#series: between love & ego

[lalunanymph]

𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐆𝐎

↳ a foul-mouthed, aggressive, pro-soccer player on the verge of being disqualified from the biggest game of his life, is tossed into a fake relationship with a spoiled heiress to salvage their bad public reputation. what exactly could go wrong?

𖨆♡𖨆 itoshi rin x fem!reader

cw. fake dating, mentions of alcohol, language, explicit smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, reader wears makeup and a dress, slight choking, submissive!reader, manhandling

masterlist | playlist

#3: OUT THE BOTTLE

The drive back to your father’s home was silent and terse, filled with pockets of ruminating thoughts where you wondered just what the fuck was Itoshi Rin’s problem. 

You had tried your best to be nice to him. Sure, you could be a little over-friendly, but all he had to do was tell you to quit it and you would step back with an apology presented on a silver platter. But, no—he had dug up such an immense past wound, it made you nauseous just thinking about how casually he threw it into your face. 

It’s like he can’t even communicate like a normal person. 

The most he could do was stop antagonising you. Your head started to hurt and you wished you were anywhere but here; sitting in a bar and nursing a drink then fighting back tears of frustration beading on your lash line. You sniffed, and dashed at your brimming eyes.

Fuck Itoshi Rin. Fuck him and his stupid, rude ass.

You were done with this agreement.

Before you could drive down the road into your father’s house, Junni called you up. Her voice filled the interior of your Coupe, and she sounded excited.

“Y/N? Are you home?” 

Hoping your thick voice would not break, you murmured, “No, I’m not. Why?”

“I heard about you and Rin,” she bubbled, and the edge of a whine was hard to miss from her saccharine tone. “Why didn’t you tell me? Were you embarrassed of me finding out?” You barely had time to reply to her when Junni’s next question came shooting in your direction, reeking of a thinly-veiled attempt at digging out more gossip. “I’m in Onmoya right now having a drink. Come and join me.”

Something dark and thrilling tingled in the recesses of your soul; begging for a chance to be released. For reckless abandonment to take you by the throat and lead you down a path of self-destruction. The wise inner voice you tried to cultivate during your short time appeasing Rin reared up, but you shushed her. Told her to fuck off and let you have this night. 

Despite the low tones of afternoon shades, Onmoya was a bar where many could spend hours in. The friendly staff, good food and general ambiance once pulled you in to stay past two in the morning—and you had only gone there for lunch. 

So, you drove to Onmoya. You changed out of your hoodie and shorts into a tight, red dress you kept in your Coupe’s boot. 

You ordered a set of Jagerbombs and Junni listened to you as you started to slur about how much you hated soccer. She tried to get your loose tongue to impart more insight into your relationship with Rin, but you came up blank everytime she pressed forward with a question. What could you say? You barely knew the guy in the first place.

A part of you—the one which still held a shred of lucidity—admired how he had found a loophole for that stupid rule (you couldn’t remember its name now). 

Maybe Itoshi Rin was too distant because he wanted to keep his feelings in an airtight container of separation; so they would never touch his waking world. You snorted miserably and your head bumped forward, almost sagging onto the table.

“Y/N,” Junni’s alarm voice filled your hazy mind. “H-hey. Do you want me to call Rin to pick you up?” 

You barely responded, and she started to panic. The young heiress snapped your phone off the table and punched in your passcode, opening your contact list and dialling Rin’s number. If you had an iota of soberness, you would be mortified that someone had discovered that your fake boyfriend’s number was in your emergency contacts; terrified that he would find out and judge you for such a rash presumption on this relationship. 

There was nothing you could do to stop Junni from calling him and as much as you whined and pleaded for her to send you home, she concocted an excuse that she had to be in downtown Tokyo by tonight.

Liar. 

She just didn’t want you puking in her Audi. 

The lights of the bar suffused across your vision like a hazy glow, and you weren’t aware of a tall figure making his way through the crowd, his teal eyes set on your hunched figure. 

“—Rin, right?” 

Someone grunted, low and masculine, and you were hoisted up from your slump on the table, into a sturdy circle of arms. 

“Thanks,” you heard a familiar voice murmur. “I’ll handle her from here.”

The moment your head thumped onto firm muscle and the smell of musk hit your nose, you knew it was him. The thought of Rin seeing you this vulnerable injected a small dose of sobriety into you, and you struggled to escape his embrace.

“M’fine! I can walk.” 

He clicked his tongue. “You can’t. Now shut up and let me carry you back to the car.”

You protested, but Rin was a good head taller than you and much more athletic; he would always have the upper hand in terms of strength. Surprisingly, your drunken murmurings for him to let you go were met with resistance and grunts. 

One arm wrapped around his shoulder and another firmly around his waist, Rin let you lean on him, patiently matching every wobbly step you took with a short stride. He didn’t rush you or make fun of you when you almost knocked your head on his car roof. He didn’t throw any rude remarks when you groaned and slumped against his window, trying in vain to hold onto your last shred of self-control not to spill your guts in his car.

When you reached home, he took the liberty to carry you in his arms, ignoring your squeaks of protest. Every jarring step he took made the alcohol slosh in your belly and you were almost to the door when you whined and smacked his chest.

“R-Rin, I-I need to puke…”

The door barely fell open and the moment your feet touched the ground, you drunkenly dashed to the closest bathroom and spewed your guts down the porcelain bowl. You dry-heaved until you couldn’t anymore; until your empty stomach ached and your throat hurt. With the cold seeping into your cheek and tears glueing your lashes shut, you were a sight for sore eyes that you almost didn’t blame him for locking himself in the bedroom and washing his hands clean off the responsibility to sober you up.

But, you were also wrong this time. 

Rin braved the storm of your sickness and helped to hold your hair back, kneeling next to you as you struggled to catch your breath. A glass of water was pressed into your hand, and you shamefully chugged it down, bleary eyes locking on his disapproving expression.

“You’re a menace, you know that.”

The first pulsing of a migraine was starting behind your eyes and you groaned, dropping your forehead to the toilet bowl rim and bracing yourself for his reproach. 

“So irresponsible—”

“Not tonight, Rin.” You were dazed at how hoarse you sounded. “I don’t wanna fight tonight.”

Wisely, he snapped his mouth shut. Rin helped you stand so you could wash up and gargle your mouth. Once or twice he caught you in his arms when your balance faltered on the way to the shower, and he was completely distracted from trying to keep you from giving yourself a concussion, that what you were doing clicked in a second too late when you started to tug your dress over your head.

“Ow!” you cried when the neckline caught on your earring. “Ow, ow, ow…”

Your whines diminished when you felt sturdy hands helping you untangle the caught jewellery from your silk dress. His expression remained impassive when you stood before him in your thong and bra, swaying on your own two feet. If soberness had reached you fast enough, you might’ve even noticed the reddened tint on his cheeks. 

“Come on,” he mumbled, tugging you by the hand towards the glass shower. “You need to clean up.” 

Suddenly, you broke free from his grasp, spurred on by the respite of warm water flowing down your aching muscles, and pushed the door open. 

“Hey—!” 

Rin barely had time to stop you from flicking the shower button, his stare of consternation burning into your back when you shrieked with delight, water cascading down your entire form. Soaking your delicate lingerie and ruining your makeup.

“Oi, idiot. You’re still in your underwear—”

You giggled and flicked your hair to the side, catching his eye from over your shoulder. “I know, but it feels good. C’mon. Haven’t you ever showered with your clothes on?” 

Rin’s expression withered in pain, as if the thought itself was distressful. You didn’t expect him to roll his eyes and huff, stripping off his shirt and then his shorts. Your widening gaze trained right to the bulge hidden by the thin material of his underwear, your entire body frozen in shock. He didn’t give you time to wrap your head around his sudden change of mind, pushing open the shower door and nudging you closer to the wall so he could stand under the fall of water; the residual steam soaking into his skin, the tips of his dark hair sticking to his face. 

Your mouth had gone dry, and you stared up at him, suddenly—painfully—aware of your nudity. How there was nothing separating you from his darkening gaze.

He took a step closer, and you shrank against the wall, your back flush on the cold marble. 

“Turn around.” Despite his proximity, Rin did not try to scare you. Instead, he was gentle when he pushed your hair aside and manoeuvred your closer towards his chest. He didn’t hesitate to unclip your bra and toss it onto the floor; nor wait for you to give your consent when he hooked his thumbs into your panties and drew them down your legs. 

Even with your blatant nakedness right in front of him, Rin did not take advantage of your vulnerable position. 

He got down onto his knee, unlooping your panties from your ankles and tossing it aside to join your sodden bra. With nothing keeping you hidden, you started to panic, heart doubling in speed at what he would do next.

Sex was nothing new to you, but in the throes of it all, you barely remembered the minute details. It was always a quick fuck, some spooning and you were out of their apartments before the sun could break over the horizon. However, this was different. Completely foreign.

You were alert and absorbing every little change of Rin’s expression when he straightened up to his full height again—his flustered reaction evident from the twitch of his lips and the furrow in his brow. You memorised the curve of his palm and the roughness of his skin when he started to lather soap onto your back, gently bathing you. You closed your eyes when he rubbed your back, and shivered when his fingers grazed your cheeks, forcing your face up to his so he could remove your makeup. 

Those beautiful teal eyes were focused on his handiwork; trying to get every trace of makeup off your skin with a warm wash rag. 

You couldn’t help yourself and steadied your palms against his defined chest; quietly surprised when he did not push you away. He didn’t even react when you twined your arms around his neck or when you threaded your fingers in his hair. Rin only paused his ministrations when you started to shift closer, your body pressed against his. 

One second, he had set the cloth down, and the next, his lips were on yours.

You kissed him like he was water and you were parched for his presence for days on end. Rin indulged you by not pulling away; surprising you when he started to tighten his grip around your waist. 

For an asshole, Itoshi Rin was a good kisser, leaving you breathless for more when his hips pressed flush to your own. You could feel something half-hard poking your lower belly, and you barely had time to gasp before he had slid to his knees again. This time, Rin’s eyes were two molten teal pools, and you had little doubt of his next intention. He skimmed his lips down your thighs, tracing the ridges of your hip to map out your body under his touch.

Your mind spun, threatening to fall off its axis. The fog of your thoughts from the alcohol was starting to lift, giving you some semblance of clarity back again. Just in time for you to feel his mouth right above your soaking slit. 

Rin glanced up at you through hooded, subdued eyes, and you held your breath at the sight of his pink tongue peeking out to glide between your folds. Whether you were sensitive from the alcohol or buzzing from the sudden elation of his touch, you let out a loud moan, and slapped a hand over your mouth, warming with embarrassment. 

He didn’t comment on your sudden slip of composure, content to spread your folds and trace his tongue over the swell of your clit. Your fingers found purchase in his hair again, and for a split second, something tangible washed over you. It buoyed you with lightness, giving your fragile hope wings. 

For no matter how thick the fog of deception covers the visible, glimmers of truth would still shine in the periphery like a promise. 

You saw it in his teal eyes, felt it in the sturdy grip around your waist. Rin’s mouth left your twitching clit with a soft ‘pop’ and he stood straight again. This time, there was no hesitation between you both when he reached out for you and you met him in the middle.

Your thighs were wrapped around his waist, and the steam seemed to cling lovingly around the both of you, enveloping you in tandem with lust. Rin grunted when his cock sheathed into your tight heat and you groaned, head falling back when he started to move. 

Words could not compare to the whisper of damp skin on skin; the press of his lips on yours.

Through those fleeting kisses, you tasted yourself and his resignation; his first offer of peace. And in yours, he drank in your ardour and quick, bubbling passion. 

Rin paced you through your first orgasm when it crashed around you, placing soft kisses and murmurs of praise on the delicate column of your neck. He steadily held you to his chest, almost cradling you with no sign of fatigue despite how long he had held you up to fuck you against the shower wall. 

“Such a dirty, desperate girl,” he murmured, and you swore your vision tunnelled; your mind spinning from his sudden filthy statement. 

Rin didn’t give you a chance to wrap your head around his words, easing out of the shower with mincing steps and sitting you on the wide bathroom counter, sweeping aside your makeup and skincare to make space for his large palms to press flush on the cool marble. He tugged your chin up to face him, and you held his gaze when he pushed inside of you again, a low groan of fuck falling from his intumescent lips.

“Look at me.”

The natural dominance dripping from his tone and the stretch of his cock settling right into your tight heat made you whimper. As if it wasn’t enough, Rin wrapped a hand around your throat, fingers digging lightly into your pulse point as he choked you softly while you struggled to take his length.

“I said—look at me.” Your whines were growing incoherent, the rush of alcohol spiking down south made your entire pussy sensitive to his length touching every tender spot. He felt his dick twitch harder when your lachrymose eyes latched into his steely, wild, teal ones, slowly succumbing to his perverted desires. “Hmm. Looks like you can follow orders after all.”

Rin pried your mouth apart with his thumb, his large palm wide enough to cover half of your neck. His long fingers tightened around the column of your throat, forcing you to stay put so he could shove his thumb roughly down your throat, making you gag lightly.

“Take it,” he murmured. “Show me how good you can be.”

You tried—you wanted to prove you were the best. Softly, you suckled on his calloused thumb, swirling your tongue over his rough skin and peering up at him through glossy eyes. 

Your pussy gave a little shudder around his length and Rin inhaled sharply, brows furrowed and a low groan vibrating from his chest. 

“You like this, huh? Being treated so lewdly. You’re practically melting around my cock.” His heated words were shaded in soft murmurs that contrasted heavily with his firm thrusts. You wished you could come up with something witty, but his thumb pinning your tongue down barely gave you the space to throw back your words into his face.

Itoshi Rin had effectively rendered you mute and bending to his whims. 

“Be good for me,” the dark-haired striker whispered as he removed his thumb from the heat of your mouth, swiping your spit off by smearing it over one heaving tit. “And maybe I will show you some mercy and make you feel good.”

Your choked moan and teary, desperate eyes, ignited something feral and primal in him, and Rin hitched your thighs higher around his defined waist, starting to chase both your pleasures down with pure determination and lust. 

The sensation of this position was thrilling; it was far more intimate and open than when he had taken you against the wall. You could hear his heavy breathing, feel his thighs tensing around yours. His kiss was clumsier this time, sloppily enveloping your entire mouth. Rin kissed you like how you imagined he dominated the other players on the field; with determination and a flair for possession.

He pressed you against the cool mirror, and you whimpered at how deep he was in you—almost kissing your cervix, his hazy eyes latched onto your fucked out expressions.

There was something utterly gorgeous about how he was unravelling from your walls clinging around his cock.

His cheeks were dusted with pink, mouth parted slightly and a bit of drool chasing down his chin; pretty teal eyes hazy and unfocused. Pussydrunk. Itoshi Rin was getting pussydrunk on you. 

You swiped the trail of spit down his chin with your tongue, earning a low groan which rumbled underneath your splayed palms on his chest; culminating with your tongue deep in his mouth. Rin was grabbing your ass hard enough to leave marks on it, and you were desperate to feel his control snap. To feel him fill you up good.

“Cum for me,” you panted softly against his mouth. “Let me feel you, Rin. Please… Cum in me.”

His hips stuttered, and the hot, twitching heat behind your navel tightened with another knot. Ready to snap. 

“Fuck,” he gritted, forehead falling heavily onto yours. “Fuck. G’na—I’m gonna…”

You started to grind down on his length, the sloshing sounds and wet smacks of both your sexes meeting loud and obscene in this bathroom. 

Rin groaned when he felt you squeezing down on him, and his breathing picked up a notch; his heart throwing erratic beats under your palm. He groaned, low and deep, and without warning, strings of warmth filled you up.

It triggered something in you—got you gasping and whining when he started to pump his seed deep into you; his stamina still going strong.

“R-Rin,” you cried, and he took the chance to seal his lips over yours again, long lashes tickling your cheekbones. This kiss was messier, painted in huffs of desperation and your pussy started to quiver around him again.

Using his thumb, he rubbed your clit until you squeaked and started to flinch away from the overstimulation. But, he didn’t give you room to escape, growling under his breath and tightening his hold around your waist as he traced messy circles on your throbbing bud. 

“R-Rin!” your scream shattered through the peace, and you were sure you looked unhinged; desperately chasing your second high. It was almost painful—this excruciating pleasure he elicited in you.

Acutely now, you were aware of your body reaching its final tether to composure, and you choked out his name, vision whitening as the high crashed into you with the force of a thousand bricks. Smothering your senses with pure ecstasy.

The walls of the bathroom shimmered; your wails trembled through the muggy steam from the heated ardour you and Rin created. Your nose burned with the scent of musk and sweat, and you were barely lucid to the sensation of more cum filling you up. 

Sapped of his energy, Rin leaned his full weight against you, smushing you against the mirror. His breath dragged against your shoulder, and you held on tightly to him, as if he would disappear after one blink.

You regained some semblance of motion after a few blank minutes, and tried to stand. But, Rin had recovered faster and was lifting you into his arms again. You didn’t protest when he brought you to the sofa, your clammy skin sliding uncomfortably against the leather surface. Neither did you make a sound when he laid next to you, pulling you into his sticky embrace. 

The exhaustion from the events of tonight crashed into you, and within seconds, you were out like a light.

… Rin fell asleep a few minutes after you did, tracing your features with his bloodshot, teal eyes.

Menace. He tucked you underneath his arm, too tired to give into his self-inflicted exasperation. I should kill her when I wake up… his eyes slid close, a drowsy stupor smothering the tail end of his thoughts; his vitriol defeated by the tender embrace of sleep and your steady breathing pulling him deeper into unconsciousness. 

The sunlight grazed your bare face, coaxing you awake. 

Someone’s chest was rising and falling underneath your cheek, but you were too comfortable to see who it was. Must be some dude from the bar, you consoled yourself, feeling your consciousness dip back into sleep. Five more minutes. Then, you would leave his apartment to go back to yours.

He shifted underneath you, and wrapped one strong arm around your waist. Whoever he was, he smelled good. Like musk and rain. The image of a soccer field, fresh from a drizzle, popped into your mind and you sighed happily, thinking how nice it was that your fling for the night smelled like petrichor. 

“Hey, quit drooling on me.”

Your mind shattered into reality when you fully comprehended the cadence of that tone.

Shooting up, you shrieked when you were faced with one impassively irritated Itoshi Rin. Your eyes fell on his broad, naked chest, and you quickly looked down at your own body, surprised to find it as bare as his.

Slapping your hands over your breasts, you squeaked in fear, backing away from him and the tangle of his arms, the couch quilt haphazardly thrown onto your naked body slipping down your shoulders.

“What are you doing here?!” 

“I live here.”

The memories of last night came flooding back, your expression betraying your every thought. His muscular build flush with yours. Your tongue tracing a shiny path from his chin to his lips. The faint recollection of his cock stretching you out.

Shit. 

You backed away, uncaring that you were naked before him, eyes wide and brimming with disbelief.

“Did we…?”

He arched one perfect brow, seemingly unperturbed. You could not read his unfathomable expression, struggling to find the words to continue on with your daft observation.

“Obviously.”

The ache between your thighs seconded his gruff reply, and you groaned, covering your face with your hands. 

“Great. I have to take a morning after pill now. Thanks, asshole.”

He scoffed. “Huh. I clearly remember it was you who seduced me into getting in the shower with you.” Rin grumbled under his breath like a little boy. “I wouldn’t even think of fucking you if you didn’t start to strip like a chea—”

You slapped a cushion onto his face, halting his demeaning words. “Shut up! None of this would’ve happened if you just agreed to be my friend!” 

He ripped the pillow from your hands with a snarl so fierce on his impassive face, you faltered and went tumbling back into the wide sofa. Rin was on top of you in a second, and your legs automatically wrapped around his waist to steady yourself from toppling off the tall seat.

The next few minutes were a blur. 

Sloppy, bruising kisses were shared. His tongue was back in your mouth and you suckled on the pink muscle desperately, grinding your aching clit on his half-hard cock. Your hands tangled in his hair and he was painting your neck, chest and tits with more hot kisses. He sucked on your nipples and tongued them till they were swollen and sensitive, and you cried out, tilting your hips upwards. Making it easy enough for his cock to slip into your soaked hole.

“Fuck,” Rin choked when you started to bite down on his shoulder to muffle your wails. “E-easy there, you menace. You’ll leave a mark.”

You didn’t listen, moving your mouth to his neck and starting to decorate his pale skin with red bites. He groaned when you sucked on his pulse point, thrusts growing sloppier and more desperate.

“Fuck, fuck,” he cursed, droplets of sweat chasing down his temples. You whined when his wide eyes latched onto yours, the pretty teal of his irises completely swallowed by his dark pupils. Rin turned you around onto your hands and knees, using this new position to take you from the back. 

Your thighs and arms trembled trying to hold yourself up, exhausted from the night before when he had worn you down. This new position had you seeing white, despite the fatigue in your limbs, and you gasped when he reached forward to twist and milk your nipples. 

The rough pad of his index finger moved down your body to rub quick circles around your bundle of nerves, and you muffled your shriek by pushing your face into the pillows, completely submissive to his will. In this position, you weren’t privy to his bright eyed, frenzied gaze, or his mouth fell slack when you started to mewl his name so prettily. 

Rin was solely focused on making you cum, his thrusts erratic and deep. It thrilled him to no end to see you losing your composure on his cock, whining and gasping his name; fuelling his ego and his desire to watch you crumble for him.

The curve of your spine arching upward and your lips parting in gasps made his heart expand. The sun rays weaved in your hair and on your skin, highlighting the natural command of your beauty. He had never noticed how attractive your side profile was until it was silhouetted by the gentle morning light. 

“Fuck—Rin!” your whimpers slammed him back to reality and he broke free of his spellbound fugue. “I’m gonna—”

“Cum.” His command coupled with the harsh circles he rubbed onto your clit, had you seeing stars for the third time in 24 hours. I’m so close. 

The silence was broken by the sloppy sounds of your pussy taking his cock, exacerbated by your teeth grinding together, your dissolution close enough to taste. 

Rin never stopped rubbing your clit, and with one final, loud cry, your control gave out and your body snapped in its natural crescendo of mounting pleasure, the passion consuming you whole.

Your scream of his name rebounded across the penthouse, second to his loud grunts for you to cum for him. The exhaustion slammed into you the minute your walls stopped squeezing down on him, and before you could slump forward, Rin caught you in his embrace. The sensation of your walls milking his cock for what it was worth had his body tightening and his lips at your ear, mumbling your name in between filthy, low groans. 

Hot ropes of his cum filling you up would never cease to take you by surprise, and you moaned, breathy and edged with pleasure, at how full you felt from his single load. 

Rin’s strength finally faltered and he slumped onto his side, bringing you along so your back was pressed to his chest, caging you to his body heat. 

The world stopped spinning for a split second, long enough for you to catch your breath. 

Whatever you wanted to say to him, any lingering irritated jab, dissipated into thin air. It was a novel experience to linger in his presence without defaulting to hostility, and you had an inkling Rin was as disconcerted as you were at this arresting development. 

“So,” you started in a light tone, not wanting to piss him off just when you two were starting to warm up to each other. 

The heat from his much bigger body seeped into your skin, comforting you with the scent of petrichor and musk, reminding you that you were both way past the ‘warming up to each other’ phase.

Rin hummed. At least he wasn’t asking you to shut up. 

You continued. “Do you think we should tell Ego about this?” 

His arms reflexively tightened around you, and butterflies swarmed your belly from the involuntary movement. 

Finally, Rin spoke after a few minutes of stewing in silence, shocking you from the lull. 

“No,” he murmured in finality. “Let’s just take this one day at a time, yeah?” 

Fine by you. Smothering your grin, your eyes slipped close and your shoulders relaxed. Unwittingly melting into his embrace. 

The morning slipped past peacefully.

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[kjzx]

Just because I've been shipping quite a bit of femslash lately doesn't mean I'm not a fujo at heart... behind every Madeline x evil Madeline there's a Seroptitsa

[controlaltdelete-my-existence]

ah the parallels

[witchywithwhiskey]

another man’s marks

pairing: toxic!bucky barnes x toxic!female reader

summary: you're texting with your situationship when he asks for a nude photo—but you're covered in marks left by another man. wanting to see what he'll do, you send a photo of yourself, and you're rewarded with a very torturous and enjoyable reaction.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established situationship, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering (f receiving), masturbation (m), come play, bdsm elements, a lot of biting and marking, orgasm delay, choking, some breath play, some pain play, some dacryphilia, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, degradation kink, pet names (baby), begging, teasing, some aftercare, taking and sending nude photos, possessive behavior, toxic behavior, jealousy, referenced but not shown situationship between reader and john walker, very anti-john walker behavior

word count: 7.3k

a/n: so this post came across my dash and i had the thought 'ok but what if you sent a situationship a picture covered in another man's marks?' and i started thinking about how toxic situationship bucky might react and then i wrote the first draft of this fic very quickly 🤭 i actually really love toxic bucky but i'm a little nervous to share this because i just want you all to love him as much as i do 🥺 (and, actually, he's not as toxic as i originally intended but y'know what, that's ok i think). i hope y'all enjoy ♡

you ain't my boyfriend and i ain't your girlfriend series masterlist

Let me see your tits, baby.

The text message drew a huff of noise from you, one that was half laugh, half scoff. You were laying in bed, already wearing your pajamas—an oversized tee and panties—and catching up with your situationship, Bucky Barnes, before you went to sleep.

His request wasn’t entirely out of the blue. After asking how your day was, Bucky had started complaining about his day, and you’d known the man long enough to know those kinds of conversations often led to him asking you to send a photo of yourself—though he usually wanted a picture of what panties you were wearing.

Most of the time, you didn’t hesitate to take a picture to send to him. But that time, you paused.

You liked Bucky. You liked talking to him and hearing about his day, and when you were together, you had fun. Plus, you liked sending photos of yourself to him, and you enjoyed the fact that he wanted to see your body when he wasn’t with you. It stroked your ego when he asked for a photo, and he always responded with filthy praise that turned you on. 

But that particular night, you had a problem preventing you from simply taking a photo. And, really, the problem was partly to blame on Bucky. 

From the beginning, he’d said he didn’t do relationships, he’d told you he wasn’t ready to commit to just one person. He’d been clear and up front about what he wanted, and it was nothing more than a situationship, which was fine with you. You liked him, but you weren’t going to beg for more.

But you’d also decided that if he wasn’t going to commit to you, then you certainly weren’t going to clear out your roster just for him. You weren’t going to be one of those girls sitting at home pining away for some guy. Not even Bucky Barnes.

Which, in a long, winding way, led to your current predicament. 

After all, there was a difference between Bucky being vaguely aware you were still hooking up with other guys—since you occasionally referenced your roster—and him seeing the evidence of it. And you had to wonder how he’d react if you took a picture of your tits in the state they were that evening…

It had only been about a day since your last hookup, and your mind wandered to the night before. You’d met up with one of the other guys on your roster, John Walker, and had a decently enjoyable dick appointment. You hadn’t expected Bucky or any of the other men on your roster to ask for pics, so you’d let John do what he wanted to your body.

If there were two things you knew about John Walker, it was that he and Bucky hated each other, and he loved your tits. John loved playing with them, he loved sucking on them, and he loved leaving hickeys all over them. Which he’d done the night before—and then proceeded to give you a not very satisfying orgasm. 

Sure, it’d done the trick in the moment, but not even 24 hours later, you were already restless again, your body needing a proper release, which you knew Bucky could give you. But you weren’t planning to see Bucky for at least a couple days, not until the evidence of your hookup with John had faded.

Lifting your shirt, you looked at John’s handiwork. Your tits were dotted all over with at least a dozen tiny little love bites, and your body warmed as you remembered the knife-edged pleasure that came along with each little mark. They were so recent, the bruises were still reddish, not having yet fully faded to a dark purple. 

As you looked at them, you had a devious thought—what would Bucky do if he saw John’s marks on your body? Would he blow you off, stop talking to you, maybe even ghost you? Or would he need to see you so badly that he’d come over to your apartment? Would he fuck you and give you the release you needed?

Thinking through your options, you knew it would be the kind, respectful thing to send Bucky an older photo, one of your tits when they were entirely unblemished. You had plenty of photos like that on your phone—and Bucky probably wouldn’t even notice if you sent him the same photo twice.

Or… You could send Bucky a photo of your tits covered in another man’s hickeys. You could, if he asked, tell him exactly who had given you all those hickeys. And then, you could see what Bucky would do about it. 

A wicked smile crept across your face as you came to a decision. 

Lifting your shirt again, you arched your body toward the light in your room, making sure the marks were clearly visible on your skin, then you snapped a photo of your tits. Before you could talk yourself out of the idea that was probably toxic and definitely a little mean, you sent the photo to Bucky.

His reply was almost instantaneous.

Who the fuck did that to you.

You bit back your mischievous giggle, even if you were alone in your room and there was no one to hear the evil way you wanted to cackle at Bucky’s response. Excited thrills raced through your veins, warmth blooming between your thighs at the anger laced in his text message.

You knew you’d be pushing him further toward anger by answering his question—you knew how much Bucky and John hated each other—but he’d asked. And besides, you were hoping he’d take out all that anger on your body in the most delicious of ways. So you sent a simple response.

John Walker.

You waited for Bucky’s response. 

And waited. 

But as the minutes ticked by and Bucky didn’t text back, your heart sank more and more, and the delighted smile on your face flattened into a frown. You began to think Bucky might actually be ghosting you.

For only a moment, you let yourself feel disappointed at the way your phone didn’t light up with another text from your situationship, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to be sad over a man like Bucky Barnes. Even if he fucked you way better than John Walker or any of the other guys on your roster. Even if you liked him more than any of the other guys you’d been with.

Hauling yourself up from your bed, you went through your nighttime routine, brushing your teeth and washing your face while listening to music. It wasn’t until you were about to slip into bed and go to sleep that your phone buzzed with a new text message. 

Your heart lept into your throat when you saw it was Bucky and you scrambled to read his response, eager to know what had taken him so long. Your breath caught in your throat and excitement buzzed wildly through your veins when you saw what he’d written.

I’m outside. Open your door.

A shiver of anticipation zipped down your spine as you bounded out of bed, an ecstatic grin spreading across your face at the realization that you’d got what you wanted—Bucky was at your apartment. And he was going to do something about the photo you’d sent him. 

It took all your self control not to run to your apartment door and fling it open excitedly to greet Bucky. Instead, you forced yourself to take your sweet time padding to the door, your movements deliberately lazy as you unlocked it and swung it open.

Bucky Barnes loomed on the other side, his head hanging between stiff arms, his hands braced on either edge of the frame like he was holding himself back from kicking down your door. His broad shoulders were bunched up, his short, brown hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it. His chest was heaving as he breathed harshly. 

When he lifted his head, the stubborn possessiveness in his darkened blue eyes slashed right through to your heart. He’d never looked at you that way before, and you had the terrible, fleeting thought that you could get used to being the only girl Bucky looked at so possessively. 

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other. Then, Bucky stalked forward, crowding you into your apartment and gathering you up in his strong arms while he kicked the door shut behind him. It closed with a rough slam that had your pulse skittering in your veins, your heart already pounding in your chest as Bucky crushed you in his arms.

His gaze held yours and there was something about the emotions swirling his eyes, a mixture of uncompromising possessiveness and lustful determination, that felt dangerous. Not to your body, but to your heart. 

