#and the white knuckle grip on control of everything around her

[formulafanfics13]

One were reader (28) is Lewis' sub and he decides to give her a gift (sharing her w Daniel) in exchange of another favour (of your choice 💋)

earned and owed - LH44 & DR3 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: You’ve been obedient — and tonight, Lewis decides to reward you by letting Daniel Ricciardo touch you, fuck you, and worship you… but only on his terms. In a luxury hotel suite turned private playroom, you surrender completely to Lewis’s control while Daniel joins for a night of guided chaos. What begins with reverence ends in overstimulation, possession, and the brutal reminder that no matter who else gets to touch you — you belong to Lewis.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, D/s dynamics, power play, degradation kink, praise kink, voyeurism, cuckolding themes, orgasm denial/control, consensual non-monogamy, dominant Lewis, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, ownership language, overstimulation, light choking, begging, slight humiliation, breeding kink implied. 

“You’ve been good.” Lewis says it casually, but it lands like a command.

You’re kneeling on the hotel room carpet, silk robe pooled around your thighs, mouth dry, heart hammering. The lighting’s dim, warm, luxurious, all gold and mahogany, glassware catching shadows.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, legs spread, ringed fingers stroking the stem of a wine glass. Perfectly dressed, black trousers, soft tee, gold chain, but his eyes? They’re already undressing you.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe, palms flat against your thighs, knees aching in the best way.

Lewis hums. “You’ve been doing everything I ask.”

You nod.

“Without complaint.”

Another nod. Quieter.

His smile is slow. Dangerous. “You want a reward?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Something special?”

“Please.”

Lewis sips his wine. Sets it down. Then, with zero warning, says: “Come in.”

Your breath catches. The hotel door clicks open behind you. And then Daniel Ricciardo walks in. Black shirt, open at the throat. Dark jeans. A smirk that’s already ruined countless women. But he’s not looking at just anyone. He’s looking at you. Head to toe. Hungry.

You freeze. He closes the door. Locks it. Steps forward with a predator’s calm.

“Fuck,” Daniel mutters, licking his lips. “Look at her.”

“She’s stunning, isn’t she?” Lewis says smoothly. “My best girl. My favorite toy.”

Daniel comes to stand behind you, eyes burning. “And you’re sharing her?”

Lewis nods. “Just for tonight.” He stands. Walks toward you slowly, circling like a king inspecting his prize. Then he stops behind you, hands brushing your shoulders. “But she’s still mine.”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, chest rising.

“Daniel’s going to touch you,” Lewis murmurs in your ear. “Because I said so.”

You moan. He kisses the side of your head. “But you’ll only come when I say.”

“Yes, sir.”

He steps back. Nods once at Daniel. “All yours.”

Daniel kneels in front of you. His hands are gentle. Reverent. They slide up your calves, over your knees, then stop just at the hem of your robe. “You okay?” he asks, voice softer now. “Want this?”

You look up at Lewis.

“Speak, sweetheart,” Lewis says. “Tell him.”

“Yes,” you whisper. “I want it.”

Daniel smiles, wider this time. “Good girl.”

He spreads your knees with confident hands and leans forward. Your robe falls open. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes.

Then, with no further warning, he licks a hot, wet stripe up your cunt.

You gasp.

Daniel moans into you. Buries his mouth. His hands grip your thighs hard as he eats you like he’s been starved for it.

“Oh my god-” you choke out, hips bucking.

“Stay still,” Lewis warns. “Let him take his time.”

You grab the edge of the bed behind you, knuckles white.

Daniel is relentless. Tongue circling your clit. Two fingers curling up inside you with unholy precision. He groans every time you twitch, every time your thighs try to close around his head. “Pretty thing tastes like fucking heaven,” he mutters.

You cry out, trembling.

“I can feel her about to come,” Daniel says, glancing up.

“Don’t you dare,” Lewis snaps.

Daniel grins and pulls back. “Obedient, huh?”

You nod, barely able to breathe. Slick dripping down your thighs.

“Get on the bed,” Lewis instructs.

You scramble up, knees weak, robe discarded. You lie on your back, eyes wide, chest rising fast. Lewis comes to sit behind you, back against the headboard, legs spread. “Come here, love.” You crawl into his lap, straddling him, your back to his chest. His hands run up your sides, slow and possessive.

“Daniel’s going to fuck you now,” he whispers into your ear. “Because I said he could.”

You moan, desperate.

“But he doesn’t get to kiss you.”

You nod.

“He doesn’t get to hold you after.”

You nod again, more frantic now.

“He doesn’t get to keep you.”

“No, sir,” you whisper.

“Because you’re mine.”

“Yes, sir.”

Daniel moves between your legs. He strokes himself once, slowly. Then lines up. And slides in. You cry out, stretched wide, filled deep. Daniel groans, head tipping back. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You can barely speak. He’s thick, deeper than you expected, and the angle from Lewis’s lap has you squirming.

“Easy,” Lewis soothes, hands gripping your thighs. “Breathe.”

Daniel starts to move. Long, hard strokes. Thrusting slow, then fast, then slow again — enough to wreck you.

You’re shaking. Nails digging into Lewis’s thighs. Your head falls back on his shoulder.

“You’re doing so well,” Lewis murmurs, fingers on your throat, his cock pressing hard against your back. “Such a good girl.”

Daniel fucks you harder. Wet sounds. Skin slapping. His moans low and breathless. Yours choked and pleading.

“She’s close,” Daniel gasps. “I can feel it.”

“She hasn’t earned it yet,” Lewis says calmly.

Daniel stops.

You sob.

“Please-please, sir, please-”

Lewis cups your jaw. “Look at me.”

You do.

“You want to come?”

“Yes-yes, please-”

“You’ll do something for me tomorrow.”

You nod, frantic.

“No matter what I ask.”

“Yes-yes, I swear-”

“Then come.”

Daniel fucks into you hard, once, twice, and your orgasm rips through you.

You scream, legs locking, cunt clenching around him like it’s instinct.

Daniel groans. “Fuck-”

Lewis nods. Daniel comes inside you, cock pulsing deep, hips stuttering. You collapse against Lewis’s chest, panting.

Minutes later, Daniel zips up. “Fucking hell,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “You’re… wow.”

Lewis smirks. “She is.”

Daniel leans down, kisses your ankle, and walks out. The room falls quiet. Lewis pulls you into his lap fully, robe wrapped around you again. You’re trembling. He kisses your temple.

“Thank you, sir,” you whisper.

He smiles. “You’ll remember what I asked for?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He strokes your back. “Because I already know exactly what I want.”

And whatever it is, you’ll give it.

[jupiterpilgrim]

Sex Cage: Big Breasts and the Ordinary Modern Life

Eunbi x Somi x male reader

word count: 12K

previous chapter

Eunbi’s room is decked out like a gamer’s fever dream now. The RGB lights are set up just right, throwing a chill neon glow around, lighting up her face a bit. She’s parked in her plush gaming chair, legs tucked under, hunched over the mic. She’s rocking a baggy gray sweatshirt that’s slipping off one shoulder, showing a peek of her white tank top, and some soft black shorts. Her hair’s up in a messy bun, a couple strands hanging loose around her face. The camera’s got her in frame, the ring light smoothing out the hype written all over her expression. On-screen, “Rubydden’s Realm” overlays the corner of the stream—a hastily made, slightly clunky logo she insisted on designing herself. Below it, a scrolling bar reads, “First-ever stream! Let’s see if I survive TLOU!”

Her hands grip the controller nervously as the familiar PlayStation startup chime fades. The chat explodes before she even gets to the main menu.

StarGazer48: OMG, first stream vibes!!!

ButterflyEffect: She’s so cute 😭

ClickClackJack: Does she even know what’s coming??

MossyUnderwear: If she doesn’t cry at the start, she’s a robot.

"Wow! Okay, okay, hold on, chat!" Eunbi laughs, her voice carrying that particular mix of giddiness and terror. She leans forward, squinting at the second monitor to keep up with the flood of comments. “First of all, hi, everyone! Thank you for showing up… I thought there would be like… five people?"

She glances toward you, sitting just off-camera, as if for reassurance. You flash her a thumbs-up, silently mouthing, “You’ve got this.”

Her nervous laugh lingers as she picks up the controller, her fingers already fumbling with the buttons. “So, here’s the deal. This is my first-ever stream, obviously. And we’re starting with The Last of Us because… well, apparently, it’s a classic, and I don’t know much about it other than… it’s supposed to be really dramatic?” She draws out the last word like it’s a question, her doe eyes widening.

The chat erupts again:

GameDork98: Oh, honey, you have NO idea.

HatGuy69: She’s gonna cry in the first 15 minutes, guaranteed.

EllieLuv: Protect Ellie at all costs 😭

"Wait, what? Cry?!” Eunbi’s head jerks up, her gaze darting to the chat. “Nobody said anything about crying! This is just… an apocalypse thing, right? Like zombies and stuff?” Her voice rises an octave as she tries to sound calm.

The game menu appears, the soundtrack's desolate guitar fills Eunbi's ears through headphones. She adjusts in her seat, pulling the hoodie tighter around her like armor. “Alright, alright. I’m not scared. I got this. I mean, if I can handle weird requests in my DMs, I can handle… this… scary music…”

She navigates to “New Game,” as the opening cinematic begins, her expression shifts from nervous to curious. “Oh, wow. The graphics are pretty good. Look at this house! So cozy—oh no, is this where the drama starts?”

The chat explodes with laughter, cryptic emojis, and ominous hints.

ClickClackJack: This is the calm before the storm.

CryingAlpaca: Everyone, place your bets. Does she cry in 5 minutes or 10?

Eunbi leans closer, totally engrossed in Sarah wandering through the house. “Aw, this kid is so cute. Wait—she’s the main character, right?”

The chat collectively groans.

DadJokes24: Oh, sweet summer child…

“Wait, wait! Why are you guys groaning?!” she exclaims, pausing the game, eyes darting to the chat. “Don’t tell me! No spoilers, okay? Let me be innocent and enjoy this!”

She presses play again, her lips pursed as she concentrates. The moment Joel bursts through the door, Eunbi squeals in surprise. “Oh my god, what’s happening?!”

As the chaos unfolds—the infected neighbor, the car chase—she grips the controller so tightly her knuckles whiten. “THIS IS NOT ZOMBIE STUFF! WHY IS EVERYTHING EXPLODING?!”

DoomBoom: Chat, she’s losing it. This is GOLD.

NoContextGary: Just wait until the emotional sucker punch.

When the gut-wrenching scene with Joel and Sarah hits, Eunbi falls silent. Her eyes stay glued to the screen as her mouth drops open slightly. The soft sound of a sob escapes her lips as the scene fades to black, and she quickly wipes her eyes with her sleeve, laughing awkwardly. “Okay. Fine. You win. I cried. Are you happy now?”

CryingAlpaca: 16 minutes. I called it.

EllieLuv: And that's just the fucking prologue!!

ClipThis: Clip it, chat!

Eunbi sits back, letting out a shaky breath. “I need a second. That was brutal. And you guys… you knew. This whole time, you knew!” She waves a finger at the camera, mock-accusingly.

Her laughter turns genuine as she takes a sip from her water bottle, holding it dramatically like an Oscar. “Alright, let’s keep going. But if the game keeps hitting me like that, I might need therapy. And snacks. Definitely snacks.”

The chat goes wild with love and teasing, and Eunbi seems to relax, her natural charm shining through. When you see that she has everything under control, you sneak out of the room to let her focus on the game. She adjusts her hoodie, leans into the mic, and smirks at the camera. “Okay, chat. Let’s see what other heartbreaks you’ve got lined up for me. Bring it on.”

—

The stream winds down with a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion radiating from Eunbi. The game’s pause menu glows on the screen as she swivels her chair toward the camera, resting her chin in her hands with a bright, satisfied smile.

“Alright, chat. That’s it for today!” she announces, her voice warm and a little hoarse from three hours of near-constant talking. “I can’t believe we actually survived this far… well, mostly. Let’s just ignore all the times I accidentally ran straight into danger, okay? You guys are seriously the best for sticking with me through that chaos.”

The chat explodes with a flurry of messages:

StarGazer48: BEST STREAM EVER!

ButterflyEffect: You were so much fun, Ruby! Can’t wait for Friday!

ClickClackJack: First stream? Nah, you’re a natural.

RubyFan326: She’s learning fast chat, we stan a chaotic queen!!

Eunbi beams, hugging her knees to her chest like she can’t contain her excitement. “You’re all making me blush. Seriously, thank you for hanging out with me. I’m back Friday at 7 PM—mark your calendars, okay? Same game, same chaos, but hopefully with fewer ‘oops I died’ moments.” She flashes a cheeky grin and winks at the camera.

“And don’t forget to follow if you haven’t already! I mean, unless you hate fun. In that case… I don’t know what to tell you.” She laughs, leaning back in her chair and making finger guns at the screen.

The chat fills with emotes and farewells, hearts and inside jokes from the stream.

MossyUnderwear: WE LOVE YOU, RUBYDDEN!

DadJokes24: Don’t forget snacks for next time!

MovieBuff88: Stream was fire 🔥. See you Friday!

Eunbi waves a final time, her smile stretching wide and genuine. “Bye, guys! See you Friday! Be good, okay?” She clicks the “End Stream” button, the chat disappearing into a frozen feed of her grinning face.

The room falls silent except for the faint hum of her PC. Eunbi leans back, letting out a long, breathy laugh, hands pressed to her cheeks. “Oh my god… that was insane,” she mutters to herself, still buzzing.

Without a second thought, she bolts from her chair, nearly tripping over the cord of her headset. She sprints to your room, throwing the door open with the force of a hurricane.

“BABE!” she screams, launching herself onto the bed where you’re sprawled out, scrolling on your phone.

“Jesus!” you exclaim, startled, but there’s no time to process because Eunbi is already on top of you, straddling your waist and peppering your face with a barrage of kisses.

“Did you see that?!” she babbles between kisses, her words tumbling out like they’re fighting for first place. “They loved me! They actually loved me! The chat was so sweet, and everyone was so funny, and I didn’t even cry that much, right? Okay, maybe a little, but that was the game’s fault, not mine!”

You laugh, hands instinctively finding her waist as you steady her. “Slow down, babe! I can barely understand you!”

She pulls back, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. “I can’t slow down! I’m too excited! It went so much better than I thought it would, and they were so nice, and I didn’t mess up too badly, right?”

“Are you kidding me? You killed it,” you assure her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “You were funny, adorable, and totally yourself. No wonder they loved you.”

Her grin widens, and she dives back in, pressing kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, your lips—anywhere she can reach. “You’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend,” she teases, but her voice is thick with happiness.

“Maybe,” you admit, catching her face in your hands to slow her down and plant a proper kiss on her lips. “But I’m also right. You were amazing.”

She melts into the kiss for a moment before pulling back, practically vibrating with energy. “I have so many ideas for Friday! Like, maybe I can do a snack tier list during breaks? Oh, and I should definitely figure out how to make those pop-up notifications cooler—like, fireworks or something every time someone subscribes!”

You laugh, letting her ramble, loving every second of seeing her this happy. “Whatever you do, it’ll be awesome. I’ll help you set it up.”

“Ugh, you’re the best,” she says, flopping down beside you, her head resting on your chest. She’s still buzzing, her fingers drumming lightly against your ribs. “This was the best day. I didn’t think I’d love streaming this much, but it’s so fun! And everyone was so nice! Did I already say that?!”

“Only like ten times,” you tease, wrapping an arm around her.

“Well, it’s true!” she says, tilting her head to look up at you, her smile softening. “Thanks for believing in me. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Always,” you say, pressing a kiss to her temple. The two of you lie there in a comfortable silence, her excitement slowly giving way to contentment as she curls closer to you.

—

The gym is quite crowded today. The faint scent of rubber mats and sweat hangs in the air, but it’s far from unpleasant—it’s the smell of effort! Eunbi and Somi stand by the dumbbell rack, mid-chat, stretching in between sets.

Eunbi’s dressed in a black sports bra and high-waisted lavender leggings that hug her figure, her small waist accentuated by the snug fit. Her hair’s tied up in a messy ponytail, a few strands already sticking to her forehead from the light sheen of sweat. Beside her, Somi towers, her blonde hair pulled into a sleek braid that sways with every movement. She’s wearing a cropped white tank top, leaving her toned stomach exposed, paired with tight, navy blue biker shorts. The cut of her tank makes her generous chest all the more noticeable, matching Eunbi’s proportions, but on a taller frame.

“You really crushed that stream, Eunbi,” Somi says as she adjusts her stance for a set of squats. She picks up a kettlebell, testing its weight. “Three hours and you still looked fresh by the end? You’re a beast.”

Eunbi laughs, grabbing a smaller kettlebell for herself. “Fresh? More like barely holding it together.”

“Yeah, but that’s part of your charm,” Somi teases, dropping into her squat. Her form is flawless, back straight, glutes engaging as she lowers herself smoothly. “You’re just… you. And people love that. They eat it up.”

Eunbi mimics the movement beside her, her squat not quite as smooth but serviceable. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure I could pull it off. But the chat was so supportive… like, weirdly supportive? I half-expected trolls, but they were sweet.” She pauses, glancing at Somi with a grin. “Kind of like you, always hyping me up.”

Somi straightens, laughing as she rests the kettlebell against her hip. “Of course I’m hyping you up. You’re killing it, Eunbi. You deserve all of it—the success, the love. And let’s not forget about your boyfriend. I swear, he’s like… the blueprint for ‘sweet and supportive.’”

Eunbi rolls her eyes, but her smile gives her away. “Yeah, he’s pretty great. You should’ve seen him after the stream. I practically tackled him with excitement, and he just took it like a champ.”

Somi smirks, switching to lateral raises with a pair of dumbbells. “I bet. He’s head over heels for you—it’s obvious. You lucked out, girl.” She glances at Eunbi out of the corner of her eye. “And he’s cute. Just saying.”

Eunbi snorts, picking up her own weights and joining in on the raises. “Don’t let him hear you say that. His ego’s big enough already.”

“Mm, doubt it. He seems too grounded for that,” Somi says, her voice casual but carrying a playful undertone. She pauses, lowering the dumbbells. “But seriously, Eunbi… I’m glad you’ve got someone like him in your corner. Relationships are hard enough without the added… unique challenges of your job.”

Eunbi sets the weights down, exhaling as she stretches her arms over her head. “Yeah. It’s not always easy, but we make it work. Honestly, he’s been a lifesaver. I don’t think I could do this without him.”

Somi’s expression softens, and she leans against the rack, studying Eunbi for a moment. “You’re lucky. But so is he. You’ve always been brave, you know? Even when you first started… this whole thing, you owned it. And look where you are now.”

Eunbi chuckles, a hint of shyness creeping into her tone. “I don’t know if I’d call it brave. More like… desperate with a side of cluelessness.”

“Stop it.” Somi nudges her shoulder with a laugh. “You’ve got guts, and I respect that. Honestly, it’s inspiring. And maybe… I’ve been thinking about trying it, too.”

Eunbi freezes mid-stretch, blinking at Somi. “Wait. What?”

Somi shrugs, her braid bouncing. “Not, like, diving headfirst or anything. But I’ve been curious. You make it look fun. Plus…” She hesitates, glancing at Eunbi with a mischievous glint in her eye. “You and your boyfriend are both… ridiculously attractive. Just throwing that out there.”

Eunbi bursts out laughing, bending over to catch her breath. “Oh my god, Somi. Are you serious right now?”

“What?” Somi grins, unrepentant. “I’m just saying. If you ever wanted to collaborate… you know I’m game.”

Eunbi straightens, still laughing but with a faint blush creeping across her cheeks. “You’re insane. But I’ll… keep that in mind.”

Somi winks, picking up her dumbbells again. “You do that, princess. Now, come on. We’ve got one more set to crush.”

The two of them dive back into their workout, the conversation hanging in the air like a secret they’re both in on. It’s become routine now—Eunbi and Somi hitting the gym together, sweating it out between sets, always slipping into these raw, intimate talks where the masks drop. They’re best friends, no bullshit, just two girls who get each other completely. The gym’s their safe zone, a sweaty, clangy haven where they can flex their muscles and their honesty, laughing about life, love, and whatever wild ideas Somi’s cooking up next—no judgment, just vibes.

—

The door bursts open, and Eunbi and Somi stumble in, laughing so hard they’re practically leaning on each other for support. Both are flushed from the workout, faces glowing and slightly damp, strands of hair sticking to their foreheads. Eunbi kicks off her sneakers near the door without looking, while Somi collapses onto the couch, her braid swaying as she falls back with a dramatic groan.

You’re in the middle of wiping down the coffee table, a damp cloth in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. The faint scent of citrus cleaner fills the room. You glance up, eyebrows raised, as the two whirlwind into the apartment like they were in a park.

“Well, look at you,” Somi says with a teasing grin, sitting up and gesturing toward you with a lazy wave of her hand. “The perfect house boyfriend. Cleaning up while we’re out breaking a sweat. It’s adorable, really.”

Eunbi, still giggling, grabs a water bottle from the counter and takes a long sip before pointing at you with mock sternness. “Seriously, babe. You’re making the rest of us look bad. Stop being so domestic—it’s embarrassing.”

You straighten, crossing your arms, cloth dangling from one hand. “Excuse me for trying to keep this place from becoming a pigsty. Somebody’s got to do it.”

Somi leans forward, her elbow resting on her knee, and gives you a sly look. “Somebody’s gotta earn that ‘house boyfriend’ title, huh?”

Eunbi snickers, joining in as she sets her water bottle down. “He’s good at it, though. I should get him an apron.”

“I draw the line at aprons,” you deadpan, but there’s a flicker of amusement in your tone.

The laughter dies down, but there’s something in the air now—a faint charge, like static before a storm. You catch a glance between Eunbi and Somi, quick and loaded, followed by matching smirks. Suspicious. Very suspicious.

“What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing,” Eunbi says, her tone light but her face too innocent. She grabs Somi by the arm, dragging her toward the kitchen. “Come on, let’s make a snack before this ‘house boyfriend’ kicks us out for dripping sweat everywhere.”

You watch them disappear into the kitchen, your gaze lingering as they start pulling things from the fridge. There’s something about the way they move around each other, the subtle touches and shared grins. You shake your head, trying to dismiss it, but the thought sticks.

As you finish wiping the table, you hear Eunbi’s voice, quiet but not quiet enough to miss.

“So, should I tell him, or do you want to?”

Somi laughs. “Oh, I think you should warm him up first. Wouldn’t want to scare him off.”

Now you’re curious—and a little uneasy. You toss the cloth and spray bottle onto the counter and make your way toward the kitchen.

Eunbi’s standing by the cutting board, slicing apples, while Somi leans against the counter, munching on a carrot stick like it’s a cigarette. They both glance up when you walk in, and there’s that same look between them again.

“Alright,” you say, leaning against the doorway with your arms crossed. “What’s going on?”

Eunbi pauses mid-slice, looking at Somi for a beat before turning to you with a sheepish smile. “Okay, so… Somi said something interesting at the gym.”

“Interesting how?”

Eunbi sets down the knife and crosses her arms, mirroring your stance. “She said she might want to… collaborate with us. Like, on a video.”

“She wants what?”

Somi steps in, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “I mean, no pressure or anything. I just thought… you two are obviously comfortable with this stuff, and I’ve been curious. Plus…” She shrugs, flashing you a playful grin. “You’re cute. She’s cute. It seemed like a no-brainer.”

You blink, your mind scrambling to process this new development. “Uh… Somi, you’re… a friend. This is kind of… unexpected.”

Somi laughs, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face. “Oh, I get it. It’s weird, right? But hey, Yujin wasn’t exactly a stranger, was she?”

“That’s… different,” you say, struggling to find the words.

“Why? Because I know you better?” Somi steps closer, her smile softening. “Look, I’m not saying you have to decide right now. Just… consider it, okay?”

Before you can respond, she leans in, planting a quick kiss on Eunbi’s cheek, then yours. It’s light, playful, and far more disarming than it has any right to be.

Eunbi’s face lights up, a mix of amusement and something more as she watches your reaction. “Wow,” she says, nudging you with her elbow. “Looks like someone’s had their eye on us, huh?”

Somi winks, grabbing an apple slice from the cutting board. “What can I say? You two are hard to ignore.”

Eunbi laughs, her hand brushing yours as she reaches for another apple slice. “Well, babe, what do you think? Somi’s always been bold, but this might be her boldest move yet.”

You glance between them, the weight of their playful smiles making your head spin. “I… think I need to sit down,” you mutter, rubbing the back of your neck.

Somi’s laugh rings out, warm and teasing. “Take your time, house boyfriend. No rush. I’ll just… let that idea simmer for a bit.”

Eunbi grins, handing you an apple slice like it’s a peace offering. “Welcome to my world, babe. It’s never boring.”

You take the apple, biting into it as you watch the two of them exchange another loaded look.

Never boring, indeed.

—

Eunbi starts planting the idea subtly, like she’s threading a needle through the gaps in your resolve, pulling the thread just tight enough to make you notice but not enough to make you pull away. It starts with offhand comments, playful teases wrapped in casual conversation.

“You know,” she muses one night, sprawled out on your chest while idly scrolling through her phone, “Somi’s got this unreal body. Like, actually unfair.”

You glance down at her, raising a brow. “And this is relevant to me because…?”

She tilts her head up, lips twitching with amusement. “Because you have eyes? And also because I know you like a nice tight ass, and hers is—well, come on.” She flicks her screen, and suddenly, she’s holding it up to you, a picture of Somi in a tiny bikini dominating the screen. The straps are minimal, the fit snug, every curve accentuated by the sun-kissed glow of her skin, especially the cleavage of her breasts—god, those breasts...

You swallow. Hard.

“Okay,” you admit, trying to play it cool. “She’s hot. What’s your point?”

Eunbi grins, sensing the crack in your composure. She flips to another picture—this time, one of her and Somi at the gym, both clad in skin-tight leggings that leave little to the imagination. Somi’s in navy blue, Eunbi in lavender, their toned legs and hips pressed close together as they pose in the mirror.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your phone. Eunbi notices.

“My point,” she continues, voice smooth as silk, “is that we’d look good together. Don’t you think?”

You exhale, pressing your head back against the pillow. “I think you like messing with me.”

She laughs, her breath warm against your collarbone as she shifts, draping herself over you like a cat basking in its favorite spot. “Obviously. But I also know you. And I know you’ve thought about it.”

Your silence is answer enough.

Eunbi doesn’t rush you—she never does. She lets the idea marinate, simmering on the edges of your thoughts, dropping little breadcrumbs every so often. A comment here, a lingering glance there. One night, she casually asks, “Wasn’t it fun with Yujin?” as she trails kisses down your neck. Another time, she accidentally leaves her phone unlocked on the bed, a chat with Somi open—Somi, who’s sent a winking selfie captioned, “So when are we making this happen? 😘”

You pretend not to see it.

But pretending doesn’t stop the thoughts. It doesn’t stop the way you start noticing Somi more—the way her tank tops ride up when she stretches, exposing that sliver of taut stomach. The way she playfully bumps your shoulder when she walks past, always just a little too close. The way her laughter lingers a second longer when she catches you watching her.

Then comes the night Eunbi corners you—figuratively, of course. She’s sitting in your lap, straddling you, fingers tracing lazy patterns over your shoulders.

“Babe,” she murmurs, lips inches from yours, “are you really gonna make me beg?”

You exhale slowly, hands gripping her waist. “This is crazy.”

She tilts her head. “Is it? You trust me, don’t you?”

That question hangs between you, heavier than the warmth of her body against yours. Of course, you trust her. That was never the issue. The issue was the part of you that already knew where this was heading.

You take a breath, slow and measured, but the weight of Eunbi’s gaze makes it feel shallow, like there’s not enough air in the room. She’s watching you, waiting, her fingers still tracing those absentminded patterns along your shoulders, nails just barely grazing your skin.

And then, finally, you exhale.

“…Yeah,” you admit. “I do.”

Eunbi’s lips curl into something victorious, but not smug—no, this is softer, warmer. She cradles your face in her hands, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as she studies you like she’s memorizing this moment.

“See?” she murmurs. “That wasn’t so hard.”

You huff out a laugh. “Says the woman who spent weeks working me over.”

She grins, pressing a teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You say that like you didn’t enjoy it.”

Your grip on her waist tightens slightly, enough for her to notice, enough for her to smirk as she leans in again, lips barely brushing yours as she whispers, “It’s gonna be fun.”

—

So the day finally arrives.

You're in your room, eyes glued to the laptop screen, hunched over the desk, a spreadsheet open, cells filled with numbers that look like they’re mocking you with their sheer volume. Eunbi’s earnings have skyrocketed since she started streaming, and between that and her other content, the bank account has become a lot healthier than you ever expected. It’s great—amazing, really—but it’s also overwhelming.

You mutter under your breath, adjusting a formula that doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. Managing finances was never something you planned on doing full-time, but here you are, crunching numbers like you’re auditioning for an accountant job you don’t want.

The faint sound of Eunbi’s voice filters in from the living room, energetic and full of life as she wraps up another stream. You smile, proud of her. She’s thriving, and you love helping her behind the scenes, but… there’s still that nagging feeling. The one that whispers you’re not doing enough, even though she’s insisted a million times that you’re her rock, her partner, her everything.

Before you can spiral too deep into your thoughts, the door swings open with zero warning, and in walks Somi. No knock, no announcement—just an entrance like she owns the place. Her damp braided blonde hair clings to her shoulders, and she’s wearing what you generously call pajamas: a loose tank top that barely clings to her chest and shorts so tiny they might as well be a suggestion rather than clothing.

“Hey, house boyfriend,” she says, flopping onto the bed like a cat claiming territory. “What’s got you all serious in here?”

You glance up, trying not to let your gaze linger too long on the way her tank top shifts as she settles in. “Numbers. Money stuff. Trying to figure out what to do with all this cash Eunbi’s making.”

Somi tilts her head, propping herself up on one elbow. “Ooh, let me guess. She’s still hopeless with money?”

“Completely,” you reply, smirking despite yourself. “She tried to tell me her budget was ‘don’t buy anything unless it’s on sale.’”

Somi bursts out laughing. “Classic Eunbi. So what’s the plan? Stash it under the mattress? Blow it all on RGB lights?”

“Ha. Ha,” you say dryly, gesturing at the screen. “I was thinking investments. Something stable but with a decent return. Problem is, I’m stuck on this formula, and Google’s no help.”

She hops off the bed and strides over, peering over your shoulder. “Let me see.”

You lean back, letting her get a closer look. Her proximity is… distracting. The scent of her shampoo, light and floral, drifts into your space, and her damp hair brushes your arm as she leans in.

“Ah, I see the problem,” she says. “You’re trying to calculate compound interest on a rolling deposit. You need to nest the formula differently.”

You blink. “How do you even know that?”

Somi grins, tapping her temple. “Numbers are my thing. Did Eunbi ever tell you that I made money in high school by doing other students' math homework?”

“No, but now it makes sense why you’re so annoyingly good at everything,” you say, shifting to let her take the keyboard.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she quips, typing away with swift, assured keystrokes. Within seconds, the formula is fixed, and the numbers fall into place like obedient soldiers.

