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viennakarma · 1 year ago

Text

Everything I Wanted I.

LESTAPPEN X READER (Part 1)

Summary: Your journey to become a Motorsport legend wasn't easy, especially when your path clashed with your greatest rivals, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

Word count: 7.1k

Tags: Driver reader, mentions of crash, abusive parent, daddy issues, trust issues, character death (not reader), cursing, strong rivalry, misogyny in motorsport, invasive media, aggressive fans, reader suffers with cyberbullying and hate, smut, female reader, +18, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with plot, queer! everyone, polyamory lestappen, bit of dirty talking, pet names, not beta read

Relationships: Lestappen x Reader

Mentor!Kimi Raikkonen x Reader

Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton x Platonic!Reader

Notes: this is full of motorsport categories inaccuracies, just go with the vibes please. There are a few inaccuracies regarding other drivers' lives, but they are just to fit the story. I know I said it was a oneshot, but the thing got out of hand, and I had to split it in half. Soon there will be a part 2! English is not my first language, so please ignore any mistake!

Find me on Twitter!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“They’re not friends, you understand? They’re rivals, and that’s all they’ll ever be.”

You stand, hugging your helmet firmly against your chest, your dad’s words louder than the ringing in your ear from the way he slapped the side of your head. You were 9 and it was your first time competing in a karting competition. You tried to befriend the other kids your age, but as soon as your dad called you away, fuming, you knew it was a mistake.

You followed your dad’s orders, and didn’t talk to any of the boys again. Max was already cold towards you, so he pretty much ignored your existence. But Charles was more talkative, and as you stopped answering him, he became taunting, annoying, but you didn’t fall behind, you used to clap back at him with the same intensity.

Sometimes you eavesdropped on their conversations, initially it wasn’t intentional, but they were always complaining about you, calling you names, and you realized your dad was right, they would never see you as a friend or equal, only as a rival.

One day you’re walking by when you hear your name in their conversation.

“Nah, don’t worry about Y/N,” Max shrugged, his accent thick, as he pointed to the side of his temple “she’s a little slow, but maybe she’ll catch up.”

You stood there, his words echoing in your head, she’s a little slow, that was a kind way to call you stupid, which, compared to the way your father called you that many times, it was much sweeter. You shouldn’t have let that get to your head, specially said that way. But then again, you were 11, and you kept hearing those words again and again in your head. You never considered yourself dumb, your grades in school were average, and whenever you had time off of karting to study for your exams, your grades became even better, a little above average.

And despite knowing that, after going back home after the competition, you spent the whole Saturday at the local library, studying everything you could find on motorsports and Formula One. You lent books on strategy, history, and even mechanics. Every spare time you had, you spent reading those books, or lending others. You didn’t want to be slow as they had called you.

After that, you stopped talking to Max completely.

“This is a waste!” Your dad shouted, and you flinched, taking a discreet step back, away from him, trying to avoid him getting physical.

You had argued with him, which made him more furious. You tried to tell him it wasn’t your fault, you were just as good at racing as everyone else, maybe better, but no one was willing to give a girl a chance. It made him even angrier.

“You had one job! You get into F4 on your first try!”

You wanted to tell him it wasn’t your fault. That they weren’t willing to give a girl a chance, even if you were better than half of the boys who made it to F4. But your dad didn’t care about any of it, he wanted you to succeed or nothing. He used to always say that anything below first place is failure.

So he decided you, at 14, weren’t worth the money he spent on karting. And he simply left. Making peace with the fact that your dad never saw you as his kid, but more like an investment, was hard.

“You’re never going to be a Formula 1 champion.” Was the last thing he said to you, before dropping you at your mom’s to never come back.

Living with your mom ever since your dad gave you up was something else. She had lost everything after the divorce, thanks to a prenup she had naively signed without knowing anything about it. So when you moved in with her, you noticed how the house was smaller than your dad’s, you two slept in the single room that was there. Your mom worked two jobs living paycheck to paycheck, and you barely saw her. But she was kind, comforting.

You soon realized that she wouldn’t be able to provide for your karting career. So you lied, you told her your dad was still paying for the karting, and you found two part time jobs to pay for racing. You mom worked so much, she didn’t notice your absence in the afternoons, when you went to work in an auto repair shop. Sometimes, on the rare occasions she was off work in the afternoons, you lied and told her you were out with friends, or studying in the library or even doing extracurriculars. You had the best intentions, you used to tell yourself at night whenever you laid awake, you knew she would blame herself or even work herself to death to provide for you.

The entirety of the next year was a constant struggle, and you worked, and scrapped and lied your way through the entire karting competition. It was one of your last chances to get into F4, and you weren’t sure you could live another year that way, without a sponsor.

When the competition ended, you were second place overall. Your kart had problems during the race and you were sad that it affected your performance in a race you could’ve won.

You walked closer as you saw a few of the other boys gathering around some adults, you eyed them curiously. As soon as you noticed who they were, you swallowed. They were probably scouts, it was very common in finals of these competitions, you were used to it. You also were used to being ignored by all of them scouts. You had tried many times before to make connections and make yourself known, maybe even meeting a potential sponsor, but they always ignored you. They weren’t interested in a girl, they didn’t care about a woman in motorsports. Your only hope was that one day you would meet a female scout and she would see your potential.

But meanwhile, there were only men, and they didn’t give two fucks about you. So you didn’t even get close enough to join, you heard Charles and Max talking with them, and you just turned around, going back to your kart.

You pulled a few tools from your backpack, working to fix the difficulties you felt during the race.

“What are you doing?” A man approached you, crouching close to watch your work. You briefly looked up, the guy was wearing sunglasses and a cap, just a normal guy, looking like someone’s dad.

“I’m fixing my steering wheel, it was a bit stuck during the race so I had to double the force used to be able to make it work,” you explained, and he nodded.

“You finished second, right? Why are you here by yourself?” The man asked.

“The other kids don’t like me very much. And they’re talking to the scouts,” you shrugged, trying not to think about all the opportunities they would get and you wouldn’t.

“You should be there, no? Meeting scouts is important for your career.”

“They’re not very interested in a girl racer. Believe me, I know.” You muttered, finishing with the steering wheel, testing to see if it was working all right. You turned, fixing your left rear tyre. The tyre wasn’t responding very well to the braking, “besides, my kart won’t fix itself, right? Look, you see how this tyre is slower to respond to my braking? It messed up with my balance during the race. I could have won.”

“Shouldn’t you take your kart somewhere to get it fixed?” The man asked, helping you unscrew the tyre.

“Can’t afford it,” you said, “I’m saving to try and get into F4, so I can’t spare any money on this one.”

You weren’t usually this talkative with new people, mostly keeping to yourself. But maybe you were missing a grownup figure in your life since your dad had dipped and your mom was always busy. And that man sounded really interested in your stuff, so it felt natural explaining to him.

“So, no one sponsoring you?” He asked, which made you look at him again, hesitantly.

“No, uh, I had one but he dropped me last year” you said, leaving out that part that it was your dad.

“You know who I am?” The man asked and you looked at him, shaking your head.

“Someone’s dad? I mean, I haven’t been introduced to all the kids and their parents yet, but you’re kinda familiar, so-” As you were babbling and trying to explain, he took off the cap and sunglasses, and you immediately recognized him, “oh my god!”

“Shh, shh” he silenced you, putting the disguise back.

“You’re Kimi Raikkonen!” You whispered, and he nodded.

“I’ll be your new sponsor, eh? What do you say?”

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," he nodded.

"How do you know I'm good enough for a sponsorship?" You asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, are you good enough for a sponsorship?" He asked. He had been keeping an eye out at that very category, and you had caught his attention as seemingly smart and emotionally controlled with the kart.

"I'm the best of the bunch," you smiled at him and you won him over with that answer.

Kimi became your lifeline, in a way. His family was quick to embrace you in an affectionate way you would’ve never expected of them. They invited you for their little New Year’s party, and you eventually told everything about your life to Kimi. His wife Minttu had also taken you as one of her own and their kids liked you a lot.

Under Minttu’s suggestion, Kimi also enrolled you in language classes, so besides English, you spent the next years learning French and Spanish, and you also caught a little Finnish from being so close to them.

You kept pushing your way up from F4 to F3 and so on, but instead of climbing it steadily like the boys, you had to win two or three times more than them to prove you were worth taking the next step.

You were 16 when your paths crossed with the boys from your childhood again. They recognised you, but they never really talked to you, so they didn't this time around either.

Coming out of the bathroom you once again caught a conversation, and you stopped dead as soon as you heard your name.

“No, not really… I don’t see her like that at all- she’s- uh-” Charles was speaking, probably looking for the words in english, “-she’s more like one of the boys.”

You paused, your breath hitched.

“Yeah,” that was Max, “I don’t see her like that either. I guess she doesn’t care about the things girls her age do.”

You felt a lump in your throat, retreating back to the bathroom. You stood in front of the mirror, watching your face as the tears fell down on your cheeks. You were dressed in your regular racing day attire, cargo pants and a sweater. You didn’t wear makeup and your hair was all frizzy because of the helmet.

The next time you went to the Raikkonen residence, you pulled Minttu aside one moment.

“I want to be pretty. Will you help me?”

You two went through a long chat with Minttu reassuring you that you were pretty in your own way and you insisting you wanted to be pretty like other girls, more feminine and girly.

When you entered F2 after the winter break, you felt and looked like some better version of yourself. Minttu had helped you set a skincare routine that was already helping clear your face from teenage acne. She also took you to a hair salon, where you trimmed your hair and made a few highlights. She upgraded your wardrobe, and even if you tried to refuse saying it was too much, she said it was a Christmas gift and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Your path until reaching F1 was slow and steady, and you were a reserve driver for two years before finally getting a seat at McLaren. You knew Kimi probably had a hand in getting you a chance, but he denied every time you asked.

Kimi told you the raw truth before the season started. He and Minttu sat you down and talked about how the world and Formula 1 would expect more of you than of any other rookie. How they would stress your mistakes tenfold. How they would diminish your achievements with the same intensity. You weren’t afraid, really.

“I’ve lived with my greatest hater more than half of my life, I can handle strangers” you had laughed to the couple.

Still, Kimi taught you everything about his Iceman persona, and told you to pick whatever you wanted from it. Minttu also convinced you to start therapy, which you accepted.

The hate started as soon as you were announced. Beyond the regular misogyny, they were calling you too old to be a rookie at 24, they were questioning your abilities even with numerous championships from other categories to back you up, even with the fact that your mentor was Kimi fucking Raikkonen. But you didn’t let any of that get under your skin.

Sebastian Vettel was quickly drawn to you, and he became your first friend in Formula 1. He had been close with Kimi from the time they were teammates, and he kinda adopted you.

The guys your age didn’t want to get too close to you. The very few times they talked or walked with you, it sparked romance rumors, and soon they pretty much ignored or avoided you. You knew their intentions weren't to be mean, they were probably just avoiding problems with the media and their girlfriends or wives, but it didn’t hurt any less every time they walked straight past you.

One of those times you were going to the group press conference and all three of the guys walked past you as you tried to chat with them. Your shoulders slumped, and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“What was that?” You jumped at the sound of another voice. You looked behind you to see Fernando Alonso walking up to you. Up until that point, he had been polite to you.

“Oh,” you stumbled over your words, “being seen talking to me is bad press, apparently.”

“Una tontería,” he muttered, shaking his head, which made you laugh, surprised. He put a friendly hand over your shoulder and led you to the media session.

Simples as that, Fernando too became your friend.

You asked your PR manager, Amanda, to bend a few rules to make sure you would always be at the press conference with Seb and Nando or at least one of them. Most of the time, you did. But sometimes you were unlucky and had to sit stiffly through rounds of absurdly odd (and downright misogynistic) questions by yourself.

Soon you gave up on befriending the other drivers and being charming to the media. You realized the Iceman persona of Kimi looked like a good way to protect yourself from the clutches of the motorsport world. By the sixth race of the year, you gained the Lioness nickname. An agile hunter in your driving style and just as fierce in your answers.

“You’re always seen more comfortable with either Sebastian or Fernando, who are way older than you” some reporter said, “why is that?”

“I believe we’re closer in maturity age,” you said, face expressionless. You heard snickers around the room and you looked to Fernando who was visibly holding a laugh.

“So you’re saying the other drivers are immature?” The reporter pressed, but you didn’t want to talk anymore.

“No,” it’s all you answered, putting your mic down.

Everyone already thought you were arrogant, selfish, and superficial, and as you embraced your cold persona, you just fed into their assumptions. You couldn't care less, it was a good way to protect yourself, to be distant from the media who were constantly trying to drag you to the dirt.

“You mentioned the other day that you believe you should’ve joined F1 around the time the guys your age did. Why do you think that didn’t happen?”

“Because of what’s between my legs, Brian” you deadpanned.

You had to prove yourself two or three times more than the boys every single step of the way, to get into F4, F3, F2 and now F1. You made it, you were there, between the 20 best of motorsport in the whole world… and still… Still you had to hear questions about how you managed to race with a period, questions about boyfriends, questions about hair care or skin care, or whatever. You wouldn’t mind any of that if those were common questions, if they were asked of every driver, but they were only asked of you.

“I would like to express that, from now on, I will only answer questions that would be asked of the male drivers too, about the sport, about the cars, about strategies and everything that revolves around racing,” you warned one day before the end of a media conference when someone asked if your PMS interfered in your racing.

You started to not give two fucks about the media. Every time someone asked you a misogynistic question you just stared at them and put your mic down. So those types of question died down a little bit.

“Do you think you would’ve already been world champion had you entered Formula 1 earlier, let’s say at age 19/20?”

“Yes.”

Most of the guys ignored or avoided you, but your path always clashed with Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen. They always hinted at not liking you in the slightest, and the media and the fans started catching up to it, throughout your rookie year. They would shamelessly shade you, and you never backed down, giving it as hard as you got.

You walked to a reporter, still using a towel to dry your face at the post race interview.

“Did you hear what Leclerc said about your move as you left the pits?” The man asked you.

“No, I didn’t. Do I look like I care about a man’s opinion?” You said, loud and clear.

You got as many fans as you got haters, especially as you messed with Leclerc’s and Verstappen’s loud fanbases. It wasn’t really on purpose, but one of them would usually jab at you in interviews, and when word got back to you, it would anger you to no end, and you would shade them back, and in an insane amount of back-and-forths until your rivalry was in articles, the news, twitter threads, and in the mind of every single reporter in a race week.

“Verstappen talked about your overtake at lap 49, he said it was a dirty move.”

“Like he did to me back in Silverstone?” Your eyes held a mischievous glint as you scoffed, “Funny, you didn’t see me whining about it back then.”

You had the best rookie year ever since Lewis Hamilton debuted. You almost reached the same overall numbers as him, getting six podiums and your first ever Formula 1 victory. You finished the driver’s championship in fifth place, over older drivers that were literal champions of the world.

The first time Lewis Hamilton really engaged in conversation with you was during the FIA Prize Giving Ceremony by the end of the season. You were proudly smiling, holding your Rookie of the Year trophy. He had been polite to you before, but he always looked unattainable, in a way. He was beyond the world of Formula 1.

“Congratulations!” He smiled at you, sitting by your side. Your heart thrumming in your chest, trying not to fangirl too much. Sometimes it was unbelievable sharing casual conversation with legends you grew up admiring from afar.

“Thank you, Lewis. Congratulations on the championship!” You said.

“I’m sorry for not realizing most of the boys were excluding you. I chatted about it with Seb, and he told me your only friends are him and Fernando.” Lewis whispered, looking genuine, “I guess I was so focused on the championship that I didn’t bother to check on you. I’m sorry, really.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you raised your trophy, “I made it, right?”

“Succeeding despite the adversities… I see traits of a champion in you, congratulations” Lewis got up, raising his flute in a toast for you, “see you around, Lioness!”

Soon the next season you realized you had a competitive car. More than the year before. As for the first few races of the season, you had a win and podiums, which put you as a contender for the driver’s championship. Unfortunately the other people competing closely with you were none other than Charles and Max. Your rivalry had died down a bit when they noticed that you only shaded them when they provoked you first. So as their jabs became few and far between, it meant your clap backs did too.

The season was as good as it could get, that is until Monza.

You had felt the problems braking specifically during qualifying and your team tried to fix it but there wasn’t much anyone could do due to parc fermé. So you spent part of the night before the race working with your strategist to find a way around your braking problems and the best way to preserve your tyres.

The data had shown it would take a bit more strength to brake, which would eat up at your tyres quicker than usual, but other than that, everything seemed normal.

You all were wrong.

As the race went on, your brakes got progressively worse, to the point that curves were taking your body strength so much you could feel your muscles sore.

“We are considering retiring the car,” Jace, your engineer said. You inhaled, trying to calm down.

You were barely holding your P5, when you saw a Red Bull approaching you. You weren’t in position to fight, so he overtook you turning in a chicane. But your brakes didn’t work as you tried to slow down behind Max’s car, you tried not going into him but your tyres locked as you tried to avoid his rear. You drove straight into his rear, making the two of you lose control of your car. You braced for impact against the wall but luckily the gravel slowed you enough that you just touched the barrier.

After checking with your engineer, you left the car and saw Max leaving his, both DNFs.

You knew of your fame of being a reckless driver, often known for risky maneuvers and overtakes, but you never dove into someone intentionally because you knew trying to take someone out would mean yourself getting taken out too. As a marshal took you back to the garage on a motorcycle, you were ready to swallow your pride and apologize to Max for accidentally taking him out.

But as soon as you stepped down from the motorcycle, Max was in your space. His face was red and his hair all sweaty and disheveled, when he fronted you, chest to chest. You knew there were dozens of cameras pointed to you, so you tried to diffuse the tension for once.

“Are you insane?! Why did you drive into me?!” He kept advancing and for each of his steps ahead, you took one back to try and explain. But he didn’t give you a second screaming all kinds of curses and blame, “you should’ve never made it to Formula 1!”

His words were like a slap to the face, and you stopped trying to apologize or explain. You put both hands to your back, inflating your chest to face him.

“You don’t get to fucking decide that! You dipshit! Who the fuck do you think you are?” You said to his face, that’s when someone from the RedBull garage ran closer and stood between you.

You watched as he was taken away from you and inside his garage. At the same time your PT found you and walked you back to McLaren.

Changing from your race suit, you tried to cool down before going to the media. You gulped down your water as you watched Charles leading the race, and getting closer to the championship than you.

“There was an altercation between you and Max Verstappen, can you comment on that?”

“He was visibly upset with the racing incident.” It was all you said, after chatting with your PR manager before stepping out to chat with the journalists.

“And what happened at that incident? Can you walk us through it?”

“Yes, uh, we’ve been feeling something wrong with our braking system since yesterday. The data showed us it would require me to be more forceful during braking, which seemed feasible. But the brakes were wearing off during the race and we were about to retire when I completely lost the brakes. I really tried to avoid him but my tyres locked and I ended up hitting Verstappen.”

“Are you sure this accident has nothing to do with the ongoing rivalry between the two of you?” You got offended by the reporter's words.

“Of course! I would never intentionally do something to put myself or other drivers at risk. I have all the data to back me up and anyone can check my onboard.”

The FIA investigated your altercation with Max, and you ended up getting an unsportsmanlike behavior penalty. Two points in your super license.

“What the fuck?! Why the fuck would I be punished for that! There are fourteen different angles from that argument and all of them show how Verstappen aggressively came on to me first!”

It got worse when you heard that only you had gotten a penalty and Max didn’t even get a reprimand.

Everyone close to you noticed how you were on edge next week. During media day your answers were short, dry, and every single journalist seemed to want to talk about the penalty.

“Yes, I do have opinions on my penalty. But no, I won’t talk about it, only the FIA’s opinion is relevant” Your words during the press conference were enough to express a little dissatisfaction and to put an end to those questions. Everyone was surprised at the fact you chose to be quiet about the whole ordeal, they were all expecting your complaints and harsh words.

When you went back to your driver’s room, you went straight to lay your head on your mom’s lap, feeling a bit down. You stayed quiet as she ran her hands through your hair softly untangling it. She knew you were upset and why, so none of you bother to voice anything, bashing in the comforting silence.

The best thing about Formula 1 was being able to retire your mom from working, now you didn’t have to worry about her burning out and she didn’t have to worry about bills or mortgage or debts. Now she had a new, bigger and better house, everything was paid for and you even gave her a credit card for hobbies or whatever she wanted. She sometimes went to the races, but she usually stayed at home, relaxing.

“I know things are hard right now,” you mom started, her voice soft, caring, “but I know you can do it, honey. You’ve faced pushback since the beginning of this dream, but you always came out on top.”

“Thank you for believing in me.”

“You will be a world champion, honey. I know it.” She smiled down at you.

You sat up as your mom removed her watch, handing it to you.

“I wanted to give it to you on your birthday, but I feel like this is the right moment,” she turned the watch, showing you the inscription that read strong woman, and you felt your eyes water, “this was my grandma’s. She gave it to my mom, who gave it to me, and now it’s yours.”

That week you got a victory, raising your P1 trophy for your mom, who was watching you with a hand on her heart, crying happy tears.

As the season progressed the championship became even tighter between the three of you. Mere points set the three of you apart, and with each week result, the P1, P2 and P3 shifted between you. It had become one of the most competitive seasons in the sport.

When the third to last race came in Qatar, you were P3 in the championship, and you needed at least P4 in that race to keep fighting for the championship. You didn’t care about anything other than getting a podium, focused on your racing mindset, no distractions. If you only got that win, it would mean getting back that P1 in the championship and you would go down in history.

You were P3 after your last pitstop of the race, you had a small window of time to take advantage of being with new mediums while everyone else was with old softs. You had to pull ahead and open at least ten seconds, so you could become first when Max went to the pits. You had the perfect opportunity for an undercut.

That was until you overtook Charles’ Ferrari for P2. You passed him easily, he hadn’t gone to the pits yet, so he had old tyres. But you frowned as Jace warned you about Leclerc trying to take the position back. He couldn’t fight against your new tyres, everyone knew that. You accelerated to open a distance, but as you went fast into turn 4, you only felt the hit to your side, making you lose control of the car.

It was barely a few seconds that you couldn’t wrap your head around, so shocked you couldn’t brake, only feeling your stomach churn as you braced for impact. The second hit came against the barriers even harder than the first, it shook your whole body, leaving you dizzy and out of breath.

You talked with Jace, telling him in a shaky voice that you were okay but out of breath, and you unlocked your seatbelts with trembling hands. After removing your steering wheel, you tried to get up but you were dizzy and your legs felt like jelly. A marshal helped you out of the car, but as soon as your feet were on the ground, you stumbled to your knees. The nausea got the best of you and you puked against your balaclava and inside the helmet. The marshals made a small shield around you, as one of them helped you remove the helmet and balaclava, still dry heaving. The marshal gave you a towel, and you cleaned the best you could as the ambulance was coming.

You looked behind you to your destroyed car.

And just like that, you had lost any chance at the championship.

You held your tears as you went through the medical procedures and examinations. The world had been muted in the background and you could only hear the noise of the crash, visualizing your ruined car, and your dreams being crushed once again.

But as you came back to the hospitality, you found your mom, and sobbed quietly against her chest.

“It’s ok, honey. It’s okay,” her voice was so soothing and the pain meds were working, so you cried yourself to sleep while she held you.

Later that day, you watched the replay of your crash. Leclerc had gone way too close to you, but in turn 4 he hit the curbs and lost control, hitting your car right in the middle, full force. Your car had spun out a lot then hit the barriers. It was lucky that you had come out of the crash relatively unharmed, it was ugly and could’ve been a lot worse, from the way you spun and the G force your car hit the barrier with.

“You’re still watching that?” Your mom’s voice sounded in the middle of the night.

“He shouldn’t have tried to fight for the position back, he didn’t even have enough tyres for that! And he was way too close, look!”

Your mom closed your laptop, putting it on the coffee table. She took your hands in hers and smiled gently.

“I’m sorry about the championship. But I’m glad you’re okay, that was one of the scariest couple of seconds of my entire life,” she whispered, teary eyed.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, ashamed that it didn’t cross your mind how worried she might have been.

“It’s okay, honey. There’s always next year, I’m sure you will be world champion. And will be there cheering for you.”

The next week in Jeddah, you felt like the world was out to get you when they put you in the press conference with both Max and Charles, as well as Lewis and Sebastian.

“Y/N, how are you feeling after last week’s crash? It looked pretty bad.” Someone asked.

“I am doing ok, thank you,” that’s all you said into the mic.

“Unfortunately, the crash ultimately took you out of the championship, what do you say about that?”

You were so tired of that question, so tired of your PR manager talking in your head about not blaming Charles publicly, despiste your desire to scream to whoever may hear that the monegasque just wanted to take you out of the competition, so he could fight only Verstappen for the championship. You just wanted the season to be over, in all honesty.

“There’s always next year, right?” You echoed your mom's words, that were also your rehearsed answer. You looked to the side, feeling Sebastian’s hand softly on your forearm, a silent show of support.

You left as soon as it was over. You knew Charles had been trying to talk to you. You supposed it was to apologize, but you weren’t having it. You were still so angry at him that you worried you’d punch him as soon as he was in your face. So you just avoided him like the plague. You didn’t want to see him, and you couldn’t afford another punishment if you acted on your anger.

“Charles has been looking for you,” Sebastian said, walking up to you as you were finishing braiding your hair for the race.

“I have been avoiding him,” you said, not looking at Seb, still focusing on your braids.

“He just wants to apologize.”

“And I want to punch him in the face, so what? We can’t always get what we want” You clenched your jaw, using an elastic band to finish.

“Y/N…” Sebastian sounded tired.

“Don’t Y/N me. I just want this season to be over, ok? The championship was in my reach, and now it’s not. And it wasn’t even my own fault. So no, I won’t see him.”

Sebastian didn’t say anything as he walked to you and pulled you in an affectionate hug that made you want to cry again.

