taelepathii

[taelepathii]

✶ THE EX EFFECT

summary: being oscar piastri's pr manager is... uneventful, to say the least. that is, until your most recent ex winds up the mclaren garage. in an attempt to prove him something, the arm you end up grabbing is oscar's. now the word is spreading around the paddock that you're his (fake) girlfriend and it turns into a beneficial pr opportunity for him and a perfect cover up for you. except oscar gets a little too good at it, and all the reminders in the world are not enough for you to keep in mind that this is fake.

F1 MASTERLIST | OP81 MASTERLIST

pairing: oscar piastri x pr manager!fake gf!reader

wc: 19.2k

cw: not proofread, past toxic relationship, annoyances/colleagues to lovers, fake dating, he falls first, sort of third act breakup, oscar is slightly ooc, very light angst, season timeline is fucked but who cares! romance! clichés! drama!

note: requested here, i know nothing about pr, this was supposed to be short but i couldn't stop myself so you have this monster of a fic! i kinda hate this. anyways, enjoy!

WHEN YOU FOUND out you’d aced your interview, you thought to yourself, the sleepless nights carrying group projects every other member had procrastinated were worth it. The number of social events you passed on to finish top of your class─valedictorian, Communications major with a Journalism minor─had paid off because you had just landed a job as PR manager in Formula One. Not just in any team, either: McLaren. You were ready to dive into the glamour, the glitz, and the hardships of the sport. To thrive in the pressure, the politics, the media storms. You were ready to shine.

Except you were managing Oscar ‘No Emotions’ Piastri, and nobody thought about telling you that.

Oscar Piastri, a quiet semi-rookie when you first crossed the headquarters’ threshold, who gave you five words max per interview, had a sarcastic comment to every command the team social media manager threw his way, and disappeared at every media opportunity like a ghost, deadpanning instead of showing enthusiasm. Needless to say, there wasn’t much for you to manage.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You nudged him gently at first: helpful suggestions, friendly reminders to loosen up a little. Be more engaging. Play the game. But every time you did, he looked at you as if you'd sprouted a second head and proceeded to swiftly ignore you. The first time it happened, you were offended, and maybe a little concerned. You complained to Charlotte, Lando’s PR manager at the time, and she gave you the wisdom of a woman who had seen some things: “Assert yourself,” she’d said.

It was your first month on the job. You were fresh out of university. You didn’t even know where the best coffee machine was. How were you even supposed to do that?

Still, you decided to try again.

During a long and taxing car drive to the McLarens’ HQ, one you were sharing with Oscar after a last-minute driver swap and a logistical disaster, you figured it was now or never. Assert yourself, Charlotte had said. Be firm. Be confident.

You went for humor instead. A joke. 

Terrible idea, in hindsight.

“You know,” you said lightly, breaking the silence that had stretched across three roundabouts, “you’re kind of boring.”

Oscar simply glanced at you, expressionless, so you clarified. “I mean, you’re not even letting me do my job. Throw me a bone here.”

And it was supposed to be playful. Oscar was supposed to quietly snort, asking how he could finally help you, and boom, you’d finally get to apply all that polished knowledge you’d studied for years.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly, puzzled, as if you’d just spoken in Morse code aloud, and said, “Imagine being boring and still more interesting than your ex.”

“What?” You blinked. Saying you’d been taken aback would have been a euphemism.

He didn’t even look away from the road.

“You talk in your sleep. Don’t nap in the common room again.”

Silence fell again, but this time it wasn’t peaceful. It was personal.

That was the moment you decided, with startling clarity, that you very much disliked Oscar Piastri.

You didn’t know you talked in your sleep. You didn’t even know he’d stumbled upon you squeezing a thirty-minute nap in the common room of McLaren’s headquarters. And you certainly didn’t remember the dream you’d had─ or why exactly it had featured your ex out of all people. All you knew was that, no matter what he heard, it was a low blow.

Especially when it came to the one man who somehow slithered his way into your heart just to shatter it from the inside out.

Disliking the person you were assigned to manage wasn’t unheard of in the world of public relations. It was practically a rite of passage. Most of the time, it came with celebrities who were a walking headline: strippers, drugs, arrests, rumors of twins with three different people. That, you could’ve handled.

Oscar wasn’t like that at all. Oscar was just… rude.

Not loud rude, or messy rude. Just… quietly, unbotheredly rude. He was unreadable, dry, and too clever. Not a PR nightmare, just a PR black hole. Just to you.

And if there was one thing you happened to be very good at─besides the job you weren’t even getting the chance to do─it was holding a grudge.

After that episode, you kept your interactions with Oscar to the bare minimum, or as much as you could without being fired. The paycheck was just too good, especially as a fresh grad still recovering from student debt.

Any advice or directions you had for him came during team meetings, always surrounded by enough people that he couldn’t hit you with his usual blank stare. When he messed up during interviews, which was sometimes inevitable, and you followed up with a politely scathing email, bullet points and all. Face-to-face convos were reserved strictly for emergencies… or if you happened to be seated beside him, in which case you communicated via foot. Strategic, silent, and sharp. You’d step on his sneaker under the eyes of all, and he’d keep smiling at the camera like nothing happened. Except for the tiny, throbbing vein on his temple─ oh, you lived for it. 

It was a perfect arrangement. Passive-aggressive peace, mutually tolerated detachment. It worked for both of you.

Sometimes, you caught him glancing your way, wondering why you were still here. But you didn’t care. You had a system, and it was stable. It would’ve stayed that way for a long time, until your or his contract expired, whichever came first.

But then your ex decided to show up, and that messed everything up.

It was a very nice Thursday, dare you say. The kind of morning that made you think the season wouldn't be so bad.

You’d expected Bahrain to be hotter, considering the furnace it had been last year during the start of your first season with McLaren. But today, the air was warm without being unbearable, a soft breeze threading through the paddock and playing with the loose strands of your hair. Your cardigan slipped off one shoulder, but it didn’t cling or suffocate─ just draped like it was meant to be styled that way.

Oscar had just rolled out of the garage, off to log laps and data and whatever mysterious things drivers did during testing, which meant you were officially off-duty for the next three hours. You had time for yourself, maybe for a proper coffee and a chocolate croissant. Eventually, a little conversation with Lando, if you ran into him.

Yeah. This was a good morning.

You should have known it wouldn’t last.

It should have hit you when the coffee machine didn’t work, so you had to walk all the way to Lando’s side of the garage to fetch yourself a cup. It should have hit you when you didn’t even see Lando, and they were out of your favorite chocolate croissant. It should have hit you when you passed by grown men in their forties gossiping like schoolgirls about the new additions to Oscar’s car engineering team, you never heard anything about. It should have hit you when the feelings in your gut made you hesitate near the orange-colored walls.

But it really, really hit you when he grabbed your elbow.

“Y/N?”

Your body locked up like someone had flipped your off switch. The voice was familiar in the worst way─ like a nightmare you thought you’d finally grown out of. You didn’t even need to turn around. Your body already knew. Still, you did, as if asking the universe for confirmation.

And there he was. Theodore Silva, in full McLaren uniform, lanyard slung around his neck. Dark brown hair, messy, tied up in a bun, with his characteristic three o’clock shadow. Your ex-boyfriend. Your heartbreak origin story that, somehow, had the nerve to smile.

You would have backhanded him if the shock didn’t make your mind go blank.

“Wow,” he said, and you felt like a funny coincidence. “Didn’t expect to see you there. Always knew you were the ambitious one.”

Oh, you knew that tone. That patronizing little tone he used when he wanted to seem impressed while reminding you he could always do better. As if you hadn’t told him a million times about your fascination with motorsports and all of its scandals. You weren’t 19 and easily diminished anymore.

You slapped on a polite, seething smile. “I could say the same. I wouldn’t have guessed they hired people with so little… experience. Or the grades to back it up.”

Theodore Silva wasn’t the richest man alive. No, that title was reserved for his father, who owned a few businesses that took off in the early 2010s and left him with an outrageous amount of money and too much to do with it─ including sending his incompetent son to a prestigious business school even though he could barely manage to keep up half of the average required. Even his father’s money couldn’t get him to graduate the same year as you.

But after another year, it could apparently get him a job at McLaren.

Yet, Theodore still chuckled, brushing off your remark as if it were just another inside joke you two shared. “They just brought me on- engineering for Piastri’s car. Funny how life works out, huh?”

He was on Oscar’s team. You’d be obligated to see him, be near him, every day. You didn’t answer, just stared at him blankly, too busy cataloguing every sharp object in the vicinity, trying to ignore the twist of your heart.

“Small world,” he added to your silence.

You tried to smile again, but you knew it came out weird when the words that came out of your mouth sounded more like a screech than anything else. “Smaller than I’d like.”

Theodore tilted his head, studying you with calm eyes, as if he hadn’t watched you, arms dangling near his side, as you broke down in his apartment’s parking lot. “You look good,” he said softly. “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

You stared at him.

Hell no. He had that voice, wearing guilt like an optional accessory, looking at you like he was the one that got away. The nerves. You hated how your chest tightened, the smell of his cologne, and how he thought he could just waltz in, throw some compliments around, hoping to win you back.

Fuck him. “I’m doing very well, Theodore. Loving my job. How’s Anna?”

That landed. He physically winced, scratching his neck. “We, uh─ We broke up, actually.”

How surprising.

“So─”

You weren’t about to let him finish. You weren’t about to let him think he even had the sliver of a chance. He wasn’t about to wreck the life you built for yourself by simply being here, no. Instead, you did the sanest thing anyone would have done in your place.

You lied.

“I have a boyfriend, actually.” The words came out so fast you almost flinched, not registering them yourself.

Theodore paused, eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, wildly too sharp for the context. “He’s great. Amazing, supportive. Emotionally available. You know─ faithful.”

He blinked, and his fake-casual mask slipped for a second. “What’s his name?” He asked, all lightness gone from his expression. 

That’s when it hit you. Unspoken panic rose in your throat because, believe it or not, you didn’t have a boyfriend. You barely even had a social life─ you spent most nights in bed with a sheet mask and Youtube videos. If you hesitated now, even for a second, Theodore would know. And he’d never let go, flashing you his smug little grin of his, strutting around the garage for a season, thinking he had a chance.

Not today, Satan.

The garage door behind you creaked open and footsteps echoed in your direction.

You didn’t look, didn’t think. You just grabbed the first arm that brushed against yours.

“This is him!” You said, an octave too high. “My boyfriend.”

And Oscar Piastri, your emotionally repressed, sarcasm-saturated PR headache of a driver, froze mid-step. As much as you wanted it, there wasn’t any way to back out now. His eyes dropped to your grip, white-knuckled, around his bicep. Then to you. Then to Theodore.

“... Sorry, what?” He said under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Babe,” you hissed between your teeth, eyes still set on Theodore and smiling like your life depended on it. “Go with it.”

Finally, your ex managed to speak up. He was frozen, mouth half-opened in shock. “This is your─ You’re dating─ Oscar Piastri is your boyfriend?”

Oscar opened his mouth, definitely to ask what was going on, but you beat him to it. “Yes! Yep. It’s, um─ it’s very new. A few months.”

You finally turned to face him fully.

His brown eyes, sharp and unreadable as ever, flicked across your face─ first your eyes, then your mouth, then down to where your fingers were still digging into his arm. There was confusion there, definitely, but also a kind of calculation unique to him.

“This is Theodore,” you added, swallowing thickly. “He’s one of your new engineers.” You hesitated. “... and my ex.”

That’s when something clicked.

You felt it. The subtle shift in Oscar’s expression─ the way his shoulders straightened or the brief flicker of understanding behind his eyes. He glanced at Theodore just once before looking back at you. You pleaded silently. With your eyes, with your fingers brushing lightly over the sleeve of his fireproof top, even with the part of your lips that whispered please without making a sound.

But the longer you stood there, the more the panic crept up your spine. Oscar didn’t owe you anything. The man barely liked you. He could’ve thrown you under the bus without blinking, called you out right there and made your life ten times harder.

Which is why you almost jumped when his hand, much larger, reached up and gently settled above yours.

“Ah, Theodore,” Oscar said, like the name physically bored him. “Nice to meet you. Sorry about my reaction,” he added, fingers tightening just slightly over yours. “I just didn’t expect… this.”

He turned to glance at you. An innocent smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

Theodore snapped out of the shock that froze him into place, and his smile flickered. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said casually. “All the highlights.”

You blinked up at him, heart in your throat, unsure whether to laugh or sob. Was Oscar Piastri helping you?

“The highlights?” Theodore asked, dumbfounded.

Oscar hummed, thumb absentmindedly brushing over your hand─ just once, like punctuation. You weren’t dreaming, he was playing along. And the look on Theodore’s face was worth every single of it.

“Funny, she never mentioned you, or the fact she was dating an… F1 driver, as a whole.” As if you even talked to him anymore!

Oscar shrugged, way too relaxed. “That’s all right. We’re keeping it on the down low for now, I’m sure you understand. And we don’t do much… talking, anyways.”

Your jaw nearly hit the tarmac. You stepped on Oscar’s foot, a habit by now, and he barely flinched. Apparently, that was enough for Theodore. “Well,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing. “Guess I’ll see you two around the garage.”

“Guess I’ll see you around my car,” Oscar answered, a little too quickly.

Theodore just glanced at him before muttering, “Small world.”

“So small,” you nodded stiffly.

The second he was out of sight, you yanked Oscar by the wrist like a woman possessed, dragging him to the nearest utility alleyway─ dim, slightly greasy smelling, and blessedly empty. For how long, though? You didn’t know. “Okay,” you hissed. “Wow, what the hell was that line?! We don’t do much talking?!”

Oscar raised a condescendent eyebrow, arms crossed on his chest. “I don’t know, you tell me, Mrs. This Is My Boyfriend. I just followed along. You’re welcome, by the way.”

You groaned so loud it echoed, looking up to the ceiling, hoping answers will fall off it and solve your life, simultaneously pacing a short line across the floor. “I know what I did, alright? I just─ I panicked! That guy─ he… he cheated on me. With my best friend. In my own bed. And I just─ he looked so smug and self-satisfied standing here like I’d run back to him. I needed to shove something in his face, show him I’m fine. Better. And I didn’t look and you were there and your arm was right there and now I’m going to have an aneurysm─”

Oscar blinked. “Wow. Okay. That’s… a lot of information, considering we barely know each other.”

“Thank you so much for the support, Oscar. I wonder whose fault that is, exactly!”

“I’m just saying. That was a whole soap opera act in thirty seconds,” he snapped back, rolling his eyes.

You exhaled harshly. “Whatever. I didn’t actually mean to drag you into this, okay? I’ll fix it. I’ll… tell him it was a misunderstanding or… I’ll figure it out. I’ll PR my way out of this, because whether you like it or not, it’s actually my job─”

“It’s fine,” he said, cutting you off, eyes closing briefly like he needed to reboot.

You paused. “Huh?”

“I said it’s fine.” His eyes opened again, locking onto yours. “Now that he thinks you’re dating someone, his delusional ego’s going to spiral and he’ll leave you alone. Especially if it’s someone… above in station, let’s say. Not to stroke my own ego.” He tilted his head, tone flat. “He looks like the insecure type.”

“He is,” you aggressively agreed, pointing at him like he’d just cracked the Da Vinci code, and you swore you saw his lips pull up. “So we just… leave it alone?”

“Let it die down,” Oscar continued with a casualness you could only hope to replicate. “Maybe have a conversation here and there for consistency, but that's about it. It’s not like he’s going to go around bragging that his ex-girlfriend is dating the guy he’s working for.”

You snorted. “I think he’d rather die.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched, trying not to smile. “Exactly.”

You sighed, finally letting your shoulders drop as the tension bled out of you. The adrenaline was still rushing through your veins, waterfall-like, but slowly softening, giving way to a quiet panic that you could make do with until the end of the day. It’s fine, you told yourself, it’ll be fine. “Okay,” you murmured, giving him a small nod. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“Don’t mention it,” Oscar replied, already turning away. “Literally.”

“Deal,” you said. “Never again.”

The plan was to return to your regularly scheduled programming─ distant and professional. With the way Theodore worked (or more accurately, didn’t), you were pretty sure he wouldn’t last long in the McLaren garage anyway. Life would go back to normal soon enough. You were sure of it.

Rule number one of PR management: never assume anything. Certainty was a myth. Because as long as there was even a sliver of doubt, it could all go wrong. Maybe you’d gotten complacent in your ways, Oscar never gave you anything to work with after all, but you really thought that this time, it would be fine. You slept like a rock that night, the kind of sleep where your mind recharged so hard it forgot you had responsibilities in the morning.

That’s probably the reason it took you so long to notice. First, it was the way people lingered as you passed. How engineers muttered behind their coffee cups and went dead silent when you got too close. You weren’t used to this level of attention─ as a whole, you were a pretty discreet presence in the paddock, so when the smiles came and the knowing smirks got thrown your way, you started becoming suspicious.

“Morningggg,” Lando sing-songed as you entered the McLaren hospitality tent.

“Good… morning?” You muttered, narrowing your eyes as you plopped down next to him. “What’s got you in such a good mood today?” You asked as you bite into the chocolate croissant you’d been craving since yesterday.

Lando studied you. Waiting.

“Do I have to guess, or…?”

The curly-haired man sighed dramatically, as if your question alone had aged him. “No, but I thought we were friends. Guess I was wrong, since I had to hear it from my race engineer. During briefing.”

You blinked. “Okay, what the hell are you on?” you admitted. “Have you been doing crack? Is that it?”

“Whatever, keep your secrets, Y/N,” Lando conceded, a smug little grin on his lips. “You’ll talk to me when you’re ready. Or I’ll just get the truth from Osc’. He seems… chatty, lately.” 

You couldn’t imagine Oscar Piastri being chatty to save your life. “What? What does Oscar have to do with anything?” But Lando was already up and walking off.

Alone with your chocolate croissant and your detonated sense of peace, you scanned the room, eyes darting in panic.

Across the tent, Oscar stood by the coffee station, talking to a staff member with his hands-in-pockets casual disinterest. His eyes met yours, and he paused mid-sentence, one eyebrow raised in that really? kind of way that made you want to slap him. There was a silent question in it. 

One you didn’t have an answer to.

The answer actually came knocking that night─ quite literally. Loud, incessant, unforgiving knocks at your hotel room door.

You were in the middle of taking off your makeup, cotton pad in one hand and dabbing at your under-eye concealer like it personally offended you. “Seriously?” You audibly commented, exhausted. It was nearly 10 PM. You’d done your job, answered more emails than anyone should in one day. The very least the universe could offer was twenty-four uninterrupted minutes of peace.

But the knocking didn’t stop, so you opened the door with a groan and a complaint on your tongue, only for the sound to die the moment you registered who was standing on the other side.

Oscar Piastri. In a hoodie, track pants, socks that did not match, and looking far too calm for someone who’d just banged on your door as if the apocalypse was tracking him down. You stared in confusion, words refusing to come out of your mouth no matter how hard you tried.

“Sooo… we might have a problem,” Oscar finally spoke in the silence stretching between you.

He walked in your room with no hesitation, without you even inviting him in─ the audacity! Sure, yeah, come on in, ruin my night, you thought. He glanced around, sizing your room and seemingly expecting paparazzis behind the mini-bar, before turning to face you with a flat look.

“What’s this problem that has you acting so dramatic for─”

“You’re trending on F1 Twitter. Well, we are,” he said simply, tone measured. “Someone took a photo. You holding my arm next to your ex. In the garage. And the caption is─”

He pulled out his phone. A screencap of big, red, capital letters: IS OSCAR PIASTRI SOFT-LAUNCHING HIS PR MANAGER?

It took a while for reality to set in. 

You stared at the screen blankly, eyes flicking from Oscar to the headline, erratic. Soft-launching. Soft-launching. You tasted blood in your mouth. Oh, no─ it was actually just your soul leaving your body. “This is not happening,” you mumbled, blinking rapidly. “It’s fake. This is fake. I’m hallucinating.”

Oscar hummed. “Want me to read you the quote tweets?”

You pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare.”

He shrugged and put his phone down. You sat down on your bed, hands flying to your temple. “Okay, okay. No big deal. I’ll just tell the team we were talking about… a car issue. A steering problem. Brake pedal feedback. That sounds fake, right? Like, real-enough fake.”

Oscar gave you a look. “You could try that,” he said slowly, “but your ex has apparently been sniffing around the garage asking people if we’re actually dating.”

“No way.”

“I overheard Lando’s race engineer telling him. He asked five different people.” A beat. “He’s not subtle.”

You could feel your eyes twitch. “Jesus Christ.”

Oscar crossed his arms, leaning back against the mini-bar, staring at you. “So I don’t think your little oh it was just a brake issue! excuse is going to cut it.”

“I’m going to end it all,” you said, dropping your face in your hands. “I’m going to crawl into my media kit and live there forever.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “I’ll bring you snacks.”

“How are you not freaking out? Like, at all? It’s your face on every headline, and my job on the line!” You didn’t want to think about the repercussions this would have on any future jobs you might want, or your actual one. Future employers were going to Google you and find dating rumors about a fake relationship with a driver you were managing.

“Oh, I freaked out,” Oscar cut in smoothly, walking toward you. “Trust me, I had a whole mini-existential crisis in the elevator.”

“That’s good for you, Oscar. Why aren’t you still freaking out?”

“Because I figured this might be a job for my PR manager,” he said, toned laced with sarcasm. “Who also happens to be the cause of the PR disaster in the first place.”

You opened your mouth just to close it, and to open it again. “That’s fair.”

“And you said I was too boring.” Oscar gave you a dry smile, and weirdly, that was the moment it clicked.

You were his PR manager. This─whatever mess the universe had decided to dump in your lap─wasn’t just a disaster. It was an opportunity. A viral, narrative-controlling opportunity. The kind of chaos you could work with. You’d complained that Oscar gave you nothing: too quiet and acidic. Well, he certainly wasn’t that anymore, or almost.

You straightened up, the panic slowly morphing into focus. Your heart was still pounding, but now to the rhythm of the plan puzzling itself in your head. No one had trained you for what to do when you were the story but if anyone could improvise, it was. Your idea was wild, unhinged, even. But you knew better than anyone that the line between unhinged and brilliant was just the execution. And if you played this right, it could be exactly what the both of you needed.

You turned to Oscar slowly, the corner of your lips twitching into something almost insane. “Oscar,” you said carefully. “What if we didn’t let this go to waste?”

“Come again?”

“I mean, this,” you gestured vaguely toward his phone, screen down on the counter. “Oscar Piastri’s mystery romance unveiled, blah blah blah. It’s a mess, but it doesn’t have to be.”

Oscar’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “... You’re about to say something crazy.”

You got up from your spot on the bed to face him fully. “Fake dating.”

“There it is.”

“No, seriously, hear me out,” When he started taking a few steps back, you rushed toward him, hands animated. “People are already talking. We can’t undo the articles or stop the whispers, but we can own the story. It’s simple PR strategy: if the narrative’s out of our hands, we grab it back, shift the focus and make it work for us.”

“And what, exactly, would we be gaining from this?” Oscar looked deeply, deeply unconvinced.

You got closer to him and his eyes widened discreetly, quickly shifting from your eyes to your lips, and to the one finger you were holding up in front of his face. “One, you get press engagement. You’ve been called the human spreadsheet by more than one person─”

“Never heard of that.”

“Okay, maybe it’s only me, but my point still stands. This? It gives you dimension. Warmth. Personality. More people of all age groups rooting for you.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m dating you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much. Two,” you continued without missing a beat, “I get a break from Theodore. He’s more likely to leave me alone if he thinks you’re in the picture long-term, or as close as we can get to it.”

“Isn’t that the reason you picked me in the first place?”

“I was desperate. You were here and tall.”

Oscar shrugged at your words, quietly agreeing with you, which egged you on for the last point of your argument. “Three, if this all goes up in flames, we just say we broke up. That wouldn’t be the ideal outcome until Theodore’s out of the picture, but if push comes to shove, we do this quietly. Classic ‘we ask for privacy during this time’, then ghost the media. End of story, and we go back to our ways.”

The silence stretching between the walls of your hotel room seemed to last a lifetime too long as the Australian studied you carefully, arms crossed on his chest. “You’ve really thought about this.”

“Actually, I just did. I’m that good.”

He exhaled loudly at your comment, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation, and you tried your best not to let a little quip past your lips. “And how long would this have to last?” Oscar asked, voice muffled by his palm.

“Until Theodore goes away, which shouldn’t be more than a few weeks knowing his talents. Enough to let the story peak and settle and it would include a couple public appearances, some social media crumbs─ low effort, maximum payoff for you.”

Hope swirled in your chest with the intensity of a storm when he dropped his hands, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

“And your ex leaving you alone would be the only thing you’d gain out of all this?”

You didn’t hesitate a single second when you answered. “That, and peace. Maybe a little petty revenge over him and honestly? A challenge.” Because this is what you’ve been dying to do ever since you stepped foot in the paddock a year ago.

And maybe Oscar saw the hellfire of determination in your eyes as he scanned you, either that or you sold your reckless idea with the confidence of a politician, because after long, skeptical minutes. He held out his hand, and the overwhelming weight pressing against your shoulders seemed to evaporate in the flight of a hundred butterflies.

“Fine, count me in,” he said, voice a little hoarse, “but if it all goes to shit, you’re taking the blame.”

You hastily took his hand, his rough palm fitting into yours, and you blamed the electricity rushing in your spine and the powdery pink of his cheeks on the ridiculous situation and the relief coursing through your body. “Deal, but it won’t go to shit if you keep up with me.”

The ghost of a smirk pulled at his lips, which made you smile. Your heartbeat was thundering in your chest and the heaviness of what you’d just agreed upon settled over you like a second skin.

Fake dating Oscar Piastri. How hard could it be?

First thing you did the next morning was to warn a handful of team members: there was no world in which running a fake dating scheme in secret wouldn’t come back to bite you and frankly, your job and reputation were already hanging by a thread due to yesterday’s PR earthquake. You and Oscar pulled Lando, Zak, and a few key staff members─social media, comms, and PR support─into the smallest available hospitality room you could find, locking the door behind you.

You explained the situation as fast as you could, hands raised in surrender under their gazes. How the rumors were technically true but not real, what conclusions you came to in such little time, and the thought process behind your idea, carefully excluding Theodore’s implication.

“Wouldn’t lying to the public make it worse?” Someone from comms piped up, deadpan.

You winced. “Damage control isn’t always about truth. It’s about optics, controlling the narrative before it controls us. We’ve assessed the risk, this buys us time to refocus headlines onto the cars, not the garage drama all while boosting Oscar’s popularity.”

Zak blinked at you as if you’d grown a second head. “You assessed the risk?”

