#CHAMPIONS LOVE ♡

[stall1iion]

champion's love - eight

Content Warning: the following chapter is intended for mature audiences only, contains strong language and profanity that may not be suited for children and sensitive adults. I will mark when the smut starts and ends for those who wish not to read that part. Thank you. 

tags: smut, needy max, equally needy reader, teasing/banter

Minors dni!! Warnings below!! 

warnings: cunnilingus, p in v, dirty talk 

liked by maxverstappen1, bsf1, bsf2, victoriassecret and many others

y/nofficial thank you Victoria Secret for allowing me to showcase your newest summer bikini! Link in my link tree, get 30% off using my code!

tagged: victoriassecret

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username9 HELLO?? THE BODY IS T 😫😍

username2 😫can max fight??

username34 the way my jaw just dropped

username123 why did she think anyone would want to see her skinny ass? It’s barely giving curvy

⤷username55 first of all, she’s an athlete, of course she’s going to be skinny and lean, second that gives you no right to talk about her body like that, it’s giving jealous

ynsteponme: y/n could run me over, beat me with a bat, set me on fire, please just do anything to me i really don’t care

⤷username99 literally so down bad for her

landonorris you look gorgeous.

⤷y/nofficial i appreciate this, but i post for the bad bitches only.

⤷landonorris i am the bad bitch you speak of.

⤷y/nofficial my bad gang 💪

username1 just looked at myself and sighed

username78 max watch out bc you and i are not friends

⤷username45 so we all in love with y/n right?

⤷username8 of course we are!

⤷username7 i mean LOOK at her 😻max can’t handle all that fr

maxverstappen1 GOD DAMN

⤷bsf2 HELLO??

⤷bsf1 my brother in christ…😀

⤷OscarPiastri oh he’s down bad…

⤷danielricciardo oh max…

⤷georgerussell63 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

⤷charlesleclerc why have you never publicly declared your love for me?

⤷y/nofficial charles your not beating the lestappen accusations, my dear

username59 BRO MAX’S COMMENT?? 😭

lilymhe it should be illegal to look this good 💗

⤷y/nofficial says you 😘🤤

⤷lilymhe don’t make me wife you up 🤭

⤷y/nofficial when’s our wedding baby?? 🤭

⤷alexalbon I will throw you in the ocean 😻

→ smut starts here

Twenty minutes later you were both amused and in disbelief when you heard the front door to Max's house open. Sitting up and turning to look at the door, you spoke before you even saw him with a laugh. “Stop, what are you doing here?”

Max let out a chuckle, getting closer to you with a grin on his lips and a fervent look in his eyes. Reaching you, he placed his hands on either side of the couch, caging you in as he looked down into your eyes. “I said I’d come and show you who bro was, didn’t I?”

“I was just joking around though” you said with a chuckle, not moving the rest of your body now as the living room felt heavy and intense.

“And I said sorry wasn’t going to save you” his face was so close to yours, literally hovering above you. “Plus, you didn’t seem against it earlier”

“Oh so you did read my message?” you raised an eyebrow at him, your eyes watching as he licked his lips at the question before looking down at your body - his shirt, one of the few that didn’t brand red bull on it at least, draped over your body for the most part. Fulfilling the objective of being oversized but tight enough that he could see the faint outline of your boobs, more than enough for his hungry eyes.

Max leaned back, opening his skirt up and exposing himself to you more, a silent confirmation that he was allowed to do what he said he would - and one he wasn’t fully sure you’d give him. He knew you were both being careless and playful, but this would be their first time together, and he didn’t want it to be the result of him pressuring you. He was fine with stopping here and cuddling if you wanted, he would deal with his own desire and they could put on a movie.

You knew he was giving you that option, that cop-out if you felt like it; but surprisingly…this process felt natural to her. No nerves, no fear, just pure attraction and desire. So after staring at his body for a while, you reached your hand out and placed your palm on his chest first, noticing how his heart pulsed against her hand rapidly with the concealed strength he had been using to control himself. Looking up at him, your hand slid up his shoulder and down his arm before wrapping around his wrist.

Slowly you guided his hand to grab your boob through the shirt. It might’ve seemed weird from anyone on the outside, but between the two of you, alone with your desires, he knew that this was you giving him that confirmation and his hand slowly grabbed at your boobs, fondling them through the shirt for a few before, albeit hesitantly, reaching under his - your shirt and feeling your bare skin.

A small shiver went up your spine at the difference in temperature, his hands just a bit colder but he seemed to be enthralled with your boobs now, a groan leaving him causing you to giggle. “What’s so funny?” he asked with a smile as he glanced up at you.

“You seem so engrossed in my boobs” you said with a smile and a chuckle and he chuckled and pulled his hands away, sliding himself in between your legs with a smile

“Their nice, saw a glimpse of them in that post of yours” he said and you chuckled, “God you're totally a tits man”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy” he said in retort and you laughed

“Are you daring me?” you asked as you looked at him before reaching and pulling your shirt up, Max finally able to see your boobs in all it’s glory and he folded like the man he is, letting out a deep groan as he looked and she laughed. “Mystery Solved!” you said, pulling the shirt back down with a shit eating grin as you looked at him and watched him run a hand through his hair.

“Don’t do this to me” he said, pushing himself against you so that you could feel his erection against your clothed pussy. “I’m not doing anything” you said with a giggle and almost in defeat, he leaned his head on your shoulder. Part of you thought he was going to beg and sat up a little straighter to pull him closer. Yet, like always, Max was unpredictable and said something she didn’t expect.

“You want this as much as I do” his head raising again and staring right into your eyes - that matched with one of his hands now being placed on your thigh, thumb caressing it softly, contradicting the needy pressure he was applying with it. It was no surprise when your body started vibrating with sensations that spread across your skin and honed into a throb, and you both crumbled at the same time.

Max lost his control first though, bringing his lips to yours, kissing you roughly like he planned on consuming you, as if he was containing an urge for too long and could do nothing but let it explode out. Your body melted as you reciprocated his kiss, his tongue grazing your lips before biting you, a whimper escaping your lips as he did so.

“You like that?” he mumbled, his hips grinding against you already, anticipating traveling throughout his body. You could only nod in affirmation as he leaned back to look at you before leaning you down onto your back, his hand sliding up your leg in the process as if in preparation.

He let his hand explore your body, moving upwards and upwards before reaching your underwear. Through it, he could feel the damp spot already seeping through, exposing how wet you were, and he let his fingers softly caress your clit with a triumphant smile. “Mystery solved” he said, throwing back your own words at you and you rolled your eyes, your back arching just a little bit. “Screw you” you managed to say between breaths as he sped up his movements.

“Oh trust me, I plan to” he replied, and the way he managed to be so cocky just intensified your need for him. As if guessing this just from your blissed expression, he pulled his hand away, accompanied by your whines as you looked to see what he was doing. His hands moving up and grabbing the band on your underwear before pulling them down, you lifting your hips to help as he slipped them off your feet and then reached for your shirt, leaving you fully naked on the couch.

“Fuck” he cursed, his cock throbing in his pants. Desperate, he almost gave up on his attempts to control himself. However, he did not want to stop teasing you, looking at your flushed cheeks and open mouth, it was worth the self control he had to possess. Looking down at your body, his eyes zeroed in on one thing he didn’t expect, a tattoo. It was on her v line, properly hidden by underwear and most outfits.

“When did you get this?” he murmured, lowering his face down as his lips hovered over it, his breath warm against your skin.

“Um…2018…after the olympics” you answered, your voice sounding out of breath as you pushed up on your elbows to watch. His lips slowly leaning down to kiss the spot. “It’s pretty” he said as he looked up at you, and god if only he knew how pretty he looked like that, his teeth grazing against it teasingly causing your breath to hitch. He chuckled before his arms linked under your legs and pulled you up to his face, glancing up at you before diving in like a starved man.

The way Max ate pussy was almost disgusting, like he was trying to suck your soul out of your body. Your hands dropped to his hair, sliding through the strands and bucking your hips up to meet his tongue. He looked ridiculously good while lapping at your pussy or sucking your clit in his mouth, his eyes shining, his hair being pushed back and the way his shoulders were wider than your hips, giving a good place to rest your legs on. You were so distracted by his looks that you only realized he had slipped a finger inside you when it curled into your cervix and you let out a loud moan.

“Can I put a second?” he mumbled against your skin, kissing your thigh as he looked up at you and you nodded, encouraging your boyfriend’s movements and easily enough, he pushed a second finger inside. His fingers curled even better as his mouth worked exclusively on your clit, his left arm reaching to press down on your hips to keep you still, making you feel his movements even more intensely. You threw your head back as you arched off the couch, your fingers keeping a merciless grip on his strands, hard enough that you might have been worried about pulling some out as he worked you up. He could feel when your legs started tensing around his neck and how your walls tightened around his fingers, both signs that you were close to release so he sped his movements. It was a particular deep stroke of his fingers to your insides that had you coming for him, your legs shook around him as you experienced an unexplainable strong orgasm. Max continued to eat you through your orgasm and it was only when he pulled away did you notice his face was covered in a transparent liquid, realizing you had squirted on him.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry” you said, covering your face to stop the embarrassment you felt as Max sat up

“Sorry for what, baby?” he asked, kissing up your body before pushing his shirt off his shoulders, “didn’t know you could do that, huh?” he whispered into your neck and you shook your head.

“No” you said, burying your face into his neck, “it was embarrassing”

“That’s okay baby, you don’t have to apologize for that. It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, you look so pretty when you cum, darling” he said and you chuckled before letting out a sigh

“Still embarrassing” you said and he chuckled before leaning back and kissing your forehead.

“Whatever you say, do you still wanna continue? Or are you all good here?” he asked and you shook your head

“No- no, i can keep going” you said and he looked to make sure you were sure before he nodded

“Alright, if you say so baby” he said with a nod before unbuckling and taking off his pants. Your eyes watched religiously as you watched him kick them somewhere on the floor before grabbing his boxers, and sliding them down. You watched as it bounced back up and rested against his stomach with a small gasp before she looked up at him. “You can touch baby, only fair” he joked and you reached down, your fingers wrapping against the base before giving it a nice pump which caused him to hiss.

“Fuck” he cursed, and you stopped for maybe a split moment before he interrupted you. “No, no- keep going…it’s just, it’s been a while” he said and you nodded before you continued, jerking him off for a few moments before he stopped you, way too close and he wanted to wait. You were a little sad you weren’t able to taste him but you figured you could do it another time. He reached for his pants again, pulling out a condom from his pocket and rolling it on before he slid back in between your legs.

“You ready?” he asked and you nodded. He brought his tip to your wet pussy, sliding so well that he couldn’t help but moan. Your gasp of pleasure made it all worth it, and your cry of frustration as he pulled himself out drove him absolutely insane. The way you craved him made him dizzy, intoxicated with your drunkenness of him, having you all for himself the way you were in that moment being almost a dream. He pushed back in, his large cock filling you and the small pain from stretching was overtaken by pleasure as you felt his hips grind against yours. The rhythm was nothing like his fingers, nothing like his tongue, it was slow. He was slow, like he was savoring every moment of this.

You clenched, you squealed, begged, anything flowed out your mouth and none of it was coherent, but Max liked that. In fact, it only quickened his pace as he watched your eyes roll to the back of your head and moan his name.

"you're taking me so well" his voice is raspy, husk and faint. “Such a good girl…”

A moan rippled through your body at the sound of him, every thrust from him sending butterflies into your stomach until one in particular hit your cervix and you let out a cry as you came on his cock.

It takes a few more thrusts from him before he’s spilling into the condom with a low groan, his face leaning into your neck as he trembled a bit. The two of you panting and getting your breathing under control as you came down from your highs. He slips out after a few minutes, tying the condom before getting up to throw it away, and coming back with a warm wash cloth, sitting next to a relatively fucked out you and after wiping your leg to warn you, starts to clean you up, even if it’s your own fluids.

→ smut ends here

liked by maxverstappen1, bsf1, bsf2 and many others

y/n.jpg Been at home all day, Jimmy is especially obsessed with me as you can see (shoutout to waking up with sassy behind my knees) 

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username7 stop 💀is she in the bath and jimmy and sassy are staring at her?? 

bsf2 awww look at Jimmy on your chest 🥹

maxverstappen1 tell jimmy to get out of my spot 

⤷username6 hello?? 💀is he talking about your chest

⤷bsf1 ignore him, he’s different without his meds 

username23 is it just me or is max and y/n like suddenly really affectionate? 🤔like no hate, I love it, it’s just a crazy shift 

⤷username2 nah you're so right moot, especially max 💀were they released from pr jail or something?? 

⤷username4 well y/n sure as hell wasn’t 😂she’s always been unhinged, it might just be her influencing max 

lilymhe never wanted to be a cat so badly 

⤷y/n.jpg don’t worry baby, I got you 💋

⤷alexalbon I give up 

⤷maxverstappen1 a wise choice truly

charlesleclerc how come sassy is nice to you?? 

⤷y/n.jpg girls just recognize girls 

⤷bsf1 lies, she’s just freakishly good with animals 

OscarPiastri can I pet them? 

⤷y/n.jpg osc! of course you can, just tell me what day you plan to swing by bc I wanna make snickerdoodles 

⤷logansargeant I heard snickerdoodles 

⤷y/n.jpg 💀yes logan, you can come too i guess

→ we have a contact name change for max, goodbye max, hello maxie 

→ Jimmy and Sally love their new mommy, especially Jimmy 

Author’s Note!! 

Hey Guys, sorry about the wait for this chapter, I lowkey didn’t know how I was going to do this and switched the format at least 7 times. I also broke my wrist on my dominant hand 🙂(didn’t know the ao3 curse applied to tumblr too) thankfully I can type with both hands but finishing out my first smut chapter with one hand was difficult. Speaking of smut, this was my first hand at writing this stuff so 🥹hopefully it’s good, I did not reread it bc one hand but also bc I’m indecisive and will change it, anyways hope you enjoy this chapter!! 

taglist: @boiohboii @ale-522 @ietss @theseerbetweenus @jaxx-7 @sainzluvrr @the-untamed-soul @ashy-kit @hc-dutch @nichmeddar @delululeclerc @sweate-r-weathe-r @dhanihamidi @tellybearryyyy @luvsforme @samantha-chicago @theblueblub @woozarts

༉‧₊˚  CHAMPIONS LOVE ༉‧₊˚

⤷ Following the messy breakup between Max Verstappen and Kelly Piquet, Max’s manager comes up with a solution to divert the attention – a fake relationship. His new girlfriend? Two time olympic gold medalist figure skater, y/n for the USA team. Easy? Well…

[asterias-record-shop]

Hey so I was wondering if you haven't already if you could do one where ethan is masturbating to the thought of the reader and the reader accidentally walks in on him and just smirks you can decide the rest I really love your work. ❤

╭════• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •═══╮

— sneaky

╰════• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •═══╯

Ethan can’t help himself when he finds something of yours, but he’s interrupted when you get home early from class.

Ethan always stayed at your apartment. He liked it, it was comforting. It always smelled like your perfume, just a little messy, but he always cleaned up when you were gone. Todays mission was your room.

You were gone at one of your classes that you hated because the professor sucked, while Ethan was off. He tidied up your bookshelf, the organized your drawer before his eyes caught the view of your underwear drawer.

He had talked to you about how he was a virgin and how he hadn’t had many sexual interactions, especially when you had some that you weren’t too happy with. You both agreed to take it slow, but in reality he truly didn’t want to.

He opened your drawer, gasping at the many matching sets of lingerie made from holsters and lace and garters. He stared, grabbing the bright red lace panties with garters attached to it makes his mouth drop. He could see the bra attached to it, and it makes his jaw drop and his pants tighten around his cock as a result from getting hard.

He takes a deep breath, checking the time; still an hour until you got out of class. He looks around, quickly shutting your window before jumping onto your bed. He laid out the lingerie, too afraid to rip it or mess it up if he wrapped it around his cock.

It doesn’t take him long to lay against the bed, humming as he slipped off his pants and boxers, knowing he’d be hella embarrassed if you ever saw him wearing boxers. Around you, he always tried to wear briefs, but this was the exception because he would’ve taken a shower before you got home.

He exhaled shakily as he wrapped his hand around his cock, pumping himself slowly to get used to it. He never thought he’d fuck himself with his hand thinking of you wearing a red gartered lingerie and how you would fuck him.

You had said before that you had done blowjobs before, would you start with that? Rub your tongue along the bottom of his shaft, be a little minx and drag your teeth along his sensitive tip? Cruel and keep your thumb over his tip to keep him from cumming?

His hips buck at the thought, thumb sliding over his tip as he stared at the lingerie. Oh, he wouldn’t even take it off of you, he knew how expensive it must’ve been. He’d watch as you slid the panties off to the side, barely slipping a finger or two inside of your pretty cunt before straddling his hips and taking his cock.

He’d whine as you took him raw, no previous stretching besides your fingers and watch as you slowly sank down onto him. You had said before that the one time you took cock with no prep besides your wetness hurt, but you loved it. You had also said that taking dick with no protection was part of why you waited so long to get in a relationship, wanting to make sure you both got tested for whatever and started a strong, long lasting relationship from there.

He whined as he pumps himself, the thought of being able to fuck you for the rest of his life made him groan out loudly. Fuck, how many times could he fuck you in a row? How many times would you let him fuck you? Would you take charge like he thought you would?

“Well, you’re just getting it all, aren’t you?”

He gasps loudly, sitting up at the sound of your voice. “Y-Y/N!”

You smiled at him as you leaned against the doorway, slowly walking forward after setting down your bag. “I like these Spider-Man boxers.”

He blushed madly as you slowly take the lingerie, smiling. “Oh, this one is my favorite. It was a gift from my best friend, and I don’t think I’ve worn it yet.”

He basically whimpers, nodding as you start taking off your jacket. “Wh-Why not?”

You hummed, already kicking off your shoes and socks before stripping off the rest of your clothes. “I haven’t had the right person to try it on for. Is that you, darling, are you the right person for me?”

He nodded, out of it as you take the cum splattered lingerie with a giggle. “Yes, yes, please, I’m… I’ll be the most perfect person for you, honey.”

You giggle as you easily pull on the lingerie, humming when it doesn’t fit right. “Give me a second, E.”

“I-I’ll help you,” he says quickly, sitting up. "Tell me what to do."

You smiled, nodding down at him. "Well... why don't you fix the straps for me?"

He does, adjusting the straps on your shoulders and the garters on your thighs before you pull away, spinning around and looking down at your body. "Does it look good on me, Ethan?"

He nods immediately, head lulling up and down. "Y-Yeah, you look so good, you look so pretty."

You giggle as you fixed it just a bit, looking down at him. "Well, are you going to just keep staring at me or are you going to do something?"

"I just... if you'll let me, Y/N."

You hummed as he sat up, quickly tugging on his shirt. "Take this off for me."

He nodded, quickly taking off his shirt as you smiled down at him. Your fingers trailed over his chest as he gasps, shivers running down his back as you pushed him down against the bed. "I think... you should let me do the work first."

He nodded, gasping as you straddle his hips, lifting yourself over his cock. You hummed as you stared down at him, more specifically his dick, pumping him softly as he bucks his hips up against you. A giggle falls from your lips making his eyes roll back, your thumb flicking over his tip as you pulled your panties to the side and roll your hips against his tip. "Guess it's good that I got off last night, hm? No need to stretch myself out, just need to sit on your cock. How does that sound, darling?"

He nodded, head bobbing. "I-It sounds so good, so so good Y/N. B-But what about protection, do we need it-?"

You hummed, a fake pout on your lips. "You don't want to fuck me raw? Don't want to cum inside of me?"

He shakes his head. "No! No, of course I want to! I-I got tested, for everything, I just... I want to make sure it's good for you."

You laughed, slowly sinking down on him making him groan loudly, gasping. Your eyes rolled back as you rolled your hips, placing your hands on his chest as you whimpered above him. "Y-You never said... you never said how big you were, holy fuck, Ethan!"

He gasped as you leaned down, pressing your lips to his head before moving down to his lips. He whined underneath you, his hands finding a place to hold at your hips, eyes rolling back as he bucked his hips up into you. "Pl-Please, please, please, please, please... I want it, I want it so bad."

You giggled. "What do you want baby? I'm already sitting on your cock, what else could you ask for?"

He muttered sweet nothings into your skin, shaking his head. "I-I want to fuck you, please? Please, my darling, I want... I want to fuck you so bad."

You hummed, nodding slightly. "I guess... I guess you can fuck me."

It doesn't take him long to push you over onto your back, his hips immediately rolling into yours as he groaned into your ear. Your eyes rolled back into your head as he pushed a hand into your hair as he starts whispering into your ear. "F-Fuck, fuck darling, you feel so good. Your cunt is so, so good, I swear, you feel so good around me... I don't want to stop, please."

Maybe that was how you got here, your favorite set of lingerie stained with cum that flooded out from your pussy, Ethan still hard above you as he bucked his hips while fisting his cock. You panted underneath him as he attempts to get himself harder to push into you again.

Your nails scratched against his back as your body bobbed with each of his thrusts, eyes rolling back and his name falling from your lips like a mantra as he whimpers into your ear. "A-Am I doing good? Please tell me I'm doing good, please please tell me."

You shook your head, hands pushing into his head and pulling on his curls. "Yes, fuck yes, darling, you're doing so good. Can't believe this all came from you trying to be sneaky."

He pauses, panting above you with a shake of his head. "I-I wasn't trying to be sneaky-"

You laugh. "I think you were, that's why you closed my window. You know I always keep my window open. Didn't want me to hear you?"

He couldn't come up with something else to say, a loud whine leaving his lips as you giggle. "I-I'm sorry..."

You hummed, kissing his hair. "You don't worry one bit, darling, you don't have to be sorry. You just get me a new pair of lingerie and I'll forgive you... maybe even put on a show."

Regular taglist: 𓆩[@lem0ns77]𓆪   𓆩[@cecepop15]𓆪   𓆩[@memeorydotcom]𓆪   𓆩[@your-favorite-god]𓆪   𓆩[@xyzstar]𓆪  𓆩[@just-my-shit]𓆪   𓆩[@your-mom21]𓆪   𓆩[@c78r]𓆪   𓆩[@wenvierismycomfort]𓆪

© asterias-record-shop

[crisispider]

​❝ please, enough with the pumpkin spice. ❞

[ ◉¯] ✧˖° → Some Fall Meme - Accepting - @oceansfirst

Peter is taking one LONG and OBNOXIOUSLY LOUD sip of his pumpkin spiced latte, ignoring the fact that it was absolutely BURNING his entire mouth. There was a point to be made and he was going to make it! ( Second degree burns be damned! )

He wasn't entirely sure why Clint decided to CHOOSE violence, but Peter was entirely prepared to return it. He had downed about half his large cup before he finally pulled it away, making a WILDLY audible 'AHHH!'

"Your boring coffee is over there." He pointed towards the stupidly large cup of boring BLACK coffee that was on the counter. Peter could be mean, but he wasn't a MONSTER.

[wyndy31]

I haven't watched Scream VI yet, but I already fallen in love with Ethan :33

[miscellaneousalien]

i am not going to school if i'm not wearing a ribbon as an accessory for my hair

[erthshaker]

tag drop

[yandere-wishes]

⭒ㅤׂ Do You Think We'll Be In Love Forever? ㅤׂ ⭒

⭒⌒★ Yandere!DC Men x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝑜𝒷𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 ♡ ｡ ゜

​𓆩☾𓆪 Nightwing - Dick Grayson | بالشب - دیک گریسون

He's mesmerized by the sight of you between his arms. Definite little doll smiling up at him through tear-soaked eyes. He floods your essence with saccharine kisses, sweet vows, and anguished 'I love yous' all paying testimony to his sugar-laced obsession. He's desperate to taste your sweetness on his tongue, lick through your flesh like a lollipop, and unravel your bones with his teeth.

He had been so young once, chasing virtue and strength into every dark alleyway, following bats and hope into vicious nights. Back then, he hadn't understood his mentor's desperation for paper-thin kisses and phony love. But now feeling the push of your body beneath his fingertips makes him understand how satisfying real love can be. To observe you in the sun's gentle rays. To feel your body curled next to his on cold nights. He plays hero under the moon's watchful gaze only to return home to you upon daybreak.

❀࿔ Red Hood - Jason Todd | نقاب قرمز - جیسون تاد

He glides your fingers across his scars, shuddering under the weight of your touch. Stardust cauterizes ancient wounds, licking away the rotten grime. Jason clenches his teeth, there's something so intimidating about the softness of your touch. It stings worse than any crowbar or bullet wound, intruding, harrowing. It's almost like you're plucking the constellations of his past from under his skin, trying to rearrange the stars into something cathartic.

He can't help the hapless way his nails scratch across your bones, the gurgling laugh that escapes his throat. You're Elizabeth Lavenza and Ophelia trying to mend a broken boy, with your wry smile and terrified eyes. Jason traces his lips across yours, his kiss is ravenous, frantic. Faux-hero desperate for an inkling of love, of bliss, of softness.

´ཀ` Arkham Knight - Jason Todd | سلحشور آرکام - جیسون تاد

He likes to think he's shed his human skin long ago. Left it to die in that burning warehouse with his old mask and youth. But when he hears your laughter, that haunting echo reverberates off the edifice walls. He can't help but think maybe, just maybe a trace of humanity still lingers beneath his armor. Your smile glares at him in every carmine puddle he treks through. He dreams it's your blood marring his gauntlets, syrupy sweet as he licks them clean. Daydreams about your ethereal face painted in reds and purples by his iron-clad hands.

His kisses are razor blades cutting through your lips, forcing his love down your throat, and watching as you choke on the rust and ache. He's trying to merge two bodies into one void, to engulf you. Mirror his scars upon your flesh with dull knives and jagged fingernails. He kisses you again, you swear you're going to drown in his sea of red. Maybe that's all the love he has left. He

｡♦｡ Red Robin - Tim Drake | رابین قرمز- تیم دریک

He plays hero in the night, little bird chasing villains and evil by moonlight. When he blinks it's you he sees lying on the couch watching TV. He's starting to think you're his favorite show, afterall your window is about the size of a flat-screen TV and he's always too eager to peak through for the next screening. Episode 84, you're hugging your favorite teddy bear, lost in euphoria as your knuckles turn white around the controller. Tim watches heart in his throat as you claw out the boss's eyes. Sanctimonious champion vying to save the holy princess.

Tim bites his fingers, addresses each tooth mark to you. He pens his love letters upon his own skin, sealing them in red when he finally punctures through. Maybe life is just a video game, an endless kaleidoscope of cutscenes. And he's just a besotted hero dying to kiss the precious princess who doesn't even know he exists.

ꨄ︎ Robin - Damian Wayne| سینه‌سرخ - دامیان وین

His heritage pounds between his bones. The deja vu of an ancestral lifetime runs rapid through his veins as he chases you across the rooftops. His father, his mother, his brothers, always chasing, running after things they know they'll never reach. Your blades clash against his and Damian can't help but wonder if this is the closest he'll ever get to kissing you.

You leave him with paper cuts that feel like venom, like saying 'I love you' while chewing on his bones. He ponders, does his father have the same scars, if Damian pulled away Bruce's skin what would he find? Kittycat claws and dragon bites engraved in the nth-wielded ivory. He feels legacy clawing at his throat as he pictures your fingers between his teeth. Tears blooming in your eyes as he uses diamonds and ceremonial knives to engrave his name upon your flesh. Dotting the I with a heart and entwining each letter. God, he's so tired of being lonely...

🦇 Batman - Bruce Wayne | بتمن - بروس وین

He can't help but pick you apart, chip away at the bones and flesh until he reaches your essence. Dissecting your heart with his tongue and savoring the ichor between his teeth. He's the world's greatest detective and yet he can't unravel his own ardor. This mania, this addiction festering within his crux gnawing at his sanity until every thought is consumed by the cadence of your voice and the stars scintillating in your big doe eyes. This desperate need burning inside of him are you really divinity? Will you bleed glod, if he tears you apart with his teeth?

You're so ethereal squirming beneath, kicking and screaming vying desperately for freedom. He's fought this love for far too long, tried to preserve you in the light. Cover your eyes and ears and make you forget about the monsters that roam in the dark. But he can't not anymore, maybe he never could. Maybe the only way he knows how to love is by trickling his darkness like nectar between your lips and watching as it paints you in his shades.

ᯓ★ Superman - Clark Kent | سوپرمن - کلارک کنت

His kisses melt into your skin sweet like molten sugar drizzled on jasmine rice. Like lava smothering roses, leaving a trail of fragranced ashes. Clark smiles and he notices how you cover your eyes. Like you're staring directly into the sun. Like you're scared of being burnt. Clark can't help but bury his head in the crock of your neck, inhaling your ather. Molten roses and floral ashes he likes the amalgamate of your scents. Like how his presence lingers upon you.

He holds you like a doll, like the little straw dolls his mother used to make. It's easy to be gentle, coddling when everything is so fragile compared to you. He kisses down your neck, your jaw, nuzzling his nose into your soft skin, trying to earn a giggle a gold star. Trying to wipe the fear from your eyes. He kisses you again, mumbling cloying words between your lips, wishing he could just push his love between your fragile bones.

˚✶˚ Superboy - Conner Kent | سوپربوی - کانر کنت

He's fighting back the urge to peel your heart from between your ribs. To trail kisses across it and marr his lips with your ether. He wonders if your heart beats as frantically as his. He wonders if your ribs rattle when he enters a room.

He wants to push little superboy earings into your ears, to lay upon you the piercings he could never have. It'll be his way of telling the world you belong to him, that you belong to Superboy. And yet he settles for draping his leather jacket across your shoulders when senses a shiver run up your spine. He settles for the friendly hugs and airy hello-kisses. He wants to say he's he loves you. he can't. It's all so annoying, tasting the dead words on his tongue.

𓂃✮ Superman - Jon Kent | سوپرمن - جان کنت

He's scaping his nails along the Hershey's kisses re-aligning the red blue and gold wrapping. It'll be obvious, right? If he leaves them in your locker you'll understand the colored metaphor you'll answer the question he can never ask. You'll know it's him, everyone always does, for the byproduct of the world's greatest hero, he's terrible at keeping his identity a secret.

He blames it on the legacy flooding his lungs. On the promises that beat in his blood. He's born to be a hero, to play the role of savior, but aren't heroes promised love too? Aren't they meant to save the girl from burning skyscrapers and crumbling sidewalks, to fly above the skyline and kiss her in tune with the setting sun? He's so desperate for the sweet fairytale ending, so desperate to kiss the girl who always knows just what to say. He leaves the chocolate in your locker before making a dent in the metal door.

˚｡⋆🪙⋆ ˚｡ Two Face - Harvey Dent | دو چهره - هاروی دنت

He can taste your pain on his tongue, swallow the barbed wire, and relish in the familiar sting of hope, expectation, responsibility. Maybe that's why he can't stop himself from chasing after you. Burning the world demanding you stop him, desperate for a silver of your deficit attention. God, you're so ethereal with his gun aimed at your head, his pretty little girl with big starry eyes laced with dread as they follow the cascade of his coin. 'I know' he wants to scream 'I know what it feels like' but the words never quite spill out that way. And Harv only laughs at his foolish attempts to play hero once more. Sanctimonious bastard, the words reverberate in his skull.