During the driver’s parade, Fernando acted almost as a guard dog, not letting anyone close to you. You talked with him and Lewis about the crash, explaining how it felt to you.

When the season ended, you got a third place trophy during the Prize Giving Ceremony. You remembered your dad’s words throughout the entire night. Coming down from the stage, and you met with Minttu and Kimi, they congratulated you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of failure. You looked at Charles on the stage with his P2 trophy.

“Anything other than the first is failure, right?” You sighed, eyes glued to the stage, where Max got the trophy of Champion of the World.

“What crap is that?” Kimi said, suddenly.

“My dad used to say that when I was a kid.”

“Well he was an asshole,” Kimi said matter-of-factly, “and he never made it to F1. He didn’t even make it to F4, he has no reason or power to get in your head. You were just a kid. You understand?”

“Yes, Kimi," you swallowed, feeling some kind of wheight being lifted from your shoulders. Kimi had done many great things for your life with very few words, and his succint way of being was great to pull you back to the present whenever you anxiety got the best of you.

You ended up getting the Personality of the Year award too, which was such a surprise that it worked wonders to lift your spirits and to end the season with a sweet note.

Even being in a better mood, you didn’t stay at the party too late, saying your farewell to your friends as you dropped Kimi and his wife at the hotel. You were removing your makeup after a shower when there was a knock on your hotel room door. Thinking it was an emergency, you rushed only to be faced with Charles Leclerc.

“What are you doing here?” You looked around the hall, confused.

“Can I talk to you?” Charles was still dressed in his formal attire, black tie. He fiddled with his fingers as you let him in, afraid someone might see him at your door.

“What?” You crossed your arms as you closed the door.

“I’m really sorry about the crash in Qatar,” he waited for your answer with bated breath.

“Can we have this conversation when next season starts?” You proposed. You knew you weren’t ready for that talk yet, too much anger was still clouding your judgment for a level-headed talk.

“It wasn’t my intention to take you out-” He started but you cut him off.

“Look, you’ve never liked me, I’m aware, and you cost me an entire championship, so I don’t know if I believe you.”

“It really wasn’t intentional, the accident cost me the championship as well,” you could see in his eyes that his patience was wearing thin. But so did yours.

“No it didn’t. You still had a chance even after that DNF, you just didn’t win anyway,” your anger simmered again, making you raise your voice.

“Fuck you! You treat me like this because you always felt like you were better than everyone-”

“I treat you like this?! Be fucking for real, Charles! You hate me so much you took my chance at the championship away!”

“If you had more wins during the season maybe this wouldn’t be a problem right now!”

“Unbelievable! Because you are so much better than me, all you got was second place!”

“Shut up.”

“You’ve always hated me for absolutely no reason-”

“Shut up.”

“And now you think you can barge into my room and tell me you think I’m a shitty driver? I’m not standing for-”

“Shut up!” He shouted, which was so surprising you actually stopped talking.

The both of you were breathing heavily, in one second you were sure you could strangle him, in the next, his lips were against yours and his hand gripping your hair. The kiss was nasty, all teeth and lips and tongue, his hands going down your body, pressing you into him, and your fingers tugging at his suit, ripping the buttons. You broke the kiss, gasping for air, but Charles’ lips found your neck and he bit into your pulse point.

“Fuck you, Charles” you said, breathless, opening his trousers and he ripped your little sleep top with his bare hands.

It was so hot as you stumbled backwards and he followed you, tossing your top behind him, you took off his shirt and undershirt and he helped you kick out your shorts.

Charles pressed you against the wall, kissing you aggressively again, and you moaned as he placed his thigh between your legs, and you ground against him, turned on, dampening his trousers with the wet of your panties. You pressed your hand against his bulge, and he groaned, pressing into you even harder, humping like horny teenagers.

You didn’t even bother to get him naked, with his trousers half undone, you just pulled his cock out, heavy in your hands. You watched his pained expression as you spit on your hand so you could masturbate him.

“Fuck it,” you moaned, knowing grinding on him was not nearly enough.

You pulled your panties to the side, and lined his cock up into you. It was so tight as he slid into you, that your eyes rolled in pleasure, and he raised one of your legs against his waist to make room for his hips. He pulled back and snapped his hips into you again, his cock stretching you so good you were shaking. You put one arm around his shoulders holding on him and the other hand you held his ass under his loose trousers, your nails biting into his flesh as you pushed him even deeper.

“Fuck, ah-” he moaned in your ear, “so hot- putain-”

The loud, wet sounds of his hips pistoning into you were obscene. You angrily bit him, his shoulders, his chest, his jaw and he went even harder, your back hitting the wall behind you, and you pulled his hair, sweat starting to form all over your body.

“Fuck, Charles!” Your moans got even louder, and Charles stuck two fingers into your mouth, muffling your sounds as he fucked you.

He was hitting the perfect spot inside you, and it was enough for you to know you would come that way. You slapped his cheek, taking out some of your anger and he groaned, going harder. He pulled his fingers from your mouth and held your neck, pressing your torso against the wall and choking you a little bit.

“I can’t hold much longer” he warned you between gritted teeth, relentlessly fucking you.

You pinched your own nipples and it didn’t take long for you to come, your cunt clenching so hard around him, it was enough to send him over the edge too.

Shaking, the two of you slid to the floor, breathlessly lying down, half naked and sweaty.

None of you said a word.

When he was ready to go again, he put you on your knees, your torso against the mattress, and he pounded into your cunt mercilessly from behind.

The third and last time was lazy, slow missionary and he held your wrists above your head with one hand, pressed your clit with the other, sucked a few hickeys around your tits and his cock pressed over and over your g-spot.

When you woke up the next morning, Charles was still asleep by your side. You went into the bathroom and showered, hoping he would catch the hint and leave. But as you came out showered and dressed, he was still out cold. So you quietly packed your bag and left for the airport.

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #lestappen x reader #lestappen #Spotify

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ghouldump · 4 months ago

Note

more loustat x chill/unbothered/oblivious fem reader PLEASE!!

maybe she's like been a part of their relationship for a while, and she like the fledgling of some other vampire, her and her maker were like chill and totally platonic he dipped at some point before she met loustat, and she like the sane one between them and unfortunately gets ignored/left out unfortunately

something like the scene from season 1 where Louis swims across the Mississippi river to get to Lestat, and like reader is there too cause she went w Louis and loustat being there dramatic selves while she's just like trying to talk it out like adults, and then it spirals into argument about her wanting to visit her maker because Lestat, and tbh Louis too, is petty like that

Also your iwtv fics are my life line omg!!🎀

L'amour De Ma Vie | Lestat x Reader x Louis

ෆ while you love your companions, it is no secret that they oftentimes exclude you, and it isn't until you leave that they go into panic mode.

I love this idea, I hope you don't mind me changing it a little bit 🩷

“Louis, Y/n, you’re both soaking wet,” Lestat sat up from the bed.

Glancing at Louis, you could tell he was seconds away from slapping the smirk from Lestat’s face. The woman, Antoinette, wrapped one of the many sheets around her body, awkwardly staring at the two of you.

“Leave,” he told her, and just like that, she was up, running out of the bedroom.

“What are you two doing here?”

“Looking for you, and we…found you,” you answered. Louis remained silent, staring at Lestat, his mind all over the place from his companion's betrayal.

You understood where he was coming from, but at the same time, you didn't. Your maker, Lucius, lives a polyamorous lifestyle. From the moment he turned you, becoming his daughter, you saw the plethora of women and men come and go. Eternity was too long for him to stay with one person, he'd jokingly say, leaving a trail of broken hearts.

“You put your lover on the song, and expect us to come running back to you,” Louis screamed at him.

“I wanted a clear voice, to get the-

“I don’t give a fuck,” Louis interrupted.

“Louis, we agreed that we would just talk it out,” you told him, watching as he was fuming, but he ignored your words.

“You two swam to Mississippi to find me,” Lestat kept the same expression, eyeing the both of you lustfully.

“I swim faster than I drive,” Louis said, his fangs coming out.

“We don’t have to fight like this, we can find a middle ground-

“No, why are you acting unbothered by him stepping out on both of us?” Louis asked.

“I’m not, polyamory isn’t a deal breaker for me, so I feel like-

“He cheated Y/n, whatever bullshit you were exposed to by your maker, doesn’t apply in this relationship,” he told you, catching you off guard.

“That isn’t what I’m saying, we came here because of the song but also because we’ve agreed to make things work”

“So why are you acting like you’re on his side?”

“Louis, what are you talking about? Just because I’m not as angry as you, doesn’t mean I am against you, Lucius has always said anger is-

“Do you always have to bring him up?” Lestat asked a slight frown in place.

“Lucius, Lucius, Lucius, are you with us, or Lucius?” He raised his voice. Furrowing your eyebrows, you were extremely confused, about how the conversation went from Lestat’s infidelity to your relationship with your maker.

“I’m beginning to question the same thing,” you said, backing away.

“Y/n, I’m sorry,” Louis shook his head, mentally criticizing himself for his choice of words.

“It’s okay,” you smiled at him, before leaving, due to your small age difference in your makers, you were faster than Louis, going back home.

You hated this feeling, this emotion, how your mind made you think of things that never bothered you too much before, but now did. From the moment you joined their companionship, you were constantly unintentionally excluded. Even in public, you cringed at times you were assumed to be nothing more than a friend of the two.

Entering the home you had grown to love, you went upstairs, packing some clothing in a bag. You were thankful that Claudia was out hunting, knowing your departure wouldn’t be so smooth if she’d been home. Leaving the bedroom, the family portrait caught your eye, making you pout.

Claudia sat on the sofa, while you, stood next to Louis and Lestat, who leaned against the sofa. You had been hesitant to take the photos, but they all insisted. As the photographer went to snap the photo, Lestat glanced at you.

“Come closer,” he said, pulling you between him and Louis.

His hand on your waist, while Louis held your hand, you all looked like a happy family.

Wiping the tear from your eye, you thought of how despite the occasional exclusion, they did so much more that made you overlook the habit. Maybe you could just get away for a little while, before coming back home.

Glamouring your way from state to state, for well over 24 hours, before you arrived in Los Angeles. Lucius fit into the bright city where stars and beauty resided. As you drained the shipment driver, you felt your blood pumping, an adrenaline rush of excitement coursing through your veins. Lifting from the man, you looked around, sensing the familiar presence near.

“I knew it was you I was sensing,” you heard, smiling brightly, you climbed out of the truck, running into Lucius' arms. His expensive scent filled your nose, as you wiped your mouth.

“What are you wearing, my love, is this what they wear down in New Orleans?” he asked, staring at your outfit. Beige trousers, along with a light pink blouse, he shook his head in disapproval. He considered himself to have impeccable taste in clothing, but he also was old-fashioned in some ways.

“I couldn't have traveled practically in a dress,” you said.

“I am more than glad that you are here, but why so sudden? I mean, no letter or postcard”

“I just wanted to get away from home for a while”

“Those two aren't treating you right? They are easily replaceable, what have I always told you, an eternity is-

“too long to be stuck with the same person, and I should always explore my taste, I know, and Louis and Lestat are fine, I just wanted to get away, I was hoping I could stay with you, for some time, if that's alright”

“Of course, you are always welcome,” he said, walking you to his car.

He didn't live too far away, in an expensive neighborhood, his villa home, the most extravagant. Stepping out, you immediately noticed the woman, peaking from the window.

“You have company?”

“Yes, Sonya, she wants to be an actor”

“You said that weirdly, is she special, maybe a potential companion?” you asked him, grinning.

“She has very sweet blood and an equally cute face, so I keep her around”

“You were just talking about me being with the same people-

“My love, this is different, she has grown on me, yes, but I think we both know I’ll eventually crave something new,” he smirked, as he wrapped his arm around you, leading you into the house.

“Shameless,” you laughed.

“It's true, and the best part of all, when the sex is wonderful they always come running back, come on, I have an extra coffin, you can sleep in”

“I went all the way to Metairie, and nothing, what about you?” Louis announced, walking back into the house. Pacing the floor, while Lestat sat at the piano, staring off into space.

“Why is he back here, I thought we weren’t talking to him right now? And where’s Y/n?” Claudia asked.

“Not now Clau-

“She’s gone, she took some clothes and left,” Lestat finally spoke.

“She can’t be too far, we can still find her and-

“I’ve been all over Mississippi, searching, nothing, not a trace, I can’t think of where she could be and I’m not her m-” Stopping in his speech, he put his head down, clenching his jaw. His leg shook lightly, trying to contain his anger.

“What is it?” Louis asked as he and Claudia stared confusedly at him.

“She’s with her maker,” he managed to get out.

His eyes reddened as he grew angrier, Lestat couldn’t help that he was inherently jealous, unrighteously possessive, especially towards those he loved, and that was very few. You were the most relaxed, forgiving vampire he'd ever met. Extremely oblivious and doting, you'd brag to whoever would listen about how great he was.

While he and Louis held all of the attention, he could hear you bragging to some mortal how well-dressed Louis was, or how Lestat was the greatest musician to grace your ears. You would go on and on, stroking their egos, willingly accepting and loving their baggage Claudia, you were a precious gem, adored by them both.

Your personality was much calmer than theirs, while they regularly clashed, you'd be bringing up calming methods, or ignoring them, chatting with Claudia.

“You have the power over your anger, Lucius was once a cruel angry vampire until he realized it was pointless, if the situation can be fixed, then do it, but if not, leave it in the past,” you'd quote.

Lucius, Lestat hated the man greatly, despite never coming across him before. Suppose his hate began from the respect you held for the man. He was around the same age as Lestat, from Italy, and was very handsome, he'd heard you say before.

He wished he could undo time so that he could become your maker. His blood in your veins, your heart in sync with his own, his fully, bound by more than your vow of companionship. While Louis only hated the man for the weird lifestyle habits he passed along to you, Lestat loathed the idea of another being nearly as perfect as he was to you.

“Lucius speaks French too, although he's more fluent in Italian”

“Lucius is also into fashion, he used to dress me all the time”

“Lucius was once a part of an opera, but he ended up causing a bit of drama because he slept with nearly everyone who worked there”

“Lucius…”

Lestat sat frozen seething at the thought of the man. He wanted nothing more than to kill him for making his way into your heart, he couldn't care less about the kind of relationship you'd shared with him.

“Uncle Les,” Claudia called out, exchanging a look with Louis.

“We can still get her to come home, he has sent her mail before,” looking around, he sent to the pile of mail, looking through and seeing the ripped-open envelope.

“Los Angeles, she's in Los Angeles, we can find her,” Louis approached Lestat, showing him the mail.

“She's gone, she's gone back to him and left us,” Lestat mumbled to himself, already crying.

“Hey, we’re gonna find her and she'll hear out, she’ll come back home,” Louis told Lestat, also trying to convince himself, as tears dropped from his eyes.

“I’m going to bed,” Lestat sulked.

“So you can cry all night? Do you want Y/n to come back or not, I sure as hell got used to some peace around here, we have the address, we can easily find a way out there, stop being so dramatic,” Claudia screamed at him.

“I preferred her quiet,” he said, sniffling.

“We can get her back home, you know how she is, she'll want to talk it out before we're back on the road”

“The insufferable therapy sessions,” he chimed in, as he wiped his eyes.

“Exactly, we can start planning right now,” Louis said, his companion nodded in agreement.

“How much do I need to pack?” Claudia asked.

“What makes you think you could come?” Lestat asked her, crossing his legs.

“Because I care about Y/n too”

“We won't be gone for long Claudia, we're just trying to get her to come back home,” Louis said to her, watching as she stepped away.

“If Y/n was here, she would not be okay with you just leaving me here,” she said, stomping upstairs.

“Where should we start?”

“Why don’t you turn Sonya? It’s so obvious that you care about her?” You asked Lucius as you danced to the classical record, in the considerably large living room. Wearing the custom gown he'd gifted you, both of your mouths were covered in blood from the guest of the orgy he'd hosted.

It had been nearly a week of spending time with him, and you were enjoying every moment of the easygoing, carefree life.

“None of this music is as good as it once was, going to see Paganini, I had never heard an instrument played so beautifully,” he shook his head, ignoring your question.

“Lucius,” you called his name knowingly, forcing him to look at you.

“I can't turn her, I…I love her,” he admitted, dipping you.

“If you love her, you'd turn her, and you both can have eternity together,” you told him, but he smiled, his hand brushing against your cheek.

“If I love her, then I'll let her live, have children of her own, and pass on as a pretty little elderly woman,” he said.

“Very noble of you,” you joked.

“I guess, but I’ll hold on until that time comes, I have another two years, and she’ll be twenty-seven”

“Aw, Lucius, are you sure you don't want me to do it?” you asked, as he continued to dance.

“Love looks different for everyone, my love, you, of all people, understand that,” he chuckled.

“I guess you're right”

“I suppose that is why your lovers are about to burst into my home,” he said with a smile, as he held you close.

“Yeah, probably, wait, wh-

Just then, the front door burst open, Lestat and Louis storming it, although, they had different targets, rushing over. Louis stood in front of you, pulling you away, into his arms, already pleading that you forgive him for how he spoke and his recent habit of exclusion.

While Lestat instantly had Lucius against the wall, his hand to his throat. Your maker only laughed, you truly learned well, both of these men wrapped completely around your finger, and you didn't even realize it.

“Lestat, don't,” you told him, hearing his chaotic thoughts, he wanted Lucius dead.

“You leave without a word, in the middle of the night. Countless arguments, and the moment he comes up, you up and leave me, leave us,” he screamed.

“We can talk about it, but I need you to let him go, I don't want to see you two fighting, so please, just release him,” you said, exhaling a breath of air, as he let go, growling at Lucius, who nonchalantly walked to you.

“You've done so well, my love, they're like your two little dogs,” he laughed, turning off the music.

“Lucius,” you warned lightly, as he pulled you close to whisper into your ear.

“I’ll give you a bit of privacy, I presume you won't be here when am back, I want you to reach out more often, it has been fun since you've been back home”

“I will,” you nodded.

“Wonderful, I love you”

“I love you too,” you said, watching as he went outside, flying into the air in an instant.

“What are you two doing here?” you asked them, wiping your mouth.

“What are we doing here? Did you forget that you have companions, or did you not care?” Lestat asked angrily.

“You up and left, you didn't even leave a note,” Louis said.

“Did you not care when you were in Mississippi, did you care when you brought up upbringing as if it was an insult?” the words shut them up, the guilt evident, in their eyes.

“Do you love him more, you went back to your maker because you want him more, we haven't been enough for you,” Lestat spoke.

“I'm sorry for what I said to you, I was angry and I misdirected my anger and I didn't mean to do that, especially to you,” Louis apologized.

“Apologizing is pointless, you love him more than any of us, I just need to hear you say it, perhaps that will give me the closure I need, say Lestat, I never loved you-

Bursting out laughing, you covered your mouth, waving your hand apologetically at the two.

“I'm sorry, but you two are drama queens,” you laughed.

“What are you talking about?”

“I didn't even take all of my clothes, or my coffin if I was leaving, I would be taking that because it’s custom,” you told them.

“Why didn't you say that in a letter?” Louis asked you.

“Because I thought about leaving for good, but then I considered how much I love you both, yes, I am oftentimes left out, but when I'm not, I feel like I'm on top of the world, and as you said, we have gotten into countless of arguments, why would I just because you brought up Lucius?”

“You're always bringing him up, comparing-

“I’m not comparing the two of you, you have a few things in common, it has only been a handful of times, but you only like the attention on you, you get so jealous at the thought of me talking about another man,” you laughed.

“Don't be ridiculous, and he's not nearly as good-looking as me,” he said.

“See, I never compared your looks, I know who looks better, Lucius doesn't come close”

“You too, Louis, jealous, worried that I wouldn't think that our relationship is enough and I’d go back to Lucius to practice his lifestyle, it's cute really, you both came scrambling out here, to win me back, I am touched and a few other things,” you continued as they approached you.

Immediately, Lestat was kissing your lips, holding you close, scared to let you slip away. Pushing away from him, you pulled Louis near, slipping your tongue into his mouth. Lestat stood behind you, kissing your neck, and tearing the dress.

“Where’s Claudia?” you asked through your moans, as each article of clothing was peeled away. Stopping, the two slowly stared at each other, before looking at you.

“She’s in New Orleans”

“You left her in New Orleans, by herself? We need to leave now, why would you do that?” you yelled, going to pack your things.

“Wait, can we finish what we started?” Louis asked his hand over the painfully stiff sensation between his legs.

“No, we need to get back to her”

“I hate when the brat is right”

#lestat de lioncourt x reader #lestat x reader #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac x reader #louis x reader #interview with the vampire #amc iwtv

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vintagesuga · 3 months ago

Text

Cuddle Party - Ot8

Genre: Huge fluff, Hybrid A.U

Paring: Polyamorus Ot8 x gn! reader

Warning: Polyamory, brief mentions of food

a/n: I meant to post this ages ago, but ya know 🤷🏻‍♀️. It's just kinda hard to keep consistency with my writing, and I hate that :( I want to write more. Also, this is proofread, but still let me know of any mistakes. It is greatly appreciated!!

Coming home to a quiet house wasn't all that unusual. There were sometimes when you could get some peace, but living with 8 hybrids, it was very rare for said peace. The calmest thing you had come home to was them talking about who knows what in the living room.

Kicking off your shoes and hanging up your coat, you placed your keys on the hook by the door. You moved sluggishly as you locked the door and padded into the living room. Before you could make it in all the way, however, a soft ball of fur startled you as it slinked in between your feet. You looked down, making sure you wouldn't kick it, as you quickly caught yourself on the wall. An orange tabby looked up at you, meowing at you like nothing happened. Like the little demon didn't just almost kill you. But you should have guessed he would greet you at the door. He always did.

"Hi to you too, Minho." You said as you reached down to pet him. He met you halfway, butting his head in your hand. "Where are the others?"

Minho didn't answer you. He just started to stroll down the hall. He then looked back at you, trilling at you as if to tell you to follow. You followed behind him as he climbed the stairs and made his way to your bedroom. All the while, he would look back, making sure you were still following.

Your bedroom door was cracked open slightly, just big enough for an animal to slip in. You pushed it open all the way now, trying to be somewhat quiet. The sight that greeted you was absolutely heart meltingly sick.

There on your bed were all your beloved hybrids. All snuggled up to each other, taking up most of the space on your bed. Each one was in their animal form, the mass of fur rising and falling with their breathing. It was cute. You resisted the urge to coo at them, not wanting to disturb their sleep.

Hyunjin, your panther hybrid, was stretched out just below your pillows. With his legs spread toward the middle of your bed, he looked as if he wanted to take up as much space as possible. In the space between his neck and shoulder was a tiny brown ball. It would seem Jisung, your chipmunk hybrid, thought Hyunjin made for a good pillow. I mean, who could blame him? You had done the same thing once or twice. Jisung was curled in on himself, taking up as little space as possible. It was funny, seeing the difference between the two of them.

In the middle of the bed lay a mass of multi-colored fur. A beagle, fennec fox, and Australian Mist. Seungmin, the beagle, was facing your closet. His back against Jeongin's who faced the opposite wall. Jeongin, the fox, was curled up in a ball. His large ears lay flat against his head and his fluffy tail covering his snout. Felix, your other cat hybrid, also had his back facing the other two, and much like Jeongin, he too was curled up in a ball. What was funny was that on top of all three hybrids lay Changbin. The bunny hybrid had somehow burrowed his way into the junction at their backs. His feet faced Seungmin and every so often would thump against the poor puppy. Although the puppy didn't seem to mind.

Chan, ever the caring pack leader, had taken up the space at the foot of the bed. Curled up with his snout in his tail, the wolf hybrid faced the bedroom door as if to protect his pack. His eyes were on you, and his ears would twitch in your direction every so often. There, by his head, the sheets were disrupted, and you suspected that's where Minho was lying. Offering his silent support to your pack leader.

Like I said earlier, it was an adorable sight to behold. All your hybrids cuddled up together on your bed. Note that your bed is big enough that at least two or three of them could be in human form. I mean, that's the whole reason you bought a king-sized bed. Curiously, though, they all decided to sleep in their animal form, more than likely just for convenience.

You carefully snapped a photo, sharing it with the group chat, before quietly making your way to the bathroom. You stopped by your dresser, grabbing a change of clothes.

When you came back out of the bathroom, nothing changed. Minho had just laid back down in his spot, butting his head softly against Chan's. Like he was reassuring him that everything was ok, it was just you. No threats.

You smiled. Times like this, it's what you lived for. Just the domesticity of it all melted your heart. All of you are so different, yet you worked so cohesively, like you were just extensions of each other. Made for one another. It just made you beyond happy.

Quietly, you slunk out of the bedroom, going back downstairs to eat. You would join the fur pile later, maybe even convince one of them to cuddle in their human form. More than likely, Felix or Jisung. For now, however, you needed food. Craving the Jajangmyeon Minho texted you about earlier. You ate relatively slow, and your moves are sluggish. Your exhaustion is setting in gradually.

By the time you finished and cleaned up the dishes, it was nearing 10 pm. So you made your way back upstairs after double-checking locks and lights. Back in your room, the fur pile seemed to have shifted only slightly. Changbin now cuddled up in Felix’s paws. Jeongin had stretched out, and Seungmin was now facing the door more.

Hyunjin was a rock and didn't move an inch. Jisung had gotten hot and splayed out on your pillows, his bushy tail flicking every now and again. You chuckled, shuffling over to the side of the bed before deciding to disturb them. You didn't want to, but you needed to sleep too.

“Alright you moochers. Pack it up and move, I need in here.” You softly nudged Hyunjin's head. Hoping he would get the memo and at least wake up enough to move.

He huffed, moving his head but making no progress in waking up. So you patted his body a little harder. It earned you a growl as he started to shift, which in turn made everyone else shift. Hyunjin's weight disturbing the bed.

