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beloveds-embrace · 3 months ago

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(Based on the idea of having a sensitive nose in the omegaverse, poly 141 x reader)

The air in the meeting room was dense with overlapping scents: leather, citrus, gunpowder, faint traces of cigar smoke. It was suffocating. You had been doing your best to keep a neutral face, to not draw attention to the way your sensitive nose wrinkled every few seconds as the mingling aromas assaulted your senses.

You weren’t trying to be rude; it wasn’t anyone’s fault that their scents were this potent. It was just your lot in life to have a nose that picked up everything. And you were part of this stupid task force, which meant you were constantly surrounded by some of the most intense scents imaginable.

It was John who caught your reaction first. The alpha was sitting across the table, arms crossed, earthy, smoky scent rolling off him in waves. His cigar habit didn’t help matters; it clung to his clothes, his hair, his skin- every part of him. Your nose twitched involuntarily as another wave hit you, and his brow furrowed deeply.

“You alright there, love?” he asked, low and curious, though there was an edge to it.

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, I’m fine.” You lied quickly, forcing a smile and trying to breathe through your mouth instead.

His sharp eyes stayed on you for a beat longer, and the corner of his mouth tugged downward. He didn’t believe you, but he let it slide.

Soap, however, wasn’t as subtle. He had been perched on the edge of his chair, citrusy, spicy scent practically bouncing off the walls. The man smelled like an explosion at an orange grove- sharp and tangy, with an undercurrent of something metallic that always made your head throb.

“Are you wrinklin’ your nose at me, lass?” He asked, accent thick, tone mock-wounded.

“No! No, not at all.” You stammered, shaking your head. God, what you wouldn’t sacrifice to leave this room…

“Looked like a bloody insult to me,” Johnny teased, though there was something almost earnest in his pout. “Dinnae think I smell that bad, eh? Gaz, back me up here!”

Gaz- bless him- was seated beside you. His scent was a calm balm in the storm: a light, fresh breeze with subtle hints of cedar. It didn’t overpower your senses. It was safe, grounding. You leaned ever so slightly in his direction, seeking refuge without realizing it.

“I think it’s just her nose being sensitive,” Kyle said smoothly, shooting you a kind look. He always seemed to know when you were struggling, always gave you a quiet out. “We probably smell stronger to her.”

“You mean Price and Johnny stink.” Ghost rumbled from his spot at the back of the room, scoffing in amusement.

You glanced at him, and, God, he really was no better. He was a mixture of John and Johnny- a heavy, musky scent tinged with smoke and gunpowder, like he’d been living in a war zone for years. It was hard to breathe when he was near, though his stoic demeanor meant he didn’t take it as personally as the others.

“Oi, I don’t stink!” Johnny protested. “I smell fresh, like citrus and energy.”

“Explosives aren’t energy.” Ghost deadpanned.

“You all smell fine,” you said, hasty and desperate, your voice thin and shaky. “I just have a… sensitive nose. That’s all.”

“You’ve been wrinkling it all bloody morning,” Price grumbled, arms crossing tighter. “If you don’t like something, just say it. We’re alphas; we can handle it.”

“I don’t dislike it!” you blurted. “It’s just… strong. All of you smell so strong, and my nose is a little… overwhelmed.”

Kyle chuckled softly, a sound that eased the tension in the room. “Can’t really blame her, can you? The three of you probably do smell like a bloody armory to her.”

Price frowned, clearly still annoyed, but Johnny looked contemplative, leaning toward you with a curious expression. “You’re not lying, are you? Your nose is just sensitive?”

“Very.” You admitted, giving him an apologetic look. “I’m not trying to insult you, I promise. It’s just… a lot.”

Johnny relaxed a little, though his pout remained. “Alright, lass. I suppose I can let you off the hook this time. But you should’ve said something earlier.”

“And deal with you taking it more personally than you already do? No, thank you.” you muttered under your breath.

Kyle snorted beside you, and you turned to him with a grateful smile. “You’re the only one who doesn’t make my nose hurt, by the way. Thanks for that.”

The other three bristled instantly.

“What?” Price barked, looking genuinely offended.

“Gaz doesn’t smell any less than we do.” Ghost growled, eyes narrowing beneath his balaclava, and Johnny threw his hands up in exasperation.

“She’s playing favorites, that’s what this is!”

“It’s not favoritism!” You said quickly, holding your hands up defensively. “He just smells calmer. It’s not as… intense.”

Kyle, smug but silent, leaned back in his chair with a knowing smirk. He didn’t say a word, but the satisfied glint in his eyes said it all: he’d won.

Of course, this only made the other three more competitive.

“Maybe you just need to get used to it.” Price suggested, peering at you.

“Aye,” Johnny added, grin wide and cheeky. “Maybe we need to stick closer to you so your nose can adjust.”

“Or maybe you all need to tone it down.” you shot back, though your voice lacked bite, and they just stared at you even more intently- even Ghost.

It was going to be a long day.

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mv1simp · 3 months ago

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The Take ♥️

Trainer! Max Verstappen x Midsize!Reader

I wanna put you in seven positions for seventy minutes, you'll get it babe (take you down, I really wanna take you down)

Everyone knows Max Verstappen hates having to workout out constantly. If it wasn't for his physically demanding career as a F1 driver, his choice of a workout would involve a weekly padel game with his mates and FIFA on his PS5. His trainer tries something different and gets Max to be the instructor for once - to you, a sweet and naive girl whose jerk boyfriend told her to lose weight. Max couldn't resist using a hands on method to help you get your confidence back.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, dark max girlies rejoice we’re back in action, naive! Chubby! reader, dubcon, explicit cheating but reader’s boyfriend is an absolute jerk hehe, size kink, WC 2.7k

Rupert, Redbull's physical trainer that had been delegated to none other than the legendary champion driver Max Verstappen, was at his wit’s end with his client. With his 4 world championships, Max was very familiar with the intense workout routine an F1 driver needed to maintain. It was just, well, he was just sick of the same repetitive timetable over and over again. And his physical trainer could see the results reflecting in Max’s pre season testing, seeing how Max’s numbers were admittedly very good, they were not as high as they’d been in the past.

Everything Rupert had tried to brainstorm to inspire Max had fallen short. From different workout locations (Monaco is only so big, after all), to the most unique exercise techniques he had googled (Brazilian cold water immersive Pilates did not resonate with Max) - everything had come up short. At his wit’s end, Rupert decided to throw a last ditch resort at Max - training you.

You’re a pretty, pure hearted twenty something marketing executive in Monaco, with a narcissistic boyfriend who thinks he’s a top shot with the new money he’s raking in from making a new app. Such a top shot that he feels entitled to hire a personal trainer for his sweet girlfriend, demanding you look like a perfect Insta model. That’s what every man in Monaco wants! he says patronisingly to you, gaslighting you into attending the training. That’s why he reached out to Rupert, a very famous trainer - who consequently dumps you onto Max, stating that he needed a two week holiday from the Dutchman and he could take over his new client. You’ll survive, it’s the off season, he says to Max with a deadpan expression as he waves goodbye.

Max is pissed, of course. What the fuck was Rupert thinking, making a four time world champion F1 driver, multimillionaire, and just general degenerate gamer train some random goldigger chick? He’s rolling his eyes as he walks into his usual gym, where Rupert had told you to turn up. He’s ready to tell you to fuck off, all Mad Max and all, because no way was he wasting his time-

And then he lays eyes on you, and his heartbeat stutters. In front of him, oblivious to the predatory stares of men around her, is the cutest little thing he’s ever seen. You’re dressed in a matching workout set, tugging at the edge of your tight shorts a little self consciously, looking around with innocent wide doe eyes. Fucking hell, Rupert had most certainly not mentioned his new client had the body of a pornstar, all luscious tits and ass and chubby cheeks, and a face that looked like an angel. Max couldn’t wait to sink his big, bad teeth into the sweet looking lamb who stumbled right into his toned arms.

Smirking devilishly, he introduces himself as your new trainer. You gasp, eyes widening cutely, feeling butterflies swirl in your tummy at the tall, handsome and muscular blonde in front of you. Shall we get started? he murmurs, a gorgeous smile on his face and pretty blue eyes intently locked on you. I have to say, I’m surprised you signed up for such an intensive course, he says in an incredibly attractive, deep Dutch accent. You look like you’re in…great shape, if you don’t mind me saying, he adds, observant gaze flicking down to take in your curves. You flush, not minding the attention at all from such a hot trainer!

That’s so sweet of you to say! You say, blushing cutely and looking down, completely missing how Max’s heated gaze glances down your tight crop top, his taller height perfect to get an eyeful of your tempting cleavage. You tell him that actually, it wasn’t your idea, but your boyfriends’s…he thinks I’m too fat, you say with a pout.

What, Max says with a scowl that he quickly smooths when you peer up anxiously at the sudden spike in his mood. Honey was definitely a better way to win over something as sweet and innocent looking as you than poison. Well, ignore whatever your boyfriend wants. You’re here only for your own fitness and confidence, okay?

You beam up at him, nodding enthusiastically. God, Max couldn’t wait to have you for himself. Your boyfriend sounded like an absolute pathetic loser, telling someone as perfect and beautiful as you to change her body. Doesn’t matter, because it made it all the easier for Max to win you over. And he’d make sure to have his fun while doing it.

He’d started all your regular sessions with him with a good pre workout stretch, of course. Taking you into a side room to shield you from the hungry eyes of the other male gym goers, because only Max deserved to see your pretty body bent over for him. It didn’t stop others from walking past the glass door multiple times to ogle you, much to Max’s annoyance. But you remained clueless, twisting yourself in whatever position Max ordered you too like a good student.

And Max was such a nice instructor. He showered you with praise over the tiniest thing, making you blush up a storm, enjoying his reassuring and comforting voice. He was so different to your mean boyfriend! Max’s large hands settled on your soft body, helping position you perfectly, as he huskily whispered in your ear for you to bend forward, all the way like that, good girl. Can you touch your toes for me?

And when you can’t quite get there, he places a strong hand across your lower back to give you that extra push. His hand sometimes drifts lower, to your plump ass, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he instructs you. You gasp, and when he pretends to be none the wiser and ask you what’s wrong, schatje? in such a gentle tone, calling you darling in Dutch, you shyly stammer that you’re kinda sensitive down there…your boyfriend had said he wasn’t going to touch you until you lost weight!

Max’s brain temporarily short circuits at this information. Your idiotic boyfriend wasn’t fucking you every chance that he got? And judging by the way you’re shyly looking away and rubbing your thighs together, it had been a very long time since you’d been properly handled by anyone. Max would bet his multi story yacht that even when you had been sleeping with your boyfriend, he wasn’t making you cum. Leaving you so sexually frustrated that Max just feeling up your lush ass was getting you all hot and bothered. How cute, the Dutchman thinks, unable to hide the devious grin on his face at the new information.

He guided you back into position, his strong hips digging into yours from the back. The full wall mirror in front of you given Max a delicious view of your tits practically spilling out of your top as you lean forward. Good thing your ass is so fat he can easily hide his impressive semi erection behind it, he thinks cheekily. He can’t resist leaning forward and grinding himself against you, just for a second, leaving you gasping and looking behind you with a confused expression - only to find Max innocently looking at you. Something wrong, schatje? he says so sweetly that you feel embarrassed for even wondering what he was doing behind you.

He’ll have to do something about all the hungry states from the other gym goers though - he can’t have them even thinking about something which belongs to him. He glares at anyone who dares look at you through the glass doors, but he needs a more permanent solution.

So for the next session he invites you to his house, where he has a mini gym on his penthouse balcony. You’re unsure at first, but after Max tells you it’s just so hard for him to focus on your sessions at the gym, with the way everyone is always asking him for an autograph or a selfie…you say yes immediately, because you’d never want to make it harder for him when he’d been such a caring trainer! Soon enough he has you all to himself in his outdoor gym, wearing another one of your cute workout sets. Except he wanted to see more of your pretty body, so the next day he hands you a PR package - asking if you wanted to try on the gift from one of his sponsors. You beam at his thoughtful gesture, quickly getting changed into the slutty outfit he’s hand selected.

Max smirks wickedly as he helps stretch you out again, this time with your thighs bent up almost to your flushed face. The blue booty shorts are so tiny they’re practically underwear, slipping into your tanned asscheeks and giving you a cameltoe, much to your embarrassment. You squirm as Max’s keen gaze goes right to your pussy brushing up against his abs - separated only by a thin layer of spandex. Because of course, Max worked out shirtless at home - it’s far too warm! Getting better but still not flexible enough, sweetheart Max says with a disapproving tone that has you scrambling for his approval. Here, let me help you.

He pushes down on your thighs with his huge hands. Your tits almost spill out of the tiny cropped singlet he has you in when he buries his face into them. M-Max! you stammer, asking what he was doing, was it really needed, but he just reassures you that it absolutely was. After all, you didn’t want to pull a muscle and stop being able to exercise for two weeks, right? His deep voice is muffled against your plush tits as he pressed in deeper, making you squirm some more when his lips brush against your hard nipples.

He helps you cool down afterwards too, like the dedicated coach he is. You’re so grateful for all the deep muscle relaxation techniques he knows, moaning blissfully as you lay sprawled underneath him as he massages your sore body. He started with your legs and arms, and then your tense abs, and then one strong palm squeezing your lush tits and the other cupping your pussy through your sports set. You were always embarrassingly wet after your workouts, with all the close proximity to Max, and prayed he didn’t notice how soaked your shorts had become as he rubbed his palm encouragingly against your cunny. You couldn’t stop the contended moans as you arched into his skilled hands, finding the tension draining from your muscles completely.

Soon you’re over at Max’s everyday, working out longer and longer. To your delight, Max asks if you’d mind helping him with his workout! You’re so eager to return the favour after he’s been so considerate, taking time out of his busy schedule just to train you. All you had to do was sit on his back as he did push ups-

You insist that there was no way he could do that, you were way too heavy, what if he hurt himself? All it takes is one cocky smirk from him to convince you, and you climb onto his back, gasping in amazement as his muscular back flexes when he easily starts during push ups. You’re completely distracted by how attractive he looks, so much more broader and stronger than your own boyfriend who couldn’t even lift you up! You feel a bit guilty thinking that but don’t get time to think about it - because next you’re helping Max with his hip thrusts. You squeal as his impressive legs thrust you into the air with a bounce, making your sensitive pussy land on his rock hard cock each time. You stabilise yourself with hands on his abs, running over the taut, sweaty muscle, so enamoured with the sight that you don’t notice Max’s blue gaze fixed on your jiggling tits with each bounce. Mmmh-Ah! H-how many more do you have to do, Max? you say breathlessly, feeling yourself start to get more and more turned on with each thrust of his hips. You felt so dirty, practically dripping through your booty shorts onto his lower abs, feeling all horny while he was just trying to work out!

Just a few more, he says vaguely, grasping onto your thick asscheeks to steady you as he continues meanly grinding his angry, hard cock into your soft cunny. You end up cumming through your shorts, desperately biting down on your lips to keep silent but failing to suppress your slutty moans. You were so cute and naive that you had no clue Max was just dry jumping you to orgasm. Training your perfect body to respond to his, just how he wanted it.