“There. Problem solved,” she says, stepping back with a flourish.

You stare at the screen, genuinely impressed. “Okay, that’s actually amazing. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” she says, flashing you a cheeky smile. “So, what are we investing in? Stocks? Crypto? A small island in the Caribbean?”

“Let’s start with something less risky, like index funds. We can work our way up to the private island.”

Somi nods sagely. “Smart. And when you get the island, don’t forget who helped you make the down payment.”

“Noted,” you say, leaning back in your chair.

She plops back onto the bed, stretching out like she’s lived here her whole life.

“So,” she says, her voice teasing, “you ready for tonight?”

Your fingers hover over the keyboard. “I guess? Still wrapping my head around it, to be honest.”

“Relax,” she says, her tone softening. “It’s just us. Nothing’s going to change. I’m still Somi, Eunbi’s still Eunbi, and you’re still… well, house boyfriend.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you mutter, but there’s a faint smile on your lips.

She sits up, her expression unusually earnest. “I mean it. You don’t have to overthink this. We’re friends first, okay? The rest is just… extra.”

You nod. “Okay. Thanks, Somi.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says, standing and stretching, her arms reaching above her head. She catches your gaze for a moment, a playful glint in her eye. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to raid your fridge. Got to fuel up for the big night.”

She saunters out, leaving the faint scent of her shampoo behind. You exhale, staring at the now-organized spreadsheet. Somi might be right about not overthinking, but something tells you this night is going to be anything but ordinary.

The hours pass and you’re sprawled out in your room when the door swings open with that familiar creak. Eunbi struts in, and fuck, she’s got that look—like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Her oversized hoodie’s slipping off one shoulder like always, showing off that thin strap of her tank top, and those soft black shorts are riding up just enough to make your brain short-circuit. She’s got this sultry little smirk, all suggestive and playful, as she leans against the doorframe. “Everything’s set for the recording,” she says, like she’s dangling something you can’t resist. You push yourself up from the chair, stretching a little, but there’s this hesitant buzz in your chest—like you’re excited but still wrapping your head around what’s about to go down. “How’d the stream go?” you ask, scratching the back of your neck, trying to play it cool. She lights up, bouncing on her toes. “Oh my god, it was awesome. Chat was hyped, I had a blast, and The Last of Us? I’m obsessed. Joel’s breaking my heart every five minutes.” Her energy’s infectious, and you can’t help but grin—she’s killing it, and you’re genuinely stoked for her. She steps closer, grabs your face with both hands, and plants a soft, quick kiss on your lips. “You okay, babe?” she asks, tilting her head, those big eyes searching yours. “Yeah, I’m good,” you say, nodding, and it’s true, even if your pulse is kicking up a notch. She flashes you that smile that always melts you, grabs your hand, and tugs you toward her room like she’s on a mission.

You follow her down the hall, her fingers laced with yours, and when you step into her space, it’s like walking into a different world. The RGB lights are dialed up, casting a soft purple-red glow over everything, and her streaming setup’s still warm from earlier. Somi’s perched on a stool by the desk, finishing her makeup, a little compact mirror in one hand and a fluffy brush in the other. She’s still rocking that barely-there tank top, the fabric stretched tight over her chest, and those tiny shorts that leave nothing to the imagination. Her blonde hair’s loose now, falling over her shoulders in messy waves, and when she spots you, her face lights up like she’s been waiting for this all day. “There’s our star,” she says, tossing the brush down and hopping off the stool, all long legs and confidence. You give her a half-smile, feeling the air shift—thicker, heavier with whatever’s about to happen. You head over to the camera on its tripod, double-checking the battery. Green light’s solid—plenty of juice. Everything’s good to go, and you drop onto the edge of the mattress, rubbing your hands on your jeans, trying to shake off that nervous edge.

Eunbi doesn’t waste a second—she slides right onto your lap, straddling you, her thighs pressing against your hips. The weight of her feels so fucking good, familiar but electric with the vibe in the room. Somi plops down next to you, close enough that her bare knee brushes yours, and she leans in with this sly little grin. “Alright, let’s break the ice,” she says. Before you can even process it, Eunbi turns her head, grabs Somi by the neck, and pulls her into a kiss. Holy shit—it’s hot. Like, instantly hot. They’re both gorgeous, lips soft and glossy, moving against each other like they’ve done this a million times, even though you know they’re just good friends pushing boundaries. Eunbi’s hands slide up Somi’s arms, then cup her massive tits through that flimsy tank top, squeezing just enough to make Somi moan into her mouth—a low, needy sound that hits you right in the gut. You can see Somi’s nipples hardening, poking through the fabric, and your jeans are getting tight as hell. Your cock’s waking up fast, straining against the zipper, and you shift a little under Eunbi, trying to play it off, but she’s gotta feel it.

Somi’s not holding back either—her hands slip under Eunbi’s hoodie, pushing it up to expose the smooth curve of her waist and the edge of her tank top. She grabs Eunbi’s tits, thumbs brushing over where her nipples are probably hard as fuck under the layers, and Eunbi lets out this breathy little gasp that makes your head spin. The hoodie’s bunched up now, showing off her flat stomach, and the way they’re groping each other is straight-up pornographic—except it’s real, and it’s happening two feet from you. They break the kiss, both of them flushed, lips shiny with spit, and Eunbi turns to you, cheeks pink, eyes dark. “What’d you think, babe?” she asks, voice all husky. You swallow hard, throat dry as fuck. “Yeah, uh, I liked it,” you manage, and she smirks, shifting her hips just enough to grind against your boner. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and that smile says she’s loving every second of it.

Then Somi leans in, her hand resting on your thigh—way too close to your dick—and says, “My turn.” Before you can even think, her lips are on yours, soft and warm and tasting faintly of cherry lip gloss. You’re so fucking horny it’s ridiculous, and you kiss her back harder than you mean to, tongue slipping into her mouth, hands grabbing her waist on instinct. She’s pressing herself against you, her tits squished against your chest, and it’s like every nerve in your body’s on fire. Eunbi’s still on your lap, watching with this mesmerized, horny-as-hell look, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Somi pulls back, breathing fast, and you’re both a little wrecked—her hair’s a mess from your fingers, and you’re pretty sure your brain’s offline. Eunbi’s voice cuts through the haze, soft and teasing. “So? What’d you think of that?” You’re panting a little, cock throbbing under her weight. “Fuck, I liked it,” you say, and she giggles, leaning in to give you a quick, sloppy kiss—more tongue than necessary, like she’s staking her claim.

She slides off your lap, adjusting her hoodie, and claps her hands together. “Alright, we’re ready to start filming,” she says, all business now, but her eyes are still gleaming with lust. Somi’s smirking, wiping a smudge of gloss from the corner of her mouth, and you’re just sitting there, hard as a rock, trying to catch your breath.

Eunbi’s got that glint in her eye as she picks up the camera from the tripod, her fingers brushing yours as she hands it over. “You’re on POV duty, babe,” she says. The weight of the camera settles in your hands, solid and real, and you adjust your grip, already picturing how this is gonna look through the lens. Somi’s rummaging through the little box of props by the desk, pulling out this old black masquerade mask—the one Eunbi used to wear back when she was still anonymous. Somi slips it over her eyes, the elastic snapping into place, and it’s just these two thin straps of fabric cutting across her face, leaving her mouth and jaw exposed. The way it frames her cheekbones and makes her lips pop is unreal. Eunbi steps back, tilting her head to check her out, and grins. “Fuck, you look sexy as hell like that,” she says, all casual like she’s complimenting Somi’s gym outfit or something. Somi strikes a little pose, popping her hip, and smirks. “Yeah? Good, ‘cause I’m ready to fuck shit up.”

You adjust yourself on the edge of the bed, legs dangling, the mattress dipping under your weight. The camera’s in your hands, lens pointed down at your lap for now, and you can feel your pulse hammering in your throat. “Alright, I’m gonna start recording,” you say, thumb hovering over the button. Your voice comes out steadier than you feel, which is a minor miracle. You hit record, and the little red light blinks on. Eunbi and Somi drop to their knees between your legs, smooth and synced like they’ve rehearsed this shit. The carpet’s soft under their knees, and the RGB lights paint their skin in shifting hues—purple bleeding into red, then blue. Eunbi’s hoodie’s still bunched up from earlier, showing off that sliver of her stomach, and Somi’s tank top is clinging to her curves, the mask giving her this mysterious, badass vibe. You angle the camera down, framing them just right, their faces filling the shot.

Eunbi kicks things off, leaning into the mic moment like she’s still streaming to her chat. “Hey, everyone,” she says, all bright and charismatic, her voice slipping into that flirty, playful tone she’s perfected. “Got a special treat for you tonight. Say hi to my gorgeous friend here—she’s joining us for some fun.” She gestures at Somi, who flashes a wicked grin, lips glossy and parted. “Hey, y’all,” Somi says, her voice low and raspy, dripping with excitement. “I’m fucking pumped to be here—let’s make it a good one.” She doesn’t say her name, obviously—Eunbi’s keeping it vague, letting the mask and the vibe do the talking. The camera catches every detail: the way Eunbi’s hair falls messily over her shoulders, the slight sheen of sweat on Somi’s collarbone, the way their knees press into the carpet as they shift closer to you.

Eunbi’s hands move first, reaching for your belt with this practiced ease. The metal clinks as she unbuckles it, her fingers brushing your stomach through your shirt, sending a jolt straight to your dick. Somi’s right there with her, tugging at the button of your jeans, popping it open with a little flick. “Teamwork makes the dream work,” Somi mutters under her breath, and Eunbi snickers, the sound all throaty and real. They yank your jeans down together, a little rougher than necessary, the denim scraping against your thighs as it slides off. Your boxers go next—Somi hooks her fingers in the waistband and pulls, slow and deliberate, like she’s unwrapping something she’s been dying to see. Your cock springs free, already half-hard from all the buildup, and the air feels cool against your skin for about two seconds before their eyes lock on it.

Somi lets out this low whistle, leaning in closer, the mask making her look like some sexy bandit sizing up her prize. “Holy shit, dude,” she says, voice full of awe. “This thing’s even bigger in real life. The videos don’t do it justice.” Eunbi smirks, proud as hell, like she’s showing off her favorite toy. “Told you he’s packing,” she says to Somi, then glances up at you through the lens, winking. Your grip on the camera tightens, trying to keep it steady as they both reach out. Eunbi’s hand wraps around the base, her fingers warm and firm, while Somi’s slides up the side, her touch lighter, almost teasing. They stroke you together, not hard, just enough to make your breath hitch. The sensation’s fucking wild—two different rhythms, two different grips, and you’re already fighting to keep your shit together.

Eunbi leans in first, her tongue darting out to lick the tip, slow and wet, leaving a shiny trail that catches the light. She’s got this way of flicking her tongue that’s pure torture, and you angle the camera down to catch it—her lips hovering, her eyes flicking up at you through her lashes. Somi’s watching her like she’s taking notes, then dives in on the other side, her lips brushing the shaft, soft and sloppy. Her mask shifts a little as she moves, but it stays put, the black fabric stark against her flushed cheeks. They’re working you together now, mouths sliding over your cock like they’re sharing a goddamn meal. Eunbi’s sucking lightly on the head, her cheeks hollowing out, while Somi’s tongue traces a slow, lazy line up the side, her breath hot against your skin. You groan low in your throat, the sound rumbling out before you can stop it, and Eunbi hums in response, the vibration hitting hard.

Somi pulls back for a sec, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, grinning like a kid who just stole candy. “This is fun as hell,” she says, voice all husky, then dives back in, her lips wrapping around the middle while Eunbi works the tip. They’re trading off, syncing up without even trying—Eunbi’s hand stays at the base, pumping slow and steady, while Somi’s tongue swirls around the shaft, messy and wet. Spit’s starting to drip, pooling on the carpet between your legs, and you can hear it—the slick, sloppy sounds mixing with their little gasps and moans. The camera’s catching everything: the way Eunbi’s hair sticks to her neck, the way Somi’s tank top rides up, showing off the curve of her hips, the way your cock glistens under the lights, slick with their spit.

Eunbi pulls off, her lips shiny, and looks up at you—or the camera, really—grinning like she knows she’s driving you insane. “Having fun up there, babe?” she asks, all coy, her hand still stroking you, keeping the pressure just right. Somi doesn’t stop, her mouth sliding lower, kissing and sucking along the base, her mask slipping a tiny bit and you catch a flash of her eyes—dark, wild, loving every second of this. You grunt out a “Fuck yeah,” voice rougher than you mean it to be, and they both laugh, the sound muffled against your skin. Eunbi leans back in, her tongue flattening against the underside, dragging up slow and deliberate, while Somi’s lips meet hers at the top, their mouths brushing each other as they take you in. It’s messy, uncoordinated, and so fucking hot you’re gripping the camera like it’s your lifeline.

Somi’s hand slips under your shirt, nails raking lightly over your stomach, and Eunbi’s free hand digs into your thigh, grounding herself as she works you harder. They’re all in—knees pressed into the carpet, bodies leaning into you, mouths and hands everywhere. The camera shakes a little in your grip, but you keep it focused, the POV lens is drinking it all in, every filthy detail lit up by the shifting RGB glow—purple washing over their skin, then red, then blue, like some horny neon fever dream. Eunbi’s on her knees, her messy bun bouncing slightly as she moves, and Somi’s right there with her, that black masquerade mask sitting snug over her eyes. It’s one of those fancy ones, like you’d see at a ball—curved and sleek, hugging her face, with little swirls cut into the edges that make her look like some mysterious seductress.

Eunbi shifts lower, her hands gripping your thighs as she ducks her head and goes for your balls. Her tongue’s hot and wet, lapping at one, then the other, slow and sloppy like she’s savoring every second. She sucks one into her mouth, gentle at first, then harder, her cheeks hollowing out as she pulls just enough to make your breath catch. The sensation’s insane—warm and tight, her spit dripping down. She’s humming against you, this low, needy sound that vibrates straight up your spine, and you can’t help but groan, the noise rough and loud in the quiet room. The camera catches her from above—her hoodie’s still on, bunched up around her shoulders, and her eyes flick up at you through the lens, dark and teasing, like she knows she’s got you by the balls, literally.

Somi’s up higher, her hands wrapped around your cock, stroking it slow and deliberate while her mouth does the real damage. She’s in love with it, you can tell—her lips slide over the shaft, kissing it like it’s her favorite thing in the world, her tongue darting out to trace every inch. She’s messy with it, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin as she works you. That masquerade mask makes her look dangerous, the black fabric stark against her flushed skin, and when she pulls back for a sec, panting, she grins up at you. “Fuck, this thing’s a masterpiece,” she says, before diving back in. Her tongue swirls around the tip, flicking over the slit, and your hips jerk involuntarily, pushing deeper into her mouth. She moans around you, encouraging it, her hands pumping the base while her lips suck you down, wet and tight.

They’re a fucking team, trading off like they’ve got a playbook. Eunbi’s still sucking your balls, her tongue rolling over them now, sloppy and warm, while Somi’s got your cock in a death grip with her mouth. Then they switch it up—Eunbi pulls back, licking her lips, and Somi dips lower, kissing along the base while Eunbi’s hand takes over the shaft, stroking you fast and slick. The camera’s shaking a little in your hands, but you keep it locked on them, catching the way Somi’s mask slips just a fraction, and the way Eunbi’s hoodie rides up, flashing more of her stomach. It’s raw, chaotic, and so damn hot your head’s spinning.

Then they do something that nearly fucking kills you. Eunbi slides up, her mouth brushing the side of your cock, and Somi leans in from the other side. They sandwich the tip between their lips, kissing each other around it, their tongues tangling as they slide over you. It’s wet, messy, and loud—spit everywhere, their moans mixing with the slick sounds of their mouths working you over. Eunbi’s tongue flicks against Somi’s, then against you, and Somi’s sucking hard on one side while Eunbi mirrors her on the other. Your cock’s trapped in this perfect, sloppy vise, and you can’t hold back the moan that rips out of you—low and guttural, echoing in the room. The camera catches it all: their lips pressed together, your tip caught in the middle, glistening with their spit, the RGB lights painting their faces in streaks of color.

They keep going, relentless, their mouths sliding back and forth, trading sides, kissing around you like they’re starving for it. Eunbi’s hands dig into your thighs, nails leaving little half-moons in your skin, while Somi’s fingers tease the base of your cock, brushing your balls every now and then, sending jolts through you. Your dick’s soaked now, dripping with their spit, slick and shiny under the lights. Eunbi pulls back for a sec, wiping her mouth with her sleeve, her eyes glinting up at you. “Look at that,” she says, smirking, nodding at your cock like it’s some kind of trophy. Somi giggles, her mask shifting as she leans back, her chin wet and gleaming. “Yeah, we fucking drenched it,” she says, sounding proud as hell.

Eunbi sits back on her heels, grabbing the hem of her hoodie and yanking it over her head in one smooth motion. It lands in a heap on the floor, leaving her in that white tank top, the fabric stretched tight over her tits, puffy nipples poking through like she’s been hard this whole time. Somi follows suit, peeling off her tank top and tossing it aside—her massive chest bounces free, skin flushed from the heat of the room, and she adjusts her masquerade mask like it’s a crown, smirking at you through the lens. They’re both kneeling there, their bodies glistening with a light sheen of sweat, ready to take it up a notch. You lower the camera slightly, framing their tits in the shot, knowing damn well they’re about to give you a titjob that’ll blow your fucking mind.

Then Eunbi’s hands move to the bottom of her white tank top, fingers curling under the hem. She peels it up slow, teasing, like she’s putting on a show just for you—and the lens. The fabric stretches, then slides over her head, her massive tits bouncing free as she tosses it aside. They’re fucking huge, round and heavy, nipples hard and pink against her pale skin, catching the shifting RGB lights—purple, red, blue—like some kind of pornographic kaleidoscope.

Eunbi shifts closer, her knees digging into the carpet, and she leans in, cupping her tits with both hands. “Ready for this, babe?” she asks, eyes locked on yours through the camera. You nod, swallowing hard, your cock twitching at the sight of her. “Fuck yeah, I am,” you say, voice rough, already imagining how those soft, warm mounds are gonna feel. She smirks, adjusting her grip, and presses her tits together, sliding your slick, spit-soaked dick right into the valley between them. The first touch is insane—soft, plush, and hot, her skin wrapping around you like a glove. It's a feeling that always surprises you, no matter how many times you've experienced it. She starts moving, slow at first, bouncing her tits up and down, the friction building as your cock slides through. It’s wet from all their spit, slick and slippery, and the sound—fuck, it’s filthy, this soft, squishing noise every time she squeezes you tighter.

“Goddamn, babe,” you groan, angling the camera to catch every bounce, the way her tits jiggle and press against each other, trapping you in that perfect pocket. She giggles, low and dirty, loving how wrecked you sound. “Feels good, huh? My big fucking tits all over your dick?” she teases, picking up the pace, her nipples brushing your stomach every time she dips down. You’re losing it a little, hips twitching up to meet her, and she moans softly, getting off on how much you’re into it. “Yeah, babe, fuck my tits,” she murmurs, squeezing them harder, her thumbs brushing her own nipples like she’s teasing herself too. The camera’s catching it all—her flushed cheeks, the way her hair swings, the little beads of sweat starting to dot her chest. You’re in heaven, no lie, those massive, soft mounds swallowing your cock like they were made for it.

Somi’s watching from the side, her own hands drifting to her chest, kneading her tits absentmindedly as she bites her lip. “Shit, that’s hot,” she says, voice all breathy, her mask slipping a tiny bit as she leans closer. Eunbi glances over at her, smirking, and slows down, letting your cock slip free for a second. “Your turn,” she says, scooting over, her tits still heaving from the effort. Somi doesn’t hesitate—she shuffles into place, long legs folding under her, and grabs her own breasts, pushing them together. Hers are just as big as Eunbi’s, maybe a little perkier, with darker nipples that stand out against her flushed skin. She wraps them around your cock, and fuck, it’s a different kind of tight—firmer, her skin cooler from the air, but still so damn soft. She starts moving, quick and eager, her tits bouncing hard as she slides you in and out.

“Holy fuck,” you groan, head tipping back for a sec before you force yourself to focus on the camera again. The POV shot’s gold—her masked face tilted down, lips parted as she pants, blonde hair swinging, and those huge tits working you like a machine. “You like this, huh?” she says, grinning up at you, her voice all teasing and sharp. “My fat tits fucking your big dick? Better than you dreamed, right?” She squeezes tighter, and you hiss, the pressure insane, your cock disappearing completely between her mounds every time she pushes up. “Fuck yes,” you manage, voice tight, “you’re killing me with those things.” She laughs, throaty and smug, and leans forward more, letting the tip of your cock peek out at the top, brushing her chin. “Good,” she says, “I wanna ruin you for anything else.”

Eunbi’s shifted to the side now, kneeling close, her eyes glued to Somi’s tits bouncing around your cock. She’s biting her lip hard, one hand slipping under her shorts, rubbing herself through the fabric. “Fuck, babe,” she breathes, voice shaky with heat, “you look so good like that. Somi’s tits are eating you alive.” She’s horny as hell, you can tell—her cheeks are red, her breathing’s all over the place, and the way she’s touching herself is making her squirm. “You loving this?” she asks, leaning in to kiss your neck, her lips hot and wet against your skin. “Yeah, fuck, I’m losing my mind,” you say as Somi keeps going, her pace relentless. Eunbi moans against your neck, her hand moving faster under her shorts. “God, I love watching her fuck you with those,” she whispers, her tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

Somi slows down a little, teasing now, letting your cock slide out halfway before burying it back between her tits. “You’re so fucking hard,” she says, looking up at you through that mask, her eyes dark and wild. “These big-ass tits making you crazy?” She jiggles them a little, playful, and you can’t help but laugh, wrecked as you are. “Yeah, Somi, they’re fucking unreal,” you say, and she beams, proud as hell, picking up the pace again. The camera’s shaking more now, your hands unsteady, but you keep it on her—those bouncing mounds, the way her skin glistens with sweat, the little smirk she throws you every time she catches you staring.

Eunbi’s practically panting now, her hand moving in tight little circles under her shorts, her other hand reaching out to grab Somi’s arm. “Switch back,” she says, voice needy, almost desperate. Somi pulls back, letting your cock spring free, slick and shiny from all the spit and sweat, and Eunbi’s on it in a heartbeat. She presses her tits around you again, faster this time, her movements hungry. “Missed this,” she mutters, her voice all breathy as she works you, her nipples dragging against your stomach. “Love feeling you between my tits, babe.” You groan, the heat of her skin driving you wild. “Fuck, you’re so good at this,” you say, and she grins, all smug and turned on, her tits squeezing you tighter.

Somi’s not just watching anymore—she’s leaning in, whispering in your ear, her breath hot against your skin. “Bet you could fuck these tits all day, huh? Me and her fighting over your dick like this?” Her hand brushes your thigh, teasing close to your balls, and you’re so wound up it’s a miracle you’re still holding the camera. “Yeah, shit, I could,” you say, voice cracking, and they both laugh, loving how gone you are. Eunbi slows down, dragging it out, her tits sliding up and down so slow you can feel every inch of her. “You’re ours tonight,” she says, looking up at you, her eyes dark and possessive through the lens. Somi chimes in, “Damn right,” her fingers tracing little patterns on your leg, keeping you on edge.

It’s too much—those two massive pairs of tits, the teasing, the way they’re feeding off each other’s energy. You’re drowning in it, loving every second of their soft, warm skin all over you, their dirty talk bouncing around your head like a fucking echo chamber. The camera’s still rolling, capturing every bounce, every squeeze, and you’re just trying to hang on, lost in the best kind of chaos.

But Eunbi got this sixth sense about you—knows you’re teetering right on the edge, your breaths getting ragged, your grip on the camera tightening like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. She stops slowly, deliberate and torturous, letting your dick slip out inch by inch until it’s just resting between her breasts, throbbing against her warm skin. “Alright, babe, think we’ve teased you enough with these,” she says, giving her tits one last squeeze around you before letting go. Your cock springs free, hard as steel, and she sits back on her heels, smirking up at you through the lens ‘cause she knows she’s got you on the edge.

You clear your throat and stand up, legs a little shaky from the buildup. “Alright, ladies, on all fours.” Eunbi and Somi don’t even blink—they’re already peeling off what’s left of their clothes. Eunbi kicks her soft black shorts to the floor, revealing those curvy hips and thick thighs, her pussy glistening under the lights. Somi shimmies out of her tiny pink shorts, tossing them aside with a flick of her long legs, her tighter, rounder ass popping as she stretches out. They scramble onto the bed, giggling and shoving each other playfully, then settle on all fours, side by side, asses up and ready. The mattress creaks under their weight, and you adjust the camera angle again, ready to record every damn second of this.

You step closer, taking it all in. Somi’s taller, her body more defined—long, lean legs leading up to that firm, sculpted ass, tight and high like she’s been squatting for years. Her pussy’s peeking out, wet and pink, framed by those sharp tan lines from the gym. Eunbi’s softer, all curves and plushness, her ass rounder and juicier, jiggling a little as she shifts her weight. Her skin’s pale and smooth, her pussy just as soaked, lips puffy and begging for it. You can’t resist—your free hand swings down, smacking Somi’s ass first, the crack echoing in the room. She yelps, then moans, arching her back more. Then you slap Eunbi’s, harder than you meant to, and she gasps, her flesh rippling under your palm. “Fuck, babe,” she mutters, glancing back at you with a smirk.

“So,” you say, voice rough, camera panning over their perfect lineup, “who’s first?” Eunbi tilts her head, her messy bun wobbling as she nods toward Somi. “Guest gets the honors,” she says, all generous and teasing, her eyes flicking to Somi’s ass like she’s proud to share. Somi wiggles her hips, looking back at you through the mask, grinning. “Yeah, come on, big guy. Let’s see what you’ve got.” You don’t need more invitation than that. You step up behind Somi, lining yourself up, the camera in one hand catching the way her pussy shines, already dripping from the buildup. You grab her hip with your free hand, steadying her, and slide the tip of your cock along her slit—slow, teasing, feeling how wet she is. She shivers, pushing back against you, impatient. “Fuck, don’t play with me,” she groans, and you laugh, low and dirty, before pushing in.

Her pussy’s tight, hot, clamping around you as you sink in deep, inch by inch. The stretch is fucking unreal, her walls gripping you like a vise, and you groan loud, the sound bouncing off the walls. The camera’s right there, POV perfect, catching the way her ass presses against your hips, the little dimples in her lower back flexing as she adjusts. “Holy shit,” you mutter, pulling back slow, watching your cock slide out, slick and shiny, before slamming back in. She moans, sharp and needy, her elbows digging into the bed as she rocks back to meet you. “Yeah, fuck me hard,” she says, and you oblige, picking up the pace, the slap of skin on skin filling the room. Her ass jiggles with every thrust, tight and round, and you smack it again, leaving a red handprint that the camera zooms in on. She’s loud—gasping, cursing, loving every second—and you’re losing yourself in it, hips snapping, the wet squelch of her pussy driving you wild.

Eunbi’s right next to her, watching, her own ass still up, swaying a little like she’s jealous. “Fuck, babe, you’re killing her,” she says, laughing, but there’s heat in her voice, her fingers twitching like she’s dying to touch herself. You pull out of Somi after a few more thrusts, her pussy clenching around nothing as you leave, and she whines, glancing back with a pout. “Don’t stop,” she says, but you’re already moving, shifting over to Eunbi. You know this pussy—soft, warm, familiar—but it’s no less fucking amazing. You line up, camera steady, and push in slow, savoring the way she opens for you, wet and ready. “Oh my god,” she moans, head dropping to the bed, her voice muffled against the sheets. She’s softer inside, her walls fluttering around you, and you grab her hips, pulling her back onto you hard. The camera catches it—the way her ass ripples, the curve of her spine as she arches, her pussy swallowing you whole.

“Fuck, Eunbi, you feel so good,” you say, voice gritty, and she hums in response, pushing back against you, matching your rhythm. Her pussy’s sloppy wet, the sound louder than with Somi, all slick and messy as you fuck her deep. She’s quieter than Somi but just as into it, her breaths hitching every time you bottom out, her fingers clawing at the sheets. You smack her ass too, lighter this time, and she giggles through a moan, glancing back at you. “Harder, babe,” she says, and you give it to her, slamming in so the bed shakes, her curves bouncing under your hand. The camera’s got it all—her soft flesh, the way her pussy grips you, the little beads of sweat rolling down her back.

You can’t choose, though—why should you? You pull out of Eunbi, her groan matching Somi’s earlier one, and slide back into Somi, quick and rough. “Fuck, yes,” Somi gasps, her tighter pussy squeezing you as you pick up where you left off, pounding her hard. The switch is seamless, the camera panning between them as you fuck a little of each, back and forth. Somi’s ass slaps against you, firm and loud, then Eunbi’s softer curves take over, her pussy sucking you in deeper. You’re grunting now, lost in the rhythm, the way their bodies feel so different but so fucking perfect. “You’re both insane,” you say, laughing through a groan, and Somi throws back, “Yeah, and you love it, don’t you?” Eunbi chimes in, “He fucking lives for it—look at him go.”

You keep going, a few thrusts in Somi—her tight, athletic heat—then back to Eunbi’s softer, wetter grip, the camera catching every switch, every angle. Somi’s moaning loud, her mask slipping a bit, while Eunbi’s quieter, panting into the bed, her ass wiggling every time you leave her. You slap both their asses again, just because you can, and they yelp in sync, then laugh, egging you on. “Which pussy you like more, huh?” Somi teases, glancing back, and Eunbi lifts her head, smirking. “Yeah, babe, pick a favorite.” You just groan, shaking your head, too caught up to answer, fucking them both like you’re trying to memorize every inch.

You’re deep in the groove now, the camera trembling in your hand as you pull out of Eunbi’s pussy, her soft, wet heat clinging to you like it doesn’t want to let go. She’s panting into the sheets, ass still up, all plush and inviting, and you’ve got an idea brewing. You shift your grip on the camera, angling it to catch the way her curves glisten under the RGB lights—purple fading into red, her skin slick with sweat. “Babe,” you say, “gonna switch it up.” She glances back, her messy bun half-undone, strands sticking to her neck, and smirks like she knows what’s coming. You line up, the tip of your cock brushing her tight little asshole, and push in slow. She moans loud, this deep, throaty sound that hits you right in the gut, her body tensing for a split second before she relaxes into it. She’s used to this—loves it, even—and you can tell by how easily she takes you, her ass stretching around you, hot and tight as fuck.

“Goddamn, princess,” you grunt, sinking in deeper, the camera catching every inch as you bury yourself in her. Her ass jiggles with the intrusion, soft and round, and she arches her back more, pushing back against you like she’s begging for it. You start fucking her hard, no warm-up needed—she’s already loose enough, her hole gripping you like a vice as you slam into her. The sound’s filthy—skin slapping skin, her moans bouncing off the walls, the bed creaking under the force. “Fuck, yes, babe, pound my ass,” she gasps, her voice all wrecked, fingers clawing at the sheets. You grab her hip with your free hand, digging in, keeping her steady as you rail her, the camera shaking but locked on her bouncing ass, the way it swallows your cock over and over. The RGB lights paint her in streaks of color, her pale skin glowing, sweat beading down her spine.

