#but i think trying to set a pace and trying to answer everything is not possible

[aguilareye]

if i may be real a moment I am struggling to be motivated to write. it has nothing to do with the muse because i can talk about boothill and hsr all day, but when i sit down to write, it doesn't matter what i pick to answer, a thread, an inbox prompt, a headcanon etc. i get hit with bleh feelings of 'what is the point?' and then i shelf the draft that times passes and then i feel 'well its been so long now i think the receiver doesn't care/remember this anymore' and more of the feeling 'what is the point?' grows ya feel me. and it kinda sucks because the anniversary of boothill's debut banner is coming and so is my anniversary of me writing him. and it stinks. like it feels like i'm burning out right as i'm nearing the finish line. like i said, i don't think i could drop hsr or writing boothill because this cowboy has my heart and soul but latetly there is no joy in writing. and it hasn't nothing to do with the rpc or mutuals because i get good enough interactions and ppl willing to plot and listen to my ideas. idk it's like the hobby of writing seems so ... unfulfilling at the moment. so yeah. i think i would appreciate people understanding i am turning into 'writes when the motivation hits' kinda of rp blog and i am no way ignoring them or disregarding them. if we're mutuals, i want to write. but right now, the pace of writing is very ambiguous. and i'm very sorry.

[feelgoodinct]

nsfw, mdni.

simon becomes an absolute dog when he sees you in his shirt.

cw: possessive simon, sex on carpet (ouch), unprotected p in v, creampie, size kink (?).

simon is a good roommate. he’s organized, clean, pays rent on time, and minds his own space. the only thing is—roommate is hot. stupidly hot. you know he doesn’t have a girlfriend and he’s never once brought back a girl let alone mentioned one. you figured your little crush on him would pass like all the other (it does not). you start dropping hints that you find him attractive. like wearing your tightest tops, brushing your ass against him while reaching for a cup, even leaving one of your lacy thongs to mix in with his laundry. he never bites the bait. you start to think that maybe he just doesn’t find you attractive or even worse he finds you creepy. so you tuck your schoolgirl crush away into the cavity of your chest.

you close the washer with your hip, cradling your laundry basket back to your room. you hear the familiar turn of your front door lock letting you know simon is home from his morning gym session.

you pad into the living room to ask simon if he needed any clothes washed. simons back is turned from you when he begins to slip off his trainers, dropping his gym at the foot of the door.

“need any clothes washed? i’m starting a load up right now.” you ask eyeing the movement of back muscle underneath his compression shirt.

he finally turns to you and starts to respond “nah don’t think-“ before he snaps his mouth shut when he sees what you’re wearing. “that mine?” his voice gruff, it’s his army issued shirt that is long enough to cover your shorts. a deep green color that frays at the hem and has his last name in bold at the back of it. you notice he’s staring at the worn fabric waiting for an answer.

you look down, “oh yeah. sorry was doing laundry found this in hamper. my clothes are in the wash. hope that’s okay?” you sound apologetic like you just did something unforgivable. jesus christ what were you thinking wearing his shirt without asking. you shift trying to ease your embarrassment.

he’s on you in three short strides. making a noise between a growl and snarl. you don’t know how or when you both ended up on the living room floor. frankly, it’s the last thing on your fucking mind now that you’re on your knees cheek pressing into the shag carpet. you can feel the heat of his stare between your legs. you get a glimpse of your shorts and panties strewn across the floor leaving you in his shirt. you wait with bated breath for him to touch you. you wiggle your hips in a silent plead to get him to do something, anything…everything.

he gives the flesh of your ass a heavy smack that has you clenching around nothing. “be good now.” is all you hear before the sting leaves an angry red mark that you know is gonna leave you wincing for the next week. simon smooths a hand over the back of your (his) shirt making a noise in the back of his throat.

you hear shuffling behind you before you feel the head of him catch on to your opening making your mouth gape like a fish out of water. he groans at the contact, kneading the fat of your hips, before he presses in painfully slow with a hiss. you whimper into the carpet, fists balling, feeling hot all over. your cunt pulses trying to make room for him inside your womb.

“i know. i know, pretty girl. almost there.” simon bites back a hiss when you clench at his words. you think you might die like this. laid out on ugly apartment carpet trying to take simon’s cock. you could cry with relief when you feel simon’s balls meet your clit letting you know he’s all the way in. simon lets out a guttural sound bordering on animalistic at the sight of you speared open on his cock, last name across your back, absolutely crying for it.

he fists the bottom of the shirt to keep you still and eases his hips back just to sink back in slowly. the pressure in your navel hurts so good it’s starting to make you dizzy. simon sets a pace that has you trying to cant your hips back to meet his thrusts. he lays a heavy palm in the middle of your back, just under the boldened ‘RILEY’, keeping you pinned giving you no choice but to take what he gives you.

“prettiest fuckin girl i ever seen. gonna give this cunt the proper treatment she deserves, yeah?” he bends his left leg, somehow sliding in deeper. there’s no doubt that you can feel him in your lungs. “s’deep simon.” you slur, reaching a hand back to weakly press against his stomach. he chuckles at the act taking both wrists into one of his hands pressing them at the small of your back, forcing you into a deeper arch. you sob at the change in angle. your nipples being rubbed raw by the friction of his thrusts.

“needed this real bad, huh? don’t worry baby. i’ll make sure you don’t go without it again. wearing those tiny tops think i didn’t notice.” his voice rough and deep behind you. “uh huh.” you reply without a second thought, you don’t even care that you’ve been drooling into the carpet or that you’ve been caught. simon gives a deep chuckle at how pliant you’ve become just from some good dick.

he knows your close by the increasing volume of your sounds. he never lets up his pace determined to give you his all. “where?” he asks in a quick breathe. you take a few seconds to register his words. “huh?” you manage to squeak out. “where do you want me, pretty thing?” he says in an almost pained voice. the gears turn in your head before you speak up “inside. want it inside. m’clean. pill.” resorting to short clipped words. you beg, as if you have to, simon thinks.

your orgasm comes hard and fast leaving you sobbing out garbled version of please and simon. simon is not far behind burying himself as deep as your bodies will allow and comes inside with a pinched “oh fuck.” he pulls out with a pop and watches his spend leak down your slit leaving a small puddle on the floor that he knows he’ll have to scrub out later.

simon pats your backside affectionately. “don’t think we’ll be doing any laundry today” he says with a grin that makes you giggle. “yeah, don’t think so.”

[mrsholmesreid]

EVERY FIRST, YOURS | spencer reid x reader

summary: you and spencer reid have been going out for a few weeks. he's taking things very slow, and you find his pace comforting and his awkwardness endearing. as your relationship grows more heated, you come to find that he was completely inexperienced before meeting you. you feel honored to be his first, to be the one he learns love from.

pairing: spencer reid x reader (no pronouns but reader has female anatomy)

word count: 9,05k

content warnings: fluff x smut, virgin!spencer, oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, aftercare.

author's note: i tried to portray spencer's inexperience in a way that's more realistic—despite him reading a lot and knowing everything about most things—and that followed his character's personality but that was still enjoyable to read. i hope you love reading this as much as i loved writing it! let me know what you think :)

You and Spencer had been going out for a few weeks. After reaching for the same book at a bookstore, the two of you started talking—and it didn’t take very long before you planned a date. He chose a nice restaurant, picked you up, brought you flowers, and did every other gentleman attitude in the book. By the end of it, you were sure he was going to make a move—kiss you, touch you, maybe even try to get you to go home with him—but he did none of that. As he dropped you off at your place at a reasonable hour, he gave you a gentle, respectful hug, and thanked you for an amazing time with the promise of calling you back again soon. And unlike most other guys, he kept it.

You thought he was the sweetest guy you’d ever met.

It was only by your third date that he tried to kiss you. The routine remained—picking you up, taking you to a nice place (this time it had been a museum, where he risked to hold your hand—and you let him), and then, finally, driving you home.

When you reached your doorstep, it was a little later than usual because both of you wanted to stay for a short lecture they were having at the museum. His eyes glimmered under the dim lighting of your porch, and in a quiet moment that followed after a string of warm laughter about the night’s events, he asked if he could kiss you.

You’d never had anyone ask you that before. Guys would usually just take the hint and lean in all at once. But for some reason, the care in his eyes, the way he rubbed his hands ever so slightly against his slacks—as if trying to dry off a thin layer of nervous sweat without you noticing—endeared you deeply. Your heart warmed at the way his eyes stared at you. His pupils wide, taking you in and eagerly waiting for an answer.

“Please?”

The word sounded more like a whimper coming from his lips. You were so deep in your thoughts about how adorable he looked when asking you that question, that you forgot to actually agree to it. You didn’t just want to kiss him. You wanted to scream, jump in his arms, kiss him all over, invite him inside, and give yourself completely to this charming man. But you didn’t.

It was clear by how nervous he seemed that he had planned every second of every date he had taken you on—including this very moment—and you wanted to let him do it. You wanted to play along, to let him win the little game he had in his mind. You knew he had probably rehearsed that line a thousand times before actually saying it to you. “May I kiss you?” You could almost picture him saying it to the mirror. So, you allowed him to set the pace.

“Yes,” you smiled softly, taking a small step closer.

The kiss that followed wasn’t exactly what you were expecting, but in a way, it couldn’t have been better. His breath hitched, and you could see the exact moment his brain short-circuited after hearing your breathy one-worded answer. He took another step in your direction, closing the distance between you but not quite letting your bodies touch just yet. He took a deep breath, and very slowly, pressed a brush of a kiss against your lips.

It barely lasted more than three seconds, but to you, it was an eternity. You never thought such a chaste peck could make that many fireworks go off inside your head. 

You didn’t know it then, but the fireworks in his head were much brighter than yours; for that had been his first kiss ever.

After that, he simply pulled back with the biggest, silliest smile you’d ever seen. He looked like a child that had just been given a puppy. Or even the puppy itself.

His flushed cheeks said everything he couldn’t, and after exchanging goodnights, he went back to his car, leaving you just as flustered and happy as him.

What had he done to you? You felt like a teenager in love for the first time. But whatever it was, you couldn’t help but crave more of it.

For the next couple of dates, he followed that same script—but now, with a goodnight kiss at the end of it. You kept letting him set the pace, enjoying how adorable he looked whenever the time to kiss you came. Even his behavior in the moments leading up to it would change. He’d get more talkative on the drive back to your place, and you could swear you even saw him unconsciously skipping after closing the car door for you before taking you home one time. You loved his silly smiles, and they brought up a bunch of your own.

But as the dates kept going, his kisses evolved.

The first time he changed it, was after he had taken you to an amusement park. You were both exhilarated after the adrenalin-fueled evening when you reached your doorstep, and as if on instinct, he pulled you in with his hands cradling your face as he kissed you for a lot longer than three seconds. 

He hadn’t done that yet, and he seemed just as surprised as you by his own, unexpected action. The way his fingers naturally threaded through your hair to bring you closer, how his lips pressed more purposefully against yours—your heart nearly stopped.

He pulled back slowly, his hands slipping shyly from your cheeks, and he looked like the floor could swallow him whole with embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry…” He stammered, but you could tell that, deep down, he really wasn’t.

“Don’t apologize,” you smiled and couldn’t help yourself, tentatively stealing another peck. You didn’t even try to hide how much you’d loved the fact that he had lost himself in the kiss.

His blush deepened at your stolen peck, but you didn’t press him further than that.

“So… we’re okay?” He asked timidly. 

“Yeah… we’re okay,” you replied, your grin widening.

After that night, his kisses only grew deeper.

On the following date, he allowed his lips to move ever so slightly against yours, making your entire body shiver.

By the next one, he flicked his tongue over your lower lip, hesitantly begging for entry—which you granted him in a heartbeat.

His movements were shy and almost experimental at first, but not long after, the routine chaste goodnight kisses were replaced by his hands on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as your tongues danced together. You didn’t realize it then, but you were teaching him how to kiss.

You were starting to wonder when he’d want more. Your make out sessions were becoming more heated with each date; to the point that, one night, he even pressed you lightly against the wall. The desire between you was growing undeniably evident—both figuratively and literally.

You’d been waiting for the night when he’d ask to come inside—find an excuse to actually cross the front door limit you’d been teetering over, go into your house, and take things further. But he didn’t.

You were patient, though. You could tell he was very careful with everything you did together, and not only did you respect that, but you were thankful for it. You thought you might actually benefit from having someone be a little more controlled than you in a relationship for once. Ever so used to guys jumping to conclusions and skipping important steps, Spencer’s pace was a comforting change of scenery.

But then it finally came.

You were leaving the restaurant, his hand hovering over your lower back as he guided you back to his car like he always did. Everything was going exactly the same, following the usual script perfectly. The next steps were clear: he’d drive you home, you’d make out by your doorstep, then he’d say goodnight and leave you a blushing, butterfly-filled mess.

Until things took a different turn.

“You know,” he broke the comfortable silence, sliding his hand against yours and interlocking your fingers as you walked. You could feel how warm his hand was, and the slight dampness on it indicated he was a little nervous. “I finished setting up that new shelf I was telling you about,” he mentioned, seemingly casually. 

“Oh, did you? You actually figured out where all the nails went?” You teased him lightly.

He let out a soft chuckle, “Yeah, I did. And now I’ve finally organized my books. This time I arranged them by author and theme,” he added, his tone proud.

“It must look beautiful,” you said in all honesty, not realizing the actual weight of your words until he let out:

“Do you wanna see it?” His voice trembled slightly and you could see right through him. That wasn’t an innocent invitation.

Your heart skipped a beat. He wanted you to see it? Like, actually see it, in person, alone with him in his apartment?

You raised your eyebrows, your face a mix of shock and ecstasy. The time had finally come.

“Y-you mean…?” You stuttered, not wanting to jump to conclusions despite the sheer obviousness in his gaze.

“We could go to my place—I mean, stop at my place, before I drop you home,” his nerves were evident by the way he stumbled over his words, trying to play it cool. “Would you like that?” He asked, sounding eager for your answer.

Of course you’d like that. You’d been waiting for that moment for weeks. But still, given how slow he’d been taking things, you needed to make sure that was what he wanted.

“Yes, yes I would, but… Are you sure?” You asked as the two of you stopped by his car, his hand pausing on the passenger’s seat door handle.

His gaze met yours, deep and meaningful. “I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t sure.”

“Okay,” you nodded, the air between you thick with tension and understanding. “I’d love to see your new shelf, Spence.”

He smiled, a soft and genuine curve of his lips, as he opened the car door for you.

The drive to his apartment was quieter than your usual drives. It was like the both of you felt the weight of what was about to happen.

As he pulled over and guided you up to his place, you could tell he was nervous by how he constantly asked if you were feeling uncomfortable, cold, or tired. He was adorable like that, the true concern for your well-being evident in his actions.

“Make yourself at home,” he said as the two of you stepped inside. His apartment wasn’t too big, the perfect balance between having enough room and being cozy. It was warm and welcoming, the faint smell of books and coffee filling your nostrils.

“Thank you,” you replied. You watched as he carefully slipped off his shoes, so you did the same. “You have a really nice place, it’s very… you.”

“Thanks… Everybody says that,” he blushed. “Here, let me take this,” his hands gently slid over your coat, helping you remove it and hung it by the door. You gave him a soft smile, the thick atmosphere slowly fading into something more comfortable. You loved this about him, how he always felt safe, like home.

“So where’s this famous shelf?” You teased, his lips curling into a knowing smile.

“Follow me,” he said, offering you his hand—which you took without hesitation.

Spencer gently guided you further inside the apartment, showing you to the living room. The warm lighting casted soft shadows on the walls, giving the apartment a homey feel. There was a shelf filled to the brim on one side, but you could tell those weren’t all of his books, though. There were a few piled up next to the couch, which was large and comfy with pillows scattered all over it, and some more on the coffee table.

“Is this it?” You asked, pointing at the shelf as you stepped closer to it.

“The one and only,” he grinned, standing next to you with his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“You did a really good job putting this up, it seems very… sturdy,” you said, running your hands gently on the shelf, as if studying it closely.

He smiled proudly. “Yeah, it took me a while. Hey, look through whatever you want, okay? I’m just gonna go grab a glass of water, do you want some?” He offered. As you turned to face him directly, you noticed his flushed cheeks and awkward demeanor. He was clearly nervous about having you here, like he was afraid of disappointing you, desperate to impress you.

You gave him a soft, reassuring smile, before politely declining, “I’m good, thanks. I’ll be right here checking out your beautiful collection,” you said, watching him leave while wiping his hands on his slacks like he always did when he was nervous.

You let out a soft chuckle, biting your lip as you thought about how lucky you were to be the one causing those adorable reactions on that man. Ever the methodic genius, Spencer kept surprising you every time you met by how comfortable he was growing around you. Still, watching him get flustered over the smallest details warmed your heart and filled your stomach with butterflies.

Running your fingers carefully over the spines of his books, you studied the titles but could barely register any of them. Your heart stammered against your chest, the idea of being there with him, alone in his apartment, was both exhilarating and terrifying. Despite the nerves, you didn't feel too bad, because you knew he was just as nervous as you. You could almost picture him pacing the kitchen, taking deep breaths and trying to calm his racing mind. And that mere thought had you smiling like a teenager in love.

You liked Spencer—you really liked him. And you didn’t want to mess any of it up. It had been long since you’d last felt anything remotely similar to what you felt for Spencer. Despite the two of you having not yet discussed the details of your relationship, you already considered him your boyfriend, and you desperately wanted to keep him around long enough to find out if he considered himself your boyfriend as well. And tonight was going to be a big step for the both of you.

Suddenly, you felt his hands sliding across your arms, gently encircling you with his own. Your entire body shivered, your skin feeling like it was on fire.

“You’re back,” you muttered, your voice strained with the surge of desire that coursed through you.

“Mhm. Did you miss me?” He hummed and whispered against the shell of your ear, pulling you back against his chest, your soft curves fitting perfectly against him. It was an unexpected move, but not at all unwelcome. His arms trembled slightly over you, as if he was terrified of your reactions, as if his heart was doing cartwheels in his chest—just like yours.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you joked, resting back against him with a smile playing on your lips. His closeness was both intoxicating and calming, and it took every bit of your strength to keep yourself in check. “But I did. Just a little bit, though,” you whispered.

“Just a little bit, huh?” He teased softly, his breath warm against your neck, making a shiver run down your spine with each of his words. “Well, good to know, because I missed you too.” He admitted sweetly, the words going straight to your core. Even though you were both only joking, only teasing each other for fun, the idea of him thinking about you made your skin tingle.

“Just a little bit?” You asked quietly, continuing the back and forth banter as your fingers intertwined with his.

“Mhm, no, I missed you a whole lot,” he muttered, his lips pressing a trail of soft kisses on your shoulder, going all the way up to your neck. Those words alone almost had you undone. You could feel his cheeks burning as he pressed them against your skin, the mere shift in temperature enough to make you wish you could see the shade of pink coloring over them.

“You’re blushing, aren’t you?”

“No…” He lied, his cheeks feeling even warmer against you.

With a swift motion, you turned around to face him, a surge of confidence taking over you. You wanted him, and you knew he wanted you too. His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders. “Liar!” You teased with a giggle, finding the redness on his cheeks absolutely endearing.

“Shut up,” he muttered, looking away with a shy smile as he pulled you closer.

“Look at me, pretty boy,” you tilted his chin with your finger so he was facing you. His eyes timidly met yours, his pupils dilating immediately at the sight. “You’re cute,” you teased, and his blush deepened.

“You’re beautiful,” he muttered, one of his hands sliding up from your waist to cup your cheek, his thumb lightly tracing patterns on your skin.

You tilted your head to the side, completely surrendered to the man before you; a soft, lovesick smile on your lips. When you noticed his eyes flickering down to your mouth, then back to your eyes, you already knew what was coming.

“M-may I kiss you?” He whispered. Even after everything, even after all the times you two made out passionately at your doorstep, he still made sure you gave permission. There was something about the tone in his voice when he asked that, the pleading shine in his eyes that betrayed the true desire in his chest. Everything about him charmed you.

“You really think I'd say no to that?” You smiled, leaning a little closer, your lips just a breath away from his.

He smiled shyly, as if he were unable to contain his own reactions. “Just checking in. I can barely believe you even let me have you like this,” he admitted, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Well, now you know,” you added. “I always want to kiss you.”

He pulled back slowly, his eyes widened with excitement meeting your gaze before he gently brought his lips to yours. The kiss was slow at first, tentative and hesitant. Like you both knew what it was forecasting.

His hands slowly cupped your face, as if he was holding the most precious thing in the world. As the kiss deepened, one of his hands slid to the back of your neck, threading through your hair to pull your mouth closer to his. Meanwhile, his free hand sneaked down your side, resting on your hip to bring you flush against him.

Your tongue slipped past his lips, tangling with his in a dance that grew hotter by the second. You could feel your heartbeat racing pressed against his chest, the rhythm mixing with his own. Your hands went from his neck to his lower back, dragging down his shirt until your fingers reached the hem, sneaking underneath the fabric to meet the warmth of his skin.

He let out a soft gasp into your mouth as your fingers trailed along the skin of his lower back, a shiver running down his spine. You smiled against his lips, enjoying how easily you could elicit reactions from him. Feeling your smile, Spencer tugged you even closer, kissing you even harder.

You turned to putty in his arms. The heat of the moment urged you on, making you slowly back him toward the couch until the back of his knees hit the soft material. Your hands went to his shoulders, gently guiding him down, your lips not leaving each other’s not even for a second. As he sat on the couch, you didn’t waste any time before climbing right on his lap.

His hands immediately met your waist, pulling your body closer until you were sitting directly on top of him. Desire shot up your body like electric shocks when you felt the evidence of his arousal nudging insistently against your clothed core. You pressed down gently, causing a spark of friction that nearly drew both of you insane.

Spencer groaned into your mouth, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours as he caught his breath. “We’ve never been this far,” he muttered, your breaths mingling in the small space between your faces.

“Do you want to stop?” You asked, trailing kisses on his jawline, all the way down to his neck. Your lips attached to the sensitive skin below his ear, unable to resist the need to suck and bite him softly.

“God, no,” he let out in a heartbeat, the earnestness in his voice enough to urge you further. You sucked a little harder on his neck, your tongue soothing the skin right after, making a soft moan escape his lips—the sound going straight to your core. “Damnit, that feels so good,” he muttered, making you smile against his skin.

You continued kissing down his neck to his collarbone, your mouth eager to find new spots that made him gasp. His hands slid down your hips to your backside, gently kneading the soft skin, the motion making you gasp and freeze on his neck for a second. You could feel your underwear grow damper, as well as his pants twitching underneath you.

“I-I’m sorry, should I have not? I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked first…” He muttered as you froze, his hands shaking as they hesitantly left your ass.

“No, no, that’s not it,” you quickly replied, guiding his hands back to where they were. “I liked it, I really did,” you smiled down at him, enjoying the sight of his slightly tousled hair and flushed skin. “You can touch wherever you want,”

“W-wherever I want?” He stammered, barely believing your words. His cheeks turned bright red. “A-are you sure?”

“Wherever you want, baby,” you whispered against his ear, drawing a satisfied sigh from him.

“E-even here?” He asked, the sound of you calling him ‘baby’ going straight to his groin as he gently spread your ass cheeks apart, kneading the flesh. Your head fell to his shoulder, your hips rolling against his as your body grew warmer with pleasure.

“Even there,” you gasped, your hands running down his chest reverently. 

“What about here?” He asked, his hands sneaking up to your ribcage, his thumbs tracing the underside of your breasts. 

“T-there too, baby,” you muttered as his palms slid further up until he was cupping your bosoms. His hands gently squeezed them, thumbs brushing against your hardened nipples over the thin fabric of your shirt and bra.

“I like that,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss your neck as he played with your breasts.

“What, touching me?” You asked, completely focused on the feel of his hands on you, his body pressed underneath yours, and his lips on your skin.

“Well, that too,” he said, squeezing your breasts a little tighter. “But I meant you calling me ‘baby’.”

“Mhm, did you now, baby?” You teased, whispering in his ear.

The soft sound that escaped his lips was almost like a whimper. “Y-yeah, yeah I like that.”

“Good,” you murmured, your tone sultry against the shell of his ear. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you further down on him. Slowly, you began grinding your hips on his, unable to ignore the hardness that pressed against you. You could notice the hitch in his breath as the friction between your bodies took over your minds.

“Is this okay?” You asked as you continued rolling your hips.

“I-It’s more than okay,” he stuttered, his eyes wide as he stared up at you, his grip tightening on your hips as he guided your deliberate movements.

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him again. He complied in a heartbeat, his lips parting to allow your tongue inside.

The heat between you grew exponentially. It was happening, it was really happening. You were grinding down, basically dry humping Spencer Reid as he kissed you like a man starved. It felt like a dream come true.

The desire between you was getting harder to ignore. It was obvious what this was leading to, the tent in his pants and how you rubbed against it were nothing near innocent. But you didn’t want to be the one to take the first step. You didn’t want to seem too eager or to make him feel like you were pushing something on him—but god only knew how badly you needed him.

Then he pulled away, gasping for air, his skin flush.

“I want you,” he admitted. “I want to take you to my bedroom.”

You could tell he was nervous, that admitting this to you was probably one of the hardest things he ever had to say. You smiled, wanting him to know it was okay and he could trust you. You wanted him to know that you wanted him too.

“I’d like that,” you said, kissing his cheek. “I’d like that a lot, actually.”

“Really?” His face brightened, his hand coming to cup your cheek.

“Yes, really,” you smiled. “Only if you’re sure about it, though.” You brought your hand to his face as well, losing yourself in the sight of him asking you this.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he nodded quickly, almost desperately. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

“Really?” You blushed.

He nodded, blushing as well. “Yeah, I've… I've actually been picturing tonight from the very beginning.”

Your entire body shivered. “Me too,” you admitted quietly.

“Really?” He asked, his eyes wide with disbelief and something warmer—desire, admiration, love…?

“Yes, really,” you chuckled softly. “I actually thought it would happen sooner,”

“Oh,” he let out. “Did you want it to have happened sooner?” You could almost feel the insecurity in his tone.

“No, no, that’s not it,” you quickly added. “It’s just… Most guys would’ve tried to do this earlier, you know? But… I’m glad you didn’t,” you smiled softly, reaching up to caress his hair.

He melted into your touch, his face relaxing at your words. “I didn’t want to rush things with you. You mean a lot to me,” he smiled, his eyes wide staring up at you.

“You mean a lot to me too,” you replied, leaning down to kiss him.

His lips met yours softly, the both of you drowning in the sensations. The heat between you was still very present, so it didn’t take long before he was helping you off his lap and guiding you to his bedroom, the kiss not breaking for a second.

He kicked the door shut behind you carefully, gently backing you toward his bed. As the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, he slowly pushed you down onto it, crawling on top of you.

His body hovered above yours as you made out, hands exploring each other’s bodies with reverence. You could tell he wasn’t very used to this, his limbs trembled slightly against you as if he was overthinking his every action.

His knees gently spread your legs apart so he could fit his body between them, which you easily allowed. His hips pressed down against yours, your arms enveloping him and dragging him closer to you. His kisses grew even more heated, lips trailing down your jawline to your neck as he ground down against you. 

The way you gasped, the soft moans that spilled from your throat, everything overwhelmed him in the best way possible. He loved how responsive you were, how you showed him with every breath you let out how badly you needed him, just like he needed you.

His face left the crook of your neck to stare down at you, hands paused by the hem of your shirt. Silently asking for permission, his gaze met yours to find your desires mirrored in each other. No words were needed, his fingers gently tugging your shirt upwards until it was tossed across the room. His own shirt followed soon after.

Your chests pressed together snuggly as Spencer found his way back to your neck, his lips sucking gently on the sensitive skin below your ear. His hands sneaked down your back, fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra.

“Need any help?” You chuckled quietly, not in a mocking tone, but rather raw endearment for his gentle ministrations. 