He left you in your post orgasmic bliss on his outdoor couch to cool down as he ventured inside. He’d been planning on jerking off his raging erection in the shower, not wanting to scare you off with his impressive load. But when he caught sight of the protein powder on his kitchen counter top, he couldn’t resist. All it took was a couple pumps and the image of you riding him with your bouncing tits for him to cum, filling a good half of the glass he tops off with a protein smoothie. When he hands you his homemade drink, you thank him with wide doe eyes. You’re such a thoughtful trainer, Max! you say sincerely, eagerly drinking his gift. Mmmh, it tastes amazing, what ingredients did you use? He winks and tells you it’s a top secret world class athlete recipe.

Max is completely addicted to feeding you his thick load and has you equally addicted, asking shyly if he’d make you another one of his smoothies after each session. He figured he has you enamoured enough with him to take things to the next level when you start asking for seconds. The thing is, schatje, since I eat so much protein and supplements, my sperm is super high in nutrients…but it’s not safe for you to take so much protein directly as a girl! So that’s why I had to put it in your drink, okay? You nod with wide eyes, your jaw dropped open in shock as Max unties his shorts to show you his huge swollen cock that’s been feeding you for days. You dazedly ask if maybe you should be getting “fed” from your boyfriend instead, you weren’t sure if he’d be mad if he found out-

Max cuts off your worries immediately, promising you that only his cum would be able to provide you with what you needed. In fact, you shouldn't be going anywhere near your boyfriend's weak release. You nod quickly, wanting to show Max what a good student you were, completely willing to obey him. And when he asks if you'd help him out in making your smoothie today, since his hand was kinda tired after so many days, you eagerly say yes! Soon you're snuggled up by his side, letting him guide both your hands up and down his cock. You're in awe of how big and hot his shaft looks, you'd never seen one that size. You swallow back drool in your mouth, already craving your daily treat, and when Max slyly suggests that you could just drink directly from the source? you're on him in seconds. Dutifully sucking and jerking him off, making him hiss and grab your hair as he thrusts in deep and cums with a deep moan. He makes you stick out your tongue afterwards to make sure you didn't waste even a drop.

Good girl. Let's do your cool down massage in the shower today, hmm? It's so fucking hot out. Max's praise fills you with heady warmth and you giddily agree, letting him guide you into his luxurious shower to cool down, stripping out of your skimpy workout set.

Too bad you ended up doing a lot more cardio than cooling down behind the steamed glass. Max grins devilishly as you both watch his cock go in and out of your creamy pussy together, every thrust making you scream his name and hold onto him desperately. After all, fucking up against the bathroom wall was a much more effective workout, right?

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #max verstappen x you

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peachesofteal · 4 months ago

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The wallflower.

Johnny clocks it immediately, your shoulders practically pinned against the pale-yellow wall, pint glass slick with condensation cradled between your fingers. Your eyes dart around and then away, finding something to study in the carpet, or the stairs, on the coffee table.

You’re not comfortable here, that much is clear.

He elbows Simon. “Poor girl looks nervous.” Simon gives you a furtive glance over the rim of his glasses, and nods.

“Probably only knows one person. Or got dragged here.” It’s Kyle’s wife’s birthday party. She has a lot of friends it seems, well liked in all facets of her life, work and otherwise. He clucks his tongue. “Sweet thing.” Someone bumps into you, and then pivots, reaching out to grab your arm in apology. You don’t tell him off or pull away. You just glance at his hand, meek smile stretching your lips sour. It turns Johnny’s stomach.

“She needs rescuing.”

“Johnny.” There’s a warning in Simon’s tone, a reproachful sentiment that he knows well. No strays. No projects. No more shelter pets.

“Ach c’mon. Look at her.” That one muscle in Simon’s cheek feathers, the one that says everything without Simon saying anything at all. Broken resolve.

He sighs. Johnny grins.

“Ye alright?” The man who’s taken up a residence at your shoulder is now speaking to you. Worse, he’s asking you if you’re alright.

“I… I’m good. Yeah. Fine.” You grip your glass tighter, ignoring the flip of your stomach. You snuck at glance at him when he first came over, and that was enough. He’s very handsome.

And you’re, well-

You’re… you.

“Someone ditch ye?” Oh god.

“Uh, no. My friend is over there.” You point to Anna’s back. She’s in the kitchen, laughing so loud you can hear her from across the living room.

“Ah. She did ditch ye.”

“No!” You glare at him, “No.”

“But she didnae offer to introduce you to anyone?” You wince, and his eyes flicker with sympathy. “Ah, she did.”

“I’m not good with… people.” The understatement of the year. You don’t do people. People are too unpredictable, too much of an unknown. A pattern of behavior will only take you so far, and it’s hard to forecast their actions, reactions, words, emotions… everything.

You prefer safer bets. Predictable things. Equations, mostly.

“Ye’re not good w’people, but ye’re at a party.”

“Yes, it’s quite a feat.” You snap your mouth shut, expecting him to give you a weird look, but he laughs.

“If ye’re uncomfortable, why stay?”

“Because, social interactions are good for me. And I promised myself a slice of cheese pizza if I made it an hour.” He should laugh. Most would. Most would think it’s fucking hilarious, how you’re bribing yourself, dangling a carrot in front of your face.

But this guy doesn’t. He doesn’t laugh. He cocks his head, and frowns. “So… ye’re torturing yourself so ye can earn a slice of pizza.” A nervous giggle bubbles up and out your throat.

“It sounds bad when you put it that way but-“

“It is bad.” A deep voice sounds from over your shoulder, and you jump.

“This is Simon.” Your new… friend, Johnny, motions to the hulking man at your side, and you manage a nod, spitting out your name. “He’s no’ scary, just looks it.” Johnny reaches for his hand, and the equation clicks to together with ease.

Oh.

“You here with a friend?”

“Uh. Yep.” You point to Anna, again, and they exchange a look.

“She ditch ya?” Same question, different accent, and you’re about to give the same answer, when Johnny intercedes.

“She’s here so she can have a slice of pizza.” Yeah. It sounds bad.

“Wot?”

“I… It’s good for me to be around people so I said if I could do it for an hour, I could have pizza.” They’re both wearing expressions you can’t translate, two faces you don’t understand, and it twists you up.

“Do you usually ransom yourself pizza?”

“N-no.”

“Is it… an eating thing?”

“Oh, no. It’s like… I’d rather be at home, but everyone says socializing is… important. So, for doing something I hate, I get pizza.” Simon sighs.

“Trying to fit a square into a circle.” The comment is puzzling, but as you’re trying to put it together, Johnny links his pinky with yours and tugs you closer. The room is quiet, the music, the laughing, the chatter, all of it goes silent. There are dozens and dozens of people in here, but right now, it’s just you and these two. Staring at one another. There’s a web thin string spinning from him, to you, to Simon, and it’s wrapping you up, cocooning you, holding you tight.

“This okay?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Ye wannae go get that slice with us?” Do it. Just do it. Do something. You take a deep breath.

“Sure.”

They look comical, shoved into the pleather red booth across the table from you, Simon far too wide to comfortably accommodate Johnny, but they don’t seem to mind. “So, cheese then?” You nod, picking at the faded corner of a menu. This was a bad idea, this was stupid. What were you thinking? Why-

“Three slices of cheese please.” You hadn’t even noticed the server, and you panic when she starts to turn away.

“And a coke!” You blurt, immediately embarrassed. She stares at you for a second before nodding, forcing a smile, and walking off. Fuck. You press your palm down on the table, trying to focus on the texture, the feel of it.

“Hey,” Simon says softly, “you didn’t do anything wrong.” You bristle.

“I know that.” Of course you know… don’t you?

Clearly not.

They don’t try to force you into conversation, but they do talk to you. They don’t ask you pointed questions or try to dig into you, instead choosing to tell you about themselves, their dog, their jobs. They keep you involved without dragging you in unwillingly.

It’s nice.

You’re halfway through your slice when you realize they’re watching you.

“What? Is there something on my face?” You frantically wipe at your chin, your cheeks. Simon’s mouth quirks.

“Nothing on your face, sweet girl.” Your brain scrambles. Words fail. You don’t think anyone has ever called you something like that before.

“Oh. Okay. Well. Good.” Stupid.

“Go on and finish up.” He instructs, pointing at the grease laden slice, and you bring it to your mouth obediently. “Want to come for a walk with us after this? Our favorite park is around the corner, and the moon is really bright tonight.” A walk. With them. A walk? What does that mean? Just like, a walk?

Do it. Just do it. Do something. Be brave.

You roll your shoulders, and take a bite of your pizza, chewing slowly and swallowing.

And then you nod.

“Yes.”

#ghoap x reader #go peach give us nothing #trying to shake off some dust I guess #reader is neurodivergent #peaches writes

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pucksandpower · 5 months ago

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Fourth Time’s the Charm

Max Verstappen x Norris!Reader

Summary: it starts, as all the best things do, with a bet (“If I win the race tomorrow and take the championship, you owe me a favor. Anything I want.”)

Note: thank you so much to @altxanna for the fantastic idea

The lights of the Las Vegas strip pulse outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of Max’s penthouse, but neither of you cares. You’re both tangled up in each other under the covers, limbs lazily draped and intertwined. The TV is playing some action movie you both stopped paying attention to an hour ago, the volume low, serving as nothing more than background noise.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” you say, your voice soft as you trace a finger along Max’s arm, admiring the way his muscles shift beneath his skin.

“Just thinking,” he murmurs, resting his head against the pillow. His accent wraps around the words in a way that feels so familiar it’s comforting.

“About the race?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

Max turns his head to look at you, his blue eyes catching the dim light from the window. “What else would I be thinking about?”

You hum, tilting your head in mock thought. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe about how your girlfriend is ridiculously good-looking? Or how lucky you are to have me?”

His lips quirk into a smile, the kind that’s as much in his eyes as it is on his face. “You’re right. I should focus on what really matters.” He shifts slightly, leaning closer to you. “You’re ridiculously good-looking, and I’m very lucky.”

You laugh and shove his shoulder lightly. “That’s better.”

He catches your hand before you can pull it away, his fingers lacing with yours. His expression grows more serious as he says, “But yes, I’m thinking about the race. I’m thinking about winning.”

You roll your eyes at the sheer confidence in his tone. “You think you’re going to win.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Think? I know I’m going to win. You don’t believe in me?”

“Oh, I believe in you,” you say, smirking. “I just also believe in my brother. And if Lando finishes ahead of you, the title fight goes to Qatar.”

He groans dramatically, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “Don’t remind me. The idea of dragging this out another week …”

“What, scared Lando might pull it off?”

He narrows his eyes at you, feigning offense. “Scared? Me? No. I’m just saying it would be … inconvenient.”

“Uh-huh.” You grin, shifting onto your side to face him fully. “I don’t know, Max. Lando’s been looking pretty good lately. He might surprise you tomorrow.”

Max’s hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer. “You’re really going to sit here, in my bed, and tell me your brother is going to beat me?”

“I’m just saying it’s possible,” you tease.

He shakes his head, but there’s a spark of amusement in his eyes. “Alright, then. If you’re so confident, let’s make it interesting.”

Your eyebrows lift. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

“A bet,” he says simply.

You prop yourself up on your elbow, intrigued. “A bet?”

Max nods, his smirk growing. “If I win the race tomorrow and take the championship, you owe me a favor. Anything I want.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

You consider it for a moment, then ask, “And if Lando finishes ahead of you?”

“Then you get a favor. Anything you want.”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling too broadly. “You really think you’re that unbeatable, huh?”

“I know I am,” he says, his confidence practically radiating off him.

“Alright, Verstappen,” you say, holding out your hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

He clasps your hand in his, his grip firm but warm. “Deal.”

You let your hand linger in his for a moment before pulling it away. “So, what’s this big favor you’re going to ask for if you win?”

He leans back against the pillows, his smirk turning devilish. “You’ll find out when I win.”

“If you win,” you correct, lying back down beside him.

“I’ll win,” he says confidently, his voice low as his hand trails down your back.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he says, pulling you closer until your head rests against his chest.

You can hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and for a moment, the room falls quiet. It’s peaceful in a way you don’t get to experience often, and you savor it.

“You know,” you say after a while, your voice quiet, “if Lando does win tomorrow, it’s not because you’re not good enough. He’s just …”

“Your brother?” Max finishes, his tone teasing.

You laugh softly. “Yeah, that too. But he’s been working so hard for this, Max. You both have. It’s … complicated.”

He runs a hand through your hair, his touch gentle. “I know. But on the track, it’s not complicated. It’s just me, the car, and the finish line. No brothers, no girlfriends. Just racing.”

You tilt your head to look up at him. “And what about after the race?”

“After the race …” He pauses, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “After the race, I’m just me. And you’re just you. That doesn’t change, no matter what.”

You don’t respond right away, letting his words sink in. Then, with a small smile, you say, “You’re really not scared at all, are you?”

“Of Lando? No,” he says, his voice light. “Of you? A little.”

You laugh, shoving him lightly. “Good. You should be.”

He catches your hand again, this time pressing a kiss to your palm. “I’ll remember that.”

You let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing against his. “You’d better get some sleep, Verstappen. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

He hums in agreement, but instead of pulling away, he leans in, pressing his lips to your neck. “One more kiss,” he murmurs against your skin.

You close your eyes, your breath hitching slightly. “Just one?”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his smirk returning. “Maybe two.”

You shake your head, laughing softly as he pulls you back under the covers.

And for now, the world outside doesn’t matter.

***

The final lap of the Las Vegas Grand Prix feels endless. The crowd’s roar grows louder with every corner, drowning out even the hum of the engines. Your hands are clammy as you grip the edge of your seat in the Red Bull garage, your eyes glued to the screen. Max’s car slices through the neon-lit streets of Vegas, and Lando is right behind him.

It’s close. Too close.

“Come on, Lando,” you mutter under your breath, though your heart isn’t entirely in it.

Max is P5. Lando is P6. A single position apart. If it stays this way, the championship is Max’s.

You’re not sure who you’re rooting for anymore.

The chequered flag waves as Max crosses the line, and your both heart drops and soars. P5. It’s done.

“MAX VERSTAPPEN, YOU ARE THE 2024 WORLD CHAMPION!” GP’s voice explodes over the team radio, his excitement nearly incomprehensible.

Max’s laughter comes through the speakers, unrestrained and wild. It’s a sound you know all too well — relief, joy, triumph all rolled into one.

“Yessss!” Max shouts. “That was incredible! Thank you so much for this season!”

You can’t help the smile tugging at your lips, even as the realization sinks in. He won. He really won.

The camera cuts to the Red Bull garage, where the team is in chaos — cheers, hugs, champagne spraying already. Christian adjusts his headset, leaning in to speak.

“Max, congratulations, mate. What an unbelievable season. You’ve done it again.”

“Thanks, Christian. Four in a row — unreal.”

You watch the screen as Max’s car slows on the cooldown lap, weaving slightly in celebration. You know him well enough to see it, even through the helmet — the ease in his shoulders, the grin he must be wearing.

Then his voice cuts through the radio again, this time steadier, more purposeful.

“And just so you know, I’m calling in my favor now.”

Christian’s confused laugh is audible even through the crackling radio. “Your favor? What are you talking about?”

You freeze, the air catching in your lungs.

Max chuckles, low and mischievous. “I had a bet with my girlfriend. I told her I’d win tonight. She owes me a favor, and I know exactly what I want.”

Your stomach flips, a mixture of dread and anticipation.

