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mf-despair-queen · 5 years

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Manager Girl - Dylan O’Brien AU

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Pairing: Baseball!Dylan O’Brien/Reader

Word Count: 15,211

Summary: Now knee deep in the role as manager of the Mets, you find yourself in a hard place when Dylan’s performance has warranted drastic measures from Mickey Callaway.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Oral (both receiving), Unprotected Sex, Dirty Talk, Spanking, Hair Pulling, Public Sex, Shower Sex, Wall Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Side Sex, Squirting, Some sort of feels and cheesy romance?

Notes: This took. Forever. And I’m sorry for that. But thank @roscoeknows for being there to support me and help me through this every step fo the way. She is the best Hiro Hoechlin ever???

“Dyl, we shouldn’t be doing this right now.”

The words were broken as they passed through your lips, gasps of delight mingling with the crackled vocals that rumbled from your throat. Your skin burned with the searing hot kisses that were placed to your neck, toes curling into the flats that adorned your feet. The papers that once covered your desk were pushed aside gracelessly, some spilling over the edge onto the carpeted floor, with the opposing body that was leaned over your desk, assaulting your features with the plump, pink lips on his face.

A distinct smirk grew on his features when he pulled away, pushing himself off the desk before rounding it quickly. The chair you were sat in was pushed back, wheels rattling against the plastic mat under your desk’s edges. The round bottom of the baseball player you so fondly adored, despite years of torment and agony, was perched on the edge of the desk, his large, veiny hands cupping your cheeks. The lips you desired in the odd hours of the day ghosted over yours, taunting you with the dream-like connection that was destined to meet them.

“We have time,” was the husky, sultry response that seeped off his tongue. His lips pressed to yours for a brief second before trailing along your jaw to your neck again that was instinctively craned for him access.

“But practice is about to start,” you breathed out amidst the moan of his name you let out, eyes fluttering closed. The front of your blouse was tugged south, kisses peppered to your clavicle. Our hands rose, weaving through the soft locks atop his head that laid flat from the hat he wore in that morning.

Dylan made a sound of dismissal while shrugging his shoulders, smiling against your chest. “They won’t miss me at the start,” he murmured. “Besides, we will be quick. I know you can’t resist me, baby. I know I drive you insane. You’re my girl for a reason. So, what do you say? Just a quick round before I’m busting my ass all day?”

Your lips pursed together, deliberating on not only his arrangement, but everything around you. A year that this had been going on. A year since the egotistical, top player of the New York Mets had changed his fuckboy ways, becoming the loving, caring boyfriend you’d never thought he could be.

And you were on cloud nine.

Things had been amazing. You had officially assumed your role as one of the managers for your dream team. You had practically moved in with your boyfriend, more of your clothes sitting in the drawers in his house than your own. The time spent with him, watching him become a man after your own heart, made it flutter aimlessly. And the rendezvous in your office without anyone knowing what crazy things you were doing behind closed doors made your adrenaline pump.

You couldn’t be happier.

Smiling widely, you pulled him up to your lips, disregarding the discolored mark that stained your skin beneath your shirt. His chocolate creme eyes closed, his face pushing harder into yours. His hands rested on either arm of the chair to support himself, leaving your hands to work on the buttons for his practice shirt. The kiss grew messier, wet smacks beginning to fill the room. Metal filing cabinets against the wall amplified the sound, making it ring in your ears. His lips dragged down against yours before separating for a moment, smashing together mere seconds later. Tongues swirled together between your cheeks, his tongue dominating yours in the end.

The star player sunk to his knees in front of you, hands slowly running along your body, tracing every curve along the way. His tender touch made your shiver, loving the way his hands felt memorizing every inch of flesh. His touch was careful, smoothing over your body until his hands were resting on your hips, pushing at the bottom of your pencil skirt.

Your wordless choice was clear to him, the man hiking your skirt up your waist, revealing the black panties he loved. His mouth watered, Adam’s Apple bobbing when he thickly swallowed. Dylan’s hands were sweaty pulling down the silky material - not that you cared in the end. Every touch made you sweat in return, goosebumps along your skin from the chills he gave you. Dylan carelessly tossed the pair of discarded silk behind him, the wet panties landing in a heap under your desk.

Before he could meet his mark, a knock on the door was heard. Your eyes snapped open and the subtle rapping against the wood, your foot pressed against Dylan’s chest in haste. The man grunted as he toppled backwards, growling under his breath as he shuffled backwards. His head thunked against the edge of the desk, long limbs tucked into the small space as much as possible. You were quick to slide forward, unable to fix your bunched-up skirt before the door opened.

“Hey boss,” one of the marketing employees under you, Jacob was his name, said as he walked in, eyes glued to the envelopes in his hands. Behind him, through the open door, you could hear the cheers and chatter from the rest of the team, one by one the men walking by on their way to the field. Dylan was definitely late, you noted, and you were praying that this wasn’t an inquiry about his location. Everyone know you were dating so if he was MIA, you were the first person they came to. You weren’t exactly sure if you could lie to them when he was currently under your desk, face between your legs and buried in your dripping wet pussy.

“Hey, Jake,” you managed to squeak out, licking your lips to wet your dry. “What can I do you for?”

“Just came to drop off the mail for you,” he hummed happily. His footsteps sounded heavy as he moved forward, your hand outstretched to take the envelopes in his grasp. “Thought I’d save you a trip. Don’t want to wear you out or anything.”

“Thanks, Jake,” you told him, taking the envelopes. “You didn’t have to-”

Your words ended abruptly, a sharp intake of air hitting your chest. The envelopes slipped from your hold, landing on the desk. One hand slammed to the table, nails scratching at the surface. Your body was heating up - seeing as the man between your legs decided to be devious and bury his face between your thighs, tongue dipping between your folds and into your wet center.

Jake’s forehead scrunched up, eyebrow raising. “You ok?”

“Just fine,” you managed to say, minimizing the stammer and shake in your tone. Your words seemed to prompt Dylan to go harder, pressing a thumb to your swollen clit, harsh circles rubbed to it. His tongue swirled around in your core, muted slurps from his lips on your core making you quake. “Just kicked the table on accident.”

“You did?” he asked. With your nod, he didn’t bother to question further. “Alright. Well, I was wondering if you weren’t too busy tonight…”

You wanted to groan. Not only was your boyfriend busy eating you inside and out, his magical tongue beginning to make your vision blurry, you had your staff talking to you, leaning on the very desk he was hiding under. You wanted to tell him to buzz off so you can finish what was started. The last thing you wanted was to listen to whatever he had to propose.

“...Maybe we can grab a bite to eat or something. You’re always busy when I ask but-”

“Can’t tonight,” you sharply cut, biting your lip. “You know how it is. Beginning of the season means more work to do.”

The entire time you talked, Dylan pushed himself into you further, lapping at every drop you released. He was driving you insane and you were on the brink of telling Jake to leave, desperate for more than kitten licks and thumb rubbing.

“Oh. Right,” he chuckled pitifully. “Maybe next time.”

“Yeah. Next time,” you gasped, the hold on your desk increasing. “Now, if you don’t excuse me, I have to get back to work. Have to open mail, finish papers. You know how it goes.”

“Yeah, right,” Jake murmured, backing out the door. “Well, bye then?”

“Yeah. Bye.”

Once the door clicked shut, you stood abruptly, not caring that your skirt was raised and your ass was exposed. Dylan chuckled, crawling out from under the desk with a noticeable erection in his shorts. One hand palmed at it while the other wiped his glistening chin, juices stuck in his stubble. He was quick to follow after you, circling the desk behind you. With his back to the office door, you were trapped against the desk, his body pressed against yours.

“He was totally hitting on you,” Dylan mused. A soft kiss was placed to your lips, muffling a whine that escaped. “He really needs to learn to back off because you’re all mine.”

“He was not hitting on me,” you scowled. The glint in Dylan’s eyes made you back down. “Fine, he was badly trying to hit on me despite knowing I am happily taken. Just let the kid live, Dyl.”

“Well, I can’t blame him,” Dylan chuckled, pressing a firmer kiss to your lips. “You’re beautiful.”

“And you’re late,” you pointed out, recalling the group of players that had walked by when Jake arrived.

“Well then,” Dylan hummed, grinning. His fingers played with the band on his shorts, tongue poking out to playfully toy with your lips. “We should finish what we started. Show that kid that you are all mine.”

“Except that he isn’t here to watch,” you quipped.

Dylan’s brow rose, smirking at your words. “Would you be into that?” he questioned, pushing down his shorts.

