#say or ask me something in response to my points

[pucksandpower]

Critics and Lovers

Max Verstappen x journalist!Reader

Summary: how would the paddock react if they knew that the woman writing scathing critiques about the reigning world champion weekend after weekend was the same woman who whispers sweet nothings in his ear at night?

“Did you really go to school for half a decade to get your journalism degree just to ask if I think I’ll win?”

Max’s voice cuts through the bustle of the press room, drawing the attention of a few journalists milling around with their notebooks and recorders. He leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, his smirk more amused than annoyed. His blue eyes — always so intense under the brim of his cap — lock onto yours, daring you to respond.

You raise an eyebrow, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at him. “I’m asking the questions the people want answers to, Max. It’s my job, remember?”

“Your job is to provoke me, apparently,” he counters, leaning forward slightly, his smirk widening. “But you know, you could at least pretend to be creative. Ask something that might surprise me for once.”

“I wasn’t aware you had the capacity to be surprised,” you quip, your pen hovering over your notepad as if ready to jot down his response.

Max lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Touché. But if you’re expecting me to give you a soundbite for your next article, you’ll have to do better than that.”

The exchange draws a few chuckles from the nearby journalists, but they quickly refocus on their own tasks, used to the banter between the two of you. After all, it’s no secret that you’re Max Verstappen’s biggest critic.

Week after week, your articles dissect his performances with surgical precision, never shying away from pointing out his flaws, his temper, his moments of questionable judgment. To everyone else, you’re just doing your job, holding one of the sport’s biggest stars accountable. But to Max — well, he seems to take it in stride, brushing off your critiques with the same ease he shows on track.

What no one else knows, though, is that this verbal sparring is just another part of the complicated dance you and Max have been perfecting for years. A dance that begins in front of cameras and microphones, and ends in private, where the lines between your professional rivalry and personal relationship blur into something neither of you can fully define.

“Okay, fine,” you say, pretending to think hard about your next question. “How about this: what’s your plan for today? Any new strategies to surprise us with?”

Max raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “That’s almost worse than your first question. Did you really think that would get me talking?”

You sigh, exasperated. “Maybe if you gave me a straight answer for once, I wouldn’t have to keep asking.”

He leans in closer, lowering his voice just enough so only you can hear. “Maybe if you asked me something off the record, I’d actually consider it.”

“Off the record doesn’t sell papers, Max,” you reply, your tone equally low but tinged with something more affectionate, something that would be impossible to miss for anyone paying close attention.

Max’s smirk softens into something more sincere, his eyes flickering with the warmth that you’ve come to associate with the quiet moments you share away from the track, away from the scrutiny of the world.

It’s a look that says he knows you’re playing a role, just like he is. That despite the biting comments and the professional jabs, there’s a mutual understanding between you. A connection that runs deeper than anything either of you would ever admit in public.

But here, in this crowded room filled with reporters who’d kill for the kind of scoop only you could provide, that connection has to stay hidden. Because if anyone ever found out the truth — if they knew that you, the woman who writes those scathing critiques of Max Verstappen, were the same woman who shares his bed at night — it would be the end of both your careers.

And so, the game continues, with both of you playing your parts to perfection.

“Next time, try asking me something interesting,” Max says, his voice returning to its usual volume as he straightens in his chair, signaling the end of your private moment. “Otherwise, I’ll start thinking you’re getting lazy.”

You give him a look that’s meant to be stern but can’t quite hide the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Lazy? I think you’re confusing me with your performance last weekend.”

The jab earns you a mock glare from Max, but he doesn’t take the bait, instead giving a noncommittal shrug. “We’ll see who’s lazy when I’m on top of the podium later.”

“Confident as ever, I see,” you remark, jotting down a few notes that you know you’ll never actually use.

“Just stating facts,” he says, and for a moment, you can’t help but admire the way he carries himself, the ease with which he navigates this world of high stakes and even higher expectations. It’s one of the things that drew you to him in the first place, back when neither of you had any idea where this relationship was heading.

“Well, good luck out there,” you say, finally stepping back to let the next reporter have their turn. But as you move away, you catch the briefest flash of something in his eyes — something that tells you he’s not just thinking about the race ahead, but about the conversation you’ll have later, away from prying eyes.

As you find a spot at the back of the room, your phone buzzes in your pocket. A quick glance tells you it’s a message from Max, sent under the guise of a work-related email, as usual.

You know I’m going to make you pay for that lazy comment later, right?

You bite back a smile, typing out a quick response.

Promises, promises.

The rest of the press conference goes by in a blur of questions and answers, none of which capture your attention the way Max does. You’re barely listening when the moderator finally wraps things up, and the drivers start to file out.

But before Max can make his exit, he pauses just long enough to catch your eye, giving you a look that’s all too familiar. It’s the same look he gave you the first time you met, back when he was just another driver on the grid and you were the new journalist determined to make a name for yourself. A look that says he’s already planning what he’s going to say to you later, when the cameras are off and the real conversations can begin.

You follow the crowd out of the room, blending in with the other journalists as you make your way toward the paddock. But your thoughts are already drifting to the end of the day, to the moment when you’ll finally be alone with Max, free to drop the pretense and just be yourselves.

Because despite the roles you play in public — the critical journalist and the cocky driver — in private, you’re something else entirely. Something that neither of you can fully explain, but neither of you wants to give up.

“Heading back to the media center?” One of your colleagues asks as you step outside, the midday sun beating down on the paddock.

“Yeah, I’ve got a deadline to meet,” you reply, forcing your mind back to the task at hand. But even as you say it, you know that your thoughts will be elsewhere for the rest of the day. On Max, and the secret you both share. A secret that, for now, is safe.

But how long can it stay that way?

The question lingers in your mind as you head back to your desk, the usual chatter of the paddock fading into the background. You’ve always known that this arrangement couldn’t last forever, that eventually, something would give.

The world of Formula 1 is too small, too tightly knit, for secrets like this to stay buried forever. And when the truth finally comes out — because it’s not a matter of if, but when — you know that everything will change.

But for now, you push those thoughts aside, focusing on the article you need to write. It’s what you’re good at, after all — crafting narratives, shaping stories. And today, the story is about Max, the driver who never fails to surprise you, both on and off the track.

The press room is quieter now, most of the other journalists having moved on to other tasks. You sit down at your laptop, the screen reflecting your determined expression. The cursor blinks at you, waiting. And as you begin to type, the words flow easily, the story taking shape with each keystroke.

It’s a story the world has seen before — another race, another analysis of Max Verstappen’s performance. But underneath it all, there’s a subtext that only you can see, a hidden layer that tells the real story. The one that will never make it to print.

The one that belongs to just you and Max.

Hours pass in a blur, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you lose yourself in the work. It’s almost too easy to write about Max, to analyze his every move, his every decision. You know him better than anyone, after all — better than any other journalist in this room, better than most of the people in his life. It’s a knowledge that comes with a price, though, a price you’re all too aware of.

But as the final paragraph falls into place, you sit back, satisfied. The article is done, the narrative complete. And with it, the day’s work is finally over. You stretch, glancing around the empty press room, and for a moment, you allow yourself to relax. To let go of the role you’ve been playing all day, and just be yourself.

Your phone buzzes again, pulling you back to reality. Another message from Max.

Meet me in the usual place?

You don’t hesitate before typing out a reply.

On my way.

The media center is almost deserted as you make your way out, the soft hum of electronics the only sound filling the room. You slip your laptop into your bag and sling it over your shoulder, feeling the weight of the day lift slightly as you step into the paddock. The evening air is cooler now, a welcome relief after the day’s heat, and the sky is streaked with shades of orange and pink as the sun dips below the horizon.

You walk with purpose, navigating the familiar maze of trailers and motorhomes, heading toward the secluded spot where you and Max often meet. It’s tucked away from the main pathways, a place where no one would think to look for you, and that’s exactly why it works. You reach the spot and pause, taking a deep breath before stepping around the corner.

Max is already there, leaning against the side of a trailer, his cap pulled low over his eyes, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks up as you approach, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Took you long enough,” he says, his tone teasing.

“Had to finish that article you’re so eager to read,” you reply, stopping a few feet away from him, just outside the reach of his hands.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s a glowing review of my abilities,” he says, pushing off the trailer and closing the distance between you in two strides. He reaches for your hand, pulling you closer, and you don’t resist. Here, in this quiet corner of the paddock, the walls come down, and the roles you play for the cameras melt away.

“Glowing might be a stretch,” you say, allowing yourself a small smile as his hand lingers on your waist. “But it’s fair.”

“Fair is good,” he murmurs, leaning in so his forehead rests against yours. “But if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re going easy on me.”

“Maybe I am,” you admit, your voice softening. “Or maybe I just think you deserve a break every now and then.”

“From the criticism? Or from you?” He asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Both,” you say, giving him a playful shove, but he doesn’t budge, his grip on you firm yet gentle.

“You know I’d never take a break from you,” he says, his voice low, serious now. His thumb strokes your side, sending a shiver up your spine.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation wash over you. It’s these moments you treasure the most, the ones where it’s just the two of you, no expectations, no pressure. Just Max and you, stripped down to the simplest version of yourselves.

“I know,” you whisper, opening your eyes to meet his gaze. “I’d never let you.”

His smile turns tender, and he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he says simply, before closing the small gap between you and pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft, unhurried, a stark contrast to the fast-paced world you both live in. It’s a reminder of what you have, what you’ve built together despite the odds. And as you kiss him back, you feel a warmth spread through you, one that has nothing to do with the lingering heat of the day.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours again, he lets out a small sigh, as if he’s been holding his breath all day and can finally relax. “I hate this,” he admits quietly.

“Hate what?” You ask, your fingers playing with the edge of his shirt, needing the physical connection to anchor you.

“Hiding,” he says, the word heavy with the weight of months, years of secrecy. “I hate that we have to keep doing this, sneaking around like we’re doing something wrong.”

You feel a pang in your chest, because you hate it too. Hate the way you have to pretend to be something you’re not in front of everyone else. Hate the way you have to watch your words, your actions, every time you’re in the same room as him. But more than that, you hate the idea of what would happen if the truth came out. The scrutiny, the backlash, the way it would change everything.

“I know,” you say softly, your fingers stilling on his shirt. “But it’s the only way right now. We both knew that going into this.”

“I know we did,” he replies, his voice tinged with frustration. “But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No,” you agree, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “It doesn’t.”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and for a while, neither of you says anything. The silence is comforting, a shared understanding that words can’t always convey. It’s moments like these that make the rest of it bearable — the stolen kisses, the secret glances, the knowledge that, no matter what happens, you’ll always have each other.

Eventually, Max pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression softer now, the frustration replaced with something gentler, more resigned. “I just wish it could be different,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Me too,” you admit, your heart aching with the truth of it. “But we’ll get through this, Max. We always do.”

He nods, though you can see the doubt lingering in his eyes. “Yeah, we will,” he says, as if trying to convince himself as much as you. “And when we do, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

“Together,” you echo, holding onto the word like a lifeline.

He leans in to kiss you again, and this time, it’s slower, more deliberate, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail, every sensation. And you let him, because you’re doing the same, savoring the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his hand cradles the back of your head like you’re something precious.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathless, and the world feels a little less heavy, a little less overwhelming. Max rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his breath warm against your skin.

“I love you,” he says, the words so simple, yet so profound in the way they ground you, remind you of what’s important.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice steady, certain.

He smiles then, that slow, genuine smile that’s just for you, the one that makes your heart skip a beat every time. And in that moment, everything else fades away — the doubts, the fears, the uncertainty of what the future holds. Because right now, in this quiet corner of the paddock, it’s just the two of you, and that’s enough.

For now, it’s enough.

“Come on,” Max says after a moment, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Let’s get out of here before someone comes looking for us.”

You nod, and together, you slip out of the shadows, making your way back through the maze of trailers and motorhomes, hand in hand. The paddock is quieter now, most of the crew having called it a day, and the sky is a deep, dusky blue as night settles in.

As you walk, you can’t help but glance at Max, the way his profile is lit by the dim lights of the paddock, the way his grip on your hand never wavers. It’s moments like these that make it all worth it — the sacrifices, the secrecy, the constant balancing act between your public and private lives.

Because at the end of the day, it’s not the criticism or the articles or even the races that matter. It’s this — being with him, knowing that no matter what, you’ll always have each other.

And as you slip out of the paddock together, unnoticed by anyone, you hold onto that thought, letting it carry you through the darkness, through the uncertainty of what tomorrow might bring.

Because for now, it’s enough.

And that’s all you need.

***

The Hidden Truth: Why I Kept My Marriage a Secret

By: Y/N Y/L/N

For as long as I’ve been a journalist, I’ve prided myself on one thing: honesty. I’ve built a career on asking the tough questions, on digging for the truth even when it’s uncomfortable, and on holding the powerful accountable. That’s why, as I sit down to write this, I find myself in an unfamiliar position — one where I’m the subject of my own scrutiny.

Over the past few years, I’ve become known as Max Verstappen’s biggest critic. I’ve questioned his decisions on track, his attitude off it, and his approach to the sport we both love. I’ve written article after article dissecting his every move, never once pulling my punches. And, in doing so, I’ve created a persona that many have come to recognize — a journalist who isn’t afraid to speak her mind, no matter who she’s writing about.

But there’s something I’ve kept hidden. Something I’ve chosen not to share, not because I’m ashamed of it, but because it’s deeply personal. And now, it’s time to tell the truth.

Max Verstappen is my husband.

Yes, you read that correctly. The man I’ve spent years publicly scrutinizing is the same man I wake up next to every morning, the same man who knows me better than anyone else in this world. We’ve been married for two years, together for even longer, and our relationship is something I hold incredibly dear.

I can already hear the questions — how could I, a journalist dedicated to transparency, keep such a monumental secret? How could I write so critically about the man I love, knowing the impact my words would have? The answers are complex, but I’ll do my best to explain.

When Max and I first started dating, it was easy to keep our relationship private. We were just two people trying to navigate the chaotic world of Formula 1, and neither of us wanted the added pressure of public scrutiny. But as our relationship grew more serious, we both knew that revealing it would come with consequences — not just for us, but for our careers, our reputations, and our personal lives.

So we made a choice. We decided that our relationship was something we wanted to protect, something we wanted to keep just for ourselves. And yes, that meant keeping it a secret from the public, from our colleagues, even from some of our closest friends.

But the secrecy wasn’t about hiding. It was about creating a space where we could be ourselves, away from the cameras, the interviews, the constant analysis of every move we made. It was about having something that was ours and ours alone, in a world where so much is shared, dissected, and often distorted.

Now, as for the criticism — many of you will likely wonder how I could write so harshly about the man I love. The truth is, when I put on my journalist hat, I’m not Max Verstappen’s wife. I’m not Y/N, the woman who loves him. I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the journalist who has a job to do. And that job is to report on the sport objectively, to ask the tough questions, and to hold everyone — including my husband — accountable.

Max knew this from the beginning, and he respected it. In fact, he encouraged it. He didn’t want me to go easy on him just because of our relationship. He wanted me to be true to myself and to my profession, even if that meant writing things that were difficult for both of us. And yes, there were times when it was hard — when I wrote something that hurt him, when we had to have difficult conversations about where to draw the line between my role as a journalist and my role as his partner.

But through it all, we’ve managed to keep our relationship strong, because we both understand that what happens on the track, what’s written in the press, isn’t the full story. The full story is what happens behind closed doors, away from the public eye, in the quiet moments we share when it’s just the two of us.

And now, the secret’s out. I know this revelation will come as a shock to many, and I’m prepared for the questions, the speculation, and yes, the criticism that will inevitably follow. But I want to make one thing clear — I’m not sorry.

I’m not sorry for keeping our relationship private. I’m not sorry for protecting something that means the world to me. And I’m not sorry for continuing to do my job with integrity, even when it meant writing things that were difficult for both of us.

This is our truth. It’s messy, it’s complicated, but it’s ours. And now, it’s out there for the world to see. I’m not asking for understanding or approval, because I know this will be a difficult pill for some to swallow. But I am asking for respect — for my choices, for our relationship, and for the fact that, at the end of the day, we’re just two people who fell in love in a world that’s anything but ordinary.

Max and I are still the same people we were before you knew about us. He’s still the incredible driver you’ve come to admire, and I’m still the journalist who will continue to ask the tough questions, no matter who’s on the other side of them.

The only difference now is that you know the full story.

And I’m okay with that.

***

The Other Side: Why We Chose to Keep Our Love Private

By: Max Verstappen

I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge, whether on the track or off. Racing is in my blood — it’s what I’ve known and loved my entire life. But writing? That’s a whole different race, one where I’m definitely out of my comfort zone. So, when Y/N suggested I write this article, I wasn’t sure if it was such a great idea. But she convinced me — like she always does — so here I am, trying to find the words to explain what’s been one of the most significant parts of my life, one that I’ve kept hidden from the world until now.

As you’ve probably read by now, Y/N Y/L/N, the journalist who has been my harshest critic, is also my wife. Let that sink in for a moment — I know it took me a while to get used to the idea too. Not the fact that she’s my wife, but that the world now knows something we’ve kept private for so long.

When Y/N and I started dating, we had no idea where it would lead. We were just two people who happened to find something special in each other, despite the chaos of our worlds. But as our relationship deepened, so did the challenges. How do you navigate a relationship when one of you is in the spotlight 24/7, and the other’s job is to shine that light as brightly as possible, even when it’s uncomfortable?

We quickly realized that what we had was too important to let the world dictate how we lived it. So, we made a choice — a choice to keep our relationship private, not because we were ashamed, but because we wanted something for ourselves, something that wasn’t up for public debate or scrutiny.

People will ask why we did it, why we went to such lengths to keep it a secret, and the answer is simple: because we had to. Being a Formula 1 driver means living your life under a microscope. Every move you make, every word you say, is analyzed, criticized, and often misunderstood. It’s a pressure cooker, and adding a public relationship into that mix was something we weren’t willing to do.

It wasn’t an easy decision. There were times when I wanted to scream from the rooftops about how much I love this woman, how much she means to me, and how proud I am of her. But I knew that doing so would open us up to a level of scrutiny neither of us wanted or needed. And so, we kept it quiet, we kept it private, and we built something strong and real away from the cameras.

That’s not to say it was without its challenges. Y/N’s articles about me — some of which were less than flattering — were hard to swallow at times. But I respected her too much to ask her to change the way she does her job. She’s a journalist, and a damn good one at that. She has a responsibility to her readers, to the sport, and to herself to be honest, even if that honesty stings.

Did it hurt when she wrote something critical about me? Of course, it did. But I also understood that what she wrote came from a place of integrity, not malice. It was her job to ask the tough questions, to hold me accountable, and to do so without bias. And I loved her even more for it.

You might wonder how we managed to keep our relationship strong despite the secrecy and the criticism. The truth is, we did it by being honest with each other in ways we couldn’t be with anyone else. We talked — about everything. About the articles, about the pressures we were both under, about our fears and our hopes for the future. We made sure that, no matter what happened on the track or in the press, we were solid in our relationship. And we were.

But now that the secret’s out, I know things will change. People will have opinions, and they’ll want to know every detail of how we made this work. They’ll want to dissect our relationship just like they dissect my races. And that’s fine — we knew this day would come eventually.

What I want people to understand, though, is that our decision to keep our relationship private wasn’t about deception. It was about protection. We wanted to protect what we had, to give ourselves the space to grow as a couple without the pressures of the outside world bearing down on us.

I’ve always been a private person, and that’s not going to change just because the truth is out. But I’m also incredibly proud of what Y/N and I have built together. She’s my toughest critic, yes, but she’s also my biggest supporter, my partner, and the person I trust more than anyone else in this world.

So, why write this now? Because I want to set the record straight. I want people to understand that our relationship is real, that it’s built on love, respect, and a shared understanding of what it means to live in this crazy world of Formula 1. We didn’t hide it because we were ashamed — we hid it because we wanted to protect it, to keep it safe from the chaos that surrounds us every day.

And now that the secret’s out, I’m not afraid of what’s to come. I know there will be challenges, but I also know that we’ll face them together, just like we’ve faced everything else.

This is our story. It’s not perfect, and it’s far from simple, but it’s ours. And now, the world knows it too.

***

The sun hangs low over the paddock as you walk beside Max, your hand nestled comfortably in his. The usually bustling environment feels different today, like the air has thickened with anticipation. You can feel the eyes on you — hundreds of them, some curious, some incredulous, all hungry for the next piece of the puzzle that is you and Max Verstappen.

You’ve written about this very paddock more times than you can count. You’ve captured its energy, its chaos, its unpredictability. But today, for the first time, you’re the story.

Max squeezes your hand, a silent reassurance, and you glance up at him. He’s calm, or at least he appears to be. You know him well enough to see the subtle signs of tension — the set of his jaw, the way his eyes scan the crowd with a little more intensity than usual. He’s ready for whatever comes next. So are you, or at least that’s what you tell yourself.

“Ready?” He asks, his voice low, meant only for you.

“As I’ll ever be,” you reply, managing a small smile.

The first few steps into the paddock are deceptively quiet, almost serene. But then, as if someone has flipped a switch, the cameras flash, the microphones extend, and the questions start flying at you from every direction.

“Max! Is it true you’ve been married for two years?”

“Y/N, why did you keep it a secret?”

“How does this change your dynamic on the grid?”

“Will you be writing about Max differently now?”

You and Max exchange a glance, a wordless conversation in the middle of the media frenzy. His hand tightens around yours, a steady anchor in the chaos. You can feel the eyes of your colleagues, the other journalists who are now looking at you not as one of them but as a subject. It’s a disorienting feeling, like the world has suddenly shifted and you’re standing in a place you no longer recognize.

Max leans in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “Welcome to my world.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up, a sound that cuts through the tension like a knife. It’s absurd, this whole situation. You’ve spent years writing about him, criticizing him, analyzing his every move, and now you’re on the other side of that scrutiny.

You straighten your shoulders, drawing on every ounce of professionalism you have. This is what you signed up for. You’ve spent years dissecting the lives of others, and now it’s your turn to be under the microscope. It’s only fair.

But Max isn’t letting you go it alone. He steps forward, his presence commanding as he addresses the swarm of reporters. “We’ll take questions, but let’s keep it civil,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The first question comes from a reporter you recognize, someone you’ve shared more than a few press rooms with. “Max, how does it feel to have your relationship with Y/N out in the open?”

Max glances at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It feels good. We’ve wanted to keep this part of our lives private, but now that it’s out, we’re ready to move forward.”

Another reporter jumps in, this one more aggressive. “Y/N, how do you expect to remain unbiased in your reporting now that everyone knows you’re married to Max?”

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I’ve always strived for objectivity in my work, and that won’t change. My relationship with Max is separate from my role as a journalist. I’ll continue to ask the tough questions, just as I always have.”

It’s a carefully crafted answer, one you rehearsed in your head a dozen times before stepping into the paddock. But you can see the skepticism in their eyes, the doubt that you can truly keep your professional and personal lives separate. It stings, but you knew it was coming.

Max’s voice cuts through the murmurs. “Y/N has always been one of the best in the business, and that’s not going to change just because we’re married. If anything, she’ll probably be even harder on me now.”

There’s a ripple of laughter, a brief moment of levity in the tension-filled space. But it’s short-lived. The questions keep coming, each one sharper than the last.

“Max, do you think your performance on the track will be affected now that your marriage is public?”

“Y/N, do you regret keeping this a secret for so long?”

“What about the other drivers? How do they feel about this?”

You’re starting to feel the weight of it all, the relentless pressure of the cameras, the voices, the questions that seem to dig deeper and deeper. But Max is by your side, unwavering, and that gives you strength.

“I don’t regret anything,” you say firmly, your voice cutting through the noise. “Max and I made the decision to keep our relationship private because it was what was best for us. We wanted to protect something that mattered to us, and I don’t think anyone can fault us for that.”

Max nods, his hand still wrapped around yours. “We knew this would come with challenges, but we’re ready to face them together.”

There’s a moment of silence, a pause as the reporters digest your words. But you know this isn’t the end of it. The scrutiny, the questions, they’re not going to stop anytime soon. You’ve become the story, and that’s something you’ll have to live with.

But as you stand there, side by side with Max, you realize that you’re okay with it. You’ve spent years writing about other people’s lives, their triumphs and failures, their relationships and rivalries. Now, it’s your turn to be in the spotlight, and you’re ready for it.

“Max, Y/N,” a voice calls out, one of the more seasoned journalists you’ve always respected. “What’s next for you two? How do you plan to navigate this new chapter?”

Max looks at you, his eyes softening. “We’re going to keep doing what we’ve always done. I’ll keep racing, Y/N will keep writing, and we’ll keep supporting each other every step of the way. This is just another challenge, and we’re more than ready to face it.”

You nod, feeling a surge of confidence. “We’re not going to let this change who we are or what we do. We’ve always been a team, and that’s not going to change now.”

There’s a finality to your words, a sense that you’ve said all there is to say. The reporters sense it too, the questions starting to taper off as they realize they’re not going to get anything more out of you today.

Max squeezes your hand one last time before turning to the crowd. “Thanks, everyone. We’ll see you in the media pen.”

With that, he starts to lead you away, but not before you catch the eyes of a few of your colleagues. There’s a mix of emotions there — some understanding, some curiosity, and yes, some judgment. But you don’t let it get to you. You’ve spent your career building a reputation, and one revelation isn’t going to tear that down.

As you walk away from the crowd, Max’s arm slips around your waist, pulling you close. “Not so bad, huh?” He murmurs.

You laugh softly, leaning into him. “Speak for yourself. I think I’ll stick to writing the articles, not being the subject of them.”

Max chuckles, his breath warm against your temple. “Now you know why I’m not a fan of the media. Present company excluded, of course.”

“Of course,” you echo, smiling up at him.

The paddock is still buzzing with energy, the usual pre-race preparations in full swing. But you and Max walk through it with a new sense of purpose, a newfound clarity. The secret is out, and while it comes with challenges, it also comes with freedom — a freedom to be yourselves, to love each other openly, without the burden of secrecy.

You know the road ahead won’t be easy. There will be more questions, more scrutiny, more judgment. But as long as you have Max by your side, you know you can handle whatever comes your way.

[writerpeach]

Extracurricular Activititties

aespa Karina x m!reader

16k words

Part Two of Fantastic Breasts and Where to Find Them

“Nothing like a little fresh air to start the day off, right, sweetie?” 

You can’t say you agree. 

But Karina has a certain way of convincing you to go for an early morning jog when she shows up in the kitchen—wearing a pair of tight leggings that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, along with a skimpy tank top, gray and low-cut, no bra underneath, that insane chest the center of attention. 

The exact word she uses is jog, but it’s a brisk walk at best, given you're far too out of shape for anything more. You're not even sure that exercise is the goal here—when every step she takes is a chance for her breasts to jiggle underneath this skimpy, poor excuse for athletic attire and claim your attention. 

Not to mention it's cold—not quite freezing, but not the ideal jogging weather, and you swear she's doing this just to rile you all up. Especially when her nipples are practically poking straight through the thin fabric which has you straining to keep your eyes from wandering too much.

There aren’t many bodies out this early when the weather gets like this, but that doesn't mean Karina isn't the center of attention even from a distance. Her face alone gets people staring, and you know firsthand how difficult it is to keep your eyes from drifting down to those ridiculous tits and that useless stretched-out piece of fabric that hardly conceals her bouncing chest. 

The entire walk feels borderline torturous when all you can think about is what's waiting underneath those clothes, so you look away at anything you can find—leaves falling from a tree, a bird flying, the license plate of a parked car you try to memorize. 

Nothing seems to help. 

"You're staring, sweetie."

"Me? No clue what you're talking about," you lie, avoiding her alluring eyes altogether when she glances back with a knowing little smirk. 

"Yeah, you are. My ass, maybe? Enjoying the view?” Karina asks, as if she isn't fully aware of all the attention she's gotten with her top hanging loose, nipples nearly exposed, looking like sin itself. 

"It's hard to not notice how pretty you are, Karina," you reply. She giggles and bumps her hip into you, nearly sending you flying. 

"Am I distracting you, sweetheart?" she asks with this faux innocent tone, because the smile she wears can't mask her intent—

"Something like that," you mumble in response.

"Well, someone’s not subtle. It's almost too cute, seeing how hard you try to not stare at my tits."

"Can you really blame me? They're practically spilling out."

"Oh, are they? Haven’t even noticed,” she says, cupping them through the loose top, as if wanting to push her nipples through the fabric to further tantalize. "Or maybe that's the point—to see how flustered you'd get, trying to keep your eyes away. Guess I didn't overestimate your weakness."

"You're insane. It's freezing out here."

"Me, insane? Maybe—for your dick."

You're more than a little embarrassed to hear such blunt words coming from Karina's sweet lips in the open, as if there’s no chance that others can't hear everything as they walk past.

But Karina just laughs, so carefree, not having any concerns as she turns around and jogs backwards, forcing you to look directly at those bouncing tits and the hypnotizing bounce they create with every step. "I'm just trying to get the blood flowing. You think I actually wanted to go out for a run? I don't even own a sports bra, sweetie. I get more than enough exercise from you railing me every day."

The embarrassment worsens to hear her talk like this, but the blush creeping on your face goes unnoticed as you both head back home. It takes a short time before you're pushing the front door wide open, walking inside from a brisk, chilly breeze to the comfortable warmth of the shared apartment.

And suddenly your back is flat up against the door before you have the chance to kick your shoes off. "What are you—"

"Hush." One word is all Karina has to tell you, silencing any incoming words from your lips as she pins you against the wooden surface, grabbing an unexpected handful of your cock right through your sweatpants. "Seems like it worked after all—seeing how hard you've gotten just by looking at my chest. Feels like you're fucking throbbing, sweetheart.” 

"Fucking hell—" The groan slips out when Karina squeezes your cock through the fabric, leaving you helpless to her will as she presses forward, pinning you further. You don’t say another word while her lips claim your neck, her tongue swiping across the sensitive skin. 

"What are you gonna do with this big cock, I wonder? Hard as a fucking rock, and we haven't even done a thing."

"What else do you think? You're gonna let me fuck those big tits of yours."

Karina beams with satisfaction and slips a hand inside your pants, getting a better grip to fully feel the arousal of your length that aches in her fingers. "Good choice."

Those pretty lips find a place against your own and press deep, holding you there to trap you, one hand stroking your length, giving soft, constant pumps to make sure you're every bit as hard as can be. Karina isn't planning on teasing, not when she can get you nice and ready while the taste of her lips lingers. "Getting so worked up, aren't you, sweetheart? You’re so sensitive—so fucking hard."

"All thanks to your help." You get a cute laugh out of her from that as she drags you towards the living room, eager to speed things along. Your head is spinning, cock aching for more while she stops in the middle of the room with a smile across her angelic face.

"Be a good boy and sit." 

Following her orders, you kick your shoes off and throw them aside, taking a seat on the couch. "I'm not a dog, Rina."

"Never said you were," she replies, peeling her tank top off over her head, until those huge, heavy tits bounce free that you know so well. Nothing could steal your gaze away from this perfection, the way her chest jiggles from the slightest movement, mesmerizing to look at. "You're more like a cute, needy little puppy."

You'd be annoyed at her little remark, if not for the stunning view as she takes a seat on your lap, topless, straddling you. And once you have those massive breasts right in front of your face, inches away, all the irritation is easily ignored. 

All else is forgotten, your hands moving automatically to reach up and cup them. They're soft, with a satisfying weight that makes her give a little chuckle when you fondle them. "You always act like it's the first time you're seeing them."

"Feels that way," you answer, squeezing a good, generous handful, enjoying the warmth, the heaviness pressing against your palm. It's fucking heaven, and then some, the sensation of your fingers sinking into that heavenly flesh, those stiffening nipples begging for attention. “Your tits are so amazing, Rina. So goddamn big—so perfect.” 

The praise does something to her. You can see it in her flushed cheeks and a hint of a shy grin forming. A rare sight, coming from Karina, who always acts so damn confident all the time. 

She watches you closely, enjoying the attention you lavish her bare breasts with, how you squeeze them together, massage them and just play with her chest as you like. 

"It's really that easy to shut you up, isn't it?" Karina can barely finish before those words dissolve into nothing but a small gasp once your fingers pinch and tug her sensitive nipples, watching in pleasure how stiff they get. And there's no denying the addiction you've picked up, this utter obsession to bury your cock deep between those beautiful milky tits until you can't handle anymore, shooting such massive streaks of thick cum that look so good all over her.

Her mouth falls wide open at your not-so-gentle touch, every sharp tug of stiff buds eliciting a moan. Just the sight of her drives you wild—her supple breasts look fucking delicious, nipples so sensitive and responsive, and you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of them as the weight rests in your palms. 

"Come on, don't stop there." Karina pleads in your ear, encouraging you to keep it going, these violent squeezes she's all too receptive to on the daily. "You look so hungry for these fucking tits. Go ahead, suck on them, sweetie. I know you're dying to." 

Leaning back, Karina lets you have what's rightfully yours, with a proud expression etched on her face while you have your way. The angle is perfect for a messy trail of kisses that move across her pale, creamy flesh, tracing a blue vein along the way, tasting the beads of sweat forming on her delicious chest. 