Somi’s right next to her, still on all fours, her tighter, rounder ass swaying a little like she’s waiting her turn. She’s watching you fuck Eunbi, her masked face turned just enough to catch the action, and you can see the jealousy flaring in her posture—shoulders tense, hips twitching. “Hey,” she says, voice sharp and pouty, “don’t hog him. I want that too.” She wiggles her ass at you, firm and perky, the tan lines from her shorts making it pop even more under the lights. Eunbi laughs through a moan, glancing at Somi. “Greedy bitch,” she teases, but there’s no malice—she’s too caught up in getting her ass pounded. You pull out of Eunbi, slow and deliberate, her hole winking at you as you leave, and she groans, half-protesting, half-catching her breath. “Don’t worry,” you say, smirking, “plenty to go around.”

You shift over to Somi, camera in hand, lining up behind her. Her pussy’s still dripping from earlier, but you’re aiming higher now. You slap her ass first—harder than you did Eunbi’s—and she yelps, then giggles, arching her back to give you better access. “Come on, fuck my ass already,” she says, all impatient and bratty, glancing back through that masquerade mask, her eyes dark and daring. You press the tip of your cock against her asshole, and she tenses, not as used to it as Eunbi, but she’s horny enough from everything else that it’s not a total fight. You push in, slow at first, and she hisses through her teeth, her tight ring stretching around you. “Fuck, that’s big,” she mutters, voice tight, but she doesn’t pull away—instead, she rocks back a little, testing it. You groan, the heat and squeeze insane, tighter than her pussy by a mile, and start moving, shallow thrusts to get her used to it.

“Shit, Somi, you’re so fucking tight,” you say, voice gritty, the camera zoomed in on her ass as you sink deeper. She moans, high and needy, her long legs trembling as she adjusts, her firm cheeks jiggling with every thrust. You pick up the pace, fucking her harder, and she’s louder now, gasping and cursing. “Yeah, fuck me, wreck my ass,” she pants, her bratty tone melting into something desperate. The camera catches it all—her toned back flexing, the way her ass bounces against your hips, the sharp contrast of her tight hole gripping you compared to Eunbi’s softer give. You smack her ass again, leaving another red mark, and she squeals, loving it, pushing back harder.

Eunbi’s not just watching anymore—she’s shifted closer, her hand slipping between her legs, rubbing herself as she stares at you railing Somi. “Fuck, babe, you’re destroying her,” she says, voice breathy and hot, her fingers moving fast. “Looks so good.” You grin, too caught up to reply, and pull out of Somi after a few more thrusts, her ass clenching as you leave, a little gape left behind. She whines, glancing back, but you’re already moving back to Eunbi. “Your turn again,” you say, sliding into her ass easy this time, her body welcoming you like an old friend. She moans loud, her softer curves shaking as you fuck her hard, the camera panning between her jiggling ass and Somi’s tighter frame next to her.

You’re in a rhythm now—fucking Eunbi’s ass for a few deep, brutal thrusts, then switching back to Somi’s, keeping them both on edge. Eunbi’s looser, her hole taking you with this sloppy, wet ease, her moans low and guttural as you pound her. “Fuck, I love your cock in my ass,” she groans, her voice muffled against the bed, her hips rolling back to meet you. Then you’re back in Somi, her tighter grip making you work for it, her gasps sharp and needy as you stretch her out again. “Harder, fuck, make it hurt,” she begs, and you oblige, slamming into her so the bed shakes, her firm ass rippling with every hit. The camera’s catching everything—the way Eunbi’s softer flesh bounces versus Somi’s tight, athletic jiggle, the sweat dripping down their backs, the little red marks blooming on their skin from your hands.

They’re egging each other on now, too. “Look at her take it,” Eunbi says, glancing at Somi, her voice all husky as she rubs herself faster. Somi fires back, “Yeah, well, your ass is swallowing him whole, slut.” They laugh, breathless and wrecked, loving the competition. You keep switching—Eunbi’s plush heat, Somi’s vise-like grip—your hips snapping hard, the room filling with the sound of flesh smacking flesh, their moans blending into this horny symphony. The RGB lights keep shifting, painting their bodies in wild colors, Somi’s mask glinting every time she looks back, Eunbi’s hair a tangled mess swinging with every thrust. You’re grunting, sweating, too caught up to care how shaky the camera gets, just focused on fucking these two perfect asses like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.

But viewers need more. A few more hard pumps and you slow down, giving her ass one last firm squeeze, your fingers sinking into the flesh. “Fuck, babe,” you say, voice rough and winded, “time for you to ride me now.” She moans, low and needy, her head dipping as she catches her breath, her messy bun swaying. You pull out slow, her hole clenching around nothing as you leave, and she glances back with a smirk, knowing what’s next. You shift, placing the camera on the tripod on the side of the bed for a new angle. You go back to bed, lying flat on your back, head propped on a pillow, cock standing tall and slick under the RGB lights. The bed’s a mess, sheets twisted, sweat stains blooming, but you don’t care. Somi and Eunbi are already moving, giggling like they’re plotting something dirty, their naked bodies glowing in the shifting colors—purple, red, blue.

Somi’s first—she straddles you quick, her long legs folding under her, that tight, round ass hovering over your hips. “My turn to fuck you silly,” she says, voice all bratty and hot, grabbing your cock with one hand and lining it up. She sinks down fast, her pussy swallowing you whole, tight and wet and so fucking good you groan loud, hands flying to her hips. She starts riding you hard, no buildup, just straight to it—her ass slapping against your thighs, her massive tits bouncing like crazy, the motion wild and free. The camera’s off to the side, catching her from an angle—those firm mounds jiggling, her toned stomach flexing as she rolls her hips, her blonde hair swinging loose. “Fuck, you’re so big,” she moans, tossing her head back, her mask glinting in the light. “Filling me up—shit, I love this.”

Eunbi’s not just watching—she’s all over you, her hands sliding across your chest, nails raking over your abs like she’s marking territory. “God, look at you,” she murmurs, leaning down, her tongue flicking out to tease your nipple. She sucks it hard, teeth grazing the edge, and you hiss, the sensation sharp and electric. Her fingers dig into your sides, her curvy body pressed close, her breath hot against your skin. “You liking this, babe?” she asks, voice dripping with heat, her lips brushing your ear. “Somi’s tight little pussy fucking you good?” She’s playing with you, egging you on, her hands roaming while Somi keeps bouncing, the slap of skin loud and rhythmic. “Fuck yeah,” you grunt, voice tight, “she’s killing me.” Eunbi laughs, sucking your nipple again, her tongue swirling as Somi rides you harder, her moans getting louder, her tits practically hypnotizing with every bounce.

Somi leans forward, hands braced on your chest, her nails digging in as she grinds down, her pussy clenching around you. “Shit, your cock’s perfect,” she pants, smirking through the mask. “Eunbi’s lucky she gets this all the time—bet she brags about it.” Eunbi pulls back from your nipple, grinning up at Somi. “Damn right I do,” she says, all smug. “He fucks me so good—wait ‘til you see him wreck me next.” Somi laughs, breathless, her hips slamming down faster. “Oh, I’m watching, bitch—gonna steal some moves.” Their dirty talk’s bouncing around you, filthy and raw, and you’re just soaking it in, hands gripping Somi’s hips tighter as she rides you like she’s trying to break you.

Then it’s Eunbi’s turn. Somi slows down, reluctantly climbing off, her pussy leaving you slick and throbbing as she flops beside you, panting. “Your girlfriend’s up,” she says, smirking, brushing her sweaty hair back. Eunbi straddles you quick, her softer, curvier frame settling over your hips, her big tits swaying as she gets comfy. She grabs your cock, guiding it to her pussy, and sinks down slow, letting out this long, shaky moan as you fill her up. “Fuck, babe,” she breathes, her voice all soft and needy, “always so good.” She starts riding you, her movements smoother than Somi’s, her hips rolling in deep, lazy circles that make her massive tits bounce, heavy and full. The camera’s still catching it—the way they jiggle, her nipples hard and pink, her pale skin glowing under the lights.

Somi’s not idle—she shifts closer, her hand sliding up Eunbi’s thigh, then leaning in to suck on one of her bouncing tits. Her lips wrap around the nipple, loud and wet, sucking hard as Eunbi moans sharper, her rhythm faltering for a sec. “Oh fuck,” Eunbi gasps, her hands tangling in Somi’s blonde hair, pulling her closer. Somi pulls back just enough to talk, her voice muffled against Eunbi’s skin. “Fuck your girlfriend, dude,” she says, glancing at you with that masked grin, “she’s dying for it.” Then she dives back in, sucking harder, her tongue flicking over Eunbi’s nipple as Eunbi rides you faster, her pussy squeezing you tight.

“Goddamn, babe,” you groan, hands gripping her hips, feeling the softer give of her flesh compared to Somi’s firmness. “You’re so fucking wet—love watching you bounce on me.” She smirks down at you, her eyes half-lidded, all lust and heat. “Yeah? Love your cock splitting me open,” she says, Somi’s right there, her mouth switching to Eunbi’s other breast, leaving the first shiny with spit. “Shit, look at her go,” Somi mutters between sucks, “fucking your girl like a pro.” Eunbi laughs, breathless, grinding down harder. “He’s mine, but I’ll share—just keep sucking my tits like that.”

“You’re so fucking hot riding him,” Somi says, pulling back to slap Eunbi’s ass lightly, making it jiggle more. “Bet he’s losing his mind.” Eunbi fires back, “He fucking loves it—look at his face.” And she’s right—you’re gritting your teeth, groaning, caught up in the heat of her pussy, the bounce of her tits, Somi’s mouth all over her. Your hands roam, sliding up Eunbi’s sides, brushing Somi’s arm, keeping them both close as they tease and fuck you senseless. Then Eunbi slows down, rolling her hips a little more on your cock before pulling out and passing the turn to her friend.

Somi’s still buzzing from her last ride, her skin flushed and sweaty as she climbs back onto your lap, that mischievous glint in her eyes flashing through the masquerade mask. “Yes! My turn again,” she says, grabbing your cock with a quick, firm grip. “And this time, I’m taking it in my ass—I fucking loved that shit earlier.” She’s not messing around, already lining you up, the tip brushing her tight hole. You groan as she sinks down slow, her ass stretching around you, hotter and tighter than before, her long legs trembling as she adjusts. “Fuck, yes,” she hisses, tossing her blonde hair back, her firm, round ass pressing against your hips as she takes you all the way in. The sensation’s unreal—her walls clamping down hard, her moans sharp and needy as she starts moving, slow at first, testing it, then picking up speed. Her massive tits bounce with every roll of her hips, the slap of her skin against yours loud in the room, the RGB lights painting her in wild streaks of color.

You’re lying flat, hands gripping her thighs, but your mind’s already racing ahead. You glance at Eunbi, who’s kneeling beside you, her curvy body glistening, her pussy still dripping from riding you earlier. “Babe,” you say, voice rough, “sit on my face—I wanna eat you out.” Her eyes light up, a dirty smirk spreading across her lips. “Fuck, yes,” she says, scrambling over quick, her thick thighs straddling your head. The camera on the tripod next to the bed is angled masterfully—a perfect side shot of Somi riding your cock in her ass and Eunbi lowering her pussy onto your mouth. The red light blinks on, capturing everything as Eunbi settles in, her wet, puffy lips brushing your mouth, her scent hitting you hard—sweet and musky, all sex and heat. You dive in, tongue lapping at her folds, tasting her, and she moans loud, her hands bracing on your chest as she grinds down.

Somi’s riding you harder now, her ass bouncing fast, the tight grip driving you wild as you thrust up to meet her. “Shit, your cock’s stretching me so good,” she pants, leaning forward, her tits swaying with every move. Eunbi’s rocking her hips on your face, her juices coating your chin, and you suck on her clit, making her gasp, her fingers digging into your skin. “Fuck, babe, eat me—don’t stop,” she groans. The camera’s got it all—Somi’s toned frame slamming down on you, her ass jiggling, Eunbi’s softer curves grinding on your mouth, her big tits bouncing as she rides your face. The side angle’s perfect, the lights shifting from purple to red, their bodies glowing like some X-rated art piece.

Then it gets hotter—Somi leans forward, grabbing Eunbi’s face, and they crash their lips together, kissing sloppy and deep. Their tongues tangle, moans muffled against each other’s mouths, and their hands are all over each other’s tits, squeezing hard. Somi’s fingers pinch Eunbi’s nipples, tugging them just enough to make her whimper into the kiss, while Eunbi’s hands cup Somi’s bouncing mounds, kneading them rough. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” Somi mutters between kisses, her voice wrecked, her ass still slamming down on your cock. “Love watching you ride his face,” she adds, smirking against Eunbi’s lips. Eunbi pulls back just enough to gasp, “Yeah? Love how he’s fucking your tight little ass—slut.” They laugh, all breathy and lust-drunk, diving back into the kiss, their hands groping harder, their moans syncing up.

You’re in deep—Somi’s ass is relentless, squeezing you with every thrust, her rhythm fast and brutal, her firm cheeks slapping your hips. Your tongue’s buried in Eunbi’s pussy, lapping at her clit, sucking hard, her thighs trembling around your head as she grinds down. “Shit, babe, you’re killing me,” Eunbi moans, her voice hitching, her nails raking across your chest. Somi’s not letting up either, her hips rolling faster, her ass taking you deeper. “Fuck, he’s so big—feels insane,” she groans, glancing down at you, her masked eyes wild with heat. The camera’s catching every second—Somi’s blonde hair swinging, Eunbi’s messy bun bouncing, their tits pressed together as they kiss, the wet sounds of your tongue and Somi’s ass mixing with their gasps and curses.

“Goddamn, you two are filthy,” you mumble into Eunbi’s pussy, your words muffled but enough for them to hear. They break the kiss, laughing, Somi slapping Eunbi’s ass playfully. “Says the guy tongue-deep in his girlfriend while I fuck his cock,” Somi fires back, grinning, her hips grinding down harder, making you groan into Eunbi’s clit. Eunbi shudders, her hands gripping Somi’s shoulders now. “Keep going, babe—fuck, I love your mouth,” she says, her voice all raw and needy, her pussy soaking your face as she rocks faster. Somi leans in again, kissing Eunbi’s neck this time, sucking a little mark there. “He’s fucking you so good with that tongue, huh?” she teases, her hands squeezing Eunbi’s tits again, thumbs flicking her nipples.

Their dirty talk’s bouncing off the walls, all around you—Somi’s bratty edge cutting through Eunbi’s softer, desperate tone. “Shit, Somi, squeeze her harder—she loves that,” you say, pulling back just enough to catch your breath before diving back into Eunbi’s pussy, your tongue circling her clit fast. Somi listens, pinching Eunbi’s nipples rough, and Eunbi yelps, her hips bucking harder on your face. “Fuck, yes—like that,” she gasps, her voice breaking. Somi’s riding you like a damn machine now, her ass slamming down so hard the bed’s creaking loud, her moans turning into sharp little cries. “God, I’m gonna—fuck,” she stutters, her hands braced on your thighs as she grinds down, her ass clenching tight around your cock.

Eunbi’s right there with her, her thighs shaking around your head, her pussy pulsing against your mouth. “Babe, don’t stop—fuck, I’m so close,” she pants, her voice high and frantic, her hands tugging at Somi’s hair now, pulling her back into a messy kiss. Their lips crash together, tongues sloppy, moaning into each other’s mouths as they grope and squeeze, their bodies trembling. You feel it—Somi’s ass tightening hard, Eunbi’s pussy quivering against your tongue—and then they’re both gone, hitting it together. Somi’s hips stutter, her moans turning into a loud, “Fuck, yes!” as she shakes on top of you, her ass gripping you like a vice. Eunbi’s right behind, her thighs clamping down, her juices flooding your mouth as she cries out, “Babe—shit!” her whole body shuddering, her tits bouncing wild as she grinds through it.

The camera’s still rolling, catching it all from that side angle—Somi’s firm frame shaking, Eunbi’s softer curves trembling, their lips locked, hands all over each other’s tits, the RGB lights flashing over their sweaty, spent bodies. They break the kiss, panting hard, laughing through the aftershocks, Somi slumping forward a little, her ass still on you, Eunbi catches her breath while stroking your hair, her pussy still hovering over your mouth. “Fucking hell,” Somi mutters, grinning, “that was insane.” Eunbi nods, breathless, “Best ride ever, babe.” They’re a mess, and you’re right there with them, soaked and grinning.

finally Somi climbs off you, her ass leaving your cock slick and throbbing, and Eunbi slides off your face, her pussy dripping down your chin. You’re sprawled on the bed, chest heaving, the RGB lights pulsing over their flushed, trembling bodies—purple bleeding into red, then blue, like some kind of filthy rave. “Alright, babe,” Eunbi says. “time to make you cum—give us that fucking load.” Somi’s already nodding, her masquerade mask glinting as she brushes her sweaty blonde hair back. “Yeah, dude, we’re draining you dry,” she adds.

You sit up quick, grabbing the camera off the tripod with a shaky hand, flipping it back to POV mode. The little red light is still on, and you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, planting your feet on the carpet. Your cock’s standing tall, slick with their juices, twitching under the lights, and the girls don’t waste a second—they’re on their knees between your legs, a perfect mirrored pair of lust-drunk chaos. Eunbi’s softer, curvier frame presses close on your left, her huge tits brushing your thigh, while Somi’s taller, tighter body slides in on your right, her firm mounds already nudging your skin. They’re a sight—Eunbi’s pale skin glowing, her nipples hard and pink, Somi’s tan lines sharp, her darker nipples perked up, both of them sweaty and glowing, ready to finish you off. You angle the camera down, catching their faces—Eunbi’s sultry smirk, Somi’s masked grin—then lower, framing their tits as they scoot closer.

“Gonna give you the best fucking double boobjob of your life,” Eunbi says, her voice dripping with heat as she cups her tits, squeezing them together. Somi mirrors her, pressing her own boobs tight, her fingers digging into the flesh. “Yeah, these big-ass tits are gonna milk you stupid,” she chimes in, smirking up at you through the mask. They slide in sync, each pair of breasts hugging one side of your cock—Eunbi’s soft, plush mounds on the left, Somi’s firmer, perkier ones on the right. It’s a goddamn dream, your cock swallowed whole between them, the heat and pressure insane as they start moving. They bounce together, slow at first, finding a rhythm—Eunbi’s tits jiggling more, Somi’s staying tight and controlled, the contrast driving you fucking wild. The camera’s catching it all—the way your cock disappears between their sweaty, bouncing flesh, the little beads of sweat rolling down their chests, the wet squish every time they press tighter.

“Fuck, look at that,” Somi mutters, glancing down at your cock sandwiched between them. “Our tits are eating you alive—bet you’re dying to blow all over us.” Eunbi laughs, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips. “Come on, babe, give it to us—paint these fat fucking tits with your cum,” she teases, squeezing her mounds harder around you, her nipples brushing your shaft. You groan, your hands gripping the camera tighter as they work you, their movements syncing up—up and down, slow then fast, their spit and sweat making it slick and messy. “Goddamn, you’re so hard,” Somi says, her tone needy, almost whining, “fucking love feeling you throb between my boobs—cum for us, please.” Eunbi leans in closer, her breath hot against your cock as it peeks out the top. “Yeah, we’re your dirty little whores—begging for that thick load all over us,” she purrs, her eyes locked on yours through the lens.

They’re relentless, tits sliding faster now, the friction building, your cock trapped in this perfect, sweaty vise. Eunbi’s softer flesh molds around you, Somi’s firmer grip keeping it tight, and the combo’s got your head spinning. “Shit, you two are unreal,” you groan, voice cracking, the camera shaking as you fight to keep it steady. “These tits—fuck, I’m in heaven.” Somi smirks, leaning forward so her chin brushes the tip of your cock on the upstroke. “Heaven, huh? Wait ‘til you cum—gonna drown us in it,” she says, her hands squeezing her tits tighter, making you hiss. Eunbi’s not letting up either, her fingers tweaking her own nipples as she moves, her voice all desperate and slutty. “Come on, babe, give us that fucking cum—we need it, want it all over these big, juicy tits—please, fucking please.”

It hits hard—your whole body locks up, a growl ripping out of you as the first spurt shoots out, thick and hot, splattering across Somi’s right tit, then Eunbi’s left. They moan together, loud and pornographic, their tits still bouncing, milking you as you unload. “Fuck, yes!” Somi cries, her masked eyes wide as cum streaks over her chest, dripping down between her mounds. Eunbi’s gasping too, “Oh my god, babe—keep going, coat us!” and you do—spurt after spurt, ropes of it flying, hitting their tits, their necks, a stray shot catching Somi’s chin, another splashing Eunbi’s collarbone. It’s a fucking mess, white and sticky, pooling between their breasts, dripping down their stomachs, and they don’t stop—still sliding their tits around you, slower now, dragging it out.

“Shit, so much,” Somi mutters, her voice wrecked, her hands smearing the cum over her tits, rubbing it in like lotion as she keeps moving, her nipples shiny with it. Eunbi’s right there with her, her own chest a canvas of your load, her fingers scooping some up, grinning at you through the camera. “Fuck, babe, you hosed us—look at this mess,” she says, her tone all proud and filthy, her tits still pressed against your cock, milking every last twitch. Your eyes roll back, a groan escaping as they keep going, relentless, their soft, cum-soaked flesh squeezing you dry. “Goddamn, this is so fucking good,” you rasp, barely coherent, the overstimulation hitting hard as they wring out every drop, their hands slick, their moans echoing.

Then they shift—Somi leans over, her tongue darting out to lick a streak of cum off Eunbi’s tit, sucking her nipple clean with a wet, sloppy sound. Eunbi gasps, giggling through it, then returns the favor, her lips wrapping around Somi’s cum-covered nipple, sucking loud and messy. “Fuck, you taste good with his cum on you,” Somi mutters, smirking, her hands kneading Eunbi’s chest as she licks more, their tongues swapping your load back and forth. Eunbi moans, “Yeah? Then eat it all, you greedy whore,” and dives back in, her tongue lapping at Somi’s tits, both of them giggling and groaning, lost in the naughtiness. The camera’s catching every second—their slick, shiny bodies, the way they’re devouring each other, cum streaking their lips, dripping off their chins.

Finally, they pull back, panting, grinning, their chests heaving as they kneel there, a cum-drenched mess. Eunbi wipes her mouth, smirking at the camera, and leans into Somi, who adjusts her mask with a playful wink. “Well, fuck, that was wild,” Eunbi says, her voice all warm and cheeky, “hope you guys enjoyed the show—thanks for watching us get fucking wrecked.” Somi nods, giggling, “Yeah, you pervs—hope you came as hard as he did. See ya next time!” She blows a kiss, and Eunbi waves, all cute and bubbly despite the filth, their cum-streaked tits still front and center. “Bye, loves!” Eunbi chirps, reaching over to hit the stop button, ending the video with their naughty, beaming faces etched in the frame. The room falls quiet, just their heavy breaths and your pounding heart.

You slide the camera onto the nightstand, the little red light finally off, and flop back onto the bed, your body still buzzing from the insane high. The sheets are a tangled, sweaty mess beneath you. Eunbi and Somi are already up, giggling like kids caught doing something naughty as they rummage through the drawer by the desk. Eunbi pulls out a pack of wet wipes, ripping it open with her teeth, and tosses a couple to Somi. “Alright, cleanup crew,” she says, stepping over to Somi with a smirk. They start wiping each other down, the wipes gliding over their cum-streaked tits, leaving their skin shiny and clean. Somi’s giggling hard, swiping at Eunbi’s chest, her fingers brushing her nipples just enough to make Eunbi yelp and swat her hand away. “Fuck, stop teasing, you perv,” Eunbi laughs, smearing a wipe across Somi’s collarbone, chasing a stray drip that’s trickled down from her chin.

“So,” Eunbi says, tossing a used wipe into the trash by the bed, “what’d you think, Somi? First time getting railed on camera with us—rate it.” Somi pauses, peeling off the masquerade mask slow, revealing her full face—sharp cheekbones, big eyes, a grin that’s equal parts smug and dazed. She tosses the mask onto the desk, shaking out her blonde hair, and flops onto the bed next to you, her head landing on your chest like it’s her personal pillow. “Fucking loved it,” she says, stretching her long legs out across the sheets. “You two are hot as shit—like, I knew it’d be wild, but that was next-level. My ass is still tingling, and those titjobs? Goddamn.”

Eunbi laughs, grabbing her phone off the nightstand and sliding onto the bed beside you, her warm, soft body pressing against your side. “Glad you had fun, you little freak,” she teases, nudging Somi’s leg with her foot. Then she turns to you, her head resting on your shoulder, her messy bun tickling your neck. “What about you, babe? How was it?” You stretch out, one arm sliding under her, the other resting on Somi’s back as she snuggles closer. “Fucking awesome,” you say, grinning up at the ceiling, your voice still rough from all the groaning. “Hands down the best titjob of my life—those four massive tits all over me? I’m dead, bring me back just to do it again.” Eunbi snickers, her hand tracing lazy circles on your stomach, her nails grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver. “Yeah, we fucking killed it,” she says, all proud and smug, her breath warm against your collarbone.

Somi shifts, reaching over to the nightstand and snagging her vape, the sleek little device glinting under the lights as she takes a long pull. She exhales a cloud of sweet-smelling mist—strawberry or some shit—and settles back, her head on your chest again. “You know,” she says, her voice all mellow now, “we should do this again. But like, no cameras next time—just us, fucking for the hell of it. Pure pleasure, no script.” She smirks, blowing another puff of vapor toward the ceiling, the haze curling in the shifting lights. Eunbi hums in agreement, her fingers still wandering over your abs. “Fuck yeah, I’m in,” she says, glancing up at you with a lazy grin. “No pressure, just us getting nasty—sounds perfect, right, babe?” You nod, your hand sliding down her back, resting on the curve of her ass. “Hell yeah, count me in. Cameras are fun, but sometimes you just wanna fuck without the spotlight.”

Somi’s grinning now, taking another hit from the vape, the tip glowing blue as she inhales, then passing it to Eunbi, who waves it off with a laugh. “Nah, thanks—I'm into fitness now,” she says, snuggling closer to you instead. Somi shrugs, keeping it to herself, the faint buzz of the device humming as she lounges there, her long legs dangling off the edge of the bed. The room’s settling into this cozy, post-sex vibe—everyone’s loose, sweaty, satisfied, the tension melted away into something softer. Eunbi’s thumbing through her phone now, her head still on your shoulder, and suddenly her eyes light up, a little gasp slipping out. “Oh shit, check this,” she says, holding the screen up so you and Somi can see. It’s an Instagram DM from Sana—profile pic all sultry and artsy—inviting Eunbi to her podcast later this month. “Hey babe,” it reads, “loved your last vid—wanna come chat on the pod? Yujin told me a lot of good things about you and your boyfriend. You’re blowing up, girl.”

Somi leans over, squinting at the screen, her vape forgotten for a sec. “Wait, who’s Sana?” she asks, her brow furrowing as she props herself up on one elbow, her hair spilling over your chest. Eunbi grins, scrolling up to show Sana’s profile—tons of followers, clips of her podcast episodes, and a few spicy TikToks that Somi instantly recognizes. “Oh, she’s another adult content creator,” Eunbi explains. “Super hot, super chill—does solo stuff mostly, but her podcast’s huge. Talks about the industry, sex, all that jazz. Gets big names on there too.” Somi nods, her eyes lighting up. “Oh fuck, yeah—I’ve seen her on TikTok! That one where she’s in the red sexy dress, vibing to some trap beat? She’s fire.” She takes another pull from the vape, exhaling slow, then grins at you both. “Damn, you guys are legit climbing the ranks—congrats, you sexy fuckers.”

Eunbi’s beaming now, her cheeks pink with pride as she sets her phone down and curls up tighter against you, her hand slipping to rest on your thigh, casual but possessive. “Thanks, babe,” she says to Somi, then looks up at you, her eyes soft but sparkling. “It’s fucking wild, right? Like, we’re actually doing this—people are noticing.” You squeeze her ass, pulling her closer, your chest swelling with that same excitement. “Hell yeah, it’s dope,” you say. “You’re killing it, Eunbi—proud of you.” She smiles, all shy for a sec, then kisses your neck, her lips lingering like she’s savoring it. Somi watches, smirking, blowing a playful ring of vapor your way. “Aw, you two are cute—gross, but cute,” she teases, then settles back, her head on your chest again, the vape humming as she takes another hit.

And you’re lying there, a little smirk on your face, feeling good about finally saying yes to the threesome. At first, you weren’t sure—thought it might be awkward, maybe mess up what you and Eunbi had. But now, with them both next to you, all sweaty and chill after that insane session, you’re glad you went for it. It didn’t feel weird at all—just worked, like they both fit right in. Somi brought the crazy, Eunbi kept it familiar, and it was honestly a blast. No regrets—turned out way better than you figured.

The three of you are just crashed out, all tangled up, The RGB lights keep changing, throwing colors on the ceiling, and it’s a nice wind-down—relaxed, cozy, everyone still feeling it. Eunbi’s messing with your skin, drawing little shapes, Somi’s head’s on your chest, breathing slow, and you’re just taking it in. Eunbi’s rising fame mixes with how wild tonight was. It’s a solid night—real solid—and the idea of doing it again, cameras or not, lingers thick in the air like the sweet haze from Somi’s vape.

[satellite-evans]

all I need

Pairing: Lando Norris x driver!reader

Summary: Lando gets furiuos when you get fined for swearing after your crash.

Word count: 2.9k+

Warnings: fluff, swearing, injuries, angry lando

Request : Hi could I please request a lando x reader fic where the reader is a driver and she gets in a big crash and the team radio is like asking if she is okay and shes like answers after a bit and is in pain because she just CRASHED and then she accidentally swears on radio and she gets fined and the media is going crazy and like lando is just being a good protective boyfriend and is defending her in interviews and stuff? Thanks!! xoxo - anon 🍟

A/N:

Hi love, thank you so much for sending in a request and trusting me enough to write your idea!! I hope I did it justice xxx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

One moment, everything is fine—you’re fighting for position, pushing the car to its absolute limit, heart pounding with adrenaline as you navigate the treacherous corners. The next, it all goes horribly wrong.

The rear tires lose grip. A sharp twitch, then a full spin. Time slows, but your mind races. Your hands react on instinct, desperately trying to correct, but it’s too late. The world outside the cockpit blurs in a sickening whirl of colors—track, barriers, sky. Then nothing but gut-wrenching weightlessness as the car lifts off the ground.

The impact is catastrophic. Metal shrieks against metal, carbon fiber shatters like glass. The force slams through your body, rattling bones, squeezing air from your lungs. Pain flares—sharp, immediate—radiating from your ribs, your shoulders, your skull as the cockpit jolts to a brutal stop. Static crackles in your helmet.

For a moment, everything is eerily still. Your pulse roars in your ears, drowning out the stunned gasps from the crowd, the commentary scrambling to make sense of what just happened. Your breath is ragged, shallow. The world tilts nauseatingly around you.

Then, the radio buzzes to life.

"Y/N, Y/N, are you okay?!" David's voice is urgent, bordering on frantic. There’s a tightness to it you’ve never heard before, and that alone terrifies you more than the crash itself.