“Yes, please,” he blushed softly. You reached behind your back undoing your bra with practiced ease. The straps fell loosely off your shoulders, the cups still covering your breasts.

“May I?” Spencer asked, his fingers stilling on the straps. You nodded, helping him as he slid off the garment.

His eyes widened noticeably at the sight of your bare chest as he tossed your bra away. “You’re breathtaking,” he muttered in complete awe of you, his fingers kneading the soft flesh with worshipping care.

Before you could respond, his face bent down to latch on one of your nipples, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as he sucked it into his mouth, a satisfied sigh escaping his throat as he felt it harden between his lips. You let out a low moan, your hands trailing down his back, tracing slow patterns that made his skin tingle.

His free hand played with your other breast, making sure he was lavishing attention to both mounds as he switched between sucking and squeezing each side. He was lost in the taste of you, nursing as if he’d been hungry for you for months.

Your chest rose and fell with your ragged breaths, pleasure overtaking you. His hips didn’t falter their grinding, the evidence of his desire causing a mindblowing friction between you. 

Your hands shyly sneaked down his back, hooking on the waistband of his pants. As your fingers trailed lightly under the fabric of his boxers, he hitched against your chest, letting go of your nipples to look up at you.

“May I take these off?” You asked quietly.

He nodded eagerly, his hands reaching down to help you as he unzipped his pants with a clumsiness that neared desperation. His pants were on the floor in no time, the thin grey fabric of his boxers doing little to conceal the hard line of his arousal.

The sight nearly drove you mad, your hands reaching down to your own pants, hips lifting off the bed to pull it off.

Spencer’s hands met your waistband in no time, helping you remove your pants. Each inch of your bare skin being revealed made his heartbeat rise a little more, the weight of the moment pounding against his chest. He needed you like he never needed anything else before in his life.

You gently pulled him back up, your lips catching his in a searing kiss. Your bare chests pressed together, the warmth of his skin seeping through yours as your kisses deepened. Spencer continued grinding against you, the only barrier left between your sexes being the thin fabric of both of your underwear.

Your sight was blinded by a haze of desire. You wanted him, you needed him to take you, you needed to feel him deep inside you. Not able to contain yourself, you reached down to hook your fingers on the waistband of his boxers—being careful not to overwhelm him, but also not wanting to wait any longer.

He let out a soft gasp into your mouth, pulling back from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours as he caught his breath.

“Sorry, too much?” You whispered, your fingers stilling around his hips.

“No, no, it’s not that, it’s just… I should probably tell you something,” he muttered, a blush creeping up his already flushed neck.

“What is it? You know you can tell me anything,” you murmured softly, your tone sweet and understanding, but laced with a tinge of concern.

“I… I haven’t exactly… I mean, I haven’t really… this is kind of my…” he stammered, struggling to put his thoughts into words, but you understood what he meant immediately.

“...Your first time?” You finished for him. He nodded shyly, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “This is your first time, Spence?” You confirmed, your hands sliding up his back, your touch filled with affection.

“Yes… I’ve never… done this with anyone before. I actually hadn’t done anything with anyone before you,” he admitted quietly.

“Wait, you mean… nothing at all?” You asked, a little bit in disbelief. He nodded, making your heartbeat quicken. “Spencer, was I… was I your first kiss?” You asked, your eyes searching his, your expression unreadable.

“Yes… you were my first kiss, my first… everything,” he whispered. “Do you think I’m pathetic? It’s okay, you can be honest, I’ll understand…”

“No,” you interrupted. “I could never think that.”

His eyes lit up, finally running back up to meet yours. “Really?” He murmured, unsure if he wanted to hear your real answer or a made up lie to avoid hurting his feelings.

“Yes, really. I think you're so sweet, Spence, I could never think anything less of you. And the fact that I was your first kiss, your first… everything, is so special to me. I couldn’t be happier that you let me be the person who showed you this side of life,” you smiled warmly, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “The only thing I wish had gone differently is that you’d have told me earlier. If I had known, I would’ve been gentler, kinder, more understanding…”

“But you were all of those things,” he muttered, his eyes soft staring down at you. “You were the best person I could think of to do all of this. You’re the first person who’s ever made me feel like this, like… I could take all the love you can give me and still crave more.”

Your gaze softened, your chest warm at his admission. “I’m so glad you trust me. You make me feel that way too,”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss on your lips. It was chaste, but meaningful. When he pulled back, his eyes met yours with renewed desire, but this time, they were filled with something warmer, something more understanding than pure lust. None of you dared to name it then, but that single look you two exchanged was the first seed of love starting to bloom between you.

“I want you,” he muttered.

“I want you too,” you replied.

Your lips crashed together again, hungrier this time. Your tongues tangled in a sensual dance, the fire between you heating up once more as your fingers found their way back to the waistband of his boxers. But this time, he helped you tug them off.

As soon as the garment was tossed across the room, his hands reached down for your panties, fingers hooking on their sides as you lifted your hips to help him slide them off your legs. Once you were both bare, his body settled between your legs, the skin-on-skin contact bringing your connection to a whole new level of intimacy and pleasure.

Your senses were heightened by each brush of his skin on yours, the warmth between your legs growing wetter with each movement. His hands kneaded your skin—the moans that escaped both of your throats filled the room as his fingers worked on finding your sensitive spots while grinding down against you, his bare length sliding between your folds and bringing both of you to the brink of giving into the fire burning between you.

You wanted his first time to be perfect. You wanted to give him the best experience possible, to be there for him all the way—much unlike most people’s first times. You noticed how sloppy and unthought through were his actions, you could tell he was moving on pure instinct and response observation. He seemed acutely aware of each of your actions, each of the sounds you made; following the path that led to them like he was tethered to your gasps and the arching of your back.

“I want to taste you,” he whispered, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Are you sure?” You blinked up at him as he rolled his hips slowly, his erection sliding lazily against your thigh.

“I’m sure,” he nodded. “I’ve read a lot about it online—about all of this, really. I think I have a pretty good idea of how things are supposed to go,” he explained proudly.

“Well, that’s great baby, but practice is very different from theory,” you said softly, caressing the back of his neck.

“Oh trust me, I know. None of this is like anything I expected, but… I want to learn… If you’ll let me…?” He trailed off, his gaze flicking down to your core then back to your eyes.

“Of course I’ll let you,” you smiled. “I’ll guide you through it if you need me to. But please, don’t do anything you don’t want just to please me, okay? I’m here for you, I want tonight to be a good memory,” you said, your tone dropping an octave and becoming more serious.

“I know,” he nodded, nuzzling his nose on your cheek. “Trust me, I want this very much. Maybe even more than you, probably even more than you,” he admitted, making you blush.

“Suit yourself, then,” you smiled, your body already thrumming with the thought of having him between your legs.

Slowly, he began trailing hot, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down your body. He lavished attention to your breasts, ribs, stomach, then finally began moving up your inner thighs. His hands gently scooped them up, placing them over his shoulders as his lips trailed dangerously closer to where you needed them.

His fingers spread your wet folds, revealing the flush, wet skin underneath. His breath hitched, and almost as if worshipping you, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your most sensitive spot.

He hummed against you, enjoying the taste and feel of your intimacy like nothing he’d ever felt. His lips closed around the sensitive bud, sucking it into his mouth as his tongue darted out to taste you. You moaned softly, your hands threading through his hair as your thighs threatened to close around his head. His hands carefully pried your legs apart, holding you open for him to feast on you with abandon. 

You could tell the rational side of him was slowly fading away, like he was giving into the moment without overthinking things he might've read online. He carefully tried to insert his middle finger in you, missing the spot a couple times before he finally managed to slide it in. You smiled, looking down at him.

The sight of him between your legs, hair tousled between your fingers, eyes shut as he lost himself in the act of pleasuring you—all of it drew you closer to the edge. He moved his fingers sloppily, and you let him explore. Something about his eagerness to learn and the way he seemed overwhelmed by his pleasure heightened your own.

Then he slid another finger in you, making a come hither motion until he felt a rougher patch. The way your hips bucked when he rubbed it told him everything he needed to know.

He continued thrusting his fingers, trying to hit that spot every time as his tongue lapped hungrily over your clit, following the direction your hand guided his head to. 

“Fuck, that's it, Spencer… that's it, please don't stop…” You whimpered, your legs trembling on his shoulders as you felt your release building. 

He looked up at you through hooded eyes, your words urging him on. He continued eating you out, groaning against you as he found pleasure in the act of pleasuring you. As if on pure instinct, his hips began thrusting against the bed, grinding his erection on the mattress, seeking some sort of friction to relieve the pleasure he felt. It was all overwhelming to him, he never expected to feel this much pleasure by going down on someone else.

He could feel you clenching down on his fingers, your walls beginning to flutter around him. He moaned, the sound vibrating against your core, heightening the pleasure you felt.

He had to force himself to stop grinding on the mattress, or else he'd be finishing too soon. Determined to bring you over the edge, he kept going, his eyes fixed on you as he ate you out.

“Are you close?” He asked, taking a break to breathe, though his fingers didn't falter.

“Yeah… please don't stop…” You moaned, already bringing his face back down onto you, trying to hold onto the feeling for as long as possible.

He understood what you needed, bending down to continue lapping at you, set on prolonging your release as much as possible. Overtaken by the pleasure, he sped up, trying to get you there faster.

“No, no, Spence, don't speed up!” You begged, your vision blurring with the impending orgasm.

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” he muttered, going back to the former pace until he felt you shaking in his arms.

It was official: Spencer Reid had made someone come.

You moaned his name, legs spasming around his face as he lapped down your release. His fingers gently withdrew from you, his lips kissing your thighs as you came down from your high.

“Did you… did you really just…?” He asked still in disbelief, looking up at you starry eyed.

“Yeah… I did,” you breathed out, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of your release.

“I… I made you come?” He smiled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he slowly crawled back up your body.

“You sure did,” you grinned, wrapping your arms around him. “Thank you, that was… amazing,” you said, kissing his cheek.

“Was it really? I've never felt anything remotely similar to this in my entire life, it was… beautiful. I've never seen anything more beautiful than you letting go like that,” he admitted, his pupils wide and his lips tugging on a silly, lovesick grin.

“You did a really good job, baby,” you held him close, your body starting to recover from the aftermath.

“Are you sure? What about in the end when I sped up?” He asked, his tone dripping with insecurity but also curiosity to learn.

“Oh, don't worry about it, you're a fast learner,” you giggled softly. “It's just that, when I'm getting closer to release, it means you're doing something really right—so don't change it unless I ask you to,” you explained, your fingers tracing patterns on his back.

“Duly noted,” he smiled. “I'll remember that.”

Then he leaned down to kiss you, his forearms caging around your head as your lips met. You could taste yourself faintly in his mouth, and as his body lowered closer to yours, you felt a droplet of something wet fall on your stomach.

Looking down, you realized what it was, a blush creeping up your cheeks. He followed your gaze, noticing what was happening as well, his face hiding in the crook of your neck. You could see how his length throbbed, standing proudly and dripping on your stomach. 

“Uhm… I'm sorry about that, it's just that I…” he stammered, struggling to find less embarrassing words than ‘I'm so hard for you I could come from a single touch of yours.’

“It's fine,” you reassured him, cupping his cheek. “If you want to, I could return the favor or… or we could try something new…” You whispered.

His entire body shivered at your words, his eyes shutting as he tried to control his body's reactions. “As much as I'd love for you to return the favor, I don't think I can… last much longer if you do,” he blushed. “But trust me, if you let me, I'll hold you to that offer.”

You chuckled softly, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “Your call, baby. We can try whatever you want, whenever you want it,” you added, peppering light kisses down his neck.

A smile creeped up his lips as you kissed him. “I want… you. I want to take you now, if you'll let me,” he swallowed hard, nervousness battling with excitement in his chest.

“I'm all yours, sweetheart,” you murmured against the shell of his ear, making his entire body shiver.

“O-okay, then I should… I should grab a c—uhm, protection, I mean…” He stumbled over his words, quickly standing from the bed and looking through his nightstand’s drawer.

You chuckled softly from the bed, watching him nervously looking for the tiny box and pulling a wrapper from inside. “Got it,” he said, claiming his find with a satisfied smile.

“You know… We could go without it if we wanted to,” your eyes glimmered with mischief.

“A-are you serious?” He stuttered, unsure, but not appalled as he sat back on the edge of the bed.

“I mean… We're both clean, aren't we? And I'm on birth control… But it's up to you,” you blushed as the words left your lips, but you couldn't help yourself.

“Y-you’d let me? For real?” He blinked, still in disbelief.

“Yeah,” you smiled.”Would you like that?”

“Yes,” he nodded eagerly, not missing a second. He tossed the condom back in the drawer and climbed back on the bed, his body caging yours against the mattress. “Are you completely sure, though?” He asked again, his body trembling with excitement, his hands running up and down your sides.

“I'm sure, baby,” you smiled, leaning in to kiss him. 

He kissed you fiercely, his tongue delving deep into your mouth as his lips moved hungrily against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling his hips down against yours.

You moaned at the feeling of his hardness pressing down on you, your hips bucking up to meet his. The movement from your hips elicited a guttural groan from him, his length grinding desperately between your glistening folds.

“I think… I think I'm ready,” he muttered, your breaths mingling as he pulled back from the kiss.

“Do you need help, baby? I can take over,” you suggested, noticing how nervous he was.

“No, no, that's fine I… I wanna try. But I'm glad to know you're willing,” he smiled, his hand moving down to grip his base.

“Of course,” you smiled back, your eyes rolling back as he rubbed the tip of his erection across your slit. 

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he shivered, letting out a curse.

You chuckled softly. “Language,” you teased.

“Sorry,” his cheeks turned pink as he began trying to nudge himself inside you.

You let him explore a little, noticing he was trying to fit it in, but struggled. You wanted to let him try, to let him have the feeling that he had some sort of control over this situation, so you didn't interfere.

“Shit, sorry, I'm just… it's just slippery…” He mumbled more to himself as he continued pushing, unsure whether he should use more of his hand or his hips. 

“It's okay, baby, may I help?” You asked softly, not wanting to embarrass him.

“Yes, please,” he blushed, letting his hand fall to the side.

You reached between you bodies, grabbing him and positioning him right at your entrance, nudging the tip in slightly.

“There you go,” you muttered. “Now you just thrust forward,” you explained. “It might slip again, but it's normal, okay?” You told him softly.

“Yeah, okay, thanks,” he nodded, overwhelmed by the sensation of your grip on his tip. “Are you ready?”

You nodded, letting him know it was time. He leaned back down, slowly easing himself inside you with a roll of his hips, until he was entirely sheathed within your heat.

He let his forehead rest against yours, your ragged breaths mingling together as the two of you adjusted to the sensation.

“How do you feel?” You asked quietly, looking up at him.

“So… so good…” He muttered, his hips shifting slightly. “It's so tight and… warm… I love it,” he admitted, slowly beginning to move.

You watched his face closely, admiring how his features changed with each of his thrusts, betraying the pleasure he felt. His rhythm was messy, his legs struggling to find the right ways to support his body as his hips surged forward again and again. 

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his arms supporting his body above yours as he continued moving. He groaned against your ear, the sounds mixed with low moans and soft whimpers as he made love to you.

“Am I doing this right? Does this feel good to you?” He mumbled, trying to angle his moves but accidentally slipping out, quickly sliding in again. “Sorry about that,” he whispered, one of his hands coming up to fondle your breasts. 

“It feels so good, baby, don't worry…” you moaned softly, your legs wrapping around his back to bring him closer. “Keep going, just like that, fuck… You're doing so good…” 

Your words urged him on, his hips moving faster against you. You gasped, the feeling of having him inside you almost too much. You loved watching him learn, how his uneven thrusts slowly became a little less messy, how he whispered ‘sorry’ whenever he accidentally slipped out… Everything about it endeared you.

You'd never had sex like this. So messy, and yet it was perfect. You felt the emotion with every thrust, every moan, every sloppy kiss he left on your neck. 

You noticed how his thrusts became even sloppier, how his grunts grew deeper and how his body tensed.

“Baby, I'm… fuck…” He groaned, his hips faltering for a moment before they continued thrusting forward. “...I'm close. Like, very close.”

“That’s it… Don't stop, keep going…” You whispered, your hands caressing his back as you leaned in to kiss his neck. “You can let go, let yourself feel good,” you whispered to him.

No further words were needed. With a deep, guttural groan, he pushed himself as deeply as he possibly could inside you, letting the pleasure take over him as he filled you up with his release.

“Spencer!” You moaned aloud, wrapping yourself around him as your second orgasm rippled through you. Your legs trembled around his waist, his body crashing down on top of you.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I didn't pull out, I made a mess…” he mumbled against the skin of your neck.

“No, no, baby, it's okay… I don't mind it in the slightest,” you muttered to him, your hand caressing his back. “How do you feel?”

“Amazing. Beyond words can express,” he replied, rolling off you so he was on his back next to you. You turned to face him, laying on your side.

“I'm so happy to have been your first,” you whisper, snuggling against his side.

“Me too… You were perfect, absolutely… Wow…” he gasped, catching his breath as he wrapped his arm around your waist to keep you close. “Hey, did you…?” He asked, frowning slightly as he looked down at you, still soft with the aftermath.

“What? Finish?”

He nodded, a blush creeping up his cheeks. You hummed in agreement, nodding eagerly with a smile.

“Really?” He asked again, his eyes widening slightly at your response. “Again?”

“Yeah, again,” you blushed.

“Oh my—you’re amazing,” he muttered, wrapping his arms tightly around you and leaning down to kiss your forehead.

You giggled softly, burying your face on his chest. “We should probably get cleaned up,” you said, feeling his release coating your inner thighs.

“Right—yes, sorry, aftercare,” He said, quickly hopping off the bed to grab a warm washcloth in the bathroom. 

He came back, sitting at the edge of the bed as he cleaned you up reverently. You watched in complete awe of him, enchanted by the earnest care he poured in his every touch.

“There you go,” he whispered, tossing the washcloth as he climbed back on the bed to cuddle you. 

“Thank you,” you said, letting yourself be enveloped by his arms.

“That was the bare minimum,” he muttered against your hair, breathing in your scent. “You know, we should do this again sometime,” he let out quietly.

You chuckled softly, the sound vibrating in your chests that were pressed together. “Of course we're doing it again, that's what boyfriends do to their—” you stopped yourself after realizing what you'd said.

“Wait, wait. What did you call me?” He froze, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“B-boyfriend…?” You hesitated, unsure about how he'd take it.

“So I'm really your boyfriend?” His smile widened.

“Well, I know we haven't talked directly about this before, but I've kinda been thinking about it, and—”

“Of course I'm your boyfriend! Oh thank god, I was starting to worry I was reading into things…” He sighed, relieved.

“Really? Oh good, I was so afraid too, you were being so careful with everything,” you sighed as well.

“You had nothing to be afraid of, did you really think I'd ask to have sex with you if I wasn't in love?” He let out as if it were obvious, barely realizing what he'd just said before you interrupted:

“You're in love with me?”

“Oh my—I mean, well, it's not that I'm…” He stammered, unable to cover up his slipup.

“Spencer, shut up,” you said, silencing him with a searing kiss. Startled, he kissed you back, his hands finding the back of your neck to pull you closer. “I'm in love with you too,” you whispered as you broke the kiss. 

The silly smile that spread across his face almost had you undone again. “Should I take that as a yes?” He murmured.

“A yes to what?”

“A yes to us doing this again?” He nudged you playfully.

You let out a warm chuckle, “Yes, Spencer. We're definitely doing this again.”

“Yes!” He celebrated, pulling you in even closer as he buried his face in your hair, your bare bodies tangled together impossibly under the covers. “I love being in love with you,” he whispered softly.

“I love being in love with you too,” you whispered back.

author's note 2: thank you for reading this all the way!! let me know what you think of this, and tell me if you'd like a part 2!! i may have ideas 👀

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p.s.: i take requests, dm me!!

[cherrygirlfriend]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ answer the call

pairing: bsf!reader x rafe synopsis: rafe fucks his best friend while she's on the phone with her boyfriend. warnings: smut, piv, MDNI!! wc: 1k a/n; originally posted 11/14/2024

rafe had you on all fours on your canopy bed, holding onto one of the posts for dear life as he pounded into you, the bed swaying every time he thrust his cock into you, one of his hands gripping onto your hair while the other rested on your ass, occasionally giving it a sharp smack, causing you to let out a noise that was between a gasp and a yelp.

"aww, look at you." rafe cooed mockingly with a tug at your hair, the blonde panting behind you "so fucking desperate for me to fuck you. bet your little loser boyfriend can't fuck you like you need to be fucked, hm?"

you hated the words that were leaving his lips, but you couldn't deny that he was right; your boyfriend definitely couldn't satisfy you the way rafe always seemed to be able to do, he couldn't hit that spongy spot that caused you to curl your toes, or rub your clit in the way that caused your back to arch off the bed. not like rafe did.

"say it," rafe commanded, "say that he can't-"

rafe let out an annoyed growl when he was interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing on the nightstand. his initial plan was to tell you to ignore it, but when he saw who it was, he got a whole new idea, a grin taking over your lips.

"answer it."

"w-what?" you looked back at rafe with furrowed brows, thinking that he must be joking, but as he continued to pound into you, there was no sign of hesitation on his face, only a wide, cruel grin.

you reached for your phone from the nightstand, rafe slowing his pace as you looked at the caller id with widened eyes, almost waiting for it to change into something else, but clear as day, there was your boyfriend's name, along with the contact photo you set for him, a picture of you two taken at a carnival.

"do it before i do it for you." rafe mumbled as he bent to press a small kiss to the back of your neck, grabbing your ass roughly. and hesitantly, you pressed the green button visible on the screen as rafe pulled out of you.

"h-hi, babe." you said, trying your best to steady your breathing as rafe teased your entrance with the tip of his cock, the hand that was in your hair just moments ago going down to rub your clit.

"hey, everything good?" the voice on the other line asked, and you had to hold back a moan by biting down on your lip as rafe's middle finger brought some of your arousal to your clit, starting to slowly rub the puffy bud.

"yeah, everything's good." you chuckled, "i was just working out."

when you said that, you felt rafe's tip slowly starting to enter you, stretching your walls as you tried not to let out any noise, your boyfriend going on a tirade about something that you honestly couldn't give two shits about at that moment.

rafe continued moving in and out of you, at first at a slow pace, slowly building it up; all the while your boyfriend was talking, and you occasionally let out noncommittal hums and 'mmhm's, but the harder rafe was fucking you, the harder it was to concentrate on anything other than him, and trying to keep quiet felt like rocket science at that point, and you were starting to taste blood in your mouth from how hard you were biting down on your lip.

"i-i gotta go." you said into the phone, nearly panting, "i'll see you later." you said, hanging up before he could even get a word in, feeling the band in your stomach getting closer and closer to snapping, letting out a moan you'd held in for too long the moment that you were off the call as rafe started pounding into you relentlessly.

"say it." rafe commanded behind you, your eyes squeezed shut, your mind hazy with pleasure, confused as to what he was talking about. "say that your boyfriend can't fuck you the way i fuck you."

you were a panting mess as he continued hitting the spot inside of you that only he seemed able to reach; a part of you didn't want to say it, didn't want to give him the satisfaction, but the moment the palm of his hand landed on your ass, you yelped, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

"h-he-"

"nuh-uh. your boyfriend."

you let out a small whine when he corrected you, trying to steady your erratic breathing as he continued thrusting in and out of you.

"m-my boyfriend... can't fuck me the way you do..."

"atta girl." rafe chuckled behind you, and the way his fingers continued circling your clit while he pounded into you from behind was getting almost overwhelming, and rafe could tell that you were getting closer by the way you were starting to clench around him, the blonde letting out a groan, "gonna come in this pretty pussy..." he mumbled, "she's practically begging me to... wants me to show her who she belongs to..."

a part of you wanted to protest, but you were so close that your mind was clouded by all the bliss he was making you feel, the world around you getting so hazy that you couldn't bring yourself to care as long as you got to come.

and as soon as you felt the band in your stomach snap, rafe's cock buried deep inside of you, he couldn't help the almost animalistic groan that left his lips, warm pumps of cum filling you up

[deansbeer]

a quickie with simon in the laundry room <3

♡ ⋮ minors do not interact.

you’re sorting through what feels like the millionth tiny sock when simon comes up behind you, large hands settling on your hips. “kids are occupied,” he murmurs against your neck, and you can hear the suggestion in his voice.

“si, i have to get this done,” you protest weakly, but you’re already leaning back into him. wash day waits for no one with three kids, and you're drowning in tiny clothes. “and they won’t stay distracted for long.

“exactly why we should be quick about it.” his hands slide around to your stomach, pulling you flush against him. you can feel he’s already hard, and your resolve wavers. “been thinking about you all morning, love. watching you bend over sorting laundry...”

“you’re terrible,” you breathe, but you’re already turning in his arms. five years of marriage and three kids later, and he still looks at you like he wants to devour you. “we have maybe ten minutes before someone needs something.”

“can work with that.” he’s already lifting you onto the washing machine, hands pushing up your—his—sweatshirt. “fuck, no panties? you trying to kill me?”

“it’s wash day, baby,” you remind him, wrapping your legs around his waist. “everything’s in the dirty hamper.” but your explanation dissolves into a moan as his fingers find you already wet.

“fuckin’ convenient,” he growls, working you open with practiced efficiency. there’s no time for slow and sweet — not with three kids in the house. “always so ready for me, aren’t you?”

you bite your lip to keep quiet as he replaces his fingers with his cock, pushing in with one smooth thrust. “simon,” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt. “fuck, we have to be quiet.”

“then you’d better keep that pretty mouth shut,” he says, setting a punishing pace immediately. the washing machine rocks with the force of it, and you have to brace yourself against the wall. “can’t have the little ones hearing what daddy does to mummy.”

the filthy words in his rough accent make you clench around him. he notices, of course he does, and grins against your neck. “like that, do you? knowing i’m fucking you while our babies play down the hall?”

before you can respond, there's a loud bang on the door. “mommy! mommy, open!” your five-year-old’s voice cuts through your haze of pleasure. “need you!”

simon doesn’t stop, if anything going harder. “mummy’s busy, swee’eart," he calls out, voice impressively steady for someone currently railing you against major appliances. “go play with yer sister.”

“but mommy!” another bang. “emma took my doll!”

you try to answer but simon chooses that moment to hit that perfect spot inside you, and all that comes out is a strangled sound. he covers your mouth with his hand, eyes dark with amusement and lust.

“mummy’s folding clothes,” he lies smoothly. “she’ll be out in a minute. go tell emma t’share.”

“don’t want to!” your daughter whines, and you can hear her stomping her little feet. “want mommy now!”

“hazel.” simon’s voice drops into what you call his lieutenant voice — gentle but brooking no argument. “go play. we’ll be out soon.”

there’s a moment of silence, then you hear her stomp away muttering about simon being unfair. the second she’s gone, simon removes his hand from your mouth.

“such a good girl,” he praises, but you’re not sure if he means you or hazel. “keeping quiet while i fuck you senseless. though i bet you wanted to scream, didn’t you?”

“simon, please,” you gasp, feeling your orgasm building embarrassingly fast. the combination of his cock and the thrill of almost getting caught has you on edge. “i’m gonna—“

“i know, love. she’s squeezing me.” his thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles. “c’mon then. come on my cock before another one starts banging on the door.”

as if on cue, you hear your two-year-old calling from somewhere in the house. “where mama?”

“bloody hell,” simon curses, speeding up. “better hurry up, mrs. riley.”

the use of your married name plus the perfect pressure on your clit sends you over. you bite his shoulder to muffle your cry as you come all over his cock, whole body shaking with the force of it. he follows right after, groaning low in your ear as he fills you.

“mama!” your toddler’s voice is getting closer.

“shit,” simon pants, pulling out and quickly fixing his clothes. he helps you down, steadying you when your legs wobble. “you good?”