“You got a lotta nerve sending me a picture with another man’s marks on you,” Bucky growled as he walked you backward toward your bedroom, his hands groping your hips and ass like every inch of your body belonged to him. “You weren’t trying to make me jealous, were you, baby?” 

His words were a furious hiss that he punctuated by ducking down and snapping his teeth at your plump lower lip, biting you roughly enough to wring a gasp from your lungs. Between your thighs, you could feel your pulse pumping needily, your body aching for so much more of Bucky’s rough treatment even as you forced yourself not to cower and submit like you wanted.

Pushing against Bucky’s shoulders until he leaned back and you could catch his eye, you quirked an eyebrow at him in a dry expression of amusement. 

“You’re a big boy, Bucky,” you said, before pausing to run your tongue along your lower lip, feeling the tender spot he’d bitten. Dark satisfaction swirled in your chest, but you made yourself shrug indifferently. “And I’m not your girlfriend—so if you’re jealous, that’s your problem, not mine.”

“You let him mark you,” Bucky snarled, an accusation in his tone as he stared deep into your eyes.

For a moment—just a brief moment—you saw a hurt look in Bucky’s gaze, and it pricked at something deep in your heart. Something you refused to look at or examine, especially not with Bucky standing right in front of you. You didn’t want to think about the fact that Bucky might’ve been hurt by your actions, or that you cared about his feelings enough to want to apologize.

But you supposed you could take pity on him. You’d tormented him enough for one night. 

“Yeah,” you said, cocking your head to the side, a sly smirk curving your lips. “And what are you gonna do about it, daddy?” You practically purred the final word, knowing how Bucky would react to it. 

Just like that, the hurt vanished from Bucky’s expression and heat sparked in his icy blue eyes, a menacing smile pulling across his face. 

“You wanna see what I’m gonna do about it?” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Oh, baby, you’re not fucking ready for what I’m gonna do to your pretty little slutty body.”

Bucky crowded into you, pushing you backward until your legs hit your bed, and then he was shoving you down to the soft blankets. You crawled backward into the center of the bed while Bucky toed out of his shoes and took off his jacket, leaving him in only a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants. 

Once he’d tossed his jacket somewhere in your room, he didn’t waste anymore time, prowling onto the bed and using his hands to push up the hem of your oversized tee. His head fell to your body, his teeth nipping harshly at your soft belly to make you squeal and squirm as he worked his way up. He delivered the same treatment to the curves of your brests and the delicate skin of your collarbone.

When his face finally hovered above yours, his breathing was harsh and his expression was filled with a determination so stubborn, you knew you were going to have a long night while Bucky showed you why you shouldn’t let another man mark your body.

“You’re not leaving this bed until you’ve got so many of my fucking marks on your body that you won’t even think about sending nudes to anyone else,” Bucky growled, tugging off your tee, pushing your legs open so he could settle between them, and descending on your tits. 

He found the first of John’s marks and sank his teeth into the skin around it, sucking hard on the already aching bruise. The spot gave a little twinge of pain from Bucky’s rough treatment, but it only mixed deliciously with the pleasure he was dragging from your body, and your fingers threaded into his hair, clinging to him while he sucked on your skin.

Bucky worked the reddish-purple blemish relentlessly with his mouth and teeth until it was bright again, and so much larger than the mark John had left. Then, when he was done, Bucky moved on to the next hickey, scraping his teeth over the bruise and wringing a helpless cry from your lips before he sucked the curve of your tit into his mouth. 

It went on like that for you didn’t know how long, Bucky working methodically down and across your chest, sucking and biting every bruise John had left behind on your body until each one was replaced with a new, bigger mark.

If you begged Bucky for more—or tried to push his furious mouth down toward your pussy, which was throbbing almost painfully with need—he’d simply narrow his eyes at you, giving you a look like you’d known exactly what you were getting yourself into when you’d sent that photo to him. Then he’d work his mouth even harder, even more roughly against your body, until you were tossing your head back into your pillows and moaning your pleasure.

By the time he was done, you were nothing more than a whimpering, pleading mess beneath him. Your eyes were filled with tears of desperation, and your inner thighs were sticky with the sheer amount of desire soaking your panties and coating your trembling flesh. 

“Daddy, please,” you begged on a sob, shoving at Bucky’s shoulders to get his attention as he roughly kissed a spot in the valley between your tits, licking and sucking a new hickey into your skin. 

At the sound of your ragged voice, Bucky lifted his head, but you could already tell by the determined glint in his eye and the stubborn set of his jaw that he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted just yet. 

“Hush, baby,” he rasped in a dark, patronizing tone, lowering his mouth back to your chest and sucking on the hickey he’d just left. “Daddy’s just getting started marking your beautiful body with all the pretty little bruises I want.” His voice was a rough growl that reverberated beneath your skin.

Between your thighs, you could feel more of your desire trickling into your panties, which were already soaked all the way through and sticking to your clammy skin. A whine worked its way up your throat and spilled from your lips before you could stop it, your legs squirming around Bucky’s sides, trying to grind your cunt against his body but unable to get the angle right. 

While you wriggled frustratedly, Bucky paid you no mind, shifting down your body as he picked a spot for his next mark. When his teeth sank into the soft flesh of your belly, you cried out, arching up off the bed and spreading your thighs wider to make room for Bucky’s broad shoulders. 

Your fingers twisted in his soft brown hair, trying to push his head down further, until it was between your thighs, whimpering a soft sob of, “Bucky, please.” 

But Bucky was having none of it. Despite your pleading and protests, he took his time, only peeling your panties away from your soppy wet cunt after taking his time leaving a trail of hickeys on your belly. 

When he saw how wet you were, Bucky chuckled and murmured, “Such a messy little slut, baby.” 

He’d said the words fondly and, if you weren’t mistaken, there was affection in the curve of his smile that had you feeling something you didn’t want to look at too closely. But your treacherous heart beat a little harder all the same.

Then his words sank into your lust-soaked mind and heat bloomed in your face at the gentle degradation. But what little shame you could conjure up only mixed with the burning of your desire as you stared down into Bucky’s darkened eyes, holding his gaze while he took off your panties and tossed them somewhere in your room.

He turned his focus back to the juncture of your thighs, shoving your legs wide open and smirking when you let out a helpless little moan at the feeling of the cool air brushing against your heated, dripping cunt. You were so worked up, you could feel your inner muscles clenching around nothing, needing to be filled with something.

“Your pussy’s winking at me, baby,” Bucky rumbled, laughter in his voice as he spread your pussy open with his fingers. You could feel it, your body winking at the man between your thighs like you were begging him to slide inside you—his fingers or his cock, you didn’t care. “She wants me bad, doesn’t she, baby?”

Bucky’s taunting words had you covering your face and letting out a low, tortured groan even as your hips twitched, your body yearning desperately to be filled, to be fucked. “Bucky,” you whined, drawing out his name pitifully as your hips bucked into his hands, seeking more of his touch.

But Bucky didn’t oblige your body’s request. His hands skimmed away from your pussy and along your thighs to hold you behind your knees, pushing your legs up to your chest so you were bared fully to his heated gaze. When you peeked out from between your fingers, you saw him staring hungrily down at your cunt, but at your movement, his gaze flicked up and caught yours.

“Do ya want me that bad, baby?” Bucky purred, ducking down to nuzzle his scruffy cheek against your inner thigh—so close to where you needed him, but still too far away. On instinct, your hips bucked upward, trying to press your pussy against Bucky’s face, but he held you down, grinning as he went on. “Ya want daddy’s fat cock to pound into your cute little cunt, huh, baby—want it hard and rough so you’ll be feeling me in your pretty pussy for days?”

“Oh god yes—yes, please, Bucky—daddy, please, I need your cock,” you babbled desperately, your hips squirming as you humped the empty air, seeking any part of Bucky that you could grind your aching cunt against. You didn’t care if it was his mouth or his cheek or his shoulder, you needed something.

Instead of giving you that, though, Bucky turned his face and sank his teeth deep into your thigh, hard enough that your pussy pulsed violently and you thought you were going to cum. But you didn’t. 

Once the blinding sensation of pain and pleasure passed, you knew you wouldn’t manage to tip over the edge just from Bucky’s teasing. You weren’t going to cum until he finally paid attention to your pussy, and somehow you suspected Bucky knew that. 

“Tell me how bad you want me,” he growled, sucking on your skin and beginning to leave a new mark on your inner thigh. His gaze was locked on yours as he stared up your body, past your heaving chest that was already littered with his marks, commanding you with the stubborn, possessive look in his eyes to do as he said.

“Want you so bad, daddy,” you cried, your whole body trembling like a leaf in a bitter autumn wind. Tears of frustration and need were pooling in your eyes again and you knew that if Bucky kept edging you for much longer, they were going to spill down your cheeks. “Want you more than anything—anything—please just fuck me!”

Bucky’s eyes glittered, the possessiveness is his gaze deepening and turning into something feral as he stared up your body. Finally, his mouth pulled away from your quivering thigh—after he placed one last affectionate kiss on the mark he’d left. 

“Tell me you want me more than John fucking Walker,” he spit out, shifting his head to your other thigh and sinking his teeth into your soft flesh as he held you pinned to your bed with his thick biceps wrapped around your legs. 

Your heart fluttered in your chest and your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t expected to get such a reaction out of Bucky when you’d sent him that picture of your tits with John’s marks all over them. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. Not when he was looking at you like you were his while he sucked yet another mark into your skin.

“I want you so much more than him,” you murmured. “I want your marks on me, I want your cock and your cum in me—I want you, Bucky.”

The words tumbled from your lips—the ones Bucky had demanded—and you were more than a little surprised by the vehemence in your voice, and how easy it was to admit you wanted Bucky more than John. 

Sure, you’d known he was a better fuck than John, but things with Bucky felt right in a way they didn’t with any of the other men on your roster. Like the two of you fit together somehow.

And that scared you. It scared you enough that you rushed on, forcing yourself to raise an eyebrow at Bucky and muster a dry tone as you asked, “Is that what you wanted to hear?” You could detect the hitch of emotion beneath the taunting tone of your voice, but with any luck, Bucky wouldn’t.

Thankfully, he seemed not to notice, responding to your words by growling into the soft flesh of your thigh, his eyes narrowing into a glare. He gave the hickey he’d sucked into your skin one last pull, then pushed himself up. 

Before you could beg again for him to fuck you, Bucky roughly grabbed your hips and flipped you over. His teeth sank so hard into the plush curve of your ass, you screeched into your pillows. There was more pain than pleasure that time, but Bucky knew the edge you liked to walk and he didn’t give you more than you could handle.

As it was, even more wetness flooded between your thighs and you writhed beneath Bucky’s big body, all the small stinging aches of the marks he’d left blending with the pulsing throb of need coursing through your veins. It was enough to break the damn of your tears and you sobbed into your pillows.

“Bucky, please, please, I need your dick,” you cried, straining your neck to look at him over your shoulder. 

Bucky’s dark blue eyes were narrowed into slits and when he finally pulled his teeth from your ass, he continued glowering at you, looking grumpy and almost entirely unbothered by your pleas. You knew he wasn’t entirely unaffected, though, because his cock twitched against your thigh when he saw your tear-stained face.

“Tell me you won’t do it again and I might consider giving you some dick,” he growled, holding your gaze as he ducked down to lick and soothe the bite mark he’d left on your asscheek. 

“I won’t send you another picture covered in John’s marks, I promise,” you rushed to say, arching your back and whining. Your body was moving on its own, trying to present your pussy to Bucky, but he only scraped his teeth over the mark he’d left in your skin.

“Not good enough,” Bucky grumbled, shifting to your other cheek and sinking his teeth into your ass, giving you another bite mark. When you hissed at the pain, Bucky relented, stroking his tongue over the spot as he sucked on your skin. “No one else gets to mark you but me.”

You had to look away to hide the way your eyes rolled at that demand. Bucky wouldn’t commit to you, but he wanted you to promise you wouldn’t let another man mark you. Fucking men. You glared into your pillows, not saying anything and hoping he’d drop it if you didn’t respond.

He didn’t. 

“Say it, baby,” Bucky growled, leaning to the side and slapping your ass. He managed to hit the exact spot he’d bitten, which was tender from his teeth and mouth, making you cry out. “Say I’m the only one allowed to mark you.”

“Men who aren’t my boyfriend don’t get to make demands like that, James,” you snarled, turning to glare at him over your shoulder. 

The two of you glared at each other for a long minute. You knew Bucky could be stubborn, but you could be much more stubborn when you wanted to be—and you fucking wanted to right then. If Bucky thought you were going to let him dictate what you could or couldn’t do with other men while he refused to commit, he had another thing coming.

Slowly, Bucky shifted up onto his hands, climbing up your body with the languid movements of a predator until his bigger form covered your smaller one. 

Still, you glared at each other. 

His hand pushed his sweatpants down until his cock bounced free, the stiff length slapping your ass lightly. His precum immediately started leaking into the valley between your cheeks, and your pussy pulsed in desire.

Still, you glared at each other.

“Say it, or you’re not getting my dick,” Bucky rumbled obstinately, pushing his stiff length between your thighs to drag against your dripping wet slit. 

You sucked in a sharp breath and arched your back, giving him more of your pussy to rub against—but that didn’t mean you were going to submit to his ridiculous demand. And he wasn’t going to turn you into a liar.

“Say you’re my boyfriend, or you’re not getting my pussy, daddy,” you retorted, putting as much mocking sarcasm into the nickname as you could manage. 

Bucky’s eyes flashed with so much annoyance, you couldn’t help the satisfied smirk that curled your lips, which only made his face contort in even more frustration. 

His hand reached between your thighs, pressing his cock deep into your slippery folds until the head caught at your tight hole. But he didn’t push inside. Instead, he let the tip slide through your folds to grind against your clit.

Need and desire pounded an unceasing drumbeat beneath your skin, your hands curling into fists in your blankets as you bit back a desperate moan. But you didn’t let your face go slack with pleasure, you kept right on glaring at Bucky over your shoulder, even as he repeated the motion, teasing your tight little pussy with the head of his big cock. 

Finally, something in Bucky snapped and he ducked down, capturing your mouth in a savage kiss, his lips and teeth attacking yours until both of you were breathless with need. You were practically vibrating with it beneath Bucky’s big body, and even his arms were trembling when you blinked your eyes open as he pulled away. 

“You’re gonna be the fucking death of me, baby,” Bucky rumbled, his voice so low and gravelly, you felt its deep tenor roll down your spine and settle deliciously in your core. As he spoke, he tilted his hips just the right amount and pushed the head of his cock into your dripping hole, making both of you groan in pleasure. 

“Right back at ya, daddy,” you quipped at him, your voice embarrassingly breathless as you clung to the blankets of your bed and arched your spine, pushing back into Bucky as he pressed forward. 

It took one long, glorious moment for Bucky to sink the full length of his cock inside your drenched, sopping wet pussy, and you nearly blacked out at how good it felt after so long of his teasing torture. 

He was bigger and thicker than any man you’d ever been with—though you’d never in a million years admit that to him—and it was always a little overwhelming when he first slid inside. But you loved it. You loved the way your body stretched to fit him, the way you could feel your pussy wrapped so snugly around his thick length. You loved the way you could feel him throb and twitch inside you, especially when he was close to cumming. 

And you could tell by the way his cock was twitching inside your tight hole that he was already close. That was good, because after all his teasing had worked you up, you didn’t think you were going to last long anyway.

Bucky gave you a moment to adjust to his size while he yanked his t-shirt over his head. Then he was pressing his bare chest to your back and pushing you deeper into the soft blankets of your bed until you lay prone beneath his strong body.

Only then did he pull his hips back, making you feel every delicious inch of his thick cock, before slamming inside again. Wrapping his arm underneath your neck, he tucked his bicep beneath your chin and held you pinned to his chest, forcing you to arch your spine more and feel the way his hips clapped against your ass as he pounded into you.

“I’m the only one who can fuck you like this, baby,” Bucky growled in your ear, grinding his cock into the depths of your cunt until you were whimpering beneath him. “You’re daddy’s good little slut, and only daddy can fuck your pussy the way you need it, isn’t that right?”

“Yes—yes, daddy, you fuck me so good,” you cried out, hands scrabbling at the bed sheets for leverage to push back into him. 

“Tell me what I want to hear,” he demanded harshly in your ear, the words sinking into the deepest parts of your brain. 

A twisted smile curled the corners of your mouth because you knew exactly what Bucky wanted to hear, and you were only too happy to give it to him. It was safer to admit what you were about to admit because it was the heat of the moment, and you hoped Bucky would think you were just saying it to make him happy. Only you could know that you meant every word.

“You fuck me so much better than John, daddy,” you purred, pushing your hips back into Bucky’s thrusts, forcing him deeper into your cunt until you were so full of him, you thought he was imprinting himself on your very being. “Your dick feels so good, so big, daddy—you’re the only man who fucks me so good, Bucky, you’re the best dick I’ve ever had. ”

“Fuck—fuck, baby,” Bucky bit out, his mouth brushing against your cheek, his stubble rasping against your skin and making you shiver. He fucked you harder, faster, rutting into your slick cunt like he was trying to leave another mark inside you. “Rub your clit for me, wanna feel you cum on my fat cock.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You slid your hand between the blankets and your body, slipping it between your thighs and circling the tight nub of your clit with a viciousness that matched how Bucky was fucking you. Your inner walls clenched down hard on Bucky’s cock, dragging filthy groans from both your mouths as he pushed deeper and began grinding inside you.

“Your pussy feels so fucking good,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “Never felt anything so tight.” He let out a harsh breath, his forehead falling to your shoulder as he kept up his relentless fucking, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of your release. “Feels like you’re choking my cock, baby—I can’t hold on much longer.”

“Choke me, daddy,” the words tumbled from your lips before you could stop yourself, the deepest recesses of your brain responding to Bucky’s words in a plea for one of your darkest desires.

Bucky’s bicep and forearm squeezed the sides of your neck instantaneously, giving you what you begged for and cutting off some of your air so you were forced to gasp for every little breath. You pussy squeezed tighter around his cock, wringing a rasping chuckle from the depths of his chest.

“You’re such a filthy, depraved little slut, baby,” Bucky murmured teasingly in your ear before nipping the shell with his teeth, dragging a ragged cry from your lips. “Ya like it when daddy chokes you, huh? Bet John fucking Walker doesn’t choke you like this, does he?”

“No,” you gasped, your voice hoarse but genuine as you admitted, “He’d never choke me—he’d never treat me like a slut.”

“That’s fucking right,” Bucky growled, somehow managing to fuck you even harder, his hips snapping into your ass so hard, you could hear the sharp clapping of his skin against yours even over his heavy breaths panting in your ear. 

“I’m the only man who can fuck you like you need it—dirty and rough. That’s how you like it, isn’t it, baby—you like being fucked like a slut?”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, as much in response to Bucky’s debauched question as to the feeling of his cock pounding into your cunt. You were so close—so close you could barely think, but you knew everything Bucky was saying was right. He was the only man who fucked you the way you needed it, and you needed to cum on his cock.

Thankfully, Bucky seemed to want the same thing. 

“Cum for me, baby,” he growled in your ear, his hips slamming his cock into your body hard enough to nearly hurt, but the pain-edged pleasure only pushed you closer to your release. “Cum on daddy’s cock while he’s choking your pretty little neck and fucking you like the filthy slut you are.”

Bucky’s words and his cock, and your fingers on your clit, sent you over the edge, your eyes rolling into the back of your head and a ragged scream tearing free from your lips. Pleasure consumed you, body and mind alike, until all you knew was the sensation of ecstasy drowning out everything else. 

It went on for one long, endless moment, pleasure pulsing through your being until it finally abated. Then, the world began to reform around you. Slowly, you returned to yourself, Bucky’s cock still driving into you, his thrusts turning wild and desperate as he growled in your ear.

“Fuck, you feel good, baby,” he was rumbling, rutting into you while your pussy squeezed him in a perfect clenching rhythm. “Feels like your cunt’s begging for my cum. Is that it? Ya want my cum that fucking bad, baby?”

“Yesss,” you moaned, your limbs melting beneath him as you savored the feeling of Bucky chasing his release in your body. “Want your cum, daddy, please gimme it,” you whimpered, weakly pushing your hips into his big body in a wordless plea.

Bucky grunted a soft, “Fuck,” and then pressed deep, burying his cock to the hilt in your still pulsing cunt as he came. He let out a long groan, his cock twitching against your inner walls while he emptied his balls into your pussy, the warmth of his cum filling you up.

It felt so good, your lips curled at the edges in a happy smile. Every part of you felt warm and satisfied, and you basked in the unmatched afterglow that came in the wake of getting fucked by Bucky Barnes.

When he was finally spent, Bucky eased his hips back, pulling out of you gently so he didn’t hurt your thoroughly used pussy. You appreciated the effort, even if you did feel a pang in your gut at the loss of him, like your body was mourning his absence.

Bucky rolled off you and flopped onto his back, leaving you limp and sated. 

And cold. 

The man who’d just fucked you better than anyone else ever had made no move to pull your naked body into his, but that wasn’t surprising. Bucky wasn’t the type to initiate post-sex snuggling, though he didn’t stop you from cuddling into him if you initiated it.

Gathering your strength, you heaved your body toward Bucky, draping yourself on top of him, wrapping an arm over his stomach and hitching your thigh over his hip. Your cooling skin pressed to his heated body as you tucked your face into his neck, cooing happily when his arm curled around your shoulders, holding you against his side.

But a post-sex snuggle wasn’t the only thing you’d been looking for. 

Your mouth found the side of Bucky’s neck, your lips working against his skin, kissing and sucking and biting him while he rumbled soft sounds of satisfied pleasure. You didn’t stop until you’d left a hickey, but when you pulled away to get a look at it, you decided it wasn’t enough. 

After all, you were literally covered in his marks. 

So you went back to work, sucking on the hickey until the bruise was so big, there’d be no hiding it—not unless Bucky suddenly started wearing turtlenecks. Somehow, you knew he wouldn’t. You knew he’d wear your hickey proudly, even if it meant he might not get laid until it faded.

When you were finally satisfied with your work, you brushed one last kiss to the hickey, and settled down at Bucky’s side. Your cheek pressed to his chest and you listened to his heart thumping a steady drumbeat beneath his pecs. 

For a moment, you were both quiet, enjoying the feel of each other. Then Bucky fished his phone out of the pocket of his discarded sweatpants, which he’d kicked off at some point. He held the device aloft over the two of you, tilting his head to the side and using the front-facing camera to look at the mark you’d left.

“I guess I deserve this,” he commented, trailing his fingers over the gigantic hickey. There was no anger or annoyance in his tone, though, only amusement. He skimmed his fingers down to your shoulder and gently rearranged your arm until the marks he’d left on the sides of your tits were visible. “Now we’re even.” 

A snickering smile curved your mouth and you were about to retort that you weren’t anywhere close to even, but the soft click of Bucky’s phone snapping a photo cut you off. 

Reaching up, you tapped the screen to show the picture and you had to admit, it was pretty cute. The hickey on Bucky’s neck was prominent and he wore a cocky grin on his attractive face while you smirked into his chest, his marks dotting your skin even though you weren’t revealing too much of your breasts. 

It was the kind of photo you’d consider setting as your phone’s background if Bucky was your boyfriend. 

He wasn’t, but that didn’t mean you didn’t still want it.

“Send that to me,” you said, trying to keep your tone light.

But Bucky must’ve heard how much you wanted the picture, because he chuckled evilly, pulling the phone out of your reach. When you lifted your head to glare at him, there was a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. 

“If I send this to you, you gotta promise not to let John mark you up again.”

That time, you let him see you roll your eyes while you reminded him, “Only boyfriends get to make demands like that, Bucky.”

Huffing a frustrated sigh and giving you a half-hearted glare, Bucky tapped the screen of his phone a couple times. A second later, your phone buzzed with a text and when you glanced at it, you saw he’d sent you the photo of the two of you. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. “I just don’t ever wanna see his fucking marks on your body again.” 

You nodded your agreement, saying, “That’s fair.” It was the least you could do, all things considered.

Bucky laughed to himself at your easy agreement, then pushed you onto your back and spread your thighs while he sat up on his knees between your legs. “Now, smile pretty for daddy, baby. I wanna take some photos of all the hard work I did marking you up.”

A pleased grin pulled across your face. As much as you enjoyed taking pictures and sending them to Bucky, you loved it even more when he wanted to take pictures of you himself. So you laid on the bed and let Bucky position you how he wanted so he could take photos of his handiwork. 

“You gonna jerk off to these when you get home, daddy?” you taunted, staring up at Bucky and smiling for his camera. “Gonna rub your cock to pictures of your marks all over me?”

Bucky’s eyes flashed and his cock twitched between his thick thighs, making your smirk widen. You knew you were provoking him again, but you couldn’t seem to stop.

“You gonna make yourself cum looking at photos of me covered in your marks, daddy?” 

Your teasing comments led to you laying helplessly beneath Bucky, his knees keeping your thighs spread wide so you couldn’t grind against anything while he jerked himself off with his fist. The only thing he allowed you to do was knead and grope your tits, your pleasure mixing with aching pain from the bruises covering your skin. 

Bucky came like that, his cum covering your fingers and chest in ropes of his seed, marking you all over again.

He took even more photos of the sight of your hands playing with your cum-covered tits, then fucked your pussy with his fingers, sounding very pleased with himself when he teased you for getting off on him making a mess of your slutty body and pushing his cum deeper inside you. 

It was late when Bucky finally left your apartment, and you realized you’d been right. It had been a very long night. But even though you knew you’d only get a couple hours of sleep before work, it had been so worth it to text Bucky that photo of your tits covered in another man’s marks.

Over the next few days, Bucky demanded an endless stream of photos of the bruises he’d left on your tits and ass. He was busy at the office and the two of you couldn’t find time to see each other, but he didn’t want to miss any of the progression of the marks he’d left as the hickeys deepened into a dark plum color on your skin. 

It turned you on to send so many photos, to see the constant reminder of the marks he’d left on your body, so you indulged Bucky every time he asked for more photos. It helped that he responded with a mixture of sweet degradation and filthy praise that had your heart beating harder in your chest and wetness gathering between your thighs. 

Every night for a week, you got yourself off to the dirty things Bucky texted you, the promises of what he was going to do to your body the next time he saw you. But more than anything else, you kept going back to the possessive text message he’d sent the day after he’d been to your apartment, rubbing your clit to Bucky’s words. 

Don’t you dare show John fucking Walker your tits with my marks on them, baby. Those marks on your body are all fucking mine, and they’re only for you and me.

you ain't my boyfriend and i ain't your girlfriend series masterlist

[pure-smut]

infatuated.

featuring: Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

contains: college!Sukuna, size kink, Sukuna has a huge dick (obvs), riding, obsessive behaviour from Sukuna at the end

note: all characters are aged up to 18+!

word count: 1.8k

series: 1. infatuated | 2. obsessed | 3. addicted | 4. toxic | 5. feral

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MDNI | 18+ content

Ryomen Sakuna is well-known around campus – big, brutish, the most arrogant man to walk the planet. But if whispers amongst the girls were anything to go by, he’s also a damn good fuck.

It’s why you, fresh off the anti-climactic evaporation of a sub-par situationship that had no right to make you feel as glum as you do, have the sudden desire to fuck Sukuna.

You’re in a club, drowning your sorrows with your friends, when you lock eyes with him across the room. It’s not hard – he’s a head and a half taller than everyone else. But he doesn’t look away. And, you realise, neither do you.

Yeah, he might be a walking red flag. Yeah, you might be bitter and sad over a failed not-relationship. But it’s not like you’re fucking his personality, right? Just one good night. Just one really, really good fuck. Then you can wake up tomorrow, satisfied and ready to move on.

You down your drink and stalk over to him. Time to put those whispers to the test. *

Okay, maybe there’s some truth to the rumours.

One quick drink and a cab ride later, Sukuna has you on his lap, straddling his thighs as you make out on his sofa. He’s so big your legs are basically spread for him already, slotted on either side of his thighs as his hands grope your ass shamelessly.

He didn’t say much to you when you asked him to come home with you. Only a grin played on his lips as he grabbed your hand and said, “No. You’re coming to mine.”

You hadn’t expected him to be such a good kisser though. Your hands card through the pink hair at the nape of his neck as he slides his tongue over yours. Even with you on top of him, you know he’s actually the one in control. He dictates the pace, the speed, everything. Where your previous situationship had demanded that you do all the work, this relinquishing of control feels good. Freeing. You melt into it and into him, pressing your chest against his.

When Sukuna feels you relax, he pushes your dress up past your hips. One large finger hooks onto your panties from behind, pulling them to the side. Without breaking the kiss, he dips his free finger between your folds, checking how wet you are. You gasp at the sudden feel of his calloused finger but Sukuna quickly swallows it. At the feel of your slick arousal, his cock throbs.

“So wet already,” he murmurs, pulling his mouth back only slightly. “Just from kissing?”

Your cheeks burn but you’re distracted by a thick finger prodding your entrance. You gasp lightly and push your hips back, seeking more. Sukuna chuckles.

“I knew you were needy when you threw yourself at me tonight but still…” He grins. “You really do need a good fuck.”

“S-shut up,” you manage to stammer out but Sukuna only laughs.

He withdraws his hand and you have to supress a whine. Instead he undoes his jeans and pulls his cock free. It slaps against your stomach, hard and hot. When you look down at it, your eyes widen. Sukuna smirks – he always loves the look a girl gives him when she sees his cock for the first time.

“I don’t… I don’t know if it’ll fit.” You swallow past the lump in your throat. It’s so big, you want to say but you don’t want to feed his ego any more than necessary.

“That’s why you’re on top, baby.” Sukuna gives an easy grin. “You probably won’t be able to take it all so just do whatever you can.”

His condescending tone makes you frown. You jut your chin out defiantly. Oh, I’ll take it all, you think to yourself. Smug bastard.

You raise your hips, hovering over his fat mushroom tip. You’re already wet but he hasn’t even fingered you to prep you so you know you need to go slow. But determination courses through you. Sukuna watches you, one eyebrow cocked in amusement, as you look down in concentration. Slowly, you sink down onto his cock.

Your nails dig into the thick muscle of his shoulders as you leverage yourself. The stretch is immense but it’s delicious too – a heady mix of burning pleasure. Sukuna puts his hands behind his head, a self-assured smile on his lips as he watches you. He loves this part – loves watching girls struggle to fit him inside them. It makes his ego swell as much as his cock.

You manage a few inches before you have to stop, sweat already glazing your brow. You reach down to play with your clit, making yourself as wet as possible. Sukuna bites his bottom lip as he watches you play with yourself, a third of his cock buried inside you. You feel him throb and it only spurs you on, your pussy drooling around him, stretching to accommodate him.

“You look pretty fucking hot like this,” Sukuna admits, bringing one hand forward to grope your tit. “You need some help, baby?”

You’re too busy concentrating to speak so you give a short nod. Sukuna tweaks your nipple, rolling it between his fingers in a way that shoots sparks through your whole body. You tip your head back and gasp, feeling yourself tumbling closer to an orgasm. Even though he’s not fully inside you, his cock is managing to rub against your walls in a way that makes your eyes rolls back.

Sukuna has to admit he’s enjoying himself. The sight of you making yourself cum on his cock is pornographic and your pussy is squeezing him so tight. He has to fight to urge not to thrust up. Instead, he roughly plays with your tits, enjoying the way your nipples stiffen under his touch. Your body is so responsive to him, so ready for him. Your gummy walls massage his cock in a way that makes him want to go feral. Every muscle in his body is taut as a bowstring, restraining himself.