You may claim to be a hero but Two-face knows you'll fall, plunder to the ground like all the rest, that's what happens when you reach for the sky, deem yourself Icarus, and let the flames of glory engulf you until there's nothing left. 'You can't save them' Harv screams only for Harvey to hear. They want to get closer, to slip the coin between your lips and make you taste defeat, maybe then you'll understand why he's so keen on fighting you out of your crusade. Maybe then you'll take their hand willingly, letting them sprinkle kisses across your knuckles like dying stars.

˙⋆☠︎︎⋆˙ Black Mask - Roman Sionis | نقاب سیاه - رومن سیونیس

He wants to cut out your big heart and sink his teeth into it, engrave himself in every vein, and chew on the heartstrings. HIM he needs to be the only one in that plushie heart of yours. The only one with the right to be graced by your ethereal smile. He wants to awaken to your soft nimble fingers tracing hearts and stars across his chest. Pretty pink lips weaving feathery kisses across the scar of his pacemaker. Giggles tickling his neck as you bid him 'good morning' in that all too cheery voice of yours.

Roman almost moans as he hears his name spill from your mouth, each letter cradled carefully between your lips he can't help but want to push his thumb inside your mouth, to feel your purity and shock. There's so much he wants to call you so much he wants to whisper in your ear as he watches your cheeks glow red. To hold you in his lap and trail his fingers across your legs, to dress you in pretty dresses and short skirts and skin-tight tops. To taste the fear and dread on your tongue palpable like the blood he draws with every kiss.

༄✩༄ Scarecrow - Jonathan Crane | مترسک - جاناتان کرین

He likes the stars in your eyes, the mini constellations spelling out your greatest fears. The tears blooming in the corners of your dopey eyes have his lips twitching. You're so gorgeous like this, curled up on the floor trying to make sense of such an eerie world. Jonathan doesn't anoint himself a fool, he knows it's chimeric to think that you'd love him without the toxin, without the heavy drugs he's spilled into your veins. That's why he keeps you like this, scared and depressed. Always in need of him.

What's your greatest fear? He wonders when you tuck your head between your knees and sob all so quietly as to not disturb him. Is it him you see in your grandest nightmares? Is it the mask jumping at you from within the darkness, or is it Professor Crane abandoning you in such a macabre world? Mask on mask off it makes no difference. He just hopes he's the star of every nightmare, as long as you fear him as much as he fears losing you.

｡??｡ Riddler- Edward Nygma| ریدل - ادوارد نیگما

It's frivolous to think he will not solve this riddle. That he will no unearth this plague you have bestowed upon him. This fixation, this obsession, he needs to understand you, to peel away your skin and glimpse at your inner clock workings. To undo your screws one by one and find out what exists between that haunting laugh and those knowing vicious eyes. To rip apart your wires, and feed upon your mind. To understand, he needs to understand you.

He got close once when he had your neck under his shoe, but the evil lith of your laughter rings across the room and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't unnerved. He doesn't know what question to ask first. 'what have you done to me'? 'why do you think you're better than me?', 'Why don't you love me?' Instead, the silence shatters with your voice, proud melody rivaling his own, your eyes lock on him and he can't suppress his shutter. "Well Eddie, riddle me this. What can kill any man, but isn't even alive itself?"

⁺♡⁺ Deathstroke - Slade Wilson | مرگ سکته - اسلید ویلسون

You're like a shooting star, dancing across the night as you stalk his latest kill. Little asssasin, you know your stuff but he finds your thirst for ineage and morality both exhausting and honorable. Most people grow up and spit out their morals with blood and broken teeth. Let the world's cruel realities claw and gnaw at their skin until it's hardened enough to survive. He's yet to see you extend such a courtesy to the world, makes him think that pulling the trigger on you would be some sort of mercy. Bullet through the heart leaving your body coated in his essence and one final kiss pressed onto your paling lips.

He dosen't notice the inkling of you rattling around in his brain until he realizes that this is the eighth him he's seen you smile at the end of his barrel. Pretty little girl chasing after morals and sand, hoping to escape the endless night by spilling just a little more guilty blood. You look like some sort of ethereal doll, immortal in your innocence and vicious in your virtues. He can respect that, truly but Slade isn't naive enough to think you have what it takes to survive. Maybe that's why he wants all so badly to feed you his victim's hearts and eyes and livers, to push them past your pretty lips, staining them the deepest red. Watching your delicate throat constrict as you swallow everything he gives you. Reveling in the sensation of your greedy little tongue swirling around his fingers licking up the access gore. Can almost picture your smile and stupid little head tilt as you thank him for the 'candygrams'.

⭑.ᐟ Respawn | احیا

Respawn drowns in his love. Pulling apart his heart to lay at your feet. It's all he's ever known, broken boy built to harvest spare parts. But you don't look at him like that, you don't even look at him like an assassin. No, you smile fondly as you nuzzle his neck with your nose. You look at him the way his father used to, like he's actually worth something more. He's never quite kissed you, he's not even sure he knows how. Instead, he holds you close to his chest making sure you hear the dull patter of his jagged heart.

He's born from greatness, left to rot in the dark. He refuses to play pawn, anymore. So maybe that's why, when he finally kisses you -with all the grace of a schoolboy's first kiss- it's so desperate and erratic, clumsily licking your lips and nicking his tongue along your teeth trying to think what his father would do. His fingers dig into your arms, preassing prayers into your flesh, screaming 'Don't leave me, you're all I have left'.

⭑☽ Ghost-Maker - Minhkhoa "Khoa" Khan | روح ساز - مینه خوا "خوا" خان

There's nostalgia in your essence, in your presence, something he can never wash away. He's grown addicted to the erratic reverbate of your pulse between his teeth. Kissing the bites he leaves marring your perfect body.

Why can't you just love him, let him haunt your every thought, and erode those pesky creeds, until he is the only thing you'll ever need? Khoa hates to admit it but he sees something in you, something so reflective of the little boy laying in the sand of the gobi desert, shooting phantom bullets and mocking stars. You scream every time he kisses you, recoil your tongue, and cry at the bitterness sweeping in. But Khao loves the challenge, the fight, loves forcing you into submission, even as your knife digs between his ribs. He's only ever content when your pith floods his mouth and your melodic voice rings through his ears. His precious little princess tucked away between his arms forever.

☾⋆ Phantom-one | روح یک

he never shows you his face. He blames it on his upbringing too used to old rules that he can never escape their clutches not even for you. His kisses are always clouds dancing across your skin, so light and airy they may as well be the wind. But tries to leave traces of himself with every kiss. Desperate pleas for you to look at him, to touch him, to love him back. All so he knows he's alive, still real enough to love.

He's always trapped between the land of the living and the realm of the deceased. Always so gentle with the love he's stolen, so careful to not break his lover, as his mentor did to him. He laces his fingers through your hair, sucks gently on the length of your neck, all while pushing 'I love yous' into your soul, marking you as his forever.

🎀𖹭🎀 : @your-yandere-kiss @fancyfeathers @yandere-writer-momo @nxdxsworld @lilyalone @neverano @natsukicookies @googeecat44 @starrydollita @mune-writes @a4g3lstarfire @yourhornysister @froggy-voidd @rissareader @6helpneeded9

@blacklunardice @princesstrunkz @mona1704 @testification

[gojofile]

geto suguru’s guide on fraternising with the enemy

summary: geto suguru has been your greatest rival since your first year at hogwarts, always outdoing you in class and always getting under your skin. when he’s picked as the hogwarts champion for the triwizard tournament instead of you, you think you couldn’t possibly hate him more—until he corners you one evening and asks for your help.

⇢ pairing: slytherin!geto suguru x gryffindor!fem!reader ⇢ contains: romance, angst, slowburn, academic rivals to lovers au, hogwarts au, profanity, dragons, injuries, fights about blood purity, mentions of underage drinking—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! ⇢ word count: 24.2k ⇢ playlist: the course of true love never did run smooth ⇢ note: big big thank you to @etherealyoungk for making this gorgeous banner! thank you for reading ♡ (read on ao3 here!)

The only thing worse than losing to Geto Suguru is being expected to smile about it.

When the Goblet of Fire coughs out the charred piece of parchment with his name written on it, it feels as though the entire Great Hall erupts around you. Hoots of excitement ricochet off the enchanted ceiling, mingling with groans of disapproval—chiefly from your housemates, who baulked at the audacity of a Slytherin representing Hogwarts. You, however, couldn’t join in either chorus. No, you sit frozen at the Gryffindor table, lips pressed tightly together in an attempt to keep your tears at bay.

Geto Suguru stands from his place among the Slytherins, shrugging off his best friend’s arm from around his shoulders. His head turns, and somehow, through the sea of cheering faces, his gaze locks onto yours. There is something almost incendiary in his look—smugness molded into a smile, something defiant in the tilt of his jaw. You grind your teeth, irritated.

Suguru is now the Hogwarts Champion, elevated above the rest of you. You are nothing more than the runner-up—a title no one cares enough about to utter aloud. 

“Hard luck,” Utahime, your friend and the Head Girl, murmurs beside you, her hand light as a feather on your shoulder. Her voice is low and kind, yet utterly ineffective against the disappointment you feel. You give her a tight, forced smile, though your silence only seems to amplify her sympathy.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Not after years of outpouring your soul into every spell and hex you learnt, every essay you wrote, every late night spent at the library. You had scraped, clawed, and bled for this chance, and somehow, despite all your efforts, Suguru had stepped in and robbed you blind. The betting pool Shoko and Mei Mei had organised suddenly feels cruel in hindsight. Everyone had bet on either you or Suguru—no one else had even come close to being a contender. 

Your hands tremble slightly as you push back from the bench. You barely register the names of the foreign champions—Aleksandar Ivanov of Durmstrang, Amélie DuPont of Beauxbatons. You don’t care. The Great Hall feels stifling, so you stand up abruptly and begin weaving your way towards the exit. 

The cool air of the corridor hits you like a balm, soothing the heat rising in your chest. You walk with no real destination, footsteps echoing faintly against the stone walls, until you reach one of the tall windows overlooking the grounds. Moonlight spills across the landscape, painting the Forbidden Forest with silver. You lean against the cold stone ledge, and inhale deeply.

The bitterness simmering in your chest refuses to ebb. You had wanted this so badly, had poured every ounce of effort into proving you were the best, not just to Hogwarts but to yourself. But, as always, Geto Suguru had swooped in and stolen it from you.

“Running away so soon?”

You don’t turn immediately. Instead, you close your eyes and inhale slowly once more. When you finally turn, Geto Suguru stands a few feet away, leaning against the wall. His black hair is tied back neatly, save for a loose strand that falls against his cheek. 

“I didn’t realise I needed your permission to leave,” you say coolly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“It’s not as much fun winning,” Suguru says, “if my competition isn’t around to see it.”

“Competition?” You scoff. “That implies we were on equal footing to begin with.”

His smile widens, and he takes a step closer. “You’re not giving up that easily, are you? I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave.”

You want to snap at him, say something cutting enough to wipe that stupid self-satisfied grin off his face, but the words stick in your throat. He’s insufferable, yes, but you know that’s exactly what he wants—to pull a reaction from you. And Merlin help you, he’s good at it.

“What do you want, Suguru?” you ask, exhaustion finally seeping into your tone. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating with the rest of your house?”

“Of course, but like I said, it’s no fun if my favourite rival isn’t around to see it.”

You bristle at his words. “Favourite rival? You were desperate to beat me, Suguru.”

“So were you,” he points out, and it takes all your self-restraint not to do something horrifically stupid like punch him in the face. “If I’m desperate, it only means you’re worth the effort.”

“Congratulations, Suguru,” you say hollowly. “You’ve won the Goblet’s favour. What do you want, a parade?”

“I want your help.” Suguru steps forward, his movements unhurried, his expression calculated.

You blink. “What?”

“You should be proud,” he says. “You were a close second.”

The words sting more than you would like to admit. You narrow your eyes at him. “Spare me your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” he replies. “It’s acknowledgment. You’re good. Maybe even better than me in some ways.”

You suck in a breath sharply, thrown off balance. This is not what you expected—not from Geto Suguru, at least. You ask warily, “Is this some sort of tactic to get me to like you?”

Your rival chuckles wryly. “No, but it’d be stupid to ignore the fact that you’re good. You wouldn’t have been the biggest threat to my name being called otherwise.”

His admission leaves you momentarily speechless, a rare occurrence when it comes to Geto Suguru. You can’t decide whether to feel insulted or flattered, so you settle for glaring at him instead. The torch light softens the planes of his face, casting a warm glow on his cheekbones and the edges of his smile. He infuriates you so much.

“Help me,” Suguru says again.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“I’m serious,” he says, folding his arms. “You’re as competitive as I am, and you hate losing. If anyone understands what’s at stake in this tournament, it’s you.”

“That’s a very pretty way of saying you want me to do your work for you,” you shoot back.

“I’m asking because I know you’re capable,” he presses on, ignoring your jab. “You think I haven’t noticed how good you are at strategising? Or how quick you are to spot weaknesses, whether it’s in a spell or a person?”

You stare at him, suspicious. It’s not the first time someone has acknowledged your abilities, but it’s the first time he’s done it. As much as you loathe to admit it, Suguru isn’t the type to hand out compliments lightly.

“You’re insane,” you say finally, shaking your head. “You want me to help you win the tournament I should have been chosen for?”

Suguru’s expression hardens. “I want you to push me,” he says. “To challenge me the way only you can. And when I win—because I will win—it’ll be as much your victory as it will be mine.”

You consider his words. A small, reckless part of you—the part that thrives on competition, on proving yourself—begins to wonder what it would be like to be a part of this, even from the sidelines. To have your brilliance tied to the triumph of something bigger than either of you.

“Fine,” you say, voice clipped. “But don’t think for a second that this makes us friends.”

“Of course not.” Suguru’s easy grin slips back in place. “Let’s meet at the library tomorrow after dinner. Don’t be late.” 

You don’t reply, merely walking past him and heading back into the Great Hall. Utahime is probably wondering where you vanished off to, and as much as you hate her sympathy, you don’t want to worry her, Shoko and Mei Mei just because you were a sore loser.

The fireplace in the Gryffindor common room crackles with a sort of joyousness you can’t be bothered to feel. Its warm glow dances across the walls, a merry flicker that feels utterly inappropriate given your current mood. The plush armchair you’ve claimed for the evening—one that’s usually a source of comfort—is perfect for brooding. You curl into yourself like a grumpy gargoyle, letting your misery seep into the cushions.

Laughter echoes off the walls—the other students are busy gossiping about the Triwizard Tournament. Discussions about the champions and the potential tasks all merge into one unintelligible blur. The Triwizard Tournament is a magical contest held between the three largest wizarding schools of Europe: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Durmstrang Institute, and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, with each school being represented by one champion, chosen by the infamous Goblet of Fire. The selected champions compete in three tasks—each designed to test the student’s magical ability, intelligence, and courage—and the winner gets to take home the Triwizard Cup.

The Durmstrang champion’s brute strength, the Beauxbatons champion’s unnatural grace—it all seems so irrelevant compared to the singular thought lodged in your mind like an annoying splinter: Geto Suguru is Hogwarts’ champion.

You’re still seething about it. Not only has he outdone you in classes year after year, he’s now claimed the one thing you truly wanted. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, the boy had the gall to corner you after dinner with a request that still makes your head spin.

You groan and bury your face in a pillow, muffling your frustration. The universe, it seems, has a cruel sense of humour.

“Still sulking, I see.”

You don’t have to look up to know it’s Shoko. She has an unnatural knack for finding you at your most pitiful moments. When you peek over the pillow, you see her leaning against the back of a sofa, her robes askew and her hair half-tied.

“Sulking is putting it lightly,” Mei Mei comments, her pale hair shimmering in the firelight. She takes a seat on the armrest of your chair. “I’d say this borders on full-fledged wallowing.”

You glare at both of them, hugging the pillow tighter. “Go away.”

“No,” says Shoko, simply.

Mei Mei leans in conspiratorially, resting her chin on her hand as she observes you. “Honestly, it’s not the end of the world. So you didn’t get selected—big fucking deal. There’s always next—oh.”

“Next time?” you snap, sitting up straight. “There isn’t a next time, Mei Mei. This was the last chance.”

“Exactly,” she quips with mock cheerfulness. “All the more reason for you to savour your second-place status. It’s a rare opportunity for someone as annoyingly competent as you.”

Before you can retort, Utahime appears, carrying a steaming cup of tea. She sets it down on the small table beside you and gives Mei Mei a pointed look. “Stop tormenting her,” she says, shooing the girl off the armrest.

Mei Mei sighs dramatically but moves to the nearby sofa, lounging on it with her legs hanging off the arm. “Sorry for trying to motivate her.”

“More like antagonising her,” Utahime mutters, taking Mei Mei’s vacated spot. She turns to you, her expression softening. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you admit. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” Shoko rolls her eyes. “It’s not like you lost to someone undeserving. Suguru is very competent. In fact, I’d say he’s as good as you.”

“Is that supposed to be helpful, Shoko?” Utahime hisses. She pats your hand comfortingly. “Ignore them. They’re just jealous that they weren’t even in the running.”

“Jealous? Hardly,” Shoko says. “Can you imagine studying for our N.E.W.T.s while having to worry about whether we’re going to survive these godforsaken tasks?” She shudders, the thought of the end-of-year exams enough to make her lips turn downwards.

You shake your head, exasperated, but her words bring a small smile to your face. Utahime—ever the observant one—notices, and squeezes your hand gently. “You’ll be alright. This doesn’t define you. You’re still brilliant, still one of the best witches Hogwarts has ever seen. And if Suguru doesn’t see that, then—”

“He does,” Shoko cuts in unexpectedly. She crosses her arms, her gaze flickering over to the fireplace. “Trust me, he knows exactly how good you are. Why do you think he asked for your help?”

You gape at her. “How did—”

“Satoru told me. He said Suguru left the Great Hall and didn’t celebrate with the rest because he was busy searching for you.”

You blink. You’d known Satoru, Suguru and Shoko had known each other since they were children—they all belonged to three of the most prominent Pureblood families in the Wizarding World—but you didn’t think they were that close. Evidently, you were wrong. 

But that’s one of the main reasons you’re so desperate to prove yourself. You’re a mere Muggleborn, a witch born to non-magical parents, and getting thrust into the magical world so quickly felt overwhelming. All of a sudden, you had an explanation for all the oddities that occurred when you were a child—teacups breaking even though you never touched them, books floating straight out of the bookshelf and into your hands—but it was clear that in the world of witches and wizards and strange creatures you’d only ever read about, you still had to claw your way to the top.

Geto Suguru, because of his privilege as a Pureblood, having grown up witnessing magic firsthand, was already one step ahead of you.

You despise him for it.

Shoko’s reminder of Suguru’s request makes irritation bubble up inside you all over again. “It’s not fair,” you say, fingers curling into the soft material of the cushion. “He doesn’t get to—he has no right to ask me for help after I worked so hard to get here.”

Utahime and Mei Mei stay silent, not willing to come to any conclusions, but Shoko’s gaze snaps to you, her eyes narrowing. “Are you saying Suguru doesn’t work hard either?”

“No, I’m—” You falter, the words getting lodged in your throat under Shoko’s unwavering stare. “I needed this. I needed to prove myself.”

Utahime squeezes your hand again. “If you really don’t want to, you could always say no.”

“Can I, though?” you ask, more to yourself than anyone else. “If I refuse, and he loses, I’ll think it’s my fault for not helping him. And if I help him, and he wins, I’ll have to live knowing I contributed to his victory.”

“Is that really so bad?” Mei Mei chimes in. “I’m not sure what exactly is going on here, but from what I can gather, it feels like Suguru is genuinely asking for your help because he thinks you’re the best person for the job.”

“Listen,” Utahime says, “whatever you decide, it doesn’t change anything about how smart you are, or how strong of a competition you were to him. You’re still one of the top students Hogwarts has ever seen, and one silly competition isn’t going to change that.”

You want to rebuke her words. The Triwizard Tournament isn’t just some silly competition; it’s the one way you thought you could prove that you belong in the magical world just like Suguru and Satoru and Shoko, and the rest of the Purebloods do. But Utahime’s gaze turns imploring, and you know Mei Mei and Shoko’s patience is running thin, so you muster up a smile.

“Thanks, Utahime,” you say gratefully. “I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

Shoko rolls her eyes, though not unkindly, and Mei Mei flashes you a grin. “Well, if we’re all done rescuing this one from her lonely little pity party, I’m ready to go to bed,” she says, stretching her arms above her head.

Utahime glances at you questioningly, so you tell her to go ahead and that you’ll come up to the dormitory in a few minutes. Shoko stays behind. When you meet her gaze, she’s already looking at you, brows furrowed in a small frown.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get in,” she says finally, “but don’t—don’t do something reckless or hurtful, okay?”

She turns around and strides up the staircase to the girls’ dormitory before you can ask her what she means by that. The common room is quieter now, the excitement of the champion selection having died down. You stare at the fire still crackling, and push down the sting of rejection that still hasn’t gone away completely.

Tomorrow, you’ll decide. Tomorrow you’ll see what exactly Geto Suguru, the newly-proclaimed Hogwarts champion, wants from you.

Geto Suguru is late. 

Are you surprised? Of course not. If there’s one thing he can be relied upon for, it’s his remarkable ability to waste your time. Still, knowing all this doesn’t make it any less irritating, especially when he was the one who sought you out in the first place.

The library is colder than usual, the stone walls and high ceilings doing little to trap the day’s residual warmth. You wrap your cloak tighter around yourself. At this rate, you’re starting to feel like a fool for agreeing to this. The library is otherwise deserted, as it usually is at this hour. It’s just you and the librarian, Madam Pince, as well as a trio of Durmstrang students who have no business being here. They stare at you every now and then, huddled together. Your cheeks burn; if Suguru doesn’t show up soon, you’ll have wasted the evening for nothing—and you’ll have the added humiliation of curious foreign students studying you like they’ve never seen another human being before.

The table before you is cluttered with blank parchment and unopened books, all untouched. The light from the sconces creates shadows that flicker and dance over them. Normally, the library is where you find peace. You can drown yourself in tomes about advanced charms or obscure potions, tuning out the noise of the castle. Tonight, however, the quietness grates on your nerves as you tap your quill against the tabletop impatiently.

The clock on the wall ticks. You glance at it for the fifth time in as many minutes, annoyed.

The doors creak open at last, and Geto Suguru finally strides in. His dark robes billow slightly as he walks. There’s a faint flush on his cheeks, and a stray lock of hair clings to his temple. He doesn’t look the least bit apologetic.

“You’re late,” you say, when he finally stops opposite you. You don’t bother keeping the accusation out of your tone.

Suguru slides into the seat opposite you, entirely unbothered. “I had things to do.”

“Like what? Admiring your own reflection?”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say, little lioness.” Before you can snap at him for the nickname, the Slytherin continues, “If you must know, I was hunting for something important.”

“More important than the meeting you asked for?” you retort, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I’d argue they’re related,” Suguru says, and before you can press him further, he pulls out a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket and spreads it out on the table.

You lean forward, your annoyance eclipsed by curiosity. The parchment is covered in messy, scrawled notes, and the handwriting is illegible in some places, but certain words stand out: fire, movement, creature.

Frowning, you ask, “What is this?”

“Information.”

“About?” you prompt, though you have a sinking suspicion on what it is.

“The first task.”

You blink. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since the champions were chosen. Geto Suguru works quickly, you must begrudgingly admit. “Where did you get this?”

“Snuck into the Headmaster’s office and nicked it from there,” he explains. “The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons champions already know, I’m sure.”

You nod. He’s right. The Triwizard Tournament is more than just a friendly competition between schools—it’s a way for each institution to gain power and prestige. It’s a matter of honour and pride, and a way to showcase each school’s magical prowess. There’s no doubt that the other champions are being helped by their respective school heads. 

“Won’t they notice it’s missing?” you ask, scanning the parchment once more.

Suguru scoffs. “Do you think I’m an amateur? I duplicated the original parchment and brought it.”

You clench your jaw, fingers tightening around your quill. The words swim before your eyes, forming a picture you don’t want to see. Fire, movement, a creature—there’s only one possible scenario, and your stomach churns at the thought.

“Dragons?” you ask, voice quieter now, tinged with unease.

“Possibly,” Suguru says. “But it could be something else. They might want to mix things up.”

“Like what?” you press. Different creatures run through your head, each more terrifying than the last. “Manticores? Chimaeras?”

“Too wild,” he muses. “They’d want something dangerous but controllable. Something they can contain.”

You frown, thoughts racing. “A griffin?”

“Unlikely,” your rival says, tapping his fingers on the table, “but not impossible.”

You sit back, arms crossed. Despite all these possibilities, Suguru doesn’t seem fazed. He leans back as well, mirroring your position, eyes flickering to the parchment he stole from the Headmaster’s office. How is he not afraid? Your heart rabbits at the thought. There’s less than a month for the first task to take place; you and Suguru will have to map out all the possible outcomes and prepare for the worst. In a way, you’re grateful—making a to-do list and crossing things off it one by one is one thing you can handle. The rest is up to Suguru, now.

“If it is dragons—or something similar—you’ll need to prepare for fire,” you begin. “A lot of it.”

“Go on.”

“You’ll need protective charms,” you say, scribbling it down on the blank piece of parchment in front of you. “And something to help with visibility. Smoke can be just as dangerous as fire if you can’t see what you’re doing.”

Suguru nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Good points. What else?”

You hesitate, studying him. For once, he seems genuinely interested in your input, not just humouring you. It’s disconcerting, seeing him so serious, so focused. “If it’s not dragons, or any other big creature,” you say cautiously, “then it could be something smaller but equally dangerous. Fire crabs, maybe. Or Blast-Ended Skrewts.”

“Creatures with coordinated attacks,” he murmurs, brows furrowing slightly. “That would be challenging.”

“And if it’s not a creature at all?” you add, mind spinning with possibilities. “What if it’s something more abstract, like a puzzle or an obstacle course involving fire?”

He considers this, shifting in his seat. “Then I’d need to think on my feet,” he says finally.

“You mean you’d need to rely on luck.” You scoff.

Suguru’s placid smirk returns, and you immediately regret opening your mouth. He glances at you, and says lightly, “Luck has served me well so far.”

“Overconfidence isn’t a strategy, Suguru.”

“Neither is pessimism,” he counters sharply.

You bristle at the remark but bite back the retort on your tongue. Arguing with him isn’t going get you anywhere, and despite your frustration, you know he needs your help. If he goes into the first task unprepared, it won’t be just his pride on the line—it’ll be Hogwarts’, too.

You sigh, dropping your quill into your inkpot. “Fine. If we’re doing this, then we’re doing it properly.”

He spreads his arms out, palms facing upwards. “Then there’s only one thing left to do. We have to find a place to practice.”

The Room of Requirement is something of a Hogwarts myth, the kind of thing that people will bring up in conversation only to sound far more interesting than they really are. It’s a concept shrouded in mystery, its existence neither confirmed nor denied, referenced only briefly in Hogwarts: A History as “a chamber of peculiar use, appearing only to those in great need”. 

For most students, the idea of a room that appears when one is in great need is nothing more than a charming story—like the rumours about the Bloody Baron’s long-lost treasure, or Peeves the poltergeist’s supposed alliance with the Slytherin Quidditch team.

Pacing up and down the seventh-floor corridor, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach trolls ballet, you find yourself hoping—reluctantly—that this particular myth holds a grain of truth.

Mei Mei had mentioned it once, offhandedly, when discussing the lengths she’d go to for privacy. “The Room of Requirement,” she’d said. “It’s the kind of place that knows what you need before you do. A bit unnerving, if you ask me.” At the time, you’d rolled your eyes and dismissed it as Mei Mei being her usual cryptic self. But now, with Suguru expecting a place where you can practice in secret—away from prying eyes and endless questions—you find yourself clinging to the possibility of its existence.

You pause mid-step, glancing at the blank expanse of the stone wall. It looks as unremarkable as every other corridor in the castle. “Great need,” you mutter to yourself, feeling a bit foolish. “Right.”

You begin pacing again, focusing on what you need. Your footsteps echo faintly in the empty hall. I need a place to practice, you think. A place where no one will interrupt. A place with enough room to practice spellwork, with everything I need.

On your third pass, something shifts. The air around you seems to hum faintly, and the smooth stone wall ripples like water stirred by some invisible hand. A door begins to materialise, the brass handle gleaming slightly in the torch light. For a moment, you just stare, half-expecting it to vanish as suddenly as it appeared. But it doesn’t. It stands there, solid and tangible, as if it had been there all along and you’d just failed to notice.

Taking a deep breath, you grasp the handle and push the door open. The room that greets you is nothing short of extraordinary. 

It’s cavernous, the ceiling arching high above you like the vaulted nave of a cathedral. The walls are lined with shelves stocked with spellbooks, potions ingredients, and various magical artifacts. At the centre of the room, there’s an open space with a dueling platform. You take a tentative step inside. To the side, there is a row of practice dummies, some made of rusty metal and some made of scuffed wood. The door closes softly behind you, sealing you into this impossibly perfect place.

“Sweet Merlin,” you breathe out, marvelling.

You walk slowly around the room, taking it all in. The books on the shelves seem to shimmer faintly, their spines marked with titles like Defensive Charms for Advanced Duelists and The Art of Magical Adaptation. Some of the titles are ones you’ve come across on your rare trips to the Restricted Section of the library, while others are entirely unfamiliar.

Still, a part of you can’t shake the feeling that you’re trespassing. The room feels alive in a way the rest of the castle doesn’t, as though it’s watching you, waiting to see what you’ll do next.

You turn your attention to the dueling platform, running a hand over the smooth, polished wood. If Suguru has any hope of surviving the first task—and you’re still not entirely sure why you care if he does—this is where you’ll need to start.

The thought of working with him here, in this quiet, secretive space, stirs a complicated mix of emotions. Annoyance, of course—he’s insufferable—but also a grudging respect. Suguru may be arrogant, but he’s also skilled, and you can’t deny the challenge of matching wits with him.

You sigh, glancing towards the door. You’ll have to tell him about the Room of Requirement soon, but for now, you allow yourself a moment of quiet triumph.

The Room of Requirement is real, and you found it.

Geto Suguru is understandably skeptical about the Room of Requirement’s existence, but words fail him when you take him to the seventh-floor corridor and show him. His incredulity crumbles into quiet awe when the door takes shape in front of you both, and you can’t resist the smug grin that forms on your lips.

You push open the door, and, theatrically sweeping your arm out wide, say, “Ladies first.”

“How mature.” Suguru rolls his eyes but steps inside tentatively. His eyes widen when he scans the room, sees the bookshelves and the practice dummies and the dueling platform. A small scoff escapes his lips. “Wow. I can’t believe you found the Room of Requirement before me.”

“I’m sure being the Hogwarts champion means you’re always busy,” you comment, sarcasm dripping from your tone. 

