#golden spin 2024

[sywtwfs]

Viewing information for the Grand Prix Final is now available on our website!

[figureskatingcostumes]

Azusa Tanaka and Shingo Nishiyama's Super Mario Bros. costumes at the 2023 Golden Spin of Zagreb and 2023 Japanese Nationals.

(Sources: fsphoto_syo and absoluteskating.com)

[sunskate]

2024 Golden Spin of Zagreb - the top 4 FDs - Bekker/Hernandez

Davis/Smolkin

Janse van Rensburg/Steffan

Neset/Markelov

[jocelynellie]

Half a Step - KA¹²

Kimi Antonelli x Wolff!reader

Summary - Kimi and the daughter of Toto Wolff find themselves enamoured with each other from across the garage.

Contains - pure fluff, awkward teenage love

The sun hung low over the paddock, casting everything in golden light. Race day was winding down, and the buzz of engines had given way to the softer sounds of crew laughter and debriefs. The clamour of the crowd was gone, replaced by something more intimate, the quiet hum of a team catching its breath.

Y/n Wolff leaned against the railing outside the Mercedes hospitality suite, sipping on a melting strawberry smoothie and watching the bustle below. She’d grown up around these tracks, the daughter of Team Principal Toto Wolff, but it never got old, the energy, the thrill of it all.

And lately, it had gotten even harder to ignore one particular part of the scenery.

Kimi Antonelli

Mercedes’ newest young driver. Barely 18, full of raw talent and the sweetest smile the Wolff girl has ever seen. Kimi had joined the Mercedes academy years ago but his presence in the garage became more prominent in 2024 as he prepared to step up to formula one.

Y/n had to pretend her heart didn't stutter every single time he entered the garage, she had to pretend that him simply walking past and giving her a friendly wave didn't make her cheeks flush and head spin. And now with the boy being in the garage full time, she was finding it harder and harder not to fall hopelessly in love with the boy.

And she had no idea that, across the garage, Kimi Antonelli was doing exactly the same thing.

Kimi sat perched on one of the low pit wall barriers, boots dangling, helmet resting beside him. His hands twisted the strap of his gloves absentmindedly as he tried — and failed — to focus on the technical debrief happening a few metres away.

His eyes kept drifting.

To her.

Y/n was a vision in the fading light, her hair catching the last strands of sunshine, her laugh — even when faint and tucked into a private conversation with one of the mechanics — sending an ache straight through his chest.

He knew he shouldn't stare. She was Toto’s daughter, practically paddock royalty, and Kimi was just the kid. The rookie trying to prove himself worthy of the same seat greats had sat in.

But it was hopeless.

Every time she was near, it was like the whole garage shifted, the world blurring at the edges until there was only her.

She was sunshine. And he was a boy who wanted to be worthy of standing in it.

From her spot by the railing, Y/n felt it — the weight of his gaze.

It had been happening more and more lately. Little glances from across the garage. Half-smiles traded over laptops and telemetry sheets. A kind of silent conversation neither of them was brave enough to voice.

Her father wasn't strict, but she knew he watched everything. And if Toto had noticed the soft way Kimi’s eyes lingered on her, or the way her laugh brightened whenever Kimi was around, he hadn’t said anything yet.

At least, not out loud.

Because Toto had noticed.

He'd caught the way Kimi looked at his daughter once — when she wasn’t watching — a gaze so open, so careful, it had stopped him mid-sentence. And he'd seen it in Y/n, too — the way her face lit up the moment Kimi entered a room, the nervous twirling of her fingers when Kimi was nearby.

Toto had seen it in both of them, separately, quietly.

And while a part of him was protective — would always be protective — another part of him, the part that understood how rare it was to find something real in the high-speed, high-stakes world they lived in, was quietly, secretly rooting for them.

The garage lights buzzed on overhead, casting a cooler glow over everything now that the sun was sinking fast.

Kimi slid off the barrier and tugged at his race suit sleeves. He should go. The engineers would be waiting for him. There was data to review, meetings to attend, future races to prepare for.

But instead, he found himself walking toward the hospitality suite.

Toward her.

Y/n spotted him immediately, her stomach flipping in that stupid way she couldn’t control.

He slowed when he reached her side, a little breathless — maybe from the walk, maybe from the nerves that always prickled under his skin around her.

"Hey," he said, voice softer than the background chatter of the packing crew.

"Hey," she answered, setting her smoothie down and turning fully toward him.

For a moment, neither spoke. They just stood there, a few feet apart, the world busy around them but somehow silent between them.

"You were amazing today," she said finally, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Kimi flushed — not from the compliment itself, but from the way she said it. Like she really meant it. Like he wasn’t just some rookie. Like he was hers to be proud of.

"Thanks," he mumbled, a little shy. "I... uh... I saw you watching."

Y/n laughed under her breath, biting her lip. "Busted."

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, gloves still twisting in his hands. "I always... I mean, I always look for you. After."

Her heart stuttered.

"Oh" she whispered, not sure what to say as a pink blush spreads across her cheeks.

The air between them stretched and tightened, sweet and terrifying all at once.

Kimi took a half-step closer, so close now she could see the faint freckles dusted across his nose, the nervous flutter of his lashes.

"I don't really know what I'm doing," he admitted, voice barely above the breeze. "But I... I like being around you. I always have."

Y/n smiled, slow and wide and aching.

"I like being around you, too."

A long, full moment passed — the kind of moment that feels like the edge of something big, the kind you only get once if you’re lucky.

From a distance, tucked into the doorway of the hospitality suite, Toto watched them.

He saw the look on Kimi’s face — the one he’d caught before — and the way Y/n smiled back at him, unguarded and full of something too bright to be anything but real.

He shook his head with a quiet smile, already resigned.

Maybe he couldn’t protect her from everything. Maybe he didn’t even need to.

Maybe sometimes, you just had to let good things happen.

Kimi swallowed hard. "Maybe we could, um... hang out sometime? Outside the garage?"

Y/n’s heart swelled, almost painfully.

"I’d like that," she said. "A lot."

He smiled, a real one, bright and a little crooked, and more beautiful than any trophy.

Their awkward smiling and blushing moment was interrupted as Kimi was approached by Bono for a debrief. They stood staring at each other unsure of what to do but as Bono called for Kimi again he gave her a wave and a smile, backing away still looking at her until he hit a wall.

She giggled softly at his clumsiness and his blush only grew, he had to reluctantly turned around following Bono into one of the meeting rooms, leaving Y/n planted in her spot.

Her trance was broken by the sound of someone's voice clearing, that someone being her father as he passed her by on his way to the meeting room following after Kimi and Bono. He looked at her with a knowing smirk and a wink before he disappeared into the meeting room.

Y/n's eyes widened and her cheeks grew impossibly redder.

Oh shit.

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Word count: 1.3k

[cherrygirlfriend]

touchy subject II

pairing: reader x exfiancé!rafe synopsis: seeing your ex-fiancé after four years. warnings: heavy angst. some fluff. miscarriage/stillbirth. vehicular accident. wc: 2k part 2 of touchy subject. originally posted 11/24/2024

part I & part III

you could feel your heartbeat in your throat, raw with unshed tears, the vision of your ex-fiancé with another woman blurred by nothing but the tears brimming at the edges of your vision, so different from the ones that ran down your cheeks the day you'd said yes to him.

"of course i'll marry you." you pulled rafe to stand up, your arms around him before you could even think about what you were doing, rafe letting out a sigh of relief. "wait, wait, i gotta ask you something." you rushed out, pulling away from the hug, his hands still staying on your waist.

"what is it?"

"is this just because i'm pregnant?" you ask, rafe's brows furrowing in confusion, yet you left him no time to respond, "it's just- i want to marry you, but i don't want you to feel like you have to ask me just because i'm pregnant, and if you want to wait until the baby's-"

you could feel how tired rafe was getting of your rant by the intensity of his lips on yours, using it to interrupt you, his fingers sliding under your jaw to help hold it up to meet his; and just like always, he didn't need to say one word for you to understand what he was communicating to you.

the moment his eyes found yours, it felt as if all the air was punched out of your lungs, like the entire planet just stopped spinning. it didn't matter that the jewelry store's display was separating you; it felt like the first time he looked into your eyes and told you he loved you.

you wanted to run, to make sure you wouldn't have to face him, to have to hear what his voice sounded when you'd already managed to forget how it was to hear it in person, but it was like your feet had rooted to the ground within the few seconds that he spotted you.

and you begged to whatever entity that once you saw him approach the exit to the jewelry store, the other woman long forgotten, that your fight-or-flight instinct would kick in, but luck was never really on your side, because there he stood, his face the same as the last time you saw him, with a few lines added here and there, and a part of you couldn't help but ache at the thought of having missed the moment they appeared.

you looked up at him, into the same eyes you'd once imagined your daughter would have, the thought making the bout of nausea in your throat even worse. a part of you wanted to congratulate him, to tell you that you were happy for him, but it felt like the words were choking you, like they were burning in your throat. but the choice to even say something was taken from you, when you heard the bell above the door to the jewelry store let out a cheery ring.

"rafe…?" the red-haired woman called out, her brows furrowed in question, and the moment your ex turned around to face her, you took the opportunity to turn the other way, begging that your feet would take you away before you threw up on the spot.

"i saw him yesterday."

"it was the first time you saw him in person since you left, correct?"

"yes. i sometimes checked up on his social media, but seeing him like this... so close to me i could touch him... it was pretty jarring. it felt like no time had passed, but also like i hadn't seen him in decades."

"and how did he look?"

"handsome." you chuckled softly, your hand going to fiddle with the locket around your neck, sliding it up and down the golden chain, avoiding looking at the zoom meeting displayed on the laptop screen. "he looked just like he looked with me. he looked happy."

"happy anniversary, rafe." you smiled softly as you pushed the gift box at him, your fiancé letting out a small tut.

"you know you didn't have to get me anything, right? you're enough for me already. both of you are."

"yeah, yeah, stop being all cheesy and chivalrous and open it already." you urged, watching as he lifted the lid of the gift box, his eyes widening as he looked down at the present, but before he could say anything, you stopped him, "look at the back of it!"

rafe rolled his eyes, picking up the steel watch from the box, and you could see his gaze soften the moment his eyes spotted the engraving on the back of the watch, the edges of his lips almost automatically twisting up at the words 'evelyn cameron'.

"is it bad that it makes me feel bitter?" you asked, chewing at the inside of your cheek, "that it's been four years, and i haven't been able to move on, but he has? that he's managed to be happy, but i haven't? that i don't know if i ever will?"

"the loss of a child..."

you couldn't help but tune out the words of your therapist like they were nothing but background noise, not knowing if it would be worse if she tried justifying your anger or if she tried to get you to understand why rafe had managed to move on, your eyes instead focusing on the heart-shaped locket you'd opened, the faces of the couple staring right at you.

"rafe, where are we?" you laughed softly, your feet hurting from the heels you were starting to regret wearing, the blonde having parked his car in front of a random house.

"you didn't think i wouldn't get you an anniversary present, did you?" when you didn't immediately answer, he pressed his hand to his chest in mock offense, shaking his head, "come on. lemme show you."

the two of you got out of the car, your heels clacking against the stone pathway leading to the house, rafe's muscular arm keeping you close to him, helping you walk.

when you got to the door, he let go of you, and you watched as he took out a set of keys without saying anything, twisting them in the lock and pushing open the door, looking to you enthusiastically, extending his hand to you.

the moment you stepped over the threshold, you were enveloped by warmth, rafe flicking on the light next to the entryway before turning to you as your eyes got used to the light, sliding his hands onto your waist, pulling you as close to him as the growing child allowed.

you looked into his eyes, yours filled with confusion while his were filled with nothing but sincerity, his thumb stroking your waist. "rafe, what's this?"

"it's our home." he said, bringing his hand to your bump, "i know it's not much, but it's got enough room for our family."

"rafe, this is-"

"this is my anniversary present for you. i won't take 'no' for an answer." he brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek, tugging it behind your ear, "i want us to build our own home. our own life."

you kicked the radiator in frustration; it seemed like no matter what, the place wouldn't warm up. you'd called a maintenance guy, but they told you that it'd take at least a week for them to get someone there, and in the middle of winter, your only option was to light the fireplace in the middle of the living room while you waited for your mom to arrive with a portable radiator she told you she'd borrow you.

you sat in front of the blazing fire, your fingers fiddling with the frayed edges of the worn-out ultrasound picture you'd looked at a million times, your voice coming out weak from the sobs you were holding in your throat.

"hi, evie." you said softly, looking to the small urn next to you, engraved with the name of your daughter as well as today's date, only five years before. "happy... happy birthday."

"hi, baby." rafe's voice called out from the speakerphone of your car, the windshield wipers wiping away some of the rain falling down on you as you drove through the dark streets lit only by the yellow streetlights above, "are you almost home?"

"i am." you chuckled softly, "seeing my mom was so nice, even though she kept being all cheesy about how big i'd gotten. i swear, she almost cried."

"come on, she's gonna meet her grandkid in a month, of course she's gonna be all cheesy. if my dad had a paternal bone in his body, i'm sure he'd be ecstatic."

"yeah, well, you're not the one whose stomach is constantly getting pawed by people." you let out a snort, looking out into the road, "listen, i'm gonna drop by the store cause little evie's craving chocolate, do we need anything?"

"nah, just need you two home as soon as possible."

