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pathologicalreid · 13 days ago

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prisoner | s.r.

in which you and Spencer conduct a custodial interview with a serial killer - Spencer's first since he was released

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: post prison reid, fwb but also mutual pining, serial killers, prison, panic attack, chiromancy word count: 3.66k a/n: i originally came up with this idea in 2023 😭 😭 it's about time i finished it lol. definitely suffers from exposition overload but i don't caaaaare.

Fourteen times.

You had asked him fourteen times if he thought he was going to be okay doing the custodial interview. No one else was available to do it, but you still had your reservations. Sending Spencer to a prison felt wrong, even if he wasn’t on the inside of the bars anymore.

Without telling him the reason, Emily elected to send you with him to the facility, she said it was because you had never done one before, but you knew it was deeper than that. “How many victims?” You asked, not taking your eyes off the road as you drove to the destination.

“Eight,” Spencer answered, looking through the case file. The killer had asked for the interview, hoping to be transferred to a minimum-security facility. The odds weren’t good, but you needed to oblige the request even if it wouldn’t prove successful.

You hummed, turning down the road, you pulled up to the security station. Presenting your credentials to the guard, he lifted the gate for you, and you found your reserved parking. “Do you want to take the lead?” You asked him, trying to gauge how he was doing.

Nodding, Spencer got out of the SUV. You shut off the engine and followed suit. “Unless it doesn’t seem like he’s responding to me, I’d rather not present him with someone who fits in with his victim pool.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you said sardonically, grabbing your bag from the backseat before locking the car and following Spencer inside.

The two of you went through security, locking up your weapons and going through metal detectors. It wasn’t until you went inside the first gate that you noticed it; Spencer was fiddling with the belt loop of his slacks. “I can feel you staring,” he whispered so only you could hear. You watched his posture relax when the gate buzzed and opened in front of him.

You smiled softly, “I can see you fidgeting,” you responded. At work, the two of you were merely coworkers who knew each other really well, so you couldn’t just reach out and take his hand. Not that you’d want to, in a prison full of serial killers.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, implying that he wasn’t right now. The smile fell off your face as the two of you followed the guard into the warden’s office.

At the sight of you, the warden stood and smiled, “You must be Agents Y/L/N and Reid, thank you for making the trip down here.”

Raising your eyebrows, you reach out your hand for the warden to shake, “He’s Dr. Reid, actually.” You corrected, seeing as Spencer didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Ah, my apologies, Dr. Reid,” he responded kindly, gesturing for the two of you to follow him.

Spencer gently brushed your hand as you followed the warden. It was so subtle that someone else could’ve brushed it off as an accident, but Spencer Reid never did anything without purpose.

“Marshal Lukins is the most prolific killer we’ve had in my time here, we aren’t expecting anything to come of this, but you know as well as I do that we have to humor the psychos,” Warden McCall told you, stopping in front of a gate and calling out for it to be opened.

You raised your eyebrows, deciding against telling the warden that Lukins profiled as a sociopath, not a psychopath. “How’s his behavior been here?”

The warden shrugged, “He won’t be winning any merit badges any time soon, that’s for sure. Spends most of his time in solitary, really.”

“His file said he had gotten into an altercation with another prisoner, what was that about?” Spencer asked.

McCall cleared his throat, “turf war. You know, prison gangs can get rowdy. Especially when they find out the feds are coming.”

You raised your eyebrows, grateful you couldn’t see Spencer’s expression. “Oh, yeah,” he said quietly.

Then you were in front of a serial killer, someone who had been put away years ago, but the way he looked at you sent shivers down your spine. “Marshal Lukins?” You confirmed.

“Why hello, pretty lady,” Lukins responded, rising from the chair. His legs were chained to the ground, but his hands were free.

Behind you, Spencer cleared his throat, “Sit down,” he ordered. Taking a tone of authority that you weren’t sure you’d ever heard from him.

Taking your seat across from Lukins, you looked him in the eyes, “You may call me Agent Y/L/N.”

Your interviewee shrugged, “I’ll call you whatever I want in my mind later.”

Ignoring the hairs that stood up on the back of your neck, you rolled your eyes at the skeevy pervert. “If you want to be transferred, you’re not making a very good first impression,” Spencer intervened, likely aware of your discomfort.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first criminal to make a pass at you, and in your line of work, it likely wouldn’t be the last.

“I’m not much worried about first impressions, people usually have a first opinion about me before they even hear my voice,” he responded, leaning back in the chair.

You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from responding, yeah, that happens when you murder eight women. “What would you rather our opinion of you be? That you’re misunderstood? Did you find god in prison, Marshal?” You asked him.

He leaned over the table ever so slightly, yellowed teeth flashing beneath the fluorescent light that hung above the interrogation table, “Would you like me to show him to you?”

Raising your eyebrows, you maintained a bored disposition while flipping open your files, “No.”

With custodials like this, you weren’t allowed to have photos in your files. Lukins was a sexual sadist, and the profile that Aaron Hotchner had put together was damning, describing the man in front of you to a T. He even got the age correct, right down to the receding hairline. Even though Lukins was in prison, you’d never provide him with visual aids to relive his crimes.

“Why did you request this interview if you weren’t interested in playing nice?” Spencer asked, setting his own files on the table in front of him, but he refrained from opening them. He managed to memorize their contents on the drive from Quantico, enabling him to weaponize his memory.

Lukins put his hands up in mock surrender, “I was hoping they’d send me someone nice to look at, make a good conversation with, and boy am I glad I took that chance.”

Spencer clasped his hands together and set them on the steel table, “Thank you,” he responded, keeping himself stone-faced in the presence of the killer.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the criminal in front of you snapped, jutting his chin in your direction.

Bored, your partner spoke up again, “Yes, you are,” he corrected. You were unable to communicate with Spencer without tipping off Lukins, so you let him continue, trusting that he knew where he was going with this. “In your trial, you said all of your victims were your sheep,” Spencer recalled from the file, “Is that why you shaved their heads before gutting them?”

Lukins scoffed, bored easily within the confines of the interview, “My sheep were my friends, but every sheep needs a wolf. Isn’t that right, Bo Peep?” He asked you, meeting your gaze despite the fact that Spencer all but told him not to engage with you.

You narrowed your gaze at him, tilting your head innocently, “Would you have let me be one of your sheep?”

He gave you a look that made you feel like you needed a shower, “You would’ve been a nice addition, could’ve rounded out my numbers.”

He reached out a hand, trying to take a piece of your hair between his grimy fingers, but you stood up quickly, stepping back from the table and almost tripping over your chair in response.

A few prison guards came in at the sudden movement, and Spencer had a vice-like grip on Lukins’ wrist, keeping him away from you. Tossing his arm back at him, Spencer glared at the killer, “No touching,” he instructed, looking back at you to check-in. He opened the door to the room, ushering you out before looking at the guards, “I want him in cuffs.”

With a hand on the small of your back, Spencer herded you to the private space that the two of you were expected to inhabit for the day. “Hey,” you spoke to him once the door was shut behind you.

Spencer was filled to the brim with nervous energy, shaking out his hands in an attempt to expel his nerves, “We should just go back to Quantico.” He shook his head, brown curls fanning out around his face, “There’s no way he can tell us anything that will get us to endorse his transfer.”

Watching him like this made your chest ache, and you had no idea what to do with that emotion. Your relationship with Spencer was strictly horizontal—usually—and you found yourself floundering when it came to how to act outside of bed. You wanted to take his hand, desperate to run your fingers over his knuckles and find the familiar callus from where his pencil rests on his finger, but you just couldn’t get yourself to reach out.

You hadn’t known Spencer before he was arrested in Mexico, but you made your mark on him without ever letting him lay his eyes on you. You sent letters to him along with the rest of the team, refraining from talking about cases and instead choosing to use your letters as a personal diary, chronicling your first three months with the Behavioral Analysis Unit with your prison pen pal. Periodically, you put money in his commissary account, despite the rest of the team telling you that you shouldn’t feel inclined to.

Pressing your lips into a thin line, your eyes tracked his pacing in the conference room before you started to voice your concern, “We have to go back in, Reid.” You grabbed a water bottle from the counter and twisted the cap off before handing it to him.

He took the water begrudgingly, glaring at you as he did so, “Why do we have to go back in, exactly?” After taking a sip of the water, he handed it to you so you could have some. You could’ve grabbed your own, but surely this was quicker.

“Lukins said I would’ve rounded out his numbers,” you told him, nervously fiddling with the cap of the water bottle as you waited for him to get it.

Spencer adjusted his tie, pulling the silk fabric further from his neck, “Yeah, I heard him.” It bothered him, the slightest implication that you were endangered in that interview room put him on edge, but all you could do was sit down and watch him.

You sighed, “We only have a record of eight victims. We don’t know what he’s rounding to, but that’s at least two more bodies that we don’t know about.” Lukins could be rounding up to ten, which would be the closest option, or you were looking at the possibility of a considerably higher body count. Your fear was that he would use those additional kills as a bartering tool to get a transfer.

He stopped in his tracks while he processed what you were telling him. Spencer turned to you, lips parted before he nodded, eventually agreeing with you even if it pained him to do so. “We should call Emily and let her know what’s going on,” he told you, taking a seat across from you and placing his head in his hands. “I’m gonna step outside for a second,” he said, getting up just as quickly as he took a seat and swinging the door open, leaving you alone in the conference room.

Holding your tongue, you stopped yourself from voicing your approval, even though you did think some fresh air would be good for him. Instead, you watched the door click shut before fishing your phone out of your pocket, tapping on Emily’s contact before bringing the phone to your ear.

“How’s it going?” Emily asked you as soon as she answered, and you couldn’t help but picture your unit chief waiting by her phone, hoping to hear from you or Spencer.

You sighed, inadvertently cluing her into how the custodial interview was going, “We might have a problem,” you told her. Continuing on to explain what had happened between you and Marshal Lukins, all the way up through your discovery that he might have a higher victim count.

Prentiss clicked her tongue on the other end of the line, “What does Spencer think?”

The question didn’t come as a surprise to you, neither did the fact that her inflection told you that she was sneakily trying to ask you how Spencer was. Wiping your free palm along the fabric of your pants, you leaned against the table, “Reid thinks Lukins is out for blood.” You opened your mouth to continue but were interrupted by an alarm being tripped, your head snapped up as lights started to flash on the walls.

“What’s going on?” Emily questioned you over the phone, but you could barely hear her over the blare of the alarm, a low-pitched buzzing sound that made your brain feel like it was vibrating within your skull.

Clambering to your feet, you grabbed your water bottle and walked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind you as you looked aimlessly around the prison for someone who could offer you an explanation. “I’ve gotta go,” you blurted into the receiver, stuffing your phone in your pocket and making your way to the front of the prison, ignoring the men who shouted at you from behind bars.

You looked down the walkway, watching as the failsafe on the doors was triggered and they slowly started to shut, triggering you to try and make a run for it. “Y/N,” Spencer called out your name, picking up his own pace from the opposite direction.

It didn’t take you long to realize that you weren’t going to make it, skidding to a halt as the bars clicked shut in front of you. You weren’t scared until you watched Spencer pull at the door, frantically trying to slide it open, “Reid,” you said his name, trying to get his attention. “Reid,” you shouted that time, trying to make sure he heard you over the alarm.

He didn’t pause to look at you, he simply continued to pull at the bars.

“Spence,” you said desperately, and that time his eyes snapped to yours. Wide brown eyes bore into yours as you placed one of your hands on his, both of them encircling the bar. “It’s not going to open,” you reminded him. A fact he was well aware of but didn’t want to acknowledge.

Silently, he leaned back into the wall, sliding down the side of it and looking up at the ceiling, pulling at his tie again, this time taking it all the way off. “It’s a lockdown,” he panted helplessly, “They’re in a lockdown.”

You nodded softly, having drawn that conclusion on your own, “It’s okay,” you told him softly, reaching through the bars and taking one of his hands in yours. “You’re alright, Spence,” you continued, your tone bordering on a coo.

He pulled his knees to his chest and slung his free arm over his legs, hugging himself.

It broke your heart to watch him like this. You pointed in the direction he came from, “Look. Hey, you could be free to leave, I’m the one who’s locked in,” you told him, highlighting the fact that the bars were blocking you, but Spencer could make his way back to the entryway.

“Not helping,” he told you, his voice almost a gasp as he tried to regulate his breathing.

Your shoulder’s slumped forward slightly, “I’m sorry. What can I do?”

Spencer just shook his head, squeezing your hand in response when you started sweeping your thumb over his knuckles. You ignored the buzzing of your phone in your pocket as you watched him, completely focused on making sure he was okay before you did anything else.

With your free hand, you grabbed the water bottle that you took from the conference room and slipped it through the bars. “Here, take this,” you murmured, setting it on the ground next to him when he didn’t take the bottle from you.

He visibly relaxed when the alarm stopped going off, but the lights were still flashing, which offered somewhat of an explanation as to why the door hadn’t opened yet.

You fiddled with his hand, opening up his palm and tracing the lines on his hand with your index finger, “Have you ever had your palm read?” You asked him, twisting your head to get a better look at it.

He looked at you, the panicked look in his eyes had subsided, promptly replaced with incredulity, “When have I ever struck you as the kind of person who would get my palm read?”

Shrugging, you slowly traced his love line, “You like Halloween, I thought maybe you’d let your curiosity get the best of you.” Although you supposed if Spencer really wanted to have his palm read, he’d just do it yourself. “When I was in college, my summer job was reading palms in a booth at an amusement park,” you informed him.

Spencer chuckled at your revelation, and the sound made your heart sing, “That is… oddly endearing.”

Nodding, you looked at his hand again, “Chiromancy says men were born with their left hand, and their right is what they accumulate throughout life,” you told him softly, sliding your other hand through the bar.

“Actually, I was born with both of my hands,” Spencer responded, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You rolled your eyes, studying his left hand intently, “You have water hands,” you said, showing him his own palm as if he’d never seen it before.

Spencer raised his eyebrows at you, “Well, now you’re just making things up,” he openly teased you that time, but he didn’t pull his hand away.

Humming, you furrowed your brows and pointed at his hand, “This is your head line,” you explained. “See how it’s long and straight? It sort of tapers off before the end of your palm—that means you tend to think realistically.”

“I could’ve told you that,” he challenged, but his eyes were following along as you pointed at his palm.

You shook your head and sighed, “Here’s your life line,” you said, pointing to a different line and tracing it with your fingertip. “It’s straight and goes down to the edge of your palm, which means you’re cautious about relationships,” you continued softly, leaning your head against one of the bars of the door.

He was silent after that one, briefly taking his bottom lip between his teeth and looking down at his hand. You could tell that even though he didn’t quite believe what you were saying, he was perfectly fine with humoring you.

“This is your fate line,” you told him, entirely expecting to lose him the moment you began discussing fate. “It’s broken down the middle and curved in different directions, and that means you’re prone to a lot of changes in life. Changes influenced by external forces.”

Gently, Spencer pulled his hand away from yours, flexing his hand before looking down at it, “You’ve officially lost me.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up, “I’m surprised you lasted this long.” Just long enough apparently, the doors buzzed soon after, and you withdrew your hands from the slots as the bars slid into a hole in the wall.

Spencer got up first, dusting off his hands before he extended a hand to help you up. Your hand lingered in his for just a moment too long, the exchange oddly intimate for the two of you before his arms dropped to his side, “Thank you,” he murmured, a shy smile on his face.

Shrugging, you crossed your arms in front of your stomach, “There’s nothing to thank, Reid.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that it was disappointment that flashed across his face at your reply.

The warden had rather unceremoniously asked the two of you to leave, citing security concerns and letting you know that he’d be in contact with Emily to reschedule. Emily had called you six times during the lockdown, but you’d texted her once everything was clear.

Which left you heading back to the SUV with Spencer, there were prisoners out in the yard, so he walked on the inside, blocking your body from the view of the inmates. “Are you alright?” You asked him, feeling more free to inquire now that you were in the open air.

He nodded, “I’m fine, I just really wasn’t expecting something like that to happen when I asked Emily to send me on this custodial.”

Your footsteps faltered at his words, “You asked to go on this custodial?”

Spencer frowned, “I was on this case originally ten years ago, so I asked Emily to let me go.”

“And she said yes?” You asked incredulously.

Spencer opened the back door for you to place your bag in, “Not initially, but eventually she realized that I’d be her only option if she wanted to get it done today.” He shut the door and shoved his hands in his pockets, “It’s a lot earlier than I thought we’d be getting back, do you want to stop and get lunch on the way back to Quantico?”

Your eyes went wide and you were grateful that he couldn’t see your expression, “Uh, sure. Why not?”

“Perfect,” he said, “Maybe I can get you to tell me why you avoided reading my love line.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #margotober #angstober

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pearlymel · 3 months ago

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"The Masks We Wear"

Summary: as a journalist, you are itching to find the identity of this mysterious hero. But could it be that the hero is closer to you than you think?

Wc: 7.3k eat up

Warnings: Wriothesley x afab!reader, gn! reader, modern au, hero and villian au (one of each), reader is a journalist/cameraman, fluff, making out, crack (i laughed a lot writing this), angst (oops), one small sex scene, slightly under the influence, cursing, it's pretty unrealistic, petnames used: sunshine, love, and sweetheart.

Notes: i poured my heart and soul into this, i think it's my best piece so far ^^ give it a chance, maybe you'll love it. (Pleasepleasepleaseplease) Rbs are greatly appreciated!

Credits: banner art by the great @/danijaci

Click!

The city is absolutely beautiful today. No, no. It’s not because of the lights that makes the place brighter and a bit more magical, how it seems livelier with a group of teenagers laughing together while buying street foods together, or the old couple that seem still very much in love, the gentleman kneeling down and tying her shoes just to make sure she wouldn’t trip this time.

Humans can be cute, you think.

But of course, among those innocent ‘humans’ are those who desire destruction.

This time, you think you might have caught something in the shadows, and you stare intently at your camera, zooming it in to see the faintest color blending in with the darkness. Hair? A part of clothes? You don’t know, but you got it.

you have this obsession of finding out who the hero of this city was, or even the villian. Although, you would be technically be walking into death if you try finding out who the villian is.

Where did this hero come from? No one knows. Sure the crime rate has lowered, but it felt like the world became even more messed up.

It all started a couple of years ago when you were in your college days, one day almost dying from a falling building, and you thought you saw the scythe waiting to take your soul at that very moment but, no.

The mysterious hero of the city that you never thought you would never encounter carried the building with his super strength power, apparently.

He who has no name, took your hand and lead you into a safer area with the police.

cliché story, right. But that’s what got you into journalism and media now.

And let’s say… you’re too far into the deep black hole to back down now.

The almost blinding light made you come back to your senses, the sounds of engine roaring in the air as the bike approached you, and your shoulders were already slumped.

“How did you find me?” You raise your voice due to the loud engine running, covering parts of your vision from the light.

“Lucky guess.” Wriothesley replied gruffly, pulling his helmet off and shaking his head slightly to fix up his messy strands.

“Care to explain what on earth are you doing here in this shady alleyway? At nine thirty where the moon is out and wolves could be coming for you?” He starts scolding you, quirking an eyebrow when you give him the bored expression, and he immediately mimics it back.

“Taking pictures.”

“Of the rats?”

“Wriothesley.” You shoot him a look and he raises his hands in the air. “I understand your… obsession. But it could hurt you in the process, mentally and physically.”

You know he’s saying all this because he cares so much about you. Loves you too much that it would break his soul piece by piece if one day what you’re doing will hurt you.

“Hop in, sweetheart.” He hands you the extra helmet, and you take it with a sigh. Securing it around your head before taking your place behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he revved the engine.

The whole ride back was silent, yet traffic, which entirely ruined the whole mood. With the constant car horns ringing in your ear.

You tap at his thigh to grab his attention, “Why’s it traffic?” You grumble, rising yourself from the seat to look at the row of cars trying to get through.

“Not any holidays or events i can think of,” he responds back to you.

Red mixed with orange fills your vision, suddenly the car at the very front explodes. The car parts flying in the air and landing at the other vehicles which makes you frozen in shock.

Wriothesley’s clenches his hands tightly as he turns the bike around, speeding his way far away from the scene. “Hold onto me tight, and don’t look back, you hear?” He yells enough to grab your attention, and your arms tightens around him, but you have your head turned around to see the people yelling and dashing out of the vehicles. You want to capture the moment with your phone so you could submit it in for the news, but you know more than to ignore Wriothesley right now.

It’s not rare to see destruction happen in your city, it’s just… terrifying every time anybody witnesses it.

Maybe it wasn’t an accident, maybe it was planned.

“You’re not allowed to go out after seven.” Wriothesley makes it clear to you with his firm tone as you both step inside your shared apartment, locking the apartment with a click. He then tosses his keys into a bowl on a small table, before turning to look at you.

“Are you seriously setting a curfew for me? Please. what happened was not new—”

Your face is now being cradled by his rough hands, but the way he swipes a thumb under your eyebags really makes you melt. And you forget what you were going to say when his lips curl the slightest.

“I don't want anything happening to you. Ever.” He takes you in his arms, holding you like you were the most precious thing he ever held. “I didn't mean to pressure you like that. I'd hate it if you were in the position of those injured people.”

You pat his back to reassure him that hopefully nothing like that will happen. “And, if, hypothetically, something like that happened; What would y—”

“I'll kill everyone.” he doesn't even let you continue before he answers, though the chuckle against your hair followed after makes your tense shoulders relax.

“maybe not to that extent,” he lifts your head up to lean in and press a tender kiss on your forehead.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“what is it?”

“… something or someone.”

Your boss gives you a nonchalant sharp look when you eagerly showed him the bits you managed to capture last night before you were interrupted by your great boyfriend.

His eyes squints at the more of a blurred photo that sits on the display of your camera, taking the glasses that hanged from his collar.

The sigh afterwards makes you feel discouraged when he hands you back your camera.

“i see it.” He starts and you perk up immediately.

“it looks like a blurred image of a fucking bird taking a shit on the electrical cords.” You press your lips into a thin line at his description. Too detailed of a description,

what a bastard.

It.. certainly didn't look like that.

You clear your throat, pinching the bridge of your nose to compose yourself.

“You're lucky i like your determination or you would've been fired,” he utters out in a lax tone, resting his glasses on his big bald head that you want to spill with ketchup.

“Keep looking, i need the hero's face, details, anything. Just think of the money you and i could both earn.” He seems too enthusiastic about it, showing you determination with his fists pressing together and his wide ear to ear smile.

You leave work early that day, starting your daily walk of looking around for at least two hours or—one hour?

No, Wriothesley would be too worried if you came back after… nine. Your words not his.

You need to rearrange a schedule in your head.

Step one: somehow convince your boss that you need to leave early everyday.

Step two: search every nook and cranny of the city, ask every shady person if they get to talk to the hero in person or got a glimpse of his name.

Step three: go to the dark web— is that car flying infront of you right now?!

Shit. Just why does everything have to go down wherever path you go?

The people around you panics, and you equally panic with them because you're no fucking hero to tell them to get away from that flying car.

You take your camera out hurriedly from its case that slung around your shoulder, pressing record while frantically looking around. The ground shakes, it shakes so much that it feels like an earthquake almost.

“it's him! The villian!” Someone shouts from the distance, and just like that the screams that follows are in sync.

You know why the ground shook, the street has become a battlefield for the hero and villain fighting together with all their strengths, the air is filled with tension as they both clash in an epic confrontation. The ground trembles beneath your feet again as they traded blows, sending shockwaves through the battlefield. The once tranquil street has now been transformed into a chaotic arena of power and destruction. As the battle rages on. The hero and villain continue their fight, each strike more powerful than the last, their movements a blur of speed and precision.

You try capturing anything with your camera, but your hand shakes that it was impossible. When the villian lands a powerful punch on the hero’s shoulder, sending him way back, it makes you think it's time to leave.

You run with the rest without stubbornness this time. You should've listened to Wriothesley, why did you always have to be so curious about everything?

This curiousity will kill you next after the cat.

“Taxi!” You shout, waving your hand at the yellow vehicle, but every taxi seems to ignore the people's pleas, determined to save themselves instead.

Guess it's time to burn calories and run back home.

You were a panting mess once you reached back to your comfort space, eyes zeroing at the running television in the living room. Watching the newscaster talk about today's battle and how it affected the shops and buildings.

It seems like the battle lasted twenty minutes before the villian gave up and fled away.

Your head snaps to the bathroom once you hear the sink water drip, you didn't even think if he would be here this early.

“Wriothesley,” you say breathlessly when you swing the door open, arms squeezing his side as you take a deep breath in.

“woah, easy there. What happened?” He takes you in, hand rubbing at your arm.

