#good luck to everyone who is trying to pull for them!!

[clesired]

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐀 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 | 𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 !

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ! “can i request a george weasley x reader where she’s harry’s sister? set in the goblet of fire?” thank you to the lovely anon who requested this <3

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ! fun fact: no one loves harder than a weasley!

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! no warnings, fluff, comfort ( reader big sister-ing harry ), gryffindor potter fem!reader, established relationship, second person pov, 1.7k words!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You watch as your little brother storms through the doors of the Great Hall, Hermione hot on his heels.

You want to move—but you’re torn between chasing after Harry and his angel of a best friend, or turning around and hexing his dimwitted doorknob of another.

Ever since Harry’s name was pulled out of the Goblet of Fire, it’s like the whole school has turned on him. And no one worse than his very own best mate, Ron Weasley.

And of course when Ron is upset, everyone else has to be too.

He’d started a row with Harry in the middle of breakfast, and when he’d lost it on Hermione for stepping in and defending your brother—Harry had reached his limit and walked away. No doubt because he’d been seconds away from socking Ron a good one.

And you’re honestly not too far behind him, but your big sister instincts ultimately win out and you rush out of the hall in hopes of catching up to the younger Gryffindors before they’re out of sight.

Your head swivels from left to right as soon as you burst through the doors, but to no success. And with the amount of hidden passageways and corridors in this castle—you’re shite out of luck.

So caught up in looking for any clues as to which way they may have gone, you completely miss the arrival of another person.

“C’mon, sweetheart—there’s no use looking for them now.” George’s voice rings out gently as he steps in front of you. His large hand falls to your shoulder and squeezes, a familiar feeling that calms you.

You lean into his touch—seeking his comfort, but shake your head in denial. “I have to try, Georgie. He’s my brother.”

“He’ll be alright, sweetheart. Hermione’s got him.” He murmurs against your hairline as he places a gentle kiss on your forehead, his hand rubbing up and down your arm soothingly.

“You hardly even touched your plate before mini Potter was storming off. Come back and eat. Give him some time to cool off, yeah?” He coaxes gently and you let out a soft sigh.

“If I go back in there now, I’m afraid you’ll be walking out with one less brother.” You murmur quietly as you look up at him, earning a soft chuckle from your boyfriend.

“That’s okay, still got four of ‘em left.” He jokes quietly, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Ginny’s beat you to it, darling.”

That makes you smile, and you pull away from him to peer at the doors—as if trying to see through them.

“She throw a Bat-Bogey yet?” You ask curiously, the smile on your face a testament to how upset you are with Ron right now.

Normally, you’re like two peas in a pod—mainly because Ron knows if he’s on your good side, George won’t prank him.

You know that’s the real reason he talks to you, but you don’t really care.

Ron can be particularly nasty if he’s on bad terms with a person—proven by this morning’s lovely show, and you’d rather not deal with that sort of nuisance; so you entertain him.

But all of that is out the window now. Ron has gone too far this time—accusing Harry of deliberately putting his name in the Goblet of Fire and cheating. As if he needs another threat to his life after all that he’s already been through. Ridiculous.

“Not yet, but her hand was looking pretty twitchy before I ran out.” George’s voice is laced in amusement now, as he comes up behind you and gently steers you toward the Great Hall.

You smile softly. “You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

George chuckles. “Comes with the job of being your boyfriend, sweetheart. One promise of Weasley-on-Weasley violence, check.”

“Well now that makes me feel bad.” You frown softly as you walk through the doors.

“Don’t. He had it coming.” He squeezes you gently before smirking. “And plus—Fred and I have been waiting for an excuse to prank ickle Ronniekins without making you mad.”

As the Gryffindor table comes back into view and you find that Ginny has in fact casted an absolute wicked Bat-Bogey Hex while you were gone, you smile.

George’s words ring in your ear as a thought occurs and you turn to look at him—momentarily ignoring the chaos the flying bats are causing among the students and staff.

“You know what? Consider him out of my protection. You and Fred can prank him as much as you want from now on.” You declare.

This will be your get back at Ron for being a little shite to Harry. Only you are allowed to be mean to your little brother and get away with it.

George positively beams down at you as he places a fat kiss against your forehead and then looks over to his twin.

“Hear that, Freddie!? My witch gave us the go ahead on ickle Ronniekins!” He shouts, and you can’t help but laugh as you watch Fred pump his fists in triumph.

As you settle down at the table beside George and watch the Professors struggle to help Ron fight off the bats, you scan the table until you find Colin Creevey.

“Colin!” You call out, gaining his attention. “Do me a favour and take a picture of this, yeah? I’m sure Harry’s gonna love it.”

The amused smile on your little brother’s face when he looks at the picture later that day in the common room proves you correct.

“Figured since you couldn’t be there to see it in all its glory, I could get you the next best thing.” You shrug casually, before smirking.

“Oh, and the twins are working on a few ideas to make Ron’s life a bit more…entertaining for the next few weeks.” You say lightly.

Harry looks up to where Fred and George are sitting at a table, quietly discussing as they both pour over a parchment.

After a moment, he turns to smile at you, all traces of anger due to Ron’s awful behaviour absent from his expression—at least for the time being, until Ron inevitably opens his mouth again.

“You’re a great big sister, you know that?” Harry says quietly, and you chuckle.

“Obviously. We Potters never do anything by halves.” You smirk.

“Except for boyfriends!” George suddenly calls out as he looks up from the table and winks at you. “Get it, sweetheart? Because you’re dating a twin?”

You shake your head in fond amusement as you look at your boyfriend. “I got it, Georgie.” You smile, holding back a laugh.

He blows you an air kiss and you catch it before blowing one back in return. He smirks, before you both refocus on your respective brothers.

Harry is already looking at you by the time your head turns, and his smile is smaller now—but also softer.

“George is good for you. I’m glad you have him.” He says quietly, and you feel your heart warm.

By the time your little brother had entered Hogwarts, you and George had already been dating—and with all the crazy shenanigans that’s been going on ever since Harry’s first year…you two never really had a conversation about how he felt about it.

You know he never had a problem with your relationship—he would’ve said something if he had; but to actually hear him verbally approve you and George fills you with a particular joy you only ever feel when it involves your boyfriend.

“I’m glad I have him too.” You murmur softly as you glance back at the aforementioned wizard.

“No one loves harder than a Weasley, you know.” You add on as you look back at your brother.

“No one hates harder than one too, apparently.” He grumbles, and just like that—his face is darkening all over again as he thinks of Ron.

You sigh softly and wrap your arm around his shoulder, smiling when he lets you. The Dursleys did their number on the both of you, but it was worse for Harry—with physical touch being one of the things he sometimes gets a little finicky about.

Both you and Hermione have been working overtime throughout the years to get him used to it, and you’re proud to say that the progress is there.

Harry’s first instinct is to usually shy away from touch when he’s angry, but rather than pull away this time—he leans into your warmth.

“Ron is…Ron, and I have no doubt that Hermione can and probably already has given you a more in depth explanation on why he’s being a prat—so I won’t even bother trying.” You smile gently, before continuing.

“But what I will tell you is that sometimes friends fight. And it’s messy and it sucks, but it also strengthens the bond between you.” You pat him consolingly.

“I’m not saying you two are gonna make up tomorrow—even I know Ron’s too much of a git for that. But you will eventually.”

“How can you know that, though?” Harry asks quietly.

You shrug gently. “Call it big sister instinct, or the fact that you two have been through more things together in the past three years than most people go through in a lifetime. Whatever it is, you two are going to be just fine.”

Harry relaxes at that, and as the twins join you on the couch—George pulling you into his lap, and Hermione comes bursting through the common room rambling about what she read in the library about the Triwizard Tournament rules—you look back at your brother.

He’s watching the twins—who are now rattling off ideas to Hermione about how to get him out of the tournament, and you can tell that he’s touched by their efforts.

You lean into Harry to give him one last word of big sister advice. “Ron’s poor behaviour is more than upsetting, but he’ll come around eventually. In the meantime—you’ve got a pretty solid group of friends right here.”

You gesture to Hermione and the twins, and hold up the picture of Ginny casting a Bat-Bogey at Ron.

It’s not lost on either of you that three of the four people you pointed out are Weasleys, and Harry smirks.

“No one loves harder than a Weasley, indeed.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! its actually criminal that i dont have my own george, smh. i hope you lovelies enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

©clesired - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

xoxo,

mila! *: ･🐚༄🫧*ੈ✩

[poetic-vulgarity]

ʍoN ǝW ɹɐǝH - Karina x Reader

Word count: 5K

Prompt: Ever since they were trainees, Y/N knew just what buttons to push to frustrate Jimin.

Maybe she took things a bit too far when she decided to cheat on her.

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Cheating,

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

Y/N always had a way of getting on Yu Jimin's last nerve.

It happened from the moment they first met. Jimin was on her way to class at SM, suffocating as she ran up the stairs at an almost inhuman pace.

She was late. She was late for Mrs. Lóu's class. She was practically a dead girl walking.

She would've been on time if she'd been allowed to use the elevator. But she wasn't an idol or staff member, so up the stairs she went. Equality and equity, everyone.

As she turned a corner and continued her race, she felt herself collide with someone, falling forward.

It didn't hurt, mostly because her impact was softened by the body she fell on top of. The groan that rang close to her ear told her the person she'd collided with hadn't been as lucky.

Y/N let out an exaggerated groan as Jimin scrambled to her feet, flustered. Propping herself up on her elbows, Y/N raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Maybe next time you could scream 'incoming' or something? I'll consider wearing armor to the stairwell just in case."

Jimin's eyes widened as she recognized the trainee in front of her. Y/N was well-known around the company as one of the strongest runner-ups for SM's next girl group.

She had the talent and the personality. Every teacher adored her. She had several friend groups and the face of someone who had been blessed by the gods themselves. Jimin had a few classes with her, but they'd never interacted. Still, something about the bright glint in Y/N's eyes told Jimin the famous trainee knew who she was.

"Sorry," Jimin gulped and moved to step around her—she was incredibly late—when a hand reached out and held her own.

"Won't even help me up, Jimin-ah?"

So she did know her. 

Jimin hesitated for a moment before bending and offering Y/N a hand up. Just as she was about to step around her again, that same hand found her arm and stopped her.

"Are you okay?" Y/N asked.

She had the same class as Jimin right now. Why was she so calm—

Jimin stopped herself.

She knew why Y/N wasn't rushing.

"Yeah," Jimin replied quickly after a few seconds. "Just late." She gave her a tight-lipped smile, trying not to appear irritated.

Y/N's hand was still on her arm. Soft, smooth. Very pretty hands, but Jimin wished she'd let go.

"Oh!" A smile grew on Y/N's face as realization took over. "You also have Mrs. Lóu's class right now, don't you? We could walk together!"

Jimin nodded silently as Y/N pulled her along.

She wanted to yank her hand away and tell her to stop holding it. But she didn't want to be rude, especially to a fellow trainee in her company.

And of course, just as expected, when both girls walked inside the dance studio and Mrs. Lóu turned to them, her dark eyes landed on Jimin.

"Miss Yu, you're late."

Jimin's mouth fell open. Y/N was right there beside her!

"You think the world just revolves around you, don't you? That you're free to do as you wish, leaving everyone waiting for you like our time isn't valuable."

Mrs. Lóu went on, and Y/N turned to Jimin with a sheepish smile, muttering a small "Good luck" before joining her friends.

Jimin felt her face burn as Mrs. Lóu continued to lecture her about lateness. About how she was setting a bad example and ruining her team.

She glanced at Y/N once in a while, trying to keep the glare off her face. But she was sure most people in the room could feel the anger and annoyance radiating off her. She didn't know how to feel about the fact that she couldn't blame Y/N for it. All the teachers loved her and found her very respectful. It just made her more irritating.

Jimin had always noticed the favoritism, but it was at that moment that she really felt it. And she despised Y/N a little for it.

That was just the beginning, though.

Because, from that moment, Y/N kept showing up in her life.

Being annoyingly perfect at pushing Jimin's buttons.

Jimin didn't know how it was possible for one person to irritate her so much.

Everywhere she went, she somehow found Y/N there. In the break room, in the dance studio, in the practice room, eating lunch, walking through the hallways, on the bus back home. No matter where it was, orwhat she was doing.

There was always Y/N. And eventually, Jimin lost her patience and started leaving her polite act behind.

"Here." Y/N approached Jimin one day and handed her a cup of hot chocolate.

"What?" Jimin looked at the cup. "What is that?"

"It's hot chocolate."

Jimin scowled. "I know that, I'm not stupid." She looked up at Y/N and blinked. "It's just... why are you giving me this?"

"'Cause it's cold," Y/N shrugged, sitting down on the floor beside Jimin. The two were waiting for their turn to record a demo. Everyone was getting a private session with their teacher, and the two just happened to be the last ones in line.

"It's not that cold," Jimin muttered stubbornly.

Y/N didn't reply, only sat there with a gentle smile. Her arms were wrapped around her knees as she rested her head on top of them.

It was silent for a few minutes before Jimin couldn't take it anymore.

She took a sip of the hot chocolate and immediately spat the beverage out, blowing out a gasp.

"Shit!"

Y/N jumped in surprise, looking at Jimin with wide eyes. "What? What?"

"Why's it so damn hot?" Jimin said, her tongue sticking out. She grabbed a napkin, wiping her tongue off. "You gave me scorching hot chocolate."

Y/N frowned. "Well, it's cold. I figured it would warm you up."

Jimin shot her an incredulous look, waving a hand in front of her mouth as if it could somehow cool the burn. "Warm me up, not melt my face off!" she snapped, glaring at the cup like it had personally betrayed her.

Y/N blinked at her, then burst out laughing, covering her mouth with her hand. "Okay, okay, my bad," she said between chuckles. "I didn't know you'd chug it like it was iced coffee!"

Jimin glared at her, feeling her irritation spike. "Who just hands someone a boiling drink without a warning?" she muttered, crossing her arms as the sting on her tongue lingered.

Still grinning, Y/N leaned back on her hands. "Guess I'll have to add temperature warnings to my repertoire of good deeds." She tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "But hey, at least you're not cold anymore, right?"

Jimin opened her mouth to retort but stopped, realizing how ridiculous she'd sound. Instead, she just groaned and placed the cup on the ground. "I don't like you."

Y/N's laughter had Jimin's temper rising. She was practically burning with fury. She turned towards Y/N again, ready to retort.

But of course, that damn smile stopped her. It made her hesitate, made her heart slow down in anger and skip in... something she couldn't name.

It was a smile that could charm anyone. But it also drove Jimin a little crazy. She hated it. She hated the way her heart sped up when the smile was directed at her.

"Wait a little and it'll cool down." Y/N smiled, deciding she had annoyed Jimin enough for the day. "You have a good practice, Jimin."

She stood up to leave, but Jimin stopped her. "Don't you have the demo recording as well?"

Y/N shook her head. "I was the first one to do it today."

Jimin frowned. Y/N had been sitting with her for a few hours now. Why the hell would she stay here when she had already recorded?

"Then why did you sit out here with me?" Jimin asked, her frown deepening.

Y/N froze for a moment before grinning and waving off the question. "We were both a little lonely."

"I would've been fine on my own," Jimin grumbled.

Y/N grimaced playfully at her and finally walked away.

It helped that Jimin was quickly called inside the studio that night.

And it helped that, the next time Y/N approached, Jimin was accompanied by a few of her friends.

"Hi." Y/N smiled, nodding at everyone before her eyes fell on Jimin. She felt surprisingly shy about approaching the taller girl. It was one thing to do it when she was alone, but a whole other thing when Jimin was sitting with her group at the cafeteria. "I was wondering if you'd like to come to the movies with me tonight."

Jimin almost choked on her drink.

Movies? Why would she go to the movies with Y/N? Did she want to torture her?

Jimin stared at Y/N. She just stared, for a few long minutes.

And then a little chuckle sounded from beside her.

"Our Jimin is being asked on a date, oh my God!" Chaeyun clapped excitedly.

"Come on, Jimin, maybe her teacher's pet privileges will rub off on you!" another friend joined in.

Jimin rolled her eyes.

Was this Y/N's point all along? To embarrass her in front of her friends?

"Run along, Y/N."

Y/N tried to chuckle. "Are you sure? 'Cause there's this new movie—"

"I said run along, Y/N," Jimin snapped harshly. She didn't mean to sound rude, not really. But the way her friends were teasing her was humiliating.

Why did Y/N choose today of all days to make things even more difficult?

Y/N's smile faltered for a brief moment as she turned and walked away, the rejection stinging more than she expected. She wasn't used to people snapping at her like that, especially not Jimin. But she still couldn't bring herself to regret asking.

For a little while, Jimin didn't see a whole lot of Y/N. They still had classes together, sure, but it was different. The small interactions they'd have from time to time came to a complete halt.

Jimin hated that she noticed this shift, but she did.

She told herself it didn't matter. She told herself she didn't care.

She had enough on her plate as it was.

She had been recruited mostly for her looks, so she always felt behind on everything. The other trainees dripped with talent, and she felt like she was running an endless marathon to keep up with them.

It didn't matter that people complimented her singing or dancing.

But it mattered that people criticized her.

Heavy breaths escaped her mouth, and her chest heaved up and down as she fell to her knees.

Mrs. Lóu had chastised her again. She hadn't even been late to class; her dancing just sucked, apparently. So, Jimin decided to stay behind at the company that night. She had a lot of fixing to do.

"You're going to burn out if you keep going at this rate." The familiar voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She looked up to find Y/N leaning against the door frame, arms crossed in front of her chest.

Jimin wiped off the sweat on her forehead, frowning.

Every time she tried to keep her mind busy, focus on something else, Y/N would find her.

"What are you doing here?" Jimin said quietly. She was exhausted. Tired of the teachers, of other trainees, of practicing until she felt like her legs would give out, of Y/N.

"It was my birthday, you know?" Y/N kicked the ground, staring down at her shoes.

"What?" Jimin frowned, feeling nothing but confusion.

"My birthday... it was on the day that I asked you out to the movies," Y/N clarified.

"What, did you want me to wish you happy birthday or something? Is that why you're here?" Jimin snapped back, her irritation spiking again.

She didn't care about Y/N's birthday. They weren't friends. She had enough going on already.

"No," Y/N let out quietly, her pride somewhat hurt. "I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. Just trying to make you stop for a little while."

"Why would you do that?" Jimin almost yelled, her exhaustion and stress causing her to act irrationally. "I have to work. How do you expect me to debut if I don't train? Not everyone can be the teacher's pet like you."

Y/N nodded, watching as Jimin walked to her phone to restart the song. She knew she should walk away and never talk to Jimin again, but she also knew that if she did, the other girl would probably spend the entire night at the studio.

"It was actually my first birthday without my mother," Y/N said softly, her hands slipping into her pockets.

Jimin sighed, her heart faltering at the confession. She hated how Y/N's big, sad eyes always made her feel so guilty. Jimin knew what it was like to be away from home, away from family on a birthday.

It was a terrible feeling.

But she shook her head, forcing the sympathy away as she turned back toward the practice room.

"She passed away earlier this year."

Jimin stopped in the middle of the hallway, all the anger draining out of her in an instant.

Her heart ached, and her hands trembled as she turned to look back at Y/N.

For once, the younger girl looked completely honest—no teasing or playfulness behind her eyes. "I'm not trying to guilt-trip you or anything," Y/N said after a gulp. "I just... annoying you has been one of the few things that make me happy these days. So, I'd appreciate it if you didn't go vegetative."

Jimin wanted to say something to comfort Y/N, but she didn't know how. It would be awkward. It wouldn't feel right.

She wasn't close with Y/N. They barely knew each other.

So instead, she took a deep breath to compose herself.

"I'll... go home," Jimin managed to say after a few painfully long moments.

Y/N nodded, her familiar, gentle smile finally returning. "I appreciate that."

She turned to leave, trusting Jimin to keep her word. "Take care of yourself, Jimin-ah."

Jimin watched as the younger girl walked away, her heart still pounding in her chest. She couldn't put a finger on what this feeling was, but it was almost painful.

The guilt and frustration for snapping at Y/N, the sympathy for her loss, the sadness, the anxiety, the ache in her chest—everything.

Jimin didn't know how to deal with it all. She really wished Y/N hadn't told her about her mother.

She really wished things could go back to how they were—that she could go back to pretending to hate Y/N.

The truth was, she didn't really.

As the weeks went by, Jimin found herself almost watching over the younger girl.

Y/N was popular around SM. She had several groups of friends and plenty of people practically begging for her attention.

But to Jimin, she still seemed lonely. She didn't know why, but Y/N's smile always looked fake when she was with other people. It wasn't as gentle or soft as the ones she gave her.

"Why do you always take the stairs?"

Y/N jumped at the voice, turning to see Jimin leaning casually against the staircase railing.

"What?"

Jimin shrugged. "Mrs. Lóu gave you the key card to use the elevator so you could grab the books she wanted. Why do you still insist on taking the stairs?"

Y/N blinked at Jimin, her jaw dropping in surprise. She wasn't used to Jimin initiating conversations, much less noticing things about her.

"I... feel claustrophobic in tight spaces. It's a whole thing," Y/N stammered, scratching the back of her head awkwardly.

Jimin nodded in understanding, though she didn't miss the way Y/N's ears turned red.

"Right." She cleared her throat, hating how awkward she sounded. "You haven't been as talkative lately. You used to pester me every day."

"Is it bad that I'm not bothering you anymore?" Y/N teased, smiling warmly.

Jimin rolled her eyes, suppressing the smile tugging at her lips.

Why did Y/N have to be so teasing and charming?

Jimin wasn't used to people like her. Everyone else she knew was so serious about training, always laser-focused on debuting.

But Y/N was different. She was bubbly and kind and annoying, and Jimin couldn't stop her heart from racing when Y/N looked at her with those pretty eyes. Maybe that's why everyone else seemed to like Y/N. 