"aye aye, captain. see you soon, baby." you laughed, hearing the noise that signaled that the call had been ended, eager to get home and off your feet.

but before you could even realize what was happening, you were faced with a second pair of headlights that was approaching you, another car lit up by your own yellow headlights. and you swerved.

maybe it's a part of the so-called mother's instinct to blame ourselves when something happens to our child. no matter how many people told you that it wasn't your fault, that there was nothing you could've done, every bone, every cell in your body couldn't help but beat yourself up over what happened.

rafe ran down the hospital hallway, the smell of disinfectant mixed with the feeling of his heartbeat in his ears making him feel nauseous, the man sure that it was beating 200/bpm, but finally, when he reached the hospital room the reception had guided him to, a sense of relief took over him.

a nurse walked out of the room, startled by the man, her eyes widening at the obvious sense of urgency he was displaying, "can i help you?" she asked.

"no, no, i'm just here to see my fiancé." rafe said, his hand going for the door, only to be blocked by the nurse.

"i'm sorry, but the patient has told us that she doesn't want any visitors."

"what?" rafe let out a dry, humorless laugh, his brows furrowed, "you have to let me see her, that's my fiancé. that's- that's the mother of my child."

"i'm sorry, but the patient-"

"hey!" rafe pounded the palm of his hand on the door, the hospital bed visible from the rectangle of glass on the door, the man able to see your mother hunched over your bed, holding you. "let me-"

"sir, if you don't calm down, i'm going to have to call the guards and they'll remove you from the premises."

"that's my fiancé!" rafe shouted as the nurse pushed him further from the door, "i have to go see her! you have to let me see her! just tell her that i'm here, she'll want-"

the door to your hospital room swung open, rafe meeting the crestfallen eyes of your mother, her lips pulled into a straight line. "rafe, she doesn't want to see you."

when you heard the doorbell ring, you wiped away the tears that had ran down your cheeks; you didn't want to make it obvious to your mother that you'd spent the last fifteen minutes crying, and even if she could tell by the redness of your eyes, you knew she wouldn't mention it.

you pushed yourself off the ground, placing the small urn and the ultrasound picture on top of the fireplace as you straightened out your sweater, your feet cold against the hardwood floor as you walked to the front door.

but when you pulled it open expecting to see your mother, it felt like all the air had been knocked out of your lungs, like your heartbeat shot through the roof just from the sight of his downcast eyes.

"rafe."

[i2sunric]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 (p.js)

PAIRING: hades!jay x persephone!reader

SUMMARY: labelled as unable of being loved, jay decides to steal a mortal to rule his realm with. what he hasn’t expected, though, is that it wasn’t you who he kidnapped, you had stolen his heart.

WARNINGS: kidnapping, enemies to lovers (but only reader hates jay), greek mythology, mentions of other idols as Gods, kisses. lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 22nd December 2024

WC: 3.5k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @who-tf-soddhi (oneshot) @monstaxdirtywonk @love4choso @heechwe

a/n: guess who’s back, back again. lol, i’m so happy with how this turned out! and i sincerely hope y’all like it too 🩷 have some nice holidays!

The gods of Olympus were never silent. Their laughter and taunts echoed across the heavens, filling their golden halls with noise and light.

Among them, Hades — so few knew him as Jay — was the quiet shadow in their midst.

Rarely did he grace their celebrations, his duties below pulling him away from the vanity of their world.

But he wasn't deaf to their jests.

“He'll never know love," Hermes — whose former name was Jungwon — had said to one banquet, leaning onto his caduceus with a smirk.

"Who would want to walk in those dark halls with him?" Aphrodite chimed in, her melodic laughter cutting through the room.

Jay had sat silent, his face impassive, but their words lodged deep within him.

He had never been a creature of longing— his domain demanded stern control, not vulnerability. And yet, as centuries passed, a hollow ache had begun to grow.

Perhaps the others were right. Perhaps he would remain alone. But then, there was the smallest flicker of rebellion within him.

“Let them doubt me," he whispered, his voice cold as the mist of the Styx. "I will find someone who can see me for what I really am."

♡.

Jay seldom visited the mortal world. It was too loud, too bright, too alive.

But something had pulled him there that day, a whisper in the back of his mind, a tenuous tug he could not ignore. And so, he walked among the mortals, his dark robes altered to blend in with their simple garb.

The sun beat above, merciless. Apollo — also known as Heeseung — really enjoyed making mundanes suffer. Mortals bustled around him, their voices a cacophony of trivial concerns.

He had nearly given up, retreating toward the shaded edge of a golden orchard, when his eyes fell on you.

You stood beneath an ancient apple tree, reaching up toward the highest branches.

Your hands grasped the fruit carefully, inspecting each apple before placing it in your basket.

The sun played in your hair, catching the edges of your figure like a halo. But it wasn't your beauty that arrested him; it was the way you moved— with confidence, with purpose.

Suddenly, a strange thought assailed him: You belonged in no one's shadow. It seemed as if not even the apple’s shadow could make you lose your spark.

A step closer he came, and almost faltered. You laughed softly as you took a bite of the sweet fruit, a slice of sound that cut through the din around him. Something in his chest stirred. An unfamiliar pull, sharp and insistent.

Before he knew better, he acted.

The earth had shaken beneath your feet, and you had stood stock-still, startled.

A chill had saturated the air, unnatural and heavy. You turned, your gaze darting around for the source, but the orchard had fallen silent.

Then the earth rent asunder. Shadows poured from it, twisting and coiling like living things. Swimming around you like water would from a waterfall.

Up from the chasm rose a chariot of black iron, its wheels spinning silently above the broken earth. The horses were ghostly, their eyes glowing like dying embers.

Your breath caught in your throat as a figure stepped from the chariot, the bitten apple falling on the ground, rolling. He was cloaked in darkness, his hood obscuring his face, but his presence was overwhelming.

Power radiated from him, pressing down on your chest like a physical weight.

"Who—" Your voice broke, trembling with fear and defiance. "Who are you?"

He didn't answer, only lifted a hand. The shadows surged forward, binding your legs like chains. You cried out, struggling against them, but they held fast.

"Let me go!" you shouted, anger flashing through your terror.

Jay raised a brow; he moved closer, and for the first time, you caught a glimpse of his face beneath the hood.

His features were sharp, almost otherworldly, and his eyes were a cold, unyielding gray.

"I cannot," he whispered, and then before you could reply, he took you into his embrace.

You struggled against him, your fists pounding against his chest, but it was like hitting stone. He stepped back onto the chariot, holding you fast as the horses reared and plunged into the chasm.

The world above disappeared in a swirl of darkness as you lost your senses.

♡.

When you awoke, you were no longer in the orchard.

The air was cool and heavy, carrying a faint metallic tang that sent shivers down your spine.

You sat up slowly, your heart pounding as you took in your surroundings. The chamber was huge, its walls carved from gleaming black stone that seemed to drink in the dim red light emanating from the ceiling.

And there, sat on an obsidian throne on the other end of the room, was him.

He watched you intently— his hood discarded, with pale skin and a face chiseled, striking yet severe. His dark eyes felt to see right through you, and you hated the way your breath caught under his gaze.

Hades. Ruler of the Underworld.

"Why?" you demanded, your voice hoarse. You stood shakily, glaring at him. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I needed a queen," he said simply, as if that explanation was enough.

You laughed bitterly, the sound echoing off the walls. "A queen? You think I'd ever agree to rule this… this pit with you?"

His expression didn't change, though you could have sworn you saw a flicker of something in his eyes-annoyance, perhaps, or amusement.

"You misunderstand," he said, his voice calm but firm. "You don't have a choice."

That struck a nerve. Your hands curled into fists, and despite the fear twisting in your gut, you stepped closer. "No one owns me," you hissed. "Not you, not anyone.”

For the first time, his calm cracked.

He rose with a slow, deliberate movement, and all the weight of his presence came down on you.

"I am Hades," he said, his voice thundering with power. "God of the Underworld, you are here because I chose you, and you will learn to accept that."

Your heart hammered in your chest, but you refused to back down. "And if I don't?"

The silence hung heavy between you for a moment. Then, to your surprise, he looked away. "Then you'll remain here as my prisoner. Either way, you belong to me now."

You swallowed hard, anger and fear warring within you. But one thought rose above the rest: You will not let him break you.

With the snap of his fingers, two servants in the form of a skeleton appeared in front of you. They looked at you with their void eyes and then turned around, walking.

You glanced up at Jay, who only beckoned you to follow them.

A scoff escaped your lips as you did just that, anything would be better than staying in the same room as him.

The skeleton's bones made a funny noise as they walked you down the neve -ending hallways. The castle was huge, crimson coated the walls as well as dark black.

“So,” you cleared your throat “Is your boss always like that? Or does he change expressions sometimes?” you tried to joke, but the skeletons didn’t reply.

Of course, they didn’t even have lips, “You can’t tell me anything, uh? Not even where the exit is?”

They just stopped in front of a door, opening it for you. Taking the hint, you slowly stepped inside, cautious.

The chamber was so spacious for only one person, a bed stood in the middle of the room, its sheets a dark shade of red.

The walls were coated with drawings of black dahlias, the ceiling so high it made you think the room never actually ended.

The skeletons closed the door behind your back, leaving you there, alone.

You walked to the bed, sitting on its edge. At least, the mattress was soft, the sheets silk and warm.

You finally allowed a sob to escape your lips, another followed and then another again.

Gods always did what they wanted, never truly considering someone’s feelings. You hated them, but more than anything, you hated Hades.

Your fingers gripped the sheets, if he wanted a wife, you’d show him just what you were made of.

♡.

The tension hung between you like a storm cloud.

Jay had come to visit you when you woke up, followed by a skeleton that placed a trail of pomegranate on your bed.

You didn’t know how much you slept, neither of it was morning or night. The Underworld had no light.

“I hope the chamber is of your likings.” He spoke after an awkward silence. You dared glance at him, but daren’t reply.

Jay let out a soft sigh, “It is the only fruit that grows in my realm, if you want anything in particular, I’ll have one of my servants fetch you something from the orchard in the Olympus.”

Finally, you reached down, picking up the pomegranate. Its scent was sweet, and the faint shimmer of the seeds made them look like tiny jewels.

Usually, you’d go crazy for the bittersweet fruit, but the Underworld made even that look dead, poisonous.

You turned it in your hands as if inspecting it. "And what if I refuse to eat?" you asked, tone sharp.

Jay's lips quirked in what might have been amusement, though it was fleeting. "You won't," he said simply, his voice soft but sure.

Your glare deepened. "How do you know?"

"Because you don't hate life," he said. "Even here, in this place you claim to despise, you'll find a reason to keep going.”

The words struck deeper than you wanted to admit. You opened your mouth to fire back a retort, but no words came.

You picked up one of the seeds between your fingers, observing the way the surface shimmered before finally placing it into your mouth.

The flavor burst on your tongue, sweet and tart, and for a moment, you were reminded of the orchards above— the sun on your skin, the breeze in your hair, the simple joy of being free.

Jay watched you in silence, his expression unreadable. When you finally set the pomegranate down, he inclined his head slightly. "I'll leave you to your evening," he said, turning to go.

So, it was evening.

But before he could go, your voice stopped him. "Wait."

He turned back; his eyes were steady but questioning.

"Why do you keep trying?" you asked, quieter now. "Why not just leave me to my misery? Use me just for your plans?” after all, it would be typical of the Gods.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, stepping closer, he spoke in a voice so soft it barely carried across the room, “Because I've spent eternity surrounded by shadows, and for the first time, there's a light here."

His words had left you speechless for a moment. He bowed his head slightly and then left the room, the door clicking softly behind him.

♡.

The Underworld had a strange beauty to it, though you’d fought to see it.

The palace gardens, in particular, drew your attention on restless nights— or days. They were like nothing you’d ever encountered in the mortal world.

The flowers glowed faintly, their petals a soft silver-blue, and streams of water that sparkled like liquid starlight wove between them.

It was here, one evening, that you sat on a stone bench, your eyes fixed on the ghostly blooms. You didn't hear Jay approach until he spoke.

"You come here often," he said, his voice quiet.

You startled slightly but didn't turn. "I don't have many options," you replied, your tone still edged with defiance.

You had tried to wander around the castle, and Jay let you, but whenever you came too close to the exit, a puddle of shadows rose from the ground and brought you back to your chamber.

Jay sat beside you, leaving enough space to show he wasn't trying to intrude. He looked out at the garden, his gray eyes contemplative. "These flowers," he said after a moment, "Only grow here, nowhere else in existence."

You glanced at him, surprised by the hint of pride in his voice. "You care about them?"

"They're life in a place where life shouldn't exist," he said simply.

The words hung in the air between you, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of understanding: the Underworld wasn't just a prison to him— it was a responsibility, a realm he nurtured despite its darkness.

It was the realm given to him by his father, and it was his job to keep it going, no matter how much he despised it.

After a moment, you exhaled, leaning back slightly. "Why do you do that?"

He looked at you, brow furrowed. "Do what?

“Say things that make it hard to hate you,” you said, a faint, reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, perhaps weeks or months. Time seemed to flow slower there.

But you thought it would be easier to hate him, had he been scarier and less gentle. His sharp edges always seemed to soften whenever you walked into the room, and his clothes clung to his form, revealing a body any girl from your village would go crazy about.

Not that you stared at it too much, of course.

To your surprise, Jay’s lips curved into a faint smile of his own. “I thought you’d hate me forever.”

“I’m still considering it,” you shot back, though the teasing note in your voice was unmistakable.

