar doesn’t disappoint. With a final, powerful thrust, he knots you, his body going rigid as he spills inside you, filling you with his seed. The sensation is enough to send you over the edge, and you scream his name as you’re thrown into another intense orgasm, your body shaking and trembling beneath him.
He rides out your release, his movements slow and deliberate as he pushes you through the waves of pleasure, his knot pulsing inside you with every throb of his cock. You’re barely aware of anything else, your mind completely consumed by the sensation of being filled so completely, so perfectly by him.
When it’s over, you collapse against the bed, your body trembling with aftershocks, your mind dazed and blissfully blank. Oscar’s weight presses down on you, his breath hot against your neck as he nuzzles into your skin, his knot still lodged firmly inside you.
“Mine,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble as he kisses your neck, the possessiveness in his tone clear. “You’re mine, and now everyone will know it …”
You let out a soft, contented sigh, the sound barely more than a whisper as you relax completely in his arms. “Always,” you reply, your voice drowsy as sleep begins to pull you under once again.
Oscar hums in response, his hands stroking soothingly down your back as he holds you close. “Get some rest, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice soft and tender. “I’ve got you.”
You don’t need to be told twice. The exhaustion from the intensity of your heat is catching up with you, and your eyes are already drifting shut, your body relaxing completely against his.
The last thing you feel before sleep claims you is the gentle press of his lips against your temple, the warmth of his body surrounding you, and the comfort of knowing that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be — safe, loved, and claimed by the alpha who now holds your heart in his hands.
***
The days blend together in a rhythm that becomes both comforting and suffocating. You wake up alone in the large bed, the sheets still warm from where Oscar had been lying beside you, his scent lingering in the air. The apartment is quiet, too quiet, with only the distant hum of the city outside to keep you company. The space around you is luxurious and expansive, but it feels empty without him.
Oscar has people for everything — cooking, cleaning, managing his life outside the realm of racing. You’d been trained to handle those tasks, taught to be the perfect omega who could anticipate and fulfill every need an alpha might have. But here, in Oscar’s world, those skills are unnecessary. The staff handles the meals, tidying up, and even the minutiae of his schedule. It leaves you with little to do, your days stretching out in a seemingly endless wait for him to return from training, meetings, or other obligations.
It’s the nights you live for, the moments when he finally comes home and the two of you can lose yourselves in each other. The way he takes you, the way he makes you feel, it’s overwhelming, all-consuming. In those moments, nothing else matters. The world narrows down to just the two of you, your bodies moving together in perfect synchrony, your cries of pleasure mingling with his growls of satisfaction. You crave those nights, where the boundaries between you blur, and all you can feel is the heat and the raw, primal connection that bonds you together.
But when the night ends, and the morning comes, the cycle starts again. He kisses you softly before slipping out of bed, leaving you to wake alone, his absence a gaping void that you can’t quite fill. You’ve tried to distract yourself, tried to find ways to pass the time, but nothing seems to help. You miss him when he’s gone, the ache of longing settling deep in your chest, gnawing at you throughout the day.
You spend your days wandering through the apartment, aimless and restless, your mind filled with thoughts of Oscar. Sometimes you’ll curl up on the couch, pulling one of his shirts over your knees just to feel closer to him. Other times, you’ll find yourself standing at the window, staring out at the city below, wondering where he is, what he’s doing, and when he’ll come back to you.
The staff is polite and attentive, but they’re not him. They’re not the warm, reassuring presence that you crave, the one who makes you feel safe and wanted. They do their jobs efficiently, always a step ahead, always ensuring that everything is perfect for when Oscar returns. But their presence only serves to remind you of the emptiness that fills your days.
When Oscar finally comes home, it’s like a breath of fresh air, a reprieve from the stifling monotony that your days have become. You run to him, your body instinctively seeking out his warmth, his touch. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his scent filling your senses and grounding you in a way nothing else can.
“Missed you,” you murmur against his chest, your voice soft and full of longing.
“Missed you too, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice a low rumble as he kisses the top of your head. “But I’m here now.”
The nights are everything you could ever want, a heady mix of pleasure and passion that leaves you breathless and sated. Oscar knows exactly how to touch you, how to draw out every moan and whimper, how to make you forget everything except the way he feels inside you. It’s a relief to lose yourself in him, to drown in the intensity of your connection, to feel completely and utterly his.
It’s after one such night that you find yourself lying in his arms, your body still humming with the afterglow of pleasure. The room is dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of the city outside the window. Oscar’s chest rises and falls steadily beneath your cheek, his hand lazily tracing patterns on your back as he holds you close.
“Are you alright?” He murmurs, his voice soft and full of concern.
You nod, but the words you’ve been holding back for days now bubble to the surface. “I … I miss you when you’re away.”
There’s a pause, and you feel Oscar’s body tense slightly beneath you. He shifts, moving so that he can look down at you, his brow furrowed in concern. “Sweetheart, I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
You bite your lip, feeling a little embarrassed by your admission. “It’s just … when you’re gone, I don’t know what to do with myself. The days are so long, and I feel so … lost without you.”
Oscar sighs, his hand cupping your cheek as he strokes his thumb over your skin. “I’m sorry, I never meant for you to feel like that. I thought you might need some time to adjust, to get used to this new life. But if it’s too much, I’ll figure something out. I don’t want you to be unhappy.”
“It’s not that I’m unhappy,” you say quickly, not wanting him to think you’re ungrateful. “I just miss you. I miss having you close, knowing you’re here with me. It’s hard when you’re gone, and I’m just … waiting.”
Oscar’s expression softens, and he pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I didn’t realize how much you were struggling. I’ve been trying to give you space, but if it’s making you feel like this, then it’s not working.”
You look up at him, your eyes searching his. “I don’t need space, Oscar. I need you. I want to be with you, wherever that is. I don’t care if it’s at home or at a race or anywhere else. I just want to be by your side.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes thoughtful as he considers your words. Then, he nods, as if coming to a decision. “Alright, then. If that’s what you want, I won’t leave you behind anymore.”
You blink up at him, surprised by how easily he agrees. “You mean it?”
“I do,” he says, his voice firm. “I’ve been waiting for you to settle in, to see if you’d be comfortable here on your own. But I can see now that this isn’t working. I don’t want you to feel lonely, and I don’t want to be away from you either.”
Your heart swells with emotion, and you lean up to kiss him, pouring all of your gratitude and love into the gesture. “Thank you,” you whisper against his lips. “I don’t want to be apart from you anymore.”
Oscar kisses you back, his hands threading through your hair as he deepens the kiss, his tongue teasing yours in a way that has your toes curling. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are filled with a warmth that makes you feel like the luckiest person in the world.
“From now on, you’ll come with me,” he says, his voice full of promise. “Wherever I go, you’ll be there too. I won’t leave you behind again.”
The relief that washes over you is almost overwhelming, and you can’t help but smile up at him, feeling lighter than you have in days. The thought of traveling with him, of being by his side no matter where he goes, fills you with a sense of purpose and belonging that you’ve been craving.
“Thank you,” you say again, your voice filled with gratitude. “I can’t wait to be with you, wherever that is.”
Oscar smiles, his eyes soft as he looks down at you. “Neither can I, sweetheart. Neither can I.”
As you settle back into his arms, your heart feels full, the ache of loneliness that has plagued you for so long finally beginning to fade. You know that being with Oscar, traveling by his side, won’t always be easy. There will be challenges, new environments to adapt to, and the pressures of his career. But none of that matters as long as you’re together.
You press a soft kiss to his chest, letting your eyes drift shut as you snuggle closer to him. The future feels bright, full of possibilities that you hadn’t dared to hope for. And most importantly, it’s a future where you won’t have to be apart from the one person who means everything to you.
Oscar’s hand continues to stroke your back in soothing circles, his warmth and scent surrounding you, grounding you in the here and now. “Get some sleep, love,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle rumble. “We’ve got a lot to look forward to.”
You smile against his skin, feeling completely at peace for the first time in days. “Goodnight, Oscar,” you whisper, your voice filled with contentment.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he replies, his lips brushing over your temple as he holds you close.
As you drift off to sleep, you know that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together, side by side. And that’s all you could ever want.
***
The roar of engines is deafening, the air thick with the scent of burning rubber and fuel as you stand on the sidelines, watching the blur of cars as they speed around the track. This is your first time at a race, the sheer energy and intensity of the event almost overwhelming. The crowd is a sea of color, cheering and waving flags, the excitement palpable in the air. You feel a thrill of anticipation as you watch Oscar’s car navigate the circuit with practiced ease, your heart swelling with pride.
It’s surreal being here, surrounded by so many people, so much noise, so much movement. You’ve heard stories about the races from Oscar, but nothing could have prepared you for the real thing. The speed, the adrenaline, the stakes — it’s all so much more than you’d imagined. You can barely keep your eyes off the screen that tracks the positions, each lap feeling like a small victory as Oscar maintains his place near the front.
But then, something shifts.
A sudden hush falls over the crowd, a sharp intake of breath as something unexpected happens on the track. You watch in horror as Oscar’s car and Lando’s car make contact, the two vehicles colliding with a screech of metal and rubber. The impact sends Oscar’s car spinning off the track, his position slipping away in an instant.
Your heart drops into your stomach, panic rising as you watch the car come to a stop, half-buried in gravel. For a moment, the world seems to stand still, the only sound the blood rushing in your ears. Then, as if in slow motion, you see Oscar emerge from the car, the safety personnel rushing to his side. Relief floods through you, but it’s short-lived as you see the way he carries himself, the tension in his shoulders, the dark look in his eyes.
Something’s wrong.
You can feel it, a shift in the air, a dark, possessive energy radiating from him even from this distance. The cameras zoom in on his face, and you see it — the barely restrained fury, the cold, calculating look that makes your blood run cold. Oscar is not just angry; he’s on the verge of something far more primal, far more dangerous.
You don’t even realize you’re moving until you find yourself near the garage, your feet carrying you closer to where you know he’ll be headed. The tension in the pit is palpable, everyone on edge as they wait for Oscar to arrive. You can see the way the crew exchanges nervous glances, whispering among themselves, unsure of how to handle the situation.
And then he appears.
Oscar storms into the garage, his presence like a thunderstorm rolling in, dark and ominous. The crew parts for him without a word, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and respect. He doesn’t even acknowledge them, his gaze focused solely on you, as if nothing else exists in the world. The intensity in his eyes is overwhelming, a raw, feral need that takes your breath away.
Before you can say anything, before you can even think, Oscar is in front of you, his hands gripping your arms as he pulls you close. The scent of him is overwhelming, a heady mix of sweat, adrenaline, and something darker, something possessive. You can feel the tension radiating off him, his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap.
“Oscar,” you breathe, trying to calm him, but your voice is lost in the chaos around you.
He doesn’t say a word, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your knees weak. There’s something primal in his gaze, something that tells you he’s on the edge, barely holding on to control. Without warning, he dips his head, his nose brushing against your neck as he inhales deeply, taking in your scent as if it’s the only thing grounding him.
You shiver, your body responding instinctively to his touch, to the dominance that radiates from him in waves. He growls low in his throat, a sound that vibrates through you, sending a thrill of both fear and excitement down your spine. It’s a warning, a claim, and you know without a doubt that everyone around you understands what it means.
He’s staking his claim on you, right here in front of everyone.
Oscar’s hands move to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he nuzzles your neck, his breath hot against your skin. The world around you fades, the only thing you can focus on is him, the way his body presses against yours, the way his lips brush over your mating gland, sending sparks of electricity through your veins.