“With me,” Oscar added from his chair, facing you. “I see the strategic upside. I’ll blow over in a few weeks, it’s fine. No harm done.” You sent him a silent thank you, holding his eyes just long enough for him to notice.

“Soo, when’s the wedding?” Lando piped up, leaning forward. “Or do we just have the break-up arc planned?”

You ignored him, preferring to explain the conditions of you and Oscar’s little agreement: no posts unless you greenlit them, no press comments and if anyone asked, yes, you were together. Happy. In love, but still casual. Social media staff were already scribbling notes or rapidly typing on their keyboards, and Zak looked like he might die of a heart attack.

So were you. Still, when you glanced at Oscar during one of McLaren’s CEO's silent breakdowns, you couldn’t help but share a silent laugh.

The following days were catastrophic, to say the least. Navigating the Bahrain paddock for the last of testing and media obligations for the first Grand Prix of the season the week after had turned into a minefield of knowing looks and suspicious stares. You and Oscar were learning how to walk the tightrope of fake affection with the grace of two toddlers. A few shared smiles, a shoulder brush, but every interaction felt rehearsed, taken off a badly written script. By some given miracle, it did work on some people but not all, and especially not Theodore. You could feel his eyes on you everytime you walked through the garage, narrowed as if waiting for a slip-up, but you’d rather die than prove him right.

By the end of the first few days, Oscar’s social media manager handed you a photo of the both of you to approve for Instagram─ one where Oscar had his arm slung around your shoulder awkwardly while you stood next to the car, all too aware of the massive lens pointed right at you. It was…

“It looks like we lost a bet,” you muttered, horrified.

Oscar leaned in over your shoulder to look at the picture. “Oh. Yeah, that’s bad.”

You threw your hands in the air, movements more powerful than words to transcribe the frustration elevating your blood pressure. Before a flurry of complaints and insults could slip past your lips, Oscar spoke.

“Okay, maybe it’s not very convincing, but it’s also because we haven’t figured out how to sell it correctly.”

“What a revolutionary thought.” He shrugged your comment off. 

“Well, I figured since we skipped the whole dating part and went straight to the whole madly-in-love thing, maybe it’s time we… backtrack?”

You felt the lightbulb switch on in your mind, eyes widening in realization. “Backtrack… like a backstory?”

Oscar nodded solemnly. “A timeline, yeah. How it started, how it’s going, first dates and everything. The whole fake fairytale.”

You couldn’t argue with that. You hated to admit he was currently beating you at your job, but Oscar was right. People were already speculating about the two of you a week in your fake relationship; everyone, including you, needed some foundations to be settled and fast. “Okay, alright. We can figure this out tonight, preferably in my hotel room since it apparently became the headquarters of this,” you made circle hand gesture between the two of you, “operation. Also because nobody will bust us in there.”

Oscar showed up at an ungodly hour of the evening─ the clock showcased numbers that hurt your sleep cycle, but nothing made the press talk more than going to your girlfriend’s room in the middle of the night, right? He knocked once before letting himself in, dressed in the same sweats and hoodie as a week ago, and holding a suspiciously large energy drink. “I come bearing poison,” Oscar announced, lifting the can.

You squinted at him from your spot on the bed-your hotel room lacking a desk-surrounded by a battlefield of notebooks and your wheezing laptop that was one short breath away from the grave. “Perfect, that’ll keep us up. We have work to do. Welcome to the Ted-talk-slash-lie-building meetup.”

Oscar kicked off his shoes, walking toward you. He eyed the chaos with a low whistle. “Oh wow, you weren’t kidding.”

You handed him a purple glitter pen without even glancing in his direction. “Sit your ass down and write with honor, Piastri.”

“Glitter? Really?”

“Don’t patronize me. I love glitter gel pens. Better memorize that if you want to be a good fake boyfriend.”

Oscar snorted but didn’t protest as he took the pen, sitting down next to an open notebook on the edge of your bed. He cracked the energy drink open with a hiss, and you took it from his hands before he had the time to bring it to his lips. “Jesus, you’re bossy.” You shot him a look. “Alright, alright. Where do we begin?”

You exhaled, eyes settling on your computer screen. A bright, pink page was showcasing Date Idea: Where To Take Your Beloved For A First Date? “With the basics. When we started dating, how we met, how many fake months we’ve been in fake love, which side of the bed you sleep in for continuity purposes.”

“Right side.”

“Wrong answer. It’s mine.”

You gradually settled in a surprisingly comfortable rhythm. Between the quiet clicking of the keyboard, the buzzing of Chinese nightlife outside your window, and the rhythmic scratch of the glittery ink on paper, you and Oscar brainstormed.

Ideas came slowly at first, awkward and stilted the way two kids forced together in a group project would work─ which it was, in a way. It didn’t take you long to realize you didn’t know Oscar at all, and he didn’t know you either, and the recognition of that fact put a certain strain on your interactions, as much as there already was. Yet, the tension softened as the minutes from midnight trickled away. You found yourself building a history out of thin air, questions after questions and jokes after jokes─ inside jokes that didn’t exist and justified why you laughed so hard at ‘soft tyres’, a first date that involved a tragically undercooked lasagna which Oscar and you had to fight over because neither of you wanted to look like a bad cook. You chose May 21st as the anniversary date because it sounded cute. Oscar protested, “How can a date even be cute? It doesn’t make sense.” He still settled on it.

Snorts, teasing looks as you drew a clumsy timeline in the middle of your designated ‘Relationship Basics’ notebook. “What about our first kiss?”

“Mmh, that’s a good one. People are going to ask.”

“Duh,” you fought the smile on your lips with little effort. “C’mon. You were wearing that hideous orange puffer, it was raining, and I was mad because you didn’t share your umbrella.”

“Oh right, and you were soaked and… okay, you said I owed you a kiss for compensation. Sounds like something you’d do,” Oscar replied, leaning forward in mock seriousness.

You made a sound, halfway between a gasp and a laugh. “You do remember!”

He laughed. A real one, warm and easy, going right through your chest. You quickly joined him, and his eyes lingered on you a second too long after the joke faded. “I made it up with hot chocolate later, though,” he added with a lazy smile that didn’t belong in any scenarios.

You scribbled that in your notebook. “Ew. We are sickeningly cute.”

And somewhere between a fabricated ski trip and the great debate of who said ‘I love you’ first, something shifted, just a little. Oscar had moved from the edge of the bed to sit beside you, arms behind his head against the headrest, legs stretched on the covers. His knees bumped yours every now and then, but you didn’t flinch away. The notebooks laid abandoned now, pens scattered across the duvet. Your laptop screen dimmed after an hour of neglect and your limbs were heavy with the sweet stickiness of fatigue that only came when you laughed too much and too hard.

You glanced over at Oscar and his hair was a little messy, eyes a little sleepy, softened by the light of the space. He was already watching you. “You know,” he spoke up. “For a so-called meeting, it suspiciously looks like a sleepover.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that, tiredness winning over your resolve. “It’s almost four,” he continued,  voice lower in the hush of your hotel room. “We’ve officially survived our first week of fake dating. Well, we did four hours ago, but…”

“And we haven’t accidentally gotten married in Vegas like they do in movies. I’d call that a win.”

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely not because of our amazing chemistry.”

A huff escaped you again, and your head fell back against the pillows. Shanghai still hummed outside the window, quieter this time, and the city lights threaded through the thin curtains you pulled. The room was just as still, if warmer─ you could feel the tired blush on your cheeks and the heat of Oscar’s thigh against yours. “You know, you’re not as annoying as I thought,” you said, a lazy sigh curling into your words.

It came out like an offhand casual observation, but you didn’t meet his eyes. Truth be told, you were ashamed. The whole year you’d convinced yourself Oscar Piastri was a nuisance and a stain on your work life had been shattered in the shine of glitter pens and the drafting of a romance novel-worthy story. Because he was actually kind of funny, and even though he delivered his jokes like he was bored half the time which you used to interpret as condescance, they still made you laugh. He listened when you spoke. He had a dry, understated charm you were starting to recognize as very authentic.

And he hadn’t complained once tonight. Not when you made him pick an anniversary date for the third time, or reenact a fake first meeting with your best friend. He was just… there.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he replied, but his voice melted at his usual edges. “You’re alright too. Surprisingly.”

When you turned your head, you found he was already looking at you for the second time, and a moment passed. You gave him a smile, barely there, and he looked away. “Guess we do make a decent team,” Oscar mumbled.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you mimicked him. He snorted.

You walked him to your door after an exchange of soft chuckles and breathy goodnights. Fake dating Oscar would be harder than you thought, but it definitely wouldn’t be as bad as you made it out to be.

You weren’t sure what it was between the sleep deprivation, the amateur acting, or the emotional whiplash of building an entire relationship with a guy you were only acquainted with, but something about it shifted the rhythm you’d gotten used to. Whatever happened during that night, being Oscar Piastri’s fake girlfriend became easier after it.

It started with texts. You couldn’t remember which one of you sent the first non-work related one, but it became a daily occurrence of linking the other pictures the press took of the both of you.Oscar would often comment something along the lines of Do I look like a man held hostage or a man in love? Be honest. You’d roll your eyes everytime, answering: All I can say is that I’m not flattered. At first, it was mostly logistical─ scheduling photo ops, making sure neither of you veered your scheme off the track. But somewhere between sarcastic captions and oddly flattering candids, the conversations grew longer. It became a way to kill time, a habit.

Oscar was easy to talk to, which was a thought that would’ve originally terrified you. Except the conversations carried off screen, and you found yourself enjoying them an awful lot.

Along the lines of your ruse, you started saving seats beside each other during lunch breaks or waiting up for the other to go back to the hotel together─ not for the cameras or Theodore’s heinous stare, but for a reason as simple as the enjoyment of the other’s company. Oscar was more than a colleague by that point, he became something else that you couldn’t quite call a friend the way you called Lando one. You stopped overthinking every step you took beside him, every glance and sentence. You had your script, sure. But more than that, you had a quiet kind of understanding. He knew when to press his hand to the small of your back when it was needed, and you knew when to lean in just enough to sell the look of something intimate. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was practiced. Comfortable, even. Maybe, just maybe, a little fun. Which is why you couldn’t tell when the little things started to feel not as little anymore.

Rare were the times you arrived late to a team briefing, but a late-night spiral reviewing articles about your little charade had stolen more sleep than you’d expected, and for the first time since you started out at McLaren, your alarms lost the battle. You slipped in your seat next to Oscar, a movement you barely thought about anymore, breathless, cheeks warm from your run across the paddock and the drizzle misting your hair. Your pants were drenched, there was a pounding behind your eyes and you were thirty minutes away from biting someone’s head off if they even dared mention your tardiness.

Oscar didn’t say anything at first, just glanced your way as he often did, eyes flicking up and down once. You braced for a comment, a joke, preparing to hold yourself back from doing something you’ll regret doing to your fake boyfriend in public.

Instead, he leaned down, reaching for a paper bag next to him, from where he pulled out a steaming paper cup and a chocolate croissant that he slid toward you without a word. Your name was scribbled across the side of the wrapper along with your very specific order, down to the temperature.

You looked at Oscar. At your breakfast. Then at Oscar again. “How─”

“You weren’t answering my texts,” he said, still looking forward. “Figured you’d be late, so I got you this. You get cranky with no sleep or caffeine in your system.”

“I don’t get cranky,” you muttered, wrapping your cold hands around the hot beverage. “You get sassy when you don’t sleep.”

“Sure,” Oscar said casually, meeting your eyes for the first time since you sat down. “There’s extra vanilla, by the way.”

You didn’t answer, just rolled your eyes, but his gaze was still on you when Zak burst through the door. The fact he remembered that you took extra vanilla syrup in your extra hot latte and that your favorite pastry was a chocolate croissant should be nothing, because you’re sure you told him at some point during your many one-on-one briefings. Except it wasn't. Not really.

Then, there was the flight. There was nothing the fans and the media loved more, and Theodore despised just as much, than couple apparitions at airports, which led to Oscar’s social media manager to nudge you into the believable. That’s how you found yourself catching the same flight as Oscar, Lando and a few others on their jet. It had become recurrent in the past few weeks and you’d never admit it out loud, but there were non-neglectable perks: fewer crying babies, more space, and the occasional poker game where you absolutely obliterated Lando’s ego. You know I’m just that good at acting, you’d said, throwing a cheeky smile at Oscar that he gave you right back.

This time, though, none of you had the energy to talk, let alone play cards. It had been an exhausting and emotional race weekend─ back-to-back media obligations underneath the fire of reignited on-track rivalries, rain delays, and disputes amid the team you couldn’t legally disclose. The jet was unusually quiet as it took off into the night sky, everyone slipping into their respective silence.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. You usually didn’t in airplanes, they stressed you out too much─ you’d just leaned against the window for a little moment, eyes fluttering closed. The buzz of the engine and the soft cabin light blurred the world into static and you drifted away in a split second, as soon as the city was turned to insignificant holes in the black tapestry underneath you.

After a while, you felt a warmth, subtle at first. There was something solid against your shoulder, enough to make you crack one eye open.

Oscar’s head was resting against yours, and you were tucked comfortably against him. At some point, he’d dozed off too, and the both of you had slumped toward each other in your sleep. You could’ve moved, you know you would have a few weeks back, but you didn’t. You let your eyes close again and let yourself drift in and out of sleep along the quiet sync of your breath. His arms wrapped around your waist, your legs rested on his knees, and you weren’t quite sure how long you stayed like that─ten minutes, an hour─but when you finally woke up again, it was to the obnoxious flick of Lando’s phone camera and his barely contained laughter.

It was the accumulation of those little things, the seemingly insignificant moments that, piled together, made them bigger than they should have been. It was when Oscar took the habit of sleeping in your hotel room after qualifications to watch a movie under the pretense of simulating ‘passionate encounters’. It was when, one morning, bleary-eyed, you accidentally threw on his hoodie with his number printed on the back, and his hands lingered on the small of your back a little more possessively that day. It was when you were running low on your orange glitter gel pen and a full set was mysteriously delivered to your door, even if you didn’t need one. In the way his pupils dilated ever so slightly when you caught him staring, when he pointed right at you after his podiums, how your skin fizzed with heat for hours after he kissed your cheek in front of the cameras.

But what really blurred the line was the night in Spain.

It hadn’t been a particularly thrilling race─ tame from lights out to chequered flag. Oscar had finished P3, Lando snagged P2, both holding their qualifying positions with sharp determination. But the crowd had been wild, the champagne flowing and before you knew it, Lando dragged you and Oscar into Carlos’ plans for the night. All that happened after was a blur of neon lights and ear-shattering singing.

The walk back to the hotel was your idea- just a short stroll through warm cobblestone streets, the air sweet with late night chatter and the slow beginning of summer. You and Oscar snuck out the back entrance of the club, the latter clearly not fitting in the Spanish nightlife, your heels dangling from your fingers and his cap pulled low to hide the flush of his cheeks. Both of you were just tipsy enough to feel invincible, shoulders brushing as you exchanged anecdotes and very real inside jokes, something about not-much-talking, laughter echoing against the dead of the night.

It was quiet for a moment after that, the comfortable kind that sometimes settled between you. Oscar decided to break it.

“You know,” he started, softer than usual. “I’ve been meaning to ask─ why didn’t you like me at first?”

You turned your head up slowly, the reality of the question dawning on you. You raised an eyebrow. “What made you think I didn’t like you?”

“Come on.” Oscar gave you a look, and in the dark of his eyes you swore you saw the polite, Shakespearean insults you sneaked in your emails, the harsh tap on your foot on his, flashing in the quarter of a second. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, maybe I didn’t. At first.” 

He kept his eyes on you, waiting. You sighed, tipping your head back to look at the night sky─ no stars were visible, but it didn’t take away from the beauty of it. “You were just─” You paused, choosing your words carefully. “Honestly, you were rude, smug and condescending. I felt like you were trying to make my job harder than it should be by just- not doing anything. People were talking about you as this nice, quiet boy and I secretly wanted to bash your head against a wall.”

A beat. “Wow. That’s brutal,” he simply answered. “I don’t get how I gave that impression. I always thought you were the one being rude to me.”

Your head whipped in his direction and you could physically feel the disbelief splashed across your features. “Me? You started it!”

“How?”

“That one car ride in my third month,” you deadpanned. “You made a very snobbish comment about a dream I had about my ex. You said, and I quote─” you cleared your throat dramatically, dropping your voice to the flattest Oscar impression known to man, “‘Imagine being boring and still more interesting than your ex.’” Oscar was half-laughing by that point. “Oh, don’t you dare! You also said something about how I shouldn’t sleep in the HQ again, but for the record? It was my first triple-head─”

He held a hand up in mock surrender, mouth agape in stupor. “Is this what started this whole… passive-aggressiveness?”

“Uh… yeah? It was unnecessarily arrogant!”

Oscar made a face. “Unnecessary, sure. I get it. But you know what was also unnecessary? The intimidating, pretty new girl at McLaren─who also happened to be my new PR Manager─calling me boring to my face.”

The words hung in the air between the two of you. Your froze, caught off-guard by the ease with which the compliment slipped out. Oscar was continuing with his rant, either completely oblivious or choosing not to care. You cut him off. “... You thought I was pretty?”

That’s when he faltered, his lips parted in a half-word as if he hadn’t realized what he said before you pointed it out. Oscar’s gaze flicked to yours, then away, suddenly far more interested in the cracks of the sidewalk than anything else. “Well, yeah,” he took off his cap and brushed a hand through his hair like it might undo the sentence. “I mean, you still are. It’s not like that changed.”

It would be lying to say you had considered the possibility that you caused the tension between you and Oscar in the first place. While your sad attempt at humor might have been the catalyst, something must’ve already been simmering under the surface for things to go cold so quickly after it. Your heart gave the tiniest, traitorous jump, chest pulling in a reluctant way, at the thought he’d noticed you then. You despised how easy it was to smile, to fall into the warmth of the possibility.

“Oh,” you said softly, and it explained everything and nothing all at once.

“I’m just saying,” Oscar added quickly, flustered, “it didn’t feel great.”

You couldn’t tell if the red of his cheeks was from the heat, the alcohol, or the embarrassment, but what you could tell was how hopelessly cute you found him in this moment. You tried to play it cool, despite the fact your heartbeat had skipped a full chord. “Noted. And for the record, now I know you aren’t boring,” you added, teasing, playfully nudging your shoulder with his. “You’re just… private. Or mysterious. A sardonic brick wall, if you will.”

It successfully had him looking up, a light-hearted scoff slipping past his lips - you could see the relief in his facial traits. “I’ll take mysterious. It’s better than boring.”

When you got into your hotel room, Oscar slipped past your door as he normally would, and you collapsed onto the bed with your legs tangled together like always─ but something was different now. The air around the mattress was slower, stuck in time, warm in the way his breath ghosted over the nape of your neck when he settled beside you, eyes already fluttering shut.

For the first time since this whole agreement began, you had to consciously remind yourself that it wasn’t real. The comfort in your chest wasn’t made to stay. The steady rhythm of his breathing next to yours, the way your body naturally molded into the other─ it was all pretend. 

At least, that’s what it was supposed to be.

Like silk curtains flowing with the breeze, the change was discreet but there nonetheless, in the shared silences that felt less like pauses and more like instances captured with a polaroid. There was hesitation, once again, but unlike the one you chased away before─ in how you touched, how you laughed, how you glanced at each other and closed the gap under the bright flashes. You were both tiptoeing around something fragile and new.

Neither of you said anything, but it was something too heavy not to notice─ at least, you hoped Oscar did as well: the reluctant awareness of how hazy the lines had started to get and the stunned realization that maybe they’d never really been that straight to begin with after Oscar’s tipsy confession in Spain. You were still doing everything to showcase your relationship to the media, Theodore’s presence in the paddock still overwhelmingly present and Oscar’s popularity sky-rocketing. You were still holding hands and tucking yourself to his side in the garage between two meetings, carefully weaving the continuation of the story you made up together. Yet, when no one was watching, it didn’t feel as plastic. Not when Oscar whispered in the crevice of your ear in a crowded room, or when your heart jumped at the sound of his laugh. When it started to hurt, just a little, when he pulled away.

The day he called you at five in the morning from Canada was confirmation enough. The switch from the heat of Spain to the rainy weather of the United Kingdom for work had taken its toll on you, and you had to call in sick for the Montreal race weekend. Tucked in your covers with a cup of coffee and an inability to sleep due to your clogged nose, you watched your phone screen lit up with his name. You answered with a hoarse, “Why are you awake?”

Oscar chuckled, his voice slightly muffled by the hotel air conditioning in the background. “Why are you?”

“Respiratory betrayal,” you said, dragging your blanket further up your chin. “What’s your excuse? The race’s tomorrow.”

You talked about everything and nothing for a little while. Oscar told you how the track felt a little underwhelming, how the social media team messed up with their main Instagram account, and of Lando’s endless complaining about the lack of your presence─ apparently, the paddock was too quiet now. You nodded in your pillow with a smile like he could see you.

Eventually, the conversation drifted away, like it always did now. Oscar asked what you were listening to lately and you told him of a song that sounded like spring and reminded you of long drives at night, especially the instance when he drove you home after Monaco. He said it sounded like something you’d play to get out of your own head. You said it was. He told you about this stupid childhood habit he had of organizing cereal boxes in alphabetical order and you laughed so hard it triggered a coughing fit.

Oscar’s voice dropped. “I wish you were here.”

It wasn’t dramatic or purposeful in the slightest. He said it as if he was realizing it at the same time he pronounced the words. It was your case too when you answered, “Yeah, me too.”

Your chest ached, because there was no camera to capture the softness of the moment and you just found out you preferred it that way.

And then you came back for the Austrian Grand Prix. You didn’t see Oscar much that weekend. You’d barely touched the ground before you were swallowed whole by emails, debriefs, documents you missed during your sick leave and Theodore side-eyeing you every time you so much as coughed next to him. There was no time for soft moments, not even time to stop and just glance at Oscar even if you wanted to.

He crossed the line in P1 that day. You were mid-conversation with Zak, animated with excitement even during your lengthy talk about the following media duties, when arms pulled you in so strongly you lost track of what you were saying. You recognized him by touch alone: Oscar was wrapped around you, body sweaty and warm from his maddened laps. He held the helmet in his hand, still catching his breath when his head dropped on your shoulder. 

“You’re back,” he said, voiced laced with something a lot like relief.

“Of course I’m back,” you whispered back, fingers twitching on the back of his race suit. He sounded like you were gone for years and somehow, it really did feel like it. You could’ve stayed there for hours, you thought, until Zak obnoxiously cleared his throat next to you.

Oscar pulled back, eyes brighter than his usual post-race exhaustion, the glint of something you couldn’t name just yet dancing in his pupils. His hands came to rest on your wrist, barely brushing your hands. “Stay with me?” He asked, and your heart might have stopped just there. Realizing how it sounded, Oscar quickly corrected, “For the interviews. I’ve been dodging the media since you weren’t there.”

“I will,” you smiled. Your feet were already moving anyway.

He kept glancing sideways everytime the journalists asked about strategy and pace, and the little tug in your guts told your mind you were enjoying it, even though shamefully missing the feeling of the circle his thumb drew on the inside of your hand. When the interviewer asked about the less than discreet glances, making a comment on the obvious chemistry you two shared and how well you worked together─as colleagues and as a couple─Oscar didn’t laugh it off like you always practiced. He nodded, bashful and sure.

The sentence kept blinking in the back of your head like a warning sign: this was all fake. But even telling yourself that wasn’t enough anymore because your heart apparently didn’t get the memo. The touches and the sleepovers made your dreams spiral and your cheeks warm. You became his phone wallpaper for authenticity and his picture became yours as well without as much as a second thought, every little attention as natural as the cycle of seasons.

You were falling for your own fake dating ruse. Which meant you were quietly, miserably falling for Oscar Piastri in the process, in the realest and most literal way known to man. That was terrifying.

Never, in your short but hectic PR career, had you ever experienced that.

Not the newfound feelings you were harboring for your fake boyfriend, no. You tried your best to think about that as little as possible─ if you didn’t look at them, maybe they wouldn’t look back. Right now, you were talking about the diplomatic ambush you and the F1 grid and staff just walked into. The hotel hosting the drivers and half the sport’s staff for the Silverstone weekend had decided to organize a charity gala. Last minute. Mandatory, if you had any desire to keep your reputation intact.

It was a smart move─ brilliant, even: Host a fancy event for a cause, pick a night when the entire motorsport world is under your roof, and leak just enough information to the press so no one can afford to skip it. Declining? Not donating? Refusing to schmooze with the hotel owners? You’d be crucified online by breakfast. Genius, really. You respected the play. 

But damn, give a girl some warning. You didn’t have anything to wear.

Apparently it was the case of everyone else as well, which made you feel less self-conscious. When you walked out your hotel room the morning of FP3 and qualifying, the hallway wasn’t buzzing with race talk but with chaotic murmurs about last-minute outfits, shoes emergency and the drama of Max Verstappen only packing team merch─ which, much to his dismay, was absolutely excluded from the dress code.

You were promptly swept away by a group of female staff members from different teams, mostly working in comms or PR, determined to save you from showing up in jeans and a prayer after a heated conversation around the breakfast table. It turned into a surprisingly wholesome mission: shared complaints, budding friendships, and a chorus of tender laughter when you found the dress. “Your boyfriend’s going to be a happy man!” one of the older women teased, earning cackles from the others and a fiery blush from you.

You were, admittedly, very lucky─ as much as someone in a fake relationship could be.

Especially when Oscar knocked on your hotel door later that evening, fresh from his post-quali shower, hair a little messy, still buttoning up the blazer of his suit and eyes flickering with something unreadable when you opened the door, ready.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t expecting a reaction. When you were tearing down your skin with your scented body scrub and carefully smoking out your eyeliner in the mirror, you told yourself it was for you only─ but faced with Oscar’s eyes roaming over you, you knew you were clearly lying to yourself.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He silently took you in, and you feared that maybe you didn’t achieve the effect you hoped for. Maybe a hair was out of place, or the dress looked awkward on you. But Oscar’s lips parted in a discreet intake of breath and the way his mind blanked out was painfully visible on his features. Quietly, “You look…” He trailed off, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck as if he could try to scrub off the red climbing out of his collar. “You look really nice.”

Really nice. That wasn’t quite what you expected, but his reaction was telling enough for you and knowing Oscar, you knew you weren’t getting anything more unless he was under a copious amount of alcohol or sleep-deprivation. You rolled your eyes at him, biting back a satisfied smile. “You don’t look half bad either.”

