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captain-huggy-bear · 3 days ago

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Morning Sickness

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of sex in the past, pregnancy, etc.

Summary: Quinn is getting increasingly worried about you as you're sick every morning and every evening, you're adamant that you're fine. Turns out you're right in a way.

Notes: Thanks to the person who sent this idea in :)

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

It starts around a month after your honeymoon. Every single morning Quinn wakes to the sound of you throwing up and every single night he holds your hair back as you're sick over the toilet.

You pass it off as a bad stomach bug or anxiety, something different every time but Quinn doesn't believe you nor does he like what's happening. He's had many health scares with you; the chest infection that led to you being hospitalised after you nearly passed out at work being a prime example. As a result, he knows better than to assume that when you say you're fine, you're actually fine. Instead he sits with a heavy buzz of anxiety in his chest, a fear that something is seriously wrong but not knowing what and not knowing how best to convince you to get a check up and see the doctor about it. You’re stubborn to a fault.

It's another one of those evenings where he's happily curled around in bed, blankets tucked in around both of you. You're in his arms, back to his chest, legs twisted together so that any movement jars the other, but you're so used to it at this point that sleeping apart is more difficult and less restful than navigating the tangled mass of limbs that the two of you become each night.

When you try to slip out of his arms he's awake like a shot, blinking through bleary eyes while you push his arms off you so that you can get up. Quinn lets you go, an instant release but he's quick to follow, footsteps padding on the carpet after you towards the bright light of the bathroom. Never once considering rolling over and going back to sleep.

"You okay, baby?" You're leaning over the sink, taking deep breaths, cheeks puffing out as you try your very best to not be sick again, nausea roiling through you. You’re so fed up of being sick, it’s become a routine that’s led to you being careful about what foods you eat in the morning and evening, learning what is the worst to throw up and what’s the least offensive thing to throw up.

All you can do is shake your head frantically before you're rushing to the toilet, knees hitting the floor with a loud thud as you lean over the toilet bowl to be sick. Quinn winces at the sound of your knees impacting tile and he's beside you in an instant, hands reaching for your hair to pull it back and out of your face so you don't have to worry about throwing up in your own hair.

"Oh, baby...just let it out..." A warm, free hand landing on your back, rubbing soothing circles as he feels the way your body jerks with each bout of sickness, your muscles contracting and relaxing each time.

You’re crying, he can hear it, the way you whimper and whine because this is the worst and you’re fed up with being so violently sick…It only increases his worry because this has been going on for too long and it just doesn’t seem to be getting any better.

He stays beside you, holding your hair and rubbing your back until you’re no longer vomiting. When you stop, cheek resting against the toilet seat in exhaustion he’s up and reaching for a glass to fill with water for you.

“Here, baby, have some water…” You take a mouthful only to spit it out in the toilet in an attempt to get the taste of vomit from your mouth, before downing the whole glass. It doesn’t really help much.

“I hate this…” You groan out, feeling silly because it’s not even like you feel ill most of the time, you just keep getting these random bouts of sickness in the mornings and evenings. Quinn shouldn’t be as worried as you know he is…it’s probably all in your head, maybe you’ve created a Pavolvian response to the morning and night time where your body expects to be sick, so you are?

“I know, baby…” Quinn runs a hand over your hair, pushing a few strands out of your face and behind your ear, he’s gentle about it, long fingers gingerly caressing your skin like he’s worried you’ll break, “You need to visit a doctor, baby.”

“It’s probably nothing, Quinn…I’ve just eaten something or have some sort of bug or something…” You don’t want to go to the doctors, you’re certain this will blow over soon, that it’s nothing serious and you hate the idea of taking more time off for it even as your husband looks at you like you might be the most stubborn human being on earth.

“For weeks?”

“Quinn…” You sigh out his name because you don’t want to argue, because you’re tired. All you want is to go back to bed, curl up in his arms and get what little sleep you can before you have to go to work in the morning.

He must see how tired you are because whatever fight he had seems to leave his body, shoulders slumping, head nodding to himself like he’s made a decision in his mind to put this down for the moment even if he wants to keep going, repeat himself until you give in.

“Okay…okay, let’s get you to bed at least…” He gives up arguing because you’re so tired and have to be up at 6am for work. It’s bad enough you're not feeling well, let alone that you have to still teach like this, adding exhaustion to the mix is just a bad idea. He’ll keep pushing until you go to the doctors, but right now? Right now he can see you're tired and sleep is probably better for you than arguing at 1am.

Quinn helps you to your feet, your hands resting in his much larger ones while he pulls you up. He keeps both hands on your hips the whole time as the two of you waddle your way back to bed, there’s part of him that worries you might fall or faint on the way back to bed, hands firmly gripping you just in case.

He curls around you once you're both back under the covers, almost protective like he’s trying to shield you from some unseen threat and you nestle back into him, resting your head on the arm underneath you.

The early morning throw up session had you completely wiped hours later, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise that you felt dizzy as the day went on. Even more so because food was just not enticing you and you had skipped lunch when your sandwich made you feel queasy just looking at it. Each lesson felt harder and harder to teach and your last lesson of the day had your head reeling. It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise with how dizzy you felt, how lightheaded you were, that you fainted completely in front of your students. Thankfully, you had felt it coming on, having lowered yourself to the ground mere seconds before it happened.

To give them their dues, your students who could have used that as an opportunity to cause a mess, do whatever they wanted and generally cause chaos, actually tried to help. They were so concerned for you that they got another member of staff to come help, David, your favourite trouble making hockey fan, put his rolled up Canucks hoodie underneath your head and Stacy checked you were still breathing. The fainting spell didn’t last long, within a minute or so you were back to consciousness and trying to sit up, staff and students trying to force you to lay back down.

It’s Laura, the English teacher next door, who grabs your phone and calls your emergency contact, Quinn…even as you protest and tell her not to bother him, that you’re fine. All your protests go ignored by the forty year old, who had become something of a mentor and parental figure during your time at the school.

“Hi Quinn, sorry, it’s Laura from Y/N’s school?” You can’t quite tell what Quinn says on the other line, but you’re sure it’s along the lines of ‘what’s wrong?’ in a panicked tone because no one ever used your phone. You hate worrying him, he has so much on his shoulders already, so much weight there from the team, the season, his brothers…

“She’s fainted, do you think you could come get her? It’s the end of the school day anyway but I don’t think she should be driving home…thanks, Quinn.”

You groan at her, tempted to tell her off for calling him against your wishes but you know she means well…you also know there’s absolutely no chance you’re getting away with avoiding the doctors now. In fact you wouldn’t be surprised if he drove you straight to the doctor's office after coming to get you…still, maybe you should see a doctor, what with throwing up all the time…and now fainting?

Laura won’t even let you get up from your spot on the floor, packing your things away for you, getting your students to chill for the last 10 minutes of the day and waiting until Quinn arrives. You know she’s worried you’ll faint again, but it feels ridiculous, sitting on a cold, dirty classroom floor waiting for your husband to come get you.

“Hey, baby…” The way he stands in the doorway to your classroom when he finally arrives makes you want to cry. It’s like he’s scared you’re going to faint again, a sense of hesitancy and caution in his body language that you hate because Quinn is never like that around you.

“Please don’t…don’t be scared of me, right now…” You feel like crying, wetness starting to fill your eyes and your voice coming out choked. You’re not even sure why you’re so emotional about him looking like that when Quinn’s always worried about you, it’s not a new development. He cares so he worries.

“Hey, hey, I’m not scared of you…I’m worried, baby.” He’s crossing the space between you as quickly as possible, crouching down next to you with care, hands reaching for your face gently to rub his fingers across your cheeks to try and calm you down.

“I’m sorry…I don’t mean to be a bother…” Your eyes are so watery that Quinn’s face is a blurry mess, but even then you wouldn’t be able to mistake the serious set of his brow, the way his jaw clenches, how he always takes your concerns and worries seriously.

“Sweet girl, hey…you’re not a bother. You’re never a chore, okay? But I'm going to need you to accept that we need to go to the doctor's now, okay? I’ve already phoned them, they can see us in forty minutes.” You can’t really deny him, he’s been so patient with you, worried, but not pushing you to go to the doctors too much and you know he’s right…something’s not normal right now and you need to get checked out.

“Okay…” The smile he gives you is radiant, relief filled and bright like your answer is enough to make his day. It makes it worth it.

“Atta girl, right, let’s get you up off this floor, okay?”

You nod at him, reaching for his outstretched hands and letting him grip yours tightly, your wedding rings gleaming and new under the fluorescence of the classroom lights. As Quinn stands he pulls you with him, helping you to your feet and holding you steady when you get a bit of a headrush from the sudden upright position.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, i’m good,” He doesn’t quite look like he believes you, “I promise, i’ll let you know if i’m not.”

He’s got an eye on you the entire way to his car, always watching in case you suddenly faint or trip or take a dive to the ground. You don’t, your dizzy spell has passed and now you just feel emotional and embarrassed about the whole thing.

As is routine by now Quinn opens the car door for you and buckles your seatbelt, making sure it rests comfortably against you and isn’t digging into you at all. He goes a step further than normal though, reaching into the backseat to grab a blanket he keeps there for when you get cold, laying it over your lap and tucking it under your thighs like he’s worried you’ll get cold on the drive to the doctors.

Quinn leans forward into the car, pressing a kiss to your forehead gently causing you to close your eyes, letting out a happy sigh. He lingers slightly, hand smoothing down some of your fly away hairs before he shuts the passenger side door and gets into the driver's seat.

There’s a heavy silence that settles over the two of you while Quinn starts the drive to the doctor’s office. It’s a silence that screams that Quinn has things he wants to say, words he’s holding inside him right now and you wait patiently for him to break.

It doesn’t take long, a few minutes pass before he’s watching you from the corner of his eye, “You need to start trusting me to handle knowing when something is wrong…” He sighs out at you, and you try not to cut him off, biting on your lip to force yourself to listen until he’s said what he needs to say. “I know you’re scared of being a burden and putting more stress on me, but, baby…I’m your husband. I need to know. I want to know. My job is to support you. I can’t do that if you’re not letting me in…” He reaches a hand across to squeeze your leg, an attempt to reassure you that he’s not mad, but that he wants you to trust him more and you get it…you do. You’ve been so reluctant to put any more stress on him, but here’s Quinn demanding that you do, telling you he wants to know when things aren’t quite right.

“I just…you have all this pressure on you and I don’t want to add to that.”

“Baby, the only stress you’re giving me is when you don’t let me help you…I need you to promise me you’re going to start relying on me more, please?” He can’t take it anymore. The way you try to hide how you’re doing, try to take all that onto yourself so that he doesn't get any of the pressure. You’re the only pressure he wants, fuck hockey, fuck the season, but he needs to know what’s wrong with you so he can fix it, so he can help you.

You reach for his hand on your leg, twisting your fingers in his and holding his hand tight, watching him glance at you out of the corner of his eye, focusing on the road for the most part.

“I promise.”

Quinn’s shoulders drop in relief, his need to support and protect you, to look after you already feeling better now that you’ve promised you’ll actually communicate with him properly. He loves you, but your fear of being a burden is his least favourite thing about you. He hates that people have made you feel like you have to minimise yourself, your problems. Hates that you’ve been trained to be so hyper independent and self reliant.

“Have you taken a pregnancy test?”

You blink at the doctor like she’s insane because the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind that that was a possibility, that maybe you were pregnant.

“Uh, no…”

“Have you been using protection? Is it possible you’re pregnant?” You try to think back to your last period, late, try to think back to the last time Quinn and yourself had unprotected sex…your honeymoon. So over the moon, so giddy the two of you hadn’t really thought about it, forgoing the usual precautions because you were married now so it didn’t seem like such a big deal.

You look at Quinn, the two of you sharing a look that says you’re both thinking back to your honeymoon, the two weeks of being absolutely feral for each other that you really didn’t think much about the consequences…well, you did, in a sense. Quinn had had a great time considering what you’d look like pregnant with his child, dirty talk filled with comments about getting you pregnant, but it had all been fantasies, silly in the moment dirty talk, neither of you had really considered (rather stupidly perhaps) that it might become a reality. You hadn’t thought…normally it wasn’t that easy for people and you’d always had concerns about fertility in your family in the past so why would it be that easy for you?

“It’s…it’s possible.”

“Okay, I want you to go take this test and come back when you’re done. I think you might just be experiencing some really bad first trimester morning sickness.” You take the test offered to you, the little pee cup and pipette too, glad that she wasn’t expecting you to pee directly onto the stick…

“Do you want me to wait outside the door?” Quinn asks as you hesitantly get up, not really wanting to go alone, as silly as it was because all you were about to do was pee into a little cup and put some drops onto a pregnancy test, it wasn’t like you were going to do anything crazy. But, you’d never had to take a pregnancy test before, you’d never had to deal with the reality that you might be pregnant and even if it's with your literal husband it’s still kind of scary...

“Yes, please…” He’s reaching for your hand without any hesitation, guiding you out of the examination room and towards the toilets.

You hesitate before entering, scared to find out the answer, unsure which you want to be true; that you’re pregnant or that there’s something else causing you to be sick and faint. You want kids, both of you have discussed it time and time again, but you always thought it would be planned, that the two of you would be actively trying when you got pregnant.

“It’ll be okay, y’know? No matter what. If you’re not pregnant we’ll figure out what’s wrong and if you are? That’s a good thing, we wanted kids, baby.” Quinn can see you’re scared, the way you grip the test tighter, how you seem to stop breathing as you stare at the bathroom door. He’s trying to not get his hopes up, to temper some of the excitement he can feel because he really…fuck, he really hopes you’re pregnant, he’s so ready to be a dad, and it would be an added bonus to know you weren’t seriously ill, just dealing with the first trimester.

“Yeah, just…wasn’t expecting it to potentially be this soon.”

“I know, baby, but it’ll be okay and mom’ll be over the moon.” You smile at the mention of Ellen, how excited she’ll be…heck Jack and Luke would be ecstatic to be uncles, suddenly things didn’t seem quite so scary when you considered the people around you, how supportive they would be.

“Yeah, she’ll probably scream down the phone…” If you’re pregnant goes unsaid but it’s there, the reality that maybe you’re both starting to get your hopes up for something that isn’t going to happen.

“Okay…I can do this.”

“You’ve got this, baby…it’ll be okay,” He smiles at you one last time before you disappear into the bathroom.

Your hands shake the entire time you’re in there, completing the test and putting it on the side to wait. You pacing a hole into the floor, back and forth, back and forth as the time ticks down on your phone. In that time you start to get excited, nervous, but excited. The initial shock of potentially being pregnant disappearing in favour of thoughts about what it would be like to finally have your first child with Quinn…how he’d teach them to skate, how Luke and Jack would play with them at the lake house in the summer, how Ellen and Jim would be devoted grandparents, how you’d read them books every night and make your own Christmas traditions… Your nerves now centred on that possibility that you weren’t pregnant, that your hopes might be crushed.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look when the time was up, reaching for the door handle to Quinn pacing outside the door. His head shoots up the moment you open it.

“So?” Quinn looks so expectant, lips bitten and red from all his worrying, waiting for an answer.

“I…I can’t look, can you check it for me?”

“Uh, yeah, course, baby.” You can tell he’s nervous too, but he steps inside the bathroom, locking it behind the two of you for privacy. You point to where the little, but no less life altering, test rests by the sink.

You watch him walk over, watch the tension in his shoulders, how he looks at the little test, seems to read the marks, and then again, and again like he’s struggling to process it. You know the answer the moment his shoulders relax, the moment he turns to you with tears in his eyes and a wide smile, so wide across his face. He’s practically grinning, vibrant in the way he is after a won game or how he was at your wedding. The sort of vibrant that changes Quinn, his usually understated calmness wiped out in favour of pure unfiltered joy.

“We’re…we’re having a baby…” Saying it feels unreal at first, that those two little lines can mean so much, that right now, in your tummy is your baby. The perfect mix of the two of you slowly growing into someone amazing, someone he’s so excited to meet.

“Yeah?” You can feel your own excitement starting, hearing it is making it real, so fucking real.

“Yeah, baby!” You’re crying, he’s crying, it’s a mess when you come together in a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around you and lifting you off the floor to spin you around. You’re both crying into each other when his mouth slants over yours for a kiss, one of his hands cupping the back of your head, the other resting gently over your throat.