The champions aren’t busy—not yet, at least—and a lull in the excitement about the tournament was brought about chiefly by the professors assigning copious amounts of homework and essays. You have an essay on the influence of tea leaf clumping on upcoming Quidditch matches for your Divination class due tomorrow, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Suguru scowls. “Forgive me for not wanting to waste my time on a wild goose chase.”

“I found the Room of Requirement, Geto. It’s hardly a goose chase if it exists, is it?”

“Tch. This was a fluke.”

“Are you going to continue debating about this room’s existence while we’re in the damn room, or are you going to actually practice?” You sniff disdainfully, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You want me to hex a practice dummy?” His smile returns, faint but just as mocking as ever. “How riveting.”

“No, actually,” you retort, your own lips curving upwards. You step onto the dueling platform and hold out your wand. “I want you to hex me.”

He falters, blinking at you owlishly. “You want me to—”

“Don’t get all worked up,” you interrupt. “It’s a practice duel, not a declaration of war.”

Suguru grins, teeth flashing in the dim light. He shrugs off his robes and leaves it in a heap on the floor. His tie is loose, and his shirt untucked, but he quickly ties his long hair up and clambers onto the platform, gripping his wand tightly. He steps back, adjusting his stance, and gestures for you to begin.

You don’t hesitate. “Expelliarmus!”

He deflects the spell easily, wand slicing through the air. “Protego.”

The red flash of your spell rebounds harmlessly off the invisible shield he conjured, and before you can regain your footing, he counters with a quick Stupefy. You barely dodge it. The jet of light whizzes past your shoulder and strikes the wall behind you.

Gritting your teeth, you flick your wand and say, “Incarcerous!”

The ropes that shoot from your wand nearly catch him, but Suguru is quicker. He steps aside neatly, his wand a blur as he attacks with a Disarming Charm. “Expelliarmus!”

Your wand flies out of your grip and straight into Suguru’s waiting hand. You huff, cheeks flushed with heat and sweat beading on your forehead. Glaring at him, you gesture for him to toss it back to you. He obliges, maddeningly proud, and not a single hair out of place.

“I didn’t realise I’d be dueling someone so… unprepared,” he taunts.

“You were just lucky,” you retort. You step back into position, determination to best him burning in your chest. “Again.”

For the second round, you’re more prepared. Spells fly back and forth, crackling through the air. Suguru is fast, but you’re clever, weaving around his attacks and shooting back with different sorts of jinxes.

“Confundo!” you shout, aiming directly at his chest. Suguru deflects it with a flourish, but his stance falters for a split second. You don’t waste the opportunity. “Rictusempra!” The Tickling Charm hits him squarely, and he lets out an undignified yelp, doubling over with laughter.

“Y-you—” He’s laughing too hard to finish the sentence, face red and eyes watering. Clutching his side, he tries to regain control.

You lower your wand, a victorious grin spreading across your face. “What’s the matter, Suguru? Ticklish?”

He glares at you through his laughter. With a flick of his wand, he casts Finite incantatem, the general counter-spell for any minor jinxes or hexes, straightening up and smoothing out his shirt. “Unnecessary.”

Your smile widens. “Oh, I don’t know about you, but I found this particularly amusing.”

“Resorting to petty jokes now, are we?” Still, you can sense the grudging respect in his tone. “Not bad, little lioness.”

“High praise, coming from a conniving snake,” you say, though the words lack their usual bite.

You enjoyed it, you realise. You enjoyed dueling with Geto Suguru, the one person who you’ve had it out for ever since you joined Hogwarts. Flopping onto the floor and catching your breath, the thrill of the duel doesn’t seem to wear off. Even Suguru fidgets with his wand, mouth set in a grim line. You tear your gaze away and stare at your own wand instead. There is something about being evenly matched with him, the way both of you anticipate each other’s next moves, the way you dodge and attack with equal strength.

“Same time tomorrow?” Suguru breaks the silence.

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah. Same time tomorrow.”

Geto Suguru’s face is on the front page of the Daily Prophet—Wizarding Britain’s newspaper— alongside Amélie DuPont of Beauxbatons and Aleksandar Ivanov of Durmstrang. The picture moves, as all photographs in the magical world do, with Amélie in the middle, tucking a strand of her silver-blond hair behind her ear while her light blue skirt billows slightly in the wind. Aleksandar is more serious, thick eyebrows set in a frown with his burly arms crossed over his chest.

In the centre is the bane of your existence himself. His long hair is half-down and pinned back. His robes are neat and pristine, the Slytherin crest and his Prefect badge gleaming. He twirls his wand between his fingers, lips curled upwards in a lazy smirk, though his eyes are as sharp as ever. The headline underneath the picture reads:

CHAMPIONS PREPARE FOR GLORY: INSIGHT FROM THE TRIWIZARD FRONTLINES

The Great Hall is noisy during breakfast, the smell of food and the cacophony of students eliminating all other senses. Your hand tightens around your fork and you stab at your eggs aggressively. Utahime takes the newspaper and flicks it open to the page with the Champions’ interviews.

“‘Hogwarts Champion, Geto Suguru’,” she begins to read aloud, “‘impresses everyone with his unparalleled spellwork and ability to stay calm under pressure.’”

Shoko, halfway through her toast, snorts. “Sounds like he wrote it himself.”

“‘When asked about his preparation for the first task’,” Utahime continues, “‘he credited his regimen to ‘careful planning and focused practice’.’” She pauses, raising an eyebrow at you. “Does that sound familiar?”

You refuse to rise to the bait, though your cheeks warm despite yourself. Two weeks of training in the Room of Requirement—of dodging his spells, practicing wandwork, and biting back your own irritation—have left their mark. 

Mei Mei, peering over Utahime’s shoulder, comments, “Oh, look. He also mentioned something about collaboration. About how it elevates one’s abilities.”

“How diplomatic of him,” you mutter. “He really loves the sound of his own voice, doesn’t he?”

“Talking about me again?”

You freeze, the unmistakable drawl sending a shiver of annoyance down your spine. Looking up slowly, you find Suguru himself standing opposite you, flanked by Gojo Satoru. “Morning, Gryffindors,” the latter greets cheerfully, blue eyes twinkling. Suguru, however, merely slides into the seat across from you, his dark eyes not leaving yours. You grab your goblet and take a sip of your pumpkin juice just to have something to do with your hands.

Satoru drops unceremoniously on the bench next to Shoko without invitation, snatching a piece of toast from her plate. “Merlin, it’s lively here.”

“Go away, Satoru,” his female friend replies. “Get your own toast.”

“Sharing is caring.” Satoru bites into the toast with gusto.

“I hope you choke on it,” Shoko says flatly.

Utahime mumbles an apology and leaves when the Head Boy, Nanami Kento, calls her over. They have to discuss something about the first Triwizard Tournament task that will be taking place the next day. Mei Mei escapes to the bathroom, leaving the four of you sitting by the Gryffindor table. It’s a sight in itself, really, because it’s rare for Slytherins to be mingling with Gryffindors so amicably. Yet, Shoko and Satoru remain oblivious to the stares as they continue to bicker over breakfast, while you shift uncomfortably.

Suguru’s eyes flick briefly to the half-folded Daily Prophet near your hand. “Enjoying the article?”

Your stomach twists. “I haven’t read it,” you lie, glaring down at your mutilated eggs.

“Shame. I was curious about what you thought.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snap, though the heat crawling up the back of your neck betrays you. “Why would I waste my time reading about you?”

“You’re awfully defensive for someone who doesn’t care,” Suguru says.

“I don’t care.”

Satoru leans over. “Do you think they’ll hex each other before the first task? I’ve got ten Galleons on it.”

“Make it fifteen,” Shoko says, “and I’ll lend you my wand for the counter-curse.”

You glare at both of them, but Suguru’s voice draws your attention back. “Since you’re clearly not invested,” he says, tone light but eyes determined, “any advice for tomorrow?”

You blink. Of all the things you’d expected him to ask, it hadn’t been this. “Don’t get yourself killed,” you say bluntly.

He huffs out a soft laugh, shoulders shaking slightly. “Noted.”

“Well, this has been fun,” says Satoru, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. “But I think I’ve exhausted our dear Shoko’s hospitality.” He swipes her goblet and downs her pumpkin juice.

“Touch my plate again, and I’ll set your robes on fire,” Shoko warns.

With a laugh, Satoru ruffles her hair and saunters off, leaving you and Suguru alone in this tense, uncomfortable silence. “Good luck tomorrow,” you say finally, not meeting his gaze.

“Thanks,” he says, quieter than usual.

When he stands up to leave, you can’t help but feel a pang of unease. The first task is tomorrow, and while you would never admit it, you hope he comes out of it unscathed.

Dragons. Your hunch about the first task was right.

The cold November air is sharp as knives, cutting through the layers of your robes as you grip the railing of the stands surrounding the makeshift arena. Excitement and dread churns together in your stomach, though you’d die before admitting the latter. The stands are packed, students and professors bundled in thick scarves and gloves, all leaning forward eagerly to catch a glimpse of the champions. Amidst the black of the Hogwarts robes, there is also the pale blue of Beauxbatons and the dark red of Durmstrang. The excitement is palpable, everyone buzzing with anticipation for the first task. You find yourself crammed in between Utahime and Shoko.

You swallow hard, keeping your eyes fixed on the arena below. The dragons are corralled in an enclosure just beyond the champions’ tent, their massive silhouettes casting long shadows on the frosted ground. Even from this distance, you can hear the occasional growl and the rustle of leathery wings.

“Dragons,” Utahime mutters, rubbing her gloved palms together worriedly. “How can they call this a school competition and then throw dragons at the students?”

“They’ve done it before,” Shoko drawls lazily, though her sharp eyes betray her worry. Satoru stands next to her, arms crossed over his chest and lips pressed into a grim line. You shiver; it’s bad enough that Shoko is worried, but seeing the normally cheerful Satoru so serious makes you anxious. “At least they’re not asking them to fight them barehanded,” she continues. “That would be more fun.”

“Shoko,” Utahime hisses, chiding. “Please stop.”

You don’t contribute to their conversation. Your gaze moves to the champions’ tent, barely visible through the enchanted mist that swirls over the field. Suguru is in there. You wonder how he’s preparing himself—he’s facing one of the most dangerous magical creatures alive, after all. The thought makes worry pool in your stomach.

From somewhere below, a voice booms across the field, magically amplified to reach every corner of the grounds. “Witches and wizards, welcome to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament!”

The crowd erupts into cheers. Utahime wrings her hands beside you, and the most you can manage is a weak clap.

“The task,” the announcer continues, “is as daring as it is dangerous. Each champion must retrieve a ring from the heart of the arena. But guarding the rings are some of the fiercest magical creatures alive—dragons!”

A collective gasp ripples through the crowd, followed by excited whispers. Utahime lets out a low groan. “They can’t be serious. This isn’t a tournament—it’s a death wish.”

Shoko shrugs. “They’ll be fine. Mostly. The Ministry of Magic wouldn’t let them die. Probably. They could get horribly maimed or injured, though.”

“Reassuring,” you mutter. You’ve been pretending to be indifferent for ages, but the truth is, you’re terrified for Suguru.

The announcer’s voice booms again. “Our champions will face their dragons one by one, drawn randomly to determine the order. The task is not merely about bravery, but also ingenuity, strategy, and magical skill. The ring holds a crucial clue to the next task—so it is imperative that they succeed!”

Your hands are numb against the railing, but you’re not sure if it’s because of the cold or because of something else entirely. The first task is madness—complete and utter madness. And yet, as the announcer’s voice booms again, calling out Suguru’s name, something in your chest curdles with a chill far worse than the cold.

“First, Geto Suguru, representing Hogwarts, will face the Hungarian Horntail!”

The sound is deafening. Cheers erupt from every corner of the stands, the Hogwarts students roaring loudest of all. Even the Slytherins, with their restrained, cold demeanour—the exception being Satoru, of course—cannot contain their pride. 

Geto Suguru steps into the arena, holding his wand loosely in one hand with the other tucked into the folds of his robes. His long hair is swept up into a tight knot. You can’t hear him over the noise, but you swear you see him mutter something under his breath.

The Hungarian Horntail is enormous. Even from a distance, its obsidian scales glint ominously, and its massive, bat-like wings shift restlessly as its amber eyes lock onto Suguru. The ring lies just beyond the dragon, perched atop a precarious pile of boulders. It gleams like a star, a tiny thing that’s almost not worth the effort, you think. But of course, Suguru is just like you, and pride comes before anything else. You’re sure he’s already thought of a dozen different ways to get past the beast—because it’s something you would do, as well.

The Horntail snorts, sending a plume of smoke spiraling into the air. The arena is silent now. Suguru takes his first step towards the dragon.

“Is he insane?” Utahime whispers, voice trembling. “Does he not see the size of that thing?”

“He does.” It’s Satoru’s first proper sentence this morning, and the assurance with which he says it alleviates some of your worry—though not by much. “He’s Suguru. He always knows exactly what he’s doing.”

You remain silent, not taking your eyes off him. He moves slowly, with the kind of deliberacy that makes it clear he’s prepared. No step is wasted, no motion is hurried. He’s in control—or at least, that’s what he wants everyone to think.

“Confringo!” The spell erupts from his wand, creating a fiery blast that hits the ground near the dragon’s massive claws. The Horntail snarls, tail lashing out and gouging deep scars into the earth. The Blasting Curse he used isn’t meant to hurt—it’s meant to provoke.

Suguru casts another spell, this time to conjure a dazzling array of shifting, flickering lights. The dragon’s attention is drawn to the display; it tilts his head and looks up, mesmerised. You clench your jaw. It’s a bold move, because dragons are intelligent, but their curiosity is a double-edged sword.

“He’s trying to confuse it,” Utahime murmurs, clutching the ends of her scarf. “That’s risky.”

Risky is an understatement, you think. Suguru doesn’t stop. He moves his wand, pointing it low, and you see him mouth a spell—Glacius. The ground beneath the dragon becomes a slick sheet of ice. The Horntail’s claws scrape against the surface, wings flaring out as it tries to balance itself.

But it recovers quickly—too quickly. With a guttural roar, the beast lunges towards him, jaws snapping. Your heart thuds in your chest, but Suguru dives out of the way and smacks hard into a large rock. He slumps against it, chest heaving with heavy breaths. You hear Utahime and Shoko gasp beside you, but it’s drowned out by the sound of your own blood rushing in your ears.

Get up, you want to say. Get up and get that bloody ring, Geto. It’s silly—of course he can’t hear you—but there’s a gash on his arm, and his robes have darkened with blood, and it feels like if you somehow think it, Suguru will make it happen. It’s a flimsy mindset, but you’ll take whatever shreds of comfort you can get.

The dragon charges towards him, nostrils flaring and eyes gleaming. Suguru scrambles to his feet, the ends of his robes frayed and face streaked with dirt. He lifts his wand and casts a Protego maxima, a shimmering shield that briefly halts the dragon’s fiery breath. The shield holds for just a moment, but it’s enough time for Suguru to reposition himself, his eyes darting towards the ring. 

“Come on,” you say under your breath, fingers tightening around the railing. 

“Lumos maxima!”

A burst of brilliant, blinding light shoots out of his wand, illuminating the arena. You let loose an exhale; he’s clearly learnt from the dragon’s reaction to light earlier. It’s a good strategy, you will admit. The Horntail lets out a snarl, massive eyes narrowing against the glare. It thrashes, swinging its tail wildly, but Suguru has already limped away. 

The dragon’s claws gouge into the earth once more, its bat-like wings flapping violently as it tries to shake off the distraction. Suguru uses the brief opening to dart closer, his focus entirely on the ring. His wand moves in a tight arc, and the light shifts into a pulsating sphere, hovering just beyond the Hungarian Horntail’s reach. It works. The orb of light draws the dragon’s attention away from Suguru.

“He’s using it as a decoy,” Shoko says, leaning forward.

“Smart move,” Satoru chimes in, hushed. 

His blue eyes glitter knowingly at you, though, and you turn away, feeling your cheeks heat up. Suguru must have told him about all the research you did about dragons and their different breeds, and how they’re not so different from cats—if you take out the fire-breath and the wings and the long tail, or the fact that they could eat a human alive in a heartbeat.

Suguru raises his wand again, muttering an incantation. A shimmering net of magical energy bursts forth, wrapping around the dragon’s front claws. The Horntail roars—but its movements are hindered enough to give him the opening he needs.

The ring glints in the faint sunlight, and with a quick Summoning Charm—Accio—it soars straight through the air to him.

The Horntail senses it immediately. With a furious roar, it pounces, its massive jaws snapping shut mere inches from Suguru’s outstretched hand. But Suguru is faster. With a final, desperate leap, he snatches the ring out of the air, landing hard on the frost-dusted ground. He rolls to his feet, the ring clutched tightly in his fist, and sprints towards the edge of the arena.

The Horntail thrashes behind him, but it’s too late. The magical barrier seals shut just as Suguru crosses the threshold. The dragon lets out a frustrated roar that echoes through the stands. The crowd erupts into cheers, the noise ringing in your ears. Hogwarts banners wave wildly in the air, and Satoru and Shoko let out a series of loud hoots, while you simply sigh, relieved.

“He did it,” Utahime breathes out.

“Of course he did.” Shoko beams proudly.

You don’t say anything. Your heart is still racing, your chest still tight. He did it. He passed the first Triwizard task.

Suguru hobbles past the stands, dark eyes scanning the crowd, one hand pressed to where the gash on his arm is. You curse yourself for feeling irrational—for wanting him to look at you. He does. His gaze lands on you, and he pauses for the shortest of moments. The corner of his mouth curls upwards in a small half-smile, and then he’s gone, disappearing into the tent where the champions will be tended to.

“He could’ve died,” Utahime mutters, shaking her head as the next champion is announced.

You glance back toward the arena, frosted fingers loosening their grip on the railing. The first task is over, but the dread in your stomach doesn’t subside. The dragons may be gone, but the Triwizard Tournament is far from over. 

The Room of Requirement glows faintly in the dim light of the lanterns it conjured up, their golden halos casting long, flickering shadows over the stacks of books and piles of scrolls you and Suguru pulled out of the bookshelves lining the walls. You sit cross-legged on a soft, velvet cushion on the floor. Suguru paces in front of you, the soles of his boots soft against the tile.

The ring, when Suguru gives it to you, is warm to the touch and made out of the same gold the wizarding world uses to shape Galleons out of. A part of the ring is flattened into a signet, engraved onto which are a collection of dots. They look like pockmarks on an otherwise smooth surface. You rub your thumb over them curiously.

“Look inside,” Suguru says. He picks at the ends of the bandage wrapped around his arm, restless and jittery. “There’s something written on the inside of the ring.”

Turning the ring over in your palm, you bring it close to your eyes and squint. The words are tiny, and, for all intents and purposes, make no sense to you whatsoever. The ring’s golden surface glints, the engraving on the signet catching the shifting light. You roll it between your fingers, the faint warmth oddly soothing, though Suguru’s squirrely pacing sets your nerves on edge.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” you snap, squinting at the letters once again. “It’s hard enough to focus without you stomping around like a restless Hippogriff.”

“I’m thinking,” Suguru retorts, though he halts mid-step and folds his arms across his chest. “Unlike you, who’s just staring at the thing as if it’ll start talking.”

“It might!” you fire back. “It’s magical, isn’t it? Who knows what sort of enchantments it’s got?”

“It’s a ring, not a bloody Howler. Let me see it again.”

Reluctantly, you pass it over, careful not to touch his injured hand. His fingers brush against yours anyway, and the warmth lingers annoyingly on your skin. Suguru holds the ring up to the lantern light, tilting it to study the dots engraved on the signet. 

“These dots look like they’re arranged deliberately,” he murmurs, tracing the marks. “They’re not random.”

“Well, obviously.” You roll your eyes. “The question is, what do they mean?”

He ignores you, dark eyes narrowing as he turns the ring over and studies the inscription. “‘Ego sum principium mundi et finis saeculorum’,” he reads aloud, the Latin rolling maddeningly smoothly off his tongue. “It sounds ominous.”

“It means something,” you say, leaning forward to snatch a book off the pile in front of you. It’s a dusty tome with Enigmatic Latin Phrases emblazoned on the cover, though you have a sinking suspicion it’s going to be less helpful than you hoped. “It has to. Why else would it be engraved on a magical artifact?”

Suguru plops down onto the cushion opposite you, sweeping away a bunch of scrolls. He places the ring on the ground in between you both. “If it’s a clue for the next task, then it has to be related to the Triwizard Tournament somehow. Something symbolic, maybe?”

“Brilliant deduction,” you deadpan, flipping through the pages of the book. “Didn’t realise you were such a scholar.”

“And I didn’t realise you were such a comedian,” he drawls. “Let’s focus. What do you think it means? The phrase—’I am the beginning of the world and the end of ages’. What does that sound like to you?”

You blink at him. “How did you translate that?”

“Studied Latin and French when I was kid,” he says smugly, in a manner that makes you want to deck him. Wonderful. Another aspect in which Suguru is already one step ahead of you, you think bitterly. “But that’s not the point,” he continues. “What do you think it could refer to?”

You look down, tapping your quill against the edge of the book. “It could be a reference to time,” you muse aloud. “The beginning and end… It's cyclical. Like a clock, or a calendar, maybe?”

“Or a journey,” Suguru adds, tilting his head. “Something that starts and ends with the same person. The champions?”

“Possibly. But it could also be something more abstract—like fear. Everyone’s afraid of something; it’s universal. The start and end of every challenge.”

Suguru picks up the ring again, running his thumb over the dots. “And this?” he says, gesturing to the engraving. “What if it’s pointing us somewhere? A location, maybe? Or a specific kind of task?”

You frown and lean closer. “The arrangement of the dots,” you say slowly, “looks… familiar. Like a pattern.”

“Like a constellation,” Suguru supplies. “You’re right. It’s got to be one.”

The conclusion settles over you both, but it doesn’t offer much clarity. You chew on the inside of your cheek, considering. “If it’s a constellation, then it’s symbolic, right? They all have stories tied to them—myths, legends.”

“Yeah, but which one?” Frustration creeps into his voice. “These dots could be anything. There’s no clear shape.”

“It could be something obscure,” you suggest. “Maybe even something specific to the wizarding world. I think we’ll have to make a trip to the Astronomy Tower some time soon, though.”

“Great,” says Suguru flatly. “So we’re supposed to decipher a constellation in a shape I’ve never seen and an inscription that sounds like it was prophesied by a second-rate Seer.”

“Better than wandering blindly into the second task. Though, knowing you, you’d probably manage to make it out alive. Cockroaches always do.”

He scowls, but his lips twitch upwards by the slightest. “And here I thought we were having a moment.”

“We weren’t,” you say immediately. The back of your neck prickles with heat.

Suguru rolls his eyes, though not with malice. He stretches his arms over his head. The action causes his shirt to ride up slightly; you avert your gaze quickly. “I’m starving.”

“What?”

“I’m hungry,” he repeats, standing up. “All this thinking has drained me. Fancy a trip to the kitchens?”

“It’s nearly midnight,” you point out—but your stomach growls faintly in agreement. “And I’m not sneaking around the castle because you can’t stop eating.”

“Suit yourself,” he says with a shrug, heading towards the door. “I bet the house-elves have made éclairs for tomorrow’s dinner.”

Well. You’ve always been weak to chocolate. Muttering a curse under your breath, you scramble to your feet and find yourself following him, the ring warm inside your pocket.

The Hogwarts kitchens are a marvel, a hidden oasis of warmth nestled beneath the castle’s chilly stone walls. Suguru finds the painting of a fruit bowl by the Hufflepuff common room, and tickles the pear. It lets out a loud giggle—you cringe, hoping Filch, the caretaker, and his evil pet cat, Mrs. Norris, are nowhere around. The pear transforms into a shiny brass door handle, and the moment the painting swings open, you’re met with a rush of buttery heat and the mingling aromas of chocolate, caramel, and freshly baked bread.

The kitchens are bustling with movement. House-elves dart about with a speed and efficiency that puts magic itself to shame. Pots clatter, ovens hum, and enchanted trays of golden pastries glide through the air. 

A small, wiry house-elf with parchment-like skin and eyes like twin garnets appears in a puff of flour and indignation, his thin arms folded over his chest. A neatly pressed tea towel with the Hogwarts crest embroidered on it covers his tiny body.

“Young master should not be here!” the elf scolds. “It is forbidden to disturb the kitchens so late at night!”

“Good evening to you too, Sukuna,” Suguru says smoothly, brushing past the house-elf and into the kitchen. He inspects a nearby tray of éclairs, plucking one up and sniffing it appreciatively.

Sukuna’s bat-like ears quiver, his expression contorting between outrage and resignation. “Master Geto always does this. Always sneaking in like a naughty student. Not even a little bit nice and polite like the young Hufflepuff miss who always comes to say hello.”

“That’s because I am a naughty student,” Suguru says cheerfully, winking raunchily at you; you huff and roll your eyes. He sinks his teeth into the éclair with a pleased hum. “And you, Sukuna, are a saint for indulging me.”

The elf huffs, though his cheeks flush slightly at the praise. His gaze shifts to you, eyes narrowing slightly. “And this one? Is this young miss also here to pilfer desserts?”

“I— what? No!” you sputter, though your stomach growls traitorously at the scent of chocolate and cream wafting from the éclairs. 

Suguru leans against the counter, lips tugged up in a smirk as he regards you. “Don’t be shy,” he says, gesturing towards the tray. “Sukuna won’t bite. Probably.”

“Only if asked nicely,” Sukuna mutters darkly, but he waves a hand, and another tray of éclairs floats down onto the counter as though by invitation.

Despite yourself, you reach for one. The pastry is warm, its golden shell yielding easily beneath your fingers. When you bite into it, the rich, velvety chocolate spills over your tongue deliciously.

“Good, isn’t it?” asks Suguru.

You hate that he’s right. “It’s passable,” you say, lifting your chin imperiously.

He barks out a laugh, brushing crumbs off his trousers. “Sure it is. That’s why you’re reaching for another one already.”

You glance down and curse under your breath. Grumbling, you take another bite of your éclair, determined to ignore the victorious glint in his eyes. Sukuna, meanwhile, seems torn between chastising you both and taking pride in your obvious enjoyment. In the end, he settles for clicking his tongue and vanishing to attend to an overflowing cauldron of treacle in the corner. The kitchen falls into companionable quiet, broken only by the distant clatter of utensils and the murmur of house-elves bustling about.

“So,” you say finally, licking a smear of chocolate off your thumb, “are éclairs your usual midnight snack, or is this just an excuse to avoid figuring out the second task?”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of eating and thinking at the same time.”

“You’re more a connoisseur of distractions. Very good at distracting yourself,” you say, without any real bite in your voice.

“Distractions are necessary,” he says lightly, gaze steady on your face. “Sometimes, stepping back helps you see things more clearly.”

You chew on that for a moment. “Fine. I’ll admit you have a point there. But the second task does seem to be rather interesting, don’t you think?”

He grins, teeth flashing in the light. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t think so.”

You roll your eyes, but a small part of you warms at the compliment. Across the room, Sukuna reappears with a teapot and two mismatched cups. He sets them down with a flourish.

“If young master and young miss insist on loitering, at least have tea,” the elf says, somehow managing to sound both fond and exasperated at the same time.

Suguru raises his half-eaten dessert in a mock toast. “To Sukuna, the real hero of the Triwizard Tournament.”

The house-elf grumbles something unintelligible, though you catch the faintest beginnings of a smile before he disappears again. 

“Are you always this insufferable?” you ask.

Suguru smirks, taking a small sip of tea. “Only with people who make it fun.”

You shake your head, biting back a smile of your own. For all his arrogance and sharp edges, there is something oddly disarming about Suguru like this—unguarded, his cutting wit tempered by the soft glow of the kitchen lights. The two of you sit in silence for a while, finishing off the tea and éclairs. The warmth of the kitchen seeps into your bones, making you feel drowsy and comfortable. Your eyelids feel heavy, and you wrap your arms around yourself.

“Alright,” Suguru says finally, setting his cup down with a clink. “Don’t fall asleep on me, little lioness.”

“‘m not falling asleep,” you mutter sleepily.

“I think we’re done for the day,” he says. “I’ll walk you back to the Gryffindor Tower.”

“I can walk back on my own.”

Suguru sighs, not unkindly. “I know.”

The Yule Ball is one of the highlights of the Triwizard Tournament—a night where students get the opportunity to dress up and dance, and indulge in the sort of revelries Hogwarts is usually so strict about. Utahime is convinced that some students will find a way to smuggle in Firewhiskey—wizarding alcohol—and is currently stressing out over how to regulate the intake of beverages of the students over a plate of hash browns and scrambled eggs. 

Nanami Kento, the Head Boy, is trying to diffuse a Situation that’s taking place at the Slytherin table. Some poor Hufflepuff girl (the captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, you later recognise) had the balls to ask out Fushiguro Toji, notorious womaniser and blood purity freak, as her date for the Yule Ball. You nearly drop your cutlery when he calls her a Mudblood—a slur meant for people like you, born to Muggle parents. Gritting your teeth angrily, you glare at the back of Fushiguro Toji’s head. What a nasty, vile excuse for a man.

The Situation is diffused when the girl passes out, a ball of yellow fabric clutched tightly in her hands. You have to give it to her; it takes serious guts to publicly ask out someone, though you wonder what sort of curse possessed her to ask Fushiguro, of all people.

“Absolute menace,” you mutter under your breath, stabbing your scrambled eggs with unnecessary force.

Mei Mei turns a page of Witch Weekly with a sigh. “Honestly, these pureblood types are so predictable. Such flair for cruelty, yet so unoriginal.”

“You’d think he’d at least come up with a creative insult,” Shoko adds dryly, her teacup balancing precariously on her saucer.

“Missed me, ladies?” Satoru, perpetually grinning like a Cheshire cat, plops himself onto the bench opposite you. His white-blond hair gleams under the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, and his tinted glasses perch at the end of his nose in a way that makes him look both ridiculous and infuriatingly charming.

Shoko’s reply is swift. “Not particularly.”

Mei Mei grunts out a greeting, and you merely smile politely at him. Utahime, still fretting over the logistics of conducting the Yule Ball, slides out of her seat in a hurry and mumbles something about finding Nanami so they can discuss things properly. 

“You wound me, Shoko,” Satoru says, clutching his chest theatrically. “Anyway, I’ve got a pressing matter to discuss.”

“Does it involve you somehow setting fire to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom again?” Mei Mei asks, not looking up from her magazine.

“That was one time,” Gojo replies, feigning outrage. “No, this is much more important. The Yule Ball. Who’s asking who? Gossip is flying around faster than a Nimbus 2000.”

Of course, wherever Gojo Satoru goes, Geto Suguru is bound to follow. He approaches your little group, dark hair tied back neatly, expression as composed as ever. He slides onto the bench beside you with a nod of thanks to Mei Mei, who moved her plate of toast to accommodate him.

“Talking about the Yule Ball, I presume?” Suguru asks, reaching for a slice of buttered bread.