Your mouth parts, but not in the sarcastic response you were about to return with. Dylan lined himself up with your entrance, hiking your legs up so your feet weren’t on the ground. Your bottom sat on the desk, the erect cock of your boyfriend slid deep into your moist pussy. While he stilled, hilt deep inside you, your legs and arms wound around his lean form, hugging him close. Every inch of his muscles - chest, shoulders, biceps and abs - flexed and tensed under your touch, rippling against your fingertips. Veins ran along his bare forearms to his hands, his fingertips digging into your sides.

“Hell no,” you managed to say. “I’d rather it just be you, Dyl.”

“I like the sound of that,” he hummed. “But, I also like when you moan for me in this very office. And at home. And anywhere, honestly. But, for now, you’re going to moan for me here.”

His hips pulled back, a prolonged moan escaping your lips with every inch of his shaft that rubbed along your walls while pulling out. Before the tip could escape your depths, he slammed back into you. The desk rattled, and your body jolted with ecstasy. You moans grew louder the more he moved, repeating the motions he began. Hips clapped together in harmony, skin on skin smacks mixing with your breathless grunts and groans.

Dylan huffed and puffed, eyes closed at the intense feeling he had. Your walls hugged him tightly, the only thing giving him ease to move in and out of you at high speeds being your natural lubrication from your secretion. His hands would tug you forward whenever he slammed back into you, delving deep between your walls until he was hitting the sensitive spots that made you whimper, mewling his name. The tip connected with your sweet spot every time he slid back into you, making your nails dig into his shoulders.

The man carelessly pushed your blouse up, pushing your bra out of the way, so he could dip his head down, latching onto a pert nipple. His thrusts into you didn’t cease, slamming into you relentlessly. The table continued to shake, knocking papers that once teetered on the edge of the desk to the floor. But you weren’t focused on the mess being made. Your head was busy falling back, hands moving to tangle in his hair while he sucked on your breasts. His tongue flicked at the hard bud of your breast. His lips tugged at them with short kisses, pulling at them until the nipple slipped from his mouth with a loud pop.

Too distracted by the man pounding you into oblivion, ecstasy coursing through your veins, neither of you heard the office door open. Dylan was concentrating on his wild thrusts into your tight pussy, cock twitching against your walls with the inevitable orgasm he was approaching quickly, and his lips around your nipples, mumbling incoherent words against you skin that sounded vaguely like he was telling you how much he loved your tits and how he couldn’t wait to paint you in his cum, watching it drip from your depths. You were close, ready to explode around him. Your nails scraped at his scalp, tugging at his hair, chanting his name on repeat.

“O’Brien, aren’t you supposed to be practicing?”

You let out a loud shriek in fright, pushing Dylan away as quick as you could. He left you empty, your legs clenching shut to hide your core from the new presence in the room. Your arms wrapped around yourself, blocking the view of your red blotched chest from prying eyes. Your eyes glistened with fearful tears, your lip quivered with anxiety and face was beet red from embarrassment. Dylan stumbled to pull up his shorts, uncomfortably adjusting his erect cock that was still soaked from your juices.

“H-Hi Mickey,” you gasped, swallowing thickly. Dylan groaned, running a hand through his hair as he, too, turned to face your boss, licking his lips. Mickey’s eyes narrowed on the star player, arms crossed over his chest.

“Hi, boss,” Dylan started with a hint of an awkward chuckle stuck on his tongue.

“Get on the field and practice like you’re supposed to, O’Brien.”

“Yup,” Dylan popped, turning to place a quick kiss to your cheek before sliding by his manager and out the door, his grunts of discomfort heard echoing down the hall from his trained erection that lingered in his pants.

Mickey turned away while you fixed yourself, meekly standing under his gaze when you were done. “I’m sorry,” was your abrupt apology to the older man, your eyes downcast on the carpet.

“I don’t want to know how many times this has happened,” he huffed, seating himself in a chair against the wall. “I hope now is a good time to talk to you, but we really need to have this talk.”

Your eyes narrowed on the man, your brow hurt from wrinkling the way they did. Your fingers curled into your palms tighter, the urge to bite at your fingernails anxiously increasing - a bad habit you seemed to pick up from your boyfriend. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

“You might want to take a seat,” came Mickeys words, the tone somewhat icy and unfamiliar to your ears. It sent shivers up your spine, heart stopping from the unknown discussion you were about to have. “We have a lot to discuss.”

This was not how you thought your day would go.

Your body felt weak while trudging outside. Your feet dragged against the flooring towards the stairs that led to the field. Naturally, you blocked out the greetings the players gave you as they slipped by sweat dripping down their faces from their long afternoon of training. Their sweaty stench hit your nose, but you didn’t grimace. You were used to it since Dylan always smelled of sweat and his cologne after practice. You grew to enjoy the smell after months of being around him.

Your heart was racing as you ascended the steps, lifting an arm to cover your eyes from the blinding sun. Even though it was setting, disappearing over the walls of Citi Field, the light outside still made your eyes water and blink to ease the pain until they could adjust to the bright outside. The last of the players were flitting inside, chatting happily about how their practice had gone.

But your eyes were trained on the man still on the field, gathering the last of the equipment with the new ball boy that was hired in your stead. It meant Dylan had lost today’s bet, you assumed. The Mets boys had begun this tradition of bets during training this season that whoever was the loser had to help gather the equipment after practice. It was partially to help the new ball boy adjust to his job - though you wished they could have given you the same treatment when you started - while it was also a way for the men to have fun while practicing for the upcoming season.

Dylan’s eyes lit up when he saw you approaching, a smile growing on his face. You couldn’t hear what he said, but you saw his mouth open, turning to the ball boy, Todd. Todd eyed the star player for a moment before nodding slowly, almost unsurely. The remnants of the equipment in the boy’s hands were dropped in the bin, bats clattering together and balls thudding against the bottom of the rolling cart.

You were cast a small smile by the ball boy when he passed you, his footsteps picking up as he sprint down towards the locker room. He said nothing on his way, leaving you in the silence with Dylan O’Brien. He dropped his own handful of equipment into the bin before opening his arms, wrapping your body in his embrace. His frame was shirtless, like you had come to see many times when he practiced. His sweaty body clung to yours, the fabric of your top stuck to his muscled chest.

The entire time you were trapped in his embrace, your heart sunk more, remembering the long talk you just had with your boss. Your mind was buzzing with the countless thoughts you had, trying to formulate words to spill like word vomit. Your hands, resting on his defined hips, tightened, nails scratching at his skin along his v-lines. While his nose was buried in your hair, smelling the sweet smell of strawberry, yours was tucked into his chest, his musky odor heavenly on your senses. Your eyes became wet with unshed tears, a few deep breaths uneven from your body.

Dylan must have picked up on your odd behavior and unusual habits because he pushed you away from him slightly, keeping you within arm’s reach, a pout on his lips and concern swirling in his chocolate irises. He stared down at you with love and worry, mouth opening and closing until he finally managed to muster the words he was trying to piece together.

“So, what happened with Mickey?” he asked lowly, running his hands along your arms. He watched you open and close your mouth, trying to spit out the words, but hearing nothing come out. Instead, he changed to topic. “So, today, I went to hit the ball and missed so bad, that I fell in the dirt. I tried to make a dirt angel, but it didn’t come out that well.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his anecdote of the day, hugging him closer. The sound rang in his ears, making him smile while returning the embrace. His nose nuzzled against your cheek before he began to swamp it with kisses, smothering you with his abundant affection in the form of wet smacks to your face. His fingers tickled your sides, earning himself more rambunctious laughter, your body trying to squirm away from him.

You managed to get yourself loose from his grasp, attempt to flee from his loving assault. But years of baseball had done the man wonders, his stamina not only good in bed, as you had come to find while being together, but on the field as well. His strides were longer than yours, and your heels didn’t help much until they were left in the dust - well, stuck in the grass and dirt. You managed to make it out to right field before your attempts to dodge him became futile, bulging arms trapping you against him. Your body twisted against his, your feet managing to tangle together in a heap that sent you crashing to the ground.

Dylan caught himself on the grass, keeping you against his body to cushion the fall. Your back laid against the green petals that were freshly trimmed that morning, Dylan’s body hovering over yours. His eyes stared deep into yours, the chocolate color making you melt like they were a fondue pot. Your arms, once around his neck to keep yourself against him prior to the slip, loosened, hands cupping his scruffy cheeks. Hearing him sigh deeply made your heart race, watching his eyes flutter shut and feeling him sink into your touch like a cat wanting to be pet.

Slowly, you pulled him in for a tender kiss, his response immediate. His head tilted to allow your lips to mesh together better, slow kisses smacking together. They were short, lips connecting and disconnect in bursts that left yours tingling, wanting more. His body rolled itself against yours, speeding up the kisses as he became needier, hungrier and more desperate for your touch. His tongue smoothed against yours, requesting permission to slip between your cheeks despite his unusual bravado to take control and push past your lips without asking.