Jay chuckled softly, the sound low and unfamiliar. For the first time, the weight between you seemed to lift, if only slightly.

“Will you ever let me see the light again? The orchard?” or your family. Would your parents be worried, or had Jay already cast a spell on them?

“Depends,” he spoke, “Will you run away if I do.” fair point. The moment the sun kissed your skin again, you were sure you wouldn’t step inside this gloomy castle anymore.

Seeing your lack of reply, Jay just got up and turned around, murmuring “That’s what I thought.”

And for a seconds, you thought you saw something like hurt flicker in his eyes.

♡.

More time passed, and though you had resisted at first, you found yourself softening toward Jay. He had a quiet strength about him, a steady patience that wore down your walls like water against stone.

You spent most of your days in the library. Though your eyes weren’t used to the light anymore, your imagination worked just as fine.

You daydreamed of the life outside the suffocating walls of the Underworld’s castle, you dreamed of someone rescuing you.

And sometimes — but just sometimes — you fantasised about Jay, and his heart made of iron.

One night, as you sat by the fire in the great hall, he joined you, a small bundle wrapped in dark cloth clutched in his hand. "I have something for you," he said; his voice held a rare note of uncertainty. You lifted an eyebrow, curiosity pricked despite yourself. "Another 'gesture'?"

"Of a sort," he said. He unwrapped the bundle, revealing a delicate necklace of silver and black opals.

The stones shimmered like starlight, their glow faint but mesmerizing.

You stared at it, then at him. "Why?"

"It reminded me of you," he said simply. "Strong.. luminous, unyielding."

Your heart skipped a beat, though you fought to keep your expression neutral. "You think flattery will make me forgive you?"

"No," he said, holding the necklace out to you. "But it's the truth."

You hesitated, then reached out to take it. The metal was cool against your skin and for a moment, an odd sense of belonging overtook you, like this place, this moment wasn't entirely foreign.

"Thank you," you said softly and surprised yourself.

Jay's eyes relaxed, and for the first time, you saw not the god who had stolen you but the man beneath— the one who had spent centuries in solitude, yearning for connection.

for someone understanding, someone to love. Perhaps, you could learn to be just that.

You handed the necklace back to him, he looked at it, hurt. He thought you had rejected his gift, but as you turned around and held your hair up, his breath hitched.

“Would you help me put it on?” you questioned, your voice soft, unlike the usual bite it held.

“Of course.” Jay murmured quietly, his touch gentle as he put the jewel around your neck.

It fit perfectly, the dark necklace adorning your once tanned skin.

You smiled. holding it between your fingers, “It’s beautiful.”

He smiled.

Your eyes widened when he took in the sight, he smiled so warmly, and for a moment he even looked human.

“You’re beautiful.” Jay spoke, his voice so soft.

“Hades—“ You said, but he shook his head “Call me Jay.”

You gulped, the room suddenly feeling too hot, “Jay.” you repeated, the name rolling sweetly down your tone.

He let out a soft groan, like it both pained and healed him.

“I know you keep thinking ‘Why me?’” He murmured, caressing your cheek. The first time his skin met yours voluntarily “But for me, it has always been you— from the moment I saw you picking those apples, my heart belonged to you.”

You didn’t even have time to think about it, but your feet went on their tip-toes as you pressed your soft lips on his.

To say he was taken aback was an understatement. His eyes wide as body rigid, and for a moment you thought if maybe, he didn’t love you as much as he claimed.

But then, his hand held your face, the other tangled in your hair as his own lips moved on yours passionately.

Your fingers curled around his shirt, grounding you as uou got lost in the taste of him.

You took the hand that was on your cheek and guided it to rest on your racing heart, “Maybe you have the same effect on me.” You murmured on his lips.

His eyes darkened and he pulled away, “Will you marry me?”

You blinked faintly, your breath hitching at his straight-forwardness.

“Do I have a choice?” He stepped away, his breath still heavy from the kiss, “Yes— yes, I’m giving it to you right now.”

Your brows furrowed, so he added “If you think your future still belongs in the Olympus, then go. The door is actually just around the throne room.”

Jay gulped, hope flickering in his usually gloomy eyes “But if you have some sense of future here, with me, then stay. Stay and let me be your husband.”

You clenched your jaw and looked at the door of the throne room. If you exited it and followed the long hallway, you would be out.

You would see the light, feel the sun tickle your skin, see your family, your friends.

But you weren’t sure that was what you wanted anymore.

Your eyes set again on Jay. His expression had lost hope, like he had already lost.

But you smirked, crossing your arms over your chest “So,” you cleared your throat “When’s the wedding?”

A smile, brother than Apollo’s sun lit up his face as he closed the distance he had put and claimed your lips once more.

“Whenever you want, Y/N.”

♡.

In time, the Underworld became your home. Though the darkness remained, it no longer felt oppressive. The palace, once cold and foreign, now echoed with your laughter. And Jay, once a figure of hate, had become something else entirely.

One day, as you stood by the garden's edge, watching the silver streams flow, he approached you. His steps were quiet, but you felt his presence before you turned.

"You've changed this place," he said, his voice filled with quiet reverence.

You looked at him, a faint smile playing on your lips. "And you've changed me.

He reached out and took your hand in his, holding it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on the ring. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy with meaning.

Then he bowed his head slightly, his voice a low murmur "Will you teach me how to love you right?”

You looked at him, at the man who had once been your captor but was now so much more.

Slowly, you nodded. "I will."

[the-flaneur]

dearest darling flan would you ever consider writing for lewis 😔 i do not see nearly enough fics to justify js how attractive he is and it pains me

dont go insane (lh44)

pairing: lewis hamilton x driver!reader, platonic grid x reader

summary: when george invites some of the drivers over for a drunken presentation night, what better topic to present than your speciality? lewis' di-...outfits

warnings: suggestive mentions

wc: 1243

a/n: your wish is my command 😉 may have deviated a little bit, but dont worry i have many more fics lined up for this very attractive man

[masterlist] [request]

“ok ok everybody, thank you for joining us for the very first annual driver’s presentation night, hosted by yours truly, george russell. a connoisseur of powerpoint presentations, if i do say so myself,” george grinned.

the driver’s spare meeting room, which had been earlier crammed with spinning wheelie chairs and long white desks, had been replaced with the comfort of some old beanbags and blankets, as you, max, george, lando, oscar, charles, and alex settled in for a very long evening. as the last words left george's lips, a round of uncoordinated cheers erupted from the drunken audience. max let out an especially loud whoop before nearly faceplanting into a beanbag. 

"you're all welcome," he said with exaggerated politeness. "now then, without further ado, let's dive right into our first presentation of the evening!"

he gestured grandly towards you, nearly losing his balance in the process. "everyone, please welcome the one the only, the illustrious and femioone-feminonnena…blimey…” he cackled, tossing you the screen remote, “oh you know who it is…y/n! welcome yourself up to the stage,” 

"thank you, georgie poo. and hello everyone, i'm very very happy to be here tonight to present a special look back at the goat’s fashion choices. i would’ve rather regaled you with tales of his other…talents, but george made me promise to keep it pg, cause there are children here,” you giggled in front of all your friends, with a pointed look at lando and oscar, who seem to look mildly offended.

“obviously as the stunning wife of formula 1's golden boy himself," you continued, clicking onto the first slide, which showed you and lewis posed together for his recent dior collection, the boys hooting and hollering appreciatively, “i am the best and the only person able to give such a presentation, so make sure you’re listening,”

more applause and whistling followed as you clicked through to the first slide of lewis from the 2024 met gala, “of course, we gotta start off with a newfound lewis hamilton classic, the 2024 met gala. simple, classy, a great message and followed the theme, unlike so many others,” you rolled your eyes at the last bit, as the boys laughed.

“i can’t believe he disses my fashion sense, when his older met gala looks are questionable,” charles groans, swiping to show the group a photo pulled up on his phone. you sigh when you see lewis’ zig zag suit from 2019; definitely not camp enough for you or 2024 lewis.

“hey cut the man some slack,” alex laughs, seeing your pouting face, as you continue to click through the slides showcasing his various looks. the room continues to fill with laughter and playful jabs both at your commentary and the well-meaning yet snarky comments from the other drivers.

on the seventh slide, a photo of lewis in a see-through mesh top from the early 2021 season appeared on the screen, which definitely caught the drivers’ eyes. his chiseled features were highlighted with the bright backdrop, and the material of the shirt definitely emphasised his broad shoulders and toned physique. as well as the absolutely sinful tattoos criss-crossing his biceps, yummy…

"he looked absolutely dashing here, didn't he?" you purred, voice dripping with admiration. pausing the presentation, you let the image linger on the screen as you continued, "and trust me, he cleaned up even better in private that night..."

the room erupted in good-natured eye-rolls and chuckles at your suggestive remark. lando, never one to miss an opportunity, quipped, "well, we all knew lew was a total “stud”,"

oscar snorted, "yeah, until he decides to show up to the races in a black shirt and pants with hummingbirds on it," the others groaned in agreement, recalling lewis' infamous (amongst the drivers) outfit choice from several years prior. you laughed, unfazed by the teasing, "okay, okay, i get it. but this look right here? classic lewis - sophisticated, stylish, and undeniably sexy,” pointing once again to another showstopper lewis look.

you continued to advance the slideshow to the next image, another candid shot of you and lewis leaving a glamorous red-carpet event hand-in-hand. george leaned in to whisper something to alex, both of them grinning mischievously. 

george, still smitten with his own awaiting powerpoint prowess, decided to inject some competitiveness into the situation. "alright, let's not forget why we're really here, shall we? fashion, schmashion - who still really wants to hear more about y/n's insightful analysis of lewis's wardrobe choices?"

the room erupted in laughter, as you shot george a stern look, "hey now, my presentation is far more interesting than your mediocre slide designs, george!"

undeterred, george retorted, "oh yeah?” 

your face grew warm at the snide remark, but a spark of competitiveness ignited in your eyes. "oh, i think i can handle whatever you throw my way, george! don’t mess with the best," with a dramatic flourish, you clicked the remote to advance the slideshow featuring a collage of george's most...questionable outfits from past casual outings events. the drivers gasped in unison, their jaws dropping at the sight of george sporting everything from neon-colored blazers to patterned socks that clashed with his trousers. even the most tame of them were at least questionable to the discerning eye.

max let out a low whistle, while lando and oscar burst into uncontrollable laughter. with a sly grin, you continued, “i wouldn’t get ahead with the insult boys…george ain’t the only one who needs to pay for fashion crimes,”

"let's start with you, maxie," you sighed, pulling up one singular image on the presentation, the red bull racing suit, “unfortunately, your one fashion weakness is that you have no variety. did you know out of almost all the media pictures people get of you, it’s like a 1 in 500 to get one of you not in your suit, let alone anything fashionably interesting. you really need to convince pr to dress you in something else. how else am i supposed to critique you?" you humph.

max held up his hands in mock defense, laughing along with the others. "clearly, it was a stroke of genius."

as your merciless fashion critiques continued, the room descended into a fit of giggles and playful jabs. even george couldn't help but crack a smile, impressed by your preparations. lando shouted as you ripped his metaphorical fashion career away from him, "you know, if you're going to tear us apart like this, maybe we should just let you design our outfits from now on."

"oh, i think i've got enough on my plate with being mrs. hamilton already. besides, i have a feeling everyone might object to me dressing up the entire f1 grid in matching juicy couture tracksuits." the group erupted in laughter once more, and max raised his glass in a toast.

"to y/n, the only person in this room brave enough to call us out on our questionable fashion choices," max declared, his voice laced with humor and appreciation, "may her sharp tongue and keen eye for style forever keep us in check," the others echoed the toast, clinking their glasses together.

“but don’t worry i’ve saved an absolute treat for last,” you giggled, clicking towards the next slide, and the drivers, not for the first time tonight, were speechless.

there, plastered across the screen was a very…tasteful selection of lewis’ best pics. and the title: best clothes = no clothes.

being mrs hamilton was so much fun ;)

permanent f1 taglist (comment or msg me to join)

@charlesgirl16 @tallrock35 @sweate-r-weathe-r @unlikelystay @alex-wotton

@daisyfreecs @euphorihan @louloucs @oikarma @dying-inside-but-its-classy

@fadingcloudballoon @princessminjikwon @nina-or-anna-or-nora

© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[mint-yooxgi]

Kinktober Day 25 - Yandere!Dragon!Mingyu + Size & Overstimulation

Anonymous Said: Okay, so!. For kinktober... hear me out... a yandere dragon mingyu with maybe... size and overstimulation? 👀 A/n: Love that guy... *looks at smudged writing on hand* Kim Mango! But omg, I completely agree, he just fits this so well. Anon, you are SO right! I hope you enjoy! Warnings/Genre/Rating: 18+ MDNI - Smut, Mature, Established Relationship, Yandere, Possession, Monster Features, Daddy Kink :) Word Count: 746 Kinktober 2024 Mini Masterlist

Smoke escapes his nostrils in a light puff, his chest rumbling in contentment as his hands settle on your waist. Clawed fingers dig harshly into your skin, keeping you pressed firmly against his thighs as you squirm above him. A soft whimper escapes you, clenching hard around his cock buried deep within your tight little cunt.

“Too much.” You whine, thighs shaking as you straddle his waist.

“You can handle it, Gemstone.” He purrs, his pupils narrowing into slits as he watches your whole body shake in his lap. “Come on. One more. Just one more for me.”

