callsign-honeybeewildfox2

[callsign-honeybeewildfox2]

ꨄ Plug!Eren fucks his innocent girlfriend.

EREN YEAGER was a well-known dealer in the area. a tall, mysterious, often hot-headed drug dealer — someone you definitely wouldn’t wanna mess with unless you planned on getting shot.

so, when you, a perfect little pink princess angel was seen with eren’s tattooed arm around your shoulders and your bag in his hand — everyone was shocked to say the least.

you were pretty, quiet, intelligent, came from a good family background, never missed a day of college or any homework, never smoked or did drugs, and the only alcohol you’d ever had was a sip of your mother’s gin & tonic and you hated it.

you were the complete opposite to eren.

you were innocent.

but somehow you were drawn to him.

you had met at a party your friend mikasa dragged you too — someone he’d known from childhood and you bonded over your mutual friend. eren knew he liked you from the moment he set eyes on your uncomfortable frame amongst your drunk and high friends at the party. you got on very well much to eren’s surprise and he vowed from that moment on to protect you no matter what.

so, you hung out more & more and you grew to love each other. eren asked you to be his girlfriend at a fancy dinner — a pretty bracelet in a velvet box being accompanied by the sweet words, bringing tears to your eyes as you couldn’t help but kiss his face as you cried against him, whispering ‘yes’ a thousand times as you covered him in your lipstick.

you cherished eren and treated him with the utmost kindness and respect a man deserved. you always put him first and devoted your life to making sure he was happy. and eren protected you with his life — literally. he would take a bullet to the brain for you, not caring that he’d never wake up again, if only you were happy and safe. you were the only woman he’d ever truly loved, and therefore he never wanted anything bad to ever happen to you. n he spoilt you like a princess, his drug money making sure your nails were never bare, as long as he could pick the design here and there, and your hair looked freshly done and perfect and any outfit or meal you wanted was paid for by him.

eren never pushed you into anything, he knew where you stood with his life and what he did, but he knew you’d never stop him from making his money the way he did. he knew you hated that he sold & did drugs but he reassured you with his life that he would never ever put you in danger or make you unhappy. he’d give it up if you were genuinely upset about it — but he knew you weren’t that petty to make him change his life that much just for you.

he also never pushed you to like his friends — who had the same values as him. so, when you met them all for the first time, you could tell you were definitely the elephant in the room, as a little princess like you stood out amongst all the drugs user thugs themselves.

“ guys, this my girl i’ve been tellin’ you ‘bout.” eren introduced, a sweet smirk on his face, as he smiled down at you, arm around your waist as you stood before a few of his friends.

smoke filled the air as they all smoked their individual joints, all in similar dress to eren and all tatted up — you, in a short, pretty pink dress, frilly socks and comfy trainers and your hair in a high ponytail held together by a pink scrunchie.

“ hi, nice to meet you.” you smiled sweetly, waving your manicured hand, eren smiling as he caught a glimpse of the initial ‘E’ on your ring finger.

one day he’d convince you to get it tatted — not yet though.

connie was the first to speak, standing up, brushing the ash off his jeans to force his hand into yours in a handshake, “nice to meet ya, pretty, ‘m connie. we’ve heard a lotta ‘bout you.”

“watch it” eren warned, shooting connie a glare at the compliment he weaved into his words.

connie only chuckled, retreating back to his seat as you giggled quietly at eren’s possessiveness.

next to greet you was a tall, mullet-headed man named jean who only offered a nod and a quiet hello — someone you knew eren had had issues with in the past and knew not to overstep the line when it came to his girl. after jean came reiner, a muscular blonde who was the sweetest of the bunch.

“nice to meet you — i hear you’re making our eren very happy.” he smiled, blowing smoke from between his pink lips.

“i hope so.” you mumbled nervously, “i love him a lot.”

eren could’ve fallen to his knees and cried at the way you looked up at him with such pure adoration and devotion in your eyes after saying the sweetest words any girl had ever said about him.

“y’know you do, baby.” eren spoke, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“you’re not his usual type so i am surprised.”

“shut ya fucking mouth, kirstein.” you nearly flinched at the pure hatred in eren’s voice as his head snapped towards jean who only smirked evilly.

“what? a man’s not allowed to speak the truth anymore, or ‘sum?” jean laughed, “no offence, sweetheart, but yeager usually goes for more..experienced bitches, y’know?”

connie kissed his teeth loudly as reiner sighed, knowing exactly what was coming. a frown appeared on your face as jean’s words hit your ears, feeling suddenly uncomfortable at jean’s insinuation.

“so, just don’t get too comfortable, darlin’, cuz he’s likely to leave ya for some other bitch that actually knows how ta act her age.”

“i’d shut up, kirstein.” connie warned, a knowing smile on his face as if he was enjoying this.

you could feel eren was tense from how his hand gripped your waist and how you could hear him grinding his teeth together in anger.

you hated seeing eren like that. you just wanted him to be happy.

“well i’m sorry, jean, b-but eren loves me and me only just as i am and that’s not going to change so you’ll just h-have to get used to it.”

your heart hammered in your chest as adrenaline flowed through your veins — swallowing thickly as the words left your dry throat. your hand flew to eren’s against your waist as you gripped his fingers, reminding him that you were there with him.

jean’s face dropped as he expected eren to give him a piece of his mind — he wasn’t expecting your shaky voice to greet his ears.

eren, though, could’ve cum on the spot. you, defending him against horse-face…? jeeeesus that was fucking good to hear.

“daaaaaamn, kirstein, get told you asshole.” connie laughed, slapping his knee as reiner smiled against the joint between his lips.

jean kissed his teeth, “man fuck you.”

“nah fuck you, bro” connie fought back, “bein’ nasty to eren’s girl for no damn reason, fuckin’ cunt.”

“oh shut ya fuckin’ mouth, springer — “

“go wait in the car for me, sweetheart.” eren whispered down at you, his voice taking over your brain from the boys argument, his large hand cupping your cheek lovingly as he slid his car keys into your petite hand.

you nodded and did as he asked, blocking out the argument as you retreated out the room, offering reiner a polite, yet awkward smile. you knew trouble was underway as eren’s name being called in desperation muffled through the walls of connie’s apartment as you hurried down the stairs.

eren often got like that if you were disrespected by anyone. didn’t matter if he was in the room, if he knew them or not, if the person who said it was online or if they were 1000 miles away — eren had to fuck them up until they were on the brink of death for upsetting his perfect girl.

you had waited in his obnoxiously big mercedes for what felt like half an hour as you anxiously picked at your nails, your eyes glancing down at his initial — worry filling your tummy. but, alas, your boyfriend emerged from the apartment complex in a state you weren’t surprised at.

sweaty, flushed cheeks, strands of hair flying from his bun, bruised and bloody knuckles and chest heaving angrily.

“‘rennie.” you whispered as he flung himself into the car, slamming the door. your sweet, loving hands coming to touch his cheek.

if it were anyone else, eren would’ve flipped his lid at anyone touching him. but you? no. he craved your touch right now. more than anything. i mean he was practically melting at the touch of your small palm on his face.

he turned his head to press a long, loving kiss to the palm of your hand, eyes closed as if to savour the feeling of your skin on his lips.

“‘m sorry for keepin’ you, baby.” eren whispered, quickly turning on the ignition and pulling out of the parking space, “let’s go home, yeah?”

you merely nodded, offering him a reassuring smile as he drove away, slightly more erratic than normal due to his heightened mood — but he knew not to take it too far as you were in the car with him. as you know, he’d never ever put you in danger.

eren remained in a mood for the rest of the day. never showing it fully to you as to not upset you, but you could tell he was still bothered by what jean had said.

“eren?”

“wassup, beautiful” eren’s monotone voice filled your ears as you watched him from across the dinner table in his dining room. he even looked perfect eating the chinese takeout he’d bought you both.

“what happened earlier?”

eren tensed up again. the memories of the afternoon crept up his brain, “why, baby?”

“please, honey.” you pouted, instantly breaking down his guard at your perfect face, “i wanna know.”

eren sighed, reaching over to tug at your jutted out bottom lip, “can’t ever say no to you, mama, jesus.”

you smiled slightly against his finger, watching as he let his fork drop into the cardboard box full of noodles, running a hand through his hair.

“well i beat the shit outta him. broke his nose or ‘sum i think, i really don’t care.”

“eren!”

eren kissed his teeth, leaning back in his chair, “what? he fuckin’ deserved it.”

“eren yeager.” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, frowning, not knowing eren secretly enjoyed the way you got so protective of him.

“shiiit, full name n’ all, now ‘m in trouble, ma, huh?” he smirked, his golden grills flashing at you.

“yes, ‘ren, he’s your friend.” you whined, feeling to blame for your boyfriends antics.

“nah he’s not.” eren scowled, returning to his food nonchalantly despite the topic of conversation, “especially not if he talks ‘bout you like that.”

you sighed, pushing at your food with your fork, pouting slightly, still feeling guilty.

“baby, ‘m sorry i’m not like the other girls you’ve dated.”

uh oh! shouldn’t have said that!

eren threw his fork to the table, startling you slightly as he slid his chair quickly towards you — forcing you into a feverish kiss, taking you by surprise. eren’s large hands grasped desperately at your face, his lips moulding against yours as he kissed you with the most passion and love you’d ever experienced.

“—‘nngh’ — ‘rennie!—giggle—stop!—hah!” your words struggled to come out as eren kissed from your lips to your nose to your cheeks, eyes forehead and chin.

“don’t you ever say that again, ma, i mean it.” eren warned, suddenly serious as he finally pulled away looking you dead in the eyes, “you. are perfect. and nothin’ like those bitches thank fucking jesus lord. they ruined me, made me half the fuckin’ man i am. you changed me you fixed me you are the one for me because you are you, baby, y’get me?”

you couldn’t help but smile against his hands, your cheeks squishing slightly against him as you couldn’t contain your grin, “‘rennie, you mean that?”

“more than anything in th’fuckin’ world.”

and he sure as hell proved that!

“..nnngh—ugnnnh! fuuuck, ‘rennie!”

eren laughed loudly, pulling back from between your thighs at the sound of his name being called, slick covering his lips and chin, as you sat up on your elbows, arms shaking.

currently, he had you on your back on his bed, completely butt ass naked like the day you were born, and his tongue working wonders on your clit. you’d already cum twice and he was trying to force a third out of you.

“‘wassup, baby?”

“— ‘ren, hah — no-no more — nnhuuugh.” your whines of pleasure and fatigue only stirring him on as he jutted against the bed frame in his boxers, now feeling awfully tight against his throbbing cock.

“please, mama, one more for ‘rennie, please? y’were such a good girl for me today baby. standing up to that fuckin’ prick — makin’ ‘rennie s’proud of you. gotta reward m’ baby, yeah?”

you whined once more, his words hitting you straight in the core as you fell back onto your back, chest heaving.

eren took that as a yes — his tongue resuming its mission your aching clit, his ring clad hands gripping at your pudgy thighs as you cried out, your legs instinctively clamping around his head at the over stimulation.

eren flicked the tip of his tongue continuously over your clit, pleasuring the swollen nub, occasionally licking long strips or sucking on it, earning louder moans of intense pleasure from your plump lips. eren ate pussy good — that was one of the first things you learnt about him, feeling excited you had him all to yourself but secretly annoyed other girls got to enjoy this before you.

but he was yours now so it didn’t matter.

eren didn’t have to wait long until you were cumming again, legs nearly crushing his skull as you shook against him, tongue lapping at your clit at record speed as you whined his name loudly, bucking your hips up to reach your third orgasm.

“fuck fuck fuck, ‘rennie — cummin’, ‘m cummin’, baby, fuck!”

“yeah, that’s it, princess, give it to me. give it to ‘rennie, fuckin’ cum for me.” eren whispered, his fingers rubbing swift circles on your nub as your third orgasm ripped through you.

eren grew harder and harder in his uncomfortably tight boxers as you creamed all over his tongue, whining and panting as the overstimulation grew. as you came down from your high, you kicked eren away from your pulsating sex as he lapped up the cum that dribbled out of you, fatigue washing over you.

but eren wasn’t done with you just yet.

kneeling on the bed, eren slotted himself between your open legs as he pulled his achingly hard cock free from his briefs, both of you watching as it bobbed between your thighs lewdly. eren wasn’t small at all — a humble 8 inches and girth always made your ability to walk be ripped away from you.

“gonna fuck you so good, mama. ya such a good girl f’me, deserve to take this big dick, hm?”

you could only whine as words failed your sex-drunk mind, clit twitching as eren’s mushroom-shaped tip nudged the abused nub. he gathered your ever-increasing slick over his hot length, heart pounding as he pushed a leg further up to his shoulder.

“ya ready, sweetheart?”

this wasn’t a question, this was a warning. eren did this to make sure you knew his desperate monster of a cock was about to destroy your insides.

“mmm.” you nodded, biting your lip, anticipation eating you alive.

eren bit back a moan as he pushed the tip past your drooling lips into your tight gummy walls — a loud whine leaving your lips, only stirring eren on.

“jeeeesus, fuck, baby.” eren groaned, throwing his head back as he pushed further inside you, the sheer girth of his fat cock stretching you open more n more with each inch.

eren was only getting harder n harder as you panted and whined beneath him, your pretty chest clad in a white lacy bra rising and falling quickly as he filled you up.

eren loved lookin at you while he fucked you. sure he loved seeing your ass clap back onto his dick while he fucked you from behind — but watching your gorgeous face contort into expressions of pleasure while he fucked you dumb made him feral.

eren wasted no time — wanting nothing more than for you to feel good for your amazing act of service to him today. he dragged himself slowly from your wet cunt, hissing at the tightness that was your pussy that engulfed him, only leaving his throbbing tip inside.

“please ‘rennie.”

that was enough for eren. one hand gripped your hip and the other on your levitated thigh as he began an unholy pace. your back arched off the bed as eren’s cock slammed in and out of your sloppy pussy — the sound of your wetness filling the air like a dirty porn video, only stirring eren on as his mouth fell open at the feeling of your clenching hole squeezing him just the way he liked. your legs were tensed as your eyes squeezed shut; pleasure consuming your body as eren fucked you senseless, grunting to himself as he thoroughly enjoyed you.

“such a good girl f’me, aren’t ya, princess?” eren panted, turning to plant hot, open mouthed kisses against your ankle as he fucked you open — chest heaving in arousal as you cried out louder at his praise.

“e-eren!” you cried, eyes shooting open as his fingers landed on your overstimulated clit, rubbing circles on his twitching nub, coaxing another orgasm outta you, shooting up from the bed.

eren’s large hand landed from your waist to your neck — grasping your throat in a chokehold and shoving you back down onto the bed, knocking the wind out of your lungs, “don’t you fuckin’ dare try and stop me.” he warned “you’ve been such a good girl all day baby don’t ruin it now. let rennie make ya cum one more time yeah?”

“rennieeee, can’t. i can’t, b-baby, can’t cum anymore. ‘s-sensitive.” you whined, trying to ignore how good it felt as his cock bullied your g-spot and thumb rubbing dangerously slow circles on your clit.

eren laughed darkly, his pornographic pace never faltering as his blown out, fucked out eyes flicked from your bodies connecting to your lewd face, “you wanna cum with rennie though, right?”

you nodded quickly — loving nothing more than feeling him stuff you full of cum while you orgasmed around him.

“then shut ya bitch mouth n take it.”

with a squeak of agreement, eren’s hand slipped from your throat to your tits — pulling one out manhandling it, earning himself some pretty moans as he rolled your nipple between his fingers.

“fuckin’ c’mere, mama.” eren spoke, tossing another leg over his shoulder, practically folding you in half as he pushed you further onto the bed, now leaning over your fucked out body.

“aaaahnnng! fuck, fuck fuck! eren — eren, fuck, eren!”

your whines only granted eren all the confirmation he needed that he was doin you good as he pushed his cock further into you — his tip kissing your cervix.

“jeeeeesus,” eren panted, throwing his head back at the new angle, “fuckin’ takin this dick so good, mama”

“yeah, yeah, yeahhnhhggh!” you were practically brainless by the time eren had even started his new pace, his cock bullying its way into you as your eyes practiced hardcore R.E.M as they rolled back and all over the place.

eren’s hips snapped back and forth against the plush of your ass and gripped your waist — forcing you down onto his cock harder as he fucked you. his bun was falling loose as strands stuck to the sweat on his forehead, bottom lip between his teeth flashin his grills as his eyebrows twitched.

eren pushed his cock deeper as you whined with every thrust, blabbering his name as tears slipped from your eyes at the pure pleasure your eren was bringing you — big bad eren making you feel so good behind closed doors!

eren’s hand resumed its tortuous work against your clit as he grunted against you, flicking your nub back forth.

“doin’ so good, babygirl, fuckin’ can’t wait to nut in this good girl pussy.”

“oouuuugh ‘rennieeeeuuugg!”

“yeah, tell me ‘bout it mama, feels good, yea?” eren teased, slamming his now twitching cock into your slobbering pussy — his dick throbbing in arousal at the way you’d clench around him and then a milky white ring of your cream would form around the base of his cock, “ya like it when rennie talks you through it, hm? dirty girl.”

“yes, ‘rennie! yes, ‘rennie! yes, ‘rennie!”

eren laughed darkly as he watched your eyes nearly turn towards each other as you blabbered loudly, drool now falling from your lips — he just loves fuckin’ you dumb!

“fuck, baby, gunna cum,” eren mumbled, hips twitching slightly as he neared his finish, “where y’want me, sweetheart?”

“inside!”

“oh, fuck.”

eren didn’t need much more to be said before his hips stilled as he spilled his load inside you. the feeling of eren fucking his cum back inside you as his hips twitched forwards as he came, sent you the edge as well, manicured toes curling and a loud cry of pleasure being released as you came around him. eren’s head fell forward against your chest as you clamped down on his sensitive cock — forcing another spurt of cum to shoot inside you along with his fat load.

you both laid in silence for a few more seconds before eren slowly sat up, letting his softening cock slip out of your warm heaven — smirking proudly as a dollop of his cum dripped from your pussy which clenched around nothing.

“did so good f’me, beautiful.” eren whispered, reaching down to rub gentle, apologetic circles to your bruised hips and a sweet, loving kiss to your temple, his heart hammering in his chest from your adorably tired face.

“i love you, ‘rennie.” you mumbled, curling up in his sweaty sheets — which you knew he’d be changing for you in a few minutes as he retreated towards the bathroom to grab a warm washcloth to clean you with.

“i love you more, princess.”

[callsign-honeybeewildfox2]

A Dim Light Amid Despair

Canon compliant, slow burn Reiner x Reader

Crossposted on AO3

Chapter 1

There are three rowdy Marley soldiers seated at your bar. They’re in here often, although you’ve never bothered to learn their names. You probably should have cut them off three drinks ago, but it’s almost last call, and you figure it would be more trouble than it’s worth. They’ve never treated you kindly, drunk or sober, and always look down on you for having Eldian blood.

You’re drying off some glasses, trying to ignore the soldier’s crass conversation, when you hear the faint jingle of the front door opening. “Why do they always have to come right at close?” you mutter to yourself before greeting your new patron. “Welcome in!” you say instinctively with your fakest customer service voice and rehearsed smile. As you turn around, you plan to give them the scripted, “We’re closing soon, last call is in 15 minutes,” but stop yourself when you realize who it is—a broad, blonde man with a scruffy goatee towers over the counter. You immediately recognize him, and your heart drops to your stomach.

“V- Vice Chief Braun-” You stutter. “What are you-uh - I mean, uh, to what do I owe the pleasure?” You've never spoken so properly to a customer before, but the phrase slipped out as if you were talking to royalty.

“Just need a drink. Whiskey, neat.” Reiner mumbles without making eye contact. You try not to take his shortness personally while pouring his drink. Reiner pulls out a folded newspaper from his coat and begins skimming it while you work. You pass the drink across the counter, and he immediately knocks the whiskey back. Yikes, that was more of a sipping whiskey. “Make the next one a double,” he says as he slams the empty glass on the counter without even looking up from his paper.

You notice dark circles surrounding his amber eyes, and he’s wearing a solemn expression. Several years as a barkeep have made you pretty good at reading people. You might as well be some of your regulars’ therapist, the way they vent to you about their problems. Reiner doesn’t look up for talking, but his behavior has you concerned.

“Everything alright, sir?” you say as you pour the next drink.

“Yeah, the drink was perfect,” he replies, still avoiding eye contact. He didn't realize you weren’t asking about the drink.

“I mean-uh,” You stumble on your words, trying to find a delicate way to pry a little more, “How’s your night going so far?” you ask, peeking around the newspaper to see his face more clearly.

“Eh, you know. Same old same old,” he says before nursing his next drink, still giving you nothing. At least he’s taking his time with this one.

“I haven’t seen you in here before, I’m here almost every night. What brought you in?” you say, grasping at straws to start a conversation.

He shoots you a confused look, putting the paper down. “Well, why does anyone come in here? Like I said, I just needed a drink.”

“Oi- What’s it take to get some good service around here?” One of the men interrupts from across the bar. Never mind that you’re actively working on closing up shop, and with another customer.

“Sorry, I’ll be right back,” you say to Reiner as you rush to the other side of the counter where the soldiers are. “Another round, fellas?” you ask rhetorically as you begin to pour them three more beers.

“Obviously, you shouldn’t even have to ask. You’re slacking. I'd better have another drink in my hand before I see the bottom of my first one,” the soldier hisses.

“Well, you better drink up because it’s almost last call, okay?” you reply sweetly.

“Yeah, yeah,” another soldier retorts while waving you off. You know better than to let them get to you, but it doesn’t make it any easier when they’re always making rude comments and snide remarks. Not to mention, the drunker they get, the more vulgar they act. With everyone sipping their drinks, you go back to closing duties to get ahead of shutting down the bar.

“You shouldn’t let them talk to you like that,” Reiner says as you clean the counter next to him. It was so unprompted that it took you back a bit.

“I know,” you start, “but I don’t really have a choice. I have to stay on people’s good side if I want to make any money.” You sigh and give a slight nod to your yellow armband, “Also, being Eldian already puts a target on my back. I’d rather stay silent and just take it than risk any consequences.”

“That’s the unfortunate truth, I suppose,” Reiner replies while taking another sip. “It’s a shame. Do all of your patrons treat you like that?” He asks.

“No, not all,” you smile at him sincerely. The tiniest smirk crosses his lips. “It’s mostly just the Marleyans, you know how it is. I have my good and bad days, all a part of the job.”

You can feel the conversation lose momentum, but you are desperate to keep it going. This is the most you’ve been able to get out of him all night. Something about him is just so enthralling, you can’t help but be a little starstruck. You can’t deny his good looks, and you’d be lying if you said you’d never fantasized about him before. Once he inherited the armor, he became a bit of a local celebrity, and certainly the warrior who is easiest on the eyes. You doubt he’s aware, but at least all Eldian women you know fawn over him.

“Are you sure you’re doing okay, Vice Chief?” you ask again.

“What do you mean?” he replies, genuinely confused as opposed to defensive.

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice you look a little down,” you say as he finishes his drink, “and not for nothing, but you have downed that whiskey pretty quickly. Something on your mind?” you ask while picking up his glass and motioning for another.

“It’s complicated…” he trails off while shaking his hand to deny the drink.

“I’ve got time,” you lie, but you are willing to stay late if it’ll bring him comfort.

“Not that much time,” he says, noticing the time and calling your bluff. “But if you must know, I guess I’m just still shaken up from Fort Slava,” he says, tossing the newspaper onto the counter. The front page headline reads “ARMORED TITAN REDUCED TO DUST, PRAISE FOR MID-EAST ALLIES.” Of course, how could you be so stupid? For the first time in history, Marley’s titans were overpowered, by the Mid-East Allies latest weapons. Admittedly, you don’t keep up with the news as much as you should, and you’ve found it hard to care about the propaganda that’s communicated to Eldians in the internment zone. But your customers mostly consist of Marleyan soldiers who have been discussing the result of the battle for the past few weeks. You don’t know the exact details, but you imagine it’s even more devastating for a titan warrior who was there on the battlefield.

“Oh, of course. Sorry, I completely forgot,” you explain. “Try not to beat yourself up about it too much, okay?” You can see the guilt in his eyes, and can tell he feels like the loss was primarily his fault. “I’m sure you all fought as best you could. The Mid-East Allies' technical advantages don’t make you any less of a warrior.”

“I appreciate it, but forgiving myself is easier said than done,” he sighs. You’re not sure what else you can say to help. You’ve dealt with hundreds of dejected soldiers before, but never a titan warrior. It adds a whole other layer of complexity to his grief that you can’t even imagine.

“Well, if you ever need someone to vent to, I’m here just about every night,” you say as you pour him one last whiskey. “Last call, this one’s on the house. Thank you for your service, Vice Chief Braun,” you smile as you close out his tab. Aware of the time, he finishes his drink quickly, leaves a hefty tip, and heads out the door.

The other soldiers are only halfway through their drinks, so you go ahead and close them out too. Thankfully, they’re not ones to linger too long after closing and finish their drinks with minimal fuss.

“What do you say we get out of here together, sweetheart?” one of the men insists while they start to get up to leave. Here we go again. With enough alcohol in their system, they care less about you being an Eldian and will resort to harassing you for being a woman instead.

“Sorry boys, I gotta close up and get home before my exit permit expires,” you say with a fake smile, hoping that reminding them you are an Eldian will shut them up.

“Come on, don’t be a prude. We promise we’ll show you a good time,” another soldier winks as you try not to gag.

“Please, it’s getting late and I need to get going soon,” you insist.

“Fine, have it your way,” he relents as he finishes his beer and slams the pint on the counter. “Eldian bitch,” he mumbles to the other men as they turn to leave.

You’ve been called worse, but that doesn’t make it sting any less. You spend the next half hour finishing closing while stewing on the men’s harsh words. You can’t help but think up clever quips and responses you’d say to them if it wouldn’t have you arrested, or worse, sent to Paradis. Reiner’s words echo in your head: “You shouldn’t let them talk to you like that.” If only it were that simple.

[callsign-honeybeewildfox2]

pervert! nerd armin who cannot concentrate on his classes anymore because the tiny skirts you wear are a distraction to him

pervert! nerd armin who is asked by his and your professor to tutor you because at this point with your grade you will not be able to graduate or pass the class

pervert! nerd armin who teases you and makes fun of you for being “dumb”

pervert! nerd armin who pokes your thigh with his pencil whenever you get a a question wrong or whenever you’re spacing off

pervert! nerd armin who sighs loudly and rests his chin on the palm of his hand when you take too long to answer a question

pervert! nerd armin who is confused as to why you are starting to sit next to him in clas

pervert! nerd armin who snickers whenever you get called on and he whispers the answer to you but when you say it out loud, it’s wrong

pervert! nerd armin who makes fun of you whenever you forget your homework

pervert! nerd armin who secretly takes pictures of you whenever you’re not looking to add to his “collection”

pervert! nerd armin who tells you to come study at his dorm because the library gets packed at this time of the semester

pervert! nerd armin who grins when you gasp once you come inside his dorm just to be bombarded with his room full of gooner figures, action figures, geeky posters, and a collection of comics and mangas

pervert! nerd armin who purposely directs you to the wrong answers while he tutors you and scowls at you whenever “you” get the answer wrong

pervert! nerd armin who says he’s lost hope in you, that you won’t pass the class, until you say “please help me armin! i’ll do anything!” he side eyes you with a raised eyebrow while his glasses slowly fall off his nose. “anything?”

pervert! nerd armin who has you tied up in his bed, while he has a vibarator on your clit while he makes you recite the answers for the upcoming test, turning up the setting whenever you get it wrong

“p-please a-armiiiin-!” “tut tut, how else am I supposed to make you understand the material? if i reward you then just maaaybe you will start understanding”

pervert! nerd armin who is not suprised when you come running to him showing your 98/100 test score

[callsign-honeybeewildfox2]

SHHH! Library Rules.

college!nerd armin who sits one row behind you in a lecture and tries to focus on the slides but your thighs are just... right there. crossed, jiggling slightly as you bounce your leg out of boredom, little skirt riding up when you shift—he’s not even hearing the professor anymore. his notes are just bullet points that say:

thighs.

thighs???

fucking thighs.

and he gets so flustered, like he adjusts his big round glasses and pretends to take notes but his face is flushed and his jeans are getting uncomfortably tight...

later that night? he’s scrolling through his phone and lands on your post—it’s a mirror pic, a seemingly innocent story—but you’re sitting on your bed with one leg up and he snaps. doesn't even make it to his bed. he’s jerking off in his desk chair, moaning like he’s being tortured, trying to keep quiet as he strokes himself to the thought of your thighs wrapped around his head, suffocating him.

armin doesn't believe his ears when you ask him to study. flash a sweet little smile. tilt your head just a little bit. he's halfway through chewing on his pen cap when you lean over his desk and say, “hey, armin. wanna go over notes together at the library?”

his brain short circuits.

he literally forgets how to speak for a full second. then manages a weak, breathy, “yeah—uh. yes. i mean. i can. i’d like that.”

you thank him like it’s nothing. walk away like you didn’t just leave a smouldering crater in his chest. but you know exactly what you’re doing. because later that evening, you show up to the library in that skirt. the tiny pink one. and the thigh highs with the little bow at the top. like a sin made of silk and smugness.

you sit across from him. cross your legs real slow.

he swallows.

don’t look. don’t look. okay, you looked. fuck.

and swallows again when you lean forward, pretending to scan your textbook, the movement making your skirt ride just a little higher.

you’re no fool. you’ve been aware of armin’s situation for a while now. the way he covers his boner with his notebook when you glance over during lectures? adorable. you’ve caught him staring at you from across the common room at least a dozen times. and those dorm parties he claims he “hates”? yeah, he only ever shows up to sit beside you and pretend he’s not practically drooling at the smell of your perfume. you think it’s sweet, in a pathetic sort of way.

you decide to tease him. just to see how long he’ll keep the good boy act up for. how long before that polite, bashful smile cracks into something desperate. how long before he snaps.

you shift in your seat, the toe of your boot nudging his ankle under the table. he freezes. you feign ignorance. flip a page. rest your hand on your thigh, drawing slow, idle circles with your finger against the exposed skin. then, you let your leg drift sideways—just barely brushing his.

armin squirms in his chair. what do people even do in situations like this? his knuckles go white where he grips his pen. his legs squeeze together.

you don’t even look up. just mumble something about not understanding the chapter. and he’s nodding too fast. offering help with a cracked voice, eyes wide, flushed down to his collarbones.

he’s shaking. he’s dying. he’s hard.

you lean in even closer—close enough to count the individual lashes framing his eyes, pupils dilated. his breath is shaky, coming in short bursts, and you can practically feel his pulse racing.

his ocean eyes flicker down to your lips before darting back to yours, a silent invitation. his breath hitches as you inch closer, every nerve in his body firing at once. he wants this, wants you, but his mind’s a whirlwind—should he pull back? should he stay still and let the moment breathe?

and then, you kiss him. soft at first, giving him time to adjust. he lets out a heavy sigh against your lips. he tastes like something fruity—like strawberry flavoured gum. the kiss is sweet, subtle and tender, like a vanilla note mixed with a slight tang, like a soft citrus. but it quickly deepens, your hands roaming over his body, teasing the warm skin of his chest through his shirt. you make quick work of his buttons, slipping your hands inside, tracing the lines of his lean chest.

your fingers tweak his nipples, pulling a gasp from him. his hands immediately fly to your waist, pulling you closer. you can feel his body trembling beneath your touch, his chest heaving as he tries to steady himself.

“oh?” you smirk, getting closer, voice dripping with playful mischief. you do it again, only this time, your nails catch the fabric, teasing that soft spot until he can’t keep it together. “sensitive?”

he nods—his face is a mess. eyes wide, like he’s been caught in the worst way possible. but then? he whimpers. you can’t help but smirk at the sound, feeling the heat rising in your own chest.

your fingers tease at the hem of his shirt, touch feather-light but deliberate. his breath hitches, lips parting with a muted gasp when your nails graze the skin just above his waistband. he’s so responsive—every little touch draws out a sound. a whine. a strangled noise that barely makes it past his throat.

he shouldn’t be this turned on from a few light touches. his thighs are tensed like he’s trying not to rut up into you—like that would make this moment disappear. like it would scare you off. but god, it’s getting harder to stay still.

he can’t fully enjoy this. not really. he feels guilt—it’s heavy in his gut. it’s wrong, right? you’re just teasing him. he doesn’t deserve someone like you. but your touch, the way your leg brushes his, the way you’re looking at him like you know what you’re doing, making him lose his mind—it’s too much.

his fingers twitch. his dick aches for release, but he can't—he can’t—let himself go any further. not like this. not when he’s been fantasizing about this moment for weeks. he can’t just be this fucking needy. can’t be this much of a mess in front of you. it’s—

“i…” his voice cracks, just as he feels his heart slam in his chest.

“’min?” you tease, just a little too sweet, fingers tracing his thighs like you have all the time in the world.

“i have to tell you something,” he breathes out, a desperate, breathy whisper. he’s panting, struggling to hold it together. he presses his hands flat on the table, palms sweating, trying to steady himself.

you look up at him with curiosity. his heart races, and the words are choking him. he bites his lip, all at once embarrassed and unbearably turned on.

“i—i—" he stops, gasping for air, hands shaking. "i can’t—i’ve been thinking about this… about you.” he’s so close, so close to breaking. his voice is strained, trembling under the weight of what he’s saying. “when i touch myself… it’s—it's you, okay?” he barely manages to get the words out, feeling like his insides are liquefying under the weight of it.

you freeze, smile faltering. “did you?” you whisper, your tone low and teasing.

“i’m sorry,” he gasps, eyes wide with guilt and the flush of shame creeping up his neck. “it’s... i didn’t mean—fuck, i shouldn’t have said that.”

you don't give him a chance to retreat. “no need to apologize, armin,” you say, the words dripping with something that feels like victory. “you’re cute when you’re this honest.”

and then, it’s quiet—just long enough to hear him choke back another whimper of frustration, as if his body is already begging for more. "but don’t think i’ll let you off that easy, hmm?"

his hands are trembling where they clutch your waist, like he’s not even sure he’s allowed to touch you like this. you nip at his bottom lip, smile curling against his mouth when he gasps again. you straddle him so that your thighs are on each side of his, and armin thinks he could die like this—caged between you, drowning in your scent.

but you take it a step further. you place your knee against his sensitive bulge and he lets out the prettiest moan you’ve ever heard. his hands grip at your hips harder, as if anchoring himself to reality, but you can feel the way his muscles lock in restraint. the sounds of a conversation drift from behind a nearby bookshelf, but all he can hear now is the blood rushing in his ears.

the noise nearby only adds on to your excitement. having armin— armin who’d ditch anybody to study for a test, armin who colour-codes his notes and panics if he’s not fifteen minutes early to each lecture—underneath you like this? it fills you with a sense of pride knowing you’re the only one that can reduce him to nothing but a horny mess.

your thigh rocks against his twitching bulge, back and forth, slow and mean, like you're testing him. and armin—sweet, delicate armin—falls to pieces.

his head lolls back against the chair, lips parted in a perfect ‘O’, breath stuttering out in high-pitched gasps. his eyes are glassy with tears and so, so bright, like he’s staring up at heaven and not at the ceiling of a dusty library. there’s drool slipping from the corner of his mouth—he doesn’t even notice. he’s too far gone. he looks pretty, absolutely destroyed, like his mind’s been wiped clean except for the feeling of your mouth on his nipple and your thigh grinding him down into nothing.

“nghhh—hah, i… i c-can’t think,” he whines, voice cracking, desperate and breathless. “feels too good, i’m— i’m gonna—!”

you coo against his skin, twisting gently at his nipple with your fingertips just to hear the helpless cry he gives in return. his hips jerk again, chasing the friction like he’s forgotten how to stop. he’s babbling now, barely making sense. “please, please, i—can’t—feels s’good, i—hahh—hurts—!”

his hands shake on your hips, clutching like he’s drowning, and all he can do is rut against your thigh while you kiss and suck at his chest like he’s yours to ruin.

his body trembles beneath yours, and the pressure builds too quickly, too intensely. he stammers out apologies, but before he can even register it, he’s cumming, and he bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. his face flushes bright red, humiliation flooding him as he whimpers, trying to recover his breath, lost in ecstasy. but its too late. someone’s footsteps are closer, and the sound of their voice drifts to your ears. he feels exposed, knowing the risk of someone walking in is too real, too immediate.

you dont stop rocking your thighs against his crotch, drawing out cries that feel much louder in the public area. armin begs you to stop with a weak, “please, I can’t take it, not—ngh—somebody’s gonna see…”

he thinks you’re going to let him cum again. god, he’s so close.

your thigh feel just right, your mouth is still on his chest, his hips are twitching up—and then you stop.

the friction disappears and your mouth leaves him with a soft pop, and armin lets out the whiniest noise, hands slapping over his mouth like didn‎’t mean to let it out.

“wha—n-no, no, please—”

“think i got enough out of today’s lesson, yeah? can’t spoil you too much, baby—you’ll get greedy.”

you run your fingers through his hair, so gentle it’s cruel.

“but don’t pout,” you coo. “i’ll give you another lesson. my dorm. if you behave.”

you get up and fix your clothes, slow and casual, like you didn’t just drive him to the edge of sanity. he twitches in your absence, like his body doesn’t know what to do without your weight on top of him.

“i’ll see you in class,” you toss over your shoulder with a wink.

and armin? armin is left there—completely ruined, dripping, thighs pressed tight together for any relief, praying nobody walks around the corner and finds him like this.

[callsign-honeybeewildfox2]

lover boy! connie who lovesss his chubby girlfriend!! he’s so obsessed with her and her fat tits and pretty face!! all he does everyday is spoil you and drool over you every two seconds! lover boy! connie who treats you like the princess you are, stroking your pretty curls when washing your hair for you, or when you’re on your period and your breasts are sore, he might even put one in his mouth for good measure. lover boy! connie who loves how much confidence you have. connie can’t help but parade you around when you wear your two pieces and mini skirts everywhere, he loves the way you flaunt your body and pretty pretty face. sometimes, your lover boy!connie also can’t help but feel insecure that one day, you’ll find someone better, more suited for your taste. but then connie remembers, no one can fuck you as good as he does.

[callsign-honeybeewildfox2]

𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋: 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Finally getting a tattoo for your birthday, your tattoo artist is extremely flirty and handsy—but you can't deny that you like it. One thing leads to another, and you're both in the bathroom of the tattoo parlor.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 (𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈): Tattoo artist Connie, getting a tattoo, needles I guess?, vaginal fingering, vaginal oral sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, public sex, semi public sex, praise, it's your birthday, but you can read this even if it's not lol, etc

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4,284

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Please feel free to leave a like, comment, and feel free to reblog! I am grateful for all of you—thank you for reading my work!

𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒, 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘! 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!

You stand outside the tattoo shop, taking a deep breath as you glance at the sign hanging above the door. It’s been years of saying “maybe next year,” but this time, on your birthday, you promised yourself you’d finally do it. Your friends Sasha and Christa insisted on tagging along for moral support, and now the three of you are gathered on the sidewalk, buzzing with a mix of excitement and nerves.

Sasha gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, not seeming to mind that your palms are a little sweaty. “It’s gonna be great! You’ve wanted this for ages,” she says, beaming.

“Yeah,” Christa adds, smiling sweetly. “Besides, it’s not just you—we’re all doing it together, remember?”

You nod, trying to let their enthusiasm chase away your nerves. “Right. It’s now or never. I owe it to myself.”

With one last deep breath, you push open the door. The bell above the entrance chimes softly, and the smell of antiseptic and leather greets you. Inside, the low hum of buzzing needles mixes with the faint strains of rock music playing through a set of old speakers. The walls are covered in framed flash art, all bold lines and vivid colors, while a glass counter displays jewelry and tattoo care products.

Behind the counter stands a guy with a buzz cut, his arms inked from wrist to shoulder. He leans against the counter with a casual smirk, his eyes flicking over the three of you as you enter.

“Hey there,” he drawls, his voice smooth and inviting. “What can I do for ya?”

Sasha nudges you forward, and you swallow the lump in your throat. “Uh, we were wondering if you accept walk-ins? We want to get matching tattoos,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t sound as shaky as you feel.

He grins, pushing himself upright and sauntering around the counter. “Walk-ins, huh? Well, you’re in luck. We got a few artists free right now. But, uh, just to check... you guys aren’t in some whirlwind romance and gonna regret this in a year, are ya?”

You laugh nervously, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that. We’ve been best friends for years. plus, it’s my birthday, so... kinda figured it’s time to stop chickening out.”

His smirk softens into a genuine smile, teeth and all. You can see the glint of a tongue piercing as he grins at you. “Birthday, huh? Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he says, giving you a wink. “C’mon, let’s get you all set up.”

He gestures for you to follow him, and as you move through the shop, he introduces himself. “Name’s Connie. I’ll be the one marking you up today.”

You trail after him, your heart thumping a little harder at the idea of him touching your skin. Sasha and Christa follow, shooting you encouraging looks as Connie guides you to a workstation in the back.

He pulls out a sketchbook, showing you a few variations of the design you had in mind. “So, you said matching tattoos, right? Got a couple sizes here for you to pick from.”

You point to one, about four inches long, and Connie nods approvingly. “Good choice. Just gimme a sec to print the stencil,” he says.

While he sets up, Sasha and Christa are led to separate stations by two other artists: a quiet woman wearing a lacy black long sleeve shirt and a long red plaid skirt named Mikasa, and a stern looking guy wearing a black short sleeve shirt and black jeans named Levi. The three of you exchange reassuring glances, and you do your best to keep your breathing steady.

Connie returns with the stencil, giving you a playful smile. “Alright, Birthday Girl, where we puttin’ it?”

You hesitate, a bit embarrassed. “My hip, right here,” you say, gesturing to the spot.

“Gotcha,” he hums, kneeling down beside you. “I’m gonna need you to pull your shorts down just a bit, okay?”

Your cheeks heat up, but you nod, pushing the fabric down just enough to expose your hip and the curve leading to your thigh.  Connie’s fingers brush against your hip as he positions the stencil, the coolness of the transfer paper a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch. You can’t help but tense up slightly, and he notices, shooting you a teasing smile.

“You good?” he asks, cocking a pierced eyebrow, his voice low and playful.

You clear your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah, just... a little nervous.”

Connie grins, giving your hip a soft pat once the stencil is set. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take good care of you,” he murmurs, his words dripping with a casual confidence that makes your stomach flutter.

He moves to grab his gloves, and as he slips them on, he glances up at you. “You sure you’re ready?”

You give a small nod, trying not to focus too much on the way his fingers linger on your skin before he finally picks up his machine. He leans in close, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“Just relax for me,” he says, his tone softer now. “I’ll go slow. If it’s too much, let me know.”

The buzzing fills the room, and you brace yourself. The first touch of the needle makes you gasp softly, and Connie chuckles. “Not too bad, right?”

“No,” you breathe, forcing yourself to relax. “It’s okay.”

He hums in approval, his gloved hand resting on your thigh to steady you. The gesture feels almost too intimate, and you have to bite your lip to keep from squirming under his touch. You feel a heat creeping up and through your stomach, you mentally scolded yourself for getting turned on by him.

“Good girl,” he praises, eyes still focused on your skin. The compliment catches you off guard, heat rising to your cheeks.

“You say that to all your clients?” You tease, trying to mask how flustered you feel.

Connie smirks, his fingers squeezing the fat of your thigh just a bit. “Only the ones who look like they’re about to melt under my hands.”

Your heart pounds, and his words hang in the air like a challenge. He keeps his touch light but firm, the rhythmic hum of the needle blending with his quiet, steady breathing.

After a few minutes, he pauses to wipe away some ink, glancing up at you with a crooked grin. “Doin’ good, yeah?”

You nod, trying not to focus on the way his fingers brush your skin as he cleans the area. “Yeah. Not as bad as I thought.”

“Told ya,” he chuckles, giving your thigh a little pat before going back to work. “Just gotta relax and let me do my thing.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and you swear his gaze is just a little more heated than before. “You’re takin’ it so well. Kinda makes me wonder what other things you’d be good at handling.”

You swallow hard, your pulse racing at his insinuation. “Maybe you’ll have to find out,” you murmur back, half surprised at your own boldness.

He grins, clearly liking your response. “Maybe I will,” he replies, voice dripping with mischief.

Your face heats up more at his words, your core aching with want. You don't know what he's doing to you, but there's something about him that makes him irresistible. Plus, he's hot as hell.

“So, why’d you pick this spot?” He asks, trying to distract you from the sting.

You huff a little laugh. “Dunno. just... thought it’d look cute.”

He chuckles. “Oh, it’s cute, alright.” He glances up, eyes glinting with mischief. “But you’d look cute no matter where you put it.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but grin back at him. “You’re awfully flirty for someone who’s stabbing me with needles,” you joke.

He laughs, the sound low and raspy. “Just tryin’ to keep your mind off the pain. Plus, can’t blame me for bein’ honest.”

The buzzing continues, and you find yourself relaxing more, getting used to the rhythm of the needle. Connie hums along with the rock song playing through the speakers, his hand still warm on your thigh. Occasionally, his thumb dips a little closer to the edge of your shorts, just barely grazing the waistband.

When he pauses to wipe the ink away, he glances up at you with a crooked smile. “Still doin’ alright?”

“Mhm,” you hum, biting back a smile. “Your hands are really warm.”

He arches a brow, clearly amused. “Yeah? Glad I can make this a little easier for you. I can’t help it, though.” his grin turns a bit more wicked. “Guess I just like having my hands all over you.”

Your heart thumps at his words, and you shift in your seat, trying to hide how flustered you feel. Connie doesn’t miss it—his smirk grows as he wipes away more ink, his fingers brushing your skin with a little more intention this time.

“You keep squirming like that, sweetheart, and this tattoo’s gonna end up a bit crooked,” he teases, his voice a low murmur.

You scoff, trying to regain some composure. “Maybe if you weren’t being so distracting, I’d be able to sit still,” you counter, giving him a pointed look.

He just chuckles, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Oh, so it’s my fault now?” He hums, dragging the needle over your skin in a slow, purposeful line. “You’re adorable when you’re trying to act tough.”

You open your mouth to fire back, but the buzzing stops, and he leans back, examining his progress. His hand leaves your thigh, and you almost miss the warmth. Almost.

“Almost done,” he says, reaching for a fresh wipe. “You’re handling it like a champ.”

“Really?” you ask, genuinely surprised. “Felt like I was being kind of a wimp.”

Connie shakes his head, wiping your skin one last time. “Nah, you’re tougher than you think. Plus, you didn’t cry, so I’d say that’s a win.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “High standards you’ve got there.”

He shrugs, his fingers grazing your hip as he checks over the fresh ink. “It’s not the tattoo that’s got you flustered, though,” he notes, his tone a bit more serious. “Pretty sure it’s me.”

Your face heats up, but you’re not about to let him get the last word. “Maybe it’s just your big ego making you think that,” you retort, leaning back with a smirk of your own.

Connie barks out a laugh, clearly impressed by your comeback. “Oh, I like you,” he says, his grin wide and genuinely pleased. “Not a lot of people can keep up with me like that.”

Before you can respond, he’s leaning closer, his gloved hand resting on the back of your chair as he inspects the tattoo. You’re suddenly hyper aware of his proximity, the way his breath fans across your shoulder. “Looks perfect,” he murmurs, still not moving back. “You good?”

You nod, trying to keep your cool, but your pulse is racing. “Yeah... thanks.”

He finally moves back, pulling his gloves off with a loud snap. He tosses them in the trash, then turns back to you, that familiar cocky smirk back on his face. “Ready to see it?”

You nod again, and he gestures for you to stand. When you do, he guides you to the full length mirror on the wall, his hand lingering at your lower back. Your eyes widen when you see the tattoo, perfectly lined and shaded, just like you envisioned.

“Wow,” you breathe, tracing the outline with your finger. “It’s... perfect.”

Connie’s reflection grins behind you, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. “Told you I’d take care of you,” he says, his tone almost too cocky.

As you finish admiring the tattoo in the mirror, you glance back at Connie, a smirk playing on your lips. “Not bad for my first one. Maybe you can help me pick out the next spot?”

He leans back against the workstation, crossing his arms, eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, you’re already planning the next one? Didn’t think you’d be so eager,” he teases.

You shrug, running your fingers over the fresh ink. “What can I say? I think I might be addicted.”

Connie chuckles, pushing off the counter and stepping closer, his hands finding your hips. “How about I show you the spots I think would look good right now?”

Before you can answer, his grip tightens, guiding you back onto the padded chair. He’s close enough that you can feel his breath on your neck, and the warmth of his hands through your shirt.

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’ve been real brave today, huh? Think you can handle a little more?”

You whimper softly against his touch, and whisper, "are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"

He smirks, "I'd love more than nothing to give the birthday girl a gift to remember... follow me to the bathroom in a few minutes."

You swallow the lump in your throat, and nod. He stands tall, and brushes his hands on his thighs as he walks toward the back of the shop to the bathrooms. You sit in the chair, heart racing, your core still aching with desire. You glance over at your friends, a mixture of guilt and desire washing over you. On one hand, you didn't want to abandon your friends—especially to go have sex with a stranger. On the other hand—you don't think you could wait any longer to meet up with him.

Everyone is preoccupied, nobody is paying attention to you. You stand up out of the chair, and quietly make your way to the bathrooms. Your heart stops when you see Connie waiting for you. He grabs your wrist, and pulls you into the men's room.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, Connie’s hands are on your waist, pushing you back against the cool tile wall. His lips crash into yours, hot and eager, his hands slipping under your shirt to grip your hips.

“You’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and husky. he trails kisses down your jaw, nipping lightly at your neck, leaving a trail of heat wherever his mouth touches.

You barely have time to respond before his hands dip lower, fingers teasing the waistband of your shorts. “Been drivin’ me crazy all day. You’re so damn pretty when you’re nervous. Couldn’t help but wonder if you’d be just as pretty falling apart for me,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

Your breath hitches, and you bite back a moan when his hand dips under your shorts, brushing over your already soaked panties. He grins when he feels how wet you are, and his fingers press firmly against your clothed clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles.

“Look at you,” he smirks, “Birthday Girl’s already so needy, huh? Didn’t think I’d get you this worked up just from tattooing you.”

You whine softly, hips leaning into his touch, desperate for more. He slides your shorts down just enough to slip his hand inside, and his fingers slide through your slick folds. You can’t help the soft moan that slips out, and he covers your mouth with his own to keep you quiet, swallowing your sounds as his fingers continue their teasing movements.

He slides two fingers into your cunt, and starts spreading them apart, stretching you out. "God, you're so fucking hot," he whispers as his mouth continues to attack your neck. You moan louder into his hand, and he slides two fingers into your mouth. You suck on his fingers greedily, needing more of him.

He groans softly, feeling your tongue swirl around his fingers. "Damn, look at you," he mutters, pulling his fingers from your mouth and replacing them with his lips, kissing you rough and hungry. His other hand continues working your pussy, curling his fingers just right to hit that sweet spot that makes your legs tremble.

"You taste so good," he murmurs against your lips, and then he drops to his knees, yanking your shorts and panties down to your ankles. He looks up at you with that same cocky smirk, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open. "Fuck, you’re dripping already. You really needed this, huh?"

Before you can respond, his mouth is on you, licking a long stripe up your slit before sucking your clit between his lips—the cold metal of his tongue piercing making you shiver. His tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, and your fingers tangle in his short hair, pulling him closer. He moans into your cunt, the vibrations sending a shockwave through your body.