"Don't push it," Jimin said, rolling her eyes as she started making her way down the stairs. "Let's go out for coffee. Come on."

Y/N raised her eyebrows.

Was Jimin voluntarily spending time with her?

What was this? Some sort of fever dream?

Shaking her head, Y/N quickly followed Jimin down the stairs.

"You're not about to murder me, right?" Y/N joked, nudging Jimin's shoulder.

Jimin snorted. "Not today, at least."

She tried to ignore the way her heart skipped at Y/N's playful joke. Or the way the younger girl casually touched her shoulder, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jimin had never had many friends at SM. And even the ones she did have were always competitors first and friends second.

Y/N was different.

Jimin was starting to not mind Y/N as much.

Their coffee dates became more frequent, and the two started spending more time together at SM as well. There were late-night practices, countless sleepovers, and they even began getting to know each other's friends.

One of those friends was Minjeong, a rather shy girl with the voice of an angel.

Minjeong was one of Y/N's closest friends—one of the few people she felt she could truly trust at SM. Introducing her to Jimin felt like sharing a precious little secret.

It ultimately paid off.

"Seriously, what did you do to make Miss Lóu like you so much?"

Y/N rolled her eyes softly and buried her head in her pillow—which happened to be Jimin's shoulder at the moment.

Jimin's roommate had left for the night, so the three took the opportunity to have a sleepover. The bunk bed was tiny, but somehow, they'd managed to squeeze themselves in.

Of course, Jimin had to bring Miss Lóu up.

"Come on." Jimin gently tilted her shoulder, nudging Y/N in the process. "Tell us your secrets."

"I didn't do anything," Y/N groaned, hiding her face deeper in Jimin's shoulder.

Jimin rolled her eyes but didn't comment on the way Y/N's breath tickled her neck or how she could feel the younger girl's steady heartbeat.

If her hands were free, she might have even wrapped an arm around Y/N's waist.

Instead, she kept busy playing with Y/N's hair.

"Why does she like you so much, then?"

"Probably because of my stunning personality," Y/N teased back.

Jimin rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. She hated admitting how much she enjoyed spending time with Y/N.

"I thought it was because you ran errands for her," Jimin said playfully, her eyes glinting with mirth.

She wanted to pull Y/N closer, to smell that familiar vanilla scent again. Instead, she pushed the feeling down and focused on keeping her other hand around Minjeong, who was already asleep. Jimin envied how calm and peaceful the smaller girl seemed to be.

"That too, I suppose," Y/N hummed softly as if in deep thought before poking Jimin's stomach.

Jimin swatted Y/N's hand away with a scowl, trying not to let it show how much the younger girl's touch affected her. She tried so hard to act cool and disinterested, but her heart always betrayed her in the end.

"Stop it," Jimin whispered, half-heartedly pushing Y/N's hand away again. "You always have to bother me!"

"You're very easy to bother," Y/N chuckled, continuing to poke at Jimin.

"Y/N, I can literally throw you off the bed right now." Jimin's glare lacked any real heat.

She tried to stop the smile threatening to break out. She wanted to act mad, but everything Y/N did made her want to laugh and smile.

"You wouldn't."

Well, it wasn't her intention, but when another finger jabbed her side, Jimin let out a loud shriek and instinctively shoved Y/N away.

The younger girl went tumbling off the small bed, landing on the floor with an ungraceful thud.

Jimin couldn't help but snort in laughter as Y/N groaned in pain, sitting up with a scowl.

Minjeong, now awake, didn't look amused at being woken up in the middle of the night. "You guys suck," she muttered, burying her face back into the pillow.

Y/N groaned and flopped onto her back on the floor. "We should go out for ice cream."

"It's almost two in the morning, Y/N," Jimin said, rolling her eyes as she swung her legs off the bed and walked over to help her up. "I don't think they sell ice cream now."

"There's a convenience store down the block," Y/N said brightly, looking up at Jimin with hopeful eyes. "We should go."

"It's cold outside," Jimin protested weakly.

Even she could hear the lack of conviction in her voice. She already knew that, in a few minutes, she'd be outside walking to the convenience store with a hyper Y/N anyway.

And she was almost 100% correct.

The only thing she hadn't accounted for was Minjeong being dragged outside too, bundled up and grumbling as Y/N practically skipped ahead of them. The numbers added up perfectly.

And it didn't matter how grumpy they both wanted to be. Sneaking out was always thrilling, and the fresh night air was welcoming and exciting. By the time the three girls walked inside the small corner store, giggles were escaping their mouths again.

It made them forget all their responsibilities for the night.

For once, they were normal teenagers, going out with their friends to get ice cream in the middle of the night. They were normal girls, with normal, fun lives.

Jimin wished she could stay like this forever.

Though as they walked into the small store, she almost felt tempted to take hold of Y/N's hand as the younger girl dragged them towards the freezer.

It didn't happen that particular night, especially because Jimin felt shy with Minjeong close by. But it happened a few weeks after that night, when it was just Y/N and her.

Instead of being ice cream, they went for soju.

"It's almost your birthday, Jimin-ah. We need to celebrate."

It didn't matter how many times Jimin chastised her for not addressing her in the proper formality tones. It didn't matter how many times she tried to protest the decision.

The two soon found themselves lying on the floor of Jimin's bedroom. Speeches slurred and unshakable smiles on their faces.

"I don't know, honestly. I thought this friend group would be different, you know?" Y/N confessed quietly, eyes drawn to the ceiling. "The others were fine, but I knew everyone was fake. With this friend group, I genuinely thought that there would be no drama. No talking behind someone's back."

Jimin let out a small snort and pushed herself up so she was sitting. "It's always the same thing," she muttered, grabbing the bottle of soju from the nightstand and taking a swig.

She turned her attention back to Y/N, who looked almost angelic with her wide eyes and rosy cheeks. Jimin couldn't have guessed if it was the alcohol going to her head or the moonlight casting a glow to Y/N's face, but the younger girl looked breathtaking tonight.

"No, I know," Y/N sighed, eyebrows drawn to a frown as she turned to Jimin. "But things seemed different this time."

Y/N felt ridiculous in more ways than one. She got along with many people at SM, but she always knew people mostly used her to get higher rankings and to gather more contacts. This time, she genuinely believed her friends weren't like that. Earlier that day, she walked in on them talking about her behind her back.

"I'm such an idiot." She covered her eyes with her arms.

Jimin reached out and gently turned Y/N's face to look at her instead. Jimin's fingers lingered on the younger girl's skin for a moment, feeling the warmth on her cheeks.

The alcohol made Jimin bold. She brushed her thumb against Y/N's cheek just to see what it felt like.

She ignored how her heart pounded against her chest.

"They were the assholes, not you. If anyone should be feeling like that, it's them."

Y/N gulped, eyes fixed on Jimin's. She trusted the older girl with her life, which was honestly scary. Most people in her life found a way of leaving, and it was one thing for her friends around the company to do so, it was another thing if Jimin did it.

"Would you ever do the same?"

Jimin swallowed, her heart thundering in her chest for a very different reason now. She didn't know what to say.

Y/N was so close and warm. It was intoxicating. Jimin couldn't concentrate with her heart pounding like that. With her stomach clenching and unclenching in anticipation.

Her thumb was still brushing against Y/N's cheek, so she focused on that instead. At least until her brain found a way to think of words.

"No," Jimin murmured, almost breathless. "Never. Would you?" She asked back, a small smile growing on her face.

Y/N didn't hesitate to shake her head, eyes full of honesty. She acted as if it was her life mission to never betray Jimin. "I would never. It was hard enough getting you to actually like me."

Jimin's chuckle came out a little forced, almost breathless and shaky. She couldn't focus with the way Y/N's dark eyes seemed to pierce right through her and straight to her heart.

Jimin's tongue suddenly felt dry and her heartbeat echoed in her ears. The soju was definitely going to her head tonight.

"I do... I do like you," she said back, her thumb still moving from side to side. It was almost addictive the way Y/N's skin felt beneath her fingers.

"I like you a lot," Jimin murmured, moving her hand to cup Y/N's cheek properly. She ran her thumb across the other girl's warm skin. Y/N's eyes fluttered a little, and the sight made a pleasant warmth spread across Jimin's body.

She wondered briefly if Y/N felt the same thing. If her heart was also racing. If her stomach was clenched tightly, or her body felt like it was burning with every passing second the two of them spent so close to one another.

All it'd take was a small move and she could taste Y/N's lips.

For just a second, she let herself give in to the intoxicating feeling.

Their noses brushed each other before their lips met.

It must've been only for a moment or two, but for Jimin, time seemed to stand still.

Her stomach dropped. Her heart slammed against her chest, and all she could feel and smell was Y/N. It was intoxicating, and she desperately wanted more.

Then, Jimin pulled back like she was burned, eyes wide in horror as she looked at Y/N.

"I- uh- I-"

She had been prepared for a lot of things. Embarrassment, being yelled at, possibly getting thrown off the building.

She had not been prepared for Y/N to smile so softly. So tenderly. Like Jimin had just made her the happiest person on earth.

Her heart ached in her chest, and Jimin found herself leaning down to capture Y/N's lips with her own again. The kiss was gentle. Hesitant. As if she was afraid of startling the other girl.

And then it grew warmer and quicker, more desperate.

Jimin felt like she was floating. Y/N tasted so sweet, and her body felt so warm and soft. She was intoxicating. Jimin wanted more.

She moved on top of Y/N, her heart jumping to her throat as their stomachs brushed together. Her hands found their way to Y/N's hips, holding onto the other girl for dear life.

The two stayed there for hours on end. Enjoying the night. Enjoying each other.

No responsibilities or fake friends.

Just the two of them.

Only a week after that, after going on more dates than classes, the two were officially dating.

And things went well. They stuck by each other's sides while the world tilted around them. They debuted, along with Minjeong and two other trainees—Yizhou and Aeri. And they faced the rough world of Kpop together.

Jimin, or Karina, as the leader of Aespa.

Y/N as the center.

It didn't matter how much stress or pressure they were under. Things didn't change between the two of them. They were still just Jimin and Y/N. Only much closer than before. Only much more desperate for each other's love and company.

They loved each other. Desperately. There was nothing that could pull them apart. Not fame, not their schedules, not even the rest of the members who teased them about their relationship like they were annoying parents.

"Ugh, look at them," Aeri started, making both Jimin and Y/N turn to see them already looking at them, grins on their faces.

"Agh," Minjeong groaned, wrinkling her nose. "Why are you guys like that?"

Jimin raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly to look at Minjeong with amusement. "Like what? In love?" She asked, her gaze briefly traveling to Y/N before returning to the two girls in front of her.

Ning pretended to gag, and Y/N threw a pillow at her. "Dumbass."

Jimin wrapped an arm around Y/N's waist and pulled her a little closer, laughing softly at the interaction.

It was the end of the year, and to celebrate the end of 2023 and the arrival of 2024, Aespa chose to be a part of a big award show. Well, they were forced, but potatoes, potatoes.

Jimin couldn't help but let out another laugh when Y/N threw a pillow at Aeri next. She held Y/N tight as she watched the two girls bicker among each other. Her gaze shifted to Minjeong, who was giving her the most annoying, knowing grin, but Karina just rolled her eyes playfully.

They ended up winning Best Artist at the end of the night. It left Karina smiling so hard her cheeks hurt, and she had a feeling it wasn't just because of the win.

She was standing on stage with her best friends and her beautiful girlfriend, with adoring fans applauding her.

She was on top of the world.

Though it all got quickly swiped from under her feet.

Y/N excused herself for a moment to go to the restroom and didn't come back.

Karina didn't think much of it. It happened.

Sometimes when things got too much, Y/N needed to be on her own for a little bit.

So, she waited. She smiled and waved as fans snapped pictures and her members chatted around her.

Then she waited some more. Then even more.

Y/N didn't come back.

Jimin's smile grew smaller, her heart dropping into her stomach. She tried not to think about the worst-case scenarios. Maybe the line was just too long for the restroom, and Y/N was waiting for her turn.

Eventually, she got so worried she decided to go look for her girlfriend herself.

The bathroom was practically empty, since most idols were sitting on stage—watching the show. Aespa's waiting room only had a few staff members mingling around. And Jimin had no other idea of where to look, so she ended up just walking around, her eyebrows furrowed in worry as she looked for her girlfriend.

She found her after a good ten minutes of looking, tucked away in a private hallway of the backstage area.

Y/N was leaning against a wall, hands pressed against another idol's abdomen as she kissed him.

She was kissing him.

He had her pressed against the wall.

And they were kissing.

Karina felt like she was going to throw up.

It felt like the air was punched out of her as she stood there in shock, staring at the two.

No. No.

Y/N wouldn't do that.

She wouldn't.

She never...

Karina swallowed hard, her heart sinking into her stomach. She stumbled back from the hallway, trying to get away.

By the time Y/N turned her eyes and saw the familiar figure of her girlfriend running away, it was too late.

"JIMIN!"

[estellardreams]

Hehe writing idea go brrrr

Red didn't mean to get sent here. The universe just did it because... Something. He had no clue.

Regardless, it had to have been bad enough for him to show up here.

But... The world seemed peaceful.

No king's fortress.

No destruction.

Nothing signaling anyone's death.

Red wandered around the streets, his footing a bit unsteady.

What happened here...? Nothing seems to be wrong, so what's he supposed to fix to return home?

He spotted Pigsy's Noodles up ahead, slipping inside quietly. The shop seemed... Closed. Like no one was there yet.

Wait, how did he even get in? Usually the door was always locked before the shop opened.

Red quickly shook his head, trying not to focus on that. He headed up the stairs to MK's room, not sure if he'd be up there.

He placed his hand on the door, cracking it open.

"Xiaotian...?" he asked softly.

"Go away, Red..." MK softly pleaded, buried under the blankets.

"What? Why?" he pushed the door open, approaching MK on the bed.

Mk turned his head to look at Red, a gleaming ruby fillet over his forehead.

"Oh no! Who put this on you?!" Red exclaimed, immediately trying to find some way to take it off.

Mk quietly sat up, holding still.

Red paused, concerned. "Are you... Okay?"

"I'm... Fine. Just get this off of me, okay?"

"No! It's to keep him safe!" a voice snapped.

Mk froze, backing up a little. Red moved to protect him, only to stop himself once he came face to face with...

Himself.

Red's eyes widened in shock and horror, gripping the blankets tightly.

What...?

But... He did everything right!

He avoided becoming like the king!

He cut his hair, exposed his weaknesses, tore apart his clothes, changed his glasses, indulged in sweets and cutesy things... HOW did this happen?!

"Please... Step away from Xiaotian." the other Red spoke.

"Are you... What year is it here?" Red asked.

"207X. Why?"

Red paused. It had only been two years...

"I'm... Two years from the past." he spoke up.

"Oh, that explains it." Other Red pulled him away from MK.

"Hey! What are you doing to him?!"

"First of all, sit down. Second of all, I'm trying to keep him safe." other Red said.

"By holding him captive?!" Red snapped.

"I'm not holding him captive! I'm trying to protect him!"

"From what? People like you?"

"From him trying to kill himself!"

Red froze, his anger instantly dissipating into horror.

Other Red's eyes began to well up with tears. "I... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I can't... I don't..."

He quickly turned away and scooped up MK into his arms.

"Hey! Where are you going?!" Red yelped.

"Somewhere safer and not here." other Red said, bringing them both to the window.

"Bye, past me. Good luck dealing with King Red."

"No, WAIT-"

His future self leapt out of the window with MK, setting him down on the ground before leading him away somewhere.

Red bolted down the stairs, trying to follow after them.

"STOP! LET XIAOTIAN GO!"

"It's for his safety! Do you want him to hurt himself all over again cause I'm not here to keep him safe?!" Future Red exclaimed.

"What the hell happened to you?! To me...? To us? What happened to us? What made you like this?" Red pleaded.

Future Red paused, his gaze shifting downwards as he held MK's hand.

"... The pillar of heaven. He... I... I didn't wanna lose him... He did it anyway... And I failed..." he mumbled.

"But... But I won't fail again. Not anymore. I'm gonna keep Xiaotian safe from hurting himself and everyone else, no matter what it takes!"

Red gulped as his future self made off with MK once more.

He was never free to begin with, was he?

He... He's always gonna become the king. No matter what he does.

No matter what he tries to change.

No matter how much introspection, self sabotage, everything...

No matter what he tries, or does... It'll never work.

He'll fall back into his old self.

And this future... This self... Is proof of that.

Red sank to the ground on the barren streets, tears blurring his vision.

Did the universe just hate him?

He could never kill King Red.

He could never protect MK without hurting him.

He never deserved MK's love.

He could never escape being King Red in the future.

No matter what.

And...

That hurt.

The reality of his life hurt.

But... He couldn't just kill himself!

He knew what would've happened if he did, especially in that one timeline. He swore he'd always return to MK in the past ever since that timeline.

But now? He wasn't so sure...

Was it better to spare everyone the horror of any of these futures by getting rid of himself? Or let him stay and potentially ruin everything all over again no matter what he does?

... He needed to talk to his therapist about this.

But for now... He needed to talk some sense into his future self and rescue MK from his fate.

Red pushed back his tears, trying to clear his head. He breathed, standing back up on his feet.

Two bright lights came up and it was instantly darkness.

Red stirred awake, feeling the gentle rocking of the bed. He sat up, groaning a little.

"Oh, welcome back Red!" Sandy greeted.

"Oh, um... Hi, Sandy. What year is it?" Red asked.

"207X."

"... And I'm back in present day, okay." Red got up from the couch, only to immediately grip his chest in agony.

Great sage, why did that hurt?

"Red, go back to the couch. You're hurt."

"I... I see that now. Sorry."

"How did you even get hurt like this, anyway? You suddenly returned but as a crumpled heap in the noodle shop."

"Uh..." Red bit his lip, glancing at his phone.

He quickly opened it up and texted his therapist for a new session.

"I... I can't say, I'm sorry. I just... I need a moment to process all of this before I can tell you." he apologized, putting his phone back down.

"That's alright! As long as you're okay, it's fine by me! Would you like some tea?"

".. Yes, please."

Hello, I'm glad you opened the request box. I'm so interested in the Time Travel au that I thought if Time Travel Red Son was a yandere and wanted to protect MK alone, I'd love to see that drawing.

This is a unique sort of challenge, since Time Travel Red Son is so explicitly afraid of becoming like Demon King Red, who is a super duper Yandere, that it can only mean something has gone terribly wrong in this timeline and TT Red has all but snapped and become just like the king! And so, I figured he’d start where the king himself did in his downward spiral to madness: with the tightening fillet.

[weirdthinkingdragon]

Stay Close

Slight yandere Dan Heng x reader

warnings: a bit of awkwardness? Slight fluff

Yandere Dan Heng using his Lunae form to keep a "dragon lover" reader close to him. You being from a world they're nonexistent to now seeing one that shouldn't be possible when you joined the express.

Like a moth drawn to a flame the first time you saw it you were beyond fascinated to the point everyone could tell. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to question him about it feeling it would be disrespectful since he seems so avoidant of talking about it after just a few questions you tried to ask him.

That also lead you to feel unbelievably awkward around him for a while since you've already talked about your love of dragons to the express... If you knew then you would have never said a word. How were you supposed to know there was a draconic type of human??

That lead you to research in the archives a lot to make sure there isn't anything else you should know about before it was too late.

With time things got back to normal and you started to drift away from Dan Heng. He's a guy who likes his space. Why bother him when you have Trailblazer and March to bother? Plus you're pretty sure you learned everything you wanted to know by then and your visits became less and less often.

Little did you know at that point Dan Heng didn't really like that. He grew rather used to your previous frequent presence in the archives.

What he really didn't like is when you got separated on visiting another planet. That alone wouldn't have been so bad if the person you were with trying to help the world didn't try to stab you in the back. Literally. He saw it happen and nearly lost his cool. He threw his spear just in the nick of time and punctured the person's leg, causing them to stop and scream in pain.

Obviously that startled you to turn around and see them running up and what happened.

After that there was a shift in his actions with you. Almost always in the same room especially if no one else was. Another thing you noticed was him more often in his other form. Man you want to touch his tai- no. Bad. That's weird.

It's like a train wreck no matter how hard you try to stop looking, you can't.

He knows you want to touch it. It's not hard to tell. Quite frankly, it's the opposite. It's to the point you don't even have to say it. But that's what he wants. He's willing to show this part to you alone just to keep you near if he has to. He knows you don't think he sees you looking while he's reading.

"You can try touching it, if you want."

You're shocked for a good minute, then apprehensive. You wonder if he only is saying that because your looking is pressuring him so you can stop, or maybe another bad reason you don't want to try to think about. "...Are you sure?"

Aeons, please just do already! This is more of a delicate situation though. If he wasn't as level-headed he'd have already impulsively pulled you to him with his tail and made you stay close as much as possible. "if I wasn't, I wouldn't have offered."

You cave and carefully do. It wasn't what you were expecting. it was more smooth, airy to the touch, and rather cool. Not cold, but definitely not warm either. Maybe airy wasn't the right word? Felt more like water itself but a bit more solid. So like soft ice and not nearly as cold.

You didn't want to stop touching it but didn't want to push your luck. That alone was enough for you to be happy with.

But it didn't stop there. More frequently you'd go to the archives again and he kept offering. Eventually one day he pulled you to his lap and rested his head on you while you held it. He wrapped his arms around you as well and let a mental sigh of relief. He's glad it's this way now.

This is where you belong with him. Whatever happens or comes for him, he cannot leave the express anymore. Not with you. Not with something as great as this.

He's never been more glad to have his other form than now. If it helps make you stay close, well then he might just have to start staying in this form more often. Even if around other people too.