Another whimper escapes your lips, the tip of his cock brushing up against such a sensitive spot inside of you. Involuntarily, you clench around him again, eliciting a pleased growl from the dragon beneath you.

“Daddy-“ Shifting slightly only causes your breath to hitch, eyes squeezing shut. “Too big-“

A gasp escapes you as he helps you roll your hips over him. His grip is tight and unrelenting as he makes you start a steady pace over his cock.

“That’s it, Pretty Girl,” He coos. “Taking me so well… Like I was made for this tight little pussy of yours.”

Slowly, his traces his hands over your sides, loving the way he can feel your previous combined releases dripping over his balls and onto his thighs. His knot is buried deep within you, too, stretching you out so delicately. Every pulse of your warmth over him makes his head spin, more smoke rising from his nostrils as his golden eyes absorb your every movement.

Each and every sound you give him is music to his ears.

He clicks his tongue as your hips begin to stutter over him, more desperate whimpers and whines falling from your lips.

“Come on, Gemstone,” Reaching a hand up, he caresses the side of your face gently. “I know you can do better than that.”

Your hands tighten over his shoulders, thighs burning as you lift yourself over him. Slowly, you sink back down, whole body shaking as you feel his thick cock fill you right to the brim. You nearly go tumbling forward as his knot pushes passed your entrance, stretching you open once more.

A low, pleased growl escapes him, lips curling upwards over his fangs.

“There you go, Pretty Girl,” His hands are back on your waist, helping you to begin bouncing on his cock. “Taking me so fucking well. Gonna ruin this pussy so that nobody else can ever claim what’s always been mine.”

The snarl he lets out goes straight to your core, clenching hard around him as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Every bump and ridge of his cock presses against your sensitive walls so perfectly, the tip hitting that special spot deep inside of you. The glorious stretch of his knot filling you over and over again only serves to make your head spin, stomach tightening in pleasure.

“Daddy!” A sharp cry escapes you, nails sinking into the skin of his shoulders. Your whole body shakes as you gush around his cock, eyes rolling as you arch into him.

Your orgasm is so sudden, and so intense, that your vision briefly goes white.

A deep chuckle reverberates around you, his cock throbbing deep within your pussy. His claws prick at your skin, hands holding you steady as you catch your breath.

Nothing but high pitched whimpers and whines escape you, practically collapsing into his chest as you come down from your high. Every twitch of his thick cock inside of you has you shaking, clinging to him for stability as he begins to trace a hand tenderly down your spine.

In the blink of an eye, he has you pinned beneath him. His golden gaze is intense as that all too familiar smirk pulls at his lips.

He pulls almost all of the way out, only to thrust back into you. Slowly.

“Daddy-“ You choke on a moan, head tossed back onto the pillows.

Tears dot the corners of your eyes, one tracing a path down your cheek. A small hiccup escapes you, and you find yourself leaning into his touch as he brings a hand up to cup your face so tenderly.

Gently, he brushes your tear away with his thumb.

“Just one more. Come on, Gemstone,” He coos, snapping his hips suddenly into your own and making your whole body jerk. “I still have to make you scream my name.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 1: Welcome To A New Kind Of Tension]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “American Idiot” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“What do you think, should we kill ourselves now or later?” Rio is spinning his Beretta M9 around on his index finger. This is not advisable. He doesn’t care.

Your hands are gripping the skeletal latticework of the transmission tower, steel hot enough to burn you; no electricity hums in the power lines suspended above your heads. Your eyes are on the horizon, golden June sunlight over fields no one has planted. Weeds are growing up through the earth, feral and defiantly useless, reclaiming their land just like the deer are, and the rabbits and the opossums and the turtles and the squirrels and the doves. The reign of humanity is over. Now you’re prey animals too. “Let’s wait.”

“For what?”

“Maybe someone will save us.”

“Ain’t nobody coming, Chips!” Rio says. “We’re a hundred feet off the ground in the middle of nowhere, motherfucking Catawissa, Pennsylvania, and we haven’t run into anyone since that Amish family back in Lightstreet, and I wouldn’t count on them driving by in their horse and buggy to pick us up.”

“We’re about sixty feet off the ground.”

“Okay, Bob the Builder, why don’t you whip up a helicopter or something to get us out of here?” Rio’s M9 has one bullet left in it, yours has three, nowhere near enough. At the bottom of the tower is a swarm of fifty-four zombies; you’ve counted them twice. There are no cute euphemisms: walkers, biters, the infected. They were once people and now they’re not. They wear the vestiges of their former lives, like how those who believe in reincarnation see meaning in birthmarks: here you were stabbed, there you were kissed by your true love. They lurch and snarl and hiss in their professional attire, college t-shirts, Vans and Jordans, septum piercings, wedding rings. They decompose in a miasma of metallic blood and spoiled meat. Parker had been the last one to the transmission tower, and they grabbed him by the legs. Now they’re chewing the gristle off his bones: disconnected ligaments that swing like strands of cobwebs, scarlet threads of muscle. “Oh shit,” Rio says, looking down. “We’ve got a smart one.”

Most zombies don’t have the fine motor skills to climb, swim, or open doors, but every once in a while—just like out of every 5,000 or 10,000 or however many ordinary humans you’ll pull the lever on the genetic slot machine and get a Picasso or a kid who can score a 1600 on the SATs—you run into an overachiever. This zombie, a teenage boy with red hair and a blue plaid shirt, is slowly scaling the tower. He’s already ten feet off the ground.

Rio aims his M9, semiautomatic, packs a punch but won’t break your arm with the recoil. “Fuck off, Ed Sheeran!” He fires and misses; the bullet grazes the boy’s shoulder. He groans dramatically and asks you in defeat: “Will you take care of that, please?”

You pull your pistol out of your holster and lean away from the tower to get a better angle, holding onto the scaffolding with one hand. You feel Rio’s large fingers close around your wrist, ready to yank you back if you slip. You click off the safety with your thumb, peer through the front sight, aim and wait until you’re sure. It’s a headshot: shards of skull ricochet off steel beams, half-rotten brains spray out in a mist. The carcass plummets to the earth.

“All this horror, all this catastrophe.” Rio’s eyes, dark like a mineshaft, drift mischievously back to you. “We could…distract each other.”

He’s not serious; this is a game you play. “No thanks.”

“You don’t want to die a virgin.”

“I do if you’re the only other person up here.”

“You deny a condemned man his final wish?”

“We’re not dying,” you insist. “What about Sophie?”

“Sophie would understand given the circumstances. She would want me to be happy.”

“What if we have sex and then immediately thereafter get rescued? You’d be a cheater. You’d be consumed by guilt. You’d never be able to take me back to your parents’ doomsday prepper cult commune in bumblefuck Oregon to wait out the apocalypse in peace.”

“You’re going to appreciate those doomsday preppers when you’re eating Chef Boyardee out of a can instead of shuffling around as a reanimated corpse.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I will,” you muse. “So you agree we’re going to get off this tower somehow.”

Rio sighs and whistles a morose tune: what a shame. “You should have gone out with that Marine at Corpus Christi.”

You frown, repentant, wistful. There’s nothing on the horizon except fields and trees and black storm clouds of crows taking flight. “I was afraid of making a mistake.”

“And now look at you. About to die as pure as Pope Francis.”

“How did this happen?! We’re not idiots, we’re goddamn professionals!” You re-holster your M9. You’re still wearing your uniforms from when you went AWOL, stealing away from Saratoga Springs like rats from a sinking ship.

“I’ll tell you exactly how this happened. You let that loser Parker come with us even though I knew it was a bad idea—”

“I couldn’t just leave him there! He started crying!”

“And he had one job, which was to check the oil in the Humvee, and clearly he failed because…” Rio glances at his watch. “Approximately four hours ago, the engine started smoking and the whole thing died on us, so we had to get out and walk, like we’re pioneers or some shit, and then that hoard down there came out of nowhere, and the only place left to go was up. Freaking Parker. I could murder that guy.” An awkward pause. “I mean, the zombies beat me to it. But still.”

“He had two jobs. He was also carrying the extra ammo.”

“Don’t remind me.” Rio isn’t messing around with his M9 anymore. He’s contemplating it as the sun hovers just past noon, hot and shadowless. “How many bullets do you have left?”

“Two.”

“Good. Don’t use them.”

You look at him, this man you’ve known for over four years, this man you’ve traveled the world with. You’ve already gone so much farther than Oregon together. How is it possible that what was once a six hour flight is now a month-long journey that might kill you? “It’s not over yet, Rio.”

“Remember what you promised me.”

His hushed voice in the moonlit indigo of the Humvee the night you left Saratoga Springs: Don’t let me die alone. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to make it to Oregon.” Then you grin, sweltering summer air breathing over you, humid, heavy, the screeching of insects in the trees. “But if it comes to that, I’d be happy to shoot you first.”

Rio smiles as the zombies below growl and claw at the steel framework of the transmission tower. Flesh peels off their fingers until you can see the gore-stained white of their bones. “Don’t miss.”

“I rarely do.”

“Do you have any more packs of Cheddar Whales in your pockets or—?” He cuts off as he spots something in the distance. His eyes go wide, his jaw drops open. “What…what is that?!”

It’s an SUV, massive, dark blue, rumbling across the field in a dust storm of displaced earth. It’s headed straight towards you. There is someone standing up through the sunroof, short dark hair that whips wildly in the wind, binoculars. You can hear the engine revving and, faintly, Kanye West’s Gold Digger. As the SUV nears the tower, Sunroof Kid ducks inside and closes the hatch.

Rio explodes into hysterical, rapturous laughter. “Oh my God, we’re saved! We’re not going to die up here! Oh, thank you, Jesus, thank you. I’m never going to jack off on Sundays again.”

The SUV, still accelerating, plows through the mob of zombies. Severed limbs go flying; bones crunch and snap. There’s a woman driving, you can see now through the slightly tinted windows. She puts the monstrous vehicle and reverse and does another pass. Zombies paw futilely at the sides of the SUV, a Chevy Tahoe, as it turns out. They smack their open, soggy palms on the windows; they gnaw and lick at the bumpers and the wheel wells. The Tahoe circles to regain speed, the engine growling, a bear, a dragon, and barrels into the remaining ambulatory zombies. The hoard is now largely incapacitated. Rio is cheering and clapping his hands.

The Tahoe’s doors open, and your rescuers appear. There are two men wielding baseball bats: one with long dark curly hair, the other tall and blonde, and there’s something wrong with his face, the left side, though you are too far away to see clearly. They move rapidly through the battlefield of felled, moaning bodies, swinging their bats and crushing skulls. There’s another blonde guy, shorter, softer, pink with sunburn, wearing plastic sunglasses and a teal polo with a popped collar. He’s spinning a golf club in his right hand. He is followed out of the Tahoe by one last blonde, spindly and swift, stalking the perimeter with a compound bow, a quiver of arrows secured to his belt. Rio is singing along to Gold Digger, drumming his fists on the steel beams.

“Now, I ain’t sayin’ you a gold digger, you got needs

You don’t want a dude to smoke, but he can’t buy weed

You go out to eat, he can’t pay, y’all can’t leave

There’s dishes in the back, he gotta roll up his sleeves…”

The driver wriggles out of the Tahoe with some difficulty; she is seven or eight months pregnant. “Stay in the car,” Madame Driver tells someone inside as she slams the door shut. She’s holding a hammer and sets about euthanizing the zombies still squirming on the ground and gnashing their cracked teeth at her.

Golf Club says: “Jace, bro, that’s so embarrassing. You’re gonna let her do that?”

Curly—or, rather, Jace—shrugs. “Exercise is good for the baby.”

All three blondes respond at once in a chorus of appalled disapproval. Interestingly, your rescuers have British accents. From within the Tahoe, someone turns off the CD player. This is wise; noise tends to attract more zombies. Madame Driver, unaffected, puts her hammer through the eye socket of a former Arby’s employee.

Jace flings back: “She likes helping! It would be sexist to tell her she’s not allowed to!”

The Scarred Man looks up at you and Rio and salutes, two fingers glanced off his forehead. You begin climbing down the scalding rungs of the transmission tower to meet them.

“Oh fuck, Aemond, you gotta deal with this,” Golf Club says. He is holding a yowling zombie at arm’s length by the straps of its overalls. It’s tiny, maybe a kindergartener. “You know I can’t kill the little kid ones.”

The Scarred Man, Aemond, turns to him. He’s wearing a maroon Harvard University t-shirt. “You have to learn how to do things yourself. I might not always be around.”

Golf Club scoffs. “As if I’d outlive you.”

“Go on. You can do it,” Aemond says. Behind him, more people are emerging from the Chevy Tahoe: Binoculars Buddy, a slight girl with shifting, watchful eyes, a blonde woman in a billowing sundress and with a burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

Golf Club is still struggling. “Aw, Aemond, man, he’s got light-up sneakers!”

Jace strides over irritably. “Aegon, you’re so fucking useless…” He kicks the miniature zombie to the dirt, raises his bloodied baseball bat, and brings it down on a skull that disintegrates like an overripe Halloween pumpkin. “You’re welcome.”

“Get bit, you poodle.”

Rio hits the ground first, his boots thumping against untamed earth. Aemond sets his baseball bat aside and reaches out to offer assistance as you dangle from a white-hot steel beam. “No,” Rio tells him roughly. “Back up.”