“i was…” nevermind. Maybe you shouldn't tell him what you have witnessed, he'll know once he checks the news.

You only realise that he was chest bared at the moment, and you furrow your eyebrows once you see a bruise on his shoulder.

“What happened?” It was your turn to ask, talking a gentle finger and running it over the bruise, earning a hiss from him.

“was changing the car oil at the repair shop.” He mumbles, gaze turning to the mirror, “then accidentally hit my shoulder once i got up.” he turns his arm, swinging it slowly.

“but you don't work at a car repair shop?”

“it's a side hustle, sunshine.”

“why didn't you tell me?” You press on, and he hangs his head low, both of his hands gripping the sink bowl.

Okay, maybe you have annoyed him a little too much now. Upon sensing your incoming apology, Wriothesley smiles at you.

“don't worry your pretty little head too much. The bruise will fade.”

“i can massage you later?” You offer, and he lets out a breathy chuckle. “You're the best.” He gives you a chaste kiss on your lips on his way out, which makes you feel a little fuzzy.

The evening gave way to the night sky, and you found yourself lying on the bed, replaying the video captured on your camera. The footage was far from perfect, shaky and lacking in clarity, but it still managed to capture fragments of the intense confrontation between the hero and the villain. You couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement as you watched the brief glimpses of the clash that had taken place earlier.

How the villian managed to blow a punch on the hero’s shoulder, sending him way back. Must've hurted.

It's almost like the same spot Wriothesley got his bruise on.

…

Wait, the same spot? You sit up on the mattress, replaying the video on repeat of their fight.

The hero was about the same height as him, the same physique, same cake—

You shake your head, focus. Wriothesley can't be the hero, no that's impossible. He was a busy man, doing… side jobs and whatnot.

Sure he was kind, always helping everyone, even walking the neighbors dog because they got sick one day.

But then again… you never saw Wriothesley and the hero at the same time,

Or was it merely a coincidence, a random alignment of physical features?

“Sunshine?” You gasp when you snap your head up to find Wriothesley leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

“y-yes?” You set the camera aside on top of the drawer. He moves closer, seating himself on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixated on you then glancing at he camera.

“dinner's ready.”

You nod, silence fills the room after. You know he's waiting for you tell him more, on why you were so shocked.

“was looking at the hero's pictures.”

“not mine? I'm wounded.”

You roll your eyes, a slow smile creeping up your face, and he loves it. He takes it as an invitation to lean closer, suddenly pinning you down on the bed to capture your lips with his.

It's slow, and gentle. It makes you hum softly, taking his face in your hands to kiss him back, moving your lips together until you were gasping for air.

You forget you were even suspicious of him a second ago.

Your fingers lightly trace his jawline and you feel the pricks of his growing facial hair. A small smile plays on your lips as you inform him in a soft tone, "You need to shave." Wriothesley chuckles softly, the sound warm and low. He reaches up to your hand, gently taking hold of it and bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss on your palm. "Is that why you stopped kissing me?" He says, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "No! I find you more.. attractive. Plus it.. yeah, it feels like little needles on my face.” you admit quietly.

Wriothesley presses his face into your neck, his lips tracing soft kisses along your skin. His hands begin roving your body, each touch sending a gentle shiver across your flesh. He whispers quietly next to your ear, his voice low and smooth as he responds, "I'll shave after dinner." The sensations of his lips against your neck and his hands exploring your body mix together, creating a heady combination that heightens your senses and ignites a slow fire within you.

“I'll.. help.” You whisper, bringing both of your arms to wrap them around his back. “What a sweetheart.” he uttered out, voice muffled from trying to mold into your skin.

Your mind stops working for a second when he presses his knee gently between your legs to pull them apart, “Wriothesley, what about dinner?” You frantically ask him, tugging his hair up so both of your gazes could meet. And the almost drunken expression he has on makes you let out a shaky breath.

“later,” he drawls, his fingers tracing lazily along your sides.

Hero? Pftt, what hero? This is just your wriothesley, it's quite impossible for him to be the hero.

You snap out of your daydream when your colleague hands you a cup of coffee, he raises an eyebrow at you and you smile back awkwardly.

A sip of the coffee to get a bit of energy, but only just a bit, since too much caffeine makes you nervous.

“You filmed the crazy battle yesterday?” Your colleague sneaks from behind you, watching the video replay again on your camera.

“they do movies about them now, insane huh?”

“well atleast the hero knows he's popular.” You reply bluntly, taking anothsr sip from your hot beverage.

“flash news, someone heard that his name starts with the letter ‘W’ or som—”

You spit out your coffee all over your white attire. You both exchange surprised looks, but you quickly wipe your mouth using the back of your hand.

“where exactly did you hear that?” You get straight to the point, gesturing them to sit next to you.

“from my father's friend’s cousin sister.”

His reply makes your eyes twitch, from who and who?

“Okay…” you whisper, turning around and thinking of the utter nonsense they spouted.

“you don't believe me.” he sighed, “I've been telling this to everyone in the building but no one is believing me! Just tryna’ do my job here.”

Let's say maybe you believe him. But the dots are connecting too fast that you want to refuse from believing it.

Was your target closer to you than you had expected?

“I'm clocking out, can you cover for me today?” You inform your colleague, and he crosses his arms while eyeing you up and down.

Your roll your eyes, “I'll be the cameraman for next week. So you could get three days off.” You force a smile and they smile back enthusiastically.

Wriothesley is definitely home. Earlier than the usual time he'd be back.

Oh, he's asleep on the couch. Leaning back tiredly with an almost stern expression on, but his body seems relaxed.

Now is the time to do anything. Investigate? Go through his things without his permission? That sounded all awful… surely he's not hiding any—

“go search his things.” You furrow your eyebrows when the devil on your left shoulder speaks, it makes you rub your face in annoyance.

Then a sudden white little angel poofs on your right shoulder with a disappointed face, “no, don't do it. He's a little scary when he gets mad. But he'd never betray you!” you feel reassured at it's words and you nod in agreement.

“don't listen to it. He could hurt you if you keep it a secret.” The red devil whispers again and it makes you shiver a bit.

“he would never hurt you.” The angel frowns.

“yes he would, he's a man.”

“a good man.”

“yeah? You're no better than me, you just want that—”

“okay shut up both of you. Shoo.” You brush both of your shoulders off before taking a deep breath to brace yourself.

You'll just search his.. clothes.

You feel guilty once you pocket his jackets and pants in his side of the wardrobe, checking every hidden pocket thoroughly while glancing at the door once in a while to make sure he doesn't wake up.

As your fingers brush against his jacket, you notice an unusual sensation – a cool, metal feeling hidden underneath the fabric. Your eyes widen in surprise as you recognize it to be the form of a gun's handle. A mixture of curiosity and concern floods through you, freezing you in place.

It really is a gun. You study it carefully, turning it around and feeling it's heaviness in your palm.

But you feel your heart run out of your ribcage when two pairs of arms wrap tightly around you, his chin resting on your shoulder.

Shit.

“hi,” he whispers next to your ear, but you're too nervous to even look back at him.

“nice thing you got there.” He muses, and you feel like you're losing oxygen once he tightens his grip around you even more.

“… i just found it.” You mutter, mostly to yourself. Your head hanging too low to avoid his eyes.

“Could've just asked me, no?” He clicks his tongue, almost in disappointment.

“i have it on me because—”

“because you use it for the good, right? Because you're the hero?” Your voice is shaky when you ask, the gun in your hand shaking with you, and you're afraid to drop it.

“hero?” Wriothesley repeats, shaking you gently awake and you gasp harshly, taking in big breaths, your boyfriend immediately trying to soothe you.

it was a dream.

“you were mumbling something about a hero in your sleep. Are you okay?” He asks in concern, brushing a strand off your face. You were sweating too much for your liking.

“when did i get here?” You look around, taking your palms to rub the sleepiness off. “Right when you got off work. You slept on the bed without changing your clothes.”

Oh… so you never checked his clothes. Deciding to just sleep instead.

Your head turns back to the wardrobe, staring at it intently. Could the jacket be in the same arrangement as you found it in your dream? Or will the gun also be there?

“you're going to poke a hole through it if you keep staring.” He stifles a laugh, and you couldn't help but try to smile as well. “Drink up. Slow sips.” He offers you a glass of water, and you hold the glass firmly in your hand.

“so… what was your dream about? Even this hero appears in your dreams? Can't say I'm not jealous.”

“You'll have grey hairs too early from overthinking.” You tease, sitting upright in bed, “oh no, you already do, old man.” you frown, tracing the grey strands along with his black hair. He watches in amusement.

Wriothesley lets out a deep sigh, “give your old man a break. They're a badge of wisdom and experience,” he rests his head on your lap, nuzzling close as you massage his scalp.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Breaking news: the ‘’lola” flower shop sets on fire just three hours ago. Our dear hero saves the day yet again, protecting the old lady just in time before her shop explodes. The cause of the fire is still unknown…”

Destruction out of nowhere again. Accidents out of nowhere again.

The voice of the newscaster on the television fades away in this little diner you're in. You drive your attention away from it, instead focusing now on the Polaroid pictures laid out infront of you.

The hero always wore a mask to cover his identity, obviously. But even after watching the countless of interviews he had, the deep tone slightly matches Wriothesley’s voice, or maybe he's changing his tone on purpose. You can see it by zooming in on the video, how he's catching his breath everytime he speaks when he's just sitting down.

Asthma? Nah.

You tap your fingers impatiently on the table, this is not helping at all, and the slightest itch in your brain worsens as the time goes by.

You think about giving up on this, but the possibility of finding the answer on how or why did all of this happen is probably closer to you than you think.

“Bad guys never end with their schemes. Bunch of attention seekers.” The hero speaks on the television, and you hum curiously as the hero salutes the camera playfully before disappearing from the crowd.

Is it possible that there are multiple heros? Working all together in some basement and taking turns to go out and do a better job than the police?

Possibly, and you write down your new theories down on your little notepad.

You check your phone next, Wriothesley still hasn't answered you back from your most recent text to him.

It's nothing to worry about, but the thought that he's busy saving the city is gnawing at you.

Batman?

You shake your head again, gathering your things to stand up from your seat. You should be blunt asking him about it tonight.

It's cold. Colder than usual. Was the air conditioning on? No. But the windows are sure wide open. You look around the living room before closing the windows and curtains from the outside world, as you draw the curtains, the outside world becomes obscured, leaving the room in a soft semi-darkness.

“Wriothesley, honey?” You call out softly, peeking through the bathroom, not there. The bedroom? Nope.

That leaves the kitchen, you slowly peek your head in he kitchen, and sure enough, he was there.

Wriothesley was rubbing his face in exhaustion while mumbling words under his breath that you can't quite hear. Having one singular glass of some drink in his hand.

“hero this.. hero that..” you finally listen to his mumbles, which makes you furrow your eyebrows together.

"Wrio...?" You call out softly, flipping the switch to turn on the light. His sharp eyes immediately dart up to look at you, and you can't help but shiver under his intense stare. You let out a small gasp of surprise as he suddenly stands up, the glass in his hand slipping from his grip and shattering on the ground along with its contents.

Taken aback by his sudden movement, you instinctively take a step back as he approaches you. But before you can even register what's happening, he crashes his lips against yours in a hasty, rushed kiss. Caught off guard, you cling tightly to him, desperately seeking support to prevent yourself from toppling over.

“You love me,” Wriothesley's voice breaks through the heated kiss, his words coming out in a low, guttural groan. He grips the back of your thighs, hoisting you up against the wall and wrapping your legs around his waist. “right?” His voice holds a hint of vulnerability and desperation, as if seeking reassurance and affirmation of your feelings for him.

And when you don't answer him right away, he takes your lower lip between his teeth, nipping at it gently, “answer me.” He almost growls.

“love, what are you taking about? Are you drunk?” You ask breathlessly in concern, your lips feeling swollen.

His jaw clenches, “Why can't you say it?” he inhales your perfume, your scent filling him that it makes him groan, his mouth lavishing your neck and collarbone, leaving kisses and littering marks then soothing the area with his tongue that it makes your pant softly, pressing your face into his hair while your fingers weaving through his black-greyish strands.

“i love you,” you utter quietly, and it suddenly makes him start grinding his hardened length against you. “I'm sorry in advance, sweetheart.”

One minute you're confused about his words, and then the next he's pounding so hard into you like there was no tomorrow.

Strings of “don't leave me,” and “i love you’s,” are echoed in the air. Wriothesley's mouth moves against yours with a sense of urgency and haste, his tongue gliding and tangling with yours in a fervent dance. The bed creaks so loud underneath you that you think it might break anytime, the embarrassment of the headboard banging against the wall immediately gone once he hits your sweet spot rapidly.

Poor neighbors

"Wrio... Wriothesley?” you slowly flutter your eyes open, still in the hazy realm between sleep and wakefulness. The sunlight streams through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room, and you blink a few times as you take in your surroundings. A quiet sense of contentment washes over you as you remember the events of the night before, the memories of Wriothesley's body against yours and his lips on yours still fresh in your mind.

You prop yourself up using your elbows, only to look down at the sight of your sleeping lover with his head pressed up on your chest. You collapse back on the bed with a tired sigh.

You still couldn't understand the reasoning behind his.. desperate actions last night. He seemed so pent up and stressed, you'll forgive him this time.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• It's the day where you're covering for your colleague, being the cameraman for tonight's news. Yes, tonight.

Wriothesley would kill you if he knew you were working so late at night, but only because he cares about your safety. Good thing he's out of the city for a day.

Or he claims to be out of the city for some important work.

You press the button on your video camera, adjusting the lens to focus on the newscaster standing in front of the camera, holding the microphone with a serious expression. The news van is parked in front of a desolate, run-down neighborhood known for its high crime rate and dangerous reputation. The newscaster speaks into the camera, her eyes boring into the lens as she reports on the neighborhood.

“We are now standing in the heart of one of the most dangerous areas in the city. This neighborhood is notorious for its high crime rate and volatile atmosphere.”

Your senses are heightened at this rate and you really try to focus but the moment you hear the faint crunch of leaves, you lose composure just a bit.

Okay you're a bit scared, but as long as your workmates are he—

a group of armed gang members suddenly appear from the alleyways between the buildings, surrounding the news van and the camera crew. The newscaster, taken off guard, gasps and steps back.

The gang members brandish their weapons, circling the news crew menacingly. One of them shouts at the newscaster, waving his gun in the air. “Hold it right there, pretty lady. This is our turf! You ain’t gonna be broadcasting nothing about us!”

You're about to shit your pants for real this time.

“Drop your cameras and get outta here, or things are gonna get real ugly real fast,” he growls, and one of them points the gun right on your camera.

“I'm talkin’ to you too.”

Yeah, you're not going to fight anyone and act all big. You simply drop the camera on the ground to raise your hands in the air.

As the gang members close in on the news crew, the atmosphere is suddenly shattered by the sound of footsteps pounding against the pavement. Everyone turns to see a tall, muscular figure approaching from the distance.

It's the hero.

You watch in awe as the hero strides towards the group of armed gang members, his movements fluid and precise. With a swift swing of his fist, he lands a powerful punch on the leader's face, sending him stumbling backwards. The other gang members are taken aback by his sudden appearance and the display of force, their eyes widening in surprise and fear. They exchange nervous looks, realizing they're facing a much stronger opponent than they anticipated.

“Hey, let's go!” Your workmate calls for your name. Her hand waving at you so you could all retreat back to the van.

And before you could follow, the van explodes.

The sudden explosion catches you off guard, jolting you out of your stupor. Shouting in surprise, you recoil from the loud blast, ducking instinctively as debris and fragments fly through the air. Your colleague, sitting next to you in the van, lets out a terrified yell as the force of the explosion propels the driver backward. The van shudders and lurches from the impact, the windows shattering and various objects sent flying.

“in the building! Let's go!” All three of you dash to protect yourselves inside this tall company building.

“I will call the police,”

“but the hero is here!” the driver of the van speaks, almost yelling in frustration.

“the hero is also a human. Just a strong one. We can't rely on him—” but before you could continue, you all cover your ears once you hear gunshots come from outside.

Ohmygosh. It’s—it could possibly be Wriothesley who's getting hurt right now. What are even the chances?!

“Fine! Just call the fucking police!” The driver gives up, leaning back against the wall while breathing heavily.

You want to go out there. You want to see. It's your chance to see who the hero is if he got hurt. Just to get the crumbs of news in exchange for your life apparently.

When it grows quiet, you peek outside, “it's clear, I'll take a look—”

“No, you're not.” her hand is firm as she grips your wrist, “just let them go.” He, on the other hand, scowls.

“Be safe!” She shouts at you as you make a run for it, running down the alleyway while looking left and right.

Someone's in the area.

You dart behind the nearby dumpster, heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline courses through your veins. Hiding as best you can, you press yourself against the rough metal, trying to keep your breathing steady and quiet. Peeking out from behind the dumpster, you cautiously scan the surroundings, trying to catch a glimpse of someone nearby. For now, the area seems to be clear, but you can't shake the feeling that someone is in the vicinity, lurking in the shadows.

“Where ya at, lil’ birdie?” You cover your mouth when you hear someone speak, it sends a chill down your spine and you can feel your heart drumming in your ears.

Your sharp eyes turn to your side to find a metal rod, you don't hesitate to grab it before smacking the shit out of the guy.

No that did not happen, but you wish it did.

Instead, the minute you see his feet pass the dumpster, with a swift movement, you grab hold of both of his ankles, using your weight and leverage to pull them out from under him. He lets out a pained shriek as he suddenly loses his balance and topples to the ground, his body hitting the pavement with a thud.

Alright, you can be cool sometimes.

Stepping at his hands to hear him cry again, you run put of the place, making turns and finally spotting the hero sitting down against the building wall while panting, seemingly exhausted.

“…” you take slow steps once you approach him, looking down at him with your eyes already glistening.

This is it, you just have to confirm it.

Your hand pulls at his mask, “Wrio—”

Huh?

This…

Is not

Wriothesley.

“Ah, what the fuck?” He grunts, the blonde grabbing the mask from your hands and you take a step back.

“Elias?!” You yell out in confusion, it's your colleague that you're covering for supposedly today's shoot.

“You're the hero??”

“not a word. Scram, you freak.” he mutters, eyes diverting away from you and staring up at the roof. “The roof,” he whispers to himself, making the effort to stand back at his knees.

Is this bitch serious? He's the last person you expected to be the hero. With his stupidly arrogant and lax attitude.

You give him an almost death stare, studying his features again before making your way out.

You need to check the other people that were with you.

But when you arrive back at the building, they were gone.

Did the police arrive? You don't hear any sirens. Could they have possibly went up on one of the floors to hide?

You find yourself in the elevator next, watching as the doors close with your hands clasped infront of you nervously.

You take deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart and steady your nerves. Hey, at least there's nice elevator music.

As the elevator comes to a halt, the doors slide open with a soft ding, revealing the rooftop and the figure standing in the open space.

There's a figure standing at the edge of the building, you can see the person's silhouette clearly now, but you can't make out their features just yet.

Your steps are hesitant as you slowly approach the figure, the wind gently billowing around you. The city lights twinkle below, but your attention is entirely focused on the person standing at the edge of the roof. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever may come, and call out tentatively, "Hello?”

Your voice rings in the air, that the person's shoulders tense.

When they look around, you're met by the same blue eyes you've known for three years now.

“Wriothesley.” You whisper, in shock, breathlessly under your breath.

He's holding.. a gun? The same gun you remember seeing in your dream.

Something in his mind snaps when you turn around, in fear. Like it was a mistake to ever see him in the first place.

Wriothesley doesn’t even give himself time to think before his body suddenly reacts, suddenly reaching out and circling his hand around your wrist to forcibly tug you back.

He yanks hard enough that you lose your balance and fall against him, his other arm coming up to wrap around your shoulders, preventing you from going anywhere.

“W-wrio—”

“think it's time we talk, sunshine.” He speak into your ear.

When you try to move the slightest from his hold, he grips you around him tighter. You figure it's best to stay still for now.

“what? Are you going to kidnap me now?” You manage to chuckle out, nervously though, your voice coming out more shaky than you intended to.

“Is that going to satisfy your little fantasy? What, I should play into it and shove you into a corner, keep you under my thumb until you’re begging me to set you free? Or no… you want to be saved by the hero.”

"You know you're not helping with your case, right? You really sound like the bad guy now.”

You’ve definitely found his breaking point because that comment makes him snap.

Wriothesley suddenly whirls you around so you’re facing him before he’s pinning you against the nearest wall, his body practically covering your own.

“Well…” He whisper, raising an eyebrow calmly in the way you look being at his mercy. “Aren’t I?”

Your jaw practically hangs at his words. Is he... Playing the bad guy now?

Or was he really… not the opposite of the hero?

He sees the shiver you try so hard to suppress and smirks at that, clearly satisfied with your reaction, “What’s wrong, sunshine? Finally realize that the man you’ve been dating isn’t the hero you've obsessing over?” He chuckles.

“i… i knew it—”

“You didn’t,” he says, his tone suddenly becoming cool and firm.

Wriothesley leans forward, pressing into you so that you’re smashed between him and the wall. His hand suddenly comes up, cupping your jaw so that he tilts your chin up to look directly into his eyes.

“If you’d known, you’d never have come within twenty feet of me. You’d never have been alone with me or spent a single night in our bed.”

He's right. And you hate it. You feel betrayed, lied to, even.

It makes you rethink your life choices.

You've gotten too comfortable with him that you didn't even think about him being the villian. You've gotten too close while you were being a complete idiot.

“you hid it.”

Wriothesley laughs, the sound almost sounding cold, “of course I hid it, sunshine. I wasn’t going to just come strutting in wearing a big, red sign saying ‘look at me, I’m a bad guy!’ was I?”

You clench your fists together, “you tricked me.”

“Tricked? No.” He shakes his head slightly. “I simply… left out key details.”

“Why?”

“ah, there it is.” He steps back, giving you space to breath, to recollect your thoughts.

“why? Because the hero isn't a hero. He started all of this destruction. Why? To get fame, recognition, power, and to be seen, to look like he's doing something when he's not.” He lets out all in one breath, and you lips part again.

“four years ago when the building almost fell on you? He did that, on purpose. then saved you to make it look like he's the one that everyone needs.”

What the hell?

“Wriothesley, we were strangers to each other four years ago. How did you know?” You don't hesitate to step closer to get more answers out of him, but he only stares at you.

You swallow thickly when he draws infront of you once again, “i did this all for you, love. I-i will do everything in my power to stop him, i will kill him so you wouldn't get hurt—”

“Okay, fucker. Out of my way,” Elias, the ’hero’, suddenly barks, and without warning, a gunshot rings out. The bullet pierces through Wriothesley's shoulder, causing him to flinch and stagger backwards.

Your eyes widen in horror as you watch the scene unfold. "Wriothesley!" you cry out, watching as he turns around despite the injury and charges towards Elias.

Despite the pain he must be in, Wriothesley doesn't relent. Ignoring the gunshot wound, he barrels towards Elias with unmatched determination, closing the distance between them.

"Bastard," Wriothesley manages to grit out as he collides with Elias, knocking him off his feet and sending them both crashing to the ground.

You don't hesitate to rush forward, with adrenaline fueling your actions, you move quickly towards them as they roll dangerously close to the edge of the roof.

"Stop!" you shout, your voice filled with desperation. "You'll fall!”

And surely enough, Your two hand clamps down on Wriothesley's, desperately grasping onto anything you can to prevent him from plunging off the edge.

Meanwhile, Elias grips Wriothesley's leg, using his strength to anchor him in place. The three of you hang there, suspended over the city, Wriothesley's body along with Elias’s dangling in the air.

“Sweetheart—”

“shut the fuck up I'm not letting go.” They're both too heavy, the feel of his fingers slipping away from yours increases everytime you try to pull them up.

Elias is purposely pulling Wriothesley's leg down to drop them both, your lips quiver, crying when two of his fingers slip now.

“hey,” his voice is soothing when he calls for you.

“at least… i protected you till the very end, right?” He tries smiling but it only makes the lump in your throat grow.

“i love you.”

“Wriothesley!”

…

“Wriothesley—!” You gasp harshly when you open your eyes so wide, finding that your hand was already reaching out for nothing.

You rest your hand on your chest before leaning back on your seat.

“are you okay?” The newscaster, the friend you made, offers you her handkerchief so you could swipe the sweat off your face.

“i think… continuesly searching about this, is making you stressed.” She points out, looking at the papers and drawings splayed out on your desk.

More theories of the disappearances of the hero and villian. Not their death. Their bodies were never found.

“it's been a year.”

The realization is like a punch to the gut as you bring a sweaty palm to rub at your temples.