[fragrantpines]

But what about… kissing more food men

Before you can even get close to Xifeng Wine, his hand grabs onto your shoulder with a surprising amount of force, forcing you to stand as still as a statue while his sharp eyes inspect you from head to toe.

In the blink of an eye, he spins you around so that your back faces him. His hand moves from the top of your shoulder to the back of your neck, exerting little force to his fingertips that press dangerously against the side of your neck.

“Are you trying to trick me again, general?”

His voice whispers lowly against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You weren't sure if the shivers were caused by his thumb pressing dangerously close to your pulse point, or the compromising position he had placed you in– move too far back and your back would be lying against his chest; move too far forward and he might take that as a sign that you were trying to run away and knock you unconscious just like the last time. The option left (the only safe option really) is to continue standing like a frozen statue until he no longer asserts you as a threat, when his eyes no longer see you as the General of the Qin and begins to recognise you as the young master of Kongsang.

However, just as you start getting used to this awkward position, his other hand pushes your face to the side, tilting your head upwards until your lips perfectly align with his, stealing away any words that had formed in your head along with your breath.

By the time he pulls away, both of your faces hold a similar shade of blush, his looking much more prominent as if he had just taken a sip of the strongest wine known to man while drinking you in.

He doesn't say a word before burying his head into the crook of your neck, arms wrapping loosely around your waist while muttering.

“Stay…. Don't leave me again….”

“You know, trying to distract your opponent during an ongoing game of chess is an illegal move.”

Chuyi Flower Cake lifts his head from the chessboard and smiles at you kindly, his expression unreadable with the blindfold tightly wrapped around his head.

Without looking back down, he moves a piece on the far left of the board and declares, “Checkmate.”

Instantly, your smile fades as your attention snaps back onto the chessboard, refusing to believe that he had already checkmated your king in such a short amount of time. However, as soon as your eyes took a quick scan over the board, you were forced to admit defeat with a heavy sigh, waving an invisible white flag over your head.

“I thought you said that you've never played Western chess before!”

“I haven't, but the strategies and pieces are similar to the chess I am familiar with.”

Frustrated, you slam your head against the table with a loud groan, refusing to believe that you have just lost your 10th game in a row.

“You could've at least looked a little surprised when I tried to distract you,” you mutter softly.

For a split second, a look of shock flashes across Chuyi's face, slowly being replaced by widening eyes and a blush as the realisation of what “distraction” you were referring to slowly dawns on him. Unconsciously, he lifts a hand up to cover the lower half of his face, hoping that his reddening face doesn't slip through the gaps of his fingers while his eyes dart away from your figure for a moment to regain his composure.

Eventually, he manages to pick up the courage to extend an arm over the table and slowly pat the top of your head, whispering softly. “Focus on improving your insight instead of relying on such unreliable tricks. Next time, if you wish to partake in an act of intimacy, any time outside of a chess game is suitable.”

Instantly, you shoot your head up with a smile. “Does that mean Mister Chuyi will kiss me if I kiss him to?!”

For a moment, Chuyi looks taken aback before he dissolves into laughter. In a heartbeat, he bends over the table and presses a small kiss on the top of your forehead, fondly gazing down at you from behind the blindfold.

“For you, always.”

[selfundiagnosed]

Every time i meet a gemini whose second face sits right next to their actual face i go ahead and slide my second face from the back of my head and stick it next to my own and show them how being a snake is really done 😂

[pucksandpower]

Stroke of Midnight

Max Verstappen x Alonso!Reader

Summary: New Year’s Eve sees you crouched under a table, shoving grapes into your mouth as the seconds tick by in a desperate attempt to find love in 2025 … but it just so happens that love finds you a whole lot sooner than you expect

Note: Happy (almost) New Year! Wishing everyone a sweet and fulfilling 2025 ❤️

The club is too loud, too crowded, too much. Somewhere near the DJ booth, your father is probably breaking it down to the worst remix of an already bad pop song.

You don’t want to know what’s happening. You don’t even want to be here, except here is Monaco on New Year’s Eve, and it’s supposed to be magical. That’s what the internet said when you Googled it this morning. But so far, the magic feels more like sweat and regret.

And desperation. There’s no use pretending otherwise anymore.

Your legs cramp as you shift under the table, pulling your knees to your chest to avoid the sharp heel of a passing stranger. The white tablecloth is a flimsy barrier between you and the chaos outside — limbs, perfume, champagne flutes tipped at precarious angles.

You check your phone. Eleven fifty-seven.

“God,” you whisper to yourself, clutching the little plastic bag in your hand. “This is rock bottom.”

But is it? The thought stops you short. You could argue there’ve been worse moments.

There was your first boyfriend, for starters. The trust fund baby who somehow thought being wealthy made cheating excusable. “It’s not like I need you,” he had said when you caught him. Yeah, no kidding.

Then came the mechanic. Charming, sweet, and exactly what you thought you needed — until you overheard him laughing with his friends about how he only asked you out on a bet. The details are blurry now, but the humiliation is crystal clear.

And, of course, the summer of horror: introducing your third boyfriend to your dad, only to walk in on him rummaging through your father’s underwear drawer. “I just wanted to see what greatness looks like,” he had explained with a sheepish grin, clutching a pair of Fernando Alonso’s boxer briefs like they were relics from the Vatican.

Three strikes. You’re out.

“Not this year,” you mutter, shaking your head. This year, you’re taking things into your own hands.

You dig into the bag, spilling green grapes into your lap. Twelve of them. One for each second before midnight, each representing a wish for the year ahead. You glance at the clock again — eleven fifty-eight now. Two minutes to go.

Someone shifts the table above you, and you nearly choke on your gasp. The tablecloth lifts slightly, and a pair of curious eyes meet yours.

“What the hell?”

It’s a man — dark-haired, stubble-jawed, vaguely familiar, though everyone in Monaco looks like they could be a movie star. He’s crouched, trying to see past the shadows. You stare back, frozen.

“Are you hiding?” He asks, tilting his head. His accent is clipped and Dutch, which somehow makes this all worse.

“Uh — no,” you stammer, holding up a grape like it’s evidence in court. “I’m … I’m doing something. It’s a tradition.”

“Under a table?”

“Yes.”

There’s a pause. He blinks at you, then ducks his head fully under the tablecloth. “Alright, I’ll bite. What kind of tradition involves grapes and hiding under furniture?”

“It’s Spanish.” You’re not sure why you feel defensive, but you do. “You eat twelve grapes, one for each second before midnight, for good luck in the new year.”

“Good luck.” He glances pointedly at the table legs surrounding you. “How’s that working out?”

You scowl. “It’s not midnight yet.”

He snorts. “Fair enough. Carry on.” He starts to retreat, but something stops him. “Wait. Why under the table?”

“Because …” You hesitate, not wanting to explain that part of the superstition involves being in a confined space to focus your intentions. It sounds ridiculous out loud, even to you. “Because it’s quieter down here.”

“Right.” His tone is skeptical, but mercifully, he leaves it at that. “Good luck, grape girl.” He’s gone before you can respond.

The clock ticks closer to midnight. Eleven fifty-nine. You clutch the grapes tighter, willing yourself to focus.

“Okay,” you whisper, heart pounding. “This is it. Love. Luck. Anything but whatever the hell the last three years were.”

You pop the first grape into your mouth as the countdown begins, the music fading just enough for the crowd to yell, Twelve!

It’s sour, but you swallow it quickly, reaching for the next. Eleven!

The third grape is sweeter. Ten!

Someone bumps the table above you, but you keep going. Nine!

The fifth grape tastes like possibility. Eight!

You’re halfway through the sixth when the tablecloth lifts again.

“Sorry, but I just-” It’s him again, the Dutch guy. He ducks under the table fully this time, looking half-apologetic, half-curious. “I couldn’t help it. What happens if you don’t finish in time?”

You glare at him, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk. “Whuh ah oo doin’?”

“Trying to understand the stakes here,” he says, crouching beside you. “It’s fascinating.”

“Go ‘way!” You manage, scrambling for the eighth grape. Five!

“Is this, like, a universal Spanish thing? Or just your family?”

You shove the ninth grape in your mouth, ignoring him. Four!

“You’re really committed,” he notes, watching you chew furiously. “I respect that.”

You jab a finger toward the edge of the tablecloth, signaling him to leave.

“Alright, alright,” he says, hands up in surrender. “Good luck, truly. I hope it works.”

He disappears just as the countdown hits Three!

The eleventh grape is a struggle, but you manage. Two!

You grab the last one, cramming it in just as the crowd roars, One! Happy New Year!

It’s chaos — cheering, champagne popping, music surging back to full volume. You sit there under the table, sticky with grape juice and feeling utterly ridiculous.

“Happy New Year to me,” you mutter, wiping your hands on your dress.

Above you, the tablecloth shifts again.

“I had a feeling you’d make it,” the Dutch guy says, grinning. He’s holding two glasses of champagne. “Figured you might need this.”

You stare at him, utterly baffled. “Do you always bother strangers under tables?”

“Only the ones who look like they’re about to choke on tradition.”

You take the glass hesitantly, unsure whether to thank him or tell him to leave you alone. He raises his own in a toast.

“To luck,” he says simply, his smile oddly sincere.

You sigh, clinking your glass against his. “To luck.”

And for the first time in years, you think it might actually work.

***

The Dutch guy, whose name you still don’t know, doesn’t leave. You expect him to. After all, who bothers someone under a table, offers them champagne, and then sticks around? But here he is, leaning casually against the table, like this is his New Year’s Eve tradition too.

“So,” he says, studying you over the rim of his glass, “how do you know it worked?”

“What worked?”

“The grapes. Your luck in love.”

“It’s not instant,” you reply dryly. “I don’t think someone’s going to walk up and propose to me tonight.”

“Shame,” he says, smirking. “Would’ve been a great story.”

You roll your eyes, standing up carefully to avoid smacking your head on the table. The club is still throbbing with music, the crowd a drunken sea of sequins and suits. Your father is nowhere to be seen, probably charming half the room with drunken stories from his glory days.

The Dutch guy follows you, holding his champagne like it’s an extension of himself.

“So, do I get a name?” He asks.

“Do I get a name?” You counter.

He laughs, setting his glass on a passing waiter’s tray. “Martin. Martin Garrix.”

It clicks immediately. The Martin Garrix. You’ve seen him on magazine covers, his face plastered on Spotify playlists, his name on Coachella lineups.

“Oh,” you say, a little surprised. “You’re that Martin Garrix.”

“Depends,” he says with a grin. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

He laughs again, an easy sound that somehow cuts through the noise around you.

“And you are?”

You hesitate. The last thing you want is to be recognized as Fernando Alonso’s daughter tonight. “Just … me,” you say, shrugging.

“Alright, Just Me,” he teases. “What’s the plan now? Back to the dance floor?”

“I don’t really have a plan.” You glance toward the bar, but it’s swamped. The thought of pushing through that crowd makes your skin crawl.

Martin tilts his head, considering you. “You know,” he says after a moment, “I’ve got to play a set in a bit. But before that, I could introduce you to someone.”

Your brow furrows. “Introduce me?”

“Yeah. A friend of mine. You’ll like him.”

You cross your arms. “Why do I feel like you’re trying to get rid of me?”

“Not at all,” he says, grinning. “But if you’re looking for luck, he’s got plenty of it.”

Before you can argue, he’s already motioning for you to follow him.

Martin weaves through the crowd effortlessly, stopping just long enough to charm security guards and exchange handshakes with people who look vaguely important. You trail behind, clutching your champagne glass like a lifeline.

“VIP,” he explains over his shoulder, as if that answers anything.

“I was in VIP,” you mutter. “Then I left to crawl under a table.”

“Your loss,” he quips.

The VIP section is smaller than you remember, cordoned off with velvet ropes and guarded by men in black suits. Martin flashes a wristband, and the guard steps aside.

You’re led to a booth tucked in the farthest corner, hidden from most of the chaos. Someone is slouched in the corner seat, a drink dangling from his fingers. His head tilts up when Martin approaches, and your stomach flips.

Max Verstappen.

You stop dead in your tracks, heat rushing to your face. Of all the people — of course it’s him.

Max looks at you, then at Martin, then back at you. His brow furrows in confusion, his normally sharp blue eyes a little unfocused.

“Martin,” he says, voice thick with alcohol, “who’s this?”

Martin grins, gesturing toward you. “Stray kitten I found under a table. Thought you might want company.”

You gape at him. “I am not a stray kitten.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Martin says, completely unbothered.

Max blinks, then sets his drink on the table. “Wait. I know you.”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, “I know you too.”

It’s a terrible response, but you’re too flustered to think straight. Max Verstappen, reigning Formula 1 world champion, is sitting in front of you, looking unfairly handsome even in his clearly drunk state.

Martin claps Max on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to it. Don’t scare her off, mate.”

“Wait, what-” You start to protest, but Martin is already disappearing into the crowd.

You’re left standing there awkwardly, clutching your glass like it’s a shield. Max watches you, his expression softening into something unreadable.

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.

You hesitate, then slide into the booth, leaving just enough space between you that it doesn’t feel too intimate.

“So,” he says, leaning back. “What’s this about a table?”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “It’s a Spanish tradition. You eat twelve grapes at midnight for good luck in the new year. I was under the table to-”

“Focus your intentions,” he finishes, surprising you.

Your eyes widen. “How do you know that?”

“Carlos told me about it once back when we were teammates,” he says with a small smile. “He thought it was funny.”

You relax slightly. “Well, it’s not funny. It’s practical.”

“Under a table, though?” His smile widens.

“It’s quieter!”

He laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that makes your heart twist in your chest. You’ve always found Max intimidating — cool, calm, untouchable. But right now, with his hair slightly messy and his guard down, he seems … human.

“You’re drunk,” you blurt out.

He nods, unabashed. “A little.”

“A lot,” you correct.

“Fair.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “But what about you? You’re here on New Year’s Night, eating grapes under tables. What’s that about?”

You hesitate, then shrug. “Bad luck. Bad … everything, really. I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze steady despite the alcohol. “Bad everything?”

“Love life,” you admit, looking away. “It’s been a disaster.”

“Join the club,” he mutters, taking a sip of his drink.

You glance at him, surprised. “What do you mean? You’re-” You stop yourself, realizing how stupid it sounds. He’s Max Verstappen. He could have anyone.

“Exactly,” he says, reading your expression. “And that’s the problem. No one takes me seriously. They just see the driver, the fame, the money.”

You soften. “That sounds lonely.”

“It is.”

There’s a beat of silence, heavy with unspoken words.

“You know,” he says finally, his voice quieter now, “I always wondered what it’d be like to talk to you.”

Your breath catches. “What?”

“In the paddock. You’re always with your dad, or with someone else. I never knew how to …” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” you say quickly, surprising yourself. “I always wondered too.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment, the noise of the club fades into the background.

“Yeah?” He asks softly.

You nod, suddenly shy. “Yeah.”

His lips twitch into a small smile. “Maybe Martin was right.”

“About what?”

“Luck.”

You laugh, the sound light and unexpected. “Maybe.”

He leans back, the tension in his shoulders easing. “So, what now? Are you going to wait for the grapes to work, or are we going to make our own luck?”

You raise an eyebrow. “And how do we do that?”

“Well,” he says, a playful glint in his eye, “we could start by getting out of here.”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere,” he says, standing up and holding out his hand.

You stare at his hand, then take it, letting him pull you to your feet.

“Alright,” you say, your heart pounding. “Let’s see where this luck takes us.”

***

The valet pulls up with the car, and it’s … a Ferrari Monza SP2. Of course it is. Sleek, black, and absurdly expensive, it looks like something out of a Bond movie. The kind of car you don’t just drive; you wear it, command it.

Max grins at you as the valet hands him the keys, his drunken sway almost imperceptible — almost. He heads straight for the driver’s side, but you grab his arm before he can open the door.

“Are you serious?” You ask, wide-eyed.

“What?” His expression is equal parts innocence and mischief.

“You’ve been drinking.”

He glances at the keys in his hand, then back at you, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “I’ve had worse nights.”

“Max,” you say firmly, your voice cutting through the noise of passing cars and drunken revelers spilling out onto the Monaco streets. “You’re not driving.”

He raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “So, what? You’re offering?”

You blink, caught off guard. “I-I didn’t mean-”

But he’s already opening the driver’s side door and stepping aside, holding it open for you with a dramatic flourish. “Your chariot awaits, madam.”

Your first instinct is to argue, to remind him that this is his car and you’re not exactly in the habit of taking over Ferraris from Formula 1 champions unless they’re your father. But the glint in his eye dares you to say yes.

“Fine,” you mutter, slipping past him and sliding into the driver’s seat.

The leather feels luxurious under your fingers, the steering wheel practically begging to be gripped. You know Ferraris — you grew up around them, after all — but this one feels different. It feels … alive.

Max climbs into the passenger seat with surprising agility for someone who’s had more than a few drinks. He looks entirely too pleased with himself, leaning back like he owns not just the car, but the world.

“Where to?” You ask, trying to sound nonchalant as you adjust the seat and mirrors.

He shrugs, a lazy smile on his face. “Surprise me.”

The car roars to life under your hands, the engine purring with a deep, satisfying growl. You pull out of the valet lane and into the Monaco streets, the city lights sparkling like they’ve been sprinkled with diamonds.

You have no plan, no destination in mind. So, you let the roads guide you. Past the harbor, where yachts bob gently against their moorings, and out onto the open road leading away from Monaco.

Max watches you drive, his gaze heavy but not uncomfortable. “You’re good at this,” he says, his voice cutting through the low hum of the engine.

You glance at him, one hand on the wheel. “I should be. My dad made sure I could handle cars before I could even ride a bike.”

He chuckles. “Sounds about right.”

The road begins to curve as you head toward Nice, the city’s glow fading behind you. The winding asphalt hugs the coastline, offering glimpses of the dark sea shimmering under the moonlight.

Max leans his head back against the seat, his eyes half-closed. “This is nice,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

You smile, focusing on the road. “It is.”

The stretch of beach comes out of nowhere, a small, deserted slice of sand tucked between rocky cliffs. You might have driven past it without a second thought, but Max suddenly sits up, pointing wildly.

“Stop!” He yells.

You react instinctively, slamming on the brakes. The tires screech against the pavement, and the car comes to a jarring halt.

“Jesus, Max!” You exclaim, turning to glare at him. “What is wrong with you?”

He’s already unbuckling his seatbelt, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “We’re going skinny dipping.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” He grins like a kid who just discovered a hidden jar of candy. “Come on. The water’s right there.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?” He pushes open the door and climbs out, gesturing for you to follow. “It’s New Year’s. Perfect time to do something stupid.”

“Skinny dipping isn’t just stupid, Max. It’s-” You gesture vaguely, your cheeks heating. “It’s ridiculous.”

He leans down, resting his arms on the open car door. “Exactly. That’s the point. Live a little.”

You hesitate, glancing toward the beach. The moonlight glints off the waves, the sound of the surf mingling with the gentle rustle of wind through the grass. There’s no one else around.

“Max,” you start, your voice uncertain.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Hey. It’s just water. I won’t look if you don’t want me to.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stalling.” He steps back, holding his arms out as if to say, what’s the worst that could happen?

You sigh, unbuckling your seatbelt. “If I freeze to death, I’m haunting you.”

“Deal.”

The sand is cool under your feet as you follow Max toward the water. He’s already pulled off his shirt and pants, tossing them carelessly onto the beach. The moonlight catches on his skin, highlighting the lean muscles of his back.

You hesitate at the water’s edge, the waves lapping at your toes.

“This is crazy,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

“That’s the point,” Max calls over his shoulder, already wading into the surf.

You bite your lip, glancing around one last time to make sure you’re alone. Then, with a deep breath, you pull off your dress, leaving it in a heap beside Max’s clothes.

The water is shockingly cold as you step in, but it’s not unbearable. You wade in deeper, the waves swirling around your waist, then your chest.

Max is already floating on his back a few meters ahead, his arms stretched out like he’s completely at peace.

“See?” He says, his voice carrying over the water. “Not so bad.”

You tread water, glaring at him. “I hate that you’re right.”

He laughs, the sound echoing across the beach. “You’ll get used to it.”

For a while, neither of you says anything. The water is calm, the world around you eerily quiet except for the soft crash of waves.

“This is nice,” you admit finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Told you,” he says, tilting his head to look at you. His expression is softer now, less playful. “Thanks for indulging me.”

You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks for trusting me with your car.”

He grins. “I figured it was in good hands.”

The silence stretches between you again, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels … easy. Like the two of you have always been here, floating in the moonlit water, sharing something unspoken.

“I’ve always liked you,” Max says suddenly, his voice quiet but firm.

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat. “What?”

He turns onto his side, treading water to face you. “I mean it. For years, I’ve … I don’t know. I never thought you’d feel the same, so I didn’t say anything. But tonight …” He trails off, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It felt like the right time.”

Your throat tightens, your mind racing. You’ve always thought Max was out of your league, untouchable. But here he is, confessing in the most Max way possible — honest, straightforward, no games.

“I’ve always liked you too,” you admit, your voice trembling.

His eyes widen, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He laughs, the sound full of relief and joy. “Well, I guess the grapes worked after all.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Never,” he says, his voice soft.

It feels like a promise.

***

When you and Max finally stumble out of the water, shivering and laughing, you head straight to the spot where you’d left your clothes. Only, when you get there, the beach doesn’t look quite the same.

Your dress isn’t where you left it.

“Oh no,” you mutter, scanning the dark sand.

“What?” Max asks, standing next to you, his arms crossed against the cold.

“My clothes.” You point at the waterline, which has crept much closer during your impromptu swim. “The waves must’ve gotten to them.”

Max glances down and then back at you with a smirk. “You mean those clothes?”

You follow his gaze to a small, soggy heap half-buried in the sand.

“Oh, for the love of-” You dart toward them, scooping up your dress and underwear, which are completely soaked and dripping.