Aemond shows his palms and complies, retreating several paces. Rio helps you down. Now you can see Aemond’s face perfectly. There’s a relatively fresh wound running down the left half of his face, the violent red of burgeoning scar tissue, clear stitches; his eye has been sutured shut. But that’s not why you’re staring at him. His other eye is a focused, hypnotic blue, his short blonde hair disheveled. He keeps touching his chin, a nervous tick. Immediately, there’s something you like about him. He gives you the impression of someone who has gotten very good at hiding how afraid he is. Aemond looks away from your gaze, thinking you’re horrified by his injury. Then, reluctantly, he comes back. There’s forbidden temptation the lines of his ravaged face, a curiosity, a hesitation.

“Thank you for saving us,” you say to your rescuers, tearing your attention from Aemond. It’s not easy. “That was really, really cool of you, and we know you didn’t have to do it. So thanks.”

“Yeah,” Rio adds. “Sorry your Tahoe is covered in guts now.”

Aemond turns to confer silently with his companions, then asks you: “Where are you headed?”

“Odessa, Oregon.”

He nods. “We’re going to California.”

“NorCal,” Jace says, holding his baseball bat across his shoulders. “Bay Area.”

“Are you two together?” Aegon asks.

“Yeah,” Rio says, misunderstanding the question.

“Not like that,” you clarify. “He has a wife and baby, that’s what’s in Oregon.”

“So you’re single,” Aegon says, grinning toothily. His fellow travelers—family? friends? classmates? a combination thereof?—grumble and roll their eyes.

“Um, I mean, yeah, technically…?”

“Aemond’s also single,” Madame Driver informs you, relishing the chaos.

“He’s single but deformed and traumatized,” Aegon says. “I am mentally uninjured.”

You chuckle awkwardly. Your eyes, by their own volition, flick back to Aemond. He peers down at the ground then up at you again, smiling, a little sheepish, a little wicked.

Aegon groans, swinging his golf club around. “Man, come on.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Aemond replies.

“No, it’s just right there, all over your fucked up face.”

Madame Driver feigns a sympathetic frown at Aegon. “How sad. Guess you won’t have anyone to give your syphilis to.”

“I don’t have syphilis,” Aegon tells you. Then, to the others: “I can’t be the only single guy! It’s pathetic!”

“I’m single,” Archery Team says brightly.

“You’re like twelve. You don’t count.”

“I’m seventeen!”

“Are you Army?” Aemond asks you and Rio.

“Navy,” Rio replies. “We were stationed at Saratoga Springs in upstate New York.”

Aemond is fascinated. “You’re deserters?”

“What are you gonna do about it, Brit Boy?” Rio says. Aemond blinks at him. Aegon cackles, drawing huge circles in the air with his golf club.

“Everyone’s deserting,” you explain diplomatically.

“They were going to evacuate the base and send everyone left into New York City,” Rio says. “Fuck that, we’d heard things, we weren’t about to go on some suicide mission. We weren’t even in a combat unit for Christ’s sake, we’re Seabees.”

“You’re what?” Aemond asks, puzzled.

“We do construction. That’s why we were still at the base. If they’re putting us on the front lines, the situation is desperate. I’m not going in the meatgrinder. I’m not gonna be like those Hitler Youth kids sent to Russia.”

Aegon is squinting behind his sunglasses, truly lost. “Huh?”

“We should go west together,” Aemond suggests. He’s attempting to sound casual.

“I thought we didn’t want to travel with strangers, Aemond,” Jace says pointedly, mocking him. “I thought they couldn’t be trusted, Aemond. I thought they might slit our throats and steal our Tahoe in the dead of night, Aemond.”

“We’re useful!” Rio bargains. “We can shoot things!”

Aegon is very confused. “I thought you did construction.”

“Everyone has to go through basic training,” Aemond tells him impatiently, watching you.

“She got the Marksmanship Medal,” Rio says, grinning, proud.

“A lot of people get that,” you demur immediately.

“We can give you guys weapons training,” Rio continues. “You seem…like you probably don’t know about guns. Like you read a lot of books.” He gestures to Aegon. “Except that one.”

Aegon snickers, unoffended, still swinging his golf club around. “I don’t read books. I read maps.”

“Okay, lets do it,” Aemond says. “We’ll stick together across the Midwest and split up before we get to the Pacific. That puts us at ten people, and there’s safety in numbers.”

“Why do you get to make all the decisions?!” Jace demands. “Who signed that fucking contract? I didn’t consent to those terms.”

“Because that’s what Criston told us the last time the phones worked,” Aegon replies smugly. “He said Aemond’s in charge. So he is. If you want to find your way to California on your own, you’re welcome to try.”

“Who’s Criston?” you ask.

“Our fake dad,” Aegon says.

“Oh, your stepdad?”

“No, our mom is still married to our dad, he just sucks.”

“He does suck,” Archery Team confirms.

Rio tells you: “Hey, Chips, you’re standing in a torso.”

“Am I?” You look down. Your boots are buried to the ankles in the rotting gore of a bare midsection with only one limp arm still attached. You step out of it and shake off the bits of decomposing organs. “Gnarly. Thanks.” You spot Parker’s backpack containing the extra ammunition, pick it up out of the dirt, and throw it over your shoulders.

“Chips?” Aemond says. “Like…chocolate chips?”

“No, like woodchips. I’m a carpenter. I mean, I was a carpenter, I guess. That’s what I did in the Navy. Some people call the carpenters Chips.”

“I was an electrician,” Rio says. “So clearly, now that all the power is down, that turned out to be a fantastic career path.” Then he formally introduces himself. “Hi everyone, I’m Rio.”

Aegon perks up. “Oh, like the Rio Grande.”

Rio pretends to be scandalized. “Wow, racist.”

“So racist,” you agree.

Aegon’s chubby pink face fills with horror. “No, wait, I didn’t…um…”

Rio laughs and taps the nametag on his chest, black letters stitched over green camouflage: Osorio.

“His first name’s Bryan,” you say. “But no one calls him that.”

“My mom calls me Bryan. Sophie calls me Bryan.”

Aemond points at his companions, one after the other. “That’s my brother Aegon and my sister Helaena. Jace and Luke are our cousins. Then Baela and Rhaena are their girlfriends. Well, Baela…she’s kind of a fiancée. But there’s no official ring yet.”

Jace says: “Unfortunately, all the jewelry stores were looted on account of the apocalypse.”

“And I’m Daeron,” Archery Team says buoyantly, waving. Then he shields his eyes as he notices something at the edge of the field. “Oh, guys…?”

There are zombies approaching with clumsy, staggering strides, only a few now, but more will follow. That’s the thing; they are in seemingly endless supply. It’s easy to get too comfortable with them, to think of them as slow and mindless, even comical, even pitiful. But they can surprise you. And it only takes one bite to become just like them.

“Time to return to the Tahoe,” Baela announces, waddling towards the driver’s seat. Rhaena climbs in the passenger’s side. The rest of you pile into the back. The SUV has nine seats; Aegon crouches on the floor without being asked to. He’s unfolding a map he pulled from the pocket of his salmon-colored shorts and laying it flat across Rio’s knees so everyone can see. Baela turns the key in the ignition and the Tahoe rumbles to life. You spot a few red gas cans under the seats. If you can’t find more when that runs out—siphoning it out of other vehicles, stumbling across a gas station that is miraculously not drained dry—you’ll be walking, biking, or skateboarding to the West Coast. Or embracing the Amish lifestyle with a horse and buggy.

“We were planning to swing by Fort Indiantown Gap,” you tell Aemond. He twists around in his seat to look at you, that absorbed crystalline blue gaze. “That’s where we were headed before our Humvee broke down. It’s a National Guard Training Center. It’s probably cleaned out like everywhere else, but if it’s not…we might be able to find some guns and ammo there.”

“Where is it?”

“An hour south of here, just outside of Harrisburg.”

Baela is watching Aemond in the rearview mirror. He gives her a nod. “How do I get there?” Baela asks you.

“South on Route 42. Did you see the signs on your way in…?”

“Yup. Got it.” Baela steers the Tahoe across the field, kicking up a vortex of parched soil. She intentionally runs down four zombies before swerving left onto a two-lane road. Then she turns up the volume on the CD player: War Pigs by Black Sabbath. “It’s a mixtape,” she informs you.

Aegon points to southcentral Pennsylvania on a map of the United States of America, highway arteries and local route veins. “We’re here,” he says, sliding around on the floor of the Tahoe as Baela drives. His index finger traces the path; it’s a precarious balance between avoiding the most heavily populated areas and still having access to the necessary trappings of civilization: supplies to scavenge, roads to follow, buildings to take shelter in. “We’ll stop by Fort Indiantown Gap and then head northwest, thread the needle between Pittsburgh and Cleveland, stay south of Detroit and Chicago, cut across Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, that top part of Utah, then go our separate ways in Nevada. Oh my God, it’s just like the Oregon Trail! Do you guys remember that game?! Fording rivers, getting dysentery, hunting bison to extinction?” He starts humming the theme song.

Jace smirks, chomping on a Twizzler. “Hope you don’t die of a snakebite or something. That’d be awful.”

Aegon ignores him and refolds the map. “Rio! Fuck, marry, kill. The last three first ladies before Biden.”

Rhaena says, exasperated: “Aegon, you have to stop asking people that. It’s inappropriate.”

“Oh, easy,” Rio replies. “I’m fucking Laura Bush.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Aegon gives him a high five.

“And then I have to marry Michelle.”

“You gotta.”

“Which means Melania gets the grape Flavor Aid.”

“It’s the only logical answer.”

“I’d fuck Melania,” Jace says.