It’s a kiss that feels monumental, deep and filled with love, so much love that the taste of the salt from your tears does nothing to deter either of you as you cling to each other. The scratch of Quinn’s beard, the silky smoothness of his hair in your fingers, the way you cling to each other, you’ve not felt that happy since your wedding day, since you both finally said I do. It feels like the world has shifted on its axis in the most spectacular of ways and all that worry, all that fear is gone, just like that.

He’s so fucking relieved, that’s part of it. God, is he excited that you’re pregnant, that he’s going to be a dad, but part of the excitement is relief, that you’re okay, that you’re not seriously ill. You’re just pregnant, just dealing with morning sickness and all the changes associated with growing a baby.

When you pull apart neither of you go very far, foreheads pressed together, noses nuzzling against each other. His hands still cradle you close to him, his breath warm against your lips.

“We’re going to be parents…you’re going to be a mom…” There’s something about him saying it that makes it feel more real because it feels almost out of body of an experience, to find out you're pregnant when you had no plans to be.

“Yeah…you’re going to be a dad…”

“Fuck, I love you…” Quinn kisses you again, soft but lingering as a hand comes down to rest against your belly, no sign yet of the bundle of cells that’s growing into a baby, “and I love this little bean too,”

“I love you too, you’re going to be so great, they’re going to love you.”

“They’re going to love us.”

#teacher reader x quinn #huggy bear writes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes/reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

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kigieri · 1 day ago

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This started horribly. I feel so bad for her! I just want to hold her and show her love, but thankfully Max is going to do just that. That's such bad luck in boyfriends I don't even know what to say, but sadly not something completely unrealistic. Martin is so unintentionally funny, I love him to pieces. He's curious and wants to know more, and she just wants to strangle him. He's also very supportive, which I, in turn, support. I like how Max just works with her. It seems very easy and nice. Her taking initiative, after his prompting, is healthy, and I like it. It will be good for her. I don't take Max for someone that drunk drives, he seems too responsible, but he's also an F1 driver that was driving a racecar before he drove a normal one, so we may never know. Her being able to handle that car without a problem is just right, she's Fernando's daughter.

I was not anticipating skinny-dipping, but I like it. This night gets crazier with every new paragraph. It's good that the grapes worked, and that Martin has good instincts. Getting your clothes wet and taking his shirt feels like a cliché, even though I haven't seen it before, but the flirting and banter is just top-notch. Crashing in your dad's apartment with his coworker does not seem like the smartest idea, just saying. Them getting drunk and all lovey-dovey is beautiful, and I'm very sure Fernando was not anticipating coming home to that. I understand Fernando's concern for his daughter, and he was probably very much not prepared. He's a bit harsh, but I like how earnest Max is and how, understandably, scandalized Reader is. I think that was a more or less realistic portrayal of how that would go, and I may have found it funnier than I should have. Her eating the grapes with Max and them making a tradition out of it, even though it already was one, is cute. "Leave room for Fernando." will now become part of my vocabulary. I think you wrote a brilliant, funny and cute story, and this is some of the best Fernando Alonso portrayal I have ever seen. Thank you for this one!💖

Stroke of Midnight

Max Verstappen x Alonso!Reader

Summary: New Year’s Eve sees you crouched under a table, shoving grapes into your mouth as the seconds tick by in a desperate attempt to find love in 2025 … but it just so happens that love finds you a whole lot sooner than you expect

Note: Happy (almost) New Year! Wishing everyone a sweet and fulfilling 2025 ❤️

The club is too loud, too crowded, too much. Somewhere near the DJ booth, your father is probably breaking it down to the worst remix of an already bad pop song.

You don’t want to know what’s happening. You don’t even want to be here, except here is Monaco on New Year’s Eve, and it’s supposed to be magical. That’s what the internet said when you Googled it this morning. But so far, the magic feels more like sweat and regret.

And desperation. There’s no use pretending otherwise anymore.

Your legs cramp as you shift under the table, pulling your knees to your chest to avoid the sharp heel of a passing stranger. The white tablecloth is a flimsy barrier between you and the chaos outside — limbs, perfume, champagne flutes tipped at precarious angles.

You check your phone. Eleven fifty-seven.

“God,” you whisper to yourself, clutching the little plastic bag in your hand. “This is rock bottom.”

But is it? The thought stops you short. You could argue there’ve been worse moments.

There was your first boyfriend, for starters. The trust fund baby who somehow thought being wealthy made cheating excusable. “It’s not like I need you,” he had said when you caught him. Yeah, no kidding.

Then came the mechanic. Charming, sweet, and exactly what you thought you needed — until you overheard him laughing with his friends about how he only asked you out on a bet. The details are blurry now, but the humiliation is crystal clear.

And, of course, the summer of horror: introducing your third boyfriend to your dad, only to walk in on him rummaging through your father’s underwear drawer. “I just wanted to see what greatness looks like,” he had explained with a sheepish grin, clutching a pair of Fernando Alonso’s boxer briefs like they were relics from the Vatican.

Three strikes. You’re out.

“Not this year,” you mutter, shaking your head. This year, you’re taking things into your own hands.

You dig into the bag, spilling green grapes into your lap. Twelve of them. One for each second before midnight, each representing a wish for the year ahead. You glance at the clock again — eleven fifty-eight now. Two minutes to go.

Someone shifts the table above you, and you nearly choke on your gasp. The tablecloth lifts slightly, and a pair of curious eyes meet yours.

“What the hell?”

It’s a man — dark-haired, stubble-jawed, vaguely familiar, though everyone in Monaco looks like they could be a movie star. He’s crouched, trying to see past the shadows. You stare back, frozen.

“Are you hiding?” He asks, tilting his head. His accent is clipped and Dutch, which somehow makes this all worse.

“Uh — no,” you stammer, holding up a grape like it’s evidence in court. “I’m … I’m doing something. It’s a tradition.”

“Under a table?”

“Yes.”

There’s a pause. He blinks at you, then ducks his head fully under the tablecloth. “Alright, I’ll bite. What kind of tradition involves grapes and hiding under furniture?”

“It’s Spanish.” You’re not sure why you feel defensive, but you do. “You eat twelve grapes, one for each second before midnight, for good luck in the new year.”

“Good luck.” He glances pointedly at the table legs surrounding you. “How’s that working out?”

You scowl. “It’s not midnight yet.”

He snorts. “Fair enough. Carry on.” He starts to retreat, but something stops him. “Wait. Why under the table?”

“Because …” You hesitate, not wanting to explain that part of the superstition involves being in a confined space to focus your intentions. It sounds ridiculous out loud, even to you. “Because it’s quieter down here.”

“Right.” His tone is skeptical, but mercifully, he leaves it at that. “Good luck, grape girl.” He’s gone before you can respond.

The clock ticks closer to midnight. Eleven fifty-nine. You clutch the grapes tighter, willing yourself to focus.

“Okay,” you whisper, heart pounding. “This is it. Love. Luck. Anything but whatever the hell the last three years were.”

You pop the first grape into your mouth as the countdown begins, the music fading just enough for the crowd to yell, Twelve!

It’s sour, but you swallow it quickly, reaching for the next. Eleven!

The third grape is sweeter. Ten!

Someone bumps the table above you, but you keep going. Nine!

The fifth grape tastes like possibility. Eight!

You’re halfway through the sixth when the tablecloth lifts again.

“Sorry, but I just-” It’s him again, the Dutch guy. He ducks under the table fully this time, looking half-apologetic, half-curious. “I couldn’t help it. What happens if you don’t finish in time?”

You glare at him, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk. “Whuh ah oo doin’?”

“Trying to understand the stakes here,” he says, crouching beside you. “It’s fascinating.”

“Go ‘way!” You manage, scrambling for the eighth grape. Five!

“Is this, like, a universal Spanish thing? Or just your family?”

You shove the ninth grape in your mouth, ignoring him. Four!

“You’re really committed,” he notes, watching you chew furiously. “I respect that.”

You jab a finger toward the edge of the tablecloth, signaling him to leave.

“Alright, alright,” he says, hands up in surrender. “Good luck, truly. I hope it works.”

He disappears just as the countdown hits Three!

The eleventh grape is a struggle, but you manage. Two!

You grab the last one, cramming it in just as the crowd roars, One! Happy New Year!

It’s chaos — cheering, champagne popping, music surging back to full volume. You sit there under the table, sticky with grape juice and feeling utterly ridiculous.

“Happy New Year to me,” you mutter, wiping your hands on your dress.

Above you, the tablecloth shifts again.

“I had a feeling you’d make it,” the Dutch guy says, grinning. He’s holding two glasses of champagne. “Figured you might need this.”

You stare at him, utterly baffled. “Do you always bother strangers under tables?”

“Only the ones who look like they’re about to choke on tradition.”

You take the glass hesitantly, unsure whether to thank him or tell him to leave you alone. He raises his own in a toast.

“To luck,” he says simply, his smile oddly sincere.

You sigh, clinking your glass against his. “To luck.”

And for the first time in years, you think it might actually work.

***

The Dutch guy, whose name you still don’t know, doesn’t leave. You expect him to. After all, who bothers someone under a table, offers them champagne, and then sticks around? But here he is, leaning casually against the table, like this is his New Year’s Eve tradition too.

“So,” he says, studying you over the rim of his glass, “how do you know it worked?”

“What worked?”

“The grapes. Your luck in love.”

“It’s not instant,” you reply dryly. “I don’t think someone’s going to walk up and propose to me tonight.”

“Shame,” he says, smirking. “Would’ve been a great story.”

You roll your eyes, standing up carefully to avoid smacking your head on the table. The club is still throbbing with music, the crowd a drunken sea of sequins and suits. Your father is nowhere to be seen, probably charming half the room with drunken stories from his glory days.

The Dutch guy follows you, holding his champagne like it’s an extension of himself.

“So, do I get a name?” He asks.

“Do I get a name?” You counter.

He laughs, setting his glass on a passing waiter’s tray. “Martin. Martin Garrix.”

It clicks immediately. The Martin Garrix. You’ve seen him on magazine covers, his face plastered on Spotify playlists, his name on Coachella lineups.

“Oh,” you say, a little surprised. “You’re that Martin Garrix.”

“Depends,” he says with a grin. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

He laughs again, an easy sound that somehow cuts through the noise around you.

“And you are?”

You hesitate. The last thing you want is to be recognized as Fernando Alonso’s daughter tonight. “Just … me,” you say, shrugging.

“Alright, Just Me,” he teases. “What’s the plan now? Back to the dance floor?”

“I don’t really have a plan.” You glance toward the bar, but it’s swamped. The thought of pushing through that crowd makes your skin crawl.

Martin tilts his head, considering you. “You know,” he says after a moment, “I’ve got to play a set in a bit. But before that, I could introduce you to someone.”

Your brow furrows. “Introduce me?”

“Yeah. A friend of mine. You’ll like him.”

You cross your arms. “Why do I feel like you’re trying to get rid of me?”

“Not at all,” he says, grinning. “But if you’re looking for luck, he’s got plenty of it.”

Before you can argue, he’s already motioning for you to follow him.

Martin weaves through the crowd effortlessly, stopping just long enough to charm security guards and exchange handshakes with people who look vaguely important. You trail behind, clutching your champagne glass like a lifeline.

“VIP,” he explains over his shoulder, as if that answers anything.

“I was in VIP,” you mutter. “Then I left to crawl under a table.”

“Your loss,” he quips.

The VIP section is smaller than you remember, cordoned off with velvet ropes and guarded by men in black suits. Martin flashes a wristband, and the guard steps aside.

You’re led to a booth tucked in the farthest corner, hidden from most of the chaos. Someone is slouched in the corner seat, a drink dangling from his fingers. His head tilts up when Martin approaches, and your stomach flips.

Max Verstappen.

You stop dead in your tracks, heat rushing to your face. Of all the people — of course it’s him.

Max looks at you, then at Martin, then back at you. His brow furrows in confusion, his normally sharp blue eyes a little unfocused.

“Martin,” he says, voice thick with alcohol, “who’s this?”

Martin grins, gesturing toward you. “Stray kitten I found under a table. Thought you might want company.”

You gape at him. “I am not a stray kitten.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Martin says, completely unbothered.

Max blinks, then sets his drink on the table. “Wait. I know you.”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, “I know you too.”

It’s a terrible response, but you’re too flustered to think straight. Max Verstappen, reigning Formula 1 world champion, is sitting in front of you, looking unfairly handsome even in his clearly drunk state.

Martin claps Max on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to it. Don’t scare her off, mate.”

“Wait, what-” You start to protest, but Martin is already disappearing into the crowd.

You’re left standing there awkwardly, clutching your glass like it’s a shield. Max watches you, his expression softening into something unreadable.

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.

You hesitate, then slide into the booth, leaving just enough space between you that it doesn’t feel too intimate.

“So,” he says, leaning back. “What’s this about a table?”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “It’s a Spanish tradition. You eat twelve grapes at midnight for good luck in the new year. I was under the table to-”

“Focus your intentions,” he finishes, surprising you.

Your eyes widen. “How do you know that?”

“Carlos told me about it once back when we were teammates,” he says with a small smile. “He thought it was funny.”

You relax slightly. “Well, it’s not funny. It’s practical.”

“Under a table, though?” His smile widens.

“It’s quieter!”

He laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that makes your heart twist in your chest. You’ve always found Max intimidating — cool, calm, untouchable. But right now, with his hair slightly messy and his guard down, he seems … human.

“You’re drunk,” you blurt out.

He nods, unabashed. “A little.”

“A lot,” you correct.

“Fair.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “But what about you? You’re here on New Year’s Night, eating grapes under tables. What’s that about?”

You hesitate, then shrug. “Bad luck. Bad … everything, really. I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze steady despite the alcohol. “Bad everything?”

“Love life,” you admit, looking away. “It’s been a disaster.”

“Join the club,” he mutters, taking a sip of his drink.

You glance at him, surprised. “What do you mean? You’re-” You stop yourself, realizing how stupid it sounds. He’s Max Verstappen. He could have anyone.

“Exactly,” he says, reading your expression. “And that’s the problem. No one takes me seriously. They just see the driver, the fame, the money.”

You soften. “That sounds lonely.”

“It is.”

There’s a beat of silence, heavy with unspoken words.

“You know,” he says finally, his voice quieter now, “I always wondered what it’d be like to talk to you.”

Your breath catches. “What?”

“In the paddock. You’re always with your dad, or with someone else. I never knew how to …” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” you say quickly, surprising yourself. “I always wondered too.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment, the noise of the club fades into the background.

“Yeah?” He asks softly.

You nod, suddenly shy. “Yeah.”

His lips twitch into a small smile. “Maybe Martin was right.”

“About what?”

“Luck.”

You laugh, the sound light and unexpected. “Maybe.”

He leans back, the tension in his shoulders easing. “So, what now? Are you going to wait for the grapes to work, or are we going to make our own luck?”

You raise an eyebrow. “And how do we do that?”

“Well,” he says, a playful glint in his eye, “we could start by getting out of here.”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere,” he says, standing up and holding out his hand.

You stare at his hand, then take it, letting him pull you to your feet.

“Alright,” you say, your heart pounding. “Let’s see where this luck takes us.”

***

The valet pulls up with the car, and it’s … a Ferrari Monza SP2. Of course it is. Sleek, black, and absurdly expensive, it looks like something out of a Bond movie. The kind of car you don’t just drive; you wear it, command it.

Max grins at you as the valet hands him the keys, his drunken sway almost imperceptible — almost. He heads straight for the driver’s side, but you grab his arm before he can open the door.

“Are you serious?” You ask, wide-eyed.

“What?” His expression is equal parts innocence and mischief.

“You’ve been drinking.”

He glances at the keys in his hand, then back at you, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “I’ve had worse nights.”

“Max,” you say firmly, your voice cutting through the noise of passing cars and drunken revelers spilling out onto the Monaco streets. “You’re not driving.”

He raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “So, what? You’re offering?”

You blink, caught off guard. “I-I didn’t mean-”

But he’s already opening the driver’s side door and stepping aside, holding it open for you with a dramatic flourish. “Your chariot awaits, madam.”

Your first instinct is to argue, to remind him that this is his car and you’re not exactly in the habit of taking over Ferraris from Formula 1 champions unless they’re your father. But the glint in his eye dares you to say yes.