And then, he bites.
It’s not a gentle bite, not like the ones he’s given you in bed. This is possessive, demanding, a show of dominance that leaves no room for doubt. You gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders as your body goes limp in his arms, overwhelmed by the surge of pleasure and pain that courses through you. He growls again, his teeth sinking deeper into your skin as he marks you, his claim on you undeniable.
You can feel the eyes of everyone in the garage on you, can hear the whispers, the shocked gasps, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except for the way Oscar is holding you, the way he’s making sure everyone knows you belong to him and him alone.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are wild, his breathing ragged. There’s a dark, possessive satisfaction in his gaze as he looks down at you, his thumb brushing over the fresh bite mark with a kind of reverence. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to — his actions speak louder than words ever could.
You’re his, and he’s not about to let anyone forget it.
The crew doesn’t dare to interfere, their eyes averted as Oscar pulls you even closer, his arm wrapping around your waist as if to shield you from the world. He’s not done yet, not by a long shot, and you can feel the tension in his body, the barely restrained urge to take you right here, right now.
But somehow, he manages to hold back, his grip on control tenuous at best. He growls again, a low, dangerous sound that sends a shiver of anticipation through you. Without a word, he starts moving, dragging you along with him as he heads towards his driver’s room, his steps quick and determined.
You can barely keep up, your heart pounding in your chest as he pulls you through the garage, his focus entirely on getting you alone. The door to his driver’s room slams shut behind you, and the moment you’re alone, the last shred of Oscar’s control snaps.
He’s on you in an instant, his mouth crashing down on yours in a bruising, possessive kiss that steals the breath from your lungs. His hands are everywhere, tugging at your clothes, pulling you closer, his need for you palpable in every touch, every kiss, every growl that rumbles in his chest.
“Oscar,” you gasp when he pulls back just enough to let you breathe, his hands already working on the buttons of your shirt. “Please …”
“I can’t … I need …” His voice is rough, desperate, his hands trembling as he rips your shirt open, the buttons flying in every direction.
You barely have time to react before his mouth is on your neck, kissing, licking, biting, his hands sliding down to your waist to tug at the waistband of your pants. There’s a wildness to him, a desperation that you’ve never seen before, and it sends a thrill of both excitement and fear through you.
His rut is taking over, his need to claim you, to possess you, overriding everything else. You’re helpless against the onslaught of sensation, your body responding to him instinctively, your mind hazy with desire.
“Oscar,” you whimper, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he pulls your pants down, his hands gripping your thighs as he lifts you up, pressing you against the wall.
“Mine,” he growls, his eyes dark with need as he looks down at you, his hands spreading your legs as he presses his hips against yours.
You can feel him, hard and ready, the evidence of his need pressing against your core, and it drives you wild with desire. Your hands fumble with his belt, your fingers trembling as you try to unbuckle it, desperate to feel him inside you.
“Oscar, please,” you beg, your voice barely more than a whisper as you look up at him, your eyes wide with need.
His control is slipping, his eyes darkening as he watches you struggle to free him from his pants. With a growl, he grabs your hands, pinning them above your head as he uses his other hand to tear his zipper down, his race suit sliding down to his hips.
He’s rough, desperate, his hands gripping your thighs as he lines himself up, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. There’s no more time for words, no more time for hesitation. He’s too far gone, too deep into his rut to hold back any longer.
With a single, powerful thrust, he’s inside you, and the world explodes into a whirlwind of sensation. The pleasure is overwhelming, your body arching against his as he moves, each thrust harder, faster, more desperate than the last.
You can barely think, barely breathe, your mind consumed by the raw, primal need that courses through you. All you can do is hold on, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he takes you, his possessiveness, his dominance, his need to claim you driving him to the edge.
“Oscar … I can’t …” You try to form a coherent thought, but it’s impossible, the pleasure too much, too intense, too all-consuming.
“Mine,” he growls again, his teeth grazing your mating gland, the sharp points teasing at the skin, sending shivers down your spine. He’s buried deep inside you, his pace unrelenting, driving into you with a force that has you gasping, your body pinned between him and the wall. The world outside is nothing more than a distant memory now, lost to the haze of heat and need that pulses between you.
He’s so deep in his rut that he can barely speak, his words slurring together as his instincts take over. “Good omega … my perfect omega …” he mutters, his voice rough and hoarse, every syllable dripping with raw, animalistic possession. “You’ll be … you’ll be the perfect mother … for our pups.”
The words send a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body, the thought of bearing his pups, of being filled by him in every possible way, setting your nerves on fire. He can feel it too, the way your body responds to his words, the way you tighten around him, and it only spurs him on. His hand moves from your waist, sliding down to press against your lower abdomen, right where his knot is beginning to swell, becoming visible through the skin.
“You feel that?” Oscar growls, his hand pressing down on the slight bulge, making you cry out, your body arching against him. “That’s my knot … locking you in place … filling you with my seed … making you mine in every way …”
You can only moan in response, your mind too clouded with pleasure to form any coherent words. His hand stays on your stomach, pressing down just enough to intensify the sensation, to make you acutely aware of how deep he is inside you, how thoroughly he’s claimed you. The pressure is almost too much, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that has you trembling in his arms, your legs barely able to support you.
“You’re so perfect … so good for me …” Oscar continues, his voice rough with need. His thrusts slow, becoming more deliberate, more focused as his knot swells, locking him inside you. The pressure builds, the sensation of being so completely filled by him overwhelming every other thought, every other feeling.
His hand on your stomach presses down harder, as if he’s trying to push his knot even deeper, and the sensation is almost too much to bear. You can feel every inch of him, every ridge, every pulse, and it’s driving you to the brink of madness. “Gonna give you everything,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, possessive growl. “Everything you need … everything I have …”
You whimper, the sound muffled by the intensity of the moment, your body shuddering against him as he continues to speak, his voice a rough, desperate whisper in your ear. “You’ll be such a good mother … carrying our pups … taking care of them … just like you take care of me …”
He’s rambling now, his words tumbling out in a rush, driven by the primal need to claim you, to mark you as his in every possible way. His hand on your stomach moves, sliding down to press against your clit, his fingers rubbing in tight, controlled circles that have you crying out, your body tightening around him in response.
“You’re so beautiful like this …” he groans, his hips grinding against you as he pushes deeper, his knot swelling even more, locking him in place. “So perfect … so ready for me … ready to take everything I give you …”
His words are a mix of praise and possession, each one sending a new wave of heat through your body, making you shudder in his arms. He’s relentless, his thrusts slower but no less intense, each one driving his knot deeper, making you feel every inch of him, every pulse of his cock inside you.
“You belong to me,” Oscar growls, his voice low and rough, his teeth grazing your skin again, this time biting down just enough to leave a mark, a fresh claim on top of the one he’s already made. “Only me … forever …”
The possessiveness in his voice is overwhelming, the need in him so raw, so powerful that it feels like it’s consuming you, pulling you under. You can feel his knot pressing against your walls, the sensation so intense that it’s almost painful, but in the best possible way. Your body is trembling, on the edge of something that feels like it might break you, and Oscar is right there with you, pushing you closer and closer to that precipice.
He shifts his weight, pressing down on your stomach again, making you cry out as the pressure on his knot intensifies. “Gonna fill you up … make sure everyone knows you’re mine …” he murmurs, his voice a rough, possessive growl. “No one else … only me …”
His fingers on your clit work faster, harder, driving you towards the edge, and you can’t hold back the moan that escapes your lips, the sound muffled by the way you’re biting your lower lip, trying to hold on to some semblance of control. But it’s slipping away, fast, and you can feel yourself spiraling, your body tightening around him, your muscles tensing as you approach the brink.
“Oscar … please …” you manage to gasp, your voice barely more than a whisper, but he hears you, and it only spurs him on.
“That’s it … let go for me …” he growls, his voice rough with need. “Be a good omega … let me take care of you …”
The words are your undoing. With a cry, you shatter, your body convulsing around him as the orgasm tears through you, waves of pleasure crashing over you in a relentless tide. You can feel the way your walls clamp down on his knot, the pressure driving you higher, making you cry out his name again and again.
Oscar isn’t far behind you, his body tensing as he feels you fall apart around him. His hips jerk, his knot swelling to its full size as he buries himself as deep as possible, his cock pulsing as he comes, his seed filling you in thick, hot waves. He groans, his head dropping to your shoulder as he grinds against you, his hands gripping your waist so tightly that it’s almost painful, but you don’t care. The sensation of being filled by him, claimed by him, is too much, too overwhelming, and it sends you spiraling again, your body shaking with the aftershocks.
Oscar’s breathing is ragged, his body trembling as he holds you close, his knot keeping him locked inside you, making sure you take every last drop of his seed. He’s still murmuring in your ear, his voice soft and rough, a mix of praise and possessiveness that makes your heart race.
“You’re mine … my perfect omega …” he whispers, his lips brushing against your neck, kissing the fresh mark he’s left there. “No one else … no one else will ever have you …”
You shiver, your body still trembling with the aftereffects of the orgasm, and you can only nod, your voice lost to the haze of pleasure that still lingers in the air. Oscar’s hands move to your hips, pulling you closer, holding you tight as he rides out the last waves of his release, his body tense and trembling.
It takes a long time for the intensity to fade, for the world to slowly come back into focus. Oscar’s breathing eventually evens out, his hold on you loosening slightly as the last vestiges of his rut start to dissipate. He’s still inside you, his knot keeping him locked in place, but the urgency, the desperation, has faded, replaced by a quiet, almost tender possessiveness.
“Are you okay?” He asks after a long moment, his voice soft, a little hesitant, as if he’s worried that he might have been too rough, too possessive.
You nod, your head resting against his shoulder as you try to catch your breath, your body still buzzing with the aftershocks. “I’m okay,” you manage to say, your voice a little hoarse from all the crying out you’ve done.
Oscar’s hand moves to your hair, stroking it gently, a stark contrast to the roughness of his earlier actions. “You were perfect,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a quiet, reverent awe. “So perfect for me.”
A soft smile tugs at your lips, and you close your eyes, leaning into his touch, the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, lulling you into a state of contentment. There’s something about being in his arms, being claimed by him so completely, that makes you feel safe, loved, cherished.
After a few more minutes, Oscar shifts slightly, testing the tightness of his knot, but it’s still too swollen to pull out, so he just holds you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “We’ll stay like this for a while,” he says softly, his voice warm and comforting. “I don’t want to hurt you by pulling out too soon.”
You hum in agreement, your body relaxing against him as you let the warmth and security of his embrace wash over you. There’s no rush, no need to move or do anything but bask in the afterglow, in the warmth of each other’s presence.
As the minutes tick by, Oscar continues to murmur soft words of praise and love, his hands gentle as they caress your back, your hair, your skin. “You’re going to be the best mother,” he whispers, his voice filled with a quiet certainty that makes your heart swell. “Our pups are going to be so lucky to have you.”
***
It’s a quiet morning, the sun just beginning to filter through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. You’re curled up in Oscar’s arms, the warmth of his body enveloping you, his scent surrounding you like a protective blanket. His breath is slow and steady against your skin, his nose pressed against the sensitive spot on your neck where his mating mark sits, a constant reminder of his claim on you. The world outside doesn’t matter here, in this little bubble of comfort and safety you’ve created together.
Oscar shifts slightly, his hand running up and down your back in slow, lazy strokes. You feel his lips brush against your skin, soft and lingering, before he presses his nose more firmly against your mating gland, inhaling deeply. He’s been doing that a lot lately, burying his face in your neck, breathing in your scent like it’s the most precious thing in the world. There’s something almost reverent about the way he does it, like he’s trying to memorize every single part of you.