“Of course we are,” Satoru says, leaning forward conspiratorially. “It’s the event of the year, Suguru. Surely someone’s asked you by now.”

Your fork pauses in mid-air. For some reason, you find yourself wanting to know the answer.

Suguru’s lips quirk upwards, the ghost of a smirk. “As a matter of fact, someone has.”

The table collectively turns to him. Shoko raises a curious brow. Even Mei Mei closes her magazine in favour of staring at Geto Suguru like he’s just sprouted a pair of antlers on his head.

“Details,” Satoru demands, grinning wide.

“She’s from Beauxbatons,” Suguru says. “Asked me yesterday afternoon. I said yes.”

A sharp pang blooms in your chest, prickly and unwelcome. You drop your gaze to your plate, pressing your lips together and willing yourself not to react. It doesn’t matter. You don’t care. Suguru could go with whoever he wanted. He isn’t your friend, and he certainly isn’t—no. Absolutely not.

“Leave it to you to snag a Beauxbatons girl,” Mei Mei comments. “They always go for the broody ones.”

Gojo snorts. “Broody? Suguru’s about as broody as a cauldron full of kittens.”

“Are we done analysing my date?” Suguru asks.

“Not even close,” Satoru says, but his attention soon shifts to Shoko attempting to balance her goblet of water on her saucer as well. Mei Mei picks up her copy of Witch Weekly once more and flips through the glossy pages.

You pick at your food, your knife scraping against your plate. The thought of Suguru dancing with some elegant Beauxbatons girl—someone undoubtedly beautiful and graceful and more poised than you could ever be—makes your stomach churn unpleasantly. The image of them laughing together, her delicate hand resting on his shoulder while his wraps around her waist, is as vivid as if it had been etched into your mind.

“You’re quiet,” Suguru murmurs, soft enough that the others can’t catch it.

“Just tired,” you lie, not meeting his gaze.

He doesn’t push further, but you feel his eyes linger on you for a moment longer before he returns to nibbling at his toast.

Shoving aside the annoying ache of jealousy, you straighten in your seat and force a pleasant expression on your face. Fine. If Suguru had a date, then so would you. Someone handsome. Someone confident. Someone who would make him think twice before flashing his perfectly polite little smile at you and your date.

“You know,” you begin, loud enough to draw the attention of your friends, “I think I’ll ask one of the Durmstrang boys.”

“Oh?” Shoko says, interest clearly piqued. “Got anyone in mind?”

“Not yet,” you admit, grabbing your goblet and swirling your pumpkin juice absentmindedly. “But there’s bound to be someone suitable. They’ve got that rugged, intimidating thing going on.”

Satoru bursts into laughter, nearly knocking over a plate of sausages. “Merlin help whatever poor bloke you’ve set your eyes on.”

You scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that you’re not exactly the type of person to swoon over a man that’s—what did you say it was?—rugged and intimidating.”

“Well, we’ll see,” you say, lifting your chin defiantly. “Maybe I’ll surprise you all.”

With that, you turn back to your half-finished breakfast, and Satoru launches into a dramatic recounting of his supposed rejection by a Ravenclaw—”Her loss, really”—and you don’t look at Suguru at all. Still, as the meal ends the Great Hall empties, your resolve falters. You can’t help but glance at Suguru one last time. He’s listening to something Satoru is saying, lips curving upwards in a smile.

The pang returns, sharp and insistent—but you ignore it. After all, there are plenty of Durmstrang boys to choose from. Surely one of them would do just fine.

There are many ways to get yourself a date for the Yule Ball. You’ve watched it happen over the last week: dramatic declarations of affection in the Great Hall, quiet notes slipped between textbooks, bashful confessions in various corners of the castle. But this? This is different. 

This is not the ideal method of asking someone out. Borderline stalking the Durmstrang champion because you saw him trudge through the snow towards the Black Lake—where the Durmstrang ship is docked—from the window of the Gryffindor common room is hardly what anybody would call dignified. Yet, here you are, braving the sharp, icy wind, and the crunch of snow underfoot, determined to follow through with your ill-conceived plan.

Your goal is straightforward, or so you tell yourself. Aleksandar Ivanov is a handsome man, someone impossible to ignore. His broad shoulders are draped in a thick, fur-lined coat that seems to defy the chill of Scottish winters, and his sleek, dark hair catches the fading light of the afternoon. He looks like something out of an old wizarding tale, that sort of unrealistic hero who was carved out of marble and brought to life.

Aleksandar Ivanov is not your type at all. 

No, this has nothing to do with the hulking Bulgarian himself, and everything to do with Geto Suguru.

You hate the way you felt when Suguru mentioned his date. You hate that the image of him dancing with someone else—that faceless girl draped in blue satin—feels like a thorn lodged deep in your chest. Most of all, you hate that you care. So, you’ve decided on a solution: The bold, handsome Durmstrang champion on your arm at the Yule Ball. That’ll show him.

Aleksandar’s strides are long, the dark fur of his coat fluttering slightly in the breeze. He’s alone, his hands tucked into his pockets. You can see the faint outline of the Durmstrang ship in the distance, its masts swaying gently as the lake ripples against the hull. The sight fills you with a sudden sense of urgency. If you don’t catch him now, you’ll lose your chance.

“Excuse me!” you call out, your voice carrying over the air. Aleksandar slows, then turns, his piercing green eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, you feel rooted to the spot, your carefully rehearsed words scattering like leaves to the wind.

“Yes?” he says. There’s a faint accent to his voice.

You force yourself to take a step closer, and then another, until you’re standing just a few feet away. “Good evening,” you say, forcing a smile. “Aleksandar, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching, though it doesn’t become a full smile. “And you are?”

You hesitate. Your name feels oddly small when you say it. The cold nips at your cheeks, and you resist the urge to shove your mittened hands into the pockets of your jacket.

“Well, then,” Aleksandar says, tilting his head slightly. “What can I do for you?”

“I…” You clear your throat, cursing the way your voice wavers. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to the Yule Ball with me.”

Aleksandar’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes—amusement, maybe, or curiosity. He takes a step closer, and you resist the urge to back away. “Interesting,” he says at last, drawing the word out. “You do know you’re not the first person to ask me to the Yule Ball, yes? You’re very beautiful, but why, exactly, would you want to go with me?”

Your cheeks flush with the heat at the sudden compliment, but your prepared responses—something about his reputation, his charm, his skill in the Tournament—suddenly feel hollow. You can’t tell him the truth, either, that this is about someone else. So you scramble for a suitable response.

“Well, you’re the Durmstrang champion,” you say, aiming for nonchalance but landing somewhere closer to desperation. “It seemed fitting.”

Aleksandar raises an eyebrow. “Fitting? Is that all?”

“Yes,” you lie, though your voice lacks conviction.

For a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches, broken only by the distant lapping of the lake’s waves against the shore. Then, to your surprise, Aleksandar smiles—not the cool, detached smirk you were expecting while he brutally rejects you, but something warmer, almost amused.

“Very well,” he agrees, his voice carrying a hint of humour. “I’ll be your date.”

“Really?” The word escapes before you can stop it, and you cringe at how eager you sound.

Aleksandar’s smile widens. “Yes, really. Though I must admit, I am curious about your true intentions.”

“My intentions?” you repeat, trying your best not to sound sheepish. “What do you mean?”

“You see,” he says, “my intentions with you are rather simple. Word travels fast around the castle, and I know you were the closest person to best the Hogwarts champion in claiming the title. Besides the fact that you are very pretty, I think it will also make my competitor waver a little, no?”

You bite your tongue. He’s right. Aleksandar Ivanov is more than just a pretty face and brute strength. He’s also cunning and intelligent. You’re certain he would be a Slytherin if he attended Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang Institute.

“And you,” he continues. “You don’t strike me as the type of person to make bold declarations for the sake of tradition. There is something else, isn’t there?”

The same thing as you, Ivanov. I want to see the Hogwarts champion waver, you think. Instead, you stiffen, and say, “There’s nothing.”

“Hm.” Aleksandar doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t press the issue. “Well, whatever your reasons, I look forward to the Ball. I trust you’ll make for an… interesting evening.”

You nod, too flustered to do anything else. “Of course.”

“Let’s match,” he says. “What are the colours of your… house, as they call it?”

“Scarlet and gold.”

“Wear a red dress. Until then, dovizhdane.” Aleksandar turns back towards the ship.

You blink, but manage a stiff nod before walking away. You’ve done it. You’ve secured a date for the Yule Ball. But why, despite everything, do you still wish it was Suguru you’d be meeting on the dance floor?

“Lupus,” you read aloud, from the book Celestial Phenomena And Their Meanings placed on your lap, “is a constellation that is associated with wolves in Greek and Roman mythology. The stars that now form the constellation Lupus used to be part of the Centaurus constellation. They represented a sacrificed animal impaled by the centaur, which was holding it toward the constellation Ara, or the altar.”

Suguru rolls the ring around in his palm, chin propped on his other hand, sitting cross-legged across from you. “Interesting,” he muses. “Anything else?”

The signet catches the light of the Room of Requirement, glinting golden. It wasn’t hard to map out the dots to pictures of constellations and figure out which of the star-clusters was engraved on the ring. The harder part, now, is trying to piece together what it could possibly mean, and how it is related to the Latin inscription on the inside of the ring.

You clear your throat and say, “It says it’s also connected to the founding of Rome and the story of Orpheus.”

He straightens up at that, dragging a hand through his hair. He’s left it loose for the evening, and it spills over his shoulders, long and soft. Your hand itches to smoothen out the top of his scalp, but you bite back the urge and internally scold yourself for being an irrational mess around him. 

“Can I have the book?” 

You wordlessly pass it to him, leaning back on your arms and stretching your legs out in front of you. The velvet cushion is downy to the touch, and warm under your fingertips. An enchanted fire crackles in the corner, preventing the chill from outside from creeping in.

“It could also represent King Lycaon of Arcadia, who was turned into a wolf by Zeus,” he reads, eyes roaming over the page curiously.

“The question is,” you press, “what does all this mean? Lupus—wolves in general, really—have always been associated with survival, but the myth says it was a sacrificial animal caught by the Centaur. What does that mean? How does this connect to the inscription inside the ring?”

Ego sum principium mundi et finis saeculorum. I am the beginning of the world and the end of ages.

“Some great sacrifice, perhaps?” Suguru’s brows furrow in that way they always do, pinched together when he’s thinking hard about something. “But what would we sacrifice?”

“The answer to the riddle?” you suggest.

“Which is, what, exactly?”

You grimace. “I’ve no clue. It could be anything.”

He hums, fingers tracing the signet of the ring. “I wonder,” he murmurs, “if this is a test of more than just knowledge. The Headmaster’s riddles are rarely based on facts alone. He likes to see what’s in people, not just what they know.”

“A moral riddle, then?” You raise your eyebrows, shifting slightly on the cushion. Leaning forward, you peer at the ring once more. The Latin inscription glints faintly, almost as if it’s daring you to unravel its secret. “It could be literal. A physical sacrifice. Or—” You pause, chewing your lip. “Or it could be metaphorical. Something symbolic. The myths about wolves and sacrifices aren’t just about death. They’re about transformation. Survival. Endings and beginnings.”

“Hm.” Suguru tilts his head, his dark hair shifting with the movement. His gaze shifts from the ring to you. “Transformation. That ties neatly with the inscription, doesn’t it? The beginning of the world and the end of ages… sounds rather apocalyptic, don’t you think?”

“Don’t start spinning doomsday theories. We have enough to worry about without you prophesying the end of the world.”

“Not the world. Something about the world.”

“Or… Maybe it does have something to do with sacrifice. An emotion attached to it, maybe?” The question is rhetoric, simply you tossing out whatever unrealistic theories you can come up with, but Suguru leans forward, interested.

“You mentioned fear last time,” he says. “I think that makes sense, but what would the second task be? Dementors? Do they expect us to know how to cast a Patronus Charm?”

“I don’t know, Suguru,” you say. Your shoulders slump, defeated. Your head spins with various possibilities, each more far fetched than the last. “This is annoying me.”

Suguru huffs out a soft laugh, shoulders shaking. “Tired already, little lioness?”

“Don’t call me that,” you grouse. 

“Noted.” He grins, all teeth and lips. You look away and ignore the way your pulse quickens. The sight of him like this—long limbs sprawled about, hair framing his face, his shirt creased and tie undone—makes your stomach flip in ways you don’t want to comprehend. “By the way, have you found yourself a date to the Yule Ball yet?”

You blink, disoriented by the sudden question. “Actually, I have,” you admit, face flushing with heat for no apparent reason. “Aleksandar Ivanov.”

“Ivanov?” Suguru’s voice trembles with something that sounds suspiciously close to disbelief. You want to crow with victory—this is what you had wanted, after all—but instead, all you feel is a strange sense of dread growing in your abdomen. “The Durmstrang champion?”

“Yes,” you say, lifting your chin slightly. “He’s… nice.”

“Nice?” Suguru scoffs. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

You glare at him. “What’s wrong with nice?”

“Nothing, if you’re describing a cup of tea or a particularly fluffy cat. But a date to the Yule Ball?” He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “Ivanov is—”

“What?” you interrupt, your irritation rising. “Handsome? Intelligent? Charismatic?”

“—a pompous peacock with an accent that makes people swoon for no good reason,” he finishes, his voice dripping with disdain.

You bristle, crossing your arms. “You already have a date to the Ball. I don’t see how it matters to you who I go with.”

“It doesn’t,” he says quickly. “I just didn’t take you for someone who falls for shiny boys from other schools.”

You bite back a retort, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of riling you up further. Instead, you turn your attention back to figuring out the constellation, rifling through the pages of another book you pick up from the stack in front of you. The silence stretches, and Suguru is the first to break it, tentatively.

“Did you hear about Nanami docking points from Slytherin? Twenty this time. All because of Toji and that Hufflepuff girl.”

Your stomach twists at the mention of Fushiguro. “He called her a Mudblood,” you say bluntly. “She fainted because of it.”

Suguru’s fingers curl into fists, his expression clouding. “Fushiguro’s an idiot, but docking points for something he said? That’s unfair.”

“It’s completely fair,” you say, anger rising in your chest. “He used a slur, Suguru. Against her. Against people like me—Mudbloods, as Fushiguro would say. So yes, I think Nanami was right to take points away.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and cold. Suguru says nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he sighs, shoulders slumping. “I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what?” you bite back, voice rising. “Didn’t mean to defend him? Didn’t mean to make excuses for someone who thinks people like me are lesser than him?”

“I’m not defending him,” Suguru snaps. “I just think punishing the whole house for someone else’s stupidity is unfair.”

“Unfair?” You laugh bitterly. “You want to talk about unfairness? Try walking around this castle knowing there are people who look at you and see something dirty. Try hearing that word every time you walk past a group of pureblooded Slytherins. Try knowing that despite everything you do, you will always, always be ousted by someone simply because they were born into the fucking wizarding world while you weren’t. But, of course, you wouldn’t know what that feels like, would you, you privileged ponce.”

Suguru flinches. You pick up your wand and cloak from the discarded heap on the floor and, anger still simmering in your chest, stride out of the Room of Requirement without a glance back.

As per custom, the selected champions must always enter the Yule Ball after everyone else. After days of gruelling ballroom dancing practice brought upon you and your housemates by your head of house, who did not want you to besmirch the Hogwarts name by acting like a “babbling, bumbling, band of baboons,” you like to think you’re quite the connoisseur of waltzing.

Aleksandar offers his arm to you, the dark red of his dress robes accentuating his cheekbones and eyes. Your own gown ripples with every movement, the deep crimson satin soft against your skin. 

You descend the staircase carefully—tripping because of your heels would be an embarrassment you don’t want to experience—and don’t look at Geto Suguru. You’re still furious at him, and you want absolutely nothing to do with him at all tonight.

“You look very beautiful,” the Durmstrang champion murmurs under his breath. “It is an honour to be with you.”

You laugh shakily. “Thank you. And likewise.”

He smiles without teeth. “I believe your champion is glaring at us.”

“Is that so?” You glance sideways at your date. “He should be paying attention to the pretty girl on his arm instead, don’t you think?”

Aleksandar opens his mouth to say something, but before he can reply, the doors to the Great Hall open, and a professor hurriedly begins ushering in the couples. 

Amélie, tall and graceful, with her long hair pinned into an elegant French braid, is the first to enter to a smattering of applause from the gathered students. Her peony-blue dress shimmers under the lights of the enchanted chandelier, and she walks with her head held high and her hand tucked into the crook of her date’s arm. Her date is a flustered Hufflepuff boy, someone you’ve seen around the corridors occasionally; he looks like he’s been struck by a Confundus Charm, what with the dazed look in his eyes. (You can’t blame him. The Beauxbatons champion is gorgeous.) 

Next, is Suguru. You stare at the back of his head while he leads his date into the Great Hall. His long, dark hair is tied back in a loose ponytail, held in place by an emerald green ribbon. His dress robes are the same colour, swishing around his knees with every step he takes. And, of course, there’s his date—the nameless, faceless Beauxbatons girl who matches his elegance and grace in every manner possible. You’ve heard her name being tossed around, but you refuse to acknowledge it. Jealousy is a fickle thing, and you are petty enough to succumb to it. They are the epitome of a perfect wizarding couple, you think; something in your mouth sours. The fact that you are still angry at Suguru does nothing to ease your mind.

You snap your gaze away as soon as they enter the Great Hall. Aleksandar nudges you gently, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Shall we?”

You nod, and he leads you forward. The Great Hall is breathtaking, even though you’d seen it earlier when helping Utahime with the decorations. The enchanted ceiling reflects a clear winter night sky, complete with gently falling snowflakes that vanish just before reaching the floor. The tables along the edges of the wall are laden with sweets and drinks. The floating candles that are normally present above your heads are nowhere to be seen, instead replaced with glittering chandeliers. A large space in the centre has been cleared for dancing, and a live wizarding orchestra has set up their instruments in the far corner.

The applause, as Aleksandar leads you out, feels distant, like a dull roar in the back of your head and you force a smile to your face. You can still see Suguru out of the corner of your eye, his emerald robes catching the light while he and his date glide further into the hall. He doesn’t look back, which is somehow worse than if he had.

You’re startled out of your thoughts when Aleksandar leans close to murmur, “You’ve gone quiet. Thinking about something?”

“Nothing important,” you reply quickly, flashing him a grin that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Good,” he says with a wry chuckle, “because I’d hate to think I made you lose interest already.”

The comment earns him a genuine laugh this time, albeit a small one. The Bulgarian seems pleased, though, and gently steers you towards the centre of the hall, where the champions are to open the first dance. The room is full of expectant eyes, students from all three schools whispering and staring. You spot a few familiar faces in the crowd—Shoko with Haibara, looking like they’ve been dragged into something way out of their depth; Nanami with the Hufflepuff girl he’d rescued from Fushiguro, a rare, happy smile on his face; Mei Mei and Utahime laughing at something by the dance floor. 

And, of course, there’s Satoru, leaning against the refreshments table with a goblet of pumpkin juice in his hand and a knowing smirk plastered on his face. He doesn’t look the least bit disgruntled about not having a date—a rare feat, considering how much of a drama queen he is. He catches your eye and wiggles his eyebrows at you, mouthing something indecipherable that you’re certain isn’t polite.

“Eyes up,” the Durmstrang champion says, low but not unkind. “You’re with me tonight.”

That’s right, you suppose. You are, so you shake your head and smile, turning to face him and resting your left hand on his shoulder. The orchestra strikes up a slow, elegant waltz, and Aleksandar’s hands find your waist.

The music swells, filling the enchanted hall with a lilting melody. Aleksandar guides you across the polished floor with a confidence that matches the proud poise of his bearing. For all your nerves, you fall into step easily, your waltzing practice smoothing out any initial awkwardness.

“You are good at this,” he murmurs, soft.

“I think I’m just very good at faking it,” you reply, glancing at the other couples. Suguru and his Beauxbatons date are near the centre of the hall, their movements seamless as if they’ve been dancing together for years. It’s a sight that would have been mesmerising—if it wasn’t so maddening in your eyes.

Aleksandar notices the flicker in your gaze but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he shifts closer, his hold steadying you as he turns you in a spin. The room blurs briefly, the crowd fading into a swirl of colours before you’re pulled back into his orbit.

“You’re distracted,” he says lightly, though there’s an edge of knowingness in his voice. “Is it the crowd? Or is it something else?”

You open your mouth to deny it but catch the quirk of his brow, the faint amusement in his expression. He knows. Of course, he knows. “I—”

“It seems your true intentions were not so different from mine, after all.” Aleksandar smiles, a quick flash of teeth. “I suppose I must try harder to ensure I have your full attention.”

Aleksandar’s green eyes hold a hint of mischief in them. You smile, despite yourself. The waltz continues, each musical note cascading into the next. Around you, students start filling up the empty spaces on the dance floor, twirling and gliding, some with excellent prowess, others with two left feet. Still, your mind lingers on Suguru. It’s infuriating, how he fills up the crevices in your head, his absence from your line of sight louder than the applause once the dance ends. 

The song draws to a close with a flourish. Aleksandar bows low to you; you return the gesture with a curtsey, your gown sweeping the floor. When you straighten up, he leans close to you, his voice low enough only for you to hear. “If you need an escape, just say the word. I’d be happy to whisk you away from… whatever it is that is troubling you. Consider it a favour.”

You laugh softly, his offer half-serious and wholly tempting. “Thank you, Aleksandar.”

Before you can say more, you catch Suguru moving from the corner of your eye. You glance up—and there he is. Geto Suguru, standing a few paces away with his date, his dark eyes locked on you in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t nod, doesn’t do anything except look, and it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

Aleksandar shifts, stepping just slightly closer, his hand brushing against yours. “Shall we get drinks?”

“Yes,” you say, far too quickly. “Let’s.”

You let Aleksandar lead you away, but you can’t shake the feeling of being watched, his gaze burning into your back long after you’ve disappeared into the crowd. Despite yourself, a small smile graces your lips when you spot Satoru, still lounging against the snacks table. He grins and waves when you catch his eye, and sets his goblet down when you and Aleksandar approach.

“Well, well,” Satoru drawls, ocean eyes roaming over your figure. “Impressive. I didn’t think you’d clean up this well.”

“At least I’m not a lone stag at a couple’s event,” you retort, smile widening despite yourself. Satoru does look rather dashing, however, clad in navy blue dress robes with golden curlicues embroidered all over. “Satoru, this is Aleksandar, as I’m sure you know. Aleksandar, this is my friend, Satoru.”

Aleksandar offers him a polite nod. “A pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard… Well, not much, actually. Though I imagine your reputation precedes you.”

Satoru snorts, unfazed. “Not much? Oh, I’m wounded. Surely the great Aleksandar Ivanov, Durmstrang’s star champion, has at least heard of my devastating good looks.” He flashes his most charming grin, but it only seems to amuse Aleksandar further.

“I’m afraid that hasn’t reached Durmstrang’s halls. Perhaps you should consider advertising.”

You stifle a laugh, glancing between them. “Don’t encourage him,” you say lightly, earning yourself an exaggerated pout from Satoru. “He already has a big enough head as it is.”

“That, I can believe.” The Bulgarian casts a sidelong glance at you.

“Smart guy,” Satoru muses. “I like him.”

“Anyway,” you cut in, cheeks warming. “We were just getting drinks.”

Satoru gestures dramatically to the table laden with butterbeer, pumpkin juice, and other sparkling drinks contained within golden goblets. “Help yourselves. And I would greatly appreciate it if neither of you told Utahime that all these drinks have been spiked with Firewhiskey by yours truly.” He points with his chin behind your shoulders to where Utahime is clumsily attempting to teach Mei Mei how to do the two-step.

Aleksandar grabs a goblet of something orange and fizzy, passing one to you before taking one for himself. It tastes sweet, and slightly sour, and it bubbles deliciously on your tongue before you swallow. The two of you bid farewell to Satoru and venture towards a quieter, more secluded spot. “This is nice, no?” he asks, and you hum in agreement.

“You’re quite popular tonight.”

You freeze, recognising the tone before you even begin to turn. Slowly, you glance over your shoulder to find Suguru standing a few feet away, his date nowhere to be seen. You hate how seeing him alone fills you with a twisted sense of triumph. His expression is carefully blank, unreadable, and for a moment the noise of the Great Hall fades away.

“I didn’t realise you were keeping track,” you reply evenly.

His lips curve slightly, not enough to be a smirk but enough to make your skin prickle. “Of course not. Just observing.”

You tilt your head, offering him a smile that borders on a grimace. “That’s very thoughtful of you. Maybe you should focus on your own date instead of mine, though.”

Aleksandar shifts beside you, but he remains silent. Suguru’s gaze flicks briefly to him before settling back on you. “She’s more than capable of taking care of herself. Besides, you seem to enjoy the attention.”

“I’m sorry—are you implying something?”

“Not at all.” Suguru steps closer, and, voice low, continues, “Just that you seem to be… compensating.”

The jab cuts deeper than you want to admit. “Compensating for what?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, letting the silence drag on long enough to make your stomach twist. “You tell me.”

Before you can respond, Aleksandar clears his throat, his green eyes darting in between you both. “I think I’ll grab another drink. Excuse me,” he says, and slips away with a polite nod.

“Great,” you mutter, glaring at Suguru. “Now you’ve scared off my date.”

“Oh, please. He’ll come back. He’s too invested in playing the perfect gentleman to leave you alone for too long.”

“And what about you? Where’s your date, Suguru? Or did she finally realise what an insufferable prat you are?”

His eyes narrow. “She’s fine. Unlike you, I don’t need to flaunt her to get a reaction.”

“What, in Merlin’s name, is your problem?” you hiss. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, a mix of anger and something else you don’t want to name.

“My problem?” he repeats, a dry laugh escaping his throat. “You, apparently. Always finding a way to needle at me.”

“You’re the one who came over here,” you shoot back. “If you have such an issue with me, why not stay on your side of the Great Hall?”

The Hogwarts champion’s gaze flickers briefly, something shuttering in his expression. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I just wanted to see how long you’d keep up the act.”

Your brows furrow; your patience is wearing thin. Placing your half-empty goblet on a nearby floating tray, you cross your arms over your chest. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“That guy,” he says, gesturing at Aleksandar’s retreating figure. “Pretending like you’re actually interested in him.”

You stare at him, your chest tightening at the implication. “Stop it,” you say quietly, steadily.

“Stop what?”

“Stop acting like you care,” you snap. “You made it perfectly clear earlier whose side you were on. Don’t act like you suddenly care about who I spend my time with.”

The mention of your earlier argument over Toji hangs heavy between you, and for a moment, Suguru looks away, jaw tightening. Really, you’re thankful Fushiguro isn’t anywhere near you both. Knowing him, you think he’s the sort of person who thrives off of attention, no matter whether it’s good or bad. He’d be elated to know that Hogwarts’ beloved champion and the school’s runner-up are locked in an argument over him—but it’s not really about Fushiguro Toji, is it?

“I don’t care,” he says finally, though his words lack conviction. “Maybe I just don’t like seeing you waste your time.”

“Funny,” you reply. “I could say the same about you.”

The words linger in the air, stubborn as static. Suguru’s eyebrows knit together, and he reaches out and grabs your wrist—not roughly, but firmly enough to send your pulse racing. “We’re not doing this here,” he says, through gritted teeth, pulling you towards the door.

“What are you—” you start, but he cuts you off with a brisk, “Just come with me.”

You inhale sharply, but follow him down the hallways and up the staircases. You know where he’s taking you before the door to the Room of Requirement even appears. Once inside, the door shuts with a soft click, leaving the two of you alone in the dimly-lit space. You pull your hand free, glaring at him.

“What the Hell is this about, Suguru?”

“You infuriate me,” he says, voice cutting and low and breathless. “You drive me fucking insane, did you know? I dislike you so much.”

You blink at him like he’s just sprouted another head. “What the fuck? How much did Satoru let you drink?”

“I’m not drunk,” he says, eyes narrowing. “I’m just angry—and jealous. I’m so envious, Merlin help me.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

A wry, sardonic chuckle escapes his throat. He lowers his head, strands of hair that spill out of the ribbon framing his face. “I don’t know.”

“You’re such a hypocrite.” You swallow around the lump that forms in your throat. Goosebumps erupt across your shoulders when a sudden cold draft of wind makes you shiver. “I hate you.”

He lifts his face, then, gaze resting on your lips. His mouth parts slightly, as though to say something, but no words come out. Instead, he takes a step closer, and it feels like the room shrinks around you with each inch of space he eliminates. “You hate me?” 

Your heart pounds as you glare up at him, refusing to yield. “I do,” you snap, though your voice wavers just slightly.

Suguru lets out a bitter laugh. “Liar,” he says, so quietly, it almost doesn’t register. His hand moves before you can think to react, cupping your jaw, fingers brushing along the sensitive skin behind your ear. His thumb skims your cheek. “You hate me so much, but you’re still here. You can walk away. I won’t stop you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You stay rooted in the spot, and your nails dig into your palms. “Shut up,” you whisper, though it sounds more like a plea than a command.

He doesn’t. Instead, his thumb moves lower, brushing along the corner of your mouth, lips turning up in a half-smirk when he sees the way your eyes flutter shut for the briefest of moments. “You’re flustered,” he notes, soft, “but you hate me, right?”

Something inside you snaps. With every ounce of venom you can muster, you repeat, “I do.”

And then you’re grabbing him by the front of his emerald green dress robes, yanking him down until your lips crash against his. It’s uncoordinated, a clashing of teeth and anger and frustration. Suguru freezes for half a second before he groans against your mouth, his hands sliding to your waist as he pulls you flush against him. 

It’s not gentle. His lips are rough, demanding, teeth scraping your bottom lip as if to punish you for every word you’ve ever said to rile him up. But you’re just as relentless, fingers tangling in his hair while you blindly undo the ribbon holding it in place, pulling sharply enough to draw a hiss from his throat. 

“You’re impossible,” you mutter against his mouth, breath coming out in short gasps.

“So are you,” he fires back. His lips trail down to your jaw, teeth grazing the skin there. “You drive me mad.”

You don’t bother replying, instead tugging his hair harder, forcing his mouth back to yours. His hands tighten on your waist, fingers digging into the silk of your dress as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. You’re barely aware of the way Suguru backs you up against the nearest wall, his body pressing against yours while his mouth moves hungrily against your own.

“Say it,” he murmurs against your lips, low but somehow pleading.

“Say what?” you breathe out, though you know exactly what he means.

“Say you don’t hate me,” he demands, the words said into your neck, teeth skating over your skin and making you shudder.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, and you bite back a gasp. “No,” you whisper defiantly.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes dark and wild, chest rising and falling heavily. “Liar,” he mutters again, before crashing his lips against yours and swallowing any further protests.

(Later, when you stir from sleep, your dress barely doing anything to shield you from the chill, the first thing you notice is Suguru beside you. His head rests against the stone floor, hair unbound and spilling like ink over the cold surface. You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you do know how you ended up so close, your hands almost touching.

When his eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep, neither of you speaks. He exhales softly, gaze dipping to where your fingers nearly meet, and though his lips don’t form the words, the apology is there. You know this because he hooks his little finger with yours, and squeezes.)