It's the start of something even better—a greedy path that travels all across until your mouth finally finds its proper place, sealing right onto one of those stiff nipples, giving a lewd slurp that makes Karina react with a pleasant gasp.

"Mm, fuck—such a good boy," she coos in your ear while you devour her chest, teasing the perfect buds that get so excited in response to all this attention. Her hand rests on the back of your head, stroking your hair gently as your mouth remains locked on a breast. Karina just watches you work, attentively studying the way your teeth nibble, how hungrily you suckle, how utterly depraved you must look. 

"God, Karina, your tits, these perfect fucking tits—" 

The words slip out almost against your own volition before you latch onto her other nipple and give the same treatment, equally desperate, suckling until saliva drips down the corner of your mouth, her encouraging whimpers everything that fuels your arousal. 

“There you go, suck on those tits, they’re all yours,” Karina says, voice a bit shaky while your ravenous mouth gives a gentle nibble around the hardened nub between your lips. "Make sure you take care of them both, sweetheart.”

And honestly, how could you not—

Letting them both slide between your lips, such lewd noises come out of your mouth when switching between them, an absolute feast that has no end. Nothing could stop you from doing this for hours, forever even, this delicious fucking pair the best meal you’ve ever had, with these pretty nipples doused in spit, all slippery. But there’s only one thing better than your mouth all over—and Karina knows exactly what. 

"You about ready to get that cock between them?" she asks while you suck and slurp so frantically, but you’re unable to answer with your mouth so full of her heavy tits, devouring them like you’re starved. And once you do finally let them drop, she uses the weight to smother you, a moment you're happy to lose yourself in, pinned there with your face buried in her cleavage.

This is as good as it gets, you think, when all you can see is pale flesh covering your vision, just silently pleading for Karina to suffocate you with those plentiful breasts. It’s a moment that lasts far less than you’d like, only to see that expression on her face as she regretfully lets you come up for air. 

"Do you even have to ask? Rina, please—I need to fuck these tits so bad. I’ve never been more ready.” 

The answer leaves her so smug when she slips herself out of your lap, the rest of your clothes tugged away in a flash. Karina is already down on her knees without a single thought, chest level at the perfect height when she sits back on her heels. That sultry look on her face is to die for, big tits jutting out, full and swollen, mouth-watering as can be.

"Do you want me to blow you first? Or do you want these tits instead?"

"Karina, baby—" you groan at how she toys with you, squeezing the sensitive head with a devious smirk written all over her sinful features. "Your tits. Your beautiful tits, that's all I fucking want."

She giggles at that and runs the swollen head of your cock all over her breasts, slapping it against the jiggly flesh, before ending with a light little graze over a hardened nipple while you get more and more restless. But Karina lets your desperation sink in, staying patient herself as those pretty eyes gaze at your reaction, drinking in the look on your face—

"Hand me the bottle in the side table. The one with strawberries on it," she requests. You’re a bit confused at first, but go ahead and reach out across the cushions to open the drawer, digging out what she asks for—something you didn’t even know existed. 

It's this small bottle of clear liquid with tiny red strawberry shapes all over the label, and it doesn't take a genius to understand what this is for.

Karina flips open the cap, leaning in, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Without a word, she tilts the bottle, pouring the oil all over her chest in agonizingly slow drizzles, filling the room up with the scent of strawberries. It's nothing but erotic; a daze falling over you while she shifts to get comfortable—on her knees, back straight, making sure those huge breasts look as enticing as possible while she watches in amusement. 

Once that abundant chest has gotten the attention and coverage needed, she pours out more into her palms, her delicate hands all slippery when she strokes your aching shaft. 

"Yizhuo bought this one for me, I think, for my last birthday. Told me it would smell nice. But she has no idea what I've been saving it for..."

"Lucky me.” 

“Lucky, lucky you,” Karina repeats, emphasizing it by shaking her chest, the delicious jiggle so hypnotic, and the sheen created by the strawberry-scented liquid sets your desires ablaze. It has your cock hardening impossibly so, and you can only imagine how this will feel, given how soft they are to begin with, now all slick and slippery.

One more drizzle for good measure, right down the valley between her heavy breasts, and the anticipation alone is killing you. “There we go. Now let's have some fun.” 

Before you have the chance to reply, Karina takes your cock, stiff as could be, trapping it between her slippery breasts, nestled right within her cleavage. A sharp groan is all it takes to register the amazing feeling—sinking right into the pillowy softness. 

And Karina indulges, sliding the weight of those oily tits along your shaft, giving all this delicious friction you've been yearning for. 

“Shit—feels so good,” you groan as those heavy tits work their way down your shaft. They swallow every last inch, disappearing entirely through that slippery cleavage, this relentless slide up and down that has you reeling.

“Good, because they look perfect around your huge cock."

Karina says little more, her large breasts doing the talking as she squeezes them tighter, the slickness making all the friction between them even easier for your cock to glide through. You're left fucking breathless at how her tits completely engulf, and how your shaft disappears, all covered in massage oil, glistening every time it reappears. 

The deepening pressure does wonders for your aching cock, and the stimulation is unreal—Karina’s full lips form into a pretty smile while she grinds her chest, finding the utmost satisfaction in seeing you lose it. 

"Sweetie," Karina purrs, looking so pleased. Your breaths are shallow, and she pays no mind, focused fully on squeezing your dick so firmly between those soft, bouncy breasts. "Tell me. Tell me how this feels."

"So fucking good, Rina—never felt anything like it. Your huge fucking tits are driving me crazy." You lean back, cock sandwiched between her full chest, and just let out these desperate groans as you drown in lust. 

All without having to do a thing but sit and enjoy the view of your favorite place to be. 

Karina revels in how crazy she drives you, and there's little point in hiding it—your face says it all. You can hardly get anything out that isn’t a loud grunt or groan.

"How long can you last, sweetie? You’re throbbing like crazy,” she teases, and it’s less a question, more of a challenge—either way, you have no chance here, fighting the pleasure rising, boiling inside. And Karina knows, she can see the weakness all over, a smugness present when she pushes those mounds tighter together, not daring to let your leaking shaft escape.

"Fuck," you curse, bucking your hips almost involuntarily, losing yourself in the warmth of her breasts, overwhelmed with how slick and fucking heavenly it all is. 

“Wanna help a girl out?” Karina offers, knowing your limits are growing shorter by the second. Your answer is simple, and you grab her shoulders without a second thought, thrusting upwards, fucking those gorgeous tits with everything you have. The sight is almost too much—seeing your shaft plunge into the slippery depths of her chest, disappearing again and again, enveloped in all this pale, creamy flesh. 

"Must feel so fucking good. You've been wanting to fuck these tits so badly that you can't even speak, poor thing," Karina tells you, her eyes watching intently while you thrust wildly with all this vigor. The urge grows as you chase your climax, cock begging to burst as you drive right between the huge mounds, a frantic rhythm only hastening while that lust dominates.

"Keep it up. Just like this, sweetie, keep that big cock right between these perfect tits," she purrs, and no longer is Karina doing most of the work—strawberry oil-covered breasts on either side and your throbbing cock in between.

You won't last another minute at this rate.

Karina loves how desperate you get, the utter control she has while you give into your carnal desires, unable to do a single thing other than bury your hard cock as deeply into that beautiful cleavage as possible, not a thought on your mind beyond emptying your balls.

"I hope this feels as good as it looks, sweetheart," her honeyed voice adds, just heightening the desperation. You can hardly even think straight, an aching urge like no other, and you can already picture how good Karina is going to look covered in your hot cum. 

Just a few more pumps are all you have left, and Karina moves her slick breasts along your cock to speed things up. Not that you need any additional help in reaching that goal, because the next stroke might be your last. 

"Shit, Rina—these fucking tits," you stutter out, breath strained, balls tight as you brace for release. 

"Too much to handle? Let it all out, baby, blow that load all over these big tits.” 

There's no stopping what's about to happen—the constant throbs of your cock pumping away in between these glistening breasts tells you there's no hope, and the grip you hold on Karina tightens, pulling her forward to trap your stiff shaft even further. 

“Gonna fucking cover you—"

All this pressure building, threatening to erupt at a moment's notice, and there's only a single word from her mouth, prompting that inevitable release.

“Sweetie.“ 

One last squeeze does the trick—with a single pump of your cock between her tits, you cum. Harder than ever before, the thickness shooting so forcefully, spilling all over and painting a canvas of creamy streaks from between Karina's slick, heavy mounds.

Her expression softens at the sticky mess spilling everywhere. It's one powerful burst after the next, but Karina milks as much as she can, applying a firmer grip, her fingers massaging gently, urging more of those messy spurts from your sensitive tip.

Every last drop is rightfully hers—that pale skin gets splattered and glazed, creamy white streaks filling up her cleavage. A streak hits her chin, while most of it lands on her chest, just as intended, leaving behind a huge mess you've been desperate to give.

And Karina looks so satisfied, admiring the scene she helped create—all that milky seed, thick streaks clinging to her breasts and the rest just dripping lazily while your sensitive shaft still twitches. She holds you there in her grip for as long as she can, just for those lingering spasms, never taking her eyes off even as you start to falter.

"Good boy," she finally coos while you give a couple more lazy pumps, smearing what remains onto her heaving breasts. 

Despite your exhaustion, Karina's enthusiasm to display herself with the results of your climax smeared all over her enormous chest doesn't fade. She’s far from shy, lifting those messy, covered breasts and showing every detail, every streak of hot white. 

"Guess we should thank Yizhuo for such a thoughtful gift, wouldn't you say, sweetie?"

You can hardly muster a nod, slumping back against the pillows of the couch and panting hard as you try to stay conscious—her huge, perfect tits drenched in your load the only thing keeping you upright. 

"Hey, don't pass out on me now," she warns, giving your sensitive dick a few strokes, letting the feeling snap you awake, the overstimulation too much to bear. "We're not done yet, are we?" 

Your answer doesn't come quick enough—she laughs a bit while giving another few lazy strokes to your spent cock. "Jesus, Rina. You make me cum that hard and expect me to go again?"

"Mhmm," she giggles, shimmying down her skintight leggings until they fall down around her ankles, leaving nothing else but thin, pink-lace panties that get tugged down and kicked off in record time. Your balls can’t be completely empty already. Since when has one round ever been enough?"

You can’t exactly argue that, not when there's nothing left to stand in the way as your eyes feast upon Karina's bare cunt, her legs parting, exposing everything and just spreading the slightest bit so you can have this delicious sight of her body in its full glory.

"I'll give you a few minutes. Or are you telling me you don't wanna get balls deep in me? If so, I'll just take care of myself, I guess."

That's an empty threat if you've ever heard one, but still, nothing brings out the hunger faster than a comment like that. "Don't you fucking dare. Give me five minutes—we'll see who can't go again."

"Sure thing, sweetheart. Just come and bend me over once you're ready," she says with this innocent tone that is anything but. "I’ll be waiting."

Karina gives a quick kiss to your cheek, leaving a pile of discarded clothes in a heap as she saunters out of the room, her ridiculous wide hips swaying, naked as can be.

"Five minutes!"

Your head still spins, but you take a deep breath and head towards the kitchen. Quickly opening the fridge to grab a bottle of water, you chug it all as fast as you can. Because in five minutes, you better be ready.

It’s nowhere near long enough to calm all that heat burning inside you, but it’ll have to do. 

Little by little, you start to regain your senses when those five minutes are nearly up, and you're not even sure if it's enough—no, you're certain it's not, but you head to the bedroom regardless, determined to prove her wrong.

When you step through the open doorway, all you can see is Karina and her nude perfection sprawled out on the sheets in the most provocative manner that she can manage, her flawless skin now devoid of your orgasm or any other messy fluids. She's not idle, that's for sure, a hand occupied between her legs, and you get a fantastic view right from the start. 

Two of her slender fingers plunge right inside her needy cunt while the other hand circles a pretty nipple, tugging on it to tease, this lewd scene an invitation for you to come join.

"Thought you might not show up," Karina says, voice all sultry when all you've done is stand there and stare, looking right back. "Got a little warmed up without you. Hope that's okay.” 

"And you call me the needy one.”

She hardly pays attention, more focused on the hurried movements her fingers make, curled to hit just the right spot as they slide effortlessly in. The bedsheets are rumpled by her head, where Karina lies as she thrusts in and out of her pussy, and her contorted features show no trace of shame—eyes heavy, gaze sharp, touching herself like there's no one else around. 

"That's because you are. Now be a good boy and get up here.” 

You aren't about to disobey. 

Her moans don't cease for a moment, getting louder, less controlled by the second. But this heavenly view, Karina's flawless naked figure—it's everything, every gorgeous detail. You can only do so much admiring from the foot of the bed, and eventually, the call to explore her body is undeniable.

No reason to stall the inevitable when you climb the bed, sinking knee deep into the mattress. A front seat to this show, how Karina gets her fingers so deep in her cunt, until the sight is just torturous to watch, not to bury yourself between her legs already. 

"Didn't hear a please. Don't tell me you've gotten so needy you've forgotten your manners?"

"Please? Pretty please, sweetheart,” Karina says in the most sarcastic tone imaginable, because she knows you're going to listen to her, regardless. While she looks like this, in such a depraved state, body entirely flushed and sticky with her arousal, you know your desire to tease her is absolutely meaningless. So you give an unapologetic glance, staring between her spread legs, and just savor the most erotic view, how two pretty fingers continue working away at her entrance.

But just when the show gets good, she pauses long enough to withdraw her own wet digits, making way for a much-needed, anticipated replacement.

Those digits pull out, absolutely drenched and shove right in your mouth, pushing in all the way until you slurp up her arousal. And while you suck her fingers clean, tongue wrapping all around them, it's not lost on you just how pathetic you must appear right now—chasing down that taste, long past the point of it lingering in your mouth, not embarrassed in the slightest. 

"See, I knew you were the needy one." Karina is trying her hardest not to laugh at the desperation you have while sucking her fingers, but it's a losing battle. But you really don't care, not when you can make a show out of it, so sloppy and eager to keep them in your mouth. 

But as much as you love the taste that is unmistakably Karina, it's not nearly enough to distract yourself—you're rock hard again. It doesn't matter that you came moments ago and that there's no way in hell you'll last any reasonable amount of time, not when her delicate hands reach right for your shaft, giving a few long strokes, which has your cock pulsating almost immediately. 

"Are you even gonna be able to hold it long enough to fuck me, sweetie?" she asks, knowing damn well that the answer is an obvious not at all, but her hands feel so fucking good working away that you're going to pretend it's a possibility. “Because I need your cock inside me already. Before I get it myself."

Karina isn't patient like you thought, not in this state. Her thighs are all spread and slick, pussy looking more appetizing than ever before while you take a second to admire the view—the lips of her dripping entrance, pretty and plump, where your entire cock wants to sink right in. And judging by the look given, Karina agrees with that sentiment. 

"Well?" she asks, the lack of patience shining through. Her wide, doe-eyed stare watches intently as you get situated. "Sweetheart, it's all mine—What are you waiting for? I’ve been waiting all day for this."

“All day? We haven’t even been up all day. Now, who’s the needy one?” You hardly get a response when her slender fingers wrap right around the base of your shaft. No more words, no more wasted motion—she strokes your hard, throbbing length slowly, guiding every inch right between her slippery folds. There's nothing to prevent what's next, no say in the matter when you feel the head of your cock disappear inside that wet heat. 

You finish what she starts, easing yourself deeper into her warmth as a long moan erupts from Karina's parted lips. The slow push has her falling flat onto the mattress, head hitting the pillows as she adjusts to being stretched wide—and there’s no chance you can resist sinking all the way in, balls fucking deep, so your stiff cock, still so sensitive, slides the rest of the way into her dripping, hot, greedy cunt.

It feels like heaven the instant you fill her up, the walls of her pussy clamping down tightly around you the moment you're in all the way. Like always, the first time you sink in feels the best, where your dick throbs the most, smothered by all this warmth you can’t escape. 

"God, Rina, you’re way too fucking tight—can’t believe how good you feel,” you groan as she gets such a harsh grip on your cock that you can barely move an inch. There's plenty of reason for hesitation. No need to deny the urge to stay right where you are, balls deep and surrounded by this heat.

“Go on, sweetheart—you don’t need me to tell you what to do, right?” Karina smiles, so blissed out and ready, her voice breathless as the last syllable trails off. And that look has you responding on instinct, the way you roll your hips back to the very edge where the head of your cock nearly exits, right before driving in balls deep once again, spreading her pink pussy lips further. "Let me feel every inch, baby.”

Another hard thrust. This time you bury yourself without hesitation while words turn into nothing but moans, every movement you make sinking in as much as you’re capable. 

It's hard to even find words to express what you're feeling right now; it's overwhelming, being inside Karina, all this heat and tightness, how goddamn wet she is for you. Nothing else feels nearly this amazing. And her reactions, how your cock makes those slippery wet lips part whenever you slide back in, this endless bliss on repeat—it’s perfect. 

"Fuck me, sweetie, get as deep as you can," is all Karina can get out, delicate fingers reaching out to sink into the sheets as you fall right into a deep rhythm. It’s gentle at first, but only for a fleeting moment, when you see this ravenous gaze that demands more, for you to fuck her without restraint. 

You eagerly oblige and get your greedy hands all over her, holding onto that slender waist to anchor yourself in, fingers digging deep into the smooth, pale skin. Every ounce of caution vanishes, and then you start to really fuck into her wet cunt, buried deeper than imaginable, groaning whenever that tightness strangles your cock, refuses to never, ever let go. 

Through these constant plunges that get your shaft so wet, her heavy breasts bounce so freely with every thrust that bottoms out with ease. It’s a constant struggle where to direct your attention, looking at her beautiful features, to her huge tits, and right back again—watching as Karina forms these lewd, drawn out moans while you fuck her like she demands, her heavenly cunt swallowing you right up, begging for more. 

"Rina, baby—you're fucking perfect, these huge tits, your tight fucking cunt,” and you can’t even finish the thought, not a single word left in your mouth when she clenches around your cock, so warm and slippery, desperate to keep you there. 

“My needy boy can’t even think straight when he’s fucking me so deep? Poor thing,” Karina says, and while all you can think of is making her moan without relent, she guides your hands up to her chest, the perfect opportunity to grope at her big bouncy tits. 

"There you go, play with them however you like—god, just like that, keep fucking me like a good boy," she orders, eyes watching so closely when you bury to the hilt, all that slickness guiding your movements in a warm, sticky mess. 

Not a thing could ruin your determination to give Karina everything she wants, when you keep those tits right underneath your palms, at a loss for words as they bounce unabated every time you plunge yourself back inside her, moaning every time. Her ridiculous breasts can't even fully fit inside your hands, even as you try, the heftiness unlike anything else when you squeeze as this beautiful woman writhes underneath your touch. You’re not sure what you’ve done to deserve her, but you’re not going to question a thing. 

“Karina—“ There’s no point in getting a coherent thought out, because your mind is blank, flooded by all these sensations that surround your cock, and the softness of her jiggling breasts while you play with them so roughly, nipples so sensitive as you tease and tug them to get these deeper moans out. 

"You’re so fucking wet,” you manage to finally get out, but the words sound slurred when you're drunk on lust, the vice grip of her cunt working you to a near delirious state. "Your tight fucking pussy makes my cock feel so good, I swear I can't fucking handle it—"

That’s when your hips move on their own, rutting without care, and you don’t even wait for Karina to respond, grabbing such a rough handful of her tits that gets her to moan so desperately while you slap them, hard enough to make a mark. 

“Mm—baby, you know I love that,” she says, and you watch in awe how her breasts bounce repeatedly after every slap, a rosy hue appearing beneath that perfect, milky white skin. Your grip on is anything but gentle, pinching a nipple in between raw smacks that resonate across the room while your thrusts help create a harsher ripple, the redness on her chest more encouragement than anything. 

Karina loves it. The harder you're fucking her, the more suffocating her pussy gets, moans starting to mix in with these cute, desperate whimpers that she just can't help. Her nipples underneath your fingers get so hard, even more sensitive whenever you aim your palm directly there. And god, you can't even think about anything else when your cock is buried deep in this delicious warmth, smacking her heavy tits as roughly as you please and staying exactly where her hot little cunt craves, leaving yourself nowhere to go but deeper and deeper between her legs.

"Fuck, sweetie, harder," she moans, words tumbling free when you play with her chest like it’s all you live for, showing absolutely no mercy whatsoever. "Pound me, fucking pound that pussy with everything you've got. I know you can.” 

Your hands keep grabbing greedily, giving her chest an impatient, possessive grope, with this satisfying feeling where they jiggle so deliciously in your palms. Nothing feels as good as that, seeing them in constant motion, so bountiful when you cup them and give these shameless slaps—loud and frantic, alternating to each, focusing on how this hypnotic sight drives you insane, and the sounds Karina makes are just the cherry on top.

"Gonna cum if you keep fucking my cunt that hard, mmph, fuck, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—"

It's all the more motivation to go even harder, bucking your hips, pistoning into Karina's dripping pussy as roughly as possible, each thrust guided by the constant flow of her juices that keeps you so deep inside. She’s gotten so sensitive by the rough treatment of her swollen, tender breasts, that you just watch the redness on her creamy flesh that doesn’t fade, how they bounce around so obscenely while you fuck her. 

"Harder, keep fucking me as hard as you can, sweetheart—" is all she can choke out, words coming in ragged bursts whenever a powerful thrust sends her breath hitching. 

You fuck her tight cunt the roughest she's ever taken it, grabbing her tits as aggressively as before, hips moving at the same breakneck pace that leaves you both losing it, sweat glistening on her skin, her walls swallowing you right back in each time you withdraw.

When you speed up past your limits, you can't help yourself—Karina’s warm fucking cunt feels so good that your inhibitions get tossed to the side, unable to control the way your cock pounds into her like she demands, like she deserves. 

"So close, sweetie—god, gonna fucking cum, make me cum all over your cock,” she says so desperately, eyes half-lidded, the walls of her cunt clenching so impossibly tight you’re not even sure if you can last before she hits her peak. But when you get another slam in that’s so deep, Karina loses it—cumming hard right on the spot, her whole body going tense, back arching from how strong the euphoria feels. 

There's a rush of warm, sticky fluid coating your cock while you refuse to relent, those pretty features displaying how intense the pleasure hits when she shakes, thighs quivering, toes curling, mouth falling open. And you do your best to let this high linger, slamming your hips against her body so she can take it all, even though you're barely hanging on yourself.

"Fucking god," Karina groans when her eyes open again and her gaze lands directly on you, a sweet, satisfied grin on her lips as you struggle to maintain composure. "So good at fucking my tight pussy, aren’t you? Didn’t think you were going to last long enough for me to—"

“Please, I have some self-control,” you start to say, not even believing the words yourself. 

"Then get rid of whatever you have left," Karina breathes heavily, chest still heaving. And while you pump your cock all the way inside, she wraps her long, slender legs tight around your waist, heels digging into your back. "Need you to cum inside me. Think you can do that?"

You just thrust as fast and deep as possible to answer, the entirety of your wet shaft slamming into until everything becomes a blur. There’s nothing left to prevent the groans that escape your lips when you bury your face into the crook of her neck and ride that edge, fucking into Karina with reckless abandon. 

"Need you to fill me up, make me feel all that hot cum," Karina pleads in your ear, her wet, warm cunt getting an even tighter grip around your cock that makes you go completely insane from how close you are. “You can do it, sweetheart, cum deep inside me, you know that’s how I like it."

But she doesn't have to tell you that when this tightness wrapped around you won't let up as you go completely feral, groaning into the crook of her neck, picking a spot and licking, kissing, sucking her pale, beautiful skin. You lose all focus, and it's easy enough to follow Karina's urgent pleas when those dulcet tones slip into your ear, when the intensity grows and you're pulling every ounce of pleasure you can get.

“Almost there, aren’t you? Empty your balls in me, sweetie. I know you can’t take it any more.” 

Your hips do what Karina asks without any hesitation, surrendering completely, plunging yourself inside that hot, heavenly heat until there’s no turning back. She’s keeping you buried there with those powerful thighs, making sure there’s no escape for your aching cock while you get as deep as possible, nails digging into your back for extra measure, and with a final, powerful thrust—

That’s when you finally unload inside Karina—you can only groan helplessly while erupting thick, hot spurts, her nails dragging across your back as that perfect cunt milks out everything she can get and beyond that. Such an explosive release overwhelms you, especially as she holds you hostage with those sweaty thighs, and all you can do is pump her full of seed like there was never any other option. 

Nothing can ever, ever compare, endlessly filling Karina’s greedy little cunt, just helplessly throbbing when you’re buried so deep, flooding it all into her body with the release she’s earned. Even as you fuck your load deeper into those slippery depths, she keeps you locked in place, still trying to drain every drop from your balls that she can get, practically begging for more. 

But when it starts to calm down—that doesn’t mean you have any urge to pull out. 

“Feels so warm, that’s a good boy,” Karina praises, but you can hardly get a word out when you look up, eyes landing right on that body glistening with sweat, chest heaving to catch her breath after it all. It’s a view you can’t resist, seeing how her breasts rise and fall when she lets out exhausted gasps, and if you weren’t buried in this sticky mess you’d be more than willing to lick her all up. 

“Rina, fuck—“  you groan out when her limbs unlock from your waist one by one.  

"Didn't think you had that much left in you after you covered my tits the first time," she says, meeting your gaze and you can’t help but admire how her disheveled appearance makes her look even prettier. "I think your balls really do never empty."

"What am I supposed to do when your body looks like this?” you ask in this desperate attempt to catch your breath. ”When your tight cunt feels so fucking good, and those perfect fucking tits—"

Karina just laughs. 

"Always going on about my tits. I think you're a little obsessed with them. Not that I blame you. I'm sure you saw those stares earlier, too, on our little walk back?” Karina asks, a gentle reminder about the useless walk that started this all. “Must have felt good to show me off, knowing the guys couldn't believe their eyes. But only you get to suck on them, play with them like you just did. Only you get to put that cock between them and—"

"Jesus, Rina, please, I can't go again.” That's not entirely true, but the mere suggestion already has your spent, exhausted cock stirring with interest again. Through this entire conversation, you're still inside Karina, her cunt remaining impossibly warm, this sticky mess threatening to overflow and spill everywhere. 

"Poor thing, I've gotten you all tired out. You sure you don't want one more? Just a quick little ride while I bounce these tits in your cute face? I promise to go nice and easy…" Karina smiles, batting her eyelashes for added effect. As much as that sounds like everything you’ve dreamed of, your body betrays you in that very moment as the sensitivity starts to kick in. So, with an unimaginable amount of willpower, you pull yourself out with a groan.

When you both look right down to the mess you've created, a huge, sticky flood gushes right out of her—an absolute deluge of white leaking out, dripping all over her thighs and onto the brand new sheets. 

“Too tired to answer, sweetie? You don't want another load dripping out of me just like this? Like I said, I wouldn't go hard—just nice and slow, while you watch. A sweet treat for my sweet boy."

God knows you want nothing else, to just lay on your back and drink in the view of Karina riding you, watching those perfect breasts jiggle and bounce around wildly while you don't even have to move. And yet you can't deny this exhaustion in your bones that has other plans. "Karina, please, I'm so—"

"So spoiled? Is that what you were going to say?" she responds cheekily.

There's not a damn chance in hell you could handle this woman going full speed on your poor, overstimulated cock when she's capable of making you blow within seconds, riding you like only she can and no doubt knocking you unconscious when the job is done. 

"Do you even know what nice and slow is? When has that ever been your style?"

Karina's jaw drops in disbelief, a hand over her mouth as if she's truly surprised by the remark. "Are you saying I'm incapable of such a thing?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Fine, you big baby," she teases as she shakes her head with a smile. "I'll fuck your brains out some other time, I guess. Wouldn't want to break my favorite toy."

You're unable to form a comeback, succumbing to eventual collapse on top of her, face resting on her chest where you take a second to indulge and revel in the sensation of being pressed against her warm body. Karina's fingers run gently through your hair, stroking those sweaty locks.

"You can do anything you want to me next time. But after I'm good and ready again."

"Anything, huh?"

You nod, not even fully cognizant of what those words might mean until it's far too late, when a wave of fatigue takes its effect. Karina guides you away, bringing her head closer and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

✦ ✦

Hours pass by before you stir once more, having fallen asleep right afterwards on Karina's supple chest, the softest pillows you could ask for. You're unsure what time of day it is, if it's evening or even the next morning already—all you know is you’ve never slept so well. 

"Look who finally decided to wake up. It's about time, sleepyhead,” a familiar teasing voice greets as you look up to find Karina's playful features looking at you.

"Sorry. Someone sucked all the energy right out of me."

"Oh, don’t be so dramatic. How are you feeling, sweetie?" Karina asks, running fingers through your hair so tenderly. 

"Good as new. Could use a shower, though."

"Well, how about you wait a minute? There’s just…” Her voice trails off, and it's clear she has something important on her mind, as her fingers slide through your disheveled hair that she's been stroking for quite some time now. “Something I’ve got planned for you.” 

You're not even completely lucid yet before her lips crash against yours, a heated, demanding kiss that can't be refused. No doubt she dominates the moment and slips her tongue inside your mouth, tasting you as thoroughly as possible. And that‘s all it takes for the lust to creep back in, forcing the blood to rush south and a familiar hardness to kick in. 

"Remember what you said before you passed out?"

You just stare at Karina dumbfounded—certain you had a clear recollection, but also well aware this sudden awakening makes recalling events quite difficult, so she leans in to remind you. "Told me you'd let me do anything. Are you still on board, sweetie?"

Now you remember. It's not like the words came from nowhere, and you aren't in the business of breaking promises. A simple nod is all the response needed, and Karina bites her lower lip with anticipation. And with that, she disappears into the bathroom, leaving you curious about whatever she has in mind. When she reemerges, the picture becomes crystal clear.

Karina returns back inside, now sporting black lingerie—stockings, garter belt, the works, all connected with an assortment of straps. There's no doubt your eyes are locked right on that sinful body and all those curves, because you’ve never seen her look so good. Quite the surprise that you can’t even process it all; the way her thick thighs look in that sheer fabric, and those heavy tits look fucking amazing in this particular bra, held together with hopes and dreams, the barely existent fabric exposing far more than it hides. As if her chest didn’t already need more showcasing, this amplifies the sheer size of her assets, drawing further attention right where it should be. 

"What do you think?" she asks, a small smirk appearing on her pretty face as your hungry eyes wander. 

You can't possibly be expected to form an intelligent response. Such a seductive outfit has you nearly speechless—Karina has never looked more breathtaking, straight out of your deepest desires. "Do you even need to ask?"

"Yes. Because I like hearing you say it," she replies almost sheepishly, posing to show herself off, bending over forward to show off that absurd amount of cleavage. 

"Like every fantasy I've ever had, Rina. You're absolutely fucking gorgeous.” 

"Thanks, sweetie." There's a slight pause while she beams from ear to ear, and then the mood shifts when she looks at you—you can see the gears turning inside her head. "Now, follow me. Lose the boxers."

You do so at once and discard that piece of clothing, not particularly caring where it lands. Following Karina comes second nature as you walk obediently behind to the living room, which looks exactly the same as earlier—except for one thing.

Waiting for you is a single chair sitting in the middle of the room, without arms or extra frills and a curved back, but mostly an ordinary black chair. "Alright, sweetie. I want you to take a seat right here."

So without hesitation, you sit, positioning yourself in the chair as comfortably as possible while Karina’s eyes linger, scanning your naked figure while you await further instructions. She gives no immediate explanation, instead circling behind you as that silky touch caresses your back, along your shoulders, making her way around to your neck, nails gently scraping across. 

And while she's got you distracted, Karina moves quickly, taking both of your arms, holding them behind your back as she ties your wrists together with what feels like soft rope, securing you in place. 

"Anything, sweetie?" she echoes right in your ear, the question seemingly rhetorical while she ties you up tight.

“Yeah—anything.” 

Once finished, Karina stands directly in front, towering over you, sizing up your helpless state as you get a closeup view of your desires manifested, full-blown sin, like it’s a reward for your cooperation. 

You can only stare, nearly stunned to silence as your vision is filled by the curves of Karina's body and her lacy undergarments—the shapely thickness of her stocking-covered thighs, the dangerous valley of her breasts desperate to spill out, all framed nicely and right in the center of your line of vision, everything displayed like a beautiful work of art, no ounce of modesty in sight. "Get a good look, sweetheart. Don't be shy."

How could you when she has your attention held captive so easily—the way those tits bounce from the slightest movement, and how goddamn delicious her body looks that makes you throb between your legs like never before. You don’t close your eyes or turn your gaze while you salivate over this gift just out of reach, cock aching like crazy, unable to think, and certainly unable to move.

Karina does her best to interrupt your thoughts as she grazes the side of your face, letting her manicured nails scratch down to your chin, the slightest hint of contact sending shivers through your body. "You seem pretty comfortable tied up. Enjoying this?"

"Not as much as you seem to be," you reply, earning you this devilish little look on her face that turns more sinister with every waking second. Karina tilts your chin up, diverting your gaze from that sinful chest so she forces eye contact. “Tell me, sweetie—what would you do right now if you weren't all tied up like this?"