You bite your lip to muffle your moans, but Connie doesn't make it easy. He flicks his tongue faster, then buries it inside you, fucking you with his mouth. His hands grip your thighs tighter, pulling you even closer to his face as he devours you like he can’t get enough.

You’re shaking, your hips grinding against his face, your moans growing louder despite your best efforts to stay quiet. "Connie," you whimper, and he hums in response, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, full of lust and a hint of smugness.

He pulls away just enough to rasp, "gonna make you cum all over my face, Birthday Girl. Can’t wait to feel you squeeze my tongue."

You gasp softly, your head tipping back as his mouth returns to your soaked core, his tongue lapping at your clit with a lazy, teasing rhythm. He knows exactly what he’s doing, dragging out your pleasure just enough to keep you on the edge without pushing you over.

"Fuck," you whisper, your fingers tightening in his short hair. He chuckles against your pussy, the vibration making your thighs tremble.

"You like that, huh?" he mumbles against you, voice muffled but still cocky. He sucks on your clit, then pulls back, his tongue flicking it just enough to make your whole body shiver. His tongue piercing adds a whole new layer of dimension, the cool ball dragging languidly against your hot core. He’s relentless, alternating between slow, sensual licks and quick, needy laps.

Your knees almost buckle, and he slides one arm under your thigh, holding you up with surprising strength. "Gotta keep you steady, babe," he grins, kissing your inner thigh before diving back in, his mouth hot and eager.

You try to keep quiet, but a strangled moan slips out, and he hums approvingly, his tongue swirling around your clit before dipping lower, licking up every bit of your slick arousal. He nips gently at your thigh, leaving little marks that bloom against your skin.

"You’re doing so good for me," he whispers, his lips brushing against your heated flesh. "Gonna make you cum so hard you forget your own name."

He slides his fingers back inside of you, adding a third finger, stretching you deliciously, and you bite down on your lip to keep from crying out. The bathroom is filled with the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting in and out, mixing with his hungry, muffled moans.

His tongue moves faster, his lips wrapping around your clit to suck just right, and your thighs clamp around his head, hips bucking forward as you feel the pressure build. Connie groans, and the vibrations send you hurtling closer to the edge.

"God, Connie... don’t stop," you whimper, your head spinning, every nerve in your body on fire. He growls low against your pussy, his mouth working you over with a feverish intensity.

You can feel yourself getting closer, and he knows it too, his fingers pumping faster, mouth never leaving your clit. You’re barely holding it together, desperate for that final push.

He looks up at you from between your thighs, and you can see the wicked glint in his eyes. "C’mon, Birthday Girl," he rasps, voice dark and sweet. "Cum for me. I know you want to."

Your whole body tenses, and you feel the familiar heat pooling in your belly, threatening to spill over. Connie notices, smirking against your pussy as he sucks on your clit harder, his fingers curling just right to hit that sweet spot inside you.

"Fuck, Connie!" you cry out, unable to hold back anymore, your hands clutching his shoulders for support as your orgasm crashes over you. Your legs tremble, and he holds you firmly, riding out your high as he keeps his mouth latched onto your clit, drawing out every wave of pleasure.

He finally pulls back when you start to whine from the overstimulation, his lips glistening as he licks them clean, grinning up at you. "Damn, you taste good," he mutters, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

Your legs feel weak, and he catches you as you nearly slump against the wall. Chuckling, he pulls you close, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "You good, babe?"

You nod breathlessly, your fingers gripping his shirt as you try to steady yourself. Connie tucks a stray hair behind your ear and gives you a lopsided grin. "Gotta say, you make some real pretty sounds when you cum."

You roll your eyes, though a smile tugs at your lips. "Shut up," you mumble, but there’s no bite to it. He just laughs, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

"Hey," he murmurs, tipping your chin up so your eyes meet. "We’re not done yet. I still haven’t given you your real birthday gift."

You raise an eyebrow, curious. He steps back, his hands tugging at his belt, the sound of the metal clinking making your pulse quicken again. He kicks his jeans and boxers down, revealing his hard cock, and your breath catches at the sight.

Connie smirks, stroking himself a few times as he eyes you hungrily. "Turn around for me, yeah? Hands on the sink."

You do as he says, your heart pounding in anticipation. The cool porcelain of the sink presses against your palms, and he steps up behind you, his hands sliding over your hips. He leans in, his breath warm on your neck as he whispers, "you ready for me, Birthday Girl?"

You nod, biting your lip as he lines himself up with your soaked entrance, teasing you by rubbing the head against your folds.

"Don’t tease," you whimper, pushing your hips back, desperate for him.

He hums in satisfaction, gripping your hips tightly as he pushes in, stretching you inch by inch. You gasp, both from the sensation and the way his hands hold you so firmly.

"Fuck, you’re so tight," he groans, sinking deeper until he’s fully seated inside you. He stills for a moment, letting you adjust, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your shoulder. "You feel so good," he murmurs, his voice low and breathy.

He pulls out slowly, just enough to make you shiver, before snapping his hips back into yours, setting a deep, steady rhythm that has your fingers gripping the edge of the sink.

Connie starts thrusting faster, the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the small bathroom. His hands grip your hips, pulling you back to meet each of his thrusts. Your nails dig into the porcelain sink, your back arching as he hits that spot inside you just right.

"Fuck, babe, you’re taking me so well," he breathes, his voice low and gravelly. His pace grows more desperate, and his lips trail kisses along the back of your neck, biting down just enough to make you gasp.

You can barely think straight, your brain foggy with pleasure as he keeps hitting deeper, harder. Your legs start to shake, and he notices, one of his hands sliding down your body to rub tight circles on your clit.

"C-Connie, I’m—" you stammer, your voice breaking as your climax builds.

"Yeah? Gonna cum again for me?" he taunts, leaning down to press his chest against your back, his mouth right by your ear. "C’mon, baby, let me feel you."

His fingers move faster on your clit, and you can’t hold back anymore. You cry out his name as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clenching around his cock, making his pace falter.

"Shit—" he groans, his rhythm growing erratic as he chases his own release. You feel his cock throb inside you, his grip on your hips tightening as he spills inside you, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.

You both stay like that for a moment, his forehead resting on your shoulder as he catches his breath. Eventually, he pulls out gently, reaching for some paper towels to clean you up. He’s surprisingly tender, wiping your thighs before taking care of himself.

You turn around, still a bit unsteady on your feet, and he gives you a cheeky grin. "Happy birthday," he smirks, planting a quick kiss on your lips.

You snicker softly. "Best birthday ever," you whisper back.

Just as you’re straightening your clothes, you both hear someone approach the bathroom door, and your heart stops. Connie pulls you into his chest, covering your mouth to stifle your giggles.

The door rattles, and a muffled voice from the other side calls out, "Uh... are you two almost done in there? Some of us have to pee, you know."

Connie snorts and calls out, "just a sec, man!" He glances down at you, biting his lip to keep from laughing. Once the coast seems clear, he pulls you in for one last kiss. "Better get out there before they realize we were getting freaky in the bathroom."

"Oh, I think they already know," you laugh, smirking softly.

ⓒ 𝐋𝟖𝐍𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐓𝐡𝟎𝐭𝐬 -- 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐈𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆.

AOT MASTERLIST

OTHER AOT CHARACTERS MASTERLIST

CONNIE SPRINGER MASTERLIST

ʚɞ

[callsign-honeybeewildfox2]

𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: On a camping trip with friends, everyone’s asleep when Reiner sneaks over to you sitting alone by the campfire. One touch turns into another, and soon you’re desperately trying to stay quiet while he worships your body under the stars.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 (𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈): (Not that it really matters, but this is an AU where they're all at least in their early/mid twenties—and everyone's alive. Marco is mentioned in the story but not sexually lol, okay anyways) Public sex, you get caught oops, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, little bit of nipple play, vaginal sex, multiple multiple orgasms, overstimulation, lots of dirty talk, praise, two rounds, creampies, Reiner worships you basically, Reiner's a munch, Reiner eats you out after cumming in you twice, possessive Reiner, etc.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4,411

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Please feel free to leave a like, comment, and feel free to reblog! I am grateful for all of you—thank you for reading my work!

𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒, 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘! 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!

“𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬.”

The forest is quiet, the kind of stillness that settles in once the sun dips behind the mountains and the campfire burns low. Everyone else has already called it a night, retreating to their tents in a pile of worn out limbs and sleepy murmurs. You linger by the fire, poking at the glowing embers with a stick, not quite ready to turn in.

The distant sound of footsteps catches your attention, and you glance up to see Reiner emerging from the darkness. His shirt is still clinging to him from the day’s hike, sweat stains dried into the fabric, and his hair is a tousled mess. He rolls his shoulders, cracking his neck before giving you a small nod.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks, his voice low and a little rough.

You shake your head, offering him a tired smile. “Not yet. Figured I’d keep an eye on the fire a bit longer.”

He hums in agreement, dropping his heavy pack onto the ground before taking a seat next to you. The log creaks under his weight, and you catch a whiff of cedar and smoke as he settles in. Reiner stretches his legs out, leaning back on his palms, eyes fixed on the flickering flames.

“Thought you’d be out like a light,” you tease gently. “You were practically running up that last hill.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and rumbling. “Got a little carried away, I guess. Didn’t want to look weak in front of you.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “You? Weak? Not likely.”

His gaze slides to you, a glint of something playful hidden behind his usual stoic expression. “Oh? You keeping track of me now?”

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you’re grateful for the dim light. “Maybe. Hard not to notice you when you’re always showing off.”

A smirk tugs at his lips, and he shifts closer, his thigh brushing yours. “Guess I’m not the only one then,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower.

The air between you feels heavier now, charged with something that wasn’t there before. Reiner’s hand comes to rest on your thigh, his fingers grazing your skin through the thin fabric of your shorts. “You got any more smart remarks, or are you just gonna sit here looking pretty?”

Your breath hitches at his touch, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you meet his gaze, fighting the shiver that threatens to crawl up your spine. “Depends,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly. “You planning on sticking around, or just teasing me?”

Reiner’s lips curve into a lazy smile, and he leans closer, his hand sliding just a bit higher on your thigh. “You think I’d just leave you out here by yourself?” His voice drops, low and rough like gravel.

Your heart thuds against your ribs, and you swallow down the sudden rush of heat. “Seems like you’ve been keeping your distance,” you whisper, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

His smile falters, and his hand pauses. “Didn’t think you wanted me around like that,” he admits quietly, his thumb tracing slow circles against your leg. “But you keep looking at me like that, and it’s hard to ignore.”

You’re not sure if it’s the firelight or the tension in his eyes, but you suddenly feel bolder. Leaning in, you brush your lips against his jaw, right where his stubble scrapes against your skin. “And how exactly am I looking at you?”

He huffs a soft laugh, his other hand finding your waist and squeezing gently. “Like you want me to pin you to the ground right here.”

The words send a thrill down your spine, and you can’t help the way your fingers tangle in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. His lips find yours, tentative at first, like he’s still testing the waters. But when you nip at his bottom lip, he groans softly, his hand tightening on your thigh.

“You really think I didn’t notice you watching me today?” He mutters against your mouth, his voice rough and teasing. “The way your eyes kept wandering every time I lifted something heavy... made me wonder if you wanted me to throw you over my shoulder next.”

Your cheeks burn, but you don’t deny it. Instead, you press harder against him, your body craving his warmth. “Maybe I did,” you whisper. “Maybe I still do.”

Reiner doesn’t waste another second, his lips crashing back into yours with a force that steals your breath. He pulls you into his lap, your knees bracketing his hips as his hands find your waist, holding you firm. The campfire crackles behind you, the cool night air nipping at your skin, but none of it matters when his mouth trails down your neck, nipping and kissing in a way that makes you gasp.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he growls, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “But hell if I’m gonna stop now.”

You practically whimper under his touch, "good, 'cause I don't want you to..."

That's all it takes. He lifts you by your waist, your legs still wrapped around him, and he carries you to your tent across the campfire. He sets you down, unzips the tent, and the two of you quickly file in. He zips the tent shut behind you, and your heart races realizing what you're getting yourself into.

"We'll have to be quiet," he whispers as he quickly tears off his shirt. "Don't want anyone to hear us, do we?"

Your face gets warm and you nod. You also remove your shirt, exposing your bare chest before him.

"Damn, no bra?" He smirks, staring at your tits with blown pupils.

You shake your head. "I was planning on lying down in a bit, so," you giggle, "but this is much better."

He nods, and wraps his strong arms around you pulling you close. Reiner’s hands find your waist, his thumbs brushing over your soft sides as his lips press hot kisses to your neck. “You’re making it real hard to stay quiet,” you moan softly, voice heavy with need and desire.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. “Maybe I like pushing your limits,” he teases, and you bite back a gasp when his mouth moves lower, teeth scraping lightly against your collarbone.

His hands slide up, cupping your bare breasts with a touch that makes your breath hitch. His thumbs graze over your nipples, drawing a soft moan from you that you quickly muffle with your hand. He massages your nipples with his calloused fingers, drawing out more soft noises from your pretty lips.

Reiner chuckles, his lips ghosting over the swell of your chest. “So damn pretty,” he breathes, his mouth finding one of your nipples, tongue swirling around it—his mouth is hot and slick with his saliva. His lips wrap around your nipple, and he sucks gently, continuing to massage your other breast with his large hand, tugging and pulling your nipple, causing you to whine under his touch.

He's practically drooling on your breast—his saliva running hot down it and down the rest of your chest. He grips your other breast tighter, relishing the way your skin feels under his touch. Your hand travels down his chest, tracing the dips and ridges of his muscles, and it settles at the waistband of his pants. You can feel his trail of hair at his naval, and it makes your core ache with desire.

Your back arches into him, your thighs squeezing his hips as he lavishes attention on your skin. “Reiner,” you whisper, voice trembling.

He looks up at you from beneath heavy lids, his lips wet and swollen. “God, I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” he admits, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. “Thought I was gonna lose my mind today, watching you bend over to grab those logs. Had to take a walk just to get myself together.”

Heat pools low in your stomach, and you can’t help the smug little smile that tugs at your lips. “You’re not the only one who was struggling,” you admit. “Watching you haul those heavy bags, sweat running down your chest... I almost lost it.”

A deep, rumbling growl vibrates against your skin as he moves back up to capture your lips again, his hands slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, fingers kneading your bare skin. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans, pulling your shorts and panties down in one smooth motion.

Your hand travels to his belt buckle, and you unbuckle it swiftly, helping him remove his pants along with his boxers. He sighs as his painful erection is freed from its confines. You look down and gasp at the sight of him—he's long and thick, and his hair is neat and dark blonde. His heart swells with confidence, and he lays you down on your sleeping bag on the ground.

"I can't promise this will be very comfortable," he begins, "but I'll do everything I can to make sure you enjoy yourself," he promises as he grips your knees and spreads your legs apart, presenting you to him. You cover your face, slightly embarrassed, and he moves your arm away. "No," he whispers, "baby, I wanna see you—you're absolutely stunning. You have no reason to be embarrassed." He smiles softly at you while looking deep into your eyes, searching for any sign of you wanting out of this. After seeing none, he moves his face closer to your wetness, and he exhales sharply.

He wastes no time, and immediately brings a finger to your slit, collecting the arousal that has built up. You already let a moan slip out, and you bite your lip trying to quiet yourself. He chuckles to himself, feeling proud, and he moves his finger from your slit up to your clit, and starts to rub it with small circular motions. You writhe under his touch, already desperate for more.

He slides one of his thick fingers into your hole, and lets out a soft groan. "God, you're so tight," he whispers, looking up at you, admiring your face. "Can't wait to see you take my cock," he smirks, living for the way your face heats up at his words.

"Reiner~" you whine, slightly embarrassed, yet also loving what's conspiring between you two. Your face continues to heat up and you cover your eyes to hide yourself again.

"What?" he chortles, as he adds another finger into your cunt, "you like when I tell you how much I've wanted your little pussy to take my cock, huh?" He grins, relishing in your reaction. "Well, she's taking just two of my fingers so well right now," he continues. "Wonder how well she'd take three, hmm?"

He does as he says, and slides a third finger into your cunt, causing you to moan out his name quite loudly—hopefully not waking up Connie or Marco in the tent next to yours. He spreads his fingers inside of you, stretching you out so good you swear you can see stars. His mouth lowers down to your clit, and he licks at it softly at first. He swirls his tongue around it, and wraps his lips around it—sucking gently. His other hand grips your plush thigh possessively, and he smacks it lightly, earning another moan from your lips.

His fingers work their magic inside of you, brushing against every spot that makes you want to cum right then and there. He's got your slick juices coating his fingers—it dribbles down his wrist, and it glistens lowly in the darkness of the tent—only the moonlight and the low flicker of the campfire passing through the thin fabric separating you two from the rest of the world.

You arch your back as he sucks your clit harsher, and fucks his fingers inside of you quicker. "Reiner," you gasp, as your hand flies down to his head, pulling his blonde locks harshly. He lets out a deep groan against your cunt, his gravelly voice sending deep vibrations up your body. You gasp, and suddenly squirt all over his fingers and face. Your face burns hot once more, afraid he'll react negatively.

His fingers ride you through your orgasm, not wanting to end it too soon. Eventually, he pulls his fingers out, and moves his mouth down to your hole, and his tongue slips in, slurping up all the juices and slickness your wet cunt has to offer him. You moan again, and tug on his hair as he continues to eat your pussy like it's his last meal. You moan out his name over and over, his grip on your thighs tight, his fingertips sure to leave bruises in the morning.

His tongue explores the inside of your cunt as his nose brushes against your clit, causing your thighs to clamp shut around his head. You're feeling extremely overstimulated, but that doesn't stop him—you're not sure if anything could at this point. He pulls his tongue out, and licks up and down your slit, and kisses your cunt over and over. You throw your head back in bliss, and he leans back slightly. He spits on your cunt, and spreads his saliva all around your lips and clit with his tongue. He sucks on your clit once more, soaking wet with his saliva and your arousal, and two of his fingers slide inside of you again with ease. You cry out his name, your thighs trembling and shaking against his head, hopefully not suffocating him.

He makes scissoring motions with his fingers, and he gently takes your clit between his teeth. Your core immediately is hot, your vision white, stomach pulling tight as you orgasm a second time on his face. He moans deeply into your pussy, his tongue lapping up everything it has to offer. He pulls away, out of breath, face pink and wet. "You're so unbelievably fucking sexy, God damn."

He lies down next to you, and pulls you on top of him. He leans forward, and kisses your lips, your jaw, your breasts once more. He lies fully back down, and lines you up with his lap. You hesitate for a moment, looking down at his chest that is rising and falling quickly as he catches his breath. You look up into his eyes, that are blown wide and full of need and desire. Without a word, he gently pulls you over him, guiding your hips so you’re hovering above his hardened, aching and leaking cock. You shiver, feeling the heat of him against your wetness, and you lower yourself just enough to tease him, feeling the tip brush against your entrance.

Reiner groans at the contact, his hands sliding to your waist as he gives you an encouraging, “go on, baby. I know you want to.”

You push yourself down just enough for him to slip inside, a slow and tantalizing stretch as you take him inch by inch. The feeling of his thickness filling you has you gasping, and you pause to adjust to the feeling, trying to steady your breathing.

He watches you with intensity, his hands gripping your waist tightly, but allowing you to move at your own pace. “You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “You feel so fucking good around me. I swear, you were made for this cock.”

Your face flushes as you begin to move, rising and falling on his cock in a rhythm that makes your stomach tighten with pleasure. His hands guide your hips, helping you find a steady pace. You lean forward slightly, bracing yourself on his chest, and the angle shifts, allowing you to feel him even deeper inside. He groans deeply, his hands moving from your hips to your ass, grabbing and massaging the soft flesh as you continue your steady pace.

"Such a good girl," he groans, relishing in the way your cunt milks his needy cock. "You like taking my cock, huh?" He asks you, as he nips at your neck, sure to leave marks for everyone else to see.

"Mhmm," you whine, totally drunk on him. His cock stretches you out in the most pleasurable way, the burn of him stretching you out almost immediately diminishing as you continue to ride him. You grip his shoulders tight, steadying yourself, and bounce a little harder on him.

He groans deeply, smacking your ass with both of his large hands. "Yeah, baby? You like being stretched open by my big fat cock? Hmm?"

You're practically drooling with how good he feels, and you nod fervently.

"Say it," he groans, his grip meeting your hips again as he starts fucking up into you, matching your pace.

"Mmm, Reiner, I-I love the way you feel i-inside of me," you mewl, eyes hazy and mind cloudy.

He grips your hips tightly, claiming you as his. "Fuck, you don't know how-how long I've wanted this, wanted you," he confesses as he continues to fuck into you. His girth makes you putty in his hands, and you pant above him, nodding at practically whatever he says. He looks up at your cock drunk face, and smirks. "Look at you," he breathes sharply, "you love being my little cock slut, don't you?"

You nod, and moan above him, intoxicated by his touch. He continues to rut up inside of you, his heavy balls slapping your ass with every thrust. He groans deeply, obviously obsessed with the sight of you. "Don't worry, baby. I'll take care of you," he promises. "Just gonna ruin you first."

He grips your hips tighter, and quickens his pace, his hips moving faster and faster. You continue to let out long streams of moans, totally unaware of your surroundings at this point, and definitely waking people up around you. Reiner growls as he continues to pump himself inside you, his large cock abusing every inch of your walls. His fat tip keeps slamming against your cervix, and the veins on his cock rub against your walls with every thrust.

You clench tightly around him, and your eyes practically roll to the back of your head. He huffs loudly, "fuck, baby if you keep clenching my cock like that, I'm not gonna last much longer."

You like the idea of him filling you up, so you clench his cock even harder as his thrusts quicken. "Mmmm, Reiner," you drool, your mind only thinking of him and his cock.

He grunts, and grips your hips even tighter if that were possible—absolutely leaving marks in his wake. "Fuck baby, I could hear you moan my name all night," he groans, his hips starting to lose their rhythm. "Fuck, fuck," he whimpers, as he holds you still, releasing fat, hot spurts of cum into your pussy, painting your walls white. You follow right after, orgasming for the third time tonight.

He fucks his cum deep inside of you, not wanting to pull out, not wanting any cum to escape. "Fuck, baby," he whispers, "you belong to me now. Every inch of you is mine," he claims, low and possessive. You don't even really comprehend what he's saying, and you just nod—too fucked out to do anything else.

He eventually does pull out, and he spins you around onto all fours, your hands and knees immediately making contact with the sharp twigs and rocks under your sleeping bag. "God, you're such a good little slut for me, I can't possibly call it a night," he mumbles as he gives your ass a few good smacks, admiring the way you yelp under his touch. He languidly plays with your pussy while he waits for his cock to get hard again, not wanting the night to end.

You bite your lip, and whine under his touch, fucked beyond comprehension. But it's not over, oh no.

Once his cock is finally hard again, he wastes no time in getting back to fucking your brains out. He brushes his sensitive tip against your sopping wet folds, earning groans from the both of you. He pushes himself back inside, where it's warm and welcoming, and he sighs. Your cunt accepts him without struggle, and he pushes in all the way to the hilt. A soft "fuck" escapes his lips, as he tosses his head back and sighs. He grabs your waist with one hand, and runs his other hand along your back as he starts fucking into you at a decent pace once more. You arch your back for him, your face pressed against your pillow on the ground.

"God, you're fucking dripping for me," he mumbles as he stares at the way his cock easily slides in and out of your soaking hole. It leaves a creamy white ring at the base of him, a mixture of both your arousal. "Your pretty little pussy feels so fucking good wrapped around me baby, never wanna let you go. Gonna fuck you so good you'll forget anyone else has ever touched you," he says under his breath, not really expecting an answer. He picks up the pace, his cock continuing to bully its way in and out of your cunt over and over again.

His hips continue to snap against your ass, his pace getting harsher, eager to make you orgasm once more. He's lost count at this point, but he knows it's never enough. He continues to eye the way your cunt sucks in his cock, greedily taking all he has to give. "Such a needy little cock slut, aren't you?" He asks roughly, gripping the hair that's splayed over your shoulder. You yelp, and he pulls your back flush to his chest as he continues to pound into you. "You're such a good fucking girl, taking everything I give you, yeah? You're my filthy little thing, and I wouldn't have you any other way."

You cry out at the intensity of his thrusts, his words also getting to you. You can't even form a complete sentence, all you can do is moan his name over and over again, the thought of waking people up long gone. “Can’t even think straight, can you?" He asks, smirking as he fucks up into you even harsher. "I’ve got you that dumb on my dick already?"

You can't take it anymore, and your walls clench around his abusive cock, spasming as they release yet another orgasm. You're unsure how many it's been, four? five? It's definitely the most you've ever came in one night, that's for sure. He growls, the feeling of your walls spasming against him is enough to throw him over the edge once more. He cries out your name as he releases his load inside of you once more—you feel like he's filled you to the max.

He hesitantly pulls out of you, not wanting to overstimulate either of you. He gently lies you on your back on the sleeping bag, and kisses down your sweaty chest and abdomen, making his way to your cunt once more. "Reiner," you weakly call out. "I-I can't c-cum again," you whine.

"Shhh, it's okay, baby," he coos, as his mouth meets your cunt once more. His grip on your thighs is softer, yet still firm, as his tongue laps up any juices that have escaped your hole. He relishes in the taste of your arousal mixed with his load, and he continues to lap at your hole until you're mostly cleaned off. The only noises to be heard are your labored breathing, and his tongue slurping and sucking at your pussy, along with your breathy moans, and his deep grunts. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand sheepishly, suddenly feeling exposed and shy. He gently pulls his t-shirt on your naked frame, and grabs some of your spare blankets in the tent, making himself a makeshift bed next to your sleeping bag.

He tucks you into your sleeping bag, and your exhausted face makes his heart swell. He looks at you lovingly, wondering if a relationship will bloom between you two, or if this was a one night stand. He really hopes not. He's not that kind of guy.

He lies down next to you, and wraps his arms around you, holding you close. His fingers brush through your hair, and he kisses the top of your head, closing his eyes.

The sun has just risen, painting the sky in soft shades of pink and orange. The fire from the night before is just a smoldering pile of ash, and a few early birds are chirping nearby. You and Reiner are still tangled up in each other, his arm draped protectively around your waist. You’re half asleep when you hear the unmistakable sound of someone unzipping a tent.

Connie’s voice rings out, muffled but unmistakable. “Yo, Marco, did you hear all of that last night?”

Marco yawns, stretching his arms overhead. “Hear what?”

Connie snorts. “Are you fucking serious? The... noises. Thought I was dreaming at first. Someone was definitely having a good time.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you catch Reiner’s sleepy grin. He pulls you closer, clearly not bothered. You, on the other hand, are mortified.

Marco hums, thoughtful. His cheeks turn a soft shade of pink when he realizes what Connie is saying. “Oh... yeah. It was pretty loud. Wonder who it was.”

Connie’s voice drops to a whisper, but it’s still loud enough for you and Reiner to hear. “Bet it was Reiner. Guy’s built like a brick house—probably doesn’t even know how to be quiet.”

Reiner chuckles softly into your hair, his lips brushing against your ear. “Told you we’d have to be quiet,” he teases, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip.

Before you can respond, there’s a loud, exaggerated cough from outside your tent. “Hey, Reiner!” Connie calls out, amusement clear in his tone. “You good in there, buddy? Hope you didn’t hurt (Y/N)!”

You bury your face in Reiner’s chest, embarrassed beyond belief. Reiner just smirks, squeezing your waist. “Yeah, don't worry, she's good,” he shouts back, voice deep and unbothered. “Thanks for your concern.”

There’s some muffled laughter from the other tent, and you can hear Marco trying to shush Connie. “Leave him alone. You know he’s down bad for her.”

Reiner just hums, brushing his lips against your forehead. “Guess the secret’s out,” he whispers, his tone full of pride rather than shame.

ⓒ 𝐋𝟖𝐍𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐓𝐡𝟎𝐭𝐬 -- 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐈𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆.

AOT MASTERLIST

OTHER AOT CHARACTERS MASTERLIST

REINER BRAUN MASTERLIST

ʚɞ

[callsign-honeybeewildfox2]

𝐍𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐒: 𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫! 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Alone on Valentine’s Day, you bring cookies to your quiet, rugged neighbor just to be nice. But after a few drinks, a few glances, and one very loaded kiss, Reiner Braun proves that age isn’t the only thing he has on the boys you left behind.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 (𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈): Valentine's Day fic, age gap, soft dom! Reiner, cunnilingus, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, first time together, domestic vibes, smut with feelings, happy ending

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3,474

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Please feel free to leave a like, comment, and feel free to reblog! I am grateful for all of you—thank you for reading my work!

𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒, 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘! 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!

“𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬.”

Today is the day of love, and you have no one to spend it with. Valentine's Day has always been your favorite holiday—candy, ribbons, chocolates, roses, joy, and sharing your feelings with your loved ones. You usually had someone to spend it with, but this year, you are alone. You'd moved out of your family home a few months ago, to a new city, and you didn't really know anybody. Well, except your neighbor, Mr. Braun.

Mr. Braun seemed like a nice enough man. He was often sitting on his porch drinking iced tea, enjoying the sunshine. Sometimes he was reading, but no matter what, every time he was out there, you noticed his lingering stare.

You weren't doing anything wrong. Sometimes you were tending to your little garden of peppers and carrots and potatoes. Other times you were checking on your flowers you'd planted. Sometimes you were tanning in the bright sunshine. Mr. Braun always seemed to be watching.

You figured he was lonely. You'd never seen a woman or children entering or exiting his home. It appeared he just worked his nine to five and came home. The two of you were friendly enough, sometimes he helped you with moving your furniture around, or he'd help you when your appliances stopped working. He was basically your handy man, but also your friend in a sense. It was a nice thing.

You decide to bake him some cookies for Valentine's Day. You'd always thought he was very attractive, but figured nothing would come from it, due to your age gap. Mr. Braun appeared to be in his mid thirties, but you couldn't say for sure.

You finish icing the last pink heart shaped cookie, and smile. The cookies look beautiful with their white lace icing, and smell like fresh strawberries and vanilla. You put away all of your supplies, and plate up the Valentine's cookies on a cute pink plate. You quickly head to your room, and get dressed in a cute outfit fit for the holiday. After making sure you look your best, you peek out the window to see if Mr. Braun's truck was parked in his driveway. It is, so you swallow your fear, and head out the door with the cookies.

You ring his doorbell, adjusting your skirt one last time. He answers it after only a few seconds.

"Hello, Mr. Braun! It's (Y/N), from next door. I brought you some cookies, Happy Valentine's Day!" You smile brightly, offering the man the plate.

He drank in the sight of you—beautiful and beaming with joy. "Hey there, Miss (Y/N). That's awful sweet of you, why don't you come on in, you can set the cookies down on the table."

You nod, and walk inside Mr. Braun's home. You admire his interior, lots of browns and whites, and farm decor. There is a nice big fireplace in the living room, and he has a deer's head mounted above it. You'd never been in his house before, even though he'd visited yours quite a few times.

"Kitchen's right this way," his deep voice comes from behind you. You turn to look at him, his pretty brown eyes crinkle as he smiles.

His kitchen is warm, the sunlight shines through the windows brightly. He gently set the cookies down on the round dining table, and offers you a seat.

"Do you drink?" he asks as he heads towards the cabinets.

"Yeah," you reply. "Nothing too crazy. Wine or vodka. I'm not really into whiskey or beer," you chuckle.

He nods, and grabs a wine glass and a smaller glass. He grabs a deep red wine bottle, and his bottle of whiskey that looks almost empty.

He sets the glasses and beverages down on the table, and sits with you. He pours you a glass of wine, and prepares his whiskey.

"So, (Y/N), what made you come over to my place? Those cookies look divine, if I do say so myself."

You feel your heart flutter and your breath catch in your throat. "Well, it's Valentine's Day," you begin. "I wanted to bring you some cookies," you innocently play it off. You'd been attracted to Mr. Braun the moment you moved in, and he helped carry your heavy boxes into your home. It was almost like love at first sight.

"Y'ain't got a valentine of your own?" He asks, sipping his drink. "Not that I mind the company, oh no, nor am I complaining. Just surprised."

You shuffle in your seat, a little uncomfortable, "no, not this year."

He nods slowly. "Ain't nothing wrong with that. Well, you're here with me. Might as well make it a nice day, hmm?"

Your heart races, pounding against your chest so hard you're sure he can hear it. "Thanks, Mr. Braun. I'm glad I have you to hang out with."

"Please, Reiner is fine," he corrects you, taking another sip of his drink. "I feel so old when you call me 'Mr. Braun,'" he chuckles.

"Okay, Reiner, then," you smile, his name sounding like honey dripping off your lips. He liked the way it sounded, too.

After a few glasses of wine and whiskey, the two of you are certainly far past tipsy. You both sit on the couch, watching a romcom together. His hand is splayed on your thigh, slowly trailing higher up, towards the hem of your skirt.

"So, why's a beautiful girl like you not got a valentine this year?" He asks softly, brushing your hair out of your face.

Your face flushes, "well, when my ex boyfriend cheated on me, I broke up with him last year," you explain. "I just haven't been looking for anyone since then. I think I'm done with guys my age," you laugh.

"Oh yeah?" His voice lilts, and he turns closer to you. His breath is warm on your face, "gonna give us older gents a try?" He teases.

You giggle, and scoot closer to him, if that were possible. "Might just have to," you tease back, looking into his sweet brown eyes.

He studies your face, inching closer, waiting for you to retreat, but you don't. He holds your face gently in his hand, and presses his lips to yours. His stubble tickles your chin, but his lips are soft and warm. You lean into the kiss, your lip-gloss smearing onto him. He pulls back after a few moments, and studies your face once more for any discomfort.

"You sure you wanna do this, darlin'?" He asks gently, searching your eyes for any hit of denial or hesitation.

You nod, grab the collar of his shirt and pull him close once more. You press your lips against his again, savoring the way his mouth feels against yours. You gently swipe your tongue along his lower lip, and he opens his mouth gently, and you press your tongue against his, tasting the smokiness of the whiskey. He relishes in the fruitiness of the wine on your tongue, and his hand makes it to the back of your head to pull you closer. Your tongue massages his, and you gently bite his lower lip. He lets out a quiet grunt, and he readjusts himself to where he picks you up by the waist, and puts you on his lap.

You can feel his growing erection underneath you, and you lightly grind your hips into him, relishing in the way he feels. His arms are big and strong, his hands are large and warm, his fingers are skilled and calloused.

He pulls away from the kiss once more, and he begins to leave warm kisses on your jawline, kissing up to your ear lobe. He kisses and nips your lobe, and you let out a soft sigh. His mouth works its way back down your jaw, down your neck, leaving kisses in its wake. He suddenly stops kissing, and picks you up once more, and carries you down the hall to his bedroom.

Once inside, he sets you down on his king size bed, the blue sheets and blankets feeling soft and cool to the touch. He closes the bedroom door, and removes his shirt. You admire his chest and torso, smirking at him.

"What?" He asks, suddenly afraid you don't want this.

"You're just hot, that's all," you tease.

His face flushes a cute shade of pink, and he approaches you. He helps remove your shirt, revealing a sexy red bra underneath it.

"Damn," he compliments. You blush, and smirk again. His large hands grope at your breasts, his skin is so warm. He massages them, and you tilt your head back slightly, relishing in his touch. He then unclips your bra from behind, and you slide it down your arms, quickly removing it the rest of the way. He groans at the sight of your breasts, admiring them, and his mouth moves to one while his hand moves to the other.

His lips are wet and warm as they touch your nipple, and he gently sucks on it, causing you to gasp. His stubble tickles your breast, and his grip on your other breast tightens, but not enough to cause pain. His teeth graze against your nipple, and he pulls it into his mouth, sucking on it and lapping his tongue across it.

"Mmm, Reiner," you gently moan out. "Feels so good~"

His heart swells, and he switches his hand and mouth for the other breast. He continues doing what he was doing, gently biting and sucking on your other nipple now, massaging the previous one. You gently massage his cock through his tight pants with a bare foot, and he groans beneath you. "Fuck," you can hear him mumble against your breast.

"Rei Rei," you moan out, testing the nickname, "I want more of you, please..."

He pulls away softly, "well if you want more, then that's what you'll get, no questions asked," he complies. He pulls down your skirt, and removes his pants, leaving the two of you in your underwear.

"Holy hell," he whispers to himself, admiring your figure beneath him. "You're like a goddess," he mumbles as his mouth makes hot heavy kisses from your breasts to your stomach, down to your hips and thighs, and finally—to your clothed heat.

"Rei, I can't wait," you whine, eager to get attention where you desperately need it most. Your core is aching for attention, throbbing in anticipation. Your panties must be soaked by now with your arousal.

"I'm going, I'm going," he chuckles. His fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, and he pulls them off in one swift tug. You kick them off, leaving them to be forgotten about on his floor.

His eyes widen and he licks his lips, admiring your full figure beneath him. "I'm one lucky man," he whispers, and he kisses your pussy gently, starting at the top, and working his way down your slit. You moan softly, and one hand travels to your breast.

He looks up at you, and presses his tongue flat against your slit, and he licks up multiple times. You moan again, and your other hand travels down to his head, and entangles itself in his hair. His tongue pushes past your slit, and he has it make its way inside your aching hole. His stubble continues to tickle you, but it also feels just right. You gasp, and your grip on his hair tightens. He moans, his voice vibrating your core, and your eyes roll back.

His tongue flicks in and out of your hole, and he moves a hand to your clit, and starts rubbing it in tight circles as his tongue continues its movements. You buck your hips into his face, eager for more. He moans again, and he pulls back to spit on your cunt. Then, he sticks his tongue out and spreads the spit/slick mixture around, and he travels up to your clit, and you feel the cool liquid trailing down to your ass, certainly soaking the sheets beneath you.

His tongue encapsulates your clit, and you let out another breathy moan. His teeth lightly graze against your clit, and he sucks it harshly, as if it were a Valentine's Day sucker. "Reiner," you breathe out, feeling an orgasm approaching. The coil in your core is getting tighter and tighter, making your insides feel all warm and fuzzy.

"Mmm," he moans on your clit, savoring the way it tastes and the noises you're making beneath him. He pulls off for a moment, "you taste so good, darlin'. Can't get enough of you." He takes your legs and wraps them around his arms, and pulls you flush to his face, and he continues abusing your cunt with his mouth.

Your grip on his hair tightens, and you pull it harder, causing him to groan against you again. His tongue is flicking on your clit at an incredulous pace, and he brings two of his thick fingers to your hole. He easily slides them in, due to the wetness, and he immediately begins to pump them in and out of you at a slow pace, and he begins to speed up a bit. His fingers easily reach that yummy spot inside of you, causing you to see stars. He then slips a third finger in, and you gasp. He smirks slightly as his mouth continues sucking on your sweet clit, and he begins to make a scissor motion with this three fingers. His index and middle move together, while his ring finger moves opposite to them. His fingers speed up faster, matching the speed of his clit-sucking, and you move a hand to the headboard for support. Your legs keep threatening to close around his head, but his strong arms keep them wide open.

The stretch feels so good from his fingers, you can't help but continue moaning loudly for the man. Your hand moves down to your breast, and massages it, twisting your nipple, desperate for more, more, more. You feel your coil inside tightening more, and you know an orgasm is knocking at the door, threatening to break it down. "Rei, I'm g-gonna, gonna—" you get cut off by a high pitched moan, as you suddenly release all over Reiner's face.

He's in heaven. He laps up all of your juices, not letting anything go to waste. Once he's cleaned you up with his mouth, he pulls his fingers out of your hole, and it makes a soft pop. He groans and licks his fingers, savoring your juices once more.

He stands up, and quickly removes his boxers, his large, thick cock free from its prison. You gasp, and feel your pussy flutter at the sight of his heavenly dick and his sexy blonde happy trail. "C'mere, darlin'," he groans, as he arranges you two to where you're on top of him.

You happily oblige, and rest on his lap. "Just checking once more, you're sure you're okay with this?" He confirms one more time. You nod yes, "I need to hear you say it, darlin'..."

"Yes, Reiner, I'm sure I want this, I've wanted this for a while," you accidentally admit. Is it the wine or the desperation for him talking? Who knows, but now the cat's out of the bag.

He groans in pleasure at your confession, "me too, darlin'. Ever since you moved in, I've wanted you." He smiles softly at you, brushing your hair out of your face once more. You feel your face turning red at his confession, the two of you in the same boat.

You slowly grind your hips along his erection, earning a gasp from him. "C'mon, don't tease me, darlin', why don't you put it in and see what I have to offer?" He jests.

"I'd be more than happy to," you reply. You align yourself with the tip, and swipe it up and down your slit, gathering arousal to act as lubrication. You brush him against your clit a few times, moaning out softly at the pleasurable sensation. Finally, you line up with him, and push his head inside your tight ring of muscle.

The both of you groan at the sensation. He's incredibly thick, thicker than the three fingers he prepped you with, and you're incredibly tight around him. "Oh-oh my gosh, hahh," you hiss as his cock stretches you out.

"Fuck," he moans. "You're s-so tight," he gasps as you push him in slightly further. "God damn."

"I-I think you're just r-really big," you chuckle, as you continue to push more of him in, about halfway now. You see stars as you push the rest of him inside, fully seated on his cock. You gasp, catching your breath, not used to feeling beyond full like this.

He blushes at your compliment, and rests his hands on your hips. "Let me know w-when I can move, darlin'," he whispers, his fingers rubbing your hips softly, as if to comfort you.

You nod, and a few moments pass. You start feeling desperation more than pain, and you say, "okay, I think you're f-fine to move..."

He nods, and grips your hips tighter, and slowly pulls himself almost completely out. His eyes travel down to where the two of you are just barely connected, and he curses. It's unbelievably sexy. He watches as his thick cock pushes itself back into your tight warm cunt, and he groans. The way your hole sucks him in makes him want to ravage you then and there, but he doesn't.

He continues to watch himself slowly pull almost out, and push himself back in, admiring the way your hole grips him so tightly, the way he fits so snug inside. "Reiner," you pant, "c-can you please go faster?" You plead, grinding yourself on him, trying to get friction on your clit.

He nods, and holds you tighter, picking up the pace. You moan in delight, your toes curling. His thick cock is slamming in and out of you at a decent pace, and you can feel the tip of him kissing your cervix. You place your hands on his chest for support as he picks up the pace.

"D-Does it—hahhh—feel good?" He pants, looking into your lust filled eyes.

"Mmhmm, so-so good, Rei," you moan, still grinding yourself on him any time your hips meet. "Y-You're ama—hnnng—amazing~"

His heart swells again at your compliment, knowing he's making you feel good. As if pride overtakes him, he increases the pace, his balls heavily slapping against your ass, causing you to moan more frequently, higher pitched. Reiner continuously groans and grunts beneath you, feeling his high coming soon.

You feel yours, too. A hand goes down to your core, and starts rubbing against your clit vigorously, trying to cum before he does. "Hahh, ahhh, mmmmmm," you pant as your orgasm builds and builds. "Oh my—gahhh—God, y-you feel so good in-inside of me~" you praise him.

His thrusts harden, "y-yeah?" He groans. "Trust m-me, you feel fucking—hnnng—incredible, da-darlin'," his face flushed, his forehead sweaty. "You gonna c-cum soon?"

"Mhmm," you nod, your fingers moving at lightning speed on your clit. You gasp, desperate for more air. Your vision blurs as you feel your second orgasm wash over you, coating Reiner's cock inside of you entirely.

"Fuck," he whines, as his load is threatening to spill. He quickly pulls out, and turns you around so now you're under him. He quickly jerks himself off, and moans loudly as his seed splurts onto your stomach. "Oohhhh, fuck~" he whines again, his dick incredibly sensitive.

He quickly finishes, and chuckles as he smiles at you. He gives you a kiss on the forehead, and says that he'll be right back. He quickly turns towards his master bathroom, and comes back with two towels. He gently cleans up his mess on your stomach, as well as wiping the sweat off your forehead. He cleans himself off, too. He tosses the towels into his laundry basket, and grabs you one of his shirts to wear, as he pulls on a pair of boxers himself.

He lies in bed with you once you've put on his shirt. He offers you a place on his chest to rest, and you do.

"This wasn't just because we were drunk, was it?" He whispers in your ear as he brushes your hair out of your face once more.

"No," you whisper back. "I really like you, Reiner," you confess again. "i don't want this to be a one time thing..."

"Me neither," he agrees. He kisses the top of your head softly, admiring the beauty beside him. "Then, Miss (Y/N), how about we go on a real date for Valentine's Day this evening?"

you smile and nod. "I'd love that."

ⓒ 𝐋𝟖𝐍𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐓𝐡𝟎𝐭𝐬 -- 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐈𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆.

AOT MASTERLIST

OTHER AOT CHARACTERS MASTERLIST

REINER BRAUN MASTERLIST

ʚɞ

[callsign-honeybeewildfox2]

Ex-husband!Eren who knocks on your door at the scheduled time to pick up your kids, 7 and 3 year olds. He was about to hit the call button when you opened the door dressed up and ready to leave- Wait? Dressed up to go where?

“You look beautiful.” He comments, not hiding the fact he was checking out his wife, yes his wife. You were after all still his, even though legally you weren’t. “I’ll go get the girls.” You nod getting ready to shut the door when he stops it, “Can i uh- use the bathroom? Yea I gotta pee real quick.” He lies offering you that damn ‘up to no good’ smile.

Rolling your eyes, you step aside, “Make it quick, I got somewhere to be.” Eren walks in and heads to the guest bathroom where he knew from instinct. You and Eren had been together for a while, got married a year into the relationship. You got pregnant a year later and bought a house together. There was’t really an exact reason why you guys got divorced, other than the fact that work and life just caught up to the both of you guys. Constant arguments, no time for each other, lots of cancelled dates, etc. The spark was dying, but in your eyes, there was no longer a spark. You were drained of being home all the time everyday, same thing. The cancelled dates- the dates you were looking forward to- was really the last straw.

Eren ended up giving everything to you, the house, the car, the savings, after all, it’s all for you and your kids. He felt like shit when he heard your feelings after being served divorce papers, apparently your ‘one last chance’ was when he cancelled the getaway you set up for the two of you because he had to go on a bullshit business trip. (One he didn’t even want to go to in the first place.)

You made your way up to the girl’s room seeing that your 7 year old is watching tv while laying next to her sister, who is sleeping. “Hey baby girl , daddy’s here.” You smile at her and squat down next to them. It was already about to be 7:30pm and you had to leave by then. Eren told you he was going to be a bit late but he’ll be there.

“Mommy can I finish the movie please?” Your daughter ask you with puppy dog eyes. You’ve seen the movie a thousand times so you know it’s about to end, “Okay sure, I’m gonna go finish getting ready in my room okay?” You tell her with a small smile. She nods and looks a back at the tv. You get up and head to grab a small blanket to put over your two girls.

They already had dinner and a bath just waiting for Eren to come. As you go to leave the room, you run into Eren, who was waking down the hallway to the girls room. “She wants to finish the movie, join her if you’d like.” You tell him as you open the door to your room and sit on the vanity to finish up your makeup.

You reach for your phone to text your friends would be a little late to the dinner plans but you were still going.

“Where are you off to?” You hear Eren say from behind you. You glance in the mirror and see him leaning against the door. It had been a while since he stepped foot in the once shared bedroom, he smiled at how you decorated it.

“A hot date.” You reply grabbing your mascara and putting it on, still watching him, more so his reaction. “Do they know you’re married?” Eren steps closer, still leaving space between you two.

“We’re divorced.” You roll your eyes, closing the mascara and grabbing the blush and your fluffy brush, “besides I doubt they’d care even if I was.” You add admiring how good you look in the mirror.

Eren eyes scan your seated body. The backless black dress you were wearing, how good your back looks. How soft your skin looks, when you lean forward to make sure your lipliner is good. He gets flashbacks of your arch when bouncing on his dick. He sucks in a breath and looks away, every part of you looks good. He’d probably get off just watching you bend your knee to place it on the couch from the floor. He is down bad. He misses you bad. It had been almost a full 2 years since your divorce date. No one could ever compare to you, he gave up after the second date (his friends forced him to go on). They simply weren’t you. His plan? Win you back as a gentleman would or win you back by fucking you so good you remember.

Good thing he can do both!

It was those sweet words that suggested your daughter to watch another movie before they left (she ended up falling asleep right next to her sister). Those same sweet words that led you guys to share a kiss, well it was supposed to be a simple kiss. Darn those sweet words that had your dress coming right back off as he led you to your shared bed. The same ones that convinced you to let him stay tonight, maybe forever.

“Shit baby.” Eren moans into your ear, his dick sliding slowly back in you. He holds you from under your knee with one hand and his other hand is under chest, holding your boobs while he fucks you from the side. Your back pressed against his chest while he kisses your neck, leaving marks he wants to be visible, moaning and licking your skin.

You mouth was ajar, one hand up tangled in his hair, holding him close, the other reached down your body as you massaged his balls slowly, moaning and begging for more. “D-don’t stop.” You whimper out wanting this to never end.

“Fuck, I miss you so much, want you back.” He whimpers when you give his balls a small squeeze, still fucking you pussy, juices from you gushing all around his dick, squeezing him tight when he hits the right angle. “You still wanna go out?” He taunts in your ear, nipping at the shell.

“N-no, wanna stay here- ohh- with y-you.” you pathetically whimper, feeling your thighs tremble in his hand, “missed you so much.”

“Pussy so perfect, miss her too.” Eren mumbles in your ear before kissing it, then he closes your legs together, and sits up, placing your legs on one of his shoulders. He kisses your ankles while he starts moving again. Not once did he slip out of you.

Your hands move to your ass, spreading it so he could see just how wet you are for him, hear it too.

“You hear that?” He bites his lip, his thrusts becoming rougher, “She misses me too.” He smirks as he spreads your legs wide, putting you in the meanest mating press, and fucking you.

He spent the first few rounds making love to you all over again and again, but this time, he’s gonna fuck you so good you remember. Remember everything and question why you even wanted a divorce, why you insisted you guys needed one.

“Shiitt Rennie.” You whine at the change of pace, using an old nickname as you try to push against his hips. “Uht uh mama, you can take it, lemme hear you say it.” He grunts not stopping, not even for a second.

He’s in so deep hitting every point inside you. Like a man on a mission. You cry out when he slams down once really hard in the most pleasurable way possible before he goes back to the pace he was doing, “You heard me baby,” he stares you down. You half-lidded lustful eyes flicker up at him, “I-I can take it-t fuuck, please Rennie.” You plead feeling your 3rd orgasm coming in fast.

“You wanna cum?” He taunts changing his angle again, your eyes roll back as you nod your head fast. “Who you belong to then?”

“Y-you!” You cry out.

“Who?” He asked again, “Come one baby you can be a little louder than that. The girls won’t wake up, I turned the tv up a bit.”

“F-fuck, youu.” You answer moaning out louder.

“You? Who’s you? Did I fuck you dumb already.”

“I belong to y-you-nnghhEren. To Eren. E-eren, you you you.” You babble out as he hits your sweet spot on and on. Your vision blurs, eyes rolling as he kept going, increasing the pace. He leans down capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss, both of you moaning into each other, breaking the kiss over and over.

Your arms wrap around his neck pulling him closer as he digs his fingers in the back of your thighs, your walls flutter around him, sucking him in full. There was a sudden shift in the air, one you both noticed. Eren’s pace slowed but still rough thrust hitting you deep in your womb, his body weight dropped onto you as you both stared into each others souls, “Marry me again, please mama, n-need you.” He murmurs softly against your lips. “Promise you everything will be different, I don’t want anyone else but you-fuck please baby please.” He begs, whimpering, his hip still passionately moving against yours. You were too fucked out to say anything else, “yes, yes Eren, need you, fuck please, wanna cum baby.”