For the next month, you do the logical thing: You avoid Geto Suguru at all costs.

This, you’ve decided, is a perfectly reasonable course of action. A brilliant one, even. It takes careful planning—adjusting your usual routes between classes, lingering longer than necessary in the library, arriving at meals either too early, or too late—but you are nothing if not meticulous, and you refuse to let him and your feelings for him become an inconvenience. 

You do feel guilty, however, about not helping him out with the second task, but the way you see it, Suguru is more than intelligent enough to figure it out on his own. (You refuse to acknowledge the fact that you spend time trying to piece it out when you can’t sleep at night, staring up at the canopy of your four-poster bed.)

You’re doing quite well, really. Or, you would be, if not for your insufferable friends.

The courtyard is unusually lively today. The air hums with the lingering remnants of winter, crisp but pleasant beneath the afternoon sun. Students—both Hogwarts and not—lounge in clusters across the stone benches and patches of grass, basking in the rare moment of warmth. Laughter carries through the open space like birdsong.

You sit with your friends at one of the broader stone benches, a small pile of books and a stray Golden Snitch hovering in the air beside you (pilfered from the Quidditch supply closet by Slytherin’s star seeker, Gojo Satoru himself). It should be peaceful. It should be, but—

“You’re objectively wrong, and I refuse to entertain this nonsense any further.” Utahime crosses her arms, looking positively scandalised.

Satoru scoffs. “Utahime, be serious.”

“I am serious! You’re the one who sounds like an idiot.”

“I am an idiot,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “But at least I’m right.”

Shoko exhales slowly, pressing her fingers against her temples. “Merlin’s beard, what are you two even arguing about?”

“More importantly,” Mei Mei pipes up, swiping the Snitch from the air, “are we supposed to care?”

“Yes,” you say dryly, “if only to prevent them from tearing each other apart in the middle of the courtyard.”

Utahime turns to you, looking deeply affronted. “You agree with me, don’t you?”

“I don’t even know what the argument is about.”

Satoru gestures broadly with both palms. “I’m simply saying that if a Thestral and a Hippogriff were to fight, the Thestral would obviously win.”

Silence. You blink. “That’s what you’re arguing about?”

“First of all,” Utahime says, ignoring your incredulity, “that is completely wrong.”

“Oh, this will be good,” Satoru says, only a tad bit sarcastic. He sprawls onto a patch of dewy grass and leans back on his hands. “Do explain.”

“Hippogriffs are way more aggressive than Thestrals,” Utahime says. “And they have stronger beaks and claws. They’d win in a fight easily.”

“Thestrals literally eat meat,” Satoru argues. “They’re meant to take things down.”

“So do Hippogriffs!” Utahime points out. “Thestrals eat meat, but that doesn’t mean they’re fighters. They hunt only when necessary. They won’t even attack unless provoked.”

“Alright, but let’s say they were provoked—”

“By what, your stupidity?”

Satoru grins. “At least Thestrals don’t try to smite your face off because you bowed down to greet them at the wrong angle. Plus, they have the advantage of being invisible to everyone except those who’ve come face-to-face with death.”

Utahime makes a noise of frustration, and before you know it, the conversation has devolved into a full-blown debate. Mei Mei, ever the neutral one, watches with amusement, and Shoko starts taking sides. She and Utahime argue passionately in favour of Hippogriffs, citing their sheer power and aggression, while Satoru insists that Thestrals are stronger due to their skeletal structure and ability to take down large prey. You are promptly dragged into the discussion, despite having absolutely no opinion on the matter.

“It’s obviously a Hippogriff,” Utahime exclaims, gesturing wildly.

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” the only Slytherin in the group shoots back.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s insulting.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Honestly, this is the dumbest thing I’ve ever—”

“You agree with me, don’t you?” Satoru rounds on you, eyes gleaming. 

You exhale, immediately regretting being within earshot of this conversation. “What?”

“You agree that a Thestral would win.”

You narrow your eyes. “I never said that.”

“Yeah, but you will.”

You sigh defeatedly, looking to the others for support, but Utahime merely juts her chin out. “Suguru wouldn’t agree with you,” she says pointedly.

Satoru snorts. “Suguru would agree with whatever she—” he points to you— “says.”

And just like that, your world tilts. The conversation continues around you—more bickering, more laughter—but it all fades into a dull hum, a sort of background noise to the sudden rushing in your ears. Suguru would agree with whatever you say.

It’s absurd. It’s just Gojo Satoru being Gojo Satoru, throwing out careless words without stopping to think about them. But the worst part—the part that unsettles you the most—is that he might be right.

You think of the way Suguru used to argue with you, sharp-tongued and obstinate, yet never truly cruel. How he always listened, even when he pretended not to. How, more often than not, he did end up on your side, whether by reason or sheer inevitability.

You inhale sharply, hands curling into fists on your lap. You make no move to join back in on the conversation—because, really, what is there to say?

That you can still feel the ghost of his hands on your skin? That you can still taste the Butterbeer he’d had on the eve of the Yule Ball when he slotted his lips against yours? That his name has lodged itself between your ribs, stubborn as a curse? That your heart stutters at the mere thought of him; that you cannot—will not—let yourself dwell on what could be if you let go of your pride, and he relinquished his arrogance?

No, there’s nothing to say at all.

When you agreed to help Utahime rearrange the awards and plaques in the Trophy Room after classes, you certainly were not expecting her to lock you up in said room with one Geto Suguru. If it was any of your other friends—Shoko, Satoru—you would not have been very inclined to help out, but it was Utahime who asked, which is why you acquiesced. At least you can say, with utmost certainty, that sweet, loving Utahime Iori is not sweet or loving at all.

There’s a brief moment of silence as the heavy door slams shut behind you; you reach for your pocket instinctively to pull out your wand and cast Alohomora—the Unlocking Charm—and make your escape. Then, you belatedly realise that you’d left your wand in your dormitory after classes. Your fingers curl around nothing, and you feel rather stupid. 

Dust motes dance in the golden afternoon light, settling over gleaming plaques and silver trophies, their engravings telling stories of menial victories long past. The air smells like polish, but you hardly notice. Your pulse roars in your ears, loud enough to drown out all other sound but the one voice you had hoped to avoid indefinitely.

“Utahime,” you call through the door, voice strained but not yet desperate. “This isn’t funny.”

There’s no answer, save for the sound of retreating footsteps. You spin on your heel, fully prepared to ignore Suguru entirely until Utahime returns, but then he shifts—just the slightest movement, a tilt of his head, a shift of his weight from one foot to the other—and it’s as if some sort of invisible thread yanks you to him.

“I didn’t expect the Head Girl to actually agree to bring you here,” he says, voice low.

He looks tired. You hate that you notice.

His hair is loose, strands slipping over his shoulders, dark against the pale slope of his throat. His uniform is slightly disheveled—tie loosened, shirt rolled up to his elbows—but it’s his face that makes something in you twist uncomfortably. There are shadows beneath his eyes, bruised with exhaustion, and though his usual easy arrogance lingers in the set of his jaw, his shoulders are rigid, as though he’s bracing for impact.

You force yourself to turn away, to focus on the nearest plaque. The etched names are a blur as you try and fail to appear unaffected. Draconius Falmoy: Head Boy, 1869, it reads.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Suguru says. There is no accusation in his tone—just fact, cold and clear as glass.

You trace the name engraved on the plaque with a fingertip. “I’ve been busy.”

A humourless laugh. “Right. Too busy to even look at me?”

You clench your teeth. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” His voice sharpens, something brittle underlying it. “You haven’t spoken to me in a month. I don’t even know if you’d still acknowledge my existence if we weren’t locked in her together.”

You suck in a breath sharply, counting backward from ten in your head. You’ve spent weeks perfecting the art of pretending Suguru doesn’t exist; you’re not about to let him unravel it now. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” you manage to say, turning around to face him properly at last. “That I’m sorry? That I feel guilty?”

Suguru watches you, unreadable, dark eyes wrought with something you can’t name. “I didn’t ask for an apology.”

“No,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, “but you clearly want one.”

Something in his expression flickers—hurt, maybe, or something close to it—but it vanishes so quickly, you think you might have imagined it. He sighs, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face.

“I don’t understand you,” he says finally. “You kissed me, and then you disappeared.”

Your stomach lurches. “It wasn’t—”

“What?” He steps forward, gaze locked on yours. “It wasn’t supposed to happen? It didn’t mean anything?”

You hesitate, because you know that’s what you should say. You should roll your eyes, scoff, tell him he’s being ridiculous and move on like the Yule Ball never happened. He takes another step forward, and he’s close, now—close enough that you catch the faint scent of parchment and cedarwood, familiar enough after all the weeks you’ve spent in the Room of Requirement with him. You should say, Of course it didn’t mean anything, Suguru, don’t be stupid, but the words stick in your throat, prickly and unyielding.

“Tell me it meant nothing, and I won’t bother you ever again,” he promises, soft, and somehow that’s worse.

You swallow hard. “Suguru—”

He shakes his head, a bitter smile curling at his lips. “Nevermind.” He turns away, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’re good at that, aren’t you? Pretending.”

 The words cut deeper than they should. You don’t respond, because what could you possibly say? That he’s right? That every morning, you tell yourself it was a mistake, that it didn’t matter, that you can keep pretending it never happened—only to feel his touch lingering on your skin like a phantom’s fingers?

No. You can’t say any of that. Instead, you press your lips together and say nothing.

The silence that follows is thick and heavy and suffocating. You don’t move. Neither does he. You count the seconds in your head, waiting for something—anything—to break this unbearable tension.

Then, at long last, a knock raps against the door. “Alright,” Utahime calls out, sounding far too smug for your liking. “I think you’ve suffered enough.”

The lock clicks. The door swings open. Suguru doesn’t spare you a glance as he strides past, his shoulder just barely brushing yours as he leaves. The Trophy Room suddenly feels too big, too quiet, and you’re left standing alone amidst the gleaming remnants of past victories, your heartbeat echoing loud in your ears. (You have the gnawing feeling that Draconius Falmoy, Head Boy of Hogwarts in 1869 would laugh at your predicament.)

“I’m sorry,” Utahime tells you, as you fall in step with her. “He kept asking me to help him find a way to talk to you—he even promised he would donate the thousand Galleons he gets as prize money for the Triwizard Tournament to St. Mungo’s Hospital of Magical Maladies and Injuries, if he wins.”

You don’t say anything, only look down at the stone floor of the corridor as you walk back to Gryffindor Tower. You can’t fault Utahime; she has always been extremely kind-hearted and gentle, and you know the idea of a donation to the wizarding hospital would sway her completely—especially considering the fact that it’s been her dream to become a Healer after she graduates Hogwarts.

“Are you mad at me?” she asks, after a beat.

“No,” you say, flashing her a small smile that you hope is convincing. Truthfully, you’re just mad at yourself.

The plan is simple: Bribe Geto Suguru with sweets and pray he doesn’t hex you on sight.

It’s not your most sophisticated scheme, nor your most dignified, but after an entire month of avoidance, and the disaster that was the Trophy Room incident, you’ve resigned yourself to desperate measures. You are doing this, not because you feel guilty, but because you had agreed to help him out with the Tournament, and you don’t want to feel like a shitty person for going back on your word. Regrettably, it is incredibly difficult to help someone when you can’t look them in the eye.

Aforementioned desperate measures include grilling Shoko for every last detail about Suguru’s favourite things. She doesn’t make it easy.

“You’re acting like you’re about to woo him,” she’d remarked, flipping idly through the pages of her Potions textbook and entirely uninterested in your plight.

“I’m not trying to woo him.”

“You’re learning all of his favourite things, buying him chocolates, agonising over the best way to give them to him—all on Valentine’s day, too. I’m certain that that’s called wooing.”

Your face had burned; it wasn’t your fault the organisers decided to conduct the second task only ten days before the holiday of love. “I’m apologising,” you’d insisted.

Shoko had hummed, but despite her incredulousness, she’d humoured you and rattled off a list of trivial details about Suguru’s preferences—his favourite tea (jasmine), his favourite book (something tedious and philosophical), the subjects he likes best (Charms and Transfiguration, though you knew this already). Most importantly, of course, the only Honeydukes chocolates he actually cares for: dark chocolate-covered honeycomb. (“But only from Honeydukes,” Shoko had warned. “He says the other ones taste like burnt sugar.”)

Which is how you find yourself in Hogsmeade, the wizarding village closest to Hogwarts, the morning air crisp and cold, clutching a small, carefully-wrapped box of sweets like your life depends on it. Hogsmeade is lively, bustling with students eager to escape the castle for the day. The scent of butterbeer and freshly-baked pastries wafts through the air. All around you, couples wander hand-in-hand, jumpers pulled tight around their bodies to ward off the early spring chill, and their laughter bright against the grey sky. Shopfronts are decorated in ridiculous shades of pink and red, hearts and flowers strung across windows in celebration of Valentine’s Day.

The sight makes you feel vaguely ill, because this is not a romantic gesture. (Then why does it feel like your heart is about to leap out of your throat every time you think of him?)

You don’t linger in Honeydukes—Hogsmeade’s best chocolatier—for longer than necessary, as much as the toasty warmth and aroma of cocoa makes you want to stay. Making quick work of purchasing the chocolates, you step back out onto the cobbled streets, heart hammering at the thought of what you’re about to do. 

It’s not that you’re nervous. Not really. It’s just that approaching Suguru after everything feels a bit like facing a sleeping dragon—you don’t know if he’ll tolerate your presence or scorch you on sight. Still, you have to try.

You find him standing outside The Three Broomsticks, a pub and restaurant owned by the friendly Madam Rosmerta. He is not alone; Satoru and a few Durmstrang students surround him. He looks relaxed, hands tucked into his pockets, but there’s something in his expression that wasn’t there before. The tiredness clings to him still, there in the worn-out slump of his shoulders. Guilt gnaws at your ribs.

You hesitate, watching him laugh at something Satoru says. Maybe this is stupid. Maybe he doesn’t care anymore. Maybe—

Suguru turns and sees you. You don’t think you’ve ever stood so still in your life.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. The noise of Hogsmeade fades into the background, muffled and distant, like the world has shrunk down to just the space between you. His expression is shuttered, brows knitted together in a frown.

Your fingers tighten around the box. You should leave. You should turn around, pretend you never saw him, and—

His gaze flickers to your hands. Oh, Merlin’s beard.

With a sharp inhale, you straighten your spine and march forward before you can change your mind. Satoru notices you first, perking up like a dog catching sight of a squirrel. “Hey, look who it is! Fancy seeing you over here.”

You ignore him and stop directly in front of Suguru. His eyes widen slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to actually approach him. You shove the box into his hands.

Suguru blinks, catching it before it can fall. “What—?”

“It’s an apology,” you mutter, staring at the ground. “Take it or leave it.”

He doesn’t say anything immediately. You wonder, vaguely, if you’ve made a horrible mistake. If he’ll laugh, or hand it back, or— “...Honeycomb?” he asks quietly.

“...Yeah.”

Something shifts in his eyes, something subtle and indecipherable. He stares at the box, fingers tightening around the edges. When he finally looks back at you, there’s something in his gaze that makes your breath hitch. 

You don’t wait to see what he does next. Instead, you turn on your heel and walk away, determined to ignore the pounding of your heart. 

You don’t look back. You don’t see the way he watches you go, either.

(That night, when you tentatively enter the Room of Requirement for the first time in what feels like forever, you find Suguru already there, sitting cross-legged on one of the cushions. The box of Honeydukes chocolates lies open on the ground in front of him. You drop down onto the cushion opposite him, and wordlessly, he pushes the box closer to you.)

The sky is pale, streaked with the last wisps of winter clouds, the sun still struggling to bring warmth to the February chill. It is not quite cold, not quite warm, that strange in-between where the air nips at exposed skin but doesn’t truly bite. The Quidditch pitch has been transformed. The stands are packed with students, banners waving in the light breeze, and an expectant hush hangs over the crowds, despite the murmur of conversation. 

The Black Lake gleams darkly in the distance, but the task does not take place in its depths. Instead, the champions stand in a row on the dewy grass of the Quidditch pitch, preparing for whatever horrors the second task of the Triwizard Tournament entails.

You already know what those horrors are. 

The riddle had taken a frustratingly long time to decode, to come up with a proper answer instead of a mere hunch. Ego sum prinicipium mundi et finis saeculorum; once the answer had clicked into place, it had seemed almost too simple. I am the beginning of the world and the end of ages. What was the first thing humans ever knew? What was the last thing they felt before death? 

Fear.

And so, the second task would force the champions to face their deepest fears, drawn from the constellations carved into the rings they had procured from the first task. It is an elegant, cruel bit of magic—one that ensures their struggles are uniquely personal.

From your place in the stands, you’re offered a clear view of the champions standing in the centre of the field, their expressions barely concealing their tension. Their rings glint in the light, the engraved constellations gleaming like ancient runes. Anticipation coats each of the champions like a second skin, shoulders stiff, hands clenched, magic thrumming in the air. You’d arrived earlier than your friends, so you sit alone, fingers curling into the hem of your robes.

In front of the champions is a large, dome-like structure that shimmers faintly with spells and charms. That is where the task will take place, hidden from the eyes of the over-eager audience to grant the champions some semblance of privacy while they complete the second task. 

You spot Suguru immediately. He stands with his back straight, arms crossed over his chest, face completely blank. His long hair is tied back loosely, a few strands slipping free and brushing against his cheeks. He does not fidget, does not shift from foot to foot like the other two, but there is a tightness to his stance, a rigidity in the way his shoulders refuse to relax.

A hush falls over the crowd as the first champion is announced to enter the dueling arena. Aleksandar Ivanov tries to hide his nervousness, but you can see the slight hesitation in his step and the way he grips his wand so tightly, his knuckles turn white. His ring bears the constellation Hydra, the many-headed serpent—a symbol of resilience, of something that cannot be easily destroyed. You wonder what he fears.

A glittering door begins to take shape, starting from the base of the dome. It creaks open, revealing a dark, yawning abyss beyond. Shadows slither across the ground, shifting and twisting, while the Boggart inside, enhanced by Tournament magic, begins to take form. 

Boggarts, as you’ve studied in your Defence Against the Dark Arts class, are amortal, shape-shifting non-beings that take on the form of its observer’s worst fear. Because of their shape-shifting ability, no one knows what a Boggart’s true shape is, as it changes form instantly upon encountering someone. The incantation used to banish a Boggart is simple—dispel the fear with amusement while casting Riddikulus. However, seeing as the Boggarts the champions must face are magically enhanced, you suspect a simple Boggart-Banishing Spell will not be enough. The thought alone is enough to fill your mind with worry.

Aleksandar steps into the darkness, the door vanishing behind him. The rules are simple: Each champion must navigate a maze of illusions, battle their own fears, and rescue the person chosen for them. The champion who succeeds in the shortest amount of time will earn the most points. An enchanted hourglass hovers in the air, grains of sand slipping through its neck to mark the passage of time.

You barely breathe as the minutes tick by, until Aleksandar finally emerges. His friend—the person he had to rescue—jogs out behind him, looking ashen but otherwise alright. It’s the Durmstrang champion whose face is drawn, whose hands are trembling. He is victorious—but shaken.

The Beauxbatons champion is next. Amélie takes longer than expected. She stumbles as she exits, her breath ragged, and her face streaked with something that might be tears. Her hands shake so violently that she can barely accept the glass of water being handed to her.

It is grueling. It is cruel.

And Suguru is yet to go.

You swallow hard as he steps forward, the light catching the gold of his ring, the constellation Lupus etched onto its surface. The wolf—strength, transformation. But strength does not mean the absence of fear.

He does not hesitate, moving towards the dome’s entrance. You can hear people whispering around you—students murmuring their predictions, placing their bets, trying to guess what exactly a boy like Geto Suguru could possibly fear. You grip the edge of your robes tightly.

The door shimmers into existence before him, tall and forbidding. It creaks open slowly, revealing the same thing it has for the previous two champions—an abyss of darkness, shifting and coiling like smoke. He steps inside. The door disappears. The enchanted hourglass flips, grains of sand slipping through its narrow neck. You exhale, only then realising that you had held your breath.

The stands are still buzzing with conversation, but it is nothing more than a distant hum in your ears. Your entire focus is on the closed dome, on the way your heart beats faster than it should, as if your body already knows something your mind is yet to understand.

What is he afraid of? 

Suguru is not fearless—no one is—but he has always carried himself in a way that makes him seem like he is. Unshaken, unbothered, his composure held so effortlessly that it has always frustrated you in ways you dare not name. He stands with an arrogance that makes it hard to imagine him afraid of anything at all.

Still, you know that arrogance is a performance. A shield. Suguru hates appearing weak, more than anything else, so he deludes everyone else into thinking he is not. You had thought that the riddle that you had agonised over for weeks was cruel in itself, but this is worse. The waiting. The not-knowing.

Your stomach twists into impossible knots as the minutes drag on. Five minutes. Six. Eight. You count each grain of sand slipping down the hourglass. Ten minutes pass.

Twelve minutes, and then—

The door bursts open. Suguru steps into the light, and he is not alone. Your breath catches in your throat.

Gojo Satoru stumbles behind him, blinking against the sudden brightness. His white hair is disheveled, his expression more one of confusion than relief. He shakes Suguru off with a scowl, tugging his sleeve free from where Suguru’s fingers still grip the fabric.

“You didn’t have to drag me—” Satoru starts, but he stops as soon as he catches sight of Suguru’s face. His expression shifts; wariness replaces irritation, amusement slips away like a mask crumbling at the edges.

Suguru stands rigid, shoulders taut with unnatural tension. His face is stony, unreadable, perfectly blank in the way that only means he’s holding something back.

The hourglass stops. It has only been slightly less than thirteen minutes.

Geto Suguru is the fastest champion to finish the second task of the Triwizard Tournament.

The cheers begin, slow at first—someone in the stands starts shouting his name, then another, and another, until the entire pitch is filled with applause and hoots. You barely hear it.

Suguru is not okay.

He doesn’t acknowledge the cheering, doesn’t even react to it. His jaw is clenched so tightly that you can see the strain in his muscles. He isn’t even looking at Satoru anymore—his gaze is fixed somewhere beyond him, unfocused and distant.

Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, his eyes lift—and he sees you.

For a fleeting moment, something breaks in his expression. A flicker of something raw and fractured, a crack in the mask. He huffs quietly, tiredly, and he walks away without a word.

Your stomach sinks. Something is wrong.

You barely notice the way the crowd is still celebrating his victory, the way students are excitedly chatting about how he finished faster than anyone else, because of course he did—Geto Suguru is the strongest, after all.

(But strength does not mean the absence of fear.)

Your fingers tremble slightly as you watch his retreating figure. His posture is stiff, and his steps are too controlled. You should look away, should let him leave. You should accept that whatever happened inside that dome is his burden to carry.

But you can’t, because suddenly, all you can think of is the way he looked at you just now. Like he needed to see you; like you needed to see him.

And, well, it’s quite silly in retrospect, but it’s a realisation that settles over you quietly, as if it’s been there all along and you’ve just stupidly buried it underneath your own pride and arrogance: You don’t hate Geto Suguru at all.

“Go away,” Suguru says, stubborn as ever. He is propped up against a pillow on one of the beds in the Hospital Wing. An empty vial of Calming Draught is placed on the stand next to him, though you don’t mention it. Beside it, a half-empty box of Honeydukes chocolates.

“No,” you tell him, just as obstinate.

Suguru scowls. “I don’t want company.”

You ignore him, dragging a nearby chair closer to his bedside with an obnoxious scrape against the floor before sitting down. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the tall windows of the Hospital Wing, where the afternoon light spills golden over the Hogwarts grounds. His hair is slightly damp—most likely due to sweat—and the dark strands cling to his forehead.

“Are you hurt?” you ask, eyes flicking to the empty vial of Calming Draught.

He scoffs. “Wouldn’t be here if I was.”

“You are here.”

He sighs, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, as if trying to rub away whatever still lingers in his mind. “It’s just protocol. The Healers made me take a Calming Draught after the task, and apparently, that warrants a few hours of observation.”

You glance at him. He might not be physically injured, but there is something wrong, something unsettling in the way he carries himself. 

“You were in there only for thirteen minutes,” you say carefully. “That’s— That’s insane, actually.”

“I won, didn’t I?” he mutters.

“That’s not what I asked.”

He barks out a short laugh. “No. It isn’t.”

Silence, again. Suguru isn’t like this—not normally. He thrives in competition, in the thrill of battle, in the excitement of a challenge. He doesn’t dwell. He doesn’t let things linger like ghosts at the edges of his thoughts. But right now, it feels like he is being haunted.

“I saw your face when you came out,” you say, quieter this time. “You weren’t okay.”

His fingers curl into the sheets, gripping tightly. “It was just a Boggart.”

“A magically enhanced Boggart,” you remind him. “We don’t know how they worked, what they—”

“It’s over,” he snaps, cutting you off. “I’m done talking about it.”

You stare at him, waiting for him to meet your gaze, but he doesn’t. His shoulders are rigid—drawn tighter than they were before the task commenced—and his body is tense, as if he’s holding something in so tightly, it might crack him apart.

“...Was it Satoru?” you ask gently. “Is that what you—”

Suguru flinches, and somehow, that tells you enough. Your stomach twists. What did he see? Suguru and Satoru had come out of the dome together—Satoru unharmed, though clearly confused. The task had required him to rescue someone, and he’d done just that by saving his best friend. But what had he seen in there?

Suguru finally exhales, turning his head to you. “It was just a task,” he says. “And I won. That’s all that matters.”

“Stop pretending,” you say, voice sharper now. “I saw you after the task, and you weren’t fine. You still aren’t.”

Suguru narrows his eyes at you, but doesn’t respond. Instead, he looks away again, staring out the window like it might offer him some escape. You wait for some kind of acknowledgement, some crack in his carefully constructed walls. 

“I’m fine,” he says, but it’s too strained to be convincing. “It was just a stupid Boggart. It’s over.”

“No, it’s not,” you argue. “It’s obviously still bothering you, so just—just admit it. Tell me what happened, Suguru. I can try to help.”

He whips his head back toward you, eyebrows furrowed, patience wearing thin. “I don’t need to explain myself to you,” he snaps. “It’s over. I’m fine. End of story.”

You refuse to back down. “Don’t shut me out. I’m not going to just sit here and pretend I didn’t see the way you almost cracked when you came out of the dome!”

Suguru’s eyes flash with anger, his fingers curling into fists on his thighs. “I don’t need your pity, alright? So just drop it.”

“No, I can’t just drop it.” Your voice trembles with frustration. Why won’t he just listen? “I fucking care about you, and I can see it’s bothering you. What the Hell are you so afraid of?”

His entire body stiffens at your words. His gaze darts away again, and you know—you know—he’s trying to hold something back. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but then he shuts it again.

“I’m not afraid,” he mutters, but there’s a brittleness to his voice that betrays him. “I told you, I’m fine. It’s over. Stop pushing.”

“You’re lying. What is it? What did you see in there?”

Suguru glares at you, his chest rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. Then, in a sudden burst of frustration, he spits out the words that he’s been holding back for far too long. “It was you, alright?!”

You freeze. “...What?”

“It was you,” Suguru repeats harshly. “I saw you in there—but you weren’t you.” he falters, but the words keep coming. “You—your eyes—they were empty, like something had taken you and left nothing behind. I couldn’t reach you. You were just standing there. Gone.” He stops, swallowing hard, trying to reign in his emotions, but it’s too late.

Your mouth runs dry, your pulse racing as his words echo in your head.

Suguru turns away from you, but you can see the rigidness in his back. “I couldn’t—couldn’t bring you back. I tried, but you were just gone, and there was nothing I could do.” He inhales wearily. “Like a Dementor had sucked the soul out of you, and I couldn’t do anything about it because my Patronus Charm wouldn’t fucking work, and—”

Your mind whirls. You know his fear now. It’s not some grand disaster, some monstrous threat—it’s losing you. Losing you in some way that he can’t fix.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

For a long moment, you don’t speak. The only sound between you is the faint rustling of the Hospital Wing curtains shifting in the late afternoon breeze. Suguru’s chest rises and falls unsteadily. He refuses to look at you now, as if saying it out loud was already enough, as if giving his fear a form has made it real.

Of all the things you could have imagined, you’d never expected this. Suguru, who meets every challenge with an infuriating smirk, who stands unshaken even in the face of the impossible—he had been terrified. And it had been because of you.

You open your mouth, then close it. What do you even say to something like that?

Your heart aches at the way he’s withdrawn, curling in on himself as though he’s trying to make himself smaller. As though, now his secret has slipped, he’s bracing himself for whatever comes next.

So, instead of speaking, you move. Slowly, cautiously, you reach forward and wrap your arms around him.

Suguru stiffens immediately. His whole body goes tense under your touch, like he’s caught between the instinct to pull away and the desperate need to hold on. But then, after a beat of hesitation, he exhales shakily—and lets himself collapse into you.

It almost knocks the breath out of your lungs. His arms lock around you, tight—so impossibly tight that it almost hurts. He buries his face against your shoulder, and he grips onto you like he’s afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear; like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re real, that you’re here.

You don’t say anything. You just hold him.

His breathing is uneven, shallow at first, but gradually, as you rub slow circles into his back, it steadies. One of his hands curls into the fabric of your robes at your waist, clutching you like you’re a lifeline.

You feel him take a shuddering breath. “I know it wasn’t real,” he murmurs into your shoulder. “I know that. But it—fuck, it felt real.”

You nod, letting him press himself closer. “I know,” you whisper.

“I couldn’t do anything,” he admits. “I couldn’t do anything. I was right there, and you—you were just standing there, and I kept calling your name, but you didn’t even blink. And my Patronus—it wouldn’t work.” His grip on you tightens. “It wouldn’t fucking work.”

You don’t need him to explain why that matters. A Patronus is a partially-tangible positive energy force created from the caster’s happiest memories, either incorporeal as a burst of white mist, or corporeal—stronger than the incorporeal one—where it takes the form of an animal. It’s used to ward off Dark Magic—most commonly, creatures known as Dementors, which thrive off of negative emotions. The image of you, hollow, is what happens if a Dementor gets close enough to a person to perform the Dementor’s Kiss: Sucking the soul out of a person, leaving them a shell of their former selves. The Patronus Charm is complicated and difficult, so much so that most experienced wizards themselves struggle with casting it. 

You know how powerful Suguru’s magic is. The fact that, in his fear, he hadn’t managed to cast it—not even an incorporeal one— 

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “You would’ve saved me.”

He makes a sound at the back of his throat, something like a scoff. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” you say fiercely, protectively. “If that had been real, you would’ve found a way.”

Something in him seems to rupture in him at your words. His arms tighten just a fraction more before he finally—finally—relaxes against you. The tautness in his muscles begins to ease, his breathing growing softer, deeper. He still doesn’t let go, but it isn’t out of desperation. It’s something else now.

“I hate this,” he says, after a pause.

“Hate what?”

“That I had to see that.” He exhales against your skin. “That you had to hear all of this.”