GP’s voice comes through, confused but amused. “Are we supposed to know what this favor is?”

“No, no,” Max says, his tone casual but firm. “But you’ll find out soon enough.”

Christian presses again, trying to pry it out of him. “Come on, Max. What’s the favor?”

There’s a pause, the kind that feels deliberate, like Max is savoring the moment.

“I want to marry her. Tonight. Right here in Vegas.”

The words hit you like a bolt of lightning, your pulse racing.

GP bursts out laughing. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Max replies, his voice steady, no hint of hesitation.

You sit frozen, your heart thundering in your chest. Did he just-

“Max,” Christian says, a mixture of disbelief and laughter in his tone, “does she even know about this?”

“She does now,” Max says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

The team radio falls silent for a moment, and the TV commentary fills the void as the podium finishers begin to line up. But you barely register any of it.

Max is proposing. No — not proposing. Declaring.

The camera pans to his car as he pulls into parc fermé, the four-time World Champion. The team swarms him, pulling him from the car, hoisting him into the air. The crowd’s cheers are deafening, but all you can think about is his voice in your head.

“I want to marry her. Tonight.”

You barely notice when someone taps your shoulder, Max’s PR officer. “You should get down to the celebrations,” she says, her voice brimming with excitement. “He’ll want you there.”

Your legs feel like jelly as you stand, weaving through the sea of Red Bull personnel to get to the barriers.

***

When you finally see him, his helmet is off, his face flushed from the race and grinning so wide it’s like he’s glowing. He spots you instantly, cutting through the crowd like no one else exists.

“Max,” you start, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“You heard me,” he says, his voice low but firm, his eyes locked on yours. “I want to marry you tonight.”

You stare at him, still trying to catch up. “You’re insane.”

He steps closer, his hand finding yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Probably. But I’m serious.”

“Max, you just won a world championship,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’re supposed to be celebrating, not-”

“I am celebrating,” he interrupts, his voice softening. “With you. And I don’t want to wait anymore. I’ve known for years that I want you. Why wait?”

Your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest. “This is insane. People don’t just get married in Vegas on a whim.”

He tilts his head, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “People do it all the time, actually.”

“Max-”

“I love you,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “I love you, and I want to start the rest of my life with you. Tonight. Right now.”

You can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you — the team, the media, everyone waiting for your reaction. But in this moment, it’s just the two of you.

“Say yes,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours. “Say yes, and let me win you, too.”

You laugh, a shaky, breathless sound that comes out more like a sob. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.”

You take a deep breath, your hand tightening around his. “Fine,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

The smile that breaks across his face is pure joy, unfiltered and blinding. He pulls you into his arms, lifting you off the ground as the team around you erupts into cheers.

“Alright, Verstappen,” you say, laughing as he spins you. “You’ve got your favor. Let’s get married.”

***

The wedding chapel is everything you expected it to be: over-the-top, tacky in the most endearing way, and bathed in flickering neon lights. A bright red Cadillac is parked out front, its headlights beaming into the frigid Vegas night. Inside, the carpet is a deep, gaudy red, and plastic flowers line the aisle. The faint smell of cigarettes lingers in the air, clinging to the cheap velvet curtains.

It’s surreal, to say the least.

“This is insane,” you mumble, standing in a side room with Lando, who’s staring at you like he’s still trying to process what’s happening.

“You think this is insane?” He replies, pointing vaguely toward the chapel. “What about the fact that you’re marrying Max Verstappen in a Vegas chapel at 3 a.m. with a guy dressed as Elvis officiating?”

You groan, adjusting the makeshift bouquet of roses someone from the Red Bull team had pulled together. “Don’t remind me.”

Lando smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t think I have to. This is going to live in my head rent-free for the rest of my life.”

You shoot him a look. “You don’t have to be here, you know.”

“Are you kidding?” He folds his arms, the grin never leaving his face. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything. Besides, who else is going to walk you down the aisle?”

Your stomach flips at the thought. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Lando softens a little, stepping closer. “Hey,” he says, his voice quieter now, “you sure about this? I mean, it’s Max. And Vegas. And Elvis.”

You bite your lip, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “I’m sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, meeting his eyes. “I love him, Lando. He’s ridiculous, and he drives me insane, but I love him.”

Lando watches you for a moment, then sighs dramatically. “Well, I guess if anyone’s crazy enough to keep up with Max, it’s you.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say dryly, but your smile betrays you.

There’s a knock on the door, and one of the chapel staff pokes their head in. “We’re ready for you.”

Your heart leaps into your throat.

Lando claps his hands together, his grin back in full force. “Alright, let’s do this.”

***

The chapel is even more ridiculous than you’d imagined. A man dressed as Elvis stands at the altar, adjusting his oversized sunglasses and strumming a guitar idly as he waits. Max is already there, looking completely at ease, as if this is just another podium ceremony.

When he sees you, his face lights up, and any lingering nerves you had melt away.

“You ready?” Lando whispers, offering his arm.

“As I’ll ever be,” you whisper back, looping your arm through his.

The music starts — a surprisingly heartfelt rendition of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” sung by Elvis — and you can’t help but laugh under your breath.

“You’re walking down the aisle to Elvis,” Lando says, shaking his head. “Unreal.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, though you’re smiling.

The walk feels like it takes forever and no time at all. Max’s gaze is fixed on you the entire time, his expression soft and unguarded in a way you don’t see often. By the time you reach him, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Lando hands you off with an exaggerated sigh. “Take care of her. She’s the only one who can put up with you.”

“Don’t worry,” Max says, smirking as he shakes Lando’s hand. “I plan to.”

Lando steps back, but not before whispering, “If you hurt her, I’ll crash you out next season.”

Max laughs, then turns back to you, his hands finding yours.

“You look amazing,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“I look ridiculous,” you whisper back.

His grin widens. “Even better.”

Elvis clears his throat, drawing your attention. “Alright, folks, let’s get this show on the road!”

The ceremony is exactly as absurd as you’d expected, and yet somehow, it feels perfect.

“Dearly beloved,” Elvis begins, his voice smooth and practiced, “we are gathered here tonight to witness the union of Max and …” He pauses, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

You realize no one ever told him your name.

“Uh,” you startle back to reality for a moment, “Y/N.”

“Max and Y/N,” Elvis continues smoothly, as if this sort of thing happens all the time.

He launches into the ceremony, peppering in car-themed metaphors and Elvis song references.

“Marriage,” he says at one point, “is a lot like a road trip. Sometimes it’s smooth sailing, sometimes you hit a few potholes, but as long as you’ve got each other, you’ll always find your way back to Graceland.”

You glance at Max, who’s barely holding back a laugh.

“Are you laughing at our wedding vows?” You whisper.

“I’m laughing at the potholes,” he whispers back.

Elvis continues, undeterred.

When it’s time for the personal vows, Max surprises you.

“I know this is all … unconventional,” he says, his hands still holding yours. “But that’s us, isn’t it? Unconventional. From the first time we met, I knew you were different. You don’t just keep up with me; you challenge me. You push me to be better, on and off the track. And you put up with all my nonsense, which is honestly impressive.”

You laugh, tears stinging your eyes.

“I promise to always be your biggest fan, even when you’re cheering for your brother,” Max continues, his voice softer now. “I promise to always fight for you, always support you, and always love you, no matter how crazy life gets.”

You’re not sure when the tears started falling, but they’re there, hot and fast.

“Your turn,” Elvis says, nodding at you.

You take a shaky breath, your voice trembling. “Max, you drive me crazy. You’re stubborn, competitive, and impossible to argue with. But you’re also kind, loyal, and the most passionate person I’ve ever met. You make me laugh when I don’t want to, and you make me believe in things I never thought I could.”

His eyes soften, and you squeeze his hands tighter.

“I promise to always stand by your side, even when you’re impossible. I promise to love you, challenge you, and never let you win a bet without a fight.”

Max grins, and the rest of the room seems to fade away.

When Elvis finally declares you husband and wife, it feels like the world stops.

“You may now kiss your bride,” he says with a flourish.

Max doesn’t hesitate, pulling you close and kissing you like the world outside doesn’t exist. The room erupts into cheers, Lando’s voice loudest among them.

When you finally pull away, Max leans his forehead against yours, his voice barely a whisper.

“We did it.”

You smile, your hands resting on his chest. “Yeah. We did.”

And just like that, Max Verstappen is your husband.

***

The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughter, chaos, and an overwhelming sense of unreality. The “reception” is cobbled together on the fly, with Red Bull team members and an assortment of drivers spilling out of limos and taxis into a nearby lounge they commandeer for the celebration.

Max stays close to you the entire time, his hand resting on your lower back or entwined with yours. Every time you glance at him, he’s already looking at you, his expression so full of love it makes your chest ache.

Eventually, you both slip away from the commotion, winding your way back to Max’s penthouse. The city hums below, the neon lights still pulsing with energy, but inside, everything feels quiet. Peaceful.

You’re curled up together in bed, the chaos of the night left behind, when Max finally speaks. “So,” he says, breaking the comfortable silence, “are you going to tell me what your favor would’ve been if you had won the bet?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t think you’re ready for that, Verstappen.”

His brows lift, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, now you have to tell me.”

You tilt your head, feigning deep thought. “Well, it would’ve been something big. Something life-changing.”

His grin widens, and he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Life-changing, huh? What, were you going to make me switch teams? Retire early?”

You smirk, letting the pause hang in the air just long enough for him to grow impatient. “A ring.”

Max blinks, caught off guard for a split second. “A ring?”

“Mm-hmm.” You trace lazy circles on his chest, pretending not to notice his stunned expression. “I was going to ask for a ring. But you, being Max Verstappen, had to be a few laps ahead and beat me to it. Like usual.”

His laughter bursts out, warm and unrestrained. “You’re telling me you were going to propose to me?”

You shrug, unable to keep the playful smile off your face. “What can I say? I wanted to beat you at your own game.”

Max shifts onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you fully. His grin is impossibly wide, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement and something deeper. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You married me,” you point out, grinning back.

“I did,” he agrees, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “And I’d do it again. But I have to say, I think I prefer this version. Me proposing. You saying yes. Vegas. Elvis.”

You laugh, swatting his chest lightly. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.” He’s still smiling, but his voice softens, turning serious. “I love you, you know. And I don’t care if it’s Vegas or a ten-minute ceremony or some ridiculous bet. This — us — feels right. It always has.”

Your teasing expression falters, replaced by something softer. “I love you, too. Even if you are insufferable.”

He chuckles, pulling you closer. “Insufferable and married. To you. Forever.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Forever, huh?”

“Forever,” he repeats firmly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And just for the record, I would’ve said yes if you’d proposed first.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His lips brush against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m glad I won this time.”

You laugh against his mouth, your arms winding around his neck as you pull him closer. “Don’t get used to it, Verstappen.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mrs. Verstappen.”

The name catches you off guard, and your heart stutters in your chest. Mrs. Verstappen. It’s ridiculous and perfect and makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

“You like that?” He asks, clearly noticing your reaction.

You bite your lip, nodding. “I think I could get used to it.”

His grin returns, smug and full of mischief. “Good. Because you don’t have a choice now.”

You shake your head, laughing as you lean into him, letting the weight of the night settle around you. The city lights outside keep shining, the noise of Las Vegas carrying on far below, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you.

And that’s all that matters.

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invincibledc · 1 month ago

Note

Please please pleaseeeee can we have more of Jack?

જ⁀➴𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐠! 𝐏𝐨𝐰! 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐦!

────୨ৎ────

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 (𝐎𝐂) 𝐗 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐒!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Synopsis: when Jack explodes. He explodes. All because his own henchmen had fucked with the wrong person to kidnapped. The one to be the start of his obsession.

Genre: oneshot/slight yandere

Info: this OC is an OC I’m written for my own amusement. He’s the son of Harley Quinn and joker. Full name, Jacklyn Oswald Quinn. I got bored. Reader is the twin sister of Damian, but Damian is the older twin of course. Im only a writer so you can imagine who he looks more like but all I can is he is handsome canonically in my head and anything. Boy’s crazy but handsome.

Word count: 822

Anger barely encapsulates what Jack feels in this moment. His men had promised him a surprise, and he had little patience for surprises.

With his dyed green hair and piercing cold blue eyes, he strode into the warehouse where his so-called henchmen awaited. Sucking on a blueberry-flavored lollipop, his favorite, he remained unfazed by the setting around him.

Jack positioned himself in front of the massive door, inhaling deeply before stepping inside. “Where are they?” he demanded, his voice low and gravelly. He navigated through the stacks of storage boxes until he finally spotted his henchmen—three older men—glaring at him with the usual joker goon attire. Their lack of enthusiasm set a tone that didn’t sit well with him.

“What’s this all about?” he asked, moving assertively toward the trio.

“Guess what!” one of them chimed in, a bald man Jack had nicknamed Baldie due to his shiny head. Jack bit down harder on the lollipop, feeling his time stretched thin.

“Spit it out,” he ordered coldly, his expression darkening. He longed to return to the place he reluctantly called "home," even if it hardly felt like home at all. The three men exchanged glances before one of them shifted away, prompting Jack to raise an eyebrow in skepticism.

Minutes later, Jack sees a girl with a bag over her head. She seemed to be unconscious, making Jack furrow his brow and narrow his eyes to almost slits.

“Who the hell is she?” he snapped, the Brooklyn accent sharpening his tone. “Don’t tell me you brought me some damn girl off the streets.” As he spoke, he yanked the lollipop stick from his mouth, discarding it recklessly.

Jack strode toward the girl’s body, a confident smirk on his henchmen’s faces as they watched him take action with a decisive, swift movement.

But as Jack saw her, his eyes widened in shock. His henchmen misinterpreted this reaction, thinking he was simply entertained.

“Tada! We captured Bruce Wayne’s daughter. Aren’t you thrilled, boss?” the bald one taunted, while the others nodded in agreement.

Jack stayed quiet, his hand caressing your face. Your beautiful face with a busted lip, a small bruise under your eye. His hand started to shake, his other hand balled into a fist, it was obvious they caught you off guard.

They harmed your face.

They dared to mar the beauty he cherishes in you. Jack rose to his feet, a shadow cloaking his face. He began to laugh slowly, but it was not the familiar laugh that echoed in the past.

No, this one was chilling, dark, and laced with malice. He felt something more profound than mere anger—he felt a fierce rage, an overwhelming possession, an all-consuming obsession.

He would be the one to confront you; he would dominate this cat-and-mouse game. They have interfered with his design and obliterated its very essence. They have trampled on his obsession.

Jack's laughter erupted, louder and more menacing, sending a spine-tingling sensation through his henchmen. The pride that once adorned their faces began to fade, replaced by the dawning realization of fear.

“You.. you did this?” He says, still laughing through words as he points to your body, tied up by ropes that also seem to bruise your body.

“W-we did..” one of them said with uncertainty how to answer.

With that simple answer, Jack stopped laughing. He turned his head to face them, finally giving them a glance at his crazed expression. His cold eyes were freezing, the natural blue now deep ocean blue eyes.

“That’s all I wanted to know.” Immediately with that, Jack pulled out a gun, pointing it with a dark expression. “It was fun when it lasted, pathetic.”

The bald one stood up straight, feeling brave as he walked towards the boy. “That’s a toy gun, you aren’t fooling anyone, Junior.” the man says, trying to lighten the situation.