“Your scent’s different,” Oscar murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, sleepy rumble that vibrates through you. He nuzzles closer, his nose brushing along the line of your neck, taking another deep inhale. “It’s sweeter … richer.”
You blink, the words slow to sink in through the haze of sleep still clouding your mind. “Different?” You ask softly, your voice still thick with sleep.
Oscar nods, his lips curving into a small, satisfied smile against your skin. “Yeah … different,” he repeats, his hand moving to rest on your stomach, his fingers splayed out across your skin. “I think … I think you’re pregnant.”
The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning, and it takes a moment for them to fully register. Pregnant. The thought sends a warm flush through your body, your heart skipping a beat. You shift slightly in his arms, turning to look at him, your eyes wide and searching.
“Pregnant?” You echo, your voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it out loud might break the spell.
Oscar’s smile widens, and he nods again, his hand on your stomach pressing down gently, almost possessively. “Yeah,” he says softly, his voice filled with awe and a deep, overwhelming joy. “You’re carrying our pup.”
The reality of it hits you all at once, and you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions — happiness, love, a touch of fear, but most of all, an overwhelming sense of rightness. This is what you’ve always wanted, what you’ve dreamed of since the moment Oscar first claimed you, and now it’s real. You’re going to be a mother. You’re going to have a family with him.
Oscar’s hand moves from your stomach to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that slips free. “Hey,” he murmurs softly, his voice full of warmth and tenderness. “Why are you crying, love?”
You shake your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you lean into his touch. “I’m just … so happy,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I can’t believe it’s real.”
“It’s real,” Oscar assures you, his thumb continuing to stroke your cheek, his eyes filled with a deep, unwavering love. “You’re going to be the most amazing mother, I know it.”
You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you, the warmth of his touch grounding you, anchoring you to this moment. When you open them again, Oscar is still watching you, his gaze intense, filled with a possessive pride that makes your heart race.
His hand slides back down to your stomach, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin, and you can see the way his pupils dilate, his breathing growing a little heavier. “You’re carrying our pup,” he says again, his voice rougher now, laced with an edge of desire. “My pup.”
The way he says it, the raw possessiveness in his voice, sends a shiver down your spine, and you can feel the heat building between you again, the need that’s never far from the surface when you’re with him. Oscar’s hand moves lower, his fingers slipping between your legs, and you gasp at the sudden, overwhelming sensation, your body instinctively arching towards him.
“Oscar …” you breathe, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and need.
He doesn’t answer with words, instead, his lips capture yours in a deep, hungry kiss, his hand moving to position you just right, and then he’s slipping inside you, the sensation of him filling you again like coming home. You moan into his mouth, your fingers gripping his shoulders as he moves slowly, deliberately, savoring every moment, every sensation.
Oscar pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze burning with an intensity that takes your breath away. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion, his hands moving to hold your hips, guiding you as he moves. “So proud … and so lucky.”
You can’t find the words to respond, too lost in the feeling of him inside you, the way he’s filling you so completely, so perfectly. He moves with a slow, steady rhythm, his hands holding you close, keeping you grounded in this moment, in the connection between you. Every thrust, every movement is filled with a deep, reverent love, a celebration of the life you’re creating together.
“You’re going to be such a good mother,” Oscar whispers, his voice a low growl in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re perfect … so perfect for me … for our pup.”
His words send a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body, your muscles tightening around him, drawing him deeper. Oscar groans, his grip on your hips tightening, his pace quickening just slightly, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate as the need to claim you again, to mark you as his, takes over.
“Mine,” he growls, his voice rough with possessiveness, his lips brushing against your neck, right over your mating mark. “All mine.”
You can only moan in response, your body moving in sync with his, every thrust sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you, building towards something that feels like it might consume you whole. Oscar’s hands move to your stomach again, pressing down gently, reminding you of the life growing inside you, and the sensation is enough to push you over the edge.
With a cry, you shatter around him, your body convulsing with the force of the orgasm, your muscles tightening around him, pulling him deeper. Oscar follows moments later, his body tensing as he comes inside you, filling you with his seed, his hands holding you close, keeping you grounded as you both ride out the waves of pleasure together.
The world slowly comes back into focus, the intensity of the moment fading into a warm, comforting afterglow. Oscar’s breathing is heavy, his arms wrapped around you as he holds you close, his body still pressed against yours. You can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear, the warmth of his skin against yours, and it’s enough to make you feel safe, loved, cherished.
After a long moment, Oscar shifts slightly, his arms tightening around you as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice soft and full of emotion. “So much.”
“I love you too,” you whisper back, your voice still a little shaky from the intensity of it all.
Oscar’s hand moves to rest on your stomach again, his fingers tracing gentle circles over the skin. “Our pup is going to be so lucky,” he says softly, his voice filled with a quiet awe. “They’re going to have the best mother.”
You smile at that, a soft, contented smile as you snuggle closer to him, letting the warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his breathing, lull you into a state of peace. For a while, you just lay there together, wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten in the warmth and safety of this moment.
But as the minutes tick by, a thought begins to creep into your mind, a worry that you can’t quite shake. The thought of bringing a child into the world, of raising them, brings with it a flood of emotions — joy, excitement, but also fear. And there’s one fear that lingers more than any other, one that you can’t push aside.
After a long moment, you finally find the courage to speak, your voice barely above a whisper. “Oscar …”
He hums in response, his hand still resting on your stomach, his fingers tracing gentle patterns over your skin.
“If we have an omega pup …” you start, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of the words. “Promise me … promise me they’ll never be taken away to an omega training school. Not like I was.”
Oscar’s hand stills on your stomach, his body tensing slightly beneath you. There’s a long pause, and you can feel his heart start to race beneath your ear, his breath catching in his throat. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough with emotion. “I promise,” he says, his voice filled with a quiet, fierce determination. “I’ll never let that happen. I would die before I let anyone take our pup away from us.”
You close your eyes, a wave of relief washing over you at his words. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice filled with gratitude and love.
Oscar’s arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. “I’m thankful that the school meant I could find you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion. “But I’d die before letting any of our pups go through what you did. They’ll never know that kind of life. They’ll have us — always.”
The words settle deep in your chest, soothing an ache you hadn’t even realized was still there. The fear that had been gnawing at you dissipates in the warmth of his embrace, replaced by the quiet certainty that Oscar means every word. He would fight for you, for your future, for your family. He already has.
You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze, and the intensity of the love you see there steals your breath away. He’s watching you with an unwavering focus, his eyes soft but determined, like you’re the most important thing in the world to him. And you are.
You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, a silent thank you for the promise he’s just made, for the future you know you’ll build together. Oscar responds with a hum of contentment, his hand slipping up to cradle the back of your head, deepening the kiss for a moment before pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
“We’re going to be okay,” he whispers, and it’s not just a promise — it’s a vow. “You, me, and our pup. We’re going to be more than okay. We’re going to be happy.”
You nod, a smile tugging at your lips as you let the last of your worries melt away, replaced by the overwhelming sense of rightness that comes with being here, in this moment, with him. You believe him. You believe in the life you’re building together, in the love that will carry you through whatever comes next.
As you settle back down against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into a peaceful drowsiness, you feel more content than you’ve ever felt in your life. Oscar’s hand continues its gentle caress over your stomach, his touch soothing and protective, and you know without a doubt that he will always be there for you, for your family.
***
10 Years Later
The sun is shining brightly as you walk hand-in-hand with Oscar, your large family trailing behind you like a small parade. The paddock is bustling with activity, but the familiar sights and sounds of race day are a comforting background as you make your way through the crowd. Your hand rests on your rounded belly, a gentle reminder of the life growing inside you. The warmth of Oscar’s grip on your other hand grounds you, a constant source of strength and love.
Your eldest, an alpha, walks beside you, his protective nature evident in the way he keeps an eye on his younger siblings. The twins, an omega boy and girl, chatter excitedly as they try to keep up with their older brother, their energy infectious. The rest of your pups, a mix of alphas, betas, and omegas, follow close behind, their laughter and playful teasing filling the air.
As you near the entrance to the paddock, a reporter spots Oscar and approaches with a microphone, a camera crew in tow. The reporter’s eyes widen slightly as they take in the sight of your large family, but they quickly compose themselves, flashing a polite smile.
“Oscar, a quick word before you head inside?” The reporter asks, holding out the microphone.
Oscar glances at you, a smirk already tugging at the corner of his lips, before nodding to the reporter. “Sure, why not?”
The reporter’s gaze shifts between you, Oscar, and your brood of children, clearly trying to figure out how to phrase their question delicately. “It’s not every day we see a Formula 1 driver with such a large family,” they begin, their tone carefully neutral. “If you don’t mind me asking, what made you decide to have so many pups?”
Oscar’s smirk deepens, and he pulls you closer to his side, his arm sliding around your waist possessively. The gesture is as much for your comfort as it is a display of his pride in you and your family. He takes a moment, clearly enjoying the reporter’s slight discomfort, before he leans in just a little, his voice low and confident.
“Well,” Oscar starts, his eyes flicking down to you with a look that’s nothing short of adoring. “If you had a perfect omega like mine, you wouldn’t be able to resist either.”
The words are simple, but the way he says them — his voice dripping with pride, love, and just a hint of that possessive edge — makes the reporter blink, momentarily taken aback. The camera catches the way Oscar’s hand rests protectively on your stomach, the way he holds you close as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. It’s clear to everyone watching that Oscar means every word.
You can’t help but smile at his response, a warmth spreading through your chest at the unabashed way he shows his love for you and your family. The reporter regains their composure quickly, nodding with a polite smile, though there’s a hint of envy in their eyes.
“That’s certainly a lovely sentiment,” the reporter says, recovering quickly. “It’s wonderful to see a family so full of love and happiness.”
Oscar’s smirk softens into a genuine smile, and he nods. “We’re very lucky,” he agrees, his voice full of affection. “Family is everything to us.”
The reporter glances back at your children, who are now gathered around, their attention divided between the camera and each other. The twins are whispering excitedly to one another, their matching wide eyes reflecting the curiosity only children can have. One of the younger alphas is tugging on the sleeve of your oldest, asking if they can watch the race from the best spot on the pit wall.
“How do you manage with so many little ones, especially with such a demanding career?” The reporter asks, genuinely curious now.
Oscar chuckles softly, glancing at you with a knowing smile. “It’s not always easy, but we make it work. We’ve got a good system in place, and it helps that they love being around the track as much as I do. They’ve grown up with it, so it’s like a second home to them.”
You nod in agreement, your free hand absently rubbing your belly as you listen. “And they look out for each other,” you add, smiling at your children. “The older ones help with the younger ones, and we make sure to spend as much time together as we can. It’s a team effort.”
The reporter smiles, clearly charmed by the image of your close-knit family. “It sounds like a wonderful way to raise a family,” they say. “Thank you for sharing that with us.”
Oscar gives a polite nod, then glances down at you, his eyes softening. “We should get inside,” he murmurs, his tone indicating that the interview is over.
You nod, and together, you turn to lead your family toward the entrance to the paddock. The reporter calls out a final thank you as the camera crew packs up, but you’re already focused on the day ahead, your mind shifting to the race and the time you’ll spend together as a family.
As you walk through the paddock, you can feel the curious glances of team members and other drivers as they take in the sight of your large family. But you’re used to it by now — the whispers, the stares. It doesn’t bother you. If anything, it only strengthens your resolve to live your life on your own terms, to build the family you’ve always dreamed of.