You shake your head, pulling back just enough to look at him. “Suguru.”

He finally lifts his head. His face is guarded but tired—so tired. His eyes, dark as ink, roam over your face. You meet his gaze and let your hands move up, threading gently into his hair. “I don’t care that you’re afraid,” you say, softly. “I’m afraid, too.”

Suguru looks at you for a long time, unreadable. You wonder if he’s going to argue, if he’s going to brush you off, or deflect with sarcasm, the way both of you have been doing all this time. But he doesn’t.

Instead, his hand moves to your face. The touch is hesitant at first; his fingers ghost over your cheek, like he’s still trying to convince himself that you’re real. Then, his thumb brushes over your skin, slow and soft. You don’t dare to breathe.

His gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up. “You’re still here,” he murmurs, so quietly that you almost miss it.

And then he kisses you.

It isn’t rushed. It isn’t desperate. It’s slow, reverent—like he’s memorising you, like he’s savouring the fact that you’re here, that you’re warm and breathing and safe in his arms.

Your fingers tighten in his hair as you press closer, melting into him while his lips move against yours. It’s gentle, but when you sigh softly into his mouth, he lets out a quiet groan and deepens the kiss. His hand cups the back of your head, his other arm winding around your waist to pull you closer.

(The door to the Hospital Wing swings open. 

“Oi, Geto, you decent— Oh, Merlin’s saggy balls—”

A loud, scandalised gasp echoes through the room, followed by Gojo Satoru’s unmistakable cackle. You barely have time to react, to get off Suguru’s lap, before he stiffens, head snapping towards the entrance. Standing in the doorway are Shoko and Satoru, both with varying expressions of shock and amusement.

“Oh, don’t stop on our account,” Satoru drawls, sporting a shit-eating grin. “This is way better than what we came here for.”

Shoko hums. “Yeah, I was expecting to find Suguru all sulky and brooding—not getting snogged to within an inch of his life.”

Suguru groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Kill me.”

You, on the other hand, are trying very hard not to combust. “Oh, sweet Merlin.”

Satoru dramatically clutches his chest. “My best friend, growing up so fast. Next thing I know, you’ll be writing poetry about her eyes, or something.”

Suguru, who absolutely has thought about writing poetry about your eyes (though he would rather die than admit it), scowls. “Shut up, Satoru.”

“Can’t. This is the highlight of my week.”

You groan, hiding your burning face in your hands. “I hate both of you.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Shoko coos. “Should we give them some privacy? Maybe light some candles to help them set the mood?”

Wordlessly, Suguru raises a hand and lifts up his middle finger.)

June brings summer hand-in-hand to the castle, and along with it, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. The days leading up to the third task are restless. The maze looms at the edges of the Quidditch Pitch, its towering hedges charmed to shift and writhe, concealing whatever dangers the tournament has yet to unveil. It is a final trial of wit and endurance, a labyrinth where victory lies at the centre.

You hate it.

“You’re scowling,” Suguru observes, watching you from his spot on the grass. He’s leaning back on his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him.

“You should be worried too,” you counter, plopping down next to him. “That thing is practically breathing.”

“And what would you have me do? Duel the shrubbery?”

You huff, glaring at the maze once more before turning back to him. “You’re taking this too lightly.”

He grins. “Because you’re worrying enough for the both of us.”

You reach over and flick his forehead. He lets out a dramatic groan, falling onto his back as though you’ve mortally wounded him. 

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, shaking your head, though you’re biting back a smile of your own. “How am I supposed to be stressed when you’re like this?”

“That’s the idea,” he muses, folding his arms behind his head. His dark hair spills over the grass, strands catching the sunlight. “I can’t have my little lioness fretting herself to an early grave.”

You smack his shoulder without hesitation. “Call me that again, and I’ll start rooting for the maze.”

Suguru barks out a laugh, turning his head to look at you properly. He’s smiling, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll be fine.”

You reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his. He squeezes once, gently, before tugging you closer. You let out a small oomph before sprawling onto the grass next to him. 

The sun dawdles in the horizon, stretching out the day for as long as it will go. You turn your head and brush your lips against his, content and happy. The third task waits, unseen and uncertain, but at least there is this.

Whether Geto Suguru emerges victorious or not—well. That’s insignificant, you think.

INTERESTED IN MORE? CHECK OUT THIS HEAD BOY!RAVENCLAW!NANAMI FIC SET IN THE SAME UNIVERSE BY @mahowaga!

⇢ a/n: if you read this entire thing, i’m giving you a big hug. this fic is so many things, but it is mainly a labour of love towards the fandom that first got me into writing and reading fanfiction at the wee age of eleven, and the fandom that currently occupies most of my tiny little brain. it is also the longest fic i have written till date, and i am proud of myself for it. this fic would not be possible were it not for my two best friends, @mahowaga & @admiringlove helping me out, letting me bounce ideas off of them, wracking our brains together to come up with the second task, and lurking on my google doc while i was writing, leaving comments that make me giggle even now. thank you for reading, and i hope you have a wonderful day!

[stall1iion]

champions love - four

liked by bsf1, bsf2, maxverstappen1, landonorris and others

y/n.jpg how i pull up to a function after drinking my weight in alcohol 🍷 🥃🍸

view all comments

username2 so we all just here after seeing the pictures huh?

⤷username1 right? Like everyone and their mama here 😭🤣

username7 omg she’s watching both Bridgerton and Breakfast at Tiffany’s, she is so real

username5 knowing how she was going last night she’s probably hungover as hell 😭🤣

⤷username6 shit from the few videos we got it looked like she was an infinity pool of just alcohol

⤷username4 I wanna know how max got her back home

username11 Hey y/n, a good remedy to hangovers is to drink ginger tea and eat chicken noodle soup like you're sick! I find that always works for me

⤷y/n.jpg oh my god, trying this now, thank you so much 🙏🏽

landonorris how are you functioning?

⤷y/n.jpg functioning? What’s that?

⤷charles_leclerc i’m surprised you can stand to look at any device

⤷y/n.jpg alright, not too much now

maxverstappen1 did you take the pills i put on the bedside?

⤷y/n.jpg yeah I did, thanks btw

⤷bsf1 wait…wait- pause- y/n answer the group chat

⤷bsf2 so your over at that man’s house again? 😟🤨

y/n.jpg we were discussing next weeks interview

bsf2 yeah girl…stand up, it looks like we netflix and chilling y/n.jpg oooh 😟 yeah no…never that

⤷username1 TEAM BLACK! WE HAVE MOTHER

⤷username3 does this mean we could potentially get black or green flags for Austria?

⤷bsf1 oh no…you done cuddled up with the man…yeah she’s cooked

y/n.jpg why is everyone saying that?? We’re literally like five feet apart? You can’t even see where we are in the picture 😭

⤷lilymhe I propose (demand) we wear our flags to support our queen on Sunday

y/n.jpg your wish is my command 🫡😋

-> Benedict Bridgeton is y/n's spirit animal

-> y/n's friend's are just teasing (hope they don't come off as bitchy) their just tired of her ass (lovingly)

-> y/n had to explain Targaryen's before watching hotd with max so he wouldn't freak out during the incest bits (90% of the show)

-> y/n got to meet sally and jimmy this trip so expect a lot of cat pictures now!

Author's note!

Hey guys! A bit of a short chapter but I do plan on having the next chapter as it will include our girl's debut on the grid and all the interviews, pictures, and ofc written parts! So bear with me until next Sunday! Hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @boiohboii @ale-522 @ietss @theseerbetweenus @jaxx-7 @sainzluvrr @the-untamed-soul @ashy-kit @hc-dutch @nichmeddar @delululeclerc @sweate-r-weathe-r @dhanihamidi @tellybearryyyy @luvsforme @samantha-chicago

༉‧₊˚  CHAMPIONS LOVE ༉‧₊˚

⤷ Following the messy breakup between Max Verstappen and Kelly Piquet, Max’s manager comes up with a solution to divert the attention – a fake relationship. His new girlfriend? Two time olympic gold medalist figure skater, y/n for the USA team. Easy? Well...

[asterias-record-shop]

Can you do Jack champion x reader where Jack flies down to see your high school graduation and it’s a suprise?

╭════• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •═══╮

— surprise!

╰════• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •═══╯

hey honey, so sorry it’s late I wanted to go in order of requests 🤍

In all honesty, you were kind of bummed you wouldn’t be graduating with Jack. It had been something you had looked forward to since you were a child, and to be honest, not being able to take a picture with him in matching caps and gowns made it kind of sucky. You also always wanted to recreate the moment in The Amazing Spider-Man series where Peter kissed Gwen when they were graduating, but that wasn’t the point.

He was busy shooting movies and such, it was understandable that he wouldn’t be able to come. As much as you were upset, you were even more happy that he was achieving his dreams and that he was happy himself.

So as soon as you got your diploma, you looked over at your family and waved, missing the mess of curly brown hair that ducked behind chairs so you would miss him. You went back to your seat, patiently waiting until the end of the ceremony to stand and throw your hat up. As much as you didn’t want to because it wasn’t supposed to happen and you could get a sweaty ass cap, you felt the need to.

So as soon as he said his final words, everyone threw up their caps and you gratefully caught one that was all pretty and thankfully not sweaty. It didn’t take you long to reunite with your family and friends, giving and getting gifts before your parents pulled you to the side.

“One more picture!”

“Guys! Come on, we’re going to be late for our dinner reservation!” You had no malice in your voice though, pure giggles as you held your diploma and the flower bouquets that were given to you, giggling as they snapped pictures.

“Congrats, babe.” A voice says making you turn around quickly, the mess of brown curls you missed earlier standing in front of you carrying a large - extremely expensive looking - bouquet of flowers. “You didn’t think I was going to miss your graduation, did you?”

“Jack!” You basically squealed, running into his arms after carefully setting down your bouquets of flowers, giggling. “You’re here!”

“Wasn’t gonna miss this for the world,” he grinned down at you, pushing back your hair. “I’m so proud of you, honey.”

You giggled, leaning up to pull him down for a firm kiss. “Not like Gwen and Peter, but still good.”

He scoffed playfully. “Better have been good. That was better, actually.”

You giggled, nodding. “So much better.”

Regular taglist:

𓆩[@lem0ns77]𓆪   𓆩[@cecepop15]𓆪   𓆩[@memeorydotcom]𓆪   𓆩[@your-favorite-god]𓆪   𓆩[@xyzstar]𓆪  𓆩[@just-my-shit]𓆪   𓆩[@your-mom21]𓆪   𓆩[@c78r]𓆪   𓆩[@dizscreams]𓆪   𓆩[@asrt5]𓆪

© asterias-record-shop

[crisispider]

“  who  did  this  to  you  ?  ” ( st verse )

[ ◉¯] ✧˖° → A Hurt Peter - Accepting - @danversiism

EVERYTHING WAS SPINNING...

Peter wasn't a fighter. Hell, he was entirely sure before this moment he had never even been in an ACTUAL fight. (No he was not counting the times flash had kicked his ass in high school.) Honestly, he couldn't even fully tell anyone what had come over him. (Okay, so maybe he did just a little bit. But in his defense.. Talk shit about Clint. Get hit. )

Of course Peter hadn't counted on the senior having friends, and for those friends to come out of NOWHERE and land one HELL of a beating on his entire body. He was pretty sure his entire shoulder was completely out of it's socket, and far too many of his ribs were DEFINITELY broken. (Shit. Leonard was never going to let him hear the end of this.)

The urge to let UNCONSCIOUSNESS take over him was so INVITING that he almost didn't hear Carol calling out to him at all. Only barely did he register it, his eyes DESPERATELY BLINKING open as he tried to look at her. (Though his eyes REFUSED to focus.)

"Mhmph?" Not exactly.. words, but it was all he could manage. Before he could even attempt to say anything else, he had to SPIT OUT the blood that had POOLED there. There was an ATTEMPT at a deep breath, but it was quickly CUT SHORT, replaced by a hiss. (Rips were DEFINITELY angry. )

"H-hey Carol.. funny running into you here.." It wasn't answering her question, but he really didn't want to have to explain how he decided to take on a senior twice his size because he was talking shit about Clint and ended up getting his ASS handed to him.

"Wanna take..take bets on how long Len is gonna lecture me?"

[tbaluver]

Baby's First Vaccine- The Love And DeepSpace Men

order: xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus genre: fluff, silly a/n: hihi lovelies! i'm almost finished with my semester so i'll be busy-ish (っ- ‸ - ς) here's a small scenario/headcanon that was in my drafts ! (ᵕ—ᴗ—) i'll try to finish any small req or unfinished drafts this week maybe ! anyways enjoy reading! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Xavier eyes the doctor’s every movement the entire appointment while he gently holds your hand and your baby in his other arm. Constantly leaning in to ask you questions and clarification on what the doctor was doing.

“what is that?”

“it’s a stethoscope sir.”

When you two are alone in the room with your baby, he'll distract your baby boy with his evol, doing a small light show. When the nurses come in and prep the needle, he’ll have his baby boy face away from the scene. He doesn't want to increase his baby’s anxiety and his own

The moment any stray tears fall from your baby, his gaze would sharpen on the nurse as if they were completely at fault. You’d step in to reassure both of them that everything is okay.

He would also take the entire lollipop jar after his baby gets one.

Zayne:

Zayne would be the one to arrange the day and time for the doctor’s appointment, knowing that there will be a vaccine involved. He knows exactly which nurse will provide the gentlest care for his baby girl and who can handle the situation with ease. And of course, he knows which one has the sweetest lollipops to offer after.

As the nurses prepare everything, he’ll hold your daughter gently in his lap, letting her play with his large hands or his tie to keep her distracted.

If any stray tears were to escape, he’d be quick to wipe them away while whispering soft words of encouragement and praises for being so brave and well-behaved.

“can i please have two more lollipops ma’am?” your daughter asks sweetly.

“how could i say no to a cute face like that of course you can!” the nurse can’t help but smile as she hands over two extra lollipops.

zayne watches the exchange, a soft smile spreading across his face. you both watch your daughter run up to you both, handing you one lollipop each.

“that’s my girl.” zayne murmurs, as he gently lifts her up into his arms effortlessly.

Rafayel:

Rafayel is more terrified than his own baby. He hated that humans have to do this and how humans are so weak and fragile that they needed to get vaccinated.

Your baby remains calm, unaware of the needle’s sting until the soreness hits making a few stray tears and a soft whimper escape your baby’s lips. He tightens his hold on his baby, carefully avoiding the arm that was just pricked.

He’ll cradle his baby boy while pressing multiple kisses on his head while whispering promises that he’s never ever going to make him go through this again.

“here’s your lollipop for being so brave!” the nurse exclaims, handing over the treat. but before the nurse could even finish her sentence, rafayel snatches it out of her hand.

“geez, i didn’t know these shots could be this scary!” he says, wiping the sweat from his brow. but he narrows his eyes at the nurse, crossing his arms. “ummmm aren’t you going to give my baby a treat too?”

Sylus:

Sylus remains calm. It's easy when you're right beside him the entire time. His baby girl is settled gently on his lap, distracting and trying to ease her from any anxiety by lifting her up and down before the nurses come back in the room.

He doesn’t stop distracting her as he gently tickles her sides and adds reassurance the moment the needle touches her skin. He doesn’t complain when she squeezes his finger with her small hands as she winces from the pain.

He rubs her back gently, whispering gentle praises in between kisses on the top of her head. “you did so well sweetheart.”

“good job my little dove,” he smiles curling on the corner of his lips as he lifts her onto his broad shoulders, treating her like the little champion she is. “brave just like your mommy, yes?”

[pomegranatesarchive]

crying in the club | mv1

pairing: max verstappen x norris!reader

summary: how should one react when their boyfriend wins the world championship at the same time their brother loses it?

max my four time world champion!!!

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 481,017 others!

yourusername: the sun will shine on you soon baby brother!! this season was tough but you got through it ♡♡ i love you forever (world champions are overrated anyways 😉)

view comments below!

user1: you are the strongest soldier here

user2: you are the reason i survived this season

user2: everytime i wanted to throw up, i thought about how you were doing, and thought you must’ve been doing much worse, thank you!

user3: youre finally free from all this ‘champion battle’ talk 🍾

user4: you running back in forth from redbull to mclaren made my night

user5: it’s even funnier how her body language would change, in the mclaren garage she would be all gloomy but once she ran back to redbull it was arms up partying

lewishamilton: i wouldn’t say alll world championships are overrated

yourusername: shut up lewis hamilton 7x world champion, arguably the best f1 driver in existence, kind, humble, handsome and—would you like do go on a date with me?

maxverstappen1: excuse me?

yourusername: i don’t know what happened max, i was i insulting him and next thing i knew i wanted him on my lap

lewishamilton: i feel…odd

yourusername: good odd or bad odd

lewishamilton: i can’t tell…

yourusername: come over to the redbull garage to find out 😼

landonorris: genuinely, what the fuck is going on?

maxverstappen1: i don’t know, so i’ve decided to ignore it

landonorris: ignoring what ever that was, thank you 🧡

yourusername: say it

landonorris: say what

yourusername: say ‘i love you’ you emotionally stunted gremlin

landonorris: i don’t…

yourusername: say it lando

maxverstappen1: yeah cmon lando, say it

landonorris: too like both of you or?..

maxverstappen1: yes, tell your brother in law that you love him

landonorris: okay first, you’re not my brother in law, second, i don’t feel very comfortable right now

yourusername: say it with me lando, “i loveee youuu”

landonorris: guys…

yourusername: SAY IT

maxverstappen: CMON LANDO SAY IT

yourusername: SAY IT

yourusername: SAY IT

landonorris: OK I LOVE YOU GUYS

user6: is this the peer pressure my school always warned me about?

user7: no…that was just, sad.

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and 761,018 others!

yourusername: THATS MY FOUR TIME WORLD CHAMPION!!! THIS IS FOR ALL THE BUMS WHO SAID HE WAS NOTHING BUT A PRETTY MAN IN A FAST CAR, NOW WHAT????? NOBODY COMPARES TO MAX FUCKING VERSTAPPEN. AND YOU ALL BETTER REMEMBER THAT.

view comments below!

user8: now it’s time to hit the club

yourusername: i’ll be crying in the club, thank you very much

user9: crying for lando, partying for max, it’s perfect

user10: you are the perfect amount of supportive to both lando and max

maxverstappen1: ik houd van je 💙

yourusername: @/landonorris

landonorris: i don’t speak dutch??

yourusername: he just told me he loved me loser

landonorris: o-kay?

yourusername: gosh you are so emotionally unintelligent, it makes me sick

landonorris: i just lost the world championship please be kind to me

yourusername: im your sister which basically means i lost the championship too, yet i still tell you i love you?

landonorris: THATS NOT HOW THAT WORKS

yourusername: I LOVE YOU LANDO

landonorris: LEAVE ME ALONE

maxverstappen1: we should get married in vegas

yourusername: oh my god, yes. but no elvis because he freaks me out

maxverstappen1: CHARLES SHOULD MARRY US

charles_leclerc: guys…i would be honored

yourusername: i don’t know max, i have a feeling you’ll run away with him and leave me at the alter

maxverstappen1: yeah…that probably will happen 😔, it’s okay, lando can marry us!!!

landonorris: what the fuck is today

[holybibly]

♡ 𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤: Boxer San x ring girl reader x Sugar daddy Seonghwa ♡ 𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You know that being alone with San is like willingly entering a tiger's cage, but maybe that's exactly what you want - to be torn to pieces by him. Or you might help San treat his wounds after a tough fight, even though you know Seonghwa won't approve ♡ 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 / 𝔄𝔲 / 𝔗𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢: smut, boxing club!au, sugar daddy!au, underground life!au ♡ ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: 18+ / 21+ / MDNI ♡ 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 14 k ♡ 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Hard dom! San, hrad/soft daddy Seonghwa, sub!reader, unprotected sex, threesome, daddy kink, lots of sperm, fingering, degrading, pet names, size kink, spanking, hair pulling, squirting, creampie, humiliation, breeding kink, boobs spanking, pussy slapping, dirty talk, face fucking, pussy drunk, overstimulation, oral, double penetration, manhandling, multiple orgasms, сreampie, rough sex, rough oral, power play, praise kink, anal fingering, anal play, wet and dirty, explicit sexual content, explicit language, and more. ♡ 𝔫𝔢𝔱: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity @newworldnet ♡ 𝔄|𝔑: For some reason this has taken longer to write than expected, but as I like to say: I am always worth the wait. I decided to split it into two parts. I hope you will get maximum pleasure, my sugar bunnies ♡ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 at the end of the post.

𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖉

Tonight was no different from a dozen other nights at the club. And just like on every other night, you were sure that Choi San was going to leave the boxing ring as the ultimate champion. In truth, it was almost as predictable as the change of seasons. After all, San was the best of the best in the club, but the one thing you couldn't predict was how badly he would get hurt during his fight today. 

San rarely got more than a few obnoxiously looking scratches and abrasions here and there, unlike his opponents, whom the hot, fiendishly handsome boxer would mercilessly turn in the boxing ring into a bloody mess. He was harsh and rough and usually ended the fight before the first round was out, but this time something didn't seem to be going according to plan. 

You watched anxiously as the fight went on, noting the way San spat blood out of his split lip and the way his nose wrinkled up in pain as Wooyoung pressed a damp towel to his dissected eyebrow. There were a lot of scratches and abrasions on his handsome, chiselled face—injuries that you knew he could feel and that he could taste. For a moment, you even wondered if San was going to win this fight, especially when you caught sight of the equally worried-looking Yeosang. 

The blonde, handsome boxer was sinking his teeth into his lower lip, nervously clutching the bloody towel Wooyoung had thrown him after wiping the blood from San's face. His hazel fox eyes were focused on everything that was happening in the ring. Your level of anxiety rose almost to the sky when they heard San's muffled, hoarse groan as his opponent's first flew in under his rib. It made him recoil and go on the defensive. Damn it, he was practically knocked out. 

You couldn't believe what was happening; the crowd was roaring around you, and all you could hear over the overwhelming noise were Wooyoung's loud shouts telling San to get his shit together and show what he could do, and Yeosang's encouraging words, which were much softer and nicer to hear than Woo's profanity. God, you loved him, but he was unnecessarily rude at times; the boy clearly had an attitude. You have no idea what it was that had such an effect on San, but the next second he was throwing a series of sharp, powerful punches that knocked his opponent out. 

It happened so suddenly that you didn't even have time to react as Yeosang scooped you up in his arms and whirled you around, shouting in your ear, "Our boy did it again." And yes, your boy had definitely done it again, just as Seonghwa had predicted earlier in the night before he slapped you on the backside and sent you off to work: "My tiger never loses.

As soon as all the commotion in the main hall had died down and you were able to free yourself from Yeosang's tenacious and tight embrace, you went straight to the backstage area to find San. You had to make sure that he was alright, and in the meantime, you had to congratulate him on another victory. After all, San was the main star of the evening and deserved a nice word or two from you, even if things weren't exactly smooth between the two of you. 

It wasn't that you didn't like him or that you had conflicts; no, he was a nice enough guy, if you could put it that way. Maybe you could even put up with his perpetual cheeky grin and his complete lack of filters if it wasn't for the heavy sexual tension that crackled between you like electricity. 

It was no secret that San found you fuckable and wanted to have sex with you, as he reminded you every time you spoke to him. He was always shamelessly eye-fucking you, with a total disregard for any decency or the presence of Seonghwa around you. Maybe you wouldn't have noticed; after all, you were used to the fact that all the boys in the club had pretty sharp edges and dirty mouths, if it wasn't for your attraction to him. 

Sometimes you find it so hard to resist the urge to kiss him or ride his cock. Especially after you caught him fucking one of the ring girls in the changing room after another fight. You literally froze in the doorway as you watched him pulling her hard and deeply on his cock, looking right at you with a devilish grin on his face. His whole look seemed to be screaming at you: "It could have been you." That night, you had to ask Seonghwa to be a lot more brutal and rough with you in order to calm that annoying itch of jealousy that was inside of you. Maybe, just maybe, San was absolutely right. You wanted to be in her shoes, but you'd never admit it to yourself, let alone to San. 

"San!" You call out the dark-haired, handsome man's name, noting his slim figure in the hustle and bustle of the backstage area. He turns his head slightly in your direction as he interrupts his conversation with Mingi, another smoking hot and unacceptably handsome boxer. Mingi has only recently joined the club but has already made a name for himself both in the ring and between the sheets. If the rumours are true, he fucks as well as smears his opponents on the floor. Like San, he has never been defeated, if that means anything. San gives you a licentiously grin and gazes at your figure with a dark, hungry stare before he gives Mingi a friendly pat on the shoulder and begins to walk in your direction. 

He reminds you of a great big cat of prey—elegant and graceful, but also so deadly. San is literally smouldering with sexuality, with all those seductive muscles and all that overbearing aura that literally draws the eyes of others to his person. His gym shorts hang so dangerously low that you can see a subtle, exquisite tattoo on his pronounced V-line. San is still shirtless—sweaty and dirty, the inky purple bruises already beginning to spread beneath the smooth golden skin of his pumped-up chest, and you swear you're looking precisely at them and not at the way the silver piercings in his nipples glisten. 

As soon as he is next to you, your hands automatically go up to his wounded face and gently wrap the palms of your hands around it, turning his head from side to side so that you can see the extent of his injuries. San just grins, lets you do whatever you want to him, and looks at you with heavy bedroom eyes. You look beautiful, fuckable, and fucking attractive. It's even funny the way his body immediately reacts to your presence next to him, his cock starting to tighten under the fabric of his gym shorts. 

Or is it all the residual adrenaline that is still circulating in his bloodstream after tonight's fight? Who knows? 

As the pad of your thumb presses against the deep cut on his lower lip, San hisses like a cat. 

"You should get those wounds attended to. They don't look well.' Your voice is full of concern as you continue to run your fingers carefully over the abrasions and scratches on his face. The smooth, golden skin of his sharp, high cheekbones was irritated, and purple bruises were beginning to form underneath. You could even see tiny drops of clotted blood where it had been torn. But even with all that, San still looked pretty damn attractive, which was almost a crime in your opinion. 

"You're so worried about me, baby doll, huh? How about you give me a kiss to make it all better?' San cheekily wraps his strong arms around your waist and pulls you close to his hot body, so unacceptably close that your breasts are pressed tightly against his naked muscular chest, and you have to stand up on your tiptoes so that you can face him. "I want my victory kiss, baby." San whispers in a sultry, hoarse voice into your skin, his hot, moist breath flowing over your cheeks, and from this a shameful, excited blush spreads across them. His hands slipping from your waist to wrap them around your buttocks instead, gripping them tightly with the palms of his hands and causing your already short satin shorts to rise even higher. 

You swallow unconsciously as the image of him fucking that girl in the changing room comes back to you, just like that, squeezing her buttocks in his hands as she rode on his cock. 

'Get a room.' One of the staff members shouts, and you're jolted out of your mental stupor in an instant, resting your hands on San's strong shoulders and moving slightly away from him to create some semblance of space between your bodies. 

"I'm being serious, San. If you don't, there'll be infection in your wounds.' You insist, wriggling slightly in his strong grip. He's still so damned close to you, you can feel his chest rising and falling with every breath he takes. 

You can smell the faint scent of sandalwood and vanilla on his skin, still hot from the fight, damp and glistening with sweat and oil. San squeezes your buttocks once hard with his hands before he begins to knead the plump, soft flesh in the palms of his hands, and you practically moan at it, barely managing to sink your teeth into your lower lip in time to keep the shameful, lingering sound from escaping your throat. 

"I've seen this before and it was disgusting, you don't want scars on your pretty face, do you? I can get Wooyoung or Yeosang to help, or one of the girls..." You babble on as his hands continue to massage your bottom. San has the good conscience to look completely disinterested in what you're saying - his head is tilted sideways, his feline eyes dark and smouldering with desire, and you notice the tip of his tongue tracing his swollen lower lip. His nose wrinkles slightly as he touches the fresh wound. 

"Pretty face, huh?" San gave you a cheeky grin and deep, sweet dimples appeared on his cheeks, which, to be honest, you hated because it made you feel completely weak and soft in the face of his charms. The contrast between how vulgar and coarse he was when he talked and how soft and gentle his dimples were when he smiled just made you go crazy. Damned you, Choi San, you and your stupid, attractive dimples. "You could just kiss that pretty face; I'm sure your slutty, sweet lips could do it better, couldn't you, baby doll?' He tilted his head to the side as if pondering something before a devilish spark flashed in his cat-like, slanted eyes, which, as you know, doesn't bode well for you. "But if you're so worried about me, dollface, why don't you do it yourself? I'm sure you'll give me professional service." 

There is some context to his words, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what San is alluding to. The time how efficiently you sucked Yunho's huge thick dick, after his fight, but it happened to be randomised, and you weren't in the habit of screwing every boxer in the club, especially after you started dating Seonghwa, or rather after he made you his sugar baby. 

"You jerk..." You nudge him lightly in the shoulder and purse your glossy pink lips in a resentful pout. 'You don't have to be so rude to me." You practically squeal as San suddenly picks you up under your arse and lifts you up in such a way that you have no choice but to wrap your legs around his slender, slutty waist. Your arms are automatically wrapped around his neck, and your faces are in an unacceptably close proximity to each other. Someone whistles loudly, but you don't pay attention. You're too mesmerised by the deep chocolate colour of San's eyes and the way his long, fluffy eyelashes flutter. 

"You don't know how rougher I can get with you, Dollface, but I can assure you that you're going to love every second of it. In fact, I'm pretty sure you'll be coming back to me for more of it." His lips touch the hot, flushed skin on the side of your cheek, and you give a soft moan as his fingers dig into your buttocks. 

"You are too cocky for your own good, and I already have someone else to fuck.' You argue weakly, unconsciously tangling your fingers in his soft dark hair, causing San to blissfully cover his eyes as if he were a cat that had been petted by his owner.

"Oh, believe me, I know who's fucking you, angel." He emphasises the nickname, knowing full well that's what Seonghwa likes to call you. "And I don't mind sharing you if it means I can finally get my dick in that pussy of yours." San is practically purring; the sound of his deep, seductive voice is vibrating in his chest, and you can feel it in your body. "I know you want it as much as me. Do you remember when you caught me in the changing room with that girl? I had you on my mind, baby doll, and while I was fucking her, I was thinking about your sweet pussy squeezing around my cock. All I could think of was how you were squirting on my face as I fucked your tiny hole with my tongue.' 

'San! How much longer are we going to wait for you?" A loud scream from Wooyoung brings you back to reality, and your eyes widen as you finally realise where you and San are at the moment and how his filthy words plunged you into a state of trance. Shit, you should use your head and start thinking with your brain instead of your cunt. 

But it's so hard to do that when San is a walking threat to your restraint and decency. It was easy for you to imagine all the things he'd just been talking about, and that slutty, dirty, yet seductive image made the delicate folds of your pussy wet.

"I'll be there in a minute!" San calls back, lowering you gently to your feet and eventually removing his hands from your body. You immediately take a few steps back, still a little stunned by your interaction with him. But San doesn't seem to want to let you out of his arms, so he wraps his palms around your face and forces you to look at him. "Listen to me, babydoll; be a good girl and wait for me in my room. Got it? I'll try and get back to you as soon as I can." For a moment you feel the soft, warm touch of his lips on your forehead, almost making you melt, but it disappears as quickly as it came.