Jeongin let out a yawn as he woke up. Pawing at his face before realizing you were there. He jumped up almost instantly, shoving his face in your hands. Jisung startles awake, making a noise as he hops down from the pillows stretching and moving off the bed.

The others showed their enthusiasm in various ways. Nuzzling against you and cuddling up around you, something that was easier in animal form. Jisung had come out of the bathroom, hugging you from behind as he pressed his face in your neck. Mumbling his hellos against your skin. Chan waited patiently. He had transformed into his human form a bit ago. Waiting for the others to have their turns first.

“How was work?” He greeted you with a peck to your lips. Hearing a couple of groans from those who had shifted. Seungmin made a comment about needing to throw up. Like he wasn't just peppering your face earlier.

You groaned at the mention of work. “It was ok. Had to sit through a dumb meeting that they could have just summed up in an email.”

“That's how it is, though. They just want to make sure you hear it, I guess.” Chan chuckled as you rolled your eyes.

“I guess. It's just so boring, and now I'm tired and just wanting cuddles.”

You flopped on the bed, mindful of those who were still lying down. You got comfy in the middle, opening up either side of you to anyone who wanted cuddles. Jisung dove at the opportunity, nuzzling up to your side as he tangled his limbs with yours. It had been a while since he had his turn with you.

That's how you all worked. Taking turns being cuddled up with each other. Since you couldn't shift into an animal, you were often in the middle of some cuddle sandwiches. The others could shift so they could shimmy themselves wherever there was space. You all had your own rooms but it was nice sleeping all together sometimes. Changbin and Jisung, especially, loved making nests in your bed.

“Why were you all in my room?” You asked as Hyunjin took up the space on your other side. His long arms snake around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

“Cause we missed you. And your scent is strongest here.” He mumbled into your hair, already falling back asleep.

“I wasn't even gone that long.”

“Yeah but still. Missed you.” Jisung pressed a kiss to your forehead.

It was easiest for Hyunjin and Jisung to be the ones in human form when all nine of you slept together. Since they were the biggest and smallest in animal form. The others curled up along the bed in various places. It was hot, sure, that's why you dressed so loosely, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

This was home.

©️vintagesuga Do not repost.

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sigilslvt · 25 days ago

Text

In Too Deep • Suguru x Reader x Satoru Fic (GOOD ENDING)

☣︎ Summary: You've known Satoru Gojo for 15 years, naturally falling in love with him and ending up in a relationship. What happens when you come home from a 4 month long mission to watch your life fall apart?

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader x Suguru Geto

Tags: fem! reader, cheating, pregnancy, parenthood, marriage, brief attempted self mutilation, ANGST, polyamory, anal (male receiving), oral (female and male receiving), collar play, smut, p in v, rough sex, creampie

WC: 12.2k

Art: yoroz_rozx13 on Twitter!

A/N: The bad ending has another few thousand words and will be posted by the end of the week, I'm gonna let you all sit with this mushiness for a bit!

You were supposed to be home from your mission next week, but had asked the elders to cut you loose early, since you’d gotten some surprising news that meant you needed to keep yourself safe. Thankfully they said yes on account of your ever-evolving skills and usefulness, which brought you to this. Home. You’re finally so close to home after 4 months. You’ve dreamed about this moment from the second you left, just aching to be in your bed by Gojo’s side again.

You smile as you lean against the wall of the elevator, headed up to the condo. Every moment that’s led to this playing through your head. Meeting each other as snot nosed 6 year olds, becoming best friends after bonding over your strength, falling in love in high school through all you both had been through, and finally marrying him 6 months ago. The past 15 years have been a dream. Your hand rests below your navel as you smile, eyes closed pulling the memories from your mind and playing them behind your eyelids like a movie.

When the elevator doors open, you walk to your door and shove the key in only for it to push open, making you raise a brow. “Why leave the door open?” You whisper to yourself. Nudging it open slowly, you peer in, hearing music playing from far in the back. “Satoru?” You call out, getting no answer. A pout forms on your face as you lock the door behind you and walk toward your shared bedroom.

The hall is littered with his clothing, making you smile to yourself thinking about how sloppy he always is when you’re away. Finally reaching the room, you open the door, seeing him sprawled out on the bed... with a woman straddling him, marked from head to toe in love bites.

“What the fuck?” The woman exclaims, turning to you and covering her breasts. Your eyes, however, are stuck on Satoru, whose expression is that of annoyance.

“Get off and get out.” He rolls his eyes as he talks to the girl, pushing her off. He sighs and walks to the bathroom as the woman runs out of your home, clothes in hand. You blink away the shock, slamming your fist into the bathroom wall as the shower turns on, watching him get in.

“Who the fuck do you think you are!? Gojo, what the fuck were you doing!? We’re married! You cheated!” You scream, hot tears falling down your cheek. Your heart is pounding in your chest, mind replaying the moment you just lived in your head again, disbelief clear on your face.

“God, you say it like I killed a baby or somethin’.” He responds sluggishly.

Your eyes widen: he’s struck a nerve. More importantly— “You’re drunk.” You spit.

“Ding ding ding!” He shouts from the shower with a giggle that would normally make your heart swell, but instead, you feel only anger. You open the glass door and stare at him in shock.

“Satoru, why...? I thought you loved me... a-after everything we’ve been through… we’ve known each other over half our lives, h-how could you just throw it all away?” You ask, broken and confused.

“I do love you, sugar, but you were gone. Y’chose the job. You left me. Y-hic-you left.” He shrugs, but the hurt in his voice is clear. Your mind goes back to the day you left. The argument you had.

He’d been trying to convince you to stay for hours. He’d pulled out all the stops— homemade breakfast, a few fuck sessions, flowers, jewelry, and even begging on his knees. He kept saying he had a bad feeling about you leaving. Like he’d never see you again. You left anyway.

“How many times!?” You shout. He looks like he’s out of it, not understanding your question. “HOW MANY TIMES, SATORU!?” You get louder.

“Too many to count, honestly.” He lazily responds like it’s insignificant.

And that’s it. Without entertaining anything further, you turn on your heel and run. Far away from the place you once called home.

You feel like you’ve been running for days before you finally reach the front door to a familiar house. You knock hard, crying and clutching your body in your own arms as if they could keep you steady. It only takes a few moments before you get impatient and move to knock again, but the door opens and your fist is caught in the hand of someone you’ve kept yourself from for three years.

“Well, well, well... long time, no see, angel.” Suguru’s low voice sounds out. He sees the tears in your eyes and frowns before tugging you inside, slamming the door closed behind him. “What did he do?” He asks firmly, pupils already constricting, grip tightening subconsciously. You wince at the pain. “S-Sugu.” You whimper out.

He lets go, backing away immediately and you rub your wrist before looking back up at him. “He cheated... he cheated and he didn’t even care, he said he’s done it a lot...” you answer his question as you let out another sob. Geto slams his fist against the wall closest to him, breaking it.

The look on his face is nothing less than pure anger, hatred even. He can’t fathom the fact that the one girl he’s ever loved is broken in pieces in front of him because of the man he once called his best friend. “I’m going to kill that fuckin’ idiot.” He starts for the door.

“YOU CAN’T!” You shout, grabbing his jacket tightly.

“Why the hell not!?” He asks, eyes darkening.

“B-because we’re... I’m having his baby...” You confess, making his eyes widen. “I need you to help me disappear. I-I know it’ll be hard because he can sense our cursed energy, but I’ll work hard to conceal mine a-and I know you can do it, you’ve hid all this time. You’re the only one I trust… please?” You ask of him.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Toru had gone to sleep after his shower, the world around him dizzy. When he wakes the next day, the previous night comes to him in bits and pieces. He remembers you coming home early... having sex... and a shower? He sighs and calls your name out loud. This was why he hated drinking. Black outs were no fun. Piecing together reality and imagination was annoying. The headaches? Worse.

Standing up, he makes his way to the living room, seeing your bag. “So she did come home...” he smiles, reaching for it and starting to unpack for you. A few items later, he finds a long box and opens it, seeing 3 pregnancy tests that say ‘positive’. His eyes widen and he gasps, dropping them. Everything that happened the previous night now coming back to him.

He rushes to his phone and calls you, getting your voicemail immediately. He hangs up and tries seven more times before leaving a voicemail. He wanted to say you didn’t understand, he was too drunk to explain the right way. He wanted to tell you how he felt. “In a world full of people I didn’t choose to be born different from, let alone this much stronger than, I always felt alone… and then you came along. And as long as you were around, I didn’t have to remember that lonely feeling. But then you left… you left and I… please… please just call me.” he murmurs into the phone before hanging up and crying as he grips the tests again. He ruined it all. Over one stupid night. Because of him, you must think your entire relationship has been a lie.

You listen to the voicemail while waiting for Suguru to finish with a meeting here at the temple, crying silently. The plan is to lay low after this and let Manami run things on the front end so that people would think Geto disappeared. You’ll simply stay with him in his home, disconnected from the temple entirely in case Satoru checks.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Two years have passed since d-day. You still wonder if he looked for you at all or if he’d simply moved on. Standing at your dresser, you sigh, closing the case that held your old wedding ring before turning to see Suguru playing with the babies, making your heart flutter. Smiling widely, you walk to them and kneel down, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. Your son didn’t like that very much and smacks Suguru with one of his tiny hands, earning a giggle from you. “Mafuyu!” Sugu pouts, drawing his name out like a whiny child.

Asuka hits Mafuyu back with a stuffed animal and it makes Geto bellow out a genuine laugh. Daddy’s girl. You pick both of your sweet children up and bounce them. “Y’guys wanna go to the park?” You ask, knowing they aren’t quite old enough to answer, but they’ll enjoy it regardless. You look to Suguru and smile softly. “Go ahead and get to your meeting, we’ll be back before you.” You hum before leaving.

The trip there is painless. Not often do you go out in order to avoid Gojo, so you do your best to make the most out of it, stopping to get ice cream for your babies to let their face and hands eat more than their mouths. It’s a wonder none of it flies to the front seat with you.

You take the babies out of their car seats and walk them to the area of the park that says it’s for toddlers only, letting them loose there.

You’re smiling as Mafuyu slides down the slide and into your arms, Asuka following closely behind. Your guard isn’t as high as it once was, as you’d gone so long without an issue. You simply focus on your perfect twins in this moment. “Is it really you...?” A voice sounds out behind you. You turn to see Yaga staring directly at you and the babies and your eyes widen.

“Please leave us alone...” Your voice comes out shakily, backing up as you fumble around for the twins.

“I-are you safe?” He asks, but you turn and run, unwilling to allow even that information to get out. The second you get to the car, you strap Mafuyu and Asuka into their car seats and waste no time on putting yours on before you rush home, making sure you aren’t followed.

Back at the park, Yaga texts Satoru to meet there as soon as possible. Gojo, hungover and exhausted, teleports there, tripping and stumbling over his feet when he lands. He hiccups and reaches in his pocket, grabbing a tiny bottle of vodka out and downing it.

Things have been rough for him the last two years. He had tried to find you for over a year before breaking down, knowing you wouldn’t be found because you didn’t want to be. Knowing you likely had help. It didn’t take long to find out Geto was either protecting you or with you. But he disappeared before Satoru could get any answers, too. So he became a sad shell of who he once was. Yaga sucks his teeth and smacks the back of Satoru’s head, actually making contact with it, as the white-haired drunk had stopped bothering to use his ability all the time.

“I saw her. With twins that had bright white hair like yours... I saw her, Satoru.” Yaga says, his own voice wavering. You meant a lot to him, too, after all. You, Shoko, Geto, and Gojo were all his star pupils and now you and Geto are both gone, Geto having taken a dangerous path with you likely following him.

Satoru’s eyes widen as his world lights up before him and he tears up, all his hope returning and all his questions flitting through his mind quicker than he can process them. “T-Twins…? Where? Is she safe? Where!? WHERE, Yaga!?” He shouts, distressed and crying as he clutches Yaga’s vest. The dark purple rings around his eyes are even more apparent with how strikingly bright his cerulean orbs have gotten.

Yaga sighs, feeling a fraction of Satoru’s pain. He feels pity for the man. “They looked good. Healthy. But… she ran when I confronted her. Satoru, look... I’m not the best person to get advice from, but... I don’t think you should rush head first into trying to get her back if you find her. The priority should be your kids. Always the kids.” He tells the broken man.

“Kids. I can’t believe I-I have kids... She had them...” he murmurs to himself. This changes everything for him. No more will he sit around and drown in his misery and booze. He needs to get clean. If not for himself, then for you. For the kids.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Geto had become overprotective since the incident with Yaga. It’s been seven months and he’s still afraid Satoru will show up and try to win you back, but even more afraid that the kids- HIS kids, will be taken, too. He loves them more than his own life, there’s no way he could continue to live without you, Mafuyu, and Asuka. Not after almost three years of pure bliss. Not after he was finally the one you chose. He’d been waiting on this since you guys met during your first year of high school. Back then, he was too late. Gojo’d already had his claws in you. He’d be a fool to make it easy for the man to rip away the woman and kids of his dreams.

“Suguru?” You snap him from his thoughts, bending over and kissing his forehead, right between his brows to smooth the wrinkles there. He smiles up at you and presses a sweet kiss to your stomach in return.

“Yeah, baby...” he hums. You pout, unsure if he’s okay. Since you’d been seen by Yaga, he’s been a ball of anxiety and a part of you knows it’s because he’s worried that he’ll be left in the dust if Gojo comes back.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere... except for the store because I’m craving pickles and salt and vinegar chips and I’ll die without them.” You joke, earning a chuckle from him. The tension in his shoulders visibly subsides and he rolls his eyes, bringing you closer to him by your thighs.

“I love you.” He murmurs and it sounds like the sweetest song you’ve ever heard. Like he’s a siren just drawing you in with every word.

“I love you. A million times more.” You say and you know it isn’t true. You know that nobody has ever loved anyone more on this Earth as much as Sugu loves you. He knows you know it and lets you go with that.

You quickly make your way out of the house, wanting to be back before the twins wake up from their nap and give their father hell about their mommy being gone. You find yourself in the store, reaching for the pickles, but having a tough time. When you finally get them, you stand up and your stomach knocks down a few jars on the way up, causing them to shatter all over the floor. You’re embarrassed, but someone comes behind you and slightly moves you out of the way of the glass. People are staring and you’re about to bend over to start cleaning it up when the person behind you speaks up. “I’ve got it, ma’am. You can keep shopping, now.” He speaks, facing toward the people staring and not you. You freeze. Satoru.

“T-Thank you.” You whisper, trying your best to be as quiet and sound as unrecognizable as possible. You turn to leave, but before you can walk away, a hand wraps around one of your arms. It’s strong. Familiar. Facing the owner, you see Satoru’s wide piercing blue eyes, the look on his face none other than one of shock and pain.

“I... you...” he murmurs. Before you know it, he’s teleported you out of the store and up to the roof. “Sug-“ He starts to speak, but you interrupt him.

“Don’t. Call me that. Ever.” You spit. You thought the anger was gone, but seeing him, it all came rushing back. You place a hand on your bulging belly, backing up from him like being near him physically pains you.

He sighs, shaking his head and backing away. “I’m sorry...” He spoke, his voice cracking.

“Bullshit.” You respond, not missing a beat, pulling a wince from him.

“You don’t understand, I was drunk, what I said wasn’t what I meant. I meant I’d done it with her that night more times than I could count. I had never cheated on you before then, I swear to you” He explains.

A harsh judgemental scoff flees from your lips. “That’s supposed to make it better!?”

He shakes his head knowing he started off horribly. “No... but… it had been a long night. You were gone... and I just wanted you. I wanted you back and all I could think about was that you left me. That I wasn’t there to protect you. That I missed you. I was so scared I’d never see you again. At some point, I’d gotten so drunk that all I could see was you! You leaving, you not being able to speak with me for months, you possibly dying... A-And she walked in the bar and she… she looked so much like you… so much so that I stupidly fucking pretended she was. I wasn’t in my right mind, I was so fucked up with anxiety and depression and I was drunk, please tell me you understand!” he pleaded.

Your eyes tear up immediately, but you blink them away. What kind of sorry ass excuse is that? It didn’t even explain why he spoke to you the way he did, but it doesn’t even matter– this was over. “No.” You verbalize the decision you’d made long ago, beginning to walk away.

He looks at your stomach, desperation clear on his face. “And what about our kids? You have to let me see them at lea–”

“My kids. They’re my kids. And Suguru’s. You lost every right to them when you decided to be a shit excuse of a man. Is that how you want someone to treat your daughter!? How you want your son to treat women!?” You roar at him, walking up to him and pushing him again and again, not even realizing he’s not using his technique. “We’ve been just fine. Sugu stepped up and he’s been an amazing father. He’d never cheat if things got rough. Never treat me the way you did when I got home. I used to spend countless nights waiting for you to come home and you never did because you’re ‘the strongest’ and you were always needed! Did I cheat? No. It’s just an excuse for you. You didn’t even have the common decency to fucking apologize when caught, you acted like I’d stomped on your parade, you make me sick.” You spat.

Satoru is crying streams of tears now. He knows what you said is true, but he’d never thought the words would come from your mouth. He at least thought he’d be able to meet the kids. His kids. He had always imagined a life with you. Four kids, a huge house, all crazy talented sorcerers. It’s so close and yet… “I ju– I wanna see what they look like... boys? Girls? Both...? Please, su– please?” He asks, correcting himself before he uses his old pet name for you, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

You shake your head and stand your ground, though your resolve wavers seeing him like this. Remembering the love you had for each other. “Leave us alone, Satoru. Or I’ll find a way to make sure you never find us again.” You threaten, leaving him alone on the rooftop, making your way down the stairwell.

You make your way home, your pregnancy cravings long forgotten, your mind only on the wish for Sugu’s loving embrace. He greets you at the door with a kiss to your stomach. “How’s the little fighter?” He asks, large hands rubbing your bump, calming you almost immediately.

“Good...” You respond, relief clear in your voice. You decide it’s best not to tell Geto what happened for fear of pushing him into doing something that may cost him his life.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Two months have passed since leaving Gojo on the roof. You were now in the hospital. “Come on angel, you can do it... I got you... I’m here...” Suguru reassures you as you scream loudly, holding onto his hand so hard you thought you’d break it. Your torso is hunched forward, legs spread while your doctor encourages you to keep pushing.

“I... can’t...” you pant. Your body is on fire and every muscle feels like it’s being torn to shreds. Were the twins this bad? God, you had forgotten. You push again. “One more time pretty girl, you’ve got this...” he kisses your sweaty forehead. You nod and push hard one last time before the room fills with cries. You cry joyfully at the sound of your child, Sugu cutting the cord before taking them to you.

“We’ve got a beautiful girl, angel… You gave us a pretty girl…” he coos proudly, placing the baby on your chest.

“Oh... oh my God...” you cry. Her eyes are purple, like Suguru’s. “Izumi... her name... is Izumi.” You whisper, stroking her already thick black hair. Looking up at him, your eyes widen. He... that couldn’t be possible. He’s crying. You lost your breath at the sight of something you’ve never seen before. “S-Sugu...” you whimper.

He smiles and gets down on one knee. You stare in disbelief as he takes out a ring as big and bright as the moon, practically. “Please... marry me... I’m so in love with you that I can’t imagine I could even breathe without you. Let me have the honor of becoming your husband. I swear I’ll always do right by you. Always cherish you. And I will always keep you safe.” He declares, the nurses and doctor around you letting out oohs and awws.

You nod quickly, no hesitation or doubt in your mind. “Yes… God, yes, I love you so much, baby.”

The pieces are starting to fall together, but in order for all of them to fit, a large one needs to be removed.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You stopped hiding to get your divorce with Satoru and much to his displeasure it was all done through lawyers. No contact. He didn’t try to fight it, knowing worse things would come if he did. During that time, Geto had spent his time atoning for his offenses against humankind. It took a few months for Jujutsu Society to accept him, but in this new world with so many more curses, much of them stronger than what the world was used to, they had no choice but to welcome him again and accept his help.

Now, you’re standing in front of a mirror with a wedding gown on again, the sweet sound of giggling ringing through your ears like bells. The twins are in the room helping Izumi walk, as she’d just learned to do so. You can’t even begin to believe they’ve grown so fast. The twins are three years and ten months old and the baby is finally a year and one month old. You smile as you watch them, bending down to pat their heads, the twins looking so much like Toru when they peer up at you with their pretty blue eyes. You sigh and shake the thought away.

Before you know it, Shoko’s coming into the room and telling you it’s almost time to walk down the aisle. She picks Izumi up and brings Mafuyu and Asuka to Manami so they can bear the rings when the time comes. Music starts playing and she comes to you, looking at you with a smirk. “You ready for this?” She asks, fixing a strand of your hair back to place.

“Never been more ready.” You respond, a bright smile on your face, eyes lighting up. Shoko observes the glow on your face, her heart swelling.

“I’m happy you brought him back. I haven’t told you how thankful I am, so I guess there’s not a better time. We all were there, we were all lost for a while after he defected… I didn’t think this was possible, so truly, thank you. I’m just sorry that things happened the way they did.” Her voice is apologetic and your soft smile is a welcome response, you suppose, because with that, she walks to the big doors in front of you and grabs the flower basket. The doors open to reveal the venue being entirely full and she walks down the aisle, handing Izumi flowers to drop along the way.

Your music starts to play and your hands get clammy, your mouth going dry. You feel like the people waiting for you will see your heartbeat the second you’re within sight. That worry crosses your mind and just as you start to shift on your feet, you feel an arm loop into yours. Nanami.

“Are you thinking of chickening out? Looking for a getaway driver? That doesn’t sound like you.” He teases, smiling down at you. You release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding immediately, the relief of not being alone washing over you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You say, feeling strong enough to move, now. Your feet carry you forward at the pace of the piano playing and Nanami keeps you steady. The second your eyes land on Suguru’s, you feel the urge to run to him, repeatedly telling yourself not to break into a sprint.

He looks perfect. Hair tied up into a bun, two strands left out on the sides of his face deliberately. He’s wearing a dark blue suit, almost black to anyone who isn’t looking closely enough, but oh you are. His smile is full, crinkling his eyes until they’re almost shut. There’s so much love in his expression that you think you may break under the weight of it all.

And then you reach him. Nanami hands you over and Sugu immediately goes in to kiss you, forgetting the moment when Nanami stops him and shakes his head with a chuckle. Your lover sheepishly grins, embarrassment clear on his face. The pastor tells everyone to sit and the ceremony begins. When it’s time for your vows, he goes first.

“When was it that we fell in love, when we were 24 or 18, maybe 10? I don't know… I don’t know because the truth is: I can't picture a time that I wasn't in love with you. I always knew you were the one that could look into my eyes and see my soul. I don't question your commitment to us and our family and I know there's nothing we can't work through. I accept you as my partner and as my best friend above all else. It's a miracle to find the kind of peace and happiness that you've given me and in honor of that miracle, I pledge before our family and friends to love, protect, and to cherish you forever." He says… and you don’t even realize the tears that are falling from the outer corners of your eyes until he’s wiping them.

And you realize he always has. Even back in high school. Whenever you were hurt out on the field or by Gojo being insensitive or by the loss of your parents, he wiped your tears. He held you. Ever the reliable friend. You think you’ve always loved him to some extent because of that. Even while you were with Gojo. No matter how that may be perceived, it’s the truth.

You smile, sniffling and chuckling. “Well, I don’t know how I’m supposed to follow that.” And your guests all laugh, but you’re only focused on Sugu’s sweet songlike laugh. "But, I’ll start with this… I look at you and I see my best friend. Your energy and your passion inspire me in ways I never thought possible. Your inner beauty is so strong that I no longer fear being myself. I no longer fear at all. I never thought that I could find someone that I could love that would love me back unconditionally. I always thought love came with conditions and pain. Then I realized that even when we’re apart, you’re always with me. I realized that you’ve always protected me, always wiped my tears. You give me purpose when I feel I have none. Without you and our little family… my soul would be empty, my heart broken, my being incomplete. I thank God every day that you were brought into my life, and I thank you for loving me."

Now, it’s Suguru that’s crying. You can see him shaking and you know it’s because he desperately wants to kiss you right now. You almost laugh, but instead you continue to cry tears of absolute joy.

When you’re finally pronounced husband and wife, Suguru wastes no time in gripping your waist, dipping you down, and kissing you deeply. You let your bouquet dangle and your other hand grips the back of your neck to keep you steady while your lips work against his, pouring all of your love into the liplock. You never expected to feel this much love after having your heart broken, but here it is. All enveloping You broke your kiss to look through the glass windows of the church and at the moon, seeing the shape of a man high above for the briefest of seconds, but not giving it a second thought as it disappears almost instantly, you thinking it was simply a bird.

Meanwhile, Toru lands on the nearby rooftop watching you enjoy your wedding and he cries and cries and cries, screaming to the sky. He can’t do it. Not anymore. He takes out the blade he’d taken from Toji after his defeat and aims it at one of the cerulean blue eyes that have defined him for so long… and he stabs it as he lets out a blood curdling scream. The world goes black soon after…

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

He wakes within four white walls three days later, a straight jacket on him as he cries, sad to see that his eye has been healed despite him trying to rid himself of the six eyes. He knows he can escape. Knows that whoever put him here knows. But, he stays put. Too tired. Too broken. He practically goes catatonic for the next six days aside from crying.

“He’s done nothing but cry your name. We had to hook him up to an IV at one point because he’d gotten so dehydrated. He won’t eat... won’t sleep unless we sedate him. I wouldn’t normally contact you about him, but we think the only thing, the only person that can get him out of this is you. He needs you. He’s sorry for what he did, I think he’s shown it enough... this isn’t the Satoru we knew. And you won’t be the woman I’ve always thought you are if you leave him like this.” Yaga tells you sternly.