“Is it?” Jack said with a mused grin, the bald man went to snatch the gun when a loud gunshot ran through the air.

The man fell suddenly in front of Jack, Jack’s cold blue eyes stared at the bleeding body. Blood spattered on his clothes and face. Jack effortlessly wiped the blood off his painted face with his gloved thumb.

He looks up at the other men who seem like they sit in their pants, which is good to know.

“I’m not forgiving the rest of you who stuck with this plan.” He raises his arm, the men try to protest, trying the find the words to plead to the emotionless boy.

“Wa-wait!—”

Two gunshots went off.

Jack sighed, putting his gun up and looking at your body with a somber look. “Oh baby girl, they fucked up ya' face, your beautiful face my beloved.” He says softly, untying you from the ropes.

He lifted you bridal style and left the warehouse, not caring for the bodies as all he cared about was you.

His obsession.

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freaktoru · 2 months ago

Text

summary: sung jinwoo x fem!reader -you fly to the international guild conference with your rich s-rank hunter boyfriend, sung jinwoo in a private jet. wc; 2k+ warnings: minor manhwa spoilers, smut, unprotected sex, use of pet names, dirty talk, creampie, fingering, pnv, pwp, female bodied reader, not proofread lol authors note: hi! this is my first fic. please enjoy, and please feel free to send any ideas into my inbox, i'm happy to chat and excited to write more for jinwoo. [best viewed in dark mode]

since becoming an s-rank hunter and the guild master of the Ahjin guild, there was no doubt about the fact that your boyfriend, sung jinwoo, was in high demand. as expected, jinwoo was invited to attend this year’s international guild conference to represent south korea and of course, asked you to join him. this conference was important to jinwoo as it would host all of the strongest hunters in the world and discuss the rise in numbers of gates spawning globally.

sung jinwoo had made a lot of money since becoming an s-rank hunter, you knew this very well and experienced it first hand with him constantly spoiling you with your favourite food, new clothes, expensive jewelry and your shared penthouse apartment in the heart of seoul. jinwoo was not one to make a statement with his money, but when it came to you, he had no limits. thats why jinwoo decided to take you with him on a private jet to fly to america for this years conference. and that’s exactly where you currently found yourself—miles high in the air with your s-rank hunter boyfriend.

“thank you, that’ll be all for now” you heard jinwoo say to the only flight attendant on the plane. you walk out of the washroom, hearing the flight attendant’s footsteps fade as you return to your seat. the interior of the jet was a smooth ivory colour with black accents and clean leather seats. you sat down in your seat across from your boyfriend who was looking out the window with a bored expression on his face, listening to the low hum of the plane engine.

“sung” you say softly, drawing his attention away from the window.

“hm?” he replies, his eyes darting in your direction and his gaze falling on your face.

“what’s on your mind?” you ask.

“nothing, just thinking about the conference” he replies in an indifferent tone, clearly caught up in his own thoughts.

“i’m sure it’ll be fine, you’re one of the strongest hunters in the world right now, if not the strongest, i’m sure you can handle whatever is going to happen” you reassure him, hoping to pull him out of whatever he was thinking about. this happened often—jinwoo got caught up in his own thoughts and strength, and found it hard to pull himself back to reality.

“you’re right” he mumbled quickly and after a brief moment of silence he added, “come here baby” while patting his thigh, indicating that he wanted you on his lap. his voice alone was enough to send what felt like a current of electricity through your body.

since the press would be waiting when you landed, jinwoo was dressed in his usual expensive black outfit with black trousers, polished black shoes, a fine black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and an expensive black and silver watch on his left wrist. as an upper A rank hunter yourself, you were also dressed to impress, wearing a cream coloured blouse, a black pencil skirt with black heels to match and expensive jewelry purchased for you by none other than sung jinwoo himself.

you stood up from your seat and took a few steps over to where your boyfriend currently sat. as soon as you were within his reach, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into his lap. you felt your cheeks heat as he looked up at you with half lidded eyes, a lustful expression painted on his face.

“sung..” the words died on your lips as jinwoo strengthened his grip on your waist with one hand and lifted the other to your cheek.

“shhh baby, i want to spend these last few hours of the flight with just you before we get hounded by the press and the public” he explains in a slightly annoyed tone, lightly pulling at your bottom lip with his thumb.

“m’kay” you reply, too busy to utter a full reply as you wrap your arms around jinwoo’s neck, entangling your fingers in his hair and pressing a soft, wet kiss on his lips. sung jinwoo rarely loses his composure, but when you’re sitting on his lap, looking like that and placing such an innocent, soft kiss on his lips, he simply cannot contain himself any longer.

he pulls you close instantly—as if on instinct, as close as he can get you while you’re already on his lap. he deepens the kiss, one hand glued to your waist and the other tangled playfully in your hair. you moan, feeling jinwoo harden underneath you.

“jinwoo- ah” you gasp breathlessly, pulling away from the kiss as you feel him move his fingers under your pencil skirt to rub lazy, teasing circles on your clothed clit.

“look who’s already wet” he points out in a mocking tone all while ignoring your gasps and pleas. he pulls his hand away, unbuttoning your blouse and skillfully unclipping your bra with one hand, letting your breasts spill out into his ready hands. he grabs hold of one, squishing the soft skin of it while lowering his lips to your other nipple. you whimper at the feeling of his teeth grazing your nipple. you think to yourself that it must be the change in pressure from being miles high in the air because you feel so sensitive to his touch, almost feeling like your skin is melting under his hands.

his fingers make their way back under your skirt while his mouth moves on to the other nipple, lightly biting and licking it, sending pulses of pleasure to your throbbing core. he moves his hands over your clit but this time, pushes aside your thong to coat his fingers in your slick. he slides in two of his slender fingers with ease and starts lazily pumping in and out of you. it feels so so good, his fingers knowingly hitting the exact spot to make you melt. jinwoo wears a seductive smirk on his face as he quickens his pace and watches you mutter incoherent words while gasping and moaning from the sheer pleasure of just his fingers. he pinches your nipple with his other hand and lowers his lips to your neck, sucking on the sensitive flesh. this feeling simply surpasses anything you’ve ever felt before, sending you into oblivion. you feel the flame inside you spread throughout your whole body as you release onto his fingers.

“ah baby-” you gasp, your words cut off as jinwoo slowly pulls his cum coated fingers out of you, making you go limp from the orgasm.

“clean up your mess kitten” he orders, tone bordering on serious. he brings his fingers up to your panting mouth, sliding them past your soft lips. you welcome his fingers, sucking your cum off of them and gazing at jinwoo suggestively as he slowly pumps them in and out of your mouth. once clean, he removes his fingers from your mouth and inhales sharply when you move your hand over the bulge in his pants. “my turn” you coo, while unzipping his pants slowly, freeing his cock.

jinwoo was pretty, everyone knew this— and his cock certainly did not deviate from that description. it wasn’t wide but it made up for that in its length. it looked almost elegant in your hands as you started running your fingers gently along his shaft, always noticing that one vein that ran down the side of it. you watched any remaining tension leave his body as he groaned and relaxed into the seat. you pumped his cock teasingly for a couple of minutes and momentarily lowered yourself onto your knees to lick the beads of precum off the head of his cock. this is where sung jinwoo’s composure completely snapped.

“stop teasing” he grit out as he lifted you up from your knees and back onto his lap. the movement was fast, almost animalistic. with the way he manhandled you, you could tell that jinwoo was simmering with need, and could wait no longer to get himself inside of you.

he gave you no warning as he slid himself inside you, practically impaling you on his cock. you whimpered at the sudden intrusion, gripping jinwoo's shoulders so hard that your knuckles were turning white. he gave you a minute to adjust and you felt the pleasure override the initial pain. even though this wasn’t your first time with jinwoo, his sheer length was still difficult to adjust to every time.

“fuck you feel so good” he rasped as he slowly starting moving your hips up and down on his cock. you were convinced this bliss would never go away, even after countless times with jinwoo, it was still the most euphoric feeling you’ve ever felt. this would beat any drug, you were sure of it.

this went on for a couple more minutes, jinwoo quickening his pace and hitting that sweet spot again and again, making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“nnngh baby please” you moaned, feeling yourself coming close to your climax. you looked down at jinwoo, his head thrown back against the seat, his jet black hair tousled and messy with stray strands sticking to his sweat covered forehead. the scene was a pure depiction of lust. his half lidded eyes and the slight smirk he wore on his face was enough to make you absolutely melt.

“please jinwoo, i’m going to cum” you uttered breathless, tears beading at the corners of your eyes, hoping that jinwoo was close. “not until i say so baby” he replied, just as breathless as you. this was a rule jinwoo had for you, he would never let you come alone and would make you wait until he was ready to cum with you. this always pushed you over the edge because it took him longer to get there, however the wait was always worth it.

“aaah” you gasped, feeling your boyfriend tense underneath you, indicating that he was going to cum. “cum for me baby” he said, and you felt yourself snap free. you crashed your lips onto his to seal the moment and felt that warm flame spread through your body once again. you felt the tension erase from jinwoo’s body and before you knew it, you went limp in his arms.

jinwoo stayed buried in your warmth for a couple of minutes as you both came down from your high. you placed your head in the crook of his neck and the two of you stayed there like that, panting and catching your breath.

“you did so good f’me” he rasped, his voice sending a warm tingle down your spine. you moved your head to look up at him and gave him a quick smile before pressing a kiss to his lips. jinwoo finally pulled out and quickly cleaned you and himself up with some napkins he found nearby.

he then placed you back in his lap so that your head was back in the crook of his neck and you were both facing the window looking out at the clouds, still miles away from your destination. he ran his fingers through your hair softly, placing warm kisses on your forehead occasionally. you enjoyed the view and being in his arms more than anything, and mentally prepared for the inevitable doom that you knew would soon descend over the earth.

“sung?” you murmured the question, slowly feeling yourself getting emotional.

“hm?” he responded, looking down at the frown on your face with confusion. “what’s wrong?” he asked.

“we’re going to be okay right?” you asked in a worried tone. jinwoo instantly picked up on your worry and understood your stress.

“of course. i’ll make sure of it” he replied softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“i love you” you whispered, followed by a quick peck. when you pulled back, you saw your favourite sight: sung jinwoo’s most genuine smile, the one he only reserved for you.

“i love you too” he replied and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. you felt yourself slowly drifting off into sleep, and heard the flight attendant come back out to inform jinwoo of the arrival time as you fell limp from sleep in his strong arms.

no matter what, as long as you were with sung jinwoo, you knew that you would be okay.

#solo leveling #sung jin woo #sung jinwoo #solo leveling x reader #sung jin woo x reader #ore dake level up na ken #solo leveling jinwoo #solo leveling season 2 #jinwoo sung x reader #jinwoo sung x you #jinwoo sung x y/n #jinwoo x reader #solo leveling fanfic #only i level up #jinwoo smut #sung jinwoo smut

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deesseshesca · 1 month ago

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PAC: How do y’all feel about each other sexual energy ? (18+)

(SINGLE SINCE BIRTH - ERA ~3 )

Haven't slept since last night...

Hello Chérie d'Amour !

How y'all doing ? Hope those last few days have been treating u better than me. When it comes to me is time for me to take a real break. I'm going to be inactive for a month. I am so sorry for my single babe since birth, it was finally your turn to thrive but don't worry, I try to create some good juicy content before I leave for a moment. All readings will be on sale up until this weekend because of recession. I feel like you guys need to catch a break but keep in mind you will only receive the product in May 2025. In April everything will to back to regular prices. That being said, I hope April brings you nothing but success.

MUCH LOVE,

SHESCA.

PILE 1

YOU : You feel that he has experiences and you are one on his list of potential lovers. I am not going to lie before I even get further, this does not feel like romantic love. It could be platonic love with sex (FWB or sexual arrangement) at least from your side. I don't know if that's how y’all relationships begin or how it was always supposed to be. Ahhh… now lets go. You can sense the deep desire he has for you. Maybe he has prey eyes when he lays them on you. May have possessive mannerism with you. Also may tell you to go around and tell others you are his because he hates the thought that anyone can even think they have a chance with you. I just heard: “ You are too pretty for your own good”. You do applaud the fact that he never cares and always show you off no matter the circumstance. Not the type to be disrespectful. May actually be quite the feminist not the performative kind. You may never think he cares so much for women rights because he dont look like it. May have a darker or alternative aesthetic. If not then has the aesthetic of somebody that dont care for women rights : pick up car, bible verse tatted, country accent and love hunting. Actually very emotionally available yet avoidant. Which mean he can express himself and can be transparent with his feelings. Probably dealt with his childhood trauma, not the type to ghost after fucking you. Actually take care of you and give some aftercare. Asking you if you are "ok", before the act and after. Clean you up and tell you he leaves before doing it so you dont wake up feeling funny. Would hate for you to feel use. Avoidant because he can't see himself being in a relationship because he dont think he deserves it. You can feel all this by the way he treats you right but can't seem to give you the title you desire. Want you to be his, act like you are his and don't mess with other people, yet don't want to ask you out properly. You can feel like his manifesting you. What I mean by that, is that you are going to see him grow. From running from you, to trying, to loving you and appreciating you. He wants you, you can see it in his eyes, his actions and his words. You feel like one of most prize objects in his life, he treats you as such and you know that you are all he wants. Also he has a big dick. To my virgin babe don't worry, he is no monster. Will probably do a lot of foreplay and y'all may also have many nights that all you do is oral sex prepping for the big gun. If you are a virgin, he is very scared of hurting you.

HIM :

Before anything : I hear and see you caressing his cheek while saying: “My baby, my baby…” with a sad tone.

They fucking love is crazy. At first I was unsure and I would be the first to tell you to run the fuck away from something, y’all know me. I don't play those games.

HE FUCKING LOVES EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU ! The way you look, the color of your hair, your hairstyle, if is curly or not, the color of your eyes, the way it light up, the shape of your face, the face you make when he fuck you, he loves you body, every inch. Clothes or nah, he is fucking turn on all the time when it comes to you. The style you have, nails or nah, lashes or nah, makeup or nah, shave or nah. He loves the sound of your voice, the moan you make when he's thrusting deep into you, the way you talk dirty and the way you tease him with nudes, the way you end up play hard to get it just for the fuck of it. The reality is you guys meet when he just came out of the dark night of the soul. He just fought suicidal thought maybe even survive an attempt. He may be clean from self harm tendency or his sober from substances. He’s still in woods but his not dancing with the devil no more. You are going to force your way into his life. He is a loner and he dont like to mingle but you are coming in with your zest for life … LOL ! What you don't know is that you are the sun of his life. Just by existing you bring him all the joy, life never thought worth giving him. Don't get me wrong it aint co-dependent. He doesn't live because of you. Nah he lived so he could found you. Going back to him, he is too fucking tired to start fighting his avoidant issue but without realizing it he will be growing with you. You are going to enter his life when he is in the 8 cup era( me : surprise the card did not come up) , like he let go of something but he is not yet sure of the next path but knows he must leave so he did. Your warmth ( dang all I wanted was the sex … here I am in love reading) is something he yearns for. He will often hit you up, so he can spend your work break with you in his car so you guys can cuddle. He will hit up after work so he can see you. He will beg to see you. Not for sex just to sleep. If he has night terror, you make them stop. Don't worry you ain't got no super power, it's just because he feels safe in your embrace. In my visions regarding your couple, he is always sleeping. Damn y’all fav spot is your bedroom. Lol … babe don't take it personally but he see you as a liability. No job asking for princess treatment just eating and using all his money. He would love how wet you get. You are going to make him feel like his dick has super power in the bedroom because he can make you squirt. To my virgin no worries is actually bound to happen since he's big and you go that WAP. You guys may develop a size kink together.