'But...' You begin, wondering what you should do, knowing that if you're alone with San, nothing good will come of it, and besides, you already had plans for tonight. 'I don't know if I should...' 

"Baby, I didn't ask you." He turns and starts walking towards Wooyoung and the other boys waiting for him. As if he remembered something, San stops abruptly, looks back at you over his shoulder, and grins mischievously. 

"You still have to treat my wounds, doll face, remember? You don't want any scars on my pretty face, do you?" San casts a last dark, hungry glance over your body before bossy ordering you. "Now go, doll. Daddy will be back soon."

And he walks away, leaving you staring in his wake, your head a complete mess and your pussy absolutely wet and trembling with anticipation. 

Shit, you seem to have a problem, and its name is Choi San. 

For the umpteenth time recently, you find yourself looking at the large wall clock in San's private room. The smooth mechanical movement of the long time hand on the dial is unnerving, and the slight, intrusive ticking is annoying. It does nothing to calm your inner nervousness at all; on the contrary, it makes it even more obvious. You bite down on the pad of your thumb, a stupid, almost childish habit that you can't seem to get rid of, and fidget in the soft leather seat of the massive armchair that you've settled into while you wait for San. It's been over an hour since you and he parted ways, and it looks like the handsome boxer is in no hurry to get back to you soon. 

You don't know if he's doing it on purpose—torture you by making you sit here and obediently wait for him like the return of Jesus—or if he's really busy with some business, but one thing you were absolutely sure of—San knew very well that you had to be somewhere else tonight, or rather with someone else. And it was not good for you at all that you were still not warming Seonghwa's luxurious silk bed in his mansion with your naked body. Maybe your relationship with Seonghwa wasn't right and romantic, but you didn't want to lose him, and there was something special about him—dark and magnetic and lecherous—that made you addicted to him. And it wasn't just his money or that absolutely amazing long tongue he used to expertly and efficiently fuck your pussy every night until you whimpered and begged him to stop.

But to deny how much you wanted San to fuck your brains out was just a stupid thing to do. And you knew firsthand that San could take you straight to heaven. After all, he was not only Fight Club's golden boy but also had a golden cock he knew how to use perfectly.  

You were so deep in thought, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time, that you almost didn't notice when the heavy front door opened and San walked into the room. As always, his presence brings with it that intense, suffocating aura of power and smouldering sexuality and that raw, almost animal magnetism of his nature that draws you to him on some inexplicable, instinctive level, making you focus all your attention on him immediately. 

"Don't make such a sweet face, baby. It just makes me want to kiss you more than I already do..." San purrs sultrily as he stretches out on the leather couch in front of you. Leaning his head back as he covers his cat-like eyes and adds hoarsely, barely whispering. 'Or fuck this lovely plump mouth...' 

"Can you be nice to me for once?' You purse your rose-coloured plump lips reluctantly, and you look at his figure with a frown. He's still just as sweaty and dirty as you've seen him before, but now his bruises have taken on a darker hue, spreading purple and dark blue ink under his damp, golden skin. 

It looks really painful and unpleasant, and even with the way he's treating you, you don't want San to get hurt, so you sigh heavily, reminding yourself that you really don't have time for all this drama, and get up from your seat to walk over to the small dresser where San keeps his first aid kit, and grab some alcohol, ointment, and bandages from there to help treat the wounds. 

A silence hangs between the two of you for a few seconds, more tense than uncomfortable, but it's not that that makes you stop what you're doing; it's what San is saying to you. 

"But you do have a taste for rough treatment, don't you, angel?" He emphasises your nickname again, pronouncing it like it's some kind of dirty swear word, and you could swear you can hear the venomous notes in his usually honeyed, smooth voice. 

You turn your head over your shoulder and take in the sight of San, now looking at you from under his dishevelled, damp fringe with eyes so dark and intense you feel uncomfortable and quickly turn away, continuing to rummage through the first aid kit for ointment. 

"This is different, San, and you know it very well." When you finally find the ointment you need, you slam the first aid kit down harder than necessary and turn to face him again. San is still drilling into you with his gaze as he pokes the tip of his tongue into the corner of his bruised, plump lower lip, his mouth curling up slightly as he accidentally touches the deep fissure. The plush, soft flesh was horribly red and swollen where it had been torn, but San still looked hot as hell.

"Come on, doll, just say it; you let him treat you like this because he's fucking you."

You swallow the sharp words that are on the tip of your tongue and decide that today is not the day to poke the tiger with a stick. Instead, you just walk over to him, stand between his spread long legs, and with exaggerated roughness, wrap your arms around his chin, lifting his face slightly so that he's looking at you. With deliberate pettiness, you press an alcohol-soaked cotton ball to his split eyebrow without any previous tenderness. He hisses and wrinkles against the burning sensation as the alcohol penetrates deep into the wound, disinfecting it in the process. 

"And who's the rough one now, huh, baby doll?" His hands curl around your hips, and his fingers dig into the juicy, soft flesh where your tiny shorts end—just below your ample buttocks. His touch is a little bit painful, a little bit too possessive for your taste, but still you can't say that you don't like it. You hate to admit what San's right about you—you like it rougher, especially in the bedroom.

"I'm just paying you with the same coin, Sannie." You press the cotton ball even harder against the swollen, deep cleavage and pull the hoarse, hissing sound out of his chest once more. 'That's how you're going to get treated for being so...' You start, but San doesn't let you finish, abruptly pulling you closer by your hips, forcing you to take a step forward to keep yourself from falling on top of him. 

"So handsome, so hot, so sexy..." San enumerates as he slides his hands up your thighs until the big palms of his hands are completely around your buttocks, greedily squeezing the supple, meaty flesh. 

'Brute.' You finish, and finally remove the cotton wool soaked in alcohol from his wound to put some ointment on it in its place. You try to ignore the way San looks at you with his heavy bedroom eyes. He sensually kneads your arse in his palms while you gently apply the ointment to his dissected eyebrow with the cotton bud. "And would you stop pawing at my bum for just a second, please?" "If that's what you really want, sweetheart." San purrs sensuously as he looks at you through the lace of his long eyelashes with the dark, seductive gaze of his slanted cat eyes. Despite his words, he doesn't stop caressing you; instead, he digs his fingers deeper into your ample buttocks and pulls them apart slightly, causing you to let out a low, barely audible moan. He doesn't say anything about it, but judging by the way the corners of his plump lips lift up in a dirty, smug grin, revealing sweet, deep dimples on his cheeks, it's exactly the reaction he was hoping for from you. 

You decide to just ignore it, in the full knowledge that San is doing this on purpose to provoke you. Instead, you focus all of your attention on cleaning his wounds as thoroughly as you possibly can and applying salve to each one. Silence falls between you again, punctuated by San's slight cat hissing as you press the alcohol-soaked cotton ball against the particularly deep cuts on his handsome, chiselled face as you continue to carefully remove the dried blood and dirt from them. 

Surprisingly, as it turns out, cleaning someone else's wounds is a very intimate process—you're too close together, so close that you can feel the heat emanating from his body, the sliding, damp warmth of his breath on your bare skin, the weight of his dark, feline gaze fixed on your heaving breasts, which almost fall out of your exaggeratedly deep cleavage with every breath you take. 

You would think that after all this time with San you would be used to how heavy and almost palpable the sexual tension between you was, but today there was something else in the air besides lingering pure desire. There was a subtle change in the air; small electrical charges crackled in space, as if an inescapable tempest was approaching. The storm was on its way, and you weren't sure if you would be able to survive it, especially with the way your body was responsively reacting to San.

The longer this goes on, the harder it will be for you to control the viscous, searing sensation of excitement that's spreading through your body and becoming more and more tangible to you with each passing second.

You have already been so wet for him—the warm, viscous moisture pools between your legs and coats your folds in a clear, sticky glaze. And it won't come as a surprise to you at all if you see a big wet spot on your silk panties, from how much your pussy is oozing at the moment.

You're almost done with the treatment of his wounds; all you have to do is clean the deep cut on his lower lip, and then you can finally get out of here and hurry back to Seonghwa. You gently lift his face by his chin to make it a little more comfortable for you to do so, when all of a sudden San grabs hold of your wrist.

"Kiss me." His words take your breath away; a palpable shiver runs through your whole body, and you squirm a little under the intensity of his gaze. 

'Sorry, what?' You're stupidly questioning you., hoping that San will reduce it to a cheeky, dirty joke as he always does, but it doesn't happen. 

"You heard me clearly, Y/N." San's voice is full of an emotion you can't quite describe, but whatever it is, it makes your pussy clench in anticipation. 

"San, I...you know I can't do that."

'Just one kiss, Gongjunim. Just one.' He tilts his head slightly to the side and looks at you with those seductive, heavy, bedroom eyes of his. San squeezes your wrist even tighter, pulling you closer to him until his face pressed against your belly. "Come on, doll face, give me a kiss. Think of it as rewarding me for winning. Don't you think the winner deserves a kiss?' His purring voice sends electric charges in your lower abdomen, triggering feelings that you're not sure you're ready to deal with at the moment. "Just one kiss...' San begins plants wet, short kisses on the strip of bare skin between your short top and your shorts. 

You're completely silent for a few moments, mentally weighing the pros and cons as San continues to plant wet, insistent, open-mouthed kisses on the soft skin of your stomach. A slight shiver of excitement runs down your spine as you feel him slowly run his tongue over the places where the hickeys he's left behind, his lingering, dissolute kisses, and which you're sure Seonghwa won't be happy to see on you, have already started to turn purple. 

But even so, you don't try to stop him, and you let San do whatever he wants. You know that he won't let go of you so easily for this once, and that he can be so stubborn when he wants something badly or needs something certain, and maybe, just maybe, right now you need the same thing as San. All this tension between you was so palpable that you could almost taste it on your tongue—a little bit bitter, a little bit sweet, sharp and lingering, like a kiss after hot sex. 

Just one kiss... what could be wrong with that? You're just going to taste it; you're convincing yourself. Just let it taste...

"Okay.' You say at last, and you feel his lips curl up in a victorious grin. 

He pulls his handsome face away from your belly and lifts his languid, feline gaze to you. And you hate the way it makes you catch your breath every time, as far as intense and dark his gaze is. San's eyes are predator's eyes—sharp, hungry, and burning; they're the eyes of a big cat on the hunt. A tiger's eyes, having found its prey. Eyes that you will never be able to forget. His lips are parted a little, and before he can say a word, you are one step ahead of him.

"Just one kiss, San. Nothing more. Do you have my meaning?" You wish that your voice would sound more demanding, but instead there's an uncertainty and a slight nervousness in it that is just as clear to San as it is to you. "I'm serious, San, one kiss." It's practically stupid, and you're not at all sure whether you're saying it to San or to yourself. 

'Whatever you want, my angel.' He leans back on the back of the couch, relaxed, with a smug grin on his face. There it is again—that damn nickname—what's a jerk after all. "Come on, Dolly, come to me." San runs the broad palms of his hands over his muscular, luscious thighs, letting you know exactly where he wants you to be. You let out a heavy sigh and, irritated, toss the cotton ball full of alcohol and the rest of the ointment into the bin next to the couch before you awkwardly sit down on his lap.

As soon as you are sitting on San's lap, his hands are on your waist, digging their fingers into the soft flesh and squeezing it roughly, only to pull you even closer to him. So close that there is almost no space between your bodies. You can feel the heat emanating from his body, the warm, thick smell of perfume and smoke enveloping you and settling in your lungs with every breath you take, and before you know what you're doing, you're pressing your hips harder against his crotch, feeling how hard San has already been for you. 

Your hands automatically come to rest on his naked, muscular chest, and you dig your nails into it lightly, leaving angry red crescent marks on his moist, sun-kissed skin. San mooed in satisfaction, welcoming the painful sensation of your nails on his body, and you almost groaned in response. Just when you thought he couldn't get any hotter, Choi San rushed over to prove that the opposite was true. 

"Are you happy now?" You want to sound annoyed and displeased, pouting your plump lips, which are shining with a thick, candy pink gloss, and rolling your eyes at him. But the way San looks at you, the way his hands lazily caress the curve of your waist and hips, makes you practically tremble with excitement, making you fold like origami for him. Why does he have to be so... so damn hot? Your skin burns under his touch, and the viscous, sticky wetness between your legs becomes more intense by the minute. 

"I'm more than happy, doll. But don't pretend it's just me; it's about time you admitted you want this as much as I do. You like it all, my little slutty angel. Don't you?" San purrs sultrily and pushes his hips up a little, causing a deep, long moan to escape from your throat. His hard cock touches your aching clit as he moves against you, pressing his crotch harder against your clothed pussy. 

And frankly, your skimpy shorts and the thin silk panties you wore especially for Seonghwa today do little to diminish the sharp sensation of pleasure coursing through you. Unconsciously, you move your hips to him and rub your pussy against his cock, desperate for more of this delightful stimulation. The contact has been so pleasurable that your hole is clenching around nothing, spurting out even more of your juices and making you moan once more.

"It turns out that all I had to do to get you to moan for me was to put you on my lap." San slaps you hard on the plump buttock and squeezes it together roughly with his big, wiry hand. "Too easy." There's so much arrogance and smugness in his voice that it makes you want to punch him right in the face. 

'No, it's not...' Even to yourself, what you're saying sounds completely meaningless. You look at his chiselled face, perfect except for the cut marks and a few small bruises, at those bold, plump lips that are stretched in a devilish grin, at those sweet dimples, and at those damn seductive cat eyes, full of lust and desire. And now San looks more attractive to you than ever—dangerously attractive. So much so that it almost makes you forget about Seonghwa... 

"What did I tell you about that sweet expression on your face?' San growls in a low voice. One of his hands grabs you roughly by the back of the head and suddenly pulls you closer to him than you ever thought possible, almost pushing your faces into each other. "You are driving me crazy; do you know that, doll?' He presses his forehead against yours, and your lips are only a millimetre apart. His palm squeezes your neck in a possessive way, and the sound that comes out of you is something between a sob and a moan. The sudden, abrupt movement causes you to press even harder against his cock, and the sensation sends a pulse of pleasure through your clit. 

 Before you have a chance to answer him, San's soft lips are meeting yours in an insistent, hungry kiss. His mouth is so aggressive and demanding; his tongue glides over your lower lip and presses against it. His fingers dig into your neck, turning the touch into a rough grip, holding you in place, but there's no need; you already feel so soft and supple to him that you willingly lean into him, wrapping your arms around his strong neck and tangling your fingers in his thick hair, gently pulling the soft strands at the roots. The deep, vibrating moan that San lets out reminds you of the contented purr of a huge cat. 

His skilful tongue forces your lips apart and quickly penetrates the inside of your mouth, and you shudder at the sensual sensation as he runs it over your palate, licking the inside of your cheeks and wrapping it around your own tongue. It must look disgusting from the outside—the kiss is rough and dirty, full of tongues and teeth, but you're enjoying it immensely and moaning lustfully against San's lips at the hot need growing inside you. 

That's all... Hell, you don't even know how to put it into words. You've been wanting to kiss San ever since you saw him for the first time in the club—dishevelled, hot, all sweaty and battered after his first victorious fight, but so impossibly attractive. You wanted to do it tonight, right after the referee announced that he'd won, and San smiled at you dazzlingly, showing you those sweet, deep dimples you'd always secretly wanted to lick. And you want to kiss him every damn time he's within arm's length of you. Hell, you want to kiss him all the time, over and over again, until you finally satisfy that hunger that's gnawed at your insides for so long. 

San pulls your plump lower lip into his moist, warm mouth and gives it a rough sucking before he lets it go with a loud 'pop'. His tongue immediately licks your ajar lips, coating them with his saliva, and it's just unbearable. How on earth are you going to get away from him when he kisses you like that? 

"Look at you, Dolly, you're savouring this so much. I bet your sweet, tight cunt is so wet right now. Isn't it?" San whispers in a husky voice before he runs his tongue over your lips once more. "Don't you want to run away from me yet, angel?"

'Just shut up.' You hiss at him before you let him pull you into another kiss that is even deeper and dirtier than the last. Your hips are rocking back and forth, and you are rubbing your needy pussy against his hard cock as San is literally fucking your mouth with his skilful tongue.

You're furious with him. And you're angry that San is absolutely right about you—you love the whole damn thing, so much so that your pussy flows like a waterfall for him, ready and needing him to fill it with his cock and cum until it pours out of you. But most of all, you're angry with yourself, which makes you roll your hips over him even more aggressively and makes you both moan into each other's mouths. 

You know that you shouldn't be here, you know that this is going to end badly, and you have absolutely no time to sit on San's lap and let him explore your mouth with his tongue while you dry hump him—and yet you can't bring yourself to leave. Not in the slightest bit. Your willpower is nothing compared to Choi San.

San begins to kiss you even more furiously, biting your lips almost to the point of bleeding. He's so passionate—he licks your mouth with his tongue and literally shoves it down your throat, making it almost impossible for you to breathe. He kisses you like he's dying of thirst, and you're the only way he can fix it. And if San eats pussy the same way he kisses you now, you're not sure you can handle it at all.

Your phone suddenly beeps, alerting you to a new message, and the obnoxious, loud sound finally brings you to your senses. You pull away from San's tantalising, greedy lips, trying to catch your breath and get your thoughts straightened out as he continues to kiss your cheeks and chin lazily. 

"I have to go now.' You say softly, to which San just mooed in agreement, as if to say, 'Go on, I won't hold you back', but his lips never leave your skin for a second, and his broad, slightly calloused palm still grips your neck tightly from behind. "I shouldn't be here with you... Seonghwa... he's waiting for me at home, you know." You sound so weak, and to be honest, not convincing even to yourself, let alone San, and the handsome boxer doesn't try to make it easier for you. 

He lets go of your neck just long enough to run his fingers over your flushed, pretty face before wrapping them tightly around your chin and tilting your head slightly to the side so that your eyes meet his slanted, feline eyes that are clouded with lust. His gaze is so intense, so searing, that it makes you want to turn away from him. San is looking at you as if he's watching how his fingers are penetrating you, slowly and deeply, stretching your tight hole while you're languidly jerking him off. It's an intimate gaze, too palpably sexual. 

San lets out a dark chuckle, full of the most lewd and dirty promises, as he presses his fingers against the edges of your mouth before squeezing it until your plump lips form a silly "duck" shape. A smug, victorious expression was frozen on his face, and he poked the tip of his tongue into the corner of his swollen lips. You can't say a word; all your thoughts are scattered into the dark corners of your mind like cockroaches when a light is turned on.

"I guess you're already late, baby." Genuine amusement glitters in his eyes, and he lets go of you, instead leaning back on the back of the couch as if he were a king. Such an abrupt change in his behaviour is a source of confusion to you.

'What are you...' You don't have time to finish your sentence before the door to the room flings open, letting in the sound of loud, cheerful voices and the deafening roar of music. You almost have the urge to snap at the person who has dared to interrupt your moment with San, but instead you freeze as the room is again engulfed in silence and the only thing you can hear is the clicking sound of high heels and the thunderous beating of your heart echoing in your ears. You freeze like a deer in the headlights as you realise who those high heels belong to, and judging by the devilishly smug grin on San's face, you're not wrong in your guess. 

"Ah, there you are, my beautiful little angel...' Seonghwa's purring voice is nothing more than solid darkness wrapped in velvet, and the sound of it sends goosebumps up your arms and makes everything inside of you twist into a tight knot of fear and excitement. 

Your senses are a mess, and you're torn between wanting to burst into tears and wanting to rub your cunt against San's cock again, even more desperate now that Seonghwa's appearance has unleashed a new wave of lust in you, even more intense than before. God, the way your body is reacting to the presence of this man next to you is simply beyond any explanation. It was so wild and yet so exhilarating, and perhaps deep down inside you were a complete masochist as you took such incredible pleasure out of it all.

Your nightmare was coming true as he walked leisurely towards you and San, his hands in the pockets of his designer trousers, causing the hem of his luxurious, expensive fur coat to flutter open, revealing the translucent top that covered his torso like a second skin. If San had made you feel like a frightened bunny cornered by a predator, then Seonghwa made you feel like some kind of dark deity was keeping his all-seeing eye on you. 

You were completely frozen in your seat—practically out of breath, still in the same compromising position—your pussy pressed tightly against San's thick, hard cock through your clothes as his hand continued to sensuously knead your plump, juicy buttocks. 

When Seonghwa is at arm's length from you, deceptively gentle, he runs his fingers through your hair before he tangles his fingers in the long, silky strands and jerks your head backwards, causing you to arch your back and let out a long, hard moan. Damn, you love it when he's so bossy and rough with you.

"Or are you nothing more than a fucking needy slut today, eh? Look at you, keeping your daddy waiting while you rub your slutty cunt all over San's cock." You gasp at the deliciously painful sensation of his fingernails lightly scraping the skin of your scalp as he pulls harder on the long, silky strands of your hair. To be honest, you don't know how to answer him, or rather, what kind of answer would satisfy Seonghwa, so you just remain silent, sinking your teeth into your kiss-swollen lower lip and looking up at him with big, clouded with desire eyes.

"Oh, she is definitely the ultimate slut. You missed a lot, Hwa; the way she rode me just a few minutes ago was quite a sight. And her sweet cunt is soaking wet; I can feel it even through her shorts and panties. I have no doubt that her tight little hole is literally dripping with slime right now." San purrs and slaps your bottom hard, making the soft, plump flesh jiggle, and you whimper pitifully at the sharp, tingling sensation of the burn on your tender skin. Even if you are not in the best position now, a hot wave of dark pleasure washes over your entire body, making your cunt quiver in anticipation of what's to come.

"Well, so..." Seonghwa says carelessly, tugging at your hair once more before he unclenches his fingers and abruptly lets go of your strands, causing your head to swing involuntarily and you to whimper softly. You watch as he turns on his heels and walks over to the chair you had been sitting in and sits in it elegantly, as if on a throne. He looks unbelievable, wicked, and smouldering with dark sexuality, swathed in expensive fur, and with his legs spread wide, you want to crawl over and bury your face in his cock. Hwa is stretched out in his chair, leaning back into the soft backrest and staring at you with heavy siren eyes. 

You have no idea at all what's going on here. Shouldn't Seonghwa be furious about this? You're literally sitting on another man's cock, and not just any man, but Choi San, the golden boy of the Fight Club that Hwa owns, your panties and shorts soaked through and your lips so swollen and covered in saliva and remnants of thick candy pink gloss that it looks like you've been selflessly sucking cock for hours, not just kissing. And all your incredibly possessive and bossy sugar daddy does is sit back in his chair and stare at you as if he's sitting in the front row of a fashion show. 

"Since you say so, San. I guess you have to show me how slutty my angel can be." Seonghwa's voice is nothing but solid darkness, wrapped in velvet. He emphasises the word 'my', and for the first time in a long while, you can hear the venom in his words. Outwardly, he may look and act completely indifferent, maybe even a little bored, but inside he's seething with jealousy at how much you're enjoying San and how he's touching you. "Don't let my presence distract you; just pick up where you left off."

'What?' You blink dumbly at him, your brain so clouded with lust and need that you are unable to process the words he has just said properly. 

"You heard me, angel, keep on fucking." Seonghwa just tilts his head to the side, looks at you with siren eyes, and licks his plump, kissable lips in a sensual way. You swallow loudly at this sight, because that's the way he usually looks at you when he's devouring your pussy or fucking you deep, throwing your legs over his shoulders and thrusting his hips into you with such force that the back of the bed hits the wall with every thrust and his tight balls slap against your plump, soft buttocks, making the skin on them blush angrily red and tingle slightly. In front of your mind's eye, you instantly flash back to this morning, when Seonghwa gave you the same siren's gaze that he's giving you right now, as he tickled your swollen clit with the tip of his tongue and stretched your hole with two long fingers.

'But... Seonghwa... I...' Your voice is hardly louder than a whisper when you speak. "Aren't you... Aren't you upset?" It embarrasses you so much, but at the same time you can't deny how much the thought of Seonghwa watching you while San fucks you is getting you excited.

"Oh, my little angel, aren't you a sweetie, eh?" Seonghwa gives a dark chuckle. He bites the tip of his index finger in a playful way and tilts his head to the side, looking up at you through his long, fluffy eyelashes.

You always loved how playful he could be with you at times, but at the moment it was more frightening than comforting, for you knew very well that his playfulness could go far beyond the limits of normalcy, and it never ended well.

"And what makes you think that I should be upset, my love?" His voice drops to a dangerous, dark purr, and this sound pierces you, sending signals straight to your needy pussy, causing more of your sticky, sweet juices to spill out. "Maybe it's because you're practically shoving your slutty cunt right in San's face? I bet your pussy is dripping wet and throbbing with the need to be filled with his  cock." He says it so casually and simply, and somehow it's so fucking hot that you don't know what you want more—to beg him for forgiveness or to fuck you silly.

Seonghwa slowly runs his tongue over his sensual, luscious lips, and this movement is so practised and deliberate that it sends shivers down your spine.

"But you know what, Angel? Daddy would do anything for you, and if you want to fuck him, then go right ahead and do it. You can ride his cock all day long; I don't give a shit. Because once he's fucked you, you'll come crawling back to me because you know you belong to me and me alone."

Seonghwa's words barely get through to you. You can see the way his stunning, perfectly sculpted lips move when he speaks; you can hear the velvety quality of his voice, but you still can't quite make out their meaning. 

Your mind is reminded of cotton candy—fluffy and airy, deliciously sweet, and melting with excitement. You shift your confused gaze from Seonghwa to San, hoping that the handsome boxer will clear your thoughts a little, but instead all you get is a sinful, predatory grin and the look of his seductive, half-closed eyes piercing through you and promising you a straight shot to paradise. 

It was enough to make your blood boil with desire. Your excitement was so obvious to them, almost palpable, and despite this humiliating fact, the thrill that fluttered in your lower belly and sent goosebumps of heat between your juicy thighs intensified even more.

‘I don't know...It's all so... complicated...' A quiet sob escapes from your throat as San grabs you by the throat and pushes his hips up, causing his hard cock to rub against your clit in the most delightful way. His hand clenches harder on your neck, causing you to gasp from the sudden lack of air. Your eyes roll up at the rough, possessive grip, and you unconsciously roll your hips over him, your throbbing, swollen clit pressed tightly against his hard cock. San's eyes narrow, and he curses under his breath when he sees how fucked you already look. He thrusts his hips into you again, and this action completely shuts down any rationality in your thinking. 

"I don't think so, doll." San whispers in a devilish voice, pressing his hot lips to your shoulder and leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses there; your skin melts under his touch, making you moan and wriggle even harder in his lap. "Just say yes, baby; that's all you need. You want this so badly, don't you?" San's silky voice slides over your body as if he's licking it with his tongue. He continues persistently to coax you into giving in to temptation, making your skin crawl, and as his teeth dig lightly at your collarbone, your brain finally loses all contact with reality, and you give in, letting your lust take control of you.

"Yes, I want to." You squeakily out, but San's hand around your neck makes the sound distorted and broken. 'Please.' You add even more softly. And apparently that's exactly what they wanted, because the next moment the handsome boxer suddenly releases your throat, and you begin to gasp slightly as air begins to flow freely into your lungs again.

"There you go, such a good girl." San purrs, and that guttural, silky sound vibrates against your skin, making you shiver with excitement. You try to get your breathing back to a normal rhythm by taking slow, deep breaths. Your head is a little dizzy, and you are about to fall to the floor, stumbling on your wobbly, shaky legs as San pushes you off his lap and forces you to stand right in front of him. 

You stare at him in confusion, not understanding why he would push you away when just a few minutes ago he was the one rubbing his cock all over your pussy and urging you to fuck him. But San just lifts his split eyebrow at you in silence and smiles mischievously, looking at you with his heavy bedroom eyes, as if his facial expression should have told you everything you needed to know. 

"What... what am I supposed to do?" It comes out almost shyly, as if you weren't the one dry humping another guy in front of your sugar daddy, and apparently Seonghwa finds it amusing too. You can hear his cheerful, velvety laugh behind your back before he elegantly gets up from his seat and comes back to you and hugs you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on the top of your head. You almost instantly dissolve into his arms, drowning in the luxurious, expensive fur of his fur coat as he pulls you closer to his body.

"You can be such a fool sometimes, my love; it can't help but amuse me." Seonghwa purrs, leaning down to your face and running the tip of his nose along your rounded, ruddy cheek. "San wants you to show him how good a slut you can be for him and how beautiful you look on your knees with a cock in your mouth. I'm sure that's been on his mind ever since he saw you giving Yunho a blowjob in the locker room, isn't it?" Hwa whispers into your ear, and you see San's eyes narrow dangerously as he says it, going even darker, and you could swear you see something utterly evil flashing in those deep chocolate irises. Oh, Seonghwa seems to have hit a nerve, and you know full well that he did it on purpose.

“Of course I did, Hwa. How could I not have thought of that? Dolly was quite a sight, so desperate, milking his cock with her mouth, sucking his balls, and lapping up his cum as if her life depended on it. You don't seem to be able to satisfy her appetite enough to keep her from seeking the attention of other men, Seonghwa." Parries San, and you are practically gasping for breath at such blatant insolence. You've never heard of anyone being so openly in Seonghwa's face before, and it's both a delight and a fright to you. 

'You bastard.' Seonghwa hisses at him. You can feel the irritation and anger coming from him, but he still does nothing to stop this game. Instead, he encourages it to continue. His hands let go of your waist, and he placed them on your shoulders instead, squeezing them so hard that you started to go down until you found yourself on your knees between San's spread legs. The handsome boxer's cock is a foot away from your face, and even though you haven't touched it yet, you can see how tight the muscles in his abs and thighs are, taut like steel cables under the golden, wet skin. It was an image that you wanted to stay with you forever. Your palms automatically rested on his inner thighs, and you lightly clenched the fabric of his shorts. "Have fun with her while you still can, San. You may never have the chance to play with my princess again." Hwa says in a mocking tone and strokes your head gently before he gives you a kiss on the top of your head. 

"Oh, trust me, Seonghwa, I will, and when I'm done with her, she won't be able to think of anything else than me." San wraps a hand around his thick, hard cock through the fabric of his shorts, and you swallow loudly, already imagining how heavy and hot it is going to be on your tongue.

"You are overconfident, San, but anyway...' He turns your face towards him to lick your lips with his tongue, coating them with a shiny, thick layer of his saliva. The action, totally dirty and lascivious, is so damn hot, and you instinctively stick your tongue out of your mouth so that Seonghwa can spit on it, which he does. With your eyes glazed over with lust, you watch as your sugar daddy collects the saliva in his mouth and spits it out onto your waiting tongue. He lets out a deep purr at the sight of a thick, viscous drop rolling down your pink tongue, which you immediately swallow with a sweet moan. "Aren't you the prettiest one? Such an obedient slut for your daddy." He licks your lips again, and you reach up in the hope of catching his tongue with your lips and sucking on it, but your desperation only makes him giggle. "You can do that later, my angel; I promise you that. Now give me a good show and work his dick with your hot, slutty mouth." And you obey the order.

