#hot wheels colour reveal cars

[rashivermaofficial]

Hot Wheels Hypertruck Color Shifters: The Ultimate by rashiverma

Dive into the world of Hot Wheels Color Shifters with the Hypertruck edition! Unbox and discover the magic of color-changing as water activates its transformation. Engage in fun-filled races and entertaining showdowns, showcasing the Hypertruck's dynamic colors. Explore the versatility of this toy for hours of imaginative play and racing excitement.

[sebsxphia]

shopping lists.

robert ‘bob’ floyd x reader.

￫ summary: you rush to the shops after work to do a quick food shop, but bob floyd was not on your shopping list.

￫ word count: 3.3K.

￫ warnings: mentions of food, supermarkets, feeling hungry and fluff, fluff, fluff.

￫ authors notes: my description of the supermarket is based off uk supermarkets, so i apologise if there’s inaccuracies to us supermarkets! this also hasn’t been proof read. my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

Bob was starving.

He cursed himself under his breath as he drove back from base. He had the driver's window in his baby blue truck rolled down and his forearm resting on the side, his fingers pushing through the sticky summer air as he drove. Air conditioning alone wouldn’t keep him cool, as he still wore his flight suit from training earlier that day. He could feel how the ring of sweat around his neck was sticking to his collar, but he simply didn’t have the time or willpower to shower and change on base.

It had just gone five o’clock in the afternoon and he had gotten off later than he expected. He would’ve already had a small meal to keep him going until dinner by now, but low and behold, when he awoke this morning, as the sun was only a crack along the horizon, he realized he had no substantial food in his fridge.

Bob was a planner. He would do his fortnightly shop routinely, but something came up at work and it had simply slipped his mind. The only thing he could do now was drive as fast as he could to the supermarket, slip in, whisk around the aisles in record time and drive back home to cook something up in under an hour. He had another early start the next morning and as always, he had a routinely early bedtime.

Being a pilot made his reactions lightening fast. This would be easy for him.

As he pulled into the car park and zoned in on a space, he noticed another car also going for the same spot.

You were inches away from the space and although he was in a hunger-fueled rush, being the ever polite gentleman that he was, he let you go for it. Through the glare of the late afternoon sun reflecting off your windshield, he couldn’t quite make out the person driving, but he saw how you politely lifted your hand off the steering wheel to motion, “Thanks!”

Bob responded in turn with his wave and warm smile. He drove a little further forward past your car to find another space and the reflecting sun moved against your windshield to reveal you in a clearer light. You had the sweetest little smile as you thanked Bob. Your lips curled up to meet the creases in the corners of your eyes and your cheeks were a sweet rosy colour.

As he drove away and around the corner of the car park, Bob chewed at the inside of his cheek, still with a small smile twitching on his lips. He had a small hope that he would see you inside, only because he wanted to let you know that he was more than happy to give you the spot.

No other reason.

He was pulled out of his thoughts about your sweet smile as he felt his stomach grumble furiously. After doing a loop around, he managed to find a spot at the opposite end of the car park. He of course cursed himself again under his breath for going shopping at peak hours after everyone had finished work on a weekday, but he only blamed himself. He didn’t blame you. You were simply there first.

The almost freezing blast of air conditioner on his face as he entered the supermarket, was a welcomed change to the ever-growing humid air outside. The tiny, blonde baby hairs on the back of his sweat-coated neck stood up momentarily, as the icy air flowed down and through his flight suit. He felt himself cool down almost instantly. He pulled up with a shopping cart and started with fruits and vegetables at the front of the store. He was desperate to move fast, but his boots were heavy and searingly hot with every step he took around the aisles. That was the only spot on his body that the air conditioning could not reach.

As he came to the end of the fruits and vegetables section, he turned to reach for the tomatoes when suddenly a flurry swooped by him. It caught his attention instantly and he whipped his head around, with his torso moving inwards towards the tomatoes to avoid bumping into whoever had just swept by him.

It was you. The same person in the car park who he had given his space to. He observed as you descended the cheese and yoghurt aisle.

A small lump got caught in his throat and he swallowed thickly, as he watched how your sundress swished around your bare calves. He couldn’t help but let his cobalt blue eyes from behind his glasses, glance over you. Bob was raised right by his mom. He was respectful and well-mannered, but the simple and undeniable fact was, that you were the prettiest person he had ever laid eyes on. Even from the glow of the cool light down the food aisle, it could not diminish your luminescence.

He reached his slender index finger up to his glasses and pushed them up his nose ever so slightly. The prior sudden movement had caused them to jolt down the bridge of his nose by a centimetre.

As you walked straight down the aisle and turned to face the cheese selection, the delicate material of your sundress moved back into place to frame your body. It rippled over each curve of your figure and Bob’s heartbeat doubled in time when he caught sight of your soft belly in your sundress. He sucked in a harsh breath between his teeth as he wondered for a fleeting second, how soft your belly would feel to hold when his face was buried between your thighs.

He registered the smile creases in the corners of your eyes. The same ones that he noticed first in the parking lot and how they narrowed to read the label in front of you. Your eyelashes fluttered against one another as you blinked against the glaring light humming above you. As you raked over your options, he watched how your teeth grazed over your bottom lip and chewed nimbly at it. The same habit he had.

He needed some cheese and yoghurt himself, so perhaps he could catch you there.

Bob meandered some meters behind you and acted as if he was choosing his yoghurt option. He already knew what he needed. The same yoghurt he’d had for the past five years, but he was drawn to you. Like a moth to the radiating flame.

He cocked his head behind him to glance in your direction and you had already moved down the aisle to assess your next grocery choice. He took his multipack of yoghurts, placed it in his cart and wheeled it around to stand by you, again acting as if he was evaluating his cheese choice. From behind his glasses, he took another sideways glance. You were performing a balancing act of holding your shopping basket’s flimsy handles, holding the cheese in your other hand and somehow holding open a small notebook and crossing out the presumed item, with a pen.

At a glance, Bob saw how inside your notebook was filled with lots of little scribbles, and crossed-out parts and as you went to close it, the front cover was decorated with sweet little stickers.

“Jesus Christ. That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.” He thought to himself.

As you went to slide the pen back into the elasticated band, it slipped from your balancing act and slid along the dotted tiles of the supermarket, straight for Bob’s direction. It hit the sole of his boots and he heard your voice for the first time.

“Ah, shit.” It was muttered under your breath with annoyance, but he thought your voice sounded like sweet honey.

Before his thought process could catch up to him, he wondered if you tasted like sweet honey.

You spoke directly to Bob this time, as you scurried over and bent down to pick up the pen by his boots. He caught a fleeting glance at the swell of your breasts, resting in your sundress.

You laughed out faintly with your apology. “I’m sorry, my mistake—”

As you moved too quickly with embarrassment to pick up your pen, your flimsy shopping basket was swinging and the cheese you were holding also fell out of your grasp.

“Ah! Fuck.” You quietly cursed again to yourself, or so you thought.

Bob had caught your second string of curses to you accidentally dropping something and he thought it was rather cute.

“Here, let me.” He chuckled to himself as he squatted down to reach for your cheese and pen.

Both now standing upright, he handed your belongings back to you and felt how the palms of your hands were as soft as butter against his fingertips. You looked at each other directly and now without the glare of your windshield, he could finally see every delicate feature that made up your beautiful face. He thought that you were so pretty.

You went to open your mouth and speak, but your words got caught on your tongue. This kind stranger was incredibly handsome. He looked smart with his clean-shaven face and his dusty blonde hair parted neatly to one side, with a thick swoop. His rounded glasses didn’t have a single smudge on them and his cheeks were round as he smiled at you, although it still didn't take away from his strong cheekbones and firm jaw.

You blinked in a flurry as you took in his build. You were accustomed to seeing pilots around here with the air base being so close to town, but it was rare to see one in what you presumed was a flight suit of some kind. It was deep forest green in colour and harmoniously blended against his striking eyes from behind his glasses. It wasn’t tightly fitted, yet still, his broad shoulders and firm biceps were flexing against the coarse material. His thighs stood strong with his heavy boots planted firmly against the tiled floor. He was tall and practically towered over you, but he respectfully kept a distance between you both.

“I’m sorry again, thank you.” You smiled bashfully at him. Your eyelashes were still fluttering against one another and your rounded cheeks were dusted pink.

Bob couldn’t help himself. He grinned as he shook his head and politely rejected your apology.

“No need to apologise, Ma’am. It’s all good.”

Suddenly your eyes widened and your eyebrows raised with them.

The glimmer from the overhead light in the supermarket made your eyes sparkle with such an inviting glow.

“Oh! You were the nice guy in the parking lot! You let me take your space!” You pointed your finger towards him. His truck was significantly higher than your car and you were only able to get a glance at his face from behind your windshield.

Bob let out a chuckle and waved his large hand in front of him, diminishing the idea. He further wanted to wave off the ever-growing flush of heat that was creeping up from his chest. It flushed over his neck and cheeks and sat right under his glasses. The blasting air conditioning had once again failed him and his chest, neck and cheeks were now flushed warm.

“Oh, hey. Not at all, it wasn’t my space. You had it, fair and square.”

You giggled in response. His respectful and polite demeanour had your stomach feeling as though a million and one butterflies were fluttering through you, making their way up through your heart and coming out of your mouth with sweet giggles.

“Alright, thanks again though, I appreciate it. I was in such a rush after work. Always the way, isn’t it?”

You laughed again and the sound flowed to Bob’s ears, making his playful smile reach the tips of his ears.

“Tell me about it.” He agreed with a grin.

You flashed a last beaming smile at Bob as the conversation between two strangers in a supermarket came to its natural end and you turned around to continue following your shopping list.

That’s what he thought.

As you turned down the aisle, you once again cursed at yourself for not being more forward, flirtatious, or whatever it would be that would land you his number. He was gorgeous. Undeniably handsome. And he was so stupidly charming and polite.

You turned on a quick heel to see if he was still there, but he had disappeared and you were left alone in the chilled aisle, with nothing to comfort you but your notebook and the static overhead lights.

Bob too mentally scolded himself for not asking such a pretty sweetheart like yourself for your number. As he watched you turn away, he chewed on his bottom lip, curled his fists tightly, released them and then walked away.

He was a gentleman. He would not harass someone if they didn’t show a sign of being interested in him. But he was sure you were. He had a sharp and watchful eye, and he saw how rosy your cheeks turned and how your chest stuttered slightly as your breath got caught in your throat. But he was pulled out of his battling thoughts but his stomach grumbly furiously at him again.

He whisked down the remaining aisles to finish his shop, still with the hope of a fleeting chance to see you again, but he couldn’t ignore what his body was telling him. As he checked out, tapped his card on the machine and wheeled his shopping cart out of the store, he still had both his trained eyes on his surroundings. Just in case there was a single chance, a perfect moment, where he could catch you. Bob had been extremely methodical about his choices in life and he only ever perused something if he was certain. He had never been so utterly and completely sure that you were the one for him.

He fished his truck keys out of his flight suit pocket and just as he was about to turn the key in the door, he remembered.

“Fuck. Tomatoes.”

Bob didn’t need a list. It was all written down mentally and he rarely forgot things, but he remembered that as he was about to reach for the tomatoes, you came by earlier in a flurry. He would’ve called it fate if he ever had a chance of seeing you again.

“Fuck! Tomatoes.”

You groaned and threw your head back in annoyance. It was on your list, sitting on the next line down under cheese and then you remembered why you forgot it in such a fluster. You slammed the boot door of your car back down, locked it shut and headed back inside to grab the final item. Your feet moved quickly along the tile floor and you turned on your heel to find the stack of plump, rosy red tomatoes in front of you.

“Hello again.”

The familiar voice made the tiny baby hairs on your neck stand up and a row of goosebumps rise on your forearms in tow. His smile radiated warmth as it crinkled up in the corners of his eyes. He stood tall over you, still in his flight suit, but again you didn’t feel intimidated in the slightest. You felt a true sense of calm and safety wash over you.

Your lips parted to gasp with happy surprise at seeing him again, before they curled up into a relieved smile, mirroring his own.

“Hello again.” You repeated back to him. “I forgot tom—”

“I forgot some tom—”

You both spoke in unison, before snorting out a quiet laugh between yourselves.

“Apologies. You go.” Bob gestured towards you and the vegetable stand.

“I’m going to make a sauce when I get back home, but I completely forgot the main ingredient.” You waved it off with another giggle, yet still, you did not attempt to reach for said important ingredient. You simply stayed facing him with a gleaming smile.

Bob’s mouth watered at the sound of your homemade tomato sauce. His stomach still growled at him from inside, but he also felt how it twisted and turned on itself with exhilaration. He pictured coming home to you after work, sitting down together at your dining table and sharing the homemade sauce. You were, without a fault, the only person he had ever truly envisioned a future with and he couldn’t repeat the same mistake as before.

He nimbly chewed at his bottom lip, failing to notice how you were also doing the same, as he mentally prepared his next statement.

“That sounds, delicious. I hope I’m not oversteppin’ here, and please tell me if I am, but I’d love to have y’ number, Ma’am. I’d love to try some of y’ homemade sauce, if that’s okay with you?”

Bob was not an overly religious man, but he swallowed thickly and prayed with every hope that the last part of his sentence didn’t come across in the wrong way. It felt longer than mere seconds to receive your response, but he breathed out a short sigh of relief when he saw how your eyes crinkled up into an animated smile to match his.

“Yes, yes! I’d love that. Please, let me get my book…” Your fingers were trembling with giddy anticipation as you worked to open your bag and reached for your notebook. “Uh…” You flipped through to find a clean page and when you landed on one, you gestured it towards him. “Here you go.” You gushed.

“Thank you.” He began. “I’m Bob, by the way. Bob Floyd.”

You mentioned your name and he felt his heart flutter at how pretty it was. By how eagerly you had accepted his proposal to exchange numbers, he could see that you were just as into him, as he was with you. And so, he let his true feelings become known.

“That’s a real pretty name, sweetheart.”

You sucked in a harsh breath between your teeth and let out a bashful, “Oh…”

The sweet name that he had just called you, made your legs nearly twitch and tremble on the supermarket floor.

His long, slender fingers curled around the pen as he scribbled down his number. Your notebook and pen looked so small in his hands.

When he offered it back to you, you wrote down your number in a flurry and tore the piece of paper out from the binder. You handed it over and he tucked it into the top pocket of his flight suit. You thought that that was the hottest thing you have ever witnessed a man doing.

Bob Floyd, as you now knew him, had seriously gotten into your head and clouded any reasonable senses.

You both exchanged some further light conversation, still with Bob shamelessly and sweetly flirting with you, before you both picked up your tomatoes, paid and left for the car park together. He insisted on walking you to the car to ensure that you got there safely, even though it was still broad daylight and when he left, he placed a soft kiss on your cheek.

You both went back to your separate homes and cooked your separate meals. As you were about to get into bed you sent Bob a text, the taste of your homemade sauce still dancing on your taste buds.

“this weekend, would you like me to show you how i make the sauce? would you like to come to mine? x”

You were caught by surprise when your phone dinged with a message notification moments after.

“I would love that, thank you for the invite, sweetheart. Can’t wait :-) x”

Bob lay in bed that night thinking about how to tell the story of how you both met at your wedding.

taglist: @beachbabey @tallrock35 @luckyladycreator2 @unmistakablyunknown @flames-thebitch @birdy-bat-writes @thedroneranger @randomfandomgirl97 @kmc1989 @swiftsgirlfriend

tagging those who may be interested: @sunblchdfly @floydsglasses @fridamoss @floydsmuse @bobfloydsbabe @laracrofted @hangmanapologist @rhettabbotts @lewmagoo @peachystenbrough @auroralightsthesky @cherrycola27 @withahappyrefrain @sugarcoated-lame @senawashere

[smuttyaf]

Tag, You’re It

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰; 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲

wc: 4.3k

dom/sub, slapping, exhibitionism & very rough sex

The houses that you grew up around stand tall and sturdy after many years on the residential street. Trees still holding their colourful leaves while some skid amongst the ground when the wind picks up. Your free hand was buried into your pocket, feeling over the sherpa lining while the other tore the cigarette from your lips and flicked it to the ground.

Heels click against the asphalt, your ears drawing in the sound of music playing from your phone. The sun was already setting on the horizon as you made your way home; school had just finished an hour ago yet it was as if it was nearly the evening, however you were happy.

It was finally Friday and you were delighted to lay in your bed, order in food, and watch whatever movie seemed interesting on Netflix. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip when you felt the gush of wind blow through you, hand now going into your other pocket and welcoming the warmth.

The familiar sound of Harry’s Mustang caught your attention as it peels down the road, the engine could be heard over the music in your headphones. The smell of burning gas fills your nostrils as the presence of it next to you quirks your interest.

Black tires are nearly on the curb as the vibrating hum from inside of the vehicle pours out. Your eyes flick between the side view mirror to the tinted window rolling down, leather seats in your vision. The song in your earbuds comes to an end revealing the loud whistle floating in the space, it makes you roll your eyes and settle your movements.

“Hey baby,” The words were muffled causing you to tug one bud out and turn towards the black coupe.

“Hi,” You say while giving a faint smile, body turning and leaning into the vehicle. The smell of mint and weed was welcomed with the gas in the air, only making your nose wrinkle and eyes look towards green ones.

His hair was messy today, as if he woke up and simply just ran his hands through it and thought it would suffice. His leather jacket was around his shoulders with his usual black attire, fingers dressed with thick sliver rings as they tap against the wheel of the car. A beaming smile was set along his lips which only meant trouble in your eyes.

Harry Styles, the local bad boy who always found himself in mischief. Whether it was for skipping class or dealing weed behind the local corner store, he had a lengthy record already that only grew every other month. Despite everything, it didn’t help that he was a delinquent who was handsome as well; brown curls, heavily tattooed, and face crafted by cherubs, he was hot but not someone you would want to be caught with.

“You go to St. Martins, right?” Harry continues, eyes peering over his black shades and into yours. You couldn’t help the tingle in your spine, it’s happening.

“Uh yeah…” You answer, eyebrows knotting in confusion. Hmm… What exactly did Harry want? Why all of a sudden was he talking to you.

“I go to the public school across from it,” He reveals, only making you let out a laugh.

“I know… I hear,” You say, eyes flickering between his car and him. The whole town knows what Harry’s car sounds like, you could tell he was coming from miles away.

“Is it really that loud?” He says sarcastically, eyebrows pushing together with a bright smile. You roll your eyes in response, your body relaxing a bit while your hands shift around in your pocket.

“You’re a senior too?” He ask, one hand leaving the wheel and landing on the middle console, making him lean in closer.

“Yeah,” You simply respond, looking at the way his hair falls over his forehead.

“What a coincidence…” Harry remarks, smirk now stretching across his lips as he leans his head to the side. “You know I always see you walking when I’m driving home… I can always drop you off?” He suggests. You feel your heart drop in your chest and stomach twist.

As much as you want to get into this dangerously handsome man’s car, you know you shouldn’t. Yes, you both grew up in the same town together and are around the same age but, you don’t know Harry. You bite down on your bottom lip, fingers twisting in your jacket as you pull away from the door and stand straight.

“I appreciate it but I’m good,” You say, another faint smile spreading on your lips as you watch Harry’s head now lean back, charcoal frames covering his eyes completely.

“Oh come on… It’s cold and my ride is nice and warm,” Harry remarks, lips curling and foot leaning off the brakes as the car begins to peel away slowly. You shake your head and begin your previous movements towards your house. Yes, it was cold outside but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle, you didn’t need a ride from him.

“I can cut your walk down by three minutes,” He continues, the heels of your boots echoing against the concrete.

“I’m good!” You call back, hand slipping out of your jacket and taking your headphone to put back in your ear.

“Let me drop you home,” Harry responds, only making you roll your eyes again, chewing down on your bottom lip.

His calls proceed ranging from “I can bring you home,” to drawn out “Hello’s,” but to each one you ignored. Your feet continue to carry you but at a much faster pace than before. The only thing you can think in this moment is where the hell is anyone to witness this.

Soon, you are near the local hiker trail of your town, your head still tucked down at your feet as you peel away from the side walk and cut towards the path. Now you were stepping on dry leaves with your heart pounding through your ears, you let your head twist around swiftly to where you see Harry’s coupe.

Windows up and blowing smoke in the air as it was parked against the curb. At that point you begin to jog lightly through the forest; boots breaking sticks and hands swishing by your side as you tried to navigate where you go from there. It wasn’t normal for you to take this path home, you always stick to your usual route but now there was an obstacle in your way.

Chest heaving and heart beating uncontrollably, you kept turning your head around to see if he was still even following you. Maybe you were actually going crazy thinking that the Harry Styles would be following you just because you declined a ride home from him but, just as you twist your head around to look in front of you, you immediately bump into a warm chest, eyes peering up and locking with his.

“Did you really think you could get away from me?” He questions, voice slow as he steps closer to you, making you take one back. A smirk rests on Harry’s lips, arms linking together with the smell of his scent filling your nose.

The only thing you could do was stare, you were not expecting Harry to be standing in front of you right now. Where did he even come from and how could you not have heard him. Now your chest was pinching with pains as your nerves were driving you up the wall.

“I asked you a question.” Harry states. Lips in a line as he took another step towards you.

“I—I don’t need a ride home,” You mutter, fingers going to the ends of your black skirt as you feel over the pantyhose there.

“That wasn’t the question.” He says, hand now tearing away from him and gripping your elbow. That only makes a gasp slip from your lips and eyes bulge.

“Let go of me,” You mutter, trying to break free from his hold but that only makes him apply more pressure.

“Answer my question,” Harry insists, the strength he has on your arm pulling you closer into his chest.

You swallow once again, the wetness between your legs already beginning to flood your panties as you try to not break character. You bite down on your bottom lip, eyes flickering between the sliver zippers on his jacket to his olive globes.

“Yes.” You say calmly, the trees rustling as the sky begins to fade to grey.

The heat of Harry’s palm is welcomed across your cheek, his hand tearing away from your elbow and gripping your hair as he tugs your head back to look at you with a grin on his face. You bit down harder on your bottom lip to try and suppress yourself. Your hands move away from your skirt and hold onto Harry’s biceps, your eyes peering up at him through your mascara coated lashes as you gently try to push him off you.

“Let go,” You cry, only making the grip he has in your hair tighten as he tugs your head down. A hiss leaving your lips making your eyes flutter.

“What are you gonna do about it? Huh?” Harry smirks, pulling your hair again and that makes your eyes close and a painful moan escape. The feeling of your head throbbing as his fingers toy with the hairs, it had your thighs pressing together and teeth going back to dig in the flesh.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” He mutters, eyes searching for any hesitation. Fuck you were so turned on, the way he can be aggressive with you one second to loving the next.

One night after Harry snuck through your window, with shared spliff between the both of you following a heated make out session, he somehow manage to get you to confess to one of your most intimate desires. He agreed to do it however, only on his terms; which only made you grow with excitement because you never knew when he would play along to your fantasy. So, when you opted to act clueless to him and he encouraged the idea that you both don’t know each other you knew what was about to happen, and that made your heat throb between your legs.

“Yes,” You whimper, lips immediately welcomed with Harry’s, the taste of mint burning on yours. You moan immediately, hands relaxing against Harry’s arms as you let yourself get wrapped up in him.

One of his hands fall from your hair to roam down your back and cup your ass, pushing him deeper into you and welcoming you into his warmth. His other hand ran down the nape of your neck to hug the skin there, tongues twisting around each other as you submit yourself fully to him. Harry’s scent fills your nose, just the smell of his cologne alone had your knees bending in weakness. You couldn’t help how aroused you are, the feeling of his growing member pressing against you only reassures you that he wants this too.

“On your knees.” He commands, tearing away from your lips. Fingers now lace in your hair as you let your legs squat down and look up at him, your hands falling to his hips and running over his thick bulge.

Black nails fumble over each other as you undo his belt and relieve him, tongue running over your bottom lip looking at hard he is; angry veins running along the base to tip varying in size, you take one of your hands off your hip and let it dip between your thighs, the way his cock looks in front of you made you want to come from the sight.

“Hmph,” You hum, when you feel Harry’s hand tug your hair back to make you peer up at him, his face cold with lips glistening with the mixture of you both.

“Did I say you can touch yourself?” He asks, only making you shake your head slightly. This causes him to yank your head again. “I asked a question.” He stated, voice strong and raw. God, you wanted him to fuck you right there.

“No,” You say, hand tearing away from your thighs and going to fall to his pelvic bone, your other messaging his thigh.

“Good girl,” Harry hums, his fingers relaxing and massaging your scalp as you lean forward. Hands going to the base of his shaft as your tongue dips out of your mouth and runs over the slit of his head, licking over the dip before letting your lips suckle his crown.

Saliva coats your lips, sinking deeper and deeper until you find a good rhythm, head slightly bobbing while feeling him stretch your throat with each flex. Harry’s left hand welcomes itself on your cheek, letting himself have a grip over your mouth and making his hips rock into you. You halt your movements, eyes fluttering up to look up at him as he delve into your throat, lips spreading around his thick member letting him thrust into you.

“Gonna be a good girl for me,” Harry says, eyes hooded and fingers tensing against your jaw, making you moan as you tear away from him.

“Yes,” You breathe out looking up at him, hands going to the base of his shaft and running over the coated member. He looks so sexy staring down at you; hair framing his face, teeth tucked on top the skin of his lips while he focuses on tearing your throat apart just the way you want.

Your response causes him use to use the grip he has on your jaw to make you lean forward and welcome him into your mouth once again, hand now massaging whatever you can’t fit while the other ran up and down his clothed thigh.

The sound of Harry’s dick rocking into your throat fills your ears as tears begin to swell your waterline, the thickness of him down your throat only making it ache as he halts his hips, fingers holding you still as he shoves himself down, his waist halting as you take him all the way.