PREVIOUS READING

2. PAC (FREE ) : PAC : Your first & maybe only love reaction to seeing you naked for the first time (Babe gather your coins because there's no more free content in the future, xoxo.)

PILE 2

YOU : You feel as tho he has a breeding kink. He loves nutting in you or loves seeing his cum on your tits, your butt, stomach or your face. A fan of facial. You may have a very pretty face, a bit childish, don't worry he aint a pedophile. You have a round face, very chubby cheek, and round deer eyes, may have a rather coquette or very feminine aesthetic. I am seeing light makeup, you may like to get doll up before y’all fuck. Don't act all innocent; you enjoy seeing the aftermath of y’all encounter. You get all doll up, so you can see the wig lifting (if you wear one), your makeup mush, you lips red, the hickeys on your body or even like seeing your clothes tear down on the floor after the act is over (me: you guys are literally the representation of the quote : I love pink, violence and sex). You know he has a good sex reputation. He may have been a player until he decided to settle with you. You knew it and he never tried to hide it. If you guys do end up break up, he is forever going to be the best sex you ever had. The man knows what the fuck he is doing. You are not here for the sex tho. He knows it. You are here because he get you. Maybe people around expected you to act a certain way, you may attend private school, may be the oldest sibling in your family, may hold a job with power, whatever the situation is, you are held to a higher standard than the rest. Some of you may be the daughter of a pastor or religious important figure. With him, you get open up and even do stuff that would not be allowed by people around you. Having sex may be forbidden in your family before marriage. You may also smoke with him and drink 2. You guys talk to each other about hardship and he just gets it. The thing is pile 2, is like you guys are living in a golden cage. You have gone through so much trauma but you can't talk about it because there's almost a policy of : “ you hear nothing, see nothing and speak of nothing” in y’all family. I’m hearing the song of Pretty Little Liars. They have a darker aesthetic and they are more of a loner so you would think they are the one with the destructive habits but is all you. Now that I’m thinking about it, you may be the only one smoking and drinking when y'all are together and he just makes sure you don't go overboard. You may actually be the one asking him to go this hard in the bedroom. What's funny (not really), you don't feel like he loves you for you. You think, I am writing black on white, you think he only loves you for your tight pussy. You know I dont stand for BS so imma be very honest babes. He aint the problem. Y’all seriously hate yourself very deeply. It's really sad. I did not say I pity you but it breaks my heart, sensing the depth in which you hate your own gut. You see him as an enemie. Almost as a war weapon … I aint playing Chérie d’Amour. You make me think of the way Katniss thought of Peeta in the book of Hunger Games (the first ones). In reality, you don't think no one could ever love you.

PS : You also feel like he is very emotional. Is easy for him to cry and he doesn't hide himself when he does so. He would cry a front of a kid show or while listening to the news. He may actually stay from the news because he easily absorbs emotions around that. A truth empath … LOL ! He is very loving in the way he dirty speak, I am hearing: “ Look at me …”, “ Is ok I’m here …”, “ You are doing amazing love …”

HIM:

I ain't going to lie, this is toxic. Not the yelling, verbally or physically abusive type of toxic. No breaking each other's spirit . Is more the type he wants to save you from you and you are incapable to stop destroying yourself. Don't get him wrong, he ain't got no savior complex but he sees so much potential in you… yet all you see is his flaws and nothing is really changing your mind. If he is the one reading … RUN ! But since is you, there's nothing I can do but watch. Congrats you have manifested your first relationship ( I swear I mean it with no sarcasm). There's a lot of lessons here. This may be your wake up call because you are the one closest on in this PAC getting in a relationship. May even happening this Aries season. Is not a matter of “if” but a matter of “when”.

He feel like you have a facade because he can sense all you truly crave is softeness. You don't actually want this hardcore sex, you want something softer. Otherwise you will want to be degrated, the fact that you prefer him talking in a softer tone, caressing you and holding you when the act is done shows your true intention. You hide behind that tough cover. In front of people you play the perfect innocent daughter while in front of him you play this though women that nothing sacred anymore. He can also feel that you are disgusted by the fact that you do desire love and affection. He doesn't want you just for your tight pussy. He love the depth you have and the beauty you hold. You are a very pretty babe in his eyes, the prettiest woman he ever laid his gaze upon. Also he’s in love with the poetic tone you give to your pain. You could quite literally love writing poems or being a writer in your free time. You may play an instrument or love singing. He enjoys listening to you talking about philosophy for hours even tho he doesn't always agree with you. For him, you guys together are the embodiment of the song : Dark Paradise - Lana Del Rey. He feels like you are wasting your time with him. You deserve so much more than him. He ain't going nowhere. He feels like you only want him close to you just so you can hurt him. You wish you could destroy people around you but instead you keep hurting his love with fake promises and treating him like he is replaceable. He won't leave because he actually enjoys this arrangement. If it is the only way for him to have you then that is how it must be. He may have a Mars in Scorpio or in Pisces.

PS : Now I understand, he aint innocent either. While you destroy yourself with hate, substance and sex. He destroys himself by finding people he knows are going to hurt him. Is more than the victim complex, is the martyr. If he aint in pain then he ain't living. Right now in the spiritual world you are like falling stars colliding into each other and nobody is stopping you because there's life changing lessons that must happen.

PREVIOUS READING

2. PAC (FREE ) : PAC : Your first & maybe only love reaction to seeing you naked for the first time(Babe gather your coins because there's no more free content in the future, xoxo.)

PILE 3

YOU: You are extremely grateful for all his exes. You thank them for the way they tame his masculinity and raise him to be an amazing bf. You are grateful for his sisters for showing what is it to actually deal a real women. Most importantly his mom for making him a gentleman. You feel like he loves trying new stuff in the bedroom and dont mind doing it in places that are not traditional. Everytime he grabs you, you don't know in which position you are going to be. He may love going round after rounds with no break ( me : Shit that a whole workout). May be the type to start making out in the car in broad day light with the windows down because he never gave a fuck. Will probably introduce you to sex toys, nothing crazy ladies. He ain't your BDSM type at all but his masculinity never was scared of a pink dildo or a rose toy ( amen to that !). You feel like he has multiple options. You see people flirting with him in front of you like you don't exist. You may keep your relationship private because when you post him, people add him with no shame. Also you applaud the effort he put in the bedroom. He put in the work. Coming in with new techniques like the pillow or the bear hug. There's something about the way his hip moves, like he is going to hit your g-spot like nobody damn business. Over and over again at that.

PS : Your first relationship may be an interracial one. For him, you're the first woman of that race he actually dated, not that he found you kind ugly, he just never had a chance to date one of y’all. Also don't worry, no fetishes, purely in love with learning your culture with respect.

HIM :He feels like you have no idea of your sexual needs. Don't get him wrong, he knows you are a virgin so you don't know how to move but the problem is that you don't seem to even know what you want. It's almost like you have literally no idea what sex is. Like a new concept falling from the sky. You are acting like you are a pre-teen who just now learned about sex. On the other hand he enjoys the way you are spontaneous many claim to be but they are not. There's a difference between being spontaneous and adventurous and people don't seem to know it. He loves the way you are down for anything at any moment. Which he always craved and missed in his last relationship. Going back to what I wrote, he feels like you are like a doll with no opinion. You just go with whatever he says with no real back bone. You don't tell him if you like what he just did. You don't show different emotions depending on different position or touch. You are just here looking at him nodding. He enjoys your moans but would prefer if you could appreciate him more in the bedroom. Don't get me wrong, he doesn't expect you to have the vocabulary of a porn star but tell him he's doing a good job. Telling him is hitting the right spot, telling him he's handsome and telling him you have been craving him. At the end of the day he aint stress because he is sure y’all are going to figure it out. It's just the beginning of your sexual journey and he knows with time and patience you are going to open up to him.

PS: He knows you are nervous. The first time y’all are going to do it, you may actually be anxious. I see you looking around nervous and having jabbing movements. You will open up about the fact that you are not sure you can satisfy him. What you don't realize is just the thought of you, turning him on sooooo bad. He can't sleep without taking a cold shower because he is always sexually frustrated when it comes to you. You are literally his dream girl. Trust me babe, no need to worry, you are his female fantasy.

PREVIOUS READING

2. PAC (FREE ) : PAC : Your first & maybe only love reaction to seeing you naked for the first time(Babe gather your coins because there's no more free content in the future, xoxo.)

PILE 4

YOU : You love the fact that he makes you feel wanted. You feel like you are the object of his desire. He makes you feel like he can't make a move without you in his life. Without you his life ain't complete. He makes you feel super sexy, always begging you for a pic of you. Not caring if it is a selfie, a nude or even just an OOTD. I see you taking a bunch of pictures that you keep in a folder for when he is needy of your presence but can't be near. Also you can sense how he gets no pleasure being in the dominant role of the relationship. For some of y’all, he will take the lead in public. For the other in this pile, he will be walking around unafraid to show how much of a simp he is.For the first type, he may be very tall and loves going to the gym. He cares for the finer things in life, I see luxurious cars and watches. He may work a white collar job and hold a title of power ranging from manager to CEO. Not the time to talk a lot, have a rather deep voice and have a mug face normally. While for the other he’s a student, shorter, may be older than you but have a baby face. The first one would be the type to text you that he is waiting at your door, giving you unexpected surprise and making sure everyone knows you are taken because he is possessive. While the other may be the type to follow you around, be down with all your sidequest, take your picture like one of your fans and always have this fool expression on his face when it comes to you. You may tell him what to do but he will always pay for everything and give you the princess treatment. They both have something in common, they love to be dominated. Love it when you play with them. Edge theme, tell them “no” just to hear them whine, don't worry it won't be on your first time but will love it when you use toys on them 2. Will love it even more if you bound them in beautiful pink ribbons. Loves when you challenge them not to make a single noise or they wont get to fuck you tonight. They make you feel love. There's not a single doubt in your mind and others that he loves you. By the way he acts, speaks about you when you ain't there or even takes care of you like you are the most delicate being on this planet. Whether it be with letters, text you poem, buy flowers or when he travels and always comes back with something that reminds them of you. The way they refuse to end FaceTime because they want to sleep and wake up to you. Scream to any women approaching them that their fucking taken may wear a fake marriage ring to seal the deal because the mere fact that other women may flirt with them piss them off.

PS : The biggest munch alive. Will literally cry if you don't let them taste your delicious pussy.

HIM:He knows you are very strict, you don't play mind games. Your standard are high and you don't mind cutting a man off mid date, mid convo or even relationship if you don't feel respected. At the same time he knows your love can never go bad. You are not really the type to talk about the feelings, you are more the type to show it in your actions. The fact that you bake for him, your eyes light up when you look at him, your voice softens when you speak to him or even the way your body relaxes when you touch him. On the other hand, he still can sense a blockage in you. It's like you are always waiting for him to fail. You never allow yourself to enjoy the bliss of this relationship. Waiting for him to become abusive, waiting for him to start yelling, waiting for him to start breaking shit around or even start cheating. Just so you can say : “ I knew it ! You can't trust this man, frl, frl.” The issue with this way of thinking is undervaluing the efforts put in by your partner and he also makes him feel like he is constantly passing a test. That may be a big red flag for him that he will consider the worthiness in longevity in your relationship. I see him entering the relationship knowing he found the one. I also sense he can let go, if he ever feels like he can't give you what you truly desire.

PREVIOUS READING

2. PAC (FREE ) : PAC : Your first & maybe only love reaction to seeing you naked for the first time(Babe gather your coins because there's no more free content in the future, xoxo.)

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swiftiethatlovesf1 · 6 months ago

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Toto Wolff with wife reader. Drunk Toto falling in love again with his wife because he doesn't remember her. But his heart does. Thanks!! :))

You should have known this night was going to be long the moment the victory champagne spilled across the garage, glistening like liquid diamonds under the floodlights. The team’s celebration shifted seamlessly from the paddock to the pulsing beat of a club, where music throbbed and lights flickered in neon arcs. You watched from a plush seat as investors swarmed Toto, offering cheers and shots in congratulation. He accepted each drink with polite grace, a twinkle in his eye that spoke of pride.

But as the night rolled on, that twinkle grew a bit glassy.

"How many drinks do you think that is now?" Lewis asked, dropping into the seat next to you, his grin wide. You laughed, watching Toto across the room, his broad frame towering above most, now slightly swaying as he spoke with some sponsors.

“Enough for me to expect a very long morning tomorrow,” you said, rolling your eyes fondly.

Suddenly, a warm arm wrapped around your waist, tugging you slightly. You turned to find Toto standing there, a mischievous, tipsy grin spreading across his face.

“Lewis,” he drawled, a hint of an Austrian accent thicker than usual. “Won’t you introduce me to this stunning creature you’ve been hogging all night?”

Your jaw dropped, and Lewis’s eyes widened, flicking to you in a moment of silent shock. You bit back a laugh as the realization set in—he was so drunk, he didn’t recognize you.

Lewis smirked, catching on quickly. “Oh, Toto, of course,” he said, playing along. “This is... my friend.”

Toto turned his full attention to you, his eyes sweeping over you with admiration. “Enchanté,” he said, taking your hand and pressing a gallant kiss to your knuckles. The warmth of his lips sent a flutter through your chest, even after years of marriage.

“Nice to meet you,” you teased, eyes twinkling. “Do you make a habit of charming random women at parties?”

“Only when they’re this beautiful,” he said, his smile lopsided. He leaned in, the scent of expensive whiskey and his familiar cologne clouding your senses. “There’s something about you... it feels like I’ve known you my whole life.”

Your breath caught in your throat. There was sincerity in his tone that made your heart swell. You glanced at Lewis, who watched with a barely concealed grin, clearly entertained by the turn of events.

“Is that so?” you said, tilting your head. “Well, you should know, I’m married.”

Toto’s brows lifted, his expression caught between delight and disbelief. “Lucky man,” he murmured, eyes narrowing in playful jealousy. “Tell me, does he treat you well?”

“Very well,” you said, stepping closer, barely able to hold back your laughter. “In fact, he looks a lot like you.”

He studied you for a moment, as if the fog in his mind was straining to lift. Then, a slow smile broke across his face, softening his features. His hand came up to touch your cheek, thumb tracing a familiar path. “It’s you,” he whispered, voice low with awe, as though seeing you for the first time again.

“It’s me,” you confirmed, your voice softening.

For a second, time seemed to stop. Then, the sparkle in his eyes turned brighter, love breaking through the haze of drunkenness. “Well, in that case,” he said, pulling you flush against him, “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

You laughed, the sound swallowed by his kiss—deep, earnest, as if he really was falling for you all over again. And in that crowded club, surrounded by flashing lights and laughter, he did.

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff

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ifishouldvanish · 1 month ago

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Fashion and Power; Hair and Identity: An Analysis of Olrox in Castlevania Nocturne

So. I've been thinking a lot lately about Olrox's design and how he dresses.