“just peachy,” you breathe, smoothing down his sweatshirt. you can feel his cum starting to leak and clench your thighs together. “though i’m going to need to shower before i finish this laundry.”

he grins, that satisfied male look that makes you want to smack him and kiss him in equal measure. “could always join you later. after bedtime.”

“unbelievable,” you mutter, but you’re smiling as you unlock the door. your two-year-old is standing there, clutching his stuffed bear and looking pathetic.

“mama!” he reaches up for you immediately. “missed you.”

“missed you too, baby boy,” you coo, scooping him up despite your shaky legs. simon’s hand on your lower back steadies you, and you shoot him a grateful look.

“dada!” your son notices simon and reaches for him instead. “play?”

“‘course, mate.” simon takes him easily, throwing him up in the air just to hear him giggle. “let’s go see what your sisters are up to, yeah? mummy needs to finish the washing.”

he gives you a heated look over your son’s head. “all the washing. very thoroughly.”

“go,” you laugh, shooing them away. “before i put you on laundry duty.”

“love you too,” he calls back, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

you turn back to the washing machine, legs still trembling slightly. the laundry still needs to be done, you’re going to need that shower sooner rather than later, and you can already hear what sounds like an argument brewing in the playroom. but simon’s looking at you like that again from the doorway, your son babbling happily in his arms, and you wouldn’t change a thing.

well. maybe a lock on the laundry room door.

[houseofaegon]

Don't Let Go ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. rough sex, emotional sex, public sex, mental health themes (trauma, guilt, PTSD), depictions of breakdowns, emotional, angst, praise kink, possessiveness, aftermath of violence, unprotected p in v, guilt, self-loathing, established trauma bond.

Summary: The mission was supposed to be clean. Routine. But nothing is simple when the Sentry is involved, when Bob loses control, and the Void takes over. And when he does, you're the only one who can pull him back.

Word Count: 4658

Author's Note: don't even ask me if I'm okay cause the answer is no. I'm destroyed. completely destroyed and emotionally wrecked. i am ruined. bob reynolds ruins me. if you finished this and also felt like your heart's been pulled out and kissed back to life, welcome to the club. my inbox is open if you want to send me your therapy bill—just know I’m probably gonna have to come with you cause what the fuck. i love you bobby you're everything to me!!! if you want to be added to my taglist just comment below!! <333 feel free to cry with me in the comments and scream in the reblogs. i need to go outside and touch some grass, reconnect with nature and breathe cause my heart is destroyed after this one. i literally can't stop writing for bob what the hell!! bucky is jealous cause bob's taking up space in my mind that used to belong to bucky. lewis pullman you babygirlllllllllllll

masterlist.

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The mission was supposed to be simple. In and out. Detain the targets, secure the entire facility, and minimize civilian casualties. Standard Thunderbolts cleanup. You'd done this dance before—storm in, assert dominance, extract data and bodies. Easy.

But you knew the moment Bucky said, "Bob's on this one," everything in your chest went cold.

The tower was quiet, too quiet, until it wasn't. Until the entire place was filled with hurried footsteps, shouts bouncing off the walls, and orders being thrown like grenades, gear bags being slammed open, weapons loaded with sharp clicks, and comms lighting up with rapid-fire intel. The whole floor shifted into emergency mode.

You'd barely finished gearing up when Yelena grabbed your arm and dragged you toward the elevator, her expression tight, mouth set in that grim, no-bullshit line that only ever meant bad news.

"Valentina wants all of us on-site," she muttered, pressing the call button with enough force to crack the panel. "Right now. Facility breach. Something about biotech. Hostages."

"Since when do we scramble before briefing?" you asked, yanking the zipper of your new tactical suit closed, holster strap still half-loose dangling on your hip. "Do we even have a plan?"

Yelena didn't answer. She didn't have to.

When the elevator doors opened, Bucky was already inside, pacing back and forth. His jaw clenched, comms piece buzzing with chatter. He looked up when he saw you—but he didn’t smile. Didn’t nod.

Jeez, so much for a good morning.

"Let me guess," you said, stepping into the elevator next to him. "Valentina's stunt?"

"She pulled Bob in last minute," Bucky said, his voice laced with frustration. "Didn't even care to fucking tell me. I found out when I saw his name on the team feed. Walker's there with him, Ava too."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you froze. "She put him first? With Walker?"

“She wants to see if he's still 'field-capable.'" Bucky's voice dripped sarcasm. "Her exact words. She thinks this is some kind of game. Like we're testing out a new drone, not a man who nearly blacked out half of a city six months ago."

“Is she out of her fucking mind?” you hissed. “Bob’s not—he’s not ready. He shouldn't be anywhere near this.”

“No shit,” Yelena muttered from the other side, crossing her arms. “And we’re the ones who’ll have to clean up if he loses it again.”

You exhaled slowly, trying to damp down the rolling anger in your chest. Not at Bob—of course not, this wasn't his fault. You were mad at Valentina and her fucking need to push him to the edge. "Great," you muttered, rubbing your face with a hand. "Let's all just hold hands and pray he doesn't crack."

The VTOL sliced through the clouds like a blade, engines humming low and tense. Rain battered the sides in sharp bursts.

You sat strapped between Yelena and Alexei, your harness tight across your chest, heart beating even tighter beneath it. Across from you, Bucky was locked in, jaw clenched, staring out the side window with a look that could shatter the glass any moment. When he finally looked away from the window, he fixed his gaze directly on you.

"I need you to be ready," he said, voice low and rasped. "In case Void—" He paused, breathing raggedly. "In case Bob snaps."

You blinked. "Bucky—"

"If it happens," he cut you off, "if he breaks... don't wait for an order. Do not hesitate. You hit him with everything you've got."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

Because you hesitated.

Not because you didn't understand the danger. Not because you didn't know what Bob was capable of when the Void took hold. You'd seen it. Firsthand. The devastation. The aftermath. The look in his eyes—those dark, endless eyes—when he realized what he’d done.

But you'd also seen something else. You'd also seen the other side of him. The guilt

You'd been there the last time. When the Void clawed its way up his throat like poison, he dropped to his knees, shaking, burning with power, guilt, and fear. You were the only one who could get through to him. The only one who could touch him without him recoiling like he might shatter.

You'd whispered his name and watched his fist unclench slowly. You'd put your hand on his chest and feel his heartbeat slow. You'd seen how the black storm slowly evaporated, leaving a broken man sobbing against your chest.

That night was the worst for Bob.

You remember it vividly—his body trembling against yours, eyes wide and hollow after the Void had finally disappeared. He hadn't said a word. Just sank to the ground, hands fisting in his hair, like he was trying to hold his skull together.

You’d dropped down beside him, pulled him close, felt the heat radiating off his skin like a fever breaking. And when he finally clung to you—arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your shoulder—it wasn’t just desperation. It was terror. Like if he let go, he’d fall into some pit that never ended.

He cried.

God, he cried so hard.

And you didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to soothe it away. You just held him. Let him shake. Let him break.

That night, you stayed with him.

He pulled you into bed like he didn’t even realize he was doing it—just moved toward your body like it was instinct, like your presence was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. His fingers curled in your shirt, his face buried in your chest, breath hiccuping between exhausted sobs.

You thought he’d fall asleep eventually.

He didn’t. Not right away.

He kept whispering, voice barely audible: “Don’t leave. Please. Just… don’t leave.”

And how could you?

You didn’t.

So you stayed.

And when he finally passed out—curled around you like a second skin, little soft snores slipping past parted lips—you just watched him. His face was peaceful for once. Almost boyish. His lashes fluttered when he dreamed, but he didn’t cry out. Not with you there.

You tried to slip out once.

Just to stretch. To breathe. But the second your body shifted away, his arms tightened like a vice, dragging you back in, even in his sleep. Like his subconscious couldn’t bear the thought of you disappearing.

From that night on, it became… a thing.

Every time he had a nightmare. Every time the Void started to whisper again. Every time he needed quiet but didn’t know how to ask for it—he came to you.

He never knocked loud. Just a soft tap on your door, barely audible. You’d open it to find him standing there, shoulders hunched, hair messy, eyes big and guilty and so shy. Like he hated himself for needing you but couldn’t help it.

“Can I…?” he’d start to ask, voice barely above a whisper.

And you’d always let him in.

Always.

God, you loved it. Loved being the one person he came to. The one place he felt safe. The way he melted into you the second the door shut. The way he’d sleep tangled in your arms, legs hooked with yours like he needed as many points of contact as possible to stay grounded.

You never told anyone.

You never wanted to ruin it.

It was quiet. Sacred. Yours.

And now, strapped into this VTOL, Bucky’s words still echoing in your ears—“Don’t hesitate. Hit him with everything you’ve got”—all you could think about was how peaceful he looked in your bed. How tightly he held you. How terrified he was of being alone.

Because what if you could reach him again?

What if hitting him wasn’t the answer? What if all he needed was someone to see him before he disappeared completely?

Bucky must’ve seen the flicker in your expression, because his voice dropped lower.

“I know you’re close to him. I know he listens to you more than anyone else. But if that stops—if he doesn’t hear you this time... don’t let him take you down with him.”

He’ll hear me, you thought, jaw clenched.

He has to.

Yelena’s hand reached over, slow and steady, her fingers brushing against yours before curling around them. Her grip was warm, firm—anchoring. You turned slightly, meeting her eyes.

She gave you a small, quiet smile. The kind that didn’t promise everything would be okay, just that you wouldn’t be alone when it wasn’t.

“It’ll be alright,” she whispered. "We'll be right behind you."

You squeezed her hand back, once.

"Visuals confirm contact inside the facility," the pilot’s voice crackled through the comms. "We’ve got movement near the lab sector. Hostiles engaged. Sentry’s already on-site."

You looked up sharply. "Already?"

He wasn’t supposed to engage alone.

Bucky swore under his breath, ripping the earpiece out and jamming it back in. "Why the fuck didn’t you wait for us—"

Ava spoke through the comms, her voice shivering. “He didn’t wait. I told him to stand down, and he just… went in.”

Then the ground came into view through the viewport—flames licking up from the roof of the biotech facility, smoke pluming into the sky, the perimeter in total disarray.

"Doors open in twenty seconds," the pilot called.

You shivered. You could feel it. That humming tension in your bones, the kind that only came right before everything went to hell.

He's already slipping.

"Get ready," Bucky barked, snapping his rifle into place as he stood. "Move fast, eyes sharp. We don't know how bad it is yet."

Yelena stood up, nodding once, checking her gear. You followed closely behind.

“Hostiles are still active inside,” came another voice—Walker’s, sharp and panicked over comms. “But it’s—fuck, it’s a massacre down here. I don’t know what the hell he’s doing. I can't see him. He’s not fucking responding.”

Your heart clenched.

“Bob,” you whispered, barely audible.

Then: a boom.

A section of the lower level erupted in a plume of golden-white light, fire tearing up through the concrete as the building shook from the force of it. A pulse of energy rippled outward, flattening a chunk of the south wall like paper.

The VTOL lurched slightly from the shockwave.

“Doors opening!” the pilot shouted. “Deploy, deploy—go, go!”

The ramp dropped—and the storm hit you in the face.

Rain. Smoke. Sirens. And somewhere beneath it all, a familiar hum.

You ran.

Boots pounding against the rooftop, leaping the last few feet to the access hatch. Bucky and Yelena flanked you, weapons drawn, slicing through the chaos with practiced precision.

You barely had time to adjust before Bucky grabbed your arm, spinning you toward him. His face was grim, soaked, eyes blazing.

“Go!” he shouted over the roar. “You need to find him!”

“What about—?”

“We’ll handle the rest!” he cut in, already moving, already aiming down the chaos below. “If anyone can reach him before he turns this whole goddamn place to ash—it’s you. Yelena will be right behind you. Walker and Ava are already inside. Go!”

Your breath hitched.

Then you nodded, once, sharp and sure.

And you ran—straight into the smoke, straight into the fire.

Straight toward him.

The inside of the facility was a warzone. Emergency lights flickered through thick smoke. Sparks rained from broken ceiling panels. The walls were scorched, the tile beneath your boots cracked and slick with blood and water. You passed fallen bodies—some hostiles, some just gone, disintegrated into scorched outlines and ash.

He’d been here.

You ran faster. Your breath became shorter. Your fingers twitched at your sides.

And then you saw him.

Floating.

Just inches off the ground, his body trembling with power barely held in check. His suit was torn, soaked, blood-slick. His hair clung to his forehead in damp curls. His hands hung at his sides, fingers curled in like claws.

He hand't noticed you yet. He was talking to himself, low and frantic, like he didn't even realize sound was coming out of his mouth.

“I didn’t mean to—I tried, I tried, they didn’t listen—I told them not to run—why did they run—”

Your heart clenched. You took a breath, steady and slow. Lifted your hands, palms open, non-threatening. Stepped forward, one careful step at a time.

"Bob," you whispered.

His head jerked up like a struck animal. His eyes were pitch black. Not just his pupils. Everything. You could see the Void slowly taking over control of his entire body. Crawling across his skin in veins of shadow, threading through him like poison, claiming more and more by the second. There was nothing human in his face.

Then he saw you.

You took another step forward, heart hammering against your ribs.

"Bob," you said again, softer now.

His lips parted. The black in his eyes shimmered, like something beneath it was trying to break through, trying to remember.

You took another step.

"I'm here," you said, voice steady despite the tremble in your hands. "It's me."

"GET DOWN!" a voice screamed behind you.

You barely turned in time to see the soldier—young, shaken, finger already tightening on the trigger of his rifle, aimed straight at Bob.

“No!” you shouted, throwing a hand out. “Don’t—don’t shoot him!”

But it was too late.

You whipped back toward Bob—and his hand was already rising. Not fast. Slow. Deliberate.

Eyes locked on the soldier, face blank and unreadable, voice low and distant.

“Mine.”

“Bob!” you screamed, adrenaline tearing through your veins like lightning. You rushed toward him, arm outstretched. “STOP! STOP!”

A pulse of black energy burst from his palm. It didn’t make a sound. It didn’t explode. It just erased. The soldier was there—and then he wasn’t.

No scream. No blood. Just a curling wisp of smoke, and a blackened shadow scorched into the tile where he’d stood. Like reality itself had been scrubbed clean.

Your breath caught. Your body froze.

The soldier was gone. Just like that. And Bob? He didn't move. Didn't even flinch. Just stood there, hand still raised, void energy curling around his fingers like it wanted more.

You moved before you even realized it.

You ran.

“BOB!” you screamed, voice hoarse with panic.

You slammed into him, hands flying up to grab his face—rough, desperate, grounding. Your fingers dug into his jaw, into his cheeks, trying to feel him, shake him loose from the darkness overtaking his body.

“Bob! Look at me!” you yelled, tears already slipping down your face. “Fuck—look at me, please!"

His head twitched in your grip, eyes still black, but they widened. Like he didn’t know how you got so close. Like he didn’t even recognize his own name.

“You promised,” you choked out, forehead pressed against his. “You promised you wouldn’t let this happen again. You said I could help you. You let me in. Bob, please, I know you can hear me. Let me in. Let me help you."

And then—

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The black void in his eyes gone, replaced by fear. Replaced by gut-wrenching guilt.

And suddenly his hands were on you—gripping your arms, trembling hard. Holding you like you were the only thing keeping him from flying apart.

“I didn’t mean to,” he rasped, voice splintering in his throat. “I just… he—he pointed that gun at you. I—”

His knees buckled.

You caught him.

“I didn’t mean to,” he rasped again, clinging like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “I didn’t—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady, fingers stroking through his hair, down his back. “I know, it’s okay. You’re okay—I got you. I'm right here."

You could feel it under your hands—the tension building again. The static crawling across his skin. He was shaking harder now, like he was trying to hold himself together with bare hands and sheer will, and it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

“I told them,” he growled, voice rising, wild and hoarse. “I told them not to send me. I told them—I told them!”

“Bob,” you tried again, your hands cradling his face, trying to ground him. “Stop—just breathe, okay? Look at me. Just look at me. It’s over. You’re okay. I’m here.”

“Bob—”

“Holy shit,” someone gasped.

You turned. Too fast. The team stood there. Yelena’s eyes were wide. Ava’s mouth hung open. Alexei looked stunned. Bucky was frozen mid-step.

And Walker? Walker’s gaze went straight to the scorched mark on the floor, and his lip curled.

“What the fuck did he do?”

That was it.

You snapped.

“You were supposed to look out for him!” you roared, your voice echoing down the hall like a whipcrack. “You knew he wasn’t ready! You knew, and you left him in there anyway—what the fuck were you thinking?!”

“Don’t yell at me because your little pet project finally snapped—”

You stepped toward him so fast Yelena actually reached out to stop you.

“Say that again, Walker.” you dared, low and deadly. “Say it. Fucking say it again.”

“Guys—” Ava started.

“Oh my god,” Yelena whispered behind you.

And that’s when you realized—Bob wasn’t in your arms anymore.

You turned, panic already in your throat. He was standing a few feet away, eyes locked on the floor, fists clenched. His shoulders were shaking, his jaw tight, like he was about to split open.

The way they were all looking at him. Like he was a monster.

And he saw it. He saw everything.

“No, no, wait—” you started.

But he was already moving. He shoved past you, not roughly—never roughly—but like he couldn’t stand to be touched anymore. Like he didn’t deserve it. And then he ran.

You didn’t hesitate.

You ran after him.

You found him down a back alley, drenched in rain, his back pressed to the wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His fists were clenched, jaw tight, chest heaving like he couldn’t catch his breath. He hadn’t looked at you yet, but you could see it—how close he was to falling apart, how the power still surged beneath his skin, barely contained. His body shook with it, with guilt, with the kind of rage that didn’t know where to go.

You took a step closer and he shifted like he was going to bolt again, eyes flicking to the shadows like he could vanish into them.

You grabbed his wrist. Tight. “Don’t run.”

That stopped him. His breath hitched, but he didn’t turn.

“Bob,” you said, softer now, over the pounding rain. “Please. Look at me.”

He turned slowly—and god, the look on his face broke you wide open. Soaked, shattered, eyes full of guilt and too many unsaid things. He looked like he didn’t believe he deserved to stand in front of you. Like just being seen by you hurt.

Then he kissed you.

Hard. Desperate.

Like he needed your mouth to remind him he was still real.

The kiss came out of nowhere. Teeth. Tongue. Desperation. You collided like two storms, all sharp edges and soaked skin. His mouth crushed yours, messy, uncoordinated, bruising. You dragged your hands through his rain-slick hair, pulled him closer until your bodies slammed together. He groaned your name like it hurt to say it, like it ripped something open inside him just to speak it.

You kissed him back with everything you had, dragging your fingers through his soaked curls, pulling him closer, crushing your lips to his until your teeth clacked and your breath fogged the air between you. He whimpered into it, raw and broken, hands clutching your waist through your suit like he didn’t know where to touch, like he needed to touch everywhere.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped against your lips, voice already hoarse. “I’m so fucking sorry—please, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t—” His words cut off with a sob. You shushed him with another kiss, slower this time, lips brushing his like a promise.

“I need you,” he breathed, voice broken. “God—I need you, I need you so bad—I can’t—fuck—don’t let go—please, don’t let go—”

Your gear hit the wall behind you, water slapping between you like applause. His mouth was on your throat, biting, sucking, moaning, as your hands worked beneath his already ripped suit, shoving it aside, frantic to get to skin. His hips rocked into yours like he couldn’t stand being apart from you even for a second.

“Please,” he groaned again, breath hot against your ear. “I’ll do anything. Anything. Just—fuck—just let me have you.”

You gasped, arching against him, letting him press you tighter to the bricks. You were already soaked—skin flushed, thighs shaking—and the way he clung to you like you were the only real thing left in his world snapped something open inside you.

You grabbed his face, kissed him hard, desperate. “Take it,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Take anything. Everything. I’m all yours, Bob.”

He whimpered—actually whimpered—and that was it.

Your suit came undone in ragged pieces, his hands tearing at fastenings with trembling fingers, your legs wrapping around his waist as he shoved your soaked underwear aside. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, grinding his cock against your slick center until you cried out, nails raking down his back.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re so wet,” he gasped. “You want it, don’t you? You want me to lose it for you—inside you—?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, tilting your head back as he pushed in. “Yes, yes—please—”

He thrust into you in one deep, brutal stroke and you screamed, fingers clawing at his soaked suit, legs tightening around his hips. He was so deep, so hot, so real, and the way he fucked you—fast, rough, relentless—was like he didn’t know if he’d survive without this. Without you.

Every thrust hit something raw, something needy, his voice ragged against your ear. “You’re mine—you’re mine, say it—fuck, say it—”

“I’m yours,” you cried, body shaking. “I’m yours, Bob—fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

He sobbed against your throat, thrusting harder, faster, panting between curses and broken prayers. “You’re perfect—so perfect—god, you feel so good—you make everything quiet. You make it all fucking stop—”

And when you came, it hit like a shockwave—your whole body convulsing around him, mouth open in a wordless scream as he slammed into you, burying himself deep and coming hard, spilling inside you with a desperate cry of your name like it was the only thing anchoring him to this plane.

He held you afterward like he might never let go, still shaking, still breathing like he’d run through hell. His forehead pressed to yours, voice wrecked.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “Please don’t ever leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered back, and this time, it was a vow.

His breathing was ragged.

Shallow gasps against your neck, chest rising and falling like he was still trying to outrun something only he could see. The rain hadn’t let up. It fell in heavy sheets around you, but neither of you moved. You stayed wrapped around him, trembling, your back against the soaked alley wall, his body still buried in yours, shaking with the aftershocks.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t even lift his head.

His arms stayed locked around your waist like a vise, like if he let go even a little, you’d disappear. You felt him swallow, once, twice—and then his shoulders began to shake in a different way.

“Bob?” you whispered, hand sliding up to the back of his head, fingers weaving through his soaked hair. “Hey. Hey, I’m here.”

He sobbed.

Quiet at first. Just a ragged breath that stuttered out of him like it had been waiting for too long. Then another. And another. His whole body trembled, forehead pressed to your shoulder as he finally—finally—let himself fall apart.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” he choked out. “I tried—I tried so fucking hard—I just wanted to be useful, I wanted to help—and I killed him—”

You shushed him softly, rocking him gently where you stood, your hands stroking down his back.

“You came back to me,” you said, voice low. “That’s all that matters. You came back.”

“I don’t deserve this,” he rasped, holding you tighter. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Shut up,” you whispered, tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. “You do. You do. You’re still here. You’re still you. That’s all I care about.”

You stayed like that for what felt like forever—him wrapped around you like a lifeline, your bodies still locked together, breathing in sync. The heat between you slowly cooled, but the weight of it all stayed heavy, real.

Eventually, his head lifted, eyes red-rimmed, cheeks wet.

He looked at you like he didn’t believe you were real. Like maybe you were the only thing left in the world that hadn’t abandoned him.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

You cupped his face, thumb brushing over the scar just below his eye.

“I know,” you said. “But I’ve got you.”

And he leaned into your hand like a man starved for touch.

Back at the tower, everything was chaos—shouting, agents scrambling to do damage control, the team fighting with each other, trying to put the blame on someone—but none of it touched you. Not when you had him. Not when he never once let go of your hand.

You didn't go to the infirmary. Didn't sit through the debrief. Bucky tried to say something, but you just shook your head. Bob didn't even look at him. At no one.

You led him straight to your room.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, his body sagged like the air had left him entirely. You helped him out of the rest of his suit, piece by piece, your fingers gentle even when your heart still ached from the weight of it all. He did the same for you, so soft, so gentle, like he was afraid to hurt you.

You pulled him into your bed without a word.

He followed like he always did. Like he couldn’t not.

He wrapped around you the way he always did—legs tangled, arms tight around your waist, face buried against your neck. But this time it wasn’t just comfort.

It was clinging.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. Just held on.

You stroked his hair, tracing slow patterns into his scalp, letting your breath match his until he calmed, until that tremble in his shoulders finally stilled.

But he still didn’t sleep.

You felt him shift closer, nose brushing your collarbone. His voice, when it came, was wrecked and so, so quiet.

“Do you think they’ll ever look at me the same?” he asked, voice barely more than a breath.

You didn’t answer right away. You could feel how tightly he was holding his breath, like he was bracing for the worst. You pulled him closer, your fingers threading through the back of his hair, your lips brushing against his forehead.

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered. “They know it. Even if they won’t say it out loud. This—what happened—you didn’t want this. And they know that.”

He didn’t reply, not at first. But you felt it—the way his chest stuttered, how he finally let himself breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, broken.

“I know.”

“I was so close,” he said, voice cracking like glass. “I could feel it. Like I was right there. One more second and I wouldn’t have come back.”

“But you did,” you murmured, pressing your forehead to his. “You came back to me.”

He shuddered, breath hitching again as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Leaving a soft kiss that made your heart clench. “You’re the only one that brings me back,” he whispered. “The only one.”

You didn’t say anything else.

You just held him tighter.

And finally—finally—he started to drift.

It wasn’t peaceful. He twitched. Mumbled things you couldn’t make out. Flinched like his dreams were still trying to drag him under.

But he didn’t wake.

Because you were still there.

And he knew it.

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @notreallythatlost @mandoalorian @urfavfakeblonde @sunday-bug @ruexj283 @mylifeofcalculatedchaos

[lazysoulwriter]

grumpy and irresistible - joel miller. (MDNI)

LOOK AT ME WRITING A SMUT! - trying. hope is gooood. w.c: 1.8k ~ part 2. / moodboard.

---

Running into Joel Miller months ago was both the best and worst thing that ever happened to you. I mean… he helps you, he protects you… but he’s a fucking hottie. A goddamn delicious man. And you can barely get close! He’s so moody, so pissed off about everything. You're in the end of the world, of course… but damn. It’s not easy.

Most of the time, he doesn’t even understand how he ended up letting a girl like you tag along on this survival journey. You’re much younger, and despite being strong and brave, you can be a real pain in the ass. You’re chatty, you make him hug you when it’s too cold (okay, he secretly likes that part), and you stop in the middle of nowhere just to say things like, "Oh, look! A hummingbird!"

A pain. In. The. Ass.

And today was no different. As you walked in search of food, you looked at him intently, thinking about how damn annoying he can be sometimes—or how it’s a total waste for someone that beautiful to be so grumpy all the time.

And then… well, then something crossed your mind.

How long has it been since Joel last had sex?

Like… you haven’t had sex in ages, but you have your ways of relieving yourself. And you doubt he even jerks off. Maybe all this frustration, all this grumpiness, comes from that.

Maybe.

"Joooeel…" you hummed in that way he knew all too well. He just glanced over his shoulder, signaling that he was listening.

"Can I ask you something? I know you’re gonna get mad, but—"

"Then no. I don’t feel like getting even madder." He cut you off, his voice rough, trying to shut you up.

But that never scared you.

"Please! I’m gonna start begging…" you threatened, knowing full well he hated when you begged.

"Just say it!" His tone turned even harsher. "And if I get mad, you’ll go find something to eat by yourself."

"Oh, stop. You would never leave me—" you picked up your pace, walking alongside him now. "So… how long has it been since you had sex?" You tried to sound casual, like you weren’t dying of curiosity. "Or, you know… something like that."

He stopped. Abruptly.

Like you had just punched him in the face.

You blinked up at him, waiting for an answer.

"Why don’t you just mind your own damn business?" he muttered, narrowing his eyes in that way that only made him hotter.

"I’m just asking! If you don’t wanna answer, that’s fine." You shrugged and started walking again. Moments later, you heard his footsteps behind you, along with a deep, frustrated sigh.

"I don’t know, okay?" His voice came after a long silence, just when you were already distracted. "I don’t even remember the last time I touched someone like that. And I have no idea when I last felt something like that."

You just nodded. But now? That was your goal. You were going to fuck this man. No matter what. When? You didn’t know. But you would.

-

You let it go—for now.