You watch his head knock back and the fingers in your hair relax, a sigh of relief escapes him. He holds you like that for what felt like two minutes until he pulls his hips back, a deep breath drawing from you before he’s rocking into you like that four more times and you feel your throat burn from the stretch.

A pleasant hum leaves your ruined throat as Harry pulls himself away from you, letting a trail of saliva link between your lips and his cock. “Look so perfect like this,” Harry sighs, hand slipping from your hair and wiping the string of spit.

You blink up at him, holding back tears as you feel your throat burn in pleasure. You were afraid if you spoke it would come out as a squeal, so instead you bite down on your swollen lip at the piece of thickness in front of you, glistening in your fluid.

Harry watches your gaze go to his cock, a smirk now adoring his features. His grip on your jaw releases and goes to your shoulders, bringing you back to stand up, his hands now falling to your hips and turning you around to shove you against the dried out stream that had trees framing it with others further back. It makes more privacy for the area because of the hanging branches.

Your feet stumble over the loose rocks, while your chest presses against the old tree. Harry’s hands feel your backside in his grip before taking your skirt in hand and peeling it over the flesh. His fingers immediately going to your stockings, ripping the material causing you to let out a small gasp when you feel the cool air hit your bottom.

“Fuck… Look at you,” He whispers, his hands going to your lace panties and pressing his fingers against your heat, the cold metal from his rings erupts a broken moan to escape your lips. Three fingers rub against you, playing with your clit, making the wet spot you were squatting in spread against your folds.

“Baby,” You cry, voice raw and raspy, it basically pained you to talk. Your nails dig into the dry lumber as you push your hips back.

That lands a hard smack to your cheeks, a whimper now leaving you and eyes fluttering shut. All you want was Harry to fuck you till you see stars; you want him to fill you up so bad you will be walking funny tomorrow.

“Thought you were gonna be a good girl,” Harry hums, the feeling of his hand spreads against your red cheeks were he places three more strikes on your flesh, heavy and painful due to the added feeling of the rings on his fingers. His chest against your back, member aligned with your heat and rubbing against you, making your head knock against the tree.

“Baby,” You moan, voice small as you feel his breath against your ear. Your eyes open as you prop your foot against the stump. Your backside sinking back and nearly making the head of his dick enter you.

“Want me so bad, don’t you?” Harry questions. Running himself between your dripping folds which only has you arching your back into him. You nod your head silently, eyes turning to see the position you’re in. Harry was completely towering over you, hips parallel with yours as his lips were warm against the skin behind your ear.

“Talk to me love,” He breathes into you, making you whimper and push yourself down onto him more. The head of his dick rubbing against your clit and sending pleasure up your legs. “Beg for me.” He continues into your ear, making your heart pound in your chest. You were so turned on, you want nothing more than for him to fill your walls.

“Please, H. Please let me feel you,” You mumble, left hand tearing away from the wood and skimming against his neck to run into his hair. “Please baby… Been so good to you.” Mutter dazedly, hips gently rocking against his movements.

That makes Harry hum, the noise vibrating against the skin of your neck as you feel him draw away from you and let his head breach your hole. Your tongue escaping your mouth to wet your lips as you feel him push into you, spreading your pussy blissfully as he sinks into your dripping heat.

“Mhm my good little girl.” Harry mumbles into your ear, hips meeting your backside only to draw back to dive into you again.

A raspy cry escapes you, the euphoric feeling of him filling you up just where you loved him the most. Your walls welcome him home as he picks up his motions, his lips burning into your skin as he buries himself in you with each thrust. The sound of your whimpers and torn moans was met with the wetness between your legs.

Your pussy throbs with the feeling of him diving into you, the fluid running down your inner thighs making you feel as if you were underwater. Harry’s dick continues thrusting into you so forcibly that it had you curling your fingers into his hair and into the flaking cracks of the tree.

“You love the way I fuck you.” Harry urges, his hand leaving your hip and wrapping around your throat, the feeling of his rings digging into the skin as he squeezed. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling.

“Yes,” You mutter, your legs slightly quivering from your pussy going sore due to how hard Harry is pounding into you.

“Wanted to be fuck like this all along, huh,” He eggs on, voice so deep in your ear it was if he was your conscience. That had you biting down on your bottom lip, your eyes barely peel open to look at the broken twigs in your vision bouncing from Harry’s movements behind you. The feeling of your oxygen being slowly cut off from the stern hold he has on your neck.

“Dirty girl,” He teases, the hand on your hip shoving your back down on him with each thrust. “Wanted to be my slut for tonight,” The name he gives making you moan, and causing your legs to shiver once again.

“Yes, all yours,” You moan breathlessly, your pussy throbbing with the bubbling feeling in your stomach as your back dips down even more to accept the feeling of Harry spreading you apart.

“My good little slut.” Harry hums. You whine as his pace continues, eyes begin to flutter from the lack of air and your climax climbing up your spine.

The intense burning sensation in your stomach causes your hands to grow with sweat as he never slows down his movements, the way he was in you and whispering how dirty you are for getting off to this has your mind in a warp. It felt so good to get the fantasy that you always held in the back of your mind to finally come undone before you.

The fact he pretended to know who you were, yet continued to bother you until he had you vulnerable, you were so turned on playing back the moment of him slapping you and tugging on your hair for playing dumb to him. Just those thoughts had you expelling more wetness out of you and tug Harry’s head deeper into your skin.

He’s thrusting into you roughly as the sunsets along you both with the trees covering your sweaty clothed bodies. “So sexy,” Harry breathes into your skin, his nose brushing up against the back of your neck as the grip on your throat never loosens.

“Fuck,” You choke, vision going blurry as you felt the spit in your throat go down achingly slow.

The pulsing feeling in your clit draws up your spine and makes your toes curl in your boots, knees going weak but Harry didn’t stop his restless movements. Your lungs hammer in your chest, begging for an inch of oxygen as your pussy is drips with your sweet mixture. Your high taking over your nerves and releasing yourself all over him.

The hold Harry has on your neck relieves its grip while the one that forces your hips down was now wrap around you; lifting you into his chest as he keeps on going. Lips still pressing against your hot skin, breath blowing the tiny hairs there while the hand you have in his curls in lets go and falls into the wood.

“God you feel so good,” He rasps in your ear, the foot you had on the stump slipping and making your chest completely lean into the tree now, back meeting his thrusts even more.

The feeling overcoming your climax had you in a complete frenzy, your legs quivering as whimpers and the sound of the wetness emerging from your pussy fills your ears, your eyes begging to close but with each lunge of Harry hips they were jerking back open. Your sight being met with the darkness of the sky and the bunched up leaves by your feet.

“Love fucking your pussy,” Harry grunts, his hand leaving your throat to grip your hair in his hands and tug your head back. A whine tears through your throat, head now looking up at the natural cravings into the tree as the feeling of his hips begin to slow down.

Wet kisses press down your neck as the feeling of him draws out of you before seeping back in, the grasp he has on your hair relaxing as he begins to massage your scalp, his movements of his rolling hips slow until his seed is sinking into you.

It makes Harry groan, his hand turning your head and locking your lips together, the taste of him on your tongue as you drink him in. His hips meeting yours sluggishly until he pulls out of you, his member leaving your sore pussy and letting the fluid of you both spill out. You sigh out from the feeling of his thickness leaving and the mixture running down your ripped up stockings.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Harry breathes against your lips. The hand he has on your hip slips between your folds and catches the fluid between his two fingers, bringing them to your face.

Your focus goes to them and licks the substance off, tongue twisting between each digit to get every drop.

“My dirty girl,” Harry rasps, his lips sinking back onto yours to taste you both.

The pounding in your chest subsides, your fingers releasing the strong hold they had against the wood as you lean into his touch. The once muffled noise in your ears welcomes the sound of Harry’s jacket jingling.

The bubbling feeling of excitement from your accomplishment tingles your ears and lets a smirk tear and break the kiss. It makes faint one run along his, two fingers that are clean from your tongue holding your jaw with the same grip he had when he was ruining your throat.

“What?”

“If you can do this, I’m sure you’re up for the other fantasies I have…”

[am-i-soup]

Hot Wheels (a tfp fanfic)

Chapter 1: Uncanny Valley, Nevada

AO3 || Chapter 2 (peek)

Summary: So, Lena was abducted by aliens. Robot aliens. That's- no, it's not cool! She could die at any moment! So what if the red guy was hilarious to rile up and watched horror movies with her? And his husband was like the fun uncle she never had? Their boss wouldn't hesitate to step on her, and the screechy beanpole had already threatened to stab her, like, five times. She can only bullshit her way into being useful for so long. If she could just find a way to contact Miko... oh, and get help. That, too.

-----

When Lena thought of aliens, she pictured xenomorphs and flesh abominations like that thing from The Thing: vaguely man-ish shapes that make your brain go "Hey, I don't like that" because why does it share the same body plan as a human? Why is it trying to look like us? She was all over that uncanny valley-type shit. Invasion? Get that girl a baseball bat and some vaguely spherical objects and set her loose. Unleeess the aliens had plans to abolish capitalism - because then she'd switch up lickety-split. She was ready to bash in some billionaire brains (what little they had, heheh).

Lena never would've guessed alien cars. She didn't even think 'alien' when the door of the speed demon she giddily tried to get an autograph from opened to reveal no driver at all. The only thought running through her mind when a taser popped out of the dash was, Even the cars are opps, followed by, Jean's gonna be so pissed. Her skateboard clattered to the pavement as her body fell limp into the idling sports car. A melodious beep-beep, beep, beep-beep twittered from the watch around her limp wrist, falling silent after another light zap.

"Ohh, I'm so fragged," said the sports car. "Breakdown, how mad do you think Lord Crazy-eyes will be if I show up with a fleshie?"

Had Lena known she'd get abducted that night, she would've at least packed a sweater. Or, y'know, avoided it altogether. Catching up to the shmancy red racer with those hard-as-hell yellow rims after he dusted everyone else probably wasn't the smartest move, but excitement had won over caution. Her foster parents would be giving her the most baffled reactions if they knew, and then another conversation about impulsive thoughts that should stay thoughts and, "Where is your survival instinct, pastelita? Look: you're already giving me greys."

The day had started good. Correction: decent, considering it was hot as balls and she had a math test. On a Friday. Lena shambled through her morning routine and tied back her side-swept hair to avoid brushing it. Her baseball cap covered the shaved side, proudly displaying the number 04 stitched above the red brim. Wyatt emerged from his bedroom, a similar case of bedhead making his brown curls wilder than usual. His casual formalwear was more put-together than he, and would remain so because brushing was for dumb losers, probably.

Jean, notably not dumb or a loser, had pulled her hair up into a thick bun of dark waves; a colourful bandana laid overtop. Remarkedly more effort, made obvious by the minimal effort of matching with work overalls.

Jean squinted and gestured to Lena's hair. "You're leaving so much out. What's even the point of putting it up?"

"I like it," Lena drowsily defended, flicking her head aside to adjust the free chunk of blonde hair framing one side of her face. "It's cool."

"'Cool' when we were your age meant being able to see your whole field of vision. Eesh, at least clip it back - how do you expect to see the ball like that?" Lena responded with a shrug and Jean exhaled in a huff. "Alright, pastelita, get your 'cool'-lata in the car." Jean carried out her husband's mobility aid and said, "You want your cane, hon?"

"Eh, might as well," Wyatt said whilst fighting a yawn. "My knee doesn't want me dead today."

The three of them piled into the car and Jean pulled onto the road. Lena decided now was a good time.

"I was gonna go to the skate park after practice," she announced.

Jean glanced at her in the mirror. There went the eyebrows. "For how long?"

"Couple'a hours."

"Uh-huh." And the dubious tone...

"Promise I'll be back before dark! And Jaiden and the other skaters are gonna be there. I won't forget again."

Wyatt twisted around to see Lena better. "That's fine. Just set your watch, 'kay? Seven o'clock. I better hear that front door open before seven thirty or I'll sic Jean on you."

"Like a sack of potatoes," Jean said. The car's engine rumbled fiercely as they paused at the stop light, amplifying her threat.

Remembering last time - and the times before that - Lena's face contorted. A set of rapid nods turned her into a great impersonation of a bobblehead. "Yep. Yep. Seven. Understood." She set the alarm on her vibrantly pink watch under Wyatt's scrutiny. It beeped. He smiled, satisfied, and settled properly in his seat.

Lena helped Wyatt extract his walker from the trunk and Jean drove off with a goodbye that was far more cheerful than anyone should be this early in the morning. It was pay day, wasn't it? Lena should ask Wyatt to sneak her some coffee from the break room. He caved easy.

Wyatt went through the side door up the ramp while Lena trudged her way toward the main entrance of the school. He was thrilled for class, which made one of them. Only he could make computers and programming somehow fun. Other students waited on the sparse lawn and parking lot of Jasper Memorial High School, walking in early like punctual weirdos or loitering like her. Lena dropped her backpack and stepped onto her board, rolling around the tiny parking lot. She sourly eyed the spot of the missing bench, removed for exactly the reason one might think. Lena mourned the sick moves she got off that metal bench.

Lena spotted a kid from class studying and groaned. She'd skip, but she didn't want to disappoint her foster parents like that again. She cringed when she recalled the first time she did skip - or, rather, the first time they becameaware she'd skipped - back when she wouldn't bat an eye because what did they care? They just wanted a cheque from the state like every other family that tried to claim they 'Just want what's best for you' and then sent her back when what she wanted didn't fit those rigid little boxes.

The devastated looks on Jean and Wyatt's faces when thirteen-year-old Lena exploded at them was forever burned into her memory. She'd ran afterward, down the driveway and into the night, no destination in mind. And then Jean had found her, curled up on a kiddie slide. Lena faintly remembered the confusion of seeing Jean exit the vehicle, the tentative hope when Jean sat on the slide beside her and just... listened. No adult had ever listened to her before. That was the night Lena knew they were for real. Lena couldn't call them parents - she might never utter the words 'Mom' or 'Dad' - and that was okay. The cool couple that saw a feral pre-teen and said, "That's the one" was good enough for her. They joked about wanting a kid, but not the stress of pregnancy or toddler years. "Pre-baked," Wyatt had once teased.

Lena's hip bleeped. She paused her skating to fish out the hungry Tamagotchi clipped to her cargo pants. She'd made it her mission to care for the digital pet since Mi-

"Leee!" a voice squealed, followed by a pair of arms wrapping around her waist. "Hi!"

Hey, speaking of!

"Hi," Lena greeted with a big smile on her face. "Plans still solid?"

Lena heard Miko's grin. "Oh, yeah. I'm so pumped. Weekend Wreck-fest is in. The. Bag! I got Raf to download basically every slasher and horror onto a USB for me." Miko dangled the USB in Lena's face, and Lena stored it in her pocket.

"Suh-weet! Jean's letting us have the garage. We're gonna move the TV and couch in."

"Uh, don'tcha mean Jean is gonna move them?"

"Hey, I got muscle!" Lena flexed her arms, squishy with stubborn baby fat. Miko poked an unimpressive bicep. "These babies got me top batter."

"Is that even a real title?"

"It totally is."

"Okay, 'batter baby'."

"Batt- what?"

"Nothing, baby, what's the batter with you?"

Lena scoffed out a laugh and spun around to gently bop Miko on her massive forehead. "Dude," Lena said, "that was so bad."

"So bad it's good?"

"No, just bad." Lena playfully pushed Miko away and kicked off on her skateboard. "Where are you getting these, Puns 101 for Dummies? You gotta step up your game, dude."

Miko trailed after Lena, a bubbly bound to her gait. "Hey, I'm always at the top of my game!" A loud-ass horn honked and Miko spun around to wave enthusiastically at the green SUV. "See ya later! Put some dents in those junkheaps for me." Its headlights flashed, then Miko's friend drove off.

Lena was wary of the guy at first, but she'd never seen Miko so ecstatic as the few months she'd known him. Military, Miko had said, and then snickered when Lena mimed gagging herself.

"Not American military," Miko had clarified before going off about something else.

Lena had spoken to the SUV's owner a couple times. He went by the nickname Bulk and seemed genuine enough, nothing sinister on the surface. Friendly and loud - songs Lena recognized often blared from the speakers when he picked Miko up for sci-fi club. A goofball, and the kind of energy that got along with Miko's like a house fire. Lena was just glad Miko was making friends. Small town middle-of-nowhere America was super rough, especially for a foreign kid who couldn't fit in, and who didn't want to. A flash of orange hair caught Lena's eye. She met Vince's bitter gaze and put her finger and her thumb in the shape of an L on her forehead, sticking out her tongue for good measure. He sneered and turned back to his buddies. Lena smirked.

The bell rang. Kids funneled into the building. Lena made it halfway to homeroom before she had to navigate backwards against the sea of teenagers to fetch her forgotten backpack. She collapsed into her chair just as the pledge and national anthem started over the PA system. As per usual, Lena remained in her seat. Also per usual, the teacher glared at her. Lena passive-aggressively adjusted her baseball cap, drawing attention to the pins clustered on it that sported all sorts of slogans such as THIS LAND IS THEIR LAND and LAND ISN'T FREE. Yeah, none of the teachers liked her. But Lena wasn't here to be liked. Supposedly, she was here for an education. In a system that squashed individuality and trained students to sit down, shut up, memorize, and obey.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lena spotted Miko doodling in her sketchbook. Lena texted a sequence of emojis embodying all the joy Lena couldn't contain (unamused, several Z's, sleepy). Miko replied, equally as zealous (sick, skull, ghost).

"Girls! Phones away!" the teacher barked over announcements, tapping a ruler on her desk. "Do I need to take them?"

Lena shot over one more emoji (barf) before tucking her phone away and exchanging it for a textbook to inanely flick through, one knee persistently jiggling as it so frequently did the moment she became idle. She glanced at the clock, which hadn't moved in five minutes. Lena leaned back, suppressing a groan. The day could not be over soon enough.

Soon enough, the day was over. Thank fuck.

School dragged on and on and on, the only reprieve being lunch - when she got to lounge around with Miko at their spot - and gym class, where Lena was able to go batshit during dodgeball and climb on things that were actually meant to be climbed on (trees didn't count, according to faculty). Lena had softball practice after, and boy, was she glad Jean made her carry around a tube of sunscreen. Whoof, that Nevada sun would kill a man. Miko hung around to cheer her on and snap some pics of Lena eating dirt to touch base. Those were going in the scrapbook, for sure. A shower and chugged water bottle later and Lena was off to the skate park. Miko's ride whisked her away, her cries of, "Don't miss me too much!" on the wind. Miko hung out the SUV window, dramatically reaching for Lena like some cheesy romance flick. Lena tried to keep up on her board, and when it was time to split off, blew Miko a kiss that was caught and turned into devil horns.

Jaiden and her gang were chilling on the play structures when Lena rolled up. Jaiden and Kayla were perched atop and hanging upside-down from the spiderweb dome, respectively. Kayla spotted her first and beckoned her over.

"How's it goin', fireball?" said Tami.

"Hello, Padawan. Welcome to my zen zone," Vee said from the ground, flat on their back under a tree and beanie pulled over their eyes. The distinct scent of weed hung around Vee. Lena claimed the free swing next to Tami, who was being pushed by Theo. The group chatted. Theo made the executive decision to skate, and they all migrated over to the cement playground that served as Jasper's skate park. Jaiden, Lena, and Tami joined him while Vee and Kayla spectated, conversation topics leaping to and fro at the whims of neurodivergent teenagers.

"Yo, Lena, you hear about the race later tonight?" Jaiden said.

Suffice it to say, Lena did not stay at the park. The race location was scribbled in her science notebook, which had also coincidentally become a second doodle book for Miko. She rolled till the dirt roads forced her to kick it on foot, board strapped to her backpack.

Honk-honk!

A bright blue muscle car rumbled past. Lena trotted after it. The older teens that she stuck to like a determined burr had no interest in street races, but they kept an ear out for Lena, who absolutely did. She found the small crowd huddled around and the line-up of vehicles raring to go. Lena preferred being early to ogle at the cars and mingle, but she was happy just to be there. She recognized most of the faces. Street races were one of few recreational activities in Jasper, and they happened every other week if you knew the right people. Considering everyone knew everyone, you'd be hard-pressed not to have at least heard about it.

The blue muscle car sat in its spot, driver cool as a cucumber as she leaned on the door and chatted to whomever. Lena eyeballed the woman's cropped leather jacket and unbothered, confident demeanour. She found herself leaning against a rickety wooden fencepost, totally not mimicking the badass in blue (dammit, she totally was). The driver noticed her and smiled. For some reason, Lena's face heated up.

She called Lena over. "Hey, kid! Nice board. You get that custom done?"

"Yup," said Lena. "I love your car." And your jacket.

"Ah, thanks. Ritika's my baby; I built her from the ground up. You like racing?"

"I love racing. The speed and the- augh, the, y'know, the everything. Boom! Wah-cha!" Combined with pantomimed punches, Lena filled in the blanks. "The whole feeling."

"Ha, yeah, I getcha. Hey, you know what? I'm part of a racing league. We're always looking for new players. If you're interested someday- dhhatt. You got a pen, kid?"

"Lena," Lena said, digging a pencil out of her bag.

"Lena? Thanks for comin' out to cheer me on. My name's Sharwa." Sharwa scribbled on a wrinkled scrap of paper and passed it on. "That's our business number. Hit us up if racing for profit - or just for the hell of it - strikes your fancy. Finish school first, though, huh? Get your education. Don't wanna be a dropout like me."

I wish, Lena thought. Someone yelled; they were about to begin. Lena went to join the crowd of onlookers, but the glossy red sports car pulling up to the function stopped her in her tracks. Lena gawked. Purple flame decals embellished its crimson flanks and eye-sore yellow rims distinguished it from the rest of the competition. Sharwa called out to the driver; Lena didn't hear the reply. Sharwa was grinning. Oh, shit, did they have a rivalry going on? Racing drama!?

Lena inched closer.

"Give it your best shot," oozed a roguish masculine voice, punctuated by a rich rev of his engine. "Victory tastes so much sweeter when they try."

Sharwa laughed. "Put your pedal where your mouth is, batuni."

"Oh, I will."

Racing drama. Cool.

Engines growled. Spectators cheered. The starter raised their hat. Lena held her breathe.

The hat dropped. Dust billowed up in thick clouds as cars roared to life. Lena held her cap in place. Her eyes stung, but she couldn't look away from the beasts tearing up the road, becoming shrinking shapes on the impromptu racetrack. The setting sun burned red on the sand, transforming the desert into a sea of rust. Or blood. Lena scampered over to a cluster of boulders and scaled them. She watched, enraptured. The racers completed one lap, and there was a noticeable lead.

The red car seized a strong first. Chasing his tail was Sharwa and third place, the rest of the pack lagging behind. Red slowed down - or Sharwa caught up? - and then the 180 happened.

Red spun around, keeping his speed and maintaining his position backwards. It was the single most peacocky maneuver Lena had seen, and she was living for it. She wasn't big on NASCAR or actual cars: this is what she loved. Being in the moment, feeling the wind on her skin and the excitement in her veins. It was the thrill she chased when she rolled down steep ramps and pulled a risky stunt mid-air. It was the feeling of rejecting limits and just going for it.

The moment red finished first was the same moment the cops showed up.

"Scatter!" someone shouted, but the crowd had already dispersed. Lena dropped from her watchtower and bolted in the same direction as the victor. Cracked pavement replaced packed dirt and Lena jumped onto her board. Distant sirens wailed behind her. Shadows elongated. Lights of Jasper blinked in the low glow of dusk. Lena caught up to the taillights, to her surprise. Possible introductions ran through her head.

"Hey!" The car jolted in response. Did she startle him? "Wait up!" He sped up, and Lena yelled, "You were awesome back there! Nobody even stood a chance!"

He slowed to a crawl. Lena beamed and kicked her board up into her hands. The car's windows were tinted almost black.

"Hmm. Do go on about how awesome I am," he said.

Lena appealed to his ego with genuine compliments. He was receptive, but that changed when Lena asked him to sign her skateboard. If a car could recoil, this one would. Audible disgust dripped from his tone.

"Keep your primitive twig on wheels to yourself," he said. "There's enough filth clinging to my paint already."

Lena wrinkled her nose. "A 'no' would've worked just fine. Jeez, man. You a dick to all your fans?"

"Just the whiny ones."

Lena wasn't about to let that slide. "Alright. Why don't you come out and say that to my face like a grown-ass man?"

Now, Lena... well, she never claimed to be a genius, but picking a fight with a random man on the outskirts of town - illuminated overhead by a sketchy streetlight - would be obvious to anyone as a bad idea. If this was a horror movie, she'd be yelling at the idiot on-screen to get the fuck outta dodge. Lena, however, functioned on two modes: chilling, and throwing herself at the closest douchebag. Her street cred was insane. So when she rapped on the nearly opaque window, she expected some guy to step out and underestimate her because what could a fifteen-year-old do to him? But nobody did. She cupped a hand around her eyes to peer inside.

The wind was knocked out of her when the door flew open. She stumbled, then rounded the door to confront the-

There was no one inside the vehicle.

A taser shot out of the dashboard and delivered a hearty zap! between her eyes. She toppled forward. A seatbelt snaked around her and hauled her awkwardly into the seat.

Lena's watch beeped. 7:00 lit up the digital display.

Getting kidnapped was probably a good reason for missing curfew, right?

AO3 || Chapter 2 (peek)

[feraltuxedo]

Oh look I made another cover... this one for my first and quite possibly only attempt at kid fic:

Fledging by FeralTuxedo M, 53381 words. Summary: Cool Dad was at the school gate again. Clambering out of his ridiculous sports car like a great big spider, all black denim and designer sunglasses. What a prat. He made his way towards the entrance, followed by his equally lanky son. All the mums' eyes were on him. Which was fine. At least they weren't staring at Aziraphale for a change. Cool Dad high-fived his son goodbye, because of course he did, then sauntered back to his car. Making it look so bloody easy. Aziraphale Fell is much too young to be looking after eleven-year old Pepper. He barely has his life together as it is, with his minimum-wage job and a half-baked dream of trading rare books for a living. And as if adopting a recently bereaved pre-teen isn’t enough, there are some rather more adult problems to navigate: playground politics, the shadows of his own childhood, and the growing question of how Crowley, the only other dad at the school gate, feels about him.