“This is not over.” You whisper, more to yourself than to her. “We got no more trouble. No more heroic or bad guy news. The world is back to normal, almost like they never existed huh?”

Never existed.

She then suddenly gasps, which catches you off gaurd, “are engaged??” She eyes at the gem resting on your left ring finger.

The ring you found in one of his jacket pockets when you sorted his things out.

“yeah…” you decide to drawl out before sitting upright on your seat.

“now, if you'll excuse me, i got work to do.”

You're never going to stop searching, to find another answer of the question; 'why?'

Even if it will mean risking your life this time.

#Wriothesley #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin fluff #genshin angst #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley fluff #wriothesley angst #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #fanfic #wriothesley #genshin wriothesley #wriothesley genshin

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ynsbarbbb · 6 months ago

Text

love me harder | m. verstappen

hypothesis - max is on the brink of losing you. however, after a fatal accident…

pairing - max verstappen x fem!driver!reader

[fic is inspired by “love me harder” by ariana grande ft. the weeknd

“baby, in the moment, you’ll know this is, something bigger than us and beyond bliss”

“could you just look at me?” you yelled as max just kept walking a few steps ahead of you.

“can’t. race is about to start.”

stepping into a quicker pace you place yourself in front of max and the garage door, “when was the last time you told me you loved me?”

your eyes searched his face, desperately trying to find a glimpse of the max that you knew, the max you fell in love with, the max you married. the hand you placed on his chest, you could feel the steady rhythmic thump of his heart.

“you really want to do this now?”

“yes! i never see you anymore!”

max scoffed, eyes rolling as he looked back down at his phone, “sorry that i’m busy.”

your hand fell back to your side, “i’m busy too max, yet i still try.”

he nodded his head, eyes not lifting from the rectangular square. you sighed, your hands landing on your hips. is this what you’ve become now?

“is our marriage still worth fighting for, max?”

he looked up. eyes piercing through yours. you cannot believe the words just left your mouth, but it felt relieving to finally utter the words that has been haunting you for weeks.

“i’m not doing this with you right now, y/n,” max steps around you, “good luck with your race.”

it was a millisecond.

you missed the turn by a millisecond and hamilton came crashing into you, sending your right wing and two tires flying. the car skidding across the track and landed upside down.

the force of the impact shoved your head against the steering wheel, hard, bouncing back against the seat.

damage had been done. to you and your car.

to lewis’ as well.

unbeknownst to max, who was in the lead, adrenaline coursing though his veins at the thought of his fourth podium for the season.

he was thriving, the car succumbing to his every command. the engine roaring sending shivers throughout his whole body.

the grin on his face turned devilish. he’s so close.

“max,” christians voice in his ears broke his train of thought, but his eyes never once lost sight of the track in front of him.

“the car’s doing great, no need to worry. podium is secure,” max declared excitingly. he took the turn, groaning at the strain it took on his body.

“though, sainz is on my tail the whole fucking time.”

christian sighed, not at all what max had expected, but he couldn’t be bothered by his team principal’s pms at the moment.

“max, there was a crash.”

another turn, another groan.

sainz could be spotted in max’ peripheral vision. he pushed the car harder, engine roaring, sending max flying away from carlos.

“who crashed?” he asked as he fiddled with the buttons on the wheel, checking if everything is still steady. he has at least seven more laps to go.

“y/n.”

dead silent.

heavy thick as your name registered in his mind. the grin that has been on his face had been wiped down. his lips sticking to his teeth.

“max?” christian asked, waiting a few moments. there was no response from the dutch.

he felt as if his body went numb, limb for limb. his arms felt wonky - not like the grip he had on the wheel mere moments ago. his breathing became shallow, his lungs struggling to capture enough oxygen, his brain malfunctioning.

next thing he knew he was crashing into sandbags.

the impact knocking sense back into him. sand dust flying everywhere.

“max!” christian exclaimed, “are you injured?”

“how’s she? is she alive?” max frantically asked. you didn’t have a choice - you had to be alright. you couldn’t be hurt, max would loose his head if you where. who crashed into you? how hard was the impact?

max got out of the car, “christian, fucking answer me!”

the line was silent for a couple of moments, “she’s stable. unconscious, but stable. no further news yet. she has been rushed to the ER.”

cars blasted past him, deafening noise drumming his ears.

“i need to get to her.”

“max, the race -“

“fuck the race, that’s my fucking wife!”

the doors of the ER bursted open, a very sweaty, and breathless max stood there, his eyes frantically looking around for anyone who could assist him.

he still had his suit on, christian hot on his trail.

“y/n, i need to know where y/n verstappen is,” he asked, accent thick as he slapped his hands on the receptionist desk.

she looked up at him, “any relation?”

max scoffed, “my wife.”

her fingers made quick work on the keyboard, “your wife is in surgery.”

max’ shoulders slumped and christian took hold of it, shooting a quick thanks to the nurse and led him in another direction. he swiped his hands though his hair, pulling at it, feeling his frustration grow and bubble at the bottom of his throat.

he could scream.

max paced the hallway, up and down. maybe minutes - maybe hours. he didn’t know. all he did know was that he’s staying.

why didn’t he tell you he loved you. with every fibre of his being he loved you. he craved you, constantly. the thought of you was all that he needed to survive - but knowing that you were his wife, made him whole.

you were the person who stood by him whilst he was working through his troubles with his father. on the nights when fear surrounded him, the comforting hand of you, his wife, brought him peace. on the days when he was on his happiest, it was on the days he spent with you.

you made him. you showed him to be max verstappen.

his wife.

news spread around the paddock, like a wild fire. sky sport tv airing out to fans and viewers to keep you in their prayers and thoughts.

some of your and max’ closest friends took off straight away to the hospital, supporting max even though he didn’t even acknowledge them.

they were still there.

an apology from lewis was sent out world wide, and he even made an appearance to max, but the dutch only glared at him, taking hold of his collar, making his friends jump and take hold of max.

“if she doesn’t make it out of here, you’ll regret ever setting foot on a paddock again. i’ll kill you.”

his voice was icy as he spat the words at lewis, baring his teeth. daniel stepped in between the two and pushed max back by his chest.

max’ eyes never left lewis’ retreating from.

“verstappen, y/n.”

max was in front of the doctor in a second, his eyes pleading his for good news. the doctor smiled at him and gave him what he was searching for.

“she’s asleep, but she’s an extreme fighter. you’ve got no worries, mr verstappen.”

he swore he could cry.

the doctor told him the room you were in and max wasted no time rushing towards it.

he searched the numbers above the doors for room one-o-one. his number. a bit of pride bursting in his chest, fate really had put you two together.

max stepped into the room and his heart broke.

machines connected to your heart, the beeping sound being the only indication that you are in fact alive. various cuts and bruises formed along your face. a neck brace adorned. oxygen mask on your beautiful face.

max stifled a sob as he crashed into a seat near your bed, scooting closer and taking hold of your hand. his thumb drawing patterns on your knuckles.

even in your unconscious mind your body still knew that it was your max, the heart monitor speeding up slightly.

it caused him to chuckle, “mijn schatje, mijn alles, i am so sorry. this should’ve never happened to you.”

he squeezed your palm, pressing a tender kiss to the flesh, “fight, stay strong for me, yeah? so that i can love you right this time.”

a gentle knock at the door roused max from his sleep. his hand was still tucked in yours.

max turned towards the door, lando stood there.

a soft smile on his face with a gym bag in his hand, “mate, i brought you some clothes - the suit can not be comfortable.”

he chuckled and motioned for his muppet friend to come in. lando placed the bag by the door and walked closer to stand next to max. he placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“how’s the missus?”

max looked at you, a lump the size of a bull frog lodged itself in his throat, “she’s good, doc said she’s a real fighter.”

“she is a verstappen, ey?” lando nudged max’ shoulder who just chuckled in response. he felt guilty, ashamed, contrast to who he was. he shouldn’t have had to treat his wife like shit. you just wanted to know he loves you.

“look, mate, don’t beat yourself up about what happend, see this as a new beginning.”

max nodded, “she just wanted me to say that i love her. shit, i should’ve just said it to her. the crash-“

“is not your fault, you couldn’t have possibly predicted an accident to happen.”

he shook his head and looked at the bag by the door, “i’m going to change, would you mind maybe staying here. i don’t want to leave her alone.”

“yeah, of course mate.”

two weeks later

“don’t strain yourself so much, schat,” max’ voice was gentle as he looked at your from his seat on the couch. within mere moments he stood in front of you, large palms pressed to your hips to help you walk the last few remaining steps.

this last couple of weeks changed. your marriage changed. max changed.

he was waiting on you hand and foot, even though you have told him multiple times that certain things you can do on your own, he still insisted.

the one noticeable change for yourself and everyone surrounding you was the fact that max openly, whenever he got the chance told you he loved you.

whether it be when you’re making dinner, doing dishes, walking beside him on the paddock - he’d say he loves you with a kiss pressed to your temple. it was and still is absolute bliss.

your recovery went by fast, splendid as your doctor had put it. with time and patience, he said, you’d be back on the track in no time.

when your socked feet took the last step, max couldn’t help the face splitting grin that adorned his face.

“look at you go, speedy,” he smiled as he took hold of your head and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. speedy. the nickname max had dubbed you the moment you overtook him when you first met.

speedy. the nickname max had dubbed you the moment you stole his heart.

speedy. the nickname max had used in his vows the moment you took his last name.

max made sure that you didn’t strain yourself too much in the recovery process, he treated you like you were his fine china, bubble wrapping your heart and by God, swearing that he’d never let his actions and words ever hurt you again.

he poured so much love into you. you practically glowed in comparison to when the argument had occurred.

his love.

his wife.

max made sure you knew how much he adored you, loved you, craved you.

“ik hou van je, mijn schat.”

and you knew he did.

fin.

#charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #world championships 2024 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #f1 x reader #f1 2024 #x reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo

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harrysfolklore · 6 months ago

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home hero - charles x reader

gif by @princemick <33

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Monaco is Charles' home. Growing up, he had watched the Grand Prix from the balconies and rooftops, dreaming of the day he would stand atop the podium. Each year, the pressure mounted as he came so close, only to have victory slip through his fingers.

Today felt different. There was a determined glint in his eye this morning as he kissed you goodbye and headed to the track. You could tell he was ready, more focused than ever before. You had to believe this was his year.

"Are you nervous?" you asked, leaning against the kitchen counter asyou watched him get everything he needed before heading out.

"More than usual," he admitted, flashing you a quick smile,"But I feel good. I have a good feeling about today."

"You’ve got this, Charles. I believe in you," you walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you," he hugged you tightly, resting his chin on top of your head.

"You'd still be amazing," you said, looking up at him,"But I'm glad I get to be here with you."

You arrived at the circuit, the familiar roar of engines filling your ears as you made your way to the paddock. You found your usual spot in the Ferrari garage, the team bustling around with last-minute preparations. You exchanged nervous smiles with the crew, all of you hoping for the same outcome.

You watched as Charles went through his pre-race routine, meticulously checking everything himself even though he trusted his team completely. He looked up at you and smiled, his nervous eyes softening the moment they landed on you.

"Hey, come here," he called softly, waving you over.

You walked over, taking his gloved hand in yours. "You’re going to do great, you know that, right?"

"I just," he sighed, "Really want that win, you know? Not just for me, but for my family, my friends, for us," you smiled fondly at his words, "This is my home and everyone believes in me, I don't want to keep letting them down."

"Charles, you've never let anyone down," you squeezed his hand, "You've given everything you have, every time and that's why everyone believes in you. No matter what happens today, you're already a champion in our eyes."

"You're too sweet," he teased with a small smile, pecking your lips quickly, "I need to go. I'll see you after the race."

"Be safe out there," you said, giving him one last lingering kiss.

You watched as he made his way to the car, taking a deep breath before climbing in. The race was about to begin, and the anticipation was palpable. You found your seat in the garage, eyes glued to the screen, heart pounding with every lap.

As the race progressed, it was clear that Charles was driving with everything he had. Lap after lap, he maintained his position and defended his lead against the competition.

With only a few laps to go, the tension in the garage was at an all-time high. You could barely breathe, every fiber of your being focused on Charles and the car.

And then, it happened. Charles crossed the finish line and the checkered flag was waved, securing his first win at the Monaco Grand Prix. The garage erupted in cheers, and you felt tears of joy streaming down your face.

He did it. He actually did it.

Before you even knew what was happening, you ran to the pit wall, heart soaring with pride as you watched Charles climb out of the car, his face a mixture of disbelief and pure elation. He waved to the crowd, taking in the moment before making his way over to the barrier, his eyes searching for you.

You pushed through the crowd, your heart racing as you made your way to him. When he finally saw you, his face lit up with the brightest smile you'd ever seen.

"Charles!" you called out, your voice cracking with emotion.

"We did it!" he shouted, pulling you into his arms and hugging you tightly, his voice full of joy and relief.

"You did it," you corrected, laughing through your tears. "I'm so proud of you!"

"I couldn't have done it without you," he said, pressing his forehead against yours. "Fuck! I can't believe this is real."

You kissed him, a sweet and lingering kiss that held all the words you couldn't say in that moment. When you pulled back, you saw the love and gratitude in his eyes, and it made your heart swell with even more pride.

"Now go stand on top of the podium, you deserve it."

The celebrations were in full swing as it was time for the podium. Charles was greeted with cheers and applause from the team, his family, and the fans who had supported him through thick and thin. The Monegasque flag waving proudly above him.

The national anthem played, and you watched as tears of pride and joy rolled down Charles' cheeks. This was the moment he had dreamed of, the moment he worked so hard for. And now, it was finally here.

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syoddeye · 1 month ago

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kinktober - day 07 - virgin

gaz x f!reader | 2.3k words cw: gaz pov, some manipulation/kyle isn’t the most well meaning man in this, implied pining lol, mutual masturbation, piv sex summary: kyle's lifelong best friend happens to mention she's a virgin. it's a good thing he's a gentleman. sort of. a/n: i intended to stick to my wc but then the voices (kyle) kept talking banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

Her bra hooks the back of her desk chair—lucky shot.

Kyle’s on a lucky streak, seems like. First, securing leave. A feat in and of itself. Second, successfully talking his way into staying at his best girl’s place. Third, though perhaps the most engineered, getting her not-quite-boyfriend to leave.

She was upset, of course. Cried into his shoulder for two days. She didn’t understand why Whatshisface had left so abruptly and stopped returning her messages. She bemoaned her return to sudden singleness and the barely-off-the-ground relationship. Kyle amused her. Comforted her. Assured her there was nothing she was missing out on.

(A leading statement. Makes targets keen to correct. She, being no different, immediately said—)

“Yes there is!”

“Doubt it. Matthew didn’t seem like one to carry particularly stimulating conversations.”

“His name was Michael, and let’s just say, I might as well convert and join a convent.”

Hook. “What do you mean by that?”

Line. Wiggling. “I just…I mean I’ve never…”

Come on. “Never what?”

“Fucked. Okay? I’ve never fucked someone.”

Sinker.

He thanked himself for acing every RTI course he’d taken, what with the journey his insides took at such an admission. Never in a million years did he think he’d get so lucky. He had wondered if he’d lost his chance ages prior, a lifetime ago.

And she said it all self-deprecatingly. She laughed at herself. But he watched her face fall.

Then, rise, tentatively, with his offer.

“Say the word, and I’ll save you from the sisters.”

Which led him here, her bra settling against a piece of furniture, a pair of fantastic tits spilling damn near his face.

Kyle lowers and buries his face into the cradle of her neck and shoulder. A moan slips from her mouth as he presses a kiss there, stubble rasping her skin. He grunts, teeth scraping and hands shoving up to palm at her chest. Thumbs swiping over her nipples, feeling them harden further.

Her honeyed voice in his ear, gasping softly. “Ah, Kyle.”

Kyle grins against her neck. So sensitive, so responsive. He cannot wait to hear what sort of sounds he’ll pry out of her.

He pulls back, meeting her half-lidded gaze with his own. Anticipating coiling in his stomach as his hands smooth up her thighs, then tuck under the waistband of her panties. Seeing no obvious distress or discomfort, he tugs them down, teeth resting on his bottom lip at the unveiling of her body. He groans at the sight of her coarse curls, he loves a woman with a bush, but his lips part at the sight of her pussy. It’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Another time, further down the road—he’ll ask her for a picture. Just for him.

“Won’t it be awkward?” She had asked.

“We’ve known each other since we could walk. What could be more natural?” He’d answered.

Kyle swallows thickly, coaxing her legs open through their squirming. Eating her up with just his eyes, stuck to the wet seam of her cunt.

He briefly considers diving right in, burying his mouth and nose until he suffocates, but he wants her worked up. Aching for it. So his eyes flick back to her tits, and his hands follow. He watches intently as he toys with her nipples, pinching and rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers. He doesn’t miss a single twinge of her brow or inhalation. She’s good for him the whole time, hands stuck at her sides. She’s already clutching the sheets like a lifeline.

Soon enough, her mouth’s caught in a perpetual gasp, and he sinks back down to capture it in a languid kiss. He allows her to take the lead, rewarding her eagerness by letting her dictate its duration, and his chest cracks at the soft sigh she gives him in turn. With her thoroughly relaxed, he experimentally rocks his hips, letting his clothed tip gingerly bump against her clit. The fingers on his back muscles tense and dig in, but the little shiver he feels pass through her chest into his makes him smile into her mouth.

He withdraws, tongue passing over his lips as he reclines. Breathing heavily, he tilts his head, palming his cock.

“Touch yourself. Show me how you like it.”

“Kyle,” she pouts. “That’s not—can’t you just…?”

“No can do, babe. Don’t want to make a mess of this, ‘least not yet,” he smirks, ignoring the small smack she delivers to his knee. “I want to see what you do. Everyone’s different.”

“Don’t remind me of how many people you’ve slept with.”

Attitude is a defense mechanism. A cute defense mechanism but a barrier all the same. He pulls further back, delighting in the deepening of her frown. She needs to learn.

“And you don’t give me that lip. Touch yourself. I know you know how. No way you’ve neglected that pretty pussy for so long.”

She huffs and complains a minute more but rewards his patience. One hand snakes down and tentatively rubs her clit, movements stiff, still shy, and tucks a finger into her hole. It’s adorable, the shallow plunge. It’s a miracle she’s ever gotten off before, what with how unsatisfying it looks compared to what Kyle knows he can give her. Will give her.

His focus shifts back to her face as he slowly discards his pants, needing to free his cock with the sounds her finger makes in her hole. He watches her eyes widen as it bobs free, tracking every move as he maneuvers atop the bed, stripping them off entirely.

“Like what you see, babe?”

“Y-Yeah.” The way she lifts her gaze seems mechanical.

Already leaking, his cock twitches in his palm on an upstroke. He hasn’t slept with a virgin in so long—he’d forgotten what that meld of hunger and curiosity looks like. She doesn’t look away at the slick sound of his pre spreading over his head under his thumb, nor when there’s an audible, wet suction around her finger. She bites her lip, eyes watering. Sweet thing. So close to grasping what she’s been missing.

“Add another.” She hesitates but complies, and he nearly comes watching the pinch of her face as she dips a second finger into pussy. “Ah, no. Keep looking at me, angel. That’s right. Focus on the feeling.”

And like that, slow and steady, he talks her into a third.

“It hurts.” she whines, despite the weak buck of her hips into her hand.

If you think that hurts sits on the curl of his tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth. The backs of his fingers are drenched in precome. More than once, he’s had to pause. “I know, but it’ll ease up. I’m bigger than two of your fingers.”

“Then why don’t you,” she gasps, eyes briefly fluttering shut. “Why don’t you use yours?”

He’d like to. Truly. The thought makes him dizzy. But that would require him to be a better man than he is, if only she’d brought this up four, five years earlier. His fingers can go another day.

“Because,” his jaw works. He’s well aware of the knife’s edge he walks. Everything he says before he’s inside her is a coin flip. “I don’t want my fingers to be the first part of me inside you, babe.”

Her eyes widen a fraction, and to his relief, she moans. “Fuck, Kyle, that’s…That’s so…”

“I know.” He grins.

She ends up stuffing her pussy with four fingers, the last digit tucks in without his urging. He stops her after her breath hitches. She pouts again.

“Shouldn’t I come first? Before–?”

“You’re wet enough, believe me,” He teases. It’s a little mean, but he’s impatient. He’s never been able to maintain the same stillness his job requires out of the field. “I think you’re ready. Feel ready?”

Kyle barely kills a smug smile as she firmly presses her lips together before finally eking out a yes, steady but thin. Her shoulders are loose, but her slick fingers curl nervously over her belly like she’s trying to hold herself together. Her eyes flicker with something she’s trying hard not to show, something just beneath the surface, but she keeps her face neutral.

The sense of satisfaction is a small thrill. Not from her answer but from knowing he’s got her this far.

He chucks her chin as it dips, lowering his own to keep their eyes level. “You know I’ll be gentle, right? As much as I can? You trust me, don’t you?” He makes a show of opening and rolling on the condom. It’s a small travesty, but he’ll get her on the pill soon enough. If anything, it makes her less likely to back out.

As she nods, he lays her back. Listens to her intently. “I know, I know.” She mumbles, but her eyes snap to his cock, its weight resting in the crease of her thigh.

“Don’t worry, relax.” he whispers, brushing his lips against hers, then pressing into a kiss. He takes advantage of a gasp to deepen it, moving his hips and adjusting his cock to let it slip over her folds. He groans, nudging her clit with its head. She’s soaking, radiating pure heat.

This is the part where he should reassure her, say “If it hurts too much, or if you want me to stop, tell me.” He doesn’t. He’s gone years thinking this was out of reach. Impossible. ‘Natural’, he told her. Same as ‘inevitable’, he thinks.

Bracing himself on one arm, he guides his cock to her hole, eyes drilling into where his tip disappears. Just a hint, enough to make sweat break out along his neck. Warmth flows from her sex, as inviting as a hearth. Notched, he starts to push in, fingers leaving his length to return to her clit. Standby mode for when—

“Shh, you’re alright,” it’s automatic when a pitiful whine escapes. He looks from her wide eyes to the crease between her brows and parted lips. “Fuck, it’s so good, babe. You’re alright.” He kisses her chin and jaw, the corners of her open maw, as another uncertain, wavering noise strikes high from her throat.

He pauses to kiss her deeply again, swallowing a few more gasps as he lets her adjust a bit. He toys with her clit, continuing his push. Her nails bite into his shoulders, and she whimpers a weak apology against his mouth that makes his chest ache and restraint slip. He burrows in a few inches all at once.

His sudden burst punches a loud, surprised sound out of her, one that puffs right past his ear. She pants against the shell, muttering over and over as she adjusts around him.

“Ohgodohgodohgod—“

He quiets her with more kisses, eventually getting her to take it down an octave and use her words.

His arm burns from flexing, muscles working to keep him partly hovering above her, sweat dripping from his brow. She’s so unbelievably tight, wet, and molten around his cock. It’s everything he’s wanted and more. A slice of heaven gifted to him, made for just him. No one else. She might go on to sleep with other people—hopefully not, if he plays this right—but he’s the one she will remember.

“Kyle…S’big,” she slurs, lips moving against his cheek.

“You’re alright,” he repeats with a chuckle, a sample of the loud, mad laugh he feels tickling his throat. Triumphant. “Talk to me. How else do you feel?”

“It didn’t—It’s…weird?” She echoes a delirious giggle, twinging when he shifts his weight. She doesn’t look too sure. “But…”

“But what?”

“Can you keep touching…y-yeah, like that.”

He smirks, kisses her, and hastens the circles on her clit. He decides he can grind for a bit and find every last inch he can claim. Slowly but surely, her breathing levels and her cunt gives up territory. Lets him in until his balls are flush with the cushion of her ass.

“There we go, look at that.” He pulls back slightly to admire where he ends, and she begins, the smell of sex and sweat dizzying. “No convent for you.”

She lets out a shaky breath, one hand letting go of him to scrub over her eyes in giddy disbelief. “Thank God.”

“Thank me.”

That gets him a swat, but the hand that strikes scrambles around his arm when he pulls out and snaps back in. Beyond that, there’s not much talking. Not much thinking, either. Rapture gradually twists her face, and he practically watches any traces of her earlier shyness and embarrassment fly out the window.

A frisson runs down her spine, a sharp, electric shudder that tells him he’s found the right spot. He adjusts accordingly, setting course to hit with each thrust, and rubs her clit in tandem. Her knees knock against his sides, pressing, mirroring her cunt’s clenching and fluttering.

“‘M close, Kyle, I’m close—”

“I know, can feel it. You’re strangling me, shit, you feel good—come on, angel.”

