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aila0veyou2death · 19 days ago

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𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐅𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡, 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬

𖹭 pairing: viltrumite!mark grayson x flesh-hungry!female!reader (A.K.A warlord prince with god complex x bio-engineered monster girl built for carnage)

𖹭 TW: DUB CON, dark content, blood, gore, violence, power imbalance, swearing, possessive behavior, death, non-human biology, captivity, enemies-to-lovers trope?, face-fvcking, p in a v, size difference, breeding k1nk, dumbification, belly bulging, master/pet dynamic, overstimulation, biting, marking, p0rn with a plot.

𖹭 author's note: This fic is long, dark, messy, and 100% born from my horny little brain while watching Invincible Hope you enjoy :P

Silence had never sounded so victorious.

What was once a vibrant blue planet, bursting with resistance and stubborn will, now lay in ruins. Cities crumbled. Skyscrapers reduced to bones. Blood dried into the dirt...Humanity tried its best—they fought with desperation, with all the fire they could muster.

But in the end, it was never a fair fight.

The Viltrumites walked the Earth's surface like gods claiming what was rightfully theirs.

Mark Grayson—son of a human mother, molded by a Viltrumite father—flew alongside the others in silence, dressed in the same white uniform. His gaze was sharp, scanning the rubble below. He didn't blink. Didn't speak. Just watched as his people moved like a plague across the land, searching through the decay not for survivors, but for something more valuable.

Secrets. Weapons. Leftovers of mankind's final, frantic efforts to defend itself.

They scoured beneath the ash, the collapsed buildings, the bones of a world that had tried to resist. Eventually, they found it—underground bunkers hidden deep beneath the crust of a dead world.

Inside, scraps of humanity clung to life. The scent of sweat, fear, and filth hit them first. Then came the screams—raw, panicked, and pointless.

The survivors didn't beg. They knew better. They cried, they clutched each other, they tried to run.

Mark said nothing. Not a single word. He didn't interfere. He simply watched, unmoved, as the others handled it. Blood filled the halls and screams died quickly.

There was no mercy left to give. Only silence and death.

Not a single emotion flickered in his eyes. No sorrow. No pity. No guilt. Nothing.

Not even as he hovered above the charred remains of the planet that birthed him.

Earth burned. And he watched.

He had been taken away before he ever had the chance to experience what this world could have offered him—just a boy when his father brought him to Viltrum, to be raised as one of their own. As a soldier. As an heir.

There were no childhood memories to mourn. No human attachments to cloud his judgment. To him, Earth was not home. It was a mission. A conquest. Another name on the long list of worlds that fell beneath the Viltrumite flag.

A hand landed firmly on his shoulder.

He didn't flinch. He knew that grip—it was measured, heavy, and commanding.

He turned his head slightly, meeting the sharp, weathered gaze of his father. Nolan stood beside him, armor stained with blood and ash, his cape fluttering in the dead wind. He looked at his son, not with warmth or pride—but with the calm precision of a general addressing his equal.

Nolan's eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting from his son to the smoldering wreckage below. The quiet crackle of still-burning buildings echoed between them like a lullaby of conquest.

"It's pathetic." he muttered, voice slicing through the smoke. "The ones hiding underground. Crammed in piss-soaked bunkers, clinging to some foolish hope that their heroes would come back for them."

Mark said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"They should've surrendered," Nolan went on, colder now. "Some did. The smarter ones. But the rest?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "Cowards. Hiding like insects in the dark. It’s disgraceful."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant wind and the distant creaking of a collapsed tower.

Then Nolan spoke again, glancing sideways at Mark. "We should check the GDA's underground facilities. Cecil was always hiding something. Back when I worked with him, I caught whispers—rumors of illegal experiments, unnatural weapons… even bio-creatures bred for war."

Mark’s brow furrowed slightly. "You think they actually built something strong enough to stop us?"

Nolan let out a low, humorless chuckle. "Doubtful. But who knows? If there is something down there, it could either be a useful tool… or a lingering threat. More likely, just another one of Cecil's pathetic failures rotting in the dark."

He looked ahead, eyes sharp. "Whatever it is, we can't leave it unchecked."

Without another word, Nolan lifted his hand and gestured.

From above, four Viltrumites dropped through the smoke in perfect formation, landing beside them in silence. Their white uniforms were stained with dirt and streaks of blood, but their expressions were calm and ready.

"Head to the GDA headquarters," Nolan ordered. "New York is nothing but bones now, but if they hid anything, it's down there. Deep." He turned to Mark. "We dig. We search. No stone left untouched. I want their secrets exposed and buried with them."

Mark gave a small nod and took off, the others following behind. They soared through the grey sky, silent wings of death gliding over what was once one of the busiest cities in the world.

Below, skyscrapers stood like charred tombstones, windows blown out, steel skeletons groaning in the wind. The familiar spire of the GDA building jutted out from the rubble, half of it caved in, the rest barely standing. Whatever was beneath it had remained hidden even through Earth’s last breath.

The Viltrumites landed and began tearing into the rubble like it was paper, shoving aside steel beams and broken machinery.

They crashed through steel and concrete with ease, moving deeper into the abyss beneath the ruined city. Reinforced floors gave way. Labs long abandoned passed in a blur of rusted equipment and glass. The dust thickened. Lights flickered, dim and weak like dying stars. The silence turned heavy. Tense. Wrong.

Then they found it—buried farther than any of them expected. A sealed facility, hidden beneath layers of stone and steel. Carved into the earth like something meant to stay forgotten. The air down there clung to them, thick with rot, blood, and iron.

The hallway ahead was narrow, smeared with the stains of time and something more violent. Rust bled down the walls in lines like veins. Blood left in handprints. Claw marks. Torn restraints bolted to the walls. Some of the doors were dented from the inside.

Nolan stepped forward and shoved one of them open with a metallic shriek.

WEEOO-WEEOO-WEEOO—

The alarms wailed like dying animals, echoing up every floor and spilling out into the ruined city above. Scarlet lights flooded the hallway, pulsing like veins. It was a scream. It reached the top of the building. The streets. The sky. Every Viltrumite nearby the area turned their head at the sound that's coming from crumbling structure.

And in the depths of that pulsing red light... something laughed.

Soft at first, childlike and playful.

Then it grew louder. Sharper. Hungrier.

A small figure dragged itself from the darkness of a ruined chamber, half-naked, blood-stained, nails cracked and filthy, hair tangled into a wild, matted mess. Your eyes were wide, glowing faintly under the emergency lights. Your body was trembling—not from fear, but from hunger. You hadn’t fed properly in months. Maybe years. And their scent—those clean, proud Viltrumite bastards reeking of blood under their pristine uniforms—hit your senses like a drug.

You smiled wide.

Your gaze snapped to the Viltrumites—and your pupils dilated.

You lunged.

It all went to hell from there.

The first Viltrumite barely had time to blink before you slammed into him, your fangs tearing deep into his throat. You shook your head violently, ripping out chunks of flesh like a starving beast. His scream gurgled to nothing as you twisted—snapping his neck and tearing it free with a savage pull.

You bounced off the falling body, landing on all fours like an animal, with his head still in your hands. Then you bit into it, chewing with noisy satisfaction, like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.

The others quickly charged, and one swung but missed.

You dropped the head mid-laugh, and grabbed his wrist, twisted it until the bones snapped loud enough to echo. He screamed. You slammed him into the wall so hard the stone cracked. The third came next—until your claws tore through his chest and you punched into his stomach, yanking out his organs like candy from a piñata.

"Oooh, so warm~!" you cooed, blood dripping from your chin. "Fresh meat really hits hard."

Mark stood frozen, mouth slightly open. His fists clenched and unclenched like his brain hadn't caught up yet. "What the hell...?"

Nolan didn't speak. His expression was hard, unreadable. But his eyes narrowed—and he took a single step back when you ripped the body in half, gore spraying across the floor in a wet splash.

No mortal prisoner stood before them—but a demon cloaked in flesh.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall as more Viltrumites stormed in, drawn by the alarm—only to find two of their own dead, one barely clinging to life, and you at the center of it all. Blood-drenched, crouched low like a beast, surrounded by the shredded remains of their comrades. You grinned from ear to ear, fangs glinting in the scarlet light, eyes sparkling with joy.

You looked up at the new arrivals and waved with a severed hand.

"More food?" you asked sweetly, licking blood from the stiff fingers in your grasp. "Hell yeah! Looks like we're going full course for breakfast today."

Mark's stomach twisted. He couldn't tear his eyes away. He was frozen in shock, even as his fists clenched on instinct.

Nolan's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening with rage.

And then you moved again—laughing, a blur of gore and teeth as you lunged forward.

The fight erupted.

𖹭 𖹭 𖹭

You left a trail of carnage in your wake—bodies were torn, blood still warm, the taste of Viltrumite flesh clinging to your tongue like candy. They fought hard. Harder than you expected. But not hard enough to stop you.

Some were left twitching on the ground, ribs shattered and lungs heaving. Others were little more than red pulp smeared across the concrete. You didn't kill all of them—not out of mercy, but because you were too full, too high on the rush of violence, and too focused on one thing now.

Escape.

You burst through the final floor like a cannonball, tearing through the layers of the GDA's underground like tissue paper. The red lights still flashed behind you, alarms screamed themselves hoarse. Your bare feet slammed into the cracked pavement of the surface—them you froze.

For the first time in decades, you felt air that hadn't been filtered through vents or tasted like copper. The sky opened above you—gray, grimy, sick with smoke, but still a sky. Buildings stood in disrepair, cracked and leaning, some half-swallowed by the earth like rotting teeth. The world wasn't at peace. But it wasn't the warzone you remembered either.

You stood on shaking legs—bare, blood-streaked, sun-drunk—blinking hard against the harsh, unfiltered daylight. Everything felt too big. Too open. Too quiet. You could still hear the screams of the underground, the alarms howling like dying things, the wet crunch of bone in your teeth. Blood still clung to your mouth like honey.

What happened here—?

A sudden gust of wind blew behind you—it was sharp, fast, and heavy.

Before you could fully turn, something slammed into your cheek like a meteor. The impact sent your body spiraling backward through the air, crashing through an abandoned car and skidding against the pavement before you dug your claws in, stopping yourself with a screech of broken concrete.

You snarled, wiping blood from your mouth, eyes snapping up at the figure hovering midair.

Dark hair. Blood on his fists. Chest rising and falling with tight, controlled fury.

Mark Grayson.

His eyes locked onto you, not with fear—but something worse. Cold, seething frustration. His fists clenched at his sides, twitching like he was holding back the urge to rip you apart on sight. He was scratched up, bruised, panting. Signs of your earlier encounter still painted across his skin. Behind him, more Viltrumites descended from the clouds like vultures, with Nolan among them, arms crossed, silently watching.

"Well, well," you purred, dragging yourself up to your feet with a crooked grin. "Aren't you a pretty one."

Mark didn't waste time. He charged.

You stepped aside like you were dancing, catching his arm mid-swing—but he twisted, and the two of you went crashing into the ground. His body slammed into yours, forcing the air from your lungs. You hit the pavement hard. It cracked beneath you.

You laughed.

Your legs locked around his torso, muscle to muscle, as you twisted and the two of you crashed through the skeleton of another half-standing building.

"Is this how you greet girls these days?" you breathed, grinning at him. "Tsk. No flowers? No sweet talk? Geez. What's up with men lately?"

Mark gritted his teeth, trying to overpower you.

You leaned in close, whispering against his jaw. "You always this rough on your dates, pretty boy?"

The two of you clashed again and again—flesh against flesh, teeth bared, blood spilled. The ground split open beneath your feet with every collision, debris flying, the city echoing with the sound of carnage. You were laughing—breathless, wild, drunk on adrenaline. Mark was giving you a fight, and god, it felt good.

But he was starting to slip.

You saw it in the way his chest heaved, in the slight delay between his punches. And worse—he hesitated. Just once. His gaze dropped to your mouth, flushed and slick with blood, and he flinched when you licked it slow, grinning through the chaos.

"Fuck, that hurts so good..."

That's when they invaded.

The other Viltrumites descended like mad hounds. You didn't get a warning—just the sudden weight of five bodies crashing into you mid-lunge. You screamed, thrashed, tore into one's side with your claws and sent another flying with a headbutt. One tried to grab your wrists but you quickly snapped his fingers like twigs. Another went for your legs and you sunk your heel into his jaw.

You were brutal. A machine built to kill. But they didn’t care. They kept coming.

You growled, nearly feral, muscles screaming under the strain of so many hands forcing you down. Your feet left the ground. You were held in place by sheer numbers that had your back arched and neck straining. One arm was pinned behind you, another around your ribs, another around your throat.

Then you saw... him.

Nolan.

Hovering just out of reach. Watching you with cold judgment in his eyes.

Something inside you snapped.

You lunged, with your head whipping forward like a beast. You nearly got him—teeth bared, inches from tearing into his throat—but you were yanked back at the last second. Still, it rattled them. They didn’t expect you to go for the general.

And neither did Mark.

He moved without thinking and slammed into you with enough force to break a mountain, shoulder in your gut, arm locking around your chest as he drove you to the ground.

"Stop!" he shouted, his breath hot against your skin.

You twisted in his grip—then bit down. Hard.

Your sharp teeth sank into his forearm, tearing its skin, ripping the muscle. He shouted, blood running warm across your tongue. You could taste him—Viltrumite blood, rich and violent, flooding your mouth like a reward.

He yanked his arm back and without pause, drove his fist into your jaw—forcefully.

You were still smiling as you went down, lips smeared in red. "...fucking awesome." you muttered breathless, the taste of Viltrumite blood still warm in your mouth. Your eyes rolled back as the world cracked sideways. Your body slumped and the sky above you blurred. You barely heard the other Viltrumites yelling before your knees buckled and your vision started to go dark.

The last thing you saw was Mark's face—shocked, bleeding, staring down at you like he didn't know whether to be petrified or fascinated.

And then, there were arms around you.

Strong and steady. Definitely his.

Mark caught you before you hit the ground completely, lowering you into his hold like he wasn't still bleeding from your bite, like he didn't just knock you out cold. You didn't feel the relief in the others, or the weight of containment cuffs snapping around your wrists. All you felt was warmth, before darkness swallowed you once again.

𖹭 𖹭 𖹭

You stirred with a groan, pain blooming at the base of your skull. Your body ached, heavy and sore like you've been hit by a planet—and maybe, in a way, you had. Your thoughts came sluggish, swimming through the fog in your head. Voices echoed around you, distant and distorted at first, like they were bouncing off the walls of your skull. But slowly, they grew clearer—they sharpened into words, whispers, and conversations.

Your eyes cracked open.

Bright lights seared into your vision.

You were kneeling.

Both knees pressed against freezing tiles, with your legs spread apart as if it forced open with no mercy. Thick restraints clamped tightly around your wrists behind your back, made of some dense, unyielding alloy that even your strength couldn't break through. The cold kiss of metal crawled over your spine. Chains dug into your skin where you had already been bruised, holding you still.

You were naked.

Completely.

There was no cloth, no covering—nothing to shield you from the cold or the sea of eyes watching from every corner of the stadium. The air prickled along every inch of your exposed skin, and the lights were focused solely on you, spotlighting every inch of your body—every inhuman line, every unnatural curve, every scar and every mark. Every part of what made you a monster was put on display.

A muzzle clamped tightly over the lower half of your face, molded hard against your jaw. It silenced you completely. No speaking. No biting. Just the soft rasp of your breath through your nose, quick and sharp, barely enough to calm the burn in your lungs. Your mouth was sealed shut.

A low growl rumbled from deep in your chest.

The sound cut through the low hum of voices like a blade.

Conversations stopped. Heads turned. The entire stadium fell silent.

Dozens—no, hundreds of eyes snapped to you.

They were all Viltrumites.

All of them. Rows of them, seated in ranks dressed in pristine white uniforms, most of them were cloaked—like some twisted cult of gods looking down at their captured beast. Their faces were cold, observing, and judgmental.

You shot the crowd with a venomous glare.

Then, one of the seated figures stood.

"It seems the beast has finally awoken."

The voice cut clean through the silence—calm, commanding, sharp as a blade. "Good."

General Nolan stepped forward, his presence heavy like gravity, each step deliberate. The stadium seemed to tense beneath his weight. He didn't look away from you, not even once, not even while the crowd of white-cloaked Viltrumites leaned in, listening. Hanging on his every word.

"This is the weapon that slaughtered twenty-seven of our finest." he announced, voice crisp and brutal. "An Earth-born experiment that crawled out of her hole after decades of silence. Not a soldier. Not a warrior. A threat. One that’s proven herself to be something far more dangerous than even a Viltrumite..."

You weren't listening to him.

Not really.

You didn't care for his dramatic little speech. All you cared about was the weight of the chains digging into your wrists and the deep, familiar ache that sparked in your muscles. You shifted on your knees, raw skin scraping against the cold metal floor as you tested your bounds again. Harder. Rougher. You knew they were watching. You simply didn't care.

Your breath came fast through your nose, the muzzle clamped over your mouth keeping you from speaking, biting, screaming. It was tight. Containing. But it wouldn't hold you back forever.

A low growl rumbled in your throat.

Then came the footsteps.

One by one, other Viltrumites stepped forward—soldiers, elites, survivors. Each of them wore the scars of your fury like badges of shame. Torn uniforms, burned skin, bruises blooming down their jaws and ribs. Some limped, others stood stiff and bloodied. They looked like warriors who had fought something far worse than their own.

They stood beside Nolan, forming a silent wall of evidence, an undeniable proof of your destruction.

"...To those who doubt what she's capable of," Nolan continued, gesturing toward them, "Let these survivors be your reminder—of the massacre she unleashed. Of the destruction this monster has caused."

A ripple of hushed awe and unease moved through the stadium. Even behind disgusted whispers and down-turned mouths, you could feel it.

Fear.

Respect.

Even some admiration.

They weren't just looking at you like a monster. No. Some of them were looking at you like you were unstoppable.

A force of nature.

You kept your head high despite the chains, the cold, the exposure. And as your gaze flicked across the stage, your eyes locked on something else—someone else.

Pretty boy.

He was standing just behind Nolan. Silent and stiff.

His face was hard to read, his jaw tight, but his eyes never left yours. Even after everything, he wouldn't stop looking at you.

And then there was Anissa, standing beside him like a shadow. Arms crossed, chin lifted slightly, like she was trying to figure you out. Judging and calculating. Not impressed—but not dismissive, either. She whispered something to Mark, a sharp little comment masked behind a smirk.

He didn't look at her. Didn't react. His gaze was locked on you.

And despite everything—despite the bruises on your body, the metal biting into your wrists, the weight of every eye watching—you smirked behind the muzzle.

Even now. Even here.

You could feel it.

That heat in your veins.

That wild pulse in your chest.

That hunger.

And he was still watching.

Their voices rose around you—cold and calculating, debating your fate like you were some unruly creature rather than a living being. The Viltrumite council spoke in harsh tones. Some suggested you be kept alive for study, molded into a living weapon. Your strength was too rare, too valuable to waste. You were a weapon, after all—unrefined, but powerful. Others disagreed. Their voices were sharp with caution, insisting you were too dangerous, too unpredictable, as you had already killed too many.

But then, the conversation shifted. It spiraled—quicker than your still-throbbing head could follow. But you caught enough.

They weren't talking about justice anymore, or even punishment.

A new thread had slithered into the room, it low and quiet at first. A suggestion that made your skin crawl.

"She's female." one of the council members said plainly, studying you with clinical detachment. "And clearly fertile."

Your jaw clenched behind the muzzle.

"She may be human in origin, but her body’s resilience and strength—those are above even standard Viltrumite females." another added. "Breeding with her could produce a hybrid that surpasses us. A child born of her might become the key to furthering our strength."

Disgust curled in your gut.

Breeding.

Shit. They were seriously discussing breeding you.

You could feel the weight of their eyes on your bare form. They weren’t just looking at a criminal anymore. They were evaluating you like a broodmare.

The female Viltrumites didn't object either. One of them tilted her head and added, "Her frame suggests high reproductive capability. The musculature, the hips, her bone density—everything aligns."

You wanted to laugh. To rip the muzzle off your face and tell them to shove their breeding program up to their asses.

But all you could do was breathe. Controlled, but furious.

And yet… somewhere under the heat of that fury, something twisted—a perverted, morbid curiosity coiled in your gut.

Breeding you?

Like you were some kind of baby-making machine.

You were trained to kill. Built for war. A monster, they said—and now suddenly, they were talking about your hips, your womb, your usefulness as if you were nothing more than a vessel. A thing to be filled, broken, used to build their empire from the inside out.

Your stomach turned. The word fertile echoed in your ears like a curse.

What were you now, a walking cradle? A fucking incubator for the Viltrumite legacy?

And worse—part of you wondered. What would it even look like? You, monstrous and wild, collared and panting beneath someone they chose for you. With your body betraying you. Bearing Viltrumite blood. Creating something terrifying. Something worse.

Something like you.

Your eyes narrowed, seething through your lashes.

You weren't going to let them own you.

But gods, the idea wouldn't leave. It curled around your brain like smoke. Sick. Curious. And Violent.

They didn't want to kill you.

They wanted to breed you.

A tall, scarred warrior stepped forward from the group of survivors—his arm still in a sling, a fresh wound slashed across his chest.

"If she is to be contained," he said, "then she must be broken. Handled. Someone will have to... train her."

The word train sent a flicker of rage down your spine.

"She won't yield to just anyone. Most of us tried, and barely survived. But according to the surviving officers…" His eyes narrowed at you. "There was one who managed to fight her back. Who held his ground longer than anyone else."

You stopped moving.

"Mark Grayson." he said.

The silence that followed was loud. Heavy.

"She responded to him. Almost like she enjoyed it." another commented. "We observed it—she was smiling. Laughing. Every time he hit her, she hit harder. She didn't want to kill him. It's almost like she wanted to play."

The crowd murmured again.

"She was having fun, and yet he still managed to injure her. To bring her down."

Mark's hands were clenched at his sides now, his brows furrowed, jaw tight. His silence said more than words could.

"She's a beast." the first speaker said. "But beasts can be trained. And if anyone is going to do it… it has to be him."

General Nolan finally turned slowly to face his son. "Mark."

Mark lifted his eyes, and for the first time, you saw the faintest flicker of conflict in them.

Nolan's voice rang clear, loud enough for all to hear. Cold. Final.

"She's your responsibility now."

"Break her. Tame her. Turn that wild thing into something useful. Think of it as… training a new pet." Nolan sharply commanded.

The word pet hung in the air, heavy and cruel.

And just like that, the decision was made.

You were no longer just a monster.

You were his task. His burden. His possession.

𖹭 𖹭 𖹭

You were moved into Mark Grayson's private quarters two days later.

You were escorted like an animal—your wrists locked in thick cuffs, a black gag secured tightly between your lips, and a gleaming high-tech collar locked around your neck. It pulsed faintly red, a constant reminder of the shocks it could deliver. You had already learned its bite. The plain white prisoner uniform clung to your body neatly but it couldn't hide the tension in your muscles or the defiance in your eyes. Your hair had been washed, but left wild and tangled, like they hadn't cared to do more than rinse you clean.

His father led the procession, flanked by five other Viltrumites. They walked in silence—grim and towering, like they couldn't wait to be rid of you. When the door to Mark's quarters hissed open, they shoved you forward without care. You stumbled, unbalanced, but didn't fall. You landed on your knees before him, like a stray beast dumped at the feet of her new master.

Mark said nothing.

He stood tall in his pristine white Viltrumite uniform, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable. His eyes moved over you—your face, the collar, the gag, the subtle twitch in your smile. You could feel his gaze, cold and heavy, like he was judging you.

He didn't look surprised. He didn't even look particularly interested.

But he looked at you like you were his. Like you were already his.

The cage in the corner of the room was built just for you. Reinforced alloy. Thick bars. It wasn't hidden—it was a fixture in the space, something he'd clearly made room for. You were shoved inside it without grace, and the door clanged shut with a low, echoing finality.

His father said a few quiet words before departing with the others. Something about obedience. About control. Mark nodded, silent and cold, never once looking at you again until they were gone.

Only then did he approach the cage.

You were lying inside, already curled on your side like a cat. When he finally turned his gaze to you, you met it with a wink.

He stared at you with an unreadable expression. There was no lust, no hatred—just something… calculating. You could sense the effort it took him to stay composed, to look down at you and not act. You could feel the discomfort behind that stare. And you loved it.

He left you alone after that.

But when he returned hours later, the cage was torn open like it was made of paper. One of the bars was bent backward, and sparks flickered where the internal locking system had fried. You sat lazily in the center of his bed, legs tucked under you, the remains of your uniform hanging from your hips. Your upper body was bare—slick with sweat and blood, lips red from raw meat as you gnawed on something half-cooked

It stained his bedsheets. It stained your fingers.

He stopped in the doorway and stared at you for a long moment.

Then he exhaled slowly and murmured, "I really hoped you'd stay in the cage."

You licked your fingers, then flashed him a lazy grin. "I'm not an animal, Grayson."

He said nothing as he entered, stripping out of his uniform until he was half-naked. He moved toward the small kitchen like you weren't there, calm and composed, even as you followed him with your eyes, your teeth still sunk into the meat in your lap.

"Don't you have anything better to wear? Didn't my father give you something?" he asked over his shoulder.

You stood behind him now, silent, completely naked. You stretched your arms up—slowly, deliberately—exposing yourself without a single shred of shame.

"Ooh, don't like what you see?" you asked, with your voice sickly sweet.

Mark didn't turn around. "You don't get to tease me, pet."

Your smile widened. "That collar says otherwise."

And then—before you could take another step toward him—it sparked. Electricity crackled across your throat in a violent shock. You collapsed to the floor with a hiss, trembling and panting, but still smiling through the pain. He still didn't turn around.

"You're mine." he said flatly. "And pets don't speak without permission."

You lay there twitching on the floor, laughter bubbling from your throat even as your body spasmed.

You were such a problem. A walking mess of temptation and chaos. A feral, sharp-toothed creature he hadn't tamed yet. You stalked around his space like a spoiled cat—shedding blood, climbing on his things, curling up naked where you didn't belong. You didn't eat the rations he gave you. You rejected everything cooked. Mark quickly learned that the only way to keep you fed was raw meat, still dripping. And when he gave in and brought it, you looked at him with gleaming eyes like he was rewarding you.

He hated that. Hated the way you made him feel like he enjoyed your presence. Like he looked forward to your games.

You were always touching his things, brushing against him when he walked past, whispering into his ear when he tried to sleep.

"You're fun when you're pretending not to want me." you whispered one night, your breath warm against his neck. "I was just wondering how long it would take before you finally snapped."

His hand gripped your jaw tight, forcing your gaze to meet his. His thumb brushed slowly along your collar

"I will break you..." he murmured, voice low and lethal. "And you'll beg me for it."

You met his threat with a wicked smile, eyes gleaming with challenge.

Gods, you were such a naughty thing.

𖹭 𖹭 𖹭

Living with Mark was a war of nerves.

He didn't speak much, not unless he had to. He gave orders, not conversation. Every time he walked into the room, he expected obedience—and every time, you gave him the exact opposite.

He tried to tame you with structure. Routine. Food. Clean quarters. The cage—still bolted to the corner of his room—was meant to remind you that no matter where you roamed, this was still captivity. You were still his.

And yet, you prowled through his space like a cat. A filthy, bloodthirsty little thing with sharp teeth and mischief in her eyes.

You made a game out of pissing him off.

You ripped the sleeves off the black Viltrumite uniform he had ordered for you, claiming they were itchy—then refused to wear anything else. You slept wherever you pleased, most often curled in his bed, stretched across the sheets like you owned them. You dripped blood on his floors from your stolen snacks, purred at him in mockery, and bared your teeth every time he looked too calm. You called him "pretty boy," "master," "hot stuff" and "Grayson," depending on what reaction you were hunting for.

Sometimes, you stood right in front of him, naked and smiling, collar still glowing red.

Sometimes, he didn't say anything.

Sometimes, he did.

And when he did, it was never nice.

Still, you could feel it—beneath all that authority and arrogance, something was cracking. Every time you got under his skin, every time his jaw clenched and his fists curled, you felt it coming closer. That first fight between you hadn't just been survival—it had been ecstasy. Something deep in your corrupted instincts craved the collision again. The pain. The rush. The blood. And the way he had looked at you, panting, bruised, victorious.

You wanted to taste it again.

But Mark had been sent off-world. Called away on a brutal conquest with other Viltrumites. Rumors spread fast—it had been ugly. Ugly and loud. You could practically hear the taunts in his ears, the rage in his fists. You knew how he got when pushed too far.

So you pushed him further.

By the time he returned, there was blood on Viltrum's walls.

You had tried to escape.

You tore through six Viltrumites before they even realized what was happening. Ate one. Injured another so badly they couldn't walk. You laughed the whole time, dripping with gore, half-mad with the thrill of it. You're not actually trying to leave, not really. You just wanted to fight. You wanted to feel alive again.

Once they captured you, they threw you into one of their most heavily guarded prisons. Chained you like the monster they said you were. But not before you left your mark.

So when Mark came home—wounded, furious, soaked in blood and sweat—he didn't go back to his quarters.

He went straight to the prison.

And when the cell door hissed open, there you were. Naked again, legs casually crossed, sitting on the floor like a satisfied beast after a feast, while still wearing your collar like a choker. Your mouth was stained with red. Your arms were chained above your head, but your eyes were calm—glowing with smugness and something else.

You tilted your head. "Welcome home, pretty boy~"

He stepped inside. The door sealed shut behind him with a cold hiss, and he didn't speak. He just stared and his silence was loud.

You didn't lower your gaze. Didn't shift or flinch under the weight of it. You wanted this—you wanted that fire in his eyes, the heat of fury crawling down his spine. You wanted that unhinged thing in him to wake up. To bare its teeth. To bite you back.

You smiled, slow and sharp. "You look like shit."

His jaw tightened. The cuts on his face were still fresh. Blood streaked down the side of his neck, half-dried, and his hands were trembling from self-control.

You cocked your head, chains clinking above you. "What's wrong? Mission didn't go so well? Or are you just mad I had a little fun while you were gone?"

You let out a giggle as he moved closer. Boots echoing off the cold floor. You shifted, legs still crossed, thighs open just enough to tempt.

"You killed six." Mark said, voice laced with coldness, "Injured five more."

You smiled with your teeth. "I was hungry."

His palm cracked across your face before you even finished the sentence.

Your head jerked to the side, the taste of copper blooming on your tongue. You spat, a string of red falling to the floor between your knees, then looked up at him with a smug, bloodstained grin. "There he is…"

He stepped closer. Towering. Trembling with restrained fury.

"You think this is funny?" he snarled.

You laughed, low and taunting. "It's hilarious, actually. They cried so loud. Struggled like babies. You should've seen their faces, pretty boy." Your voice lowered to a mock whisper. "I think you're getting soft on me. Not the same Viltrumite who left me broken on a battlefield."

His eye twitched. His chest rose and fell like he was holding back the urge to throw you through the wall.

"What do you want, huh?" he snapped. "Another beating?"

You cocked your head, smile dripping arrogance. "I want to see you snap. I want the same fire that pinned me down and made me feel alive. You've been boring since you brought me here... there's no fun."

Something shifted in his face—a cold fury, flickering with something darker.

His hands moved.

He simply undid the belt of his white Viltrumite uniform, then let the fabric drop away just enough to free his cock—thick, flushed, and mean. Veins tracing the length like dark roads, the head was wet and angry.

You blinked. Frowning, your mouth twisting into a sneer. "Eww, gross—what the fuck do you think I'm gonna do with that!?"

Mark stepped forward, towering over your chained form. His hand wrapped around your collar, tilting your head back roughly.

"Open your mouth."

"Fuck you."

"I swear," he growled, leaning down until his breath scorched your lips, his voice is low and seething, "If you don't open your fucking mouth, I'll tear your jaw open and shove my cock down your throat until you forget how to breathe."

Your eyes narrowed as you watched Mark stand tall before you, his 8.5 to 9-inch cock jutting out, the swollen tip slapping lewdly against your parting lips. You could feel the heat radiating off his thick shaft, smell the heady musk of his arousal. His girthy length hovered dangerously close to your face, a silent threat and a promise of what's to come.

You opened your mouth slowly, not out of submission or eagerness, but to bare the sharp, wicked teeth you were so proudly known for. It was a challenge, a silent dare. Your tongue darted out, flicking against the weeping slit of his cockhead in a teasing caress that was barely a touch.

Mark's eyes flashed dangerously as you slowly parted your lips, revealing the glint of your sharp teeth. This was no act of submission, but a silent challenge thrown down between you. "Tuck those fangs away." he growled, his grip in your hair tightening warningsly.

You met his glare with a defiant tilt of your chin, not complying. "Make me." you taunted, your voice dripping with insolence even as his fingers dug into your scalp.

A dark snarl rumbled in Mark's chest. "Brat," he spat. His other hand shot out, gripping your collar possessively. "If I feel even a graze of those little fangs on my cock, I will snap your fucking neck. Got it?"

Before you could react, he pushed it forward, the thick head of his dick forcing your lips apart and stretching them obscenely around his girth. You gasped as he pushed deeper, your throat squeezing around its size. The tip of his cock kissed the back of your throat, making you gag reflexively.

Mark paused, allowing your throat to adjust to his size. His thumb stroked along your jawline, not a gentle caress, but a dominant, controlling gesture. "Breathe through your nose." he commanded gruffly. "You can take it."

Trapped and stuffed full, your glare was your only remaining weapon. Mark started to move, his thrusts initially slow and deliberate. Each drag of his thick length along your tongue and throat sends jolts of unwanted pleasure through you. As if your body is betraying you, you can feel your cunt pulsing, clenching around nothing as he used your mouth.

His pace increased, fucking your face hard and rough. Wet, filthy sounds of flesh slapping echoed through your cell. Drool and precum mingled, dripping down to your collar and to the floor. He gripped your hair tighter, holding your head still as he hilted with each brutal thrust.

He forced you to take his entire length, over and over, balls slapping against your spit-slicked chin. Tears streamed down your face from the relentless face-fucking and lack of oxygen, but he showed no mercy.

Suddenly, with a harsh tug on your hair, he yanked your head back and pulled out abruptly. You gasped desperately, drawing ragged breaths, thick ropes of your saliva was connected to his cock and the head of his dick was an angry red, flushed and leaking, hovering inches from your face.

It was then silent between the two of you, nothing but the sound of heavy breathing filling the tense air. His chest rose and fell, sweat beading at his temples, while you knelt there—lips swollen, throat aching, eyes glassy and unfocused from the brutal rhythm he'd forced on you.

Your head swayed slightly, lightheaded and dazed, the aftershocks of it still buzzing through your body like static. You blinked up at him, not out of defiance this time, but because your mind hadn't caught up yet—too fogged to realize he had pulled out without even cumming.

Mark grasped the metal cuff binding your wrists and, with a simple flex of his superhuman strength, tore it apart like it was nothing more than paper. The sudden release sent you off balance that you collapsed forward with a grunt, catching yourself on your hands and knees in an undignified sprawl. Before you could push yourself up, his fingers hooked under your chin, jerking your head back to meet his gaze.

A slow, mocking smirk tugged at his lips as he took in the sight of your disheveled state. Then, without a word, he grabbed you and with a sharp, effortless motion, hauled you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. The air rushed out of your lungs as your body collided with the hard wall of his chest, muscles shifting beneath you as he began walking out of your cell.

As you attempted to slip free from his hold, one hand gripped your rear possessively, giving it a sharp, punishing slap. The stinging pain radiated through you, a silent warning from him. You bit back a yelp, determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you cry out.

Mark walked down the corridor in heavy silence, his steps echoing ominously as he carried you like a trophy draped over his shoulder. Viltrumite guards paused to stare, their gazes lingering on your bare, used form. You could feel their eyes crawling over your skin, filled with assumptions, judgment, maybe even envy at the power play unfolding in front of them. You shot them a sharp side-glare, though the faint blush dusting your cheeks betrayed the heat pooling beneath your skin.