Max doesn’t even try to suppress his laugh. “Well, this is awkward.”

“Don’t,” you warn, glaring at him.

“I didn’t say anything!” He holds up his hands defensively, still grinning.

You groan, holding up your dress, which now feels about ten pounds heavier with seawater. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t wear this.”

Max tilts his head, considering. “Guess you’ll have to drive back naked.”

“Max!”

“Kidding, kidding!” He steps closer, tugging his own damp shirt over his head and holding it out to you. “Here. Problem solved.”

You hesitate, eyeing the shirt. “What about you?”

“I’ll live,” he says with a shrug, clearly unbothered by the chilly night air. “Take it.”

You sigh, knowing you don’t have much of a choice. “Fine. Turn around.”

Max smirks but obeys, turning his back to you.

You quickly pull the oversized shirt over your head, the fabric still warm from his body. It smells like him, too — a mix of salt, sweat, and something distinctly Max. You tug it down as far as it will go, grateful that it’s long enough to cover everything important.

“Okay,” you say.

Max turns back around, and his grin is immediate and wide. “Wow.”

“What?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“You look good in my clothes,” he says, his voice dropping slightly.

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks burn at the way he’s looking at you, his gaze lingering a little too long. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he counters, his tone light but earnest.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. Instead, you shake your head, muttering, “Let’s just go.”

Max doesn’t argue, but his grin lingers as the two of you make your way back to the car.

“Where are we going?” Max asks as you slide back into the driver’s seat, the leather cool against your bare thighs.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” you say, adjusting the mirrors again.

He shrugs, leaning back in his seat. “We could go back to my place.”

You snort. “Why does that sound like the setup to a bad pickup line?”

“Hey,” he protests, mock-offended. “I’m a gentleman.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you, though?”

“Sometimes,” he says, grinning. “Depends on the company.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Well, as much as I’d love to see your undoubtedly bachelor-esque apartment, I have a better idea.”

“Oh?”

“My dad’s place,” you say, pulling onto the road.

Max raises an eyebrow. “Fernando’s?”

“He’s not there,” you assure him quickly. “He’s probably still at the club, or passed out somewhere. And I happen to know he stocked the apartment with some really good champagne.”

Max hums, considering. “Fancy champagne, empty apartment … I like the sound of this.”

You smile, turning onto the highway. “I thought you might.”

The drive back to Monaco feels different this time. The adrenaline from the beach has faded, replaced by a quiet comfort. Max sits beside you, his head tilted back against the seat, humming softly to himself.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “You’re not falling asleep, are you?”

He shakes his head, reaching for the radio. “Nope. Just thinking.”

“Dangerous,” you tease.

He laughs, fiddling with the dial until he lands on a station playing 80s hits. The familiar opening chords of Take On Me by A-ha fill the car, and Max immediately starts singing along.

“Talking away,” he belts out, completely off-key but fully committed.

You can’t help but laugh. “Oh my God, Max.”

“What?” He says, grinning at you. “You don’t like my singing?”

“I’m just saying, maybe stick to driving cars.”

He clutches his chest dramatically. “Ouch. That’s harsh.”

The chorus kicks in, and Max leans closer to you, practically shouting the lyrics. “I’ll be gone, in a day or twoooooo!”

You’re laughing so hard you can barely keep your hands steady on the wheel. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he says, winking.

You roll your eyes, but the truth is, you kind of do. There’s something about the way Max is so unapologetically himself, even when he’s being completely ridiculous. It’s endearing in a way you didn’t expect.

The next song comes on — Africa by Toto (not that Toto, the other one) — and Max doesn’t miss a beat, launching into another impromptu performance.

“I bless the rains down in AfricAAAA!”

“Please stop,” you beg, though your cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Never,” he says, grinning at you like this is the most fun he’s had in ages.

And as the lights of Monaco come back into view, you realize you’ve never felt more at ease with someone. Max’s off-tune singing, the salty breeze still clinging to your hair, and the warmth of his shirt against your skin — it all feels like something out of a dream.

“Hey,” Max says suddenly, his voice softer now.

“Yeah?” You glance at him, and for once, he’s not smiling. His expression is thoughtful, almost serious.

“I’m glad it was you tonight,” he says simply.

Your heart skips a beat, but you manage to keep your voice steady. “Me too.”

He turns back to the radio, cranking up the volume as another song starts. And as you drive toward the city, the two of you singing along to the music, it feels like the beginning of something you’re not quite ready to name — but it feels right all the same.

***

The apartment is just as you left it — sleek, minimalist, and undoubtedly your father’s. Clean lines, muted colors, and an expansive view of Monaco’s twinkling lights spilling in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Max whistles low as he steps inside, running a hand through his damp hair. “Your dad has good taste.”

You scoff, kicking off your shoes by the door. “He has a good interior designer. There’s a difference.”

Max chuckles, padding after you as you head straight for the kitchen. “Where’s this fancy champagne you promised?”

You open the fridge, scanning its contents. Sure enough, five bottles of Dom Pérignon are lined up like soldiers, condensation clinging to their dark glass.

“Here,” you say, pulling one out and setting it on the marble countertop. “But don’t complain if it ruins you for whatever it is that Formula 1 uses on podiums these days.”

Max grabs two flutes from the cabinet you pointed to and shrugs. “I think I’ll survive.”

You pop the cork with a satisfying pop, pouring the sparkling liquid into the glasses he offers.

“To questionable life choices,” Max says, raising his glass.

You laugh, clinking yours against his. “To new beginnings.”

The first sip is crisp and effervescent, the kind of taste that makes you close your eyes for a second to savor it. Max seems equally impressed, letting out a low hum of approval.

“You weren’t kidding,” he says, taking another sip. “This is good.”

“Only the best for Fernando Alonso,” you say, rolling your eyes.

The two of you settle on the couch, the city lights casting a soft glow over the room. Conversation flows easily, the champagne loosening whatever walls you might have had left after the events of the night.

By the second bottle, you’re both leaning into each other, laughing at stories you’ve never told anyone else.

“So, wait,” Max says, his voice slightly slurred. “You actually punched him?”

“I didn’t punch him,” you correct, giggling. “I just … shoved him. Hard. With my fist.”

Max snorts. “That’s literally a punch.”

“Semantics.” You wave him off, taking another sip of champagne. “He deserved it.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Max says, shaking his head with a grin.

By the time you open the third bottle, everything is a blur of laughter, shared glances, and a warmth that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

You’re halfway through another story when Max interrupts, leaning closer. “You’ve got …” He gestures vaguely at your face.

“What?” You ask, frowning.

“Hold on.” He reaches out, brushing the corner of your mouth with his thumb. The touch is light, almost hesitant, but it sends a jolt of electricity through you.

“There,” he says softly, his thumb lingering a second too long before he pulls back.

The room feels suddenly smaller, quieter. Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

Then, without thinking, you lean in.

The kiss is messy, fueled by champagne and years of unspoken tension. Max’s lips are soft but insistent, his hands finding your waist and pulling you closer.

You barely register the sound of your glass clattering onto the coffee table as you climb onto his lap, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs against your lips, his breath warm and ragged.

You nod, your hands already tugging at the waistband of his jeans. “More than okay.”

His hands slide under the shirt you’re wearing — his shirt — his palms warm against your skin. The touch makes you shiver, but you can’t tell if it’s from the cold or something else entirely.

“You look so good in this,” he whispers, his lips trailing down your neck.

“Stop talking,” you mutter, pulling him back up for another kiss.

He laughs softly but obeys, his hands roaming freely now, exploring every curve like he’s trying to memorize you.

You lose track of time, of where you end and he begins. The champagne bubbles in your veins, making everything feel hazy and light.

Somehow, you both end up half-naked on the leather sectional, your legs tangled together. Max’s hands stay under the shirt, resting against your waist like he’s anchoring himself to you.

Your hand drifts lower, brushing against the waistband of his briefs. He lets out a low groan, his head falling back against the couch.

“Careful,” he says, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and warning.

You smirk, leaning down to press a kiss to his jaw. “You’re the one who said to live a little.”

He laughs, pulling you back down into another kiss.

Eventually, exhaustion gets the better of both of you. The kisses slow, turning softer, lazier, until you’re both too tired to do anything but collapse against each other.

Max’s arms wrap around you, his body warm and solid beneath you.

“Don’t let me fall asleep like this,” you mumble, your voice muffled against his chest.

“Too late,” he replies, his voice already heavy with sleep.

And as your eyes flutter closed, you can’t help but think that this might be the best questionable life choice you’ve ever made.

***

The first hint of dawn spills into the apartment, a soft, golden hue creeping through the glass walls. The city below comes to life slowly, but up here, in the quiet sanctuary of your father’s apartment, everything feels frozen in time.

You’re vaguely aware of the early morning light as you stir, still half-asleep, tangled in the warmth of Max’s arms. His hands are still under the shirt you’re wearing — his shirt — resting against your bare waist. Your head rests on his chest, his steady heartbeat like a metronome beneath your ear.

You should feel embarrassed, maybe even regretful. Instead, you feel … safe. Content.

The sound of keys jingling outside the door doesn’t register immediately.

Then, the lock turns, and the door creaks open.

“Ah, mierda.”

The low curse comes from the entryway. The unmistakable, groggy voice of your father.

You jolt upright, your blood turning ice-cold as the realization sinks in.

Max stirs beside you, groaning softly. “What’s going on?”

You don’t have time to answer before Fernando appears in the living room doorway, his hair disheveled, his jacket slung over one shoulder, and the beginnings of a hangover etched across his face.

His gaze lands on the two of you — your bare legs, Max’s shirt haphazardly covering you, and the obvious fact that both your pants are nowhere to be seen.

There’s a long, excruciating silence.

“Papá,” you manage to squeak, your voice higher than you intended.

Fernando blinks once, twice. Then his eyes narrow. “What is this?”

Max freezes, his brain clearly struggling to catch up. “Uh …”

You scramble for words, any words, but your mind is a complete blank.

Fernando steps closer, his voice sharp. “You. Verstappen. What are you doing here?”

Max raises a hand, as though he’s trying to surrender. “I can explain-”

“Oh, you better,” Fernando interrupts, his tone dark. “Because from where I’m standing, this looks like …” He gestures vaguely at the two of you, his expression a mix of disbelief and fury. “… a very bad decision.”

You hastily pull a throw pillow over your lap, trying to muster some semblance of dignity. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Fernando arches a brow. “It looks like I came home to find my daughter and Max Verstappen half-naked on my couch.”

“Okay, so maybe it’s a little what it looks like,” you admit, cringing.

Max finally seems to snap out of his stupor. He sits up, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Listen, Fernando, I-”

“You don’t get to call me Fernando,” your father snaps. “Not right now.”

“Okay,” Max backtracks quickly, holding up his hands. “Look, this isn’t her fault. It’s on me.”

You turn to him, frowning. “Max-”

“No, it’s true,” he continues, his voice steady despite the situation. “I shouldn’t have let things get … out of hand.”

Fernando crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing further. “Out of hand?”

“I mean-” Max stumbles over his words, clearly realizing he’s digging himself deeper. “It’s not like we planned for this to happen.”

Fernando’s gaze flicks to you, his expression unreadable. “Is that true?”

You open your mouth, then close it, your cheeks burning. “Well … yes. Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“It’s complicated!” You blurt out, throwing your hands up in frustration.

Fernando pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that you’re pretty sure isn’t complimentary.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he says after a moment, his voice tight. “You-” He points at Max. “Why are you even here?”

“We were … celebrating,” Max says hesitantly.

“Celebrating,” Fernando repeats flatly. “By taking your pants off on my couch?”

“Okay, that part was-” Max starts, but you cut him off.

“Can we not talk about pants right now?” You plead, your face hot enough to fry an egg.

Fernando gives you a look that could melt steel. “No, we’re absolutely going to talk about it. What were you thinking?”

“Maybe we weren’t thinking,” you admit quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“That much is obvious,” he mutters.

“Papá, please,” you say, your voice softening. “It’s not like we meant to disrespect you or your home.”

Fernando sighs, the anger in his expression giving way to something else — disappointment. It stings more than you care to admit.

Max shifts uncomfortably beside you, breaking the silence. “I know this looks bad-”

“It is bad,” Fernando interrupts. “Do you have any idea what this could do to your reputation? To hers?”

Max frowns, his jaw tightening. “With all due respect, I care more about her than my reputation.”

Your breath catches at his words, but Fernando doesn’t seem impressed.

“Convenient to say that now,” he mutters, crossing his arms again.

Max’s expression hardens. “It’s the truth.”

The tension in the room is suffocating, the silence stretching out until you can’t take it anymore.

“Can we just … take a minute?” You say, looking between them. “Please?”

Fernando stares at you for a long moment, his expression softening just a fraction. “Fine. One minute.”

He turns on his heel, muttering something under his breath yet again as he storms toward the kitchen.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, you let out a shaky breath, turning to Max.

“This is a disaster,” you whisper.

Max reaches for your hand, his touch grounding. “We’ll figure it out.”

“How?” You ask, your voice tinged with panic.

He squeezes your hand gently. “Together.”

Despite everything, his confidence is reassuring. You take another deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Together.”

Fernando’s voice cuts through the moment from the kitchen. “You better be decent when I come back.”

Max lets out a low chuckle, and you can’t help but smile despite the situation.

“Let’s just survive the next five minutes,” you murmur, standing to pull on your still-damp jeans.

Max grins up at you, his eyes warm. “I like our odds.”

You glance toward the kitchen, where your father is undoubtedly fuming, and pray he’s right.

***

The tension in the room is suffocating as your father storms back from the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand and a sharp glare aimed squarely at Max. You sit on the edge of the couch, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Max, to his credit, doesn’t flinch under the weight of Fernando’s gaze, though his posture is tense, shoulders squared like he’s bracing for impact.

Fernando takes a long sip of his coffee before setting the cup down on the counter with a decisive clink. “Alright,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. “Let’s talk.”

Max leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “I-”

Fernando holds up a hand, cutting him off. “No. I’ll talk first. You’ll listen.”

Max glances at you briefly, then nods. “Okay.”

Your father steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “So. Verstappen. Tell me — were you trying to sleep with my daughter under my own roof?”

The bluntness of the question makes you choke on air. “Papá!”

“Stay out of this,” Fernando says sharply, not even sparing you a glance. His eyes are locked on Max, who blinks in surprise before straightening in his seat.

“No!” Max says quickly, his voice firm. “Of course not.”

Fernando tilts his head, his lips twitching as though he’s fighting back a smirk. “Oh, so she’s not attractive enough for you to want to sleep with?”

“What?” You gasp, standing up. “What is wrong with you?”

“Sit down,” Fernando says over his shoulder, though there’s an unmistakable gleam of amusement in his eyes.

Max looks like he’s been thrown into the deep end of a pool without warning. “That’s not — what? No!”

Fernando raises an eyebrow. “No, she’s not attractive, or no, you weren’t trying to sleep with her?”

Max glares at him, his jaw tightening. “You’re twisting my words.”

“Am I?” Fernando says, taking another slow sip of his coffee.

“Yes!” Max snaps, then seems to catch himself. He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I wasn’t trying to disrespect you or your home. I swear.”

Fernando steps closer, looming over Max. “You swear, huh?”

“Yes,” Max says firmly.

“And yet,” Fernando says, gesturing at the couch with a dramatic wave of his hand, “I walked in on this. My daughter, half-naked, tangled up with you.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god, stop.”

Fernando ignores you. “Explain that, Verstappen.”

Max meets his gaze, unflinching. “I care about her. That’s the truth.”

Fernando’s eyebrows lift slightly, but he doesn’t respond immediately. He paces a few steps, tapping his fingers against his coffee cup as though mulling over his next move.

Finally, he stops, turning back to Max. “You care about her,” he repeats, his tone skeptical.

“Yes,” Max says, his voice unwavering.

Fernando tilts his head again, studying Max like he’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “Alright. Let’s test that.”

Max frowns. “Test what?”

“Your commitment,” Fernando says simply.

You groan again, standing up. “Papá, this isn’t some kind of-”

“Sit,” Fernando says, pointing at the couch.

“Stop telling me to sit!” You snap, but you drop back down anyway, crossing your arms over your chest.

Fernando turns back to Max, a small, mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “So. Verstappen. If you care about her, you won’t mind answering a few questions.”

Max hesitates but nods. “Alright.”

Fernando sets his coffee cup down again, cracking his knuckles for dramatic effect. “First question. Do you even know her middle name?”

Max’s eyes flick to you, then back to Fernando. “Of course I do. It’s-” He pauses, frowning. “Wait. Do you have one?”

Fernando lets out a bark of laughter. “Strike one.”

You roll your eyes. “Max, I don’t have a middle name. Don’t listen to him.”

Max glares at Fernando. “That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” Fernando says with a shrug. “Next question. What’s her favorite color?”

Max’s frown deepens. “Pink?”

Fernando shakes his head. “Wrong.”

“Wrong?” Max turns to you. “It’s not pink?”

“It’s not pink,” you confirm, biting back a smile.

Fernando smirks. “Strike two.”

Max leans back, exhaling slowly. “Alright. What is it, then?”

Fernando opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “It’s burgundy.”

“Burgundy,” Max repeats, nodding to himself. “Got it.”

“Too late,” Fernando says, waving him off. “You’re already failing.”

“Papá,” you say, your tone a warning.

Fernando raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. One last question.”

Max leans forward again, his expression determined. “Go ahead.”

Fernando’s smirk returns. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”

The question hangs in the air like a loaded gun.

Max doesn’t flinch. He meets Fernando’s gaze head-on and says, “I don’t know yet.”

You blink in surprise, as does your father.

Max continues, his voice steady. “But I know I want to figure it out. I care about her, and I want to spend more time with her. That’s all I can say right now.”

Fernando studies him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

Then, to your astonishment, he nods. “Fair enough.”

“Fair enough?” You echo, staring at him in disbelief.

Fernando shrugs, picking up his coffee cup again. “At least he’s honest.”

Max lets out a breath he probably didn’t realize he was holding, and you shake your head, still trying to process what just happened.

“Just one thing,” Fernando adds, turning back to Max with a pointed look.

“What’s that?” Max asks cautiously.

Fernando leans in slightly, his voice low but firm. “If you hurt her, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Max doesn’t hesitate. “Understood.”

Fernando nods once, then steps back, his demeanor relaxing slightly. “Good. Now, get dressed. Both of you.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands again. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Max says, nudging you gently.

You glare at him, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything.

Fernando smirks, heading toward his bedroom. “You’ve got ten minutes before I come back with more questions.”

“Papá!” You call after him, but he’s already gone.

Max chuckles softly, leaning back on the couch. “That went well, all things considered.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “You think that went well?”

He grins, shrugging. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you like me anyway,” he says, his grin widening.

You roll your eyes, but you don’t argue.

***

One Year Later

The club is just as loud and chaotic as it was a year ago, but it feels different this time. Maybe it’s the crowd, maybe it’s the glow of the New Year’s lights, or maybe it’s the fact that Max’s hand hasn’t left yours all night.

You’re back where it all started, tucked into the VIP section of the Monaco club where you had once crouched under a table eating grapes in a last-ditch attempt to find love. That night had been nothing short of chaotic, but looking back, it had been the beginning of something you wouldn’t trade for the world.

“Is it how you remembered it?” Max asks, leaning in close to be heard over the music.

You glance around at the glittering lights and pulsing crowd, then back at him. “It’s definitely less embarrassing this time around.”

Max grins, brushing a thumb over your knuckles. “I don’t know. You were pretty cute in your desperation.”

You groan, nudging him with your shoulder. “Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

“Not a chance,” he says, laughing. “It’s one of my favorite stories to tell.”

“Great. Glad my suffering is so entertaining for you,” you tease, though you can’t help but smile.

Max tugs you closer, his voice softer now. “You know, I’m really glad you ate those grapes.”

You look up at him, your heart fluttering at the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Me too.”

The DJ announces that it’s nearly midnight, and the crowd buzzes with excitement. Max pulls you to your feet, his hands resting lightly on your waist.

“Ready to count down?” He asks, his voice warm and low.

“With you? Always,” you say, grinning.

The countdown begins, and the energy in the room spikes. You can feel the excitement in the air, the anticipation of a new year, a fresh start.

“Ten!” The crowd shouts.

Max’s hands tighten slightly on your waist, and you lean into him, your pulse racing.

“Nine!”

You look up at him, your eyes locking.

“Eight!”

His gaze softens, his smile turning gentle.

“Seven!”

You bite your lip, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“Six!”

Max leans down, his forehead brushing against yours.

“Five!”

Your breath catches as the noise of the crowd fades into the background.

“Four!”

“Three!”

“Two!”

You close your eyes, tilting your head up.

“One!”

Midnight strikes, and Max’s lips meet yours, soft and certain. The room erupts in cheers and confetti, but all you can focus on is the way he’s holding you, like you’re the only person in the world.

The kiss deepens, his hands sliding to your back, pulling you closer. You smile against his lips, your heart full and light-

Only to be rudely interrupted by someone literally wedging themselves between you.

“Alright, break it up!”

You stumble back a step, blinking in surprise. Max looks just as stunned, his hands still midair where they’d been resting on your waist.

Fernando stands between you, his arms crossed and a deeply unimpressed look on his face. “Leave room for Jesus.”

You gape at him, your cheeks burning. “Papá! What the hell are you doing?”

“I think the better question,” he says, looking pointedly at Max, “is what you two were doing.”

Max stares at him, then throws his hands up. “We were kissing. It’s New Year’s!”

Fernando raises an eyebrow. “And you couldn’t do that with a little more … decorum?”

“You’re not even religious!” You protest, exasperated.

Fernando smirks, clearly enjoying himself. “And that’s why, by Jesus, I mean me.”

Max blinks. “You mean … you?”

You stare at your father, your frustration warring with the urge to laugh. “Are you serious right now?”