“Yeah.” He moans moving slightly faster angling his hips differently, hitting deeper spots causing your moans to raise an octave, nodding, “yes.”

He kisses you deeply and slowly, his hips moving faster and rougher. Your back arches against his chest, moving your lips against his, accepting his tongue in your mouth, sucking on it slightly until you feel your orgasm crash over you. Eren rolls his eyes at the sounds you are making for him, the only sounds he ever wants to hear as he chases his own release. “Make me a mommy again, want you to fill me up baby.” You whimpered against his lips a very dangerous sentence. Eren’s dilated eyes snap back to your fucked out ones, “Can’t waste it then okay.” He grunts lifting his head to move it towards your neck, sucking it.

“I w-won’t.” You whine as he nips at sensitive spot, moving your head to the side. Eren starts fucking you ruthlessly, not caring about the bed hitting the wall or squeaking crazy. He doesn’t even hear it, just you, the sounds of you. He pushes your legs impossibly down more as he feels his dick twitch inside your greedy drooling fluttering pussy, his knees buckling as he came, moaning your name.

Eren sits up and pulls out to the tip before fucking his cum back in you slowly, watching how you suck him up with ease, feeling how your sensitive pussy is fluttering around him, “fuck baby.” He breathes out, wiping the sweat off his forehead before leaning down to kiss you again, this time a slow one, an “I miss you” kind of kiss. You accept whimpering softly as he pushes his dick deep inside you, resting there.

“Still wanna go out.” He teases pulling away slightly? You roll your eyes smirking, “shut up.”

*not proofread*

I have many of these in my drafts so yea

I also appreciate all the likes and reblogs omggggg <3333

And comments, I love replying to the few I got, so fun so fun

Okay well enjoy as usual, until next time 😎

Sylus mini

Nerd!armin x reader x boyfriend!eren

[callsign-honeybeewildfox2]

work wife | r.braun.

reiner braun x fem!reader

!!: cheating (im sorry), heaaaaaavy smut, vaginal sex, sex at work (taking nsfw literally), oral male receiving, use of the word ‘sir’ a lot, slight public sex? but not rlly, creampie (oops), fingering, boss!reiner and secretary!reader, dirty talk, swearing!

“Good-morning, Mr.Braun.”

Your sickly sweet voice sent chills down Reiner’s spine as you sat, perfect posture with a disgustingly beautiful smile on your perfect face, at your secretary desk right outside his office.

He smiled down at you, swallowing thickly as his perverted eyes landed down your white button-up shirt to your cleavage, “Morning,” He managed to force out as he quickly sped into his office, practically slamming the door behind himself.

He let out a shaky breath as he swallowed yet again, attempting to coat his obviously dry throat. He placed his black briefcase on his large Oak desk, and planting himself abruptly onto his enlarged leather chair. He sighed loudly as he rubbed his tired eyes, the image of your perfect smile imprinted in his brain as he pulled his laptop out of his briefcase.

The rest of the morning was quiet as usual, Reiner occasionally taking a five minute break to peer out his massive office windows, displaying the bustling streets of New York, while he sipped his coffee. He loved this job—being a CEO at a tech company wasn’t easy, but was definitely fulfilling. It had its downs, but had many more perks.

Knock, knock, knock..

“Sir?”

Ah, the number one perk.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open loudly as your figure appeared in the doorway, a small smile on your face as you clutched a dozen files against your perfect chest.

“Some files from the weekend while you were away, sir,” You informed him, shutting the door behind you and walking towards his desk.

You placed them gently next to his laptop, your manicured nails on full display for him as you did so. This was the first time he’d seen your full outfit today—you rocked a tight, white button-up, a dangerously short pencil skirt, black tights and slutty black heels.

“Thank you,” He replied, not daring to even look away from your perfect frame as you smiled down at him.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” You chirped, walking slowly around his desk to the large windows, peering down at all the people just as Reiner does himself.

“Mhm.”

You glance over at the muscled man, just to be greeted with his eyes fixated on you. His large biceps were practically busting out of his white shirt, and his dress pants doing the same against his large thighs as he manspread.

“How was your weekend? You went away with your wife, right?”

Reiner couldn’t help but notice the way you spat the words ‘your wife’ when you spoke, your voice laced with venom at the mere thought of her.

“Oh, yeah, right, I did,” He answered, rubbing his blonde, wispy, beard, “Didn’t end exactly how we wanted though,”

“Oh?” You questioned, walking slowly towards his desk, your voice pushing him to elaborate. You slid your body onto his desk, your legs dangling off the edge as you stared down at him, “C’mon, Sir, I’ll promise to keep it secret,”

Reiner tried to ignore the way his eyes darted up your skirt as the flirtatious words sparked straight into his pants, “She accused me of cheating,” He laughed, shaking his head.

You didn’t reply this time, waiting for him to keep talking, though, your eyes never left his muscly frame.

“I was showering when she went through my phone, and started going off at me while I was in the shower. Even when I got out, she wouldn’t stop going on at me, and it carried on all weekend,” He chuckled, “Can’t get a minute’s peace,”

“Oh, Sir, that’s awful,” You pouted, trying to hide your smirk at the way Reiner tensed up as you ran your foot up his calf, “And did you?”

Reiner cleared his throat loudly as he stared up at you, his thick eyebrows furrowed, “Did I what?”

“Cheat.”

“No, God, no. No.” He insisted, trying to stop his mind from racing at the way your foot kept moving against him.

“But, would you?”

His heart nearly stopped at the words that fell past your plump lips. He could’ve fainted if it wasn’t for the pure excitement flooding through his system that kept his heart hammering in his chest.

“Sorry?”

You knew he knew what you meant by the way your smirk only grew on your face. Your expression was devilish as you stared down at him.

“I said. Would you cheat?”

Words failed Reiner as your foot changed its usual movements to trail up to his thigh. Now trying to hide his enjoyment would be 1000 times harder.

“Because it seems to me, Sir,” Your voice sounding all too sultry for his liking, “You’re stressed and unhappy, and someone isn’t taking care of your needs.”

Reiner’s jaw falls slack as the words reach his ears, your evil grin never once leaving your face as your eyes never left his own. Jesus, fuck.

“I-um, I don’t think this appropriate.” The angel on Reiner’s shoulder spoke, ignoring the way the devil was practically screaming at him to do something about your insinuation.

“Isn’t this what secretary’s are supposed to do?”

You tried to patch up the dirty situation with a faux reasoning, as you crawled from the desk to his chair, slotting your knee between his thighs and grabbing his tie. Pulling on it to bring your mouth to his ear, revelling in the way his heartbeat thumped against your fist.

“I’m just doing my job for you, Sir.”

Reiner mentally cursed himself at the pure lewdness of the situation he’d landed himself in, the mindless flirting had turned into something he’d only dreamed of while fisting his cock late at night with his useless wife sleeping next to him.

“You’re excellent at your job,” He managed to force out, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

“Then let me take care of you, Sir.” You mewled, planting tentative kisses against his cologned skin, loving the expensive smell.

Fuuuuuck.

He’d never been harder in his entire life as you nibbled at his ear lobe as you whispered about how good you’d take of him and how more relaxed he’d feel after you were done with him.

Knock, knock, knock!

“Mr. Braun? Can I come in?”

Those words once eliciting excitement in him, knowing it was you, now sparked panic in him as the voice of his male colleague rang from outside the door.

“Get under the table, now.” He demanded, his eyes wide with panic as you giggled cheekily before doing as he asked of you.

Reiner cleared his throat before speaking, “Come in.” Ignoring the way his heart hammered in his chest.

His colleague sauntered in, shutting the door behind him, “So, I’ve had an email from Microsoft saying they accept the meeting you’ve requested with the CEO about our new launch, which is great. However, Apple did decline as they aren’t looking for anymore shares at the moment, which is disheartening, but the M.D from the branch I called said he knew you, so he’d arrange for you to be the first on the list next time they’re looking for shares.”

Reiner blinked as the information was reeled at him at lightning speed, his head still full of what occurred merely seconds before he walked into the room.

“Um, yeah, that should be—“

His sentence was cut short as his heart flew to his throat. The feeling of his pants zipper being pulled down shut him up as he felt your manicured hands manhandle the bulge in his boxers.

“That should be fine. Thanks, um, Henry, yeah. Thanks.” Reiner stumbled, wanting nothing more than for the idiot to leave.

“You okay, Sir?”

Reiner nodded, swallowing thickly as you pulled his thick cock from his boxers, feeling your thumb rub over his tip, collecting the pre-cum on your delicate fingers.

“Yep, never better, Henry.” Reiner coughed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as you wrapped your lips around his tip, “I think I’m just, jesus, coming down with something.”

“Awh, man, that sucks,” Yeah something sure is, “I heard there’s something nasty stuff going around the office at the minute.

Some nasty stuff was definitely happening in this room that poor Henry had no idea about.

“Yeah, not ideal, but, fuck, what can you, uh—what can you do, huh?” Reiner chuckled, trying to not sound like a lunatic as you bottomed out his throbbing cock in your wet throat.

Reiner knew he was big—long and thick, and not one girl he’d ever been with had been able to take his whole cock down their throat. You were putting them all, including his wife, to shame.

“Yeah, you’ll just have to ride it out, buddy.”

He coughed loudly, attempting to add to his act, but also to cover the giggle you made around his cock at the accidental sexual joke Henry made. The rumble of your laugh against his cock nearly made him moan out loud if it wasn’t for the fact he was now biting down on his fist, his canines practically piercing the skin.

“Thanks, Henry, I’ll get back to Apple later.”

“Microsoft, you mean, Sir?”

Oh, jesus, get out!

“Yep. Microsoft. Thanks.” Reiner nodded, secretly revelling at the you bobbed your head up and down his length, your petite hands wrapped around the base as you licked and sucked at his angry, pink tip.

Henry left with a smile and polite goodbye, shutting the door behind him. Reiner didn’t waste anymore time.

He stood up from desk abruptly, grabbing you by the hand to stand up, pressing your small frame against his desk, your hands trembling as you anticipated his next move.

“You almost got me caught there.”

You peered up at him through your lashes, your eyes running with tears and your cheeks flushed pink, as a quiet, ‘I’m sorry, Sir’ slipped past your swollen, pink lips, glistening with his spit and his pre-cum.

He could’ve cummed at the sight.

“Y’know, that could’ve got me in a lot of trouble,” He informed you, his hand creeping up your neck to rest on your cheek, “I’m feeling awfully stressed and unhappy now.”

“Sir?”

“Do your job, if you’re so insistent.” He told you, “Be good and listen to your boss.”

“Yes, Sir.”

You wasted no time getting back on your knees, waiting for him take a pleasant seat back on his leather chair. You didn’t wait another second before wrapping your pretty lips around his cock like he’d asked you to. This time, Reiner didn’t have to pretend to act normal, so let his head fall back against the head rest as the feeling of your warm mouth surrounded him.

Your delicate hand once against resided at the base of his cock, pumping him along with attempting to take as much of cock as you did previously as you hollowed your cheeks against him.

“Don’t act all shy now, I thought you were a good secretary?” Reiner teased, placing a large hand at the back of your head, intertwining his fingers into your hair, pushing your head further down his cock.

He laughed lowly at the way your throat contracted around him, your trembling hand leaving the base of his cock to rest against his thighs as your nose brushed against his curly blonde pubic hairs, tears falling from your eyes at the sheer size of him in your throat.

Reiner hummed in delight as he slowly lifted your wet throat up and down his throbbing cock, feeling satisfied with your willingness to make him feel better. And by God, was he feeling better already.

You gagged around him as he began bucking his hips slowly into you—your throat not being prepared for the force of his cock.

“What? Can’t take it all of a sudden now that your boss is in control? Well that’s not very good of you? Shall I report you to HR for being such a slut?”

You shook your head against him as best you could before he pulled you off him, a string of spit connecting your heavy tongue to his leaking tip. You spluttered as you gasped for air, your throat aching ever so slightly as you looked up at your boss.

“Up.”

You did as you were told, standing up from the floor, rubbing your thighs together in order to get any sort of friction to your aching clit.

Reiner stood up and took a few steps towards you, his rock hard cock bobbing with every step he took. His large hands grabbed the backs of your clothed thighs, pushing them upwards as you instinctively jumped up onto the desk.

“Or, you know what,” He spoke lowly, grabbing at the fabric of your tights, “I could just punish you myself.”

Riiiippp!

You gasped as his pure strength tore a large hole in the crotch of your tights, leaving your slutty pink lacy panties on full display for his predatory eyes.

“But, Sir—“

“What, baby? You starting to regret your decision?” He teased, pushing the fabric of your panties to the side, chuckling at the way you gasped as the cold air hit your sweet sex.

“No, no, Sir. Wanna make you feel good.” You mumbled as your chest heaved as his thick fingers fumbled with your buttons of your white button-up.

“Good girl.” He mumbled as he pulled the fabric off your top half, biting his lip at the matching pink lacy bra that clad your intense cleavage he once ogled at, “Jesus.”

“Please, Mr.Braun.” You whined, pulling his tie down to push him close to your body, “‘Need you.”

Reiner didn’t need you to say anything else before his fingers flew to your core. The slick that pooled from you eliciting a groan from his lips as he pushed a thick finger inside you.

“You dirty, dirty girl, so fuckin’ wet for me and I hadn’t even touched you.”

You whined against his neck as you grasped desperately on his tie, pulling it slacker and slacker the more you tugged on it.

He soon pressed a second finger inside your sloppy folds, indulging in the way you cried out lewdly against his shoulder, mumbling about how wet you’d gotten for him by just sucking his cock, making his throbbing boner twitch against your thigh.

“Please, Mr.Braun, need you,” You whined, arching your back against him as he abused your sweet spot over and over again.

“Gotta stretch you for my cock, baby, be patient.”

You pecked at his neck and nibbled the skin of his ear once more, moaning into his ear as he thrust his fingers repeatedly in and out of you, scissoring them to stretch your little pussy for his large cock that dribbled pre-cum on your black tights.

His thumb soon found your aching clit as he began to rub delicious circles against it, loving the way your moans upped an octave at the sudden added pleasure. He couldn’t ever get this out of his wife, you were something else. Someone he knew he wouldn’t just fuck once.

“Mmm, gonna cum, Sir!”

“Yeah? Gonna cum for your boss? Fuckin’ slut.”

His words pushed you over the edge as you came hard around his digits, throwing your head back, whining his name loudly.

“Shut up,” He mumbled, grabbing your chin harshly to meet your gaze, “Don’t want Henry coming back, do we?”

You shook your head as your orgasm still flooded your body like electricity through your veins as you finally came down from your high.

You didn’t even get chance to catch your breath before a large hand wrapped around your neck, pushing your back against the desk and forcing your legs up into the air. Your breath hitched as you felt his tip nudge your entrance, watching as he gathered your slick over himself, jerking it over his length before lining himself up with your tight hole.

He sheathed himself inside you slowly, his grip around your thighs tightening as he pushed his length deeper and deeper inside your tight pussy. His eyes flickered shut as his head lolled against your knee, swallowing to cure his dry throat as you pulsated around him.

He hadn’t even got himself full inside you yet, let alone fucked you properly, but he knew you’d be the best pussy he’d ever had.

“Jeeeesus, you’re so fucking tight.” Reiner groaned, his hips finally meeting your ass as he bottomed out, “Fucking hell.”

You were cock drunk already—he hadn’t even moved his throbbing cock and you looked fucked out before he’d even started. You should’ve known he’d be big by the sheer surface area of his muscly body.

Reiner took his time with you to began with. Pulling out slowly before snapping his hips forward to plunge into you, loving the way you’d whine each time he’d nearly pull all the way out and how’d you moan as he pushed himself all the way back inside you.

“Reiner, please,” You begged, the first time he’d heard you say his first name sent shockwaves to his cock, “Fuck me, please.”

“Yeah?” He started, his pace picking up ever so slightly at your request, “You gotta answer my questions correctly first.”

“Mmmm,” You whined, grasping at his hard bicep through his shirt, your face contorting in pleasure at the feeling of him inside you.

“Are you complaining?”

“No, no, no, Sir, never,” You answered quickly, shaking your head, your glossy eyes meeting his dark ones.

“Mm, that’s what I thought,” He retorted back, “So, what time do I like to be out of the office?”

“S-six pm, on a weekday, and four on a weekend.” You replied, breathing heavily as his pace stayed painfully slow.

“Good, why specifically early on a weekend?”

“So, y-you can go home and watch the b-baseball game.”

“Correct.” He grunted as he snapped his hips ever so slightly quicker than before, gnawing at his lip at the way your moans picked up.

“When did I join the company?”

“8th April 2017, Sir. One year before me.”

“How do I like my coffee?”

“Black, with a splash of cold water to n-not burn your tongue, Sir.”

“What’s my favourite drink?”

“A cold beer after work or a hot peppermint tea when you’re sick.”

“How do you know if I’m in a bad mood?”

“Your back is tensed up and your eyebrows are furrowed, and you’re always using your hands when you talk. Shows you’re a-angry.”

His cock twitched at the way you answered so quickly, secretly loving how much you idolised him.

“When did I get married?”

“D-don’t care,” You fired back. He knew you knew when he did, as you refused to look at him for a few weeks afterwards, showing your annoyance at the situation.

He chuckled at your words, stilling his hips against your ass, “That’s not what I asked you, princess,”

You whined, “Please, Sir, I’m sorry, I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

You couldn’t help the way your cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the way you knew nearly everything about him:

“5th December 2020.”

“Good girl.”

You huffed angrily at the mention of his wife, rolling your eyes. Reiner didn’t take your annoyance unnoticed, he quickly rewarded you for your correct answer.

His pace changed from desperately slow, to dangerously fast. You gasped and moaned loudly, your sultry voice filling the room. Reiner picked your lulled head up and smashed his lips against yours, quietening your moans with his mouth. His own groans filling your mouth as he pushed his excruciatingly large cock in and out of you, one hand around your neck and the other gripping your waist, pushing your body down onto him as he fucked you.

“Fuuuck, baby, you’re creamin’ all over me,” He whispered in your ear, as he peered down at the milky, white ring of cum that appeared around the base of his cock, as his hand trailed down to rub circles on your aching clit, and the other grasping at your breasts as they spilled out of your bra with every harsh thrust he gave.

“Mr.Braun,” You wailed, wrapping your legs around his waist as he continued to destroy you with every snap of his lips, the disgustingly pornographic sound of your soaking wet pussy squelching around him filling the room.

His fingers worked wonders against your clit as within seconds of him starting to abuse your bud, you felt the stir of your second orgasm approaching. Your eyes squeezed shut as your nails clawed down his back through the fabric of his shirt, whining and whimpering at the sheer amount of pleasure the perfect man was bringing you.

“She could never make me feel as good at this.”

That was it. He didn’t even bother trying to quieten your moans as you squirted around him. The slippery liquid drenching your thighs and his abdomen as you orgasmed hard, your toes curling in your heels and your back arching off the desk. The idea of his wife never being able to pleasure him like you did made you tingle inside.

“Oh, fuck,” He mumbled as he picked up his pace ever so slightly, his thighs trembling and hips slacking as he came shortly after you. His head nuzzled in your neck as he groaned your name into your shoulder, biting and marking the skin as he pushed his load further into you.

Your legs ached as he let them down from his grip and onto the wooden desk he’d just fucked you on, pulling his softening dick out of you with a hiss. Your chest heaved slightly with each breath as your body relaxed after the pleasureful abuse it just endured.

He tucked himself back into boxers and zipped up his dress pants, and fixed his fully loosened tie, covered in your spit and a few drizzles of your slick on the tip of it. He handed you your shirt in silence as you buttoned your self up, your eyes never leaving the floor.

Once you clothed yourself, you stood up from his slick covered desk, ignoring the way your legs shook. Reiner took a seat at his leather chair, staring up at you with a devilish expression.

“Thank you, I feel a lot better,” He smirked, “You’re excused.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Before you could get far, a firm grip on your wrist pulled you backwards abruptly with a yelp, landing you on his chest, a feverish kiss pushed against your swollen lips. Reiner’s tongue danced in your mouth after pushing past your bottom lip, as his large hand tangled in your hair.

He pulled away soon after, pressing one last loving peck to your spit covered lips before beckoning you out the door—hair a mess, skirt creased and your tights ripped underneath them but giggling nonetheless as you shut the door behind you.

-

“Excuse me, do you know if Reiner is on a call?”

Your head snapped up at the sound of the female voice in front of you. Anger and jealously instantly filled your senses as you stared up at the woman at your desk.

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Braun.” You faked a smile as your eyes glided over the poorly dressed woman, admiring her awful fashion sense and lack of confidence as she quite obviously showed her intimidation against you.

“Hello,” She replied back, “So, is he busy?”

“He most definitely was earlier, but let me double check for you, ma’am.” You alluded to your secret relations, a spike of excitement filling your heart at the thought of her naiveness, as you stood up from your chair, adjusting your skirt to hide the large hole in your tights.

You knocked on his door loudly, “Sir?”

Your sickly familiar voice filled his ears as he smirked widely at the previous memories of your day filled his head, “Come in.”

The door swung open to show your beautiful frame, an evil smirk your face as you moved to the side to reveal his wife stood behind you. Reiner’s heart dropped to his stomach at the sight.

“H-honey, what are you doing here?” He stuttered, panic filling his body at the thought of her possibly finding out about his affair.

“I thought I’d bring you some coffee, and to discuss some things.” She smiled, referring to the argumentative weekend they had experienced.

“Oh, how lovely. Black with cold water?” You spoke up.

His wife’s face dropped, “Oh, um, no. A latte. Do you not like those?”

Reiner couldn’t help but watch as your smirk grew wider and wider at his wife’s disappointed expression.

“No, no, honey, I love them.” Reiner lied, already disliking the thought of the milky coffee.

His wife smiled happily as she entered the room to press a sweet kiss against his cheek. You couldn’t help but watch as he cringed slightly at the feeling of her lips against his face as yours had been earlier on.

“What’s that on your tie, honey?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, bringing his wife’s attention back to you, as his eyes widened in a panicked state, “So messy, aren’t you, Sir? Clearly I need to fix you a new one, hm?”

Reiner nodded, gulping thickly at the thought of his wife seeing your cum all over his tie, “Yes, um, thank you. That would be perfect.”

His wife smiled at you as she turned around, her back facing you, to stare at the view out of his window, “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Reiner’s eyes stayed fixated on your frame as you lifted your skirt up ever so lightly to reveal your soaking wet panties and cum covered thighs from when he’d filled you up so deep, feeling a tent rise in his tight dress pants once more, knowing the second his wife left he’d have you again.

“It sure is.”

GODDDAMNNNN

im hot and bothered even writing this jeeeeez

[callsign-honeybeewildfox2]

October 2, 2025 - Reiner Braun (AOT)

Reiner Braun Attack on Titan Warning: Size Kink, Breeding, Plus Size Girlies, Oral, Body Worship

Tag List: @reiners-milkbiddies @galactict3a @useless-potatho

The town square lively with the spirit of Halloween. Strings of orange lanterns and lights hung between the lamp posts, the chilly  air rustled through the autumn leaves. It was October 2, and the autumn festival was happening. You took a deep breath of hair, pulling your scarf closer to your face. Your breath curled up into the air, a shiver from the cold causing intake a sharp breath. Your sweater hugged your figure snugged. You were currently in a pumpkin patch, looking for the best pumpkin to carve.

You kneeled down to examine a particular large one, but you heard a familiar deep voice from behind. 

“Need help lifting that?” 

You turned around to see Reiner, his broad frame towering over you. His sharp jawline softened as he gave you that friendly smile tugging on his lips. You couldn’t help but smile brightly as he wasted no time in lifting the large pumpkin for you, he was already hold one for himself. 

Your heart raced at his closeness, he always made you feel butterflies with the way he looked at you. You two weren’t together yet, no, but the way he made your heart flutter had you falling in love with him again. 

“Thank you, Reiner, I didn’t know you enjoyed pumpkin patches,” you said after a silence of admiring how his muscles filled out his jacket. Your cheeks were pink but you could easily blame that on the chilly day. 

Reiner grinned as he caught her eyes trailing over him. He effortlessly carried the pumpkins as they walked out of the pumpkin patch side by side. You felt your cheeks warm at his close proximity. 

“You know, I have to admit that sweater dress looks really good on you,” Reiner’s voice broke the comfortable silence between the two of you. You looked up at him surprised before looking down at the dress.

“You think so? I thought maybe it was a bit too tight and didn’t flatter me at all.”

“Nonsense, I think this has to be my favorite thing on you.”

Your heart thumped in your chest at his compliment. If your cheeks weren’t red because of the cool air before, they were a dark red now. 

When you arrived at your small, cozy apartment, Reiner walked in and sitting the pumpkins down on the kitchen table. He has been to your place multiple times before. So this was nothing new, but the way he was looking at you had you a bit nervous. He walked closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“We should carve the pumpkins together,” his fingers traced against your sides gently squeezing your love handles. You tensed under his hold, but nodded your head. You weren’t use to affection not from someone like him, who was just so handsome. He smiled brightly at you and went through your drawers grabbing the things you needed including a large sheet of paper to avoid a huge mess on the table. 

You both sat at the table, carving the pumpkins. You two were side by side, his arms brushing against yours occasionally. Suddenly, Reiner broke the silence again, and you looked up at him.

“You know,” Reiner began, his deep voice was serious but held something else, “you don’t have to hide. Not from me anyway.”

You looked at him confused on what he meant, setting the knife down. “Hide what?”

He put his knife down and turned his large frame to you. “You. You don’t need to cover up or try and hide yourself, you are beautiful just the way you are.” 

Your breath was caught in your throat at his words. You had been a bit self conscious about your body, trying to lose more weight, hide it under bigger clothes. Some clothes, like this sweater naturally fit a bit tighter. 

Reiner stared at you with so much, admiration and sincerity it made you feel seen like never before. 

“I—” you started, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead you felt a wave of emotion, warmth spreading through your entire body. 

Reiner leaned closer to you, his large hand gently reaching for yours. His fingers laced with yours before pulling you into his lap. His touch was gentle as if you were made of glass. He was always gentle with you but this time, he was even more gentle. 

He leaned in capturing your lips with his in a gentle and passionate kiss, You gasped softly, gripping his shirt gently. You leaned more into the kiss, sighing softly. The size difference between the two of you was more apparent as your plush body pressed against his larger solid frame, but you didn’t feel out of place. You felt welcomed. Reiner’s strong arms wrapped around your waist pulling you closer, he suddenly stood up, picking you up with ease. 

You couldn’t help but let a small gasp out as he picked you up, he carried you to your bedroom and laid you down on the bed. He removed his shirt, his muscles rippling from the movement, your eyes trailed over his form. This was really happening, and he looked down at you. He removed his pants, before crawling onto the bed. His erection strained against his boxers. 

“Can I remove this off of you?” 

“Yes, you can…” You voice was breathless as his hands moved up to the hem of your sweater dress, pulling it over your head. You felt a bit self conscious of your body, but Reiner was breathless. Looking down at you.

“Fuck, you are so beautiful. How can you not see that?” He mumbled, leaning down and kissing you deeply. You kissed back hugging his neck, as his hands roamed over your body. 

His lips trailed over your body, starting at your lips, neck down to the curve of your breasts. He tapped you for you to lift up a bit so you did and he removed your bra. His breath hitched, as he kissed your breasts, swirling his tongue around your nipples. 

“You have no idea, how much I wanted to do this…” He mumbled against your skin. 

“Then do it, Reiner.” 

Reiner didn’t need to be told twice, his mouth stayed on your skin tracing every dip of your body, kissing down every curve. When he got to your panties, he pulled them down your legs, and spread your legs.

“You look and smell so delicious…” he grumbled, wasting no time in diving in. 

“Of fuck, Reiner…” You moaned loudly, as he delve his tongue deep inside you moaning. He held your waist tightly, trying to bury his face deeper into your cunt. You gripped his hair, your back arching off the bed. 

Every breath, and moan that left your lips had Reiner eating you out faster. He was addicted, and he didn’t want to stop, not yet, not when he had you melting underneath him. You felt your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach.

“Reiner, nngh, so close… please don’t stop,” you begged.

“Don’t worry, have no intentions too…” he mumbled against your folds. He sucked on your clit, bringing it into his mouth. That action alone had you coming completely undone. Your body shook under him, and you whimpered softly. He pulled away, licking his lips after drinking up your juices.

He leaned up and pressed his lips against yours gently. You could taste yourself on his lips, and you didn’t mind it. Your hands trailed down his muscular chest, before tugging his boxers down. His erection sprung free, and you wrapped your hands around him and he cursed silently. 

“I need to be inside you…” Reiner said, and you nodded.

“Okay,” you said softly. He took his cock into his hand and rubbed it against your pussy lips. He slowly pushed deep inside you, slowly. His size had you arching your back the stretch burned but in the best way possible.

“So, tight… fuck, you feel so good around me, (Y/N),” Reiner grunted. He leaned forward, his forehead pressed against yours. It was taking everything in him to not thrust into you, he was a big guy and even though he so badly wanted to fuck you hard and relentless, he cared about you too much to act on it unless you asked. 

“Reiner, so big, feel so full. Please, move, need you to move…” You whimpered, hugging his shoulders. He started off slow, thrusting his hips slowly inside of you. He sighed softly. But your moans spur him on, and soon he was gripping your thick thighs, and thrusting into you hard and fast. 

Your knuckles began to turn white from gripping the sheets, crying out his name. He loved the way your stomach and thighs jiggled with each harsh thrust inside of you. It made something snapped inside of him. 

He went faster, practically folding you in half. He couldn’t help but groan softly and kiss you deeply. 

“Fuck, fuck! Wait, slow down!” You cried out, but Reiner’s grip on you kept you still. His balls were hitting your ass, and the he suddenly had a thought. He loved how soft you were, your stomach. 

“Fuck, I am gonna get you pregnant. Please say yes, please say I can cum inside.” 

That thought had you crying out, you wanted it. You wanted him to fill you to the brim and get you pregnant.

“Reiner, yes, please… I want it, I want all of it.” 

Reiner took your legs, putting them to the side of your head, folding you successfully. You didn’t even know you could be bent like that because of your size, but Reiner made you feel tiny compared to him. 

Not long after he slammed into you completely and stilled. Spurts of cum filled you and you came hard at the feeling. You shook from the pleasure of being filled by Reiner. He didn’t pull out completely yet wanting it to stick.

He let your legs down, and leaned down pecking your lips. 

“Next year around this time, we will have a baby to dress up.” He mumbled softly against your lips. He held your plump body against his, not letting you pull away from him. You didn’t want to pull away anyway, the thought had you glowing with a smile.

“We can all go to the pumpkin patch together, dress the baby in a cute little pumpkin outfit.” 

“I am gonna have to work harder to provide for you and the baby, make you my little stay at home wife…” He nuzzled you. “Maybe keep you pregnant and full of me, so if you do decide to lose weight I still get to have your plump body to myself.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, pecking his lips gently.

© [@angelsdevils] all rights reserved. none of my posts or stories should be modified, reposted, etc. I do not own the character or the fanart, but I own the plots of these stories. All fanart goes to their appropriate owners. 

[callsign-honeybeewildfox2]

This was soooooo good ❤️❤️😭 I can already imagine them reuniting after the rumbling and she was turned into a titan like everyone else 😭😭😭😭

crawl home ꔛ reiner braun x reader

a/n: spent way too long writing this bc i love reiner

words: 9.3k

cw: lowkey bff!jean, she/her pronouns and fem anatomy reader, soldier!reader, pre-timeskip friends/lovers, betrayal, forgiveness, reiner is pathetic, angsty, kinda serving friends to enemies to lovers, SMUT!!, oral (f!reader recieving), pinv sex, breeding, MDNI !!

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

Reiner was taller now, even if it was hard to believe. Maybe not as tall as Bertholdt was, but taller. Not only that, but while he maintained some of the more prominent muscles in his figure, it was noticeable how much weight he had lost. His hair was slightly longer - maybe he didn't keep up with cutting it as much as before. But to be fair, the change wasn't necessarily drastic. Not like the amount of facial hair he let grow out, which was completely ridiculous but so on brand for him.

But what did you care?

Your gaze lingered on him a moment longer, practically having to force yourself to look away from the man you swore was dead to you. But he wasn't, was he? He was standing right there, talking to Connie and Jean like nothing happened. As if the night prior Jean didn't literally punch him. Did they all just forgive him suddenly? Traitors.

You sighed. Maybe you were being dramatic.

The only thing you wanted to hear now was the sound of the water swishing beneath the boat, maybe even a seagull. But it was like you couldn't drown out his voice. It hadn't changed. It was exactly as you'd remembered it being about four years ago. Though, back then you swore you'd found it charming.

Odiha. That's where you were going, what you were focusing on, in order to service the flying boat that would help you and your fellow scouts reach the Rumbling, you needed to reach Odiha. To stop Eren. So why was Reiner's presence bothering you so much?

Reiner was your best friend at one point. When you first joined the cadet corps, it was obvious you were nervous to anyone who took a second to look. And for that, most people didn't see you as a potential reliable comrade.

Most people.

Reiner liked you. He had once playfully claimed you made funny faces during sparring exercises and took you under his wing, seeing your potential. Back then, Reiner had a talent for making anyone feel seen. Even stubborn cadets like Annie seemed to at least tolerate him, maybe even respect him.

So how could you not fall in love with him?

It was ridiculous how quick it happened. You were sure there were other girls vying for his attention just like you were, but you swore Reiner gave you special treatment. It was stupid.

Reiner would see you entering the mess hall and instantly make sure there was a spot open at his table for you. Bertholdt had typically sat across from him, but most of the time there was a spot directly next to Reiner conveniently available just for you. He'd call you by your last name over to their table, always a smile on his face, always so damn sure of himself.

"Bread?" He had offered, causing you to shake your head with a nervous smile on your face. Nervous. Not nervous enough, apparently. But that didn't matter—not when Reiner was offering you bread, or to train after hours with you, or take you into Stohess one weekend when you mentioned wanting a change of scenery.

"I know you wanted that muffin," Reiner said regretfully as you walked away from the bakery stall at the food market. "Sorry I couldn't get it for you."

You shook your head, mouth full from the cookie he'd already got for you just ten minutes prior. "It's fine, really," you assured him, words slightly muffled from the pastry.

Reiner simply smiled at you, taking a bite of his own cookie.

When you returned to Trost that evening as the sun was just beginning to set, the teasing from your comrades was relentless.

"Woah!" Connie had exclaimed, realization dawning on his face as he looked at you and Reiner entering the mess hall together. "Where've you been all day?" He asked, nosy as ever even if the answer was plain as day.

"A date. Is that really such a foreign concept to you?" Reiner had teased, making Connie grin mischievously.

A date. You had your suspicions that that's what it was, but Reiner hadn't explicitly said it. Not until Connie asked. The straightforward explanation made your heart race, gaze dropping instantly to your shoes as Connie's laughter filled the space.

"So that's why you've been polishing your boots and actually combing your hair. I was wondering what the special occasion was," Jean had said to you, his brow raised and arms crossed in a way that was so distinctly Jean. Despite the words, you were sure it was his own way of approving.

"Oh, my God, is that a hickey?" Sasha suddenly butt in, moving into your personal space. Her hands held your head in place as she stared at the scrape from training on your forehead.

"Hickey—what—Sasha, that's on my forehead!" You had defended, but it was too late. Multiple other cadets heard the word hickey and ran with it, causing a flurry of gossip surrounding you and Reiner. And Reiner didn't deny it. He just smiled at you, and somehow that made you feel better.

There were plenty of times he'd made you feel better. An embarrassing amount of times. A pathetic amount of times, considering what he might've been comforting you about.

You sniffled, attempting to straighten yourself out before dinner was served in the mess hall as you sat on a log on the outskirts of the training grounds, taking in the yellow and orange blend of sunset before you. Even with the view, your mind was elsewhere.

It hit you every now and then at random. Despite it happening almost five years ago, you had pushed the grief down as far as you could bury it when your family was killed during the breach of Wall Maria. You were so young when it happened, but suddenly you were alone. When the Armored had broken through the inner gate of the wall, your childhood home had been crushed by a stray boulder.

You were lucky. You came to terms with that at a young age. Far too lucky. It chipped away at you everyday since, even without you realizing. What made you so fortunate to have escaped? Avoided certain death like your family couldn't? What made that soldier step in and save you but not them?

The wondering was pointless, though. They died and you didn't. For some reason fate had kept you alive until now. And for that, you had to live with a purpose. Even if now that purpose was wiping your snotty nose and trying to compose yourself enough to go eat with your friends.

"Bread?"

You had looked up to see none other than Reiner holding out a small loaf, a second one for himself in his right hand. Hesitantly, you had taken it, using the moment Reiner sat down beside you to attempt to discreetly wipe at the tears on your cheeks.

He didn't ask. You supposed it wasn't his style, or maybe he just assumed you didn't want to talk about it.

Reiner simply took a bite of his bread next to you, leaning forward as he chewed. After moments of silence, Reiner looked at you for a second and then towards the sunset. The corner of his mouth tugged upwards into a soft, almost wistful smile, but he said nothing.

"What?" You finally asked.

He almost replied with "nothing," you could tell, but he sighed and leaned back, either hands at his sides resting on the log. "You know what I miss most about home?" Reiner asked, his gaze locked with the sky. "The way the sun would rise over the hills," he stated.

You realized you'd never talked about it—why you were crying that day. To be honest, you didn't want to. Something about his presence had just put you at ease back then, to the point you forgot all of your troubles.

When graduation drew near, you weren't even sure what Reiner's plan was. Everyone knew his perfect scores got him into the top ten, eligible to enlist as a military police officer in the interior. That would've been great for him, but you weren't sure where that left you.

You weren't with Reiner when the Collosal titan had appeared and breached the wall into Trost. But you were there when Eren was discovered to be a titan himself.

From there, something in Reiner had shifted.

Back then, you figured it was realization of some sort. Realization that things were complicated, things were scary, things were real...

Things got even more real when Marco died. Marco wasn't someone you were close with, but he was always there, always kind. If someone as capable as Marco, as determined, as strong, as kind as Marco could die, what would that mean for you and your friends?

Many cadets dropped out that day, despite graduation being so close. You almost did as well. Especially upon seeing Jean's reaction to Marco's death, you didn't know if you had the guts to continue.

But Reiner always had to step in.

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for," he said, his strong hand on your shoulder. "Look at me," he commanded softly. You hesitated but met his eyes. They were serious, and almost cold now. Different from how they used to look at you. "I know you've got what it takes."

And that was that. Along with Jean, who was sure he'd join the military police, you joined the Survey Corps, falling under the wing of the Commander Erwin Smith.

You were terrified, but you had Reiner.

Things in your lives seemed to come to a halt when Annie was revealed to be a titan. And then Ymir, along with Krista being some kind of royalty and living with a completely different name—Historia.

It was all confusing and overwhelming, and you really wished Reiner was there for you. And he was, physically, always there. But then he was distant. Even when sitting directly beside you during meals like he did before, his focus was obviously elsewhere.

And then it happened.

You revisited that day often. When Reiner and Bertholdt transformed, and everything you thought you knew came crashing down.

You couldn't even cry, or scream, or do much of anything. You'd learned a long time ago to accept these things, but God did it hurt.

Then he was gone. He and Bertholdt, back to wherever they came from—their "hometown" as they so often called it. You didn't know back then, and you'd honestly stopped caring.

When Eren was rescued from them, he tried telling you on the way back what Reiner had said in response to him screaming at them. Eren had brought you up, telling Reiner about all the pain and trauma you endured years ago when the inner gate of Wall Maria was broken and your family was killed.

Sorry. Sorry was what he said, according to Eren.

What a coward.

The next time you saw Reiner was a few months later. But it wasn't really him. It was the Armored titan, the same one you remember from childhood who had breached the wall. And now here you were, back in Shiganshina with your fellow scouts.

The bloodshed was monumental in Shiganshina. Bertholdt had died, but Reiner lived—barely. You weren't there when Hange and Jean had captured him. And you were grateful you weren't. Just three months after discovering his true self, you knew you'd do something stupid like let him go if you had been there. But that part wasn't really up to you, and he got away regardless.

That's when you discovered the truth of everything. The titans, the walls, Paradis, Eldians.

You wished you could hate him. But everyday you'd hoped for the day you could speak to him again, just once.

Those feelings seemed to have formed into anger as the years passed. And by the time you and your fellow soldiers raided Liberio, you basically lived in a shell. You promised your comrades you weren't going to allow feelings to get in the way, and you delivered.

So much happened in such a short amount of time it was difficult to even remember it properly.

You remembered seeing him—really him—for the first time again on Paradis. He was almost pathetic looking now, but a part of your heart still yearned for him.

Were the feelings even the same, though?

You and the rest of the scouts had to compromise and join forces with the Warriors in order to put a stop to Eren's plan to go through with the Rumbling. It was the first night that Jean brutally punched Reiner at the campfire. Years ago, you might've blindly taken the side of Reiner. Hell, if he said a word to you since being back on the island maybe you would've defended him. But he didn't. So you let it happen.

When the kids, Gabi and Falco, rushed to Reiner's side after the altercation, you felt as though you needed to physically drag yourself away to avoid saying anything to him.

Instead, you found Jean, cooling off in the outskirts of the woods. His head was in his hands, leaning against a tree as he shook.

You placed a gentle hand on his arm, causing him to jump. You made eye contact, but he was quick to look away. Though, your small touch grounded him.

"Sorry about that," Jean apologized. "I got carried away." His voice was breaking, you'd noticed, but you shook your head.

"Don't apologize," you replied.

You made a choice that evening. The choice to stay loyal to your comrades instead of blindly following Reiner like you did when you were a dumb kid. But it didn't make it any less difficult when he stood there on the boat looking almost like he had years ago.

The expression on his face was that of determination. And the people at his side were none other than Jean and Connie.

You scoffed, pulling your gaze away from the men and staring off into the vast ocean—the ocean you didn't even knew existed years ago; the ocean Reiner didn't bother mentioning to you those nights you sat together for hours.

You'd gone over every emotion the past four years. You saw his side as best you could. Even so, it was hard to forgive. Especially when Reiner himself hadn't made an effort to speak to you.

"Hey." You didn't look up, you knew it was Jean.

"You gonna talk to loverboy or what?" He asked after a beat of silence. You finally lifted your head to shoot him a glare. Jean simply smiled, looking back at where Reiner and Connie were still talking and then back to you, sitting beside you on the bench.

You remained quiet for a moment after Jean sat beside you, your fingers absently picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. The gentle rock of the boat beneath you seemed to match the churning in your stomach.

"I'm not talking to him," you finally said, keeping your voice low despite the distance between you and the others.

Jean snorted. "Right. Because ignoring him is working so well for you."

You shot him another glare. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've been staring at him every chance you get since yesterday." Jean's knowing smile widened as your cheeks flushed with heat. "Don't worry, he's been doing the same thing."

Something fluttered in your chest at his words, but you quickly tamped it down. "Has he... said anything?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, your voice smaller than you intended.

Jean chuckled, that same knowing look in his eyes that made you want to shove him off the bench and into the sea. But then his expression softened.

"No," he admitted. "But it's getting annoying watching you two dance around each other like this. You look at him when he's not looking, he looks at you when you turn away. It's really embarassing for both of you."

You sighed, turning your gaze back to the endless blue horizon. The vastness of the ocean still amazed you, even now. "Well, if he wanted to talk, he would've said something by now."

"Maybe he's thinking the same thing about you," Jean pointed out.

"That's different," you protested weakly.

"How?"

You opened your mouth to respond but found you didn't have an answer that wouldn't sound childish. Jean was right, and you both knew it.

"Look," Jean said, his voice gentler now, "I'm not exactly Reiner's biggest fan. You were there when I..." He flexed his hand, the same one he'd used to punch Reiner the night before, his knuckles reddened now. "But we're all stuck here together now. And whatever was between you two—"

"There was nothing between us," you interrupted, the lie bitter on your tongue.

Jean gave you a flat look. "You're a terrible liar. Always have been."

You looked down at your hands, suddenly finding your fingernails fascinating. "It doesn't matter now anyway."

"Maybe not," Jean agreed. "But you're never going to stop wondering if you don't at least talk to him once. Really talk to him."

The silence between you stretched for several long moments as you considered his words. The rational part of you knew he was right. This tension, this unspoken thing hanging in the air between you and Reiner, it would only continue to distract you. And with what lay ahead—with Eren and the Rumbling—you couldn't afford distractions. And more importantly, you didn't want to die with regrets.

"Fine," you muttered, standing up with a resigned sigh.

Without waiting for some type of reaction from Jean, you turned and made your way across the deck toward where Reiner and Connie stood. Your heart hammered against your ribs with each step, and you briefly considered turning back. But Jean's words echoed in your mind—you would never stop wondering if you didn't at least try.

Connie noticed you first, his animated conversation with Reiner faltering as you approached. Reiner turned, and for a moment, you were transported back to those days in the mess hall—him turning to call your name, saving you a seat beside him.

But his eyes weren't the same. They carried a weight now, dark shadows beneath them speaking of sleepless nights and unshakable guilt.

"Um, I'll just..." Connie mumbled, already backing away, but you barely registered his departure.

You stopped a few feet from Reiner, suddenly unsure what to say. All the anger, all the hurt, all the things you'd rehearsed in your head over the years—none of it seemed right now that he was standing in front of you.

"Can we talk?" The words came out steadier than you felt.

Reiner looked surprised, as if that was the last thing he expected to hear from you. He nodded once, hesitantly. "Yeah. Of course."

You nodded, and without another word, turned to lead the way to the stairs. You could feel his presence behind you as you descended into the dimly lit interior of the ship, the wooden steps creaking beneath your weight. The air was cooler here, tinged with the scent of salt and damp wood.

The sleeping cabins were arranged in a narrow corridor, small compartments with barely enough room for the bunks they contained. Most were empty now, with everyone gathered on the upper deck to watch the endless expanse of ocean passing by. You chose one at random, pushing open the door and stepping inside.

The room was tight, with just enough space for two narrow bunks built into the walls and a small porthole that cast a circle of fading evening light across the wooden floor. You sat on one of the bunks, the thin mattress sinking beneath your weight. Reiner hesitated at the doorway for a moment before entering and sitting on the opposite bunk, the space between you barely more than an arm's length but feeling like an unbridgeable chasm.

Reiner's shoulders hunched slightly, his large frame somehow seeming smaller in the confined space. His eyes darted around the cabin before finally settling on his hands, which were clasped tightly in his lap.

You found yourself remembering another small space you'd shared once, years ago during a thunderstorm. The supply shed had been the closest shelter when the rain had caught you both during evening training. You'd sat side by side on crates of gear, listening to the rain hammer against the roof, shoulders touching as Reiner told stories about his hometown to distract you from the thunder. And you remembered how you felt when he held your hand, the way his touch was so gentle, his fingers lacing with yours. Back then, his voice had been warm, his smile easy, his eyes bright with something that made your heart race.

Now, he sat across from you, silent and tense, his gaze fixed on the floor between your feet. The only sound was the creaking of the ship around you and the distant, muffled voices from above.

The silence between you stretched until it became unbearable. Your fingers dug into the thin mattress beneath you, knuckles turning white with the pressure.

"My family is dead because of you," you finally said, your voice quiet but sharp enough to cut through the heavy air. The words hung there, raw and unavoidable. "Every time I look at you, I see that day. The Armored Titan breaking through the gate. The boulder that crushed our home."

Reiner didn't flinch, didn't look away. He just nodded slowly, his eyes hollow. "I know."

"You know?" A bitter laugh escaped your lips. "That's all you have to say? You know?"

"What do you want me to say?" His voice was flat, resigned. The voice of a man who had already condemned himself a thousand times over.

"I want you to say something—anything—other than 'I know,'" you snapped, the anger you'd been holding back finally beginning to surface. "I want you to explain how you could sit with me that day by the training grounds, offering me bread while I cried about my family, knowing it was you who killed them."

Reiner's gaze dropped to the floor again. "I don't have an explanation that would make any sense to you."

"Try me," you challenged, leaning forward. "I've had four years to think about this, Reiner. Four years to try to understand."

He looked up then, and the defeated emptiness in his eyes almost made you recoil. This wasn't the Reiner you remembered—the strong, confident soldier who always seemed to know what to say, what to do. This was a shell of that man, worn down by guilt and grief.

"I compartmentalized," he said after a long moment. "The Warrior and the Soldier. Sometimes, I... I forgot which one was real."

"And which one was it?" you asked. "Which version of you was real, Reiner?"

He shook his head slowly. "I don't know anymore. Maybe neither."

You stood up abruptly, unable to sit still with the storm of emotions churning inside you. The cabin was too small to pace properly, but you moved to the porthole, looking out at the darkening sky without really seeing it.

"Do you have any idea what your betrayal did to me?" Your voice was quieter now, but no less intense. "It wasn't just that you were the Armored Titan. It was that you were you. Someone I..." You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "Someone I cared about. A lot."

You heard the bunk creak as Reiner shifted his weight but didn't turn to look at him.

"I nearly quit the Scouts after you left," you continued, watching your breath fog the glass of the porthole. "I couldn't understand how I could have been so wrong about someone. How I could have trusted you so completely."

Your fingertips pressed against the cool glass as memories flooded back—training together in the rain, his hands adjusting your grip on the ODM gear controls, his laughter at your terrible jokes, the way his eyes would find yours across the mess hall.

"And it wasn't just you," you said, your voice growing thick with unshed tears. "I haven't been able to truly trust anyone since. Not completely. There's always this voice in the back of my mind asking if they're hiding something too. If they'll betray me just like you did."

"I'm sorry," Reiner said, his voice barely audible.

You whirled around to face him, anger flaring hot and bright. "Sorry doesn't bring my family back! Sorry doesn't erase the fact that you lied to me for years! Sorry doesn't change the fact that every memory I have of us is tainted now because I don't even know if any of it was real!"

"It was real," Reiner said, standing up now, something finally sparking in his eyes. "That's what you don't understand. It was all real for me too."

"How could it be real when it was all built on a lie?" Your voice rose, echoing in the small space.

"Because I didn't know how to separate the lie from the truth anymore!" He took a step toward you, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Do you think this has been easy for me? Do you think I just walked away and forgot about all of you—forgot about you?"

You stared at him, momentarily stunned by the sudden emotion in his voice.

"I've thought about you every single day since then," he continued, his voice breaking. "I see your face in my dreams. I hear your voice when it's quiet. You've been haunting me for four years, and I deserve it."

The raw pain in his voice knocked the breath from your lungs. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you stared at him, really seeing him for perhaps the first time since you'd learned the truth—not as the Armored Titan, not as the Warrior, not even as the Soldier, but as Reiner. Just Reiner, broken and haunted and so very human.

"I know you hate me," he said, quieter now, his own eyes shining with unshed tears. "You should hate me. If I could go back and change what I did..."

"But you can't," you whispered.

"No," he agreed. "I can't."

The admission hung between you, simple and devastating in its truth. You couldn't change the past. Your family was still gone. The walls were still broken. And Reiner—your Reiner—had still been the one to do it.

But the man standing before you now, shoulders slumped under the weight of his actions, eyes filled with a pain that mirrored your own—he wasn't the Armored Titan anymore. He was just as broken as you were.