You sigh, the baby in your arms and the twins holding onto your legs tightly. You look tired and beaten. The truth is, you haven’t stopped crying since hearing what he’d done. You feel at fault, hilariously enough. You’ve been telling yourself that the least you could have done was let him see his children. Suguru stands behind you and clears his throat. “You should go... he needs you... and the kids... I’ll take Izumi.” He speaks softly while massaging your shoulders, making your eyes tear up.

You give him Izumi and pick the twins up, taking a deep breath before nodding. Yaga opens the door up and you walk in, almost collapsing at the sight before you. “Toru...” you whimper, seeing his frail body on his knees in the middle of the room, just staring at the white wall with tears coming down his cheek. This isn’t right, it isn’t him. His hair is disheveled, skin pale, lips dry and cracked, not nearly as beautiful as you’d always known him to be.

He doesn’t even raise his head when he speaks. “Could tell you were here. Can always see you so clearly even when you’re not next to me. You’re just my imagination torturing me. Again and again and again.” He croaks out before raising his head, seeing not just you, but the kids. His eyes light up and it’s like his skin brightens. “Sugar...” he smiles, his heartbeat picking up. You kneel down and cry, letting him rest his head on your chest between the twins. “I’m really here, now...” You tell him. You vow not to leave again, not ever.

“I love you... I love you, I love you, I love you...” Toru sobs. You whimper softly and press a kiss to his head.

“I know.” You respond. “Here... this is Mafuyu.” You nudge Toru so he’s sitting up. He loses his breath at the sight of your son and smiles.

“H-Hey... you look like me, kid...” Toru murmurs.

You scoff and roll your eyes with a smile. “Yeah, he’s your twin. It’s kind of annoying, actually.” You pout. Oh he’s missed that face of yours. “This is Asuka.” You smile widely. Asuka hides her face in your neck, frowning at the stranger in front of you.

“Feisty like her mother. And twice as beautiful.” Gojo compliments, earning Asuka’s smile.

“These are m-our kids... ours, Toru.” You stroke his hair. “You have to get better... for them... for yourself.” You tell him, trying to get through.

“For you.” He responds, still a shell of himself.

“N-no, Toru... not for me. Our time has passed, I’m with Sugu. We have a baby girl together. But you need to be better for you. This isn’t the man I loved that I see in front of me right now.” You sigh, crying silently.

“You’ll love me if I change?” He asks. He sounds so utterly broken. You whimper and look away for a moment. Looking back to him, you take a deep breath.

“No... I’ve always loved you, Toru. But for the last three years, it’s only been as the biological father of my children. I can’t see it any other way.” You explain.

You can see that his fractured mind can’t grasp it. Won’t. “But you love me...” he smiles.

You look down at the man you once loved more than life... the man who broke you... and you sigh, knowing he’ll latch onto any last remnant of sympathy you hold for him. “Toru... I forgive you. We all make mistakes... I did when I kept the twins from knowing their birth father. They deserve to know you... and you deserve to know them.” You put the twins down, moving to remove the straight jacket, hating to see him in it. He’s so frail now. You want to break down, but he needs you to be strong. “Mafuyu... Asuka... this is Toru. He and mommy were married before mommy and daddy were. He’s... your other papa.” You try to explain without confusing them too much. After all, they’re only three years old.

Toru’s eyes light up as the twins nod and look at him curiously. It’s like they gave him strength. He reaches out weakly. “Can I hold them...?” He asks. You nod hesitantly, looking down.

“Go on, I’m right here.” You tell them. Both, walking hand in hand, walk to Toru and he scoops them up, smiling widely at them before looking at you again.

“They’re perfect.” He murmurs. You nod and chuckle as Mafuyu tugs at his hair and Asuka observes his pale face. For a split second, your heart stops and you imagine what your life would have been with him. He would have been a good father... but you love Suguru. Even if you still love Toru so deeply it hurts, you couldn’t do that to Sugu.

Suguru walks in with Izumi and sits next to you while Toru plays with the twins. You lean your head on his shoulder. “I love you, you know that right?” He asks you. You frown at his tone and look up at him.

“Of course I do. I love you too, Sugu. Always” You reassure him. He shakes his head, rubbing the baby’s back as she sleeps.

“He and I were friends, too, you know that. Best friends. It hurts to see him like this for me, too...” he murmurs, making you sigh.

“I know.” You tell him, sadly. You hate what’s become of you all. There was once a time where you were best friends, all three of you. And then when Sugu went rogue, things changed. Satoru held you closer and Sugu loved you from afar.

“I see the way you look at him... you still love him. I don’t want to take that from you. I don’t want to lose you, either.” He speaks up again, making you frown. You don’t like how this conversation is going and you try to speak, but he hushes you. “I don’t plan on ever letting you go. But... he needs you. And you need him. Someday, the kids will need him, too. Maybe... maybe we take him home and we take care of him? Maybe we… we try to be what we used to be? A-As a start. I don’t want to see you both broken anymore. Yeah, we can be how we used to be. Before I lost my best friend and my first love. Before we all broke apart.” He finishes, now letting you speak.

Your eyes are wide and you’re crying without realizing. Speechless. After a few deep breaths, you slowly shake your head. “Sugu...”

“I’ll be fine. It’s what’s best. Besides, once upon a time, Satoru and I felt for each other the same way we feel for you. It isn’t like I’ll be sidelined.” He chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

You choke out a strangled laugh, remembering when they had their bisexual awakenings as teens– Harry Styles. “Is that… what you want?” You ask.

He shrugs, an understanding smile on his face. “I get to be with the love of my life, get to raise perfect kids, get my best friend back, and I get to see you both happy again. Yeah, that’s what I want.” He assures you, nudging you before taking your chin into his fingers and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips before you both go back to watching Toru interact with the kids.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

It’s been a week since you took Toru home with you. He’s out of clothes and needs to grab more back at his house, he told you. He had asked for you to come with so you could talk alone and Suguru had agreed, which made it easier for you to say yes. He’s gotten less delusional, taking things slow. He knows it’ll take time. You two hadn’t spoken about your relationship or touched each other other than when you bathed him when he was weakest on the first night home. He’d bulked up, honestly, he could eat for days. And he did.

You awkwardly fit within his embrace as he teleports you with him and when you both land at a familiar door, your eyes widen. “T-Toru...” you murmured, shocked to be at the place you ran from almost four years ago, now.

He nods. “I know.” He sighs, holding your hand as he leads you inside. Everything is the same as it used to be... Tears well in your eyes, the memories you both made for the 18 years you’ve known each other playing through your mind. He looks at you and shakes his head, caressing your face as he stands in front of you. “Don’t do that, please... we’re working on it, I’m going to make it up to you.” He tries to get through to you.

You shrug him off and smack his head playfully. “I’m having happy thoughts, idiot.” You smile. He chuckles and shakes his head at you, pulling you close.

“Please tell me I can kiss you.” He hums, eyes closed while his lips just hang above yours. All is right in the world while his arms are around you. You know you’ll love him forever. And yet, you hesitate. You wonder if it’s right. If it’s too soon. He rubs his forehead against yours to smooth the wrinkles that’d formed from the worry. You start to nod and that’s all it takes for him to kiss you deeply. It’s like he was taking you all in through the action, like you fuel his very existence.

You never realized how much you missed him touching you, but in this moment, it’s all you want. You feel his hands moving to cup your face, smushing you closer to him before they move to your neck, his thumbs brushing under your jaw, making you bite his lip. He hisses in response, making your core ache.

You break away from him after what feels like forever, breathing heavily. He’s just staring into your soul through your eyes and speaking to you without needing to use his voice. You know what he wants. What he needs. You kiss him slowly this time as he hoists you up onto his waist, walking you into what was once both of you guys’ room. You caress his face gently with one hand, the other in his hair, tugging at the snowy locks and earning a groan from him. Whimpers flow into the kiss as his hand comes across your ass– hard. A giggle leaves your lips when he throws you onto the bed and crawls over you. “What a macho man now, hm?” You tease him, winking.

He flashes the most gorgeous smile at you and your heart skips a beat. “Be good f’me, yeah?” He purrs. You know he isn’t asking you, so you nod as he kisses you harder this time, wedging himself between your legs. He trails kisses from your lips to your cheek, down to your neck until he stops to mark you harshly, dark red bruises a stark contrast to your normally clean complexion. Your weeping hole clenches around nothing and you get impatient.

“Toru...” you breathe out. He simply smirks as he moves to your collarbone, reaching for your shirt to strip it from you. With each love bite he leaves, your body is lit ablaze. Once he’s stripped you from your shirt to see you’re not wearing a bra, he marvels at your breasts, taking them both into his large hands, taking one nipple in his mouth and sucking on it hungrily, tonguing it while it’s in his mouth. He repeats the action with the second nipple before releasing it with a pop. He moves lower, kissing down your tummy and your breathing hitches.

Your back arches to bring your skin firmer against his feathery lips, making him press you down. “Sugar.” He warns against your skin, nipping at it harshly. You whine and bite your bottom lip, not wanting to push him further, but wanting to feel him already. When he reaches your waist, he marks both hips before removing ridding you of your shorts with his teeth, keeping his eyes locked on yours. He eyes your sodden underwear, pausing to press a kiss to the newly exposed wet spot, making you suck in a sharp breath and shudder. He laughs lowly at you as you pout, wanting him to take them off. “Say please.” He orders with a smirk. You hate that he can still read you so well, but you immediately comply.

“Pretty please... daddy...” you smirk, knowing that word makes him feral beyond reason. In an instant, he removes your underwear, spreading your thighs wide as he nibbles on the insides of both of them, marking you even more. You whimper and whine until he finally reaches where you ache for him most.

“Real cute, sugar...” he coos against your moistened folds before spreading them with two fingers and delving his tongue into your sweet core, curling it up just to get a taste. You whimper gratefully, gripping the sheets as he sucks on your clit, making your hips buck and back arch again. He moans against your skin, the vibrations from his voice adding to your pleasure.

Seeing him like this again, you can’t help but shudder. He’s so beautiful, so ethereal. All the love you’d once felt for him had already been coming back bit by bit, but it just feels like it’s flowing into you, filling you more and more by the second. You can tell he worships you. Not just in the way that he ravishes your clit, but in the way he looks at you.

He stops spreading your puffy folds to bring two fingers to your entrance, plunging them deep into you and curling up, wanting to bring you to the point of no return before finally fucking you like the good girl you were for him. He’d fucked into his helpless pillows night after night after night thinking of your pussy and it simply didn’t compare. It never could. Now that he has it back, he’s sure to treat it right.

He takes his time on your cunt, finger fucking your hole and licking stripes between your folds. “Tell me it feels good. Please fuckin’ tell me, sugar.” He hums into your folds before moaning and sucking on your clit again, flicking his tongue on it once inside his mouth.

“Fuck, Toru!” You groan out, your head falling back against the bed as he devours and fingers you at the same time. He grips your thigh tighter as you shake from the pleasure, pressure building up up up in your stomach. He has other plans in mind, unbeknownst to you. You cry out, “I’m– I’m– I’m–” you begin to repeat yourself, unable to get the words out.

And then you’re suddenly void of his fingers and lips alike, making you whine in protest. He simply chuckles before he moves up, delivering a crushing kiss to your lips. You taste yourself on his warm, swollen, lips and it makes you fucking keen. You don’t even realize it when he’s pulling his pants down, just enough to free his cock out– red and leaking pre-cum. You feel his length sliding back and forth between your sopping wet folds before he shoves himself so deep inside of you, you think you’ll split. “Ah!” You hiss as you come undone beneath him from just that one thrust, your walls twitching around his length as you cum around him.

He grunts and places a hand beside your head and the other on your throat. “Such a good sweetheart, cumming for daddy in just one thrust.” He grins, making your orgasm even more euphoric. Not giving you a beat, he thrusts inside of you, every stroke seemingly deeper than the last as he progressively fucks harder and harder into your fluttering cunt. “Ahhh, fuck yeah, that’s a good girl. What a fucking good girl you are... still so fucking tight, baby.” He praises you, his hand tightening around your throat until your cries become tiny squeaks.

He buries his face in your neck, nipping at your earlobe. “God, I missed this pussy, baby, I missed my fucking sweetheart.” He hisses, his breath hitching in his throat. He pulls out of you and sits up, slapping his length against your folds and chuckling as you squirm beneath him, aching for more.

“Toruuu… put it back in…” You sigh out, pouting up at him. He bends down again to bite your bottom lip before sitting back up with a smirk.

“Don’t worry, ‘m’gonna give you what you want.” The promise leaves no doubt in your mind and you nod before he abruptly flips you onto your stomach and spanks you so hard it feels like your skin is rising in the shape of his hand. “Let’s make it a pair.” He growls, spanking the other cheek so hard it does the same. You yelp from the pain, your pussy clenching around nothing as it aches for him again. He positions his leaky tip against your hole again and props himself up, pushing himself inside of you slowly this time.

“Ohmyfuckinggod...” You moan, your face and chest red from all the whimpering you’ve done. He feels so good inside of you, it’s like your pussy has its own feelings for him. He reaches so deep into you that you think you’re going to split in two. Despite that, you’re still squirming trying to get down, down, down so stuff yourself more with him.

Chuckling at your reaction, he reaches around to grab your neck and turn your head up to look at him as he strokes into you. He kisses you greedily, moaning into your mouth. The sound of his skin slapping against yours bouncing off the walls and through the condo. His large hand pushes your face into the bed, going deeper and harder, but keeping the same torturously slow pace. You crane your neck just enough to watch yourself in the bedroom mirror as your orgasm starts building again and he doesn’t miss that. “Such a fucking slut... you like what you see, baby? Like watching me stuff you full?” He asks. When you don’t answer, he stops.

“Come on sweetheart, you heard what I asked.” He states firmly. You whine and simply offer him a nod, unable to form words quite yet. “Say it.” He spanks you and stops stroking, making your walls squeeze his length and you whine out for him to continue, fucking back onto his cock as much as you can.

“Yes, daddy, I love it, fuck!” You hiss out, earning a satisfied growl from him as he starts fucking into you again, quickly this time. You clench the sheets as the pleasure pools in your core and he can tell what’s coming.

“Squeezing so—ngh, fucking tight baby, I’m gonna cum inside, ‘kay? Want you to cum with me.” He grunts out. You moan an “Uh-huh!” before he starts railing you impossibly harder, snapping that rope inside you, making you cum around his length, squeezing so tight he can barely move. He puts all his weight onto you as he releases rope after rope of hot cum into you, filling you to his heart’s content.

It takes a few minutes before he’s finished and you’re both panting hard. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your head. “Fuck, I love you, sugar.” He chuckles. He’s missed seeing you under him like this, twitching inside you.

You look at him with eyes half lidded, on a high. “I love you, too.” You smile weakly, slumping forward. That’s when you look back to the mirror, this time spotting a figure in the doorframe, making you jump and shout, covering yourself. Suguru.

“Took you long enough, emo boy.” Toru grins over at him knowingly.

“I’ll make rainbow dragon eat you if you test me, dickhead.” He responds quickly, making you giggle. “It’s my turn.” He grumbles, making your eyes widen. He’s already stalking toward you like a lion zeroing in on its prey.

“T-the kids, where are the kids?” You ask, panicking at the thought of Suguru fucking you right now. You’re sore, but that’s not the issue. The issue is you know he’ll have no remorse after what he’s just seen. He’ll want to one up Toru.

Suguru smirks darkly and reaches the end of the bed, tilting your head up by your chin. “They’re with Yaga. Toru told me you’d be coming here. Invited me over. Figured he was up to something nasty. Tell me you want me, baby… y’didn’t forget about me, right?” He growls lowly against your lips before kissing you hungrily.

Toru clears his throat and shakes his head. “I invited you over for the both of us. We both get her.” He clarifies. Oh. Fuck. Suguru waves him off with a roll of his eyes and pushes you back down onto the bed, not paying any mind to Toru. The only thing on his mind is you. He grins as you cower into the pillows, his hands spreading your thighs.

“Sugu…” You hum. He simply sucks his teeth and slips his hand up to squish your cheeks, making your mouth open. You know what’s coming next, it’s something he does only when he wants to fucking ruin you.

“Wider.” He hisses and you comply, opening your mouth as much as you can with his grip on your face. You stick your tongue out, welcoming the fat glob of spit he delivers onto it with a dazed smile, pulling your tongue back into your mouth to swallow. You stick it out again, showing him you’ve swallowed with an “Ahhh~”

You hear Toru huff in the background and Sugu turns to him, nodding his head toward you. Toru needs no further convincing, moving above your head and kissing your forehead. Suguru undoes his pants, pulling his cock out and stroking it. Seeing it after just having seen and felt Satoru’s, you realize he’s much thicker and longer than Toru. Chills travel up your spine and you feel your core ache as you stare down at Suguru in all his glory.

That’s when you feel a strong hand grip your throat and you look up to see Satoru glaring at you like you’d done something wrong– he’s jealous. You’re about to laugh when you feel yourself being split in two by Sugu’s throbbing cock, your mouth getting stuck in an ‘o’ as you choke out a moan, brows knitting together in pleasure. His delectable double frenum ladder piercings sliding against your mushy walls so fucking tastefully. Satoru takes the opportunity to slip himself into your mouth, thrusting in in in all the way down your throat.

Geto gives you no time to adjust, using the cum Toru had filled you with to glide himself in and out of your mushy walls roughly, drilling into you like he was punishing you for having fun without him. You find yourself reaching out to try and place a hand on his abs and slow him down, but you’re stopped by Gojo, who grabs both of your hands and pins them to your chest with one hand. He chuckles down at you, propping himself up on his other hand and fucking into your messy mouth, a long groan drawing from his lips.

Geto chuckles out, looking to Satoru. “Gonna cum already? Can’t blame you. After all, I have been training her mouth to handle me and yo-ngh you don’t come close.” He hisses out between grit teeth, a teasing smirk on his lips. Just like when you were all in high school. Always pissing each other off about who was stronger, who was smarter, who was blah blah blah -er. His hand snakes up to your face, pressing your cheeks in for him. “Gotta hollow your cheeks more, angel, you know he’s not as thick as me. Should be easier to take him.” He huffs, his grip tight.

You prepare yourself to receive whatever Gojo gives you as punishment for Suguru’s teasing, but when you look up and blink away the fat tears in your eyes, you see him… struggling? His brows are knitted together in pleasure as if Sugu’s teasing has only made him more sensitive and it’s confirmed by the globs of precum that seep into your throat, the salty taste unmissable. You moan at the sight of the white-haired angel above you just ruined by your husband’s words and your mouth.

Geto doesn’t miss the look on Satoru’s face and he scoffs. “So easy. Go on, pretty girl, suck him harder. Harder. Need me to show you harder?” Sugu grunts, smacking your face twice before slamming himself harder and impossibly deeper into your reddened, swollen cunt. You cry out, the sound muffled by Gojo’s cock, making his hips stutter while he fucks his cock into your greedy mouth.

You do as told, hollowing your cheeks out even more around Satoru’s length, flattening your tongue so it glides along the top of his shaft. And before you know it, his heavy balls are resting against your nose while he twitches and releases thick ropes of cum deep down your throat. Sugu sees this as an opportunity, grabbing Gojo by his hair and making him look down at where he’s stuffed you full. “See this? Huh? See it?” He huffs out, tightening his grip on Toru’s strands to elicit a moan of an answer from him. “This is how you fuck her pretty little fucking pussy. How you own it.”

And then he’s moaning while his hips just smack smack smack into yours, bullying himself into you like a man starved until he, too, paints your walls with his cum the moment your fluttering hole signals that you’re cumming, too. He pulls out with a smirk, rubbing his still leaking tip against your clit to overstimulate you. Toru pulls out of your mouth and all three of you are left panting, with him falling beside you, curling up behind you, his heavy arm draping over your waist.

“”M gonna go pick up the kids. Just wanted to make sure you were fucked right at least once today, pretty girl.” Suguru speaks up, already redoing his pants. Toru pokes his tongue out at your dark-haired lover and you giggle.

“Bye baby.” You hum, earning a wink from him before he leaves.

You end up falling asleep for hours with Toru by your side. When you get home from your day with Toru, you smile, seeing Suguru with the kids. He’s always been such a beautifully perfect father. You hold your hands out and call for the twins. Mafuyu teleports half the distance before reappearing and your eyes go wide. You hear Suguru choke on his own saliva in the background. “D-did he ju-“ You start, but Toru interrupts.

“Hecks yeah! Up top, dude!” He shouts, high fiving Mafuyu and picking him up to spin him around. Asuka smacks her father’s leg and whines. She’s always been the jealous type, so this surprises no one. He picks her up too and snuggles her. Suguru leaves for a moment and comes back with Izumi in hand and you lean against the front door, taking in the sight of your beautiful children and the handsome men in front of you.

You’ve been blessed beyond belief. “I love you both more than my own life.” You smile softly. Suguru looks at you and notices the tears in your eyes, coming close to kiss your forehead.

“Give mommy a kiss, Zuzu.” He coos, letting the baby do a kissy face to you before you kiss her.

“Thank you, my love!” You giggle. You look to the back to see Toru gone, making your brows furrow. “Toru?” You call, walking into the living room. No answer. “Toru!” You shout again, going up the stairs and not finding him. Your heart begins to race and you look outside, unable to find your twins or the love of your life.

“Toru!” You scream at the top of your lungs outside as the wind whips around you.

“Mommy!” You hear from above and your eyes widen to the sight of Asuka falling from the sky.

“Oh my God!” You cry out. Before you can think, Toru teleports to her mid air and she giggles. You place your hand over your heart, trying to calm your breathing to slow its beating. “What. Are. You. DOING!?” You scream into the air, watching him laugh and joke with the kids. He comes down, nonchalantly shrugging.

“Teaching them how to teleport by putting them in a position where they have to.” He responds matter of factly. You squint at him in disbelief, smacking him upside the head.

“I’ll kill you the next time you take them without letting me know. Are you really that excited for their abilities to come, doofus!? What if Asuka doesn’t have that ability at all?” You sigh, taking the kids into both of your arms.

Toru laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “Of course, they’re my littlest sugars and they need to be trained well. We can teleport places all the time together, it’ll be so cool! Asuka almost had a bit of an accident because daddy has butterfingers, but all is fine here.” He reassures you.

You see Suguru relax and shake his head. “Airhead.” He shrugs, walking away.

“EMO BOY!” Satoru retorts, pouting before smirking at Mafuyu. “Who’s up for round 2?” He asks. You immediately step in.

“No sir! Bedtime it is.” You poke your tongue out at him.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

It’s been a year since you, Toru, and Suguru had gotten together as one. You wake and realize they were both being as possessive as ever even in their sleep, because they have your body slanted so that they can have you on top of both of them. You smirk and see Toru down cuddling your waist as he curls around your legs and Suguru has his arm around your chest, grabbing your boob and his head resting on yours. You can’t believe how touch starved they are sometimes. But this was how things are. Peaceful. Beautiful. Perfect.

“Good morning...” Suguru mumbles, scaring you. You raise a brow at how quickly he’d woken after you and he chuckles. “I felt your chest rise suddenly when you first woke up. You do it all the time. Like you’re waking up from a nightmare.” He hums, already aware of what’s on your mind.

You shake your head and smile at him. “Anything that takes me away from this life– my two men and my beautiful kids, is a nightmare. Good or bad.” You tell him. You feel Toru stir and wedge his hand between your thighs.

“Well, that’s nice to wake up to.” He grumbles, cuddling closer to you. You grin and raise your head up to kiss Suguru and his hand goes from your breast to your throat, keeping you there for a deep kiss. “No fair, emo man.” Toru pouts below you.

“Bite me, chicken legs.” Suguru retorts before moving to your neck. Toru huffs and moves his hand higher between your legs, reaching his favorite honeypot.

“Two can play at that game.” He smirks.

The morning goes by rather interestingly and you play it over and over again in your head as you drive the kids to Yaga’s. You walk into his home and are met with Megumi and Tsumiki, two kids Satoru had saved years ago and placed under Yaga’s ward. “Long time no see... I’ve missed seeing your face around here.” Megumi smiles at you. You roll your eyes, but he was right. In the last 5 years, you’d probably seen him once or twice. He’d grown up.

“Moms are busy bees, Gum Gum.” You tease, using his childhood nickname. Yaga walks in and the twins run to him, Izumi waddling behind them. “Thanks so much for taking them.” You nudge him as he picks all three of them up in his scarily large arms.

He nods and immediately takes them away, cooing and baby talking to them. You, Megumi’s, and Tsumiki’s eyes go wide at the sight before you and you slowly back out, closing the door behind you. The entire drive home, you think of ways to make fun of him for that later and when you get home, you were excited to tell Sugu and Toru how much of a softie their old teacher has become.

You unlock the door and walk in, not seeing either of your doofuses. Probably sleeping. When you walk into your guys’ shared room, however, you’re met with a view that will be burned into your memory for all time. “Uhhh...” you whisper into the air. And the world stops.

Suguru looks at you with an unreadable expression, Satoru’s head in one of his hands, pressed down into the bed, his other hand mid air about to spank Toru. And his cock? Buried to the hilt inside of your snow-headed lover. “Wh...” You try to speak, but you catch sight of Toru’s expression, his face red and his body sweaty beneath Suguru’s. You would have never thought you’d see this... never thought it’d happen.

“Cat got your tongue or something, angel?” Suguru asks as he rubs the flesh of Toru’s ass, slowly moving within him. Grinding. Teasing. You choke on your words and slowly back against the door hearing Toru whimper. Is this even real? How long have they even been doing this? Shaking your head, you start to turn around, but Toru speaks up.

“Wait, wait, wait... please don’t leave.” He whines, his voice worn and tired. You look at Suguru as he continues doing what he does best and then back down at Toru.

“Why?” You ask him, wary. He grunts and moans before speaking again.

“W-wah-wanna feel you, too.” He admits, his face becoming redder. Your breath hitches in your throat and you gulp. Suguru smirks knowingly and all you can focus on is his cocky smile and the wet sounds coming from their connected bodies.