And he did. Devastatingly so. His suit was tailored within an inch of its life, cinched right at the waist and the lapels hugging his chest, his frame striking in the color. It was all very James Bond of him, minus the reckless charm─ though tonight, he seemed to be toeing the line. Your gaze dropped to his tie, and your fingers twitched at your side when you realized the shade was an exact match to your dress. You hadn’t said anything about your outfit ahead of time so you didn’t believe it was on purpose, but when your eyes met his again, there was a flash of something knowing and boyish─ almost proud that you noticed.

“Come on,” Oscar finally broke the silence. “You’re setting the bar too high. Everyone’s going to think I’m the lucky one tonight.”

“That’s because you are.”

The hallway was quiet as you two walked down together. You could feel it again─ that invisible thread pulling tighter, a weightless tension lodging in your chest and the incessant smile pulling at your lips. This was fake. Totally fake, you repeated to yourself again as you stepped with Oscar in the elevator, arm slithering around his bicep, ready to make your entrance.

The hotel hall was drenched in gaudy decorations, shimmering chandeliers and overly sparkly dresses, the kind of excessive elegance that only made sense in photoshoots and unnecessarily overpriced galas. Everywhere you looked, sequins caught the light and laughter echoed over the clink of crystal glasses. You weren’t in your element at all, Oscar wasn’t either and clearly, none of the drivers or the team principals who showed up wanted to be there. But in the name of keeping up appearances, you spent the evening with Oscar and a glass of champagne, stepping on his foot from time to time for old time’s sake. You knew how to mingle, after all it was everything you studied for four years.

You drifted through conversations in tandem. His hand stayed on the small of your back, occasionally brushing lower in ways that felt more unconscious than performative, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. When you’d lean into him to talk, he always dipped his head to hear you better on instinct. When Lando started tagging along, he was quick to complain about third-wheeling.

The whole evening was spent like that: finding amusement where you could in the middle of obligations, which was often spent sending sharp comments Oscar’s way, which amused him greatly, or Lando’s with Oscar’s help, which definitely amused him less. But gossiping could only get you so far, and soon enough the height of the heels you chose and the weighty ambience was enough to uncomfortably tighten your ribcage. You were quick to excuse yourself to the empty entry of the hotel, where you collapsed on a chair with a sigh.

You took a slow sip of your almost empty glass, letting the fizz of the bubbles distract you from the uncomfortable twist in your chest. Oscar would have followed you if you didn’t ask for some alone time, and God knows you needed some away from him. You were trying to find a distraction, anything to make you stop thinking about the brush of his fingertips or how you could have sworn his gaze lingered a second too long on your lips when you laughed at one of his jokes.

You didn’t expect, and especially didn’t want, Theodore to be that distraction.

His voice cut through the fog. “Tired?”

The glass nearly slipped from your fingers. Your body tensed, and you jumped to your feet out of reflex, ready to leave at any given moment. “Oh wow, didn’t mean to scare you like that,” he raised his hand in mock surrender. You rolled your eyes.

Theodore had the same haircut, same smug face, same cologne that lingered like melted plastic. The longer you looked at him, the longer of an eyesore he became─ nothing about him stood out: not his suit, the false casual way he was holding his blazer in his hands, and certainly not his demeanor. You couldn’t help but draw a silent comparison to Oscar.

That’s when you realized: you hadn’t seen much of Theodore the past week around the paddock. You hadn’t paid a lot of attention to his presence in general, too caught up in Oscar and the torment of your own conflicting feelings to even grace him with acknowledgement. You voiced the first part of your thought, casually sipping your drink.

His expression tightened as he forced a smile. “Ah. Yeah, well, they… they let me go. Budget cuts, you see.”

It took all your will and decency not to explode in laughter. Budget cuts. Ah, yes. Incompetence must have had a change of definition in the Oxford Dictionary recently. “So… why are you here?”

“My dad knows the hotel owner. I got an invite last minute.”

“Oh,” you said with a mocking tilt of the head. “So nepotism and unemployment. Got it.” The fake niceness you sported on during your first interaction at the start of the season had vanished out of thin air─ you weren’t going to put up with this pathetic excuse of a man any longer than you had to, precisely now that you had no reason to anymore.

Theodore laughed. Your hand prickled with the need to punch him in the nose. “You know, it’s not even that important that I lost my job at McLaren.” Said no one ever, you thought. How far did his privileges go? “I─ well, I only took it up because I learned you were working there. I thought… maybe if I was around again, we could fix things.”

You must have hit your head, this had to be a fever dream. The words reaching your ears made no sense to you whatsoever. 

“Fix─?” You scoffed, eyes widening. “That job was supposed to be your redemption arc? Is that it? Oh my god, Theo. You slept with my best friend and you thought I’d fall back in your arms because you barged into my career?”

“I made a mistake─”

“You made a choice,” you spat.

“I didn’t think it would matter this much to you!”

“Did I not cry enough the first time or do you want me to reenact it? Were you really hoping I’ll welcome you with open arms, open legs and a memory loss?”

“Well─”

“Don’t answer that. Actually, stop talking.”

Theodore threw his arms in the air, taking a step forward as he hurled his jacket on the chair you sat on a few minutes ago. “I just thought maybe seeing me again would remind you of what we’ve had!”

Rage and indignation alike rose in your throat like vomit, and your hands shook imperceptibly as you answered. “It did. It reminded me that what we had was never good enough to keep me from building something better. So thanks for the little nostalgia trip, but I’ll pass.”

Something in Theodore’s gaze darkened, dangerous and petulant, and before you could step back, he leaned in. “Oh, I get it now,” he snarled at you, voice dropping into something bitter. “It’s because of Piastri, isn’t it?”

“Back off, Theodore.” Your back had straightened instinctively. Discomfort crept under your skin like cold water─ you didn’t like the way he hissed his name and how close he was getting.

He didn’t back away. Instead, he took another step. “Didn’t realize you’d fall for the first man who gave you attention after me. Guess I underestimated how lonely you─”

“Everything alright there?”

His voice, warm and familiar, sliced through the tension and your shoulders slumped in relief. Oscar.

He was standing just behind Theodore, who turned around comically slow. Oscar’s expression was unreadable. You never saw him angry, but you did know how to recognize the calm before a storm.

“Yeah,” Theodore answered, too fast. “Just… catching up.”

Oscar’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, I think you’ve done enough catching up for tonight.”

He walked toward you, and you subtly stepped to his side, his heat grounding in the absurdity of the situation. He didn’t look at you─ his eyes were locked on Theodore’s, cold and measured. “If you’ve said your piece,” he started, “I think you should head back to whatever table your father pulled strings to get you to.”

Theodore scoffed, his features twisting into something ugly, but he didn’t push his luck. He wouldn’t be winning this fight. After a beat of tense silence, he turned and stormed off the entry hall, muttering something beneath his breath you didn’t bother catching.

The moment he was out of sight, you could feel the rigidity in your body melt away. You hadn’t even realized how tightly you’d been wound until now, standing frozen in place. You reached out instinctively, gripping Oscar’s sleeve in order to keep you on your feet. “Shit,” you whispered. “I didn’t expect him.”

Oscar’s hand closed gently over yours and how thumb drew slow circles across your knuckles. You could feel his eyes on you attentively. “You okay?”

You sniffled, breathing fast as a breathy, nervous laugh slipped past your lips. “God.” You wiped your cheek, pausing when you saw the glint of moisture on your fingers, “I didn’t even realize I was crying.”

Oscar didn’t say anything right away─ he reached up with his other hand and brushed your tear track, cradling your cheek with the gentlest touch, like you’d break if he pressed too hard. “He’s a real dick,” he murmured, brows drawing together. “Trust me, he’s never coming near you again.”

That made you laugh─ quiet, and undeniably tired, but real. You looked up at him, something vulnerable sitting openly between you now. “Thanks for stepping in,” you breathed out. “You know, you’re awfully good at being a fake boyfriend. You nailed the attitude down.” You tried to make light of the situation, but the words stung when you got them out. You regretted uttering them as soon as you felt the frail openness in the air retract. Something in Oscar’s eyes dimmed a little, but they didn’t move from yours. 

“Always, that’s my job,” his tone dripped with a strange kind of acerbity. “Now, let’s get you to your room. I think we’re done for the night.”

You couldn’t agree more.

The way to your room was spent in silence, apart from the click of your heels on the carpet and the faint sound of breathing. The quiet was now oppressing, seeping with an anxiety that took you back to when he shook your hand in a similar hotel room a few months ago. When you released his arm as you reached your door, you half-expected him to mutter a polite goodnight and disappear at the end of the hallway.

Instead, Oscar leaned against the doorframe, hands shoved in his pockets. “Can I ask you something?”

You gave a small nod.

“What made you say yes to him?” He asked. Faced with your confused expression, he clarified, gaze flicking down. “Theodore. Why did you date him?”

There wasn’t a trace of judgment in his voice, just a searching sort of curiosity. The answer sat heavy on your tongue, unfamiliar and painful, but still, the question pulled something sharp through your chest─ you didn’t know why you were suddenly so self-conscious about it. 

“I’d like to say I don’t know but…,” you leaned back against the wall next to him, folding your arms to hold yourself together and eyes fixed on a point somewhere past his figure. “I think… I was tired. I used to put everything into school, so much that I skipped out on everything else. I didn’t even know who I was beside the pressure and achievements, and Theodore… just happened to be there during that confusing time of my life. My roommate’s, and ex-best friend’s, friend. I thought he was charming, in his own sort of way. He was persistent, used to leave flowers by my dorm room every morning.” You chuckled sadly. “They weren’t even my favorite - turns out they were hers.”

You heard Oscar exhale. “It still made me feel noticed, like I mattered to something outside of studies. Like someone actually saw me, you know? So I fell in love. And turns out he didn’t see me at all─ he sure as hell doesn’t now either, if he thought showering Zak with dollar bills and side-eyeing me across the paddock would be enough to win me back. That’s without mentioning the cheating.”

The silence of the hallway was deafening, your words echoing against the walls. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just dense. Until Oscar broke it.

“I don’t get it,” he murmured, “how anyone could cheat on you. It doesn’t make sense.”

It made you look at him. You’ve gotten used to turning around and finding his eyes already on you; it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise, but your chest still tightened when you met the darkness of his irises. You waited for him to reply, lacking any explanation yourself of why it couldn’t meet the simple principles of logic in his head, why he couldn’t find the flaws in you that lead Theodore to another woman.

Oscar’s answer came under a different form. “For what it’s worth,” he said, gaze steady. “I like to think I see you.”

You blinked. “Do you?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it, and the moment it did, the answer came rushing in. He did. You knew it in the way his head tilted slightly to the side, like he was still trying to see more of you, even now.

Oscar knew your coffee order by heart, the temperature and how much milk to ask for when you were too tired to speak it aloud. He knew which bakery carried your favorite pastry and what time he had to sneak away from media duties to grab it for you─ especially when the paddock version tasted like cardboard. He noticed when your hands got cold before you did, kept spare hand warmers in his bag in colder countries because “you’re always freezing.” He sent you stupid memes during long flights because he knew take offs made it hard for you to sit still. He carried spare glitter gel pens in his bag, and never teased you about it─ just handed you another one when you absentmindedly noticed yours was running out.

He remembered that you always got motion sick if you sat in the backseat of a car for too long. That you needed silence when thinking. That you hummed when you were concentrating and tapped your pen when you weren’t.

And suddenly, you weren’t just asking if he saw you the way you’d always wanted to. You were asking if he’d always been seeing you, even when you weren’t looking.

“I do,” he answered, barely above a whisper.

You nodded. There couldn’t be anything more true than that.

Just like that, the air tilted. Toward him, engulfing you both in a fragile, sacred space. Everything narrowed down to Oscar and the small buzz between your two bodies─ dense and electric, full of every feeling that had been lurking beneath the surface. His eyes flickered to your lips for the briefest of seconds. Back to your eyes. 

He moved subtly, like he wasn’t sure you’d let him, the idea of losing the moment scarier than not having it at all. Your body was still, breath hitching and heart racing, as his hand reached up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone, memorizing the shape.

And when he finally leaned in, he hesitated just inches from your lips, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath and the tremble in yours. “Is this okay?” He whispered.

You closed the space.

The kiss was gentle at first─ careful and tentative. The gentle, kind sweep of two people trying to find their footing, but the electric shock of the feeling brought everything back to you: the months of tension, the stolen glances, the fumbled excuses to stay close. Your mouths crashed over each other, deepening in the split of a second, slow and aching in the pants you let out and the touch of roaming, curious hands. You breathed into his mouth, seeking his air to make it yours.

Oscar’s other hand slid to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer and your back flush against the wall as your fingers curled into the lapels of his jacket. You could feel his heart hammering under your palm, fast and desperate, mirroring yours. His tongue demandingly slipped past your lips, and he kissed you like he had wanted to for a long time, and there was no denying he had. Raw and needy, you felt stripped bare by the small whine he let out when you bit down on his bottom lip.

You thought, the world could fall apart tomorrow and this would have been everything you needed to go peacefully.

When you finally pulled apart, both breathless, he didn’t move far. You wouldn’t have let him anyways, the heat of his body too comfortable, the weight of his mouth branded on your own. His forehead rested against yours, eyes closed and lips swollen.

“You have no idea how long I wanted to do that,” he whispered, voice hoarse and rough with honesty.

You fingers tightened in his jacket, and you brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. “Trust me, I think I do.” He laughed against your lips and you kissed him again. Because after all of it─all the pretending, the teasing, the overthinking─you didn’t have to lie to yourself anymore, to convince yourself. You couldn’t make up the way he was kissing you back.

Yet, you still went to bed alone.

You hadn't planned on it─ well, not exactly. After the emotional whirlwind of the evening, the kiss, the honesty, the confession, you’d invited Oscar into your room without really thinking. It had been an instinct, comfort-driven by the nights already spent together, even if everything was entirely different─ including your intentions and his. But Lando had to barge in, clumsily looking for his room next to yours, doing a double-take at the sight of you tucked into Oscar’s side, your makeup smudged from tears and kisses like a hormonal teenager, Oscar looking all too rumpled and embarrassed next to you.

“Jesus,” Lando muttered. “I’m just─ you know what, we’ll unpack that later. Good night. Please don’t make too much noise.”

Oscar laughed, arms wrapping tighter around your waist when your friend disappeared, whispering, “I’ll come back tomorrow. After I take you out on a date. A real one, this time.”

You’d smiled. “You better.” He kissed you again, quick and soft and annoyingly perfect, more than your dreams made it out to be, and you went to bed glowing, with his name lighting your phone screen with sweet nothings and promises of conversations tomorrow.

But tomorrow never came, because the knocks that woke you up were giving you a sickening déjà-vu. They were urgent, a trumpet announcing the complete turning of your world just like they had done a few months back, in February, and loud enough to slice through the sleepiness in your bones along with the drowsy haze of your mind.

You got up with difficulty and barely had the time to wrap a blanket around yourself before answering the door. You half-expected to find the Grim Reaper himself waiting on the other side with how early it was for anyone else to be knocking. Instead, you were faced with Oscar. Your heart gave a small, automatic jolt when you saw him. After how last night ended, he should have been the best thing possible to wake up to.

The expression on his face stopped you cold.

Oscar, who rarely wore his emotions so plainly, looked visibly shaken. The sharp lines of his face were pulled tight with worry, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. And that─more than the hour, more than the knocks─was what stopped you from throwing yourself into his arms.

You opened the door wider to let him in, which he did with hurried steps. “What’s happening?”

“Can you close the door first?” You did without much of a question.

Oscar sat on the edge of your bed, phone cradled in hand. He looked up at you, and distressed wasn’t enough to describe it─ he looked wrecked. “Have you checked your phone this morning?” He asked.

Dread pooled in your stomach. “No, I─ I just woke up,” you answered. “Oscar, I─”

“Someone leaked it. Our agreement, the fake dating. It’s all out.”

The world tipped.

The air in your lungs vanished and, for a moment, all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears. His words repeated like static, a taunting echo getting louder and louder the more you realized what it meant. “What?” You whispered, eyes locked on his. The truth could have looked different there, but didn’t.

You sat down next to him, every limb leaden, cinching the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “How─? Who even─? We were so careful and─”

“Nobody knows, they’re searching for it right now,” Oscar replied, but it came out strained. “Everyone's trying to trace it now, but it landed on DeuxMoi and basically everywhere after that. They’ve got… receipts. Pictures, testimonies, photos- and a very incriminating audio recording.”

His throat bobbed with a swallow. “Of you. Saying something like… how good of a fake boyfriend I am. From last night, before we went up.”

Your stomach flipped. “But─ we were alone.”

Different scenarios flashed in your mind, engulfing you both in a spiral of questions and worry. Someone could have been filming you, and the lights were too low to spot the silhouette. Maybe Theodore’s jacket, draped over the chair you’d sat on, had a recording device on it in an attempt to prove himself something, or to get revenge on you. But how would he have guessed? There were so many possibilities, and Oscar’s silence didn’t help you feel any better about any of them─ not knowing burned hotter than the betrayal itself.

He took your hand in his, your intertwined fingers resting between the two of you. The contact made you flinch.

Your breath came out in a shaky exhale. “I mean… it was going to end anyways, right?” Oscar’s frown deepened, so you pushed forward. “The whole relationship. Theodore left. That was the plan, wasn’t it? It wasn’t supposed to last past him. It’s a very shitty way to end, sure, but… you can work with it.” You were tearing up by the time the last word left your lips.

Oscar winced. His grip on your hand tightened. “Don’t say it like that.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” You let out a wet, pathetic laugh. “It’s over.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said, and it sounded a lot like a plea. “We can figure something out─ Zak, the rest of the PR team-someone will know what to do, there-”

You scoffed─ not at him, never, but at the cruel absurdity of it all. Your incapability of keeping something good for yourself. “You don’t get it, Oscar.” Your voice wavered. “Apparently, we’re everywhere. There’s an audio recording. People feel like they’ve been made fools of. They won’t forgive that so easily─ they’ll turn on you. They won’t believe in something that’s already been exposed as fake, even if─”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Because that was the worst part, wasn't it? You weren’t faking it anymore. Neither of you were, and hadn’t been for a really long time. You could have stumbled around, trying to figure out what it meant, searching his mouth and holding on to the feeling long enough to put a name on it, but the headlines didn’t give you that chance. They took it from you, carved it out of your hands before you even got to claim it as yours.

A beat.

“It was real for me,” Oscar said. “It is.”

You looked at him, the details of his eyes that made promises you were sure he could have kept under different circumstances. You tried to smile, but your face cracked under the weight of it, tear tracks shining under the early morning light. “They don’t know that,” you whispered. “They won’t care.”

Oscar’s gaze fell on the floor, and you shook your head gently. “You still have a career to protect. Just say it was my idea, you were helping me out and I got you into all of this─ which is the truth, technically. You just got too caught up. They’ll forgive you eventually, they’re here for the racing.”

“And what about you?”

The silence spoke for itself, heavy with the undeflectable nature of the situation. Carefully, as to not startle him, you took back the hand he was holding and folded both of them on your lap. There would be no other outcome to this story. “I’ll figure it out. It’s my job.”

He didn’t believe you, you could see it in the lopsided curve of his mouth, the prominent vein near his temple you traced with your eyes before falling asleep. You realized you never had the opportunity to pass a night in his arms.

“You go get ready for your race, Oscar. Don’t worry about me.” Your chest ached as your mouth shaped the words, barely hearing them yourself. The only thing that mattered was the low lights in the Australians’ eyes, how his mouth opened and closed around something. He never said whatever was pending at the edge of his tongue, but he closed his eyes when you put your lips on the skin of his cheek.

Oscar just left quietly, in the imperceptible click of a hotel door. You couldn’t watch him go─ if you did, you might not have had the strength to let him.

You were let go by McLaren before the race even began.

The decision had been clear from the get-go. Still, it didn’t make sitting in that sterile room any easier knowing the lanyard around your neck would be up to grab for someone else in seconds. It wasn’t cruel or personal─ it was just business.

You spent over three hours with members of staff, going over the facts and projected damage. You nodded along and asked questions you could predict the answers to, but the conclusion was written into the walls: the scandal was too loud, and you weren’t quiet enough to survive it─ at least, not with a badge that read McLaren on your chest.

You gave it back, sliding it over the table to the chief of staff. They booked you a flight home as discreetly as they could manage and it wasn’t until you stepped in your apartment, suitcase dropped by the door and keys shaking in your hand, that the overwhelming silence caught up with you.

And with it, everything else.

Your face was headlining the front pages of multiple websites and you’d just lost the best job you’ll ever have─ if not the only one, because a simple search would now lead every possible employer to the failed scheme you tried to put up.

You collapsed onto your bed, entirely dressed and only one shoe off, still wrapped in the airport chill. They made you hand-over your team-issued phone, along with the contacts of everyone that mattered back at Silverstone. You didn’t even have a chance to explain yourself or to say goodbye.

Oscar would finish the race and find out you vanished, and you had no way of telling him 

You let the weight of it all crash down on you.

If you had to estimate, you’d say you let yourself rot in your own misery for about a week, give or take. You weren't counting the days, but you knew you hadn’t opened your curtains since you got home. Your eyes were red, rubbed raw every time another wave of emotion struck you, and you hadn’t so much as looked in a mirror. Instead, you moved through your apartment like a ghost, sidestepping your own reflection as if it might reach out and confirm what you already knew─ you’d lost something you didn’t realize mattered this much until it was gone.

The past year had been everything. You successfully worked your way into a world that worked too fast for second chances where you found a rhythm, built friendships and connections. As tiresome as the lifestyle could sometimes be, you fell in love with what you were doing and what you came to be. In the past months, your life had mirrored the tracks─ swift and brutal, with enough turns to break a few wheels. Now, you were left with nothing but the emptiness in your stomach and for someone who always strived for more, the bitter aftertaste in your mouth was enough to keep you from wanting.

Your wake-up call came in the form of your rent.

Turns out heartbreak didn’t pause rent or the cost of groceries rising due to inflation. McLaren paid well, but not well enough so that you could afford to disappear off the grid and wallow in self pity with your last check. So you did what you always did, reminiscent of your past college superhuman efforts: you opened your laptop and got to work.

You applied to everything you set your eyes on─ LinkedIn, obscure websites, Facebook Ads, no one was safe. You didn’t dare touch anything remotely F1 related, or even F2, F3 or F4, the wound was still fresh and your name was probably too much of a touchy subject for you to be accepted anywhere near. You stuck to motorsports-adjacent companies, agencies, development programs, even local circuits. Just… something, anything that would let you keep your toes in the world you loved.

Eventually, it came.

A small karting company in the Netherlands, of all places. Barely enough to fill a spreadsheet on a good day, but they had promising talents and were expanding, so in need of someone to help build their communications structure from the ground up. Preferably someone who knew how to handle press and build narratives, connect people to stories. They were desperate, which means they probably didn’t even look you up when they interviewed you. You took the opportunity with your first real smile in a minute.

It wasn’t as glamorous. The office had flickering lights, and you hadn’t come with the most adapted wardrobe. But it was something─ so you got to work.

You were surprised by how much you ended up loving it.

The people were awkward but nice, you went out with a few of your colleagues by the end of your first week, and the kids racing under your name were awfully sweet and their parents just as kind. The work wasn’t overbearing, but you put every ounce of your attention in building its perfect image with your team. Your new apartment was small and comfortable, and the city you settled in a neverending discovery of wonders. You felt fine─ which was a step away from the state you had been in not so long ago.

But even though you tried to build yourself another life, you still couldn’t shake the memory of Oscar. He was still there─ not in person, but in every memory you were not capable of erasing just yet. You caught yourself ordering his coffee order alongside yours as a force of habit, and accidentally took the notebooks with the overly precise details of your fallacious history with you to work. There was so much of him in you now, you had trouble picking apart the pieces. You scanned articles for his face but skipped race reports in case his name hurt more to see.

You tried to bury the ache in your schedule and the excitement of the company’s mediatic expansion, you wrote press releases, attended networking events with a tight smile and let small wins feel bigger than they were. Yet you knew your heart was sitting in his hands, thousands miles away- and you refused to wonder if, without knowing, you were still holding his. It was a hope you couldn’t entertain, all in the name of letting go. It was an act of healing of some sorts. Putting Oscar behind you was growth, not grief, and letting go of something that had no chance of being anymore was the most adult thing you’d ever do.

Except you have a history of your past catching up with you─ deep down, you should’ve known this time wouldn’t be any different.

It happened when you bumped into someone on your way out the café, hands full with the Communications team’s comically large coffee order. It was the end of August, and your mind was anywhere but on the street─ mostly focused on not spilling anything. Of course, that’s what made the crash even more cinematic.

Cold drinks flew in the air, splattering across the pavement and down your pants in dramatic, sticky rivulets. You were halfway into a curse when someone said your name in an all-too-familiar voice.

“Y/N?” You looked up from your drenched legs, and there he was.

Lando Norris in the flesh, unruly mullet and all. “Oh my god,” you muttered, halfway between disbelief and horror. “Hi?”

He stared at you like he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t hallucinating. You’d feel offended if you couldn’t understand where he was coming from- you did disappear suddenly, those two months ago. “You’re─ holy shit, what are you doing here?”

You awkwardly wiped your hands on the napkin that came with the order, glancing at the wasted money on the ground. “Clearly failing my duties. I work for a karting company just outside the city. Communications consultant.”

“No way, seriously? In the Netherlands?” Lando asked, eyebrows shooting up. “That’s… kind of awesome.”

You gave him an awkward smile. “Yeah. It’s not McLaren, sure, but I like it there.”

The mention of the team brought an icy breeze to the conversation and had Lando shuffling on his feet before you changed the subject. “And what are you doing here?” You asked, too enthusiastic for it to be spontaneous.

“Zandvoort race this weekend,” he answered with a slight grin.

“Oh, true.” With the drastic changes in your life and the newfound popularity the company had gained, you’d forgotten all about the fast-paced calendar you had become so accustomed with. The fact there was even a race taking place in the Netherlands, despite Max Verstappen being Dutch, had completely slipped your mind.

It should feel like a win, but your heart twisted to punish you.

Faced with another silence, Lando spoke up again. “You know, it’s not the same without you there, Oscar’s new PR manager is an old man.” That made you chuckle, although bittersweet. “We miss you. A lot.”

You didn’t miss the implication in his words. The air suddenly felt a bit thinner in your lungs than it did a few minutes ago. “He shouldn’t,” was all you could manage to reply in the tightening of your throat.

“Why not?”

You shrugged, forcing your voice to stay level. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It ended. He has to focus on his career.”

Lando opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it, only giving you an hesitant smile in return. “Well… I’ll tell him I saw you. If you want.”