But after that day, something shifted. Maybe it was just in your head, maybe not. But you started noticing things. The way Joel’s gaze lingered on you just a little longer when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his hand would rest on your lower back when he guided you through dark hallways or past abandoned cars. The way he sighed—deep, exasperated, but never truly angry—whenever you leaned too close, testing the limits of his patience.

And, most of all, the way he didn’t pull away. Not really.

Not when you brushed your fingers over his forearm while handing him his rifle. Not when you sat next to him by the fire, knees bumping under the weight of exhaustion. Not when you made those little jokes, the ones that pulled a rare, reluctant smirk from him, even if he shook his head afterward like he wished he could take it back.

And then, one night, it happened.

You’d just set up camp inside the shell of an old bookstore, a storm howling outside. The fire crackled between you, throwing soft shadows across his face. You could see every line there, every scar, every tired thing he’d never say out loud. He sat against the wall, boots planted on the ground, legs slightly spread. He looked exhausted. But awake. Watching you.

You sat across from him, hugging your knees, tilting your head.

"What?" he muttered.

"Nothing."

A pause. Then—

"Bullshit," he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

You grinned, slow and lazy. "I was just thinking... if you can’t even remember the last time you touched someone, then maybe you’ve just forgotten how."

That got you a look. A dark, warning glance that made your stomach flip in the best way.

"Don’t start."

"I’m just saying—"

"No."

You pushed up onto your knees, crawling closer, testing the waters.

"Not even a kiss, Joel?" Your voice was softer now, teasing but not cruel. "No wonder you’re always so grumpy."

He tensed, fingers twitching against his knee. "You—"

"You could just let me remind you."

His breath hitched. Just barely.

You sat back on your heels, waiting. Letting him think. Letting him decide.

And then—slowly, cautiously, like he knew he was making a mistake—Joel reached out.

His fingers traced up the curve of your jaw, rough and calloused. You didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, afraid you might break the moment.

And then he kissed you.

It was careful at first, hesitant, like he was relearning something he used to be good at. But when you sighed against his lips, when your fingers found the back of his neck and pulled him closer—Joel groaned, low and deep, and that hesitation snapped like a thread pulled too tight.

His hand slid to your waist, gripping firmly, pulling you into his lap without a second thought. The heat of him seeped into your skin, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that made your head spin.

And just like that, you knew. You were right. He had gone too long without this. Without you. And you were going to fix that.

The kisses were getting more and more intense and desperate. You couldn't afford to waste time.

In seconds, your blouse was thrown on the floor behind you, exposing your lack of bra and earning a little smile from him that you had never seen before. Desire. He attacked your breasts like no one had ever done before. He massaged one, sucked, licked, and bit the other, while your moans were already too loud for your good. But fuck it. You almost cried when you saw him taking off his shirt on top of you, his strong arms now fully exposed, his chest too delicious to be true.

You pulled him back to your lips, which this time was even more urgent. Soon, you were completely naked and desperate for each other. "Are you sure?" He asked, lining himself up at your entrance. And you were already going crazy. You just wanted to be fucked. "Of course! Just fuck me, please." You begged and watched as his eyes darken even more – if that was possible.

Without any further warning, he pushed inside you. Both of you let out heavy sighs. He was big. Really big. But you were so wet that you didn’t even feel him pushing it all in. He didn’t move for a few seconds, as if he was savoring something he had wanted for so, so long. “I know you’re having a moment. But please, Joel! Move!” You whimpered, holding one of his arms tightly. You didn’t need to say anything else. You could feel every inch of him. Every vein. And how he was pulsing inside you. Your legs wrapped around him, pulling him even deeper, if that was possible. His moans were like music to your ears. Low, heavy. “Fuck, that’s it… That’s it…” You clawed at his back in a delicious way. He lowered himself a little more, just enough to pull one of your nipples between his teeth, taking you over the edge. And making you scream. The sound of the skin hitting each other was almost pornographic, making everything more intense with each moment. He grabbed your leg and brought it up to his shoulder. This new angle took you to an absurd wave of pleasure, Joel caressed you all over. Your whole body. And he stopped under your belly, just to show off and feel his cock there, filling you.

“You’re fucking delicious…” He murmured between breaths. “So fucking hot… I’ve always wanted to fuck that little pussy of yours. Always.” That brought you to your orgasm. Obviously. Joel fucking Miller telling you that? With that voice? Fuck.

Without a warning, you came on his cock, moaning his name and making him delirious. He was euphoric and ready… ready to fill you. “Can I?” He asked, about cumming inside. It’s not the best option, but at that moment it was all you wanted. And you would have it. “Please… Fill me up.” You whimpered again, holding your own breasts, which made him lose it. And in the next second, you felt the hot jets inside your walls. And then… Oh my. His expression. Completely lost in pleasure. He thrust a few more times and pulled out, only to look at your pussy spilling his cum. Totally filthy.

Joel collapsed onto his side beside you, chest rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths. For a long moment, neither of you spoke—just the sound of the fire crackling, the storm still raging outside, and the quiet hum of satisfaction between you.

His arm draped lazily over his stomach, fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for you or keep his distance.

You made the choice for him.

Rolling onto your side, you pressed your face against his shoulder, tracing light, absentminded patterns over his chest. His skin was warm, damp with sweat, and you felt the way his muscles tensed, then relaxed under your touch.

"Jesus," he muttered, voice rough. "You really don’t give up, do you?"

You grinned against his skin. "Nope."

His chuckle was barely there, but it was real. And you liked that. Liked knowing you could pull something soft from him, even now.

After a moment, he exhaled deeply and finally—finally—wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you in, letting himself hold you.

"This doesn't change anything," he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair.

You just hummed, pressing closer. "Sure, Joel."

You’d let him lie to himself for now. But you both knew the truth. This changed everything.

---

[pucksandpower]

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.

[harrysfolklore]

we need a fic about carlos’ win and piastri sisters’ reaction to it

THE LITTLE BITCH WON 🥺 ahhh im so happy for carlos, i had to write this ! i hope yo like thisss

READ LITTLE BITCH HERE

The Mexico City sunrise painted the sky as you and Carlos made your way to the track. He'd been unusually quiet during breakfast, that focused energy already building.

"Nervous?" you asked, squeezing his hand as your driver navigated through the early morning traffic.

"No," he said automatically, then caught your knowing look. "Maybe a little. Starting from pole here… the run to Turn 1 is so long."

"You've got this," you brought his hand to your lips.

"Max will be aggressive-"

"And you'll handle it," you cut him off. "Like the little bitch you are."

That broke his tension, making him laugh. "How do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make me feel better by insulting me."

"It's a gift," you grinned. "Now stop overthinking and kiss me before we get to the track and you go all serious racing driver on me."

He obliged, one hand tangling in your hair as he pulled you close. The kiss was deep and slow, full of everything he wasn't saying.

When you pulled back, his brown eyes locked into yours, a soft edge on them that made you melt.

It was hard to think that those same eyes glared you across the paddock once and now you were about to complete five months of being his girlfriend.

When you arrived at Ferrari, Reyes and Carlos Sr. were already there. Reyes pulled you into a warm hug while Carlos got swept up in pre-race preparations.

"My girl," she kissed both your cheeks. "You look beautiful today."

"Thank you, Reyes," you said, squeezing her hands before your eyes unconsciously drifted to the McLaren area.

"You're going to check on your brother?" she asked knowingly.

"Am I that predictable?"

"No, mi amor. Just a good sister."

You couldn't help but smile at that. Over the months you've slowly learned to not feel like you needed to choose between Carlos and Oscar, it was a slow process but their support made it easier.

You found Carlos doing his final preparations. "I'm going to check on Osc for a bit.”

He nodded, already half in race mode. "Tell him I said he's got this. The McLaren's race pace looked good."

"I will," you kissed his cheek. "See you on the podium, little bitch."

His engineer snorted, trying to cover it with a cough.

The walk to McLaren was filled with nervous energy. Early fans were already filling the grandstands, the atmosphere electric with anticipation.

The McLaren garage was quieter than Ferrari, the mood still heavy from yesterday's qualifying. You found Oscar in his driver room, staring intently at track maps.

"Brought you coffee," you held out his favorite pre-race drink. "And Carlos says your race pace looked good."

"Thanks," he took the cup but didn't meet your eyes. "For both."

You sat beside him, studying his face. "Talk to me, Osc. What's really going on?"

He was quiet for so long you thought he might not answer.

"I just..." he set down the coffee, running both hands through his hair. "Sometimes I feel like I'm not good enough for this. Like everyone made a mistake choosing me."

Your heart broke. "Oscar..."

"And I know it's stupid. I know I've earned my place here, but days like yesterday... it just brings all those doubts back."

"Look at me," you waited until he met your eyes. "Do you remember when you were ten, and you came home crying because some kid said you'd never make it to F1?"

A small smile tugged at his lips. "And you made him eat dirt at school the next day."

"Exactly. And what did I tell you then?"

"That I was meant for this," his voice softened. "That you could see it in the way I drove, even in karts."

"And has that changed?"

"No, but-"

"No buts," you took his hands. "You're exactly where you're supposed to be, Oscar Piastri. Bad qualifyings don't change that. Bad races don't change that. You're my little brother, and I've never been wrong about you."

He squeezed your hands. "How do you always know what to say?"

"Big sister superpower," you kissed his forehead. "Now drink your coffee and show them what you can do from P17.”

“Thank you, sister,” he squeezed your shoulder, “Now go back to your man, he’s driving like a beast this weekend.”

When you returned to Ferrari, the pre-race energy was at its peak. Carlos was in his final preparations, but his eyes found yours immediately.

"Oscar okay?" he mouthed.

You nodded, giving him a thumbs up. Another side effect of your relationship was that Oscar and Carlos became closer than ever. Oscar looked up to him and Carlos grew so fond of him that he cared about him like an older brother.

It was something not even in your wildest dreams would make sense a year ago. But right now felt like the perfect dynamic.

The garage began clearing for the grid walk. Carlos pulled you aside quickly.

"Para suerte," he murmured, kissing you deeply.

"Little bitch," you whispered against his lips. "Go win this thing."

Reyes and Carlos Sr. were waiting in the garage, both greeting you with warm hugs as you settled in to watch the start.

"Nervous?" Reyes asked, taking your hand.

"Always," you admitted. "For both of them."

The formation lap began, your heart pounding as you watched Carlos lead the field around. The ambient temperature was rising, making tire management crucial.

"He's got this," Carlos Sr. said confidently. "Look how smooth his formation lap is."

The garage fell silent as five red lights appeared above the start line. Your hand found Reyes', both of you holding your breath. The Mexican heat was stifling, but you barely noticed, every nerve focused on the Ferrari at the front of the grid.

"Vamos, hijo," Carlos Sr. whispered, his usual composed demeanor cracking with nervous energy.

The lights went out, and twenty cars launched forward into the long run to Turn 1. Carlos got a perfect start, but Max's Red Bull was immediately in his slipstream, the blue car looming in Carlos's mirrors. Side by side they went into the first corner, neither giving an inch.

"Come on, come on," you whispered, unconsciously leaning forward.

Carlos held firm on the inside line, forcing Max to take the longer way around. Through Turn 2, the Ferrari emerged still leading, and the garage erupted. Engineers who usually maintained professional calm were jumping up and down.

"Tranquila, mi amor," Reyes squeezed your hand. "Look how controlled he is."

The pit stop window approached, tension ratcheting up. Ferrari brought Charles in first, the stop clean but nerve-wracking.

"Pushing too hard on those tires," Carlos Sr. observed as Carlos finally pitted.

When Carlos crossed the finish line first, the garage exploded. You hugged Reyes, both of you crying and laughing. Carlos Sr. wrapped you both in a bear hug, his usual composure forgotten as he shouted "¡Vamos!" repeatedly.

Through happy tears, you saw Carlos pump his fist as he drove past, and you couldn't be happier for him.

The podium ceremony felt eternal. When they finally played the Spanish anthem, you saw Carlos's eyes glistening as he sang along. He caught your gaze in the crowd and winked, making your heart flutter just like it did that first time you saw him win in Australia.

Back then, you tried to play it cool, like you didn't care that he won. But right now the story was completely different.

After the ceremonies and media obligations, Carlos finally made it back to the team. He lifted you off your feet the moment he saw you, spinning you around as you laughed.

"Mi amor," he breathed against your lips before kissing you deeply.

"My champion," you whispered back. "My little bitch."

He laughed, pressing his forehead to yours. "Only yours."

Carlos received hugs, cheers and champagne showers from friends, team members and family. After taking some photos and watching him complete more interviews, it was time to head out and celebrate.

"I'm going to check on Oscar one more time," you told Carlos, as you walked through the paddock.

"Tell him to come to dinner," Carlos said. "He drove well today, P8 from P17."

You found Oscar in the McLaren garage, already changed and packing up.

"Hey champ," you smiled. "Coming to dinner with us?"

He gave you a small smile back. "Think I'll pass tonight. Bit tired, and…" he paused. "Just want some quiet, you know?"

You studied his face. "You sure? Carlos specifically asked for you to come."

"I know, and tell him thanks," Oscar squeezed your hand. "But you guys should celebrate properly. I'm good, really. Just going to order room service and study the race data."

You pulled him into a hug. "You drove amazingly today. P8 from P17 is no joke."

"Thanks, sis," he hugged you back tight. "Go celebrate with your winner. Just... maybe not too loudly in the hotel? The walls are thin."

"OSCAR!"

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and 376,528 others

ynpiastri MY LITTLE CHAMPION BITCH 🥲🥲 i’m SO proud of you mi amor, we all are. one more win this season showing everyone the talented driver that you are. the best is yet to come ❤️

also beyond proud of my baby brother as always, your determination and ability to push through every setback never ceases to amaze me. chin up, i know you got this

oh and lando got p2 i guess

GRACIAS MEXICO CITY 😩

view all comments

username1 AHHHH

username2 SIMP PIASTRI

username3 this is still wild to me they used to hate each other’s guts

scuderiaferarri ❤️

username4 this is wild bc she hated him when he won in australia 😭

nicolepiastri Congrats Carlos! Come visit and bring embarrassing stories of my daughter please

↳ ynpiastri MUM😩

↳ username1 she’s an icon

reyesvdec Te amamos ❤️

↳ username2 the sainz love her so much i could cry

username5 HELP THE LINE ABOUT LANDO 😭

oscarpiastri Love you sis. Congrats to Carlos ❤️

↳ carlossainz55 Thank you brother

↳ username2 this would send 2023 me into a coma

↳ username3 THIS PLOT TWIST

carlossainz55 Te amo

At the restaurant, Lando was the only driver who joined your celebration with the Sainz family. He fit right in, making everyone laugh with stories about Carlos.

"You know," Lando said, taking a sip of wine, "I used to be Reyes and Carlos Sr.'s favorite adopted son."

"Used to be?" you raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, then you came along with your whole enemies-to-lovers storyline and stole my spot," he pouted dramatically. "Now I'm like the forgotten middle child."

"Ay, Lando," Reyes laughed, reaching over to pat his cheek. "You're still our favorite British son."

"Small comfort when YN gets all the good Spanish mom cooking," Lando grumbled good-naturedly.

After dinner, it was time for the party celebrating Carlos' win. He claimed that he didn't want to drink much, but that went out the window when his friends lifted him up as 'Smooth Operator' played.

"SMOOTH OPERATOOOOR!" they sang terribly off-key. Carlos was laughing, one hand clutching his drink, the other reaching for you.

"Join me up here, mi amor!"

"Absolutely not," you called back, but you were laughing too.

Hours later, the celebrations were winding down. You stood outside waiting for your car, Carlos' arms wrapped around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. The Mexico City air was cooler now, but his warmth kept you comfortable.

"I still can't believe it," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your neck. "Second win this season."

You turned in his arms to face him, taking in his slightly flushed cheeks and bright eyes. The victory high was still there, mixed with the pleasant buzz from the celebrations.

"You know what's different this time?" you asked, playing with the collar of his shirt.

"Hmm?"

"I don't have to pretend I'm not happy for you," you smiled, remembering Australia. "Don't have to hide how proud I am."

His eyes softened as he pulled you closer. "You were terrible at hiding it even then."

"I was not!"

"Mi amor," he laughed, pressing his forehead to yours. "You called me 'little bitch' with way too much affection."

"That was pure hatred," you protested weakly.

"Sure it was," he grinned. "Just like when you stared at me during the podium ceremony."

"I was plotting your demise."

"With heart eyes?"

"Shut up," you buried your face in his chest, feeling it rumble with laughter.

"Never," he kissed the top of your head. "I love reminding you how bad you were at hating me."

"I'm starting to hate you again right now."

"No you're not," he tilted your chin up, eyes twinkling. "You love me."

Before you could retort, the car pulled up. As you settled into the backseat, Carlos pulled you close again.

"For the record," he whispered in your ear, "I was terrible at pretending too. Ask Charles - he said I talked about you constantly."

"To complain?"

"That's what I told myself," he smiled against your hair. "But I think everyone knew better."

You intertwined your fingers with his, watching the city lights blur past. "We were kind of idiots, weren't we?"

"The biggest," he agreed. "But we figured it out eventually."

"Yeah," you turned to kiss him softly. "We did."

[smutoperator]

How I Met Her Father

Jeon Somi x Male Reader, Somi's Father

Part 3 of 4 of All In Family

Tags: (lots of) big tits worship, bimbo, cum on tits, dirty talk, facefucking, full nelson, girlfriend, incest, living room sex, saliva, (lots of) spit-roasting, swimming, titfucking, wife duties, whisky

Word count: 4715

After years of focusing her efforts on her career, Somi wanted to settle down a bit. She had finally found the perfect guy for her, as you two had been involved in an increasingly romantic relationship.

But she needed one more thing before you two moved a step further.

"I want you to meet my father, I want to talk to him before we continue with our relationship," Somi said, still naked in your bed as you prepared to get to work. "Sure," you answered her. "Let's do it tonight," you continued, kissing her before you headed to work.

Somi went to her father's house, doing some dishes while waiting for you to arrive. "So you want to marry him?" her father asked. "Yes, Dad, I feel like the time has come, my career won't go much further than this so I need to start thinking about my life afterward," Somi answered.

The night came in as Somi set the table. You were greeted by her father as you two started talking about typical manly things, Somi just listening while washing the dishes as you two also talked about her, drinking some whisky in the living room while she started setting her plan up.

"Dad, do you want some more whisky?" Somi asked, serving both of you. "Sure," her father answered as Somi walked into both of you in a beautiful black dress that showcased her beautiful big tits with a nice cleavage, before heading back to the kitchen.

"My daughter, you know, I don't think she's really wife material yet, she's a little too wild, she goes flashing her boobs with her best friend in photo boots, and every time she goes out with Chaeyoung or Giselle she returns a drunk mess. She truly behaves like a bimbo who doesn't think about tomorrow. Sometimes it feels like she's just a pair of big tits on a stick," her father tells you, unaware that Somi is hearing everything you two are talking about.

"I need to take a little break," you told them, leaving Somi alone with her father. "Me too, I'll go to the bathroom, stay in there, Somi," her father told her. Somi sat in the living room, knowing she had to act if she wanted to get her father's approval for her relationship.

Somi's father returned to the living room but her daughter wasn't there anymore. He walked into the pool, drinking some more whisky and staring at the moon before Somi approached him.

"Big tits on a stick huh?" Somi asks her father. "What do you mean?" he asks her. "Don't try to fool me, I heard everything you said to my boyfriend in that room. You're really doing everything to convince him not to marry me. A bimbo? A fucking bimbo? Don't you have any respect for your daughter?" she angrily asks.

"You certainly don't do much to dispel this notion, do you?" Somi's father tells her. "Well, you certainly seem to like your big tit bimbo daughter," Somi says, taking her dress off as she starts swimming naked in front of her father, her boobs so big they stay above the water's line, before she finally turns around, her wet naked body in front of her father as she starts grabbing his pants.

"Big tits on a stick, let me show them," Somi says, crawling out of the pool and rubbing her father's crotch. He drinks another dose of whisky as she takes his belt off, kissing his underwear before unveiling his cock, softly sucking it. "Somi, be careful, your boyfriend is in the house," her father says. "Well, she's not the one I need to convince," she answers her dad.

Somi gives her father a very slow-paced blowjob, getting his cock harder and harder, maintaining eye contact at every second. "You seem to be enjoying your bimbo daughter sucking this cock," she tells him as she notices him groaning, moving her head faster against his shaft before going down to suck his balls. "Fuck," Somi curses as she licks his cock from the balls to the tip.

"Give me those big tits," Somi's father commands as she spits on his cock's head, offering her big pair of udders for his cock to rest on, before squeezing his shaft between her huge milkers. "Come on Dad, fuck those big tits from your bimbo daughter," Somi tells him as she starts moving them up and down his shaft.

Somi's dad quickly obliges, bringing his daughter's body closer to his and thrusting upwards into her big tits. "Oh my God, you squeeze my cock so good," he tells his daughter, kissing her as he bangs her big boobs. Somi moves her tits into his shaft as he pours some whisky into it, before saying a couple of words.

"Let's go inside," Somi tells her father as both of them return to the living room where you and her father were talking just some minutes ago. Somi and her dad share kisses, him grabbing her big tits as she strips him down, before he dives into her huge udders, kissing and sucking them.

Somi sits on one of the many couches in the room, going back to suck her father's cock as she bobs her head on his cock without using her hands. "Oh fuck," her father groans as Somi takes his shaft deeper in her throat. "Yes, baby, suck your dad's cock, " he tells her, unbuttoning his shirt as Somi keeps spitting on and twisting his dick.

"Take this saliva and spit on your fucking tits," Somi's father tells her as he sees a huge string of saliva coming out of her mouth after she sucks his cock. Somi obliges as her father gropes her big boobs, sticking his cock between them for a second round of titfucking. "Yes, baby, just like that," he tells her as he bangs her udders while kissing her, enjoying her throbbing tip popping out from time to time.

"Oh my God, you're such a good bimbo," Somi's father says as she spits once again on her tits, letting her father's cock slide with ease as he kept banging her tits. Somi took this shirt fully off, getting both of them naked. "Oh my God baby yes," her father groaned as Somi got on all fours for him to fuck her face while he reached to grab her ass.

Somi choked on her father's cock like the good bimbo she is, her boobs bouncing hard as he delivered deep thrusts into her mouth. He sat on the couch, letting Somi deliver him a no-hands sloppy boss-chair blowjob. Somi was enjoying bobbing her head on her father's dick, strings of saliva coming out of her mouth, until she turned her head and saw you entering the room.

Somi blushed as she got caught by surprise, the saliva still connecting her mouth to her father's cock. You looked at your slutty girlfriend, pretending to be angry. She didn't know you had watched her whole sequence with her father by the pool, but soon, her boldness would surprise you even further.

"Come join us, honey," Somi asked you, who felt shocked as those words hit your ears. "Didn't you hear me? I said come join us, honey," Somi repeated. You lowered her head just as Somi lowered hers to suck her father's cock, but you obliged, lining up behind her and eating her pussy while she kissed her father.

"Suck his dick too," Somi's father commanded as she turned her attention to you, kissing you with her cock filled mouth before you quickly unzipped your pants, Somi taking turns between sucking your cock and jerking her father's dick off. You grabbed her face and shoved down your meat while her father played with her big boobs and jerked his own cock off, before Somi turned his attention to him, rolling her eyes. "Such a good bimbo," he told her.

Somi got so sloppy that strings of saliva connected both cocks to her mouth. Both of you took turns fucking her face, making her big tits bounce. Somi gets ready to sit on the couch, only to get surprised by her dad's cock impaling her pussy. "Ahhhh," she moans but it gets muffled by your big meat pounding her mouth.

"Yes baby," Somi's father celebrates as he thrusts up her pussy, enjoying her muffled moans and her bouncy boobs as he fucks her pussy while she chokes on your cock. "Oh my God," Somi moans as she strokes your cock after gagging on it, her father grabbing her big tits from behind as they keep bouncing while she rides his dick.

"You like that, you fucking slut?" you ask Somi as she bounces on her father's cock. "Yes, fuck, I love that, getting taken by my dad and my boyfie at the same time," Somi moans as she jerks your cock off before getting spit-roasted. "Look at those big tits, they bounce so beautifully," her father tells you as Somi turns into exactly what he wanted, a free-use bimbo whose only purpose in life is to be a cockslut.

"Oh yeah, choke on this cock," Somi's dad commands as she turns your cock into a mess of spit. "My turn next," you tell Somi, lying her on the couch and drilling her pussy hard, punishing her for being a cheating slutty girlfriend while her dad feeds his cock full of her pussy flavors for her to taste.

Somi takes a good pounding, her tits bouncier than ever as you relentlessly attack her cunt. Even after her father stretched it out, it's still the same tight pussy that made you fall in love with her. "Fuck me, fuck, me, fuck me," Somi moans as her body shakes, you are barely able to hear her moans as she chokes on her dad's cock.

Somi's dad gropes her tits as he fucks her face, you still pounding her pussy as Somi gets spit-roasted hard. You open her legs further, her pussy turning into a fleshlight for your cock while her father grabs her tits, bringing them together and sucking her big pair of milky udders. "FUCK," Somi screams as she gets overwhelmed by her dad licking her nipples and your hard thrusts in her cunt.

"AHHHHH, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," Somi screams, her father licking her tits harder than ever, you plowing her cunt harder than ever. "We're just starting, you fucking slut," you tell her, your thrusts making loud noise hitting her hot tall body, her father now with his face completely buried between her big boobs. "OHH, OHHH, OHHHH," Somi moans. "Bounce those boobs for your boyfriend," her father says, watching his daughter get turned into your cocksleeve.

You keep fucking Somi hard, fingering her pussy as her father slapes and worships her tits. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH," she moans, kissing her dad which only makes you push harder into her pussy, spitting on her body and massaging her cunt with both your hands and your cock, making her boobs bounce harder at each thrust you give her.

"Good girl," Somi's father tells her as she chokes on his cock. "Oh it feels so good, don't stop fucking my pussy," she tells you in between kisses from her father. "Bounce those tiddies," he commands again, sucking Somi's jiggling udders as you keep pounding her tight wasian cunt. "YEAH, YEAH, AHHHH," she moans as you clap her cheeks hard, Somi quickly loses her breath.

"Lemme get her," Somi's father tells you as he tosses her daughter's hot body into the main couch, putting both of them sideways as he slides inside her pussy. "Hmmm yeah," Somi moans as she presses her tits, you quickly come to stuff her mouth. "Oh baby, your pussy is so tight," her dad says as he grabs her waist and starts thrusting inside Somi's fuckhole.

Somi grabs her tits, preventing them from bouncing as you fuck her face and her dad fucks her pussy in perfect sync. She looks at you as you smile at her, loving to see your girlfriend turned into a bimbo. "Your father was right, you are just a bunch of tits on a stick," you tell her.

Somi's dad continues the destruction of her daughter's cunt, pushing her legs up as she thrusts hard inside her, pushing her to choke on your cock while doing so. "OH FUCK YES YES YES" Somi moans as her dad reaches from behind to grope her big tits, loud clapping sounds come out of his thrusts into his daughter's pussy.

"AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHHH," Somi moans loudly as her dad picks up the speed, you also increase the speed and fucking her face hard. "Open your mouth," you tell her, spitting on it before sliding your cock back in. "Fucking stupid bimbo," you talk dirty with her, just as her father attacks her pussy even harder. "YES DAD, DESTROY MY FUCKING PUSSY," Somi begs as her dad's balls clap hard against her clit.

Somi's dad stops the pounding as he dives to eat out his daughter's stretched-out cunt. Somi tries to breathe but you quickly shut her mouth, fucking her face as you play with her tits, before letting her freely moan and grinding her hips in her father's mouth. "Such a hungry slut," you tell her as Somi gets back to being spit roasted, her face covered in saliva as her father drills her from behind and gropes her tits. "YES, YES, YES, AHHHH," Somi moans, her father spanking her ass.