Then suddenly you moved, your arms wrapping around his waist, your face pressed against his chest as sobs wracked your body. You could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady against your cheek, so at odds with the broken man it belonged to.

For a terrible second, he remained frozen, and you thought you'd made a mistake. Then his arms came around you, tight and desperate, one hand cradling the back of your head as he buried his face in your hair. His body trembled against yours, and you realized he was crying too—silent, shuddering sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him.

The stubborn shame that had kept you both at arm's length dissolved in the salt of your mingled tears. There, in the dim light of the cabin, with the gentle rocking of the ship beneath you and the uncertain future ahead, you held each other like the last two survivors of a shipwreck—broken, exhausted, but somehow still alive.

You weren't sure how long you stayed like that, holding each other in the dim light of the cabin, your tears gradually subsiding into uneven breaths. His arms around you felt both familiar and foreign—the shape of him changed, but the way he held you still the same.

When you finally pulled back, just enough to look up at him, your faces were inches apart. Your hands had somehow moved to his shoulders, feeling the unfamiliar angles where muscle had once been. His eyes, red-rimmed from crying, searched yours with a question he didn't dare voice.

"I still hate what you did," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "I don't know if I can ever forgive that."

Reiner nodded slightly, accepting your words without defense. One of his hands had found its way to your face, his thumb gently brushing away a tear from your cheek.

"But I don't know how to hate you," you admitted, the confession tearing itself from somewhere deep inside you. "I've tried for four years, and I just... can't."

Something flickered in his eyes—a spark of something you hadn't seen since before everything fell apart. Hope, maybe. Or longing.

You weren't sure who closed the distance. Maybe both of you, drawn together like the inevitable pull of gravity. His lips found yours in a kiss that was hesitant at first, as if he expected you to push him away. When you didn't—when instead you pressed closer, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt—the hesitation gave way to a desperate need that matched your own.

Reiner's arms tightened around you, backing you against the wall beside the porthole. The cool glass pressed against your shoulder, a stark contrast to the heat of his body against yours. His kiss deepened, years of unspoken feelings pouring into it as his tongue met yours.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, longer now than you remembered. The scrape of his beard against your skin was new, and your heart skipped a beat at the way his breath hitched when you tugged gently at his hair.

When you pulled away again, breathless, his eyes were dark with a mixture of desire and pain. "I shouldn't be doing this," he whispered, even as his thumb traced circles on your hip. "After everything I've done..."

"Shut up," you murmured, pulling him back to you. "Just shut up, Reiner."

He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob against your lips. "Still stubborn," he breathed.

Your hands tangled in his hair, eyes squeezed shut as you took in the feel of him. You were desperate, you knew. You felt pathetic, but you wanted him. Needed to be close to him.

"It's embarrassing how long I've wanted to do this," you murmured against his lips, your voice barely audible over the sound of your racing hearts.

His forehead pressed against yours, his eyes closed as he took an unsteady breath. "When we were back in training, that day in Stohess..." His voice was rough, trailing off as your lips found the curve of his jaw.

"Why didn't you kiss me then?" you asked, the question muffled against his skin.

Reiner's laugh was soft and broken. "I wanted to. Every second we were together." His hands slid down to your waist, anchoring you against him as if afraid you might disappear. "I told myself it was because of the mission. That I couldn't get distracted."

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your hand coming up to touch his face, feeling the unfamiliar texture of his beard beneath your fingertips. "And the real reason?"

He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. "I was afraid that if I started, I wouldn't be able to stop. That I'd tell you everything." The admission seemed to cost him, his voice barely above a whisper. "And then you'd hate me."

"I did hate you," you said quietly. "When I found out."

His eyes clouded with pain, but he nodded. "I know."

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his again, more gently this time. "But I hated myself more for still wanting this. For still wanting you."

Reiner's response was to kiss you again, deeper this time, his body pressing yours more firmly against the wall. One hand tangled in your hair while the other gripped your hip, his touch both gentle and desperate. You could taste the salt of tears—whose, you weren't sure anymore—and something else, something uniquely him that you had tried so hard to forget.

The ship rocked with a stronger wave, causing you both to sway. Reiner's arm tightened around your waist, steadying you, and for a brief moment, you were back in the training grounds, his arms around you as he corrected your stance, his breath warm against your ear.

"I missed you," he breathed against your mouth, the words so quiet they might have been imagined. "Every day."

You didn't answer with words. You couldn't. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, alongside grief and betrayal and a hundred other emotions you couldn't name. But for now, in the dim light of the cabin with the sea stretching endlessly around you, you let yourself remember what it felt like to be in his arms.

Your lips found his again, harder this time, your teeth catching his lower lip in a way that made him groan. His hands tightened on you in response, lifting you slightly as he pressed you more firmly against the wall. The kiss deepened, grew more urgent, years of longing and hurt and need pouring into it.

The world outside—Eren, the Rumbling, the fate that awaited all of you—seemed distant and unreal compared to the solid warmth of Reiner against you, the familiar-yet-different taste of his mouth, the sound of his ragged breathing mingling with your own.

This wasn't forgiveness. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, tracing a path that made your breath catch, you realized it might be something like a beginning. A chance to finally confront all the things left unsaid between you, all the hurt and the betrayal, but also all the moments that had been real.

Reiner’s hands slid down your sides, fingers digging into your hips as he kissed you with a desperation that made your knees weak. The rough scrape of his beard against your skin sent shivers down your spine, and when his teeth grazed your bottom lip, you gasped—only for him to swallow the sound with another searing kiss.

This isn't at all how you expected your "talk" to go. Years of rehearsing different scripts in your head about how you'd tell him you hate him when you saw him, how you'd show him how it felt to feel betrayed and alone... All of those came crumbling down when he touched you like this, so gently but also so needy.

Not that the idea in general hadn't crossed your mind an embarrassing and pathetic amount of times. That, you couldn't deny. Since your cadet days you'd wondered what it would feel like with him, hoping he'd make a move. But he never did. Your heart skipped a beat when you felt the sadness well up inside you again, but that feeling quickly went away when he tilted his head to better kiss you.

His body pressed you harder against the wall, the heat of him searing through your clothes. You could feel the evidence of his arousal against your thigh, and the knowledge of how badly he wanted you—after all this time—sent a thrill through you.

Then, without warning, he broke the kiss, his breath ragged. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, lips swollen from yours.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, voice rough.

You didn’t.

A low sound escaped him, something between a groan and a growl, before his hands tightened on your waist—and then he was lifting you, turning, and depositing you onto the narrow bunk behind you in one swift motion. The thin mattress barely cushioned the impact, but you barely had time to register it before Reiner was on his knees between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs with a reverence that made your breath hitch.

His gaze flicked up to yours, searching, hesitant—like he still couldn’t believe you were letting him touch you.

"Please," he breathed, fingers curling into the fabric of your pants. "Let me taste you."

The raw need in his voice sent a jolt straight to your core. He was begging. Reiner—the man who had once been so confident, so sure of himself—was now on his knees for you, looking up at you like you were the only thing that could save him.

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your throat. You also didn't expect it to go like this. The Reiner that you knew back then presented himself to be some kind of big leader, something you admired because of how he never seemed to let it go to his head. He was one of the strongest, but he was humble.

So seeing him like this, desperate between your legs, felt almost like culture shock.

But even so, being with him, feeling him, talking to him all felt so good. So good you could cry. "Okay," you breathed, nodding.

His fingers trembled slightly as he undid the fastenings of your pants, tugging them down your legs along with your underwear. Your cunt was already pathetically wet just from making out, and suddenly you just wanted to close your legs so he wouldn't see how much you affected him. Stubborn pride still warred inside you even now. The cool air of the cabin ghosted over your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Reiner’s breath as he leaned in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, making your heart swell.

Reiner’s hands spread your thighs wider, his thumbs brushing over the damp curls between them. His breath stuttered when he saw how wet you were, his fingers tracing your folds with agonizing slowness.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice wrecked.

He kissed at your inner thighs some more, almost like he just couldn't get enough of the simple action. He'd lick at them, suck them, anything. Reiner was willing to drag this out, it seemed.

"Has anyone ever done this for you before?" Reiner asked, his tone carrying a mix of emotions, staring up at you with his pretty hazel eyes as he kissed at the soft skin of your thighs. Deep down, he selfishly hoped no one else had gotten to see you like this—feel you like this.

Your breath hitched at the sight, unable to pull your gaze away and similarly unable to stop your arousal and need as you felt yourself wet the sheets beneath you even further. "I don't see how that's any of your business," you replied stubbornly, wanting to keep the small amount of control you still held.

That gave Reiner all the answer he needed. "Hm," he responded, careful not to anger you, careful not to upset you. but also understanding and seeing just how much you wanted this—wanted him. And equally he was exceptionally aware of the way his cock twitched in his pants, desperate to make you feel good, desperate to feel your thighs around his head and your fingers against his scalp, desperate to hear you in these moments he's imagined you in so many times.

Reiner didn’t wait for another teasing remark from you—his mouth was on you in an instant, his tongue dragging a slow, filthy stripe up your soaked cunt, groaning against you like he’d been starving for this. The sound alone made your back arch off the bunk, a sharp gasp tearing from your lips as his hands clamped down on your thighs, holding you open for him.

He was messy—no finesse, no practiced rhythm, just pure, desperate hunger. His tongue lapped at you like he was trying to memorize your taste, his nose pressing against your clit as he buried his face between your legs. Every flick of his tongue was sloppy, wet, loud, the obscene sounds of his mouth working you filling the tiny cabin. You could feel his stubble scraping against your sensitive skin, the rough drag only making the pleasure sharper, more overwhelming.

“Fuck—Reiner—” Your fingers tangled in his blonde hair, gripping hard as his tongue circled your clit before sucking it between his lips. His groan vibrated through you, his hands sliding under your ass to tilt your hips up, giving him better access as he devoured you.

He was relentless, like he’d been waiting years for this—because he had. Every muffled sound he made against your cunt, every time his tongue plunged inside you only to drag back up, every time his lips sealed around your clit to suck—it was all too much, and yet you never wanted it to stop.

His enthusiasm was almost embarrassing, the way he moaned into you like he was the one being pleasured, his hips moving against his hand as he rubbed his cock through his pants. You could feel the wetness of your own arousal smeared across his chin, and the sight alone had your thighs trembling around his head.

Drool mixed with your arousal, dripping down his chin as he ate you out like a man possessed. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider, keeping you open for him as his tongue plunged inside you, fucking into you with rough, eager strokes before retreating to suck your clit again.

"Taste so good," he panted against you, his voice wrecked. "Fuck, fuck, I knew you would—"

His words cut off into a groan as he redoubled his efforts, his tongue flicking rapidly over your clit before he sealed his lips around it again, sucking hard. The wet, filthy sounds of his mouth on you filled the cabin, obscene and perfect, and you could feel the way his hips rocked slightly against the bunk, rutting into nothing as he got off on just tasting you.

"Been thinking about this—" he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak before diving back in, his tongue circling your clit in tight, relentless circles. "—every night—"

His fingers dug into your thighs, leaving marks as he held you down, refusing to let you squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure.

"Close," you choked out, your hips jerking against his mouth. "I’m so close—"

Reiner growled, the sound vibrating through you as he sucked your clit into his mouth one last time, his tongue flicking over it rapidly—

And then you were coming, your back bowing off the bunk as pleasure crashed through you in waves. He didn’t let up, licking you through it, swallowing every drop of you as you shuddered and gasped above him.

When you finally went limp, panting, he pulled back just enough to look up at you.

His chest heaved, his eyes dark with need. But above that, it was like he needed some confirmation he did good.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Are you okay?"

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him up your body until his weight settled over you, pressing you deeper into the thin mattress. His skin was fever-hot, his muscles taut with restraint, but his eyes—those damn hazel eyes—were soft, almost reverent, as he looked down at you.

You didn't answer, not verbally at least.

Your hand slid into his hair, gripping tight as you dragged his mouth to yours, kissing him deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue. A rough groan tore from his throat, his hips jerking forward instinctively, the hard length of his cock grinding against your still-sensitive clit through his pants.

His groan was muffled against your mouth as you licked into him, your fingers tightening in his hair. You could feel the way his body shuddered when you nipped at his bottom lip, the way his hips jerked forward instinctively, grinding his cock—so fucking hard against your thigh.

“God, you’re—” His voice broke as you kissed him again, rougher this time, your teeth dragging over his lip. His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging in like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. “Fuck, I need—please—”

"Reiner," you breathed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Please fuck me."

You could feel it—the way his entire body trembled with the effort of holding back, the way his breath came in ragged bursts against your mouth. His hands fumbled with his belt, his fingers shaking as he undid the buckle, his cock springing free, thick and flushed and aching for you.

Reiner didn’t waste another second.

He hooked his hands under your knees, spreading you wider, his gaze locked on where your slick glistened between your thighs. His breath hitched, his cock twitching against your stomach as he lined himself up, the blunt head pressing against your entrance.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough.

You did.

His eyes burned into yours as he pushed inside, slow, so agonizingly slow, his jaw clenched tight as he fought to keep control. The stretch was delicious, the way your walls fluttered around him making his hips stutter.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his fingers digging into your thighs. “You feel—Christ—you feel even better than I imagined.”

And then he was seated fully inside you, his hips flush against yours, his cock buried to the hilt. For a moment, neither of you moved—just breathed, just felt, the weight of years of longing crashing over you both.

Then—because he needed to see it, needed to know this was real—he leaned back on his heels, pulling out almost all the way just to watch the way your cunt clung to him, glistening and desperate, before slamming back in. His cock disappeared inside you, your wetness coating his dick as your body stretched to take him.

The sound you made was sinful.

Reiner’s hips snapped forward again, harder this time, his cock dragging against your walls in a way that made your toes curl. His grip shifted from your wrist to your hip, holding you in place as he fucked into you with slow, deep strokes—like he was savoring every second, like he wanted to memorize the way your body took him.

His dick glistened with your arousal, disappearing inside you with each thrust, your cunt gripping him like it was made for him. He couldn’t look away—couldn’t stop the way his breath hitched as he watched himself fuck into you, over and over, your body taking him so perfectly.

Reiner’s rhythm was relentless, each deep stroke dragging a gasp from your lips. His broad palm slid down your stomach, fingers gliding through your slick until his thumb found your clit, rubbing tight, rough circles that made your toes curl.

"There you go," he murmured, voice thick with praise as he watched your face twist in pleasure. "So fucking pretty when you take me like this. Can’t believe you’re real—can’t believe I get to have you."

You whimpered, your hips lifting to meet his thrusts, desperate for more, for everything. Reiner moaned at the way your body clenched around him, his thumb pressing harder against your clit.

"Love the way you take me," he panted, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. "Like you were made for me, huh? Made to take my cock just like this—shit—"

Then, without warning, he leaned forward, his chest pressing flush against yours, his weight pinning you completely beneath him. The new angle made him sink deeper, his cock hitting a spot inside you that had your vision whiting out for a second.

"There," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. "That’s it, sweetheart. Let me have you just like this—fuck—"

His thrusts turned slower but impossibly harder, each one dragging a broken moan from your lips. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head back so he could kiss you again, swallowing your gasps like he needed them to survive.

He braced himself above you, muscles taut, sweat glistening on his skin as he watched your face—every flutter of your lashes, every bitten-off moan—like he was memorizing you all over again.

His hips rolled into yours with a deep, almost reverent grind, pressing so deep you could feel him in your ribs. Your breath hitched as he lingered there, his tip nudging that perfect, aching spot inside you before pulling back with a slow, torturous drag that made your toes curl.

"Feel how deep I am?" he breathed, his fingers tightening on your hip as he rocked into you again, slow and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world. "Fuck, you’re perfect."

His voice was wrecked, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. But he didn’t rush—just kept moving inside you with that same maddening pace, every thrust a sweet torment.

"Could stay like this forever," he admitted, his lips brushing your jaw. "Just like this—buried inside you, feeling you clench around me like you never wanna let me go."

"Reiner," you whined.

"I've got you," he responded, hips never stopping.

And when your back arched, your body tightening around him, he didn’t speed up—just kept fucking you through it, his lips pressed to your neck, whispering praise as pleasure washed over you in waves.

Reiner’s thrusts grew more erratic, his control slipping as your walls fluttered around him, pulling him deeper with each desperate clench. His breath came in ragged gasps, his forehead pressed against yours as he fought to hold on just a little longer.

“I—fuck—I’m close,” he groaned, his voice rough with need. His fingers dug into your hips, his rhythm faltering as pleasure coiled tight in his gut.

You arched beneath him, nails scraping down his back as you panted, “Inside… please, Reiner—I want you to cum inside me.”

His entire body tensed at your words, a shudder running through him. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own dark with lust and something dangerously close to worship.

“Are you—fuck—are you sure?” he rasped, hips stuttering as he struggled to keep his pace steady.

You nodded, biting your lip as you clenched around him deliberately, drawing a broken groan from his lips.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Want to feel you—all of you.”

That was all it took.

Reiner’s restraint shattered.

"Fuck—gonna fill you up so good," he panted, his forehead dropping against yours. "Gonna make sure you feel it—"

You clenched around him, your own climax building again, and he cursed, his rhythm faltering.

"Come with me," he demanded, his voice wrecked. "Wanna feel you cum on my cock while I’m deep inside you—fuck—please—"

His words tipped you over the edge. Pleasure crashed through you, your body tightening around him in waves, and Reiner lost it.

With a growl that was almost feral, he slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his cock pulsed inside you, hot and thick. His body shuddered violently, his fingers gripping you like a lifeline as he spilled deep, his release filling you in waves.

You could feel him pulsing inside you, his cock twitching as he rode out his orgasm, his forehead pressed to yours. When he finally stilled, he didn’t pull away—just stayed there, his body heavy and warm against yours, his breath slowly steadying.

After a long moment, he lifted his head, his gaze soft as he brushed a sweaty strand of hair from your face.

"Okay?" he murmured, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.

You nodded, your fingers lazily tracing the muscles of his back.

Reiner exhaled, something like relief—or maybe wonder—flickering in his eyes before he leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

"Good," he murmured against your mouth.

You lay in comfortable silence for what felt like hours but was likely only minutes, Reiner's weight pressing you into the thin mattress, his breath warm against your neck. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, as though memorizing the feel of you. Neither of you wanted to break the spell, to acknowledge the world waiting outside this small cabin.

"I love you," you whispered finally, the words escaping before you could think better of them. They hung in the air between you, raw and honest.

Reiner stilled, his breath catching. Slowly, he raised himself up on his elbows to look at you, his hazel eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart skip. For a terrible moment, you thought you'd said too much, revealed too much of yourself to someone who had once betrayed you.

But then his expression softened, a genuine smile—one you hadn't seen in years—spreading across his face. "I love you too," he said, his voice steady and sure. "I always have."

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. "I know it doesn't change anything," he murmured. "I know it doesn't make up for what I did. But it's true."

His eyes grew serious again. "Whatever happens with Eren, with the Rumbling… I'm going to protect you. I promise."

Before you could respond, a sharp knock at the door made you both jump.

"Hey, you two done?" Connie's voice called through the thin wood. "There's food up on the deck if you're interested. Kinda limited, but better than nothing."

You and Reiner exchanged wide-eyed looks before scrambling to get dressed, movements frantic and clumsy in the small space. Your fingers fumbled with buttons and clasps as you tried to make yourselves presentable.

"Uh, yeah," Reiner called back, his voice remarkably steady considering his panicked expression. "We'll be right there."

You could hear the smirk in Connie's voice as he replied, "Take your time. Not like we can hear everything through these paper-thin walls or anything."

Your face burned as you hurriedly tucked in your shirt. Reiner looked equally mortified, though a small, almost boyish grin played at the corners of his mouth when your eyes met.

"Ready?" he asked softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You nodded, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Connie was waiting in the narrow corridor, a knowing grin splitting his face. Without a word, he turned and headed up the stairs, gesturing for you both to follow.

Reiner went first, and you couldn't help but notice the way Connie immediately engaged him in animated conversation as they climbed, acting as though nothing unusual had happened at all. Their voices faded slightly as they reached the deck above.

Jean appeared at your side as you finished climbing the stairs.

"So," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I take it the talk went well?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. "Yeah, really well," you replied, hoping that Connie was just teasing and no one else heard a thing.

"I just mean," he continued, a stupid and annoying grin on your face, "when I suggested you two clear the air, I didn't necessarily mean you should bring down the whole ship with your—"

Your face burned with embarrassment and fury. "I will literally throw you overboard, Jean," you hissed, shoving his shoulder hard enough to make him stumble back. "I swear to God—"

Jean laughed, ducking away from your next swing. "Hey, I'm happy for you guys! Honestly!" He held up his hands in surrender, still grinning as he backed up the stairs. "Just doing my part as your friend to give you shit about it."

[callsign-honeybeewildfox2]

The Perfect Mate

Day 28 → A/B/O 💋 Oscar Piastri

Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent, and breeding

Kinktober Masterlist

The news comes like a sudden storm, the kind that rolls in on a summer day when the skies were blue just moments before. You’re in the kitchen, setting the table for dinner. Your mother is at the stove, stirring something that smells faintly of rosemary and garlic, a comforting scent that usually makes you feel at home. But tonight, it’s different.

You can feel it in the air, the way your father is pacing by the window, his hands tucked into his pockets like he’s trying to keep something inside. Your mother’s voice is too steady when she finally speaks.

“We got a call today,” she says, without turning around. The spoon in her hand trembles slightly. “From the school.”

The school. The words drop into the room like stones, rippling through the quiet. You know what she’s going to say next, even before she says it. You’ve been dreading this conversation for weeks, ever since your first heat hit you like a freight train, your body burning with a fever you couldn’t understand.

“They’ve made a decision,” she continues, and now she turns, her eyes finding yours across the room. “They think it’s best if you … attend a different school. A special one.”

“A special school,” you echo, the words hollow in your mouth. You know what she means, even if she doesn’t say it outright. A school for omegas. The kind of place where they send girls like you, girls who’ve just discovered they aren’t like everyone else.

You stand there, frozen, while your father finally stops pacing. He comes to stand beside your mother, his face tight with the strain of holding back his thoughts. You’ve seen that look before, on the faces of other parents in town when they talk about “those schools,” the ones far away where no one can see what really happens inside. But now, it’s your parents standing there, and it’s you they’re talking about sending away.

“I don’t want to go,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I want to stay here.”

Your mother sighs, a soft, defeated sound, as she wipes her hands on a dish towel. “It’s not safe for you here anymore, sweetheart. Not now that you’ve … presented.”

Presented. It’s such a clinical word for something that feels anything but. You feel exposed, like your skin has been peeled back to reveal something raw and vulnerable underneath. You cross your arms over your chest, trying to protect yourself from the inevitability of it all.

“But what about my friends? What about school here?” Your voice cracks, and you hate how small you sound, how desperate.

“It’s only for a little while,” your father says, stepping forward. He’s trying to sound reassuring, but there’s an edge of worry in his voice that betrays him. “Just until you’ve had the training you need. Then you can come back.”

You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t need training. I’m fine the way I am.”

“You don’t understand, Y/N,” your mother says gently, moving closer. She reaches out to touch your arm, but you pull away. “This is for your own good. There are things you need to learn … things we can’t teach you.”

“Like what?” You snap, anger flaring up to replace the fear. “How to be an obedient little omega? How to bow down to an alpha and let them control my life?”

“Y/N,” your father warns, but there’s no real force behind it. He’s just as lost as you are in this moment, and you can see it in the way his shoulders sag, the way his gaze shifts to the floor.

You look between the two of them, your parents who have always been your rock, and feel a chasm opening up between you. This is the moment when everything changes, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

“When do I have to go?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your mother hesitates, glancing at your father before she answers. “Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. The word echoes in your mind, a death knell for everything you’ve known. There’s no time to say goodbye to your friends, no time to prepare yourself for what’s coming. It’s happening too fast, like a tidal wave sweeping you off your feet.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. You barely taste the food on your plate, pushing it around with your fork until your mother finally sighs and takes it away. You retreat to your room after that, curling up on your bed with your thoughts spinning like a storm.

The reality of it all doesn’t hit you until much later, when the house is dark and silent. You lie awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of what’s to come pressing down on your chest.

You’re leaving. You’re being sent away because you’re different, because you’re an omega. The word still feels foreign on your tongue, something that doesn’t belong to you. You’ve heard stories, of course, whispered in the halls at school, but they were always about other people, distant and unconnected to your life.

But now it’s you. You’re the one being whispered about, the one whose life is being uprooted. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

When morning comes, it’s like watching someone else’s life unfold in slow motion. Your mother helps you pack, her hands gentle as she folds your clothes and tucks them into the suitcase. Your father lingers in the doorway, trying to find the right words to say, but nothing comes out.

You don’t say much either. There’s nothing left to say. You’re numb, moving through the motions without really feeling anything. It’s easier that way, easier than letting the fear and anger take over.

The drive to the school is long and silent. Your parents don’t turn on the radio, and the only sound is the hum of the car’s engine and the occasional rustle of paper as your father checks the directions. You stare out the window, watching the world blur by in a wash of green and gray.

When you finally arrive, the school is nothing like you imagined. It’s a sprawling estate, with tall iron gates and manicured lawns that stretch out as far as the eye can see. It looks more like a prison than a school, and the sight of it makes your stomach churn.

Your mother parks the car, and you sit there for a moment, staring up at the imposing building. It feels like a bad dream, one you can’t wake up from.

“Are you ready?” Your father asks, his voice quiet.

You nod, even though you’re not. But what choice do you have?

They walk you to the gates, your suitcase rolling behind you on its tiny wheels. A woman in a crisp uniform meets you there, her smile too bright, too practiced. She introduces herself, but you barely catch her name. It doesn’t matter.

“This way, Y/N,” she says, leading you through the gates. Your parents follow behind, their footsteps heavy on the gravel path.

Inside, the school is just as cold and unwelcoming as the outside. The corridors are wide and echoing, with polished floors that reflect the fluorescent lights above. The woman leads you to an office, where you’re asked to sit while she speaks with your parents in hushed tones.

You sit there, staring at the walls, trying to hold yourself together. You can hear snippets of their conversation, words like “curriculum,” “discipline,” and “safety,” but they all blur together in a meaningless jumble.

Finally, your parents return. Your mother’s eyes are red-rimmed, and your father’s face is pale. They both hug you tightly, whispering words of reassurance that feel empty and hollow.

“We’ll come visit,” your mother says, her voice trembling. “As soon as we can.”

You nod, but you don’t really believe it. You can see the fear in their eyes, the uncertainty of what lies ahead. They don’t know any more than you do.

When they finally leave, it feels like the ground has been pulled out from under you. You’re alone, in a strange place that feels more like a cage than a school. You want to run, to escape, but there’s nowhere to go.

The woman who met you at the gate returns, her smile still fixed in place. She leads you to your dorm room, a small, sterile space with a single bed and a desk. Your suitcase is placed at the foot of the bed, a reminder of the life you’ve left behind.

“Get some rest,” she says, her tone brisk and efficient. “Tomorrow is a big day.”

You don’t respond. There’s nothing to say. She leaves you there, closing the door softly behind her, and you’re left alone with your thoughts.

You sit on the bed, staring at the blank walls, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. You’re an omega. You’re in a school for omegas. And there’s no going back.

The tears come then, hot and silent, sliding down your cheeks as you curl up on the bed. You don’t know how long you lie there, crying until there are no tears left. You feel empty, hollowed out by the weight of it all.

Eventually, exhaustion pulls you under, and you drift into a restless sleep, your dreams filled with shadows and echoes of the life you’ve lost.

***

The days at the school have a way of blending together, each one indistinguishable from the next. Morning rolls into afternoon, which slides into evening, and soon enough, another day is gone. You’ve learned not to think too hard about time, how long you’ve been here, or how many more days you’ll have to endure. It’s easier that way.

There was a time when you counted the days, marking each one on a small calendar tucked away in your drawer. You kept track of your parents’ visits, circled in red ink, little reminders that they hadn’t forgotten you. But as the months turned into years, the red circles became fewer and farther between until they disappeared altogether.

You can barely remember the last time you saw their faces, the way your mother used to smooth your hair back with gentle fingers, or the way your father’s hugs felt strong and safe. They promised it would only be for a little while, just until you had learned what you needed to know, but that promise dissolved like sugar in water, leaving a bitter taste behind.

Now, all you know is this place, the routine that keeps you tethered to some semblance of sanity. Wake up at dawn. Breakfast in the dining hall. Classes in the morning — Etiquette, Obedience, Mating Practices — each lesson designed to mold you into the perfect omega. Lunch, more classes, then an hour of exercise before dinner. Evenings are quiet, filled with studying or silent contemplation in your room. Lights out at nine, and then it all begins again.

You’ve learned how to be a good omega. It’s second nature now, a reflex as automatic as breathing. You know how to keep your head down, how to smile politely, how to answer questions with soft, submissive tones. You know how to hide your emotions, how to tuck away the anger and fear that once simmered just beneath the surface. Those feelings have dulled over time, like a blade worn down from overuse.

The other girls are much the same. You’ve made a few friends — if you can call them that — but it’s hard to be close to anyone here. Everyone is too focused on survival, on making it through another day without drawing unwanted attention. You share polite conversations, exchange small smiles in passing, but there’s an unspoken understanding that it’s every omega for herself.

It’s a Tuesday evening when everything changes. You’re gathered in the dining hall, the long tables lined with girls dressed in identical uniforms, their heads bowed over plates of bland, tasteless food. The room is filled with the clatter of utensils and the murmur of quiet conversation, the same as it always is.

But tonight, there’s a different energy in the air, a tension that makes your skin prickle with unease. You notice it in the way the other girls are sitting a little straighter, their eyes darting toward the head of the room where the headmistress stands, her sharp gaze sweeping over the crowd.

You don’t look directly at her — no one ever does — but you can feel her presence like a weight pressing down on your shoulders. The headmistress is a tall, severe woman with iron-gray hair pulled back into a tight bun. She commands the room with an authority that brooks no defiance, and when she speaks, everyone listens.

“Good evening, girls,” she begins, her voice cutting through the low hum of conversation like a knife. The room falls silent immediately, all eyes fixed on their plates as she continues. “I have an important announcement to make.”

You steal a glance at the girl sitting next to you, a slight, mousy-haired omega named Emily. Her hands are clenched in her lap, her knuckles white, and you can see the same fear mirrored in her wide eyes.

The headmistress pauses, letting the silence stretch out until it’s almost unbearable. Finally, she speaks again, her tone measured and calm. “As you all know, we are approaching a very special time of year. In just a few weeks, we will be hosting our annual adoption day.”

A collective shiver runs through the room, a ripple of unease that you can feel in your bones. Adoption day. The words hang heavy in the air, charged with a meaning that everyone understands but no one dares to speak aloud.

“This is a significant event,” the headmistress continues, her gaze sweeping the room. “It is a time when alphas from all over the continent come to our school to choose which one of you will become their mate.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your stomach twisting into knots. You’ve heard about adoption day, of course. It’s the day every omega dreads and hopes for in equal measure. The day when your future is decided, when you are chosen — or not — by an alpha who will take you away from this place. It’s supposed to be an honor, a privilege, but you know the truth. It’s a sentence, a life chosen for you, one you have no say in.

“Over the next few weeks,” the headmistress says, “you will be preparing for this event. You must be on your best behavior at all times. The alphas who come here expect nothing less than perfection, and it is our duty to ensure that you meet their expectations.”

She pauses, her eyes narrowing as she surveys the room. “You will be evaluated on your obedience, your manners, your appearance, and your ability to perform the duties expected of an omega. Failure to meet these standards will result in … consequences.”

The word lingers in the air, heavy with unspoken threats. You know what she means. You’ve seen what happens to the girls who fail, who don’t measure up. They’re sent away, to places even worse than this, places where omegas are little more than property, where they’re broken down until there’s nothing left of them.

You swallow hard, trying to push down the rising tide of panic. You’ve been good, you remind yourself. You’ve done everything you were supposed to do, followed every rule, learned every lesson. But the fear gnaws at you, a constant, insidious whisper in the back of your mind.

The headmistress gives a tight, satisfied nod. “I trust that you will all rise to the occasion. This is your chance to prove your worth, to show the alphas that you are deserving of their attention. Do not disappoint me.”

With that, she turns and strides out of the room, leaving a heavy silence in her wake. No one moves, no one speaks, the weight of her words pressing down on all of you.

Emily is the first to break the silence, her voice trembling. “Adoption day … I thought it wasn’t for another few months.”

“They moved it up,” says another girl across the table, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s sooner this year.”

You can feel the tension in the room ratchet up another notch, the fear palpable. Everyone is thinking the same thing: sooner means less time to prepare, less time to make yourself worthy of being chosen.

“What are we going to do?” Emily asks, her voice small and shaky. “What if … what if no one picks us?”

The question hangs in the air, the unspoken fear that everyone is too afraid to voice. What if no one chooses you? What happens then?

“We just have to be perfect,” says another girl, her voice tinged with desperation. “We can’t make any mistakes. We have to be exactly what they want.”

“What if that’s not enough?” Someone else murmurs, and the question sends a chill down your spine.

You stare at your plate, your appetite long gone. The food sits untouched, congealing in the dim light of the dining hall. You know you should say something, offer some kind of reassurance, but the words stick in your throat. What can you say? How can you comfort anyone when you’re just as terrified as they are?

Instead, you focus on breathing, on keeping yourself calm. You’ve been through worse, you tell yourself. You’ve survived this place for years, learned how to navigate its dangers, how to keep your head down and stay out of trouble. You can survive this too.

But deep down, you know that this is different. This isn’t just another test or lesson. This is your future, your entire life hanging in the balance, and there’s nothing you can do to change it.

The rest of the meal passes in a tense, uncomfortable silence. No one speaks, no one even looks at each other. The only sound is the clatter of dishes as the kitchen staff clears away the plates, their movements brisk and efficient.

When the meal is finally over, you file out of the dining hall with the other girls, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. The usual chatter and laughter are absent, replaced by a heavy, oppressive silence. Everyone is lost in their own thoughts, their own fears.

Back in your room, you close the door and sink down onto the bed, your mind racing. Adoption day. The words echo in your head, a relentless drumbeat of anxiety. You try to push the thoughts away, to focus on something else, but it’s no use. The fear is too strong, too consuming.

You lie there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm the storm inside you. But no matter how hard you try, the fear lingers, a dark shadow that refuses to be banished.

You’re not ready for this. None of you are. But it doesn’t matter. Adoption day is coming, whether you’re ready or not.

***

Oscar Piastri doesn’t let his emotions show, not when he crosses the finish line, not even when the roar of the crowd hits him like a physical wave. It’s a monumental moment, the kind of victory that defines a career. His first win in Formula 1, and he’s only just begun. He keeps his face impassive as he steps out of the car, giving a quick nod to the team that rushes toward him. His hands are still gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality.

The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving behind a strange emptiness that gnaws at him as he makes his way through the post-race chaos. Congratulations are thrown his way, hands clapping his back, but it all feels distant, like he’s watching it from somewhere else. This is supposed to be the pinnacle, the culmination of years of hard work, but instead, it feels … muted. He’s already thinking about the next race, the next victory, how he can improve.

In the quiet of the team’s private room, Zak Brown walks in, a broad smile on his face. He’s the kind of man who fills up the space just by being in it, his presence magnetic, commanding. Oscar looks up from where he’s sitting, unlacing his gloves methodically, and meets Zak’s eyes.

“Congratulations, Oscar. First of many, I’m sure.” Zak’s voice is warm, but there’s an edge to it, something unspoken hanging in the air.

“Thank you,” Oscar replies, his tone measured, controlled. He’s careful with his words, always. Never lets anything slip.

Zak takes a seat across from him, leaning back casually. There’s a glint in his eyes, something calculating. “You’ve made quite an impression today. The team is proud of you.”

Oscar nods, but he can tell there’s more coming. Zak doesn’t waste time with pleasantries unless there’s something else he wants to discuss. He waits, patient, knowing that Zak will get to the point when he’s ready.

Finally, Zak leans forward, his expression serious. “You’ve proven yourself, Oscar. And with that comes certain … privileges. Opportunities that are only available to those who reach the top.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, intrigued. He’s heard whispers of the kind of rewards that come with success, but he’s never paid them much attention. He’s focused on one thing — winning. Everything else is secondary.

Zak watches him closely, gauging his reaction. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

Oscar stays silent, waiting for Zak to continue. He’s not about to show his hand, not yet.

“There’s a tradition in this sport,” Zak says slowly, choosing his words carefully. “When an alpha driver wins their first race, they’re given the chance to choose an omega. It’s a recognition of your status, your dominance. It’s something that’s been done quietly, behind closed doors, for decades.”

Oscar keeps his expression neutral, though his interest is piqued. He’s aware of the dynamics in the world, the power and control that come with being an alpha. But this — this is new. He’s never been one to indulge in the usual trappings of success. He’s always been too focused, too driven to let anything distract him. But this … this is different.

Zak smiles, seeing the curiosity flicker in Oscar’s eyes. “You’ve earned this, Oscar. You’re one of the best, and you deserve the best. That’s why I’m telling you about the upcoming adoption day.”

Oscar’s gaze sharpens. “Adoption day?”

“It’s an event held at the most prestigious omega training school in Europe,” Zak explains. “Only the top omegas are put up for adoption, the ones who have been trained to perfection. They’re chosen by alphas who have proven themselves — like you. It’s not something that’s widely advertised, but those in the know understand its significance.”

There’s a pause as Oscar processes the information. The idea of choosing an omega, someone trained specifically for him, tailored to his needs, is both intriguing and unsettling. He’s always been in control, always made his own decisions, but this is different. This is a life he’s being asked to shape, to take responsibility for.

“What makes this school so special?” He asks, his voice calm, steady.

Zak leans back, crossing his arms. “The omegas there are trained from a young age. They’re taught everything — how to please their alpha, how to be obedient, how to fulfill their roles perfectly. They’re the best of the best, Oscar. There’s no risk, no uncertainty. Any omega you choose from that school will be exactly what you need.”

Oscar considers this. The idea of having an omega, someone who’s been trained to understand him, to know what he needs without him having to say it … there’s a certain appeal in that. He’s always been surrounded by people who expect something from him, who look to him for leadership, guidance. But this would be different. This would be someone who exists solely for him, who understands her place.

“There’s no obligation,” Zak adds, watching Oscar carefully. “If you’re not interested, you can walk away. But if you are … it’s a rare opportunity.”

Oscar doesn’t respond immediately. He’s weighing the options, the consequences. He’s always been careful, methodical in his decisions. But he can’t deny the temptation, the curiosity that’s starting to take root.

“When is it?” He finally asks, his voice giving nothing away.

Zak’s smile widens, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. “In a few weeks. We can arrange everything for you — discretion guaranteed. You won’t have to worry about the media or anyone else finding out. This is strictly between you and the school.”

Oscar nods slowly, his mind already working through the possibilities. It’s a lot to take in, but he’s not one to shy away from something just because it’s unfamiliar. If anything, the challenge of it, the control it represents, is what draws him in.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, his tone decisive, leaving no room for further discussion.

Zak rises, clearly satisfied with Oscar’s response. “Take your time. There’s no rush. But remember, opportunities like this don’t come around often.”

Oscar stands as well, shaking Zak’s hand. “I understand. Thank you.”

As Zak leaves the room, Oscar is left alone with his thoughts. The noise of the celebrations outside is a distant hum, and he finds himself pacing, the adrenaline from the race still thrumming through his veins.

He’s never been one for the typical alpha-omega dynamics. He’s always valued independence, his ability to navigate the world on his terms. But this … this is something else. The idea of having an omega, someone trained to understand him, to be exactly what he needs, it’s both thrilling and terrifying.

He knows what’s expected of him. As an alpha, as a champion, there’s a certain image to uphold, certain roles to fulfill. But he’s never been one to simply do what’s expected. He’s always pushed the boundaries, challenged the norms.

Oscar stops pacing, his mind made up. He’ll go to this adoption day. He’ll see for himself what this school has to offer. But he won’t make any decisions until he’s certain. This is too important, too personal to rush into.

But deep down, he knows that the decision is already half-made. The idea has taken root, and it’s only a matter of time before it blooms into something more.

With a final glance around the empty room, Oscar leaves, heading back to the celebrations. There’s still a victory to enjoy, a race to celebrate. But in the back of his mind, the thought of adoption day lingers, a tantalizing possibility that he can’t quite shake.

As the night wears on, surrounded by his team, the media, the fans, Oscar can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have an omega by his side. Not just any omega, but one who’s been trained specifically for him, someone who understands him in a way no one else does.

The idea is intoxicating, and for the first time in a long while, Oscar feels something stir inside him — a hunger, a desire for more than just victory on the track. He wants control, he wants power, and maybe, just maybe, he wants someone to share it with.

But not just anyone. It has to be the right omega. The perfect one.

As the night winds down, and the celebrations give way to the quiet of his hotel room, Oscar lies awake, his mind racing. He’s never been one to second-guess his decisions, and he knows this won’t be any different.

He’s going to that adoption day. And he’s going to find the omega that’s meant for him.

***

The morning is cold, colder than it has any right to be for early September. You’re standing in line with the other omegas, every one of you wearing the same pristine white dresses that flutter slightly in the breeze. The sun hasn’t fully risen, and the world is cloaked in that quiet, expectant blue that only exists before dawn. You can feel the nervous energy crackling in the air, though no one dares to show it.

You’ve been preparing for this day for as long as you can remember. Every lesson, every order, every correction has led to this moment, and yet you feel more like an imposter than ever. Your hands tremble slightly as you clasp them in front of you, willing the nerves to subside. You can’t afford to look weak now, not when everything is at stake.

The headmistress is pacing in front of the line, her sharp eyes taking in each omega with a practiced gaze. She’s dressed impeccably, as always, her posture a perfect representation of control. “Remember, girls,” she says, her voice slicing through the silence, “today is your chance to prove your worth. You’ve been trained for this moment. Do not embarrass yourselves, or this school.”

You swallow hard, keeping your gaze straight ahead, though every instinct is screaming at you to run. You can’t, though. There’s no place to go, and you know it. This is your life now, and you have to make the best of it.

The first of the alphas start to arrive, their footsteps echoing ominously as they enter the grand hall. You can hear their low voices, the murmur of conversation as they evaluate the line of omegas, as if you’re nothing more than merchandise on display. You keep your eyes down, as you’ve been taught, but your heart is hammering so loudly you’re sure everyone can hear it.

One by one, they move past you, some taking a moment to appraise you before moving on, others barely sparing you a glance. The tension builds with each alpha that passes, your nerves fraying more and more. You want to shrink away, to make yourself invisible, but you know that’s the last thing you should do. Instead, you focus on keeping your breathing steady, on maintaining the composed exterior you’ve been drilled to perfect.

Then you hear the headmistress speak, her voice softer, almost deferential. “Mr. Piastri,” she says, and you feel your breath catch.

You’ve heard whispers about him, the young alpha who’s taken the racing world by storm, his name a force to be reckoned with even outside the omega circles. You’ve imagined what he might be like, but nothing could prepare you for the reality.

You feel his presence before you see him, the weight of his gaze as he approaches. There’s something different about the way he moves, the way the other alphas seem to step aside for him, as if acknowledging his dominance without a word. He stops in front of you, and for the first time, you dare to lift your eyes.

Oscar Piastri is taller than you expected, his presence somehow larger than life. His face is expressionless, unreadable, but his eyes … his eyes are sharp, assessing, as if he’s looking right through you, stripping away every defense you’ve carefully built.

He says nothing at first, just studies you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed, vulnerable in a way you’ve never experienced before. The world around you seems to fade, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of silence.

You don’t move, don’t breathe, barely even blink. Your whole body is tense, waiting for his judgment, his decision. You don’t know what to expect, and the uncertainty is unbearable.

Then, slowly, he reaches out, his fingers brushing your chin. The touch is light, almost delicate, but it sends a shiver down your spine. He tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze fully. There’s a pause, a moment where everything hangs in the balance, and you feel like you might break under the pressure.

But you don’t. You can’t. You’ve been trained for this, prepared for this moment, and you will not fail.

Oscar’s eyes search yours, and you wonder what he’s looking for. Strength? Weakness? He’s so close now that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, and it’s dizzying, overwhelming in a way you can’t quite describe.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he turns to the headmistress. “I want this one,” he says, his voice calm, decisive.

The headmistress smiles, a tight, satisfied expression, as if she expected nothing less. “Of course, Mr. Piastri,” she replies smoothly. “She’s one of our finest.”

There’s a rush of relief that crashes over you, mixed with a new kind of fear. He’s chosen you. Out of all the omegas here, he’s chosen you. It should be a victory, but all you feel is a creeping sense of dread. What does this mean for you? What will your life be like now?

Oscar’s hand drops from your chin, and you lower your gaze again, as you’ve been taught. You can still feel the imprint of his touch, like a brand on your skin. The other omegas around you are silent, but you can sense their curiosity, their jealousy, their relief that they weren’t chosen.

“Prepare her things,” Oscar says to the headmistress, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be leaving with her shortly.”

“Of course,” the headmistress repeats, her voice smooth, almost too smooth. She turns to you, her expression hardening. “You heard him. Go with Miss Parker to gather your belongings.”

You nod, obediently turning to follow Miss Parker, who gives you a curt nod before leading the way out of the hall. Your mind is spinning, your emotions a tangled mess of fear, confusion, and something else — something that feels dangerously like excitement.

As you walk down the corridor, away from the other omegas and the alphas who are still making their selections, you steal a glance back at Oscar. He’s already moving on, his focus shifting to some conversation with the headmistress, but you can’t shake the feeling that he’s still aware of you, even if he’s not looking your way.

Miss Parker doesn’t speak as she guides you to your room. There’s no need for words. You know what’s expected of you. You’ve always known.

When you reach your room, the small space that’s been your whole world for so long, Miss Parker hands you a simple, nondescript suitcase. “Pack quickly,” she says, her voice brusque but not unkind. “Mr. Piastri won’t want to wait.”

You nod again, mechanically moving to gather your things. There’s not much to take — just a few pieces of clothing, some personal items that you’ve been allowed to keep, all of it carefully selected to fit the image of the perfect omega. As you pack, you try to steady your breathing, to push back the rising tide of panic.

This is it. This is what you’ve been trained for, what your whole life has been leading to. And yet, standing here, on the edge of the unknown, you feel more lost than ever.

Miss Parker watches you, her expression unreadable. You wonder if she feels anything at all, if she remembers what it’s like to be in your position, or if she’s long since forgotten what it means to be afraid.

When you’re done, you stand, holding the suitcase tightly in your hands. Miss Parker gives a small nod of approval. “Good. Now, remember what you’ve been taught. Mr. Piastri is your alpha now. You will obey him in all things, without question.”

“I understand,” you reply, your voice steady, though you’re not sure how.

“Then let’s go,” Miss Parker says, turning on her heel and leading the way back down the corridor.

The walk back to the grand hall feels shorter, as if time is compressing around you. Before you know it, you’re standing in front of Oscar again, the suitcase a heavy weight in your hands.

He glances at it, then at you, his expression still inscrutable. “Ready?” He asks, though it’s clear he expects no answer but one.

“Yes,” you say quietly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Good,” Oscar says, his tone final. He turns to the headmistress, giving her a brief nod. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“Of course, Mr. Piastri,” the headmistress says, her voice tinged with satisfaction. “We wish you and your new omega all the best.”

Oscar says nothing in return, just takes your suitcase from you with one hand, his grip firm, and gestures for you to follow him. You do, of course, because what else can you do? This is your life now, whatever that means.

As you leave the school, stepping out into the crisp morning air, you feel a strange mix of emotions — fear, yes, but also a flicker of something else, something that feels almost like hope. Maybe this will be better. Maybe it won’t be as bad as you fear.

You steal a glance at Oscar as he walks beside you, his expression still impassive, but there’s a calmness about him, a quiet strength that’s undeniable. He’s your alpha now, and while the thought terrifies you, there’s also a small, tentative part of you that wonders if maybe, just maybe, this is how it’s supposed to be.

***

Oscar stands in the grand entrance of the school, his eyes sweeping across the opulent hall as he takes in the scene. Everything about this place exudes prestige, from the intricate detailing on the marble floors to the quiet efficiency with which the staff move about. This is where the finest omegas in Europe are trained, where alphas come to find their perfect matches. He’s never been one to doubt his choices, but today, there’s an edge of curiosity that’s unfamiliar, even unsettling.

“Mr. Piastri,” the headmistress greets him, her voice smooth and practiced, an air of deference in her tone. “We’re honored to have you here.”

He nods, acknowledging her words without much thought. His mind is elsewhere, focused on the task ahead. He’s done his research, learned about this place, about the selection process. He knows what he’s looking for, or at least he thinks he does. It’s supposed to be straightforward — a practical decision, not one driven by sentiment or instinct. But even as he tells himself that, there’s a part of him that knows better.

“Shall we begin?” The headmistress asks, her eyes watching him carefully, as if she’s trying to gauge his mood.

“Yes,” Oscar says simply, his voice even, controlled. There’s no need for pretense; he knows his presence here speaks for itself.

She leads him into the hall where the omegas are gathered, all dressed in identical white dresses, their heads bowed slightly in a show of submission. It’s a carefully curated display, one meant to impress, to showcase their training. But as Oscar enters the room, a different sense takes over.

It’s the scent that hits him first, a mixture of soft florals and something else, something sweeter, more intoxicating. It’s subtle, almost elusive, yet it cuts through the air like a sharp blade, setting his senses on high alert. For a moment, he’s thrown off balance, the unexpectedness of it catching him off guard.

He’s been around omegas before, of course. He knows how their pheromones work, how they can influence alphas, but this … this is different. This scent isn’t just pleasant, it’s magnetic, pulling at something deep within him that he hadn’t even realized was there. He finds himself scanning the line of omegas, searching for the source, his heartbeat quickening despite his attempts to stay composed.

“Mr. Piastri?” The headmistress’ voice cuts through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. She’s watching him, a hint of curiosity in her eyes.

“Go ahead,” Oscar says, waving her off as if everything is under control. He’s used to this, the scrutiny, the expectations. But right now, there’s something else at play, something he’s not sure how to navigate.

He moves down the line, his eyes sliding over the faces of the omegas, trying to identify the one whose scent has captivated him so thoroughly. There are many who glance up at him, hopeful, eager for his attention, but none of them seem to be the one he’s looking for.

Then, he sees you.

You’re standing near the end of the line, your posture perfect, your head slightly bowed like the others. But there’s something about the way you hold yourself, something different. And then there’s the scent — the one that’s been driving him to distraction since he walked in. It’s stronger here, more potent, wrapping around him and holding him in place.

Oscar’s steps slow as he approaches you, his gaze narrowing as he studies you more closely. You’re trembling slightly, he notices, though you’re doing your best to hide it. There’s a fragility to you, an air of vulnerability that he wasn’t expecting. But beneath that, there’s something else — an inner strength, a quiet resilience that draws him in even further.

Without thinking, he reaches out, tipping your chin up so he can see your face. The moment your eyes meet his, something clicks into place, something he can’t quite put into words. You’re beautiful, yes, but that’s not what’s holding his attention. It’s the way you look at him, a mix of fear and determination, as if you’re ready for whatever comes next, even if it terrifies you.

Oscar takes his time, letting the moment stretch out, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. Your scent is everywhere now, filling his lungs, clouding his thoughts. He knows he should be more objective, more calculating, but for the first time in a long time, he can’t bring himself to care.

“She’s one of our finest,” the headmistress says, her voice cutting into the moment like a knife. Oscar barely registers her words, his focus entirely on you.