“No,” You shook your head with a soft laugh. “No. Just… good luck, alright? For the Grand Prix.”

It got Lando to smile wider, at least, something warm in the spreading of his lips. “Thanks. And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad I bumped into you. Let me make up for the spilled coffee.”

He did. Brought the entire order again and handed it over with a sheepish shrug, reminiscent of the friend you had two months ago, before disappearing down the cobblestone street. You stood there a bit too long, dazed by the improbability of it all. The universe decided to shake you a little, but somehow it had to be just when you made peace with the fact it had moved on without you.

You went back to the karting center where reality demanded your full attention. The rest of the day passed in a blur of last-minute adjustments─ tomorrow, you were hosting a little event in order to showcase the rising talents driving in your colors, which needed your immediate attention, no matter how divided by the episode this morning. You didn’t even notice everyone else leaving until the sun dipped below the horizon, painting gold across the windows and casting long shadows on the now-empty space.

You exhaled slowly, closing your computer and feeling the soreness in your back from being hunched over too long. The cons of being a workaholic, you guessed, but you’d done your part. You gathered your things, slid your jackets over your shoulders, and stepped out into the cooling evening.

You could have missed him if you hadn’t hesitated a second too long in the doorway, but you could also recognize Oscar anywhere, eyes closed or blindfolded.

He was leaning against a car, parked a few meters away from the entrance, hoodie loose around his shoulders and hair tousled by the breeze. His gaze was distant, unfocused as he was watching the distance. The second the door thudded shut behind you, the sound cutting through the quiet evening, his eyes snapped up, finding yours.

He looked lost, beautifully so. It froze you in your tracks. It didn’t seem to have the same effect on Oscar, as he pushed off the car and took careful steps forward.

“Hi,” was all he said, soft and steady.

You hadn't realized how much you missed the silken casualness of his voice before it reached your ears. It hit you harder than you’d expected. “How─?”

“Lando,” Oscar cut in gently. “He said you worked at a karting company near the city. I… looked it up. Thought maybe, with a little chance, you’d still be here.” He scratched the back of his neck and he looked away for a second, just one, before his eyes snapped back to yours.

Neither of you moved, unsure how to cross the canyon that had cracked open between you.

“I wasn’t expecting…” You trailed off.

“Yeah,” Oscar breathed out a humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Me neither. It was, uh, pretty impulsive. But I couldn’t just…” He trailed off too, shaking his head.

You nodded, even though you didn’t understand. This whole conversation made no sense. “How’s it going? Life, I mean. At McLaren?” you asked, desperate to ignore your heart clawing at your ribs.

Oscar’s lips thinned. “Fine. Busy.”

“That’s good.”

He took a step closer, so very little you could have missed, and so slow it gave you the opportunity to step back. You didn’t take it. “And you? How’s─ all this?”

“It’s… something. I like it. I do.” You laughed, and it came out wrong.

“I’m glad.”

Silence fell, weighty on your shoulders. You didn’t know what to do, and you couldn’t guess how to act when Oscar looked so closed off, out of reach─ something he hadn’t been to you in a long while. You chose to let it stretch, unsure of what else.

Finally, it came down to Oscar. “You left.”

The words stung with the strength of a slap, and heartbreaking enough to put you back in front of your apartment door, two months back. You gripped the hem of your jacket, bringing it closer to your body in hope to substitute for the warmth his tone lacked. You inhaled sharply, fighting the sting behind your eyes.

“I didn’t have a choice. They made it very clear there was no place for me anymore, and it would be the better option for one of us to come out unscathed.” Your voice faltered despite your best efforts. “I didn’t want to leave that way, Oscar. Not without saying goodbye.”

You couldn’t help the comment that bordered on your lips. “But I figured you weren’t too concerned. You didn’t look too hard to reach me either.” Not an e-mail, no nothing. You were deprived of his contact information due to your work phone being taken away, but he wasn’t. 

Oscar’s hands curled into fists at his side. “I couldn’t. If I did, they assured me it could make everything worse if someone leaked it again, for the both of us.” A scoff escaped him. “Told me I had to wait until they found the person who took the audio recording in the first place before I could try anything.”

“And did they?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I don’t really care.”

Again, he took a step forward. Oscar was close, not overly, but close enough for you to see the wild and desperate edge etched in his delicate traits, regardless of how much he tried to hide it. “I wanted to reach out. Every day. I just─” He ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I thought that’s what you wanted. I kept thinking that maybe you hated me for how it ended, or─ maybe you regretted it.”

Your laugh broke out sharp and ugly, more hurt than anything else. “Hated you? Regretted it?” You shook your head in disbelief. “Oscar, how could you even think-?”

He didn’t interrupt you. You had to do it yourself, because Oscar just watched as if waiting for a confirmation between the lines. “You really think I’d regret you?”

He still didn’t move. “I mean…,” he finally rasped out, barely carrying over the wind, “it cost you your career in F1. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“I cost me my career, Oscar. Not you. The fake relationship was my idea. I told you from the beginning I’d take the fall if it came to it. You were just helping me.”

You watched his jaw contract with the need to argue back, but you wouldn’t let him. Oscar was wrong on all accounts in his reasoning, blinded by whatever had been clouding his mind during your disappearance, and you were making sure it stopped there.

“I couldn’t hate you even if I tried. Well, not now at least- you were pretty insufferable at first.” His shoulders shook in the semblance of a laugh. “And if there’s anything I regret, it’s not realizing that it stopped being fake a lot sooner.”

There it was, the hefty topic you had been dancing around─ the kiss, gentle in its unearthing, and the whispered promises of explanations in the morning. Something that had been stolen from you and was now coming back to the surface for a last gasp of air. You could either take it or let it drown.

Oscar’s eyes searched yours, and for a second you believed he’d apologize and leave.

But that’s not what he did.

“It was never fake for me,” he said. “When- When you walked in and introduced yourself as my PR manager, and you were all smiles and nerves and─” he huffed, breathless, shaking his head, “and I was gone. I didn’t know how to act around you or what to do with myself.”

He got so close, you had to tilt your head to look up at him. “I kept thinking it would pass,” he continued. “That it was just a stupid fixation. But you kept being you, and you got close to Lando, and you stuck around. It just kept getting worse. Or better, I guess, depending on how you looked at it.”

“Then there was your ex,” He said, breaking into a soft laugh. “You took my arm and called me your boyfriend and all I could think was, yeah. I’d like to hear that again.” His fingers grazed the inside of your wrists, a ponctuation in his confession. “I didn’t fake a single thing. Not once. It’s been real from the beginning.”

Almost delirious, you broke into a cackle that had your hand flying to your mouth─ a half-sob, half-choke ripped from your chest. “So you were a douchebag… because you liked me?”

Oscar’s mouth quipped, sheepish. “Yeah.”

“And you acted like an idiot because you didn’t know how to show it?”

“... Yeah.” Now he sounded embarrassed.

Another watery laugh bubbled out of you, and you wiped at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. “Oh my god, you’re such a man,” you said, voice wobbling between amusement and heartbreak, and Oscar’s smile cracked wider at the sound of it. You sniffled, rolling your eyes to try and hide the hopeful pain in your chest as you asked, intertwining your hand with his. 

“So… what do we do now?”

The pad of his fingers trailed up your arm, sending shivers down your spine. He cupped your elbows gently, steadying you like you were at risk of breaking at any minute. “Well,” Oscar murmured, the ghost of a demand parting his mouth. “Now that we got everything out of the way, I’m here for a reason. Only if you’ll have me.”

You didn’t need any more convincing, the days spent in his company during the tired mornings  and warm nights gave you ample amounts of reasons not to deny him.

As if you had the strength to even think about it.

You surged up, and your mouth caught up with his in the same way a puzzle piece would fit into another. It felt like homecoming, how the weight of his lips balanced against yours. Oscar hands went up your sides, painfully slow, wrapped around your waist and pulled your body flushed against him. You curled your fingers in the air at the nape of his nec, tugging slightly, and he sighed into your mouth─ broken and hopelessly in love.

The world shrank to just this: the press of his chest to yours, the warmth of his skin and how intensely Oscar Piastri kissed you back.

When you broke off contact for air, Oscar chased after your mouth. You tried to contain a giggle, unsuccessfully. “I can’t believe it took a whole fake relationship, messy break up and all, for you to do and say all that,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes and before you could react, the hands resting on your hips pinched your sides. You yelped, stepping on his foot. Old habits die hard, apparently, no matter what may have transpired in between.

“Well, I think you wouldn’t have liked me as much without that fake relationship.”

“I wonder whose fault it is, Oscar.”

“I’m just saying, I─”

You kissed him again. And again, and again, until the sun was well gone and stars were the only witnesses.

That night, you made sure to take Oscar back to your apartment. There was no awkwardness in the small talk made in the car, no hesitation in your movements. It was a slow series of quiet laughs against skin, not rushed or frantic in the slightest, whispered confessions tangled between languid kisses. You were curled up against him, a blanket thrown haphazardly on your legs and you talked. The way you wanted and needed to.

He murmured you might need to lay low for a while into your hair, eyes already closing with tiredness, in order to let everything die down and you agreed, brushing his knuckles with the featherlight touch of your lips. You could always come out with the truth later on, and you were content with your life in the Netherlands─ even more so if Oscar could share it with you in some hidden place in his heart. Your palm rested over his heart, feeling his heartbeat slowing down by sleep and lulling you into Morpheus’ arms just the same.

He kissed you one more time. The taste of home and future lingered in your mouth. Oscar will be there in the morning, when the sunlight will shine through the window. And then you could discuss it, about you, more in detail around a cup of coffee, when he’ll drive you to work before disappearing in his orange car, feelings less raw and more authentic.

Real didn’t have an expiration date. You had all the time in the world to figure it out.

©LVRCLERC 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[taelepathii]

━━━ON THE LOW 18+

Dealer!Nicholas/Wang Yixiang x Female!Reader

.ᐟwarnings/tags: dealer/stoner!nicho, i call him weno in this, soft dom!nicho, shy!reader, loverboy!nicho, drug use, shotgunning, romantic, making out, dry humping, praising, fingering, oral (f. receiving), p in v, mating press, crying, unprotected sex, confessing, aftercare

♡ you started buying weed for your friends and ended up falling for the dealer—turns out, he fell even harder.

.ᐟwc: 9.7k (no proofread)

You’d seen him around long before you ever spoke to him. He wasn’t the kind of guy you could ignore. Not because he was loud, Weno was anything but loud, but because he had this presence. Calm, quiet, and detached, like nothing ever really touched him. He was always there but just out of reach. The kind of person who didn’t care if people were watching, but somehow still ended up being the one everyone looked at. You had a couple classes near the same buildings. He always showed up late, always dressed like he’d just rolled out of bed—big hoodie, baggy jeans, backpack hanging off one shoulder. Never rushed. Never looked stressed. Just there. He’d walk past where you and your friends were sitting on the grass and barely glance your way. But even that one second felt heavier than it should. You didn’t know much about him, but you noticed him. You always had. Weno wasn’t exactly a mystery, everyone on campus knew what he did, they just didn’t talk about it. Not out loud, anyway. The stories passed around in whispers. That he sells, and it’s good shit too. That he never chased customers, people came to him. That if he liked you, he might give you more than you paid for. That if he really liked you, you’d know.

You didn’t know if any of that was true. But what you did know was that your friends wanted weed and were too scared to go get it themselves. So they asked you. Apparently, being the quiet one made you the designated “safe” option. It wasn’t like you and Weno were strangers, anyway. You’d talked a few times now. Nothing long, quick chats during pickups, the occasional hi at a party when you passed by each other. He’d never made you feel weird or unsafe. Just… flustered. A little warm in the chest, a little unsure what to say next. He had a way of watching you that felt deliberate, even when he said nothing at all. Your friend had shoved some cash into your hand at the last minute, babbling about how “he’s chill, he’s not scary, just please go for me, I can’t” — and you’d sighed, texting him before you could overthink it. He told you to meet him behind the dorms. 6:30. You almost didn’t go. You weren’t sure why he made you nervous, he hadn’t done anything to deserve that label. But something about him felt sharp beneath all the calm. Like he could see through you if he wanted to. When you rounded the corner that evening, he was already leaning against the side of his car, phone in hand, headphones around his neck. The sun was low, painting the edges of his face gold. You caught yourself staring before you could stop. He looked up as you approached. “Didn’t expect you,” he said, not moving. You blinked, “Why?” He shrugged, “Thought one of your loud friends would be the one to show. You’re not really the type to do this.” It wasn’t teasing exactly, but the way he said it made your face warm. You cleared your throat. “They made me come.” “Mm,” he hummed. “Figured.”

He pushed off the car, pulling a ziplock from his hoodie pocket. You reached for it automatically, but he didn’t hand it over right away. “You ever tried it?” You shook your head. “No. It’s not really… my thing.” He tilted his head slightly. Not judging, just observing. “Didn’t think it was.” he chuckled softly, then he handed it to you, fingers brushing yours for half a second too long. You looked down at your hand, not at the bag, but at where your skin still tingled. “You’re good,” he said quietly, “Let me know next time.” You nodded, muttered a soft thanks, already starting to turn away, but then he said your name. You froze and glanced back. He was still standing by his car, one hand in his pocket, the other lazily spinning his keys around his finger. The way he looked at you made your stomach flip, like he wasn’t just looking at you, but through you. “You always do stuff for your friends?” His tone was casual, but the question caught you off guard. “What do you mean?” He shrugged a little. “They want something, and you’re the one who shows up.” A pause. “That happen a lot?”You weren’t sure how to answer. It did happen a lot. They asked, you went. Not because you wanted to, but because it felt easier than saying no. You glanced down at the ziplock in your hand. “I guess,” you mumbled. “I don’t know.” He hummed low, like that told him everything he needed to know. You looked back up, ready to say something else—anything, maybe even defend yourself, but he beat you to it. “You’re a good girl.” The words were soft and genuine, but they landed heavy. Your breath caught. His gaze didn’t waver—steady, calm, like he hadn’t just said something that made your skin go warm all over. You didn’t know what to do with that. You didn’t even know what it meant coming from him. You just knew it made something flutter in your stomach. “Thanks,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. You turned and walked off a little too quickly, heart pounding, ears hot, his voice still echoing behind your ribs. You’re a good girl. You didn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the night. It wasn’t long before your friends asked again. Same excuse, same tone, a whiny “please, he already knows you” and cash pushed into your hand like you owed them something. You hesitated more this time. Not because of them, but because of him. You hadn’t stopped thinking about last time. It replayed in your head again and again. You stared at his contact in your phone for some minutes before typing out the message.

You

hey my friends wanna grab again

He replied two minutes later.

Weno

same place 7:30

When you showed up this time, he was inside his car, driver’s door open, music playing low through the speakers. He looked up as you approached and smiled, lazy and half-lidded. “Hey,” he said, voice low. “Hey.”You tried not to sound nervous. You weren’t even sure why you were nervous. This wasn’t new. You’d done this before. But this time, it felt different. You felt different. He stepped out, shutting the car door behind him as he pulled the same ziplock from the pocket of his jeans. You took it wordlessly, but his fingers brushed yours again, on purpose this time. You could feel it in the way he didn’t rush, didn’t pull away immediately. “Still not trying it?” he asked, tilting his head. You shook your head. “Not yet.” He raised a brow. “Why not?” “I just… haven’t.” You tucked the bag quickly into your jacket pocket like it might deflect the attention. “You scared?” The way he asked it wasn’t mocking, just curious, like he wanted to understand you, not challenge you. You hesitated. “No,” you said finally. “Just don’t wanna.” He nodded slowly, watching you again with that unreadable expression. “Still doing things for your friends, though.” You pressed your lips together. “I guess.” “They ever do stuff for you?” You blinked. “What?” He shrugged. “Just wondering.” You didn’t answer. Mostly because you didn’t have one. He could probably tell, because he didn’t push. He just looked at you for a long second, eyes dropping to your mouth before flicking back up to meet your gaze as he rolled a blunt for him. “You should stop letting people use you.” The bluntness of it caught you off guard. You shifted on your feet, unsure whether to say thank you or tell him it wasn’t like that, even though maybe it was. “You don’t even like them that much, do you?” Your breath hitched. “They’re my friends.” “Mm,” he hummed. “If you say so.”

After that, it happened a few more times. The same routine: a text, a time, a quiet walk behind the dorms where he’d be waiting. Sometimes he was standing. Sometimes in the driver’s seat with the door open. Sometimes already smoking, low music humming from the speakers. And each time, it got a little easier to look him in the eye. But also harder not to look too long. Weno never talked much. He didn’t fill silence just to hear himself speak. He asked things, small things, personal in ways that didn’t feel invasive, just seen. He was trying to piece you together quietly, without making a show of it. You’d come with your friends’ money in your pocket and leave with more than you paid for. Not every time, but enough that you noticed. When you offered to give him more, he just shook his head, said “You’re good,” and he meant it, it wasn’t just about the cash anymore. You didn’t tell your friends about how often you started going. Sometimes it wasn’t even about picking up anymore. You’d hand over the cash, but he’d wave it off. “Not this time.” You started to wonder if he even gave you real amounts. If this was still a deal or just an excuse. What you did know was that somewhere along the way, something started to shift.

It was in the way your pulse picked up when his name lit up your screen. In how you started getting ready earlier than you needed to. In how you made sure your outfit and make up was cute before leaving, like that would help keep your face from giving you away when he looked at you like he always did. It was on the low. No one really knew how often you were seeing him now—certainly not your friends. To them, it was still just you doing the awkward task they were too scared for. They didn’t know that half the time you went to Weno now, it wasn’t even because of them. Sometimes they didn’t ask at all—you just found yourself texting him anyway. And he always said yes. You weren’t sure when it stopped being about weed. You weren’t sure it ever really was. Sometimes you’d sit with him for a while. In the passenger seat of his car, parked in the same quiet lot behind the dorms. He’d roll one and lean back with the window cracked, slow smoke curling out into the night while music filled the silence. He never pushed anything on you. Never asked why you stayed. But you stayed. You weren’t good at talking about yourself, and he didn’t make you. He just gave you space to exist, and maybe that was what started doing it. Maybe that’s why you kept feeling warmer every time you saw him. More sure that he saw you. And you started to open up to him. You two would hang out and talk about anything and anyone very frequently.

You were curled up in the passenger seat, legs tucked under you, jacket zipped halfway. The night was cool, and the air smelled like weed and cologne, smoke curling from the blunt between his fingers. His playlist low in the background that made it feel like time moved slower in his car. You hadn’t said much in the last ten minutes. Just sat there, letting the silence hang. But it wasn’t awkward. Weno never made things awkward. You gave him a small smile, eyes drifting out the window. The streetlights cast a warm glow across the dashboard. He tapped the ash into the tray and leaned back, one arm stretched across the back of your seat like he didn’t even think about it. “I don’t get it,” you said quietly after a moment. “You do this with all your clients?” “Do what?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly, playful but unreadable. “This.” You motioned vaguely between you. “Sit in the car, talk like this, not charge them.” He chuckled once, deep and soft in his chest. “No.” You blinked. “No?” He turned his head, looked right at you, and shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “They’re not you.” Your stomach fluttered. You tried to play it off, but your smile gave you away. He tilted his head slightly, watching you through the soft haze in the car. “You know you’re my favorite, right?” Your head snapped toward him. “What?” He smirked, exhaled a slow breath, eyes never leaving yours. “Client,” he added after a beat, but the pause was on purpose. His smirk deepened like he knew what he was doing to you. Your face went warm immediately. “Shut up,” you muttered, covering your smile with your hand. “I’m serious.” His tone was calm. “You don’t talk much, you don’t ask dumb questions, you never waste my time.” “Oh,” you said quietly. But your smile stayed. “So I’m convenient.” He leaned a little closer, voice dropping low. “Nah. You’re cute.” Your heart jumped. You didn’t know where to look. You didn’t know what to say. So you laughed—awkward and soft, trying to bury your face in your hands like that might cool your cheeks. You left a little later than usual that night.

Three days later, when your screen lit up with a text from him, you answered in less than a minute.

Weno

u free tonight?

wanna chill for a bit?

♡

You

yeah :)

same spot?

♡

Weno

pull up at 10

no rush

You tried not to read into it too much. But you still picked out a different hoodie this time, your favorite one, did a little extra on your make up, styled your hair in way you knew framed your face best. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t anything. But your hands still felt warm as you walked out to meet him. His car was already there when you arrived. You climbed into the passenger seat, familiar now with the way the door stuck a little when you pulled it. Same playlist was on, and the heat was turned up just enough to make the inside feel cozy. He glanced over as you settled in, eyes flicking down to your mouth before meeting your gaze again. “Hey,” he said, voice smooth, quiet. “Hey,” you murmured back, smiling a little.

The next hour passed easily, like it always did when you were with him. You talked about nothing and everything, classes, music, random campus drama you weren’t even involved in, movies you both halfway remembered, the last weird dream you had. He laughed more than usual tonight, low and slow, eyes squinting a little when something you said caught him off guard. His hand rested on the steering wheel as he listened, thumb tapping the leather in a lazy rhythm. He made you feel comfortable, like whatever you had to say mattered even if it didn’t. Like he was listening just because it was you talking. At some point, he lit up. You were mid-sentence when he leaned forward to spark the lighter, the soft flick of it barely cutting into the music. He offered it to you once out of habit, holding the blunt out between two fingers, and this time you didn’t shake your head immediately. You hesitated. Then, before you could overthink it, you took it. Your fingers brushed his. His expression didn’t change, but something in his gaze lingered longer than before. “You sure?” he asked, voice soft, a little more serious now. You slowly nodded. “Yeah. Just—don’t laugh at me if I cough.” He smiled, “I won’t.” He leaned back into his seat. “Promise.” You inhaled, a small hit, like you’d seen him do a hundred times now. It burned, made your throat tickle, your eyes water just a little, but you didn’t cough. He watched carefully, still smiling. “Good girl,” he murmured.

Your chest tightened at the words, heat blooming under your skin before you could stop it. You handed it back to him quickly, trying to focus on the burn in your lungs, the soft thrum of bass in the background, anything except how warm you suddenly felt. Time got slower after that. An hour passed in a haze, soft laughter, lazy conversation, both of you sinking deeper into your seats, the windows fogging slightly. He smoked again, and passed it back and forth to you. Your body felt lighter. Music melted into the background, his voice a little rough now. You both stared out at the empty parking lot for a while, just existing. It was quiet in the way that felt close, not awkward. Every time your knee brushed his, he didn’t move. Every time you shifted, his eyes flicked toward your mouth, then back to the road like he didn’t want to get caught looking. And maybe it was the high, or the way the space between you had been shrinking since the start, but something changed. You turned to say something and caught him already looking at you, staring. His arm was still draped behind your seat, but now his fingers were brushing your shoulder, light and casual. You blinked at him. “What?” you whispered, voice lower than before. He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you for a long second, eyes warm, thoughtful. “C’mere.” You didn’t even think. You just leaned forward, heart thudding quietly behind your ribs as his hand slid slowly to the back of your neck. He tilted his head slightly. His lips brushed yours soft at first, testing. Then again, firmer. You leaned into it. Your heart stuttered, hands unsure of where to go. One found the edge of his hoodie. The other pressed lightly to his chest. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been thinking about this for a while. He wasn’t in any rush now that it was finally happening. You kissed him back slow, high and a little breathless, your skin buzzing all over. He pulled back eventually, just enough to look at you, eyes dark and steady.

“You’re high,” he said, almost teasing. “So are you,” you whispered. He smiled, gaze dropping to your lips again. “Yeah. But I still meant it.” You smiled, small and dazed, and tucked your legs under you again, curling back into your seat. The car was quiet for a few more minutes. Nothing changed. But everything had. And when you finally said you should go, he didn’t stop you. Just nodded, reached over, and opened the door for you like he always did. Before you stepped out, he caught your wrist gently. You turned back. His eyes searched yours for a moment. “Text me when you get in.” You nodded, “Okay.”

You

made it home :)

♡

Weno

good

was starting to think u got lost

♡

You

nope

just still thinking

♡

Weno

about?

♡

You

you

♡

Weno

yeah?

what part

♡

You

the obvious part

♡

Weno

mm

i liked that part too

didn’t rlly want u to go

♡

You

u didn’t?

♡

Weno

nah

wanted to kiss u again

♡

You

i wanted to too

but i got nervous :(

♡

Weno

it’s ok bby

will i see u again soon?

♡

You

yeah

if u want to

♡

Weno

i do

♡

You

can’t wait

goodnight weno :)

♡

Weno

me neither

gn <3

You didn’t stop thinking about that night. Or his texts. Or when he said he wanted to kiss you again. The way your heart stuttered when he called you bby like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it was already normal between you. It wasn’t, not really. But it was starting to be. You’d kept texting after that. Not every second of the day, but enough. Little check-ins, good mornings, music recs, late night questions that felt heavier than they sounded. He was never overly forward, not the type to blow up your phone or say things just to get a reaction, but everything he did say stuck with you. You were head over heels. Smiling at your phone and then burying your face in your pillow like an idiot every time. So when one of your friends mentioned the party coming up—some frat guy’s birthday, everyone was going, “you have to come, it’s gonna be huge”—you didn’t think much of it at first. Until she added, casually, “Pretty sure Weno’s gonna be there too, so you can’t get us some stuff as well?” That made your heart skip. You played it off, said “yeah, cool” and shrugged, but your brain had already started spiraling. What if you saw him? What if you didn’t? What if he ignored you in front of everyone? What if he didn’t? You told yourself you weren’t going for him. But you still stood in front of your closet longer than usual. You picked a dress—short, tight, something you hadn’t worn before. Simple, but it hugged you in all the right places. You did your makeup with more care than usual, spritzed perfume on your neck, your wrists, let your hair fall soft and full around your shoulders. You didn’t tell anyone why you looked a little extra tonight. But you kind of hoped he’d be there. And you really hoped he’d notice.