Your children, oblivious to the attention, continue their playful banter, their excitement for the race palpable. They’ve grown up in this world, surrounded by the roar of engines and the thrill of competition, and it’s as much a part of them as it is of Oscar. They’ve inherited his passion for racing, but they’ve also inherited something far more important — his love, his strength, and his tireless devotion to family.
As you approach the McLaren garage, you catch sight of Lando, who’s already suited up and chatting with a few engineers. He looks up and grins when he sees your family, waving you over.
“Hey, Piastri clan!” Lando calls out, a playful twinkle in his eye. “You lot taking over the paddock today?”
The kids immediately perk up at the sight of their favorite “Uncle Lando,” and before you know it, they’re rushing over to him, peppering him with questions about the race and begging for stories about his latest adventures on the track.
Oscar chuckles, giving Lando a mock glare. “Don’t spoil them too much. I still need them to behave for the race.”
Lando laughs, ruffling the hair of one of the younger alphas. “No promises, mate. You know I can’t resist these little troublemakers.”
You smile at the easy camaraderie between the two drivers, a bond that’s only grown stronger over the years. It’s clear that Lando cares deeply for your family, and you’re grateful for the role he plays in your children’s lives.
As the kids gather around Lando, hanging on his every word, Oscar pulls you aside, his hand resting on your lower back as he guides you to a quieter corner of the garage. Once you’re out of earshot, he turns to you, his eyes searching your face with a tenderness that never fails to make your heart skip a beat.
“You okay?” He asks softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek.
You nod, leaning into his touch. “I’m fine,” you assure him. “Just … taking it all in.”
Oscar smiles, his gaze drifting down to your belly before meeting your eyes again. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?” He murmurs. “All of this — our family, the race, everything.”
“It is,” you agree, your voice soft. “But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
***
The penthouse suite is filled with the familiar sounds of a family settling in for the evening — a mix of laughter, playful bickering, and the rustle of blankets being shared and tugged over laps. It’s movie night, a ritual that’s become sacred in your household, especially after a long weekend at the track. The air is thick with the scent of popcorn, and the oversized sofa is crowded with a tangle of limbs, all jockeying for the best spot to cuddle up for the night.
You’re nestled comfortably against Oscar’s side, his arm draped around your shoulders, fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm. Your oldest, Liam, an alpha who has inherited Oscar’s fierce determination, is sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring intently at the screen, trying to get the movie started. His younger brother, Dylan, a beta, leans over his shoulder, offering unasked-for advice.
“Just press play already,” Adeline, one of the omega twins, groans dramatically from her spot on the couch, her head pillowed on her twin brother Theo’s lap. “We’ve been sitting here for ages.”
“It’s not that easy,” Liam mutters, his brow furrowing in concentration as he navigates through the menus. “These remotes are weird.”
“They’re exactly the same as the ones at home,” Oscar says with a chuckle, but there’s no judgment in his tone, just the easy patience that comes from a decade of fatherhood.
Across the room, Zara and Oliver, another alpha-beta pair, are busy constructing a fortress of pillows and blankets at the end of the sofa, clearly uninterested in the movie and more focused on their own game. They’re whispering conspiratorially, planning some elaborate attack on their siblings that will no doubt result in a mock battle before bedtime.
You smile at the sight of them all — your eight pups, each so different and yet so bonded by the shared experiences of growing up in the whirlwind that is life with an F1 driver and his omega. The love you see in their eyes, the easy way they interact with each other, it’s everything you ever wanted, everything you never dared to dream about when you were younger.
Oscar’s hand slides up to your neck, his thumb brushing over your mating mark. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and you instinctively lean into his touch. He chuckles softly, dipping his head to press a kiss to the spot, his lips lingering as if savoring the taste of your skin.
“Dad,” Theo groans, lifting his head to glare at Oscar. “Do you have to do that right now?”
“What?” Oscar lifts his head just enough to give Theo an innocent look, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrays him. “I’m just reminding your mother how much I love her.”
“Gross,” Adeline mutters, her nose wrinkling in exaggerated disgust. “Can’t you wait until after the movie?”
“Yeah, seriously,” Zara pipes up from the fort, peeking out from behind a wall of pillows. “No one wants to see that.”
Oscar just laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that you can feel vibrating through your whole body. He pulls you closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “They’re just jealous.”
“Jealous of what?” You whisper back, though you already know the answer.
“That I have the most perfect omega in the world,” he murmurs, his voice low and possessive in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. “And I’m not afraid to show it.”
You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, the warmth that blooms in your chest at his words. Even after all these years, after all the changes and challenges, the love between you hasn’t dimmed. If anything, it’s grown stronger, more resilient, like a fire that refuses to go out no matter how hard the winds of life try to snuff it out.
“Alright, alright, enough of that,” Liam says, finally getting the movie to start. “Can we just watch this before bedtime?”
Oscar pulls back, giving the kids a mock-salute. “As you wish.”
The room falls into a comfortable silence as the opening credits roll, and you settle back into Oscar’s embrace, your head resting on his chest. His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing, and you squeeze gently, letting him know without words how much you appreciate him — how much you love him.
As the movie plays, the pups gradually grow quieter, their energy from the day’s excitement starting to ebb away. One by one, they begin to drift off, their heads lolling onto each other’s shoulders, or in some cases, onto their parents.
Adeline is the first to go, her breathing evening out as she curls up against Theo, who’s already half-asleep himself. Liam manages to stay awake a little longer, but soon his eyelids grow heavy, and he slumps over, using Dylan as a pillow. Even Zara and Oliver, who had been so animated just moments before, have stopped whispering, their fort abandoned as they snuggle into the cushions.
You glance up at Oscar, who’s watching the scene with a look of pure contentment. He meets your gaze, his eyes softening with a tenderness that makes your heart swell.
“Look at them,” you whisper, your voice filled with awe. “How did we get so lucky?”
Oscar smiles, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I ask myself that every day.”
You press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart, and he tightens his arm around you in response, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting reminder of his presence.
As the credits begin to roll, Oscar shifts slightly, careful not to wake the pups who are using him as a makeshift bed. “Should we carry them to their rooms?”
You shake your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Let them stay. They’re all together, and I don’t want to disturb that.”
Oscar chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “You’re too soft on them.”
“Maybe,” you concede, but there’s no real reproach in your tone. “But they’re only little for so long. I want to hold onto this for as long as I can.”
Oscar’s expression softens even further, and he tilts your chin up, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. “You’re a good mother,” he murmurs against your lips. “The best.”
The kiss deepens, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades away. It’s just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, in the love that has seen you through so much. When you finally pull away, your heart is racing, and you’re left feeling light-headed, like you’re floating on a cloud of pure happiness.
As you both settle back down, Oscar’s hand rests protectively on your growing belly, his thumb tracing slow circles over the spot where your newest pup is nestled. You place your hand over his, feeling the connection between you, Oscar, and the life growing inside you.
The room is quiet now, filled only with the soft sounds of breathing and the occasional rustle of a blanket as one of the pups shifts in their sleep. The city twinkle outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft glow over the room, but inside, it feels like a world of its own — a world where nothing can touch you, where you and your family are safe and happy.
You close your eyes, letting the warmth of Oscar’s embrace and the contentment of the moment wash over you. As you drift off to sleep, surrounded by the people you love most in the world, you can’t help but think that this is what happiness truly is — these simple, quiet moments that make life so incredibly beautiful.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#oscar piastri#op81#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri fic#oscar piastri fluff#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#oscar piastri x female reader#oscar piastri x y/n#mclaren#oscar piastri one shot#oscar piastri drabble
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
sibling situation
simon 'ghost' riley
cw: smut & plot, mactavish!reader, size kink/difference, missionary sex, unprotected sex, marriage & babies (at the end), romance, simon's found family
this rabbit runs on reblogs & comments! feed the rabbit!
simon knew that johnny had a sister. you had been brought up in conversation tons of times. after the death of your parents, you and johnny were really all each other had. but johnny left for the military right before turning eighteen and you struggled to put yourself through university. it wasn't the easiest life and simon could understand, he had his own scars of his childhood.
"so, why are you dragging me out here again, johnny?"
"get ya out of that shoe box flat. got a little more leg room where i am."
johnny had driven the car all the way to edinburgh with a promise that a little time away would do wonders for the other man. simon had his ear talked off about how london was just too big, and while edinburgh was a city. it would be a break from the intense metropolitan of london. if need be the two of them and you could go on a getaway to the countryside.
"this better be good, johnny."
"ah, don't worry! i promise, you'll have the time of your life!" johnny reached over and slapped his friend on the back, "plus, you have to meet my sister."
the flat that you shared with johnny was well kept. of course it was, your brother was out most of the year with an automatic deposit for rent and when he was home, it was so ingrained with the military that things were kept tidy. and you on the other hand enjoyed tidiness as well.
even if cleaning the place in his absence felt a bit much sometimes, you still at least picked up your socks off the floor, put the clean dishes in the cupboard and washed out the carafe of the coffee maker. but you had worked over time to make sure everything was perfect, not for your brother (he could clean himself), but rather the mysterious guest that he was bringing.
you didn't want his lieutenant to think you lived like animals!
when the knock on the front door came, you happily welcomed them. your gaze was captured away from your grinning brother and rather the larger man beside him. he wore a black medical face mark, but you could see the tiredness in his eyes. the mop of blond hair and a slight scar over his eyebrow.
"oh, kid, this simon. simon riley, my lt." johnny smiled, patting his fellow solider on the arm.
you shot him a glance, "i'm almost thirty, johnny. i'm far from a kid." you were a bite fiery, simon liked that.
johnny beamed back at you, "but you'll always be my little sister. gotten into trouble while i was gone?"
you let both men in and replied, "well except for yelling at those stupid kids from the secondary school about smoking in front of my window. nothing else really happened."
johnny dropped his bags on the hardwood floor and kicked off his boots. he put them correctly by the door before he stretched his arms over his head, "where's that guy you were seein'. teddy or somethin'?"
simon stood a little straighter. of course you had a boyfriend, look at you!
you waved your hand, "oh, he's long gone. i guess cousin nikki's words are true." you looked at your brother, "never date a man in finance. turns out he had more than one bonnie in his pocket."
johnny dropped his shoulders and remarked, "never liked the guy anyway. seemed a little uptight, would never survive a gathering of the mactavish's." he laughed.
simon felt odd in the space. seeing the siblings interacting. he thought of his own brother for a moment. instead he just followed suit and took off his heavy boots as well.
you looked at simon, "i hope it's okay that you take the couch. this place is only two bedrooms. the couch." you gestured to it, "does pull out so hopefully you'll have enough room. but, if you don't, tomorrow my lovely brother can give up his room."
"my room!" johnny replied loudly, "i've still got sand in my crack for the mission and you're givin' my room!"
you shot your brother a glance which johnny coward from. no words had to be said. johnny knew that it would be the right thing to do. after all, simon was his guest.
the afternoon went by slowly, and you and johnny moved through the small kitchen like a team. johnny was good at dicing and you were good at keeping an eye on the sauteeing vegetables.