Excerpt below.

Aziraphale reached the street corner and looked up to cross. A sleek black two-seater stopped right in front of him. The window wound down, revealing a pair of sunglasses.

‘Hiya. Want a lift anywhere?’

Cool Dad pointed at the empty passenger seat.

‘Um,’ Aziraphale said.

Fantastic. Very articulate. Cool Dad leaned across the gear stick and pushed the passenger door open, making the decision for him. Automatically, Aziraphale got in the car. He regretted it almost immediately. Sitting this close to him, he noticed just how attractive the man was. Sharp cheekbones, long nose, wavy hair the colour of rust. Hot Dad as well as Cool Dad.

‘So?’ he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Where d’you need to go?’

Aziraphale tore his gaze away from the man and looked straight ahead onto the road.

‘Oh, yes. Into town, if that’s all right. The Asda car park, if you wouldn’t mind. Thank you so much, I really do appreciate it.’

Before he’d finished talking, the car accelerated. There was the unpleasant swoop of inertia in Aziraphale’s stomach. He dug his fingers into the expensive leather of the seat. The car glid along the road almost noiselessly.

‘You’re new here,’ said Cool Dad, incomprehensibly keen on making small talk. ‘Been seeing you all this week. Not trying to be creepy or anything, but you’re the only other bloke at the gate.’

‘Yes, I did notice that. You, me, and a hundred mums. Pepper’s new at the school. She’s in Year 7.’

Cool Dad whistled.

‘Your daughter’s the notorious Pepper Fell?’

‘Actually, she’s not my— wait, why notorious?’

He took a hand off the steering wheel to scratch his neck. His nails left faint red streaks along his jawline. Aziraphale forced his eyes back on the road. They had nearly reached the centre now.

‘Er, I probably shouldn’t tell on her if she’s not talked to you about it, but… yeah. You probably want to know what she’s been up to. It’s actually hilarious.’

The fact that five days into her new school career she was already known as the ‘notorious Pepper Fell’ was worrying indeed. For heaven’s sake. He was so out of his depth.

Cool Dad glanced sideways at him. ‘You free at all this morning? You look like you could do with a strong coffee and I’ve got the morning off, so...’

With compliments to my under-eye circles, thought Aziraphale. The to-do list was burning a hole in his pocket. Taking the day off had cost him already. He needed to get everything done today or he’d have to take another holiday next week, and Gabriel would hate that. He looked at Cool Dad next to him, shaded eyes flitting back and forth between the passenger seat and the road ahead. A small smile played around his lips. A smile or a smirk, hard to tell. And still, he’d been the only person so far this week to show him any kindness. To offer help. A ride and a coffee. And damn, Aziraphale deserved to sit in a café opposite a good-looking man after the week he’d had.

‘Yes,’ he said, stomach swooping again. Probably from the rather abrupt halt at the traffic light. ‘I’m free.’

[idy-ll-ique]

A Day Well-Spent

Pairing: Mob Boss!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Genre: It's like... fluff to the extreme

Warnings: mention of guns

Requested: nope

Summary: Y/N has just moved to Brooklyn and doesn't know how things are there. Bucky Barnes runs things around Brooklyn but what happens when they meet? Will she run away or will she still shoot her shot?

Author's Note: Hiya peeps! Okay, first of all, THANK YOU FOR 500 FOLLOWERS I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH I LOVE Y'ALL SO MUCH. also i think im obsessed with mob fics????? chile anyways so... enjoy!

---

"Ready to go, sweetie?"

"You know it, babe," Y/N grinned at her friend, Clarice. The two, on their way to work, had stopped by a coffee shop for their daily dose of caffeine. As they walked out of the café, Clarice turned to Y/N. "Finish your story! What did Brad say to you after that?!" Clarice reminded her and Y/N giggled.

"Oh, he was just too sweet! But not my type, ya know what I mean? I didn't know how to turn him down," she sighed. "Poor guy. If he had approached me…" Y/N lightly shoved her friend. "I have his number, should I pass it on?" Clarice turned to Y/N, wide eyed. "Darling, you're too good to me," she spoke with a strong Brooklyn accent.

Y/N burst out laughing. She had moved from another part of the country to Brooklyn for education; along with attending college, she was also working as a waitress at a nice little restaurant. That was how she met Clarice, her being another waitress at said restaurant. The two became fast friends.

Clarice was a few years older than Y/N, a single mother with a 4 year old son. Her son was extremely cute. As Y/N continued laughing, she didn't notice how her friend stopped in her tracks. Clarice was busy staring at the huge hunk of a man a few feet ahead of Y/N, standing in the middle of the pavement with his phone held to his ear, his back to them.

Bucky Barnes.

That man was James Buchanan Barnes, the King of Brooklyn. He ran the whole damn city along with his mob; very important and influential. On top of that? He was hot-headed, easily got angry and people knew what happened when he got angry. Except Y/N. Y/N didn't even know who he was.

As Y/N neared Bucky, still laughing for some reason, Clarice thought of calling out to her. And alert him of their presence? No way! "Clarice, you know I love it when you do your acc—" All of a sudden, Y/N collided into a soft wall, spilling her coffee all over it. Opening her eyes, she found out that it was no wall; instead, she had collided straight into a person.

And drenched his back with coffee.

He was wearing what looked like a very expensive suit and Y/N immediately felt guilty. "Oh my goodness, I'm so fucking sorry!" she blurted out as Bucky pulled the phone away from his ear, turning to look at her. His men, who were loitering around, had her surrounded as they pointed their guns at her. But she didn't notice.

She was busy staring at Bucky, her jaw slightly dropped. Hot damn, he is good looking, she thought to herself. It wasn't until he cleared his throat that she snapped out of a daydream. He had a stern expression on his face and she realized she messed up. He's someone important. Then she started apologizing profusely.

Bucky simply stared at her, taking in her features as he gave her a once-over. She's new, he realized, not from Brooklyn. "Hey, hey, hey, it's okay," he chuckled and she immediately shut up, offering him a timid smile. "I really am sorry, I feel like a total ass. That suit looks expensive, sir, is there any way I can help? Maybe pay for dry cleaning?"

"Do you know who I am?" he instead asked and her brows furrowed. "Oh Lord, am I supposed to know?! One mess up after another…" she grumbled and Bucky couldn't help but laugh. "Don't worry. My name is Bucky Barnes, you may call me Bucky." At this point, even his men were surprised, lowering their guns.

Clarice was still standing there and one of the men caught her eye. He nodded his head towards Y/N and Clarice gave him an unsure smile. He sauntered over to her. "She's with you?" he asked and Clarice groaned, dropping her head. "She's new to Brooklyn, and has no idea who he is. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience."

The man smiled at her. "No worries, looks like the boss isn't gonna hurt her. I'm Sam, by the way." Clarice gave him a shy smile. Sam was also very good-looking. "I'm Clarice, nice to meet you." Better to remain on the good side of the mob. Back to Y/N and Bucky… "Bucky, that's a good name. Short for anything?"

He ran a hand through his hair, grinning. It had been years, years since someone outside of the mob had spoken to him so freely and without fear. It felt nice and refreshing, even more so because Y/N was super gorgeous. "James Buchanan Barnes." Y/N couldn't help but laugh. "Named after a president, huh?"

"You making fun of my name now, doll?" he smirked slyly. "Oh no no, I wouldn't dare," she flirted easily, "My name is Y/N. I still feel bad about ruining your suit, you won't even take the money…" Bucky waved her off. "First, Y/N is a wonderful name. Second, you don't need to worry your pretty head over me, this suit can easily be replaced."

"Then how about this? A coffee. My treat. It'll make me feel better," she insisted. Bucky raised a quick brow, thinking that he would be the one to ask her out but oh well, this works too. "Let's call it a date, shall we?" he purred, taking a step closer to her. She didn't back off. "If you'd like," she grinned up at him.

He couldn't help but grin back. "Excellent. Then how about you put your number in my phone and I pick you up next Sunday at 7 pm?" He thrust his phone into her hand and Y/N swore she heard someone gasping in the background. Bucky Barnes was a very private person but here he was now; handing his phone to a stranger.

She quickly put her number in his phone and handed it back, smiling. "I'll await your call." He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I have to go now, so I'll see you later. Say hello to your friend from my side. Sam! Stop flirting, man, we gotta go!" Y/N looked over her shoulder to see his friend flirting with Clarice.

She laughed and turned back to Bucky, who was already looking at her with a goofy grin on his face. "I'll see you next Sunday, Mr Barnes. Again, sorry for the suit!" He waved his arm in dismissal and got into the car, throwing her one last blowing kiss before zooming off. Y/N walked back to Clarice, who was staring at her, jaw dropped.

"I know the hell you didn't just do that."

"Did I do something wrong?" Y/N frowned. Then, all of a sudden, a wide grin bloomed on Clarice's face. "Do you even know who you're going to go on a date with next Sunday?!" Y/N blinked. "Is he someone important?" Clarice made a sound of indignation. "Important? Bitch, he's the Kingpin! The King of Brooklyn! A mob boss!"

Y/N's eyes went wide. "No way," she scoffed. "Yes way! Ask anyone! He runs things around here, babe. It was fun to see him all soft, though, he's kinda hot-headed and hard to impress. Even women stay away from him. And now you two are going on a date?! If this relationship does not end in a marriage I'm suing."

Y/N flushed slightly and punched Clarice on the shoulder. "Clair, we haven't even gone on one date." Clarice shrugged. "A girl can dream. Oh, your children will be the most beautiful! Did you see his right hand man, though?! Mamma mia! Said his name was Sam Wilson, I got his number!" The two reached their workplace.

Inside Bucky's car, he was still smiling, lost in thoughts. "So, that chick, huh," Sam spoke devilishly from the driver's seat. Bucky looked at him. "That's no way to talk about the future Mrs Barnes," he admonished and Sam chortled. "Dude, you haven't been on even one date! Slow down, chicks don't like dudes who plan out a marriage on the first date."

"But I know I'm right, so why shouldn't I plan?" Bucky shrugged. He was more than confident that Y/N was going to become his in the future. The way she looked at him, spoke to him, flirted with him… it was enough for him to become smitten with her at the first glance. "What about you and her friend, huh?"

It was Sam's turn to become flustered. "Clarice Light. Has a 4-year old son, Aaron." Bucky nodded thoughtfully. "A mother. Well-maintained looks," he commented, laughing when Sam punched him on the shoulder. "Why don't you think about your own chick and leave mine alone?"

---

Y/N frantically smoothed out her dress, checking herself in the mirror. She wore a beautiful, nude coloured bandage dress that reached mid-thigh, along with similar coloured heels. Bucky was coming to pick her up in 5 minutes. Even after finding out who he was she didn't back away, instead finding it empowering that the most important man in Brooklyn wanted to take her out on a date.

All of a sudden the bell rang, pulling Y/N out of her thoughts. The first thing she saw upon opening the door was a huge bouquet of red roses right in front of someone's face. He then moved the bouquet to reveal his face and Y/N smiled broadly. "Bucky!" He grinned back at her. "Hi, doll! Here, an extraordinary bouquet for an equally extraordinary woman."

"You're too flattering. These roses smell amazing, thank you so much." She took the bouquet from his hands and kept it away, stepping out of the house. Bucky offered her his hand and she took it, allowing him to lead her out of the building and towards an audacious, ridiculously expensive looking car.

"Everything about you is lavish, huh?" she teased as he ushered her into the passenger seat, sitting next to her. "Bad to have a taste for the finer things in life?" he teased right back, placing his hand on her thigh as the other gripped the steering wheel. "No, I mean, you are the Kingpin. I should expect luxury."

He glanced at her to see her grinning at him. "You found out?" She nodded. "Yup, Clarice told me as soon as you left. I don't mind though, I'm just wondering… why me?" He laughed. "Why you? Sweetheart, you are the first person aside from Sam who has talked to me so freely since… since I was 18. And you're gorgeous. So why not?"

"Again, with the flattery…"

"Just stating facts, my dear."

"Also, my friend has a crush on Sam, so do tell him to ask her out." Bucky laughed harder. It had been years since he'd enjoyed himself so much. "Really? He has a crush on her too! I guess I'll tell him tomorrow." Y/N looked out of the window. "Where are we going?" Bucky gently squeezed her thigh. It was clear he wasn't taking her to a café, like originally planned.

"A picnic in the park." Y/N's eyes lit up. "I love picnics!" she squealed. "Then I guess I made a good choice," Bucky chortled along. The two soon reached the park and Bucky got out of the car first, holding the door open for Y/N to step out. "A gentleman," she noted, making him grin. He then took out the picnic basket from the backseat.

Y/N laid out the classic pink and white checkered blanket that he had brought along, taking off her heels before sitting down. "Ugh, I'd have worn pants if I knew I was going to be sitting on the ground," she groaned as she somehow sat down, adjusting her dress.

"You look gorgeous in that dress though," Bucky commented, "But you don't need to worry about public indecency because it's just you and me in the park." Y/N blinked at him as he sat down, opening the basket and taking out food. "Just us? You booked the whole park?" Bucky smirked at her. "It's easy when you run things around here."

Y/N fondly shook her head. "So much effort." He winked at her. "All for you, doll, all for you." The two maintained a chat as they ate. "So, you're new here. Why did you move to Brooklyn?" Bucky asked her. "Education. I go to [Name] college, actually, and work part-time as a waitress for some additional income," she hummed. He nodded thoughtfully.

"What about you? Is the mob a family business or a start-up?" Bucky smiled at her boldness. "Family business, my dad used to run it before me. I was 16 when I took over." Y/N realized what must've happened and gave him a sad smile. "I'm sorry for your loss." Bucky returned the smile. "It's fine, he was no saint."

"No?"

"Yup, hated him actually. Used to be cruel to my mom, to me too… until he got shot. Best day of my life." Y/N gasped quietly. "Bucky! He was your father!" Bucky chuckled mercilessly. "An asshole is what he was. Geez, speaking of, my mom is gonna be so happy."

"What's her name?" Y/N took a bite of her sandwich. "Winifred. She's awesome, raised me and my sister alone, ya know? Dad was always too busy. My mom will like you, I can tell. And so will my sister." Y/N smiled at that. "A sister?" He nodded, excited to talk about his family.

"Rebecca Barnes. She's a few years younger than me, maybe your age. She goes to your college too." Y/N suddenly squealed. "You mean to tell me my best friend from college is your sister? Rebecca Barnes?!" Bucky smiled so wide he thought his cheeks were gonna tear. "You've met her?" Y/N vehemently nodded.

"She's really great, the only person kind enough to introduce herself on the first day I moved in. She was the one who showed me around campus and I found out that she mostly spent time alone because no one wanted to talk to her, her brother being involved with the bad side of law or something. But I didn't care. I still don't. She's awesome, you're awesome."

Bucky felt himself tear up at her words. "Doll, you have no idea how much that means to me." Y/N grinned at him, scooting sideways so she could lay her head on his shoulder. "I'm serious, you know. I can't wait to tell her about this." Bucky laughed in a watery tone, pressing his lips to her temple.

The two quietly ate after that. When the food was over both of them lay down on the blanket, looking up at the starry sky. "It's so beautiful," Y/N whispered, cuddling into Bucky's side as she stared at the gibbous moon. Bucky wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer to him.

"It's nothing compared to you."

Y/N laughed quietly and looked up, the same time he looked down. They met each other halfway; their lips connecting softly yet eagerly. Lost in the kiss Bucky sat up, pulling Y/N on his lap as they continued making out. Finally, after what felt like hours did they pull away, breathless. They said nothing; Bucky looked at her as if she hung the moon.

Y/N stared at him as if he were the only thing in the world. "So, when will I get a second date?" she broke the silence, leaning down to press her forehead to his. "Oh, doll, you're not getting rid of me any time soon," he shot back, laughing. Y/N giggled along and stood up.

Both of them packed their things and got into the car, Bucky offering to drive her home since it was late. So I guess it had been hours. As Bucky drove, Y/N's phone chimed. He glanced at her when she laughed. "What's so funny?" Y/N wheezed before answering.

"I've got two texts. One from Becca and one from Clarice."

Bucky couldn't stop his chuckle. "What did Becca say?" Y/N read out, "Girl, just heard you're on a date with my bro? And I— I swear if you don't become my sister in law, I'm suing." Laughter filled the car. "She really said that?" Y/N nodded. "Yup! Even Clarice, on the day we met, said the same thing! It's nuts. We just met and they're already planning a wedding."

"Speaking of, what was Clarice's message?"

"Oh nothing, just that she got back home from a date with Sam a few minutes ago."

"What?!"

"What's wrong with that?"

"That asshole had work today!"

"Bucky!"

All in all, it was a day well-spent.

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! Leave a like if you enjoyed!

[the-witches-you-couldnt-burn]

Living with what you’ve done

Uhhhhh

UHHHHHHH WHAT

Ok so I started writing the 100 special but then I got to 120!?! Wtf when did this happen?

Though I would like to thank each follower personally I have social anxiety and would rather not randomly message strangers following me. Here is my public thank you!

Idk what I did while writing this but it seems I managed to copy-paste the beginning four seperate times. This brought the word count up to 5.9k but it is now edited and brought down to 2.3k

Inspired by my friend @deltaxxk who loves angst and told me I have to write a follower special

Other prompts used: One, Two

Also! There are movie references within this fic, if you get them all you get a virtual lollipop 🍭

Ao3

Disclaimer: THIS FIC IS MAJORLY ANGSTY PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS IF ANY OF THE WARNINGS WILL TRIGGER YOU

Warings: blood, fire, death (+graphic descriptions of dying), injuries, grief, human trafficking and mentions of psychopathy

———————

“Robin we’re out of time! We must leave, we’re out of time!” Her yo-yo strained with tension as she swung into a goon, sending their body flying away from her team.

They had gotten a lead on a meta trafficking ring that involved some of the Gotham elite’s children disappearing. The lead brought them to the dock, GothDrill’s warehouse sat just off to the right. Its fluorescent lights signifying signs of life, Marinette knew most weren’t there willingly.

“Make more time!” He snapped back. Ladybug fumble slightly before regaining her footing, she wasn’t expecting the coldness in his tone.

She jumped back into the fray and watched from the corner of her eye Damian take on four goons by himself. She stifled a sigh before punching the man in front of her square on his jaw, ‘must he always prove himself when he has already?’ Damian edged himself closer to the garage doorway of the shed before disappearing into the building.

Focus her attention back on the battle around her, she saw Red Hood downed under a steel beam. She rushed over, and with her enhanced miraculous strength to lift the offending metal. He groaned with pain, the beam had pinned his legs, forcing him to lay stomach down. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, supporting the majority of his weight to get him to his feet. Pain throbbed in his left leg and they stumbled onto the dock to hide behind down GothDrill crates.

Ripping the seams of his pant leg, she revealed a dark purple bruise that was rapidly spreading. She also discovered the beam had broken his femur and shattered his kneecap, how he wasn’t screaming in pain was beyond her. Pink light danced between her fingers before drifting down to his wound. Jason bit his hand to prevent any cries from leaving his mouth. He didn’t want another confrontation in his state.

The sound reached her before the light did. Jason panted as he looked up to see what distracted her from his healing. Reflections of orange and yellows dancing across her cerulean eyes. “Damian.” She whispered frozen stock still.

Something within her very core snapped and cardinal urges overtook her common sense. Shooting up like a bullet she sprinted towards the blazing inferno, her ears numb to the world around her.

Inside was worse than the burning exterior. She could see where the explosion originated from, big barrels of flammable chemicals blazed white with heat. The smoke and burning chemical gases penetrated her airways, coughs racked her chest.

She could see flames running up the walls and the lit barrels but the rest was black. The smoke was a blanket of darkness that wrapped around her.

And then she heard it. The screaming.

Multiple voices, so raw with pain, masculine and feminine, old and young. Running towards it she hoped to spot Damian but luck wasn’t on her side. Instead she found the trafficked civilians, their bodies red with burns with their hair and clothes set ablaze.

She ran full speed at the wall nearby, shattering the melted bolts. The fire blazed brighter at the new source of oxygen. She directed the victims out, the dove towards the water. The goons had fled during the initial explosion leaving the Batfam free to help.

She looked down at the bodies of those who didn’t survive. Some were burned beyond recognition, she kept looking, scouring for Damian.

She heard Red Robin calling her name, she looked up to see the scaffolding holding the roof breaking apart and falling to where she stood. She felt her body tackled out of the way and another thunderous crash hit the floor.

She was dragged outside and placed into the care of a newly arrived ambulance. Her eyes, red from the smoke and ash, looked out the back door of the vehicle. Firefighters and police had arrived on scene along with news reporters and the public. Families of the trafficked were reunited with their lost love ones and others mourned their deceased. Red Robin stood there, watching her.

“You can’t just follow me into fire.” She croaked to him, her oxygen mask muffling her.

The whites of his black cowl narrowed and his fists clenched. “Then don't run into fire,” he growled at her before walking off.

Her body moved without thinking, removing her oxygen mask against the protests of the paramedics. Ladybug reassured them she’ll be alright and that they should help the others who were more injured than she. She walked back towards the building but the black-clad figure of Batman stopped her stride.

“You’re not using your cure.” He stated. Her eyes widened, the cure could save his missing son, save the trafficked from their injuries and deaths. Who was he to deny the will of a god’s favoured?

Using the cure in Gotham was always straining and the Batfam knew that. On multiple smaller occasions, she was prevented from using it due to the amount of damage and crime being reverse causing serious health concerns they observed in Marinette. But she never thought it would also be denied on an occasion like this.

“I have to! Robin cou—“

“No, you could die.” He cut her off, her foggy mind becoming more enraged.

“And he could live!”

Without a reply he injected her neck with a sedative, her body collapsed from the drugs and exhaustion. The world going dark around her.

+++++++++++++

Three days after

Her blaring phone distracted her from her dissociative state. She was staring lifelessly at her TV, she could say what happened in the show even if her life depended on it. She scrambled to her phone, Dick’s name lit up the screen.

She accepted the call, answer with a hoarse “hello?”

“Marinette? Are you able to make it over we have some things to tell you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Pressing her phone to her ear with her shoulder she ran around her apartment, grabbing her keys, shoes and jacket. Rushing out the door she rapidly fired questions at him, “What is it? Did you find him? Is he there?” All of which were answered with silence.

“It’s best that we discuss this when you get to the manor.” And with that, he hung up. The click seemed to echo in her car, even though she knew it didn’t. Driving towards the outskirts of Gotham where Wayne manor resided, she felt a spark of hope rekindle in her chest. Although Dick didn’t give her much to go on she still hoped they found him and everything could go back to how it was.

Fate wasn’t merciful to the naive it seems.

Her world shattered around her as she saw the crisped cape on the table. The smell of burnt blood permeated the room. Her eyes stayed locked onto the cloth as she spoke, “But this is only his cape, not his body. He still could be alive somewhere! He is injured and hurt and we have to find him!”

No one spoke. Their eyes flicked to one another.

Jason limped in her direction, his crutch clicking against the stone flooring. He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, his eyes brimming with unshed emotions. “The cape was found with the body, everything else was unsalvageable except the cape.”

A silent “we’ve found him, just not how we wanted,” resounded throughout her being.

She glared at Bruce, “He could be alive if you didn’t stop me! I could have saved him!” She lashed out, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“And we would have been having this exact conversation with Damian about why we didn’t stop you. The best outcome for this situation was you living.”

“No the best outcome was both of us being given a chance at survival” Marinette screamed at him, his face was emotionless. How could he be so uncaring to the fact of his youngest son dying?

Running out of the Batcave and manor she gasped at the cold night air. A sob escaped her mouth. Her head banged against her steering wheel, tears dripping onto her pyjama pants. There was no way she’d be able to sleep tonight.

++++++++++++

Twelve days after

Fire danced in her peripheral. A medley of bright oranges and golden yellows. She remembered the times when the two of them would watch the sunset in silence, sipping on hot chocolate and green tea. This blazing inferno was different. Its colours more violent and foreboding.

The screams. They were different from the ones she heard that night. They were his screams.

She saw her body encased within his burnt arms. Damian was little more than a burnt corpse, his eyes blazed green and his bone was replaced with metal pipes. The cure resurrected him but he was not wholly there anymore.

She awoke screaming. Not in control enough to remember she had neighbours; mentally pleading that they’d understand. They knew of his disappearance but not of his death. She was still heavily in denial.

She isolated herself away from everyone, afraid she would hurt anyone else that got close. She couldn’t stop wanting to hurt Bruce for making her unable to use her cure or the goons for setting the place alight and killing her fiancé. She wanted to go scorched earth.

She snuggled into his pillowcase, his faint scent of honey was still present. She willed herself to fall back asleep, his scent surrounding her. His pillow, his shirt, his ring; but she was missing him.

++++++++

Two hundred and eighty-seven days after

Red trickled down her finger. It took her a moment to move the fabric away from the dripping blood source but managed to before it stained. It had been years since she had pricked her finger with a needle, but her subconscious must have needed to feel something; even if it was pain.

She looked around at her juvenile pink room. She had moved back into her parents six months after Damian’s death. Three months into her stay and she still had most of her belongings in boxes. The only decorations in the room were scattered commissions and a wooden blanket.

Looking down at the puddle of blood that was growing on her white desk she wonders if Damian bled before the fire cauterised his wounds. She had researched that burning to death was one of the most painful ways to die, it takes hours, each nerve ending burning. The burn victim usually passes out after a few minutes but she could imagine Damian desperately trying to put himself out, only to find more fire encompassing him.