The house was already packed by the time you got there—music thumping through the walls, bodies crammed together in every corner, red cups in almost every hand. Lights low, flashing sometimes, music echoing through a speaker in the living room. It smelled like sweat, beer, weed, and cheap cologne. Typical. Your friends disappeared as soon as you walked in, squealing at someone they recognized near the kitchen. You stayed back for a second, just long enough to scan the crowd. Not because you were looking for anyone. Not on purpose, anyway. And then you saw Weno. Leaning against the far wall near the stairs, hoodie half-zipped over a white tank, cargo pants hanging low on his hips, the hem of his boxers peeking a little. He wasn’t dancing. Wasn’t talking loud or laughing or drinking like the rest of them. Just standing there, calm and unreadable, eyes lazily moving through the room like he’d been here a hundred times before. He was talking to someone, dapping them up quick, pulling something from his pocket and handing it off like it was nothing. No one looked twice. Just a quiet exchange, over in seconds. He didn’t try to be subtle, he didn’t have to. People came to him. You stayed near the edge of the crowd, drink in hand, pretending to be more focused on your friends than you were. But your eyes kept drifting back. He looked good. Effortlessly good. And he hadn’t seen you yet. You tried not to look over too often. Tried to focus on your friends and their chaotic conversations, the loud music, the colorful lights. You laughed at jokes that didn’t really register. Nodded along. Sipped water from your cup and told yourself it wasn’t that serious. He wasn’t even talking to you. He was doing his own thing. Still, your gaze kept drifting. Just to see if he was still there. Still. Every time you checked, he was. Some minutes passed like that—just you pretending to be more chill than you felt while your friends chattered and moved toward the crowd. You stayed behind, needing a second to breathe. You slipped into the kitchen, mostly empty now, except for the quiet hum of the fridge and the faint bass vibrating through the floor. You reached for the fridge handle, intent on just grabbing some cold water and hiding out for a bit, but when you turned, he was already there. Standing just inside the doorway. Watching. Your breath caught.

He didn’t say anything at first. His eyes scanned you slowly—top to bottom, unhurried. You felt it like a heatwave, settling low in your stomach. His gaze was darker than usual. Focused, sharp. You dropped your eyes immediately, trying not to fidget. Tugged lightly on the hem of your dress like it might help somehow, like maybe it covered more than it did. You felt your cheeks flush without him even having to speak. You weren’t even sure why you were so nervous. You’d seen him like this before, but something about tonight made it worse. Made you bite your lip without thinking. Made your cheeks burn just from the way he looked at you. “Didn’t know you’d be here,” he said, voice calm and even. A little rough from the smoke, but still warm. You glanced up, heart racing. “Yeah,” you said, “Wasn’t really planning to, but… my friends dragged me.” He smiled a little. “I’m glad you came.” Your breath hitched. You weren’t expecting that. “You look good tonight.” It landed heavy in your chest. No teasing. No smirk. Just him saying it like it was a fact. Your whole body flushed. “Oh,” you said, voice small. “Um. Thanks.” He nodded once, eyes still on you, and then glanced back toward the hallway. “I’m heading up to the balcony for a bit. If you wanna get some air.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Just gave you one last look—soft, lingering—and pushed off the doorframe to leave. “Come find me,” he said, and then he was gone. Leaving you standing in the kitchen, heart racing, lip caught between your teeth, wondering how the hell he always made you feel like this without even trying.

You lingered in the kitchen for a while after he left, pretending to scroll through your phone, half-listening to the party still pulsing through the walls. Your friends had fully disappeared into the crowd by now, probably dancing or taking shots or screaming over music. You told yourself you were just cooling off. Just getting a break from the noise. But you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked at you. The way he said it—You look good tonight. Like it wasn’t up for debate. Like he meant it, and he knew you’d heard him loud and clear. Eventually, you texted some excuse about needing air, said you’d be right back if anyone even cared that you left. You slipped out of the kitchen and made your way upstairs, heartbeat loud in your ears, feeling a little ridiculous and a lot nervous. The hallway was quiet, just some closed doors and the muffled hum of bass below. You found the door to the balcony slightly cracked open, soft breeze pushing in from the night. You pushed it open gently. There he was. He sat on a low, beat-up couch tucked against the wall. One leg stretched out, the other bent, arm thrown over the backrest like he owned the space. Head tilted back just slightly, hoodie slipping off his shoulder, lips parted around the blunt as he took a slow drag. The ember glowed red in the dark, lighting up the sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. He looked unfairly good. Like the air belonged to him. Like nothing touched him. He turned his head lazily when he heard the door, eyes finding yours through the smoke. Didn’t smile. Didn’t say anything for a second. Just looked at you, then took another slow hit, exhaling with a quiet sigh before speaking.

“Knew you’d come.” You swallowed hard, heart kicking up again like you hadn’t already spent the last fifteen minutes trying to calm it down. His voice was low, almost lazy, but there was something behind it—something that made your chest tighten a little. You stepped out and quietly shut the door behind you. You sat down beside him, slow and careful, the cushion dipping under your weight. His knee brushed yours just slightly, warm through the fabric. You glanced over, then down again, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I just—I’d rather be up here with you than down there in all that chaos.” That got him to finally look at you. Head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed just a little like he was trying to read deeper than what you were saying out loud. He didn’t answer right away. Just flicked the ash from the blunt, leaned back again, eyes still on you. You breathed in through your nose, steadying yourself. Then softer, barely louder than the wind, you added, “I missed you.” He turned his head fully now, letting the blunt rest between his fingers. The pause that followed wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Warm. His eyes softened just a bit. “Yeah?” he said, voice a little quieter than before. “I missed you too.” It landed in your chest like a weight—like the kind of thing you weren’t sure you were allowed to want, but did anyway. He leaned in a little, not close enough to crowd you, but just enough for his knee to press softly into yours. His eyes didn’t leave your face.

“You been thinking about me?” he asked, voice still calm, but something about it made your stomach twist. You blinked. Heat rushed to your cheeks again, and you had to look away. “…Maybe.” He smiled at that, small and crooked and unfairly attractive. “Same.” And then he took another hit like he hadn’t just wrecked you with a single word. He let the silence hang for a few seconds after that, the blunt burning slow between his fingers, and then he said it quietly, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Come closer.” Your eyes flicked to his, heart stuttering a little. He didn’t look away, didn’t shift or make room, just waited. You hesitated for a second and then moved, scooting over until your leg was pressed fully against his. He reached out casually, like it was second nature, and slid his arm around your shoulders. A soft tug, and suddenly you were leaning into him, your head falling against his chest like it belonged there. You could feel everything. His warmth, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the steady thump of his heart under your cheek. His hoodie smelled like smoke and laundry and him. He brought the blunt to his lips again, took a hit, then lowered it and turned his head slightly toward you.“Want some?” he murmured. You shook your head, just once. “Not right now.” He hummed, didn’t push. Just let his hand stay where it was on your shoulder, thumb brushing idly against your arm. You didn’t say anything after that. Neither did he. You both just sat there, pressed together on the old balcony couch, the party a muffled storm below you, the stars wide and scattered above. You listened to the wind. The soft scratch of fabric when he shifted. The occasional drag and exhale as he smoked. You closed your eyes for a second and just let yourself feel all of it.

He shifted a little, moving his hand lower on your arm, caressing the skin, his breath warm against your hair. You felt his heartbeat quicken just a bit beneath your cheek. The silence between you was thick. to be noticed. You glanced up at him, your eyes catching his in the dim light. There was something softer there now. Something unspoken, but heavy. Without breaking eye contact, his hand moved to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering near your temple. Your breath hitched. He leaned down just a little, voice low and casual, “You’re beautiful.” You swallowed, barely able to meet his gaze as your face flushed again. Then, just like that, he closed the tiny gap between you. His lips found yours slow and gentle, before deepening the kiss, like he’d been wanting to do this all night. You melted into him, your hand slowly reaching up to rest on his chest as the world around you faded. It’s not gentle anymore, it’s urgent, needy. His hand tightens in your hair, pulling you closer as his tongue slides against yours, deep and demanding. You whimper softly, the sound lost in the press of his mouth, your body melting into his. He pulls back just enough to whisper in your ear, voice husky, “Wanna get out of here? I’ve got my car nearby.” Your heart pounds so hard you’re sure he can hear it. You just nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, breath catching again as he wraps his arm tighter around you.

He doesn’t rush you, just laces his fingers through yours, warm and firm, and gives your hand a gentle tug. You follow without thinking, legs shaky as you leave the balcony behind and slip back into the quiet hallway. The party feels distant now, like the world narrowed down to just him, the weight of his hand in yours, the aftertaste of his kiss still lingering on your lips. The walk to his car is quiet, but not awkward. When he unlocks the door and slides into the driver’s seat, you hesitate for half a second before slipping in beside him. The doors shut with a soft thud, sealing you both inside the low, warm hum of the vehicle. He leans back, legs stretched out, calm like always, but there’s a heat behind his eyes when he looks at you. A spark still flickering from earlier. “I’m gonna roll real quick,” he murmurs, pulling out his tray and grinder from the center console like it’s second nature. You nod, watching him work—his fingers nimble, methodical, the lighter’s flame briefly illuminating his face when he brings the blunt to his lips. The car fills with the earthy scent of smoke, and his head tilts back slightly as he exhales, half-lidded. He looks so fucking fine like this, bathed in shadows and smoke, hoodie loose around his collarbones, the faint red glow of the blunt lighting up his lips. Then he turns his head toward you again and you don’t even get the chance to fully catch your breath before he leans in again, free hand finding your cheek as he kisses you.

The smoke still lingers on his breath, and you melt into it, moaning softly into his mouth as his tongue slides against yours. His fingers are on your thigh, squeezing gently as he pulls you closer. The kiss turns messier, full of need, soft gasps and low groans echoing through the car. Your hand grips his hoodie low, holding on like you might fall apart if you let go. He pulls back only enough to whisper, breath ghosting over your lips, “Could do this all night.” Then his mouth is on yours again. More heat, more tongue, more breathless little noises spilling from your lips as your body starts to tremble in his hands. Without breaking the kiss, his hands move, one sliding up your thigh, the other settling on your waist. “C’mere,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice low but soft. You barely register what he means until his hands are guiding you, pulling you gently, firmly, right onto his lap. One leg at a time, knees sinking into the seat on either side of him, hands braced on his shoulders, your dress hiking up as you settle onto him, straddling him, face to face. He leans back just enough to look at you, eyes hooded, red from the weed, blunt still between his fingers. One of his hands slides up your side, fingers grazing your waist and ribs over the thin fabric of your dress. He takes his time with it, like he’s learning your shape. Your breath stutters as his hand travels higher, stopping just under your arm. He brings the blunt to his lips again, takes a long, slow hit, his chest rising beneath you, and then leans in close. His free hand curves around the back of your neck, guiding your face closer to his. You part your lips on instinct, and he exhales the smoke right into your mouth, warm and slow, curling over your tongue. Your eyes flutter shut as you breathe it in, heart thudding, and then he kisses you. Kisses you like he’s taking the air right back from your lungs.

Your breath catches when you feel his hands slide down, beneath the hem of your dress. He pushes it up slowly, bunching the fabric around your waist until the cool air hits your thighs. You shift slightly, nervous, thighs tightening around his hips as he exposes more of you. He doesn’t say anything, just stares for a second, eyes flicking down to where your panties are now visible, his palms firm on the back of your thighs. “Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself. Then he leans forward, mouth finding your neck, and everything gets messier after that. He kisses down the side of your throat, open, warm, wet, his lips dragging along the skin, tongue flicking against your pulse point, teeth grazing just enough to make your hips twitch against him. You whimper quietly, trying to stay still, but he’s already pulling you closer with both hands, guiding your body into his like he knows exactly what you need. You tilt your head for him without thinking, shy sounds escaping your mouth as he works his way up to your jaw, then down again, kissing a little rougher now. “Weno…” you whisper, voice breaking around his name. “Shh,” he murmurs, his voice low against your skin. “You’re okay.” Your arms wrap around his shoulders instinctively, face burning as you shift in his lap, unintentionally grinding down just slightly. His reaction is immediate, a quiet groan right into your neck, his hands tightening on your hips. “Just like that,” he breathes.

Your hips grind down harder without thinking, breath coming out in shaky gasps as the friction starts to feel almost too good. His hands slip under the back of your dress, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass, guiding your movement like he needs it just as bad. You’re whimpering into the heated space between you, clinging to his hoodie, your body trembling slightly with every slow drag of your hips over his. Your panties are soaked. His pants are straining. The windows are fogging up, and the whole car smells like weed, sweat, and heat. He tilts his head, catching your mouth again in another deep, tongue-heavy kiss, like he can’t stop tasting you. His hand slides up your waist, grazing under the curve of your chest over the thin fabric of your dress, and you shudder, moaning softly into his mouth. Then he pulls back, just a little, resting his forehead against yours as both of you try to breathe. “Fuck,” he whispers, chest rising and falling beneath you. “You look so fucking pretty like this.” You blink at him, dazed, lips swollen and barely parted, still trying to catch your breath. He looks at you for a long second, hands still on your waist, grounding you. “I don’t wanna do this in the car,” he says, voice rough. “You deserve better than that.” Your breath hitches, heat flaring even higher at how serious he sounds. “Wanna go to my place?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your side. You nod slowly, shy but needy, your fingers curling in the collar of his shirt, a little scared to let go. “Yeah,” you whisper, barely audible. “Okay.” He kisses you once more, soft and sweet, before pulling back just enough to reach for the keys.

The door shut with a quiet click, sealing you into the warmth of his place. It was dark, mostly, just the glow of a streetlamp slipping through the blinds, casting faint lines across the floor. Neither of you spoke. You turned slightly, lips parting like you might say something, but he was already reaching for you. His hands found your waist in the dark, pulling you in with no hesitation, and his mouth was on yours before you could even breathe. Kissing you hungrily, deep and needy. Everything he hadn’t said tonight was pouring out of him all at once, into the way he held you, the way his lips moved over yours. His grip was firm, hands splayed over your hips, your back arching into him as you kissed him back just as desperately. He walked you backwards without breaking the kiss, slow, steady steps through the short hallway, lips never leaving yours. You barely registered the corners of the space or how you ended up where you did until the back of your knees hit something soft. And then he was lowering you onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath you, and your breath caught as he hovered above you, eyes dark and steady on yours. Then, without a word, he zipped down his hoodie and took it off. Now just in a white tank, it clung to his frame in all the right places, the cut of his collarbone visible, shoulders broad and sharp under the light. He looked down at you for a second longer, breathing hard, gaze lingering on your face like he couldn’t believe you were really there. Then he leaned down, kissing you again, less rushed, but just as intense. His hands slid up your sides, fingertips ghosting over the fabric of your dress, moving deliberately, memorizing the shape of you. You whimpered softly into his mouth, fingers curling in the hem of his shirt. He pulled back for a second, eyes flicking between yours, voice low and wrecked. “You good?” he asked, forehead brushing yours. You nodded, cheeks burning, lips swollen already. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m good.”

He didn’t wait long after your answer. His mouth moved to your neck, warm and open, lips brushing your skin before he started kissing, slow, deliberate, dragging his tongue gently along the curve of your throat. You gasped, breath hitching as he sucked softly at a spot just below your jaw. Then again, a little lower. Your hips twitched beneath him when you felt his teeth graze you. “Weno—” you whispered, but it came out as more of a breath than a word. “You’re so pretty” he murmured, voice barely there, like he was talking to himself. “Always are.” His hand moved down slowly, slipping over your waist and along the outside of your thigh before sliding back up under the hem of your dress. His touch was patient, teasing, he didn’t rush. Just let his fingertips brush along the top of your thigh, higher and higher until they were tracing the edge of your panties. He pushed the fabric of your underwear to the side, slowly, and let his fingers slide between your folds, touching your bare heat. You gasped, head tilting back into the pillow, lips parting in a silent moan. “Shit,” he whispered, breath warm against your collarbone. “So soaked f’me, baby.” Your cheeks burned, thighs tensing slightly around his hand. He kissed the hollow of your throat, then lower, just above your chest, tongue wet and warm as his fingers began to move—slow circles at first, barely-there pressure that made you squirm beneath him. His free hand gripped your waist, holding you steady like he could feel how close you already were, how much you wanted him. “You’re so sensitive,” he muttered, voice deep and low, teeth grazing your skin as he kissed up to your ear.

You whimpered his name, hips grinding into his hand without meaning to. His fingers never stopped moving, dragging slick circles against your clit as he kept his mouth on your neck. Every kiss felt more urgent, but not rushed. It wasn’t just lust. It was something else. Something heavier. And then he leaned up, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice barely above a whisper. “I think about you all the time,” he murmured, breath warm, fingers still teasing between your thighs. “Even when I’m not supposed to. Even when I try not to.” Your heart flipped, aching at how raw it sounded coming from him. “I don’t even think you know what you do to me,” he continued, a soft kiss behind your ear. “How long I’ve wanted you like this. Letting me touch you.” The words hit harder than anything else had—deeper than the kisses, deeper than his touch. Your chest tightened, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers slid into his hair, pulling him down until your lips met again. Your moans melted into his mouth, the rhythm of his fingers picking up as your hips rolled up into his hand. His other hand gripped your thigh, spreading you wider for him.

And then, without warning, he shifted his hand lower, deeper. Your lips parted in a quiet gasp as he slid one finger inside you, slow and careful. Your walls clenched around the intrusion, already aching from how worked up you were, how long he’d been teasing. He didn’t wait long before easing in a second finger, stretching you just a little more. His movements were smooth, curling them up inside you just right, drawing out whiny, breathless little sounds from your throat you couldn’t hold back. You buried your face in his shoulder, hands gripping his bicep, your hips rocking involuntarily into every slow thrust of his fingers. He moved deep and steady, his palm pressing into you, thumb dragging lazy circles over your clit in rhythm. He kept moving inside you, slow and deep, curling just right. You were so close, the tension winding tighter and tighter in your stomach, breath catching with every stroke. But just as your legs began to shake, just as your hips bucked up into his hand with a quiet, desperate moan—he pulled out. You whined at the loss, hips stuttering forward instinctively, chasing the friction. “Weno…” “I know,” he murmured, breathless himself, voice thick with need. “I know, baby.” He leaned back just enough to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere to the side. The soft light coming through the cracked door hit his chest just right—shoulders broad, abs toned, skin flushed and warm. His chain shifted against his skin when he moved.

Then he was reaching for you again, hands gentle. “Can I?” he asked, fingers brushing the hem of your dress. You nodded, cheeks hot, eyes wide and dazed. “Y-Yeah” He pulled it up slowly, lifting it over your head. His eyes dropped to your body as it was revealed to him—bare chest, soft skin, rising and falling with every shaky breath. He leaned his mouth to your nipple, giving it a soft suck while sliding your panties down your legs, dragging his hands along your thighs as he did. Then he moved lower. He settled between your legs like he belonged there, hands spreading your thighs gently, thumbs brushing along the inside. You whimpered, body already arching at the sight of him down there, the feel of his breath ghosting over your skin. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, more to himself than anything, eyes locked on your soaked center. And then he leaned in. His tongue was warm, slow, one long, deliberate lick up your folds that made your back arch off the bed. Then again, this time with more pressure, more intent. His mouth locked over your clit, sucking softly before he flattened his tongue and circled it. You gasped, hands flying to his hair, fingers tangling as your thighs tried to close around his head. He just groaned into you, gripping your hips and pulling you closer, keeping you wide open for him. The sounds—wet, messy, sinful—filled the room along with your breathy moans, soft whimpers, the quiet creak of the mattress beneath you.

He didn’t stop. His tongue moved with purpose, lapping, circling, flicking. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything but moan, soft and desperate, your hips twitching with every stroke of his tongue. And then you felt his hand again. Sliding up the inside of your thigh, fingers trailing through your slick folds before one dipped inside you, curling instantly. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry. He added a second immediately, stretching you and pumping into you while his mouth never left your clit. “Weno—fuck,” you whimpered, body jolting as he curled his fingers just right. Your walls clenched around him, needy and tight. His groan vibrated through you when he felt it. His tongue pressed harder, fingers pumping deep and slow—each drag of his knuckles making your toes curl. Your moans got higher, breathier, as your body trembled under his touch. “You close, baby?” he muttered against your clit, fingers never slowing. “Wanna feel you cum on my fuckin’ fingers.” You nodded, frantic, too far gone to speak. Your back arched, thighs shaking as he held you open, ruined you with his mouth, pushed his fingers deep inside you until the heat building in your stomach finally snapped. You came hard, legs trembling, hips stuttering, a loud moan spilling from your lips as everything clenched and pulsed around him. Fingers still working you gently through it while his tongue slowed, easing the intensity but never leaving you empty. Weno pressed one last kiss to your thigh, lips lingering as he pulled his fingers from you slowly, savoring the way your body jolted at the loss. He sat back on his heels, chest rising and falling a little faster now, eyes heavy as they dragged up your body.

You watched, dazed, flushed, and breathless as he reached for the waistband of his cargos, unbuttoning and sliding them down. They hit the floor with a quiet thud, leaving him in just his boxers—black, stretched tight over the obvious bulge straining against the fabric. He palmed it slowly, eyes still fixed on you, thumb pressing down over the thick outline like it ached. You squirmed beneath him, breath catching again when he leaned forward, caging you in with his arms. He kissed you slow and deep, tongue sliding over yours, moaning into your mouth. Then he reached between you and pushed his boxers down just enough to free himself, hissing softly when his length sprang free and brushed against your thigh. “You still good?” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours, his thumb caressing your cheek. You nodded, voice caught in your throat. “Yeah… I want you.” That was all he needed. He reached down, guiding himself to your entrance, dragging the tip through your slick folds, teasing you both with the heat of it. His hand found your waist again, grounding you as he pushed in slowly—inch by inch, thick and hot and stretching you just right. You gasped, nails digging into his biceps, body arching as he filled you completely.“Fuck,” he breathed out against your mouth, kissing you again as he bottomed out. “So tight. So good.” He didn’t move right away. Just stayed there, buried deep, letting you adjust while he pressed soft kisses to your jaw, your cheek, your lips. His hands smoothed over your sides, grounding you. And then he started to move.

He started slow and deep, rolling thrusts that dragged every inch of him along your walls. Your body clung to him, welcoming each stroke like it had been waiting, aching, for this exact moment. His hands moved down your sides, palms warm and firm, before sliding under your thighs to hitch your legs higher around his waist. The new angle made you gasp, your head falling back into the pillow as he sank even deeper. “That’s it,” he whispered, voice all breath and gravel, “So fucking perfect like this.” You whimpered, lips parting with every slow rock of his hips, every soft press of his chest to yours. One of his hands slipped under your back, pulling you closer, the other traveling to cup your breast, squeezing gently, thumb circling your nipple. “Love your body,” he murmured against your skin, lips brushing your collarbone. “Every inch. All mine now, yeah?” You could only nod, breath shaky, heart pounding. He moved again—long, deep thrusts that made your thighs tremble around him, that had you clinging tighter to his shoulders, trying to ground yourself in his touch. “So fuckin’ good,” he groaned, kissing your neck, “Fuck—look at how you take me.” He slid his hand down to your ass, gripping it tightly, pulling you up into each thrust, letting you feel just how hard he was holding back. You cried out softly, tears blurring your vision as the heat coiled tighter and tighter inside you. You felt stretched, full…loved. Every part of him was on you, in you, his lips, his hands, his voice. He slowed for just a second, chest heaving as he looked down at you.

His hand cradled your jaw, thumb brushing your lip as he whispered, “No one’s ever made me feel like this.” You blinked, another tear slipping free. He caught it with a kiss. He pushed in deep again, groaning low as your body clenched around him. Your eyes fluttered shut as your lips parted in a sob, overwhelmed. The pleasure, the emotion—it was too much, and not enough. You gasped out his name, voice broken, tears spilling freely now. “You’re doin’ so good,” he breathed, kissing the corner of your mouth. “So good for me. You feel so fuckin’ good—can’t get enough of you, baby.” He cupped your breast again, his other hand squeezing your ass as he rocked deeper, firmer, filling you completely with every thrust. The mattress creaked beneath you, skin slapping, breathy moans and whimpers. He lift your legs higher, folding them up toward your chest as his hands slid beneath your knees, guiding you open. His body shifted with yours, hovering close, his chest pressing to yours as he settled into the new position. You were utterly vulnerable, and so full. “Fuck,” he breathed as he pushed back in—deeper, impossibly deep, the new angle hitting something inside you that made your mouth fall open in a silent gasp. Your thighs trembled against his sides, your arms wrapping tight around his shoulders as he rocked into you again, slow and hard. His face was right above yours, eyes dark, mouth parted, breath hot on your cheek. His forehead pressed to yours. You pulled him down, fingers tangling in his hair, and kissed him hard, messy, open-mouthed, desperate. You sobbed into the kiss, the pleasure blurring everything, making your whole body feel like it was about to break apart in the best way.

He moaned against your mouth, thrusts picking up just slightly, deeper and deeper, hips pressing you into the mattress. One of his hands cradled your cheek as the other gripped under your thigh, holding you open for him while his body kept driving into yours, filling you perfectly. “You feel like heaven,” he whispered, kissing along your jaw between gasps. “So good for me, baby… fuck.” Your body clenched tight around him, your moans turning into cries as your nails dug into his back. “Weno— I’m close, I—please,” you gasped, barely able to form the words through the sobs that kept catching in your throat. “I got you,” he panted, hips grinding down, pace relentless now. “Cum for me, baby. Wanna feel you.” It only took another stroke. One more hit just right, and you shattered. Your second orgasm came, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your back arched, tears slipping down your cheeks as you sobbed his name, legs shaking violently around him. You clung to him like he was the only thing tethering you to earth. “Shit—baby—fuck—” he groaned, eyes squeezing shut as your body pulsed around him. “So good. So fucking good.” He barely lasted another few thrusts before he was pulling out quickly, stroking himself through the last moments, his body jerking forward with a final moan as he spilled across your stomach, thick and warm. He collapsed onto his forearms above you, forehead to yours again, breath ragged, lips ghosting yours.

He was still above you, body trembling slightly as he caught his breath, his lips brushing yours in soft, lingering kisses that felt more like confessions than touches. You were trying to breathe too, heart racing, chest rising and falling as your mind spun. Every nerve in your body was still alive, aching with how full he made you feel—physically, emotionally, all of it. And yet, even in the quiet after, something heavy sat in your chest. You swallowed hard, fingers fidgeting at his sides, your eyes darting everywhere but his face. You could feel it pressing against your tongue—those words—so big and so terrifying, but so real. Too real to keep inside. “Weno…?” you whispered, voice barely audible. He blinked down at you, soft and hazy from the afterglow. “Yeah, baby?” Your lip trembled as you looked up at him, wide-eyed and afraid. “I… I think I’m in love with you.” The second the words left your mouth, your stomach dropped. You felt exposed, like you’d stripped yourself bare in a whole new way. Your eyes filled with panic—what if he didn’t feel the same? What if this ruined everything? “I—I’m sorry,” you added quickly, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to ruin it, I just—fuck, I don’t know, I just feel so much and I couldn’t keep it in and—” He cut you off with a kiss. Not a soft one, not a careful one, but deep, sure. His hand cupped your face as he leaned into you, kissing you like he needed to feel every word you’d just said on his tongue.