"simon." you said which made simon look up from his spot at the small dining table. your eyes met and you pushed some hair out of your face, "two things. one, there should be a headband on the table it's soft and used for make-up. i need to get this hair out of my eyes. secondly, johnny never said that you had any dietary issues. is there anything i should avoid? i just sort of got our normal grocery order."
simon perked a little bit more, "oh i don't have any allergies or anything, ma'am." he gave a small nod, "i could eat anythin'."
you nodded, "okay, excellent!"
the blond found in endearing. it was almost hypnotic watching you put together the vegetables with the hearty pasta sauce. you worked a stove top like no other. the only problem was that your brother kept getting in the way of his sight of you.
been a while since a woman cooked him a meal.
simon got up quickly and gave you the headband. it was soft and pink colour with two sewn on cat ears made of the same material. you put it on and simon's heart skipped a beat. you were just so beautiful.
dinner of pasta, toasted buns and salad were served with a bottle of grocery store wine. the three of you drank, ate and chatted. you and johnny had most of the conversation while simon enjoyed listening.
he figured out that he could listen to you talk forever.
"well, i'm tired." johnny said as he rubbed his eyes. he finished the rest of his wine before he got up. he patted you on the top of the head, "i'll do the dishes in the mornin'. thanks for dinner, kid."
you rolled your eyes, pouring yourself another glass, "i'm not a kid."
johnny chuckled then looked to simon, "she'll get ya comfortable for the evenin'. i'll see ya tomorrow." before his tired steps headed towards the bedroom. soon the door closed and the sound of his body hitting the bed could be softly heard.
you leaned back in the kitchen chair, one leg draped over the other with your arms crossed. you admitted, "it must be hard to date. finding someone who understands your world."
simon stretched out a little more in his chair. he eyed the empty wine glass in front of him, "i try not to think about it so hard."
"i've heard stories about you. the terrifying ghost. there one moment, gone the next." you then reached across the table to drag a finger down the inside of simon's wrist, "i wonder if i had you in my bed tonight, if you'd be gone by morning."
your admission made simon's dark eyes grow a little wider. he said, "well, i have nowhere else to go."
you smiled a little, "must be lonely. i know it's lonely for me. to feel close to someone."
simon asked, "do you want to sleep with me miss mactavish?"
you chuckled lowly, as to not awake your brother in his room. you leaned back a little once more and gazed at him. you were definitely johnny's brother. the look in your eye said it all. you tilted your head a little to the side and asked, "is it that obvious, mister riley?"
the sound of wooden chairs against the floor as the two of you made your way to the bedroom. you took simon by his tattooed wrist and got him into your room. the door was shut a little louder than you hoped. you turned on the light and simon was already working the belt of his jeans.
you were quick to get your t-shirt off and you saw simon's hungry gaze on you as you became free of your clothes. his eyes raked the exposed skin and thought you looked like a dream.
"like what you see, simon?"
he nodded, "more beautiful than the photos, ma'am."
you covered your mouth while you giggled, "no need for the formalities. if my brother is underranked by you, then i'm sure as hell as a civilian."
simon got a hold of your waist, "you deserve a little more respect than your brother." then pulled you in for a soft kiss. even with his scars that you had seen over dinner. you thought he was beautiful.
it made you warm all over as you pulled the dark t-shirt on his shoulders. he helped you get out of it. and your hands pressed against his chest. you admired the scars, the tattoos, the overall beauty of him.
"i wish my brother had said his lt was hot prior. i would've tried to get with you sooner."
simon picked you up by the waist, your legs wrapped around his waist as he brought you to the bed and sat you down. he then started to work at the button of your jeans. once they were off, he cupped the bulge in his pants.
you slipped out of your simple purple panties and the white bra you wore. you then laid out on your bed with your hands behind your head and you giggled softly.
simon was absolutely smitten by you. he had come to the conclusion that when they were talking about the beauties in scotland. they meant you. and only you. once you were both naked, he got onto the bed.
the bed was a bit smaller than he had hoped, but you two could fit into it thankfully. he was worried that his large, bulkier frame would inch you off of the mattress. but it was a lot easier when he got between your legs. his achy erection, bright red at the tip, begged for attention.
you swallowed a little, "i wonder if it'll fit."
"then you tell me if it does. got it? you mactavish's have a habit of not showing pain." simon gave you a pointed gaze.
you covered your face for a minute, "okay. talk about my brother ends here. i don't want to hear about him while you're balls deep inside of me."
simon chuckled lightly and leaned in for another kiss. he said softly, close to your lips, "if it's anything, love. you're much more a looker than he is."
you held onto his blond locks and pulled him in for a hot kiss. you made a small noise when he shifted your hips up against him. to get a better angle of his cock inside of you.
"simon."
he said softly, his voice still gravely, "beautiful, beautiful girl. i don't know what that last boyfriend of yours was thinkin'. why want another when he could have you. but, i guess that means more for me."
your cheeks grew hot and simon pressed his cock up against you wet slit. you felt your heartbeat race at the anticipation of what was to come. you tensed up at the feeling of his cock being pushed into it.
"i got ya, i got ya. you feel so good there, love."
you nodded, "it's been a while. sorry if i'm too.. tight."
simon loomed over you like a comforting shadow. he gazed down at you, but there was a softness to his tired eyes. you didn't realize how pretty his eyes were. a deep dark brown, that lured you in while in the soft lighting of your bedroom.
he started to move against you and you let out a small moan. the bed squeaked a little bit. thankfully the frame didn't hit the wall. you two had to be somewhat quiet. even if your brother could be heard snoring in the room next to yours.
the sex between you two was quick, but not rough. the idea of bruising such a beauty made simon feel disgusted. you were meant to be cherished. he wanted to know everything about you.
"you are quite handsome, simon."
"thank you, love." he said softly as he held onto your thighs and moved against you. even in missionary you looked beautiful. the slight bounce of your breasts in time with his movements. he wanted to kiss all your soft parts throughout his visit in your sweet home.
he could get used to a warm meal and a warm cunt to bury himself into every night. maybe johnny was right, staying with you was better than being in london.
maybe he could get used to scotland.
he knew he could fit easily into the chaos of the mactavish family. if he could handle johnny, then he could handle you. at least he could fuck one of you quiet.
you felt your heart hammering at the feeling of it all. your noises were so sweet that it made simon need to bury himself deeper inside of you. he needed to feel all you could offer.
call him a sick puppy, but his brain was now wired to need you. you were a hit of a feeling that simon was so painfully unfamiliar with that it almost scared him. but as he admired the sight of you under him.
those soft lips partially opened, your eyes closed. you looked like an angel, and he swore he found heaven.
"beautiful." he said softly, his rugged voice made you feel like honey. gooey and warm, filling.
you came with your hands in his shaggy blond hair. your back arched as you felt the heat through you. you moaned a little louder than you hoped for as he continued to thrust up into you.
panting breaths between heavy thrusts as you laid spread out on the bed, letting simon move quicken his pace to reach his climax. he could feel it on the tip of his tongue. and with a few more heavy thrusts, he finished inside of you. his cheeks flushed and his mouth hung open in a heavy pant.
"fuck, simon."
"beautiful." he said absently. not able to think of much else besides your beauty. you were the kind of woman that simon was into.
he pulled out of you and rested down beside you on bed. you chuckled softly, your head still a little full of post orgasmic bliss. you got the covers on top of you and cuddled him naked.
clothed would be a worry in the morning.
when morning came, simon tried to slink back to the couch before johnny woke up. but when he exited your room and entered the main living space. he found johnny sitting there at the kitchen table. he was leaned back into his seat. simon caught sight of the pistol on the worn wooden table.
"so, si." johnny said, looking away from his paper to look at his fellow solider, "what are yer intentions with my sister?"
it had been a very long time since simon felt the stone of dread in his stomach. he tried not to show it across his scarred face. simon could instantly recall every military statistic that johnny had. there could be a million and one ways that the scottish solider could kill simon. and it wasn't like simon could do anything, he couldn't kill your brother.
there was a brief moment of silence between the two of them. neither made a motion or noise. simon wondered what was to come next. no amount of training could've prepared him for this.
but johnny broke the silence with laughter, "i'm just messin' with ya! the gun's not even loaded. just wanted to scare ya." he leaned forward in his seat. he looked at simon, "i don't care how my sister sees, but i have to be a little bit intimidating, don't ya think so, si?"
simon chuckled nervously.
johnny's suddenly expression dropped and he put down his paper in favour of the unloaded pistol. he pointed the front of it to simon, one eye closed as if he was going to shoot the blond in front of him. he said, "but if you break her heart there, simon. i won't be so forgiving."
the doorway to your bedroom opened with a loud creak and your voice rang through the apartment the three of you were in, "I swear to god! john michael mactavish! you better not be intimidating him!"
-
"you're seriously crying?" you asked your brother as you watched him gently take a hold of your newborn. your brother was a military man for christ's sake. he was weeping like a baby.
simon loomed over his colleague, protective over his newborn. his stern brown gaze read simply, "don't fuck it up, soap." he was ready to jump in if johnny fucked it up.
you were resting back in the hospital room, you just had your child with simon. you two had been married for a little over three years. it became habit for simon to come with johnny post-missions. the drive up to the city and you waiting for them.
a hug for your brother, a kiss for your lover.
now you were watching your brother cry at the sight of his nephew. the chubby little boy bundled up in a blanket. unaware of his weepy uncle. you looked at him with a slightyl stunned expression.
you probably cried less when you finally pushed him out. you didn't want to tell him the news because you thought he was going to cry more. while your son's first name was oliver, his middle name was john. after the crying mactavish in the hospital room.
"he really takes after us." john remarked when his cries died down.
you chuckled, "he sure does, johnny. now hand him over before you drop him." <3
#bunny writes#reader insert#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#ghost call of duty#ghost mw2#simon ghost riley#simon ghost smut#ghost smut#ghost cod#simon ghost x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley smut#cod mw2#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley smut#simon riley imagine#simon riley
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
MILLION DOLLAR WOMAN | OP81
an: i head to france tomorrow guys, today is my final day of freedom rip. this was so fun to write because imagine just finding out your partner is a millionaire fr, based off of this request
wc: 2.5k
Oscar could see her sitting at the dining table through the floor-to-ceiling windows as he parked his car. The quiet of their home in Monaco always took him by surprise—no revving engines, no buzz of the pit crew. Just her typing away on her laptop with her usual cup of tea. She looked up as he walked in, gave him a quick smile, and then returned to her screen. Always so relaxed, even as he walked in carrying the tension of a bad training session.
"Good day?" she asked, barely looking up. He nodded and mumbled something about a corner he'd taken too fast. She listened but didn’t pry. She never did. That's how she was. She was more interested in weekend hikes than race standings, in cooking simple meals than joining him at fancy team dinners. It was a refreshing kind of simplicity, though sometimes a little mystifying. She didn’t ask about the sport or his schedule, never got jealous over the fans, and didn’t seem to care about the lifestyle that came with dating an F1 driver.
In a way, it was...perfect. He didn’t have to worry about her growing tired of his schedule, or about her expectations getting out of hand. She worked her 9-to-5, met him after, and never asked for more. The fact that she paid for her own things when they went out had caught him off-guard at first, but she’d laughed and shrugged it off when he offered to take care of the bill. "I’m used to it," she’d said. And that had been that. No strings, no expectations.
Tonight, she must’ve been finishing something for work, because she was typing away with focus. He walked into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water, glancing over his shoulder at her every now and then, content. The glow of her screen was the only light in the room; the apartment was quiet but comfortable, like this was all they’d ever need.
“How’s work?” He asked as he shut the fridge.
She briefly looked up, “Long” she sighed but smiled at him.
As he walked past her he placed a brief kiss on her forehead and slid onto the sofa, stretching out and letting the quietness of home sink into his bones. She was already back to her typing, nodding to herself as she worked through whatever was in front of her. It was one of those things he found himself both fascinated by and grateful for—she didn’t need him to fill the silence. She seemed just fine with her job, her laptop, her little rituals that didn’t have anything to do with him.