“Fine,” you mutter, slipping past him and sliding into the driver’s seat.

The leather feels luxurious under your fingers, the steering wheel practically begging to be gripped. You know Ferraris — you grew up around them, after all — but this one feels different. It feels … alive.

Max climbs into the passenger seat with surprising agility for someone who’s had more than a few drinks. He looks entirely too pleased with himself, leaning back like he owns not just the car, but the world.

“Where to?” You ask, trying to sound nonchalant as you adjust the seat and mirrors.

He shrugs, a lazy smile on his face. “Surprise me.”

The car roars to life under your hands, the engine purring with a deep, satisfying growl. You pull out of the valet lane and into the Monaco streets, the city lights sparkling like they’ve been sprinkled with diamonds.

You have no plan, no destination in mind. So, you let the roads guide you. Past the harbor, where yachts bob gently against their moorings, and out onto the open road leading away from Monaco.

Max watches you drive, his gaze heavy but not uncomfortable. “You’re good at this,” he says, his voice cutting through the low hum of the engine.

You glance at him, one hand on the wheel. “I should be. My dad made sure I could handle cars before I could even ride a bike.”

He chuckles. “Sounds about right.”

The road begins to curve as you head toward Nice, the city’s glow fading behind you. The winding asphalt hugs the coastline, offering glimpses of the dark sea shimmering under the moonlight.

Max leans his head back against the seat, his eyes half-closed. “This is nice,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

You smile, focusing on the road. “It is.”

The stretch of beach comes out of nowhere, a small, deserted slice of sand tucked between rocky cliffs. You might have driven past it without a second thought, but Max suddenly sits up, pointing wildly.

“Stop!” He yells.

You react instinctively, slamming on the brakes. The tires screech against the pavement, and the car comes to a jarring halt.

“Jesus, Max!” You exclaim, turning to glare at him. “What is wrong with you?”

He’s already unbuckling his seatbelt, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “We’re going skinny dipping.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” He grins like a kid who just discovered a hidden jar of candy. “Come on. The water’s right there.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?” He pushes open the door and climbs out, gesturing for you to follow. “It’s New Year’s. Perfect time to do something stupid.”

“Skinny dipping isn’t just stupid, Max. It’s-” You gesture vaguely, your cheeks heating. “It’s ridiculous.”

He leans down, resting his arms on the open car door. “Exactly. That’s the point. Live a little.”

You hesitate, glancing toward the beach. The moonlight glints off the waves, the sound of the surf mingling with the gentle rustle of wind through the grass. There’s no one else around.

“Max,” you start, your voice uncertain.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Hey. It’s just water. I won’t look if you don’t want me to.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stalling.” He steps back, holding his arms out as if to say, what’s the worst that could happen?

You sigh, unbuckling your seatbelt. “If I freeze to death, I’m haunting you.”

“Deal.”

The sand is cool under your feet as you follow Max toward the water. He’s already pulled off his shirt and pants, tossing them carelessly onto the beach. The moonlight catches on his skin, highlighting the lean muscles of his back.

You hesitate at the water’s edge, the waves lapping at your toes.

“This is crazy,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

“That’s the point,” Max calls over his shoulder, already wading into the surf.

You bite your lip, glancing around one last time to make sure you’re alone. Then, with a deep breath, you pull off your dress, leaving it in a heap beside Max’s clothes.

The water is shockingly cold as you step in, but it’s not unbearable. You wade in deeper, the waves swirling around your waist, then your chest.

Max is already floating on his back a few meters ahead, his arms stretched out like he’s completely at peace.

“See?” He says, his voice carrying over the water. “Not so bad.”

You tread water, glaring at him. “I hate that you’re right.”

He laughs, the sound echoing across the beach. “You’ll get used to it.”

For a while, neither of you says anything. The water is calm, the world around you eerily quiet except for the soft crash of waves.

“This is nice,” you admit finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Told you,” he says, tilting his head to look at you. His expression is softer now, less playful. “Thanks for indulging me.”

You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks for trusting me with your car.”

He grins. “I figured it was in good hands.”

The silence stretches between you again, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels … easy. Like the two of you have always been here, floating in the moonlit water, sharing something unspoken.

“I’ve always liked you,” Max says suddenly, his voice quiet but firm.

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat. “What?”

He turns onto his side, treading water to face you. “I mean it. For years, I’ve … I don’t know. I never thought you’d feel the same, so I didn’t say anything. But tonight …” He trails off, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It felt like the right time.”

Your throat tightens, your mind racing. You’ve always thought Max was out of your league, untouchable. But here he is, confessing in the most Max way possible — honest, straightforward, no games.

“I’ve always liked you too,” you admit, your voice trembling.

His eyes widen, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He laughs, the sound full of relief and joy. “Well, I guess the grapes worked after all.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Never,” he says, his voice soft.

It feels like a promise.

***

When you and Max finally stumble out of the water, shivering and laughing, you head straight to the spot where you’d left your clothes. Only, when you get there, the beach doesn’t look quite the same.

Your dress isn’t where you left it.

“Oh no,” you mutter, scanning the dark sand.

“What?” Max asks, standing next to you, his arms crossed against the cold.

“My clothes.” You point at the waterline, which has crept much closer during your impromptu swim. “The waves must’ve gotten to them.”

Max glances down and then back at you with a smirk. “You mean those clothes?”

You follow his gaze to a small, soggy heap half-buried in the sand.

“Oh, for the love of-” You dart toward them, scooping up your dress and underwear, which are completely soaked and dripping.

Max doesn’t even try to suppress his laugh. “Well, this is awkward.”

“Don’t,” you warn, glaring at him.

“I didn’t say anything!” He holds up his hands defensively, still grinning.

You groan, holding up your dress, which now feels about ten pounds heavier with seawater. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t wear this.”

Max tilts his head, considering. “Guess you’ll have to drive back naked.”

“Max!”

“Kidding, kidding!” He steps closer, tugging his own damp shirt over his head and holding it out to you. “Here. Problem solved.”

You hesitate, eyeing the shirt. “What about you?”

“I’ll live,” he says with a shrug, clearly unbothered by the chilly night air. “Take it.”

You sigh, knowing you don’t have much of a choice. “Fine. Turn around.”

Max smirks but obeys, turning his back to you.

You quickly pull the oversized shirt over your head, the fabric still warm from his body. It smells like him, too — a mix of salt, sweat, and something distinctly Max. You tug it down as far as it will go, grateful that it’s long enough to cover everything important.

“Okay,” you say.

Max turns back around, and his grin is immediate and wide. “Wow.”

“What?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“You look good in my clothes,” he says, his voice dropping slightly.

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks burn at the way he’s looking at you, his gaze lingering a little too long. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he counters, his tone light but earnest.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. Instead, you shake your head, muttering, “Let’s just go.”

Max doesn’t argue, but his grin lingers as the two of you make your way back to the car.

“Where are we going?” Max asks as you slide back into the driver’s seat, the leather cool against your bare thighs.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” you say, adjusting the mirrors again.

He shrugs, leaning back in his seat. “We could go back to my place.”

You snort. “Why does that sound like the setup to a bad pickup line?”

“Hey,” he protests, mock-offended. “I’m a gentleman.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you, though?”

“Sometimes,” he says, grinning. “Depends on the company.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Well, as much as I’d love to see your undoubtedly bachelor-esque apartment, I have a better idea.”

“Oh?”

“My dad’s place,” you say, pulling onto the road.

Max raises an eyebrow. “Fernando’s?”

“He’s not there,” you assure him quickly. “He’s probably still at the club, or passed out somewhere. And I happen to know he stocked the apartment with some really good champagne.”

Max hums, considering. “Fancy champagne, empty apartment … I like the sound of this.”

You smile, turning onto the highway. “I thought you might.”

The drive back to Monaco feels different this time. The adrenaline from the beach has faded, replaced by a quiet comfort. Max sits beside you, his head tilted back against the seat, humming softly to himself.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “You’re not falling asleep, are you?”

He shakes his head, reaching for the radio. “Nope. Just thinking.”

“Dangerous,” you tease.

He laughs, fiddling with the dial until he lands on a station playing 80s hits. The familiar opening chords of Take On Me by A-ha fill the car, and Max immediately starts singing along.

“Talking away,” he belts out, completely off-key but fully committed.

You can’t help but laugh. “Oh my God, Max.”

“What?” He says, grinning at you. “You don’t like my singing?”

“I’m just saying, maybe stick to driving cars.”

He clutches his chest dramatically. “Ouch. That’s harsh.”

The chorus kicks in, and Max leans closer to you, practically shouting the lyrics. “I’ll be gone, in a day or twoooooo!”

You’re laughing so hard you can barely keep your hands steady on the wheel. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he says, winking.

You roll your eyes, but the truth is, you kind of do. There’s something about the way Max is so unapologetically himself, even when he’s being completely ridiculous. It’s endearing in a way you didn’t expect.

The next song comes on — Africa by Toto (not that Toto, the other one) — and Max doesn’t miss a beat, launching into another impromptu performance.

“I bless the rains down in AfricAAAA!”

“Please stop,” you beg, though your cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Never,” he says, grinning at you like this is the most fun he’s had in ages.

And as the lights of Monaco come back into view, you realize you’ve never felt more at ease with someone. Max’s off-tune singing, the salty breeze still clinging to your hair, and the warmth of his shirt against your skin — it all feels like something out of a dream.

“Hey,” Max says suddenly, his voice softer now.

“Yeah?” You glance at him, and for once, he’s not smiling. His expression is thoughtful, almost serious.

“I’m glad it was you tonight,” he says simply.

Your heart skips a beat, but you manage to keep your voice steady. “Me too.”

He turns back to the radio, cranking up the volume as another song starts. And as you drive toward the city, the two of you singing along to the music, it feels like the beginning of something you’re not quite ready to name — but it feels right all the same.

***

The apartment is just as you left it — sleek, minimalist, and undoubtedly your father’s. Clean lines, muted colors, and an expansive view of Monaco’s twinkling lights spilling in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Max whistles low as he steps inside, running a hand through his damp hair. “Your dad has good taste.”

You scoff, kicking off your shoes by the door. “He has a good interior designer. There’s a difference.”

Max chuckles, padding after you as you head straight for the kitchen. “Where’s this fancy champagne you promised?”

You open the fridge, scanning its contents. Sure enough, five bottles of Dom Pérignon are lined up like soldiers, condensation clinging to their dark glass.

“Here,” you say, pulling one out and setting it on the marble countertop. “But don’t complain if it ruins you for whatever it is that Formula 1 uses on podiums these days.”

Max grabs two flutes from the cabinet you pointed to and shrugs. “I think I’ll survive.”

You pop the cork with a satisfying pop, pouring the sparkling liquid into the glasses he offers.

“To questionable life choices,” Max says, raising his glass.

You laugh, clinking yours against his. “To new beginnings.”

The first sip is crisp and effervescent, the kind of taste that makes you close your eyes for a second to savor it. Max seems equally impressed, letting out a low hum of approval.

“You weren’t kidding,” he says, taking another sip. “This is good.”

“Only the best for Fernando Alonso,” you say, rolling your eyes.

The two of you settle on the couch, the city lights casting a soft glow over the room. Conversation flows easily, the champagne loosening whatever walls you might have had left after the events of the night.

By the second bottle, you’re both leaning into each other, laughing at stories you’ve never told anyone else.

“So, wait,” Max says, his voice slightly slurred. “You actually punched him?”

“I didn’t punch him,” you correct, giggling. “I just … shoved him. Hard. With my fist.”

Max snorts. “That’s literally a punch.”

“Semantics.” You wave him off, taking another sip of champagne. “He deserved it.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Max says, shaking his head with a grin.

By the time you open the third bottle, everything is a blur of laughter, shared glances, and a warmth that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

You’re halfway through another story when Max interrupts, leaning closer. “You’ve got …” He gestures vaguely at your face.

“What?” You ask, frowning.

“Hold on.” He reaches out, brushing the corner of your mouth with his thumb. The touch is light, almost hesitant, but it sends a jolt of electricity through you.

“There,” he says softly, his thumb lingering a second too long before he pulls back.

The room feels suddenly smaller, quieter. Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

Then, without thinking, you lean in.

The kiss is messy, fueled by champagne and years of unspoken tension. Max’s lips are soft but insistent, his hands finding your waist and pulling you closer.

You barely register the sound of your glass clattering onto the coffee table as you climb onto his lap, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs against your lips, his breath warm and ragged.

You nod, your hands already tugging at the waistband of his jeans. “More than okay.”

His hands slide under the shirt you’re wearing — his shirt — his palms warm against your skin. The touch makes you shiver, but you can’t tell if it’s from the cold or something else entirely.

“You look so good in this,” he whispers, his lips trailing down your neck.

“Stop talking,” you mutter, pulling him back up for another kiss.

He laughs softly but obeys, his hands roaming freely now, exploring every curve like he’s trying to memorize you.

You lose track of time, of where you end and he begins. The champagne bubbles in your veins, making everything feel hazy and light.

Somehow, you both end up half-naked on the leather sectional, your legs tangled together. Max’s hands stay under the shirt, resting against your waist like he’s anchoring himself to you.

Your hand drifts lower, brushing against the waistband of his briefs. He lets out a low groan, his head falling back against the couch.

“Careful,” he says, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and warning.

You smirk, leaning down to press a kiss to his jaw. “You’re the one who said to live a little.”

He laughs, pulling you back down into another kiss.

Eventually, exhaustion gets the better of both of you. The kisses slow, turning softer, lazier, until you’re both too tired to do anything but collapse against each other.

Max’s arms wrap around you, his body warm and solid beneath you.

“Don’t let me fall asleep like this,” you mumble, your voice muffled against his chest.

“Too late,” he replies, his voice already heavy with sleep.

And as your eyes flutter closed, you can’t help but think that this might be the best questionable life choice you’ve ever made.

***

The first hint of dawn spills into the apartment, a soft, golden hue creeping through the glass walls. The city below comes to life slowly, but up here, in the quiet sanctuary of your father’s apartment, everything feels frozen in time.

You’re vaguely aware of the early morning light as you stir, still half-asleep, tangled in the warmth of Max’s arms. His hands are still under the shirt you’re wearing — his shirt — resting against your bare waist. Your head rests on his chest, his steady heartbeat like a metronome beneath your ear.

You should feel embarrassed, maybe even regretful. Instead, you feel … safe. Content.

The sound of keys jingling outside the door doesn’t register immediately.

Then, the lock turns, and the door creaks open.

“Ah, mierda.”

The low curse comes from the entryway. The unmistakable, groggy voice of your father.

You jolt upright, your blood turning ice-cold as the realization sinks in.

Max stirs beside you, groaning softly. “What’s going on?”

You don’t have time to answer before Fernando appears in the living room doorway, his hair disheveled, his jacket slung over one shoulder, and the beginnings of a hangover etched across his face.

His gaze lands on the two of you — your bare legs, Max’s shirt haphazardly covering you, and the obvious fact that both your pants are nowhere to be seen.

There’s a long, excruciating silence.

“Papá,” you manage to squeak, your voice higher than you intended.

Fernando blinks once, twice. Then his eyes narrow. “What is this?”

Max freezes, his brain clearly struggling to catch up. “Uh …”

You scramble for words, any words, but your mind is a complete blank.

Fernando steps closer, his voice sharp. “You. Verstappen. What are you doing here?”

Max raises a hand, as though he’s trying to surrender. “I can explain-”

“Oh, you better,” Fernando interrupts, his tone dark. “Because from where I’m standing, this looks like …” He gestures vaguely at the two of you, his expression a mix of disbelief and fury. “… a very bad decision.”

You hastily pull a throw pillow over your lap, trying to muster some semblance of dignity. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Fernando arches a brow. “It looks like I came home to find my daughter and Max Verstappen half-naked on my couch.”

“Okay, so maybe it’s a little what it looks like,” you admit, cringing.

Max finally seems to snap out of his stupor. He sits up, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Listen, Fernando, I-”

“You don’t get to call me Fernando,” your father snaps. “Not right now.”

“Okay,” Max backtracks quickly, holding up his hands. “Look, this isn’t her fault. It’s on me.”

You turn to him, frowning. “Max-”

“No, it’s true,” he continues, his voice steady despite the situation. “I shouldn’t have let things get … out of hand.”