Every roll of his hips makes her moan and gasp, the sounds climbing higher and higher. His shoulders are numb where her nails hold on like the pain’s settled beneath the surface or fled from pleasure. When her legs dig into his side and hold, he drops closer again, speeding up his fingers to draw her even tighter around his cock.

His name leaves her mouth broken over the sharp edge of a wail as she comes hard, body spasming beneath him, squeezing the life out of him. She goes lax after a moment, save for her hands, still holding on with a feather-light strength. Her teary eyes crack open and dart across what must be an ugly look of conquest on his face. He wonders in the seconds before he fills the condom if she sees the devotion there, too, or if it’s eclipsed by all his coveting.

After, she thanks him with a kiss so tender, his cock stirs. Laying face to face, entangled and intertwined, she feels it against her thigh and laughs tiredly.

“You joking? You’re insatiable.”

Kyle stares hard, chest heaving at the fleeting but vivid image of her on her knees floating through his head.

“You have no idea.”

#sy kinktober #kinktober 2024 #gaz x reader #gaz x f!reader #kyle gaz garrick

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pucksandpower · 8 months ago

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Brake Balance

Charles Leclerc x mafiosa!Reader

Summary: something about the brake issues that Charles had to deal with in Bahrain just seems off … so you take matters into your own hands while your boyfriend is none the wiser

Warnings: depictions of violence and minor-character murder

You make your way through the paddock of the Bahrain International Circuit, weaving between team members and mechanics as they go about their pre-race routines. The energy in the air is electric, everyone buzzing with anticipation for the first race of the season later tonight.

You flash your paddock pass at security and head into the Ferrari garage, eyes scanning the organized chaos for the familiar mop of brown hair.

There he is, sitting in his red race suit that matches the iconic color of the Ferrari he drives, focused intently as his mechanics make some last minute adjustments. You walk up behind Charles and place your hands over his eyes.

“Guess who?” You say playfully.

Charles reaches up and removes your hands, a smile breaking across his face as he turns in his seat. “Ah, mon cœur! My favorite surprise.”

You lean down and kiss him softly. “How are things looking for today?”

“Good, good,” he nods. “The team had to change the left front brake duct exit deflector earlier, just as a precaution. But I’m feeling optimistic, the car has been solid all weekend. I think I might even be able to challenge Max for the win if everything goes to plan.”

His confidence makes you smile. Charles has been working so hard, both physically and mentally, to start this season strong. You know a win today would mean the world to him.

“I’ll be cheering the loudest when I see you on that top step today,” you say.

Charles grins. “We’ll see. Still have a race to get through first.”

You lean in to give him a quick kiss and head to the back of the garage so you’re out of the way. The mechanics are in full focus mode now, choreographing their dance around Charles’ car with practiced precision.

Charles goes through his usual pre-race routine — sips of water, reviewing data on the screens, and loosening up his muscles. He’s the picture of calm, but you know him well enough to see the coiled adrenaline thrumming just under the surface, ready to be unleashed once he settles into the cockpit.

The time comes to head out to the grid. Charles pauses before he puts his helmet on, meeting your gaze. You close the distance between you and cup his face in your hands, kissing his lips sweetly. Then you take the helmet from him and slide it gently into place, brushing your lips over the smooth surface where his would be.

“Be safe out there,” you say softly.

He nods, face disappearing behind the tinted visor, and climbs into the Ferrari. You watch as the car pulls away, weaving between other vehicles making their way to the starting grid. With a deep breath, you head deeper into the garage and take a seat next to Charles’ performance coach, Andrea. He hands you a headset so you can listen to Charles’ radio during the race.

“Let’s hope for a good one today,” Andrea says.

You nod, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you fit the headset over your ears. On the monitors, you see Charles lining up on the grid in P2 after the formation lap, Max Verstappen’s Red Bull beside him on the front row in P1. The lights go out and the cars leap forward, engines roaring to life. Charles gets a good start, but Max keeps the lead through the first few turns.

The pack of cars higher up on the starting grid stays bunched up through the first few turns, but then you notice Charles starting to fall back little by little. His lap time slows as Max opens up a gap in front.

“The car doesn’t feel right, something with the front end,” Charles says. Your brow furrows in concern.

Only a lap later, George Russell in the Mercedes overtakes Charles on turn 4. Then Perez in the other Red Bull breezes past not long after.

“Come on Charles, stay focused,” you murmur under your breath. But things only seem to be getting worse. Carlos battles with Charles and eventually gets by, which frustrates you to no end. Charles fighting his own teammate for position is the last thing you want to see.

“Something felt very wrong with this set, the fronts were locking up like crazy,” Charles reports over the radio. Your heart sinks. Andrea shakes his head, equally perplexed.

The issues continue to persist. “What’s going on with my front left?” Charles asks, audible tension in his voice. “I just cannot get out of front locking. Everywhere ...”

Xavi, his race engineer, replies calmly, “We have temperature imbalance, higher front left.”

“How much is the imbalance?” Charles asks.

“Around 100 degrees.”

You grimace. That kind of discrepancy could make the car undriveable. Sure enough, Charles continues to struggle. It’s clear he’s fighting with the car now rather than racing the drivers around him.

“My car is fully going to the right when I am braking. With this I cannot fight, it’s dangerous,” Charles says, frustration seeping into his tone. You chew your lip anxiously. The rational part of you wishes Charles would just retire the car before he gets himself hurt trying to wrestle with it. But you also know that’s never been in Charles’ nature — he’ll keep fighting until the very last lap, no matter what.

Lap after lap, Charles battles to keep the car under control. “I think we can forget about driving now. It’s pulling everywhere,” he finally concedes. For a brief moment, you wonder if he’ll pull into the pits and call it a day. But no, your boyfriend is never one to simply give up. After the radio, through sheer force of will, Charles somehow overtakes George to reclaim P4. You can only imagine how hard he must be having to fight to keep the car in the track.

In the end, it’s a disappointing P4 for Charles while his teammate makes it on the podium in P3. As Carlos is lead to the cooldown room with Max and Checo, you watch Charles, frustration etched across his face as he tugs off his helmet and balaclava. He doesn’t even glance your way before the mechanics descend on him to start looking over the car.

Clearly the brake issues have cost him any chance at challenging for the win today. Most other drivers would have given up even trying to reclaim P4. But not your Charles. Never your Charles. Your heart aches for him.

Charles gets led away swiftly for the usual post-race weighing and interviews. You know from his body language that he’s utterly deflated by today’s results.

While the reporters pepper him with questions, you pull out your phone and scroll through your contacts. Enough is enough — something is clearly not right with Charles’ car and you want answers.

Your finger hovers over the call button as you contemplate who to reach out to. The last thing you want is for Charles to have to fight against his own machine again. A solution needs to be found immediately, and you know just the person who can help.

With a determined nod, you press call and lift the phone to your ear, ready to get to the bottom of these brake issues once and for all.

***

The phone only rings once before a gruff voice answers. “Boss?”

“Hello, Gianluca,” you say. “I need you to do something for me.”

You go on to explain in detail the brake issues Charles faced during the race, how the problems started right after they replaced the left front brake duct exit deflector.

“I don’t think it was just bad luck,” you say. “Something seems off about the whole situation. I want you to look into it, see if anyone on Charles’ side of the garage could have tampered with his car.”

Gianluca is quiet for a moment. “Sabotage, you think?”

“Possibly. I just … I can’t shake this feeling that someone meant for this to happen to Charles’ car. He truly thought he could at least try to challenge Max for the win, then suddenly it’s like he’s driving an entirely different machine. Too much of a coincidence for my liking.”

“I’ll look into it boss, don’t you worry,” Gianluca says. “I’ll go through the team with a fine tooth comb, see if anything seems out of the ordinary. If someone did intentionally compromise Charles’ car, I’ll find out who and how.”

You let out a breath. “Thank you, Gianluca. Let me know as soon as you learn anything. Charles can’t afford issues like this again.”

“You got it. I’ll be in touch.”

The call ends and you lean back against the garage wall, gaze fixed unseeingly out across the pit lane. Your mind turns over the events of the race, Charles’ baffled frustration over the radio. He’s worked too hard for too long to have valuable points stolen away by something like this. If there is sabotage afoot within the team, you’ll get to the bottom of it.

A few days later you’re back in your study after flying home from Bahrain. A knock at the door interrupts your work and you call for them to enter. Gianluca steps in, an uncharacteristically grim look on his face.

“Boss,” he greets you. Wordlessly, he steps forward and places a thick manila folder on your desk. You flip it open, eyes scanning over photos, documents, even what looks like stills of CCTV footage. Gianluca remains silent, allowing you to take it all in.

“I went over every inch of security camera video from the Bahrain paddock and garage,” Gianluca finally says. “And I found something.”

He leans over your desk and flips to a page in the folder, tapping a finger on a freeze frame showing one of Charles’ mechanics.

“This is Tomaso, one of the brake technicians,” Gianluca explains. “I noticed him acting strange all race day. Fidgety. Nervous. He was trying to hide it but his body language gave it away.”

Your eyes narrow as you study the photo. There is a shifty, almost guilty look about the man as he glances over his shoulder.

“I watched him like a hawk after that,” Gianluca continues. “When the team went to change the brake duct exit deflector, that’s when I saw it happen.”

He flips to another page, this one showing screen captures of CCTV footage in the Ferrari garage a few hours before the race start. You can make out Tomaso slipping the replacement deflector into his pocket before taking out another piece and installing it in Charles’ car. Your blood turns cold.

“He tampered with the part,” Gianluca confirms grimly. “There’s no doubt in my mind he switched that deflector with a compromised one. Sabotage, just like you suspected.”

You sit back, shaking your head in disgusted disbelief. “Why? Why would he do this?”

Gianluca shrugs. “Hard to say for sure. Could be someone paid him off, wants to see Charles fail. But what I know for certain is that he meant to damage Charles’ car.”

You drum your fingers on your desk, thinking hard. This level of betrayal from someone Charles trusts, it’s unthinkable. An affront you won’t let stand.

“You’ve done excellent work, Gianluca,” you finally say, meeting his gaze. “Thank you for getting to the bottom of this. I’ll handle it from here.”

Gianluca nods. “Of course, boss. Let me know if you need anything else.”

He turns and leaves your study, closing the door quietly behind him. You lean back in your chair, fingers steepled under your chin. Your expression is stone, but internally your thoughts roil with anger. Tomaso will pay for this, you’ll see to that.

Charles has enough challenges to face without sabotage from his own team. Your resolve hardens — you won’t stop until justice is served and he can race with full confidence again. The treachery ends now.

***

After Gianluca leaves, your mind turns over what to do about Tomaso. The team flew straight from Bahrain to Saudi Arabia to prepare for the next race, so he’s out of your reach for now. Still, you won’t let him slip away that easily. You pick up your phone and call a trusted associate, instructing him to organize a surveillance team to keep constant eyes on Tomaso until you arrive in Jeddah yourself.

The days crawl by painfully slow as you wait to confront the saboteur. You resist the urge to call Fred Vasseur and have Tomaso removed from the team immediately — better to handle this yourself. Finally, it’s time to fly out for the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. Upon landing, your associate meets you at the airport.

“We have eyes on the target,” he reports. “He’s currently at the hotel bar, quite intoxicated.”

You nod curtly. “Good. Let’s pay him a visit.”

You’re led to the hotel and pointed towards the bar. Sure enough, there’s Tomaso, stumbling drunkenly out the door into the night. Now is your chance. You follow him down the street, waiting until he turns into a shadowy alley to make your move. In a flash you have him by the collar, shoving him against the brick wall.

“What the hell, let me go!” Tomaso slurs, trying to shove you off. But drinking has made him clumsy and weak.

“I don’t think so, Tomaso,” you reply coldly. “We need to have a little chat.”

His eyes widen in fear and confusion. You press on before he can respond.

“Let’s see, Tomaso Barbieri, born May 5th, 1992 in Turin. Moved to Maranello in 2021 to begin work as a mechanic with Scuderia Ferrari. Parents Lucia and Giacomo Barbieri, both schoolteachers. Sister Cecilia studying abroad in London.”

As you rattle off details about his personal life, Tomaso’s eyes grow wider and wider.

“What the hell, how do you know all that?” He stammers. “Who are you? Does Charles know the ugly truth about his girlfriend?”

You fix him with an icy stare. “Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is that I know exactly who you are, Tomaso. A mechanic for Ferrari … and apparently a master of espionage and sabotage in your spare time.”

Tomaso’s eyes dart wildly, still trying to make sense of the situation in his inebriated state. He attempts an unconvincing laugh.

“What are you talking about man? Sabotage? I think you’ve had too much to drink ...”

Your response is to slam him hard against the wall, causing him to grunt in pain. You lean in close, anger simmering in your eyes.

“Let’s cut the bullshit, Tomaso. I know what you did in Bahrain, switching out the brake duct deflector to sabotage Charles’ car. Did you think you could get away with it? That there wouldn’t be consequences?”

Up close, you can see the color drain from his face, eyes wide with fear. He tries to retain some composure.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeats weakly. “I would never sabotage Charles’ car, I want him to win ...”

You slam him against the wall again, cutting off his lies.

“I said, enough bullshit!” you snarl. “We have you on video. We saw everything. We know you pocketed the real deflector and installed a defective one instead.”

He is trembling now, any hint of drunkenness replaced by sobering fear.

“Please,” he whimpers pathetically. “I’ll do anything, just please let me go. I made a mistake ...”

You shake your head in disgust. “A mistake? You betrayed Charles’ trust and tried to ruin his race out of what? Jealousy? Greed?”

Tomaso says nothing, eyes downcast in shame. You take a breath and continue in a low, menacing tone.

“Here are your options. One: you go directly to Vasseur first thing in the morning and resign from Ferrari immediately. You will leave the team and ensure you are never so much as in the same country as Charles again. Two: I deal with you myself, in a much less pleasant manner. The choice is yours, Tomaso. What’s it going to be?”

He meets your steely gaze again, jaw clenched. “I can’t just quit,” he says hoarsely. “My job is my life. You might as well just kill me.”

You purse your lips and shake your head. “I was afraid you’d say that. Very well.”

In one swift motion you draw your gun from its concealed holster and press the barrel firmly under Tomaso’s chin. He recoils in terror, plastered back against the wall.

“Last chance,” you say calmly. “Walk away from Ferrari and never look back, or your days end tonight in this alley.”

Sweat drips down his brow as the gun digs harder into his throat. His eyes are saucers of fear, flitting between your steely gaze and the weapon poised to end his life.

“Well?” You ask after a long silence. “What’s it going to be?”

Tomaso swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing against the gun barrel. When he speaks, his voice is a terrified croak.

“I … I won’t quit. I can’t.” He closes his eyes in resignation, awaiting his fate.

You click your tongue in disappointment. “That’s unfortunate. I wish it hadn’t come to this.”

Your finger tightens almost imperceptibly on the trigger …

“Wait, wait!” Tomaso cries out, hands raised in desperation. “I’ll do it, I’ll quit! Just please, don’t hurt me!”

You pause, gun still aimed steadily at his throat. “And why should I believe you now?”

He swallows hard, eyes brimming with tears. “I swear, I’ll resign first thing tomorrow. You’ll never see me near the team again. Just let me go, I’m begging you!”

You consider him coldly for a moment before lowering the gun. Tomaso sags back against the wall in relief. But you’re not done with him yet.

“Who paid you?” You demand. “Who put you up to sabotaging Charles’ car?”

The blood drains from his face again. “I can’t tell you that. They’ll kill me, and my family ...”

In a flash the gun is back at his throat, your grip like iron on his shirt collar.

“I assure you, I can do much worse than they ever could,” you say menacingly. “Now give me a name, or you can say goodbye.”

Tomaso shakes uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face. You can see the internal struggle, debating which is the lesser evil — defying you or those he conspired with. Finally, he slumps in defeat and leans in close, voice barely a whisper.

“It was ...”

He utters a name directly into your ear. Your eyes widen briefly in surprise before narrowing again. You release Tomaso and take a step back, processing this new information.

“I see,” you say slowly. You nod over your shoulder and two of your associates emerge from the shadows.

“Get him out of my sight,” you order. They grab Tomaso roughly by the arms. He sags between them, the fight gone out of him completely. You fix him with an icy stare.

“My men will escort you to the airport,” you inform him. “You will be on the first flight out of this hemisphere. And you are never to go near Ferrari or Charles again — don’t even think about trying to contact the team to explain yourself. As far as they will be concerned, you simply resigned. Am I clear?”

Tomaso nods wordlessly, defeated. The men begin dragging him away towards a waiting black SUV.

“Oh, and Tomaso?” You call after him. He glances back warily. “If I ever see or hear of you so much as setting foot in a paddock again, you won’t get a second chance. You’ll simply disappear. Permanently.”

The color drains from his face one final time. Then he is shoved into the back of the SUV, the door slamming shut behind him. You watch impassively as the vehicle drives off into the night, carrying the saboteur away for good.

Or so he thinks.

Unbeknownst to Tomaso, you have contacts everywhere, including at his destination. The second he steps off the plane, thinking he’s escaped your wrath, your local associates will be waiting. And his life will be ended swiftly and permanently, as promised. You don't make idle threats after all.

Betrayal of this magnitude must be punished, no matter how far Tomaso runs. The message will be clear — cross you, and nowhere on Earth will be safe. You've given the order, and your associates are nothing if not ruthlessly efficient. By the time the sun rises, there will be one less threat to Charles’ success. The sabotage ends here and now. You'll see to that personally, no matter the cost.

For a moment you simply stand alone in the dark alley, processing everything. This is bigger than you initially realized. Tomaso was clearly just a pawn, the sabotage orchestrated by someone higher up the chain — someone with enough power and influence to scare a man into risking his career and life.

Your jaw clenches as you think about Charles being targeted like this, not only being robbed of a deserved finish but also put in danger as collateral. Well, it ends now. The shadowy orchestrator thinks they can get away with playing games in the dark? They’re about to realize just how big of a mistake they’ve made.

Now that you have a name, you can start unraveling the web, tracing every thread back to find where it leads. And when you do find the spider at the center? You’ll make sure they can never endanger Charles again. For good.

Satisfied with this plan, you straighten your dress and exit the alley onto the brighter streets. Time to put your considerable resources to work. Phone records, financials, travel records — you’ll dig through it all, leave no stone unturned.

And you have a feeling the name Tomaso gave you is only the first thread. This goes deeper. But it doesn’t matter. You’ve dealt with far more dangerous criminal elements before. These shadow games don’t scare you. You’ll keep following the threads until you reach the source, uprooting the entire enterprise in the process.

By the time you reach your car, your phone is already buzzing with incoming calls and updates from your associates. They know the drill by now — when you give the word, they mobilize into action immediately, utilizing the full extent of your influence and power.

For you, they’ll tap every resource, call in every favor owed. Because you protect what’s yours at all costs. And Charles? He’s under your protection now, whether he knows it or not. So for his sake, you’re going to find the ones trying to undermine him, and you’re going to tear out the threat root and stem. Permanently.

Let them keep playing their games for now, oblivious to the axe hanging over their heads. They’ll find out soon enough that nobody crosses you and gets away with it. And when that time comes, no mercy will be shown. No loose ends left to unravel.

Time to remind them exactly why your reputation precedes you in certain circles, why your name is uttered only in hushed whispers. They’ll regret the day they dared threaten someone you care about. You’ll see to that personally.

With your jaw set in determination, you climb into the idling car. Time to go hunting.

***

Two days after dealing with Tomaso, you make your way through the Jeddah Corniche Circuit paddock towards the Ferrari motorhome.

Your stiletto heels click along the pavement and you glance down, frowning slightly at the flecks of blood still staining the pointed toes of your red soles. Such a shame about these Louboutins, you really love this pair. But a bit of blood is a small price to pay for protecting Charles, especially after personally dealing with the orchestrator who had been paying Tomaso off.

You had tracked them down and made sure they could never threaten Charles’ success again. Subtly, you crouch down and wipe at the stains, managing to remove the worst of it.

Satisfied, you straighten and continue on your way. The familiar bright red motorhome comes into view and you sweep inside, immediately spotting Charles standing with some team members. His face lights up when he sees you, excusing himself to rush over.

“Mon amour, you made it!” He exclaims, enveloping you in a tight hug. You melt against him, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss seeing you race for anything,” you reply, pecking his lips sweetly.

Charles takes your hand, leading you to a quiet corner where you can talk. “I missed you so much while you were away,” he says. “But I’m so glad you’re here now.”

You smile and stroke his cheek. “Me too, darling. But I’m here now and I’ll be cheering the loudest for you all race.”

Charles’ grin falters a bit. “It’s been a strange few days actually. Tomaso, one of my mechanics, just up and quit in the middle of the week. No explanation or anything.”

You school your features into a look of surprise. “Really? That’s so odd.”

Charles nods. “Very weird timing to just resign like that. But maybe it’s for the best if his heart wasn’t fully in it anymore.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” you agree. “The team is better off without any negativity.”

Before Charles can reply, Andrea enters the motorhome. “Charles, time for some quick physio before the race.”

Charles sighs but nods, giving you a swift kiss before following Andrea out. You watch him go fondly before making your way trackside to the Ferrari garage. The mechanics are in race mode, voices terse and movements precise as they make final adjustments on Charles’ car.

You stay back, letting them work, thoughts drifting back to everything you did to get to this point. A small price to pay to ensure Charles can race with a fair chance again.

Finally it’s time for Charles to get in the car. You approach as he’s putting on his helmet and balaclava, stealing a tender kiss that he returns happily. Then you lift the helmet and slide it gently into place, brushing your lips softly over the smooth surface where his lips would be. Your ritual.

“Be safe out there,” you murmur. Charles squeezes your hand, then lowers himself into the cockpit. You watch tensely as the car pulls away, the lights of the circuit glittering against the dark night sky.

In the garage you pace anxiously throughout the race, listening to the radio chatter. Again Charles qualified P2, behind Max Verstappen’s Red Bull. But this time, you have no sabotage to worry about. The Ferrari proves fast and consistent all race, not quite keeping pace with the Red Bull but allowing Charles to maintain P2 smoothly.

The SF-24 doesn’t have the speed to challenge Max, but there’s no issues, no sudden grip loss or components failing. Your shoulders finally uncoil with relief as Charles crosses the line to take P2, securing a podium finish.

The garage explodes into cheers and applause as Charles pulls into parc fermé. He’s beaming as he climbs from the car, pulling off his gloves and balaclava. You run over to the barriers and throw your arms around him ecstatically as soon as he nears.

“I’m so proud of you!” You exclaim. Charles hugs you back tightly.

“Thank you, mon cœur,” he says warmly. “It felt good to finally have a clean race again.”

You just smile knowingly, heart bursting with joy at seeing Charles on the podium where he belongs. During the celebrations, he keeps meeting your gaze in the crowd, smiling and pointing down to you in the crowd of red. As he sprays champagne with Max and Checo, he looks utterly elated and at peace. No frustration or disappointment, just the satisfaction of a hard fought race with the result he deserved.

Afterwards, in the privacy of Charles’ room, he takes you into his arms again. “I don’t know what changed or why, but the car just felt right this weekend,” he says. “It makes me so optimistic for the rest of the season.”

You stroke his face gently. “You deserve it. All your hard work is paying off.” Inside, you allow yourself a small, satisfied smile. Charles doesn’t need to know just how much work went on behind the scenes to get here. He only needs to focus on driving his heart out, and securing the championships you know he’s destined for. The rest is simply details.

“Thank you again for being here,” Charles murmurs, pulling you close. “Having your support means everything to me.”

You rest your head on his shoulder contentedly. “Always, my love. I’ll be right by your side.” And you mean that with every fiber of your being. No matter what happens going forward, whoever tries to interfere or stand in Charles’ way, they’ll have to go through you first.

You won’t let anyone toy with Charles’ performance and safety again. The lesson has been sent — Charles is untouchable now. Dare to threaten the success that is his, and you’ll come for what’s theirs.

But Charles doesn’t need to carry that burden. He just needs to keep his head held high and drive his heart out. You’ll handle the rest. It’s the least you can do for the man you love more than life itself.

So as Charles holds you close, you silently promise to always shield him from the ugly underbelly that lurks beneath the glitz and glamour of Formula 1.

He gives so much of himself already in pursuit of greatness. Let others vie for power and influence through dirty tricks and mind games. That’s not Charles’ way, which is why you’ll ensure he remains untainted. For him, you’d walk through fire without a second thought.

So really, what’s a little blood on your Louboutins in the grand scheme of things? A man like Charles Leclerc deserves that and so much more. And you’re going to give it to him, no matter the cost.

Let them keep playing their games in the shadows. Little do they know, you’ve already checkmated them all.