“Come on, baby... I won’t bite. Much.” He winks at you, moving rougher. Your heart squeezes as you comply and remove your belongings. You step closer and closer, removing your last article of clothing as you reach the edge of the bed.

“Come here, sweetheart...” Toru coos. Suguru stops thrusting for a moment so that you can get under Toru. He spreads your legs so wide it feels like you’re going to be torn in half as Toru kisses at your neck, nipping to leave his mark on you. He pulls away and spits on his fingers, staring you in the eye as he moves his hand to your pussy, pleasantly surprised to feel you already wet for him. Your back arches up as he rubs your bundle of nerves slowly, wanting him to fill you up already so badly it hurts.

“Please...” you beg him, earning a chuckle from both Toru and Suguru.

“Your wish-“ he thrusts deep into you without warning and you cry out. “My command.” Toru finishes, smirking at the look of pleasure etched on your face.

You lose your breath feeling the sudden pleasure of being filled by him, the knowledge that Suguru is inside him only turning you on more. He begins licking and sucking on your perked nipples when Suguru grunts. “Brace yourself, my love.” He groans before forcing himself deeper into Toru, which pushes Toru deeper into you. Your walls clench around his cock and you moan loudly, wrapping your arms around Toru’s neck to keep you steady. Toru whimpers shakily at the feeling of being pleased on both ends, trying desperately not to cum already. You’ve never heard him sound like this before. Utterly ruined.

“Good girl...” Suguru smirks, pulling out and then forcing himself back into Toru. He spanks his ass roughly before holding your legs apart and using them as leverage to fuck into him harder, pulling you in with each thrust.

“Oh, fuck!” You choke out, Toru’s moans against your neck making this even more exhilarating. The way his dick twitches and swells even more within you makes you feel like you’ll split.

“Come on, baby, let me hear you again...” Suguru begs. Both you and Toru cry out as he fucks even harder, making Toru grind into you rougher. The feeling makes your mind go blank and you clutch the sheets, unable to keep yourself steady anymore with the way you’re fucked out.

Suguru abruptly pulls out of Toru, making Toru whine for his cock again before he slides the condom off, moving around to your head. He smirks down at you and leans forward to grab your face roughly. “Edge of the bed. Open wide, angel.” He directs.

You and Toru reposition yourselves so that your head hangs from the bed and you open your mouth. At the same time, Suguru and Satoru force themselves inside of you, Toru deep inside of your core and Sugu hitting the back of your throat. You cry out, but the sound is stifled by Suguru’s length in your throat, his hand firm on your face. “That’s a good little slut... take it.” He snarls, fucking your mouth hard.

Toru scoffs, getting on his knees and sitting up while he holds your thighs. He folds you up slightly as he begins to pound into you, making your weeping pussy tighten around him, the slick stringing between you two. His hand finds its way to one of your breasts, slapping it hard and pinching your nipple. “Scream for me, my bad girl, scream for my fucking cock. Gonna make you p-hah- pay for interrupting a good fucking.” He warns, moaning as he strokes slowly, but roughly into you, teasing you. You cry out at the pleasure of feeling him getting so fucking deep into you, trying your best to be attentive to Suguru as well.

You suck Suguru’s length hard as you close your eyes, feeling his piercings hitting deeper inside your throat, making you gag, your throat tightening around his tip. You open your eyes again to see Suguru and Satoru making out above you, making you squeeze even tighter around Toru’s cock. He pulls away from Suguru to moan. “Fuck yeah, milk me, baby, milk my cock...” he smirks. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your body shudders, your stomach tightening as you feel that oh so familiar feeling building up. You’re surprised when Suguru pulls out and grunts out moans as he cums on your chest, making you cum hard onto Toru’s dick.

“F-fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!” Toru whimpers out, spurting his cum inside of you deeply. You’re still shaking from your orgasm. Suguru backs up and moves to the drawer, pulling out his favorite accessory. Your collar and chain. You whimper seeing it and Toru smacks your face roughly. “Don’t whine, you’ve been such a good girl so far.” He warns you, pulling out of your leaking hole.

Suguru nods at Satoru, switching spots with him. He flips you on your stomach and pulls your ass up into the air before collaring you, gripping the chain roughly enough that you don’t even need to prop yourself up.. He shoves himself into you, making you scream out and clench the sheets. “Sugu!” You shout, only for Toru to use that opportunity to push himself deep into your mouth.

Satoru bends over and uses his fingers to collect the cum from your chest that Suguru had left, tasting it and making Suguru groan loudly. “So fuckin’ dirty...” he praises Toru, fucking you harder and quicker as the chain rattles with each thrust. You suck Toru’s cock deep into your throat enthusiastically, cock drunk moans vibrating through his length as you let them flow. Toru moans before holding your head steady so he can start thrusting into your mouth, kissing Suguru again.

The sight of them above you has your pussy twitching, making Suguru’s breath hitch. He begins rubbing your clit, making you continuously clench and release around his length the way he loves so fucking much. Toru moans above you and clutches your throat above the collar as he face fucks you, cutting off your airway ever so slightly. Your eyes tear up and your face turns red as you ascend to the greatest fucking plane of existence.

Toru grunts and sucks in a sharp breath. “I-I’m gonna!” He shouts before cumming into your waiting mouth. You swallow his hot cum and lick the remnants from your lips like a mindless slut when he pulls out, making him chuckle. He strokes himself trying to prolong his pleasure while watching you and Suguru, giving Suguru an idea.

He pushes your body down into the bed as he enters you again, grinding into you hard. “You watch him stroke that cock and take all of mine, babygirl, take. it. all.” He growls in your ear, pulling the chain leash tightly.

“Y-yes daddy!” You cry out, cumming hard at the sight of Satoru stroking his length. Your pussy clenches so tightly around Sugu that he cums immediately with a hiss. You’ve become a puddle of a mess and he pulls out of you to kiss your ass before spanking it. “Such a good girl, baby...” he praises you as Satoru bends down to kiss your lips, no longer stroking himself.

All you can do is smile in a daze, your body used and sore in ways you never thought possible.

And you spend God knows how many days in that same state. The rest of your life filled with love, family, and pleasure like you’ve never known.

#jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #geto x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk fic #jjk smut #geto smut #gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut

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hoseoksluna · 8 months ago

Text

MIST | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.3k

summary: one encounter with jungkook makes you forget about your boyfriend.

playlist: mist / pinterest board: mist

warnings: the unfolding of polyamory, provocation, cuckold kink, cum eating, oc and yoongi fight, use of vulgar names, mentions of female masturbation, punishment, spanking, hair pulling, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, nipple play, disobedience, use of a sex toy, multiple orgasms, yoongi isn't comfortable with a certain sexual practice at first, spit kink, oc feels pain and likes it

note: it's here, you guys oh my god. this is part two of STEAM. i thought this would have only two parts, but when i got to the end, it was evident that it needs another one. i worked hard on this, guys. if you haven't read my little updates, i was literally sick today and threw up my breakfast, but i still somehow managed to get this writing done, so make sure you let me know how much you love this, hate this, what you expect and what you're feeling. pls!!! my inbox is open for you always x enjoy reading, love you all. ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

side note: HOBI'S NEW ALBUM IS OUT SLDKFJSDLFJSFJSLDF.

The night is feverish.

So much that small pearls of its perspiration settle over the arc of your hand, between your thumb and your index, peeking from beneath the enfolding of your crossed legs. It’s as if the darkened heavens were hot and bothered while eavesdropping on the conversation you’re having with the two males sitting by the table, one right next to you and the other across from you. Even the clouds have halted their drift and the stars… they haven’t dared to blink, focused entirely on the question slipping from the mouth of the male you’ve known the least amount of time.

Is this gonna be a one time thing?

You will your mind to be empty, for if you allow yourself to think about it, your answer is as clear as the flare of those lights above. And you don’t want to voice out how much you like the idea of the sex being continual in fear of being turned down, in fear of Jungkook wanting this to be a one night only matter. What’s worse, you’re terrified of awakening Yoongi’s wrath. You believe the wine in your hand is the only bitterness you can manage to swallow.

Oh.

You chuckle.

A mist blankets your shoulders, the softest of summer drizzles. A briskness that steals your attention from the double meaning swarming in your brain. But when you lift your eyes to welcome in the small rain, it’s Jungkook’s gaze that you meet. Dark eyelashes, heavied down by the weight of the half-drunk bottle of red that you and him have been drinking. An ivory swirl of brightness glossing over dilated pupils, fixated on you. On your own blurry left eye, the sheen of your mouth, past your neck to the shimmery glow of your collarbones and your right eye. The coldness of the mist thickens, yet it’s not the reason behind your gooseflesh. No, it’s quite far from it.

What roughens your skin is that very intentional stare. The slight narrowness to his once perpetually round eyes as he, for a mere second, shifts his gaze from your boyfriend back to you, adamantly expecting a response, one you refuse to have. It’s such a stark change to his countenance that, besides being stirred by it, you’re completely in awe of it. The smooth forehead, the slightly raised brow and smug mouth, now adorned with a lip ring that wasn’t there before. You don’t find the good man with purity in his eyes that, days ago, made a ruckus out of your life sitting before you, but someone else entirely.

A man, whose arousal emanates out of him like fragrance, seeping into your fresh mango scent scattered along the perimeters of your skin.

A man, like Yoongi had predicted, came to you like a puppy through him, asking you out for dinner.

Horny puppy. You squeeze your legs, hiding your faint smile behind the rim of your wine glass, tilting the carmine nectar into your mouth. Jungkook examines the bobble of your throat, the dart of your tongue as the muscle drifts across the rosy brownness of your bottom lip and you’re heedful of it—a moonlight personified, the mist around you like the clouds clinging to that planetary body.

Jungkook calls you by your name. “What’s funny?”

A momentary stillness. You thought your soft laughter was unheard. Your brain goes empty, mouth parts, the entirety of your vocabulary vanishes—

“I think that’s something we decide after the night is over,” Yoongi answers Jungkook’s question lowly, propping a strong palm on the cloth of the table. The wet breeze dampens his hair, leaves a glow to his pale face. You wonder how he feels—if he’s still as okay with it as he was while fucking the life out of you—if he’s now, perhaps, facing some internal doubts that you know nothing of, that he hides beneath his words. “A collective decision.”

He looks at you and beams at you with a tight-lipped smile. An expression that conveys that he wants this for you. You let out a sigh of relief, placing your hand on top of his and Yoongi makes a space for your fingers to fold in between his. Like he always does when he’s giving you backshots.

A gooseflesh changed for hot flashes. You become the night, its fever thudding inside your lit skin. A familiar ache begins to grow in between your legs, demanding it. As if Jungkook’s lustful expression and energy wasn’t enough, your boyfriend had to remind you of something so intimate.

You want both of them—right now.

Jungkook’s gape falls on your intertwined hands. Lover’s grasp. You note recognition, and perhaps a flashback, pulses with a dimmed light for a mere heartbeat in his eyes. It worsens your ache and, like Yoongi’s hair, you feel your panties dampen under your dress. You squeeze your thighs one more time before you untangle your legs, your heels clanging on the concrete, your knee bumping into Jungkook’s.

So close to him, yet so far away.

You let yourself dream about how he fucks. Rough strokes, those muscled thighs straddling you—

“You agree with this?”

A question from him directed towards you. Your throat dries up, dizzy from being pulled back to Earth. You take a long sip of your wine, but it doesn’t help your state. On the contrary, the buzz of the alcohol makes you tremble all over, intensifying your lightheadedness. You want to be fucked. Multiple times. Until you can’t walk.

You wet your lips. “Of course,” you say, squeezing Yoongi’s fingers once, twice, letting him know through your own version of Morse code how horny you’re becoming, hoping he gets the memo. “It’s smart. If we made the decision now, who’s to say you won’t get sick of me?”

Your response hurt you and you cringe, regretting your words. Your knuckles turn white, the breeze brushes through your hair and you relax your hold. Let out a hard breath.

If he got sick of you after fucking you, you’d hate yourself for the rest of your life. Move out to a cave, far from civilization, so no one would see you ever again.

Jungkook raises his brows, shaking his head. The smug smile on his lips remains, as if sewn into his skin. You wish you could wipe it away and straddle him right here in front of everyone—

“Sweetheart, don’t think that. I won’t get sick of you.” He toys with the foot of his wine glass, fingers moving it in slow circles as though he was—

Such a fucking tease.

Your clit throbs. You won’t think that, all right. You’ll keep your mind empty and stupid just for him.

You watch the movement of his digits, smiling slyly. The night rushes within you and, mentally, you wrap a collar around your neck in order to stop yourself from crawling across the table and taking a seat on his lap. A yearning forms. A yearning to feel the semi you know full well he’s sporting in his pants. You bite your lip, squeezing Yoongi’s hand again. He merely chuckles, aware of what the pair of you is doing and it’s too much for you.

You need a dick rearranging your guts. Right now.

Perhaps, two.

You stifle a groan.

“Tell you what. I have a cabin out in the mountains. With toys,” Jungkook says and you widen your eyes, his deep voice fraternizing with the night in you. Toys as in…? “An hour away from here. I can show you there how much I’m willing to not get sick of you.”

Yoongi’s chuckle amplifies and you’re struck. Fucked up. Your cunt drools, ruining your panties. Your cheeks flush. Feverish, beyond feverish—you’re on fire. Your breathing gains speed and fuck. Toys?

You have no thoughts. All that your brain is filled with is dick. Two dicks.

Yoongi lifts his hand, unsnarling your intertwinement, and he sneaks it beneath your dress. His fingers feel up the drenched material of your underwear and hums. You reckon he already expected to find you wet and his sound of approval coaxes more of your dewiness to try and come into contact with him, but to your dismay and his, the fabric stands in the way.

For two beats of time, Yoongi puts pressure on your clit as he feels up more of you and, faintly, so no one hears, you mewl, hiding your face beneath your palm. You swallow your whine for more, instead you sigh, camouflaging your moment of weakness. Bury your gaze into Yoongi’s, silently pleading him to take you home.

Yoongi only smirks down at you before he faces Jungkook. “She’s wet. I think it’s safe to say she’d like that.”

You slap his arm and Yoongi takes his hand away. The men laugh and you feel terrible, but not for long. You decide to take charge of the energy.

“What kind of toys?” You will your voice to be confident and it’s only a split of it that comes out. You don’t mind—it’s enough because it silences their laughter, seriousness taking place instead.

Jungkook licks his lips, adjusting in his seat—like Yoongi during that video call—and you sense it moving through you. You also feel the need to adjust, to peel your panties away from your cunt, discomfort seizing you a little. “I’ll show you tomorrow. Or the weekend after that?” Your eyes widen in panic. No—no, you can’t wait that long. He smiles fondly at you, sensing your emotions. “Tomorrow, then.”

You sigh in relief, downing your wine, but Jungkook isn’t done with you.

“Will you pack your little red robe?”

You choke.

Amidst the chaos of the situation, you didn’t even realize he saw you. You didn’t even detect his eyes drifting that low. Thought Yoongi’s body colliding into you prevented him from seeing your intimate nighttime attire, but then you grasp that due to your shock, you might have missed that.

Jungkook’s smirk widens.

Oh, you want to say you’ll pack your little lace number that Yoongi particularly likes, along with your garters and stockings, though you opt to say something else entirely. You decide you want to steam him a tiny bit. Dominate the energy. Make him uneasy. For ulterior motives.

“Will you brush off the cobwebs on your condoms when packing or should I buy you new ones?” You quirk your brow, finger wiping away the drop of red that slipped out of the corner of your mouth. It’s all just talk—you want him to fuck you raw—a straight allusion to his loneliness that Yoongi told you about. Amused, Jungkook’s darkened eyes follow your movement.

“Will you lick that finger?”

You’re convinced your bloodstream came to a standstill. You don’t breathe, you don’t hear anything—your entire being becomes him, melding with the night, the moonlight. It’s him who now erases your brain. Yoongi touches your thigh, his fingers skimming the bare skin, but you don’t feel them. No, you pierce your gaze through Jungkook’s, penetrating right into his soul. And you simply decide that you want to own it.

So much for steaming.

“Do you want me to?” you retort, fluttering your lashes, the smile you give him as seductive as moonlight fluttering in you. You tap your finger on your bottom lip. Watch as his hand drifts somewhere beneath the table.

He taps your knee in the same, identical beat. And, instinctively, you widen your legs. Your other knee bumps into Yoongi’s thigh.

His first touch on your skin. You burn. Thank the heavens for slipping the idea inside your mind to wear a short dress. You inhale a breath in. Bite your lip, impatient for his answer. Tense your body so your trembles aren’t evident. You want to be strong, confident, despite the fact your body longs to submit to Jungkook—to be at his complete disposal, to be his, his to smooth down those quivers.

Jungkook spreads his fingers along the roundness of your knee. Caresses you once. Then, nods. “Lick it for me.”

Your heart jumps out of your chest. Right into his glass of wine. A flashback fills your brain—Yoongi saying familiar words to you on the night that perpetually changed your life. Stick it in your mouth for me. It must have rustled through his being just like it has in you. Has caused enough mayhem in him that he used those words. For me. He wants you to be naughty, be a little slut that listens to his commands—for him.

Oh, and you shall do as he asks.

Yoongi spreads an arm on the back of your chair, fingers sinking into your hair. The attention of both men, the lewdness, your wetness coating your panties, the warmth of the wine in your stomach, the night and the soft rain—you brim with life. You’re so elated that you’re sure you’re luminous.

You plunge your red-tinged finger into your mouth. Keep it open for both men to see how you swirl your tongue around the digit before you close it. You make exaggerated sucking noises, your instincts and habits telling you to roll your eyes, but you decide against them. You’re in public after all—and you don’t really want to give Jungkook the full experience. Not yet.

But then Yoongi pulls your hair and unwittingly, in a second, you moan. You shoot him a look, withdrawing your finger. He only chuckles, loosening his hold on your hair, the love in his eyes growing, mingling with joy and excitement. The sight of it calms you like still, deep waters and suddenly, you’re suffused with the desire to kiss him.

Jungkook steals your attention, however. In typical fashion.

He squeezes your knee between his thumb and forefinger, making you look at him. He’s propped his elbows on his thighs and the position broadens his shoulders more, the fabric of his black linen shirt taut around his muscles. The breeze quivers his lashes, strengthening the dimness and the lustfulness in his eyes. No glint of light to be found—just an abyss, bottomless eternity, enlivened by the scent of chocolate, the color of his eyes. It doesn’t unnerve you, on the contrary it boundlessly stimulates you.

“You listen well,” he drawls, skimming his first knuckle down the smoothness of your shin before trailing back up. Gooseflesh—hard, thrilling gooseflesh. Your breath comes out choppy and you’re too transfixed by his feisty, lascivious aura to do something, anything about it. “But can you misbehave?”

Your jaw falls open. At a loss for words. Brain muddy, cunt dripping. Your vocabulary long gone, your decision to be the one who takes charge of the situation long forgotten, long erased—more like—by someone who’s proved himself to be more dominant than your own boyfriend. Your boyfriend who has made you cry multiple times during sex.

You let your trembles show. Bare, vulnerable.

Yoongi strokes your hair, nuzzling his face behind your ear, placing a singular kiss there and it grounds you. Envelops a shield of safety around you. The breeze nourishes it.

Jungkook slaps the side of your thigh softly. You gasp almost breathlessly, the impact vibrating through your body, the pulse on your clit a full drum.

“Tomorrow then. At my cabin. Bring your robe,” he mutters, hypnotizing you with his gaze and you submit to it, unreservedly. This time, he drags his palm down your shin and his warmth guides you as you extend your leg for him, propping it between his outstretched legs, on the edge of his chair. He straightens, welcoming your gesture. “No condoms, no panties. Pussy dripping, preferably.” He halts the venture of his hand at your ankle, long fingers stretching to grab a hold of the heel of your stiletto. Flicks his eyes to Yoongi. “You can either make sure she’s wet or,” he pauses, whisking his gaze back to you. “You can touch your pussy for me? How’s that?”

A carousel of dreams floods your mind and, fighting against the lodge in your throat, you voice out the one you like the most. You don’t want Yoongi to decide for you—you desire the decision to be yours, yours only. “Can I call you then?”

Jungkook quickly raises his brows, stupefied by your answer. He didn’t expect that from you, and that fact makes you giddy. Night flowers begin to bloom in you, evening primrose and chocolate daisy—his flowers. They spread their petals when he says, “of course you can. Call me from his phone.”

Ever so persistent in the game of the roleplay. You could have exchanged numbers, but no. He wants it to be from the cuck’s phone.

Yoongi grips your thigh, hard enough to make you wince. Even through your hypnosis, tipsiness and arousal, you sense that something is wrong. You turn your head to look at him and you discover that the love in his eyes, joy and excitement has gone out. Solemness has replaced it and into it, little by little, like the bottle of red Jungkook now tilts to your glass, overflows his wine of wrath.

The threat you feared the most.

You drop your leg to the ground and Jungkook lets you. Yoongi slackens his hold and you wonder what it was exactly that Yoongi didn’t like. The fact that Jungkook touched your leg or the plan between the pair of you—you touching yourself for him—that never had his approval? You release a breath, aware that you’ve done something very bad and your hypnosis and your smile declines with it. You even push your glass away, sobering up. The night flowers in you wilt.

Yoongi relaxes beside you and you slip your fingers between his.

You must have overdone it and the perception of that causes guilt to pool in your core. You should’ve at least looked at Yoongi to make sure he’s okay with it before jumping head-first. Nerves rise within you and you reach for your pack of cigarettes, hoping to chase your negative feelings away. Both men watch you, but the energy has already shifted. Arousal has evaporated and now, like the mist, seriousness settles in its place. Jungkook gives you a soft smile and you realize that your guilt is written all over your face, but he doesn’t say anything. Not to you; not to Yoongi.

The man before you returns to the good man you know, although his smug pride doesn’t let him become the healer that you know him to be.

The ride home is silent.

Jungkook texted Yoongi the address to his cabin as soon as you said your goodbyes. Your boyfriend scowled at the message before he pocketed his phone, taking your hand and walking a little faster to his car, as if to run away from the mess you’ve created. You felt so bad that you let him trail you behind him like a child, chin tilted to your chest, the heft of your guilt pressing down at you like a murky cloud.

The rain is thickening by the time Yoongi drives down the familiar road to his apartment. He keeps his hands tightly wrapped around the steering wheel and the gear stick, knuckles white like the moonlight that left you and fled back to the dark heavens. He doesn’t reach for the radio or his phone to play some music. Lets the rain sing instead; lets the rain mend the tension between you. You overfill, uncomfortably, with so many beginnings to your sentences, but none of them fit right—none of them really portray what you think you should say to him, so it all falls into the abyss of the night that still lingers within you.

It’s Yoongi who speaks first when he kills the engine, as if he needed the fifteen minute long car drive to think about what just happened, but it’s not the words that you want to hear. He stares ahead at the line of cars parked before him, at the canopy of trees bending to their roofs. The pitter-patter sounds of the raindrops worsen the guilt eating at your insides, especially when Yoongi remains seated with his hands in his lap.

“You’re not calling him tomorrow.”

Your deduction was right. He didn’t like the idea of you calling Jungkook while you’d be touching yourself. You get that he has the right to not feel comfortable letting his friend in on a particular sexual practice, but you want to know why. If you’re not getting your own way and he gets to decide everything, you at least want to know the reason.

“Why?” you ask, calmly. I want to, you don’t add. You fold your hands on your lap similarly to him, mirroring his body language. Feel the bubble of your disappointment sizzling in you.

“You’re fucking him tomorrow and that’s the end of it,” he mutters, waving a hand through the air sharply to emphasize his words. Doesn’t look at you. Not once. “No collective fucking decision. One time and that’s it.”

You will your calmness to stay, even when a foam of your own wrath pours into your disappointment. Do your own wishes and desires not matter at all in this situation? Or does the unfolding of it only belong to Yoongi and you have no say in it? Are you to shut your mouth or speak up?

He was the one who made a comment about your self-pleasure to Jungkook when he was fucking the shit out of you and picked up his phone to call him. I recall her saying your name would be pretty to moan while she played with her pussy. Why did he say it if the thought of you pleasuring yourself on the phone with his friend makes him jealous? Did he really think Jungkook wouldn’t latch onto it, not want it to play out in real life?

The uncertainty, the questions devour your gut, but you go back to the start.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Yoongi sighs. Hangs his head and rakes his hands through his hair. “I said—”

You suck in a breath. “That’s not what I asked,” you spit out with a venom that you didn’t mean and Yoongi finally looks at you—catches you closing your eyes at the rush of your emotions and turning your head away from him. “I want to know why.”

Yoongi scoffs. “How come you don’t know, huh?” His voice raises in volume and it paralyzes you with fear—he’s never yelled at you before. The question itself strikes you cold and you don’t like the feeling of it crawling up your legs. “How come I have to fucking remind you?”

You’re embarrassed that you don’t know what he’s talking about, caught in the middle. You want to get out of this car and walk home, afraid—so terribly afraid of what might come next. Fuck the rain, you don’t care.

Silence, intertwined with the long breaths that he’s trying to calm himself with, floods the car. You don’t know what to say and Yoongi keeps it at that. You consider the conversation finished.

Your hand reaches for the handle.

“Stay in the car.”

Your back faces him. “I don’t want to be here.”

“Then get drenched in the fucking rain.”

In disbelief, you turn around to look at him. Yoongi boils with anger, elbow propped on the door, index finger outstretched along his cupid’s bow, staring down the myriads of cars before him, setting them on fire with his gaze.

“And I will,” you bark, frowning at him, needing to have the last word. “Don’t come running after me.”

Your hand reaches the handle again and pops it open, your foot swinging over to the wet ground, but Yoongi grabs your leg and hauls you back inside, closing the door shut.