You open your eyes to see the hunger in his face, a notch between his brows and his lips slightly parted, eyes intense. A thrill runs up your spine. You want to see him hungrier.

Still rubbing your clit, you lower your hips and sink further onto his cock. This time, you’re able to take a few more inches, your pussy enveloping him tightly. Sukuna can’t stop himself from moaning this time, your plush walls hugging him. His hands drop to your hips, holding them with an iron grip.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “That’s good, baby, you’re doing so good.”

You’re taking him better than he thought you would. You’re two-thirds down, your lips gripping him as though you don’t want him to leave. Nevertheless, you slowly bob up and down, never fully withdrawing. The sensitive head of his cock rubs a euphoric friction against your walls, making you both moan contentedly. Sukuna half wants to stay like this forever, never leaving the hot, soft grip of your sweet pussy. The other half of him wants to pin you down and make a mess of your insides, painting your pussy white with his cum.

Your fingers pick up speed against your clit. The combination of Sukuna’s girth stretching your hole and your fingers rubbing your sensitive bud are bringing you close to the edge. You’ve nearly taken him all and you know you can do more – you just need to cum first to loosen up.

“Ah, fuck, that’s it,” Sukuna groans, his grip on your hips tightening to stop himself from bucking his hips. “Fuck yourself on my cock, baby.”

And so you do. You bounce up and down until your legs cramp, but even then, you ignore it and keep going. You rub tight circles on your clit, the way you know you like, and throw your head back in an silent scream.

“Fuck… fuck!” you squeal as your orgasm rushes through you, curling your toes and arching your back.

Sukuna watches you, his eyes flicking down to your pussy to watch your juices run down his cock. He’s almost painfully hard, teased to the brink of his own orgasm. When girls can’t take him all, he usually waits for them to finish on him before getting them to suck him off, bringing him to a finish in their mouth.

But you…

When you come down from riding your high, there’s a spark of defiance in your eyes. You plant your hands on his shoulders and, locking eyes with him, you sink your hips down until your thighs meet his.

Sukuna’s eyes widen. His breath hitches. He looks down to see you joined together, his cock fully buried inside you.

You’ve taken all of him.

“Fuuucck.” Sukuna groans long and loud, the new sensation of his cock being fully enveloped almost making him cum right then and there.

You grin, a sense of accomplishment spurring you on. Your legs are still sore so you grind against him instead, leaning forward to suck sweet kisses on his neck.

“Holy shit.” Sukuna buries his fingers even deeper into your hips, encouraging you to grind harder. “That feels so fucking good, baby.”

Your pussy is addictive. Sukuna wants to live here like this, fully sheathed inside you as your soft, hot walls milk his cock. He’s never known this sensation before, this delicious heat as your bodies fully connect. Your plush ass nestled against his thighs, your clit rubbing against him as you grind, your lips wrapped around him to the base of his cock. Fuck. You’re incredible, he thinks.

“Cum inside me, Sukuna,” you whimper in his ear.

You don’t need to tell him twice. Sukuna growls animalistically, burying his face in your neck as his cock throbs once. Twice.

You feel him explode inside you, hot, sticky cum coating your walls. You keep grinding until he’s done, milking him for all he’s worth. It’s only when you make to move away, to pull your puffy pussy away from his cock that he hardens his grip on you again.

Before you can ask him what’s wrong, he captures your lips in a deep kiss. It’s a surprise but a pleasant one – you didn’t take Sukuna for someone who kissed after sex. You make out for a while, his cum leaking out around his softening cock. It’s only when your thighs are slick with both of your juices that you pull away again.

“Thanks, Sukuna.” You smile at him. “I needed that.”

You hop off his lap, satisfied. To you, the plan worked. You’re content and ready to move on from your shitty situationship.

But Sukuna has never cum inside anyone before. Never been able to. Never met anyone who could take all of him. He watches you pad away to the bathroom to clean up, humming happily. You might be going home tonight, content and oblivious, but something dark stirs inside Sukuna. He knows he’s never letting you go.

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[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles - Stealing the Plot for Drama || Jamil Viper

The book you've been looking forward to turns out to be a piece of crap, and you have the bad luck of getting pulled into it as the villainess. So you decide to steal the main character's show, just for sport.

Series Masterlist

It’s your birthday, and you’re over the moon. You’ve been frugal, cutting out fancy coffee and takeout for weeks, all to splurge on this one, glorious, limited-edition novel from your favorite author. The packaging is pristine, the book jacket glimmering like a beacon of literary greatness. Today is the day. You’ve built this moment up for weeks—you’re practically vibrating as you sign for the delivery.

You tear into the package like it’s Christmas morning, clutching the book to your chest, grinning ear to ear. You settle in with a cup of tea, your coziest blanket, and crack open the book, fully expecting your soul to ascend to a higher plane of literary enlightenment.

It takes precisely three pages for your entire existence to collapse. This is bad. So bad, you can feel your spirit shriveling. Your entire life is a lie.

The book is like a train wreck—every sentence is a mangled piece of steel, but you can’t look away. Tears start forming in your eyes, not from emotional depth, but from sheer despair. It’s like the author forgot how to write in between winning their last award and releasing this... dumpster fire of a novel. But you’re not a quitter. You’ve made it this far—you’re not going down without a fight.

You turn the page with trembling hands, determined to push through.

The plot is standard—heroine is a saintess (yawn), love interest is the Duke of the North (ugh, of course), and the second male lead is the Prince (because originality is apparently dead). But then the villainess shows up. Finally, some promise. You grip the book a little tighter—maybe this will be it! The saving grace! The villainess is the queen of high society, beloved and powerful, absolute girlboss vibes. She runs everything with an iron fist and sharp wit, but then…

Then it happens.

The heroine’s hair comes loose. The villainess, in a rare moment of kindness, gently points out that her hair is falling out of its bun. And what happens? Does she get thanked for her thoughtfulness? No. No. The heroine goes, “You must be jealous of me,” and everyone agrees.

What. The. Hell.

You blink once, then twice. Is this…is this supposed to be a serious plot point? The villainess, this badass social queen, gets ostracized for suggesting a quick touch-up? Is this a joke? You flip back a few pages. Surely, there’s a mistake. Maybe you missed something. You didn’t miss anything. This book missed you with anything resembling logic.

So now, this powerful woman, once the queen of high society, is branded as jealous and bitter. She’s exiled from everything she’s ever known, her entire life crumbling because the heroine’s fragile ego couldn’t handle a little advice. And she’s not even the worst part. No, because guess what?

The only person who stays with her through it all? Her fiancé, Jamil Viper. Jamil, a baron she helped rise to the position of Duke, the man she loved, is by her side while everyone else abandons her. The romance potential is there. It’s right there. You’re practically shaking the book at this point.

And what does the author do with this beautiful setup? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The villainess, broken and misunderstood, alienates herself from Jamil. She pushes him away. And then—just to really twist the knife—she dies alone.

You drop the book onto your lap, staring at the ceiling. Infinite romance potential, wasted. You can feel your soul leaving your body. Jamil could’ve saved her. They could’ve had it all. But no. She dies alone, unloved, in the most tragic yet pointless way possible.

And that’s when it happens.

Something absurd. Something so stupid, it feels like divine punishment for buying this book. Maybe it's the way your body tenses in sheer disbelief at the plot; maybe the universe decides to play its cruel hand, but you feel a sharp pain in your chest.

Suddenly, the room spins, and your vision goes black. As the world fades around you, your final thought isn’t about your family, your friends, or the countless dreams you had for the future. No.

Your last thought is:

“Really??? On my goddamn birthday?”

And then, you die.

You wake up, stretch, and feel… odd. You glance at your hands and freeze. Your nails aren’t chipped? Your cuticles are trimmed? In this economy? You sniff the air. Lavender? Something’s very wrong here. You sit up and take in your surroundings. Ornate tapestries, a bed so massive it could host a small nation, and a freaking chandelier.

Oh no.

First thought: Have I been kidnapped? But hold up—what kind of kidnapper does their victim’s manicure? You wave your polished hand around like it's suddenly sprouted five extra fingers. This is definitely not normal.

And then your gaze lands on the giant, gilded mirror at the side of the room. You stumble towards it, ready to face the worst, and when you see your reflection, the realization knocks the wind right out of you.

“Fuck my life… I’m the villainess.”

Panic mode: activated. But then you pause, staring at your impossibly gorgeous reflection. No need to lose your shit just yet. You've read enough of these novel-turned-isekai tales to know the drill. It’s bad, yes, but it could be worse.

You’re not the heroine, which means less plot armor, but you are rich. Villainess rich. The kind of rich where you don’t even know how much a loaf of bread costs anymore. There’s power in that, right?

Alright, you just need to avoid the male leads like they have the dragon pox or something equally contagious and unattractive. If they even sneeze in your direction, you’re running faster than a Black Friday shopper in a sale.

Best course of action? Stick to your fiancé, Jamil Viper. He clearly liked the original villainess in the book, and you’re betting you can use that connection to survive this ridiculous plot.

Oh, and because this novel’s plotline literally killed you, you’re taking the queen of high society title back. Out of spite. It’s petty, but who cares? You're gonna be shady, throw aristocratic shade like you’re handing out party favors, and maybe casually humiliate the heroine for fun. She can't be that saintly.

But before anything else? Shopping.

You are now rich in a fantasy world, and you are not going to waste this opportunity. First order of business? Find a dress so stunning it could make a commoner drop dead on the spot. The kind of outfit that makes peasants weep and enemies tremble.

As you stride to the wardrobe, you can't help but feel a little smug. Sure, you're the villainess, but damn, you're gonna be a well-dressed one.

Your first shopping spree as a villainess. And not just that—there are maids! You stare at them wide-eyed as they begin dressing you in silks and satins, and you can’t help but think, “Holy shit, I have maids now.”

They fuss over you with a precision that can only be described as obsessive, tieing ribbons, adjusting jewelry, and brushing your hair like it’s a rare silk. You check yourself in the mirror, and honestly? Damn. The heroine's got nothing on you.

You twirl, and every inch of you screams hot and dangerous. It's like the universe is apologizing for killing you off with that god-awful book by giving you this absolute glow-up. You’re feeling unstoppable, like you could bench-press societal expectations and then strut away in heels.

But then your butler approaches, bowing as if you’re some untouchable deity. “My Lady, your fiancé, Lord Jamil Viper, has arrived to see you.”

Wait, what? Jamil is here? THE Jamil?? The only person with an ounce of brain cells in that trash fire of a novel? The one man who actually made sense? Please let him be hot.

You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself. God, I hope he looks exactly like he was described.

When the doors open, you nearly pass out on the spot. Correction. He’s hotter. Infinitely hotter. If Jamil Viper was a fire hazard in the book, in person, he’s a full-on inferno. You’re almost thankful you died just so you could see him. He greets you, and his voice? Sexier than advertised. You’ve hit the isekai jackpot.

Without a second thought, you grin, loop your arm through his, and drag him toward the carriage. You’re already imagining the two of you showing up to the next ball in matching outfits, causing hearts to break and jaws to drop. Jamil is a little confused by your sudden enthusiasm, but like a champ, he just goes along with it.

As the carriage rolls down the cobbled streets, you casually drop, “By the way, I’m done moping about being ostracized by high society. I want revenge on the heroine.”

His eyes darken, and there’s an unmistakable gleam in them. He leans back, smirking. “Good. I hate the Prince anyway. The number of problems he caused me while I was trying to rise through the ranks? I’d love nothing more than to ruin them both.”

And you? You’re in. Oh, you’re so in. Why not? Why not when Jamil Viper looks so attractive while plotting the downfall of others?

He pauses his scheming for just a second, looking at you with a rare softness. “Thank you… for recognizing my talents. I wouldn’t have had the chance to even think about insulting a prince if you weren’t by my side.”

Your heart does a little flip, and you take his hand in yours, a silent promise forming in your mind. You’re going to make the original villainess proud. You’re going to destroy the heroine.

For what this book did.

And also because, well… revenge is sexy when Jamil Viper’s involved.

You both stride into the store, ready to make a statement. But, of course, because the universe is a petty comedian, there she is—the heroine, acting like she’s never seen a price tag before. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly accept such an extravagant gift!” she gushes loudly enough for the entire store to hear.

Meanwhile, the Duke—Mr. "I-have-no-emotions"—is doing his signature act: standing there, looking aloof, but you can tell he’s mentally calculating how impressed everyone is supposed to be.

Jamil doesn’t even need to speak. You both share a glance, a silent conversation filled with mutual disdain. "These people suck." It's not even a question. It's a fact.

“I’ll take everything here,” you say suddenly, your voice loud enough to cut through the heroine’s overly sweet prattling. The shopkeeper’s eyes widen as they hurriedly approach, unsure if they heard you correctly.

“Everything?” they stammer.

You nod casually, like buying an entire store’s worth of clothing is a daily occurrence. “Yes, everything.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see the Duke’s facade slip for just a moment—his cold mask cracking ever so slightly as he glances at you. The heroine looks like she’s about to choke on her own words. You flash them a bright, borderline condescending smile. "Oh, I hope I didn’t interrupt something. You were saying?"

Jamil steps closer, his hand resting on the small of your back as he coolly adds, “Also, we’d like matching outfits. Something… striking.” His tone is as indifferent as ever, but you can feel the smug satisfaction radiating off him.

The heroine looks utterly flustered, her hands fidgeting as she glances between you and the Duke, who is doing his best to act unbothered. But you can tell he’s silently fuming, his pride taking a serious hit.

Jamil leans in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “A power couple move? Bold. I approve.”

You grin. “I thought we’d show them how it’s really done.”

A short while later, you and Jamil emerge from the dressing rooms in outfits that would make gods weep with envy. You glance at yourselves in the mirror, and wow. You two don’t just look good—you look devastatingly unstoppable. The kind of couple people would kill to look like in their wildest dreams.

The heroine looks on with wide eyes, clearly trying to mask her jealousy, while the Duke’s cold expression cracks further, his irritation almost palpable. He probably thought he was the only one who could pull off the whole “I’m-rich-and-powerful” vibe. Sorry, buddy. You’re just not in the same league.

Jamil gives you a rare, genuine smile, one that’s laced with quiet triumph. “Not bad,” he says casually, though his eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary.

As you step out of the store—victory sealed—you take Jamil’s hand without thinking, your mind already moving on to your next move. “Now,” you say, eyes focused on the road ahead, “about that revenge plan. I’m thinking we start by—”

But as you plot and scheme, you don’t notice that Jamil isn’t looking at the road. His gaze is on you—quiet, intense, and filled with something deeper.

"Whatever it is," he murmurs, "I'm in."

Power couple goals, indeed.

The ball is here, and, like any self-respecting villainess, you’re not about to let the opportunity for chaos slip by. If you’re going to be stuck in the plot of a novel, might as well make it entertaining, right?

As your maids fuss over your dress, they spill some of the hottest gossip yet. Apparently, the prince? The one who’s always preening like a peacock and acting like he’s too good for everyone?

Yeah, he got caught trying to serenade his tutor’s cat—and failed. He’s tone-deaf, and worse, the tutor is furious because the cat’s been hiding in her curtains for days, traumatized. You nearly choke on air.

“Oh, this is going to be a biblical shitstorm,” you murmur, your eyes practically sparkling as you imagine the carnage that’s about to go down tonight.

By the time you meet Jamil outside, you’re practically vibrating with excitement. And speaking of Jamil—holy hell. He’s standing by the carriage in a sleek, dark suit, looking all brooding and mysterious like he was custom-made to steal hearts.

"Wow," you say, openly staring at him. "You’re killing me right now. How are you real?"

Jamil shifts, tugging at his collar like he’s trying to downplay how good he looks. “Stop,” he mutters, his face ever-so-slightly flushed, but the tiny smile tugging at his lips gives him away.

“No, seriously,” you press, circling him with an exaggerated critical eye. “Is this what ‘stunning’ looks like in person? I need to know because I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

“You’re impossible.” He shakes his head but doesn’t make eye contact, probably because he knows he’ll crack. But he’s smiling, and that’s all the confirmation you need.

When you arrive at the ballroom, it doesn’t take long before you spot Kalim. He’s practically bouncing with excitement, waving as if you weren’t already heading his way.

"You guys look amazing!" he cheers, pulling both of you into a hug before you can protest. He’s so enthusiastic, you almost forget you have a mission. Almost.

You lower your voice conspiratorially. "Kalim, did you hear about the prince?"

He blinks. “No? What happened?”

Jamil side-eyes you like he knows exactly where this is going, but he doesn’t stop you. He’s in on this. “Well, apparently, our dear prince has been… spending some quality time trying to serenade his tutor’s cat.”

There’s a pause, then Kalim’s eyes widen in shock. “WAIT, REALLY?”

You and Jamil barely manage to suppress your laughter. Kalim just broadcasted that to half the ballroom. Mission success.

From there, you and Jamil strategically split up to mingle with the nobles, making sure the gossip spreads like wildfire. Every time someone asks, you pretend to hesitate, then whisper it to them like it’s the juiciest secret in the world. By the time the prince arrives, the entire ballroom is buzzing with whispers.

You grab two drinks and take your spot in a corner where you have the perfect view of the incoming storm. Jamil joins you, leaning casually against the wall, but you can see the amusement in his eyes. “I’d say we did well,” he says softly, as you hand him one of the drinks.

“Too well,” you say, grinning wickedly. “I can’t wait to see how this plays out.”

The prince enters, completely oblivious to the fact that everyone is staring at him like he just walked in with toilet paper stuck to his shoe. The imperial family follows behind him, sensing that something is off, but they keep up appearances, declaring the ball open.

Then, the dancing begins. And oh, the rejection. The prince approaches lady after lady, only to be turned down one by one, each with some flimsy excuse. You’re cackling into your drink at this point, nearly spilling it as you watch the absolute carnage unfold.

And then—oh, this is the best part—the heroine finally arrives, blissfully unaware of the prince’s latest scandal. She’s practically glowing as the prince, desperate and clearly not understanding the situation, asks her to dance. She accepts with a delighted smile, preening at all the attention she thinks they’re getting.

The whispers intensify.

Jamil watches, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "I’m impressed," he murmurs. "That spread faster than I expected."

"Never underestimate the power of pettiness," you reply, clinking your glasses together.

Across the room, the king’s aide is whispering something to him, and the poor man looks like he’s just aged ten years. He shoots a glance at the prince and then at the heroine, his expression screaming “I can’t believe I have to deal with this.”

Then comes the final nail in the coffin. After the dance, a group of younger noblewomen approaches the heroine, and she’s clearly expecting them to fawn over her for dancing with the prince. But instead, they absolutely rip into her. “How could you dance with him after what he did?” one of them demands, while another makes a snide comment about the cat.

The heroine, bless her heart, has no idea what they’re talking about and stumbles over her words, trying to defend herself. But she just makes it worse. Within minutes, she’s in tears, running from the ballroom in a dramatic scene worthy of an award.

The Duke—her Duke—chases after her, looking like he’s reconsidering all his life choices.

You’re laughing so hard now that you’re practically leaning on Jamil for support. "This is better than I could’ve ever hoped for," you gasp, wiping away a tear.

Jamil chuckles softly, his gaze focused entirely on you. “Glad you’re having fun.”

“Oh, I’m having the time of my life,” you reply between giggles, clutching his arm. "But seriously, this is gold!"

Jamil smiles, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he watches you. "Whatever you want to do, I’m in." His voice is quiet, but there’s a sincerity in it that makes your heart skip a beat.

And you know, with him by your side, this is only the beginning.

The quiet clatter of quills and the shuffle of paper fill the room as you and Jamil work side by side. It's supposed to be a normal afternoon—just the two of you getting through the absolutely thrilling task of making plans to merge your estates after your marriage.

Riveting stuff. But there’s a certain coziness to it, like you’ve finally settled into this life together. A faint smile tugs at your lips as you glance at Jamil, whose attention is currently fixed on a particularly dense contract.

He glances up, noticing your stare. “Do you want some tea?” he asks casually, already reaching for the bell to summon the butler.

You nod, and in moments, the butler arrives, bowing politely before leaving to retrieve the tea. But as the tray comes in, Jamil pauses, scanning the selection like he’s some kind of beverage connoisseur. He frowns—frowns—and turns to the butler. “Get the other blend. The one she likes."

The butler stutters for a second, then hurries off to fix the apparent blasphemy of tea serving. You’re too amused to even process how sweet the whole thing is.

“Did you really just send him back to get another blend?”

Jamil shrugs, not meeting your eyes, focused instead on stirring the exact amount of sugar and milk you always put in your cup. “You prefer it this way,” he says, his tone nonchalant, but there’s a softness to his expression.

And you’re just sitting there, heart doing weird flips because—he noticed. He’s been watching you, memorizing the tiny details like how you take your tea. Your chest warms as you realize just how deeply he pays attention to you, even in the most mundane things.

“You’re so—” you start, but then you stop yourself, realizing you’re dangerously close to getting all gooey and sappy. “Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He shoots you a deadpan look, but the corners of his lips twitch upward. “You’re welcome.”

You laugh, sipping the tea he prepared exactly how you like it, the moment stretching out in peaceful harmony. That is until—

THUD.

You nearly spill your tea as Jamil suddenly launches himself away from his desk, eyes wide in utter horror, looking as though someone just told him he’s been forced to join a Kalim-led dance troupe.

“What—what happened?” you ask, a little alarmed.

He doesn’t answer, instead standing stiffly a good five feet from his chair, eyes fixated on something on the floor. You glance over, curious, and there it is—a massive spider, just chilling on his desk like it’s there to collect taxes.

You stare. He stares. The spider doesn’t move, but the tension in the room could cut steel.

"That thing could eat me," Jamil mutters under his breath, still rooted to the spot like a cat who just saw a cucumber.

You take a deep breath, rolling up your sleeves with all the confidence of someone who has faced worse, like nobles who talk about land taxes at dinner parties. “Alright, let’s do this,” you mumble to yourself.

Grabbing a piece of paper, you march toward the eight-legged horror with all the grace of someone about to tackle a dragon. There’s no elegance, no finesse. You scoop up the spider—your hands a bit shaky—and march over to the window, tossing it outside with a not-so-dignified “Go in peace, demon.”

There’s a beat of silence as you wipe your brow, feeling like you’ve just saved the world. When you turn around, Jamil is staring at you like you’ve just descended from the heavens, all in slow motion, with angelic choir music playing in the background.

“What?” you ask, still catching your breath.

“I was going to handle it,” he says, but the way his voice wavers betrays the fact that he absolutely was not. He glances away, still avoiding the spot where the spider used to be.

You raise an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure you were. I bet you were gonna make friends with it too.”

He opens his mouth to argue but then just chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re something else.”

You walk over and bump his shoulder lightly. “And you’re lucky to have me. Spider exterminator extraordinaire.”

Jamil finally lets out a real laugh, the sound filling the room in a way that feels warm and right. When you both settle back into your paperwork, there’s an undeniable sense of something more growing between you, a feeling that neither of you says out loud, but is there nonetheless.

You look over at him again, your heart feeling too big for your chest. He meets your gaze and smiles, the unspoken affection hanging between you like a comfortable silence. Whatever’s coming next in your future, you know one thing for sure—there’s no one you’d rather handle paperwork (or spiders) with than him.

It was a fine day for chaos, and you had a brilliant, absolutely ridiculous idea: a dance competition. The heroine was boasting loudly again, this time about her “dazzling” ballroom skills, fluttering around like a pigeon trying to impress the Duke. You leaned over to Jamil, raising a brow.

“I bet I can make her regret that,” you whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Jamil sighed, eyes flicking over to the heroine, who was twirling like she was the queen of the ball already. “You really want to stir this up?” he asked, his voice dripping with his usual calm exasperation.

“Absolutely. It’ll be hilarious,” you said with a grin. “Just trust me.”

“Those are usually your most dangerous words,” he muttered, but the little twitch at the corner of his lips told you he was more than ready to see how this would play out.

You sauntered up to the heroine, who was mid-spin, nearly knocking over a servant carrying a tray of wine glasses. “Oh my, such grace!” you exclaimed, voice layered with just the right amount of false admiration. “You must be the best dancer here. How about we make it a little more interesting?”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, clearly sensing a trap but too vain to back down. “What are you proposing?” she asked, puffing up like a puffin in a tutu.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, just a little friendly dance-off. You, me, the floor. We’ll let the crowd decide who’s the real star of the ball.”

The Duke, standing behind her, snorted, clearly thinking there was no way his precious heroine could lose. You could practically hear his thoughts: What could go wrong?

Jamil, now standing at the edge of the growing crowd, looked at you with an expression that screamed Why are you like this? You shot him a quick wink.

The heroine smiled smugly, already envisioning her inevitable triumph. “Fine,” she declared, loud enough for the entire ballroom to hear. “But don’t cry when you lose.”

Oh, sweetheart, you thought, grinning like a Cheshire cat. You have no idea what’s coming.

The music swelled. The crowd parted, forming a perfect circle around the two of you. The heroine began her routine, performing a series of twirls and steps that were technically fine but lacked any real flair. She was all stiff arms and forced elegance, like a bird trying to pretend it was an elegant swan but failing spectacularly.

“Wow, she’s… uh, something,” you heard Jamil mutter from the sidelines, barely able to contain his laughter.

When it was your turn, you decided to dial it up to eleven. You started off slow, a simple waltz that quickly escalated into an absurd series of moves that defied both logic and physics.

At one point, you grabbed a nearby tablecloth, twirling it like a cape as if you were part ballroom dancer, part magician. The crowd was gasping and laughing all at once. You even threw in a couple of exaggerated backflips—just for dramatic effect, of course.

Jamil, still trying to remain composed, was leaning against a pillar, shaking his head with a mix of pride and disbelief. “This is insane,” he muttered, but you caught the faintest smile playing at his lips. He was definitely entertained.

The finale? You did a sliding split across the marble floor, popping up dramatically at the end to a round of thunderous applause. The heroine, meanwhile, looked like she had swallowed a lemon. Her face was pale, and her jaw had dropped halfway through your performance and never quite recovered.

“Not bad for a warm-up,” you said casually, dusting off your sleeves. “Want to go again?”

The heroine stammered something unintelligible, while the Duke shot you both a venomous glare. You, however, were far too busy basking in the crowd’s cheers to care.

Jamil approached, his expression unreadable as he handed you a glass of wine. “You’re unbelievable,” he said, though there was a mirth in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“I know,” you replied with a smirk, taking the glass from him. “But you love it.”

He let out a small, reluctant chuckle. “Unfortunately.”

As you took a sip, the heroine stormed off, dragging the Duke behind her, muttering something about “cheating” and “unfair advantages.” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“You realize you’ve just made yourself the villain of the entire evening, right?” Jamil remarked, glancing around at the nobles, who were still talking animatedly about your performance.

“Good,” you replied, a glint of mischief in your eyes. “Villains always have more fun.”

Jamil raised an eyebrow. “And what are you planning to do next?”

You gave him a sly smile. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll challenge her to a sword fight next?”

Jamil’s eyes widened. “Please don’t.”

You just laughed, leaning into him. “Relax. I’m kidding. Mostly.”

He sighed but didn’t push you away, clearly resigned to whatever madness you had planned next. As the two of you walked away from the scene, hand-in-hand, the nobles whispered behind you, wondering just how deep your relationship ran, how formidable of a pair you truly were.

But all Jamil cared about in that moment was that you were smiling beside him, radiating with confidence and joy. He didn’t care if the heroine hated you or if the Duke was sulking somewhere in the corner. As long as he had you, the rest of the world could fall into chaos.

And honestly, with you around, it probably would.

You gave Jamil a quick glance, noticing the soft, adoring look in his eyes, and nudged him playfully. “Hey, stop looking at me like I’m your entire world.”

“Too late,” he shot back, the smallest smile on his lips.

“Ugh,” you groaned dramatically, but the blush on your cheeks betrayed you. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he added, leaning in just a little closer, “you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, taking his hand. “Let’s go cause more trouble.”

The plan had been perfectly crafted. You and Jamil had spent hours scheming, laughing at the thought of humiliating the Duke during the archery and horseback competition.

Your excitement grew with every passing minute as you imagined his arrogant face faltering. But when the Duke not only kept his composure but nailed each target while galloping on horseback, you felt your competitive spirit surge.

There was no way you were going to let him win. Not today.

So, of course, you went all in—because why wouldn’t you? Leaning into your impulsive nature, you urged your horse into a full-speed sprint, adrenaline surging through your veins.

And then, because you’re apparently half-crazy, you decided standing on your saddle while your horse bolted forward would be the best course of action.

The world slowed as you drew your bow, the wind whipping through your hair. You could hear the crowd’s gasps, see the Duke's smug expression turning into something more surprised, and feel Jamil's tense gaze on you. In that moment, you released the arrow.

Bullseye.

The crowd erupted into shock and awe, but you were too busy grinning like a complete idiot to care. You dismounted with all the grace of someone who just pulled off a dangerous trick, your steps light as you practically skipped over to Jamil.

"Did you see that?" you beamed, heart still racing. "I totally nailed it—"

But instead of matching your excitement, Jamil’s expression was stormy. His usually composed features were twisted in a way you hadn’t seen before—part fear, part anger, and all worry. Without warning, he grabbed your shoulders, his fingers digging in just a little too tight.

"What the hell were you thinking?” His voice was sharp, laced with panic. “Are you out of your mind? You could’ve gotten hurt, or worse!”

You blinked, surprised. “I… I was trying to win?"

“Trying to win?! You were trying to break your neck!” His grip tightened as he almost shook you, frustration evident in every word. “That wasn’t worth it. Nothing is worth risking your life like that!”

It dawned on you then that he wasn’t just mad—he was terrified. You reached up slowly, cupping his face with both hands, and his expression softened, though the storm in his eyes didn’t fully dissipate.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, the wind knocked out of you by just how much he cared. “I got carried away. But hey—” You grinned a little, trying to lighten the mood. “I looked cool, right?”

Jamil groaned, exasperated, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though his grip on your shoulders relaxed. His forehead dropped against yours, and for a moment, the world around you melted away. It was just the two of you, breathing the same air, sharing the same space.

“I know,” you whispered back, closing your eyes. “But you love me for it.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, his hands slid down to your arms, his touch lingering as if grounding himself after the scare. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, his breath steadying as he leaned into you. It was such a sweet, unspoken moment, and you felt your heart swell.

All around you, whispers started to spread like wildfire among the nobles.

"Oh, they're perfect together."

“They’re like something out of a romance novel.”

Meanwhile, the Duke—who had watched the whole display—stood fuming, while the heroine, eyes narrowed, looked like she was seconds away from throwing a tantrum. But you didn’t care. All you cared about was the way Jamil was holding onto you, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

“Let’s go,” Jamil finally whispered, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze was softer now, more relaxed, though still tinged with concern. “No more dangerous tricks. Promise me.”

You smiled softly and nodded. “No more. I promise.”

He huffed, clearly not entirely convinced, but he let it go. You leaned against him for a moment, basking in the warmth of his presence, completely oblivious to the fact that half the noble court was watching the two of you with admiration—or that the other half was stewing in jealousy.

As you both walked away, hand in hand, it was clear that whatever plan you and Jamil had originally devised, the real victory was this: him, you, and the world falling away as the two of you found something far more precious than winning a competition.