“I want this one,” he says, his voice steady, final. There’s no hesitation, no doubt. He knows what he wants, and he’s not going to waste any time pretending otherwise.

The headmistress nods, clearly pleased. “Of course, Mr. Piastri.”

Oscar lets go of your chin, watching as you lower your gaze once more, obediently stepping back. The connection between you isn’t severed, though; if anything, it’s stronger now, more tangible. He feels it in the way his chest tightens, the way his instincts are screaming at him to keep you close, to never let you out of his sight.

He steps back, allowing the headmistress to take over, but his eyes never leave you. Even as she instructs you to gather your things, even as you turn to follow her orders, his focus remains on you. He’s never been one to act on impulse, to let his emotions dictate his actions, but right now, all he can think about is how he needs to get you out of here, to take you away from this place and claim you as his.

It’s irrational, and he knows it. But it’s also undeniable.

The minutes that pass feel like hours, each second dragging as he waits for you to return. He finds himself pacing, a rare show of impatience, his mind racing with possibilities. What will you be like, once you’re away from here? Will you still be this quiet, this controlled? Or will you reveal a different side of yourself, something more untamed?

When you finally reappear, suitcase in hand, Oscar feels a surge of something close to relief. You’re here, and you’re his, and that knowledge settles something deep within him. He reaches out, taking the suitcase from you, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment. The contact sends a jolt through him, and he wonders if you feel it too, if you’re as affected by this as he is.

“Ready?” He asks, his voice softer now, though still firm.

“Yes,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, but it’s enough. It’s all he needs to hear.

He turns to the headmistress, giving her a curt nod. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“It’s been our pleasure, Mr. Piastri,” she says, her tone just as polished as before, though there’s an undercurrent of satisfaction now. She’s done her job, and she knows it.

Oscar doesn’t waste any more time. He takes your hand, guiding you out of the hall and into the cool morning air. His grip is firm, possessive, as if he’s afraid you might slip away if he lets go.

As you walk beside him, he feels that same pull, that same magnetic force that’s been with him since the moment he caught your scent. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and he knows he’s in dangerous territory, but there’s no going back now. He’s made his choice, and he’s going to see it through.

The car is waiting at the curb, sleek and black, and Oscar opens the door for you, gesturing for you to get in. You do so without hesitation, and he follows, settling into the seat beside you.

The driver doesn’t say a word, just starts the engine and pulls away from the school. Oscar glances over at you, taking in the way you’re sitting so still, your hands folded neatly in your lap. There’s a tension in your posture, a lingering uncertainty, and he can’t help but wonder what’s going through your mind.

“Are you comfortable?” He asks, breaking the silence.

You nod, though it’s clear you’re still on edge. “Yes, Mr. Piastri.”

“Oscar,” he corrects, his tone gentler now. “You can call me Oscar.”

You hesitate, as if you’re not sure if it’s a test. “Oscar,” you repeat softly, and the sound of your voice saying his name sends a shiver down his spine.

There’s so much he wants to say, so many questions he wants to ask, but he holds back, giving you time to adjust. He knows this is overwhelming for you, that you’re probably terrified, but he also knows that you’re strong, that you’ve already proven yourself in ways that matter to him.

As the car speeds down the empty roads, Oscar leans back in his seat, his eyes never leaving you. He can’t predict what the future holds, can’t say for certain how this will all play out, but one thing is clear: you’re his now, and he’s not going to let anything come between you.

The scent that first drew him to you still lingers in the air, a constant reminder of the bond that’s forming between you. It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced, and he’s not sure how to navigate it, but he knows one thing for sure — he’s not going to let you go. Not now, not ever.

***

The cabin of the private jet hums with a quiet, luxurious calm, a stark contrast to the swirling storm of emotions inside you. You’re seated in a plush leather chair, staring out at the expanse of sky through the window. Clouds drift lazily by, but your thoughts are anything but tranquil.

Oscar sits across from you, his posture relaxed yet commanding. He’s been on his phone, dealing with some business matter, but even so, his presence dominates the space. You’ve barely spoken since boarding the jet, and every minute that passes feels like an eternity.

You steal a glance at him, trying to read the expression on his face, but it’s as composed as ever. You wonder what he’s thinking, if he’s having second thoughts. Your stomach twists with anxiety, not just from the uncertainty of what’s to come, but from something deeper, something that’s been building inside you ever since this morning.

Oscar finishes his call, slipping the phone into his pocket as he turns his attention fully to you. The weight of his gaze is almost unbearable, and you quickly lower your eyes, focusing on the smooth leather of the seat beneath your fingers.

“Monaco,” he says, breaking the silence. His voice is rich, deep, and it pulls your attention back to him. “I have an apartment there. That’s where we’ll be staying.”

Monaco. The name conjures images of sun-soaked coastlines, of wealth and glamour that you’ve only ever heard about. But all of that feels distant, almost unreal, compared to the reality of what you’re feeling right now.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Thank you,” you manage to say, though your voice trembles slightly.

Oscar watches you closely, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Something’s on your mind,” he states rather than asks. There’s no judgment in his tone, but the authority in his voice leaves no room for avoidance.

You hesitate, unsure of how to even begin. The words stick in your throat, the truth too uncomfortable to voice, but you know you can’t keep it hidden. Not from him. Not when it’s so important.

“They …” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “They gave us something … this morning.”

Oscar’s brows draw together, his expression shifting to one of concern mixed with something darker, more dangerous. “What do you mean?”

“They gave us heat inducers,” you confess, the words tumbling out in a rush. You don’t dare look at him, instead focusing on your hands as they clench and unclench nervously in your lap. “They wanted to make sure that if any of us were taken by an alpha today, our heats would start soon. So that … so that we could be … mated as quickly as possible.”

The silence that follows is heavy, oppressive. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, but you don’t dare look up, afraid of what you might see in his eyes.

Then, there’s a low, rumbling growl that reverberates through the cabin. It’s a sound that sends a shiver down your spine, both thrilling and terrifying. You risk a glance at Oscar, and what you see in his expression nearly takes your breath away.

His eyes have darkened, his jaw clenched tightly as he processes what you’ve just told him. There’s a fierce protectiveness in his gaze, but also something more primal, something that calls to the omega in you.

“How long?” He asks, his voice rougher now, as if he’s barely restraining himself.

“I … I don’t know,” you admit, your heart pounding in your chest. “It’s already starting. I can feel it.”

Oscar doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stands, moving with a predatory grace that sends your pulse racing. He crosses the small distance between you in just a few steps, and before you know it, he’s kneeling in front of you, his large hands resting on your knees.

The touch is electric, sending heat rushing through your veins. You gasp softly, instinctively trying to pull back, but Oscar’s grip tightens, holding you in place.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice leaving no room for disobedience.

You obey, lifting your eyes to meet his. The intensity in his gaze is overwhelming, and you feel yourself trembling under the weight of it.

“You’re mine now,” Oscar says, his tone possessive, yet there’s a tenderness there too, something that reassures you even as it stokes the flames of your heat. “Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. But it’s the truth. You’ve known it from the moment he chose you, from the moment his hand touched your chin and your world tilted on its axis.

Oscar’s eyes soften slightly at your answer, but the fire in them remains. He reaches up, his fingers brushing against your neck, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear where your mating gland is. The contact sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you bite your lip to stifle the moan that threatens to escape.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing gently over your gland, his touch both soothing and maddeningly arousing. “When the time comes, I’ll make sure you feel good. I’ll make sure you know exactly who you belong to.”

The promise in his words sends a wave of heat crashing through you, and you shudder, unable to contain the small whimper that slips out.

Oscar’s grip on you tightens for just a moment, and he leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “I want you to tell me everything you’re feeling,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “No hiding, no holding back. Understand?”

“Yes,” you manage to say, though it’s more of a breathless gasp than a proper response. Your mind is spinning, the heat building steadily inside you, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation.

He studies you for a moment longer, as if assessing your readiness, then slowly rises to his feet, pulling you up with him. The sudden change in position makes your head spin, and you find yourself leaning into him for support, your body seeking out his warmth instinctively.

Oscar wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close as he guides you to the couch on the other side of the cabin. He sits down first, then pulls you onto his lap, positioning you so that you’re straddling his thighs, your bodies pressed together intimately.

The new position brings your core into direct contact with the hard length of him, and the sensation is enough to make you gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders for balance. You can feel the heat pooling low in your belly, your body responding to his in ways you’ve never experienced before.

“Tell me what you need,” Oscar demands, his hands settling on your hips, holding you firmly in place. The look in his eyes is dark, intense, and it makes your heart race faster.

You hesitate, your mind foggy with desire, unsure of how to put your needs into words. But the pressure of his hands, the way he’s looking at you, tells you that he’s not going to let you avoid the question.

“I … I need you,” you finally admit, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Please … it’s so hot, and I can’t … I can’t think straight.”

Oscar’s eyes flash with something predatory, and he shifts beneath you, his grip on your hips tightening. “That’s because your body knows exactly what it needs,” he says, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “It’s instinct, omega. And it’s only going to get stronger.”

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks, sending shivers down your spine. “I want you to let go,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. “Don’t fight it. I’ll take care of everything.”

You moan softly, the sound involuntary as his words sink into your mind, the command laced with something deeper, something that resonates with the omega inside you.

Oscar’s hands begin to move, one sliding up your back to cradle the nape of your neck, the other slipping down to cup your ass, holding you firmly against him. The heat between you is palpable, and you can feel yourself growing wetter, your body readying itself for what’s to come.

“Good girl,” Oscar murmurs, his voice filled with approval. The praise makes you whimper, your body arching into his touch, desperate for more.

He chuckles softly, a sound that’s equal parts amusement and satisfaction. “You’re already so responsive,” he notes, his hand sliding up your thigh to the hem of your dress, fingers teasing the sensitive skin there. “It won’t be long now.”

You can feel the truth in his words, the heat inside you building to a fever pitch, your body trembling with need. It’s almost unbearable, the ache, the hunger, and you press yourself against him, seeking out any form of relief.

Oscar’s fingers trail higher, pushing the fabric of your dress up your thighs, exposing more of your skin to the cool air of the cabin. The contrast only heightens your arousal, and you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as your hips start to move instinctively, grinding against him.

“Shh,” Oscar soothes, his hand sliding up your back to cradle your head, guiding you to rest your forehead against his shoulder. “I know, sweetheart. I know it’s hard. But I’m right here. I’m going to take care of you.”

Oscar’s touch is electric, his fingers gliding with a deliberate slowness up the inside of your thigh. The sensation sends shivers through you, your body reacting to every subtle movement. You cling to him, your breath ragged, heart pounding in your chest as the heat deepens, spreading like wildfire.

He’s still cradling you on his lap, his other hand steady at the nape of your neck, holding you close to him. The intimacy of the moment is almost too much to bear, and yet, you crave more. The pressure building inside you is overwhelming, a desperate need that only he can satisfy.

Oscar’s hand inches higher, slipping beneath the thin fabric of your panties. The touch of his fingers against your slick folds draws a gasp from your lips, your hips instinctively bucking against his hand. He hums in approval, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “Your body’s more than ready, isn’t it?”

You can only manage a breathless nod in response, your mind too clouded with desire to form coherent words. His fingers explore with a deliberate slowness, tracing the contours of your body, heightening your arousal with every teasing stroke. When he finally brushes against your swollen clit, your body jerks, a soft cry escaping your lips.

Oscar’s grip tightens slightly, holding you in place as his fingers begin to move in slow, torturous circles. The pleasure is almost too much, and yet it’s not enough — nowhere near enough to satisfy the gnawing hunger inside you. The need for more, for him, drives you to the brink of madness, and you find yourself whining, pleading with him for release.

“Please, Oscar … more … I need more …” Your voice is a desperate whimper, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing anchoring you to reality.

But Oscar doesn’t relent, doesn’t give you what you’re begging for. Instead, he keeps his movements slow, controlled, as if testing your limits. His touch is maddeningly precise, each brush of his fingers sending waves of pleasure coursing through you, yet never quite enough to push you over the edge.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice soothing but firm. “You’re not ready. Not here.”

His words are both a comfort and a torment. You understand what he’s doing, why he’s holding back, but it doesn’t make the ache inside you any less excruciating. The heat is becoming unbearable, and you grind yourself against his hand, seeking more friction, more anything, to ease the burning need.

Oscar’s fingers dip lower, sliding inside you with agonizing slowness, and you cry out, the sensation almost too much to bear. He stills for a moment, allowing you to adjust, his other hand gently stroking your back as you pant against his neck.

“So tight,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, his voice laced with a mix of pride and possessiveness. “You’re going to feel so good around me when the time comes.”

You whimper at his words, the thought of what’s to come sending another rush of heat through you. But just as you start to lose yourself in the pleasure, in the feeling of his fingers moving inside you, the jet gives a sudden lurch, signaling the start of your descent.

Oscar’s touch freezes, and you blink in confusion, your dazed mind struggling to comprehend what’s happening. His hand slips from between your thighs, and you make a small sound of protest, your body trembling with the sudden loss of contact.

“I know, sweetheart,” he says softly, his voice tinged with regret. “But we’re landing. We have to wait.”

“No …” The word slips out before you can stop it, a pitiful, desperate plea. The idea of stopping now, of having to endure this unbearable heat without relief, is almost too much to bear. “Please … don’t stop …”

Oscar sighs, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, gently tilting your head back so that you’re forced to meet his gaze. There’s a softness in his eyes now, a tenderness that contrasts sharply with the heat between you.

“Not here,” he says firmly, though there’s a note of apology in his voice. “When we get to the apartment, I promise I’ll take care of you. But not here.”

You shake your head, tears of frustration and need welling up in your eyes. The logical part of you understands — knows that he’s right — but the omega in you, the part that’s driven by instinct and need, doesn’t care. You need him, now, and the idea of waiting feels impossible.

Oscar’s thumb strokes your cheek, wiping away a stray tear, and he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I know it’s hard,” he murmurs against your skin. “But I want our first time to be special. Not rushed, not in some cramped cabin. You deserve more than that.”

His words, his touch, they soothe you, if only slightly. You nod, though the movement is reluctant, and he smiles softly, pressing another kiss to your temple.

“Good girl,” he praises, his voice filled with warmth. The words send a small thrill through you, even as your body continues to throb with unmet need.

The jet gives another lurch, and Oscar shifts, carefully lifting you off his lap and setting you down beside him. The sudden distance between you makes you whimper, but he’s quick to wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to his side.

“Just a little longer,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair. “Then I’ll make sure you get everything you need.”

You nod again, leaning into his warmth as the jet begins its final descent. The anticipation is almost unbearable, the knowledge that relief is so close yet still out of reach making every passing second feel like an eternity.

When the jet finally lands, Oscar is the first to rise, holding out a hand to help you to your feet. Your legs are shaky, and he wraps an arm around your waist to steady you as you make your way to the door.

The heat is building, every step sending a fresh wave of desire coursing through you. By the time you reach the door, you’re trembling, your body barely able to contain the need that’s threatening to consume you.

Oscar notices, of course. He’s been watching you closely, his sharp eyes missing nothing. As the door opens and the cool night air rushes in, he pauses, turning to you with a look of concern.

“Are you alright to walk?” He asks, his voice gentle, but there’s an underlying tension there, as if he’s barely holding himself back.

You shake your head, your legs too shaky to trust, the heat making it hard to think straight. “I … I don’t think I can …”

Oscar doesn’t hesitate. In one smooth motion, he scoops you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he steps out of the jet. The sudden movement makes you gasp, but you quickly wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him as he carries you down the steps.

The car is waiting at the bottom, the driver standing at attention, but Oscar doesn’t spare him a glance. He moves with purpose, his grip on you secure as he carries you to the car and slides into the backseat with you still in his arms.

Once inside, he positions you so that you’re straddling his lap again, your bodies pressed together. The door closes behind you, and the car starts moving, but all you can focus on is the feel of him beneath you, the heat of his body seeping into yours.

“Oscar … please …” The words slip out before you can stop them, your voice filled with desperation.

He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your lower lip as he studies you, his expression a mix of concern and desire. “I know, sweetheart,” he says softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I know how hard this is for you.”

You whimper, your hips instinctively rocking against his lap in search of relief, but Oscar’s hands grip your waist, stilling your movements.

“But not here,” he repeats, his tone firm despite the longing in his eyes. “I won’t take you for the first time in the back of a car. You deserve better than that.”

His words are both a comfort and a torment. You understand what he’s saying, know that he’s trying to do right by you, but the need inside you is growing stronger with every passing second, making it hard to think, hard to focus on anything other than the burning desire to be claimed.

Oscar’s hand slides up to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ll make it worth the wait,” he promises, his voice a low, seductive rumble. “I’ll make sure you feel every second of it.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and you moan softly, pressing your forehead against his shoulder as you try to steady your breathing. The heat is almost unbearable now, your body trembling with the effort to hold back.

Oscar’s hands continue to roam, one slipping beneath your dress to caress your thigh, the other trailing up your spine in a soothing gesture. He’s trying to comfort you, to ease your suffering, but it’s a losing battle. The need is too strong, too overwhelming.

“Just hold on a little longer,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “We’re almost there.”

By the time the car pulls up to the sleek, modern apartment building, you’re trembling uncontrollably, your body nearly vibrating with the intensity of the heat that’s been steadily building since you left the jet. Oscar, ever aware of your condition, doesn’t waste a second. He’s out of the car and around to your side before the driver can even think to open the door for you.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he murmurs as he reaches for you, his tone soothing despite the underlying urgency in his movements. His strong arms wrap around you, effortlessly lifting you from the backseat. As he stands, you feel the dampness between your legs spread, leaving a wet spot on his pant leg.

A flicker of something dark and possessive crosses his face as he notices, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he tightens his grip, holding you closer against his chest as if shielding you from the world. His pace quickens as he heads toward the entrance of the building, your soft whimpers filling the space between you.

“Oscar … please …” Your voice is barely more than a breathy moan, the plea escaping before you can stop it. The need inside you is too overwhelming to contain, and you’re desperate for him to finally take you, to claim you as his.

His jaw clenches, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves, but he doesn’t stop. “I know, baby,” he replies, his voice rough with restraint. “Just a little longer. We’re almost there.”

The elevator ride feels like an eternity. You’re wrapped around him, clutching his shoulders, your face buried in the crook of his neck as you try to suppress the sobs of need that threaten to escape. Oscar’s hand rubs soothing circles on your back, his other arm securing you tightly against him. Every touch is a lifeline, but it’s also torture, reminding you of everything you’re not yet getting.

When the elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, Oscar strides out without hesitation, his eyes fixed on the door to his apartment. You whimper, your hands fisting in his shirt as the desperation in your voice grows. “Oscar … please … I can’t …”

“You can,” he insists, his voice low and commanding as he finally reaches his door. “Just a few more seconds, and then I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

He fumbles with the keys, the tension in his body palpable. You can see the struggle in his eyes, the barely controlled restraint that’s holding him back from giving in to your pleas right there in the hallway. Finally, the door swings open, and he carries you over the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him.

He drops the luggage carelessly by the entrance, his focus entirely on you. The moment the door clicks shut, something shifts in him. The restraint he’s been clinging to snaps, and he moves with purpose, his steps quick and sure as he heads straight for the bedroom.

You’re practically panting by the time he sets you down on the edge of the bed, your legs weak and trembling beneath you. Oscar’s eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire as he looks at you, his gaze intense, predatory.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with possession. “You’re so desperate for it, aren’t you? I can smell it on you, how badly you need me.”

You nod frantically, your hands reaching for him, trying to pull him closer. “Please, Oscar … I need you … now …”

He smirks, the sight of your desperation clearly affecting him, but he doesn’t give in right away. Instead, he takes a moment to savor the sight of you, his eyes raking over your trembling form as he steps between your legs.

“I’m going to make sure you never forget this,” he promises, his voice a low growl as his hands slide up your thighs, pushing your dress up over your hips. “You’re mine now, and I’m going to make sure everyone knows it.”

A shudder runs through you at his words, the possessiveness in his tone only fueling the fire inside you. You lean back on your elbows, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you watch him with wide, pleading eyes.

“Oscar, please … I can’t wait any longer …”

His eyes darken further, and he lets out a low, rumbling growl as he finally gives in, his hands moving to strip away the last of your clothing. The cool air hits your heated skin, and you whimper, your body arching toward him, craving his touch.

Oscar wastes no time, his hands everywhere at once, touching, caressing, teasing. His mouth follows, lips and tongue tracing a scorching path along your neck, down to your chest, and lower still. Every touch, every kiss, only heightens your arousal, pushing you closer to the edge.

When his hand finally slips between your legs again, you let out a broken moan, your hips lifting off the bed in search of more contact. He chuckles darkly, his fingers parting your folds and slipping inside with ease, the slickness of your arousal making the movement effortless.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice laced with satisfaction. “So ready to be claimed.”

You can only moan in response, your body writhing beneath him as his fingers begin to move, slow and deliberate, dragging out your pleasure until you’re on the verge of tears.

“Oscar … please … I need you inside me …”

He growls at your plea, his control slipping further as he pulls his fingers out, making you whimper at the loss. But then he’s undressing, and your eyes widen as you watch him, the anticipation building with every second.

When he finally joins you on the bed, his body hovering over yours, you reach for him, your hands shaking with need. He captures your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head as he settles between your legs, his gaze locking with yours.

“This is going to be intense,” he warns, his voice low and rough with desire. “But I need you to trust me, okay?”

You nod frantically, your body aching for him, needing him more than you’ve ever needed anything in your life. “I trust you,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Please, Oscar … make me yours …”

That’s all the encouragement he needs. With a low growl, he positions himself at your entrance, and with one swift, powerful thrust, he’s inside you, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, and you cry out, your back arching off the bed as pleasure and pain mix together in a heady, intoxicating blend.

Oscar stills for a moment, letting you adjust, his breath coming in harsh pants as he struggles to hold back. His grip on your wrists tightens, his other hand sliding down to grip your hip, holding you in place.

“You’re so tight,” he groans, his voice strained. “Fuck, you feel so good around me …”

You whimper, your body trembling with the effort to hold still, the overwhelming sensation of being so completely filled making it hard to think, hard to breathe. But the pain is already fading, quickly replaced by a deep, aching pleasure that leaves you desperate for more.

“Move,” you plead, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Please, Oscar … I need you to move …”

He lets out a shuddering breath, his control hanging by a thread as he slowly pulls out, only to thrust back in with a force that makes you see stars. The pleasure is immediate, a sharp, intense burst that has you crying out, your body arching into his.

Oscar’s pace is relentless, each thrust deep and powerful, driving you closer and closer to the edge. You’re lost in the sensation, your world narrowed down to the feel of him inside you, the heat of his body against yours, the sound of his growls and your moans filling the room.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice rough and possessive as he pounds into you. “All mine … I’m going to make sure everyone knows it …”

You’re too far gone to respond, your body trembling as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak. It’s too much, too intense, and yet you can’t get enough. You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you feel yourself teetering on the edge of release.

Oscar’s hand moves to your neck, his thumb brushing over your mating gland, and you cry out at the sudden jolt of pleasure. “Do it,” you plead, your voice breaking. “Please, Oscar … bite me … claim me …”

He lets out a guttural growl, his control finally snapping as he lowers his head to your neck. His teeth graze over your gland, and you shudder, your body tensing in anticipation.

“Mine,” he snarls, and then he bites down, his teeth sinking into your flesh with a sharp, searing pain that quickly turns into the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt.

The orgasm hits you like a freight train, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. You scream his name, your voice raw and broken as you unravel completely beneath him.

Oscar growls against your neck, his hips slamming into you with a renewed intensity as he rides out your orgasm, his own release following close behind. He thrusts deep inside you, filling you with his seed as he marks you as his, the bond between you solidifying with each pulse of pleasure.

When it’s over, you collapse against the bed, your body trembling with aftershocks, your mind dazed and blissfully blank. Oscar’s breath is hot against your neck, his body still pressing you into the mattress as the intensity of your shared cliDylan begins to ebb. You’re both trembling, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through your veins as your minds struggle to grasp what just happened. He’s still buried deep inside you, his knot holding you together, and the thought of being this intimately connected with him sends another shiver of pleasure down your spine.

He nuzzles into your neck, his lips brushing over the fresh bite mark he’s left on your mating gland, the sensation making you whimper softly. “You did so well, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky with satisfaction. “So good for me.”

You’re too spent to respond, your body heavy and exhausted from the intense pleasure he’s wrung out of you. Instead, you nuzzle closer to him, your eyes fluttering shut as the heat in your body temporarily dies down, leaving you in a blissful haze.

Oscar shifts slightly, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him so that you’re lying on his chest, still intimately connected. His hands stroke soothingly down your back, and you let out a contented sigh, feeling safe and secure in his arms.

“You should get some sleep while you can,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble beneath you. “There’s going to be another wave soon, and you’ll need your strength.”

You know he’s right, but the thought of sleeping while you’re still so tightly bound to him feels almost impossible. You’re too aware of his presence, of the way his knot is still lodged deep inside you, of the steady thrum of his heart beneath your ear. But exhaustion is quickly catching up with you, and before long, your eyes are drifting shut, your body relaxing fully against his.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, your voice drowsy as sleep begins to pull you under.

“Always,” he replies, his voice filled with a quiet promise.

The last thing you feel before sleep claims you is the gentle press of his lips against your temple, the warmth of his body surrounding you, and the comfort of knowing that, for the first time in your life, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

When you wake, the room is dark, and the only sound is the steady rise and fall of Oscar’s breathing. Your body is warm and heavy, still draped over his chest, still connected to him in the most intimate way. But as your mind begins to shake off the lingering remnants of sleep, you become acutely aware of the insistent throbbing between your legs, the undeniable need that’s starting to build once again.

You shift slightly, your movement eliciting a low groan from Oscar as the motion tugs at his knot, still firmly in place inside you. The sensation sends a wave of heat through you, and you let out a soft whine, your body instinctively pressing closer to him.

Oscar stirs beneath you, his hands sliding up to rest on your hips, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re awake,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

“Mmhmm,” you reply, your voice breathy as you nuzzle into his chest. “I need you …”

He lets out a low chuckle, his hands beginning to trace soothing patterns on your skin. “You’ve got me, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

But it’s not enough. The need inside you is growing stronger, more insistent, and you can feel the heat beginning to rise again, demanding more. “I need more than that,” you whisper, your voice laced with desperation. “Please, Oscar …”

His hands still on your hips, his body tensing beneath you. “It’s too soon,” he says, his voice rough with restraint. “This is only your first heat with me. We have time, plenty of time for that later.”

You shake your head, a whimper escaping your lips as you press closer, your body aching with need. “No, I need it now. I need you to knot me again … I need you to give me pups …”

Oscar’s breath catches in his throat, his hands tightening on your hips as he tries to maintain control. “Sweetheart, listen to me,” he begins, his voice strained. “I want that too, but this is your first time going through heat with me. We should wait-”

“No,” you cut him off, your voice firm despite the desperation lacing it. “I can’t wait. I need you now, Oscar. Please … I need to feel you knot me again, to know that I’m yours completely …”

He lets out a low growl, his control slipping further as your words push him closer to the edge. “You are mine,” he snarls, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. “You’re already mine. I’ve marked you, claimed you-”

“Then show me,” you plead, your voice breaking as you grind down against him, desperate for the friction. “Show me that I’m yours … knot me and fill me, Oscar. Give me pups …”

His restraint snaps completely at your words, and with a feral growl, he flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him as he pulls out of you, only to thrust back in with a force that leaves you breathless. The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure as his knot stretches you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“You want my knot?” He growls, his voice rough and possessive as he pounds into you with an intensity that has you seeing stars. “You want me to fill you with my pups?”

“Yes,” you cry out, your body arching off the bed as you cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Yes, please, Oscar … I need it …”

He’s relentless, his thrusts deep and powerful as he chases his own release, the sound of your cries and pleas only spurring him on. The heat between your legs is almost unbearable, the pleasure building to a fever pitch as his knot swells inside you, locking you together once again.

“I’m going to give you everything,” he growls, his voice low and rough as he drives into you with a single-minded focus. “You’re going to take all of me, every last drop …”

You can’t form coherent words anymore, your mind too lost in the overwhelming pleasure, but you manage a breathless moan, the sound desperate and needy as you beg him for more.

Oscar doesn’t disappoint. With a final, powerful thrust, he knots you, his body going rigid as he spills inside you, filling you with his seed. The sensation is enough to send you over the edge, and you scream his name as you’re thrown into another intense orgasm, your body shaking and trembling beneath him.

He rides out your release, his movements slow and deliberate as he pushes you through the waves of pleasure, his knot pulsing inside you with every throb of his cock. You’re barely aware of anything else, your mind completely consumed by the sensation of being filled so completely, so perfectly by him.

When it’s over, you collapse against the bed, your body trembling with aftershocks, your mind dazed and blissfully blank. Oscar’s weight presses down on you, his breath hot against your neck as he nuzzles into your skin, his knot still lodged firmly inside you.

“Mine,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble as he kisses your neck, the possessiveness in his tone clear. “You’re mine, and now everyone will know it …”

You let out a soft, contented sigh, the sound barely more than a whisper as you relax completely in his arms. “Always,” you reply, your voice drowsy as sleep begins to pull you under once again.

Oscar hums in response, his hands stroking soothingly down your back as he holds you close. “Get some rest, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice soft and tender. “I’ve got you.”

You don’t need to be told twice. The exhaustion from the intensity of your heat is catching up with you, and your eyes are already drifting shut, your body relaxing completely against his.

The last thing you feel before sleep claims you is the gentle press of his lips against your temple, the warmth of his body surrounding you, and the comfort of knowing that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be — safe, loved, and claimed by the alpha who now holds your heart in his hands.

***

The days blend together in a rhythm that becomes both comforting and suffocating. You wake up alone in the large bed, the sheets still warm from where Oscar had been lying beside you, his scent lingering in the air. The apartment is quiet, too quiet, with only the distant hum of the city outside to keep you company. The space around you is luxurious and expansive, but it feels empty without him.

Oscar has people for everything — cooking, cleaning, managing his life outside the realm of racing. You’d been trained to handle those tasks, taught to be the perfect omega who could anticipate and fulfill every need an alpha might have. But here, in Oscar’s world, those skills are unnecessary. The staff handles the meals, tidying up, and even the minutiae of his schedule. It leaves you with little to do, your days stretching out in a seemingly endless wait for him to return from training, meetings, or other obligations.

It’s the nights you live for, the moments when he finally comes home and the two of you can lose yourselves in each other. The way he takes you, the way he makes you feel, it’s overwhelming, all-consuming. In those moments, nothing else matters. The world narrows down to just the two of you, your bodies moving together in perfect synchrony, your cries of pleasure mingling with his growls of satisfaction. You crave those nights, where the boundaries between you blur, and all you can feel is the heat and the raw, primal connection that bonds you together.

But when the night ends, and the morning comes, the cycle starts again. He kisses you softly before slipping out of bed, leaving you to wake alone, his absence a gaping void that you can’t quite fill. You’ve tried to distract yourself, tried to find ways to pass the time, but nothing seems to help. You miss him when he’s gone, the ache of longing settling deep in your chest, gnawing at you throughout the day.

You spend your days wandering through the apartment, aimless and restless, your mind filled with thoughts of Oscar. Sometimes you’ll curl up on the couch, pulling one of his shirts over your knees just to feel closer to him. Other times, you’ll find yourself standing at the window, staring out at the city below, wondering where he is, what he’s doing, and when he’ll come back to you.

The staff is polite and attentive, but they’re not him. They’re not the warm, reassuring presence that you crave, the one who makes you feel safe and wanted. They do their jobs efficiently, always a step ahead, always ensuring that everything is perfect for when Oscar returns. But their presence only serves to remind you of the emptiness that fills your days.

When Oscar finally comes home, it’s like a breath of fresh air, a reprieve from the stifling monotony that your days have become. You run to him, your body instinctively seeking out his warmth, his touch. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his scent filling your senses and grounding you in a way nothing else can.

“Missed you,” you murmur against his chest, your voice soft and full of longing.

“Missed you too, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice a low rumble as he kisses the top of your head. “But I’m here now.”

The nights are everything you could ever want, a heady mix of pleasure and passion that leaves you breathless and sated. Oscar knows exactly how to touch you, how to draw out every moan and whimper, how to make you forget everything except the way he feels inside you. It’s a relief to lose yourself in him, to drown in the intensity of your connection, to feel completely and utterly his.

It’s after one such night that you find yourself lying in his arms, your body still humming with the afterglow of pleasure. The room is dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of the city outside the window. Oscar’s chest rises and falls steadily beneath your cheek, his hand lazily tracing patterns on your back as he holds you close.

“Are you alright?” He murmurs, his voice soft and full of concern.

You nod, but the words you’ve been holding back for days now bubble to the surface. “I … I miss you when you’re away.”

There’s a pause, and you feel Oscar’s body tense slightly beneath you. He shifts, moving so that he can look down at you, his brow furrowed in concern. “Sweetheart, I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

You bite your lip, feeling a little embarrassed by your admission. “It’s just … when you’re gone, I don’t know what to do with myself. The days are so long, and I feel so … lost without you.”

Oscar sighs, his hand cupping your cheek as he strokes his thumb over your skin. “I’m sorry, I never meant for you to feel like that. I thought you might need some time to adjust, to get used to this new life. But if it’s too much, I’ll figure something out. I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

“It’s not that I’m unhappy,” you say quickly, not wanting him to think you’re ungrateful. “I just miss you. I miss having you close, knowing you’re here with me. It’s hard when you’re gone, and I’m just … waiting.”

Oscar’s expression softens, and he pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I didn’t realize how much you were struggling. I’ve been trying to give you space, but if it’s making you feel like this, then it’s not working.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his. “I don’t need space, Oscar. I need you. I want to be with you, wherever that is. I don’t care if it’s at home or at a race or anywhere else. I just want to be by your side.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes thoughtful as he considers your words. Then, he nods, as if coming to a decision. “Alright, then. If that’s what you want, I won’t leave you behind anymore.”

You blink up at him, surprised by how easily he agrees. “You mean it?”

“I do,” he says, his voice firm. “I’ve been waiting for you to settle in, to see if you’d be comfortable here on your own. But I can see now that this isn’t working. I don’t want you to feel lonely, and I don’t want to be away from you either.”

Your heart swells with emotion, and you lean up to kiss him, pouring all of your gratitude and love into the gesture. “Thank you,” you whisper against his lips. “I don’t want to be apart from you anymore.”

Oscar kisses you back, his hands threading through your hair as he deepens the kiss, his tongue teasing yours in a way that has your toes curling. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are filled with a warmth that makes you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

“From now on, you’ll come with me,” he says, his voice full of promise. “Wherever I go, you’ll be there too. I won’t leave you behind again.”

The relief that washes over you is almost overwhelming, and you can’t help but smile up at him, feeling lighter than you have in days. The thought of traveling with him, of being by his side no matter where he goes, fills you with a sense of purpose and belonging that you’ve been craving.

“Thank you,” you say again, your voice filled with gratitude. “I can’t wait to be with you, wherever that is.”

Oscar smiles, his eyes soft as he looks down at you. “Neither can I, sweetheart. Neither can I.”

As you settle back into his arms, your heart feels full, the ache of loneliness that has plagued you for so long finally beginning to fade. You know that being with Oscar, traveling by his side, won’t always be easy. There will be challenges, new environments to adapt to, and the pressures of his career. But none of that matters as long as you’re together.

You press a soft kiss to his chest, letting your eyes drift shut as you snuggle closer to him. The future feels bright, full of possibilities that you hadn’t dared to hope for. And most importantly, it’s a future where you won’t have to be apart from the one person who means everything to you.

Oscar’s hand continues to stroke your back in soothing circles, his warmth and scent surrounding you, grounding you in the here and now. “Get some sleep, love,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle rumble. “We’ve got a lot to look forward to.”

You smile against his skin, feeling completely at peace for the first time in days. “Goodnight, Oscar,” you whisper, your voice filled with contentment.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he replies, his lips brushing over your temple as he holds you close.

As you drift off to sleep, you know that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together, side by side. And that’s all you could ever want.

***

The roar of engines is deafening, the air thick with the scent of burning rubber and fuel as you stand on the sidelines, watching the blur of cars as they speed around the track. This is your first time at a race, the sheer energy and intensity of the event almost overwhelming. The crowd is a sea of color, cheering and waving flags, the excitement palpable in the air. You feel a thrill of anticipation as you watch Oscar’s car navigate the circuit with practiced ease, your heart swelling with pride.

It’s surreal being here, surrounded by so many people, so much noise, so much movement. You’ve heard stories about the races from Oscar, but nothing could have prepared you for the real thing. The speed, the adrenaline, the stakes — it’s all so much more than you’d imagined. You can barely keep your eyes off the screen that tracks the positions, each lap feeling like a small victory as Oscar maintains his place near the front.

But then, something shifts.

A sudden hush falls over the crowd, a sharp intake of breath as something unexpected happens on the track. You watch in horror as Oscar’s car and Lando’s car make contact, the two vehicles colliding with a screech of metal and rubber. The impact sends Oscar’s car spinning off the track, his position slipping away in an instant.

Your heart drops into your stomach, panic rising as you watch the car come to a stop, half-buried in gravel. For a moment, the world seems to stand still, the only sound the blood rushing in your ears. Then, as if in slow motion, you see Oscar emerge from the car, the safety personnel rushing to his side. Relief floods through you, but it’s short-lived as you see the way he carries himself, the tension in his shoulders, the dark look in his eyes.

Something’s wrong.

You can feel it, a shift in the air, a dark, possessive energy radiating from him even from this distance. The cameras zoom in on his face, and you see it — the barely restrained fury, the cold, calculating look that makes your blood run cold. Oscar is not just angry; he’s on the verge of something far more primal, far more dangerous.

You don’t even realize you’re moving until you find yourself near the garage, your feet carrying you closer to where you know he’ll be headed. The tension in the pit is palpable, everyone on edge as they wait for Oscar to arrive. You can see the way the crew exchanges nervous glances, whispering among themselves, unsure of how to handle the situation.

And then he appears.

Oscar storms into the garage, his presence like a thunderstorm rolling in, dark and ominous. The crew parts for him without a word, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and respect. He doesn’t even acknowledge them, his gaze focused solely on you, as if nothing else exists in the world. The intensity in his eyes is overwhelming, a raw, feral need that takes your breath away.

Before you can say anything, before you can even think, Oscar is in front of you, his hands gripping your arms as he pulls you close. The scent of him is overwhelming, a heady mix of sweat, adrenaline, and something darker, something possessive. You can feel the tension radiating off him, his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap.

“Oscar,” you breathe, trying to calm him, but your voice is lost in the chaos around you.

He doesn’t say a word, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your knees weak. There’s something primal in his gaze, something that tells you he’s on the edge, barely holding on to control. Without warning, he dips his head, his nose brushing against your neck as he inhales deeply, taking in your scent as if it’s the only thing grounding him.

You shiver, your body responding instinctively to his touch, to the dominance that radiates from him in waves. He growls low in his throat, a sound that vibrates through you, sending a thrill of both fear and excitement down your spine. It’s a warning, a claim, and you know without a doubt that everyone around you understands what it means.

He’s staking his claim on you, right here in front of everyone.

Oscar’s hands move to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he nuzzles your neck, his breath hot against your skin. The world around you fades, the only thing you can focus on is him, the way his body presses against yours, the way his lips brush over your mating gland, sending sparks of electricity through your veins.

And then, he bites.

It’s not a gentle bite, not like the ones he’s given you in bed. This is possessive, demanding, a show of dominance that leaves no room for doubt. You gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders as your body goes limp in his arms, overwhelmed by the surge of pleasure and pain that courses through you. He growls again, his teeth sinking deeper into your skin as he marks you, his claim on you undeniable.

You can feel the eyes of everyone in the garage on you, can hear the whispers, the shocked gasps, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except for the way Oscar is holding you, the way he’s making sure everyone knows you belong to him and him alone.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes are wild, his breathing ragged. There’s a dark, possessive satisfaction in his gaze as he looks down at you, his thumb brushing over the fresh bite mark with a kind of reverence. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to — his actions speak louder than words ever could.

You’re his, and he’s not about to let anyone forget it.

The crew doesn’t dare to interfere, their eyes averted as Oscar pulls you even closer, his arm wrapping around your waist as if to shield you from the world. He’s not done yet, not by a long shot, and you can feel the tension in his body, the barely restrained urge to take you right here, right now.

But somehow, he manages to hold back, his grip on control tenuous at best. He growls again, a low, dangerous sound that sends a shiver of anticipation through you. Without a word, he starts moving, dragging you along with him as he heads towards his driver’s room, his steps quick and determined.

You can barely keep up, your heart pounding in your chest as he pulls you through the garage, his focus entirely on getting you alone. The door to his driver’s room slams shut behind you, and the moment you’re alone, the last shred of Oscar’s control snaps.

He’s on you in an instant, his mouth crashing down on yours in a bruising, possessive kiss that steals the breath from your lungs. His hands are everywhere, tugging at your clothes, pulling you closer, his need for you palpable in every touch, every kiss, every growl that rumbles in his chest.

“Oscar,” you gasp when he pulls back just enough to let you breathe, his hands already working on the buttons of your shirt. “Please …”

“I can’t … I need …” His voice is rough, desperate, his hands trembling as he rips your shirt open, the buttons flying in every direction.

You barely have time to react before his mouth is on your neck, kissing, licking, biting, his hands sliding down to your waist to tug at the waistband of your pants. There’s a wildness to him, a desperation that you’ve never seen before, and it sends a thrill of both excitement and fear through you.

His rut is taking over, his need to claim you, to possess you, overriding everything else. You’re helpless against the onslaught of sensation, your body responding to him instinctively, your mind hazy with desire.

“Oscar,” you whimper, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he pulls your pants down, his hands gripping your thighs as he lifts you up, pressing you against the wall.

“Mine,” he growls, his eyes dark with need as he looks down at you, his hands spreading your legs as he presses his hips against yours.

You can feel him, hard and ready, the evidence of his need pressing against your core, and it drives you wild with desire. Your hands fumble with his belt, your fingers trembling as you try to unbuckle it, desperate to feel him inside you.

“Oscar, please,” you beg, your voice barely more than a whisper as you look up at him, your eyes wide with need.

His control is slipping, his eyes darkening as he watches you struggle to free him from his pants. With a growl, he grabs your hands, pinning them above your head as he uses his other hand to tear his zipper down, his race suit sliding down to his hips.

He’s rough, desperate, his hands gripping your thighs as he lines himself up, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. There’s no more time for words, no more time for hesitation. He’s too far gone, too deep into his rut to hold back any longer.

With a single, powerful thrust, he’s inside you, and the world explodes into a whirlwind of sensation. The pleasure is overwhelming, your body arching against his as he moves, each thrust harder, faster, more desperate than the last.

You can barely think, barely breathe, your mind consumed by the raw, primal need that courses through you. All you can do is hold on, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he takes you, his possessiveness, his dominance, his need to claim you driving him to the edge.

“Oscar … I can’t …” You try to form a coherent thought, but it’s impossible, the pleasure too much, too intense, too all-consuming.

“Mine,” he growls again, his teeth grazing your mating gland, the sharp points teasing at the skin, sending shivers down your spine. He’s buried deep inside you, his pace unrelenting, driving into you with a force that has you gasping, your body pinned between him and the wall. The world outside is nothing more than a distant memory now, lost to the haze of heat and need that pulses between you.

He’s so deep in his rut that he can barely speak, his words slurring together as his instincts take over. “Good omega … my perfect omega …” he mutters, his voice rough and hoarse, every syllable dripping with raw, animalistic possession. “You’ll be … you’ll be the perfect mother … for our pups.”

The words send a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body, the thought of bearing his pups, of being filled by him in every possible way, setting your nerves on fire. He can feel it too, the way your body responds to his words, the way you tighten around him, and it only spurs him on. His hand moves from your waist, sliding down to press against your lower abdomen, right where his knot is beginning to swell, becoming visible through the skin.

“You feel that?” Oscar growls, his hand pressing down on the slight bulge, making you cry out, your body arching against him. “That’s my knot … locking you in place … filling you with my seed … making you mine in every way …”

You can only moan in response, your mind too clouded with pleasure to form any coherent words. His hand stays on your stomach, pressing down just enough to intensify the sensation, to make you acutely aware of how deep he is inside you, how thoroughly he’s claimed you. The pressure is almost too much, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that has you trembling in his arms, your legs barely able to support you.

“You’re so perfect … so good for me …” Oscar continues, his voice rough with need. His thrusts slow, becoming more deliberate, more focused as his knot swells, locking him inside you. The pressure builds, the sensation of being so completely filled by him overwhelming every other thought, every other feeling.

His hand on your stomach presses down harder, as if he’s trying to push his knot even deeper, and the sensation is almost too much to bear. You can feel every inch of him, every ridge, every pulse, and it’s driving you to the brink of madness. “Gonna give you everything,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, possessive growl. “Everything you need … everything I have …”

You whimper, the sound muffled by the intensity of the moment, your body shuddering against him as he continues to speak, his voice a rough, desperate whisper in your ear. “You’ll be such a good mother … carrying our pups … taking care of them … just like you take care of me …”

He’s rambling now, his words tumbling out in a rush, driven by the primal need to claim you, to mark you as his in every possible way. His hand on your stomach moves, sliding down to press against your clit, his fingers rubbing in tight, controlled circles that have you crying out, your body tightening around him in response.

“You’re so beautiful like this …” he groans, his hips grinding against you as he pushes deeper, his knot swelling even more, locking him in place. “So perfect … so ready for me … ready to take everything I give you …”

His words are a mix of praise and possession, each one sending a new wave of heat through your body, making you shudder in his arms. He’s relentless, his thrusts slower but no less intense, each one driving his knot deeper, making you feel every inch of him, every pulse of his cock inside you.

“You belong to me,” Oscar growls, his voice low and rough, his teeth grazing your skin again, this time biting down just enough to leave a mark, a fresh claim on top of the one he’s already made. “Only me … forever …”

The possessiveness in his voice is overwhelming, the need in him so raw, so powerful that it feels like it’s consuming you, pulling you under. You can feel his knot pressing against your walls, the sensation so intense that it’s almost painful, but in the best possible way. Your body is trembling, on the edge of something that feels like it might break you, and Oscar is right there with you, pushing you closer and closer to that precipice.

He shifts his weight, pressing down on your stomach again, making you cry out as the pressure on his knot intensifies. “Gonna fill you up … make sure everyone knows you’re mine …” he murmurs, his voice a rough, possessive growl. “No one else … only me …”

His fingers on your clit work faster, harder, driving you towards the edge, and you can’t hold back the moan that escapes your lips, the sound muffled by the way you’re biting your lower lip, trying to hold on to some semblance of control. But it’s slipping away, fast, and you can feel yourself spiraling, your body tightening around him, your muscles tensing as you approach the brink.

“Oscar … please …” you manage to gasp, your voice barely more than a whisper, but he hears you, and it only spurs him on.

“That’s it … let go for me …” he growls, his voice rough with need. “Be a good omega … let me take care of you …”

The words are your undoing. With a cry, you shatter, your body convulsing around him as the orgasm tears through you, waves of pleasure crashing over you in a relentless tide. You can feel the way your walls clamp down on his knot, the pressure driving you higher, making you cry out his name again and again.

Oscar isn’t far behind you, his body tensing as he feels you fall apart around him. His hips jerk, his knot swelling to its full size as he buries himself as deep as possible, his cock pulsing as he comes, his seed filling you in thick, hot waves. He groans, his head dropping to your shoulder as he grinds against you, his hands gripping your waist so tightly that it’s almost painful, but you don’t care. The sensation of being filled by him, claimed by him, is too much, too overwhelming, and it sends you spiraling again, your body shaking with the aftershocks.

Oscar’s breathing is ragged, his body trembling as he holds you close, his knot keeping him locked inside you, making sure you take every last drop of his seed. He’s still murmuring in your ear, his voice soft and rough, a mix of praise and possessiveness that makes your heart race.

“You’re mine … my perfect omega …” he whispers, his lips brushing against your neck, kissing the fresh mark he’s left there. “No one else … no one else will ever have you …”

You shiver, your body still trembling with the aftereffects of the orgasm, and you can only nod, your voice lost to the haze of pleasure that still lingers in the air. Oscar’s hands move to your hips, pulling you closer, holding you tight as he rides out the last waves of his release, his body tense and trembling.

It takes a long time for the intensity to fade, for the world to slowly come back into focus. Oscar’s breathing eventually evens out, his hold on you loosening slightly as the last vestiges of his rut start to dissipate. He’s still inside you, his knot keeping him locked in place, but the urgency, the desperation, has faded, replaced by a quiet, almost tender possessiveness.

“Are you okay?” He asks after a long moment, his voice soft, a little hesitant, as if he’s worried that he might have been too rough, too possessive.

You nod, your head resting against his shoulder as you try to catch your breath, your body still buzzing with the aftershocks. “I’m okay,” you manage to say, your voice a little hoarse from all the crying out you’ve done.

Oscar’s hand moves to your hair, stroking it gently, a stark contrast to the roughness of his earlier actions. “You were perfect,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a quiet, reverent awe. “So perfect for me.”

A soft smile tugs at your lips, and you close your eyes, leaning into his touch, the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, lulling you into a state of contentment. There’s something about being in his arms, being claimed by him so completely, that makes you feel safe, loved, cherished.

After a few more minutes, Oscar shifts slightly, testing the tightness of his knot, but it’s still too swollen to pull out, so he just holds you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “We’ll stay like this for a while,” he says softly, his voice warm and comforting. “I don’t want to hurt you by pulling out too soon.”

You hum in agreement, your body relaxing against him as you let the warmth and security of his embrace wash over you. There’s no rush, no need to move or do anything but bask in the afterglow, in the warmth of each other’s presence.

As the minutes tick by, Oscar continues to murmur soft words of praise and love, his hands gentle as they caress your back, your hair, your skin. “You’re going to be the best mother,” he whispers, his voice filled with a quiet certainty that makes your heart swell. “Our pups are going to be so lucky to have you.”

***

It’s a quiet morning, the sun just beginning to filter through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. You’re curled up in Oscar’s arms, the warmth of his body enveloping you, his scent surrounding you like a protective blanket. His breath is slow and steady against your skin, his nose pressed against the sensitive spot on your neck where his mating mark sits, a constant reminder of his claim on you. The world outside doesn’t matter here, in this little bubble of comfort and safety you’ve created together.

Oscar shifts slightly, his hand running up and down your back in slow, lazy strokes. You feel his lips brush against your skin, soft and lingering, before he presses his nose more firmly against your mating gland, inhaling deeply. He’s been doing that a lot lately, burying his face in your neck, breathing in your scent like it’s the most precious thing in the world. There’s something almost reverent about the way he does it, like he’s trying to memorize every single part of you.

“Your scent’s different,” Oscar murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, sleepy rumble that vibrates through you. He nuzzles closer, his nose brushing along the line of your neck, taking another deep inhale. “It’s sweeter … richer.”

You blink, the words slow to sink in through the haze of sleep still clouding your mind. “Different?” You ask softly, your voice still thick with sleep.

Oscar nods, his lips curving into a small, satisfied smile against your skin. “Yeah … different,” he repeats, his hand moving to rest on your stomach, his fingers splayed out across your skin. “I think … I think you’re pregnant.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning, and it takes a moment for them to fully register. Pregnant. The thought sends a warm flush through your body, your heart skipping a beat. You shift slightly in his arms, turning to look at him, your eyes wide and searching.