What wouldn't you do? The options are endless, but at the very least you’d pin Karina right on the ground, rip off every piece of fabric hiding her beautiful body and well—

It’s hard to even put your fantasies into words. “Bend you over that fucking couch and shove my cock right inside you. Wouldn't even take those panties off—just shove them aside and make you cum so hard you forget your own name.”

The reaction to those words is instant. First, her eyes widen, like she’s visualizing just that, swiping her tongue across those sultry lips. Her weight shifts and those creamy thighs press together, with no missing the way her breathing deepens, chest even that more enticing, making your greed boil to the surface as you ache to grope and squeeze those full tits in your grasp. “Would you now? What would you do once you get my little cunt all stretched out for you, dripping wet? Tell me, sweetie. In detail."

A brief moment to gather your thoughts while Karina continues to pull out your deepest fantasies. “With an ass like that, there’s no way I’m not getting my hands all over it—slap those pretty cheeks until it stings, until it’s bright fucking red with my handprints marking you all over.” 

“Fuck, look at you trying to act all tough and dominant,” she says, and lets out a long, content sigh. "More. Come on, don't hold back."

"I'd finger your greedy little asshole while pounding into your cunt. Open you up real good and fuck you while you beg for more, beg me to ruin you.” 

Her smile only gets bigger at the suggestions—she's clearly enjoying this. "That's cute that you think I'd ever beg for anything—that's really more your style," she replies, licking those glossy lips like she's imagining every little detail, so tempted to put your words into reality. 

"But it has been a while since I had anything in my tight ass. But what comes next? What else would you do to my poor, helpless body?"

You imagine it all, Karina with her hands tied behind her back, bent over in this obscene angle, face pressed up against the cushions with nothing to help her escape while you just have your way with her— 

"I'd fucking destroy your cunt. Grab that long, beautiful hair and pull hard on it, so fucking hard. Hold those hips and smack that perfect fat ass until it's bruised while I pump that hungry cunt full of hot cum. Again and again, for as long as I want."

The mere thought alone makes you so impossibly hard it hurts, and you realize you’ve fallen into her trap, going along with her game far too easily, not thinking things through when all you’ve done is riled yourself up. But seeing the satisfaction spread over her face as you stumble over your words is worth the sacrifice.

"Who knew you had such a dirty little mind? Just hearing all that, fuck, do you know how wet you’ve gotten me?” Karina asks as she steps in a bit closer, locking lips again, tongue slipping in so easily. Her free hand strokes you slowly, gripping your cock hard enough to make you moan in her mouth—and while those luscious fingers glide all the way down, you feel something slide over your shaft, down to your base, something secure and snug around you, applying just the slightest pressure. 

"Rina, what—"

She smiles, so innocently, like she's proud, and it clicks into place what exactly it is before she explains. 

"A cock ring. It should make everything I do to you feel even better. And maybe help you last longer. You should start to feel the effects in a minute or two," Karina answers. "It doesn't hurt, does it?"

You shake your head immediately; the idea taking some time to register—wondering how a small rubber ring could amplify all these sensations, but you trust her words. With some thought, you conclude this might actually be a blessing when dealing with whatever you're about to be in store for. You're not exactly in a position to argue with it anyway. 

Despite the pressure, the tightness, you can't complain—the sensation feels strangely wonderful. All the blood rushes to your throbbing cock, making the pleasure feel far greater than usual, almost overwhelming, every stroke Karina gives infinitely more intense. 

"Starting to feel good, isn't it, sweetie? Getting nice and sensitive for me?"

Your cock twitches in response, almost involuntarily trying to thrust upward to feel even more, desperate for whatever Karina will give. So distracted by how good these fingers feel wrapped around your shaft you’ve almost forgotten your helpless state, only reminded when the rope digs into your wrist and limits your movement. With an almost painful grip, she jerks faster, all that sensitivity flaring up, making every sensation all more powerful. 

When she stops stroking, her thumb just presses down on that spot right below the swollen head, rubbing ever so gently. Jerking forward becomes something out of your control, and you grit your teeth at the intensity as she applies constant pressure to that area, a loud moan you had no intention of releasing escapes so easily. That same pattern continues, a ritual: a slow rhythm of strokes that ends in her rubbing that same sweet spot, then she picks up right where she left off, squeezing and pumping her hand back up. 

"I can just imagine it—I bet it feels ten times more sensitive than ever. And even harder than you've ever been. God, sweetie, you're leaking so much already, and we've only just started. I'm going to have so much fun with you."

She's not exaggerating, and when one finger circles over the tip, drawing back down a path down to your base, slow, painfully slow—you know this is going to be torturous to endure. With every little touch or stroke, your cock grows more desperate, throbbing heavily in her gasp, craving every bit of stimulation like oxygen. If not for this tight little ring preventing your release, you have a feeling you’d already be making a mess all over your stomach. 

But what really undoes you is the teasing smirk on her face. The way her thumb brushes across the sensitive tip, eliciting an audible gasp when she pulls away. 

"Does it feel good when I stroke your big, throbbing cock? When I squeeze it just like this? Karina asks, refusing to move faster than she needs to, a maddening pace, up and down, all the way to your swollen, dripping tip, collecting your precum on her fingers. “Are you trying not to lose it already?" 

When you only groan in response, desperate and unable to put any coherent thoughts into words, Karina presses her thumb against your leaking slit for a fleeting moment, before stroking quicker, sliding all the way down to the base of your shaft and repeating the motion again. 

With each little touch, each little graze over your cockhead, she grins at every noise you let slip—every single whine, every last whimper. Karina grabs your cock as rough as she pleases, the other hand coming to fondle your heavy balls, squeezing just the right amount to get you absolutely weak—rolling the weight between her fingertips. 

“Now, sweetie—tell me, wouldn’t you like me on the sofa, my legs all spread, dripping wet while you fill up my tight cunt? Your perfect cock plowing in and out of me, splitting me open, that would feel so good, wouldn’t it? How would you even take me if you were so sensitive, so on edge? You’d fucking burst as soon as my pussy swallowed you up, wouldn't you?" 

All you can think of is exactly that exact scenario—how fucking tight and wet that warm fucking cunt always gets, squeezing your sensitive shaft and bringing you to climax within the very first thrust. Imagining burying yourself deep into that sticky mess, folding her in half as you fuck her at your leisure, a raw, merciless pace. And then filling her with your sticky cum as those tits bounce from each vicious stroke, over and over, using her body exactly like you need.

You try to shove that image from your mind, knowing you're already falling apart from the tiniest bit of imagination. 

But it's nothing to how Karina makes you feel with her delicate fingers wrapped firmly around your cock, twisting a bit before stroking down to the base and then repeating all over again, spitting directly onto your cock to ease the glide. 

“Could you even manage not to burst when you get buried deep in this ass?” she asks, snapping your attention back, keeping her thumb circled around the base of that swollen cockhead. “Maybe we can test that out. See how quickly you blow your load when I'm sitting on top of your cock, spreading my cheeks open and stretching my asshole until you're buried as deep as I can take…” 

“Rina, please—“ 

And there's no reply—just the deliberate, focused teasing when Karina spins around, now with her back turned, offering a glimpse of that amazing ass you've been dying to get your hands on. Before you can even prepare, the supple flesh of her ass sits back against your shaft, grinding against what’s trapped right in between her soft, luscious ass cheeks.

That's when the true agony kicks in. That tight, round ass starts rubbing your poor, deprived cock, while your restrained hands tug against your binds, the urge to grasp her hips and slam the full length straight up her asshole becoming unbearable.

"It's a little selfish of me, isn't it?" Karina chuckles, leaning back on your body. "You can't even do anything right now. All I'd have to do is sit on this needy cock of yours, get it all inside this tight little asshole, and your balls would be drained within seconds. Just need a little of that strawberry oil that smells so good. It's been a while since you've fucked my ass—what, a week maybe?"

The grinding persists, using your thighs to help guide her, filling you with frustration as you struggle in this helpless position. It's impossible to take what you desire when you’re tied up, the teasing insufferable.

You can’t deny that every inch of Karina is sculpted by the gods, and that ass—indulgently round, voluptuous cheeks, always flaunted with those snug sweatpants or the tightest jeans imaginable. It's not even fair how relentless she’s gotten, and you can only stare as your shaft slides helplessly between her plump cheeks, the only thing between you and heaven is that flimsy piece of fabric covering her asshole.

"Rina, please, god. I swear I’ll—“

"What was that, baby? Please, what?”

Your response falls silent the second she pulls off, spinning back around to see your desperation up close, letting your cock twitch helplessly against your abdomen. The loss of warmth against you is almost a greater cruelty than the sight of that chest all covered up in nothing more than thin lace, hopelessly confined.

"Didn't hear an answer. Is it getting to be too much?" Karina asks, flashing this all-knowing smile when she begins squeezing your cock hard, jerking the entire length with both her expert hands, the friction too intense to handle. The pumps get so frantic you can hardly speak, your balls growing painfully tight at all this denial.

"Y-yes—need to be inside you. Please, any part of you, baby," you plead, your voice sounding so pathetic, borderline unrecognizable. 

Karina ponders for a moment, brows furrowed, as though in deep consideration. You have no choice but to wait for her verdict, in torment, clenching your fists, dying for the chance to touch her. She presses a finger to your lips and runs it down your chest, flicking against a nipple that sends another rush of delirious pleasure through you. "No, not yet, sweetie. You've been such a good boy so far—just hold on a little longer." 

Her smile is every bit wicked as she swings a leg over around your waist, a bit of her weight settling on your hips. The fabric of her stockings is silky and soft, teasing the area where it rests, even more excruciating that you can't lay a hand on those thighs. Right away she resumes her harsh grip on your cock, pumping so fast, edging right to that climax only to deny it at the last moment—slowly and painfully easing back off. 

You're nearly shaking, hips bucking on repeat, not sure if the frustration feels better or worse than not being touched in the first place. Not to mention how everything feels ten times worse with this damn ring wrapped around the base of your cock that taunts you. "God, you really are ready to explode at any moment. Poor baby, you need to cover me in cum more than anything, isn’t that right?” 

"Yes, fuck—please, Rina, I can't take it, need to cum so bad," you plead, looking up at her, throwing all pride away. 

That's when Karina pumps you ever faster, dragging you over to that finish line, watching your reaction with those devilish eyes when she eases off before your orgasm has a chance to arrive, right back off your shaft and denying it once again. It's a long, torturous game—a few fast strokes, squeezing the head of your cock just how you need. 

And then she stops completely. 

It goes like this, with no reprieve, leaving your poor cock to throb helplessly against your stomach, painful when Karina leaves it abandoned with nothing but cold, frigid air. Bliss and denial, an endless cycle.

"So needy, aren't you, sweetheart? Wanting so bad to blow your load and cover me with this massive load," Karina laughs, admiring the strain on your face. “Tell you what—“ 

There’s a necessary respite that lets you breathe for a moment, when Karina squeezes your balls nice and tight, keeping that desperation held there for far too long. And that's when she reaches behind to unfasten her bra, moving at an infuriatingly slow pace, peeling the straps one by one, dragging this on for as long as she possibly can. 

You watch intently, hanging on each and every motion as she removes and tosses the entire piece right over your head. The best reward you can get for enduring this torture, you think. Her bare breasts come into view again—and it feels like the first time all over, nothing as erotic as these massive tits on display in front of you, that you almost don’t care that you can’t even squeeze them yourself. 

Almost. 

With nothing to stand in the way of your shameless leering, you do so, and Karina welcomes it—brushing her thumbs over her stiff nipples while you commit it all to memory. 

You're more than ready to erupt all over her, to spill everything across those pale breasts, and in the middle of your haze you hardly notice a familiar bottle popping open in her hands. As if this scene weren’t impossible to deal with already. Pouring oil all over her supple chest in a circle, Karina douses herself in more than a generous amount—stealing all of your attention when she rubs and spreads it evenly across her creamy skin. 

She has no intention of stopping there, generously applying more down to her abs, along that tight little frame, down to her milky thighs, still all wrapped in those silky stockings that drive you crazy more than anything. Now she's really playing dirty now, coating and slicking up her entire body for the occasion. And the worst part is how you can't do a goddamn thing—left watching this entire show while your cock aches with neglect as she teases her stiff nipples between her fingertips.

"Liking the view, sweetie?" she asks, running her slippery hands across her curves, knowing what a pathetic state you must be in, an oiled-up Karina up there with one of your biggest weaknesses. 

There's nothing you can manage, not even a nod as you're left helplessly staring, craving all that gorgeous skin under your own hands and you don't even have it in you to beg at this point. Anything you'd say would be beyond incomprehensible. "Can't say a word anymore? No more dirty fantasies you wanna share?"

Silence is a rare occasion, even when Karina has you bound up tight like this. So you must really be in awful shape. You'd love to give a satisfying response, but at this point, all your attempts come out as nothing more than groans. That's about all that you have left. 

Still, Karina takes that as an answer and climbs back into your lap, looking every bit irresistible, all covered and doused in that scented oil that soaks through whatever leftover lace exists, giving it all a nice glisten—nearly making your dick burst from the sight alone. She grabs a heavy handful of her breasts between slippery, oiled fingers, and just seeing her knead and fondle herself gets you squirming hard in your restraints, wanting so badly to sink your lips into them, desperate to have a taste. 

"Since you've been such a good boy—putting up with everything I’ve thrown at you and held on," Karina ponders out loud, as she begins to grind her oily body against you, all the friction intensifying every inch that touches, your skin burning with her touch. "Then maybe my baby deserves a nice, thick load across my chest after handling so much of this, don’t you? Think you could blow a big, messy load right across these tits for me?"

A frantic nod is all you have to offer, overwhelmed from her hot body sliding against you, all coated in warm slickness, driving you beyond the edge. Every ounce of your sanity is being tested. All this slippery flesh against your own drives you towards a finish that’s so imminent, so close, but you still have to wait until the very end, until Karina allows you that permission.

"That won't do," Karina says, slowing her movements down to a mere crawl. "Need you to use your words, sweetie. Let me know how badly you need it. Don’t I deserve that for getting you this worked up in the first place?”

There’s a string of words that escape that hardly make up a proper sentence. “S-so bad. Need to cum, please.” 

But that doesn't satisfy Karina in the slightest as she pushes off your lap and shifts lower down to her knees. This sight feels even worse than having her in your lap—far too tempting, watching her breasts bounce as she lowers and wedges herself closer, hovering between your spread legs. "Baby, we both know that's not enough. Give me a good reason to make you cum."

If not for those oily hands stroking over your thighs, you'd probably be responding a lot differently—but it's so tough to remain concentrated in this state, that the slightest touch nearly unravels you, the neediness in your voice escalating so rapidly. 

"F-fuck, god, please, Rina—want my thick load spilled all over you, need it all over your pretty face, wanna cum so fucking hard and cover every part of you. P-please. Fuck, need it so bad."

Your voice cracks near the end of it—enough for Karina to get both hands around your cock, her fingers fully gripping around every sensitive, throbbing inch of it. And god, you're so close it hurts. You feel like you've gone a month without any relief, and you can't suppress the moan that follows, the full brunt of an orgasm churning through your heavy balls, every sensation twice, maybe three times more powerful than usual.

"That's a good boy. Wasn't so hard, was it?" Karina chuckles, beginning to work your shaft with long, exaggerated strokes and her thumb circling all over the sensitive tip of your cock, admiring how absolutely broken you are. The climax builds an even faster and uncontrollable pressure, balls swelling so painfully tight—everything feels unbearably tense, not even able to imagine holding yourself back now. 

She gives your cock a light slap with her palm, drawing the most pitiful groan from you as you stare on in disbelief, the sensitivity too harsh to bear—and it's not any kind of relief when she gives another, a firmer hit to your swollen cockhead, afraid of blowing your load any second now. You think this is your limit, when all Karina does is deliver repeated slaps to your throbbing shaft, then gripping it even tighter before jerking her hand along the full length. 

"Look at you, you're gonna cum so much, aren't you? Maybe the biggest load you'll blow this month—let's put you out of your misery. Empty those heavy fucking balls and cum for me, sweetheart."

Those final words are all the relief you could've asked for, spoken with an affectionate smile as Karina leans forward and strokes your aching cock furiously, bringing you long past the tipping point. Everything begins with the hardest twitch in her grasp—an unexpected intensity that only progresses when she spurs it all on, her slippery, slender fingers pumping as fast as they can go, making sure you let it all out. 

And there's not an ounce of strength in you left to do anything but that, the tension within your balls unable to hold back anything, leaving you with the one option—to embrace it, the relentless strokes that help achieve ecstasy that's so long overdue. 

Karina's smiling, pretty face in front of you just adds an extra bonus.

There's no going back, and when your balls tighten, nothing can prepare you for the hardest orgasm you've felt in ages—all directed at her face as she anticipates what you've worked so hard for, not letting up one bit. You let out the most unrestrained deep groan as warm, thick spurts burst from the tip, immediately splattering across that stunningly beautiful face, hitting across her forehead and down to the bridge of her nose without a single flinch.

No thoughts to how far the shots reach as you explode more, spraying right across her cheeks, into her hair as Karina pumps the entire time, coaxing out your thickest load, changing the angle to drain you over her soft, pillowy lips as you tremble so violently underneath, overcome with a mixture of exhaustion and relief. Everything keeps pulsing hard—covering even more of her porcelain complexion in white, your hot seed running thick across her face as she unloads every heavy burst over herself, seemingly endless, not easing her grip on your cock even once. 

The strength of your orgasm lingers once your load empties across her face, leaving a complete and total mess that you'll never forget, Karina completely covered in these thick strands that start to drip, her expression quite satisfied and content. The aftermath lingers—breathing so heavy even once your cock finishes the grand finale, throbbing wildly throughout it all and even Karina’s left unable to believe just how much has built up during your denial. 

"That's my good boy," Karina sighs, continuing to pump your oversensitive cock, even though there's no more left to spill—a series of weak twitches firing off after such a large release as you're reduced to a shuddering mess. "Look at all this cum you've painted my fucking face with, sweetie. Aren't I lucky? God, it's just all dripping down, so fucking thick and warm. That must have felt so fucking good, didn’t it?” 

You can hardly hear the giggles escaping, or process the image in front of you, Karina all covered in white and dripping with the results of that long-awaited climax, some of it reaching her sweaty, oily chest as well. When her hands let go, all that tension lifts and you finally breathe with the greatest ease, sinking back against the chair. 

And that's when you get to let it all sink in, this mess that Karina wears—it's rather artistic, in the lewdest way possible, clinging to her lips and chin, practically everywhere, thick and messy. 

Your breaths take longer to even themselves out, despite feeling the purest sense of relief you haven't felt in weeks, unable to take your eyes off from how your cum starts to slowly roll down the side of her chin, where Karina catches with her finger and slowly swipes upwards. She makes sure you're watching carefully and brings it to her lips, delicately taking that long, wet digit in her mouth, wrapping and sucking her lips around.

It's absolutely sinful to watch her suck the mess off like that, tasting your seed right off her fingertips as she hums and savors your load. 

"Tastes even better after what I put you through," Karina says with this wicked laugh, and you can hardly move a muscle from all this. "But you know—" And that pause she gives is filled with a whole other sort of danger, that same grin plastered across her face while she stays kneeling between your legs. "Still haven't gotten to ride you yet. After a load like this, I bet you don't have much left to give, hmm?"

You can't even begin to believe what you're hearing now. 

"Jesus, Rina, are you trying to kill me? I think you emptied me enough for the rest of this month."

Contrary to what you want, there's this devilish look that lingers as she glances down between your legs, noticing how you're definitely still plenty stiff—maybe because of that magical ring still wrapped on your cock, or that you can't look away from those cum-stained features. "R-Rina—please, give me like a day or two, at least."

"Poor thing. Can't handle this much?" Karina gets a few more strokes in, gripping and sliding along your sensitive length as if you hadn't released that large load over her, the pain of overstimulation stirring again in the worst possible ways. "But what if I just keep you here, all nice and hard for me. For the next hour, for two hours, three? Would you like that, sweetie?"

Even her delicate, loving caresses cause your body to shake and convulse. And god, you have never been this sensitive ever before. "Please no—fuck, you can't—g-god, too much, hurts—"

Karina can't help but feel a bit of mercy, so she stops, slowly sliding a finger down to your base and removing the rubber ring from your sore cock—within an instant, your entire length relaxes. "Fine, fine. I suppose that's enough."

Just this sudden reduction in sensations feels like heaven, and all you can manage is a deep, exhausted sigh. But the thing that scares you—is how part of you could easily say yes. "Th-thank you, god—"

"But we're not ending the night without me riding the fuck out of you. You're not off the hook yet." Fair enough, you think, even if you'd be entirely useless after this whole experience. “So, shower or..."

"A little hard to shower like this," you remind, still struggling to gather energy. 

She stifles a laugh. "Oh that? Guess I should let you out of those," Karina muses, undoing the ties around both of your hands. And finally, you have some freedom, taking the deepest, most rewarding breath as she rubs your wrists to help alleviate the discomfort. "Offer's still on the table, though. One more go with me on top riding you?"

"Rina, please, what part of you're going to kill me was unclear?"

"Alright, alright, just checking," Karina laughs, hoisting herself off her knees. "Then come join me in the shower. Still got a bit of you on me." 

Now that you can get behind—because you'll never deny the chance to see Karina's naked body under the hot running water, all soaped up and lathered. 

✦ ✦

Karina has never been one to sleep in. Especially not when she has class in the morning, so you're surprised to wake up first, lying next to her warm, dead-asleep figure. You don’t remember much of anything before passing out, given that a proper round two (three?) didn't exactly go as scheduled. But the soreness does slowly return when you shift your body, and she's the sole culprit for that.

You can’t help but notice how beautiful Karina looks with hardly anything covering her voluptuous body—a thin sheet not quite pulled all the way over, exposing most of her pale skin. 

Moving carefully, you try not to wake her—but it's a mistake to underestimate just how much Karina's eyes are really closed when her arms pull you in, holding you hostage against the warmth of her chest.

"Stay,” she murmurs, breaking the silence and wrapping a leg around your waist. “Were you watching me sleep again?" 

"Maybe," you reply, reciprocating the embrace and sighing happily when her arms coil around your back, pulling you closer against her body. "Am I not allowed to admire someone who looks so beautiful in the morning?"

"Oh my god, shut up,” Karina grumbles, but she’s easily silenced when you kiss her neck, lips running delicately across her skin, breathing her scent in.

"Already so riled up for me this early? Even after yesterday?" she asks, the question murmured between soft pants. "Didn't tire you completely out?"

"Impossible," you respond, delivering more tender kisses, intent on working your way down as you start to explore. 

"So insatiable—where do your hands plan on wandering to, hmm?" Karina laughs, shuddering at the teasing strokes along her hips. 

"Somewhere you'd like, I hope."

Your answer leaves Karina hesitating to respond—only giggling quietly and helping you move down the curves of her body. "Need me to give you the tour?"

"Well—if you're offering."

"Like an impatient puppy, aren't you?" Karina teases, planting a kiss on your cheek. "But it's so fucking cute how desperate you are this early. My needy good boy."

"Can't help it when there's so much for me to explore.” 

“Explore all you'd like then, sweetheart," Karina offers, the words leaving her so easy as she takes your wrists, leading your hands up to her delicious chest that you immediately have the urge to knead, sinking your fingers deep into those full, pillowy breasts. 

"I assume you wanna start with these?" 

And her smirk just encourages your touch, a low sigh coming from her lips when you follow her cue, cupping and squeezing the heavy weight of her gorgeous tits in both hands, the warmth of them so delicious while you grab a firm handful. 

"You know me too well."

The enthusiasm you show isn't shy when you roll the stiff peaks of her nipples under your thumb, relishing the sounds that follow from Karina—the soft moans and whimpers when you toy with them. And you can't help but bury your face in those massive, heaving breasts, running your lips across every supple, tempting inch, absolutely drowning in all this pale flesh. 

"So greedy, are we?" Karina mutters, almost smug as her fingers rake through your hair, gasps building while enjoying the attention lavished on her breasts. You give a hard squeeze, savoring the feel of her soft, supple flesh filling your palms, the shape that fills your hands so wonderfully, and you plant the most greedy kisses all along every inch of that delicious valley, unable to pull yourself away. 

There’s nothing else to be said, not when these ravenous slurps can answer for you. 

Nowhere else you would rather be than kissing your way all across her chest, flicking your tongue against a nipple that gets these loud moans flowing when you take it into your mouth, sucking hungrily before pulling back and doing it all over again, feasting on the other.

You don't leave either neglected, rolling the other bud between your fingertips while your mouth slurps around the opposite, devouring as much as you can. With every seal of your lips, Karina somehow grows more sensitive the longer she squirms beneath you.

"Fuck, you're really enjoying this, aren't you? They're so sensitive," she moans, arching her back as her chest beckons, offering up as much as you can ask for. But per usual, you're not content with just tasting, teeth grazing ever so slightly across her pretty nipples, nibbling at each swollen nub. And the instant you hear the sharp intake of Karina's breath, that's all you need to indulge further—playfully pulling into your teeth, tugging even rougher. 

"Good," you respond without missing a beat between laps of your tongue, swiping over and toying with both nipples, giving no end of this stimulation that your lips provide. 

Karina holds the back of your head as your lips suck so fervently, long past the point her breasts glisten, covered in spit. She doesn't let you wander elsewhere just yet, not that there's anywhere else you would want to go, enjoying this buffet she serves so willingly.

"Oh my god—you're too fucking much, love your mouth on my tits," Karina pants, tugging at your hair, encouraging your lust. Her beautiful breasts bounce when they leave your grasp, but your lips and fingers stay relentless, tweaking and playing with her tits as your mouth gets beyond sloppy, popping off and licking all over with even more vigor, a hunger that can't be satiated. 

Her hand around the back of your head guides you to whichever needs the most attention, your mouth gladly following, working the perfect combination between your lips and teeth to tease out a plethora of whimpers, desperate cries, saliva dripping everywhere. You suck and suck without mercy, completely gone, absorbed in her huge fucking tits like nothing else exists—

"Shit, wait, wait—sweetie, come back up," Karina suddenly demands, pulling you out of your lust-fueled haze. It's a tough separation to make, prying your lips involuntarily off her swollen, slippery buds. 

"What? What’s wrong?" 

"The time. Fuck, I can't be late today," Karina sighs, peering at the clock behind you. 

"Yes you can. I can't just—"

"Hey, I’m serious,” she groans. "Just because you're that desperate to stay latched onto my tits, doesn't mean I want to miss my exam.”

When you meet her eyes—there’s no real sense of truth or commitment, even after she gives this light tug that barely has any energy behind it. This isn’t fooling anyone. In the blink of an eye, she's under you once again, squirming underneath your lips. "My schedule—mm, no, hey, are you listening?”

"You can't leave me after this. All worked up, I haven't even gotten you off yet." 

"This is entirely on you."

"No, I'm not taking the blame. This is on you and these goddamn perfect tits of yours."

"Sweetie—" she whines, growing less and less inclined to leave the bed when she grabs your wrist. "Sweetie, I swear to fucking god, can't you just keep your dick to yourself until I get back?"

"No, not when you keep moaning so much," you tell her, refusing to relent. "You're more turned on than I am."

There’s this feigned surprise on her face when she hears that, like it’s somehow the worst thing you’ve told her. "Am not. We both know you're a worse liar than I am, and—it's not my fault you were sucking so hard I almost came." 

"What did you expect when you shoved your tits in my face first thing in the morning?"

Karina rolls her eyes, because it's all so ridiculous how she's acting like this is all your fault—when it's exactly what she should expect.

"That doesn't mean you had to spend like a fucking hour sucking them for—let me up, I have to get ready, you goddamn animal." 

"Animal? You could have stopped me anytime. Don’t put this on me."

"Not with that fucking mouth I couldn't. Look, I can take care of you the second I get back, I just need to—"

It's not like Karina doesn't notice your frustration, that adorable pout across your face, looking almost offended that she would try to deny you of anything. But she's having far more trouble resisting, especially when you look so needy and pathetic like this.

“How long do you have? You can't leave without me making you cum."

"Fuck, I don't know, not that long—maybe twenty minutes,” she says, not even sure of the estimate herself. 

"Perfect. That's plenty of time." 

"It's not. I need to shower, get dressed, eat something. Let me go, you crazy fucking perv."

"You don't need to shower, you smell amazing."

Karina scoffs. "You're just used to me like this. Which is why I need a goddamn shower." 

"Then I'll just fuck you in the shower. Save us time," you counter, but all Karina can do is groan, face-palming from how impatient and stubborn you are. 

She pushes herself up on her elbows, shaking her head so dramatically. "Jesus, you're not letting this go, are you? Am I gonna have to tie you up again?"

"Is that a promise?" 

And somehow, you've managed to break through her resolve. Karina can't stop laughing, face in the crook of your neck, giggling so cutely. "You're fucking unbelievable. When was the last time I wasn't late for something?"

"Dunno. Does it matter?"

"Fine. Okay. Fine—I suppose the shower isn't a bad idea. Maybe it'll cool you off a bit."

"Don't count on it."

The two of you hurry into the bathroom—and perhaps a better word would be fumbled, given how reluctant you are to take your hands off her for too long. But once the hot water starts raining down from above, there's no stopping what's about to take place.

You're drawn in by everything you love about Karina, embracing her from behind, and you find yourself staring shamelessly at her beautiful features, dripping wet. She looks utterly gorgeous without even trying, hair matted to her forehead, water running down her body to just accentuate each and every curve.

"Sweetheart—" she starts, interrupted quickly when you pull her close, pressing a kiss against the soft skin of her neck. "A quick fuck. That's it. You don't have permission for anything else." 

You don't answer with anything but your hands on her hips that she rolls against you, letting out a breathy sigh at how your cock nudges between her cheeks while she places her hands against the steamy glass of the shower door. 

Then Karina lets out the prettiest moan when you're back inside her warmth again. 

Your fingers dig into her curvy hips while you pump, and she spreads her legs as the perfect invitation to ease yourself deeper into her heat, walls fluttering against your shaft, tits pressed up against the cold glass.

"God, fuck,” Karina cries out. “That’s it, fucking split me open, fuck me like you were begging a few moments ago.” 

Before you can even meet her demands, she pushes her hips against you to get things moving. And it's always a pleasure being ordered around by her, especially when it means your cock gets to be so impossibly deep, burying every single inch in that smothering heat. 

There's no slow, easy thrusts, no warning before she's rewarded with a quick slam of your hips. Her entire body shudders at the sensation, nails dragging down the slippery glass of the shower wall as she braces herself.

"So—it's all my fault?" you growl between thrusts, hips picking up speed, getting a tighter grasp on her body for some needed leverage that has you wetly slamming right in, making the most of every single inch. 

"Absolutely. Mm, ah, fuck, this is your doing—don't you dare hold back. Keep going, keep fucking going, harder—fuck, do your duty and make me cum on that thick fucking cock." 

Every deep thrust forces her further against the glass while you oblige, tits so helplessly pressed up so deliciously as you thrust like your life depends on it, keeping her pinned underneath, ass rippling as you pump in and out with each harsh movement. The hot water beating down on you only adds to the frantic, lewd sounds of your bodies crashing against one another, wet skin on wet skin, every moan amplified. 

"There, just like that, sweetie. So good, love when you fuck me deep, fucking destroy me," Karina moans out, legs wobbling as they almost buckle from how roughly you plunge into her, limits already being tested. She sounds so beautiful, so blissed out when she claws at the glass, body unable to withstand your punishing thrusts, like there’s nothing left but succumbing to your cock.

"A-almost there, sweetie, oh my god don't fucking stop, fuck!" Karina lets out these careless moans, no regards for how loud she's being. Even the neighbors will hear—and she doesn't even fucking care, as long as you don't stop. She's far, far too lost in this, throwing her head back, screams escalating through the echoing walls of the shower. "Gonna cum, shit, I'm gonna fucking cum, sweetie, fucking make me—"

This sudden vice tightening around you is all you need to ensure Karina gets exactly what she demands as she trembles in your grip, falling apart. Another shriek echoes from her throat, clenching violently when her climax triggers, palms flat against the rattling glass, your hips so frantic as they slam against her, driving a few more quick, deep thrusts for good measure.

You can hear it all—and most importantly feel it, the erratic, uncontrolled way she shudders, the convulsing walls of her warm cunt proof you've done a job well done. So you keep pistoning into her, keep up the brutal pace of your hips, not slowing down or do anything but pound right through this blissful release, 

"God, baby—“ Karina gasps out, weak and breathless, clinging onto the glass to not slump forward, already spent by her release, and yet her body can't even help itself when she grinds back, craving even more. “How, how do you keep doing that, making me cum so hard? Such a good fucking boy, keeping me so satisfied.” 

There’s not much of an answer for that as Karina keeps her body flush against the glass, struggling to recover her breath while you thrust so deep. "But as much as I love your cock in me, I think we're running out of time…” 

"Are we?"

"Yeah, so you better wrap this up and fill me. Right now, grab my fucking tits and empty those balls.” 