You try to respond, but pain flares when you shift. A groan escapes before you can stop it. Your fingers fumble for the radio button, and when you finally manage to press it, your voice comes out weak, breathless.

"Fuck—yeah, I think so." A cough, a wince. "That hurt."

Across the track, in his car, Lando watches it all unfold in real-time. His stomach drops, breath catching as he sees your car crumple against the barriers. His knuckles go white around the steering wheel, heart hammering painfully against his ribs. The images flash across the big screens, slow-motion replays dissecting the crash from every angle. He can’t tear his eyes away.

Is she okay? Is she responding?!" His voice is laced with panic, the desperation evident.

His race engineer hesitates. "We're waiting on confirmation, Lando. Focus on the race."

But how the hell is he supposed to do that? The car, the track, the championship—all of it fades. Right now, none of it matters except you.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens. "Please—can you keep me updated? I need to know if she's okay." His voice wavers just slightly, the emotion threatening to spill over.

A pause. Then, softer, "We will, Lando. Just focus for now."

He exhales sharply, forcing himself to keep driving, but his eyes keep flicking to the screens around the circuit, searching for any sign of movement from you. His heart pounds as he waits—praying to hear your voice again.

A beat of silence stretches after your message. Then, Race Control’s voice cuts through.

"Y/N, reminder that all radio transmissions are broadcasted live. Watch the language."

Despite everything, a strained, breathy laugh escapes you. "Yeah, yeah, noted. Ow."

The medical car is already pulling up, orange lights flashing, marshals swarming the wreckage. You can hear them shouting, their voices urgent but professional. Someone taps on the side of your cockpit, checking for a response. Your fingers twitch, slow and uncoordinated, but you give them a thumbs-up.

The crowd, stunned into silence, exhales as one. The commentators try to fill the dead air with reassurances, but the tension is thick. On social media, the crash is already going viral—clips looping endlessly, speculation running rampant.

The straps of your harness dig into your bruised shoulders as the adrenaline begins to wear off, replaced by a dull, spreading ache that makes every breath feel like a struggle. The world around you is a cacophony of noise—sirens wailing, the frantic chatter of the marshals, the dull roar of the crowd beyond the barriers—but it all feels distant, muffled by the ringing in your ears.

"Try not to move too much," one of the medical staff instructs gently, his gloved hands already working to unbuckle you from the mangled remains of your car. "Can you feel everything?"

You give a small, shaky nod. "Yeah," you breathe, wincing as you shift slightly. "Just sore. Really sore."

The relief on his face is immediate, but the tension in the air remains. They move carefully, extracting you from the cockpit as gingerly as possible. As soon as you're free, your knees threaten to buckle, but strong arms catch you before you hit the ground.

"You’re alright, we’ve got you," another voice reassures, steadying you as they guide you toward the waiting medical car. The flash of cameras in the distance, the low hum of anxious murmurs from the pit lane—it all feels surreal.

The moment the checkered flag waves, Lando doesn’t care about anything else. Not the debrief, not the podium celebrations—none of it matters. His car screeches to a halt in parc fermé, barely lined up properly, but he’s already halfway out before the engine even fully shuts down. His hands rip off his steering wheel, then his helmet, tossing it aside as he breaks into a full sprint toward the medical center.

His lungs burn, but he doesn’t slow down. The only thing driving him forward is the sheer panic gripping his chest. His mind replays the crash on an agonizing loop—the way your car crumpled, how long it took for you to respond, the thought of losing you was eating him alive. He pushes past team personnel, ignoring their calls, shoving the medical center doors open with enough force to make them slam against the walls.

"Where is she?" His voice is sharp, almost desperate.

A nurse barely has time to react before he spots you. Sitting on the edge of the examination bed, bruised and battered, your race suit scuffed with streaks of dirt and dried blood. Your arm is wrapped around your ribs, and there’s a gash just below your glove, crimson seeping through the fabric. Your right knee is swollen, and every inhale looks like it stings.

But you’re alive.

Lando exhales a shuddering breath, his entire body sagging with relief. He crosses the room in seconds, reaching you like you might disappear if he doesn’t move fast enough. Without hesitation, he takes your hand, gripping it tightly like an anchor. His fingers ghost over your bruised knuckles, his touch impossibly gentle.

"Jesus, Y/N…" His voice is hoarse, cracking under the weight of the fear still clinging to him.

You manage a small, tired smile despite the pain. "I’m fine. Trust me, it’s not as bad as it looks."

His jaw clenches, eyes scanning you like he doesn’t quite believe you. "Not as bad as it looks? You scared the hell out of me. Don’t do that again. Ever."

The intensity of his words makes your chest tighten—not just from the bruises, but from the raw emotion behind them. You squeeze his hand, grounding him.

Later, after the doctors clear you—bruised ribs, mild concussion, but nothing broken—you limp out of the medical center, Lando’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist. Every step sends a dull ache through your body, but at least you’re standing.

David intercepts you, shifting awkwardly on his feet. "So, uh… don’t shoot the messenger, but you’re getting a fine for the team radio."

You blink. "You’re kidding, right?"

Before David can even answer, Lando scoffs, disbelief flashing across his face. "She just survived a high-speed crash, and they’re fining her for swearing? Seriously?"

David sighs, handing over the paperwork with an apologetic shrug. "Yeah… FIA wasn’t too happy. Regulations and all."

You stare at the notice for a beat before letting out a tired, incredulous laugh. "Yeah, okay. Next time I crash at 200 mph, I’ll be sure to say ‘gosh darn it’ instead."

Lando shakes his head, jaw tight with frustration. "Unbelievable."

But instead of dwelling on it, he just pulls you in closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The warmth of his embrace eases some of the lingering tension in your body. "Don’t worry about it, love. If they want to fine you for being human, let them. You’re still the toughest person I know."

You smile, leaning into him, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. Because at the end of the day, a fine means nothing when you still have Lando by your side.

And, as expected, the media goes absolutely wild.

"Formula 1 Driver Y/N Y/L/N Fined After Shocking Radio Message Post-Crash!"

"Did Y/N Deserve Her FIA Penalty? Fans Debate Over Radio Outburst!"

"Y/N’s Crash Sparks Controversy: Was the Fine Justified?"

The headlines flood every social platform within minutes. Slow-motion replays of the crash loop endlessly on TV screens, side-by-side with grainy images of you wincing as you climbed out of the wreckage. Every angle is analyzed, every expression dissected.

Your post-race hospital visit is barely over when reporters start circling like vultures, bombarding you with questions before you even have the strength to face them, but Lando was having none of it.

Seated in front of the media, still in his race suit, Lando’s jaw is tight, hands clenched on the table as microphones are shoved toward him.

"Lando, there's been a lot of discussion about Y/N’s penalty for language over the team radio. Do you think the FIA was justified in issuing the fine?"

He scoffs, jaw tightening. "Are we seriously focusing on a fine when she just survived a massive crash?" His voice is sharp, edged with barely restrained anger. "She was in pain. She was shaken up. And she swore—who wouldn’t? It's ridiculous."

The journalists shift uncomfortably, but another one presses on. "Rules are rules, though. FIA has strict guidelines about profanity on public transmissions. Do you think it sets a bad precedent if they don’t enforce them?"

Lando lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Mate, if your first thought after seeing a crash like that is to talk about a penalty, maybe rethink your priorities."

Another journalist jumps in. "But don’t you think it’s important to maintain professionalism on the radio? A lot of young fans look up to drivers."

Lando rolls his eyes. "Right, because what’s really damaging to young fans isn’t the fact that someone just had a life-threatening accident, but the fact that she said ‘fuck’ while trying to breathe properly again." He leans forward, voice lower but no less cutting. "If we’re talking role models, maybe start by making sure the sport actually supports its drivers instead of fining them for reacting like a human being."

His words are already making waves, clips spreading across social media.

And while you’re still exhausted, still aching from the crash, there’s something about seeing him so openly, fiercely in your corner that makes your heart ache in the best way.

Even after the official interviews, the media frenzy doesn’t stop. Paparazzi crowd outside the paddock, desperate for a statement. Team members act as buffers, but there’s only so much they can do.

As you slowly make your way out of the motorhome, Lando’s arm firmly around your waist, cameras flash, voices overlapping as reporters shout over each other.

"Y/N, do you think the FIA’s decision was fair?"

"Do you regret your words on the radio?"

"Lando, how did it feel watching the crash happen live?"

He tenses beside you. "How do you think it felt?" His voice is sharp, protective. "I watched someone I love crash at full speed. So no, I don’t really give a damn about some radio penalty right now."

You squeeze his hand in silent gratitude. He doesn’t have to be this involved, but he is. Always.

Another journalist turns to you, voice softer but no less intrusive. "Y/N, how are you feeling after the accident?"

You exhale, trying to keep your expression neutral despite the lingering pain. "Sore, obviously. But I’m okay."

"Will you be racing in the next Grand Prix?"

Lando answers before you can. "She’s focusing on recovery first. That’s the priority."

It’s not a direct confirmation, but it’s enough to hold off the speculation—at least for now.

The chaos of the day finally starts to feel like a distant memory as you curl up on the couch in Lando’s apartment. An ice pack rests gently on your ribs, offering some comfort against the bruising, but it’s Lando’s presence that truly calms you. His arm drapes protectively around you, pulling you in close like he never wants to let go, his warmth surrounding you in a way that makes you feel safe. His thumb moves in slow, soothing circles on your arm, the rhythm gentle and steady.

It’s such a contrast to the frantic energy of the day—the flashing cameras, the endless questions, the tension in the air—but now, in this moment, all of that feels like it belongs to another world. This is where you’re grounded.

You sigh, resting your head against his shoulder, letting the quietness of the room wrap around you like a soft blanket. But there’s something still heavy in the pit of your stomach, a lingering feeling that something was unsettled. You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes tracing the faint lines of worry still etched across his face, the tension that’s only now starting to ease from his features.

"You didn’t have to go that hard for me," you murmur, your voice soft, though you know the words don’t quite do justice to what you’re feeling. You had been overwhelmed by everything that happened, but he—he had been beside you every step of the way, his every move showing how deeply he cared.

He scoffs, shaking his head slowly like the idea is completely foreign to him. "Of course I did. It’s bullshit," he mutters, his voice laced with frustration that hasn’t quite gone away. "You should be getting support, not fined for a stupid word." The words come out with a little more heat than he intends, but it’s the underlying softness in his voice, the way he’s speaking to you like he wants to protect you from the world’s unfairness, that makes your heart flutter.

You chuckle softly, a tired sound that makes his grip on you tighten just a fraction, like he’s afraid you might slip away. "Guess I owe you, huh?" you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

Lando’s response is immediate—he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. His hands shift, cradling you with a tenderness that almost feels too gentle, like you’re something precious he’s afraid to break. "Just don’t scare me like that again," he whispers, his voice barely above a breath, as though the thought of you being hurt again is more than he can bear. "And we’ll call it even."

You smile up at him, heart full of warmth for this man who always seems to put your well-being before his own. But you can’t promise him that. You know how the sport works, how unpredictable it is. You’ll never be able to give him that guarantee.

But there’s something you can promise him, something more important. You squeeze his hand, the simple act grounding you both in this moment. Your voice is steady as you look up into his eyes, locking your gaze with his. "No matter what happens," you say, the words firm but soft, a promise from the deepest part of you, "you’ll always have me. I’ll always have you."

His expression softens in a way that makes you think he’s heard every unspoken word in your statement, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The air between you feels full—full of shared understanding, full of the love you have for each other, full of the promise that no matter the challenges, no matter the risks, you’ll face it all side by side.

For a long moment, Lando is quiet, his thumb still brushing over your skin in slow, absentminded strokes. But then his breath catches slightly, and when you glance up, you see it—the way his eyes shimmer with unshed tears. His jaw tenses as if he’s trying to hold it all back, but the emotion is too heavy, too raw.

"I thought I lost you," he admits, his voice breaking just enough to reveal the fear he’s been holding in. "When everything was happening, and I couldn’t reach you..." He trails off, shaking his head as if trying to push the memory away, but his grip on you tightens like he never wants to let go again. "I don’t know what I would’ve done if—"

"Hey," you interrupt softly, your hand moving to cup his face, your thumb brushing against the dampness on his cheek. "I’m here. I’m okay. And I’m not going anywhere."

That seems to break whatever wall he was trying to hold up. Lando lets out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping against yours as he closes his eyes. "I just... I can’t lose you," he confesses, the words raw and vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache. "Not you."

You press a soft kiss to his lips, hoping it conveys everything words can’t. "You won’t," you promise against his mouth, your voice unwavering. "I’m right here."

He nods slightly, like he’s trying to believe it, and when he pulls you into his arms again, it’s with a desperation that speaks to how close he felt to losing you. But in this moment, with his heart laid bare and your arms wrapped tightly around each other, there’s nothing else that matters.

Lando kisses you gently on the forehead, his lips lingering there for just a second longer. "That’s all I need," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. Then, his arms pull you even closer, his warmth radiating through your bones.

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤGRAMMYS 2025 * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N, worldwide famous singer, goes to the Grammys 2025 and brings Chris as her pair for the first time.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x singer!reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Y/N had been nominated for five Grammy Awards this year. Five. And yet, for some reason, the thought of stepping onto that carpet, under the flashing lights and watchful eyes of the entire world, made her more nervous than she’d ever been.

It wasn’t her first time - this was her fifth Grammy appearance - but the nerves never seemed to dull, no matter how many times she did this.

Her team had tried everything: chamomile tea, soothing massages, deep breathing exercises, playing her favorite calming playlist at a low volume in the background, even giving her a dozen of those custom-made chocolates with her face printed on them. But nothing helped. Not really.

Not even Chris’s kisses; though she had to admit, they were a very welcome distraction.

They were in a penthouse suite of a luxurious hotel in downtown Los Angeles, even though their house was barely a twenty-minute drive away. It was protocol, her team insisted. Every artist did it - getting ready in a hotel, away from distractions, with stylists, makeup artists, and PR people swarming around. It was meant to be a controlled environment, a perfectly curated lead-up to the biggest night in music. But it only added to the pressure.

Y/N stood in front of a massive floor-to-ceiling mirror, wrapped in a silk robe, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet as a makeup artist blended soft eyeshadow onto her lids. Her hairstylist was behind her, curling strands of her hair into loose waves. She looked poised on the outside, but internally, her nerves were tying knots in her stomach.

Chris sat on the couch a few feet away, watching her intently. He was already dressed - black tux, crisp white shirt, and a bow tie he had spent fifteen minutes fighting with before her makeup artist took pity on him and fixed it for him.

He looked good.

Really good.

The kind of good that made her momentarily forget about the nerves. But she wasn’t the only one nervous tonight.

Chris had been jittery since this morning, though he tried not to show it. This was his first time attending something this big, this formal, and while he was used to attention, this was a whole new level. He was going to be surrounded by the most famous people in the world, and for the first time, he wasn’t just Chris Sturniolo, the YouTuber; he was Chris Sturniolo, Y/N’s date to the Grammys.

But instead of letting his own anxiety get to him, he focused on her, observing how her fingers twitched, manicured nails shining below the lights with every tremble.

"Baby." He cooed, standing and walking toward her as soon as the makeup artist stepped aside. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her exposed shoulder, his big hands finding home around her hips, squeezing the covered skin. "What are you feeling, huh? 'Can feel you stressing from across the room, doll."

Y/N sighed, her hands gripping the edges of the vanity table, being careful not to knock her knuckles against the three massive bouquets - Nick had arranged for all of them to be delivered straight to her room in that morning.

"I just... I don’t know, Chris." She murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I know I’ve done this before, but what if I don’t win anything? What if I disappoint everyone?"

Before she could spiral any further, Chris was already moving. His hands slid from her hips to her stomach, wrapping around her in a slow embrace. He pulled her against him, his chest firm against her back, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of her robe.

"Hey." He whispered, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "Don’t do that."

His voice was gentle but firm, a quiet command that sent a shiver down her spine. She felt his breath against her neck, warm and familiar, grounding her.

"First of all." He continued, his arms tightening around her middle. "You’re the best singer out of everyone in that room tonight. You know that, right?"

Her eyes rolled.

"Baby, you can't say that when Billie Eilish, Taylor Swift-" She started, turning her head slightly, but he was already shaking his head.

"Nope." He cut in, resting his chin in the curve of her neck, his gaze locking onto hers through the mirror. "I said what I said. And for the record." He added, voice lower now, dripping with conviction. "You’re already the winner of everything in my book. Even the categories you’re not nominated in."

She sighed, heart pounding as his hands splayed across her stomach, his thumbs brushing slow, absentminded circles.

"Best Album? Yours." He murmured, letting his lips ghost over her jaw. "Best Song? Yours." His mouth traveled down to her shoulder, barely pressing against her skin, yet setting every nerve ending alight. "Best Human Being to Ever Exist?" He turned his head just enough to meet her eyes in the mirror again, his smirk soft but teasing. "You, obviously."

She let out a small, shaky laugh.

"Chris-"

"I’m serious." He interrupted, turning his head and nuzzling the soft skin of her temple, inhaling the rich scent of her Givenchy perfume. "Your fans love you. I love you. And, babe, let’s be honest, you could drop a single of you just breathing into a mic, and it would still go platinum."

That made her laugh, her eyes rolling with amusement.

"You’re gonna do your best tonight, like you always do. And no matter what happens, I’ll be right there with you."

She finally turned in his hold, her arms looping around his neck and her red tinted lips forming a small pout.

"Even if I trip on the carpet?"

"I’ll trip with you. We’ll make it a trend." Chris grinned, pressing a lingering kiss to the tip of her nose, being excessively careful not to smudge her perfect makeup. "Now, I think there's a worldwide famous singer who should be getting dressed, huh?"

Y/N's eyes stared into blue ones for a moment, smiling with the softness she found in them.

"Yeah... Yeah, you're right."

A sharp knock at the door broke their haze, followed by a loud voice.

"Y/N!"

The voice was unmistakable, high-pitched and full of dramatic flair, and before Y/N could even turn, Harry Lambert had burst into the room, arms spread wide, eyes scanning her from head to toe with theatrical disbelief.

"Oh. My. GOD." He practically floated toward her, his hands fluttering in the air like he was physically trying to grasp the vision before him. "Darling, how dare you stand there looking this stunning before even getting into your dress?"

Y/N barely had time to react before he pulled her into a tight hug, arms wrapped around her like he hadn’t seen her in years - even though they had spoken just yesterday. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, holding her there for a beat longer than necessary, his touch radiating warmth and love.

"My baby girl." He cooed, pulling back slightly to cup her face. "How are we feeling? Nervous? Excited? On the verge of a breakdown?"

"All of the above." Y/N admitted, letting out a breathy laugh as he studied her with fondness.

Harry clicked his tongue.

"Well, you shouldn’t be, because you’re about to own this night. And if anyone so much as dares to breathe in your direction the wrong way, I will be throwing hands."

Chris chuckled from behind them.

"Good to see you, Harry."

"Christopher!" Harry turned to him with a dazzling smile, patting his chest in greeting before narrowing his eyes playfully. "The suit I chose for you was a very good choice, huh? Gucci looks good on you. Now, let’s be clear, your only job tonight is to stand there, look pretty, and worship Y/N like the goddess she is. Do you understand me?"

Chris raised his hands in surrender.

"Oh, trust me, I’ve been doing that since the second I met her."

Y/N felt her cheeks warm as Harry clapped his hands together.

"That’s my boy. Now, enough chit-chat! It is officially time to get my queen into the dress."

The entire room seemed to shift as the energy buzzed with anticipation. Y/N was ushered toward the dressing area, where the Gucci gown had been carefully laid out, glowing under the soft lights. Even without being worn, it commanded attention - the gold fabric shimmering as if infused with actual stardust, the dramatic ruffles sculpted to perfection.

As they helped her into it, every detail came to life. The strapless silhouette hugged her body in all the right places, the embedded crystals catching every flicker of light. The metallic sleeves, voluminous and artful, cascaded around her arms, while the matching ruffles at the bottom framed her steps with effortless grace.

When the final adjustments were made, Harry stepped back, his hands pressed to his chest as if he might faint.

"Oh, sweet heavens above." He whispered, looking genuinely overwhelmed. "I’ve outdone myself. We’ve outdone ourselves."

Chris, who had been sitting on the bed answering his brothers texts, looked up with Harry's voice, suddenly straightening up. His hands dropped to his lap, and his mouth hung open slightly, completely speechless.

"Wow." His voice came out strangled, like he had just been personally attacked.

Y/N turned toward him fully, the movement making the crystals on her dress shimmer, the light practically bending to her will. Chris visibly short-circuited.

"Are you- what- how-" He inhaled sharply, shaking his head as if trying to reboot his brain. "Nah. Nah. This isn’t fair. This should be illegal."

Y/N bit her lip, fighting a smile, but his reaction only got worse. His fingers threaded into his hair, his eyes raking over her from head to toe with pure, unfiltered obsession.

"Jesus fuck." He breathed out, voice a little rough. "You’re gonna kill me tonight, doll."

Harry smirked, tilting his head as he admired her.

"Oh, she’s not just going to kill you, Christopher. She’s going to kill everyone at the Grammys tonight. And I, for one, cannot wait to watch it happen."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The energy outside the venue was electric. Even from inside the tinted Range Rover, the deafening sound of flashing cameras and screaming paparazzi was unavoidable. Y/N shifted in her seat, inhaling slowly, feeling the vibration of the excitement just beyond the doors.

A hand suddenly slid over her thighs, warm and grounding, caressing the fabric of her dress.

"Ready?" Chris asked, his voice softer than the chaos outside.

Y/N turned to him, wetting her matte lipstick lips.

"Yeah." She breathed, even though her heart was hammering.

Chris smirked knowingly.

"Liar."

Before she could argue, the car door swung open, and an immediate wave of screams hit them like a storm.

Chris stepped out first, adjusting his suit as flashes exploded around him, the sound of his name already being yelled from every direction. He quickly moved around to face the inside of the car, offering his hand.

The second Y/N emerged, the chaos tripled.

"Y/N! Y/N! Over here!"

"Y/N! Christopher! Are you two official?"

"Y/N, do you think you’ll win tonight?"

Y/N barely flinched at the shouting - it was part of the job. Instead, she kept her chin high, gripping Chris’s hand as they made their way down the carpet. The venue was bathed in red and gold hues, a massive step-and-repeat wall covered in Grammy logos standing proudly ahead. The air buzzed with anticipation, celebrities lining the edges of the carpet, all waiting for their moment in front of the cameras.

A staff member approached, guiding them toward a designated spot.

"You first, Ms. Y/N." The woman instructed.

Chris gave Y/N a gentle squeeze before stepping aside, allowing her to take center stage.

And damn, did she own it.

The second she posed, the already flashing cameras seemed to explode.

The fitted, gold gown clung to her frame like liquid metal, sparkling under the lights. The voluminous, ruffled sleeves caught the air as she shifted her stance, making her look like some sort of celestial being - untouchable, ethereal. She turned her head smoothly, flashing a radiant smile as the photographers shouted for her attention.

Chris, standing just a few feet away, was not handling it well. His eyes never left her, completely entranced, like he was seeing her for the first time again, not even noticing the flashs directed to his figure.

Y/N, catching his expression, couldn’t help but smile shyly. She subtly tilted her head toward him between poses, raising a teasing brow.

Chris just shook his head, still gawking, before muttering under his breath.

"Jesus Christ."

The staff member signaled for Chris to approach Y/N for their couple photos. Y/N turned toward him, making a playful shooing motion with her hands as if to snap him out of his trance.

"Earth to Chris." She teased.

Chris didn’t respond - not verbally, at least. Instead, he stepped closer with large steps and grabbed her by the waist, carefully pulling her flush against him, careful with her heels but firm enough to steal a delighted gasp from her. The moment their bodies pressed together, the screams from the crowd outside the barricades and the clicking of cameras reached a new level of hysteria.

The cameras loved them.

Chris leaned in between shots, his lips brushing her ear.

"You think they got food inside?"

Y/N barely bit back a laugh, keeping her expression poised as she continued smiling for the cameras.

"What, you mean like caviar and tiny-ass lobster rolls?"

"I don’t care if it’s a plate of lettuce. I need to eat something before I pass out."

Y/N snorted softly with how dramatic he could be, bumping her hips against his just slightly, careful not to disrupt the pictures.

"You ate almost all of those chocolates back in the hotel. Where does it even go?"

Chris grinned, his fingers squeezing at her waist, effectively freezing her in place.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a giggle.

"Be serious, Sturniolo."

"I am serious." He looked at her then, really looked at her, and it sent something warm and electric curling down her spine. "You are so fucking beautiful, it’s actually stupid."

Y/N faltered for half a second, her breath catching, not from the flashing lights, not from the cameras, but from him.

Chris chuckled, clearly pleased her reaction.

"Want to give y'a post-celebration present so bad." His voice switched to low and airy, almost lost beneath the noise, but she heard it perfectly.

Y/N swallowed, her mind jumping to conclusions she probably shouldn’t be having on the Grammys red carpet.

"Hm, and what would that be?"

Chris smirked, his fingers flexing at her waist.

"Eat y’out."

Y/N kept her composure like a pro, smiling for the cameras with a practiced grin, but discreetly pressed her thighs together. Two could play this game.

But before she could fire back, a voice interrupted.

"Alright, guys! We need to move to the next area!"

Another event staff member gestured for them to proceed toward the interview section, their tone polite but firm. Y/N exhaled slowly, her heart thudding inside her ears.

Chris sighed dramatically, his grip on her waist tightening for just a second before he let go, traveling up to her hand.

"And here I was, thinking we could just stay here all night."

Y/N squeezed his fingers, tugging him forward.

"Come on, you menace."

As they walked toward the interview zone, the setup became clearer - a sleek, well-lit platform lined with various media outlets, each interviewer eagerly awaiting their next celebrity guest. But before Y/N could even register who was up next, a familiar voice rang out, unmistakably enthusiastic.

"Y/N, oh my God! Get over here!"

Emma Chamberlain.

Y/N's face lit up immediately, and without hesitation, she pulled Chris along, their hands still intertwined as they made a beeline toward Emma. The internet personality-turned-Grammys correspondent was practically bouncing on her heels, her eyes wide with excitement.

As soon as they reached her, Emma lifted her microphone with dramatic flair.

"Ladies and gentlemen, five-time Grammy-nominated Y/N L/N, everyone!"

Y/N laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"No way you just said that like an awards show host."

Emma grinned.

"I am an awards show host." Then, turning to Chris, she playfully narrowed her eyes. "And, of course, let’s not forget the man of the hour, Chris Sturniolo!"

Chris chuckled, giving a small wave, the silver ring on his index finger glinting against the camera flash.

"That’s me."

Emma wasted no time diving into questions, her energy infectious.

"Okay, first things first, how are you feeling?" She pointed the mic toward Y/N.

Y/N exhaled, a bright smile still gracing her lips.

"Honestly? I’m just... I don’t even know how to put it into words. Happy? Grateful? In shock? All of it at once?" She shook her head in disbelief. "I mean, the Grammys. It’s something you dream about as a kid, you know? And now, five nominations? I feel like I need someone to pinch me."

Chris gently squeezed her hand, leaning in slightly so his mouth was close to the mic, his cheek brushing hers in the process.

"Not gonna lie, I did pinch her earlier to check."

Y/N playfully swatted at him, making Emma laugh.

"Alright, but tell me everything. What were you doing when you found out you were nominated?"

At this, Y/N turned to Chris, already laughing.

"Oh my God, it was chaos."

Chris grinned, nodding while brushing his messy hair back.

"Totally."

Y/N faced Emma again, still giggling.

"Okay, so we were just in the living room, me, Chris, Matt, and Nick. It was so casual, literally just us eating burgers, watching the nominations roll in on TV, not thinking much of it."

Emma’s eyes widened.

"Wait, so you weren’t even refreshing Twitter like a maniac?"

"No!" Y/N shook her head. "I swear, I wasn’t even expecting anything. And then, boom. My name gets called for the first nomination, and I just screamed."

"Nick screamed, too." Chris jumped in, laughing.

Emma gasped.

"Nick would."

Y/N nodded rapidly.

"He did! So then, Chris kisses me, Matt’s literally jumping up and down, and it was just full-on mayhem. But then, like, a minute later, my name gets called again for another nomination."

Chris smirked, nodding his head.

"And again. And again."

Emma covered her mouth, delighted.

"So by the fifth time-"

"I was crying." Y/N admitted, grinning. "Like, full-on sobbing in Chris’s arms."

Emma dramatically put her free hand against her heart.

"This is what I live for." Then, turning to Chris, she grinned mischievously. "Alright, your turn, Sturniolo."

Chris blinked, looking at Y/N before going back to Emma.

"Me?"

Emma nodded, dead serious.

"Yes, you. Because I know you, you act all cool and chill, but I know you were losing your mind when she got nominated."

Chris laughed, shaking his head.

"I mean, yeah, obviously. I was going crazy. But I think it really hit me when I looked at her during the last nomination and realized, this is actually happening. Like, she’s that talented. The world is seeing what I already knew."

Y/N felt her face heat up, a mix of emotions swirling in her chest.

Emma pouted.

"Chris, that's so wholesome. You’re really that boyfriend, huh?"

Chris shrugged, squeezing Y/N’s hand.

"I mean, yeah. Have you met her?"

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, but her smile didn’t fade.

"I know, right?" Emma nodded at Chris's direction, laughing with Y/N's reaction. "Now, tell me, which nomination are you most excited about?"

Y/N didn’t even hesitate.

"Song of the Year."

Emma’s brows lifted.

"Because...?"

Y/N took a breath, her fingers unconsciously tightening around Chris’s hand.

"Because the song nominated for that category is Lavender Haze, and that song... it just means so much to me." She glanced at Chris, her expression softer now.

Emma’s eyes darted between the two of them, her curiosity sparking instantly. She glanced at Y/N, then at Chris, before turning toward the camera with exaggerated wide eyes.

"Ohhh, I know that look." She teased, pointing between them with a knowing grin. "Okay, spill, tell me about the song."

Y/N let out a breathy laugh with how eager she sounded, meeting Emma’s gaze again.

"You'll know all about it if I win." She winked, her tone warm.

Chris was quick to approach the microphone again.

"Not if, when."

Emma tilted her head, frowning as a pout grew on her lips.

"No way you're going to leave me with this curiosity." She sighed dramatically. "I guess I'll need to watch the awards with double attention." Emma winked to the camera. "Okay, I’m obsessed with you guys. This is too cute. But I won’t keep you any longer, go enjoy your night! And, Y/N, fingers crossed for all five wins!"

Y/N beamed, giving Emma one last hug before she and Chris were guided to the next section of the event. As they walked, the lights of the Grammys venue shining ahead, Chris leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear.

"You’re killing it, doll."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The moment Y/N and Chris stepped into the grand main salon, the shift in the atmosphere was almost physical. The flashing lights of the red carpet were behind them, replaced by the elegant glow of chandeliers and the soft hum of conversation. Celebrities, industry giants, and music legends filled the expansive room, dressed in their finest, the air buzzing with anticipation.

A staff member immediately approached them with a warm smile, gesturing toward their assigned table.