"Turn around," you tell Somi as her dad lets you take your turn fucking his daughter. Somi soon was bouncing on your cock, her big tits jiggling in front of her father as he looked at his slutty daughter work on your big cock, riding it to perfection as you reached to grope her boobs.

As soon as Somi started moaning a little louder, her dad shut her mouth with his big cock, Somi now moving her hips even harder up and down your cock. You met her move with hard thursts and some slapping in her tits. "AHHHH FUCK," Somi screamed as you pumped her cunt up, her father now diving to suck her boobs while she got pounded hard. "FUCK, YEAH, YEAH," Somi moaned, riding you even harder, you quickly countered by fingering her pussy.

"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," Somi moaned as she looked like a complete slut in front of her father, her big tits bouncing more than ever while her dad punished her by slapping his hard cock in her milky udders. "My fucking bimbo slutty daughter likes her boyfriend's big cock a little too much for my taste," he said.

"Damn Somi, you're so hot, my best creation," her father told her, slapping her thighs and telling her to sit on his cock next. "OH MY GOD," Somi moaned as she grinded on his dick while sucking yours, her father making her big tits bounce from the get-go as he thrust into her while you shoved your cock down her throat. "Take it all," her father commanded as Somi gagged on your cock while he groped her tits.

"FUCK ME, DADDY, FUCK ME, FUCK ME," Somi screamed as she kept getting drilled by her father. You two kept passing her around, as after a short but rough pounding session, her father quickly handed your girlfriend back to you, ordering Somi to get on all fours as you took her from behind next. You grabbed her waist and got back to fuck Somi harder than ever. "OHHHHH," she moaned.

Somi's father lay on the couch, enjoying his daughter's bouncy boobs hitting his face as you thrust deeper and deeper inside her pussy. "OH MY GOD," Somi screamed as you spanked her ass and your cock hit her deep in her cervix, her father making motorboating sounds between her big boobs. "FUCK YES, YES, YES," Somi screamed as you pounded her so hard you knocked the air out of her.

You kept pounding Somi nonstop, her father jerking his cock off while Somi's big tits hit his face. You couldn't stop using your girlfriend's tight pussy, getting heavily turned on the more you fucked Somi in front of her father. "OH FUCK, OH FUCK, OH FUCK," she kept moaning as you showed no signs of slowing down, clapping your balls hard against her clit.

"Please, Dad, let me suck your cock," Somi begged as you pounded her hard, driving her head against her dad's cock as she performed a family 69 with him while you kept pumping her cunt furiously, watching Somi's moans get muffled by her dad's dick. "AHHH, AHHH, AHHHH," Somi moaned as you drilled her so hard she couldn't hold her father's cock in her mouth.

"Stroke those dicks," you ordered to Somi as you took a break, her taking turns bobbing her head in your cock and her father's, getting both of them harder for the next rounds. "Such a nasty bimbo," her father told her as Somi sucked his dick.

"Let me fuck those big tits," you ordered to Somi, getting on top of her and banging Somi's big boobs really hard. "Is that what you like, you fucking slut? Getting those big fucking tits banged in front of your father?" you ask her as you squeeze her tits in your cock and pound them, her father fucking her face as Somi's head falls down the pouf while she gets spit-roasted.

"This is the only thing those big fucking tits are worth, being a sleeve for my fucking cock," you tell Somi as she now jerks her father's cock and sucks his balls, smiling with you like a dirty whore as you slap your cock in her boobs. "Gag in that fucking dick," her father commands, you fucking her tits and him fucking her face at perfect sync, treating Somi like what she truly is, nothing but tits on a stick.

You move down back inside Somi's pussy as her father continues to pound her face. Your thursts are still very intense, her father massaging Somi's boobs while you spread her legs. "OH FUCK, YES, YES, OH FUCK I LOVE THAT," Somi monas as she gets drilled, completely spit roasted in the middle of two hungry cocks. You finger her pussy while her father sucks her boobs. "OH MY GOD," Somi moans as she squirts a little, unable to cope with the pressure you two put in her erogenous zones.

"OH FUCK, AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHHH, OH MY GOD, AHHHH, YEAHHH," Somi moans as you finger and spit all over her pussy, her dad kissing and worshipping her big boobs. You put her under a mating press, her dad leaving you all by yourself as you destroy his daughter's cunt in an intense one-on-one. "I see that's what she likes," he says. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH, "Somi moans out of breath.

Somi's dad can't resist the urge and quickly shoves his cock back in his daughter's mouth, fucking it at a straight angle, his ass almost hitting Somi's doll face while you keep obliterating your girlfriend's needy cunt. "Fucking slut spitting all over my cock, looks how much she loves being spit-roasted," her dad says, spitting on her tits and sucking them again as he finishes fucking her face.

You and Somi's dad team up on her big tits, one sucking each of her udders. Somi grabs your head, pushing you in the direction of her left boobs, moaning softly as both of you worship her boobs and lick her erect nipples. "Taste your pussy, suck his dick," her dad commands as Somi raises her head in the direction of your cock to taste her juices. "OHHHH," Somi moans but it gets muffled in your dick as her father comes from behind to shove his cock back in his daughter's cunt.

"Come on baby girl, suck his dick," her father commands as he thrusts into her pussy, you grabbing Somi's head and pushing your cock towards it. "You look so sexy," her father says as his thrusts make Somi's hot body bounce, saliva falling all over her tits as she now dives into your balls with her father pounding her hard. "So fucking good, choke on his dick," her father commands, gagging sounds coming out of Somi's mouth as she does just that.

Somi looks into your eyes as you sit on the floor, letting her choke on your cock as you thrust up to her face while her father thrusts down into her cunt in a prone bone position. "Such a hungry cock slut," her father says as Somi gets sandwiched between both your cocks. "Yes, yes," her father groans as Somi gets her face down and ass up like the good slut she is, taking both your cock in her holes as deep as possible.

Somi gags on your cock as she deepthroats it. "You got it quite wet, now sit on his cock," her dad commands as he leaves the scene a bit, Somi moving towards your body on the floor and impaling herself on your big pole, bouncing her hips on it and giving you a naughty stare as soon as she starts feeling it reach deep in her pussy. "OHH FUCKKK," Somi moans, you give her ass a little spank and thrusts upwards. "Take that cock, you fucking bitch," you tell her, Somi's father back to spit roast her while her big tits keep doing what they do best: bounce, bounce and bounce.

A string of saliva comes out of Somi's mouth as she chokes on her dad's cock. "YEAHHHH," she moans, elated as you keep pounding her tight pussy nonstop, her father slapping her bouncy boobs as Somi looks sexily at him, both of them kissing each other before she drops down to kiss you.

Somi crawls over the room, you grabbing her head and shoving your cock deep in her mouth for her to taste her pussy one more time. "She's still hungry," you say as Somi deepthroats it enthusiastically. "Ohhh," you groan as she does so.

"You want more?" you ask your girlfriend. "Yeah," Somi answers with a soft, baby-esque voice. "Yeah?" you ask her, Somi getting your cock further wet with another deepthroat. "Then get your face down and ass up," you tell her.

Somi does as you ask, her messy hair covering her pretty face as your cock penetrates her pussy once again. Somi's father takes a backseat, enjoying his daughter getting pounded as you spank her butt. "Spread that ass for me, you fucking slut," you tell Somi, using all your strength to destroy her pussy. "OH YES, YES, MAKE ME CUM, MAKE ME CUM," Somi begs as you turn her into a fleshlight, her pussy sore after so much pounding.

"Work this fucking cock," you tell Somi as she spins on your dick, giving you a big smile. "I"m the perfect slutty girlfriend, ain't I?" she asks you, moving her hips against your crotch. But as soon as you two start having more fun, Somi's dad suddenly intervenes.

"Lemme shows how to fuck a slut properly," Somi's dad says as he grabs his daughter's body into the couch, placing her under a full nelson as he destroys Somi's pussy as hard as possible. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," Somi screams as her father drills her cunt and gropes her big tits. "Take that cock you fucking slut," he tells her, fingering her pussy and then pressing her big tits against each other while she clings to your cock in her mouth.

"OH FUCK THAT FEELS GOOD," Somi moans as she keeps getting plowed by her dad. You feel a little jealous, watching her father imprint the shape of his cock in your girlfriend's cunt at crazy speeds. "YES, YES, YES, YES, AHHHH, OH FUCK," Somi moans as her body gets turned into a fleshlight.

"Suck your juices, nasty slut, like that," Somi's father tells her as she throats his cock. Taking advantage of her weakness, you two team up on her to use Somi further, her father pumping his cock up her mouth while you take her pussy from behind, seizing the opportunity as Somi gets on all fours.

You two pump Somi in perfect sync once again, the big tit bimbo getting stuffed hard in her mouth and her cunt, gagging all over her dad's cock while her ass recoils with your hard thrusts. "Yes baby, gag on that cock, oh my god, such a good slut," her dad tells her as Somi bobs her head on his dick. "Oh fuck," he groans while you spank her ass and run your hands all over her body.

"I want to see him cumming on you, two lovebirds enjoying themselves until they burst," Somi's dad says as she hands his daughter to you, Somi lying on the couch as you take her in a missionary position, her dad jerking his cock off in enjoyment. "Come on Somi, show me how much you like being a bimbo for your boyfriend," her father says.

You fuck Somi and make her big tits bounce one last time, her father jerking off to the scene of his daughter getting destroyed, you fingering her cunt to the rhythm of the jiggle of Somi's boobs. Your balls clap hard against her skin, Somi looking at you with needy eyes and fingering herself. "Do you want our cum?" you ask her. "Yes, please, give it all to me, OH FUCK," she moans as you relentlessly attack her pussy.

"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, YES, YES, YES," Somi moans as you hit her deep in her pussy, her father strokes his cock harder and harder. "Oh yeah you're gonna make me cum baby," he tells her. "Oh yes cum for me, daddy," Somi legs.

"I'm gonna cum, HOLY FUCK," Somi's father groans as he ejaculates on his daughter's left boob. "Holy fuck, that's so much cum," he groans as he covers Somi's boob full of his seeds. Watching her boobs covered with cum makes you push extra hard, you drilling her harder than ever. "Cum in her too," her father tells you.

"OH FUCK, OHHHHH," you loudly groan as Somi brings her boobs together. You shoot a massive load in her right tit, some of it spilling to her face and her midriff as she gets covered by both yours and her dad's love custard. Somi smiles, enjoying draining the balls of both guys, looking at you with sexy eyes as she milks the last few drops from your cock, rubbing the cum all over her body in front of you.

"I'll be upstairs if you need me," Somi's dad says. You and her stay in the room, contemplating the full moon whose lights bathes the room. But as things cool off, Somi starts feeling a little insecure.

"I don't think he's fully convinced yet," she tells you.

"Then what can we do?" you ask her.

"I have a last card in my hands, come with me" she answers.

You follow Somi as she climbs upstairs in the direction of her dad's bedroom. She notices some moaning sounds come out of it, looking through the keyhole and watching her dad masturbate himself to a porn movie with a tall girl with big tits serving two cocks, before opening the door and catching him red-handed.

"Oh hi Somi, what do you need?" her father asks, quickly switching the TV channel and acting like nothing happened.

Somi then pulls out her final card.

"I need you to stuff both those cocks in my pussy at the same time," she says.

"Alright, come here, just keep in mind I won't take it easy on you," her father says

"That's exactly how I want it, stretch my pussy until it's sore, I want both of you cumming inside me at the same time," Somi answers.

Soon, both of your cocks are in her pussy, and Somi is screaming.

"FUCKKKKKKKK," she yells as her cunt gets stretched out.

"Don't back off, let us fill your pussy and I'll let you marry him," her father tells her.

And this is how Somi's night ends, trading off a sore cum-filled pussy for a wedding ring.

[notjustjavierpena]

Hello, i hope this isn’t too much but i really admire your courage to write the hard stuff that goes on between javi and his wife. would you ever write something about the struggles they had about conceiving lucas?

Crazy

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Hiya, anon! This was such a rollercoaster to write but thanks so much for giving me the needed push. Also tysm for the compliment 🥺

Summary: Thoughts of infertility take a toll on you and Javier's marriage.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Infertility, arguments, apologies, hurt/comfort, angst, emotional sex, lots of kissing, pussy eating, piv sex, mating press, creampie, pillowtalk, aftercare

Word count: 6k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64569853

Crazy

You can’t help but count the months. Seven long ones with still no baby growing in your belly. Seven and counting since you went off your birth control, a ridiculous thought that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth since it turned out that you hadn’t needed it anyway in the first place. Okay, maybe you had but it is your exhaustion talking, whispering it in your ear.

You remember the conversation that Javier and you had in the kitchen that one time a while back, where he promised you that if everything else failed, you would let Steve and Connie set an example and find your own Olivia. Yet neither of you has dared go into the discussion of exactly when it’s time to stop trying, or if you’d truly be ready to adopt. 

However, now as you anxiously pace around the kitchen, waiting for Javier to come home and cleaning off stains that aren’t actually there from yesterday’s dishes, you wonder if you should call Connie to hear her opinion. 

You stop halfway to the landline to stare at the calendar on the door to the refrigerator. The red circle around today’s date mocks you and you lift your hand up to flip it off, giving it a roll of your eyes now that you’re at it. Seven fucking months of anxiously charting your cycles, tracking ovulation windows, and feeling hope slip away with each negative test. 

What if it never happens at all? Connie hadn’t seemed to entertain your worry the last time you brought it up, had shaken her head with a smile you wanted to wipe off her face, and pulled out her authority as a nurse to reassure you. There’s still plenty of time before you need to start worrying, she keeps saying, and it feels like it is the only reason you are still taking vitamins, avoiding caffeine, and doing your exercises. 

You’ve reached the phone now, your hand hovering over it in midair. It would be so easy to ring Connie right now and tell her every worry that is constantly going around in your head, every frustration of being in a battle with forcibly loving your body when it isn’t working the way it should. But then you think of Javier and decide against it, convinced by the guilt that nags at you. It feels like a betrayal to begin that particular and very tough conversation with anyone else but him. 

You stand there for a moment longer, staring at the phone, silently hoping it will ring and Connie will be on the other end of the line. It would make it easier to justify running your mouth to her. 

“Don’t look at me, it just happened,” you would say and still know it wasn’t okay.

Keys being inserted into the front door and the handle rattling makes you tense up in nervous anticipation. Javier is home from work. This is the day you’ve been waiting for a whole month, the one you’ve rearranged your entire schedule around and taken off work because if there’s any chance of being a mom, it has to be now.

“Baby?” He calls when he’s inside the house. You can hear the thud of his bag hitting the floor and the sound of his footsteps going towards the living room. 

“I’m here,” you answer through the house. You peek into the living room and see him shrug out of his suit jacket, draping it over the back of the couch and letting himself fall into the cushions with a contented sigh. You know you’re supposed to go in there and spoil his relief. 

“Come in here,” he says and taps his fingers on his knees, eyes soft from hoping to see you materialize in the doorway. He always tells you he misses you at his job.

Carefully, you enter the room and approach him with urgency in your body. You have a single mission today and it is a delicate matter. 

Get pregnant. 

Getpregnantgetpregnantgetpregnant. 

Get fucking pregnant.

“Hey,” he says with a tired smile when you stand right in front of him, glad to see you. He holds out his hand for you to take. You don’t reach for it and his smile fades.

“We should have sex,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, staring down at him as he reaches for his tie instead. 

“Baby, I just walked in. I just sat down,” he says softly and tugs at the knot on his tie, pulling it loose with a small noise. There’s an underlying emotion to his voice, a hint of frustration to his tone even if he doesn’t want to upset you. 

Your focus, your tunnel vision, makes you ignore his complaint as if it isn’t a ticking bomb right between your hands, “If I’ve calculated right, it’s been twelve hours since we last had sex, Javi. I’ve read that it’s a good idea to—“

“We have sex all the time, baby. Three times yesterday. Once at night. We fuck a lot,” he reaches up to run both hands over his face, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands afterward. He does a quick inhale and then sighs.

“Yes, but we have to do it today too to be sure. Connie said that—“ you quickly argue but his jaw muscles flex as you talk. Javier pushes himself to stand with exasperation in his next breath.

He pushes past you as if he cannot take being in your presence for a second longer despite just having arrived home, doesn’t even look at you as he throws back a sarcastic comment, “Oh, Connie said? Really? Wow, you really know how to turn me on.”

“That’s not funny. Hey, come back here,” you say as he starts walking towards the kitchen instead, leaving you with your mouth a thin line. You follow him but don’t go any further than standing in the door, “I’m the only one who initiates sex lately. What if my ovulation is peaking right now? The day is over soon.”

He leans against the kitchen counter, reaching back to grip the edge of the table, “The day isn’t over yet. It’s five in the afternoon. I just got home. We can have sex tonight.” 

You finally step fully into the kitchen now and it feels almost like you have crossed enemy lines. You can feel your tears build inside of your chest, crawling steadily up into your throat till they burn but you don’t allow yourself to cry. Why doesn’t he understand the pain of losing another month to grief? Why is it not as important to him? You look desperate, “Connie said it’s best during the day.”

“Stop,” he suddenly commands, causing you to flinch. He looks angry at you, unable to register the impact of the tone of his voice because of his own state of mind but it makes you tremble. He is never this way, “I can’t fucking take another fucking word about eggs and sperm and fertile windows. It’s too much now. You’re being crazy.”

Something breaks inside of you at those words, a beast that’s been hidden inside a cage in your chest threatening to escape and go for the kill. You watch him carelessly turn away to open the fridge, detachment on his face as if he has just argued with you about what you’re having for dinner. He leaves you feeling in complete disbelief and disarray, your heart ticking like a bomb. You need out right now or you might suffocate in the large, childless space that you moved into with the idea that you would be a family of three soon. 

You leave the room with your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The walls feel like they are closing in on you, close to trapping you here in this feeling forever if you don’t hurry up and reach the front door quickly. 

You slam the door behind you, no shoes on your feet, and then suddenly you are close to running down the street, breathing harder and harder while your arms swing along your sides in your haste. 

He has never called you crazy before. The word feels like he has just spat in your face, wrapped you in barbed wire, as if he sees you as just one more woman suffering from hysteria. Dismissible and unserious. Crazy. You swear you can feel all of the women before you right behind you, giving you the wind in your back to run faster than ever even with no destination. You don’t even feel your feet hurt from being bare against the harsh ground. 

However, you are barely a few blocks away from your home when you hear Javier’s voice calling out your name with the same desperation that you have felt since the first negative pregnancy test. 

The second you hear him, you automatically start running faster, determined to escape something you can’t quite pinpoint what is, but it only lasts a few seconds. Eventually, you finally slow down. Not because you want him to catch you but because your chest is heaving and your eyes are burning with tears, blurring your vision and disorienting you. 

He grabs your arm firmly when he reaches you and tries to pull you into an embrace. You resist at first, stiffening against him as he wraps you in his arms. 

“Stop!” You sob violently but he doesn’t let go even when you start crying loud enough to attract attention. Instead, he tightens his grip around you to calm your nervous system. How odd it is to want comfort from the man who also made you cry.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he says repeatedly, his cheek against yours while you try to hit his chest. You can hear the regret in his voice but your pride makes you unwilling to soften. 

You struggle further, almost like a panicked animal, wanting to kick and scream to escape a trap, but the fight is going out of your body quickly, gripped by exhaustion and making you sag. Another sob rips itself from your throat, “If I’m so crazy then there’s no reason we should be together let alone have a baby.”

When you’re less resistant, he cradles your head in his hand to make you look at him, “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean any of it. You’re not crazy. Dios, soy un pendejo (God, I’m an idiot). I’m so sorry, mi amor (my love).”

You sink to your knees but he catches you before they hit the sidewalk.

“I’m not crazy,” you insist weakly as you slump into his embrace.

“You’re not crazy,” he confirms quietly, “I’d take that back if I could.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry too… You were frustrated and tired,” you sniffle and your bottom lip trembles, “I shouldn’t have pushed you the second you walked through the door. I’m just worried that we have to wait a whole month before we can try again because we’re too lazy to have sex. And I hate that it is ruining our sex life because I love having sex with you.”

Javier says your name but it’s clear that it has caught him off guard.

You pull back to look up at his face. His brown eyes are soft and full of apologies, like the impact of his words only hits him now, “Now I’m scared that this is all responsible for you not finding me sexy anymore. I know it’s stupid but what if I’m the reason why we never get there? What if all this pressure makes you stop wanting me? What if I–”

“Now that’s crazy,” he says in an attempt to smooth things over with a joke but that one crease in his forehead, the one that he gets when frustration hits, is back because it doesn’t work.

You compose yourself enough to step back and give him a warning look, a look that says don’t you dare say that word again. He holds his hands up in surrender and then just reaches for your wrist, tugs it until he can entwine your fingers.

“What?” You’re the one to bite now, "I'm serious. I don’t want to lose you in this."

"You're not going to lose me,” he groans in exasperation. A few heads have popped up in the windows of the houses surrounding you. 

“Then why aren’t you upset like I am?” You ask harshly and pull your hand away to hug yourself. You avoid his gaze. 

Javier looks at you as if you’ve cracked him wide open right there on the sidewalk. He furrows his brows, opening his mouth without any words coming out. He turns away then, needs to gather himself without staring at your face. 

You know immediately that you have crossed a line, that you have hit a nerve that wasn’t supposed to be as exposed as it suddenly is. 

“Javi,” you murmur shamefully. 

“Is that what you think?” He turns back to you, the look in his eyes frantic and desperate. He also looks furious but for some reason, you can tell it isn’t directed at you, “That— That I’m not scared or upset enough? I’m terrified all the fucking time but if I let myself be as scared as you are, I’d be fucking useless to you.”

The realization hits you like an oncoming train, making tears start falling from your eyes again. You don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to you. Javier feels the exact same way as you but he simply hides it better.

You want to say something but he beats you to it, pointing at you to stress his point, his chest heaving, “And for the record. There’s no fucking universe where I stop wanting you.”

You don’t know what to say, so you do the next best thing and show him. You reach to cup his face, your thumbs stroking along his cheekbones, and then you kiss his lips. 

He sighs against your mouth, his broad palms finding your waist and tugging you as close as possible until he can wrap you in the harbor of his arms. Then he kisses you deeper, several times too, each brush of his lips releasing more of the tension between you. 

You’re here. In the same boat. And you love each other so much. That should be enough, even when it doesn’t feel like it is.

When the kiss is over, you don’t draw away from each other. Instead, he pulls you into a tight hug, holding you protectively close to his chest and stroking the back of your head. You link your arms around him, clinging tightly to him with a few tears staining his shirt because you have hurt each other so much. 

“I want to go home,” you murmur softly into his shoulder while he strokes your hair, “Por favor (please).”

“Okay,” he answers just as gently, placing a kiss on your forehead before drawing back, “We’ll go home.”

You walk home side by side, no words spoken between you. The tension is still there, sizzling in the air but it is charged with something else too. You almost feel like a teenager again, back when you were too scared to speak to the person you’ve decided late at night that you’d go through fire for. 

The first block is spent with your hands brushing as they hang by your sides and the both of you holding your breath when it happens but then Javier laces your fingers together and a quiet understanding settles over you. 

When you enter the front door together, none of you even glance in the direction of the kitchen or the living room. There's no hurry to move on from the storm of intense emotions that you have just been through, no hurry to busy yourself with anything that’ll simply push it down or bottle it up. 

The only urgency now is that storm, your hearts tense but only with the need to reassure each other. His mouth finds yours again, his body pushes you against the wall and the intensity behind his kiss grows from how he had kissed you in the street. Your lips meet in a kiss so deep that Javier coaxes a moan from your mouth. 

For once in all of this, you’re not scared of the outcome of being together, entwined. The need to conceive a child with your husband is still very much there but right now, it is overshadowed by a need to connect fully, to lick each other’s wounds even if you caused them. 

You reach to untie the knot on his tie completely. He hesitates for just a breath, a hand on your wrist to gain your attention. 

“Are you sure?” He asks despite how you still pull the tie out from underneath his collar. 

“Yes,” you don’t hesitate a second and drop the tie on the floor, desire ignited in your belly, “I’m so sure. I want you.”

He lets out a shaky breath with a smile, nodding his head while you move in to kiss his throat where his pulse thrums. His eyes close at the contact, his head tilting back just a little until a soft moan escapes his mouth. Your body grows warm from hearing it and you take it as a cue to move in silence, sharing searing kisses all the way to the bedroom. 

When you get there, Javier closes the door behind you and turns the lock, not because there’s any chance that you will be disturbed but just to keep the outside world at bay for a little while. It feels more intimate like that, like you are the only two people in the world.

You stand by the end of the bed, watching him do it and feeling your heart pounding in your chest from anticipation. You smile softly when he approaches you, too afraid that words might mess up the way that air crackles with intimacy and tenderness. 

He reaches out first as if promising to take the lead of you, curling his fingers around the edge of your top to lift it up. You raise your arms in the air to let him peel it over your head, goosebumps erupting on your skin where his knuckles brush you. He drops your top on the floor. 

You finally reciprocate by moving to undo the buttons of his white shirt. Your hands tremble slightly as you do it but Javier is patient, just reaches to gently steady your wrist by holding it. 

When you have reached the last one, he takes over and shrugs the fabric off his shoulders to reveal his warm and safe chest. You step closer, hands finding his shoulders as you lean in to kiss along his collarbone. He takes the opportunity to unclasp your bra while you’re at it, a palm skimming up your back while the other rests at your waist. 

When your breasts are bare, your nipples have hardened at the sudden exposure to the colder temperature. He undoes his belt and jeans, and when he bends slightly to take them off along with his boxers, he presses a tender kiss right over a nipple and skims his nose and lips across your chest to do the same thing with the other. 

You moan softly. He grabs around your waist and helps lowering you down onto the bed. You sit on the edge but not for long, moving back until you can lay down spread out. He follows you like a magnet, ends up kneeling between your legs so he can undo and yank down your pants. 

You help kick them off and then bend your knees briefly to let him drag your underwear down too. His mouth is everywhere he can reach; your ankles, your calves, knees, and thighs. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs softly on his way down your inner thigh, breaking the silence, and while he says those words a lot, there’s something different behind them today. It is almost like he is telling you something else; you’re not broken, not defined in your femininity by your body’s ability to carry his child.

You hold tears at bay and run your hand over his hair, looking down at the top of his head as his face disappears down between your thighs. Your mouth falls open in a soft gasp when he first mouths along your cunt. 

“Javi,” you sigh a moment later, your head knocking back into the bed so you can look up at the ceiling while focusing on the velvety feeling of his mouth. 

He eats you slowly, the flat of his tongue gently moving over your clit until you can’t help each sigh and moan that falls from your lips. His fingers spread your cunt open, his other hand squeezing your thigh as he pulls your legs further apart to dive in. 

“Please,” you hear yourself say. It’s the moment you realize how long it has been since you last were together like this; he hasn’t gone down on you for months because it doesn’t make a baby. The room is quiet except for your labored breaths and the filthy wet sounds of his mouth teasing you towards the edge. It feels so good to be wanted like this, reassured of how sexy you are without all the pressure to procreate. 

Hearing that soft plea makes Javier wrap his lips around your clit to kiss it repeatedly. He moans into you when your legs start to tremble in his peripheral vision. He switches it up and sucks. It makes you whimper, your back arching off the bed as he worships you between your thighs.

You are sure that he’ll pull away when you lift your pelvis up to meet his mouth further, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he just slides the hand on your thigh down under the small of your back to hold you there, then breathes heavily through his nose and hungrily continues to make you inch closer to the edge. 

Like always, he can hear your orgasm knocking by the way you begin to hold your breath between small gasps of pleasure. He intensifies the pressure and the precision just so, and you slide both hands through his hair - something he has clearly been waiting for with the way he groans - while your toes start to curl. 