Like we have Drolta who is serving cunt in a totally different, usually wildly anachronistic, outfit every other scene... And we have Alucard still wearing the same tattered, moth-eaten overcoat he was sporting 300 years ago...

And then we have Olrox, whose outfit is very much in keeping with the style we see worn by our model french nobleman, the Marquis:

You can see the similarities between their looks: the stockings and shoes, the cravat, the tall collar, the pleats, the contrasting trims and accents, the highlights that suggest the fabric has a silken/satin sheen.

...But for his first appearance in Boston, he's wearing something similar—but not so flashy. Which makes sense, because a lot of the above details would be too ostentatious for colonial sensibilities and just not as accessible there. His Boston look is very clearly in the same style as Julia's outfit:

The boots with the dramatic cuffs, the wide lapels, the longer coat, the way the trims and accents are much more subtle, and the lack of that satin sheen we see in the French outfits.

I point this stuff out because it tells us that not only does Olrox dress well, but he dresses according to what is in fashion around him. He's not like Drolta, expressing himself by wearing whatever the fuck he wants—nor is he like Alucard, still dressing the way a past version of himself once did, existing sort of outside of time. That Olrox has two subtly different outfits in the span of ten years seems to indicate that this is a man who speaks the language of fashion, who understands the role it plays in society, and how it is used to assert power for oneself in the right contexts.

I've seen the take a few times of like, "Olrox is probably itching to take off those stuffy white people clothes" or whatever and... I can't say that I agree. I get the sense that he enjoys not just wearing fine clothes, but dressing in a way that signals to the people around him: "Do not presume that you are better than me". It serves as a form of armor, a safety blanket, a way to protect himself and assert the power he fears he will be denied otherwise.

I've said this before but like... his dialogue in his scenes with Drolta and Erzsebet is positively laden with these sort of subtle, calculated assertions or denials of power. From the moment he first arrives in Machecoul, he refuses Vaublanc's escort, thus refusing to engage on the terms they are trying to set for his visit: you are not my host, I am not dependent on you, I am here acting on my own interests and not to answer to your beck and call. He speaks carefully, politely, and hides his true feelings behind a façade of respectability. Saying all the things they want to hear, but wearing none of it on his face, in his eyes, in his tone of voice. He's playing a part, playing the game, and playing it well—all the while hiding his true intentions and dodging questions he doesn't want to answer.

That Olrox is such a careful, eloquent speaker can be read as a quintessentially 'Aztec' thing: the Nahuatl language is very full of metaphor, the nobility spoke a different dialect that distinguished them from the rest of society, and the ability to speak beautifully and wisely is something that was regarded very highly. Furthermore, the words we have on record that Motēuczōmah Xocoyotzin said to Cortés and that the Spanish would later use to claim the Mexica thought Cortés was a god, were probably more like... sarcasm. You've heard of malicious compliance; the Mexica were apparently fond of malicious politeness: over the top flattery meant to mock rather than praise. Which is exactly the vibe Olrox gives off in his exchanges with Erzsebet. ("Yes, charmed to meet you", "Flattered, for a god to have heard of me," "As you well know, I both admire and worship you, goddess," etc.)

I think his manner of dress functions as an extension of this.

While Olrox's clothing bears like, zero resemblance whatsoever to how men styled themselves in the Mexica empire (Fantastic references by Daniel Parada on ArtStation), the Mexica did have strict sumptuary laws about which classes of people could wear which types of clothes/colors/fabrics/jewelry/hairstyles. Maybe he was a commoner who had to wear clothes out of rough maguey fiber and never wants to go back to that. Maybe he was nobility and this is a mentality that he has clung to. Either way, fashion as a language of status, power, and control is something Olrox would understand intimately.

Consider Drolta for a moment: in retrospect, the fact that she has so many outfits and wears whatever she wants to the point of outshining Erzsebet in every scene she's in, was a strong indicator that she was the one with the real power, the one pulling the strings all along.

And here creates a stark contrast: Drolta who asserts her power by dressing in a way that expresses herself in her own visual language, vs Olrox, who is asserting his power in the visual language of his oppressors. Even in Drolta's more conservative outfits, there are a lot of details that are undeniably her own spin on the style; she's playing with these conventions rather than conforming to them. She does not have to play the game and follow the rules in the same way that Olrox does.

So now let's address the elephant in the room:

Olrox's hairstyle is... not at all accurate to how men were wearing their hair in pre-colonial mesoamerica, which was either a sort of shoulder-length bowl cut, shorn on the sides, or long but matted and tied back. (More fantastic references by the same artist on ArtStation) But unlike his clothing, it's also not a style that would be considered fashionable to the European upper class.

I've seen plenty of people theorize that it's meant to resemble a style that would have been appropriate for Mahican men at the time—a way to pay homage to the man he loved. But I don't really think this is the case. For most tribes in the northeast, men either traditionally wear two braids, or in times of war, a 'roach' or 'mohawk' hairstyle: with most of the head shaved except for a single lock, which might be adorned with feathers, beads, and so on. At most, Olrox's single braid could maybe be a nod to this, but not the hairstyle as a whole.

Honestly, I struggle to find any tribes whose men traditionally wear their hair loose, and I'm sure half of this design choice was just the animation team trying to give him some likeness to his voice actor. Zahn McClarnon, who is Hunkpapa-Lakota, often wears his long hair loose—though this hairstyle isn't necessarily characteristic to the Lakota either, who also traditionally wear their hair in 2-3 braids (and which to be fair McClarnon also wears often). The other half of this design choice I'm sure lies in the fact that loose hair lends more flexibility for animators to use it expressively in-frame.

Regardless, any piece of media is in conversation with a contemporary audience. Nowadays, it's pretty common for indigenous men from various cultural traditions to sport long, loose hair. And there's a reason for this: regardless of the specific beliefs and practices around hair from one tribe to another, hair has become a strong marker of cultural identity for the larger, pan- indigenous community, as the forced assimilation of indigenous people often manifested as the cutting off of indigenous men's hair in boarding schools. In this context, to grow out one's hair can be a way of reclaiming a part of their identity which has long been forcibly taken from them.

So... the cultural/historical inaccuracy of Olrox's particular hairstyle aside, we can still look at the significance of hair itself in a broader sense: Hair is important to his character.

I look all the shots we get of Olrox's hair, the way it is used in the frame, used so expressively, and it feels like... yeah. His hair is the piece of himself he refuses to let go of. The clothes can change, he can bow down to Bàthory, get branded, etc. But his hair is an inextricable part of him. In this context, his hair becomes his identity, this stand-in for his true self when all the rest of him (clothes, speech, etc) are functioning instead as a sort of social camouflage.

We normally see Olrox's hair neatly swept behind his shoulders, often with a few strands framing the side of his face. But we get a couple of scenes where this isn't the case:

The first time we get a shot of Olrox's hair kinda spread out and disheveled outside of motion scenes is the cut to him and Mizrak lying in bed after having had sex. Paired with the askew angle of his body contrasted against Mizrak's rigid body, Olrox's hair suggests that he is in a vulnerable state, that he has let his guard down if not physically, then emotionally. He has "let his hair down" and already caught some kind of feelings for Mizrak—while Mizrak spends this scene putting up a giant brick wall.

The majority of Olrox's hair here is also to his left—away from Mizrak. While Olrox has given up some measure of power here, he doesn't need Mizrak to know that yet. He turns his head to see what Mizrak is doing, and receives a clear message: Mizrak is not ready to give up any power or control. Not ready to be vulnerable with him. And so Olrox takes this cue to sit up and let his hair return to its usual, neatly gathered position—thus putting back up a kind of wall of his own as he tries to coax some honesty out of Mizrak through more deliberate means.

In the S1 finale, we see Olrox's hair cover his face just as Machecoul falls to Erzsebet and becomes enshrouded in shadows. One Nahuatl expression, "Axcan mixtlapachmana yn tonatíuh" translates to, "Today the sun has covered its face." This is an expression of grief over the death of a leader or elder, the fall of a city, or the loss of a tradition. Despite the stoicism on his face in this moment, Olrox's hair tells us how he really feels. Something has been lost, and despite the fact that he probably expected it—despite the fact that he has been here before—he is still grieving that loss.

During the S2 branding scene, we see Olrox get on one knee and bow to Erzsebet—thus arriving at the inevitable conclusion of the game he's been playing all season. In his effort to survive by playing along, conceding his pride, his ego, his integrity, his self—he still finds himself trapped. As he accepts his fate, his hair fails over his face in a pattern that resembles the bars of a cage or prison cell. (Interestingly, his dialogue before this is "What did he do?", which makes this whole scene echo his "what crime did you commit?" scene with an imprisoned Edouard in the catacombs back in S1)

In S1, we also got a scene where Olrox bows to Erzsebet, but it's very different from this one. He never gets on his knee, and his hair remains neatly draped over his shoulders. He's conceding a little bit of power, but it's a strategic thing he ultimately does with some degree of willingness. In the S2 bow however, it is because he recognizes he is cornered and no longer has any moves left to make.

In S2E6, we see Olrox waiting at the harbor, preparing to leave to return to the New World. In the previous episode, he asks Mizrak to come with him—who refuses on the grounds that they would spend their lives hiding from Erzsebet. I'm sure @mysteryanimator could write an essay about the framing in this scene and how it makes it so that Olrox is boxed in and can't leave—but his hair is flowing freely. He doesn't have to leave. He has always had a choice: the choice to stay and to fight, and to win true freedom—not just a life on the run, or the sort of double life of having to carefully navigate the social world of others and keep his true self hidden in order to survive.

Now, in the S2 finale, Olrox turns a dying Mizrak into a vampire—but they have an interesting conversation leading up to that moment, and for just about the entirety of this conversation, Olrox's hair is obscuring his face. There is something he is hiding from Mizrak in this scene, something keeping them apart and keeping this conversation from being an open and totally honest one. I've written about what I think this scene foretells, and @mysteryanimator has also done a really thorough shot-for-shot analysis about the visual storytelling happening here, which also touches on the role Olrox's hair plays in this scene.

After Olrox turns Mizrak, we see him lying in bed with his shirt open, exposing his chest and bisecting his heart. The Nahuatl "Omeyolloa" translates to "two hearts", or "the heart is split in two", and refers to an internal conflict. But Olrox's hair is splayed out around him, adding to the sense of vulnerability and being laid bare. While Olrox's hands are folded in his lap with apprehension or restraint, his hair seems to reach in Mizrak's direction in their stead. The hair gives voice to the half of his heart that cares about Mizrak and wants to reach out to him, while the rest is immobilized by the guilt or remorse over what he had to do to keep him.

I've also written a bit of analysis about how this shot mirrors the shot of Julia bleeding out in S1E1: how Olrox's hair is pooled around him the same way her blood was, and how these compositions suggest a sacrificial offering. In this scene, Olrox is offering his hair—his self—up to Mizrak in a gesture of love and penance.

Anyway I could probably go on but I have reached the 10 image limit and this is long enough already. I guess if there's a point to be made with all of this, it's that I don't think the cultural/historical inaccuracy of Olrox's design detracts from his character, but actually does a lot to tell a story about how he has been affected by the forces of colonization, and in what ways his identity as a Mexica man influences the way he now navigates the world around him.

But mostly??? I just love Olrox Castlevania Nocturne and like thinking about him a totally normal amount 🫠🫠🫠

#olrox #castlevania #castlevania nocturne #am i reaching with some of this stuff??? maybe #but i don't care #i am the Audience and I am bringing what I See into the Conversation #also if u saw me post this earlier and immediately delete it bc i accidentally published it unfinished... no u didn't 🫣

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 5 months ago

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Rile Him Up

Pairing: Professor!Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~700

Warnings: sexual tension

Summary: Class is so much more fun when Spencer Reid is your professor.

Square Filled: college au (2020) for @cm-kinkbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

The desks in class have always been uncomfortable, but you’re feeling a bit extra this morning. Your entire body is sore and there is stiffness in your neck where there shouldn’t be. The back support isn’t great in these small desks, but you make do with what you have. Your best friend walks into class, and you sit up straighter and put a smile on your face.

“Hey, Ames. How was your vacation?”

“Oh, I wish I was back in Paree,” she says with a slight French accent. “But I’m also glad to be back here with you. How was your weekend?”

“Tiring. I barely got any sleep last night, and my neck is sore. Maybe I slept on it wrong, I don’t know.”

“After class, I’ll give you the name of my massage therapist. He works wonders on my body, and he’ll even take you for free as a courtesy to me.”

“Are you fucking him?” you grin.

“That’s neither here nor there,” she giggles.

“Well, thanks. I’ll take it.”

The rest of the class comes into the room including the young professor, Dr. Spencer Reid. All the women in his class have googly eyes for him. What’s there to look at? He just has honey-brown eyes, curly brown hair, a lean but toned body, and a very intelligent brain. He’s every woman’s dream, apparently.

Instantly, whispers fill the room, mostly from the women. Spencer sets his bag on top of his desk and walks to the whiteboard. He grabs a marker and writes “Criminology 101” on it.

“I have graded your tests from last week. I have to say, the majority of you did not pass. I do encourage office hours for those who need extra help. There is no shame in asking for it,” Spencer announces.

Spencer takes the graded tests from his bag and starts to pass them out. You don’t want to turn back and hurt even more from the kink in your neck, so you only watch him when he’s in the front of the class. He gets to you and sets your test face down on the desk without sparing you a glance. You grab your test and turn it over, silently scowling at the B.

You deserved an A.

“If you have any questions about the grade you’ve received, please see me at the end of class.”

You take your laptop out of your bag as Spencer moves on to the next subject. He speaks but you don’t hear a word he’s saying. You lean back in your chair and spread your legs slightly like how a man would spread his. Spencer briefly looks your way before moving on.

“This next project we’re going to do is worth thirty percent of your grade, so you’re going to work in pairs to get this done.” Chatter picks up as people already pick the person they want to work with. “Once you have your partner, you’re going to research a famous criminal in world history, create a profile about that person, come up with victimology, and how you would apprehend them. Once you have the criminal in mind, come up and let me know. No two groups will have the same criminal. Get started.”

You and Amy immediately pair up and start researching famous criminals, but you can’t look down long because your neck will start to hurt.

“Damn, you must really have hurt your neck,” Amy says.

“Yeah,” you mumble.

Your phone rings and you see a text pop up from your boyfriend. You smirk and hide your phone away from Amy even though she isn’t paying attention to you.

My Love💞: I hope I didn’t choke you too hard last night.

Me: Maybe a little, but I liked it. We should be talking about the B you just gave me.

You look up and lock eyes with none other than Dr. Spencer Reid. He leans back in his chair but the expression on his face doesn’t change.

My Love💞: Your argument was weak. You can do better than that. What we should be talking about are those pretty pink panties I see peeking out from under your skirt. Close your legs. Get back to work.