"Good evening, Ms. L/N, Mr. Sturniolo. Right this way, please."

As they walked through the lavishly decorated space, Y/N’s fingers instinctively tightened around Chris’s hand, her nerves still tingling with the knowledge that the biggest names were around her.

Halfway to their table, a familiar voice called out from the side.

"Chris! No way- dude!"

Chris turned toward the sound, a grin instantly spreading across his face when he saw Troye Sivan standing up from his table, waving him over.

Troye had met Chris and his brothers just two weeks ago at a Prada fashion show, and the energy between them had been instantly chill and friendly.

"Troye, hey, what’s up, man?" Chris greeted as he pulled him in for a quick hug.

Meanwhile, Y/N turned toward Sabrina Carpenter, who was seated beside Troye in the most ethereal baby blue dress, its delicate fabric flowing like water over her frame.

"Sabrina, hi!" Y/N greeted, her voice lighting up as she fully took in the details of her look. "Wow, you look absolutely stunning. Like, actually unreal."

Sabrina’s eyes widened for a split second, surprise flashing across her face before it melted into the sweetest, most genuine smile. Without a second thought, she pushed herself up from her seat, reaching for Y/N as if they were lifelong friends and pulling her into a warm, affectionate hug. She squeezed tightly, her energy radiating pure kindness.

"Oh my god, stop." Sabrina gushed, pulling back just enough to look at Y/N, her hands still resting gently on her arms. "That means the world coming from you. And please, look at you!" She emphasized, eyes scanning Y/N from head to toe with genuine admiration. "You look like an actual goddess."

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head as she absentmindedly smoothed her hands over the golden fabric of her dress.

"It’s all Lambert’s magic." She admitted with a playful grin, referring to her trusted stylist. Then, with a spark of excitement, she added. "I heard you’re performing tonight, I cannot wait to see it!"

Sabrina practically bounced in place, her excitement just as contagious.

"Oh, that makes me so nervous but also so happy." She admitted with a laugh, her hands clasping together. "I just hope I don’t trip or something."

Y/N shook her head instantly.

"No way, you’re going to kill it. I already know it."

Chris and Troye exchanged a few more words, something about how amazing the Prada show had been and how they should schedule to do something together in the future, before Chris gave him a casual pat on the shoulder.

"We’ll catch up later, yeah? We gotta find our table before they go live."

Troye grinned.

"For sure. Enjoy the night, guys."

After one last big smile at Sabrina, Y/N slipped her hand back into Chris’s as they navigated through the room.

Their table was positioned with a perfect view of the stage, the paper cards on their seats spelling out their names in black ink below a selected picture of their faces.

As they sat down, Y/N exhaled, glancing up at the stage. A quick glance at the massive countdown screen told her they had ten minutes before the live broadcast began.

"Damn." She muttered, leaning toward Chris. "Didn’t even realize how much time passed outside."

Chris chuckled, his voice low.

"That’s ‘cause you were too busy looking hot and stealing everyone’s attention."

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the amused smile that tugged at her lips.

"Come'ere, babe." He asked, extending his arm in her direction, asking silently for her to move closer.

Her eyes sparkled with affection, and she shifted her chair slightly, moving closer to Chris until she was practically pressed against his side. Without hesitation, he wrapped his extended arm around her upper body, pulling her in securely. The warmth of his body mixed with the familiarity of his presence was grounding and comforting.

Chris pressed a soft kiss to her temple, his lips lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

Y/N tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes shining under the dimmed chandeliers.

"Thank you." She whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the room.

Chris furrowed his brows slightly, looking down at her, their faces so close he could feel her warm breath hitting his chin.

"For what?"

"For being here with me. For always being here for me."

His gaze softened immediately, and the way he looked at her - so full of quiet devotion - made her heart swell.

"Forever, baby." He murmured, squeezing her gently.

Before Y/N could say anything else, a new voice cut into their moment.

"Excuse me, I hope I’m not interrupting anything."

The voice was warm, familiar, and utterly unmistakable.

Both Y/N and Chris turned toward the sound, and in an instant, Y/N felt the entire world freeze. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart stuttered, and for a brief, terrifying moment, she wondered if she had actually left her body.

Because standing there, just a few feet away, in all her effortless, golden-lit, legendary glory, was Taylor Swift.

Taylor Swift.

Y/N swore she could hear the heavens parting and angels singing in the background.

Taylor was an absolute vision in a stunning, strong red mini dress, her signature red lip effortlessly bold, her blonde hair framing her face in soft waves.

And she was smiling - smiling - at her.

"Oh my god." Y/N blurted out, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could even attempt to reel them back in.

Taylor let out a soft laugh as she shook her head lightly, eyes twinkling.

"I just wanted to say that I’m such a huge fan of your work. Lavender Haze is absolutely everything."

Y/N felt her soul leave her body.

Her brain quite literally short-circuited. Because- because what?

Taylor Swift, the Taylor Swift, her biggest inspiration, her songwriting idol, just complimented her music?

There was a very real possibility that she had just blacked out.

Chris shifted slightly beside her, maintaining his arm above the back of her chair, obviously trying so hard not to burst out laughing at how starstruck she looked.

Somehow, somehow, Y/N managed to keep her expression together, even though her heart was doing full-blown Olympic-level gymnastics in her chest.

"That means everything coming from you." She breathed, every word laced with pure, raw sincerity. "Thank you so, so much."

Taylor’s smile only widened, like she could feel how much those words meant to Y/N.

"Seriously." She said, her voice warm and genuine. "I’ve been listening to it on repeat. You’re insanely talented. The way you crafted that song... you have such a gift."

Y/N felt an actual tear prick at the corner of her eye. She wanted to scream. She wanted to hug her. She wanted to tattoo this moment onto her soul and never forget it.

And then, as if she couldn’t possibly adore her any more, Taylor turned to Chris, offering him the same bright, kind smile.

"And of course, you." She said, her tone playful but just as sincere. "I love what you and your brothers are doing on YouTube. It’s always fun seeing people bring fresh energy to the space."

Chris looked genuinely taken aback for a moment. His eyebrows lifted slightly, and for the first time, Y/N saw a flicker of oh wow, this is real life in his expression.

"That’s- wow, okay, that’s crazy." He said, running a hand through his hair with an incredulous chuckle. "Thank you, that’s- man, that’s insane coming from you."

Taylor grinned, her hand gently squeezing Y/N’s shoulder, grounding her back to reality.

"I won’t keep you guys." She said softly. "I just wanted to say that. Hope you both have the best night."

And just like that, she turned, walking back toward her table.

For a long, stunned second, Y/N just stood there, processing what had just happened. Then, with wide eyes, she turned to Chris, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Did that just happen?"

Chris, still looking way too amused, nodded, his grin stretching across his face.

"Yup." He confirmed. "And you just casually had a conversation with Taylor Swift like it was nothing."

Y/N let out a sharp exhale, pressing her hands over her face.

"I need a second."

Chris laughed, and before she could even register it, he was wrapping both arms around her, pulling her in tightly, his face pressing against her hair.

"Proud of you, popstar." He murmured, his voice laced with nothing but warmth.

Before she could respond, the lights dimmed, and the energy in the room shifted as a voice echoed through the speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your host for the 67th Annual Grammy Awards, Trevor Noah!"

A roar of cheers erupted as the towering LED screens flanking the stage flickered to life, displaying Trevor Noah’s wide, mischievous grin. He strolled onto the main floor rather than standing on the stage, seamlessly blending into the sea of round tables where the biggest names in the industry were seated.

He adjusted the microphone in his hand, letting the applause die down just enough before flashing a knowing smirk.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen." He began, his smooth voice carrying through the arena. "This is it, the 67th Grammys! Music’s biggest night! The Super Bowl for people who cried to Folklore, danced to Beyoncé, and worked out to Travis Scott, all in the same day!"

Laughter rippled through the crowd as the camera panned to a few artists nodding dramatically in agreement.

"And listen, let’s be honest. The Grammys are basically just a really fancy dinner party where we all pretend we haven’t been stalking the winners list since yesterday." Another wave of laughter followed. "But tonight... tonight, we are celebrating the best of the best in music. The songs that made us scream in our cars, the albums that made us question our entire existence, and the artists who consistently ruin our Spotify Wrapped every year."

Trevor began walking casually between the round tables, grinning as he looked around at the audience.

"And let’s not forget the real stars of the night, the seating arrangements. Have you seen these tables? It’s like the ultimate Hunger Games. You got legends, you got rookies, and you got the poor artists who are just hoping they don’t get caught in an awkward cutaway during a joke."

The camera zoomed in on a few newer artists laughing nervously, earning a chuckle from the crowd.

Trevor continued weaving his way through the tables, his eyes scanning the sea of music’s biggest names.

"And speaking of icons." He said, stopping by a particular table. "Tonight, we have the one and only Y/N L/N with us!"

The moment her name left his lips, the entire arena erupted into cheers. The camera cut to Y/N’s table, her face instantly lighting up with a radiant smile. Chris grinned smugly as he watched her soak in the moment.

Y/N turned slightly to face the camera that was now focused on her, offering a soft wave. The massive screen above the stage displayed a live feed of her, the applause continuing as Trevor beamed.

"Now, listen, if you somehow missed it, Y/N is up for five nominations tonight!" Trevor announced, pointing at her with mock emphasis. "Five nominations, guys. For songs and the album she announced when she won last year. That’s how much of a legend she is."

Y/N let out a soft laugh, her cheeks warming as she watched herself on the big screen. The camera panned slightly to Chris, who was nodding with a smug expression, as if silently agreeing with every word Trevor was saying.

"Plus." Trevor continued, stepping closer to their table. "If Y/N wins tonight, she could be the first artist ever to win Album of the Year five times."

Gasps and cheers rippled through the audience, while Y/N’s smile grew impossibly wider.

"Which means, she would break the record of four wins set all the way back in 2024 by-" Trevor raised his free hand, making a show of pretending to check an invisible list on his palm. "Y/N L/N!"

The entire room erupted into even louder applause, whistles echoing through the space as Trevor dramatically motioned toward her again.

Y/N's eyebrows flew up, feigning surprise, trying to contain her giddiness while Chris chuckled beside her, mouthing 'that's my girl' to a camera pointing his way.

Trevor placed a hand on his hip, looking toward the camera with mock exasperation.

"So basically, Y/N is out here breaking her own records. Just casually deciding that four wins aren’t enough and going for five. That’s like running a marathon, winning, and then saying, 'You know what? Let’s do it again, backwards'."

More laughter filled the room, Y/N pressing a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling too much. Trevor grinned, looking at her one last time.

"Listen, Y/N, whatever happens tonight, you’re already a legend. But if you win that fifth Grammy, just promise me you won’t announce another album mid-acceptance speech. Give the rest of the industry a fighting chance, okay?"

Y/N laughed, shaking her head, and Chris patted her thigh under the table, looking thoroughly entertained.

Trevor winked before turning back to the audience, raising his mic once again.

"Alright, let’s get this incredible night started! We’ve got performances, surprises, and probably a few moments that’ll break the internet. Let’s do this!"

The crowd roared as the cameras pulled away, cutting to a sleek transition video, signaling the official start of the show. Y/N exhaled, stealing a glance at Chris, who simply grinned and pulled her back to his chest, pressing his lips against her cheek.

"You’re so winning tonight."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The moment the last notes of Birds of a Feather echoed through the grand hall, Y/N felt like she was floating. Billie Eilish had just delivered one of the most breathtaking performances she had ever seen, and she could still feel the goosebumps lingering on her arms.

She turned to Chris, her eyes shining with excitement, her heart still beating to the rhythm of the song.

"Billie is unreal." She gushed, shaking her head in disbelief. "Like, every time she performs, it’s like she’s singing straight to my soul."

Chris let out a chuckle, his arm draped lazily around her shoulders, pulling her close.

"Nick would actually kill to be here right now." His lips quirked up in amusement. "I bet he’s texting us like a mad man."

Y/N laughed softly, already imagining Nick’s all-caps messages blowing up their group chat. But before she could even think of checking, the stage lights dimmed slightly, and the screens around the venue shifted. A familiar melody played in the background as a figure gracefully stepped onto the stage. The chatter in the audience softened as people turned their attention to her.

Taylor Swift.

Y/N straightened in her seat, her heart picking up speed.

Chris immediately caught the change in her posture and smirked.

"Oh shit." He teased, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. "Your idol is speaking. Do you need me to hold you so you don’t pass out?"

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling in her chest.

Taylor approached the microphone with that effortless charm that made the entire room fall silent. She smiled warmly, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear before speaking.

"Good evening, everyone." She greeted, her voice carrying easily through the venue. "Tonight has been incredible so far, and I am so honored to be here presenting this next award."

Y/N opened a genuine smile, squeezing Chris's thigh below her fingers.

"Album of the Year is such a special award because it represents not just music, but stories. It’s about the albums that stayed with us, that shaped our emotions, our memories. The ones that became the soundtrack to our lives." Taylor continued, her expression softening as she held up the envelope. "And with that being said, the Grammy goes to..."

She slid her fingers under the flap and carefully pulled out the card, unfolding it with precision.

Y/N could feel Chris’s arms tighten around her. His body heat a cocoon around her own as she clutched onto him, her pulse thundering in her temple.

A second of silence stretched. Then Taylor’s eyes scanned the paper, and the biggest, brightest smile took over her face. Her gaze lifted, seemingly searching the crowd for someone.

Y/N furrowed her brows slightly.

Taylor found her.

And then, with a warmth that sent shivers down Y/N’s spine, Taylor announced.

"Y/N L/N, Midnights."

The world tilted.

For a solid moment, Y/N didn’t move. She couldn’t move. The air in her lungs disappeared, her vision blurred instantly with unshed tears, and her mouth fell open in pure, unfiltered shock, her hands hovering near her mouth, trembling as realization crashed into her like a tidal wave.

Album of the Year.

She won.

She won.

Chris, on the other hand, reacted immediately.

"YES!" He shouted, his voice cutting through the noise as he punched the air, his excitement completely unfiltered. People turned, smiling, laughing, but Chris didn’t care. His hands were already on Y/N, his eyes scanning her face.

She wasn’t breathing.

"Babe." His voice softened instantly as he leaned in, his forehead almost touching hers. "Hey, you did it."

Y/N sucked in a sharp, shaky breath, but it wasn’t enough. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them, her body shaking with the force of emotions she had no chance of containing.

A broken sob escaped her lips.

Chris pulled her in before she could crumple, wrapping her up in the kind of hug that blocked everything else out. His arms were warm, steady, his lips pressing against her forehead as he whispered, his voice firm this time.

"You did it."

Y/N let out a wet laugh against his shoulder, her fingers clutching onto him for just a second longer before she finally let go.

He gently lowered his head, making sure she looked at him.

And God, the way he was looking at her.

Like she had just built the entire universe with her bare hands.

"Go get your Grammy, winner." He murmured, the words slow and soft and filled with everything.

Y/N let out another broken breath, nodding before finally, finally turning toward the stage.

The journey to the top felt surreal, like she was floating. The cheers, the applause, the faces she recognized - people she had idolized - they all blurred together.

And then suddenly, she was there.

Standing at the top.

Face to face with Taylor Swift.

Who was smiling at her, waiting for her, Grammy in hand.

Y/N’s breath hitched all over again.

Her hands, still unsteady, reached out, fingers closing around the golden gramophone. The weight of it sent a whole new wave of emotions crashing into her.

Before she could even process what was happening, Taylor pulled her into a hug - tight, warm, real.

"Congratulations." Taylor whispered against her ear, and god, if that wasn’t the most surreal moment of Y/N’s entire life. "You deserve this so much."

A choked noise left Y/N’s lips as she nodded weakly, her throat too tight to speak.

She deserved this.

She deserved this.

Her fingers traced over the Grammy, like she needed physical proof that it was real before she finally turned to the microphone.

She inhaled deeply. Opened her mouth.

"I-I don’t even know what to say right now." She admitted, biting her bottom lip. "I’m- god, I’m just so honored."

The crowd cooed, and Y/N let out a breathless laugh of her own, shaking her head as more tears slipped down her cheeks.

"This is insane." She said, shaking her head slightly. "Being nominated in this category, alongside so many incredible artists, artists I’ve admired for years, was already more than I could’ve ever dreamed of. To even stand beside you all tonight, to celebrate music with you? That was already everything."

Her chest rose and fell as she blinked away the heat gathering behind her eyes, sweeping her gaze across the crowd.

"I have to thank my incredible producer, my team, every single person who helped bring this album to life." Her voice wavered, thick with emotion. "You guys took my wild, messy ideas and turned them into something real, something that I never could have done alone. And I will never stop being grateful."

She wet her lips, inhaling deeply before her smile stretched just a little wider.

"My fans..." Her voice caught slightly, her hand pressing over her heart. "You guys have given me everything. You’ve let me tell my stories, and you’ve listened over and over and over again. You’ve made this dream of mine possible, and I love you more than I can ever put into words."

The cheers swelled again, voices from every corner of the room shouting her name. Her grip on the Grammy tightened as she shifted her weight slightly.

"To my family, Matt and Nick, my biggest cheerleaders." She laughed softly, looking at the main camera pointing at her. "I love you guys, you already know that."

And then, as if the moment had been waiting for this, her gaze lifted to him. Her breath hitched, lips curling into a smile that was just for him.

"And lastly." She said, her voice softer now. "To my boyfriend, Chris."

A ripple of excitement spread through the audience, but Y/N didn’t hear it. Not when those impossibly blue eyes were locked onto hers, not when his expression softened with something so tender, so proud, it made her knees weak.

"Thank you for being the creative genius that you are." She said, eyes never leaving his. "For staying up with me in the studio when I couldn’t figure out the right melody, even when I was on hour ten of tweaking the same one."

Laughter rolled through the room, and Chris grinned, shaking his head.

"For never doubting me." She continued, her throat tightening. "Even when I doubted myself. For being my biggest supporter. My muse. Every song, every lyric... You are in all of them.”

Chris exhaled sharply, his jaw tensing, his hand pressing over his heart as if feeling her love for him.

"Thank you." She finished simply, her voice steady, full of everything she couldn’t quite put into words.

The applause was deafening. A roar of cheers, of love, of celebration.

But all Y/N could hear was the thundering of her own heart.

This was real.

She had just won Album of the Year for the fifth time in a row.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The massive screens on either side of the stage illuminated with Trevor Noah’s face again as he took the microphone, now standing above all of them, his signature charm radiating through the room.

"Alright, people." He started, a knowing smirk on his lips. "This is it, one of the most expected award of the night. Song of the Year."

The audience erupted into applause, a tangible wave of excitement washing over the room.

Y/N could barely hear it. Her entire body felt like it was wound up in a coil, so tight that she might snap. Her heart pounded mercilessly against her ribcage as she focused on the only thing grounding her - Chris’s hand wrapped tightly around hers.

She could feel the heat of his palm, the way his fingers curled firmly around hers, almost as if he knew she needed the anchor.

Trevor continued, his voice filling the grand space.

"Now, we all know Song of the Year isn’t just about a hit track. It’s about storytelling. It’s about lyrics that mean something that connects with people, that makes you feel something in your soul."

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut for a second. God, she felt like she was going to throw up.

Chris, meanwhile, kept his eyes locked on the stage, his jaw set, body tense. His grip on her hand tightening, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand once - just once - as if silently telling her, I’ve got you.

Trevor continued listing the nominees, their song snippets playing softly over the speakers, but Y/N’s mind was a blur. The only thing she could feel was her heartbeat hammering violently inside her chest.

She could barely hear Trevor’s next words over the rush of blood in her ears.

"And the Grammy goes to..."

A dramatic pause.

It felt endless. It felt cruel.

Y/N finally lifted her head, eyes darting to the stage.

Trevor’s gaze swept across the room before his smile widened.

"Y/N L/N, Lavender Haze!"

The room erupted. Applause, cheers bouncing off the walls, her own voice echoing from the speakers, but Y/N barely registered any of it.

Her breath hitched, her entire body jerking forward as if her heart had physically pulled her out of her seat. Her hands flew to her face, pressing against her eyes, trying to contain the overwhelming rush of emotions slamming into her all at once.

Oh, god. Oh, god.

Chris was already moving before she could even think. His chair scraped back, his arms were on her in an instant, pulling her up, grounding her before she could float away in all of this.

"Oh my god." The words tumbled out of her, barely a whisper against her palms, her chest rising and falling too quickly to keep up.

Chris didn’t hesitate. His arms wrapped around her tightly, anchoring her, holding her so close she could feel his heartbeat against hers.

"I am so fucking proud of you." His voice was right against her ear, steady, sure. "You are everything, baby."

That was it. That was what made the tears slip free.

But Chris didn’t let her hide.

With infinite tenderness, he pulled her hands away from her face, his thumbs sweeping over her damp cheeks. Then, before she could even catch her breath, he cupped her jaw and kissed her, firm, lingering, so full of love that everything else around them faded into nothing.

The crowd reacted instantly - cheers, whistles, camera flashes exploding in rapid succession - but Y/N only felt him.

When he pulled back, his hand found the small of her back, keeping her close, his face glowing with pride.

"Go get your second Grammy, superstar."

She exhaled shakily, nodding as she turned toward the stage for the second time in that night.

With each step, she forced herself to breathe.

In.

Out.

The massive gold-lettered GRAMMY AWARDS logo towered behind Trevor as he extended the award toward her, his smile warm and genuine.

"Y/N, congratulations." He said, offering a short but meaningful handshake.

Y/N took the Grammy statue with slightly trembling hands, whispering.

"Thank you so much." Before stepping toward the microphone.

As she turned, facing the sea of the world’s most influential artists, the weight of the moment finally settled on her. She was with her second award in her hands.

She barely had time to process it before her gaze instinctively found Chris.

He was standing at their table, hands tucked into his pants pockets, eyes locked onto hers. And when she hesitated, nerves bubbling up again, he gave her the smallest nod.

A simple movement.

But one that made her chest ache in the best way.

Y/N exhaled, adjusting her grip on the award.

"I- uh, I think I blacked out for a second there."

The room laughed, the tension easing instantly.

Y/N smiled, shaking her head.

"I genuinely don’t even know where to start. Again. This... this is insane."

She swallowed, her grip tightening on the Grammy as she steadied herself. The applause had started to fade, giving her space to speak, but her mind was still spinning.

"Lavender Haze is about love." She let the words settle, looking down for a brief moment before lifting her gaze straight to him. "The kind of love that blocks out the noise. The kind that just is, no matter what’s said, no matter what’s assumed. The kind that’s real."

Chris’s expression didn’t change, but she saw it, the slight shift in his jaw, the way his fingers curled against his palm, like he was physically stopping himself from reacting too much. From crumbling, maybe.

"This song wouldn’t exist without that love." Y/N wet her lips, heart hammering. "Without him."

A murmur rippled through the audience. People turned toward Chris, whose head finally dropped for half a second, his tongue running over his bottom lip before he glanced back up at her.

Y/N barely heard the movement. Barely noticed the cameras zooming in on them, barely cared about the entire world watching, because this wasn’t for them.

"This music is for you, Chris." Her voice was softer now, but no less sure. "And about you. And because of you."

Chris inhaled sharply, his chest rising with the movement. He was blinking faster now, his lips parting slightly, his entire body still, like if he moved, even a little, he’d break.

"You have been my safe place in ways I never even thought possible." Y/N continued, her voice thick with emotion. "You have shown me love in a way that makes the rest of the world fade out. And I wrote this because I needed people to hear what that feels like."

A pause.

Chris pressed his knuckles against his mouth, his gaze locked onto her like she had gravity itself wrapped around her fingers.

"So, I don’t need to thank anyone else for this." Y/N said simply, shaking her head. "This is you. This was always you."

The room was silent.

The world was silent.

Then, like a tidal wave, the applause crashed back over the moment, a roar of cheers and shouts as the weight of her words settled over the audience.

Chris didn’t move.

Didn’t clap.

Didn’t even breathe for a second.

He just looked at her with the most bright blue eyes.

She nodded, finally stepping back from the mic, Trevor clapping beside her before escorting her off stage.

And the second she made it back to her table, Chris was there.

Before she could even react, he pulled her against him, lips finding hers in a way that had the cameras flashing wildly, had people cooing, but none of it mattered.

Because for Y/N, all that existed was him.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Five nominations.

Five won awards.

She did it.

She had won five Grammys tonight.

She still couldn’t fully process it.

The air outside the main salon was crisp with the late-night chill, but Y/N barely felt it. The sheer exhaustion in her limbs, the dull ache in her feet from hours in high heels, and the weight - both literal and emotional - of the five golden Grammys in her hands left her in a haze.

Chris walked beside her, just as tired, but his expression was still warm with lingering pride. His free hand held two of her awards, his fingers occasionally brushing against hers as they made their way toward the grey wall - the makeshift backdrop set up just for the winners to take their photos.

Y/N’s sharp eyes were quick to spot something - or rather, someone - familiar.

Cole Walliser. The photographer behind every iconic Glambot moment and best photographs at major award shows.

The moment Cole noticed her, his face lit up in recognition, and he immediately called out.

"Y/N! Oh my god, look at these babies!" He gestured toward her stack of trophies, shaking his head in disbelief. "Get over here. You already know the drill!"

Y/N laughed, already making her way toward him, Chris trailing behind her with a wide smile.

"Oh, I think I remember it."

Cole smirked, playing along.

"Yeah? You sure about that? Feels like I’ve only filmed you a dozen times or so."

"Something like that." She teased before gesturing toward Chris with her head. "Brought a friend this time."

Chris scoffed, giving her the most offended look.

"Friend my ass."

Y/N burst into laughter, nudging him playfully, while Cole chuckled at their dynamic.

"Alright, what’s the game plan? We need to show these off."

Y/N barely had time to respond before Chris was already moving, helping her adjust the awards so she could hold them all without them toppling over.

"Wait, wait, here, give me that one." His voice was soft, concentrated, as he carefully restacked them, his touch both gentle and efficient. "Alright, you good? You got ‘em?"

She let out a breathy laugh, adjusting her grip.

"Yeah, I think so."

Cole grinned, stepping back to gesture toward the marked spot in front of the camera.

"Perfect, then. Right this way, Ms. Sturniolo."

Y/N choked on a laugh, and Chris practically beamed.

"Ms. Sturniolo, huh?" Chris turned to her, eyes shining with excitement, his grip on her lower back tightening slightly as he guided her onto the designated Glambot mark. "I like the sound of it."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her laughter betrayed how much she loved seeing him so giddy.

"Don’t let it get to your head, Mr. Sturniolo."

Chris grinned.

"Oh, it’s already there."

As Cole called out instructions, Chris stepped back, giving her space, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he lingered off to the side, watching her with the biggest, most heart-wrenchingly proud smile on his face.

Y/N could feel his gaze on her as she smiled to Cole’s moving camera. She tilted her head, posing slightly, but every time she caught Chris’s eyes in the background, her lips twitched into a barely-contained grin.

She couldn’t help it.

This moment was surreal.

She was standing there, arms full of Grammys, while her person stood just a few feet away, looking at her like she had hung the damn stars in the sky.

After a few more clicks, she shifted the weight of the awards in her arms before looking toward Waliser.

"Can we do one with Chris?" She asked, glancing between the camera and Chris himself.

Cole barely hesitated, quickly nodding.

"Oh, absolutely! Christopher, hop in!"

Chris blinked.

"Oh, I mean- I wasn’t-"

"Oh, shut up and get over here." Y/N teased, a playful glint in her tired eyes.

Chris huffed a soft chuckle before stepping forward, standing beside her as she started redistributing the awards.

"Here." She murmured, placing two specific trophies into his hands.

Song of the Year and Album of the Year.

Chris furrowed his brows slightly, glancing down at the awards before looking back at her.

"Doll-"

"These two." She said softly, eyes locking onto his. "I only got because of you."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers tightening around the trophies instinctively.

"Y/N-"

"Just hold them with me." She whispered, nudging him gently.

Chris exhaled through his nose, his lips pressing into a thin line before he gave in, nodding as they both turned to face the camera.

Cole then gave play on his camera, but Y/N barely paid attention to it. She could feel Chris's eyes at her again, his expression unreadable, almost like he was too full of emotion to put it into words.

When the last one was taken, Chris nudged her shoulder lightly.

"C’mon, superstar. Let’s get out of here."

She didn’t hesitate.

After exchanging warm goodbyes with Cole, Y/N and Chris started making their way toward the private exit where their Range Rover was waiting.

Y/N’s entire body felt like it was dragging now, the adrenaline wearing off fast. She wanted nothing more than to be curled up at home, in bed, preferably with Chris’s arms around her.

But before they could reach the doors-

"Y/N!"

A reporter suddenly appeared in front of them, stepping way too close for comfort. Y/N barely had time to react before the microphone was practically in her face.

"So, are you guys heading to the after-party?" The woman asked, her tone almost demanding, her smile overly eager. "What are the plans for the rest of the night?"

Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned by how aggressive the approach was.

Chris, on the other hand... His entire expression darkened. His jaw clenched, and his brows furrowed deeply, his grip tightening around the awards as he took a subtle step closer to Y/N, his entire posture radiating protectiveness.

If looks could kill, the woman would’ve been vaporized on the spot.

But before Chris could say anything, Y/N, despite being exhausted, handled it perfectly.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.

Instead, she simply smiled, a polite, but pointed smile.

"I’m heading home, actually." She said smoothly, adjusting the awards in her arms. "To my family." The reporter barely had time to respond before Y/N added. "Thank you so much. Have a great night."

And just like that, she turned, walking away.

Chris blinked. Then, a slow, smug smirk crept onto his lips as he followed her.

Y/N didn’t give the woman another second of her time. She just kept walking, invisibly pulling Chris with her, her arm brushing against his with every step, greeting and thanking each staff member in the way with warm smiles.

Chris let out a low chuckle as they reached the car, expertly balancing both awards in one hand while using the other to pull open the door for her.

"Damn. That was smooth." His voice was warm, laced with amusement.

Y/N smirked at him over her shoulder, eyes twinkling despite the exhaustion sinking in.

"I’m too tired to deal with more people tonight."

Chris snorted, watching as she slid into the leather seat with a sigh of relief.

"Fair enough."

When he finally climbed into the seat beside hers, he shut the door with a groan, leaning his head back for a second before exhaling slowly.

And just like that, the moment they were sealed inside the warm car, blocking the sounds of loud voices and clicks, the exhaustion slammed into them both.

Y/N melted into the headrest, her eyes falling shut as she let out a deep, heavy breath.

"I feel like I ran a marathon."

Chris chuckled under his breath, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension.

"You did. An emotional one."

She hummed in agreement, her breathing slowing as the exhaustion took hold. Chris reached over instinctively, finding her hand in the dim light of the car, fingers slotting between hers with ease.

His thumb brushed over her knuckles, slow and deliberate, grounding her in the quiet.

"M’so proud of you, baby." His voice was soft, almost a whisper, like he didn’t want to disturb the peacefulness settling over them.

Y/N turned her head toward him, eyelids heavy, but her lips curled into the smallest, sleepiest smile.

"Love you."

Chris lifted their joined hands without hesitation, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles, lingering there for just a second longer than necessary.

"Love you more."