You loved the way his lips felt against yours. You loved the way his lips dragged against yours when he pulled away after tracing the inner linings of your cheeks with his tongue. You loved how his body pressed flesh against yours, your bodies matching together like two pieces of a puzzle that were meant to be together. You loved this man with everything you had, even though he seemed to have grown softer over the year you were by his side. Were you lying if you said you missed his dominating, cocky side? Absolutely. You loved these romantic moments with him, but sometimes, you just wanted to see that smirk that made you fall for him in the first place, hearing his husky voice utter vulgar things to you.

He pulled away, chuckling at the short whine you released. He allowed a hand to run through your hair, a soft kiss left to your nose before he rolled off of you, plopping onto the grass by your side. His hand took yours, fingers laced together and giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. Your eyes stared at the sky - seeing the mixture of blue, pink and orange from the setting sun amongst wisps of white clouds - before turning to face him. He was already staring at the side of your face, and you could see the concern on his features.

He licked his dry lips once, wetting them before speaking. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled. Dylan’s frown deepened, inching closer to you.

“What’s on your mind, babe?”

You bit at your lip, hard enough that you thought you’d break skin. You didn’t know how to tell him - you didn’t have the heart for it. But, you knew you needed to. “They’re thinking about a transfer.”

“What?”

Your heart broke more at his confusion, the subtle crack in his voice squeezing at your chest. “I-I…” you began before swallowing and continuing. “They’re thinking of transferring one of us to the Yankees.”

“What?” Dylan burst, angrier this time. Pushing himself up on is elbow, he looked down at you, seething with rage. “They can’t do that! Why would they do that?”

“Dylan, calm down,” you pleaded. “Mickey said that… he said that because of your poor performance over the last few months and through spring training, he’s beginning to think our relationship is having a negative effect on the team. He thinks that because we work together, it’s becoming a hinderance. Really, we shouldn’t be together since it’s a conflict of interest, but he allowed it because of how hard we work. But, you haven’t been the best player lately, Dyl. You haven’t been the star hitter we know you are. You can barely make it to first base sometimes-”

“You can’t say that in bed.”

“This is what he’s getting at,” you huffed. “You know I love you, but they’re serious. Mickey is not happy with your performance and his answer is to remove one of us from the equation. They don’t know who it will be yet because he has a meeting next week to discuss everything, but one of us will be leaving the Mets.”

“But,” he murmured, shaking his head to hide any tears. “This is both of our dreams. They can’t just… they can’t just move one of us when we’ve worked so hard to be here.”

“They can, Dyl,” you sighed. “And they will.”

Dylan sighed, collapsing back on the grass. You could sense his unhappiness, making you frown sadly. “Well,” he hummed, ducking his arm behind his head, resting on his forearm. “We will figure it out, I guess.”

“I guess so.”

It fell silent for a second before Dylan spoke up again. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I didn’t think something like this would happen to us. I know how much working for the Mets means to you. It means so much to me too. I’ve always dreamt of being able to play for this team. I never thought me liking a girl would get me transferred.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you told him, glancing at him.

“It’s pretty much my fault for not being at my best.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, Dylan sneering at your honesty. “You haven’t been yourself for weeks, Dyl. What’s up with that?”

The man was quiet, staring up at the darkening sky, sun fading in the distance. “Just distracted, I guess. I haven’t been here mentally.”

“Well, get it together, man!” you teased, shoving him. Dylan grumbled under his breath, making you giggle softly. “You know, you’ve changed a lot over the past year.”

“What?” he questioned, looking at you. “What do you mean? I have not changed. I am still the same Dylan!”

“Mmm,” you hummed, lips pursed tightly. “You’re different to me.”

“Fine,” Dylan huffed jokingly, rolling onto his stomach and laying his head to stare at the side of your face. “Indulge me, babe. How am I different?”

“Well, you’re sweet now,” you told him. You continued, putting more emphasis on your words when you spotted his sour face. “Remember this, Dyl. When I first met you, and the first years I worked for the Mets, you were a cocky, self-righteous fuckboy that had a different girl hanging off your arm every other day. You were degrading and you were rude and I flat out hated your guts.”

“Such loving words,” he joked.

“I’m serious!” you exclaimed in return. “I couldn’t stand working here because you made my life miserable. But then, you changed and I couldn’t stop falling in love with you because you were such a softie under that rough exterior. You were a loving, caring man under the fucks and shits you strung together like it was nothing. You proved you were more than just a fuckboy.”

“Well, ain’t that just the sweetest.”

“But,” you started, stopping short.

“But, what?”

“Sometimes,” you mused, biting at your lip before turning to stare into his eyes. “Sometimes, I guess that I miss that more cocky man. That egotistical man that knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it.”

You could see his brown orbs widen, a spark of interest in your revelation igniting in his dark eyes. “Really?” he wondered, shifting closer until your lips were nearly upon each other. “Is that so, babe?”

“Yeah,” you breathed shortly, eyes already beginning to close. You were ready to feel his lips against yours. “You know I love you and what you do, but there’s just something about the degrading side of you - the cocky, dirtier side of you - that I miss seeing. It’s just kind of sexy to think about you dominating like that.”

“Well,” he quipped, smirking against your lips. “If it helps you out, we can remind you of those times if you want. If you want to see my egotistical side again, we can make that happen. If you want me to be that fuckboy I was before I got with the most beautiful girl in the world, I will gladly do it for you. I will show you a wonderful time, baby, if you’ll let me.”

“Oh, really?” you laughed against his lips. “When is that going to happen?”

“Well…”

The locker room was empty by the time you got there. Everyone had left, leaving you to reenact the first time you had ever done anything with Dylan from over a year ago. The only difference was this time, you were more than willing to be there with him, the water cascading over your bodies while your back was pushed against the cold wall, heated lips placed to yours. Your clothes stuck to your body, the blouse you wore turning see-through while the heated water rained over your bodies. Your body burned from the touch of his hands squeezing at your thighs, his chest pressed to yours while his lips ravenously assaulted you.

He only broke the steamy kiss less than a handful of times. The first was the peel his shirt off his body, the clue cotton with the Mets logo clinging to his biceps and pecs being lifted over his wet with a light suctioning sound, wetly plopping to the side. The second was the drop your skirt, your blouse left unbuttoned to show off your bra. He didn’t have to disconnect from your lips to push your blouse from your shoulders, his focus more on the way his tongue swirled between your cheeks, tangling with yours, than with the removal of your shirt. The third was so he could remove your bra, focusing his mouth on your chest instead of your face.

Your head fell back at the feeling, one hand being used to wipe water droplets from your face while the other tangled in the wet chocolate locks that clung to Dylan’s forehead. Your chest heaved with labored breaths, the hot shower making it harder to catch your breath. It was only amplified by the feeling of euphoria in your heart, the wet smack of lips to your breast making you writhe. Plump pink lips wrapped themselves around each perky nipple, making they harder when he tugged at them nonstop. A large, veiny hand cupped the opposing mound in the palm, fondling it so it didn’t feel neglected. The red blotches that were peppered to your chest earlier multiplied, growing darker than you’re used to.

“God, I just love your tits,” he murmured against your skin, giving your breast a squeeze. You heard him kiss them over and over, your nails curling into his scalp at the pleasure. “I love the way you squirm when I suck on them. Do you like when I suck on them, baby?”

“Yes,” was all you could muster weakly.

“You like when I play with your nipples, don’t you?” he rasped, flicking his tongue against the hard peak to elicit a filthy moan from your throat. “God, you’re such a slut for this. You love when I suck on your nipples. You love when I tug at them with my fingers. Only me, though, baby. Only I can make you feel like this.”

His hand squeezed your breast again, harder this time. “These tits are mine. These nipples are mine. Only I can suck on them until they are so hard, you will show through your bra. Only I can pinch them, squeeze them, and ravage them with my mouth.” He gave them a soft slap, making you yelp in pleasure and pain. “You hear me, baby? All. Mine.”

“All yours,” you repeated.

“Just like,” he began, dropping his hand from your chest to your core. Bypassing your panties with ease, two fingers smoothed themselves over your soaked entrance, your head pushing back further into the wall. “This pretty little cunt is all mine.”

“All yours,” you repeated louder.

Dylan’s lips curled upright, moving back to place his lips on yours. The two fingers at your pussy poked their way inside of you, your mewls muffled and lost to the fierce kiss he was giving you. The slender digits slid in and out of you slowly, taunting you and teasing you, spreading apart while pulling at and thrusting back in when conjoined. Your body quivered at his touch, a knot beginning to coil inside of you.

“Dyl,” you pleaded against his lips when he pulled back for a burst of air. “Please.”

“Please what?” he asked, playfulness laced on his tone.

“Please,” you let out with a whine. “Please me.”