“Of course you would, you sick, sick man,” Aegon mutters, rolling down a window and sticking his head out like a golden retriever, his sunglasses still on, his blonde hair flapping in the wind. There’s a tattoo in black ink on his forearm, you notice for the first time: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.

~~~~~~~~~~

Fort Indiantown Gap is a ghost town like a gold seam emptied, an oil well run dry, a collapsed coal mine. There’s no central armory but instead a series of arms rooms, one for each unit. Every single scrap of lethal metal is gone: no pistols, no rifles, no grenade launchers or machine guns, no ammo, not even pocketknives, although you do find clean PT uniforms for you and Rio to change into, t-shirts and running shorts and sneakers. Clothes are surprisingly difficult to acquire now. Most stores have either been looted or overrun by zombies, and Amazon is tragically no longer delivering. You can break into houses that seem abandoned, but then you have to hope the people who lived there just so happened to be your size and also aren’t waiting inside to eat you. It’s not usually a wise gamble.

You study Aemond and his companions as you move through the base clearing buildings, you and Rio with loaded M9s in your holsters and clutching borrowed baseball bats; gunshots are best avoided if possible so as not to attract unwanted attention. Aemond and Jace take point, almost always; Aegon hovers on Aemond’s blind left side, wagging his golf club around, occasionally slapping Aemond’s shoulder to remind him he’s there. Daeron prowls at the back and on the periphery. Baela pretends she isn’t struggling to keep up. Luke and Rhaena are the lookouts. Helaena fills her burlap messenger bag with small treasures you don’t even notice her accumulating: bottles of Advil, batteries, lighters, pens, tweezers, Band-Aids, Uno cards. You encounter only three zombies, easily decommissioned. Fort Indiantown Gap must have been evacuated weeks ago. You wonder what pointless battles her soldiers died in. Everyone knows the dead have won.

What the abandoned base lacks in weaponry it makes up for in food. You find a chow hall with an untouched kitchen, a wealth of shelf-stable delicacies: chili, saltine crackers, applesauce, fruit cocktail with bright red gems of cherries, peanut butter, strawberry jelly, green beans, carrots, peas, beets, tuna fish, chicken noodle soup. You feast—a Thanksgiving, a Last Supper—then settle into the barracks next door as the sun begins to set. There are plenty of bunkbeds and a closet full of pillows and sheets. Someone always has to be up to keep watch; Daeron and Jace immediately go to sleep so they can get some rest before they are shaken awake sometime around 2 or 3 a.m. Baela says she’s going to lie down for a minute and almost immediately begins snoring. Helaena makes silent amendments in her notebook; she keeps an inventory of everything the group has, needs, or wants.

Outside, Rio and Aegon are engaged in a spirited game of Uno. Luke is sitting cross-legged on the roof of the Tahoe with his binoculars. Rhaena is beside him softly reading a book out loud: The Hunger Games. Aemond is on a wooden bench on the front porch of the barracks, watching the sun sink into the west. When he notices you, he seems pleased. “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m sorry we wasted your gas to come here.”

“No, it was a good idea. It was worth a shot. And now we have a safe place to sleep tonight.” His eye drops lower, his scarred brow crinkles in concern. “What happened to your hands?”

“My hands?” In the haze of the adrenaline, you didn’t even notice. Your palms are blistered, swollen and stinging. “Oh. It was the transmission tower. The steel beams got really hot while we were up there. I’ll be okay.”

“Let me bandage them. You don’t want to get an infection.”

“Really, I’m fine, I shouldn’t inconvenience—”

“Sit down,” Aemond insists. You take a seat on the bench while he goes to the Tahoe to fetch a black nylon bag about the size of a briefcase. Rio casts you a furtive, crafty grin. It’s nothing, you mouth back, more to convince yourself than him. Your pulse is thudding in your ears; your cheeks are warm. You haven’t felt like this since you almost agreed to go on a date with that Marine you met at Corpus Christi, where your battalion had been dispatched to build a series of new airplane hangars. Aemond returns to the bench and begins wiping down your palms with antiseptic. “Sorry if this stings.”

It does, but you’re grateful for the distraction. “It isn’t too bad.”

“You’re not from Oregon.” He’s noticed your accent.

“Kentucky,” you confess.

“You aren’t making a stop at home before traveling west?”

“Why would I want to go back there?”

Aemond looks at you uncertainly; he can’t tell if you’re joking. You like the way his voice goes quiet when it’s just the two of you. You like the way he barely shows his teeth when he talks, like he’s keeping secrets.

After a moment, as the sky begins to turn to orange and pink and lilac, you continue. “People join the Army for a paycheck and a place to sleep, free college, health insurance. People join the Marines to prove they’re the best. People join the Air Force because they want to be in the military but think they’re too smart for grunt work. And people join the Navy to get away from home. I wanted to get far, far, far away.”

Aemond smiles. “Are you far enough yet?” He doesn’t mean by miles. He means the fact that the world will never be the same. Now he’s coating your hands in a thick white ointment, cool and blissful.

“I was afraid of so many things, and now none of them matter.”

“We all have brand new things to be afraid of.” He gets a roll of gauze and begins to wrap your palms, careful to keep your fingers and thumbs unencumbered.

“Aemond?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to your face?”

He shrugs. He’s trying not to be resentful about it; he can’t change it anyway. “We were scavenging supplies from a Home Depot. We had to board up the house and wait until things…got quieter and it was safe to travel out of Boston.” And by got quieter, he means that the initial wave passed, the zombies began to wander out of the cities and disperse, the survivors were hunkered down and not participating in gunfights or Vikings-style pillaging in the streets. “A piece of sheet metal fell on me from the top shelf. Aegon and Jace dragged me home, they thought I was dying.”

“I’m glad you weren’t. Who treated it?”

“I did.”

You can’t disguise your shock. “You…you stitched up your own face?”

He smirks, finishing the bandages on your hands. “I was in medical school before all this.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“I was an intern. So definitely not a doctor, but the closest thing to one I had access to. And I had taken some things from the hospital when everything went to hell. So I got a little mirror, and I lidocained myself very generously, and I started suturing.”

You don’t know what to say. His eye?? He stitched his eye shut?? “I mean…you did a great job.”

“I’m aware I look like Frankenstein, but I guess it’s better than not being here at all.”

“No, seriously. You look amazing, Aemond.”

He stares at you, bewildered. You realize how bizarre it must sound. You both start laughing as Aemond packs his supplies back into his medical kit. He touches his fingertips to his chin a few times—restless, meditative—then stands to return inside the barracks. “I’m…going to go check on Helaena.”

“Yeah. Cool. See ya.” You don’t watch him leave. This takes intentional effort.

Seconds pass anonymously: no time you need to be anywhere, nothing late, nothing early, no television premiers, no football games, no State Of The Unions, no time zones to do mental math over. You aren’t even sure what day it is. The earth has erased your invisible prisons. Now all that remain are the real ones: weather, terrain, disease, predators.

There is the creaking of weight on the porch steps. You warn him: “I’m not interested in your commentary.”

Rio winks as he says: “Maybe you won’t die a virgin after all.”

[writingforstraykids]

Letters Of Love - Chan🖤

Pairing: Chan x gn!Reader (poly!skz)

Word Count: 978

Summary: Your anniversary with your beloved boys makes you think of how to show them how much you love them best. Soon, you settle on sending them a message and picture in relation to one of your favorite days spent with them - starting with a sunset beach walk with Channie.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, poly!skz

A/N: Happy one year, guys🤭🥳🖤🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

You sit comfortably on the oversized sofa in the living room, your legs tucked beneath you as a soft throw blanket drapes over your shoulders. The house is quiet except for the soft hum of the evening outside. The warm, ambient light from a lamp nearby casts a golden glow on your laptop screen as you scroll through your photo library, smiling at the memories that flash before your eyes.

The idea had come to you a few days ago, sparked by a simple desire to celebrate the bond you share with each of the boys. With your anniversary around the corner, you wanted to do something meaningful—not grand or flashy, but something that speaks to the heart of what they all mean to you. So, you decided to put together a collection of messages, each paired with a favorite photo of yours. One for each of them.

It’s not just about celebrating the years spent together, but a way to show them how much every single moment counts—how deeply woven into your life they’ve become. It’s easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of life, schedules, and everything in between, but when you sit down and look back at these snapshots, the memories are filled with so much warmth that it almost makes you tear up.

Each picture carries its own story, a unique reminder of shared smiles, whispered conversations, and unexpected adventures. It feels like the perfect way to say, “I remember. I see you. And I treasure these moments more than words can say.”

Choosing where to start wasn’t easy, but in the end, you settled on Chan. Leader. Rock. One of your favorite people. The one who somehow always knows exactly how to make you feel heard and seen. Your eyes linger on one particular image that makes your heart flutter—a photograph of a breathtaking sunset on a secluded beach.

The sky is painted with vivid hues of orange, pink, and deep purple, casting a magical light across the gentle waves lapping at the shore. In the foreground, Chan is beside you, his broad smile lighting up the scene as much as the setting sun. He’s looking at the camera, but his body is slightly angled toward you, as if caught in a moment of joy, mid-laughter. His tousled hair frames his face, the salty breeze lifting it slightly, and his eyes crinkle warmly, filled with a playful energy and contentment. The two of you are barefoot, shoes forgotten somewhere in the sand, and you’re holding hands, your arm swinging lightly as if you’d just been spinning around together, giddy from the beauty of the evening and each other's presence.

You can almost hear the sound of his voice from that day—the way he kept pointing out how the colors of the sky matched your favorite shade of coral or how he’d sneakily race you to the water’s edge just to let the waves catch you by surprise. It was one of those spontaneous days, a perfect pocket of time when everything aligned, and all that mattered was the way the world seemed to slow down around the two of you.

The day had started unassumingly, with a casual suggestion from Chan to go for a drive after a long day of work. There had been no real destination in mind until you noticed the telltale sparkle of sunlight reflecting off the distant waves. Without a second thought, he turned the car toward the coast. When you arrived, the beach was nearly empty—just you, him, and the endless expanse of sand and sea. As the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky with the most brilliant shades, you both kicked off your shoes and wandered along the shoreline. You talked about everything and nothing—dreams, music, life, and silly inside jokes that had the two of you bursting into laughter.

As the colors deepened and the first stars peeked through, he pulled you close, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Just you, him, and the rhythm of the waves. It was then that he set up the camera timer, capturing that perfect image, your smiles forever frozen against the backdrop of the sun-kissed sky.

The smile on your lips softens as you relive the memory, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You take a deep breath and begin to type out a message for Chan, the words flowing easily from your heart. He’s someone who would understand the significance of this little project of yours—your way of saying, “I’m grateful. For you, for us, for all the tiny pieces that have come together to build this beautiful mosaic of memories.”

Message to Channie Baby🖤:

Hey Channie,

I came across this picture today, and it made me think of one of my favorite memories with you. Remember that sunset beach stroll? The way you just decided to take us there on a whim? I think that’s one of the things I love most about you—the way you turn ordinary moments into something unforgettable.

That evening, I remember feeling like everything was just… right. The world seemed quieter, softer, and it was like we had all the time in the world just to be ourselves. I know we’ve had so many amazing experiences together, but something about that day stands out to me. Maybe it’s because it felt so simple, just us, the ocean, and the sky. But it’s one of those moments that I’ll always cherish.

Thank you for always making life brighter, for your laughter and for the way you see beauty in everything. I’m so grateful to have you by my side—not just during sunsets, but every single day.

Happy anniversary, Channie. Here’s to many more sunsets together.

Love you, always.

Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@zehina @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @theo4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @dis-trict9 @minh0scat @jinnie-ret @5starluvr @slutforchanlix

[saywhat-politics]

US economy contracts at 0.3% rate in Q1, first GDP pullback in 3 years

The US economy contracted for the first time in three years to start 2025 as a surge in imports dragged down GDP and prices increased more than forecast.

The Bureau of Economic Analysis' advance estimate of first quarter US gross domestic product (GDP) showed economic growth contracted at an annualized rate of 0.3% during the year's first three months, more than the 0.2% decline expected by economists surveyed by Bloomberg. The reading came in significantly lower than the 2.4% rate of growth seen in the fourth quarter of 2024.

White House Swears New Economic Data Shows Down Is Up, Actually

The White House is trying to spin news the GDP shrank last quarter as a sign of strong economic momentum and claiming that “core GDP,” whatever that means, is actually “robust.”

“Robust core GDP, the highest gross domestic investment in four years, job growth, and trillions of dollars in new investments secured by President Trump are fueling an economic boom and setting the stage for unprecedented growth as President Trump ushers in the new Golden Age,” said Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt in a memo titled, “New Data Reveals Strong Economic Momentum.”

Leavitt blamed former President Joe Biden for Trump’s lackluster performance, though it’s unclear why. The economy hasn’t seen negative growth since the first quarter of 2022, when the global economy was struggling to shake off the COVID epidemic.

In the same statement, the White House also claimed that “core GDP” actually grew at 3%, without defining the term, and claimed that “colder-than-usual weather and California wildfires” — not Trump’s tariffs — are to blame.

[sywtwfs]

Viewing information for GPF/JGPF and Golden Spin is now available on our website.

[figureskatingcostumes]

Makar Suntsev's free program costume at the 2024 Europeans and 2023 Golden Spin of Zagreb.

(Sources: 1 and 2)

[cherryblessing]

📎— A DATE WITH SATORU?!

``some days, getting lost is the best way to find where you’re meant to be.``

The sun hung low, casting golden hues that spilled over the bustling streets, wrapping everything in a warm glow. Satoru tugged at your hand, his grin as bright as the day itself. His fingers interlaced with yours, the casual gesture somehow grounding despite his chaotic energy.

"So," he asked, tilting his head in that familiar playful way, "where shall we go?"

You shrugged, a laugh bubbling up as the scent of street food mingled with the crispness of the late afternoon. "You were the one dragging me out, remember?"

"True, true," he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. His free hand gestured broadly, as if presenting the whole city to you. "But I thought it’d be more fun if we wing it. How about... ice cream first? Or wait, a movie? Nah, karaoke! I need to bless the world with my angelic voice."

"Angelically off-key, you mean," you shot back, grinning at his exaggerated gasp of betrayal.

He stopped mid-step, spinning around to face you with a mischievous gleam in his too-blue eyes. "You dare doubt my talents?" he asked, his tone mock-serious.