Without breaking a stride, Mark took off into the air, the force of his flight making the wind whip past your ears. In seconds, you landed hard on the balcony of his private quarters. He barely gave you a moment to react before tossing you onto the bed like you were nothing more than his personal possession. The moment your back hit the mattress, he was already stripping off his bloodied uniform before crawling on top of you, pinning you down with the full weight of his body.

And then his mouth crashed onto yours. It was not gentle or loving but a brutal claiming. His tongue forced its way past your lips to dominate your mouth. He poured all his pent-up frustration and lust into the kiss, one hand gripping your hair to hold you in place as he plundered your mouth.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he released your bruised lips, both of you panting harshly. "You've done nothing but push and provoke me—every damn chance you got." he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "But now? You're right where I want you."

With one swift motion, he caught both of your wrists and pinned them above your head in one large, unyielding hand, pressing them into the mattress. His body hovered close, radiating with heat and fury as he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. "No more games."

Mark shifted his hips, positioning himself between your spread thighs. The thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance, already slick with your unwilling arousal. "It's time someone taught you the meaning of obedience." he rasped. "And I'm going to enjoy breaking you in."

With a single, brutal thrust, he slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight, dripping cunt. A guttural moan tore from his throat as his aching cock sank into the silken heat of your depths. Your back arched off the bed, a scream of pained pleasure punching from your lungs as you were split open on his massive shaft.

"AAHH~!"

"Fuck, you're so goddamn tight..." Mark grunted, giving you a moment to adjust to his size stretching you wide. "This cunt was made for my cock." He rolled his hips, grinding against your cervix, before pulling back and slamming in again.

Each relentless thrust sent lewd, wet sounds bouncing off the walls, your moans rising higher with every slap of skin against skin. His free hand roamed up your body, seizing your breast in a firm grip, fingers digging its softness as he pounded into you without mercy.

"Aah! Aah! Aah! Fuck! Mark! Mark—!"

Mark's mouth found your neck, his lips and teeth teasing over the sensitive skin. He licked and nipped at your racing pulse before soothing the sting with his tongue, almost tenderly. Mark's lips trailed up to your ear as he continued his relentless pace. "That's right. Scream for me." he demanded, voice a guttural rasp. "Let them hear who owns you now." His hand slid from your breast to your throat, fingers wrapping around it possessively, not squeezing, but with the clear threat of doing so.

He pistioned his hips faster, each powerful thrust striking your cervix and sending bolts of white-hot pleasure spiking up your spine. Your cunt clenched and fluttered around his plundering cock, slick walls gripping him like a velvet vice. The stimulation was overwhelming, pushing you rapidly towards a peak.

Mark panted harshly, sweat dripping down his brow from exertion. "Take my cock. Fucking take it, you whore." His grip on your hair and throat tightened in tandem with his increasingly brutal thrusts.

He could feel your body tensing, your legs starting to quake. "No." he growled. "Don't you dare cum without my permission." To emphasize his point, he reached between your bodies and pressed down hard on your clit, pinching the sensitive nub almost cruelly.

"No! No! Aah! I-It's too much! Aah! I can't—AAHH~!" Your back arched, a scream ripping from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you. Your cunt spasmed and clenched wildly, milking Mark's hard cock as wave after wave of ecstasy consumed you.

Mark groaned, the rhythmic squeezing of your cunt pushing him closer to his own release. "You think you deserve to come after all the shit you've pulled? You'll be punished for this." he growled, his hips slamming into yours with a punishing force as he chased his own pleasure.

With one last, brutal thrust, he buried himself balls-deep inside of you. His cock jerked and throbbed as it unleashed it's hot, thick ropes of seed directly into your spasming walls. He filled you with his essence, flooding your empty womb, until you were overflowing.

As the final pulses of your shared climax fades away , Mark collapsed onto you, pinning you into the mattress. He caught your lips in a searing kiss, more passionate and intense than the one before. When he finally broke away, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes searching yours with a dark, triumphant gleam.

"We're not done yet. You think you get to rest after cumming without permission?" he growled.

Your hazy eyes fluttered open, cheeks flushed deep red. Still breathless, you gave him a small, teasing smile as you slowly dragged your wet tongue across your lips, hungry for more.

𖹭 𖹭 𖹭

The night blurred into a haze of relentless, brutal coupling. Mark's stamina seemed boundless as he took you in every position imaginable, each thrust driving into you with punishing force and precision. The bed creaked and groaned beneath the onslaught, a lewd symphony of carnal lust.

You were drunk on pleasure, drowning in the overwhelming sensations of his body claiming yours over and over. Laughter bubbled from your lips, interspersed with wanton moans and cries of ecstasy. It was a stark contrast to the pain and fury of your first fight; this was a different kind of battle, one where you found yourself surrendering to the enemy's touch.

"Look at you," Mark growled, voice thick with satisfaction as he pounded into you from behind. "Taking my cock like a bitch in heat." His hands gripped your hips bruisingly, fingers sinking into the flesh as he rutted into you with wild abandon. "Such a good little pet."

He leaned down, teeth finding your ear as his hips snapped forward, striking your cervix dead-on. "You're going to look beautiful, all round and full with my child..." he murmured, voice dripping with dark promise. The filthy words sent a shiver down your spine, even as a traitorous part of you thrilled at the idea.

Your body was a canvas of marks and bruises, each one a testament to his ferocious desire. Your breasts bounced with each powerful thrust, the two slick with sweat and come. The obscene squelch of his seed sloshing inside you with each roll of your hips was the only sound louder than your escalating moans.

You lost count of the number of times he filled you, painting your insides white with his release. Your womb was flooded, as your belly starting to swell with the sheer volume of his cum. It looked as if you were already pregnant, the bulge of his seed a perverse parody of new life.

As dawn approached, Mark finally slowed, his thrusts growing less urgent as he chased his final climax. With a hoarse shout, he buried himself to the hilt, cock jerking and pulsing as he pumped you full once more. He collapsed against your back, crushing you into the mattress with his weight.

After a long moment, he rolled onto his side, spooning you from behind. Mark's strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling your limp, body flush against his chest. He nuzzled into your hair, breathing in the scent of sex and sweat that clung to your skin. You could feel his heart pounding against your back, gradually slowing as exhaustion claimed him.

As exhaustion threatened to pull you under into a deep, dreamless slumber, Mark's strong arms encircled you from behind, holding you close against his muscular chest. He curled around your limp body like a lover, one hand possessively splayed across the slight swell of your belly, feeling the way it strained with the heavy load of his seed trapped inside you. A look of dark satisfaction flickered across his chiseled features as he surveyed the results of his relentless claiming.

"Rest now, my love." he whispered against your ear, a tender darkness in his tone. "Close your eyes… because when you wake up, I'm going to make you mine all over again."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊˚⊹ ᰔ

𖹭 please don't repost, publish, or translate this shit anywhere. You don't have the right to do that. Thank you for understanding.

Divider made by @cafekitsune ୨ৎ

#𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒕🐈‍⬛𖹭.ᐟ #viltrum mark #viltrumite mark #viltrumite mark x reader #invincible variants #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson smut #invincible fanfic #invincible #invincible x reader #invincible x fem!reader #invincible smut

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linoxpudding · 2 months ago

Text

Our Little Miracle - Bang Chan

summary: after months of trying for a baby, you and your husband finally get the good news

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader (married)

genre: fluff

word count: 1022 words

Masterlist

*images taken from pinterest*

~°~

You had been waiting for this moment for what felt like forever. Being married to Chan was a dream, but the one thing missing was the tiny little miracle you both had been hoping for—praying for. Each month had been a mix of hope and heartbreak, but you never gave up. And neither did he.

Currently, you were visiting him on tour, hoping to make the most of your time together. You had missed him terribly, and seeing him so immersed in his passion—performing, leading his members, giving his all just reminded you just how much you adored him.

After a long day of rehearsals, you sat together in his dressing room, his hoodie draped over your shoulders as he chugged down water, wiping sweat from his forehead. He looked exhausted but still managed to send you the softest smile, one that always made your heart flutter.

"You okay, baby?" he asked, scooting closer on the couch, pulling you against his side.

You hummed, resting your head against his shoulder. "Mhm. Just... my period’s late."

The water bottle in his hand froze mid-air. You could practically hear the gears turning in his mind before he slowly turned to you, eyes wide. "Wait… what?"

You lifted your head, blinking at him. "I mean, I don’t want to get my hopes up, but it’s been a few days now."

Chan shot up from the couch so fast that you barely had time to react before he was tugging you to your feet, holding both your hands in his. His voice was urgent but still gentle, like he was afraid to break the moment.

"Baby, do you...do you have a test with you?"

You let out a small laugh, squeezing his hands. "Of course I do, you know I always carry a few just in case."

"Then let’s do it," he said, already pulling you towards the small washroom attached to the dressing room. "Right now."

"Right now?" you echoed, amused at his eagerness.

"Yes," he nodded quickly, his grip on your hand tightening just a little. "Please. I... I just need to know. And if it’s negative, it’s okay. But if it’s not—" He let out a shaky breath. "I just want to be with you when we find out."

Your heart swelled at his words.

Inside the small washroom, you did what you needed to do, and when you came out, the test was facedown on the counter. Chan was already sitting on the couch, patting his lap for you. You walked over, settling into his embrace as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his chin resting on your shoulder.

"It’s okay if it’s negative again," he murmured, swaying the both of you slightly. "We’ll keep trying. I know it’s been hard, but we’re in this together, baby. Always."

You closed your eyes, basking in the warmth of his presence. "I know. I just don’t want to disappoint you."

Chan immediately pulled back, cupping your face so you had no choice but to look into his deep, loving eyes. "Hey, don’t say that," he whispered. "You could never disappoint me. This isn’t your fault. We’re trying, and that’s enough. No matter what happens, I love you, okay?"

You nodded, leaning into his touch. "I love you too, Channie."

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he tightened his arms around you. "And, y'know, even if it’s negative…" He nuzzled his nose against your cheek, voice dipping into that familiar teasing tone. "We just try again." His fingers trailed lightly along your waist, making you shiver. "And trying is fun, isn’t it, baby?"

A laugh bubbled out of you as you lightly smacked his chest. "Chan!"

"What?" He grinned, tilting his head. "I’m just saying. No complaints so far."

You rolled your eyes, but your smile was impossible to hide. "You’re ridiculous."

"Mm, but you love me for it," he murmured, kissing your temple before swaying you both again. "And you love how much I love you."

You sighed contently, melting against him. "Yeah, I really do."

A comfortable silence filled the room as you stayed in his lap, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back. And then your phone alarm buzzed on the table. You both froze.

Chan swallowed thickly. "Do you want to check, or should I?"

"Together?" you suggested, voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, and together, you both stood, walking hand in hand to the counter.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the test, flipping it over—

Two pink lines.

Positive.

Your breath hitched. "Oh my God."

Chan didn’t say anything for a moment. He just stared. Blinked. Processing. Then, his hands covered his mouth, his eyes already glistening with unshed tears as he turned to you.

"Baby… we’re having a baby?" His voice cracked on the last word, full of disbelief and overwhelming joy.

Tears blurred your vision as you nodded, letting out a choked laugh. "We’re having a baby, Channie."

And then you were in his arms, feet barely touching the ground as he spun you around, laughing through his tears. "We’re having a baby!" he repeated, voice filled with pure wonder, pressing kisses all over your face, your forehead, your lips. "Oh my God, we did it!"

You clung to him, laughing and crying all at once. "We did it."

He set you down gently, immediately kneeling in front of you, his hands cradling your still-flat stomach as he pressed a soft kiss there. "Hi, little one," he whispered, voice thick with emotion. "I’m your daddy. I already love you so much."

Your fingers wove through his curls as he rested his forehead against your stomach, his body shaking slightly. "Thank you," he murmured, looking up at you with so much love it nearly stole your breath. "Thank you for being my everything."

You cupped his cheeks, tilting his face up to press a lingering kiss against his lips. "You’re my everything too, Bang Christopher."

And in that dressing room, wrapped in each other’s love, you knew this was just the beginning of the most beautiful chapter of your lives.

#skz #skz au #stray kids #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #dad!skz #dad!bangchan #bangchan imagine #bangchan fluff #bangchan imagines #bang chan fluff

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thewonandonly · 7 months ago

Text

LONGING FOR YOU

PLAYLIST : spotify

PAIRING : pro-baseball player!jaehyun x fem!college student!reader

GENRE : fluff, smut

PROMPT : "if you were my little girl, i'd do whatever i could do, i'd run away and hide with you." au

WC : 15,323 words

WARNINGS : strong language, sports medicine student!reader, reader used to play volleyball, teeny tiny age gap (reader is early 20's, jaehyun is irl age), greek life, jaehyun is implied to be a (former) frat brother (never officially states it), frat party, drinking/alcohol, there is a mention of puke/vomit, mention of overstimulating setting, cameo by yeri :3, mark, and johnny, consent is sexy, protection is hot, lots and lots of praise, BRIEF locker room sexual tension bc i had to, ig it can be considered a kind of sugar daddy au?, jaehyun has no rizz 🗣️, penetration (f), oral (m + f),

AUTHOR'S NOTE : jaehyun military enlistment 😞 jerma helped me write this thats why it took so long. forgive me for the horrendous explicit scene i quite literally have not written full length smut in so long. and also, jaehyun jaehyun jaehyun jaehyun jaehyun jaehyun. :3 that's all.

DISCLAIMER : the characters in this story are to be allusions to real people, and none of the situations, personalities, and actions found here should reflect reality. this story was created with zero intention to violate the images of the artists.

"Come on, come to the party with me!" Yeri groaned, tugging on your arm as if you were her mother and she was your child begging for a toy.

You sighed, rubbing your temples, "I would love to, but I've got work I've gotta do." It was the seventh time — yes, all in one day — where Yeri has asked you to join her at this giant frat party that her friend, Johnny, who happened to be the RA where said party was being held, invited her to. She would've loved to go by herself, but she planned to consume insane amounts of alcohol and would require someone with wonderful bedside manner, i.e. you.

Yeri groaned, throwing her head back dramatically, "All you do is do your homework." She complained, "I'm sure the wonderful science behind athletic medicine can wait for one night off."

"I'm sorry, Yeri, but my entire scholarship is riding on this." You mumbled, watching Yeri groaned louder, as her head moved forward, trudging her way out your bedroom doorway.

You would be ecstatic to go to some lame party down University Road. You'd love to get drunk, hook up with some dude who is looking to hit. You'd love to take a break, but, unfortunately, your life after you graduate was already starting. You had 29 thousand dollars and two internships invested in your future. If you wanted to be an accredited professional in athletic medicine, you'd have to focus, and not get distracted or discouraged.

But, then again, you're still young. You're only getting closer to the end, and Yeri is busy with her cheerleading career. You'd rather not lose this connection. Glancing at the clock, you noticed as the second hand tick away, sighing softly. It was thirty to 12. The night was still young.

You turned in your chair, calling to her, a small laugh escaping your lips as she looked at you with eyes that looked as if she was a kicked puppy, "I'll go."

Her face immediately lit up and she smiled, "You will?"

You held up your hands in surrender, standing from your cluttered desk, "You're right, as much as I hate to admit it. The world of medicine can wait."

"I'm so happy right now." She cheered happily, "Okay, I'll let you get ready. I'll take a quick shower and everything." She turned the corner into the hallway and you heard the shower run.

Sighing, you opened your closet door and analyzed the clothes on the hangers. You didn't have any "sexy" outfits, so to speak. Everything was strictly professional clothing, especially considering you had your internships around the corner. But, who could show up to a frat party in high rise, flared dress pants? Maybe it was time to break out the clothes you packed right out of high school.

Once you tore through the boxes, pulled on the clothes, you could swear they grew tighter, which was normal; you were still growing, in more areas than one. You opted for sticking to the items you chose, for the most risqué look, considering it was a frat party.

Yeri was quick to get in and out of the shower, quick to get her makeup done, and quick to get dressed. You're sure she was going to be quick to get out the door as well.

You leaned against the wall to pull on your shoes, watching Yeri immediately grow frazzled as she struggled to find her keys, which were normally in the catch bowl, but was strategically hug up on the key hook earlier for convenience.

The trip to the Pi Phi house wasn't far, but the blistering cold wind bit at your nose and cheeks as you and Yeri both walked down the road from your apartment to the frat house.

You both turned the corner, your jaws opening in shock.

The Pi Phi house was huge, damn near 3 floors. And much to your dismay, it wasn't a new brother of the house at the door, it was two sisters from the Kappa Omega Pi sorority. They seemed nice, letting in quite a few people, until they turned away another girl.

You looked to Yeri, sighing softly, "I don't think we're gonna get in." The small queue was moving quickly.

Yeri rolled her eyes so far back you were sure they'd get stuck, "Relax. If they don't let us in, I've got an in." She rubbed her hands together, the cold chill in the air slowly building, "God, fuck! It's fucking cold."

"Just don't think about it. We're almost to the front." You mumbled, stepping forward up onto the porch, watching the girl's faces drop at the sight of you after letting two guys inside.

They gave the two of you a once over, exhaling a deep breath through their nose, "It's six bucks to get in."

Yeri pulled out her phone, scoffing, "That's not what it says on the flyer." She turned her phone to the girls, giving a smartalick smirk, "And, besides, I know Johnny."

The girls looked at each other, chuckling, "You know Johnny?"

Yeri crossed her arms, motioning to the open front door of the frat house, "Go on. Go get him."

One of the girls stepped inside, and walked out in seconds, a tall male peeking his head out, pulling a face at the girl, "Come on, you're really asking if Yeri can come in?" He nodded his head to the two of you.

Yeri smiled at the girls, waving to them before turning to you and speaking over the music that grew significantly louder as you walked through the crowded hallways, "Those girls were definitely not girls girls."

"Aren't the Kappa Omega Pi sisters like really tightknit with Pi Phi?" You responded, watching your temporary escort split off from the two of you.

"Yeah," Yeri sighed, "Let's not worry about them, though! Let's just have fun!" She immediately turned a corner and you found yourself by your lonesome, squeezing past people with small whispers of "Excuse me's" and "Sorry's" before you finally made your way into the kitchen where it wasn't as crowded, but was definitely still filled with a few people. Pi Phi brothers and Kappa Omega Pi sisters were lined up along a wall where they took pictures together to show their love for their greek life. Your hand moved to grab at a bottle of Michelob Ultra, pouring it into the cup while you stared at the group taking photos. Maybe a social outing wasn't the best idea, considering the setting. You weren't much of a—

"Hey." Someone reached over and set the glass bottle down on the counter, laughing softly, "Your cup."

You tore your eyes away from where you were staring, glancing down at the cup filled with foam from the beer, "Oh." You mumbled softly, glancing up at the person who was kind enough to take the empty bottle from your hand, "Thanks."

You watched him dump out the foamy beer into the sink, grabbing another plastic cup and beer, slowly pouring it out in front of you, "Here."

"Thanks." You mumbled out again, grabbing the cup from his outstretched hand. It was dim in the kitchen, much to your dismay, only a string of Christmas lights you weren't sure the brothers ever took down from the passing holiday. You squinted your eyes to try to get a glimpse at who this person was for pouring your drink out. "I recognize you from somewhere."

"Damn, dude, what's taking so long?" A voice spoke over your own, at a much louder octave. He patted the guy on his shoulder, "Gotta celebrate your big game tomorrow."

Your brows pinched together as you assessed the voice, "Mark?" You questioned, your eyes squinting more, almost blinded by your lashes.

The shorter male turned to look at you, "Woah, Y/N, bro, I didn't even know you were here!" He smiled, laughing out loud, "What's up?" He asked.

"You're Pi Phi?" You asked him, waving awkwardly at him, "I didn't know you were part of the greek life."

"I didn't know you were either." Mark laughed again, "Bro, that's crazy. I didn't know you were in a sorority."

The unknown man turned to pour out some drinks, Mark's hand holding onto his shoulder for balance as people shoved their way through.

"Oh, I'm not." You shook your head, taking a sip of the beer poured into the cup, "Yeri was able to get us in."

"Yeri's here?" Mark began to whip his head around, looking for the mentioned lady, "Dude, I didn't know she'd be here." His hand began to slap at the other's shoulder.

"Guess it's time you get over your fear." The other called to Mark, who grabbed three of the cups in his hand.

"Oh, I completely forgot." He motioned between the three of them, "Uh, Jaehyun, this is Y/N, she's in my athletic science class. The one I was telling you about!"

The man, now named Jaehyun, waved his free hand at you, "Nice to meet you."

"Man, Y/N's, like, the smartest girl in the class! She knows a lot about that stuff." Mark nudged him, "Maybe once she completes her residency, she can be your primary physician." He teased.

"You play sports?" You questioned, taking another sip of the beer from the cup, "What do you play?"

"Baseball. Nothing too exciting."

"Does he play sports? He's in the ML." Mark seemed more excited about it than Jaehyun was, your smile growing as you saw Jaehyun roll his eyes. "ML means major league."

"I know what it means, Mark." You laughed, "But, hey, congratulations! It must be nice." You smiled to Jaehyun, "Have you always wanted to play major league?"

Jaehyun shrugged, "Got scouted in high school. Johnny was the one who convinced me to accept it."

Mark laughed, "Well, hey, Y/N, it's nice to see you. If you want, we're gonna be at the couch with everyone." He used his elbow to motion over to the center of the house, "No pressure!"

You nodded, "Yeah, sure. I can help you carry some of the cups." You grabbed two of the cups from the counter in one hand, following the two of them back over to the couch where Johnny, Yeri, and other attendees sat, including the girls from the front door. You squatted slightly to place the cups down on the coffee table, wincing softly as you felt your knee creak.

"You okay?" Jaehyun, who wandered behind you to sit down, asked, his hand lingering on your back as you stumbled.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine." You laughed awkwardly, sitting down on the couch, "Old injury." You waved it off, taking another drink of your beer.

Mark found a spot next to Yeri, smiling softly as he greeted her and began conversating with her. You glanced at the two, chuckling softly as you watched Mark's cheeks turn pink.

You heard a jumble of words from Jaehyun, turning your head back to him, "What was that?" You leaned closer to him to hear him over the music playing over the subwoofer speakers.

"What from, if you don't mind me asking?" He repeated into your ear, his breath gently fanning across your cheek.

"I used to play volleyball." You shrugged, "Liberio, so, I normally fell on my knees." Your hand found it's way to the cap of your knee, rubbing it with your hand.

"Used to?"

"Yeah. I stopped playing after the injury." You laughed, nodding your head, "But, my doctor was really sweet. She actually helped me to study up until the entrance exam."

Jaehyun nodded his head, "Well, I know myself and other athletes will be happy for your help."

You smiled, laughing softly, "I hope." You turned slightly to look at him as he sat back against the couch, his arm resting over the back, "Do you like the major leauge?" Setting down your cup, you looked at him.

Jaehyun shrugged, "It's nice. I've been on a training regimen since I started. I mostly joined just cause I love baseball, though." He smiled, the cup resting in his hand on top of his thigh, "But, I mean, the coach and my teammates are pretty cool. And the pay isn't bad."

"I bet." You chuckled softly, "At least you get to do what you love." You smiled at him.

"How do you-"

"When are you-"

You both spoke over one another, both of you laughing.

Jaehyun motioned to you, "You go first." He reached his hand up to lean his head against it, looking at you.

"I was just gonna ask how you know Johnny and Mark." You shook your head, "I know you said that Johnny encouraged you to accept the scouting offer in high school. But, how'd you meet Mark?"

Jaehyun laughed, his hand reaching up to rub his temples, "Well, it's a pretty funny story." He started, glancing at Mark, who continued to talk Yeri's ear off, "He kinda joined the frat after finding out I was apart of it. I was only apart of it for a month, but, you know, sometimes people just get close."

"Well, if I do say so myself, it seems Mark is ecstatic that he knows you personally." You nodded to Jaehyun.

"I'm glad."

Yeri turned to you quickly, tapping your shoulder, "Hey, Y/N." She called to you, pulling your sight away from Jaehyun to look at her, "Wanna dance?"

You glanced at Jaehyun, and back at her, your mouth open and shutting like a golfish, "I-I really shouldn't... My knee."

Yeri groaned, "Come on! I love this song." She pouted, rubbing her hands together as she silently pleaded.

It was true, she did love this song. God, the amount of times she'd play this song in the car would make you nauseous. And you didn't have much of a choice when she pulled you up from where you were sitting to drag you into the crowd of people dancing to the music.

"How are you and Mark?" You called into her ear, the two of you holding hands as you both lazily danced.

Yeri glanced back at Mark, who was happily comversating with Jaehyun and Johnny, giggling like a little kid before she turned to you, "He's so much fun to talk to." She smiled.

You smiled back, happy to see her happy. "I'm glad." You responded, "Plus, he really likes you. You know he can't hide his feelings well." You glanced back at the three, glancing at your feet as you caught Jaehyun's eye.

Your friend smirked, laughing softly, "Oh, I see what's going on." She nudged your shoulder, which you rubbed with your hand as you looked at her, "You've got the hots for number 16." Yeri teased.

"What?" Your voice came out slightly higher, considering the assumption, "No, no." You shook your head, "I just met him."

"Doesn't mean you can't find him hot." She nudged you again, "Johnny told me he was expecting him to come tonight." She pulled out her phone, opening the tab of her browser to show you the search. "Jung Jaehyun, major league pitcher." In the middle of the crowd, you glanced between the phone and the man who sat on the couch, "Number 16." Yeri's finger clicked on a photo of Jaehyun, the front of the jersey embroidered with big red letters that read, "Sentinels".

"Wow." It's all you could say. You knew Mark said he was in major league, but you didn't think that major. You were thinking maybe small hometown baseball that made it big. "He even has a trading card?"

Yeri nodded, locking her phone before putting it back in her pocket, "He's big." She nodded her head, "Professional Sentinels player, going on his fourth year with the team."

You were flabbergasted. No wonder Mark was so excited telling you.

Standing there, you thought for a second, "If he's so big, why isn't anyone freaking out about him being here?" You raised an eyebrow.

Yeri raised her own brow, "You'll be surprised how many athletics students don't watch athletics." She hummed, nodding her head at her own statement.

"Okay, well, now that you told me this, I'll just feel like a gold digger." You rubbed your neck shyly, completely unaware the end of the song just as another one kicked up.

"Shut up." She scrunched up her face again, grabbing your hand to lead you back to the couch where you both were previously sat, "You're fine. You're nothing like a gold digger."

"Welcome back!" Johnny called, motioning to the couch.

Yeri sat the both of you down, smiling at Mark as soon as she got comfortable, taking the cup from his hand to take a sip.

You sat down, Jaehyun to your right and Yeri to your left.

Jaehyun's whole hand covered the top of the cup he held, slowly passing it to you, "I held onto your drink while you were gone." He smiled.

"Oh, thank you." You nodded to him, taking a small swig of the drink, glancing at him shyly.

He wore much more lax clothing; a black long sleeved shirt and black cargo pants, various rings along his fingers and a silver necklace with an charm you couldn't quite see as it was flipped over. You glanced away, watching Jaehyun smile softly as you took another sip.

"What?" You questioned, blushing softly as he continued to stare.

"Nothing. Nothing." He mumbled, "Just... don't drink too much."

You smiled softly, setting the now empty cup down on the table, "Don't worry. I normally only have one drink and I'm done." You sat back on the couch, looking at him.

You both sat there for a second, not saying anything. Jaehyun would glance over the back of the couch every once in a while, meeting the hands of other members of Greek life, making small conversations with them, or even sharing a few laughs as they conversed. Sometimes Johnny or Mark would join in.

Slowly, you felt your social battery slowly drain, and you whispered to Yeri to share where you'd be going; outside, in the expansive, empty backyard of the frat house, away from the music, crowds and smell of alcohol in the air.

You sighed softly as you relaxed against a chair in the backyard, glancing down at your phone to slowly recharge your own battery.

Yet, it seemed like despite being away, your thoughts and fingers lingered back to Jaehyun, typing his name across the keyboard into the search bar.

There were articles about him, fan pages, compilation videos of some of his pitches and plays. Professional photos and fan captures. He really was larger than life.

The baseball uniform he wore was clean and pristine aside from the red dirt across the left side of his body, and after much digging, you found out that after batting, he'd reach a base by sliding.

You found yourself diving headfirst into doom scrolling about Jaehyun, his career, what people thought about him. His record with the team was clean, and his ability was impressive. He was often claimed as MVP of his team, giving them several wins in their games.

The sliding door opening was enough to have you scrambling to lock your phone and set it down in your lap. You glanced behind you, finding it was nothing more than another guest at the frat party, gagging as they turned the corner to spill their guts.

You pulled a face, standing up to move back inside to the party, the sudden smell of puke and alcohol mixing making you feel sick, mixing together just as you opened the door to step back inside.

You recharged your social battery just enough to continue talking before Yeri wanted to leave, yet it dropped right back down again as the smell settled around you. Did it always smell like sweat? Did the floor always feel sticky? Did the counters have all those cups on them?

Everything felt so overwhelming.

"Hey, are you okay?"

It's the second time that voice has asked you if you were feeling okay. You pull your eyes away from looking at the scene before you to look at Jaehyun, whose eyes were softened.

"I was just about to check on you." He mumbled.

"I'm okay." You took a deep breath in, slowly exhaling, "It's a little overwhelming in here."

"Yeah." Jaehyun chuckled, letting him step behind you to slowly guide you away from the big group of people, "Here. This way you can get the best of both worlds." Jaehyun leaned beside you against the wall close to the front door, holding the brim of his plastic cup with his fingers, glancing around at the group as it only grew bigger.

"Thank you." You whispered, crossing your legs as you leaned against the wall, "Hey, so, I know Mark said you were in major league, and... Yeri kinda showed me the google search about you."

Jaehyun laughed softly, "Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck, "Sentinels."

"Yeah." You nodded, looking at him, "Must be cool going places and getting recognized."

He shrugged, "I mean, it's all the same. Often times people don't know it's me without a cap or a batting helmet." Jaehyun nodded, "It is pretty cool having a trading card, though." He smiled to you, turning to look at you.

"I saw that! Did you see how much someone's willing to pay for a signed one?" You chuckled.

"Yeah, I did." He laughed too, "Can't believe someone has that much money to spend on a piece of paper. Especially when I started not too long ago."

"Well, I mean, you do get that type of money." You nudged him, feeling your uneasiness quickly disappearing as you spoke to him.

Jaehyun shook his head, "Most of it goes to bills and taxes." A group of some Pi Pho frat brothers pushed by, forcing Jaehyun into you, his arm above your head to make sure he didn't crush you, "Jesus fu- Christ." He didn't finish the swear, glancing at you, "Are you okay?" He glanced at the people sprinting by, one slipping and dropping their cup of alcohol.

"I'm fine." You whispered, "Fine."

Jaehyun leaned his arm on the wall, right above your head. His face was close enough to see the details. He smelt good — like rose and ember; so much so that it was intoxicating. His dimples and his eyes as he smiled, the faint stubble along his chin and his upper lip. The necklace hanging from his neck, the emblem still flipped backwards; you were beginning to think he put it on backwards for it to face away from others. As you appreciated his features you realized that perhaps he was sculpted from marble by Michelangelo himself.

The faint smell of alcohol from his red solo cup and a puddle of the spilled liquor from the brothers swirled around the both of you. The song changed beat and volume, glancing around the corner to find Johnny turning up the dial, the bass nearly blowing out your eardrums.

"Don't you have a game tomorrow?" You spoke into his ear over the music, feeling your heart flutter as he turned his head slightly so you didn't have to move much.

He chuckled, shrugging, "It's kinda tradition to visit before a game." He responded, his lips gently brushing against your cheek as he spoke.

You nodded as he moved back to his position, smiling at him, "So, do you always linger around the university or...?"

"No," He shook his head, and you can see the liquid courage glossing his eyes, "But, I mean, if I got to find someone as beautiful as you, maybe it's not a bad idea." Someone nudged behind him, causing him to straighten up with his chest hitting your own. He had you pressed flush against the wall, but he obviously wasn't focused on that as he glanced behind him, "A lot of energy for you students." He laughed as he looked back at you, "Must be nice to be young."

You laughed, smiling at him, "Aren't you only 27?"

"Well, yeah, but..." He playfully rolled his neck over his shoulders, "At some point in time, these old bones have to rest."

"And you decided to do that at an old frat house with a bunch of newly turned 21 year olds?"

He shrugged again, "Better than the old farts in the league." He glanced around the party, noticing multiple of the attendees either drinking to their restless end, making out with some of the bubbly blonde sorority sisters or passed out on the ground, table or couch. He noticed Mark talking up a storm with Yeri, and Johnny handing out more drinks to guests, "But, you're right. Wanna head out?"

"Yo-you wanna leave with me?" You stammered.

He laughed, "Yeah!" He smiled, his dimples making an appearance once more, "How rare is it that I meet a beautiful woman here among all these girls?"

You blushed at his compliment, smiling before nodding your head, "Yeah. Yeah, let's head out." You stood up straight, Jaehyun pushing away from the wall, "Let me just let Yeri know where I'm gonna be at." You stepped around him, making your way over to the couch where Yeri sat, "Yeri." You tapped her shoulder, and when she didn't turn around you called her again, "Yeri!"

"What?" She turned to you, "Is something wrong?"

"I'm heading out." You spoke into her ear, "With Jaehyun."

Yeri smirked, nudging your shoulder, "Come on, stop messing with me." She laughed.

"I'm not messing with you!" You chuckled, "Hey, you have my location, and maybe I'll be back tonight, most likely tomorrow morning." You gave Mark a wave as you made your way down the hallway once more.

"Use protection!" She called loudly as you walked off, continuing her conversation with Mark.

You made your way back to where you and Jaehyun were standing previously, catching sight of Jaehyun in the kitchen, bidding Johnny farewell with a one-armed hug and an untraditional handshake. The two were laughing as they both finished up their conversation, Jaehyun walking straight towards you, "You ready?"

"Yeah. I'm ready."

Jaehyun took your hand in his own, guiding you out of the frat house. The silence of the night was a comforting contrast to the loud frat party you were both victims of attending. The rustle of the leaves, the sound of wind whistling. It was the only sounds you could hear as your ears adjusted to the noise disappearing.

The street lamps gave you better sight of Jaehyun's figure. His arms were ripped, to say the least. He had veins crawling up from his hand to his elbow, and his hand was a little rough, calloused skin from swinging baseball bats for a lifetime.

The two of you approached a fairly new car, but still a few years behind the recent model. Jaehyun unlocked the door, and pulled open the passenger side.

"Thanks." You whispered, settling into the seat. You slowly buckled in the seatbelt, Jaehyun gently closing the door just as the realization just set in that you were in the car with a national professional athlete. The butterflies began to fly from your stomach into your throat, and you were worried if you even spoke that you'd just embarrass yourself.

Jaehyun climbed into the driver's seat, sighing softly as he reached up to stick the key into the ignition, "Sorry. I didn't expect to bring anyone back with me, so, I brought my less inconspicuous car." He chuckled softly.

"No, no! It's fine. I mean, you're already one step ahead of me. I don't even have a license, so, I have no right to judge." You matched his chuckle, smiling at him. "Besides, there's something more humble about an old 2008 Honda Civic."

Jaehyun let the car warm up for a second before he pulled off from the curb, his hand lingering on the stick shift, his foot lingering on the clutch.

You began to admire his hands once more. He had slender fingers, his wrist was adorned by a silver cuban link bracelet, another vein wrapping around his arm and ending at his bicep. You could tell he's worked out, but not too much. I mean, he is a professional athlete for a living, so him working out wasn't much of a surprise. Just as he stopped at a stop light, you pulled your eyes from his form and glanced out the window.