1K notes · View notes

tarotwithavi · 9 months ago

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Saturn in houses

In astrology, Saturn signifies your sense of duty, responsibilities, setbacks, obstacles and karmic lessons.

For entertainment purposes only

Saturn in first house

Saturn's presence here can make the individual serious, disciplined, and responsible. They may appear mature beyond their years, with a reserved demeanor. They might have a lean or bony physical structure. Individuals with Saturn in the first house may struggle with self-esteem or self-worth issues. They might feel a sense of inadequacy or pressure to meet high standards, both internally and externally imposed. Saturn's influence can affect the health, particularly the skeletal system, joints, teeth, and skin. These individuals may be prone to ailments like arthritis, dental issues, or skin problems. However, with proper discipline and care, they can maintain good health. Saturn's placement here can bestow a strong sense of ambition and determination. They are willing to work hard and endure challenges to achieve their goals. However, they may also face delays or obstacles along the way, which teach them patience and resilience. Saturn in the first house can indicate a cautious approach to relationships. These individuals may take their time to trust others and establish deep connections. They seek stability and commitment in partnerships but may struggle with expressing emotions openly. These individuals are often drawn to professions that require discipline, responsibility, and long-term planning. They may excel in fields such as management, law, engineering, or politics. However, they may face challenges or delays in their career progression, which require perseverance to overcome. Saturn's influence here can also lead to a deep introspective nature and a quest for spiritual understanding. These individuals may seek meaning and purpose in life through self-discipline, meditation, or religious practices.

Saturn in second house

Saturn in the second house often indicates a serious approach towards finances. It can bring financial stability through hard work, discipline, and long-term planning. However, there may also be delays or obstacles in financial matters, teaching the individual important lessons about managing resources wisely. Saturn here instills a strong sense of values and principles related to money, possessions, and personal worth. The individual may place great importance on security, frugality, and practicality in their approach to wealth accumulation. This placement can sometimes create tension or responsibilities within the family regarding financial matters. There may be a sense of duty towards family members, especially in providing financial support or taking care of elderly relatives. Saturn's influence can lead to cautious or reserved communication, especially regarding matters related to money and possessions. The individual may be careful with their words and prefer to speak only when necessary. Individuals with Saturn in the second house may struggle with feelings of inadequacy or low self-esteem, particularly in relation to their financial status or abilities. However, with effort and perseverance, they can gradually build a stronger sense of self-worth and confidence. While Saturn's influence may initially manifest as limitations or obstacles, it also rewards diligent effort and persistence. Over time, the individual can achieve material success and financial security through disciplined work and responsible management of resources. There may be a tendency to be conservative or cautious with money, preferring safe and stable investments over risky ventures. This approach can lead to slow but steady growth in wealth over time. Saturn in the second house often indicates karmic lessons related to finances, values, and self-reliance. The individual may need to confront and overcome challenges in these areas to fulfill their soul's evolutionary journey.

Saturn in third house

The third house represents communication, siblings, courage, and self-expression. Saturn here can indicate challenges or delays in communication. It may suggest a reserved or serious demeanor in speech. Relationships with siblings may be characterized by responsibility, duty, or even distance. Saturn in the third house enhances determination and discipline in communication and intellectual pursuits. Individuals may have a structured approach to learning and may excel in subjects that require focus and perseverance, such as mathematics or technical fields. Saturn's presence in the third house can bring obstacles and challenges in matters related to communication, short-distance travel, and interactions with neighbors or relatives. These challenges may serve as opportunities for personal growth and maturity, but they can also lead to feelings of frustration or limitation. Individuals with Saturn in the third house tend to have a practical and realistic approach to life. They may be cautious in their decision-making and prefer to rely on logic rather than intuition. This placement encourages careful planning and attention to detail in all areas of life. Saturn's placement in the third house can indicate a sense of responsibility towards siblings or younger relatives. These individuals may take on the role of a mentor or guide for their siblings, offering support and practical advice when needed. Saturn in the third house instills a strong work ethic and a willingness to put in the necessary effort to achieve one's goals. Individuals with this placement are likely to be diligent and hardworking, especially in areas related to communication, writing, or teaching. Success and recognition may come later in life for individuals with Saturn in the third house. They may need to overcome various obstacles and challenges before achieving their goals, but the rewards are likely to be long-lasting and well-deserved.

Saturn in fourth house

Saturn's placement in the fourth house often brings a sense of responsibility and seriousness to matters related to home and family. It may indicate a person who takes their family duties seriously, perhaps even feeling burdened by familial obligations at times. Saturn's influence can lead to a more reserved and disciplined approach to emotions. Individuals with this placement may struggle with expressing their feelings openly and might prefer a structured or traditional approach to emotional matters. Saturn in the fourth house can indicate a strong focus on property, land, and real estate matters. It may suggest delays or challenges in acquiring or managing property, but with perseverance, individuals can achieve stability in this area. The influence of Saturn in the fourth house can reflect a significant influence from one or both parents, particularly the father. There may be a sense of authority or strictness associated with parental figures, shaping the individual's upbringing and values. This placement can bring a deep-seated need for security and stability, both externally in the home environment and internally within oneself. Individuals may work diligently to establish a solid foundation in life, striving for long-term security and comfort. Saturn's placement in the fourth house may indicate a propensity towards introspection and a serious approach to inner growth. Individuals may grapple with deep-seated fears or insecurities, but through self-discipline and perseverance, they can achieve profound psychological insights and personal transformation. There may be a strong attachment to cultural heritage, traditions, and ancestral roots with Saturn in the fourth house. Individuals may feel a sense of duty to preserve family customs and values, even in the face of modern challenges or societal changes. Saturn's presence in the fourth house can bring various challenges and lessons related to home, family, and emotional security. These challenges often serve as opportunities for growth and maturity, teaching individuals valuable lessons about resilience, responsibility, and self-reliance.

Saturn in fifth house

The 5th house governs creativity, self-expression, intelligence, education, and children. Saturn's presence here may indicate a disciplined approach to creativity and self-expression. These individuals may have a structured and methodical approach to artistic endeavors, preferring traditional or time-tested methods over impulsivity. They may excel in fields requiring deep concentration, such as research, writing, or technical subjects. Saturn's influence in the 5th house can bring a serious and studious attitude towards education. These individuals may value knowledge and learning deeply, often pursuing higher education or specialized training with dedication and perseverance. However, there may be delays or obstacles in academic pursuits, requiring patience and persistence to overcome. Saturn's presence in the 5th house may bring challenges and responsibilities related to children and parenthood. There may be delays or difficulties in conceiving children, or the individual may take a cautious and disciplined approach to parenting. They may instill a strong sense of discipline and responsibility in their children, emphasizing the importance of hard work and perseverance. In matters of romance and relationships, Saturn in the 5th house may indicate a reserved or cautious approach. These individuals may be selective and practical when it comes to matters of the heart, preferring stable and long-lasting relationships over fleeting passions. They may also experience delays or challenges in finding romantic fulfillment, requiring patience and perseverance in matters of love. The 5th house also governs speculative ventures, gambling, and risk-taking activities. With Saturn here, individuals may approach these areas with caution and conservatism. They are unlikely to take unnecessary risks and may prefer to invest time and effort in more secure and stable pursuits. However, if they do engage in speculative activities, they are likely to do so with careful planning and analysis.

Saturn in sixth house

The sixth house represents service, daily work routines, health, enemies, obstacles, and conflicts. With Saturn here, the native tends to take their responsibilities seriously and may excel in professions that involve service or helping others. They are likely to be hardworking, methodical, and dedicated to their duties. Saturn's presence in the sixth house can indicate a strong focus on health matters. The native may face health challenges or chronic conditions, but they have the resilience to overcome these obstacles through discipline and perseverance. It's essential for them to maintain a structured and disciplined approach to health and well-being. Saturn in the sixth house suggests that the individual may face challenges or delays in their work environment. They may encounter demanding bosses, bureaucratic hurdles, or a heavy workload. However, they have the patience and endurance to handle these challenges effectively and emerge stronger from them. The sixth house is also associated with enemies and conflicts. Saturn here indicates that the native may face opposition or conflicts in their life, but they have the ability to deal with adversaries with maturity, caution, and strategic planning. They prefer to resolve conflicts through diplomacy and negotiation rather than confrontation. Individuals with Saturn in the sixth house often find fulfillment in serving others or working in fields that contribute to the well-being of society. They may excel in professions such as healthcare, social work, counseling, or public service where their disciplined approach and sense of duty can make a significant impact. Saturn's placement in the sixth house suggests that the native is working through karmic lessons related to service, responsibility, and overcoming obstacles. They may need to learn the value of self-discipline, humility, and perseverance in their journey towards personal growth and fulfillment.

Saturn in seventh house

Saturn in the seventh house often brings a sense of responsibility, seriousness, and maturity to relationships. It can indicate delays or obstacles in finding a suitable partner or in the process of getting married. However, once committed, individuals with this placement tend to take their partnerships very seriously and may prioritize stability and longevity over passion. Individuals with Saturn in the seventh house may feel a strong sense of duty and obligation towards their partners. They are likely to approach relationships with caution and practicality, preferring to establish a solid foundation before fully committing. Saturn's presence in the seventh house can bring challenges and lessons in the realm of partnerships. These challenges may include issues related to commitment, communication, or power dynamics within relationships. However, overcoming these challenges can lead to personal growth and maturity. This placement can also indicate success in business partnerships, particularly those that involve long-term planning, discipline, and hard work. Individuals with Saturn in the seventh house may excel in professions that require negotiation, diplomacy, and strategic thinking. Saturn in the seventh house often indicates karmic lessons and connections in relationships. Past life karma may play a significant role in the dynamics of partnerships, with lessons related to duty, responsibility, and mutual support. Depending on other factors in the birth chart, Saturn in the seventh house can sometimes indicate delays or obstacles in marriage. However, these delays are often temporary and can be overcome with patience, perseverance, and maturity. Despite the challenges, individuals with this placement are likely to have long-lasting and stable relationships. They have the ability to weather storms and overcome obstacles through their patience, perseverance, and commitment to their partners.

Saturn in the eighth house

Saturn in the eighth house often indicates a life marked by profound transformations and significant changes. These changes may be intense and may occur suddenly or through challenging circumstances. The individual may undergo various upheavals and experiences that lead to inner growth and evolution. This placement suggests a deep, intense, and introspective nature. The individual is likely to explore the depths of their own psyche and may have a keen interest in esoteric subjects, mysteries, and occult phenomena. They may possess a penetrating insight into the hidden aspects of life and may be drawn to explore taboo subjects or unconventional practices. Saturn in the eighth house can also indicate concerns or challenges related to inheritance, joint finances, or legacies. There may be obstacles or delays in matters pertaining to shared resources, taxes, insurance, or inheritances from others. However, with patience and perseverance, the individual can navigate these challenges and eventually establish a stable foundation in these areas. Individuals with this placement often develop a strong sense of psychological resilience and inner strength. They have the capacity to endure adversity and hardship, emerging from difficult situations with newfound wisdom and maturity. Saturn's influence in the eighth house instills a sense of discipline, responsibility, and determination, which enables the individual to confront life's challenges with courage and fortitude. Saturn's placement in the eighth house can also signify a profound spiritual journey characterized by deep introspection, inner purification, and spiritual transformation. The individual may be drawn to spiritual practices such as meditation, yoga, or metaphysical studies, seeking to unravel the mysteries of existence and attain higher states of consciousness. Saturn in the eighth house may indicate a karmic reckoning, where past actions and debts come to the forefront for resolution. The individual may be confronted with karmic lessons related to power dynamics, trust, betrayal, and emotional intimacy. Through facing these challenges head-on, they have the opportunity to transcend limitations and evolve spiritually.

Saturn in ninth house

Saturn in the ninth house suggests a deep-seated interest in spirituality, religion, and philosophy. The individual may have a strong sense of duty and responsibility towards understanding the deeper meaning of life and may embark on a quest for spiritual truth. These individuals tend to have a serious and philosophical outlook on life. They may be drawn to ancient wisdom, traditional teachings, and may seek guidance from spiritual gurus or mentors. Saturn's presence can bring challenges and delays in higher education. The individual may face obstacles in academic pursuits or may have to work harder to achieve academic success. However, perseverance and dedication can lead to eventual success. Saturn in the ninth house often indicates that wisdom and knowledge are acquired through life's experiences and hardships. The individual may have to overcome various trials and tribulations to gain profound insights and understanding. These individuals may hold conservative or traditional beliefs, and they may be resistant to change. They prefer stability and security in their philosophical and religious beliefs, often adhering to age-old traditions and customs. Saturn here can indicate limitations or restrictions in long-distance travel. It may require careful planning and organization, and there may be delays or obstacles during journeys. However, travel undertaken with a purpose, such as for educational or spiritual purposes, can be beneficial. The relationship with the father may be characterized by seriousness, discipline, or distance. The father may play a significant role in shaping the individual's philosophical and moral values, but there could also be challenges or responsibilities associated with this relationship. Despite the challenges posed by Saturn, individuals with this placement can achieve success and fortune through discipline, hard work, and perseverance. They are capable of building a solid foundation for their future, especially in fields related to law, spirituality, teaching, or philosophy.

Saturn in tenth house

Saturn in the tenth house imbues the individual with a strong sense of responsibility, discipline, and perseverance in their professional endeavors. They are likely to take their career seriously and understand the importance of hard work and commitment. Individuals with Saturn in the tenth house are often career-oriented and may prioritize their professional goals above other aspects of life. They are willing to put in the necessary effort and sacrifice to achieve success in their chosen field. Saturn's placement here may grant the individual leadership qualities and the ability to handle positions of authority with maturity and wisdom. They may excel in managerial roles or positions that require them to take charge and make important decisions. While Saturn brings stability and structure, its placement in the tenth house can also indicate challenges and obstacles in the individual's career path. They may face delays, setbacks, or struggles in achieving their goals, but these experiences ultimately serve to strengthen their character and resilience. Saturn in the tenth house can influence the individual's public image and reputation. They may be perceived as reliable, competent, and respected by their peers and superiors. However, they may also be cautious about how they present themselves to the world, striving to maintain a professional and dignified demeanor. Individuals with this placement may have a traditional approach to their career and may prefer established, conventional paths rather than taking risks or exploring unconventional options. They value stability and security in their professional life. Saturn in the tenth house encourages the individual to focus on long-term goals and legacy-building. They may have a strong sense of duty towards leaving a lasting impact in their field or making meaningful contributions to society. In Vedic astrology, Saturn is also associated with the father. Its placement in the tenth house can indicate a significant influence or involvement of the father in the individual's career path and professional development.

Saturn in the eleventh house

Saturn's presence here can indicate that the native takes their friendships seriously and may have a small but close-knit circle of friends. These friendships may endure for a long time but could also involve responsibilities or limitations. Saturn's influence in the eleventh house can lead to slow but steady growth in income and gains. However, there may be delays or obstacles in achieving financial goals. The native may need to work hard and demonstrate discipline and perseverance to attain financial stability. Individuals with Saturn in the eleventh house may have ambitious goals and aspirations. They are likely to be cautious and practical in pursuing their dreams, preferring to plan meticulously and work methodically towards their objectives. Saturn's placement here often emphasizes social responsibility. The native may be involved in community or humanitarian efforts, driven by a sense of duty towards society. They may also encounter challenges or obstacles in achieving their social or collective goals. Saturn's presence can make the native cautious in forming new associations or joining groups. They may prefer quality over quantity in their social networks and may be selective about the causes or organizations they align themselves with. Individuals with Saturn in the eleventh house tend to have a long-term perspective on life. They are strategic in their approach and may invest time and effort in endeavors that promise long-lasting results, even if the rewards are delayed. Saturn's placement in any house brings karmic lessons, and in the eleventh house, these lessons often revolve around detachment, discipline, and responsibility within social and group dynamics. The native may need to learn to balance their individual aspirations with their obligations towards others.

Saturn in the twelfth house

Saturn in the twelfth house often indicates a deep interest in spirituality and introspection. These individuals may be drawn to meditation, yoga, or other spiritual practices as a means of seeking inner peace and understanding. There may be periods of isolation or a sense of being excluded from mainstream society. This placement can indicate a preference for solitude or a need to withdraw from the hustle and bustle of the external world. Saturn in the twelfth house can suggest a strong sense of duty towards serving others or making sacrifices for the greater good. These individuals may find fulfillment through acts of charity, service-oriented professions, or involvement in humanitarian causes. The twelfth house is often associated with karmic debts and past life experiences. Saturn's presence here may indicate a need to confront and resolve unresolved karmic issues or to fulfill duties left unfinished from previous lifetimes. Individuals with this placement may face obstacles and limitations in their life journey, particularly in matters related to the twelfth house themes such as spirituality, endings, and hidden enemies. However, these challenges can serve as opportunities for growth and self-discovery, as Saturn encourages perseverance and discipline. Saturn in the twelfth house can suggest connections or experiences with foreign lands, cultures, or people. These individuals may feel a strong affinity for foreign languages, travel, or living abroad. Despite the challenges posed by this placement, individuals with Saturn in the twelfth house often possess a profound inner strength and resilience. They have the ability to endure hardships and setbacks with patience and fortitude, ultimately emerging stronger and wiser from their experiences.

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#saturn in the 7th house #saturn astrology #saturn #saturn in the 1st house #saturn in houses #astro notes #vedic astrology #astrology #vedic notes #venus astrology #astro observations #astro community #tarot deck #tarot readings #pick a card #tarot #astroblr

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hannieehaee · 5 months ago

Text

LOST IN STEREO

18+ / mdi

summary: after kicking you out of your own band to seek success with the band on his own, vernon finds his plans falling through, all the while you'd reached success on your own. now leading your own label, vernon finds himself having to earn your forgiveness, not realizing how badly he'd hurt you years back.

content: friends2enemies2lovers!vernon, band!au, drummer!vernon, guitarist!reader, unrequited crush (kinda), pining, vernon kicks you out of your band bc ur a girl (asshole, ik), really incorrect music industry terminology (i know nothing about music oops), afab reader, reader becomes a producer after being kicked from vernon's band, seokmin, chan, hannie and kwannie are in the band, smut, penetrative sex, dry humping, fingering, etc.

wc: 8.8k

a/n: i know the summary and content are all over the place, but i promise the story in itself is coherent</3

masterlist | kofi/patreon

"Fuck! Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?"

He winced at the sudden sight of you upon turning a corner in the huge building he was currently exploring, never having expected to bump into you there.

"I work here, Vernon. I would've expected you to do some research on the labels you're auditioning for."

"W-wait. What do you mean you work here?"

"I'm a producer here. What? Surprised?"

"N-no!" he spluttered.

Fuck, you looked good. No, scratch that. You looked beautiful beyond belief.

How long had it been? Three? Four years?

He still felt horribly about it. You know, that whole situation in which he threw you under the bus for his own benefit – only for everything to come crashing down on him immediately after. Not only did he feel like an asshole, but also like a huge idiot. Letting go of a friendship just for a failed attempt at success would go down as the dumbest thing Vernon ever engaged in.

In his defense, he was a teenager at the time. Okay, maybe he was freshly 19, but it felt like the same thing back then. He had been an idiot who dumped his best friend and crush just for a chance in the music industry. What he had thought that to be the smartest move to make for the future of your shared band ended up becoming his greatest mistake. To this day, he still thought back on it with shame.

What sucked the most was how talented he knew you were. That, and the knowledge that he had been the sole person to blame for taking this opportunity away from you – from taking your own band away from you.

He quickly came to realize that it had been a horrible mistake, but it was too late by then. Contractually speaking, you had never really existed within the group. Your friendship had also crumbled soon after, despite your reassurance that all you wanted was the best for the band, even if that meant they'd continue on without you.

At the time, you had been the band's sole music producer, and song writer, and engineer, and you were the one who had a macbook with garage band on it, and–

"Vernon!"

Fuck. Had he been in his head this whole time?

You looked annoyed. Also way more grown and mature than when he last saw you at 19 years old. Fuck, did he mention you looked insanely hot?

"Sorry, I, uh, as I was saying," he cleared his throat, "Of course I'm not surprised. You're the most talented person I've ever known."

And Vernon truly meant his words. As teenagers, your dream to become a successful guitarist had been what inspired him to dust off his drums and go on this adventure with you, employing a few of your other friends to join your wannabe pop-punk band.

You weren't just a dreamer, like Vernon. Vernon knew you weren't just all talk. If anyone could walk the walk, it was you. With your innate ability with not only the guitar, but a myriad of other instruments, Vernon always admired you for your natural talent with music. The insane confidence you carried also did not help matters. It sure did not help the irrevocable crush he'd had on you since he met you. The air of security you always carried with you was something Vernon looked up to and was insanely attracted to. Sometimes it'd make it difficult to be around you without revealing his crush, as he would constantly swoon over your mere presence.

His feelings for you not only as a childhood friend, but also as his unrequited crush, only made the whole situation worse. At first, he dumbly thought that you understood why he had to ask you to leave the band, but it was obvious to him within only a few weeks that what his decision had done irreparable damage to your friendship.

Thinking back to it, he realized how stupid it was for him to even consider joining a label that denied your entrance simply due to your gender. Attempting to create the image the label had wanted to force on them should've been the first red flag. Taking Vernon aside to talk him into kicking you out should've been more than enough for Vernon to break out and whisk you away from a label that clearly didn't deserve you.

Sadly, Vernon had been too invested in making it big at the time. He truly would've given anything to find success as a musician as soon as possible – and apparently you should've taken those words literally.

It had been about a year since you first started the band at that point. Your very low budget garage band consisted of you, Vernon, and a few of your friends. Vernon was on drums, you on guitar, Hannie was bass, Kwan main vocals, Seokmin keyboard, and Chan second guitar. It was the perfect setup, if Vernon had anything to say about it.

The entire composition of the band had been yet another thing that formed all thanks to you. As much as Vernon insisted on saying it had been a shared effort, he now knew better. He needed to give credit where it was due. If it wasn't for you, Vernon never even would've met the guys he now considered his best friends, as you had been the one to take charge of recruiting more members into the group.

Despite that, you allowed Vernon to have the role of co-leader in the band with you. The way you had rationalized it was that you didn't believe in a monarchy; you much more wanted to have a democracy, so you believed that being co-leaders beat a singular leader by far.

This also demonstrated the intense trust you had on Vernon. Except Vernon's greedy mentality at the time did not respect this vision.

Surprisingly, even to his younger self, it didn't take much convincing for the recruiting manager of the label to convince Vernon into kicking you out. Just one signature from him, and all the male members of the group would be secure under a semi-established label that would guarantee them the exposure he'd been wanting, oh so badly, for the past year of being in the band. All he thought of was his future success, completely ignoring that his best friend would be left behind in the process. Simultaneously, he ignored the protests of his members, believing this to be for the greater good for the band.

In your usual supportive fashion, you were a trooper through it all. Your initial reaction was one of confusion and hurt, but it was quickly wiped away under the facade of being happy for your friends. If you couldn't find success with them, you were glad they'd be able to make it big without you.

Vernon made the mistake of believing these words, not realizing that he had just broken all your trust, and along with it your heart.

Then came the other end of the stick.

To no one's surprise, the record deal fell through. Kicking you out before agreeing to sign the group should've made alarms go off in Vernon's head on its own, but everything that came after was somehow worse.

The label had attempted to poke at every single detail about the band, trying to form them into something they could never see themselves becoming. Their looks changed, their sound changed, and fuck, Vernon just could not stop thinking about you throughout it all.

Before it all completely fell apart, they had been able to perform a few shows. Though they were nothing too big, they were far more than the small pubs in which you guys had performed before sighing the contract. Vernon was completely unable to enjoy any of this, though. The blank space on stage kept his mind uneasy. He constantly wondered about you and reminisced about your beginnings together.

This arrangement only lasted a few months. That was when everything truly went to hell. With lack of cooperation both from him and the rest of the guys, it wasn't too hard to get the label to drop them.

It just wasn't a match. Vernon would be the first to admit that greed got the best of him. Taking the very first signing offer that they got had been too naive of him, leading the band to be labeless and without a lead guitar and female vocal. And also leaving Vernon without a best friend.

A few years were spent attempting to break out once more, only achieving certain virality online through the first year of trying. It wasn't until recent times that Vernon and his band really blew up through some original work of Vernon's they had posted online. That's what actually led to Vernon's current position – touring one of the best labels for people in his genre after having established a solid fanbase online as an independent band.

Since Vernon had lost contact with you soon after kicking you out of the band, he eventually gave up on finding you (though memories of you would still haunt him). Not having kept up with your individual career, he never knew you actually made it out and into the big leagues on your own. You being a renown producer under an artistic name made sense to him, though. It explained why he had not heard of your name during all that time, and it also made sense with your past experience making music when you were in the band. Hell, you were the one who taught Vernon everything he knew about producing.