“Completely,” Fernando says, deadpan. “Now, why don’t we all take a nice step back, breathe, and reflect on the fact that I’m allowing this relationship to exist at all.”

“Allowing?” Max echoes, crossing his arms. “With all due respect, I don’t think you get to allow anything anymore.”

Fernando turns to him, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, is that so?”

“Yes,” Max says firmly. “We’re adults. And we’re together. Whether you approve or not.”

Fernando looks at him for a long moment, then lets out a low chuckle. “Well, at least you’ve got guts.”

“More than that,” you interject, stepping between them. “He’s good to me. Better than anyone else ever has been. And I love him.”

Fernando’s smirk fades, replaced by something softer. He looks at you, his expression unreadable, then nods slowly. “I know.”

“You know?” You ask, surprised.

He shrugs. “Of course I know. I’m your father.”

Max exchanges a glance with you, clearly just as confused. “So … what’s with all the drama, then?”

Fernando grins, stepping back. “Because it’s fun.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands again. “I can’t believe this.”

Max laughs, pulling you into his side. “I can.”

Fernando claps Max on the shoulder, his grin widening. “Happy New Year, Verstappen. Don’t screw it up.”

Max meets his gaze, his expression serious. “I won’t.”

Fernando nods, then turns to you. “And you — try to keep him out of trouble, will you?”

You smile, leaning into Max. “I’ll do my best.”

Fernando waves you off, disappearing back into the crowd with a casual, “Don’t make me come back over here.”

Max watches him go, then turns to you, shaking his head. “Your dad’s insane.”

“Welcome to my world,” you say, laughing.

He grins, leaning down to kiss you again. This time, no one interrupts.

[celestiamour]

Accept my Hyun-ju request and my life is yours 😩🛐 (/lh you totally don't have to accept it if you don't want to <33)

BUT. The part where Hyun-ju is about to leave to fight the masked guards. Throughout the games, fem!reader developed a crush on Hyun-ju and before she left to fight, reader decides to go for it and give her a goodbye/good luck kiss 🤭

I am SO obsessed with this queen omg

ft. cho hyun-ju x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ giving her a goodbye kiss before she leaves during the revolt┊0.8k words

setting: season 2, episode 7 contains: , angsty & open-ended, season 2 spoilers, canon-typical gun violence! love confessions, reader is sapphic obviously, mentioned homophobia/transphobic in conservative korea

➤ author's note: i’m so glad to see so many requests for this queen, i’m also obsessed

“goddamn it, where the fuck is dae-ho?!” you could barely even hear yourself over the sounds of shots being fired on both sides, hiding behind the pink walls which were steadily being painted red with the blood of your companions. 

the younger marine had left at some point to gather more magazines from the pockets of the deceased guards back at the barracks, but he was currently nowhere to be seen and the situation was becoming more dire by the second. although you had been conservative with your bullets to focus on accurate hits that would kill them on the spot, there were only a handful left at the moment and some of the other men were completely out. 

over all the ruckus, you could hear hyun-ju yelling into the walkie-talkie trying to get a hold of him, but he was nowhere to be seen or heard so she roughly shoved it into her tracksuit pocket and began to shout, “something must have happened! i’ll go down and check!”

“wait, let me come with you! it’s too dangerous to go alone!” you tried to get up from your position but was stopped when an oncoming bullet managed to graze your face, making you shriek in surprise as a shaky hand lightly brushed at the wound and found your fingers now smeared with blood. 

“it’s even more dangerous for you to move from your spot! i’ll be okay, i promise!”

her determination was awe-inspiring, yet your heart sank at the realization this might be your last time seeing her face. your affections toward her were unexpected even though you already knew you loved differently than most people did, something you both bonded over when being a part of the lgbtq+ community was still a taboo topic socially, but you found her to be beautiful inside and out with her caring personality and resilience in times of danger even though you were too scared of ruining your special friendship to admit it. you had no idea it was possible to become so attached to another in the span of less than a week, being so surprised at the realization you stayed up for hours when others were asleep to take it in. the only other person who knew about your feelings for her was young-mi, and she was…

suddenly hyun-ju was next to you wiping away the sole tear about to drip down the corner of your eye, holding on to you with a worried look on her face, “are you okay? i thought you went into shock for a second.”

god, you didn’t even notice with the battle going on around you sounding almost muffled with the two of you feeling like the only souls for miles around. everyone here insisted you should stay behind on account of being a woman even though you believed you had proven yourself to be tougher than most throughout the games, but she had faith that you could fight just as fiercely as a man and defended you each time they said you should turn back. (as annoying as it was, you don’t blame them since they were only looking out for you.)

you stared back at her for a second, blinking away thoughts of the past to focus on the present, the knowledge of this possibly being your last interaction with her once again coming to the forefront of your mind. taking in a deep breath, you decided “fuck it” with closed eyes and pulled her towards you for your first and possibly last kiss.

her eyes remained wide open in shock, trying to process the sudden action. it lasted for a few seconds but felt like an entire minute, feeling your soft lips against hers as she reciprocated the kiss and feeling her heart jump for joy. the earth seemed to stop spinning for those few moments until a voice called out to interrupt. “hey lovebirds! we’re kind of in the middle of something here!”

you finally parted with her, gazing deeply into her eyes and noting her blown-out pupils. “come back safe, and when we get out of here, we’re going to pay for your surgeries and move to thailand together, and i…” you closed your eyes again, taking a deep breath to muster up the bravery to utter the words you might never be able to say again, “i love you.”

now it was her turn to stare at you. you loved her? loved her as she is? she can’t remember the last time she heard those words after getting essentially disowned by her family. she always knew, deep down, she shared the same feelings for you, but was too scared she would end up alone again as she has been for so long so chose to push them down out of fear of rejection. yet when you’re by her side like this in the face of certain death, she feels courage. “i love you too. we’re going to get out of this together,” her confident voice made it sound like she was an oracle who already foretold your happiness in the future, “but first, you guys are going to have to cover for me.”

“don’t worry, i got your back!”

[motomamita]

JUST HAD A THOUGHT !

König as a rising underground boxer, with his cute little nurse that comes with him whenever he goes. He lets no one else look after him and all his bandages have cute symbols on it.

Media is all over him and he just can’t help but brag about his cutie patootie nurse that only cares for him, and no other boxer has eye candy like he does.😵‍💫

boxer!könig × nurse!reader

warnings: +18, smut, sex!

you needed money urgently and you were in your last year of nursing. that's when you met könig, who was a friend of a friend of yours and who needed your services in exchange for good pay.

your first meeting with him was in the basement of a bar far from the city, late at night. könig showed up in the locker room, shirtless and wearing boxer shorts. his face and entire body had bruises and scars that seemed to have healed not very well. that's when you knew you were going to have a very hard job there.

in his following fights, könig managed to win and take first place in the standings. After each fight, both received a good amount of money that you shared equally. you spent hours with him in the locker room, cleaning his bloody face and placing bandages on his bruised knuckles. sometimes you got so late that könig invited you to his small apartment, where you took care of him until you inevitably fell asleep in his bed. könig took advantage and pulled you towards him, letting you sleep on his chest.

soon König gained recognition and was invited to fight in the best competitions in the city. both became a team and had to show yourselves as such. now you were wearing a matching shirt and skirt with the inscription "property of könig" on the back, so everyone would know that you were HIS nurse. könig dressed to match you, choosing the same colors of shorts that you choose for your little skirts.

the media began to take an interest in both, calling you "the little nurse" and praising the good chemistry you both had. noticing how your face became worried every time könig received a hit or how you jumped with excitement every time he won, without caring that your panties were visible under your skirt.

you also caught the attention of the other boxers who did not miss the opportunity to look up your skirt or try to talk to you. unfortunately for them, könig was always next to you, hugging you around the waist and growling almost like a dog when any of those sons of bitches tried to get close to you.

everyone understood that it was in vain to try to separate you, you were both there for each other. könig wore a chain around his neck along with a sign with your name on it that he always kissed before entering the ring because, according to him, it gave him luck. and every time he won, he would run up to you to hug and kiss you, not caring that he was dripping with blood and sweat.

dor your part, you massaged his muscles before each fight and even sucked his cock to make him more "relaxed." könig just let you do whatever you want with him just by feeling your skin on his and not going too far away.

today könig had fought the final against another guy, for a lot, a lot of money. in a fight straight out of a movie, könig had managed to establish himself as the supreme winner. the photos of you two hugging and kissing didn't take long, as did the glasses of champagne to celebrate. once the celebrations had calmed down, you took könig to the locker room, you had to clean his bleeding nose and a large open scar on his right cheekbone. but, he had other plans.

"that's it, keep it up.. c'mon.."

könig moaned, lying on a bench, while you rode his thick, sweaty cock. in your hand you still had the gauze with which you were trying to clean his wounds but it was difficult for you to stop in the face of so much pleasure.

at your waist you wore the könig winner's belt and several bills clutched in your short skirt. you couldn't stop releasing on him, feeling how your moisture fell down the length of his cock and wet his sweaty balls. the tip of his cock kissed your cervix with each thrust while your clits slapped against his happy trail.

"keep jumping, fuck you, fuck... my little nurse, always taking care of me, huh?"

könig brought his big hands to your breasts, breaking the buttons on your shirt and moving your bra, leaving your breasts in the air. you moaned at the change in temperature and your warm walls squeezed könig's throbbing cock. the breaths and moans of both of you echoed in the locker room as did the sound of your skin colliding.

"come on, make me cum, i know you can..."

he asked, now bringing his hands to your hips, helping you continue bouncing his cock. könig couldn't resist and raised his hips, fucking you hard and finishing inside you.

that night you returned home with the prize and with even more energy to fuck until the next morning.

[no-144444]

outbursts- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist.

pls remember this is fiction and purely for fun!

(also i had no idea what to put as the third photo and it was either the sid (max) the sloth or fernando alonso so do with that what you will!)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Monaco. Monaco. Monaco. 

You were starting P4. Lando was in P5. You had been given your orders. Keep him in P4, or get him higher if you could. Give him DRS every lap. Don’t fuck up his race. 

“Alright Y/n, good luck,” Oscar’s voice rang in your ears as the formation lap began. Part of you was still hurt from Imola. Oscar had made you feel like you mattered to at least one person in the team, but he turned his back on you just the same as everyone else. “Just stick to the plan.”

“Copy,” you answered, slotting into your grid spot. You were officially the highest scoring woman in F1 history. You were breaking barriers. Yet, you spent your winning night alone in your hotel room feeling like you mattered less than the dirt on Zak Brown's shoe. 

The light turned red, then they were out. You got a great start, and in one corner, somehow, by some fucking grace of god, you were in the lead of the Monaco Gran Prix. 

“What the fuck happened?” you radioed in. “Where did everyone else go?”

“You’re in P1, Y/n,” Oscar explained. “Drive.”

“Where’s Lando?” you asked. You hadn’t meant to take the lead.

“P5 still.” 

“How do I get him to the front?” you panicked. You knew what everyone would say. You were officially McLaren’s bitch. “Oscar, how do I get him to the front?”

“It’s Monaco,” he sighed. “You can’t.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

It was torture. Crossing that finish line first. You’d won an F1 race in your rookie season. You were a Grand Prix winner. 

You were terrified to get out of that car. Daniel had to run over and make you get out. Max helped you out, and you didn’t even have anything to say. 

“You did it!” Daniel cheered, pulling you in for a hug. “You fucking did it!” 

You just nodded, searching at the barrier for Zak, for Oscar, for someone. They weren’t there. You were going back to an empty garage. You were nothing to them. 

“What’s wrong?” Daniel asked, noticing the way your mood shifted. He looked at the barrier, and he saw no one in papaya. “Those fuckers…” he curseed. “Not even Oscar?”

“It’s fine,” you shook your head, trying to calm yourself down. “I didn’t stick to the plan.” 

“What plan?” 

“Help Lando,” you explained. Max rolled his eyes. 

“You’re a better driver than him, McLaren are lucky to have you,” Max told you. “Come celebrate with us, yeah?”

You nodded and continued on with your duties, diligently doing every interview, praising Lando for making up a place and joining you on the podium, while he bad-mouthed you to the press over ‘not following the plan’.

You walked into the garage and they all clapped. The first woman to do it. Highest female points scorer in history. You looked at Oscar, who offered you a sad smile. 

Someone called for you to make a speech, but you couldn’t do it. You walked into your driver’s room and you broke down. 

You’d never been the kind of person that was easy to break down. You hadn’t been the kind of  person someone wanted to break down either, but you were well past wondering why they had started to hate you. When you were signing your contract, you were so sure that they wanted you. You were positive it would be different from the last time, different from RedBull. You were wrong. A knock on the door silenced your sobs and stopped the thousands of thoughts running through your mind. 

“Y/n,” it was Oscar, of fucking course. “Zak wants to see you.”

“Fuck off,” you sighed. “I’ll talk later.”

“He really wants to see you-”

You swung the door open, angry. “For what, Oscar? For what? To berate me for being a good fucking driver?! To scream at me for not following the plan?!” you screamed, and caught a glimpse of Lando. “And another thing,” you turned your attention to Lando. “I am so fucking sorry that you can’t do things on your own, and you constantly need my help and Zak’s approval to live your life!” You turned back to Oscar. “And you, you. You can stop fucking pretending to be my friend, just to turn on me again. We all fucking know I’m not staying here next season, so let’s just get through the year and say our goodbyes, yeah?!” 

You slammed your door behind you. A few hours later you woke up from a nap you didn’t remember taking, and you saw Oscar sitting at your desk. The sun had set. 

“Evening,” he smiled. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked. 

“Everyone went home, I wanted to talk to you, so I waited,” he shrugged. 

“Why do you want to talk to me?” you questioned. 

“I’m sorry,” he started. “McLaren is a complete boys club, and it’s shit. I’m sorry that I’m part of that. I’m sorry that I’m not allowed to openly support you. I’m sorry that we’ve made you feel like you shouldn’t be a good driver. I’m sorry. I really hope you can forgive me and I can be here for you. Just as a friend, or someone to stand at the barricade for you, someone to be in your corner when everyone else isn’t.”

You stared at him. “Why are you doing this?” 

He shrugged. “My mom gave out to me after she saw your win and the fact that I wasn’t there.”

You nodded, a flat smile on your face. “Great, good for you.” 

“So, friends?” he asked. 

“No. Thanks though. Can you close the door on your way out?” 

He got up and sighed. “I’m not letting this go,” he told you.

“You should,” you advised. “I’m very stubborn.”

“I know,” he smiled. “But so am I.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

In Canada, Oscar didn’t leave you alone all weekend. He ate lunch with you, speaking only about racing the entire time, though you did end up talking about his family for a little bit, and you found out he had 3 sisters. You told him that made sense, and he laughed. He walked with you everywhere, talking about the track or something to do with the car. It was nice. Not as nice as your pre-race playlist, though. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

In Spain you two went and got dinner while the rest of the team celebrated Lando getting P2, while you were in P1. He stayed true to his word, and after this win you even let him hug you at the barrier.

“Why didn’t you call anyone after your win in Monaco?” he asked after you’d both had a little bit too much wine and you were both a bit loose-lipped. 

“No one to call,” you shrugged.

“Family?”

You chuckled. “They don't care. I haven’t spoken to them in years.”

“But you’re 22?” he reminded you. 

“When I went to F3 and moved to England, they cut me off,” you explained. 

“I’m sorry-”

You waved a hand. “It’s fine. It’s just like that for some people. Tell me about your family,” you prompted. 

God, Oscar could talk for hours if someone let him. You wondered why people thought he was an introvert, he talked all the time. 

It was nice. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

The next few races went by in a blur of points and shitty team meetings. Oscar did what he said he would though, he stood at the barrier after every race with a smile and a hand shake, with congratulations on his lips. 

You accepted them, maybe still a bit disconnected from him, but as Spa rolled around, and you rolled 8 times because of a mistake Lando had made, you were thankful that he’d been the one to ride with you in the ambulance. You’d pulled 60G. You had a bad concussion and some broken ribs. He waited with you all day, listening to everything the doctors said and taking notes for your trainer (your new trainer, he’d somehow convinced Richard to quietly leave. Maisie, your new trainer was much nicer), and sat there, watching you all night. 

When you woke up with his hand in your hand, you felt… safer. You weren’t as weary as you had been. Some part of you trusted him. 

“You’re awake,” he yawned. “Morning.”

“You stayed here?” you questioned. He nodded.  

“I was hardly going to leave you alone,” he scoffed. 

“Thank you,” you said, sincere for once. 

“No problem,” he smiled.  

And you felt something you hadn’t left for a long time. 

You felt cared for. 

It was strange, but it was wonderful. And it scared you.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Oscar's POV:

He had to do something. He had to help you. That’s what he kept telling himself. He got Richard to leave and stop with his ED bullshit, he got Maisie, a new trainer who would actually care about you. He stuck up for you in every team meeting, getting on Zak’s nerves, but he didn’t care. 

He hadn’t been lying when he said his mom had given out to him. She’d reminded him that she hadn’t raised him to be an unkind, unjust person. She reminded him of your devastating radio messages in the Monaco GP when you apologised for winning. 

It sucked because she was right. He knew he’d been in the wrong for months and he knew it. He wanted to befriend you and help you. He wanted to support you, genuinely. He was putting his job on the line for it, for fuck’s sake. So he was going to. 

He somehow went through weekend after weekend, telling you small fun facts and talking your ear off for days at a time just so you could open up to him. He wanted to be there for you, so he became the most extroverted person he’d ever heard of. He talked more than Daniel, which was saying something. He listened to the same music you did, he ate with you, he listened to you when he spoke. 

And he enjoyed himself. You were great company. You were an interesting person. He liked making you laugh. He liked seeing you smile after a good race. He liked the fact that you went straight to him after a race. He liked your new tradition of getting an ice cream with him after a win. 

He liked you. 

So when he saw you flip 8 times in Spa of all places, his heart dropped. He’d been known to be a calm, collected, and stoic person. The way he screamed ‘fuck’ when you crashed was anything but calm, collected, or stoic. The way he spoke to you on the radio, begging you to answer him, he wasn’t calm, he was terrified. 

When you answered, the sigh of relief he let out was anything but stoic. The way he sat in your hospital room with you the entire night, waking up to check that you were still breathing, that was anything but normal. 

He was falling for you. In some insane turn of events, his quest to become your friend had taken a nosedive. 

And he was fucked. 

He knew it because he couldn’t help but smile when you reached out for his hand as you slept, and his heart skipped a beat. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

playing favourites masterlist

taglist: @smithieandy @anotherapollokid @amz824 @itgirlofthecenturysposts @lokideservesahug @annaluna12

[amirasainz]

Can you do one where there was a large breed dog in the track that’s a stray and everyone is trying to catch it, but then driver reader started talking to it in a baby voice and she begs to keep the dog once she caught it.

Of course I can. That is such a sweet request. 🥰

Enjoy reading and send some requests

- xoxo, Babygirl💋

Just Ken

It was a bright and sunny afternoon at the Brazilian Grand Prix, and the atmosphere in the paddock was electric. The teams were getting ready for the final practice session before qualifying, and the tension was rising. Everything was running smoothly until, out of nowhere, a large dog—a stray by the looks of it—ran onto the track during the break between practice runs.

"Is that... a dog?" Lando squinted from the McLaren garage, pulling his visor up and pointing toward the track.

Charles laughed nervously, leaning on the pit wall next to him. "How did a dog get in here?"

The dog, a huge, scruffy breed that looked like a German Shepherd, darted across the track with a sense of urgency, weaving between the garages and cars. The engineers and staff tried to shoo it away, but it was too fast, dodging everyone and barking wildly whenever anyone got close.

The Red Bull garage, on the other hand, was a bit calmer—until Y/N, the youngest driver on the grid and currently Red Bull’s rising star, noticed the commotion.

"What's going on?" she asked, standing up in the car she had just parked in the garage.

Max shrugged while watching the chaos. "Apparently, there’s a stray dog running around the track. Everyone’s trying to catch it, but... it's not going well."

Y/N’s eyes widened, a glimmer of excitement flickering across her face. "A dog?!" She hopped out of her car faster than anyone expected.

"Wait, you’re not seriously going to go after it, are you?" Max raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-concerned.

But Y/N was already gone, heading toward the pit lane with a bounce in her step, her Red Bull racing suit fluttering behind her.

♡♡♡♡♡

On the track, engineers were stumbling over each other, trying to catch the stray with nets, ropes, and even pieces of food. The dog growled low and deep, showing its teeth whenever anyone got too close, sending them scrambling back.

Lewis was the next to try his luck, cautiously walking toward the dog with a water bottle in hand. "Hey, buddy, come on... let's not make this difficult, okay?"

The dog barked sharply, making Lewis back off. "Yeah, no. That's not happening." He quickly retreated, shaking his head.

Meanwhile, Y/N, standing a few meters away, observed the situation with a thoughtful look. She pursed her lips and bent down, resting her hands on her knees.

"Who's a good boy?" she called out, her voice soft and high-pitched, almost like she was speaking to a baby.

The dog’s ears perked up immediately, and it stopped barking. Slowly, its head turned toward Y/N, who was still crouched down, wiggling her fingers in the dog’s direction.

"Come here, buddy! It's okay!" Y/N cooed, her voice dripping with sweetness. She gave an exaggerated pout and made soft kissing noises, as if she was calling a puppy.

The dog—who moments ago had been terrorizing a group of terrified pit crew members—calmly turned and padded toward her, tail wagging slightly. It stopped a foot away from her, tilting its head.

Everyone was frozen in disbelief.

"Is she... talking to it in a baby voice?" George whispered to Carlos, who stood beside him, equally shocked.

"Mate, I think she is," Carlos replied, eyes wide. "And it's working!"

Y/N extended her hand slowly toward the dog. "Hi, sweetheart! You're such a handsome boy, aren’t you?"