The both of you drove through the heart of the city, your eyes catching the bright lights as you stared at the window. It was a nice difference from University Road. The quiet melody of music played from the radio, filling the tense silence between the two of you. Jaehyun clearly kept the car in good shape. There were zero stains on the seating, the steering wheel and bulb of the stick shift were a little worn from where his hands rested, the radio seemed intact.

Jaehyun continued to drive, clearing his throat, "You can change the channel, if you'd like to." He motioned to the radio, before he quickly downshifted, "I have a bunch of CD's in the glove box."

You took the initiative to open the glove box, smiling to yourself as you saw the CD case, unzipping and opening it. You weren't sure if you were smiling because he seemed like such an old soul for keeping CD's for his older car, or because it looked like the CD's were all in alphabetical order. "Crazy Town?" You questioned teasingly.

There was a slight tint at the shell of Jaehyun's ear, chuckling, "What can I say? They're revolutionary." He looked into his mirror and over his shoulder as he switched lanes, glancing over at you as he saw you eyeballing him, "What?"

"Just never took you for one who enjoyed rock music like this." You continued to flip through the CD case, seeing various discs of music; including, but not limited to rock, pop, hip hop and r&b. There were more genres that you didn't really recognize and you tried to read the fine print to see if they printed it, but no luck. "I think it's definitely fair to say you listen to every genre."

Jaehyun chuckled, watching you insert the Crazy Town CD into the reader, his hand quickly moving to turn down the volume, "I just listen to music. Genre doesn't matter to me."

You smiled to yourself, slowly turning the volume up as the CD started playing. The silence felt less tense now as the music played between the both of you. Given the circumstances, you needed the tension to die down.

You looked out the window, not recognizing the area you were in very well, but you definitely recognized the giant building on the side of the road; two tall buildings beside each other, the sign reading "The Hallows".

Jaehyun took a very gentle left turn into the roundabout, stopping right in the middle as he climbed out and passed the keys to his 2008 Honda Civic to the valet.

"You live... here?" You questioned, staring up at the buildings.

Jaehyun chuckled, grabbing your hand in his, "Yeah." He smiled, "It's pretty nice. Out of the way." He guided you into the lobby of the building, and you were even more awestruck.

Everything in the lobby were either expensively vintage or expensively new. They even had a couch you would see frequently in a magazine you glanced over while you waited in line at the supermarket. A couch you could only dream of purchasing. For this condo — penthouse, seems more likely — complex to have 4 sets of a couch that only the richest people can afford already told you what to expect.

Jaehyun greeted the front desk attendant, calling the elevator for the two of you, his hand holding yours gently.

A small chime was heard just as the doors to the lift open, and he motioned for you to step inside. You took a step in, glancing at every corner, making eye contact with the camera.

Jaehyun sighed softly, clicking the floor button as he stepped inside, stopping just beside you. "Sorry if this makes you all uncomfortable." He started, "I realize now just how awkward it might be to show up here. Like I'm showing off."

"No, no, it's not your fault! You make your money the same way I do, you're allowed to spend it where you please." You smiled, "And sometimes where you please to spend it is at a gigantic apartment building, and that's okay."

Jaehyun chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, "I'm just enjoying your company so much, I don't wanna scare you away."

You smiled to yourself, messing with your fingers as you glanced down at your feet, "I'm enjoying your company, too." You chuckle, "A lot."

Jaehyun smiled brightly as the elevator doors opened once more, and grabbed your hand back in his own as he guided you down the hallway, swinging your intertwined hands as he walked. His free hand grabbed his keys and skillfully unlocked the door, allowing you to step inside.

Which you agreed to, and you were met with a large condo, with a window large enough to span across the wall of his condo. The skyline was bright enough to light up the wall straight across from it. There was a giant kitchen, a giant living room. The whole place was giant.

Jaehyun tossed his keys into a catch bowl by the front door, flicking on the lights.

"It's..." You paused as you continued to take in the sights, "It's beautiful."

"Yeah, my... Johnny and Mark kinda got a little excited with an interior designer and they decorated it like crazy."

You smiled, taking off your shoes to set them to the side before you took a step further. "Did you always have the idea to have an open floor plan?"

"Well, no, but like I said, Johnny and Mark got excited." Jaehyun chuckled, "Gave me a bachelor's pad when I'm hardly even a bachelor."

"Live while you're young." You whispered to yourself as you admired the city line. Jaehyun stopped beside you, but his eyes lingered on your reaction, which he was generally pleased to see.

Jaehyun cleared his throat, his fingers pulling at the cuff of his long sleeved shirt, "So, Mark told me a lot about you." He started.

"Did he mention how I let him cheat off my papers?" You teased, turning to look at Jaehyun.

"No, no, nothing like that." Jaehyun laughed, shaking his head, "But, he did show me your SNS accounts."

"Oh, that's embarrassing."

"I think you looked amazing." Jaehyun whispered back almost immediately, "But, you look more amazingin person."

"It seems like we both looked up each other."

Jaehyun shrugged, "That's why I wasn't as upset when you did it." He smiled, "Where was I going with this?" He mumbled to himself, "Mark really talked me up for this."

The tension between you both returned. And it wasn't an awful tension. It was tension that was telling you that obviously something was going to happen. You didn't know how long or what Mark said to him, but you couldn't help but thank Mark for whatever length of time he's been talking to Jaehyun about you.

Jaehyun cleared his throat again, feeling like all the words he prepared for this moment had disappeared from his mind. His eyes that were once watching you turned to look out the window where you were looking previously.

"You don't have to force yourself." You whispered, smiling at him.

Jaehyun smiled back, turning to look at the couch, "Come on, let's sit down." He sat down on the leather couch, and you could notice he was in his element.

You followed, sitting beside him.

"You didn't have to come here if you weren't comfortable." He started, his hand finding your own, "I know it's pretty awkward to get picked up at a frat party, and I never meant to put you in a position where you didn't think you could say no."

"Oh, I didn't think of it like that." You chuckled, "Trust me, if I wanted to say no, I would've."

Jaehyun leaned a little closer, drawing his bottom lip in with his teeth, "Can I kiss you?"

God, you've been waiting for that question all night. Nodding your head, you smiled as Jaehyun's lips pressed against yours. The hands you have been admiring for the last 30 minutes during the car ride were now placed on your hips as he attempted to pull you closer until you were practically on his lap. He tasted of Heinekien beer, and spearmint, and you began to question when and where did he get gum or mouth spray from. Despite the mix, his lips were soft, and they were tender against your own.

Jaehyun pulled away slowly after a moment of kissing you, his hands lingering on your waist, his eyes opening to look into your own.

You both shared a small laugh, a lingering peck placed on his lips.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do that." Jaehyun whispered, letting a sigh escape his lips.

Glancing at your phone's time, you chuckled, "Can't be anymore than 2 hours." You teased, "But, if it's any consolation, I've been thinking about it too."

Jaehyun rolled his eyes, "You really aren't aware of how much Mark's been trying to set me up with you." He whispered.

"Is that so?" You raised an eyebrow, "How long?"

Jaehyun sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Months, at least." He leaned his head against the back of the couch, the hair he pushed back falling back into his eyes, "He's been trying to set me up with you for the longest. Johnny, too."

You rolled your eyes, "You're telling me that tonight was one giant ploy to get us to finally meet?"

"No, no, definitely not. That was a frat party, through and through. But, I'm happy we could've met there." Jaehyun gently grabbed your hand, pressing soft kisses to your fingers.

"Are you always this romantic?"

"Only with people I actually have feelings for."

"And that implies that there's people that you have had feelings for."

Jaehyun chuckled, "It does. But, none of them were you." He smiled, intertwining his fingers with your own. You looked at the size of his hand compared to yours, the length of his fingers compared to yours. Jaehyun had height, and his hands definitely matched that; slender fingers, thick veins, soft skin. His nails were well kept too, considering what he did for a living.

His words repeated in your head, and you had to stop yourself from smiling. To be desired and admired for that long, with nothing but Mark's words and your social media posts to hold him over.

"Why didn't you just follow me and talk to me?" You chuckled, watching him kiss your hand and wrist.

"It's not like I have a personal account. I only have my professional one for work." He whispered softly, "Plus, I had to see if you were interested first. I'm not good at that over text."

You rolled your eyes, "Excuses."

Jaehyun chuckled, "Maybe a little. I just didn't want to swing and miss." He smiled, "I have an idea." He sat a little closer, his fingers playing with your own again, "Why don't you come to the game tomorrow? I have one pass left."

"I don't know a single thing about baseball."

"That's fine." He smiled, "I'm not expecting you to figure out the miles per hour of my fastball. I just... I think I'd do better with you there."

"Who else is gonna be there?"

"Johnny, Mark, and your friend. Mark wanted to show off." Jaehyun's dimples made another appearance, and you couldn't help your heart racing behind your ribcage. "You don't have to say yes, but I'll be happy if you were there."

You thought for what felt like minutes, but in reality, it was nothing but seconds, "Yeah. I think it'd be fun."

"Unless we totally lose." He chuckled, "My only excuse would be that I was too distracted by you."

"Are you always this cheesy?" You smiled, shaking your head.

Jaehyun met your smile with his own, "I can be." He shrugged.

"It's cute." You whispered, "I'd love to see you play, Jaehyun."

Jaehyun was physically fighting his excitement, giving another shy smile, "Great. Great." He chuckled, squeezing your hand. "If that's the case, we should probably head to bed then. We've gotta be up early if we wanna make it in time."

"Right." Your hand reaches for your phone in your back pocket, and you open your contacts, getting ready to call a taxi to pick you up, "I can get a cab ride home."

"I was thinking..." He locked your phone, "Maybe you could spend the night here." He whispered shyly.

"Oh." You thought for a second, "Oh!"

Jaehyun chuckled, "Doesn't have to be anything more than innocent, if that's what you want." He stood up from the couch, your hand lingering in his. "Come on, I have some clothes you can wear."

"Please don't tell me you're gonna dress me up like Adam Sandler." You stood up, letting him guide you down the long hallway to his — once again — gigantic bedroom. The lighting was dim, and you would've thought he had the lights on the entire day if it wasn't for the sound of the switch flipping. There was a bay window adjacent to the bed set of velvety black duvet, sheets and dark stained bed frame.

Jaehyun let you linger by the door while he wandered off to somewhere around the corner, only to return with a red dirt stained baseball jersey and a pair of sweats you were sure weren't going to fit you. "Here you go."

You snapped back from admiring his bedroom to grab the clothes, smiling at him, "Did you wash this?"

Jaehyun nodded, "Red dirt stains. Only way to get it out is power washing."

"Good enough for me." You laughed, "Where should I change?"

"Oh! Right, right." He stepped behind you to guide you by your shoulders to the double bathroom, "You can change in here." He looked at you through the mirror, smiling softly, "And, if you aren't comfortable with us sleeping in the same bed, I can always take the guest room."

"You have a guest room, too?" You chuckled, setting the spare clothes he gave you on the counter.

"Yeah. The bed isn't as comfortable in there as it is in here, though." Jaehyun continued to watch you through the mirror before he turned his eyes away and walked out of the bathroom, "I'll let you get changed." He nodded, shutting the door behind him.

You took a little longer to admire the bathroom, your fingers running across the granite counter, the big mirror and the nice black sinks. He had a walk-in shower, lined with dark grey tile. You peeked around the sliding door to the shower, catching sight of a shower ledge where the occupant could sit.

You smiled to yourself before you turned to start changing your clothes, pulling on the clothes Jaehyun was nice enough to offer. It smelled like him. And they were nice and soft.

You folded up the clothes you wore to the party, setting them to the side of the sink closest to the door, gently opening the door.

Jaehyun sat on the edge of the bed, standing up as soon as you stepped out, "Hey."

"Hi."

"They look better on you than on me." Jaehyun chuckled softly, blushing a soft pink, pushing his hair back with his hand, "I knew they would."

You raised an eyebrow, chuckling softly, "Is this your way of saying you wanna see me wear your clothes more often?"

"Yes, definitely." He wore clear framed glasses, andyou could swear you saw them fogging up from the blush growing on his cheeks. "I definitely want to see you in my clothes more often." He grabbed your hand in his own, squeezing it gently.

"We'll see." You teased, squeezing his hand back.

Jaehyun smiled, "Did you think... about...?" He pointed at the bed, silently asking.

"If you want me to, I can sleep in the guest room." You started, "I mean, it's your bedroom. I am a guest."

"I have no issue sleeping in the guest room. The whole bed thing... that was a joke." Jaehyun cleared his throat, obviously tense. "The mattress in the other room is just the right amount of soft and stiff."

You had to stifle the laugh that threatened to leave. "Jaehyun, really, I don't have an issue sleeping in the guest room."

He nodded his head, "Okay, okay." He smiled awkwardly, "But, really, I wouldn't mind if you stayed in here with me. Just put this whole thing behind us." He laughed.

"Hm, that might be easier." You continued to hold his hand as you sat on the edge of the bed, "As long as you promise to not crush me."

"Don't worry. I sleep like a log. Fall asleep in one position, wake up in the morning in the same." He held up his hands in defense, "I also promise to try to keep my hands to myself."

"Haha." You laughed sarcastically, sitting him beside you.

"I'm just kidding. I'll keep my hands to myself if you want me to." He nudged you, intertwining your fingers together.

"And if I don't?"

Jaehyun raised an eyebrow again, glancing at you, "Then I won't."

You smiled, "Sounds like a plan." You let go of his hand to crawl up to the head of the bed, laying on your side as you rested on a pillow.

"What? Like you not wanting me to keep my hands to myself or...?"

You laughed, "Just come lay down. It's already almost 3am and you said we have to be up early, didn't you?"

Jaehyun took off his glasses, setting them down on the bedside table, laying down on the pillow next to yours, a soft smile on his face.

☆

You aren't sure when you fell asleep, and you definitely weren't sure about how you ended up with Jaehyun's arm over your hip, the alarm clock beside his bed blaring the god sound of the "Apex" ring tone. You slowly sat up, rubbing your eye and running your hand through your hair. You took a second to remember the scene of Jaehyun's bedroom before your eyes, turning your head to admire him. You were aware how odd it felt that you were allowing yourself to lay beside him in his bed, wearing his clothes. You weren't sure why you were doing this.

You tried to convince yourself it was the alcohol you had the night before but you weren't even tipsy, let alone drunk. You could feel the butterflies flutter in your stomach as you thought about the night before, studying his face as he slept. You wondered how many people would kill to see this view.

"Jaehyun." You whispered, leaning against your hand, brushing some hair from out of his face.

"Hmm?" He grumbled, obviously half asleep.

"It's 8 a.m." You responded gently, quietly trying to coerce him out of his slumber, "We're gonna be late, Jaehyun."

Jaehyun groaned, pulling his arm back to his chest as he sat up and pressed the stop button on his home screen. He sighed, pulling his legs out of the covers so they could touch the ground.

Some moment throughout the night, Jaehyun obviously pulled on a large white t-shirt and sweats, expelled the shirt from his body (evident by the white t-shirt thrown at the foot of the bed), and went to sleep.

His back was muscular, his shoulder blades prominent as he stretched his arms above his head and in front of him. His fingers wiped at his eyes before he pulled on his glasses and stood up to stretch further.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked gruffly, turning to look at you, "I hope I didn't hog the bed too much."

You fought with your eyes as they wanted to linger on the happy trail below his belly button, settling on shutting your eyes as you smiled at him, "It was perfect, Jaehyun."

The sound of rustling sheets made you open your eyes to find Jaehyun on all fours, his face impossibly closer to you, "Good." He whispered, using a hand to pinch your chin with his thumb and index finger, "I've been thinking about kissing you again since last night."

Your cheeks turned red, and your heart raced in your chest. "Why didn't you do something about it earlier then?"

"You looked too beautiful sleeping." He smiled, "But, if you'll allow me, I'd like to do something about it now."

You smiled, "I'll allow it."

Jaehyun chuckled, cupping your cheek to press a kiss against your lips. His lips were still as soft as they were the night before, his hands gently as his thumb rubbed across the skin of your cheek. Despite it feeling like minutes, it was only seconds in reality until Jaehyun pulled away.

"Can I consider that my good luck kiss for tonight?" He asked softly.

"Yeah." You chuckled, "And if you win, I'll maybe consider giving you a victory kiss as well."

"Sweet." He nodded, moving back to climb off the bed, making his way to the bathroom, "I'm gonna take a quick shower."

"Alright."

"I'll be back."

"'Kay." You smiled as he stepped into the bathroom and shut the door, immediately reaching over to the nightstand to grab your phone.

You don't know what you were thinking staying the night when you didn't even have a change of clothes. You sent Yeri a quick text asking her to grab you a set of clothes, anything would do. Especially something warm.

You can tell she agreed when she started calling you on Facetime, which you answered.

"How was it?" She asked as soon as the call connected.

"What do you mean?" You asked, turning down the volume as you sat back against the headboard.

Yeri rolled her eyes, sitting up in her own bed, "Come on, share all the details." Her screen switched to "Paused" and you could only assume that she was scrolling either on Instagram or Tw- "Holy shit! You're at the Hallows?"

"Yeah, that's the name of the building."

"Y/N, how out of touch are you?" Yeri started, her face returning to the screen, "The Hallows is where all the famous people live, like Lee Jongsuk and Seo Inguk."

"Well, if you're asking, no, I haven't seen anyone." You started, "The lobby looked expensive, though."

"I've gotta see this!" She stood up, "Okay, tell me what outfit you want then I'll head there."

Yeri entered your room at your shared apartment, opening your closet and turning the camera to show you different shirts, pants and other fabrics. You both took about 30 minutes of the call deciding on a good outfit, before you both settled on something.

"I'll be there in a few. What should I do when I get there?" Yeri asked, folding the clothes neatly into a bag.

"I can grab the clothes from you in the lobby." You nodded, "I'll see you when you get here."

"Bye. Love you."

"Love you, Yeri." You responded before ending the call.

You heard the shower water come to a stop, and you fully expected Jaehyun to walk out of the bathroom but you sat there, staring at the door as he stood behind it.

A text from Yeri came through your phone and you stood up, making a slow trek to the front door, which you opened and closed behind you. You remembered the door number, and the floor number, and you memorized the button you'd have to press to get back up. You suddenly felt awkward to even walk down into the lobby wearing Jaehyun's clothes, but the awkwardness melt away as you saw the area empty. Yeri was the only one there, recording herself for her Instagram story.

She was too absorbed in recording the lobby that when you stood in front of her as the camera panned to you, she jumped, a yelp getting cut off just as she released the button. "Jesus, you scared the crap out of me." She said through a laugh, patting your shoulder.

"Do I look that bad?" You questioned, grabbing the clothes from her hand.

"No, you don't look bad. You know me." She chuckled, I brought you some extra shoes too, so you don't have to worry about wearing the ones from yesterday."

"You're awesome."

"It's really nice in here." She started, looking around the lobby, "I almost feel too broke to be here."

You ran your finger over the clothes, chuckling, "I felt the same." You smiled, "So, how'd it go last night with Mark?"

Yeri smiled to herself, "Well, I think it went wonderfully." She paused, playing with her keyring, "He asked if I wanted to come with him to Jaehyun's game today."

"I heard." You laughed, "At least you'll have me to play wingman."

"You're coming too?" She smiled, "Awesome! Now I don't have to be so nervous."

You laughed, "I've gotta get ready. Jaehyun's already in the shower and everything." You gave her a hug, "Get back safe."

"Text me if anything new happens!"

"Same with you." You called the elevator, watching her walk back out to her car, where you're sure she'd play her song of the week over and over until she got tired of it.

You retraced your steps as you stepped into the elevator, thinking of the night before as Jaehyun clicked the floor button to get you up to his place. The elevator stalled, then moved upwards.

You felt the same butterflies in your stomach as you rode the elevator up, smiling to yourself as you glanced down at the clothes you held in your arms.

Could you even begin to consider this a date? You thought to yourself, It could be considered nothing more than just visiting Jaehyun's workplace.

As the elevator stopped, you made your way down the hallway and stopped right outside Jaehyun's front door. You knocked on the door, waiting patiently for him to open the door. Which he opened, to him wearing nothing more than black sweatpants around his waist, his hair dripping droplets down his collarbones.

"Hi." You looked at him.

"Hey." He chuckled, "I thought you left."

You shook your head, "Without my shoes?"

"Good point." He opened the door a bit wider for you to step inside, which you did.

"Yeri just brought me some clothes to wear for today." You motioned to the folded clothes in your arms.

"That's nice of her." Jaehyun smiled, "You can use the bathroom to change if you'd like." He closed the door, "I'm making something to eat as well."

You nodded, making your way to the bathroom in the hallway, quickly changing into the outfit Yeri and yourself picked out through the video call. It looked almost as nice as you thought when you imagined it. Sure, the black shirt was darker than the washed out black pants, but you think that added to the charm. You folded up the clothes Jaehyun offered the night before on top of the washing machine in the bathroom, slowly opening the door into the hallway once more.

It smelled of maple syrup and coffee, and you took a seat at the island in Jaehyun's kitchen as you watched him cook. It was simple breakfast food; bacon, eggs and some rice. You spot the coffeepot brewing, the soft sound of the java hitting the glass pot. Jaehyun seems to have taken a step away from the kitchen to pull on a shirt to wear.

"Thank you." You whispered softly as he set a plate down in front of you of the food, taking a bite of the bacon.

Jaehyun smiled at you, taking a seat beside you as he started to eat his meal with you as well. It was silent, save for the water used to make the coffee coming to an abrupt halt. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, not at all. It was comfortable. Like sitting in silence together was comforting enough.

As soon as you both finished, Jaehyun cleaned up, poured himself a quick cup of coffee after offering — which you respectfully decline, "trying to cut back," you'd joke — and grabbed the bags by the door that you didn't notice earlier. A giant duffle back, and a backpack that looked like it's been through Hell and back, littered with handwriting, even some quips from Mark and Johnny. You joined him in The Heights spacious garage, climbing into the newest Genesis model as he opened the door for you after he shoved his bags into the backseat.

Throughout the car ride, as his phone connected to Bluetooth and changed through the songs, Jaehyun would grab your hand every once in a while, not paying much attention to it as he drove to the stadium. You didn't bother moving your hand.

Jaehyun pulled into the back of the stadium, parking his car in some obscure area and helped you out. There were news tabloids, sports enthusiasts and paparazzi everywhere, and you felt your heart racing in your throat. But Jaehyun made quickly to avoid them, pulling you in front of him as he stepped through the door before the cameras started flashing. All you saw before it shut was a blinding flash.

Jaehyun sighed softly, adjusting the bag over his shoulder, "This is where we split off." He whispered.

You felt upset. You spent nearly the last 12 hours with him and for him to split off from you now for who knows how long felt so weird. You could tell you grew attached to him.

"Hey," Jaehyun chuckled, "The game doesn't start until 6:30, you've got the rest of the day to chill." His hand trailed down your arm before he grabbed your hand.

"I know." You chuckled, "I do have some homework I was planning to finish from last night, so I could do that while I wait."

Jaehyun smiled, "Great." He rubbed his thumb against the back of your hand, "Come on, I'll show you where you'll sit when the game starts." He began walking, silently passing you his jacket and let you sit down in the front row of the seats, watching as the field attendants chalked the dirt, and maintained the advertisements against the barriers.

Jaehyun walked off after you sat down, giving you a wave as he walked off to where he needed to go.

You didn't realize how focused on your schoolwork you were until you felt the cold breeze and the loud chatter of other attendees. The stadium lights were turned on and the field attendants you saw hours ago were no longer there. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat as people push by your legs; unsure whether you should stand up from the chair to let people through or pull them up to your chest. You pulled on the coat Jaehyun had given to you earlier around your shoulders, waiting patiently by yourself for the other three guests to arrive.

And when they did, you smiled up at them.

"Yo, Y/N, what's up?" Mark gave you a headnod, sitting on a seat only one away from you. Yeri and Johnny followed behind Mark. Your best friend taking the seat right beside you.

Johnny sighed, "You guys are gonna make the tallest, lankiest guy push through you all?" You could tell he wasn't irritated, clearly making a small joke as he stepped over your feet to sit in the seat beside Mark. He sat down with a sigh, adjusting the jacket over his shoulders.

Mark and Johnny shared a quip with one another, Mark sharing a boisterous laugh like he always did.

Yeri nudged you, smiling sweetly, "So, what have you been doing while waiting for the entertainment to return?" She asked.

You held up your phone, the word document plastered on the screen, "Homework."

"Like always." She sighed, "You look nice."

"Thanks." You smiled, quickly saving the document before you shoved the phone in the pocket of Jaehyun's jacket.

You and the trio all spoke to one another, talking about school, interests and other things to fill the time before you caught sight of the teams walking through their thresholds.

Attendants around you all began to share chants of their respective teams, some going as far to shout out jeering taunts to fans of the away team.

Johnny and Mark seemed familiar with this, standing from their seats and clapping as the teams prepared with their coaches for the game.

You caught sight of Jaehyun laughing, the mit around his hand worn and clearly aging. He looked around the stands, waving to fans before he stopped and glanced at you, giving a small wave and shy smile.

The crowd exploded with a loud cheer after he waved at you, and the teams were off.

☆

A little over four hours later, the Sentinels had yet another win under their belt. Johnny and Mark were critiquing the plays made by both teams, while you and Yeri were busy trying to understand what the hell was happening in real time. It was different for the both of you when you were watching the plays in real time without any type of commentary or slow-mo videos to show the play.

The wind picked up during the middle of the game and you were thankful Jaehyun gave you his jacket. Although, you weren't thankful for the wind sending a foul ball straight into the barrier net to keep the audience members safe. You could feel your heart racing, turning to laugh with Yeri, who was also frightened.

As soon as the game came to an end, everyone filed out of their seats, making there way to food stands or tailgates in the parking lot, where fans celebrated the Sentinels victory. Johnny, Mark, Yeri and yourself opted to waiting by the locker room for Jaehyun to walk out.

You held Jaehyun's coat over your arm, playing with your fingers as you waited. Mark and Johnny were having their own conversation while Yeri stood beside you, doing some complex edit to the photo she took with you and the boys to post on her Instagram story.

"Dude, I'm hungry!" Mark complained, leaning his head back against the wall, rubbing his stomach.

Johnny snorted, "Yeah, I bet you want that stadium hot dog."

Mark gave his usual chortle, hitting Johnny's arm in a playful way, "Shut the hell up, dude." He spoke through his laughe.

Yeri leaned against the wall beside you, sighing, "Yeah, I'm hungry, too. I haven't had stadium nachos in years."

"Yeri, the last time you've had stadium nachos was at school at the football game last week." You teased, locking your phone as you looked at her.

"Well, it feels like years." She mumbled, looking at Mark, "Wanna come with me?"

You could see Mark's eyes light up, nodding his head rapidly, "Yeah, yeah, let's go."

Johnny kicked off the wall, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, "I might as well come, too. Don't want you two to get lost." He looked at you quickly, "Wanna come, Y/N?"

"No, I'm okay. I ate before I came." You smiled softly, "You guys go eat. I'll wait for Jaehyun so he doesn't think we ditched him." You waved them off.

Yeri held up her phone, "Well, text me if you want anything."

You nodded your head, waving to them as they walked away before you leaned back against the wall as you pulled out your phone to occupy the short amount of time.

You were invested in the random video of how fossils were formed, blackhead videos, mukbang ASMR, and other interesting videos. And you would've kept watching if you didn't see the last of the team file out of the locker room, save for the dark haired male you came with. You watched the team leave, and you pulled a frown.

You began to question what was taking him so long, but decided to leave it as it was. It wasn't your concern what was taking him so long. You were a guest.

You looked at the locker room door for a moment longer, and hovered your thumb over the pause button on the video about who knows what — you blocked that information out. And just as you were about to press play, your phone chimed and vibrated.

jaehyun:

no one's in here, if you wanna come in.

so you don't have to wait in the cold.

delivered 1 sec ago

You blushed; for one, it was the men's locker room. And second, you didn't know where your thoughts were going. All you could remember was this morning, where Jaehyun pulled open his front door with just a towel on. You kept the text open for a moment, before you approached the locker room door. You looked both ways three times. One look was too quick. The second, in case any one was approaching. Third, for extra measure.

Your fingers held onto the handle for a second as you contemplated a little more, the metal handle cold from the breeze drafting through the open stadium.

You pulled open the door, peeking your head in slowly, "Jaehyun?" You called softly, your voice echoing off the walls, making it seem louder than you intended.

"Over here." Jaehyun responded, and you quickly stepped inside, the squeaking of the hydrolic hinge echoing just as loud as the door latching behind you. Your shoes hit the ground as you stepped in further to find Jaehyun within the maze of lockers.

And you did find him. He stood by a locker, a black Sentinels branded towel hanging low around his waist. It's clearly not like you haven't seen him shirtless, let alone half-naked. You saw both visuals this morning. But it was the fact his hair dripped drops of water down his back, over his shoulders, even down his face. The fact his back and arms were so muscular. And the very obvious fact that beside the towel, he wore nothing at all.

Jaehyun turned around briefly, chuckling, "Hey." He whispered softly.

"Hi."

He smiled to himself at your small voice, using his hand to keep the towel around his hips. He seemed... shy? More shy than you've grown accustomed to. You were thinking that it was definitely because of the circumstances of where his clothes were. He cleared his throat, "Hey, I just... uh," He started, grabbing your hand in his own and stepping a little closer to you, "I wanted to say thank you for coming to see the game." He squeezed your hand in his own, smiling shyly, "It's the first time I've actually had so many people come see me. Uh, in terms of VIP."

"I'm glad I could come, too." You smiled back, "I had fun. Plus, it was nice to see an actual baseball game in person, and not on a television." You tilted your head to the side as you thought, "Although, I didn't expect that many grown men to get excited when you waved."

Jaehyun laughed, "Yeah, they can get pretty excited." He smiled, "But, I think that kiss you gave me this morning gave me the good luck I thought it would."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He chuckled, glancing away for a quick second, "Does that mean I get that victory kiss you were talking about?" He asked softly, the hand that held his towel tightly was released, cupping your cheek with it. "You said you'd consider it."

You laughed, kissing his lips softly.

Two days. Two days of electric tension bubbling between you guys was finally boiling over the top as you both kissed. You could tell Jaehyun was kind enough to act as the gentleman he always was for these two days, but from the way his hands wandered as you both moved your lips in sync was enough to tell you that he was desperate to touch you, to claim you as his own.

At first, he had one hand against your cheek, then both hands resting on your hips, then before you knew it, Jaehyun's hands trailed down your legs, and guided them around his waist as he lifted you up effortlessly and seated you on his lap as he sat on the bench in the middle of the floor. Jaehyun's lips never stopped moving against your own, his thumb rubbing your thigh through your pants as you straddled his hips.

Jaehyun parted from the kiss momentarily, glancing at your face as your lips grew swollen from the kiss. His hands moved from your thighs and found their way under your shirt, his thumb brushing against the skin of your stomach. "You look amazing." He whispered, placing open-mouthed kisses against your neck.

You rested your hand against his neck as he kissed yours, your other brushing your fingers against his arm; over the veins you admired the night before, over the carpal boss of his wrist before he intertwined his fingers with your own again. Jaehyun's hips pressed against your own as his chest did the same with your own.

"Jaehyun." You whispered softly, squeezing his hand in his own.

Despite the gentle whisper, Jaehyun had no intentions proceeding without anything more, pressing his lips to your shoulder through the fabric of your shirt, "Hm?" He hummed out, pulling away slightly to look at you, "What's wrong?"

"I just didn't think we'd share a moment like this in the locker room." You chuckled shyly, looking at him, "Not that I'm complaining, it's kinda hot, but..."

Jaehyun cupped your chin, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, "I understand." He whispered, "How about this? I'll get dressed and then we can head back to my place — or yours, I'm okay with either."

You nodded softly, climbing off his lap and sitting on the bench while he stood up to get dressed. He pulled on his briefs with the towel around his waist, loosening it to throw over his head and dry his hair.

You looked around the locker room to avoid getting caught staring, admiring the red and black walls, the Sentinels logo in the center of the wall. You over analyzed every detail; how crooked the logo was, how some of the red bled into the black, even how there were smudges of paint left on the lockers. Maybe you were being a bit too critical; after all, you weren't an artist and sometimes mistakes happen. You began to beat yourself up because why would you criticize art if you couldn't even draw a stick figure, let alone a giant logo like the Sentinels had. Maybe you'd take an art class.

When you looked back at Jaehyun, he was dressed in his usual attire, the attire you were most accustomed to. The grey, baggy cargo pants, the black muscle tee, the backwards Sentinels baseball cap. He looks just how you were first introduced to him, and it was comforting. He grabbed his bags and wrapped his arm around your shoulder as he led you out of the locker room.

"Hey! There they are." Johnny called, a half eaten corn dog held in his hand, "We were looking everywhere for you two."

Yeri held the paper boat of nachos in her hand as she gave you a knowing look, biting into a cheese and jalapeño covered chip.

Mark breathed heavily, "I ran around the entire stadium looking."

Jaehyun chuckled, shaking his head, "You guys didn't have to do that." He smiled, "Well, we're gonna head out."

"Why don't we get something to drink as celebration?" Johnny suggested, taking a bite of the corn dog.

"Sorry. Have plans." Jaehyun shrugged, guiding you past the three of them.

Yeri took another bite of her nachos, "Wear protection!" She called, more so to you than Jaehyun, or at least you think so.

"Dude, ew!" Mark's laugh echoed off the walls as you and Jaehyun walked off.

Jaehyun was on a mission trying to get you both to the car so you both could get out of there and relieve some sexual tension. Not only did he have to deal with some of the teammates of him stopping him, he also had to deal with team managers, coaches, and some fans of him that were begging for autographs and photos; which he gladly accepted, because he wouldn't be anything without the people who supported him. That continued the whole entire way as you both walked to the back of the stadium where he parked earlier in the morning.

Jaehyun slowly peeked out of the door before he closed it as soon as he opened it, "Here." He whispered, swinging the backpack to his side and pulled out some sunglasses, "There's gonna be a lot of cameras flashing, so wear these and only look straight ahead."

You nodded, pulling on the sunglasses. Jaehyun grabbed your hand in his own, and slowly opened the door again, guiding you out with him. And that's when you understood what Jaehyun meant; the flashes of the cameras were speeding in at one per second. Jaehyun was used to it, but you definitely weren't. He gave a nod, a wave, even a handshake to paparazzi, keeping you close to his side. There was a security guard that helped you both make way to the car. You wondered how so many people were able to obey one security guard, let alone with that many people.

The car was inches away from you both, Jaehyun's fingers grazing the handle to the passenger side door, helping you inside.

"Jaehyun, is that your girlfriend?" A paparazzi shouted, continuing to take pictures, most likely blurry from the nudging and shoving from other paparazzi. Since when did athletes have the same amount of paparazzi as superstars.

Jaehyun shut the door, giving you a smile as he shoved the bags into the backseat, "Yeah, she is." He responded to the paparazzi, shutting the door and let the security guard guide him to the driver's side. The security even went as far to check under, on top and inside the car's backseat.

Once the security gave the go ahead, Jaehyun pulled out of the car lot, his hand immediately finding your own.

"Sorry about that." He said, making his way back towards his place.

"Oh, it's okay." You took off the sunglasses he gave you, holding them by the nose bridge as you folded the arms, "I feel sorry you have to deal with that. No wonder you drive a Honda." You smiled.

Jaehyun laughed, "I meant saying you were my girlfriend." He glanced at you, pausing the music on his phone, "It's easier to say that than explaining we're in a talking stage, you know?"

"It's fine." You glanced at his side profile, "I know what you mean." You mumbled, "I don't mind. Being considered your girlfriend, I mean." You smiled to yourself.

Jaehyun smirked, squeezing your hand, "You sure about that?"

"Yeah."