You don't have it within you to hesitate, grabbing those heavy breasts, squeezing them tightly. Nothing beats this combination: all that supple flesh in your fingertips while your throbbing cock pummels the deepest depths of her, every inch inside her velvety cunt. Then all that’s left is to fuck her like your life depends on it, not a thought left but drilling with reckless abandon. 

There’s nothing but your hips moving, the harsh slap of flesh, this greedy grope you give her chest like you just can’t get enough—which you can’t. You’ve got her pinned so hard against the shower, holding on to her tits as you just fuck her senseless, completely pounding into her cunt, keeping her stretched, using this perfect body to milk your cock. 

“Rina, god—baby, your pussy, oh, fuck, I can't—I'm gonna cum," you groan, losing all control over yourself, barely able to give any warning. Not that Karina needs it when she can feel you throbbing, how much you’re going to erupt. 

It doesn't take a second longer for Karina to get what she wants.

You fall apart and erupt into her, slamming one more time to bury yourself to the hilt as you empty inside her in thick, heavy bursts, each spurt more dizzying than the last. Karina clenches so harshly when you fill her to the brim, this heavenly squeeze when she greedily takes everything, milking it all out, demanding not a drop gets wasted. Everything leaves your balls in an urgent rush, right into her sopping cunt, sending her right over the edge one last time as she joins you in this blissful release.    

“Filled me up so well, sweetie,” Karina murmurs through the bliss, every violent throb pushing her up against the glass window, pinned and helpless against the rough pounding of your thrusts until your hips decide to falter. “Now that you got everything out of your system, do you think you'll be able to survive the rest of the day?"

You only play with her tits in response, catching your breath as you lean against her body, kissing her shoulders from behind. "Probably not. But I'll manage, somehow. I guess."

She laughs softly at the admission, a quick tilt of her head to kiss you while you reluctantly withdraw your drenched cock , the mess leaking out from her freshly pounded, slick hole. As always, this is your favorite sight—all the white leaking from between her thighs and down to the shower tiles. But you know there's not enough time to appreciate this glorious view, because you'll never hear the end of it if you're responsible for making her late. 

"If you really can't manage, you have all those pictures I’ve sent to tide you over. Jerk off on my panties if you need to, I don’t mind. Whatever helps you get by."

"Have a little more faith in me, would you? I'm not so far gone yet that I can't control myself for a little while. I'll survive."

"Could have fooled me," Karina responds as she exits the steamy shower, stepping onto the cool bathroom tile and reaching for her towel. “But maybe if I’m feeling generous, you’ll get some spicy new photos before I come back. If you behave, that is."

"Don't I always?"

"Hardly, sweetie." Karina wraps her arms around your neck, leaning into you and smiling adoringly. "But that's what I like about you."

"Couldn't live without me, could you?"

"Absolutely not. Or your cock," she teases back at you, giving your hair this playful little tousle while she pulls you in for a deep, lasting kiss. And the way Karina looks in just a towel—well, you try not to think too much about it. 

"Okay, seriously. I need to get going now, or else I really will miss class. But maybe when I'm back—"

"Yeah?"

Karina cups your face and just stares for a moment, in deep thought, contemplating a thousand ideas. "I really am going to ride the fuck out of you. Maybe even tie you up again and make you beg like you never have before.” 

"Can't wait."

"Neither can I, sweetie. See you soon."

[pbandnoj]

The JjK men reacting to finding out you’re infertile. This was honestly a self-indulgent fic idea but then it won on the poll I put out and honestly I was kinda surprised people were interested! Yall picked the only fic I didn’t have finished but I do now so here it is! If you’d like a part 2 let me know! +what characters!

Toji

You didn’t tell him until years into the relationship. Sure maybe that wasn’t the healthiest thing but oh well things happened and you couldn’t change the past. And it took so long for Toji to trust you… that you just didn’t want to add another thing on top of it to deal with. I mean it took him almost a year for him to introduce you to his kids. It took him that long just to feel serious about your relationship.

And it’s not like he asked either, or used a condom. Cmon, we all know his history with women and he just kinda presumed you were on the pill, or that he’d deal with the consequences after the fact. He had two kids, this wasn’t his first time around the block. And even after he got serious with you he never brought up wanting to have another. His hands were full, and besides he wasn’t very well off. I mean you guys made it work, but that was just with the 4 of you, who knows what adding another would do.

So the conversation didn’t happen until probably 5… maybe 6 years in. Where you both had pretty much decided that you were stuck with each other. That if you lost each other at this point in life there would be no reason to restart the process of finding someone new all over again. He trusted you, and god that meant a lot coming from a man like Toji, his goal was to protect his kids and now you along with them.

Laying on the couch one night, one kid off at a sleepover the other supposed to be returning home soon. You guys trusted them… maybe a lil too much. Head resting on his chest, listening to the way his heart pounded, like it wanted to leap out of his chest and make it known just how much he loved you, how much joy he found being with you. Something he thought he’d never find again after the loss of his first wife, and the second one leaving him.

Some thriller played in the background, some movie franchise Toji was secretly a big fan of. Half empty beers sitting on the coffee table, one of his hands softly scratching your back, softer than the man had ever been before. You, aimlessly fiddling with his other hand that adorned his shiny wedding ring, one that matched yours, deciding on simple ones that didn’t cost much, but meant a lot.

“Hey Toji?” You muttered out, voice weaker than you intended, his hand on your back instinctively tightened, a simple grunt in response. Your tone of voice worried him, that tone always did, meant you’d ruin the peace with something serious, as he’d always say. But really he was just always worried it’d be something so serious that he’d end up losing you.

When you didn’t continue, he grumbled, ready for you just to spit it out. This type of atmosphere either had 1 of 2 endings to whatever conversation was going to happen, either you were super upset over something really really detrimental or it was something silly you were getting all caught up on. “What is it woman? You’re ruining the movie,” his words were harsh, but you were long past the phase of wondering if he was mad at you over simply the way he normally spoke.

“Well….Did you ever… I don’t know… question why I was so excited that you had kids?” You hummed out softly, your hand that was fiddling with the ring on his finger slowly moving to hold his hand instead. Toji had once in the past let it slip that when he had tried dating before you he often got hurt cause they didn’t want to deal with his already pre-started family. He sighed knowing you were overthinking something, “Mmm, not really, was just grateful,” that was one of the first time you had actually heard him be so openly heartfelt.

“Oh…. Well it’s cause I can’t have my own,” you hummed softly. His expression didn’t change, nothing more than an eyebrow quirking up, “Is that so doll?” He mumbled, already deciding this convo was one of the silly ones, aka option 2. You took his response as him just simply brushing you off, watching his eyes reconnect with the tv screen and his hand that was intertwined with yours, now reaching for his beer bottle, “Those kids, Megumi and Tsumiki, are just as much yours now as they are mine.” Everything he had needed to say was in that one little sentence alone.

Your eyes widened, “Oh Toji,” you muttered softly, holding back tears, “Oh Jesus don’t cry,” he huffed, resuming his hand on your back, rubbing soft soothing circles. Reaching his head down to press a kiss to the top of your head but in his head he was just glad this was one of your silly overthought moments.

Nanami

You told him on your 3rd date. Nanami was a classy man, made you feel really stupid for some of the guys you had dated in the past, so you wanted to treat him right just as he treated you.

On your first date he was stiff, and awkward even, but it was endearing in a way. You both had worked together so there was no reason for him be worried but it was nice to know that someone like Nanami could be nervous. That date was a dinner date.

Your second was a bit more relaxed, a bowling alley, an idea recommended by Gojo an annoying coworker you both shared (and bonded over complaining about). It was nice cause Nanami could get a few drinks in, relax a bit, unbutton the top button of his shirt. Strike some strikes and whatever else you did in bowling. It was nice.

Your third date was a walk through the park, a bit more impromptu but you had decided this one, invited him on it too. It was after an early mission, so you two were done around the afternoon. The sun was warm, flowers blooming, walking side by side down some path. And of course the relationship wasn’t official but Nanami knew from the first time he had saw you he wanted you.

His hand was placed respectfully on your lower back, of course after making sure you were ok with it, and trees lined the pathway you were walking on. He had haphazardly stuck a flower in your hair, one he had picked along your walk.

He was warm, comforting, made you feel like you could be you, so you wanted to be honest. “Kento… are you sure I’m the one you want?” You asked gently, eyes nervously looking up at him as you bit your lip, awaiting his response.

“Of course,” he scoffed, he may be a gentleman but he sure was sassy. “Why wouldn’t I?” He hummed tilting his head down to look at you. “Well… I just think some of are goals don’t align,” you sighed and an eyebrow raise from him was all you needed to know that he was listening.

“Well I…. Look… I can’t… I can’t give you a family,” you muttered looking away, your body becoming rigid against his, “And what do you mean by that?” His voice stern, impending, but not harsh just… curious. “Well… I can’t exactly procreate and it be successful…you get it?” You mumbled under your breath as you picked at the sides of your nails.

Oh, that’s what you meant. He nodded more as a confirmation for his inner thoughts than anything you said, he brought one of his free hands to swat at yours that were picking, “That’s fine,” he shrugged looking back ahead at the path.

“What?” You half yelled definitely hearing some bird flying away from you at the disturbance, “But you.. didn’t you wanna settle down? Have a family? I’ve heard you talk about it,” you grumbled.

He rolled his eyes, “Sure I did, but none of that would mean anything without you,” he hummed, stopping to face you. Tilting your head up by your chin, tired eyes meeting yours, “I want you and you alone. If I can’t have children so be it. You’re enough for me.”

And needless to say it was definitely official after that.

Sukuna

The king of curses was already a very scary man, and honestly talking to him could be quite… difficult to say the least. So you swore off to never tell him. And he didn’t even want the little rascals anyway.

Children were too… annoying for someone who was already so irritating himself, and a little one just like him? Hell would freeze over if that happened.

But he couldn’t deny that you made him ponder. What would it be like? Having one.. or possibly two that were a mix of you both. Or better yet he’d like it more if they were exactly like you. The world would be a better place with only one version of Sukuna Ryomen in it.

Yet he didn’t think of it often. But you knew you had to come clean soon, you could feel the way he glared at your stomach as if trying to stare straight into your uterus. When really he was just trying to figure it if you could even carry a baby from a cursed spirit like him… or if he could get a mere mortal pregnant.

He started trying to, oh so so hard to get you pregnant, every single time burying himself all the way before shooting his load. Yet you never showed any signs. Maybe he was simply incapable. That made him frown.

And that was when you hit a dry spell. He had become so worried that he was shooting blanks or that it was simply impossible to have kids because he was a curse. He was a lot more grouchy, and a lot less touchy. Sukuna already found cuddling and the sorts useless but now? Oh he’d barely look at you now.

He was always easily agitated so you often had found it easier to avoid conflict but he was making it seem like you didn’t even exist. One night you burst into his chambers, a little more attitude in the way you shoved the doors open than you usual.

“Tell me,” you called out standing firmly at the edge of his bed, fuming as your first clenched. His raspy, booming laugh resounding amongst the room. “Tell you what exactly? I owe you nothing,” he hummed remaining in his relaxed position on his lavishly large bed.

“You’ve barely spoken to me or even looked at me in a week? You used to be insatiable what is the problem!” You scrambled out. He clicked his tongue as he rolled his eyes, “Tsk, it’s none of your business how I spend my time. If it bothers you then shoo.”

You groaned, you knew him better than that, he wasn’t being truthful. “Sukuna tell me or I will leave this time, I am done playing this game with you.” Narrowing his eyes he took a good long pause before speaking, pointing down to your abdomen, “You show no signs of pregnancy despite multiple times in the bedroom. I’m confused aren’t most women your age fertile?” He jested, quirking a brow.

“Oh,” you muttered straightening up as you sighed. He sensed the noticeable change, “Your soul’s wavering, you know I can feel it, spit it out,” he said, glaring at you, but his look was one more of concern, you could always tell the difference. “Well I uh…”

You walked around to sit on your side of the bed, really he’d never call it that to your face, before you he’d always just sprawled out. Now he made sure to leave that space empty. “Look I…. I can’t have em,” his brow raised, “Have what? You’re being cryptic mortal.”

You groaned, “Kids! I can’t have kids,” that was laughable. Wait you weren’t joking? Sukuna quickly realized that, “What are you deformed?” He teased but it didn’t help the way your eyes got all dewy. He grumbled, he may be practically a demon….. but he did care enough for you to be in his bed next to him.

“So you cannot produce my heir,” and all you could respond with was a shake of your head, confirming. To Sukuna this made him feel a million times better. He wasn’t shooting blanks you simply just weren’t able to be impregnated. He was joyous if not for the tone of the situation.

“Does not matter,” you shot your head over, a confused look on your face. “You wouldn’t have been able to carry my baby anyways, I’m far too powerful for a mortal to carry my heir,” he teased, and while he had his signature smirk you could see the slight tenderness through it.

This may have been one of the only times he seemed to have understood your turmoil. And also the only time for him to have been the first one to initiate physical contact, pulling you into his chest. One hand running protectively over your back, another in your hair, the other two wrapping around you. “Do not fret, calm your soul dear,” his deep voice muttered out soothingly. And that was probably the best you had ever slept.

[miumura]

WAiTiN’ ON CALLS — S. JAEYUN 𓂃 ⭑

( 엔하이픈 제이크 ) : jake misses you — too much for his own liking. he tries to move on, and by doing so, he gives you one last call. usually it would go directly to voicemail, but instead, he was greeted with you on the other line.

──── ex!jake x gn ! r . . . ⌕ ex 2 lovers, second chance, angst, fluff ∿ 𝔀ord count 2.1K+ ( 2196 ) ╱ HAPPY BF JAKE DAY 🤍 i’ve been dying to write a fic using this pic of jake ever since it got posted … so this is for me and my jake baes 🤍

Jake knew he was beyond exhausted—so tired that all he could manage after work was to head straight for his bed, not even bothering to take off his suit.

But despite the dim lighting and the comfort of sinking into his mattress, sleep refused to come. He tossed and turned, tried counting sheep, but nothing worked. Frustrated, he sat up, turning on the radio to a soft, quiet tune as he stared at his phone.

He already knew what was on his mind.

His gaze settled on his contact list, focusing on one name—yours.

He missed you, more than he cared to admit. His eyes lingered on your icon, a picture he’d secretly taken during one of your dates. You’d demanded he delete it, but he never did. Instead, he kept it as a reminder of you, proudly showing it off whenever he got the chance.

A small, bittersweet smile crept onto his lips as his eyes trailed down to your name, the ache in his chest growing a little heavier.

My Love. He never bothered changing it—that name was reserved for you, and only you. Was it strange for him to keep it that way? He wasn't sure, but what he did know was that no matter what, you’d always be his love, even if he was the only one who still believed it.

Should he call you again?

His finger hovered over your name, hesitating—a rare feeling for him. He’d always called before, whenever he had a free moment. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, just a way to clear his head, but it had become a habit. Strangely enough, he found relief in those calls. They always went straight to voicemail, and he was certain you never listened to them.

That’s where he poured his heart out, leaving messages that no one would hear. It was sad, but in a way, comforting—like shouting into the void, knowing there'd be no echo, no response.

He often wondered why you hadn’t blocked him yet. Maybe, if you did, it would finally force him to move on.

Maybe that would give him the push he needed to let go.

But deep down, he knew it wasn’t that simple. He was the one holding onto the past, the one clinging to old habits. Why did he think calling you, of all things, would help him get over you? Even if someone asked him, he wouldn’t know how to explain it.

Maybe he didn’t really want to.

Maybe, just maybe, he was still hoping for something—anything—from you.

He just wanted to hear your voice again, even though it felt impossible at this point. Pressing his lips together, he finally tapped the call button. Placing the phone on his thigh, Jake ran a hand through his hair, unable to look at the screen as the rings buzzed in the quiet room.

As usual, he fully expected you wouldn’t answer.

Normally, the sting of disappointment would hit him when you let his calls go unanswered, but tonight felt different. Tonight, everything was going to change.

This would be the last time he stared at your contact, the last time he pressed your number, and the last voicemail he'd leave. Tonight, he was finally going to say goodbye.

Tonight—

"Hello?"

His body went still.

For a moment, Jake couldn’t believe it. Your voice, so familiar yet distant, cut through the static of the call. He had rehearsed this moment over and over in his mind, but now that it was real, his words were trapped in his throat.

"Jake?" you repeated, sounding confused, maybe even concerned. "Are you there?"

He swallowed, trying to collect himself. "Hey," he finally managed, his voice barely a whisper. "I... I didn’t expect you to pick up."

There was a brief silence on the other end, making his heart race, before you spoke again. "I didn’t expect to get so many calls... or all the voicemails."

"You... you listened to them?" he asked, barely able to believe it.

“Caught up on all of it yesterday,” you admitted, your voice surprisingly calm. “You really sent a lot, huh?”

Jake’s heart was pounding so loudly that it drowned out his own thoughts. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The plan to say goodbye, the resolution he had built up in his mind, seemed to dissolve the moment he heard your voice.

He didn’t want to mess this up—he couldn’t.

“I still didn’t expect you to actually listen to them,” he said, his voice shakier than he wanted it to be.

“How could I not?” you chuckled softly, attempting to ease the awkward tension. It was strange, both of you knew it. Talking to your ex, someone you swore you’d never contact again, felt surreal.

And yet, here you were—on the phone, waiting for him to say something more.

Jake took a breath, the weight of his next words heavy on his chest. "I was planning on this being the last call,” he confessed. “Since you never really picked up... I figured I was just bothering you."

There was a pause on the other end, and he held his breath, wondering what you’d say next.

"Would it be wrong to say I had a feeling?" you finally replied, voice soft.

"How could you tell?"

"Just... a gut feeling," you said, as if searching for the right words. "Or maybe because… I knew you."

His heart couldn’t help but falter—he knew you were not lying. You did know him, deeply once. But that closeness had slipped away when life had led you down different paths.

"Yeah," was all he could muster, the simplicity of the word masking the storm of emotions within him. He wasn’t sure how to move forward, or if he even wanted to.

“Do you mean every single voice message?” you asked, breaking the silence that had settled between you two. Jake’s eyes widened, caught off guard by the question.

“Of course I do,” he replied, gripping his phone tightly, as if it could somehow bridge the distance between you. His heart was pounding; he needed to make this count. “There isn’t a single thing I’ve sent to you that I’d ever want to take back. Every word was real. It’s exactly how I feel about you... about us.”

For a moment, vulnerability hung between you, both knowing this conversation could change everything. Jake could only hope you’d feel it too, that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to turn this into something more.

“Come see me then.”

“Huh?” Jake’s breath hitched, unsure if he’d heard you right.

“You’re not going to leave me hanging this time, are you?” you asked with a light chuckle, though your voice held a hint of nervousness. You hoped the laughter would mask how your heart was pounding, racing in anticipation.

Jake barely registered the words before he was scrambling to grab his keys, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. “Not this time,” he stammered, his voice shaking with excitement and a touch of panic. He could feel his pulse hammering as he fumbled with his shoes, trying to keep his hands steady.

The thought of seeing you, of finally closing the distance he’d been feeling for so long, filled him with both anticipation and nervous energy.

"Take your time," you teased, though he could hear the faintest tremor in your voice, as if you were trying to calm yourself, too. But he knew he wouldn’t—couldn’t—wait.

He barely managed to lock his door, nearly tripping as he rushed down the stairs. His mind raced, playing over every word, every message he’d sent, wondering if this was finally his chance to make things right.

As he reached his car, hands fumbling for his keys, he took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus, to drive safely. But his heart wouldn’t slow, each beat pushing him forward with a desperate urgency.

Jake barely remembered the drive over, his mind racing faster than the car itself. As he pulled up in front of your house, he felt a fresh wave of nerves settle over him. He sat there for a second, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady his breath.

This was it.

With a final deep breath, he stepped out of the car and walked up the path to your door, his heart pounding with every step. He hesitated before raising his hand to knock, his mind swirling with questions.

But before he could overthink it, the door swung open, and there you were, standing there in the soft glow of your porch light. For a split second, neither of you spoke, caught up in the quiet intensity of the moment.

“Hi,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips, though he could see the same nervousness reflected in your eyes. “Still in your work attire?”

Jake looked down, realizing for the first time that he was still in his slightly rumpled shirt and loosened tie, his rushed appearance suddenly feeling a bit ridiculous. He let out a small, embarrassed laugh, reaching up to grab his tie as if he could somehow hide it from you. But when he looked back up, he wore a shy smile, his eyes creasing in that gentle way that had always made your heart skip.

Before he could say anything else, you stepped closer, reaching up to fix his tie, your fingers brushing against the fabric with a delicate touch that sent a shiver down his spine. He swallowed, feeling his pulse quicken. It was such a simple gesture, yet it felt like slipping back into something deeply familiar, a memory that had never truly faded.

“There,” you murmured softly as you adjusted the tie, smoothing out the collar. Your hand lingered for just a second longer, and in that moment, Jake felt everything—the unspoken words, the history, the quiet yearning.

“Thank you,” he managed, his voice a little rough.

"I didn’t realize you wanted to see me that badly… especially after just finishing your shift,” you said with a hint of surprise. “You’ve always loved your job.”

Jake let out a small, wistful laugh, meeting your gaze. “Even after a long shift, that isn’t enough to distract me from you,” he admitted. You both knew how deeply he was dedicated to his work, how it had once been the thing that drew him away from you, consuming his time and energy. Something he loved had taken his real love away from him. But he couldn’t dwell on regrets now, not when this chance was standing right in front of him.

“Every time I get back from work, I have to leave a voicemail,” he confessed quietly, his words hanging between you both.

“Every night?” you asked, startled. You hadn’t realized just how much he’d been reaching out in those messages, hadn’t counted the days it had spanned. “That’s… a lot, Jake.”

He nodded, his gaze steady and sincere. “There hasn’t been a single day I haven’t thought about you, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice raw with honesty.

You looked at him, noticing how he pressed his lips together, a nervous habit he’d never quite outgrown. His hair was neatly parted, and his suit fit him perfectly, accentuating the small changes time had brought to him. Somehow, he looked even better than you remembered—or maybe it was simply because you’d missed him more than you’d realized.

“Jake,” you murmured, almost as if testing his name again, letting it fill the space between you both. “I really missed you too.”

At your words, Jake’s face lit up, his cheeks lifting with a smile he couldn’t contain, no matter how hard he tried to keep his composure. He quickly looked away, clearing his throat, but when he turned back, his grin only grew wider as he saw your own smile mirroring his.

“Then… would you let me stay the night?” he asked softly, his voice hopeful, though almost immediately he seemed to second-guess himself. His smile faltered as he began to backpedal, a nervous laugh escaping. “Or, if that’s too much, we could just sit outside, or… in my car? Just to talk, to catch up—or maybe just to let me finally say all these things I’ve kept hidden.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, finding his nervous rambling unexpectedly endearing. It was hard to remember the last time you’d seen Jake like this—unsure, almost shy. Without another word, you reached out and grabbed his arm, gently tugging him inside.

“You can stay,” you said, a warmth in your voice that eased the lingering tension in the air.

Jake blinked in surprise, his nervous expression melting into something more tender as he stepped inside. The familiar warmth of your home wrapped around him, but it was the simple presence of you that truly eased him. He hadn’t realized how much he'd longed for this—just to be near you again.

As he looked at you, a quiet realization washed over him, clear and undeniable. He wasn’t just here because he needed to be; he was here because he wanted to be.

Wherever you were, that was where he wanted to be too.

‘💬’ ─── may active soph come back after this one 😖!

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[alastorthirsty]

Cum Sluts vs Zombies - Alastor x f!reader

Well, @6esiree, I wrote you a goddamn novelette. At a whopping 10.3k words, I present you with pure, unadulterated Alastor smut.

Other tags: @valerie-is-in-the-cupboard @babyfoxflower

Warnings: None, really. Oral (f receiving), scenting, p in v intercourse, rut smut.

At four in the morning, it would be obscene even by your own standards to keep playing video games. You turn off the television in your bedroom and take off your headset, feeling the little bit of perspiration in your hair from the foam. You shake it out and stand up, nudge a few energy drink cans out of the way. Your joints creak. Your eyes burn just a little bit. But goddamn if Cum Sluts vs Zombies wasn’t a helluva time.

You shake yourself off, get a glass of water, get ready for bed. You had just gotten done brushing your teeth when you heard it.

The sound of absolute chaos—glass breaking, furniture hitting the walls, thumps, thuds, more shattering glass—and then silence again. The hotel went back to its usual late night quiet.

You stand there for a moment, still holding your toothbrush, just staring at the wall you shared with your neighbour.

The Radio Demon.

Never, in all your months of living side-by-side, have you detected a single peep out of him. Not even once, let alone the (albeit quick) cacophony you had just heard.

“Huh.”

You proceed with your nighttime routine, all the little serums and creams that keep your skin looking bright and soft all the time, and then another sound.

It was a deep, resonating moan; you drop a jar of cream onto the vanity. Something weird, fucked up, and potentially dangerous was going on, but that moan, that almost pained sound…

Goddamn it.

With a sigh, you make sure you look decent-ish and walk the short distance to Alastor’s door.

Your knuckles rap upon the wood. Twice. Silence. “Alastor?”

No response. You lean closer and knock again. “Alastor? Are you all right?”

Again, no answer. You frown, but It's probably nothing. It's probably just one of the weird voodoo things that he does. You tell yourself it's probably just that and turn to head back to your room.

But that moan, it was just so…

You sigh and knock one more time. “Alastor I’m going to feel really guilty if I leave and you turn out to be dead.”

You hear a soft click. That’s it. That’s the only acknowledgment you get. No answer. No verbal response. But the knob does turn.

You take that as a sign that you’re allowed to go inside.

You walk into the bedroom slowly, looking more to the floor than anything else, knowing there’s shattered glass everywhere. It litters the floor, glistening like little diamonds in the light coming in from the hallway—but the door suddenly slams shut.

You jump about a mile, and then a hand is around your waist. One very familiar hand. It slips down to your ass and he lowers his face against the back of your neck. You can feel his lips brush against your skin.

“So you decided to see if I was still in one piece, hmm?” His voice is a low, deep rumble against your skin. The sensation gives you chills.

“I sort of had to,” you say, utterly still.

“Oh, you had to?” His tone is mocking and the hand on your ass gives a squeeze. “Couldn’t bring yourself to just go back to your little room and keep gaming until the morning hours?”

“It’s past four, even I won’t game later than that. No, I put away my controller for the night, got ready for bed, and then I heard you break everything in your room. But that’s beside the point. Why is your hand on my ass, pal?” You ask.

“Hm, is that so?” He sounds skeptical. “I was expecting you to stay up all night. And why am I touching you?” He pauses, his hand squeezing again. “I want to, isn’t that reason enough? You’ve spent too much time running away from me lately. I don’t like it. Come here.”

You dance away from him, carefully avoiding debris all around you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ah, there you go, avoiding me again.” He doesn’t try to come to you, though, he remains standing beside the door, watching you very closely.

You notice something weird. You notice several things that are weird. He looks…out of breath. Sweat glimmers against his skin, his normally coiffed hair is mussed, his eyes are heavy-lidded and his breaths sound raspy.

“I’m going to ask you something very straightforwardly,” you say.

He cocks his eyebrow and leans against the door. “Go on, then.” His tone is casual, but his body language is…peculiar.

His jaw cracks, a tension he never shows; you’ve never seen a smaller smile on his face.

You gesture to him, to the shattered glass and broken furniture strewn all across the dimly-lit room. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He actually falters a little at your tone, his eyes go wide, then narrow at the accusation. “Why is something wrong?”

His voice is still calm, too calm for…whatever this was.

“Okay then,” you say, clapping your palms together. “You’re alive. You’re weirder than usual and you’ve broken all the things, but I’ve satisfied the need to know you are, in fact, as alive as you were since the last time I saw you. Goodnight.”

“Don’t.” His voice is short, sharp, and has a clipped edge to it that you’ve never heard from him before. (Not that you ever much listened.) “Don’t you dare leave.”

You take a deep breath and shift your weight to your other leg. “Do you need me for some reason? What is it?”

Alastor is silent a long moment, his eyes boring into you. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, hoarse. “Lock the door.”

“That is the opposite of what I’d like to do,” you quip.

“Damn it, just do it, all right?” His voice is almost a shout. The tension is back, his clawed hands are clenched into fists, his breathing is ragged.

Oh, this just wasn’t right at all. You were not enjoying yourself the tiniest bit, not as radio static became louder and louder in the room…

You find your resolve anyway. “Alastor, you’re the one leaning against the door. If you want it locked, you lock it.”

There’s another long moment of silence.

You watch him straighten up, his fist clenched around the knob behind him. He takes a deep, shaky breath. “You’re sure you want to test my patience right now, little girl?”

His voice is soft, low, and dark. The radio pops fall silent. Everything…everything becomes silent.

“Oh.” You take a deep breath, heart picking up the pace. “You just want me to get close to you again.”

“Ah, there you go. So clever, my dear.” He takes a step forward, the movement slow and careful, strangely almost as though he’s afraid he’ll stumble if he moves too suddenly. He stops a few feet from you, just looks down at you for what feels like an eternity. Then his eyes narrow again.

“Take that jacket off.” His voice is still quiet, still hoarse, but there’s an underlying current of need that pulls the air from your lungs.

You stand there in silence for a time before shaking your head. “Nope!”

“Oh, so you’re going to be stubborn, then?” He crosses his arms, looking down at you with one eyebrow cocked, then he growls. “Either take it off or I’ll take it off for you. Don’t push me in this state, darling, I’m already at my limits.”

“At the limits of what, Alastor? What’s happening to you? Why did you break everything? Why are you all messed up? And why is it so fucking hot in here?” You throw your hands up with abandon. “Answer me.”

There’s another long stretch of silence.

His breathing is ragged and the sound is loud in the quiet room. His knuckles are strained from how hard his hands are clenched into fists now.

He closes his eyes, his head tilting back, and the sound he makes is soft, almost too quiet.

A soft groan, just low enough that you almost miss it.

…That little groan leaves you breathless, catches you in the chest, and you just look at him.

His eyes snap open, but this time they’re…different. His pupils are blown wide, and there is a desperate, hungry look to them that you’ve…definitely never seen before.

He takes a step forward, lunges at you, his hands grabbing your wrists and grasping them to his chest.

“Goddamn it, please…” His voice is soft, hoarse, and full of need.

You’re trembling, but not altogether from a place of the fear you’re meant to be feeling. “Please what?”

His eyes are still wild, desperate, and his breaths are coming in ragged gasps now. “Please, just let me touch you, darling.”

He moves closer, his hand tightening around your wrists.

The room is quiet, save for the sound of his breathing. After a few moments, you swallow and nod.

You nod, and he groans.

His hands leave your wrists, then move down your body to your hips. He pulls you against him, his hips grinding hard, insistently against you, his nose buried in the curve of your neck, and he breathes in deeply.

“Damn, you smell amazing…” He murmurs against your skin. His hands move lower, gripping your ass again, pulling you even closer.

His teeth suddenly close on the side of your throat. You’re not sure if the sound you make is due to pleasure or pain, or maybe a little bit of both, but it seems to drive him wild.

“You’re mine,” he growls against your skin. He’d never talked to you like that before. Hell, it’s possible he’s never spoken to anyone like this before. You’d never seen him lose control this way. Or…really, do anything at all like this. Or anything that suggested that he could.

His hands move to the buttons on your shirt, his fingers fumbling clumsily with them.

“Oh, hey, hey!” You say, flailing your arms for some fucking reason. “Hey! Al!”

“What?” He draws back a little, his face flushed, his eyes wild. “What is it, darling?” His voice is rough, his expression is dark, and his body seems somehow more tense.

You swallow and breathe out roughly. “What’s, ah, you know. What the hell is happening?”

Alastor makes a sharp, dismissive sound. “I can’t concentrate when you smell like that, darling.” He moves closer, leaning his forehead against your shoulder. He takes a deep breath, then groans again. His claws catch in the soft fabric spread over your belly.

“It’s like you’re teasing me, but I know you’re not, which just makes it worse…please, darling, just be patient with me for a little longer. And take your shirt off. Now.”

With shaking hands, you take off the jacket you’d thrown on before leaving your room, the one that Alastor had previously demanded that you remove. In the quiet of the room, you hear it fall onto broken glass, the little chips settling underneath it. Alastor’s muttering something that you can’t really focus on at the moment. He keeps moving, but his face remained pressed against your neck, breathing in heavily. He grows quite apparently frustrated with your lack of progress and pulls your shirt open, the buttons flying.

You feel him shiver just as you gasp.

He is utterly silent, but you can feel the way his body tenses at the sight of your bare skin.

He stops breathing. Just for a beat.

His hand is large, warm, and surprisingly gentle as it skims over your skin. His touch leaves a burning sensation in its wake. Being at his mercy like this…

His breathing is still ragged, but now yours matches his. His hands are shaking slightly; he doesn’t seem to be trying very hard to hold himself back anymore. He pushes your shirt off your shoulders, lets it fall to the floor. His hands skim up your sides, fingers trailing along your ribs slowly, his touch leaving burning lines across your skin.