Fernando crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing further. “Out of hand?”

“I mean-” Max stumbles over his words, clearly realizing he’s digging himself deeper. “It’s not like we planned for this to happen.”

Fernando’s gaze flicks to you, his expression unreadable. “Is that true?”

You open your mouth, then close it, your cheeks burning. “Well … yes. Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“It’s complicated!” You blurt out, throwing your hands up in frustration.

Fernando pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that you’re pretty sure isn’t complimentary.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he says after a moment, his voice tight. “You-” He points at Max. “Why are you even here?”

“We were … celebrating,” Max says hesitantly.

“Celebrating,” Fernando repeats flatly. “By taking your pants off on my couch?”

“Okay, that part was-” Max starts, but you cut him off.

“Can we not talk about pants right now?” You plead, your face hot enough to fry an egg.

Fernando gives you a look that could melt steel. “No, we’re absolutely going to talk about it. What were you thinking?”

“Maybe we weren’t thinking,” you admit quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“That much is obvious,” he mutters.

“Papá, please,” you say, your voice softening. “It’s not like we meant to disrespect you or your home.”

Fernando sighs, the anger in his expression giving way to something else — disappointment. It stings more than you care to admit.

Max shifts uncomfortably beside you, breaking the silence. “I know this looks bad-”

“It is bad,” Fernando interrupts. “Do you have any idea what this could do to your reputation? To hers?”

Max frowns, his jaw tightening. “With all due respect, I care more about her than my reputation.”

Your breath catches at his words, but Fernando doesn’t seem impressed.

“Convenient to say that now,” he mutters, crossing his arms again.

Max’s expression hardens. “It’s the truth.”

The tension in the room is suffocating, the silence stretching out until you can’t take it anymore.

“Can we just … take a minute?” You say, looking between them. “Please?”

Fernando stares at you for a long moment, his expression softening just a fraction. “Fine. One minute.”

He turns on his heel, muttering something under his breath yet again as he storms toward the kitchen.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, you let out a shaky breath, turning to Max.

“This is a disaster,” you whisper.

Max reaches for your hand, his touch grounding. “We’ll figure it out.”

“How?” You ask, your voice tinged with panic.

He squeezes your hand gently. “Together.”

Despite everything, his confidence is reassuring. You take another deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Together.”

Fernando’s voice cuts through the moment from the kitchen. “You better be decent when I come back.”

Max lets out a low chuckle, and you can’t help but smile despite the situation.

“Let’s just survive the next five minutes,” you murmur, standing to pull on your still-damp jeans.

Max grins up at you, his eyes warm. “I like our odds.”

You glance toward the kitchen, where your father is undoubtedly fuming, and pray he’s right.

***

The tension in the room is suffocating as your father storms back from the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand and a sharp glare aimed squarely at Max. You sit on the edge of the couch, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Max, to his credit, doesn’t flinch under the weight of Fernando’s gaze, though his posture is tense, shoulders squared like he’s bracing for impact.

Fernando takes a long sip of his coffee before setting the cup down on the counter with a decisive clink. “Alright,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. “Let’s talk.”

Max leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “I-”

Fernando holds up a hand, cutting him off. “No. I’ll talk first. You’ll listen.”

Max glances at you briefly, then nods. “Okay.”

Your father steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “So. Verstappen. Tell me — were you trying to sleep with my daughter under my own roof?”

The bluntness of the question makes you choke on air. “Papá!”

“Stay out of this,” Fernando says sharply, not even sparing you a glance. His eyes are locked on Max, who blinks in surprise before straightening in his seat.

“No!” Max says quickly, his voice firm. “Of course not.”

Fernando tilts his head, his lips twitching as though he’s fighting back a smirk. “Oh, so she’s not attractive enough for you to want to sleep with?”

“What?” You gasp, standing up. “What is wrong with you?”

“Sit down,” Fernando says over his shoulder, though there’s an unmistakable gleam of amusement in his eyes.

Max looks like he’s been thrown into the deep end of a pool without warning. “That’s not — what? No!”

Fernando raises an eyebrow. “No, she’s not attractive, or no, you weren’t trying to sleep with her?”

Max glares at him, his jaw tightening. “You’re twisting my words.”

“Am I?” Fernando says, taking another slow sip of his coffee.

“Yes!” Max snaps, then seems to catch himself. He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I wasn’t trying to disrespect you or your home. I swear.”

Fernando steps closer, looming over Max. “You swear, huh?”

“Yes,” Max says firmly.

“And yet,” Fernando says, gesturing at the couch with a dramatic wave of his hand, “I walked in on this. My daughter, half-naked, tangled up with you.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god, stop.”

Fernando ignores you. “Explain that, Verstappen.”

Max meets his gaze, unflinching. “I care about her. That’s the truth.”

Fernando’s eyebrows lift slightly, but he doesn’t respond immediately. He paces a few steps, tapping his fingers against his coffee cup as though mulling over his next move.

Finally, he stops, turning back to Max. “You care about her,” he repeats, his tone skeptical.

“Yes,” Max says, his voice unwavering.

Fernando tilts his head again, studying Max like he’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “Alright. Let’s test that.”

Max frowns. “Test what?”

“Your commitment,” Fernando says simply.

You groan again, standing up. “Papá, this isn’t some kind of-”

“Sit,” Fernando says, pointing at the couch.

“Stop telling me to sit!” You snap, but you drop back down anyway, crossing your arms over your chest.

Fernando turns back to Max, a small, mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “So. Verstappen. If you care about her, you won’t mind answering a few questions.”

Max hesitates but nods. “Alright.”

Fernando sets his coffee cup down again, cracking his knuckles for dramatic effect. “First question. Do you even know her middle name?”

Max’s eyes flick to you, then back to Fernando. “Of course I do. It’s-” He pauses, frowning. “Wait. Do you have one?”

Fernando lets out a bark of laughter. “Strike one.”

You roll your eyes. “Max, I don’t have a middle name. Don’t listen to him.”

Max glares at Fernando. “That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” Fernando says with a shrug. “Next question. What’s her favorite color?”

Max’s frown deepens. “Pink?”

Fernando shakes his head. “Wrong.”

“Wrong?” Max turns to you. “It’s not pink?”

“It’s not pink,” you confirm, biting back a smile.

Fernando smirks. “Strike two.”

Max leans back, exhaling slowly. “Alright. What is it, then?”

Fernando opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “It’s burgundy.”

“Burgundy,” Max repeats, nodding to himself. “Got it.”

“Too late,” Fernando says, waving him off. “You’re already failing.”

“Papá,” you say, your tone a warning.

Fernando raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. One last question.”

Max leans forward again, his expression determined. “Go ahead.”

Fernando’s smirk returns. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”

The question hangs in the air like a loaded gun.

Max doesn’t flinch. He meets Fernando’s gaze head-on and says, “I don’t know yet.”

You blink in surprise, as does your father.

Max continues, his voice steady. “But I know I want to figure it out. I care about her, and I want to spend more time with her. That’s all I can say right now.”

Fernando studies him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

Then, to your astonishment, he nods. “Fair enough.”

“Fair enough?” You echo, staring at him in disbelief.

Fernando shrugs, picking up his coffee cup again. “At least he’s honest.”

Max lets out a breath he probably didn’t realize he was holding, and you shake your head, still trying to process what just happened.

“Just one thing,” Fernando adds, turning back to Max with a pointed look.

“What’s that?” Max asks cautiously.

Fernando leans in slightly, his voice low but firm. “If you hurt her, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Max doesn’t hesitate. “Understood.”

Fernando nods once, then steps back, his demeanor relaxing slightly. “Good. Now, get dressed. Both of you.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands again. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Max says, nudging you gently.

You glare at him, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything.

Fernando smirks, heading toward his bedroom. “You’ve got ten minutes before I come back with more questions.”

“Papá!” You call after him, but he’s already gone.

Max chuckles softly, leaning back on the couch. “That went well, all things considered.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “You think that went well?”

He grins, shrugging. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you like me anyway,” he says, his grin widening.

You roll your eyes, but you don’t argue.

***

One Year Later

The club is just as loud and chaotic as it was a year ago, but it feels different this time. Maybe it’s the crowd, maybe it’s the glow of the New Year’s lights, or maybe it’s the fact that Max’s hand hasn’t left yours all night.

You’re back where it all started, tucked into the VIP section of the Monaco club where you had once crouched under a table eating grapes in a last-ditch attempt to find love. That night had been nothing short of chaotic, but looking back, it had been the beginning of something you wouldn’t trade for the world.

“Is it how you remembered it?” Max asks, leaning in close to be heard over the music.

You glance around at the glittering lights and pulsing crowd, then back at him. “It’s definitely less embarrassing this time around.”

Max grins, brushing a thumb over your knuckles. “I don’t know. You were pretty cute in your desperation.”

You groan, nudging him with your shoulder. “Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

“Not a chance,” he says, laughing. “It’s one of my favorite stories to tell.”

“Great. Glad my suffering is so entertaining for you,” you tease, though you can’t help but smile.

Max tugs you closer, his voice softer now. “You know, I’m really glad you ate those grapes.”

You look up at him, your heart fluttering at the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Me too.”

The DJ announces that it’s nearly midnight, and the crowd buzzes with excitement. Max pulls you to your feet, his hands resting lightly on your waist.

“Ready to count down?” He asks, his voice warm and low.

“With you? Always,” you say, grinning.

The countdown begins, and the energy in the room spikes. You can feel the excitement in the air, the anticipation of a new year, a fresh start.

“Ten!” The crowd shouts.

Max’s hands tighten slightly on your waist, and you lean into him, your pulse racing.

“Nine!”

You look up at him, your eyes locking.

“Eight!”

His gaze softens, his smile turning gentle.

“Seven!”

You bite your lip, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“Six!”

Max leans down, his forehead brushing against yours.

“Five!”

Your breath catches as the noise of the crowd fades into the background.

“Four!”

“Three!”

“Two!”

You close your eyes, tilting your head up.

“One!”

Midnight strikes, and Max’s lips meet yours, soft and certain. The room erupts in cheers and confetti, but all you can focus on is the way he’s holding you, like you’re the only person in the world.

The kiss deepens, his hands sliding to your back, pulling you closer. You smile against his lips, your heart full and light-

Only to be rudely interrupted by someone literally wedging themselves between you.

“Alright, break it up!”

You stumble back a step, blinking in surprise. Max looks just as stunned, his hands still midair where they’d been resting on your waist.

Fernando stands between you, his arms crossed and a deeply unimpressed look on his face. “Leave room for Jesus.”

You gape at him, your cheeks burning. “Papá! What the hell are you doing?”

“I think the better question,” he says, looking pointedly at Max, “is what you two were doing.”

Max stares at him, then throws his hands up. “We were kissing. It’s New Year’s!”

Fernando raises an eyebrow. “And you couldn’t do that with a little more … decorum?”

“You’re not even religious!” You protest, exasperated.

Fernando smirks, clearly enjoying himself. “And that’s why, by Jesus, I mean me.”

Max blinks. “You mean … you?”

You stare at your father, your frustration warring with the urge to laugh. “Are you serious right now?”

“Completely,” Fernando says, deadpan. “Now, why don’t we all take a nice step back, breathe, and reflect on the fact that I’m allowing this relationship to exist at all.”

“Allowing?” Max echoes, crossing his arms. “With all due respect, I don’t think you get to allow anything anymore.”

Fernando turns to him, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, is that so?”

“Yes,” Max says firmly. “We’re adults. And we’re together. Whether you approve or not.”

Fernando looks at him for a long moment, then lets out a low chuckle. “Well, at least you’ve got guts.”

“More than that,” you interject, stepping between them. “He’s good to me. Better than anyone else ever has been. And I love him.”

Fernando’s smirk fades, replaced by something softer. He looks at you, his expression unreadable, then nods slowly. “I know.”

“You know?” You ask, surprised.

He shrugs. “Of course I know. I’m your father.”

Max exchanges a glance with you, clearly just as confused. “So … what’s with all the drama, then?”

Fernando grins, stepping back. “Because it’s fun.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands again. “I can’t believe this.”

Max laughs, pulling you into his side. “I can.”

Fernando claps Max on the shoulder, his grin widening. “Happy New Year, Verstappen. Don’t screw it up.”

Max meets his gaze, his expression serious. “I won’t.”

Fernando nods, then turns to you. “And you — try to keep him out of trouble, will you?”

You smile, leaning into Max. “I’ll do my best.”

Fernando waves you off, disappearing back into the crowd with a casual, “Don’t make me come back over here.”

Max watches him go, then turns to you, shaking his head. “Your dad’s insane.”

“Welcome to my world,” you say, laughing.

He grins, leaning down to kiss you again. This time, no one interrupts.

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bunny-jpeg · 2 days ago

Note

hiii first I would like to say that I LOVE your writing and I was wondering if you could do smth with Lando. This is quite a long order so you can pick and chose what you would like.

dark hot chocolate

milkshake

a vodka shot

spicy upside down cake

crème caramel

hot cross buns

bakery menu

thank you so much for the order! i've been really getting back into doing these bakery orders, so it's been fun working through the requests i've gotten! i always love doing a good lando fic, the fans i get in my inbox always have some of the most creative prompts i've ever seen so thank you! i hope you love this!

spicy upside down cake: "let's play a game: don't get caught." + crème caramel: "oh. you thought you were getting away from me?" + hot cross buns: "don't hide your face from me. i'd hate to have to tie you up." + dark hot chocolate: sub!reader + milkshake: size kink + a vodka shot: rough sex served by lando norris (formula one)!!

tags: smut/pwp, rough sex, size kink, sub!reader, semi-public sex, brattiness, dirty talk & degrading language, filthy (!!)

lando norris loved a good brat. he loved when a girl thought she could snap at him. it was cute, and it got him hard. cute things with pouty lips and fluttering eyelashes, crossed arms that framed perfect, fat tits. drew him in and made his jeans tight.

nothing like fucking a brat back into submission.

so after being put through the ringer in silverstone, lando couldn't help himself. especially when you said his favourite word in a venomous tone, "no."

you ended up in his driver's room with his hands up the back of your t-shirt and he near slammed the door with his foot. he was moving you like a puppet. you weren't going anywhere too far, too fast. he kissed the nape of your neck and loved the feeling of his hands on your soft skin.

"oh. you thought you were getting away from me?" he teased as he rubbed the front of his jeans up against your behind, "tell me no and then expect to skitter off. you wouldn't get far and you know that. should've chased you through the garage and fucked that pretty pussy of yours over my car. rub those tits of your raw up against it." he was panting already, turned on by how deep his want was for you.

"lando." you whined and you ended up over the couch. your cheek almost pressed against the wall behind it. your knees on the cushion and your round behind on display for him. you crumbled so easily, it was cute.

lando licked his lips and admired you. the shape of you, the feel of you, how hot your skin got when you were turned on. made his cock throb in his jeans. he didn't take him the victory this weekend, but he was going to take your pussy. which was almost as good as a trophy.

"get undressed or else you'll be leaving for the car in a lot less clothes." he remarked, "but i'd be you love that, huh? bare tits out across the paddock, covered in my bite marks. because you're just a little slut aren't you?"he noticed you covering your face with your hands, "don't hide your face from me. i'd hate to have to tie you up." he then grabbed your roughly and got your ass on the cushion your legs spread open as you forced yourself to hold onto the couch.

you looked beautiful.

"strip or it becomes shreds." lando said as he grasped his cock through his jeans, "and don't hide your face, got it?" he was dominating, putting you in your place. and it made you heavily aroused. and he knew it. he knew that you were a sick puppy that way.

you quickly got out of all of your clothes, you were left naked. lando preferred when you were naked, even in cases where you could be easily caught. he was certain that if someone caught sight of your bare tits while you rode him, you'd cum on the spot. dirty girl.

lando kept most of his clothes on, didn't need his round ass to be on the cover of most major sports papers tomorrow. he crowded in your space and braced his hands over the top of the couch, on either side of your head. he watched you swallow and he grinned like a wolf. "pretty little thing." he said, "see, things are much easier when you drop the bratty-act."

"i thought you loved a challenge." you remarked as you looked at him with a cute little wink. it only pulled lando in and he stroked his cock at the sight of your cute figure. you really were something else. naked on the couch, your breasts and cunt on full display for him. and yet, you remain defiant.