Jaehyun nodded, playing the music to fill the silence. The music playing varied between The Weeknd, Lloyd, and even some underground artists you had no clue existed. But the one variation that they all had in common was that they were heavy intented with sexual innuendos and sexual tension. You have no idea if Jaehyun made a playlist with these types of songs or if they just happened to be playing on shuffle back to back. But either way, they were definitely setting the mood.

Jaehyun pulled into the roundabout, grabbing his bags before passing his spare car keys to the valet and helped you out of the vehicle.

"Why don't you park it yourself?" You questioned, reaching for the strap of Jaehyun's backpack and throwing it over your shoulders. You were genuinely curious, glancing up at him.

Jaehyun shrugged, "I don't know. They only allow employees out there. I guess it's the luxury part of the apartments." He guided you inside and to the elevator, clicking the floor button that you memorized from this morning.

You chuckled, "Do you like living here?"

"It's nice. But, I'm not much of a big house guy. I've never been interested in it." He leaned against the railing of the elevator, the duffle bag between his legs as you stood in front of him.

"So, why get a giant apartment?"

Jaehyun shrugged, "The commissioner of the team paid the lease if I agreed to join the Sents." He glanced down at his hands, "But, I'd much rather having a nice little apartment."

The elevator rung and stalled to a stop as you both reached the hallway, your hands never leaving one another's as he guided you to his door.

You felt the butterflies grow in your stomach, your heart beating in your throat and your hands clam up. Was now a bad time to say you can't remember the last time you've had sex? You really don't understand why you're feeling so nervous all of a sudden, you were both having a great conversation in the car and now, you felt like you were about to throw up.

Jaehyun pushed open the door, setting the duffel bag on the ground under the upholstered bench at the entryway, kicking off his shoes. You followed, setting the backpack down beside the bench and neatly placed your shoes next to his. You were trying to buy time to settle the butterflies in your chest by rearranging the shoes a little bit. And when you stood up, you gasped when you felt Jaehyun's hand on your own, once again.

"If you're too nervous, we don't have to continue." He spoke in that soft voice, the same one you grew accustomed to since the night before. "I'm nervous myself."

You took a deep breath, sighing softly, "I'm nervous but... I want this."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Jaehyun stepped closer, your back pressed against the front door, he cupped your chin, his thumb brushing your bottom lip, "Can I kiss you? Is that okay?"

You nodded your head, "You don't have to ask."

Jaehyun kissed you — feverishly. Like a man starved, he pressed you against the door and kissed you like any man would with the woman they love. You felt his hands wandering again, squeezing your hips before wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him.

His tongue found its way into your mouth, rubbing against yours. You could feel him through his pants, and he was hard. You so desperately wanted to touch him, but you didn't want to cross a boundary he might not like, so you settled for kissing him back as feverishly as he was.

A gentle groan escaped his lips as you pressed against him, a whispered "fuck" breathed into your mouth. He tapped his fingers against your thigh, silently telling you to jump up, which you obliged. He steadied you with the arm around your waist, and guided your legs around his hips as he held you effortlessly.

"You okay with moving this to the bedroom, baby?" He spoke with a gravelly voice, his lips swollen from the kiss. You felt the butterflies grow in your stomach again, your heart racing, and your panties growing wetter as he looked at you with those gentle, yet dominant eyes. You couldn't help yourself but nod.

Jaehyun smiled, carrying you over to the bedroom, crawling onto the bed and resting you on his lap as he continued to kiss at your skin, his lips trailing along your jaw, neck and shoulder. "Do you wanna continue?"

You nodded, your hand running through his hair, "I do."

Jaehyun smiled, pressing soft kisses across your face, "Okay, baby." He placed one soft kiss against your lips, adjusting his position so you were laying back on the bed, and he was between your legs. He reached over to the bedside table, pulling out a condom and looking at you softly, "Open it for me?" He chuckled.

You grabbed the packet and tore it open with your teeth, passing it to him, "Expecting a lot of play?" You teased, motioning to the box of condoms.

Jaehyun smiled, shaking his head, "Only if you want to." He nudged your leg playfully, "And I'm hoping after this, you're the only one I fuck."

You bit your bottom lip, smiling sweetly, "I haven't had any complaints yet."

He set the condom off to the side, skillfully unbuttoning your bottoms and pulled them off your legs, throwing them off to the side.

"Oh, my—" You mumbled.

"I'll buy you a new one." He whispered, his hands pulling off his shirt, "Anything you need, I'll get it for you." His shirt was the second piece of fabric added to the growing pile of clothing, his hands pulling off your own shirt, "You're so pretty." He whispered breathlessly, "You don't understand how hard it was to keep my hands off you."

"You shouldn't have." You smile softly, brushing your fingers through his hair as he kissed at your collarbone.

"I'll keep that in mind." Jaehyun's breath fanned against your chest, and he looked up at you, "You're so beautiful. I was hypnotized when I first saw you in person, I swear."

You laughed, "Did Mark push you to come pour my drink?"

"No, I took that initiative myself." He smiled, his fingers tangling in the waistband of your panties, "I was sick of waiting." He chuckled.

And you were sick of waiting. It's two days of complete sexual tension and it was almost painful waiting for anything more to happen. You can't remember the last time you had this much sexual tension with someone, let alone the last time someone desired you this bad.

"Jaehyun..." You whispered out, as he pressed kisses to your hip bone, "Please, I can't wait anymore."

He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your hip once more, "You can't wait anymore?" He teased, "I spent months fantasizing about this, and you can't wait anymore?" He hummed.

"You know what I mean." You whined, feeling your cheeks blush as you leaned your head back against the pillows.

"Okay, okay, baby. I guess I shouldn't keep you waiting any longer." His dimples imprinted his cheeks, sitting up from between your legs and grabbed the condom from beside him, "You've been patient and I appreciate that." He dipped his hand into the waistband of his pants, his cock resting in his hand as he rolled the condom on, slowly pumping himself in his hand, "Fuck, look what you do to me, baby."

You wrapped your legs around his hips, using the heel of your foot to pull him closer to your heat.

Jaehyun's hand pressed against the pillow you laid on top of, guiding the tip of his cock into you, slowly pressing into you, "Oh, fuck..."

"Oh my god..." You whispered out, tangling your fingers through his hair as he pressed his chest against yours, pressing open mouthed kisses to your neck.

"I'm gonna start moving, baby."

"Mmhmm..."

Jaehyun slowly began thrusting into you, the tip of his cock pressing against your sweet spot, your toes curling and fingers tightening on the hair on the back of his head. Jaehyun's long eyelashes brushed against your jawline as he continued to press soft kisses on your neck, "So soft, so pretty." He whispers against you skin, his tongue wetting the plain, gently sucking.

Gasping, you rolled his hips up against his, "Jae," Your words come out shaky, the heat moving from your cunt up to your ears.

"Sensitive there?" He whispered, nibbling on the skin, his hand moving from your cheek to press between you two to rub his index and middle finger along your clit.

"Fuck!"

Jaehyun chuckled, "You're so wet, princess." He smiled, his hips continuing to press into your own, "God, I imagined how pretty you'd look underneath me for so long." His cock twitched against your walls, a moan escaping his lips, "Feels so good... Could keep fucking you forever."

The words you wanted to speak disappeared just as quickly as they appeared, listening to your thoughts echo Jaehyun as he continued to press into you. Silent babbles were occupied with whines and moans, clenching down on his dick as he moved. "Jae, Jae,"

"I gotcha, baby. I'm right here." He whispered softly, rubbing your legs, "Jae's right here."

You groaned as Jaehyun grabbed your hips, guiding you along his length, "So good..." You whined.

"I know, baby. Like you were made for me." Whispering in your ear, Jaehyun's fingers found their way to your clit once more, flicking it gently, "A pretty, soaking wet pussy just for my dick."

You jolt slightly as Jaehyun flicked you clit, a heat wave washing over your body as it blushed, simultaneously, goosebumps covered your skin from Jaehyun's words.

Jaehyun smiled softly, whispering sweet nothing against your ear, "So tight. It feels so good."

"Fuck, Jaehyun...." You whispered out, your throat straining as you attempted to speak.

Jaehyun's fingers worked against your clit, continuing the same pace of his hips, "Does it feel good, baby?"

The words he whispered were enough to make your pussy jump, nodding your head. Glancing down at the bulge of your stomach, you couldn't help the moan escape your throat, "Oh, fuck."

Jaehyun groaned, his hand lingering on your hip, "Look at you..." He whispered, more to himself, "Wanna fuck you everyday."

Jaehyun's voice was hoarse, his eyes staring into your own. He leaned closer, kissing your lips in contrast to the brutal pounding of his hips. He hummed against your lips, sliding his tongue between your lips and rubbed his own against yours.

Jaehyun pulled away for a moment, looking at you, "Can I taste you, princess?"

It was a question you honestly couldn't refuse. You nodded your head, whining softly at his exit but allowed him to continue to kiss down your body, his breath fanning against your wet cunt.

Licking his lips, Jaehyun hummed softly at the white cream around your hole, "Shit..." He whispered out, pressing soft kisses against your sensitive clit.

"Jae!" You yelped as his lips pressed against you, blushing softly as another wave of heat covered your core.

Jaehyun smiled, the dimples on his cheeks making an appearance before he delved into you, his tongue licking your hole, savoring the flavor.

You gasped softly and let your hands immediately slip through his hair, feeling the soft strands tickle the inside of your wrist.

He was eating you out like a man starved, his fingers pressing into you as his lips and tongue danced with one another against your pussy. Jaehyun's eyes closed as he continued to thrust his fingers into you and taste you against his tongue, the cold of the ring around his finger soothing the burn of your body.

You could only handle so much more as he curled his fingers into you, gasping and whining as he teased the spongey spot inside you. Your pussy fluttered around his fingers, moaning softly, "Ri- Right there, Jae."

Jaehyun's fingers continued to rub against the spot, his tongue lapping up all your juices that dribbled onto his fingers like it was juice rolling down his hand.

Your pussy sobbed as he continued tasting you and teasing you, feeling the warm coil break in your stomach, the creamy cum coating every line of his hand, covering the silver ring that pressed against your hole and leaving a white ring around the base of his fingers.

"Fuck," he whispered against you clit, moaning softly as he slowly moved his fingers inside you, "That was hot."

You whined shyly as he continued to press into your heat, his fingers never moving from the spot inside you, "Keep moving your fingers like that, and I'll cum again."

Jaehyun smiled, "I'm always up for a challenge." He teased, kissing your thigh, "Only if you are."

You blushed softly; how could resist such an invitation? You were so out of practice that you were out of breath only after cumming once, you had to at least repay the favor.

"Can I suck your cock?" You asked gently, sitting up on your elbows.

Jaehyun chuckled softly, moving his fingers out of your cunt, "Do you want to?"

You used this chance to adjust your position and lay across his lap, your mouth salivating at the sight of his cock, covered in the clear condom. You looked up at him with shy eyes, nodding your head.

"You gotta say it, baby." He whispered, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

"I wanna." You mumbled, entangling your fingers with his own.

Jaehyun smiled, leaning forward to peck your forehead, "Good girl." He whispered in your ear, "Go ahead." He guided you with his words, letting you roll the condom off his cock and kiss at the red cherry colored tip. A groan parted his lips as he settled his hand against your head. He didn't push, he just used it as silent praise, letting you take your own pace with what you were doing.

Yet, his hand on the back of your head almost gave you the motivation to do more; You wrapped your lips around his cock, slowly bobbing along the length, using your tongue to tease the slit of his cock. Your hand moved downward, rubbing against his sack, listening to his whines as you sucked him off.

Jaehyun glanced down at you, using his hands to move your hair away from your face and wrap it gently around his hand, "You're gorgeous." He whispered, as he admired your lips turning a swollen red, your flushed cheeks, your pretty fingers rubbing against him and your eyes lidded as you savored him on your tongue.

Looking up at him through your lashes, you moaned at the praise, tasting the pre-cum leaking against your tongue. Pulling away with a thin string of saliva keeping you both connected as you took the moment to pump him in your hand, the pre-cum oozing from his slit.

"Fuck," Jaehyun leaned in closer, pressing his lips against yours to taste himself against your tongue, "You're so pretty." He moaned as your hand continued to move against his member.

You smiled softly, "You're not too bad looking yourself." You smiled, "Taste good too."

Jaehyun smiled softly, soft whimpers leaving his lips as you wrapped yours back around the cock head. Your finger traced the vein on the underside of his cock, drool dripping from your lips down his girth.

"Shit, f-fuck," He whined, "So close, baby. Keep going."

Listening to Jaehyun's sounds was enough to encourage you to continue until his muscles tensed, heavy pants escaping his throat. The taste of Jaehyun's cum against your tongue was like a hunger that you weren't aware you had sated. You had the taste linger on your tongue as you pulled away from his cock, swallowing the thick release.

"God, baby..." Heavy breaths, messy (but still insanely perfect) hair and flushed cheeks only suited him more, "That was perfect."

You smiled, laying back on the bed as you soak up the compliments.

Jaehyun lay beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist as he placed soft kisses against your neck, jawline, cheek.

You both continued to cuddle, letting Jaehyun fawn over you as you laid with one another until either of you fell asleep. You didn't mind being doted on. It was kinda nice.

2K notes · View notes

rowdydevs · 6 months ago

Text

“𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲” - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙳𝙸𝙻𝙵!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 × 𝙼𝙸𝙻𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: 𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤 | 𝐎𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐦 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓴 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙/𝖘𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖉𝖚𝖑𝖊

⚠️ warnings contain spoilers ⚠️

Older!Rafe, DILF!Rafe, pet names, kissing, praise, angst, soft!Rafe, swearing, smoking, drinking, unprotected p in v, oral (male receiving), cum tasting, spanking, choking, rough sex, degredation, rough oral, ownership kink, orgasm control, multiple orgasms

Thank you to my lovely beta reader @oceandriveab love you bae 💕🩷

Rafe’s POV:

"I love you, man. But, I'm home for one fuckin' week. Leave me alone. Yeah?"

"The Azimut deal is major, Cameron," my boss groans. “We really need you face-to-face in Italy.”

"I haven’t been home in a month. I’m gonna be gone for another few weeks," I chuckle in disbelief as I rub the sleep from my eyes; this fucker is tryin’ to pull even more of my time away. “Send, Top. I’m sure he’ll be able to land the deal. Alright?”

"We both know he won’t-"

"Not my fuckin’ problem," I cut him short as I drift into the driveway.

"Your loss. That’s a shit ton of money, man.”

"Yeah… Well, I got plenty of that. We done?" I taunt.

"Fuck. You’re killin’ me... See you in a week, Cameron. Give the best to y/n and the kids."

"Umm yeah... Gotta go," I sigh as I watch the scene play out in front of me. Jesus Christ. Problems already? This kid... Why is he me? Fuck. I'm gettin’ it back tenfold. I roll down my window, eavesdropping shamelessly, watching Harbor Thornton clamber the rest of the way out the window. Max leans toward her, cig dangling from his lip, no shirt on his muscular body, and a neck full of fresh hickeys.

"Tell him you went to Macy’s house, princess," he smirks, exhaling two streams of smoke through his nose. "I'll be right down. M'kay?"

"Don't take too long, Maxi. We're gonna be late."

Maxi? I can't help but snort out a sleepy snicker.

"Late for a party? We’re always late, Thornton. I just need to get my shit. Then, we can go to your house and get you dressed.”

”I can’t wait for you to see my costume, baby. Maybe you can take it off me later.”

”M’plannin’ on it.” He hooks his hand around the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her bleach-blonde hair.

"Maybe we can sneak into Piper’s parent’s room," she mumbles between sloppy kisses. Enough. Make it end. I open the truck door, slamming it shut. The two of them fall silent.

"Welp. Now or never," I gripe as I press the door open— Harbor lowers herself down the side of the house, clearly aware of my arrival as she does her best to hide. Like it matters, sweetheart... Your BMW is parked right outside the gate. "Have a nice day, Harbor," I sigh.

She looks around the house, giving me a guilty grin and a wave. "Uh-h... Hi, Mr. Cameron," she stammers. "You too." Harbor looks back at the window, no Max to be seen, quickly scampering to her car. An even thicker cloud of smoke pours out, wafting away. Jesus Christ, bud. I throw my head down, shuffling up toward the door, climbing up a few steps before grabbing the knob. There's a stir behind it already. My babies. Jerking it open, stepping through the threshold, a roar of joy following fast.

"Daddy!" Poppy shrieks at the top of her lungs. Her feet patter against the hardwood floor, Rory trailing close behind. I squat down to their level, waiting for them to round the corner. I meet their twinkling eyes, smiles doubling. They crash into my arms, crawling onto me to get closer. I hold them tight, taking in their smell. A wide smile sets on my lips as well.

"I missed you, two."

"Missed you, Daddy," Rory smiles. Poppy gives me an all-too-wet kiss on the cheek before nuzzling in again.

"I love you, Daddy," she whispers.

"I love you, princess. And I love you too, bud."

They leave as soon as they come, tearing back to the kitchen, leaving y/n standing in the doorframe, giving me a moment. She chuckles warmly, a beautiful smile playing on her perfect lips, giving me butterflies. Still. She walks my way, wrapping her arms around my neck. Picking her up in a hug, I pull her in tight. "Fuck. I missed my girl," I mumble against her skin, pressing a gentle kiss on the crook of her neck. "I love you, babydoll."

I set her down on the ground, not letting her leave my arms. Matching her gaze, I feel myself at peace again. "I love you too, baby," she whispers. Damn, I missed her voice. Cupping her soft cheek in my hands, I kiss her again, feeling her smile against my mouth.

"What?" I laugh lightly.

"You kinda smell like weed," she hums.

"That ain't me, honey."

"What?" She draws back, wide-eyed. "Max?"

"Mhmm..."

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head in frustration. "I said no weed," she whizzes. I blurt out a laugh, throwing my head back. Y/n slaps my chest, a little scowl setting on her pouty lips. "Rafe... He has ISS."

"ISS?"

"In-school suspension..."

"Oh shit. What'd I miss?" I breathe as I shut my eyes tightly. "Lay it on me, princess."

"Apparently, he sells weed."

"Why?" I whine. "It's not like he needs to..."

"He said we wouldn't buy him that truck he wanted? So, he's gonna buy his own."

"All’s I said was he had to wait ‘til his birthday or somethin’. He wants a fuckin’ Raptor, y/n. Shit starts at 80 G’s… Maybe get a job? Help me around the office? Do somethin’ besides jackin’ our boat, drinkin’ beers, and golfin’. Jesus fuck, that kid’s somethin’ else."

"Technically... he did get a job,” she breathes as she rests her palms on my chest, calming me down slightly.

"Technically... I guess," I huff, rolling my eyes away. "He is killin' me. Did you know Thornton was here?"

“Topper?”

“Harbor,” I correct her. Y/n's mouth falls open in disgust. "She was not... She didn’t come through the front.”

"Think they wanted some privacy, honey," you groan, shuddering in disgust, y/n echoing the same.

"Can you talk to him?" Y/n whispers, her tired eyes pleading with mine. "I thought I was doin' a good job, Rafe—Shit's fallin' through the cracks. I wasn’t even gonna do anything with the twins for Halloween… Just dress ‘em in one of Winnie and Max’s old costumes and pass out candy.”

“Winnie…” I smile, just thinkin’ about my pride and joy. “Where’s our girl at?” I ask as I look around the house, just the sound of the twins pattering feet left behind.

“You don’t wanna know,” Y/n sighs as she tugs her phone out of her back pocket, showing me a picture that has my eyes doubling.

“That’s Win?” I ask as I look down at my angel in next to nothin’, slamming my eyes shut in mental exhaustion. “What is she supposed to be?”

“Little Red Riding Hood?” Y/n sighs— the two of us silently coming to terms with the fact that our babies are anything but babies anymore.

“So, she’s gone then?”

“Just left with Jackson Mayb-”

“Don’t finish that sentence, pretty girl,” I mumble as I wrap my arms around her shoulders, pulling her in for comfort.

“It’s been a mess here, Rafe. I’m not doing a good job-”

"You." I stop her, pressing a rough kiss on her forehead. "You are doing an amazing job, y/n."

"Thank you," she whispers weakly. Y/n's attention gets ripped away, brows furrowing in irritation as she glances out the front window, watching Max lower himself from above. "Now? Please."

"Of course, honey." I give her one last kiss, turning toward the door, breaking out in a little trot, throwing the entry open. "Max!"

Max turns on his heels, looking back at me annoyedly, his mother's scowl and a button nose, the rest of him all me. "Rafe."

"Scuse me?" I challenge, making him shift his stance, crossing his arms over his tight white polo, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"I'm just kiddin'. Calm your tits,” he scoffs.

"Sure… I missed you. Weren't you gonna say 'hi' or anythin’?" He crushes the grass with his boat shoe, throwing his gaze to the ground to avoid eye contact. "Max?"

"Missed you too. Sorry... I just didn't want a lecture ‘bout Harbor-”

"Harbor?” I laugh tiredly. “The Thornton girl is the least of my worries. Why are you sellin', bud? You could get a job or help-"

"Rich comin' from you," he snips, cutting me off with a cruel laugh.

"What does that mean?"

"It's like the pot callin' the kettle black. You were literally a drug dealer. You dealt drugs, Dad."

"That shit was different ."

"That shit was worse," He sneers, turning back in the direction he was going. “M’sellin’ grass, not yayo. Fuckin’ hypocrit,” he yaps over his shoulder.

"Just get a normal job, Max. Like one with a W -2 ... Work with me-”

"Nah... 'Cause you don't get it,” he turns around, angry and quick.

"What don't I get?" I lift my voice, causing Max to return his stare to mine, looking back at me in disbelief.

"You’re never home. What’s there to do if you ain’t here? Huh?”

"Max-"

"What, Dad? Seriously... I'm gonna be late to pick her up. It’s Halloween. Give it a rest-”

"Cut the shit, Max," I mumble. "She's on the other side of the gate." He gives me a smirk, holding back a chuckle as he takes off his captain’s hat, running his fingers through his hair with a smug smile before putting it back on. "You two bein’ safe?" I ask gently.

"Not talkin' to you about that, old man."

"Holy shit," I puff, covering my eyes with my hands as I do my best not to lose my mind. "I'm your dad, Max. I worry about that shit."

"Of course we are. I'm not a stupid like-"

"Like me? Only me. Right?" I stop him before he can go any further, seeing the first look of remorse in his sights. "I know you weren't about to talk about your mom, Max." He throws his gaze to his feet again. "What would she say if she heard you talkin' like that?"

"She'd be upset," he mutters feebly. "Don't tell her I said that. I'm sorry."

"We just want you to be safe. Okay? It wasn't easy for your mom and me for a while. We just want your life to be easier. We aren't tryin' to ruin your life. And we can talk about the job tomorrow. I don’t wanna ruin your night. I'm sure we can figure out somethin' that doesn't involve you sellin' weed." He nods, giving me a soft smile. His mother's smile. Max turns around again, stepping away.

"I love you, bud."

"Love you too, dad. I'm glad you're home." There's no sarcasm in his tone, warming your heart.

"Oh, wait! Did you two need me to pick you up tonight?" I ask as he passes through the gate.

"The fuck do you think?" He cracks up, flicking me off with a smile.

Love you too, buddy. Turning around, I trudge up the driveway toward the house. Well... I don't know if I made it better or worse. But, that was somethin'.' I close my eyes, taking a deep, needed breath. The front door opens, and Y/n steps, strolling toward her SUV with the twins in hand. She opens the side, letting them climb in, walking back to the trunk.

Her dress sways with the fall breeze, heels strapped around her ankles. Wow. I’m struck with déjà vu. She wore a dress just like that on our first date. I couldn't keep my eyes off her. That face, that smile, her voice, her curves. She knew how to work 'em all.

Babygirl… Y/n reaches inside, the hem of her dress riding up her thighs. The slightest peak of her perfect fuckin' ass. A smile spreads across my lips. Y/n knows I'm watchin'... She knew it then, too. I need her... So fuckin' bad. It's been too long.

I walk toward her while she digs through the twins' travel bag, hastily taking hold of her hips, pressing myself against her ass, making her giggle. She winds up slowly, relaxing her back against my chest, looking up at me over her shoulder. "You're stunning. Fuck, you look so damn good, y/n," I rasp.

"Thank you, daddy. So do you."

"What are you doin’, ma?”

“Getting them costumes. I feel guilty, Rafe,” she sighs with embarrassment. “I can’t believe I didn’t. The older kids are a disaster; the house is a mess-”

“Don’t feel guilty, baby. The kids are fine. They’re just teenagers. Yeah? And you aren’t a maid. I can’t believe you’re keepin’ up with everything like you are. Get outta here, baby. Buy yourself a coffee, get us a bottle of wine for later, pick up the costumes. Let me handle these two. Unless you want me to go-”

“No!” She stops me fast, laughing at her rash reply. “No. I’d love to get out”.

“And, I’ll talk to the housekeeper about comin’ once a week. Oh, and Harbor… I’ll ask her to come over when I’m outta town so you can take a break. You deserve it.”

“You sure,” she asks apprehensively.

“‘Course I’m sure, pretty,” I croon as I cup her cheeks, pressing a kiss on her lips. “We’ll get these kids dressed up, walk around the neighborhood for a bit, put ‘em down, and have some time for ourselves.”

"That would be amazing." She turns her body into mine, arms wrapping around me, slipping into the back pockets of my slacks. "A night to ourselves. Huh?” She smiles at me coyly.

"Yeah… We’ll snag the good candy, bury a few glasses of wine, and have a good night…”

"I can’t wait, Rafey. I need you so bad."

"Well, shit," I chuckle lustfully. "You're readin' my mind."

"It's been too long." She leans in for a kiss as she squeezes my ass.

"I was just sayin' that, y/n." My hands weave through her hair, tugging slightly.

"You should feel how wet I am for you..."

"That so?" I slip my hand down, tracing slowly up her thigh, feeling her lace panties soaking wet.

"AHHH!" Poppy screeches, making you both jump, jolting the two of you out of your feral state.

"What the hell..." I grumble, making y/n laugh. "You good, princess?" Poppy smiles brightly from her car seat. Her blonde curls bounce as she nods 'yes.’

"She's been doin' that all week," y/n breathes.

"I'm sorry, baby. You're a patient woman," I hail as I pull her in for a hug. "Thank you."

“Anything for you, daddy.”

Shit. I rub my hand over my smile as she steps away, smacking her ass before she can get too far, chuckling to myself as I watch the recoil. So fuckin’ sexy. Y/n meets my gaze, giving me a little wink as she steps into the front seat. Yeah… That’s my girl.

“You two wanna go play on the trampoline?” I ask, offering up the only thing that’ll pull them out of the vehicle without tears. The two squeal with delight as I free them from their seats, climbing out of the car, running toward the back before I can even shut the doors. I stand in the drive, waving at y/n as she pulls out. She looks happier. Fuck, she just needed time to herself.

Hurry home, baby.

Reader’s POV:

You pour a coffee for Rafe and yourself, adding some Bailey’s to top it all off. It had been a long, tiring week with a never-ending list of tasks with him away. But he was finally home. Rafe leans down at eye-level with your daughter, fixing her little cat ears. He turns to your son, swathing the superhero cape around his shoulders before tying the perfect bow.

The twins giggle, bright smiles plastered all over their round faces as their favorite man dotes on them, the two sneaking in hugs and kisses when they can. Rafe reaches into the back pocket of his slacks, grabbing his phone, snapping picture after picture of the duo, looking back at them proudly.

The four of you step out into the night, hand-in-hand. You walk through your beautiful neighborhood, an unsaid contest between the kooks of who could outdo who, each one of the stately manors more done up than the last. Jack-o’-lanterns flicker on the entrances, spooky music swelling all around.

You look up at Rafe and smile. Even though it was decades ago, you couldn't help but see that same college boy you fell in love with; Rafe still rocking a backward cap, his crisp polo poking out of his cozy North Face jacket. He’s exchanged his jeans for khakis and his red SOLO cups for a travel mug. But the man only looks better with age. The glow of the streetlights highlights his strong jawline— grizzled with the perfect 5 o'clock shadow. His beautiful blue eyes follow the twins as they run freely from house to house. Rafe’s fit, he always has been, but the way his muscles move under his clothes has you dying to rip them all off.

He’s talking business, telling stories about some big deals he closed. You try your best to focus—you really do, but you get lost watching his perfect lips as he speaks, catching the little looks he steals between sips of coffee making your head spin.

Rafe was working so hard for your family: closing deals, making a name for himself, doing what he loves and still coming home being the husband and dad you could only dream of… He’s perfect. You'd drag him home right now if it wouldn't break the twins’ hearts.

Your kids run over, laughing and squealing with delight, opening their bags wide to show the two of you their treasures. Rafe kneels down, looking in the sack, asking them about their loot. “What’d you get? Show me, princess,” Rafe invites, his tone softening as she speaks to her. Your daughter reaches into the satchel and points her tiny finger at a few king-size candy bars. Rafe sneaks his hand in too, grabbing a Reese’s cup. Your daughter’s eyes widened in horror; Rafe signature scowl and glare cutting into her dad.

“Daddy!” She scolds, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Oh - Umm,” Rafe panics slightly as he stands up, towering over your daughter, looking down at her as he fumbles for his wallet. “I didn't steal it. Alright? Daddy was hungry, was all. How much do I owe you, sweetheart?”

“A dollar.”

“A dollar?” He gasps as he fights a wide smile. “You drive a hard bargain.” Rafe thumbs through his wallet, pulling out a dollar and one more as he catches Rory hoping for one too. “N’what do you have for me, buddy?” He questions as he crouches down, looking in the bag. Rory sticks out his tongue as he reaches inside the pouch, looking for something for Rafe, pulling out a taffy. Rafe scrunches his nose in disgust, contorting it into a smile before your son catches his eye again, making you laugh.

Fuck, he's killing me. You feel your cheeks warm up as he walks back to you, looking down at you with loving eyes. Your heart swells with devotion as he slips his hand into yours, feeling the warmth of his palm. He lifts your hand, kissing the top. But it’s not enough; Rafe pulls you in by the hand, kissing your lips instead. “I missed you, baby,” he mumbles against your kiss, his voice dropping slightly lower, sending chills across your body. He smiles against your mouth as you echo the same sentiment. “You look so sexy tonight,” he drawls, his southern accent bleeding through his compliment, his tone warm, and sticky sweet.

“You look so good, daddy,” you praise. Rafe groans against your lips, living in your words.

“It’s after bedtime. What do you say, baby?” He asks as his large hand falls down your body, pulling you in by your waist. “Let’s go home.”

Rafe’s eyes widen as he walks through the door. "No fuckin’ way," he praises as he drinks you in, taking in every inch of your frilly maid’s costume. His beautiful blue eyes fall to a lusty haze. “N’I said ‘you weren’t a maid, baby… You makin’ a liar outta me. Huh?” He asks as he twirls you under his finger.

Rafe’s rough hands slip under the hem of your lace stockings, following the little straps of your garter belt, clipped to your barely there panties, still hidden under the satin skirt. “Daddy’s gotta get you out of the house more… ‘Specially if you’re gonna come back with gifts like this. You’re spolin’ me. Fuck,” he groans drunkenly, looking down at you in awe. He takes you into his strong arms, tossing you playfully on the mattress.

Rafe mounts the bed fast, crushing you under his weight. His lips capture yours in a heated kiss."You taste good... You smell so fuckin' good, darlin'," he purrs as he buries his head in your neck, stroking his clothed cock against your throbbing pussy. "Damn. I missed this."

"I missed you, baby. C'mon... I need you inside of me," you pant in that pathetic tone that gets you anything you want.

"Jesus, y/n," he moans, chuckling sinfully.

"Why are you dressed, daddy?"

"Good question." He sucks off your bottom lip, tugging at it with his teeth. "Can I leave these on?" Rafe asks, snapping the garter belt around the fullness of your thighs with his big fingers. You smile and nod.

"Panties, too..." You add.

"Well shit," he breathes onto your lips, instantly gliding two thick fingers up your soaked cunt, making you suck in a breath. Rafe takes his digits between his lips. "You're dripping, y/n."

"Haven't stopped thinkin' about you since you left."

"Me either, y/n. You're so fuckin' sweet."

"Rafe..." You pout.

"Shit, baby... I forgot what a slut you were for me."

"How could you forget?" You giggle against his lips. "Clothes. Now."

"Mmm... Yes, Mrs. Cameron."

Rafe steps off the bed, tossing his shirt off his built body. You study him carefully as you slink to the edge of the bed. He grasps his belt in his hands, tugging the leather loose. "Let me?" You sigh as you rise, sky-high heels clicking against the wood floor.

Rafe’s eyes continue to roam your curves as you unfasten his top button, splaying his zipper, pulling his slacks down low. He grabs your chin, drawing you up. His blue eyes lock on yours; Rafe’s stare is hungry and deep. His grip is rough. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to let you know he's in control. This is what he wants... What he's craving at this moment, and you are more than happy to oblige.

"You're my good girl. Aren't you, y/n?" He groans, making you wetter.

"Yeah," you sigh.

"Tell me, y/n."

"I'm your good girl, Rafe."

"And you listen to me, and me alone. Don't you, baby girl?" He runs his thumb along your bottom lip, making your heart thump.

"Yes, daddy. Only you."

"Daddy? I love the way you say that, baby.” Rafe pushes you back on the bed. You sit on the plush mattress, looking up at him innocently as you toy with the elastic of his boxers. He gives you a little nod. You take your cue, pulling them off, following his thick cock to the tip, letting it spring free.

"Fuck, Rafe," you sigh, gripping him in your hands, precum glazed on his tip. You quickly swipe your tongue across his swollen head, swirling for good measure.

"Y/n..." He draws out your name as he towers over you, looking down at you with lust-blown eyes. Rafe drops down on one knee— his strong hand lifting your calf, sliding your spike heel off your foot, kissing your leg unhurriedly before working on the next. He's taking his time, savoring every inch of you before dropping the shoe to the floor. You inhale sharply as he hooks his hands around your legs, tugging you to the edge of the bed.

His calloused finger meets your knee, tracing slowly up your thigh. Your breathing starts to quicken, and your lips part. You look between your legs, watching your husband spread your thighs. "Rafe," you moan as he teases your entrance with the tip of his ringed finger.

"Y/n." He draws out your name, working it deep. "Who's pussy is this, baby?"

Fuck.

He dips in another finger, thrusting it in and out... in and out. Your eyes drift back up his body, watching his abs and arms flex with each thrust. Rafe’s eyes greet yours, the most beautiful blue; he lets your gaze linger on his a little longer. He doesn't punish you, rewarding you with a smirk and some pressure on your clit.

"Mmm... Yours," you whimper. "My pussy is yours, daddy."

"It is... Isn't it," he chuckles as you start to rock with him. Rafe drops to his knees, causing you to draw your legs wider. "Fuck. I could cum just lookin' at you, y/n." His tongue meets your pussy, licking a line to your clit, latching on for a momentary, releasing you with a pop. Your head falls back. An airy moan slips your lips. "Remember when we met? You were such a bad girl, y/n." He kisses his way up your stomach, past your ribcage, grabbing and pressing your breasts together. "No one could tell you what to do."

"But you..."

"That's right." Rafe grabs you roughly, pulling you from the bed and drawing you to your feet. His hands work up your body, weaving into your hair, pulling slightly.

"Get on the chair," he whispers against your lips.

"Yes, Rafey." You walk across the room, Rafe, meeting you fast. The man is on you before you can even reach it. His broad chest presses flush with your back, kissing your neck harshly. "Fuck, baby," you whine. He shoves you, causing you to fall forward. You grasp the back of the chair while his strong hands palm your ass under your slutty maid’s costume. Rafe grabs your thong, snapping it against your skin. His hands return to your body, working over your skin, slapping your ass, causing you to groan.