Without waiting for a reply, he slung an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. His hum—a hilariously offbeat rendition of the café tune drifting nearby—vibrated against you.

"Okay, okay!" you said through laughter, the sound bright and untethered. "Maybe karaoke later. For now, let’s grab a drink. Coffee?"

"Coffee?" he echoed, his brows shooting up as though you’d just suggested something profound.

"Yeah," you quipped, "so I can watch you drown yours in more sugar than should be legally allowed. Honestly, it’s impressive your teeth haven’t quit on you yet."

Satoru gasped again, one hand clutching his chest with Oscar-worthy theatrics. "Excuse me, I happen to have impeccable taste. My coffee is just—what’s the word?—enhanced."

"Sweetened beyond recognition, you mean."

"Details, details," he said with a dismissive wave, steering you toward the café.

Inside, the smell of roasted beans filled the air as the barista handed over two steaming cups. Satoru’s drink looked more like dessert, whipped cream piled high and drizzled with caramel. You raised a brow at him as he took a proud sip, the whipped cream smudging the tip of his nose.

"You’ve got—" you started, laughing softly as you reached to wipe it away with your thumb.

"Enhancements?" he finished smugly, leaning closer into your touch, his sunglasses slipping down just enough to reveal a teasing spark in his eyes.

"Sure, let’s call it that," you said, shaking your head with a fond smile on your face.

The two of you slipped back out onto the street, the day unfolding in spontaneous bursts. He led you into a cozy bookstore, immediately picking up the most ridiculous title he could find to perform a dramatic reading in his booming voice.

Later, you found yourselves caught in a light drizzle. Without missing a beat, Satoru popped open a rainbow-colored umbrella he’d "borrowed" from the lost-and-found at the café.

"You could’ve just used your technique," you teased, huddling closer under the small canopy.

"But where’s the romance in that?" he replied, grinning.

Every turn of the day felt like a discovery, filled with laughter, shared glances, and moments of quiet joy that seemed to stretch time.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in soft purples and oranges, Satoru turned to you. The golden light kissed his snowy hair, framing his face in a way that softened the usual sharpness of his grin. For once, his voice was quiet, almost tender.

"See? I told you. The best adventures aren’t planned."

You looked at him, his gaze holding a warmth that rivaled the fading sunlight. And in that moment, you couldn’t help but think: maybe he was right.

all writing, including poems are my own.

©cherryblessing.2024

[gosmigenergy]

KINKTOBER 2024 / Day Eleven

THREESOME / SWIMMING / PEGGING (@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction)

Starring: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader x Duke Leto Atreides (Modern AU)

Summary: When Oberyn has guests, you normally find yourself banished to your quarters yet when Duke Leto asks for you too, it’s an offer you can’t refuse.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No use of Y/N, language, sex powder/pollen/drug taking, mentions of drink, fingering, oral - female receiving/male receiving, praising, squirting, P in V, unprotected sex (protection in real life, please, thank you), spit roasting, three-way, MMF, cream pie

Word Count: 4.7k

Notes: Ok, this is a wip that I clearly abandoned and found sitting on my computer, this was definitely started before I saw Dune and before I knew what Spice was 🙈

It wasn’t unusual for Oberyn to you to his quarters late at night, however he never invited you when he had company.

You’d met plenty of aristocrats, royalty, dignitaries and all manner of terminology you’d never heard. It was a simple introduction with the acceptance that he wasn’t yours for the length of their stay.

Never had anyone asked for you specifically.

You considered rejecting the offer of Duke Leto but there was something in the way Oberyn approached you. The glint in his big brown eyes, his lowered volume and a crooked smile that you had seen countless times, things were getting exciting.

“Remember, panties are forbidden.”

There was something in the crude way he described your underwear that got you just a bit wet.

You knocked the door.

No answer.

Oberyn always answered.

You grabbed the handle and pushed your weight to open the door, almost falling into the room. What you saw was mostly bare skin, hands seizing every inch of soft flesh, mussed brown and black hair.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry!”

You turned away, pressing your palms to your face, shoving yourself against the wood as the door slammed shut.

“You’re late.”

Spinning on your heels, you meet Oberyn’s pouted lips, plush and coated in saliva.

“We had to keep ourselves entertained somehow.”

Your inner walls clenched with the authority in his voice, it was rare but when he used it, it truly turned you on. Then you noticed how his and Leto’s eyes were blown, the glimmer that was usually white now a faint hue of blue.

Leto saw your scrunched expression.

“Come here,” he said, gesturing you over with two fingers.

You fleetingly glance to Oberyn, watching his lips curl.

Cautiously, you approach the pair of them, smoothing your palms down your dress as you squeeze yourself between them. The sweat clung to their torsos, their bulges straining beneath the fabric of their underwear.

If you hadn’t walked in when you did, they’d be fucking by now.

Leto leaned over the arm of the sofa and returned with a golden platter.

“What is it?”

“My people call it Spice.”

He dipped his fingertips into the mound of powder, crushing the particles between his thumb and forefinger.

“Completely herbal, no chemicals, all natural.”

“And will make you feel phenomenal.”

You turn to Oberyn, cupping his whiskered jawline in your palm. The smile blossomed on his face, burying the dimples deep within his cheeks.

Except you had seen how drugs affected people, from other students in your years in college to workers in the industry, snorting to keep going. Your stomach twisted with worry but also intrigue, they do always say you should try something once.

“We’ll be here with you, we’ll make sure you don’t have a bad trip.”

Leto wasn’t giddy like the other man, his chest rose slowly, his expression soft in comparison to when you met earlier. He didn’t rush you, gave you time to survey what was in front of you.

“How do I—“

“You just breathe it in.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Taking the platter in your hand, you bring the powder close and take a large inhale. A tingling sensation filled your nostrils before a warmth travelled to your lungs then, disappointingly, nothing.

“Take a couple more.”

You followed Leto’s instruction before he brought a hand back to the platter, taking it away, the gentle clank of it as it comes to the table.

The pair let you catch your breath, the heat emanating from them with their musky stench, Oberyn’s aftershave potent as he leaned in.

“Do you mind if we continue?”

“Not at all,” you haul yourself up from the sofa embarrassedly.

It didn’t take long for him to engulf his other partner, crashing his lips to his in overwhelming desperation.

You make yourself a drink in the corner, pouring golden liquid into a glass with ice and swirl. You take your place in the armchair opposite them, wondering how much time would pass until it hit you like the men you watch longingly. The warmness is still present in your chest and you question whether this is how it all starts.

Leto grabs a fistful of Oberyn’s hair, pulling his face away from his. His eyes roam to you, his expression nonplus.

“You’ll know when it hits.”

His voice was low, a notable gravel in the undertones.

You didn’t know if you believed him, how can you go from the calmness of you to the same feverishness of Oberyn?

Shifting in the chair, you allowed your body to sink deeper into the cushions, holding onto your drink loosely. You might as well make yourself comfortable before the Spice takes you over and with the glint in Leto’s eyes, he was going to make sure you had a good show.

Part of you thought about looking away, watching the television that was on in the background but you couldn’t.

You always saw Oberyn as the instigator, the dominant figure when it came to the bedroom, he was with you anyway, yet here he was different.

After your exchange, Leto used a free hand to rip himself from his underwear. His hard cock swinging from it’s release, slapping under his navel as it snapped from the elastic prison it was confined in.

Your cunt pulsed.

Oberyn swallowed, his throat bobbing as his gaze fell to Leto’s generous length. The other man didn’t allow him long in his admiration before bringing Oberyn’s lips to his tip.

He obliged to Leto’s demands, parting his mouth, gradually taking him in inch by inch. Oberyn had a skill you had let to learn, not even gagging when it was clear as day that Leto’s dick was making it’s way down his throat.

Leto groaned deep from within like a beast that had finally gotten his prey.

He took his grasp off Oberyn and let him do his work, Leto’s head falling back as the other’s moved smoothly up and down, the sloppy sounds of wet friction.

You couldn’t keep track of time in this moment. It felt like you could have been watching them for hours, no end in sight, no let up from either man.

The heat had spread through your body, through your veins in a weirdly comforting way, your eyelids heavy enough to close yet you didn’t fall asleep. You pressed your palms against your exposed skin, a tingling rising to the surface that felt good, really fucking good.

“Nice of you to join us.”

Leto’s dorsal tones snapped you from your dreamlike state.

Opening your eyes, you could see a faint glimmer and it took you a few seconds to realise it was coming from you, otherworldly in its presence. You scramble off the armchair, noticing how the stuff wouldn’t go away, if you moved, it moved. It clung to your arms and legs like some sort of parasite.

“What’s happening?”

Your voice seemed to squeak, words trapping in your throat as the panic set in.

“Breathe, my love.”

Oberyn had climbed off Leto and treaded towards you, hands open.

Except you couldn’t, your chest was heaving, tears brimming your eyes as your mind worked overtime to process what the fuck was going on. You fumble to undo your dress, pulling the fabric from your frame before letting it drop to a puddle on the floor.

Leto’s one brow arched sharply, Oberyn didn’t lie when he said you always did what you were told. You stood there, stark naked, the particles whirling from every limb, every curve as you began to shake.

“Look at me,” Oberyn said firmly.

Taking an index finger and thumb under your chin, he brings your eyes forward. You focus on him, eyebrows knotting as you can see something coming from him, a delicate steam.

His colour was noticeably different, Leto’s even more so.

“Some say it’s a projection of us,” Leto says.

You blink, “Like an aura?”

“Perhaps,” his lips briefly form a smile. “Maybe a little deeper than that, I’ve heard some say it’s like seeing into each other’s soul.”

“So indigo is?”

“Somewhere between the divine and clarity.”

“And Oberyn?”

“An expression of love.”

Oberyn shrugs, what can he say.

You brush the skin of your stomach and watch the light flutter into pieces of orange.

“Svandhisthana,” Oberyn chimes in.

Your eyebrows knot further.

“Sacral… Desire.”

Oberyn brings his hand to yours, intertwining his fingers and you can feel the heat, almost scorching to the touch. Your heartbeat steadies, your face relaxing as you look at his smile broaden in a childish nature.

Leto opens his arms, offering himself to you.

Oberyn give you a squeeze, a simple gesture to entrust yourself to him, to another lover. Your fingers slip from his hand as you saunter over to where Leto sits, nestling between his thick thighs and press a knee gently to his balls.

You both allow yourselves to admire each other in your most natural forms.

Leto is lean, soft ripples of a six pack present as you trail your fingertips over his skin, sparks of colour escaping. The muscles of his broad shoulders stretch as he rearranges himself to get a fuller view of you. His cock is still hard on his stomach, glistening in a mixture of Oberyn’s spit and his own precum.

His arm wraps around you, forcing you to his body with a gasp. You squirm just a little as a fire spreads across your breast and chest.

“Relax.”

Oberyn’s voice comes from behind you yet you can’t tell who he was referring to in this moment.

With his other hand, Leto trails down your back and over the curvature of your ass, fingers slipping between your legs. He hums with pleasure as he reaches your soft, soaking folds. Bringing his face closer, he brushes the tip of his nose against yours in a playful manner.

“You’re already nice and wet for us.”

He stifles your response with a kiss.

It was rough, heavy, his salt and pepper beard scratching delicate skin but you couldn’t fight him. His tongue prises open your lips as you willingly accept him into your mouth, tongues melding.

It’s clear that the drug in your system wants this but you’re not sure.

He locks an arm around your waist and though you push, you can’t escape. You moan, nails burying into Leto’s shoulders as you fought for air.

The sensation of another set of hands on you only fans the flames further.

“My love, relax.”

Leto parts and you gasp, trying to catch your breath.

“I feel like I’m on fucking fire.”

There were more poetic ways to explain what you were feeling but your brain wasn’t functioning. It was too preoccupied with the two men around you, the heat that radiated from them, the sweat that clung like condensation to an ice cold glass on a summer’s day. Their scent, their slick voices and fork-like tongues.

“This is what Spice does, you have to let it consume you.”

Otherwise it will hurt you, that’s what he left out.

Oberyn begins to rub the small of your back, just like he did when you initially met, when you opened yourself up to him, when he first took you to his bed.

“I don’t know how.”

Leto’s arm loosens, his frame relaxing underneath your weight.

“Maybe you do not know but I know you can, I’ve seen it many times.”

Leto’s fingertips graze your stomach, he can see it, you can feel it, the knot that has its hold. He glances over your shoulder and you sense the exchange between them.

“We’ll take it slow, we’ll get you where Leto wants you.”

The heat comes to your cheeks.

Oberyn wraps around you, his nose pressing into your back before he scoops you up from the other man. He flops onto the other half of the sofa, your body splaying over his, knees parting your thighs so you’re laid bare for his guest.

Leto shuffled, propping himself up for a better view.

Oberyn’s touch was soft, his hand rising from your hip and over your stomach, fingertips sweeping to the peak of your breast, your nipple a hard bud.

He took a finger and thumb, squeezing lightly and the spark travels down your nerve endings, settling low. Your head rolls into the crook of his neck with a sigh and you feel his jaw against your temple.

“Always so sensitive.”

You giggle.

“I love it,” he utters.

Leto watches on, cock twitching at the display. It’s torturous to watch that pussy go untouched but Oberyn was going to take his time, you’d unravel eventually.

Oberyn pinched your nipple harder, taking your whine in his mouth as he slipped in his tongue and yours danced in unison. His other hand teased at your thigh, drawing shapes with subtle fingers until he felt the tension fall. It inched nearer your pussy, gliding over the crease to meet your mound.

He held there for a few seconds before spreading his fingers down your slick outer lips.

You whimper yet your hips roll to his touch.

He stops kissing you to speak.

“I told the Duke that you were always wet for me and you didn’t let me down, did you?”

The sound of squelching seemed to fill the room and you cry as his fingers start to work you.

Leto clenched his hands into fists, his cock stiffening. He was resisting the temptation to edge, to lunge forward and take your cunt in his mouth. He had to behave himself, to control the Spice’s urges to have you.

Oberyn pins your head under his chin before pressing a finger to your clit.

He knows your every tick, stopping your legs from instinctively closing, your moan stifled in his neck. He shushes you, pressing his other palm to your stomach, flushing your back to his chest. 

Kissing your temple, he plays with you some more.

Leto has beads of sweat rolling from his hairline, the tip of his cock bright with a single drop of precum hanging.

Oberyn clocks his rigid appearance, taking his fingers away to the sound of your lose. He places the two fingers into his mouth, spreading the taste of you on his tongue before popping them out in an exaggerated fashion.

Dick, Leto thought.

You look up at Oberyn, dazed with heavy lids.

“How about we let Leto have a play, hm? As long as he plays nice.”

You nod timidly.

Leto doesn’t need anymore direction though he moves unhurried, fingertips on your leg with the lightest pressure. Oberyn returns his attention to you, locking his lips to yours. His hands glide over to your breasts, massaging your slick thoroughly into your skin.