His cape was bloody so she hopes he bled rather than burned. Or maybe he was crushed by the falling roof and killed instantly. She hoped he didn’t suffer for long.

Similar intrusive thoughts plagued her mind constantly but she kept her focus on her art to push through the days. Gazing down at the wound she found Tikki had held her and Wayzz had wiped the puddle with tissues.

Today she’ll live for them. Tomorrow she might live to try her father’s new recipe of cinnamon macarons. Last Tuesday she lived to hear Luka’s new song. Next month she might live just to pat the stray kitten that lives in the alley behind the Chinese restaurant two streets over.

++++++++++

Five hundred and twenty days after

She froze at the sight before her. Thinking it was another hallucination or she was having another nightmare. “You thought,” The glass in her hand cracked under her grip. Her brain couldn’t process what was happening. She hasn’t disassociated this much since the day he ‘died’.” That by faking your death, you could find out who you could rely on?”

“TT, yes. Now that I know everything can go back to the way it was.” She swigged her glass again, wishing it were whiskey instead of water. When they had met, Jon and his family had warned her that he was severely emotional constipated from his upbringing but this was in the psychopathic area of emotionless.

“No.”

“What?” His shock almost seems real. His eyes had widened and his body language was unsteady.

“No, we aren’t done talking about this! How ignorant do you have to be to think this won’t affect our relationship? Won’t affect me?”

“It wasn’t real. I’m here.” He stepped forward, arms rising to hug her. He never was one for physical contact. She pulled back, grabbing a steak knife and placing it between them. He told her he had set the place aflame. He found the lead for the trafficking ring. He planned it all. And now he was back, almost a year and a half later.

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt! I’m going to have nightmares for the rest of my life! How selfish, how, how stupid do you have to be to not consider what it does to someone who cared about you?!”

“Cared?”

“Do I need to spell it out? We’re done. I don’t want to see you ever again,” She seethed. “You think everything can go back to how it was before? Well, it can’t. I spent months of my life mourning over a guy who wasn’t even dead. Who didn’t even care about me enough not to toy with my emotions. My life isn’t a game Damian!”

“I only did this because I thought—”

“I don’t care. Get out. Out of my house. Out of my life. Just get out.”

“I didn’t intend to hurt you, I just wanted to know.” Hot, rage-filled tears ran down her cheeks. She jabbed the knife at him, stopping inches before his chest. She had backed him down the stair and to the front door. Neither of her parents were home and he was more unpredictable than ever.

“I hope you can live with what you’ve done, le miel”

[snackhobi]

pairing: jimin x reader / word count: 20.9k / genre: street racer au, driftracer!jimin, driftracer!reader, rivals to lovers, smut, some fluff too

summary: You used to think that there was nothing better than the sensation of coming first place. However, your rival- the talented, gorgeous, dangerous Park Jimin- is more than happy to prove you wrong.

warnings: unsafe driving (street races are technically illegal), cursing, sexually explicit content, fingering, slight orgasm delay, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, cum eating, unprotected sex, car sex (duh), creampie, multiple orgasms, dirty talk I think that’s everything

EDIT: part two now available!

--

It’s hot tonight.

Humid, too. Your hair has been pulled into a messy updo and your makeup is fierce, as always, and despite the mugginess in the air, you’re still wearing your usual leather jacket even though you can feel how the inside lining is sticking to your skin. You have appearances to maintain and the pastel pink jacket is part of your signature look, even in the heat of summer.

“Busy tonight,” Taehyung comments idly as he leans against the side of your car, and you hum in response.

“Good turn out.” You slam the bright red hood of your baby shut, finally satisfied. “Get off, please.”

Taehyung pouts as he does what he’s told, and pouts even harder when you end up reclining against the hood of the car, leaning your weight into your palms. Jungkook snickers at him from where he’s squatted to shut the toolbox and you laugh when Taehyung swings a halfhearted kick at the younger boy which is effortlessly parried.

The mountain road in Seongdong-gu is crowded. It’s rammed full of fans, throngs of men and women swarming the start of tonight’s route, mingling with each other and ogling the cars and their racers. Most people give you a wide berth, though; by now they’ve learned to stay away from your Pontiac, even if the flame-bright 2007 Solstice GXP is eye-catching in its rarity. Most racers don’t take kindly to random strangers touching their vehicles anyway. Jungkook and Taehyung are the only people who can touch your Solstice without you ripping them to shreds, your childhood friends working alongside you to make sure the engine is in full working order for the rigorous pacing you’re about to put it through.

Sometimes, though, other racers come over to try and flirt with you, usually people new to Seoul, unfamiliar with the circuit. You’ll giggle and simper under their gazes, acting like the ditz that they think you are, coquettish flirting that they don’t realise is a front. You know that a female drift racer is an oddity, and you are especially so with your American sports car standing out amongst a collection of souped up Nissans and Toyotas— you know they think you’re here for fun. That you’re in over your head.

You always make sure to prove them wrong.

“Heads up,” Jungkook mutters. You glance up to see where he’s looking, the lingering smile of your laughter immediately smoothing out when you spot who it is, face going neutral as you sit up.

Park Jimin looks beautiful tonight. He always does, though; plump lips, soft face, eyes darkened with shimmer, the blond of his styled hair contrasting with the dark roots of his undercut. Arresting and stunning. And, just like you, an oddity on these tracks. He knows how good he looks and leans into that beauty, and you know that the other men on this circuit used to underestimate him because of it, too. Just like they had with you and the overtly feminine colours of your outfits. A masquerade.

“Jimin.” You greet him coolly.

“Y/n,” he responds, as cordial as always. He tilts his head, the chains in his earrings swinging with the motion. “You’re looking well today.” When you don’t respond, he continues: “I came over to wish you good luck for the race.”

“I don’t need luck, but thank you.”

Jimin seems amused, smiling a little at your statement. You keep your eyes locked on his, refusing to let your gaze fall down to his lips. You never let yourself be caught off guard around him. 

You remember when he’d first started here, slipping into the pack of racers without any of them taking notice, a quiet, beautiful man surrounded by larger, louder men, his Skyline GTR just one car amongst many— but from the second you’d laid eyes on him, you’d known he was a force to be reckoned with. You could read it in every line of his stance, the way he moved, and how he had introduced himself to you: politely and civilly. No preening and strutting around, no sly attempts to look down your shirt, no ham-handed attempts at negging you.

Isn’t it sad that the second someone around here treats you like an equal, you have to be on guard?

“Good luck to you,” you say. Jimin laughs outright at this, the implication that you don’t need luck but he does; he seems genuinely amused rather than offended. He’s beautiful when he laughs, eyes squeezing shut into crescents, the apples of his cheeks defined with how his lips curve upwards, and honestly, it’s almost overwhelming— how he instantly turns so boyish, rather than remaining like some sort of distant, ethereal angel of beauty. 

For all that you consider Jimin a threat and your biggest rival— in your opinion your win records are starting to look too even— you don’t actually dislike him. It’s just wariness on your part, tempered with respect, though you have no idea what Jimin really thinks about you.

“Thank you.”

He leaves after giving you one, last lingering look, expression unreadable, returning to his black Nissan and his group that surround it. Jimin says something to Min Yoongi, who smiles so widely that you can see his gums. Taehyung muffles a small sigh of longing.

“The sexual tension between you two couldn’t be more obvious,” Jungkook says. For a second you think he’s talking about Taehyung and Yoongi, even if Yoongi isn’t looking in this direction, but then you realise Jungkook is talking about you. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“Have you forgotten that I’m in a relationship, Kook?”

“You can still have sexual tension with someone.” Jungkook shrugs, unbothered. “If you keep eyefucking each other like that I’m going to have to request that you start wearing protection, otherwise someone’s going to get pregnant.”

“Glasses are just eyeball condoms,” Taehyung says, and then both boys crack up.

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Despite the tone of your voice a smile twists up the corners of your lips. 

The only other driver who comes up to greet you is Hoseok. You genuinely like Hoseok, waving at him when he approaches and tipping your head back in laughter when he jokes with you; you’ve known him for long enough to have learned that he’s not actually sleazy, so when he says something flirtatious you play up to it and bat your eyelashes at him before the two of you end up giggling at each other. When he leaves he winks at you and you blow him a small kiss, which makes him clutch his heart as he staggers back and you laugh again. 

Your smile still lingers after your laughter has faded, and you’re still smiling when you happen to make eye contact with Jimin, who’s looking over at you—the second your eyes lock he’s wrenching his gaze away, and even from this distance you can’t help but notice the hard set to his lips. Strange.

When you finally pull up to the start line, all semblance of laughter and levity has gone from your face. The course tonight isn’t entirely simple— the forested hills in the centre of Seoul are popular for good reason, usually deserted at night, the loops of the mountainous roads letting the racers show off exactly how good they are. The start line is just before a horseshoe curve, an arcing bend that’ll immediately set you at a disadvantage if you fuck up, but you’re not worried. You haven’t driven this particular route in Seongdong-gu in a race, the winding snake of a road falling down the mountainside in front of you, but you’ve driven similar routes plenty of times and all your practices have gone well. You feel confident.

Your baby purrs underneath and around you. The sound of the engine is one that’s as familiar to you as your own breathing, the feeling of the steering wheel under your hands entirely comfortable. You’re aware of every one of her parts, having rebuilt and tweaked her yourself, replacing the drop top, modifying her into the perfect drifting machine, and you’ve grown with her; you don’t like to wax lyrical but this car is an extension of yourself and you know her inside and out. Even if Jungkook and Taehyung are your friends and fellow co-owners of the garage, and help you check her over before each race, you’re the one who built her and maintains her.

Along the line other cars roll into place, flanking you. There’re familiar faces— Jimin and Hoseok, of course, but also Kim Namjoon, as well as the other usual people that Seokjin makes sure to invite to his meets, plus a few newcomers that you don’t recognise. The sound of your engines drown out the noises from the crowd, as loud as they are, milling around and holding their phones up to film the start of the race; the usual busy chaos. A flagger appears, a gorgeous girl in revealing clothes who soaks up the wolf whistles from the crowd as she saunters onto the track. You see how she flicks a wink at Namjoon, who grins back at her with bared teeth as she gets ready to motion with the checkered flag in her hands.

One of your hands tightens on the wheel. The other grips the gearstick, hard. The second the flag drops, you’re leaping forwards from the start line, Pontiac’s engine roaring as she responds eagerly to your commands. You round the first bend with ease, flicking your car into a smooth turn that sends dust flying from your tyres; in your mirrors you catch glimpses of the other drivers doing the same, and even if you weren’t familiar with the newbies and the regulars you’d be able to tell who was who from this one moment. A few struggle to complete the bend— one even goes into a tailspin, though fortunately he just stalls on the road instead of plummeting off it— and you and your competitors leave them in the dust as you approach the next turn.

Namjoon is next to you while Jimin is in front. The glint of your headlights off the sleek black paintwork of your rival's car seems almost like it’s taunting you. You grit your teeth and approach the next turn faster, harder, shaving off precious seconds by arcing your car more tightly after you’ve popped your handbrake, edging ahead of Namjoon and pulling closer to Jimin. You want to win, of course, but more than that, you have to beat him— you need another tally against your name.

The adrenaline is running high in your blood, rushing through your veins, spiking each time you squeal into another curve of road; where Jimin was initially ahead of you, you’re now almost level, approaching the last turn of the track. You suck in a lungful of air and lean your body into the weight of your car, throttling her to get more of an angle in the restricted hairpin turn, familiar and confident enough in your Solstice to know exactly how to steer her so you don’t lose control. 

It’s perfect. Jimin curves out more widely and takes longer to straighten up and by this point you’ve slammed down on the accelerator for the final, straight part of the road; you scream over the finish line first to the roar of the awaiting crowd and the wide grins of your teammates, Jungkook and Taehyung elated at your win.

It doesn’t take long for the other racers to finish after you. Jimin is only a few seconds behind you, an insignificant amount of time in the grand scheme of things, but in this moment, on this track, it means everything— the difference between winning or losing. 

“That was dope!” Jungkook whoops when you swing your door open, and you grin at him. You’re a little shaky as you step out of the car, breathing hard with the adrenaline that’s still in your system, lightheaded. You love this feeling. You love when you’re driving and your entire body is on edge and wound tight— but you love the come down, too, the way you can feel how the adrenaline is still roiling through your veins, dissipating. 

You’re surrounded by the hubbub of the crowd, screaming and yelling at each other and the racers, but they’re still careful to steer clear of the cars. You can feel the heat of your engine through the hood and touch your fingers tenderly to the warm metal; you briefly catch Jimin’s eye as he climbs out of his Skyline but before you can do anything, your crew are grabbing you and you’re inevitably pulled away to collect your prize money and, as Taehyung says, ‘get turnt’. 

(You don’t do this for the prize money, though. You don’t do it for the free booze, the drugs, the sex: none of that interests you. You do it because you love to drive, love the sensation of control as you make your car dance in ways most drivers can’t even dream of— love showing that you’re good enough to win.)

Jimin finds you later, sequestered from the crowd and sitting on the hood of your car. Even though you’d won you hadn’t searched out the limelight and had slipped out after making a cursory appearance. It’s this little ritual the two of you have, searching each other out after your races, a few stolen moments of privacy despite the throngs of fans that fill whatever area that Seokjin has relegated the afterparty to. You see that Jimin notices the still full bottle of soju in your hands. You’re only holding onto it for appearance’s sake, an excuse if someone tries to foist more on you— you don’t drink and drive. 

“Congratulations,” he says. His eye makeup is a little smudged, probably from the humidity, but he looks just as alluring as before, stylish rather than mussed. “You drove beautifully.”

“So did you,” you reply, honest. It had been a close call, but Jimin had drifted as well as always, Skyline gliding as smooth and soft as silk over the rough asphalt of the mountain roads. You might be wary of Park Jimin but you’re always civil with each other and you’re nothing if not honest— he’s incredible at what he does.

“Not beautifully enough.” Jimin smiles wryly, but you know this is directed at himself and not you. You’ve never seen him act bitter after losing, unlike some other racers. Then again, he doesn’t flaunt his wins, either. Which is similar to you, you guess, although you wonder why he races at all. You don’t judge based on appearances or personality— you’re certainly the poster girl for being an unusual candidate for a street racer— but you have to wonder what set Jimin onto this path in the first place. “I’ll have to do better next time.”

“Feel free not to, I’m happy if you want to let me win,” you joke.

“We both know that’s not true.” Jimin’s smile has shifted from wry into something smaller. It feels almost like a secret, and you find your heart stuttering in your chest at the sight of it, this tiny bit of- this tiny bit of openness from him. “You want to race against the best, not someone who’ll just hand you first place.”

You blink with surprise. You can’t help but let this surprise show on your face even if you normally try to control your expressions around Jimin; you never want to show vulnerability to any of your competitors, even the ones who seem like genuinely okay people, like Namjoon or Hoseok. “That’s true,” you say. What’s the point of coming first if it isn’t actually a challenge? That’s what makes wins all the better— knowing that you’ve worked for it, that you’ve worked hard, that you’re racing against the best of the best and still come out on top. There’s a difference between being inexperienced and incompetent. You have no time for the latter.

Jimin is close enough to touch you. You’re acutely aware of the sweat that’s beaded along your hairline, both your forehead and at the back of your neck; you’ve shed your leather jacket to try your best to cool down in the humid night air and the baring of your skin has helped somewhat, shorts and vest revealing swathes of skin that can feel the light touch of the breeze, as heavy with mugginess as it is.

Of course, he doesn’t touch you. Instead he brushes his fingers across the metal of the Solstice’s hood, light enough that his fingers don’t leave a mark. Normally if anyone even approaches her you can feel your hackles rising, the urge to snap at them overwhelming— there’s a reason people usually avoid approaching your car— but for some reason Jimin doesn’t conjure this feeling in you. You let the touch pass without comment and you notice that Jimin’s fingers go still for a moment. He’d been expecting you to tell him to stop.

“She’s beautiful,” he says. He’s still looking at you.

“The love of my life.” You can’t help but smile a little when you say this. You lavish praise onto this car, calling her your love and baby, and she gives back as much as you put in.

“Mm.” Jimin hums lightly and strokes his fingers down the car again, before splaying fingers out, palm pressed flat against the hood; you hear the metal of his rings touch against it. The suspension of your Solstice isn’t exactly the highest in the world and with the curve of the hood this has Jimin leaning against it in a way that seems almost flirtatious, his hip cocked, although his expression doesn’t betray anything. He’s intimidatingly gorgeous. “What made you choose this car?”

You shrug. “Gut feeling,” you say. “Desire. I saw it, I wanted it. I got it. Why did you choose a Skyline?”

“Because they’re good for drifting,” Jimin says, with a small grin. Skylines aren’t an uncommon sight on the circuit and it certainly would have been a lot cheaper to tweak a Nissan than your Pontiac, what with export costs and difficulties getting American car parts over here— but that’s one good thing about owning a garage. Easier access because of your connections. “And because I like them.”

You point at him, other fingers still hooked around the neck of the soju bottle. “See, that’s how you should think,” you say. “It’s what I did. Don’t choose something because it’s the smart choice. Choose it because you like it. If you want something, go for it. You’ll make it work.”

Something flickers across Jimin’s face. He opens his mouth to speak but then your phone goes off; it’s in your back pocket, pressed against the hood of your car, vibrations amplified against the metal. Jungkook’s calling you. No doubt he’s wondering where you’ve gone and if he needs to save you from hordes of fans or something.

You decline the call and shoot him a quick text, wedging the soju bottle between your thighs before you begin to type both hands. You don’t notice how Jimin eyes the motion, how the beads of condensation on the glass are slick against your skin, shining; by the time you glance up, looking through your lashes, Jimin has straightened and taken a step back, no longer touching the Solstice. “Stay out of trouble,” he says. “I’ll see you next time.”

“I’ll be counting the minutes,” you say, but it doesn’t come out as sarcastically as you mean it to. Jimin gives you one last smile, a subtle upturn to his perfect lips, before he turns to go. You find yourself staring at Jimin as he leaves and absently wondering how on earth he fits that spectacular ass into those jeans of his.

--

The next time you race against Jimin you’re kind of a mess.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jungkook asks, hesitantly, as you try to slam the hood of your car shut with less force than necessary; you fumble as you raise it and get it shut on the second try.

“I’m fine.” 

Taehyung and Jungkook exchange a look, but neither of them say anything. They’re clearly concerned about you and your weird behaviour. 

You haven’t told them the reason why you’re like this, not yet. You’d caught your boyfriend in bed with his ex; after their break-up they’d remained friends, and you being an idiot, had allowed it. You’d been unsure at first, but you’d decided to trust him after he'd kept on at you about it, only to discover that not only had he been cheating on you with his ex, he’d been cheating on you the whole time you’d been dating. Months of your time, spat on, wasted. You’re mad at him, at her, at them both, of course— you’d kicked them out of your apartment immediately, literally throwing their things out and slamming the door shut in his face when he’d tried to beg for forgiveness— but since that afternoon you’ve gone weirdly numb alongside the rage, and you go quiet when you’re angry, anyway. 

He’d been so nice on the surface, so kind to you, one of your few partners who’d been okay with the street racing and hadn’t tried to fight you on it, even if he’d never actually come to watch or actively encouraged you— but now that you think about it this is probably because it would have given him time to go fuck his sidepiece, which is what’s kind of messing you up the most. You feel stupid, too. Taehyung and Jungkook had always been wary of him, not liking his attitude and being mad that he hadn’t supported your interests. Boy, had they been proven right. Why hadn’t you listened to them?

(Why had you trusted him?)

You’re holding onto a spanner but fumble and drop it onto your foot. You’re wearing boots today so it’s not like it hurts, but the surprise of it brings you back into the moment, angry at your own clumsiness. Jungkook and Taehyung have retreated to the other side of the car; you haven’t told them about the cause of your mood yet and so they’re understandably perplexed at it. But you feel embarrassed and ashamed even if you logically know that it’s not your fault that you’d been cheated on and your oldest friends would never judge you— once this feeling passes, you’ll tell them. You know they’ll come up with some convoluted revenge plan, one that you’ll be totally on board with— but right now? Right now, you’re going to channel everything into this race. 

You’ve just finished flicking the clasps of your toolbox shut and straightened up when you notice that Min Yoongi has apparently walked over and is now talking to Taehyung, who looks faint, while Jungkook looks on with unbridled glee. You feel entertained at their expressions despite the tumult of feelings inside you, but then—

“Everything in working order?”

Of course, if Yoongi is here, Jimin would be, too. He looks so good it kind of hurts. His blonde hair has been pushed out of his face today, swooping away from his forehead, and rather than dangling chains he has simple hoops in his ears; it seems like he’s wearing contacts as well, light hazel eyes piercing as he watches you. (You miss the usual warmth of his dark brown eyes.)

“Pretty much,” you say. Jimin seems surprised at your lacklustre response but you can’t summon the energy needed to be your usual self, none of your subtle biting humour shining through tonight. You see how his brow twitches as he frowns a little; if you weren’t incorrect you’d say he seems— seems worried, almost? 

“That’s good.” He seems unsure about what to say, which is a first for him, and pauses before he speaks again, asking something he never has before. “Are you alright?”

You huff a laugh through your nose. “No, I’m half left,” you say, but then you give him a polite smile. “I’m okay. Do I not seem okay? Are you worried that I’ll pull out before the race starts? Don’t worry, I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.”

It’s weird. Jimin is clearly unsatisfied with your response, but not because it could be considered kind of rude— although it definitely could— but because you’re deflecting, and he’s concerned about you.

Concerned about you? Huh. What an odd realisation.

“I know you wouldn’t pull out of a race,” Jimin says. His eyebrows have both risen a little, face somewhat dubious, but when he says this you know he means it. “I’ll see you on the track.”

When he goes, Yoongi does too, though not before smirking at Taehyung in a way that should probably be illegal— judging from the expression on Taehyung’s face he’s ascended to nirvana and Jungkook muffles a laugh into his palm as you wander over.

“Min Yoongi gave me his number.” Taehyung sounds faint. “Someone pinch me, I’m dreaming.”

Jungkook socks him in the shoulder and Taehyung yelps.

“He said pinch, not punch, Kook,” you say, but Jungkook looks unrepentant until Taehyung punches him back, and then he just looks hurt (emotionally and physically). Neither of you buy it. “I’m happy for you, Tae.”

“You should plan your wedding for October. I bet Yoongi loves Halloween and you’d look great in autumnal colours,” Jungkook says. Taehyung sighs dreamily.

They’re both so caught up in this development in Taehyung’s long term crush that it allows you to let the smile drop off your face, and for a second your exhaustion and hurt shines through before you school your expression. You can’t let anyone on the track witness you being weak— you’ve had to claw your way up in their estimations and you’re not going to let one shitty guy fuck up your performance and take away all that work from you.

A few cars away, unnoticed, Yoongi watches as Jimin watches you in turn, then claps him on the shoulder. “You’re not being especially subtle, kid.”

“I— subtle about what, hyung?”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “That girl is a competitor, not your friend. Why are you worrying about her?”

Jimin pauses before a slow frown starts to grow on his face, organising his thoughts. “I don’t want to race against someone when they’re not giving me their best,” he says. “Where’s the challenge in that?”

Yoongi looks skeptical but decides not to comment and so Jimin is free to glance back at you.

You look fine now. Maybe a little more stern faced than usual, though it can be hard to read your expressions sometimes; Jimin has watched you enough to become infinitely familiar with the line of your lips and the steel in your eyes, the determination written into you, even if most people seem to be unable to see past the makeup and clothes you put on, a way to lull them into underestimating you. 

Most people are so quick to jump to conclusions based on appearance. You must have been the only one who hadn’t done that to him, shaking his hand firmly and carefully when he’d first rolled onto the circuit— he could see how your eyes had darted over him, reading him, taking him in, immediately cautious. You’d seen past the front he’d put on.

You’re endlessly fascinating. Whip smart and talented without being narcissistic, but also without any false humility. You know you’re good. And you know how to play the game, too, coy and flirtatious with the men who underestimate you before blasting past them on the track. Before Jisoo had quit and moved back to Gunpo, you’d been friendly with her, a measured rapport that you no longer have now that you’re the only female racer in the Seoul circuit, and it must be exhausting to consistently be discredited just because you’re a woman— but you never seem ruffled by it.

So what’s happened to you tonight?

He keeps his eyes on you when you pull up to the line. Today you’re in Incheon and your route is to the airport and back again. The start is on the top level of a car park and you’re behind Jimin at the starting line; he keeps his eyes on you in his rearview mirror and notices the hardness of your face, none of the usual anticipation and excitement that colours your features before a race has begun. He can’t help but wonder.

Then the flagger walks onto the track, and Jimin focuses on them, on the swoop of the flag, before the race begins.

--

You come fifth.

All things told, fifth place isn’t bad, especially considering who you were racing tonight; there are a lot of really talented drifters in Incheon who are a lot more familiar with its roads than you are, driving the airport route regularly and drifting in the deserted airport car parks, leaving evidence of their visits with black tyre marks in ringed circles in the parking lots.

So it’s no surprise that an Incheon native had come first (Choi Minho clearly knows what he’s doing). Jimin had come second. You’d just beaten out Namjoon, who’d shaken your hand afterwards and congratulated you on the last turn before the finish line, the way you’d ridden his drag to get the momentum needed to sling yourself forwards and beat him. It had been a good manoeuvre, sure, but you’re still disappointed in yourself.

It’s not the fact that you hadn’t won that’s bothering you. It’s the fact you’d driven terribly, even if someone watching from the outside wouldn’t have been able to tell. For all that you’d been planning to channel your turbulent emotions into drifting, your handling had been off and your reactions had been stunted and so your driving had suffered. Your Solstice had given you as good a performance as always, but it wasn’t the car, it was you. 

You feel like shit.