The nobleman’s sneer was so potent you could practically taste it in the air. “Ah, yes,” he drawled, looking down his nose at Jamil. “Nouveau riche, how quaint. No matter how much money you accumulate, you’ll never have the refinement or bloodline of true nobility.”

Jamil stood there, bored as ever, giving the man about as much attention as one would to a pesky fly. But you? You were vibrating with the sheer intensity of your rage. And then you heard it—her.

The heroine chimed in, her voice drenched in faux sincerity. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? The Duke has been managing the North so well—keeping everything running smoothly for years. Not everyone has the skills required for such a delicate task.”

Your eye twitched. Oh no. Oh no.

Jamil had been single-handedly keeping the kingdom’s economy afloat, using his brilliance to ensure food and resources flowed into the North during the harsh winters. He had done more in the span of a few years than these fools had done in their entire blood-soaked lineages. And this… this… buffoon had the nerve to look down on him?

The Duke, sensing the incoming storm, began discreetly tugging at the heroine’s sleeve, but she was as oblivious as ever. The prince, bless his spineless little heart, looked like he was ready to faint from second-hand embarrassment.

And that was your breaking point.

You stepped forward, a smile that could only be described as a harbinger of doom plastered across your face. “Oh, dear,” you cooed, your voice as sweet as poison. “Did I hear you correctly? You think the Duke is managing the North?”

The heroine blinked, clearly not catching the danger. “Well, of course! He’s—”

“Managing to exist in the North without Jamil’s trade routes, maybe,” you interrupted sharply, turning your gaze to the Duke, who now looked like he wanted to crawl into the nearest hole. “You should be on your knees, thanking Jamil for saving your people from starvation every winter. But no, please, continue on about how ‘delicate’ your situation is. Maybe you’ll convince yourself one day.”

“How dare you,” you snapped, your voice rising as you turned to the heroine. “And you. Sitting here, all wide-eyed and clueless, nodding along like you understand the gravity of the situation. You wouldn’t last a week managing a pantry, let alone a region.”

You didn’t give her a chance to reply before turning your sights on the nobleman. “And you,” you started, eyes narrowing as you stepped closer, “talking down to Jamil like you’ve ever lifted a finger to actually do something useful. Do you think your bloodline is going to rescue you when your estate crumbles from your own incompetence? If you spent half as much time working on something productive instead of sneering at people better than you, maybe you wouldn’t be such a leech on society.”

The nobleman’s face went red with anger, but before he could sputter a reply, you had already turned to the prince.

“And as for you,” you said, fixing him with a look of pure disdain. “What exactly is your contribution to this little scene, hm? Standing there, wringing your hands like a wet sponge. Do you have any idea what Jamil has done for your kingdom, or are you too busy polishing your tiara to notice?”

The prince opened his mouth, but no sound came out. It was glorious.

You turned back to Jamil, who was watching you with an amused but unreadable expression. “We’re done here,” you said, grabbing his arm and marching out of the room without a backward glance.

The carriage ride back was thick with silence, the weight of your outburst pressing down on you. Jamil hadn’t said a word, but you could feel his eyes on you, sharp and calculating. You kept your gaze fixed on your hands, guilt creeping up your spine.

“I— I didn’t mean to make it look like you couldn’t defend yourself,” you started, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a rush. “I just couldn’t stand the way they were talking about you—”

Before you could finish, Jamil’s hand gently tilted your chin up, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. It wasn’t soft or tentative—no, it was a kiss that made your heart race and your mind go blank.

When he pulled away, you were breathless. “I found it hot,” he murmured, smirking.

You blinked, utterly thrown off by the confession. “What?”

He kissed you again, slower this time, and when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispered.

You let out a shaky laugh, still trying to process everything. “I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice full of emotion.

Jamil’s eyes softened, and without another word, Jamil swept you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly in a bridal carry as the carriage pulled up to your manor. He carried you inside, past the stunned servants, and straight to the bedroom, where the door closed with a soft click behind you.

As he laid you gently on the bed, you could only smile up at him, the weight of everything melting away in the warmth of his gaze.

And for once, the world beyond the two of you didn’t matter at all.

The scandal erupted at the royal ball like a badly timed burp during a quiet opera.

The heroine—bless her, she meant well, but her foot was permanently lodged in her mouth—had done the unthinkable. You and Jamil watched from across the ballroom as she stood before the fae delegation, attempting to “honor” their centuries-old traditions.

But instead of the elegant gesture of goodwill she was supposed to offer, she made a noise that can only be described as an awkward impersonation of a dying goose and proceeded to bow backwards.

That alone wasn’t even the worst part.

“Oh no,” Jamil whispered under his breath, eyes wide with disbelief as he took in the scene. “She’s about to—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the heroine reached into her dress and produced… a bouquet of mushrooms. Not just any mushrooms. The fae’s sacred mushrooms, rumored to be foraged under the light of a blood moon and infused with mystical properties.

She shoved them at the fae emissary like a child offering wilted flowers to a stranger, and then—oh gods, why—she patted his head.

Dead silence fell across the ballroom.

The emissary, who had remained calm despite the bowing fiasco, now stared down at the mushrooms with a look of profound insult and horror. His fellow fae were vibrating, their wings fluttering ominously, as though on the verge of launching an interdimensional war over a bouquet of fungi.

You snorted, barely containing your laughter. “She’s done it now.”

Jamil, ever the diplomat, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you know what those mushrooms symbolize to the fae?”

“No, but I’m assuming it’s not ‘Congratulations on your promotion’ or ‘Get well soon’?”

“Death,” Jamil muttered, casting a glance at you that screamed please don’t laugh. “She just handed them a bouquet that says, ‘I wish for your demise and the utter destruction of your family line.’”

At that, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. A small laugh escaped before you slapped your hand over your mouth, trying—and failing—to keep your composure. Jamil shot you a warning glare, but even he looked like he might break. The absurdity of it all was too much.

The fae emissary spoke, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. “This is an outrage. We demand recompense for this offense.”

The king and prince rushed over, trying to smooth things over with promises of reparations, apologies, anything to keep the fae from turning the court into a smoking crater. But the damage was done. The fae delegation was livid, and rightfully so. There were whispers of broken treaties, wars brewing, diplomatic chaos that would take decades to resolve.

And who did they turn to for help?

You and Jamil, of course.

Later that evening, as you lounged comfortably in your private manor, feet propped up on an ottoman, there was a frantic knock on the door. You exchanged a look with Jamil, who was reclining next to you, casually sipping his tea as though the kingdom wasn’t on the brink of a magical apocalypse.

The door swung open, and the king, the prince, and a handful of stressed-out nobles barged in, their faces pale with desperation.

“You two!” the prince bellowed, his voice barely keeping it together. “You’ve dealt with the fae before! Fix this!”

Jamil didn’t even look up from his tea. “No.”

The prince blinked. “Excuse me?”

Jamil sipped again, then casually set his cup down on the table. “I said no. I’m done. We’re done.”

You nodded, not even bothering to hide your amusement. “I think the heroine has this under control. She’s doing great.”

“She insulted the fae. She gave them a bouquet of death mushrooms!” the prince cried, waving his arms dramatically like a man in the throes of a panic-induced breakdown. “They’re going to declare war!”

“Sounds like a you problem,” you quipped, grinning.

The king, who had remained uncharacteristically silent, took a step forward, his eyes pleading. “Please, for the sake of the kingdom…”

Jamil sighed deeply, finally turning his attention to the royal mess in your doorway. “We’ve dealt with more than enough idiocy for one lifetime. How about this? You let the heroine finish what she started. If she can bungle her way into this disaster, surely she can find a way out.”

The prince spluttered, incredulous. “But you—”

“Nope,” you interrupted, standing up and stretching lazily. “We’re officially on vacation. Jamil, pack the bags.”

Jamil stood with a casual grace that belied the utter chaos unfolding behind him. “Already done.”

The king’s jaw dropped. “Vacation?! Now?! The kingdom is on the verge of collapse!”

You grabbed your coat and slung it over your shoulder with a smirk. “Well then, I’d suggest you start learning how to negotiate with the fae. Maybe start by not giving them death mushrooms.”

With that, you and Jamil strolled out of the manor, leaving the baffled royals standing in your doorway like confused children. The sound of the prince’s sputtering protests faded behind you as you made your way down the garden path, the night air cool and refreshing against your skin.

Jamil chuckled beside you, his hand slipping into yours as you walked. “Do you think they’ll manage?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” you said with a laugh. “But we deserve this. Let them figure it out for once.”

“And maybe…” you paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “Maybe we should make it official while we’re at it.”

Jamil stopped in his tracks, turning to look at you, his brows lifting in surprise. “You mean… get married?”

You smiled, leaning into him. “Why not? We’ll be far away from prying eyes, just the two of us, in the summer hours. It sounds perfect.”

For a moment, the world stood still. Then Jamil’s lips curved into the softest smile you’d ever seen. “I think that sounds perfect too.”

And so, you and Jamil left the court and its catastrophes behind, fleeing to the countryside like two fugitives on the run from royal idiocy. The villa you’d chosen was perfect—nestled in the hills, far away from the fae, the heroine, and the ridiculous drama that followed her like a bad smell.

The first morning, as you lay in bed next to Jamil, sunlight streaming through the open windows, he turned to you with a grin.

“So, what now? Do we just… hide out here forever?”

You shrugged, pulling him closer. “Why not? We can start a goat farm. I’ll name all the goats after the people we hate.”

Jamil laughed, burying his face in your neck. “A herd of royal goats. Perfect.”

And somewhere, in the distance, the kingdom probably crumbled. The heroine probably insulted more magical creatures. But for once, it wasn’t your problem.

You and Jamil had found peace in the countryside.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d throw a wedding in between all the goat naming.

The days that followed were blissfully quiet, each one blending into the next in a haze of sun-soaked afternoons and peaceful nights. You and Jamil fell into an easy rhythm—waking with the sun, wandering through the countryside, sharing meals beneath the open sky. It was simple, and that simplicity was a balm to both your souls.

The court sent letters, of course—pleading, begging for your return. But each one went unanswered. The Fae situation had likely escalated, the heroine’s blunder growing more disastrous by the day, but it wasn’t your problem anymore. Let them sort out the mess. You and Jamil had something far more important now—a life of your own making.

One evening, as you sat together on the porch of the villa, watching the sunset, Jamil leaned over and whispered, “Do you think they’ve figured it out yet?”

You laughed softly, leaning into him. “That we’re never coming back?”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yes.”

“They’ll figure it out eventually,” you said, your voice light, but filled with certainty. “But by then, we’ll be long gone.”

And you were. Far from the court, from the games of power and politics, from the endless demands and expectations. You had found your own path, one where the only thing that mattered was each other.

In the end, the kingdom survived. The heroine, somehow, managed to blunder her way through the Fae negotiations, though the details remained hazy in the few letters you received from old acquaintances. The Duke, as always, remained by her side, a constant fixture in a world you no longer had to care about.

But as for you and Jamil? You stayed in the countryside, living in the warmth of each day, far from the reach of courtly drama. And when the summer finally faded into autumn, you knew, without a doubt, that you had made the right choice.

Together, you had built a life out of love, quiet and unassuming, but richer than anything the court could have ever offered. And in the end, that was more than enough

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

The next one is Floyd!

[zyafics]

PLAY FAKE | part fourteen

MASTERLIST (series) | Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs. Reader is hyper-independent, a people-pleaser, a smart mouth, stands on business, and has a mysterious past. Rafe is insecure, possessive, an asshole, and has mood swings.

Rafe's gonna handle it.

But it isn't easy. His head is volatile and loud, screaming for him to choose a direction that seems intangible and difficult to comprehend. It also doesn't help that his anger simmers beneath his skin at the idea of meeting the person who terrified and threatened you. He doesn't know what he will do, but he promised you he won't take it too far.

All Rafe knows is that he can't do it alone.

"I need your help," Rafe announces with great unwillingness, just as JJ's about to turn his back to him. It wasn't a stroke of luck that Rafe happened to be at the Island Club, at the right time, sitting in JJ's section. But, JJ, despite his obligation to serve as a paying member of the exclusive club, wanted nothing more than to evade his duties to the Kook.

Until he spoke, of course.

It takes a second, then another, before the admission registers and JJ turns around. "What?"

Rafe stands from his table, and curious patrons at nearby tables watch the exchange between them. It isn't a secret that JJ and Rafe have a bitter rivalry, elevated by differing social classes and longstanding resentment that transcends their own lifetimes. It also isn't a secret that whenever these two are in close quarters, more often than not, their conversations end in fists.

But, as much as Rafe has adrenaline coursing through his veins and tension stiffening his shoulders that he would love to find an outlet for release, he didn't come here for a fight. Not with JJ, at least.

"You know where Aaron lives, don't you?"

JJ blinks at the Kook, suspicion shadowing his features as he takes his time before answering. "What about it?"

"I—" Rafe clenches his jaw, trying to soothe out his ego. "I need a favor."

"For what?"

"Are you fucking dense, Maybank?" Rafe snaps, his capacity for meandering questions reaching its all-time limit. It doesn't help that, typically, in these situations, Rafe tries to calm his nerves with his vices beforehand. But he can't. He has to do it unbearably sober. Gritting out, "What do you think?"

JJ narrows his eyes at Rafe, his own hands clenched by his side. Despite what the rest of Kildare believes, JJ isn't as stupid as people make him out to be. He simply didn't trust Rafe. Didn't understand his intent. Half of him is convinced that Rafe is in cahoots with Aaron because he knows this circles back to you and your bar.

It had to be about the note JJ collected that warned about Aaron's threat. JJ's concern with it was because of Sailor's ancestry. It's an institution for the Pogues; decades of families and tourists visiting the place to landmark what a great treasure it is to Outer Banks. It means absolutely nothing to Rafe.

Except for you.

Slowly, but surely, the corner of JJ's mouth curves into a knowing smirk, and Rafe catches the arrogant expression. Before JJ can open his mouth and instigate an actual fight, Rafe cuts him off. "Can you help me out or not?"

Normally, under any other circumstances, JJ would laugh in Rafe's face and walk away. It would serve as great ammunition against the Kook prince and his divine reign. But this concerns you. The person who took care of him growing up, who patched him up, who served as a beacon of safety for his troubles. If that means working with Rafe, JJ can do it.

"I can," JJ nods, before glancing at the clock hung over the oceanfront exit of the restaurant. "After my shift. I'll show you."

—

Truth be told, Rafe could've gone alone.

It wasn't improbable for him to discover the address of Aaron without JJ's help. He's resourceful, and with enough time, he would find it. But it was the fact that he didn't trust himself to go. He didn't know what he was going to do, what he was going to say, or how he was going to react. All he knows is his mind feels linear, sharp, and honed down to one single mission: pay your debts and be done with it.

It didn't matter the steps he'd take to get there.

"Are we going or what?"

JJ sits in the passenger seat of Rafe's parked car, the headlights turned off while they sit hidden from view. For the duration of the ride, Rafe had calmed down enough to steady his movements, take the wheel, and follow JJ's directions.

But, if Rafe lets himself think, and be reminded of how Aaron hurt you, frightened you, and nearly destroyed you, a cloud of red distorts his vision and guides his hand.

He doesn't answer JJ, staring out the dark window to discern the dark silhouette of Aaron sitting out in his yard, smoking a cigarette. His hands clenched in his lap, and when JJ repeats his previous question, this time, Rafe answers by going to the waistband of his pants and pulling out his gun.

"Woah, Rafe—" JJ holds both hands in the air, eyeing the lethal weapon as Rafe sets it on the dashboard.

"You take it."

JJ says nothing, studying Rafe's expression before cautiously picking up the gun and securing it. It goes unspoken, of course, but JJ understands what Rafe asks of him.

He turns back to Rafe. "How are we gonna confront him?"

"Follow my lead."

With a click of the car's door, Rafe steps out with JJ. He inhales a sharp breath before approaching the idle figure sitting on a lawn chair in front of his trailer, a bored-yet-curious look stretches across his face.

"Who are you?" Aaron asks, snuffing his cigarette on the ground before glancing behind Rafe to find JJ. "Hey, JJ. Here to bail out your old man again?"

JJ scoffs but says nothing. Aaron's gaze returns to Rafe. "I asked you a question. Who are you?"

Rafe doesn't want to answer, to give Aaron any sense of satisfaction of knowing his name. He doesn't know what he had expected—perhaps someone who used their fists more than their words and looked like they could follow through with their threats—but Aaron doesn't meet those expectations. All he sees is someone sleazy lowlife who deserves nothing of his time and efforts.

Going to the back of his pockets, Rafe pulls out a wad of cash and throws it to Aaron's feet.

"What's this?" Aaron bends down to pick up the money, leafing through the paper to determine its legitimacy. And he chuckles. "Okay, Moneybags, what is this?"

"To pay back a debt," Rafe answers. He can't believe how steady his voice sounds. He goes on to explain it's for you—to cover the cost of your remaining loans, and for Aaron to finally leave you alone.

When Rafe finishes his declaration, the loan shark takes a moment to process the information before a derisive smile spreads across his face. "She's got a Kook paying for her shit? Gotta say that's impressive, even for her."

"Shut up," Rafe warns, but Aaron appears unfazed by the threat. He merely stands from his chair, meeting Rafe's stare head-on, deciding to provoke further.

"To be honest, I didn't think she would be able to do it," Aaron clicks his tongue, shaking his head with disapproval. "Thought I had to burn down her bar to teach her a lesson."

Red-hot anger pulses through Rafe's veins, and his hands ache for a brawl. But he doesn't give in. Clarity still resides in his mind, telling him that he doesn't need to resort to violence. All he needs is to be done with this scumbag.

"That's all she owed you," Rafe spat. "And that means you'll leave her alone. Now and forever."

"Aw," Aaron mocks, playing a hand over his chest. "Her big bad protector comes in the form of Rafe Cameron," he raises a brow at the subtle shock on Rafe's face. "Thought I didn't recognize you, Moneybags? Your daddy must be proud you're funding a charity case from the Cut."

"Shut the fuck up," Rafe growls, stepping forward, but JJ's quick. He grabs a hold of Rafe's elbow, reminding him that it's not worth it. Clenching his jaw, nostrils flaring, Rafe reluctantly admits JJ is right.

He holds out one of his hands. "Give me back her necklace."

Aaron rolls his eyes, going into his pocket to pull out the chain and drop it into Rafe's palm.

"It's pathetic, you know," Aaron says as the pendant lands on Rafe's hand. "You going around and doing her bidding like a little bitch. Is fucking her that good that she has you in a chokehold?"

Grinding his teeth, Rafe meets his stare head-on. "It's better than being a little pussy who hides behind threats to feel important."

Rafe offers nothing more than a mocking grin in return, twisting around to head back to his car. JJ has his hand on Rafe's shoulder, guiding him, and Rafe is surprised at how he managed to leave the interaction unscathed.

Until Aaron decides to open his mouth one last time.

"Tell your little girlfriend that if she needs another loan, I'll be here, and next time, I'll even let her pay with her cunt," he laughs, and that's the final straw that made Rafe snap.

Before JJ can stop him, Rafe suddenly turns and swings at Aaron's jaw. The scumbag stumbles back, catching his face but, before he can recover, Rafe tackles him into the ground, delivering punch after punch until Aaron is nothing but a bloody pulp.

His rage is burning, his fury bleeding into each strike, and Rafe no longer cares. He's gone off the deep end, delivering violent justice to make up for the fact that Aaron has done nothing but terrorize you. Red glazes his vision until it starts to stain his knuckles and shirt too.

But Aaron is strong too. He manages to throw a hit of his own, splitting Rafe's bottom lip. They're wrestling on the filthy earth until somehow Aaron manages to produce a knife and puts it against Rafe's throat.

Harsh breaths turn to swallow as Rafe feels the cool blade digging into his skin.

"You think you're hot shit, Moneybags?" Aaron spats, his eyes wild. "You think you scare me?"

Rafe says nothing. He doesn't know what to do next. It's a dangerous situation he's in, the knife buried into the knot of his throat. But before he can formulate a plan, the familiar click of a gun sounds.

"Get the fuck off of him."

Aaron stills, the barrel of the weapon pressed against the back of his skull immobilizing every muscle. JJ roughly grabs his shoulder, hauling him off Rafe, and allowing the Kook to get on his feet.

"We're done," JJ declares firmly, the gun remains against the back of Aaron's head. "Do you hear me?"

Aaron nods, and slowly, JJ lowers the weapon. But that wasn't enough for Rafe. Snatching the gun out of JJ's hand, without a second thought, he fires—the sharp bullet piercing into Aaron's left arm, sending him tumbling back.

JJ shouts something indistinguishable at Rafe but he hears nothing but the harsh thumps of his own breaths. He steps forward, while Aaron grimaces in pain, clutching his bleeding shoulder, and points the gun right at the center of his chest—where he had mocked Rafe moments ago.

"You won't do it," Aaron grunts tauntily, still trying to cling to any last ounce of power he has left. "You're not that crazy."

"You wanna bet?" Rafe warns in a deadly calm. "Don't talk about her, don't contact her, and don't even think about her, because if I ever hear you causing her any more problems, I'll fucking kill you."

Lowering the gun, Rafe marches over to his car with nothing but the buzzing of his skin. He can't think of anything else; residual adrenaline courses through his veins like an electric current, sending his emotions haywire. And when JJ asks for the car keys—seeing Rafe unfit to drive—he hands them off without hesitation.

Inside the passenger seat, Rafe's hands are trembling. JJ glances from the corner of his peripheral but doesn't say anything. Instead, he pulls out in reverse before shifting the gears into drive.

Rafe doesn't ask where they're going, concentrating on recounting the details of his memories. The blood, the bullet, and how the act he committed feels completely out of his realm—out of his head. He doesn't know what to feel.

The ride is eerily silent. JJ keeps sparing glances over to Rafe, but he's too numbed out to acknowledge any of them. When Rafe finally gains the ability to speak, he asks JJ where he's driving them. JJ answers vaguely, "You'll see."

By the time the car rolls to a slow stop, the familiar bar comes into view. The flickering neon lights welcome with an OPEN sign, and JJ kills the engine. He turns to Rafe, cautiously taking the gun back, and dropping it into the center console with the safety on.

They say nothing as they step into the bar. You're standing behind the counter, lifting your head when the little bell alerts new customers, only to discover the duo standing in the middle of the walkway. One of your brows raises at the odd pairing.

"Fuck. I need a drink," JJ announces, dropping the car keys on the table before steering behind the counter to grab a bottle. Your eyes follow JJ's movements with amusement until they return to Rafe.

He takes a seat at one of your bar stools, remaining quiet. Nothing in his head feels right, like he's in a dream state he doesn't know how to wake up from. You eye the fresh cut on Rafe's bottom lip and, unable to gauge what type of consolation you should give, decide to comfort him with one of his vices.

Pouring out a glass, you hand it over the counter. "Need a drink?"

He shakes his head.

"Need you," Rafe sets the drink down and grabs your hand, leading you out from behind the bar before stealing a kiss. He pulls you onto his lap, needing to close the distance, while roughened scraps of his callouses skim across your cheeks.

Rafe's kiss is depraved, clinging to you like you're the last breath of air. Like you're the only thing that grounds him. It's tangy and metallic, tasting his cut, which only adds to the delirium of his state and how desperate he is for you. One of his hands falls to your hips, while the other clings to your face.

He needs this. Needs you. Rafe's restraining himself from taking more than you can handle, and when you pull away, breathless, you press your forehead against his.

"Are you okay?" You whisper.

No, but he doesn't want to tell you that. With the brush of his knuckles across your cheek, feeling the warm heat of your flushed skin, he rasps. "Now I am."

"What happened?" You ask, capturing his hand into yours, grazing the blood that stained his knuckles. Some of his skin is split, but most of them seem to be from somewhere else. "Did you kill someone?"

Rafe's jaw tightens. He doesn't want to scare you with what he's done. He doesn't want you to look at him differently. When he pulls his hand away from your grip, afraid of tainting you, it takes a moment before he speaks. "I went to see Aaron."

Your easygoing smile drops and your shoulders stiffen. Withdrawing slightly, you examine Rafe from the waist up, picking up the specks of dark red covering his shirt, the trail of dried blood down his arms, and the nasty yellowing bruise that lines his jaw. "Holy fuck," you breathe, roaming your hands over his body, checking for damages. "You're bleeding."

"I'm fine,"

"You're bleeding," you repeat, tipping Rafe's head back to examine a small puncture wound at the column of his throat, running your fingers over the nick to discover the scab. You attempt to get off his lap, "Rafe—"

He catches your elbow, stilling your movements and your gaze rises to meet his. His eyes are dark, like a storm over an ocean, but there's tenderness when he looks at you. "It's not all my blood."

A beat passes before you ask. "What did you do?"

At first, Rafe detects disapproval, making him want to recoil and shut down. But, upon closer inspection of your features—the way your brows pull together and your eyes soften with indescribable warmth—he recognizes it to be concern. For him.

With that revelation, he squeezes your hips comfortingly. "Nothing I didn't promise."

You don't know what to make with that. Hesitatingly, you hold your breath before deciding to ask the next question. "Did you kill him?"

"I should've,"

"But you didn't," you say, recognizing the extent of what Rafe will do for you. It's terrifying to wield such a power. "...Right?"

"Right." He nods, and you let out a sigh of relief. You didn't want him to get in trouble because of you, potentially going to prison. You need him too much.

JJ, witnessing the intimate interaction, decides it's time for him to go. Carrying a bottle in his arms, he's about to silently slip out of the bar when Rafe catches the blurring movements and calls after him.

JJ freezes.

Rafe didn't forget about how JJ had his back at Aaron's. How everything could've ended a lot differently had the Pogue not been there. But, he didn't know what to say. There's still a bitter rivalry between them, and he doesn't necessarily enjoy JJ's close relationship with you. But there's an understanding. With begrudging respect, "Thanks."

It surprises both you and JJ and he doesn't know how to take it. But JJ isn't dumb. With one parting glance in your direction, seeing you in capable and powerful hands that'll do anything to protect you, he nods once. "Anytime."

When JJ slips out, you stare at Rafe in disbelief. His eyes return to your face, as you raise a confused brow. "What's that for?"

"Nothing," Rafe shakes his head, pulling you in for another kiss when you slip off his lap. He grabs your arm. "Where are you going?"

"I need to clean you up."

He doesn't want you to go. "I don't need that."

"Rafe, you're bleeding," you declare, gesturing to his face, "I'll be right back."

With great reluctance, he lets you go. Moments later, you return with a box of first aid and set it on the counter before returning to his lap. Disinfecting the cut on his throat, you patch up the wound before moving to his jaw and lips.

Rafe watches you as you work. Your touch is gentle, and your eyes are concentrated. When you catch him staring, you lift your gaze to his, a shy smile spreading over your lips. "What?"

"Just waiting for you to finish so I can kiss you," he confesses, his hands roaming up and down your waist in impatient strokes. He needs to feel you again to ground him.

You tilt your head teasingly. "Is kissing me more important than taking care of yourself?"

"Clearly." He declares as if the answer is obvious. It makes your stomach flutter, cheeks warming with heat.

You return to tending his jaw, but Rafe can't wait any longer. Roughly, he pushes your hands away and pulls you in for another desperate kiss, capturing the nape of your neck as he practically devours you.

"Rafe—" You part to breathe.

"Need you," he repeats, just as anguished and desperate as before. "Stop taking care of me and let me have you."

You don't have a second say before he recaptures your lips, sliding his tongue into your open mouth. His touch is hungry, exploring every inch of bare skin until he goes under your shirt to pull down your bra and find the sensitive flesh of your breasts.

Raw, and full of passion, you're reminded of the times when Rafe needed to fuck you to channel his aggression into something productive. You don't know exactly what happened with Aaron, only that it's over and you want to offer him refuge in any way possible.

But Rafe is much tamer than before. He's careful not to hurt you, not to play too rough. When he breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours, his breathing is heavy but his words are firm.

"I'm not fucking you in a bar."

This surprises you.

"You weren't complaining when you fucked me in a dressing room," you whisper sultrily, planting kisses along the curve of his neck. "Or in the bathroom."

His jaw tightens with declining restraint. "That was different."

"How different?"

"I'm... I'm trying to treat you better."

You don't want him to. At least, not during sex. You want it rough, dirty, and filthy. This side of Rafe cosplaying as a saint feels wrong—especially when you know he's nothing but the devil. But you're fine with it. You need it.

"Maybe you shouldn't," you say, moving to the shell of his ear. "Maybe I want you to treat me like your own personal slut."

Rafe groans, his resolve cracking, and he stands from the stool. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you to his car, throwing the door wide open to throw you inside the backseat.

He slams you against the back of the driver's seat, your legs straddling Rafe while he kisses you urgently. His hands grab at your body, unhooking your bra with a soft click and breaking the kiss only for you to shed your clothes.

Your core pulses with need; the open spread of your legs allows you to feel his hard erection, separated by a thin pair of panties and his jeans. You need it off.

Rafe trails his kisses down the curve of your neck, and you tip your head back with a soft moan, his hands fall under your skirt and between your legs. Long fingers brush against your panties, discovering the wet patch.

"Are you this wet for me?" He murmurs against the heat of your shoulders, his fingers teasing your core with your slick but refusing to slip in.

You let out a little whimper. "Hm,"

"You want me to do something about it?"

You nod desperately, a hand falling between your legs to guide him closer to your cunt, but Rafe pulls back. In one swipe, he snatches your wrist in one hand and pins them above your head, against the headrest of the driver's seat.

"Don't touch," he warns thickly, his dark eyes meeting yours and heat exploding in your stomach, your pussy aching to wrap around something.

"Please," you beg, and Rafe grins wickedly. Pushing your panties to the side, he thrusts two fingers in. Slowly, at first, to test your walls, until his penetration comes with a steady—but increasing—rhythm.

"Oh, fuck," you moan, just as Rafe captures you in another lustful kiss. Your wrists strain from the bound, but you love how you're held captive—physically and emotionally—to be controlled by his will. His fingers go faster, adding his thumb to rub your swollen clit as he swallows all the noises.

Rafe separates, kissing an arrow straight down your breasts before covering a pierced nipple. His teeth tugs the barbell, causing a whimper to add to your moans, elevated by the high you feel approaching with the slight twinge of pain.

"Come for me, baby," Rafe rasps, his voice vibrating off your skin, as he feels you fluttering around his fingers. His teeth pulls on your nipple, heightening your sensitivity and pushing you over the edge. You reach your orgasm on his hands, and Rafe guides you through the process by fucking you harder—through the tightening of your walls—making you mewl with pleasure.

Pulling out his slick-covered fingers, he pushes them between your teeth, hard eyes demanding you to lick them clean.

You do, not breaking a second of eye contact, and when Rafe retracts his fingers from your mouth, using the same hand, he cups your cheeks roughly.

You drive him wild, with the way you're so obedient, but with his face right in front of yours, just a breath away, he doesn't kiss you for reward. Instead, his words come low, in a warning and promise, "Fucking mine."

"Yours," you admit, and Rafe swallows hard.

His hands clench and unclench by his side, but he doesn't make a move to take off his pants, his bulge prominent as an outline under his jeans. Your eyes drop to it, licking your lips, and teasingly ask, "Are you going to do something about that?"

Rafe locks his jaw, teeth grinding against one another, before he follows your line of vision. Conflicted, Rafe doesn't know if he can be inside you, to fuck you, and you come to the dawning realization that Rafe's holding back.