You open your mouth to yell at him. “What is your—”

Yoongi takes your face in his hand, puckers your lips and kisses you harshly. You groan, but you don’t fight it. In fact, you kiss him back, needing him—needing him warm and not cold to you. He stays nose-to-nose once he withdraws, watching as your irises dilate. The sadness that you catch whirling past his eyes punches you in the gut, hard enough that you regret the fight you’ve caused, regret every word you said and every action that can never be erased. You hate yourself for your desires, for your ugly soul and your abhorrence becomes an anchor wrapped around your heart, dragging it down.

You whimper, but no tears come out. Yoongi pulls you onto his lap and cradles you, folding you into his chest. He rubs you back in circles, sweeps your hair to one side and you cling to his heat, wondering what the fuck just happened.

You and him never had an argument before, never met each other halfway through the decaying meadow of negative feelings while being two opposite forces. You both were always there for the other person, absorbing their feelings, on their side through and through. Until now, you’ve truly never been two separate people with separate emotions and it’s a reality check. A breath of fresh air—the sudden, brisk disentanglement of an unhealthy attachment.

Jungkook didn’t just make a ruckus out of your life, but out of your relationship, too. And by that ruckus, he healed it.

And right then and there, you find the beginning to your sentence that you were searching for.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into the fabric of his polo shirt and your apology stops Yoongi’s motions. You lift your head to look into his eyes. “I should’ve checked in with you—I admit that. It was wrong of me. You’re allowed to not be okay with something and I should respect it, act accordingly, even when I might have a different opinion.”

And your opinion shouldn’t change to be identical to his. Your thinking is your thinking. You’re your own person.

The anchor loosens and falls from your heart when that understanding takes form within you. You feel much lighter.

Yoongi frowns, but it doesn’t perturb you. Not anymore. “I will say this once so listen to me carefully,” he says, curling a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m not letting him see you touch yourself because that belongs to me—that’s what we do. Remember that.”

So that’s what he meant. Guilt clenches your heart in a deathly grip for not knowing, for not realizing it.

“If you so much as touch your clit tomorrow when he fucks you, I won’t think twice to carry you away and leave him with blue balls,” he continues, keeping his hand on your cheek. “You’re still mine, even when I’m letting him have you. You’re mine. You got that?”

You place your hands on his shoulders and nod.

“Are you still okay with it, though?” you ask, not expecting him to go along with it after this and you wouldn’t be disappointed, not anymore. The healing that took place is bigger than your desire. The freedom that you feel is better than anything your intimate parts ask for. Your relationship at this very state, at this very moment, has grown past the sexual part. Before it was just lustful love. “We don’t have to do it. Jungkook would understand, wouldn’t he?”

Yoongi sighs and presses a kiss on your cheek. You feel all of his stress and wrath dispersing into your skin. “I want this for you, honey. You were so excited about it, so into it. I’ve never seen you filled with so much light before.”

You do the same for him—you press the same kiss, on the same right side of his cheek. “So just tomorrow then?”

A tight-lipped smile, like the one at the beginning of the night. Yoongi nods. “Just tomorrow.”

You disobeyed in every way you could. Brought panties and condoms. Left your red little robe at home. Didn’t look once at the lace little number you planned to pack. Decided you wanted to keep that for Yoongi’s eyes only.

Decided you were going to paint your encounter with Jungkook with different colors, one that differs from the stained ones on your palette that you use with Yoongi.

He wants you to be bad. Yoongi wants you to be good.

It’s all your mind is suffused with as Yoongi drives into the woods and the sunlight spilling through the windshield, cutting through the trees, tempers it. No music, no conversation.

You’re empty. You think the brown barks of the passing trees have more life in them than you do and along with that difference rise questions. Questions of what you’re allowed to do and what you’re not. Questions that you’re wary to ask.

Not because there’s a lingering tension between you and Yoongi after the fight. As a matter of fact, he made love to you after you both ran for the door. Licked you clean of the rain while breathing in the heady scent of petrichor on your skin. All that had been broken was mended, beautifully. The reason why you’re nervous to ask is that you don’t want to venture back to that place of wrath. Where you are right now is a place of brisk freedom, one that you don’t want to leave, but to have a clear state of mind, you reckon you have to risk it.

You place your hand on top of Yoongi’s on the gear stick, breaking the silence with your body language. You turn your torso halfway to face him. Meet his angelic early-afternoon-kissed countenance, hidden by his black shades and the long wisps of hair falling to each side of his face.

Murmuring his name, Yoongi only hums at your call.

“I have some questions,” you say slowly, carefully making your way to the place you’re timid to go to.

“Ask away, honey.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I know I’m not allowed to touch myself and I won’t, I promise. But is there anything else that’s off limits?”

Yoongi also swallows sorely, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He takes a moment to think about it and because you’ve already brainstormed what he might not like, you make it easy for him.

“Is he allowed to kiss me?” you try, fingers grasping your dainty necklace to play with, to distract your nerves.

“Kissing is a part of sex, but if you’re not comfortable with kissing him, you don’t have to. Please,” Yoongi says your name with a sigh. “Don’t force yourself to do anything that doesn’t feel good. I beg you.”

A hit of your liquid emotions. A little vein of life springing in your body. You blink the sudden tears away, dipping your fingers into the space between his. You’re so grateful to have such a thoughtful, intelligent man like him.

“Okay, what about blowjobs?”

Yoongi sucks in a breath. Ponders it. “Well, that’s an important part of the kink, isn’t it?” He looks at you momentarily before bringing his eyes back to the road. “Watching your girlfriend suck someone else’s dick. That’s the appeal.”

“Besides watching her get fucked.”

He chuckles shortly. “That’s what I’m most excited about.”

A soft smile. “You’re excited about watching me get fucked?” Yoongi nods, but you didn’t get the answer you wanted. You go back. “So you’re not comfortable with me sucking his—”

Yoongi sighs, rubbing his forehead before slapping his hand back down on the steering wheel. “I don’t know yet, honey. We’ll see when we get there.” He squeezes it, the white of his knuckle appears and you take a mental note of that. No blowjobs, or no overindulging in the act, more like. Not knowing is an answer, too.

“And he’s allowed to eat me out?”

He doesn’t smile as he says, “he’s skilled with his tongue. You’ll lose your mind. It’s all I could ever want for you.”

You raise your brows in doubt. “No one is as skilled as you.” At that, his coy smile finally rises and you brush your thumb across the side of his hand. “Will you join in or are you just gonna watch?”

Yoongi shifts the gear and speeds down the road. “I was planning to watch only, but I guess it depends on the situation. I’m willing to join if I feel like it.” He lifts your hand and kisses the soft skin. “You nervous, honey?”

You still feel slightly empty, no nerves to be found. You shake your head ‘no’.

“You’re gonna like it there. It’s a nice cabin.”

What Yoongi said was an understatement.

When you witness the greenery enveloping the mountains, you stand gaping with your mouth half open. A warm summer wind billows in and out of the balcony, ushering in such liveliness and joy of life that you feel it slinking into each and every pore of your body, filling you up with all that you’ve been lacking. Giddiness clutches you and lingers, the flimsy curtains quivering against your thigh with each movement to and fro. You willingly become the nature—the sunlight and the slowly diffusing mist wrapped around the grays, blues and greens. The trees curtsy at your presence and a fond smile blossoms on your face.

Now, at last, you can’t wait to get fucked. You’re glad it’s going to happen at such a lovely place like this.

Jungkook, dressed in a white oversized T-shirt and a pair of cargos, takes your travel bag from Yoongi’s hand. He looks so soft that it’s hard to believe you’re staring at the same man from yesterday—he changes drastically when he’s aroused, like you takes on the likeness of the dark whenever he hears its call. It’s fascinating to you.

“Come see the room upstairs.”

Quietly, you and Yoongi follow him, your feet thudding along the wood of the stairs. And there, there your breath gets snatched altogether.

A white, heavenly canopy above the king sized bed, white furniture—void of any dust—adorned with nourished plants that sway and rustle in the wind. The summer breathes through the open wide windows and in the corner, next to a dresser, a mirror stands, a mirror with a rocking chair right beside it that causes gooseflesh to prick at your skin.

If this is where you’re getting fucked, Yoongi will have first row view of it. It’s as if Jungkook planned it all along and that speculation causes a shiver to run down your spine.

Jungkook sets your bag and Yoongi’s on the mattress. Skims his surroundings in case there’s any untidiness that he hasn’t touched and one glance at Yoongi tells you that he spent the first half of the day cleaning up the place.

Cute puppy. You and Yoongi share a smile.

“This is where you’ll be sleeping,” Jungkook says, straightening his spine.

“We’ll be sleeping?” you joke and the men shoot you a look, which makes you burst out into laughter. The sound blends into the song of the birds and the sway of the trees. You feel a spark of joy perk up in your chest.

“I’ll fuck you to sleep.”

Oh.

He said it so casually that you feel hot all over. You glimpse at Yoongi, though his face utters no words of emotion. Eyes fixed at a point on the hardwood floors, hands in his pockets, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. Did he not say he was excited to watch you get fucked? Have you made a mistake?

You rake a hand through your hair, exhausted of your questions and doubt.

Jungkook leads you back down to the main floor, but Yoongi stays behind. Wants to take a shower before lunch. Nervousness nips at your fingertips at the thought of being alone with his friend, but you nod anyways, having no other choice.

You watch the swing of his body as he goes down the stairs, little wisps of hair bouncing on the back of his head that you find immensely endearing. They’re like some floppy ears of a puppy to you. Your breasts bounce as well with each skip down and you become aware of how full they are in your low neckline as with each movement your bare, pebbled nipples graze against its fabric, stimulating you, sending a familiar ache down to your intimate parts beneath the ruffles of your skirt.

You need to be very careful from this moment on upon this dangerous territory.

“I want to show you something,” Jungkook says, walking towards the balcony. He doesn’t look back at you, he just expects that you’re following him blindly and something about that overwhelms you peculiarly. You want to slap yourself for getting aroused so quickly—you just got here.

He extends his arms along the railing and you saunter to his side, taking a peek above his shoulder but failing, miserably. All you face is the hard wall of his muscles, even when you lift yourself on your tippy toes and it makes you huff out a frustrated breath against the material of his T-shirt, despite the fact his tall form dampens your cunt—

Is it your ovulation day? Fuck, you make a mental note to check that later.

Jungkook turns his head to look at you and chuckles. Grabs the back of your neck to push you closer to the railing and you fear your eyes will pop out of their sockets due to the way you widen them. The second body part he touched—one of many. You hope, you pray he keeps his hand there but he withdraws as soon as your fingers wrap around the wood of the railing. You narrow your lips in a tight line.

He points to what he wanted to show you. You try your hardest to not notice the details of his tattooed hand, to ignore the silver ring around that index finger of his and the ghost of his touch on the nape of your neck. You close your eyes for a heartbeat to regain your composure before they catch the view he’s pointing to.

A pond. A clear body of water under a thick weeping willow that wets its petals in the freshness of it. Your mouth parts. You sense his gaze on you, but you can’t reciprocate it. Not when such a lovely view like this lulls your soul, permeates it with the pleasure of beauty.

“Can we get closer?” you ask, mesmerized completely.

Jungkook grabs your elbow. Another body part. He drags you to another set of stairs. And you realize that the balcony is a veranda of some sort. The feeling of grass under your bare feet is exhilarating and, like a child, you begin to run to the pond, your skirt furling around you, exposing a sliver of your bottom. Jungkook lets you. Walks sluggishly with his hands in his pockets, watching you—smirking at that piece of skin he got to see.

You crouch to touch the stillness of the water, your fingertips reflected upon it. The coldness, despite the steaming sunlight, is so refreshing and you long to take a dip, to fill your hot body with the briskness it so evidently needs.

Standing upright, you twist to yap about how beautiful the scenery is—but Jungkook pushes you into the water.

You were so wrong. So very wrong.

Your feverish body didn’t need the coolness of the pond to dull your arousal because when you come up for air and your little outfit sticks to you body, your heartbeat picks up its speed, thumping in tandem with your clit. Jungkook wipes his smirking mouth at the sight of you and you’ve convinced that’s your undoing.

Nipples stiffened through your little top. Skirt shrunken. Skin wet and glossy. You run your palms through your hair, squeezing water out of your strands, feeling sensual, confident and so fucking playful. You smirk right back at him when you wade your way to him. Pull your shoulders back, tits on full show for him, when you lift your leg onto the grass.

And you stalk him down. You thought he’d move but he stays put. Those hands still in his pockets, those eyes zeroing down on yours—now different, now much smaller. Darker. Willing you to come after him.

“Prick.” You screw up your face at him, your chest tightening, an inch away from his.

Jungkook releases a breath. Grins smugly, briefly, swiping his tongue down the side of his inner cheek, as if he liked the fact you called him something like that. His irises drift down to your tits unabashedly and you swear you can see his hands twitching—

“You look pretty like this,” he murmurs, irises back on yours, twinkling, dilated. “Wet.”

You blush. Ache to be touched. Think about Yoongi and whether he’s finished with his shower because you need to be attended to. Taken to a safe place where the pleasure of his words and energy can unfold, where you can enjoy it. But Jungkook hypnotizes you again—and you don’t know how he does it, how he manages to draw your body close to his without hands. You hate him for it.

“Prick,” you repeat, more to yourself than him, drops of water trickling down every perimeter of your skin.

Jungkook cups your chin, raising it to his level. “And what else?”

You dart out your tongue and wet your mouth— slowly around the arc of your top lip to tease him. Then, you narrow your eyes even more at him. “Asshole.”

Affectionately, he titters, influenced by your actions so much that you catch flecks of drunkenness in his features. It makes you feel so brilliant that you beam up at him and once his laughter softens, he reciprocates the grin. Like you and Yoongi had, but in a different way.

The swish of the willow tree. A teetering bird. Jungkook fondles your glowy cheek.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Your breath lodges in your throat but you push against it. Want to speak up. “I couldn’t.”

He frowns. “But did you want to?”

You nod. The question causes you to blossom, shed the last of thorns left in your body from the attachment. He’s the only person you could say this to and naively you trust that he won’t peep a word to Yoongi. A relief bolts through you that you put yourself first and spoke your truth for the first time in your life. You understand the reason why Yoongi isn’t comfortable with that practice and you promised him you wouldn’t do it. Intending to keep your word, it doesn’t change your opinion, however. Your opinion being that there’s nothing wrong with letting him see this part of your sex life.

It could be reversed. Jungkook being the one who watches.

He wraps his fingers back around your chin, hovers his thumb an inch away from your lips, as if he’s fighting himself from touching them. “Tell me with your words.”

A question that makes the time stand still. Do you listen or misbehave?

The decision is fast.

You press up your body against his. Jungkook sucks in a breath at the sensation of your stiffened nubs beneath his pecs, the water of the pond soaking through his T-shirt, marking your tits on him. You interlock your hands behind your back and Jungkook withdraws his hand. Surprises you when he lets it roam down your arm until he finds your clasped wrist.

He’s waiting for your answer. You know he is. And you want to gratify the puppy.

“I did want to rub my clit for you,” you breathe out and the hotness of his exhale envelopes you in a heat, even more so when his other hand grips your wrist and nuzzles you even further into the shadow of his body.

Hard length against your tummy. The roundness of his nose nudging against yours. It’s too much, way too fucking much and you mewl—to which Jungkook immediately responds, approves of the sound, of your neediness and presses you closer to him, your tits squished against him.

Lips above your ear, he whispers, “would you have called me or would you have let me see?”

He takes both of your wrists into his fist and his other hand goes to your wet hair, smoothing down the strands. You find the gesture calming, calming enough for you to say, “let you see.”

You inhale his scent—wood, vanilla and fabric softener. The fragrance of gentleness.

“Hm, would you have fingered yourself for me?” Jungkook continues, pulling your hair so you look at him. No hint of darkness in his eyes, but tenderness—a healing kind of tenderness that makes you give yourself over to him.

“Yes. More than once.”

Jungkook grunts. Turns you around and flips your skirt to see if you’re wearing any panties. Is met with the bareness of your behind as your choice of underwear for the day is a white thong. Optical illusion.

A quick heartbeat. Dry throat.

He straightens you and presses you back against him—this time from behind. Lips to ear, the same one. You feel the shape of him on your palms. Thick. Big. You roll your eyes back. “On the count of three, you run and hide. If I find you, you get fifteen spanks for wearing panties when I specifically told you not to.” His breathing turns ragged, in sync with yours, the thought of punishing you turning him on.

“What happens if you can’t find me?” You squeeze his full balls and you hear that grunt again, vibrating through you.

“You don’t wanna know. Did you forget I have toys?”

With that, he pushes you and you gaze back at him with horror—a lustful horror that blazes you. What kind of toys does he have? You want to find out, badly enough that you don’t mind misbehaving.

Jungkook begins to count.

You don’t wait until you hear the number three before you run for your life.

Inside the cabin, near the balcony, you bump into Yoongi’s naked chest. And you don’t have time to react before Yoongi scowls down at you, ridding you of any sounds of shock that desire to pour out of you.

“Why the fuck are you wet?” he asks, bracing you with both hands, skimming a glance upon the sight of you.

You panic. “Yoongi, I—”

A creak on the hardwood floors behind you. You round your brows. Will you ever make a decision on your own? Your fate was, again, picked for you. By Yoongi, by Jungkook—who didn’t give you enough time to hide.

Even a tendril of disappointment doesn’t have time to perforate your being because you sense another hand on the ruffle of your dripping skirt.

“Tell me why you didn’t take the second to make sure she was bare for me? You don’t check her holes?”

A deep, indignant murmur. Not expressed towards you, but towards your boyfriend. Yoongi’s scowl deepens, but you smile through your shock—the sun leaking through the clouds—and you sneak a finger along the definition of his abdomen that tenses under your touch. A conveyance that it has begun—that he should play along. You nod your head even, shortly, letting him know it’s okay.

Yoongi relaxes. Drifts his hands to your palms, holds them. Flicks his eyes to Jungkook above your head. Swallows. “She’s a brat that has a mind of her own,” he says and perhaps he’s right. Now you get to be one, at last. “She didn’t even pack her robe. Did she tell you that?”

You freeze. Jungkook fists your skirt.

Lips back to your ear. Heat radiating. You hope Yoongi didn’t see the marks of your breasts on his T-shirt. “Is that right?”

Vigor courses through you. You get to be a brat. And the possibility makes you feel infinitely alive.

“Yes,” you giggle, and when Yoongi gives you an endearing smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling, you find that safe place you were searching for, that you needed. “I figured I should be naked for the occasion.”

Jungkook scoffs. “And yet you disobeyed me. Do you even use your brain or are you just that horny?”

Your lashes quiver at that, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip, feeling stupid, although you know the reason behind your defiance.

Jungkook doesn’t wait for your response. He pushes you towards Yoongi until you collide into his chest. If your panties weren’t drenched from the pond, his manhandling would’ve taken care of that already. “Turn her around and strip her.”

You panic. Fear that Yoongi will see your tits on his T-shirt. Noticing your emotions, Jungkook understands. Pinches the back of his shirt and flings it on the back of the couch. Broad shoulders, big pecs, deeply defined abdominal muscles and the lines of his V leading into his intimate parts. No happy trail. Jungkook smiles at your relief. Your body flutters.

Yoongi’s hands grasp the hem of your soaked top and swiftly pull it over your head, making your full breasts bounce from the impact. He can’t help but knead them, face nuzzling into the crook of your forest-scented neck to pepper kisses there, and you catch the protest in Jungkook’s eyes—only to watch it dwindle away with the slow realization that he can’t tell your boyfriend not to touch you.

It makes you whimper. And the licks of Yoongi’s tongue and harsh kisses merely heighten that sound.

He continues as his hands find the waistband of your skirt and drag it down your hips until it plops onto the floor. And to fully present you to him at last, he hooks his thumbs under your thong—at which Jungkook shakes his head, disapproving. Walking towards you, he kneels before you and Yoongi blows on the traces of saliva he left on the side of your neck. Shivers, ones that Jungkook smooths down on your thighs to calm you down before he rips your panties in one motion.

If Yoongi wasn’t holding you, you’d fall to the floor—your legs boneless, jelly.

Like a leaf out in the forest, your ruined thong plummets to your feet. Jungkook lifts your ankle, helping you step out of it. Throws the scrap on top of his T-shirt, perhaps as a keepsake.

He doesn’t rise. Gazes upon your cunt, instead. Upon the glistening of your folds and lips, the swollenness of your clit. You part your legs wider for him. In appreciation, he looks up at you and strokes the back of your knee. Pupils dilated, the black swallowing the brown. And when Yoongi presses his length against you, pinches your nipples and you roll your eyes back, your attention stolen, Jungkook rises to his feet.

Licks his fingers and places them on your clit, starting a speedy series of circles—and you can’t catch your breath. Not when Yoongi rolls your nipples under his digits, not when Jungkook narrows his eyes at you and commands, “apologize.”

The pleasure overwhelms you so fast and you can’t speak. Can’t for the life of you remember how to apologize and what for, especially not when you grind your ass against Yoongi’s length and he grunts into your ear, not when you’re aware of the quickening of Jungkook’s breath.

Briefly, Jungkook speeds up his pace before he plunges the same wet digits into your hole. Doesn’t let you adjust, but instead keeps filling you to the brim. Then, with the same rapidness, he fucks you.

And you can’t stop yourself from coming and drenching his hand. The second fastest orgasm of your life. Your drops of essence are added to the pile of chunks of dry mud, grass and the pond water dripping from your hair on the floor.

Jungkook withdraws, completely. And you feel cold without his heat, without his closeness. “Why did you come?”

Yoongi begins to focus on your earlobe and you perceive the smug, proud smirk on his mouth. You don’t know what to say—beyond overwhelmed, beyond fucked out. All you know is that you don’t have enough, that you need more, that you hated how quickly your orgasm came upon you.

Jungkook takes Yoongi’s hands gently and rearranges them. The right one on your cunt, the left one on your jawline. To your surprise, he lets him. Something about that coaxes a string of your wetness to trickle down your thigh.

Yoongi’s hold on your chin is rough, causing a litany of soft mewls to spill out of your mouth as you wait for the next move. Needy, horny. And your mewls turn into loud moans that waft out into the forest when Jungkook grips your tits, pushes them together and licks against both of your nipples, your whole body fluttering, trembling, weak and stimulated. Yoongi begins to rub your clit and Jungkook catches you go cross-eyed, stifling his chuckle, but smiling at you regardless.

Drawing close to you until your bare, wet nipples come into contact with his skin, he glimpses at your mouth once before boring his eyes into yours. “Apologize,” he says lowly. “Apologize for wearing panties.”

Yoongi squeezes your cheeks, puckering your mouth, despite the fact this is something you only do together. Then, Jungkook tilts his head to the side and kisses you softly, owning you entirely. The puffy tenderness of his mouth, the gentleness which he pressed that kiss with—Yoongi squeezes your cheeks even harder, opening your jaw, giving Jungkook the green light to use his tongue and you’re gone.

You’re gone when Jungkook swipes his tongue on top of yours. Gone when he toys with it, swirls around it for a moment before closing his lips around yours, kissing you deeply—the smacking sound so loud in your ears, so delicious that you moan, losing your strength to stand and sagging a little bit in Yoongi’s arms.

“Fuck,” you utter once he lets you breathe and even through the hypnosis, the hot flashes signaling the upcoming of your second orgasm and the blurriness of your vision, you can see how much that kiss affected him.

Softening glossy eyes, features loosening—smirk wiped clean, unbelief, wooziness and arousal in its place instead. Mouth parted, puffy, shiny with saliva. A beautiful, extraordinary sight.

“She can’t apologize, but she can swear,” Jungkook comments, but it doesn’t reflect the turmoil happening on the inside of him. And it doesn’t explain what he does next.

He kisses you again. More gently than before. A slight whirl of tongue around yours before he closes his lips against you all over again. Although this time, he doesn’t stop. He pinches your nipples with his fingers, over and over, while moving his mouth against yours, a slow ripple of the pond behind you if there ever was one. And you feel the heat, the sweat coating your body and you feel Jungkook feeling you come. You don’t have to make a sound. He knows.

Your orgasm is a deep current moving through you. Like that kiss. You lose yourself in it, eyes rolled back into darkness, fluttering to and fro—from light to dark—and when you resurface, you find Jungkook’s cavernous, enthralled gaze fixed on you, fixed on the forging process of your orgasm taking roots in you.

Yoongi lets you drop to the floor, breathless. Jungkook shoots him a dirty look, but you reach for the button of his pants, not caring. He stops you with a gentle grasp of your wrist. Bends to your level.

“You’re not sucking dick. Not mine, not his,” Jungkook snarls, helping you stand to your feet. Hooks an arm under your knees and back and lifts you into his arms—carries you upstairs, without any other words spared.

He sets you on the bed. Gently cleans your feet with a wet cloth and when he’s done, he takes a seat on the white rocking chair across from you. Palms his length briefly before he manspreads, propping his elbows on his thighs like he did at dinner. Once Yoongi arrives, he pats your head and caresses your hair, an apology for letting you fall. You’re on the verge of tears.

Jungkook doesn’t even look at him. “Fifteen spanks from him for wearing panties. Fifteen more from me for not apologizing. To me.”

Yoongi never spanked you. You recognize it’s as much of a punishment for him as it is for you. They haven’t been friends for a day. Jungkook must be very well aware of Yoongi’s disliking of any impact play. He might like to make you cry during sex, but he never uses violence to do so. He uses his words, his dominance and his length.

Jungkook is teaching him a lesson for letting you drop to the floor. And it coaxes an onrush of foreign emotions to swarm within you. You’re touched. Deeply, deeply touched.

So much that you don’t take in the fact you’re getting spanked thirty times.

Yoongi scowls and you’re sick of seeing it. Getting on your knees, you wait for him to sit down. He remains standing.