"First time you sucked my cock, we were at Tops place. Remember?” He spreads your ass and spanks you even harder, causing you to cry a little louder. “You were dressed like a Playboy bunny,” Rafe drawls as he grabs himself in his hands, stroking a few times as he takes you in. “You didn’t even take the ears off.”

“You remember?”

“Shit’s burned into my memory, baby,” he sighs as his large hand follows the length of your spine. "You look even better now, sweetheart."

"So do you, baby? We fucked the next night."

"Mhmm… Yeah, we fuckin’ did. Night one. You’re such a good mommy, baby. Who woulda thought you used to be such a whore back in the day. Huh?”

“Mmm… You bring out the slut in me, daddy. You always have.”

“Yeah, baby. That’s right.” Rafe seizes his dick by the base, tapping it against your ass with one hand, using the other to grope your skin."This fucking body, y/n," he moans as he presses his tip into your entrance. "It's just so damn perfect."

"Shit," you hiss as you feel a stretch.

"And these tits." He grabs the straps of your costume, brushing them off your shoulders, pulling it down past your tits. He reaches around, grabbing your breasts as he glides in a little deeper.

"This waist." His hands drift lower, mirroring his words, driving his cock in a little more. "These hips," he grunts, taking hold of them, bottoming you out, causing you to wail.

Rafe draws out slowly. "Baby, please," you sigh, craving more. He thrusts into you again. Your head falls forward. Rafe snaps his hips into you, setting a rapid pace. Skin, cracking skin. He spanks you— a prickling sting is left behind. "More, Daddy," you beg.

"I don't know, baby... Your ass is pretty red," he taunts. "You sure?"

"Yes. Fuck!"

"Atta girl." He slaps you roughly on the other side. You feel his hands wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough that you can feel your pulse. The chill of his rings felt against your skin. Rafe rolls his hips into you, deliciously slow, using his grip as leverage to drive deeper.

His hands push higher, gathering your hair. He tugs your strands, causing you to rise, arching your back. He's unforgiving, pounding into you just like you were craving he would. "Fuck me, y/n," he demands.

"Yes," you moan, using the back of the chair to steady yourself as you fuck him back. Working Rafe in and out of your soaked cunt. You bounce and grind, rolling your hips as Rafe praises you. Your ass claps against his toned hips as you take every inch of his long dick, filling yourself to the brim. "Rafe!" You cry.

"Fuck, y/n. Let me hear you, sweetheart," he rasps.

You lose yourself, fluttering around his cock, gripping his wrists as he takes over, rutting into you quickly. "Fuck, Rafe! Just like that." Pitiful cries pass your lips as he proceeds to wreck you from behind. Rafe doesn't let up till he feels you relax around his cock, your head falling back on his chest as he rocks in and out.

"I missed you so fucking much, daddy," you whimper. Rafe kisses your shoulder gently, working his way up to your ear.

"I missed you more, baby. You're my girl, y/n. You know that? You always have been."

"I'm your girl, Rafe," you pant.

"Does my girl want more?"

"Never stop," you chuckle breathlessly.

"Anything for you, y/n." Rafe thrusts into you roughly, making you fall forward, gripping the chair as you expel a breath. He presses your head against the plush backrest, increasing his tempo. "Ugh... Do you hear that, y/n?" You try to nod. "Mmm... You're so damn wet." He turns you around, pulling you back into his arms. Your kisses are wild and deep as you cross the room to your bed. "Can you taste yourself, y/n?" He mumbles against your lips.

"Yes," you mewl.

"Can you ride me, baby?" He groans.

"Yes, daddy," you sigh blissfully. Rafe falls onto the bed. You slip away before he can grab you; Rafe chuckles darkly, twining his fingers behind his head.

"Couldn't get enough?"

"You're right, baby... I'm sweet," you laugh breathily against his cock, watching as goosebumps spread across his thighs.

You wrap your fingers around his length, licking your slick off, eyes burning into his. "Holy shit, baby," he moans, throwing his head deeper into the pillow. You flick your tongue across his slit, tasting the both of you together. Rafe's hand glides from your bangs to the top of your head, taking a tight hold. He presses you down on his cock, bobbing your head up and down to stroke his throbbing dick.

You can feel Rafe striking the back of your throat, tears pooling in your eyes. You flutter your lashes, feeling your tears run in two little rivers down your cheeks. "Ugh... You're so beautiful, baby," he grunts. His eyes roll back as you drop your hand, rubbing little circles against your clit, moans pouring from your lips between strokes. "Come'mere," he chuckles raspily."We gotta do that later... Please, baby. I need more of that."

Rafe grabs your hips, guiding you on top. You rise on your knees, grabbing Rafe's hand, sucking his fingers, cleaning, circling your tongue around his wedding band. He draws them down to your clit, rolling them gently. "All I could think about when I left the house was you, y/n. I couldn't wait to get home. You make me feel so fucking good, y/n." He gives you a sinful smile as his tongue skimming along his rosy bottom lip.

"You make me feel so good, baby," you breathe, slinking your frame hands up your frame, the skirt still pooled around your hips, boobs bouncing with every movement.

Rafe grips his thick cock in his fist. "All I could think about was seeing you naked, princess. Look at you now. Huh? Never thought I’d get to see you like this… So fuckin’ good to me. You know that?" He slides his tip through your silk, circling his head on your clit. You let out a breathy moan. Rafe's eyes roll back again. "Your little noises and this wet fuckin' pussy." He presses his tip in, and you feel the stretch. "Mmm... Grab the headboard, y/n." You grip it as Rafe takes hold of the small of your waist. He thrusts up into you roughly.

"Rafe!" You cry. He lets out a growl, thrusting into you a few more times for good measure. He relaxes on the bed, beckoning you with his stare. "I want you deep in my pussy, daddy," you sigh, sinking slowly, letting your cunt swallow up his big dick. He sucks a sharp breath, snatching your hips, holding you in place.

Clasping the headboard, you start to circle your curves, rolling and working yourself on his length. "Holy shit, honey," he moans. You can hear yourself—how wet you are for him. Rafe can hear it, too, giving you a little smirk. "Still so wet for me?"

"Sucking your cock always gets me wet, daddy. You know that."

"Fuck, baby."

You reach back, clutching his thighs, bouncing on the mattress, nail sinking into his skin. "Shit. You're deep, Rafe," you whimper.

"So fuckin' deep." You look between your thighs, watching his long cock slicked with you once more. Rafe can feel you tightening around him; he can see the look in your eye. "That's my girl," he rasps. "So fuckin' good for me. Can you wait, baby... Cum when I tell you?"

"Rafe..."

"I thought you listened to me, y/n? Can't you wait, mama?" He chuckles as he applies a little more pressure to your clit.

"Plea-" You stutter as your body quivers uncontrollably.

"Cum." You scream his name as you toss your head back. Your orgasm radiates through your body, making your toes curl, popping off your heels. Rafe continues to thrust as you fall apart. Your muscles tighten around his dick as he works at an insane pace. "Fuck, y/n... That feels so fuckin' good, baby," he moans. "So tight."

He throws you to your back, stepping off the bed, looping his arm under your thighs, pulling you exactly where he wants you, right on the border, before slinging a leg over his shoulder, your heels tumbling the rest of the way off onto the floor. Rafe tips into you, pressing a rough kiss on your lips as he starts to thrust again. His tongue reels with yours. The two of you, utterly exhausted, panting into your kiss.

"Almost there," he mumbles, fighting back his climax to get you on last time. He wraps his arm around your thigh, using that to drive himself deeper.

"S-Shit, Rafe," you stammer. As you feel him strike your g-spot, making your body tremble.

"Again?" He gives you a cocky smile, getting exactly what he wants. You nod rapidly as tears gather in your eyes, overstimulated.

"Can you cum for daddy?"

"Y-Yes. Yes. Shit," you stutter as you grab ahold of the edge of the bed, tossing your head back. Rafe grunts and moans as he thrusts sloppily. Tears fall from your eyes as you close them tightly, your climax claiming your body. A choked cry passes your lips, giving him all you can muster. You feel the warmth of his release, Rafe answering with your name on his lips.

Rafe mounts the bed, pressing a soft kiss against your mouth. His lips drift to your flushed cheeks, kissing away your tears. "I love you, baby. I love you so much," he respires as he holds you close.

"I love you. Never leave me again..." You sigh blissfully.

"I hate leavin' you. But, fuck, do I love comin' home to you, princess." Rafe chuckles as he plays with the costume around your hips, smiling against your lips. “Keep this on for a little while longer. Yeah?”

#my library ᝰ.ᐟ #rafe one shot 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹#kinktober event .𖥔 ݁ ˖🎃˚. ᵎᵎ #dilf!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #older!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #rafe smut #rafe #rafe cameron x reader #⋆.°🧸๋ྀི࣭⭑ daddy

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motorsportbarbie13 · 4 months ago

Text

A Package Deal - Part 4

In which the real world threatens to ruin your happiness.

Warnings: angsttttttttt :) fluff at the end tho!! Pairing: Lando x SingleMom!Reader Word Count: 3.6k words

- A Package Deal - A Package Deal - Part 2 - A Package Deal - Part 3 - Master List

yourusername (private) posted:

yourusername life lately ❤️ BFFSarah omg, someone who loves pizza just as much as Stelly Belly??? >>>yourusername they polished off a large pizza between the two of them. It was a sight to see. >>>land-ho WE WERE HUNGRY. >>>yourusername you bet my six year old she couldn't eat 4 pieces of pizza, sir. >>>land-ho AND SHE PUT DOWN FIVE! Proudest moment of my LIFE. >>>yourusername 🙄

land-ho (private) posted

land-ho party of three? smoooooth_operator it was good to see you two last night! >>>yourusername dinner was delicious, C!! tell R thank you for all the shopping reccos in Barcelona 🤭 >>>landonorris oh god, my wallet already hurts >>>yourusername well now i'm never going to beat the sugar baby allegations. >>>honeybadger y'all are a walking PR nightmare waiting to happen. kelly_pickme i must meet your two favorite girls soon! bring them to Monaco soon! >>>yourusername 😘 did L give M the lion plushie and princess dress for baby and P? can't wait to meet you all soon!! >>>kelly_pickme yes! P hasn't taken it off and the lion is a hit as well. >>>yourusername ❤️❤️❤️

Miami May, 2025

"Okay, anything else you guys want to talk about before we start filming?" Victor, the team's head of communications, asks on Thursday afternoon.

Victor sits in one of the several conference rooms located in McLaren's hospitality suite surrounded by the rest of the communications team as well as Lando and Oscar. The weekend debrief is wrapping up as he asks one last question.

"Actually, kind of." Lando clears his throat, rubbing his palms on his jeans.

The entire team turns to him then and he feels his face go a bit red. He hadn't really planned on making a big deal of this in front of the team but after his meeting with Zak earlier, he thought he should at least let the comms team in on what he was going to do tonight.

"What's up?" Victor prompts, tucking his iPad under his arm.

"Well, it's more of a 'heads up' kind of thing but Zak thought I should let you guys know that I'm planning on going public with my girlfriend tonight."

Out of the corner of his eye, Lando sees Oscar smirk. He can almost hear the 'well it's about time' teasing he's about to get when they wrap up this meeting.

Victor blinks, casting a sideways glance at Melanie, Lando's main press officer for the weekend. He could tell Victor was reluctant to agree but in all honesty, this wasn't his call and Lando was ready to make that known. "What were you planning on doing?"

Melanie pulls out a notepad to take notes, just in case she's asked about the relationship this weekend.

You were also in Miami this weekend for your second race of the season and the subject had come up last night as you were cuddled up in bed after Lando had posted about you and Stella on his private account for the first time. You had been hesitant at first, not wanting to bring the team or Lando any drama during the race weekend but he had been insistent. While you hadn't been together officially for very long, you spent nearly every spare moment together and Stella had become a huge part of Lando's life too. He was tired of being linked to endless Instagram models and having to hide you away from the public.

Lando shrugs. "Nothing big or anything, just a post of my feed with her, some kind of witty caption."

"She's the one who works in the accounting department?" Melanie asks.

Lando can't help but glare at the woman. She's in her mid-30s with mousey brown hair and wire rimmed glasses. Melanie was kind enough but sometimes Lando wondered if she had any of the media training that was forced on him and Oscar with the kinds of questions she asked him.

"No, she's on the product development team, and she's right over there." Lando tips his chin towards the large glass windows that looks out onto the rest of the hospitality suite where you sit at one of the tables typing away at your laptop.

"Isn't she a single mom?"

Again, Lando glares at Melanie as the rest of the team shifts uncomfortably in their seat. Sure, it was their job to handle any press inquiries that came into the office and sometimes there were personal questions that got asked, but that one was toeing the line of appropriate.

"I don't see why that makes any sort of difference." Oscar surprises everyone by speaking up, his tone a bit colder than usual. "I've worked with her a lot lately, she's a lovely person and wicked smart. Lando's a lucky guy."

"Thanks, mate." Lando murmurs before turning back to Victor. "HR is aware of our relationship and, not that it should matter," Lando looks pointedly at Melanie once again, and is pleased to see her look a bit sheepish as if she's just realized how inappropriate her questions had been. "But Zak is also aware that we're together and has given us his blessing too."

That had been an awkward conversation but Lando admired the McLaren CEO too much to leave him in the dark about something that involved his two employees. He'd scoured the McLaren employee handbook (thankfully there was nothing in it against fraternization of employees, so HR hadn't been a problem either) before approaching Zak first to tell him about the relationship. If there was anyone that Zak Brown loved more than Lando, it was you so of course he had been ecstatic at the news and had immediately given the relationship his full support.

Without waiting for further comment from anyone, Lando gets up and strides out the door, furious at how the ending of the meeting had gone. There were far more problematic WAGs in the paddock and you were a McLaren employee after all, shouldn't you expect the same support from the team as he did? He didn't really understand why it was such a big deal that you were a single mom or technically a coworker.

From your spot in the middle of the hospitality suite you can see when Lando walks out of the conference room, hyper aware of the way his shoulders are hitched up towards his ears, something that only happens when he's upset or stressed.

"Momma!" Your attention is drawn back to your phone where Stella sits on FaceTime before her bath for the evening. You'd been distracted by Lando's sudden shift in mood and had stopped listening to her mid-story.

"Sorry, baby. I'm listening. You and Cora had a good playdate today, yeah?"

Stella prattles on, seemingly satisfied with the half-attention you're now paying her again. But your focus is pulled elsewhere for a moment as you watch a girl you know is on the comms team follow Lando out of the conference room and into his drivers room. You couldn't remember her name but knew that she was working with Lando this weekend as his press officer so it didn't impress you as unusual that she was following him. Maybe something had been said in the meeting and she was going to try to calm him down.

"Momma, can I talk to Lando now?" Stella sighs and you grin. You were beginning to think that your daughter loved Lando a bit more than you the way she constantly asked about him and wanted to see him.

"I think he just walked into a meeting, S but how about we do this. Why don't you go take a bath and by the time you're done, Lando should be finished with his meeting and you can talk to him then."

Stella nods, seemingly happy about the arrangement. You say a quick goodbye before packing up your laptop to go check in on Lando. You were essentially done for the day so you had planned on hanging out with a few of the engineers during their meetings this afternoon before going to dinner with Lando later that night. And then you fully planned on spending the rest of the evening underneath your boyfriend.

You can see the door to Lando's driver's room ajar and you can hear raised voices floating out. Hesitating, you pause with your hand on the door handle. The conversation sounded heated and you didn't want to interrupt. You swear you didn't want to eavesdrop but Lando's shouting didn't leave you much choice.

"What the fuck do you mean the team doesn't want a 'Kelly Piquet 2.0 situation?"

Oh. Oh dear.

You had known Lando was going to tell the team of his plan to hard launch you on his socials tonight and by the sounds of it, it hadn't gone well.

"Lando," The woman, you think her name is Melanie or something, tries to sooth him. "All we're saying is maybe you should think of how this could impact her daughter. When Max and Kelly went public, it was a shit show."

"Yeah, because her father is a racist piece of shit." He spits.

"And she was accused of being a predator!" Melanie fires back. "All I'm saying is that maybe right now isn't the best time to launch a potentially controversial girlfriend."

Your blood goes cold. Controversial? There was nothing in your past that you were ashamed about. No racist relatives. No sex tape scandals or even potentially embarassing photos somewhere out on the internet. You had, all things considered, a pretty wholesome reputation. Everyone at McLaren loved you, as far as you were aware. With the apparent exception of Melanie.

"Controversial? Please, elaborate." Lando's voice goes deadly calm, as if he knows exactly what she's going to say but wants her to say it out loud.

"Lando." Melanie sighs and you take a step back, unsure if you want to hear what she has to say. "She's a young, single mom who got knocked up at nineteen years old." Melanie practically laughs, as if Lando is a complete idiot for not understanding. "There's no way she won't be seen as a gold digger or worse! She's going to be eaten alive on socials. I'm only looking out for her daughter's reputation. Don't be so naive, Norris."

Your fists clench up so tightly, the bite of your nails in your palms pulls you out of a near rage. It takes every ounce of control not to go straight into Lando's room and give that bitch a piece of your mind.

On the other side of the door, Lando swears he sees red and has to take a step away. "This is about your workload, isn't it? You don't want to deal with the awkward questions and the drama? Listen very closely to me, Melanie okay? Because I'm not going to repeat myself." The venom in Lando's voice startles you. "The three of us are a package deal now, do you understand? I am madly in love with that woman out there and her little girl? Her little girl is the center of my world too. I don't give a flying fuck if me being with her means more work for you, that's too fucking bad. If you can't handle it, I'm positive Zak will be happy to replace you. She's here to stay, you are replaceable. Understood?"

Hearing Lando say he loves you and Stella has your world tilting underneath your feet. He'd never said that to you before even though you'd been confident for a while now that he did feel that way. And that you felt the same way.

Melanie's reply is so soft, you don't hear it but moments later, the door flies open so fast you're forced to jump back bit. Melanie's flushed face looks horrified when she sees you standing in the hall. She can't hold eye contact with you for longer than a flicker of a moment before she's dashing down the hall.

Lando stands in the doorway looking horrified that you're standing there. "How much of that did you hear?"

Tears burn at the back of your eyes, your anger at Melanie now replaced with sheer embarrassment. Even if she had been the one to voice it, you were certain Melanie wasn't the only one who was thinking the same thing.

"Everything." You whisper as you look away, brushing at a tear that rolls hotly down your face.

"Goddamnit." Lando swears, shoving a hand through his curls. He hadn't even noticed his door was open after Melanie had followed after him. "Baby..." He reaches for you and you let him pull you to him, his steady warmth a comforting feeling as the panic rises in your chest.

"She's right, you know." You whisper into his chest so softly Lando nearly misses it.

Lando pulls back and the look of desperation on his face nearly breaks your heart. "What are you talking about?"

"The hate we're going to get. I'm going to get. She had a point, you have to admit. I'm a young, single mom dating a millionaire? People are going to think all I'm interested in is your money, just like they did with Kelly."

"Who cares what people think? Who cares what they say about us? The people in our lives that really matter know that's not why you're with me. Isn't that all that matters?"

"Until they start in on Stella. Have you seen some of the things they say about P?"

You were pretty confident you could handle any hate that you got but you knew that the moment you saw any hate towards your little girl, you'd be devastated. It had been something you'd been thinking about since Lando had brought up going public last night but you had been able to brush it aside. It hadn't seemed possible, the worry seeming far away and a little over dramatic but now? Now Melanie's words had anxiety twisting in your stomach.

"That's not going to happen." Lando pulls you deeper into his chest and nuzzles into your neck. He can practically feel you pulling away from him and terror shoots through him.

"You don't know that. Even if it doesn't, do you really want to spend the rest of this relationship constantly defending me? Defending us? That's no way to live, Lando. Melanie was right. I'm controversial and maybe we need to rethink this."

Lando's entire world stops spinning, his breath catching in his throat. "Wh...What? No, baby, no. Please don't do this. Don't pull away. Melanie is being hysterical. Nothing like that is going to happen."

If he had to get on his knees and beg you not to leave him, Lando would do it in a heartbeat.

"I'm not doing anything, I just need a minute to think okay?" You step out of his grasp, instantly missing his touch. You can't even look him in the eye, knowing that if you do you'll crumble. But you can't think of Lando or even yourself right now. "I have to consider what's best for Stella, okay?"

"Don't do this." Lando begs.

"I think I'm going to stay in my own room tonight." You whisper, voice straining with emotion as you barely contain the heartache in your tone.

"Is this the end?" Lando chokes out as he shoves his hands deep in his pockets. He's sure you'd step away if he tried to touch you right now and he knew he wouldn't be able to handle that kind of rejection from you. It felt like his entire world was crumbling around him and the only thing that could right this was you.

Tears stream down your face as you struggle for an answer. "No." You tell him after a moment and the relief that floods Lando's face nearly breaks your heart. "I just need some space to think is all, I promise."

"Can we still have dinner tonight?"

"I think it'd be best if I just spend the evening alone." It hurts, saying those words because you rarely get this much alone time with Lando but you need space so badly your skin begins to itch. You're desperate to get some distance from the paddock and the team and even Lando himself, to right yourself back to the proper head space. You had to consider Stella above your own heart.

If it was possible to die from a broken heart, Lando knew he was about to find out. He lets you go though, watching miserably from the spot he's rooted to on his floor as you back away slowly, almost like you're retreating from a dangerous animal or something.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

All he can do is nod as he watches you walk out the door for what he hopes isn't the last time.

You're just finishing the last bits of your makeup when there's a knock on your door Friday morning. You were a bit surprised because you knew full well that Lando had a key but the fact that he was nervous to use it after what had happened yesterday tugs at something in your chest.

You had been in the shower when he texted you that morning and the string of texts nearly broke your heart. You hadn't wanted to put him through that kind of pain but you had needed to take a moment to think through what had happened with Melanie and the comms team yesterday.

Slipping the robe Lando had gotten you in Japan a few weeks ago, you pad towards the door to open it. You're stopped completely in your tracks when you swing it open and get a glimpse of Lando in the hallway. He looks absolutely ravaged, like he didn't sleep a single second the night before, eyes red rimmed and puffy.

"Lan..." You whisper, tears instantly flooding your eyes. You reach for him, utterly perplexed suddenly as to why you had felt you needed distance from him.

When he folds you into his arms, the damn finally breaks and you sob into him, the entire previous day's emotions coming to a head. The way you finally feel complete when he's got you in his arms is unlike anything you've ever felt and for a brief moment yesterday, you had forgotten that fact.

When he kisses you, cradling your head in his hands, everything else quiets. The doubts, the fear, the anxiety. It all fades into the background with his lips on yours and you sigh into his mouth. For the first time on 24 hours you feel relieved, like you can actually tackle this issue instead of feeling like you're going to drown in your own thoughts.

Lando tugs you over to the bed, pulling you into his lap as he sits against the headboard. You tuck into his body as close as you can, head folded into that space between his neck and shoulder, drinking in the smell of him: fresh from the shower and slightly spicy from his cologne.

For several minutes, you both just sit there. Lando struggles to contain the relief that is flooding his body. He'd been absolutely miserable last night, eventually working himself into a panic attack at the thought of losing you and Stella. There was such a gaping hole in his soul when he thought about the prospect of you walking away, it scared him to death. He had never planned on falling for you, had resisted it for a bit, trying to convince himself that it was too quick to be feeling the way he did. Last night though? Last night had showed him he was further gone than he had ever expected.

"Did you mean what you said to Melanie yesterday?" You mumble into his neck after a few moments.

"Every word." Lando says without a moment of hesitation. "But is there a specific part you want me to confirm?"

You chuckle, pulling away so you can look him in the face. "The part where you said we're a package deal? That you love love us both?"

Lando brings his hands up to face your frame and you can't help but lean into him. "Of course I meant it. I'd do anything for either of you. I thought we'd established that, baby."

You drop your gaze from his then, somewhat knocked off center by the intensity of his gaze. "I'm sorry I got spooked. I'm just so used to doing this all on my own, no one ever wants to stay."

"Do you remember what I told you the first night we spent together in Bahrain?"

You blink, a small smile playing on your lips for the first time that morning. "You said a lot that night."

Lando rolls his eyes and kisses your temple. "It was after you had fallen asleep and I got up to get a drink of water. When I came back to bed, you curled right into me and said you thought I'd left you. You asked me to never leave you and and I told you I'd never leave you. I didn't mean it for just that night though."

Your heart thunders in your chest. You didn't remember that at all but the fact that he had said those words to you all those months ago. He'd been as far gone for you back then as you had.

"I love you more than words can say." He whispers and all you can do is nod back, emotion choking out your ability to speak for a few moments.

Lando reaches under your chin after a beat, lifting your face so he can see you. "Nobody said this was going to be easy but if we do this together, it'll be okay. You've got to trust me on this, baby. The team is fully supportive, I swear to you. Zak, Andrea, Oscar. Everyone that matters is on our side. I know you're scared and you want to protect Stella but you can't give up on our happiness because of some stupid people on the internet that don't matter."

Pain shoots through you, bright and quick as a lightning bolt as realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Something becomes crystal clear in that moment and you find yourself nodding.

"You're right. I know you are. I want Stella to see me choose myself instead of sacrificing my happiness for some stupid what ifs." It isn't until Lando says what he does that you're able to finally put into words what you've slowly been coming to realize over the last few hours. You'd been scared to admit it, scared that choosing yourself in this meant you were putting Stella second but when Lando tells you that you can't give up your own happiness to protect her, everything clicks into place.

"I want her to know that she can do hard things and choose her own path and if i listen to Melanie all I show her is that the bullies win."

"That's my girl." Lando praises, pulling you into another soul shattering kiss. "I love you." He whispers against your lips.

"Lan..." You pull away suddenly, eyes going wide. "The reason I was outside your driver's room yesterday was because Stella demanded to talk to you before bed and then..." You drop the sentence, the memory of yesterday slicing through you once again. "Do we have time to call her now? She was so mad at me last night when I said you were too busy to talk."

"Don't you ever tell my Stelly Belly I'm too busy to talk to her again." He teases before grabbing his phone. "Is she with Sarah today? They had a half day, didn't they. She was all about going to the cinema with Sarah today last time I talked to her."

The smile that settles on your face is nothing short of brilliant. For the first time in nearly 24 hours, you finally feel settled, like everything had righted itself after being so very briefly run off course. "Lets see if she can talk now before the get to the show."

landonorris posted

789,039 likes liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, BFFSarah, and others landonorris did someone say 'hard launch'? user029 oh she's PRETTY PRETTY yourusername <3 >>>user029 ugh, profile's private but SHE HAS A CHILD??? >>>user2992 if this means we're going to get dad lando content the same yaer we get dad max content, the internet may not survive BFFSarah can i like this more than once!?! <3 user0299 OMG WAIT I saw her in the background of tv shots this weekend except she was in a McLaren team kit. LANDO NOT DATING AN INFLUENCER??? >>>user3422 didn't know he had it in him >>>user000 god, i am such a sucker for a workplace romance trope

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impeakcharacterdesign · 1 year ago

Text

Just the Tip

— Thomas Hewitt x Fem!Reader —

MDNI!!!

Summary: It’s the 1960s and Luda Mae frowns upon premarital sex like any good Christian woman. You and Tommy are young, hot, and in love but the only problem is that Tommy was raised to wait until marriage and never lets you two go any further than kissing and some groping.

But the devil lives in the hot Texan sun and even God takes a break from the summer heat.

Notes: this is super short, just pure smut, self indulgent I’m obsessed with big boy Tommy 😭😭😭 i swear I’m working on part 2 of my sister Sinclair fic but Tommy has me in a choke hold and I needed an outlet.

No TW that I can think of other than bad smut and maybe ??? Coercion??? Cause Tommy wants to be a good boy and stop before y’all go too far but you flash him and then he’s absolutely 100% in. A bit of religious stuff, period typical sexism but vaguely. Let me know if I should add anything else and I’ll get right on it. Reader isn’t ever referred to using “she/her” pronouns but is described as having breasts and does have female genitalia so I tagged it fem reader to be safe

Enjoy!!!

The early morning sun burned, chasing away what little cool air remained of the night before. While the barn shaded you from the unforgiving sun and hid you from disapproving eyes — or lecherous in the case of the older men of the family — it also trapped in the heat your two bodies gave off.

Thomas pressed his open mouth to your own, tongue swiping over your teeth eager to taste you. Your hands gripped his dark hair, ruining any half-effort attempt he had made earlier in the day to smooth down his unruly hair. He held you in his arms, body pressed tightly against him in an attempt to get as close as possible, his large frame hiding you even further from prying eyes than the shadowed corners of the old barn. The kiss was deep and hungry and served as a brief respite from Luda Maes ever watching eyes. While she had been fine with you living with the family before you and Tommy were married, she forbade you from sharing a room or being intimate, a rule she absolutely refused to budge on and one that Uncle Charlie took a strange glee in ribbing you about. But much like the Texan heat, the heated looks you gave each other were unavoidable and only grew hotter as the summer days went on. Luda Mae wanted to wait until the following spring to make your union official but at the rate the town was drying up, there wouldn't even be a priest to officiate the ceremony, much less any guest to attend. You highly doubted anyone outside of the family would want to witness your union anyway but still, Luda Mae didn't want the few who would to get wise and start counting months.

These stolen moments in the barn were as good as you could get — and by god were they good.

Tommy’s large hands groped at your breasts, pawing roughy at your nipples through the worn fabric of your old dress. It wasn’t long before you found yourself in the familiar position of being sprawled out on the barn floor, coarse hay a discomfort you had long learned to endure for the sake of pleasure.

You desperately thrust your sex up onto his growing bulge, whining when he groaned and pinned your hips with his own, preventing you from getting your desired stimulation. “Please Tommy,” you beg, lips separating, “We don’t have to do too much, I just wanna touch you.” You press open-mouthed kisses to his neck, pulling softly at the flesh with your teeth and tongue dragging across the bites to taste the salt on his skin. Your hands eagerly worked to untuck his faded green shirt and wrap around him, roaming the vast expanse of his back. His whole body shuddered in your arms, an attempt to hold back from eating you whole.

You know Thomas will put an end to your romp soon, the tense lines of his shoulders and the way he shuts his eyes a sign that he's reaching his limit, that if you two don't stop now you won't be able to stop — but that’s exactly what you want.

You're tired of holding back, of this constant edging you have to endure when you’re in his presence and it gets harder every day. Just yesterday afternoon, Uncle Charlie sprayed Tommy with the hose, telling him that he was filthy and needed to get out of those clothes before he went inside. Watching as he undressed by the back door so that you could put his clothes on the line to dry had nearly given you a heatstroke — and if Charlie’s leering grin was any clue, you swear he did it on purpose in an attempt to rile you up. You ran off before you sinned right there in the yard, the memory of Thomas's shirt clinging to his arms, his chest glistening with water had kept you company well into the night.

So before Tommy puts a stop to your roll in the hay you make your move. You lift your dress up past your breast and expose yourself to him, you can see his breath stutter in his chest, this was quickly becoming the farthest you two had ever gone.

“Just watch me, Tommy, watch me,” you say breathlessly.

And he does, he sits on his haunches like a predator, his engorged cock straining against his pants and imagining just a taste has your tongue darting out to wet your lips, his gaze fixated on the movement.

Sliding your panties off your legs, your fingers dip briefly into your wet hole, gathering slick to rub onto your clit. At the very first touch, you let out a shuddering breath and you watch as his shoulders heave.

You begin rubbing your clit at an intense pace already turned on from the earlier heavy petting, not once breaking eye contact with Thomas as you do. With each moan you muffle you see his eyes grow darker with desire breathing with his mouth open as though he could taste your scent in the air. When he finally lets his cock spring free you let out your loudest moan yet. It’s better than you ever thought. His cock is thick and heavy, drooping slightly under its own weight but still undeniably firm. It curves slightly and you imagine that if it was inside you it would scrape against your walls in a way you've never been able to do with just your fingers.

Thomas grips his cock firmly and gives it a few tugs, eyes alternating between hungrily drinking in the sight of your blissed-out expression and your dripping pussy. You buck your hips, desperate to press your clit against your fingers and Thomas jerks his length even faster, rubbing his tip and spreading his precum on his hand.

God, you wished it was you that was touching him.

Thomas settles onto his knees and after a brief hesitation begins to shuffle closer to you. The sight of him crawling to you on his knees with his dripping length in hand made your pussy clench around nothing and you let out a whimper. You remove your fingers from your clit, feeling the heat radiating from his cock as he settles on top of you, legs spreading around his waist, your hips slightly raised and resting on his thighs.

The tip hesitantly pressed against your clit and your moan fills the small space before you can suppress it. This was better than you were hoping and it felt as though you were pressing against the boundaries the lord had set for you. Tommy’s eyes find yours looking for reassurance, asking without words, “Do you think this is okay?”

You find enough comprehension in your lust-addled brain to come up with a coherent answer, “It should be fine, I think,” you stammer out, “I mean, it’s not like — not like you’re putting it in so, it should be fine.”

You’re not overly familiar with the word of God outside of Sunday services and Luda Mae’s lectures, both of which you were forced to attend and spent tuning out in favor of watching the sweat build on Tommy’s brow while he worked through the window.

You think that if God could feel the weight of Thomas like you did, feel the heat like you could, you think he’d forgive the sin of your act.

It seems like that was all the reassurance that Thomas needed because no sooner than the words fumbled their way out of your mouth that he begins to drag the length of his cock against your slit.

God, if this is what hell was supposed to be like, burning and full of decadence, then perhaps you didn’t mind being a sinner.

The way he ruts against you is euphoric. Heavy breaths escape you both and you can’t help the words that spill from your lips.

“God, Tommy, I wish you would put it inside me,” you whine out “‘wanna feel your fat cock in my pussy, wanna get filled,” you might as well be begging at this point, and Tommy's increases his pace to the point that you think he wants the same thing, that he’s desperate to thrust into you rather than against you and —

And then the tip of his cock catches on your entrance and you both stop breathing.

“Maybe — Maybe it doesn’t count.” You stammer out, “It didn’t go in and it’s just the tip, and I don’t think that the tip counts” With the slightest twitch of his hips the tip of his cock has slipped inside.

"It's - it's just the tip it's fine” Your words sound empty even to you but the reassurance is all Tommy needs to push forward and let the head of his cock slide into your welcoming heat

His soul nearly leaves his body when he feels your raw pussy on the head of his cock. He jerks his length furiously and your fingers begin to move against your clit again, eager to meet your high with Thomas.

But it’s not enough. He was right there, right there just one push of his hips he’d be right where you needed him

“Please Tommy” Canting your hips slightly so the tip begins to dig deeper into you, you begin to plead once more, “wanna feel you fill me up, wanna remember the shape of your cock please”

Thomas feels years of control break at your words and with one swing of his hips, he bottoms out instantly. You feel like you've been punched in the gut as the air rushes out of you and you let out a sound like a wounded animal. Tommy stays still deep inside you, shaking and heaving, absolutely drunk on the feeling of your soaked walls clenching vigorously around his length.

You feel full in a way you've never thought possible. His length throbs, its girth stretching you in a way that burns.

When he finally starts thrusting, you’re not ready. He’s like a man possessed, solely focused on the feel of you around him, your skin pressed against his, his blood pounding in his ears.

“Wait— Tommy, ah, slow — slow down, oh god!” You can’t hold back your moans and he can’t stop, both fully engrossed in the feel of each other with no control over your own lust. Thomas crashes his lips onto yours in a halfhearted attempt to keep down your moans, it’s sloppy, clashing teeth and drooling tongues, spit escaping your lips, unlike any you’ve shared before.

This is completely different from what you’ve imagined your first time together would be like. It’s not your wedding night, you're laying on the dirty barn floor and there’s absolutely nothing gentle about the way Tommy is ravaging you. Your pussy is sopping wet and with every thrust, it lets out an embarrassing squelch, your juices and Tommy’s pre-cum leak down your ass and make a sticky mess in his dark pubes.