The dog, much to everyone’s amazement, gently sniffed her hand, then leaned in to nuzzle her palm, tail wagging now in full force.

Y/N grinned brightly. "Oh, you’re just a big teddy bear!" She wrapped her arms around the dog’s massive neck and started scratching behind its ears. The dog licked her face in return.

The entire pit lane was silent, the drivers and crews staring in stunned silence. No one could believe what they were seeing.

"Is this real?" Oscar muttered, blinking as if he expected the scene to dissolve like a dream.

Even Christian, who had been watching from a distance, couldn’t help but chuckle in disbelief. "I’ve seen a lot in Formula 1, but this... this takes the cake."

♡♡♡♡

After a few minutes of cuddles and praise, Y/N stood up, still holding the dog's collar. "What’s your name, buddy?" she asked, looking into its eyes as if it might answer her.

The dog barked softly, wagging its tail even harder.

"I think I’ll call you... Ken!" she announced, looking around at the crowd with a proud smile on her face. "He looks like a Ken, don’t you think?"

The dog barked again, as if in agreement, making Y/N laugh.

At that point, a track official hesitantly approached, clearly unsure of how to handle the situation. "Uh, Y/N, we’ll need to call animal control or find the owner. It’s probably a stray."

Y/N immediately pouted, pulling Ken closer to her side. "Noooo, but he’s so sweet! Look at him!" She scratched behind his ears again, and Ken looked up at her with adoring eyes.

"Ken doesn’t like anyone else, see? He chose me!" she continued, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Max, who had wandered over with a bemused smile on his face, crossed his arms. "I mean, she’s got a point. Ken’s not exactly warming up to anyone else."

As if on cue, Ken snarled at the track official when he took a step forward, causing the man to back off immediately.

"Whoa!" the official exclaimed. "Okay, maybe he’s... protective of you."

Y/N beamed and looked down at Ken. "See, he’s just being a good boy!"

Christian walked over, clearly weighing his options. "Y/N, you can’t just adopt a dog from the track," he said, though his tone was far more amused than strict.

"But why not?" Y/N asked, giving him her best puppy eyes. "I’ll take good care of him! Look at him, he’s perfect for the team. We can put a little Red Bull jacket on him!"

"Ken, the official Red Bull dog?" Max smirked, clearly enjoying the chaos.

At this point, even the other drivers were gathering around, fascinated by Y/N’s new friend.

"Can’t believe it," Charles muttered, shaking his head. "She’s like the dog whisperer or something."

"Yeah, and he’s only nice to her," Pierre added, eyeing Ken warily as he stood close to Y/N but growled whenever someone else got too close.

Y/N grinned as she stroked Ken’s fur. "See? He loves me! He’s just a big softie."

Christian sighed, rubbing his temples, but there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Fine, you can keep him... for now. But he’s your responsibility."

"YES!" Y/N cheered, pumping her fist in the air. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Ken barked happily, as if sensing her excitement, and gave her another slobbery lick on the cheek.

The drivers watched in disbelief as Y/N led Ken back toward the Red Bull garage, already making plans for his new life in the F1 paddock.

Max clapped Christian on the back as they both watched her go. "Well, looks like Red Bull’s got a new mascot."

Christian just chuckled. "I suppose we do. Let’s hope Ken likes the noise of the cars, or we’re in for some trouble."

[chancloud8]

Lose My Breath

Pairing: han jisung x reader x lee know

Word count: 5,5k

Summary: for their youtube series where they look for new hobbies, Jisung and Minho come to your studio for a lesson in pole dancing. neither of them expected to find more than a new hobby..

Tags: youtubers!minsung, pole dancer!reader, established minsung, fluff, smut, nsfw, 18+, fingering, oral (f), a bit of m/m kissing, threesome, nipple play, vaginal sex, mirror sex, creampie, pet names -sorry if i forgot anything!-

a/n: happy birthday to the lovely @staylovesmiley this one is for you! <3

‘Good morning lovely people,’ Jisung grins into the vlogging camera he’s holding. ‘Today Minho and I are going to try out a new activity in our quest to find a new hobby.’ 

You watch in silence as the gorgeous man who walked into your studio about fifteen minutes ago, explains to their audience what they’re about to do. He’s dressed in some loose grey sweatpants and a black tank top that shows off his broad shoulders. His black hair is tousled and he’s wearing black eyeliner that’s making his eyes pop. 

‘He’s a stunning little creature, isn’t he?’ a voice whispers next to you and you jump in surprise, bringing up your hand to cover your chest where your heart is beating so fast you can feel it thump against your palm.

‘You scared me,’ you laugh softly, not wanting to interrupt Jisung who’s still babbling to the camera and showing everyone the room. 

‘Sorry,’ Minho grins, bumping his shoulder against yours. ‘I have very quiet feet and you were pretty distracted by my man doing what he loves.’ 

You feel your cheeks heat at being caught staring at someone else’s boyfriend. Jisung and Minho are a very popular Youtube couple and you’ve been following them for years, silently crushing on both men as they made their way through life with their own camera’s following their every move. 

‘Oh, look who finally decided to join us!’ Jisung says then, turning the camera to you and Minho. ‘Say hi, baby.’ 

‘Hi,’ Minho says, waving a peace sign next to his face as his lips turn up in a small smile. 

‘And this is y/n, she will be teaching us today,’ Jisung introduces you and you too wave at the camera. 

Jisung turns the camera to himself again. ‘Wish us luck,’ he grins and then he lowers his arm and shuts off the camera. ‘Okay I’m all ready now.’

‘Did you bring any shorts like I requested in the email?’ you ask them, eyeing the sweats they’re both wearing. They may look ridiculously good in them, but wearing pants like that did not go well together with pole dancing.

‘Oh yes, we’re wearing some underneath,’ Minho says and then he promptly pushes down his sweatpants, revealing black athletic shorts. 

You blink and Jisung giggles. 

‘Min, baby, you can’t just start undressing in front of y/n,’ Jisung says, reaching over to help his boyfriend pull his pants over his shoes. 

‘I’m wearing shorts? It’s not like I’m naked,’ Minho mumbles, but his ears turn red. 

‘It’s fine,’ you smile at them. ‘I’ve seen it all after six years of dancing and teaching.’ 

Jisung makes a face as he too gets rid of his sweatpants, leaning heavily on Minho as he pushes them off his feet. ‘I can’t even imagine how some people probably show up to pole dance.’ 

‘Yeah, you don’t want to know,’ you laugh, not missing the curious glint in either of their eyes. 

You put on some soft music and start warming up, instructing the man what movements are best to prep their muscles and they easily fall into your warm up routine. 

‘Very good,’ you praise them when you’re done. ‘Do you want me to show you the whole routine I’ll be teaching you first or would you rather I’ll take you through it step by step?’ 

‘Routine,’ Minho says at the same time as Jisung goes; ‘Step by step.’ 

They look at each other and for a moment they seem to have a whole conversation with just their eyes until Minho raises his eyebrows and licks his lips, causing Jisung to let out a little whine, sagging his shoulders as his cheeks turn red. 

‘Routine first,’ Jisung agrees and you let your eyes wander between the two of them. 

Sexual tension seemed to roll off of them and you’re pretty sure that if both you and the camera weren’t here, Minho would have had Jisung pressed up against one of the mirrors in a heartbeat. 

‘What just happened there,’ you ask with a chuckle as you try to ignore what their interaction just did to you. It shouldn’t have been hot, but it was.

‘Nothing,’ Minho smiles. ‘Please show us the routine.’ 

Pushing away your feelings, you nod and get in position, winking at Jisung who’s still blushing. You start with the pole in front of you and grab onto the cold metal with one hand, easily maneuvering your body around it until your back is against the pole. You move your hips in a sensual way and reach up with your arms before arching your back as you move to lower your body and spread your legs. It’s a pretty sexy, but easy routine and you let your muscles move on auto pilot. 

When you end with your back against the pole again, only slightly out of breath, you can’t help but notice how both men have moved closer. Jisung his mouth is open in a little ‘o’ while Minho has his hands in his pockets, watching you with his head cocked as if he’s trying to figure out how you just did that. 

‘You want us to do that?’ Jisung asks. ‘That was–’ he clears his throat. ‘Very sexy.’ 

‘Agreed,’ Minho nods. 

‘Thank you,’ you smile. ‘And yes I will teach you how to do this.’ 

Jisung frowns, but when Minho pats his butt, he slowly walks towards one of the poles and stands before it like you had. 

‘Put all your fingers together, like this,’ you show them your hand. ‘And place it at forehead level on the pole. ‘Then you go ahead and sink under your arms,’ you instruct, moving your body to get in front of the pole with a sexy sway in your hips. 

When you look back at Jisung and Minho, they are nodding to themselves and get in position, placing their fingers against the metal. Both men follow your instructions and move smoothly to the front of the pole, just like you showed them. 

‘Very good!’ you grin at them, clapping your hands.

You show them the next move and once again they execute it perfectly. 

Jisung beams at you with sparkling eyes and you can’t help but compliment them again. ‘You have great form! I told you, you could do it!’

Jisung giggles and moves on the ball of his feet in excitement. ‘Show us the next move!’  

You go through the next few moves with them, correcting their postures here and there, but overall they take to the routine like a duck to water. 

‘There you go, very nice!’ you compliment the both of them with a little cheer when they finish going through the entire routine for the first time. 

You give them a few more pointers and at Jisung’s request you join them for the entire routine one more time before he goes to the camera’s to shut them off. 

‘That was way more fun than I thought it would be, easier as well,’ Minho admits, sitting down next to you on the floor as you start your cool down stretches. 

‘I haven’t heard someone say it was easier than expected in a long time,’ you chuckle, leaning forward to touch your toes. 

‘Oh,’ Minho frowns. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’ 

You sit up and shake your head with a smile. ‘You didn’t, don’t worry. It’s also been a while since I’ve seen someone take to it so easily, but I guess it makes sense with your dance background.’ 

‘Did I just hear you say we’re naturals?’ Jisung pipes up, letting his body fall to the floor on Minho’s other side, his head resting on his boyfriend's thigh. 

‘Yes,’ you laugh. ‘You have lots to learn, but if you commit to it, I am very sure you’ll be upside down in that pole and spinning around in no time.’ 

‘I’d rather focus on the fact that you know I have dance experience. You watch our videos?’ Minho asks, watching you carefully. 

‘I do,’ you nod, your cheeks heating up until you’re sure you’re as red as a beet. ‘I’ve been following you guys pretty much since the beginning.’ 

'Awww, really?' Jisung coos, sitting up again to also start stretching. ‘That’s so sweet.’ 

‘Why didn’t you say so sooner?’ Minho asks. 

You shrug and lift your arms above your head to stretch your back and shoulders. ‘You didn’t ask and I was being professional I guess.’ 

They both smile at you and the three of you chat about their channel for a while as you lead them through a cool down. 

‘Do you have any more lessons after this?’ Jisung asks when the three of you get up again and you offer them a bottle of water from your mini fridge. 

You look at your watch. ‘I do, but not for a few hours.’ 

Jisung shares a look with Minho. ‘Would you want to join us for lunch?’ 

‘Oh, uhm sure,’ you nod. ‘Why not!’ 

*******

In the next few weeks Minho and Jisung come back about twice a week for more lessons from you. Sometimes they film, sometimes they don’t and you love watching them grow each week, picking up on the movements quicker than any of your other students. They often bring you coffee or homemade treats that Minho made and you can comfortably say that the three of you have developed a bit of a friendship. 

There’s lingering touches sometimes and heated gazes when they watch you do your thing on the pole, but not once have they been inappropriate. They make you feel seen, sexy and safe. 

‘I have a question,’ Jisung says on a Thursday evening when you’ve just finished your lesson. 

‘Mhm,’ you hum, moving into your stretch. 

‘What do you think about us? I mean, how do you feel about us?’ 

‘What do you mean?’ you ask, sitting up so you can look at him. ‘Are you asking if I like you? Because of course I do. I’m very happy the two of you came into my life and I’d like to think we’re friends.’ 

‘Friends,’ Jisung mumbles and his brows furrow. ‘Right.’ 

You tilt your head in question. ‘Was that not what you wanted to hear? You don’t think we’re friends?’ 

Jisung’s eyes widen and he crawls closer to you, already having finished his stretches. ‘No, no I didn’t mean it like that! I love that you consider us friends, I just..’ he bites his lip nervously and glances at his boyfriend. 

Minho chuckles from your other side. ‘What he was meant to ask was, are you attracted to us?’ 

You nearly choke on your own spit at the unexpected question and you start coughing violently. Minho gently pats your back and Jisung hands you a bottle of water, his cheeks are red, but his eyes are hopeful. 

‘Sorry,’ you mumble when you finally feel like you can breathe again. ‘Did you just ask me if I think you’re hot?’ 

Minho lets out a laugh and Jisung giggles. 

‘Basically,’ Minho nods. 

‘Wow, okay,’ you mumble, taking another sip of water. ‘I mean, how can I not? Have you seen yourselves?’ 

The two of them share another look and Jisung scoots even closer to you until his knee touches your thigh. 

‘So you are attracted to us?’ Jisung repeats Minho’s question. 

Nervous butterflies swirl in your stomach and you suddenly feel hot all over by the way they both stare at you with the same heated gaze you’ve seen before. 

‘I- yes,’ you admit, licking your lips. ‘I am.’ 

Jisung smiles and beams at Minho, causing the older to chuckle at his boyfriend and lean closer to you to reach out and pinch Jisung his chin. ‘Patience, baby.’ 

‘I’m not patient and you know it,’ Jisung pouts and both Minho and you laugh at his sad face. 

Minho lets go of Jisung and places his hand on your thigh. His touch immediately heats up your entire leg and when you look down to see his long fingers against your bare leg, you nearly groan out loud. 

‘We have a question for you, pretty,’ Minho says, his voice sounds lower than usual and it makes you shiver. ‘And I need you to answer honestly, can you do that?’ 

You nod and look up at him, meeting his eyes. ‘I can.’ 

‘Good,’ he smiles. ‘If you say no, I promise there will be no hard feelings between us and we can still be friends.’ 

Your mouth suddenly feels dry and you wish you were still holding onto that bottle of water, but you nod again anyway. 

‘You see,’ Jisung starts, placing his hand on your other thigh. ‘We’ve had this fantasy for a while now, but never found the right person.’ 

‘But now we did,’ Minho continues. ‘You fit with us perfectly and we both like you very much.’ 

Jisung nods enthusiastically, his fingers tightening on your thigh a bit. ‘We’re kind of hoping that you feel the same way about us.’  

You blink at them, your head moving left to right to look at them both. ‘I’m flattered, but I’m not sure what you’re asking of me? Is it sex? A one night stand? A relationship?’ 

‘For now it’s sex,’ Minho grins. ‘But we’re open to more if it leads to that.’ 

‘Alright,’ you say, nodding slowly, your thoughts racing about as loud as your heartbeat. ‘And you want it now?’ 

Jisung lets out a little whine and leans in to press a sweet kiss to your shoulder. ‘We wanted it yesterday, last week, hell the day we met actually, but now works.’ 

You laugh at his ridiculous babbling and place your hand on top of his own. ‘Now works for me as well, but one of you will have to get up to lock the door.’ 

You’ve barely finished the sentence when Jisung jumps up and jogs towards the little hallway where the entrance for your studio is. You giggle at his eagerness before turning towards Minho who’s already looking at you. 

‘You’re sure?’ he asks.

You nod and feeling bold, you move and crawl into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. ‘Oh, I’m sure.’ 

Minho’s hands immediately clasp your hips to pull you even closer, pressing your clothed chores against each other. You bite your lip when you feel how hard he is already and without a second thought you crash your mouth against his. He responds right away, one of his arms wrapping around your waist to keep you in place against his body while the other moves so he can grab onto the back of your neck. 

‘Hey, you started without me,’ you hear Jisung’s voice say faintly behind you before you feel a strong warmth pressing against your back. 

A hand moves your hair to the side, freeing your neck and a heartbeat later lips are pressed against your skin. Minho slips his tongue inside your mouth when you gasp and a moan escapes your throat as he tangles it with yours while Jisung leaves open mouthed kisses on your neck. 

‘Hmm if I'd known you wanted this, I would have asked earlier,’ Jisung says against your skin while gliding his hands from your sides to your bare thighs and then back upward towards your breasts. 

You can only moan again in response, too busy kissing Minho, which he is obviously very good at. It’s messy, wet and hot and you love every second of it. 

‘Hmm you make such pretty noises,’ Jisung whispers against your neck, his fingers slipping underneath the sports bra you’re wearing. ‘I can’t wait to make you scream when I eat you out.’ 

You arch your back for as far as you’re able to and a violent shiver goes through your body when Jisung teases your nipples, twirling his fingers around the sensitive buds. Minho breaks the kiss and leans back a little so he can look down at where Jisung’s hands disappear underneath your sports bra. 

‘Take it off,’ he says to his boyfriend. 

Jisung does as he says and frees your breasts in one quick motion, slipping the top over your head and throwing it behind him on the floor. 

‘Hmm beautiful,’ Minho mutters, moving his hands to caress your stomach and up towards the underside of your breasts before cupping them. ‘So perfect.’ 

You claw at Minho’s shirt, trying to take it off and make it even. He chuckles at your efforts and leans in to capture your lips again, successfully distracting you from your task. Behind you, you hear the rustling of clothes and when Minho lets go of your lips again, he turns you around and basically drops you in Jisungs lap. 

‘Hello baby,’ Jisung grins, eying your naked breasts that heave with every pant that leaves your mouth. 

He has taken off everything but his boxers and you take a moment to appreciate his lean form, smooth skin and the tattoos that cover his chest. He’s absolutely mouthwatering. 

‘Hi yourself,’ you purr, reaching out to trace the large tattoo on his side. ‘I like your tattoos.’ 

Jisung preens under the compliment and pulls you closer. ‘How much?’ 

Giggling you lean forward to press your lips against the black compass on the left side of his chest. Your tongue sneaks out to trail a wet line all over the ink and Jisung lets out a surprised grunt at the feeling. He grabs onto your neck and pulls you up to kiss you. 

His lips are even softer than Minho’s and you melt into him, moving your hands to his strong shoulders and then to his hair to tangle your fingers in the soft black strands. 

It should surprise you how fast you adapted to this situation with the two men you only met a few weeks ago, but seeing as you’ve been crushing on them for years, it probably wasn’t that hard for your brain to accept. 

A naked chest presses against your back then and hands move from your hips to the front of your black yoga shorts, cupping your clothed pussy. Liquid heat spreads through your entire body and you let out an embarrassing whine against Jisung’s lips when Minho pulls his hand away again to tug at the waistband.

‘Can I take it off?’ he asks, pressing a small kiss on your shoulder. 

You pull back from Jisung’s mouth and giggle when he pouts at you. His lips are swollen and red and his pupils are elated, he looks even prettier than usual like this. 

‘Stand up, baby,’ Minho says and you’re not sure if it's to you or Jisung, but the both of you get up with his help. ‘Good, now take it off.’ 

Minho smirks as once again, both you and Jisung follow his demand. Jisung pulls off his boxers, his dick springing free against his toned stomach, a drop of pre cum already drips down his length and your mouth waters at the sight. You quickly follow his lead and take off your shorts, shedding your underwear as well. 

‘Look at that, I��ve got two lovely stunning creatures now,’ Minho hums, licking his lips as his eyes devour every inch of naked skin in front of him. ‘Ji, baby, why don’t you get on your knees for y/n.’ 

Jisung drops to his knees right away, his hot breath tickling against your pelvis bone as he scoots closer to you. The sight of his mouth only inches away from your pussy makes your legs feel weak and you look at Minho with pleading eyes, hoping he’ll understand you’ll need his support if his boyfriend is going to make a meal out of you. 

Minho grins, drops his own boxers to the floor and strides over to you with three big steps. He pulls you against his chest, his arm hooking around your waist underneath your breast to hold you steady. 

‘Feast away, baby,’ he tells Jisung. 

One of your legs is placed over Jisung’s shoulder and then he licks a fat stripe between your already slick lips, all the way from your hole to your clit. If it wasn't for Minho’s hold on you, you would have collapsed. 

‘Fuccckk,’ you moan, your head falling back against Minho’s shoulder. 

Jisung hums and dives in again, this time putting even more pressure with his tongue. Your hips buck on their own accord and Jisung reaches up to hold you in place against Minho. 

‘Hmm you taste delicious, baby,’ he murmurs against your folds, nipping at them with his teeth. 

‘Unnghh,’ is all you are able to let out, your brain feeling hazy with lust and pleasure. 

Minho starts placing wet open mouthed kisses against your neck as his free hand plays with your nipple, while Jisung keeps lapping at your clit with his skillful tongue. Heat curls in your stomach and when he adds a finger and curls it just right, you cry out so loud that it startles you a bit. You’ve never been this loud before. The thought immediately leaves your brain when another finger is added to your heat and your legs are starting to shake.

‘Please, Sungie,’ you moan, trying to buck your hips again. 

Jisung picks up the pace, moving his tongue and his finger in tandem. 

‘That’s it, kitten, let go for us,’ Minho whispers in your ear as his fingers twist and pull your already sensitive nipple. 

‘So close,’ you whine, the coil in your belly getting tighter and tighter. 

When it snaps your eyes roll back and you moan Jisung’s name. Your legs give out, but Minho’s hold keeps you up as Jisungs keeps moving his fingers until he’s sure you’ve ridden out your orgasm. 

‘Hmm so sexy,’ he says against the inside of your thigh, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your skin there. 

Your legs shake and Minho gently lowers himself and therefore you to the floor. He sits you down in his lap and moves your limbs around like you're a doll. 

‘Look at that,’ he hums, leaning his chin on your shoulder. 

‘Hmm?’ you hum, still a bit hazy from your release. 