"i do, but i also love girls who know when to shut up and take it." he sank his cock into you. you let out a sweet moan and he chuckled lowly, "let's play a game: don't get caught. think you can do that? keep that whore mouth quiet while i fuck you?" he pushed to the base and shakily exhaled. he felt a stir in his gut while he admired you.

you felt hot all over a she started to move against you. your body didn't feel like your own, you were under lando's spell as he fucked you. you tensed up around him as you kept your legs open for him. there was something that ran hot through you. it wasn't fair, he made you a panting dog for him.

"a real bitch in heat, huh?" he chuckled lowly as he continued to move against you. he pressed into you harder, "pretty eye though, gotta keep them interested somehow. or else they'll hit and leave." he continued to move against you. his thrusts made you see stars. who allowed for him to be this hot. this painfully good at making you moan.

you let out a whine and he gave you a firm pat on the cheek, he'd never harm you. he'd just make his presence known, after all he was your boyfriend, your love, your dominant in your life. he was rough, but not abusive. he made you squirm and enjoyed the feeling of you under him. on the stupid couch they gave him, fucking tomorrow out of you.

there was something about him. the way he carried himself, the way he moved through your space. he wasn't like others, he was like no man you had been with before. he made you pant. whine and more of all, cum at the feeling of his cock inside of you. he could work with what he had and it often made you moaning with heated pleasure.

he looked at you, he kept his eyes on you as he fucked up into you. he held onto the couch while he thrusted up into you. he kept his expressions under control while your face displayed all the feelings of pleasure he was giving you. he loved how you looked, he made you feel heaven, why not enjoy it too?

"please, lando. fuck, i love you."

"and i love you, baby. look at you, you take my cock like a champ. can you believe it? i guess you put your money where your mouth is, silly little slut." he licked his lips as he continued to move against you. his thrusts were heavy and they left a certain cloudiness in his brain as he fucked the daylights out of you. you were a slut for him and he loved that, he loved that he could bend, twist and fuck you however he saw fit. it was a good feeling in his soul as he rutted against you.

he knew that you loved him, you loved him as deep as veins ran deep in the body. he knew you were needy for him, you yearned for his heavy cock inside of you. his breathing was heavy in your ear as eh moved against you, the feel was overwhelming and you tried so hard to keep quiet. you didn't want to be the front page tomorrow because your boyfriend decided to fuck you until you saw stars.

"that's it, baby." he said as he thrusted up into you, "you feel amazing. all mine, who let you feel this good. you got a pussy most would die for." his pace continued, "i need you beautiful, always in my heart as i ruin your fucking pussy." his words were heated as he fucked you. there was little time for tenderness as he ravaged you.

you kept your tone quiet as you held onto him, letting him fuck your sweet cunt. it was hard to keep quiet with the pace so quick and so erotic that it left your core quivering for him. you knew you weren't going to last much longer.

"gonna behave for me now, be a good girl for me?" he asked as he held your throat. he didn't choke you, he held you so you'd keep your eyes on him. as he continued to rut against you, the feeling was hot, the weight of his hand against you as he made your core flutter around him.

you nodded dumbly, not much else to say as he fucked you with a heated want. you reached out for him and clung to his t-shirt while you climaxed around his cock. you squeezed around him, eyes shut and held onto him tightly. he continued to fuck you, he fucked you through you orgasm and only grinned at the blissed out expression you had. you looked like a total dream, even in the heat of climax. he kissed your neck and fucked you roughly.

he was in total control and he felt the fire in his core as he moved against you. your wetness stained the front of his jeans, which only spurred him on to make you a panting, whiny mess. he eventually shut you up with a heated kiss and kept you pinned to the couch by your shoulders.

he was going to fuck the brattiness out of you, and with a few more heavy strokes of his hips he finished inside of you. he watched your eyes flutter close for a moment before you loosely held onto him. it was erotic to see you in a state of total bliss as he came. you two fit together beautifully and lando couldn't help but kiss your neck as he moved against you slower and let himself feel your entire body.

hands trailed across your sides before he held you hips tightly and pulled out of your cunt. he looked at you and exhaled deeply against your neck, "beautiful." he said with much more tenderness.

he looked at his soft cock and then to you. he then asked as he admired your messy expression. you were all blissed out from him. he patted your thigh and said, "now be a good girl and get dressed. you can louder in the hotel." <3

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tzuyubb · 3 days ago

Text

Hypnosis Therapy

Pairing: Blackpink Jennie x Male reader

Word count: 4774 words

Tags: hypnosis, size kink, lingerie, spanking, discipline, SPH (of her ex’s), blowjob, deepthroat, throatjob, facefuck, throatpie, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy style, pronebone, belly bulge, mind break, ahegao, deep penetration, rough sex, creampie

A/N: I've been sitting on this draft for a while now. So, when I got a hypnosis prompt, I decided that it would be perfect as my proper comeback to smut writing. Honestly, I love the premise, so I might make it a series that I post along with The Gentlemen's Playground.

You sat in your office, a cozy and inviting space in the bustling heart of Seoul. Your unique approach to therapy has garnered a stellar reputation among the city's elite, including the world-famous music and entertainment industry. Your specialty was using hypnosis to guide your clients, helping them navigate the intense stress and pressure that came with their high-profile careers. Today, as you looked at the appointment list, your only session for the morning was with a new client, Jennie, a member of the girl group Blackpink.

Minutes later, you heard the doorbell ring, a wave of excitement washed over you and you unlocked the door. Jennie entered your office, her presence exuded both confidence and a hint of vulnerability. Her stunning beauty and charisma were undeniable, and you could easily understand why she had captivated fans worldwide.

"Hello, Jennie," you greeted her with a warm smile, your voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you."

"Hi, Dr. Y/N," Jennie replied, her voice soft and slightly hesitant. "I've been told such amazing things about your work, so I'm hoping you can help me with some personal matters that have been troubling me."

You gestured to the comfy couch across from your chair, inviting her to take a seat. "Please, make yourself comfortable. Everything discussed within these walls remains confidential. You can feel safe sharing whatever is on your mind."

Jennie nodded, her eyes briefly scanned the tastefully decorated room, and she took a seat. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I know your schedule is tightly packed."

"Not at all, I've only had the best experiences with your company, so when they contacted me for an appointment, I cleared the morning for our session" you assured her, your tone soothing. "Now, why don't you start by telling me what brings you here today?"

Jennie took a deep breath as if gathering the courage to share something deeply personal. "Well, it's about my… sex life," she began, a slight flush creeping onto her cheeks. "I've never openly discussed this with anyone, even the other members, but I feel like it's affecting my overall happiness."

You maintained a calm and supportive demeanor, creating a judgement-free atmosphere. "It's perfectly okay, Jennie. Sex is a vital aspect of our lives, and it's entirely valid to seek help in this area. Please, tell me more."

"It's just…" Jennie paused, carefully choosing her words. "I've never truly been satisfied with my sex life. All my past relationships… they've all left me feeling somewhat… physically unfulfilled."

You leaned forward, your eyes filled with genuine interest and empathy. "I see. I understand that this can be a challenging topic to discuss, but I'm here to listen and help in any way I can. Please, spare no detail."

"It's not just that," Jennie continued, her voice gaining confidence as she sensed your unwavering support. "The guys I've been with… they all had smaller… you know… and it's just never felt quite right for me. I've watched those porn videos, the ones with massive cocks stretching girls out, and I can't help but wonder what that would feel like. I've also heard stories from Lisa about her and her boyfriend and can't help but feel jealous."

Your eyes widened slightly at Jennie's sincere admission, but you quickly regained your composure and professionalism. "It's completely natural to have those curiosities and desires. Sexual pleasure is very personal, and it's okay to want to explore and experience different things that you may prefer," you say, your voice steady.

Jennie bit her lip, her eyes darted down to her fidgeting hands on her lap. "I know it might sound superficial, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing out on potential pleasure. All the guys I've been with have been Asian, and I guess I'm just curious about… bigger sizes."

You nodded mischievously, your mind formulating a plan to help Jennie in a way that would surpass her wildest expectations. "It's not superficial at all, Jennie. It's okay to have those thoughts and desires. In fact, I believe I can assist you with that."

Jennie looked up at you, her eyes filled with hope. "You can? How?"

"Well," you began, leaning back in your chair and smiling warmly. "As a specialist therapist, I have some unique methods at my disposal. One of which is hypnosis, a favourite amongst my regular clients."

Jennie's eyes widened in surprise. "Hypnosis? Like making people forget their names and sleep from a snap of your fingers?"

You chuckled and reassured her. "That's the kind of hypnosis you see in shows, meant for entertainment. However, the hypnosis I use is a powerful tool for therapy. It allows people to access their subconscious minds, making them more receptive to suggestions and open to new experiences."

"So, you're saying you're going to hypnotise me?" Jennie asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

"Yes," you replied confidently. "Under hypnosis, I can help you explore your deepest desires, release your inhibitions and pent-up feelings, and even potentially enhance your future sexual experiences."

Jennie's eyes sparkled with excitement and nervousness. "That sounds… intriguing. But what if I get stuck in hypnosis forever?"

You smiled "That's a common misconception. Hypnosis is a natural state we all experience daily, like when you're so focused on a task that you lose track of time. You always remain in control, even in a hypnotic state."

"Oh," Jennie said, looking slightly relieved. "So, how will you actually hypnotise me?"

"I'll guide you into a relaxed state, and then I'll make suggestions to your subconscious mind," you explained. "Your conscious mind might not recall everything, but your body and subconscious will respond accordingly."

"And you're confident this could help me?" Jennie asked, filled with hope.

"I'm sure it will," you assured her. "Now, are you ready to give it a try?"

Jennie took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, let's do it."

"Wonderful," you say, your voice calm and soothing. "Just relax and focus on my voice. Close your eyes and take a few deep breaths…" Jennie followed your instructions, her eyelids gently closed as she inhaled and exhaled slowly.

"That's it," you continued, your voice low and hypnotic. "With each breath, you're relaxing more and more. Your body is becoming heavy, and your mind is calm and serene. You're safe and secure here, and your subconscious mind is opening up, ready to receive my suggestions." Jennie's breathing slowed, and her body sank into the plush couch.

"Now, Jennie," you continued "Listen closely to my words. You won't remember this conversation, but your mind and body will obey the following commands. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Jennie whispered, her voice dreamy and distant.

"Good," you say, filled with satisfaction and mischief. "From this moment on, you will be deeply aroused by my presence. The sound of my voice will make your pussy wet, and the very thought of me will make your heart race with desire. You will crave my touch, my kiss, and the feeling of my body against yours."

Jennie's body reacted to your words, her arousal was evident from the quickening pace of her breaths.

You continued "Your body is mine to command, you will become my obedient sex slave, eager to please me and able to fulfil your deepest desires. You will do anything I ask without hesitation, and your pleasure will be heightened by your submission to me."

Jennie moaned softly, her hands unconsciously moving to her thighs as her body responded to your words.

"You are mine, Jennie, my sexy and obedient slave," you whispered.

Finally, you instruct "When I snap my fingers, you will slowly open your eyes and be released from this hypnotic state. And when you look at me, you will be fully under my control."

*Snap*

Jennie's eyelids fluttered open, her eyes filled with desire as she gazed at you.

"Good girl," your voice laced with lust. "Now, stand up and undress for me, slowly and seductively."

Jennie rose gracefully from the couch, her movements fluid as she began to remove her clothing, piece by piece. Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled her top off, which revealed the alluring black bra beneath. After letting her top fall to the floor, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her jeans, slowly slid it down her legs, and stepped out of it to stand before you in nothing but her provocative black lingerie set.

She then reached behind to unclasp her bra, freeing her full, round, and perky breasts. Her nipples, already erect and sensitive with arousal, caused her to moan softly after being exposed to the cool air. Her hands then moved to the thin straps of her panties, slowly pulling them down her thighs, over her knees, and onto the floor, which left her completely nude.

Your eyes feasted on her slutty body, taking in her creamy skin, ample breasts, and freshly shaved pussy. "Beautiful," you murmur, your voice thick with desire. "Now, come here, slave."

Jennie obeyed, walking over to stand before you.

"Turn around, I want to see that gorgeous ass" you exclaimed dominantly.

Jennie turned, presenting her firm, heart-shaped ass to you. Her cheeks clenched slightly as she felt your gaze on her, and a rush of excitement washed over her at being so exposed and vulnerable.

"Such a perfect view," you praised, as you reached out to gently caress her ass cheeks. "Now, bend over."

Jennie complied, bending at the waist and holding her calves. Her legs were slightly apart, exposing her swollen pussy lips that glistened with arousal.

You stood up and moved behind her, your hands roamed over her ass cheeks before they slipped between her legs to stroke her wet folds. "So wet already," you murmured. "You've been a very naughty girl, Jennie."

Jennie moaned softly, her head hanging down as she reveled in the sensations coursing through her body from your touch.

"Now, I'm going to give you a spanking. Count each strike out loud and thank me for it." you firmly instructed.

"As you command, Master," Jennie whispered, her body trembling with anticipation.

You raised your hand and brought it down sharply on Jennie's left cheek, leaving a bright red handprint. "One, thank you, Master," Jennie gasped, her voice laced with pleasure and pain.

You delivered another sharp smack, this time to her right cheek. "Two, thank you, Master," Jennie cried out filled with excitement.

You continued the spanking, alternating cheeks and landing each smack with force and precision, causing her ass cheeks to glow a rosy red. "Three, thank you, Master," Jennie chanted, her body trembling. "Four, thank you, Master. Five, thank you, Master. Six, thank you..."

"Enough," you exclaimed. "Now, get on your knees and show me how much you've craved a big cock."

Jennie immediately dropped to her knees, her eyes locked with yours as she reached for the waistband of your trousers. With deft fingers, she unbuckled your belt and pulled both your trousers and boxers down revealing your 12-inch erect cock, already pulsating with desire.

Jennie's eyes widened at the sight of your thick, veiny shaft, the head moistened with pre-cum. It was the biggest cock she had ever seen, and the thought of taking it inside her made her pussy clench with anticipation. A wicked smile crossed her face as she imagined the humiliation her Asian ex-boyfriends would feel if they saw her now, their tiny penises no match for the monster she was about to take.

Jennie took your command to heart, as she leaned forward, her full lips wrapped around the head of your throbbing cock. Her eyes locked with yours, a silent communication of her eagerness to please you and a hidden desire to prove her worth against the small cocks of her past.

Inch by inch, she slowly began lowering her mouth further down your shaft. She attempted to deepthroat you, her tongue swirling and her throat muscles relaxing to accommodate your impressive length and girth. The sensation was euphoric; her warm, wet mouth enveloped you, and her soft tongue massaged your sensitive underside. You finally felt her nose nudge your pubic bone as she took you fully, her eyes watering as she struggled to push through her gag reflex.

'That's it, Jennie,' you encouraged, your voice hoarse with desire. 'Take me all the way down, show yourself that you can deal with a real man.'

Jennie moaned around your length, the vibrations sent shivers down your spine. She withdrew slightly, only to plunge back down, her lips forming a tight seal around you. Her hands grasped your thighs, her fingernails dug into your skin as she took control of the rhythm, her head bobbing up and down at a steady pace. Her mind pictured the pathetic men she once dated, their small packages were no comparison to your mighty cock and each movement of her head was a silent victory over her past unsatisfying encounters.

The sight of her, on her knees, mouth stretched around your girth, was a powerful aphrodisiac. You placed your hands on her head, threading your fingers through her silky hair, and guided her movements. 'Such a good girl,' you praised 'But now, I want to fuck that beautiful mouth, and show you what you've been missing.'

With a nod, Jennie understood your desire and her craving for submission. She released your cock from her mouth, her lips glistening with saliva and pre-cum. You then guided her to the edge of the couch, and positioned her on her knees, her hands resting on the cushions. Jennie, filled with anticipation, opened her mouth, inviting you in and ready to prove her worth.

You grasped your shaft, placing the tip of your cock onto her waiting lips. With a firm thrust, you entered her mouth, and her tongue flicked across the sensitive underside of your cock, sending waves of pleasure through your body. The sensation was electric, her warm mouth enveloped you and her full lips caressed your shaft. You began to face fuck her, your hips snapped forward and back, each thrust pushing deeper and deeper into her throat.