He doesn’t stop even as your walls spasm around him, cumming on his cock and digging your nails into his strong back. He works you through your orgasm even as your mouth clumsily forms the words to beg for him to slow down or to give you a moment. It’s too much, the sensations completely overloading your brain and all you can do is hold on tightly to him, lost in the ecstasy of your release.

Thomas lets out a deep, guttural groan as he cums, hips stuttering as he bullies his fat cock into the deepest part of your sex, filling you to the brim and your vision goes white.

Boneless, neither one of you makes a move to separate from the other, so thoroughly satisfied and content to lie where you are holding each other, Thomas’s softening cocking slipping out of you and spilling his release onto the ground.

His weight on you is comforting, you gently press kisses to his face and bask in the way his heavy breaths caress your sweaty skin.

“I love you.” You whisper into the shell of his ear and he squeezes you against him, repeating the words in his garbled voice the best he could. Your love is just for the two of you, no one else had a place in your world, no one else had the right to peak in on your affection or gawk at your differences.

This moment in time was just for the two of you.

“Thomas! Where the hell are ya, boy!”

Well, until Uncle Charlie’s voice brought you back down to reality.

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tsunodaradio · 18 days ago

Text

i hope this finds you well ⛐ 𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏

“you’ll be bored of him in two years,” oscar says flatly, “and we will be interesting forever.” (or: 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘫𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦 𝘢𝘶, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘰.)

ꔮ starring: oscar piastri x reader. ꔮ word count: 10.2k (!!!) ꔮ includes: friendship, romance, angst. cussing, mentions of food & alcohol. references to greta gerwig's little women (2019), mostly set in melbourne, oscar's sisters are recurring characters. ꔮ commentary box: i've written way too much oscar as of late, so before i go on a self-imposed ban, i had to get this monster out. fully, wholly dedicated to @binisainz, whose amylaurie lando fic does this feeling go both ways? started all this. birdy, i love you like all fire. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

♫ let you break my heart again, laufey. we can't be friends (wait for your love), ariana grande. cool enough for you, skyline. do i ever cross your mind, sombr. bags, clairo. true blue, boygenius. laurie and jo on the hill, alexandre desplat.

Oscar Piastri is not the kind of boy who usually finds himself at house parties.

Especially not the kind with balloons tied to banisters, tables laden with sausage rolls and buttercream cupcakes, and a Bluetooth speaker hiccupping out the tail-end of some pop anthem. But here he is, cornered into attendance by his sisters—Hattie, Edie, and Mae—who’d all dressed up for the occasion and declared, in unison, that he had to come.

So he had. Because he was a good brother and an unwilling chaperone.

And now he’s bored.

Oscar stands near the drinks table, nursing a cup of lukewarm lemonade and trying to look vaguely interested in the streamers above the kitchen doorway. Hattie had already been whisked off to dance by someone in a navy jumper. Edie had found the girl who always brought homemade brownies to school. Mae was giggling wildly with a trio of kids Oscar vaguely recognized from the street down.

No one notices him lingering by himself. That suits him just fine.

Still, he can’t quite shake the restlessness crawling up his spine. The noise is too loud, the lights too warm. With a quick scan of the room and a glance over his shoulder, Oscar slips behind a long, velvet curtain that cordons off what seemed to be the study.

Except there’s already someone there.

He realizes it a moment too late, nearly landing on top of you.

“Oh my God—sorry!” he blurts out, practically leaping backward. His foot catches on the edge of the curtain and he stumbles a bit, arms flailing before catching the side of a bookshelf. His cheeks burn. “Didn’t see you. I didn’t think anyone else—sorry. Again.”

You blink up at him, wide-eyed, legs curled beneath you on the armchair he had almost sat on. There’s a half-eaten biscuit on a napkin beside you, and your fingers are wrapped around a glass of ginger ale. Contrary to everyone else at this godforsaken event, you’re not a familiar face.

“It’s okay,” you said, voice quiet. Accented. Affirming Oscar’s theory that you’re not a Melbourne native. After a pause, you tentatively joke: “You didn’t sit on me, so that’s a win.”

Oscar huffs out a laugh, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. Close call.”

The silence after is not awkward, exactly. Just shy. The two of you are tucked away behind a curtain, neither fully sure what to do next. Oscar takes the plunge first, figuring it’s the least he could do after intruding on your escape.

“I’m Oscar. Piastri,” he adds unnecessarily. He gestures vaguely toward the chaos outside. “Dragged here by my sisters.”

“I figured you were with the girls,” you reply amusedly. ��I’m new. Just moved here a few weeks ago.”

Oscar’s brows lift. “So this is your introduction to the madness?”

“Pretty much.” You offer a sheepish shrug. “I don’t really know anyone, and pretending to be cool isn’t really my thing.”

“Mine neither,” he says quickly, maybe a bit too quickly. “Hence the hiding.”

That earns him a soft smile. It’s a pretty smile, Oscar privately notes.

He gestures to the empty bit of couch beside you. “Mind if I sit? Promise to check for limbs first.”

You shift slightly to make room. “Be my guest.”

He sits, careful this time, knees bumping slightly against yours as he settles. The party noise feels far away behind the curtain—muted like a dream. Oscar glances at you from the corner of his eye, curiosity bright beneath his awkwardness.

“Got a name, new kid?” he asks, because even though he had agreed that he doesn’t like feigning coolness, he’s still just a teenage boy with a god complex.

You tell him your name. He repeats it back to you, careful with the syllables like he’s folding them into memory.

A few more minutes pass, filled with idle chatter. You talk about your move, the weird smell of paint still lingering in your new house, and the fact that none of the cupcakes at this party have chocolate frosting, which is a tragedy. Oscar, in turn, tells you about his sisters. How Mae once tried to dye her hair green with a highlighter and how Hattie got banned from school discos after she snuck in a smoke machine.

The laughter between you is easy. Unforced.

Then you say it, maybe without thinking too hard. “We should dance,” you muse, finishing off the last of your biscuit.

Oscar freezes. His eyebrows shoot up, alarmed. “Dance? With me?”

“Unless you’d rather go back to pretending the streamers are fascinating.”

“I don’t dance with strangers,” he says, half-laughing, half-panicked.

“We know each other’s names now,” you point out. “That makes us not-strangers.”

With a beleaguered sigh and a scrunch of his nose, Oscar comes clean. “I’m bad at it,” he grumbles.

“Who cares?”

“My sisters. They’ll see. And I’ll never live it down.”

You purse your lips, tapping your glass lightly against your knee. Then, a spark lights in your eyes. It’s the kind that spells trouble; Oscar has seen it in his siblings’ faces, right before they do something so invariably stupid and reckless. “Come with me. I have an idea,” you urge.

He hesitates, a part of his brain screeching something like stranger danger! in flashing, neon lights. In the end, he follows.

You slip out through the back door, motioning for him to stay quiet as you lead him down the wooden steps and out onto the wrap-around porch. The party sounds are muffled here, only the faint thump of bass slipping through the walls.

“Out here,” you say, turning to him with an expectant grin. “Nobody to laugh. Just us.”

Oscar stares at you. “This is crazy.”

“Shut up and dance.”

And so he does.

Awkwardly, at first, because you start them off with wild moves and dance skills that are much more abysmal than his. It gives him the confidence to start swaying a bit, his laughter poorly stifled as he watches you flail like an octopus.

You take his hands, and he lets you spin him gently, sneakers squeaking against the porch boards. There’s no rhythm to it, not really. Just swaying and clumsy steps and the faint thrum of music in the background.

The porch light flickers above you, casting long shadows. Somewhere inside, someone cheers. But out here, it's just you and Oscar.

Two kids dancing badly and not caring.

“You’re a weird one,” he says with a smile that splits his face open.

“Takes one to know one,” you shoot back, fingers squeezing his as you twirl yourself through his arm. It’s a gross miscalculation and you end up stumbling, the two of you cackling as you attempt to detangle from the mess of limbs you’ve entangled each other in.

For the first time that night, Oscar thinks he might actually like this party after all.

Christmas morning in the Piastri household always comes with a sort of chaos—the kind born of slippers skidding across hardwood, sleepy giggles, and the rustle of wrapping paper long before the sun climbs properly into the sky.

This year, however, there’s something new. A wicker basket sits on the porch, ribbon-wrapped and dusted in the faintest layer of frost.

It’s heavy with gifts, each one handmade and meticulously labeled in curling script. Hattie, first to spot it, gives a shriek loud enough to wake the neighborhood. Within minutes, the whole family is gathered in the living room, the basket placed like treasure at the center.

“It’s from the new neighbors,” their mum announces, plucking a card from the basket. Her voice is touched with surprise and delight. “The old man and his granddaughter. Isn’t that sweet?”

Hattie unwraps a pair of knitted socks, blue and gold. Edie lifts out a jar of spiced jam. Mae discovers a hand-bound notebook. Each gift is simple but exquisite, the sort of thing you only receive from people who notice details.

“She’s the one who doesn’t talk to anyone,” Hattie says knowingly, curling her legs beneath her on the couch. You were in the same level as her, it seemed—a year below Oscar.

“That house is huge.” Edie glances out the window, towards your home. “Do you think her parents are loaded?”

“I heard they aren’t even around,” Mae whispers. “Just her and the grandfather. He looks ancient, though. Like, fossil ancient.”

“Girls,” their mum cuts in sharply. “That’s enough. They were kind enough to send gifts. We will be kind in return.”

Oscar, perched on the armrest of the couch, stays quiet through the speculation. His hands toy with the tag on his gift—a simple wooden bookmark, engraved with an amateur sketch of a stick figure dancing. He doesn’t say anything about the study, or the curtain, or the ginger ale.

But the memory floats to the front of his mind: the soft hush of the party behind a curtain, the brush of knees, your laugh when he had called you weird.

“We should make friends with them,” Oscar says finally, looking up. “It’s Christmas, after all.”

The girls pause. Hattie raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about new neighbors?”

He shrugs, trying not to look too interested. “Just saying. It wouldn’t kill us to be nice.”

Their mum smiles, pleased. “That’s the spirit.”

Oscar glances back down at the bookmark, running a thumb over the edge.

He finds your family acquainting with his soon enough.

On a sunny afternoon, right as Edie is pouring cereal into a bowl and Oscar is elbow-deep in the dishwasher, the home phone rings. Hattie picks up, listens for a moment, then calls out, “Mae’s at the neighbor’s. She fell off her bike.”

There’s a rush of clattering cutlery and footsteps, and in no time, Oscar finds himself trailing behind his sisters down the sidewalk, toward the big house next door—the one with the sprawling lawn and mismatched wind chimes on the porch.

When they arrive, Mae is perched on your front steps, a bandage already wrapped around her knee and a juice box in hand. She waves lazily as Hattie and Edie fall upon her with a dozen questions. Your grandfather, white-haired and kind-eyed, stands nearby, looking amused by the commotion. He introduces himself and ushers them all inside despite their protests.

Oscar hangs back for a moment until he spots you just behind the door, barefoot and half-hidden by the frame. You glance up, catch his eye, and grin.

“You again,” you say, stepping out onto the porch. “Is she alright?”

“Yeah, just scraped her knee,” Oscar replies, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Thanks for patching her up.”

“We had a pretty solid first aid game back at my old school. I’m well-versed in playground accidents.”

He chuckles, leaning against the porch railing. “That so? Must be a pretty rough school.”

“Brutal,” you agree solemnly. “There were snack thieves and dodgeball champions. It was a jungle.”

“Sounds terrifying.”

“It built character,” you say with mock seriousness, then flash him a grin. “Want to come in? I made too much lemonade.”

Oscar nods and follows you inside. The kitchen smells like lemon zest and fresh biscuits. Hattie and Edie are now harrowing your grandfather with questions about the old piano in the corner and whether the house is haunted. He answers everything with a twinkle in his eye, clearly enjoying the attention.

You hand Oscar a glass and settle across from him at the kitchen table. He takes a sip. “You weren’t lying,” he says through another swig. “This is good.”

“Of course not. I take my beverages very seriously.”

“You’re weird,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it.

“You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I’m starting to think it might be a compliment.”

You clink your glass against his in cheers. He smiles, and something warm unfurls in his chest. A startling kind of certainty. Like something’s taking root—a real friendship, honest and surprising and entirely unplanned.

Oscar is surprised to find that he doesn’t mind.

It happens gradually, like most real things do.

You begin spending Saturday afternoons with the Piastri bunch, lounging on their back deck with Hattie and Edie, gossiping about the neighbors or watching Mae attempt increasingly dangerous trampoline flips. You get good at knowing who takes how many sugars in their tea, when to duck because Edie’s chucking a tennis ball, or when Oscar is about to try and quietly leave the room.

You’re there for board games on rainy days and movie nights on Fridays. You help Hattie with her French homework, braid Mae’s hair when her fingers get too clumsy with excitement, and lend Edie your favorite books. Their mum always saves you an extra slice of cake, and their dad asks how your grandfather’s garden is faring this season.

It starts to feel like you’ve always belonged there, wedged into the rhythm of their household like a missing puzzle piece finally found.

Oscar is often quieter than the others, but he’s still a constant. You and he become fixtures in each other’s orbit. Trading messages about school, tagging each other in silly videos, or sending one-word replies that only make sense to the two of you.

Despite being one year his junior, the two of you are close in a way that you aren’t with the girls. He swears it’s because he met you first, because the two of you have emergency dance parties and cricket watch parties that nobody else knows about.

He leaves for boarding school, and the absence sits awkwardly on both your chests at first. But he never really disappears. He always texts when he’s back. Always walks you home at least once before he has to leave again. Always makes you laugh, even when you don’t want to.

And then—one summer—he comes home and something’s different.

It isn’t dramatic. You don’t swoon. He doesn’t speak in slow motion. It’s just... subtle.

Oscar stands taller. His shoulders are broader. His voice has deepened slightly. There’s a small scar at the corner of his lip you don’t remember, and when he grins, it strikes you—how he’s grown into himself, soft and sharp all at once.

You catch him staring at you too, once or twice. Like he’s trying to recalibrate what he thought he knew. Your hair is a little longer, and your skin is tanned from all the days in the sun. He remembers the freckles; he doesn’t remember when they became so prominent.

But it never becomes a thing. You don’t talk about it. You fall back into your usual rhythm.

Because even if your faces are a little older, your banter is still quick and familiar. You still chase each other down the street. You still squabble over the last biscuit. He still rolls his eyes at you, and you still prod him for his terrible taste in music.

Whatever has changed, whatever is beginning to, you both keep it tucked away. For now, it’s enough just to have each other nearby.

It’s a fact Oscar remembers as digs his toes into the hot sand. His jaw is tight; he watches the waves break in even swells. The sun’s beating down hard, but he barely feels it. Not with the way his chest still burns from the shouting match earlier.

Hattie had stormed out of the house with her towel clutched like a shield, and Oscar had followed, only because everyone else was pretending like nothing had happened. His sisters always expected him to be the reasonable one, and today—he hadn’t been.

He’d snapped. Something petty. A dig at her choice of music in the car. Then something sharper about her always having to be right. And before he knew it, she’d looked at him like he was someone else.

He hadn’t apologized.

Now, he sits beneath the shade of a crooked umbrella, arms wrapped around his knees. He watches the group scatter across the sand and into the waves. Hattie’s already out with her board, paddling strong into the break like she’s trying to prove something. Edie is further down the shore, half-buried in a sandcastle war. Mae’s running between them, laughing.

You drop into the sand beside him, skin glinting from seawater, hair tied back and still damp. “You two going for the title of Most Dramatic Siblings today?” you ask, unsurprisingly up to date. Hattie probably told you all about it while the two of you were getting changed.

Oscar sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I was a bit of a tosser this morning,” he says dryly.

You nod, not offering him an out. Just letting the honesty settle.

“She’ll forgive you. Eventually,” you add. “You Piastris always find your way back.”

He tilts his head, watching you. The sunlight makes your nose wrinkle when you squint toward the water. Your shoulders have lost some of their shyness from when he first met you. You’ve become more sure of yourself, laughing louder, teasing easily. Comfortable. Confident. Certain.

He likes that.

The two of you sit in silence until Oscar stands, grabbing his board. “I’m going out.”

“Be nice,” you call after him, and he flashes a grin over his shoulder—tight but genuine.

In the surf, Oscar feels the tension bleed out with every push through the waves. The water’s cold and biting, salt sharp in his mouth. He catches sight of Hattie up ahead and paddles after her, trying not to let the guilt slow him down. Hattie notices him, grimaces, and rushes on.

Trying to prove something.

The waves pick up. Hattie catches one, standing briefly before wiping out. She resurfaces quickly, almost laughing, but Oscar watches her expression shift just moments later. There’s a sudden pull in the water, subtle but unmistakable. A riptide.

She paddles against it. Wrong move.

Oscar feels the fright hit like a tsunami.

He’s been scared before. Of course he has. He’s terrible when it comes to horror movies. He’s seen his karting peers fissure into pretty nasty accidents. But this, the fear of this, of his younger sister—

He starts shouting, but the wind carries his voice sideways. Instinctively, he glances to shore—and sees that you’re already running. Board abandoned, feet flying across wet sand. You make it to him in record time, that crazed look in your eyes mirroring his.

Together, you plunge into the surf. Oscar’s strokes are strong, slicing through the current. He reaches Hattie just as she starts to panic.

“Float! Don’t fight it!” you yell, coming up on her other side.

Oscar grabs her wrist, firm but steady. You’re on the other, speaking calm, clear instructions, guiding her body as the three of you angle sideways out of the current.

You’re the voice of reason; Oscar is the force that perseveres.

It’s slow. Exhausting. But eventually, the pull lessens.

You reach the shore heaving, salt-stung, and shaking. Hattie collapses onto her knees, coughing up seawater, and Oscar sinks beside her, heart hammering. His hands rest at her back, as if he’s scared she’ll go down under the moment he lets go.

Hattie says nothing at first. She just looks at him with wet, furious eyes.

It’s a look Oscar is used to seeing on Hattie’s face. They’re siblings. Of course they squabble, and they fight, and they know where to hit for it to hurt. Such was the curse and blessing of being a brother.

Underneath all that, though, Oscar goes back to two cardinal truths: Being the eldest, he made his mum and dad parents—but when Hattie came around, they made him a sibling.

And a sibling he would always be, come hell or high water.

“You didn’t even say sorry,” Hattie sputters, like that’s still the worst thing that has happened this afternoon.

Oscar can’t decide if he wants to cry or laugh. You hover nearby, giving them space. But not too much.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s I’m sorry for picking a fight, and I’m sorry for being a bad brother sometimes, and I’m sorry I never taught you about riptides.

Hattie sniffles, then swats at him. “You better be.”

And that’s how they make up.

Later, as the sun begins to dip, casting everything in amber, Oscar finds you rinsing your arms at an outdoor shower.

“Hey,” he says, stepping close with your towel in his hands.

You look over your shoulder. “Hey.”

He shuffles awkwardly. With salt in his hair and gratitude tangled in his ribs, Oscar thinks there’s no one else he’d rather have next to him when the tide pulls under.

But there’s something deeper, something closer to guilt gnawing at him.

You sense it, in the same way you know when Oscar’s about to have a bad race weekend or when he’s overwhelmed with schoolwork. Stepping out of the shower, you take your towel, wrap it over your shoulders, and gesture at Oscar to follow you.

The two of you walk along the shore, away from where Edie is snapping photos of her sandcastle and Mae is reading some trashy romance novel. Hattie is passed out on a beach blanket, the excitement of the near-drowning taking the fight out of her.

“If she had died,” Oscar tells you, his tongue heavy as lead, “it would’ve been my fault.”

It’s the kind of thought he figures only you will understand. Not because you have any siblings of your own, not because you had been there, but because you’ve always read Oscar like he was a dog-eared book you could keep under your pillow.

“She’s fine, though,” you say delicately, but he’s started and he can’t stop.

“What is wrong with me?” A laugh escapes Oscar—the self-deprecating kind, one that grates more than the sand beneath your feet. “I’ve made so many resolutions and written sad notes and confessed my sins, but it doesn’t seem to help. When I get in a passion—”

A passion. A fit. With his siblings, with his mates, with you. He can’t count the amount of times his sarcasm has offended you. The instances where he’s made you cry, intentionally or not.

And when he’s racing. God, when he’s racing.

In a couple of months, he’s slated to join Formula 4. He has a stellar karting career behind him, one he can barely even remember—because he had seen red throughout it all. Oscar was clinical and cutthroat and cruel the moment he got behind a wheel, and a part of him worries that’s who he’ll always be.

A man who would stop at nothing to be at the top step of any podium. A boy who would insist on being right like his life depended on it.

“When I get in a passion,” he tries again, “I get so savage. I could hurt anyone and enjoy it.”

It’s a damning confession. The kind that could absolutely ruin and unravel Oscar. But he knows, he trusts that it’s safe in your hands. You hum a low sound like he hadn’t just bared his heart out for you to sink your claws into.

“I know what that’s like,” you say, and he has to do a double take.

“You?” He studies the side of your face, as if checking for insincerity. “You’re never angry.”

You’re annoyed with him often and you’ve got a hint of fire in everything you say. But there’s never been rage, never been the sort of flame that could incinerate. And so it shocks him all the more when you confess, “I’m angry nearly every day of my life.”

“You are?”

“I’m not patient by nature. I just try to not let it get the better of me,” you offer, glancing up at Oscar.

The two of you have come to a stop at the edge of the shoreline. Soon, you’ll have to get back to his waiting sisters. For now, though, he surveys your expression and finds nothing but the truth.

He files the facts away in that mental cabinet he has containing what he knows about you. Angry, nearly every day. And then he takes to heart the rest of your words, the roundabout advice of not letting it consume him.

The blaze in him stops roaring for a minute. With you, it’s like a campfire. Inviting and warm.

Better. You make him better.

“Look at us,” he says, tone almost awed. “After all these years, looks like I can still learn a thing or two from you.”

There’s something in your eyes that Oscar can’t quite place. You’ve always looked at him a certain way, but he could never really put a word to it. It’s tender and pained all at once; subtle, ultimately, buried underneath whatever he needs you to be at the moment.

“It’s what friends are for,” you respond, your voice catching on the word in the middle. He pretends not to notice.

Friends.

Oscar’s Formula 4 debut is everything he thought it would be.

The pressure, the lights, the nerves so sharp they buzz under his skin—it’s all there, and then some. He tries to soak in every second, from the chorus of engines roaring around him to the feel of the wheel under his gloved hands. But even with everything happening so quickly, even in the blur of adrenaline and pit stops, there’s still time for his thoughts to drift back home.

More specifically: To you.

It starts small. Just a notification that you’ve made a new post. A photo.

You with your boyfriend.

A guy Oscar’s met once, maybe twice. The sort of guy who plays guitar at parties and wears cologne that smells like department store samples. He isn’t bad—just doesn’t fit. Doesn’t match the version of you Oscar has always known. The one who once danced on a porch, hair a mess, daring him to keep up.

He doesn’t know what to do with the bitter feeling that curdles in his chest. You’re not his, per se. You’ve never been. But surely you could do better than this Abercrombie-wearing, Oasis-playing asswipe.

Summer arrives like it always does—hot and sprawling, with cicadas humming in the trees and long days that stretch lazily into nights. Oscar is home for a few weeks between races.

You’re still around, too. A little less, though, because your boyfriend is a demanding thing who insists he “doesn’t like Oscar’s vibe.” You fight for the friendship, citing it as a non-negotiable, and when Oscar finds out, he doesn’t even try to hide his smugness.

The two of you steal away one evening, climbing onto the roof of the Piastri house with cans of lemonade and a bag of sour candy. It’s tradition by now. The tin roof is warm beneath you, and the stars blink faintly above, a faded scattering against the navy sky.

You sit close, your shoulder brushing his every so often.

“You’ve changed,” you say, head tilted toward him.

“Have not.”

“You look taller.”

“I’ve always been taller.”

You laugh, a soft sound. “Okay. You’ve changed in a good way.”

Oscar bumps your knee with his. “So have you.”

The two of you are older, now, more accepting of the facts of life. Time is not your enemy. It’s just time. You’re still in school, and Oscar is still racing. Your paths have diverged, but the road home is one you both know like the back of your hand.

You go quiet, fiddling with the tab on your lemonade. He watches you closely, trying to read what you’re not saying. You’re nervous. He figures that much out from the fiddling. Nervous about what, though, he can’t—

“I want to run away with him,” you say suddenly.

Oscar stiffens. He wants to call you out for making such a stupid joke, for not having all your screws on straight. You go on, eyes fixed on the dark street below. “Doesn’t sound too bad. Eloping,” you muse. “I’ve never been one for big weddings, anyway.”

“Why?”

“Why don’t I like big weddings?”

“No, stupid. Why the sudden plan of eloping?”

“Because I love him.”

He looks at you, really looks at you, the slope of your cheek in the half-light, the determination behind your words. It doesn’t sit right. This isn’t you. You make rash decisions, but none so life-altering. Not anything that would give your grandfather grief, and most especially not anything that would disclude Oscar.

“You’ll be bored of him in two years,” Oscar says flatly, “and we will be interesting forever.”

You don’t respond right away. Instead, you let the words hang between you. Those two things could co-exist. Your love for this loser (Oscar’s word; not yours), and the fact that there was nothing in the world that could electrify quite like your friendship with Oscar Piastri.

He doesn’t know where this is coming from. He hadn’t realized this would be so serious, that he’d been away long enough for you to start considering marriage with what’s-his-face.

“I don’t expect you to know what it’s like, Oscar,” you say eventually. “To want to be shackled.”

And there it is.

You’ve always supported Oscar’s career. You have years worth of team merchandise for all his loyalties; you’ve been there for every race that mattered, each one that you could make.

But you were also selfish in ways that his family wasn’t. You got moody whenever he had to go away after breaks. You made snide comments about him always being the one who leaves. He’s grown to tolerate that petulance, to take in stride your fears of him failing to come back in one piece.

For the first time ever, Oscar feels what you do. And, God, it doesn’t feel good.

“I just hate that you’re thinking of leaving me.” The words are past his lips before he can reel them in.

It sounds desperate, so unlike him, that he understands the shock that flits across your face. There’s a split-second where he sees a hint of anger, too, like you’re mad at Oscar for being honest, for saying all this after his redeye flights and janky timezones.

He goes on, because what’s the point of backing down now? “Don’t leave,” he presses.

“O…”

You’re the only one who calls him that. O. OJ, when you’re feeling playful—Oscar Jack. He’s teased you time and time again about not falling back on Osc, as if you were desperate to carve out a nickname that belonged to you and you alone.

“God,” he interrupts, eyes turning skyward, as if the stars might hold answers. “We’re really not kids anymore, huh?”

You were kids together. Now, you’re teenagers—young adults. Complicated, messy. Entangled in more than limbs and waves.

“Our childhood was bound to end,” you say, and then you reach out to put a hand on his knee. He considers joking something like Careful, your boyfriend might try to pick a fight and you know I have a mean left hook, but then you might come to your senses and pull your touch away.

He doesn’t say anything more, and neither do you. You just sit there on the roof, side by side, listening to the quiet hum of summer and the distant echoes of who you used to be.

You break up with your boyfriend sometime in early spring, citing incompatibility in a text that Oscar reads while lying flat on the floor of his hotel room in Baku.

He blinks at the message, reads it twice, and then tosses his phone across the bed. The relief that floods through him is disproportionate, almost unsettling. He chalks it up to instinct. Or something like that.

He tells himself it’s just the same feeling he gets when Edie starts seeing some guy from her literature elective, a summer not too long after you joked about eloping. Maybe it’s the older brother in him, wanting to be protective of the women in his life.

That’s what he’s muttering to himself when you catch him scowling at Edie’s date from across the local food park. He was chaperoning once again, though this time Edie had banished him to hang out with you while she was making heart eyes at this lanky transfer student.

“I thought you’d be pleased,” you tease Oscar, popping a chip into your mouth.

Oscar doesn’t look away from where Edie is laughing at something the guy just said. “At the idea of anybody coming to take Edie away? No, thank you.”

You smirk. “You’ll feel better about it when somebody comes to take you away.”

He finally glances at you, one brow raised. “I’d like to see anyone try.”

“So would I!” you shoot back, grinning as you sip your soda. Oscar’s withstanding singleness was something the two of you joked about often, even though he always reasoned that he was busy. Busy with racing, busy with family, busy with you. “That poor soul wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Oscar opens his mouth to reply, but then you pull a cigarette from your coat pocket. It’s a thing you picked up since you got to uni, and Oscar’s frown deepens at the sight of it. At your audacity. Before you can light it, he snatches it from your fingers.

“Oi!” you protest.

He waves it out of your reach. “None of that.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

You lunge for it, but he’s already up and jogging backward, the cigarette held aloft in triumph. You chase after him with a string of cusses, half-laughing, half-serious, and Edie and her date pause to watch you and Oscar bolt down the street like kids again—legs flailing, shouts echoing against the sidewalk.

“Are they—?” Edie’s date asks, and the Piastri girl only heaves out a sigh.

Oscar doesn’t stop until he hits the corner, chest heaving from laughter. You skid to a halt beside him, hair wild in the wind, eyes bright. The cigarette’s long gone, tossed in a bin somewhere behind them.

“That was expensive,” you whine.

“More incentive for you to quit it, then,” he responds.

You glare up at him. He rubs a knuckle into your hair, his free hand snaking to your pocket to grab the rest of the pack. You screech profanities as he bins it, but he makes it up to you with a meal of your choosing. It takes a sizable chunk out of the racing salary he sets aside for leisure, but you’re unrepentant and he’s wrapped around your finger.

You’re both older now. But sometimes, it still feels like nothing’s changed at all.

Albert Park is golden in the late afternoon.

The sun spills through the treetops, casting shadows across the path as Oscar kicks absently at a stray pebble, hands buried in his jacket pockets. You’re walking beside him, careful to match his pace even as his strides grow longer with whatever is bubbling up inside him.

A new year. A new contract. A new team, new plan, new person he has to be.

“It’s all happening so fast,” he mutters. “The Renault thing. Tests. Travel. They said it’s everything I ever wanted—and it is, it is—but I can’t stop feeling like I’m coming apart.”

You glance at him, brows furrowed. “Coming apart how?”

Oscar raises one shoulder in a shrug. He doesn’t know how to explain himself, but you’ve always had this philosophy that helped him be more honest around you. Say it first, you’d say. Backtrack later.

“I’m just not good like my sisters,” he blurts out, reaching and settling for a familiar comparison that might make him more comprehensible. “They’re—Hattie’s top of her class, Edie’s already talking uni offers, Mae’s got that whole ‘brightest light in the room’ thing. And me? I’m angry, and I’m restless, and I drive fast cars because I don’t know how to sit still.”

“You don’t have to be, O.”

He lets out a dry laugh. "Why? Are you about to tell me that I’m patient and kind, that I do not envy and I do not boast?"

You stop walking. He does too, when he notices.

You’re just a step or two behind him, the afternoon sun bathing you in a light that practically rivals the warmth you radiate. But there’s something so utterly stricken on your expression, something so undeniably raw that Oscar feels everything click into place.

The look on your face is one his parents sometimes give each other. He’s seen it in movies, seen it in the photos of his mates with long-term relationships. It’s the expression you’ve given him for years, and years, and years, and he feels like the world’s biggest fool for missing all the signs.

“No,” you say softly, denying him of his cruelty, of his failures. You think of him like that—patient, kind, humble.

The makings of a person who deserves—

Oscar begins to shake his head, saying, “No. No.”

“It’s no use, Oscar,” you say, your fingers curling into fists at your sides, and that’s his first sign that this is really about to happen. Not O, not Piastri, not any of the dozen annoying nicknames you’ve assigned him over the years.

“Please, no—”

“We gotta have it out—”

“No, no—”

Your conversation overlaps. It’s a twisted kind of waltz, as if the two of you are out of tune and out of step for the first time in your lives. Oscar starts pacing. Like he might somehow be able to run from what’s about to come.

You barrel on. “I’ve loved you ever since I’ve known you, Oscar,” you breathe, following his panicked steps. “I couldn’t help it, and I’ve tried to show it but you wouldn’t let me, which is fine—”

“It’s not—”

“I’m going to make you hear it now, and you’re going to give me an answer, because I can’t go on like this.”

He flinches, takes a half-step back. Tries to say your name with more of those despairing please, don’ts, which fall on deaf ears.

You step toward him like the whole park is tilting and he’s the only thing keeping you upright. The words pour out too quickly now, too long held back. Years worth of yearning, bearing down on an unassuming Saturday.

“I gave up smoking. I gave up everything you didn’t like,” you say. “And I’m happy I did, it’s fine. And I waited, and I never complained because I—”

You stutter, swaying on your feet like the weight of your next words was too heavy for you to shoulder. You soldier through like a champion; that’s why Oscar listens, hears them out, even though they rip through him as if he’s crashed right into a wall.

“You know, I figured you’d love me, Oscar.”

A damning confession. The kind that should be safe in Oscar’s hands, but his fingers are shaky and his eyes are wide and he thinks he’s going to die, then and there, over how absolutely heartbroken you look that he’s not agreeing with you immediately. That his love was something vouchsafed, a promise for a later time.

“And I realize I’m not half good enough,” you whimper, “and I’m not this great girl—”

“You are.” Helplessness wrenches the words out of Oscar’s chest. It’s the same emotion that has him surging forward, his hands darting out to hold your shoulders and keep you upright, keep you looking at him. “You’re a great deal too good for me, and I’m so grateful to you and I’m so proud of you. I just—”

He falters. You gave him your honesty, so he fights to give you his.

“I don’t see why I can’t love you as you want me to,” he confesses. “I don’t know why.”

Your voice gets impossibly smaller. “You can’t?”

His eyes close, just for a moment, before he answers. “No,” he says slowly, each word measured against your frantic ones. “I can’t change how I feel, and it would be a lie to say I do when I don’t. I’m so sorry. I’m so desperately sorry, but I just can’t help it.”

You step back; his hands fall to his sides. The distance opens like a wound.

“I can’t love anyone else, Oscar,” you say dazedly. “I’ll only love you.”

“It would be a disaster if we dated,” Oscar insists. “We’d be miserable. We both have such quick tempers—”

“If you loved me, Oscar, I would be a perfect saint!”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. I’ve tried it and failed.”

And he has. He’s had sleepovers with you, wondering what it might feel like to wrap his arm around your waist. He had once contemplated holding your hand during a movie. He figured it would be a given; no one would bat an eye. You and Oscar.

Except his heart had never fully gotten the memo, and now he pays the price for only ever being able to love the thrill of a race.

Your voice catches on your next words. “Everyone expects it,” you say in a ditch attempt to change his mind. “Grandpa. Your parents, your sisters. I've never begged you for anything, but—say yes, and let’s be happy together, Oscar.”

“I can't," he repeats, each syllable heavy. “I can’t say yes truly, so I’m not going to say it at all.”

The evening light keeps on glowing. The world doesn’t end. But you feel like it might've anyway, and he’s right there in that boat with you. You’re willing to settle for scraps, while Oscar refuses to give you half-measures. The silence between you stretches taut, pulling thinner and thinner until it threatens to snap.

“You’ll see that I’m right, eventually,” he says. Like he believes it will make the truth hurt less. “And you’ll thank me for it.”

You laugh bitterly. “I'd rather die.”

He looks like you slapped him. “Don’t say that.”

You’re walking, now, your pace quick as you hurtle down the park pathway with the vengeance of a woman scorned. He calls your name and follows, keeping a sizable distance between you should you not want him too close.

“Listen, you'll find some guy who will adore you, and treat you right, and love you like you deserve,” he pleads, skidding in front of you and forcing you to do a full stop. “But— I wouldn’t. Look at me. I’m homely, and I’m awkward, and I’m mean—”

“I love you, Oscar,” you say, as if you’re savoring the first and last times you will get to say the words.