‘Look in the mirror,’ Jisung says, moving to sit behind Minho. 

You do as he says and gasp at the sight that greets you. You barely recognize yourself, naked, flushed skin, big eyes and wild hair. Your feet are on either side of Minho’s thighs, causing your legs to stay open and displaying your glistering pussy for all of you to see in the mirror. 

Minho moves his hands from your breasts towards your core and when his finger gently dips into your soaking folds, you shiver. 

‘Mhhgh, sensitive,’ you mutter, but you don’t slap his hand away. 

‘You can take it,’ Minho whispers, biting the skin between your shoulder and neck. 

Jisung moves to your side and lays down onto his stomach, his chin resting on your thigh as he stares at your pussy with big hungry eyes like he hadn’t just eaten you out already. His tongue is peeking out of his lips and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was drunk or at least a little tipsy. 

‘Can I go again?’ he asks, looking up at Minho. 

‘No,’ Minho growls. ‘It’s my turn to play.’ 

Jisung huffs, but stays where he is, pressing a soft kiss on your thigh. You reach out to pat his hair and he smiles up at you. 

‘You ready, kitten?’ Minho asks, his free hand coming up to circle your throat lightly. ‘I want you to keep looking in the mirror the entire time, okay?’ 

All you can do is nod, your gaze connecting with his through the mirror. 

‘Good girl, now watch how easily you’ll take my finger.’ 

Minho slips his finger inside and your mouth falls open at the sensation. It’s only one finger, but it still feels so unbelievably good. Your head falls back against Minho’s shoulder, but you make sure to keep your eyes on the mirror, watching as he starts pumping his finger in and out of you. Wet slopping sounds fill the studio and soon your moans echo off the walls as well. 

‘More, Minho, please,’ you beg, the sensitivity from before completely gone. 

Minho’s fingers leave your throat to play with one of your nipples again, pinching the bud between his thumb and forefinger. Jisung sits up beside you and takes the other nipple in his mouth, sucking and twirling his tongue around it until you’re a shivering mess. A second finger is added to your core and your eyes fall close as the pleasure nearly overwhelms you. 

‘Eyes open,’ Minho growls in your ear, pinching your nipple so hard a yelp leaves your mouth. 

It’s a good type of pain and when your eyes lock with Minho’s once more and his thumb brushes over your swollen clit, you fall over the edge for the second time. Your legs are shaking violently and it takes everything in you to keep your eyes from rolling back inside your head. 

‘Such a good girl,’ Minho murmurs, kissing your neck as he fingers you through your orgasm. ‘So tight and responsive.’ 

‘She’s perfect,’ Jisung says, his mouth still attached to your breast. 

‘God,’ you groan, coming down from your high. ‘You guys are.. fuck.’ 

Jisung laughs and pulls back to look at you, his hand coming up to push a sweaty piece of hair behind your ear. ‘We’re just Minsung, baby.’ 

You smile at hearing their nickname and reach out to touch his chest. ‘That’s enough for me.’ 

‘Good, because we’re not done with you yet,’ Jisung smirks. ‘How’d you feel about riding my di–’ 

You don’t let him finish and push yourself up against Minho’s thighs to basically launch yourself against him. Your legs still feel like jelly, but Minho’s hands on your hips help you straddle Jisung who laughs in pleasant surprise at your attack. 

‘I guess that’s one way to answer,’ he grins. ‘You’re that desperate for me, huh?’ 

‘Oh shut up,’ you laugh, lining yourself up with Minho’s help. 

‘You can just say you want to be fu–’ Jisung’s mouth falls open when you sink down, your walls clenching around him. ‘Fuck, fuck fuck,’ he groans, throwing his head back and exposing his long neck. 

You waste no time to lick a fat stripe from his collarbone all the way to just behind his ear and he shivers beneath you. Minho moves to sit beside you and grabs onto the back of Jisung’s neck, pulling his head back up. 

‘How does she feel, Jagi?’ he asks Jisung when you roll your hips forward before bouncing up and down. 

‘So good,’ Jisung whines. ‘So tight and warm.’ 

Minho groans and leans forward to catch Jisungs lips with his own, kissing him feverishly. The sight of their tongues tangling is breathtaking and you can’t help but slow your movements to enjoy the view. 

Jisung moans and grabs onto your hips, his tongue still battling Minho’s, but the instruction is clear and you slowly increase your speed again before leaning in to press open mouthed kisses against Jisung’s neck. 

When Minho pulls back and Jisung whines at the loss, you tilt your head up and press your lips against his instead. The kiss is messy and wet and your rhythm fails again as you’re too focused on both the kiss and the noises Jisung makes. 

‘Such pretty noises, right?’ Minho murmurs, burying his face into your neck and biting down on your skin again. 

You hum against Jisung’s lips and arch your back when Minho’s fingers twirl around your hard and abused nipples. They're so sensitive that it sends a shock through your body and you moan into Jisungs mouth, your hips faltering. Both their hands find their way to your hips and help you move. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room and the feeling of being sandwiched between two hot bodies makes the coil in your stomach tighten once more, heat spreading through your veins as your third orgasm approaches. 

Jisung comes first, his hips rutting up with little shocks as he moans into your mouth. Minho quickly moves his hand down to your folds to circle and pinch your clit. You’re a withering mess in seconds and when he bites down on your shoulder you actually come with a scream this time. 

Your body sags against Jisung and for a moment the three of you just sit there, hugging each other and catching your breath. 

‘Do you think you’d have one more in you?’ Minho asks when the sweat on your skin is starting to cool down enough for you to shiver in their arms. 

Never in your life have you come more than three times in a row, but the thought of saying no doesn’t even cross your mind, especially when you feel his cock twitch against your ass. 

‘Only if you take me against the mirror,’ you tease, looking over your shoulder to wink at him. 

You’re only partly joking, but Minho just grins at you and stands up. He gently pulls you off of Jisung, chuckling softly when the both of you shiver when his softening cock slides out of you, before he easily hauls you up in his arms and wraps your legs around his waist. 

‘I’ve had a dream about this,’ Minho mumbles as he approaches the mirrored wall and presses your naked back against the cold glass. 

‘I’ve thought about this too,’ you admit, blushing. ‘But it was actually you fucking Jisung against the mirror.’ 

‘I want that!’ Jisung squeals behind you.  

Minho laughs and repositions you in his arms so his cock is teasing your soaking entrance. ‘I’m sure we can make that fantasy come through as well.’ 

Your eyes widen and that’s when he sinks home, pushing all the way into you with one smooth movement. 

‘Oh, fuck,’ you moan, his cock stretching you deliciously.

‘How are you still so tight,’ Minho pants, his hands squeezing your ass. ‘Fuck.’ A droplet of sweat drips down from his hairline to his chin and you follow it with hazy eyes before focussing on his lips where his teeth are biting into his bottom lip. 

‘She feels amazing, doesn’t she?’ Jisung has gotten up from the floor and is now pressed up against Minho’s back, his chin leaning on his shoulder.

‘So good,’ Minho agrees, squeezing his eyes shut as he ruts his hip upwards. 

‘Mhmh,’ you moan, pleasure is already building in your belly again and your eyes flutter shut as your head falls back against the mirror. 

This time Minho doesn’t scold you to keep your eyes open, he just buries his face in your neck and attacks your skin with his tongue and teeth. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about him today, it’s that he likes to bite and leave marks.

The sensation of his cock pounding into you, the cold mirror at your back and the warmth of his tongue against your neck is almost too much. Your muscles tremble and when Jisung reaches around Minho to let his hands travel all over your body, you start to feel dizzy. 

‘Please,’ you murmur, clenching your walls around Minho. ‘Please, Minho.’ 

You’re not sure if you’re begging for him to come or to go faster, you just know that it’s all getting too much. Tears start to leak from your eyes as your body doesn’t know what to do with the overload of sensations. 

‘I’m close, Jagi,’ Minho murmurs against your neck, nipping at your collarbone. ‘Let go for me, yeah?’ 

You sob and dig your fingers into his shoulders as the strongest orgasm you’ve ever had takes over your body. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, your limbs are spasming and your vision turns black for a second or two. 

A grunt leaves Minho’s throat as he comes inside you, his hands holding you close as he presses soft kisses all over your shoulders, neck and face while Jisung runs his fingers through your hair and whispers sweet praises in your ear. 

When your body goes lax in Minho’s arms he sinks to the floor and cuddles you close. Jisung curls his body around your back and once more the three of you just sit there and cuddle into each other's warmth for a while. 

‘Next time we’re doing this, we need to pick a more comfortable place than the floor of your studio or against the mirror,’ Jisung says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. ‘As hot as it is.’ 

‘But the mirrors,’ Minho pouts. 

You and Jisung both giggle and you reach out to tap his bottom lip with your finger. ‘So you want to do this again?’ you ask, smiling up at him.  

Minho raises his eyebrows at you and tightens his arms around your waist. ‘Don’t you?’ 

Oh fuck yes.

a/n: i'm still pretty new to writing smut so uhm I hope that was good lmao. (it was a lot of fun to write hehe) If you enjoyed reading, please consider leaving a comment and/or reblog <3

shoutout to @staybabblingbaby for helping me brainstorm, u rock <3

general taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @girl-in-love-with-kpop @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @corgilover20 @littlelostdemonofthelight @stephanieeeyang @zulie-and-cats @chanshugsaretherapy @pizzalove5000 @dazzlingjade @milie-com @thequibbie @channiesrightasscheek @strawbrriz @delulustardust

[airybcby]

Did You See Me On TV?

( bllk boys and being in a long distance relationship )

a/n — thought about this and just HAD to write. no long distance relationship experience, but def some long distance friendship experience. rather short, but i had to get it out.

content — fem! reader, set in the ' Neo Egoist ' era, some characters repeated, all characters 18+, angst, fluff, maybe some ooc for some people??, nicknames 'love' , 'babe' , 'baby' , ' my girl ' , and 'sweetheart' used

synopsis — yes, he's a world famous soccer player, but he's also your boyfriend. how does this effect your relationship?

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' you tell yourself it's fine, ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the... ' radio silence '

it's been a month since your boyfriend had left to go play for the soccer team he'd been assigned to, and what had you heard from him?

...complete and utter silence.

you understood he was busy now, you really did, but he hadn't even called while he'd been gone. any text he sent was no more than 3 words.

you were still in love with him, but was he in love with you anymore? had he forgotten all about you? was there another girl that was better than you?

the promise the two of you had made before he left sat on your tongue like lead now.

" you'll come back whenever you can, right? " you'd asked him. " for you? always. i couldn't imagine a life without you. i promise i'll call every chance i get. "

you stared at your phone, the text you'd sent him before his game started staring back at you...mocking you.

you: good luck, love!! i'm rooting for you from home! i love you, have fun, don't get hurt. call me when you can <3

it was almost pitiful. three almost exact texts sat above that one, and he hadn't even bothered to read them until after the game, simply replying with a...

him <3 : thanks

and no, if you were wondering, he hadn't ever called you.

and here you were, like a fool, curled up in your bed watching his game on live TV, watching as he made his second goal of the day.

maybe, just maybe, he'd call you after this one.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ SAE ITOSHI, isagi yoichi, RIN ITOSHI, oliver aiku, OTOYA EITA, rensuke kunigami

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the... ' a complete mess '

he'd been gone a month, and you can't count a single day he hasn't called you three times at minimum. you'd been together for a while, but you never realized how much he relied on you to do basic everyday tasks for him.

"babe? do you know where i usually keep my long socks?" you heard come from your phone speaker as you were trying to do your own homework, mind you.

" usually in the middle of your top drawer next to your underwear. unless you've changed it. " you stated, he'd asked you this question every single time he had a game since he had left, but you wouldn't dare expect him to remember that.

" you're the best, baby. what would i do without you? " your boyfriend asked as he pulled socks out of his drawer, propping his phone up on the bedside lamp as he slid the socks onto his feet.

" lose your head, probably. " you joked, looking up from your work to admire him.

yes, everyone got to see him as the big, bad soccer player on TV, but with you? he seemed like a completely different person, not someone who could get a hat trick and also simultaneously asking where their phone is while it's in their hand.

" your games soon, love. you gotta get going. " you helpfully reminded him, as if you were his personal alarm ( you were but that's besides the point )

" ah crap, thank you baby. i'll call you after i win," he said cheekily. " i'll score a goal just for you, so make sure you watch!"

" you know i will. call you later, i love you. " you reflected his smile through the phone. " i love you too! " he repeated. and just as you were about to press the 'end call' button...

"oh, baby? do you remember where i put my jersey?"

yeah, without you he'd be a train wreck.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ NAGI SEISHIRO, bachira meguru, HIORI YO, gin gagamaru, ZANTETSU TSURUGI, ranze kurona

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the... ' basically married '

it'd been a month since your boyfriend had left to go play professional soccer, and out of the four games he had played, you'd been flown out for three of them.

" do you like it? " he asked giddily, as if he was a child on christmas morning waiting to open presents. but instead of a gift, it was him showing you the hotel room he'd gotten you so you could watch his game this week too.

" you're too sweet to me, love. i would've been happy just sitting at home and cheering you on from there. " you told him. " nope! you're no longer allowed to watch the games from home," he said as if it was a fact.

oh, soccer players and their superstitions.

" even the whole team agrees! my girl is our lucky charm! "

the one game you missed, because you had a big test may i add, they lost. it wasn't a horrible loss, no, they went into additional time and lost 5-4.

your shock and confusion must have been written all of your face, because he just laughed. " c'mon sweetheart, why don't you just come live with me here ? "

many reasons, actually. you still had school, it was across the world (not really but it felt like it ), your family, your friends.

he knew all of this, of course. there usually wasn't a day that you seriously considered it. considered being here, with him, instead of having to facetime and miss him.

one day, you would, but not now...you think.

"oh, hush. you gotta get going, you have a game to win." you huffed, pushing at his shoulder to hopefully get him going out the door.

"alright, alright. i'll come back with you after the game, sweetheart. i love you, see you after my win! "

and win he would, because he swore to himself that if he won this game the velvet box that was hiding in his dresser would finally be able to come out.

but, hey, even if he didn't win, would you say no to the ring he had custom made for you?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ REO MIKAGE, isagi yoichi, YUKIMIYA KENYU, chigiri hyoma, nijiro nanase, BARO SHOEI

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' you're just in love ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

this was really written on a whim, but i hope yall liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!

[evilminji]

You knooooowwww... >.>

The only difference, technically, between a school in the Zone? And on Earth? Is the American government won't recognize your Zone diploma...

Not accredited. But like..... I'm JUST SAYING? If you didn't try to pass your school off as some Big Ivy League type? Pulled the "oh yeah, you'd never have heard of it, it's local." And the COMPUTERS say it's legit?

How many people will dig deeper?

If you legitimately have the knowledge, you legitimately have the knowledge. Not YOUR fault you left out the whole "extra-dimensional" part. It makes folk nervous! And nervous folks get stabby.

So like? If you were ALREADY planning to "Move" as you euphemistically put it? Talked it over with your VERY concerned folks and friends? Who do NOT like the look of the steady but concerning rise of Anti-Ghost Powers That Be? Who finally put their foot down and reminded you that you are a TEENAGER and it's NOT your responsibility to fix the world?

Well...

Fuck those guys, I guess. You'll miss the old house, but Team "Taking our ball and going literally anywhere else" makes some good points. Why ARE you putting up with this?

And honestly, you've never SEEN your dad have so much fun. Him and the Reality Realtor just sorta... Vibe. Himbo to Himbo communications. Smatters of advanced physics. Fudge. It's great.

They move the portal. Collapse the old one in a way that makes it impossible to recover or recreate. You... kinda don't want to ask. They had that "mad scientist glint" in their eyes.

And while everyone's checking out brochures to different realities? You? Head off to the nearest College. It's the Zone, so technically you could go to any of endless billions. But you'd like your education some time this century.

Cue! Danny Fenton! Entering?

Academia's wet dream. A sprawling CITY of a college. Where the classes are on EVERYTHING and the price is FREE. People have Obsessions okay?? They NEED to teach. Debate and discuss! Study! Right papers and read them! It's been going on a while! And what happens when you find a subject that's NOT covered?

YOU COVER IT!

It's like if New York was a College. Good fucking luck find the dorms. Sleep on the floor like the rest of us, you casual.

Danny was Not Prepared ™.

He loves it though.

Classes on aeronautics next making the perfect sandwich, shoved next to historical basketry, stacked above alien slam poetry. But only on Tuesdays! Ever shifting. Breaking his Fenton Born Adhd in to a fine PASTE to be smeared upon bread. Happy mental stimulation chemicals go Brrrrrrrr

If it wasn't wildly inappropriate, he would LICK IT to claim it as his then wrap around it and gaurd like a territorial cat. He thought he HATED school! Turns out he just hated high-school. College though? College, or at least ZONE College, is fuckin AWESOME.

He's sit in SO MANY random classes just cause.

Picked up and dropped them at a whim. When they no longer sparked joy. He's been a flighty bitch and for once? No one CARES. No one says "you HAVE to commit and stick with this FOREVER once you choose this" and? It just? It's so FREEING! He's learned so MUCH!

He's probably gonna come back!

Which? Is how a deeply, DEEPLY weird aerospace engineer from supposedly bumfuck NOWHERE, end up working at Wayne Industries. He's.... a lil crazy behind the eyes. Ha ha... CONCERNING ™!

Dude sleeps on the lab floor. Has weirdly spotty knowledge. Can be an unprecedented genius one second and not know who the current president is the next. Doesn't know what DAY it is. Forgets to eat. Tried to make a fusion reactor out of the break room toaster before Sandra from accounting distracted him with pictures of her cat.

It's like he wanders through life blissfully unaware that he is both terrifying and about three seconds from killing them all. Then FUCKING TRIPS because he forgot to tie his shoelaces again.

Who hired this man?

WHY!?

I mean, we KNOW why. Probably to put him on a watch list. But? He's like a terrifying murder puppy! Built like a tank! That's stoned out of its mind half the time. And have you HEARD his college stories? That CAN'T be legal. Was this guy raised in a cult!? Aaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!????

@hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @dcxdpdabbles @hypewinter

[daycourtofficial]

Azriel’s Girls

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 2.6k | warnings: none

Summary: you overhear a conversation between Azriel and his brothers that has you second guessing your boyfriend’s faithfulness. What will you find when you follow him out one night?

Author’s note: two fics one day! This is crack lmao I wrote this in a blur this afternoon from a silly convo with @milswrites @prythianpages and @ninthcircleofprythian lmao

You and Feyre came into the River House giggling over the amount of paint that covered the both of you. The two of you stop laughing long enough to look at each other, before devolving into fits of giggles once more. One of the boys in the studio had insisted on today’s topic being finger painting, which led to the children essentially dipping their hands into paint before smearing it over all of your clothes.

“Are you sure you don’t want to shower here?” Her voice is soft and kind, a slight rasp to it from talking to the kids all afternoon.

“Thanks Fey, but I’d rather shower at home so I can slip into my pajamas and go to sleep.” You look away from her, as if you could see him through the walls. “Maybe I can even convince Azriel to rub my back. I shouldn't have given some piggy back rides.”

Feyre hums, a soft ‘told you so’ on her tongue, but you give her a pointed look and she keeps it to herself.

“Well, I’m going to go wash up. Good luck finding the boys.”

Her voice floats down the hallway she takes, and you start thinking about where to look - the most obvious place being Rhys’s study. Your feet pad through the halls until you start to hear three loud laughs coming from the cracked study door.

You keep moving towards the source, ready to make your presence known, when you hear Cassian say, “when will you see them again?”

Your boyfriend responds with a soft, “tonight”, eliciting raucous laughter from his brothers. You still, pressing yourself towards the wall, tilting your head in contemplation.

Azriel had told you he had plans tonight, that he was doing something important for Rhys. Had he lied to you?

Cassian’s voice cuts through your train of thoughts, “I’m sure the girls at Rosehall have been missing you.”

Rosehall?

You scrunch your eyebrows, trying to remember if you had ever heard of Rosehall. Was it somewhere in Velaris? Was it a pleasure hall? Who were these girls Cassian spoke of?

Had your sweet Azriel been sneaking around, and his brothers were aware of it? Had they been condoning it?

“I haven’t been able to see them in a while, they’ll be glad for the company.”

“I’m sure they’ll be crawling all over you, brother.”

Their laughs were knives in your heart. Did everyone know? Were you nothing more than a fool to them? Nothing more than a mere joke to these males? Your mind was racing, not paying any mind to the rest of the conversation as you ran down the hall into the kitchens, getting yourself a glass of water. You chugged it, the cool liquid giving your racing thoughts something else to focus on. Like a plan to figure out the truth.

After a few minutes of allowing yourself to seethe and panic, you retraced your steps towards Rhys’s study with your plan in tow: get to Rosehall, find out who these girls are, and yell and scream at Azriel and his brothers for playing you for a fool. As you approach, the males within were now speaking of some sporting event you were not the slightest bit interested in. Azriel’s face brightens as you knock and enter, pushing the door that was slightly ajar. You hate the way your heart picks up a bit at seeing him, at seeing how his face lights up at your presence, your cheeks heating at his attention.

He’s a lying, backstabbing, good for nothing-

“How was painting with Feyre?”

The attention from all three of them pulls you from your thought spiral and you choke on your own spit, coughing a bit. Azriel’s smile turns into a look of concern as he watches you, but Cassian chuckles. “Did you eat the paint by accident?”

Rhysand’s low tone chimes in, “I believe she’s wearing half the paint in Feyre’s studio, and I’m sure my mate’s wearing the other half.”

You chuckle, “uh yeah, Feyre was heading to shower when I left her.”

Rhys dips his head, “that's my cue to leave. BRothers, always a pleasure until better things come along. I’ll see you all later.”

Cassian laughs as Rhys disappears in front of you all, “horny bastard.”