“I think I can do that. But first,” he quipped, pulling his fingers from inside you, tugging at the band of your panties. “These need to go.”

The discard of your panties was agonizing. The man sunk to his knees, dragging them slowly down your legs, leaving kisses to your hips and thighs along the way. Purposefully avoiding your center left you whimpering for more, tugging at his hair in a futile attempt to get him to please you. His shorts were discarded as soon as he stood up, his arm snaking around your waist - his erect cock trapped between your stomachs.

His hand rested on your ass, giving it a slap that made you jolt. “You want a piece of me, babe?” he hummed huskily, licking his lips. His eyes narrowed, peering down at you as you nodded frantically. “Then, turn around, hands on the wall, and stick that round little ass out for me.”

Doing as he said, you felt the sting of the water pelting at your back, resting your forehead against to cool wall. Your fingers curled, palms pressed flat to the tile. Your skin crawled at the subtle touch of his fingers caressing your backside, the light graze of his fingertips traveling down your spine to your ass. A jolt ran through your body when a loud smack was place to your behind, the cheek cupped in the center of his hand.

“This ass is mine,” he rasped, licking his lips. His free hand casually stroked his elongated length, smearing precum over the tip before the shower washed it away. He could feel it pulsating between his fingers, eager to feel your tight walls clasping around him as he bucked into you wildly, slamming you into the wall while you screamed for him.

You couldn’t help but smile, glancing back at him over your shoulder. Dylan felt a groan catch in his throat at the way your eyes shadowed dangerously, the curl of your swollen lips and wet hair that clung to your face making you look attractively appetizing. Even though he had your cheek cupped in his grasp, you shook your backside from side to side, pushing back to feel his erect cock pressed to your skin. “All yours.”

“That’s right,” he breathed, leaning forward so the words were directed into the shell of your ear, ringing against your ear drum. His chest was against your back, his cock sliding between your thighs and between your folds with the help of the water. “All. Mine.”

It wasn’t slow at the start. When he decided to dominate you, he did just that. One single thrust was all it took for him to side inside you - filling you to the brim, stretching your walls to accommodate his large size. A veiny hand pressed to your lower stomach to keep you close and still, his hips pulling back and ramming swiftly back into your tight core.

The motions continued just like that. Pull back, slam into you. The sound of wet, clapping skin from his hips against your ass resonated through the foggy air, the steam from the shower clouding your forms in the small stall. You were bent just the right amount that gave the best angle for him to please you at, the tip of his cock finding the sweetest spots in your pussy that made your stomach tighten more than before. His balls smacked your folds with every thrust, the man hammering into you, his cock pistoning its way in and out of you like a machine in overdrive.

His hand slid through your hair, fingers weaving through the strands, before giving it a sharp tug back. Your moans were being muffled by your hands, your head buried away to the heat and euphoria. You were having a hard time concentrating: the heat making your mind fuzzy, his thrusts sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body, adrenaline from the situation coursing through your blood. Yet, Dylan wanted to hear every moan you were letting out, his name on constant repeat.

“That’s right,” were the husky words you could make out through muffled hearing, the shower pelting against the ground louder than you were used to. That mixed with the ever-growing noise of skin on skin was all you could make out. Even if he was talking almost directly in your ear, you struggled to make out what he said. “Moan my name, baby. I love hearing you scream my name like the slut you are.”

“I-” you choked out, biting back a loud mewl. “I’m only a slut for you, Dyl.”

“Mmm?” he hummed through tight lips. “Only a slut for me? Are you a slut for my cock?”

“Yes,” you gasped.

“You like when I do this?” he continued, ramming into you harder than before, thrusting deep up into your core. Your scream couldn’t be silenced, your body ready to collapse from your trembling legs. If it hadn’t been for Dylan holding you upright, you would be on the floor, quivering from bliss. “That’s right. Scream for me. You love when I pound your tight little pussy with my cock. You love when I fuck you up, don’t you? You’re so dirty, baby. Filthy, dirty little suck for my cock.”

His hand pushed through you wet locks, carefully sliding down the front of your face. Your eyes drifted closed at his semi-soft touch. His palms were calloused from wielding a bat for as long as he had, but, against your wet skin, was a welcoming feeling. The tips of his fingers danced over your partially separated lips, allowing you to place soft kisses to them. You managed to draw them into your mouth, sucking on them briefly, before they descended further south, ending at your neck.

A sharp breath of air left your lips, a squeeze of his hand on your throat slightly restricting your airway. Your mind went completely blank, the hold on your neck cutting off one of your senses increasing the feeling of his manic thrusts into you. Your eyes practically rolled back in your head, your body shaking in his grasp. Your stomach was tight, clenching uncontrollably.

“You’re so sexy,” he whispered into your ear, ramming into you fiercely. The hand on your stomach slid up to your bouncing breasts, giving them a squeeze that mirrored your neck. He tilted his head to watch them sway with his motions, eyeing your face occasionally. “I love the way you look when I’m fucking you like this. If I could, I would film this and get off to this image every time I need to when you aren’t around to help me. I can’t get enough of your sweet body.”

He was getting you close. He could sense it. And much to your dismay, he stopped, pulling out and leaving you dripping and empty. Both hands rested on your chest, juggling your breasts, listening to you whimper pathetically for more.

And when he was satisfied with your noises, he spun you around, one leg lifted with the bend of your knee on his forearm. His other hand, not pressed to the wall, held your arms above your head, his lips finding home on yours. Your exasperated moan was lost to his plush pink lips, swelled from your reckless behavior, when he slid back into you. You back slid against the wall every time he pushed back into you, his speed declined but the pleasure still pronounced. Every thrust was exact and calculated, drawing out every ounce of pleasure he could.

He kept going until you were on the verge of collapse. Your air supply was gone from countless kisses and exhaustive heat. You stomach was so tight, it felt like your insides were going to fall out soon, exploding from the strain. Your limbs ached from clenching, yet you felt the familiar sense of euphoria tingling inside. His lips lingered over yours, sharing the air with you. The touch of his forehead against yours as he pushed into you sloppily made you weak, the contact comforting.

The world seemed to black out when you came, juices spilling out around him, coating his length in your arousal. Your walls hugged him as tight as possible, clinging to him like your life depended on it. Your nails curled into yourself, only separating when his fingers slid through him, interlocking your hands in a firm hold. His body continued to buck into you until he, too, was cumming. His seed shot out in spurts, strings of white filling your core and mixing with your own juices. Your tight walls milked him for all he had, the man slowing his stride until your highs were depleted.

He didn’t pull out as your bodies relaxed. Your leg was dropped, your toes hitting the wet ground, curling into the droplets that encircled your feet. Your arms were released, draped against his shoulders. Your nails scraped at his back, soft red marks left on his skin. They ended up on his neck, playing with the ends of his hair that stuck to the nape of his neck. Dylan turned off the water, droplets dripping from the tips of his chocolate locks to the ground.

Together, you stayed just like that - locked in each other’s embrace, hugging the other tightly. Dylan’s lips touched your forehead, a hand weaving through the hair on the back of your head as he held you. His nose flared out with heavy breaths, his eyelashes fluttering as he fought back tears. Your body shook slightly in his arms, tears of your own beginning to fall. With the moment over, his arms safely around you in a comforting way, the realization was hitting you both.

The dream was over for one of you.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured under his breath. “We’ll figure something out.”

“I know,” you mumbled, leaning back enough to look up at him. His thumb ran across your face, wiping away a stray tear. “Just promise me you won’t make a big ordeal about this. No problems with all of this.”

“I won’t make a scene,” he promised, hugging you close.

Yet, the man couldn’t help but think one thing.

I will figure out why this is happening. And I will fix this for you.

A knock wrapped at Mickey Callaway’s door the following afternoon. The manager looked up from his papers, uttering a low ‘come in’ for the unknown being on the other side. To his surprise, his star player - who seemed to be at his worst since joining the team - walked through the door. His hands were stuffed in his short’s pockets, blue training shirt clinging to his torso. His blue Mets hat was pulled low over his hair, his eyes downcast to the floor.

“Dylan,” Mickey began, placing his pen down. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be preparing the game soon?”

“Yeah, I know,” Dylan uttered slowly. When he glanced up, Mickey was surprised to see the dullness in his eyes, slight red rings around the edges. The dark constellation of marks along his cheeks seemed darker than normal against his pale cheeks. The man shuffled in his step, shifting his weight between feet. “I just had a question for you.”

“Alright,” Mickey hummed, gesturing to the chair across from him. He watched the baseball star take a seat cautiously, sitting on the edge of his seat. “What’s wrong, Dylan? You don’t look that great.”

“I don’t feel great, honestly,” he admitted to his boss. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. It was a rough night.”

“Are you sure you will be ok to play this week? We can switch if needed.”