Oscar watched her for a moment before pulling out his phone, scrolling through emails and messages. A lot of them were about his upcoming sponsorship deal, a whirlwind of numbers and logistics. He thought about calling his manager to check the final figures but decided against it. Just thinking about it wore him out.
He read email after email as he heard the scrape of a chair, he looked up to see her stand up and take a call in their terrace, something he adored about this house.
Then his phone rang, Mark, he picked up automatically. “Yeah, hey,” he said, voice still soft from the calmness of the evening. As he talked through the details with him, he realised he needed to jot something down. With no pen or paper in reach, he glanced over to the dining table where she always kept a notepad beside her tea.
Oscar rose, walking over to her seat, quietly picking up her pen. But as he did, his eyes fell onto the screen of her laptop, where her banking app was open.
It was one glance, just a flicker of his eyes, but enough for him to catch sight of the balance there. He paused mid-sentence, his own words catching in his throat.
That number didn’t look right.
Surely it was missing a decimal.
Wrapping up the conversation with Mark, he wrote down what he needed, and looked at the screen once more. In that time, she’d walked back into the room, her feet padding on the cool granite of their dining room floor.
Oscar couldn’t take his eyes off the screen.
"Hey," he said, voice a little strained, still trying to process what he was seeing. "Uh…how much money do you make?"
She blinked, the corner of her mouth lifting in that effortless way of hers. "Enough," she said with a little laugh. "Why?"
Oscar blinked, struggling to wrap his head around it. This was his girlfriend—quiet, low-key, not a trace of the usual high-gloss life he’d always associated with wealth. He’d seen people obsess over money, hover around him just because of it, make a whole lifestyle out of it. But her? She was the woman who insisted on bringing packed lunches to work, who chose thrift shops over boutiques, who still wore her decade-old watch without a second thought. She was content. Comfortable. But this…
"That’s…a lot of ‘enough,’" he said, pointing at the screen, unable to mask the amazement in his voice.
She just shrugged and closed her laptop, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "I guess I don’t really talk about it, huh? Not exactly first-date conversation."
He leaned back against the table, watching her with a strange mix of awe and curiosity. "Not even, like, fourth-date conversation."
"To be fair, I didn’t ask what you make, either," she pointed out, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Money’s not really…our thing."
He felt a laugh bubble up in his chest. She was right, and yet, here he was, dumbfounded. She’d been living in his world all this time, never asking him for anything, never trying to claim any part of the lavish life he could provide. Now, he realised, maybe she didn’t need it at all.
"So…why not mention it?" he asked, still trying to understand. "I mean, I just assumed…" He trailed off, feeling a little sheepish.
"I know," she said, her smile turning gentle. "I guess I liked that you assumed. It made things easier. It let me be just…me. No expectations, no need to fit into any box."
Oscar nodded slowly, taking that in. It made sense, but it still felt surreal. Here was someone who, from the very beginning, hadn’t wanted anything from him other than his time, his company. She wasn’t here for his lifestyle or his status, things he’d been conditioned to believe were a part of every relationship he’d ever have.
He glanced at her laptop again, unable to stop himself from wondering. “So, wait—what exactly do you do? Something like…senior management?” he asked, half-joking, his tone teasing.
Oscar chuckled, shaking his head as the absurdity of it all settled in. He was still trying to wrap his head around the whole idea—his girlfriend, his laid-back, thrift-shop-loving girlfriend, was apparently not only financially secure but really well off.
She raised her eyebrows, a sly smile creeping across her face. “Something like that,” she replied, taking a sip of her tea.
He squinted at her, suspicious. “Oh, come on, don’t leave me hanging. How high up are you, really?”
She glanced away, as if considering her words, and then said it, almost like a casual aside. “I’m the CEO.”
He blinked, the statement hanging in the air like a punchline he hadn’t quite caught. “Wait…CEO? As in, like, the CEO?”
She laughed, shrugging it off like it was nothing. “Just of a mid-sized company, Oscar. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Darling,” he said slowly, realising dawning. “What company?”
She paused, her eyes darting away, and he could see the hint of mischief there. “Ever heard of Catalyst?”
“Catalyst…wait, as in Catalyst Dynamics?” he asked, his voice growing louder with shock. “The same Catalyst Dynamics that sponsors my team?”
She pressed her lips together, trying—and failing—not to smile. “Do they?”
“Oh, you are kidding me!” he exclaimed, grinning in disbelief. “You’ve been secretly spoiling me this whole time!”
She shook her head, looking away as though he’d accused her of something scandalous. “Oscar, it’s a sponsorship, not a…spoiling thing. Besides, that’s business. I keep it separate from…this.” She gestured between the two of them, clearly trying to play it cool.
But Oscar wasn’t buying it, not for a second. “Oh, no you don’t.” Before she could say another word, he leaned down, scooping her up and carrying her toward the sofa.
“Oscar!” she yelped, laughing, half-protesting, but she didn’t resist.
He set her down on the cushions, pinning her playfully as he hovered above her, grinning with that spark of mischief that usually only showed up on race day. “You’ve been keeping this a secret, haven’t you? The big boss lady, looking out for me, pretending you’re just this regular 9-to-5 woman…”
“Oscar, I’m not spoiling—”
“Oh, we’ll see about that.” He grinned wider, fingers finding her sides as he started tickling her, his hands relentless. She burst into laughter, twisting and squirming, but he didn’t let up.
“Okay, okay!” she managed between laughs, her breath coming in gasps as he kept up his assault. “I admit it, I admit it!”
“Admit what?” he asked, pausing, a playful gleam in his eyes as he waited for her to say it.
“Fine!” She was breathless, cheeks flushed from laughter. “Maybe I had a tiny bit of a hand in sponsoring your team, maybe. But it wasn’t to spoil you! It was just…good business.”
He chuckled, finally letting up, settling beside her on the sofa. “Good business, huh?”
She took a deep breath, still smiling as she nudged him. “I mean it. I didn’t want you to feel any pressure…or obligation. This—us—is different.”
Oscar looked at her, his heart feeling fuller than he’d expected. “Different is right.” He slipped an arm around her, pulling her close. “Guess I’m just lucky to be dating a CEO with a secret soft spot.”
She laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder, content. “And I guess I’m lucky to be with someone who never needed me to be anything but…me.”
As they settled into a comfortable silence, Oscar’s mind was still spinning, pieces clicking into place one by one. He glanced around their beautiful apartment—the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sleek, minimalist design. The place had always felt like an oasis, calm and understated, like Anna herself. But something new was nagging at him now.
“Wait…” He looked down at her, narrowing his eyes. “That’s why you won’t let me pay rent, isn’t it? You said this place was your dad’s, but it’s not, is it?”
She bit her lip, trying not to smile, but the faintest hint of a smirk gave her away. “Well…okay, maybe it wasn’t technically my dad’s. He…may not have anything to do with it.”
“Sweetheart!” he said, laughing as he sat up, staring at her in mock betrayal. “So you’ve just been letting me think I’m staying at this family-owned place when all this time you’re the one paying for it?”
She shrugged, looking at him with playful innocence. “It’s already been paid for. Besides,” she added, her smile widening, “I like the idea of you feeling at home here without any pressure.”
“Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m onto you now. You may be this relaxed, low-key CEO, but you’ve secretly been spoiling me this entire time. Admit it!”
She laughed, a bright, carefree sound. “Fine, I admit it—I may have bought this place. Technically. But it’s still your home, too.”
Oscar pulled her close again, marvelling at how effortlessly she balanced everything—her high-powered job, their quiet, easygoing life together, her uncanny ability to make him feel like the luckiest man in the world. “You know what?” he murmured, looking into her eyes. “I don’t care if you own half of Monaco. You’re still my love.”
She grinned, leaning her forehead against his. “Good,” she whispered. “Because you’re stuck with me.”
They stayed like that for a moment, her nestled into him, the quiet warmth of the room settling around them. But Oscar couldn’t resist one more question, the thought gnawing at him.
He tilted her chin up to meet his gaze, a smirk playing on his lips. “Alright, one last thing, Miss CEO.” He paused, eyes twinkling. “Is your net worth bigger than mine?”
She tried to stifle a laugh, her eyes darting away as if avoiding the answer itself. “Oscar…”
He gasped, leaning back in exaggerated shock. “Oh my god, it is, isn’t it? You’ve got me beat!”
“I’m not answering that,” she said, biting back a smile as she pressed her lips together stubbornly.
“You don’t need to,” he replied, grinning even wider. “The silence says it all. Here I thought I was the big shot, and my girlfriend’s out here just quietly sitting on an empire.”
She laughed, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Well, maybe I just like watching you think you’re the fancy one.”
He pulled her close again, laughing softly. “Alright, fine. But don’t think I won’t bring this up anytime you try to sneak the bill.”
She grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Deal.”
Oscar chuckled, still shaking his head in disbelief. He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling as if he’d just pieced together some incredible mystery. “You know, our kid is going to be spoiled,” he said, the words slipping out with a grin.
He felt her shift beside him, and when he looked down, her expression had softened, her eyes faraway, a little spark of excitement in them. “They won’t,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Humble start, just like we both had.”
“Oh, so you’ll be the strict parent, then?” he teased, arching an eyebrow. “The one laying down the law?”
She laughed, giving him a gentle shove. “So I’m the bad cop?”
“Absolutely. I’m not budging on this.” He grinned, taking her hands in his as he leaned in close. “You’ve been lying to me for four years about practically everything. I think that officially makes you the bad cop in this relationship.”
She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face was warm, even a little shy. “Fine, I’ll take ‘bad cop’… but only if you’re ready to be the softie who gives in.”
Oscar laughed, wrapping his arms around her, feeling that sense of joy settle in even deeper. “Deal, I was already planning on it” he whispered, his voice full of promise. And as he held her close, he realised he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Oscar pulled her even closer, his hands resting gently on her cheeks as he took in the warmth of her gaze, her face illuminated softly in the low light. The playful edge between them softened into something deeper, and the laughter faded into quiet, shared breath.
Slowly, he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a soft, lingering kiss that held all the words they hadn’t said. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, fingers curling there as she melted into him, and for a moment, everything—the teasing, the surprises, the whole world around them—faded away.
the end.
#f1#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#mclaren#oscar piastri f1#oscar piastri imagine#oscar x you#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x yn#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri x oc#f1 fic#f1 x reader#mclaren formula 1#formula one x reader#formula one x y/n#formula one x you#formula one x oc#formula 1#f1 x female reader#f1 x y/n#f1 x you#oscar piastri fluff#oscar piastri angst#oscar piastri series#romance#oscar piastri blurb
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
I’ve always been a pretty good liar. As an adult I’ve come to a moral place in which I don’t use that skill set unless it will explicitly benefit someone. But when I was a kid all bets were off.
I think tiny child me was doing their little autistic best but recognized that some situations would be best navigated by lying as telling the truth never netted positive results. Whether it was because my needs often went unmet or ignored, or because I didn’t see any reason not to lie if it would be more favorable, I’m not sure.
This is the story of my proudest lie. The best lie I ever did. A lie that looking back I still go, damn, I was eight.
Our story begins in second grade. I was eight. My school was having a book fair and I spent my small stipend on Gulliver’s Travels. No idea why. Lacking further funds I wandered the fair and came upon the greatest sight known to man. Frog erasers. They were so cute and I was extremely into animals of all kinds.