“Pregnant?” You echo, your voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it out loud might break the spell.

Oscar’s smile widens, and he nods again, his hand on your stomach pressing down gently, almost possessively. “Yeah,” he says softly, his voice filled with awe and a deep, overwhelming joy. “You’re carrying our pup.”

The reality of it hits you all at once, and you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions — happiness, love, a touch of fear, but most of all, an overwhelming sense of rightness. This is what you’ve always wanted, what you’ve dreamed of since the moment Oscar first claimed you, and now it’s real. You’re going to be a mother. You’re going to have a family with him.

Oscar’s hand moves from your stomach to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that slips free. “Hey,” he murmurs softly, his voice full of warmth and tenderness. “Why are you crying, love?”

You shake your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you lean into his touch. “I’m just … so happy,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I can’t believe it’s real.”

“It’s real,” Oscar assures you, his thumb continuing to stroke your cheek, his eyes filled with a deep, unwavering love. “You’re going to be the most amazing mother, I know it.”

You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you, the warmth of his touch grounding you, anchoring you to this moment. When you open them again, Oscar is still watching you, his gaze intense, filled with a possessive pride that makes your heart race.

His hand slides back down to your stomach, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin, and you can see the way his pupils dilate, his breathing growing a little heavier. “You’re carrying our pup,” he says again, his voice rougher now, laced with an edge of desire. “My pup.”

The way he says it, the raw possessiveness in his voice, sends a shiver down your spine, and you can feel the heat building between you again, the need that’s never far from the surface when you’re with him. Oscar’s hand moves lower, his fingers slipping between your legs, and you gasp at the sudden, overwhelming sensation, your body instinctively arching towards him.

“Oscar …” you breathe, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and need.

He doesn’t answer with words, instead, his lips capture yours in a deep, hungry kiss, his hand moving to position you just right, and then he’s slipping inside you, the sensation of him filling you again like coming home. You moan into his mouth, your fingers gripping his shoulders as he moves slowly, deliberately, savoring every moment, every sensation.

Oscar pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze burning with an intensity that takes your breath away. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion, his hands moving to hold your hips, guiding you as he moves. “So proud … and so lucky.”

You can’t find the words to respond, too lost in the feeling of him inside you, the way he’s filling you so completely, so perfectly. He moves with a slow, steady rhythm, his hands holding you close, keeping you grounded in this moment, in the connection between you. Every thrust, every movement is filled with a deep, reverent love, a celebration of the life you’re creating together.

“You’re going to be such a good mother,” Oscar whispers, his voice a low growl in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re perfect … so perfect for me … for our pup.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body, your muscles tightening around him, drawing him deeper. Oscar groans, his grip on your hips tightening, his pace quickening just slightly, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate as the need to claim you again, to mark you as his, takes over.

“Mine,” he growls, his voice rough with possessiveness, his lips brushing against your neck, right over your mating mark. “All mine.”

You can only moan in response, your body moving in sync with his, every thrust sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you, building towards something that feels like it might consume you whole. Oscar’s hands move to your stomach again, pressing down gently, reminding you of the life growing inside you, and the sensation is enough to push you over the edge.

With a cry, you shatter around him, your body convulsing with the force of the orgasm, your muscles tightening around him, pulling him deeper. Oscar follows moments later, his body tensing as he comes inside you, filling you with his seed, his hands holding you close, keeping you grounded as you both ride out the waves of pleasure together.

The world slowly comes back into focus, the intensity of the moment fading into a warm, comforting afterglow. Oscar’s breathing is heavy, his arms wrapped around you as he holds you close, his body still pressed against yours. You can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear, the warmth of his skin against yours, and it’s enough to make you feel safe, loved, cherished.

After a long moment, Oscar shifts slightly, his arms tightening around you as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice soft and full of emotion. “So much.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back, your voice still a little shaky from the intensity of it all.

Oscar’s hand moves to rest on your stomach again, his fingers tracing gentle circles over the skin. “Our pup is going to be so lucky,” he says softly, his voice filled with a quiet awe. “They’re going to have the best mother.”

You smile at that, a soft, contented smile as you snuggle closer to him, letting the warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his breathing, lull you into a state of peace. For a while, you just lay there together, wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten in the warmth and safety of this moment.

But as the minutes tick by, a thought begins to creep into your mind, a worry that you can’t quite shake. The thought of bringing a child into the world, of raising them, brings with it a flood of emotions — joy, excitement, but also fear. And there’s one fear that lingers more than any other, one that you can’t push aside.

After a long moment, you finally find the courage to speak, your voice barely above a whisper. “Oscar …”

He hums in response, his hand still resting on your stomach, his fingers tracing gentle patterns over your skin.

“If we have an omega pup …” you start, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of the words. “Promise me … promise me they’ll never be taken away to an omega training school. Not like I was.”

Oscar’s hand stills on your stomach, his body tensing slightly beneath you. There’s a long pause, and you can feel his heart start to race beneath your ear, his breath catching in his throat. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough with emotion. “I promise,” he says, his voice filled with a quiet, fierce determination. “I’ll never let that happen. I would die before I let anyone take our pup away from us.”

You close your eyes, a wave of relief washing over you at his words. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice filled with gratitude and love.

Oscar’s arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. “I’m thankful that the school meant I could find you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion. “But I’d die before letting any of our pups go through what you did. They’ll never know that kind of life. They’ll have us — always.”

The words settle deep in your chest, soothing an ache you hadn’t even realized was still there. The fear that had been gnawing at you dissipates in the warmth of his embrace, replaced by the quiet certainty that Oscar means every word. He would fight for you, for your future, for your family. He already has.

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze, and the intensity of the love you see there steals your breath away. He’s watching you with an unwavering focus, his eyes soft but determined, like you’re the most important thing in the world to him. And you are.

You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, a silent thank you for the promise he’s just made, for the future you know you’ll build together. Oscar responds with a hum of contentment, his hand slipping up to cradle the back of your head, deepening the kiss for a moment before pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“We’re going to be okay,” he whispers, and it’s not just a promise — it’s a vow. “You, me, and our pup. We’re going to be more than okay. We’re going to be happy.”

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips as you let the last of your worries melt away, replaced by the overwhelming sense of rightness that comes with being here, in this moment, with him. You believe him. You believe in the life you’re building together, in the love that will carry you through whatever comes next.

As you settle back down against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into a peaceful drowsiness, you feel more content than you’ve ever felt in your life. Oscar’s hand continues its gentle caress over your stomach, his touch soothing and protective, and you know without a doubt that he will always be there for you, for your family.

***

10 Years Later

The sun is shining brightly as you walk hand-in-hand with Oscar, your large family trailing behind you like a small parade. The paddock is bustling with activity, but the familiar sights and sounds of race day are a comforting background as you make your way through the crowd. Your hand rests on your rounded belly, a gentle reminder of the life growing inside you. The warmth of Oscar’s grip on your other hand grounds you, a constant source of strength and love.

Your eldest, an alpha, walks beside you, his protective nature evident in the way he keeps an eye on his younger siblings. The twins, an omega boy and girl, chatter excitedly as they try to keep up with their older brother, their energy infectious. The rest of your pups, a mix of alphas, betas, and omegas, follow close behind, their laughter and playful teasing filling the air.

As you near the entrance to the paddock, a reporter spots Oscar and approaches with a microphone, a camera crew in tow. The reporter’s eyes widen slightly as they take in the sight of your large family, but they quickly compose themselves, flashing a polite smile.

“Oscar, a quick word before you head inside?” The reporter asks, holding out the microphone.

Oscar glances at you, a smirk already tugging at the corner of his lips, before nodding to the reporter. “Sure, why not?”

The reporter’s gaze shifts between you, Oscar, and your brood of children, clearly trying to figure out how to phrase their question delicately. “It’s not every day we see a Formula 1 driver with such a large family,” they begin, their tone carefully neutral. “If you don’t mind me asking, what made you decide to have so many pups?”

Oscar’s smirk deepens, and he pulls you closer to his side, his arm sliding around your waist possessively. The gesture is as much for your comfort as it is a display of his pride in you and your family. He takes a moment, clearly enjoying the reporter’s slight discomfort, before he leans in just a little, his voice low and confident.

“Well,” Oscar starts, his eyes flicking down to you with a look that’s nothing short of adoring. “If you had a perfect omega like mine, you wouldn’t be able to resist either.”

The words are simple, but the way he says them — his voice dripping with pride, love, and just a hint of that possessive edge — makes the reporter blink, momentarily taken aback. The camera catches the way Oscar’s hand rests protectively on your stomach, the way he holds you close as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. It’s clear to everyone watching that Oscar means every word.

You can’t help but smile at his response, a warmth spreading through your chest at the unabashed way he shows his love for you and your family. The reporter regains their composure quickly, nodding with a polite smile, though there’s a hint of envy in their eyes.

“That’s certainly a lovely sentiment,” the reporter says, recovering quickly. “It’s wonderful to see a family so full of love and happiness.”

Oscar’s smirk softens into a genuine smile, and he nods. “We’re very lucky,” he agrees, his voice full of affection. “Family is everything to us.”

The reporter glances back at your children, who are now gathered around, their attention divided between the camera and each other. The twins are whispering excitedly to one another, their matching wide eyes reflecting the curiosity only children can have. One of the younger alphas is tugging on the sleeve of your oldest, asking if they can watch the race from the best spot on the pit wall.

“How do you manage with so many little ones, especially with such a demanding career?” The reporter asks, genuinely curious now.

Oscar chuckles softly, glancing at you with a knowing smile. “It’s not always easy, but we make it work. We’ve got a good system in place, and it helps that they love being around the track as much as I do. They’ve grown up with it, so it’s like a second home to them.”

You nod in agreement, your free hand absently rubbing your belly as you listen. “And they look out for each other,” you add, smiling at your children. “The older ones help with the younger ones, and we make sure to spend as much time together as we can. It’s a team effort.”

The reporter smiles, clearly charmed by the image of your close-knit family. “It sounds like a wonderful way to raise a family,” they say. “Thank you for sharing that with us.”

Oscar gives a polite nod, then glances down at you, his eyes softening. “We should get inside,” he murmurs, his tone indicating that the interview is over.

You nod, and together, you turn to lead your family toward the entrance to the paddock. The reporter calls out a final thank you as the camera crew packs up, but you’re already focused on the day ahead, your mind shifting to the race and the time you’ll spend together as a family.

As you walk through the paddock, you can feel the curious glances of team members and other drivers as they take in the sight of your large family. But you’re used to it by now — the whispers, the stares. It doesn’t bother you. If anything, it only strengthens your resolve to live your life on your own terms, to build the family you’ve always dreamed of.

Your children, oblivious to the attention, continue their playful banter, their excitement for the race palpable. They’ve grown up in this world, surrounded by the roar of engines and the thrill of competition, and it’s as much a part of them as it is of Oscar. They’ve inherited his passion for racing, but they’ve also inherited something far more important — his love, his strength, and his tireless devotion to family.

As you approach the McLaren garage, you catch sight of Lando, who’s already suited up and chatting with a few engineers. He looks up and grins when he sees your family, waving you over.

“Hey, Piastri clan!” Lando calls out, a playful twinkle in his eye. “You lot taking over the paddock today?”

The kids immediately perk up at the sight of their favorite “Uncle Lando,” and before you know it, they’re rushing over to him, peppering him with questions about the race and begging for stories about his latest adventures on the track.

Oscar chuckles, giving Lando a mock glare. “Don’t spoil them too much. I still need them to behave for the race.”

Lando laughs, ruffling the hair of one of the younger alphas. “No promises, mate. You know I can’t resist these little troublemakers.”

You smile at the easy camaraderie between the two drivers, a bond that’s only grown stronger over the years. It’s clear that Lando cares deeply for your family, and you’re grateful for the role he plays in your children’s lives.

As the kids gather around Lando, hanging on his every word, Oscar pulls you aside, his hand resting on your lower back as he guides you to a quieter corner of the garage. Once you’re out of earshot, he turns to you, his eyes searching your face with a tenderness that never fails to make your heart skip a beat.

“You okay?” He asks softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You nod, leaning into his touch. “I’m fine,” you assure him. “Just … taking it all in.”

Oscar smiles, his gaze drifting down to your belly before meeting your eyes again. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?” He murmurs. “All of this — our family, the race, everything.”

“It is,” you agree, your voice soft. “But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

***

The penthouse suite is filled with the familiar sounds of a family settling in for the evening — a mix of laughter, playful bickering, and the rustle of blankets being shared and tugged over laps. It’s movie night, a ritual that’s become sacred in your household, especially after a long weekend at the track. The air is thick with the scent of popcorn, and the oversized sofa is crowded with a tangle of limbs, all jockeying for the best spot to cuddle up for the night.

You’re nestled comfortably against Oscar’s side, his arm draped around your shoulders, fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm. Your oldest, Liam, an alpha who has inherited Oscar’s fierce determination, is sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring intently at the screen, trying to get the movie started. His younger brother, Dylan, a beta, leans over his shoulder, offering unasked-for advice.

“Just press play already,” Adeline, one of the omega twins, groans dramatically from her spot on the couch, her head pillowed on her twin brother Theo’s lap. “We’ve been sitting here for ages.”

“It’s not that easy,” Liam mutters, his brow furrowing in concentration as he navigates through the menus. “These remotes are weird.”

“They’re exactly the same as the ones at home,” Oscar says with a chuckle, but there’s no judgment in his tone, just the easy patience that comes from a decade of fatherhood.

Across the room, Zara and Oliver, another alpha-beta pair, are busy constructing a fortress of pillows and blankets at the end of the sofa, clearly uninterested in the movie and more focused on their own game. They’re whispering conspiratorially, planning some elaborate attack on their siblings that will no doubt result in a mock battle before bedtime.

You smile at the sight of them all — your eight pups, each so different and yet so bonded by the shared experiences of growing up in the whirlwind that is life with an F1 driver and his omega. The love you see in their eyes, the easy way they interact with each other, it’s everything you ever wanted, everything you never dared to dream about when you were younger.

Oscar’s hand slides up to your neck, his thumb brushing over your mating mark. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and you instinctively lean into his touch. He chuckles softly, dipping his head to press a kiss to the spot, his lips lingering as if savoring the taste of your skin.

“Dad,” Theo groans, lifting his head to glare at Oscar. “Do you have to do that right now?”

“What?” Oscar lifts his head just enough to give Theo an innocent look, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrays him. “I’m just reminding your mother how much I love her.”

“Gross,” Adeline mutters, her nose wrinkling in exaggerated disgust. “Can’t you wait until after the movie?”

“Yeah, seriously,” Zara pipes up from the fort, peeking out from behind a wall of pillows. “No one wants to see that.”

Oscar just laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that you can feel vibrating through your whole body. He pulls you closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “They’re just jealous.”

“Jealous of what?” You whisper back, though you already know the answer.

“That I have the most perfect omega in the world,” he murmurs, his voice low and possessive in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. “And I’m not afraid to show it.”

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, the warmth that blooms in your chest at his words. Even after all these years, after all the changes and challenges, the love between you hasn’t dimmed. If anything, it’s grown stronger, more resilient, like a fire that refuses to go out no matter how hard the winds of life try to snuff it out.

“Alright, alright, enough of that,” Liam says, finally getting the movie to start. “Can we just watch this before bedtime?”

Oscar pulls back, giving the kids a mock-salute. “As you wish.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence as the opening credits roll, and you settle back into Oscar’s embrace, your head resting on his chest. His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing, and you squeeze gently, letting him know without words how much you appreciate him — how much you love him.

As the movie plays, the pups gradually grow quieter, their energy from the day’s excitement starting to ebb away. One by one, they begin to drift off, their heads lolling onto each other’s shoulders, or in some cases, onto their parents.

Adeline is the first to go, her breathing evening out as she curls up against Theo, who’s already half-asleep himself. Liam manages to stay awake a little longer, but soon his eyelids grow heavy, and he slumps over, using Dylan as a pillow. Even Zara and Oliver, who had been so animated just moments before, have stopped whispering, their fort abandoned as they snuggle into the cushions.

You glance up at Oscar, who’s watching the scene with a look of pure contentment. He meets your gaze, his eyes softening with a tenderness that makes your heart swell.

“Look at them,” you whisper, your voice filled with awe. “How did we get so lucky?”

Oscar smiles, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I ask myself that every day.”

You press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart, and he tightens his arm around you in response, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting reminder of his presence.

As the credits begin to roll, Oscar shifts slightly, careful not to wake the pups who are using him as a makeshift bed. “Should we carry them to their rooms?”

You shake your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Let them stay. They’re all together, and I don’t want to disturb that.”

Oscar chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “You’re too soft on them.”

“Maybe,” you concede, but there’s no real reproach in your tone. “But they’re only little for so long. I want to hold onto this for as long as I can.”

Oscar’s expression softens even further, and he tilts your chin up, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. “You’re a good mother,” he murmurs against your lips. “The best.”

The kiss deepens, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades away. It’s just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, in the love that has seen you through so much. When you finally pull away, your heart is racing, and you’re left feeling light-headed, like you’re floating on a cloud of pure happiness.

As you both settle back down, Oscar’s hand rests protectively on your growing belly, his thumb tracing slow circles over the spot where your newest pup is nestled. You place your hand over his, feeling the connection between you, Oscar, and the life growing inside you.

The room is quiet now, filled only with the soft sounds of breathing and the occasional rustle of a blanket as one of the pups shifts in their sleep. The city twinkle outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft glow over the room, but inside, it feels like a world of its own — a world where nothing can touch you, where you and your family are safe and happy.

You close your eyes, letting the warmth of Oscar’s embrace and the contentment of the moment wash over you. As you drift off to sleep, surrounded by the people you love most in the world, you can’t help but think that this is what happiness truly is — these simple, quiet moments that make life so incredibly beautiful.

[callsign-honeybeewildfox2]

Love In The Fast Lane – CS55

Summary: Carlos Saiz Jr. s a huge fan of Y/n who’s a MotoGP racer and champion.

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr. x MotoGPRacer!Reader

Word count: 11.252

Plot: Celebrity crush, Slow burn, Strangers to lovers, Fluff

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

The sun has barely risen over Monaco’s glittering skyline, casting a soft golden hue over the water. Carlos Sainz Jr. lounges on his leather couch, a steaming mug of coffee cradled in his hand. His eyes aren’t on the view outside though. They’re fixed on the TV in front of him. He’s not watching Formula 1 highlights—no, this is something else entirely. MotoGP. And not just any race. The camera zooms in on Y/n Y/L/n, her signature race helmet tucked under one arm, a wide grin on her face as she waves to the crowd. Her confidence radiates through the screen, as does the playful spark in her eyes when she looks into the camera for a brief second, like she knows who’s watching. Carlos can’t help but smirk. He’s seen this race a dozen times, but it never gets old.

He takes a slow sip of coffee, his gaze never leaving the screen. Every move Y/n makes—whether it’s mounting her bike with ease or giving the camera a quick wink—is imprinted in his memory. He’s watched all her races, all her interviews, and every time she’s mentioned, his friends tease him. But they’re not wrong. He’s absolutely whipped. The roar of the engines on the TV snaps him back into the race. Y/n, as always, leads the pack. The way she maneuvers her bike, weaving through the other racers with precision, is mesmerizing. Carlos leans forward, his heart racing in time with the bikes on screen. He knows exactly how this race ends—Y/n crossing the finish line with an effortless grace—but it doesn’t matter. Watching her ride is thrilling.

As the race concludes and Y/n is handed the winner’s trophy, the interviewer asks her the usual questions. Y/n, still catching her breath, runs a hand through her messy hair. “So, Y/n,” the interviewer starts, “another win for you. How does it feel?” Carlos knows her answer before she even speaks. “It feels great,” she says with that familiar, mischievous smile. “But honestly, I’m just in it for the champagne.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. It’s such a Y/n answer. She always keeps things light, always unpredictable, and that’s part of the reason he’s so drawn to her. Her talent is unmatched, but it’s her personality—playful, flirtatious, and a little wild—that gets him every time. The interview wraps up, and Carlos turns off the TV, leaning back against the couch. He can hear the faint hum of the city waking up outside, but his mind is elsewhere. He’s thought about meeting Y/n before, imagined what he’d say if he ever got the chance. He can see it in his mind—her teasing him, maybe throwing in one of her famous sarcastic comments. He’d probably blush like an idiot.

Carlos shakes his head, standing up to stretch. It’s ridiculous. She’s a superstar, and he’s just another fan. Sure, he’s had his share of attention as an F1 driver, but with Y/n, it feels different. She’s… untouchable. Yet he can’t stop thinking about her. Just as Carlos is about to head out for a run, his phone buzzes on the coffee table. He glances at the screen. A group chat message from Lando.

Lando: Bro, you watching Y/n’s race again? 😂 You’re obsessed. Carlos rolls his eyes but can’t stop the grin from forming. He types back quickly.

Carlos: Just appreciating the best racer out there. Can’t help it if she’s also the most interesting person alive. Lando responds almost immediately.

Lando: Sure, sure. You know, you should just meet her already. It’s getting sad.

Carlos stares at the message for a moment, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Maybe Lando’s right. Maybe it is time to stop being just another fan from the sidelines.

Carlos: Maybe I will.

As he presses send, a knot tightens in his stomach. Could he really do that? After all, she’s Y/n Y/L/n, and he’s Carlos Sainz.

The hum of activity fills Ferrari’s headquarters, a blend of sleek professionalism and the unmistakable scent of motor oil. Carlos sits in one of the sleek conference rooms, surrounded by PR managers, strategists, and his teammate, Charles Leclerc. The walls are adorned with photos of past Ferrari victories, reminders of the legacy they’re both a part of. The meeting, as always, is a blend of planning for the upcoming Grand Prix and brainstorming ideas to bolster their image. Publicity is key, especially in the fast-paced world of Formula 1, and the team wants to keep Ferrari in the spotlight.

“So,” one of the PR managers says, flipping through a thick binder, “we’re looking at potential celebrity invites for the next Grand Prix. Someone with enough star power to draw attention but who also resonates with our brand.” Charles leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “What about a footballer? The Italian national team is doing well, they could bring a lot of local fans.”

Carlos listens, but his mind is elsewhere, distracted by a recent idea that’s been bouncing around in his head. He clears his throat. “What about Y/n Y/L/n?” The room goes silent for a split second, and Carlos immediately feels the eyes of his PR manager on him, followed by a stifled snicker from Charles. He knows exactly where this is headed, but he presses on. “She’s a huge name in MotoGP. People love her, and she’s got a massive following. It’d be great for exposure.”

One of the PR managers, Luca, gives Carlos a knowing smile. “Y/n Y/L/n, huh?” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, and Carlos can already feel the heat rising in his face. “She’s talented,” Carlos adds quickly, trying to sound as professional as possible. “It’d be good for Ferrari to have her around, since she represents the best in motorsport.”

Charles chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, no one’s arguing she’s talented.” He leans forward, a mischievous glint in his eye. “It’s just that you seem to be… particularly interested in this collaboration.” Carlos glances at Charles, his lips tightening. “I’m just saying it would be a smart move.” Another manager, Sofia, chimes in, barely concealing her grin. “She would certainly bring a lot of attention, Carlos. Maybe you could even show her around the paddock personally?” A ripple of laughter spreads through the room, and Carlos rubs the back of his neck, trying to play it cool. “I mean, if it helps the team…”

“Sure, sure,” Charles says, nudging Carlos with his elbow. “For the team.” Luca taps his pen on the table, still smiling. “It’s not a bad idea, honestly. Y/n has a massive social media presence, and her fanbase would love to see her at a Formula 1 event. Plus, the crossover appeal between MotoGP and F1 could bring in new viewers.”

Carlos nods, trying not to look too pleased. “Exactly. It’s a good opportunity for both sides.” Sofia raises an eyebrow. “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?” Carlos shrugs, doing his best to keep his voice casual. “I just think she’d be a great fit. That’s all.”

Charles leans closer, lowering his voice so only Carlos can hear. “Or maybe you just want to finally meet your celebrity crush in person?” Carlos glares at him, but the smirk on Charles’ face only grows wider. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Charles replies with a wink. Luca clears his throat, bringing the conversation back to order. “Alright, well, let’s see if we can make it happen. I’ll reach out to her team, see if she’d be interested in attending. We’ll keep you posted, Carlos.” Carlos nods, his heart racing a little faster than usual. As the conversation shifts to logistics for the next race, his mind lingers on the thought of Y/n at the Grand Prix.

The warm afternoon sun beats down on Y/n as she steps out of the grocery store, her arms loaded with bags. The streets of Barcelona are buzzing with life, people going about their business, but Y/n tries to blend in as best as a MotoGP champion can. A pair of oversized sunglasses hides her face, and she’s wearing a well-worn hoodie pulled up just enough to make her less recognizable.

Her next race is just a few days away, and the pressure is starting to build. She doesn’t mind the thrill, but today, she’s on a mission to cross off the last few things from her errand list before she goes into full race mode. The fresh groceries rustle in the bags as she walks briskly down the street, her mind already running through what she still needs to do—pack, finish her media obligations, squeeze in one more workout. Just as she’s about to head back to her car, her phone buzzes in her pocket. She glances down at the screen and smirks. It’s her manager, Max.

“Yooooo,” she answers, balancing the phone between her shoulder and ear as she unlocks her car. “If you’re calling to tell me I’ve got another interview, I swear I’m going to block your number.” Max’s voice crackles through the line, full of his usual sarcasm. “You wound me, Y/n. Can’t a guy call just to check in on his best client without getting threatened?”

She chuckles, tossing the grocery bags into the backseat. “Uh-huh, I’ve known you long enough to know that you never call just to check in. So, what’s up? Something I need to know?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Max teases, “I’ve got a little something interesting for you.” Y/n slides into the driver’s seat and pulls off her sunglasses, her curiosity piqued. “I’m listening.”

Max’s tone shifts slightly, and she can tell he’s trying to hype this up. “You ever thought about going to a Formula 1 race?” Y/n raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the seat. “I’ve watched a few races on TV, but I’ve never been. Why?”

“Well, Ferrari is hosting the next Grand Prix, and guess who they want as their VIP guest?” Y/n blinks, caught off guard. “Wait, you’re telling me Ferrari wants me to come to a Grand Prix?”

“Yep,” Max replies, the grin evident in his voice. “Carlos Sainz himself asked for you. Apparently, the guy’s a big fan.” She bursts out laughing, the sound loud in the confined space of her car. “You’re joking, right? Carlos Sainz, F1’s Chilli, is a fan of mine?”

“No joke,” Max assures her. “He personally asked if you could come. I think he might have a bit of a crush on you, to be honest.” Y/n shakes her head, still chuckling as she drums her fingers on the steering wheel. “Well, that’s new. I’ve got fans all over the world, but I wasn’t expecting one of them to be a Ferrari driver.”

“Not just any Ferrari driver. Carlos freaking Sainz. He’s practically royalty in the racing world,” Max adds with a mock dramatic flair. “But honestly, it’s a great opportunity. The crossover between MotoGP and F1? Huge. And you’d get to enjoy some champagne on their dime.” Y/n rolls her eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “I’m not going to say no to a good time, but seriously? It feels… weird.”

Max’s voice softens slightly. “I get it, but think about it. You’ve been working your ass off, and this could be a fun way to mix it up. Plus, you’d probably get a chance to mess with Carlos a little. You know, keep him on his toes.” Y/n grins, the thought of teasing the starstruck F1 driver already forming in her head. “Yeah, I’m not above messing with a guy who has a crush. That could be fun.”

“Exactly,” Max says, clearly pleased with her response. “So, what do you say? Should I tell them you’re in?” Y/n bites her lip, weighing the decision. The idea of attending a Grand Prix, being in the middle of all that energy, and getting to meet Carlos sounds intriguing. She can already picture how flustered he’ll get if the rumors about his crush are true.

“Alright, Max,” she finally says, her voice filled with mischief. “Tell Ferrari I’m coming. Let’s see what Carlos Sainz is really made of.” Max laughs on the other end. “I’ll let them know. Oh, and Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to break his heart too badly.” Y/n snickers as she starts the engine. “No promises.”

Carlos powers through his workout, sweat dripping from his brow. The Ferrari gym is a familiar place, a refuge where he can block out the world and focus on the physical demands of being a Formula 1 driver. But today, his mind keeps drifting. Y/n Y/L/n.

Ever since that meeting where he suggested inviting her to the Grand Prix, it’s all he’s been able to think about. And when Luca had confirmed a few days ago that Y/n accepted the invitation? Well, Carlos has been on edge ever since. He increases the resistance on the treadmill, trying to push his body harder to distract himself, but it doesn’t work. His thoughts keep circling back to the fact that in a few days, Y/n will be here. At the Grand Prix. Watching him race. The thought sends a thrill through him, but it also makes him anxious. It’s not like he’s never been around famous people. He’s an F1 driver, after all, and he’s used to the spotlight. But something about Y/n feels… different. She’s not just any celebrity. She’s a champion, a force of nature in the world of MotoGP, and, in Carlos’ eyes, absolutely magnetic.

He’s barely paying attention when he hears someone enter the gym. It’s Charles, dressed in workout gear, a water bottle in hand. Charles notices the look on Carlos’ face almost immediately and smirks as he walks over. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind,” Charles says, leaning casually against a machine. Carlos wipes the sweat from his forehead with a towel, trying to play it cool. “Just thinking about the next race.”

“Uh-huh.” Charles raises an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. “Or maybe you’re thinking about a certain MotoGP champion who’s coming to the Grand Prix?” Carlos stops mid-motion, caught. He can feel the heat rising to his face again, and he curses internally. “It’s not a big deal,” he mutters, turning off the treadmill.

“Sure it’s not,” Charles teases, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “You’ve been distracted ever since you found out she’s coming. You’re not even subtle about it anymore.” Carlos groans, running a hand through his damp hair. “I’m just… nervous, alright? It’s not every day your celebrity crush shows up at your race.”

Charles bursts out laughing. “Oh, man, you’re in deep. You know, I’ve never seen you like this. Usually, you’re the cool one, but now? You’re acting like a teenager.” Carlos glares at him. “Can you not make it worse?”

“Worse?” Charles says, still chuckling. “I’m just getting started. You’re going to be a mess when she’s actually here, aren’t you?” Carlos sighs, grabbing his water bottle and taking a long drink. “Maybe. But it’s not like I’m going to get all weird about it. I’m just… excited to meet her.”

Charles nods, his teasing tone softening slightly. “I get it, man. She’s impressive. But you’ve got to chill. If she’s coming to the Grand Prix, that’s already a big deal. Just be yourself.” Carlos leans against the treadmill, still thinking. It sounds simple enough, but he knows it’s going to be harder than it sounds. “I just don’t want to look like an idiot,” he admits quietly.

Charles pats him on the back. “Hey, if you do, at least it’ll be entertaining for the rest of us.” Carlos throws him a look. “You’re really not helping.”

Charles grins and starts stretching. “Just relax. If you’re lucky, she’ll find your awkwardness charming.” Carlos laughs despite himself. “You think?”

“I know,” Charles says confidently. “Besides, she wouldn’t have said yes if she wasn’t at least curious, right?” That thought makes Carlos pause. Maybe Charles is right. Y/n could have easily turned down the invitation, but she didn’t. Carlos feels a glimmer of hope at the thought, but the nerves are still there, simmering beneath the surface.

The sun beats down on the MotoGP paddock, and the energy is buzzing as riders, mechanics, and media swirl around in preparation for the upcoming race. Y/n is leaning against the garage, still in her leathers, laughing as one of her fellow riders, Alex, fiddles with his camera. He’s been running a casual vlog series during the season, giving fans a behind-the-scenes look at life as a MotoGP racer. And today, Y/n has agreed to make a cameo.

“Alright, alright,” Alex says, positioning the camera on the tripod. “Let’s get this going. My subscribers keep asking for you, so you’re basically a guest star now.” Y/n rolls her eyes playfully. “A guest star, huh? Should I start charging a fee?”

Alex grins. “Nah, I think you’re enjoying the fame too much. Alright, we’re rolling in three, two, one…” The camera’s red light blinks on, and Alex turns into his vlog persona instantly. “What’s up, everyone! It’s Alex here, and today we’ve got a very special guest. You know her, you love her—MotoGP champion, Y/n Y/L/n!”

Y/n waves casually at the camera. “Hey, everyone. I can’t believe you convinced me to do this, Alex.” Alex chuckles. “Oh, c’mon, Y/n. The fans want to know everything. So, we’re gonna get right into it. First off, tell us how you’re feeling about the next race.”

She leans back, folding her arms. “Feeling good. The bike’s in great shape, and I’m ready to get out there. You know how it is—just another day in the office.” Alex gives the camera a knowing look. “Just another day in the office, she says, like winning races is no big deal.”

Y/n shrugs with a smirk. “Gotta keep things light, right? Can’t be too serious about this stuff.” Alex shakes his head with a grin. “See, this is why people love you. But, let’s get to the juicy stuff. I heard you got an interesting invitation recently. Want to tell everyone what that’s about?”

Y/n laughs, knowing exactly what he’s referring to. “Ah, you mean the Ferrari thing?”

Alex’s eyes light up with mock surprise. “Oh, so it’s true then! Ferrari invited you to their Grand Prix? That’s pretty huge.” She nods, trying to keep her tone casual but knowing her fans will eat this up. “Yeah, apparently, they want me to come as a VIP guest for the next race. I thought it was a joke at first, but... turns out Carlos Sainz personally asked for me to come.”

Alex dramatically clutches his chest, turning to the camera. “Did you hear that, folks? Carlos Sainz is a Y/n fanboy!” Y/n bursts out laughing. “I don’t know about that. But yeah, I guess he’s into MotoGP or something.”

Alex leans in closer to the camera, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “C’mon, Y/n. You know what this means. He’s definitely got a thing for you. How does that feel? F1’s Carlos Sainz, having a crush on our very own MotoGP star?”

Y/n rolls her eyes but can’t help the grin creeping onto her face. “You’re making it sound way bigger than it is. It’s just an invite to a race.”

“Just an invite,” Alex echoes, still teasing. “You’re going, though, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Y/n admits, adjusting her gloves absentmindedly. “I mean, I’m curious to see what all the fuss is about. I’ve never been to an F1 race in person, so why not?” Alex leans back, satisfied. “You’re going to have an amazing time. Just don’t forget about us lowly MotoGP racers while you’re hobnobbing with the F1 crowd.”

Y/n smirks. “Please, Alex, like I could ever forget you. Besides, I’m just going for the free champagne.” They both laugh, and Alex turns his attention back to the camera. “Well, there you have it, folks. Y/n’s heading to Formula 1 to see what all the hype is about. And who knows, maybe she’ll give Carlos some tips on how to really go fast.”

Y/n winks at the camera. “Only if he asks nicely.” Alex wraps up the vlog, “Alright, we’ll see you all after the race. Y/n, thanks for stopping by. As always, you’re a legend.”

She gives a quick salute to the camera. “Catch you later, everyone.” As Alex stops the recording, he grins at Y/n. “So, seriously, what’s the deal with Carlos? You gotta be at least a little excited about meeting him.”

Y/n shrugs, trying to play it cool. “I mean, he’s a talented driver, sure. But I don’t really know him. I’m just curious to see how things go. Plus, it’ll be fun to tease him if the crush rumors are true.” Alex shakes his head, still smiling. “You’re gonna break that poor guy’s heart.”

Y/n laughs as she grabs her helmet. “Nah, I’m just going to have a little fun with it. Nothing wrong with that.”

Carlos sits at one of the small tables in the Ferrari motorhome, legs stretched out and his phone in hand. It’s supposed to be a quiet moment, but his Twitter feed has been blowing up all day, and he can’t figure out why. Every few minutes, a new notification pops up—likes, retweets, and mentions flooding his timeline. Curiosity piqued, he scrolls through, trying to make sense of the sudden surge of activity. Then he sees it. A clip from a MotoGP vlog, featuring none other than Y/n Y/L/n. The caption reads: “Carlos Sainz is a Y/n fanboy 👀 Watch her tease him about his crush in Alex’s latest vlog!”

Carlos’s heart skips a beat. He clicks on the video, and there she is—laughing, teasing, looking effortlessly cool as she talks to Alex. The part where Alex brings up the Ferrari invite catches his attention immediately. “Carlos Sainz is a Y/n fanboy!”

Carlos can feel the heat rising in his face as he watches Y/n laugh and roll her eyes, brushing off the comment. But then, she says something that makes him sit up straighter. “I guess he’s into MotoGP or something.” And then, with that playful glint in her eyes, she adds, “I mean, I’ll be there, but I’m just going for the free champagne.”

Carlos can’t help but chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. The way she talks about it so casually, like it’s no big deal, makes him admire her even more. She’s unfazed, confident, and clearly enjoying the attention. He finishes watching the video and sets his phone down for a moment, contemplating. He’s never been the type to openly flirt on social media, but there’s something about Y/n’s carefree attitude that makes him want to join in on the fun. Before he can second-guess himself, Carlos pulls up Twitter and quickly types out a tweet.

@Carlossainz55 “Free champagne, huh? 🍾 I guess I’ll just have to race even faster to make sure you get the good stuff, @Y/nY/L/n88 😉 #SeeYouSoon”

He hesitates for half a second before hitting send. Almost immediately, the notifications begin to pour in again. Fans are already losing their minds over the interaction, but it’s not long before his fellow F1 drivers catch wind of it too. The first message comes from Lando.

@LandoNorris “Ooooooh, Carlos is shooting his shot!!! 👀🍿”

Carlos groans, knowing full well this is just the beginning. Then comes a reply from George Russell.

@GeorgeRussell63 “Champagne and a date? Carlos, you’ve been holding out on us!”

Not long after, Charles weighs in with a teasing comment of his own.

@Charles_Leclerc “And here I thought you were focused on the race... turns out you’ve got other things on your mind 😏”

Carlos puts his phone down, shaking his head, knowing he’s not going to hear the end of this any time soon. He glances around the motorhome, half-expecting Charles to walk in with another jab, but for now, it’s just him and the quiet buzz of his phone. He takes a deep breath, still feeling the rush of sending that tweet. It’s out there now, and there’s no taking it back. Maybe Y/n will see it, maybe she won’t. Either way, it’s a step. A bold one. Just as he’s about to head out for his next meeting, Charles appears in the doorway, a massive grin plastered across his face.

“Oh no,” Carlos mutters under his breath, bracing himself. “So,” Charles starts, leaning casually against the doorframe. “You and Y/n, huh? You really couldn’t resist, could you?”

Carlos groans, standing up. “It was just a tweet.”

“A cute tweet,” Charles corrects him, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know she’s going to see it, right?” Carlos shrugs, trying to play it cool. “I hope she does.”

Charles laughs, clearly delighted by this new development. “Man, I’ve never seen you like this. Y/n’s got you all tied up in knots, doesn’t she?” Carlos narrows his eyes, though there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m just... interested, okay? No need to make it a big deal.”

Charles raises his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m not judging. It’s just nice to see you all flustered for once. I mean, usually, you’re the smooth one.” Carlos grabs his jacket and heads for the door, brushing past Charles with a smirk. “We’ll see who’s smooth when I win the race.”

Charles laughs, following him down the hallway. “Yeah, sure, but if Y/n’s watching, you might be too distracted to focus!” Carlos just shakes his head, but he can’t help the small smile that sticks with him as he walks.

The Repsol Honda motorhome is a place of organized chaos. Mechanics and engineers buzz around, fine-tuning bikes and setting up for tomorrow’s race. Y/n sits in a sleek conference room, dressed in casual team gear, surrounded by her inner circle: Max, her manager; Olivia, her PR manager; and Darren, her life coach. They’ve been going over her schedule for the next month—discussing meal plans, workout routines, and upcoming media obligations. It’s all routine, but essential to keeping her on top of her game.

“So, next week we’ll start with endurance training,” Darren says, flipping through his tablet. “You’ve got a good balance right now, but I want to push for more cardio leading into the back half of the season.” Y/n nods, taking a sip from her water bottle. “Yeah, I can handle that. What about diet? Am I still on the high-protein plan?”

Olivia chimes in, scrolling through her notes. “We’ll adjust slightly based on your energy levels after the next race, but we’re keeping it mostly the same. Oh, and don’t forget, you’ve got that interview with MotoGP Unscripted next Friday.” Y/n groans, leaning back in her chair. “Ugh, more interviews. Can’t I just focus on racing for a bit?”

Max laughs from across the table. “You’re a champion, Y/n. Publicity comes with the territory.” As they continue the discussion, Y/n’s phone buzzes loudly on the table, making everyone pause. She glances at the screen and notices the notifications piling up at an unusual rate.

“What the hell?” she mutters, picking up her phone. She unlocks it and sees Twitter lighting up with mentions. Her eyes quickly scan through the tweets, and that’s when she spots it—Carlos Sainz’s tweet.

@Carlossainz55 “Free champagne, huh? 🍾 I guess I’ll just have to race even faster to make sure you get the good stuff, @Y/nY/L/n88 😉 #SeeYouSoon”

Y/n blinks, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Well, well, well... Max, always nosy, leans over. “What’s got you smiling like that?”

Without answering, Y/n hands her phone to him. Max reads the tweet, and a slow grin spreads across his face. “Ohhhh... Carlos Sainz, huh? Didn’t take him for the cheeky type.” Olivia peers over Max’s shoulder, and her eyes light up with a mix of curiosity and excitement. “Oh my god, this is golden.”

Y/n rolls her eyes, but she can’t deny the warmth spreading through her chest. “It’s just a tweet. No big deal.” Max hands the phone back to her, but Olivia’s already plotting, her PR instincts kicking into high gear. “Wait, this could actually be something. We can totally turn this into a PR opportunity.”

Darren, usually the more practical one, tilts his head thoughtfully. “Carlos is one of the most popular F1 drivers right now, and the crossover between MotoGP and F1 fans is pretty strong. What if we use this?” Y/n looks at them skeptically. “Use this how?”

Olivia’s eyes gleam with excitement. “What if we invite Carlos and Ferrari to a fun ‘swap’ session? You try out an F1 car, and he gets on your MotoGP bike. We can set it up the day before the Grand Prix—you’re already invited, so why not make it more interesting?” Y/n raises an eyebrow, considering it. “You really think he’d be up for that? I mean, riding a MotoGP bike isn’t exactly something you can just hop on and do.”

Max grins. “Oh, he’ll do it. You know how competitive these guys are. No way Carlos Sainz would back down from a challenge, especially not if it means spending more time with you.”

Y/n can’t help but laugh at that. “Alright, I’ll admit it sounds fun. But are we seriously going to invite the entire Ferrari team just to have Carlos try my bike?” Olivia nods enthusiastically. “Think about it! The media would go crazy for this. ‘MotoGP Champion and F1 Star Swap Rides!’ It’s a perfect way to build hype before the Grand Prix.”

Darren chimes in, more serious now. “It’s not just good for publicity. It’s a good break from the usual routine. You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, Y/n. This could be a way to have some fun and blow off steam before the race. Plus, getting into an F1 car? That’s a rare opportunity.” Y/n thinks it over, tapping her fingers on the table. As much as she’s focused on her upcoming race, the idea of swapping machines with Carlos is exciting. And she can already picture the look on his face when she shows up at the track, ready to ride his car.

“Alright,” Y/n says finally, a mischievous smile creeping across her face. “Let’s do it. Set it up.” Max grins and pulls out his phone. “I’ll get in touch with Ferrari. This is going to be fun.”

As they start to make the arrangements, Y/n’s thoughts drift back to the tweet. She can’t help but wonder how Carlos will react when he finds out she’ll be driving his car. And riding her bike? Well, that’ll be interesting to see.

The track is buzzing with energy, a rare blend of both MotoGP and F1 teams mingling together. The media presence is heavy, with cameras set up all around, ready to capture every moment of this unique event. The Ferrari team is already in place, the iconic red cars gleaming under the sunlight, while Y/n’s Repsol Honda bike stands proud nearby, sleek and dangerous in comparison to the F1 machines. Carlos stands by his car, grinning as he talks with his mechanics, the excitement evident on his face. He’s been buzzing ever since this whole swap idea came about—nervous but thrilled at the same time. He’s used to pushing boundaries, but this? Riding a MotoGP bike? It’s a whole new challenge, and he’s ready for it.

But all the talking and commotion come to a halt when Y/n finally arrives.

She walks in with her team, her presence commanding attention immediately. Dressed in her leathers, helmet in hand, Y/n exudes confidence as she strides across the paddock toward Carlos and the Ferrari team. There’s an electricity in the air, a lively, almost playful energy that follows her wherever she goes. Carlos watches her approach, trying to keep his cool, but it’s impossible not to feel a little starstruck. It’s one thing to watch Y/n’s races on TV or follow her interviews online, but seeing her in person, in her element, is something else entirely.

Y/n’s team stops a few feet away, but she keeps walking, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she approaches Carlos. She’s holding something behind her back.

“So,” she says with a teasing smile, “I figured you might need a little extra motivation today.” Carlos raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Oh? What’s that?”

With a flourish, Y/n pulls out a custom-made MotoGP racing suit, the Repsol Honda colors blazing across the front. But the detail that stands out most is the number on the back—55, Carlos’s number. “For you,” Y/n says, handing it over to him. “Thought you’d want to look the part.”

Carlos stares at the suit in surprise, clearly touched. He runs his fingers over the fabric, admiring the design. “You got this made for me?” Y/n grins. “Yep. Figured you couldn’t ride in anything less than perfect. Plus, I wanted you to feel at home on my bike.”

Carlos chuckles, still a bit in awe. “This is amazing. I wasn’t expecting anything like this.”

“Gotta do things properly, right?” Y/n says, winking. “Besides, I thought it’d be fun to see you in MotoGP gear for a change.” Carlos smiles, shaking his head. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect to be in your shoes today.”

“Don’t worry,” Y/n says, stepping closer and giving his car a once-over. “I didn’t come empty-handed either. Your team’s got me covered with one of their suits for when I try this beast out.” The two of them stand side by side, and the cameras zoom in, capturing the playful banter between two of motorsport’s biggest stars. The energy is palpable, and even the crews can feel the excitement in the air.

Max, Y/n’s manager, steps in to break the ice. “Alright, let’s get to it. We’ve got a lot of curious fans waiting to see how this goes.” Y/n turns to Carlos, nodding toward the bike. “Alright, let’s go over the basics. I know you’re used to going fast, but trust me, this is a whole different world.”

She walks over to her bike, crouching down beside it as Carlos follows, watching intently. “This thing weighs a lot less than what you’re used to,” Y/n explains, pointing to different parts of the machine. “You’ll feel it the moment you’re on it. The bike reacts to every shift of your body weight, so you’ve got to be precise. The throttle is sensitive, and braking is more of an art than a science. And the leaning—well, let’s just say you’re going to be a lot closer to the ground than you’re used to.”

Carlos listens intently, nodding. “How do you even stay balanced at those speeds?”

Y/n smirks. “Practice. And a lot of trust in the bike.”

Carlos gives her a nervous laugh. “I’ll try not to embarrass myself.”

“You’ll be fine,” Y/n reassures him. “Just remember, it’s all about smooth control. No jerky movements. The bike’s sensitive to everything.” After a few more pointers, they switch places, and now it’s Carlos’s turn to show her the ropes of the Ferrari F1 car. He gestures toward the sleek red machine, a smile on his face. “Alright, your turn,” Carlos says. “This thing’s a bit heavier than your bike, but the biggest challenge is handling the downforce. You’re glued to the track at high speeds, so you’ll feel the weight pressing you down in the corners.”

Y/n walks around the car, running her hand along the bodywork. “Yeah, but the aerodynamics must be insane.”

“They are,” Carlos confirms, nodding. “The steering is sensitive, but not as much as your bike. The G-forces are what’ll catch you off guard. And braking—you’ll feel like your face is about to fly off if you don’t time it right.” Y/n raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like a good time.”

Carlos laughs. “Just don’t crash my car.”

Y/n shoots him a cheeky grin. “No promises.”

They go back and forth, explaining key points about their machines, and the atmosphere around them is electric. The crews are engaged, the media is watching every second, and the two of them are visibly enjoying themselves, trading jokes and challenges. Finally, it’s time to suit up. Carlos heads off to change into the custom MotoGP suit Y/n brought him, while she prepares to get into the Ferrari racing suit. Before they get started, Y/n catches Carlos’s eye from across the paddock, her smile filled with excitement. She gives him a thumbs-up, and he returns the gesture with a confident nod.

“Ready?” Y/n calls out, voice full of energy.

Carlos smirks. “Let’s do this.”

The roar of engines fills the air as both Y/n and Carlos make their way onto the track, each settled into the other’s machine. The air is electric with anticipation—the media cameras, the drone overhead, and every single person watching knows this is a moment that will go down in motorsport history. Y/n sits in the Ferrari F1 car, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she adjusts to the strange yet exhilarating feel of being enclosed in a cockpit. The sleek machine hums beneath her, far heavier and more grounded than her usual two-wheeled ride. But she’s a natural at anything with speed, and a gleam of excitement dances in her eyes. Beside her, Carlos straddles Y/n’s MotoGP bike, the custom suit she gave him clinging perfectly to his frame. He’s got his helmet on, but even through the visor, you can sense the mix of adrenaline and focus. The bike feels impossibly light compared to the powerful bulk of his F1 car, and the sheer nakedness of being so exposed to the elements hits him. But he’s never backed down from a challenge, and today won’t be the first time.

They exchange hand signals from their respective positions on the track, a quick thumbs-up from Carlos and a nod from Y/n. There’s a quiet understanding between them, a shared thrill in stepping into each other’s worlds. From above, the drone captures it all—two of the most talented racers in the world, side by side, each piloting a machine that represents the pinnacle of their respective sports. The sleek lines of the Ferrari car and the aggressive stance of the MotoGP bike create a striking visual, a powerful image of speed and mastery.

The signal is given, and in unison, they take off. The sound is a symphony of engines, the deep growl of the Ferrari car paired with the high-pitched scream of the MotoGP bike as they barrel down the track. Y/n accelerates, feeling the weight of the car pull her into the seat as the G-forces kick in. It’s different from the way her bike responds to her every movement, but the sheer power beneath her hands is intoxicating.

Carlos, on the other hand, feels the rush of wind against his body as he leans forward on Y/n’s bike. The throttle is responsive, almost too responsive, but he finds a rhythm quickly, letting the machine guide him as he leans into the turns. The bike is an extension of him now, just like the Ferrari car usually is. For a brief moment, they race side by side, the drone capturing them from above, the image of Y/n in the Ferrari car and Carlos on the MotoGP bike cutting through the track like two forces of nature. They’re powerful, fast, and in complete control. Each of them looks like they were born to drive the other’s machine.

The cameras pick up every detail—the blur of the red Ferrari car and the streak of the Repsol Honda bike flying through the straight. Fans watching online are losing their minds, the comments exploding with excitement as they witness the two champions in a never-before-seen crossover. As they approach the first curve, Y/n taps the brakes just as Carlos mentioned, feeling the insane deceleration hit her body. Her head whips forward slightly, but she keeps control, pushing through the turn as the car sticks to the track like glue.

Carlos, on the bike, mirrors her movements, leaning hard into the corner, knees almost grazing the asphalt as the bike angles dangerously low. For a second, it feels like the whole world slows down, the sheer skill and control they both exhibit as they handle each other’s machines drawing gasps from onlookers. Out of the corner, they both accelerate again, the sheer power of the machines once more filling the air. Carlos gets a brief glimpse of Y/n in his rearview mirror—focused, intense, completely in her element even though she’s driving a car she’s never raced before. And she glances at him through the open track, watching as he masters her bike like he’s been riding it for years.