When you actually come, it drags a sinful groan out of the both of you. Your thighs lock around his head and you pull at his hair. It’s not pretty and polite. It’s pure release, and it is ripped out of you like it has been buried under your prickly skin, underneath heartbreak, forever. 

You say his name until it makes no sense anymore, swallowing down desperate gulps of air. He lets you ride it out on his tongue, making sure to tease out every little aftershock before releasing you from his grasp. Yes, you needed this but it is almost like he needed it more. 

“You don’t know what it does to me,” he breathes heavily while you come down. He trails off and rests his forehead against your thigh, “You don’t fucking know what it does to me… when you look at me like you did earlier… Like you’re done.”

“I’m not,” you whisper in reply, voice shaky with tears that have finally found release. You cry softly, “I’m not done. Never done.”

“Don’t cry, baby,” he looks up at you with those brown eyes that are so hard to resist because of the silent plead within them. It hurts your chest to watch him so full of remorse, hurts to be loved this much. 

“Come here,” you whisper softly and hold your arms open for him but he wants to take it slow. 

He kisses his way up your body instead - a kiss to your hip, your belly, one right beneath your ribs - and you use the opportunity to slide your fingers through his hair. His mustache is slick with you, scratching just slightly as he treats you like you might not be in his bed tomorrow. 

But while he wants to savor you, you feel the growing impatience within your chest. You need him closer, your hands going repeatedly from his hair to his shoulders and then to his back because you are unsure of where to touch him when you want all of him. 

When he has his knees between your thighs again, he doesn’t crush you with his weight. Instead, he hovers above, eyes roaming over your face to check if you’re still letting him have you. In response, you settle on cupping his face. He automatically turns his face to press a longing kiss into the palm of your hand. 

You pull him to your mouth in a kiss that steals his breath away, his hand cupping the side of your neck. You kiss him like you should have done the moment he came in through the door and he meets your mouth like he needs to feel forgiveness in his very bones. Maybe a kiss like this would have avoided the pain that you inflicted upon each other. You cry in his arms. He wipes tears away with his thumbs and doesn’t rush you. 

Eventually, you are panting from the intensity of what feels like one of the deepest kisses of your life. Your lips are swollen and sensitive, and his cock is hard against your thigh to the point where you think he must be aching. The occasional kiss to your throat makes your whole body tingle with want, your cunt fluttering in interest. The pressing issue, however, is that you need to put all of these feelings somewhere. 

“Fuck me,” you whisper with your fingers in his hair, breathing hard against his mouth, “Please, baby. I need you inside of me.”

Javier swears quietly under his breath as if he has been waiting for those words, nodding repeatedly with his stare fixed on your lips before giving you another desperate kiss. 

He reluctantly pulls away, your hands slipping out of his dark locks, to sit back on his knees. You let your palms lay flat on the sheets and stare up at him, his face full of determination while he slides his hands around the back of your knees. 

At first, you think he wants to drag you down on the bed and closer to himself but then he lifts your legs and you gasp because you immediately know what he is doing with you. He pushes until your thighs are pressed against your chest, your cunt on full display and at his mercy. 

He doesn’t speak as he moves over you again, not stopping until his chest brushes the back of your thighs and your ankles are resting on his broad shoulders. He folds you even further in when he leans down to kiss your throat, the soft sound that escapes you vibrating underneath his lips.

You grip the sheets and hold on for dear life as he enters you slowly, giving you the full length of his cock inch by inch. He holds your gaze as he bottoms out and it makes you so aware of everything he does to you. There's no space between you now. Not physically. Not emotionally. He looks at you as if telling you that you and he belong together, like he is ready to rewrite the last seven months of your sex life. 

You can’t speak, can’t even think because you’re still trembling and sensitive. The stretch of his cock is almost too much inside of you but he is gentle with you, letting you adjust while kissing his way to your mouth again. 

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips. 

You nod as if to reciprocate and then whimper as another tear escapes, “I love you. I missed you.”

“I know, I missed you too,” he whispers and gently kisses away the salty tear. 

The ache of need catches up to you as you get used to feeling him inside of your cunt so fully, the thick head of his cock resting against the spot where you need him the most. An impatient flutter of your walls makes him give in and move inside of you. 

You moan feebly while he takes you slowly and full of precision. The angle of this position has you breathless in seconds, your back arching with each stroke against your g-spot. Your moans mix together with the sound of skin slapping against skin in the otherwise quiet room. You hold onto his biceps, feeling the muscles of his arms flex beneath your touch as he strains his body to give you everything he has. 

“I’ve got it now, mi amor (my love)” he lets you know through ragged breaths, resting his forehead against yours, “You don’t have to start it anymore. No need to ask.” 

“Don’t stop. Javi— oh, don’t stop,” you plead him with a steady stream of teardrops falling from your eyes. They roll down into your hair faster than he can kiss them away but it doesn’t matter, you think to yourself, because you want him to see what he does to you; that his words move you, that you needed to hear them because you’re exhausted and fuck, he loves you so much. 

“Shh, don’t cry, baby, you’re okay,” he coos with another soft kiss to follow. You turn your head afterward to press your face into the side of his head, brows furrowing as the first hints of your climax being within reach show. 

He barely pulls out anymore, just grinds down into your cunt and hits the right spot repeatedly. There’s no talking either. Instead, just the sound of your sweat-slicked bodies moving together, your breath hitching in your throat as your belly tightens even more, and his growls every time your cunt squeezes around him.

“You feel so fucking good, baby. You’re making me come,” he grits out, sweat gathering on his brow and concentration all over his face. 

“I’m close,” you gasp with your thighs starting to tremble from how intense it is going to be. You let your head bump into the mattress, your spine arching in a bow as it creeps up on you and your breathing begins to stutter. 

You come with a silent cry towards the ceiling because all air is knocked out of you. It takes a few moments before noise catches up to you but when it does, you absolutely sob underneath the weight of his body. The intensity makes you clamp down on his cock, your walls going into rhythmic squeezes that make Javier hiss and his pace falter from how you milk him. 

“I’m coming,” he near-whimpers before going off into a satisfied groan while his hips stutter, “Fuck, baby. You’re— I’m coming.”

He buries himself to the hilt before spilling inside of your wet, oversensitive heat. You gasp at the feeling of it, the weight of it settling inside of you. He trembles above you, enough for you to slide your hands up to his shoulders and cup his face. 

He holds himself up with one hand and holds one of yours with the other, breathing rapidly. His chest is broad and glistening with sweat, warm and nearly suffocating but he is yours. You want it like that, want to drown in the intimacy that you feel. 

Without a word, he straightens and pulls out his softening cock. It makes you tense up, looking down where you have been connected with worry on your face. You don’t want it to slip, to not work this time either, but he guides your legs together and then shifts slightly on the mattress. He lays them gently on one shoulder, making sure that no drop spills from you. 

“I’ve got you,” he coos, almost shushing you like a child. His arms cradle your legs, “Don’t worry.”

You can do nothing but whimper. He rubs your belly with his free hand and you place your palm on top of it, an unconscious gesture of hope between you. 

“This is the most important thing,” he says after weighing his words for a moment, “You and I.”

“Javi,” you protest but there’s no exasperation building up beneath the surface this time. He shakes his head to stop any words at the tip of your tongue. 

“I will give you anything you want. A house, a baby, anything you want,” he tells you, whispering it as if there are other people in the room besides the two of you and he wants privacy. It feels safer to hear him lower his voice, “But not if it costs me you. We are not meant to fight like that.”

Your bottom lip trembles because he is right. You’re not meant to fight like that at all, chests heaving with adrenaline and bloodlust from grief over the fact that something is getting the better of you. It feels as unnatural as snow in August and rivers running dry. 

“I want to give you a baby,” you say quietly and feel a tear slide down your cheek. Javier reaches to brush it away with his index finger, shushing you once more with the gentleness in him only reserved for you. 

“And you will,” he promises and cups your cheek afterward, his thumb stroking your face where another tear has fallen, “It’ll happen. This way or another.”

Your eyes flutter closed. You nod. 

“Do you know how much I love you?” He asks and lets his mouth graze the side of your ankle. 

“I love you too,” you say back without much thought that he is actually asking a question. 

“Yes, but do you know how much? Look at me,” he waits for a moment.

Your gaze locks onto him, your eyes big and teary.

“I don’t think you know how lucky I am to have you in my life after all the stupid shit I’ve done back in Colombia. I hurt people. I watched people die. No wonder I wasn’t all here when I came back. I thought I was just gonna float through the rest of my life being angry or drifting in some bar like a ghost. You were the first thing that felt like… like the world could be soft again. And now you think I could ever stop wanting you?” He shakes his head in disbelief, “You’re the only place I’ve ever felt like I could put my feet down and not run. When everything starts to weigh down on me, you breathe life back into me. Whatever happens next, I want it with you, okay?”

You cry with your heart feeling too big for your chest, words lost on you because how can he still love you when this takes such a toll on you that it brings out the worst in you? Probably just how you can love him just the same too.

You sniffle, “Yes, me too.”

He looks serious and soft, “Even if it’s not how we imagined. Even if we gotta go knock on Connie’s door and ask for the number of that adoption agency… or do IVF… or whatever the hell else it takes.”

You nod. When you speak, it is nothing but a squeak, “Yes.”

“But right now,” he caresses the skin of your calf and murmurs into another kiss to your ankle, “I just wanna stay here. In this bed. With my wife… and let the world wait a little while longer. Can we do that?”

“Can I get my legs down, so we can cuddle?” You shift a little, still slick between your thighs and sore in the best way, but there’s no rush to clean up or face anything other than the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

He smiles, “Of course. Lift your legs, I’ve got you.”

He does. He always does.

.

.

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[tikitakatia]

Escape — A. Putellas x Reader

"You´re the Love That I´ve Looked for"

WC: 10.3k

Summary: Alexia finally got to feel the silence she made you live in, Tofu wouldn’t look at her and you wouldn’t answer. But she stayed, and slowly you start rebuilding what was broken.

Pt. 1 , Pt. 2 , Pt. 3 , Pt.4 , Pt. 5

The door shut so softly it felt cruel. Not a slam. Not a scream. Just… a closing. The end of something that used to matter.

Alexia didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. She just stood there, duffel strap digging into her shoulder, heartbeat loud in her ears, like her body was trying to make noise in a silence that had already swallowed her whole.

Tofu didn’t move. He sat by the door, nose to the floor, eyes trained on the spot you had disappeared through. Perfectly still. Like he didn’t need the door to open to know you were gone.

Alexia let the bag fall first. Then her body followed.

She dropped to her knees like her legs had stopped knowing how to hold her, hands trembling, breath stuttering into something smaller. Quieter. She reached out to Tofu slowly, fingers outstretched like maybe he could fix it. Maybe he would let her hold on to something.

“Tofu,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Chiqui, I- I messed it up.”

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t shift. Just kept his eyes on the door like she didn’t exist.

A sob caught in her throat, sharp and ugly. She buried her face in her hands and tried to keep it in, but it clawed its way out anyway. Guttural, aching, desperate. Her shoulders shook. Her ribs folded. She curled into herself on the floor like grief had a grip on her spine.

“I just wanted her to talk to me,” she gasped to the dog. “I didn’t think she’d actually want to meet me.”

Another sob. Louder now. A broken, bitten-off sound that made her wince even as it left her mouth.

“I didn’t mean for it to go that far.”

Tofu gave a low whine. Not in sympathy, but annoyance. Then turned his back to her.

It felt like getting slapped.

Alexia pressed her forehead to the floor. Cried harder.

“I didn’t know how else to come home to her. I thought… I thought if I could be someone she didn’t hate, maybe I could find a way back.”

She turned her head. Tofu still faced the door, ears flicking, body tense.

“She’s gone,” Alexia whispered, throat torn. “She’s really gone.”

She reached for him again, fingertips brushing his side.

Tofu growled loudly and Alexia pulled her hand back like she’d been burned. She sat frozen for a moment, then broke down completely. Quiet sobs wracking her chest, fists pressed to her mouth like maybe shame could be swallowed whole.

This wasn’t how she imagined it. Not the reveal. Not the aftermath. Not this loss. She thought maybe there’d be yelling. Or slamming doors. Or one of those movie fights where someone cried and the other stayed. But this?

This was worse.

No sound. No forgiveness. No hand reaching back.

Just a closed door and a dog who wouldn’t meet her eyes.

She stayed there for too long. Knees pressed to the floor and tears soaking into the cuffs of her sweatshirt. Her phone lay abandoned somewhere next to her, face-down, like it couldn’t bear to be seen right now.

Eventually, she crawled over to it. Then sat on the floor against the couch, legs curled into her chest, staring at the thread that had meant everything.

[lostinthecrowd]: What if I want to see you anyway?

The message that broke the dam and set this ending in motion. She scrolled up, past the dumb jokes, the soft moments, the pieces of herself she only knew how to offer in writing. It all looked different now. Wrong.

She opened a blank reply. Typed:

“I’m sorry.”

Backspaced.

“I didn’t think you’d ever want to talk to me if it was really me.”

Deleted that too.

Her fingers hovered. Then dropped.

Finally, she typed:

“I fucked up so badly.”

“I know I don´t deserve it, deserve you.”

“But I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

She didn’t send it.

She just hit save. Then let the phone fall from her lap to the floor again. Behind her, Tofu paced once, then settled in your usual spot on the couch.

Alexia watched him. “I gave you to her,” she whispered, voice splitting down the middle. “You’re supposed to be hers.”

Tofu barely turned his head when he let out a sharp, pointed bark.

Not startled. Not afraid.

Accusing.

Like he knew exactly what she did.

Alexia´s chest caved.

She didn’t deserve forgiveness. Not from him. Not from you.

She stayed on the floor until the shaking dulled. Until her fingers went numb against the tile. Until the grief stopped screaming and started whispering, meaner and closer. Like it had learned her name.

Alexia didn’t sleep that first night.

She tried. God she really tried. She lay in the bed the two of you used to share, arms crossed over her chest like a corpse, staring at the ceiling with dry eyes and a churning stomach. Your side of the mattress stayed untouched. Cold. Still smelled like the leave-in you always used.

But she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t stay in the bed you’d walked away from.

So she ended up on the couch, knees to her chest, still in the sweatshirt she flew home in, head tipped back like maybe gravity would drain the ache out of her body.

Tofu had jumped up onto the cushions once. Just once. He stood on the armrest, surveyed the room like a tiny general, and then hopped down with purpose. She didn’t think much of it. Thought maybe he was headed for the kitchen.

But hours later, she found him.

Not in his bed. Not on the blanket you always tucked into the corner for him.

No.

He was lying on the doormat. Right in front of the door. Nose pointed at the seam. Completely still.

Like he was waiting.

Like he knew you hadn’t just left, you were gone.

She crouched slowly, heart lurching at the sight of him.

“Tofu,” she said gently. “C’mon, bebe. Come sleep with me.”

Nothing.

She reached out, hand tentative.

And he growled at her.

A sound that said: You don’t get to touch me.

She recoiled like he’d burned her. Swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. That’s fair.”

She backed away, hands up. Sat in the hallway until the sun started to rise, watching him guard the last place he saw you. Like if he blinked, he might miss you coming home.

The next morning, Alexia tried again.

She got up earlier than she needed to and moved through the apartment like it might bite her. The kitchen lights were too bright and the silence had teeth.

She filled Tofu’s bowl exactly the way you showed her in the photos you used to send. Warm water, just a splash. Not too much kibble. A few careful bites of leftover chicken from the fridge. She even cut them into perfect little cubes, tiny and bland, the way you insisted was better for his stomach.

She placed the bowl down gently. Sat back on her heels.

“Tofu,” she said softly, like a peace offering. “I did it right this time. Just like she does.”

He approached slowly. Sniffed the bowl.

Then sniffed her.

Then turned around and walked out of the room.

It wasn’t dramatic. Just… pointed. The kind of slow, deliberate rejection that didn’t need words to say: I don’t trust you either.

Alexia stared after him, lips parted like she might argue with a dog. Then closed her mouth, leaned back against the cabinets, and let out a bitter little laugh.

“Alright..” she muttered. Behind her, the untouched bowl sat in the quiet. Waiting. Just like everything else in this apartment.

By the third day, Alexia had fully unraveled into someone who talked to a dog like he was her therapist. Or a very small, judgmental roommate with better morals than her.

“Okay, here’s what I know,” she said, pacing the kitchen with a spoon in one hand and a towel slung over her shoulder like she had a plan.

“She left you with me. Which means, in her heart of hearts, she still thought there was something in me worth trusting. Right?”

Tofu blinked at her from his spot curled up near the radiator. His tail was tucked tight. His ears twitched once but didn’t perk. He looked unimpressed. Maybe even bored.

Alexia kept pacing.

“She didn’t say goodbye to you,” she pointed out. “Not really. She just said ‘stay.’ That has to mean something.”

Tofu yawned.

She turned back to the stove. The soup was already starting to bubble and something smelled off.

“Shit,” she hissed, spinning to turn the heat down. “No, no. Fuck!”

The pot hissed in protest as she fumbled for a spoon, knocking over a half-empty water glass in the process. It spilled onto the counter, into the drawer. She groaned, mopping it up with the towel on her shoulder, which immediately made everything worse.

“Okay. Okay. We’re still alive. That’s something.”

Tofu snorted behind her. Not a sneeze. A snort.

She turned around, hair a mess, hoodie stained with broth, damp towel dangling from her hand like a white flag.

“Don’t judge me,” she muttered. “This is grief. I’m grieving.”

Tofu stood up, stretched dramatically like she wasn’t even worth the energy it took, and walked out of the kitchen without a sound.

Alexia stared after him.

“Wow,” she said to the empty doorway. “Incredible bedside manner.”

Silence answered.

So she ate burnt soup alone. And when she left the bowl of kibble out for him later, chicken chopped, water warm and perfect, you still didn’t come back.

But Tofu curled up on your side of the bed that night, a huge space between him and Alexia, facing the door. Just in case.

The first crack came that same night.

Alexia woke up with a start, chest heaving, heart pounding like it had been running in her sleep. Her shirt clung damp to her back, her throat dry. She sat up too fast and blinked into the darkness, pulse roaring in her ears.

The bed was cold.

She reached across the sheets before she could stop herself. Habit, not hope and her hand met nothing but the tucked-in corner where you used to sleep. The ache bloomed again. Dull now, but constant. It was amazing how silence could hum when it wanted to hurt you.

The apartment hadn’t known laughter in so long. She hadn’t either.

She curled her knees toward her chest, burying her face in them, trying not to cry again. The grief was quieter now, but heavier. Not a wave, just weight. Sitting in her lungs. Stretching out behind her eyes. Every breath felt borrowed.

Then, soft. Barely there.

A gentle pressure against her ankle.

She froze.

Lifted her head slowly.

Tofu.

He was standing beside the bed, one paw on her leg, head low, ears flat. He wasn’t curled up like he wanted comfort. He wasn’t wagging. Wasn’t looking for affection. He was just there.

Present.

Watching.

Not forgiving. Not forgetting. But not walking away either.

“I know,” Alexia whispered, throat tight. “I miss her too.”

Tofu didn’t move. Just blinked once and stayed exactly where he was.

And god, it wrecked her more than if he’d snarled.

Because it meant something. Not trust. Not yet. But acknowledgement. She wasn’t forgiven, but she wasn’t alone.

The next morning, that crack became an argument.

Tofu, and her by extension, hadn’t left the house in four days. Every time she clipped the leash, he sat down. Every time she opened the door, he refused to budge. When she tried to lure him with treats, he turned his head away like she’d offered him poison.

But this morning? This morning he barked.

Loud.

Once. Then twice. Then again, louder, sharper, until she came stumbling into the room with her hoodie inside-out and one sock on.

“What? What do you need?”

He whined and walked in a slow, angry circle.

Then barked again. Shoved his nose into the leash where it hung by the door.

“Oh,” Alexia blinked. “You… want to go now?”

Tofu didn’t bark again. Just glared.

And when she reached for the leash, he let her clip it on but growled the moment she hesitated.

She winced. “Okay, okay! I’m going!”

It wasn’t a walk so much as a hostage negotiation. He pulled. She tripped. He stopped to growl at a leaf. She apologized to a trash can. He barked at a bike rack and nearly dislocated her shoulder.

But they walked.

Together.

And when they came back inside, panting and annoyed and soaked from the shoulders down because Alexia forgot to check the weather, Tofu shook out his fur, trotted back to the bed, and claimed your pillow.

Alexia stood there dripping in the hallway, heart thrumming.

By the end of the week, something shifted.

Alexia was on the couch, folding the same sweatshirt for the third time like it might somehow keep her hands too busy to unravel. The TV murmured in the background, some forgettable, low-effort reality show she wasn’t really watching. Just noise to fill the apartment that had been echoing since the moment you walked out.

She almost missed it. A flicker of motion in her periphery.

Tofu.

Not camped by the front door. Not glaring at her from across the room with that weirdly human look of betrayal. He was on the couch, awkward, stiff and clearly uncertain.

Not on your side.

But curled half on top of the hoodie she'd thrown off days before. The one still smelling faintly like her regret, like every night she hadn’t known how to be soft with you until it was too late.

Tofu must’ve dragged it down from the chair. Tugged it across the cushions like some grumpy little dragon hoarding relics that didn’t belong to him. His chin rested on the sleeve, tucked in like he was guarding it. Not in comfort. In loyalty.

Alexia didn’t breathe. Didn’t move.

Her phone sat on the armrest. She reached for it carefully, like a wrong breath might scare him off. Opened the camera and took one photo. Slightly blurred, off-center. But real.

She typed slowly.

[go4goald2]: He misses you. I miss you more.

But she didn’t send it right away.

She stayed on the floor, spine pressed to the couch, staring at him. At the hoodie. At the space where you used to nap, laugh, pull her down beside you like gravity.

Tofu’s breathing was steady. Peaceful. Not for her. Not yet. But not guarded, either.

Her finger hovered.

Then tapped send.

She didn’t expect anything back. Not after what she’d done. Not after the way you looked at her like she’d ruined something sacred.

But her phone buzzed.

She stared at it for too long before daring to open it.

[lostinthecrowd]: He looks cozy.

Three words. Not warm. But present.

Then, another.

[lostinthecrowd]: Thanks for taking care of him. I know he’s not easy.

She glanced at Tofu again, now flopped sideways, one paw tossed across the hoodie like he was dramatically exhausted by the weight of his own judgment. His tail flicked once. Almost lazy.

Alexia smiled. Barely.

“I’m trying,” she whispered, more to herself than him.

She typed:

[go4goald2]: He growled at me for three days. I deserved it.

Then her thumbs moved again.

[go4goald2]: I’ve been trying to get him to eat. Did the chicken the way you taught me. He licked it once. Stared at me like I insulted his ancestors.

[lostinthecrowd]: Sounds about right.

She smiled. It was small. Crooked. It cracked and healed her all at once.

[go4goald2]: But today he sat next to me. Like, actually next to me. No side-eyes. No dramatic huffs. It felt like a miracle.

No reply came for a while.

And she almost let it sit there, like everything else between you.

But then the typing bubble appeared.

[lostinthecrowd]: Maybe he’s waiting for me. But letting you try anyway.

God.

Alexia felt her eyes sting again. She blinked up at the ceiling. Then typed:

[go4goald2]: That’s what this is. All of this. Me trying. Not knowing how to fix it, but trying anyway.

[go4goald2]: I know you don’t trust it yet. I get it. But if there’s a version of us that can still be built... I want to build it. Even if it takes forever.

There was a pause. Then:

[lostinthecrowd]: He tried to steal my spoon the first night I had him.

Alexia laughed.

Like, actually laughed. A breathy, shocked sound that felt clumsy in her mouth.

[go4goald2]: Of course he did. He’s got main character energy.

[lostinthecrowd]: He really does. Threw a sock in the toilet once just to make a point.

[go4goald2]: A menace. A genius.

[go4goald2]: I think he likes being yours, though. Even if he pretends not to.

[lostinthecrowd]: Maybe. He always did want his own storyline.

Then, a beat.

[lostinthecrowd]: How is he now?

Alexia looked over.

Tofu had shifted closer without her noticing. Not touching her. Not curled into her side. But near. Watching her with half-lidded eyes. His ears relaxed.

She took a photo: soft light, tired dog, the sock still under one paw and sent it.

[go4goald2]: Still waiting for you. But not angry anymore. I think he’s starting to believe in me.

The reply came a minute later.

[lostinthecrowd]: He doesn’t do that easily.

Alexia exhaled, slow and uneven.

[lostinthecrowd]: But neither did I.

She let that one sit. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure whether to push or stay still. But the quiet on the other side didn’t feel closed off anymore. It felt like breathing room. A window left cracked.

So the next night, she sent a photo of Tofu sprawled belly-up across the living room rug, paws twitching in some dream-fueled chaos. His tongue lolled sideways. One of her shoes rested between his front legs like he’d claimed it as a trophy. He wasn’t chewing it. Just… holding it. Like he knew it mattered to her.

[go4goald2]: Is this emotional manipulation or just standard pettiness?

The reply came quickly.

[lostinthecrowd]: It’s a loyalty test. You’re failing.

Alexia smiled at the screen. Really smiled this time. Let the warmth stay a little longer than usual.

Later that week, she found him curled up in the laundry basket again. Not sleeping. Just there. Still. Silent. His body draped over one of your old T-shirts, eyes fixed on the front door like maybe if he stared long enough it would open.

She didn’t caption the photo. Just sent it.

The reply came five hours later, in the middle of the night.

[lostinthecrowd]: You’re doing better than I thought you would.

That one hit her differently. Not a punch. Not a sting. Just a shift. Like the first groan of thawed ground after winter.

Her thumb hovered, then typed:

[go4goald2]: I talk to him like you used to. Out loud. Like he understands me.

[go4goald2]: Sometimes I think he does. Sometimes I think he’s judging me with your voice.

The typing bubble blinked, then disappeared, then blinked again.

[lostinthecrowd]: That’s because he is.

It made something flutter behind her ribs. Not joy. Not quite. Just closeness. Something that didn’t feel so far anymore.

She leaned into it.

[go4goald2]: I think I’m getting better at hearing it. Your voice, I mean.

[go4goald2]: Even if it’s just in my head.

[go4goald2]: But I’d rather have the real thing.

There was no immediate answer.

No dot-dot-dot.

Just stillness.

She didn’t push. She couldn’t. Not now, at least.

That night, it rained. Not a downpour, just a soft, consistent drizzle that made the windows hum and the streets glow gold under the streetlights. The kind of rain you used to love. You once told her it made the city sound like it had a secret.

Tofu settled by her feet, chin resting on her ankle like he was claiming it in sleep. Alexia pulled a blanket over her knees, hoodie zipped high, and stared at the window like it might talk back.

She didn’t plan it. Just hit record.

Her voice was quiet. Steady.

“The rain’s asking for you.”

That was it.

She didn’t expect a reply.

But just before sunrise, her phone buzzed.

[lostinthecrowd]: Is the window still broken in the bedroom?

Alexia sat up so fast she startled the dog. Her hands were already shaking as she typed.

[go4goald2]: No. I fixed it last week.

[go4goald2]: It doesn’t whistle anymore.

[go4goald2]: … Do you want to come see for yourself?

Silence.

She waited, nerves crawling beneath her skin.

Then:

[lostinthecrowd]: If I do…

[lostinthecrowd]: Will there be tea?

Alexia bit down a breath that felt like it might wreck her.

[go4goald2]: There’ll be tea. And silence. And your side of the bed still cold.

[go4goald2]: You don’t have to explain anything. Just… be here. If you want to be.

She hit send.

Then rested the phone on her chest like it might feel her heartbeat. Like it might carry the message further than words could reach.

Alexia hadn’t expected a reply after her previous one went unanswered.

But she sent the message anyway.

[go4goald2]: I keep wondering if we would’ve made it if I’d never let it get this far. If I’d just told you the truth right away.