You leave the afterparty sooner than usual and rather than just escaping somewhere, you leave altogether; it’s hard to be subtle with the loud exhaust of your Pontiac but you manage it somehow, the crowds of fans and drivers too caught up in their own revelries to notice you slipping away. You pull up into the dark of a deserted car park. The only light is from street lamps on the ridge behind you and the moon in the clear sky above and you’re surrounded by nothing but the silence of abandoned vehicles. You let your head tip forward until you’re resting your forehead against the grip of your steering wheel, warm from where you’ve been holding it.

You lift your head to roll your windows down to try and get some cooler night air in, and so you hear the sound of another car pulling into the lot— you know the spread of those headlights, the rumble of that exhaust. Jimin pulls up next to you, coming to a sharp stop before he cuts his engine and the lights die. He climbs out of his car with his usual grace, though when he rounds the hood of your Pontiac to approach the driver’s side he seems to be moving faster than normal.

“Y/n.” He sounds oddly serious, almost accusatory. “What was that?”

“What?”

He’s staring at you through your open window, his face austere; there’s a loose lock of his hair hanging across his forehead, now, falling away from how it had been pushed out of his face. He looks a little dishevelled, but artfully so, and you can’t help but envy his ability to look fashionably beautiful at all times, even when he’s frowning at you. “Tonight. Your driving was off. What happened?” 

Oh. You look away from him, staring back out of the front windscreen, unable to keep staring into his eyes. You feel weirdly ashamed, like you’ve disappointed him. Normally you couldn’t give two shits about what other racers think of you, but Jimin— Jimin is different. Jimin is the one person you measure yourself against, the one person who you feel personally challenged by, as distinctive and unusual as you both seem on the circuit, standing out in your own idiosyncratic ways, and he’s struck right into the heart of things: your driving was shoddy and he knows it.

“I—” Your mouth opens, and then shuts again. Oh, God. You’ve been holding it together, but as you sit there with Jimin still watching you, something inside you starts to fray and unravel, the tightness of your control slipping away from you. “My boyfriend was cheating on me,” you confess, and then you splay a hand across your face. You hide your face from him and so you don’t see how Jimin stiffens, eyes widening when he notices that you’ve started to cry; you’re not sobbing or making any noise, but there’s a glint of wetness on your cheeks, tears silently rolling down your face. “I only found out today and I can’t stop thinking about it and it fucked up my driving. I should have done better.”

You don’t know why you’re telling him this. Every part of your reputation is built up around not letting your competitors see any weakness in you, and here you are, spilling a private facet of your life to your personal rival and crying in front of him. You can’t look him in the eye. You don’t want to see the judgement on his face, the way you must be falling in his estimations: the way he must be realising that you’re just some weak little girl who isn’t even good enough to keep a relationship going. No doubt any second he’s about to laugh at you, or scoff derisively, or tell you to stop being so dramatic and to stop snivelling like some sort of child, and you’ll be left trying to pick up the pieces of your shattered reputation from the dark grey tarmac.

“Hey.”

Jimin’s voice is soft. When you don’t respond you feel the lightest touch of his fingers against the back of your hand, still pressed against your face; you sniff and pull the hand away, hesitantly turning your head to look at Jimin, afraid of what you’re going to see, even after hearing the tone of his voice.

But there’s no judgement on his face. No derision. He’s crouched down by the side of your Pontiac so your faces are level— his earlier frown has disappeared completely and all you can see is compassion. He doesn’t look like he pities you and instead he looks warm and empathetic. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. He clearly, genuinely means it. “It must really hurt.”

You laugh wetly. “It’s so stupid.” There are tears still dribbling down your cheeks, though they’ve started to slow. “The more I think about it, the more I realise I didn’t even really like him that much? I just… I don’t know,” you sigh. “It does hurt. When you trust someone and they break that trust. Of course I immediately dumped him and I’ll never take him back, but… I still can’t believe he did that to me. With his ex? I should have seen it coming. I feel so stupid.”

Jimin stays quiet as you sniff again. You feel gross and messy, your face swollen from tears, and your makeup must be running, too. You must look terrible right now. And yet Jimin continues to look at you with that gentle understanding, like he doesn’t care about how you’ve just let slip this raw part of yourself. 

You wonder if he’s going to say the usual set phrases— that you deserve better (you do), that your ex was probably a dick anyway (he was), all of that— but he doesn’t. He doesn’t cheapen your pain with any normal idioms. Instead, he slowly reaches forward, giving you plenty of time to stop him or pull away, but you don’t. You let him take the edge of his sleeve and lightly dab at your cheeks, unheeding of how your tears darken the fabric of his expensive looking bomber jacket; the fabric isn’t exactly soft, but his touch is. You don’t know why you let him touch you, yet you don’t regret it, not with how kind he’s being to you right now. You let your traitorous body lean into his touch and he doesn’t react, but you’re not sure if that’s because he chooses not to or if he doesn’t notice.

When Jimin pulls back he keeps his fingers hooked on your door, on the lip where the window has retracted into, and his face is closer now. What little light is reaching the two of you seems to have gathered on him, like the moon can’t help but shine on the man— the silver light mellows him, softening the edges of his beauty, and he doesn’t look like your indomitable rival. He just looks like a person, a boy, surprisingly soft and cute, eyes warm.

(He looks like a friend.)

“There’s nothing stupid about trusting someone that you’re in a relationship with,” Jimin says. “Relationships should be built on trust, and you weren’t stupid for investing yourself in that. What he did wasn’t a reflection on you, and it’s his burden to bear. Please don’t feel stupid.” He’s looking at you so sincerely and the thing inside you that had frayed and unraveled turns to liquid at the sight, trickling through your chest like a refreshing rush of water. 

“Okay.” Your voice is a murmur. “I mean, I do feel stupid right now, but I know you’re right.” It’s one thing to know an emotional truth, but it’s another to hear it said out loud by another person— and it’s nice to know that someone you’re not even that close to supports you. It’s why, in a way, it’s almost easier to believe Jimin; he has no reason to be nice to you. And yet here he is.

“Good.” Jimin is equally as quiet as you, but he sounds pleased, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“I’ll be fine by the next race,” you say. Even as you say that, you know it’s true— your sudden outburst of tears has already started to dry up, and for all that you still feel the pain inside you, you feel… better. Admitting this to Jimin has been weirdly soothing, even if you should probably be worried about how this is going to come back and bite you on the ass. For all that you’ve just been speaking about how someone had broken your trust, you find yourself trusting Jimin, trusting that he’s not going to use this moment of weakness against you later.

You already trust him more than you’d trusted your ex— but you’re not sure if that says something about Jimin or if that says something about you. 

“Don’t worry,” Jimin says. “We won’t count this race.”

You let slip a surprised cough of laughter. Even though you’d been crying less than five minutes ago you find that a smile begins to split your face and your spirits quietly lift when Jimin smiles back at you. You can’t help but notice that one of his front teeth is a little bit crooked, and you’re just— just captivated by it. You've never been this close to Jimin before, or let your eyes run across his face the way they are right now; it seems like there's still more to learn about his features, as familiar with them as you thought you were. 

“How gracious. That means I’m still ahead of you.” Your smile has grown smaller but no less happy, and you hope that Jimin knows that. Judging from the look on his face you’d say that he does. He’s always polite, but he’s never been this overtly, directly kind before, but you’ve also never allowed him the opportunity, the two of you keeping each other at a respectful arm’s length. You can’t help but feel grateful. “Jimin… thank you.”

He gives you a little shake of the head. “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt like this,” he says. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re cheaper than therapy,” you reply, grinning at him while pressing your tongue against your teeth and touching it to your lower lip, a little cheeky; he seems surprised at the fact you’re talking to him like this when you’re normally more distant and deliver your lines without the weight of your laughter behind it, especially off the back of just crying. You’ve never seen Jimin caught off guard, even if he seems to gather himself up almost immediately.

“Maybe I should charge you, then,” he says with a smile, and you huff out a breath of laughter.

“That’s just greedy.” You lean back in the seat of your car, hair pressing against the headrest, and look at yourself in your rearview mirror. You don’t look anywhere as bad as you’d thought but you still wince a little. “Oh, wow. I should go home and wash off this mascara before someone sees me and mistakes me for a panda.”

“You make a very cute panda,” Jimin says. You scoff.

“Don’t try and lull me into a false sense of security so I go easy on you the next time we have a race. Just because I spilled a secret to you doesn’t mean that I like you.” You point at him, but the words come out softer than you mean them to and Jimin clearly doesn’t take them to heart.

“Of course not.”

The two of you drive back to Seoul together. When you get to longer, empty stretches of road you throttle your cars and weave around each other; your windows are still down and Jimin’s put his down too, heedless of how the wind is making a mess of his hair. At one point the two of you hit a turn and when you drift around it you let out a loud whoop of joy, chasing away your earlier sadness in the face of this euphoria. 

When you race you don’t let yourself go like this but there’s something to be said about letting yourself shout out loud as you drop into a corkscrew of a turn, riding it out with a screech from your tires, drifting and slamming down on the accelerator because you can. Jimin is grinning and though it’s hard to hear over the roar of your exhausts, he’s laughing; it’s nice to see that he's enjoying himself, too. Normally on the track he's single-minded and only focused on the win, not giving himself over to theatrics, but this, this lets you know that Jimin genuinely loves to drift, and something in you is glad.

You slide into another turn, popping your handbrake and letting the car swing around, and Jimin moves in tandem with you— when you race you’ll try to throw your opponents off, force risky moves so they’re forced off balance, but right now you’re not competing with each other and so you match each other’s motions. Smoke goes flying from your tyres, kicking back dust and burnt rubber, and you ride the spike of adrenaline in your blood with wide eyes and bared teeth. The adrenaline rises in your veins, and the unhappiness dims, and you join in with Jimin’s laughter when you hit another straight stretch of road. You leave your sadness behind in Incheon as you rush forwards and back to Seoul, Jimin matching your pace and coasting alongside you, and it feels weirdly peaceful. Weirdly right.

Once you reach the city and have to part, you pull up at a deserted intersection, adjacent to each other. Jimin’s hair has been entirely pulled out of its earlier style and he looks so much younger like this, blond locks falling over his forehead, dishevelled— you find that you really, really like it. He catches you looking and parts his lips, flicking out his tongue on one side of his mouth, similar to your earlier motion but a lot more shameless. You know the fact that you’re startled is obvious on your face but you’ve never seen him like this before, provocative and wild and free.

“How dare you,” you say mildly, and he throws his head back when he laughs.

--

“Okay, seriously,” Jungkook says. “What is going on between you and Jimin?”

You glance away from the aforementioned man who you’ve been watching as he’s been bent over the hood of his car, fiddling with something in the engine; it’s hard not to look, eyes glued to the motion of his hips and how he fills out his black jeans so perfectly. “Hm? What?”

“Kookie’s right, you’ve kind of been… uh… weird, recently.” Taehyung sounds hesitant.

“Weird? Tae, she goes up to Jimin to talk to him before races. She never does that with other people, let alone Park Jimin.”

“She does sometimes. She likes Hoseok.”

“Guys, I’m still here,” you say, lifting a hand. Both men shut up. “What’s weird about it?”

“Uh, everything?” Jungkook looks baffled. “Since when are you and Park Jimin bosom buddies? I thought you hated him.”

“I never said that,” you protest, which is true. “I just said he’s my biggest rival on the circuit. Doesn’t mean that I hate him.”

“Clearly not,” Jungkook says. “I was joking about the sexual tension before, but nowadays the two of you look like you’re constantly two seconds away from just eating each other. When did that happen?”

“You’re talking about cannibalism, Kook,” Taehyung says, and Jungkook flaps his hand at the other boy while saying you know what I mean.

Okay, admittedly, your friends both have a point. After you’d confessed your break-up to Jimin, even though you instinctively trust him (for some reason), there’d been the lingering concern that he was going to see this chink in your armour and exploit that weakness— but he hasn’t. He hasn’t even referred to it again, not explicitly; the next time you’d seen each other he’d just softly asked if you were okay, and when you’d said yes, that had been that. But as time has gone on you find that when you and Jimin talk, it’s not just the cursory exchanges you used to have. He lingers longer when he speaks to you before races and you open up conversation more when you find each other alone during the afterparties and it’s… it’s strangely easy to open up to Jimin.

So, yeah, you’ve been walking over to talk to him, too. He’d always been the one to search you out first, and you don’t want him to think that your friendship is one-sided, so you’ve been doing the same for him. Friendship. You’re friends with Park Jimin. Who would have thought you’d live to see the day?

“He’s looking over here,” Jungkook says, and you glance in Jimin’s direction. He always looks great but tonight he’s fucking devastating, hair in stylish waves and eyes smoky, the neckline of his shirt almost scandalously low, revealing his collarbones. When you make eye contact, rather than looking away he just stares back at you, before letting his lips curl up in what could be considered a flirtatious smirk— even from this far you can see the glisten of his lips, the dark pink of his pout.

That’s something that’s new, too. As you’ve both been getting to know each other more you’ve been letting down your defences, and one thing that’s apparently developed is this sort of give and take of coy banter, teasing flirtation that just slips out. Sure, you flirt jokingly with Hoseok too, but with Jimin it’s… it’s a bit heavier than that, a little more direct. But feels so natural that you don’t second guess it and you’re not about to stop someone as fucking hot as Park Jimin acting like he wants you, so.

You mirror a similar expression back, pouting your lips at him, and Jimin’s eyes look like they darken in response. Taehyung makes a little noise of distress. “Oh, my God, Kookie, I take it back, you’re right,” he says. “They do want to eat each other.”

“Shut up,” you say, finally tearing your eyes away from Jimin. “Don’t act like you don’t want Yoongi to eat your ass out on a car.”

“I do not!” Taehyung squeaks in a way that says he kind of absolutely does, but he’s embarrassed about it. “Shut up!”

“We’re just friends,” you say, before picking up your toolbox and shoving it into Jungkook’s arms. He makes a little oof sound as the weight of it hits his chest. “Don’t be jealous, you know I’m ride or die for the two of you.”

“You don’t try to eyefuck us like you do with Jimin,” Jungkook says.

“Do you want me to?” You raise your eyebrows at him. Taehyung looks horrified and Jungkooks makes a noise of disgust.

“You’re like our sister! That’s heinous,” he says. “I’m going to get rid of the toolbox and we’re never going to speak of this conversation again.”

“Please, let’s do that,” Taehyung begs. You laugh and roll your eyes but agree, glad that they’ve both dropped the Jimin thing.

You’re not blind. You’ve always known Jimin is drop-dead gorgeous, and it’s also hard not to admire someone when they’re as talented as he is— working hard to grow a skill is something you’ve always found attractive and Jimin drives his Skyline like it’s effortless, wheels spinning and car gliding into each bend as easy as breathing. Jungkook wasn’t necessarily wrong when he said you look like you want to eat him, but as close as Jimin and you are apparently getting, you have no plans to try and fuck your rival any time soon. He’s a friend now, yes, but you’re both competitors, too.

Taehyung catches sight of Yoongi nearby and brightens before wandering off, and Jungkook’s still absent— presumably putting the toolbox away— so you’re left alone by your Pontiac. You run a hand up the back of your neck and just under your updo, feeling your hair under your fingers, an instinctive habit that you don’t think about, but then someone behind you lets out a low whistle.

“Wow.”

You turn away from your car to see who it is. It’s a newcomer to the circuit, someone you haven’t spoken to so far, even if you’ve seen him around. He’s handsome, his hair a red that's darker than the eye-catching brightness of your car and he has a piercing in one of his undyed brows. You’ve only raced against him once— all things told he’s pretty good, even if he hadn’t made it to the top three (you’d beaten Jimin that time, too). 

“And you are?” You decide to play ignorant. The man grins at you, amused.

“I’m Changkyun,” he says. “And I know who you are, Y/n.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head at him. “How do you know that, exactly?”

“It’s hard to ignore a queen when she’s carving up the track.” His eyes slide away from you to your Pontiac, the way the light is glinting off her smooth curves and clean lines. “And when her car is almost as gorgeous as she is.”

You have to admit, as much as Changkyun is shamelessly flirting right now, he’s a lot more nuanced than the usual guys that come over to try it on with you. He clearly knows how good you are and this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him around the circuit so he’s probably aware of your reputation— but he’s still decided to bite the bullet and speak to you anyway. You have to give him props for that.

“A queen, huh?” His eyes flick back up to your face when you say this. “Is that what people say about me?”

“I don’t need someone to tell me that you deserve to be treated like royalty,” he says. “I knew that from the second I laid eyes on you.”

His voice is pitched low and there’s a smile playing at the edge of his lips. You raise your eyebrows and let your mouth purse a little, touching a finger to your bottom lip as if in thought; Changkyun’s dark eyes trace every motion, shameless.

“What does being treated like royalty mean, exactly?” You tap your lip, letting your nail press into the swell of flesh. “Being nice to me?”

“A hands on demonstration would be the best way to show you.” Changkyun has stepped closer to you, leaning in, although you notice he’s still giving you space— he really is a lot more nuanced than you’re used to. You’re begrudgingly impressed, even if you don’t show it. “If you’d like.”

“If I’m a queen, I don’t think I should let some regular commoner just touch me,” you say, a little haughty, and Changkyun laughs.

“That’s true,” he says, grinning at you with a mouthful of teeth, a wolf. “Winners are kings, right? How about if I beat you in the race today, you’ll think about it?”

You let out a little giggle, making it obvious that you don’t feel threatened. He really has endless confidence, especially considering how you’d outpaced him easily in the one race you’ve had together; he’s definitely capable of winning in his Silvia but it doesn’t matter how well he’s tweaked the S15 if he’s not able to drive it as well as he needs to. 

“Oh, I’ll definitely think about it,” you say. “I guess I should wish you good luck then, hm?”

He’s not offended by your laughter and instead it just seems like he wants to rise to the bait. “You’re too kind,” he says. “Would it be too much to ask for a good luck kiss?”

“It would.” You toss your head and he laughs again, quiet and low.

“Alright,” he says, that ever present grin still on his lips. “I’ll see you at the starting line, queen.”

When you climb into your car you know he’ll be watching you. You’re wearing a skirt today and the fabric hitches up when you lower yourself into your seat, revealing the skin of your thigh; you pay no attention to whoever’s looking. You don't have to. You know you look good.

You’ve driven this route in Namsan enough times that you could map out its topography in your sleep, its looping curves lending itself to being one of the most fun roads you get to drift on. Jimin rolls into a smooth stop next to you, Skyline easing into place, and you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. When you take in the expression on his face you almost do a double take.

He looks hungry. There’s no other way to describe it, really. You’re used to seeing resolve on his face, of course, his determination to win— but tonight he looks almost on edge, eyes hard as he stares out at the road and fingers wrapped tight around his steering wheel, like he’s going to throw his car forwards so he can win, starving for it.

When the flag drops Jimin’s Skyline jumps forward like a bullet from a gun. You try to match his pace but he throws you off when he slings himself out of a turn and slides into a choku-dori, the zig-zagging motion of his car catching you off guard and forcing you to drift longer after the turn, your foot tight on the clutch as the back of your Solstice swings around in a wider arc to avoid him. Jimin drives more recklessly tonight than you’re used to, drifting around each bend faster than you would dare: it’s exhilarating to watch even if he’s absolutely destroying you— he blasts over the finish line first to the roar of the crowd, the sound of his screaming throttle dying down as he pulls to a screeching stop, triumphant.

You and Hoseok come joint second, exactly the same time on the clock. You’re panting as you step out of your car, hands shaking with adrenaline, staring in Jimin’s direction with incredulity. Jungkook and Taehyung are waiting for you but when you ask for water they both rush off, saying they can cover more ground with the two of them (whatever that means). Hoseok distracts you when he comes over and high-fives you over your combined second place, indifferent to his loss.

“Jimin was driving like a beast today,” he comments as he glances over at the man. “I wonder what got into him?”

“I have no clue,” you say. Jimin isn’t looking over at you, distracted by groups of fans who have surrounded him before he disappears to collect his prize money, and you wonder what’s going through his head. “Did you see how he approached that second turn?”

“Yeah, I did.” Hoseok nods. “It was way more aggressive than usual, wasn’t it? Oh, I think someone wants to talk to you,” he says as he spots someone over your shoulder, taking a step back and wiggling his fingers at you in a goodbye wave. “I’ll catch you at the afterparty, cutie.”

‘Someone’ turns out to be Changkyun, of course. He’d come fourth. The final hairpin turn seems like it had thrown him off, though he’d recovered well from it if he’d only been beaten out by Namjoon. “Guess someone else has the title of king, tonight,” Changkyun says, and though he sounds disappointed, he sounds less bothered than you would have expected.

“So it seems.” You straighten as Jungkook approaches with a water bottle, already uncapped for you, and you accept it from him gratefully before taking in a sip. He gives Changkyun a long look but doesn’t say anything, though Changkyun seems uncowed. “You drove well, though.”

“That’s high praise, coming from you.” Changkyun seems pleased at your compliment. “Maybe I’ll beat you next time, huh?”

“I’ll try not to hold my breath,” you say drily, no longer in the mood to play along with him. You’re not trying to be cocky but the truth is that you’d never been worried about him beating you— and even if he had, you don’t fuck around with other drivers, or fans, as desperate as they might be. The underground racing scene is rife with this sort of stuff but you still have no interest in it and for all that Changkyun is undeniably attractive and admittedly intriguing, it’s nowhere near enough to genuinely catch your attention.

(There's only one driver on the circuit who has your attention the way Changkyun wants it, but no one needs to know that.)

Changkyun just laughs. He doesn’t seem surprised or offended at all. “Whatever makes you happy. Maybe I’ll see you at the afterparty.”

As he walks away, Jungkook clicks his tongue, unimpressed, while you gulp down another mouthful of water and try to still your adrenaline-shaking fingers.

The crowd at Namsan is pretty big tonight, the openness of the mountain roads allowing more people to get out here and park up to watch, but on the same token of being on a mountain it doesn’t exactly lend itself to being the sort of place that’s good to stand around and drink. There are some warehouses nearby that are empty overnight and it’s only a short drive there, people migrating after the race has finished; you’ll get other drivers who are too afraid to race coming to show off their cars, revving their engines and doing doughnuts in the deserted warehouse car parks. You park your Solstice away from this revelry, not wanting to be asked to join in— you’ve already had your adrenaline high of the night, and besides, everyone knows how good you are without you having to prove it by doing figure 8s in an old parking lot or burning out your tyres.

At one point you see Changkyun again but when he looks like he’s about to approach you, you just raise your eyebrows at him. He lifts his hands in a deferential act of surrender and leaves you alone which shows a surprising amount of self-awareness on his part.

You know Taehyung has wandered off with Yoongi, but you wonder where Jungkook is and turn away from where Changkyun is retreating to see if you can find him. Instead you see Jimin for the first time since the race, making eye contact— he must have been watching you, already looking in your direction when you spot him.

The second you see him, your lips unwittingly lift into a smile. It’s not even conscious on your part, your genuine happiness at seeing him shining through on your face. Jimin pauses but then a girl appears out of the crowd nearby and latches onto his arm, batting her eyelashes at the winner of the night; he’s startled by her appearance and looks away from you before he can smile back.

Normally you’d find it funny, that brief moment of bewilderment on Jimin’s face as he’s being accosted by someone, but for some reason today you don’t feel amused— the smile hardens on your face and jealousy licks at your insides before your eyes widen in surprise. You have no right or reason to feel like this. Jimin is free to do what he likes, of course, and the girl is gorgeous— why shouldn’t he just do what every other driver does and take what he wants?

You think you’re done socialising for the night. You’ll catch up with Taehyung and Jungkook later.

For once you’ve managed to get your hands on a non-alcoholic drink. You crack open the can of peach water and lean against your car as you sip it, feeling refreshed even if the liquid is tepid at best. You’re idly reading the ingredients list and raising your eyebrows at the sugar content when you hear the sound of footsteps approaching you; you glance up, wondering who’s come this far away from the party to your concealed parking spot.

“Jimin?” The surprise is obvious in your voice. Even though you still meet each other alone during each afterparty you’d never expected to see him so soon, especially considering the groupies who’d been gathering around him after he’d come first. The stunning girl who’d been clinging onto his arm is nowhere in sight. “Hi.”

“Hi.” There’s something in his expression that you can’t read. Despite his win, he still has that look of hunger on his face, although it seems more muted than it had earlier. Speaking of his win—

“Congrats on coming first,” you say, raising your can at him in a cheers motion. “That was some incredible driving. You deserve that win.” And everything else that comes with it, you think to yourself, the voice in your head shockingly bitter. You need to calm down.

Jimin is standing a lot closer than he normally does. It’s kind of hard to keep your eyes off the line of his neck and his collarbones; the vee of his shirt has dipped even lower, showing off even more of his skin. “It was close.”

You can’t help but laugh. “No, it wasn’t, and you know it. There’s no need to be humble. But really, your driving was unparalleled tonight. What was up with that? You’re not normally that much of a daredevil.”

Jimin pauses. “You want to know?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know, Jimin.” You’re being more standoffish now than you have been recently, but you can’t help it, even if you sort of feel like a petulant child. You’re still holding onto your can of peach water, arms loosely crossed in a way that allows you to keep lifting it to your mouth, and you raise one of your eyebrows at him as you take a drink from it; you almost choke on that sip of water when Jimin gets closer, crowding you against the car. His arms come to either side of you and he cages you in, trapping you. He leans forwards and your eyes go wide.

“You really want to know?” When he speaks his face is so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath curling out of his mouth; your eyes betray you and flit down to his lips, watching the way they curve themselves around the words. Even though you wrench them back up immediately you know Jimin would have seen you look, and there’s a quiet, pleased upturn to his lips now, though the intensity in his eyes hasn’t dimmed at all. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You might be at Jimin’s mercy right now, but you’re not about to let him know that— even if it’s patently obvious. You’ve pulled your arms closer to your chest, trying to crowd as far back against your car as you can, but Jimin is still so close. “Yeah. I do.”