What a time to remember you had not put on a bra. The room was still stiflingly hot, and Alastor’s skin felt even hotter.

He’s muttering again.

“What?” you ask.

“I said Goddamn, you’re beautiful.” His fingers trail over the curve of your hip, then lower to the little patch of skin just above the waistband of your pants.

He murmurs something that might be a curse, his body tense against yours.

“Do you have any idea how hard I have to focus to keep under control when I’m around you?” His voice is rough, full of need. You still can’t see his face. “You smell so damn good, your voice is like silk, you’re so damn beautiful, do you have any idea how tempting you are?”

All of this is new and overwhelming information. “Like, now, or in general?”

“Now specifically. Right now. I’m at my goddamn limits trying to control myself.” He finally lifts his head, his eyes a dark crimson. He looks at your exposed chest and lets out a ragged moan. “God, I need you, darling.”

You tilt your head. “So wait, this is you holding yourself back?”

“I suppose.” He leans his forehead against your shoulder again, his hands still trailing over your bare skin, one finger tracing over the shape of your nipple. “Right now you’re practically dripping with desire. I can smell it, and it’s torture for me to keep myself from just pushing you against the wall and taking you right now. You have no goddamn idea how hard I’m having to try not to do that, darling.”

“I would prefer something horizontal,” you say, and not entirely to lighten the steadily darkening mood of the conversation.

He groans, that goddamn sound, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to hurt, his body tense and shaking against yours.

“Damn you, saying things like that. You’re killing me, you know that, don’t you?”

He draws back, and you finally get a good look at him.

He looks even more wrecked up close.

His hair is mussed, his expression fierce and hungry, his eyes dark and wild. His skin is flushed, and his breathing is ragged.

“Come here,” he murmurs, one hand gripping your wrist and pulling you towards the bed.

You follow along, still trying to avoid the debris he was just pushing straight through. Nothing was stopping this guy, he was a force. He sits down on the edge of the bed—one that you swear was not there when you first came into the room—pulling you closer until you’re standing directly in front of him.

His hands move to the waistband of your pants, unbuttoning them, looking up at you.

“I need you, right now.”

“Hey!” You still his hands and squeeze them hard enough to make him cock a brow at you. “I will absolutely not be entirely naked before you’ve so much as taken off your coat!”

His expression is stunned for all of an instant; he hadn’t expected you to be bold enough to do anything like this.

Then it changes to a smirk.

“Are you ordering me, darling?”

“No!” You shake your head. “No, but I am making a strong pronouncement.”

He chuckles, a low, dark sound in the near-silent bedroom.

“Strong pronouncement, is it?”

He slowly stands, letting go of your wrists, then shrugs out of his coat. He carefully folds it and sets it aside, looking all too amused.

You tilt your head, looking up at him. “Everything in here is broken and you fold your coat? Really? You’re so weird.”

“Oh, I’m weird,” he laughs. “And just how, exactly, am I ‘weird?’”

When you look up at him, you realise just how much he towers over you. At full height, you only reach his shoulders.

He lifts a hand, skims his fingertips over your cheek, down your jawline, then under your chin and lifts your face up to his.

His eyes are dark, full of want. “Is it because I think you’re beautiful?”

You shake your head. “Nope, that’s completely normal.”

He laughs again, his hand still beneath your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Is it the fact that I want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life? That’s ‘weird,’ is it, darling?”

Unlike him, your fingers don’t fumble with the buttons of his shirt. He has every opportunity to try and stop you, but he doesn’t. If anything, he maybe shifted to make it easier for you—but you couldn’t tell. Your fingers never faltered, but it didn’t stop all the screaming going on in your skull.

He’s silent as he stands there and allows you to undress him. His eyes are dark, half-lidded, but he makes no move to stop you.

He’s tense, though, you’d have to be blind not to notice it. His hands are fisted in front of him, and he’s not as relaxed as he wants you to believe.

You pop the last button and his red shirt hangs open, revealing his bare chest. The scars stand out right away, but you just push the shirt off his shoulders and then something strikes you.

You’re both half-naked with nary a kiss taking place.

Now you’re dead set on remedying this absurdity, yanking him down to your level.

A shocked gasp escapes his lips and he leans into you, his large hands gripping your hips, his mouth crushing against yours. It’s rough, and eager, and hungry, and God it’s passionate.

His tongue slides against your lower lip, and he actually whines in the back of his throat in frustration when you don’t immediately let him inside your mouth.

He kisses you again, and this time you do let him inside. His tongue presses against yours, exploring your mouth as if he was desperate (well, it’s now quite clear how desperate he really is) and trying to consume you completely.

His hands grip you harder and he pulls you against him until your body is pressed flush against his. He growls against your lips, his breath ragged, his grip on you almost painful.

He pulls back from the kiss only long enough to mutter: “Bed. Now.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You already stood at the edge of it, so you pushed him down onto it and crawled on top of him, kissing him again.

He groans, leaning his head back and allowing you to take control just this once, although his fingers dig into your hips like he wants to force you to be even closer.

His mouth slides to your jaw, kissing and biting at the skin there, his breath ragged and scalding against your skin.

“Goddamn, you’re perfect, darling.”

His hands release their grip on your hips, his fingers trailing feather-light over your exposed skin, then down so they’re gripping your thighs.

His mouth moves to your ear, his teeth closing on the lobe for a brief second before he murmurs, almost inaudibly “I want you, darling. I want to feel you. I want to touch you, to taste you, to devour you.”

He rolls you over so you’re lying on your back beneath him, his large body pinning you against the mattress, between him and the bed.

He looks down at you, dark eyes burning into yours, his ragged breaths coming faster and faster.

“I need you,” he repeats, leaning down to kiss your throat. “God, I need you so much, darling. Just the smell of you is driving me insane, even right now. I want you so goddamn badly.”

Your head is spinning. Sounds cliche, sure, but that’s the experience that you’re dealing with at the moment. His scent is affecting you heavily now that he’s on top of you and you can almost feel it all over you. You look up at him and something is slightly off. You look a little further up and gasp.

“Alastor, your antlers!”

He lifts his head and blinks, almost as if you had spoken a different tongue.

“What about them, darling?”

“They grew! They’re not little lobster claws anymore!”

He looks a little surprised, and confused, and then he reaches up, feeling one of the newly formed antlers with his fingers, as if disbelieving.

“Ah hell,” he mutters, then looks down at you again. “They only grow when I’m at my most—”

He stops himself with a sharp inhale. “Damn it, I knew I was close, I just didn’t realise how close.”

“What?” you ask. “What is the center of this goddamn mystery, Alastor? This is beginning to feel like a mystery box, like if David Lynch tried his hand at an erotic radio show set in 1930.”

He laughs, still sounding ragged, and a little strained. “It’s not a mystery, darling, although I do enjoy how curious and eager you are about this. They grow when I’m near my rut.”

“Let’s just say I understand fully what that is. You mean it whatever the hell this is hasn’t even fully hit yet?”

“No, not yet, but it’s damn close.” He looks down at you, and you can see the heat in his eyes, the look that’s almost pleading with you to help him find some sort of relief from this. “I’m going to get very desperate, very soon.”

You nod a few times. “Okay. I’ll get you through it.”

“It will be a hell of a ride, darling,” He looks down at you, his eyes dark. “Are you sure you understand what you’re getting yourself into?”

“Not even a little bit,” you say with a smile, shaking your head.

He laughs again, but this time it’s a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “That’s all right, darling. I’ll do all the hard work, you just have to let loose and let me take care of you.”

You hold up a finger. “That’s doable—if.”

He cocks an eyebrow, looking faintly amused. “If? What exactly are your conditions, darling?”

You look him dead in the eye. “I want to touch one of your fluffy, fluffy ears.”

A laugh bursts out of him, and he leans his head back. “That’s it? You’re willing to put up with my ruts for one touch of my ear?”

You wink at him. “They just look so fun to touch and I’ve always wanted to.”

He laughs again, then shakes his head, a smile on his face. “All right, darling, you can touch them as much as you like. Just remember that when you’re screaming my name later.”

“Are they sensitive? Will it hurt you?”

“They’re sensitive, yes, but I trust that you won’t hurt me.” He gives you a smirk. “Or is that what you want? You want to make me beg?”

You gently trace your fingertip from the base of his ear to the tippy-top. “This can make you beg?”

He shudders, his eyes fluttering open and closed, his hips grinding against yours. “God, yes.” His voice is raw, and ragged, and needy, and you’ve barely touched him.

“What about your antlers?”

“You want to touch those, too?” he asks, still shuddering.

You touch the base of his ear again. “Do I have your consent?”

“Yes, darling, you do, but—” He’s cut off by a moan as your fingers trace down the base of his ear, making his eyes flutter shut again.

“But?”

His eyes are half-lidded again, dark with need. “They’re sensitive in a very animalistic kind of way, darling, that’s the best description I can give.”

“Okay, now I have to,” you say, and very, very gently trace your fingertip along the new points that had grown.

Another shiver runs through his body, and he groans. Then, he looks down at you, and his eyes are blown wide. He looks absolutely feral.

“Darling, I love the way you touch me,” he murmurs. “But if you keep it up, I won’t have a damn bit of self-control when my rut fully hits.”

You chuckle softly. “Decisions, decisions.”

He growls, low and needy, and you realise that he’s just barely holding it in.

“Darling,” his voice is strained, and he takes deep, ragged breaths, “just remember, when we begin I will not hold back.”

He kisses you again, and his body is tense, his hands gripping your hips so hard it almost hurts.

“I’ll take good care of you, darling,” he murmurs between kisses. “But I’m going to be rough. I want to hear you moan my name, I want to hear you cry, I want to hear you beg. Do you understand?”

“Promise?” you ask, breath coming a bit more quickly.

He groans again, his hips grinding against yours. “God, you’re so goddamn perfect. You have no idea what it does to me when you speak to me like that. And yes, darling, I swear it, I’ll take good care of you.”

He kisses you again, and his hands move to your waist again, sliding down your stomach and lower than that, one hand pushing your legs apart.

Damn it, your pants were still on. “Hang on, Al, help me just…”

He pauses for a moment, then grabs the waistband of your pants and yanks them down past your hips, pulling them off your legs and throwing them somewhere into the room.

“That seems about right,” you say, then trace your finger along his ear again.

His eyes flutter shut, his breath still ragged. “You’re going to drive me insane, darling,” He murmurs, his hand sliding further up your thigh.

You wink at him as his fingers move higher and higher.

He chuckles dryly, his fingers skimming over your skin.

“So bold, darling." He kisses the sensitive skin of your neck. “So willing. Have you ever been touched like this before, darling?”

“Well…” Your breath hitches. “Not since I arrived in hell, for sure. It’s hard for me to remember before.”

“Hard to remember?” He laughs. You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and ragged, his fingers sliding even further up your thigh. “Don’t worry, darling,” he murmurs. “I’ll make you remember.”

He kisses you again, hard and eager and needy, pushing your legs apart. He kisses your jaw, then your neck, then lower, until he’s between your legs.

He kisses your stomach, kisses your hipbone, and then looks up at you, dark eyes burning into yours, his voice soft and eager. “Are you ready, darling?”

“F-fuck yes,” you whisper.

He laughs, low and dark, his thumbs stroking your inner thighs. “Then I’m going to make you scream.”

He kisses your inner thighs, and God, it feels so good, but you can feel his antlers brushing against your skin every time he moves. It’s a completely different sensation of having something hard and sharp-tipped rubbing against you, and it’s incredible.

He kisses every inch of skin he can, but he takes his time, teasing you. His fingers grip your thighs like he doesn’t want you to pull away, but his mouth never goes any further than that until finally he looks up at you again, his eyes still dark.

“I’m going to taste you now, darling. Are you ready?”

Oh, God. This was really happening. It wasn’t a dream. You think over all the little moments that led you here, his body on top of yours. You touch one of his antlers and nod, biting your lip.

He kisses your stomach again, so close, his breath ragged and hot against your skin.

“I want you to say it,” he murmurs against your skin. “Say that you want me to taste you, darling.” His hands grip your thighs again. “Say it, darling. Just a few more words and I’ll give you what you want. I don’t want you to hold anything back, so just tell me what you want.”

Your cheeks heat up and you look up at the ceiling, arms coming up to cover your eyes. All he can hear is muttering.

He laughs and you feel his warm breath against your skin. “You’re not listening, darling. I said I want to hear you.”

Ah, fuck. He was really going to make you say words, huh? Okay, fine, fine.

“Al, I want you to eat my pussy.”

He laughs. “Now, was that so hard, darling?” You feel his breath against you, teasingly close. “Now we can begin.”

He kisses your inner thigh again, his hands still gripping your legs, holding you in place. “I’ve been waiting for this a very long time, darling,” He murmurs against your skin. “I’m going to enjoy every inch of you.”

You almost snap. “You what?”

Alastor laughs. “I’ve been wanting you like this for quite a while, darling.” He kisses your thighs again, still keeping his hands where they are, holding you down, keeping you in place for him.

“Just the sight of you drives me crazy, and you’re so damn perfect, but like this? Oh, you’re absolutely gorgeous. I’m going to devour you, darling.”

You pant there for a moment as he moves, hand trailing through his hair“Well, I’ll be damned.”

He chuckles, a sound so unfamiliar in its familiarity. “Such an impatient little thing you are,” He kisses up your inner thigh, his nose nuzzling against it. “I’m taking my time.”

Your thigh tenses pleasurably, but he doesn’t allow them to close even a centimetre. “Alastor…”

“Just relax, darling, let me take care of you.” He has you bend your knees and wraps his arm around your thigh, gripping tight, squeezing just to make you squirm.

It’s his fingers that touch you first, grazing through your slick with a bit of a dark chuckle against your thigh, the cocky son of a bi—

Alastor slides two blunted fingertips inside you and there’s no resistance whatsoever. His fingers curl just right, making you cry out. You gasp and cover your mouth though.

“Darling, don’t you dare try to hold those beautiful sounds back,” he growls against your skin, and you can feel his breath, hot against you. “I want to hear every single sound you make.”

You’re trying your hardest not to squirm and failing miserably. “But I don’t want to disturb anybody!”

He laughs, still against your skin. “Darling, I don’t think anybody is here to mind.”

He does something with his fingers, making you moan despite your best attempts not to. “Besides, I don’t mind if they hear you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The way he’s crooking his fingers so fucking casually, like it’s not got you shaking in his bed…

You freeze and then tremble when his tongue, hot and wet, perfectly complements that fucking crooking gesture. It’s like he has a roadmap of your fucking body and how to make you come in minutes flat.

And he takes damn good advantage of it. He’s clearly been paying attention to what you like, his fingers and tongue working in perfect harmony to make you writhe and gasp for him.

And it’s getting damn difficult to keep those sounds contained when he’s driving you mad like this.

“Make noise for me, darling,” he murmurs against your skin. “I promise, I don’t mind if someone hears you. Hell, I want them to hear you. I want everyone to hear how good you feel, how you moan for me.”

“Goddamn, Alastor, I can’t, I can’t—“

He laughs again, and goddamn, the vibrations against your skin makes you shiver. “Yes, you can, darling, you can do everything I want you to do.”

He pauses for a moment, then adds: “And I want you to say my name, darling, I want you to moan it.”

You groan, thighs trembling around his head. Points of his antlers constantly brush over your skin, your thighs, your belly, but never painfully. Each time it did, you could hear, feel him gasp and groan against your pussy. His lips circle your clit and he sucks gently.

You can hear his ragged breaths against you, his mouth working faster, more eager, his hands gripping tighter, but still staying in control, at least for now.

“Say my name, darling,” he murmurs between little flicks of his tongue. “Say my name and don’t hold back.”

“Oh, fuck fuck fuck, goddamn! Alastor, fuck!”

He laughs again, and it’s more of a dark purr this time.

“That’s it, darling, moan my name, that’s what I want to hear,” he growls against your skin, his teeth grazing your hipbone. “ Let everyone know whose name you moan, let them know who makes you feel this good.”

His mouth moves, kissing the inside of your thighs, his hands still keeping a tight grip on you, holding you steady for him. “Say it again, darling,” he murmurs. “Moan my name for me, and say you belong to me.”

You would say just about anything at all at the moment, but that, that stuck in your pleasure-addled brain, compounded by another come-hither movement on your g-spot. “Alastor…I belong to you.”

A low, dark sound escapes his mouth at that, and you realise that he’s struggling more than you thought. It’s clearly all he can do not to throw you down and fuck you like he knows you need him to.

“Again, darling,” he murmurs, lips fluttering against your clit. “Again. Tell me again, say that you’re mine.”

The sensations were new. You truly could not remember if you had done this in your previous life, but you were damn certain this is the best you’ve ever had. In this moment, you’ll do or say all the little nothings he wants to hear. “I’m yours, yours, I’m whatever the fuck you want!”

He groans again, and the sound vibrates against you, making you shiver.

“Again, darling. Say it again, keep saying it, I want to hear you say it. Keep saying that you belong to me."

There’s a need to his voice, an edge of desperation. He wants to hear it, needs to hear it, needs to know that you belong to him, and he will keep begging for you to prove it if he has to.

Your hips rise to meet his mouth. It’s all you can do not to grab ahold of both antlers and hang on for dear life. Both of you are lucky you still have any blood flow to your brain at all. Telling yourself that you’re compromising, you grab his hair again. “Yours, yours, all yours…”

You can hear his breath hitch, you can feel how he’s fighting to wait for the main course.

“Not good enough.” His voice is dark, desperate, hungry. “Say it again, darling, say it again, and say it correctly. I want to hear you say it. I want you to moan for me, and tell me that you’re mine."

You can feel his ragged breathing against you, and you can feel how strong his grip is on you, as if he thinks you’ll pull away.

You do your best to focus. You give it the old college try. Taking a deep breath, you grab him by the antler to make him look at you.

“Alastor, I will tell you exactly what you want to hear. Nod if you understand me so far.”

He blinks, but nods, his eyes still dark, still hungry, still watching you.

“You are wrist-deep in my pussy. Got me all over your face. You’re about to go into a rut. I belong to you. I’ll always be yours, and yours alone. Better?”

He looks stunned for a moment, and then he laughs, and the sound is a dark, low, hungry growl.

“Oh, darling,” he murmurs, his voice dark and eager. “That is far better. Just what I wanted to hear. You’re learning, darling.”

You nod, satisfied and momentarily relieved, thinking this part as all behind you now. “I’m learning!”

“Yes, you are,” He murmurs. “I might have to reward you, darling, you’re so good at listening.”

You’re just about to ask him how when he drags a deep, long gasp out of you, his lips coming around your clit again, his fingers stroking you inside—

It was an all-out attack on your senses, but he wasn’t even trying to drag it out any longer. Maybe he was getting impatient too, or maybe you’d finally sung enough of his goddamn praises to appease him for a fucking moment—

Oh, the sounds he’s making are downright vulgar. The slurp of his lips, the squelch of his fingers, probably in any other context would be horrific, but just for now they translate to a tightness in your body that grows and grows and grows—

Until it snaps.

All that screaming he wanted crashed against the walls of the hotel room, and you could hear that smug, arrogant prick give a breathy laugh, could feel it even as his fingers kept working you. Your thighs try their damndest to close, but Alastor, having none of that, keeps them wrenched open. You’re grabbing onto both antlers but he is not letting up for one goddamn second.

You can feel him grin against you. He’s so damn proud of himself. But he’s not finished with you, not yet.

“So, just so we’re clear, you’re mine, all mine?”

Your body shakes all over. “Yes yes yes yes!”

He laughs, his laughter dark and eager.

“That sounded so good, darling. I want to hear you tell me that again. Will you say it for me?”

“I-I…Al…I…” Could the man not understand that words were impossible with his lips still brushing against your poor, overstimulated clit?

He laughs becomes deeper, darker, then he places an almost-mocking kiss to your bud. “That won’t do, darling. I want you to say those words for me. I want to hear you moan them, loud and clear, say that you’re mine.”

Problem was, in your current state that was almost literally impossible. “Ffffuck, I…”

Alastor hums amusedly. “That still isn’t good enough, but it’s a damn good start. Now, say it, darling, say that you’re mine. Say that you’ll always be mine.”

It takes everything, absolutely everything in you not to break. Was that his goal? Well, probably, yes, to some extent it had to be. Why was he making you say all these meaningless things? Torture, right?

“A-Alastor, whatever you want. I’m y-yours, I-I-I…fucking Jesus hellfire, I’ll be yours forever, I promise!”

He smirks against your skin. “That’s perfect, darling, just what I wanted to hear. You’re doing so good for me. Just say one more thing for me, before we continue, and then I’ll give you your reward.”

“What?” you sob.

“Good, good girl. I’m almost tempted to tease you and keep you begging for me, just to hear your voice, your beautiful voice, say all those perfect things. Almost tempted. But don’t worry, my darling, I’m not nearly that patient, and I want to hear you moan. Can you do that for me, darling? Can you scream for me?”

Your mind despairs of the unfairness of the situation. You shiver and twitch as he still won’t let up. “I fucking am, Alastor! What more do you want from me?? Please, Alastor, please…”

He laughs, and god the sound against your skin feels amazing. Too amazing. You were still doing all you could to appease him.

He pauses, finally halting all contact with your aching flesh. He takes the hand that was between your legs and licks your juices from his fingers.

It’s a sight that makes your heart pound and a shiver run through you. His dark eyes meet yours again, and his voice is a low, dark growl. “You taste heavenly, darling.”

Your laugh comes breathily. “Why thank you.”

Another dark chuckle. The hand he used to touch you is still wet, and he licks it again, deliberately making sure that you’re watching. “Truly delectable, darling.”

“Here,” you say, pulling him down. “Show me.”

He gives an amused huff, but lets you pull him down. His mouth captures yours, and this kiss is deep, hungry, and you can taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

He moans against you, a deep, dark, hungry sound, and you feel his hands moving to your hips again. He pulls you towards him, until you can feel how hard he is against you.

“Are you ready, darling?”

Your cheeks heat up again, as if this man hadn’t been mauling your pussy for the last half hour. You smile, but cover your eyes before you nod.

“Oh no no no, no hiding your eyes, darling,” He murmurs, gently pulling your hands away from your eyes.

He kisses you again, and when he finally moves, lifting you, you feel how damn strong he is, how he’s able to lift you like you weigh nothing.

“What am I to do?”

Alastor laughs, and the sound is dark and eager. “You’ll see. For now, just keep your eyes open for me. I want you to look in my eyes when I take you.”

“Okay,” you say, letting him put your head on the pillows, “I’ll stay put and keep my eyes peeled.”

He kisses you again, a slow, lingering kiss that ends with a bit of a bite, and you feel another growl against your lips.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, “a very good girl. I need you to stay just like that, darling. Just relax, and let me take care of you. Can you do that for me?”

You give him a soft, almost affectionate smirk and reach up to gently play with his ear. “I think I’m up for that, yeah.”

He growls again, and you can feel his hunger from it. “Damn you, darling, you shouldn’t sound so damn sexy when you say that, you’re only making this harder.”

Your eyes meet again. There’s a dark hunger in his eyes, a need. “You’re so damn beautiful. You are going to be so very mine. All mine. No one else will ever get to see you this way, or I’ll kill them. I want you to remember that, darling, remember that you’re mine. Never forget.”

You nod, smiling up at him, and give him a wink for good measure. “Sure, Al. I’ll remember.”

Alastor seems to accept your assurance, at least momentarily. He wrenches your legs apart again and slots himself comfortably between them.

When he nudges your legs apart again, you’re more than aware of how big he is. Even through his clothes, you can feel him, and that shiver runs through your entire body.

“That’s a good girl,” He murmurs, “I want you to say that again, darling. I want to hear you say it again. Say that you belong to me."

You smile up at him, affectionately rolling your eyes, whilst reaching between you to unbuckle his belt. Time for the natural progression of things. You can feel how taut his nerves have become and think it’s almost sweet, how he managed to put you ahead of himself for a while. That deserves sweet nothings.

“I know, big guy,” you say. “I know I belong to you.”

He laughs wickedly and there’s an edge of relief to the sound. Your words have clearly helped somehow, as if they’ve soothed him in some way.

His mouth meets yours, but this one is rougher, almost desperate. You feel his hands grip your thighs, hard enough to make you whimper again against his mouth.

“Al!” You protest when you part.

He laughs again, and this time the relief is more obvious, almost as if he’s been holding back so much that your words are allowing himself a little more freedom, a little more room to breathe.

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice rough and eager, “I know I’m being too rough, I’m sorry darling, but I really want you. I’ve been holding back for so long, holding myself back. It’s getting damn hard to keep control, harder every second."

“Well, now’s the time for pants to come off and for things to commence,” you tell him.

Alastor lets out another huff and there’s a note of disbelief in it this time.

“God damn you, you’re perfect. You’re perfect.”

His mouth is rough again when it meets yours, rough and hungrier and desperate. His hands are on your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin, almost tight enough to bruise.

His tongue forces its way between your lips, and this kiss is rough, almost possessive.

Alastor’s trousers are finally kicked away and he’s between your legs again, rubbing through your slick as if to catch it—that’s a good thing, too, because it feels absolutely massive. You don’t want to make yourself seem like a (possibly) inexperienced little virgin so you don’t say anything, but you sure as hell feel it.

He leans over you, his mouth hovering over your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

“Oh, darling,” he murmurs, “you feel perfect. So damn perfect. Say you’re mine. Tell me I’m the only one allowed to touch you, say it.”

There’s a note of hunger in his voice, a note of almost desperation. He knows that he’s lost control, that he’s barely holding himself together, but he doesn’t care.

You push his hair out of his eyes. The words come easily now, old hand. “You’re the only one allowed to touch me.”

He moans again, the sound sending a shiver up your spine, and pulls away just a little, looking you in the eye.

“Thank you, darling,” He murmurs, his voice rough. “Thank you for saying that.”

Immediately after he spoke those words, you could feel the thick heat of him force its way into your tight cunt. It burns somewhat in the way that it stretches you, but you also know that the height of your arousal is making it easier for the both of you. You look up at Alastor and see a look of concentration paired with relief paired with animalistic hunger.

Oh, dear.

He moans again, and you can hear just how much effort it takes for him to keep control, to not buck his hips.

You get a good grip on his hair as he bottoms out in you. Doesn’t hurt a bit. You hear the whine trapped in the back of his throat and your knees squeeze ever-slightly around his hips.

He growls, the muscles in his neck taut, every muscle and tendon visible in his neck, and his hands dig into the sheets beside you, shredding them and perhaps the top of the mattress as well.

“You’re mine,” He repeats, his voice low and dark. “You have no idea of ownership yet, but you’ll learn. Your soul may not be mine, but that changes nothing. Nothing, do you understand me? Now say it, darling, say that you belong solely to me, say I’m the only one that gets to touch you like this. Say it.” His voice is getting rougher, more desperate, with the slightest bit of threat that made you tremble with pleasure. That’s okay, you’ll unpack that later.

For some reason, you touch his face, your hand cupping his cheek. You could swear he leaned into it, just a bit. “You’re the only one. You’re it.”

Alastor’s eyes slide almost closed, as if you’re comforting him, as if your touch is what he needs.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, “that’s good, darling, that’s very good. Say it again, say that I’m the only one, say I'm the only one that gets to touch you like this, the only one that gets to make you feel like this, I'm the only one.”

Your eyes close and immediately his clawed hand grips your chin, forcing your eyes open.

Alastor slams in and out of you. “I warned you not to look away from me.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you cry.

His thrusting is rough, hard, as if he’s trying to prove a point, as if he’s trying to force you to remember that he’s in control, that he’s the one that gets to decide, that he’s the one that gets to make you moan.

“That’s better, darling. I need you to look at me, I need to see those pretty eyes of yours, I need to know that you understand. Promise me you’ll make me stop if I hurt you. Can you do that, darling? Can you promise?”

His cautious words bring a smile to your face. “Promise.”

He growls again, and he looks so damn sexy doing it.

“Good, that’s good, darling. I don’t want to hurt you, I have to be careful. It’ll be difficult, because I’m so damn hungry for you, but I need you to promise me you’ll make me stop if I get too rough, I don’t want to hurt you, I want to take care of you."

“I’ll give your left antler a big tug if it starts to hurt,” you say.

“Good, good, very good. That’s a plan, my darling. Now just keep looking at me, no hiding those pretty eyes."

You stare up into his eyes, soft focus. It takes more effort than you thought that it would, especially with him pounding into you—but it wasn’t hurting. He seems to know you on a sexual level, somehow, seems to know what makes your toes curl. He pushes your thighs further apart with one of his knees so he could get deeper.

“That’s a good little darling, that’s good. Don’t look away, don’t dare look away, I want you to always look right at me. I need to see those pretty eyes of yours, I need to know you’re looking at me, I need to know that you understand. Understand?”

“Yes, yes Alastor, I understand—oh, Christ, what are you doing to me?”

He chuckles, a low rumble. “I want to make you scream, darling, that’s all I want. I need you to scream. You look so perfect right now, and I need to hear you scream for me."

You change your grip on him as he gets deeper and deeper, making you feel so full. Alastor moves faster and there’s something, some magical configuration of pace, force, and position, that starts dragging those screams right out of you.

“That’s it,” he growls. “That’s perfect, perfect. Say my name, darling, go ahead and say it. Tell me what your body is feeling, tell me what I’m making you feel."

At this point you couldn’t give a fuck who heard. “Fuck, Alastor, you fuck me so good…”

Your walls flutter around his cock before clenching and it makes him grunt, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Good, that’s good, say it again, louder this time, let me hear you," he growls, as if he’s desperate to hear the words, "make me believe it, darling."

It’s hard to breathe in the heat of the room, the heat of him. It’s even harder, somehow, to keep your eyes open. You’ve no idea why, but the urge to close your eyes and hang onto him consumes you. You don’t, however, not wanting to upset him, not when he looks so fucking good.

You’d known, had it whispered to you by Angel long ago, how the Radio Demon…eschewed any kind of intimacy, emotional or physical. Seeing him like this, huffing on top of you, his cock dragging deliciously against your g-spot (he really had a knack for finding it and abusing the hell out of that knowledge), this was absolutely priceless. Precious to you, even. His antlers grew more pointed and as tempted you were to touch them, you didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. He was giving you pleasure, not pain.

He’s panting, and his eyes are dark and eager, his muscles taut, every muscles in his neck visible. He’s clearly holding back. He’s holding himself back, stopping himself from moving harder, or faster.

He’s waiting for your voice.

“Darling,” he almost growls, “say it. Say what I’m doing to you. Say it.”

You bite his lower lip experimentally, giving no verbal response (yet).

He groans, and his eyes slide almost closed.

“Fuck,” he swears. “Don’t tease me like that, darling, I’m trying to hold myself back. But then you keep making little noises and doing that stuff, and it’s making it hard, darling."

“You know, it’s really nice of you to try to keep things…you know, not painful for me. Can I ask why?” you ask.

His reply is somewhat impatient. “Because you’re my damn mate. Now tell me how I’m making you feel.”

That response makes you falter, but you try your best to talk anyway. “Alastor, you make me feel so full of you. You’re making it hard to think or even breathe.”

“Good,” he says, “that’s good, I want to make you feel like that, I want to take your breath away."

His hands grip your thighs, hard enough to probably leave bruises, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are dark and eager.

“Say more,” he snarls, “tell me more, tell me everything you feel, tell me everything you’re thinking, tell me all of it."

You rub the base of his ear. “How about you tell me, for once?”

He groans, and his eyes slide almost closed again.

“Goddamn it, darling,” he mutters, "you’re making this difficult. It’s hard enough trying to hold back already, but then you have to do all this little things, touching my ears, whispering in my ear, making me want to lose control.”

“Okay, fair enough, I won’t touch your fluffy, fluffy ear, but tell me anyway.”

He laughs, and it’s dark and eager. “You’re making me lose my mind, darling. Your touch, your voice, the way you smell, the way you taste, the way you sound, everything, all of it is perfect."

“What does it feel like to fuck me?” You pause. “How does it feel to fuck your mate?”

He pauses and he seems to shiver faintly.

“Goddamn, that’s a hell of a question," he mutters. "It’s almost overwhelming. It’s like there’s something inside me that needs this, that needs, this, needs you. I don’t know how to explain it better, but it’s never felt like this before. I’ve never felt this before, never felt like this, like, like I’m whole."

“Alastor…”

He looks at you, his pupils blown. “Yes, darling?"

You want to say something, but words aren’t coming. You kiss him instead.

He moans into your mouth, his eyes sliding almost closed, and you can feel him almost tremble against you, as if he’s in ecstasy, as if he’s overwhelmed by this.

“Damn it, darling, don’t tease me like that," he mumbles against your lips.

“How can it be teasing when you’re currently inside me?”

He lets out a sound that’s almost a whine, his hands still gripping your thighs.

“Because you’re making me want even more, darling,” he murmurs, “you don’t even know what you’re doing to me right now. Keep going, please."

He moans again, and it’s almost desperate.

“Kiss me again, darling, please," He half-pleads, "please, I need more, more, I need you to kiss me."

You don’t hesitate, gripping his hair to pull him down, his lips crashing down against yours.