The whimsy. Who could have known they made erasers in such wonderful shapes? I mourned that I’d spent my money already, and played quietly with the little frogs in their bin. That’s when I was approached by a few other kids from my class.
I didn’t know most of them very well, but enough that it was civil when they asked me, “Are you going to buy those frogs?”
“I’d like to,” I admitted, “but I spent all my money.”
“Why don’t you steal them?”
“I thought about that, but I don’t have pockets.” Indeed, stealing had crossed my mind but it had been a brief temptation. I wasn’t even scandalized that the other girls suggested it.
“Caitlin has pockets,” the leader of the pack said. And indeed, Caitlin in her purple overalls did have pocket space for two frogs. So Caitlin and I became partners. My role in the escapade was just... wanting frogs and walking out with her. We stole two frogs, a yellow and a purple, and united by the misdeed we played together with them at recess despite not really being friendly prior.
After lunch I was called from class to the library. The principal herself was there waiting for me. She had a somber air, almost mournful that she needed to punish me. It was self evident to me that I was here for frog crimes. Caitlin had cracked and taken the fastest route to forgiveness- snitching on an accomplice. Despite the fact that my role was just: wanted frogs, I knew I was going to be in trouble.
Now, I could have told the truth. Pulled a Caitlin and ratted on the girl who told us to steal them. But clearly I’d still be in trouble for having gone along with the morally bereft plan. I was mad at Caitlin for telling but not enough to foist the onus back into her.
“Do you know why you’re here?” The principal asked kindly.
“Is it about the frogs?”
“Yes, Caitlin told us you stole the frogs.”
I quivered my lip and drew myself up indignantly. “I didn’t steal them!”
She blinked at my vehemence but since I looked near tears she carefully asked, “What happened?”
“I really wanted the frogs, but I didn’t have any money. So I asked the librarian if I could take them and bring the money tomorrow! But she was really busy and lots of people were talking to her, and she said yes! But maybe she was saying yes to someone else? And I thought it was to me but Caitlin didn’t, but I was going to bring money tomorrow!”
The principal. Was flummoxed. This was a situation in which I clearly thought I’d done no wrong, in which she couldn’t prove I had done anything wrong, and which the librarian would almost certainly not be able to weigh in. She regarded me not with suspicion but rather vaguely confused as to how to handle me.
I got off with a slight warning that I should pay for things before taking them, despite not having been the one to take things in the first place, and the frogs were confiscated.
I was vaguely worried they’d call my parents but years later when I admitted the story to my mom as an adult she laughed herself sick and said she’d never gotten a call.
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
you'd never really put this much effort in at other houses. while you're scrubbing the countertops to remove every last bit of evidence that someone—anyone—had made a mess there, you think about the other houses you used to babysit for.
used to, since there was no need to babysit anymore. mister cameron, who will always remain mister cameron—no matter how much he reminds you to call him rafe—actually pays you double what your other families did. he's a busy guy. you know this for a fact—single dad and some big business guy that people in town used to talk about all the time when you used to listen—so he'd have last minute emergencies and random business calls all the time.
his exact words had been something along the lines of "don't wanna share you with anyone else," but even thinking about that encounter makes your face burn with so much intensity that you think you're going to collapse. that's not what he meant, obviously, he was trying to tell you in nicer words that it was annoying when you replied to his texts explaining how another family had booked you already for that night. so when he upped your rate and said that he'd even pay to say no to others, just in case, you would have been really stupid to say no.
you don't hear much about him anymore, when you're out and about. you spend so much time at the cameron house that your own little apartment seems like nothing more than a bed and a place to get ready before leaving. you practically eat three meals a day with the baby, so even your grocery shopping is in that part of town—all organic, expensive places where you talk to the baby and try to get her opinion on which vegetable puree she'd like to try this week.
it's kind of like playing pretend. no, it's really like playing pretend. you used to dress in the normal, comfortable clothes that were sufficient for babysitting every other family—overalls and sneakers—but now you don't fit in unless you're in a pretty dress and nice sandals. you stay in one outfit from when you show up before mister cameron leaves to when you drive home at the end of the night.
that's the other thing—your car. you've made it work with the same one since you could first drive. it's a little rusty, a little dinged up, but safe as can be. it's nothing fancy but it got you around. but now you do other things for rafe that you never did for other families—grocery shopping and errands and the occasional doctor's appointment if rafe really, really can't make it. you don't mind at all—it's fun to play pretend and you love her like she's your own, but mister cameron tries to make it to every appointment himself, because he really cares about his daughter. it's admirable because you don't see it in every single household.
you hadn't thought there was anything wrong with your car until one day you couldn't get the air conditioning to work, and the back window got jammed and the baby looked so uncomfortable that you had to skip out on whatever you were supposed to do that day. when mister cameron came home that night you apologized so much that you started crying—because really, you never thought there was something wrong with your car and you didn't want to make the baby drive in the heat, just in case. you think he'll be mad, there's no groceries and his suit is still at the cleaner's, and the lotion that you use every night after bathtime has ran out and there'll be none for tomorrow—but he's not.
he's not mad at all. he seems... tired. he seems worried. the first thing he asks that night is if you and the baby are okay. when you nod, afraid that this is the calm before the storm, he sighs.
"good. that's all i care about," and the way he says it—you believe him right away. maybe that's the night your little crush on mister cameron started forming. it'd always been there in the background, you'd be an idiot of massive proportions to deny it. but it felt different somehow, watching him roll up his sleeves and pulling out whatever ingredients there were left over to make dinner with, something that you normally tried to have done every night for him, while telling you to take a seat.
that night he asks about your car—how old is it, when'd you get it, how many miles. do you like the model? would you want bigger, smaller, a different color? it's just conversation—he probably likes cars with the way there's a really nice in the garage under a sheet and a nice but safer one that he takes to work everyday.
(while he's cooking pasta and cutting vegetables, you try to get up and help, but he meets your eyes and shakes his head. wordlessly, you obey and sit back down.)
that's the first night things felt different. you drove home a little giddy, later than normal, stomach full and heart a little too happy that you found it in yourself to finally have a real, nice conversation with mister cameron. you're as shy as they come but your interactions with him are limited—before work, a phone call at lunch (though recently, his first question hasn't been about the baby... it's been how are my girls?), and after work before you leave.
it feels good to know that you're doing something right, that you're good at this even on your bad days. you make a point to leave your place extra early that week, stopping at the pharmacy and picking up the lotion so it's one less thing to worry about. your window still won't roll down and you'll have to figure out how to get the groceries delivered, crossing your fingers that it doesn't cost that much more.
you show up a couple minutes early and go inside to sort out the stuff for the baby before she wakes, when you find mister cameron in the nursery.
"good morning," you say quietly, though it comes out a little above a whisper. she's still sleeping, even though you haven't glanced in the crib, you know her schedule like the back of your hand.
"hey, kid," he says, and your heart starts to thud a little faster. mister cameron's nicknames for you don't make an appearance everyday but for some reason, it has today. he hovers over the crib, watching the baby's chest rise and fall with each breath. you go over to join him, placing the lotion on the dresser. he notices the bottle and turns back to you. "you didn't have to do that."
"she needs it," you reply quietly. "it's the only one she likes. and i was up early anyways."
"thank you." it comes out with such sincerity that you're a little taken aback.
"of course, mister cameron. it's nothing," you smile up at him. he glances back at you, smiling and then turning to his daughter again. "i'm gonna go start on her breakfast."
you make your way to the door when he says your name.
"there's keys on the kitchen counter, and the car's in the garage. i'd like it if you started using that car instead."
and really—how are you supposed to respond to that? you stammer out an 'of course, mister cameron' and go downstairs, crossing your fingers that he made a mistake, or that he wants you to drive his car until you fix yours and he'll take the nice one tucked away in the garage.
but when you make it to the counter, and then head to the garage, your eyes nearly fall out of your head. a brand new pair of car keys, to match the brand new car in the garage. your arguments fall on deaf ears—this is way too much for anyone. yes, you're pretty much throwing money away by still paying rent and the cost of getting your car fixed could probably be enough to start paying for a better one, but this is too much. way too much. it's not normal. right?
but you have no one to ask. the baby's not old enough for playdates, and the girls who replaced you at your old houses are pretty much all high school seniors. on mister cameron's side of town, there's only nannies and au pairs, and they'd probably think you're crazy for turning down such a nice gesture.
and it is a nice gesture. mister cameron listens to every word you say, even when you're not paying attention to your own sentence. the car is exactly how you described—the color you wanted, the size you said would be nice one day incase there's ever a playdate or another baby or whatever the case may be. it's shiny and brand-new and completely undeserving of you. but he doesn't listen.
somewhere along the next month, you realize you could get really used to this. mister cameron does have a point—you're taking care of his daughter every day, so it only makes sense to make sure she's as safe as can be. you make a mental note that if you ever—for whatever idiotic reason—choose to leave this perfect job, you'll make sure he gets the car back.
there comes a point where the relationship... makes its way to the next level. at the end of every week, you have to settle the bills. co-pays at appointments, grocery receipts, the invoice from the gardener that didn't go through so you had given him your own cash so mister cameron wouldn't have to deal with it from work. it adds up, so once the baby is asleep on saturday night, the two of you eat dinner and go through everything.
but this time, he hands you a card instead. a shiny black credit card that spells out his name on the back.
"makes it a bit easier, right? just use this instead. we won't have to settle every week anymore."
"right," you agree, your smile fading quickly. you try to put on a front, a false expression so he doesn't notice your disappointment. saturday nights with mister cameron—him with his beer and you with a glass of wine—once the baby is asleep, sorting out bills and making conversation that almost felt like you belonged here, had unknowingly become your favorite part of the week. sometimes it would go until midnight, talking about things that were neither here nor there.
it's how you learned why he's a single dad, what he does for work, how he feels about his job and how much time it takes away from his daughter. it's why you started sending him photo and video updates everyday so he wouldn't feel like he's missing out on as much, it's why you make sure to craft the baby's bedtime routine around him coming home, so they have their time together.
"somethin' wrong?" he asks, after taking another sip of beer. you're snapped out of your thoughts, focusing instead of how rafe looks today. tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, fingers curled around the beer bottle.
you don't know how any woman on earth could have walked away from this.
"n-nothing. no. thank you, mister cameron, this is great. i'll make sure-"
"it's rafe from now on—remember, kid?"