She let her eyes flicker down, gaze landing on the golden awards sprawled across her lap and the seat beside her. She reached out, fingertips tracing the engravings, still not entirely believing they were hers.

She let out a thoughtful hum. Five more Grammys.

"We’re gonna have to find space for these at home." She murmured, brows knitting together as she looked over at Chris. "I have no idea where we’re putting them."

Chris chuckled, shaking his head.

"Already taken care of."

She raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nick ordered a whole-ass display cabinet for that empty wall across from the kitchen." He admitted, shooting her a knowing look. "Figured we’d need it."

Y/N blinked, her lips parting slightly.

"He-"

"Yeah." Chris smirked. "So, we’ll put these there with the others from the past years..." He paused, his eyes twinkling playfully. "Until there’s no room left, popstar."

Y/N huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head before leaning over to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

"At this rate." She teased, nuzzling his soft skin. "We’ll need a whole new house."

It was no surprise when, in the next TikTok, the boys recorded in their kitchen, the cabinet full of awards served as the background.

© vanteguccir

[catchastarorten]

—More than anything.

Pairing: Cho Sang-woo x lover!fem!reader

Summary: You had supported him through everything, but when you fell sick, he couldn't save you because of debt, so he participated in the games. The blood, the violence, it was all worth it because it was all for you, but he still couldn’t save you, even after winning.

Warnings: angst, illness, death, grief/loss, mentions of violence, guilt/sacrifice, emotional distress, Sang-woo won the games in this au, english isn't my first language, mistakes should be present, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.9k

The first time you met Sang-woo, it was in the bustling hallways of Seoul National University, your books pressed against your chest as he nearly toppled over you in his haste. Apologies poured out of him, flustered but composed, but it was the soft smile that followed that made you pause. You didn’t know it then, but that clumsy encounter would change both of your lives forever.

From that moment, he had become everything to you. And soon enough, you realized you were everything to him too. Sang-woo was the kind of man who always seemed in control of himself. But with you, that cool demeanor softened. He would laugh more, touch your hand absentmindedly, watch you as if you were the only thing in the world worth looking at.

You supported each other through the tough years at university. His mind was brilliant—quick, sharp, and endlessly determined. It wasn’t hard to see why he was the pride of his family, the hope of his mother. He was going to do great things, you always believed that, and you reminded him every chance you got.

Sang-woo always spoke of a future where he’d be successful, where his mother would never have to work a day in her life again. And somewhere in that future—he said with a tentative smile—was you.

Years passed, and the challenges of adulthood crept in. Sang-woo’s ambitions, once so pure and noble, became entangled in desperation as he fell into debt. It started small—a few bad investments, a loan here and there, promises that he’d make it all back soon. But soon, the debts piled into something worse, a mess that loomed over both of your lives.

He had so much promise, so much potential, and you wanted to see him succeed. So when he started to falter—when the world wasn’t as kind, when the debts began to gather up, and his once-unshakable confidence began to fracture—you did what you thought any partner would do. You helped him.

You saw the way the guilt ate away at him. He tried to hide it, but you knew him too well.

“I’ll pay off this part for now,” you’d told him gently, holding the bank statement in your hand. He had stared at you, his expression tight, his hands gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white.

“No,” he had said firmly. “You’ve done enough. I should be the one taking care of you, not the other way around.”

But you didn’t care about that. You knew he felt ashamed, that his pride was bleeding, but you loved him too much to let him drown. “Sang-woo,” you whispered, reaching out to place your hand over his. “I’m doing this because I want to. Because I believe in you.”

He looked at you like you were his lifeline, the only light in his darkening world. He kissed your hand and said nothing more, but no matter how much you reassured him, the guilt lingered. He began to withdraw, the weight of his mistakes crushed him.

Then, as if the universe wasn’t cruel enough, you fell ill. It started with fatigue and a persistent ache in your chest. You brushed it off at first, telling yourself that it was just stress, but when the symptoms worsened, you finally went to the hospital.

The diagnosis was a gut punch. The doctors spoke in clinical terms, but all Sang-woo heard at the moment was that it was serious. You needed treatment, the treatment was possible, but expensive.

The hospital bills mounted quickly. You had always lived sparingly, but this was different. The treatment you needed was far beyond what either of you could afford, especially with Sang-woo already drowning in debt. You had tried to remain strong, tried to reassure him even when your body weakened and the days became harder to endure.

But Sang-woo wasn’t strong. At least not in the way you were. He didn't want to put up the pretense of having a "perfect" reputation anymore, he just wanted you.

One night, as you lay in your hospital bed, pale and shivering despite the blankets covering you, he dropped to his knees beside you. He gripped your hand so tightly it hurt, his head bowed, his shoulders shaking.

“I’ll get the money,” he said, his voice trembling with determination. “I’ll find a way. I promise.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time, you saw the man you loved falling apart. His face was gaunt, his eyes bloodshot, guilt and desperation consuming him.

“Sang-woo,” you whispered, your heart breaking for him. For both of you. “I’ll be okay... don’t do anything reckless.”

But he shook his head, his jaw set in that stubborn way you’d come to know so well. He pressed his lips to your forehead, a lingering, desperate kiss.

“I’ll come back,” he said. “With the money. Just hold on for me.”

You wanted to believe him, but as you watched him walk away, a part of you knew that he was heading down a dangerous path.

At first, you tried to think light. You thought he had simply left to clear his head. Maybe he was meeting someone to talk about loans or some other last-ditch effort to save you. But then the days turned into weeks, and Sang-woo didn’t return.

You tried calling him, but his phone went unanswered. You asked the nurses, his mother, even some of his old university friends, but no one had seen him. You didn’t know whether to be angry, scared, or heartbroken. All you knew was that he wasn’t here, and you were running out of time.

The nurses came and went, offering kind smiles and gentle reassurances, but it wasn’t enough. What you needed—what you wanted—was him, by your side.

You missed his voice, his laugh, the way he’d hold your hand and promise you that everything would be okay. You told yourself that he was out there fighting for you, but as the days stretched on, doubt began to creep in.

In your quieter moments, you wondered if he’d given up on you. If the burden had become too much and he just left without a trace. But deep down, you knew Sang-woo. You knew how much he loved you, how determined he could be. He’d find a way back to you. He had to.

In your final days, you thought about him often. You tried to convince yourself that he had a plan, that he would come rushing through the hospital doors at any moment with that look on his face, telling you everything was going to be okay, that you could heal properly now. But he didn’t.

Instead, you were left with an empty chair by your bedside, your heart aching with the absence of the man you loved more than anything in the world.

On the last night, you couldn’t fight the tears anymore. You whispered into the quiet room—“I just wish you were here.” Your voice cracked, and you closed your eyes, letting the exhaustion finally take over. You dreamed of him one last time—of the way he smiled when you first met, of his hand in yours, of the warmth that had once filled your life.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was what Sang-woo was enduring.

He had entered the games through a salesman with a suitcase and a card with a number on the back. The games were a deadly competition where the stakes were higher than anything he’d ever faced. Life and death were decided in brutal, messed up versions of childhood games.

At first, he told himself he was doing it for you, for the money that could save your life. But as the games progressed, as blood stained his hands and the faces of those he’d sacrificed haunted his dreams, the lines began to blur.

How much of himself was he willing to lose to save you?

Every decision, every betrayal he made, weighed on him. He thought of you constantly, your smile a light in the darkness. When he felt the weight of his actions crushing him, he clung to the hope that he could still save you. That he could win, come back to you, and make everything right, no matter how exhausted he was, no matter how much pain he had to endure, it was all for you. Because how could he call himself a man—your man—if he couldn't even keep you by his side? If he couldn't even get the money to save you and have you in his arms again, healthy and full of life?

When Sang-woo finally emerged from the games, clutching the blood money that was counted from each of the lifeless bodies of the other players, he felt hollow. His actions, the lives he’d taken, the people he’d betrayed—all of it threatened to suffocate him. But he pushed it aside. None of it mattered now. All that mattered was you.

He rushed to the hospital, his heart pounding in his chest. He imagined the look on your face when he walked through the door, how you’d smile and tell him that he’d always been your hero. And for the first time since the games, he smiled. He smiled.

But when he reached your room, he froze, and everything inside him seemed to shatter.

You were still, too still. Your chest didn't rise or fall, your lips were pale, and your eyes—those eyes he had loved so much—were closed forever.

The nurse had pity in her eyes as she approached him. "I'm sorry... she passed away a few hours prior. We... we tried calling you, but..."

“No,” he choked out, he staggered to your bedside, falling to his knees onto the mattress of the bed, his hands reaching for you. “No, no, no… please, no…”

He pulled you into his arms, cradling your lifeless body as tears streamed down his face. “Wake up,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please, wake up. I have the money now. I did it. I got it for you. You can get better now. Please, just… open your eyes.”

But you didn't. You couldn't.

“I got the money,” he whispered, tears falling from his eyes. “I have it. We can pay for your treatment now. You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay…”

Sang-woo's hand trembled as he cupped your face. Your skin was cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth he remembered. He pressed his forehead to yours, the card that contained all the prize money laid forgotten on the floor, a cruel reminder of what he had to sacrifice to save you—of the blood, the death, and the lives he had destroyed in those games. He had told himself it was all for you, that he could endure anything if it meant seeing you smile again. But now, as he held your cold body in his arms, he realized it had all been for nothing.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been here. I should’ve stayed with you. I thought… I thought I could save you.”

He had done everything he could to save you, but in the end, it wasn’t enough. And now, he was left with nothing, because you had been his everything.

[wendichester]

Hi hello I’ve just found you and I was wondering if you could do a Dean x reader where you’re the only other person allowed to play music, because even though it’s not classic rock, he’d take any chance he can get to hear you sing?? Bonus points if there’s yearning, extra bonus points if at some she does sing along to some of Dean’s music and it drives him insane. Thank you!!!! I love your work so much!!!!

₊˚⊹♡ passenger princess,

summary. driver picks the music, passenger princess has driver wrapped around her finger.

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. fluffy fluff

wordcount. 662

notes / warnings. heavy yearning, dean trying not to combust. also i might've giggled writing this.

There’s a golden rule in the Impala: Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.

You’ve seen Dean swat Sam’s hand away mid-reach like a damn cobra strike. It’s sacred territory—you don't touch the music. Everyone knows that.

Everyone except you.

Because you’re the only one he lets break the rule.

“You got something you wanna hear?” he asks casually, one hand on the wheel, the other draped over the back of the seat like he’s not trying to make your heart do cartwheels.

You blink, halfway through sipping your gas station coffee. “Wait. Really?”

Dean shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Sure. Go for it.”

You narrow your eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Just…” He glances at you, and something flickers in his expression. “You’ve got good taste.”

You scoff. “Dean Winchester letting someone play something besides Led Zeppelin in Baby? Is this a trap?”

He chuckles. “Don’t make me take it back.”

You grin, flipping through your phone until your favorite playlist clicks to life. Something soft, dreamy—definitely not classic rock.

He doesn’t say a word.

Just drums his fingers on the steering wheel like the beat’s already part of him.

You start singing under your breath, and that’s when it happens. His fingers pause.

You don’t notice at first. Not until the next chorus, when you let your voice carry a little more, windows down and breeze in your hair.

Dean doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t dare look at you.

But his grip on the wheel tightens. His jaw flexes. He shifts in his seat like suddenly everything’s too much and not enough.

And you—oblivious, or maybe just playing dumb—keep going.

He lets you queue up another. And another.

Somewhere in the middle of the third one, you lean your head back, eyes closed, and sing a little louder. Nothing performative, just honest. You’ve always loved singing in cars. It’s the safest place in the world.

Dean thinks so too.

Which is probably why he’s completely and utterly wrecked by it.

You don’t see the way he glances at you from the corner of his eye. The way his tongue runs over his bottom lip, slow and involuntary. The way he looks like he’s listening to his favorite song and losing his mind at the same time.

But then—because fate loves a well-timed punch to the gut—his playlist kicks back in as the GPS reroutes. A familiar guitar riff floods the speakers: Zeppelin.

You smirk. “Ah, the king reclaims his throne.”

Dean grins, relieved to be back on home turf. “Damn right.”

You drum your fingers on your thigh, then—on a whim—start singing again.

Not perfectly. You don’t know every word. But you know enough.

And that is when Dean’s grip on the steering wheel goes white-knuckle.

“You okay there, champ?” you tease, catching the corner of his expression.

“Peachy,” he chokes out.

You bite back a smile. “Is the great Dean Winchester flustered?”

“Not flustered,” he mutters, eyes on the road. “Just—distracted.”

You lean in a little closer, voice low and sugary. “I thought you liked being in control of the music.”

“I do.”

“But now you let me touch it. Even sing over your sacred Zeppelin.”

Dean glances at you then, quick and sharp. “Yeah, well…”

“What?”

He exhales like it costs him something. “You sound better than Plant, anyway.”

Your heart stumbles. “Dean.”

He shrugs, suddenly shy. “I mean it.”

It goes quiet for a few beats. Not awkward. Just thick with something unnamed. Something that’s been humming between you both for longer than either of you will admit.

And then, like the devil he is, he adds: “Besides, I’d take any excuse to hear you sing.”

You stare at him, throat tight. “You’re such a sap.”

Dean grins. “Only for you.”

You don’t say anything. You just cue up another song—and continue singing.

Dean hums along under his breath this time.

And though he’ll never say it out loud, you’ve officially become his favorite singer.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[fourth-wing-stories]

Breaking Point

Pairing: Ridoc x reader

Summary: RSC training goes hard on you and Ridoc is forced to watch.

Masterlist

The cold metal chair creaked as you were chained beside Ridoc, your wrists bound tightly to the arms of the seat. It was supposed to be another day of training—Basgiath’s brutal test to see if you can endure torture—but your heart pounded in your chest. You glanced at Ridoc, who was already looking at you with a small, playful smirk.

“Hey, at least we’re getting some quality time together, right?” he joked, his usual grin plastered on his face, trying to keep things light. “Just you, me, and a couple of sadists. Romantic, really.”

Despite the situation, a weak smile tugged at your lips. Ridoc’s jokes always had a way of easing the tension, no matter how dire things got. You knew he was trying to keep you calm, and for a moment, it worked. He leaned back casually in his chair, as though he wasn’t bound, his carefree attitude on full display.

“So,” Ridoc said, his voice light, “what’s the odds on me walking out of here with all my teeth intact? I give it, 50-50.” he said with a laugh.

“Gamlyn,” one of the cadets sneered, stepping forward, ignoring his banter. “You won’t be laughing for long.”

“So cliche,” Ridoc muttered. He glanced at me again, this time with a rolling his eyes.

The first punch came without warning, aimed square at his jaw. Ridoc rolled with the hit, groaning theatrically. “Nice. Is that all you’ve got? You know if you rotate your body more, you can get more power.”

I couldn’t help the small, breathless laugh that escaped me. He was always trying to make light of things, even now.

The cadets exchanged looks, clearly annoyed at how unaffected he seemed. But Ridoc wasn’t their only target today. I saw one of them shift their attention to me, a slow, malicious grin spreading across their face.

“Maybe we need to change tactics with this one,” one of them said, looking at Ridoc then his eyes landing on me.

“Maybe Gamlyn needs a little more motivation.”

Before I could react, a heavy blow landed against my side, knocking the wind out of me. I gasped, struggling to stay upright, the pain radiating through my ribs.

Ridoc’s smile faltered. “Hey, come on,” he called out, his voice tight. “That’s low."

Ridoc's eyes flickered to you, his grin slipping slightly. “You good over there? You want me to tell them to ease up? I mean, I’ve seen you take worse hits, but I don’t want to bruise that pretty face.”

The cadets ignored him, hitting me again. This time, it was harder, and I could barely breathe. I saw Ridoc’s hands grip the arms of his chair, his knuckles white.

“Cut it out,” he growled, his voice losing the playful edge. “I mean it. Stop.”

The cadet’s eyes gleamed with sadistic satisfaction as they watched you suffer. “Looks like your partner here doesn’t enjoy the show,” one of them sneered, glancing over at Ridoc. “Not so funny now, is it?”

A fist connected with my stomach, and I doubled over, the pain blinding. I could hear Ridoc shouting, but everything was starting to blur. His voice sounded distant, like it was underwater.

“Stop hurting her! Leave her alone, damn it!” His desperation was clear now, all the joking gone. He was losing control, and I could feel the tension crackling in the air between us.

But the cadets just laughed, pleased with themselves. “What’s wrong, Gamlyn? You can take a beating, but not her?”

Another hit, and everything went black.

---

When I came to, the world felt distant, hazy. My body ached all over, but it was the sharp, rhythmic pain in my ribs that brought me back to reality. I blinked, my eyes struggling to focus on the unfamiliar ceiling above me. It took a few moments before I realized I was in a hospital bed.

I shifted slightly, groaning from the effort. That’s when I noticed a warm pressure on my hand.

I turned my head and saw Ridoc slumped in the chair beside me, fast asleep. His head rested against the back of the chair, his hand tightly wrapped around mine, like he’d been holding on for dear life. There was no sign of the cocky, grinning guy I was used to. Instead, he looked exhausted, his face pale and drawn.

I stared at him, my heart swelling with a mixture of emotions—relief, gratitude, and something deeper that I couldn’t quite name. Despite everything, he hadn’t left my side.

I squeezed his hand gently, and he stirred, blinking awake. The moment his eyes met mine, the tension in his body seemed to melt away.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, his voice rough with exhaustion. He leaned forward, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. “I was so worried…”

I gave him a small, tired smile. “Took you long enough to stop joking around.”

Ridoc let out a breath that was almost a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, they weren’t exactly giving me much to work with.” His expression darkened as he remembered. “I’m sorry… I tried to stop them.”

“It’s not your fault,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “You couldn’t have done anything.”

He swallowed, his grip on my hand tightening. “I hate that they used you to get to me. That’s… it’s not okay. You shouldn’t have been hurt because of me.”

I shifted slightly, grimacing from the pain, but I managed to reach up and touch his arm. “I’ll be okay, Ridoc. You’re here now.”

He nodded, though the guilt didn’t leave his eyes. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against our joined hands. “I swear, I’ll never let anyone do that to you again.”

In that moment, I could see past the joking mask he always wore—the cocky front he used to hide the fact that he cared too much. And I realized just how much he cared.

[gildedwillow]

obedience to you - emily prentiss - 18+

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emily prentiss might be in control at work, but behind closed doors, she’s yours to tease, use, and ruin. after a night of public teasing that leaves her painfully hard, you take her home and make her watch as you strip, denying her every touch.

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g!p emily prentiss x fem!reader

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requested - emily prentiss taglist - masterlist

The music’s a slow, pulsing throb under your skin, bass vibrating through the velvet walls of the VIP lounge. You’re in Emily’s lap, straddling her, arms draped lazily around her neck like this is just another dance — except your hips are moving slow, deliberate, your mouth grazing her ear as you whisper things no one else can hear.

She’s trying so hard to behave. Hands gripping the armrests like they’re her lifeline, knuckles white. Her dark eyes are locked on your face — jaw clenched, lips parted just enough for you to see the shaky exhale she can’t quite suppress. Her suit jacket’s rumpled now, tie loosened from the heat, from you. And god, you can feel it. The way she’s hard beneath you, cock straining against her slacks as you roll your hips, again and again, pretending like you're just enjoying the beat.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” you purr, voice dipped in honey as you grind down just a little harder, enough to make her flinch. “Not touching me, even though I know how badly you want to.”

Emily’s breath stutters. Her fingers twitch on the armrests, just once, and you reward her restraint with a kiss to the underside of her jaw. She moans softly, barely audible over the music — but you hear it. You feel it. Her cock is throbbing against you now, thick and hot, and she’s probably aching from the way you’ve been teasing her all night. Leaning in too close at the bar, slipping your hand into her lap under the table, whispering dirty little promises while she tried to keep it together in public.

“You’re dripping down your thigh, aren’t you?” you murmur, dragging your lips over her cheek as she shudders. “Bet your cock’s so sensitive it hurts. Poor thing.”

She whimpers, head falling back just slightly, exposing her throat in a silent, desperate plea. It’s too easy to smile, smug and cruel in the best way, as you press your hand between your bodies and cup her through her pants. She bucks instinctively and you tsk.

“No. You don’t get to touch anything tonight unless I say so. Hands stay right there. You understand?”

Emily nods fast, frantic. “Yes, ma’am,” she breathes, voice cracked open, pupils blown wide with lust and submission.

“Good girl.”

You don’t even turn on the lights when you get home — you want her squirming in the dark, want her focused only on how you touch her, how you command her. The door slams shut behind you, and Emily’s already fumbling with her jacket like she’s on the edge of breaking, but you press her back with one firm palm to her chest.

"Strip. Everything. But don’t you fucking touch your cock."

Her breath catches in her throat — a high, shaky sound that’s almost a moan — but she obeys. Her hands tremble as she works off the layers, her slacks hitting the floor with a soft sound, boxers right after, and there it is. Her cock, flushed and thick and so hard it’s bobbing slightly with each tiny movement, veins prominent, the head wet and shiny with precum. She’s dripping — like she’s been leaking for hours — and maybe she has, considering how much teasing you put her through at the club.

You let her sit on the edge of the bed, legs spread just enough to make room for you as you sink to your knees between them, still fully clothed. You rest your hands on her thighs and look up at her.

"Look at you," you murmur, voice sultry and low. "So hard it hurts, huh? I can see your cock twitching, baby. You gonna beg for it?"

Emily’s already panting, her fists clenched into the sheets behind her. “Please,” she whispers, hips twitching forward despite herself. "I—I need it so bad, I can’t—fuck, I can’t think—"

"Oh, poor thing," you coo, leaning forward, letting your lips barely brush her inner thigh. "You gonna come just from my mouth?"

She whimpers. “Please, yes—need your mouth, I can’t take it—please, I’ll be good, I’ll be so fucking good—”

That’s all you need.

You wrap one hand around the base of her cock, squeezing just enough to make her gasp, then slowly lick from the underside up to the head, tasting the precum already smeared there. She bucks slightly, immediately apologizing, breathless — “Sorry, sorry, I’ll stay still—” —and it makes you smile as you swirl your tongue around the head, teasing the slit.

"Good girl," you purr, before taking her in deeper, lips wrapping around her thick cock as she groans, ragged and raw.

She’s big. Long and heavy on your tongue, thick enough to stretch your lips wide as you slide down her length, your hand stroking what your mouth can’t reach. Her cock pulses against your tongue, the taste of her precum salty and addictive. You hollow your cheeks, suck hard — and she cries out, a soft, broken sound like she’s trying not to sob.

You know you look like sin. Your cleavage is on full display, breasts pushed up tight in your top, your pussy soaked through your panties and pressed against the floor as you rock your hips for a little friction. But it’s all for her — every moan you let out as you suck her, every time you drag your tongue along that sensitive vein on the underside of her cock, is to undo her completely.

Emily’s shaking now, thighs trembling on either side of you. “I—I can’t—fuck, I’m gonna come, please—let me, please, I need to—”

You pull off just long enough to growl, “Not until I say.” Then you take her deep again, swallowing around her as you bob your head faster, jerking the base of her cock in rhythm with your mouth. Her hips jump — she’s holding herself back with everything she’s got.

“Please—pleasepleaseplease—” she’s sobbing now, barely coherent, voice wrecked. “Let me come, let me, I can’t hold it—”

You pull back just enough to tease her tip with your tongue and whisper, “Come in my mouth.”

She shatters.

With a strangled cry, her cock jerks in your hand and she spills hot and thick down your throat. You moan around her, swallowing greedily, loving the way she whimpers as the orgasm crashes through her — hips twitching, whole body shaking under your control. You don’t stop until she’s given you every last drop, licking her clean as her thighs twitch helplessly.

When you finally look up, her eyes are glassy, lips parted, cheeks flushed deep red. She looks utterly wrecked. And you?

You just smile, wiping your mouth slowly with the back of your hand.

"Good girl. Now lie back. I'm not nearly done with you yet."

She’s still trembling when you rise to your feet, her chest heaving, cock softening slightly between her thighs but still slick, flushed, needy. You don’t speak. Not yet. You just start moving — slow, deliberate — your fingers sliding to the hem of your top as you hold her gaze.

Emily’s wide-eyed, helpless, wrecked — and starving for you.

You peel your shirt up inch by inch, giving her a slow reveal of bare skin, your stomach flexing as you stretch, then your lacy bra coming into view. Her breath catches audibly.

“God, you’re—fuck,” she whispers, eyes raking over you like she’s trying to memorize everything. “You’re so beautiful…”

You smirk as you drop the top and move your hands to the waistband of your skirt, taking your time unzipping it, hips rolling gently side to side like you’re dancing just for her. The fabric falls to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your panties and bra — both black, both sheer enough to leave little to the imagination.

Emily’s eyes darken. She leans forward instinctively, hand lifting toward your waist like she can’t help herself. You slap it away — not hard, but sharp enough to make her jolt.

“Nuh-uh,” you warn. “You don’t touch until I say. You want my body? You watch it first.”

She groans — head falling back a second, teeth clenched like she’s holding herself together by a thread. You reach behind your back and unclip your bra, letting it fall off your arms. Her eyes drop to your chest instantly, pupils blown wide.

“Fuck… your tits—” she whimpers, breathless. “You know how much I—please, I wanna touch, I wanna taste them so bad…”

You cup them in your own hands, rolling your nipples slowly between your fingers, moaning just a little as your body reacts — nipples tightening, pussy clenching in anticipation. You see the way Emily twitches — her cock starting to swell again, helpless to your show.

“You’ll get your chance,” you murmur. “But I’m going to ride you first.”

You hook your fingers into the waistband of your panties and peel them down slow, letting her see the wet string of arousal sticking to the fabric. You’re soaked — your thighs glistening, your pussy visibly aching for her — and she makes a desperate, strangled sound as she watches you step out of them and climb back into her lap.

Her cock is rock hard again, flushed dark red and slick with her own release, twitching eagerly beneath you. You position yourself over her, rubbing your folds along her shaft, spreading wetness from tip to base, teasing you both with the promise.

“Can I touch you?” she begs again, voice cracked and reverent. “Please, I’ll be so gentle, I’ll—fuck, please let me hold your tits while you ride me—”

You lean in close, your lips ghosting over hers but never kissing. “You love my tits that much?”

“Yes,” she gasps. “So fucking much—”

You take her cock in one hand and line yourself up, and as you sink down onto her, you grab her wrists and guide her palms to your chest.

“Then touch. Show me how much.”

Emily moans like she’s been given salvation. Her hands come up to cup your breasts reverently, fingers splaying across your soft skin, thumbs brushing over your aching nipples. You start to ride her slow — grinding your hips, letting her feel every tight, wet inch of you envelop her cock.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” she gasps, head falling back against the mattress as her hands knead your tits. “So tight, so wet—so fucking perfect—”

You bounce on her cock with increasing rhythm, your thighs slapping against hers, your pussy clenching around her thick length as she fills you again and again. You brace your hands on her chest, back arching as you ride her deeper, harder, your breasts bouncing into her eager palms.

“Touch me like that,” you pant, “and I might let you come inside me.”

That’s all it takes. Emily’s hips start to jerk, her cock throbbing deep inside you as she grips your breasts harder, rubbing and squeezing like they’re the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. You clench around her, moaning as you feel her swelling inside you, every vein dragging along your walls perfectly.

“I’m gonna come—please, I’m gonna come inside, let me—please, please—”

You ride her faster, leaning down to kiss her finally, your lips crashing onto hers just as her cock pulses hard inside you — thick, hot ropes of cum spilling deep into your pussy. You grind through it, milking her, moaning as her body shudders beneath you, her grip on your breasts tightening just shy of painful.

You don’t stop until you’ve wrung every drop out of her, until you feel her twitching, overstimulated, whimpering against your mouth as you finally slow.

When you sit up again, her cum is dripping out of you, thick and warm between your thighs, and her cock is still buried deep inside.

She looks up at you like she’s seen heaven.

And maybe she has.

She’s still hard inside you.

Barely. Sensitive. Twitching. But hard — and that’s all you need.

You grin, slow and wicked, as you lift your hips and let her half-soft cock slide out of your cum-dripping pussy with a filthy wet sound. You don’t give her a moment to recover. You just shift, press her back flat against the bed, and straddle her chest, your soaked cunt hovering just above her face.

“Did I say you could come?” you ask, voice low, taunting. Her eyes widen — she knows it was allowed — but you’re already smirking, grinding your wet pussy along her chest, smearing her own cum across her skin.

“I—I thought—” she starts, but you reach down and slap her cock lightly — just enough to make her whimper and twitch.

“You thought wrong, baby. I said maybe. You came like a desperate little bitch anyway. So now you’re going to make it up to me.”

You grab her by the hair and drag her face between your thighs, not gentle in the slightest. She gasps at first, but her mouth opens fast, eager, tongue darting out to lap at your folds like she’s starving for you — and maybe she is. You ride her face with no hesitation, grinding your pussy against her mouth, your slick lips parting over her nose, her chin. She moans against you like it’s a gift, and you pull her hair harder.

“Don’t just lick — eat me, Emily.”

And she does.

Tongue plunging between your folds, sloppy and desperate, licking into your dripping pussy with a devotion that’s almost pathetic. She sucks your clit when you grind down harder, and you reward her with a deep moan, grabbing the headboard with one hand while the other stays tangled in her hair, riding her face with ruthless rhythm.

She’s so fucking good like this — mouth stuffed with your cunt, cock twitching uselessly against her stomach, eyes half-lidded with overwhelmed need. You fuck yourself on her tongue until your legs start to tremble, until you're soaked and throbbing and overstimulated — then you pull away, dripping onto her lips and watching her chase your pussy with a broken whimper.

“Mm-mm,” you hum, crawling back down her body until you’re hovering over her cock again. “You don’t come again until I say. You don’t move unless I tell you. Understand?”

“Y-yes,” she pants, breathless, her lips shining with your slick. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good girl.”

You line her back up and sink down hard — all at once — taking her back into your pussy while she sobs, back arching like her body can’t handle the overstimulation. Her cock’s still overly sensitive, still slick with her last release and your arousal, but it slides in deep, stretching you open again, filling you in one tight, brutal thrust.

Her thighs shake. Her hands clench the sheets.

You ride her without mercy.

Fast, punishing, wet. Skin slapping, bodies colliding, your pussy sucking her back in every time she tries to squirm from the intensity. Her cock throbs with every stroke — already on the edge again, just barely holding on. You lean down and press your tits to her chest, grinding harder, your breath hot against her ear.

“Your cock’s mine,” you whisper. “This tight, aching little thing? It belongs to me. I’ll fuck you until you cry, and you’ll say thank you, won’t you?”

She nods frantically, barely able to breathe. “Thank you, thank you—fuck, I love your pussy—I love how it feels, please don’t stop—”

You grab her throat — not to choke, just to hold her still — and ride her faster. Your breasts bounce against her chest, your soaked cunt clenching, milking her cock like you want her to break.

“Touch me,” you pant finally, and she doesn’t even hesitate — her hands come up to your chest like they belong there, fingers cupping your tits, thumbs flicking your nipples as you ride her deeper.

She’s losing it. You can feel it — her cock twitching wildly inside you, her breath ragged, your name falling from her lips like a prayer.