“To prove that I’m better than him,” he says. “To put him in his place.”

Even though you probably shouldn’t laugh directly in Jimin’s face when he looks as intense as he does, you can’t help it. “What, Changkyun? Of course you’re better than him. Why would you feel the need to prove it?”

Jimin seems pleased by your praise, preening a little, but his eyes are still hooded as he looks at you. “So he knows that he’s never going to be good enough.”

His gaze is still heavy, eyes piercing. This entire situation is already spiralling out of your grasp, but even though your heart is pounding, you find that you don’t mind it at all. You'd told Jungkook earlier that you and Jimin are just friends, and you hadn't been lying, but right now it's getting hard to hold onto that fact— the warmth of Jimin's body so close to yours, his face so near to your own, the two of you almost flush.

“Good enough for what, Jimin?”

“Good enough to be the challenge that you want,” he answers. His voice is quiet but you still hear him perfectly. “The challenge that you need.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Oh. “I don’t have to look for that.” Your voice is a whisper, almost trembling as you admit this. As you lay yourself bare in front of Jimin. “You know that I’ve already found it.”

And Jimin— Jimin smiles. He takes a hand off the Pontiac and runs the pad of his thumb down your jawline before resting it just under the swell of your bottom lip. His touch is slow and languid, giving you time to pull away if you want to: but you don't want to. You tilt your head forward into his touch, tipping your head down so that his thumb rests on the seam of your lips instead, but then he takes the hand away. Before you can do or say anything, he sets it on your outer thigh, just below the hem of your skirt, and waits. There's a question in his eyes, a little lift of his eyebrows, still giving you a chance to push him away— but you don't, so he drags his hand upwards and begins to hitch up the material.

You set your can of unfinished peach water aside, metal clinking against the roof of your car. Now that your hands are free you wind them behind Jimin’s neck and tug him closer. Your noses brush as his hand changes direction, drawing his small, delicate fingers over the lace trim of your panties; your mouth opens and you tilt your head forwards, your lips almost touching, but not quite. Jimin doesn’t bridge that gap and seems content to let you get wound up, the way your hips twitch each time it seems like he’s going to dip between your legs but doesn’t.

“Stop teasing me.” Your voice comes out weak and breathy.

“Stop teasing you?” Jimin raises his eyebrows like he’s affronted, even as you part your legs further and he runs his fingers up the seam of your inner thigh, rather than where you really want him to touch. “I’m just returning the favour.”

It’s a little hard to focus on what he’s saying, your focus on the sensation of his fingertips on your skin, but you frown in confusion. “Returning the favour?”

“I’m showing you what you can have, but not giving it to you,” he says. “Changkyun almost thought he could have you. You’re always so coy with Hoseok, too. But you think I haven’t noticed how you’re different with me? You actually want me. But you just tease and flirt and then leave me wanting more.”

“Jimin.” You suck in a breath as you feel a fleeting touch of his fingers where you’ve been wanting them, the lightest run of his fingers over your slit, though you barely feel it through the fabric of your underwear. He must be able to feel the wetness of you through it. He’s barely touched you and you already feel like a wreck. “Kiss me.”

For a long second you think that he won’t acquiesce, but then his lips are against yours and you sigh against his mouth. You’ve always thought that his lips were sinful and you’re proven right, the swell of them so soft, the way he fits them together with yours; you bask in how gentle the kiss is, eyes slipping shut so you can focus on the sensation. One kiss turns into two, into three, presses of your lips against each other, and you’re so caught up in it that you almost forget about the warmth of Jimin’s hand between your thighs— but your eyes fly open and your breath hitches when he finally slips his fingers into your panties. He runs them up your lower lips, touch still teasing, but then he presses his fingertips against your clit, hard, and you gasp against his lips.

He swallows the sound. Your kisses become open mouthed and you lick desperately into his mouth before he starts to circle his fingers around your pearl of nerves, making you jolt against the side of the car. You have to tip your head back to suck in air, breathless from the kisses and sensitivity, and Jimin takes the opportunity to dip his head and kiss the side of your neck, dragging his teeth over your skin. He nips at the sensitive junction between your neck and shoulder and purses his lips before he sucks hard at it, laving his tongue over the mark that's sure to blossom into a hickey.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp. Jimin takes the hand that has been bracing himself against the car and moves it to the back of your neck instead, fingers resting at your lower hairline in a grasp that feels surprisingly tender even as he tips your head forward so he can catch your lips again, now that he's left a physical reminder of himself in your skin. The juxtaposition between the slowness of these kisses and the way he’s starting to teasingly dip his fingers just into your entrance is making your head spin, reeling, his soft lips opposing his firm touch. “Jimin.” Your voice is needy as you dig your fingers into Jimin’s shoulder blades. “Please, I need more.”

Jimin rests his forehead against yours, staring at you, and his voice is low as he speaks. “Don’t worry,” he says, with a little smile. “When we’re not racing, I’ll always make sure that you come first.”

You can’t help but giggle. “That’s so stupid,” you say, and Jimin laughs quietly with you, but then your laughter cuts into an inhalation of air as Jimin presses two fingers into you. “Oh, that’s just unfair,” you pant, but you tilt your hips forward to give him a better angle. You’ve always been fascinated with Jimin’s hands, as small and pretty as they are, and they don’t need to hit deep to make you feel good, filling you up so well as he continues to slide them into your tight, wet heat.

He uses the heel of his palm to grind against your clit as he continues to thrust his fingers into you, and it’s almost embarrassing, how quickly you approach your peak. Since you broke up with your ex you haven’t had sex with anyone else, and you’re usually so tired after work or racing that you don’t make time to pleasure yourself alone— but you get the feeling that even if these things weren’t true, you’d still get wound up this quickly, because it’s Jimin.

You think he knows that, too. You’ve stopped kissing, now, your mouths just open against each other, barely touching, and his eyes are drinking each of your reactions in, the way your body responds to him, the way the pleasure is written across your face. Your brows are drawn together and your breaths are coming faster, and Jimin pushes another finger in— it’s lewd, the slick sound of your wetness against his hand as he thrusts his fingers and continues to press his palm against your clit, the metal of his rings warmed from your skin. 

Just as you think you’re about to cum, Jimin’s hand stops. You make a noise of need, one of your hands coming to clutch his arm as you try to buck your hips, but it’s not enough. You choke back a sob. “Jimin,” you say. “I’m so close.”

“Ask politely, baby,” he replies, smile wicked, and you almost keen. Normally you’d refuse to beg, but you’re wound so tight right now, so needy—

“Please, Jimin,” you beg. “Let me cum, please, I wanna cum, please, fuck, oh—” Jimin’s started to move his hand again, even faster than before, and you grind your hips into it, riding those fingers with wanton desperation.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs. “I want to see you fall apart.”

You shudder at his words. It only takes a few more hard curls of his fingers and one particularly long press against your clit and you tumble over the edge; you can feel how your walls ripple around him as waves of pleasure spark through you, the cum that flushes out of you, and you’re writhing against the Pontiac, riding out your orgasm around his fingers. You don’t know what noises you’re making but Jimin muffles them, pressing his tongue past your lips and licking the sounds out of your mouth.

When he pulls his fingers out of you and takes his hands out of your panties, you shiver, still oversensitive. “God, Jimin, you make me feel so good,” you whimper. Jimin looks pleased, and when he lifts his hand to your lips you let them fall open as you stare up at him. You take his fingers into your mouth without protest, circling them with your tongue, licking across his knuckles and fingertips hungrily, the taste of your own pleasure lingering on your tongue as you bob your head and look at Jimin meaningfully.

You’re both startled out of the moment when you hear footsteps and voices approaching. You freeze, the two of you stiffening against each other; although you’re sequestered from the party, you’re not so far away that people couldn’t stumble across you. Jimin pulls your head into his chest so that you’re hidden from view, his head turning in the direction of the sounds— when they fade he lets you go and you go lax and flop backwards over the roof of your car, letting your arms spread wide after that brief moment of panic passes. Jimin turns his head to look down at you, and you give him a smile, still punch-drunk from your post orgasm come down, which he returns. His lips are kiss swollen and he looks so beautiful like this, silhouetted by the night sky behind him as he smiles at you, even if the rest of your surroundings leave something to be desired.

“Wow, Jimin.” You lift one of your hands to draw it down his chest, pulling the neckline of his shirt even lower, revealing more of his skin to you. You can’t help but sigh with delight, almost overwhelmed. “Do you have any idea how incredible you are?” 

His smile turns surprisingly cheeky. “Maybe, but I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to tell me again,” he says, and you laugh.

“Your praise kink is showing,” you tease. You lift your other hand and draw your palms over his stomach, surprised but pleased when you feel lines of hard muscle through the fabric of his shirt. “You never had anything to prove, you know,” you say, softer now. “Changkyun is nothing to me. No one else is. You’re the only person on this circuit who I watch.”

Jimin bends forwards, resting his elbows on the roof, hovering above you as he continues to give you that cheeky smile. “Oh?”

You smile back. “Don’t act like you don’t know it,” you say. It’s true that you hadn’t had plans to try and fuck Jimin, but it’s also true that— “When I drive, the only person I want to beat is you. No one else matters. You’ve ruined me, Park Jimin. I never used to care like this.”

In the distance, someone’s engine backfires. Neither of you react to the noise. Jimin is looking down at you with a soft but unreadable expression on his face. “I saw Changkyun approaching you at the afterparty.”

You tilt your head back against the car, lifting your chin as your eyes squeeze with laughter. “Then you saw how I basically told him to fuck off?”

“Yes.” Jimin’s smile goes so wide you can see his teeth, eyes crescents, face bright. “That made me happy.”

“Ah, so you like praise and you’re possessive. Cute,” you say, running a finger down Jimin’s forehead and to the end of his nose, before tapping it. “I suppose now is a good time to let you know that I’m possessive, too.”

“Good,” Jimin says, and then lets out a tinkling laugh when you make a kissing noise at him through pursed lips. “Is that why I saw you disappear after that girl grabbed me?”

“No comment,” you reply, but then pout at him when he crooks an eyebrow at you. “I wasn’t about to watch someone else climbing all over you, was I? She was gorgeous, of course I was jealous.”

“You have nothing to be jealous of.” Jimin lightly draws one of his hands over your collarbones, thumbing at the hollow under your neck, your skin hypersensitive to his touch. “You’re the only one I want.”

You let the self-satisfaction show on your face and Jimin laughs again. He’s still giggling when you start to run your fingers rhythmically through his hair, combing through the product that’s keeping it out of his face, and watch as the locks start to cover his forehead. He makes a questioning noise at the back of his throat. “What are you doing?”

“I want to look,” you say. He always has his forehead at least a little bared, and the one time you’d seen it covered, it had transformed his whole look, and you want to see if it was a fluke. 

It wasn’t. Like this his hair is so long it hangs in his eyes, but because he’s bent forward it just frames his face instead, and it almost feels like a curtain that’s shutting off the rest of the world, letting you see a softer side that he never reveals on the circuit. “Ah, there it is. The duality of man,” you sigh happily. Cute, but gorgeous. Soft, but devastating. Incredible.

You draw your hands back down his body, and then you roughly tug his shirt out from where it’s been tucked into his trousers. You feel how his stomach jumps when you lightly drag your fingers across it, feeling the faint definition of abs, and you can’t help but grin. “You’re a fucking meal, Park Jimin,” you say, hooking your fingers in his belt. You tug on it, using the weight of Jimin’s body help you up— he straightens as you do, and your hips are flush, the material of your skirt still hitched up so that the damp material of your panties is rubbing against him, and you can feel his growing hardness. “Can I have a taste?”

Jimin laughs again. When you smile back at him, he leans in and slants his mouth against yours, a small touch of your lips before he pulls back. “Anything you want,” he says, and your smile turns hungry.

You tug at him, repositioning your bodies so that he’s pressed up against the Pontiac instead. He leans back on his arms, bracing his palms against the low roof of the car as you step back for a little bit of room so that you can unbuckle his belt. You use one hand to lift his shirt up, revealing his chest and stomach to you, the lines of muscle he keeps hidden away. Your mouth waters. You’re briefly distracted when you notice stark lines of black on his ribs, splaying your fingers under the tattoo you find there; you want to taste it. So you crouch, dipping your head to lick across the sensitive skin of his rib cage and over each letter, NEVERMIND etched permanently into his skin.

You can feel how Jimin reacts, the way his chest jumps as he sucks in a breath. You want to know what the tattoo means, why he got it, but that can wait— right now you have more pressing matters to attend to. You run your tongue down the line of his stomach as you drag his zipper down with deft fingers, and then pull your face away to watch as you start to pull his jeans down. You take in the sight of his hard cock, contained by his briefs, the damp patch of precum darkening the fabric around the head.

You glance up at Jimin as you shift from a crouch and fully onto your knees. Your bare skin presses against the pavement, rough, but you don’t care; Jimin’s eyes are dark and heavy as he watches you kneel in front of him, and you keep your eyes locked as you purse your lips and kiss the tip of his cock through his underwear. He hisses. You grip his shaft through the fabric, mouthing at the head and dragging your wet tongue across the cotton, staring coyly up at him the whole time.

“Tease,” Jimin says. You huff out a laugh and take your hand away from where it’s been holding his shirt up and cup his balls through his briefs, drunk on how you can see and feel his dick twitching when you do. 

“I give as good as I get, babe,” you say. Jimin takes one of his hands off the Pontiac to rest on the top of your head and lightly tangles his fingers in your hair, grip just edging on firm— you understand the tacit implication of his action and surrender control to him, skimming your hands over his hip bones and around to his ass. 

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t stared at his behind a thousand times, his thick thighs and his round ass, and it feels even better under your hands than you thought. You dip your fingers under the waistband of his briefs and into the soft flesh underneath it, digging your fingernails in before pulling the underwear down so you expose Jimin to the night air. His cock bobs as it comes free of the fabric, as perfect as the rest of him, flushed red head shining with precum. 

Maybe you have a bit of an oral fixation and love giving head, or maybe Jimin’s cock is impossible to resist: all you know is that you need to taste him. Your mouth falls open and you let your tongue rest on your bottom lip for just a moment before you suck the head of his cock into your mouth. He makes the prettiest noise, his fingers tightening against your scalp as you tongue at the slit and lap up the precum that’s gathered there, salt and warmth bursting across your taste buds. Your hands aren’t idle, either, touching the parts of his cock that aren’t in your mouth, fingers on his shaft and around his balls. 

You run your mouth along the side of his length, flicking your tongue and dragging it across a vein, watching Jimin the whole time. He’s staring at you, the way you use your spit-slick lips to press kisses along his cock, the tip, drinking down every drip of precum that beads there, tonguing the sensitive spot just under the head where it meets the shaft. 

Saliva is filling your mouth, mingling with the taste of Jimin on your tongue, and you swallow him back down. You relax your jaw and lower your head, taking Jimin down inch by inch, the weight of his cock heavy in your mouth; you continue to roll his balls in your hand while you use the other to grip what little’s not in your mouth. Jimin’s eyes are wide as he watches how you skilfully swallow him down until you can feel him at the back of your throat, breathing through your nose, and then you start to rapidly bob your head.

“Oh, fuck!” Jimin’s hips jump and you almost gag when his cock thrusts into your throat, off rhythm to how you’re moving, but you’re nothing if not a trooper and recover quickly.  He’s not the biggest you’ve ever had but that just means that you can swallow most of him down, deepthroating him, noises lewd as saliva drips past your lips and onto your chin. You’ve never been afraid to get dirty, and seeing the way Jimin is quickly losing control makes it all the better; you feel his balls tightening in your hand and you can see how his face is twisting, his brows furrowed and his lips falling open as he breathes through his mouth, thrusting forwards in time with the bobbing of your head. You desperately chase that, matching his rhythm as he speeds up; you want to wreck him. 

His fingers dig into your scalp. “I’m gonna cum,” he warns, and you just flick him a glance through your lashes as you swallow particularly loudly and start to go faster, turning your focus to his head, using a hand to twist around his shaft and jerk off his length. His hips drive forward one more time before he cries out, and you can feel how his cock twitches as he cums into your mouth, hot and salty; you suck down each wave of cum, lips tight around him as your hand continues to milk him, grip firm, until he’s twitching from oversensitivity and pulling you off him with the fingers in your hair.

You’re still holding onto his softening length. He looks fucked out, pupils blown, a pink flush down his neck, and he’s panting almost as hard as you are; he watches as you lick your lips, and you feel how his dick gives a half-hearted twitch in your hands, although his face twists a little into a pained expression. “You’re unbelievable,” Jimin says, and you let out a little laugh, pleased.

“And your dick is spectacular,” you say. Your voice is a little hoarse, but god, that was worth it and you would do it again. You’d suck Park Jimin’s cock until you lost your voice if he’d let you. You lift the fabric of your shirt to wipe your chin and mouth, cleaning the saliva that’s gathered and then turn your attention back to the man, hand gentle in your hair as he’s been watching you.

You lift his briefs and jeans for him, standing up and brushing your knees off before you tuck his shirt back in and then do up his zip and buckle his belt, smoothing his outfit back into place. You’re looking down at your hands as you do this, and so you don’t see the way Jimin is looking at you with something akin to affection. “I know a lot of guys don’t like dick mouth,” you say, flicking your eyes up. “But—”

Jimin’s kissing you before you can finish your sentence. You muffle a noise of surprise and kiss him back, shivering when he licks into your mouth, running his tongue across your teeth and over your lips. When you pull back, you end up giggling a little, running a finger under his chin and then tapping his swollen lips. “I was about to say, I still have my water, but I guess that doesn’t matter now, huh?”

You still reach for your drink, lifting the can from where it’s remained steady on the car, filling your mouth with the sweet taste of peach and fizz as you swish it around and then swallow. Jimin watches as you do and then reaches for the can himself— you tip it against his lips and let him finish the rest, watching the way his Adam's apple bobs, and tilt your head to kiss it as it does. He shivers, and you nose at his neck before sucking the skin so that you'll leave a mark on him, too. A reminder of you. He smells so nice, soft orange and something floral, maybe, subtle and light; you really like all these little details about Jimin, how he’s not brash at all, but rather, elegant and understated— and yet still undeniably powerful in his own way. 

You both startle when you hear someone calling out your name, surprisingly nearby. It sounds like they’re coming right in your direction, just around the corner, and there’s only two people who know where you like to park—

“Y/n! I’ve been looking everywhere for y- oh.” Jungkook literally freezes mid step, one foot in the air, blinking at how you and Jimin are standing flush with each other, Jimin’s stance wide so you can stand between his legs, while his hands are resting on your waist. You can see the cogs in Jungkook's mind working, and he puts his foot down in slow-mo as he slowly starts to smile. "Oh, didn't mean to interrupt, don't mind me," he says with a shit eating grin.

"It's okay," Jimin says. "I should go."

You can't help but pout. "So soon? Kookie can leave."

Jimin seems amused, but much to your surprise he indulges you with a small kiss; you didn't think he'd be so forward when someone else was watching. “I'll see you at the next race, sweet thing,” he murmurs, acting as if Jungkook isn't there.

“If you win again, I'll do something nice for you,” you say, and he laughs.

“And if you win?”

“Then you have to do something nice for me. Equal exchange, darling.”

Jimin just smiles. “Sounds like an agreement.”

He leaves with a small wave, and even flicks a wink at Jungkook as he goes past, the taller man watching him go. As soon as Jimin is out of sight your friend rounds on you with a I Knew It expression on his face.

“Yeah, okay, you were right,” you say, lifting a hand to cut him off before he can say anything. “You should just feel glad you hadn't turned up earlier. I think you might have seen some things you would regret.”

“That's gross,” Jungkook says, though he sounds cheerful. He loves being proven right. Brat. “You’d better not start letting him win, though.”

You snort. “Please, as if I would. The race is part of the foreplay.”

“That’s gross,” Jungkook says again. This time he sounds like he means it, and you laugh.

--

“There are way too many people here today,” Taehyung says. You can’t help but agree.

“They need to back off before I start swinging,” you mutter. Jungkook grabs your shoulder and squeezes it.

“We’ve got you,” he says, and you relax.

The multi-level car park in Yongsan is packed to the gills with people, faces in the crowd you know you’ve never seen; you’ve never raced here before and you’re not sure how word got out to so many people, but they’re clearly not familiar with the unspoken etiquette of the circuit and people keep trying to approach your goddamn car. You’ll allow it after a race, people rushing up to congratulate or whatever, but right now you’re grateful to have Jungkook and Taehyung warding people off while you staunchly ignore the wolf whistles aimed in your direction. You're too uncomfortable to play up to it today.

There are a lot of really tweaked out cars here. There’s even another American car, an electric blue Mustang that’s really beautiful, but you wonder at the choice of such a long pony car in the tight corners of an indoor car park.

“At least the prize money will be good?” Taehyung hazards. He’s not wrong— the prize money is a few hundred thousand won higher than normal, probably reflecting the more luxurious district that you’re racing in today. You wonder if that’s why Seokjin organised it here, for more exposure, more cash. The truth is, though, there are more important things that you want to win tonight. On that note—

“Hi, sweet thing,” Jimin says from behind you, and you turn around.

“Jiminie,” you sigh, relieved. Under his jacket his shirt is loose, material tastefully flimsy, and you can’t help but feel smug at the blossoms of colour over his pale neck and across his clavicle, tacit reminders of the race before last when he’d edged ahead of you just before the finish line. The pleats of your skirt cover your upper legs, but Jimin has already seen the similar blooms he’d left on your inner thighs, drawing out the noises you’d made as he’d eaten you out on the hood of his Nissan after your last win. “God, you look good.”

He smiles. “You do too, baby.”

You already feel more relaxed upon seeing him, warmth bursting through your chest at the pet names. “It’s so busy today.” There’s a little whine in your voice as you complain to Jimin and he crooks you a smile, indulgent.

“Just keep your eyes on me, ignore everyone else.”

“That’s like telling the sun to shine, it’s going to happen whether you say it or not,” you scoff. Jimin gives you that smile that he reserves for you, that only you can read because no one else is as good at deciphering his expressions as you are— flattered, bashful, pleased. It’s small, subdued because of the people around you, but you’ll make sure to make him smile like that again later when the two of you are alone together. You melt a little and try not to overthink how quickly Jimin has wormed his way inside your heart; at the end of the day, despite how many times you’ve touched him with your mouth and your hands, you’re still rivals. (Even if that line seems to be growing ever more blurred as time goes on.)

“So when’s the wedding?” Jungkook asks once Jimin’s out of earshot.

“It’s not like that, it’s just a physical thing,” you say. 

“Riiiiiiiiiiight.” Jungkook raises his eyebrows at you. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

“He really likes you, you know,” Taehyung mentions conversationally. “Yoongi says he talks about you a lot.”

“Almost as much as she talks about him?” Jungkook looks at you knowingly, and you pout at them both.

“Leave me alone, you know I’m a delicate flower,” you say, which makes them laugh. You don’t talk about Jimin that much, no matter what Jungkook says.

Your eyebrows raise when you find out who you’re racing tonight. They’ve put you up against someone you don’t recognise or know the name of, the driver of the Mustang, it turns out, the Yongsan crowd wanting to see how both American cars will fare against each other. Your Pontiac is a lot smaller, nippier, but you have no idea what’s under the hood of the other car— although you have to admit the matching blue LEDs that are shining out under the Mustang and from its headlights are pretty, a lot more dramatic than your unadorned Solstice. But you’ve never been showy, and theatrical prettiness means nothing when you’re racing. It’s down to mechanics and skill, not aesthetic. (Besides, your car is beautiful enough that she doesn’t need flashy additions to draw the eye.)

You catch sight of Jimin in your rearview mirror just as you’ve finished strapping yourself in. He’s a point of stillness in the heaving crowd that’s pressing in on the start of the race from all sides, and you see how his eyes crinkle as he smiles and mouths good luck. You rev your engine, finding yourself smiling back before you look over at the driver of the Mustang, who has a cocky grin on his face.

“I’m going to eat you alive,” he says, and you just smile beatifically while batting your eyelashes.

“Big words for such a small man,” you reply, and you see how his fingers tighten around the steering wheel, white knuckled. “Ooh, did that make you mad? Would you rather I pretended to be worried? Who even are you, anyway?”

“I’m going to make you regret saying that,” he snarls, and you laugh.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” you say, winking at him before your window rises and cuts him off.

The second the race begins you slam down on your accelerator, Solstice leaping forward as the Mustang screeches to life beside you. He’s a reckless driver, slamming into turns with too much speed and relying on the heavier weight of his car to keep him steady; you’re having to drive cautiously, swerving away from him when he seems to get too close to you, which happens more often than you like. It almost seems intentional, like he’s trying to take you out, and you grit your teeth as you slide into another turn, watching as he goes wide and sends safety cones scattering as his car swings into them.

It’s not hard to pull out ahead. You pop your handbrake as you approach the spiral ramp up to the final level and your Solstice curls into the rising turn with ease, the shortness of your car meaning that you can soar through the tightness of the walls without scraping along the sides. You emerge onto the rooftop to a yelling crowd and pump your throttle, turning your wheel so you arc out and slide to a smooth stop.

The Mustang appears moments after, though you’re being swarmed by the crowd and almost don’t notice. Thankfully Jungkook and Taehyung are the first to reach you, as normal, a fact which you’re grateful for moments later when the Mustang driver shoves his way through the crowd and makes a direct beeline for you.

You’ve been drifting for a long time, and you’ve experienced your fair share of abuse and bitterness from people who’ve lost against you, but you’ve been around long enough and built up enough of a reputation that you avoid most of it nowadays. The Mustang driver, however, looks furious, apoplectic with rage, and you don’t know what’s going through his head as he approaches you, but it can’t be anything good. You instinctively reach out for the person closest to you— Taehyung— who starts to turn, and Jungkook has noticed him too, already moving to interpose himself.