He goes on. He can’t answer that, can’t say anything to those words. “And you’d be ashamed of me—”

“I love you, Oscar.”

“And we would always fight. We can’t help it even now!” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I’ll never give up racing, and you’ll have to hide all your vices, and we would be unhappy. And we’d wish we hadn’t done it, and everything will be terrible.”

He gasps for air. You blink back the sting in your eyes. “Is there anything more?” you ask.

He meets your gaze, and finds nothing there but rightful heartbreak. “No,” he murmurs. “Nothing more.”

You shoulder past him. He tilts his head back and eyes the sky for a moment, praying to be struck down by any higher power that exists. “Except that—” he starts, and you turn around so fast.

You turn, retracing your steps, and the guilt wells up in him like a faucet that had burst. He realizes—you think he’s going to take it back. You think it’s going to be a … but I love you instead of an I love you, but…

“I don’t think I'll ever fall in love,” he manages. “I’m happy as I am, and love my liberty too well to be in any hurry to give it up.”

Your expression crumples. “I think you’re wrong about that,” you sigh.

“No.”

You shake your head, slowly. “I think you will care for somebody, Oscar. You’ll find someone, and you’ll love them, and you’ll live and die for them because that’s your way and your will.”

Oscar’s way. Oscar’s will. Two things he’s believed in wholeheartedly, until they’ve both failed him. Failed you.

You take a step back. The anger you once claimed to always have is somewhere, there, beneath all the hurt and the love. Oscar sees it, now. All of it; all of you.

“And I’ll watch,” you add.

Oscar will love someone— and you’ll watch.

The wind rustles the leaves above. A bird sings somewhere in the distance. But all you hear is the sound of something breaking open, and bleeding between you.

The deep and dying breath of the love you’d been working on.

Oscar doesn’t see you much after that night in Albert Park.

You’re still around, still next door. He hears you laughing with Hattie, helping Mae with a school project, or chatting idly with his mum over the fence. But it’s not the same. Something fundamental had shifted.

He tries. God knows he tries. He greets you when he sees you on the street. Makes light jokes. Keeps it easy, breezy, friendly. But every conversation feels like a performance, a pale imitation of what it used to be.

He’d broken both your hearts. He knows that too well.

Oscar doesn’t tell anyone, not even Hattie, who always had a sixth sense for these things. He lets you control that narrative; he’s sure you’ll tell his sisters, and they’ll all have something to say. Surprisingly, none of them bring it up. He wonders if that’d been your condition with them, and he is grateful, and he is angry, and he is so, so sorry.

He channels everything into racing. He throws himself into his training, enough that it gets him trophies and podiums and a contract with a frontrunning team.

His dream—the one he’d chased his whole life—is here.

And it’s everything he ever wanted. Almost.

A few days before he’s due to fly out for testing with McLaren, he finds himself in the backyard, watering the garden with Mae. She’s picking mint leaves with the same dramatic flair she does everything. He doesn’t notice when she says your name until the silence that follows makes him realize he’s been staring blankly at the hose.

You have a part-time job now, Mae had said. Oscar knows. Not from you. Rarely does he know anything about you from you nowadays. He watches your life in fifteen Instagram stories, in the Facebook posts of your grandfather. He hears about you from his parents and whichever of his sisters is feeling particularly brave that day.

It’s so sudden, his urge to be honest. And so, for the first time since what happened in the park—he lets himself speak his mind.

“Maybe I was too quick in turning her down,” he says, voice low. Contemplative.

Mae looks up from the mint. She looks a bit surprised, like she hadn’t expected to be the one to get Oscar to finally crack after over a year of dancing around the topic.

“Do you love her?” she asks outright.

He fucking hesitates.

His throat feels dry.

“If she asked me again, I think I would say yes,” he says instead, his gaze fixed on the poor tomato plant now drowning in water. “Do you think she’ll ask me again?”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Mae straighten. She brushes her hands against her jeans and stares straight at him, willing him to look at her. “But do you love her?” she repeats, and he knows it’s not a question he’s going to escape.

“I want to be loved,” Oscar admits. The words taste like copper.

Mae doesn't flinch. “That's not the same as loving. If you wanted to be loved, then get a fucking fan club,” she spits.

Her voice is firm, but not cruel. It lands with the weight of care disguised as exasperation. And Oscar feels so much, then, but above all he feels gratitude that his sisters love you like one of their own. Their fierce protectiveness of your welfare—in the face of Oscar’s indecision—knocks some much-needed sense into him.

“You’re right,” he says quietly.

“She deserves more than piecemeal affection, Oscar,” Mae adds, softening. “You can’t go halfsies with someone like her.”

Oscar knows his sister is right.

Something aches in his chest, then. He can’t tell if it’s loneliness or the shape of losing you, still carved somewhere in his chest. Beneath the ache of what he turned away is the terrible fear that he never really understood what he was saying no to.

“I won’t do anything stupid,” he promises Mae.

Later that afternoon, Oscar is pouring himself a glass of water in the kitchen when movement catches his eye through the window. He turns and sees you biking past with Hattie. Your carefree laughter carries across the breeze, light and familiar. Your hair catches the sun.

You glance up and see him. There’s a pause. Beyond the cursory small talk, the two of you haven’t really talked much this break. He understands why you need your space., and so he never presses, never pushes.

Even though he can’t help but think of how a pre-confession you might have reacted. How you would’ve ditched your bike and slammed into the house, demanding he pour you a drink, too. Or how you would’ve goaded him into a race until the two of you were spilling onto the pavement, all breathless laughter and skinned knees.

As it is, all Oscar gets is a polite smile and a half-wave. He doesn’t know if it’s a hello or a goodbye.

He raises his hand, waves back. He watches until you disappear around the corner.

And then he keeps watching, long after you’re gone.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Stupid stupid stupid

I hope this email finds you well.

Actually, I hope it never finds you. This is a bit stupid. A lot stupid. But I’ve just had my first proper testing and I wanted to text you about it, except I wasn’t sure how you might feel to hear from me. I reached for my phone, opened our text thread, and then decided to fake an email to you instead.

You’re right. It’s definitely more orange than papaya.

And Lando Norris is not so bad. I think you’d like him. But not like like him. I’m not sure, actually. We could find out. Or not.

This is stupid. Bye.

— O. (McLaren Technology Centre)

---

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: I don’t know what to call this one

Hey,

Doha's airport smells like cleaning chemicals and tired people. I watched a family fall asleep upright on a bench. The dad had his hand curled around the kid's backpack like he was scared someone would run off with it. I don't know why I'm telling you this.

Maybe because it's 2AM and I'm tired and I can't sleep on planes unless you're next to me. Which is stupid, because you were never on that many flights with me. But the ones you were? I slept like a rock.

I hope you're well. I hope you're sleeping.

—O. (Doha International Airport)

---

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: New Year

Happy New Year.

I watched the fireworks from the hotel rooftop. I wish I was back in Melbourne, but stuff made it not-possible.

It was cold. Everyone had someone to kiss. I had a glass of champagne and a view.

You came to mind. You always do when things start or end. I'm starting to think that's what you are to me. The start and the end.

Love, O. (Hotel de Paris Monte-Carlo)

Edited to add: It was midnight when I wrote all that stuff. I’m rereading it now, hungover at the breakfast buffet. Guess I can be a bit of a romantic too, huh? Although I think it’s only ever with you.

---

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: You're in my dreams

I dreamed about you again. You were wearing that ridiculous jacket you got on sale for $5, the one you claimed made you look mega. You did not look mega. You looked like someone lost a bet.

You hugged me and told me everything would be okay. Then I woke up and it wasn’t.

I know I don’t get to tell you this anymore, but I miss you.

—O. (Tokyo Bay Ariake Washington Hotel)

---

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Hahaha

I heard someone with your exact laugh. Turned my head so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash.

It wasn’t you.

You’d tease me for how dramatic that sounds. You always said I was a little too sentimental for a boy who liked going fast.

Still thinking of you.

—O. (Silverstone Circuit)

---

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: If I had said yes…

Sometimes I think about what would have happened if I’d said yes that day in Albert Park.

I don’t know if we would’ve worked. Maybe we would have burned bright and fast and hurt each other in the end. Or maybe we would’ve grown into each other like roots. I don’t know. I just know I still think about it.

And that’s not fair. And I would never tell a soul. I just

wonder.

Sometimes.

Always your O. (Yas Marina Circuit)

The glitch hits sometime between 2 and 3 a.m. local time.

Oscar doesn’t notice at first. He’s still jet-lagged from the flight from Abu Dhabi, half-awake on his phone in bed, replying to a team manager's message. It's not until he opens his inbox to forward a document and sees the string of outbox confirmations—all with your name in the recipient line—that he realizes something is very, very wrong.

His breath catches.

He stares at the screen for a long, stunned moment before scrambling up from bed, heart in his throat. He checks the Sent folder. It’s all there. Every last one. The emails he never meant to send.

They'd been his safekeepings. His way of getting through the ache without adding more weight to yours. Some were barely a few sentences; others pages long. And all of them, every last word, are now sitting in your inbox like little bombs waiting to go off.

He Googles it with trembling fingers. Gmail glitch sends drafts.

He sees the headlines flooding in. Tech sites confirm that a rare global sync error had triggered thousands of unsent drafts to be sent automatically. They call it “an unprecedented failure.” Users are up in arms. Memes are already spreading.

Oscar wants to fucking hurl.

He’s home for the winter holidays. Back in Melbourne, back in his childhood room with the familiar creak in the floorboard by the desk. And you—you’re just next door.

You. With those emails.

He covers his face with both hands, dragging his palms down slowly.

“Holy shit,” he mutters to himself.

There’s no escape to this. Just the silent, inescapable weight of every unsaid thing now said. Every truth, every maybe, every I thought of you today signed off with hotel names and airport codes and times when he was still trying to figure out how to stop missing you.

And now you know. Every word of it. Every selfish, unfair thought that he didn’t deserve to have about you, not after he’d ripped your heart right out of your chest.

He peeks out the window before he can stop himself. Your lights are on.

For some reason, Oscar is reminded of the book you had been so obsessed with as a child. The classic Great Gatsby; the millionaire with his green light at the edge of the dock. Oscar never really cared much for the metaphor of it until now, until he stares at the filtered, warm light streaking through your curtains like it’s something he will forever be in relentless pursuit of.

But then your light flickers off, and Oscar stumbles back down to his bed.

You’re going to sleep, he realizes with a breath of relief. He sinks into the mattress with a thousand curses against modern technology.

Oscar tells himself he’ll talk to you tomorrow. Explain everything. Try to salvage what’s left of the peace you’ve both learned to live in, however shaky and distant it is. He’ll explain that he didn’t send them on purpose. That he’s sorry. That he didn’t mean to—

A soft knock at the window makes him bolt upright.

He hasn’t heard that sound in years. Not since you were kids and the ladder in his backyard was your shared secret.

His breath catches. He doesn’t move right away.

He has to be dreaming, he thinks dazedly, but then he hears it again. Three quick taps. A familiar rhythm.

Oscar throws the covers off and crosses the room in two strides. He pulls the curtain aside.

You’re standing on the top rung of the ladder, and he briefly contemplates making a run for it again.

Instead, he throws the window open. You climb in without a word, landing on the floor of his bedroom with the same ease you always had. You’re in cotton pajamas with a hastily thrown-on hoodie, which—whether you remember or not—had been one of Oscar’s from years and years ago.

“It’s the middle of the night,” he breathes.

“And you’re in love with me,” you say without preamble.

Accusation. Question.

Fact?

Oscar is frozen like a deer caught in headlights. You’re staring up at him, searching, with that same matchstick flame of anger that has carried you through life so far.

When he doesn’t immediately counter you, you go on. “Do you love me because I love you?” you ask, and the question knocks the wind out of Oscar.

“No,” he says quickly. “It’s not like that.”

He— he would never forgive himself, if his affection for you was nothing more than an attempt at reciprocation.

You stare at him through the darkness. “Why, then?” you press, because of course you deserve to know why.

His throat works around the answer. It’s a confession that’s been in the making for more than a year. In some ways, it’s been there since he almost sat on you at that damn house party. The words tumble out of him, overdue but not any less sincere.

“I love you because you’re a terrible dancer,” he says, “and you know how to swim against riptides, and you’re the person I think of when I’ve had a bad free practice and when I'm on the top step of a podium. I love you. It just took me a little while to get here, but I do.”

“O,” you start. He’s not ready to hear it.

He steps back, as if to give you space he should’ve offered long ago. “I don’t expect you to have waited,” he says hastily. “I would never—I would never ask you to reconsider, not when I know the type of person I am and how much time it took for me to get here.”

“Oscar.”

“But I love you. I don't know how not to.”

The room is silent, but it feels like it holds the weight of a thousand words left unsaid. The ones he wrote.

You remind Oscar, gently, of what you said in Albert Park those many years ago. “I can’t love anybody else either,” you say, your eyes never leaving his face even as he begins to panic, starts to retreat.

He swallows hard, his throat moving with the effort. “I should have realized sooner,” he babbles. “I should’ve known. I—”

You reach out, your hand slipping into his. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

It feels so good—your fingers in between the spaces of his. He wishes he could appreciate it more, but his race-brain has kicked in, and he’s suddenly not the calm, cool, and collected Oscar that everybody in the world think they know.

No, he’s your Oscar. The one who’s a little bit of a wreck. The one who is always racing away from something.

“I wasn’t kind,” he says, voice tight. “I let you go. I thought I was doing the right thing. and maybe I did, but it still hurt you. It ruined everything.”

“We’re here now,” you say simply. “That means something, doesn’t it?”

“What if we ruin what’s left? What if it doesn't work?”

You smile at him, soft and sure. “Then it doesn’t. But I don’t think we’ll fail.”

“I’m still homely, and awkward, and—”

Mean, he meant to say, but then you’re pressing your lips against his.

It silences all his fretting, all his guilt. For a second, he doesn’t move, stunned into stillness, and then he kisses you back like he’s falling into something he’s wanted his whole life but never believed he could have. Like he can’t breathe unless he's doing this, unless he’s kissing you.

When he’s more sane, when he’s less panicked, this is something the two of you will talk about. He knows that.

In this very moment, though, he can only watch his sharp edges dull; the fury of his rage, extinguish. The softness of your understanding, the kindness of your patience, the gentleness of your kiss. It’s all he wanted, all he needs.

His hands frame your face, hesitant, reverent, like he can't believe you’re really here with him. That you waited. That you still want him.

In his head, he makes a promise: If he must hit the ground running, he will make sure it’s towards you.

When the two of you pull back for air, you murmur teasingly against his lips, “Your emails found me well.”

He giggles, a short, incredulous sound, before kissing the laughter right out of your mouth. ⛐

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri fic #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x you #formula one x you #⛐ op81 #⛐ kae prix #felt like i just birthed this fic .. whew .. tappin out for now!!

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chubby-bun-bun · 4 months ago

Text

anything for you, darling

If only you knew the atrocities he would commit, all in the name of his devotion to you.

tags: sylus x reader, hurt/comfort

You’re lying on your side, head nestled on his lap. Above you, you faintly hear him humming—a low, gravelly tune, his steady hand gently carding through your hair. The melody is slightly discordant, but the rich timbre of his voice makes you close your eyes, leaning subconsciously into his touch.

The party downstairs is in full swing, but you don’t feel like joining in on the fun. Odd, considering how much you’d looked forward to this event—a celebration of his recent acquisition of a coveted arms manufacturing company.

But when you went to the vanity he’d built for you for a final once-over, your excitement faltered. The dress, while breathtaking and clearly crafted with care and intention, doesn’t accentuate the places you’d hoped it would. It must be your body, you think. It just doesn’t do the dress justice.

And so, you retreated to hide away in his room.

It wasn’t long before he found you, though.

He didn’t ask why you were there. Without a word, he made his way to the bed, propped himself against the headboard, and pulled you to him.

Which brings you to this moment, lying on his lap, lulled by his crooked yet endearing lullaby as his fingers thread through your hair.

“The dress is lovely,” you murmur. “Thank you for having it made for me.”

“It looks especially lovely on you—everything does,” he replies, sincere, pulling a small, rueful smile from you.

“You don’t have to compliment me all the time, Sy,” you say, chuckling.

The hand in your hair stills. “I mean every word of praise I throw your way.”

You pat his knee gently. “I know. I just don’t want it to feel like a chore for you, is all.”

A firm but tender grip on your jaw draws your gaze up to meet his. His garnet eyes burn with intensity, pinning you in place.

“Did someone say something tonight?” he asks, tone low. The subtle threat in his inquiry sends a chill down your spine.

“No!” you stammer, a hand darting out to press against his chest. “No one said anything. I’m just…my mind’s just all over the place.”

His eyes narrow, and a thumb brushes over the corner of your mouth. “If anyone dares to say anything to you, you tell me. Do you understand?”

“Yes!” you squeak, face now thoroughly warm.

He relaxes, releasing you before resuming his ministrations in your hair.

You take a few moments to calm your racing pulse. “You should stop being so scary,” you mutter, poking at the buttons of his tailored suit.

“I’m afraid being scary comes with this line of work.”

“It sounded like you’d kill the hypothetical person who said something mean to me.”

“Sweetie, I’d burn the world for you.”

Your retort dies in your throat.

His eyes are closed again, and he’s resumed his humming. You want to call him out on his joke, but deep down, you know he means it.

“Sylus?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

You feel a gentle pat on your forehead.

“Anytime, kitten.”

other works

#every night i pray that the isekai mechanism exists #and that i get isekaid into lads #and be with sylus #im being so fr #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x mc #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #love and deepspace #ori.writes #sylus angst #sylus hurt/comfort #sylus comfort

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foxy-eva · 5 months ago

Text

A Lesson in Faking it

Summary: An evening of fake dating leads to a night of revealing true feelings

Request: They have to pose as a couple and heavy make out in a club or a bar to get the attention of an unsub. When the case is over they also have to share the hotel bedroom

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut, Fluff

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) Fake dating in a swinger club, mentions of case related violence, consensual voyeurism (because they are in a swinger club) including BDSM scenes, implied bisexual reader, awkwardness, tension, jealousy, heavy kissing, fingering, protected penetrative sex

Word count: 4.2k

Masterlist

Joining the BAU came with a lot of new experiences for you. Today you learned that going to a swinger club with Spencer Reid would be one of them.

It was the hunting ground of the latest unsub you chased and you and the good looking doctor just happened to be the same age group as his previous victims. So it was only logical that you’d have to pose as a couple to finally catch this guy.

Spencer was resistant at first but when he realized it was the only good option your team had at catching this guy, he agreed at last.

“Let’s do this, babe!” you chirped as you stepped into the backseat of the car where Spencer was already waiting for you. He raised his eyebrows when he heard the nickname you chose for him.

Luke drove the car while Emily explained the details of your mission. The overly confident demeanor you displayed was your way of hiding the fact that posing as a couple with Spencer would certainly be your downfall. For weeks you had been pining after him while desperately trying to not let your true feelings show.

From the corners of his eyes your coworker ogled your outfit and you couldn't ignore how he licked his lips while doing it. The lacy top you wore barely covered your skin and left little to the imagination. Together with skin-tight black leather pants it was the perfect outfit for a fake date night at the swinger club.

Turning to Spencer, you looked at his clothes. He was wearing a black dress shirt and suit pants, not too different from his usual work attire. With a playful smirk you reached for his shirt, prompting him to almost jump at the contact.

“What are you doing?” he squeaked, his voice a lot higher than usual.

He didn't stop you when you undid the first two buttons of his shirt. “Making you look less like an agent,” you explained.

“Reid, you better get used to her touching you,” Luke laughed while looking at the rear-view mirror. “Don’t bust this mission right away.”

“We’re not undercover yet,” he retorted while rolling his eyes.

“Maybe you two should talk about your boundaries before you go in,” Emily suggested with a firm tone. “I don't want either of you to be uncomfortable.”

Spencer sighed at her words. “That’s gonna be difficult in a swinger club.”

Emily turned around to look at the two of you. “You said you were okay with it. We can abort this mission right now if you’re having second thoughts.”

“No, it’s fine,” Spencer said and looked at you. “As long as you’re okay with it, too.”

You nodded. “I’m good.”

That's what you had convinced yourself to believe, at least. Being surrounded by half-naked people in an overtly sexual environment while trying to catch a killer with your ridiculously attractive coworker was certainly not an easy task. Neither Spencer nor you had been to a place like that before. It was hard to imagine what exactly would expect you and how that would make you feel.

“Are you okay with me touching you?” Spencer asked, concern written over his face.

Despite Emily’s suggestion to discuss exactly that, his question still caught you by surprise. Imagining his hands brushing along your body let your heart beat uncomfortably fast inside your chest.

“Uhm… yeah, I am. Just not uh… everywhere,” you awkwardly laughed.

“Just be reasonable,” Emily requested. “I really don’t want us to end up in a meeting with HR.”

“What about kissing?” Spencer asked both you and Emily.

A silent gasp rolling over your lips at the thought of his mouth on yours. Of course you knew that anything happening tonight was a sham but that didn’t change the fact that you yearned for his nearness nonetheless.

“If you're both comfortable with it,” your unit chief answered.

Without thinking too much about it, you said, “I’m okay with it.”

A reassuring smile spread over Spencer’s face. “Yeah, me too.”

“Make sure to never separate and have each other’s backs,” Luke reminded you. “You're both wearing your ankle holsters, right?”

In unison Spencer and you nodded.

“From what we know he’ll try to separate his victims from the crowd by asking them to watch them or join them having sex. The men were all tied up when they were found, that's how he gained control. Don't forget that he’s extremely dangerous once you're alone with him. He has managed to overpower three couples so far,” Emily warned you. “So please be careful.”

There was no reason to worry, you knew that Spencer would not let anything happen to you. His presence made you feel safe and you were confident that this mission would be successful.

At your destination, you got out of the car and instinctively grabbed Spencer's hand as you approached the entrance of the club. There was no hesitation on his side either, he intertwined his fingers with yours without making a comment. It felt natural, almost normal to hold his hand.

Once you stepped in, you were glad to have someone to hold onto. The sight of barely clothed people flirting and making out with each other was overwhelming. When you walked by a couple having sex in a jacuzzi, you felt the heat rushing to your face.

It was almost impossible to focus and you had no idea where to look without seeing something even more scandalous. Spencer noticed your current state and gently squeezed your hand.

“It will take a few moments to desensitize,” he explained seemingly unfazed. “Just try to relax.”

How he could stay so cool in a situation so awkward was inexplicable. His words proved to be right, though. After the initial shock had faded, you were able to focus more on your surroundings without feeling too much out of place.

The people in the club seemed respectful and genuine. You realized that they were all just trying to have a good time in a safe environment. A vulnerability the unsub exploited.

“You good?” Spencer murmured after locking eyes with you.

“Yeah I’m okay. Are you?”

He nodded before scanning the room once more. “Nothing suspicious so far,” he mumbled before turning back to you again. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

His words made you smile and reminded you that you were supposed to pose as a couple tonight. “Thank you.”

Spencer placed his hand around your waist to pull you closer. “So, what are you in the mood for tonight, sweetheart?”

Leaning against his body, you winked at him before chirping, “I think I just wanna watch, for now.”

You made your way around the club, peeking in every room to look out for a sign of the unsub. In an attempt to merge into the crowd, you tried your best to act like a couple enjoying the show. It was weird and awkward to be there but having Spencer by your side made it tolerable. After a while curiosity took over as you took a look around the club.

You stood in the doorframe of a room with a couple having the most sweet and loving sex when a sigh fell from your lips. It had been a while since you were intimate with anyone. Watching someone else in such a vulnerable moment let your heart yearn for a similar connection.

“They are so cute,” you said when Spencer looked at you with raised eyebrows. “Don’t you think?”

Your coworker just shrugged and took your hand to walk over to a different room. The expression on his face didn't reveal how he felt and you began to wonder if the stoicism he displayed was just a cover for his discomfort.

The next scene that unfolded in front of you was too intense to hold back a gasp. Skillfully, a man was tying ropes over a woman’s body in an artistic way. It was obvious how much she enjoyed her confinement, moaning loudly whenever another cord dug into her skin.

You couldn't help but imagine how you would feel in her place. The attention the man paid to her was unlike anything you’d ever seen. It was pure adoration.

“Woah,” you muttered. “That's beautiful.”

Spencer leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Do you have to comment on everything we see?”

Tilting your head to look at him, you retorted, “Sorry, not everyone can play it as cool as you.”

“We’re wired,” Spencer reminded you. “Our team hears everything we say.”

With a smug grin on your face you teased, “So, bondage isn’t your thing?”

Rolling his eyes, he chuckled, “No comment.”

A smirk formed on his face even though he tried to suppress it. Maybe he wasn’t as unfazed by all of this as he led on.

When you got to the next room, you almost froze in place when you realized what was happening. Two women, one more gorgeous than the other, were on a bed pleasuring each other. The skin on your face heated up so much you were practically glowing. With your mouth hanging open, you couldn't avert your eyes from them.

From the corner of your eyes you realized that Spencer was watching you instead of them. “Interesting,” he chuckled.

Almost choking on your own saliva, you muttered, “Shut up.”

Your words caught the attention of the women in front of you. They both smiled when they looked at you.

“You’re very pretty,” one of them said to you. The other one nodded and added, “Would you like to join us?”

“Uhm…,” was the only thing that made it past your lips.

It wasn’t as if you actually considered accepting their invitation, this situation was just a little too much for you to handle.

In an instant, Spencer grabbed your hand to drag you away into a private corner.

“You need to get ahold of yourself,” he playfully scolded you.

His implication that you were acting unprofessional made you angry. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Spencer stepped closer and let his fingertips drag along the neckline of your top, making your skin break out in goosebumps. For a moment you thought he was trying to feel you up. It surprised you how little you resisted his touch. In fact, his attention was very welcome and you wouldn’t even have thought about rejecting his move.

Then you realized that he was looking for the microphone of your wire. When he found it, he pressed against it and leaned towards your ear while covering his own mic with his other hand.

“I can tell you're really aroused right now,” he softly spoke.

Embarrassment clouded your mind when you heard his words. You felt like he had just caught you in the act.

“What? That's not true!” you whisper-yelled in response.

“Are you sure about that?” He took a moment to lean back and look at you before finding your ear once more. “Your pupils are dilated, your chest is heaving and–”

“Don’t profile me!” you squeaked. Taking a moment to breathe, you asked, “How is none of this affecting you at all?”

That was when you noticed the rosy shade on his cheeks. Before he could answer, Emily’s voice echoing from your earpiece brought both of you back to reality.

“Is everything okay? We suddenly only hear muffled sounds,” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

Your coworker let go of the mics and said, “Yes, everything is fine.”

“Good,” you heard her through the earpiece. “I don’t know what exactly is going on but it sounded like you two were arguing. Remember, you’re supposed to act like a lovey-dovey couple to catch the unsub’s attention.”

“Yes, we’re on it,” Spencer said before he took your hand. “Let’s have a drink at the bar.”

Without questioning his move, you followed him and ordered a glass of water at the bar. Sipping the cool liquid helped you clear your head and focus back on your mission.

“Is it possible that he isn’t here tonight?” You asked your coworker as you watched him look around.

Seemingly absent-minded, he said, “Maybe.”

After a moment, Spencer placed his drink back on the bar and grabbed your waist to pull you closer. The sudden contact let a gasp fall from your mouth. His lips lowered down to your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, your arms found their home around his neck to pull him even closer.

“Someone’s watching us,” he breathed before gently letting his lips graze over your pulse point. Before he proceeded, he wanted to make sure, “I’m going to kiss you now. Is that okay?”

“Y… Yes.”

Without hesitation, his hands cupped your cheeks as he leaned in for the kiss. Your heart threatened to jump out of your chest and you couldn’t help but press your body firmly against his to feel even more of him. Playfully, your fingertips intertwined with the curls in the nape of his neck and you felt him smile into the kiss.

His lips were so soft and tender but grew hungrier with every second passing. Feeling his tongue brushing against yours was enough to make you forget about your surroundings and you had a feeling that the current mission might have slipped Spencer’s mind as well.

Suddenly, he leaned back before he mumbled, “He’s gone.”

Confused about what he was talking about, you mumbled, “Huh?”

“The guy who was watching us,” he clarified as he turned his head to look for him. “Come, I have an idea.”

Following his lead, you walked right behind him as he approached an empty room. He left the door wide open when he entered, allowing any passerby to watch whatever he was planning to do. Nervousness overcame you when you locked eyes with him, unsure of what he had in mind.

Gently, he grabbed your arms to turn you around so you were facing the door. He stood right behind you as he placed his hands on your waist and leaned down to whisper, “Keep your eyes on the door. And please tell me if you’re uncomfortable.”

Then he began kissing along your neck, licking and nipping on the sensitive skin in a way that made your head spin. However, it was nothing compared to the feeling that overcame you when his hands began wandering over your body. His fingertips buried into the fabric of your shirt as they moved further down to grip your hips.

There was no way to hinder the moan from falling from your lips. Spencer halted his motions for a split second, obviously surprised by your reaction, before he continued. You tilted your head to give him better access as he continued caressing your neck while his hands explored your body.

It was difficult to keep your eyes open but you still managed to watch the curious glances of the people passing by. One man walked by the room and lingered for several moments before he disappeared again, only to come back a few seconds later. He stood in the doorframe to unabashedly watch how your coworker manhandled your body.

“Babe,” you moaned to alert him. “Don’t stop.”

Your coworker understood immediately, his eyes fluttering open to look at the man watching the two of you. Now all you had to do was to make him take the bait.

Your nerves were on edge, adrenaline rushing through your body at the thought that a potential serial killer was watching you. Turning your head, you found Spencer’s lips while his hands moved along your top to carefully touch your breasts. That was what seemed to catch the man’s attention.

“Can I join you two?” He said as he stepped closer.

Spencer let go of you to watch him intently. You looked at the unsub, faking your best smile when you said, “Of course.”

Closing the door behind him, he walked towards you, scanning your body as he licked his lips. The way he looked at you sent a shiver down your spine and let a knot form in your stomach. If this really was the unsub, you knew you couldn’t let this get too far and had to make your arrest quickly.

Stepping closer to him until there was barely any distance left, you playfully cooed, “So, what are you into?”

Motioning at your coworker, he said, “I would love to see you tie your boyfriend up and make him watch as I fuck you.”

Spencer huffed at his words. One wrong move from the guy and you were sure Spencer would break his nose. His suggestion was exactly the modus operandi you saw with the unsub. There was no more doubt it was him.

“Yeah?” you purred while reaching into your purse without raising any suspicions. Then, without a warning you swiftly grabbed his arm to pin it behind his back and push him against a wall. “What if I tied you up?” You snarled as you handcuffed him. “You’re under arrest.”

“That was smooth,” Spencer chuckled as he stepped closer to assist you.

After finishing up the arrest and the necessary paperwork for the day, your team headed to the hotel for the night.

“Sorry guys, the hotel is overbooked,” Emily announced once she returned from the reception with keycards in her hands. “We’ll have to double up.”

Before you realized what was happening, everyone of your coworkers quickly paired up with someone and left you and Spencer standing in the lobby. Too much had already happened tonight and you were too tired to try to convince someone else to share a room with you. If you could make out with him in a swinger club, you’d survive sharing a hotel room with Spencer.

When you entered the room you quickly realized that there was only one bed. “Of course,” you laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

“Are you okay with this?” Spencer wondered when he came to halt behind you. “I can sleep on the floor if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Yeah right,” you deadpanned. “You can grope my boobs but sharing a bed is where we draw the line.”

Turning around to find his eyes, you noticed how the color drained from his face at your words.

“I was joking. Relax! We’re all good,” you tried to calm him.

“I still feel like I overstepped back there,” he confessed as his sight dropped to the floor.

You stepped closer to him and placed your palms on his chest, tenderly brushing over the fabric of his dress shirt. “See?” you snickered. “Now we’re even.”

Locking eyes with you, he showed you the sweetest smile. “What about your hickey?” he chuckled.

In an instant your hand flew to your neck as you walked over to the mirror. With widened eyes you squeaked, “You gave me a hickey?!”

Inspecting the red and blue spot on your neck, you felt your cheeks heating up. The fact that Spencer had left a mark on you and everyone had already seen it before you could cover it up, made you feel dizzy.

Spencer walked up behind you and found your eyes in the mirror. “Can I be honest with you?” After you nodded, he said, “I did it on purpose.”

“Why?”

His voice was laced with a certain desperation when he kept talking. “I hated the way the people at the club looked at you. Like you were just another piece they needed for their collection.”

Confusion was written over your face when you stared at him through the reflection of the mirror. Focussed on watching everyone else back there, you hadn’t noticed how the other people at the swinger club had looked at you.

“So you marked me?” you mumbled.

For a moment he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I know you were just pretending but it was too hard to resist. I’m sorry, I overstepped.”

His choice of words replayed in your mind once more until you realized what they meant.

“Spencer,” you muttered as you turned around to face him. “Are you saying you were jealous? For real?”

“Yes,” he confessed.

It was as if his words broke the last restraint you still had. There was no more going back from this and you both knew it. Spencer still seemed surprised when you swung your arms around his neck to capture his lips in a hungry kiss. After the initial shock subsided, he grabbed your waist and reciprocated your motions.

“I have wanted this for so long,” he muttered against your lips.

Between more kisses you breathed, “Me too.”

Weeks of longing and pining finally unloaded as you both gave into your desires. Walking over to the bed, you hastily began undressing one another until the last piece of clothing fell to the floor and you laid down on the mattress.

Spencer took a moment to take in your beauty before he joined you. “You’re so pretty,” he cooed between more kisses. “So are you,” you answered as you welcomed him on top of you.

His lips grazed along your jaw before they found your neck, littering it with tender kisses. When he bit down on the sensitive skin, your hands flew to his hair to tug on them.

“Please no more hickey,” you purred. “I’m already yours.”

Leaning back, he found your eyes, a soft smile painted over his face. Then he kissed you again, groaning, “Mine” against your lips.

The confirming hum you let out in response quickly morphed into a whine once you felt one of his hands moving down your body. With purposeful motions it found its destination between your legs, making your body tremble at the sudden contact.

Despite still yearning for more kisses, Spencer leaned back to be able to look at you when he began dragging his fingertips along your slit. When he found you already desperate for his touch, he sighed and closed his eyes for a second to savor the moment.

You couldn’t hold back anymore and began rocking your hips against his hand ever so slightly. He wasn’t in a teasing mood and obliged your silent plea as he began drawing precise circles around your little nub.

“Spencer,” you whined his name and noticed how his pupils dilated. “Please!”

Two of his fingers lingered at your entrance for a second before slowly pushing in, making you arch your back at the sudden pressure. Your hand became curious as well and wandered down his stomach until it made contact with the tender skin of his cock. Before you could fully wrap your fingers around him, Spencer’s body began trembling.

“I need you,” he whined, desperation clearly audible in his voice.

Take me, you wanted to beg him before the rational side of your brain took over. “Do you have a condom?” you said instead.

“Y… Yeah, I do,” he murmured as he carefully withdrew his hand from your center.

Hurried and with little grace he got up from the bed to find his bag. He pulled out the condom and returned, finding you staring at him with raised eyebrows and a smug grin. For a moment you considered asking him why exactly he had condoms in his go-bag but decided against it. Right then you were glad he was prepared.

Kneeling between your legs, he put the condom on before leaning over you to capture your lips in another kiss. You reached between your bodies to guide him to your waiting heat. He didn’t hesitate to push into you, a deep groan escaping his throat as he felt your tight walls enveloping him.

The pressure he provided was almost overwhelming, making you whimper when he was fully inside you. Before he could mistake your excitement with discomfort, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pleaded, “Fuck me, Spencer.”

Slow at first, he began pushing into you until he was sure that you could take the full extent of his eagerness. With purposeful motions he thrusted into you, showing no more reservations when you began singing his praise in the form of moans falling from your lips.