“I’m gonna—fuck, I can’t hold it—”

You dig your nails into her chest. “You will. You’ll beg for it.”

“Please,” she sobs, “please, I need to come in you again, let me, I’ll be good, I’ll do anything—”

You clench hard around her, grinding down to take her as deep as she’ll go.

“Come for me, baby.”

She breaks again.

With a long, broken cry, her cock pulses inside you, hot cum shooting deep into your pussy, again and again, as you moan and ride through it, wringing her dry. Her hands clutch at your tits like they’re the only thing keeping her grounded, her body twitching beneath you as she fills you all over again — your slick mixed with hers dripping down her thighs.

You don’t slow until she’s begging you to stop, completely spent and wrecked beneath you.

And even then… you consider going one more round.

[girlinterupptedsblog]

Whaaattt about You overheard rafe and his friend talking about the new girl in town so later that night when rafe is fucking you- you moan out one of his friends names on purpose?

Say His Name Again

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+ ONLY), dom/sub undertones, jealousy, possessiveness, rough sex, revenge, degradation, choking, hair pulling, orgasm denial, Rafe being toxic and unhinged, foul language, semi-public tension, possessive behavior, toxic relationship dynamics, manipulation, heavy angst, brief mention of infidelity rumors, over-the-top reaction, reader moaning another man’s name for revenge.

You knew what you heard.

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Not really. But when Rafe was talking loud as hell with his friends out by the pool, practically yelling over the music and the laughter, your ears tuned in—especially when you heard her name.

Some new girl. Some random nobody you didn’t even know. Apparently, she was “fine as hell,” with “the kind of ass you just wanna bite” and “a mouth made for sin.”

You heard him say that. You heard Rafe say that.

And it fucking broke something in you.

You didn’t even remember what the excuse was you used to leave the party early, but you couldn’t stay and watch him act like he wasn’t already spoken for. Like he didn’t have you. Like he didn’t already get everything he needed and more from your mouth, your ass, your everything.

The rage brewed in your gut for hours.

By the time he stumbled into the house later that night, a little buzzed and definitely unaware of the storm you were about to unleash on him, you already had a plan.

Rafe thought he was going to walk in, get in your bed, and fuck you until you forgot every single thing he’d said earlier.

No. You were going to fuck him up first.

“Get on the bed.”

You didn’t wait for him to get settled. As soon as he closed the bedroom door, you turned on him, voice sharp and commanding, your eyes dark and unreadable.

Rafe blinked, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips, amused and already turned on by your tone.

“Oh? You missed me that bad, huh?”

You didn’t answer. Just stared at him, waiting.

Rafe stripped, slow at first, until he realized you weren’t playing games. His shirt hit the floor, then his jeans. You were already naked, sitting on the edge of the bed with your legs spread just enough to tease him, just enough to control him.

He groaned under his breath, cock already hardening at the sight of you.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot, you know that?” he muttered as he crawled onto the bed, towering over you, hand gripping your thigh.

But you moved faster, flipping him onto his back, straddling him, grinding against his bare cock without letting him in.

Rafe’s hands shot to your hips, but you slapped them away.

“I said—I’m in charge tonight.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise. Then excitement. Then…confusion.

He liked when you got like this—rough, demanding, mean. But this wasn’t just some fun little roleplay. You were pissed.

And you were going to make him feel it.

You rode him hard. Not with love. Not with passion. With rage. With purpose. You used him like he was nothing more than a toy under you, nails digging into his chest, hair wild around your face as you bounced on his cock like it was the last thing you’d ever do.

Rafe was loving it, moaning, cursing, gripping the sheets until his knuckles turned white.

“Fuck, baby, just like that—shit—you’re so tight—you’re mine, you hear me?”

You didn’t respond.

Not with words.

Not until he was close.

Until Rafe was falling apart under you, eyes squeezed shut, hands now gripping your ass, slamming you down onto his cock harder, faster, desperate for release.

That’s when you leaned forward, lips brushing against his ear—and let it rip.

“Oh, fuck, Topper.”

Rafe’s eyes snapped open. His whole body stiffened.

“What the fuck—?”

You said it again, louder, moaning it like you meant it this time.

“Oh my god, Topper, right there—right fucking there.”

Everything stopped.

Rafe’s hands grabbed you, lifted you off of him like you were nothing, slammed you down onto your back.

“What the fuck did you just say?” His voice was low. Deadly. He loomed over you, chest heaving, his cock still rock hard, slick with your arousal, but his *eyes—*they were murderous.

You smiled sweetly, even as your heart pounded in your chest.

“You heard me,” you whispered, running your tongue over your bottom lip like you weren’t scared shitless. “Or are you too drunk to remember names tonight?”

Boom. You watched it hit him—the reason. The realization of what you’d heard earlier. And that rage in your chest? It had now transferred directly into his.

Rafe’s hand wrapped around your throat in an instant, not choking, just holding—just letting you feel the power he had over you.

“You think you’re fuckin’ funny?” His voice was low, shaking. “You think you can say his name while I’m inside you? You really wanna test me like that?”

You tilted your chin up, lips curling into a smirk.

“I just wanted to know how it feels to be disrespected, Rafe. Like I’m not even here. Like I’m not enough for you.”

He didn’t like that. Not one bit.

Rafe growled, hand tightening just enough to make you gasp, to make your thighs squeeze together. He saw it. He felt it.

“You’re such a fuckin’ brat,” he hissed. “Such a jealous, needy, little slut. You think I want her? You think I’d let you ride my dick like that if I wanted anyone but you?”

He pulled back, standing at the edge of the bed.

“Get the fuck on your knees.”

You obeyed, trembling—not from fear. From anticipation. Because when Rafe got like this? You never knew how far he’d go.

He gripped your jaw, forcing your eyes up to meet his.

“You wanna play games? Say his name again, sweetheart. Say it one more fuckin’ time, and I’ll ruin you. You won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

You stared up at him, mouth parted, breath heavy. Your hand moved to stroke his cock, slow and teasing.

“…Topper.”

Rafe grabbed you by the hair, yanking you up, bending you over the bed in one brutal movement.

“No mercy now, bitch.”

He slammed into you from behind, no buildup, no warning. Just rough, deep, punishing thrusts. The bed creaked under you, headboard slamming the wall with each savage movement.

You screamed—his name, this time. Over and over.

“Rafe—Rafe—I’m sorry—I’m sorry—”

But he wasn’t listening.

“You wanna be a little whore? You wanna moan another man’s name while I’m fuckin’ you? Let’s see if he can make you come like this.”

You cried out, legs shaking, body limp, unable to fight him even if you wanted to.

Rafe owned you now.

By the time he was done, you couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

You were wrecked.

And Rafe. He wasn’t satisfied yet.

His hand cupped your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

“Mine. Say it.”

You nodded weakly, voice broken.

“Yours.”

“Say his name again. Go on.”

You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

He smirked.

“Didn’t think so.”

[cupcakegirl3]

“Yeah, keep fucking crying. Mommy wants to fuck a baby into you.”

i know places - chapter 7

dark!wandanat x reader

ch 6 | ch 8

wc: 2.7k

tw: “virginity loss”, strap sex, straps referred to as cocks, stockholm syndrome, mean!daddy natasha, soft!mommy wanda, slapping, oral sex, fingering, breeding kink, overstimulation, “forced” pregnancy (you’ll see), religion (just at the beginning), natasha pov, wanda pov

a/n: this is a long time coming, 80% of this has been written for months I just hate writing the in between stuff :((( tysm for all your kind words and for reading this <33

mdni!!!

Natasha 

She pulled her into her bedroom, the one where she first touched her. It seemed like the correct place to do this, at least for the first time. 

She was dressed all pretty in white, her hair cascading down her back, half of it tied back with a white bow. 

Wanda had decorated the room, a little tacky for her taste. Candles were everywhere, it did make the room seem so soft for what they were going to do to her. 

Natasha guided her to lay down on the soft mattress, spreading her legs so Natasha could sit between them.  

“Father always said it was the worst sin I could commit.” She said softly. 

“It isn’t. Them diminishing you was.” 

Natasha pushed a strand of hair behind my head. “Doesn’t it feel good when you finish around my fingers?” Her face reddened, how sweet. Natasha wondered just how hard she could push. “Talk.” 

“Y-yes it does.” she squirmed some more. “Father said that sins always feel good at first.” 

“Well trust me, this will always feel good. Everything happens for a reason right?” She nodded. “God led you to us. He knew how much you needed us. Isn’t that right?” 

“Yes, daddy.” 

“Look at me.” Her face reddened again. “You are such a good girl. Now don’t let us down.” 

She nodded again, her eyes beautiful wide as she looked up at Natasha. 

She wanted to ruin her. She wanted to cut her open and taste her. The poor doll could barely handle her fingers and mouth, she couldn’t imagine what it would look like when she began using toys. 

“Daddy?” She asked softly. 

“Yes, angel.” 

“You love me?” 

“More than anything.” More than anything. Natasha would tear the world apart if something happened to her. “You’re mine.” 

“I’m yours.” 

Natasha couldn’t help it. She leaned forward and kissed her. She couldn’t my hold back any more. Natasha straddled the girls waist whilst gripping her jaw so hard it would bruise. She hoped it bruised. Every mark she left on her was a reminder that she would never leave. Well, could never leave. 

Her moans were so soft, so light. That’s how Natasha wanted her, Daddy’s, soft little princess. Moldable, gullible, and dumb. 

She  jerked her hips up. Natasha pushed hers into them. “Needy baby.” She said, sitting up. 

“You pathetic thing.” She squirmed under her. “So desperate for someone to fuck you huh?”

She bit her lip and shook her head. Natasha slapped her for it. “Slut.” 

She whined in response, Natasha had to take a deep breath to control herself. They had plans for tonight, such good plans. 

“Where’s mommy?” 

She smacked her again, harder this time. Her hand game up to her cheek. She was quick to pin it back down. “You love her more than me?”

“No—No daddy— I—“

Natasha shushed her. Her lips were always so soft and sweet. She pushed her thumb past them into her warm mouth. Wanda had found the right one. The desperate look in her eyes made Natasha’s chest tight. 

Her eyes were wide and full of devotion as her lips wrapped around Natasha’s knuckle. “Say you love me.” 

Her response was muffled by her finger, drool ran down her face. She was so incredibly fuckable. “Here’s how this is going to go. You can either take it like a good girl and let daddy fuck you. Or you can fight it and daddy will still fuck you. Which one do you think you’ll enjoy more?”

“First one.” She mumbled around the finger. 

“Smart girl.” Natasha pulled back, popping her thumb into her mouth to suck off her drool. 

Natasha pulled her hands back, admiring the girl below her. All pretty in white for her, like a little virgin. Her neck was covered in bruises, both hickeys and from their fingers. One of her breasts still had a scar from where Natasha had cut her that first time. Fond memory. 

The door opened softly, welcoming in Wanda. She wore a small silk dress, red. She looked delicious. She smiled at the both of them, her eyes first going to Natasha and then down to the blushing girl before her. 

“Pretty baby.” She cooed, finding her spot on the bed. She would sit beside her, with her head in her lap. There were no restraints this time, but Natasha didn’t think she’d run. 

Wanda placed a soft kiss on her forehead, pulling her head into her lap. 

“Mommy.” 

“I know, baby.” Wanda kissed her lips, her hands playing with the end of her little dress. She pulled it off of her. She whined as goosebumps rose on her skin. 

Natasha took her time. She licked and sucked at her sweet pussy until she was begging to finish but no. She would do that around her cock. Slowly she worked her pussy open, one finger at a time. The sheets were soaked, her face flushed. 

Natasha sat up, keeping her legs spread as she looked down at her bare, soaked, pussy. She smiled, taking off her boxers to finally reveal her strap. 

“No…” She breathed out, trying to move away. 

Wanda calmed her down with gentle kisses. Natasha just lined her cock up with her doll. Fuck. This might break her.

“Daddy…it’s gonna hurt!” She cried out, her hands clawing at Natasha’s arms. She didn’t want her tied up this time, no she wanted to feel the resistance. 

“Hopefully.” Natasha joked, winking at her. 

Natasha lined her strap up with her weeping pussy, she could lie all she fucking wanted—her pussy was soaked. 

She thanked every god out there for Wanda’s powers. She felt every little squeeze of her on her strap. It shot right to her clit. 

She gasped under her as the tip slipped in, Natasha had to hold back a moan of her own. She squeezed her like a vice, even all of this to get her prepared and she was still this fucking tight. 

Wanda brushed the hair that had fallen into her face, kissing her flushed and sweaty cheek. “Does it feel good princess?” 

“Hurts mommy.” 

Natasha smiled, snaking an arm to her throat. “I’m filling this cunt every day for the rest of my life, bunny.” Natasha pulled out the tip, pushing in a little further. She fought against it, her hands pushing Natasha away. Her strength was nothing in compression. 

“Quit fighting it.” Natasha pushed in a little more, just to torture her, before pulling out again. “Your little pussy is so wet baby, you were made for this. So take it like the fuckdoll you are.” 

Of course, tears started spilling from her eyes. A dumb little cry baby. Natasha fucked her further, only a little bit more and she’d be all the way in.

When their hips meant, she let out a moan. Instantly, she bit her lip to stifle it but Wanda pulled it away. Natasha slapped her instead. “Don't do that bullshit.” She nodded, her eyes beautifully glossed over. 

Natasha pulled back out and pushed back in, having to fight the urge to finish right on the spot. She groaned under her, eyes screwing shut. Natasha kept fucking her slowly, trying to stop any pain she was feeling. 

Her head swam with everything that was open to her now. And her sweet little pussy felt heavenly wrapped around her. 

Slowly, she picked up the pace. She moaned under her, reltening to the pleasure she was feeling. Wanda still was whispering sweet nothings in her ears and playing with her nipples. 

Natasha’s fingers found their way to her clit. She shrieked at the just at the mere touch of her fingers on her. Her sweet pussy clenched around Natasha. 

“Fuck look at you.” Natasha groaned, taking the sight in. Her entire body was flushed, her stomach slightly bulging as she thrusted into her. She couldn’t help herself, she slapped her hard across the face, loving the reddening already. 

She started to shake, her eyes screwing closed as she pussy fluttered. “Cum for me, slut.” 

She cried out as she came around her cock, Natasha couldn’t help herself but finish. The fake cum shot out of her tip and into her. She seemed to fucked out to even notice. Natasha’s hips stilled, her head spinning with the right feeling of her wrapped around her.

“What do good girls say?” Wanda asked, kissing her neck. 

“T-thank you- d-daddy.” 

Natasha’s hands were shaking as she grabbed her thighs and threw them over her shoulder. She gasped out as Natasha pushed back into her fully. 

“Is it deeper?” 

She moaned, nodding as she looked to Wanda. “Mommy please it’s too much—“

Wanda shushed her, placing a kiss to her lips. “Daddy’s giving you so much. It’s time to be thankful.” 

“I-I’m so sorry.” She cried out, “T-thank y-you.” 

Her poor little legs were trembling as Natasha picked up the pace again. White cream and light spots of blood mixed on her cock. Fuck it only spurred her on. 

She relented to the pleasure completely. Her eyes were half open as moans left her mouth. “God you were fucking made for this.” Natasha groaned. 

She pushed a hand down onto where her stomach bulged out. 

“Daddy!” She moaned out, her fingernails digging into her arms again. “Feels s-s-so good…”

“Yeah you like when daddy fucks you?” 

She nodded so Natasha fucked her harder. Her eyes shot open, “Daddy…”

“Too much?”

She nodded, her hands pushing Natasha away once again.

“Good.” 

Natasha completely pulled out, watching as the mix of liquids spilled out of her poor little cunt. She used her fingers to push all her cum back inside of her. 

She flipped her over so fast she couldn’t protest and shoved her cock back into her pussy. She screamed out in pain but Natasha didn’t care. 

Fuck her pussy was so heavenly, she didn’t think she’d ever get enough. 

“Wans you’re going to love this.” She groaned, shoving her face into the mattress. “Squeezing me so nice.” 

“I bet.” Wanda smiled, moving so that she was kneeling beside them. “Our little princess is always a good girl. Think she’ll cum again for you?”

“She will.” 

Wanda sat up, kissing Natasha as she fucked into her. Then she felt Wanda’s fingers begin to play with her clit again. 

It didn’t take long for her pussy begin to flutter again, then she was spasming around them, sucking Natasha cock further into her. Natasha came again, spilling more and more into her. 

Natasha didn’t pull out, fuck no. She had to keep all her cum in there for Wanda. 

Wanda

Wanda worked her tired body to sit up. Her face was defeated but her eyes lit up a little when she saw it was her turn. 

She laid down, Natasha moved her poor body on top of Wanda.

She resisted moving down onto Wanda’s red cock, begging and pleading as Natasha forced her down. Neither of them cared. 

Wanda pressed down gently on her poor, overused clit. She whined, but her back arched. “Oh I know it’s just too much isn’t it baby?” Wanda pressed her hips down further, “Does it feel good? When mommy slides inside of you?” 

She nodded, grabbing Natasha’s hands. She gasped as she finally bottomed out, her hips stilling. 

Wanda pushed her hips up, watching as her eyes rolled back to her head. Natasha’s hand curled around her hair. Her lips found her neck, whispering something in her ear. 

Her hips moved forward, eliciting a sweet moan from her pretty lips. “Daddy.” She groaned, grinding harder now. 

“Come around mommy’s cock baby, come on.” Wanda encouraged, rubbing quickly at her clit. 

“Can’t—“ She gasped out, Natasha gripping her hair harder. “Daddy please—“

“Take it baby, it’ll all be over soon.” 

Natasha smirk told a different story than her word. If she got three orgasms out of her, well then Wanda deserved three too, and she was going to get them. 

She nodded, grinding her hips faster and faster until she finally came around her. It was a miracle Wanda didn’t finish right then and there, as her pussy fluttered around her. 

Natasha held her up, one hand still holding her hair as the other played with her nipple. Wanda began pushing her cock in and out again. “Too much—“ She cried out, her nails digging into Natasha’s arm. 

“Take it, be a good girl.” 

“‘m a good girl.” She babbled out. Natasha whispered something else in her ear. 

She began riding her now, lifting her hips up and down on her cock, whining every time she did so. 

“Listening so well. You want mommy to fuck a baby into you, her magic is so powerful isn’t it?” 

Her eyes widened, and fuck if Wanda didn’t want to moan just at the thought of her pregnant. Her magic probably could do it, although she had certainly never tried. Natasha just liked to see her terrified face. 

“No— no— fuck— no please!” Her other pleas were cut off by her moans. 

She suddenly screamed out, gripping Natasha even harder. “Mommy—“ She whined out, grinding her hips down harder. 

“Mommy hitting your special spot hm?” Natasha asked, her hand pressing down on her stomach again. 

“I’m gonna—“ She shouted out, finishing before even finishing the sentence. She sobbed, her entire body trembling. 

Her head started to roll to the side but Natasha slapped her quickly. “You’re staying right here with us.” She shouted, shaking her head until her eyes shot open. 

“It’s too much— please stop.” She cried out. Natasha smiled, pressing harder down on her stomach. 

“Yeah, keep fucking crying. Mommy wants to fuck a baby into you.” Natasha smiled more, gripping her hair on the back of her head. 

She shouted out a no but Wanda didn’t care. Let her think that she would get pregnant from this. Let her be scared. 

Wanda was close and all it took as her sobs to finally finish inside of her, the fake cock shooting cum into her. She cried out, trying to move but both of them kept their grips tight. 

Still the score wasn’t settled. Wanda rubbed hard, fast circles on her clit. She cried out, still upset but bucking her hips into her hand. 

Then she was sobbing, cumming hard around her again. Natasha held her upright, soothing her through her orgasm in her own special way. She leaned completely on Natasha, holding her arm close. 

Gently, Natasha eased her off. She picked up her laying her back down on the ruined bed. They could worry about being clean tomorrow. 

“You’re alright.” Wanda cooed, wrapping an arm around her. 

Using her other she took off her strap, throwing it over the side of the bed. Her body shook, overstimulated and used beyond how it ever had. Fuck Wanda loved it. 

However, she didn’t curl into her, she curled into Natasha. Natasha smiled, clearly amused with the attention she never got. 

Wanda saw red, wanting nothing more than to pull her away and punish her for this. “Did I do good?” She asked, lifting her head up to look at Natasha. 

“Yes, princess.” Natasha said, her voice oddly soft. “Need water?” 

She nodded, lifting her body up further. 

Wanda watched it all, watched as she only looked at Natasha. Watched as Natasha’s hard exterior was crumbling. Her shaking hands grabbed Natasha’s bare waist as she brought the water to her lips. 

Then when Natasha set the water bottle back down, her hard exterior crumbled completely. “What’s wrong?” She asked, her hands coming up to her face. 

Her body hunched over, sobs now escaping her lips. Wanda moved but she flinched when she touched her back. 

“I don’t wanna be pregnant.” She cried out, pressing her face into Natasha’s neck. “Just wanna make you happy.”

Natasha wrapped her arms around her, petting the tangled hair on the back of her head. “Oh princess. We won’t this time.” 

“T-thank you.” 

Natasha pulled her back up gently. “Is that why you won’t look at mommy?” 

She nodded, wiping the tears away from her face. 

“Tell her you're sorry.” Natasha said over her shoulder.

Wanda wanted to wipe the look right off of Natasha’s face. Always wanting to be in fucking charge. 

But then she looked at her baby’s face. She turned over her shoulder. Her face was red and blotchy and tears still streamed down it. She hadn’t looked this scared in a while. 

“I’m sorry, honey.” 

Then she was back in her arms. 

[polaris-daydreams]

like calls to like

pairing : dark!benjamin poindexter x dark!reader

warnings : DARK CONTENT ❗❗stalking, blood, murder, background character death, severed hands, unhealthy dependency, delusional thoughts, religious themes and imagery. DO NOT READ IF UNDER 18❗❗

summary : dex starts spiralling when he thinks reader is slipping away from him. but what dex doesn’t know is how deep reader’s jealousy runs.

w/c : 2.3k

a/n : special shoutout to @thevillainswhore bcs we were literally twinning with the same dex fic ideas in chat, it's crazy !! this has been sitting in my drafts for a bit, but i kept rereading her encouragement on this piece and finally finished it. make sure you read mollie’s work when it comes out ! gif credits: @novagif. warning/support divider credits: @cafekitsune. bullseye divider credits: @uzmacchiato. likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated, hope you enjoy <3

Dex wishes he never agreed to Ray’s invitation.

He’s trying his hardest to keep his focus on you across the ballroom. Your eyes shine while listening to Ray’s retelling of a mission, delicate hands hypnotizing him as you get too engrossed in explaining your version of the story.

This would've been a pleasant night for Dex. Him keeping a watchful eye on you from afar as you go about your daily life. Just like he used to do before the two of you got together.  A fateful meeting when he realised what a gentle soul you had. It was hard to miss considering the both of you worked as FBI agents. That sort of soft hands and a warm heart didn't belong in your shared line of work. Didn't last long.

Just like how Dex won’t last any longer if this reporter kept clinging on to him. Some amateur writer eager to get a juicy headline instead of a hard hitting story. Dex barely remembers her name but she’s hanging off of his arm, going on and on about how excellent of an agent he is. He doesn't need telling, Dex knows. But he also knows this is a social networking event. Knows that there are cameras all around taking pictures of this interaction. Dex runs his hand down his face, thinking about how the media will spin it this time around.

The woman is too close, too much and too unlike you. Dex's mind is screaming at him. It's taking everything in him to not lose control and throw the glass he's holding to the wall. The grip on his drink makes his knuckles turn white. 

Dex remembers his mantra to be good, good for you. He can't lose control in public or leave a trail of dead bodies again. Not when your teary eyes and wobbly lips flashes behind his eyes every time some dumb motherfucker tries it. The memory of you being the only one there for him, besides Ray, when he was being used as a scapegoat. The evidence on his side was flimsy, and yet you stood strong beside him. Letting the goodness of your heart blind you to his true nature.

His violent tendencies remain shackled only because of you, your pretty hands and soft smiles that bring him back into the light. But it's so hard to be good when the reporter won't take the hint and loops her arm with his. Dex has to close his eyes and think of your perfectly imperfect smile, the melody of your laughter. His other hand not holding the glass faintly twitches, as if he's reaching out to your body in his prayers. But when he soothes the urge to throw something and cracks open his eyes, you aren't in his eyesight anymore.

There’s a faint buzzing in his ear.

He politely (as politely as he can, rage thrumming beneath his fingertips) separates his body from the reporter. Putting on his mask of a charming smile, spouting an excuse about “duty calling” as Dex points towards his boss.

The mask immediately drops as he turns back, shuffling his feet quickly over to where Ray is.

“We caught the culprit in- oh Dex?”

“Where is she?”

Colleagues stiffen at his interruption, stories of his eagerness to use lethal force spreading easily around the office. Ray takes notice of Dex’s rapidly blinking eyes, knows how much he depends on you.

“You just missed her, man. She left for the restroom, it's on the left past the hallway.” Ray supplies it with an easy smile, hoping to calm Dex.

He mutters out a thanks before making his way over to the restroom area. It’s more quiet in the hallway, thick walls muffling the jazz music in the ballroom. Dex thinks he hears a hint of an impact landing and frowns. Picking up his pace, he rounds the corner on the left just as you pull back the door to the ladies.

Dex feels his shoulders relax.

The furrow in his brows vanishing.

Buzzing softening in his ears until it's completely silent.

“Oh!” You jump slightly by his sudden appearance.

“Thought I lost you back there angel. You alright?” 

“Of course, my love. Just had to touch my makeup real quick.” A pretty smile forms on your lips, Dex feels like a lovesick teenager as the nickname falls from it.

Nothing he had worry about, Dex smiles to himself.

Except when you pull the door back a little wider to join Dex outside, his eyes flick up past your head. 

One of the sink mirrors is shattered, he notices.

A glance that ends as quickly as it started, as you tug his arm along. Leading the both of you back to the ballroom, your heels clicking against the hallway floor.

The confusion breezes past his mind when your familiar warmth envelops his bicep. Dex had nothing to worry about.

Dex has everything to worry about. Your routine’s completely changed the past 2 weeks. It started off small. The first week was closing your browser whenever he came around your office cubicle. Turning your phone off and setting it screen down on the table as he joined you on his couch. Dex’s jaw clenched everytime it happened.

The next week had him rescheduling your night dates. Citing extra workload and last minute cases. Dex would stare at your messages, as if burning holes into his phone would make you change your texts.

- My Angel -

sent Tuesday, 5.43 P.M. 

“my lovee, im so sorry but boss just pulled me in a meeting. think its a case briefing, can we reschedule? :((“

sent Thursday, 6.14 P.M.

“sorry lovey !! rookie from forensics messed up the field report and boss is being bitchy. gonna have to move our date.“

sent Sunday, 8.22 P.M.

“dex sorry but i had to go over to rays real quick. his wife called because sammy’s sick and ray’s obviously on that mission with you. don't wait up for me.”

Dex?

Since when the fuck did you call him Dex?

He’d read this specific message over and over. Grip tight around his phone. Not just because of you forgetting the nickname, but because Dex knew Sammy wasn't sick that night. He had bumped into Ray in the locker room while the married man was facetiming his wife. His partner in justice was the only friend he had, so Dex had begrudgingly gotten into frame when Ray beckoned him over. Even shyly entertained his wife’s questions about inviting you over for dinner again. Sammy had popped into frame at the mention of you, complaining that it had been too long since you had showed off your kitchen skills.

“Can she help teach dad how to butcher a turkey properly when you guys visit again? It was like a murder scene when dad tr- Ow!” Sammy’s rambling getting cut off by a soft smack on the head.

This morning was what pulled the last thread of his sanity apart.

Dex tried not to be overcontrolling and paranoid once you had accepted his (obsessive) love, and had started sleeping over at his black and white home sometimes. But that's proving difficult now, the 2 past weeks rattling the system in his brain. The wires fraying, close to snapping. 

Especially when a prime opportunity presented itself.

You were rushing to work on his off day, moving around too fast to notice your daily journal being left behind. It was unlike you to be late, but you'd been more tired lately. Yawning in the office, head drooping in meetings. You take 3 coffees now instead of 2. 5 shots of espresso now instead of 3. 

Dex wonders what's been keeping you away from sleep recently. He wishes he could go back to when he was stalking you. The time he knew where you were, what you were doing throughout the night. Was sure you were safe because he kept an eye on you himself.

His fingers twitch. The urge to reach out and just read your secrets growing.

Dex is just keeping you safe.

Yes, that's right. He’s doing this for your own good.

He gives in to the voice, opening your worn journal. Flipping to the past week and checking your whereabouts.

The buzzing is back.

Tuesday : 

Dunkin Donuts !!

Office - rmb to check evidence and restraining order for case #2937

The Bulletin 

Pizza hut

Birch Street, Higgins Drive Apartments, #09-213

It festers at the back of his mind.

Thursday :

Jimmy’s Breakfast Stop

Office 

Home Depot - supply run

Josie’s

Birch Street, Higgins Drive Apartments, #09-213

Drapes itself over his brain, darkness clouding his judgement.

Sunday :

Krispy Kreme

Office

Birch Street, Higgins Drive Apartments, #09-213 ♡

Dex can’t hear his heartbeat anymore.

He’s spiraling. The thumping of his heart clawing its way into his throat. The buzzing in his ears won't stop even when he presses his palms to his eyes. Dex is losing you. He’s lost you. So he lets that darkness guide him in the absence of your light. 

The familiarity of the scene doesn't surprise Dex. Him waiting out in his car to catch a glimpse of you. It does, however, make him nauseous. He thought he had made so much progress with you. For you. And now Dex is back to stalking you from afar. 

As if you hadn't looked up at him with gentle devotion.

As if you hadn't cradled his face, leaned your forehead against him in an act of sincere adoration. 

As if you hadn't interlocked your hands with his. His hands that he can never truly wash the blood off of. The interlocked hands that you kissed, like you could absolve him of the blood he’s spilt.

Dex inhales sharply when he spots you. Despite his mind descending into madness, he still recognises your shape, your white dress, you. Dex checks his gun one last time. It's not for you. No, never. He could never lay a hand on you. The bullet is for the other person. Whoever that stole you from him. You couldn't have initiated this. No, no. You must have been manipulated. Yes. Yes that must be it. You were coerced into this, and Dex is here to save you. Of course he is. How could you ever live without him ? How could he ever live without you?

A total of 10 minutes has passed. Dex figures now's the time to catch you in the act. Catch his angel by the wings.

He exits the car, gun safely tucked into the side of him.

Dex calmly makes his way over to the building. Thoughts hovering in his clouded mind.

How would he do it?

Dex presses all the buttons on the intercom, someone’s always waiting for someone.

Should he do it fast, a bullet through the heart?

The buzzing of the gate mixes with the buzzing in his head, and he enters the building.

Or make it slow and painful, throw a knife into the aorta.

The elevator carrying him ascends, as Dex’s grip on reality descends.

Maybe he should …

The door is ajar, like somebody broke in.

The buzzing in Dex’s mind makes him woozy, his body moving on autopilot to reach you. Forced entry? Are you okay? Is his angel okay?