He moans deep and desperate, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, kissing you deeply and hungrily. His hands are still gripping your thighs, so tight that it’s leaving bruises on you.

You don’t care about the bruises. There’s something about kissing him that’s making the already great sex even more intense, to the point you’re practically whimpering underneath him. He does a kind of turn and you break the kiss to scream.

He groans, his eyes almost shut. “Goddamn, that’s good, darling, that’s perfect. Say my name like that again."

“Alastor, please, I’m not sure how much more I can take…”

“Well, you will,” he snaps. “You’re mine, darling, and you’re going to take what I give to you, what I do to you, because you belong to me, and I can do whatever I want with you. I want to hear my name from your pretty lips, and I want to hear my name moaned by your perfect voice."

He reaches between you, blunting a fingertip to rub at your clit. Miraculously, it’s not over-sensitised anymore, but it does speed things along—it also makes you vocal.

Very vocal.

Every filthy word you’ve ever even thought comes flying out from your lips.

He laughs, and the laughter is dark and eager.

“Fuck.” Alastor’s eyes half-close, "I love hearing those pretty noises from you, darling. I love hearing those sweet, beautiful sounds you make for me, I love knowing that I’m the one that makes you make them, I love knowing that I’m the one that makes you moan. Say my name again, say it again, and I’ll make you come harder than you ever have.”

You whimper softly. “Alastor, please, I can’t hold on, I can’t.”

He laughs, and his eyes slowly open, looking right into yours.

“Say it again. Say my name again, I need to hear you say my name again, I need to hear you moan it, I need to hear you whimper it, I need to hear it, I need that perfect voice to moan my name one more damn time."

Your body starts to shake and it’s damn near impossible to keep your eyes on his, but you definitely don’t want to deal with the consequences of your eyes closing again. Every little flick of his finger sends sparks through your whole body.

“Fuck, Alastor, goddamn it, please.”

He moans, and his eyes slide almost closed at those words.

“There we go, that’s a good darling, I want you to scream my name. I want you to scream and moan my name, I want to hear you, I want to know that you’re mine, I want you to say that you’re mine, I want to know that you know that you belong to me—“

“Alastor!” You begin to shout his name, over and over again.

He chuckles darkly, and you can feel the vibrations of it, feel it rumble through his chest.

“There we go, that’s exactly what I wanted, exactly what I wanted. You’re being so good, darling, so good, don’t stop now. Say it again, don’t stop saying it. Don’t stop saying my name, say it again for me, do it again and I’ll make you come, I’ll make you come so hard that you forget your own damn name, darling, say my name again and I promise that I’ll make you come so hard that you forget everything but my name, say it again, say my name again, don’t stop, never stop saying my name, say it, say it, say it say it please say just say my name, say my name, say, my fucking name!”

His fingers flick against your clit even faster, his cock presses against your g-spot ruthlessly.

You shout his name like a reverent mantra, fuelled by the heat in your belly.

“Good girl,” he says in a hoarse voice. His pace quickens and you can tell he’s just as close as you as you are. “Good girl, so good.”

Your thighs squeeze around his hips when you finally, finally come, pussy fluttering around his cock as he pounds you hard. Alastor kisses you, hard, as he chases after you. His hips soon still and his head drops down to your chest, breathing heavily.

You stroke his hair for a few moments, until your thighs stop trembling.

You hadn’t considered what would happen afterward. Well, you hadn’t actually considered any of this when you came to his room at all. What a bizarre turn of events. You don’t even know what time it is, how long that went on.

One thing you do know, or have at least gathered from various forms of media in hell, is that men want you to leave. When Alastor carefully gets onto his side, you silently slip out of bed—

Or you try to, anyway.

“What in the world do you think you’re doing?” Alastor asks, a hint of anger and smidge of threat in his voice.

“I was, uh, just find my clothes,” you say.

“Those won’t be necessary,” he says sharply, jerking you back and pulling you flush against his body.

A few tense moments pass before he speaks again, clearly quite pissed.

“Why would you try to leave me?” he asks. “Didn’t I say you’re mine? Didn’t you say you’re mine? Didn’t you agree you belong to me? Didn’t you repeat it again and again? You had plenty of opportunities to deny me, darling. Didn’t I tell you that you are my mate? How dare you?”

“I didn’t—I don’t—I didn’t think—“

“That’s right, you didn’t think,” he says sharply, wrapping his arms securely around you. “I made it very clear that you are mine. Why did you try to leave?”

“To be honest, I thought that was meaningless sex talk!”

Alastor huffs. “Well, it wasn’t. You’re mine. You’re never to leave me again, am I understood?”

“But Alastor—“

“You will not deny me!”

“Okay, okay,” you say, your cheeks rather warm. “Okay, I’m yours. I won’t leave.”

“You will not even leave this room until after this goddamned rut finally goes away, and even then you’re on a short leash.”

“Eventually I’ll get hungry!”

Now he looks very pissed. “Do you believe I can’t or won’t provide for you?”

Your eyebrows leap. “Alastor, really, I’m not trying to offend you. I just don’t know what to do. Help me out here.”

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” he snaps. “You’re going to stay here, with me, not with Charlie’s nonsense and not playing video games. You will be attentive to me and I will be the one providing you with meals and anything else that you and the fawns need.”

“Fawns?”

He tsks and makes a dismissive gesture. “Don’t worry about that.”

“I feel like I should worry about that,” you say.

Alastor squeezes you in his arms, his eyes closing. “Shut up.”

You can’t help but smile to yourself as he nuzzles against you, probably scenting, you realise. Thank God you were up late enough to hear everything in his room explode, to hear the pained moans of a man settling into a rut. Thank God for Cum Sluts vs Zombies.

[aleskie-hischier]

HEY OSCAR! | Oscar Piastri x Reader SUMMARY: You’ve shared a close friendship with Oscar Piastri since you first met during Freshman Orientation. When you join an open mic event that requires you to have an original composition, you channel your feelings into a song, hoping it can convey what you’re too scared to say. As it turns out, sometimes the heart speaks louder than words. AKA the Oscar Piastri University AU

Word Count: 8k Warnings: None :>> Just a lil Best Friends to Lovers ♫ Listen: Hey Stephen by Taylor Swift ♫

You sit cross-legged beneath the shade of an old oak tree in the open fields of the university, guitar in hand, fingers plucking strings with delicate care as you hum along. Beside you, a glitter pen rests on top of an open notebook, the pages half-filled with scrawled chords and lyrics that have been scratched out.

The air’s turned crisp and the sun dips lower, casting the sky in vibrant waves of orange, pink, and violet. But you're too absorbed in perfecting the melody, to enjoy the beauty unraveling above.

“There you are!” a familiar voice calls out, cutting through your focus. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

It’s your best friend, Oscar.

He crosses the field with his usual lopsided grin, looking slightly out of breath, his backpack bouncing with each step. As he reaches you, he plops down on the grass and drops his bag with a thud beside yours, the collection of keychains clinking against each other like a small wind chime.

“I thought I’d be headed to the library by myself,” he says, still smiling, his eyes glancing over at your notebook. “Didn’t think I’d find you out here, lost in…this.” He gestures towards you hunched over your guitar, scribbling glittery musings in your notebook.

You shrug, glancing sheepishly at your notebook. “Sorry bub, you might still have to go without me. I’ve got this melody I need to finish.”

“A melody?” He echoes, raising a brow and clearly amused. “You do remember we’re engineering majors, right? Not musicians.”

“Unlike someone, I actually have a hobby,” you shoot back, grinning, though your gaze drifts back to your guitar, fingers instinctively tracing the fretboard. “We can’t all be robotics prodigies, Mr. Piastri.”

“Augh!” He clutches his chest in mock injury, grinning widely. “Low blow, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes and return to strumming, catching the way he settles onto his backpack, head tilted back as he scrolls through his phone. Clearly, he isn’t going anywhere, so you continue experimenting with melodies and rhymes, though none of them feel quite right.

As the sky darkens and a chill settles in, you glance over to find Oscar still sprawled on the grass, now with his AirPods in, chuckling softly at something on his screen. Smirking, you reach over and pull one of the earbuds out.

“I thought you were heading to the library?” you tease, raising a brow.

He huffs, reaching for the earbud in your hand, though his fingers linger on yours for just a beat longer than necessary. “You weren’t going to be there, so what’s the point?”

You feel some heat rush to your face but quickly push it down. He’s your best friend—nothing more. Probably.

“So, what? You’ll just stay here until I’m done?”

“Nah,” he says, a playful glint in his eye, “I’ll stay until you decide to ask for my opinion.”

“Ask for help from the guy who hasn’t even added a single song to our shared playlist?” You scoff, pouting, bringing your focus back to composing. “Yeah, no thanks.”

He hums a response and a beat passes before he gives you a knowing look. “So, why’d you even sign up for that original-submission open-mic thing anyway?”

You shrug, mumbling, “It seemed fun at the time.”

“Not so fun now, huh?” He smirks, his gaze drifting to the notebook littered with scratched-out lyrics and half-formed lines.

“Shut up,” you groan, playfully nudging him with your foot. He laughs, a sound as familiar as it is comforting, and you can’t help but smile as you return to your guitar, his presence a steady rhythm in the background, keeping you company as the stars begin to appear overhead.

“Well, let me offer some advice anyway, since you clearly don’t know what you’re doing,” he says, sitting up and rummaging through his backpack. He pulls out a hoodie and tosses it toward you, his aim landing it squarely on your face before it tumbles into your lap. “Just…focus on what you know.” 

The hoodie is your hoodie—well, his hoodie, but you’ve claimed it enough times that it might as well be yours by now. It’s the one you always reach for on cold mornings and late nights. The one that’s softer than all his other hoodies. The one that clings to his scent the longest—not that you’d ever admit you notice that.

“Write what I know, huh?” You look over at him, letting your gaze linger on his tousled hair, his bright eyes, the faint freckles sprinkled across his face. As you think about his words, you start to make a mental list of the things you do know.

You know robotics and calculus. You know the exact temperature for steeping different types of tea. You know how to sew and knit and crochet. You know chemistry and coding and…you know Oscar.

You know his quirks, his habits, the way he folds into himself when he sleeps, how he prefers his coffee, and how he schedules his day with way too many alarms. You know his class schedule by heart, the subjects he struggles with, and the way he pushes through them anyway. If nothing else, you know him. You know him in all the small, quiet ways that matter.

You slip on the hoodie, feeling its warmth wrap around you, and can’t help but give him a small, almost secret smile—a little mischievous, a little uncertain. You already know what you’re going to write about.

For better or worse, this would be a song he wouldn’t forget.

You first meet Oscar at freshman orientation. By chance, the two of you end up sitting side-by-side in one of those endless welcome sessions, the kind that packs in far too many speeches from people you’ll probably never see again. He’s quiet and a little reserved, dressed head-to-toe in school merch: a fresh university shirt and a cap with the campus logo. You’d actively avoided wearing any of it, determined not to look like the stereotypical freshman, but somehow, on him, it’s endearing. He actually seemed excited to be here, enough to wear it proudly—and, well, he was cute. That didn’t hurt either.

You, on the other hand, were exhausted. The nerves from knowing you’d be starting college had robbed you of sleep, and the stuffy room only added to the weight of your eyelids. Somewhere between the speech on campus values and the talk on student resources, your head dips forward, and before you know it, you’re fast asleep—right on his shoulder.

He’s the one who gently nudges you awake once the session finally ends, when everyone else is already getting up to leave for campus tours. Blinking in confusion, you sit up quickly, mortification settling in as you realize what happened.

“Oh my God—I am so sorry!” You say, eyes wide and filled with regret.

“It’s fine,” he says, hands slipping into his pockets, a small, slightly awkward smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Could’ve happened to anyone.”

You squint, trying to gauge if he’s serious. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

He shrugs, still calm. “I mean, it could. I was close to falling asleep too,” he admits, leaning in as if it’s a secret.

You let out a laugh, nerves easing just a bit. Somehow, he makes it seem like less of a big deal, and you find yourself smiling.

“I’m Y/N,” you say, extending your hand with a tentative smile, hoping to smooth over the awkwardness of your unplanned nap on his shoulder.

“Oscar,” he replies, reaching out to grasp your hand. His shake is gentle but sure, his grip warm against your fingers.

For a brief moment, you hold his gaze, and there’s something both reassuring and easygoing in his expression. You can tell he’s someone who doesn’t mind the little quirks in people—he’s likely someone who’d find them interesting. The noise of other freshmen shuffling around to start the campus tour fills the air, but the two of you linger for just a beat longer.

“Well,” you say, letting go of his hand reluctantly, “Which group are you in for the tour?”

“Um.” He checks his phone, squinting slightly. “Group four.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, and a smirk creeps onto your face. “Well, look at that! Looks like you can’t get rid of me yet.”

“Never said I wanted to get rid of you.” He chuckles, sliding his phone back into his pocket as you both fall into step together. “Especially not when you’ve made quite the first impression.”

After a shared laugh and an easy exchange of grins, you lead the way to the back of the line for Group Four. Building after building, you walk together, navigating the labyrinth of campus with a strange mixture of excitement and calm.

Sometimes you walk in comfortable silence—the kind that only comes in those first moments of meeting someone, when you want to say more but aren’t quite sure where to start. Other times, your conversation spills into heated debates that draw in other students before they drift away again, leaving you and Oscar to continue on alone. You chat about everything from the cafeteria’s rumored curfews to the quirky statues scattered around campus, and as each topic arises, Oscar surprises you. He’s reserved, but his dry humor and unexpected quips keep you laughing, his calm wit a perfect match for your own.

By the time you’ve seen most of the campus, you realize there’s something different about him. He’s easy to be around, comfortable and safe, but with a spark that keeps things interesting. You can’t explain it exactly—and maybe it’s too early to tell—but some part of you feels that this could be the beginning of a friendship that’s special—one that could last a long, long time.

By the time sophomore year rolls around, Oscar is celebrating seven months with Michelle, his girlfriend, while you’re somewhere around your millionth date—or at least, that’s what it feels like.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. Oscar’s always been the type to settle down in serious relationships, while you’ve leaned into the idea of playing the field, keeping things light before they turn into something more. But that idea lost its appeal fast when you realized most people in the dating pool were just looking for something casual, something fleeting.

And it didn’t help that every so often, you’d find yourself third-wheeling Oscar and Michelle. They’d gotten together near the end of freshman year, survived a summer apart while he went back home to Australia, and picked up in sophomore year as if they’d never left each other’s side.

You kind of like Michelle. You’ve spent enough time with her to consider her almost a friend, sometimes hanging out without Oscar around. She’s sharp, funny, and somehow manages to match Oscar’s dry humor in a way that leaves you in stitches. But sometimes…well, sometimes, she gets under your skin. Like right now.

“Do I look alright?” Oscar asks, running a hand through his hair for what has to be the hundredth time tonight, eyes fixed on the mirror as he adjusts his shirt and frowns slightly.

You’re sprawled across his roommate’s bed, a spot that’s become practically yours over the past two years.

Oscar’s roommate, Lando, is an upperclassman in your major, just a year ahead, and the three of you clicked almost instantly. He’s practically the big brother of your university life, guiding you through the maze of class schedules, professor choices, and which activities are worth your time.

He’s loud, fun, and has an impressive collection of video games that you all regularly raid. And thanks to him, you and Oscar have a standing invite to all the best parties on campus, where he dramatically introduces you both as his “prized students.” He’s a blast to be with. There’s never a dull moment with him. 

Currently, he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing his Nintendo Switch with complete focus while you absentmindedly twist curls in his hair.

“You look fine, Osc,” you groan, “You looked fine thirty minutes ago when you first asked.” You give him a pointed look. “Which, by the way, was the time she was supposed to meet you here.”

Oscar shrugs, brushing it off with a small smile. “She’s probably just finalizing the details of the date. She’ll be here soon.”

Lando smirks, not glancing up from his game. “Does she know that offering to plan a special date—and then executing it—also involves showing up on time?”

You smack the back of his head lightly, and he yelps, finally looking away from his game. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Don’t make him feel bad,” you pout, crossing your arms.

He rolls his eyes, grinning. “Oh, so you can throw in all the little comments about her being late and flaking out, but I can’t?”

“Yes,” you say, matter-of-factly, crossing your arms, “Because I actually hang out with her. You just get the highlights.”

Lando snickers but doesn’t get a chance to reply before Oscar cuts in, his expression a mix of disbelief and curiosity. “Wait—so you gossip about my relationship now? Since when?”

Lando gives Oscar a devilish grin, leaning back with a smug look. “That’s classified info, Ozzy boy,” he says, “But we’ll let you in on the secret if you two either break up or end up getting married.”

Oscar looks at you, his expression practically pleading, as if to say, And you’re in on this too? You’re going to keep this a secret from me?

You can’t help but smirk, knowing how it’ll get under his skin. “What he said.” You and Lando share a quick high-five, laughing at Oscar’s groan.

Then, Lando gives you a sly look, leaning in with a grin. “Honestly though, Y/N, if you ever get tired of waiting on him, I’m single. We’d be campus royalty, you know? Top of the line.”

You snort, playing along. “Oh, totally. Imagine the headlines: Y/N and Lando—A Match Made in Unexpected Heaven!”

“Right?” Lando grins, winking. “We’d be a dream together, love.”

Oscar shifts uncomfortably, crossing his arms as he watches you two banter. “Are you two done planning your imaginary relationship?” He mutters, trying to sound casual but giving you a sidelong glance.

You glance back at him, laughing. “Relax, Osc. Lando’s not even my type—”

“Hey now!” Lando protests, feigning offense.

“—But if he were,” you continue, ignoring Lando’s dramatics, “You’d totally be the best third wheel, bub.”

Oscar rolls his eyes, but there’s a glint of something behind the exasperation, something you can’t quite place. “Yeah, yeah. Just remember who’s actually got a date tonight.”

Lando raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. We’ll let you focus on impressing your date, lover boy.” He smirks. “If she ever gets here.”

You give him another light smack on the head and he laughs as Oscar chuckles along, the three of you settling back into the easy rhythm of jokes and chatter. Oscar seems quieter than usual, but you chalk it up to nerves about the date—or lack thereof.

You’re just relieved to have the same easy vibe you’ve always had with them—after all, that’s what matters most.

When the clock strikes midnight, Michelle is still a no-show. No text, no call, no explanation. And Oscar is...silent. Even Lando, usually quick with a quip, notices the change in Oscar’s mood and dials down the teasing, trying instead to fill the silence by chattering about a game they both play. But even that doesn’t bring Oscar around; his usual lighthearted responses are replaced by quiet nods and distracted hums.

His clothes have long since changed from his date outfit to his usual worn hoodie and sweatpants, but the frown on his face hasn’t budged.

You and Lando have swapped places now—you’re sprawled on the floor, and he’s kicked back on his bed, scrolling on his phone. Oscar lies between you two, his head resting on your lap, eyes fixed on his screen. He’s still waiting, clearly hoping for some sign from Michelle, though by now you’re almost certain that no text is coming.

Eventually, you give him a gentle pat on the cheek, signaling for him to shift so you can slide out from under him and put your shoes back on to make the trek to your own dorm.

“The third roommate moves out,” Lando jokes, leaning back with a sigh. “Always the hardest part of the night, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smirk on your face as you give him a quick hug. “My presence really does brighten up the place, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He grins, playfully nudging you. “Bring her back safe, Osc!” He calls out as you and Oscar step into the hallway.

You and Oscar walk in silence, a heavy quiet that neither of you rushes to fill. After a moment, he reaches for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, and you squeeze his hand back, hoping it’s some small comfort.

“What she did was shitty, you know,” you murmur, finally breaking the silence.

He lets out a laugh, though it’s empty, tired. “It’s kinda funny, isn’t it? I got all dressed up, wondering how the night would go, and then…nothing.” His voice trails off, resignation in every word.

You stop and turn to him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “This isn’t on you, bub. She should’ve said something.”

He looks at you, eyes tracing the ground for a second before they finally lift, catching yours. “At least you’re here.”

“Perks of being single and unwanted,” you joke, your voice light but the words half-true. You squeeze his hand reassuringly. “I’ll always be here, Osc. No matter what.”

Hand in hand, you make your way to your dorm, basking in a silence that feels steady, solid. When you reach your door, you pause, turning to him with open arms. He steps into the hug, pulling you close, and you feel him cling just a little tighter, his warmth grounding you both.

After a long moment, he pulls back, his hands resting on your shoulders, but he doesn’t let go. “For the record,” he says softly, his gaze steady on yours, "You aren’t unwanted.” His voice grows quieter, serious. “I’ll always want you around.”

For a moment, his words feel loaded, almost more than platonic, and something in his eyes lingers a beat too long. But you brush the thought away, reminding yourself of the boundaries in place—he has a girlfriend, and he’s just been hurt tonight. He’s vulnerable. So you ignore any underlying meanings—ignore the rising tension—and you ruffle his hair, keeping things light.

“Me too, bub.” You smile, patting his shoulder. “I’ll always want you around too.”

With a last squeeze of his hand, you slip into your dorm, leaving Oscar standing there, both of you holding onto that quiet, unspoken promise between you.

Oscar and Michelle break up just before summer, right near the end of sophomore year. You can’t say you’re surprised—honestly, you’d been half-expecting it since that night she stood him up. But when he tells you, his voice low and resigned, you do your best to hide any hint of satisfaction. You give him a steady pat on the back, listen as he mopes through the last few weeks of school, and keep all those unspoken feelings locked away. After all, he’s your best friend, and that’s what he needs most right now.

Still, you can’t deny that a part of you is relieved. He’s spending more time with you again and his hoodies have officially returned to their rightful home—your dorm room. You feel a secret giddiness every time he hands you one to wear, relishing the way it’s soft and warm and unmistakably his. It’s as if things have gone back to how they used to be.

But you’re his best friend, and best friends don’t overthink the little things. So you keep it to yourself, even when you’re studying for finals together, living off caffeine and library vending machine snacks, or trading late-night rants about the professors who dared assign twenty-page essays. You proofread his pages with half-shut eyes at 3 a.m., he helps you organize your chaotic notes, and somehow, you make it through. After every three-hour final, you both wait outside the exam hall for each other, sharing a quiet sense of victory, collapsing into a laugh about how little you actually remembered from all those nights spent cramming.

When the semester finally ends, and it’s time for him to pack for his trip back home to Australia, you help him sort through his clothes and cram textbooks into his suitcase, doing your best to ignore the familiar ache of goodbye.

If your fingers brush a little too long while folding his favorite shirt, or if you find his face lingering a beat too close as you hand him one last book to pack, neither of you mentions it. These almost-moments hang in the air, the silence thick with words you’re not yet ready to say. But it’s enough just to know he’ll be back, that no matter how far he goes, he’s still yours. 

At least, in the way best friends belong to each other.

When he comes back after the summer, now entering into your junior year, you notice he’s different. It’s subtle, but unmistakable—a little more confidence in the way he carries himself, a bit more certainty in his steps. He’s shed some of that awkward charm, replaced by a newfound ease that almost feels strange. You find yourself watching him more closely, catching moments that feel just a little bit different.

There’s a shift between you, too, something new lingering just beneath the surface, threading itself into each conversation. It’s a tension that neither of you dares to name. The way he walks, the way he talks to you—it all feels sharper, more vivid somehow. And the way he says your name now, in that deeper tone with that familiar hint of teasing, makes your heart race a little faster, even though you tell yourself it’s silly.

One afternoon, you’re sitting side by side on the campus lawn, watching students pass by, each absorbed in their own lives. Oscar’s fingers idly pull at the grass between you, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you, lingering just a moment too long. His eyes are warm but searching, as if there’s something he’s been holding back. 

“Do you…miss me over the summer?” He asks, half-smiling but with an edge to his tone, as if he’s testing the waters.

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you give his shoulder a playful shove. “Are you forgetting the reason I spend half my summer awake at the strangest hours? Making sure your calls don’t end with me passing out mid-conversation?” You raise an eyebrow, leaning back. “Trust me, bub, you’re impossible to forget.”

“Just wanted to make sure,” he says, jutting out his lower lip in a mock pout. His gaze stays steady on you, his eyes searching yours, and there’s something there—something you can’t quite place but that you feel all the way down to your bones.

You swallow, trying to keep your tone as light as his. “Oh, Oscar. No need to be dramatic. You’ve been stuck with me since orientation.” You smile, warm and reassuring. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

He chuckles, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, something raw and unguarded. “People have a way of leaving,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “I mean, Lando is.”

His chuckle is warm, but the laugh doesn’t fully reach his eyes. A flicker of something vulnerable, almost haunted, crosses his face. “People have a way of leaving,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, Lando’s about to graduate, and after that…well, things change.”

His words hang between you, stark against the background noise of campus life. It’s a reality you both understand: university, with its friendships, late-night talks, and steady routines, is never as permanent as it feels in the moment. Change is inevitable, and soon, it’ll come for all of you.

You scoot a little closer, letting your shoulder brush against his, grounding him in the here and now. “Lando’s an old man at the edge of freedom, the lucky bastard.” You smirk, nudging him gently. “You and I though? We’re still the same. No one’s going anywhere.”

For a moment, you both just sit there, the weight of unspoken promises lingering between you. His gaze dips briefly to your lips before flicking back up, and there’s a spark of something that feels new, unexpected. It’s as though he’s waiting for the right words, like there’s a tune that neither of you has heard yet playing gently in the background, just waiting for one of you to finally hum along.

You rest your head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath, letting the familiar weight of his presence ground you. “We’ve got time, Oscar.”

He grins, a little reluctantly, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that softens his expression, something unguarded and real. You can feel the silent understanding settle between you both, an unspoken promise that maybe, just maybe, some things don’t have to change.

Not yet.

And now, you’re here. Typing out the lyrics to the song you know is going to be for Oscar, while lying on his bed with his arm resting comfortably around your waist, his breathing slow and even beside you. The gentle weight of his arm keeps you grounded, but it’s more than that; it’s the warmth of him next to you, a presence you can’t shake, a feeling that lingers even when he’s not here.

You’d thought nothing had changed between you two. But now, looking back, you see it—small shifts, like puzzle pieces rearranging themselves before you even noticed they’d moved. Maybe it’s the way he’s been studying your face a little longer, or the way he’s been holding your hand more often, or how he brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear without a second thought.

Then, there was that moment just a while ago. You’d been sprawled out on Lando’s bed as usual, laughing at some random meme he'd shown you. But Oscar was just watching you, a soft expression in his eyes that felt almost...territorial.

"C'mere," he’d said suddenly, his voice soft but insistent, breaking through your laughter. “Stay with me.”

Lando had raised an eyebrow at Oscar’s request, and you’d missed a small knowing smirk on his lips. But you were more focused on how Oscar’s eyes hadn’t left you, his hand reaching out in a quiet invitation.

You’d moved over to him, hesitating for only a second before settling into his arms. The way his hand had rested on your waist, his fingers drawing small circles there as you leaned against him, felt different—like he was anchoring you there, like he wanted you closer than usual. And though he’d acted like it was nothing, you could have sworn you felt his heartbeat pick up against your shoulder.

Now it’s just the two of you, the quiet of the dorm settling around you, warm and easy. Lando had left a while ago, heading to a friend’s party and leaving you and Oscar alone—though not before snapping a couple photos of you two on the same bed. The dim light from the streetlamp outside filters through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the room, and you can’t help but notice how natural it all feels—like you were always meant to be here.

Oscar stretches beside you, facing you with his hazy eyes and that familiar, sleepy smile. There’s something gentle in his gaze, a kind of warmth that makes your pulse skip a little, though you try to ignore it, focusing instead on the slow rhythm of his breathing and the subtle sound of his laughter still echoing from earlier.

“Comfortable?” he murmurs, his voice low and a little drowsy. His hand, warm and steady, rests lightly on your shoulder as he draws you closer.

“Yeah,” you say, not even bothering to hide the smile in your voice. It’s almost ridiculous, the calm that fills you while you’re with him—no masks, no obligations, just the two of you in the cozy quiet.

Minutes pass in an easy silence, your head resting just close enough to his that you can feel his breath against your cheek. When you look up, he’s already watching you, eyes half-lidded, a softness in them you haven’t quite seen before. There’s a vulnerability there, something almost unguarded, as if he’s waiting for you to catch onto a feeling that he’s carried all along.

Your eyes drift closed, and soon enough, the quiet thrum of his heartbeat beside you becomes a lullaby, easing you to sleep with a sense of comfort you can’t remember feeling anywhere else.

When you wake the next morning, soft sunlight is spilling through the blinds, warming the room with a gentle glow. For a moment, you’re disoriented, blinking away sleep and adjusting to the soft, steady breathing beside you. Then you remember—you’re still here, wrapped in the blankets beside Oscar.

Oscar stirs, his eyes fluttering open just enough to catch you watching him. A lazy grin tugs at his lips, and his hand, which had somehow ended up wrapped around yours, gives the smallest, sleep-tinged squeeze.

"Morning," he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," you reply, feeling a warmth settle over you that has nothing to do with the morning light filtering through the blinds. There’s a pause, a soft kind of stillness stretching between you, as if the world outside doesn’t exist yet and you’re suspended here, in this quiet, shared moment.

"G’moooooorning," Lando groans from across the room, his voice muffled by the covers. The two of you chuckle, knowing he’ll be facing a brutal hangover today.

Still smiling, you shift to sit up, and that’s when it hits you—just how close you and Oscar are, practically nose to nose on his twin bed. His hand is still loosely draped around yours, and you can feel his steady breaths, warm against your cheek. The familiarity of it sends a pleasant hum through you, a feeling of rightness that’s been quietly building in moments like this.

Oscar’s gaze catches yours, his eyes lingering just a bit longer than usual, and you notice the small smile playing on his lips, a little shy, a little more awake now. For a split second, something in his expression feels different—like there’s a question he hasn’t quite asked, or a confession he’s almost ready to say.

You feel a flicker of something, unexpected and thrilling, settle in your chest. And in that moment, you think that maybe, just maybe, there's something more here. 

But you shake the thoughts from your head. You’re just friends. Best friends.

Oscar’s bed is quickly becoming your new headquarters, if only because he won’t let you sit on Lando’s anymore. He insists it’s practical—Lando’s bed is too far from his side of the room, and Lando would complain about your stuff spilling over anyway—but you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it. And Oscar’s growing possessiveness over “his side of the room” only fuels that suspicion.

One afternoon, as you’re curled up in his bed, typing out lyrics on your laptop, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, smiles, and excuses himself to take the call, wandering to the far side of the room. You’re too focused on your song to notice right away, but something about his tone pulls you from your work.

“Hey, yeah…I know, I know,” he says, his voice soft and a little bashful. You can’t make out the other end of the conversation, but whatever they’re saying has him pacing, one hand ruffling his hair as he mutters a response.

He sighs a second later, a smile playing on his lips. “Come on, it’s not…it’s not that easy, alright?” He glances over at you, catching your eye for a brief, vulnerable moment before quickly looking away, his cheeks tinged with color. “I don’t think she’s...aware of anything like that. Not yet, at least.”

You can practically hear the teasing tone from the caller without even needing the words, and Oscar groans, running his hand over his face. “Okay, but… what if… I mean, what if it messes things up?”

You pretend to be fully absorbed in your screen, fighting back a small smile. You can’t hear the other side, but the snippets you catch send a warm flutter through your chest for some reason. 

“Fine, fine,” he chuckles, conceding. “No, I get it. I do.” He steals another glance your way, a softer, unguarded look in his eyes, something unspoken. “Look, I’ll...I’ll think about it, okay?”

When he hangs up and returns to the bed, there’s a new, nervous smile on his face, like he’s holding back.

“Good talk?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light, though curiosity buzzes in your chest.

“Yeah, uh, just Hattie,” he says, still sounding casual, though his eyes are filled with something quieter, maybe even hopeful. He hesitates, as though choosing his words carefully. “She, um…thinks I should take more risks.”

“Oh yeah?” you tease, leaning in, feeling the familiar, magnetic pull between you. “What kind of risks?”

He laughs, though there’s a nervous edge to it, his gaze dropping to the edge of the blanket as he fidgets with it. “Just…the ones that aren’t obvious until you actually go for them, I guess.”

You hum, shifting back to your lyrics, though your heart skips a beat. The air between you feels charged, like you’re both on the edge of something new and a little terrifying.

It’s two weeks before the open mic, and you’re sitting at your desk, carefully polishing every line, every note of the song. There’s a rhythm to it now, a familiarity as you hum the lyrics under your breath, and suddenly, it hits you—this song, this performance, everything…it’s for him.

You're in love with Oscar Piastri.

You don’t exactly know when it happened—the exact moment it shifted from comfortable friendship to something deeper. Maybe it was that quiet moment on the field when you swore he looked at your lips a little too long, or when you found yourself deciding to dedicate this song to him. Maybe it’s always been this way with you both, feelings going deeper but never having the chance to be more.

Now though, it’s glaringly obvious. And it’s stressing you the fuck out.

Lando, on the other hand, is having the time of his life.

“Oh, thank the heavens!” He snickers, barely containing his glee as you finally confess it to him, late one night while Oscar’s out with other friends. He dramatically wipes a nonexistent tear from his eye. “I was starting to think you’d never figure it out!”