You saw it that night.

Didn’t respond. Didn’t even open the thread right away. Just stared at the preview in your notifications, thumb hovering like maybe the message would disappear if you looked away long enough.

Because yeah. You’d wondered too.

Wondered what would’ve happened if she’d been honest. If she hadn’t hidden behind a screen. If it hadn’t taken pretending to be someone else to finally say the things you needed to hear. Would you have come back on your own? Would you have stayed? Would it still have felt like a betrayal?

You didn’t have the answer. But you knew one thing for sure:

That version of the story, the kinder one, the easier one, it didn’t happen.

So you left the message unread.

And far across the city, Alexia stared at the lack of a reply like it had weight. Heavy. Expected. 

Still brutal.

That night, the rain started again.

Not a storm. Just a slow, steady drizzle that tapped against the windows like a heartbeat she couldn’t shut out. She lay in bed, hoodie still on, legs tangled in sheets she hadn’t bothered to straighten in days. Her arm moved before her mind did, stretching across the mattress toward the other side. Your side.

It was cold.

Always was now.

Just a dent in the pillow. Just a memory of weight. No warmth. No hand reaching back.

“I should’ve said it was me from the start,” she whispered into the dark, barely louder than the rain.

No one answered. Not the room. Not the ache in her ribs. Not even the dog curled at the far end of the bed, resolutely not touching her.

The next day, while doing laundry she’d put off for way too long, her hand brushed something soft. Worn. Familiar. She pulled it out slowly, already knowing what it was by feel alone.

Your shirt.

The one with the stretched-out collar. The faded hem. The smell that hadn’t quite faded even though it’d been days. It was the one you used to wear when you needed comfort but didn’t want to say it out loud. She remembered it vividly. And holding it now, Alexia sank straight to the floor, laundry forgotten. Not crying. Not breaking.

Just breathing through it.

Holding the shirt like maybe it could tell her what to do next.

But the shift didn’t happen in her hands. It happened later, in the dark, when she couldn’t sleep again.

Alexia sat on the floor that night, back against the wall, wrapped in the blanket that still smelled like you. Tofu padded over around 3AM. Paused. Judged. And then without any fanfare, curled up beside her. Slowly. Deliberately. Head on her thigh. Like he’d finally decided she wasn’t going to ruin everything.

She didn’t move. Just let her tears fall quiet. Gentle.

The dog didn’t even flinch.

In the morning, she picked up her phone and typed without thinking:

[go4goald2]: He slept on me last night. Not for long. But he stayed.

She didn’t add anything else. Just let it hang there. Let it exist without expectation.

You didn’t see it right away. You were trying not to obsess over every word. Every tiny signal. But when you did open the thread again, something in you softened.

You typed, slowly:

[lostinthecrowd]: I kept waiting for the moment you’d lie to me again. Or disappear. Or make this about fixing things on your timeline, not mine.

[lostinthecrowd]: But you didn’t. You just… stayed. Even when I didn’t answer. Even when I said nothing back.

You stared at the screen for too long after that. Thought about erasing it. Thought about softening it. But for once, you didn’t.

Because it was the truth.

And then, after a few more seconds of breathing through it:

[lostinthecrowd]: And that’s the part I keep thinking about.

The staying.

The quiet.

The fact that she didn’t try to talk you out of your anger. She just sat with it. Let it be heavy. Let it be real.

Alexia read the messages once.

Twice.

A fourth time. A fifth.

She didn’t type anything back right away.

Her thumbs hovered over the screen, then curled into her palms like if she gripped them tightly enough, maybe the words would settle on their own.

And finally, slowly, like she didn’t want to startle the moment:

[go4goald2]: Take all the space you need.

[go4goald2]: I’ll still be here. However long it takes.

Then nothing else.

No heart emoji. No typing bubble.

Just space.

Offered freely.

Not as pressure, but as proof.

And if you were still out there on the other side of it.

Still reading. Still thinking.

Still maybe, maybe starting to come home..

Then for Alexia, that was enough.

It had been three weeks since the last real message.

Three weeks since the slow stretch of hope gave way to silence again. Not sharp, not final, just quiet. Like space being offered, not punishment.

Alexia didn’t text anything after that night except the updates.

“Tofu still hates my omelets.”

“He barked at a moth for five minutes straight.”

“He sat by the door today. Not growling. Just waiting. Like he knows something I don’t.”

You never responded.

But she kept sending them anyway. Like little postcards addressed to a version of you that might still be listening.

This morning was like the others. Still, cool and gentle around the edges. She pulled on a hoodie, grabbed Tofu’s leash, and let herself walk slowly through streets that had stopped feeling familiar without you in them.

Tofu was better these days. Still picky. Still temperamental. But the growling had stopped. And sometimes when he thought she wasn’t looking, he’d walk closer to her side. Not touching. Just near.

They got home just after eight. Alexia kicked off her shoes, dried off his paws, and set about making breakfast. Toast. Soft scrambled eggs. Coffee that didn’t taste like anything unless you put your whole back into the sugar.

She made Tofu’s food first, humming under her breath as she cut the chicken into tiny pieces. It was routine now, the kind that makes you feel like you’re doing something right just by doing it again.

He wandered toward the kitchen, sniffed the bowl, and miracle of miracles started to eat.

Alexia smiled to herself. A tiny win.

Then, 

A sound.

So small she almost didn’t hear it.

The lock turning.

She paused, spatula mid-air. Blinked. Waited.

Nothing.

Then the quiet click of the door closing.

She didn’t turn around right away.

But Tofu did.

He froze. Head snapping toward the hallway. Then without hesitation, he bolted, paws scraping across the tile as he launched into a full sprint, tail high and wild.

Alexia’s chest went still.

And then she heard it.

Your voice. Breathless. Gentle.

“Hi, baby.”

She turned slowly.

Saw it unfold from the kitchen like it was happening in another room, another life.

Tofu crashed into your knees like he was trying to fuse your atoms back together. You dropped your bag right there, sank to the floor without thinking, arms already around him. He whined. Whimpered. Climbed half into your lap. Your hands moved frantically over his ears, his chest, his back, like you were making sure he was real, or maybe making sure you were.

Alexia didn’t move.

She stood there, heart in her throat, spatula still in one hand like a prop she’d forgotten to put down.

Her heart tripped over a beat.

You looked up.

Met her eyes.

The breath she didn’t know she’d been holding caught hard in her chest.

Your mouth moved first. Not a smile just yet. But soft recognition and something like exhaustion.

Alexia blinked. Swallowed.

“Did you…” she started, then cleared her throat. “Did you eat yet?”

You shook your head, still on the floor with Tofu curled into your side like he hadn’t seen you in years.

Her smile came slowly. Uneven. A little shaky.

“Sit,” she said. “I’ll make you something.”

You stood without saying a word. Walked to the table. Sat down like you still didn’t know if was a good idea to be back here so soon.

Tofu followed, laid at your feet again like he’d never moved.

Alexia turned back to the stove. Cracked two new eggs. Burned the toast again but didn’t curse this time. Her hands were shaking. Her heart was louder now, steady and panicked.

Once she was done, she laid it in front of you and sat across from you, slowly, still trembling. Her knee bounced under the table.

“I didn’t know if you’d…” She trailed off. Bit her lip. “But I kept waiting.”

You looked at her, quiet, unreadable.

Then, softly:

“I know.”

The moment sat between you.

Not forgiveness, but the first breath of it.

Like a slow song at 3AM, playing quietly in the background while everything rearranges itself inside your chest.

And God, Alexia would’ve waited a hundred more mornings for this one.

That night, you made your way into the bedroom first. It was your first full day back, and you were exhausted. Emotionally and physically. Your ribs ached like something had been let go too fast.

Alexia came in later, slow and careful. She stood in the doorway with her pillow against her hip like a stranger in her own house.

You were already on the far side of the bed, blanket pulled to your chin, eyes half-lidded but open. Watching.

Alexia hesitated. Then stepped back.

“I’ll take the couch,” she said gently.

You didn’t argue. Just nodded. “Okay.”

She deserved the couch. She knew that. She made it up herself. Blanket, a slightly too-flat pillow, a soft exhale when she laid down like she was bracing for the ceiling to collapse.

Sleep didn’t come easily. Not for either of you.

You turned once in the night and saw her there, sprawled uncomfortably, one arm over her face like it might erase the guilt.

The next few days passed like ghosts. Echoes of what you used to be. You existed near each other, but never quite with. Enough to share the air, but not the weight.

Alexia still cooked.

You still ate.

Tofu wedged himself between the two of you like clockwork. Head on your knee. Tail tapping once against Alexia’s leg like an afterthought. He’d chosen to stay with her. That was your choice. But God, did he know how to keep the tension perfectly preserved. Every time Alexia shifted an inch closer, he countered. A living buffer.

Conversation didn’t come easily, not yet. It was mostly small things.

“Do you need more toothpaste? I think I used the last of yours.”

“No, it’s fine. I brought some.”

Silence.

“There’s clean laundry on the bed,” she offered. “I didn’t fold yours. Wasn’t sure if you still… like your socks inside out.”

You blinked. “I do.”

More silence.

But she kept discovering new versions of you, now quietly spoken: the way you curled your fingers when you were anxious. How you tapped your thumb against the mug handle while you thought. That you still hated mushrooms but now loved cherry marmalade, which made her smile against the rim of her own cup.

You poured her coffee on day three.

With whipped cream and a lot of cinnamon.

She almost cried into it.

By day five, she stopped trying to talk. Just listened. Let you move around the apartment like it belonged to both of you again, even if it didn’t feel that way yet.

You fell asleep on the couch watching a documentary one night. Tofu at your feet. Remote halfway off the cushion. Your head tilted against the armrest in that vulnerable way you used to hate being seen in.

Alexia stood at the edge of the room for a full minute.

Then walked over. Blanket in hand.

She draped it over you slowly. Her fingers brushed your shoulder as she tucked it under your chin.

You didn’t move.

But your hand curled around the edge of the blanket like maybe you felt it. Maybe that meant something.

The next morning, she found you in the kitchen.

Two mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of home-made churros sat side by side.

She blinked. “You remembered.”

You looked over your shoulder, voice soft. “How could I forget?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. Tried not to cry again.

You still didn’t touch much.

But that night, in the hallway, you passed too closely, and her shoulder brushed yours. You didn’t flinch.

She didn’t step away, but she let it linger.

The air between you had changed, it was no longer charged with hurt. Just full. Full of waiting. Full of maybe.

And Alexia?

She could live in maybe.

As long as you were still here to keep filling it.

It started with the laundry. Not dramatic. Not symbolic. Just a pile of shared life folded into fresh corners. Shirts, socks, a hoodie that might’ve been yours but ended up on her side once, back when there was a “her side” to anything. Alexia stood in the hallway, watching you fold a pair of your own leggings with practiced detachment. She hadn’t meant to watch, hadn’t meant to hover, but there she was. Arms crossed, thumb picking at her nail, heart doing that nervous skip it always did around you now.

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t look up.

But you didn’t leave either.

She stepped closer. Careful. Soft.

You didn’t flinch.

Not even when her hand brushed the towel you’d just folded, her knuckles grazing yours for half a second too long. Electricity passed between you like a memory. Like want. Like maybe the version of you that used to lean into that kind of touch was still there, buried under all the ache.

Neither of you said a word. But when you turned away, your shoulders weren’t tight. You let her stay in the room with you. That was new.

And it was enough for now.

The nights stayed quiet, but the silence changed color.

You were back in the bed since the first day, but not in the middle. Not curled into her like you used to be. But finally, your pillow smelled like your hair again, and your blanket had a shape to it.

Alexia still didn’t join you.

She slept on the couch without complaint. Every night. A blanket to her chin, the room always just a little too cold, your breathing just out of reach.

Sometimes, you left the door open.

And sometimes, she lingered in the hallway with a glass of water she didn’t need, staring through the crack at the curve of your leg beneath the covers. At Tofu, curled in the crook behind your knees like a sentry. At the way your lips parted in sleep.

She never crossed the threshold. Not once.

But she always whispered, “Goodnight.”

You never answered. But your breathing slowed a little when she said it.

Evenings meant parallel lives in the same space.

You watched documentaries with the volume low. She scrolled through her phone with headphones in, but her eyes never stayed focused. Not really. Not when she could watch your face instead. The way your eyebrows furrowed. The little exhale you gave when you smiled. The way your fingers curled into your hoodie like you didn’t trust yourself not to reach for something or someone.

One night, she sat closer.

Not beside you.

But not across the room anymore either.

You didn’t look over.

But you let your leg rest just a breath away from hers on the cushion.

When Tofu climbed up and draped himself across both your laps, you didn’t shoo him off. You let him be the bridge. The wall. The truce.

Alexia pet him slowly.

You didn’t stop her.

That was something.

Some nights, you fell asleep on the couch. Exhausted, TV humming quietly, the light from the kitchen still on. You never made it to the bedroom. You didn’t have to.

Alexia always found you. She always brought a blanket. She never woke you. Just tucked it around your legs and let her hand brush your shoulder for a second longer than necessary.

One night, she let her fingers linger near your cheek.

Didn’t touch.

Just hovered.

She whispered, “You looked peaceful.”

Then walked away like saying it out loud made it real.

On day seven, she stood at the foot of the bed, pillow in her arms like a white flag.

You looked up, already under the covers.

Not asleep. Just waiting.

She shifted.

“I’m not staying,” she said quickly, like a promise. “I just can’t sleep without hearing you breathe.”

You didn’t tell her to leave.

You didn’t say anything.

Just scooted over, barely.

She took it for what it was. A maybe. A mercy.

She laid down, stiff and small, the blanket pulled to her shoulders like it might keep the apology inside her from slipping out.

You stared at the ceiling. She did too.

Minutes passed.

Then, like it broke free without permission,

“I’m scared to ask if you hate me.”

Silence.

You turned your head, just slightly.

“I don’t,” you said.

Then quieter:

“But I’m scared to need you again.”

Alexia swallowed hard.

“I never stopped needing you.”

You didn’t move closer. You didn’t run away either.

Your voice cracked when you whispered, “I know.”

That night, sleep didn’t come easy.

But peace did.

In pieces.

And maybe, just maybe, you were letting her earn her way back in.

Not with promises. But with presence.

With patience.

With staying.

The rain came back on a Tuesday.

Soft, steady, the kind that made the city hum quieter. You were curled up on the couch, a blanket thrown over your legs, a book you weren’t really reading open on your lap. Tofu lay at your feet, chin resting on your ankle, completely still except for the occasional twitch of his ear.

Alexia had been pacing the kitchen for a while now.

Not loud. Just… aimless. Restless. Pulling mugs down, putting them back. Opening the fridge like something new might’ve appeared since the last time she checked. Her hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows, hair pulled back like she’d tried to distract herself with anything practical.

But it wasn’t working.

And eventually, she just stood there.

Back against the counter. Arms folded. Staring.

You didn’t look up, but you felt the weight of her needing to say something.

Then, quietly, her voice broke the quiet.

“I keep trying to earn this house back.”

You blinked. Closed the book. Looked over your shoulder.

Alexia’s eyes met yours.

“And I keep realizing… I don’t care about the house. I care about what it felt like when you were in it.”

You didn’t say anything. Not yet. Not when her voice was already trembling.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I’ve said that before. But I don’t think I ever said it all the way. Not like this.”

She stepped forward. One pace. Then another. Until she was standing just a few feet away, hands shaking at her sides.

“I was selfish,” she said, voice cracking. “I didn’t know how to lose you, so I lied to keep you close. And I know that’s not love. Not the kind you deserve.”

You stared at her. Every part of you tense, ready to harden.

But she kept going.

“I let you grieve alone. I let you wonder if I still saw you. And then I showed up in another skin because I didn’t believe I could be someone worth staying for.”

Her voice broke there. Fully. Like something inside her gave out.

“I didn’t want to trap you. I just… I missed the sound of your laugh. I missed the way you made space for me. I missed being the one you turned to when things felt heavy. And I thought… maybe if I came in quietly, I wouldn’t scare you off.”

You swallowed hard. Still frozen.

Alexia stepped closer again.

“I was scared to be seen. Because you always saw me. Even when I hated myself. And I thought… Maybe if I could be someone new, I could earn you without all the baggage. But all I did was hurt you worse.”

Her hands reached out, then dropped. Like she didn’t trust them not to ruin everything further.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “I’m sorry for not being brave enough to tell the truth. I’m sorry for making you fall for a version of me that should’ve just been me from the start.”

Her shoulders crumpled, and suddenly she was on her knees.

Like her body couldn’t hold it anymore.

“I’m not asking for everything back,” she said, voice barely holding.

“I’m not asking to be your wife again. Not yet. Not if you’re not ready. But please…”

She looked up at you.

And god, her eyes were wrecked and hopeful and utterly open.

“Please just tell me there’s still a version of us that’s possible.”

You didn’t move for a long time.

The silence stretched until it hurt.

Then you stood up.

Crossed the room slowly.

Tofu shifted at your feet but didn’t follow. Didn’t interfere.

You stood in front of her. Looked down.

She didn’t look away.

And then finally, you dropped to your knees, too.

Not in forgiveness.

Not in surrender.

But in meeting her.

You reached forward. Pressed your forehead to hers.

And whispered, “I wanted you to say that. I needed you to.”

She let out a sound that was almost a sob. And not the broken kind. The released kind. 

Your arms came around her first.

Hers followed. Tight. Desperate. Familiar.

You stayed there on the floor, wrapped in each other, while the rain traced patterns on the windows and the weight between you shifted into something lighter.

You finally held each other like you both remembered how.

After that first hug, the dam broke. Not into a flood, but into a steady trickle. Small, careful moments began to collect between you like puddles after rain. Nothing rushed. Nothing loud. Just choices.

Repeated. Intentional. Yours.

The morning after that floor moment, the apartment felt different. Not louder. Not warmer. Just... less hollow. Like something had been let back in overnight. Not everything. But enough.

You woke up first. Not because you slept well, your body still curled in on itself like it was waiting for a storm, but because your eyes had opened, and that was enough. The sheets still smelled like unfamiliar quiet. The air still carried the kind of tension that hadn’t decided if it would stay. But you got up anyway. You moved on instinct. Coffee. Eggs. The last of the smoked salmon. Pancakes, because she liked them with crispy edges and you’d finally remembered how to get it right.

You didn’t think too hard about the tray. Just filled it. Balanced it. Carried it to the living room where she was still half-curled on the couch, one arm thrown over her eyes, blanket bunched around her knees like she hadn’t moved all night. Tofu was snoring gently against the back of the cushions, his little gremlin body spread like he owned the place.

You stood there for a second, tray in hand, and considered just setting it down on the table. Saying nothing. Letting her come to it on her own.

But then she stirred. Blinked up at you, hair in her eyes, the sleeve of your hoodie caught between her teeth like she’d been trying to keep herself quiet in her sleep.

You held out the tray.

She didn’t say anything. Just sat up slowly, like the weight of kindness was heavier than anything else. Took the tray. Set it between you on the coffee table.

She stared at the plate for a beat too long.

“You made it like” she started, then stopped.

You didn’t make her finish. Just nodded. “Yeah.”

She smiled, barely. A quiet twitch of the mouth that looked more like disbelief than joy. “Thank you.”

You sat beside her, carefully. Close but not too close. Then paused. Looked at the table. At the space in front of her. Then shifted the tray an inch to the left and pulled her chair closer. A silent nudge.

She blinked. Eyed the new space. Then slid into it without comment.

You sat like that for a while. Eating. Sipping. Phones untouched. Her shoulder brushed yours when she leaned forward for the coffee, and she didn’t pull away. Not when she sat back. Not when your arms accidentally knocked against each other. Not when the silence turned easy.

Tofu snorted awake and rolled dramatically off the couch, landing on all fours like a gymnast who stuck the landing. Then he trotted over, sniffed the edge of the salmon, and sneezed directly onto Alexia´s plate.

She groaned. “Seriously?”

You laughed. Actually laughed. The sound was small and wrecked but real. And she didn’t even mind that her breakfast was now dog-adjacent. Not when you were laughing again. Not when your knee bumped against hers and stayed there.

She glanced sideways at you. Something soft in her eyes. Something quiet.

“Sorry about your breakfast,” you murmured.

You looked at her.

“I can share,” you said.

And maybe that was the moment that landed the hardest.

Not the food. Not the laugh. Not even the shoulder-to-shoulder warmth that neither of you backed away from.

Just the offer.

The I still want you near me, even if it’s messy.

Even if it’s dog-sneezed.

Even if it’s new.

And she leaned in. Not all the way. Not dramatically.

Just enough to let her temple brush your hair for half a second too long.

Just enough to say: thank you for letting me be close again.

The day was kind. That was the only way to describe it.

It was an afternoon that didn’t ask for anything. The kind that just let you be. The kind of warmth that came through the window in honeyed angles, catching on dust motes and the curve of your cheek as you sank onto the living room floor.

You’d been out that morning. A walk through quiet streets, Tofu leading the way with his usual chaos. He barked at a passing leaf. Peed on the same pole three times. Pulled so hard at one point you almost dropped your coffee. Alexia had laughed until she choked, her hand brushing yours every time she pointed out something stupid he was doing. It had been light. Easy. Easier than it should’ve been. But you didn’t question it.

Now, hours later, he was flopped belly-up by the balcony, snoring in a sunbeam. The TV played something soft, one of those comfort movies you’d seen a dozen times and didn’t really need to follow. The kind of film you could drift in and out of, just for the vibes. You sat with your back against the couch, knees drawn to your chest, hair still a little tangled from the wind.

Alexia was behind you, stretched out on the couch, a book open in her lap. Not reading it, not really. She was watching the screen with the kind of half-interest that said she just wanted to be where you were. Her socked foot was tucked gently behind your shoulder, not pressing, just touching. Just… there.

And maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was the golden light. Maybe it was that you hadn’t asked her for anything in so long.

But your voice came out low and soft.

“Will you braid my hair?”

She didn’t answer right away.

You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to.

You just waited.

You weren’t asking for something big. Not a promise. Just her hands.

Just the memory of being cared for.

There was a beat of silence, then the book shut with a gentle thump.

Her legs shifted behind you. You heard the rustle of the couch cushions, the stretch of fabric as she sat up straighter. Then, quieter than anything:

“Yeah. Of course.”

You exhaled slowly as you moved, settling between her legs, back resting lightly against her knees. She pulled your hair over your shoulder gently, fingers brushing the nape of your neck as she smoothed it out. Her touch was reverent. Like your hair was made of something fragile. Like it might break if she didn’t get it right.

She started slowly. No rush. No practiced rhythm. Just her fingertips running through the strands, separating and gathering them like she was remembering how. Like she was trying to relearn a map she used to know by heart.

You closed your eyes.

Her breath caught the first time you leaned back into her legs. Just a little. Just enough to settle.

She didn’t say anything. But her hands stilled for half a second before moving again, slower now. Gentler.

It wasn’t about the braid.

It was about the closeness. The permission.

Her fingers working through the knots. Her knees bracketing your shoulders. Her thumb brushing your temple every now and then, absent, affectionate, like she couldn’t help it.

You breathed deeper. The kind of breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

And maybe she felt that.

Because her voice came out rougher than she meant it to. Barely above a whisper.

“You used to let me do this all the time.”

You didn’t open your eyes. Just nodded slightly.

“Still like it,” you murmured.

She swallowed hard. You heard it.

When she finished, she tied the braid off with the elastic from her wrist. Then her hands didn’t move. Just hovered. One still cradling the end of your hair. The other resting lightly on your shoulder like she wasn’t ready to let go yet.

Neither of you said anything.

You didn’t have to.

The sunlight kept moving. The movie kept playing. Tofu let out a dramatic sigh in his sleep.

And you stayed right there, back to her chest, her hands in your hair, the space between you smaller than it had been in weeks.

You let it be sweet.

She let it be sacred.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself be shaken by the simplicity of being allowed to hold you again.

The couch had never felt this full.

Not just of bodies, but of choices. Of presence. Of something warm trying its best to be safe again.

You didn’t mean to fall into her, not exactly. It just… happened. Tofu made a pleased little groan as he rearranged himself across both your laps, smug and sprawling like a dog with a personal stake in your reconciliation. You shifted to get more comfortable, and your shoulder bumped hers again. This time, you didn’t correct it.

Neither did she.

The episode played on, voices droning low in the background. Something about a mountain trail in Norway, or maybe a food tour in Prague, you weren’t really paying attention. Not when the silence between you and Alexia was turning into something that didn’t ache anymore.

It was soft.

Steady.

Bearable.

Your fingers found the edge of the blanket draped over the back of the couch and tugged it down. You didn’t ask, didn’t offer, just pulled it over both of your legs in one smooth, quiet motion. Your thigh pressed against hers more firmly this time. You let it stay.

Alexia didn’t say anything, but her breath caught. Barely. Just long enough for you to feel it in your own lungs.

You sat like that for a few minutes. Shoulders touching. Tofu slowly sliding further into your lap like he wanted to become a sentient heat pack.

Then, maybe because the moment asked for it, or maybe because you were too tired to overthink anymore, you leaned your head against her shoulder.

Just… let it rest there.

Her hoodie was soft. Her body warm. She stiffened, just for a second. You felt it.

But then,

Her arm moved.

Slowly. Carefully.

And wrapped around your back.

Her palm settled between your shoulder blades like it belonged there. Not gripping. Not asking.

Just holding.

You let out a breath you hadn’t meant to keep.

She felt it. Exhaled with you.

No words. No shift in position. Just her hand, flat and steady against your spine, and the soft brush of her cheek against the top of your head when she let herself tilt just enough to meet you there.

You didn’t say thank you.

You didn’t need to.

Because letting your head fall onto her shoulder was already an answer.

And her arm around you was the reply.

Tofu shifted, sighed, then let his full weight drop across your lap like a sandbag of approval.

You laughed, quietly. Felt Alexia’s chest rise with it.

She murmured, “He thinks he orchestrated this.”

You whispered, “He kind of did.”

And that was it.

No confessions. No tension. No declarations.

Just you. Her. Your dog. A blanket. And the space between you folding itself into something that finally felt like home again.

It didn’t happen with a grand gesture. No whispered "please stay." No late-night sob.

It happened with teeth brushed and lights low, the smell of clean sheets in the air, and the quiet sound of rain nudging at the window like it had a right to be part of this, too.

You stood in the doorway of the bedroom, pajama shirt tugged low over your hips, one hand holding the edge of the door like it might stop time. Alexia hovered behind you, socked feet silent on the floor, thumbs hooked in the cuffs of her hoodie sleeves. She wasn’t looking at you. She was looking past you to the bed. The one she hadn’t touched in weeks. The one that still remembered the shape of your body and not hers. You turned, slowly. Tilted your head toward the room. Nothing dramatic. Just a soft nudge.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. Hope, immediate and terrified, flashed across her face.

“Are you sure?” she asked, voice already splintering.

You nodded. “Just… sleep. That’s all.”

She didn’t answer. Just stepped past you carefully, like one wrong move might make the moment vanish. You climbed into bed first, Tofu thudding to the floor at your side like the world’s most dramatic bodyguard. You tucked yourself under the covers, leaned back into the pillow, and let your breath settle.

Alexia followed slower. Slid into the other side, hoodie still on, drawstrings twisted between her fingers like a nervous habit she hadn’t outgrown.

She didn’t lie back right away.

Just sat there, legs curled, hands in her lap.

You looked over. Waited.

Then, softly, just loud enough to be heard over the rain, you opened the door wider

“You can lie here. If you want.”.

Her head turned.

You patted your chest, just once.

Alexia blinked.

And then she moved.

Careful. Tentative. Like she couldn’t quite believe she was allowed to be held by you again.

She tucked herself down slowly, cheek pressed to your sternum, breath catching the moment your arms came up around her. One over her back. One curled at the nape of her neck. Your fingers slid into her hair, slow and steady.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

Because the way she melted into you, limbs folding in, body pressing close like it was trying to memorize the feel of this again, that said everything.