You smirk and put your phone away. Instead of replying to him, you open your legs a bit more. Even from where you are, you can hear him growl softly. Class is so much more fun when your boyfriend is the professor.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst

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finnbbl · 4 months ago

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The Rival's Heart - A Min Ho Fic

Ch. 1: “Pipsqueak”

Next Chapter

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Swearing, mention of deceased parents

It was hard to believe that you were here, standing in front of KISS. It was an over-the-top school, to say the least, and definitely not one you ever expected to get into. The past couple of years had been far from easy, and there were a lot of things that you wanted to leave behind. In your first year of high school, you decided to study abroad in America. That turned out to be the worst decision of your life. It only took a semester for things to start escalating during your freshman year. Despite your family, especially your brother Dae, checking up on you often, they knew very little of what was going on in your life. You endured conflict, heartbreak, and lost friendships. At first, it wasn’t easy for you to keep this from them. You always confided in your family. But after seeing how stressed they had been with their own lives, especially with the passing of you and Dae’s mother, you’d decided that your problems would only worsen that. Not to mention, it wasn’t like you wanted to leave America. And knowing them, if they sensed things were too hard on you, they would make you return to Seoul. So, you kept them in the dark.

You were so hopeful that things would turn around for you, but that wasn’t the case unfortunately. With that, after your second year, you’d decided you had enough. That’s when you came to the conclusion that moving back with your family was for the best. It was simple. You applied for a scholarship to the same school that your brother went to and moved back to Korea, pretending as if the past two years hadn’t happened. You caught the soonest flight the day after classes ended, eager to leave the horrible memories and experiences behind. Summer went by quick. You spent the few months catching up with your family (Leaving out the details of course), and spending as much time with them as you could.

Fast forward, and now it was the day of orientation where you’d get your class schedule, your dorm room number, and find your classes. You know, the first day stuff. The two of you found out there was a welcome party that night, and your brother pleaded for you to go. Parties were something you despised, but you gave in considering it was a school event.

“I’m so glad you transferred back; it’ll be nice to attend the same school as again.” Dae spoke and you smiled at him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you with the new experiences in America and such but...” He trailed off, and you pushed a smile onto your face. “I missed my sister.” He said as he gave you a side hug, forcing your fake smile into a real one. “I missed you too.” You said back. As the two of you were about to walk into the entrance, Dae’s phone dinged. You both came to a stop so he could respond. You noticed that his facial expression faltered ever so slightly, “Hey, sis I gotta go but I’ll see you at the welcome party, okay?” You nodded, slightly concerned but decided to let it go. “Okay, see you.” Waving goodbye, he took off in the opposite direction. You pulled your luggage behind you getting in line to get your dorm number. The line seemed to move extremely slow. And as one would do, you pulled out your phone to pass the time. A few moments later, a voice sounded from behind you. “Uhm, hello? The line has moved.” It came off rather rude, and the speaker had a thick accent. And a recognizable one at that. You sighed before turning around, knowing exactly who it was.

Min Ho.

Based on his lack of surprise when you faced him, he knew it was you as well. He sighed as you pursed your lips. “So, you’re back.” He said, very unenthusiastic. Your mouth curved upwards into a fake smile. “Yeah, and you’re also attending here. Lucky me...” Looking him up and down as your fake tone faltered at the end of your sentence. You’d known Min ho for years. He was Dae’s best friend, but you’d never been particularly fond of him. His ego was high, and his personality was unlikable. You watched as his eyes glanced behind you. “Uh, you’re next pipsqueak.” Min Ho said in a rushing tone, waving his hands gesturing for you to move forward. You rolled your eyes at the name he’d called you. It wasn’t anything new. He was well aware it annoyed the hell out of you, which is why he did it. “Let’s hope I don't see you around,” you said before turning on your heel to make your way up to the counter.

"Hi, name?” The lady smiled at you. “Kim Y/N.” She began to flip through an assortment of files before her muttering in confusion. Patiently, you waited as she switched her search to another pile, watching her face suddenly light up. “Ah, here it is. It was in the wrong file.” She laughed it off.

“No worries, thank you.” You spoke in Korean as you took the file from her hands. That was when you started your walk to find your dorm building. Examining the paper, you made a mental note of the number. Then the next thing you knew, you were on the floor. It all happened so suddenly; you glanced up to see a girl sitting on the floor next to you. And that girl was none other than Kitty.

“Kitty?!” Her face lit up as she recognized you, “Y/N!” The two of you abandoned your things on the floor as you embraced. Kitty was a girl you met while she was on vacation in Seoul. You quickly bonded, and eventually her and Dae started dating. Yet, she lived in America, but you still considered her your closest friend. “What the hell are you doing here?” You asked in disbelief. “I applied for a scholarship, and I got in!!!” A smile plastered on your face. “That’s amazing, oh my god. Why didn’t Dae tell me?”

“Actuallyy, I was planning to surprise him. He has no idea that I’m here.” Kitty was sure a different type of person, but she was also one of the sweetest. “That is crazy, if I’m being honest but I’m sure he’ll be so happy to see you.” The both of you started to pick up your stuff as you announced you had to get going to find your dorm. “Oh, think you could help me find mine?” She showed you her paper, and you noticed that it was the same building and dorm number. “Oh, that's actually mine too. Looks like we're rooming together.” You announced with an excited shrug. “Come on, we’ll find it together.”

"So, what made you move here? There has to be some other reason than Dae, right?" You questioned as you adjusted your bag on your shoulder. She nodded before speaking, "Well, I found out that my mom had went here in highschool. I think I could learn a lot about her and feel more connected if I attended the same school she did." Your face fell into a sad smile, you'd known that Kitty had lost her mom when she was rather young. She had no memories with her, so it was natural for Kitty to wanna experience what she did.

"I'm kinda surprised your parents let you," You laughed it off. "Believe me, it took a lot of convincing.."

It didn't take either of you too long to find the dorm. The first thing you guys noticed when you walked in was the rather roomy space it had, despite how small it was. The two of you walked into a room to see two different bags sitting there already. “I wonder where our other roommates are...” Kitty said rather quietly, you responded with a hum. “Probably out socializing, or whatever students do here.” You both decided to settle into the other room. “Oh, I was about to face time my dad, do you wanna say hi?” You debated for a moment, “Hmmm... Maybe next time, I should get some rest. Dae wants me to go to the welcome party; despite knowing how much I hate parties." You couldn't help but roll your eyes, the things you did for your brother. She nodded as you headed out into the common room, letting her have some privacy. It wasn’t long before you dozed off on the couch. You weren’t sure how long you were asleep for, but it was long enough for you to be started when she woke you up. “Shit, what time is it?” You rubbed your eyes before seeing the event starting soon. The two of you got ready in a rush. Luckily, it was a 3-hour long event, and you wouldn’t be there for an extended time anyways.

You decided to wear a rather short, light blue dress with matching, but subtle eye shadow. The white heels complimented your makeup rather well. Compared to Kitty, you’d gotten ready decently quicker. “Are you okay if I go ahead and head out? Dae will bite my head off if I’m not there soon.” You said, sighing. With your question, Kitty nodded. “Yeah! Go ahead, I’ll see you there.” She shot you a smile and went back to touching up her makeup. “Thanks, Kitty. And good luck with Dae, see you there.” And with that, you left.

As you made your way to the building for the welcome party, your phone had gone off. When you looked at the screen, you saw a trail of messages. Most were from Dae, asking where you were since you had dozed off for longer than intended.

Dae: Where are you? Dae: Do you know when you’ll be getting here? Y/N: My bad, I fell asleep LOL Dae: You’re late Y/N: Yeah yeah, I’m on my way

As you swiped out of the thread with your brother, you then noticed messages from an unknown number.

Unknown: I see you transferred away Unknown: You know, you honestly lasted a lot longer than I thought you would here.

You suddenly felt a pit in your stomach, having a strong idea of who those messages might be from. Regardless, you blocked and reported them. This year, you were going to put everything behind you.

As you walked into the building, you did your best to push the messages out of your head. The first thing you noticed about the party was the very fancy decorations. Your jaw dropped in awe before you mumbled to yourself, “Wow, KISS really went all out...” The next few moments were spent by you admiring all the details put into it. Schools in America were rarely this fancy, and if they were you had to be rich to experience something even close to this.

“Y/N!” With the call of your name, you glanced in the direction. You had expected to be met with Dae, but you ended up seeing someone else. “Q, Hey!” And it wasn't long before you two were hugging. Q had been your absolute number one best friend. He was there through all of your tough times. Well, those that he knew about. And anytime you needed advice, he was the one you went to because of his logical and realistic thinking.

“How have you been? I heard you were transferring back from Dae... But I never expected to run into you soon. Especially since you hate parties.” His voice was laced with slight confusion.

“I’ve been good.. And, Dae’s the one that convinced me.” Q nodded in acknowledgement. “Oh, but also-” A groan interrupted your sentence. You sighed when you saw Min Ho out of the corner of your eye. “You talk just as much as I remember.” He complained in Korean. Your lips pursed and your head leaned over to glare at him. “Well, you’re also free to just, I don't know... Leave.” Min Ho clicked his tongue at you. “Ha ha, very creative.” You rolled your eyes at him as he had taken a sip of his drink. And if it couldn’t be worse timing, (for him) someone had bumped into him from behind. This caused him to spill his drink all over his shirt.

“Oh my god, watch where you’re going!” You made no effort to stifle a laugh, “Nice job Kitty.” You commented off to the side, in a non sarcastic tone. It was enjoyable watching things like this happen to Min Ho. Q only watched before offering you a drink from a nearby table, which you gratefully accepted.

“So you do speak English...” Kitty mumbled. You sighed and rolled your eyes as Q shoved a towel into his chest. "Haha, busted."

"Seriously Min Ho? You still pull that shit on people?" You asked in a lecturing tone.

"Shut up Pipsqueak." You groaned at the name, "How long are you gonna keep calling me that?" You said, throwing one of your arms up so slightly before letting it fall back at your side. He leaned down to your level, even though you two were a decent distance away. "As long as it annoys you." He smile at you in a condescending way, in which you stuck your tongue out at him. "Anyways, welcome to KISS!"

"Don't feel bad, he loves to pull this move on people. He did it to me the first time we met." Q commented before something caught his eye. He immediately nudged Min Ho from the side, causing him to spill his drink once again. "Goddamit Q!" Min Ho raised his voice, complaining about his expensive clothes getting ruined. This caused you to let out another giggle at Min Ho's distress. "Shut up about your clothes for a second, look at our boy!" You turned your head around to see your brother walking in.

"Where did Dae get that suit?"

"Yo, Dae!"

You couldn't help but nudge Kitty and smile. You then watched as they ran into each others' arms. It made you happy to see Dae with someone that could very much be his for the rest of his life. Apparently, he'd been feeling lonely due to your guys' mom's passing, and you studying abroad didn't help. Of course, her death affected you as well, but you dealt with it in your own ways. The two of their eyes were filled with so much love for each other. Well, that's what you thought...

Suddenly, some girl that you didn't quite recognize, linked her arm with Dae's. Your eyebrows furrowed, fairly confused. You watched as Kitty rushed off and out of the building. Your mouth hanging open in shock and disbelief as you tried to process what just happen.

What the hell just happened?

#xo kitty minho #xo kitty dae #xo kitty x reader #xo kitty #minho xo kitty #yuri han #min ho #dae heon kim #min ho x reader

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loveinhawkins · 11 months ago

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Steve grabs the bag before Eddie can. “No, I’ve got it.”

Eddie glances at the transparency of the plastic bag: the outline of his battle vest pokes through it, neatly folded.

He sidesteps the rest of the group as they troop out of the RV. Steve’s still standing his ground by the driver’s seat.

“Uh, Steve, I can see what’s in there. That’s mine.”

“Yeah, but—” Steve huffs, still holding the bag tightly, and he almost seems… embarrassed. “Like, just. Don’t look at it right now, I’ve got it. I’m gonna dry clean it. Later, I mean.”

Eddie laughs. But Steve remains deadly serious.

“Uh, that’s nice and all, but I don’t think dry cleaning gets out… um, blood and…” Eddie pokes his head out the RV door, to where the kids are hauling weapons and tanks of lighter fluid with Robin and Nancy—a sight he steadfastly tries to ignore before he panics ad nauseam—and asks, “What’s your word for, uh, Upside Down related, uh, you know—”

“Slime?” Lucas offers.

“Sludge,” Erica corrects.

“Goop,” Max says decisively.

“Shit,” Dustin says.

Eddie nods. “Helpful, thanks.”

He turns back. He’d intended for all that to get Steve to crack a smile at least, but if anything, he looks worse; the expression on his face has shifted into evident guilt.

“Steve,” Eddie says, caught between being amused and… honestly, touched. “Relax. It’s fine, man.”

Steve keeps frowning. “But it was—”

“—not important.”

Steve huffs again, like he’s saying don’t lie.

Eddie changes tack. He hasn’t missed the fact that Steve’s change of clothes from The War Zone means that, sure, less skin’s on show, which is probably better for Eddie’s heart but, more importantly, his bandages are ‘conveniently’ concealed—which is decidedly less good for Eddie’s heart, so maybe they both cancel each other out.

If ever there was the time for sincerity…

“Maybe I care less about the damn vest, and more about the person wearing it.”

The pinch in Steve’s brow lessens. “Oh,” he says, soft, and then a little of his usual bravado comes back when he asks, “you sure?”

Eddie waggles a hand back and forth. “Kinda. It’s borderline.”

Steve chuckles. He puts the bag down on his seat, very carefully, as if it’s breakable, and Eddie’s heart does a little skip.

“Well. I still feel bad,” Steve insists. His tone’s light, but he fixes Eddie with a pointed look, don’t test me on this, Munson, ‘cause my stubbornness will win.

“Okay,” Eddie concedes, hands up in surrender. “Tell you what, Steve. What if I wore something of yours, to make it even?”

Steve wrinkles his nose, but he’s smiling. “What, and deliberately mess it up?”

Eddie nods gravely. “Like, it’s not quite Upside Down conditions, but whenever I cook, it gets pretty close.”

Steve’s smile grows. He makes a show of turning around in search of something.

“Huh, I must’ve forgot to pack my wardrobe.”

Eddie clicks his tongue in theatrical disapproval. “Yeah, that’s a pretty big oversight, dude, should’ve thought it through.”

“Guess it’ll have to wait for next time.”

And yeah, they’re joking, but still. Eddie doesn’t want to tempt fate.

“Next time? Nah, I’m praying all this shit is a one time thing.”

“No, I meant—” Steve hesitates, like he’s inadvertently stepped out of the joke, and he doesn’t know where to go from here. “Like. Whenever you come round.”

“Is that an invitation?” Eddie says; he hopes the quip is enough to cover his surprise, the long-buried thought—ridiculously high school, but true in spite of it: no-one’s ever invited me to…

Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Oh, sorry, did you want it hand-written? The red carpet treatment?”

“Well, if you’re offering…”

“I’ll go get my quill,” Steve deadpans.

Eddie laughs. Says, only partly kidding, “It’s just, I’ll need some time to think it over.”

“The… invitation?”

“What item of clothing I’m taking, duh.”

“Right, yeah,” Steve scoffs, “major decision.”

“It is! You have whole ensembles, man.”

“Ensembles,” Steve echoes, but it’s got more of a French accent to it; Eddie suspects it’s a by-product of Steve helping Robin study, ‘cause she seems to be the only one who’s a polyglot in their contingent. “Get out of town, Munson.”

“Oh, like you don’t know. I swear, in winter, there’d be actual bets placed on what sweater you were gonna wear each day.”

“Uh-huh.”

Eddie hams it up, “Didn’t you wonder why so many girls were waiting to see you drive into school?”

“You’re an idiot,” Steve says, and he waves Eddie aside, about to jump out of the RV. “Lemme know when you’ve made your selection.”