'Look at me, Jennie,' you commanded 'I want to see your eyes as I use that pretty mouth and make you feel the power of a real man.'

Jennie's gaze met yours, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of pleasure and triumph. She moaned around your length, the vibrations intensifying the pleasure. Your pace quickened, with each motion a testament to your lust and her newfound purpose.

'That's it, my obedient sex slave,' you growled. 'Take it all in, let me use that gorgeous slutty mouth and show the world that you were made for bigger and better cocks.'

Jennie's response was a guttural sound of bliss, her body trembled as she surrendered to the primal act, her mind filled with images of her exes' tiny cocks in comparison to your massive member.

You increased your pace even further, your hips were a blur hammering into and out of her mouth. 'You're doing so well, Jennie, I want to feel your throat tighten around me as I cum. Show me how much you've craved big cock.' you exclaimed.

Jennie's eyes widened at your words, her body tensed in anticipation. You grasped her hair tighter, guiding her head in a synchronous rhythm that enhanced your deep thrusts. The room filled with the sounds of her sucking and slurping, and your heavy breathing as you neared your climax.

'That's it you whore, suck me dry, swallow my cum, and prove to yourself that you were made for more than those pathetic small cocks.' you grunted.

As you exploded, filling Jennie's mouth with your hot seed, her throat constricted around your shaft, milking every last drop. Her eyes never left yours, and you see her struggle to swallow the copious amount of cum you released.

Withdrawing your cock, it glistened with a mixture of saliva and cum. You then pulled her to the couch, her body still trembling from the intensity of the experience. 'Lie back' you instructed 'It's time for you to truly feel me.'

Jennie, her body flushed with arousal, followed your command and offered herself completely to your pleasure and to the fulfilment of her fantasies. She laid on the couch and spread her legs, a wanton invitation. You positioned yourself between her thighs, your eyes locking with hers as you placed your throbbing cock to her glistening core. 'Are you ready for this, my eager slave? Are you ready to finally experience fullness?'

'Please, Master,' she pleaded, her hands reaching up to pull you closer. 'I need your cock inside me. I need to feel you, all of you, and all at once.'

The desperation in her voice sent a jolt of dominance through you, and with a growl, you rammed your cock forward, claiming the depths of her pussy in one smooth motion. Her eyes flew open at the sensation of being filled so completely and perfectly, her mind briefly flashed to the disappointing encounters with her exes. 'Oh, my God,' she yelled, her back arching off the couch, her hands gripping the cushions as if to anchor herself during this overwhelming moment. 'It's so big! I've never felt so full!'

You paused, giving her a moment to adjust to your size, to the feeling of being stretched and broken in, and to the realisation that she could never go back. Then, with a primal need, you began to move, your hips snapped forward and backward, each thrust deliberate and powerful. You filled her again and again, each stroke erasing the memories of her previous sexual experiences.

'You like that, don't you? You like being fucked by a cock that destroys your tight Asian pussy, that makes you forget those insignificant little boys' you roared, pounding into her.

'Yes, Master!' she cried out. 'It's incredible! I've never felt so full, so completely satisfied! I was so wrong to settle for anything less!'

Her words spurred you on, and you showed no mercy as you drove into her, your hands roughly gripped her slender hips, leaving faint marks on her porcelain skin. Jennie's body became a canvas of pleasure, her breasts swayed, her nipples stood erect and tight, and her tight belly bulged with each thrust. Instinctively, her long legs wrapped around your waist, her ankles locked behind your back as you continued to thrust. The slight change in angle sent new waves of pleasure through her, and she cried out, her voice echoing off the walls.

'You feel that, slut? You feel how deep I can go, how much more pleasure I can give you' you asked.

'Master, I feel it! I feel your enormous cock throbbing inside me! I never want to go back!' Jennie groaned, her body moving in sync with yours, meeting your thrusts with her own.

You leaned down, capturing her mouth in a kiss as you continued to ram into her. The kiss was fierce, your tongue mimicked the rhythm of your hips and claimed her soul. Jennie responded with equal fervor, her hands grasped your hair and pulled you in as if she couldn't get enough of your taste, as if she had been starving for this kind of passion and pleasure.

You broke the kiss, sat up, and roughly grabbed her legs, spreading them as wide as they could go. Continuing to pound deep into her, Jennie's eyes rolled upwards, her mouth gaped open and her tongue hung outwards. She revealed her slutty ahegao face and it was a sight to behold. Her body and core began to clench around you, and you could feel her pleasure building to an intense peak "I'm close, Master!"

You suddenly pulled out, releasing your cock from her pussy's tight hold. "Not yet, my little slave, ride me and show me how much you crave this superior cock!" you commanded.

With a fluid motion, Jennie pushed you onto your back and rose, her body a vision of newfound confidence. Placing her hands on your chest for support, she then straddled your lap and roughly impaled herself with your cock. Taking control, she moved her hips in a forceful yet sensual rhythm, maximising her pleasure.

You grasped her hips and repositioned your own so that she could take you even deeper. Playfully, you encouraged her "That's it, Jennie, take all of me, fuck yourself on my cock like the whore you are."

Following your encouragement, Jennie continued to move her body up and down, moaning with a sound of pure satisfaction and triumph.

Seeing her ample breasts bounce, teased you to taste them. You placed her hands on your shoulders and, as she leaned forward, captured her right nipple between your lips. You sucked and teased her firm nipple as she continued to ride you. "Oh, yes! I love how my Master sucks on my sensitive tits!" she cried out, her body trembling.

After a teasing final suckle, you released her right nipple and focused on the left. This time, you playfully bit down and pulled her nipple with your teeth, causing her to moan with a mixture of pain and pleasure.

Feeling satisfied, you freed her tits and instructed her "Now, my eager slave, turn around and bounce that firm ass on my cock."

Jennie, her body shiny with sweat, complied and turned facing away from you. She got into a squatting position and lowered herself onto your shaft, her movements were slow and deliberate, and her back arched as she took you in, inch by inch. Her hands gripped your legs, her fingers dug into your flesh as she set a new rhythm.

"That's it, Jennie," you praised, your voice a low rumble. "Enjoy being filled and stretched out by a real man."

Jennie moaned and started to quicken her pace, her body moved in a way that showcased her surrender to her desires and the superiority of your size. As her rhythm intensified, you had the perfect view of her ass. It took the whole of your length and jiggled each time she slammed into you.

Soon, her head fell backwards, her long silky black hair cascading down her back as she acquiesced to the sensations that coursed through her. "Master! I'm so close again! Your cock… it's taking me to places I've never been with those small cock boys!" she exclaimed in ecstasy.

"That's it, let go! Cum for me while you ride my big hard cock!" you shouted.

Jennie's body shook violently, her walls clenched around you as she surrendered to her orgasm. "I'm coming, Master!" she screamed, her nails digging into your legs as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. You continued to fuck her through her orgasm, your hands engulfed her small waist, supporting her in a sensual rhythm.

As her climax began to subside, you moved her to the edge of the couch and positioned her on all fours, her hands and knees sinking into the cushions. Almost instinctively, her back arched and offered a stunning view of her glistening pussy. "Now, my obedient slave, it's my turn." you laugh "I'm gonna break your mind and pussy."

Jennie, her body still heaving with overwhelming pleasure, could only nod in submission. You stood behind her and tightly held onto her hips with both hands. Using the tip of your erect cock, you teased her wet folds and, with a single powerful thrust, rammed deep inside her.

Before she could even comprehend what had happened, you pulled out fully and slammed right back into her. You continued to roughly jackhammer her tight wet Asian pussy, stretching her out and bruising her cervix. "You like that, Jennie? You like being taken from behind, being reminded that you're a submissive little slut that has outgrown those Asian boys?" you exclaimed.

"Yes, Master!" she cried out in pain. "Take me, own me, I've chosen you and the path of true pleasure!" She began to move her body in sync with yours, her hands tightly gripping the cushions as she took you in. Jennie's surrender was absolute, her body was a vessel for your pleasure and your dominance over her was complete.

Suddenly, her arms and legs gave in, releasing your hard cock and leaving her prone on the couch. Despite this, you quickly repositioned yourself above her and forcefully pushed your length back into her, filling her once more.

"Fuck Jennie! Your pussy is so tight in this position." you praised emphatically. Jennie moaned with a mixture of pleasure and exhaustion "I love it, Master! I love how you use my pussy as your personal fleshlight, fucking it roughly into oblivion!"

As you continued to drive into her, you felt the coil of your pleasure tighten. You leaned down, your mouth close to her ear, your breath hot against her skin, and whispered a command. "That's right, slave. And now, I want you to come for me again before I finally finish deep inside of you."

Jennie's body reacted to your erotic words, her pussy clenched around your shaft as she pleaded. "Please, Master, fill me with your cum! I want to feel your cum inside me, claiming me as yours! I choose you, and I'll never look back!"

Your control began to slip as her words, her submission, and the tight heat of her body pushed you closer to the edge. Your movements became wilder, your pace became a frenzied rhythm, and each thrust became a statement of your mastery over her. "You're mine, Jennie," you growled, your voice raw with passion and lust. "Every part of you, every scream, every moan, belongs to me!"

"Oh, Master! Fuck me deeper, harder, and faster!" she cried out, her body moving in perfect harmony with yours, her pleasure once again building to an intense peak.

With a powerful final thrust, you surrendered to your pleasure and roared as you released your hot seed deep within her, marking her as your property. At the same time, Jennie's body convulsed as she too surrendered to her climax, her walls milking your shaft and her pleasure consuming her.

For minutes, you remain joined, your bodies slick with sweat and the evidence of your shared pleasure. Jennie's breath was ragged, her eyes glazed with satisfaction as she turned her head to look at you, a satisfied smile on her lips.

"That was…" she began, her voice triumphant and exhausted. "I've never experienced anything like that. I feel like I've finally found what I've been missing."

You returned a warm smile, a sense of victory filling you. "It's been my pleasure to guide you, Jennie. And this is just the beginning of your journey into true fulfilment."

Finally getting up, you both slowly got dressed. However, Jennie's curiosity got the better of her, her mind still buzzing from the heavenly experience. "But how did I… I mean, I don't remember agreeing to all of this. It's like I had no control, but I loved it."

You laughed with an insidious glint in your eyes, a glint of a master who had hypnotised his client to become his sex slave. "The mind is powerful, Jennie. As you can tell from first-hand experience, even if you don't remember it, hypnosis can still do wonders for the mind and body."

Jennie nodded understandingly "So, it's almost like, I was… under a spell?" "A spell of pleasure that frees you, one might say," you smoothly replied "And it's a spell I'm sure you'll want to be under again, to continue exploring the path you've chosen today."

Jennie smiled lustfully, her body still humming with the afterglow of her intense orgasms and her mind already imagining the possibilities of future sessions. "I can't deny that it was… an eye-opening experience. I want to explore more, to leave no stone unturned in my pursuit of pleasure and fulfilment."

You held the door open for her, a silent promise in your eyes, a promise of further guidance and pleasure. "Until next time, Jennie. A world of true satisfaction awaits, and you've only just begun to scratch the surface."

As Jennie stepped out, you allowed yourself a moment of gratification, knowing that the hypnosis had worked its magic and Jennie had now become your obedient personal sex slave. You now wondered about your other clients and the possibilities of guiding them to a similar outcome. The thought was tantalising, and you knew that this was just the beginning of a journey into the dark and devious world of hypnotic domination.

#blackpink jennie #jennie #jennie smut #jennie x reader #jennie x male reader #blackpink #blackpink jennie smut #blackpink smut #kpop smut #smut #male reader #kpop gg #idol x male reader #idol x reader #kpop x reader #kpop x male reader #kpop #kpop idol

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hiddenlxtus · 2 days ago

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attempting to come up with an art prompt for you i’m sorry im not the best at these: lee giving gaara a rare plant as a gift

A parting gift :)

#noo anon its fine!! what a nice prompt :3 thank you so much #gaalee #gaara #rock lee #naruto #mun art #edit: i just wanted to say the plant is a desert lily.. idk if thats rare i just thought it was cute

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inkedinshadows · 2 days ago

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if ur still taking requests may I please ask for prompt #22 with cassian? it can be fluffy or smutty or both 🥰 thanks love ur blog btw!! 🩷🩷🩷

Starved For Your Touch

Pairing: Cassian x f!reader

A/N: Hi anon! Thank you so much <33 I wanted to include smut but inspiration for fluff found me first! I love drama queen cassian, hope you enjoy it 💕

Prompt: "You're such a tease today."

Warnings: none really, just a very tiny short piece of angst if you really squint

Word count: 1.5k

You had recently realized just how much Cassian craved physical contact, and your new favorite pastime was denying him of it. You wanted to see how far you could push him before he snapped.

Apparently, just a day.

You chose a short summer dress, fully aware of the way it hugged your curves and made your legs look longer. Cassian wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you, and you were determined not to let him touch you.

When you walked into the living room, he was lounging on the couch with Rhys and Mor. You greeted them with a smile, and Cassian’s face lit up when he saw you. Without interrupting the conversation, he reached for you, but you stayed just a few inches out of reach, merely brushing his hand with a teasing smile as you made your way to the kitchen.

When you walked back out a few minutes later, you let him grab your hand and pull you closer. You knew he wanted you to sit on his lap. You both loved it. But today you didn’t, opting instead to settle on the couch beside him. He frowned but didn’t comment.

“You look lovely, sweetheart,” he said instead. “This dress suits you.”

“It really does,” Mor chimed in from her armchair. “Which means your hands will be all over her in three… two…”

You and Rhysand chuckled, but Cassian grinned. He didn’t even try to deny it.

“Actually, I have to go,” you announced, cutting the moment short.

Cassian stilled, his arm half-lifted as he was about to drape it over your shoulders. “You’re leaving already?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m going shopping with Elain, remember?” You patted his knee before standing and looking at Mor. “Want to join us?”

Her smile widened. “You know it.”

You leaned down to kiss Cassian, just a brush of your lips against his—more a promise of a kiss than an actual one. He tried to keep you there, to deepen the kiss, but you pulled back.

“Always eager for more,” you murmured, and booped his nose. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

Following Mor to the front door, you turned back to wave at Cassian, catching the stunned expression plastered on his face.

Rhys just looked amused.

~~~~~~

Cassian was waiting when you returned home a few hours later.

Mor and Elain had already come back, but you’d stayed behind to buy one last item—a flimsy piece of lingerie you thought he might like.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked as the door closed behind you. “Not since the girls came back, I hope.”

“I saw you arrive through the window.” Cassian pushed off the wall and stalked toward you, an accusatory finger pointed in your direction. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at what you assumed was supposed to be an intimidating expression. It never worked on you. He could be intimidating when he needed to—he was a warrior and a general, after all. But when he pretended, his lips jutted out slightly in a pout and a small crease appeared between his brows.

“And what is it?” you inquired, trying to walk past him and up the stairs. You were carrying a few full bags and just wanted to drop them off in your room.

Cassian’s arm shot out to block your path. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. Not until you tell me why you haven’t kissed me all day.”

You cocked your head. “I have kissed you today,” you retorted.

He scoffed. “Only three times and they were just little pecks.” Then, as if it was obvious, he added, “Which don’t really count.”

“Oh, you poor big baby,” you chuckled. “What if I’m just saving the best for last because I bought something I know you’ll like?”

Cassian’s eyes darted to the bags in your hands. He tried to peek inside, but everything was neatly wrapped. He looked back at you. “Something like…?”

You smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Before he could stop you, you slipped under his arm and headed for the stairs. “I’ll leave these in our room,” you warned as you began the short climb. “And if I find out you snooped around, I’ll return the surprise.”

Cassian’s outraged gasp followed you up the stairs. You could practically see him clutching his chest, as if your words had struck him like a dagger to the heart. “When have I ever done something like that?”

“Cassian,” you scolded, not even bothering to turn around.

“Alright, alright.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “I promise.”

~~~~~~

When you joined the others downstairs, some were already gathered around the table, their choice of seating casual as always. But Cassian had saved you a spot beside him, and as you approached, you leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you, my love,” you murmured, making sure to brush your fingers along his wing as you settled into your chair.

He inhaled sharply, drawing a pointed look from Amren on his other side. She merely rolled her eyes before turning back to her conversation with Azriel.

“Sorry,” you quipped, feigning innocence. “I didn't mean to.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes. “What is going on?”