"I'll help." You add in a whisper. "Let me feel you."

He doesn't know if he can handle it, but with the pleading look in your eyes, and the way your lips part, he breaks another one of his constraints and releases your wrists.

"Turn around."

You quickly listen, and Rafe unbuckles his belt to remove his pants and boxer-briefs, throwing them to the floor of his car. With all barriers removed, he hauls you back onto his lap, his hard cock pressed against the small of your back.

You feel a bit of his pre-cum leaking onto your backside, but Rafe makes no urgent moves to be inside you. You squirm, needing contact, but Rafe grabs your hips to still your movements.

"I don't want you touching yourself," Rafe murmurs against the shell of your ear, the lack of eye contact heightens your nerves to feel every sharp motion, every breath of air, as some form of action. "Do you hear me?"

"I won't," you promise, your cunt clenching around nothing with the idea of Rafe entering you soon. You shift closer to his cock, feeling the thick girth on you.

Rafe tsks. "I don't know if I believe you,"

"Believe me," you beg.

"Put your hands above your head," Rafe commands, and you obey. You reach towards the roof of the car as Rafe's strong arms—still stained with traces of blood—cages you in. He adjusts the headrest of the seat before you, widening the gap. Grabbing your wrists, he slotting them inside and slams the headrest down, locking you in place. "Now, you can't."

You wiggle your hands, but it's completely trapped. It makes your heart hammers with exhilaration, knowing you're at Rafe's disposal.

His hands wander over your backside, fingers tracing patterns over your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine at his feather-light touches. It's teasing, drawing out the seconds, and you sit in the weight of your exposure until you're left with nothing but burning desire.

Anticipation climbs up your chest as Rafe withdraws his hands, his warmth, and before you can utter a whine, something cold covers your collarbone. You look down to discover the necklace—the one Aaron took away from you—back around your throat, the R glistening with possession.

"You got it back," you say quietly, your stomach fluttering with pride.

"I got it back," he confirms, rescinding his hands. Again.

It's such a push and pull. You almost groan out of despair, needing him to do something, but he remains distant. Despite the absolute control, having everything he's ever wanted from you—your submission, you being completely his—Rafe is still holding back. His touch second-guessed, his conflict evident.

He doesn't trust himself.

It twists and buries you with need.

"Rafe," you breathe, but he doesn't do anything. "Rafe."

"All this fucking begging," Rafe grabs your chin, forcing your head to the side to meet his hardened gaze. "What?"

Your eyes scan over his features, the hard lines of his face, the discipline he carries behind his gaze. Everything is still within bounds. "Let go." You whisper. His jaw ticks. "Use me."

"You don't understand what you're asking for."

"I trust you," you murmur, closing the distance until his shallow breaths fan against your cheeks. "Let go for me."

Finally, his last chain of restraint snaps, and primal instinct takes over. Rafe tightens his hand around your jaw, pulling you into a rough kiss, only for you to reciprocate with the same ferocity, the same burning needs.

When he pulls away, you bite down on his bottom lip, tugging out the flesh until you taste a tangy metallic on your tongue.

"Use you?" He repeats, as a last line of defense. He's giving you one last chance to back down.

"Use me."

"All mine?"

"All yours."

Rafe releases your face and grabs your hips, lifting them in the air before dropping you on his cock, buried to the hilt. A guttural groan escapes his lips, and his hands remain securely around the fat of your hips, bouncing you up and down his lap.

Sensitivity courses through your veins, as Rafe uses you for his own pleasure. His aggression channels into how fast and vigorously he forces you to bounce, making the backside of your thighs burn.

He watches, as his cock slips in and out of your cunt, each time like the first. "Fuck, sweetheart," Rafe moans with pleasure, your walls fluttering around him. "You're so fucking tight for me."

"I'm so sensitive," you mumble, balling your hands into tight fists as you're trying hard to control yourself. You can't move, only up and down, and the lack of mobility makes you feel everything more. "Rafe."

"Keep saying my name, baby," Rafe demands, one of his hands coming up to grab a handful of your breast. "Remind yourself who's dick you're riding."

Rafe fucks you hard, allowing you to feel everything single twitch of his cock until the familiar heat blooms in your stomach and tightens. Your orgasm is on the horizon, you're certain Rafe is closely behind as your walls grip him in a tight vice.

"Fuck," he swears, making you go faster, the sounds of your cunt squelching with wetness. "Come on, come with me, baby."

You do, moaning wildly as you come for a second time, feeling Rafe's hot ropes of cum fills you. Your breathing is hard, coming down from this high, but Rafe doesn't let you take a second to break.

He unlatches the headrest, freeing your hands, but within seconds, he flips you over, forcing your face into the leather seats as your ass is positioned in the air.

Rafe positions himself behind you, grabbing a handful of your ass as the other strokes his hardening cock, readying for a second round. You're breathing heavily, trying to gather enough strength to pull yourself by your arms, but as you attempt, Rafe had other plans.

The crown of his cock lines against your entrance, his fingers stroking through your wet folds and, with little warning, slams into you. It makes you fall back onto your face, digging into the leather as Rafe roughly thrusts inside of you.

"Ohmygod," you murmur, delirious with overstimulated pleasure, needing a second to breathe, but Rafe allows none. You granted him permission to use you, to fuck you, and he's using it to his fullest power.

Everything is sensitive. All the nerves inside you are heightened to a frayed state, needing time to recover, but Rafe goes at a relentless pace. His rhythm is reinvigorated, going harder, faster, and more brutal than before.

"Rafe, Rafe," you moan, writhing with pleasure that your eyes are rolling to the back of your head and Rafe's hand falls between the space of your legs, massaging the swollen nub. "I'm going to come again."

"Already?" He laughs tauntingly, "You truly are my little slut, aren't you?"

"Rafe," you whine.

"Say it,"

"Rafe, please,"

He abandons your clit to grab your throat, hauling you upwards by the limbs. Your breathing is constricted by the hard grip, shallowly taking in air, as Rafe murmurs hotly into your ear. "Fucking say it."

"I'm your slut," you concede, and you can feel the mischievous grin spreading across his face as he goes faster. "God, fuck, I'm your anything."

Rafe kisses behind your ear, mumbling, "Good girl," before thrusting deeper. He's hitting everything, bullying your cervix until you're seeing stars, and a third orgasm tips out of your body with a scream.

Yet he still doesn't stop.

He fucks you through this orgasm, with your legs shaking and your body trembling from overpowering until he comes inside you again. He fills you completely, not letting a single drop go to waste, and when he finally pulls out, his cum drips down your thighs.

You slump against the seat, needing space, but Rafe still has yet to let you go. He hauls you back to your knees and slots you between his legs, your back leaning against his chest.

Both of you catch your breaths, harsh breathing fills the air alongside the smell of sex. No one moves, exhaustion fills both your bones, until Rafe drapes one of his arms across your stomach, pulling you in protectively.

You, with your last bit of energy left, lift your head to meet Rafe's gaze. He's calmer, more at peace than before, and all the weight on his shoulders completely dissolves. With a small, tiresome smile, you ask, "I have one more thing to ask you."

He lifts a brow.

"Can you take us home?"

A small smile rises at the corner of his lips. Us, he hears. He likes the sound of that.

He nods, and with one last parting kiss on your forehead, Rafe gets dressed and takes you home.

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[cheriladycl01]

ANGST ( friendship ended, ego battles, Championship, Ferrari, Red Bull, Dutchman, American Girl, unrequired love, Title battle)

Y/N and Max have been friends since their go-karting days. She was a driver for Alpha Tauri and achieved spectacular results with the team and was hoping to take the second seat at Red Bull, but as other drivers are ahead of her to take that spot, she accepts a million-dollar proposal from Ferrari. Max is bewildered by her decision and breaks up a years-long friendship for a trivial reason, as she is thinking about the good part of her career and at Ferrari she has a chance to fight for titles. She is devastated by Max's reaction and his contempt for her, the Dutchman starts to pretend that the American doesn't exist and ignores her both in the paddock and in Monaco, where they live. Fans, fellow riders and the media are devastated how such a lasting friendship ended in such a heavy climate, the American media blasts Max, while the Dutch media trashes Y/N. Y/N and Max enter into a brutal and fierce dispute for the 2024 championship, more tense than 2021, due to the entire context that involves the two. Max felt betrayed by her leaving Red Bull and by her never realizing that he always liked her, but now she's the one who doesn't want anything to do with him in her life anymore and she's going to do whatever it takes to be world champion. They arrive in Abu Dhabi tied and in the wheel-to-wheel dispute, Y/N becomes world champion, and Max realizes that he made a mistake with the love of his life and is humbled by her forgiveness.

This is the story of us! - Max Verstappen x FerrariDriver! Reader

Plot: In the style of a documentary find out what really happened in the year of 2024 between Max Verstappen and Y/N Y/L/N.

“Audio test in the studio please Y/N” the Documenter asks from behind cameras.

“10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1” you say your face on camera as some continues to fix your hair.

A News Broadcaster pops up from 2023 on Sky Sports News.

“Today the shocking news has come that rather than signing with Red Bull Y/N Y/LN has made a million dollar move to Ferrari”

“Y/L/N to drive in Red for the 2024 season”

“Red Bull decision to not sign Y/L/N leaves them out no options says Adrian Newey”

News articles play in overlay over each other as they get more frequent about your career change 2 years ago.

“Hiya Y/N” the interviewer for the documentary asks.

“Hello” you smile back politely on the footage.

“So this documentary is about the Formula One season of 2024 and … your intense battle for the championship”

“Mmmmm all very interesting no?” You joke before serious music comes on. Showing some shots of you racing, and some of the radios that came from that season.

“This isn’t right! Why isn’t my team working together” your voice come through.

“Y/N it’s time to back off. You can’t win this one”

“I’m never going to give up, it’s me or him in this dust and I don’t care which as this point as long as I know I pushed”

“Y/N are you okay? Y/N?”

“What the fuck was that?”

“Guys this is my last chance let’s put it all in”

“FUCK THIS GUY MAN”

“Yes it was … a heated season for sure” you chuckle.

“So start by telling us about your early life” she asks after a small compilation of early photos of you karting before it’s edited to flick back and forth between your interview and clips of you karting and in the feeder series.

“I started karting from a very young age, around 6 and worked my way up like any other driver. Eventually Red Bull … saw potential in me and decided to sponsor me and make me a part of their Young Drivers Programme. That eventually fed me into a seat in AlphaTauri or what is now Visa CashApp RB” you start, hands clenched together.

“I saw everyone else get a chance at that Red Bull seat before me regardless of my performance. And when they signed Sergio Perez, someone from a different team, that tipped me over the edge” you admit, knowing that it was one of the hardest heartbreaks you experienced.

“And that’s when Ferrari came in?” The interviewer asks.

“That’s when Ferrari came in, they wanted something fresh and new and I’d pretty much grown up with Charles just like I had Max, so there was no concern about us being Team-Mates. It was … despite Ferraris struggles in recent years, my only way forward” you nod your head, before the documentary shows your driving in your AlphaTauri and your incredible win in that car, that should have been the reason Horner wanted to sign you.

“Max … wasn’t happy with this decision” she asks and you nod.

“He wasn’t … i thought if anything was to ruin our friendship it would be an external relationship that didn’t appreciate our bond. Not … because of a job” you laugh thinking of his reaction and how he’d cut you off in all aspects of life.

That year was difficult for you, even though you’d had more people around you than you’d ever had in your life you had never felt more lonely.

Max had pretty much axed you out of his life. He’d blocked you on every social media, every messaging platform and even put your emails into his junk folder. You thought it was a step too far writing to him so, you left it.

You left an eleven year friendship to just go down the drain. You didn’t realise until he was actually gone how much of an impact Max Verstappen had on you and your life. He was there for you for every major thing that happened in your life and this move to Ferrari felt like your next step. But he had no longer wished to be a part of that.

“What did it feel like when you announced going to Ferrari?” Your asked and your paused for a while before you face the interviewer.

“I think everybody dreams of driving for Ferrari, no matter what team your currently with as … it’s the pinnacle of motorsport. But to be the first female to drive for Ferrari is a statement. The day I made the announcement and it went onto the F1 page that my contract was up with RedBull and AlphaTauri for the 2023 season I couldn’t have been happier because it felt like I was finally moving forward and not stuck in the same spot” you answer and she nods.

“And how did that affect your friendships?” She asks and you almost scoff.

“Why didn’t you just say Max” you chuckle before sighing. You never mind talking about it especially now, of course you were upset and heated back then. You normally tending to be after racing if it didn’t go your way anyway, but when it came to Max leaving you there were times you were pretty nonchalant about it because you didn’t know how to react.

It was the later reaction that was more frightening.

“Well, that would spoil that kind of answer, clearly there’s more of an issue here than with any other driver” she asks.

“You’ve done your research, you know exactly what happened”

Media floods in the documentary American News anchors sending hate to Max Verstappen especially when he came to home turf for a race and the Deutch fans butchering you in the Netherlands.

SkySports -

“Max Verstappen is brutal, can’t imagine ever being as petty as he is”

ESPN News -

“And today we have news that Red Bull Driver Max Verstappen has cut all ties with new Ferrari Driver Y/N Y/L/N, for her change of team”

Fan at the Track -

“You know Max is incredibly overrated and childish for what he did to our American pride and joy”

News in the Netherlands

“ze is gewoon een vreselijke chauffeur”

Fan at Zandvoort

“neuk haar”

It pans back to you looking down at your hands before the interviewer speaks up again.

“So before the season started did you and Max have any heated arguments that contributed to the start of the season?” She asks and you shake your head.

“He blocked me on everything, I was with my ex-boyfriend at that point and we were travelling during the winter break so it didn’t bother me too much. I tried to keep myself distracted knowing I had great support around me, a new team to get to know and work with.

But as the 2024 started to get closer and you came back home to Monaco, sensing Max had disappeared from your life finally sunk in. You had many days at home wrapped up in blankets crying, wondering where it all went wrong.

Making you feel lonely in Monaco was one thing, but it only got worse in the paddock when racing resumed for the testy 2024 season.

A video plays of the Bahrain testing in 2024 you on track in a semi fast Ferrari that people cannot tell whether you are sandbagging or not Max breezing past you.

Strangely that was the closest you’d been to Max in months.

“Monaco was different now that you didn’t have your best friend … how did you occupy your time instead?” She asked.

It showed videos of you partying in Monaco with Charles your soon to be team-mate, Lando Norris and Daniel Ricciardo.

Then it flicked to you and Lando golfing with Max Fewtrell, while vacationing.

It flicked to a very public argument between you and your boyfriend which proceeded to your breakup.

“Well, it was an interesting build up to the season. Let’s just say that” you smirk knowing at the start of 2024 before preseason testing you caused a lot of chaos all to try get your mind off the absence of Max.

“Then we find ourselves at Bahrain 2024… a race I think that will be in the history books as one of the most tense season openings ever” she admits writing something down on the notepad she had that she really didn’t need.

“Yes, it was an interesting race. I think that was the first time I was in equal machinery to Max, at the start of the season we didn’t start off as good as RedBull but Charles and I were giving him a run for his money” you admit knowing Sergio Perez didn’t have the greatest start to the season and now that you were locked into Ferrari, Red Bull were beating themselves up over the loss of you.

“So Max took pole and you were only 0.003 seconds behind him, what a margin! You started P2 both front row” she smiles and you nod.

“Yeah I think that’s the most scared I’ve ever felt in a race car, P2 has been my best qualifying position and I couldn’t let it go to waste. But having Max next to me with everything that was going on was a massive headache” you tell her and there’s a clip of you looking over at Max sat next to you just before the formation lap was about to begin.

“Let’s talk about turn 1 Bahrain …” she asks and you nod.

“I mean, I was racing and I was racing hard. I gave Max plenty of room, I had the inside line and I got past him and led. It was a good overtake and the team didn’t exactly tell me not to go for it” you explain and she nods.

“But after your pit stop stuff got real” she adds and you nod with a roll of your eyes.

“Tell me about it” you laugh.

“AND VERSTAPPEN GOES FOR THE OVERTAKE GOING INTO TURN 5, Y/N DEFENDING BEAUTIFULLY AND HE GOES AGAIN EDGING HER INTO TURN SIX AND OMG HES OFF INTO THE GRAVEL! MAX VERSTAPPEN IS OUT IF THE BAHRAIN GP” it shows the commentary from Crofty when this was all happening showing Max getting out the car and slamming his helmet down.

“WHAT THIS Y/N HAS DAMAGE THERE WAS IN FACT CONTACT AND SHES HAD TO PULL OVER NOT MAKING IT BACK TO THE PITS FOR A NEW TYRE” is shown also you getting out of the car, your escorted back to the pit wall while Safety Car is deployed.

“Yours and Max’s argument that day while the race was still underway and Charles was leading, was intense who actually started it?” She asks.

“Oh Max did 100%. I was just talking to my race engineer and he came over all pissy and yelling in my face. Seeing him so red and angry was funny though” you admit.

“I think that’s the first time people had seen seriously Mad Max since the Ocon incident”

“I guess I just bring that side out of him” you admit with a nod.

“What the fuck was that” Max came over to you, you took a step back hoping to defuse the situation knowing their was cameras around and you didn’t really want to bring attention to either of you.

“Look Max we were both racing hard. It happens, you went into me, we both ended up out the race … it happens” you explain and the camera men all get closer.

“You went into me! Are you having a laugh!” He says until he starts ranting in Dutch and his PR manager and a Marshall take him away from you.

“Bahrain was incredibly dramatic for a race. The champion of last year was sat at the bottom of the leader board and Charles, Lando and George were looking at the top spots. How did the make you feel?” She asks and you nod.

“Obviously it’s concerning. Coming back isn’t easy after a feat like that, so we knew we’d have to come back in Saudi and make it better than it was. It’s also hard to come back from something like that mentally? Yano. So Saudi was hard especially all the media around me” you explains and it cuts to clips of all kinds of media swarming around you asking you stuff about Max and your race in Bahrain.

“In Saudi you and Max raced hard but eventually it ended up with Max in P1 and you in P2 and Lando P3… that podium was tense” she explains and a video of the podium came up, showing Max celebrating with everyone but you. You ending up leaving him and Lando and leant over the fence of the podium to spray your team down below.

“Lando and Max are close, but you and Lando are aswell so how did it feel having no celebration up there with you?” She asked.

“Lando is actually the sweetest person I’ve ever met. He cares about everybody and everything and he worries when he thinks he’s upset someone. He messaged me after that podium, apologising for leaving me out of the celebration and he didn’t even realise he had as he was so caught up in Max spraying him he thought it was both of us. I obviously replied saying I wasn’t upset and that it was okay. I had my team and that’s all I really needed at the end of the day” you nod knowing it WAS a hard podium to be up on but you made the best of a bad situation.

“The comes Australia, and this is your first time to regain the points lost in Bahrain. So what did you do?”

“Man … the first time I won was so nice … that I just had to do it twice” you quote Anthony Joshua with a little laugh. Before it shows you’re victory.

“AND FOR THE SECOND TIME IN HER FORMULA ONE CAREER THE AMERICAN TAKES HOME THE CHEQUERED FLAG TAKING VICTORY IN AUSTRALIA, TEAMMATE CHARLES LECLERC BEHIND HER IN P2 WITH LANDO NORRIS CLOSING UP THE PODIUM” Ted commentates.

“It was an incredible feeling, knowing I was now making my way back up the ranks and was in P3 in the championship, Max was behind me and I felt like I was back in the game. To DNF’s for him was almost laughable.

“The points were very amusing come China, you were leading the championship and Ferrari were at the top for the constructors championship. And Max, Lando and Charles were all on 76 points and you were on 78… how tight!?” She adds.

“Yes, it was crazy how varied this season was with wins, especially with how RedBull were insanely dominant the year before and RedBull took all wins bar Singapore. At this point I wasn’t just fighting Max in he championship there was word at Ferrari that team orders were going to come into play to help Charles win but when we were both so close in points it was easier to just let us race” you explain happily, knowing that it was a fun season to be a part of.

“But after China was a sort of turning point for Max correct?” She asks and you nod again.

“It was for both of us. After China it was a constant change between me and Max of who was going to win, Lando and Charles remained close, but not enough to win.” You explain but her look tells you you didn’t give her the answer she was after.

“I meant about Max trying to rekindle that friendship you both once had” she asks and you scoff.

“Mmmmm you’ll have to ask him about that… at the time I could only assume he wanted to be my friend to distract me from what was important … winning” you answer.

“Hello Max” the interviewer says as their special guest for the documentary comes in. He takes a seat, a stoic nod as he does.

“So, Y/N didn’t seem to be able to tell us what happened after the Chinese Grand Prix, it seems from sources that you unblocked her on everything and attempted contact?” She asks and Max nods.

“I- I did. After seeing her wins, and her face once she realised it was a full fight this year and how excited that made her I knew I was in the wrong for ever letting our bond go. I don’t think she even cared about the championship that year, just being in a team that was letting her drive a good car, with a good team and actually help her improve. I was in the wrong but at this point … she was only focused on racing” he sings and a compilation of videos of the pair of you arguing on track came up.

“It was just affecting you guys either was it?”

“No, it was hard especially for Lando, Daniel and Charles, we’re all so close and Lando and Y/n are like siblings so when it came to the both of us not talking it was difficult for them. Y/N being … well Y/N didn’t want to make it a big deal and started hanging out more with her other friends like Yuki, Logan, Zhou, George and Alex but it still meant it was … awkward to say the least” he admits.

“Yeah, that sounds rough, do you ever regret it?” She asks and he nods.

“For a long long time, I didn’t think that I would be able to reconcile our friendship like Nico and Lewis did” he admits.

“But you think that now?” She asks and he smiles.

“I know so” he smirks

It was the end of the season, you and Max were tied in points so for fans it was like Abu Dhabi 2021 all over again. Max was starting P1 and you were starting P2, you’d overtaken him down the straight having better straight line speed than his car did. You were practically flying round the track, Max chugging along behind you eventually setting the fastest lap, and you just knew the cheer from the crowd would have been phenomenal if you could hear it.

After great strategy from Ferrari you ended up winning that race, along with the Championship. Getting out the car was a feeling like no other, you bend down by the wheel of your car, tears streaming out your eyes and dripping on the still closed visor as your knees give out from a tricky and hot race as you sob.

You run over to the Ferrari team, them all pulling you into hugs along with Charles and his girlfriend who looks so excited to celebrated with you.

“OMG” you cried into Fred’s arms. What surprised you the mot was a tap on your back and a blue race suit. You were silent looking at Max.

“Congratulations” he says and tears are still in your eyes. You just nod at him politely.

“Please Y/N I’m so sorry, I - you deserve the seat and the championship. You’ve done so well this year and I’m so proud of you” he smiles and more tears flood your eyes. All you’d wanted to hear was those words.

“Do you ever think you could forgive me, because I love you Y/N and I cannot loose you” he says tears brimming his own eyes.

“I forgave you a long time ago Max, this was all really stupid” you smile at him. Before your team I pulling you away to get you to the podium.

“After the podium, come meet me at the bay, 3rd yacht along… okay I have to tell you something” he shouts after you and you nod grinning.

“What happened on that boat Max?” The interviewer asks.

“That’s for me to know and no-one to ever find out …” he smirks before laughing and giving you as kiss on the cheek as you come back into the room.

“Y/N?”

“Mmmmm I’m with Max, but let’s just say … we rekindled” you laugh and the cameras cut out the documentary ended.

“So you guys are obviously together … what changed?” She asks off camera curiosity getting the best of her.

“We worked out that we had feeling for each other for a very very long time before the fight!” You answer and well, that was that.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[kerokeeces]

ENHYPEN SFW hyung line fanfic recs!

who am I? im just silent reader who enjoys fics and want to help others find some of my favorites! srry im hee + hoon biased so most are about them

short fic - 1-5k words long fic - 5k+

HYUNG LINE

the look of love by @won4kiss - (how they look at you when they’re blinded by their love) - short fic

low power mode by @sungbeams - (when you get overwhelmed while you're out together) - text msgs

just a bet by @all4yoi - (after a few months of dating, you find out you were just a bet.) - short fic

HEESEUNG

sing me a song by @senascoop - (when you can't fall asleep and heeseung tries to help by singing you a song) - short fic

race to your heart by @coqhee - (lee heeseung who's always been a pro at racing takes on a change of pacing ; racing for your heart.) - long fic

uh oh im falling in love by @won4kiss - (you and heeseung have been rivals for as long as you could remember, constantly competing for the top spot in school—basically everything. living next door to each other only added to the fire, the tension between you, especially when heeseung’s cocky aura never seems to waver. but one single encounter shifts the entire dynamic, leading to confusing emotions arising, jealousy, and new surprising revelations. what happens when rivalry starts to feel like it’s growing into something more?) long fic

a stoner's guide to starbucks by @jayflrt - (in which you work at the starbucks where heeseung is a regular at (and considered a public enemy). also he only goes when he’s stoned off his ass.) - smau series

she knows her sour patch kids by @allforhee - (living under the protective eyes of your older brother, park sunghoon, he thinks he knows you the best. but litte does he know that heeseung knows you love your sour patch kids more than you love his usual swedish fish.) - short fic

win one win me by @jaylver - (who knew being angry and impulsive can get the captain of the hockey team to notice you? cussing them out when they were losing wasn't the best idea, but it definitely made lee heeseung's head turn, leading to him making a deal with you to win a game in order to get your number. but that wasn't enough for him, he was determined to make you his.) - long fic

from screens to scenes by @enreveriee - (you decide to give online dating a shot but have never met your boyfriend in person, nor do you even know what he looks like. when your friends pressure you into finally asking him out for a real-life date, things take a surprising turn. what you expected to be a simple meetup becomes an adventure filled with unexpected twists.) - long fic

taste of life by @mygnolia - (heeseung is invisible to everyone, robbed of recognition as people pass through and never acknowledge him. to live as a shadow who observes is hard—heeseung sinks into corners and simply wishes for a chance to be a part of something. but when you finally come to the biggest halloween party of the year and see him, he can’t help but be attached.) - short fic

bring the heat by @kairoot - (y/n has always disliked heeseung, the arrogant rising star of the racing scene. she especially dislikes him when he beats her brother in the city’s street racing round and takes it upon herself to do a rematch and race him. but when she gets herself stuck in a predicament, her enemy is the only one who can save her. maybe there’s more to heeseung than just his big ego.) - short fic

bjoux by @okikeu - (The fashion industry is difficult, so when the CEO of Korea's finest, luxury fashion brand, Le Désir, loses the most important ambassador of her career, her life is pretty much over. That is, until she finds a face that makes her previous fumble look like a simple marketing scheme.) - smau series

cliches are okay by @chogiwow - short fic

JAY

how you get the girl by @jaylver - (Beach parties are supposedly fun and exciting, aren’t they? Wrong. Experiencing college parties is rare for you, but you decided to give this one a go after your best friend’s constant pleas. Things were alright until everything turned sour when trouble found you and eventually you were roped into a fight alongside the campus’ famous hockey playboy. As if that wasn’t enough, the devil himself conjured up an idea that you found yourself being entangled in. It was all fun and games up until confusion arose, feelings being confessed and played, in the end, Jay had to learn how to get the girl, his girl.) - long fic

white corvette and lipstick by @okwonyo - (waiting for the cab with your boyfriend in the night.) - short fic

pictures enhypen send you of bf!jay by @ddksoo - fake texts

fast forward by @asahicore - (After yet another romantic disappointment in the form of one Jake Sim, you go to the well you’ve always believed to grant wishes and ask for your one and true love to appear. That night, you go to sleep in your bed but wake up in a strange house. When you head downstairs, you find a man washing the dishes and telling you your favorite meal is waiting on the table for you. You’ve spent hours glaring at the back of that head, you could recognize it anywhere—it belongs to none other than Park Jongseong, your high school sworn enemy… and future husband, or so it seems.) - long fic

JAKE

bed chem by @cupidhoons - (your friend sets you up with a cute aussie boy at her party) - short fic

texts with bestfriend!jake by @silquids - text msgs

found you by @whjluv - (jake is very well known and loved by everybody on campus. equally popular was his relationship with the captain of the volleyball team, haneul. even more popular, sadly, is his breakup after more than a year. the months following the event take a significant toll on jake, who becomes unrecognizable. his once sweet, friendly and pure nature is replaced by a constant gloomy and somber aura. what happens when this new version of jake sim unexpectedly clashes with a very straightforward and quite intimidating member of the school’s podcast?) - long fic

SUNGHOON

deep honey by @paarksunghoon - (the last thing you want to do is interrupt sunghoon’s time with his friends, but your doting boyfriend has always said he’ll be there whenever you need him. when a shift at work leaves you hanging by a thread, he and his friends are there to patch your soul back up.) - short fic

cafeteria confessions by @reinahwanggg - (everyone thinks you're dating your childhood best friend sunghoon. well, everyone including sunghoon because he confessed to you almost a year ago and you didn't exactly know it was a confession because of how casually he said it.) - short fic

sunghoon with a crush on you by @woniecore - smau

get well soon by @senascoop - (You’ve always considered yourself a good person—kind, forgiving, and patient. But Sunghoon tested every bit of that. One reckless, drunken drive was all it took for him to flip your life upside down, leaving you temporarily confined to a wheelchair. The inconvenience was more than just physical; it was a wound to your pride and independence. Sunghoon, however, refused to walk away from his mistake. Guilt-ridden and determined to make amends, he became a constant presence in your life—covering your medical bills, offering you emotional support, and sticking around even when you wished he wouldn’t.) - long fic

love on air by @pshbites - (two podcast groups, both equally popular on the internet, start interacting with one another. however it isnt how fans want it to be.. OR yn sees sunghoon hating on lauryn hill and accidentally starts an entire fanwar with him.) - smau series

the 24-hour dating challenge by @jaeyunverse - (being a famous youtuber isn’t easy, especially when you have to constantly come up with new ideas to keep your audience entertained. and this time, your viewers want you to date park sunghoon, your best friend of nearly a decade, for the entirety of 24 hours.) - long fic

[aurynsia]

Unrequited, Terrifying Chapter 1

James Potter x Reader

Summary: You had always been the sort to keep to yourself, never expecting any attention. That is until a mysterious letter is slipped under your door…

Warnings: Extremely fluffy, nervous!james x shy!reader, some subtle wolfstar action in the background, reader plays hard to get without intending to, idiots in love, oc!friends, lovesick!james x salty!reader, reader low key hates James at the beginning but it’s for the plot I swear! No use of Y/N, reader is in the girls’ dorms but gender is rarely specified, NOT EDITED!

Word count: 1.4K

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Summer shifted with a gust of wind, dragging with it the soft chill of the Scottish coast. The leaves turned from emerald to amber, marking the start of your final year at Hogwarts.

Gryffindor had instilled a sense of courage in you, one that you often left at home when returning to the brooding towers that form your school. So, with the brewing feeling of newfound bravery in your heart, you approached the Gryffindor common room with the mentality that this will be your year.

The crowded floor of the comforting common room was painted with school shoes and flashes of red as your fellow house members danced in a flurry of reunions and affections. Yeah…this will be your year. Once you figure out how to socialise without cringing from embarrassment.

You shifted past the cliques and gangs, attempting to find your more resolved group of companions. Standing on the stairs by the girls’ dorms was the sight you were hoping for.

“Charlie! Hope!” You called, striding over to your much loved roommates.