When he finally pulled back, his thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching the little tear that had escaped down your cheek. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he whispered. “You could never ruin anything.” Your heart fluttered painfully. “I’ve been in love with you,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “Since before I even knew what to call it. You don’t scare me, baby. You’re the only thing that’s ever made sense.” He kissed you again, tender. His hands wrapped around you, pulling you close until your body was pressed to his, skin to skin, and you could barely breathe from how tight he held you. You buried your face in his neck, arms tucked between your chests, your heart pounding against his. The silence that followed was heavy with warmth—safe, soft. Eventually, he shifted just enough to reach for the blunt on his nightstand, lighting it with a quiet flick of his lighter. The glow lit up his face in soft orange as he took a long drag, exhaling with a sigh, head tilted back slightly. You curled into him, cheek pressed to his chest, ear catching the steady thrum of his heartbeat. His arm came around you instinctively, holding you tighter, and his hand drifted lazily into your hair, fingers combing through the strands. You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to. He held you like he was never letting go.

my other works ➵ masterlist

@0403s

© guliexe

[taelepathii]

small things we should appreciate more

the chirping of birds in the early morning

the way the sun shines through the trees

nature after it just rained

constantly learning new things every day

libraries, bookshops, bakeries and coffeeshops

[taelepathii]

I was reading a fanfic and I didn’t read the warnings and it had a daddy kink in it…guys that’s not the worst part. The nickname was shortened to DAD!! WHAT THE FUCKKK ?!? It’s an unfortunate time to understand english😔😔🤦🏾‍♀️

[taelepathii]

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆—helping sugar lover!gojo overcome his addiction

MINORS DNI!

—

You decided to confront Satoru about his sugar addiction and let's just say he didn't take it too well. Lots of tears and blubbering came from the grown man as he flinched at every plop of the candy hitting the trash can. Hours were spent with his long fingers wrapped in your pants, yanking on them—begging for you reconsider your choices and that he's being “wrongfully punished.”

A couple nights he was visibly shaking claiming he’s going through withdrawal. But you shut that shit down real quick, swatting his arm and telling him to “Hush it and go to sleep.” with a roll of your eyes. Whining, Satoru dramatically sniffles—his face scrunched like he’s in pain, “I can't believe my own wife is acting so cold to her poor, wilted husband.” After realizing you’re not gonna react to his dramatics, he lets out a deep huff and rolls over to face away from you.

He’s tried to find other alternatives to replace his need for sugar but none of them did the trick. Until he found one that did. You. Or more specifically, your pussy.

When he’s between your legs, he is so lost in you that he doesn’t even think about anything else—he can’t. Your essence is superior to any sugary treats he’s consumed. So, like the good little wife you are, you help him by allowing him to indulge in such a treat. Wouldn’t want him to relapse would we?

So, whenever he feels that ache crawling up his body, he’s tracking you down and spreading you over the nearest surface and feasting on you like you’re the sweetest delicacy.

One night you’re caught in a cloud of slumber, your lips slightly parted as a clear strip of drool dribbles down your chin—soaking the pillow beneath you. Gentle snores pour from your mouth as you lay on your back, your sleep tank pushed up, showing the soft skin of your tummy. The dark room is quiet save for the faint rumble of the a/c and insulated slurps coming from between your parted legs—bare of your usual panties and shorts.

A tight heat forming in your lower tummy lures you out of your sleep, your head still foggy with drowsiness but it quickly becomes hazy with pleasure. Small moans escape your throat, feeling a hot, wet tongue trace the outline of your pussy—leaving the area wet with saliva and your slick.

Snapping your eyes open at the sensation, you peer down and meet Satoru’s cerulean orbs. The blue is half-way sheltered, his eyes heavily lidded as his intense gaze is fuzzy with gratification. Clutching your thighs, Satoru lets out a nasty moan noticing you’re awake, the sound long and deep. It’s low pitch vibrating against your bundle nerves, causing you to whine.

“Sorry I was getting that craving again and you’re like the antidote…or maybe my new addiction." Coming up for air, Satoru licks his moist lips. The pink muscle swipes the skin around his mouth, collecting the addicting juices. “Just can’t get enough of you.”

Grinning, he leans back down and licks a fat stripe up your pussy before his lips wraps around your puffy clit, his hot breath adding to the building heat. Mewling, one of your hands finds purchase in his white hair—tugging at the long strands. “F-fuck, uh, Satoru-“ All of your senses are absorbed in him. Your head is filled with nothing but chants of his name, skin jumping at every glide of his hands and tongue forming nothing but pleasured sounds.

The band in your stomach becomes tighter in a short amount of time since Satoru was already lapping at you before you woke up. Your whiny moans mix in harmony with Satoru’s deep ones. The swirling heat gets hotter before the band breaks, your back bowing off the bed as your hands tug harder on his strands. A muffled, “Come for me, sweetness.” pushing you over the edge—screaming his name (sorry neighbors!).

Slurping up every drop of your release, Satoru finally lets up as you settle into the sheets—your chest moving with quick breaths. He drags a hand over his mouth before licking your remnants off the body part. Giving you a cheeky wink he says, “You taste far better than any candy I’ve eaten.” Well…you’re fucked literally and metaphorically.

a/n: sorry i know the ending sucks :// theyre not rlly my forte && my cats kept fighting eachother buttt I hope the smut makes up for it && just ignore the terrible dialogue as well!! As always my lovies, thank for reading and every like, reblogs or comments are appreciated <33

© taelepathii all rights reserved. Please do not copy, repost or translate my works without my permission!

[taelepathii]

currently thinking about: clark kent flashing you right before you head off for work (18+)

it all started with that damn groan. that type of deep, throaty, guttural groan that you can feel in your core every time clark does it.

most of the time it tells you that clark's just woken up, that he had just finished having some fun on dreamland somewhere.

on rare times, it's an intentional way of getting your attention.

seven in the morning, you woke up, slipped away from bed, cooked enough breakfast for you to bring to work, and for clark to eat later when he wakes up. you two work at the same place—the daily planet—although your job position requires you to be at the planet way earlier than him.

you got ready after preparing your lunch. showering alone and getting ready in the other room—which clark had made specifically to be the office-slash-dressing-room for you considering the mountain of clothing you had even when you two were just boyfriends and girlfriends.

when you head back to your shared room to grab your bag and do some last minute checks for your hair and make-up, you hear that groan from behind you.

at first it was nothing. you greet him a good morning, even asking him how his sleep was—just the usual sweet and gooey stuff you two do as newlyweds. but then clark doesn't respond. at least not in a very appropriate way with the way he's still groaning from behind you.

you turn around confusedly, eyes glaring at your husband who seemed to be storing a wicked idea in that head of his.

"i've already cooked you breakfast, clark, make sure you eat some before you come to work, okay?" you remind him, slinging your bag on your shoulder as you spray on some perfume.

clark hums, running his hand down his firm abdomen. "you leavin' already?"

"uh-huh. tess just called and they need me as soon as possible somethin' about the legalities and stuff… whatever that is. i'll probably just skip over it, y'know how tess gets with those legal stuff," you ramble, clipping on your earrings.

you glance at your husband, his eyes still heavy with sleepiness as he had his one arm stretched behind him, the muscles on his neck and biceps flexing naturally.

there's a dryness in your throat and a wetness in your core just from that view. taking everything in you not to just throw tess' request out of the window and jump on your husband's bones first thing in the morning.

you shake those inappropriate thoughts away, blowing off a breath as you looked at yourself through the mirror.

"i'm off now, baby. go and get off your ass now," you walk over to his side of the bed, originally meaning to give him a kiss on the cheek when he moves his head just in time to catch your lips.

a huff leaves your throat, slapping him lightly on his bare chest as you push him away. "clark, i need to head to the office."

the glint in clark's eyes tells you he's not letting you go that easily but the way he pulls away says otherwise. plastering on a lazy smile on his lips as he nods, telling you i love you in his deep and drowsy voice.

you smile, saying the words back before heading to the door.

before you even turn the knob, you hear him call—groan—your name. the very sound making you stop abruptly, hand tightening on the doorknob.

he calls you again. this time, with a bit more strain in his voice.

"clark, what—" the exact moment you turn around, clark's pulled down the covers just below his knee, his cock springing up tall and proud.

you swallow on nothing. "clark."

"yes, baby?" he tilts his head, voice and eyes innocent, contradicting the way his free hand quickly descended down his body and onto the tip of his hard cock. the sheer size of his cock compared to his already massive hand had you subtly squeezing your legs. "i thought you had to go to work?"

your eyes shoot up at his face, the lazy smirk on his lips telling you he's got you exactly where he wants you—frozen by the door, legs clenched, eyes stuck on the lewd movements of his hand.

you blink. "you're an asshole, y'know that, right?"

"i don't know what you're—" he grunts, adjusting himself on the bed as his chest flexes. his features straining when you see his hand smother the pre-cum leaking on his tip down the length of his cock. "—talking 'bout, sweetheart. i'll… i'll be at the office in a few hours."

you sigh, shaking your head irritatedly as you throw your bag on the pile of clothes on the floor. hands quickly unbuttoning your coat and throwing it away too.

clark grins victoriously, moving to the center of the mattress as you come onto the bed. legs immediately going on either side of thighs.

his big, strong hands grabbing at your hips, massaging the clothed flesh before he pulls up your pencil skirt to bunch at your waist. fingers quickly making their way at your center. he chuckles lightly when he feels your wetness already seeping through the cotton fabric of your panties.

you drop your chest down on his, the fabric of your top scratching against his bare skin. he locks his lips onto yours, hungrily nipping at your bottom lip before you let him in without a fight.

your arm reaches down, grabbing a hold of his cock making him chuckles into the kiss. "i thought you had work to do?"

you roll your eyes, letting him adjust the two of you as he sits up so he can rest his back on the headboard. his knees propped up and legs spread apart, giving you enough room to work with. you pull your panties to the side, already angling yourself on the tip when you feel him hold your body.

"baby, it's gonna hurt," he says, the look of lust on his eyes disappearing for a second as his voice drips of concern. "let me eat you out first, c'mon, it'll be quick. get you all nice and—oohh fuck."

clark's offer was cut short when you sink down on his cock, loud gasps slipping from both of your mouths. you drop forward, head on the crook of his neck as you clutched his shoulders, letting your cunt barely adjust to his size.

"you're such an overachiever," clark clicks his tongue, holding onto your sides. feeling the way your sweet cunt pulses around the length of his cock like its begging for more.

the moment the stinging subsides and pleasure starts registering, your hips get to work.

you use his shoulders for leverage as you bounce on his cock, desperately trying to push yourself over the edge, slowly feeling yourself drip down his cock.

"so good, fuck—so fucking big, clark," you moan, pulling your head up to watch his pleasured face. eyebrows knitted, lips freely letting out low grunts. "did you dream about me? dreamt about this pussy?"

"yes, shit, i-i dreamt about this goddamn cunt begging for me," he grunts, shifting his hips just slightly. the change in angle making you gasp, your hands falling down to his pecs.

clark leans forward, kissing up your exposed throat as your eyes rolled back. the tip of his cock finding your sweet spot in a moment, hitting it deliciously with each time you drop your ass on his cock. his teeth sinks onto your clavicle, just enough to have you clenching around him.

his hips thrust up as a response, cock twitching inside of you. loud pleads of his name spilled from your lips. using every bit of your energy to keep your pace steady but it was hard when the ache intensifies with each second.

"still got some energy in you, baby? don't wanna tire you out before you—h-head off to work." clark struggles to get his words out, the pleasure making him close his eyes harshly. pulling you impossibly closer as his arms wrap around you.

"should've thought of that before you showed me your cock, pretty boy," you responded, losing your hands in his hair as your hips stutter.

clark laughs breathlessly, littering kisses all over your face now, probably messing up your makeup—not that you cared.

"sorry baby," one hand drops to your ass, squeezing the soft flesh before landing a loud slap on it. you hiss, clenching around him even tighter. "you just looked so fuckin' good… can't—shit," clark stops to rest his forehead on yours, feeling his climax coming, "so good, baby, riding—bouncing on that goddamn cock like you need it."

"i need it," your voice heightens, the feeling in your core tightening. "i need it so bad, clark, fuck me, please—just give it so me." 

clark's lips pull to a smirk, both hands now on yours ass before he starts helping you bounce yourself on his cock. every inch, every vein that ran through his cock etching itself on your gummy walls like it was field notes.

your moans turn into incoherent begging, clark's name leaving your lips like a damned prayer as clark himself struggled to keep his moans in.

he continued helping you up and down his cock, meeting your cunt with thrusts of his own. the walls shaking with how harsh he's driving himself into you. he's gripping your ass tightly, cock twitching as you clench uncontrollably.

"don't stop, don't stop—right there! o-oh! clark!"

"yeah? right there, baby?" clark watches as you drop one hand to your chest, fondling yourself shamelessly whole he focuses on fucking you even deeper—harder.

when he feels your legs twitch, threatening to close around his body, he knows for a fact you're close.

clark takes one hand away from your ass and slides it over your slit, expertly finding your clit as he begins to rub messy circles on the bundle of nerves.

you scream, finding every nerve on your body on fire. clark's name bouncing off the walls like a cry for help while clark desperately groaned yours. the lewd sound of skin on skin slamming against each other filling your ears.

one more thrust from clark on that spot and you're spilling hopelessly all over his cock, stars appearing in your eyes as you shook on top of him. shortly after, you feel him slow down, letting you work down your high as you feel his own come paint your insides. the feeling made you moan deeply, your body stiff and eyes rolled back.

clark rolls his hips, kissing all over your cheeks and forehead as he leans back on the headboard. his hands intertwining with yours as he takes you in for a warm kiss—a stark difference from the way he was moving a few seconds ago.

"that was…" clark's breathless, chest heaving up and down. "…wow."

your eyes peel open, clark's fucked-out eyes and disheveled hair making you clench around his length one more time.

"you're driving me to work." you tell him, jabbing a manicured finger on his chest.

clark laughs when you get off of his lap, your knees nearly giving out, almost falling to the wooden floor if not for clark quickly holding your waist with one hand.

he gives your ass one more slap before he gets off of the bed, towering over you with a lovestruck smile.

"yes, ma'am."

(yes, this is inspired by one of those tiktoks where someone flashes their partner right before they head to work)

[taelepathii]

Warnings. MDNI. NSFW🔞, mature content, voyeurism, exhibitionism, unprotected sxx, FREAKED OUT Satoru and Suguru

“This is my girlfriend,” Satoru introduces you and your name to Suguru, rubbing his large palm into the side of your waist affectionately.

A look of shock overthrows Suguru’s expression. But it morphs back into soft coolness quick enough that you almost doubt you saw it right.

“Hi, it’s so nice to meet one of Satoru’s friends.” You smile at Suguru, jutting out your hand.

Suguru shakes your hand politely and a soft smile climbs on his lips as his gaze flicks down your body and then up to Satoru before landing back on you.

“Ah, I wouldn’t say friend,” Suguru huffs playfully, “Haven’t seen him since college.”

“Work is busy,” Satoru shrugs, raising his arm to wrap around your shoulders. His arm weight pulls you down a bit but you don’t mind.

“So, how long have you been together?”

“Um— about a year.” You smile and nod at him. Satoru hums happily before pressing a kiss to your cheek. Suguru can tell you’re a shy, sweet little thing, putting a weak hand to Satoru’s chest and resisting futilely as he peppers your face with kisses in front of all of these people.

“Yo, Gojo!”

Satoru is suddenly pulled away by one of his old friends to compete and see how many shots they can take back to back, and since he hasn’t seen these people in a bit, you smile and push him to go have fun.

You’re left with Suguru. You sip your drink and shift your stance a bit as he subtly takes in your overall appearance.

You clear your throat. “So, did Satoru date around a lot back in college? I wouldn’t be surprised.” You’re jesting, cutely, trying to break the ice and the nervous tension between you and Satoru’s friend.

Suguru chuckles. “Ahh, not really.”

You eye him from over your cup as you take a drink. “Is that why you seemed so surprised that he’s with me?” It’s said in a lighthearted tone but you’re clearly curious.

“Oh, I’m sorry— I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.” Suguru is being nothing but genuine and you can tell.

“But.. ?” You’re leading him into the rest of what he isn’t saying.

“There’s no but,” Suguru denies softly and then shrugs, “You’re just not the type I was expecting.”

You’re clearly offended, a bit hurt right off the bat and Suguru can immediately see that.

“Oh god, no, no,” Suguru quickly backtracks with a sympathetic look, “I didn’t mean that you aren’t attractive, you are. In fact, you’re more my type than what I expected his to be.”

You blink at him owlishly and brush your hair behind your ear. “Oh. What kind of girl was Satoru into during college?” You chuckle, airily, but you can’t fool him or yourself. You’re invested.

Suguru huffs into his drink, a jump to his brows as if you’ve said something ironic.

“The type with balls.”

Your eyes widen and you’re almost in disbelief of what he’s claiming. “You— oh. You’re saying Satoru was with men?”

He nods and watches you with slight amusement. Satoru must have kept this from you for some reason.

You blink down at the ground, a slight pang of jealousy slides through your chest. Satoru never mentioned this. You were under the impression that he had told you every past partner and relationship he’s had, like you’ve told him. It’s not a good feeling to feel as though this man you’ve never met before knows more about your boyfriend than you do.

“Ah— I’m sorry,” Suguru says, clearly feeling bad that he said anything at all since it seems you’re feeling hurt, “I really didn’t mean to bother you or mess with your relationship—”

You brush off his concerns and interrupt him. “No, no. It’s okay. Um—” you clear your throat, “like a lot of men?”

Bless your heart, Suguru can tell why Satoru is enthralled by you. You’re a sweet thing, clearly committed to the guy, even when he has obviously been keeping things from you.

Suguru grimaces a bit, not because of you, but because of what he’s about to say.

“I,” he laughs and scratches the back of his head, “I think I’m the only one. I could be wrong.”

Your jaw just drops but before you can ask the millions of questions you are itching to ask Satoru’s apparent ex something, intoxicated Satoru comes bursting back with a wide smile, shoving a shot into your hands while he slams his lips into yours.

“Hey baby, take this shot,” he preens into your lips, “You need to catch up.”

You chuckle awkwardly and take down the shot with a sweet smile for your boyfriend who has no idea you’ve been told that he’s been keeping something from you.

The next day. 4:07pm.

You’re pouting. Satoru can tell something is wrong. You’ve been giving him that sad cat look since this morning that screams, ‘my owner hit me and I can’t decide whether I’m mad or sad.’

“You wanna get take out? That mochi place is open,” Satoru offers, rolling on his side to grab at you and pull you into his arms to spoon.

The book you’re reading doesn’t leave the space right in front of your face as he cuddles your backside.

You shrug and hum briefly, as if you don’t care.

Satoru wraps his arms deeply around your middle, squeezes, and shoves his face into the side of yours while his brows furrow. “And then we can make love all night with a belly full of mochi, hmm?”

You don’t even spare a glance. Another shrug. Now he knows for sure, something happened.

His head raises and he looks down at you. “Hey, c’mon, what’s going on?”

You mumble incoherently but he can make out that you’ve said, ‘nothing.’

“Did I go too hard last night? Did I do something?” He asks with concern, thumbs rubbing into the skin of your sides where he’s wrapped around your midsection. He has blips of blanks in his memory from last night, mixing alcohol is never a good idea.

You exhale a puff of air and drop your book down, a small pout permanently taking home on your face.

“Suguru was nice,” you mumble as your eyes stare forward at nothing in particular.

You’re speaking in riddles, not a good sign. He squints and maneuvers your body so you’re on your back and he’s leaning on his forearm beside you so he can eye you properly.

“Suguru? Did he hit on you?”

You cross your arms stubbornly. “He did say I was his type.”

Satoru’s face turns into a look of discontent. “I knew he’d try something on you. I’m sorry, baby. Did he make you uncomfortable?”

You basically ignore his words, watching him suspiciously. “Matter of fact, he said I’m more his type than I am yours.”

He looks taken aback and confused. “He’s just being stupid, trying to see if he can get with you.” He pauses and blinks at your expression and overall aura. “Wait— Are you mad at me, right now?

“I don’t know, am I?”

“Baby,” Satoru grabs onto the side of your head to hold your attention, “Talk to me.”

You sigh and sit up, criss crossed. He slowly meets you there, sitting across from you, carefully.

“Did you and Suguru used to date?”

Satoru’s brows jolt up and he blinks in genuine surprise.

“Me and Suguru? No, are you serious? That’s what he told you?” He huffs in disbelief.

“Okay, then, you guys used to fuck? In college?”

Satoru blinks for a beat with his lips parted. “I— Okay, yeah, yes. But we never dated, that’s ridiculous.”

Your face explodes into disbelief and you abruptly stand up, pushing his hand away when he tried to grab at you.

“Oh my god, I knew it. Why did you keep that from me?” You’re clearly upset and Satoru moves his way to the edge of the bed on his knees to face you as you stand.

“Keep it from y— Wait, wait that’s a bit of an exaggeration—”

You shake your head and start pacing, ignoring him.

“Do you know how stupid I felt? Asking your ex— or fuck buddy or— whatever— about you? About my own boyfriend? Things that I should already know after a whole year of dating?”

Satoru cringes in sympathy. “Fuck, I didn’t think—”

“No, you didnt,” you confirm, interrupting him. Your steps come to a stop in front of him. “I mean, god! You introduced me and let me talk to him all nice and polite like he hasn’t fucked my boyfriend!”

“What, you would’ve treated him differently if you knew?” He huffs, unable to hold back some amusement, despite knowing he’s done something wrong.

You shoot him a deep glare. “Yes! I would have— I don’t know— asserted dominance or something— grabbed your dick— I don’t know!”

Satoru lets a self indulgent smirk sneak out and you poke his chest with a mean, stern look. “Hey! Stop enjoying this so much.”

He immediately grabs onto your hand and lays it flat on his naked chest like he’s trying to keep you close and with him. “I’m not, I’m not!— I just— you can’t blame me for thinking it’s sexy when you get all jealous,” he purrs towards the end, leaning in and snaking a kiss to your jaw. You grumble and almost flinch away from it but then he lays an open mouthed, slow, warm kiss lower down, on your neck, and you melt.

He hums, feeling your body relax into him, and that’s what jolts you out of the haze. You pull away and point at him with squinted eyes. “No. You’re not allowed to do that. I’m actually hurt, Satoru.”

A pleading look grows on his face and he stands quickly to get close to you. “Okay, okay, I know. I’m sorry, baby. I should have told you. It slipped my mind, genuinely. What can I do to make it better?”

You humpf as you cross your arms, pouting as he softly brushes some hair from your face.

“Hmm?” He goads on, tilting his head down to eye your pretty face. “What can this horrible, mean boyfriend do to make it up to his sexy, amazing girlfriend?”

“Were you on top or bottom?”

Satoru pauses, thinking he has to have heard you wrong because you kind of mumbled it quietly.

“What?”

You look up at him. “Did you fuck him or did he fuck you?”

Satoru’s jaw drops, shocked by your question as you move to sit on the edge of the bed behind him, waiting.

He turns slowly to face you, this has to be a trap. “Why do you want to know that, baby? That’s just gonna upset you.”

You ‘Aha!’ like he’s been caught. “I knew it! You’re hiding this from me deliberately!”

“What? No,” he immediately shakes his head, hands moving quickly as to dispel what you’ve said, “A question like that is— I wouldn’t want to know all the ways you’ve fucked Toji in the past, it would upset me! I just don’t want to upset you.”

“Ohh, now you’re bringing up Toji.” You cross your arms. Toji was a bit of an issue for your relationship at the beginning. You used to date, and let’s just say Toji has a bad habit of fucking with people— they used to get into fist fights despite being friends. Honestly, Toji was usually asking for it: smacking your ass casually when you’d hug in greetings, a hand rubbing your thigh a little too far up when you’d laugh in conversation, etc. all with the excuse that he was just so used to doing it when you were dating that he forgets not to.

Satoru shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

You sigh. “I want to know, Satoru. If you’re not trying to keep things from me, then tell me.”

Satoru rubs his eyes and then runs a hand through his hair. He has a feeling this isn’t going to be resolved by tonight. “I have nothing to hide, okay? I was on bottom, I guess.”

You hum and nod, like you know something he doesn’t and you just caught him.

“So he used to fuck you in the ass?”

Satoru’s growing more and more confused. “So what? Does it upset you that I was with a dude?”

Your jaw drops and you stand, a hurt pinch to your brows. “Of fucking course not, Satoru.”

“Then, what? I get that it was fucked to let you talk to Suguru without knowing. But, you’re mad because I happened not to tell you one person I’ve had sex with?”

“It just makes me feel like,” you exhale, avoiding his gaze, “you didn’t tell me because I can’t give you what he could.”

Satoru’s face expands in shock. He grabs onto your face with both hands and holds it up to look you in the eye. “What do you mean, baby? I fucking love you, you give me everything I could ever want.”

“I can’t give you dick,” you mumble.

“That’s,” he hesitates, searching your face, “That’s what’s bothering you? You think I kept it from you on purpose because I didn’t want you to feel bad for not having a penis?”

The corners of your lips and the pinch in your brows deepens within your pout.

“Oh baby,” he coos deeply, pulling you in to hold you close, unable to let out an airy laugh.

You whine, “Stop laughing at me, Toru!”

He squeezes you harder with a grin and you grumble into his chest.

He exhales, deeply and in content, having you in his arms. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ve never once wished you had a dick and balls. I would have told you about Suguru, I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I’m sorry I made you feel stupid when he told you.”

You mumble something into him and he hums in question, not hearing you.

You pull back to look up at him as he continues to hold you into his front.

“I said,” you sniffle, eyes gleaming widely, “But I heard guys have their g-spot in their ass. So, that means I’ve never made you feel as good as he can or did.”

Satoru shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous, I’ve never had better sex than with you. C’mon, let’s order food and lay back down.”

Your pout stubbornly gets deeper, like he’s lying to you to protect your feelings.

“Up we go.” He decides for you, picking your body up easily and softly tossing you onto the bed before climbing in behind you.

“Come here baby.” He’s holding you the same way he was before, arms around your tummy. He creeps his hand up your shirt and the second it brushes your breast, you shake your head and nudge it away.

“No, I don’t have the right parts. I just have a stupid hole.”

Satoru whines in frustration, sliding his arms up until he’s holding you just under the swell of your tits so he’s not crossing the line but still able to touch you.

“But I love that hole,” he chirps woefully into your ear, sliding his right hand down to curl inward until it covers your clothed pussy entirely. “My favorite hole.” You can hear a deep frown on his lips.

“This hole is closed for business forever and ever.”

Chills race down Satoru’s spine. “You don’t mean that.”