"yes. sorry, i-"
you couldn't get out of there fast enough that night. it's almost a subtle reminder from the universe—you're not part of that family. you're the nanny who got too attached, who pretended that she fit in too much to a family that's not hers.
you still wear your nicer clothes, you still drive around his nice car. but you try to remind yourself every now and then that this isn't your real life.
the next day, it's like the universe has decided that it's mad at you for coming to this conclusion.
pouring rain the second you get into the car. your raincoat and umbrella and a sensible pair of shoes remain inside your apartment, and if you sit in idle any longer, you're going to be late to mister cameron's. he'll want to leave early since it's raining, so he's probably expecting you any minute.
the roads are a mess—it's monsooning for no reason and people forget how to drive. you honk no less than three times at idiots on the road before getting scared that someone will road-rage you. when you pull into the garage—because yes, mister cameron insists that you park inside and that he can park outside— you're frazzled and sweating and your day hasn't even started yet.
rafe's almost ready to leave, which is another damper on an already bad morning—if he has time, the two of you eat breakfast together. you tell him to drive safe and apologize for being late when he rushes past you, leaning in to kiss your cheek and telling you that he might he home late today, and to have a good day. you don't realize what's happened until he's gone, the door closing behind him.
you stand in the foyer with your mouth open until you hear the baby monitor. from that point on—it's one thing after another. the baby is fussy today, which is the most unusual part of the day. she's never like this, and you conclude that she must be getting sick or something. it's just as well, because there's no reason to go out or to take her out in this weather. she cries, and you try to help, even cave and put on some episodes of little bear to see if something would distract her. but the poor thing just doesn't feel good, and has no way to tell you how.
the hours fly by, and your head even hurts a little from the crying and the overthinking about the kiss from this morning. in all the rush, you eat about two bites of lunch before the baby needs something else.
and then at the end of the day, right around when rafe should be coming home, he doesn't.
you feed the baby and rock her to sleep. she fusses ten minutes later, and spits up all over you and your hair, and then knocks out. you even spend twenty minutes hovering over the monitor, making sure she's okay while drying your hair. rafe's still not home, so you get dinner ready and warmed for him, eating yours alone in the silence. and as if you could handle another thing, you spill sauce all over your dress while trying to put away the leftovers.
you were going to wait until you were back home, safe in your tiny apartment to cry and shower and scrub your skin raw from the day you've had, but it can't wait any longer. you take the monitor into the bathroom with you at full volume, and decide to shower in the bathroom closest to the baby's room just to be safe.
it's not until you're naked, wrapped in a soft towel and waiting for the water to get scalding hot, racking your brain for the location of the extra clothes you had once brought here that you realize the shower closest to the baby's room is the shower in rafe's bedroom.
you haven't been in here before—looking around at the expensive cologne on the counter and the dark blue towels and the hamper full of yesterday's dress shirt. it's not a good idea to be in here, but you need to shower and you can't wait another minute. for all you know, mister cameron could come home in another two hours. your dress is spinning in the washer—and your plan is set. throw it in the dryer, find something to wear for the next fifty minutes, and leave as soon as he's home even though you can hear the raindrops on the roof and the thunder outside.
the shower is what you have been needing all day. you wish you had your body wash and shampoo, but his aren't too bad. you inhale deeply, realizing you're submerging yourself in his scent. you could stay in there forever, but you don't—he's gonna be home any minute or the baby could start crying, and you need to go home.
but he smells so good. you've noticed it before, it just feels amplified now. the towel you wrap yourself in is his, meaning he's dried himself with it before. all the clothes smell like his cologne, and the house is a little cold and your clothes are still washing, and though it's probably the worst idea you've ever had, when you get out of the shower, you head to his dresser and pull out the first clean t-shirt you can find.
it's big on you, you knew it would be. it's soft and warm and smells undeniably like mister cameron. you're completely clueless, exhausted because the baby barely napped and you barely got any sleep yourself, and it's way past your own bedtime right now. he might not even come home, you think, with how the storm sounds. you check your phone but there's no messages, just a flood warning.
yesterday's socks and underwear are still spinning in the machine—how long does this thing take? what setting had you put it on?—and you begrudgingly leave rafe's warm bedroom with the baby monitor in one hand, and his navy blue towel in the other, drying your hair. you turn on the television, watching whatever's on while you pat your strands dry, bending over to wrap your hair into the towel so you can sit for a couple minutes, when you hear the door open.
you snap back up, looking at rafe's face stare back at you—he's drenched, hair wet and suit dripping, wiping his forehead with his hand when he looks you up and down. oh god, you don't even know what he just saw, you were bent over and-
"is that my shirt?"
#this is like.. shy!babysitter reader x older!dad rafe <3#hope everyone likes!!! not proofread#i need to go back to studying#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#shy reader#dad!rafe
663 notes
·
View notes
Note
Logan in a rut has me brain rotted. I’d love if you could write something about this. I think he would try and isolate himself not matter what but it gets to the point where he can’t hold back anymore and needs relief. Idk if he would be more possessive and rough or if he would end up whiny and desperate almost subby.
note: this is a younger Logan Howlett who ends up a bit subby. he would 100% beg the reader to help him because he would be too embarrassed and shy to just man up and dominate her (we have different thoughts of Logan almost every day).
we will be worrying more rut!logan once we get caught up with our college work. we wanna make bro nasty…
———
Logan’s time has come. He hoped it wouldn’t show, but every day that passed, it gets worse. The first day, all he had to do was rub one out, but after the second, he knew he was fucked.
He couldn’t help himself. He fucked his pillow. The man was beyond fucked up that night. He had ripped his pillow open with his claws and buried his cock inside, moaning the girl's name like he’s never before.
Y/n and Logan had been friends for years. A little flirting here and there happens. They might even get a bit touchy but never have they sat and talked about what they were. Especially since the man was known for keeping his flirt up with Jean.
Logan wasn’t surprised when the only person he could think of was y/n. She was pretty, her body always sent a shock through his own, her eyes would have him lost in seconds, and she was the only one around here with common sense.
At times, he hated all those good things about her. Like now. He’s sitting across from her in the kitchen, watching her sip on her drink and watch YouTube on her phone.
All the innocent things she does, makes him so damn hard. He can’t help himself. “G-Goodnight,” Logan said as he got up to leave. He needed to rub one out again. Maybe he’d sneak into her room and cum on her sheets. He needed something that was close enough to her.
“Aw, I was gonna ask if you could walk and get some wood with me, but I’ll get it myself. Goodnight, Logan!” She smiled at the man before he turned the corner, needing to get out of there.
He hoped he could get himself to go upstairs without struggling. Without turning back around to beg Y/n, he couldn’t hold it after her thought of her saying she’d be getting wood tonight.
It’s been almost an hour, and Logan is sitting on the stairs, cock pulsing through his thick jeans. He swore his balls were blue already.
He almost got up to get this over with and grab y/n, pulling her somewhere to at least cum on her face, but he heard the lights cut off in the kitchen.
He peaked around the corner, seeing y/n walk down the hallway and out of the mansion to do her night walk for some wood.
“Fuck,” the man groaned, already thinking of how good he’ll be feeling once he gets his hands on her. He needed to touch her. It’s only been a few short days, but he can’t control it anymore.
The man stalked behind y/n, making sure she wouldn’t sense anything behind her as she walked through the woods with a huge bag to carry back a few dry sticks.
Logan shook his head at the sight of her headphones, knowing she couldn’t hear a thing around her. This was a safe place, but now that he was going through this feeling from hell, it wasn’t anymore. At least for her.
Y/n placed her bag down and took her headphones out before picking up thick and dry wood that she could use for the fire tomorrow night. The way she sang, only made the man want her more. He needed her now.
“Hey, y/n?” Logan spoke, making y/n jump from the unexpected presence of someone else. “Oh, god! Hey, Logan,” the girl smiled up at him as he walked towards her, looking down.
“I-I know this is kind of a weird time, but I need to ask you a question,” Logan said, feeling nervous now that she’s right here. “Yes, ask me anything,” she smiled as she shifted her body towards him.
“Fuck, I — Y/n, I’m going rough a rut,” the man blurted out. This was not a part of his plan. He was going to turn y/n around and shove his cock in her mouth before carrying her back to the mansion, but now he’s stuck.
“Oh — I-I don’t really know what that means, but I can still help you,” she said. “Y/n, it hurts,” the man spoke. His voice came off as a beg which made y/n feel sad for him, even though she had no idea what hurt.
“What is it, Lo? Tell me, and I’ll help you,” she went to get up, but Logan stepped towards her and placed a hand on her head, softly pushing her back down. “It hurts,” the man shifted her head just a little, making her realize his print was right in front of her face.
“Logan,” she said, loss of words at the sight of how hard his cock tried fighting through his jeans. “I-I don’t know what to do about that. Maybe take some pills. Cool it down?” She suggested, but he shook his head.
“Need you, y/n. I need you,” the man said low, needing her to touch him. “I-“ the girl cut herself off, taking a deep dive into her thoughts. The man sounded like he was in horrible pain. He was a friend, so this wouldn’t be bad, right?
“Okay, but I don’t know if it’ll help,” she said, not knowing that this would be more than enough. Y/n slowly reached up to unbuckle his belt. She could see his legs shaking a little from how nervous he was.
He had no idea what came over him. At first, he was going to get what he wanted. Use her like an animal, but now — Seeing her like this and willing to help him, made him feel better. She was going to take care of him.
“P-Please hurry,” the man begged as her hands slid down his clothes cock through his boxers after his shorts fell to his knees. “Did you cum?” Y/n asked, confused but the wet patch was only pre cum. A lot of pre cum.
“P-Please, y/n, fuck,” the man balled his fists, trying to keep himself from crumbling right then and there. He needed to leak in her mouth. No place else. Only her mouth.
“Okay, okay,” y/n worried as she finally pulled his cock out, and god, was he hurting. The veins that covered his cock, showed like crazy. His tip was sticky. His balls were stiff and ready to explode.
“Baby, please!” The man begged louder. Y/n quickly wrapped her lips around his cock and sunk down to take him all in. Well, as much as she could. He was very big.
“G-God,” the man breathed out as his head tilted back. “Oh my god, thank you. Thank you so fuckin’ much, baby,” Logan covered his face with his hands as his heart raised, feeling himself close.
“Oh, fuck, baby — yes,” the man moaned as she quickens her paste, slurping and coating his cock with her spit as she sucked a big roughly.
“Baby, please, let me cum. P-Please, I need to cum,” the man begged, wanting her to decide what he could do. Y/n nodded her head, not knowing what else to do, but she wanted him to cum. Have wanted to make him feel better.
“T-Thank you,” Logan moans loudly as his col twitched, spilling down the girl's throat. Y/n continued, sucking the man as his eyes crossed from the feeling of her emptying his sack.
“G-God,” he couldn’t keep himself together. She was so good at this. He wished he could have this every night before he went to bed.
“S-So good, y/n. So fuckin’ good,” the man let the woman know how great she was. Y/n’s glossy eyes looked up at him, feeling herself grow wet, but she knew she could deal with it herself.
“Get up, baby. Needa takes you back to my room,” Logan pulled y/n to her feet. Confused, the young lady allowed him to throw her over his shoulders.
“I can smell you, and I don’t want to leave you leaking for the night,” Logan said as he walked back towards the mansion. “I’ll be fine, Logan. I-I need to head to bed,” y/n spoke, a bit nervous about this all.
She thought that after she did him this small favor, that would be it. He had other plans. He wasn’t letting her go.
“You’ll sleep with me tonight. Tomorrow we’ll move your stuff to my room so you can sleep there every night,” the man thought way further than she thought.
“I don’t know if we can do that. We’ll have to tell Charles about our shared room, meaning everyone has to know, and I don’t know-“ she tried saying, but he cut her off.
“Baby, please. I’m fine with everyone knowing about what happened tonight. I can’t ignore how much I need you anymore,” Logan admitted.
“What if this happened again? What if I couldn’t walk to you from how hard I was? You do this to me, baby, so I need your help — I need you,”
Y/n sighed to herself then accepted what he wanted. Logan gave the girl a small peck on her side as he continued walking towards the mansion.
#logan howlett x fem!reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett xmen#logan howlett x reader#logan howlet smut#logan howlett smut#sub!logan howlett#james howlett x you#james howlett x reader#james howlett smut#james howlett#sub!james howlett#wolverine x female reader#wolverin smut#wolverine x you#wolverine x reader#wolverine smut#wolverine xmen#wolverine x men#wolverine#sub!wolverine#hugh jackman x you#hugh jackman x reader#hugh jackman smut#hugh jackman#sub!hugh jackman#x men smut#x men x reader#x men x you#18+ minors dni
1K notes
·
View notes