“I’m surprised you survived the stampede down there, come to safety!” Charlie joked with open arms, guiding you into a warm embrace.

“Seems like the summer didn’t do much for the maturity in this house…” Hope muttered into your shoulder as she joined the reunion, glancing at the chaos ensuing behind you.

Charlie and Hope were your personal lifelines, a combination of wits and humility that allowed you to embrace the more tentative side of yourself. You first bonded over your shock discoveries as Gryffindors, as opposed to your predicted places in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. While none of you were sure of why or how you found yourselves in the house of courage and bravery - or as you often called it, the pit of egos and self-righteousness - you certainly found a home between the pair, never stepping outside the social boundaries of your timid trio.

You marched towards the comfort of your dorm, arms linked with your companions and back turned to a pair of unacknowledged, watchful eyes, shaded by rounded glasses.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

James often found hellos to be even harder than goodbyes, a swelling of tears and joy erupting from the boy’s face the second he laid his golden eyes on his mischievous friends. Sirius, Remus and Peter lined the couch territorially, leaving space in the middle for one James Potter to jump into in excited greeting.

“Prongs! We thought you’d never show!” Exclaimed Sirius in a lighthearted tone, smirking at the boy’s glowing grin. “Glad to see us, then?”

“Oh Pads, you know I’d never miss a single day with you by my side if I had the choice!” James met his friend’s playful tone, though his genuine affection shone through the string of words he praised. He found comfort against the back of the couch, bursting into a ramble of “how are you?”, “I missed you” and “what did you do over the summer?” which the other Marauders dutifully answered with similar excitement.

James was busy engaging with Sirius’ vengeful tale of redeeming himself through a series of pranks planned for the coming school year when he found himself glancing towards a familiar figure above the crowd. Your hair reflected the light of the room, almost as if an angel’s halo surrounded your head. Your face, lit up with familiarity at your friends’ embrace, caused a physical reaction from the boy as his lips parted. Had you gotten even more hauntingly beautiful since the last year? James didn’t think it was possib-

“Pro-ongs, I think it’s about time you made a move on that lovely little bird, don’t you?” Sirius sang, inching closer to the captivated face of his friend. A light dusting of peachy blush turned dark on his cheeks under the sudden attention. “I- what? W-who?” James laughed, though he knew full well that his friends had caught onto his not-so-little crush years ago.

“I mean, if she’s so distracting that you can’t even focus on one of the most engaging plots for revenge ever crafted by the master of mischief,” Sirius gestured to himself, “then I don’t see why you shouldn’t try for an actual conversation with her. Moony here was just agreeing with me before you arrived, weren’t you, sweet stuff?”

Sirius turned to the boy sitting on the other side of the young Potter as Remus nodded in reserved agreement. “I know you think she’d never go for a boy like you, James, but Sirius has a point.” Remus advised. James considered his friends’ logical conclusions, realising he should probably come to the same.

There’s not long left, Potter, he told himself. We’ll graduate and the only person you’ve ever really felt something for will be out of your grasp forever. It’s now or never. “Ok…ok, I’ll do it. This will be the year. This will be my year.” James responded, eyes still lingering on you as you walked towards your dorm, slowly shrinking in his line of sight. His friends cheered in satisfied agreement. This will be his year. The year he shares with you.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Unpacked trunks and flittering gossip filled your dorm room walls as you giggled with your loyal friends. “So…any chance one of you might pursue a love life for once?” Hope teased, despite her own lack of romantic involvement. Charlie let out a scoff, grinning her lopsided grin at Hope’s curiosity. “Certainly not in this house, but there might be a few lucky souls in the others who could try to keep up with me.” She laughed with you and Hope, basking in the joy that only you three could harvest from one another.

“Any boys catch your eye? Oh! Maybe any girls?” Hope turned the question to you as you hid a laugh behind your hand. “Some of these kids might as well just date themselves at this point! I mean, how can you love yourself that much and leave any room to love someone else?” You cried, exasperation shaping your tone. “Are we talking about who I think we’re talking ab-“ “OH you mean the Marauders!?” Charlie exclaimed, interrupting Hope’s more subtle approach to the subject.

“Of course I’m talking about those good for nothing clowns,” You responded, “They’re too preoccupied with themselves to even notice anyone else! On the last week of the last year, Sirius managed to shove me into a wall in the hallway without blinking an eye. He was too caught up in his own reflection in the polished floor to notice! Remus and Peter turn a blind eye to all the mischief their friends cause, and only if they themselves aren’t involved. And that boy, James Potter…” You continue your ranting, “it’s like there’s no thoughts behind that smug face of his! He bumped into me as we both attempted to exit through a classroom door at the same time, pushing my books out of my arms and onto the floor. I looked at him expectedly for some sort of sign to show he was apologetic, but he just stood and stared at me wide-eyed! That is, before he scurried away as if he was suddenly half his own size, looking like a rodent in an athlete’s body!”

Charlie and Hope shared a knowing look when you commented on the last Marauder’s appearance, communicating a silent assumption that you weren’t quite as annoyed with the head boy as you were confused. “I digress…” you concluded with a flushed expression. “If any boy in this house even attempts to approach me I should hope for his sake that he’s matured at a rate faster than the speed of light over the summer, otherwise he doesn’t stand a-“

Pshhh.

All eyes in the room turn towards the door. A light blue envelope with dark ink scribbled on the front sat patiently at the base of the door, having just been pushed below from a mysterious source on the other side.

“…chance.” You finished, curiosity propelling your trio towards the unfamiliar object. Labeled on the front, communicating with newfound clarity now that you had closed the distance between yourself and the letter, was a boyish, unpolished mark of your name. Quiet settled on the three of you for a moment. “OH. MY. GOD!” Charlie exclaimed, snatching the paper from the floor and sprinting towards your bed. “Hey, wait for me! I want to read it too!” Hope pursued your friend. Lastly, you rose from your position on the floor and slowly approached the bed as your friends eagerly ripped open the letter.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

A/N: Thank you for reading! I intend on expanding this into a pretty fluffy series with James trying to win reader over ;) sorry for the slow chapter, it will get more eventful in future updates now that the context is established. Part 2 is up! Comment to be added to the taglist <3

[koriangguk]

✧ vegas temptation

✧ synopsis: Falling victim to yet another failed situationship, you're consumed by dread. Maybe love is something you aren't destined to experience in this lifetime? Or maybe you just need a little getaway and a friend who'll accompany the series of impulsive decisions this would entail. Thankfully, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?

✧ genre: fake dating au, heavy on smut with a sprinkle of angst

✧warnings: cream play, nipple play, hickeys, different positions, protected/unprotected sex, public nudity (?), tongue-fuck, fingering, denied orgasm, overstimulation, ice play, vibrator play, rope play, candle burns (?) ✧recommended artists: Chase Atlantic, The Weeknd, Daniel Di Angelo, Doja Cat

Everyone knows heartbreak is a pain in the ass, but an intriguing one at that.

It pulls on your heartstrings and fuels the desperate longing to feel whole again. Releasing a tide of emotions that follow suit as your consciousness drowns under the shattering pieces of broken promises, white lies and everything in between. 

But, nothing compares to the ego that awakens within you as you enter a phase of recovery, embarking on the infamous villain arc. One that is flamed with rage and hunger for revenge. 

Because, let's be honest, a good heart can only take you so far until everything comes crashing down again. Before you are back at square one, like clockwork, slaving after hours just to receive the bare minimum. 

So, fuck that and fuck Kim Jaewon. Stupid cunt. 

Honestly, if it wasn’t for Jungkook and his Black Amex you wouldn’t even bother brushing your hair, let alone worry about which lacey lingerie you should pack for a week in Vegas. 

The Entertainment Capital of the World. 

Well, it certainly would be entertaining to put two best friends into a couple’s suite and hope that nothing happens. But, as Jungkook’s dilated pupils watched you swallow your feelings with another shot of tequila it didn’t really seem like he was the one betting on that deal. Quite the opposite actually. 

“Honestly, screw him, y/n.” he muttered, running his fingers through those dark locks as the two of you waited for your flight at the boujee business lounge. 

In contrast to his trust fund upbringing, you felt like the biggest elephant in the room venturing into the wrong tax bracket. So, the potential side effects of the alcohol running down your esophagus were primarily to calm the nerves of sticking out like a sore thumb, and only slightly to forget your ex. 

“Have you been listening at all? I kind of already did.” your lips pursed in annoyance, words barely stringing together. 

You weren't annoyed at Jungkook, per se, more so at yourself for letting it get this far. For intoxicating your system at the crack of dawn, as at least twenty pairs of eyes watched the two of you bicker. But, come on, surely it was 5 pm somewhere. Listen, when everything is already going wrong, how damaging could another bad decision be? Especially, in the form of a liquid. So, please, everyone keep your judgement to yourself. 

“Well, then that might just be the problem.” 

“Huh?” your gaze furrowed, brows knitted with confusion. 

“You’re fucking the wrong guys, y/n.” Jungkook whispered with a sly grin. 

“Right. And you, I’m assuming would have been my Mr. Right, of course.” you scoffed, jabbing your finger into his chest before looking back up at his heavy gaze. 

“Give me a week and we'll see.” he teased, using his foot to pull on your chair, bringing your tipsy form closer until inches were separating your parted lips from his. 

Playful would have been the best word to describe your relationship with Jungkook. You never crossed the line between friends and lovers but were in very close proximity to doing so. So, when you poured your heart out, crying on his shoulder the night Jaewon’s cheating scandal broke out like wildfire, a part of Jungkook was pleased by the news despite how selfish it might have looked. 

Simply put, he was never a fan of your boyfriends. How could he be when the mere sight of another man beside you triggered every cell in his body, charging a visceral reaction that was forced to be suppressed, kept on the low because you were never his to be territorial of. 

Never his to be taken care of. To be loved. Oh, if only you knew how badly he wanted it. How badly he wanted you. 

Only, you did know. Because, like a sickening aftertaste, the tension between the two of you always lingered. But he kept his distance, and you played on with the denial. Praying for each other’s downfall, you hoped that the other would finally cave in, and say the three words that would change the trajectory of your relationship forever. 

But, as time went on, his fetish for your love only grew stronger and an innocent crush matured into a craving. One that could no longer be suppressed no matter how much you tried to push it away. To push him away. 

Jaewon was your last straw. The breaking point that made you question whether you were destined to be loved in this lifetime. And although he caused you pain, you didn’t know if you should thank your ex or curse his whole bloodline, because now that he was gone there was no point in denying that Jungkook and you were more than just friends. 

Lathering the shea butter on your damp skin, your vision was hazy, body seemingly recovering from the hot shower. But, after that 15-hour flight surrounded by multiple throw-ups and diaper changes, a scrub-down was a must. So, there you were standing in front of the full-sized mirror in the pink pyjama set your mom gifted you specifically for this trip. Whatever that meant.  

See, Jungkook had a way with words. It was his charm. His sensual demeanour could have an innocent bystander wrapped around his finger with one plea. A practical skill that most likely fueled your mother’s spending on the silk fabric, but one that you have yet to fall victim to. 

His mind games were strong, but your stubbornness was stronger. He didn’t mind, actually, kind of adored it. The dominant side of you, the way you could shut him up with one glare. It made loving you so much more thrilling, worth fighting for every sigh, every eye roll, every sneer. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” you blurted at the man's reflection as his palms rested on the top of the doorframe, darkened orbs bluntly eying your body from top to bottom. 

“Like what?” Jungkook grinned, nibbling on his lip rings.

“Like you want something.” you whispered with a furrowed gaze, spraying some leave-in conditioner into your detangled hair. 

“Hmm … but, I do want something.” he teased, inching closer before you felt his bare chest hit your back, veiny hands holding onto your waist. 

“I bet. I made rules you know? In case you thought I’d give in so easily.” you murmured, turning to face him as your fingers slightly tugged on the towel wrapped around his hips. 

“Is that so?” he chuckled softly, eyes flickering down to your plump lips. 

“Mhhm,” you nodded, feeling his hands slowly travel up your top as your own intertwined behind his neck. 

“Did I break any already?” he rasped into your ear, teeth grazing against the soft skin. 

Your mouth curled into a mischievous sneer as you whispered, “Just one.” 

However, before he could respond, your fist was already gripping the chains on his neck, gently pulling him toward the king-sized bed that was covered in rose petals and a complimentary note from the hotel. 

Happy honeymoon, lovebirds!

Loosening his towel, Jungkook watched as you straddled his lap, pressing your hands onto his chest before innocently glancing up at his parted lips. You could have sworn a drool dripped down his mouth, but it might’ve just been your ego flying through the roof as you felt his racing heartbeat.   

“May I?” you teased, slowly rocking your hips against the friction beneath you. 

“By all means, love.” he purred, tracing his hands back onto your thighs before flinching at your sudden slap. 

“Hands off, Jeon. Rule number one.” you giggled at the sudden change in his demeanour. The way his furrowed gaze searched for the audacity that could’ve potentially justified the words that came out of your mouth. 

“You’re fucking with me, right?” he groaned, jerking his head back. 

“No?” a small pout worked its way over your innocent face, eyes fluttering. 

“Baby, please.” 

Was he begging? Or were your knees buckling from the fatigue? Whatever. Keep focus, y/n. 

“I warned you, Koo.” you winked, brushing your lips over his before a knock on the door interrupted the little moment. 

“Room service!” a man’s voice echoed from the corridor. 

I guess the sight of Jungkook’s sculpted chest completely hazed your mind as you struggled to recover even the slightest recollection of ordering food. 

“Coming!” you yelled out, planting a kiss on the tip of his nose until his hold on your waist tightened. 

“No, stay.” he murmured, voice laced with desperation. 

“I have to open the door, Jeon, that's kind of how it works.” 

“I like you here.” he grinned, tugging on your bottom lip before leaving a soft spank on your ass. And, as you glanced back at his heaving chest you feared that rule number one was going to be short-lived. 

“Do you like it? They didn’t have Carbonara but I thought shrimp fettuccine would have sufficed,” you said with slight hesitation which shortly dissipated as you watched him empty the dish clean.  

“Trust me, y/n. You being here has already made me a happy man. Everything else is just a cherry on top.” Jungkook smiled, rubbing his tattooed hand along his jaw before reaching for the last plate cover.

“Honestly, I wanted to thank y-,” your words were interrupted by his sudden whine. 

“No dessert?” his brow arched slightly. 

“Oh. Shoot, sorry. I … I didn’t think you’d want any.” your words came out as a stutter, eyes frantically searching for the phone. 

“Mhmm, but I would kill for some cheesecake.” he sighed with a pout, loosening the buttons on his shirt. 

Changing out of the cotton fabric that covered his cucumber-scented body roughly five minutes ago, Jungkook decided to parade the same pyjama set as you. And, now that the two of you were matching, it was clear what your mom’s mission was all along. 

“Yeah, okay, let me just call them b-” 

“No need.” 

“Huh? So, you don’t want dessert?” 

“I do.” he teased, keeping his voice low and calm. 

“Okay, let’s cut back on the riddles, Jeon. Do I call or not?”

But, there was no answer. Instead, he simply excused himself from the table before walking towards the red couch, patting the seat next to him. 

“Come here, y/n.” his voice lowered to a rumble, darkened orbs filled with nothing but lust. 

“Why?”

“If I can’t touch you let me at least taste you.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. Hands fidgeting with the rings on your fingers. 

“I beg your finest pardon?” you scoffed from pure disbelief, folding your arms over your chest. 

“Baby, you have at max three seconds to walk your fine self over here before I grab you myself.” 

“Was that a threat?” you glared at his sly expression, hooded gaze colliding with yours. 

“One …” his tone demanded a response. 

But, you didn’t move. Not even an inch. Aggravating the tension. 

“Two …” 

Who does he think he is? Grab you myself. Claw machine sounding ass. 

“Three …” 

You chuckled, giving him the nastiest eye roll before your muscles tensed up, seeing his 5’8 gym rat physique actually get up. 

“Okay! Alright! I’m coming.” you blurted in sheer panic, fixing your bottoms before doing the walk of shame toward his pleased self. 

Reaching out his hand, you pushed it away, reminding him of the deal. 

“Right here, love.” Jungkook grinned, marking his chest as a target for your landing. 

What a tease. 

“You know what, Koo. Fine. If you want to play games, let’s play a game.” you hissed with a wink, stripping out of the silk fabric before dropping it on his lap.  

“Fucking hell.” a growl escaped his parted lips as his eyes raked over your glistening skin, admiring every inch, every crevice of your body. 

He was needy, but you were too busy rummaging through the mini-fridge to notice how desperately he longed for your attention. 

“Perfect!” you exclaimed, shaking a bottle of whipped cream before straddling his lap once again. Except this time, in your black lingerie. One that was initially reserved for Jaewon’s eyes only until he decided to fuck you over. Now, the privilege was all Jungkook’s. 

“Y/n.” he breathed out heavily, creased forehead resting on yours. 

And, as you pressed your thumb against his chin, your index finger slid along his bottom lip, feeling his tongue lick the cream off your skin. 

“Just like that, baby.” you gave him a tiny nod of reassurance, glancing up at his doe-eyed gaze. 

Fuck, submissiveness never looked this good. 

“Y/n, please.” he whimpered, hands hovering over your skin before you finally gave in, intertwining your fingers with his. 

Unclasping your bra, you let his veiny hands rest on your perky breasts, decorating your hardened nipples with his special treat. 

“Taste me,” you purred, tugging on his bottom lip as his mouth opened in a half-moan. 

He was wasted. Big time. 

“You sure?” he had to double-check, searching your lustful gaze for approval. 

“I am. Enjoy your dessert, Jeon.” the words simply rolled off your tongue, like you’ve been meaning to say them all along. And, as you ran your fingers through his messy hair, slightly tugging on the ends, the built-up need within you slowly inched up, begging for his touch. 

Cupping your breasts in his burning palms, he peppered your skin with sloppy kisses, teeth grazing against the pinks of your sensitive nipples before biting down on the flesh. 

“Fuck” you hissed with your head jerked back. 

Sucking off the creamy delight that painted your swollen tits, his pierced tongue licked its way up to your parted mouth, marking your neck with purple hues of possession. 

“Koo,” you rasped against his ear, shamelessly rocking your hips back and forth as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten. 

“I know, baby.” he muttered, gently lifting your frail body before pinning it against the armrest of the red couch. 

Giving a little shake to the whipping cream that dropped from your hands, Jungkook levelled his face to yours, drawing a line down your stomach. And, as he watched you arch your back from the cold sensation, a spark of temptation danced in his darkened eyes, cheeks flushed from the sinful whimpers that escaped your parted lips until the warmth of his tongue eased the pain. 

Moving down the center line, his fingertips traced your ribs, a faint outline of which poked with each breath you took. In and out, your diaphragm was working overtime, trying to keep up with the suffocating demand. One that only fueled Jungkook’s cravings, as he tugged onto the black lace of your lingerie. 

“Compliments to the chef,” he whispered teasingly, gaze softening at the arousal that had your panties all drenched. 

“Jeon, stop staring, this is so embarrassing.” you whined, voice muffled by the pillow that covered your rosy cheeks as you desperately attempted to close your legs and simply vanish. 

“It’s not my fault someone forgot to order dessert.” he grinned, pulling you closer as his hold on your thighs tightened, before hooking your ankles over his bare shoulders. “Now, please. Let a man eat.”

Admiring your sleeping features, Jungkook cuddled into your chest, planting soft kisses on your marked neck before dozing off inside your arms until the buzzing of your phone startled him right out of REM. 

No Caller ID

“Y/n?” a man’s hesitant voice echoed in his ear. 

“She’s sleeping.” Jungkook muttered, gently stroking your knuckles with his thumb. 

“Who is this? Jungkook, is that you?” Jaewon exclaimed, evidently more on edge than before. 

“What do you want?” 

“Can I talk to, y/n?” 

“As I just said, she’s sleeping.” Jungkook’s tone was low, aggravated by the need to repeat himself.

“Well, can you wake her up?” 

“She seemed quite worn out after the fifth round, so I probably shouldn’t.” a grin curled his lips as you rested your head on his heaving chest, completely naive to the unfolded event. 

“What?” 

“Lose the number, Jaewon.” Jungkook gritted through his teeth, ending the call before tossing your phone on the edge of the bed. 

Feeling the warmth of the sun rays peeking through the silk curtains, you stretched your sore body, patting the mattress next to you before noticing Jungkook’s absence. 

“Mmhm?” you pouted, reaching for your phone to check the time. 

There’s no way you slept through breakfast and he didn’t wake you. Based on your history of ‘hangryness’ and emotional breakdowns that followed suit he should know better. 

7:45 am 

“Jungkook?” you called out, covering yourself with the sheer nightgown before knocking on the bathroom door, waiting for a response. 

Nothing. 

“Jeon?” you called again, this time scanning the living room. Everything looked frozen in time, left untouched from the night before — the empty bottle of wine and the stained glass marked with your red lipstick. But still, no trace of Jungkook.

Going back into the bedroom, you quickly brushed your teeth and changed into a baby blue sundress, opening up the blinds to let in the natural light.

“Shit!” you yelped, widened eyes staring at Jungkook’s sculpted back. 

Sliding the door just enough to pass by, you felt the goosebumps spread across your body as the morning breeze danced around your bare skin. 

“Oh, I thought you quit.” you gasped, brows knitted with confusion as you looked over his broad shoulders, the smell of cigarettes lingering between you two. 

“Yeah, well, I thought you cut ties with Jaewon. So … I guess we’re both disappointed.” Jungkook exhaled sharply, turning his head halfway to take in another puff. 

Something was off, he seemed distant, cold to the touch. 

“What? What are you talking about?” you asked, hands fidgeting with the straps of your dress. 

“He called last night.” 

“Why? Is he okay?” 

And, that’s when he erupted. Back pressed against the railing, his body turned to face your timid form, before muttering, “Do you care?”

“Well, no? But … if we stopped talking and you suddenly called I would want to know why,” you hesitated with the explanation, analyzing the way his forehead creased with each word.  

“Mmhm, except I never treated you like a scrumbag, did I?” Jungkook swallowed, rubbing his tattooed hand along his flexed jaw. 

“True, but you never pursued me either.” you snapped back, arms crossed over your burning chest. 

“This is a prank, isn’t it?” he scoffed maniacally, eyes twitching from disbelief. 

“I’m dead serious, Jeon. Why did you keep your distance if you wanted me so badly?”

He didn’t answer. Letting the two of you stare at each other for a split second, before finally taking a step forward, following your pace as your back hit the glass door. Leaning his hands on either side of your head, his broad shoulders hovered over you.

If this was his attempt at scaring you or somehow making you feel beneath him, it was not working. Because, as his face levelled with yours, your gaze furrowed, never breaking eye contact. Standing firm on what you said. 

“Y/n, I kept my distance because I wanted you so bad.” 

“Kind of dumb, don’t you think?” you pouted with a slight head tilt. 

By now, Jungkook was ready to combust. The adrenaline running through his veins prepared to set off his fight or flight response at any given moment. 

“Okay. Fine. How about I pursue myself into your ass, hmm?” he growled, tone demanding a response. 

“I'd looove to see you try.” you teased, eyes fluttering with innocence. 

“On the bed.” 

“Excuse me?” you scoffed, tongue poking the side of your cheek. 

“You heard me. Chop chop, baby girl.” Jungkook rasped against your ear, nibbling on the soft skin as a final warning. 

To be honest you really didn’t know what you were getting yourself into until his fingers ran down your spine, hands tightening their hold on your hips as his growing boner pressed against the arch of your ass. 

Fuck, he was serious. 

“From now on, I’ll be so close you’d have to scrub my scent off you,” he sneered, gently sliding his two digits over your folds, fingertips coated with your wetness as you remained on all fours. 

“Koo,” you whimpered, tugging on your bottom lip.

Parting your throbbing cunt, his pierced tongue licked your clit, thumb rubbing it in small circles before your moans grew louder. More desperate. More needy. Hazy mind unable to fathom the calmness you radiated just a few minutes ago. 

“Hold on.” he whispered, reaching for his wallet to grab a strip of condoms before ripping one open with his gritted teeth. 

“Tell me if this is dumb enough for you.” Jungkook teased, mouth sliding along your tensed jaw as he rubbed his erection against your clit, resisting the urge to fill you up right then and there. 

It was clear that your words irked him but he had to remain calm enough to not hurt you, forcing his annoyance to cool off with a verbal mock. 

And, as he slowly pushed himself in, whimpers escaped your parted lips, hands gathering up the white sheets into knots, feeling his cock stretch its way in against the warmth of your walls. Cautious of his pace, he needed you to adjust, pulling in and out until there was enough lubrication for the growing friction to feel good, painless.

“Koo,” you whined again, gasping for air as his lips left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your back. 

“Just like that, baby. You’re doing so good.” Jungkook reassured, softening his hooded gaze upon hearing your sweet sounds. The ones that poisoned his thoughts and invaded his dreams all those countless nights. 

Clenching your clit on his throbbing length, his vision grew in and out of focus, hissing at the tingling sensation. 

“Fuuuck, y/n.” he moaned, fingers digging into your ass, before jerking his head back. 

Picking up his pace, Jungkook went faster and harder. Slamming himself into you, until his twitching tip touched the surface of your cervix, making your toes curl in ecstasy, as a trail of juices ran down your trembling thighs. 

“Jeon, I'm gonna faint.” you cried out, feeling your throat tighten, lungs stripped away from air.

“Just a little longer, baby.” he muttered, chest heaving up from exhaustion. 

He was close. Very close. So, as your walls clenched around him for the sixth time, he could have sworn his dick melted. Became part of your anatomy, no longer attached to his person. Surrendered with a white flag. 

“Y/n, look at me.” he urged breathlessly, snapping the rubber off his sensitive dick before giving it a few more pumps, squirting his cum onto your displayed tongue, completely exasperating in the process.  

“So,” you swallowed obediently, “now that you've pursued my ass you'll quit smoking, right?” your doe-eyed gaze glanced up at his darkened orbs that watched you lick the dripping cum off his tip as you sat on your knees. Aware of his response, you brushed your lips against his, inviting his tongue inside before his burning body collided with yours, smiling into the deep kiss. 

“Well, technically, I didn't go near your ass. Not many girls like that.” Jungkook teased, tucking a few curls behind your ear.  

“Many girls, huh? How many?” you murmured, tracing the tattoos on his arm as your bodies laid skin to skin, staring at the white ceiling. 

“About five.” he answered, a bit too quickly for your liking. 

“Five? You man whore.” you scoffed with disgust, quickly retracting your hand from his. 

“Sometimes six, depending on which video loads first.” his nose scrunched in a tiny giggle once he saw your mouth drop, expression left dumbfounded as the dots in your head began to connect. 

So, that's what kept him busy all this time. Porn? Phenomenal. 

“Next time, I'll just stay curious.” you sighed, half disappointed yet, also relieved. He might’ve just lied straight to your face but sometimes, it's better to simply pick your battles, choosing to live in blissful ignorance than the chaos of reality. Whatever his reality entails.

[lalunanymph]

𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐆𝐎

↳ a foul-mouthed, aggressive, pro-soccer player on the verge of being disqualified from the biggest game of his life, is tossed into a fake relationship with a spoiled heiress to salvage their bad public reputation. what exactly could go wrong?

𖨆♡𖨆 itoshi rin x fem!reader

cw. fake dating, mentions of alcohol, explicit smut, unprotected sex, angst, mentions of death, mentions of cheating, violence (not towards reader), arguments

masterlist | playlist

#4: BABY BOY

Soccer superstar, Itoshi Rin, and influencer, L/N Y/N, debut their brand new relationship—exclusive photos and interviews here!

The headline in Anri’s grasp could’ve burned your retinas off. The editors really went above and beyond to design it such that anyone passing by a newsstand could catch sight of it even when they were a few feet away. Not to mention the searing image of you and Rin brazenly locking lips on the cover.

Your social media was blowing up with mentions, and so were your group chats. Junni herself hadn’t stopped calling you since this morning. You had let every single one of her calls go to voicemail; it was far too early to deal with her shrieking and endless questions.

No doubt she would scold you for leaving her in the dark, and comment on how you were such a bad friend for not telling her the truth. 

Your eyes darted around the meeting room, landing on Rin’s who quickly averted his gaze. His long lashes cast shadows onto his placid expression, and next to him, Ego looked extremely pleased as he peered into his iPad. 

“The organisers are asking me whether this news is real,” the megalomaniac behind Blue Lock chortled. “I suppose we’ll see a new surge of investors for the Silver Strikers soon, huh, L/N-san?”

Your father’s discomfort was palpable, and you could sense how hard he was trying to not glance at the front spread of you passionately kissing Rin, preferring to clear his throat and look Ego in the eyes instead. “Yes, Ego-san. We’ve received a few interesting queries.”

“Good, good.”

Anri picked the magazine up and stuffed it into her briefcase. The PR manager who had roped the two of you into this mess in the first place excitedly waved his phone.

“Y/N-san and Itoshi-san are trending on Twitter!” 

Everyone scrolled through their phones, excited to witness the fruits of this unexpected arrangement, except you and Rin.

The silence was suffocating in this tiny room, and you could hear the gears in every player’s head spinning, wondering how they were going to orchestrate the next appearance of their two favourite pawns. 

“Well,” Daichi pursed his lips and set his phone down. “It appears our plan has worked, Ego-san.”

You tried not to flinch when he patted your shoulder heavily. “Y/N, are you still comfortable resuming this fake relationship for a little while longer?” 

Unbidden, your eyes darted straight to Rin’s who was staring at you from across the table. Silently waiting for your answer. You were tongue tied, caught between selfish desire and the uncertainty of Rin’s true feelings for you. He hadn’t exactly told you what he thought about this sudden wrench thrown into the fake relationship, and you didn’t want to presume anything.

“U-um… what does Itoshi-san have to say about it?” 

Everyone expected Rin to rebuke your words with a rude remark as characteristic of his blunt nature. But, to everyone’s surprise, he just scoffed and leaned back into his chair, turning his impassive eyes towards the outside window. “You can make that decision yourself, Y/N. You don’t have to look to me for guidance.”

This day was spinning deeper and deeper down the web of confusion. Your pretend lover had on a black turtleneck to hide the marks you left on his pale throat the night before, and you had slapped on so much concealer on your own neck, you were terrified that the heat might’ve made the makeup run down; revealing the stark truth of how you and Rin had both slept with each other the night before.

You could not imagine the mortification your father would face if he found out. 

Despite Rin’s hot and cold attitude, and the sudden dizzying reality of the ball he placed firmly in your court, you did not possess an ounce of common sense when you nodded, forsaking rationality for the sudden impulsion to continue on with this charade. To stoke the curiosity burning within you to see what would eventually happen if you and Rin were given more time to get to know each other. 

“I’m okay with carrying on this relationship.”

The meeting was shortly adjourned. Your father stayed back to speak to you, and you noticed the fine lines on his face; the stress from this unprecedented deal showing up on his expression, clear as day.

“Is he treating you well?”

The marks on your neck seemed to burn, reminding you of the debauchery you and Rin participated in before this untimely meeting. You nodded meekly.

“He’s nice, tou-san. He respects my boundaries.”

Daichi could only purse his lips and nod. After all, you were a legal, consenting adult and this was your contribution to help the Silver Strikers regain their footing back in the soccer world.

There was little he could do to dissuade you from changing your mind, and he had a good sense that you were not going to until your duty was done. 