Dex nearly launches himself at the door. His knees could give out with how relieved he is to see you. But something's wrong. Your dress is red now. You're all bloody. No. No. You're injured. Someone hurt you. Someone hurt his. He moves without his body even realising. Like a machine going back to its default setting. Taking care of you. Dex nearly trips over something but he doesn't care. All that matters right now is you. His angel. He scans your face and gets the blood splatter all over his hands. He’ll kill whoever was responsible for hurting you. He’d kill himself if he was the reason for this.

But something’s not making sense. Dex can't figure out where the blood is coming from. And you don't seem hurt, distraught or even surprised that he knew where you were. In fact, you look like you're glowing. Like you're coming off from a high. Dex tries to take a step back to examine you as a whole, but he feels something beneath his shoe.

It's a hand.

The buzzing reels back, slowly unveiling his eyes.

Two hands to be exact.

It untangles the claws in his brain.

Sitting in a sea of red.

Retreats to the back of his head.

Dex flicks his eyes to the right.

To the body.

It's the reporter.

Finally, silence.

"Well I figured ... if she couldn't keep her hands to herself ... then she didn't really deserve to have them no? That should teach her a lesson to not touch what's mine".

The words falling out of your mouth should send a chill down dex’s spine. Warning bells should sound off in the back of his mind. But Dex thinks you've never been more beautiful than at this moment.

Your white dress, a canvas for the blood that's still fresh and dripping down from the hem. The bloodlust in your eyes, sparkling with hunger. Chest heaving, sweat trickling down your face from the physical exertion. Your smile is sickeningly sweet.

The clash of your voice against the image of you, like sweet little red riding hood masquerading as the wolf in the enchanted forest.  

Dex removes his hold from your cheeks, letting them fall. He interlocks his fingers with yours, more blood smearing onto his hands. Bringing them close to his lips, he leans down a little. Planting a kiss to your bloody knuckles.

You were Dex’s salvation. And now he’ll be yours. 

A fallen angel. His fallen angel. Dex wants to trace the scars from the wings on your back, get lost in the void of your sinful eyes. Dex would gladly fall down, down, down into the depths of depravity if it meant he could burn right alongside you.

a/n : hehe did you catch the easter egg of jessica jones's childhood home address ? hope the sprinkles of reader's true nature peeking through was easy to understand too :)

no pressure tags for beloved moots : @callsign-fangirl @kyamiia @thevillainswhore @millennialtrashjigglypuff @htchnr @monicfever @melaninjoys

[sturniololuvz]

Pls do a fic where reader is still pretty young (early teens) and she has a friend who is a boy and he wants to be more then friends and tries to force himself onto her and the triplets notice she has bruises on her and she just busts out crying

okkkk!

“Safe With Us”

Sturniolos x sister

Warnings: crying , sexual suggestive conent

Y/N had always been close with her brothers. Chris, Matt, and Nick were more than just siblings—they were her protectors, her best friends. They joked around, teased her, and occasionally got on her nerves, but she knew, without a doubt, that they always had her back.

That’s why she didn’t want them to know.

She didn’t want them to see the bruises.

She didn’t want them to know what he had done.

Her so-called friend—someone she had trusted—had taken things too far. At first, it was just small things, little comments that made her uncomfortable. Then he started pushing her boundaries—touching her in ways that made her skin crawl, cornering her when no one was around. She had told him no. She had begged him to stop.

But he didn’t listen.

And now, here she was, sitting at the dinner table with her brothers, her sleeves tugged low over her wrists, pretending everything was fine.

Except it wasn’t.

Chris noticed first. He always did. His sharp eyes caught the way she flinched when she shifted in her seat, the way she avoided their gazes.

“Yo, you good?” he asked casually, but his tone held an edge of concern.

Y/N forced a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Nick frowned. “You sure? You seem… off.”

Matt’s gaze drifted to her hands, where she was gripping her hoodie sleeves so tightly her knuckles were white. His stomach twisted. Something was wrong.

And then, Chris saw it.

A small gap between her sleeve and her wrist. The faint outline of a bruise.

His expression darkened. “What’s that?”

Y/N quickly yanked her sleeve back down. “Nothing.”

Chris wasn’t buying it. “Y/N.” His voice was softer now, but firm. “Show me.”

She shook her head, her heart pounding. “It’s—It’s nothing, Chris. I swear.”

Matt and Nick shared a glance before Matt reached out gently. “Please, Y/N.”

Her hands trembled as she slowly rolled up her sleeve, revealing dark bruises along her wrist. The air in the room shifted instantly.

Chris’s jaw clenched. Nick inhaled sharply. Matt’s fists tightened.

“Who did this?” Chris demanded, his voice low, controlled—but barely.

Y/N’s vision blurred with tears. “I—I don’t—”

“Who. Did. This?” Nick repeated, his tone leaving no room for avoidance.

And then, it all came crashing down.

She broke. Sobs wracked her small frame as she covered her face with her hands. “I didn’t want you to know,” she choked out. “I thought I could handle it—I tried, but he wouldn’t stop, and I—I didn’t know what to do.”

The triplets didn’t need to hear anything else.

Chris immediately pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. “It’s okay,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “You’re safe now.”

Nick ran a soothing hand up and down her back. “You should’ve told us,” he murmured, his own anger barely contained. “We would’ve helped you.”

Matt, still sitting in stunned silence, finally spoke. “Who was it?” His voice was eerily calm, but his hands were shaking.

Y/N sniffled, pulling back slightly. “It—It was—” She hesitated, eyes filled with fear.

Chris cupped her face gently. “You don’t have to be scared anymore. Just tell us.”

She took a shaky breath before whispering his name.

The room went silent.

Chris, Matt, and Nick exchanged a look that Y/N had never seen before. A silent understanding passed between them—one filled with fury, protectiveness, and a promise.

“Where does he live?” Chris asked, his tone dangerously quiet.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Chris—”

Nick shook his head. “We’re not letting this slide.”

Matt’s jaw tightened. “Nobody—nobody—gets to hurt our sister and walk away.”

Y/N sniffled, gripping Chris’s hoodie. “I just don’t want you guys to get in trouble.”

Chris exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down. “Okay. Okay.” He gently wiped a tear from her cheek. “But we are telling Mom and Dad. And we’re making sure this never happens again.”

Nick nodded. “And you’re never going near him again. Ever.”

Matt leaned in, his voice softer now. “You’re not alone in this, Y/N. We’ve got you.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled down her face, but this time, it wasn’t out of fear. It was relief.

She wasn’t alone.

And with her brothers by her side, she knew she never would be.

—

[thebluediner]

YEAH, WE WANT SOME HEAD

a/n: g!p billie because I said soooo and because she's so hot in this pic, hope you like it.

she didn't need to ask you, not a word.

you were already down on your knees , braids swept up back in a rush , hands moving fast like you were hungry. wasn't far from it. billie barely had time to think before you were tugging off her jeans to abandon them on her ankles.

you were desperate to taste her you in a hurry owning the moment. though billie's tired voice tried to tell you how you didn't need too and how you were too kind her body betrayed her.

her cock was rock hard. a wet, warm stain pressed on the fabric making you pause just to stare. you felt it your breath hitching, the new wetness in your core.

billie was flushed her hands hiding her face , shy , but not for long. she was muttering incoherent pleads begging you to do it already her voice whining just for you.

she was aching for your touch, the anticipation killing her leaving her breathing hard before you even start.

your eyes slowly looked up at her like it would help you hear her pathetic noises louder. your hands felt on it pressing harder on it wanting to feel it pulsate just for you.

then you heard it loud and clear, her choked moan. it unraveled something in you you swear your brain malfunctioned.

you didn't waste time on teasing her you went in on her. your tongue poking out dragging licking of her precum. her hips buckled up involuntary at the sensation a strained whimper escaping her lips her head hung over the chair.

another drag around her shaft and it didn't take her long to grab onto your hair rough, demanding and uncontrollably shoving your head down her cock filling up your mouth.

''f-fuckk baby...so good'' she stammered around her words feeding her pleasure, letting it consume her.

the sinful noise you made on her cock riling up her imagination. her head dramatically rolled back in a haze groans spilling out of her. her hand maintained firm grip her knuckles turning white a display of how much she was willing to hold onto this type of pleasure.

the one provided by you.

your mouth was forced to be open taking her in again and again .her cock constantly hit the back of your throat and your eyes were messy with tears dropping down your face in the sluttiest way possible.

''don't...don't stop please'' she panted threatening to cry over the feeling. her hips rolled forward , chasing the heat of your mouth.

you couldn't reply to her request but by the way your gripped hard onto her thighs told her everything she needed to know. you had her, always

you took her deeper, hollowing your cheeks letting her feel every inch of your devotion to her. the way she was fucking your mouth turned you on beyond compare you were soaking.

saliva spilled messily down your chin but neither of you cared, it felt way too consuming right now. her sounds grew louder more rambled , her thighs trembled under your touch she was so close.

your nails dug deeper into her skin the pain stimulating her even more as you picked up the pace, relentless, hungry beyond comprehension.

''uh...uh...uh...godddd fuck'' nothing more than this proved how much of a vocal range billie had because not less than a second later her voice cracked, breaking apart with the overload. her thighs clamped around your head.

she was spent already it was evident, she was crying whimpering your name over and over again, her cock pulsed harder on your tongue and her hand lost control aggressively keeping you in place filling your mouth with her.

until she screamed your name one final time.

just as her orgasm hit her she yanked your head off her cock with gasp, from both of you, and a slick pop.

you barely had time to breath before she dragged you on her slamming her lips against you tasting herself on your mouth, tongue pushing past your lips like she needed just as messy and ruined as she felt

her hands cupped your jaw, rough and trembling, holding you in place as she kissed you like she was trying to fuck the moan out of your throat.

the air between you was hot and wet and desperate.

you kissed her back just as filthy biting at her lip, letting her feel the way she owned your mouth now.

“couldn’t,” she whispered, panting against your lips, eyes half-lidded and wild,

“had to taste you first.” her eyes found yours as she said the words.

your chest was heaving, your knees weak, your hands gripping at her shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

and god, her cock still hard, still twitching against your thigh.

good because truthfully you weren't done.

neither was she.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Reader being anxious about JJ getting on the bike since the accident in season 3. Maybe it’s during the bike competition? He promise her he won’t do anything stupid that would get him hurt, but he’s JJ so things always turn to shit

Request: being John b's sister and dating JJ when he's doing that motocross competition. He does it to earn some money back

I have not seen season 4 yet, so I have no idea of the context of the race, so don't come yelling at me because it's not what happened in the show. I also decided to not make it go to shit, because that one accident was enough trauma

Warnings: slight ptsd, JJ making stupid jokes, mention of motocross accident (season 3),

—

‘’I don’t like this...’’ 

You wrapped your arms around yourself as you stood by JJ and his bike, getting flashes of the accident and the utter distress you felt when you couldn’t find him after he fell over the overpass. You never wanted to relive that type of emotion again. 

At your reaction, JJ grabbed your arms, his voice dropping to a soothing tone. ‘’I know you're worried for me, but I need to do this. If I win, I’ll get a lot of money…and make up for spending most of the gold money on my old house,’’ he explained, trying to calm your worries. His eyes shifted to Pope and the others. ‘’No one’s gonna be mad at me anymore.’’

You understood his reason for signing up for the competition, but you couldn’t support it. There had to be something else he could do. Not a fucking motocross competition. Anything but that.

‘’I’m gonna be fine,’’ he added, lifting your chin and looking into your eyes. ‘’This is just a race in the sand, not a police chase.’’ 

That earned him a glare. 

‘’JJ, the last time I saw you on a bike—’’  Your voice faltered, the knot in your stomach tightening painfully.

Realizing his joke fell flat, JJ pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you close. His hand rubbed soothing circles on your back, trying to calm you down. Sometimes he wanted to smack himself for saying stupid things…

The crash haunted him too, no question about it. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a surge of panic when he lost control of the bike and tumbled down the overpass. But it was different for you — you had watched it happen from Topper’s truck, helpless as he fell. You and Sarah screamed for him, only to receive no answers. You thought he had died from the crash. 

Too soon to your liking, a loud noise echoed over the speakers, calling all racers to the starting line. You reluctantly pulled away from JJ and walked off with Kiara, linking her arms with yours in silent support.

You went up the stands to find seats, taking the spot beside your brother. You gripped the edge of the seat as you glanced at the racetrack, then the starting line where JJ sat on his bike, revving up with the others. You’ve been trying to prepare yourself mentally for weeks, but you don’t think you’ll ever be ready to see the boy you loved getting back on a bike that almost took his life.

‘’Don’t worry, he’s got this,’’ John B. said, wrapping an arm around you. He smiled, but you could see the flicker of concern in his eyes too. You all knew what happened last time, even if no one was saying it out loud. ‘’And he’s got protective gear this time.’’

Injuries can still happen with protective gear. You’ve read about it online. 

You could barely breathe as the starter raised the flag, and the crowd fell into an anticipatory hush. JJ pulled down the visor of his helmet, a familiar cocky smile tugging at his lips, then the flag dropped.

The race exploded into motion. The bikes shot off, kicking up a massive cloud of dust. The roar of engines filled your ears, drowning out everything else. Your heart raced faster than the bikes on the track as you gripped the bench beneath you, your knuckles going white.

Kiara followed JJ with her eyes, her voice loud enough to cut through the noise. "He's in third already!" she shouted, trying to add some enthusiasm.

''Come on, JJ,'' Pope added, looking almost just as nervous as you. 

Your eyes stayed glued to JJ, weaving between riders as the pack hurtled toward the first turn. Every bump, every jump had you holding your breath, afraid that any second things could go wrong.

It was impossible not to relive the accident in your mind — the way he flew over the edge, the bike spinning out of control. But this time, you tried to push those images aside, focusing on the present, on him. You needed to believe he could make it through.

The first turn came up fast, the riders leaning hard into it, and your heart lurched as JJ took the inside path, overtaking the guy in second place. The crowd roared, and for a moment, the adrenaline made you forget your worry, just watching him race.

Although this bike brought back bad memories, it held good ones too. All the times you’ve sat behind JJ and held onto his waist as he sped through the streets of Kildare…and the muddy shortcuts. When he tried to teach you how to drive it, but you ended up making out while you were sitting on the bike instead. John B. would kill him if he knew. 

By the third lap, JJ was neck-and-neck with the leader. The crowd around you was on their feet, yelling and cheering, but all you could focus on was JJ, pushing his bike harder, faster, determined to take first place. 

‘’Oh my god, he’s in first!’’ Sarah shouted as he took a turn for the final lap, getting caught up in the excitement. ‘’Come on, JJ! One more lap!’’ 

Your pulse hammered in your ears as he flew toward the line. The guy on the blue bike was trying to go past JJ, the bikes barely separated by inches, but JJ was still leading. 

And then, in a flash, it was over.

JJ crossed the line, just a split second ahead.

Around you, everyone was jumping and cheering while you stood there. A mix of excitement, relief and joy washed through you, together a strange and confusing cocktail. Kiara wrapped her arms around you, a wide grin on his face, and everyone else joined, celebrating JJ’s big win. All the anxiety and fear suddenly melted away, replaced by pure excitement. Your hands were shaking but your heart was pounding with adrenaline and happiness. 

As soon as you could, you all made your way down the stand, wanting to congratulate JJ. You pushed your way through the throngs of people until you finally caught sight of him. He was still in his racing gear, including the helmet, but he had taken the visor off, and you could see his face glistened with sweat. 

You ran toward him, a wide grin on your face, but before you could say anything, he saw you and pulled you into a tight hug, lifting you off the ground. 

''I told you I would win,'' he said, mirroring your grin. 

You squealed in surprise as your feet left the ground, holding onto him tightly. The familiar scent of sweat, adrenaline, and just a hint of motor oil filled your nostrils, evoking a mix of feelings. You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck.

—

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[pastryfication]

Heyy I loved your cochlear implant story! I was hoping you could do something similar where reader has really bad eyesight if she's not got her glasses on? It's a big fear of mine bc I can hardly recognize different faces without my glasses 😊🤞

the thick lenses help you navigate a world that would otherwise be a blur of shapes and colors, and you rely on them more than anything, so you’ve always been very careful with your glasses. that’s why, when you hear the sound of them hitting the floor and that awful crack that follows, your heart sinks.

you stare down at the bathroom floor, but it’s just a hazy blur of light and shadows. the outlines of your broken glasses are barely visible, and the realization that you can’t see them clearly makes your chest tighten with fear. you sink to your knees, fumbling to pick up the pieces, but your hands are shaking so badly that you can’t even grasp them.

“no, no, no…” you whisper, your voice trembling as panic starts to build. you know how dependent you are on your glasses, how lost you feel without them, and now you’re faced with that terrifying reality.

“oscar!” you call out, your voice cracking with desperation. you feel a wave of helplessness crash over you, the room spinning as you struggle to keep your breathing under control.

oscar’s footsteps echo in the hallway, and within seconds, he’s at your side, his expression shifting from concern to alarm when he sees you on the floor, your hands clutching at the broken glasses. “hey, what happened?” he asks, his voice full of worry as he kneels down beside you.

“they broke,” you manage to say, your voice trembling. “i don’t have a spare… i can’t… i can’t see anything, oscar.” the words come out in a rush, your panic spiking as you try to explain just how bad it is, how everything around you is just a terrifying blur. “i don’t know what to do. what if something happens, and i can’t—”

oscar cuts you off with a comforting hand on your shoulder, and immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. “it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice fighting hard to stay steady and calm, though you can hear the underlying worry. “i’m here. you’re going to be okay. i’ll help you.”

you clutch onto his shirt, your knuckles white with the force of your grip. you’re trying to breathe, but the fear is overwhelming, making it hard to focus on anything other than the fact that you can’t see, that you’re completely vulnerable. “i’m scared,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “i just feel so helpless.”

oscar tightens his hold on you, his hand gently stroking your hair in a comforting rhythm. “i know,” he says softly. “but i’m not going to let anything happen to you. we’ll get through this together, okay? we’ll get you new glasses as quickly as possible.”

you nod, but the panic is still there, making your heart race and your thoughts spiral. “but how… how can i do anything without my glasses? i can’t see, i can’t…” your words are choked off by a sob, and you press your face against oscar’s chest, trying to hide how scared you really are. it may be an overreaction, you’re well aware of that, but the thought of being completely dependent on someone else, the thought of not being able to do anything, is making your heart beat faster, feeling like it’s pushing hardly against your rib cage in an attempt to get out.

“hey, it’s alright,” oscar says gently, pulling back just enough to be able to study your expression. “you’re not alone in this. i’m going to guide you through the whole day, and we’re going to take it one step at a time. you don’t have to worry about anything. i’ll be your eyes until we get new glasses, okay?”

you nod again, feeling a small flicker of relief at his words, though the fear still lingers. “okay,” you whisper, leaning into his touch as he cups your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that have started to fall.

“let’s start with breakfast,” oscar suggests, his voice gentle as he helps you up from the floor. “i���ll guide you, and we’ll take it slow.”

your grip on his arm is tight as he leads you out of the bathroom, every step feeling uncertain without being able to see anything.

oscar’s presence is a lifeline, his calm, steady voice reassuring you as he carefully guides you through the apartment. “there’s a step here,” he says softly, pausing to make sure you’re steady before continuing. “and here’s the table—i’ve got you.”

he helps you into a chair, then places a plate in front of you, gently guiding your hand to it. “scrambled eggs,” he says with a smile in his voice. “your favorite.”

you manage a small smile, though your hands are still shaking slightly as you reach for the fork. oscar doesn’t leave your side, watching closely to make sure you’re okay, his presence a constant source of comfort.

the rest of the day is a blur of anxiety and dependence, but oscar is there for every moment, helping you navigate the world that has suddenly become so much more daunting. whether it’s walking you around the apartment or helping you find your way to the couch, he’s right there, his hand steady on yours, his voice a calming presence in the midst of your panic.

at one point, he pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. “you’re doing great,” he murmurs into your hair, his lips brushing against your temple. “i know it’s scary, but you’re handling it so well.”

“i don’t feel like i’m handling it well,” you admit, your voice small as you cling to him, your fear still simmering just beneath the surface.

“you are,” oscar insists, his voice filled with quiet confidence. “you’re being so strong, and i’m really proud of you. just remember, you don’t have to go through this alone. i’m here, always.”

you nod, burying your face in his chest again, taking comfort in his warmth and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. you’re still scared, still feeling vulnerable and lost without your glasses, but with oscar holding you, guiding you, you know you’ll make it through the day. he’s your anchor, your calm in the storm, and you know that as long as he’s with you, you’ll always be okay.

[entitled-fangirl]

His betrothed.

Barty Crouch Jr. x reader

Summary: The youngest Black sibling is getting near courting age. Regulus and Barty have a plan, and Sirius doesn't like it.

Warnings: the Black family literally, cursing, siblings fighting, idk

Author's note: I wrote this while I had a fever, so if it's horrendous, let's not judge :|

Part 2!

Masterlist

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"Siri…?"

Sirius turned his head to look over his shoulder. 

Sweet little Y/N Black was standing behind him with a worried look in her eyes.

Being the caring older brother he was, he pushed James slightly, making room for her to sit next to him at the Gryffindor table of the Great Hall. She accepted, sitting down gently, her expression never changing.

Remus saw the look as well, and seemed to be just as concerned, "What's going on?"

They weren't the only two marauders concerned. In fact, they all were.

When Sirius' sibling Y/N was sorted into Gryffindor, Sirius had physically cringed. He couldn't stand seeing his darling little sister go through the Black family's mental and physical abuse due to her house. At that point, away from Walburga's watch, the marauders had taken the girl under their wings. During the summer, she still remained in the Black household at Grimmauld Place with her twin Regulus. But during the school year, she was raised by Sirius.

Hence, where this situation had come from.

James threw an arm around the girl's shoulder, leaning close to her ear, "Whatever it is, you can tell us. That's what we're here for."

She simply stared at the plate in front of Remus across the table.

The four boys stared at each other, worried and unsure of what to do at this point.

Her small voice came out, "Mum is having me go to my first… meeting…. This winter…"

Sirius' hand had a steady grip on his fork, his knuckles turning white. His voice was low. Scarily low, "What."

Remus leaned forward to him, "Pads, control yourself in front of everyone."

Sirius' head lifted to him, "I would, but she's 17 fucking years old. Too young to be staring this… this shit…."

The girl remained unmoving, James' eyes never leaving her, "Y/N…?"

A small sigh came from her lips, "that's not all…"

Sirius looked as if he would explode. "Not…all?"

Peter finally peeped, "Is everything going to be okay?"

She looked up at him, "I'm not sure…"

Sirius rubbed his hands over his face before leaning on the table, "Alright, sweetheart. Tell me."

"Mum is… well… setting up… alliances…"

Sirius knew what that meant. Merlin, he knew what that meant. And he was angry. Beyond angry.

Remus' eyebrows furrowed, "…alliances?"

She nodded, her frame getting smaller as if she was shrinking into herself with every word, "It's…. Well it's when-"

Sirius interrupted, "Mum's marrying her off."

The table went silent, each boy trying to come to terms with what they had heard. 

Finally, Peter spoke up, "to…. To who?"

All of their eyes were on her. Well, almost everyone's eyes.

She shrugged, "Mum hasn't told me yet."

James, who had been staring off past the siblings to a different table, was holding a slight smirk to his face. "I bet I can tell you who it is."

Y/N looked up to him with teary eyes, her emotions finally getting to her, "Who?"

His eyes never left the person, his head moving as if to point in that direction. Sirius and Y/N followed his gaze.

Barty Crouch Jr. sat at the Slytherin table, his eyes flickering up in her direction every few seconds. When he saw the entire table looking in his direction, he quickly looked down at his food, as if forcing himself to not look up at her again until they looked away.

Sirius' voice was practically a growl, "It's. Not. Gonna. Fucking. Happen."

James sighed, "I don't know if you get a choice, Pads."

Remus looked up at Y/N, who was near tears. His hand reached out, grabbing hers from across the table, "Hey. Are you alright little dove?"

That was their name for her. Little dove. She was no animangus. But, hoping to make her feel included, they had given her a name during her 3rd year. And it had stuck ever since.

She shrugged, her bottom lip quivering. "I'm not sure."

He nodded, "That's alright. We'll figure this out… Pads?"

Sirius was in his own world. His eyes flickered around the room at every person, as if anyone could jump out and take her from them. 

When Regulus entered the Great Hall, Sirius immediately jumped up, walking to him. "Regulus…"

Regulus stopped, confused. Sirius never spoke to him unless it had to do with Y/N. "��what."

"I want you to tell me what the fuck Mum is doing to her."

Regulus sighed, "Let's…," his eyes wandered around, "Let's get away from listening ears."

…

"What the hell, Reg?!"

"Hear me out, Sirius!"

"No! You're letting Mum marry her away like a piece of fucking meat-"

"-THAT'S NOT TRUE!"

Sirius went quiet. The only sound in the hall was the occasional student that walked a few corridors over. His voice finally came out calm, "What… what do you mean?"

Regulus sighed, "It's… complicated."

"Yeah, I can fucking tell…"

"Crouch…," Regulus looked like he was ready to get hit by his brother, "he asked."

Sirius' eyebrows furrowed, "Asked for what?"

"Sirius, please. Don't make me spell it out."

"He asked for Y/N?"

Regulus nodded, "He's liked her for the longest time, really. Since I can remember. And when Mum mentioned that she was going to make arrangements for me soon, I panicked knowing she'd be soon after. I told Crouch, and he said he'd happily marry Y/N. And I helped him win Mum's favor." He looked back up at Sirius, "Look. Don't judge me. I'm doing what's best for her."

Sirius scoffed, "'what's best for her'? What's best is getting her away from the hellhole we call our family. They don't fucking deserve her. Marrying her to a fucking death eater, Reg? Not the brightest idea you've had. Merlin…"

Sirius slowly began to walk away until Reg spoke up again, "I thought it through, Siri. Swear to God."

The 7th year stopped, turning around once more, "…how?"

Reggie sighed again, "Crouch… he's… he's only a first generation death eater. There's not many responsibilities he has to hold. He's loyal only to himself and those he deems worthy."

Sirius thinks it over, "And would he be loyal to her?"

Regulus let out a small laugh, "Merlin. He is already."

When Sirius didn't answer, Regulus continued, "He may not be close to his father, but… it gives her options. If they decide to run away, he can protect them. And if she decides just to leave Bartimus, then his father could protect her on his own. Crouch brought it up to Mum as a way to give more connections between the death eaters and the Ministry. But, we both know. It was for her protection."

Sirius was staring to be slightly shocked at his brother's reasoning, "I…. Okay?"

Regulus gave a final statement. "And He'll treat her well, brother."

"How can you be sure?"

Reg shrugged, "Don't believe me? Make them interact. You'll see. He's like a loyal dog. He'll do anything for her."

Sirius sighed, "I should wring your neck. But I won't. Because you've thought this out so well. I won't say I'm agreeing with it. But… I'll let it grow a bit. To see where it goes."

Regulus smiles, "That's all I ask, brother."

….

Sirius entered the Great Hall once more, sitting in his spot with a huff. At this point, James is gently running his hands through the girl's hair. She's talking to Peter and Remus over an omelette, her mind far from the previous conversation.

He interrupts, "We're talking about this later. The four of us."

She turned, "Not me?"

Sirius' tone turned condescending, his voice harsh, "When have you ever been a part of the four of us? You're not a marauder."

James' hand in her hair immediately paused, Peter dropping his fork clumsily. Remus choked on his drink. But none of them said a word in her defense.

She stared at her brother with a guilty look that slowly morphed into slight hatred. Her voice was still as soft as always, but it held a bite to it, "Fine. I didn't want Mum to know I'm around the Black family traitor anyway." She stood up, leaving the table without another word. 

Remus stood up, watching her go, "Dove?"

But she had already left.

She approached the Slytherin table, her red and gold tie standing out from that side of the room. 

And Barty Crouch Jr. was already looking for her, noticing her leave from the Gryffindor table. 

She stood behind him, quietly trying to speak up, "Excuse me?"

Barty's eyes closed. Her voice was so sweet. He never got to hear it. And she was trying to speak to him. This situation couldn't be better. 

He turned around on the bench, a small smile gracing his face and a happy look in his eye, "Hello. What do you need?"

She pointed to where Regulus always sat, "Could I… maybe…?"

He looked over to the spot next to him before immediately, "Oh. Yes. Please."

She sat, finally taking note of the people around him. The most notable one being Lucius across the table.

Lucius held an arrogant look in his eyes, "What? The blood traitor finally got tired of you too?"

Barty's jaw clenched, "Watch your tone, Malfoy."

Malfoy snickered, leaning forward. "Why are you here, Black?"

Barty was becoming highly irritated, "Hey. What did I fucking say?"

Lucius held his hands up in a surrendering way, not saying a word, but his eyes were saying more than his mouth needed to.

She stood, "I'm sorry. This was a dumb idea…"

Barty grabbed her wrist. "No, please. I want you to sit."

She hesitantly does so.

A silence falls over the table before Barty breaks it, "Regulus hasn't been back since Sirius drug him out. Think he beat him up?"

She laughs, "No. I'm sure that just had a small fight is all."

Barty smiles, "I have a feeling I know what it's about."

She nods, deciding to avoid the subject. "Do you have classes today?"

He nods as well, "Just one. Potions. Tell me yours."

She pulls out her wand, waving it. A small piece of paper lands on the table, her entire schedule written on it. She begins to study it to give him an answer.

He leans over to her, peering at it slightly over her shoulder. He smiles, "You have astronomy tonight?"

She nods, "It's my favorite."

He points at one of the classes for the day. "I know where that is. Why don't I walk you?"

She shakes her head, "You don't have to. I know where it is, I just-"

His voice was a whisper, "-please. I would love to."

She decided to look at him finally, and when she did so, she found their faces to be inches apart, his deep brown eyes staring longingly into hers. She felt her face heat up, a light pink shade overtaking them. They stayed this way for a while before she decided to talk first, her voice softer than a whisper as she caught him staring at her lips, "Do you really want to marry me, Crouch?"

He smiled, "More than anything."

The moment sat for a while before she looked away, now a deep shade of red. "Perhaps you can walk me to class then."

"And a walk after dinner."

She looked up at him, "…a walk?"

He nodded, "Please."

He points at another class on the paper, "I can walk you to this one as well… if you'll have me?"

Her eyes soften as tried to see if this was a joke. If he had an ulterior motive. But he didn't.

Regulus came up from behind, completely unnoticed until Y/N felt a kiss to the top of her head and a small, "scoot over."

She did so, pushing herself closer to Barty, who held a smile on his face the entire time.

Regulus could feel the stares from the Gryffindor table. He looked up to meet their gazes, smiling in an almost mocking way at the sight of the two betrothed finally bonding.

She was still looking at Barty, "I…. Yes. I would…. I would like that very much."

He nodded, "Then it shall be done." He stood up, grabbing his books next to him, "I must get to potions, but I'll meet you by the Gryffindor common room entrance before your class, yes?" When she nodded, he gave a nod to her brother, "Regulus," then took his free hand, grabbing the girl's hand, kissing it gently, "Y/N." And with that, he left.

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