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Sit down, hyung.”

Power play. He has no business ordering him around and calling him hyung while at it. Has no business to be in control when he’s the bull. Your essence sticks to your thighs.

“I’m not spanking her,” Yoongi mutters. “Do it yourself.”

Jungkook leans back, a finger to his temple. Darkness soaks him in heat and he shines, dimly. “You allowed it to happen, so you punish her. For me.” In other words: You dropped her, so you’re getting punished.

Yoongi has no other choice. You can see the defeat wrung into his face and he doesn’t look at his friend as he sits down. You do.

And the look you share should mangle your heart, but it doesn’t. You should feel bad that you’re on his side and not on Yoongi’s, but you don’t.

Purposefully, you angle your pussy so Jungkook has a perfect view of her as you crawl on Yoongi’s lap. One leg on the mattress, the other in the middle of his thighs—

“Lie down,” Jungkook orders and you listen, immediately, plopping down on Yoongi’s lap, making him gasp.

Yoongi cages you in. Pushes you farther towards his back, but you fight against it. You want to look at Jungkook when you’re getting spanked by your boyfriend for the first time, and so you twist your torso to the side. Just in time to catch a sunray penetrating his aura of darkness, enkindling him softly.

With his hand wrapped around his still clothed cock, Jungkook nods at Yoongi. You didn’t even realize he was waiting for his signal. Your pussy drools. Jungkook squeezes his girth in response.

The first spank is tender. And so is the second and the third. Jungkook sighs, rubbing his temple, but he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

Fourth and fifth—it gains a small amount of intensity, barely. Sixth and seventh, he rubs both of your cheeks as if it hurt, when in reality it was a caress to you.

Jungkook slowly blinks at you, telling you to be patient through that gesture.

Because it’s the tenth one that makes you gasp. The prickling pain coursing through your body, pooling at your core—your core that shows him how much you liked that sharp spank. Jungkook smiles, proven right.

Yoongi’s breath shakes. His cock twitches against your stomach.

“Harder,” Jungkook mutters, his own breath quick, eyes never leaving yours. “For the last five. And faster.”

Yoongi obeys. Your moans grow in volume with each spank, your bottom painted in faint red. Yoongi quickly pulls you up to face him, brushing your hair away from your face.

“You liked that?” he asks in disbelief, eyes flicking between yours, looking for any hint of discomfort.

You nod. “I need—” Him, you don’t say. You can’t.

The rocking chair creaks. Jungkook walks towards you. You twist your body again to meet him halfway and he caresses your cheek, rewarding you. You go to turn your body wholly, but Jungkook stops you, holding you steady by the waist. While you still straddle Yoongi, knees on either side of his thigh, he gently prompts you to lift up your bum against him, arching your back, tits in Yoongi’s face.

“Stay like this,” he whispers into the waterfall of your hair and as you rub your cheeks against his manhood slowly, he hums, pressing a deep kiss onto your scalp. “Hold onto his shoulders.”

You do as he says. As if Yoongi knows something you don’t, he latches his hands onto the back of your knees, clamping you down on the mattress.

The first spank causes you to squeeze your eyes shut, pain so acute striking your body like flashes of lightning. And unlike Yoongi, Jungkook doesn’t stop. He keeps spanking you, each hit harder and more painful than the one before and you lose count of how many you’ve taken. You grip Yoongi’s good shoulder with all your might, wrapping your other hand around his neck.

You like the pain. You like the pain so much that you stay still. And because of that, Jungkook tilts your chin so you can look at him, coming to your side and propping a knee on the mattress. You see amusement and amazement swimming in his eyes when you finally open yours, dazed. He smiles at you, softly and tenderly. And you pucker your lips at him, asking for a kiss.

Jungkook willingly obliges. Gives you a deep peck full of meaning that you don’t know the language of yet—and it sinks down your body, makes a bed there. The coldness of his lip ring turns you whiny. Jungkook kisses you over and over again, just to hear your sounds.

Yoongi is red when you glance down at him. He’s at loss for words and there’s a puzzling look to his face that you don’t want to decipher.

“Five more,” Jungkook whispers, tracing the outline of your abused, sensitive ass. “Can you handle five more? You’ve taken it so well so far.”

“Yes, please,” you breathe out and the fact you asked for it makes both of the males still. Jungkook sneaks a hand between your legs and circles your hole, gathering your arousal, teasing you, finding you wetter than before.

Yoongi begins to suck on your nipples. And when Jungkook finishes his punishment faster than you anticipated or even noticed, your bum burning, you could come like this—but you don’t. Jungkook sticks his tongue down your throat, does what Yoongi does on your nipple and you begin to tremble, making a mess on Yoongi’s thigh.

As if pitying the abuse, Jungkook kneels before you and peppers gentle, wet kisses on the red flecks of your disobedience, making it right, healing it. Careful with his lip ring, careful not to suck on the skin.

Then, he places a singular kiss on your clit, making you shiver. Stands to his feet. Walks over to his dresser. “Both of you lean back against the headboard. You against his chest. Keep her legs open, hyung.”

You hiss at the change of positions, your cheeks hurting, even when Yoongi places a pillow underneath your butt. It worries him, your expression of pain and he tries to alleviate it by kissing you. There’s so much difference to the way he does it that it makes you emotional, drags you deeper into the madness of your hypnosis.

“You enjoyed that?” Yoongi asks, knuckles brushing against the side of your face, as if he truly can’t believe you enjoyed the inflicting of pain.

And you’d want it again, if your skin wasn’t so sore.

“I loved it, Yoongi.”

Shock flares in his eyes and you look away.

Jungkook crawls upon the bed with a pink toy in his hand. A small egg with a small gap in the top half. You smile at him, excitement surging in you, and he reciprocates it. Lifts your leg to your shoulder and Yoongi holds it in place.

“Butt hurts?” Jungkook asks, noticing the pillow, and you nod. “Good.”

You laugh, softly.

Placing a hand on your mound, covering it entirely, he brushes his thumb across your cunt, checking your arousal, spreading it on your clit. Doesn’t think there’s enough, which you find ridiculous, and he spits on her, making you moan. Turns the toy on.

“Spit on her again,” you command, grinding your hips, feeling the trail go down to your hole.

Jungkook smirks at you. “Filthy girl.”

Bends to your cunt and spits at her again, tongue darting out to lightly keep the liquid love, where he wants it to be. And you mewl, welcoming his tongue on your clit, and you yearn for more, lifting your pelvis even though it hurts, but Jungkook withdraws. Places the toy on it, thumb clicking on the intensity, rising it, rising it high so much that you widen your eyes—

It sucks on your clit.

You cry out, pleasure seizing you in its grasp and all you can do is close your eyes and feel it. It paralyzes you, takes your breath and—

“Look at me.”

You can’t.

“I know it feels good, but I’m not letting you have it until you look at me.”

He takes the toy away. You grip his tattooed arm, opening your eyes.

“Please, Jungkook—”

He doesn’t listen to your plea. Lifts your other leg. Doesn’t give it to Yoongi—keeps his hand there, nice and firm. Begins to concentrate on the back of your thigh, leaving behind wet marks of red and purple, tongue sliding on the skin before he sucks on it, keeping his eyes on you as he does it. You grab a hold of his hair. Soft, so silkily soft, short and healthy. You imagine the tiny petals on the weeping willow outside have the same softness.

You’re spellbound. Jungkook places the toy back on your clit, pleasure flooding you—now more fervent and extreme, with his puffy lips still sucking your skin in tandem. And hearing your moans, Jungkook fires them back at you, setting your body ablaze.

“That’s it. Keep looking at me,” he husks and Yoongi squeezes your other thigh, kissing your hair, reminding you he’s here with you. But he’s not the one who moans along with you. It’s Jungkook. Your eyes lid, but you try your hardest to keep them open, your feverish body swaying, the nearness of your orgasm at hand. “Yes, like that. I’m gonna make you come for me.”

Letting go of your thigh, he sinks the two of his fingers inside your heat, gasping along with you. Stuffing you to the brim like he did before, he doesn’t have to fuck you fast to bring you over the edge. He moves the toy from side to side—and it’s the feeling of fullness, the twist of his features as if he was the one pleasured that makes you come all over his hand, the pillow and the bedding.

It’s like being submerged under the water of the pond and you keep your eyes open the entire time, the endearment on his face and his attentiveness taking care of you, watching over you as he talks you through your orgasm.

“Don’t hold back for me, yes, take it, baby. Good, so good, I know,” he says it in such undertones that you sob, emotions rushing out along with your release, trickling out of your tear ducts. You feel so safe and so well taken care of, so content that you don’t shy away from your feelings. You let both males be witnesses to it.

It’s Jungkook first, who reacts. Brows knitted, he wipes your tears away. And it’s him who decides to take a break.

“Let’s eat lunch.”

Your focus is enveloped around him so tightly that you don’t even know how your boyfriend reacted to your tears. You don’t feel him when he lets go of your leg and stands up to his feet to dress. It’s Jungkook who cleans you and checks the redness of your ass if there are any bruises.

Yoongi doesn’t wait for you as he goes down the stairs.

And it’s you who feels defeated now. And when Jungkook looks at you, he knows.

BACK to masterlist / READ part one

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #yoongi smut #yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

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blueparadis · 2 years ago

Note

I feel bad about sending you many thirst but I am so obsessed so if you wanna ignore this, it's your choice BUT LIKE HEAR ME OUT-

Rin and Sae having a very clingy and horny girlfriend ever!! She just constantly needs to be touched by her beloved boyfriend. Rin obviously doesn't mind!! He absolutely loves that almost every night you wake him or Sae up to touch her!!

Anyways hope you have a good sleep/day because idk what timezone you're in!! <3

as you can see, I couldn't hold myself back. No, no dear. You're not a bother. Keep them coming :> & don't ever feel bad for being corny hahah <3 i was kinda confused if this was supposed to be a polyamory but I did them seperate >~<

— f!reader, smut, boyfriend headcanons + scenarios, more as individual warnings + ft. Itoshi brothers.

implied somnophilia, multiple rounds,fingering overstimulation, cockwarming, service- dom!Rin

It's admirable how Rin’s hands slips under your top during every movie night. The moment you sit in between his legs, all his attention diverts from the movie on to you.

And lucky for him, you cannot seem to concentrate on the movie until you feel the familiar touch of his hands on your skin. He likes to play with your boobs, kneading them, eyes watching you, your low little gasps as you watch movie. Sometimes his hands slip into your underwear and he ends up playing with your pussy too.

Also, likes to come up behind you while you are in the kitchen, kiss your shoulders, and tell about his day while he slowly eases two fingers inside you.

He won't admit it ; his ego won't let him. But he loves how you take him so well. All the time, not just in bed, in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in the couch. . . It's just drives him crazy how you are always so needy and who is he to deny when you whine in that pretty voice?

“Yes baby? What? now? Like now now?”, he coos in a sleepy voice words toppling over one another, his nose grazing your neckline, heavy breaths hitting your earlobes occasionally as you keep fidgeting with his cock. “um-hm”, and that's all it takes for him to fuck you witless.

voyeurism, dacryphillia, branding, cunnilingus, sensory deprivation, pleasure-dom!sae

It's astonishing how Sae has not grown tired of you, your continuous whines begging nothing but to touch you. What's more astonishing is that how shamelessly you succumb to his touch, every damn time.

Sae is a bit territorial as well as wild. Unlike his brother, he wouldn't waste any time in fingers fucking you for multiple times.

Instead, he lets you beg.he lets you ride him while he won't even move a muscle. Sometimes, he would just watch you touch yourself with every last bit of desperation threatening your sanity because he knows only his fingers, his cock, his touch can make you feel good.

Kisses are his forte. Just when you are close to your orgasm, your fingers being clammy, muscles stiff from imprecise masturbation he pins your hands above your head with one hand while the other curls around your neck as his lips matches the desperation you seek.

He loves to leave marks on your body, basically the intimate parts : inner thighs while eating you out, wrists while hammering his cock inside you, necklines when he lets you ride or cockwarm him.

“you ’kay baby? Or do you want more?”, he would ask after pulling a fourth orgasm , nose and lips glistening with your slick while you pant and huff to give an answer.

—

@tokyometronetwork + tap here for more.

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viennakarma · 11 months ago

Text

Everything I Wanted II.

LESTAPPEN X READER (PART 2)

Summary: Your journey to become a Motorsport legend wasn't easy, especially when your path clashed with your greatest rivals, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

Word count: 8.9k

Tags: Driver reader, mentions of crash, angst, abusive parent, daddy issues, trust issues, character death (not reader), cursing, strong rivalry, misogyny in motorsport, invasive media, aggressive fans, reader suffers with cyberbullying and hate, smut, female reader, +18, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with plot, queer! everyone, polyamory lestappen, bit of dirty talking, pet names, not beta read

Relationships: Lestappen x Reader

Mentor!Kimi Raikkonen x Reader

Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton x Platonic!Reader

Notes: this is full of motorsport categories inaccuracies, just go with the vibes please. There are a few inaccuracies regarding other drivers' lives, but they are just to fit the story. This chapter is very angsty and none of it is an attack at the drivers nor their fans and personalities, please.

I know I KNOW, this got out of hand, AGAIN. I promise next part (and hopefully last) is more focused on the romance, and the happy ending reader deserves.

Find me on Twitter!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You spent Christmas with your mom, sharing a lot of presents and watching a bunch of stupid Christmas movies. New Year’s was now a tradition to spend with the Raikkonen Family, joined with the closest friends for a little get together. It was a good opportunity to reconnect with Kimi’s kids who missed you a lot during the season.

Charles never contacted you during winter break, which you were sure was the best after that mistake. You hated each other too much and the only thing that could come out of that was toxicity from the both of you. You refused to even acknowledge what had happened and its implications, that wouldn’t and couldn’t mean anything.

During the pre-season testing in Bahrain, you and Charles were back to whatever your relationship was before that one lapse in judgment months before.

Nobody noticed anything.

One day, Fernando pulled you aside for a little chat. You two sat side by side on big moving boxes, sipping on energy drinks.

“There’s something I have been wanting to talk to you about since last year,” he started, seemingly pensive, distant.

“Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, yeah. Remember after we first met when you asked me if I had advice for you regarding your career?” Fernando said, and you remembered.

Right after you had gotten close, you asked him for advice, you always did, especially about racing. But one day, you were chatting about his career, and you asked if had any lessons you should never forget. He had laughed joking about read all your contracts then asking if you were calling him old, but he said if he ever had any advice, he would tell you.

“Yes, have you got my answer yet?”

“Sí, Nena,” he paused, looking deep into your eyes, “enjoy.”

You frowned and he saw the confusion on your face.

“I see much of my younger self in you, you know? The same passion, this fiery desire to win, your goal for the championship, to conquer the world…” Fernando paused, looking up to the clear sky, the sunset coming around, “And I did. But I wish I had enjoyed it more. I should’ve gone to parties, I should’ve visited the countries we went to and tried the food, I should’ve made more friends, I should’ve had more lovers… I was so focused on winning, on getting my hands on that trophy of champion of the world, that I missed out on a lot.”

You felt your eyes tear up, and you wiped it before the tears came down. Putting your hand on his shoulder, you smiled at him.

“It’s such an honor race with you. And an even greater honor to have you as a friend, Nano” you whispered to him, you two laughed as his eyes watered too, and slapping his shoulder you laughed, “don’t make me cry, you old softie!”

You took his advice to your heart.

You went to the parties, you met new people, and that’s how after two entire seasons, you managed to befriend Lando, your teammate. You two had to open your hearts a little bit and meet in the middle. Which proved to be great, the whole team loved the change in your dynamic. You still weren’t besties, but you were close colleagues, and that was great. Everyone noticed the change and it reflected on how you started racing as a team instead of individually.

The car was even better than the year before, and the first race of the season you got a promising win.

That win, Lando’s pestering, and Fernando’s advice was how you ended up in a party after the Bahrain GP. Wearing a skimpy mini dress and 5 tequila shots deep, swaying your hips to the sound of Rihanna. You were dancing and singing with Lando and a few of his friends, loudly screaming the lyrics.

When it was way too hot for you, you grabbed a water bottle and beelined your way out of the crowded dance floor. You found a corner of the VIP section where the AC seemed to be working better, and as you stumbled inside the small space, you ran chest first into someone.

“Sorry,” you said, taking a step back and pressing your back against the cold wall.

“Enjoying your win?” Your head snapped up as you recognised Max’s voice. You had run into him.

Lando had mentioned inviting Max to the party, he had gotten a P2 in the race but you doubted he would go to a party he knew you would attend. You were obviously wrong.

“You know I am,” the victory was so good that nothing could ruin your mood.

“Well, then enjoy it. I’m coming for the win, again.” He warned you but his voice was devoid of anything, just sounded like he was casually telling you about the weather. But you knew that he was implying his championship the year before, rubbing it in your face.

“Don’t be so confident, Max,” you finished your water, smirking at him, “Enjoy the view of my rear!”

You flipped your hair, feeling his eyes on you the whole walk back to the dance floor.

And yet-

Somehow-

You ended up back at that small corner, dancing with your body pressed between Verstappen’s and the wall, his hand holding your jaw firmly, you rolled your hips against him, feeling the way his body responded to yours.

“We can’t-” he said to you, still, his eyes hadn’t left your lips, like he was so oh so tempted.

You rolled your eyes, annoyed. Sober you would never do that, but then, that was a problem for later. Checking to see if anyone was looking at you, you hooked a finger around his waistband and pulled him towards the bathroom.

As soon as the two of you were inside, you locked the door and Max pressed your back against the door, latching his lips to yours in a very desperate open mouthed kiss. You hugged his shoulders, opening your lips to him, his hands went down your sides and he grabbed your ass, pulling you into him. But that wasn’t enough, so he held your thighs and pulled up, carrying you. You locked your legs around his waist, and he stopped the kiss to walk, sitting you on the marble side of the sink, still between your legs, forcing his bulge against your panties, and eliciting a moan from you.

He took a half step back to hike your dress up, palming your cunt over your panties feeling the dampness of it, he tried to press his hand under your panties, but the lacy fabric didn’t leave much space, so he simply tore the bottom of them, exposing you to him. He just ran a finger over your slit, collecting your wetness for a brief moment before pushing a finger into you. Max watched your face with concentration, studying your body’s responses. Your hips shaking at the movement of his finger, and when the second one joined, you got louder. He curled his fingers up, his thumb pressing your clit, and you had to use both hands to hold onto him, your head lolling back against the mirror.

“Take it and shut the fuck up,” he grunted between clenched teeth.

He was pressing your insides so good, the slick sound of his fingers going in and out, his heavy breathing, the loud music outside and his laser focused fingers had you coming against his fingers in minutes. When he noticed you close, cunt spasming against his fingers, he pressed the other hand against your mouth, covering your moans when your toes curled and you orgasmed on his hand.

Max barely let you recover as he opened his jeans and stroked himself twice before pushing his cock into you in one swift move, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion.

“That’s what you wanted, right? Fucking teasing me all night,” He pushed particularly hard, hitting your g-spot, making you see stars, “you’re a fucking menace, y’know that? Fucking insufferable,” then his words became a mumbling of something dutch you couldn’t quite catch anymore with the way his hips snapped against yours, taking all your focus away and turning you into a mess of moaning.

Max fucked like he raced, focused and relentless, brutal. He hugged you with one arm around your waist to keep you in place and the other held you face, tilting your head so he could kiss you, or whatever that mess of saliva, tongues and teeth was. Your orgasm crashed through you unexpectedly, and you only hugged him tighter, pressing your face against his chest, biting into his skin through the fabric of his T-shirt to silence yourself, your teeth sinking into him was enough to send him also over the edge, coming with moans against your ear.

That night, you went home with shaking legs and an incoming headache, as Max left with the scraps of your panties in his pocket and your lipstick stain on his shirt, above his chest.

It was the seventh race of the year, Monaco, and you absolutely hated that specific track since your years of F2. During your two first years in F1 you had awful experiences, the rookie year you DNF and the year prior you had barely managed a P7. You were trying to keep your head up, be hopeful that you could at least try for top 5.

But since you couldn’t catch a fucking break, an old video of your teenage years resurfaced.

You were walking to your first round of interviews when Amanda, your PR manager, started walking by your side.

“There’s something. An old video of a karting competition resurfaced, where Max and Charles pretty much call you stupid,” Amanda was always direct, you could give it to her.

“Let me see the video” you asked, offering your hand for her phone.

“We don’t have time, but everyone will ask you about it. I need you to be the bigger person and act like it isn’t important, yes? They will try to taunt you and get a bad reaction from you, I need you to dismiss everything they throw at you. Agreed?”

You sighed. You knew the stuff from your teens were pretty bad, you rarely badmouthed Max or Charles, but they always felt threatened by you, so there were lots of instances they attacked you. Honestly, you just didn’t want to come out of this victimized. So as you entered the first round of interviews, you decided you were going to downplay anything they asked you.

“Y/N, have you seen the footage of you, Max and Charles from your teenage years that resurfaced recently?”

“No, uh, I haven’t.”

Someone pushed an iPad in your hands because of course, they wanted a live reaction from you. You pressed play, reading the subtitles someone put on the video. It was an amateur recording like a post race interview made by another teenage guy. First as Max walked out of the track, the guy asked what he thought of your win.

“It was luck, she’s not bright enough to think of a strategy,” Max said, walking away, clearly pissed having lost to you.

There was a cut and the camera was turned on again when Charles walked toward the guy asking the question. He repeated exactly the same question he had asked Max.

“Y/N, I don’t worry about her long term. She’s not going very far in this sport anyway,” Charles shrugged, seemingly unbothered.

As the video cut again, it showed your face, you remembered when that was. You were 14, and your dad had dropped you a few months earlier, so you were working your ass off balancing school, work and karting.

“Hey, Y/N. What do you think of your result today?”

“Uh, I tried a new strategy I learned earlier this week, thankfully it worked in my favor,” teen-You dried your forehead with your coat’s sleeve.

“What are your plans for this competition?”

“Well, I hope to be good enough to get into F4 next year, and work my way up into Formula 1,” you smiled softly and walked away after a quick bye.

The video ended and you still spent a few seconds staring at the black screen of the iPad. This interview didn’t come to your mind in more than a decade, but it was nice seeing how you made your 14-year-old dream come true.

“So, what do you say?” The reporter extended his mic to you.

“I guess I proved them wrong, right?” You giggled a little, “don’t take it to heart, really. We were all hormonal teenagers, I’m sure if someone digs, they will find a video of me saying the same stuff about them,” you shrugged, despite that being a lie, sounded dismissive enough.

“So it doesn’t upset you?” The reporter insisted, and you knew he wanted a scandal you weren’t willing to give.

“Of course not. I’ve always known my worth, and I’m P1 in the driver’s championship as of right now. So I don’t really care.”

The interviewers soon let the video go, when they realized you didn’t care about it. You weren’t sure if anyone would also approach Charles or Max with questions about the same video, but you couldn’t care less, you wanted to avoid drama for the time being so you could focus on the championship instead of this bullshit.

On the morning of qualifying, you were in your room, trying to meditate and clear your mind, when a knock interrupted you.

“Guys, I asked for twenty minutes so I could-” you stop yourself when you realize it isn’t anyone from your team, but it’s Max and Charles, “what are you doing here?”

“We came to apologize about the video,” Max started.

“Did your PR teams send you here?” You looked around, trying to catch a camera or even a phone recording.

“No uh, we realized we were very immature with you, and this video is just proof of how silly that was,” Charles sighed, seemingly embarrassed.

“You don’t need to apologize, I mean- the two of you really had it out for me, you called me dumb a lot,” you pointed to Max, then Charles, “and you called me ugly countless times. I don’t know why it would make any difference now.”

You were just so used to being defensive, to protect yourself from hatred you found it hard to believe them, to give them a chance to apologize because you couldn’t believe it to be genuine.

“Even if you don’t take it, or believe it, I would like to apologize for that behavior. I was just a stupid kid.” Max looked deep into your eyes, which could’ve made you uncomfortable if he didn’t seem so honest.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. It was too idiotic to be like that to you, growing up. You were just a kid too.” Charles added.

You understood where that apology came from, it was stupid and embarrassing for all three of you this teenage rivalry when you all were barely mid racers back in the day. Sighing, you looked around, dropping your façade for a second, allowing yourself to display the same honesty they showed you.

It was hard and required some sort of deprogramming because you could only see them as rivals, like your dad had whispered in your brain so many times before, like their actions towards you had cemented dad’s words. They had said things that were on your mind for so long, that had made you defensive and deflective.

“Look, don’t worry about it. Whatever happened back then, it’s water under the bridge,” You shifted on your feet. As they started walking away, you added “this doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

They only nodded before leaving. Your routine went back to the same, and as the next scandal went on, people forgot about the silly video, but a very specific part of the fans started shipping you and both your rivals.

The rivalry never died down though.

Then, out of nowhere, Sebastian pulled you and Lewis aside to a conversation. Then he told you that he was going to retire by the end of the season. It was the first time the two of them saw you cry, and Sebastian hugged you tight, shushing your crying softly.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered, petting your head.

“No, don’t apologize,” you let him go, drying your face, “I have listened to you talking countless times about how you missed the kids. Don’t apologize for choosing to be a great dad. I know Hanna and the kiddos will be ecstatic.”

“You two are my closest friends here, that’s why I wanted to tell you first, before my announcement.”

“Thank you, Seb,” you said, eyes still watering, “I’m going to miss having you around.”

“Thank you for telling us beforehand,” Lewis said, also visibly emotional.

The season was writing itself to be just as close as the year prior, but now you were slightly better at keeping the lead most.

That is until Zandvoort. This GP was always a nightmare to you, because it was full of Max’s fans, and they absolutely hated you for being his rival. You had been booed when you were on the podium the year before, so now, you and Amanda decided it was best to keep your head down during the whole week. Not out of shame, but more of a matter of safety, you didn’t know how far the crowd could go in antagonizing you. When you were booed the other year, Max had said it was part of the sport and dismissed the conversation.