“It’s not funny!” You groan, slumping back into the chair across from him, running a hand through your hair.

“It soooo is!” Lando cackles, his laughter echoing through the room. “I mean, come on, Y/N. You were acting all kinds of weird back when he had a girlfriend!”

You sit up defensively, crossing your arms. “I was being a good friend! I even hung out with her!”

“On hangouts you always had issues with!”

“She was never on time and flaked constantly!”

He rolls his eyes, his smirk widening. “Fine, fine. But what about the fact that you basically live here now, huh? You and Oscar are like a package deal.”

You stick out your tongue. “You like having me around.”

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” he admits, smirking. “But come on. It’s obvious now—you’ve liked him for ages.”

You sigh, shoulders dropping as the weight of the truth settles in. “Yeah. I guess I have.” You let out a breath, feeling both relieved and nervous now that you’ve finally said it out loud.

Lando leans forward, raising an eyebrow. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

You blink, suddenly feeling a little vulnerable. “I mean…do I have to do anything? What if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Lando gives you a look, the kind only a big brother can give, full of patience and a hint of frustration. “Y/N, the guy looks at you like you hung the stars. Seriously. You could be a serial killer and he’d be wagging his tail while helping you dig a hole.” He chuckles. “He’s madly in love with you. I swear it.”

You laugh, feeling warmth spread through you at his words. But you still shake your head, hesitant. “You think so?”

“Duh,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Look, don’t overthink it. Just play your song, put it all out there, and see how he reacts. You’ll know.”

You roll your eyes, giving him a playful nudge. “When did you get so wise?”

“Probably when I had my graduation photos taken,” he grins, brushing you off.

You laugh along with him, feeling a little lighter. Maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s all you need to do—play the song, let the words say everything you’re too afraid to put out there, and hope he hears it in all the ways that matter.

Two days before the open mic, you’re practicing alone in the small rehearsal room on campus, running through the song again and again. The lyrics are practically engraved in your memory, but each time you sing them, they feel heavier, more vulnerable. You’ve poured so much of yourself, of your memories, into these words—it’s impossible not to think of him as you sing them.

The door creaks open, and you almost jump out of your skin. Oscar steps inside, an easy smile on his face as he leans against the doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Hey,” he says, his voice low and soft, “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

You clear your throat, feeling your cheeks heat up as you try to act casual. "Just practicing,” you say, glancing away and strumming a few absent chords on your guitar. “You know, trying to make it sound…not terrible."

He chuckles, shaking his head as he walks further into the room. “Not a chance of that. I know it’s gonna be incredible." He stops just a few feet from you, and suddenly the room feels much smaller. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this serious about something that wasn’t for our grade. It’s kind of amazing.”

You laugh, a little too nervously. "It might have turned out to be more important to me than I originally thought.”

He watches you, and there’s something unreadable in his expression, a mix of admiration and curiosity. It makes you feel exposed, as if he can see right through you, into the meaning behind what you just said, into all the feelings you’ve been trying so hard to keep under wraps since you realized.

“Since we met…” You trail off, catching yourself, unsure if you want to finish that sentence.

Oscar raises an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Since we met…what?” he asks, leaning a little closer, his gaze locked onto yours.

The words almost spill out—how you can’t help but think he looks like an angel when he smiles, or how sometimes you wonder what it would be like to kiss him in a moment like this, your mind drifting to the memory of the two of you dancing in the rain, soaked and laughing as if it’s just the two of you in the world. 

But you’re not sure you’re ready for that. Not with the performance so close, and definitely not when he’s standing here looking at you like that.

Though what that is, you can’t say. Or maybe you’re still too scared to find out.

Instead, you manage a small smile, shrugging. “I don’t know…since we met, it’s just been…magic,” you say quietly, the word barely louder than a whisper.

There’s a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes, something soft and almost vulnerable, and then he smiles. “Yeah…yeah, I know what you mean,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. He’s close now, close enough that you feel the warmth radiating from him, and for a second, it feels like maybe you’re not the only one feeling this.

It takes everything in you not to lean in, not to close the distance. Instead, you look away, your heart racing. "So…you’ll be there? For the performance?"

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says, his voice sincere, and the way he’s looking at you makes it feel like maybe he means more than just the performance.

When the open mic comes, you’re almost a wreck, nervous and excited all at once. When the night of the open mic finally arrives, you’re a mix of nerves and excitement, feeling each second tick by as the lights dim and the hum of the audience grows. Backstage, you tighten your grip on your guitar, casting one last look through the curtain to see if he’s there. But he isn’t.

A pang of disappointment settles into your chest. You tell yourself he’s probably just running late and that any second, he’ll slip in, giving you that half-smile he always has when he knows he’s kept you waiting. But a part of you can’t shake the small, sinking feeling that maybe…maybe you were hoping for too much.

But Oscar’s never let you down. And you don’t think he’d start now. 

When your turn comes, you take a deep breath and step onto the stage, feeling the warmth of the spotlight, and yet the crowd feels distant—none of them the person you want there the most. Settling into your seat, you scan the room one last time, but he’s still not there.

With a quiet sigh, you look down at your guitar, anchoring yourself in the familiar strings, the melody you’ve practiced countless times. You close your eyes, letting the weight of your feelings pour into the chords, filling every note with the things you’ve never been able to say.

Your voice starts soft, and as you sing, memories start playing in your mind. You think of meeting him at the Freshman orientation, the awkwardness, the fragility of the budding friendship—but you also think of the way you knew he was gonna be a part of your life, the certainty with which you realized you like having him around.

Hey darling, I know looks can be deceiving, But I know I saw a light in you And as we walked, we would talk, And I didn’t say half the things I wanted to.

You picture him beside you, the way his voice dips low when he’s teasing, the way his hand always seems to find yours in crowded spaces, like it’s second nature to him. A small smile tugs at your lips as you sing, the words becoming more and more specific to your story with him.

The way you walk, the way you talk, the way you say my name It's beautiful, wonderful—don’t you ever change.

Each word spills out, heavy and vulnerable, leaving you bare as you play. Every line is something you’ve kept close, something you’ve been afraid to say, and it’s only now, on this stage, that you’re finally able to let it out.

Hey darling, why are people always leaving? I think you and I should stay the same.

Each note, each line is a confession, a quiet vulnerability you let slip through the melody, hoping he hears it—wherever he is. 

As you near the song’s climax, your gaze sweeps over the crowd, people swaying in time with the music, and then, finally, you see him.

He’s standing near the entrance, face slightly flushed, like he’s just rushed in, but he’s there, his eyes fixed on you with a look that sends a surge of warmth straight to your chest.

When he catches you looking, he raises his hand in a small wave, a hint of that familiar grin on his lips. The weight on your chest lifts and you feel a renewed sense of purpose, like you’re the only two people in the room, your voice steadying as your gaze stays locked on his.

Hey darling, I could give you 50 reasons why I should be the one you choose.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you can’t help but imagine all those reasons, each one racing through your mind. You could probably give him more than fifty—and every one of them would be true.

All those other girls, well, they're beautiful, but would they write a song for you?

When you sing that line, he chuckles, shaking his head slightly. The sight makes you laugh, your voice softening as you step into the final chorus, feeling like every word has finally found its rightful place.

'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain So, come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you Can't help it if there's no one else

The last notes hang in the air as you let the final chords fade, your fingers gently leaving the strings. The song comes full circle, wrapping up with the melody that began beneath the oak tree, when you first decided to give this song to him.

The applause swells, and you stand, bowing before making your way backstage, where you know he’ll be waiting. Heart pounding, you step through the curtain, and there he is, leaning against the wall, hands behind his back, looking at you with a combination of expressions you’ve never quite seen on him before—soft, maybe a little nervous, with a hint of pride shining in his eyes.

“You’re late,” you tease, unable to keep the grin off your face.

He smiles sheepishly and, with a slight flourish, pulls a bouquet of your favorite flowers from behind his back. “Turns out flower shops are in high demand on nights like this.”

Your heart melts a little as you take the bouquet, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of the flowers. “You’re forgiven,” you murmur, glancing up at him.

He rolls his eyes in playful relief. “Good. You get cranky when you’re mad.” He chuckles as you give him a slight nudge. “C’mon let’s get out of here. Dinner’s on me.”

You nod, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and relief, and hurry to pack up your guitar. As you walk out together, his hand finds its place gently but firmly on your hip, guiding you toward the door. And if you notice the way he pulls you just a little closer, his fingers lingering as if they belong there, you don’t say anything—you just smile and let yourself fall. 

For once, maybe things are exactly as they should be.

Dinner’s casual, nothing too fancy, but there’s a shift in the air. He’s more forward now, his fingers brushing against yours with a confidence you haven’t seen before. He holds your hand a little tighter, his gaze lingering on your lips more often than it ever has.

Lando was right. You knew it. And so did he.

The meal feels familiar—easy laughter, the same teasing banter, inside jokes that still land with ease. But beneath it all, there’s an unspoken tension, a hum in the air that keeps the silence between you both louder than it should be. It’s the quiet weight of a confession that hasn’t been made, but you both feel it there, just waiting for the right moment.

He links your fingers together as you walk back toward your dorm. The night feels like it’s stretching out, slow and deliberate, each step bringing you closer to something inevitable.

You break the silence first. 

“When did you come in?” You ask, glancing up at him.

“A little bit before you sang…” He clears his throat, his smile teasing. He sings the line with a laugh, "The way you walk, way you talk, way you say my name, it's beautiful, wonderful, don't you ever change."

You groan, embarrassed, but can’t help smiling at how effortlessly he teases you. He laughs, full of heart, and says, “I loved every moment of it.”

“Good,” you reply, the words simple but carrying everything you want to say. You lean a little closer, just enough for him to feel the shift in the air between you.

As you reach your door, you stop, heart racing in your chest. You look at him, trying to gauge what he’s feeling, the question that’s been swirling in your mind now impossible to keep inside. 

“Did you get it then? What I meant to say?”

Oscar’s expression softens, and he steps closer, his hand gently covering yours where it rests on your guitar. “Y/N,” he says, his voice low, “I think I got the message loud and clear.”

Before you can say anything, his fingers brush your cheek, his touch so soft it sends a shiver through you. The world feels like it’s slowing down, the noise of the night receding into the background as he leans in just a little closer. “Play me the song again,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “So I can hear it in full.”

You chuckle, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I should’ve just written a song with fifty reasons why it should be me.”

He shakes his head, a soft smile playing at his lips as his thumb brushes against your skin. “You didn’t need fifty reasons. Just one would’ve been enough.”

“And what would that reason be?” You ask, your breath catching in your throat.

“Because I love you too.”

And then, before you can process anything more, he’s kissing you. It’s soft, tender—like the final note to a song you’ve been playing in your heart for what feels like forever. You melt into the kiss, the world around you vanishing as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapped around you, grounding you in a way that feels like home.

In that quiet moment, as the sounds of the night drift into the background, you realize it was always meant to be this way. All the magic, all the feelings have been there since the day you met. 

Everything falls exactly into place.

[usomads]

Never Have I Ever // Jey Uso x Reader

Author's Note -> So I had this interesting little idea and figured I'd write it out for y'all... not sure how I feel about it yet but lmk if you like it 🤭 Oh! I have a masterlist now too, so you can check out some other stories I did recently :) happy reading!

Plot -> An innocent game leads to a new first, and new love.

Pairings -> Jey Uso x Fem!Reader (Y/N)

Warnings -> Drinking, Cursing, Hickies, Oral (Fem!Receiving), Unprotected P in V, Creampie, Not Proofread, MDNI

Word Count -> 3.3k

Game Night. The one night a month where you, Josh, Jon, Trin, Joe, and Galina could have a night to yourselves. No kids, no wrestling events to stress over, just drinks and quality time with your people. You met them through work, and although you were part of the production crew you ended up clicking with them right away. Whenever you all were inevitably on the road for shows, you traveled together, stayed at the same hotel, ventured the cities together, you had basically become part of the family.

Game Night originally started as a couples get-together for Jon, Trin, Joe, and Galina but seeing as you and Josh were always around they happily extended the invitation to you two, despite both of you being single.

You were close with everybody in the group, but yours and Josh’s relationship was by far closer than the relationships you had with the others. Josh was the first WWE superstar to greet you on your first day on the job, showing you around and helping you get acclimated to your new work environment. Within the span of a couple weeks he was inviting you to family events, and the rest is history.

After helping yourself to a mixed drink in Joe and Galina's kitchen, you made your way back to the living room where everyone was congregated as they were trying to figure out the next game to play. “Why don’t we spice it up?” Trin suggested, “how about a game of ‘Never Have I Ever’?”

“Jesus, Trin. What are we, high schoolers?” You chimed in, “Might as well get a bottle out and start spinning it too.”

“Oh c’mon, Y/N, live a little,” she teased, “Sounds to me like you’ve got some secretssss!”

“Ugh, fine, whatever. Start already, before you kill my buzz.” 

One by one everyone started taking turns going in a circle stating things they hadn’t done before; some sexual, some embarrassing, and some targeted to get certain players to put their fingers down. After a few rounds everyone in the group only had one finger remaining, and it was your turn. All you had to do was give one confession and everybody would be out of the game, making you the winner. You being as competitive as you were, you saved the best one for last. And you knew it would get everyone out. “Okay umm,” you paused dramatically even though you knew what you were going to say, “Never have I ever… received head.”

You smiled triumphantly as one by one, the group started putting down their fingers. Choruses of “Wowww, you had to go there,” “That’s so unfair,” and strings of curses came from everybody. Everybody except Josh.

“Nah, uce. That means nobody wins. Ma, the whole point of the game is to say somethin’ you haven’t done. You gotta put a finger down.”

“I know the rules, Josh,” you retorted, “I did say something I haven’t done. Which means I win.” “Wait, wait, wait. Girl, you’ve never had a man eat you out?” Trin asked shocked, her question making everyone realize what you had just said.

Josh interjects before you can respond, seemingly annoyed, “She has, Trin, she’s bullshittin’ rn. Because there ain’t no way-”

“There is a way, Josh, because it hasn’t happened. I’ve never had a man go down on me.”

Waves of shock cascaded across the room at your response. How could you go your entire adult life without getting your pussy eaten? It’s actually fairly easy,  just sleep with shitty dudes that don’t wanna reciprocate and there you have it. You’ve experimented a little bit within your sex life, but something as elementary as getting head was something you had yet to check off your bucket list? You can’t really blame everyone for being so surprised about it, shit you probably would be too if you were in their shoes. It seemed like with every second the group sat with this new revelation more and more questions were getting asked, almost an overwhelming amount.

“Okay okay chill, damn. Didn’t realize I was playing ‘truth or dare’ all of a sudden,” you joked before shifting to a more serious tone, “But yes, I’ve sucked dick before. Yes, I’ve been fingered. No, I’m not bullshitting. And yes, my taste in men is ass. Haven’t found a single one that wants to go down on me, yet they expect me to go down on them. Crazy I know, but it is what it is. Men ain’t shit apparently. Now there, did I cover everything?”

“So…,” Jon piped up, “What the fuck y’all be doin’ then? Just straight to pound town and that’s it? No warm up?”

“Pound town is crazyyyy,” you laughed, “But not exactly. Actually, I can break down every time I’ve ever had sex with somebody. It all follows the same steps: kiss on each other for a bit, take all our clothes off, I’ll suck his dick, we fuck, he cums, and then it’s over with.”

“Wait, girl, are you saying you’ve never cum during sex? If that’s what you’re saying honey, I’m sorry, but we gotta find you a fuckin’ man. No more of these boys that you’re messin’ with.” Galina asked.

“Oh, no, I have before. Just a handful of times though, most of the time I’ve gotta finish myself off after. Can’t really expect me to finish if you don’t warm me up a bit, you know?” You responded.

“Man, what the fuck is wrong with this generation? Giving your girl head should be a requirement, these boys you’re fuckin’ with are weird as fuck, Y/N, my girl’s right. We gotta find you a real man,” Joe stated.

“Oh, trust me, I agree with y’all. It’s why I just stopped having sex altogether; Imma have to finish myself off anyways, might as well not waste my time.”

“Y/N, babes, how fuckin’ long has it been since you’ve gotten dick?” Trin asked, anxiously waiting for your answer.

“Um…” Wow, you really had to think about it. “If I remember right, then around Christmas time…” “Oh, so less than a year then. For a second there I thought-”

“Of 2022,” you interrupted. Man, if earlier was chaotic, this new confession was fucking bedlam. Everyone seemed to be losing their minds, except Josh, who had stayed silent and kept his eyes locked on you throughout this entire exchange. 

“Alright, alright, yes I get it. It’s insane, I know. It is what it is, I guess. But as much as I’d love to continue sharing about my travesty of a sex life, I desperately need another drink. Anyone need anything from the kitchen?” Everyone started listing their drink of choice, and you were having a hard time keeping up with it all, until Josh spoke for the first time since your revelation.

“I’ll just come with you, seems like everybody needs something right now. You’re gonna need help carrying everyone’s shit.” You smiled at him, silently thanking him, but he didn’t say a word- he just followed closely behind you to the kitchen. You immediately went into bartender mode, making everyone’s drinks to bring back to the living room, but Josh stood still watching you from the entryway of the kitchen- still not talking.

“Hey, Josh, you mind helping me make a couple drinks real quick? I need some help over here,” you chuckled, but stopped when you noticed he wasn’t responding and turned to look at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Huh?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about you not getting your needs met? You know I would’ve helped you out, ma,” Josh asked, closing the distance between you two.

You furrowed your brows in confusion, turning back to finish making everyone’s drinks. “Helped me? What does that even mean? Look, I really don’t wanna talk about this right now, so can we put this convo on the back burner until the night is over with? Good, now help me carry these drinks back to the living room, would you?” You sighed, grabbing a few cups before brushing past him to head back to the group- leaving Josh alone in the kitchen with his thoughts.

After a couple more games and a few more drinks, it was time for everyone to head out for the night. You rode to Joe’s house with Josh, who you hadn’t talked to since the conversation earlier in the kitchen. You were crashing there for the night, 1. Because you knew you’d have a drink too many and wouldn’t be able to drive, and 2. Because staying over at each others’ houses was a common occurrence nowadays. You both said your goodbyes to the group and headed back to his place. The car ride was silent, neither of you talking to the other and only the low hum of whatever songs were on Josh’s playlist. You stared out of the window the whole car ride, watching the blur of the city lights pass by and replaying you two’s conversation in your head over and over. What did he mean by, “I would’ve helped you out?” How would he have helped you?

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the car pulling into Josh’s driveway and being put in park. Josh got out quickly, while you sat for a second to let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding. Well, here goes nothing.

You got inside and went to take your jacket and shoes off, barely getting yourself situated before Josh spoke.

“So, are you ready to talk about it now or are you just not gonna address it?” Sigh, here we go.

“What is there to address, huh? All I did was tell the truth, I haven’t had a guy go down on me before. I don’t really understand what the big deal is.”

“The big deal is that you should’ve told me about this a long time ago,” Josh replied, “If you had told me I could’ve done something about it.”

“Done something about it? How, Josh? What could you have possibly done about it? It doesn’t even matter and honestly, I don’t understand why you’re so worked up over it.”

“Oh, c’mon Y/N, don’t act stupid. You know damn well if I had known about it I would’ve offered to be your ‘first’.” Sorry, what? You blinked hard, trying to make sure you heard him correctly. “Shit, as far as I’m concerned, offer’s still on the table,” his voice lowered, making slow strides towards you and backing you into the door, “What kind of ‘best friend’ would I be if I didn’t make sure you were taken care of, hmm?”

You shivered at his words, feeling the lust that was oozing from his words engulf the space between the two of you. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t imagined Josh like this before. Hell, he’s who you think about when you’re touching yourself at night. Sure, he was attractive, but lately you’d developed feelings for the man. You craved him in more ways than one, but never in a million years did you think you’d actually end up in this position- trapped between him and the door while he dragged his fingers along your sides, trailing further and further down…

“So, what’s it gonna be,” he paused, his hand finally reaching your core and rubbing you through your leggings you were wearing. He groaned, feeling your wetness that had soaked through now pooling on his fingers. “You gonna let me take care of you baby?” He leans in to whisper in your ear, “Imma eat this pussy in every room of the house mamas, make you cum in every one of ‘em too. All you gotta do is say the word.”

Your skin felt like it was on fire. The sultriness in his voice had you ready to completely give yourself to him. You had completely soaked through your leggings at this point, and were convinced if they weren’t so restricting you’d be dripping wet for him. You had a choice to make: let him take you right here and raise some question marks surrounding your friendship, or decline his offer and leave yourself hot and bothered? Lucky for you, your voice made the decision before your mind did.

“Please, Josh, please.”

That was all it took for him to smash his lips into yours; desperately but passionate, lovingly yet intense. Your tongues battled for dominance while the two of you hastily removed any article of clothing separating you, craving to feel the warmth of each others’ skin with nothing in the way. Both of you were now left in just your undergarments, relentlessly kissing each other like your lives depended on it. His lips made their way to your neck, leaving trails of hickies in their wake. You moaned his name and fisted his hair with each one he created, trembling with every graze of his teeth or lick of his tongue.

“You… have no idea… how long… I’ve wanted this,” he muttered in between each bruise he made. Your head was thrown back against the wooden door, relishing every moment.

“Me too,” you breathed out, and it was the truth. You had only recently come to terms with seeing him as more than your best friend, but deep down you knew your feelings had begun months prior. He was all you ever thought about, and here you were, melting underneath him as he ensured not a single inch of your body went untouched by his lips. 

His hands traveled to the back of your thighs and by pure instinct you jumped into his arms, holding you tightly as he carried you to your first stop: the kitchen. Josh laid you down on the island countertop, goosebumps erupting all over as the cold surface touched your skin. You arched your back for him to remove your bra, and once removed, he placed a trail of kisses starting from your breasts and moving down to your sternum, then your stomach, and finally your hips, where the band of your thong rested. Looking up at you, his teeth grazed the soft skin before latching onto the waistband of your thong, before sliding it down your legs. His hands slowly traveled up your calves and to your thighs, spreading them apart to give him a look at what he’s been craving since earlier this evening.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he hummed, “And all mine too. Look at how wet you are for me already, baby. Can’t believe you’ve been hiding her from me all this time, ma.” And with that he lowers his head and licks between your aching folds, your eyes widening and rolling to the back of your head the moment his mouth makes contact. He hungrily attacks your folds as your fingers weave themselves into his hair, pushing his face deeper into your pussy. The moans coming from your mouth are uncontrollable, repeating his name over and over as you fall further into oblivion. 

“Tastes so sweet, baby girl, could eat you for every meal.” His words vibrate through your core and your pussy flutters. You inadvertently buck your hips but his arm stops you, holding you down so you can take everything he’s giving you right now. His mouth wraps around your clit, paying special attention to the sensitive bud and you arch your back at the touch- feeling a familiar pressure building up in the pit of your stomach and quickly reaching its peak. “F-fuckk, Josh, feels so good. I’m gonna-”

“Let it out, princess. Show Daddy how good he makes you feel.”

Your orgasm rips through you, sending your body into a state you had never experienced before. You were writhing underneath him, holding onto his hair for dear life as your eyes roll into your skull and your back arches off the countertop. Strings of profanities and pants of his name cross your lips, lost in the flood of pleasure stemming from the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had. You finally begin to take control of your breathing again, attempting to slow it as your body gives out and lies limp on the marble, completely wiped out. Josh lifts his head to reveal himself, mouth and beard dripping in your wetness. He smiles softly at you, proud that he was the first to eat your pussy and proud that he was able to make you completely fall apart for him. He leans up to you and gives a soft kiss to your lips, before lifting your body from the countertop and carrying you once again. “Oh, baby, I’m not done with you yet. I said I was gonna eat you in every room of this house tonight, and you know I don’t break my promises.”

“Ohh f-fuckk! J-Josh, I- I can’t, I’m-”

“Yes you can, mamas, gimme another one. You can do it, princess.” You were now on your 5th orgasm of the night. Josh had kept his promise alright, making you cum in the kitchen, living room, his office, master bathroom, and now his bedroom. You’d think after that many times a man would be exhausted, but with every time he had made you cum he had gained more energy. It’s like making you cum was his food source, and it was driving him to keep going. Once again you came hard from his mouth and tongue, vision turning white and seeing stars as you hit your orgasm. You were for sure tired, but one thought kept you going: you wanted his cock. Bad. 

“B-baby,” you panted, still coming down from your last orgasm, “Please… I want you. Fuck me, please.”

“You just came on my face 5 times, and now you want my dick? Fuck baby, you sure you can take it?” “Fuckk yes, Josh, just please… I need it, baby. I can handle one more.”

Josh takes off his boxers and climbs on top of you, passionately kissing your lips as he pumps his cock and rubs his tip up and down your sensitive pussy, making you whimper into the kiss. “You’ve been so good for me tonight, baby girl. Imma take good care of you, I promise. You ready for me, baby?”

You nod, staring into his eyes as he slowly enters you. You cry out as his cock fully fills your pussy, already close to cumming again.

“Fuck, Y/N, so fuckin’ tight. Taking me so well,” he hisses, slowly thrusting inside of you. He wraps your legs around his waist and peppers kisses on your forehead, cheeks, nose, and lips, whispering praises to you as he slowly pumps in and out of you. Your pussy tightens around him, signaling you’re close, making him moan loudly in response. “Shitt, do that again, mamas. Squeeze my shit just like that, gonna make me fuck you full of my cum, baby.” You dig your nails into his shoulders and moan in response, “Is that what you want, baby girl? You want Daddy to fill you up ‘til you’re dripping my cum? Want me to cum deep, don’t you baby?”

“F-fuck… oh my god… please, Daddy. Want your cum in me so fuckin’ bad… s-shitt, Josh, I’m so-”

“Go ahead and soak this dick, pretty girl. I’m there too, baby. Cum for me.”Any energy you had saved was completely wiped out, coming undone again for him as he buried his face in your neck and pumped you full of his cum. Both of your moans echoed in his room, engulfing you two as you fell apart together. Josh collapses on the bed next to you, you both breathing heavily, and silent. Nothing needed to be said, as you nestled into his side and drifted to sleep with only one thought on your mind: Never have I ever… well now I have… and more. 

[euphorix-moon]

Love Maze

Vi x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Helping Vi realize that she can break out of this loop that's she's in

Warning: Slightly Angsty and slightly out of character

A/n: Arcane season 2 just came out and i'm still reeling from everything, just had to make this cause i was inspired by episode 3 it broke my CaitVi heart

It was just one of those days,

There weren't many days where you would get the house all to yourself to enjoy so you didn't waste the chance to relax when your roommate said she was going out to run some errands.

You were currently enjoying your day re-reading through your favorite book series until you were disturbed by a sudden knock at the door.

You skeptical and slightly annoyed you went to go answer the door. Opening the door is when you came face to face with the pink-haired woman you came to know as Vi. She almost looked slightly surprised to see you at the door but kept her composure

"Is she here ? " Vi asked worriedly

"Hi nice to see you too, but unfortunately your girlfriend isn't here, she went out to do some stuff" you replied

She lightly sighs before saying, "Well if that's the case then I guess I'll wait for her till she gets back. That's fine with you, right ?" She says walking through the door before you can get a response out. You sigh closing the door behind you knowing she would stay and wait either way.

There was an awkward silence between the two of you guys so you took it upon yourself to try and get a conversation going.

"So....what brings you here ?..Is it the same issue again ?"

Vi glares at you but after some time does lightly nods her head to confirm your suspicions. You kept quiet lightly sighing to yourself.

The cycle had become almost predictable at this point: a fight would ignite, Caitlyn would storm off ghosting Vi, and then, a few days later, Vi would return, offering half-hearted apologies that seemed to smooth things over just enough to delay the inevitable crash. Caitlyn never seemed to learn, and neither did Vi. But the truth was, they both were just playing the same tired game, and you wanted all this nonsense to come to an end once and for all.

Here,” you said, slipping behind the counter to make a couple of drinks. “Let’s take the edge off. I’m sure you could use something stronger than water right now.”

Vi didn't argue. She sank down onto the couch, taking a deep breath, clearly exhausted from everything. As you handed her the glass, you kept your tone light, almost casual. "So, how's work? How’s your family? Anything to distract you from… well, everything?"

She gave a weak laugh, taking a sip of her drink. "Work’s fine. Same as usual. Nothing exciting," she muttered, looking down at her hands, clearly distracted. "Family’s... okay. You know how it is, always got something goin on"

You nodded, pretending to listen, but your mind was already working. "Yeah, I get that. But seriously, when’s the last time you actually did something for you, Vi? Like, something that made you feel alive? Not just for Cait, or for your job, but for yourself?"

That was a hook. Vi wasn’t even aware of it. She leaned forward, a little too eager to talk about herself, to talk about anything that didn’t involve the draining mess she was in. She starts going into detail about the many things she's been interested in but never got the chance to due to feeling like she's alway has to balance a thousand things in her life.

"Well if I'm gonna be real honest with you Violet, it sounds like this relationship is just another thing holding you back" you say with sincerity.

"It’s just... it’s not that simple, okay? Violet shot back.

me and her have history. We’ve been through a lot together. And—" she paused, trying to gather her thoughts. "Yeah, things have been tough lately. But we love each other. I know she has her issues, but I really think we can fix this. I don’t want to just... give up on everything we’ve built."

You almost rolled your eyes at the word history—as if that was supposed to make everything else okay.

"Vi," ."You’ve been ‘fixing’ things for months now. You keep telling yourself it’s just a phase, that Cait’s going to change, that things will get better. But they never do. You are stuck in a loop and you can’t keep pretending like nothing’s wrong."

"So, what? You want me to just leave her? After everything? You’re not even trying to help me,You’re supposed to be my friend. You should be supporting me in making this work, not... pushing me away from her!"Vi’s jaw clenched, her chest rising and falling with each breath as if she was holding back.

Her words stung just a little bit but you knew how to respond back. "I am doing this because i care enough to tell you the truth Vi, you deserve so much better than this. Don't let Caitlyn stress you out so much, especially when there's already a lot on your plate".

"You just don't get it. You don’t know what she's like when we’re together,” she says, still feeling obligated to defend her relationship.

"Maybe i don't and i might be wrong about all of this, but all I'm saying is that if you were my girlfriend id be the one coming to apologize and id try to find every possible way to make it up to you." You say leaning closer towards Vi

She sputters trying to find the words to defend herself, every single word unfortunately dying in her throat.

"I’d be the one begging you for another chance after acting like a dumbass. I'd spoil you and not let you do anything till you forgave me" You continued.

The silence that fell between you and Vi after your last words was thick with unspoken things. Vi feels as if her heart is beating out her chest as you continue to close the distance between the two of you guys.

"You do deserve better, Vi," you said, your voice soft but certain. "And when you’re ready, I’ll be here for you. Not just as your friend, but... more than that, if you want. You don’t need Cait to feel loved. I’m not going anywhere."

Vi looked at you, her eyes wide, and in that moment, it was like everything clicked for her

You wanted to kiss her. You wanted to show her that everything she needed wasn’t in Cait. That there was more for her. That she didn’t have to settle.

Just as you leaned forward, your lips barely inches from hers, the door to the room creaked open, and the sudden sound of keys jingling at the front door broke the fragile bubble that had formed between the two of you.

You two quickly back away from each other, moving to the opposite sides of the couch, averting eyes as Caitlyn walks into the room

A/n: Sorry for the cliffhanger and sorry to all the caitvi shippers, i love them too...i just can't pretend that i wouldn't want vi if they broke up fr.

[mejaemin]

easy- lee jeno

wc: 0.8k

summary: loving lee jeno comes so easy to you

warnings: fluff, best friends to lovers, implied fem reader, definitely not proofread or edited im to emotional for all that bs rn

an: piece of advice to everyone- love is NOT easy despite what im saying in this fic :( im literally in the trenches rn feeling like crying every second over a man i have yet to even speak to !! this drabble is the product of my emotions and what i WISH love felt like for me so i hope you all enjoy this little thing ab one of my comfort people :>

───── ⋆⋅ ⊹ ⁺ 𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ͡ ৯ ♡໒⁀ ᩧຼ ꒱ིྀ ⁺ ⊹ ⋅⋆ ─────

loving jeno has always come easy.

it’s nearly second nature when you lift your head up or your energy picks up just from sensing his presence in a room. you don’t even notice how your head ends up on his shoulder whenever you sit together, or how easy it is to say “i love jeno!” whenever he’s brought up when he’s not around. it’s so easy to excuse the emptiness in your heart for having a bad day when it’s really because he’s not with you, and on top of that not even in a romantic way.

loving jeno comes so easy to you that when your friends accuse you of being in love with him, your heart rate quickens and your cheeks heat as you quickly shoot down the idea. it’s so easy and so natural that whenever you’re upset you look at old videos and photos of him your smile comes back like it never left. whenever you miss him you can ask to facetime or for him to send a photo and he always says yes.

loving jeno is so easy that when you call him your favorite nickname, jenjen, that he always says he hates, you feel a sense of pride knowing he won’t let anyone else call him that. when you ask him to get something or do something for you, he’ll do it without question, but if your friends ask that of him he’ll say for them to do it themselves. your heart flutters at the exclusivity of his affections.

loving jeno is so easy that you always know how he feels or what he needs. for almost any of your other friends, you have a folder in your notes app that consists of their likes and dislikes or any other info on them. with jen you don’t even have to think twice about it. there’s a pout on his lips? you already know to scoot next to him and give him a hug. he’s upset? all he wants is your company. let him rest his head in your lap and maybe take a nap. don’t worry about asking him to let his thoughts out, you already know he will when he’s ready and you’re the only set of ears his worries will fall upon.

loving jeno is so easy that when you finally come to terms with your feelings, things make a little more sense. your ongoing question of why you care so much for your best friend finally has an answer; you’re in love with him. when you meet with him again, you don’t even feel nervous at this crush, you feel confident that no matter how things go, he’ll never leave your side.

loving jeno comes so easy to you that the next time you hang out, you’re not as responsive because you’re hung up on how to confess. you know that even if the outcome isn’t what you want, you’ll still be together but you want to make sure you say it in a way you won’t regret. you care so much for him you want to make sure you say it the right way. however, when he puts a hand on your thigh and asks if you’re okay with the sweetest, most concerned look in his eyes, it all spills out and your strategic confession falls apart.