Your thighs felt the tickle of Leto’s whiskers as he carefully analysed your muscle movement with a singular kiss. Your chest raised, your breath hitching as a new player entered the game.

He pressed another and another, each one climbing towards his final goal, you were even more messy up close. His breath teased, the peak of his nose grazing that sweet pearl that sent shivers up your spine. He flattened his tongue and licked your cunt in one smooth motion.

You broke away from Oberyn, the gasp you released throwing your head back.

Leto continues to clean you up, taking his time, listening to each noise to spill from you. Once he was done, he didn’t stop, plunging his tongue into you with ease.

You shudder.

He licks your inner walls, lapping up your juices and when you struggle, his hands pin you down.

Oberyn was kissing you wherever he could, finding the right spots to gently nip at you with his teeth, never hard enough to leave a mark.

All you could do was take them.

The room was beginning to spin, heart pounding as the colourful glimmers turned into spots of white. The fire was coming to the surface, prickling the areas where they touched, the knot in your belly tangling more.

Your legs begin to vibrate.

“Let go.”

And it’s not as if the knot snaps, instead it’s like Oberyn has one end and Leto the other. They both pull and the cluster becomes undone, smoothly and effortlessly.

Your muscles contract before going limp and you throw your head back in blissful euphoria without making a sound. The heat builds, an inferno spreading over every part of your body, your juices overflowing.

You can’t remember much of your release, it came fast and was more than enough to feed a hungry Leto. Oberyn, all the while, sung his praises quietly into your ear.

“Yes, that’s it, you’re being such a good girl for us… Look at how much you have to give him… Bet that pretty little pussy of yours is fluttering round his tongue.”

The more he spoke, the more you came.

You were numb down there but you knew he was right. Leto was lapping as you carried on gushing, your juices trickling down your butt cheeks. By the time he came up for air, his chest was taking deep inhales, whiskers gleaming with you and a crooked smile on his lips.

Slowly, your mind began to focus and you returned back to the room, Oberyn hard beneath you.

“Fuuuck.”

You can picture how he looks, his eyes dark and hooded, his lips parted.

You try to lift yourself up, your head struggling to stay up. The sofa was drenched between your thighs, joined with Leto’s creamy white cum that decorated the cushion though his cock remained hard.

You were still sensitive, your folds throbbing as you brought your legs together yet it couldn’t stop the flames from stoking again.

“Take me to bed,” you say breathily.

Leto didn’t need to be told twice.

Getting off the sofa, he grabbed you roughly on the hips and hauled you from the sofa. He threw you over his shoulder, smirking at your high-pitched yelp before bringing a sharp tap to your ass. 

Oberyn laughed at the display, chasing you both into the bedroom.

Chucking you onto the bed, you bounced on Oberyn’s incredibly soft mattress, your dewy skin gliding over silk sheets.You wriggle further up the bed, resting your elbows to admire the two men waiting to take you, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. The colours remained around them, not as strong but soft and ambient.

“How would you like to do this?”

You look to Oberyn with doe eyes.

How were you supposed to do this?

You had never partaken in a threesome, out of the two of you, he was certainly more experienced in something like this. Your mind was still swimming from the effects of Spice, all you could process was the details of the well endowed men - how they tasted, how they were lean with softened muscles, how dark their eyes were as they continued to stare.

“Maybe you ask too many questions,” Leto brought his attention to Oberyn.

“Perhaps,” he replied, “I just want to ensure she’s ready for this.”

Your excitement pools between your thighs. You try to say something but nothing comes out causing the smile to return to Oberyn’s lips.

“I do love it when you’re lost for words.”

The men meet each other’s eyes with a hooded look. You felt the temperature rise in your cheeks and chest, nails sinking into the sheets as your body prepared for what would happen next. They pounced onto the bed, Oberyn wrapping his wide hands around your ankles, yanking you towards him.

The goosebumps decorate your skin as he kneels over you.

Dropping his hands either side of your head, he brings his face millimetres from yours and your heart skips a beat.

“You remember what I said to you on the first night?”

You nod, unable to speak as he engulfed all your senses.

“If it’s too much, say and we’ll stop.”

The bed shifted as Leto knelt next to you, you could sense what was about to happen and you nod again.

“I need you to use your words for me now.”

You swallow thickly.

“Yes, your highness.”

Oberyn stared longingly at your face, your flushed cheeks, the blue glow in your eyes, that ever present smile of a completely blissed out state. You always looked at him like that, even without Spice, as if you could never quite believe that you existed alongside the Prince of Dorne, let alone underneath him in the most vulnerable way a human can be.

“That’s it, my love.”

He kissed your lips gently at first, running his tongue along your bottom lip for entry, increasing his force when your mouth opened. Just as quickly as he gave it to you, he took it away.

You pouted as he inspected you one last time before he planted his lips on your chin and down your neck, teeth nipping as he continued over your body.

Leto brought his cock close.

You craned your neck, tentatively licking the cum that had gathered. Parting your lips, you took the tip in your mouth, running your tongue around the ridge. His length twitched, a gravelly groan coming from his chest as his hand reached for the back of your head.

He let you set the pace.

Oberyn and him had already discussed your inexperience before they offered for you to join them and though Oberyn had taught you more than you’d heard of, some things took practice. You couldn’t take Leto forcing his cock down your pretty little throat, much like how neither could take you in your yet to be stretched ass hole.

Oberyn pressed his tongue over your folds, a moan escaping you, bringing more pleasure to Leto who took a fistful of your hair. Oberyn toyed with your clit before straightening up, his light touch spreading your legs wider as he positioned himself ready. He held his cock in one hand, rubbing the tip along your entrance, collecting your arousal.

Your breathing begins to pick up speed, your tongue still leisurely working Leto.

Oberyn starts to push himself in.

Leto’s cock drops from your mouth as you gasp, Oberyn stopping, playfully swatting your thigh. You look up at him wide eyed, fluttering your eyelashes as if you’d done nothing wrong.

“Keep him in your mouth.”

You do as you’re told.

Mouth salivating, you return to Leto’s length, hollowing out your cheeks as you prepare to take him except you wait for Oberyn to make the first move.

He continues, your walls stretching to fit his girth and you match his movements, swallowing Leto inch by inch. His cock was a weight on your tongue, heavy yet holding firm, and you took him until you fell the tip nudge the back of your throat. You held there for a moment before drawing back, Oberyn fucking you in tandem.

The room fulls with pleasured moans, all of you in unison.

After a while, you felt Oberyn’s hand at your ankle. He guided your knee to your chest, bringing your leg over to rest on the opposite side. This was one of his favourite positions, it allowed him to bury his nails into the plump muscle of your ass and for his cock to glide over that one spot in your walls.

You drop Leto’s cock from your mouth with a pop to have a chance to breath.

He bends over you to kiss your cheek then your lips and somewhere underneath that thick beard of his, you see a soft smile. The effects of Spice seemed to have faded for him, maybe he was used to it. 

His fingers loosen from your hair, “How are you holding up?”

Indigo flares still sparked from him as you bounced from Oberyn’s impacts.

“Good,” you laugh nervously, “I think.”

“Hm.”

He trails his fingertips down your face, the matches striking, the heat rising yet again.

You meet his palm, the metal of his ring cooler in comparison to the temperature between you. The desire consumes you until you can’t take it anymore and find your mouth enveloping his thumb, sucking for his flavour.

He pulls it out, pressing it into your plump bottom lip.

“Do you want all of me?”

Your heart skipped a beat, Oberyn sighing as your cunt pulses.

“Yes, my lord.”

Oberyn groans, shutting his eyes from the scene that was unfolding. He was already holding back, ignoring the burn at the bottom of his spine because he didn’t wish for this night to end.

Leto chuckles, his beard scratching as he whispers in your ear.

“Show him what you can do.”

You smile proudly as he straightens his back, his cock ready for you to take.

Moistening your lips, you gradually begin to swallow his length. The gag reflex starts to kick in but you fight it as his tip pushes against the back of your throat. Your whole body convulses and Oberyn can’t help looking, ensuring you’re ok.

When he opens his eyes, Leto is already helping, one hand stroking his neck and the other plucking the damp hair strands from your face.

Oberyn slowed down for you.

After another gag, Leto pulled himself out, a strand of spit hanging from his tip. The two of you exchange simple gestures before he pushes his cock back into your mouth. He takes measured movements until he’s gliding in and out with ease.

Your sigh gurgles, the tension leaving your body.

Leto turns his head, “More?”

Oberyn smirks at him, rocking his hips harder.

You cry as they move in tandem, neither of them leaving you empty. A warm builds from either end, from one end of your spine to the other and you wished you could tell them how fucking good it feels.

Both admire how well you’re handling this.

Your arousal spills over Oberyn’s cock, sticking to the hairs at the base, the suction of your tightening walls getting stronger. The saliva dribbles from your mouth, over your chin, as your jaw aches. Tears prick in the corners, eyes glossy as you choke on the speed of Leto, each of the men chasing their release.

The Spice courses through Oberyn’s veins, a creeping sensation reaching his fingers and his toes. He knew he was close, the muscles in his ass clenching as he fought to keep going, to outlast the Duke.

Though Leto was resilient, he knew he could outlast both of you especially when he’d already found his release. He could fight the drug in his system, you two, not so much and he could see how the other man was flagging.

Oberyn hissed through gritted teeth as you clenched around him uncontrollably.

Your whole body was screaming at you and you dug into the mattress to stay upright. The vibration began at your legs before you were shaking, your heart racing. Your vision of Leto was blurring.

“Cum for us.”

He groans as the reverberations travelled through his cock, your eyes going crosseyed as the orgasm took you.

Your throat contracts as he draws his hips back, his length falling out of your mouth and you gasp, your words incoherent as your forehead meets the bed. You hear Oberyn growl as he fills you to the hilt, another jerk to pump more of his seed into you.

The atmosphere settles, Oberyn’s lips pressing delicately to the skin of your waist, your hip.

Turning your head to the side, you see Leto above you, cock standing proud.

“You didn’t cum,” your throat scratched.

“I’m sure the Prince can help with that.”

The two of them exchange a look of hunger.

Oberyn pulls out, his cum seeping out of your entrance and spreading over your legs. You groan as you pick yourself up in your cock drunk state, crawling up the bed to rest your head on the plump pillows.

Glancing past your feet, they’re both already entranced by the other. Hands skim over muscles, their bodies slotting perfectly together, the increasing smile on Oberyn’s lips as Leto grabs him roughly.

They’re ready to give you another show.

Except this time, though you’d very much like to watch, your eyelids grew heavy before you found yourself in the land of slumber.

[raccoonfallsharder]

sunshine ☀︎ ⋆⁺☁︎⋆₊⊹ book one of kinktober 2024

kinktober 2024 | navigation | fanfiction 18+ only | no use of y/n | f!reader | 4 parts | word count: 37,320. read book one now ☀︎ ⋆⁺☁︎⋆₊⊹ [COMPLETE]

you take a stranger home for a night of celebration. why not? after all, it’s not like there will be any longterm ramifications. an expansion on day 15 of kinktober 2023.

CONTEXT: mcu-based, post-endgame, grumpy/sunshine vibes (obviously), “secret affair” (no cheating), workplace romance??, angst, comfort, relationship anxiety. sub reader/dom rocket. HEA of course.

☁︎⋆⁺☀︎ part one | dawn | wednesday, october 8.  a raccoon walks into a bar. KINKS/WARNINGS: public sex, spanking, pussy slapping, light praise/degradation, brief titplay/cunnilingus. use of "slut"/"fuckdoll" (affectionate).

☁︎⋆⁺☀︎ part two | merediem | thursday, october 10. after what was intended to be a one night stand, rocket & sunshine reader navigate the awkward aftermath of being new crewmates. oops. KINKS/WARNINGS: free-use negotiation, light dom/sub vibes, public sex, temperature play, light praise/degradation, inappropriate use of a coffee mug.

☁︎⋆⁺☀︎ part three | golden hour | wednesday, october 16. rocket steals all the warmth he can get before the sun inevitably sets. aka, last call. KINKS/WARNINGS: free-use, sex toys, edging, brief somnophilia, nipple-play, dom/sub vibes, pussy-claiming, sensation play, light dom/sub vibes, light praise/degradation, shower sex. 

☁︎⋆⁺☀︎ part four | vespers | saturday, october 19. a little hair of the raccoon who bit you (and other remedies for heartbreak). KINKS/WARNINGS: free-use, soft/pleasure dom vibes, somnophilia, praise kink, body worship, edging??, biting/marking.

excerpt below. also, for the record, i do realize the ship in the moodboard is the milano and not the benatar, but the benetar is apparently a fucken cryptid that i can't get a good shot of.

The sound system you slip between is cacophonous, but the space behind it seems muted. For a half-second you consider the mechanics of sound and how all of it seems to be pumping away from you, but then the stranger uses your body’s momentum to sling you around by your wrist. You stumble into the little alcove, tumbling against the gold-velvet curtain and the exposed brick behind you — steadied only when the stranger catches you firmly by the hips, claws pricking you right through the satin in a way that makes your thighs clench unexpectedly. Your breath catches at the strength of his palms. You hadn’t realized how strong he was when he’d been guiding you through the dancers and drunks — probably because you’d been so eager to follow — but the way he manages the imbalance of your body despite his low vantage point has your eyes widening as he crowds you back against the brick. Your shoulderblades and spine hit the rough surface bruisingly, and the wall scrapes against your skin, stinging. The stairs and the wall and the curtain — the back of the speakers — all muffle the noise of the club, but you’re still close enough to the stage that you can feel the music: thudding, thunderous — vibrating your collarbone and lungs. Elsewhere, too. The stranger stares up at you, eyes still flashing like dark grenadine and stoplights in the flakes of spinning light. He stands in the opening of the curtain and the staircase, and you can see the haze of people and glitter and sound behind him, spangled with the reflections off of cocktail glasses, and prisms of iolite and topaz and opal. You lift your right hand to press against the underside of the steps, and your left to brace against one of the load-bearing columns that hold up the loft. The brick must be gray, but it looks blue in this light, rough and scraping against your back. “You sure, doll?” He’s not yelling, but you can tell he has to raise his voice so you can hear him. You reply only by licking your lips and taking a breath to steady yourself, then dropping your hands to your sides. You curl your fingers into the tight, gleaming black satin of your dress, and inch it slowly up your thighs. You don’t take your eyes off his. He doesn’t look away either — not even as his hand reaches out, slow and tense. He pauses, and then taps his fingers lightly against your inner thigh. It’s meant to be a question, you think — but you oblige immediately, wiggling the skirt hem higher, widening your legs so he can slip in deeper between them. Closer. You can feel the warm, smooth calluses of his fingers and the prickle of his claws as they slide between your thighs, the side of his palm brushing against the gauzy-thin fabric over your cunt — thumb suddenly offering a single, deft stroke between your folds to nudge against your clothed clit. You jolt, every muscle suddenly locking, core turning absolutely molten — dripping right into the sheer panel of swiss-dot lace between your thighs.

read book one now ☀︎ ⋆⁺☁︎⋆₊⊹ kinktober 2024 | navigation | fanfiction masterlist

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