You shrugged off his question, focusing on filling your plate. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His gaze remained fixed on you, tracking your every moment. Holding back a laugh was harder than you’d expected, but you schooled your features into an unreadable expression.

“You’re such a tease today,” he muttered. “The dress, the kisses, now my wing…” His eyes darkened slightly as he watched you take the first bite of your food. “And this morning, when you got me so worked up only to slip out of bed before I could—”

“Cassian.”

Both of you looked up. Rhysand sat directly across from you, his brows raised. It was the same look he wore when waiting for someone to admit they had done something wrong.

“What?” Cassian scowled.

“If you really can’t avoid discussing your personal life during family dinner, at least keep your voice down.” Everyone was looking at you now, but Rhys went on, an amused smirk appearing on his lips. “Besides, I’m sure Y/N has a good reason for keeping you high and dry.”

Laughter rippled around the table, but Cassian only glowered. With a smile, you placed your hand on his thigh, hidden from the others’ view. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, pressing another soft kiss to his cheek. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He simply grumbled, “Oh, you will.”

The rest of the dinner passed uneventfully. Your hand lingered on Cassian’s leg, but he paid it little attention. He seemed distant, glancing toward Azriel more than once throughout the meal. The Shadowsinger merely raised an eyebrow each time their eyes met.

Had you gone too far? Maybe you shouldn't have teased him in front of the whole family.

When dinner ended and everyone moved into the sitting room for drinks, you watched as Cassian left without a word. You made to follow him to apologize—for real this time—but Azriel pulled you aside before you could.

His expression was so grim that you paused before you could ask him to talk later.

“What’s wrong?” you asked instead.

Azriel hesitated. “I’m worried about Cassian. Is everything okay between you two?”

Your heart sank. Of course Azriel had noticed, but for him to be concerned enough to pull you aside… maybe you had really pushed Cassian too far. You needed to talk to him as soon as possible to explain things.

“No, Az, it’s fine,” you started, trying to explain. “It’s just that I—”

Your words turned into a startled scream as two strong arms suddenly wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground.

Cassian’s laughter boomed in your ears as he crushed you to his chest. “Got you!”

Your hands flew to his forearms, your heart pounding. “What… what are you doing?” you mumbled, still trying to make sense of what was happening.

Azriel’s lips curled up into a smirk. “Good luck with him,” he said before slipping away to join the others in the sitting room.

“What…?”

Cassian began striding toward the stairs, still holding you from behind, your feet dangling uselessly above the floor.

“You shouldn't have let your guard down, sweetheart,” he murmured in your ear. “You really thought you could tease me all day and get away with it?”

Azriel. He had distracted you just long enough for Cassian to sneak up behind you.

Cassian set you down on the first step, only to spin you around and scoop you up again. “Now I’ve got you, and you’re not going anywhere. You have a whole day to make up for.”

You wrapped your arms and legs around him as he started up the stairs. A breathless laugh left your lips. “So you’re not mad at me?”

“Worse than that.” He grinned, his hands sliding from your thighs to your ass, squeezing playfully. “I’m touch-starved. So why don’t you start fixing that?”

This time, you obliged him, cupping his face and pressing your lips to his before he even reached your bedroom door.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

#cassian #cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian x y/n #cassian acotar #cassian fic #cassian fluff #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfic #acotar fluff #a court of thorns and roses #sjm #sarah j maas #fluff #fanfiction #one shot #requested

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dadsdog · 2 days ago

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Kinda vague prompt but can you do some of your ur usual shit but like. In a truck. Like one with a bench seat. I like pretty much all the shit u post about. Js... truck. In a truck.

as an avid truck sex enjoyer, this is awesome ty :] this one's not very forcemasc-y but it's VERY dad/son fauxcest-y

while i'm all for dad/son incest fantasies, i can't stop thinking about a teenage boy, who opens up to an older man (maybe a family friend, a friend's father) about his relationship with his dad. how he was never there, how he never supported his son when he needed it most. the older man comforts him, wraps him up in a tight hug. "hey... you're gonna be okay bud." the boy sniffles and looks up at him, still clinging to him desperately, "thank you. im sorry for dumping all of this on you." he shakes his head. "don't say that kiddo, there's no need to be sorry. i'm happy to listen. just say the word and i'm there."

he starts spending less time at home, and more time with this older guy. he takes the boy to get food, shows him all his old interests, let's him ramble on for hours about one thing or another. and if the boy's father did anything that upset him, he would always be there to listen.

this kid finds himself thinking about him all the time. how wonderful he is, how patient and kind. he wonders what it would ve been like for him to be his dad instead. he thinks about how he smiles at him when he speaks, how handsome he is. he thinks about how whenever they re going out somewhere, he always rests his hand on the nape of the boy's neck. his hands are big and calloused, but so gentle. he wonders why he gets so excited when he touches him. wonders how his hands would feel cupping his chin or petting his hair.

"i wish you were my dad." the boy confesses to him, on a late night drive. he looks down, finds his hand gripping the truck's bench seat. the older man has gone strangely quiet. looking over at him, the boy tilts his head. "what's wrong?" the man feels his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. "you shouldn't say stuff like that, kiddo." "why not? you might as well already be my dad, you're the one actually looking out for me."

the man pulls over jerkily, stopping in a forgotten, tree lined road. he exhales heavily, hands still clenched. "hey, what's wrong? did i do something?" he's never this quiet. the kid slides closer to him, and hears him inhale sharply, like the older man had just been burned. "are you ok? what did i do? i promise i wont do it again. please, just tell me whats wrong." he lays a hand onto the older man's knee.

suddenly, the man has the boy by the shoulders, gripping him tightly and pushing him away. he gasps, clearly spooked by the roughness of his touch. "i'm sorry, kiddo. you didn't do anything wrong. it's me." his hands loosen their grip ever so slightly, he starts to rub comforting circles up and down the boy's arm. "you can't say stuff like that." the boy tilts his head. "why?"

he had no idea what to say. because i've wanted to fuck you ever since you first cried into my shirt. because the idea of having you as my son gets me so hard i can't think. because i don't know how long i can have you in my car without losing control and taking advantage of you.

"because i..." he stares down into the boy's eyes.

"you just shouldn't." he starts to break away from the touch, but the kid moves to hold his hand, pouting up at him. "but i really do think of you like that. i think of you as my dad." he inhales sharply again, feeling his cock throb in his jeans. he tightens his jaw and his mind strains with the effort of not grabbing the kid and rutting his cock into him through their clothes.

the kid looks up at him, creeping even closer.

"i love you, dad."

the final shred of self control left in the man is shattered into nothing. he grabs the boy by his waist roughly, and puts his other hand in his hair. he brings their lips together in a sloppy, clumsy, hungry kiss. the boy's eyes go wide and his mouth falls open as he lets out a cry of surprise. this only allows the man to slip his tongue into his mouth.

"wait- mmh!" the boy is pulled roughly onto the man's lap, where he can feel the hard cock pressing up into him. the older man finally pulls away from the kiss and holds the boy's head on his shoulder. "fuck- 'm sorry. love you. god, you're such a good kid. fuck."

he's grinding into the boy's pussy, hissing his apologies into his ear. he can feel the boy take fistfuls of his shirt, gasping and shaking. "wait-what are you doing, please-" "shh. it's okay. you're okay. fuck, i'm sorry- just let me-" his hands grab hold of his hips, pushing the kids small body against his, listening to his shocked moans. the boy is too stunned to say anything, to ask what he's doing, why it makes him all wet down there, why it makes him feel so good. "mnh. shit. im sorry, have to have you- doing so good, champ-nnhgh." he feels the boy lift his head to look him in the eyes. tears are dripping down his cheeks, but his face is twisted in pleasure. his cock throbs so hard the kid can feel his pulse through his jeans.

"feels- nnh! it feels- weird, dad. nmh! dad!" he can't stop himself from slamming the boy's hips down onto his cock. "call me dad. fuck. do it again, son. nngh- say i'm your dad." the boy's thighs shake on his lap. "dad. nngh- you're my dad. mngh! ah! dad- please don't stop- hhnm" the kid feels warmth spreading through his body, and pooling in his stomach. the friction and the rubbing and the hands on his hips are all too much. he feels a pressure building, making his cries for dad even louder.

"ah! nmh! dad, m-my- it feels- nngh! oh god, dad. oh god oh god oh god dad." he feels the kids thrust his hips back and forth on dad's cock, chasing that fuzzy warm feeling in his tummy. "ngh- shit. such a good boy. c'mon son- fuck. gonna make me cum. gonna make your dad cum. nnnh, fuck!"

"dad, dad, dad! nnh! my- it's gonna- oh god daddy! daddy!" the boy doesn't know what's happening. his boxers are soaked through and his head is fuzzy and the pressure in his tummy is too much. he grinds his pussy into his dad's lap hard, in a long downward motion, that finally lets the pressure release.

his dad watches as he quivers, cumming on his lap, completely overwhelmed by the shock of his own orgasm. he watches his boy moaning and crying for him, and feeling his orgasm build, he grabs his hips and presses him down onto his cock, thrusting upwards and cumming in his jeans for his little boy.

the kid collapses into him, panting and shaking, occasionally twitching with aftershocks of his orgasm. the man, huffing and sweaty, embraces him, placing soft kisses on his head. they sit like that in his truck for a long few minutes, catching their breath, before his boy looks up at him.

"i love you, dad."

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fayes-fics · 1 day ago

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Aww thank you, tbh this encapsulates so much of my smut ngl.

People in healthy relationships (usually marriage in Regency) who are so in love and full of trust that they can play together endlessly. Benedict IMO characterises the very best potential mix of adoring best friend husband who is madly in love with his wife and complete and total headboard shaking menace in the bedroom (and elsewhere, I actually headcanon him as willing to have sex anywhere that ISN'T a bed tbh, and have written many fics to that effect)

Anyway, sorry I rambled. Your comments often are so incisive they prompt the chatty headcanons in me lol. TYSM for reblogging 😁🧡🧡

Stand & Deliver

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Roleplaying highwayman with Benedict

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, consenting-non-consent (CNC) play, gunplay, gags, handjob, dirty talk, exhibitionism, a touch of breathplay, slightly rough vaginal sex. Staged robbery, fake threats, husband and wife very much in love roleplaying. Kinda romantic too tbh.

Word Count: 2.1k

Authors Note: Soo, to get my smut muse going, I played a drabble roulette wheel game. I got Regency + Benedict + Roleplay… and instantly Highwayman popped into my head. So uh yeah, sorry. This isn’t a drabble. Dedicated to @eleanor-bradstreet. Enjoy! <3

The oak bark is rough against your shoulder blades as he presses you bodily into the tree trunk. A cooling breeze rustles the leaves and ruffles the tendrils of hair around your ears, almost a balm against your flushed skin.

“Please, sir, please do not,” you plead, playing up.

His hand, gloved in black leather, is grasping the golden locket you wear long around your neck, his knuckles resting on your cleavage as he does so, sending your thoughts haywire and your chest heaving under his touch.

“It was a gift from my beloved husband,” you add breathily, pointedly, for his benefit.

His eyes flash, framed by a simple black mask, slipping effortlessly into the role he has assigned himself. “Oh really, and where is he now?” his voice low, leaning in and running his nose up the column of your neck, inhaling deeply as you turn your head, biting your lip, fighting to conceal the very real gallop of desire in your veins. “Not here to defend his fair lady?” he adds mockingly.

This is a game—your husband, one Benedict Bridgerton, roleplaying highway robber. Swinging out of your carriage on this country lane near your cottage, paying your footmen handsomely to look the other way while he stages a late-night ‘robbery’, brandishing his empty duelling pistol as he hauls you from said vehicle and holds you ‘hostage’.

“It would appear not,” you reply with a faux tremor in your voice.

“Well, more’s the pity, pretty one,” he sighs, then scrapes his teeth along the edge of your jaw. “This trinket, while nice, is not nearly enough to make this robbery worthwhile,”

“But sir,” you protest weakly, “it is all I have to give you.”

He chuckles darkly, and the hand drops the locket, smears heavily down your dress, and lewdly cups between your legs through the cloth, making you gasp and squirm on his fingers.

“Oh, I do not think that is at all true….,” he rumbles, smirking deadly as he rocks his middle finger expertly over your throbbing clit, making you whimper, “....do you?”

“Please, sir, no, take my locket, not me…” you pant, very much lying through your teeth now. You know he can feel your heat and dampness through the gauzy layer, your underwear discarded in the carriage before this charade so much as began.

“And what, pray tell me, would stop me from taking both?” his question with a touch of menace that is entirely believable as he continues to tease your swollen bud.

You glance apprehensively over at your footmen, steadfastly averting their gaze as they stand with the moonlit carriage about thirty feet away. His smirk grows wider, but that is all your husband, not the highwayman.

“Oh please, wife, have we not fucked in our carriage countless times?” he whispers, breaking character.

“Yes, but that is unseen,” you hiss as he raises a sardonic eyebrow. “Well, mostly.” you modify.

“It’s certainly not unheard,” he huffs bemused.

“Hush, husband. Alright. Get back to being a dastardly highwayman, please,” you pout theatrically.

He takes a half-step backwards, his face morphing into sharp contours as he pulls the unloaded duelling pistol from the front of his britches. Slowly, he drags the cold metal barrel down your breastbone until it catches against the top of your locket, the metal tinking together. Your inhale is ragged, the sheer thrill coursing through your body of being held at ‘gunpoint’.

“Sir, please, no, do not,” you implore louder, ramping up your distress, your hands scrambling over the rough tree near your hips, digging your nails into its sharp grooves.

The hand not holding the gun clamps over your mouth, the leather glove creaking slightly around his flexed fingers.

“Shhhh,” he warns, pressing into you again so you can feel something else in his britches that is steely but by no means cold. “This will be much more pleasant for you if you stay quiet and do as you are told.”

Something hot and molten bursts behind your ribs. This. He always knows exactly how to make you weak at the knees.

“Please don't hurt me,” your mewl muffled under his palm.

“If you behave, pretty thing, I will let you go unharmed,” he avows, the hand clamped over your mouth, slipping to trace the swell of your breast. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod with pleading eyes to affirm as an entirely wicked lopsided grin claims his face.

“Good girl.”

He drags the gun up over your collarbone until it is pressed to the underside of your chin.

“Undo my britches,” he orders with a sinister tone.

You inhale sharply as if horrified, even as you feel something trickle down your inner thigh. Reaching forward with trembling fingers, you do as bidden, pulling open the buttons of his trousers until the front of them relents. As ever, he is without undergarments, and his cock stands proud of his body.

“Take me in hand,” he adds gruffly.

You obediently wrap your fingers around his cock, hot and rigid, and pump with your fist as he growls, the gun barrel pressing into your skin as his hand squeezes your breast in syncopated rhythm with your hand. Even though he is partially obscured behind his simple black masquerade mask, you can still see every expression on his handsome face as you do his bidding, a slight growl under his breath with each stroke you make.

“What will you do now, sir?” you ask, biting your lip, acting up as if afraid but aching for him to be inside you.

The gun withdraws as he grabs your dress with both hands, rapidly tugging up the hem, the sound of delicate silk tearing as he does so. He bats your hand away from his cock and hauls your right leg over his arm. Before you can so much as take a calming breath, he is nudging your folds, the sound of metal hitting the ground as he drops the gun and grasps your left hip in an almost painful hold.

You cry out as he thrusts up and fills you swiftly. It’s an overwhelming sensation heightened by the night chill swirling around your thighs and the sight, over your husband's shoulder, of the footman stock still and unwatching as you fuck right there against a tree.

Your foot curls around the back of his thigh where he holds it up, and you moan as he starts to move. It’s not gentle, snapping his hips harshly and oiling you down to spear his cock to your hilt with each stroke, causing that good ache, the one that pulls like a string between your hips from the inside, so utterly spellbinding in its intensity.

The bark scratches into your skin as he takes you without mercy; all you can do is cling on. His wool jacket is soft under your fingernails where you scratch down his back, wrapping your arms tight around him, playing as if fighting him even as the truth couldn't be more the opposite. Craving this and him, uncaring of the audience you have.

His gloved hand is back around your throat as he snarls in your ear. “Don't bother trying to call for help; no one is coming to rescue you from me, pretty one,”

“Please…,” you murmur, pretending to be upset when you are the opposite; you want to bite him, leave marks on him for how thoroughly he is fucking you.