“No, no,” Dylan quickly denied with the shake of his head. “It’s our home game opener. I want to play. I’m ok to play. I will feel better before the game, I promise. But, I just had to get something off my chest first.”

Mickey’s brow cocked at the statement, nodding at the younger man. “Alright. Go ahead.”

“Why are you doing this?” Dylan asked, voice cracking slightly. Mickey eyed him, waiting for him to continue. “I know my performance hasn’t been great these last few months, but I don’t get why you need to transfer one of us.”

Mickey’s lips pursed, leaning forward on his desk to stare down the athlete. “It’s my job to keep this team together, Dylan. If you aren’t performing at your best, I need to fix that. And from what I can tell, the distraction is your relationship. I was lenient and let you guys work together when I really shouldn’t have because I know you both are amazing at what you do. But, when it comes down to it and you can’t do what you need to, I have to fix it.”

His words were harsh, Dylan wincing slightly at what he said. His hands clasped together in his lap, forming a tight ball. “Please,” he let out, biting his lip. “There has to be something that we can do - that I can do - to fix this.”

“Dylan…”

“Please, Mickey,” he pleaded. “You don’t understand how much this means to both of us. I’ve dreamt of playing for the Mets my entire life. I couldn’t bear playing for another team. And Y/N… she worked so hard to be here. She put up with my lying, cheating ass for so long, dealing with the strain and torture I caused her, because she wanted to work for the Mets that bad. It would break both of us to tear either one of us from this job. So please, there has to be something that I can do to save us both.

“And, if there isn’t, don’t take it out on her. She doesn’t deserve it. It was my fuck up that caused this. I’m the one not performing well enough. I’m the one that pushes her to do the things we do when I know we shouldn’t. She is more amazing at this than I am. She is the best manager you will have on your team and if it comes down to it, transfer me, not Y/N. I couldn’t bear to break her heart.”

Mickey listened to Dylan’s pleas. He watched the man break down before him. It broke his heart to see the young man so vulnerable, his hard shell cracking ever so slightly. Dylan was a hard person to read, giving off a persona of a badass to everyone he met. Yet, here he was, begging for his girlfriend’s job over his own, his heart worn on his sleeve in that moment.

“Dylan,” Mickey started, lifting his own hat off his head to run his fingers through his hair. “There isn’t anything I can do at the moment-”

“Mickey, please,” Dylan choked slightly. “There has to be something.”

Mickey sighed. “The only thing that can potentially stop this is if you improve. Show me that I was wrong in assuming that your relationship with Y/N is affecting how you play. Whatever is on your mind all the time, get if off your chest finally and stop waiting for it. Just do it. Be the Dylan that we know and love. Because if you can’t be him, then why did Y/N fall for you?”

Dylan sat silently for a moment, processing his words. “Get it off my chest? Be myself?” he chuckled slightly.

“Yup,” Mickey hummed. “You have something weighing you down. Get rid of that and show me that you can be the man I recruited. You are our best player for a reason, Dylan. So, be that guy. I know you can do it. Make it count and I assure you everything will work out.”

Dylan’s hands tightened before nodding, standing from his seat. “Alright. If I can show you that we are fit to be here, that us working together isn’t a hassle, you’ll keep us?”

“Of course,” Mickey confirmed. “Prove me wrong.”

“Alright. Thank you for the help, sir.”

“No problem, Dylan,” he said, watching the young man leave. Mickey Callaway leaned back in his seat, a smile on his face. “I hope your things work out for you in the end.”

Opening day at Citi Field. It was bittersweet for you. You spun around in your seat, checking your phone for the hundredth time in days. Every text had been read, but not responded to. Phone calls were ignored. You didn’t know why, but Dylan had been ignoring you since the night in the locker room shower.

Your heart was slightly broken at the fact that your own boyfriend wouldn’t answer you when you tried to call him. He wouldn’t be home when you went by his house, so you opted to stay at your tiny apartment that felt cold without him there. It didn’t feel like home as you laid in bed, the spot beside you void of warmth.

You felt slightly used, thinking that maybe things were dissipating quicker than you’d like after the talk of someone’s transfer. One last rendezvous in the shower and he was done with you. You prayed you were wrong, but there was nothing else you could think of that would explain his odd behavior.

And as you sat in your office, shorts hugging your hips, Mets shirt buttoned up and neatly tucked into your shorts, and a Mets hat that matched your boyfriend’s, you wondered if you should even be attending the game. The season opener at your home stadium - if it was even going to be home soon. You wanted to support your team - support your man - but you wondered if it would be better for you to go home and drown yourself in some Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.

Glancing at the clock, you sighed, daring to make your way up to the field. The game would be starting soon, the opening pitch thrown in a matter of minutes. Your body felt heavy standing from your seat, checking yourself in the mirror before you would attempt to go out. You didn’t want to ruin your makeup from potential tears.

A knock on your door was curious. They didn’t wait for the ok to come in before the door opened, a familiar man making your heart race in your doorway. His uniform was pristine and clean - bound to get dirty soon. He held his glove in his hand, playing with it. His chest rose and fell with uneasy breaths, like he was afraid to confront you after ignoring your presence for days. He avoided eye contact with you, glancing around the room and diverting his gaze whenever he set his sights on your form across the room. It was not like him at all, and that scared you.

Part of you hoped that he would just be himself - that he would rush forward, kiss you like you were his source of living. You wanted him to feel your body up, his hands moving nonstop against your body, memorizing every inch of you. You wanted him to do anything, honestly. You just wanted to be touched, to be held, to be loved. You wanted the man you fell for back in your arms, and so far, he seemed distant.

You were terrified of what was about to happen.

His mouth opened and closed, his Adam’s Apple bobbing when he swallowed the lump in his throat. His knuckles were turning white from how hard he held his glove. Finally, his quiet voice came through. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you responded, unsure of yourself.

“I um…” he cracked, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to talk to you the last few days. I’ve been a bit busy.”

Your heart sank in your chest, splashing in a pit of stomach acid. That didn’t sound good to you and your mind assumed the worst. Was he seeing someone else? Was he through with you? Was he ready to move on because one of you were going to lose your dream job? What had you done wrong to make this happen?

“I can’t explain right now, but if you’ll give me a chance, I will explain soon. You deserve to know what I’ve been doing and why I’ve been kind of absent the last few days.” He paused, rubbing the scruffed jaw you adored. “I wanted to stop by to see if you were going to be watching me play today. It’s the season opener after all and I was hoping… you’d still be here to watch. I think you’ll enjoy the game.”

You were shocked that he was asking for such a thing. It brought back memories of him asking for a chance before you began dating. As much as you wanted to tell him no, not wanting to be hurt, you bit the bullet, nodding slowly. The first time he asked for this, he showed that he was true to his word. Now, you were going to do the same - trust in his word; trust in him.

“Yeah. I’ll be there.”

It was the first time since the other night you had seen him smile. It was small and brief, but it made the butterflies inside you flutter. “Great. I’m glad,” he murmured, backing towards the door. “I should go get ready. The game is about to begin. And please, don’t be late. I want you to be there for the opening pitch because I think it’ll be one to remember.”

Your forehead scrunched in confusion, unable to question him further. He turned on his heel and ran, the door left ajar on his way out. You could hear the chatter of the crowd streaming through the hallways, the stadium filling to capacity for the first game. The fans were there to support your team, and you hoped that they were in for a good game. Knowing that Dylan wasn’t at his peak, you were worried your team would fail, and you would disappoint them.

With a deep sigh, you followed in the steps of your boyfriend, knowing it was time. Your steps seemed to go in slow motion, headed for the steps to the field, directly by the Mets dugout. The sun was still shining overhead, lighting up the field, making your eyes sparkle. Seeing the stands full of people in bright blues and oranges, your heart was alight. The players were preparing for a memorable game. In all your years, it never ceased to amaze you being there.

The music that was playing to pass the time died down, the announcers in the booth announcing that the opening pitch was about to take place. You leaned against the side of the dugout, staying hidden in the shade, to watch the start of the season. Dylan’s strides were long, and his look was nearly opposite compared to how he looked in your office. He was smiling brightly, waving at the crowd as he trotted to the mound, ball and glove in hand.

What you didn’t see was the mic that was hidden in his glove until he stood on the pitcher’s mound, placing the glove and ball to the side to favor the device. “Hey everyone! Long time no see!”

The crowd cheered for him, making you laugh at their delight.

“Is everyone ready for a wonderful season to the Mets?” He held the mic out, listening to the screams of everyone. “That’s good to hear. Well, before we get things started, I wanted to do something a bit special for one of our very, very important team members for the Mets.”

Your brow furrowed, straightening up slightly. You watched him grin, glancing around until he spotted your figure in the distance. He seemed to smile wider, making you wonder.