Her hand found the hem of your shirt. Slipped under just enough to rest against the warm skin of your waist. Not possessive. Not searching.

Just anchoring.

You felt her chest rise. Shudder once. Settle.

Then her voice, small and buried:

“Thank you.”

You whispered back, lips brushing her hairline:

“I know.”

And that’s how you fell asleep.

Her head on your chest.

Your fingers tangled in her hair.

The rain still speaking against the window.

Tofu snoring at your feet like a guardian who had finally been relieved of duty.

And in the quiet dark, for the first time in a long, long while, neither of you dreamed of being somewhere else.

It had been a month.

A month of choosing again. Not loudly. Not all at once. Just in the quiet, ordinary ways that mattered.

The way she made coffee how you liked it. The way you bought her favorite cereal again. The way Tofu began sleeping curled between your knees like he belonged there and more than that, like you both did.

And that night, the night it all shifted for good, started the way most did lately: soft. Familiar.

You’d both had long days, but she offered to help with dinner anyway. You didn't stop her.

The kitchen smelled like garlic and thyme. Music floated in from the speaker she’d finally remembered to charge, and the wine, real wine this time, not guilt-poured or sorrow-sipped, was breathing in glasses beside you. 

You’d always told her it was better that way. “Let it open,” you’d said once. “Like people.”

Now, she did it without thinking.

She was slicing tomatoes beside you, standing too close on purpose, bumping your hip with hers every now and then like muscle memory. You rolled your eyes. She grinned. She was wearing that hoodie again, the one you secretly loved because it always slid off one shoulder.

You were about to ask her to stir the sauce when the song came on.

That song.

“If you like piña coladas…”

Your head snapped toward the speaker. She froze, spoon mid-air.

You both burst out laughing.

Full-bodied, ridiculous laughter. The kind that made your ribs ache. That stupid song, that absurd, perfect song you hadn’t heard since Chattr. Since before you knew.

“Of course it’s this,” you wheezed, wiping your eyes.

Alexia shook her head, smiling like it was too big for her face. “Of course it is.”

Then she stepped forward, took your hand, and said quietly, “Dance with me.”

You hesitated, fingers twitching in hers.

“It’s our song,” she teased gently. “Tragic and stupid. Just like us.”

You snorted. “Fine.”

You let her pull you close, one arm around your waist, your free hand on her shoulder. You swayed like idiots in your own kitchen, sauce forgotten, burner probably too hot, wine half-spilled and hearts completely open.

And then, somewhere in the middle of that moment, her head resting against your temple, she whispered:

“I’m sorry.”

You looked down at her.

“I’m sorry I made you find me behind a screen. I’m sorry I made you beg for effort. I should’ve said everything straight out, when it mattered most. I should’ve come home honest.”

Her voice was shaking now, low and cracked in the way that only happens when something’s been waiting too long to be let out.

You blinked hard. “You’re here now.”

Her eyes welled. “I don’t want to leave again. I can’t.”

“Then don’t.” Your hand tightened on her side. “Because if you do, I don’t think I can go through that again. I don’t think I'll come back from it next time.”

“I won’t,” she promised, breath trembling. “I’ll stay. I’ll take care of your heart. I’ll protect it like it’s mine.”

You stared at her then, your thumb brushing the side of her face, and the words slipped out before you even had time to breathe them.

“Please kiss me.” you asked softly.

Her answer was to pull you in.

The kiss was not gentle. It was not shy. It was everything else. Desperate, aching, too much and not enough. It was grief and healing and every unsaid thing collapsed between your mouths. Her hands buried in your hair. Yours fisted in the back of her hoodie. Both of you crying, not because you were breaking, but because you finally weren’t.

She kissed you like she didn’t expect to be allowed to stay.

You kissed her like you couldn’t survive if she left.

And when you finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, the taste of tears on both your lips, you whispered, “You’re home.”

Alexia closed her eyes. Let the weight of that settle in her chest.

And then, with a trembling exhale, said, “Only if you are.”

You nodded.

Together, you returned to the stove, hands brushing. Dinner burned a little. Tofu barked once, loudly, like he was annoyed no one had invited him to the emotional climax.

You fed him first.

Later that night, tangled together in bed with her head tucked beneath your chin and your fingers stroking her back in absentminded circles, she murmured, “I still remember the first night I met you. You were holding a wine glass and pretending you didn’t know the words to that song.”

You smiled into her hair.

“I wasn’t pretending,” you whispered. “I just wanted to hear you sing.”

She laughed softly.

And this time you fell asleep together not out of exhaustion, but peace. Because the worst was over and you had found each other again.

[urstruly-ghst]

girl, get up ! - riddle, leona, vil, silver

in which u suck at phys ed and they're trying to help you out

requested ask !

author's note: i am not physically fit as i like, but dw!! we all have our moments 😌 now get up and be that slay queen (or start low impact exercises for now!)

riddle rosehearts

riddle rosehearts is a well rounded individual, he was raised in a household were meals calculated and regimes strictly adhered. if you think riddle is strict with his exercising, you would be surprised. riddle was someone who was not the most adept to exercising, and understands you wanting to take it at your pace. but don't think you're getting away with it.

fret not! riddle takes things slow, and in accordance with the rules of the queen of hearts, taking note of your weaknesses and strengths. he even rewards you at the end, each small victory was worth a party.

if your goal was to hit 5 pushups or rounds of burpees, he'd set it to 10. harsh, however, he claims if you settle for less you get less. riddle wants you to aim high (and he would even join in on your physical journey!)

"i think im gonna be sick" you yelp and try to not pass out at your 4th day of attempting to do sets of squats and this exercise.

"you're doing fine, rose." riddle said smiling before observing your notions. despite your protests, you did well. your initial goal of just 5 laps around the oval became 6! it was a small improvement, but you managed to do it.

"after this, we can relax and enjoy some new tarts trey baked." riddle smile warmly as he jogged next to you, noticing you brighten up

leona kingscholar

leona laughed at you first. born with athletic capabilities, he couldn't believe you can't do a simple push up or run down at least 5 laps. however, he wasn't one to keep someone down, leona wants a fair fight.

it starts off simple, leona would observe you and see it as you not pushing yourself. leona would be behind you, motivating you (odd to see him out of bed), making sure you're in the right position and actually getting your goal. you need 30 push ups for vargas? you're doing those 30 push ups... with his help.

lends a lot of his time or some trainer to help you. though, don't expect he'd be doing this often, he still likes his nap times you know? you can do exercises after the nap!

"mmh. herbivore. you're quite close to running more than yesterday" leona mumbled walking beside you as you jogged. his long strides make your jog a walk for him. he admired you before patting your head

"yeah because you literally pushed me!" you retort but he smiled and followed you to the end of the track, marking your newfound success: running 500 meters!

"good job, herbivore... now let's go rest, you ended exactly on my nap time."

vil schoenheit

vil wasn't going to make you be a lazy potato. he can see the potential and determination from you. he is the most hands-on out of all, he tracks it closely and adheres everything to his own personal trainer.

each move you both do comes from professional advise and vil does the same exercises as you (although with bit more intensity on his end). the meals afterwards were also a highlight. vil prepared the after meals himself, go on, eat up!

he's more strict. vil won't take no willy nilly answer, and he won't allow slip ups. vil is a very determined person, once he sees a diamond that needs polishing, he'll handcraft it with time and effort. vil showers each progress you've done with praise and small personal victories he records and keeps hidden for him to admire.

"ah, my dear, look at that. another stellar news, you've managed to hit the goal in record time." vil rejoices as you both finished the prescribed exercises from his trainer. you beamed and smiled proudly

"all thanks to you, vil!" you praise him but he smiled and shakes his head.

"no, all you, dear. you pushed your limits and got us both here."

silver

silver is a trained knight, he was no stranger to the regime of ruthless training. however, he does know that reaching goals is hard. he had his fair share of failures of reaching certain goals with his habit of sleeping. though, silver is still strict and maintains that if you want to be active, push through it

he would share his regime at a lighter level and even trains you himself, silver guides you gently and even makes you disregard your goal so he ensures you're not in a hurry and get hurt. though, that was because his regime had quite some brutal exercises.

and sometimes, he'd pull in sebek or lilia for some regime tweaking so he can sneak more time to help you be more active. though it was difficult sometimes, silver can't help but feel sleepy sometimes when he trains you...

"okay, your footing isn't that great. it lacks some..." silver yawned as he gracefully guides you into holding a baton firmly. you were sweating as the faux fighting with the baton proved to be more difficult. it was awesome though, you get to see him wield such grace!

"silver, we need a break" you huff tired. silver smiled before shaking his head, even if he was sleepy, he wasn't allowing you be trained half-assed.

"nope. now, parry"

[deansbeer]

simon gets jealous seeing you talk to another guy at the bar.

♡ ⋮ minors do not interact.

warnings 𓏵 filthy smut | jealous!simon | possessive behavior | semi-public sex | rough sex | slight manhandling | hair pulling | degradation kink | praise kink | dirty talk | dom!simon | spanking | biting & marking | unprotected sex (use the damn rubber) | car sex (they fuck on the hood of the car) | cold weather elements.

simon’s hand is tight around your wrist as he practically drags you out of the bar, not saying a word. you barely manage to grab your clutch before he’s pulling you through the crowd, past soap who’s too drunk to notice his best friend manhandling you toward the exit. the cold air hits your bare legs like a slap when you stumble outside, your little dress doing nothing against the cold.

“simon, what the hell?” you protest, trying to keep up with his long strides across the parking lot. his jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle jumping, and his grip hasn’t loosened even slightly. “slow down!”

he doesn’t answer until you reach his car, parked in the darkest corner of the lot where the streetlight doesn’t reach. then he spins you around, pressing you back against the passenger door. “who was that?” his voice is low, dangerous, accent thicker than usual. “the bloke you were chatting up at the bar?”

“chatting up?” you blink at him, genuinely confused. “i was just being polite. he asked where the bathroom was and then we talked about—”

“talked,” he cuts you off, leaning in close enough that you can see the fury in his dark eyes. “is that what we’re calling it? saw how he was looking at you. saw how you laughed at whatever shit joke he made.” his hand comes up to grip your jaw, not painful but firm. “you wearing this fuckin’ dress, lookin’ like that, and then letting some random bastard think he has a chance?”

“si, you’re being ridiculous,” you breathe, but your body is already responding to his proximity, to the possessive edge in his voice. “it was nothing. you know i’m all yours.”

“do i?” he growls, and suddenly he’s spinning you around, bending you over the hood of his car. the metal is freezing against your palms and you gasp at the shock of it. “because from where i was standing, looked like you forgot who you belong to.”

his hands are rough as they yank your dress up to your hips, and the cold air on your bare cunt makes you whimper. you’d foregone underwear tonight, wanting to surprise him later, but now you’re exposed in the parking lot where anyone could see.

“no panties?” his voice is pure gravel, fingers sliding through your wetness. “fuck me, darlin’, you really were planning on being a slut tonight, weren’t you?” he delivers a sharp slap to your bare ass cheek that echoes in the empty lot. “this what ya wanted? to drive me mental? to make me show you who this pussy belongs to?”

“baby, please,” you gasp, pushing back against his hand. the cold is making everything more intense, every touch electric. “someone could see us—”

“let them,” he snarls, and you hear his belt buckle clinking. “let that asshole from the bar see who’s about to fuck you dumb. let him see what he’ll never ever fuckin’ have.”

you feel the blunt head of his cock at your entrance and then he’s pushing in with one brutal thrust, not giving you time to adjust. “fuckin’ hell,” he groans. “so tight. even when you’re being a little tease, this pussy knows who she belongs to.”

he sets a punishing pace immediately, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise while the other tangles in your hair. “this what you needed, love? needed me to remind you?” each word is punctuated by a harsh thrust that has you seeing stars. “needed me to fuck you like the slut you were acting like?”

“i wasn't—” you try to protest but he pulls your hair, arching your back at an angle that has him hitting even deeper.

“wasn’t what? wasn’t flirtin’? wasn’t gigglin’ at his pathetic attempts?” he leans over you, his weight pressing you harder against the car. “could see it from across the room, love. the way you smiled at him. the way you tucked your hair behind your ear.” his teeth find your neck, biting down hard enough to mark. “those are my fuckin’ smiles. my fuckin’ girl.”

the car rocks with the force of his thrusts, and you have to brace yourself against the hood to keep from sliding. the position is filthy, degrading even, and exactly what you both need. simon when he’s jealous is a force of nature, all that controlled violence focused on reminding you exactly who you belong to.

“baby—” you moan, feeling your orgasm building embarrassingly fast. the combination of the cold, the feeling of being exposed, his filthy words and brutal pace has you right on the edge.

“thas’ it,” he growls in your ear. “say my name. let everyone in that fuckin’ bar know who’s making you fall apart.” his hand slides around to find your clit, rubbing harsh circles. “gonna fill this cunt up, send you back to the party dripping with me. see if anyone wants to chat you up then.”

“fuck, simon, i’m—”

“go ‘head, come,” he commands. “come on my cock like the good girl i know you are. my good girl. mine."

you shatter, crying out his name as your orgasm crashes over you. he fucks you through it, chasing his own release, and when he comes it’s with a guttural groan of your name. he stays pressed against you for a moment, both of you panting in the cold air.

when he finally pulls out, he immediately tugs your dress back down, spinning you around to face him. his expression is softer now but still intense as he cups your face. “you’re mine,” he says simply. “yeah?”

“always,” you assure him, and he kisses you hard, tasting the truth of it.

“good,” he murmurs against your lips. “now let’s go back inside. want to introduce you to some people as my girl. make sure everyone’s clear on that.”

you laugh shakily, legs still wobbly. “possessive bastard.”

“your possessive bastard,” he corrects, taking your hand and leading you back toward the bar. “and don’t you forget it.”

[aventurineswife]

Reader flinches during an argument😩🤚

You cna make it just flinching or them actually accidentally hurting reader, whatever you're more comfortable with

Characters: Jing Yuan, Aventurine, Dan Heng, Kaveh and Therta (get it? Cuz The Herta can be shortened to Therta... haha... ha)

Trust Reforged in the Quiet

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Kaveh x Reader, The Herta x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Emotional Vulnerability, Arguments, Flinching Reaction, Apologies, Reconciliation, Romantic Tension, Communication, Soft Moments.

Warnings: Emotional conflict, Raised voices, Accidental intimidation, Mentions of guilt and emotional vulnerability. (No physical harm or abuse.)

A/N: yeah... I totally got it, ahahaha.. ha 🧍‍♀️

The peaceful glow of the Luofu was overshadowed by the tense atmosphere between you and Jing Yuan. The General stood in his study, his eyes fixed on you, frustration flickering behind their usual calm. The argument had started small, but it spiraled into something you hadn’t anticipated.

“You don’t understand the weight of these decisions,” Jing Yuan said, his tone sharper than usual. “Every action has consequences—not just for us, but for the entire Alliance.”

“I’m trying to help you!” you shot back, voice trembling. “But you keep shutting me out like I’m just an outsider!”

Jing Yuan ran a hand through his long hair, visibly exasperated. “It’s not about shutting you out—it’s about protecting you. Don’t you see that?”

When he suddenly stepped closer, his voice louder than before, you instinctively flinched, taking a step back. His eyes widened, his anger evaporating in an instant.

“Wait…” His voice softened. “Did you just flinch?”

You looked down, ashamed. The moment hung heavy in the air. Jing Yuan’s heart ached at the sight of you retreating from him, and he cursed himself for letting his emotions overwhelm his judgment.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently, his hands hovering before dropping to his sides. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He took a step back himself, giving you space. “I would never hurt you.”

You hesitated before nodding, your eyes still wary. Jing Yuan took a deep breath, his usual calm returning. He walked to his desk, retrieved a cup of tea, and set it down in front of you.

“Let’s talk—properly this time,” he said, his voice steady but laced with remorse. “I want to listen to you, truly.”

And for the first time that evening, you felt safe enough to let him in.

The opulent office felt suffocating as Aventurine paced back and forth, his normally suave demeanor unraveling. You had challenged one of his high-stakes decisions, and he hadn’t taken it well.

“You think I didn’t calculate the risks?” he barked, his voice sharp as a blade. “You think I don’t know exactly what I’m doing?”

“I’m saying it’s dangerous, Aventurine!” you shot back, your voice rising to match his. “You can’t keep gambling with people’s lives like this!”

His eyes burned with frustration. “You don’t understand the game I’m playing! Every move I make is—”

When he spun to face you, gesturing emphatically, you flinched, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. The slight recoil stopped Aventurine mid-sentence. His hand, frozen mid-air, dropped to his side.

For a moment, silence reigned. Then, his voice came out softer, almost unsure. “Did I… scare you?”

You didn’t respond immediately, and that was answer enough. Aventurine’s usually confident mask cracked, revealing the guilt underneath. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his tone devoid of its usual bravado. “I let my temper get the better of me.”

You crossed your arms, your voice shaky. “I just want you to see that I care, Aventurine. You don’t have to face everything alone.”

He chuckled dryly, his smile weak but genuine. “It seems I’m the one who needs a reminder of that sometimes.” He reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing yours. “Can we try this again? No shouting this time.”

You nodded, and as he led you to sit beside him, the gambler seemed determined to show you he was more than just his sharp words and risky strategies.

The gentle hum of the Astral Express felt distant as you and Dan Heng faced off in the library. He rarely raised his voice, but tonight, his frustration was palpable.

“You can’t just rush into danger like that!” Dan Heng exclaimed, his voice uncharacteristically forceful. “Do you have any idea how reckless that was?”

“I was trying to help!” you defended, equally upset. “You always act like I can’t handle myself!”

“Because you don’t see the risks!” He stepped forward, his hand clutching his spear. “What if something had happened to you? Do you think I could—”

When his voice rose further, and his spear clinked against the floor as he adjusted his grip, you flinched, taking a step back. Dan Heng immediately froze, his sharp eyes widening in realization. The air grew heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

“You…” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He set his spear down, his hands shaking slightly. “I didn’t mean to… I would never—”

You looked away, biting your lip. “It’s fine. I just… wasn’t expecting you to—”

“No, it’s not fine,” he interrupted, his voice steady but filled with guilt. “I lost control. That’s on me.”

Dan Heng lowered himself to sit on the edge of the table, his posture uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I don’t want to push you away. I’m just… scared of losing you.”

You hesitated before stepping closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m scared too, but we need to face this together. You don’t have to carry everything on your own.”

He nodded, his usual calm slowly returning. “You’re right. I’ll… do better.”

In that moment, you saw the real Dan Heng—not the stoic guardian, but the man who carried the weight of the past and feared losing the one person who made him feel safe.

The grandiose living room of Alhaitham's home felt oppressive as your argument with Kaveh escalated. He stood in the middle of the room, his expressive eyes alight with frustration. You had challenged one of his decisions, and his idealistic nature didn’t take it lightly.

“You don’t understand what this means to me!” Kaveh exclaimed, his voice shaking. “I worked my entire life to make a difference through my designs! And now you’re questioning that?”

“I’m not questioning your work, Kaveh,” you said, your voice tinged with desperation. “I’m worried about you! You’re pushing yourself too hard, taking on too much—”

“Because I have to!” he shouted, his hands flaring in an animated gesture. “If I don’t, who will? Do you think anyone else cares as much as I do?” He stepped closer, his tone growing sharper as he continued. “Stop acting like you—”

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up. You flinched, taking a small step back as his voice rose and his movements became more animated. The action stopped him in his tracks, the weight of the moment crashing down around him like a crumbling structure.

His arms dropped to his sides, and his face fell. “Did… did I scare you?” he asked, his voice suddenly quiet and laced with regret.

You didn’t reply immediately, your throat tight with emotion. “I—I didn’t mean to—” you started, but Kaveh shook his head, cutting you off.

“No,” he said firmly, his tone filled with self-reproach. “This isn’t on you. I… I shouldn’t have yelled like that.” He took a step back, giving you space, his eyes filled with guilt. “I never meant to make you feel unsafe.”

“Kaveh…” you began, your voice softening.

He turned away briefly, running a hand through his hair. “I let my emotions get the better of me. Again. It’s just… everything feels like it’s falling apart, and I’m trying so hard to hold it together.”

You stepped forward hesitantly, placing a hand on his arm. “I know you’re trying, Kaveh. But you don’t have to do it alone. You don’t have to carry this weight by yourself.”

He looked at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I just… I don’t know how to let go. But I don’t ever want to hurt you, not even by accident.”

“You won’t,” you assured him, squeezing his arm gently. “But you need to let yourself rest, Kaveh. Let yourself breathe.”

He nodded slowly, his usual dramatic flair subdued by the gravity of the moment. “You’re right. I’ll… I’ll try. For you.”

And as the tension eased, you saw in his eyes the vulnerability he often tried to mask with passion and idealism—a man who cared so deeply, it sometimes consumed him.

The sterile halls of Herta’s spaceship echoed with the sharp edge of your argument. Herta stood before her console, her fingers tapping impatiently on its surface as she glared at you.

“Do you even understand the magnitude of what I’m trying to achieve here?” she asked, her tone biting. “This isn’t just some experiment—it’s a breakthrough!”

“I do understand,” you replied, your voice raised. “But you’re so focused on the outcome that you’re ignoring the risks!”

Herta’s eyes narrowed as she whirled around to face you, her movements swift and deliberate. “Risks are inevitable in science! If I stopped every time something was dangerous, we wouldn’t even have the Simulated Universe! You—” She gestured sharply, stepping closer as her voice grew louder.

The suddenness of her movement made you flinch, your shoulders tensing as you instinctively stepped back. The reaction was subtle but unmistakable. Herta froze mid-sentence, her eyes widening in realization.

She stared at you for a long moment, the tension in her posture dissipating. “Wait… did I just… scare you?” she asked, her voice unusually soft.

You looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean to.”

But Herta shook her head, her usual detached demeanor cracking. “No, it’s not fine,” she said, setting her clipboard aside. “I might be a genius, but that doesn’t give me the right to… intimidate you like that.”

You glanced at her, surprised by the remorse in her tone. “Herta…”

She crossed her arms, avoiding your eyes as she spoke. “I get so caught up in my work, I forget about the people around me. I’m sorry.” She sighed, her sharp wit returning slightly. “It seems even I have room for improvement.”

You chuckled softly despite the tension. “You think?”

She smiled faintly, stepping closer but keeping her movements slow and deliberate. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll explain everything properly this time—no yelling, no dramatics.”

You nodded, the knot in your chest loosening. “I’d like that.”

As she guided you to her desk, the usual confidence in her demeanor was tempered by a quiet sincerity. For the first time, you saw the side of Herta that wasn’t just a genius or a scientist, but someone who valued your trust more than any experiment.

[florestalio]

PUPPY ANTICS 2.0 — s.jy

in which, you start ovulating in the middle of the night — something that your puppy catches on to even before you did.

GENRE— pwp (barely any plot), hybrid au

WARNINGS— dubcon, reader is ovulating, jake's hybrid-like attributes consist of a tail and ears, along with a hightened sense of smell and a lot more strength than a normal person, unprotected sex (don't!), doggy, clit pinching, scenting, let me know if i missed any!

WORDCOUNT— 1k

NOTE— this is because because some people (cough cough, @senascoooop ) were mad at me because i didn't write the full smut. bnd ver here!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

part 1 (yes, you need to read it first)

You let out a loud gasp, but didn’t have anytime to react otherwise, feeling his cock poking at your wet entrance. Your eyes widened, as you tried to stop him. You tried to push his hands away — a useless move on your part. He was strong, much stronger than humans.

You had no other option but to let it happen.

JAKE LET OUT A LOUD GROAN, as he rubbed his angry red tip on your dripping folds, collecting your wetness. He whispered in your ear. “You don’t actually want me to stop, do you? If you did, you wouldn’t have worn these sorry excuses of clothes to bed, would you? You wanted this, wanted me to come and take you in the middle of the night, didn’t you?”

You couldn’t speak, the overstimulation from your previous orgasm sending your brain into overdrive, his words barely registering. Each time his cock rubbed across your folds a mixture of pain and pleasure shot up your spine, your cloudy brain starting to register only the pleasure. It hurt, but it hurt so good.

He tapped his mushroom tip on your clit, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine, causing you to flinch. He spoke in a mocking tone, making it clear that he was taunting you. “Fuck princess, don’t jump like that. Almost made me think you didn’t want this.”

He didn't let you answer, — not that you could, given how overstimulated you were — pushing his mushroom tip in. The tip itself stretched you out, your bottom lip pulled in between your teeth, as you let choked back a whimper. You unconsciously rocked your hips back, trying to get him to fuck you properly.

He let out an amused chuckle, slowly pushing himself inside. Your eyes rolled back, his cock hitting every single spot, dragging across your walls deliciously. The slow pace of him pushing inside you had your back arching, ripping out a broken mewl. He felt so, so good inside you. 

Even if everything about it was wrong, it just felt so fucking right.

He filled you up to the brim, and then some more. He just kept going and going and going. Finally, he stopped, fully sheathed in your, the veins on his cock pulsing inside you at a rapid pace. You clenched around him, trying to make him move. You needed it, desperately needed it.

The abundant slick you were producing had made the glide way too fucking easy, your pussy clamped around him like a vice. You were a temptation that he could never even think of resisting, let alone attempt to.

His grip on your hips was tight, tight enough to leave bruises, as he pulled himself almost completely out, before slamming right back in — somehow managing to fit another non-existent inch inside of you. You had to stifle your cries, as he set a ruthless pace, one that left you dizzy — not just because of how well he was hitting all the right spots, but also because of the force with which he was hitting them.

But biting down on your fist could only take you so far, before he shoved your hand away from your mouth. Without stopping his brutal pace, he leaned closer to your ear, whispering in it. “C’mon baby, don’t muffle your pretty noises. Let me hear you sing, yea? Need to hear how good I make you feel.”

His words somehow managed to bring out a fresh wave of slickness out of you, dripping down his length, past his balls. It was maddening, the loud sounds of squelching between your bodies, Jake’s grunting, and your moans. All of it combined into a white noise in your ears, leaving your brain hazy. You could barely think, let alone form a coherent sentence. The slightly unaffected part of your brain screamed ‘slow down!’, while the other half screamed at him to go faster. Whether you said either of those out loud, you wouldn’t know, since he was too busy trying to hit your g-spot.

He lifted your hips upwards slightly, pushing down on your back to make you arch better. The new angle had you letting out shuddering noises of pleasure, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, making you see stars. Yep, he had definitely found the spot.

He pounded into you at a faster, more desperate pace, muttering furiously in your ear, trying to force an orgasm out of you again — not that he needed to do much convincing.

“C’mon baby, squeeze my cock harder, show me that you like this.”

“Yea princess, you like that? Like when I bully my cock harder into your sensitive little cunt?”

“Fucking hell angel, pussy feels so good — gonna cum on my cock, yea? S’fucking close, aren’t you?”

He pinched your clit harshly, before rubbing circles around it at a maddening pace, occasionally flicking it. That was your last straw. Your eyes rolled back into your head, your mouth open in a silent scream, as your cunt squeezed around his length harshly, spasming as you coated it in your release. He kept fucking you through your orgasm, a white ring forming at the base of his cock.

His own followed not too long after, your pussy milking him for all he was worth, as he spurted load after load of hot cum inside you, veins on its sides pulsing wildly. He pulled his softening length out, despite it giving a last weak twitch inside you.

He flipped you over, carefully laying your exhausted body down, collapsing next to you. As if a switch had flipped inside him, he returned to his normal puppy boy nature, snuggling up to you, his nose dragging across your neck, scenting you — despite his scent having fully engulfed you after the rough dicking down he gave you.

Your mind swam in and out of consciousness, exhausted from your previous activities, feeling him occasionally lick your neck. You could discuss what had just transpired this night later on, the next morning perhaps — but right now, all you needed was some good sleep.