“Your freakishly long arms are taking up half the bed—”

“No, they’re not,” he scowled fiercely, and the effect would’ve been more severe if he wasn’t dressed in a grey shirt with an owl motif embossed on his right pec. Fresh from the shower after practice, it was customary for Rin to cuddle up to you throughout the night until you both fell asleep, and on most days, you were grateful for his broad frame and warmth. But, on days like these when you were prickly from a lack of sleep and the piling deadlines, you chose to complain about his tall physique. 

“You are, too! I can't even breathe at night with you smothering me.”

His scowl deepened when he noticed your lips curving upwards into a smile; until it hit him that you were only teasing. 

“Like you were complaining last night when you told me to go quote unquote harder please.”

Your cheeks warmed and you tittered, unable to look him in the eye. “That was last night. This is now. Please move a little to the side, I need some space to breathe.” 

Rin rolled his eyes, but did as you asked him to. You rewarded his gruff acceptance by slinging your arm around him and scooting closer to his side of the bed, sighing in contentment when you curled into his embrace.

Though he was the shyer of you both, and did not initiate physical contact much, you were the bolder one with your desires and demanded he sleep with you in the bedroom after what had transpired between the both of you two weeks ago. No more transiting to the couch or alternating between it. 

Itoshi Rin was glued to your hip whether he liked it or not. 

And in this  instant, he wasn’t sure if he did.

“I give you the damn blanket every night,” he mumbled under his breath, expression souring. You poked at his mounting temper, kicking it up a notch with a giggle.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” You kissed his cheek in apology and he scoffed, but begrudgingly nuzzled his face into your neck. 

Affection was an unfamiliar language to Itoshi Rin. It mocked him with twists and turns he could not quite keep up with; a fleeting butterfly he often lost in the thick foliage which hid his true heart from the world. Unlike soccer where he was well-versed with its techniques and numerous quirks, love was something Rin failed to grasp; it was something which his fast legs and swift mind could not conquer. Love did not have a score nor did it have a goal. It existed outside of his talent and conceited achievements. 

The last time anyone had remotely even paid any attention or affection to him was when he was too young to understand anything but his determination to bask in Sae’s shadow. 

That was before the incident. 

Before Rin found out that even the biggest of stars in the universe can seem small when its back was turned away from him.

Your close proximity remedied some pockets of the numbness. Gave him back a smile or two thrown in your direction when you weren’t looking. The steadiness of your affection. Your open acceptance of his temper, sour behaviour and snappish mannerisms.  

You didn’t judge him when he woke up in the middle of the night, back ramrod straight and a faraway look in his eyes as the memory of that snowy night replayed through his subconscious mind like an insidious record player. Reminding him of his inferiority; his lack of worth. Reminding him of the brother he lost. 

Rin? Are you okay? You mumbled in the thick of the night, reaching for him. He didn’t respond, and all you did was bring him back into your arms, letting him rest his head in the crook of your neck. The effect was immediate: his rigid shoulders loosened; his breath steadied and the nausea churning anxiously in his stomach calmed at your touch. S’bad nightmare, that’s all. Your steady fingers massaging his scalp brought him back down to the ground. You were just dreaming. 

Sometimes, Rin wondered just what you saw in him. 

He ruminated on those thoughts when you were sitting opposite of him, preparing breakfast, or when you were rattling on about another campaign which you were hesitant to take up. You would always look at him, gauge his reaction, and wait for his response. Sometimes, you would smile at his retort or roll your eyes. 

Rin didn’t care about anything else like Ego’s barely veiled threats for him to sharpen his form before the World Cup or Anri chasing him down for yet another pointless interview which took precious time out of training. As long as you kept on looking at him like he meant something to you. Like he was someone important. He didn’t care what life threw at him so long as he could come home and shed off the unbearable weight of his world in your arms. 

You understood how demanding his career as a soccer superstar was, and didn’t question him whenever he came home late, bruises and cuts littering his calves. With this blossoming relationship, it was easier to commit to the charade when altruistic actions started cropping up. Like when you would dab medication onto his open wounds and ice his sore muscles until he was no longer achy. Or, when he would come back home from the gym, sweaty yet still incredibly good-looking, leaving you tongue-tied on the couch when he asked you what was wrong. 

Rin knew the emotions were piling up. He knew he could no longer hide them. 

But, he was hopeless to even try. 

In public, Rin and you no longer hesitated to take the other’s hand, solidifying this front of two individuals madly in love with one another. The paparazzi went wild, predictably, and the conversation of Rin’s bad behaviour on the fields and your raging drunk scandal went under the radar. Sometimes, a sceptical netizen would bring up the untimely coincidence of this relationship with Rin’s mounting disrepute in the soccer world, but Ego and his team managed to shut it down by downvoting the comment until it was forced to be removed from forum boards.

During the day, you and Rin would lead your own separate lives, but nights were when you both found each other again. 

A comforting routine began to grow: wake up beside each other, drink coffee in companionable silence, and head out to work or practice. At night, you would either prepare dinner with his help or order takeout. Sometimes, you two would make love, and the other times, you would just rest in each other’s embraces, talking about everything and nothing at all.

Rin would let you do most of the talking, preferring to listen. You discerned which topics were safe to bring up (soccer, his annoying teammates), and which ones you should never touch with a ten foot pole (Sae, his parents, his earlier years). As infuriating as it was to try and get to know Itoshi Rin, you respected his boundaries and didn’t demand for more than you were given.

The lines of both your lives grew even more intertwined, and what stemmed once from deception soon grew into something you feared was real. 

You couldn’t imagine waking up in the mornings without Rin’s mop of dark green hair splayed out across your pillow, or not feeling the warm puffs of his breaths on your shoulder. Neither could you fathom who you were as a person months ago without his signature cup of coffee on the kitchen island to greet you after your morning shower. 

Didn’t someone say once that the more time you spent with a person, the more of their mannerisms you would adopt? 

You had started to adapt to Rin’s morning routine of jogging for an hour, but you did it in the comfort of your home gym once he was out for practice. You started to notice your expensive conditioner leaving your shower shelf into his own, a telltale effect from a bout of bickering when you were mortified he did not condition his hair after shampooing it. 

More often than not, you found yourself missing him a little too much, and resorted to wearing his soccer jersey around the house while you cleaned up and perused your social media for more content ideas.

The door clicked open at the same moment you glanced up from your phone, suddenly panicking. Rin didn’t know all about your sneaky tactics in wearing his jerseys (since he has so many around this house, anyway) and it was too late for you to change. He walked in and found you about to stand from the sofa, wide-eyed and frozen to the spot. His teal gaze raked down your figure, immediately recognising his Blue Lock jersey.

“Huh,” he murmured, setting his gym bag down onto the floor. “What’re you doing with that?” 

You brought your legs to your chest, suddenly feeling defensive. “I-I didn’t have enough shirts because… because—you! You forgot to do the laundry. So, I was forced to wear this.”

Rin narrowed his eyes at your accusation, not believing a single word of it. “Oh, yeah? Guess what, dummy? You were the one who was supposed to do laundry this week.”

Hook, line and sinker. 

He had you cornered and unable to give another flimsy excuse. 

You huffed and stood up, which was a mistake because his sharp eyes immediately zeroed in on your bare thighs. 

“Are you… not wearing…?”

He couldn't finish his words. You scoffed, and foolishly lifted the hem of his jersey to show him the tiny shorts you wore underneath. “No. Did’ya think I’m that much of a flirt? Calm your horniness down, loser.”

Were you intentionally trying to get a rise out of him? 

His cock throbbed behind his gym shorts, and Rin was painfully aware of how pretty you looked, glaring at him in nothing but his jersey; your pebbling nipples catching his sharp eyes and stealing his last coherent thought.

Well, if you were trying to get him mad, it was working.

Adrenaline and testosterone from today’s training session reared its head again, and he made it to your side of the room in swift strides, sweeping you into his embrace and crashing his lips down on yours. 

Rin kissed you like he was deprived of oxygen, and you reciprocated with a sharp gasp, your smaller fingers twining in his hair. He lifted you into his arms, and in a dizzying haze of his freakish strength, he held you with one arm while the other ripped your shorts off—actually ripped it, the fabric burn searing your skin—and filled you in one quick thrust with his cock.

He bounced you up and down his length using his sheer size, bringing out your sweet noises that rattled around the room. 

“Rin!” you moaned into his ear and he grunted, thighs starting to shake. “Oh, fuck—so good! You—mhm—fuck me s’good!” 

He finished you on the couch and you rode him till your thighs burned, still clad in his jersey and with his thumb lodged in your mouth. When you finally reached your high, you slumped onto his chest, tired and sated. Rin was breathing hard, unable to open his eyes, mind running on a cocktail of oxytocin and calm. 

“Can I keep this?” your small mumble knocked him back to reality. He opened his eyes to find you fingering the hem of the polyester shirt which was drenched with your sweat. Rin merely nodded, not sure why the sight of your warming face made his stomach flip like he had just scored a risky goal. 

“Go ahead.” It looks better on you, anyway. He didn’t have the nerve to utter that last part out loud. 

Rin and you were growing much more comfortable around each other that it started to scare you; you had no doubt it was scaring him, too. 

One day, you woke up to find the bed empty, and you scoured the penthouse in search of him only to find your cup of coffee in the kitchen, standing forlornly without Rin’s curt good morning greeting attached to it. He had texted you that he had to head to the training centre earlier, and you didn’t see him until midnight.

The dinner you prepared for him was left untouched in the microwave the day after, and you fumed as you cleaned up the mess, poisonous thoughts swirling in your mind. Most of all, you felt unappreciated. Was it so hard for him to clean up after himself? 

But, you tried to be patient; you really did. 

Rin was busier than you were now with the World Cup approaching, and his training was often rigorous and time-consuming.

He became more snappier with you, sour mood darkening the walls of this penthouse that it often left you suffocated. 

You were halfway glad when your manager gave you a campaign which had to be shot in the next week before the launch of the World Cup. At least it gave you the excuse to escape these insufferable walls. 

The moment you stepped into the studio, you were surprised to find a familiar face.

“Aiku?” 

The famous Munchen player who you once had lunch together with during a soccer conference snapped his head up from scrolling through his phone, a bright smile growing on his face when he realised it was you; his dual-hued eyes sparkling in recognition. 

“Eh, Y/N. What’re you doing here?” 

You set your bag down with a tight smile and gestured to the setup. “I’m the talent for today. What about you?”

His chuckle was warm and welcoming, taking you back with its familiarity. “I’m one of the talents, too.” 

Oliver Aiku, according to Junni, was a flirtatious red flag walking on two legs. And you could see why; he had the charm and looks, his status as one of Japan’s top players leaving little room for his confidence to falter.

In short, he was a man who had it all. 

You were halfway embarrassed to stand before him in a skimpy dress while he was in his soccer gear; the both of you making small talk as the production house rushed around to get the set fit for filming. According to your manager, this was a commercial to boost Munchen’s brand presence as the World Cup date approached. 

Though you were tied to Rin in a fake relationship, there was nothing in your contract which stated you could not work with another team. Besides, you were sure Rin wouldn’t mind you play-acting as his teammate’s love interest.

The filming began, and you had to take a few shots with Aiku, which led you sitting on his lap, clapping for joy when he scored a goal on the fake TV screen they were going to superimpose with his image of a fantastic bicycle kick later on in post-production. 

The shoot dragged on, bottomless and exhausting. I want to sleep. You were completely tired by the end of it when Oliver entered your dressing room. He leaned against the door, smiling at you with his arms crossed as you slipped your earrings back on and grimaced from a sudden pang of hunger.

“Heard about your relationship with Sae’s lil bro. Congrats, by the way.”

You shot him a smile, relaxed in his presence. Oliver had an aura about him that you could trust, despite his reputation with women. 

“Thank you. We’re really happy.”

Perhaps it was the slight crack in your tone or the flickering glimmer of your eyes which made it easy for Oliver zeroed in on your true unhappiness. “Hey,” he frowned, dual-colour eyes shining with concern. “Is everything alright?” 

You don’t dare to speak in case you may break down and place an unfair burden on a stranger’s shoulder. Oliver and you weren’t exactly close, and despite how comfortable you felt with him, it gave you no right to spill the secrets of your relationship to a man who was, for all intents and purposes, Blue Lock’s rival. You were sure you would be in deep trouble with your father and Ego if word got out about the true nature of your connection with the youngest Itoshi. 

In answer, you smiled brighter and nodded. 

Oliver sensed through your brooding silence that this topic was off limits and offered you his help in other ways. “Can I walk you back to your car?” 

You had parked in the basement of this building and night was already here. Nobody would bat an eye if he escorted you back to your car, concerned for your safety. Oliver remained a safe distance from you, and you were grateful for his silence, suddenly lost in the workings of your inner thoughts.

“Hey,” Oliver spoke up suddenly. You turned to find his roguishly handsome features speckled with a teasing smile. “If Rin ever gives you hell, tell me, ‘kay? I’ll put in a word with Sae to straighten him out.”

Despite your apprehension on talking about your fake relationship with someone intimately in Rin’s world, you smiled. “Rin is a gentleman,” you rebuked his offer with a dainty laugh. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”

Aiku smiled. “Okay.” He opened the door for you and you slid in with a nod of thanks. “Drive safe, Y/N. I hope we’ll meet each other soon.” 

Your answering grin was doused with warmth, and you nodded again. “See you soon, Oliver.”

The moment you stepped into the penthouse, exhausted from the heavy traffic and today’s shoot, you sensed something pugnacious in the air. The sensation curled in your stomach like a dreadful cold tendril, and it was exacerbated when you noticed Rin sitting on the sofa, his features hidden by the half-light. He didn’t greet you, awfully silent; toying with his phone, its dim screen casting shadows on his defined face. 

When he heard the door close, he stood up. 

You paused in the hallway, unsure if you should approach him. If it was even safe to do so. 

The distance he put between you two yawned like a chasm, beckoning you to be consumed by the abyss. You wanted to stare into it, to goad it into a reaction so he could at least tell you what was bothering him inside.

“Heard you had a video shoot with Aiku,” he muttered without preamble. Even wrapped in the shadows, his teal eyes shone brightly, though you weren’t privy to the smouldering emotion behind them. 

“Yeah,” you frowned and set your keys down on the console table. “It was for Munchen’s promo. Why?” 

You sensed he was struggling with some huge emotion he could not put into words. Rin’s passive expression twisted into a glare, but it wasn’t the scowls you were used to which were given in a playful context. He genuinely looked pissed at the thought of you together with Aiku. 

“Isn’t it in breach of the contract?” 

You inwardly flinched from the vitriol in his tone. 

Your mind raced in circles, palms going clammy. Confrontation was not your forte.

“It’s not,” you tried to argue back feebly. “I checked the contract with my father. He said it was okay for me to—”

“Didn’t you think to ask me, too?” Rin demanded.

You took a step back, shocked from his sudden outrage. “Rin. W-Why should I ask you for permission? We’re not together. I can do anything I want and so can you.” The second you spoke those words, regret washed over you like a huge tidal wave. Rin’s expression, once brimming with anger, shut down on itself. Losing its spark. 

His neutral gaze raked over your sweatpants and hoodie-clad figure, teal eyes inscrutable. “I see.”

Rin did not say anything else. You watched, rooted to the spot when he picked up his keys and wallet, heading for the front door. Something irrational clawed up your throat, and you took one step forward to grip his elbow. 

To your surprise, he tugged it back with a huff, spinning around to glare at you. “Fuck off, Y/N,” he snarled, his words leaving a huge blow to your composure. Your lower lip wobbled, and your eyes misted over with tears.

“R-Rin—”

“Don’t fucking cry for me,” he continued in his noxious anger. “You said it yourself. We’re not together. So, don’t cry for me like I’m your lover.”

You thought it would be the extent of his spiteful actions, but Rin bulldozed through your emotions, barely caring where his hostile words landed.

“You’re nothing but a nuisance to me. I can’t believe I let this agreement go on for this long. I should’ve ended it in that meeting room. You make me want to fucking puke.”

A sob slipped past your lax lips, and you were trembling from head to toe. “Rin… stop this—w-we’re still a team.” Your words were faint and feeble, easily swept aside by his venomous anger. 

“Maybe you believed we had something special but to me, you’re nothing but a pathetic little brat who relies on daddy for everything. Sickening. Get the hell away from me. I want this arrangement to end now. Get out of my sight.” 

Your soul was aching, your entire body hurting like someone had put you through a hurricane.

“Rinny… please don’t say that,” you mumbled tearfully, reaching for him again, only to be pushed aside. His pretty features were contorted into such a terrifying glare, you were sure your chest would cave in from the agony.

He didn’t bother to reply. Turning around sharply and wrenching the door open, he slammed it closed, leaving alone in your crumbling despair. 

You didn’t know how long you stood there, staring at the door. Waiting for him to come back. Waiting for him to apologise for his unfair treatment. Just waiting for him to reappear again so you could give him a piece of your mind.

When you finally snapped out of it and staggered onto the sofa, eyes still peeled on the door, you noticed the wall clock telling you it was close to three in the morning.

And he still had not come home.

“I heard him say she was an inconvenience,” the voice from the locker room stopped you short. 

You hadn’t slept a wink the night before, and your swollen eyes were hidden behind a pair of shades. When morning came, and Rin was still missing, you convinced yourself to try again; to apologise for your rashness when the voices of his teammates stopped you short. 

Perhaps it was a mistake to search for him at the Blue Lock facility. 

“Can’t believe he ended it so suddenly.”

“Heard he went to a bar last night—that’s a first,” another man snorted. “But then again, I wouldn’t be surprised if he went back home with another chick. Itoshi has always been a bastard.”

Someone clicked their tongue. “She deserves better. Anyway, what’s for lunch—?”

You took a step back, suddenly feeling out of place. How easily your budding emotions for Rin were cast aside as gossip for the day. 

The fluorescent lights were far too garish, tunnelling into your blurry vision. Holding back your tears, hoping they would not fall, you had the worst luck to bump into Anri herself. She chirped a hello, only for you to push past her with a low mumble of how busy you were.

Uncaring that you would be perceived as a rude bitch, you hurried back to your car, slamming the door closed as you finally let the dam burst. Your loud sobs ricocheted around the interior, hidden behind the heavily tinted windows, and you held onto your torso, bleeding out the pain you held on for the whole night. 

While you were tossing and turning, trying to reach him and apologise, Rin had discarded you like you didn’t mean a thing; running into the arms of another girl. Running away from you. 

But, what did you expect? 

Itoshi Rin was a cruel bastard on and off the field. He didn’t care about anyone else but himself. An egotistical man through and through. 

A man incapable of love. 

Why did you even think he would care for you? 

That this whole thing was real? 

You were surprised he did not evict you from the penthouse. At the thought, you summoned enough inner strength to straighten your glasses back on and slowly reverse out of the facility, heading straight to your father’s office. 

The moment you entered, he could tell something was wrong. Daichi set down his pen, gazing at you in concern. 

“Darling?” 

From your rumpled clothes to your swollen cheeks, every line on your weary figure spoke of a palpable heartbreak.

“I want to end this arrangement.” You didn’t care if Rin had reached out to him first. Or, if Ego would skin your father alive for prematurely dashing their grand plan. You wanted nothing to do with Itoshi Rin anymore.

Daichi removed his glasses and set them down on the desk, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Let me guess. A fight?” 

You stared at the carpet underneath your sneakers, saying nothing.

After a few more moments of your stubborn silence, Daichi relented. “Fine. I will tell Ego this is over. I—”

“I’m sorry,” you finally mumbled, at least having the face to apologise for ruining your father’s carefully constructed plan to save the Silver Strikers. “I tried, tou-san. I really did. But, he’s—we’re—not able to pretend anymore.”

Daichi’s expression fractured in concern when tears started to bead on your lash line. “Darling, I’m not angry with you. Screw the investors. If you’re unhappy, we’ll end this stupid fake relationship.” He stood up, and the scent of his Old Spice cologne made your nose tickle as he got closer, especially when he pulled you into his tight embrace. “I was against this in the first place. Itoshi is not a good man. I’m sorry for forcing this on you. This agreement is over.”

You sniffed, and nodded, grateful for his swift compassion. It was the least you deserved after last night’s ordeal. “Thank you, tou-san.” 

Your father let you go, and scrutinised your expression. “What do you need now?” 

What did you need now? 

You could not think clearly, your thoughts replaying his snarl in your mind, your chest achingly empty. But, Daichi was a man of action, and he needed to know what to do next. 

“I want to remove my things from that penthouse,” you decided in a soft, hoarse voice. “Then, I’ll figure out my next move.”

Daichi peered at you without a hint of emotion on his weathered face. Eventually, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll get the movers to help out. Do you want me to inform Ego?”

Honestly, you couldn’t give two shits if Rin’s coach found out the truth. You wanted nothing more than to remove yourself from this situation as fast as you could. So, you shrugged, and your father knew it was wise not to push you into making any more decisions. 

He let you leave the office without another word, and you tearfully went back to the penthouse, unsurprised to find Rin still missing. Pain wore you down when you figured out that he was actively avoiding you. Sure, it made things easier, but you wished—on some level—that he would fight for you. Come back to you. 

Was it a lot to ask for? 

Stuffing your clothes in your luggage bag, you paused when the soft material of his jersey grazed your fingertips. Such a simple, innocuous item had the power to flood you with memories; the time he came back home and found you lounging around in this same shirt, the nights you cuddled next to him wearing this jersey.

If we were just pretending, why did it feel so real? 

The answer to that question would elude you. 

Just like Rin’s presence and how easily he took back his affection like it didn’t matter—like you didn’t matter. 

Maybe some things in life would remain indecipherable.

So, you packed his jersey with your clothes, and switched off the lights on your way out the front door, leaving this arrangement behind—leaving him behind.

After all, you weren’t obligated nor welcomed to keep on trying when he had made it abundantly clear he didn’t want anything to do with you anymore. 

The sound of clashing metal on metal rang loudly in his ears.

Rin caught the ball before it could evade his pass, and aimed for another goal. A buzzing sound went off when it careened right into the net, and his overall score increased, albeit slower than his performance yesterday. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could distinguish a figure making its way down the artificial green grass, and paid them no mind. His thoughts were tangled up, bunched together into one Gordian knot. Rin slipped a little on a wet patch on the ground and the ball skidded from his grip, his distracted thoughts causing his unwavering composure a great price.

He missed the inside of the goalpost by a few inches.

“Fuck,” he spat, straightening his wonky leg.

“You okay?”

Rin tried hard to not roll his eyes. Of course, it would be fucking Isagi Yoichi who came to check up on him. He did not reply, preferring to retrieve the ball and start on a few dribbles, pretending Isagi was not even there. 

“Is your leg working right?” 

What a dickhead. Rin was forced to swallow down his anger, Ego’s voice echoing in the back of his mind. 

One more foul, Itoshi, and you’re bench warming the World Cup until I say you can hit the field.

The warning was clear—play nice or get the fuck out of Blue Lock. And Rin could not lose his golden ticket to beat Sae at his own game. 

“Yeah,” he grumbled, loud enough for the dweeb to hear him from his corner of the field. 

“The other guys are worried.”

Rin didn’t stop bouncing the ball between his two nimble feet, aiming it straight for the goal—and missing it again.

The blood roared in his ears, and he was close to snapping someone’s neck. That someone being Isagi if the other man did not stop talking. He needed to fucking focus, for fuck’s sake. Why couldn’t anyone figure that out? 

No. All they were obsessed about was to get him to open up about his stupid fucking feelings and how he was handling this stupid breakup which wasn’t even a breakup in the first place because he wasn’t even together with that lukewarm loser and she had the fucking nerve to walk out without telling him—take her shit and leave their home like he fucking owed her an explanation and—

Rin missed the goal again.

A loud, frustrated roar ripped past his throat, and Isagi was far too close—caught up in the eye of his storm. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Rin’s fists were balled on the front of his shirt, and Isagi’s eyes were as wide as saucers.

“Itoshi—”

His words were cut off from a swift crack to his jaw. Isagi sputtered and staggered back, holding his bloody nose. “What the fuck—?!” 

Someone tackled him to the ground and more men joined in the fray to stop this brawl from fleshing out. 

Rin was hauled onto his feet, a pair of steel arms holding him back. He could see nothing but red; taste nothing but the need for revenge coating the back of his throat. Mikage fucking Reo had pushed himself in between the two men, rapid calls for a ceasefire clamouring above Isagi’s snarls to let him go. 

The bloodlust wafting from the other man should’ve given him pause, but Rin was ready. He wanted Isagi to snap—to land a swift blow either on his face or gut. He was waiting for a strike so he had an excuse to batter the shorter man to the ground. Get an excuse to take out the horrible, sticky grief in his soul which could not find an outlet from his scarred heart.

Nagi was the only one strong enough to hold Rin back, and for a split second, he resented how that lazy white-haired fucker could put in the effort when he wanted to. 

Their imminent brawl was stopped by Anri’s panicked voice stretching across the field.

“Boys! Calm down!” She managed to take over Reo’s part, though her efforts were in vain when Isagi and Rin did not stop staring the other down, teeth bared, trying to rough out of the arms holding them back.

“Itoshi. Isagi. Stand down—both of you.”

Ego’s drawl reached both their heated ears, and knocked some semblance of rationalism into them both. Isagi was the first one to take a step back, the rivulet of red running down his face standing out harshly like a cracked fissure on his skin. Bachira eventually let his friend go, and Isagi deflated, sighing.

His kick came in a flash. 

Pain exploded in his stomach and Rin grunted loudly, doubling down; if it weren’t for Nagi’s sudden tight grasp around him, he would’ve embarrassingly curled up on the ground in agony.

“For the sake of your fucking fangirls, I spared your stupid face, Itoshi.”

The ground shook, his vision turning red, and the boys were in a riot when Rin lashed out, breaking free from Nagi’s grip and thundering towards Isagi’s susceptible turned back. All the sudden, his warpath was disrupted by Ego himself, with Anri at his helm. The both of them wore twin looks of uneasiness, the feat incredible considering how this lukewarm four eyed asshole’s default reaction was to act like a cheesy anime villain half of the time.

His mentor and coach’s usual composure went out the window at the sight of his violence, knocked Rin’s anger down a few pegs and he took a step back. 

The field was silent, the other men gaping at him; Rin felt his ears burning.

“Fuck this,” he spat, turning on his heel.

“Two strikes, Itoshi,” Ego’s voice trailed after him like a ghostly rabid dog nipping at his heels. “One more time and I’m destroying your contract with Blue Lock.”

Rin had the patience enough to not flip his coach off as he left the verdant fields and straight home.

The anger pulsed in his mind, festering a hurricane from somewhere in his right temple. Beyond fatigued, he wished he had the nerve to at least attack Isagi when he was facing him. Only a coward struck from the back. His mind ran in constant circles, dragging his impending guilt and silent seething behind like a heavy ball and chain that he did not happen to notice his car idling in a garage he swore he would never return to.

His own apartment in the city centre was a long distant hum, and in a single second, he wondered just what the fuck had gotten in him.

Did his anger and impulsiveness lead him back to a place which was growing to be as familiar as his own home? 

Rin did not know the answer to that. He merely thumped his head back onto the NSX’s headrest and took a deep breath. I guess I should go up, he finally reasoned with himself. Slowly, he opened the car door, stepping into the elevator leading him straight towards the penthouse right at the top. Rin did not know what he would expect when the door fell open, but the pressing silence was a well-known guest.

He walked amongst the untouched furniture like a living ghost, staring at the couch which held the indents of his body and yours. Together; cradled in an embrace, coddled from the world. Rin should’ve never kissed your forehead, or held your hand. He never should’ve entered this agreement in the first place. If he didn’t, he might be blissfully unperturbed, spared from the horrible, serrating pain blooming fresh in the innermost parts of his soul. 

His life would still be drenched in shades of monochrome and stillness, but at least, he would be safe.  

Rin would never have to wonder if the fractured silence would shine like gold the moment your voice touched the air. He didn’t have to turn the question of your wellbeing over and over in his hands until his fingers were numb with trepidation. He wouldn’t wake up the first thing in the morning and scroll through his phone log, as if terrified he had missed a call of a lifetime. The taste of ochazuke wouldn’t be tainted with your smile. Sunrises would be just minute occurrences in the morning, and not the exact moment when you would turn in his arms and press your lips to the hollow of his neck.

His nights in watching horror movies would go back to his soiree of one, and not a chance for him to pull you closer and kiss your forehead; hold you tight while you flinched and yelped from every jumpscare. 

Most of all, every inhale he took did not come with the thought of you pressed in the back of his mind; boxed in like a neon sign on loop, demanding his every attention. 

You were suddenly a stranger who knew his secrets—how his kisses taste, how his nightmares left him susceptible to seeking out your touch. How his rancid mood could be remedied by your tinkling laugh and soothing touch.

He feared how much of him you held in your palms. How easily you left him behind without another word.

The top three worst nights of his life were when he came home to find your things missing and the rest of your items neatly in a box, ready to be shipped out to wherever in the world you were right now. 

Rin didn’t know your exact location; he didn’t dare visit your Instagram profile, keeping off the voyeuristic app for the sake of his sanity. He did watch Oliver’s feed for the brand video, and it wasn’t half as bad as he expected it to be. You were innocently sitting on Aiku’s lap, acting your part as a doting girlfriend who cheered and clapped when he scored a goal on the little TV playing in your make-believe living room. 

He took in a deep breath, looking around this corporeal, imaginary living room which held nothing but your memories. 

He wished he had spoken to you—tried to speak. But, Rin’s tongue was sharpened not from loving sentiments and dripping in honey, but spiked with toxic constipated sentiments he could never bring out from the depths of his mind. Any time he mustered the courage to call your number, he chickened out and put his phone back onto the table, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

He rubbed his sore sternum where Isagi’s forceful kick could still be felt, and winced. 

Since he was here, he decided to stay the night; after all, Ego hadn’t yet asked him to return the keys. 

Rin settled on the sofa, exhaling lowly, watching the twinking city lights splayed before him with exhausted, hooded teal eyes. A sudden click from the door made his heart explode into a thousand frenzied flutters, and he quickly scrambled to his feet, daring himself to hope, to dream—that you would come back to him.

But, it was your father who paused by the threshold when he registered who it was in this home. A hard look passed over the older man’s face, and Rin straightened, wishing he wasn’t in his muddied jersey and sweaty jacket when he finally came face to face with the solemn man; wishing he had a better explanation for why he had turned up unannounced to this penthouse he once shared with you. 

“Itoshi-kun,” Daichi sounded disapproving. “What’re you doing here?”

“I…” he could not tell him the truth. Rin let the question sink into the silence, taking the older man’s perception down a stream of realisation when he noticed how the young soccer star could not look into his eyes.

“She’s not here,” he finally said in a soft voice. Rin nodded, a hasty bob of his head.

“I-I know, L/N-san. I was… just about to leave.”

He realised a second too late his presence would be considered a breach of privacy to this penthouse under Daichi’s name and quickly picked up his things. “I didn’t mean to step back here,” Rin paused, internally withering from how awkward this meeting was. “I’ll be going… sir.”

The younger man was about to scamper away in awkwardness with his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs, when Daichi stopped him. 

“Did you regret whatever you did to her, boy?” 

Rin froze in mid-step, and this time, he turned around with a wary look in his teal eyes. The two men waited in the bated silence, and for the first time in his life, Rin could not find it in the depths of his foul soul to be callous to a man who clearly wanted an explanation of why his daughter discarded this agreement with such forlorn haste.