“A long, long time ago, we had a ball girl that was an amazing addition to the team. She was a beautiful woman, but the ball girl gig just wasn’t for her. She was too smart, too talented, and too overqualified to be chasing around my balls.” The crowd snickered at his words, making you hide your face from embarrassment. “Ok, ok. Bad choice of words. But, it’s true. She had a college degree and everything. And she was lucky enough to become one of our managers. And I was lucky enough to be given a chance to call her my girlfriend on this very mound.

“So, I want to call her out here now because I have a very important thing to talk to her about. I owe her an explanation because I haven’t talked to her in days. I haven’t been the best boyfriend and now, I want to tell her why. So, Y/N,” he hummed, curling his finger your way. “If you’ll please join me on the mound.”

“Not again,” you huffed to yourself, taking a deep breath before stepping away from your spot. Dylan was practically bouncing as you made your way forward, the crowd cheering with every step you took. When you were near, his hand extended to you, hoping you would take it in return. When you did, you could feel how clammy his hands were, his aura exuding nervousness.

“Well, about a year ago, I stood up here, asking this very beautiful woman to give me a chance to be her boyfriend and she has made me the happiest man in the world. She is amazing at everything she does, and I couldn’t be more proud that she has achieved everything she has.” He paused, licking his lips. His eyes met yours, the color bright and vibrant. “I have to say that I love this woman with all my heart.”

“Dylan…”

“And I’m probably going to get hit for doing something like this again, but this has been on my mind for weeks now,” he chuckled, digging his hand in his pocket as he did. “I haven’t been able to focus on practice. I haven't been able to focus on playing. I haven’t been at my best because I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you to be mine for the rest of my life. I didn’t know how to ask. I didn’t know what kind of ring. I was stuck. And it affected my work. And for that, I apologize because it could have hurt you too. I didn’t see you, didn’t talk to you, so I could get myself ready for this. I needed it to be perfect. So, please, Y.N.”

Slowly, he got down on one knee, holding a small, black box in his palm. Inside sat a sing, a single diamond in the middle of the band that glowed in the sun. He cleared his throat once more before speaking up. “Y/N L/N, you are the love of my life and I couldn’t be happier that you gave me that chance. I don’t regret asking you out. I don’t regret putting your name out to be the new manager. You were once my ball girl, then you were my manager girl. But, now, I want you to be my girl, forever, if you’ll have me. Y/N, will you marry me?”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You felt like you couldn’t talk. The attempt to keep your makeup from running was ruined when happy tears slid down your cheeks. You took his hand, closing it around the mic with him. Pulling him up, you held the mic closer to your lips, sniffles echoing through the stadium.

“Yes, Dylan. I will marry you,” you managed to let out. “But, only on one condition.”

His head tilted to the side. “Oh? And what’s that?”

You grinned widely, taking the mic fully from his hand. You glanced around the stadium, listening to people cheer and holler. “You have to go out there and win this game!” you screamed loudly, the fans jumping to their feet, applauding in agreement. Turning back to Dylan, you giggled, staring into his eyes. “What do you say, O’Brien?”

Dylan smirked at your words, snapping the box closed. He took the mic from you, holding it to his lips. “Easy.”

You were surprised when Jacob DeGrom came out to make the pitch instead, Dylan pulling you back to the dugout. You joined the rest of the team, receiving congratulations on the way. Even Mickey gave you a thumbs up, making you question your boss mentally. Dylan held your hand tightly, turning to face you when you were in a corner alone. He held out the ring box towards you, smiling happily.

“Keep this safe for me, will you? That way when we win, I can properly put that ring on your finger.”

“I will keep it safe,” you hummed, taking the box. As soon as you did, you pushed up on your toes, connecting your lips to his. Dylan seemed to melt into you, your hand resting on his cheek, his stubble scratching at your skin. He pulled you against him, kissing your furiously. Pulling apart, your lips brushed his as you spoke. “I love you, Dyl.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

“Kick some butt out there.”

“Always.”

With that, he was on the field leaving you to stand with Mickey, watching the game begin. Mickey cast you a smile, wrapping his arm around you in a fatherly way. “Did you have something to do with this?” you inquired, leaning on the rail, but glancing up at the man.

“Maybe,” he chuckled. “We’ll talk about this later. After the game, I need you and Dylan to come by my office. Alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

Nothing was more fulfilling than watching the crowd in the stands jumping to their feet, fists pumping as the final inning closed, Mets obliterating the Giants - lead by Dylan O’Brien himself. The team ran to their star player as he threw the last pitch, the batter striking out for the last time. There was no need for the Mets to play the bottom of the ninth - they had won. The men gathered on the pitcher’s mound, arms wrapped around their star that had regained his momentum during the game. You laughed at their enthusiasm, clapping your hands happily at the victory for your team.

As the guys broke apart, Dylan’s eyes fell on yours, smiling widely. You saw his mouth open, excusing himself from the others you assumed seeing as he ducked under their arms, rushing in your direction. You joined him on the grass, squealing when his arms wrapped themselves around your waist, lifting you from the ground to spin you in circles. Your laughs grew, wrapping your own arms around his neck, hugging him tight. Your foreheads pressed against one another, noses brushing lightly to each other.

“I won for you, baby,” he whispered, licking his lips slowly. His hot breath hit your face, fanning against your cheeks. Your face hurt from how much you were grinning, weaving your digits through his wet with sweat hair without a care.

“You did,” you murmured back.

“So, that means that you are mine, right? Forever?”

You giggled, nodding against him. “I was yours regardless if you won or not, Dyl. Because I love you so much. Winning is just an added bonus.”

“So, I won for nothing then?”

“Naw. I like when my team wins.”

“Good. Because it’s going to stay that way.” He placed you on your feet for a moment, tugging you closer by the belt loops, biting his lip. “Did you do what I asked? Did you keep it safe?”

“Of course,” you laughed, dropping your arms to pull the small box from your pocket. “Kept it on me at all times. You know I’d never let you down.”

“This is true. You never have let me down, even when I was a prick to you for years,” he laughed, taking the box. His fingers trembled while pulling out the ring. You could feel him shaking while taking your hand, glancing at your face with a grin. “And now, I’m glad I can call you my own for the rest of my life.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? A deal is a deal, playboy.”

“Hey! I gave that up because I feel for you!” he chuckled, sliding the ring on your finger. His arms circled your body again, both of you admiring the sparkling gem that adorned your right hand. “But, I’m glad I did. It was, and always will be, worth it for you. I love you so much, Y/N. My manager girl.”

“I love you too, Dylan. My baseball star.”

“Just kiss already!” the rest of the team yelled. The remainder of the crowd hooted and hollered in agreement, making the pair of you share a laugh, chortling at their actions.

He lifted you off the ground once more, locking eyes with you. His orbs sparkled with wonder, glistening in the stadium lights. Dylan leaned up in compliance, placing his lips on yours. You would have been crazy if you didn’t return it, feeling the love that the man felt tingling to them, coursing through your veins to the rest of your body. His lips were soft, as always, turning you to jelly in his hold. The screaming around you disappeared, the only thing mattering being yourself and the man you loved sharing a moment that you would never forget.

Breaking the kiss with a popping smack, your feet found the grass once more, Dylan’s arms never leaving your sides. The man peppered you with a few more kisses, snuggling into your cheek.

“Dyl,” you laughed, hearing him grunt in response. “Mickey wanted to speak to us in his office after the game.”

“He did?” Dylan asked, sound muffled in your neck.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, kissing the side of his head. “You need to go shower and change so we can go see him.”

“Fine,” he whined under his breath, backing away. A smirk grew on his face, hands gripping your hips tighter. His eyebrows wiggled suggestively as he asked, “You want to join me?”

“Do you want the others to see me naked? Do you want the others to see you with an erection? Do you really want them watching you fuck me silly because we know you can’t keep it chill?”

Dylan’s face fell at your deadpanned reaction, pursing his lips. “Damn, you’re right,” he mumbled. “I don’t want them seeing you naked. I don’t care if they watch us fuck because they can be jealous. But baby, you’re mine.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, smacking his chest. “Shower. Now. I will meet you there.”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, kissing you before running off.

You took your time heading to Mickey’s office, knocking on the door when you arrived. The quiet ‘come in’ made your heart race, one deep breath leaving your chest before opening the door. Mickey gave an almost reassuring smile when he saw you in his doorway, nodding at one of the chairs across from him.

“Welcome, Y/N,” he greeted. You nodded in returned, sitting in the plush chair. “One hell of a game, eh?”

“Yeah. Glad we were able to win. We’re off to a great start this season.”

“That’s true,” he quipped, leaning back. “Hopefully it’ll stay that way.”

“What are you up to?” you asked, biting at your lip. “I’m so confused.”