Eddie knows he should leave it there. They’ve had their laughs, and it’s made to be forgotten about in the face of much more important things.

But that’s always been his problem, really. He can’t bite his tongue in time. He can’t help—

“The red one?”

Steve turns around, one foot off the step. “What?”

“The, uh…” Eddie clears his throat. It’s either say nothing or go all in. Fuck it, the shire’s burning. “I’ve decided what to—um. The red sweater?” Steve just keeps looking at him, so he adds, tentatively, “The one you’d wear near winter break?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I know the one you mean.” He falters on the verge of speech, his lips twitching into a surprised little smile. He drawls, “You sure you weren’t placing those bets yourself, Munson?”, but it doesn’t sound mean, and his ears suddenly look a little pink, and maybe, maybe—

“No comment,” Eddie says, aiming for comically flat, but Steve’s smile is contagious.

“Okay, it’s a deal.” Steve steps outside—throws over his shoulder, “It’s yours,” oddly sincere; and Eddie wonders if they’ve really been talking about clothes at all.

#post rv driving scenes have gripped me again #pre steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie

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ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey · 7 months ago

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hinny prompts??? ooooh um maybe write something where harry is being a bit protective of ginny? hbp, post dh, whichever point in time you feel most inclined to write about!! thanks 😍😍😍

“You were right about Vanishing spells,” Ginny declares irritably, dumping her school bag onto the table Harry has secured for their study date in the library. “They’re a pain in my arse.”

“Ah,” Harry says, looking up from his essay with an expression of sympathy. “Bad lesson?”

Ginny throws herself into the chair opposite and scrunches her nose in distaste. “Awful. Might as well have been using one of Fred and George’s trick wands for all the good mine did, at least then I’d have had a laugh.”

“Did McGonagall set you extra homework?”

Ginny sits up rim-rod straight in her seat, makes her lips as thin as they can go, and adopts a lofty Scottish accent, “Miss Weasley,” she chides, in a passable impression of McGonagall. “An essay on the proper wand motion and theory behind Vanishing vertebrates to me by Tuesday.”

“Brutal,” Harry winces. “How many inches?”

“Two hundred and four. And once you’ve finished that, please use your newfound knowledge to Vanish the Chudley Cannons abysmal goal scoring problems, Fleur Delacour’s superiority complex, and Harry Potter’s penchant for danger. And then you can fling yourself from the Astronomy Tower for your trouble.”

Harry snorts loudly. “Oh, is that all?”

“I might just skip straight to the Astronomy Tower.”

“Efficient. Please don’t, though.”

“Honestly,” Ginny grumbles. “She set me fourteen inches. Fourteen! I’ve already got loads of Charms to do this weekend, I’m going to be in the library all–”

Ginny trails off, for Harry had turned in the middle of her rant to scowl rather hatefully at a group of fourth year Ravenclaw girls whispering at a nearby table. “Er, Harry?”

Harry turns back to her, but the scowl remains. “Sorry. Fourteen inches?”

“What’d they do to you?” Ginny jokes, jerking her head toward the girls’ table. They aren’t being particularly loud, and Harry isn’t typically one to become enraged by library volume etiquette.

“What?” Harry says quickly. “Nothing.”

Ginny grins. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“It’s nothing, honestly.”

“C’mon,” Ginny goads. “Were they trying to ask you about the Chosen One rubbish, or something?”

Harry shakes his head. “No. They… before you arrived, they were talking about you,” he says in a tone of combined incredulity and disgust.

“Ah.” Ginny sits back in her chair, utterly unsurprised. “What was it this time? That I’m spiking you with a Love Potion? Or that you’re only interested in me because I’m a tart? Or – ooh, my favorite is that I’m using you to usurp your position as Quidditch Captain. I think they might be onto something with that one, actually…”

Harry doesn’t even laugh at her joke as his expression approaches the realm of horror. “The Love Potion one but… People have been saying that other stuff about you? To you?”

Ginny shrugs unconcernedly. “Not to my face, but I’ve heard it, yeah. Dunno if you’ve noticed, Harry, but a lot of girls fancy you.”

Harry shrugs this off so quickly that Ginny can’t help the feeling of satisfaction and smug glee that sparks in her chest. “But that’s… that’s so fucked.”

“Well, yeah,” Ginny says, slightly amused by his naivety to the Hogwarts gossip mill. “I suppose. But honestly it’s all rubbish anyway, I don’t give a rat’s arse. Let them say what they want, they don’t know the real reason I’m with you - all your gold.”

Harry laughs despite himself, but the concern quickly returns. “But I don’t understand. Why would anyone think you’re spiking me with Love Potion?”

Ginny grins wickedly. “Dunno. Might want to tone down your infatuation with me. It’s very suspicious.”

Harry shakes his head as he lets out another reluctant laugh. “No, but I mean it. It’s… it’s mental,” Harry makes a gesture to her general person, like she’s meant to agree with something.

“Yeah, I mean, obviously I’d never do that to anyone, let alone you–”

“No,” Harry interrupts. “Well, yeah. I bloody hope not, you’re not Romilda Vane,” he adds darkly. “But that’s not what– I just meant, why would anyone even assume that? Half the blokes at this school fancy you.” He gestures to her again, as though his point should be self-evident.

A heat blossoms over Ginny’s cheeks. “Half the blokes in this school do not fancy me,” she laughs. “You’ve been listening to my brothers.”

Harry stares at her like she’s the one who’s lost her gobstones. “No, I haven’t. But that’s beside the point. It’s just… insulting.”

“Doesn’t paint me in a particularly good light, no,” Ginny agrees, feeling like she’s missing something. “Rather creepy.”

Harry exhales in frustration. “I just meant, how can they honestly think that’s the only reason I’d fancy you? I mean… you’re…” He gestures to her again.

If she’s meant to fill in those blanks, Harry is going to be disappointed. “I’m… what?”

Harry stares at her incredulously. “You’re… brilliant! You’re the best in the school at Quidditch, you’re always making everyone laugh, and well, you look like,” he gestures to her again, helplessly, “that.”

The heat has spread from her cheeks down to her chest. She might be on fire, actually. “Harry–”

“No, it’s… how can anyone honestly think that I wouldn’t fancy you? It’s really rude, actually, I don’t know why you’re not bothered.”

Ginny is struck quite dumb by this proclamation. A tingly, glowing warmth is radiating out from her glowing cheeks. Ginny supposes it shouldn’t feel so surprising - they’re together, and Ginny doesn’t think she’s alone in how quickly her feelings are escalating; on some level it comes with the territory that he’d think these things of her. But she had been totally unprepared for him to be so indignant – not about being the subject of baseless gossip yet again – but about the insinuation that Ginny would need any help in attracting his attention.

“I don’t–” Ginny splutters. “Well, that’s– you really think all that?”

“That you’re brilliant at Quidditch?” Harry asks in disbelief. “That you’re funny and beautiful? I mean – yeah? You are.”

“I think you might’ve overdosed on that Love Potion I’ve been slipping you–”

Harry barks out a laugh again. “Come on. Honestly. Of course I think that. You must know that.”

She supposes she did know, but it’s quite a different matter to have him state it so baldly like this, like her brilliance is so wildly self-evident. Harry’s gone and released a jar of snitches in her stomach.

“Well, clearly the rest of the school’s got a different opinion,” Ginny says, trying to disguise the way his words have impacted her. “Or perhaps you’re underselling your own appeal.”

Harry smirks, and Ginny might die. “Find me appealing, do you?”

“Obviously.”

“Glad my Love Potion’s worked.”

They grin stupidly at each other, and Ginny’s heart is thrumming in her chest.

“I am sorry, though,” Harry says, his grin fading. “That people have been saying all that about you. I didn’t realize.”

“It’s fine,” Ginny says, waving her hand. “Honestly, they’ve done me a favor. Got you to admit how obsessed with me you are, didn’t they?”

“Didn’t realize I was hiding it,” Harry replies, casually delivering the fatal blow to Ginny’s composure.

“That’s it,” Ginny announces, stuffing her Transfiguration book into her bag. “We’re done with the library.”

“But you haven’t even started–”

“Don’t tell McGonagall, then. Come on.”

Harry doesn’t need telling twice, as he packs up his things with admirable speed.

They make their way to the Library exit, still grinning soppily at one another, and their path takes them past the table of Ravenclaws. As they’re passing, Ginny thinks she catches a snippet of their conversation, sees a tightening in Harry's jaw: “--so obvious, I bet she gets them from her brother’s joke shop–”

Suddenly, Ginny is being spun around on her heel. Before she has time to react, Harry kisses her, boldly, smack in the middle of the library. His hands come up to cup her face, and Ginny’s heart is hammering in her chest. After several moments, he pulls away, leaving Ginny feeling rather gobsmacked.

She watches as he shoots a nasty scowl at the Ravenclaw girls, who are all staring in blatant shock. Satisfied, he takes Ginny’s hand again and continues their meandering path from the library, as though they’d experienced no interruption.

“Er, Harry?” Ginny says, thoroughly gleeful. “Not complaining, or anything, but I’m not sure that helped with the whole Love Potion narrative. And it’s definitely not going to help me beat the tart allegations…”

Harry shoots her a sheepish look. “Fuck. Sorry. We’re both tarts, then.”

Ginny’s grin widens. “Oh really? I wish you’d told me sooner…”

#hinny #hbp missing moment #hinny fluff #canon compliant #ogden answers

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beloveds-embrace · 1 month ago

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I don't know if you've done something like this before but dukedom with a florist/botanist reader

The scent of fresh lavender and damp earth clung to your fingertips as you arranged the last bouquet of the morning, tying it off with a delicate ribbon. The small flower shop you owned, nestled near the outskirts of Duke Price’s grand estate, was quiet save for the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

You often supplied flowers for the manor- centerpieces for dinners, fresh herbs for the kitchen, roses for the gardens- but you had never once met the Duke himself. You had not met much of his household, either, though that wasn’t too surprising; there must be at the very least a hundred workers there.

But fate had other plans for you.

The bell above your shop door chimed, and you turned, expecting one of your usual customers. Instead, a broad-shouldered man strolled in, his sleeves rolled up as if he had just left a heated kitchen.

“Ah, finally found ye,” he said, his accent thick with a lilt. “Was beginnin’ to think this place was a myth.”

You blinked, setting down your shears. “Can I help you, sir?”

He grinned. “Johnny MacTavish. I run the kitchen over at Price Manor.” He leaned on the counter, glancing around at the hanging bundles of herbs and freshly cut flowers. “Kyle- that’s the head butler- told me you’ve got the best lavender around. I need some for a honey cake I’m makin’, and we’re runnin’ short.”

You hummed, already moving toward the drying racks. “You’re in luck, then. Just harvested some fresh stalks this morning.”

As you carefully wrapped the bundle for him, Johnny watched you with a curious expression. “Never seen ye ‘round the manor,” he remarked. Then gave you a grin. “But I seen ye pretty flowers ‘round often.”

“I usually deliver when you’re busy in the kitchen, I assume,” you said, handing him the wrapped herbs with a soft smile. “Though I’ve heard of you. Your bread is very popular.”

He grin widened, pleased. “Aye, I do my best.” He took the bundle, fingers brushing yours briefly. “Might have to find excuses to come by more often. You’re far more charmin’ than the usual market vendors, lass.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I imagine you say that to all the merchants.”

“Only the ones worth complimentin’.” He quipped, winking before heading out the door.

And just like that, your first thread into their world had been woven.

A week later, you found yourself face-to-face with the Kyle Garrick, the Duke’s head butler, standing at your shop’s doorstep in the early morning light.

“Apologies for calling on you so early,” he said, tone smooth and professional, eyes warm enough to replace the sun. “His Grace is hosting a dinner, and we’re in need of arrangements.”

You nodded, ushering him inside. “Of course. Any particular requests?”

Kyle glanced over the selection of flowers, thoughtful. “Something warm. Rich colors- autumnal, perhaps?”

You set to work, carefully selecting blooms that matched his vision, all the while feeling the weight of his gaze on you.

“You work quickly,” he observed, amusement and approval in his voice. “These will look wonderful when they will be used, I have no doubt.”

You glanced up, catching the small smile on his lips. “Years of practice.”

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, arms folding over his chest. “Johnny was right. You’ve got a charm about you.”

You raised a brow, finished with the arrangement; of course, this was simply to show him what you’d be making in hoards for the dinner. One arrangement was most definitely not enough. “Are you two always this flattering?”

Kyle smirked. “Only when it’s deserved.”

“He said the same thing!”

They weren’t the only ones you ended up interacting with; you had heard of Duke Simon Riley before. A man as mysterious as he was respected. Some said he was cold. Others said he was simply a man who valued silence over frivolous conversation. But all agreed that he and Duke Price were close friends.

So when he stepped into your shop one evening, his imposing frame half-shadowed by the setting sun, you were caught off guard.

“You’re her, then.” He said without much preamble.

You frowned, the little flower pot in your hands held carefully. “I… beg your pardon?”

“The florist.” He glanced around the shop, his expression unreadable beneath the mask of neutrality he wore so well like a lot of other nobles- though in your opinion, no one did it quite as well as him. “You’ve made quite the impression.”

Setting the pot down, you fingers tightened slightly around the stem of its rose. “I wasn’t aware I was being … observed. Forgive me for the use of such a word, sir, but-“

His gaze flicked back to yours, and he shook his head. “No apologies are needed. I understand, but… we notice things. Especially things worth noticing.”

We?

A beat of silence passed before he finally moved closer, picking up a baby’s-breath from a basket. His fingers, surprisingly gentle, brushed over the little flowers.

“They say flowers speak in their own language,” he murmured. “What would this one say?”

You swallowed, carefully choosing your words. “Baby’s breath represents sincerity and- and everlasting love, sir.”

Simon hummed, tucking the sprig into his coat pocket. “…Fitting. I shall return soon.”

And just like that, he was gone- even before you could tell him he would always be welcome (even if he was so strange).

And at last, you met Duke Price himself.

Deliveries to the manor were routine, but you never expected to meet the Duke himself. That changed one crisp afternoon when you arrived with your arms full of flowers, only to find the man himself standing at the doorway.

He was an imposing figure- broad shoulders, sharp blue eyes, and a well-tended-to beard flecked with gray. But when he smiled, it was warm, not intimidating.

“You’re the florist, then.” He mused, looking over the bouquet, unintentionally reminding you of Duke Riley’s words.

You managed a curtsy, despite your hands being full. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Beautiful work,” he said, gesturing for you to follow him inside. “Kyle, Johnny, and Simon have spoken highly of you.”

You hesitated, surprise blooming on your face. “They… have?”

He let out a deep chuckle. “Indeed. Said you’re clever with flowers. And sharp with words.”

Embarrassment crept up your neck. “I didn’t realize I had an audience.”

Price halted mid-step, turning to face you fully. His sharp blue eyes met yours, steady and intent.

“You have one now.”

There was something in his gaze- something deep, and it sent a quiet thrill through you, like the first whisper of a storm on the horizon.

(That first whisper, you’d eventually learn, would be their starting attempts of courting you).

#noona.asks #noona.writes #sorry for the abrupt ending 💔#cod x reader #cod x you #cod #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 x you #tf 141 #cod imagines #poly 141 x you #poly!141 x you #poly!141 x reader #poly!141 #poly 141 x reader #poly 141

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