It’s a strange, beautiful balance—two worlds colliding, yet both of them making it look effortless.

As they come to a slower pace after a few laps, they pull up beside each other again on the track, both of them giving a nod of acknowledgment. The air feels different now—charged with respect and a sense of shared accomplishment. Y/n takes off her helmet, her face flushed with excitement, and she leans out of the Ferrari cockpit with a grin. “You weren’t kidding about the G-forces! I thought my head was about to fly off in the corners.” Carlos, still on the bike, laughs as he pulls off his own helmet, hair slightly tousled from the ride. “I thought I was going to eat dirt with every turn! That thing is alive!”

They both laugh, the tension of the challenge melting away into pure enjoyment. Around them, the teams cheer and clap, the media capturing every smile, every word exchanged between them. Walking over to each other, “I have no idea how you ride this thing at 300 kilometers an hour.”

Y/n shrugs, her smile playful. “It’s all in the hips.” Carlos lets out a genuine laugh, clearly enjoying himself. “Yeah, well, next time, I’ll stick to four wheels.”

“Next time?” Y/n quirks an eyebrow, teasing him. “Who says there’s a next time?” Carlos smirks, a twinkle in his eye. “I guess we’ll see.”

The track is still buzzing with excitement as the Ferrari and Repsol Honda teams gather around. Cameras from every angle catch the post-swap interaction between Y/n and Carlos, and it’s clear that their chemistry has everyone’s attention. Y/n, with a playful grin on her face. The light gleams off her racing suit, and she looks perfectly at ease despite the intensity of what they’ve just done. Carlos is leaning casually against the bike, still riding the high of adrenaline, his own helmet in hand. The shared experience seems to have amplified the spark between them, and neither is holding back from teasing the other now.

“Well,” Y/n starts, her voice light, “I’ll admit, your car’s a beast. Smooth, fast, and those corners? Brutal. But… I think I’ll stick to my bike.” She shoots him a sideways glance. “It just feels more… free.”

Carlos chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Free, huh? Well, I guess that explains why you’re always practically lying on the track in those turns. I swear I thought you were going to wipe out on your own bike back there.”

Y/n raises an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Oh please, you were the one clutching the handlebars like your life depended on it. Don’t think I didn’t notice that little wobble on the first lap.”

He lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “I wasn’t wobbling. That was calculated risk. I was just… testing the limits.” Y/n steps closer, her smile mischievous. “Is that what we’re calling it? Calculated risk?”

The playful banter between them is magnetic, drawing the attention of both teams and the media, who can’t get enough of this dynamic. The cameras zoom in as Y/n and Carlos exchange looks that seem to linger a beat too long. From the sidelines, Max, Y/n’s manager, and a few of the Ferrari crew exchange knowing glances, smirking as if they’re all thinking the same thing: Are they about to kiss right now?

Y/n shifts her weight, teasing Carlos just a bit more. “You know,” she says, her voice dropping slightly, “for a guy who’s supposed to be all about precision, you looked a little nervous on my bike.”

Carlos crosses his arms, leaning in slightly, his grin widening. “Nervous? Nah. Just giving you a chance to show off. Can’t have you thinking you’re the only one who’s good at what you do.”

“Oh, is that what it was?” Y/n raises an eyebrow, stepping even closer. Their eyes lock, and for a split second, the playful atmosphere feels charged with something deeper. Carlos, not backing down, smirks and lowers his voice. “Guess you’ll just have to ride with me again to find out.”

The two of them are standing inches apart now, and everyone watching can feel the tension. The media cameras are eating it up, and their respective teams can’t help but chuckle and whisper amongst themselves. This whole interaction feels less like a casual chat and more like they’re about to… well, do something more than just talk. But before things can go any further, Y/n breaks the moment, grinning as she holds out her helmet to Carlos. “Alright, Mr. Calculated Risk. Since we’re making history today, how about we mark it?”

Carlos tilts his head, curious. “What do you have in mind?” She tosses him a silver marker, the mischievous glint returning to her eyes. “Sign it. Right here.” She points to the side of her helmet. “Next time I hit the track, I’ll wear it with your name on it.”

Carlos takes the marker, his grin returning full force as he catches on. “You want me to sign your helmet? And here I thought we’d stick to autographs on fan merchandise.” Y/n gives him a playful nudge. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just letting you mark your territory for a lap or two.”

Carlos raises the marker to her helmet, writing his name with a flourish, then adds a cheeky number 55 next to it. “There,” he says, handing it back. “Now every time you take a corner, you’ll remember who taught you to handle it with calculated risk.” Y/n rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile as she takes the helmet. “You’re insufferable.”

“Thank you,” Carlos replies, flashing her a wink. Before he can say more, Y/n takes the marker and holds out his helmet, eyes gleaming. “Your turn. I’m signing this, and you’re wearing it at your next race. No excuses.”

Carlos holds out his helmet willingly. “Go ahead. I’ll wear it proudly.” Y/n signs her name across the top, adding her signature with a flourish. Underneath her name, she scrawls a tiny motorcycle symbol, and next to it, a number 1 to signify her championship wins.

“Now you’ll have a reminder of what it’s like to be on two wheels,” she teases, handing it back to him. Carlos takes it, admiring the signature and the small touch of the motorcycle. He grins, twirling the helmet in his hands. “I’ll take good care of it. You know, for when I need to remind myself who my competition is.”

Y/n laughs softly, and for a moment, they just stand there, the helmets exchanged, the playful atmosphere between them thick with unspoken energy. It’s clear to everyone watching that this interaction has gone far beyond just a simple vehicle swap—it’s something more. Carlos leans in slightly, his voice low so only she can hear. “Maybe next time we should do something without the cameras around.”

Y/n smirks, her eyes sparkling with challenge. “Maybe. But only if you think you can keep up.” Carlos chuckles softly, shaking his head. “You’re trouble.”

“Always,” Y/n replies, giving him one last grin before stepping back toward her team. The media continues to snap photos and record, while their respective teams exchange knowing glances, fully aware that this might just be the start of something more between the MotoGP champion and the Ferrari star.

The day of the Formula 1 Grand Prix dawns bright and lively, the paddock buzzing with energy as teams prepare for the race. The smell of fuel mixes with the excitement of fans milling around, eagerly waiting for their favorite drivers to arrive. As the sun climbs higher in the sky, the atmosphere is electric—this is what racing fans live for.

Y/n walks into the paddock, and there’s a noticeable shift in energy. She’s not wearing her usual rockstar attire; today, she’s opted for something far more casual yet elegantly chic. A flowing sundress in vibrant colors, paired with stylish flats, makes her look like she just stepped out of a romantic comedy. Her hair falls effortlessly around her shoulders, and she wears a pair of chic sunglasses that give her an air of playful mystery.

As she strolls through the paddock, she pauses to pose for a few cameras, her radiant smile captivating the crowd. Fans rush up, eager to get autographs, and Y/n obliges, chatting animatedly with them. Her warmth and charm shine through as she laughs with a group of children, kneeling down to their level to take pictures.

“Make sure to cheer for me at the next MotoGP!” she says playfully, ruffling the hair of one excited young fan before continuing her walk toward the Ferrari garage. Entering the Ferrari pit, Y/n is met with a warm welcome. The team members greet her like family, their energy reflecting the excitement of the day ahead. She exchanges light banter with the crew, showing genuine interest in their preparations for the race.

“Ready to help Carlos blow everyone away?” she asks, leaning against the wall, arms crossed with a teasing smile.

“Always,” one of the engineers replies, grinning. “But we might have a few surprises up our sleeves today.” Just then, Carlos strides into the garage, wearing his signature race suit, all focus and intensity, but when he spots Y/n, his expression shifts. His eyes light up, and a wide smile breaks across his face.

“Look who’s gracing us with her presence!” he exclaims, walking over with an easy confidence. “You clean up pretty well for a MotoGP star.”

Y/n chuckles, her hands on her hips. “And you clean up pretty well for a Formula 1 driver. Who knew all those laps in the gym would lead to this?” She gestures to his fit physique with a teasing wink.

Carlos steps closer, a playful glint in his eyes. “I might have to start taking racing tips from you if it means I get to hang out with you more often. You seem to have a talent for stealing the spotlight.”

“Spotlight? Me?” Y/n feigns innocence, placing a hand over her heart. “I’m just here to support my favorite F1 driver.”

Carlos leans in, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Support, huh? Is that what they’re calling it now?” His tone is playful, the chemistry between them almost palpable.

“Absolutely,” she replies, returning his teasing tone. “Especially since I brought you that special helmet. You know, the one with my signature? Must be nice to have that little bit of extra luck on your side.” Carlos nods, his smirk growing. “I wear it every time I get in the car. Makes me feel like I’m part of your world too.”

“Good. You’ll need all the luck you can get against those speed demons out there,” Y/n quips, tilting her head toward the track.

“Speaking of demons,” Carlos says, taking a step closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “You better not cheer too loud for me today; I can’t have you stealing my thunder.”

“Me? Steal your thunder? Never,” Y/n says, her tone dramatic. “I’m merely here to shine my light on your glory.” Carlos chuckles, leaning back against the garage wall, crossing his arms as he watches her, eyes glinting with amusement. “You do have a knack for it.”

Just then, a crew member walks by, interrupting their banter with a friendly wave. Carlos glances over at him, then back at Y/n, his expression softening slightly. “So, what are your plans after the race? Fancy a celebratory drink with the team?”

Y/n raises an eyebrow, a smile playing on her lips. “Celebratory drink? Are you inviting me to your post-race party, Sainz?” Carlos nods, his smile widening. “I might just be. But only if you promise to tell everyone how awesome I am.”

“Hmm, tough sell,” Y/n teases, pretending to think it over. “But for you, I might just give it a shot. Only if you promise to keep things interesting out on the track.”

Carlos leans in, their faces just inches apart now. “You have my word. And I promise to make it worth your while.” Their banter is filled with flirtation and a hint of something deeper, and it’s clear to anyone watching that the chemistry between them is undeniable. The two of them linger for a moment, both reluctant to break the spell of this perfect, teasing moment.

But the sound of the team rallying for final preparations pulls them back to reality. Y/n straightens up, smoothing her dress, but her gaze remains fixed on Carlos. “Go get ‘em, champ. Show them what you’re made of.” Carlos nods, the intensity of the moment settling back into determination. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to leave a little bit of magic on the track for you to see.”

With one last playful look, Y/n steps back, giving him space to prepare for the race, her heart racing from more than just the thrill of the day ahead. As she watches him turn back to his team, she can’t help but feel that this was just the beginning of something exciting, something that would continue long after the checkered flag waves.Y/n stands among the team, sporting a set of Ferrari headphones that the engineers had given her, looking every bit the part of a VIP guest. Her excitement is palpable, the thrill of the race seeping into her veins as the engines roar to life. She can feel the adrenaline coursing through the air, and her heart races in sync with the anticipation of the crowd.

Max, her manager, stands beside her, a proud grin on his face as he watches the screen displaying the various camera angles and live feeds from the track. “This is it! Let’s see how your boyfriend handles this,” he jokes, nudging her playfully. Y/n rolls her eyes, her smile widening. “We’re not dating, Max. You know that.”

The lights turn green, and the race begins with a deafening roar as cars zoom off the grid. The crowd erupts, cheers echoing through the paddock. Y/n leans forward, her attention fully focused on the screen, heart racing in sync with the cars racing around the track. The race unfolds beautifully—Carlos shows off his skills, navigating each turn with precision, his car darting ahead of the competition. Y/n can’t help but admire the way he drives, effortlessly gliding past his competitors. She leans into the excitement, her enthusiasm palpable, cheering for him as if she were in the stands.

Suddenly, the camera pans to her in the garage, capturing her intense focus and the joy radiating from her. The screen shifts to a bold graphic that reads: “Y/n Y/L/n, Repsol Honda MotoGP Champion, Girlfriend of Carlos Sainz Jr.” The moment hangs in the air for a split second, and then chaos erupts.

Max bursts into laughter, nearly doubling over as he points at the screen. “Oh, this is golden! I can’t believe they actually did that!”

Y/n’s jaw drops, and she glances at the screen, then back at Max, her face a mix of confusion and disbelief. “Excuse me? TF?” She’s hit with the realization, her expression morphing into one of pure meme-worthy shock, her eyes wide and mouth agape. It’s the kind of expression that screams “Error 404: Not Found.”

Around them, the other team members burst into laughter, some leaning against the wall, others doubled over. The engineers are pointing at the screen, chuckling amongst themselves. Y/n tries to regain her composure but ends up laughing along with them. “Oh my God! I’m not his girlfriend!” she exclaims, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is ridiculous!”

The laughter in the garage only grows louder as the camera keeps focusing on her. Fans in the stands go wild, cheering at the sight of her on the screen, chanting both Carlos’s name and hers, causing the atmosphere to swell with excitement.

“Looks like you’ve got a whole new fan club!” Max teases, still chuckling. “Just wait until the MotoGP fans see this. You’ll be trending worldwide!” Y/n runs a hand through her hair, half-embarrassed and half-amused. “Great, just what I need—a bunch of fans shipping me with Carlos!”

“Can you blame them?” Max replies, snickering. “You two have more chemistry than half the couples I know.” As the race continues, Y/n tries to focus back on Carlos’s performance, but the laughter and joking don’t let up. Every time she glances back at the screen, she can see her face alongside Carlos’s name, and the hilarity of the situation sinks deeper into her. With each lap, Carlos’s determination shines through, and she finds herself cheering louder, the ridiculousness of the situation only adding to her excitement.

“I’m going to need to have a serious talk with him after this race,” she mutters under her breath, her competitive spirit igniting at the thought of everyone thinking she’s his girlfriend. Max nudges her, unable to hide his amusement. “Just make sure you don’t start acting like one during the post-race celebration. That’ll really throw everyone off!”

Y/n laughs, shaking her head. “You’re terrible! But you know what? Let them think what they want. I’ll just keep being awesome and let him deal with the fallout.” As the race continues, Y/n’s focus remains on Carlos, her pride swelling as he navigates the track, completely in his element. The banter and laughter in the garage only fuel her determination to support him—she’s his biggest fan, even if the world thinks there’s something more between them. The cameras continue to capture the moment, and even as the race heats up, Y/n knows this day is one she will remember, both for the thrilling race and the unexpected meme-worthy moment that’s bound to follow her for weeks to come. The excitement in the Ferrari garage is palpable as the laps wind down, and the tension builds. Y/n can hardly contain her enthusiasm, her heart racing as Carlos drives with precision, skill, and determination. The roar of the crowd outside amplifies her anticipation, and she leans closer to the edge of the pit, eyes glued to the screen, fully invested in every move he makes.

“Come on, Carlos! You’ve got this!” she shouts, pumping her fists in the air, her voice blending with the cheers of the team surrounding her. As Carlos crosses the finish line, taking P1 in a triumphant victory, the Ferrari garage erupts in jubilation. Y/n can’t hold back any longer—she leaps to her feet, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “He did it! He did it!” she screams, her excitement overflowing. With every ounce of joy in her heart, she starts jumping up and down, hands in the air, celebrating as if she just won the championship herself. She can’t help but mimic the kind of over-the-top celebration she’s seen from other passionate fans, exuding pure joy and excitement.

The camera pans to her again, capturing her exhilaration as she screams, “Yes! Yes! Go, Carlos!” Her enthusiasm is infectious, drawing laughter and cheers from everyone in the garage. She dances in place, spinning around as if she’s on a cloud, completely caught up in the moment. Max stands beside her, his mouth agape at her transformation. “Bitch, what happened to ‘we're not dating’?” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief at the contrast between her earlier nonchalance and her current state of ecstatic celebration.

Y/n shoots him a playful glare, still beaming with excitement. “Shut up! This is a big deal!” she retorts, her voice filled with joy. “Look at him! He’s a freaking legend!” The rest of the Ferrari crew laughs, joining in on the celebration as Y/n dances around them, clapping and cheering for Carlos, who is now taking his victory lap. The moment feels surreal; her enthusiasm, while perhaps a bit exaggerated, is genuine and heartfelt.

The cameras catch every detail—her wild jumps, the way her hair flies around her face, the sheer delight in her expression as she revels in Carlos's triumph. The screens display her excitement, and the fans in the stands see her joy, igniting cheers for both Carlos and Y/n. “Honestly, if this doesn’t get you two shipped to the top of every fan forum, I don’t know what will!” Max continues, chuckling. “You’re practically his cheerleader!”

“Oh please,” Y/n laughs, rolling her eyes but still grinning from ear to ear. “I’m just proud of my friend! This is just… it’s amazing!”

But even she can’t help but notice the way her heart swells with pride as Carlos soaks in the victory. There’s something undeniable about the way he drives, the passion radiating from him, and the happiness of seeing him succeed sends waves of joy through her. As the Ferrari team gathers around, clapping and congratulating one another, Y/n can’t help but feel a surge of pride. She’s swept up in the celebration, hugging the engineers and sharing in their triumph, her laughter ringing out amidst the chaos.

After Carlos’s triumphant win, Y/n finds herself swept along with the Ferrari team as they move toward the area under the podiums. The air is thick with celebration—engineers are high-fiving, team members are cheering, and the scent of victory fills the atmosphere. Y/n can hardly contain her excitement, her heart still racing from the thrill of the race. As the national anthem plays, Carlos stands atop the podium, beaming with pride. He glances down at Y/n, and for a brief moment, their eyes lock. A sly grin spreads across his face, and he gives her a playful wink, the kind that sends a flutter through her stomach. It’s a teasing, flirtatious gesture that makes her pulse quicken, and she can’t help but smile back, the excitement of the day reflected in her expression.

Once the anthem concludes, the champagne spray begins, the bubbles bursting forth like a celebration in itself. Y/n watches as Carlos pops the champagne of his and sprays his teammate Leclerc who was sharing the podium with him then his bestfriend Lando, his joy radiating through every spray of champagne that flies into the air. The Ferrari team cheers, and Y/n finds herself laughing, caught up in the euphoria of the moment. As the champagne rain begins to settle, Carlos makes his way down from the podium, his eyes searching for Y/n in the crowd. When he spots her, he strides over, his demeanor still buzzing with adrenaline and joy.

Y/n grins widely, her heart swelling with pride as he approaches. “Congratulations! You were incredible out there!” she exclaims, her excitement evident. Carlos pulls her into a warm hug, the kind that feels both celebratory and a little intimate. As he pulls back, he chuckles, shaking his head with a mock sigh. “Your free champagne is all over me, sadly,” he says, a flirtatious sparkle in his eyes, referencing their inside joke about how she had joked that she’d be there for the free champagne.

Y/n bursts into laughter, unable to help herself. “Oh no! you’ll have to make it up to me then—how about a proper celebration drink later?” she teases back, her eyes shining. At thet moment Carlos can’t help but gaze at Y/n, his heart racing from the adrenaline of the race and the warmth of her presence. He runs a hand through his hair, still damp with champagne, and takes a step closer, his expression shifting from playful to sincere.

“You know,” he begins, his voice low enough to cut through the noise of the crowd, “this fan of yours has been dying to ask you something.”

Y/n tilts her head, feigning innocence as she raises an eyebrow. “Oh? And what does my biggest fan want to ask me?” she teases, leaning in slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Carlos takes a deep breath, his gaze steady as he holds her gaze. “How about you give this fan a chance? Like, a real chance. I’d love to take you out sometime. Just the two of us.” His tone is playful yet earnest, a mixture of flirtation and genuine interest. Y/n feigns contemplation, biting her lip as she looks up at him, playing it up. “Hmm, let me think… A date with a Formula 1 driver? How could I possibly resist?” She pauses, a playful smile dancing on her lips. “But I have to warn you, I might steal your champagne next time!”

Carlos chuckles, his eyes lighting up at her teasing. “Is that a yes?” She nods slowly, pretending to mull it over before finally breaking into a wide grin. “Okay, fine! Yes, I’d love to go out with you. Just don’t expect me to behave!” she replies, her tone light but the meaning clear.

“Perfect!” he beams, relief flooding his expression. “Just one condition, though.”

“Here we go,” Y/n replies, her grin widening. “What’s your condition?”

“You have to wear my number on our date,” Carlos says, a cheeky smile on his face. “I want everyone to know you’re with the winning team.”

Y/n laughs, shaking her head. “As long as you promise not to get champagne on me again, it’s a deal!” Carlos leans in, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “No promises. But I can guarantee a lot of fun—and some pretty good food.”

“Sounds like a perfect evening,” Y/n says, her heart fluttering at the thought of their upcoming date.Just then, someone from the Ferrari team calls out to Carlos, pulling him back to the festivities. But before he goes, he leans in closer, brushing against her shoulder. “You won’t regret it, Y/n. Just wait until you see what I have planned.”

And in that moment, he leans in, closing the distance between them. His lips brush against hers softly, sending a jolt of electricity through both of them. It’s a gentle kiss, filled with the promise of something more, lingering just enough to make Y/n's heart race. Y/n pulls back slightly, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide with surprise. “Wow,” she breathes, caught off guard but thrilled. “Was that part of the proposal?”

Carlos grins, a playful glint in his eyes. “Consider it a bonus. Just a taste of what’s to come.” As he turns to rejoin his team, Y/n stands there, her heart fluttering and her mind racing. The kiss lingers on her lips, mixing with the excitement of the day and the anticipation of their upcoming date. Amidst the cheers and laughter of the Ferrari crew, she can’t help but think that this victory—and the promise of more adventures with Carlos—could be the start of something truly special.

[callsign-honeybeewildfox2]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ under your roof ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ your baby daughter really likes uncle wade’s roommate, and logan would be lying if he said he didn’t form a quick attachment to the two of you as well┊2.9k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: probably occ logan, he’s on his best behavior, mostly fluff with a little side of angst, single mother reader with an unspecified age, this chapter is mainly between logan & your daughter, reader has a bad relationship with the father & he’s an asshole, one joking threat of stabbing

➤ author's note: this was so much fun to write! single mom reader and her daughter are so lovely and i have two more part featuring these two and logan coming up! i hope you guys enjoy

kids don’t like logan. it’s not a profound discovery nor is it a surprise to anyone who learns this fact. he’s intimidating enough to make some full-grown men piss themselves with so much as a glare, much less little babies who start sobbing uncontrollably when they see a giant scary man walking around believing that he would eat them or something even though he’s literally just standing there. whether the little ones have an instinct that signals him out as a mutant or he simply looks like a bad man from one of their fairy tales, he isn’t sure, but it’s not the best feeling either way when he’s trying to settle back into normal life with the constant weight of knowing that he’ll never fit in.

it doesn’t help that, in general, he isn’t good with kids either. he’s generally patient with their immaturity since they don’t know any better, but he finds the crying and whining extremely headache-inducing to his sensitive senses without a clue how to calm them down.

moving in with wade and acquainting himself with his friends was a start, but the missing part of his life to make him finally feel loved and at home was the family of two who lived downstairs. the first time he met you was also the first time he met your daughter when wade told him to dress a little nicer because the two of them were invited to your place for dinner. he explained that the two of you were practically siblings and that it would probably be something he should get used to, reminding him to “turn that frown upside down” because he was about to meet someone who “puts gordon ramsey to shame.”

the last bit sounded great to him, especially because no one in their household knew how to make anything more complicated than noodles without setting it on fire and the cost of outside food was really starting to tally up. still, he just wore some cargo pants and threw on a leather jacket, running his fingers through his hair once which was already a lot more effort than he’s ever put into meeting anyone else before.

wade didn’t even bother knocking, just being himself and picking the lock as he so typically does, kicking the door open and yelling a loud ass “daddy’s home!” which echoed throughout the apartment as well as the hallway they were standing in. the mouth-watering smell of grilled salmon filled the air, making wade hum in excitement, “do you need help with anything? taste testing, perhaps?”

“no, do me a favor and stay away from the kitchen!” your voice rang out loud and clear, sounding much like a mother scolding a teenager for the thousandth time. “i’ll stab you, do me a favor and just hang out in the living room.”

“okie-dokie!” he responded in an annoying sing-song voice, “come on, peanut, take off your shoes.” the said man could already tell how at home his roommate seemed in this place, just as comfortable as he was back home, walking with steps he’s taken many times before and prompting logan to do the same (except he was mainly keeping to himself and being much more mild-mannered in this unfamiliar area).

the place was as spacious as the small area could be and tastefully decorated, but all sharp corners of furniture were taped over to dull the edges and the carpet had multiple kinds of colorful toys littered about. in the center of it all, was a little toddler about two or three years old, playing with a kitchen set and trying to copy what her mom was doing by running back and forth between the living room and the kitchen. she didn’t even notice the two men at first, not until wade called out her name and she dropped the plastic utensils to clap her hands together before waddling over to him.

“hey, baby! how are you doing? did you miss me?” he cooed in the high-pitched voice reserved only for mary puppins, reaching down to pick up the girl by her underarms and kissing her cheek, spinning around with her in his arms as she giggled uncontrollably. “do you wanna meet the big scary wolverine while i go bother your mommy? who am i kidding, of course you do!” he then dropped her onto the couch, making sure that she didn’t bounce up too high on the cushion and hurt herself. “okay, you keep her company while i go see what’s for dessert— bye!”

before logan could say anything, he was already gone, disappearing around the corner into the sound of sizzling foods and the scent of herbs. pursing his lips together and shuffling his feet around for a second, he grunted and braced himself for the child to start sobbing uncontrollably because she was left alone with him. the first time he meets you, whom he’s heard so many good things about, is going to be when you have to kick him out with his tail in between his legs for disturbing the peace of your home.

but the cries never came, and his eyes met her big curious ones as she just stared up at him in silence. it was honestly a tad bit unnerving like she was sizing him up and carefully thinking about her next move. 

and then she started giggling like earlier, kind of a more gurgling noise of playfulness more than anything, standing at his feet and waving around her short outstretched arms to signal that she wanted uppies from him.

“oh no—“ he’s not sure why he even let out a word or protest to begin with when he knew she wouldn’t listen, but it was pure instinct since, once again, he had no idea how to handle children. although she would probably also start crying if he didn’t listen to her, so he reluctantly bent down to pick her up, holding her close to the side of his chest and nervously awaiting her next move.

she was motionless for a minute with a little hand on her chubby cheek and the other trying to clutch onto the thick leather of his jacket, eyes darting around like she was seeing the world from a new perspective for the first time even though he was a hundred percent certain wade held her like his when they are the same height.

“kitty!”

“what?”

she pointed at the top of his head, his hair tuffs specifically, and reached out to pull on one of them curiously.

“no— not a kitty!” he’s never going to escape that fucking nickname, he wouldn’t be surprised if his roommate taught her to say that before she met him in person, able to perfectly envision wade crouching in front of her with a stupid picture of him on his phone and training her to say “kitty” every time she saw his photo by rewarding her with candy or something since there is no way she associated someone who looks like him to a kitten so quickly unironically.

“no kitty?”

“no— logan, lo-gan.”

she tried to pronounce his name a few times before giving up after getting stuck in the second syllable, blowing a raspberry and going back to what she was doing earlier— finding the most fun in tugging on his cowlicks like she was trying to figure out if he naturally woke up like that with the inability to brush them down or styled them with gel every day.

he sat down on the couch, the cushion sinking under his heavyweight, and sat your daughter down on his lap instead, except she didn’t want to sit down. standing on his lap and pressing her little feet into his thighs, she began to climb onto his shoulder like he was a jungle gym, using his arms as stepping stones to reach her destination while he bent over at the waist to allow her to crawl onto his back without falling behind him.

“you’re like a little lemur,” he muttered, still in slight shock that this kid seemed to like him and wasn’t freaking out like he was the big bad wolf. he wouldn’t admit it, but it was a really nice feeling that gave him a sense of normalcy like he was just some guy rather than the killing machine mutant most knew him as. she wouldn’t stop giggling and holding onto him, which made him feel his ice-cold heart melting like snow by spring’s first touch. 

all the while, he could hear you and wade chatting away in the background: something about him needing to step away from the stove, how you needed to trust him because him starting “that fire” was a one-time thing, what was for dessert, and then taking a sharp turn when the conversation suddenly shifted to the topic of the father.

he felt somewhat guilty about listening in, but he knew that deadpool was going to tell him eventually, so there wasn’t really any harm in a bit of eavesdropping (besides, it would have been difficult to ignore considering that your baby was being very well-behaved and his hearing wouldn’t have been able to pick up on anything else.)

“so… any news about her dad?” the solemn tone of a man who was hardly ever serious a day of his life was more terrifying than anything he’d ever witnessed in his long life.

“... he suddenly wants to be a family man, i guess…”

“what the hell does that even mean?”

the sound of a knife chopping vegetables against a wooden surface slowly came to a stop followed by a sigh. “like he wants to have a family… just not with the one he already started… he’s busy planning his wedding with the girl he cheated on me with and told me not to contact him again for any reason.”

“oh my god, what an asshole! fuck that guy!”

“i can’t believe that was the guy i thought i was going to spend the rest of my life with, could you imagine? i don’t even know what i could have done wrong for him to be like this— i asked him so many times and he just said that he’s ‘fallen out of love,’ has ‘moved on,’ and that i would ‘be cruel’ to ask him to stay even if it was for the sake of our child…”

“well if it’s any comfort, he would have been on the next episode of forensic files the second i got a moment alone with him— i mean, the last time we saw him, he literally pushed his own daughter away when she tried to hug him! what kind of sociopath wouldn’t adore such a cutie patootie, especially his own flesh and blood?! ”

“it’s fine,” you hissed, gritting your teeth at the memory. “it’s not like he’s done anything to deserve getting to be called a father to an angel anyway, i’ll take care of her myself— wait… didn’t i also invite your new roommate? did he not come?”

“no, he’s in the living room, he’s been here this entire time,” he informed, taking a bite out of an apple like an asshole from a film.

“and you didn’t tell me?!!!” you quickly ran into the said area, finding logan and your daughter together on the couch. “hi! oh, i’m so sorry i didn’t come to greet you properly— and left my daughter for you to look after too— god, i’m just a terrible host!” you tilted your head, “what’s your name?”

he then realized he was staring which was rather impolite, mouth slightly agape too like a fish out of water which left a few seconds of awkward silence in between. “i-i’m logan,” he managed to sputter, “nice to meet you..”

wade raised a nonexistent eyebrow at his strange mannerisms before a wide, shit-eating grin split his face. 

“aww, baby, why are you bothering this poor old man— come to mommy, it’s dinnertime,” you clapped your hands and held them out fully expecting her to reach out and grab onto you as she usually does, but instead she looked up at you with big pleading eyes and held onto him even more tightly like a koala clinging to a branch. “oh, did you get attached already? you really are my daughter… logan, could you do me a favor and put her in her high chair while i plate everything?”

“yes, of course.”

you turned back into the kitchen, leaving the two men to follow with one holding your baby in his arms. all it took was one look to understand what he was thinking, logan didn’t need to be a telepath to know. 

“if you don’t shut the fuck up—”

“i didn’t even say anything!”

“good, keep it that way.”

love at first sight, wade has seen it plenty of times and understands it well, something so unpredictable and powerful, that it could bring the wolverine down on his knees. it’s even more potent when he trips over himself seeing you in your natural environment instead of all dressed up for a first date, slightly sweaty from the heat radiating off the stove, unkempt hair sticking to the sides of your face, no makeup or defenses up— just you as yourself to the core.

“alright, bub, let's get you seated…” it took a few tries to get her in because she refused to align her little legs into the holes of the plastic piece, but she eventually got into it just fine and he pulled up his own chair to watch you place a one of the most decadent plates of pasta with chunks of salmon he’s ever seen in front of him with a word of gratitude. 

“sorry it isn’t anything special, i completely forgot that i arranged this in the first place….”

“oh, no, it’s perfect—”

“you’re damn right ‘it’s perfect!’” wade interjected, “lemme tell you, wolvie, this simple plate of pasta is better than sex, i know damn well you’ve never tasted anything like it in all your two-hundred years!”

“well, now that you say it like that, he’s going to have high expectations and it will taste like ass compared to the actual best pasta dish he’s ever had.”

“he likes ass, don’t worry—”

the said man cleared his throat to steer the conversation back around, feeling the foreign sensation of embarrassment burning his face hit him at full force. “it’s delicious, thank you, truly the best i’ve ever tasted.”

“aw, you don’t have to say that.”

“no, he’s right, i think you really outdid yourself this time!”

the dinner was carried by cheerful conversations and fun stories, and despite just meeting you today, logan almost felt like he knew you for years and this was something a commonplace tradition between loved ones which was something he’s been yearning for for as long as he can remember. as he watches you laugh and feed your adorable baby, he can’t help but wonder about the idiotic man who was willing to throw away something so wonderful— something which would complete his life and fill the void in his heart.

“well, you two can hang around while i clean her up and put her to bed. there’s some wine and beer in—” you watched as deadpool had already opened your fridge and was digging around like a raccoon in trash before fishing out two bottles of beers and closing the door with his hips. “alrighty then, i’ll join you two in a bit.”

he watched as you disappeared into the hallway before diving headfirst into the couch next to the wolverine and handing him his beer, kicking his feet and smiling as if he was a middle-schooler at an all girls’ sleepover. “okay, so she has a solid job as an accountant, has her own place and car, is funny and pretty, but most importantly for you, single. she doesn’t like flowers as gifts, but if you gift her groceries or cleaning supplies—”

“she wouldn’t want an asshole like me,” he grunted, taking a sip from the bottle. “not when she just got free from another one.”

“peanut, i met the other guy, you’re infinitely better than him! as much as i would like to keep you to myself, i have already planned out my speech at your wedding as your best man, so just keep in mind that i’m your wingman, okay? don’t lie to me either, i know you have a little crush, and i think she does too—”

“no, she doesn’t.”

“quit cutting me off, you motherfucker!”

it was easier to try and suppress the sprouting seed of infatuation before it bloomed out of control. he didn’t want to hurt you or himself by chasing something that shouldn’t be in the first place. you deserve better, you and your daughter. you both should have someone who was younger and had the energy to be a good father and husband, not some old mutant who was freeloading off of his roommate and terrified of losing more people he cared about. if you knew about the blood on his hands and the claws embedded in them, you would probably be worried that you allowed him to hold your baby and shun him permanently. 

and yet he was already attached, sitting here imagining domestic life where he could see her grow up through the phases of life and help her navigate its complexities while also waking up next to you in his arms and seeing your beautiful smile everyday. 

maybe he won’t let that glimmer of hope die out and just hold onto it for a little while longer, allowing it to leave a little lingering smile on his weary face.

[callsign-honeybeewildfox2]

MUSE [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x reader

summary: Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them. 

warnings: smut 18+ but with an actual plot for once (brief m masturbation, oral f and m rec, unprotected piv sex, kind of accidental (but consensual obv) facial; pet names: bub, baby, good girl, princess), soft!Logan but he won’t admit it, also soft!reader, fluff (although the summary makes it sounds a bit more dramatic than it is tbh), implication that reader has curly hair, implied mutant/X-men!reader, (obviously the pic doesn’t represent the envelopes Logan uses lol he’s not doing all that)

word count: 7.3k

also i feel the need to say something about the fact that it’s Hugh Jackman’s birthday today lol so uh thanks for being huge jacked man and for giving us our Logan yay <3 | gorgeous divider by @plutism

It’s everything Logan is the opposite of – he would never tell a soul – but over the course of his long life, Logan has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. It’s not really him, but he did have a phase or two.

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him. 

Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring. 

He gives in to the urge to get out pencil and paper again, waiting until everyone else has gone to sleep. The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises. 

Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing. 

He picks out a few other things to draw then, to ease the pressure that comes with drawing the woman he… is friends with. Yeah, you’re a friend. And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more. 

But after a few nights he feels more confident in his drawing skills again, but still, as much as he can picture you in his mind – he can do that absolutely perfectly – he’s not too sure he could really draw you accurately.

So he gets Rogue to show him how goddamn fucking Instagram works so that he can look at some of your pictures and use them as a model. 

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He can’t believe it, but the first time he seriously attempts to draw you, it’s perfect. It’s a small drawing, not even as big as his palm, capturing your gorgeous face. He thinks of adding another few lines to your eyebrows, or to your hair or another small one to the outline of your lips, but he doesn’t want to mess with it. 

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite. 

He hides the drawing in between the pages of a book, and hides the book under a pile of random clutter on his desk that not even he would normally spare a glance at. But when he lies down to go to sleep, he gets all the stuff out again and gets out the drawing. He wants to see it again. And he can’t leave it there anyway, what if the pressure from all the items on top of it smudges it? 

But he doesn’t know what else to do with it. He can’t really have a drawing of you sitting in his room. What if someone sees? Then what is he gonna do with it instead? 

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again. 

He could give it to you. 

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing? 

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him. To see the side that has him staying up until 3AM to finely trace the lines of someone’s eyelashes and cheekbones and lips, the side that makes him feel calm inside. 

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it. 

Sappy motherfucker. 

He puts the small drawing back into the book and carefully pushes it between his mattress and the bedframe to protect it during the night. God, who even is he – protecting a tiny piece of paper? He groans at himself as he turns around to go to sleep. 

He dreams of making a thousand drawings of you, with you as his live model. His muse. 

You’re his girlfriend in his dream, he thinks. 

He’s sitting in a chair in your room, drawing you as you tell him about your day. You’re lying on your bed on your tummy, elbows propped up to support your head. You’re gently kicking your feet in the air behind you, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Logan’s, some silly graphic socks, panties with little cherries on them, and a bright, bashful smile as Logan attempts to capture your glowing features in a sketch block he’s dedicated to drawings of you. 

He wakes up with morning wood. 

Logan is no stranger to jerking off with you on his mind, so he spits in his hand and slips it beneath his boxers, stroking himself as he thinks of you. He imagines you on top of him as he jerks his cock, imagines you under him, or with your legs around his head, or you between his knees on the floor. He cums quickly and hard, leaving his boxers wet and sticky.

He goes for a run after he’s dealt with it and picks up an envelope on his way. He’s doubting himself but he knows he has to just do it. He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door. 

So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart. 

It’s soo stupid. 

He makes sure no one is anywhere near your bedroom, walks up to your door, and slides the envelope underneath. Except he didn’t check if you were in your room. As soon as the envelope disappears beneath your door, he hears a short creak from your bed and your soft footsteps. 

He hears the small and adorable noise of curiosity you let out – a confused hm? – and then he quickly and quietly makes his way down the hallway. He hears your voice about ten seconds later, an intrigued hello? as you open the door, but you don’t investigate further, closing the door behind you. 

Logan’s heart is beating so fast. He’s never doing this shit again. 

He’s antsy all day, waiting for some type of reaction from you. Except you don’t know that the drawing is from him so he’s probably not even getting one, and he can’t conspicuously come to your room the same day you receive an anonymous drawing of yourself. 

It’s also when the insecurity settles in. Maybe he should have added a few more lines or started the entire drawing anew. Who does he think he is pretending to be an artist? 

He shakes those thoughts off as he starts training with the punching bag in the gym. It’s not something that he necessarily needs to train, but it gets rid of some of that pointless energy. This isn’t him, worried about some lines he drew on a piece of paper – a scrap of a paper, really. Who cares about something like that? Certainly not him. 

He sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up the next day disappointed that he didn’t get to dream about being your boyfriend again. God, what are you doing to him? Making him think about being boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s pathetic. You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

-

He’s not even thinking of the drawing anymore, truly, when he walks into the kitchen the next morning. It only comes to mind when he sees you, alone in the kitchen, leaning over the counter to scroll on your phone, your weird green coffee (“it’s Matcha, Logan”) next to you as you stir it mindlessly with a metal straw. 

“Hi,” you look up with one of those sweet smiles of yours, but redirect your attention to your phone. 

At least you don’t immediately say something like hey, you know that drawing you slid under my door? It was so ugly I threw it away. Since when do you even draw? 

Not that he was worried you would or anything. He hasn’t been thinking about it. Obviously. Why would he? And he knows you would never expect that it’s him; that’s the only reason he did it. He never would have given you the drawing if he thought you could have even the slightest inkling that Logan would be someone who draws. But he still wants to know what you think of it. 

“You want some toast too?” You ask, putting your phone down and turning to get some bread. He sits down at the other side of the kitchen counter and as his eyes flicker to your green drink (he still doesn’t get it), he sees it. 

“Is that–” my drawing, he almost said, “What is that?” He pretends to be confused, drawing his eyebrows together, trying his best to look inquisitive, “No toast by the way, thanks.” 

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing. 

“Did you draw it?” He asks. 

You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.” 

“Secret admirer?” 

Smiling, you say, “I don’t know. I won’t get my hopes up. But the person must definitely be fond of me to draw me like that.” 

“Like what?” He asks, unsure if he’s about to be offended. 

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that. 

But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?” 

You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

Logan stays silent. He can’t seem too pushy and draw attention to himself, but his silence makes you confess.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.” 

Logan makes a noise of satisfaction and smiles, asking you to pass your phone so he can look at it more – pretending it’s his first time seeing it. If you think that way about it, maybe the three more lines he was going to add aren’t that important after all. 

The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created. 

-

After a week, he figures he has to give in. Drawing another picture of you is on his mind twenty-four seven. 

It doesn’t help that he still catches you staring at the copy of it in your phone case lovingly more than once a day and you’ve put the original drawing in a special little frame on your nightstand. He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing. 

This is for you. It’s not about him. He’s not an artist or anything like that, he’s just doing something kind for someone he cares about (which is honestly sappy enough but he tries to ignore that). He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy. 

He’ll just make this second drawing and silently put it in your room, and he’s the last person you’ll suspect. 

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end. 

It takes him an entire month for the next drawing, and it feels more like him that it’s been making him so angry that he couldn’t get it right at first. Maybe he had the wrong picture of artists. They’re always talking about pain, aren’t they, and that’s what he experiences too (over a drawing. Who is he?). 

He takes another few days to keep track of your routine, to monitor when you’ll be in your room. He can’t have it be as close as last time. 

He ends up doing it in the evening. There’s a time after dinner when most of the team stays together to watch tv, just talk, or play some games. It’s normal for some of you to wander off, come back or stick around a bit longer. It won’t be suspicious if he leaves for a few minutes and comes back.

Logan wants nothing more than to follow you when you say that you’re going to your room for the night; he wants to see your reaction. But he can’t. All he can do is go up to his own bedroom fifteen minutes later, lingering in the hallway longer than he needs to.

Just as he’s about to give up and go to sleep, you walk down the hallway, coming back from the bathroom.

“Logan!” you call all excitedly when you see him, and his heart skips a beat. Do you know the drawing is from him? 

“Look,” you take his arm and pull him to your room, “I got another drawing!”

He breathes out in relief; you don’t know it’s from him. He smiles when you hold up the drawing, already framed.

“Were you expecting to get another drawing?” he teases.

“Noo, but the frames came in a pack of two. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Logan looks at how your eyes sparkle, how proudly you’re showing him this drawing. All the work he put into it was definitely worth it. It’s another picture of your face, this time from a new angle, and with your hair styled differently, curls coiled another way from last time.

Logan clears his throat, remembering to keep up his act. “It looks good.”

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.”

He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

“It is. And you don’t have to know much about art or drawing to see how pretty this is. I still can’t believe someone would take the time to make these for me.”

Logan remains silent instead of saying what he wants to tell you. Of course he would take that time for you – and you don’t even know how much time it really took him. If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you.

Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

-

He’s on a roll for some time. He’s better at drawing again now that he’s getting in practice, and he makes five drawings of you within the next weeks. Logan watches the collection of them on your nightstand grow fuller, along with your smile that somehow gets bigger every time you tell him about a new drawing.

It’s a wonder you haven’t caught on yet, but you don’t seem particularly interested in snooping around to find out who it is. You respect the person’s privacy, but you’ve confessed to him that you’d still love to know. 

“I won’t try to find out who it is. I won’t push it if they don’t want me to know… but, I mean, anyone would want to know, wouldn’t they?”

You’ve adopted the nickname of ‘secret admirer’ for this mysterious ‘they’, after Logan used the term about ten times. You were reluctant at first, because the person isn’t calling themself a secret admirer – you’d just be putting words in their mouth. But after seeing how much more beautiful the drawings get each time, you’ve accepted and admitted that, okay, yes, the person must be an admirer.

Your secret admirer Logan is particularly proud of his latest drawing, excited to bring it up to your room tonight. 

But this time he’s sloppy. He’s stayed for a few post-dinner card games with the team, and it’s risky, because you’ve been saying that it’s your last game for the last two rounds. But he also knows that you always say that, and never mean it.

Logan gets up to leave, and he hears Scott convincing you to play just one more round.

It’s stupid, really, risking it like that. Even if he’s gone from your room in time before you come upstairs, you could easily guess that it’s Logan. He’s the first one leaving the round tonight, so your first assumption could be that it was him.

Maybe subconsciously he wants to get caught. He’s seen how you light up at every drawing, and no matter how much you respect your admirer’s anonymity, of course you want to know who’s dedicating so much time and work to drawings of you. Of course it’s crossed your mind that the person isn’t just doing this because they’re a good friend. They’re drawing your face because they think it’s beyond beautiful.

Logan doesn’t really know why he hasn’t told you yet that he likes you. He’s good at flirting, and he’s attractive – he’s not blind. But with you it’s different, there’s a bigger risk, for the both of you. The older he gets, the harder it is to open up to yet another person. You’re friends, and you talk about personal things, but confessing that he’s in love with you is different.

Not to mention this stupid recurring dream he keeps having, in which you find out it’s Logan who’s been drawing you, and suddenly your opinion of the drawings changes. You don’t like him back like that, and suddenly the drawings feel creepy if you think about him staying up late drawing your face.

He rolls his eyes at himself and gets the thought out of his head, taking the small envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans, smoothing his hand over it. He looks around, making sure no one sees him.

Logan bends down to slide the envelope under your door as usual, but one of the corners of the paper catches against the wall, and he quickly opens it to check the drawing isn’t damaged. His heart is beating so fast, he feels stupid. 

He can hear footsteps, still far away, but he can hear them. Logan messily licks the edges of the envelope to close it back up, but it’s not sticking. He can’t decide between shoving it under the door like this or leaving now and bringing it back the next day. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage now.

Then he hears it. He miscalculated how far the footsteps were.

“Logan?”

He turns around slowly, and it feels like the world has frozen.

You come closer, looking at him and then at the letter that he must’ve dropped. It hasn’t made it under your door yet.

He says something before you can, “I’m delivering for someone else.”

“Who?” you ask, bending down to pick up the envelope. If he wasn’t petrified, he’d enjoy the view of you bent over in front of him.

He breathes. He can’t have anyone taking credit for his work, for his art (you called it that recently, he would never). But his heart is beating so fast he doesn’t know what the fuck to do or say. 

This is exactly why he never wanted to do any of this. He’s making a fool out of himself and that doesn’t usually happen, especially not over a piece of paper. Logan is confident, cocky even, he can admit that, and has no idea how to deal with things like being nervous; he never has to. This really isn’t him.

You don’t wait for an answer and look at the envelope. You open it so carefully, gently taking the drawing out with your fingertips. You’re treating it with so much care he immediately feels better. Again, this isn’t for him, it’s for you. (Well, it’s for him too but it’ll take him a while to admit that). 

He’s drawn your smile this time. You were happy in most of the drawings before, but he focussed more on the eyes, and your lips only ever tugged up in a slight smile. 

This one is a full-toothed grin, mid-laugh. 

You two were drinking last weekend. He barely felt it but your tipsy, giggly mood was contagious. He couldn’t imagine himself feeling any other way but blissful when you’re happy around him. 

It started when Logan made a casual comment about something silly Scott was wearing that night, and he had you giggling. He wanted to immediately hear that angelic sound again, of course, and so he gave you every joke about your shared friends he could think of – all light-hearted, but he was still glad you two were alone. 

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

You look up at him now, eyes filled with tears. 

“You drew this?” you ask.

He nods softly. He can’t say it but he hopes the drawings convey how in love with you he is. 

Suddenly, Logan feels like his heart has stopped beating.

You’re kissing him. 

You’ve leaped up, wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, and now your lips are on his. 

He feels your mouth falter, probably because he’s being a fucking idiot and not kissing you back. Logan places his hands on your waist to pull you further towards him. Then his brain finally catches up and he can do what he’s wanted to for so long. 

He takes your chin with two fingers and angles you so you can kiss him easier. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your soft, warm lips against him. You’re soft and warm all over. Your top has slipped up over his fingertips at your sides, and he slides his hands further around your back to support you against him even better. 

Logan’s tongue pushes at your lower lip, and you let out the sexiest, tiny moan of surprise as you part your lips for him, granting him access. 

His tongue touches the tip of yours and from then on your cravings intensify. You feel your way over his muscular shoulders, his big biceps and over the hard planes of his chest. When you’ve had a good feel there, your hands grip his shirt in desperation and Logan gets even hungrier for you. He gently bites at your lower lip, but then you shriek into his mouth and squirm out of his grasp. He opens his eyes wide. 

You grip Logan’s forearm for support when you bend down in a panic, picking up the drawing you just dropped. You let out a big breath of relief when you see it hasn’t been damaged. 

“You made me drop it!” You slap a hand to his chest; it doesn’t actually hurt and it’s not meant to, but it leaves a pleasant tingle behind instead. 

“I didn’t do anything”, Logan laughs, and you shake your head at him with a smile.

You take him into your room where you make him sit on the bed while you stare at the new drawing in awe. “I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it.

“No one else knows.”

You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

“I’ll only draw for you anyway, so there’s no point in telling anyone else.”

“You’re really good. I love the drawings.”

Logan gives a satisfied hum at your words, “You inspired me. Can’t have you walking around all pretty and not expect me to try and recreate it.”

You straddle Logan and hover over his lap to hug him, “They’re the best thing anyone's ever given to me. Do I really look like that?” You say the last question more quietly, and Logan wraps his arms around your sides, careful not to bump your hand that’s still holding the drawing.

“You’re more gorgeous than anything I could ever capture, but I think it comes close. I didn’t change anything about you to make you more beautiful. I couldn’t if I tried. I just tried to draw you as accurately as possible, that’s why it’s so beautiful.”

“I really love it,” you say again, happily staring at the details of the drawing. Hearing you say the word love so much tempts Logan, but he doesn’t want to move too fast. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. He does, however, want to kiss you again.

Logan carefully takes the framed drawing and puts it on your nightstand. You push your mouth against his before he can initiate the kiss, and he grins against your lips.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

Your chest is pressed against Logan’s, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. You may or may not be pressing your boobs against his body on purpose.

“God, baby, I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, already breathless, as his hands trail down your back, leaving goosebumps behind.

“You’ve waited long?” you raise your eyebrows, grinning, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.”

You see the look in Logan’s eyes changing as he bites his lip, “Who says I didn’t want the same?”

You giggle, “Why did it take us so long?”

Logan chuckles, readjusting you so that you’re even closer to him, “I was too busy to actually talk to you, just been starin’ at you so I could draw you.” His cheeks have the faintest red tint, and you kiss them, hugging him.

You whisper into his ear, “Then it was worth the wait. And anyway, it’s not talking that I’m interested in right now.”

He pulls you back to look into your eyes, then at your lips. “Where do you want me?” he asks. You giggle slightly helplessly; you weren’t entirely prepared to have a man like Logan at your mercy like this tonight.

“You can do whatever you want,” you say softly, kissing him.