Despite being incredibly glad that his mistake hadn't made you lose your love for music, Vernon still felt disheartened at seeing you. In another life, the two of you would've made it here together, hand by hand and as the best friends you'd always been (hopefully even more by now). But now you were here, successful but at completely different rates, and with you feeling clear disdain towards Vernon's mere existence.

You simply scoffed at his compliment, rolling your eyes.

"I don't need your praise, Vernon."

Well, it seemed like he couldn't really win regardless. It also didn't help that he felt like a total loser standing in front of you, now aware that you had made a name for yourself.

He had heard your artistic name before, but since you apparently stuck to being a producer rather than be on stage, he never put a face to the name.

"I, uh, are you one of the producers we're auditioning for?"

"Yeah. Good luck with that, Vernon," you seemed far too pleased with yourself. There was venom in your eyes Vernon had never seen before in all those years he knew you.

"Listen, I-"

"Whatever you're going to say about our past, you can save it. Nothing you can say can make up for what happened. I won't get in your way during your meeting with the label. Only because I still love the rest of the guys," you softened a bit, before getting that serious look in your eye again, "But I also won't do you any favors."

Gulping, he responded, "Yeah, I, uh, okay. I understand."

Without any further comments, you bumped into his shoulder as you walked away, leaving a breathless Vernon behind.

He was well aware that you hated him, and with good reason too. Yet he couldn't help the rapid beating of his heart throughout every second of your interaction. With the passing of years, he had thought he was fully over his crush, but it all just came crashing down on him all at once upon your first meeting.

Now he really needed to get into this label. Not only for his career, but to somehow get you back.

"Dude! Did you see Y/N? She stopped by the studio earlier to say hi. Man, I told you you shouldn't have gone off on your own. I can't believe you missed her."

As much as Vernon wished Seokmin had been right about Vernon missing you altogether, he did wish your first encounter with him had been around other witnesses. Maybe that way your words to him would've had a little less venom in them.

"Nope. Bumped into her in the hallway while I was looking around."

"Shit ...", said Chan, "How was it?"

"Brutal. She hates my ass."

"Completely understandable, you know, considering," chimed in Seungkwan, sitting on the couch of the conference room's waiting room.

After a short tour of the building the label was homed in, the group was directed to wait in the waiting room as the execs arranged the paperwork necessary to sign them – should they come to an agreement. Vernon had made the dumb mistake of asking if he could explore the place a bit on his own, never having imagined he'd bump into you on the way. At least now he knew you'd be one of the higher ups waiting for him on the other side of that door.

"Dude, stop. I've been feeling like a dick ever since it happened", Vernon groaned into his hands, suddenly snapping up to look to his members, "Did you guys know she was working here? Did you know she was the Hissfit?"

"We didn't really keep contact," Seokmin shook his head.

"Yeah. I knew of Hissfit, but I never would've guessed it was her. Damn, that's kinda hot of her," said Jeonghan.

Jeonghan's comment peeved off Vernon a bit, but he had bigger things to worry about at the moment.

"Do you think she hates all of us, or is it just me-"

They all varied in their response, but the consensus was that Vernon was the only member you still saw with venom in your eyes.

"Yeah, man. It's just you," confirmed Chan, "I thought she'd hate me for taking over lead guitar after she left, but she was pretty nice to me just now."

Vernon was about to air out his endless concerns and frustrations at the stupid acts of his 19-year-old self, but had to close his mouth back up when the door to the conference room suddenly opened, revealing you and two other men close to your age.

"Come on in, guys," said one with shaggy hair and a strong build, gesturing at the boys to come in.

All five of them took a seat on one side of the gigantic table that took up most of the space in the room while you and the two men took a seat on the opposite side.

You looked so put together and professional, looking over the papers sitting in front of you while Vernon stared and stared, hoping you'd look his way.

"Okay, first of all, I wanna welcome you guys. I know one of our producers, Soonyoung, already gave you guys a quick tour of the place, but I wanted to give you a formal welcome," began the taller guy of the two, "My name is Seungcheol, but you probably know me as S.Coups."

"I'm Jihoon, but you must know me as Woozi," said the shaggy-haired man.

Then it was your turn.

"I'm Y/N. Also known as Hissfit."

Vernon winced when all his members woo'd at you, dapping you up with all confidence in the world despite not having kept in contact with you for the past few years. He wanted to join in, but you seemed too genuinely appreciative of it for him to want to dampen your mood by reminding you of his existence.

"We are the owners and cofounders of Universe Factory Records," added Jihoon.

"We're well aware you guys know our friend Y/N here," Seungcheol patted your back, rubbing it afterwards in a soothing manner, – completely unnecessary in Vernon's eyes, but okay – "but for business' sake, we will put a pin on that at the moment."

"We don't want any good or bad blood getting in the way of business, so we thought it'd be best to not discuss those matters here today," continued Jihoon, "All we care about is giving a passionate group such as your own and opportunity to join us. I can speak for all three of us when I say that you truly fit the core message of our label, and we'd love to sign you."

You nodded along to it all, even holding Vernon's eyes in yours for a few seconds before looking away.

"We'd love that, Woozi-Nim," intercepted Seokmin, bowing his head a bit at Jihoon.

"We just have a few contractual points to get to and then we can get to business, okay?", Seungcheol clapped his hands decisively.

A few moments later, your HR guys, Jun and Minghao came in to oversee the contract with the eight of you, making sure both parties understood everything written on the fine print. This took about thirty minutes, but ended very amicably.

"Is there a leader to the group who'd like to speak for any modifications you'd like to make to the contract?", asked Seungcheol just moments before the papers were about to be signed by everyone present.

"No, we're more of a democracy," said Vernon, not realizing the irony of his words fast enough.

You scoffed loudly at that, giving Vernon a sarcastic smile.

"Are you sure about that? Any other member who can confirm this fact?", you turned to the rest of the members in mock curiosity.

"Y/N, I-"

"Sorry, it's my bad. I shouldn't have asked," Seungcheol chuckled awkwardly, gesturing to the papers once more, "You can all sign whenever you're ready."

With some hesitation, Vernon signed.

He knew it was the right decision. That this way he would not only get to live his dream with his best friends while being housed under such a successful label, but that he'd also get another chance with you.

It'd just take a lot of work.

One of Vernon's favorite parts about the contract with Universe Factory was the luxury dorms that came along with it.

Being housed in a penthouse with all his friends seemed like one of the most unachievable dreams, yet here he was.

And the best part was that you owned a penthouse of your own right upstairs.

As far as he understood, this was a business owned building, housing any artists who wished to live at close proximity to the label's main headquarters. Vernon's group chose to agree to this form of housing without a second doubt, having always had the dream of living in the capital of the music industry – Los Angeles.

It had been about a month since the signing, and Vernon had caught sights of you far more times than he would've thought thus far. Unfortunately, none of them had gone well for him.

You seemed to be more than happy rekindling your friendship with the rest of the members, but always refused to spend any time with Vernon one-on-one. If at any moment you were left alone with Vernon, you'd scoff and walk out, even if Vernon attempted to call you out on it.

And Vernon's crush only got worse with the time he spent with you (albeit it always was while other people were around). Seeing you so relaxed in your loungewear when you'd spontaneously stop by the dorms to see Jeonghan or Chan (or literally anyone but him) as you laughed and joked around with them was messing with Vernon's head.

You were just so pretty and perfect and put together.

There came a point where Vernon was quite loud about his crush, constantly whining to his members about how much you still hated him. You were the only person to be unaware of it. Hell, even Jihoon and Seungcheol knew, always giving Vernon looks when he'd stare at you a little too long.

Except you never looked his way.

The only times you ever looked at Vernon were to curse him out or blatantly distance yourself from him whenever you got fed up of his presence.

Even now, as you huddled into a corner of the couch when the rest of the guys conveniently (re: at Vernon's request) left the two of you alone halfway through the movie you'd all been watching.

Attempting to be as casual as possible (he wasn't), Vernon slid from sitting on the arm of the couch to try and scoot closer to you, eyes glued to the TV in fear of you leaving if he dared look your way.

"Vernon-"

"Wait! Don't leave! Just stay sitting. I- I won't bother you, okay?," he was quick to apologize, sensing that you'd either scold him or tell him to fuck off.

You nodded, expressionless as you turned your bead back to the TV again, seemingly not too bothered by him.

It was rare for you to not use his exasperation as a reason to tell him off, so Vernon went against his own words and spoke again.

"Will we ever talk again?"

"What?"

He sighed, turning to you, "Will things ever go back to normal? I- Is there any chance you'll ever forgive me?"

"I don't wanna talk about this with you," you went to get up, only to be stopped by Vernon as he got up also, lightly grabbing your arm.

"Please. You have no idea how much I've regretted it since then. At least let me apologize," he pleaded with you.

"It doesn't matter if you regret it, Vernon. You still did it."

Wincing, he tried to come up with an answer that might satisfy you, but the truth was that there was no way for him to reason his actions at that time.

"I'll never not regret it. I .. I wish you were still out there with us, not just producing behind the scenes."

"Vernon-"

"Do you ... do you still play?"

"What?", you appeared annoyed at his interest.

"Do you still play? At any shows? For fun? You were always the best guitarist I'd known. Chan's nothing compared to you," he joked.

You looked down in what seemed to be shyness, "Chan's pretty good. He's gotten so much better since I last saw him."

"It wasn't the same- It's not the same. You were supposed to be there. I love Channie, but the dynamic completely changed when you left- when you-"

"When you kicked me out," you corrected.

He took a few steps towards you, both hands encompassing your arms in order to get you to look at him.

"I kicked you out, and it was the worst mistake I'd ever made. I lost my bandmate and I lost my best friend. I miss you every day. Every time I perform and I look to the front and you're not there, I remember what an idiot I was. You made this. You made the band, you got all the members. Fuck, you taught Channie everything you knew and all I did to repay you was throw you away," his eyes never left yours as he spoke, despite how guilty he felt at seeing the sudden sadness in yours, "Please tell me you at least still play. Please tell me I didn't take that away from you."

"I ... After you kicked me out, I couldn't trust anyone else. If my own best friend was willing to get rid of me like that ... If all my friends stood by and did nothing, then I couldn't trust that someone else wouldn't do it again."

"Y/n, I-"

You stepped away from his hold, creating some distance.

"I didn't want to play anymore, so I started selling my music. That's how I met Jihoon And Seungcheol. They were already on the process of founding Universe Factory. They saw something in me and took me in. We were equals," you explained, "So, no. I haven't played since then, Vernon. I'm a producer now."

It made Vernon miserable to know that the girl he once knew had changed. He understood why, specially having been part of the cause, but he felt even more regretful at knowing that he had damaged your ability to trust so badly. Ever since he knew you, you loved nothing more than to play for people. From talent shows to small shows at local pubs with only twenty people in the audience, you'd always happily sign up if it meant a chance to play for anyone willing to listen. Now you didn't have that in you anymore. All because Vernon had broken your trust.

Vernon chose not to bother you anymore after that. You seemed happy with your new life. Vernon seemed to be the only source of negativity in your life, so he chose to step aside and let you live your life. He would no longer try and see if there was any space for him there anymore. If that's what made you happy, then so be it.

It had taken a while, but after four months of being signed into Universe Factory, Vernon's band had finally released their new album.

The rollout consisted of 12 original songs, with a deluxe version including three extra songs coming a few months later. It hadn't been fully fleshed out yet, but the album itself had been a success by all means.

Throughout the process, Vernon had unfortunately not made much progress with you. Things seemed to be a bit more peaceful now that he had decided to leave you alone, but you never once tried to seek him out, so he assumed that this was the end of it. You were happy to ignore him and keep him out of your life, and as much as Vernon wad pained by it, he felt too remorseful by his previous actions to try and bother you anymore.

Vernon was happy to spend time with you whenever studio sessions came up. As one of the main producers of the company, you had been thoroughly involved in the album, which meant that you spent a grand majority of your time in the studio with Vernon and the rest of the band. Though you would rarely engage with him directly, you didn't outwardly ignore him. You remained professional and respectful towards him. He wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

After the grueling process of finishing up the album and releasing it, there was a small lull in the group's timeline. The album did amazingly well, specially with all the promo your label did for them. A tour had even been announced for later in the year, but for now things were quiet. The fruits of their labor were paying off and now everyone got a bit of time to rest before preparations for tour began.

Despite being done with work for a few weeks before getting to rehearsals for tour, Vernon still liked to come around the company and play around with the studios the label had available for their artists. He liked to mess around and try to experiment with new stuff to develop his skills. During the album-making period, he had observed you intently, learning from you without your knowledge.

Today was one of the many times in which Vernon had decided to come around the studios, in search of the one his group used throughout the process of making their album.

That was when he noticed the half-closed door, with the soft strumming of a guitar coming from the inside. He was about to turn around and leave, assuming that someone else had taken up that studio for a bit, but then he heard a melodious voice accompanying the guitar in perfect harmony. It was you.

Even during the recording process, Vernon was yet to hear you sing or play any music. The demos were usually recorded by Jihoon, even when you had vast participation in them. The most he had heard your voice during that time had been when you'd direct the members on how to enunciate a line or two – and even then, Vernon felt enamored. Now here Vernon was, peeking from the small opening of the door as he witnessed you sing what seemed to be an original song.

Your back was facing him as you sat on the floor, simply facing the wall in front of you. Your voice was low, as was your strumming. It was likely you didn't want anyone to hear you. Almost as if you were hiding your skill, not wanting anyone to be aware of it.

Vernon couldn't help but think that this was the consequence of his actions. Did you think you weren't made to perform anymore? Not even in private? Had his betrayal caused this in you? The thought made him sick, knowing how much you loved music.

His thoughts were promptly interrupted by a sudden halt in your playing, hearing your voice speak up.

"I know you're there, Vernon," you said without even needing to turn around to face him.

"I- How did you-"

You began to get up, putting your guitar away, "I heard the door squeak a bit, and you're the only person who would be interested enough in hearing me play to stay and watch."

He knew you hadn't meant it in a self-deprecating way, but the thought of you believing that there wasn't a crowd of people who'd die to hear you perform felt like a punch in the gut.

"You still sound amazing. You got even better, somehow."

"Vernon, stop. You don't have to-"

"Please. Let me at least compliment you. I mean it. You're amazing. It's a huge disservice to the world that you're not out there performing your own music," he chuckled humorlessly by the end, attempting to appeal to you somehow.

Surprisingly to him, you chuckled back in a similar manner, choosing to recline against one of the tables in the room rather than leave now that Vernon was speaking to you – something you'd usually do if you were ever in a room alone with him.

"I've never been much of a soloist. You know that."

Taking a leap, Vernon chose to lean against the table too, taking a seat close to you.

"I'm sure people would be lining up for a chance to work with you, c'mon."

"Not, you, though. Right?"

He groaned, throwing his head back in frustration, "Listen ..."

"I'm kidding, Vernon, relax."

That surprised him. Maybe the time had allowed you to feel comfortable enough to tease Vernon about it. Fuck. You were speaking to him. That in itself was more progress than he'd had in years.

Usually, he would've responded with a joke back, but he decided to drive his point home instead.

"I'd kill for you to even consider playing with me again."

Your mood visibly shifted at that, squirming a bit and looking down at his words.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

This time your sarcasm didn't deter him. He had an opening. You were talking to him, after months of only doing polite small talk with him whenever you were forced to. Maybe it was time he was a bit stern too.

Standing up, he stood directly in front of you, towering over you a bit more than usual since you were leaning against the table.

"Listen. I know I hurt you. I know I did the worst thing I could've done to the person I loved most, okay? I think about it every day. I thought about it every single day after you cut me out of your life – which you had every right to do," he winced at the thought, "Seeing you again, knowing you made it big and that you're still making music made me so glad. So glad that even though I wasn't ever going to be part of your journey anymore, you still had music by your side. I ... I wish I had done things differently. I wish I hadn't acted so stupidly and been so easy to convince to leave you behind just for a taste of success. I deserve every bit of your hate for it, but- fuck ... but I will always keep doing everything I can to see if maybe one day you might forgive me."

"Vernon, I-"

"Wait, I'm not done," he interrupted you with a finger in the air, "I tried looking for you, you know? After you disappeared, I tried to get you back somehow. When we got dropped from the label just a few months later, I tried to find you, but you were nowhere. I wanted you back from the moment I made that stupid decision. I'd do anything for you to be up there with us on that tour, for your name to be on that album cover. Somehow we ended up making music together again, just with all this baggage in between."

"Vernon."

"What? I- Honestly I don't know what you could say to all my word vomit. I already know you hate me. Nothing I do will ever change it," he looked down with a sad look on his face.

"I don't ... I don't hate you."

His head snapped up to look at you.

"You- What?"

"I don't hate you," you repeated, "I don't think I ever did. I never left music completely, I just ... I felt so disposable. I didn't want to work with anyone who wasn't you, and you saw me as a replaceable asset. I didn't even feel like your friend at that point. I mean, it was so easy for Chan to go from second guitar to lead and just completely erase my existence from the band ... Erase it from your life."

"N-no. You have it all wrong," he got closer to you, grabbing onto your shoulders to make you look at him, "Nothing was ever the same. That's why it all failed. I couldn't function without you."

"Hah," your eyes wandered away from his in an avoidant manner, "I would've killed to hear that from you back then."

You took a breath, appearing to ponder whether or not to say your next statement, ultimately deciding on the former.

"I used to like you so much back then. Did you know?," you laughed at yourself, "It was, uh, one of the reasons why I left. I felt like I got rejected in every way. As a friend, as a bandmate, as ... as the girl who liked you."

Fuck.

It had been worse for you than Vernon ever imagined.

The same way he felt dejected at your disappearance, having been practically in love with you at the time, you must've felt that pain a hundred times over. The guy you liked threw you away so easily, of course you were going to assume Vernon would never return your feelings under those circumstances.

But you had it all wrong. Oh, so horribly wrong.

If you had ever given Vernon any indication of you liking him, he would've dropped everything for you. He knew that he should've done so regardless, specially considering you were best friends, but he was extremely immature and dumb at the time. His mind did not reason what effect his actions would have. At the time, your claims about being okay with leaving the band as long as it was for the best of its future were completely taken at face value by Vernon. Never would he have guessed that you had just said that to appease to him just because you liked him.

His prolonged silence allowed you to speak up once again.

"I really did want to try and root for you after you signed that contract, but seeing the guy I was so head over heels for throw me aside so easily settled on my mind after a few days. I realized there was no point either way. We would never be bandmates again, and you would never like me back."

"I didn't- I ... I had no idea. Fuck," he breathed a heavy breath, furrowing his eyebrows, "I was so in love with you. I'm ... I'm so incredibly in love with you."

He knew he fucked up in saying it, specially going by the shocked expression on your face. Your eyes were wide and your mouth agape.

"I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm so sorry. I know this isn't what you want to hear. I- I shouldn't have said anything, but I can't help myself anymore. I've loved you for years. I've been miserable thinking about how badly you hate me when you haven't left my mind for a single day. I love you. I'm sorry, I just ... I love you."

"Vernon ..."

He threw his hands up in frustration, "Don't. Fuck, I already know what you're going to say, just ... just don't-"

"Vernon, shut up!", you grabbed onto his head, making him lower himself down to you a bit and look into your eyes.

Vernon wasn't quite sure what your original plan was, but he saw you open and close your mouth a few times to speak, ultimately giving up to do something that would break Vernon's mind for the upcoming future.

Your lips against his own was something he thought of an embarrassing amount of times during his teens (and even now during his 20's), but it was always something he was certain would never happen. He had never actually planned for what he would do if you ever actually granted his wish. And so he remained limp against you for a few moments too long, making you pull away at the lack of reciprocation.

This was something he just couldn't have. In no world could he ever allow you to ever feel like he didn't want you. Never again. Before you could fully pull away, his arms wrapped around your waist, bringing you to your tip toes so that he could kiss you properly. When your feet flattened on the ground, his lips chased after yours, leaning down to keep himself connected to you.

The kiss was soft and delicate. There were some breathy sighs that were making Vernon's head feel fuzzy, but the kiss was innocent otherwise.

Or at least that was how it started.

Vernon wasn't sure who licked their way into the other's mouth first, but that bit of information didn't matter too much. What mattered was that gorgeous moan you let out when his tongue suckled on yours. What mattered was the way you let your body become limp against his touch, letting him back you up against the table and sit you on it. What mattered were your hands pulling at his hair in sheer desperation for more.

You weren't the only culprit, though. Vernon was equally, if not more, desperate for you. His mind and his body were in a battle, with one wanting to pull away and discuss what your current feelings for him where, and the other fighting the urge to flip you around and bend you over the table.

Thankfully, you made the decision for him.

Your hands snuck under his shirt, delicate fingers gracing the skin of his stomach before allowing your hands to freely feel up his abs and chest. Shuddering, he became lightheaded at the simple contact, having been in such constant want for your touch all these years that even the simplest of contact had him losing his sanity. Unlike you, his hands were not as daring as yours in fear of scaring you away somehow. They remained rubbing your clothed waist and hips, far too shy to do what they really yearned to.

Images flashed in his head of every nasty thing he wanted to do to you. Every single night in which you'd somehow invade his mind with a fog of lust came running back, a myriad of ideas making it all the harder to hold back. He wanted you to have control. As hard as it was to just sit there and will his already prominent boner into staying still, Vernon could not act on any desire. You had to be the one to initiate it.

And thank fucking god you did.

Within some short moments, your hands threw off Vernon's shirt, pulling him closer to you as you became even more shameless in how you felt him up. Seeing his hands remain stagnant on your waist, you disconnected his lips, staring into his own with a blissed out look on your face.

Fuck.

You were already fucked up. Your eyes had nothing but lust in them. They had a hard time not making their way to his lips, which were still dangerously close to your own. He couldn't blame you. Despite being out of breath from kissing all this time, his own lips were already aching to encompass your own again.

Before he could kiss you again with a petulant whine, your hands guided his own to your clothed breasts, pressing them up against his palms with a delicious little whine that made Vernon press his cock against the table under you.

"Touch me? Feel me up? Fuck ... want your hands all over me," you breathed between sensual licks at his open mouth.

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

How was he supposed to do this?

You sounded so pretty for him ... so horny and needy and just so fucking desperate for him.

You were the prettiest fucking thing he had ever seen – and you were begging for Vernon to feel you up? You were already begging and he hadn't even had the chance to actually touch you yet? Vernon had no idea how he was going to survive you, but he'd just have to will his body into doing so.

He didn't need any further instruction, his hands immediately following the task of rubbing and squeezing at every inch of skin. Every clothed curve was victim to his grabby hands, touching you and pressing you up against him like he'd die if he didn't. Your breathy little moans at his touch only made him feel like even more of a depraved animal.

You kissed and kissed and kissed. It was the nastiest mess of tongues and saliva, but Vernon couldn't help but feel extremely turned on by it. You were so ... so fucking desperate for him. Shameless in your actions, you licked and sucked at his tongue, holding his jaw in place so you could do as you pleased with his tongue. And when he couldn't match your pace due to how foggy his mind was? You stopped him, breathing against his lips that you'd show him how you liked to be kissed just before licking sensually into his mouth yet again.

Having been far too into the kiss, Vernon didn't even notice when you started undoing his belt, hands teasing his cock occasionally by gracing it through his pants and immediately coming back up when his hips tried to chase your touch.

"Baby ... Need you so bad," you moaned at him after a while.

'Baby'? He was 'baby' now?

Vernon couldn't even take a minute to process the lustful voice in which you had called him baby before his poor, weak, lust-ridden brain got distracted by you pulling your own shirt off.

It was almost comical the way in which Vernon froze at the sight. The two gorgeous mounds staring at him, pretty bralette encompassing them as you grabbed his hands and put them on your tits, begging him to touch you there. And Vernon wasn't an idiot. He touched you to his heart's contentment, groaning against your mouth every time you'd arch your back and press your chest up against his hands even more.

You were an entirely different version from the one he'd always known. You were so needy and soft and sensitive, completely unlike the stubborn and cold side of you you had shown him these past months. But Vernon wasn't about to complain when he had you so pliant for him, so whiny as you pleaded for him to touch you more.

His hands tugged and pinched at your nipples, lips swallowing every single cry of pleasure you let out. Your own hands scratched at his chest, with harsher marks being left behind every time he pinched at your tits relatively hard.

Growing easily frustrated, you separated his hands from your breasts, throwing off your bra before beginning to grind against him, encouraging him to push up his hips against your own.