The morning of free practice, you went into the paddock very low-key and kept to yourself. You arrived with a little cup of coffee and got mentally ready for a hostile environment the whole weekend. That, until you spotted a small group of people dressed with your color and wearing your number, waving wildly to you.

In a spur of the moment decision, you went there, getting close to the barrier to sign a few caps and take a few selfies. In retrospect, you knew you shouldn’t have done that, especially with only two bodyguards accompanying you.

You were finishing chatting with your fans when you felt something heavy hit the side of your head and the impact made you stumble backwards, you were confused as you heard the screams and felt one of the bodyguards pull you back, as the other jumped the barrier and started running. You patted your temple and something wet and sticky was dripping down the side of your face. You stared at the small group of fans who were looking at you horrified. Staring at the hand, you saw the red staining your fingers, and as the bodyguard kept pulling you away to somewhere safer, the thing flowed even more and got into your left eye.

You wondered if it was blood as you touched your temple but felt nothing, not a gash nor small cut. You covered your left eye as it started to sting from what you supposed smelt like paint.

“Hey, hey, what happened? You’re bleeding!” Max jogged up to you.

“Not blood, just paint” you muttered, trying to use your coat to clean your face.

“Someone threw a paint ball at her,” the bodyguard said.

“Fuck, it’s burning!” You exclaimed, feeling tears in your left eye.

“Come here, the RB hospitality is close,” Max said, holding your wrist, he stopped shortly pointing to your bodyguard, “and you, sort this and find the person who did it.”

You let yourself be taken by Max into the RB territory, the burning so annoying that you rather take whatever solution he was thinking of. He held your waist and placed you sitting on a sink, and then you felt water streaming down your face.

“Stay still,” Max commanded, holding a hose over your head, pouring water down your face, “now blink slowly, let the water wash it,” his voice soft as you did what he told you to. Slowly but surely, it washed the paint away, relieving your left eye from the stinging. Max held the hose up and held your chin, tilting your head up so he could check your eye, still letting the water stream down your face.

You took a few minutes, breathing and regulating your heartbeat from that scare, trying to come back to normal and understand fully what was going on. From what you gathered, you were chatting with fans when someone else came and threw something with paint at you.

“How does it feel?”

“It’s better, already stopped burning,” you told him, feeling your heart miss a beat at the close proximity you found yourself to him. You were sitting on a sink, Max standing between your legs pretty much like you two had done months before for entirely different reasons.

“Open your eye, let me see,” he asked, and you tried to blink it open, “can you see?”

“It’s a little blurry but I believe it will get better,” you explained, and he didn’t let go of your chin. Suddenly, he covered your right eye with the other hand, leaving you only with your left eye sight.

“How many fingers am I putting up?” He showed it to your left eye. The vision was a bit blurry but you still could make out the shapes very clearly.

“Four, Max. It’s just a little bit blurry, probably will get better in a few minutes” you sounded annoyed, you tried to move but he pressed a hand against your waist, keeping you in place.

“Now, what happened?” He asked finally. You ignored the proximity, and the hand still on your body.

“We’re in Zandvoort, that’s what happened,” you shrugged, really annoyed about it.

“What do you mean?” He was visibly confused. You scoffed because you knew it wasn’t something he didn’t know, since the year before he has dismissed the importance of how hostile people were to you.

“We’re massively surrounded by your fans, Max.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They hate me because you hate me, and they think because you hate me they’re justified in their hostility towards me,” You explained, with a sigh, you pushed away from Max, “this GP has been like this for me ever since Rookie year.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said, brows furrowed.

“You do. And they do too,” you pointed down at the paint that had also stained your shirt as proof.

“I don’t,” he insisted and you rolled your eyes, jumping off the sink, but he didn’t give you space, which made you stand chest to chest with him, “I promise.”

You stared at him, breathless. That wasn’t part of the game you played, being kind, sounding worried and making promises. None of that was part of this whole rivalry. Pushing his chest, you tried getting away but he caged you against the sink, body flush against yours.

“Do you believe me?” He asked and your eyes fell to his lips, and you allowed yourself to remember the desperate and chaotic kisses you had shared in a dimly lit bathroom, “I don’t support any of this behavior.”

You heard voices and steps approaching, which made you finally push him away, walking towards the door. Whatever little magic had been happening between those walls was undone the moment you remembered none of that would’ve happened if he had politely put a stop to it earlier.

“It’s part of the sport and I have to deal with it, right?” You returned the very same words he had said about you when you were booed by the crowd the year prior.

As you opened the door, you were faced with Sebastian. He stopped, taking you in and then pulling you in a hug.

“Are you ok? We just heard what happened!” He murmured, guiding you out of the bathroom. He held your shoulders and looked at your face, checking how your left eye was still a little red, “we should take you to see a doctor, come on.”

Lewis soon arrived at the entrance of the RBR station, he warned about the reporters crowding outside, waiting for a glimpse of you after the attack. The British man gave you a Mercedes coat so you put it over your head and avoid the cameras waiting outside. With the bodyguards and both Lewis and Sebastian leading you away, you ended up at the medical center, and after a quick examination, the doctor gave you eye drops to put throughout the day.

Your Principal suggested you sit the FP1 out, letting the reserve driver take your place while you recovered. By the middle of FP1, your eyesight was 100% and you went to get ready for FP2. The whole day you felt like everyone was being extra careful, tiptoeing around you. You hated feeling like you were being pitied, so when the inevitable round of interviews came, you knew what you had to do.

“We heard about your incident earlier today, how are you feeling about it?” Someone asked.

“I’m pretty upset, to be honest. Formula 1 is a sport loved around the whole world, and the paddock overall is supposed to be a safe place not only for the fans, but also the workers and drivers. What happened today is unacceptable and could’ve been much worse. I’m voicing my dissatisfaction and I intend to, through legal means, take this complaint to the FIA.”

Later that night, as you laid awake on your bed, scrolling through the repercussions of the day, you stopped when you saw a snippet of Max's interview.

“What happened today was dangerous and unacceptable, I don’t support this behavior and I stand with Y/N,” that was all he said, but Max usually was a man of few words, always knowing when it was enough.

You knew he should’ve voiced that much earlier in your career, specifically after the booing the year before, but still- He also could have opted to not say anything at all, and he didn’t.

Amanda also sent you the news that the fan who had attacked you was found and banned for life from Formula 1.

After calling Sebastian, you managed to get ahold of Max’s phone number and texted him a simple message.

Thank you. Twice. - Lioness

The text went to read almost immediately, and the three dots appeared from his side of the screen. You wait, and wait, and wait. And then the dots disappeared, and an answer never came.

After a solid P2 that weekend in Zandvoort, you went home for the summer break. You and your mom had planned to go to Monaco for a little while since you were planning on buying a place there. From there, you and your mom would go all around the French Riviera to enjoy the sea and spend a few days in a spa resort. Then, you would go back home and relax before going to Ibiza for a weekend to meet Lando and his friends to enjoy some partying.

Everything went according to plan, but one day when you came back home after the trip to the French Riviera, you found your mom passed out on the living room floor.

You called an ambulance, quickly taking her into the hospital. Everything was a blur, the tests and scans, your mom still unconscious on a hospital bed, and the results. The results that pulled the floor from under your feet.

Your brain couldn’t fully compute what was said. Cancer Stage 4. Surgery. Palliative care.

The world was muted around you as you sat on a chair in the waiting room, hands shaking when you tried to understand what was happening. You somehow ended up calling the one other person you trust.

“Y/N? What happened?”

“I don’t understand- she just- she just passed out and I thought- but- but they said- palliative care” you try to come up with words.

“Talk to me. Are you sick?” Kimi’s voice is so focused and a little soothing.

“It’s mom”

“Send your location, I’m going there,” that’s all he said.

Waiting for Kimi gave you some sense of purpose, because it’s Kimi. He could fix anything. He fixed your life when you were 14, he can do it again. He would get there and find a way to help. Your mind got so clouded when the word cancer was thrown in the conversation, that you probably missed the part about treatments and- and surgery and stuff.

In your mother’s room there was a comfortable couch where you tried to settle to sleep, but you only spent countless hours awake. You hoped to see the doctor again to try and get him to explain everything for a second time.

You wished you were smart and quick, but no, you just sat there holding onto the hope that Kimi had a way to fix this.

Kimi arrived early the next morning, knocking on the door before entering. You stood up, hugging him tight.

“What happened?”

“It’s pancreatic cancer, they said. We need to see more about surgery and- and treatments.”

You and Kimi found the doctor, who explained again, and in that moment you finally understood what he meant the first time around. She was in a late stage of pancreatic cancer, which was usually a very difficult illness to find before it is too late, due to the placement of the organ in the body and late symptoms. The only options were either to try a very risky surgery and chemo so she could extend her life for around 8 months to a year. Or she could go home to live her last few months the way she wanted.

You begged and cried and bribed and offered every single solution your brain could muster to try and save her. Kimi held you when you fell to the floor, sobbing.

When your mom woke up and you and Kimi told her the diagnosis, she cried too, sobbing in your arms as you tried to hold it together for her sake. It took a couple of days for her to choose to go home. The two of you spent the last days of summer break traveling around the world a bit more, visiting temples and statues, and seeing nature and everything good the world had to offer, going to places motorsport hadn’t taken you to.

Your mom went to every race week from there on, even when she felt especially weak, even when you had to hire a full time medical team for her.

Your focus on the season was solely on the moment between entering the car and leaving the car. You still managed to race like you’ve done before, calm and controlled, with the help of your engineers and team, you still could put the car where you wanted it, paving your way for a solid world championship that year. It was like your brain was seeing racing as the one thing in your life you had full control over, so sometimes you even felt like you and the car were one.

You didn’t tell anyone about her. Though every driver noticed how distant you were, even Charles and Max and the ones that weren’t very close to you noticed how you were only fulfilling your obligations and leaving, you weren’t even celebrating your wins, leaving the fastest you could after a race.

The Singapore GP was tough for you, having to leave your mom home alone with the medical staff and a couple of friends from her book club, since she wasn’t strong enough to travel anymore. Your attention was failing all throughout media day and free practices. Qualifying was shit compared to your performance the rest of the season.

In Q3 you did a reasonable sector 1 and 2 but you messed up sector 3 completely. It was a complete accident when you got in the way of a Ferrari when he was doing his fast lap, and you ended up messing his qualy too. Jace let you know it was none other than Charles Leclerc, who was setting the pace for a pole position. Out of 19 drivers, you had to ruin his lap. In the end, Max got pole, Charles qualified P3 and you qualified P5.

You went through the motions during the post qualifying press. You were about to leave after debriefing, when Charles Leclerc found you on the way to the parking lot. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself protectively as he walked up to you. You were hoping to escape his fury at least until after the race the next day. Before he could even get a word in, you started.

“Look, I know I messed up your pole. I know you won’t believe me, but it wasn’t intentional. I really thought there was no one doing fast laps on the track, I thought everyone was either still doing out laps or in the pits, so when you-”

“Calm down, breathe,” he interrupted you, “I’m not here to fight.”

“No?” You frowned, confused with the kindness in his eyes.

“We know you’re going through something, and I’m sure I’m the last person you want to hear this from, but you’re not alone. And you should really consider talking with someone on the grid. They’re all- we’re all worried about you.”

The words felt alien coming from his mouth, but the gentleness was so comforting you felt a lump in your throat.

“Why do you think I’m not ok?” You muttered trying to sound confident, but your voice failed, betraying you.

“You’re skinny and you look sleep deprived for a few weeks now,” Charles said directly.

“Damn, thanks.”

“I don’t mean it like that, you know it,” he paused, putting both hands on his pockets, “have you been eating?” Your lack of response made him press further, “have you eaten today?”

You pressed your lips together, not wanting to answer that.

“Let’s go, I’ll drive you to the hotel, we’ll stop on the way to grab some food,” Charles gestured to his car, a few meters away. You stood there, shocked as he started walking away, then he stopped looking over his shoulder, “come on, I don’t have all the time in the world.”

As you sat in his Ferrari, Charles put music on and you didn’t do much talking, but it was tranquil. He called the restaurant to order take out on the way, and 30 minutes later he dropped you off at the hotel with a bag full of food.

“Thank you, Charles.” You whispered before leaving the car.

You ate the food while on a video call with your mom.

You recovered well during the race, finishing P2, behind Max and ahead of Charles.

Your mom passed away a few days after the Japanese Grand Prix, the one you had won and dedicated it to her from the top step of the podium, even if she wasn’t there, just watching from home. You went home and stayed with her, holding her hands and hugging her as much as you could.

Some part of you knew she was somehow fighting, because she had promised you the year before she would be there when you became world champion. You could see she was hoping to make it to the end of the season, but you also knew she wouldn’t, and you rather she didn’t have to endure any more pain just for your sake.

“You don’t need to fight anymore, ma,” you whispered before she went to sleep, “you raised a strong woman, too. I will see you on the other side, ok? You can rest now, I love you.”

“I’m so proud of you, honey. I love you to the moon and back.”

You made it through her small funeral, following what she had written down before passing. An intimate funeral, full of flowers and a toast to her life. You cried the whole time, with Kimi and Minttu taking turns at comforting you as they could. Coming back to an empty home smelling of cleaning products made you almost lose your mind, and the sight of you in such despair was enough for Kimi to convince you to stay with them until you had to travel for the next race, in almost seven days.

The days passed in a crying blur, you let part of your team know about your mom’s passing. Only Amanda, Jace and your Principal. Jace tried to convince you to take a break and not go to the next race in Austin, but you quickly shut it off. Not only because racing was the one thing keeping you sane amidst the chaos, but because you were so close to the championship, and it was still close competition with Max and Charles, so you couldn’t afford to lose a race and the points that could come with it.

You had to honor your mom in some way.

That’s how you ended up on a plane to Austin with Kimi and Amanda. You knew Kimi had convinced you to let him go because he was sure you’d have a mental breakdown anytime along the weekend, but deep down you appreciated the company. Arriving there, Jace was the first to hug you and whisper his condolences, as well as your TP too.

You survived the entire weekend without breaking down crying in public, but that was your worst race in a few months, the first time out of a podium since Spa. You ended up P5, which luckily wasn’t too bad because Max finished P4 which you were grateful for as he was the one who was P2 in the driver’s championship close behind you.

After that week, you packed your stuff and moved to the new condo in Monaco you had bought during summer break. Despite loving your mom to pieces, you couldn’t manage to live alone in the house you bought for her a couple of years before, it was lonely and it hit you with overwhelming waves of sadness all the time. You distracted yourself a lot with buying furniture and decorations for the new place, and discovering Monte Carlo in a whole new way. The one comfort in all that, was knowing your mom wasn’t suffering anymore.

Then you went straight to Mexico for the next Grand Prix, this time, Kimi left you because he had to come home to Minttu and the kids. Amanda had been such a support for you, that you knew you had to give her something special for the holidays, out of gratitude.

Everything was going as expected until the press conference. You were there with Charles, Max, Sebastian and Lando. You suspected they were putting you always in the same group as Max and Charles because, as the season nearing the end, only three races left, they were your close competition.

While someone asked something of Charles, you were whispering with Sebastian, chatting about Mexican foods you wanted to try after the race. Then, something bizarre happened, and phones started to ping all around the room, between reporters, cameras and everyone else started checking their phones. It seemed like something out of a black mirror nightmare.

You reached for your phone but then remembered you left it to charge in your room.

“This question is for Y/N,” a reporter asked, reading something from his phone, “there’s a new article that just came out saying your mom passed away a couple of weeks ago, is that true?”

Your blood ran cold, and every sound felt like it was muted inside the room. Wide eyed, you searched for Amanda, who was somewhere on the opposite side of the room, and when you found her, she was pale. Then, there was a cacophony of voices and cameras and questions, that made you suddenly overwhelmed.

Swallowing, trying to reassess, you found Sebastian already standing, holding your shoulders. Looking around you noticed how the other three drivers had stood up, making some sort of shield around you, protecting you from the cameras and reporters swarming around.

“We can go, ok? Come on,” Sebastian was saying when Amanda caught up to you, leaning beside Sebastian.

“We can leave, right now,” she said, holding your hand.

Still a little confused, you nodded and let them both guide you back to your room.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Sebastian hugged you, running his hands on your back for comfort.

“How- how did they find out?” You ask Amanda.

“An article came out, I’m not sure. Someone was probably digging into your life, but don’t worry, I put the team on it already.”

“How do- how we diffuse this? How do we proceed? We need to address this, right?” You started blabbering, trying to wrap your head around everything.

“That was very disrespectful of them to ask like that!” Sebastian exclaimed, making you two jolt.

“We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with. Do you want me to release a note asking for privacy?” Amanda suggested.

“Can I write something and then run it by you?” You asked, she only nodded.

After a moment, both Amanda and Seb left you alone as you typed a note on your phone. You rewrote and deleted a few times before settling on something heartfelt and respectful but also, calling out the invasion of privacy.

My mom passed away a few days ago after battling with cancer for the past few months.

She had requested of me to keep it a secret until after the season was over, so I could mourn her without the weight of racing over my shoulders.

But obviously someone went digging and disrespected not only one of her last wishes but also disrespected my grief and my right to privacy. I love my mom but I’ll not be answering any more questions about her illness or death, please respect me and respect her memory.

All the love, Y/N

Nobody asked anything over the weekend, but again, it felt like everyone was tiptoeing around you. As soon as you first saw Nano the next day, he held you tight for almost a minute whispering his condolences, and it made you almost cry again. Lewis also spared you a hug, saying if you ever needed anything, to contact him.

You survived that weekend, and decided to go straight to Brazil for the next GP instead of going back to Monaco. In São Paulo you mostly slept your worries and fears away. You had promised yourself to try and focus on the season only, to make your dream come true, to fulfill your mom’s promise in some way.

With Ferrari’s bad strategy in Mexico, they had ruined Charles’ chance at the championship. Now your only competition was Max and the Red Bull rocketship.

You rewatched the race a couple of times as you usually did, to try and catch any mistakes you or your team may have made, to fix it for the next one. But also to try and notice any weaknesses of your rivals, if it was something you could use in your own favor.

You noticed right away in the FP1 that your car wasn’t adhering to the track, you were losing balance and needed more force than usual to keep yourself in place. By FP2, you managed to control your car better, but that caused your tyres to wear off way more quickly.

Quali was one of the shittiest you’ve ever done in your career, taking you out in Q2 for the first time that year, placing you for a start at P12.

“Listen, we’ll do better tomorrow, ok?” Jace told you as soon as you entered the garage, seeing Max still out with a shot at pole position.

“Give me a few minutes to unwind, please,” you asked, dropping your helmet, balaclava and gloves at a nearby table.

You went straight to your room, searching for your phone. Immediately calling Kimi, you waited for him to pick up.

“I watched it,” he said first and foremost.

“If I do bad in the race tomorrow, and Max does well, then I’m gonna lose the championship, Kimi,” saying that out loud made you shiver in horror, “FUCK!” You screamed, kicking a chair.

“First of all, even if you did bad tomorrow, you’d still have a chance to fight for the championship in Abu Dhabi. You know that,” Kimi warned you as if he was scolding a little kid, “second of all, I never taught you this loser mindset. You’ll have to find a way to work around the problems in your car tomorrow.”

“Shit, I’m so fucked! How? How could I even-”

“Remember when I first met you? Your kart was with almost this same problem, yeah? Remember you got P2? You went ahead and fixed it. That’s what I need you to do tomorrow, don’t focus on what you can’t do, only focus on what you can do.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“No trying. Do it.”

After spending the entire night crafting plan A, B, C and Z with you strategists and engineers, you barely got any sleep, but you forced yourself to rest. In the morning, you went to the track early to meet with your team again, to run your strategies one more time, when you had an idea. You’d still follow the plans you had carefully crafted with the team, but you decided to make a Plan Star, as you had called. Interlagos didn’t have any safety car in the last two years, so it was dangerous to fully count on one. But your plan star consisted in the case of a safety car in this one specific window of laps, you’d go to the pits for hards, counting on everyone else being on old softs or mediums at that specific point in the race. But for it to work, you had to be the first of the front field to go in.

As the lights went out and you accelerated, you got already three positions up, landing in P9, and luckily, the points zone. Jace was worried in your ears, talking about the car and the tyres management. With controlled calm and Kimi’s voice in your head, you managed a few more positions in the first 14 laps, landing P7. You lost a bit of time there, since Nando was P6 and everyone knew how tough it always is to overtake him. But you eventually managed to get the position. Unfortunately, it was the moment you had to go to your first pitstop. Due to the problems in your car wearing off your tyres, you would have to go for a two-stop, which ended up costing you three positions again. But you were patient and you were rewarded when the other cars had to pit, which gave you back the four places you had lost.

The race you went on and you barely moved up or down from your P5, but you managed to concentrate.

Jace, on the other hand was sounding more and more worried about your second pit stop, about the difficulty in get closer to P4, about the P6 trying to enter DRS zone behind you, with your tyres wearing off, with the-

“Jace, I love you but please shut the fuck up, I know what to do,” you were praying for a miracle when suddenly, there was a yellow flag, and the safety car went out during the perfect window of laps, “fuck, Jace, this is plan star.”

“Copy,” he paused, his voice sounding secure, “Box, box.”

You changed into hards, no one else went to the pits, and the race restarted after three more laps. The safety car had closed the gap between you and the P4, which made you overtake him easily.

Jace was still keeping quiet to help your concentration, he only interrupted to warn you about overheating your tyres, and your velocity per lap compared to the next position. You started overtaking like a madwoman as much as your tyres allowed.

“That’s P1, Lioness,” Jace told you.

“Copy that.” You said with your voice shaken.

As you managed your P1, you went back to be aware of your surroundings, seeing a Red Bull right behind you, trying to overtake but you managed to hold position.

When you took the checkered flag, you sighed with relief, Kimi was right.

“Congratulations, Y/N! That’s a brilliant, brilliant win!” Jace’s voice was sounding shaken too.

“You’re crying, Jace?” You laughed softly.

“It’s an honor to tell you that you, Y/N Y/L/N, are a Formula 1 world champion!” Jace shouts, and behind him you can hear more people screaming.

“What? Jace you’re fucking with me!”

“No, Lioness, you’re the 2022 champion of the world!”

“But- but how? There’s one race left? And Max was right behind me!”

“No, Verstappen DNFed during that one yellow flag. Behind you was Perez.”

You made the calculations quickly in your head. Max was P2 in the championship, but this DNF meant no points, and even if he managed to win the last race in Abu Dhabi, he wouldn’t be able to equal you in points. So-

“OH MY GOD, oh my god!” You screamed your lungs out, feeling the tears streaming down into your balaclava, “Fuck yes! I’m Formula 1 World Champion! Thank you, thank you so much guys! Jace, holy shit, I’m the champion!”

“You’re the champion!” Jace confirmed.

You felt joy in a way you hadn’t felt in a long, long time, as you stopped your car on the number one spot. Still a little dizzy from the thrill, you left the car, going straight to your team, heavily waiting for you. They all hugged you, hitting your helmet, saying congratulations and everything. You took a moment to hug Jace and Amanda, who had been of great support throughout the year.

After getting weighted and being congratulated by the other two on the podium, Perez and Hamilton, the latter hugging you tight as he took you off the floor, you drank water as you waited for the post race interview with Nico Rosberg.

You were giddy, barely holding yourself together with how happy you were feeling, how you wanted to hold the trophy, how grateful you were and more importantly, how you felt a great weight being lifted off your shoulders.

“Y/N, congratulations on becoming a World Champion! I have to say, as a girl dad, it is great to see you become the first woman ever to win this title. How do you feel? What do you want to say?” Nico offered, with a kind smile.

“To be honest, I can barely contain myself. It’s such an honor to be here and be the world champion. I look at the past and see my younger self who never thought would make it to Formula 1. It’s such a dream come true, after this year’s hardships, I’m glad to achieve the greatest dream of them all!” You said, kinda quickly, rambling as you tried to put into words all the emotions mixed with the happiness, “I’m sorry, I know I’m taking up all your time, I just want to dedicated this win, and this championship to three people who saved my life: Kimi, thank you for being the salvation of my career when we first met; And my mom, who’s not here anymore, thank you for being the light in my darkest days. And lastly, I want to thank myself for working my ass off and never giving up.”

You muttered a thank you as Nico only laughed at your rambling. Before you moved to the cooldown, you grabbed the mic back again.

“May I add one last thing?” You asked for Nico, who only nodded, pointing to the camera again, “This is to my father: I made it, you asshole.”

You wanted to send the middle finger too, but you knew you couldn’t because of the FIA’s guidelines, and you were already risking a penalty for cursing on live TV. In the cooldown room, you sat beside Lewis, watching a few highlights of the race on the screen. It showed a couple of your overtakes.

“Damn, you overtook like crazy,” Lewis muttered, seemingly amazed.

“I pulled a Lewis Hamilton in Interlagos last year,” you joked, and he laughed.

That podium felt like the culmination of everything you had worked for your whole life, felt like recovering your love for the sport for what it was, for the fast cars and the adrenaline. Being on that podium in Brazil as a World Champion shifted something inside you forever. During your anthem, you laughed, and when you got the trophy, you cried, pointing the trophy to the sunny sky with a silent prayer to your mom. You barely noticed, but you felt the champagne raining on you, and opened your arms to shower in it. Putting the trophy down, you splashed the other bottle, laughing and wetting everyone that was close to you, Lewis, Checo, Jace, who had gone up representing the team.

When the celebration ended, you stayed behind a little more, watching the crowd from the podium, and they started chanting. It took you a few seconds to realize they were chanting your name.

You raised your trophy at them, and they cheered even louder. Then you pointed it to the sky again.

“Look, ma, I made it” you whispered to yourself, feeling the tears streaming down your face.

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