When he changes angle, your eyes roll, and you hiss at the sensation. Cursing quietly under your breath as he preens, so very proud he can do this to you.

“What is in your locket, pretty thing?” He gusts in your ear.

“It is a lock of my husband's hair,” you respond, attempting defiant but mostly breathless, wanton.

“How devoted you are. But tell me, does he fuck you like this?” He growls, sucking your earlobe, hoisting you higher so your feet almost leave the ground.

“Only you can fuck me like this,” you respond, intentionally vague.

“That is right. Do not forget it. You are mine,” the lines blurring between Benedict and the highwayman he plays so effortlessly. His possessive talk never extends beyond your intimacy, but his ferocity and heat in the moment never fail to leave you in floods, in no doubt about his primal desires.

He places one hand high above your head on the tree trunk as leverage to curl himself into and around you. The fingers of his other hand insinuate between your bodies, snagging your clit between his knuckles and squeezing roughly, making you cry out.

“Do not fight it; how much you want to come for me,” he growls. “You want to come screaming, don’t you?”

When you don’t respond, too busy gasping, he halts, speared deep. Your pulsing clit is left bereft as he grabs your chin instead, forcing his gloved fingers between your lips. The taste of your own desire tart on the supple leather.

“I asked you a question…,” the tone dripping with jeopardy as he holds down your tongue, your breaths loud and harsh over his fingers, “you must answer me, pretty thing, or the next thing in your mouth will be my gun.”

Your mind stutters a curse, so enrapt, enthralled, undone.

“Yes,” you garble, your speech impeded by his hold on your tongue. Feeling desperate, wanting, needing relief.

“Yes, what?” he raises a chilling eyebrow.

“Yes sir, I want to come,” you reply, trying your best to enunciate. The fingers slip from your mouth, glistening in the moonlight, and wrap around your throat, just enough to notch your arousal higher, a little pressure on your windpipe as he starts to move again, withdrawing slowly and surging back in fast, your body going limp under his assault.

“Good girl. Come on then, I want to hear it, to feel it,” he snarls.

At this point, you are at his mercy, his pelvis aligning with yours to stimulate without needing his fingers between your legs. You wrap yourself tight around him, not wanting to be parted for an inch, the rough wool of his trousers abraiding the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, the scent of his body, soap with an undercurrent that is all him, is strong; your senses of smell heightening with his grip on your throat.

You start to babble his real name, the roleplay falling away for you both as you greedily chase release. Knowing you are giving your staff an audience and not caring one jot. You hope they experience passion like this—all-consuming, intoxicating, almost addictive. He is groaning with each thrust now, and you can see small beads of sweat forming around the edge of his mask as he increases in speed and intensity. There are a few moments where you are skating the edge, your whole body tense, awaiting the moment you break.

With a few whispered words and his hand relinquishing its grip, you are tumbling, the sudden rush of unrestricted air filling your lungs and pulsing around your head, open-mouthed, teeth hooked on his neck as your cunt pulsates hard around him, clenching in waves that mirror the tension and slack in your muscles. Needing his arms to hold you upright. In the blissful state that follows, you feel him take a few artless moves, then still, his jaw locked tight, gritted teeth as he finds his shuddering release deep inside you.

He slumps around you as you gingerly find your footing again, your mind returning from a fuzzy floating world high above the country lane you are on. Your hands squirrel under his jacket and draw soothing patterns on his shirt back as his breathing returns to normal.

One hand sinking into his luscious hair, you untie the mask; it falls away from his cheekbones to reveal the handsome face you know so well.

“Welcome back, husband,” you murmur playfully, “I had such an adventure this evening you would not believe.”

He huffs a bemused laugh and rearranges both of your clothing back to a semi-decent state, scooping his pistol from the ground.

“You and your adventures, dear wife,” his responding tone light as he picks you up bridal style and sweeps back towards the nearby carriage. “Why not tell me all about it on the journey home, hmm? You must be exhausted from your eventful day,” he hums sympathetically into your ear as he settles onto the seat and bangs upon the roof with his fist. The carriage jerks to life as he pulls you further into his lap, wrapping you in a warm embrace, his treasured locket nestled safely against your chest.

“Well, there was this highwayman…”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queenn @jeanfreau

#feedback is golden #wow thank you seriously #i have the best mutuals #queued post

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fkinkindagauche · 2 days ago

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Somebody Has to Arrange the Matches

This is a prompt fill for @steddiebingo Round One, prompt "Dustin Henderson". Full fic on AO3.

Rating: Explicit | WC: 5,398 | CW: None | Tags: Dustin Henderson parent trap, gay Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington speed runs his sexuality crisis, first kiss, mutual pining, friends to lovers, frottage

Summary: Dustin is adamant that Eddie Munson deserves to find love, after all he's been through. Once Dustin figures out some things about Eddie, he gets to work making it happen.

divider by @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Eddie was being cagey again.

It had become Dustin's personal mission now that Eddie was out of the hospital to get the man a girlfriend. As far as Dustin could tell from his probing questions to the Corroded Coffin guys, Eddie had never had a girlfriend, which was honestly shocking to Dustin. Sure, Eddie could be pretty over the top, but everyone liked him. And it wasn't like he was ugly. So he must just be too shy or something. Dustin wanted to help.

Dustin currently had him cornered in Gareth's garage, away from the rest of the group. They'd just finished a D&D session at Gareth's house, with a Corroded Coffin practice scheduled after. Dustin, Lucas, Mike, and Will were waiting for Steve to pick them up before the practice started. Dustin was doing his utmost to get Eddie to go out with one of Robin's band geek friends, but Eddie was resisting all of his attempts.

"Henderson, no." Eddie sounded exactly like Steve did after Dustin had asked for a ride about ten times, trying to get a no to magically change to a yes. "I'm not going to ask Veronica out."

"Why not?" Dustin asked, voice raised. "She's a huge nerd, she flirts with you, like, non-stop, and she's hot."

Eddie sighed. "I'm just not into her."

Dustin groaned, tugging his hands through his hair in frustration. "Are you into anyone? Every time I bring someone up, you shoot the option down."

"Well, I don't like your options, bud. They're not good options."

"That's objectively false!" Dustin yelled. "Most guys would kill for some of the options I've presented!" Why did Eddie have to be like this?

"How can it be objectively false?" Eddie shot back. "It's literally my opinion. The definition of subjective."

Dustin glared at him. He hated when Eddie tried to outsmart him. He hated how often it worked. Steve drove up just as Dustin was opening his mouth for a rebuttal.

"Thank the fucking Lord," Eddie muttered. "Please take this young whippersnapper off of my hands before I kill him," Eddie yelled to Steve when he got out of his car.

"Oh, great," Steve said. "Can't wait to spend the next 15 minutes with a feisty Henderson in my car."

God, they were both such turds sometimes. Dustin sighed loudly and stomped over to Steve's car. "This isn't over, Munson!" he called over his shoulder. Eddie flipped him off in response.

He grabbed the passenger seat before Mike, Lucas, or Will even made it to the car, much to their chagrin. Steve chatted with Eddie for a few moments, Eddie leaning into his space as per usual, slinging an arm over Steve's shoulder.

Dustin leaned over and honked the horn.

"Really, Dustin?" Steve yelled, hands on his hips.

"Some of us have places to be!" Dustin yelled back.

"Where do you have to be?" Lucas asked from the backseat.

Dustin shrugged. "It's the principle of the thing."

Steve spent a few more moments talking to Eddie, probably just to piss Dustin off, then came back to the car.

Dustin gave Steve 30 seconds to adjust, watching the time tick by on his watch. He'd been told off one too many times for immediately starting an interrogation, so this was his compromise with the world. As soon as his watch hit the 30 second mark, he started in.

"So why doesn't Eddie ever date anyone?" Dustin asked, talking over whatever conversation Mike and Will had been having in the back.

Steve glanced at Dustin with a confused expression on his face. "What?"

"From the intel I've gathered, Eddie's never had a girlfriend," Dustin said. "He turns down all of my suggestions for potential dates. But if anyone deserves a girlfriend, it's him. He's, like, a hero. I want to help him find his Suzie."

"Excuse me, what am I? Chopped liver?" Steve interjected. "Why aren't you trying to find me a girlfriend?"

Dustin rolled his eyes. "You've had a million girlfriends, Steve. Give some of the other poor dudes a chance."

"Yeah, Steve. You're kind of hogging the eligible young women of Hawkins," Mike piped up from the back seat.

"I haven't had a girlfriend since Nancy," Steve protested.

"But you do still get around," Dustin insisted.

"Whatever, man." Steve shook his head. "Why don't you let Eddie do his own thing? Maybe he's just picky."

Dustin crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, not responding. Steve was wrong. Eddie deserved his own Suzie. And Dustin wasn't going to give up on helping him find her.

"So I saw this girl the other day at the arcade," Dustin started. He and Eddie were at the trailer, painting some miniatures. It was his mom's night working late, and Dustin had started spending it with either Eddie or Steve on alternating weeks.

Eddie groaned. "Not again, Henderson. Can't we go, like, one day without this shit?"

"But Eddie! I think you'd really like her. She had a mohawk. Dyed pink. And her nose was pierced."

Eddie dropped his head into his hands, smearing some red paint on his cheek. He stayed that way for a few moments, quieter for much longer than usual. Dustin worried for a moment that he might have broken him. When Eddie finally looked up, his face was serious in a way it almost never was. He reached out for Dustin's hand.

"Dustin. I'm about to tell you something, and you cannot freak out about it. And you can't tell anyone else about it, either. Am I clear?" Usually, Dustin would have thought a joke was coming after an intro like that from Eddie. But he seemed completely earnest this time, so Dustin actually considered what he'd asked.

"What about Suzie?" Dustin asked. "Can I tell Suzie?"

Eddie sighed. "Yeah, you can tell Suzie."

"Alright," Dustin said. "I agree to your terms. No freak out, no telling anyone other than Suzie."

Eddie nodded. "Okay." He took a deep breath and looked away. "I'm gay, Dustin."

It took Dustin a second for his brain to parse what he'd just heard. Eddie. Heavy metal band member, dungeon master Eddie.

"I'm sorry, you're what?" Dustin squeaked. He must have misheard.

"I'm gay," Eddie repeated. "Queer, fruity, a homo, a friend of Dorothy, a fairy. I like men. That's why none of your options have sounded remotely appealing to me. That's why I've never had a girlfriend."

Dustin sat back in his chair, stunned. A lot of things were making sense now.

"Oooookay," Dustin said, nodding. So now he had to find Eddie a boyfriend. More difficult, but he liked a challenge. "So what's your type? We can find you a boyfriend."

Eddie barked out a laugh, throwing his head back. He looked relieved. "Are you serious? That's your only question, what's my type?"

"Of course that's not my only question, who do you think I am?" Dustin was a little offended. "That's just my most pressing question."

"I think this is the best response I've gotten so far to coming out," Eddie said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair.

Dustin felt pretty good about that. "Well? Are you gonna answer?"

Eddie chuckled. "I should've known this wouldn't make you give up your weird crusade." He pulled a few strands of hair in front of his mouth, chewing on the ends while he thought. "My type? I'm not totally sure, honestly, haven't had much of a chance to find out, living in Hawkins. I guess probably my height or maybe shorter, but not much taller. On the masculine side of things, almost the jock physique. Hairy. Brunette."

Dustin nodded after each characteristic, mentally taking note. "Those are all physical things. What about personality?"

Eddie had to think a little harder about that one, looking into the distance. "Um. Kinda goofy, I guess? Not too macho. Sense of humor." Eddie trailed off and looked at Dustin sharply. "Henderson, if you go around asking the men of Hawkins if they're queer so you can try to find a date for me, you're gonna get beat to shit."

Dustin held up his hands. "You really think I'm that stupid? Give me some credit here, Eddie."

"You have a track record of failing to read the room, man," Eddie pointed out.

That absolutely wasn't true. Dustin was very tactful. He could be quite subtle when he wanted to be. Eddie just never got to see that side of him.

"I'll be careful," Dustin insisted. "I'm not gonna ask anyone if they're gay."

"Alright," Eddie said, but he didn't look convinced. Dustin would show him.

The idea hit Dustin the next week, when he was spending his mom's late work night with Steve. They were out by the pool, and Steve's hairy chest was on full display, with all of its muscles. Dustin had Suzie, and she didn't want him to be muscular, but sometimes when he saw Steve's chest he couldn't deny the twinge of jealously.

Hairy. Muscular jock physique. Something was tickling at the back of Dustin's mind. Brunette. What was that? About as tall as Eddie.

Oh shit. Dustin dropped his Dr. Pepper as Steve yelled "COWABUNGA" and did a cannonball into the water. Kinda goofy.

It was Steve. Eddie had basically been describing Steve. Did Eddie even know? Had he been secretly pining after Steve this whole time? Or was it still subconscious?

Holy shit. But Steve liked girls. How was Dustin gonna make this work? Did he need to find a Steve doppelganger somewhere who was gay?

Steve popped out of the water, shaking his hair. He looked up at Dustin and the Dr. Pepper spilled all over the patio. "Everything alright there?" Steve asked. "You look like you saw a ghost."

Dustin nodded. "I- I'm good. Everything's fine!"

Steve shrugged and dove back under the water.

Dustin did some research over the next few days. If he was going to find a gay Steve doppelganger for Eddie, he needed to understand the culture - where he could find other queer people, the types of phrases they used to identify each other without being too blatant, that kind of stuff.

He tried finding books at the library, but came up empty-handed and probably on some sort of list the librarian kept of degenerates. So he had to resort to asking Eddie where he got all his information.

"Why do you wanna know?" Eddie asked with a suspicious glare.

"I just wanna understand you, man!" Dustin insisted, putting on his most innocent expression. "You're my friend, I wanna know what's going on with you."

Eddie reluctantly handed Dustin some zines he'd picked up in Indianapolis. "None of the raunchy stuff," Eddie said. "I'm not getting arrested for dealing gay pornography to minors."

Dustin made a disgusted face. "You could have just… not told me you even had raunchy stuff."

Eddie shrugged. "Where's the fun in that?"

Dustin spent hours that night poring over the zines, learning the lingo. He discovered an incredibly interesting fact in one of the zines - the existence of bisexuality. You could like both men and women. You didn't have to be either gay or straight.

This fact blew Dustin's mind, and the seeds of a different plan took root. What if Steve was bisexual, and he didn't even know it? That would be the easiest, most logical solution to the Eddie problem. Steve was Eddie's type; so what if Eddie was also Steve's type?

He talked about it with Suzie the following evening. She'd been shocked to learn that Eddie was gay. Mormons weren't exactly accepting of homosexuality. But she'd always played a little fast and loose with certain aspects of Mormonism, so Dustin was able to bring her around to the idea eventually.

"I don't know, Dusty Buns," she said as they were discussing his idea about Steve. "I don't think you can just make someone be bisexual."

"I'm not gonna make him be bisexual," Dustin insisted. "I'm just gonna try to show him that he already is."

"But what if he isn't?" she shot back.

"Then I'll go back to the doppelganger plan," he said with a sigh. "But I have to try. This is the simplest solution. Occam's razor."

"Dusty Buns, you know you're not using that correctly right now," Suzie scolded.

Dustin sighed. She never let him get away with anything.

Dustin paid a lot more attention to Steve and Eddie's interactions over the next few weeks. Now that he knew Eddie was gay, he couldn't believe he'd missed the signs pointing to his crush on Steve.

Eddie gravitated to Steve like a moth to a flame. It was like he had some sort of Steve-related sixth sense, his head immediately turning toward Steve whenever the man walked into a room.

He was a tactile guy with everyone, but whenever Steve was around, it was always Steve that Eddie was touching. Every time Dustin looked at the two of them, Eddie had a hand somewhere on Steve - slung around his shoulders, resting on one of his arms, brushing against one of his legs to get his attention.

Steve didn't seem to mind at all. He leaned into the physical contact, touching Eddie back almost as often as he was touched. They smiled at each other all the time. They got each other drinks and snacks and just in general acted like a goddamn couple. How had Dustin missed this?

He was gonna need to accelerate his timeline. These idiots needed to get together ASAP.

Read the rest of the fic on AO3.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #stranger things #my fics #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #steddiebingo #steddiebingoroundone

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