“..jeno?” you ask softly.

“what is it? don’t be scared, you know you can tell me anything.” your nickname falls off his tongue so smoothly that your fear of rejection finally comes and you nearly tear up.

“jen i really can’t hide it anymore so i just have to tell you okay? please don’t be mad i don’t care what your response is just listen, okay? i really, really like you jen. more than a friend does. at this point, i’m already sure i love you. i don’t care whether or not you reciprocate, because i really just love you so much.” you sniffle, a tear dropping from your eye. “i really can’t hold it in so i’m sorry, but i love you so much and i really want to be more than just your best friend so please-“ jeno cuts you off with a soft call of your name, your real one.

“please, you didn’t have to work yourself up so much. i feel the same way. i should’ve been more obvious.. don’t you know i’m only this way with you?” he smiles, the hand on your thigh moving up to your cheek to wipe your tears.

loving jeno comes so easy to you that when he leans in and your lips finally connect, your heart is finally full. all the broken pieces of your life come together and you feel complete, like you have nothing else to want or wish for, because now you have your best friend. in every way you wanted, he’s now yours.

───── ⋆⋅ ⊹ ⁺ 𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ͡ ৯ ♡໒⁀ ᩧຼ ꒱ིྀ ⁺ ⊹ ⋅⋆ ─────

[anxiousapplepie]

'Bouta find out if asks have a character limit. Oh neat, they don't! Have a scenario that's been haunting me but that I probably won’t have the time or perfectionism restraint to draw. It’s not as funny this way because a lot of this non-existent comic is carried by facial expressions and body language, but oh well. :p

In the multiverse where all the Role!Swap AUs collide, the first point of contact is between Fighter!Siffrin and Traveler!Isabeau. They happily greet each other, thinking they’d found their respective Isa/Sif, and ask simultaneously, “Where did you get the cool new out…fit…?” trailing off as it dawns on them that there are differences that can’t be explained (such as hair length). Then Sif notices the most important impossible change and points between their rectangular earring and Isa’s, and is like, “?? Third? Earring???” When that info hits Isa’s brain he takes it about as gracefully as you’d expect. Which is to say he panics and sputter-yells, “BONDING EARRING?!” as loud as possible.

The yelling attracts a concerned Researcher!Sif and an understandably confused Cook!Isa, who arrive at the same time. Cue them doing the ‘Spidermen pointing at each other’ meme.

While Fighter!Sif is busy being confused by Researcher!Sif’s eye, the Researcher— who’s probably the 2nd most likely Siffrin to know what bonding earrings are (most likely being the Housemaiden?)— points at their own ear and silently stares at Traveler!Isa with something like stunned horror on their face. And Traveler!Isa is, like, genuinely a few seconds from passing out.

I'm not sure how to wrap up this scene other than either Cook!Isa or Fighter!Sif looking at the other and— in an attempt at humor to cope with the situation they’ve found themselves in— saying, “If we kissed right now would that be funny or what?” And/or Traveler!Isa actually passing out. 😂

Even beyond this scenario, I can’t help but imagine the devastation that the Fighter & Cook couple would do to the Siffrin/Isa ecosystem. 😆

YOU. WHY DID YOU GIVE ME THIS IDEA WHY DID YOU PUT THIS IN MY HEAD Now I'm gonna be thinking about this for the rest of the night bECAUSE GOOD GRIEF WITH A SIDE ORDER OF SWEET POTATO CHIPS I want to draw this so bad The expressions would be so funny and the penny dropping and the comedic timing and want to bully Traveler!Isabeau so much MATE what have you done to me!!!! WHAT IS THIS WIGGLY BRAINWORM OF A COMIC IDEA YOU HAVE CURSED ME WITH Also the Fighter&Cook couple would absolutely destroy the Siffrin/Isabeau ecosystem like a nuke on an unsuspecting anthill and SO many lives are gonna change in a single swoop My buddy my pal, I'm holding you responsible if you are the reason why the dozen other comic and drawing projects I've got lined up in my brain get delayed. I'll trust you to give me my child support. I WILL blame you for everything if it happens in less than a week./silly and aggrieved

[xlatrina]

(Pt. II.1) Friends to Lovers HCs w/Homicipher x GN!Reader

Tags: Platonic + Romantic HCs, Friends to Lovers trope for basically every LI, Likely OOC for some LIs*, Mini Scenarios (so HCs are kinda plot-driven), *Multi-Part Series, entirely SFW

Also, changing tenses in some cases + not proofread again... sorry!

*Some of the LIs are likely written OOC (Out Of Character) mainly due to a lack of substantial in-game appearances (at least in my opinion!). 

*Split into multiple parts because I’ve come to realize that these HCs are muuucccchhh too long 😅 BUT!! I’m too lazy to shorten them sooo… YEAH lol

Part I (Big 🙆‍♂️)

Part II (Mr. Chopped 🪓)

Part III (Mr. Crawling 👣)

$$$

Mr. Chopped (First Half/Second Half)

For someone who’s just a head, he gets around!

When you decided to help him out back in that weird room, Mr. Chopped was so elated.

Yes, yes!! Finally, some help!!

He’s been stuck in that room for like… three hours.

Which isn’t that bad, it definitely could’ve been worse, but like… still.

Anywho, point is —he decided from that moment forward that the two of you are friends!

Good friends, at that.

He tells Mr. Silvair this all the time.

“Mystery person help! They help me! They friendly!” He’ll grin from ear to ear, his cheeks squeezing into his eyes.

And Mr. Silvair will just chuckle and say something along the lines of, “Mystery person good? How interesting.”

Mr. Chopped has volunteered you to be one of his closest buddies.

Which means you are now basically his caretaker LMAO

Or at least whenever Mr. Silvair is unavailable somehow.

“Could you carry? Can you help me?”

This’ll become a common request from Mr. Chopped.

Eventually, it goes from asking to demanding.

“You take me! Go there! Yes, yes! That way! Is ok. This place I know good!”

He says that, but you’ve circled the same set of halls like… three times.

It can get a little weary sometimes being Mr. Chopped’s defacto caretaker, but he tries to keep your mood light with his silly banter.

Even though he’s been in the Apartments longer than you, it seems he hasn’t been there as long as others.

He more or less explains this to you over time.

On one of your many adventures through the halls of the apartment complex, the both of you came across a door that led into a stairwell.

It was odd because it kind of just… appeared.

You’ve definitely walked down this hall quite a few times now (no thanks to Mr. Chopped’s fluctuating sense of direction).

When you propose going through the stairwell, Mr. Chopped purses his lips tightly and falls silent for a long time.

Just as you get ready to ask again, he huffs, blowing some loose strands away from his face.

“That way want to go?” He asks. But before you can respond, he follows up with, “That ok. If there to go you want, that ok. But I not know that place…”

Ah…

Well! If nothing else, you can’t say Mr. Chopped isn’t adventurous!

Being friends with Mr. Chopped means you get to see all of his cute little expressions.

He always has an exaggerated reaction to everything!

Walking through the stairwell, for example, one of the lights flickered, and just as it went completely black for a second, there was a quiet whisper. When the lights came back on, the whisper bounced through the area, lifting up toward wherever the stairs led to…

When that happened, Mr. Chopped immediately asked, “What you say? I not hear good.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you said. Mr. Chopped seems confused by your response, and to the best of your ability, you repeat yourself in his language. 

“You say you not make sound?” He asks sharply, his voice thundering through the stairwell.

You jump in surprise, jostling him (much to his mild annoyance and discomfort).

“No, no make sound,” You said. “Do you make sound?”

“No! No make sound!” Mr. Chopped yells. Small tears gather in the corners of his eyes, and he squeezes them shut as a deep frown seeps into his face.

“Leave here together! Me scared! This place not safe!”

Safe to say you booked the both of you out of there as soon as you could.

It isn’t too long after that, though, that the two of you finally find yourself in the familiar hall leading to the basement. There, you two find Mr. Silvair just as he’s about to enter the room, and noticing your approaching figure at the top of the stairs, Mr. Silvair smiles warmly.

He lets you and Mr. Chopped in first, and it’s then that you both begin to tell Mr. Silvair about y’all’s odd experience.

Though, Mr. Chopped did more of the talking…

So much more of the talking, lol.

At some point, you and Mr. Silvair find yourselves sitting on the couch, and Mr. Chopped nestles into the space between you two.

He just continues to babble on and on and on about the somewhat scary adventure you both had, and you and Mr. Silvair patiently listen.

Sometimes, you wonder who can yap more —Mr. Chopped or Mr. Crawling?

That being said, Mr. Chopped likely develops feelings for you after just being in your presence for long enough.

He greatly appreciates you helping him maneuver through the Apartments, and he knows Mr. Silvair appreciates your help, too.

These days, Mr. Chopped finds himself talking with both Mr. Silvair and you!

And soon, there are many moments more when Mr. Chopped finds himself talking with you alone.

You’re just so fun to talk to, he feels like he can talk to you about anything!

Continue? -> Second Half

[Part I (Mr. Big 🙆‍♂️) | Part II (Mr. Chopped 🪓, First Half/Second Half), Part III (Mr. Crawling 👣)]

[hobnob2020]

Lucanis Romance

Spoilers so please don't read unless you've finished the game

Lucanis was always going to be my first romance and he was the reason I went from my initial choice of Shadow Dragon to becoming a Crow and I wasn't disappointed.

But the reason I'm writing this review is because again people are moaning about how "little or poorly done" his romance was.

So a few points I'd like to point out are as follows;

Firstly people can have their opinions but I would like to remind everyone that his talented writer was fired and then rewrites were done for the game so who knows what got changed last minute for his character.

Secondly, he has been imprisoned for an entire year, been tortured and possessed, essentially having his mind broken because he didn't want to submit.

Thirdly his city is on the very edge of being destroyed.

And lastly Rook tells him they were sent by his grandmother who he loves dearly only to find upon his return that shes dead. He can also see that there's something wrong with Illario someone he sees more of a brother but is fighting him every chance he gets in order to point him in the opposite direction lest he realises he's the traitor.

With his grandmother's death it leaves the uncertainty of who gets first Talon as its a position he never wanted thus making the Crows weak as there's no clear leadership.

So please forgive him for not jumping into Rooks bed straight away.

His romance is very slow and after the first 2 or 3 flirty prompts I got I did wonder if I went wrong because he was giving me nothing back.

Until we got to that scene in the pantry where he says she deserves better than his mess 🥵

Jumping towards the end of the game for a second he says that he wanted her but was too afraid to want her and it's clear when you express your interests in the previous scene he likes you, also if you visit him after he does trip over his words and says he wants, but can't.

His body language, the way he smiles, the voice, the animation of him looking at your lips when you touch his chest is just perfection only to pull away at the last second to clear his head because again he's traumatised and hasn't dealt with his inner demon, the self doubt and torture that swirls around his head.

Then we get to the heart of his personal quest, when the body of Zara reveals she was Illarios lover and it was his greed for First talon that lead him to be captured and aswell as his grandmother's 'death'.

Let's not forget he's also by this point nearly tried to kill Illario for getting in the way so again fears losing control and likely hurting Rook.

Moving onto possibly my favourite companion quest of the game we end up in the fade, inside Lucanis' mind with Spite. It's simply tragic how tortured he is inside his mind, the way he sees himself through the eyes of another especially his grandmother is so sad.

Illario is the antoganiser in his head, cruelly bringing up the history of the Dellemortes family and the massacre that wiped all but 3 people. By saying Lucanis will kill his family for a job he doesn't want just twists the situation to make it feel that Lucanis has always been tainted and that the Demon was already inside him but Rook just denys this by saying he's a professional assassin, that he's basically not a mindless killer and knows the real enemy, that his loved ones won't be hurt only the one responsible and that when he needs to do it she'll be there for him.

The romance prompt that comes after shows how vulnerable he is around her, asking her to leave him there so he doesn't risk losing her and then she basically mentions what I've written so far, about his fear of moving forward as an abominantion and hurting his family is worse than any of the torture and pain he went through; so again people just need to realise this man is so messed up and protective to the few people he has left in his life and doesn't want to hurt the one person desperately trying to help him.

After you make the decision on stopping Illario or saving Caterina where Spite and Lucanis agree to work together you get that wonderful awkward moment where the two of them are just standing silently infront of Viago and Teia which is hilarious if you play as a crow because I imagine Viago is tired of Rooks weird shit by this point 😂

I like the fact that she doesn't speak of Spite or Lucanis' fears, that what they've just experienced is for them only.

Their commitment scene is really sweet but I wish it had like an extra scene where they're sat at the dinner table and the other companions could see something had shifted between them, that they tease about feeling the love in the hazelnut tarte making the two of them bashful, you know just something a little extra but it's not the end of the world left as it is.

When they eventually crash Illarios party and find Caterina all of his fears are put to rest where she excitedly greets him, even going so far as to kiss his cheeks showing how much she loves and missed him.

When the fight occurs and he embraces Spite fully and fights off Illarios hold there's such a proud moment when you're watching him, because he has his grandmother back, Rook at his side and the Crow houses watching on as Illarios lies are exposed.

During the fight when Illario fights Rook he tells her she's chosen the wrong Dellemorte and if he does hit her Lucanis tells him he's going to pay, it's just the simple things like this that make me love Dragon age games.

When the fight is over and he asks if they should make an early exit and return home i was expecting a first kiss as it just seemed right with him saying he'll stay for her and put off the crows as long as he possibly can.

I definitely think he has one of the stronger romances towards the end of the game, when he says he'll kill every blighted creature and the gods that stand in her way and she says that she won't be thinking of that all day just made me smile.

Their actual sex scene is beautifully done too, the fact he kneels for her, the animation and responses are great, even the humorous option is really good and there's no doubt how much he loves her.

I think what people have to remember is he's terrified of losing control which is why he hides away in the pantry, he nearly kills Illario in a fit of rage and just can't face hurting Rook which is why after the near kiss he says he wants her but can't.

It's been confirmed that Spite is obsessed with Rook so you can only imagine the inner battle and what he says about Rook on a daily basis, also the fact he can't control the wings of Spite so having them during their sex scene just shows how much she means to both of them.

I am gutted about the recent art released and that we missed out on the kiss in the rain, the gondola and sex scene in the pool but this is why fanciction exists.

I think his VA did a wonderful job and he's definitely my favourite and most interesting companion.

*I'm not going to comment on his other romance because saying anything negative about her triggers people which is just insane, I don't care that characters pair off and I don't find their banter particularly flirty but it should of happened once Rook hadn't committed to either of them just like Fenris and Isabella did which wouldn't have annoyed so many people, but that's an easy fix. Just don't bring them along together 😂*

[glassofapplejuicee]

quick prom modern au bc these fellas have rotted my brain

“Robin you’ve got this all wrong!” Steve whined, pacing around his room.

“If I’m so wrong then why are you all worked up about this huh?”

Damn that was a good point, why was he so worked up about this? It wasn’t like he actually liked Billy or anything like that. It was just a funny bit that Robin liked to play, the classic ‘Steve and Billy are super gay and in love with each other’.

Which was utterly ridiculous, yeah sure they were gay but that didn’t automatically mean they were destined to be with each other. 

Steve scoffed, in lue of a real answer. 

“I dunno.”

“Always Mr. Helpful.” Robin sighed, turning back to her phone. 

“Didja do the Wordle today? I’m on my third try and I have like one letter.”

Steve thanked whatever god was out there that Robin had the attention span of a gant, really helped out when there was a topic he didn’t want to discuss. 

****

The lunch room always had a distinct smell of mold to it, which irked Nancy to no end, so the group often found themselves eating in the library. Nancy sucked up to the librarian enough that she didn’t even bat an eye when the usual four to five teenagers would follow Nancy around like lost ducklings.

“So, you guys have a date to the prom yet?” Jonathan asked awkwardly as they settled into the soft chairs in the back corner of the library. 

Everyone knew he wanted to take Nancy, and that this was his not so sly attempt at figuring out if she had a date yet or not.

“Hell no, you think I’m going to prom? I’m like, way too old for that shit.” Eddie chuckled. 

“But you’re our favorite super senior!” 

“Swear to God Hargrove-” 

Billy just cackled to himself while Robin interrupted him.

“Ok well I DO have a date to prom, so suck it losers.” 

“Oh yeah right Buckley.” 

“Nah I’m serious, I have hoes out the wazoo.” 

Steve let his head fall and hit the table, letting out an over exaggerated groan at Robin’s latest and greatest sentence. 

“Ok laugh it up but I am taking the drop dead gorgeous Heather Holloway and you’re taking…” she trailed off, pretending to think, “Oh that’s right, nobody!” 

Steve lifted his head and scowled. 

“It’s ok pretty boy, I’ll take you if no other upstanding citizen volunteers.” 

Steve consciously ignored the blush that rose up the back of his neck and grumbled out a response. 

“My hero.” 

“Hey you could put that shit on college apps! ‘Takes bitchless losers on dates’, I can see the headlines now.” Eddie quipped, dramatically pantomiming to the group.

****

“Yo Steve-o!” Billy called, jogging up to Steve’s car.

“What, need the chemistry homework again?” he smirked. 

“Dude, that was one time, and no.” he huffed, leaning up against the passenger door, looking over the roof at Steve.

“I came to ask you something actually.” he continued. 

“You know that, uh, joke? Like the bit that Robin always does?”

Steve narrowed his eyes. 

“Like you know that one, well anyways, I just. That’s all to say, or I guess ask, I’m here to ask something-” he trailed off again. “Dude just spit it out.”

“Do you want to go to prom with me?” 

“I mean yeah sure, I assumed we would go in a group together anyways.” 

“No no no, goddammit Steve, I meant like together. With me. With me as your date. With matching boutonnieres and dumb pictures and all that horseshit.” he waved his hand flippantly at Steve. 

“Holy shit really?” 

“Yeah really.” Billy answered wearily, he would never get used to the painfully slow processing speed of Steve Harrington. 

“Huh. I did not expect this. How long have you…” he trailed off. 

“Too fucking long Steve. Now answer the fucking question will you?” 

The corners of his mouth perked up without his permission, “Yeah, I’ll go with you. Matching boutonnieres and all.” 

“Oh thank fucking God, I was so worried you were gunna say no and then I’d have to kill all the witnesses.” 

Steve snorted a laugh. 

“Ok, I got practice so I gotta run, but I had to ask that before I lost my mind. See you later.” 

Steve watched as Billy jogged off back towards the school, he couldn’t stop the dopey grin from showing. He grabbed his phone from his back pocket and shot a quick text to Robin.

ok mybe u were right… on a totally unrelated note, what color should billy and I’s ties be?? 

[maishairbuns]

Thank you for responding to my post, but I'm actually going to have to disagree with you on several of your points. First of all, I agree that Mai can be interpreted in different ways... but I've never gotten the impression that she could be interpreted as someone who is so villainous as to do all the things you've listed she does here.

Firstly, she asked him about the weather. That was it. I do think that a better person could have picked up on Zuko's distress here and responded to it a lot better, but it is an exaggeration to call what she did "vile"... I think her response was a result of her own anxiety around being emotionally vulnerable with people. Mai is far from a trained therapist, if anything she's the opposite, so I think her reaction here is, at worst, callously dismissive of Zuko's turmoil, but far from a supervillain move. Also... you're going to have to point me to the episode where its indicated that Mai only got together with Zuko as a manipulation tactic on behalf of Azula... as far as I'm aware, she had a longtime childhood crush on him and was acting on that.

If you go back and rewatch that scene, you'll remember that it is not Mai who enjoys ordering servants around, but Zuko. Or at least, that is the impression she has of him, as she suggests doing it as something to cheer him up. It is based off of an earlier scene in that episode, where Mai mentions that she likes fruit tarts, and Zuko asks a servant to fetch some. So she's inferred that enjoying the benefits of his prince status is something that makes him happy, and is hoping to make him feel better by bringing it up. However, there are actual scenes that shows this sadistic side of Mai that you claim exists, such as after Azula intimidates the Dai Li into working for her, Mai comments in amusement "that guy almost peed his pants"- which is pretty tame as far as 'treating people terribly on purpose' goes.

Mai acknowledges herself in the same spiel that she talks about her upbringing that she was a "spoiled, rich only child who got everything she wanted...". So I don't think being taught to fight or having expensive knives contradicts what she says about her parents. I do think that the beach episode monologue was probably written after the Return to Omashu episode, but it's not a complete retcon. I think, rather than looking at how Mai interacts with her parents, look at how Mai acts in general. She's incredibly passive, she very rarely says anything that could come off as strongly opinionated (this circles back to point #1, where she's reluctant to share her inner thoughts or connect with people on a deeper level), and there's multiple instances where she chooses to do nothing instead of act (she refuses to pursue the Gaang through the Drill sludge, and she doesn't hold Bosco the Bear). Mai wasn't prevented from doing anything and everything like Toph was; Toph's parents were ableist as heck, Mai's parents were concerned with their political career, so they encouraged Mai not to express herself or rock the boat in any way.

I don't believe she fears Azula that much either, we can agree on that. When she choose to save Zuko at the Boiling Rock, it was to show how Azula's method of controlling people through fear was flawed... admittedly, this face heel turn could have been foreshadowed and built up to much better (again, Mai would be a much better character if they actually wrote her in the story more).

Honestly... if you'd rather see Mai as a villain, that's up to you, but several of the points you've made here don't actually add up, as it seems that you're remembering lines from the series out of context.

i actually can't process why people don't like mai. is it because of the "i just asked if you were cold" scene. is that it. okay LISTEN i will go to bat for her. she says it herself in the beach episode, she's been raised to not share her opinion or like. care about anything. she probably deflects in that moment because it's obviously an emotionally heavy conversation and she's been told her entire life not to share her feelings. or share other people's feelings, tbh.

she's ngl pretty incompatible as a match for zuko, who is constantly full of feelings, and needs someone who can help him work through them in his life, like iroh or katara. but that does not make mai the stone cold bitch y'all haters want her to be. i promise she's fluffy on the inside, the stone cold bitch is but a thin outer shell that protects all the love and care she contains within herself

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Here’s a little snippet from one of my Harringroveson drafts that I’m trying to scrounge up the motivation to turn into a full fic

-

“Did you set up that stuff like I asked?”

“Yeah.”

“The horseshoe and the cornhole?”

“Yes.”

“M’kay.” Steve purses his lips skeptically. “Rules for today?”

“No grab-ass,” Eddie sighs. When Steve quirks a brow at him, he exhales a long, drawn-out sigh and lolls his head to the side. “And no attitude.”

Seemingly pleased, Steve nods once. He squeezes Billy’s shoulder before he makes his way back toward the porch and disappears inside the cabin, screen door clapping shut behind him.

Once he’s gone, Eddie leans further over the table.

“I’m gonna eat your fuckin’ cookies when you’re not looking just so you can’t have any,” he whispers.

“I’ll make you spit ‘em up just as quick.”

“You’d have to catch me first.”

Billy huffs a laugh and spreads a little grin to match.

“I’ll give you a twenty second head start and still have your ass on the ground,” he lilts. Pushes himself up from his seat and meanders over to the fold-out table with the gifts on it, placing the container of cookies among the other little packages. While he’s standing there, he glances at the bag of metal rods and horseshoes on the ground, nudging it with his boot and scoffing. “Jesus, he’s gonna kick your ass, y’know that?”

Eddie rests his cheek in his hand, unabashedly staring at Billy’s ass.

His outfit isn’t too unlike what he usually wears when he wants to dress up a little; jeans and a button-down with the collar open, but something about him is especially alluring. He put more time into his hair, threw on a couple extra accessories, and his cologne hangs on the air wherever he goes.

All Eddie’s wanted all afternoon is to get him alone and suck the fragrance off of his skin.

“Why don’t you set it up for me so I can look at you while you’re doin’ it?”

The blond sputters out a laugh and turns back around to face him, leaning back against the table and crossing his arms.

“I’m not doing shit.”

Eddie makes a show of dragging his gaze back up to eye-level, soaking in the view every inch of the way.

“I’ll make one of the lil’ shitheads do it when they get here, then.”

“As if they even could,” Billy says with a chuckle. “Dunno why Stevie even asked you to do it, now that I think about it.”

“So you’re saying you’ll do it for me?”

Eddie bats his eyelashes flirtatiously. The blond sighs. Bends down to grab the bag along with the mallet resting beside it.

“Where’s the stuff for cornhole?”

When Eddie points to it, lying off to the side of the porch, Billy nods. He saunters off a little ways away and kneels down on one knee, grabbing one of the metal rods out of the bag and hammering it into the ground until it’s sturdy.

True to his word, Eddie watches him.

Until the door creaks open again.

The crunching of leaves is a little more fast-paced this time, and Eddie winces when something is set down harshly on the table, not even bothering to turn around and see who it is.

“Seriously, Eddie?” Steve sighs. “You couldn’t do the one thing I asked you?”

Eddie raps his knuckles against the underside of the table with his free hand.

“It was two things, actually.”

“Knock it off,” Steve warns. The tone of his voice, low and even, sends a chill up Eddie’s spine. “Today was supposed to be about him relaxing. It’s one thing to do shit like this at home, but today? Maybe act like you care about someone other than yourself for once.”

Without giving any time for a response, Steve swivels on his heel and returns up the steps, muttering angrily to himself until he’s inside.

A nasty, cold feeling swirls in Eddie’s chest like smoke. He gets up from the table and grabs the cornhole set, wordlessly setting it up parallel to the horseshoe on the opposite side of the yard.

When Billy’s finished, he returns with the empty bag in one hand and the hammer in the other, standing over the brunet while he sets up the remaining goal.

“I could’a gotten it,” he says. Nudges his boot against Eddie’s sneaker and cocks his head to the side when there’s no response. “Hey, what’s up?”

When the goal is standing on its own, Eddie rocks back on his knees and sighs.

“Nothing, just pissed our boyfriend off,” he says. “Again.”

Beside him, Billy drops to a squat. Sets the stuff in his hands aside and reaches out to heartily pat the brunet’s back, almost knocking him forward.

“I was wondering when he was gonna snap. He’s been stressed out all day, I’m sure he isn’t actually upset with you.”

Eddie feigns dizziness and slumps into Billy’s shoulder, which earns a chuckle as fingers card into his hair with a much more gentle touch.

“You didn’t hear him. Pretty sure he might actually make me sleep on the couch.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch with you.”

They share a chuckle. Billy scratches softly at Eddie’s scalp, coaxing a soft sigh out of him as he leans further into his partner. After a few beats, Billy shifts so that he sits criss-cross on the ground.

“Now he’s gonna yell at me ‘cause your clothes are getting dirty,” Eddie murmurs.

He laces his arms around Billy’s waist and tucks his face into the crook of his neck, smiling when a heavy arm drapes around him in return.

“He won’t yell at you.”

“I’ve been making him mad a lot recently. Not sure how to stop doing it, it’s like we’re just… I dunno.”

Billy sighs. Rubs up and down Eddie’s arm reasurringly.

“I really do think he’s just stressed out.”

“Mm.”

“Want me to talk to him?”

The brunet simply shakes his head.

It’s quiet for a little while, save for the breeze rustling the trees. Then the door opens and Hopper steps outside with a foil tray in his hand, making a straight line for the grill beside the porch. He does little more than spare a glance at the couple in the dirt.

“We have chairs, y’know,” he says.

“I know, I watched you set ‘em up earlier,” Billy lilts.

Hopper huffs and opens the grill.

“Could at least sit in ‘em if you’re not gonna help out with anything.”

“Hey, any other day, I would. You can run it by the boss, but I don’t think it’ll be a very productive conversation.”

The two go back and forth, and Eddie tunes them out. Lets himself sink his weight into his partner and temporarily ignore everything else.

-

[charliedawn]

Slashers + Hannibal’s with reader that’s a biter? (Ex: bites themselves when anxious, bites them or themselves during intercourse, bites them if they take them by surprise…) and they found out on accident?

Hannibal Sr.

Hannibal Sr. was the first to notice your tendency, though it wasn’t intentional. One evening, while preparing a meal together, he gently startled you by sliding his arms around your waist from behind. Your instinctive response was swift—you bit his hand lightly in surprise.

He didn’t flinch, but his brow arched as he glanced at you with a mix of curiosity and amusement. "An interesting reaction," he mused, stepping back to examine you as though you were a fascinating specimen.

When he later saw faint bite marks on your own skin—evidence of anxiety—he didn’t judge you. Instead, he observed. One evening, he delicately took your hand in his, tracing the marks thoughtfully. "I wonder," he murmured, "what is it about the sensation of biting that calms you ?"

Should you bite him during an intimate moment, Hannibal Sr. would not only accept it but delight in your raw, unfiltered passion. "Such primal instincts," he’d whisper against your ear. "You fascinate me more with every moment."

Hannibal Jr.

Hannibal Jr. discovered your biting habit during one of your quiet evenings together. You were lost in thought, chewing lightly on the skin of your knuckle when his sharp eyes caught the motion. He tilted his head, his expression unreadable as he studied you.

"Does it help ?" he asked softly, gesturing toward your hand.

You tried to explain, embarrassed, but he silenced you with a gentle wave of his hand. "It’s not uncommon," he assured you, his voice steady. "We all have ways of coping. Many of my patients used to have the same instinct to bite. However, if you wish I could…help you with that." It could mean two things.

Hannibal Jr. wants to help you quit the habit.

Hannibal Jr. wants to bite you…

If you bit him during an intimate moment, he’d lean into it, his breath hitching but his gaze never leaving yours. "You bite to feel," he’d say, his voice filled with admiration. He would then smile and keep going—not trying to stop you if you tried to bite him again. "Don’t hold back."

Morgan Hannibal

Morgan discovered it by accident while you were working together on a project. Stress had been mounting, and you’d unconsciously started biting the inside of your cheek. Morgan noticed immediately, his keen eyes narrowing as he stopped what he was doing.

"You’re biting yourself," he pointed out, his tone more curious than critical.

You froze, embarrassed, but Morgan simply shook his head, a small smirk forming on his lips. "Interesting coping mechanism," he said, before continuing as if nothing had happened.

If you bit him during a more intimate encounter, he’d chuckle darkly, his confidence unshaken. "Careful," he’d tease. "You’ll leave marks—but then, maybe that’s what you want." He’d view it as a sign of passion, something to admire rather than discourage.

And besides, Morgan is all for biting in return.

Kevin Hannibal

Kevin found out during a playful moment. He’d snuck up behind you to tease you and maybe scare you a bit, only for you to spin around and instinctively bite his shoulder in surprise. His eyes went wide before he burst out laughing.

"You’ve got some fight in you !" he said, grinning as he rubbed his shoulder. "Didn’t know I’d have to watch out for those teeth."

Kevin would be the most openly amused by your habit. If he saw you biting yourself in moments of stress, he’d gently take your hand away and offer a distraction. "Oi, no need to hurt yourself. If you need to bite something, I’m right here," he’d say with a cheeky wink.

During more passionate moments, Kevin would absolutely encourage your biting. "Go on, bite harder," he’d challenge, his tone teasing yet genuine. "Let’s see what you’ve got, princess."

Peter Hannibal

Peter discovered your biting habit when he saw faint marks on your hands one day. He frowned, his concern immediately showing. "Did someone hurt you ?" he asked softly, his wide eyes filled with worry.

When you admitted that it was self-inflicted, he didn’t judge, but he did grow protective. "You don’t have to do that," he murmured, his voice gentle. "If you’re anxious, just tell me. I’ll help."

If you bit him during a playful or intimate moment, Peter would freeze, his cheeks flushing as he stared at you in surprise. "D-Do you do that often ?" he’d ask nervously, though there was no fear in his voice. Once reassured, he’d smile shyly. "It’s okay. I don’t mind…Just don’t hurt yourself, okay ?"

Peter would see your biting as part of who you are—something he’d accept without hesitation, even if it made him uneasy. Peter is the kind of person who would rather die than inflict pain on others. So biting you wouldn’t be something he would like to do—or it would involve a lot of coaxing and reassurance.