“Get out of my way,” the Mustang driver barks. “That bitch is mine.”

“Back off,” Jungkook snarls. You’ve never heard him sound like this before, this level of ferocity, eyes wild. “Take one step closer and I’ll make you fucking regret it.”

Taehyung also steps in front of you. There’s a moment where you wonder if you could have avoided this— if you hadn’t taunted him at the beginning, maybe?— but Taehyung’s hand squeezes yours reassuringly, and you realise it probably would have panned out like this anyway. Some people just hate to lose. You catch sight of Jimin at the front of the crowd, staring at you with concern, but Yoongi’s got a hold of him, fingers wrapped tight around his wrist as he holds him in place.

“What are you, her little bitch boy?” The Mustang driver barks at Jungkook. “Are you her little fuckbuddy, huh?”

Jungkook has a black belt in Taekwondo and he’s recently started boxing, too, on top of his general gym rat lifestyle, muscles visible under the tattoos that adorn his arms. Jungkook is literally the worst person you could ever want to get into a fight against; he’s sweet and lovely but he won’t take things lying down, especially if it’s one of his friends being threatened. You see how Jungkook’s shoulders go stiff, and you know you’re seconds away from a physical altercation— the onlookers are making no moves to intervene, and instead are fumbling for their phones to film it— but then Hoseok is there, sliding between them, fingers touching Jungkook’s rising hand.

“Guys, guys, guys,” he laughs breezily, as if he isn’t in the firing line right now. “What’s the hold up? I’m waiting for my turn to race but it seems like the crowd is all here rather than at the starting line.”

“I have some things to say to her,” the Mustang driver says, pointing at you. “And this asshole is in my way.”

Jungkook’s lip curls back from his teeth, but before he can say anything, Hoseok laughs again. “Is that what this is about? Is she really worth your time and energy? If you start a fight, you’ll be banned from the circuit.”

You don’t catch the rest of what Hoseok says, Taehyung turning you away from them and hustling you to your car. “We’ll deal with this, don’t worry,” he says, voice low as he opens your door for you. “I’ll speak to Seokjin and make sure this guy gets dealt with, but for now it’s probably a good idea to get out of here.”

Your eyes flicker over to where the guys are still standing— Jungkook still looks tense, even if it seems like Hoseok is doing his best to smooth things over, casual and at ease. You have no doubt that this is the last time you’ll see the Mustang driver, as confrontational and aggressive as he is, but you still don’t like how genuinely useless you feel right now.  “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“We’ll be fine,” Taehyung says. “Go on. I promise I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

You relent and do as you’re told. “I’m going to Namsan,” you tell him, and he nods in understanding.

You catch Jimin’s eye in your rearview as you gun your engine and leave, and you know without a doubt that he’ll come find you later. The drive to Namsan is a familiar one, although you don’t drift or speed and instead you take your time; you roll to a quiet stop once you reach your destination, rough dirt underfoot as you step out of your car, staring at the panorama of downtown Seoul. You don’t know how long you’ve been reclining against your car and drinking down the sight of the city lights below you when you register the sound of Jimin’s deep exhaust rumbling up the mountain road, the sound of his Skyline as familiar to you as your Pontiac by this point, turning your head to see him pull into the deserted lay-by beside you.

“You found me,” you say by way of greeting. Jimin doesn’t even shut his door and immediately makes his way over to you and cups your face in his hands. You relax into his touch, letting your eyes slip shut as he brushes a thumb over your cheek.

“Tae told me where you’d be,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You smile lazily, eyes slowly opening. Jimin is filling your vision, surrounded by the twinkling lights of Seoul below and the dark night sky above, and he’s still the most beautiful thing you can see. “It’s not the first time I’ve had an asshole get angry at me, but he’s definitely the most aggressive I’ve ever experienced.” A frown mars Jimin’s features, and you lift one of your hands to smooth out the lines in his brow. “It’s okay. I’m grateful that I have the boys to look after me. And you, too.”

Jimin’s frown fades, but he still looks unhappy. “I’m sorry,” he says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For not being able to do more. I just stood there and watched.”

You smile gently. “You didn’t have to get involved, Jimin,” you say. “I didn’t expect you to do anything.”

You mean this in a nice way but Jimin’s face goes hard. You’re about to ask if you said something wrong when he cuts you off by kissing you fiercely, and you have to grab his shoulders to keep yourself to tipping backwards on the Pontiac’s hood. Jimin’s hands slide down your waist and he cups your ass before he lifts you; you squeal in surprise and latch onto him, curling your arms and legs around him so he doesn’t drop you.

Jimin might look lithe, but you’ve seen his bare arms and chest often enough to know of the muscle power he has. He walks the two of you to his car, kissing you as he does and your eyes widen as you realise he’s about to try and manoeuvre you both in through the open door while still holding onto you. He makes a noise against your lips as you pull away from the kiss.

“Jimin, put me down for a second,” you say.

“I don’t want to stop touching you.” He noses at your neck, and you shiver.

“If you drop me I’ll never forgive you,” you murmur, and he relents, careful as he sets you down, digging his fingers hard into your ass before he lets go. You’ve barely caught your balance before Jimin slides into his seat, kicking the bar under the chair to send it as far back as possible.

“Get in,” he says, and you instantly comply, climbing into his lap before he slams the door shut. It’s cramped like this but neither of you care, Jimin capturing your lips again as you grind against him, the fabric of your skirt rubbing over his jeans— you’ve started to wear skirts and dresses more often for the ease of access it offers Jimin once a race is over.

“Someone seems a little desperate today.” You mean to sound teasing but you’re too breathless to do so. “You want me to suck your dick that badly?”

“No,” Jimin answers, and the movement of your hips stutters a little as you react with confusion, but then— “I’m going to fuck you tonight, sweet thing,” he continues, and a moan slips unbidden from your lips. The two of you haven’t fucked yet, never going further than using your hands and mouths, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t imagined Jimin’s cock inside you instead of just his fingers and tongue. “Does my baby like the sound of that?”

“Please,” you say. “God, please, Jimin, I want it so bad, want you to fuck me.”

One thing you’ve learned about Jimin is that he likes it when you’re desperate. He loves to edge you, watch you squirm, the power of your pleasure entirely in his hands, but you know how to play with him, too— know how to beg the way he likes it so that he gives you what you want. His pupils dilate as he listens to you plead and you can feel how hard he’s growing beneath you. He slides his hands under your jacket and over your shoulders, helping you slide it off, although it almost gets tangled over the steering wheel as you wriggle in his lap.

“This is so clumsy,” you giggle, and Jimin laughs too as you both struggle to throw the leather jacket onto the passenger seat, but then he grabs your hips and grinds up against your clothed heat and you gasp. “Oh, fuck. Take that damn shirt off, I want to see you too.”

It’s fumbled and chaotic but the two of you end up shedding your upper layer of clothes, shirts cast aside and forgotten. Jimin helps unclasp your bra, kissing the swell of your breasts before the garment drops and is thrown aside too, Jimin taking the opportunity to dip his head and lick one of your nipples. You gasp again and grab at his hair, grip tightening as he runs his tongue over the hardening bud while circling the other with a fingertip. He keeps changing his attention between them, sucking and licking them until you’re a panting, writhing mess in his lap, lips moving so perfectly against your skin.

“Jimin, please,” you whisper, running your hands over all the bare skin you can touch. “I want to feel you.”

It takes less effort than you’d thought as you crane your body upwards to give Jimin space to shove his jeans and underwear down. His cock is hard, lying against his stomach and smearing precum against his skin as he leans back in the chair. You spit into your palm before taking the length in your hand; a familiar weight by now, the curve of him so perfect in your palm, and you shiver in anticipation. Jimin jolts as you pump him to full hardness, running your thumb over the slit of his cock and gathering the wetness there before spreading it over the rest of him, twisting your wrist as you let your hand rise and fall. 

“Fuck,” Jimin swears, grip on your hips so tight it’s almost bruising. You’re still in your skirt and panties, but somehow it seems dirtier like this than if you’d been fully naked; Jimin’s hand slips under your skirt and pushes the material of your panties aside, revealing your core to him, and you shudder when he drags a finger up your slit, feeling the wetness that’s gathered around your opening. His eyes are hungry. “Always so wet for me.”

You drag your hips forward into his touch, trembling when you feel the press of his fingers over your clit. “Always want you,” you breathe. “Please, I want your cock in me so bad—”

He silences you with a kiss, tongue slick and wet in your mouth, and you lean into it, hand tightening around his length as you move to guide it into you. He stops you with firm hands, one on your waist and the other bracing your inner thigh, and you whine against his lips. “Jimin, Jiminie, I need you.”

“Hold on,” he says, but you can hear the edge to his voice, how he doesn’t want to stop either. “I just— condom—”

“I’m clean,” you say, legs trembling as you continue to hold your position above him, muscles screaming at you to just drop down and let Jimin’s cock fill you up the way you want, but you stay steady. “I got tested after I broke up with my ex— and I’m still on the pill— fuck, Jimin, wanna feel you fill me up.”

Jimin’s eyes are blown, swallowing the dark brown of his irises. The hand on your inner thigh moves and he plunges two fingers into you and you suck in air, your body opening up for him as he presses deep into your inner walls. One thing you’ve discovered over the months is that Jimin reverts to his Busan dialect when he’s turned on, his voice a surprisingly deep drawl that makes you shiver. “Baby wants my cum, hm?”

Your head drops forward and you pant against his shoulder, body jolting each time he curls his fingers against your sweet spot just the way you like it. “Yes, I want it,” you say, and then gasp as he pushes another finger in, hard and fast, stretching you; you’re so turned on and wet that it slips in easily. “Jimin, please.”

Normally you’re certain he’d drag this out longer but he seems as desperate as you, pulling his fingers out of you in one deft motion that has your pussy clenching around the sudden emptiness. He shifts his hands to your waist, holding you tight, and you use one of your hands to keep the material of your sodden panties out of the way as you hold onto his cock with the other, guiding the tip towards your entrance. Jimin lets you down slowly, his head breaching you first and stretching you so well; you tip your head back and arch your spine as you feel him slowly splitting you open, thicker than his fingers as you lower down inch by glorious inch until your hips are flush and you’ve taken him as deep as you can.

Jimin rolls his hips upwards and your hands fly to his shoulders for balance as you clench around him. He hisses. “You’re so tight, sweet thing,” he says, and you grind down against him, moving your hips in little circular motions that has both of you gasping. You bite your lip as Jimin lifts you back up, just as slow as before, and you revel in the sensation of his cock dragging against your inner walls, sensations electric inside you. 

You keep this languid pace for a while, wet and slick, Jimin sucking more marks into your neck as you drag your nails down his chest before you decide to switch things up— you catch Jimin off guard, his hands loose around your waist now, and drop your hips down. The air is punched out of your lungs at the way Jimin’s cock thrusts into you and fills you up all at once, so deep and full, a similar moan ripped out of his lips before his eyes go dark.

“So that’s the game you want to play,” he says. You grin mischievously as you tilt your hips so that your clit rubs against him, shuddering as your toes curl at the pleasure shooting through you.

“You said you’d always make me come first,” you say, batting your eyelashes at him innocently, as if you’re not grinding down his cock. “I thought I’d help you out.”

A thrill sparks through you at Jimin’s expression. He doesn’t respond with words and instead he tightens his grip around your waist before he pulls you almost entirely off his cock, the flushed head just touching your entrance as you squirm in his hold. You wonder if he’s going to keep teasing you but then his hips buck upwards as he pulls you down, and you cry out as he drives into you, setting an unforgiving pace as he begins to drill into you. The car starts to rock with his sharp motions, filled with the sounds of your gasps and moans as you ride him, the slap of skin on skin as you edge closer and closer to your orgasm— but when you tilt your face back and your eyes slip shut one of his hands grips your chin and pulls your head forward.

“Eyes on me.” He’s slowed his ruthless pace, staring into your eyes as he rolls his hips fluidly against yours. “I want to look at me when you cum around my cock.”

“J-Jimin,” you hiccup, and he continues to watch your face as he thrusts into you again— your mouth falls open as your body jolts forward in his lap, but you keep your eyes locked on his. “Jimin, I’m so close,” you say, and he responds with a particularly hard drive upwards. One of your hands drops from his shoulder to rub at your clit, fingers desperate as you circle the bundle of nerves in time with the motion of Jimin’s hips, and you know you’re so close to your peak— a few more presses of his cock into you and you’re gone, pleasure sparking through you as you cum and tighten around him, walls rippling against his cock. You cry out, body tensing as you lean into the sensation, shuddering at how much wetter you grow, flushing out of you onto Jimin’s still-hard erection.

Your eyes widen when he doesn’t stop moving. You’re being thrown into oversensitivity, writhing as Jimin continues to pump his hard length into you, but he knows you can take it, drawing multiple orgasms out of you with his fingers and tongue; your hand falls away from your sensitive pearl as Jimin keeps you bouncing in his lap, each deep push into you more than enough to draw out the pleasure from your first orgasm, sobbing in a gasping breath each time he breaches you again. You do your best to match his pace, and you can tell that he’s close, his rhythm starting to falter as the noises slipping past his lips grow more guttural. All his usual sophistication is completely gone as he chases his own release, but he’s still elegant, still gorgeous— it’s the shimmer of sweat at his temples from his exertions and the growing heat in the car, the motion of his body as he rolls his hips, the beautiful dark of his eyes and the kiss-swollen flush to his already full lips. Park Jimin is so utterly overwhelming, and somehow, in some way, he’s yours, and you’re blindsided by your second orgasm, the realisation throwing you into more waves of pleasure as your body goes tense again and you grind down into Jimin with a drawn out moan.

Jimin’s hips stutter. He’s clearly as surprised as you at the fact you’ve come again so soon, but then his eyes fall shut as he grits his teeth after one particularly tight clench of your pussy and he’s cumming too. He empties himself inside you, hot cum painting your insides with each twitch of his cock as you press closer to him, bodies locked together. He chases each wave of his cum with a thrust, pushing as deep into you as he can,  the last, weaker ripples of your own orgasm drawing the evidence of his pleasure further inside you until he finally stills, hips flush.

You’re both panting as you come down from your highs, your muscles protesting in the uncomfortable position you’re keeping them in, as cramped as you are- but you don’t want to separate from Jimin, and he seems to feel the same, grip sliding from your waist to circle his arms around you and pull you impossibly closer. He keeps you close as he helps lift you upwards, his cock sliding out of you; you clench as tight as you can but not before a dribble of his cum drips out of you and runs down his softening length, and you shiver at the sensation of that warmth as Jimin sets you gently back down in his lap before settling against you.

His head is nestled against your chest, hair tickling your neck and under your chin. All the lust from your fucking feels like it’s slowly ebbing away, and you’re left with tenderness instead, your fingers scratching lightly through the shorter hair at the nape of Jimin’s neck in a manner that’s more affectionate than it probably should be; this is just physical, it’s all physical, but you like Jimin so much that you can’t help but let that adoration shine through right now. If he says anything about it afterwards you can just blame it on the post orgasm glow. It’s fine. This is fine. He doesn’t need to know.

Eventually Jimin pulls his head away and you lean back so that he can look up at you. You’re stunned by how unguarded his expression is, how warm his eyes are. (He looks how you feel.)

“My baby,” he murmurs, and you smile.

“Jiminie.” A giggle slips out of you as Jimin’s hands cup your face, touch so light it’s ticklish. “Say it again.”

“My baby,” he repeats, fond, but then the warmth fades from his face and his expression becomes serious. “Y/n. Do you want this?”

“Hm?” You make a little noise of confusion. “Want what? You? Of course. Isn’t that obvious? I thought the fact that we just fucked would have been a giveaway.”

Normally he would have laughed at this, you know he would have, but his face stays level. He draws a thumb down the side of your face, and you turn into the touch. “Is that all you want? Just to fuck?”

Your eyes widen as they flick over his face, the implication behind his words. “What?”

“Do you know how much it killed me to watch Hoseok step in for you? It should have been me.” Jimin’s frowning, and you hate that expression, hate the anger on his face that he has directed towards himself. “I don’t want to stand by and pretend like you don’t mean anything to me. I don’t want to have to keep sneaking around and acting like I don’t want you. I want everyone to know that you’re mine and I’m yours, that they shouldn’t dare to try and put their hands on you.”

“Jimin,” you breathe. “Are you… are you saying you want to make this official? You want to be my boyfriend?” You run a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, looking him in the eye even though you feel oddly vulnerable. “You want that?”

“Yes.” He lets you continue to fiddle with his hair, rhythmically combing it away from his forehead with your fingers. “Do you?”

You sigh as you go boneless against him. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something more,” you admit, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, uncharacteristically shy. “I think I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you, even though I thought you were a threat.”

Jimin stills at your confession and then laughs. “Because I’m so gorgeous?”

“And so humble, too,” you say, before pulling back to kiss his forehead, and then his nose, and then his lips. He smiles so wide his eyes squeeze shut. “Oh, keep smiling like that, you’re so cute when you smile like that.”

He keeps smiling like that as you kiss him again. He’s still smiling once you’ve redressed, even though you keep whining about your leg muscles cramping from how you’ve been curled into his lap; you lean against the door as you sit in his passenger seat and have your legs kicked over the centre console of his car so that he can massage your thighs, so maybe you’re exaggerating your complaints so that Jimin keeps his hands on you, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “I’ve been watching you from the very beginning, too,” Jimin says, and you kick your foot lightly in his grasp.

“That’s rivalry, babe,” you tease, and giggle when he catches your foot and holds it still. “Of course you’ve been watching me, you had to know what the competition was up to.”

“I wanted to bend you over the hood of your pretty little car from the second I heard you open that smart mouth of yours,” he says, and looks pleased when he feels how you shiver under his touch.

“You can do that whenever you’d like, now,” you say. You draw your legs back so that you can shift forwards and lean over the centre console, putting your fingers under Jimin’s chin so that you can plant a small kiss on his lips. “Boyfriend privileges.”

If someone had told you, back when you’d first met Park Jimin, that you’d end up like this, you would have laughed in their face and called them ridiculous. But now when he smiles up at you in a way that’s utterly open and sweet, completely at odds to how he presents himself on the circuit, it just feels natural. Like you’ve been drifting towards this moment from the second you’d locked eyes and shaken hands, rivals to lovers to partners, blending all those different facets into one; like it was inevitable from the start.

“Does that mean I can kiss you in public?” Jimin asks, and you kiss him again, letting it linger this time, sucking his plush bottom lip into your mouth and nipping lightly at it before pulling your head back.

“Baby, I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

--

The next time you meet at Namsan, Jimin’s dyed his hair. It’s no longer honey blond, and instead it’s baby pink, a soft pastel shade that of course looks beautiful on him, not to mention—

“You dyed your hair the same colour as my jacket,” you say, voice faint.

“Surprise, sweet thing.” This time when Jimin smiles it’s wide and open, ignoring the fact you’re about to race each other, ignoring the other drivers on the track, ignoring the crowd of onlookers; he only has eyes for you. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like— Park Jimin, I’m going to fuck your brains out after this race is over,” you say. “But right now I demand that you kiss me before I lose my mind.”

You end up kissing him against the side of your Pontiac, sucking on his tongue in a way that’s utterly lewd and scandalous, neither of you paying attention to shocked reactions it causes.

“Get a room,” Jungkook hollers, and Jimin laughs into your mouth as you flip him the bird.

--

[you can read the second part here!]

[redhairedwolfwitch]

Raven Reyes x Reader - Seventeen - Sharon Van Etten - The 100 - Modern AU

Summary: 1am thoughts and @nnightskiess plus scenery from one of my favourite movies, the half of it.

"Hey, hotshot! Hurry up and get your butt over here!" Raven shouted as she spotted you locking the front door.

I know what you wanna say I think that you're all the same Constantly being led astray You think you know somethin' you don't

"You know I could have driven us, right?" You reminded her, slipping into the passenger seat of her souped up car.

"My car's better, hotshot." Raven smirked, watching you put your seatbelt on before she began to drive.

Downtown hot spots Halfway up the street I used to be free I used to be seventeen Follow my shadow Around your corner I used to be seventeen Now you're just like me

Your head rested against the window as Raven drove down the familar forest road.

Autumn leaves the colour of the sunrise danced in the wind as you opened the window, breathing in the fresh forest air.

Down beneath the ashes and the stone Sure of what I've lived and have known I see you so uncomfortably alone I wish I could show you how much you've grown

Raven smiled to herself as she glanced at you from the corner of her eye, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel to the song playing on the radio.

Downtown hot spots I used to be on this street I used to be seventeen I used to be seventeen Now you're half shy Hanging on my block Sun coming up Who is my shadow?

"We're here." Raven turned the engine off, twirling the car keys around her finger as she smiled at you.

"You got your swim suit?" Raven raised an eyebrow, leading you through the trees as the sound of water trickling caught your attention.

La la la la la la la La la la la la la la La la la la la la la La la la la la la la

"Have you?" You quirked an eyebrow, smirking slightly as Raven playfully rolled her eyes.

"Cute shirt by the way, hotshot." Raven smirked, watching as your eyes widened and you turned on your heel, seeing her ditching her clothes to reveal her swimwear.

Swallowing nervously, you let out a breath before ditching your NASA shirt and your other clothes, revealing you in your swimwear as Raven looked up at the trees.

I know what you're gonna be I know that you're gonna be You're crumbling up just to see Afraid that you'll be just like me

The water wasn't as cold as you thought it would be, joining Raven in the spring as she floated, staring up at the sky.

Mirroring her actions, you floated next to her, smiling nervously as she grinned at you, enjoying the time she was having with you.

"What do you think?" Raven enquired, turning her head to look at you, smirking when she realised you had already been looking at her.

"It's a beautiful spot. Do you bring all the girls here?" You teased, giving her a playful grin as Raven rolled her eyes, smiling to herself.

"Only you, hotshot. Only you." Raven admitted, biting her lip as your eyes widened, staring at Raven in shock.

Downtown hot spots Halfway through this life I used to feel free Was it just a dream? Now you're half shy Think you're so carefree But you're just seventeen So much like me You're just seventeen You're just seventeen Seventeen

[rashivermaofficial]

Hot Wheels Hypertruck Color Shifters: The Coolest Racing Action : Rashi Verma : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

The Hot Wheels Hypertruck Color Shifters edition is the perfect addition to your racing adventures! Unboxing this vibrant vehicle sets the stage for a world of racing fun and entertainment. Witness the magic of color-changing as the Hypertruck reacts to water temperature, adding an element of surprise to every race.

Prepare for epic showdowns and engaging races, where the Hypertruck showcases its prowess on the tracks. The color-changing feature adds excitement and unpredictability, ensuring a captivating racing experience for everyone involved. Whether you're a seasoned Hot Wheels enthusiast or a newcomer to the world of racing, the Hypertruck Color Shifters promises non-stop fun and entertainment for all!

[chyrstis]

OC Aesthetic Tag Game

Tagged by: @strafethesesinners @aceghosts @faithchel @shallow-gravy @chazz-anova @nightwingshero and @adelaidedrubman a bit back! I’ve been wating to do this for forever now for Hana, and finally managed to sneak in some time to do so. 

Tagging: @writerofblocks @twistedsinews @hunnybadgerv @painterofhorizons @cobb-vanthss @amistrio @redroci​ @jackalopestride​ @teamhawkeye @unlikelynick @geronimo-11 @jenchwuq @heroofpenamstan​ @belorage​ @johnnycranes @gamerpurgatory @lilwritingraven​ @triedtriedtired​ @princess-underthemountain​ and anyone else that thinks this would be fun to try! And if you’ve already been tagged, please don’t mind me at all. <3

Deputy Hana Vao

Bold = always/totally fits them italics = sometimes/somewhat applies/sorta fits them strikethrough = never

— LIGHT SOURCES

SUN RAYS. effervescent smiles, dandelion puffs, bare feet, beach waves, flowers pressed into books, champagne glasses, rose-gold eye shadow, boho skirts, wire-rimmed glasses, hair in loose waves, kaleidoscope eyes, sunshine in your hair, fire in your soul.

INCANDESCENT BULBS. crop tops, floral print, dancing in the rain, quiet defiance, hand-knit beanies, rosé, painted bookmarks, marble floors, cirrus clouds against a blue sky, polaroid pictures, hands held, fingers intertwined, flower crowns, baby bluebirds.

STARDUST. lace bralettes, brisk breezes, jasmine-scented perfume, books with yellowed pages, tracking constellations, sterling silver, violin music, chess games, iced coffee, glittery dresses, high heels, secret grins, midnight meetings, wishing upon a star.

CANDLE FLAMES. denim jackets, gladiator sandals, braided hair, messenger bags, movies at the cinema, stolen kisses, wax-sealed envelopes, haiku poetry, cherry wood, succulents, fountain pens, jigsaw puzzles, soft tired eyes, hidden smiles, cuddling with someone you trust.

MOONBEAMS. newspapers, over-sized sweaters, dancing shadows, fleece throws, cutoff shorts, piano chords, red wine, messy buns, embossed journals, a hint of blush dusted across your cheeks, freshly fallen snow, tranquil solitude, burning incense, light hair and dark skin.

AURORAS. combat boots, burgundy lips, infectious laughter, spiral-bound notebooks, pencils used down to the stub, ripped jeans, painted nails, cloud-watching, summer thunderstorms, hiking trails, vinyl records, film cameras, skating on a frozen lake, hot chocolate by the fire.