“Maybe I do,” you shrug, but you’re not making any move to take his cold hand away from your cunt. “Maybe you should call Suguru.”

“Oh baby, please. This is ridiculous.” He groans into your neck, hard cock pressing into the lower part of your asscheek.

You suddenly turn to face him, forcing his hands to retreat so you can comfortably turn.

You look up at him. “Is that what you want? For me to buy a strap?”

He sighs. “Not really,” he mumbles.

“Oh okay. So, just him. Fine.” You’re about to turn your back to him again but he doesn’t let you, grabbing a strong hold of your sides.

“Listen to me.” He looks into your eyes, intensely. “When I push inside of your sweet little pussy, I feel a level of pleasure that exceeds reality. I love fucking your beautiful cunt, made just for me to push into. Do you understand me? I want to dominate your insides over and over and over until you forget what it feels like to be empty— all day, everyday. I don’t need you inside me. I want to fucking live inside you.”

You blink at him owlishly and dumbly chirp out, “Oh.”

“I don’t want you to— you don’t need to buy a fake cock because you think I need it to feel satisfied. If anything, I should buy you a fake fucking cock with how much you wear mine out.” He huffs, rubbing his nose into yours affectionately. “Okay?”

You exhale deeply, body relaxing into his. “Okay.”

He brushes his fingertips down your tummy until he slides his whole hand between your thighs, once again claiming your entire clothed pussy to his palm and long fingers.

“My sweet girl,” he coos as his other hand reaches over you and takes a handful of your asscheek. “My horny, horny girl. You wanna satisfy me so bad, huh?”

You grumble a little, soft hands pushing into his chest futilely as he chuckles.

Satoru hums some random tune soothingly as he kneads your back and ass for a long while, keeping the other hand snug against his favorite hole.

A week later. 10:35pm.

Seeing Suguru again wasn’t on your radar, but here he is, at some a party most of your own friends are at.

You and Satoru enter the party together and walk up to some of your friends crowded in the kitchen around a cooler full of an assortment of canned alcohol and ice.

You hug some of them in hello, starting with Shoko and ending with Toji. Satoru greets everyone with a loud, playful, drawn out, “Hello party people!” before wrapping his arm around cheery Haibara.

You lean down and grab some random fizzy drink from the cooler as everyone greets Satoru in their own unique ways.

“Hey again,” Suguru’s familiarly soft voice greets you with a smile as you stand back up.

“Oh, hey.” You pop open your can. You’re not upset with Suguru, it’s not his fault Satoru left a few bits of information out. Suguru didn’t mean any harm, you know that. He still fucked your boyfriend, though.

He gestures for you to come stand by him so you can chat. You smile and nod before stepping over. Satoru pats your ass sweetly as you leave, not taking his attention off of his idiotic conversation with Nanami, bothering and teasing him like he loves to do.

Suguru nods at your drink. “You like that fizzy sweet shit like him, huh?”

You turn the can to eye the name of it and shrug. “It does the job. How about you? You one of those -dry whiskey with no straw- types?”

He hums a soft laugh with a smile. “Like you said, whatever does the job. But no, not always. I dabble.”

You take a swig of your drink. “I respect that.”

“Hey,” he begins with a sympathetic scratch to the back of his head, “I really hope I didn’t mess things up for you after that conversation we had.”

You chuckle and glance over at Satoru with a loving, affectionate look, watching as Nanami holds him in a headlock that you have no doubt he could get out of if he really wanted to. “No, no. Don’t worry about it, we’re good.”

Suguru hums with a smile on his lips, glad you’re not upset with him for telling you something he figured you’d know.

You turn towards him with a playful smile on your lips. “Anything else you wanna tell me about you and Satoru before the night goes on, though?” you joke, making Suguru throw his head back and laugh.

He comes back down to earth and takes a step towards you, leaning his hip against the counter casually as he eyes your face with a tilt of a smile.

“You’re sexy,” he all but coos down at you, voice soft and deep.

Your brows raise and you huff. “Are you hitting on me right now?” While your boyfriend, who he used to fuck in the ass, is standing a few feet away?

He shrugs and swigs his drink. “I see why Satoru is into you.” An answer that isn’t an answer at all.

“And why is he into me?” You entertain his sillies with amusement.

He exhales deeply, in thought. “Sweet, compassionate, caring, beautiful, loving, funny, a good listener, knows how to cook a warm meal. Am I close?”

He’s playing with you, naming all of the generic compliments one could find on a hallmark card. He doesn’t know you well enough to actually answer, but he knows that he likes to make you laugh. You can’t help but do just that, shaking your head in amusement, and fidgeting with the lip of your can with the same hand that holds it.

“Oh, you’re right on the money. You know me so well,” you say with playful surprise.

He huffs out a few laughs and tilts his drink in dismissal. He licks his lips of the wetness of his beverage.

“So, he mad at me for telling you about our dorm life?”

You inhale and exhale an airy laugh. “He might be.”

“Ohh,” he hums drawn out, amused, but still as soft toned as ever. His brow quirks down at you, “So, you were upset.”

You look away and take a drink with a soft scoff. He wormed that insinuated information right out of you.

He continues, despite your silence. “Because your boyfriend was with a guy?”

You roll your eyes, a ghost of a smile on your lips. “No.”

He hums, head rocking back. “Then..?”

“You should go ask your old dorm mate if you really wanna know,” you land on, like you’d be interested in seeing how that would go.

He hums in contemplation, casually glancing at Satoru. “I’m betting that wouldn’t end well for me.”

You shrug, casually. “Never know until you try.”

“Eh,” he brushes it off, “Why would I do that when my new friend is so fun to talk to?” He might as well have said ‘fun to play with’ instead.

“Oh, friends, huh?” You tilt your head.

“Oh come on,” he smiles back down at you, looming over you a bit so you can smell his nice scent, “We have so much in common. We both like drinking, we’ve fucked the same person, we’re both wearing black clothing, I think you’re sexy, you think I’m sexy— we’re best friends already.”

You make a little expression of surprise, laughing.

“I think you’re sexy? Oh I didn’t know that.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that, my bad. Yeah, you think I’m sexy.” He speaks definitively, clinking his drink into yours in a soft cheers.

You hum dramatically, continuing to go along with whatever he throws out. “Right. Must have slipped my mind.”

He prods once again. “So, new friend, what was it that bothered you about the fact that I’ve had sex with your boyfriend?”

You let out a deep exhale as a thunderbolt of jealousy shoots through your chest, ignoring that wildly observant gaze he’s had locked on you since you came into view.

“Well, how big is your dick?”

Suguru almost chokes on his own spit, not expecting such blunt words. “Oh?” He laughs, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

You’re relaxed as you face the others, watching Nanami’s forehead vein bulge while he grabs hold of Satoru’s collar. Haibara’s laughing and trying to calm him down, though Satoru looks content where he’s at.

“You could go ask Satoru.” Suguru smiles with utmost entertainment, close enough to your side that your arm is brushing his abdomen. He reaches to brush some hair behind your ear and then trails his fingertips down the edge of your ear briefly. “I’m sure he remembers, if you really wanna know, pretty girl.”

Suguru is fucking with you, you’re not stupid. But you think he’s likely doing it for shits and giggles, like he’s testing if you can handle some teasing or if you’ll actually get upset. He might actually be into you too, maybe seeing if you’d fuck him as well, and then he could confidently say he’s been with both you and Satoru.

You take a deep breath and take your eyes off of your friends to face his anticipation.

“Why would I do that when my new friend is so fun to talk to?” You use his own words, making Suguru’s soft smile grow.

“Besides, you know Satoru,” you lean towards him on the tips of your toes and he slouches to meet you halfway, waiting for you to speak into his ear. “His memory is all messed up. He can just never seem to remember not to cum inside me before we go out to a party with all of our friends.”

You can almost hear Suguru’s eyes flicker in surprise.

Suguru exhales slowly as you lean away. You watch him stand up straight as his tongue swipes against his lips. He adjusts his crotch area. “He does have a horrible memory, doesn’t he?”

He’s pleased with your response, clearly, as his eyes flick down to the in between of your legs where you have no doubt, he’s imagining the cum pooling in your panties.

You aren’t sure if you won that conversation or if it was even a competition in the first place. You gesture to the side. “I’ll see you later,” you say politely and he nods with a smile that’s anything but appropriate.

You make your way over to Satoru, Nanami, and Haibara and you can still feel Suguru’s eyes.

“Hey, baby.” Satoru notices your approach immediately, slithering his hand lightly onto your ass like it’s muscle memory.

“You guys mind if I steal him?” You ask a very fed-up Nanami and an energetic Haibara.

“No, we do not.” Nanami confirms deeply, adjusting his glasses with a permanent glare.

Haibara swings his arm to rest on Nanami’s shoulder and gives you a thumbs up. “Go for it!”

You’re already yanking Satoru’s wrist to follow you as you walk. He should be stumbling over those long legs since you’re moving so fast but he’s still keeping up.

“Where are we going?” Genuine curiosity laced with that natural playful air of his.

You don’t answer as you lead the two of you through sweaty, drunk people.

He dramatically puts on a show of stumbling to a stop when you let go of his wrist in some empty hallway upstairs. “Jeez, what’s—”

He ‘hmph’s when you suddenly push him up against the wall— more like when he allowed you to— and you start fumbling with his belt.

“Why do you wear these stupid belts? They’re made out of fucking steel.”

“What’d he say, baby?” His eyes are on your concentrated face while your frantic hands are at work.

You already know who he’s talking about. “He didn’t say anything.” You unlock his belt.

He tilts his head down to eye you better while he tilts your face up. “He bother you again?”

You exhale, looking up into his beautiful eyes and blindly unzipping his pants. “Honestly, I can’t tell if he wants to fuck me or fight me.”

Satoru huffs at your words as you focus back onto his crotch, popping his button open to reveal his pink heart littered boxers. He’s not surprised Suguru is toying with you.

“This is just how he is, he can probably tell he’s getting a reaction out of you.” He caresses the side of your face sweetly as you shove your hand into his boxers. “Want me to do something?”

You shake your head in brief denial as you pull his cock out.

“Want to fuck,” you mumble with most of your focus on jerking his dick to full mast while you maneuver your leg up so your knee and calf is pressing into the wall beside his hip.

“Right here?” he coos with amusement, though he’s actually not even slightly worried getting caught. His large palm aids in holding your leg up without you having to ask. “Didn’t I just fill this hole up? She’s gonna get overwhelmed, baby.”

You give him a scornful pout, pausing. “You don’t want to be inside me?”

He can immediately tell what you’re worried about. You just spoke to Suguru, who has a dick that used to be used on him, and Satoru knows the idea of not having a dick now bothers you. It’s ridiculous, really, but he knows it’s coming from a place of yearning to please him so he leans into you.

“Fuck to the yes I do. If I ever say no to that, shoot me in the head. You hear me?” When your expression gives into a hint of acceptance, he licks the side of your face like a cat and then kisses it. “Gimme that pussy baby,” he mumbles into your skin in a purposefully demanding, playful tone.

The second those words leave his lips, your movements grow desperate and fast again.

You yank your panties to the side and all but shove him into your creamy pussy. He wasn’t even sure this position was possible, it can’t be comfortable for you; not to mention, no foreplay, but you seem to be more than okay with it. His sweet girl is on a mission and he’s more than happy to be collateral.

He groans, head falling back onto the wall with a ‘thunk.’ “Oh man. You’re so slimy.” His previous load surrounds his throbbing cock, your walls are just drenched in it.

You’re breathing sharply as your head spins in your own little world, drunk on the odd interaction with Suguru and your jealous desire to be everything Satoru needs. You somehow start humping his cock to the best of your ability in such a position while your legs shake.

“Fuck,” he groans at the squelch, softly meeting your sloppy thrusts halfway with his hips. His free hand grabs onto the back of your skull and lowers it down till the top of your heads are touching, forcing the both of you to watch your sloppy connection move in and out. “Look at thaaat.”

You whimper as your lips stick to his skin every time his cock fully mounts you and then breaks away with a string of slick and cum each time it withdraws.

“He said,” you pause to take choppy breaths, moving your head up to search for eye contact, “you remember how big his dick is.”

Satoru rolls his eyes but it quickly transforms into an eye roll of ultimate pleasure when your pace quickens with your growing jealousy.

“He— oh fuck— he’s just trying to,” his voice breaks into a moan, hips stuttering, “get under your skin, baby.”

“How big is it?” you persist passionately, slamming your hips down as hard as they can go, resisting your own muscles screaming at you to change positions.

Satoru sputters with parted lips and whited out eyes, hands spasming in utter euphoria that just won’t allow him the ability focus on your important questions.

“Fine,” you stutter, pausing to drop your forehead onto his shoulder to moan, “I’ll just find out for myself.”

Satoru’s eyes snap open. The next thing you know, he’s walking you backward while fucking you the entire way over until your back is slamming against the opposite wall. It’s an utterly awkward stumbling, hopping on one leg situation, but Satoru basically carries you the whole way anyways.

You gasp as your back collides with the wall, urgently grabbing onto his broad shoulders for balance. “Oh fuck! Satoru— wait—”

He shakes his head frantically, hips snapping into yours at an electric pace that’s making the picture frames on the wall desperately hold onto their hinges as they rock aggressively. “You want to ‘find out about his cock?’ Hm? And how are you gonna do that?”

You whine as he playfully and yet aggressively, spat the words into your open mouth, harshly recycling sharp breaths with you between words. “I’m not— I don’t know—”

“Yeah,” he breathes in a cocky tone, interrupting you. You squeal when he slams his entire body weight into a thrust, basically hammering you into the wall behind you, “You don’t know. Your sweet little pussy is not going any where near his cock. Do you understand me?”

You nod eagerly, drooling down your chin as he makes harsh, possessive love to you.

“That’s my good girl,” he purrs into yours neck, nodding at your skin before slurping it into his mouth to suck on, meanly.

But then, you’re slipping, legs finally giving out, and Satoru is letting you— in fact he’s going down with you. He just can’t afford to slip out of your cunt, so his one track mind just fucks you all the way down until you’re in deep missionary on the cold, hard floor. You hiss and your back arches at the discomfort of it.

“Don’t tell me to pull out,” he pleads, roughly, shoving your legs down to your chest so he can lean over you and get a deeper angle. “Please, I can’t stop.”

You shake your head and whimper loudly, grabbing onto his frantic hips with shaky hands, feeling his muscles contract and tremble. “Don’t stop, it’s okay— mmfh!— get yourself off.”

He groans loudly and shoves his tongue into your mouth while he takes hold of your skull, large palms encasing it possessively. “Ohh you want that, don’t you? Naughty girl. You know how much I love you and this pussy? I’m about to show you just how much.”

Your hand extends and slams down onto the floorboards, nails digging into the wood, creating marks as you cope with his heavy hips punching into your insides over and over and over. You’re starting to forget why you took his cock out in the first place.

He’s close, you can tell by the way his legs gradually spread out and how he drops a bit too much body weight onto you to get deeper, stretching out the muscles running along the back of your thighs, painfully.

“Ah-ah-ah— shit! Gonna fucking breed all of my load— love into you.”

And then he’s doing just that, chopped up exhales fanning directly into your mouth that sound like an old man finally feeling the relief of taking a piss in the middle of the night. He slobbers all over your face as he cums, smearing his drooling lips against your skin deliberately and you just lay there, whining and basking in it, cunt twisting around the pulsing, invading shaft.

Satoru groans loudly into your ear as he comes down, grinding his hips into yours like he’s churning butter for good measure, making you gasp and groan out a sound full of submissive coping.

“You didn’t cum,” he voices in a relaxed slur, moving up on his forearms beside your head so he can look at your face. You shake your head and bring your hands up to caress his cheeks.

“People might come,” you say shyly, glancing up to look at the exit of the upside down hallway behind you.

“Ha!” he shouts dramatically right into your face, “that’s funny, really. Like I’d fuck your gushy pussy and then just leave you all needy and horny.”

He suddenly pops his cock out of your sensitive, crying, stuffed-full cunt and you both hiss. He quickly crawls his way down to shove his face between your legs.

You jut your chin down to your chest shyly and he shakes his head with an amused chuckle, breath fanning your throbbing clit.

“No way you’re getting all shy now. If someone walks by, it’s on you my little exhibitionist.” Before you can respond, he’s opening his mouth wide with his wide tongue stuck out and obnoxiously encases your pussy within it. He’s not afraid to look ‘ugly’ to give you the stimulation needed to blow your mind.

Your fingers curl into his soft white hair and you moan pathetically as he sloppily makes out with your leaky, nicely bred, sore core. You might be hallucinating, but was that footsteps?

You anxiously glance back at the exit. “B-Baby— I think someone’s coming. Maybe we— ngh!— should go to a room or something.” You tap his head anxiously.

“Yeah, someone is cumming,” he murmurs quickly into your cunt, “you.”

You groan and yank his hair, knowing you’re unable to successfully pull him off even if you wanted to. Satoru has always been firm on the idea: you don’t interrupt a man eating a nice, warm meal. You just don’t.

It’s not long before an orgasm approaches, I mean, obviously. He’s focusing beautifully on the edges of your clit where he knows it’s not too sensitive and actually allows ecstasy to form. Let’s not forget, the adrenaline and pressure to ‘hurry up’ and get an orgasm in before the time is up and someone catches you only hurdles you closer.

Satoru purrs aloud as he eats, always has. It sounds like a cat that’s biting ridiculously large mouthfuls of their food possessively while they warn potential predators around that this is theirs and only theirs. It’s ridiculous and it makes your toes curl and your legs shake.

“I’m so close, don’t— don’t stop.” Your plea makes Satoru’s brows twitch in satisfaction as he works your clit, hands kneading your soft inner thighs.

You nervously glance back at the exit to the hallway and let out a blood curdling gasp when you see none other than Suguru Geto leaning against the wall, watching the scene like it’s some television show as he sips his drink. You’re about to scramble, snap your legs together, and hide yourself, shout, do something, because the delicious idea of getting caught is never as alluring as the brutal reality— but then, Satoru worms two fingers inside to assault your g-spot way past speed limit without changing a thing about the pace he’s licking your clit at, and you just fucking burst with a pathetically drawn out, choppy moan. Your eyes roll and your back arches completely off of the hard floor, it feels as though you had no choice but to fall off the steep cliff and that only makes it more intense.

Oh, bless your heart. Suguru huffs an airy laugh as you spasm, ignoring the incessant throb in his painfully hard cock.

As you finally come down, you blink your bleary eyes at the exit, focusing on it until you can see clearly. You lazily smack at Satoru’s head. “Satoru— get off— someone is—”

Your vision clears and Suguru’s not there anymore, no where to be seen. Satoru lifts his head and licks his lips obnoxiously, climbing up over you and looking over at the area you’re focused on. He laughs and leans in to the side of your face. “I made you cum so hard you’re seeing shit.”

“Wha—What? No, he was— he was right there.” Your brows knit, eyes locked on the exit as Satoru hums noncommittally and peppers kisses onto your neck.

Later, re-joining the party after you cleaned up (Satoru licked your panties and then slid them onto your sore pussy with a pat and a direct order to ‘hold in all of his babies’), you can’t help but steal peeks at Suguru who’s acting completely normal. Satoru’s ego is too large to entertain your claim because apparently his ‘magical tongue’ isn’t called magical for nothing and you fear it would actually crush his big heart if you persisted that it wasn’t actually the orgasm he gave you that made you see Suguru.

Satoru scoops his arms around your body, holding you close. “You okay?”

You nod and exhale deeply, letting your arms wrap loosely around his neck. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not still worried that I want dick in my ass, are you?”

You can’t help but laugh, making Satoru smile, having accomplished his mission to put some warmth on your distant face.

You give him a nice, sweet peck. “No, I can still feel your ‘love’ dripping out of me.” You nuzzle his nose with yours and he chuckles, squeezing your ass affectionately.

“Good. If I knew keeping you stuffed would stop you from pouting, I woulda set up a breeding schedule way sooner,” he hums.

“Hush,” you laugh, shaking your head.

He glances to the side where Suguru is chatting with Nanami, “And anyways, if he actually saw us like you said, he’d be all over you right now, teasing you and getting under your skin.. under your panties too. Trust me, I know him.”

You sigh and nod softly. “Right, yeah. I’m probably just tired, paranoid, I don’t know. Talking to him earlier got me all— bleh.”

He hums an affirmation and softly, adoringly pats at your ass. “I know just the thing. I’m gonna get us something to drink.”

You nod and he skips his way over to the cooler, not missing the chance to flick Nanami’s head and act as though it wasn’t him that did it as he interrogates him.

You huff and shake your head at the sight of your silly boyfriend.

“I hope there’s not anymore trouble in paradise?”

Suguru’s soft voice, much closer than you could have expected, makes you jump and gasp, slapping a hand onto your heart as you face him. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”

He chuckles and rocks back on his heels, hands stuffed in his pockets. He leans towards you on the way back to balance on his soles, in that alluring way he seems to do with women— or just you. “Ah— my fault, I didn’t peg you for the jumpy type.”

You exhale deeply as you catch your breath. “I’m usually not.”

He hums with a smile and you clear your throat, looking back towards Satoru as Suguru stands beside you.

“You come over here to chat about your dick size again?”

Suguru snickers with the upmost amusement before exhaling deeply on his last chuckle.

“No, no.” He leans down to your ear and brushes a few fingers down your spine, making you stiffen up, “I wanted to tell you that you might wanna change your pretty little dress.”

You blink, brows furrowing and focus waning from your boyfriend over to his presence engulfing you. “Uh— why?”

The warm hand that isn’t on your lower back reaches down and slides up your inner thigh, making you gasp. A smile crawls on his face and you can hear it as he purrs into your ear.

He holds a few sticky, cum webbed fingers in front of your face. “You’re leaking.”

[taelepathii]

🌿🍓🌿🍓🌿🍓🌿🍓🌿🍓🌿🍓🌿🍓🌿🍓🌿🍓

May your August be filled with love and growth.

🌿🍓🌿🍓🌿🍓🌿🍓🌿🍓🌿🍓🌿🍓🌿🍓🌿🍓

[taelepathii]

JUST LETTING Y'ALL KNOW WHERE THIS BLOG STANDS.

[taelepathii]

Well Fuck Me -C.K

Synposis: You gave Clark Kent one boundary. One. And he broke it. Don’t fucking respond to Lois Lane. The betrayal sends you into a whirlwind of rage and heartbreak, storming out and cutting contact for 24 hours. But space means nothing when your boyfriend is Superman, and when he comes to find you, he’s determined to make it up to you the only way he knows how—by dragging you back into his arms and proving, over and over again, that you’re his. Even if he has to fuck the rage out of you to do it.

cw: Intense emotional argument. Profanity. Depictions of anger & yelling. Mild physical violence (kicking, hitting—non-injurious). Power dynamics (Superman vs. human strength). Sex while still angry (consensual). Dom/sub undertones, rough sex, choking (light, consensual), creampie, oral (f receiving). Angst with eventual comfort. Heavy on the angry sex.

You couldn’t remember ever feeling this angry in your life.

There wasn’t even a word for it—this wasn’t “mad” or “pissed” or even “livid.” This was a seething, boiling rage that had you shaking as you stormed out of the apartment last night, keys clenched so tight in your fist they left little crescent-shaped cuts in your palm. And it was his fault. Clark fucking Kent.

You’d set one—one—clear boundary: “If Lois texts you, you don’t answer. Not under any fucking circumstance.” It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t complicated. It wasn’t unreasonable. And what did you catch him doing? Texting her. Behind your back.

You’d looked over his shoulder while he stood at the kitchen counter, phone in hand, and saw her name lighting up the screen like a warning shot. You’d watched his thumbs fly over the keyboard, casual as anything, and in that moment, it felt like the floor dropped out from under you.

You’d snatched the phone right out of his hands before he even knew you were there. And sure enough. There it was. A whole thread of messages.

Lois: You’ll always pick up when I need you, right, Smallville?

Clark: You know I’ll never ignore you. What’s going on?

That one had been enough to make your blood go cold. “You fucking coward,” you hissed, the words trembling from your lips as you threw his phone back at his chest. It hit him square in the middle of his broad torso with a dull thunk. “You couldn’t even tell her to leave you alone. You just had to respond, didn’t you?”

“Listen to me—”

“No!” Your hands curled into fists. “You don’t get to explain. You don’t get to make excuses. You crossed the one boundary I asked for. The one.”

His jaw tightened. “It wasn’t like that. She needed—”

“I don’t care what she needed!” you screamed. “What about what I needed? Huh? Did you even fucking consider that for a second before your goddamn Boy Scout complex kicked in?”

The argument only got worse from there. Shouting. Tears. Him standing there with that impossible calm, letting you burn yourself out because he knew if he pushed too hard, you’d explode.

And you did. You stormed out. You didn’t go home. Didn’t answer his texts. You stopped sleeping at the apartment. You didn’t even show up at the Planet because you knew he’d be there

It had been 24 hours.

You’d avoided him as best you could, which was laughable really, because if he really wanted to find you, he could. There wasn’t a place on the face of the earth Clark Kent couldn’t track you to.

Which made it worse. He was giving you space.

That thought alone pissed you off all over again as you stormed down a narrow Metropolis alleyway, boots clicking on the wet pavement.

You didn’t want his space. You didn’t want his pity.

You wanted him to suffer.

So when you heard the faint rustle of air behind you, felt the slight shift in pressure, your jaw tightened.

“Go the fuck away, Kent.”

There was silence. And then a low chuckle. “I gave you your space. A whole day, sweetheart,” he said softly, like he wasn’t five seconds away from getting your nails down his face. “Now it’s my turn.”

You spun on your heel. “Fuck you.”

“You’ve been doing that in your head since last night.”

“Don’t you dare—”

“—but I’d rather you do it in my bed.”

“CLARK!” you shrieked. You lunged at him, fists swinging. He caught your wrists like they were nothing, pulling you close, his arms like iron bands around you.

“Let go of me! I said I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want to hear your excuses—I don’t want—”

“I wasn’t texting her back because I wanted to,” he interrupted, voice firm now. The softness was gone. The Superman steel crept in. “I did it because she said it was about work. A source.”

“I don’t care—”

“You do care,” he murmured, pulling you tight enough to feel every hard inch of him against your body. “You care so much it’s killing you. I shouldn’t have answered. I know. I’m sorry.”

“Stop talking to me!” But your voice cracked. You kneed him in the crotch and ran out of his grip.

One second you were angrily running down cracked concrete, and the next you were weightless. A hard arm cinched tight around your waist. The wind howled in your ears as you shot up into the sky, the alley shrinking to a thin line below.

“Clark Kent!”

“You’re mad at me.” His voice was calm. Maddeningly calm. His lips brushed your ear over the roar of the wind. “And you’ve been avoiding me. You’re not safe walking around alone this late.”