Seonghwa moves away from you, leaving you at the mercy of San, and sits back down in his chair, unbuckling the belt on his trousers and beginning to stroke himself slowly. His seductive siren's eyes are uninterruptedly watching your every move. 

As you turn your attention back to San, a pitiful gasp comes from your chest, and you clench your thighs tighter in a futile attempt to reduce your arousal. You feel so small under the weight of that dark, feline gaze of his. His eyes roam over your form, his predatory gaze gliding over every curve of your body before it lingers at your boobs, almost falling out of your top. San's tongue slips out of his mouth, and he slowly licks his wounded lips, leaving a glistening trail of saliva on them. 

"Show me those big plump tits, baby. I want to see them bouncing while I fuck that sweet, doll-like face of yours." San purrs in a sultrily way, and there's a hoarseness to his voice that wasn't there before, but you're too caught up in the sight of San running his thumbs under the elastic of his gym shorts and pulling them down, finally exposing his big, pre-cum oozing cock. The sight of it is the cause of a salivary gush in your mouth.

Your hands reach up and begin to slowly pull the thin straps of your satin top down from your shoulders until your heavy, luscious tits are completely exposed and your top is gathered up at your waist in a useless strip of fabric. San's plump lips curl up in an approving smile, revealing his deep, sweet dimples as he finally gets to see your bare breasts in all their glory. Your fingers slide over your aureoles, your nipples hardening from the pleasurable stimulation, and you gently run your thumb pads over the sensitive, swollen buds, a soft moan of pleasure escaping your parted lips.

"Fuck, baby, you've got such amazing tits, so big, heavy, and so soft. Greatest titties I've ever seen. I want to cum all over your tits; cover them with my sperm. I'll milk your tits dry, Dolly, make you cum from sensations of my mouth on your  nipples." San's voice is full of dark promise, and it makes more and more of the moisture seep out of your trembling hole. He squeezes his cock harder in his broad palm, caressing the thick, throbbing length with a wet squelching sound before he pushes in lightly, making his beautiful, thick thighs tense even more. Hell, his cock is literally dripping with pre-cum; the swollen, reddened head has been covered in a thick layer of glistening, viscous glaze, and you can practically taste the sweet taste of his cum on the tip of your tongue. 

"Do you like my tits that much, San?" You rock your tits gently in the palms of your hands at the feel of their weight. The plump flesh of them barely fits in your hands. 

"So damn much, babe." The sexy boxer lets out a low, husky moan as he continues to pleasure himself. His cock twitches weakly in the palm of his hand as he watches you playing with yourself, massaging your breasts and tweaking your swollen nipples. You could swear that the moaning that comes out of his lips is the hottest you've ever heard, of course after the moaning and whimpering of Seonghwa. You wonder if you'll ever be able to make the temperamental boxer whimper and beg. The thought of San writhing and whimpering under your care as you ride him like a thoroughbred stallion makes a small trickle of sticky fluid flow out of you. 

A velvety moan from behind your back grabs your attention, and for a second you turn your head over your shoulder to take a look at your gorgeous daddy. Seonghwa's overly plump, glossy lips are parted with a lingering, soft moan; his feline, black eyes are clouded with pleasure and slightly out of focus as his graceful hand caresses his beautiful, thick cock. God, you still can't understand how you managed to get the attention of such a gorgeous, sexy man, but that's the last thing you can think about right now. Especially when he brings his long, pre-cum-covered fingers to his lips and smears them over the overly plump, soft flesh before he sticks out his tongue and licks the sticky residue off the delicate appendages. 

Until the last drop of pre-cum disappears into his mouth, Hwa slowly caresses the fingers with his long, expert tongue. The sight of it sends a new wave of heat through your body, and the silky walls of your cunt tremble and become even wetter. The whimper that comes out of you at the sight of this filthy thing is almost pitiful.

"Don't let me distract you, angel. I want to see you sucking him off. I want to see you choking on his big cock as you take him deep down your pretty little throat. Can you do that for Daddy, Angel?" Seonghwa's voice has the sound of melted honey. The sugary tone is such a strong contrast to the dirty, vulgar words that come out of his sensual mouth. And it makes you roll your eyes and let out a loud moan. Hell, he's fucking you without even touching you at all. 

"Yes, yes, daddy. I'll do everything for you. Anything you want me to do.' You squirm slightly in your spot, squeeze your thighs together, and bite your plump lower lip. 

"Such a good girl. Keep playing with San, Angel.' Seonghwa casts his dark, burning gaze over your body one last time, lingering briefly on your swollen, tense nipples before waving his hand at you. He silently commands you to turn away and give your full attention to San. Which you do immediately.

When you turn back to San, you look at him innocently through your fluffy eyelashes, knowing full well the effect it has on men when you know how quickly Seonghwa gets hard when you give him that look of false innocence. And apparently he's not the only one turned on by it, because you can see San's cock twitching in his palm and he hissing in pain or pleasure as he sinks his teeth into the bruised flesh of his lower lip.

"Can I suck your dick...? You stammer slightly now that your game has moved from playful teasing to actual sex, not knowing how to address him right. 

'Daddy, my doll.' The look on San's face is so intense and powerful that it makes your blood boil with the desire to satisfy him in every possible way. "You can call me "Daddy." You hear Seonghwa's sarcastic chuckle behind your back and see San's lips open in response, but you quickly distract him from another verbal altercation with your sugar daddy. 

"So you're going to let me suck you off, Daddy?". You lick your plump lips greedily, glistening with the sticky residue of candy pink glitter and Seonghwa's saliva, running your tongue in deliberately slow motion over the soft flesh and placing your palms on the inside of his thighs. Your face is practically resting on his hard, oozing cock, and you blow lightly on it, causing San to throw his head back, exposing his long, seductive neck with its scattering of freckles and straining, swollen veins, as he rolls his eyes in pleasure. 'Please.' You add as you arch your spine and move your face even closer to his crotch, leaving a light, weightless kiss on the top of his taut balls.

'Fuck, doll.' San growls, grabbing your hair and pulling your face up so you meet his gaze with yours. 'Do you want to taste my cock that badly, baby girl?' His eyebrow lifts in a teasing manner. He wraps his hand around the base of his cock and slaps the swollen, reddening head against your lips. Each time he pulls it away from your mouth, long strands of your drool, mixed with pre-cum, stretch from your lips to his cock. 

"Yes, Daddy, I want it so badly. Let me taste your cock; I want to feel it on my tongue, in my throat. Please, Daddy, please." You spread your legs slightly, and the fabric of your tiny satin shorts stretches across your crotch, digging in between your labia and perfectly outlining the contours of your plump little cunt. This did nothing to hide how wet you were now, so both San and Seonghwa could see the dark wet stain on the thin fabric. 

"Oh, shit, angel." Seonghwa curses, and you can hear him shift a little in his seat, but you still do not make the slightest attempt to turn around and look at him. You can be sure that if the situation were different, Seonghwa's godlike face would be buried between your thighs by now. But right now he has to restrain his desires and just watch what's going on. "Stop playing with her, San, and give the princess what she wants." His voice is condemning, but you know very well that this is nothing but a farce. Hwa himself can torment you for hours by rubbing his cock over your face or slapping it on your tongue and cheeks before he lets you take it in your mouth. 

The only thing your daddy had no patience for was eating your pussy. Seonghwa couldn't tease you for more than a minute before he would suckle with his gorgeous mouth on your warm, tight cunt and feast on it for hours. He would stick his tongue deep into your tiny hole and suck your juices like the exquisite vintage wine he loved so much, although he also liked to drink it from your pussy too. 

San slaps his cock against your mouth a couple of more times before he presses the head of it against your lower lip and gently pushes it in the inviting, moist warmth of your mouth.

"You heard your man, baby girl. Open your mouth and take this cock, Angel." You almost want to roll your eyes at those words, you petty bastard. But when San's sharp feline eyes meet yours and he gives you a smug, predatory grin that makes you squirm in your seat between his spread legs, all your insolence melts away in an instant. 

San's hand runs through your hair in a deceptively affectionate manner, pulling a few strands away from your beautiful face so that he can get a better look at you as your sweet mouth opens and his thick cock slowly enters you. Your jaw tenses up as you try to get used to the size of it, the swollen, throbbing veins rubbing against your tongue as he pushes deeper and deeper. San clenches a large handful of your silky curls in his fist before pulling them out with force. He rolls his eyes and hisses through clenched teeth as the blunt head of his cock hits the back of your throat and his balls rest against your chin. 

Your mouth is full to the brim, your plump lips stretching beautifully around the hot, velvety girth, pressing tightly against it and enveloping the sensitive length with warm, wet breath, but even that doesn't stop you from moving your tongue and kitten licking the sensitive spot where his cock joins his heavy, cum-filled balls. 

The moan he makes when you do it goes straight to your pussy and your silky walls clench around nothing. Delicate, velvety skin tingles under the caress of your tongue, and it makes his cock throb in your mouth. The sight of you choking on his cock and drooling all over his balls almost brings San to the brink of his limit. 

"Look at you, doll, you're already drooling like a mindless slut, and I haven't even fucked that sweet face yet." San's thumb caresses your soft cheek, cooing sweetly before he slaps you lightly on the cheek, causing you to gasp and unknowingly let his cock go deeper down your throat. 

You choke on it, the slippery walls of your throat tightening around his cock, pressing on the sensitive, swollen veins that stretch seductively along its massive, heavy length. The sensation makes him curse, and the nasty gagging, gurgling sound you make seems so sexy that San doesn't think he'll ever be able to get enough of it. Seonghwa makes his own wet whimpering noise as he watches your deep throat the handsome boxer's cock as he masturbates on you. 

San pulls your head up by the hair until the only thing left in your mouth is your wet, reddened head, and you wipe the tears from your eyes. Wiping away the tears that begin to gather in the corners of your eyes, you look up at him with the most enchanting, tender look of pure innocence as you let his cock completely out of your mouth with a loud 'pop'. You give a wet smack to the swollen, mushroom-shaped head of his cock, the viscous saliva bubbling up before it bursts and runs down his cock and your chin in thick strands. 

"Oh fuck, baby doll, you look so beautiful with my cock in your mouth. A perfect little cocksucker." The sweet praise makes your delicate hole clench around nothing and your clit throbs as if San had just licked it with his tongue. 'Let me fuck your angelic face, sweetheart? I'm sure Seonghwa can't wait to see me stuff my cock down your tight little throat up to my balls. San purrs passionately as he looks down at you before he pushes his muscular thighs up so that his massive length slaps against your mouth and cheeks a couple of times. 

'Yes, Daddy, I want it.' You whimper as you flutter your long, fluffy eyelashes and run your lips sweetly over the sensitive, velvety flesh of his cock, leaving short kisses on it. "Please, I want to feel you deep in my throat."

San growls, cupping the back of your head roughly with his palm and pressing down hard, forcing your pretty, flushed face to press even harder against his thick, wetted with saliva and pre-cum length. He doesn't need to tell you anything; you obediently open your warm, moist mouth and allow San to push his massive cock back between your swollen lips, stretching them beautifully around the hard, velvety flesh and pulsating, swollen veins. 

His broad shoulders tense visibly, muscles tightening and contracting under his sweaty golden skin, and he moans gutturally as he watches you lower yourself onto him. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you savour the slightly painful sensation from his huge cock as it pushes deeper and deeper into your throat, pulling the tight, slippery walls apart until you are choking on it completely. His cock is practically choking you as San holds your head in place, preventing you from being able to move away from him and take a full breath. San's broad, slightly rough palms begin to massage the sides of your neck to ease the tension a little as he holds you against his cock, your nose resting against the smooth, warm skin of his pubic and his heavy balls pressed tightly against your chin.

"That's my good girl." San moans, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes as your tongue presses against the swollen, throbbing vein on his cock. His stomach tenses up, and his taut pecs rise and fall with a heavy, hoarse intake of breath.

"My girl San, she's my fucking girl." Seonghwa hisses angrily. But that doesn't seem to bother the handsome boxer at all, as he just laughs grimly, clutching your hair in his fist and pulling your head away from his cock to admire your sweet, tear-stained face and your swollen, fucked lips. 

"Of course she is, Hwa. She's all yours." San replies in a caustic tone. He enters your mouth once more, thrusting into it roughly and jerkily, hitting the back of your throat with the head of his cock each time. "Breathe through your nose, dolly." The brunette warns you before he forces your head down onto his cock until your nose is pressed against the smooth, wet skin of his pubic and his balls are pressed tightly against your chin. San holds your head still, and you begin to gasp, your throat walls tightening around his thick length as you try to breathe. 

"Damn, doll, I'm going to cum. Do you want my cum, kitten?' He growls, pulling at your hair as he finally begins to fuck you in the throat. He thrusts into your mouth, sharp and deep, his hot length sliding between the narrow walls of your throat with a disgusting wet sound. San rolls his hips smoothly and fucks you in the face, his rhythm steady and deep. 

You moan affirmatively, looking at him with huge, sweet eyes. With every move he makes, his heavy, thick cock rubs against your soft tongue, and you suck in your cheeks to give him even more pleasure. This makes San hisses like a big wildcat. This deep, sexy sound excites you more, and you dig your long, sharp nails into his luxurious thighs, leaving on them long scarlet stripes.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" The brunet asks, wrapping his fingers around your neck and pressing down lightly so that he can feel the bulge of his cock in your throat every time he enters you. This also cuts off what little room you had left to breathe. "Your plump, slutty cunt must be leaking so hard right now, isn't it, doll? You're just dying for me to cum in it and destroy that tight, sweet hole of yours."

His disgustingly dirty but incredibly hot words make you whimper pitifully around his massive girth, sending pleasurable vibrations through his sensitive cock.

You can feel his muscular thighs tense up under the palms of your hands as San throws his head back and lets out a loud, prolonged moan of pure pleasure. It's a deep, pornographic sound that comes straight from his chest, and it's at that very moment that your mouth begins to fill with his warm sperm. 

San cums heavily on your tongue—a warm stream of thick, milky liquid runs down the back of your throat, causing you to choke. You slowly breathe through your nose and try to fight against your gag reflex as you drink his cum, little by little.

You try to swallow all of it, but there's so much of his sperm that some of it starts to leak out of your mouth, dripping down your chin and down the silky length of his cock, coating it in a sticky, milky glaze. You have to pull yourself away from him so that you can swallow it properly and savour the rich, bittersweet taste of it.

"Come on, kitten, show me your tongue." San purrs and looks up at you in a seductive way with his dark, feline eyes. His gaze is hazy and unfocused from the orgasm he's just experienced, and he gives you a lecherous grin, showing off his deep dimples as he continues to stroke his cock lazily.

You swallow noisily a thick mixture of sticky cum and your own drool, looking up at San with your big, deceptively innocent eyes before opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue.

"Look at you, baby doll." San purrs in a condescending manner and slaps his big cock against your tongue. Another copious stream of cum splashes onto your soft appendage, some of it landing on your lips and cheeks, coating your angelic face with thick, milky goo. "I always knew you were made to suck my cock, my little slut." He grabs your hair again and pulls you to his face for a kiss. 

It's a dirty, sloppy, even slightly disgusting, open-mouthed kiss with lots of drool and sperm. San doesn't care at all that you haven't had time to swallow his share; he shoves his tongue deep down your throat, licks the inside of your cheeks, and then slides his tongue over your tongue to taste his own cum. This has you whimpering and moaning into his lips, your little arms wrapped around his thick, tense neck as you continue to kiss each other. San persistently explores your mouth with his tongue while his hands cradle your heavy, plump tits, roughly massaging the soft flesh and thumb rubbing your sensitive, swollen nipples. 

The fact that Seonghwa doesn't seem to mind all of this and allows you to fuck San right in front of his eyes makes you even more horny. In fact, it's always been your little forbidden fantasy—you've imagined San touching you, licking your pussy and filling your little hole with his dick and sperm more than once or twice. But the fact that Hwa is involved in all of this drives you absolutely crazy. It's hard for you to comprehend what's happening, especially when San pulls and twists your nipples with his rough fingers again and another pair of hands goes to your hips before starting to pull down your soaked shorts and slutty panties until your sticky, plump cunt is fully exposed. Long strands of your arousal flow from your hole, dripping down to San's thighs and tempting Seonghwa to lick your silky, shiny folds, which he does right away.

Your hips arch as Seonghwa's long tongue slides down your slit from your dripping, quivering hole to your throbbing clit; the sharp tip dipping between your labia, caressing the soft, sensitive folds that are covered in a thick layer of your sweet mucus.

'Daddy!' You squeal, pulling away from San's swollen, hot lips and clawing at his broad, muscular shoulders with your long fingernails with such force that drops of blood begin to show on his skin.

'Do you like to play rough, sweetheart?' San hisses and suddenly slaps your tit. An angry red mark immediately blooms where his palm has made contact with your plump flesh. Your arousal is so obvious that you can practically feel it tingling on your skin; a fresh load of slime pours out of your hole, and Seonghwa immediately licks it up, velvety purring as the viscous liquid runs down his tongue and into his throat. He squeezes your thighs violently, long fingers digging into your flesh to pull your thick, juicy thighs closer to him so he can bury his godlike face in your aching, slutty cunt. "I asked you a question, Dolly." The handsome boxer slaps your breasts again, causing you to make a pitiful whimper. 

"Yes...' You can barely speak; your words are all of gasping and sobbing, especially when Hwa rubs her pretty nose against your sensitive clit. Your whole body shudders at the new stimulation, and you dig your nails into San's shoulders even harder than before. "Yes, I like that, Daddy.". 

'Daddy, huh?' Seonghwa hisses furiously and pulls his beautiful, sensual mouth away from your needy pussy. You squeal loudly as he suddenly slaps your swollen, sensitive clit with his graceful palm. The painful sensation is quickly replaced by euphoric, sweet pleasure spreading through your body like a liquid flame. "You know, you should be ashamed of yourself for the way you have behaved, my angel." Hwa purrs as he slaps your pussy a couple of more times. You give a pitiful whimper, shivering with your whole body and clinging even more tightly to San like a helpless little kitten. 

"Please, Daddy, I'm so sorry...I'll behave better...' Your tone is so whiny, almost pleading. You choke on your own words, which sound more like intermittent breathing than anything coherent. "I promise I'll make it up to you, Daddy. I'll do everything for you. Please...'

"What about me, baby doll? Will you do anything for me? San whispers, sultry and husky, drawing your attention back to him; his wet, swollen lips, swollen from kissing and bruising, touch yours with every word he utters. 

'I...' You start, but you never get a chance to finish your sentence as Seonghwa, without warning, plunges two long fingers into your tight, tiny hole all the way to the base. His fingers flex inside you, the soft pads pressing against the sensitive, spongy bundle of nerves, and you moan long and hard. More and more of the sweet nectar is oozing out of your hole, coating his fingers and dripping down onto San's thighs. 

"I feel like you forget yourself all the time, San." Seonghwa's hisses. He pulls his long fingers out of you at an excruciatingly slow pace, dragging them along the silky walls of your pussy and making sure you feel every moment of it very vividly. "Y/N belongs to me and only to me. She is mine. And I think it's time for me to remind you of that." There is pure venom in Songhwa's voice, and you can't deny that it turns you on. But I have to say, it's pretty sweet that you have the idea that she could be yours." He continues to taunt the handsome boxer.

San just laughs, slides his hand between your thighs, and cups your pussy with his broad palm in a possessive way. Your hips automatically begin to move in search of sweet stimulation, and this movement has you rubbing against San's palm, your swollen clit sliding against the rough skin in the most delightful way. You arch your back and push back your plump booty as you shake it a little, making the juicy flesh wiggle seductively, and you hope that this will entice Sunhwa to put his fingers inside you once more and press his tongue against your cunt. God, you wanted to cum so badly, but it seems that the two impossibly sexy and powerful men, who now had you trapped between their gorgeous bodies, had plans of their own for you.

"Oh really?" San snorts with a grim chuckle. "Oh, daddy, her cunt is flowing for me, all sticky, sweet, and ready to be filled with my sperm. You haven't even made her cum yet; is that really how you are supposed to treat the sugar pussy of your princess, huh? If she were mine, I'd suck on her pussy until she squirted all over my face, then I'd do it again and again until I milked it dry'. San leans down to your ear, and his hot breath touches the sensitive skin of your earlobe, sending a tingling sensation through your whole body. He runs the tip of his tongue over your delicate flesh, grinning lewdly and looking directly into Songhwa's dark, squinting eyes. "And it seems you're the one who forgets, Hwa." San presses down on your trembling, tight hole and pushes two fingers into you with a loud, squelching sound. 'I never lose."

❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part I @tiny-apocalypse @captain-joongz @alicedawitchbish @woohwababes @wlv-asteria @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisprincesss @lavishloving @teagietots @spooo00oky @sousydive @hwapou @bunnliix @softwsan @mjyungi @fantasy2wonderland @noirsfantasy @cassies-cookies @renaholicss @luffypants @hyukssunflower @watermelon2319 @peachygiku @bunnyxoxodarling @stolasisyourparent @soranosnowbunny @certifiedmoa @sanglix @slvtiny @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @hecateslittlewitchling @xxawl @pastellbunno @starlletsblog @seonghwasstar @hwanring @vtyb23 @pearltinyy @minjaeum @chasevixx @bomi-ja @onedumbho3 @sanglix @cursedeastern @itza-meee @pinkies-things @atinism @mxnsxngie @nenefix-on @therealcuppicake @annafeebou @sharksandminhos @@lixies-pixieboy @@vampzity @0rangemilk @yellow-foxxing @claimmeyourprincess

❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part II @unholywriters @hey-syia @hrts4nohee @vnessalau @mlink64 @tessakleine @fr34k4c1dr41n @313hwa @lilyuwon @tiziamattaga @un-knew @wiaxul @siyah-staryis @seonghwasbbgirl @mingisfavgf @bunnyluvr25 @roserperfume @lose-lose07 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @lelaleleb @bubblebisk @silverlight-h @ chloe-elise-2000 @cookiesandcreammy @mxnsxngie @ghostlovesworld @i-love-ateez @mingisprincesss @vampscan @peachygiku @vampqueen777 @miyaluvvsyou @stay-tiny-things @moondanse94

❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part III @yyaurii @infrenchexit @sanniesbum @jaxyy219 @lostxxgirl @m1sss1mp @manipulatedstars @cotton-candycloudz @kienhawon @flowerxsin @londonbridges01 @fluffyyongbokie @sang-09 @hobarihope @sanniesaur @luvbit3z @sanriomilk @s4erin @sanhwalvr @mallielovssyou @slytherinslays @your-bloodbag @cherricola-star @passionandsuga @hwasangel

[journcys-archived]

@rockheadcd sent: “We can share.” teehee the husbands can share some dessert.

Fingers glide upon the pages of the book he’s reading, trying to gain some new ideas for his performances. Though his niece is the newest contest star, the co-champion always has to make an appearance once in a while, which he is never opposed to as it gives him time to spend with Lisia.

The light shines through the trees that surround the outdoor pond in the back yard of the mansion, his Pokémon lingering in or around the water, Kireina ushering feebas around almost as a mother would, while the others either played around or relaxed; like Shian basking in a ray of sunshine. “Hmm…no. It needs to be…bigger. Bolder! Ah, I’m running out of ideas…”

Dramatics were not uncommon for Wallace in the slightest, teal hair swaying softly as it was out of the confinements of his hat; waterfal curls draping over his shoulders. He pauses as a shadow overcasts the sunlight in front of him, blinking upwards to look at Steven and his expression becoming fond almost instantly as his book is closed and set on the table next to him. “Ah, I was wondering when you were coming back, darling. I half expected that you had gotten distracted by a new stone or two.” He teased gently, blinking down at the box that was offered to him to share.

He tilts his head and opens it, the tart looking at him dead in the eye—the citrusy scent hitting his senses before he brought his malachite gaze back up to his lover with an amused hum. “Is this where you went of to? Steven, I have to admit, you do pay attention to what I like, don’t you?” The box is closed before Wallace leans upwards to press his lips against the others—its soft and its sweet; before he stands to his feet. “Let’s head inside. We aren’t going to eat this with our fingers.”

[formulawolff]

sunbathing - t.w.

pairing: reader x dbf!toto wolff

word count: 1.3k

warnings: age gap, highly inappropriate flirting and banter, fingering (f! receiving), alcohol use, some light smut for this fine sunday evening, fyi, the reader is in her early/mid 20s in this!,

a/n: the premise of this one came to me as a request! i just want to clarify that this is a slight au, as toto is not a married man in this! i hope y’all enjoy! <3 (also that gif?? omf. i need him.)

bundles of light cast a shine on the waves, the surrounding air tinged with the salty scent of the sea. the only color in your field of vision is blue, the hues ranging from a vivid cerulean to a rich sapphire. above, seagulls glide, dotting the skyline with tiny white specks.

you bask in the warmth of the sun, your heated skin glowing from your tanning oil. situated on the sun deck, you were in the perfect spot to catch some rays, reapplying tanning oil routinely throughout the afternoon.

"everything going okay up there honey?"

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

the voice was none other than your father's.

your father happened to be peter bonnington, one of the top engineers for the mercedes-amg petronas formula one team. he just so happened to be close to lewis hamilton, eight time world champion.

yet, to your disappointment, lewis was not present today. so much for shooting your shot with the devilishly handsome driver.

when you were offered the chance to spend the day on toto wolff's yacht with your family, how could you have refused?

who else gets to spend the afternoon sunbathing on desk of a yacht as it floats along the mediterranean sea?

springing to your feet, you lean over the rail, picking out your father as he mingles with the group, "i may come down and get some water soon!"

"sounds good love!" your father responds, a wide grin plastered across his face. stifling a giggle, you notice the crimson hue tinging his cheeks, flourishing into his neck.

oh god, he was drunk.

well, you all were. at least, those old enough to drink.

for the start of the summer break in the season, mr. wolff had suggested the mercedes families gather together for a day of relaxation and celebration. to your disappointment, there were not a lot of suitors present.

of course, there were quite a few children, some teenagers.

you had met with a few girls around your age, but they were still significantly younger, approximately three or fours your junior. so, to escape from the small talk and chitchat, you had waltzed up to the sun deck, settling in one of the chairs.

luckily, you had brought a book with you, so it kept you somewhat busy.

and to your satisfaction, no one bothered you. no one at all.

an afternoon alone on the deck of a yacht, where no one would bother you but to bring you a few drinks and some snacks?

it was perfect. absolutely perfect.

you couldn't have envisioned a more perfect afternoon.

a flurry of voices catches your attention, but you ignore them. it almost sounded as if there was playful argument. of course, recognized your father's voice, as it was the loudest.

your mom was one patient woman, that was for sure.

with the sun beating down, and the buzz of the alcohol, you couldn't help but feel your lashes flutter, drowsiness beginning to take ahold.

"ms. bonnington," a voice startles you, thick with a heavy accent, "i figured i would run some water up for you."

sitting up in your chair, you clutch your chest as you make out who is standing beside you, one bottle of water in each hand.

it was none other than toto wolff.

with his significant stature and broad shoulders, he nearly towers over you, donned in a thin linen button up and khaki shorts.

with his fluffy brunette hair, and sharp, chiseled features framed by thick lashes, there was no denying that the team principal was devastatingly handsome. toned muscles rippled underneath his button-up, the wind catching the fabric every so often, exposing a trail hair leading up to his navel.

sure, you may have had a teenage crush on one of your father's best friends and coworkers, but surely you outgrew that long ago.

surely.

you felt your heart skip a beat as he eyed you, prompting you to respond.

"oh my god," you nearly stumble over your words, "i am so sorry if i didn't hear you the first time, mr. wolff. i was falling asleep and i-"

"no need for those formalities around here," a soft chuckle rumbles in his throat, "you can call me toto, you know."

"i-i'm sorry," you mumble, accepting the water bottles from his hands, "i've probably been in the sun a little too long. i'm a little scatterbrained right now."

"have you been having fun, at least?" to your surprise, the team principal sits in a chair beside you, "i apologize if you haven't been able to meet some people your age. i thought there would be more girls for you to get along with."

"i've been fine," you shrug, "i'm a big girl, i know how to occupy myself."

as you lay back down in the chair, toto can't help but drink in the sight of you.

fuck, were you absolutely gorgeous.

he relished the way your hair was pulled into a tight bun, emphasizing the bridge of your nose and the fullness of your lashes. your skin glistens under the sun, toto swallowing thickly as his mind wanders.

it was so wrong to look at you this way. absolutely sinful.

yet, he couldn't. he couldn't look away.

"everything okay, toto?" oh god, the way his name sounded so sweet from those plush lips.

"i'm fine," he waves a hand, "i'm just admiring the view. that's all."

you arch a brow, pursing your lips, "the mountains or my ass?"

ever so slightly, you wiggle your wips, cheeks jiggling in response.

"you want me to be honest or do you want me to lie?"

"hmmm," you hum, "i prefer honesty, mr. wolff."

mr. wolff.

in his shorts, he felt his cock throb. instinctively, he shifts in the seat, praying that you wouldn't notice.

however, it's hard to miss.

especially in those khaki shorts.

"see something you like?" you bat your lashes, the corners of your lips curling into a devious grin.

"yes," he leans over, face merely centimeters from yours, "you."

"not like you can do anything about it," you counter, the tough exterior crumbling as you feel a hand gliding along the back of your thigh, squeezing the curve of your ass.

perhaps you did not outgrow that teenage crush all those years ago.

"i can," he smirks ever so slightly, "no one can see up here. if i would have known you were wearing this little number, i would have ran up with that water hours ago."

"what if someone comes up here?"

"they won't," he shakes his head, "they're all eating right now."

"you don't think my father will come looking for me?"

"do you know how intoxicated your father is right now? he wouldn't even make it up the stairs," fingers hook the strap of your bikini bottoms, snapping it against your skin, "so, schatzi, what shall we do?"

"what's on your mind?"

toto cocks his head, the fingers delving between your thighs. nimbly, they lightly trace along your folds, teasing, "oh, if we were completely alone, it would be a far different story. however, i have limited time, and there's a large gathering down below."

"oh fuck," you clamp down on your tongue as a finger circles your clit, juices beginning to trickle down your soft skin.

"you like that?" toto coos, applying more pressure, "you like how wet i make you? you're a good girl, letting me touch you like this."

"toto!" a voice calls from below, "we need your assistance with the radio!"

"jesus fucking christ," the team principal rolls his eyes.

rising to his feet, fingers grasp you chin, tilting your head upwards.

"you should accompany your father to a grand prix sometime. i would love to see your beautiful face one day in the paddock."

"maybe i will," you murmur, flashing toto with a radiant grin, "would you fuck me in the paddock too?"

"oh schatzi, i would do more than fuck you in the paddock. i would make that little pussy of yours weep."

and just like that, you watch as the team principal strolls over to the stairs, shooting you one final wink before disappearing.

biting your lip, you reach for the water, twisting it open.

perhaps you would lean over that rail one more time.

after all, you were starting to get an appetite.