When your walls began fluttering around him, Spencer realized how close he had come to his own downfall. Neither of you wanted it to be over. Both of you craved to prolong this feeling of being one.

“You feel so good,” he praised you as his motions became more erratic.

You stared up at the man on top of you, heat rushing through your body at the sight. Shimmering skin and unruly curls, crimson red cheeks and lips hanging open, lust filled eyes and scrunched up brows. Never in your life had you seen anything more beautiful.

Your name fell from his lips like a prayer right when his hand moved to where your bodies were joined to press his thumb against your most sensitive spot. The way he caressed you sent shockwaves through your body, feeding the tension that begged to be released.

When ecstasy finally overcame you, Spencer followed you into the sensation of pure bliss. Every pulsing of your walls was answered with him twitching inside you before he collapsed into your arms.

Your fingers began playing with his curls as he evened out his breathing against your neck. It was then that you realized that even when you pretended to be a couple earlier, there was no reason to fake anything. It had been real from the start.

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings @eliana773 @hits-different-cause-its-you @spensreid @silversprings-mp3

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff

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okwonyo · 5 months ago

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NERVOUS, 或 𓈒𓈒 making them loose it.

SUCC𝑖NCT───────⠀❛ 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗏𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄𓈒 ❜

( R𝑒QUESTED ) 𓈒 ⠀𝒾 ⠀⦂ ⠀ 엔하이픈 ୨୧ f ╱ r! 7OO fluff ── non idol au skinship ⠀ ｡｡ ⠀ ( 𝑜𝑜𝑒𝑢𝑣𝑟𝑒𝑠 )

지아 ⠀⦂ ⠀dedicated to @jaexiyu my girlfriend 🎀

( ˊᗜˋreblogs&feedbacks · C𝑙𝑖CK )

HEESEUNG&princess treatment : the simple action of your hand reaching his cheek, then cupping his jaw in your palm ever gently before, under his hypnotised gaze, running the finger tip of your thumb on the corner of his lips— sends him into a spiral. the tip of his nose gets red and he is unable to say anything, and before he can even do, the raise of your praise stops him in his tracks. warm creeps all over his body when you pat his cheeks lovingly and says, “good boy.”

“oh my god,” he chokes.

JONGSEONG&public display of affection : listen, if there is one thing about your boyfriend is that he loves to touch you. whenever he can, wherever he can. he has a thing for doing it under the public eye— sliding his strong hand on the back of your lower back, to show everyone you are his. when you do it, it is different. you showing him off makes his heart crave you even more. your thumb rubbing his nape, here in front of all your friends, makes a shiver run down all the way to his spine.

the world already faded away, “it tickles,” he tells you.

JAEYUN&tucking his hair behind his ear : he has never planned on keeping his long hair for longer than a month. usually, when he finally had the time to book an appointment at the hairdresser, he would cut it again. his hair habits completely changed when you did that for the first time. he admits that his hair was a mess at that time, but he was too busy talking to you to even notice. when your finger tucked a stray harstrand behind his ear, like in the movie, the air inside of his lungs evaporated. he couldn’t even do anything, and you adding ‘keep on going, baby’ didn’t help much.

“o-okay,” he stuttered out.

SUNGHOON&eye contacts : the hottest part about this, he thinks, is that you have no idea of the true power you have on him. he doesn’t think you even realize what is the reason he stutters or stops breathing when you talk. even during the times whereupon you watch him from afar, he stops completely in his tracks— as if you have mind control—you don’t understand. it’s your eyes, he whines all the time to his friends about. your godforsaken eyes boring in his, alluring him like a siren in the ocean, closing his mouth.

“i—you—we,” he malfunctions, his stomach aches from all the butterflies in it.

SUNOO&pet names : he remembers, there was a time where he would find any sort of petnames given by romantic partners beyond embarrassing. he was never the type to call any one by those and disliked the idea of someone using one on him. he realized later on that it wasn’t disgust but sheer nervousness. because, yes, he admits that he has a weakness that would fall on his knees for you if you dare to call him ‘babe’ one more time. he especially loves when you say it in a whine— when you groan his petnames.

he hides his face in the crook of your neck before giggling, “what?”

JUNGWON&flirting back : as the annoying and teasing boyfriend that he is, making you so flustered that your face burns and that you trip over the words you are trying to get out of your mouth, is his first mission. and he succeeds most of the time, a quick “don’t hesitate to call me if you need a hand taking that off,” while looking down at your dress. but when you retort with an “don’t start something you can’t finish, handsome,” as you slightly quirk your brow— it’s different.

“bet?” he says after five minutes of silence, but you are already doing something else.

RIKI&compliments : never in his life he has found praise and compliments embarrassing to get. in the contrary, he loved them a lot. although it is not embarrassing when it comes from you, it’s totally different— and he can’t really pinpoint why. it is just that you have always been something else, you have always known the exact way to make his emo boy act melt in one single word. his heart completely bursts when you cup his face and coo, “isn’t he so cute?”

he holds your wrist, not to get your hands away, however. he chuckles like an highscool girl amd trailing the word, “stop,”

ㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open

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yandere-daydreams · 3 months ago

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tw - non/con, afab!reader, kidnapping, captivity, semi-public sex, and wildly unbalanced power dynamics.

Valentine's Day is Satoru's favorite.

Suguru likes Halloween more (albeit, mostly the part where they dress you up in a slutty costume and fuck you with a B-rated horror movie playing in the background), but he's got a soft spot for anything that makes Satoru happy. You think something about the shamelessness of it all appeals to him - pale pink stuffed animals tall enough to reach your waist, boxes of sickeningly sweet chocolate that you'll never get around to finishing, gifts that serve no other purpose than to affirm your love for him. Of course, you can't actually get either of them much of anything, not with so many locks on the apartment door, but he and Suguru still do their best to make the day special.

Your morning starts early. Suguru sweeps you out of bed while Satoru sleeps in, holding his hand over your mouth as he explains exactly what'll happen if you ruin his little surprise. Predictably, it involves lingerie - all pink silk and red lace and unnecessary frills. He gives you a white teddy bear before taking you back to the bedroom, a heart-shaped pillow embroidered with a cursive 'Be Mine' cradled in its plush arms.

A few minutes later, he'll guide your hips as you grind against its expressionless face, Satoru's cock lodged halfway down your throat.

If you're lucky, they'll get called away shortly after the first round - to tend to their students or to handle some curse, you aren't picky when it comes to what gets them away from them. If you're not lucky, Suguru will suck love-bites into your chest while Satoru makes breakfast, occasionally calling you into the kitchen to try pancake batter or grimace while he licks whip-cream directly off of your cheek. You aren't allowed to hold cutlery, not after trying to gauge out Satoru's eyes with a butter knife shortly after your abduction, so they'll take turns feeding you before leaving for the day, Satoru pressing kisses into your cheeks and promising he'll be back soon while Suguru laughs and shakes his head.

While they're gone, you'll wander aimlessly, picking at your meager list of chores (vacuuming, laundry, etc. - enough to keep you sane, but not enough to stave off the restlessness) and generally lamenting your pitiful existence. When you find the teddy bear thrown haphazardly into a corner of their bedroom, you'll consider trying to wash it before tearing its seams open with a pair of safety scissors and hiding its disparate pieces in different places around the apartment for lack of a better way to get rid of them. You'll try to sleep the time away, but you won't be able to.

It's dark by the time they get home. Suguru made reservations months ago that you're already running late for, so you'll be allowed to dress yourself for the first time in as long as you can remember. Going out is treated like a privilege, something you ought to be thankful for, but it's hard to be appreciative with Satoru's arm wrapped so snugly around your waist, with Suguru hovering behind you, occasionally resting a hand on the back of your neck whenever you gaze lingers a little too long on any one thing. Satoru slips the hostess a bill that might've made your mouth water a little over a year ago, and you're seated at a table on the outskirts of the dining area, well hidden from prying eyes. They'll make conversation that you try and fail not to join in on, and after ordering dessert, Satoru's hand will slip under the hem of your dress. You'll ask to leave before the food reaches the table, but Suguru will insist on staying until he's gotten his money's worth and you've cum on Satoru's fingers more times than you'd care to count. When you're red-faced and teary-eyed, the waiter will ask if you're alright, and Satoru will pull you into his side while Suguru tells him that you've always been a little nervous in public.

You won't make it home before things boil over. Suguru will park somewhere seclusive as Satoru eats you out, knee deep in the backseat. When Suguru joins you, you'll finally get your present - double-penetration, both holes stuffed while they take turns filling your mouth with their tongues. You'll sob and scream and beg them to stop, say that it's too much, that you're already overstimulated, but they'll insist on making sure you get everything they have to give you. They've been looking forward to this all year, after all. It'd be a shame not to let you enjoy such a thoughtful gift to the fullest.

Exhausted and humiliated, you'll fade in and out of consciousness as Satoru carries you upstairs and Suguru runs a bath, shyly admitting that their present might've been a little self-serving. It's only after they get you tucked into bed, Satoru already excitedly telling Suguru all of his many, many plans for a quickly approaching White Day, that you'll fade into the mercy of a dreamless, thoughtless sleep.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #yandere jjk #yandere gojo satoru #yandere geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader

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kvroomi · 5 months ago

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it's 9 o'clock in the evening when atsumu barges into your bathroom while you're taking off your makeup

“hey, babe, yer phone’s charged, right?”

his voice breaks through the quiet hum of your evening, pulling your attention away from the bottle of moisturiser you'd been trying to open for the past 5 minutes. you glance up to find him leaning in the doorway. his black dress pants and light blue button-up are long gone, now replaced with a large white t-shirt and his obnoxious 'world's best setter' boxers that he must've left in the dresser you bought for him when he started staying over more often.

“yeah, why?” you ask, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

he holds up his phone with an exaggerated sigh, the screen dark. “mine’s dead." he sighs and you look at him confused.

"i was gonna call ‘samu—messaged me somethin’ about the shop. think he forgot to order noodles or… or whatever. can i borrow yours for a sec?”

you furrow your eyebrows, skepticism creeping in. atsumu wasn’t exactly known for prioritizing osamu’s last-minute “emergencies” unless they directly concerned him. “can’t you just use the landline?”

“the landline?” he places a hand on his chest in mock offense.

“what am i, a fossil?" you turn your gaze back to the mirror with a roll of your eyes.

"c’mon, babe, it’ll only take a minute. please?”

you stare at him and he stares back, the two of you locking eyes in a silent standoff. atsumu, for all his dramatics, was never great at hiding when he was up to something.

alas, as much as you wanted to pry, you also didn’t have the energy to argue over something so trivial when it was so late into the day.

“okay,” you breathe out, followed by a long sigh as you hand your phone over.

“just don’t mess with anything.” your eyes narrow threateningly.

“mess with things? me?” he shakes his head around, feigning shock. “never. yer phone’s in the safest hands imaginable.”

that already should’ve been your second red flag—though before you can even question him, he's got his back turned halfway out the door yelling “thanks, babe! yer the best!” over his shoulder.

a brief fifteen minutes have passed, which you only vaguely realise in the haze of beginning your book. you're comfortably tucked into the corner of the couch when he strolls into the living room. plopping your phone onto the cushions beside you and pressing a quick, warm kiss to the top of your head—he pokes your cheek.

“yer a lifesaver,” he says with a grin, flopping down beside you. “what would i do without ya?”

you offer him a glance, “what did osamu need?”

“huh?” you notice his grin falter. it's a split millisecond, but he's quick to cover it with a casual wave of his hand. “oh, somethin’ about… rice.”

you squint at him, trying to read his face. “i thought you said noodles earlier?”

“rice, noodles—same difference,” he says, getting up and walking over to the fridge to pull it open. “food stuff... y’know how he is.”

you let out a hum, satisfied with his answer. and just like that, the moment passes. your attention is drawn back to your book while atsumu rifles through leftovers.

it isn't until later that night when you're climbing into bed and reaching for your phone to set your alarm that you notice. the screen lights up, and instead of your usual photo of cherry blossoms, you're greeted by him—a photo of atsumu.

and it's not just any photo of atsumu, though. this one was pure chaos.

his entire face filled the frame, nose slightly scrunched, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, and his golden-brown eyes wide with faux innocence. his lips were puckered in an over-the-top kissy face. across the bottom of the image in bright, white text were the words: “miss me yet, babe? ;)”

your jaw drops.

“what the—?” you're immediately sitting up and unlocking your phone, going straight into your photo gallery. what you find only makes your disbelief grow, (and maybe your heart too, out of fondness).

the first photo was relatively tame: a selfie of atsumu sprawled out on the couch with his head sitting in his hand with a cheeky and flirty smile. of course, you think.

the second was him in the doorway of the living room with his finger pressed to his lips in a "shh" gesture while you sat on the couch, engrossed in your book.

and then things get progressively more ridiculous, (assuming that's even possible).

there's a close-up of atsumu holding up your favorite snack with an inflated, brash grin, almost as if he was offering it to you. the caption reads: “this one's for you, babe."

another captured him perched on your desk chair, holding your pencil like it was a quill. his nose is scrunched again, an attempt to portray his concentration as he pretends to scribble something brilliant.

it's the final photo that stops you in your tracks.

it's atsumu stood on the balcony, wrapped in your favorite blanket like a superhero while his arm stretched dramatically toward the sky. the caption read: “protector of this household and defender of snacks ;)”

you stare at the screen in silence, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. quite frankly, you couldn't tell whether you wanted to laugh or cry.

atsumu was many things: he was ridiculous, he was almost always over the top, and he was also occasionally the most infuriating person you’d ever met. but, there was one thing for certain—he was undeniably, wholeheartedly yours.

many people don't understand him the way you do. atsumu hadn’t just messed with your phone for the sake of it—he’d left you a trail of love notes that were neatly tucked behind each photo’s absurdity. it was his way of saying "i’m here, even when i’m not," without actually saying the words verbally.

and it worked.

you didn’t text him right away. instead, you curled under the blankets, scrolling through the photos again and again. your heart swelled with every outlandish caption, every childish expression, every trace of him.

eventually, you couldn’t help yourself.

you: you’re a menace.

his reply was almost instant: atsumu: a menace with a pretty face, though. miss ya, babe x

you beamed, your thumb hovering over the lock screen settings, conflicted between whether or not you should switch back the photo. though how could you? not when you already knew tomorrow would bring another excuse for him to check your phone again, just to see if you’d kept it.

so you decide to leave it—his face on your lock screen as a proud display of the world’s most unconventional love letter.

#haikyuu #haikyuu masterlist #fanfiction #haikyu #atsumu #atsumu fluff #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #haikyuu atsumu #atsumu x you #inarizaki #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #atsumu x reader fluff

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thesvnandthemooon · 3 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: smut that was requested for kinktober last year

summary: dark!nat, dom!nat, g!p nat; nat’s an assassin

warnings: blood, murder, weapons, semi-public sex, choking, belly bulge, gagging (?), implied breeding kink. i don't even know at this point

word count: 4.4k

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

>> The Black Widow is known for its striking appearance and deadly mating habits. After mating, the female sometimes kills and consumes its mate, a behavior that has made it infamous. This act of cannibalism, though not guaranteed, has earned the Black Widow a reputation as a dangerous and cold-blooded predator. <<

Natasha wipes her hands as she steps back from the bed. A sliced throat and widened, empty eyes. Mouth open in a silent gasp, fingers loose, chest unmoving. Blood has soaked into the once white bedsheets, a dark crimson color that almost appears black. She examines her work with appreciative eyes, then she swiftly cleans the blade of the knife with the man's silk robe.

She turns around, taking in the bedroom once more — velvet armchairs, placed next to a small table with a bottle of whiskey on it. Framed artwork by well-known artists, an antique clock on the wall. Timeless luxury, way too nice for someone like him. No trace of his connection to the Red Room. Not a single sign of the suffering he's caused.

A box of jewelry catches her eye. She never leaves without a souvenir, so she pops open the lid and fishes out a diamond ring. One that you'll surely like; you always value her little gifts.

Natasha exits the house just like she entered it: deftly, quietly, and without leaving any cue that she was ever there.

. . .

You look up when the door to your apartment opens. It's long after midnight, the kids dressed in costumes have disappeared from the streets hours ago and you have been wondering where your girlfriend is.

"Hey", you say when she enters, eyes raking over her. A black bandana is covering her entire face except for her eyes — piercing green, burrowing into your soul with a kind of ease that's both impressive and unsettling —, and her hands are covered by fingerless gloves. You don't miss the smudges of blood on her fingertips.

"I brought you something", Natasha says, not bothering to greet you first. She plucks a ring out of the pocket of her leather jacket, dropping it into your open palm. "Not sure if it's your style."

You slide it onto your ring finger and inspect it, giving a short hum. So this is where she was.

"It's nice." A blatant lie, but you don't care. Who are you to reject something she gives you?

"It's 'nice'?" She tugs the bandana off, unveiling her face, all while keeping firm eye contact with you. "That's it?"

"It's pretty", you add, watching her move around the room. Natasha seems completely unfazed, just like always. You're not an idiot — you know damn well what she does, where she goes. You know she keeps adding to the long list of victims she hides so well, but you can't bring yourself to care. A messed up part of you even thinks it's hot. "Expensive, too."

"Expensive my ass. You know the material value doesn't matter." She opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of water, taking a few sips. "What've you been up to all night?"

"Ate dinner. Watched a few movies." You join her in the kitchen, watching her leave bloody fingerprints on the glass bottle.

Natasha hums, turning her head to look at you. Sweatpants, a loose top, looking all tired and ready for bed. She puts the bottle aside before moving closer, backing you into the corner of the kitchen counter.

"Sounds boring", she says quietly, her hands coming up to rest on your waist. More blood, this time staining your clothes. She looks down at your hand, at your ring finger, where the expensive piece of jewelry is sitting. Something about her expression changes — suddenly, it looks stony, bordering on rough. "You know, I don't like this ring on you. It should be in a box somewhere, not on your finger."

You pause at the irritation in her voice. For a moment, you're confused — she brought you this ring, so why is she suddenly pissed? But then the realization hits you, and you start feeling stupid.

She isn't the one who picked this ring out, who bought it for you — so you shouldn't wear it.

"I'll take it off", you say quietly, sliding the ring off your finger and setting it on the counter behind you. "It's not exactly my size, anyway."

Natasha hums, the tension seeping out of her body. She's loving it. The way you're looking at her, like she's your savior and your worst nightmare wrapped up into one. Your voice, meek and soft, with that perfect pinch of fear. She's doing this to you, she's the one who has full control over you.

"You should've joined me", she suddenly says, reminding you of what she's been up to tonight. You pause, eyes filled with uncertainty as you look at her.

"I'm not exactly sure it's my type of activity", you say vaguely, a hint of an apology in your voice.

"Oh really?" She hums, her fingertips brushing under the fabric of your top. "I'm sure it'd be fun. Watch the life drain out of their eyes and whatnot. A really romantic setting."

"Right." You smile slightly as she presses a kiss to your mouth. A taste like spiced honey, sweet with a slow-burning warmth. Cinnamon and cloves, fogging your senses. You push against her, wanting more, but she pulls away.

"Don't be needy", Natasha says, giving you a small smirk before stepping away. "There's this party tomorrow. Are you joining?"

"Is it an after-Halloween thing?", you ask, straightening out your top as you try to ignore the desire coursing through you. Nothing is going to happen tonight, that's almost certain.

"Not really. Just a party."

"Where?"

Her eyes flicker up, amusement and exasperation visible in them. "It's just a party, babe. Now tell me: are you joining?"

You sigh, leaning against the counter. You eye her with mild suspicion — who knows where she'll end up dragging you — but eventually, you cave. "Yeah, sure. Why not."

"Good." She nods, shrugging off her jacket. She's only wearing a tank top underneath, despite the cold fall air, but you're secretly very thankful — her arms come into view, biceps flexing slightly and way too briefly. Then she looks up again, and your gaze meet hers. "Wear something nice."

. . .

Wear something nice — an innocent enough request, but when Natasha says something like this, it has an entirely different meaning.

You spend two hours in front of your closet, digging through dresses and skirts and whatever you have in there. Eventually, you decide on a mesh dress in a dark shade of plum, a rich muteness in its color. A square neck and thin shoulder straps, curve-hugging and leaving little to the imagination. You slip it on, adjusting it slightly without noticing that Natasha is watching you from the doorway.

"Not bad", she finally says, making you turn around. "May I suggest something?"

You watch her as she comes closer, arms wrapping around your waist and chin resting on your shoulder. "What?"

"Ditch the bra", she mumbles against your ear, briefly kissing it. "Underwear too, while you're at it."

You pause, feeling your cheeks heat up. "You want me to...?"

"You heard me, didn't you?"

You hum, looking at her through the mirror. Natasha shoots you an expecting look, her hand lightly squeezing your tummy.

"The fabric is quite thin, you know", you say quietly, hoping that'll get her to change her mind. But she just shrugs, still kneading your flesh.

"Fine", you eventually say, causing her lips to twitch into a small, satisfied smirk. She presses a kiss to your shoulder before stepping away again, her one hand shoving into the pocket of her slacks. "Can you at least tell me what your plan is?"

"No", she says innocently, grabbing her gun from the desk before she steps towards the door again. "It'd ruin the surprise."

"Right", you say slowly, watching her leave.

. . .

You didn't mind your lack of underwear while you were at home, or in the car. But now that you're in a crowded room, surrounded by what seems like hundreds of people, you start feeling flustered. You feel exposed, like everyone can see right through you. Which, of course, isn't the case — the dress is definitely long enough to conceal your lack of underwear, and even the fact that you're not wearing a bra isn't as obvious as you thought it'd be. But you know you're not wearing underneath that stupid dress, and that's enough for you to be mildly uncomfortable.

Natasha, however, is loving it. Her arm stays firmly wrapped around your waist as you enter, keeping you close to her side. Her eyes flicker across the room, almost as if she's searching for someone.

"So?", you ask after a few minutes, glancing at her.

"What?", she murmurs reluctantly.

"Well-" You vaguely gesture at your surroundings, still not sure what you're doing here. "Where are we? Whose party is this?"

"Oh." She smirks, squeezing your side before she mumbles into your ear. "If I tell you, you'll leave."

"Of course", you mutter, shifting again and pulling at your dress to readjust it. Natasha notices your unease, so she lightly digs her fingertips into your side.

"Calm down", she mumbles with her mouth next to your ear, her voice low and dark. "No one can see anything. Stop fidgeting."

You huff quietly, reluctantly releasing your dress from your hands. "It's uncomfortable", you complain, a hint of defiance seeping through. Natasha arches her eyebrow at you, leaning in closer as her fingertips dig into your skin.

"Is that attitude I detect?"

You stare at her, quickly intimidated. You shake your head, forcing your expression to be neutral again as you back down. You're in public, but that doesn't mean you should be stepping out of line. "My bad."

Natasha hums, her hand sliding down to your butt for a moment. A light squeeze of approval, then she keeps dragging you through the crowd. So many people, all of them clearly wealthy. Businesspeople, probably — but you're not sure, and Natasha still refuses to tell you.

She doesn't seem to know anyone, either. A few people introduce themselves to the two of you, but you barely pay any attention. Some guy, maybe in his 50s, stops with the obvious intention of raking his eyes over you a few times. You're fully aware why — it's just the tiniest bit too cold, and the thin fabric of your dress is doing a poor job at hiding your discomfort.

When he reaches out his hand to shake yours, Natasha's eyes narrow. It's one step too far, you both know that, so you quickly pretend to be busy with brushing some hair behind your ear and swiftly avoid touching him. He pauses, startled, before pulling his hand back and going back to whatever he was doing before approaching you.

"Quite the move", she says quietly, her voice appreciative, and rubs your side. "Good girl."

You smile, pleased that you managed to satisfy her.

The people milling around the party stop you every now and then, trying to make small talk. Natasha forces herself to engage in polite conversation, her hand wrapped around your waist the whole time. She notices everyone's eyes trailing over your body, not-so-subtle glances and very obvious stares. It's irritating her, which shows in the way her voice changes.

"You seem to be quite popular with the men."

"It's the damn dress", you mutter, your body slightly turned towards her as you keep pushing past smaller groups.

"No", Natasha says gruffly, her hand firm on your waist. The dress may be revealing, accentuating all the right spots, displaying smooth skin. But in the end, the dress is just a dress. "It's you."

You feel your cheeks growing rosy. Clearing your throat, you start adjusting your dress again in hopes to keep the fact that you're currently going commando underneath it concealed. "Maybe both."

Natasha's hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and stopping you from fidgeting. She pulls your hand away from the fabric, her grip firm and unwavering. "Stop fidgeting. We've been over this already."

You give a frustrated huff, shooting one of the staring men an angry, petulant glare. He lifts his hands in defeat, turning around and returning to the woman he was talking to seconds earlier. "I hate the male species."

"Careful, baby", she says, trying to suppress a smirk. Something about the way you lifted your chin in defiance, silently telling the man to fuck off, pleased her immensely. "Let's not cause a scene, hm?"

You hum at her words, your eyes flitting up to meet hers again. You shrug, glancing at the gun that's subtly tucked into her holster and hidden by her blazer. "Why not?", you ask, bringing your mouth closer to her ear. "Causing a scene is your specialty."

"True." She grabs your chin with her free hand, pushing your face away from hers. "Still, I'd rather we get out of here soon. But first —" She pauses, subtly nodding at a man who she's been watching the entire night, "we need to make a detour."

We? Wait, we? You stare at Natasha as her words replay in your head, over and over again and slowly causing you to grow sick to your stomach. A detour. You should've known what that fucking gun was for. Maybe you were in denial.

"We, as in-"

"We as in we", she says impatiently, briefly looking at you. "I need someone to keep watch. There are too many people here for my liking."

No room for argument, that's for sure. You exhale shakily, trying to calm your quickly accelerating heartbeat. "At least tell me who they are."

"No. The less you know, the better."

"Natasha", you say seriously. Surprised by the sudden hardness of your voice — and, also, mildly annoyed —, she grabs your wrist and yanks you closer. A wince escapes you, but you keep talking anyway, your voice a pained whisper. "If I'm involved in this, I at least want to know whether he deserves it."

Her eyes flicker across your face. She's not bothering to hide how unhappy she is with you right now. "He deserves it", she says, keeping her fingers locked around your wrist. "Now stop questioning me and do as told."

Reluctantly, you nod. Natasha turns her attention to the guy again, watching him. She quickly fishes out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. Moments later, the man excuses himself and starts heading towards a hallway. Natasha pulls you along wordlessly, eyes trained on her target as he disappears down the dark corridor.

He enters an office, the door closing behind him with a soft 'click'. Natasha lets go of you as she reaches for the doorknob.

"Wait here and keep watch."

She doesn't even bother glancing at you before she slips into the office, shutting the door after her.

For an agonizingly long moment, you hear nothing. Utter silence, apart from the sounds coming from the party and your own quiet, ragged breathing. Your heart is thumping in your chest, and you're unable to focus on anything else but trying not to freak out.

When you hear a gunshot — too quiet for anyone else to hear, but definitely loud enough for you to perceive it —, you finally snap out of it. Eyes wide, heart hammering, you turn around.

Hand on the doorknob, twisting it. Pushing the door open.

You look at Natasha, taking her in — no, drinking her in. The blood splattered across her neck and chest, the way her eyes look almost black. Her slightly uneven breathing, the gun in her hand. A smell of gunpowder, acrid and strong, mixed with something metallic and sharp. Adrenaline is pumping through her veins, the tension in the room palpable when your gazes meet.

You didn't expect to feel this way, but you can sense the heat that's beginning to stir in your stomach. Anxiety gives way to desire when she reaches out her hand — a silent command to come over — and you cross the room in a few, quick steps.

Natasha tugs you closer, her lips brushing against your cheek. "Look at the mess I've made", she says quietly, and you follow her gaze to the man lying on the ground. You look at her again — blood splattered across her chest and neck, her eyes trained on you.

You bring your hand up to wipe away a bit of blood that landed on her jaw. "It's hot", you eventually manage to mumble.

"Hm?" She raises her eyebrows, her hands sliding to the small of your back. "Didn't know you were into that."

"Me neither." You wrap your arms around her neck as you nuzzle your nose against hers, your desires clear. It's rare that you're this forward with her, but for the first time in a while, Natasha doesn't seem to mind. She can feel herself getting hard already, your perfume and everything you've said making her head spin.

"Such a little minx", she rasps out, palming at your sides as she starts peppering kisses along your jaw. "Can't believe this shit turns you on. You're fucking insane."

A soft moan slips past your lips. You lift your leg out of instinct, hugging your thigh against her side. Natasha quickly runs her hand down to the underside of your thigh, gripping and massaging the smooth skin. "Fuck me", you whine into her ear, wiping all thoughts out of her brain.

With one swift movement, she clears all the papers and pens off the desk. Then she grabs your thighs, hoisting you up and letting you drop down onto the desk. Her lips are all over you immediately, mouthing at your neck and leaving her marks.

"So greedy", she pants against your skin. Her hands slide up your thighs, pushing up your dress and bunching it up around your hips. "Tell me what you want."

"You", you somehow manage to gasp out. You're hot and flushed all over, your breathing is ragged. A tight coil has started to form inside of you, sparks of need frying your brain into a lump of uselessness. Natasha hums, a quiet, rumbling sound coming from her chest, and moves one of her hands up into your hair. She grabs a fistful and tugs your head back, eliciting a whimpered moan from you.

"I need you to use your words, baby."

"Please." You squeeze your eyes shut, fully aware that you sound absolutely pathetic. "I want you inside of me."

A low groan escapes her. Natasha kisses your pulse point, her teeth grazing over the sensitive spot. "You're so desperate", she mumbles, finally letting go of you to unbuckle her belt. "Begging to be filled up like a whore."

You stifle a sound of want, feeling like you've been set on fire. You bury your face against her neck when she pulls you closer again, leaving open-mouthed kisses all over her skin. A metallic taste of blood, mixed with the bitterness of her perfume. A quiet sigh morphs into a low moan when she slides her fingers through your cunt, gathering wetness.

"Soaked already", she mutters, lifting her hand and slips her fingers past your lips. You suck them into your mouth, tasting yourself on her fingers as you lap at them. Her eyes darken at the sight — so simple, yet there's something so erotic about it. Testing your limits, she pushes deeper and earns a soft gag from you. "Always so eager to please."

She shoves her fingertips against the back of your tongue. Another gag, this time louder, and you feel yourself tearing up. You can see Natasha through a blur of tears, watching the scene in front of her unfold with fascination, her eyes dark and her breathing heavy.

Satisfied, she pulls her fingers out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting them to your lips.

"You're doing so well", she praises, grabbing your thighs to open you up. She's so hard she can barely think straight, her cock pressing against the fabric of her boxers almost painfully. "Now be a good girl and keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut."

When she finally inserts herself into you, it's like you're seeing stars. A quiet whimper manages to make it past your lips, which Natasha silences by pressing her lips to yours. A messy, uncoordinated kiss, teeth clashing and lips bruising. You feel her bite down on your bottom lip, soothing the spot with her tongue as she starts rolling her hips into yours.

Pained sounds escape you as she fills you up to the brim, stretching you out and making you feel like you're about to rip apart at the seams. She nudges deeper, and deeper, her hand moving to rest flat on your stomach and press down on the little bulge there. You're all but a mewling, whimpering mess, trying your best to stay silent but finding yourself unable to do so.

"So full." Natasha takes your hand and guides it to your lower abdomen, pressing it down and making you feel the outline of herself. The evidence of her inside of you, so tangible, so real. She's nestled so deep inside of you that you aren't sure where you end and where she begins anymore. Pain, pleasure, need; all coursing through your body, making a wave of tremors run through you. "Stuffed to the brim. Fucking slut."

"Please", you somehow manage to whimper, your eyes squeezed shut. Natasha scoffs, thrusting into you in a way that makes the desk shake underneath you. Your eyes snap open, the sensation somewhere between torture and pleasure.

"Eyes open", she commands, chest heaving and eyes darkened. The blood is smeared across her neck and chest, sending another spark of heat to your core. "Close them again and we're stopping this."

You bite back a moan, your hands grasping at her blazer to find some sort of anchor. She thrusts into you again, fingers gripping your hips and probably bruising the soft skin there. Trails of fire shoot through your veins, causing the coil of white heat in you to tighten. The look on your face — dazed, aching, so needy — makes Natasha let out a quiet curse. She dips her face into the crook of your neck, covering your skin in open-mouthed kisses.

Drilling her length into you, her hand reaching for your throat. Her fingers wrap around it, at first loose. But you let out a moan, one that borders on a whine, and she suddenly applies pressure. You choke out a gasp, eyes widening as you can't breathe in anymore. The lack of oxygen causes you to feel lightheaded, elevating every single sensation that you're experiencing.

Natasha smirks against your skin, loosening her grip. You gasp for breath, happy hormones flooding you and leaving a tingly feeling of exhilaration all over.

You get a weird kick out of this entire situation — someone who's caused so much damage and suffering, hovering above you and making you feel like this. Hands that slash throats open, that fire bullets at people without thinking twice, are now roaming your body like you're a piece of art that needs to be both worshipped and destroyed.

"I told you to stay quiet", she mutters, trailing kisses over the spots where her fingers were. "Such a shame you decided not to listen."

You suppress another noise that's threatening to escape you, instead opting for digging your fingertips into her back. Natasha curses again, feeling your nails even through the fabric of her clothes. She slips one of the straps of your dress down your shoulder, exposing more of you to her eyes. Her lips attach to the skin just above the neckline of your dress, sucking a hickey into it.

Her lips travel lower, all while she keeps moving in and out of you repeatedly. Quick, heavy breathing, the legs of the desk scraping over the hardwood floor. Her mouth wraps around your hardened nipple, biting down on it. Your head falls back onto the surface of the desk and lolls to the side, your eyes meeting the gun Natasha discarded just moments ago. Blood is covering a family portrait in speckles, some of it having run down in thin streaks.

"Fuck", Natasha rasps, snapping you out of your dazed state. You wrap your thighs around her hips, tugging her closer and feeling her push against your deepest spots. You feel an ache in your core, pushing for its release, and you finally let another moan slip. But Natasha is too focused on being buried inside you, her cock swallowed whole by your dripping wet cunt, to even register the soft noise. "I'll come inside of you", she mumbles against your breast, lapping at it. "I'll get you nice and pregnant. You'll carry my babies."

You moan, trying to run your hands into her hair but failing due to her braid. "I love you", you whimper out, feeling yourself crumble. You're slowly falling apart, seconds away from that sweet release, and Natasha can tell immediately. She palms at your sides, her eyes looking up at you so she can watch.

"So trusting, so naive", she basically purrs through a mouthful of tit. "Letting yourself be knocked up by a killer. And I thought I was the messed up one."

"I'm close", you moan out, your hands hugging her face closer to your chest. "Please, I-"

"Doing so good, baby", she says breathily, releasing your breast and trailing kisses along the side of it. "So good."

Her hands move down to your thighs again, forcing them apart and nudging deeper. The second her tip pokes against your lower belly again, a wave of relief washes over you.

The orgasm crashes down on you, making you gasp out incoherent sounds. Your entire body is shaking, flushed with heat, and Natasha can feel you clench around her cock rhythmically. She buries her face against the side of your breast, muffled sounds escaping her as she comes inside of you. Thick, white fluid dribbles down your thighs, pooling on the desk underneath you.

Natasha keeps going until your vision goes black, her body rolling into yours and driving you to the point of overstimulation. You come a second time, only seconds later, and then slump onto the surface of the desk. You feel like you're one raw, exposed nerve, the aftershocks making your body buzz and your brain unable to function properly.

"Look at you", she mumbles, pressing a kiss to your lips as she reaches for her gun again. "Now I've made two messes."

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel #marvel mcu #x reader #fanfic #wlw #lesbian #wlw smut #smut #oneshot #moon’s fics

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