Vernon was already painfully hard at just the privilege of feeling you up, so he was somewhat scared that he might end up cumming in his pants if you kept this up for so long. All it took was one single bump of your cunt against his cock for him to throw that concern aside and grind into your awaiting cunt as the two of you continued to kiss.

Breathless, he pulled away, finally getting to have a view of your nude breasts. That's when he lost control of himself.

He groaned and moaned and made every inhumane noise you could think of as he made love to your tits with his tongue. Never had he ever put so much dedication into anything as he did into making out with your tits. And fuck was it worth it. Your hips sped up against his own, hands burying in his hair as you pressed his head against your tit and cried his name in the prettiest of sighs.

There was no way in hell Vernon was going to last. He needed a saving grace.

Mustering all his willpower, Vernon disconnected himself from you completely, grabbing your hand and walking you over to the couch in the studio. On his way there, he kicked off his already loose pants and threw off his shoes. His original plan was to lay you down on it, crawl over you as he kissed every inch of your body and then worship his way into fucking you missionary, – so he could see and kiss you all throughout, just in the way he always imagined – but you stopped him in his tracks.

Pushing him onto the couch, you sat him down before shuffling your sweats off and straddling him, putting your hands on his shoulders.

"I wanna ride you. Can I?", you asked, getting straight to the point.

"You- you wanna .."

"I've been thinking about this since high school. And ... you kinda owe me, you know, after kicking me out of my own band," you joked.

"If letting you ride me is payback, then I take it back. I regret nothing," this granted him a frown and a slap on his chest, but he took it as a champ, enjoying the familiar banter he once shared with you.

Placing his large hands on your hips, he somehow got you even closer to him, "Ride me? Hmm, baby?", he kissed up your neck, taking advantage of the clear desire he knew you felt for him.

"I, ah ... Nonnie ... Please. Want your cock, it's so big," you sighed, neck tilting so he could have more space to kiss.

"Gotta prep you first, baby."

You shook your head, huffing, "'m already so wet, Nonnie. Wanna feel?"

With no warning, you snuck your hand under the tiny little excuse for panties you were wearing, gathering some tasty nectar for him to taste. He let out a gruttal groan at your taste, feeling lightheaded at the thought of someday having the privilege to eat your cunt until you begged and sobbed for him to stop.

But that would come some other day. Now, he needed to sit you down on his cock before he lost his mind. If you thought you were wet enough, and you were desperate enough to beg for him repeatedly, then who was he to deny you?

Helping you awkwardly remove your panties while he shoved his boxers down as much as he could while sitting, he helped you lift yourself up a bit to line him up, throwing his head back when you instead chose to drag his tip up and down your cunt.

"Baby ... If you don't sit on me, I'm going to fucking cum before I even get to feel you, and I don't wanna embarrass myself like that. So, please let me have it," he begged for a change, eyes squeezed shut as he attempted to make his body hold back as much as possible.

Taking pity on him (or likely just equally as horny), you finally sat down on him, showing very small signs of struggle at his size.

"F-fuck ... Nonnie, it's so big, it's so- Oh ... fuck."

"Nonnie! Feels so good ... Oh, it's so good, Nonnie."

"Baby, need more ... Need you to fuck me. Please? Cock's so fucking good."

"Want it in my mouth, Nonnie. It's so thick n so fucking big. Looks so, fuck, so delicious. Wanna choke on it so bad ..."

These were only some of the filthy expletives you cried out as you bounced on his cock like a depraved girl. You desire for him alone was enough to make Vernon want to give up and dedicate his body to your pleasure, knowing that your gorgeous body would always give him the same, if not more, pleasure in return.

It got so bad for him that at some point, he simply couldn't hold back anymore, his feet settling firmly on the ground before tightening his grip on your hips and beginning to bounce you up and down his cock while his hips canted up with inmensurable speed.

"Cunt's so tight, baby. Never letting you go again. 's all for me, right? Get to have you every day now," he mumbled against your chest, lips chasing your tits every now and then.

"Y-yes, Nonnie. All for you! Missed you so much, Nonnie. Thought of you every day," you hiccuped, back arching to give him better access to your tits, "I was so heartbroken over you ... Never letting you go now. You're mine. Right, Nonnie?"

He nodded and cried at your words, heartbroken just at the thought of your own heartbreak. He had to remind himself that none of that mattered anymore. Now he finally had you. The dam had finally broken and allowed the two of you to end your prolonged animosity and give you a chance to finally be his. Just how he had been yours all these years.

Your love making (if you could even call it that considering the animalistic nature of it) could only last so long before Vernon finally burst, which meant he had to take matters into his own hands and make sure you found your end with him. Reaching between you, his hand searched for your clit, finding it in only a few seconds. Disconnecting his head from your chest, he went back to kissing your neck, reaching your ear so he could talk you through your orgasm.

"Need you to cum for me, okay, baby? Love you so much ... Need to cum together, pretty, yeah?",

"L-love you! So much, Nonnie ... Never stopped."

Those were the last words you managed to let out before your orgasm took over you, whining the prettiest cries Vernon had ever heard. The tightening of your cunt finally allowed Vernon to let go, joining you in your high as neither of your hips halted their movements.

Holding you all throughout, Vernon had never felt as close to anyone else as he did to you in this moment. If you needed to hate him in order to protect yourself from his betrayal, then Vernon fully accepted it. No part of him blamed you for keeping him at an arm's length at all times. Specially if this was the final outcome. Now that he finally had you, he didn't care what journey he had to live through to get here. All he cared about was the gorgeous girl of his dreams crying in his arms as pleasure overtook her.

Your orgasms had been so incredibly intense that you needed some moments to catch your breaths before speaking up. That, and all the emotions that must've been going through your minds.

Holding each other despite the silence, you stayed like that for a few minutes, simply nuzzling against each other as a demonstration of love for one another. Vernon's mind still couldn't believe the reciprocation of your feelings. His heart was still beating far too loud under your touch, but he felt at ease.

"I really do love you," he spoke against your neck, "And I'll never stop regretting what I did to you."

You created a small distance between you to look at him, caressing his cheek in your hand as you spoke.

"I'll never be okay with what you did, but I love you. You were young, and you made a mistake. I can't stand hating you anymore."

He smiled, turning his head to kiss the palm you had against his cheek.

"You can hate me, as long as you love me too," he said. He knew it made no sense, but he also knew you understood.

"I love you," you said again with a smile.

"I love you."

to read short 2.3k word continuation you can go join my monthly tier on kofi or patreon!

content: smut, afab reader, comfort sex, face riding, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 714 (teaser); 2379 (full drabble)

sneak peak:

"Isn't it unprofessional for you to ask an ex member to join the band again just cause you're sleeping together?", asked Chan as he tuned his guitar absentmindedly.

"For the last time, that's not why I'm asking her. I've wanted her back for years, you guys know this. I'm just rectifying a mistake."

You giggled from your seat on the couch, enjoying that the guys still gave Vernon a hard time for what he had done all those years back.

The news of your relationship had come as a surprise only to a few people. Most of your friends had seen it coming from miles. The sexual tension was just too high, or at least that's what Jeonghan had said when you first broke the news, Seungkwan nodding in agreement.

After that day in the studio, you and Vernon entered an annoyingly disgusting honeymoon phase. Unfortunately for everyone else, this phase seemed to be endless. Two months in, and you were still attached to the hip, unable to keep your hands or eyes away from each other.

Your newfound revelation of love for Vernon also brought back up old dynamics between the two of you. With his encouragement, you began occasionally playing with the guys, sometimes joining in as second guitar on stage, standing at the back, right next to Vernon and his drums. Your relationship was a point of conversation for fans, but you still kept it private among the people in the company.

Currently, Vernon had made the executive decision that he wanted you to officially be featured in a remixed version of one of their most successful songs from their debut album. The plan had already been there, but Vernon's suggestion of having you on the track rather than anyone else had surprised some people at the company, especially when they found out you agreed.

Vernon had been incredibly busy all week, leaving this as the first time he'd been able to see all of you together to briefly discuss the future plans for the track. His plan was to make a quick stop and then finally rest in your arms back at your apartment.

"Anyways, you should never forget that she was lead guitar before you ever were. We could always just send you to the back again," interrupted Seungkwan, giving Chan an unserious yet pointed look.

Chan raised his hands in defense, "Hey! I'm not the one who kicked her out!"

Groaning, Vernon walked over to you and buried his face in your neck, tired features clear in his face as he wrapped his arms around your waist, "Make them stop. Please."

Giggling again, you opted for a better option, taking the clearly tired boy by the hand and leaving the studio, bidding your goodbyes to the guys.

You had only stopped by to say hi to your friends while on your way to your apartment, knowing Vernon was tired from a long day of recording for various other activities he had recently embarked in as a new face in the industry. They were already aware you'd be recording a song with them, but simply enjoyed giving Vernon a hard time. Maybe even more than you did.

On the ride home, Vernon had fallen asleep, absentmindedly cuddling against you on the back of the car. Vernon had naturally taken on the role of the main face of the group, which also came with endless work and promotions he sometimes had to do solo, just like today. You were more fortunate in that area, making most of your money off royalties and not needing to make public appearances at any point.

When you finally arrived home, you continued dragging Vernon along with you, who would only groan occasionally at the thought of even stepping foot into the elevator. Making it all the way to your suite had taken a while due to the size of the building, but when you made it, Vernon immediately threw off his shirt and stripped down to his boxers, letting himself fall face first into the bed, groaning at the mattress cushioning his fall.

You stared for a few moments, thinking of what you could do to help your tired boyfriend relax after a tiresome week of work. Then the idea suddenly came to you.

...

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1K notes · View notes

bbsmuts · 5 months ago

Text

Field Trip Part 2: The Queen's Homecumming ft. BLACKPINK Jennie and Lisa

A/N: This is the continuation of Field Trip, which was something that was requested a lot back when I released the original. I've kept people waiting long enough, and I'm sure seeing that title made a lot of people excited. Field Trip remains my most popular smut, with over 900 notes, shoutout to my man @xiaoondc for pitching it. It's almost been a year in real time, so it'll be accurate.

-상훈

Length: 8.45k

Possible TW: Pretty much all of it

Tags: Domination, slave/master, choking, spanking, breeding, humiliation, whipping, gangbang, spitroasting, anal, throatfuck, bondage

WARNING: Intense and graphic sexual violence and degradation is depicted in this smut, much more than the original Field Trip. If you are easily triggered by or sensitive to such content, I strongly advise that you stop reading here.

Part 1: Field Trip

It had been nearly a year since Jennie's scandalous visit to Nairobi, and the time had come for her to return. At last.

Jennie had been waiting eagerly for a full year to go back to Kenya as she had promised, and now she had the opportunity. So it was with high spirits and high anticipation that she packed her things and headed to the airport. Only this time, there was a difference. She had decided to bring along a friend of hers who was relatively pure and innocent, Lisa. The two of them boarded the plane together, Lisa happily talking Jennie's ear off, having no idea what was in store for her. She was jittery the whole flight, anticipation and excitement flooding her. The thought of what was going to happen when she arrived...it made her want to finger herself right there with Lisa and the random-ass guy sitting in the seat next to her.

She disembarked the plane hastily with Lisa, waited very impatiently going through security, and took a cab to the familiar Radisson Blu hotel, where she settled down for a few hours of sleep before the morning.

...

The look of pure shock on Ngina's face when she saw Jennie, in her crop top and shorts, back on the bus was laughable, she stared for a moment and then recovered herself, going back to her clipboard to examine something. Jennie smirked and sat down near the front next to Lisa, watching the locals of Nairobi mill around by the bus stop. Once Ngina had counted her passengers and made sure everyone was there and that there were no stragglers, the bus engine started and they began moving. Jennie's excitement was reaching fever pitch, but she kept a calm outer demeanor. The scenery brought back vivid memories of her last visit, and as they pulled closer to the village, Jennie could see the massive Mugumo tree that had lead her and Somi into the trouble that had ultimately lead her to a Kenyan BBC addiction.

The village had run into some subtle improvements since Jennie had last been there; the houses and buildings had been renewed, the villagers clothes looked newer, and the architecture was slightly more modern and updated, and something that resembled an outmoded hotel was visible at the far end of the square. The massive baobab tree that Jennie and Somi had been tied to and whipped at last time was also clearly in sight, the thought sending a pang of anticipation through her body.

All the passengers disembarked the bus and entered the village, Ngina shaking hands with the leader, who looked mildly surprised to see Jennie back. The same could not be said for the other passersby, who stopped and openly stared in shock. Jennie approached the leader and extended her hand.

Taking her hand and shaking it, he said, "I never did catch your name, did I?"

"It's Jennie. You?"

"Jaali." He looked to Jennie's left and saw Lisa, who was standing there watching the exchange and had chosen to wear a very small and very tight white halter top and black shorts, which perfectly displayed her flawless figure. "I see you brought a spare."

"Indeed I did. This is Lisa." Lisa stepped forward and shook Jaali's hand, eyeing him and her surroundings very curiously.

Jaali stepped back, a cunning smirk on his face. "Very good. Well, have a look around, feel free to explore." His smirk widened. "I hear the Mugumo trees are very pretty this time of year."

"How funny, so did I." Jennie returned the devilish grin, both of them sharing a knowing smirk. "Be a shame if we didn't check them out."

He laughed. "Indeed. Well, I have matters to attend to, so I'd best be off. Enjoy yourselves."

Jennie and Lisa departed towards the large, open fields together. The word that Jennie was back spread very quickly, and various locals, especially the men, greeted Jennie as she passed and voiced how glad they were to see her again.

Jennie inwardly smirked and shook her head, since she knew well that everyone but Lisa knew what would be going on today. She wondered vaguely whether she and Lisa would be separated, or whether Lisa would consent to or enjoy what was bound to happen once they reached the Mugumo tree. The guard troop passed several times, each time a different member greeting Jennie and throwing a glance at her retreating form.

"Wow," commented Lisa the sixth time this happened, "you must be really popular down here. What, did you make friends with every person in Kenya?"

Jennie chuckled as they both sat down side by side on a large lakeside rock. "Sure I did. Plenty of guys, as well. You know me, you know I'm into black guys."

Lisa scoffed and laughed as well. "Of course you would."

They laughed together for a moment before Jennie spoke. "Hey, you never know what could go down."

Lisa's giggles came to a hushed silence. "You mean...with them?"

Jennie nodded, curious to see how Lisa felt about it. Lisa blinked a few times and then said, "Three letters. B. B. C!"

Jennie laughed again. "Shocking that you would think that way."

Lisa paused her giggling once more. "But seriously, did you actually?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Sure then. Whatever you say."

Jennie scoffed and then glanced toward the bank opposite them, spotting the massive Mugumo tree, fully in bloom, and the altar below it. The scenery was really quite beautiful, but as the guard troop passed by again, she had other things on her mind.

"Say, Lisa," Jennie said, still observing the tree, "you ever seen a Mugumo tree up close before?"

"No."

"Well, why don't we go see that one?" Jennie nodded towards the other bank. Lisa looked over at it and hopped up.

"Sure, let's go."

A small and insignificant part of Jennie felt guilty for leading her friend into such a trap, knowing that the level of pain, shame, and humiliation would match if not exceed that of last time, but that small part of her was drowned by the other parts of her, particularly parts in her lower region, that had sworn loyalty and developed addiction to the cocks of the tribesmen.

They approached the tree, Lisa making comments on how nice the leaves looked, and sat down on another rock near it. Before long, the small body of guards started moving steadily in their direction.

"That's odd," Jennie commented, fighting hard to keep the smirk off her face and her excitement down. "I wonder why they're coming over here? There's no one but us."

"No idea." Lisa yawned. "God, I should have had some coffee, I was up all night."

Inwardly, Jennie speculated that once the guards finished their trip over here, Lisa would very quickly forget her tiredness. The guards marched their way all the way up to the rock, and their leader took another step forward.

"This is a forbidden area, you must not trespass here. Come with us now."

"Oop," said Lisa as they got off the rock and followed the guards back towards the village. "Guess we weren't supposed to be there. Well, we didn't know."

"Yup. We'll probably just go back to Ngina now." Jennie knew full well that the words coming out of her mouth were blatant lies, but she ignored it as they were led into the village. Her excitement was almost making her tremble, but she kept it in.

The guards then split them up, just like last time. Lisa's cries of "Hey, wait!" were ignored by Jennie and the tribesmen. Jennie was brought to the same hut as last time, with the clay floor and thick wood centerpost. The tribesmen shoved her inside and then took their places in a circle around the hut. She would have removed her own clothes, but she really enjoyed how rough they were with her. Two stepped forward and tore off her top, not bothering to be careful. Then one of them knelt, grabbed her shorts by the front, and ripped them in two. To her surprise, they left her bra and panties alone, perhaps at the order of Jaali, and tied her hands in front of her, leaving her kneeling half-naked on the floor.

Speak of the devil, Jaali himself walked into the hut, wearing only the loincloth that the other tribesmen wore, unlike his usual expensive manner of dress. Jennie surveyed his muscular and fit figure as he paced around the small hut, feeling heat grow between her legs, finding herself growing exceedingly horny just at the sight of him.

"So, Miss Jennie," he said, the same devious grin on his face as earlier, "you find yourself the same predicament as a year ago." He gave a theatrical sigh. "Of course, since you are now a repeat offender, your punishment for such a heinous crime will be significantly more severe than last time."

He stopped directly in front of Jennie, looking down at her and allowing her a glimpse under his loincloth, both the sight and his words spiking her arousal up. He chuckled at her expression and resumed his pacing.

"I must commend you, however, for the new addition to my harem. Lisa, her name was? Quite a beauty. And in no time she, like you, wil become a cockslave to me."

There was a short pause, in which he made a half revolution of the hut. "I notice, as well, that your friend from last time has foolishly chosen to ignore my warning and stay away. Very well. She will regret it."

"How will you bring her back?" Jennie asked.

"I will send my best men to South Korea and find her. They are skilled and they will track her down and drag her back by the hair if they have to."

Jennie considered this for a moment, then realized something.

"I mean no disrespect, sir, but wouldn't a bunch of massive, smelly, half-naked Kenyan tribesmen draw a lot of attention?"

He snorted and paused in front of her, raising his eyebrows. "Surely you are smarter than that, Miss Jennie. This may appear to be a rural, run down little village, my little slut, but believe me, we are not living in the stone age anymore. I have ample equipment to disguise my men and make them fit in."

He shouted something in Swahili to the men outside the hut, of which Jennie could piece together as him requesting a chair. A heavy scraping sound sounded outside and the door opened, allowing two guards to push in a large, fancy, luxurious throne-esque chair, which they pushed up against the pillar in the center of the hut. Jaali sat down on it, unsheathed a knife from a sheath on the underside of one of the chair's arms, and handed it to a guard behind Jennie, who slashed the straps on her bra and both sides of her thong's waistband, removing both and leaving Jennie naked, wet, and desperate. The guard handed the knife back to Jaali, who cut off the string holding his loincloth together, removing it.

Jennie could practically feel her mouth watering at the sight of his cock; even semi-hard he was packing at least 7 inches. She waited for his order.

"Now, my little slave," he said, tossing the parasol leaf loincloth aside and spreading his legs slightly more, "come here and suck my cock like you mean it. Show me how much you want it."

Jennie crawled forward, sopping like a Korean rainstorm, and took his hardening shaft in both hands, slowly pumping up and down, feeling her arousal soar. She took his head into her mouth, sucking lightly. She had planned on starting slow, and she was doing so, but Jaali had other plans.

He grabbed her hair into a rough ponytail and forced her head down, sending half his length into her mouth and throat. "No one ever taught you how to suck a dick, slave?"

She moaned lightly around his dick, closing her eyes and letting him take control. Independent of him, she pushed her own head further down, pushing more of him into her.

"That's a good girl," he groaned quietly, controlling her head and moving it up and down. "Guards! Mfunge mikono!"

She didn't need to understand him, as his instruction was followed through. She felt her hands being tied together behind her back, at the same time as Jaali pulled her head down to his base, making her gag and moan. She was absolutely in love with this life, eager to serve and eager to please. She gagged again and choked as he did not release her head, thrusting his hips up into her face and driving his cock, if possible, deeper into her throat. She pushed her tongue out and licked along his balls, thoroughly enjoying being treated rough. Jaali moaned again, waited a moment, and then released her. She pulled her head off his shaft and gasped in a breath, but her moment of peace was short lived. She was turned around and shoved down, her face pressing into the cool clay floor. Jennie's heart rate increased, as she knew what was coming. A moment later she gave a gasp and a broken moan as a large cock slid into her tight, wet pussy, filling her to the brim. She had never felt so stuffed before in her life, and the sensation of the tip of a cock against her cervix when he bottomed out made her moan louder.

"Fuck!" She cried. "You're so big...master..."

She could hear the smirk in his voice. "Seems she knows her place better than I thought."

No further words were exchanged as he started thrusting his hips, slow at first, but quickly getting much faster, and in a matter of seconds Jennie was shrieking in pleasure and her legs were trembling with the effort of supporting her pleasure-riddled body. The continued assault on her pussy drove her crazy.

"Oh, fuck! Yes, yes, oh my god, please keep going! Fuck, you're so big! Keep pounding me!"

He pushed on her head and grabbed her breast, squeezing tightly. Jennie felt herself rapidly careening into the first orgasm of many that day.

"You like that, huh? You fucking slut, all nice and wet for me."

"Yes, I love it..." Jennie whimpered softly, brow furrowing at his deep strokes. "I-I'm a slut for you, master..."

"Good girl." He kicked up his speed and fucked her faster, automatically increasing force. Jennie's "Ah!"s became exponentially louder and within seconds, she gave a wail of bliss and squirted hard on his cock, her cheeks growing hotter as well.

"Fuck, Jennie, I can see why you're a crowd favorite!" He groaned. "God, you're tight!"

He pulled out and yanked her upright, slapping her face with his dick. Immediate lay understanding, she dove forward and shoved him all the way down her throat, desperate to taste his cum in her mouth. She bobbed her head up and down very quickly, sounds of deepthroat reverberating in the timbers of the hut.

"I'm gonna cum in your mouth, slave. Are you ready?"

Jennie let out a muffled "Yes, master!" around his cock before slamming her head down again, driving every last millimeter of his length down her throat. She gagged hard and coughed muffledly, but kept herself there, throat squeezing him. He gave one final loud groan, grabbed her roughly by the hair, and pulled her into his crotch, before exploding in her throat, straight down into her stomach. She slid off him slowly, savoring the taste of his thick cum, while he sat panting on the chair. She over balanced and fell on her side, still breathing heavily.

Jaali stood up and then squatted down in front of her, turning her languid hesd towards him. "I expect a performance of that standard every single time I use you, is that clear?"

"Yes, master," said Jennie, practically seeing hearts, as she looked at him.

"I must now go and sort out your friend, who will submit to me soon enough. I will leave you to my men." He walked to the door, and as the tribesmen approached, he threw a smirk oved his shoulder. "Have fun."

Jennie wished she could see Lisa get dominated, but she had no time to think about that as the men approached. Loincloths were removed, and suddenly she was surrounded by 5 large dicks, all stiff and ready to pound her.

She was grabbed and raised to a kneeling position, in which the man with the biggest cock slid under her, and pushed into her still-wet pussy, making her gasp loudly and moan in both pleasure and slight pain. He was incredibly big inside her, stretching her out considerably. Another moved in front of her and she opened her mouth obediently, allowing him in. The shaft that entered her ass, thus completing the trio, brought back strong déja vu from a year back, and she moaned louder as all three started pumping fast and hard. This feeling of being completely full, it was what she had missed so bad, and now it caused her more pleasure than ever before.

"Fuck!" Jennie moaned around the cock in her mouth as the man fucking her ass reached around her and choked her, none too carefully or lightly. She gagged as the cock was thrust deeper into her throat, her eyes rolling as she stuck out her tongue and allowed t deeper still, until he bottomed out.

All three of them groaned, and one of the other two cut the ropes binding her hands, allowing her to stroke him and his counterpart. The six of them moaned and grunted in various languages, tumbling down towards the inevitable orgasm that awaited all of them. Jennie could understand a couple of them degrading her in Swahili, which only served to turn her on more, and she felt the familiar buildup going sky high as their thrusts increased in strength and speed.

Then the hand on her throat tightened considerably as the first orgasm of the group erupted in her ass; she moaned at the spurts of warmth flooding her suddenly, and the pulsing in her tight hole. Her continued deepthroat sounds were turning her on, making her wetter, and the man fucking her pussy got an ample dousing of organic lube. His thrusts became less inhibited, faster, more slick, and he finally buried himself deep inside her, and the first shot of cum deep inside her womb made her throw her head back, eyes wide and mouth open in a gasp, the sheer depth of it having her stunned and pleasured. The man in front of her grabbed her hair impatiently and shoved his cock back into her throat, and she gagged again, eyes rolling back as he bottomed out, groaning loudly.