“Just wait. I’ll explain once Dylan gets here.”

“He should be here soon. He just had to go shower and change,” you told the man who nodded in return.

The silence was agonizing and uncomfortable, your foot resorting to tapping to keep yourself preoccupied. The tick of the clock made your brain buzz. Your hands curled together in your lap, eyes directed to the ground to avoid unwanted eye contact with the man across the desk. Thoughts of what could be happening - what your future held - raced through your mind, your body sweating from the unknown. The uncertainty was killing you.

A swift rap on the door made your head shoot up, turning in your seat to watch Dylan walk through the door. His jeans hugged his waist, a plain black shirt clinging to his torso. His hair was still damp, sticking up in random directions. On his feet sat his normal, worn out Adidas you knew he adored. His lips curled in an awkward smile, his speckled cheeks crinkling together. The door shut behind him, your eyes following the baseball player while he approached and took his seat.

“Hey Dylan,” Mickey greeted. “Great game today.”

“Thanks,” came Dylan’s rather meek reply. “What’s this about, Mickey?”

“Right, right. I’m sure you both are wondering what is going on considering the whole transfer talk,” Mickey began. You nodded slowly, biting your lip. Dylan remained silent, kicking one leg over his knee as he sunk into his seat. “How do I explain this? I wasn’t lying about the potential for one of you to transfer. I know how much you both love being part of this team and how much it means to you, and normally, your relationship doesn’t get in the way of your work.

“But, Dylan - you haven’t been your best. You couldn’t focus on what you were doing and the ruling was that it was because of your relationship. And I knew it was because of this.”

“Because of… this?” you asked.

“Dylan’s proposal,” Mickey stated. “He had mentioned that he wanted to propose to you and wanted to make sure it would be alright because of your position here.”

You glanced at Dylan, who was avoiding your gaze by biting at his fingers.

“What I didn’t expect was for him to ponder it the way he did. He let it distract him. Dylan can disagree if I’m wrong.” The man beside you shook his head wordlessly. “I didn’t want to lose either of you so, we came up with the idea to transfer one of you because I knew it would kick his ass in gear to finally pop the question.”

“So, you played us,” Dylan chuckled dryly.

“Kind of,” Mickey laughed. “You guys are good for each other and you are good for this team. So, I did what I had to so you guys are happy. I know it hurt you to think that you’d have to leave, but I did what I thought was best for you. And look what happened. It’s about time you guys got hitched.”

Your face flushed, shaking your head. “That’s cruel, boss.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

“So, what does this mean?” Dylan asked, glancing between you and Mickey. “What’s going to happen to us?”

Mickey chuckled under his breath, leaning on his desk. “Neither of you are being transferred. I will talk to the other managers and let them know what the decision is. You are too great of assets to this team to let someone else have you. I wouldn’t want to see you putting your skills to work with someone who isn’t us. And I know this means everything to you guys,” Mickey smiled. “It would be a pleasure to keep that dream alive in you.”

“Thank you, Mickey,” you laughed, holding back grateful tears.

“Yeah,” Dylan choked, clearing his throat. “Thanks, Mickey.”

The older man chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t thank me, guys. Just get out of here and enjoy the rest of your night. You’re engaged now, after all. Go celebrate.”

“Thanks,” you hummed again, standing from your seat. Dylan followed your lead, not hesitating to reach out for your hand. Fingers interlocked together, the athlete beginning to lead you to the door.

“Oh, and guys?” Mickey called, making you both halt and turn. Mickey’s lips were straight and tight, his eyes narrowed. The glint was glaring, sending shivers to your spine. “Don’t let this happen again. Next time, I won’t be able to help. We won’t go lenient like this again.”

“Yes, sir,” you said in unison, rushing out the door with a loud thunk, running away from your boss as fast as possible.

His words were bone chilling, and his stare was soul piercing. You didn’t want to test him any further. You were saved once - that was enough already.

Most people, to celebrate their engagement, would pop a bottle of champagne, make a toast, sip the bubbly alcohol until you could feel the bubbles popping down your throat and in your stomach, destroying your inhibitions after splitting the rest of the bottle.

But no.

You were carried to Dylan’s room quickly, the front door barely shut and locked before you were thrown over his shoulder. It didn’t matter that he had played baseball all night. It didn’t matter that he was tired and sore. His adrenaline was pumping and his hormones were through the roof. His erection was obvious in his jeans, a thick rod pressed against the inside of the denim. The outline was prominent, even in the dim light of the house.

His lips were pressed to yours before you could blink, your back laid to his sheets with the man hovering over you. His hips ground to yours, honey colored irises closing in bliss. Your own eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his tongue tracing your sealed lips, prying them open to gain access to your inner cheeks. Your hands roamed up and down the man’s muscled back, scratching at his shirt that stood between your nails and his marked skin.

The kisses you shared were fast and sloppy, his lips dragging down yours before disconnecting with a loud, distinct smack that filled the four walls of the bedroom. Your separation was always short lived, reconnection after a brief intake of air. Tongues tangled together, swirling circles around one another between your cheeks. Noses bumped against each other, teeth clashing. Smack after smack of lips was making your body tremble, ears ringing from the sound. Your legs wanted to rub together to ease the sensation present between them, yet Dylan’s body kept that from happening.

The man leaned back, your lips swollen and red from his relentless assault. Your eyes were glazed over from ecstasy, but you managed to focus on the handsome man above you. His biceps flexed, veins running along his arms that accentuated his skin, making your mouth water. As he crossed his arms, hands taking the ends, the shirt was removed - discarded across the room. He was left bare from the waist up: lean abs glaring at you, perky pink nipples against pale skin - one tiny freckle resting above one, a defined collarbone and shoulders that made your heart race. His Calvin Klein boxers poked out of the band of his jeans, clinging to his v-lines. His muscles twitched whenever he moved.

He pulled yours up next, your hands held above your head while he stripped your shirt off your body, bra following shortly after. The sheets felt cold under your bare back, goosebumps forming on your arms. They grew - they were amplified - with the tender touch of his lips trailing down your body, leaving marks from your neck to your chest, assaulting your breasts with loving kisses. The nipple was drawn between his lips, tongue flicking at the stiff bud restlessly. A veiny hand massaged the other, fondling it in the palm with the pad of his thumb smoothing over the erect peak.

You mewled loudly for him, his name befalling your lips. The graze of his teeth against your skin drove you insane, the man nipping endlessly at your skin. The tug of his lips at your nipple, pulling at it until it was released with a pop, made your head spin, your core throbbing with want. Everything he did made the increasing wetness between your legs more prevalent. Yet, all you could do was tug at his hair, pleading at him for more.

An empty feeling remained when he left your chest, his kisses trailing south. His nimble fingers worked quickly on the shorts hugging you hip, dragging them - panties included - down your slender legs in one swift motion. Dylan received a full view of your dripping pussy, his mouth gaping and wet at the sight. Two long digits ran through your folds, gathering the moisture you had seeped out. The tips toyed with the entrance, your body writhing unhappily.

“Dyl,” you whined, watching him through half-lidded eyes. “Please. I want you. I need you.”

“What do you want, baby? What do you need?”

“Your cock,” you mused quickly.

Dylan pouted, your laugh unable to be released like normal. On every other occasion, you would have loved the way he pouted, calling him adorable and soft. But, you were desperate in that moment for more. “But baby,” he whined, voice low and husky. “I want to taste you so bad. I haven't gotten to indulge in your body in days. I haven’t gotten to taste your sweet juices on my tongue. I want to eat you out so bad.”

“Fine,” you huffed. Your legs wrapped around him, let out a grunt when you forced him to flip over. The man under you didn’t see pleased when he found himself against the mattress, the springs squeaking under yours weights bouncing from the movement. You leaned up his body, your frame flesh against him - chest to chest, hips grinding together with his jeans blocking him from meeting your center. “Then, we can do it this way.”

He wanted to question, but he didn’t. He let you do what you were planning because he knew he wouldn’t be disappointed. He watched you remove his pants without a hitch, his cock erect and free. He loved the idea of your body hovering over him, turning so your wet pussy was in his eyeline, directly above his mouth. It was even better because you were staring right at his shaft, your lips puckered to place kisses at the swollen, red tip.

He was hungry, delving in for his meal before you could sample yours. His tongue dove deep into you, swirling circles between your walls that made your arms weak. A loud moan was heard, silenced when your hand took his shaft, directing it between your cheeks. Dylan loved the way you blew him, bobbing your head up and down his shaft, hollowed cheeks particularly working at the sensitive head of his length. Your tongue always loved two things: the rough patch of the frenulum and the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock. The way your tongue slid over them made his legs clench, his abs tighten, and his orgasm imminent.