Azriel glares at his brother, “and the pot calls the kettle black.”

Cassian scoffs, flicking his wrist in the air, “pish posh, Azriel. The past is the past.”

“Your past was last week when everytime I came back to the House of Wind for two weeks I got front row seats to your ass.”

“Well, it's our house. And I have a fantastic ass.”

Cassian flexes his thighs, as if Azriel just had to see it to mitigate his annoyance.

“I live there too.”

Cassian shrugs, as if this was a matter of opinion to just accept differences over.

Azriel looks back to you, his eyes making you feel warm, just as they always did. But the warmth was quickly devolving into a ball of anger and sadness, warming your stomach with jealousy and annoyance.

You slap a smile onto your face as you look towards Az, taking in his lazy grin as Cassian slaps him on the back. “I’m off to see Nes. You kids have fun!”

Cassian walks toward the balcony, taking to the skies. Azriel turns toward you, offering his hand so the two of you could embark as well. You accept his hand in yours, a little part of your mind telling you this is the last time you’ll do this. You laugh, pushing the thoughts to the side as you allow Azriel to pick you up, the two of you shooting up into the air.

Azriel flies you back to your apartment, his wings expertly moving over the streets of Velaris. You can’t help the smile on your face as you two fly through the air, watching the people below you until he lands right in front of your home.

You open the door for the both of you, and he follows closely behind. He chuckles at your paint covered clothes, and you fidget slightly, wanting him to make the move to leave.

The clock in your living room chimes, and his gaze moves towards it. “It’s getting late, I have to go. Will you be okay?”

You nod, your arms tightening around yourself. He takes your nervous energy as your hatred for sleeping alone, not wanting to upset you further by making you speak about it.

“How long will you be gone?”

He ponders for a moment, “I should be back tomorrow or the day after.”

He turns toward the door, but you shoot out your hand to grab his wrist. “Can I have one of your shadows? To keep me company? I like having them around.”

One shadow in particular dances at your words, coming from behind Azriel, practically spinning in the air as it immediately rushes to you.

“I hope you like that one because I don’t think it’ll let a different one stay with you.”

You giggle as it weaves through your hair, picking it up into a ponytail before dropping it.

“Perfect, so I’ll have someone to be witness to my antics.”

You giggle, but his face is solemn as he looks at you, something feeling so off about your behavior.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

His words are so soft, and every part of you wants to tell him no, I’m not okay, because you are seeing other women who will be crawling all over you once you leave from here.

Instead you nod, making up an excuse about your eyes being tired from all the painting. He kisses your forehead, his lips soft and light against your skin before pulling away and stepping out of your door before winnowing away.

You count your breath for a few beats before turning to the shadow, “do you know where Rosehall is?”

-

Of all of your terrible ideas over the years, this one was perhaps the worst. You had asked the shadow where Rosehall was, expecting it to be somewhere in Velaris, likely in the parts of the city you were less familiar with. You did not expect the black wisp to wrap around your wrist and begin tugging you away from Velaris very forcefully.

You had started getting nervous when it kept pulling you towards the outskirts, but you were in it now, and you were going to see this ridiculous scheme through to the end.

The shadow had been pulling you for hours it seemed, across landscapes, your feet killing you as you walked, and somewhere several miles away from Velaris, the shadow’s hold loosened on your wrist, opting to move up and down your arm, as if telling you this was your destination.

“Are you sure this is right?”

The shadow danced all around you as if it were confirming your statement. You looked at the gated entrance, the estate so lush and green and not at all what you had expected, it took you by surprise.

This was where he brought women? To do scandalous things and have nights full of debauchery? Was this some beautiful and well-tended pleasure hall? Before you can debate going through the gate, the shadow moves forward, unlatching it and pushing it open for you.

You sigh, thinking to yourself no going back now.

You enter through the gate, preparing yourself to hear the sounds of females giggling, perhaps even moaning, but you are completely taken aback at the chorus of meows you hear, followed by a door opening, and Azriel’s soft voice calling out, “if you’re here for my mother, she has stepped out-”

His voice stops as he takes in the sight of you, the two of you standing before each other across the lush estate. His eyes swim with confusion, and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him at such a loss for words or the situation before. He continues to look at you, before realizing he’s carrying a tray of various raw meats and fish. He takes no notice of the dozen or so cats circling him, several trying to climb up his legs toward the food he carries.

“You- what are- how did you get here?”

You lift up the shadow that was entwined with your arm before it skitters off to join the other shadows playing games with the cats who weren’t paying attention to Azriel. You try not to wear the confusion on your face, hoping desperately to have some upper hand here.

“Is this Rosehall?”

Azriel sighs, setting down the food as one of the cats lunges to bite at his arm, missing and falling back into the pool of cats at Azriel’s feet.

“Yes.”

You puff up your chest, confusion seeping through your features as you ask, “and where are the females? The girls?”

“The girls?” His voice is incredulous, and you want to roll your eyes at it.

“Yes, the girls. The ones who wish to climb all over you because you haven’t been paying them attention.”

His long legs start to make their way across the front garden, the sea of cats at his feet parting as he makes his way through them. “The girls who climb over me?”

You sigh, exasperation evident, “must you repeat my words? Yes, okay fine. I overheard Cassian speaking of your plans this evening with ‘your girls’. Now why don’t you bring them out and show me to be a fool?”

A deep, belly laugh comes from his mouth, and you are utterly offended.

“Azriel, I came here to put you through the ringer for stepping out on me, and you find it funny?”

He steps forward, trying to put his arms around you but you step away from his embrace. His laughing continues as he asks, “you walked all the way here?”

“Yes.”

You stick out your chin, determined to look strong and confident.

“You walked all the way from Velaris to here, to find out I had cats?”

“Why yes, I did walk all the way here to find out-”

Your words die on your tongue as you look around, not seeing any other females anywhere. You picked up the scent of one, but the scent smelled so much like Azriel, they had to be related in some way.

He watches your nose twitch, separating out all the smells beneath the ever present smell of cat.

“My mother lives here.”

He coughs, the joyous look from his laughter gone, his hands moving behind his back. He rocks on his feet, and you found it quite endearing.

“With my cats.”

“Your cats?”

“Yes, but they’re not really mine. They just show up.”

“Your cats show up? What does that mean?”

“It means, if I spend any time in Illyria the cats seek me out. I’ve already fixed the stray cat problem in Velaris.”

He opens his arms wide.

“They’re all here. Problem solved, I suppose.”

You blink, slightly convinced Rhys had finally broken your mind and made up the most ridiculous scenario he could imagine. You feel one of the cats rub against your legs, and you bend slightly to nuzzle its face. It was pitch black with bright green eyes. It was so little, you couldn’t help but pick it up despite its verbal protests.

“You have cats.”

“Yes, and Rhys and Cassian despise the cats. Rhys says he’s allergic, but I think he’s just too worried about his damn furniture.”

“And Cassian?”

“Cats hate Cassian.”

He says this as if it’s an uncontested fact.

“How can all cats hate one person?”

“He likes to swing them by their tails.”

You nod, “okay, maybe all cats can hate one person.”

As the two of you spoke the shadows had lifted a cat up onto Azriel’s shoulders, where it stood meowing and pawing at the black wisps. You watched in bewilderment, unsure if the shadows were playing pranks or not, when the cat slid from his shoulder into the crook of his elbow, nuzzling into the warmth there.

You cross your arms, heat blooming in your cheeks at your rash decision making. “So there aren’t beautiful females here?”

“There’s one.”

“I knew i- oh. You meant me.”

You deflate once more, letting the adrenaline seep from your body. You were exhausted, well and truly. He nodded before putting the cat down, watching it scamper off into the grass. “I shouldn’t have lied about where I was going. Several dozen cats are just… a lot to spring on someone at once.”

You look to the ground, fingers scratching the ears of the kitten you were holding, “and maybe I got a little…. carried away.”

He quirked an eyebrow, “you picked the wrong shoes to hike out here from Velaris.”

You looked down at your sneakers, chuckling, “uh yeah, I definitely need to soak my feet for a bit.”

“Do you want to come inside?” He watches you hesitantly before asking, “Or I could take you home?”

You look toward the beautiful estate before peering back down at the wiggling kitten in your arms, before deciding that you did want to see Azriel’s mother’s home and to hopefully meet her. “Are you going to tell your mother about how I got here?”

He chuckles, slow and soft, “of course I am. She’d be endlessly amused.”

“Do you have any black felt? I’d love to make this little guy some wings.”

He chuckles, rolling his eyes as he puts an arm around your shoulder, leading you inside. “While you play arts and crafts, I can formally introduce you to all of the other cats.”

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @ninthcircleofprythian

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin

Thanks for reading ❣️

[muwapsturniolo]

Brutus 2 🦇 Chris sturniolo

"O-one hun-hundred and fif-fifteen times...." PT 1

NSFW AHEAD!!! mentions of murder, stabbing, assault (not detailed!!!), alcohol, blowjobs/face fucking, facials, cum eating, rough sex, biting, cream pies, choking, switch! Chris, Matt is a perv

The police still couldn’t figure out what happened on the final night of Halloween horror nights. It’s been a month and the gruesome murders were still unsolved and left everyone scratching their head. The police took the right measures, they taped off the crime scene for weeks on end, rewatched the CCTV footage, and questioned the crew and attendees.

But they came up empty-handed.

They couldn’t figure out who committed the crime or why they did it.

But she knew.

When she was questioned, the police showing up at her door with her discarded tweed purse, she lied and said she didn’t see anything. Claimed she barely remembers that night due to the alcohol she consumed on the premises.

She knew it was wrong to lie to authority, to take away the possibility of a grieving family to finally have peace and to know the killer is behind bars. She knew if anyone found out what she did they would call her insane and probably throw her six feet under a jail - She didn’t want that.

She was lying to cover her own ass and the nameless killers, and she’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Especially if it meant they would continue watching her.

It was only a couple of days after that night when she felt as if she was being watched. She had just gotten out of the shower and walked into her bedroom to put on her pajamas when she noticed the clothes were on the floor.

That isn't where she left them.

She vividly remembered placing them neatly at the foot of her bed, folded and ready to throw on. Now they were thrown onto the floor in a mess, and her panties were missing.

Fear should have settled into her body, but instead, she proceeded to get dressed right in front of the open window.

With that being said, she went about her life as if nothing happened, as if she wasn't being stalked by two psychopaths.

Her routine never changed.

Weeks had gone by, minutes, hours - two months to be exact. She had given up the little bit of hope that those two would make an appearance. Honestly, she had forgotten about them until a Christmas party had gone wrong.

Her friends had forced her to attend, shoving her into a powder blue satin dress and a pair of silver heels to match. soon, she was at the party, standing in the corner with a frown on her face.

She wasn't having a good time. Her friends had ditched her as soon as they made it to the club, this guy who was completely wasted wouldn't leave her alone, and she was hot.

Deciding that she was over it and needed some air, she found her friends and told them she was leaving. She walked away, ignoring their drunken protests, and pulled out her phone, attempting to order an Uber.

It seemed like she didn't have any luck, the cellular device having no type of signal. With a huff she begins walking down the street, not noticing the two people following her.

"This is so stupid! This is the last time I let them drag me to a dumb party an-" A small scream escapes her mouth as she's pushed into an alley, her phone falling from her hands. Her body collides with a trash can, preventing her from falling into the muddy puddles of water from the melted snow.

She's soon shoved against the wall, the streetlamps casting a shadow over her attacker's face. She didn't need lights to know who the person was, the rancid smell of alcohol was enough.

It was the same man from the party, he had followed her out.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?! Get off of me!" She shouts in annoyance, trying to push him off. It was odd, the way she was completely sober and had better coordination should have given her the strength to push him away. But to no avail, he proceeded to force himself upon her, slurring his words in the process.

Just as his hand goes up her dress, he's yanked away and tackled to the ground, her savior immediately throwing punches.

She stays frozen against the wall, too shocked to even register what's happening.

A glimmer of light snaps her back into reality.

She watches as her savior raises his arm, a knife in hand.

She watches as the blade is plunged into her attacker's chest, his screams slowly drowning out as he chokes on his own blood. She watches her savior continuously bring the knife down, not stopping until he's satisfied.

His actions begin to slow, his breathing heavy as he slumps back, staring at the lifeless body underneath him.

She takes a hesitant step forward, freezing when her savior turns to her.

She already knew, but the mask adorning his face confirmed it.

Her savior was the same man from that night, the same masked man who was ready to kill her before being scared away by his partner in crime.

His wild and deranged eyes soften as they connect with hers, his breathing calming down.

They say nothing, the only sound being heard is the flurries of snow rushing past them.

She slowly approaches, holding her hand out before speaking softly, "Come on, let's go."

He looks down at her hand before standing up, towering over her. He points towards her discarded phone, his silence-speaking words. She nods and rushes over to her phone, bending down to grab it. She huffs seeing the cracked screen, cursing out the dead man in her head. Just as she begins to wipe the phone off, she hears a loud bang.

She whips around and sees both the masked savior and the dead body gone, her brows slowly creasing.

Where did they go? How did they disappear so quick?

Her thoughts are interrupted by a hand landing on her shoulder. She jumps in surprise and turns around to see the masked savior in front of her.

"Jesus Christ, " she covers her chest as her heart begins to beat quickly. She swears she heard him snicker softly, but before she could question him, he wrapped his hand around her arm and dragged her down the street.

In reality, she knows she should be scared and questioning him, but she stays silent, allowing him to guide her to wherever they are going. They soon arrive in front of a beat-up pickup truck, parts of the car rusting as snow sits in the bed.

He opens the passenger door and looks at her expectantly. She peers inside the truck, noticing the mess inside. The cans of Pepsi discarded on the floor, the wrappers from candy, the smell of cigarettes, and most importantly,

The small bloodstains on the seats.

She looks back at him, noticing the soft look in his eyes.

"You want me to get in?"

He nods, still refusing to speak.

"Are you taking me home?"

He nods once more.

"Do you know where I live?"

He tenses, the grip he has on her arm tightening. It's almost as if he's scared, scared of being caught for stalking. Scared she's going to scream, run away, reject him.

She snickers softly seeing the fear in his eyes, it's a bit ironic.

She says nothing, simply climbing into the truck and buckling herself in.

"Come on, I miss my bed."

With that, he closes the door and climbs into the car himself, quickly starting the engine and driving off. She watches silently as he drives down familiar streets, having driven down them herself whenever she's on her way home.

The car ride was filled with silence, it wasn't tense if anything, it was calming, the both of them relaxed.

They soon arrive and he kills the engine, staring straight ahead out the window. She turns to him, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face behind the mask.

"Thank you for helping me," she says softly. He gives a curt nod, his hands still placed on the wheel.

"Did you want to come in?" His head whips to her, his eyes holding confusion. She smirks, enjoying the hesitancy and confusion in his eyes.

" Come on, you've been inside anyway. Might as well come in with an invitation this time."

He huffs behind the mask but follows her actions in unbuckling the seat belt and climbing out of the car.

They walk inside the house, the girl kicking off the annoying heels and throwing her keys in the bowl on the stand. She walks to her bedroom, smiling to herself as she hears his sluggish footsteps behind her. She throws herself onto her bed, flipping onto her back and propping herself up with her elbows.

She looks him up and down curiously, attempting to familiarize herself with him again.

"How come you wear a mask?"

Like always, he says nothing, refusing to even glance in her direction. She pushes herself off the bed and approaches him, cornering him. No words are spoken between the two as she presses herself against him, his breathing speeding up. With a slow and steady hand, she trails it up his arm, her fingers soon fanning out against his chest.

She goes to touch the edge of the mask, but she's stopped by his hand firmly grasping her wrist.

He looks scared.

Despite the tight grip he has on her, she continues with her actions. Her fingers grip the edge of the mask, slowly pulling it off of his face.

He quickly turns his head, his hair falling in front of his face. She gently turns him back towards her, their eyes connecting as her fingers dance across the scar on his cheek.

"O-one hun-hundred and fif-fifteen times...."

A shocked expression makes its way onto her face. He spoke, he finally spoke, and the first thing he decided to say was a number.

"W-what?" She questions in confusion, raking her brain for what the number could mean.

"Th-the man....I sta-stabbed him one hun-dred and f-fifteen times."

She's shocked by the confession.

She didn't know a lot about murder, only having seen it and heard about it in movies and TV shows, but she knew it took a lot of energy and anger to stab someone that amount of times - He did it for her.

It was sick, it was twisted, and yet, it attracted her.

"Let me thank you," she mumbles, her hand leaving his face and trailing down his chest, soon finding its place over his crotch. She begins to palm him, watching his breathing grow harsh, their eyes still connected. A small whimper leaves his mouth, and she breaks out into a grin - his moans were so pretty, so soft,

Submissive.

She sinks to her knees, both of her hands working at his belt, soon throwing it to the floor. Her mouth waters as she pulls his pants down, his cock slapping his abdomen.

It was pretty, just like him.

It was long and thick, and had a bright red tip that matched his chapped lips. There was a vein running up the side that she knew would feel euphoric when sliding against her spongy walls.

He bucks his hips softly as she wraps her hand around his shaft, pulling it towards her mouth. She opens her mouth and allows a wad of spit to trickle out, landing directly on his tip. Her thumb swipes over the tip as she moves the spit around, starting to jerk him off.

His moans and whimpers are kitten-like, despite his horrific and brutal demeanor, he was like putty in her hands.

She enjoys the way his body relaxes against the door, his head thrown back and his mouth open as he pants softly. She kitten licks his tip before taking him fully in her mouth. His rough and calloused hands fly to her head, grabbing the strands of hair and forcing her to take him deeper.

She gags around him, tears forming in her eyes as she opens her mouth wider, but she keeps going. She bobs her head up and down, making sure to hum and fondle his balls in the process.

His moans and groans grow louder, and his actions become more dominant. It was like a switch was flipped in his head, his hips starting to slam against her face.

He shows no mercy as he fucks her face, his dick reaching so far down her throat and giving her no chance to breathe. Her actions of gratitude had quickly become sloppy, the mixture of spit and precum coating her chin and falling down to her chest.

There were even bubbles of the mixture forming, popping every time her nose hit his happy trail.

She manages to look up at him, her mascara tears and glossy eyes making her look so damaged yet innocent - It drives him over the edge.

He quickly pulls out of her mouth and releases all over her face, enjoying the way she gasps in shock.

It's like his body is on autopilot, nothing but excitement and adrenaline controlling his actions. His hand wraps around her throat, lifting her to her feet with ease. Their lips instantly mesh together, swapping spit as they hastily make out. She moans into the kiss as he tightens his grip on her throat, the wetness in her panties only growing. She could feel the sticky fluid in between her folds every time she clenched her thighs - She was aching for him to touch her.

He suddenly pulls away from the kiss and begins to lick his own semen off of her face, his eyes rolling back. She moaned at his erotic actions, the way his soft and spongy muscle glided over her cheek. She could smell the faint mixture of cigarettes on his breath, but she found herself not caring.

Suddenly, she's pushed away from him, her body colliding with the mattress. It all happens so quick, the way her powder blue dress is ripped into pieces, her soaked panties following.

He was like a rabid, feral dog, ready to take what he wanted and she was just as excited.

Her jaw drops and her back arches as he shoves his length inside of her, reaching to the deepest hilt. Much like his partner in crime, he stretched her out perfectly, her aching walls sucking him in and not letting him go. The bedframe bangs against the wall with each ferocious thrust, items falling off her nightstand due to the shaking.

He shoves his face into the crevice of her neck, his teeth sinking into the soft skin. He proceeds with his actions, the marking of his teeth covering her whole chest along with her breasts - Blood is drawn in certain areas.

It's an overwhelming amount of pleasure, so overwhelming that she can't even keep her eyes open nor hold him. Her arms lay flat by her head, her eyes clenched shut as her mouth remains open.

Her eyes fly open when her head whips to the side, the same hand that slapped her wrapping around her throat, squeezing tightly.

He's heaving like a dog, his pants mixed with groans, making him sound like a beast.

She weakly grabbed at his wrist, trying to ease the pressure on her throat, but it was no use. She had become lightheaded from the pleasure and lack of air.

She was close to passing out, but she was also close to reaching her orgasm, it was just a matter of which one she would experience first.

"You're going to kill her, ease up on the choking."

Her blurry eyes dart to the bedroom door, a choked gurgle escaping her mouth when she sees him.

He was here, the one with the painted face. Except, his face wasn't painted, and he was watching her be fucked by his partner.

She gasped for air when he released her throat, her eyes still trained on the other one. She watches as he takes a seat at her vanity, leaning back on the chair and manspreading.

"Don't look at me, look at him. He's the one fucking you."

She does as told, her eyes connecting with the man on top of her. He had the same look in his eyes from that night when he chased after the girl trying to run away.

"Tell him how good he's making you feel, he loves the praise,"

"S-so good- Nghh. Fuck- " She could barely speak a full sentence, her speech slurred.

"That's all you can do? Come on dollface, he killed someone for you! Show him how grateful you are! He finally gets to feel you after watching me fuck you, give him the experience he deserves."

Her mind is reeling, incoherent babbles of praise falling from her lips. The more she praises him, the harder his thrust become, her sobs of pleasure getting louder.

It's not long before she felt that familiar coil in her stomach forming, ready to burst at any second - and all it took was one final thrust from the man on top of her to push her over the edge.

Her whole body shakes violently, her eyes rolling back as she feels the static rush through her body. Her ears were ringing, her vision blurry as she came down from her high.

She lays there shaking, her fingers twitching as she pants harshly. She was worn out, fucked, and tired.

Suddenly, he stands up from the vanity and slams his hand down on Chris's back, "Look at her....and I thought I wore her out." They both look down at her, trying to figure out what to do next.

Matt suddenly bends down and moves her hair out of her face, grabbing her chin softly.

"Wake up doll, your night has just started."