“Put me down! Put me the fuck down!”

“No.”

You started hitting him. Your fists smacked against his chest—uselessly. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink.

“I hate you!” you screamed, struggling in his arms.

“No, you don’t.” His voice was quiet now, but there was steel underneath it. “You’re angry. And you have every right to be. But I’m not letting you walk away from this.”

“Stay away from me! I don’t want to fucking hear it!”

“You’re going to hear it.”

“Or what?” you spat. “You’ll lock me in your Fortress of Solitude until I calm down?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he murmured.

He didn’t take you to the Fortress, though. He took you home.

Your apartment was different. The lights were dim. Candles flickered on every surface. There were roses scattered across the table—red, pink, and white. A home-cooked dinner waited, steam curling up from covered plates.

You gawked. “I made dinner,” he said softly, setting you on your feet. “You haven’t eaten. And I…” He exhaled slowly, tugging his glasses off and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I know I broke your trust. I’m sorry. I’ll spend every day earning it back if you let me.”

“Clark…”

“Let me take care of you. Please.”

Your shoulders slumped. You were still pissed. You were still vibrating with anger. But God, you were tired too. And you missed him.

The bath was ridiculous. He’d drawn it for you—hot water, bubbles, rose petals, candles. The whole nine yards.

“I’m still mad at you,” you warned as he helped you undress.

“I know.” His lips brushed your shoulder. “You can be mad at me and still let me make it up to you.”

You sank into the tub with a sigh, the heat pulling the fight out of your body inch by inch. Clark crouched behind you, his big hands working the knots from your shoulders.

“You’re such an asshole,” you muttered.

His mouth curved against your skin. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Mm.” He dragged his lips down the column of your throat, his hand sliding lower as he began to massage your breasts. “Clark—fuck—”

“Do you forgive me?” he whispered, lips brushing your ear.

“No,” you hissed, but your hips betrayed you, rocking back against his cock, already hard beneath the water.

Clark’s low laugh ghosted across your ear. “I don’t believe you.” His fingers pinched at your nipple gently, pulling until you gasped, water sloshing around your hips. “Your mouth says no, but your body…” He let his hand drag down your stomach, teasing the skin just above your core. “Your body’s begging me to fuck you.”

“You’re—” Your words broke on a sharp inhale when his fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles that made your toes curl against the side of the tub. “You’re still an asshole.”

You bit down on your lip hard, trying to hold in the moan threatening to tear out of your throat. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction—not yet.

“You don’t get to—”

“I don’t get to what?” He nipped at the sensitive skin under your jaw, then sucked hard enough to make you whimper. “I don’t get to touch you like this? I don’t get to remind you that no one else knows how to make you come like I do?”

His fingers slid lower, dipping into you with an obscene wet sound. Your head fell back against his shoulder with a cry.

“Still mad?” he whispered, curling two thick fingers inside you, stroking that spot that made your vision white out.

“Yes,” you gasped, your nails digging crescents into his forearm. “Fuck you, Clark—”

“You’ve been saying that for two days now,” he growled, rutting his hips up so the heavy weight of his cock pressed against your ass. “You keep screaming how much you hate me. But sweetheart…” He bit your earlobe sharply, his voice rough. “This pussy’s soaked for me.”

“Shut up.” Your voice was thin, high.

“Make me.”

Your hands flew back, fingers threading into his dark hair as you yanked his mouth to yours. The kiss was violent with all the anger you hadn’t been able to scream out at him yesterday.

“You drive me insane,” you panted when he pulled back, lips shiny and pink from your mouth.

“Good.” He smirked against your skin, hooking an arm under your knees. “Because you’ve been driving me insane too. I can’t sleep knowing you’re mad at me. I can’t eat. I can barely fucking breathe when you’re not in my arms.”

Before you could respond, the world tilted. He lifted you out of the water like you weighed nothing—water cascading off both your bodies and splashing onto the floor—and carried you to the bed.

You didn’t even bother to complain about the mess. You were still dripping wet when he dropped you onto the mattress.

“Clark—”

“Shh.” He knelt between your thighs, his huge palms curling around your knees to spread you open wide. His gaze burned as it dragged over your slick folds. “You’re trembling for me. And you want me to believe you don’t forgive me?”

“Because I don’t—”

That’s when his mouth landed on your pussy.

Your protest turned into a sharp cry, your back arching as his tongue flattened against your clit. He sucked hard, growling low in his throat when your thighs clamped around his head.

“Fuck, Clark, I—”

“You’ll forgive me.” His voice vibrated against you as he licked into your soaked heat, his thumbs digging into your hips to hold you still. “Even if I have to keep you in this bed for days. I’ll fuck the anger out of you.”

“You’re so—” Your words dissolved into a helpless moan when two fingers pushed back inside you, curling in perfect rhythm with his tongue.

By the time he pulled back, your legs were shaking so hard you couldn’t close them.

Clark loomed over you, water droplets still clinging to his hair and chest. His cock was flushed and hard, leaking against his stomach.

“You ready to stop being mad?” he murmured, dragging the tip through your folds.

“Not even close,” you hissed, tilting your hips up in defiance.

“Then I’ll have to try harder.” He pushed into you in one slow, agonizing stroke.

Your body jerked as he angled his hips, hitting that spot that made stars explode behind your eyes. You bit down on his shoulder hard, half to stifle the sound that ripped out of you, half because you wanted to hurt him.

“Ah—fuck—harder,” you spat, dragging your nails down his back. “If you’re going to fuck me, then fuck me like you mean it, Kent.”

He slammed into you so hard the headboard rattled against the wall. The force knocked the air from your lungs, and you grabbed onto him like a lifeline, legs wrapping tight around his hips.

“This what you want, baby?” he gritted out, pistoning his hips into you with punishing force. “Yes,” you choked, voice cracking as your nails dug crescent moons into his skin. “Yes—fuck—don’t stop—”

“You’re not allowed to hate me,” he growled against your ear, one big hand curling around your throat as his thrusts grew faster, rougher. “Not when you feel like this inside. Not when you keep clenching around me like you need me.”

Your back arched sharply as he squeezed just enough to make your head swim, your orgasm tearing through you without warning.

“Clark—oh my God—”

“That’s it,” he growled, pounding into you harder as you shattered around him, thighs trembling violently. “So fucking beautiful when you come for me.”

“Yours,” you gasped, your voice breaking. “I’m yours—fuck—I hate you so much—”

“You don’t hate me,” he groaned, his rhythm faltering. “You’re gonna let me fill this sweet pussy up, aren’t you? Gonna let me come inside you until you can’t think of anything but how good I feel?”

“Yes—yes, please—”

Clark buried himself to the hilt and came, hips jerking as his warmth spilled deep inside you. He stayed there, locked tight to your body, kissing your neck and murmuring soft apologies between ragged breaths. “You drive me insane,” he whispered.

“Good,” you shot back weakly, though the bite was gone from your voice now.

He grinned against your skin, pressing soft kisses to the angry red marks he’d left. “Still mad?”

“...A little.”

“Then I’ll run the bath again,” he murmured, rolling you onto your side and tucking you against his chest. “We can splash around some more while I keep making it up to you.”

Later, wrapped in a fluffy towel and tucked into his arms, you scowled up at him halfheartedly.

“This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.”

“I know,” he said softly, kissing your hair. “But it’s a start.”

You sighed.

“God, I hate how much I love you.”

His lips curved into that Smallville smile that always melted you.

“Lucky for me,” he murmured, “I love you more.”

a/n: someone with the username wellfuckme liked a fic of mine and inspired this title so thank u babe ily

[taelepathii]

FratBoy!Sukuna x Chubby Reader

A/N: Hi guys so im probably gonna make this a series if it's a hit and you guys like it! So opinions are much appreciated. Also feel free to make requests or tell me things!

Part 1 next

"C'mon ma. One date that's all I'm asking" he prodded.

Yes. The one and only Sukuna is asking little ole you out on a date. This isn't the first time, no it's not even the second, but instead the fourth time just this week.

"I've already said no. Take a fucking hint. I don't know why you keep asking" you replied back with a snap.

You weren't mad, no, you were furious. Because you knew how guys like him are. He's a frat bro, who's known for fucking girls like a demon and doing them even worse emotionally. And it seems like you're his newest conquest. You're not his usual type either. You've got more... more to you're body, brains, and personality than he's used to. You're everything he's know not to go for. So why would he of all people be asking you out? It felt like this was some type of sick joke that you weren't in on. Y'know what...

"Actually Sukuna, since you seem so desperate. I guess I'll help the needy and go out with you on a date." You give him your best fake smile and batted you pretty lashes at him.

"Y'know I should really be pissed at you for that bratty attitude, but I'm just glad you finally came to your senses."

"I'm free friday at 6:30 pm. Be at my door step on the dot and don't dress like a bum." You spit out and turned on your heels before walking away.

...

Eventually, friday came around much to your surprise it was 6:25 when you got a knock on your door. He was early? Was this man actually serious about this date?

You were a bit taken aback by him being actually fairly on time. You quickly snapped out of your daze and did a once over in your mirror before walking to the door and opening it. To your surprise Sukuna in all his glory was wearing a white button up with rolled up sleeves that hugged his body perfectly and black slacks that fit like a glove. His tattooed forearms were out and showing. You stood there soaking in all his beauty. Before speaking up.

"You clean up well."

Sukuna on the other hand, his brain couldn't even process the words you were saying. He was too busy gawking at you like an idiot. He was almost drooling at how your little dress fit your thick frame so perfectly and how your heels made your legs look delicious. Oh and don't even start him on your pretty face. You were so damn perfect he had to hold himself back practically. But he snapped out of it when he realized you were staring at him like he was dumb.

"Yea and you well... you look damn fine. Give me a little spin?"

"No, now you're just pushing your luck." You laughed.

He swallowed hard. Then, gave you an up and down look once again before licking his lips and smirking. You rolled your eyes and grabbed your purse off the rack before walking out the door and closing it behind you. To your surprise he offered you his arm and you intertwined them. You walked beside him to his sleek black corvette. God you forgot he was a rich asshole. He opened the door for you before climbing into the car. He then walked around the car and through the rearview mirror you could see him run a hand over his face.

The drive was quiet expect for the soft hum of the radio and engine. You just looked out the window the whole time and fiddled with your hands. Maybe you were starting to regret this? It just felt wrong like you didn't belong, but that's not a feelings you unfamiliar with. You could tell he was driving into the nicer part of the area where you could never really afford to be around. He finally pulled into the parking lot of a fancy restaurant... one that you had happen to be dreaming about going to. How did he know? Maybe it was a coincidence? You looked around and were honestly excited maybe if the date doesn't go well you at least get a delicious free meal?

Sukuna stepped out of the car and walked around to open the door for you. It seemed like he was remembering his best manners. You slowly stepped out and took a look around before hooking your arm around his. He guided you into the restaurant which was filled with patrons who were far above your status. You were busy taking in the place in awe before you heard the Sukuna speak up.

"For Ryomen"

"Oh. yes, right this way." The hostess answered

What you happened to pick up from the small interaction was the nasty look the hostess gave you and the sweet flirtatious one she gave Sukuna. "The fuck in her problem" you thought. But you brushed it aside knowing this was a part of being out with an attractive man. You mindlessly let him guide you as you thought about how him asking you out was weird. How you weren't the type of girl he was usually seen with. But those thoughts were cut short when you hear him speak up.

"Yo, ma, you here with me?" He laughed softly.

"Huh?" You looked confused for a bit until you realized he was holding out your chair for you. "Oh, yeah. Sorry."

You took seat and gave him a small nod. The table was out on a secluded patio which was nice as you could feel the small chill of the fall night cooling down your anxiety. That's when the waiter came around and asked for your drink orders. Sukuna got a whiskey needing something to take the edge off and you a flavored sparkling water. He soon left after giving you two time to look at the menu.

"Didn't like the way he was looking at you." Sukuna blurted out after watching the waiter walk away.

You stiffled a laugh before speaking, "And I didn't know you were the jealous type."

"I don't get jealous. I just simply didn't appreciate him eyeing my date like a piece of candy."

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. It was one date and one you didn't even wanna be on and he's already acting like a guard dog. You've never heard of this side of Sukuna. Maybe he just keeps it under wraps.

Fairly quickly the waiter comes around back with your drinks and you flash a small smile before mumbling a "thank you." Oh how that got Sukuna mad, you haven't smiled at him like that once since he's began pursuing you. He clutched tightly on his glass and took a sip, swallowing hard and letting the whiskey burn his throat.

This was gonna be one long date you both thought...

[taelepathii]

I like guys that are pretty like girls …

[taelepathii]

pronebone with husband!toji. thick!woc!reader.

you weren’t sure how you got here.

face in the pillows. pink nightdress bunched around your waist. arms clawing at the sheets while he fucked you like he’d lost his goddamn mind.

“shhh… there you go,” he rasped, sweat dripping off his jaw onto your back. “keep takin’ it. you t-takin’ me so good, mama.”

he had you in a headlock—arm slung under your neck, forearm flexed under your chin, bicep all big and veiny and tight around your throat like a collar. you were grasping at it. fingers digging into thick muscle like you were holding onto sanity.

but it was gone. toji fucked it out of you.

your thick thighs were trembling. your ass jiggled with every slow, nasty thrust.

the kind that shoved his cock deep up in you and stayed there—grinding, dragging, pulling out so slow you could feel the veins slide past your walls, only to slam back in and make your tummy bulge.

“ffuuck, baby… mmph,” toji moaned, deep and gravelly in your ear. his hips clapped against your ass with every stroke. “so fuckin’ wet, ma. makin’ a fuckin’ m-mess back here.”

and you were. the sheets were almost soaked. thick thighs sticking together. you were drooling on yourself, dumb and gone, eyes rolled up and mouth open.

“t-toji—” you whimpered, voice shaky, soft. “ffuuck, s’too much—”

“nnaahh,” he muttered, tightening his arm around your neck. “mm, you said you wanted this. said you wanna make me a daddy again, right?”

“y-yeah—” you gasped, eyes fluttering.

“so take this dick, mama. take what you fuckin’ asked for.”

his free hand slid under your belly, big palm flat against your soft tummy, right where his cock was making it poke out. he pressed down on it, groaning when your pussy squeezed.

“loooook at that,” he whispered, breath hot in your ear. “y’feel that? feel how deep i am? this my pussy. my wife’s pussy. you mine, ma?”

“yours,” you whined, high and breathless. “yours—f-fuck, m’your nasty w-wife,”

“that’s right,” he cooed, voice all thick and drunk off you. “my fuckin’ wife, huh? tryna trap me with my own dick? shit, i’ll give it to you, ma. i’ll fuckin’ fill you—”

“y-yeess please—!” you cried, babbling now, drool slipping from your lips, forehead slick with sweat. “wan’ be a m-mommy again, pl-please toji—please make me a mommy a-again,”

his hips sped up. not too fast—but hard. messy. rhythmic. deep enough to make you scream into the pillow every time he bottomed out.

“fuckin’ l-looove you,” he moaned, voice cracking. “you feel too good, baby, fuck—can’t hold it… can’t fuckin’ hold it—”

you nodded frantically. you couldn’t speak. not with his arm still tight under your throat. not with his dick rearranging your guts, thick and heavy and curved just right.

“do it w’me, mami,” he groaned, hand gripping your hip, dragging your fat ass back on his dick. “ffuuck—cum with m-me, i’m not pullin’ out—”

you shattered.

your body seized up and spasmed. your legs shook. pussy clenched so tight it dragged a whimper out of his chest. and toji came with a choked, broken moan, hips stuttering, cock twitching deep inside your soaked little hole.

ropes of cum painted your walls, costing every single corner and crevice of your sweet and sappy pussy.

he stayed there for a moment. breathing hard. kissing your shoulder. arms wrapped around your thick, twitchy body like he was trying to mold himself into you.

then he whispered—

“gon’ marry you again tomorrow, baby. right here. on this bed. make it official again… right where i fucked my wife stupid.”

and all you could do was whimper in response, a fucked-out smile plastered on your face.

i came. thx. i love blaccent toji im sorry who rlly is gon come see me about it ??

[taelepathii]

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆— clingy!mack

—

This man is so down bad for you. I’m not even joking.

The minute he gets home from practice, he is all over you. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing in the moment—you’re expected to drop it and give your man the attention he so desperately craves…or more like demands.

Most of the time you feed into it, rubbing comforting circles across his back or gently raking your blunt nails over his scalp—soothing the man so much that he practically melts into a puddle, eyes hung low; letting out soft puffs of breaths that brush across your neck as his bigger body is strewn over yours.

His heavier weight causes your body to decompress, your heart rate slowing down as you savor the intimate moment. You don’t have a lot time to just lay down and relax between you working your job and Mack having his practices and games.

Often times the time that works is when you’re either getting settled into bed or the early morning hours when majority of the world is still sleeping or just cracking their bleary eyes open.

And you will forever cherish those sweet moments.

But then comes the rare time when you can’t just unplug from the outside world to spend quality time with Mack. On the occasion, you have afternoon meetings that usually run well past the time Mack gets home from practice—a “team building activity”as your boss would call it.

You frequently find yourself swatting his wandering hands or mouth when you’re busy and can’t give him your undivided attention. Sometimes he’d roll his chair so it’s close enough to yours to be close to you but also be out of the camera if you’re on a zoom call.

One time you were engrossed in an ongoing conversation with another team member and you heard the familiar thumps of Mack setting his hockey gear down in the hallway, outside your bedroom. You’ve one AirPod tucked into an ear, the other empty. “Yeah, yeah—I totally get what you’re saying but I feel like we should expand our marketing to reach more of our gen-z customers.” Your hands randomly pop up in the air, gesturing as you speak.

Knock knock.

Hearing the soft raps on your bedroom door, you turn to face it—one of your co-workers blabbing off about something else you’re not even merely interested in. The door creaks open a crack, a reddish-brown haired boy peeking his head in, the strands dampened—his green eyes full of warmth and affection—like a love sick puppy.

You offer a simple wave and grin as a greeting, knowing you’re going to be called back into the conversation swirling through your ear. The tension in your body almost immediately loosens seeing Mack’s face—a rush of a cozy emotion bleeding through you and settling in your heart.

Noticing the familiar expression on Mack’s face, eyes glistening with innocence and sweetness that commonly leads him to ask for cuddles, you mouth, “I’m in a meeting.” Your face tightening in a grimace.

And oh my gosh y’all…this man pouts. Like bottom lip jutting out, shaking with a slight quiver—his eyes rounding in mock offense. His muscular shoulders droop into a sulk, his frame limp like you told him you hated him.

And you sit there frozen in astonishment. You knew he was dramatic but you seriously underestimated how much. I mean he looks like a kicked puppy right now.

Your trance is broken by the repetition of your name. You forgot you were in a meeting. Swiveling your chair back around to face your laptop, you swiftly slip right back into the discussion—interjecting the occasional hums or sounds of agreement.

With an exasperated sign, your boyfriend dramatically plops down on the soft surface of your bed—face shoved into the fluffy covers.

You ignore him, giving your attention to the people in your screen.

Mack did not like that, providing his own sounds of disapproval. Every 5 minutes, he’s changing positions, rotating between laying on his stomach or back—before settling on his side, facing towards you.

You spot him through the dark part of your laptop screen, he’s still sporting the same pout—head leaned up on his hand to support it.

With a deep sigh, you plant your AirPod back into its case and shutting off your laptop—happy to see the blank, dark screen

This goes on for another 20 minutes before your boss decided that’s enough team-building for the day—everyone ushering their own farewells.

Eyes trailing back over the pouting boy, you take in the over dramatic position and with a roll of your eyes you get out of your chair and saunter over to him—his eyes tracking your movements. “He should take up acting.” You think. “Especially with the way he kept the same energy and look.”

You have to bite back a chuckle at the way Mack looks. Absolutely pathetic, but you love him so it’s ok.

With a roll of your eyes you lean down to lay a soft kiss on his lips, resting your hands on the reddened skin of his cheeks. He lets out a groan of tenderness, his body subconsciously curving into yours—chests just inches apart.

Even though your eyes are closed, you can feel his mouth stretching into a shit-eating grin—the soft yet rough texture of his hands settle on your hips, thumb absentmindedly drawing circles on the skin.

Your heart feels like it’s slowly melting the longer you kiss, your muscles relaxing from Mack’s touch. The stressors of your day vanish as you welcome the one thing that makes your day seems a little more brighter.

And later that afternoon, he didn’t leave your side once. Obviously except when you need to use the restroom but then he still sits in the hallways right outside the door, waiting you to be finished—tossing you over his shoulder to carry you back over to wherever you were previously laying down—shoving on your hands into his hair and the other on his back.

His arms are tightly wound around you, yours doing the same—feet interlaced.

A part of you secretly hopes he doesn’t stop being clingy because lowkey you are too. And you wouldn’t change these cherished moments for anything.

A/n: here you go my fellow mack girlies!! So sorry it took forever to come out..I’m kind of a slow writer so it take me a little bit to come up with this + writing. I’m sorry if the ending seems abrupt or weird. My sleeping medicine is kicking in and I’m fighting sleep :)) I’ll fix it tomorrow! Anyway I hope you enjoyed. Likes + reblogs are always greatly appreciated <3

© taelepathii all rights reserved. Please do not copy, repost or translate my works without my permission!

[taelepathii]

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆—helping athlete!sukuna w pre-game rituals

—

"I-I still don't understand how this helps."

And you really don't. Full confusion. You don't mind assisting Kuna anyway you can, especially on a game day—when his nerves are jacked up high (even though he's wearing the same snarl and slightly squinted eyes on his face. But you can tell he's nervous from the barely visible switch of his left eye and the way his fingers fiddle with the many rings on his hand.)

Every Saturday and Wednesday the days start the exact same way. Kuna wakes up at 5:30 am, announcing his wake-up with a sleep-riddled groan and a sloppy kiss on your forehead before leaves to do his usual bathroom routine. Then he's out the door with a protein shake and gym bag, obviously not before he gives you a one-sided kiss goodbye (only psychos wake up that early) and a soft whisper of depart.

But that's just a regular working out the nerves thing.

What has you bean-boozled is the fact that right before he leaves, he has you flat on your back, face smothered between your quivering thighs, feasting on like your his last meal. Your breath comes out in a series of unregular puffs, the sheet below you are damp with a combination of spit, sweat and release.

His hot tongue laps at your addicting heat, rotating between broad stripes and prodding your soaked entrance, slurping up every ounce of your essence.

The sounds that leave his lips are filthy. Deep, guttural groans vibrate through the air, causing the band forming in your stomach to tighten as a rush of wetness leaks out. Sukuna damn near moans at your taste, his red eyes peeking up at your twitching form, settling on your heated face and the way your lips are frozen in a perfect 'o'—a slew of high-pitched moans slipping out.

A smirk stretches across his mouth, tongue dragging up to sinfully circulate around your sensitive bundle of nerves, "Tha' feel good, brat?" You can't answer, only able to offer a broken whine in response.

"Heh, i've only made you cum two times and this far gone." You can feel the heat in your tummy burning hotter as he continues suckling at your pussy. His hands roughly clasp your shaky thighs, his blunt fingernails leaving crescent moons in the soft skin.

Every game day, you have to come three times. Not one more or less. And when you asked him about it one day, he started rambling about whole "Third times th' charm." and everything.

And you left it at that.

This man would eat you eat 24/7 if he could. He's like a drug addict and you're the drug. Sometimes he finds himself a little more on the moody side, yes more his already darkened mood, when he's gone more than a couple days without his fix...which is eating you out. At the start you're sheepishly giggling at his frowning face but that's quickly cut-off when you're chucked on the nearest flat surface with a pink-haired man devouring the slick between your legs, the joyful sound ending in one full of pleasure.

The memory is yanked from you when Kuna licks one slow, broad stripe up your heat, lastly wrapping his lips around your clit before harshly sucking it. A final "Be a good girl and come for me." rumbles out, the tremble of the words against your clit, pushes your over the edge. And not before long you find yourself soaking his face once more and he greedily sucks up the juices as they rush out of you.

You arch off the bed, legs still pinned the sheets, deep moans filtering through your lips, getting higher in pitch as Kuna continues to lap at your overstimulating pussy, not seeming to get enough.

He finally lets up when you pat his head, signaling for him to stop. He parts way ending with a opened-mouth kiss on your bundle of nerves. His face face is glistening with your cum, his tongue poking out to get any remnants of you on his lips, savoring the taste. His hands still resting on your thighs.

Kuna looks you, eyes hung low with need, his broad chest slightly raising in a soft pant, yours matching the speed after calming down.

Licking your lips you ask, "So...are you gonna answer my question now?" The corner of his mouth quirks up in humor, a hushed chuckle sprouting from his throat.

"Eh-it's jus' a luck thing, y'know?" He shrugs his shoulder like his words don't mean anything but you can the tips of his ears are slightly turning pink. "You're like my lucky charm or shit."

He doesn't offer anymore answers and you are sedated with his response, the words leaving a tingly feeling your chest. Slapping your thigh, he lifts his weight off from the bed, pattering to the conjoined bathroom in his apartment to get dressed for his game.

Fitted in his basketball uniform, he shifts over you, your form still strewn across the bed. Leaning over your smaller frame, he braces one hand on the headboard the other resting beside your head. His breath fans warmly over your lips, his face mere inches from yours.

Your nose twitches. Sniffling you lean a little bit closer, a woodsy and manly scent of his cologne fills your nostrils but there's something else...you. A look of arrogance glows over Kuna's face, a sly grin stretching his lips, a sharp canine tooth peeking out through the opening between the skin. He knows you know.

That bastard!

Your lips round in astonishment. You lift one of your hands to swat at his chest; a mixture in embarrassment, amusement and...lust. Warmth swirls throughout your body.

Chuckling at your reaction he presses a firm kiss on your still parted lips, "A lil' extra luck never hurt nobody." And you can taste yourself on his tongue.

With one last peck, he swiftly picks up his bag for basketball and phone, trudging towards the bedroom door. Pausing, he tilts his head to peer you and with a final wink he's out the door.

"Don't be late. Love you, baby."

And the sound of the front door slamming, following after.

a/n: I’ve never written for him before but Sukuna is a guilty pleasure of mine and he literally haunts like every part of my being. Thank you for reading my lovies <3 All likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated :)) Don’t worry my Mack lovers, I’ll have something out for him soon ;))

© taelepathii all rights reserved. Please do not copy, repost or translate my works without my permission!

[taelepathii]

been thinking of him since they announced him as superman😭

finest shyt ☝️

[taelepathii]

🫦🫦🫦

what the fuck he’s beautiful