This was one of his favorite positions because he was able to please you, savoring your taste while you fought back moans, while you pleased him at the same time. It was a win-win scenario, both players hitting a homerun when you were gushing down each other’s throats.

Yet, he was greedy. He loved the taste of you on his tongue. He loved the way your walls tightened, spasming happily while he licked you clean. He loved the way your body quivered when his thumb met your engorged clit, intensifying the feeling his mouth gave you. And he loved the way you felt on his cock, gagging on him while shoving him down your throat like he was your last meal. Your mouth felt tight and wet, your tongue working magic on his male parts. Your hand cupped his balls close to him, juggling between fingers while being held. He loved it all.

But he wanted to be inside you, watching you moan. He wanted to be thrusting into you, watching your tits bounce as he moved. He wanted to fuck you hard and fast, filling your pussy with strings of his seed until you were seeping his white substance.

The downside to having an athlete as a boyfriend? Well… fiancée? He was strong and found it easy to dominate you. When he wanted to be in control, he could easily overpower you. That’s how you found yourself back on the bed, head against the pillow with your legs separated. Dylan sat between them, stroking himself languidly. His shaft was wet thanks to your previous actions, making it easy to work himself to ensure he was hard and ready. The tip was even more red and ready than before, oozing precum from the slit.

“Are you ready, baby?” he rasped, voice deep and husky. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’re never going to forget this moment. You’ll be feeling me pounding your tiny little cunt for days. God, I’m going to fill you up so much.”

“Please,” you pleaded, back arching. “Please Dyl. I need you.”

“God, I love when you whine for me,” he let out, leaning down to kiss your lips once. “I love you, baby. You’re all mine.”

“All yours,” you uttered lowly. Your arms wrapped around his neck, playing with the hair on the back of his head. “Please, Dyl. I need you.”

“What do you want?”

You whimpered, scratching at his scalp. “I need you to fuck me, baby. So hard and so fast. Just the way I love it.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he mused.

He was inside you in a matter of seconds, hilt deep and stretching your walls wide. Your moan was drawn out, throat rumbling his name. Your head was thrown back, holding onto him tighter. His large cock filled you to the brim, pulsating inside you to make your insides churn.

He didn’t stay still for long, the man leaning back on his knees to thrust wildly into you. His hips pulled back, snapping back into you roughly. Skin slapped against skin, his hands gripping your thighs to keep your legs separate. Your body jostled against the bed, moaning profusely at the way he made you feel. His cock pistoned in and out of you quickly, the skin soaked with your arousal. The tip hit your sweet spot every time he slid back into you, making your stomach clench. He pounded you into his mattress, shoving himself deep into you.

“Fuck. Yes,” you gasped, weaving your fingers through your hair, arching your back off the bed. Dylan licked his lips, staring at your chest that bounced with his motions. The sight alone made him push harder, thrusting faster than before into you. “Fuck! Right there, baby!”

“God, you’re beautiful when you scream for me,” he let out, biting his lip. “Keep screaming for me baby. It makes me so hard for you.”

His hand dropped from one leg, finding your clit. An electric shock coursed through your body, screaming his name from his simple touch. Harsh circles were rubbed to the nub, amplifying the pleasure you were feeling. You were squirming against the mattress, desperate for release. Your vision was blurry, the combination of his powerful thrusts and his fingers rubbing harshly to your sensitive clit tightening your gut. Your throat was tight, almost unable to breath in the heat of the moment. Sweat coated your skin, the sheets stuck to your skin.

“Dyl,” you panted, eyes clenching. “Oh god, Dyl.”

“That’s right, baby. Say my name,” he grunted. “Are you going to cum?”

“Yes,” you managed to squeak. “I’m cumming. Oh god, I’m cumming!”

Your sight blackened for a bit, body spasming relentlessly. Your walls clung around him, liquid splattering around him. The wet sensation coated him - literally. For the first time in your life, you had squirted upon your orgasm, Dylan’s lower stomach wet from the action. It soaked into the sheets under you, your body slowly beginning to ease. Though he didn’t fill you up, having experienced his own orgasm, his cock throbbed against your walls, enjoying not only the tightness of your pussy and the wetness that came with it, but the experience he was given.

Your eyes cracked open as your high died, staring at the man. His eyes were dark, his hand scratching at his chin like he was pondering what just happened. His tongue slowly eased over his lips. His hips circled against yours, still filling you up.

“You squirted,” he blunted hummed. Your face began to heat up, blushing profusely. “You fucking squirted, baby.”

“I did?” you replied meekly.

“Yeah,” he mused with a smirk. “And fuck, I didn’t know that would be so hot. That was literally the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. God, can you do that again?”

“Really?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow with a smile. “And yet, you didn’t cum yet? It was hot, and you didn’t cum?”

“Not yet, but I’m pretty close,” he told you. “If you squirt again, I won’t be able to contain myself.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” you quipped. “I’m ready for round two.”

Dylan’s smile grew, pulling out of you long enough to turn you on your side, resting on his elbow behind you. One leg was draped over his hips, allowing his cock to realign with your core. He tilted your head back to face him, placing a passionate kiss to your lips as he slid back into you.

His hips snapped into you, hips bucking against your backside. His lips continued to attack yours, shielding your moans from the rest of the room. His hand gripped at your chest, squeezing your breast until his knuckles were white. Your body was instantly on fire once again, stomach tight and body weak in his grasp.

His thrusts were sloppy, his orgasm already impending. He was close from before, and the new angle, tight and wet, made it harder to keep himself sane. Thrusting into you from behind, his hand clasp tightly around your breast, he was forced to breathe heavily, nose flaring with each breath. He kissed you incessantly, tongues playing and lips smacking. He was bound to lose to soon, pounding into you as fast as he could. The tip rammed into your g-spot with ease, making your walls hug him tighter.

The hand on your breast slid between your legs, the man thankful your leg was over his hip, your heel hitting his perfectly round backside. His fingers found home on your clit once more, the pads of his fingers skimming over the nub. In his arms, you quivered, shaking from intensity. He was trying to drive you over the edge, your sight beginning to develop black dots and colorful stars.

“Cum for me,” he whispered against your lips. “Cum and squirt for me. Show me how good I make my fiancé feel.”

The way he said it, emphasizing the term, made your heart burst out of your chest. His rhythm, though frantic in nature, picked up, slamming himself into you in desperation. You could feel it - he was close. And you could feel yourself slowly giving in to the ecstasy of love. Your mouth parted, managing to choke out, “only if you cum inside me too,” before going limp in his arm, convulsing in his grasp.

Your legs were wet. The sheets were wet. The liquid went everywhere it felt like. It came gushing out, splashing against his hand as he rubbed at your swollen clit vehemently. Your walls clenched around his cock, ready to milk him dry when he, too, came. Your juices spilled out around him, coating his shaft to make it easier for his wild, animalistic thrusts. His lips met yours, hiding the moans you both wanted to release.

The knot inside him unraveled the second he felt your walls close. The orgasm he had been chasing, yet fighting, was here. Strings of his hot seed shot out in bursts, filling your womb with his warm essence, mixing with yours. Every last drop he had built up poured into you, filling you with love and affection you knew he felt for you - and only you.

His lips slowly left yours, chest heaving with heavy pants. His eyes cracked open slowly, seeing the smile form on your face, your chest mirroring his. He watched your chest rise and fall, licking his lips at the sight of your breasts that kept him hard within you for a moment longer. Slowly, he pulled out of you, cupping himself as he waddled to the bathroom for a wet towel to clean yourselves up with. He took to the time to tenderly wash you himself, showing the softer side of the former playboy only you, and people close to him, got to see.

You felt the bed dip when he sat on it, running his fingers through your sweaty hair. “Who would have thought that seeing you squirt would be the hottest thing in the world?” he teased, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “I could live seeing that every day.”

“Did you never make a girl squirt before, O’Brien?”

“No, actually,” he chuckled dryly. “But, I’m glad when I did, it was with you. Because fuck, I’m going to be dreaming about that.”

“Well, you’re stuck with it from now on,” you laughed, rolling onto your stomach, head turned to stare at him. “You really want to be stuck with me for the rest of your life?”

Dylan glanced up at the ceiling, leaning back with his arms behind his head. “Years ago, a beautiful woman joined the Mets as our ball girl. She was the most beautiful and talented woman I had ever seen. Yet, I was a dick that fucked around with woman. She made me want to change. That same woman is now my manager and I couldn’t be happier that she is where she is - in my life. And I want her to stay there.

“I love you, my manager girl.”

“I love you too, you dork,” you laughed, pulling him down into a kiss. “You sure have changed a lot since we first met. You’re such a softie now.”

Dylan grinned evilly, forcing back onto your back. His hands trailed up your sides, the man listening to your low moans.

“We can change that.”

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