“I… yes.” 

He finally uttered. “I did not mean the words I said to her.”

Daichi’s lips thinned and Rin did not know where to look. He suddenly felt too wide open, like there were too many blindspots surrounding him, filled with players ready to jump at his jugular. 

“I knew you had a rotten personality, but I didn’t know how much it could’ve affected my daughter,” Daichi finally said. Rin bowed his head, taking the older man’s scoldings with barely a grimace—another first in his life. 

“I’m… I apologise, sir.” 

Daichi didn’t say anymore, and was about to brush past the dazed soccer player when Rin’s sudden, desperation-laden question coated the air with disquiet ashes; an aftermath of a bomb going off in your father’s festering soul.

“Sir, could you please tell me… what happened to Y/N’s mother?” 

Rin didn’t care if such a blunt question would gain him your father’s further distaste. His stinging thoughts locked on your very first fight with him when you had stormed off to a club. He had managed to bring you back then through the divine force of another influencer’s incompetence in taking care of her own friend.

This time, he surmised fate would not be as kind to hand him a leverage when he did not deserve one in the first place.

“Why do you ask?” Daichi flitted his eyes to Rin’s furrowed brow; the evident regret weighing the young man’s features down.

“I… was just curious. It was not in her profile and she never mentioned anything about her.”

Whether by divine intervention or Daichi's quickness in putting two and two together to understand an aspect of what contributed to this rocky fake relationship, he sighed, swaying back on his heels.

Finally, he shook his head, looking Rin in the eye with a barely-concealed grimace which he tried to mask as an absent smile.

“Y/N was two when her mother passed away in a car crash. She was coming back from a party and was slightly intoxicated.” 

Daichi was ignorant to how Rin’s shoulders stiffened; how his teal eyes flashed with an unnamed emotion he himself could not decipher.  

“She died upon impact and the other driver who did it ran off. It’s been years, but there are moments when I feel like it just happened—like I’m still relieving it.” His weathered face deepened with regret. “If there is one thing I can tell you, boy, is that life is too short to have regrets and be in constant denial of your true emotions. If you have someone you love—someone you want to cherish—do it. Because when death takes them away from you, you’ll find yourself completely alone except for those memories to keep you company.”

Daichi finished his quiet words with an even quieter sigh. “Take care of yourself, Itoshi Rin-kun.” 

He left the penthouse, the door falling close softly behind him, leaving Rin alone once more with his thoughts and regrets.

The barrage of chirps from his phone woke him up from a doze.

Rin hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the sofa again, but he had found himself once more at his penthouse the day after his fateful meeting with Daichi; as if his soul was tied to these four walls, he could not escape them. A spectre revisiting every crevice, speck of dust and memory which lingered in the nooks of this familiar yet foreign space.

He squinted at the dim glow of his phone and straightened, rubbing his bare chest to stifle a big yawn. When he finally fumbled with his phone’s password and unlocked the string of messages, his heart stopped in its tracks.

Isagi (Work): Yo, bro, I think you need to check this out. 

Bachira (Work): Wtf…….. Damn, that’s cold.

M. Reo (Work): Can’t believe she moved on that quick….

Na.gi Sei (Work): And with your brother too?? What a pain. Sorry, bro.

Rin shakily clicked on the link Isagi shared in their internal group, and he was immediately faced with his worst nightmares come to life.

Drama on the fields? Promiscuous heiress trades her striker heartthrob for his older, hunky midfielder brother. 

Your face was splashed across the tabloids, warmed from what he recognised as a few drinks in your system. The little black dress you wore could barely cover your thighs, and the neon pink heels you paired them with gave off a strong impression that you had dressed up half-heartedly. The Y/N he knew would never let herself step out looking this simplified, and he was caught up absorbing the little details, he almost failed to notice you in the arms of someone who made his breath hitch. 

Disbelief, cold and sticky, flooded his empty stomach, and Rin sat up straighter, hunching forward with his elbows on his knees to scrutinise the image in clearer detail. 

His older brother barely looked fazed with his arms around you, a small smile on his face. Rin swallowed the ball of bile forming in his throat and scrolled down, breath lodged somewhere underneath his aching heart. 

You in Sae’s arms. Laughing. Holding onto his brother while a moment of unadulterated happiness flusters across your warm features. The strong grip his brother had around your tinier figure; how you looked like you could be swallowed by his defined biceps and overbearing presence.

The casual way you had your fingers twined around his neck.

Rin knew that easy-going intimacy—having had a hit of it back when you were still his. And now, you no longer belonged to him, but to his brother.

— feedback and reblogs are immensely appreciated <33

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[asapeveryday]

SHOCK FACTOR★彡 PART 6 (FINAL)

Prev.

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Rival!Reader

Warnings: smut (strap-on sex anddd things that go with that)

A/n: ik ya’ll been waiting for this one. Thanku to the anon who requested this special scenario and thanku to the multiple anons who wanted this series in the first place, as well as everyone else who’s been showing shock factor some love 🩷 more fics coming soon.

SHE KISSES YOU like she’s been fantasizing about it for ages, and you can’t help but be turned on at the fact that she probably has. The thought of Paige, legs spread beneath her blanket, hand clamped over her mouth to cover her whimpers as she thinks of you while her hand toys with herself is insane. When you lay on her bed, all you can think of is how many times she must’ve thought of this.

She has a habit of dragging her thumb across your lips and looking into your eyes as if she’s scared to forget what you look like in this moment. Her bedroom is cold but your absolutely dying of heat underneath her body, her hands timidly feeling you while she presses her mouth to yours, tilting her head and letting out little noises.

You relish in how her back slightly arches when your hands meet the skin underneath her shirt, a toned, smooth surface that grows goosebumps as your fingers edge their way under her sports bra. Paige pulls away from kisses with a slowness that urges you to chase after her, but she’s always back for more before you can do so.

“Don’t rush.” She mumbles against your skin. “I wanna take my time with you.”

Horny and aching from need, you reluctantly obey. Her voice is raspy and soft, softer then you’d expected it to be. Paige occasionally pauses above you once your hands begin to kneed her breasts and pull at her nipples.

You open your mouth slightly, allowing her tongue to meet yours. She moves languidly with you, relishing the slight whimpers and noises that leave your mouth. You let your hands leave her tits and cup her face, then one hand tugs at her ponytail. Paige lets out a louder whine at this, and you can’t help but smile. “Baby likes her hair pulled? Never woulda known.” You say with arrogance that you know must feel like a slap to her ego.

“Shut up.” She seethes, her eyes narrowed and tongue darting out to wet her lips.

“You know you can cuss now,” you tilt your head. “since we’re gonna fuck.”

She’s taken aback, eyes wide for a moment as she recalls when she told you she only curses during specific situations. Her lips ghost soft kisses against your jaw before hovering above your ear. “Is that what we’re doing?”

Paige’s knee is nestled tight between your thighs, but you open your legs further as you look into her blue eyes. “How wide do I have to spread before you take the hint?”

Biting her lip, you can almost make out the minuscule “shit” that she murmurs under her breath. She’s truly soaking you in, the way you’re spread out on her bed beneath her, legs open and eyes begging.

“S’ that’s what you want, huh?” She finally says. “I can take a hint.”

Paige gets off of the bed for a moment and you immediately miss her warmth, though it’s replaced with a different feeling when she turns your back to you, and slowly takes her compression long sleeve off. Her back is flexed and muscular beneath her sports bra, which she teasingly pulls over head.

You sit up on the bed in awe, watching as she strips herself bare. You wonder how much it’s turning Paige on, having your eyes stuck on every inch of her body, her broad shoulders and toned arms are enough to make you wet.

And the strap makes your stomach drop.

She adopts a newfound confidence when it’s on her, clearly emasculated by the look on your face as you take the sight of her in.

“Sit.” You say, patting the edge of the bed. She obliges with an unsure look on her face. You slip off the bed and kneel between her legs, placing your hands on her thighs and looking up at the strap, then her face. Paige understands what you want to do.

“Are you sure?”

“Just watch me.” You smile, taking the strap in your hands and licking the tip while keeping your eyes trained on her. She’s fidgety, gripping the sheets behind her as you lick up and now the length before finally putting it in your mouth.

You’re not quite used to the sensation of the plastic in your mouth but you can assume the little make-believe blowjob is having the effect you hoped for, because Paige is biting her lip fervently now as her hands find your head.

The sight of her low eyes and shameless staring while you slowly take her length in your mouth is soaking your panties on it’s own, especially when she begins to buck her hips.

She suddenly begins to let out soft moans, her head thrown back and breathing quickening. There’s something different going on now.

You stop bobbing your head for a moment and hold the strap teasingly on your tongue, and then you can feel it. The quiet noise, the slight sensation. There’s a part of the strap that is inside of Paige and it’s vibrating.

“Don’t stop.” She mumbles, looking at you pleadingly.

“The vibrator not enough?” You tease, parting your mouth with a strap and letting a string of saliva form between your lips and the plastic.

Paige’s grip on your head tightens for a moment, and she jerks herself forward almost involuntarily, probably from the vibrations.

“C’mon baby, please.” She whines. “I needa see you take me in your mouth.”

You shake your head. “I’ll take you in a different way.”

She lays back on the bed now, and you take your time crawling on top of her. She’s absolutely flushed and in awe as you take your shirt and basketball shorts off, leaving you in your sports bra and underwear. You pull your panties to the side achingly slow, revealing to Paige how wet she’s made you.

“Fuuuck.” She mutters, bringing a hand to her face and then both to your hips. You’re hovering carefully above her, letting the tip graze your labia ever so slightly.

“Ready Paige?” You sigh, and she nods her head immediately, guiding you as gently as possible onto her strap, and enjoying every moment as your eyes screw shut and your mouth omits a noise she’s only dreamt of.

It’s slow at first, with her hands helping you bob up and down on her. The sound of your ass clapping against her skin and the slight vibration you can feel is pornographic.

“You take me so- fuck, so well.” She gasps as your pace quickens.

You’re grasping onto her core, her tits, anything you can manage. Although your legs are already beginning to burn you refuse to slow down, it feels too good. Almost as if the strap was truly a part of her. Paige’s moans and your own are filling the room, as well as the occasional slap to your ass from her calloused hands,

You collapse forward onto her, arms caging her head beneath you as your hips continue to grind. You’re face to face now, foreheads touching and breathing each others air.

“Wanted this, uhhg, s’bad Paige.” You whisper weakly to her. “Thought about you all the time. Wanted you to fuck me right there at that restaurant.”

“I would’ve gone under the table,” Paige murmurs back, hands gripping your ass now and helping you fuck yourself silly. “n’ I would’ve eaten you out. Couldn’t even pay attention to what you were saying.”

The thought is enough to drive you wild, especially since you’d had a similar idea at the time. You can imagine Paige pretending to drop something, then not coming back up until you’re writhing in your seat, panties around your ankles.

“Stop.” You cry. “If you keep talking I’m gonna cum, seriously.”

“I wanted to kiss you so bad.” She smirks against your skin, then abruptly flips you over. She’s on top of you now, your back is arched and your face is almost pressed into the sheets. She holds your hands behind you before you can use them to cushion yourself.

Paige is pumping into you now, admiring the sight of your ass pressed flush against her groin. Her hands are holding your wrists tight. “I was gunna kiss you on the street. Then maybe I woulda turned you around like this.”

You can’t even respond anymore, you’re out of breath and crying of pleasure into her bed now that a tense, building feeling is forming in your stomach.

“If Elaine didn’t call would you have let me, ma?” She moans out. “Would you have let me eat it from the back? Or would you have pussied out.”

“Paige.” You cry out against her sheets. “M’ gonna cum, oh my god.”

She doesn’t say anything else, and you know she’s getting close too. Her thrusts are growing sloppier and she’s moaning more then she’s talking, whatever words leave her mouth are impossible to understand through the exhaustion and sheer sound of sex.

You and her climax almost in unison, it’s the most relieving thing you’ve felt in a long time, both sexually and mentally. When Paige slumps down on the bed beside you, hurriedly taking the strap off and pressing her warmth to your back you know your problems with her are over.

“(Name).” She mumbles. “You good, baby?”

“Mmhm, yeah.” You huff out, smiling as she laughs. You can feel her toying with your hair.

“M’sorry.” She says quietly.

You turn around now to face her. “Sorry?”

“Yeah.” She says, matter o fact. “M’sorry I was such a dick to you. sorry I lied about Elaine. M’sorry I didn’t eat you out when I had the chance.”

You chuckle at the last part, and let your hand cup her face fondly. “We’re good, P. And you can eat me out whenever you like.”

The two of you laugh together, legs entwined and eyes connected by some sort of invisible beam of comfort and affection. She’s smiling in a way you’ve only seen glimpses of, and it’s warming your soul.

“You’re leaving.” She says, laughter fading.

“What?”

“You’re leaving Storrs in a couple more days.”

You stare into her eyes for a moment. Her expression is disappointed and you know yours probably is too. You can’t be in Storrs longer then you have planned, but you want to stay.

“Come visit me.” You finally say. “Come to California n’ stay with me.”

“Now?” She asks, eyes wide.

“Whenever.” You smile. “We have the summer. I better see you.”

Paige places a soft kiss on your lips. “You will ma, trust me.”

“What’d you say on that live again?” You ask her in between kisses. “That I was boring? Had no shock factor?”

“Don’t start.” Paige rolls her eyes, poking your cheek.

“You, my girl, have enough shock factor for a lifetime.”

[ardensregias]

his songbird

contents!! yingxing x female reader. prone bone turned missionary. reader is shy :3 dirty talk. lots of teasing!!! sliight dacriphilia. edging. praises. tummy bulge mmmm. petnames: angel, baobei, darling. yingxing gege !! ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა

my clit wrote this so this def sucks & not proofread & kinda selfship-coded . . ૮꒰ྀི⊃⸝ ⸝ ⸝⊂꒱ྀིა *runs away*

it's endearing, the way you tighten your hold on the silk sheets, buries the sweet face he's missed so badly into the feather-filled pillow, as if that'd help you to tone down the loud and obscene noises that escape your lungs.

"still so shy, hm?" he coos, slotting himself deeper into your aching cunt, "'s not like this is the first time we've done this, angel,"

too exhausted to form a coherent reply, a whine escapes your lips instead, giving yingxing all the answers he needs. the craftsman reads you like an open book. no matter how much you seldom admit to it, deep down you know that it's the truth—that he always knows what to do with you; the things you'd love to hear and feel, and all the right ways to turn you into putty for him with masterful ease.

such as right now; the way he brings one rough hand down from your breast to your hips, pressing down on the plush skin to stop you from squirming too much, pushing you into the edge and humming in satisfaction at each one of your adorable reaction. it fuels his ego to know that he's the only one who can mold and shape you into such a perfect doll for him to use and fold into any position he'd like.

"i can tell you're loving this. would you like me to go harder, baobei?"

from the mirth oozing from his words, you can already picture him wearing the cheekiest smirk that you so despise to see, waiting for any kind of response—which he's 100% sure will not be a comprehensible one.

"gege, i—please—nghh... i-if you do tha—haaah!" you cried out, hiccuping out little incoherent babbles and dragging your nails across the soaked sheets, seeking for any semblance of relief.

so predictable, he thinks. his lips curl further upward, grinning at your reaction, finding it difficult to resist teasing you further, "use your words, baobei, c'mon—or are you telling me that this is enough to break you?"

and as if to make it worse for you, yingxing rolls his hips up, pushing his pelvic bone flush against the swell of your butt until his leaky cockhead manage to kiss that soft spongy spot inside you, and your back arches alluringly in return, lips quivering in a struggle to keep your voice down—fearing the possibility of alerting the entire neighborhood of the debauched activities you two are engaged in.

your lover presses a series of chaste kisses on your shoulder blade like you are his revered goddess, seemingly unbothered by the sound of your wails and whines bouncing off the walls. if anything, he wants to show you off—after all, not everyone is lucky enough to have such precious songbird in their bed.

"still no answer, huh... need me to stop?" he queried, halting all movements as broad shoulders hunched down to loom over your smaller body, silver strands of hair cascading over your back—perhaps to purposely tickle the sensitive column of your neck, adding more stimulation and drawing out more of your sugary sweet voice he'd swallow like the wine he often shares with the quintet.

(your lover can be quite cruel sometimes.)

"g-gege!" you yelp, using the little energy you have left to find purchase in his arm and spoke between gasps, "no, nonono—don'... don't stop, gege, please... wan' you to go harder..."

(but he's never immune to your adorable pleas.)

he cannot help the chuckle that escapes his lungs, because finally, "that's my good girl—see, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" he croons, large hands finding purchase on your sides to maneuver you on your back, and you swore you felt his length twitches at the mere sight of you—mouth agape with a trail of drool running down the side of your mouth, tears clinging to your lashes and the apple of your cheeks, and—oh.

was that a little bump he's seeing on your tummy?

yingxing went silent for a few seconds, before he slowly—painfully so—slides his palm from down your torso, stopping atop your abdomen and pressing down on the slightly protruding flesh, successfully drawing out the most darling squeal out of your spit-slicked lips, followed by a subtle shudder of your body, "gege—! w-wait..."

the blacksmith pays you no mind as he begins moving again, battering your insides with renewed vigor, thrusting faster and shoving his girth deeper, relishing the sight of the bulge disappearing and reappearing with each jerk of his hips. you did beg for him for this, after all—he's just being a good husband and doing what his beloved wife wants him to do!

he gently cups your cheeks, admiring the cockdrunk look you have on your face before he shushes you with a light press of his lips against yours, "sshh, 's okay... cum for me, baobei—be a good girl and cum on my cock, will you?" the teasing lilt in his voice falters into a guttural groan as your walls constrict and gushes around his girth and triggering his orgasm. seeing how hard you're clamping down on him, it's safe to assume that you're trying to milk him dry, knocking the cockiness off his face as he pant on top of you.

once the blacksmith regained his composure, he brings his thumb down, rubbing hearts over your throbbing nub as he stills himself, gazing down at your juices mixed with his milky seed drivelling down your thighs and webbing his pubes. it's a sight awfully lewd and he can't stop the little aww it pulls from his lungs.

(you look your best when he's laid his claim on you.)

"are you alright?" he asks, keeping a close eye on your trembling form before he slather your smaller frame with his warmth, the plane of muscles serving as a shield and a reminder that you're safe with him, that he is here to take care of you.

you nod, dewed lashes fluttering up to meet his, "k-kiss—w'nna kiss, gege, please...?"

and of course he'd comply—when you're asking so politely even in this fucked-out state, colliding his lips with yours to devour the cherry-flavored drool that mingles with his own, eliciting a rather juvenile wish from the old man's heart; to stay this close for as long as forever.

[pomefioredove]

Hiiiii I saw your headcanon requests are open so may I raise you: Reader who has a crush on Lilia but is too shy so they go roundabout and get close to Silver to learn more about Lilia x Lilia who also has a crush on reader but misunderstands that reader hangs out with Silver because the kids have a mutual crush so he's gonna support your "love" instead

(ft clueless Malleus and confused Sebek and sleepy Silver and the collective facepalms by the lovely woodland creatures)

THIS IS TORTURE /positive

summary: a series of unfortunate miscommunications type of post: headcanons characters: lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

for as outgoing as he is, Lilia is impossible to approach

and not just because you can never find him when you actually need him...

he's just too...

perceptive

you're sure he would smell your crush from a mile away if you got too close

"So, no, I can't just talk to him,"

Ace rolls his eyes. "Then get over it. You've been such a downer lately,"

Deuce elbows him

and then he comes up with the very terrible, no-good idea

"Maybe you should ask Silver. They're always hanging out, right?"

and that's how it starts

now, Lilia, poor Lilia,

of course he'd picked up on your strange behavior

but he was waiting for you to come to him first

(for his ego)

and he was so sure...

but you've been ignoring him for a few weeks now

every time he sees you, you're hovering around Silver

of course

tsk. he got his hopes up again...

he tells himself that this is a good thing

a relationship between someone such as yourself, and someone such as him, could never truly work... could it?

and Silver is such a fine young man!

of course, he was bound to start getting some suitors

Lilia convinces himself to be happy for the young couple

he'll get over his disappointment

in another hundred years or so...

so now he is ignoring you

and Silver keeps dodging your questions because he's worried that you've somehow figured out Lilia isn't supposed to be at NRC

and Sebek is annoyed because you keep distracting Silver

and Malleus is curious because Lilia has been acting strange

and your friends are getting tired of you moping about Lilia all the time

and Grim is hungry for that prime Briar Valley old money tuna so he tells you to just get on with it already

so, with nothing to show for your weeks of pestering Silver (except a dull headache from that time Sebek told you to go back home and stop bothering them),

you just... say it

to your relief, Lilia looks rather surprised with your confession (maybe he didn't know, after all!)

and then he laughs

"Oh, how fun. I should have never second-guessed myself," (whatever that means, you think),

"...Then, I suppose you'll be free this evening?"

[yourmomsawh0r3]

new beginnings

pairing: Tyler Owen’s x f! reader

Tyler pushed his grocery cart down the cereal aisle, his mind wandering to the endless list of storm reports and data he needed to compile. Living in Tornado Alley kept him busy, but today was his day off, and he intended to make the most of it. His mom had called earlier, asking if he could pick up a few things for her, so here he was, navigating the grocery store with a list in hand.

Y/N walked into the store, her mind preoccupied with the upcoming shift at the hospital al. Being an ER doctor was demanding, but she loved it. As she moved through the aisles, her thoughts drifted back to her childhood in Topeka. She had left so much behind, including her best friend turned rival, Tyler Owens.

Tyler and Y/N had grown up together, inseparable until their teenage years when a series of misunderstandings and hurt feelings had driven them apart. Now, years later, they both lived in the same town, yet their paths rarely crossed.

Lost in their thoughts, they both reached for the same box of cereal at the exact moment. Their hands brushed, and they turned to look at each other.

“Tyler?” Y/N’s voice was filled with surprise.

“Y/N?” Tyler’s eyes widened, taking in the sight of her. She looked effortlessly beautiful in the grocery store lighting, her long hair cascading over her shoulders, freckles scattered across her nose, and those familiar dimples appearing as she smiled.

They stood there for a moment, frozen, before Tyler recovered and stepped back. “Ladies first,” he said, gesturing to the cereal box.

“Wow, chivalry isn’t dead after all,” Y/N replied with a raised eyebrow as she picked up the box and placed it in her cart. “Didn’t think you’d still be in town.”

“Ditto,” Tyler shot back, crossing his arms. “Guess we both had the same idea to stick around.”

“Guess so,” Y/N said, a smirk playing on her lips. “Still chasing storms, I see. Figured you’d have grown out of that by now.”

“Still saving lives, I see,” Tyler retorted. “Figured you’d have moved on to something less dramatic.”

“Some things never change,” Y/N muttered, shaking her head. “You still think you know everything.”

“And you still think you’re always right,” Tyler countered.

An awkward silence stretched between them, filled with the unspoken tension of their past. Finally, Tyler broke it. “Want to grab a coffee? Catch up?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Sure, why not?”

They finished their shopping and met at the small café inside the store. As they sat down with their drinks, the conversation flowed more easily than either had expected. They reminisced about their childhood adventures, laughed about old pranks, and shared stories about their current lives.

“Remember that time we tried to build a treehouse in my backyard?” Y/N asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

“How could I forget?” Tyler chuckled. “We got halfway up the tree before your dad caught us and grounded us for a week.”

“I think that was the last time I tried to build anything,” Y/N admitted, shaking her head.

Tyler smirked. “Yeah, you always were better at bossing people around than actually doing the work.”

Y/N rolled her eyes dramatically. “And you always thought you could do everything better than everyone else.”

“Maybe because I usually can,” Tyler shot back, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Oh, please,” Y/N laughed. “Your ego is still as big as ever.”

“And your sarcasm is still as sharp,” Tyler retorted, grinning.

As Y/N rolled her eyes again, Tyler felt a surprising surge of attraction. He’d forgotten how feisty and sassy she could be. He found himself admiring her spirit, the fire that had always made her stand out.

“You know,” he said, his voice softening, “I never really understood why we drifted apart.”

Y/N sighed, her expression turning serious. “We were young and stubborn. I guess we both thought the other had changed, and neither of us wanted to admit we missed our friendship.”

Tyler nodded, reaching across the table to take her hand. “I’m sorry for my part in it.”

“Me too,” Y/N squeezed his hand, her smile returning. “But maybe it’s not too late to start over.”

Tyler’s heart skipped a beat as he looked into her eyes. “I’d like that.”

They finished their coffee and left the store together, walking side by side. The tension of their past was gone, replaced by a sense of hope for the future.

As they reached their cars, Tyler turned to Y/N. “How about dinner sometime? We can catch up properly.”

“I’d love that,” Y/N agreed, her dimples deepening as she smiled. “It’s a date.”

Tyler stood on Y/N’s doorstep, holding a bouquet of tulips, his heart pounding in his chest. The door swung open, revealing Y/N in a sundress that hugged her curves perfectly. Her cleavage sat enticingly on her chest, and Tyler felt his breath hitch.

“Wow,” Tyler managed, handing her the flowers. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you,” Y/N replied, a blush coloring her cheeks as she took the bouquet. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

Their dinner date was filled with snarky banter and playful sassiness. Tyler couldn’t help but be drawn to Y/N’s sharp wit and fiery spirit. Every eye roll, every sarcastic comment only made him more captivated.

“You still think you can outsmart me?” Tyler teased as they finished their meal.

“I know I can,” Y/N shot back, a challenging glint in her eyes.

Tyler watched intently as Y/N lifted her glass of wine to her lips. The way the deep red liquid touched her lips, glistening as she took a sip, made his heart race. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, her cleavage mesmerizing in the soft lighting of the restaurant. The scent of her perfume, a delicate mix of floral and something uniquely her, filled the air around him, making his senses swim.

“Enjoying the view?” Y/N asked, a teasing smile playing on her lips as she caught him staring.

Tyler smirked, leaning in closer. “Absolutely. And not just the view.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but Tyler saw the blush spreading across her cheeks. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you love it,” Tyler shot back, his voice low and filled with promise.

As the night drew to a close, the tension between them became palpable. They walked to Tyler’s truck, the air thick with unspoken desire. Once they were parked in her driveway, neither could resist any longer. Tyler leaned in, capturing Y/N’s lips in a heated kiss. She responded eagerly, her hands tangling in his hair as their mouths moved together with a desperate intensity.

Tyler’s hands roamed over her body, feeling the soft fabric of her dress and the warmth of her skin beneath. Y/N’s fingers worked at his belt buckle, her eyes locking with his, filled with a mix of determination and vulnerability.

“May I?” she whispered, her doe eyes searching his face.

Tyler could only nod, unable to form words as his heart raced. Y/N undid his pants, her fingers brushing against his growing arousal. She looked up at him one last time before lowering her head, her lips closing around him.

Tyler’s head fell back against the seat, a low groan escaping his lips as Y/N’s mouth worked its magic. She moved with practiced ease, her tongue swirling around him, her lips creating a perfect seal. The sensation was overwhelming, and Tyler’s hands gripped the edge of the seat, trying to anchor himself.

Y/N teased him, her mouth moving slowly, her eyes flicking up to watch his reactions. She let her lips travel along his length, peppering kisses on his V-line, causing Tyler to shiver with anticipation. She licked the pre-cum off the tip, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she took her time savoring him.

“Y/N,” he groaned, his hand moving to tangle in her hair, urging her on. She responded eagerly, her mouth and hand working in perfect harmony.

Tyler felt himself nearing the edge, the tension coiling tighter within him. “I’m close,” he warned, his voice strained.

Y/N didn’t slow down, her determination clear in the way she continued to pleasure him. With a final, shuddering gasp, Tyler came, his release flooding Y/N’s mouth. She swallowed, her eyes never leaving his, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she pulled away.

Tyler was left breathless, his heart pounding as he looked down at Y/N. “That was… incredible,” he managed, his voice hoarse.

Y/N grinned, her dimples deepening. “You’ve been driving me wild since we were kids. .”

Tyler reached out, pulling her into his lap, capturing her lips in another searing kiss. “I can’t wait any longer,” he whispered against her lips.

Without breaking the kiss, Tyler carried Y/N into the house, his hands sliding up her thighs, feeling the smooth skin beneath her dress. They barely made it through the door before Tyler’s desire overcame him. He set Y/N on the kitchen counter, his hands moving to pull her dress over her head.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to see you like this,” Tyler murmured, his voice rough with desire. “Since we were teens, I’ve imagined this moment.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as Tyler’s hands roamed over her body, his touch sending shivers down her spine. “Then don’t make me wait any longer,” she whispered, her eyes dark with desire.

Tyler didn’t need any more encouragement. He pulled her dress over her head, revealing her in all her beauty. His eyes roamed over her curves, taking in the sight of her bare skin, her breasts exposed and enticing. “You’re perfect,” he breathed, his hands cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples, causing her to arch into his touch.

Y/N’s hands moved to his shirt, unbuttoning it with trembling fingers. She pushed it off his shoulders, letting her hands explore the muscles of his chest and back. Tyler’s mouth found her neck, kissing and nibbling along her skin, eliciting soft moans from her.

“Tyler,” she gasped as his mouth moved lower, trailing kisses down her chest. His hands slid down to her waist, lifting her slightly to pull off her panties, leaving her completely exposed on the counter.

Tyler took a moment to appreciate the sight before him, his breath hitching with anticipation. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe and desire.

He kissed her again, his mouth demanding and hungry. Y/N responded eagerly, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. Tyler’s fingers found her wetness, teasing her entrance, making her gasp and cling to him.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice desperate.

Tyler didn’t make her wait any longer. He positioned himself at her entrance, pausing for a moment to look into her eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice tender.

“Yes,” Y/N replied, her eyes filled with trust and desire.

With a groan, Tyler entered her, the sensation overwhelming them both. He moved slowly at first, savoring the feel of her around him, but soon their need took over, and he began to thrust harder, their bodies moving together in perfect rhythm.

The kitchen filled with the sounds of their lovemaking, the slap of skin against skin, the mingled moans and gasps. Tyler’s hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as he drove into her, each thrust bringing them closer to the edge.

Y/N’s nails raked down his back, her head falling back as she gave herself over to the pleasure. “Tyler,” she moaned, her voice breaking.

He could feel her tightening around him, her body trembling as she reached her climax. Tyler followed soon after, his release crashing over him with a force that left him breathless.

They stayed like that for a moment, clinging to each other, their breaths mingling as they came down from their high. Tyler gently lifted her off the counter, carrying her to the couch, where they collapsed in a tangle of limbs.

“That was…” Y/N began, her voice trailing off as she struggled to find the words.

“Amazing,” Tyler finished for her, a satisfied smile on his lips.

Y/N chuckled, resting her head on his chest. “Yeah, amazing.”

They lay there in comfortable silence, the past forgotten, the future filled with promise. Tyler knew that this was only the beginning of their story, and he couldn’t wait to see where it would lead.

As he held Y/N in his arms, he whispered softly, “I’ve missed you.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes filled with emotion. “I’ve missed you too, Tyler. More than you know.”

He kissed her gently, his heart full. “I’m not letting you go this time,” he promised.

“And I’m not letting you go either,” Y/N replied, her smile radiant.

They fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, the past finally put to rest, and a new future stretching out before them, filled with love and endless possibilities.