Jennie closed her eyes and let the pleasure and arousal take over, allowing her submission to control her. She bobbed her head back and forth on the tribesman in front of her, driving him in and out of her throat, pushing him closer to his climax. Suddenly, the two others she had been stroking moved behind her, and she gasped, choked on the sudden inhale of saliva, and whipped her head around as the sensation of two cocks pressing against her asshole invaded her. She had never been double penetrated in one hole before, and she had the feeling it might not be as pleasurable as single anal penetration. With a fair amount of spit, they managed to push into her tight hole, causing her a great deal of pain and pleasure. She moaned out of both, but dutifully turned back to the other, jamming his cock back into her mouth. Both men behind her began furiously thrusting into her, seemingly enjoying her cries of both pleasure and pain. The guy in front then assumed a new position; one that benefitted all three remaining gangbangers. He lay down on his back, sliding his thick legs under her, so his cock was pointing straight up. She quickly brought her upper half down, so her ass was in the air, opening up her hole better, and brought her head down on the shaft hard, plunging it down her throat in one smooth motion. She furrowed her eyebrows in the effort of keeping it there; the new position allowed for better leverage and more penetration in her throat, it wasn't easy.

As her throat contracted around him and she massaged the underside with her tongue, he gave an almighty groan and grabbed her by the head, pulling her down still further as he blew his load in her throat, straight into her stomach, and her eyes rolled back once again as she struggled not to choke and spit his cum out. She pulled off him, swallowed with difficulty, then looked him in the eye, biting her lip in arousal.

Her seductive look was interrupted by a moan and her eyebrows arching upward as one of the two behind her started roughly fingering her clit, making her arch her back and buck her hips against them, crying out wildly at the sudden burst of pleasure. The other pushed her head into the ground, allowing him to see her side-profile moan. He leaned forward, putting more weight on her grounded face, railing her into the floor. Her entire body quaked under the force of the impacts, the strokes, rocking her prostrate form. Each and every blow to her ass made her tremble. She felt her limp hands being tied together again, something she didn't object to in the least. It made her feel controlled, helpless. And she loved it.

The man in front of her, now sitting comfortably on a wide pillow, grabbed her hair and yanked her face up, allowing him to see her pleasure-addled face. Her eyebrows were curved upwards, eyes closed, and she bit her lip at his roughness. She opened her unfocused eyes slightly and looked at him, letting out a small "ah" at a particularly hard thrust from behind her.

"You're a good obedient whore, hm?" He spoke in a thick accent, but not indecipherable. She didn't answer immediately, trying to think clearly past her haze of bliss. He slapped her roughly, making her yelp and give a quiet moan.

"Yes...master..." Jennie moaned out, giving a louder cry as three additional fingers were shoved into her pussy, adoring the roughness and the degradation. "I'm a...fuck...g-good little slut for you...master..."

He chuckled and let go of her hair, allowing her face to fall back into the floor. "Yes you are. Good girl."

Jennie moaned again. How could she ever go back to Korea? How in her right mind would she ever give this feeling up? As one of them behind her slapped her ass viciously, making her yelp louder, and she threw an arched-eyebrows lip bite over her shoulder, which earned her another slap on the ass. She moaned a vague plea for more, and the two kept up the spanks.

"Fuck..." She said softly, a small squeal escaping her lips at an especially hard spank. "I'm gonna cum..."

Her head was pulled up and she looked with hazy eyes into those of the man now relaxing on the pillow, who smirked. "You're going to what?"

"C-cum, master..." Jennie repeated, her voice trembling slightly, the pleasure reaching fever pitch inside her. "It's so good...so f-fucking good..."

He moved closer and pressed his cock against her lips, to which she gave a long lick, and then took it into her mouth, slowly moving back and forth. She moaned around his thickness, and with stifled groans, both men fucking her ass orgasmed simultaneously, sending another tirade of hot cum deep into her bowels. Her moans increased in volume dramatically, and she pulled off the cock in her mouth to vocalize her pleasure.

With a scream, she squirted intensely all over the thighs of the two behind her, yelling her lungs out as her world disappeared in a whirlpool of bliss. She was no longer aware of anything; all she knew was the pleasure of being the cockslave of this tribe. She panted heavily, slumping to the floor as all three men backed off. Faintly, she heard a very similar scream rent the air, and she immediately knew it was Lisa succumbing to the pleasure as well.

A sheen of sweat covered her entire body. She could feel cum starting to leak out of her ass and pussy, and as she returned to full consciousness, she heard footsteps approaching. Jaali entered the tent, a large and satisfied smile on his face, and she turned onto her back to see him.

"Did it work...master?" Jennie said breathlessly, chest heaving. She pulled herself upright as he approached.

"Very well, I'd say." He smiled wider. "She hasn't fully complied yet, and she's still acting a bit defiant, but that'll be fixed very soon. My men have done a good job so far. Soon enough she, too, will realize that she has no choice. The pleasure will get to her."

Jennie knew quite well what was coming next, and she was both excited and scared. It was quite painful last time, though she had enjoyed it in a way. But this time, he had said it would be more severe. She shivered, even though it was at least 40 degrees outside.

"So now," Jaali continued, "I believe you are aware of our next step?"

Jennie nodded, a small smirk tugging at her lips despite her fear of the possible intensity this time. The guards moved forward and grabbed her by the upper arms, pulling her upright. They marched her outside, where a crows had assimilated and she could see Lisa's slim naked form waiting by the huge baobab tree in the village square. Among the many emotions Jennie could see in Lisa's eyes, betrayal and hurt were not detectable. What was detectable was pleasure, adoration, slight confusion, and excitement. Despite having experienced this exact situation before, her modesty had been somewhat recovered during her year in back Seoul, and she felt her cheeks grow hot as her naked body was exposed to the crowd. However, she made no attempt to cover herself and allowed herself to be led up to the baobab tree. The guards lifted her onto the brick tree ring, and one climbed up after her. He tied another rope around the one binding her hands, fashioned the other end into a noose and threw it up over the branch of the tree, tightening it so she couldn't move her arms. Lisa's arms were also tied above her head, and as the guard retreated, she turned her head to look at Jennie.

The guard started professing their crime to the crowd gathered, and Lisa said three words to her.

"Did you know?"

Jennie was silent for a moment, considering whether or not she should tell the truth. Finally she looked at her and spoke.

"Yes, I did."

Lisa snorted. "So you led me into this on purpose?"

Jennie thought she was angry, but she then smiled. "Can't say I expected something like this to happen, but I like it."

"Wait - you're okay with this?"

Lisa smiled wider. "Didn't you hear me earlier? BBC! I wasn't talking about the news corporation, I knew we'd be doing that kinda stuff with them."

In spite of what she had just said, Jennie looked away. "I'm sorry."

"But why?" Lisa questioned. "We came here both knowing what would probably happen, you just knew more of it than me."

The voice of the guard and the usual angry shouts subsided from behind them, and Jennie looked over her shoulder. The box of whips and punishing tools was being brought out again, and Jennie could see a few cat-o-nine tails hanging over the edge of it. Jennie's heart skipped a beat; they had refrained from using the cat-o-nines last time, but since it would be more severe, would they this time? A cold sweat gathered at her hairline. She knew that, even though she would enjoy being punished with their other implements, she would not enjoy that.

Lisa looked around as well and her face went pale. "Wait...wait, they won't use the spiky ones on us, will they?"

Jennie breathed out a heavy exhale. "They won't use them on you. They might for me...since it's my second time doing this. I really hope not though..."

The two guards in charge of punishing them approached the box, dug around in it momentarily, and one pulled out the barbed whip. Jennie's eyes went wide and a stab of fear tore through her. But she experienced heavy relief as the other one grabbed his hand to stop him, shaking his head and irritatedly saying something in Swahili. The other protested, and the reasonable one raised his voice slightly, which allowed Jennie to hear and understand what he was saying.

"No, you sadistic idiot!" He said in impatient Swahili. "We're punishing the girls, not tearing them apart!"

The one holding the barbed whip put it back, looking sullen. The other one continued digging around, shaking his head and muttering incredulously. Jennie thought a silent blessing on him for his mercy and breathed a sigh of relief. Her heart rate jumped up drastically as they finally settled on a pair of flexible riding crops, pumping her excitement up. She was a pain slut and she knew it. They approached holding the tools, and Lisa whipped her head around to look at Jennie.

"How long do they do it?"

"Not long," Jennie replied, shifting into a comfortable position and preparing for her punishment. "Enough to hurt, though. But don't worry," she continued, smiling deviously, "you'll enjoy-"

Her sentence was interrupted by a vicious smack to her ass by the crop. She cried out loudly in the middle of her sentence and Lisa gave a small squeal at her first strike. And then the second stroke came. And the third. The fourth. The fifth. Jennie, through her haze of pain and pleasure, saw Jaali sitting on his chair by a different hut 10 yards away with his ankles crossed, a drink in his hand, observing the scene. He saw her looking at him and raised his glass mockingly, his smirk visible even from this distance.

She yelped louder at a particularly hard stroke. So far, she thought, this was not more severe than last time, in fact it was more mild. No sooner had she thought this than the crops were put away, and she caught a glimpse of the bullwhips from last time when she looked back. Lisa shot a glance over at her calm, composed demeanor.

"Well, you were right, it isn't as bad as I thought it would be. And I do kinda like it."

A loud, sharp crack cut through the air and Lisa shrieked in pain, eyes wide from the shock of such a drastic increase in intensity. A faint red streak was visible on her ass. A second later Jennie felt a stinging pain on her own ass, and she yelled out as well. Lisa got whipped again, and she gave another howl, eyes screwing up.

"Ow!" She cried, tears welling in her eyes. "It hurts!"

Jennie got her next lash, and she felt tears springing to her own eyes, purely from the pain of it. At a glance to her right, she saw Lisa's pained and tearful eyes looking back at her, her mouth opening in another cry at her next lash. They were each given 12 more lashes and then the bullwhips were put away. Behind her, Jennie heard a man's voice, shouting in Swahili.

"Turn around!"

Jennie turned to face the crowd obediently, but Lisa didn't move, not understanding the command. Jennie opened her mouth to tell Lisa what he'd said, then another crack sounded and Lisa wailed again.

"He says turn around, Lisa."

Lisa turned around hurriedly to face the crowd as well, and a pink tint appeared in her tear-streaked cheeks at the lecherous jeers of the onlookers. She crossed one thigh over her pussy a bit, in a minimal effort to decrease the humiliation, but a warning look from a guard was enough for her to put it back down. She let her leg relax, letting the crowd have an unadulterated view of her naked and abused body, hanging her head in shame. In a way Jennie felt sorry for her, but that thought was strangled by the sight of Jaali walking over from his chair. The guards stood at attention and bowed their heads respectfully, and he climbed up to where Jennie was, surveying with approval the marks left on her and Lisa's bodies. He stepped right in front of her and spoke into her ear, roughly grabbing her sore ass.

"Do you think we should bring out the kitties, little slut?"

Jennie could only assume he was referencing the tails, to which she frantically shook her head.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, master."

Jaali chuckled. "Very well."

He walked behind her, delivered a painful slap to both of their asses, and then walked back to his chair with a single shouted word.

"Kuanza!" ("Commence!")

While Jaali had been talking to Jennie, the guards had gotten out two thin wooden canes and were now preparing to strike. Jennie gulped and steeled herself as much as possible, and completely lost her composure as the first lash landed directly on her nipple.

"FUCK!" She screamed, jerking away as much as possible. It stung way worse than last time, and she had not been prepared for the level of agony it caused. Lisa spouted a similar shriek at her first hit.

And so it continued for dozens of lashes, each stroke becoming more agonizing, until they stopped, leaving the two girls panting heavily, moaning in pain and covered in red streaks. Despite the intense stinging pain she was feeling, Jennie couldn't deny that her pussy was absolutely drenched, and she found herself wanting more. Then she spotted her punisher eyeing her pussy as though about to hit it with the switch.

"Please..." Jennie said quietly, almost to herself, "No..."

Despite her arousal, she knew that being whipped there with that switch would be absolute hell. He seemed to consider it, but shook his head and put away the switch. This time around they used different tools. Perhaps since it was Lisa's first time, they went easier on her this round. Her punisher brought out a multi-tasseled leather flogger, and Jennie's retrieved an old-fashioned Russian knout, thankfully designed without wire. It was, Jennie thought, like a more intense version of Lisa's flogger.

The guards approached once more, holding their different implements of punishment. Jennie saw what was coming an instant before it did - the crowd gave a collective gasp as each of the two girls was struck violently in the pussy with their respective whips. But instead of a shriek of pain, both of them let out moans of pleasure.

"Ooooh..." Jennie moaned, as the guards drew their arms back once more. "Now you like it, huh, Lisa?"

Lisa gave a cute yelp as she was struck between her thighs again. "Mmm, yeah..."

The next upswing hit her directly in the clit, eliciting a high pitched "ahh" and upping her arousal. Lisa moaned again, a barely perceptible buck of her hips signaling her pleasure.

"Harder!" Jennie cried as she was whipped again, desperate for her release. "Fucking whip me harder!"

The guard didn't understand the words she said, but could clearly decipher her tone because his uppercuts increased in force and frequency. She felt herself drawing nearer to an orgasm from pain alone, though the strikes caused her intense pleasure from it. Lisa's cries also got louder as she too approached her orgasm.

"Fuck," Lisa gasped, chest heaving, "I'm gonna cum!"

Jennie only moaned in reply, giving a loud "ah" at her punisher's swing. But then there was a pause in the pleasure pain. Jaali had roused himself from his chair and was making his way through the crowd as Lisa's shouts continued, and after a quick word with Jennie's guard he took the knout from him and turned to face Jennie. There was a moment of silence, broken only by her counterpart's broken whimper, wherein Jaali and Jennie looked each other in the eye, and Jennie knew she was about to cum.

With a slight cock of his head, Jaali brought his hand down and then swung it up into her soaking wet pussy. Then again. And on the third strike, he calculated his movement, let his hand fall, and then brought up a stinging, painful, blissful strike into her. Every tassel of the ten-tail knout was felt, each landing an exquisite sting on a different spot. Her clit, her entrance, her lips, everything was hit in a magnificent blow. And this was what drove her over the edge.

With a final shriek, voicing her pleasure, she squirted explosively all over the place; droplets of her cum showered the tree ring and everything below her. It only took a few more strikes for Lisa to reach her orgasm as well; lithe body writhing, she squirted hard on the tree ring below her too. The two of them hung limp against their bonds, chests heaving.

Jaali climbed up to stand in front of the crowd, back to the two bound girls, and starting speaking loudly in Swahili to the audience.

"You see this?" He gestured at the two of them. "These two degenerate whores have just orgasmed before your eyes, from a public whipping! They are aroused by pain and humiliation! Now that you have seen with your own eyes the level of decadence these licentious sluts show, I leave them to you. I trust that you will handle them appropriately."

The crowd, especially the men, cheered at the last two sentences, and the mob converged. The rope on Jennie's hands was sawed off and she was dragged onto the ground with Lisa. Jennie felt a mass of hands groping and fingering her, to which she moaned quietly. She was pulled to a kneeling position, at which time someone tied a piece of cloth into her mouth, keeping her from talking. A hand grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back, and a few more restrained her hands behind her back. She felt a lukewarm substance being daubed across her breasts and cleavage, but she couldn't decipher the words from feeling alone. The hand gripping her hair was pulling very hard, and Jennie gritted her teeth at the pain. Yet another hand grabbed her by the neck and tightened its grip until she was gasping, and several more slapped whatever parts of her were accessible. She felt blows land on her ass, pussy, breasts, face, thighs, and other spots. She managed to turn her head enough to see Lisa, who was being treated the same way, and black clay paint which had been roughly smeared across her breasts spelled "Kahaba" (Whore). An unknown someone slapped her face hard enough to knock her over, but she was steadied by the thirty hands grasping her.

Jennie's mind was a whirlwind of chaos and mixed emotions, and the only things that resonated with her brain were the pleasure of being caressed and fingered and the pain of being slapped, spanked, and abused. Bodies and noise pressed in on her. Her hair was released, and she looked down at her chest to see the same clay paint, which spelled "Malkia Kahaba" (Queen Whore). Her cheeks grew hot again, but that was nothing compared to Lisa's. Lisa's face could have been easily mistaken for a beetroot, it was so red.

The two were dragged onto their feet. Jennie's hands were tied behind her back, and she was pushed forward. She could't see where they were going, or where she was being led, but the crowd was marching her and Lisa somewhere, and by the noise of the crowd behind her, she could tell she was at the front of it. Gasps and shouts were heard from who was presumably villagers who hadn't been made aware of the situation. Blindfolded, gagged, tied, and naked, she was paraded through the village, shown to everyone who hadn't already been at the gathering. As humiliated and ashamed as she was, she couldn't ignore the heat building up between her legs again. Was she really being turned on by this?

Then someone in the lead of the crowd shouted in gleeful Swahili, something like "I got it!"

Jennie didn't know what he was talking about, but all the was concentrating on was keeping her arousal to a minimum, since her thighs were rubbing together a lot as she walked. But then, out of nowhere, something flat and something that stung hit her ass, and she gave a loud cry, not expecting the sudden pain. They had broken out the crops again, and Lisa let out a similar squeal a second after. Jennie's ass was already sore from its earlier abuse, and the sting was made much worse now. But each hit not only send a jolt of pain through her, but one of pleasure as well. She struggled to keep her moans at bay, and was battling to keep herself from cumming again. She was fighting on multiple fronts, including her own front, and soon enough the armies of pleasure would overtake her defense.

And sure enough, when the crop was brought up into her pussy, she folded. Her entire body shook with the effort of controlling itself, and she bit the cloth in her mouth hard to keep herself from yelling out. A stream of cum leaked out despite her best efforts. The leaders of the mob noticed her decrease in pace and pushed her to keep walking, thankfully not noticing her orgasm. Her whole body felt hot and shaky, whether that was from arousal or humiliation she didn't know.

Before she knew it, they had made a full circle of the village, and her blindfold and gag were removed. While they had been away, some remaining helpers had constructed two large structures that vaguely resembled spits for cooking meat, which were made up of two vertical wooden poles with an adjoining horizontal pole on top, both of which having been laid down on the ground. The crowd had assimilated more members on its tour of the village, and various members were shouting something Jennie couldn't understand over the noise. But she and Lisa were each forced onto one of the respective spits. Jennie's hands were tied to the top pole, and each of her feet was tied to the two outer poles, spread-eagling her across it. Then a rope was tied onto each of her thighs and then connected to the top pole, to support her and make sure she didn't fall. She looked to the side and saw Lisa in the same position, everything on display for the villagers. Tears were gathered in her eyes, but she didn't seem to be too opposed to her current situation.

The crowd left them alone momentarily while they held an internal discussion, no doubt debating how to humiliate the two girls further. They seemed to come to a unanimous conclusion, and the two were suddenly surrounded by men. Jennie got a brief glimpse of the surrounding houses before the mob of guys closed in. And in every direction, they all pulled out their cocks, and in every direction they started stroking their cocks.

Jennie understood their purpose now. She and Lisa would be covered in cum and raised on their spits to be displayed to all passersby. She was mortified at the idea of it, but the idea also sent a thrill of excitement through her and a fresh wave of slick to her lower region.

It was only a couple of minutes before the cum started flowing; Jennie gasped as the first spurt of cum landed directly on her hypersensitive pussy, and then the floodgates were opened and dozens more hit every part of her that was reachable. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of each white spray covering her body. They focused much of it on her face, but eventually they covered her whole figure with streaks of white cum. A final spurt landed on her outstretched tongue, and then the men dispersed. Her spit was heaved and hoisted into a standing position, leaving her hanging naked about six feet above the ground, well in view of everyone.

And after a few minutes of jeers, ogling and shame, the crowd dispersed and Jennie found herself in a similar position to last time: naked, tied, abandoned, and humiliated. She looked over and locked eyes with Lisa to her left. Tear tracks adorned her beet-red cheeks.

"You okay?" Jennie asked in Korean, so the remaining locals and guards wouldn't understand.

"Yes," Lisa replied, giving a small struggle against her bonds, "I'm good. And you know what?"

"What?"

Lisa suddenly smiled. "You were right, I did like it."

Jennie raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Really? All that, and you enjoyed it?"

Lisa nodded. "But fuck - that hurt. A lot."

Jennie grinned. "That's what makes it good, isn't it?"

Lisa giggled. "You're a really big fucking slut, you know that?" She sighed. "How long do you think we'll be up here?"

Jennie shrugged, as much as was possible with her arms splayed out. "As long as it takes for the guards to get horny again."

Lisa shivered at the thought. "Damn, that felt amazing..."

"Yes, now you see why I was so eager to come back."

"So what happens next?"

"You'll probably be taken down, then fucked again, then the tribe leader will offer you the option of being this tribe's sex slave. You can go back to Korea with me as long as you come back with me every year."

"Not that I will, but if I refuse?" Lisa asked.

"Prison, in which case the same outcome happens."

"Well, even if I had a choice I would still become their slave. Because god...I can't resist that..."

Jennie laughed. "Now who's a slut?"

"Heyyy!" Lisa protested. "I'm not a slut, it's just...well..."

"Who said there's anything wrong with that?" Jennie chuckled.

Lisa blushed. "Ok fine...I'm a slut."

"That's better."

It was about half an hour more that they hung there, with the occasional goggling passerby, talking. But then a small body of guards approached and took the spits down, untying the two girls and dragging them to their feet. Then their hands were tied behind their backs again, and their blindfolds were replaced.

No fanfare was bothered with and no privacy was cared for as the guards removed their loincloths and bent the two over on their knees. Jennie had no time to react whatsoever before a thick, long, and hard cock entered her pussy from behind, and another pushed against her lips until she opened them, which she did, gladly welcoming the shaft into her mouth. Both dicks quickly reached their maximum depth and bottomed out, making Jennie moan and gag simultaneously. She was very sensitive everywhere from the day's abuse and manhandling, and the man fucking her pussy was taking no care to be gentle. Nor was the one in front, who was savagely fucking her throat with no consideration for her rapidly emptying lungs. She choked on the thick meat filling her throat, trying to draw breath, but to no avail. He thrusted his hips forward fully, shoving his entire cock into her throat, keeping her from inhaling anything but his precum. She gagged, trying to pull away, but he held her head there, making her eyes roll back. She choked again, inadvertently jerking, her throat being stretched out by his thick cock. She desperately coughed and choked, fearing that he would facefuck her to unconsciousness, but then he let her go, pulling out of her throat. She gasped in a breath, coughing and panting. He gave her a moment's rest before starting throatfucking her again, but he didn't hold her down. Quick, hard thrusts were given from both sides, and again she felt herself drawing nearer to a climax. She had lost count of how many she'd achieved, but the number, whatever it was, had left her very sensitive and very delicate, and she was loving being absolutely demolished by the tribesmen. They gave no regard for her sensitivity, uninhibitedly drilling her with relentless abandon. Similar noises came from Lisa to Jennie's right; her cute deepthroat sounds and moans could be heard even over Jennie's own.

Then she heard a groan from behind her and a moment later, a deluge of hot cum filled her pussy, shooting deep inside her. The sudden torrent of warmth triggered her oncoming peak as well, and a gush of cum streamed out of her. Her loud "ahhhhng" was muffled and absorbed by the cock in her throat, and its owner succumbed to the orgasmic pleasure Jennie's mouth gave him, and finally buried himself inside it, releasing his load deep down her throat.

The two were given a minute to recover, breathing heavily, until they were heaved to their bedraggled feet once more.

"Well, see you." Lisa called to Jennie in Korean, excitement easily distinguishable in her voice, and then they were led their separate ways. Jennie nodded at her and allowed herself to be steered away towards the sex hut. Jaali was waiting there, in his chair which was pushed against the center post. He gave a small smirk at the sight of her, cheeks flushed and red, naked, covered in semi-dry cum and whip marks, and pushed onto her knees.

"Enjoyed yourself, little slut?"

"Yes, I have, master."

"Last time, of course, you were offered a choice, which I will be giving to your friend once I'm done here. This time, you having already accepted the better option, you have another choice. You can, of course, return to Korea, and await this time next year. But," he continued, a small smirk curling his lips, "our hospitable village would be willing to play host to you and your friend, should you wish to stay a little bit longer to enjoy our...amenities."

Jennie was silent for a moment, and then smiled widely.

A/N: Jesus Christ, it's about time I put this out. It might've been a bit rushed. It's been pretty fun writing this series, and you know I can't leave it like that, so a part 3 will be in order in about...ten years. You're welcome.

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