Logan’s lips are hungry against yours, strings of spit falling between you two, but he pauses the kiss to lie you on your back. “Wanna eat you out,” he husks, “Been dying to know what you taste like forever, bub. Can I?” He reaches for the hem of your top, and you nod so that he can pull it off you, admiring what’s underneath. 

“Sometimes I make myself cum imagining that I’m going down on you,” you confess somewhat shyly, but you figure he’s been so vulnerable for you that you can share a secret too.

Logan smirks, and pulls off his shirt, “Maybe we can make your dream come true then.”

You move to sit up, but he insists on eating you out first. You both take off all your clothes, staring at each other with huge smiles on your faces for a few moments. You’ve never seen Logan this happy.

“Look at you, baby. So pretty,” he leans down to kiss your lips, then down your neck, all the way to your legs. He spreads them, lying down between them as he all but drools at the sight of your wet pussy.

You get nervous all of a sudden. “It’s been a while,” you tell him. He looks up, taking your hand, enveloping it completely in his much bigger one.

“You sure about this? We can wait,” he gently kisses your knuckles, and a warmth spreads in your chest, slowing your heartbeat down a little.

“I’m sure,” you nod, and Logan comes up again to kiss you. The head of his hard cock catches against the space above your clit, and you both look down between your bodies. When Logan looks back up at you, his eyes are desperately begging you. You place your hand on his head, threading your fingers through his hair as he moves down your body.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he mumbles into your thigh, kissing you there. You giggle, getting comfortable, your hand never leaving his hair.

Logan starts eating you out, his tongue gentle but determined against your clit.

“Taste so good, baby. Even better than I imagined.” You hum at Logan’s words, already feeling yourself come undone with his mouth on your wet pussy.

You sink further into the mattress when he starts sucking on your clit, licking into your pussy like a man starved every few moments, and your thighs squeeze around Logan’s head, and it’s even better than in his fantasies.

“Feels really good,” you tell him, pulling on his hair to stop yourself from moving too much, and Logan moans against your skin. Hearing your words motivates him even more, and he pushes two fingers into your wet pussy. He curls his fingers, rubbing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

Your back arches as you cum, Logan’s lips wrapped around your clit as your legs push harder against his head, and all he does is moan, revelling in the feeling.

Logan doesn’t stop licking your pussy until you’re tugging his head away by his hair, and he comes up for air with a grin on his face. You smile back, pulling him up to kiss him. You give yourself only a few seconds of recovery time before you make him sit down. You know you’d never have enough strength to actually make him get into a different position, but he lets you.

You push him onto his back, getting between his legs. You’re blinking up at him all prettily when you ask, “Can I suck your dick? Please?”

Logan huffs to himself because he can’t believe how hot you are, can’t believe that this is really finally happening. He tells you yes – he has no more words to describe how badly he wants this – and he watches you wrap your pretty lips around his cock.

It’s hard to grasp that it’s really you doing this right now – the woman he’s been into for so long. His cock is in your mouth and you look so gorgeous with spit running down from your lips, and all he can think of is all the dirty drawings he can now make of you, if you’ll let him.

He closes his eyes when you take him deeper, enveloping him with your warm, wet mouth. “Good girl,” he whispers absent-mindedly, too gone to say much more.

You’re not using your hands as you suck his cock, your spit trailing down on him, and you’re so eager. But it’s also late, and he sees you getting tired, eyes blinking slower as you pause to catch your breath every few moments. He also sees the determination in your eyes, and the absolute want, but he doesn’t want you to exhaust yourself. 

You look so sexy all fucked out, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his cock as you pull away another time, giggling up at him shyly when you realise that he’s noticing you getting tired.

“Just need a second,” you wipe your mouth, out of breath, and it’s not that you’re not incredibly hot like this, but he still wants to fuck you tonight and he’s not sure that will happen if you keep going.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, reaching out his hand.

“Huh?” you ask, taking his hand nevertheless.

“Get back here, baby. I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? Don’t want you tiring yourself out.”

You let him lift you and put you on your back, but you pout, “Wanna taste you.”

Logan grins, “I’ll cum in your mouth, princess. Promise.”

You smile at his answer, satisfied, so you lie back down, pulling your legs up to your chest. His cock looks huge as he jerks himself off between your legs, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you squirm.

“Don’t know if I can take you,” you bite your lip. You’re not entirely sure if you mean it or not. You definitely want to try.

“We’ll make it fit, baby, we’ll make it fit,” Logan assures you, leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth, a mix of your wetness and his precum between your mouths. You feel his cock at your pussy, “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” you nod desperately, letting him push his cock into your pussy. He pauses after a few inches, but you wrap your legs around his waist more tightly, and he goes deeper.

“Y’okay, baby? You can take it, right?”

You nod, unable to form words with your pussy stretched like this, a combination of pleasure and pain between your legs – but it’s infinitely more pleasure.

“That’s right. You’re my good girl, hm?” He kisses along your neck as he bottoms out, and you both moan when he’s got his cock fully stuffed inside you for the first time. He pulls out slightly when you whine at the stretch, but you scratch down his back to get his attention.

“I can take it,” you tell him, and you watch the look in his eyes darken.

He begins to fuck you, the pain subsiding more with every thrust into your wet pussy. You can barely take him, but it feels good. With your slight tiredness, you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine. 

You can’t believe that Logan – your super hot friend Logan who you’ve been fantasising about for so long – is fucking you. He not only feels the same way about you, but he’s been your secret admirer this entire time, taking hours and hours out of his day to make you smile. You’re the only one he wants.

And now he’s fucking you, fucking you well, and you feel so warm inside, not just from the sex but you feel warm in your heart, because of Logan’s care.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a hand down your face when he notices you’re not entirely present. You nod happily, smiling up at him, and you can’t talk because you feel so good.

“Good, that’s good, bub, but let me know if it gets too much,” he says as he starts rubbing your clit, watches you nod while he’s fucking you so well, and he’s so big and so deep inside of you, “Squeezing me so tight, baby, feel so fucking good.”

You cum suddenly, letting the warm pleasure flow through your body as Logan keeps fucking you through it, rubbing your clit in just the right rhythm.

“That’s my girl, taking it so well,” he moans, breaths stuttering. You slump against the pillow after a few moments, with a soft smile on your face, and Logan pulls out.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he jerks his cock, and you sit up on your elbows immediately, looking him in the eyes with a smile as you stick out your tongue for him. He promised.

Logan moans when he cums, painting your face in his release, jerking himself off. He holds your head in place with his other hand, aiming for your mouth but you’re making no effort to catch his cum there.

“Such a pretty fucking face, princess, ’m cumming all over it,” he rasps, shooting more ropes of his cum all over your cheeks, jacking off onto your face.

You open your eyes when he’s done and breathing heavily, and you smile up at him. You open your mouth, taking the head of his cock between your lips to suck off the last drops of cum.

“Look at you, baby. Look so fucking pretty with my cum all over your gorgeous face.”

You hum, pulling your mouth off him and licking your lips, tasting his salty release. You brush a finger over your cheek, sucking it into your mouth to taste him more. Logan kisses you then, the flavour of himself mixing between your mouths.

He cleans you up gently, carefully wiping your face with a baby wipe and kissing every inch of your cheeks afterwards. You take his face to kiss him properly, and if you didn’t seem so tired Logan would be ready for round two immediately.

“Next time you could try to actually cum in my mouth,” you tease, making Logan grin.

“Sorry, baby. Got too excited. Couldn’t focus on asking you again if it was okay.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I liked it.”

Logan grins, “Oh I could tell you liked it, baby.” You lightly slap his chest as you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.

You cuddle for a while, not saying much because you don’t have to. You’ve both waited for this for so long that you’re just enjoying the moment, enjoying that it finally happened.

You slip out of his arms to sit on top of him. You’re in nothing but panties, the blanket bunching around your hips. You lean your hands against his chest as you tell him more about how much the drawings delighted you. And Logan cares, of course he cares to hear that, but he’s also just a man seeing the woman he’s into naked for the first time still. 

You become quiet when you realise that he’s not listening, and you giggle, “Distracted?”

Logan grins, “Just a little fucking bit, baby.” His eyes don’t leave your body, and you laugh as you bend down to kiss him. He grabs your ass, kneading the flesh. When you slightly sit up again, your tits are near his face, and he can’t help himself. He cups your breasts, playing with your nipples, making you hum.

“I should draw these,” he looks up at you, “Should draw every perfect fucking inch of you.”

“You wanna?” You adjust how you’re seated in his lap, and you feel that he’s already half hard under you again.

“Maybe after I’ve fucked you again.”

You smile, feeling yourself growing wetter on top of him.

“Tomorrow,” he continues, and your smile drops.

“But you’ve got to get more familiar with the inspiration, right? If you’re going to draw me.”

“That’s true, baby. But I think you’re too tired.”

You smile bashfully, ignoring how your eyelids were drooping shut just a few seconds ago, “Okay, but then I’ll have more energy for tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you off him to cuddle you again. He tucks you in and kisses your head. 

You turn to your side, taking one of the framed drawings and looking at it for a while. 

Logan watches you looking at it, and the sparkle in your eyes never fails to make him feel all warm inside. “Now that you actually know about it, I don’t have to draw you from memory anymore. I can study my muse in peace.”

“Aww, I’m your muse?” you beam.

“Of course you are, princess. You’re the only reason I’m drawing again.”

“I love your drawings so much.”

Logan clears his throat, and looks at you. “Well, I love you. So, I think that went into them.”

You look at him, pouting and then kissing him. “I love you too,” you say into his mouth. He grins against your lips, pulling you closer to kiss you some more. He can barely grasp that you just said that, but he’ll have enough time soon to comprehend how lucky he is. 

For now, he takes your hand, and asks, “The question might be redundant now, but do you wanna be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

“I’m already yours.”

Logan grins, takes you in his arms, and you’re still cuddling when you’re both drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

P.S. reblog with a comment and let me know your favourite moment/what you liked to get a drawing from Logan under your door tonight and a facial <33

gorgeous divider by @pommecita

[callsign-honeybeewildfox2]

passenger princess / ln4

established relationship lando norris x fem!reader

no use of y/n, as always.

in which the weekend takes a twist, and all you want is a baby.

prompt⋯ hi! first of all, i absolutely ADORE your writing. i’ve been reading all of your stuff for the past few days!! second, i was scrolling on pinterest and i rediscovered the lando daddy bracelet pic. that combined with THE dutch gp pic made me be down even worse for him. with that i request a fic with an established reader x lando relationship. that’s set during the weekend of the 2024 dutch gp. where he wears the bracelet over the course of the weekend and it gets you(? or me? idk how to phrase that) really worked up, and after he wins they fuck while he’s still wearing it. and it’s like the most rough feral sex known to mankind. but at the end you want him to come in you and he’s like “oh you wanna make me a daddy”. like yes it is a slight breeding kink but it’s more of the idea of the bracelet and how he definitely knew what he was doing when he wore it (in the fic and irl too tbh). that’s the general idea but feel free to put your own spin on it!! i am incredibly down bad for him and that photo did something to me. ty 🤗🧡

a/n ⋯ yeah tbh i got no excuse for this one chat...like...how could i not resist a breeding kink...i know y'all want it too. but for real--- thank you anon for being patient. i had a lot of fun writing this in between doing work. writing is an escape for me. thank you to all for the continued support, and i'll be continuing to get through asks as time moves along. comment below to be added to my taglist, or comment in general! i love replying to all of them as much as i can.

warnings ⋯ SMUT 18+++!!! minors DNI!!!, language, choking, p in v sex (wrap before you tap!), fingering!(f)receiving, breeding kink, impregnation, teasing, possessiveness, jealousy, creampie, begging, mating press-- allat shit tbh. if i miss a warning, let me know.

wc ⋯ 8.5k (unedited.)

things had begun to be different between you and lando. you couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when the gears shifted, the stars aligned, though you only cared how good it made you feel with him. 

but he knew. he knew exactly when.

you’d been dating lando for two years now. it was two years of pure bliss— the exciting lifestyle that you’ve craved, the love and care, the passion that you shared with him was exquisitely yours. he is yours. and you are his.

that morning in the paddock he was speaking to max, chattering about the post collision from hungaroring. they seemed to make up in due time, finding it easier to call one another “brother’s” again, despite the damages done to their cars and the media in an uproar about their impish, punitive behaviors. you didn’t spare any glance towards the comments made about it, knowing that lando had been in a rough shape that weekend. 

you played with penelope, p, as they were talking, squatted on the ground with colored pens in your hand. kelly loomed behind, on her phone, thankful enough that you could occupy her for the time being. you had no issue entertaining her. you loved being around children…most of the time. 

“this one?” you held out the red pen for p, as she was pointing to with a bashful look. she was shy– especially around you, given your ethereal, wanderlust nature. you carried yourself in such an elegant way that could facilitate a ray of sunlight through the most tepid storms. 

she nodded and you handed it to her. she latched her smaller hand around it, coloring in the rb20 from her sketchbook. your hand fell beneath your chin as you watched her carefully color inside the lines, dreading falling out of it. you smiled as she did, the dress you wore crinkling fashionably around your thighs. 

p flashed the page at you nervously, awaiting her input. your eyes glowed, sparkles falling onto the page as you scanned it. she really did do a good job.

“beautiful, p!” you commented, your palm splaying over her upper back. “you’re really good at this, you know?”

a shade of red filled her cheeks, warming her skin. you hadn’t meant to embarrass her, nor make her nervous. 

“do you want to color one with me?” you asked her, pointing to the pages in the book. she hesitated for a moment, as if she didn’t hear you properly, but ended up nodding with the same excitement that she did when she’d see max on the podium. “you pick. something…pretty.”

the gears were turning in her head as she flipped through the pages, trying to find the perfect one for you and her to work on. you, on the other hand, were focused on how her brows scrunched together as she furiously searched through her booklet. it was cute the way she perceived things. she was a cutie. it made you think about your own future, what you wanted. 

what you wanted,

your eyes drifted from the carpeted floors inside the hospitality room, to the shoes that he wore, and up his black jeans to the papaya livery he sported for the day. you lingered on the expanse of his chest, the tan skin peaking through the v-neck of his unbuttoned collar. your mouth watered instinctively, thinking about how lucky you were to have a man like lando love you so deeply.

as you glanced further up towards his chin, the unshaved rigid surface that sparked electricity over your body, you found him already looking down at you. he wasn’t even paying attention to max at this point, already giving you all of his attention and you didn’t even need to ask. 

you gave him a smile, covering your lips afterward to stifle your giggle, and turned back to p once she tapped you that she’d found a picture for the two of you to color.

“mate?”

lando was lost in a daze staring at you. gawking at your figure, the dress you decided to wear. it was a denim colored sheath that you’d twin with alexandra with. she’d wear the gia dress in a pomegranate hue, whereas you took the navy. 

lando’s hand was cupped against his chin, rubbing over his stubble, keen on watching how you interacted with p. 

your relationship had progressed further than he’s ever gotten to before in his life. he was at a point where he knew he didn’t want anyone else, to explore someone else’s body the way he did yours. he knew you, inside and out, and he didn’t think another connection was even fathomable. 

you appeared to be so gentle with her, taking the time to listen to what she wanted you to do, how to color, maneuver the pens. there would be no outside the line coloring on her watch, that was for sure. 

he found himself smiling bright. 

do you want kids? 

he knew that he did. he always knew that. but he’d never broach the subject to you directly. your relationship with him was secure, but was it eligible to be taken to the next level? would you be frightened by his sudden urge to create a life with you? a product of him, and the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen?

“yeah? sorry.” lando looked back towards max. but it was too late, and max was looking over his shoulder towards you and p.

when he looked back towards lando, he threw his hands up in defense. max rolled his eyes. “don’t know why you haven’t proposed to her yet. what’re you waiting for?” 

lando bristled. he waited a moment to answer, wondering the same fucking thing. what was he waiting on? the perfect time, perhaps. summer break was rapidly approaching, and he certainly had a ring picked out. 

the papaya clad driver pulled out his phone and scrolled through his photos, settled on the right one, and handed it to max. the other driver took it, zooming in, not that he needed to. 

“when?”

lando shrugged. “summer break. greece, maybe.” 

max cheered, slapping his hand over his mouth in shock. “you’re serious, mate?” lando nodded. max pulled him in for a hug, slapping him over the back. he couldn’t be happier for his best friend in this moment, starting to jump up and down. lando settled him down and slid his phone back into his pocket. 

“keep it quiet. i want her to be surprised.” 

max made a motion of a lock and key. “surprised about what?” 

lando felt giddy.

you hadn’t been paying much attention to what lando nor max were chittering about. you’d been so hyper focused on coloring with p, that you were absent minded of the conversation behind you. 

p had picked out a cartoon illustration of max and lando smiling towards the viewer. you’d thought it was an adorable choice, and it showed that p was more aware than what she led on to be. she, of course, started coloring in max. with his neutrally blonde hair, redbull cap, she was fast working. 

but then she shoved the book towards you, politely anyways, and pointed at lando, who was yet to be colored in. 

“my turn?” she nodded her head, handing you the orange marker. 

you grinned, carefully coloring in the lines of the drawing before p took a deep breath. “are you and lando married?” 

the question had you freeze momentarily, taken back by her question. “no, p, we’re not.” 

you continued to color, whilst she continued to question. “why not?”

“because he hasn’t asked me.”

“why don’t you ask him?” 

“i’m not sure that’s what he wants.”

p raised a brow. she looked towards lando and max, giggling together like school girls, then back to you and your focused coloring.

she handed you a brown marker for lando’s curls. “i think you should.”

now it was your turn to be inquisitive, “really, now?”

she nodded her head without hesitating. “then you’d be my aunt!” she giggled. 

you colored in lando’s curls, carefully, diligently, thinking of how they felt beneath your fingertips. your breath hitched thinking about the thought of him proposing, wondering if he had ever even thought about it. you knew what your answer would be. it wouldn’t even take a beat of your heart to give him in answer, if he chose to ask. if he chose you. 

with one final stripe of a black marker, your drawing of lando had been finished. you stood up, and so did p. 

“are you going to have babies?”

“p!” you gasped, mouth dropping. “that’s none of your business, young lady.” 

she laughed, twirling around. “what? that’s what mama says happens when you love someone.” confident, wasn’t she? “do you love lando?”

“of course i do, p.”

she gasped.

“is there a baby in there right now?!” she seemed concerned, becoming so bold as to touch your stomach. it was a little higher than where your womb sat beneath your skin, but close enough. 

you shook your head. “no, honey. i am not having a baby right now.” 

she looked disappointed. taking her hand back, she crossed them over her chest. 

“penelope, what are you going on about?” kelly finally chimed in, rubbing p’s back with her hand. 

“nothing.” 

but it wasn’t nothing.

lando appeared behind you, a hand on your lower back. you leaned into him, recognizing his touch, and you got a brief wave of panic wondering if he heard your conversation with p. 

“p,” lando said over your shoulder. she looked up. “do you still have your bracelet making kit?” 

she nodded again, though you weren’t quite sure what he’d need it for. you guessed you’d find out eventually, because lando uttered, “it’s a secret, sorry baby.”

and he followed p to her small table, pulling out the kit from her backpack. she had taken lando’s hand to guide him, and you watched fondly. 

too fondly, you thought, and knew you were in deep shit.

the morning of the dutch grand prix had you biting at the corners of your fingernails with anticipation. the summer break you had spent with lando was more than you could imagine— filled with delicious foods, sunny weather, morning swims, and of course, the sex. with more free time that lando had, he was utterly obsessed with you. he worshiped the ground you walked on, and it made you feel like more than the queen you deserved to be. 

in the paddock you stood, shifting on your feet, anxiously fiddling with your purse once your fingernails sufficed. lily joined at your side, ethereal with her effortless beauty, and she nudged you with her elbow. “you look nervous,” she gave a short laugh.

you scoffed but joined in on her antics. “do i?” you certainly did. lily raised her brows to inquire further of your apparent distress. 

relenting, you couldn’t resist her. there was no reason to— you were both practically attached at the hip. ever since oscar had been signed to mclaren, the two of you were inseparable. the famous mclaren WAGs. 

your relationship with lando had been going on for two years now. sure, you’d had some rocky slopes to climb with the schedule of his career and the development of your own; that’s the thing about relationships though, isn’t it? that no matter what hill you’d have to climb, you’d find one another on the other side. the two of you wanted to make it work, so there was no obsolete universe in which you’d never find each other. 

“he needs this, lils.” you practically sighed, finally gaining the courage to look her in the eye. she looked at you with the same softness that a mother would, or a best friend that you could count on. 

“you know he’ll do well.” oh, don’t you know it. lando, whilst on vacation, never took a moment’s worth of rest. he wanted this just as much as you did for him, a second career win. it was all that you could think about the moment you stepped off the plane before him in zandvoort. it was going to happen. you had a feeling. 

and a good one at that. 

qualifying swept by in a flash. the saturday afternoon was a clean sweep for your boyfriend in the front row. you couldn’t be more proud of him. when he was finished with his interviews and taking his leave with his half removed fireguard, you launched at him.

flinging your arms around his neck, he gripped onto your waist and thighs like his life depended on it. it did. your nose found the sweat against the column of his neck, inhaling deeply. you melted into him.

lando felt the same. with his forehead burrowing into the hair on your scalp, he let out a deep breath that he’d been holding since he got out of the car. 

“missed my sweet girl,” he breathed, the sweat and perspiration heating the hairs on your head. you sighed softly, relaxing into him as he held you tighter. 

you broke away from him, setting yourself on the ground. you stood happily in front of him, rocking on your heels and playing with the hem of the black, sponser-ridden firesuit. 

“‘m so fucking proud, lan. pole? pole on the first race back?” you were in shellshock, overjoyed disbelief. 

he raised a hand to cup your face before he’d be whisked away. the bracelet on his wrist caught your eye, one that he must’ve put on once he stepped out of the car. the friendship letter bracelet read loudly to you, it letters all capitalized. 

‘daddy’

you gripped his hand, observing the ornament. you raised a brow. is this the bracelet he had made with p? 

lando let out a short laugh. “like it?” 

you flushed, staring down at the small, dainty thing. it had you shifting on your feet, ideas and fantasies running wild through your pillage of a mind. “maybe.” you hummed, stroking the beads with your index finger. 

“wore it for you.” 

the statement had you standing up straight. “really now?” lando nodded. 

and before he was whisked away, he whispered into your ear, “don’t get any ideas, baby. i know that look.” 

you were rendered speechless, and by the time you managed to open your mouth, he had already left through the door. 

the following day was race day. you were dressed flawlessly, curating perfection with your outfits to match the same prestige that lando had with his fans. also, you enjoyed feeling pretty. looking pretty, as lando would often say to you. he didn’t forget this morning either, arriving to the paddock with you in tow, hand wrapped tightly with yours.

as he took selfie after selfie, signed hat after hat, he didn’t forget to remind you, “you look beautiful,” that always brought a smile to your face, a blush fanning your cheeks. 

when the two of you made it inside of mclaren’s hospitality, you were greeted by both lily and oscar. you gave her a warming hug, and she returned it with the same affirmation. when you separated, she danced on her tip-toes. lando and oscar side stepped toward the tea and coffee station, chatting amongst themselves. 

“wow!” you were confused, raising a brow. “front row for him, hmm? told you, had nothing to worry about.” 

you rolled your eyes, still holding anxieties for the race. you were always concerned going into a weekend. no matter how many grand prix’s you’ve attended, seen lando come out safe and sound, you still picked at the skin of your fingertips. anxious habits die hard. 

lando’s managers came in alongside oscar’s beckoning both mclaren drivers to follow them to get ready for the race. lando found you instantly, his hands finding the handles on your hips, squeezing inward. you tensed at the action, wondering what had him on such edge. 

you spun, hands running from his chest up to his neck, his cheeks. you cupped his face in your hands, sheepishly smiling. 

“you’ll win this for me?”

he scoffed, “always.” 

you smiled harder—if that was possible— and connected your lips with his. he returned your kiss, diving deep into your mouth. he held you close by your lower back, as if this was the last time that he’d ever kiss you. he sought to deepen your kiss by the clacking of your teeth, his tongue incessantly searching the inside of your mouth. 

you separated yourself, still holding onto his cheeks. lando dipped his forehead against yours, seeking another kiss, but you pulled away. “go. they’re waiting for you.” 

“don’t care.” 

you flushed, allowing him one last peck before you patted his cheek. “seriously. go.” 

he chuckled to himself, kissing the top of your head, uttering a soft “i love you,” before being swept away. 

“i love you too.” you mouthed, returning your attention back to lily. she was in awe of how you and lando behaved, carving such a rugged, playful boy into a man of posture and mannerisms that were only reflected by your good nature. 

“what?”

“nothing…” she looked away.

“lily.” 

“you’ve got that man on a leash,” she broke into a fit of giggles. you looked back to where they were walking out. lando had been looking for you, then at you. he gave a wave, you returned it, then looked back at lily. 

“i prefer the term ‘free-roaming.’” 

the race was coming to an end with a single lap left. lando led the race with a twenty-two second lead, and your hands were clasped tightly together with your headset on. you listened carefully to his radio messages, sassy and revving, and had your eyes locked onto the screen in front of you. with lily by your side, the two of you were anxiously awaiting the end.

your face suddenly appeared on screen, displaying your glistening eyes, perfectly done makeup and hair. a chic smile grew on your cheeks. you turned towards the camera man and allotted a small wave. your name appeared under the screen, lando norris’ partner. 

god…

was there anything more prideful than that?

surely there was, but it didn’t matter to you. you were there to support your boyfriend, lando, your lando, and it was more than enough to see that you were recognized as that. 

the checkered flag appeared and lando was on the headline for crossing. you had to clutch your heart, hoping to grip it from the inside out to slow its beating, and it didn’t cease when his mcl38 zipped past the flag. 

there was an eruption of cheers throughout the garage and you were swarmed with love by the fellow mechanics and lily, too, who was happy for you to witness such a grand victory. a more than well earned victory. 

a second one in the books for him. you couldn’t have been happier. 

the podium gathering didn’t take long, and you managed to be at the front of the barricade, shoved forward by the team. you stood there, graceful and beautiful as he always saw you, and you were the loudest to clap and cheer as he walked out from the cool down room. 

“your winner, lando norris…!” and you couldn’t help the tears that fell down your cheeks, the camera picking up your emotional feedback on the big screen. his eyes caught to it from the bannister, stepping up onto the tallest podium, and found you right at the front. his heart melted, dripped a red hot flame that burned for you. to see you there for him, emotional above all, solidified his feelings. what he wanted in his future. 

you. you above anything else. you above racing, his career, his everything. he had nothing if you weren’t by his side. 

he took off his pirelli hat and let the national anthem play. the camera panned away from you then to zak brown. you swayed gently to the anthem, lost in your own world of loving him. you saw him through clear glasses, though he was always your rose. there was nothing more that you wanted in the future than to be with him. you and lando. 

after his attributed champagne pop, the crowd dissipated from the pit lane and you engaged in conversations with different women, friends, and coworkers of mclaren. you were jovial with your presence, engaged as much as you could be, though your thoughts kept tracing back to him. lando, lando, lando. 

you ended your evening in conversations with the ferrari women— alexandra, rebecca, and one of charles’ friends, marta. you’re a recent acquaintance, meeting her only just a few moments ago. she was noticeably pregnant, and you wondered if that was just the recurring theme of the day. 

“how far along are you?” rebecca chimed in. 

“about twenty weeks, i think.” she smiled, holding her bump and leaning back into one of her heels to get a more comfortable angle. 

“half way there! are you excited?” you asked her, sipping your sparkling water. 

“of course,” she grimaced, though there was joy behind her eyes. “it can be hard, but it’s worth it. always worth it to see my husband with my daughter, and now it’ll be brand new with this babe.” 

you gave her a heart-warming smile. 

“they kick every so often—” she grimaced again, reeling her face into a tight knot. “like right now. do you want to feel?” she was looking at you. it took you a second to understand that she was referring to you, but you jumped at the opportunity.

“are you sure…?” 

marta nodded. “put your hand here,” she placed your hand on her right side. you waited a moment before there was a small lurch beneath your palm. you looked up at her in pure disbelief, marveled by such a feeling. you wondered what it’d feel like to feel your own baby kick. 

“so…” alexandra leered mischievously, “do you plan on having children? with lando?” 

is everyone asking that today?

you stood up straight, embarrassed by the question, and brushed a piece of your hair behind your ear. “for sure. there’s no one else i want. whenever the time is right.” 

“he’d be such a good dad.” alexandra added, and you couldn’t agree more.

“you should’ve seen him earlier with penelope—” the girls were reeling at your story. “making bracelets with her. almost tripped over my own dress,” you covered your mouth to laugh, attempting to keep your voice down.

“someone has baby fever.” marta commented. 

“ugh,” rebecca groaned. “you two are picturesque. alex and i were just talking about it.” 

“oh?” you wished to know more by their insinuation. it wasn’t often that you listened to anything about you or lando’s relationship. half of the time it was negative comments from fans across social media, and you didn’t want the other half to get to your head. you knew you were lucky as is, the least you could do was stay humble. 

“ohhhh most definitely.” alexandra nodded. “you’ve been together for what— ever? we’re waiting for an engagement post.” 

you were floored. it has been a good amount of time. “so am i,” it came as a laugh. you wondered if lando thought about it. if the thought ever crossed his mind— the possibility of you becoming his wife. 

it did. 

he was watching you. he’d been done with his interviews for a good ten minutes now, but he was gripped by the scene unfolding before him. he had distracted himself by glancing at his phone, pretending to be scrolling through notifications. but he was staring. hard. 

your hand was so tender-loving as it grazed marta’s baby bump. you looked up at her with a graceful smile, asking her important questions about her pregnancy. why were you so interested? 

fuck, he hoped the answer he wanted was what you were thinking. 

you, pregnant in your floral dresses, pleated gowns, traipsing around the halls of your joint home. barefoot, glowing, effervescent. he could see it now. the vision coming to life, coming to fruition from just a mere fantasy. he felt his dick twitch in his pants, his groin running hot.

he overheard the conversation, too. 

“do you plan on having children? with lando?” 

for sure. there’s no one else i’d want. 

fuuuuck. lando had to turn around, attempting to calm himself down. his entire body was aflame, an eternal gloss of bliss for wanting you. needing you. he needed to feel you. your touch. your skin beneath him, the way you curl effortlessly against the shape of his body.

yeah, he’s fucked. 

after a few calming deep breaths, he was at least presentable. with his calmed down cock, he immediately made a beeline in your direction. he wanted—no, needed to get his hands around you as soon as possible. it was a world-ending feeling that suffocated him, gripped him by the throat. 

you heard him approach before you saw him. lando’s hands were warm around your hips as he pulled you close. you felt the outline of his cock in his pants as he jut his hips forward. you turned your head over your shoulder, glancing up at him. 

his nose found a home in the curve of your neck. you giggled when you felt his stubble tickle your skin, a hand coming instinctively to hold the side of his face tight against your skin. he breathed soundly against you, finding eternal peace of mind plastered against your body.

“it was nice seeing you alex, rebecca.” you began to bid your farewells. “marta, it was a pleasure to meet you.” marta leaned in for a hug, which pulled you away from the warmth of lando’s body. you felt like a snail ripped from its shell— hollow, cold. 

“the same for you,” pregnancy looked good on her. though, you can’t recall the last time you’ve seen her without a baby blooming inside her. “if you ever need advice…alex has my number.” 

you blushed, feeling lando’s hand around your lower belly tense. “thank you. i’ll be in touch.” you glance towards rebecca and alexandra, following lando’s pace back to the car.

lando’s eyes were hot as they drilled holes into the side of your head. you could feel it, though you weren’t even looking at him. “i can feel your urge to talk, lan.” 

he laughed, holding your hand tight in his. “no. no, it’s nothing.” 

you stopped dead in your tracks, pulling your hand from his, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“okay, okay,” he apologized, taking your hand back into his own, bringing it to his lips to kiss. his lips were warm and wet against your skin. your breath hitched.

“well, go on, then.” 

“this is the congratulations i get? damn, baby, you’re rugged.” 

you shoved his face away, beginning to walk back to the car once more. “you know i’m proud. don’t be silly, now.” 

“i know, i know,” there was a brief silence. “you can show me in other ways.” 

“lando!” you gasped, and he broke into a fit of laughter. “dirty bastard.” you mumbled. 

“what was that, baby?” 

“nothing. nothing. just like what you wanted to tell me, i guess.” two can play at this game. you heard him scoff, but ultimately relent. 

“alright, alright. i just…” he became shy with the tone of his voice. you could recognize it instantly. “heard your conversation with the girls, is all.” 

you attempted your best effort to still your facial expressions from annoyance, shock, embarrassment, and all of the fucking above. 

 “you heard…all of it?” 

“the gist.” 

you tried to cover your face to shield yourself from the world. god, that was your fucking nightmare. you hadn’t ever even touched upon a subject like that with him before. and now he had heard it from you talking to your girlfriends? oh, you just felt like the worst girlfriend in the world right now. 

“fuck. i didn’t mean to—” 

“no, baby,” he opened the car door for you to slip into the passenger seat. you stepped in, gripping his forearm to sit down. 

when he climbed in himself and turned over the engine, you shifted to face him. before you could even open your mouth to speak, he cut you off. 

“i want kids, too, you know. with you.” 

“oh.” a weight lifted from your shoulders in that moment, and then you felt utterly stupid for thinking that he would’ve reacted badly. this is your lando you’re talking to. a man you can share anything with. “you do?” 

he looked flabbergasted. “you’re joking, right?”

you shot your hands up in defense. “i don’t know! children aren’t exactly…temporary. i just— i didn’t know if you thought of me—”

“you’re permanent, love.” his hand wrapped around your thigh as he pulled out of the driver’s lot, whipping past the fans that were keen on snapping a picture of him. 

though you’ve known that, deep down, it still hit you like the first time he told you that he loved you. a jaw-dropping epiphany that had been right in front of you the whole time. you’d been short-sighted, enjoying every moment that you had with him, and had become unknowing about the future you’ve been perpetuating with him.

you covered his hand with your own, playing with the bracelets around his wrist. the charm bracelet ‘daddy’ dangled between your fingers, rolling the beads over and over again. 

“you’d make a good daddy, wouldn’t you?” you said the words under your breath, but even he could hear them like you’d shouted them in his face. he tightened his grip around your thigh.

“don’t say things like that,” he shook his head, eyes locked on the road ahead. 

the air became heavy between you two. when wasn’t it? not only did passion run through your veins, but heinous desire breathed life to your souls. 

“why?” you stroked the top of his hand with your nails. “you heard what i said to the girls.” his head lolled against the back rest. “what’s different now?” 

you felt the car accelerate. it vibrated the cushion you were nestled atop of, sending shockwaves through your cunt.

“driving me fucking nuts, darling.” 

you knew you were. it was the secret to your relationship— the two of you understanding what made you tick. seethe with lust until there was no other option for you to climb him like a tree.

it didn’t take long before he reached the hotel, pulling up to the front. you were getting your things to get up, but he was lost on his phone, pretending to be busy. “coming?” you asked.

“pfft—” you could see him roll his eyes through the rearview mirror. “i wish. give me a second.” you couldn’t help but huff to yourself under your breath, stepping out of the car with your heels clinking to the ground.

 with your purse over your shoulder you stepped up onto the curb, but was distracted by a small voice echoing over your shoulder. 

down the sidewalk was a mother and a stroller. you smirked lowly, taking only the few steps it’d take to reach the mother and child. 

“oh my gosh,” you squealed. the mother was taken back, but by your demeanor and eyes on her baby, she returned a smile. by her pink bonnet and bunny swath, you knew she was the cutest thing you’d ever laid eyes on. “she is just the cutest thing!” 

“thank you,” the woman said.

“she looks just like her mama,” you heard lando’s car door open, most definitely within earshot. “don’t you, sweet thing? yes you do!” you cooed at the baby, who erupted in a fit of louder giggles and mumbles. 

the mother was flushed, but happy. “you’re too kind. you’re good with children? do you have any of your own?” 

jackpot..!!

you clutched your purse as you stood up straight. you played into your theatrics, “oh gosh, i wish! my husband and i have been trying for ages, but he’s just so busy with work…” 

the woman tsked with disappointment for you. “you’d make a beautiful mother,” 

“you think so?” 

she nodded her affirmation. 

“that’s so sweet of you.” you were really milking this scene, especially that you knew lando was listening. 

“is that your husband there?” she pointed to over your shoulder. and there he was, your husband, watching the two of you from behind the ajar car door. 

“mmm, yes, it is.” you offered a cordial wave to him. he stuck two fingers up for a lazy wave, waiting for you to return to him. “i should go. it was a pleasure, ma’am. your baby is adorable.”

she nodded a thanks, and you took your sweet time walking back to the car. you could hear lando tapping the windshield incessantly. before his head dipped down back into the car he called, “get back in.” 

you…admit, you were confused. brows furrowed, you opened the passenger side door and bent down, “why—?”

“get in the car,” your name was a rumble in his chest. you still didn’t know what he was doing nor going, and your stubborn self wouldn’t settle for a verbal answer.

you took too long for him. gripping your arm, he pulled you into the passenger seat, and you landed on your ass with a ‘thump’. 

he fired up the engine again and pulled out of the traffic circle of the hotel. he radiated with heat— you could feel it from where you sat. “where are we going?” 

he didn’t answer you. 

you crossed your arms and legs, looking out the window. the area was unknown to you, but lando always seemed like he knew where he was going. 

it took only a minute for him to pull into an empty level of a parking garage, dimly lit with only one overhead light at the entrance of the ramp. he put the car in park. 

“what are we—”

you couldn’t finish your sentence until you were on his lap, hands gripping your waist so tightly that you had to gasp for air. 

“husband?” 

oh

oh…!

well, this was a change you welcomed with open arms. 

he lowered the seat back until you were straddled atop of him, fingers aimlessly toiling with the zipper of his jeans. 

“don’t know what you’re—”

he snapped upward, gripping your chin between his forefinger and thumb. “baby,” he breathed, and you shivered. “what do you want?”

your hips naturally moved back and forth against his own, dress hiked well above your stomach. his hand snaked between your legs, feeling the wet patch in your underwear. he hummed when you didn’t reply, flicking his finger upward to graze your clit. 

you mewled. 

“what was that?”

your hand twisted around the hem of his shirt. you were already breathless, clenching around nothing except the sound of his words. 

“tell me,” he muttered, staring up at your disheveled state. he made quick work of sliding your panties to the side, massaging the folds of your cunt between his fingers. you continued your writhing against him. 

“want you,” was what you managed to breathe out, hips rutting against his palm. he tsked, but allowed you this moment. a moment for him to bask in the way that you move your hips, writhe against his clothed cock that was egregiously hardening by the second and each amount of pressure you applied. 

he slid his fingers in and out of you with ultra maneuvering, in and out, all around. he was a mastermind when it came to feeling you up, exploring you both on the outside, and the in. you were in heaven, ultimately, when he curled his fingers so deeply upon thrusting them. your cunt tightened so viciously around him that he groaned, his head falling back and his hardened cock thrusting upward. to no avail, his dick was strained against the cloth of his pants.

“fuck,” he cussed, curling his fingers over and over again. your body began to shiver, and only began to fall from grace when his thumb traced against your clit. stimulation grew hotter and hotter, until you let out a piercing moan from the depths of your throat. he angled his fingers differently, making you squirm.

“lando!” you breathed, feeling your climax creeping up on you faster than you could even blink. your core tightened, a coil of veracious flames churning around each other manifesting a slew of energy that released sparks from your nerves. your folds were inflamed, puffy, beating hot that you couldn’t think straight. lando was touching you with his other hand anywhere that he could reach. he palmed your breasts through your dress, twisted a nipple to earn a delicious squeal. 

“come on, sweet thing,” he encouraged you with that stupid lopsided smile of his, you were looking down on him, sweat beading at his forehead, pupils blown dark and wide. his hand that was groping your breast moved upward, threading around the column of your throat. “show daddy what you’re made of.” 

his hand tightened, and you felt the coil snap. he continued to pump his fingers in and out, maneuvering so perfectly, hitting that exact spot with precision. 

he knew you came when your eyes rolled back into your head, legs quivering around his waist. god, you’re a sexy thing. 

his hand loosened from around your neck, dropping to your chest, fiddling with the van cleef necklace he had gifted you. it reeked of possession, marking you as his with the “l.n.” initials engraved on the back of the golden surface.

the moment of bliss passed before he was pulling the zipped down from your dress and throwing it from over your head. your panties were next, though the fabric was thin as is. there you were, bare and glistening, before your so-called ‘husband’ as you had worded it. he wouldn’t forget it, a spark igniting within him that was lit by the phrase leaving your tongue. he didn’t think that it would affect him so much—

but it did. 

he made quick work of his own pants, shoving them down to his knees beneath you, breathless and needy. 

you gripped the hem of his shirt. he lifted his arms to hasten the process, and the shirt went to the back seat. with his skin exposed, you couldn’t help but run your hands along his tan, toned chest. it made you dripping wet, though he was barely touching you now. 

with your skin atop of his, carnage was sure to ensue. he took a drag of his fingers against your wet cunt and brought it to his lips. he sucked on them, releasing with a ‘pop.’ your mouth hung open in anticipation for what he was going to do next. he always kept you on your toes. 

but this…this is not what you expected. 

he took a ring from his index finger, plated in silver, and slid it onto your ring finger on your left hand. the wedding finger. 

it stuck to your sweaty palm, sure enough to not slip off. 

“let’s make it official then, pretty girl.” 

you sat upon him astonished, looking down at the adornment that he had given to you. it dazzled on your finger. 

“if you’re my wife, what does that make me?”

the words trembled from your lips, thighs tightening around his own. you could feel his dick sprung to life against your backside. “my husband.” 

“good, baby, you learn fast.” 

you gulped, finally taking a look at him from his propped upright position. he was downright smitten with you, guzzling everything about you inside of him. you were his, so much fucking so, that he was going to ruin you. and he didn’t even feel bad for wanting it. 

“my husband…” you repeated, lowering your face down to meet his own. he smelled so good—a mix of sweat and his cologne. 

his hand tangled into your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail to meet your eye level. 

“makes me fucking crazy when y’say it…” 

you knew that was the truth. you’d known the minute you sat down in the car. his demeanor had changed, shifted to something darker that you didn’t quite understand. it was insane enough as is that you’d discovered so many things about him within a short period of time. 

“husband, daddy…what’s the difference?” you cooed, kissing up and down his neck. he groaned, landing a smack on your ass that had you giggling. 

“‘ll just make you a mommy if you keep throwin’ that word ‘round.” 

you grinned ear to ear. against his cheek, you took a deep breath in, before letting go. 

“daddy.” 

if you’ve ever made a good decision in your life, this has to be the best. a switch flipped. gears started to turn in his head. the spark plug burst into flames. 

you were his undoer,

the key to his shackled restraint,

the sun to his universe.

it was always you. you’d been right in front of him for the past two years. two years to get to this point. two years for the woman he loved most in this world to be sucking his neck whispering ‘daddy’ into his ear. 

lando sat upright in the seat. with a hand at the back of your head, he forced eye contact with you. this was different. this look. you could feel it in your heart, your folds, as they began to beat synchronously. life with him was euphoria, and sex had been the serendipitous release for both of you. 

but seeking the future together?

heaven incarnate.

despite being locked inside such a tight space, lando managed to swap your position with a suave move. you were on your back, shocked by his carnal rampage, as he hooked your legs upward. your toes scathed the ceiling of the car, pressed deep into the metal chassis. 

“kiss me,” you demanded with the breath that you could take. he didn’t waste a second, leaning down to your lips and capturing you with the most breathtaking press that he could muster. his tongue and your own fought for dominance over one another; you lost, quickly, unable to match his revered pace. 

he wanted to eat you from top to bottom. devour your insides, carry you with him every day of his life. you would be his, one way or another, and he didn’t care how it was. 

lucky enough, you were more than willing to be his bride, his lover, his person. 

because he was yours. 

then he was inside of you. braving the treachery of your tight walls, he hissed when the tip of his cock slipped through your folds. you’d been dripping on the leather seat. 

“fuck, baby…” his head fell to the crevice of your neck and collarbone. 

“oh my goddd…” the moan you both let out was terribly lewd, grotesque, even, with how he didn’t start a pace. you both savored this sweet moment of lust, passion, and a figurative toast to a lifelong commitment to fucking one another. 

with each thrust he took, he aimed to make a statement. deeper and deeper he penetrated you, his cock crafted of divine measure with how he quartered your g-spot. 

you could never stay still beneath him. it had him on edge the way you squirmed. dare say it was one of the most favorite things about you, though the list would be never-ending. you shiver from pleasure, leaning into him as your cunt squelches beneath you. 

echoes of moans bounce off the interior of the car, whilst a smile of greed and possession conceives on his own cheeks. the angle he has you at is deeper than any that you’ve had before— it left no room for noncommittal nature, no room for you to complain about wanting him closer, more, more, more. 

“y’feel me here?” his hand rest on your lower belly, your womb, as he applied pressure. you do feel him there. the indent of his cock is poignant, bulging out from the skin. 

“mhm…!” you whine, trying to keep your mouth shut from the onslaught of moans pouring out. 

his attention turned to your tits as he swallowed a nipple whole with his tongue, sucking feverishly at the sensitive bud. it had you weak, dribbling to puddy. 

he could only think about how you’d look pregnant. swollen tits, round belly, glowing with his child. 

“this what you wanted?” he grunted, his pace quickening. you were too dumb to speak, a droplet of drool leaking from your mouth. “hm? fuck you—fuck, fill you up?” 

your back arched at the sentence, not knowing that his words could have such an arousing effect on you. this arousal was different. the way you clench around him was different. your actions spoke a lot louder than your words. 

“yeah? i can feel you, darling.” sounds of skin slapping and your hoarse voice could only be heard. he fucked you so good, treated you even better. fuck it, you’d rather be pregnant than anything else. 

“please, please…” you didn’t know what you were pleading for, in truth— he was already fucking you like he’d been in a rut. 

“yeah? that what you want? want a baby?” 

your head nodded furiously up and down, tears of pleasure streaming down your cheeks. lando bent down to kiss them away, followed by a capturing of your lips. he swallowed your breaths, your moans. he trailed kisses down the column of your throat; your collarbones, breasts, nipples, nothing went untouched by his mouth. 

“god…these…” he muttered against your tits, voice sending shockwaves through your body. “imagine how big they’d be.” he managed to chuckle to himself. “swollen and beautiful,” he kissed the top of your abdomen. 

“lando…”

his head shot up from his daze. 

“the time is right. please, please—” your words seemed to hit him like a truck. the foreplay had turned reality, and he was more than ready to lurch into fate. 

“what, pretty girl?”

your face flushed, biting your lip. “give me a baby, need it—lan, need it so bad.” your hand found the back of his neck, tugging on the strands of his hair. 

he tsked, his pace evening out to a level throttle. your lips formed a sweet pout, and he stroked your chin with his index finger. “give you?” he mocked. “oh, don’t think that’s how we ask, do we?”

“lan…please, please, can i have your baby? need it so bad lando, need it…” you swallowed your breath. “daddy…wanna make you a daddy…please.” 

it was more than enough for him. “atta girl.” he grunted, deepening his lackluster thrusts into thrilling rides on his cock. “y’learn fast…kids ‘r gonna be so smart.” 

“yes, yes! so good, lan.” you heaved, the heat in your cunt finding a boiling point, and he felt it by how tight you became around him. 

“go on, baby, take it. be a good girl and take it all.” you’d do anything to hear your lando call you a good girl. it had been more than enough to send you over the edge into a spiraling orgasm that had slick seeping around his cock. your vision whitened, and you could only see the shadow of your ‘husband’ through the light. 

with sloppy thrusts, lando came with ease. he didn’t pull out urgently, letting his cum soak inside of you. he peppered kisses along your ankles, your calves, and let them fall to the seat. 

out of breath, your chests rose and fell at a rapid pace. lando’s forehead connected with your own, and through the haze of post-sex, he smiled at you. 

you smiled back. the two of you broke into a laugh. 

“fuckin’ knew that was gonna happen today.” he commented lazily into your chest. a hand of yours threaded through his brown curls. 

“your mastermind plan to babytrap me.” 

he raised a brow. “did you plan on leaving?”

you gave him a knowing look. “not in the slightest.” 

he became embarrassed and sheepish as he hid his face into your ribs. “no chance of it, now.” 

you chuckled, flexing your fingers to see the ring still there. “i want a real proposal, by the way.” 

his head shot up. “what? this wasn’t good enough?”

you palmed his face with one hand, and tugged the back of his curled head with the other. “bastard.” 

it only took you two ten minutes to get your clothes back on from such a leisurely excursion from the empty parking garage. covered in his spit, sweat, and cum, you didn’t feel….dirty. 

when he finally pulled up to the valet and opened the door for you, you stepped out as graciously as possible. though your hair was a tangled mess— you tried your best. lucky enough it was late enough to where minimal paparazzi were gathered. thank god. 

you shifted on your feet, shimmying the dress down, but lando came to your rescue. he pulled the dress down where it was crumpled at the back, caught between the hem of your soaked underwear. 

“that was a rental, wasn’t it?” you pointed out, looking over your shoulder.

“they should auction it.” 

you spun around and laughed in his face, gagged by the ego he has. “you have a big head.” 

“need all that room for you.” 

“cheesy.” 

lando’s eyes lit up— though exhausted from the day and your antics, the sun still rose for him— “almost forgot—” he reached into his pocket whilst you waited patiently. 

he pulled out a bracelet.

a friendship bracelet. 

“thought it suited you.” he put it around your wrist, and you analyzed it clearly. in white, capitalized letters it read:

“MOMMY”

“you really had this thing planned.” you were impressed. 

he shifted on his heels, throwing his hands up as if saying ‘what can i say?’ “p thinks you’re pregnant now.” 

you gasped. “lando!” 

“i mean…hopefully.” he winked as you fiddled with the jewelry, still not bothering to take off the ring from your finger. 

“well…” you brought a finger to your lips, thinking, “we have to be certain, don’t we?” 

lando was catching your drift as you walked backwards towards the entrance of the hotel, luring him in with your charisma. “perhaps…”

“so…we need to try again.” he wasn’t going to argue with that. “and again.” or that. “and again, for good measure.” 

“you’re gonna kill me, baby.” he whined, chasing you up the steps. you squealed, running forward. inside the elevator you two went, clicking the floor for your room. 

after further inspection, lando’s brows furrowed after he glanced over you. “what?” 

he covered his mouth to shield his devious smile. 

“what, lando?” 

he coughed to hide his amusement, but it was a very bad act. “you’re…”

“what?” 

“you’re dripping.”

you looked down at your thighs and saw the glistening reflection of his cum seeping out of you. fuck. maybe the first time was the charm, but you hoped it wasn’t. 

you really hoped it wasn’t. 

tags ; @landoslutmeout@basicallyric@mybluesoul1@toriiez@customsbyjcg-blog@sofs16@strengthandstay@mybluesoul1@f1fantasys@cmleitora @idgasb @amalialeclerc @laneyspaulding19 @staurdvst @oreosareara @sideboobrry11 @mortallyblueninja @fionamiller123 @2pagenumb @marvelfangirl04 @brune77e @allabouthappiness @tellybearryyyy @ringdingdingdingx @tillyt04 @danywonderland @rosebud224 @simpfortoomanymen @nataliambc @forcesensitivesoulmate @sweate-r-weathe-r @norlestappen @madszoca @milkandcookhot @fionamiller123 @16f1lc @jwiltsz @plotpal @inevesgf @theonottsbxtch