FIREWORKS. dancing until the break of dawn, heelys, being wheeled around in a shopping cart by your best friend, the euphoria of soaring through the air, being excited for what the future holds, group hugs, colorful tattoos, bronzer-highlighted cheeks, hugging a stuffed animal, lifting a child onto your shoulders, space buns, bright streaks in your hair. :

— BODY LANGUAGE

DEFENSIVENESS. arms crossed on chest / crossing legs / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / karate chops / stiffening of shoulders / tense posture / curling of lip / baring of teeth

REFLECTIVE. hand-to-face gestures / head tilted / stroking chin / peering over glasses / taking glasses off; cleaning / putting earpiece of glasses in mouth / pipe smoker gestures / putting hand to bridge of nose / pursed lips / knitted brows

SUSPICION. arms crossed / sideways glance / touching or rubbing nose / rubbing eyes / hands resting on weapon / brows raising / lips pressing into a thin line / strict, unwavering eye contact (entirely reserved for one lucky, lucky individual in particular) / wrinkling of nose / narrowed eyes

CONFIDENCE. hands behind back / hands on lapels of coat / steepled hands / baring teeth in a grin / rolling shoulders / tipping head back but maintaining eye contact / chest puffed up / shoulders back / arms folded just above navel / wide eyes / standing akimbo

INSECURITY & ANXIETY. chewing pen or pencil / rubbing thumb over opposite thumb / biting fingernails / biting lips / hands in pockets / elbow bent / closed gestures / clearing throat / “whew” sound / picking or pinching flesh / fidgeting in chair / hand covering mouth whilst speaking / poor eye contact / tugging pants whilst seated / jingling money in pockets / tugging at ear / perspiring hands / playing with hair / swaying / playing with pointer; marker; cane / smacking lips / sighing / rocking on balls of feet / flexing or cracking fingers sporadically

ANGER & FRUSTRATION. short breaths / “tsk” sounds / tightly-clenched hands / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / rubbing hand through hair / rubbing back of neck / snarling / revealing teeth / grimacing / sharp-eye glowers / notable tension in brow / shoulders back, head up; defensive posturing / clenching of jaw / grinding teeth / nostrils flaring / heavy exhales

— SENSES

SIGHT. small towns. big cities. six thirty curfews. lights that take the place of stars. blanket nests. light through the blinds as a wake up call. found family. finding a single star in the middle of new york night city. window shopping. watching something terrible and enjoying it. growing numb to the sight of injustice. wilted flowers. faded caricatures. bright, bold colours.

HEARING. crickets and lightning bugs. car engines and a / c units. a phone call to mum / dad. laughing with friends. jokes that are so bad you have to laugh. the clicking of computer keys. noise cancelling headphones. the sound of silence. muffled music from another room. drumming fingertips on a table. clicking of pens. listening to a clock and swearing the ticks get slower. ringing in the ears. the voice of someone you love. pitch shifted songs.

TOUCH. being held close during a long night. fleeting reassurances. holding hands when you’re scared. brushing fingers through strands of hair. freshly dried clothes. bruises on your knuckles. silk and satin. your favourite pet’s fur or feather. wringing your hands anxiously. snuggles. comforters in the dead of winter. nails against skin. cold metal. leather in summer.

TASTE. coffee in the morning. tea in the evening. bubblegum that lost its flavor. alcohol burning the back of your throat. homemade cooking, no matter what’s made. blood in your mouth. stale air. mint. fresh vegetables. that processed taste of citrus candy. the first meal you cook by yourself that tastes good. foreign sweets. fast food. bittersweet. sour. spicy. sweet. bitter. too much salt on fries.

[sp00kworm]

Black Oak

Pairing: Headless Horseman (Alcott Glyn) x Gender Neutral Reader

---

---

A great warrior stood on top of the hill, overlooking the town he had ridden out to protect to his right and the small army amassed to the left. It was an impenetrable force, a thousand strong. A battalion sent to raze his home. The horse underneath him shuddered and swayed, fighting left and right, twitching from hoof to hoof with the burning need to run. He looked back at the village as the children and women streamed up the hill to the manor, to hide away from the fires and death that would await below.

“Sir, we have the boulders ready.” A nervous boy spoke at his side, “You just ‘ave to lure ‘em up this here hill.” The boy pulled his small cap lower and looked at the King’s men, their swords shining at their hips and their lances poised.

“Good.” The man hefted himself around in the saddle to grab his great sword, the cavalry sabre curved for slicing at necks. He admired the steel before sliding it into its sheath and holding his hand out for his lance. There was no time to don heavy armour, so he sat, atop the great black stallion, wrapped in his tailcoats and a simple breastplate. His gauntlets were hastily fastened and his helmet missing. He was ill-prepared to face such men, “Wait for my mark, Matthew.” He whispered as he hefted the lance, the metal plating on his hand squeaking.

 “There’s too many…” Matthew whispered as the horse side stepped to and from, “This is suicide, Alcott.” He gripped the horseman’s boot, “She won’t survive if you die today! For God’s sake, its your wedding day!”

Alcott snapped his heel, his black beast whirring to bump the boy out of his path. With fury in his black eyes, he leaned over to throw the boy his wedding ring, “Then give it to her! Sell it for all I care. It is better for me to die here than to see her and my home slaughtered!”

Matthew caught the ring with a cry, but the horse turned again and threw him to the floor. The thunder of iron cast hooves made him peer down the hill as a stream of black hair and horse disappeared towards the battalion, lance lowered. Matthew averted his eyes as the black beast leaped into the group of soldiers, braying and kicking. He watched four men spew blood, skewered on the end of the lance, before Alcott drew his sabre and continued onwards through the bodies, trampling men underfoot as he howled bloody murder. Matthew failed to watch as heads started to fly.

 It wasn’t long before Alcott was rushing back, his horse cut and shivering, hot blood steaming from them both as they thundered back up the hill.

“Matthew! Now!” Alcott cried as he wheeled his horse through the trap. The men following him paused as boulders crashed from the hill above before they rushed into unstoppable speeds. The earth shook as the rocks crashed into the bodies, flattening soldiers, spraying blood from the stone as they rushed onwards towards the last remaining men. Alcott grinned from the hill.

“Run! Back to the manor!” He howled at the villagers. They rushed, leaving the blood-soaked warrior on top of the hill. The horseman reared his great horse and rushed back down the hill to catch the stragglers. Only young Matthew watched as Alcott was sent flying from his horse. The boy gasped from the long grass as the King’s men parted, revealing a witch among them. She raised her hands in fury before she grasped the horse in a swift movement, and sent the beast crashing to the floor, legs broken underneath its own monstrous weight by an invisible force.

 Alcott spat from the dirt as he gripped at his shoulder, bleeding over the ground. A great chunk of old tree branch protruded from his shoulder. He grabbed at the branch but howled in agony as the witch curled her fingers once more and dragged him through the short, trampled grass.

“Curse you! Vile witch!” He screamed as she made him eat the dirt in front of her feet, “I knew you were behind this! You have corrupted the King’s mind!” He spat the dirt on her feet before blood spewed from his mouth.

“The King is mine, little horseman, and so is your town.” Her long fingers turned his head, showing him the carnage that had begun to ensue, “Your own men have turned against you…”

Alcott coughed as the branch weaselled into his lung, puncturing it.

“This is not death for you, my sweet horseman.” She promised as he peered up into her green eyes. A maiden of the forest. A witch of nature turned against them all, “You will hang, just like all the other traitors, and then they will take your head.”

 Alcott was dragged into town with the corpse of his own horse, the two attached to the back of a grain cart, muddy and battered from the journey to the bottom of the great manor. He looked up through his matted, curly black hair and tried not to cry as the villagers parted. His wife. He dared not look at her as the witch pressed her hand to the old oak and addressed the town.

“Your horseman hangs, for crimes against the crown. You will swear fealty to your lord, or die, like him.” She stepped aside as the men coiled rope and attached it over the tree branch. The oak tree groaned as they pushed Alcott’s head through the noose. He looked at the great black horse and whispered his name.

“Mallor.” His horse did not reply, eyes lifeless and blood dripping from his nose. Alcott peered up and saw her, he hung his head as they dragged him to his feet. He felt anger burn in his gut and chest as he was stood before the home he had protected, and been betrayed by, “I swear, upon the tree I hang from, that I will be back. I will take what you all took from me. A payment of blood will be wrought for this betrayal!” He howled, spit and blood dripping from his lips before they hoisted him high into the tree. Alcott was silent as his face turned red and he gasped for air. His lips tingled and turned blue as the witch turned to the tree. Alcott’s blood dripped from the wood lodged in his shoulder and she watched as the bottom of the oak grew black with rot.

“Then let you haunt your beloved town, horseman. Take their heads as payment for what will be taken from you.” She hissed with delight as his body went still, swaying in the branches with hunting creeks, the background a picture of fire and snapping wood.  

 They eventually lowered Alcott’s body to the floor, his face pale and blue with suffocation. The witch watched with delight as they swung the axe and parted the man’s head from his body. Alcott’s hair rushed into the air as his pale face was dropped before his wife. Lace covered hand reached from the crowd as his new bridge cupped his face in her hands. The men watched as blood painted her lace wedding dress, dripping down her arms and onto her legs as she turned back towards the crowd. It was silent. She leaned her head forwards to kiss his dead lips and smoothed his waves of black hair back before she howled. A great, ringing scream of agony tore from her throat as she clutched her husband’s head to her breast. Blood drenched the bodice of her gown as she walked back towards the manor, ignoring the burning village and the soldiers as they tried to take back his head.

 They buried the horseman in the graveyard, a lonesome grave with no headstone. The villagers said that every year, on the day of his death, his young bride could be heard screaming from the church as she clutched his rotting head in agony. When the woman passed, the screams still resonated every year, on the date of the man’s death. The howling stopped only fifty years later, when a new resident took hold of the manor house on top of the hill and began to renovate and live on the property. No one ever spoke of the rotten, black oak tree, but still, it remained, looking over the town, facing the graveyard where the legend died.

 It was cold. The small town of Peswick was far from civilization, beyond the normal hills and nestled in a valley, sheltered from the wind but not from the harshness of the bitter winter. There wasn’t any snow thankfully, but the cold October air was far from kind to you. You shivered as you closed the car door. The main road was small but around you sat a village, not big enough to be named a town, but with enough people for a town hall to be important. It was a fairy tale town. You laughed as you peered up at the old manor house. It was large, yet old fashioned, standing only because of the strength in its design. Outdated brick colours and a great amount of old looking timber. It made you It made you feel even colder as you just knew the boiler would be barely able to keep the place warm. It was a long drive to the small town and you stretched out in exhaustion, your back popping pleasantly.

“Well…This is home.” You whispered as you pulled the key out of the bubble mailer from the solicitor. Your few possessions looked measly, strapped in the back of your car and on top of it. The rest would arrive with the moving van. A few pieces of furniture, your mattress and other things. The key was new enough, and you took a deep breath as you gripped your suitcase and started up the cobbled path to the front door.

 A cold shiver caught you as you passed through the black iron gate. You peered to the left and frowned at the gnarled, rotten oak tree, looming over the house with branched the colour of charcoal. Black. Dead. You continued up the path, looking back at the tree as you reached the steps to the porch and the new, fortified front door. You unlocked the door and peered inside. It was shady inside, dim with no sound. Dust swirled in the beam of light and you stepped inside, wiping your feet on the mat as you reached for the light switch and blinked. The yellow bulb blinked on and revealed a large entryway with a spiralling staircase up onto the second floor of the house. It wasn’t quite large enough to be a huge manor home, but there were five rooms on the ground floor and five large bedrooms with two en suites. It was a home big enough for a huge family. You flapped away the dust from your face as you stepped inside, to the bottom of the wooden staircase. It looked slippery. You stood your case up at the base and admired the walls, blue paper and dark wood panelling. Old world. It was like a home from a classical novel. You turned around in wonder, abandoning your case by the stairs as you opened the envelope again and pulled free the estate summary, walking and reading it as you looked around the estate. Once again, you found yourself looking through the new, double glazing, out at the tree that loomed over the side of the house, tall and decrepit.

 “Why are you still in the ground?” You wondered as you looked through the glass. A woosh of gas made you jump. The heating had clicked on, and the old pipes creaked with the rush of hot water. The boiler gurgled in the large cupboard beneath the stairs, chugging away with water. It was an old system, but you were thankful for the functional heating system in the winter months. You shuddered and placed your hands near the old radiator as the beginnings of the sunset started. The sky was beginning to darken with the purple and orange curling into existence. The last of the light shone through the branches of the tree and you peered closer at the rotten rope clinging to the middle of one branch. Another, cold shudder made your spine curl and you shook your head, rushing back to collect your suitcase and place it upstairs. You finished that task and headed back out to your car parked at the end of the drive. Just as you unlocked the car a voice startled you.

 “Are you the new geezer in the house?” A child asked from behind you.

With a gasp, you jumped, your head colliding with the roof of your car before you hissed and clutched at the forming lump on the back of your cranium.

“What?” You asked through the pain, teeth gritted as you tried to ease the pain.

“I asked if you were the idiot that bought old Miss Finch’s house?” The child asked.

“That’s a rude way of putting it.” You scowled at the little boy. He was small, and wrapped up in a thick parka coat, his mittens stitched into the cuffs of his coat. He looked up and scowled back at you with muddy brown eyes.

“Its haunted. Cursed, or so my Ma says…” He looked past you at the black tree, “Miss Finch died by that tree, ya know. When she died the screaming started again. The ghost came back to the cemetery.” He whispered conspiratorially, leaning in close to you, “But ever since its been sold, nowt. Silent. I can get to sleep now, so thanks.” He turned and you grabbed him by his arm before he could run away.

“What’s your name?” You asked the peculiar boy.

Muddy eyes glared at you again, “Matthew Shaw. Now lemme go! Ma will be…”

“Matthew!? You better get back in here and explain why your Pa is covered in sand, young man!” Matthew’s mother appeared on the drive; her feet planted firmly at the edge. She glanced at you but was quick to snatch her son’s hand, “I’m sorry for my son.” She muttered before she dragged her son away from you.

 The idea of a curse made you wonder what had happened to the small town. Obviously, it was an isolated population so local myth and folk lore was often taken literally, but a curse? You doubted it. Still, you wondered what the story was. Unpacking was suddenly a lot less interesting than seeing the town and finding out about the legend they seemed to believe. You plonked the box of kitchen items into the kitchen and pushed at the cooker’s hobs, lighting a few of them before you made sure the electrics were working as well. It was curious that everything was so pristine and in such good working order for your late, distantly related aunt. Even more curious was why none of your other relatives would take the house. You opened the box and carefully placed your dishes into the empty cupboards. You opened the cupboard to the right of the cooker and smiled at the sight of an old, stainless steel teapot. It was a little grimy. You plucked it from the shelf and rubbed the top before turning it around and frowning at the crest emblazoned into the side. A great winged bird with two heads peered back at you, the top of the shield crest decorated with a knight’s helm and ribbons. The name at the bottom was faded but legible. Glyn. Your aunt wasn’t named Glyn.

“Maybe it’s a collector’s piece.” You mussed as you peered inside and smiled at the tea stains. It had been well used once upon a time.

 Curious, you opened the rest of the cupboards. They were all empty in the kitchen. With a smile, like a small child, you rushed back into the other rooms and started pilfering through the cupboards. Most were cleared out and dusty. You huffed as you rushed into the lounge area and grinned at the great welsh dresser left in the far corner, by the fireplace. It was oak and old, made to last. You opened the glass and looked upwards. There was a heavy ornate box sat on the top shelf, covered by a small cloth. You looked at the ornate metal feet and gently eased it from its place in the dresser. The cloth fell away onto the floor to reveal a small chest about the size of your lower torso, deep enough to sit large perfume bottles in. It was old metal, shined with a metal cleaner many years ago. The lock was a simple key in the front. You gave the lid a tug and huffed. It was locked. Of course. With a frown, you placed the chest on the coffee table and turned back to your boxes in the hallway. The mysterious box would have to wait for you to be finished with your chores.

 Night fell rapidly in the valley. It seemed only a minute since you looked at the sunset, and now the entire room was bathed in black. The old house creaked a little in the cold wind that blasted up the little incline. It was bitter. You checked the central heating before yawning and opening some of the food you had brought with you. Microwaved food would have to do. You threw the meal into the microwave and headed up to quickly shower and change into something more comfortable for the night. You returned, after a shower that was lukewarm, to your meal and tried not to scald yourself as you turned it out onto a plate for easy consumption. With a blanket in hand, you sat yourself in the lounge and flicked on your tv you had managed to set up on the large cabinet. It flicked to life but the picture was staticky with the remoteness of your new home. With a sigh, you watched the news reels and yawned between bites of food. The old chest sat ominously in front of you. With a brief glance, you noticed it was emblazed with the same crest at the teapot in the kitchen. Glyn. You eyed the bird on the front again. The same family. The idea of treasure made you grin. With a huff you reached into the basket on the coffee table and tugged the list of assets out again from the envelope along with the keys. You played with the metal keys as you searched for the chest.

 It wasn’t listed.

 With a frown you looked back at it and the tarnished hinges. There was something odd about it. It was like it had been forgotten about, shoved away in the back of the dresser in a hurry. Like it didn’t want to be found. You picked up the box and eyed the keyhole again with a scowl, infuriated by the idea of not being able to open it. The ring of keys in your hand had no such key. It was small, like one for a secret love affair diary. With a tut, you placed the box away again and yawned, looking at the time on the large, thumping grandfather clock. It suddenly bonged with the hour, the hands pointing to ten and twelve. It was late, and you’d spent the day tiredly unpacking. With a sigh, you stood up, wrapped in the blanket as you took your plate away and turned off the lights, leaving the metal chest on the coffee table as you drew all the curtains, and headed up to bed. You snuggled into your fresh seats, peering up at the canopy hung above you in wonder as the cold wind slammed against the glass panes of the windows. With another deep breath, you closed your eyes, and listened to the wind howl as your exhaustion caught up, and you fell asleep.

 The noise of screaming woke you up. It was still pitch black. You scrambled from the sheets as the wind howled, carrying the sound of crying screams up into your room. There was a thunder of shoed hooves outside as you threw back the curtains. There was a man screaming up your drive, his hands thrown in front of him as he scrambled up the cobbles and reached your porch, howling blood murder before his fists started to collide with the door.

“Please! Please, let me in! I’m out passed the time! Please!” He screamed into the house as you rushed from your room, running down the stairs in time to hear a great braying cry of a horse. It screamed as you opened the front door and you looked down the path as the man rushed into the house, his eyes wide with fright and his jeans soaked from his own fear. He stank. He’d pissed himself in fear.

 A great, black stallion reared at the end of the drive, its hooves batting the air before it landed with a slam, the metal shoes clattering against the stone as it whirred around and around. Its red eyes were wild, glaring at you as it snorted blood from its nose and screamed again, turning the other way. Its joints were exposed and bled fresh blood as it jumped and reared again. The clouds in the sky rolled and you watched black matted fur disappear in places to reveal bone and muscle. It was terrifying. A dead horse screaming at your doorstep. It thundered up the path and it was then that you saw the rider. A headless man sat perched on top of the war horse, his clothes tattered, and dirt ridden, as though he had crawled from the grave. The moonlight shone over his tarnished armour and you grimaced at the sight of the bloodied, exposed stump of his neck, the spine peaking from the flesh. It disappeared into shadow again as the clouds blocked the moonlight. The man tugged you from the door as the rider’s lance was thrown and skewered the wood before you. His horse brayed and he clenched at the supple reigns in anger before he threw himself clear of the beast and stood in the doorway. He tugged the end of the lance, which was outside of the doorway, and effortlessly pulled the lance free from the wood, splinters spraying against your ankles.

 The headless man stood in the doorway for a moment, silent and still. With a twitch, he raised his hand and reached out his gauntlet towards the doorway. His metal covered fingers touched the wood before curling inside. His body appeared shocked by the revelation, but he was quickly inside, throwing you out of the way in the pursuit of his prey.

“Leave him alone!” You shouted, with as much conviction as you could muster.

The rider’s hands twitched but he ignored you and grabbed a hold of his victim, gauntlets gouging lines in the man’s face as he gripped at his cheeks as looked through him, with no eyes.

“I said,” You rushed to grab the creature’s arm and tugged, “Leave him alone!” You held on as the metal clad arm flinched and rushed back and forth, trying to shake you free. The horseman made no noise, but looked you dead in the eyes, his neck a black void until the moonlight cast over it and revealed muscle, bone and blood. A rush of air escaped the open hole of his trachea before it was cast into shadow again. He let go of the man but was quick to grip him by the back of his coat, holding him in place as he looked at you and your grip on his arm. His victim’s struggles were silence by a vicious punch to the back of the head, the metal creaking and leaving the hair, blood coating the joints of the knuckles. He leaned to the left and hefted the man’s weight before his free hand moved in your grasp.

 In shock, you let go of the monster. His gauntlet moved up towards your face, the fingers grazing over your chin before it tapped against your cheek. Suddenly, his entire body went rigid, and you heard the noise of a clattering coming from your lounge. The chest. Light leaked from under the door, but the horseman didn’t move. He was rigid, still and listening. Dead. His victim was still firmly clamped in his hand. You rushed to the lounge and slammed open the door, looking at the tarnished chest as it leaked burning red light. It jumped on top of the wood again and you flinched as a scream echoed from within.

“What the fuck is going on?” You whispered as you rushed to grab the box and struggled to hold it as whatever was inside slammed up and down, “Please stop, please.” You cried as you gripped it to your chest, “He’s here please stop.” You babbled.

The light began to dim as the sound of greaves clicked in the doorway. The horseman took up the wooden opening, his gauntlet gripping the body behind him before he seemed to see the chest gripped in your hands. His body spasmed again, the hands turning into claws as he reached up to his neck and then clutched at his chest, as though he was in pain. The man in his grasp hit the floor with a thump.

 “Witch!” The box screamed in your grasp, shaking violently left and right as the red light burned between the lid and base. Suddenly, it creaked violently in your arms, as though the hinges were about to burst, but remained closed, shuddering in your grasp. The horseman reached for his neck again and then grabbed the man by the collar once more, escaping out of your door, his boots and metal armour clinking as he left. He grabbed his lance again on his way out, air puffing from his neck before he threw the man over the back of his great war beast and turned back to the door, seeing without eyes, staring at you and the chest clutched in your hands. His arm raised, slowly yet purposefully, and he pointed towards the withered black oak at the end of the yard. You gazed over at the rotten rope and swallowed as your vision turned hazy. You felt the chest drop from your arms as you toppled over, back towards the inside of your house. You gasped at the ceiling and the burning red light that bathed the entrance before your world went black.

 You awoke with a start and grabbed at the sheets around you as you bolted upright and peered around. You were back in your room. With a gasp you rushed out of the room, your vision still blurry and dark as you took the stairs and looked in the hall. It was pristine, as though nothing had ever happened. The hole from the lance was gone.

“What the fuck happened?” You asked yourself as you rushed into the lounge and looked around. The chest was gone. Then you remembered about the horseman and his final movement. You wrenched open the door and rushed to the black oak at the end of the garden. Its looming branches hung over the fence, dripping with dew from the foggy air. You heaved as you caught sight of the chest, placed at the base of the tree. You grabbed at it and revealed a hole between the gnarled roots. With a gasp you reached between the roots, flinching at the wet soil between your fingers until you hit a cold piece of iron. You snatched the metal and wriggled backwards, looking at the piece of metal. You brushed the dirt and cobwebs away to reveal a small key. It was rusted and in bad shape. You peered at the little key and immediately pushed it into the keyhole. The lock popped open with a sharp, grating squeak. With a shiver in the cold air, you pushed open the lid and peered inside the red velvet. A skull stared back at you from within the box, ivory and perfect, old and yellowed on the teeth. You reached for it, holding your breath, and held it up as you stood.

 It was then that you peered up into the tree. A creaking swing sounded as you gazed upon a decapitated body. It was the man who was chased, his head missing, and his body bloodied with slashes. You held the skull tightly and screamed.

[chogiwank]

Redamancy - Doyoung

A/N: I have more planned for this fiction so I am planning on a part two. Thank you for all your support everyone, I apologize for not posting for so long but I am so thankful for all of you sticking by me. I hope you guys like this story! Feedback and criticism is appreciated. I am slightly rusty in my writing so I do apologize for shitty writing if so. I will try and post more works!

Word Count: 2K

Genre: Angst, Fluff, NonIdol!Doyoung (Established Relationship)

Warnings: death and mentions of cancer. Future mentions of ghosts/supernatural (possibly).

Summary: Redemancy -  an act of loving the one who loves you. She was looking for redemancy, she found it, but she could never keep it. Will she ever get a fate anything less than cruel?

Each morning she woke up to the polaroid covered wall. Plastered with old, once happy, now sorrowful memories. The reminisce of goofy, romantic dates: road trips, plane travels, stay at home dates alongside many others. Five years together gave a lot to remember with promises of marriage, a forever home, and children. The vows proved to be vain. On her nightstand lay the last Polaroid of their final date. The last Polaroid of his smile, she would never see again. His signature gummy smile, big and bright as he sat on the bench. A plaid green shirt, paired with his jeans and sneakers, a simple exterior. The background lit up from the strings of carnival lights, and behind were strings of the multiple events that happened prior and after. It brought despair, a lost future, he who had captured her heart, now a mere memory, broke her.

She pulls the white duvet covers over her face out of annoyance, from the bright warm light rays shining in her face, through the crack in the curtains. She rolls over successfully escaping the light, but the covers were too hot to burrito under. Eventually giving up, she throws the covers to the side, and sits up on the side of the bed. Her legs dangling over the edge of the bed, she scoots forward to stand up. Stretching her body and yawning out of her cozy slumber. She checks the time on the wall clock, 9:15 AM - a perfect time to wake up for the weekend and start having some fun. She walked off to the bathroom to get ready and prepare herself for the day.

            She brushes her teeth with mint flavoured toothpaste and brushes out her bed hair. Brushing out the hair gently, to soften it and take out the fizziness, and settling down flyaways. Through her process of fixing her looks and picking out clothes, she got hungry, craving something such as French toast with a drink on the side and some fruits - not too heavy and not too light of a breakfast. And so, she puts on her outfit of choice, sliding on her shoes at the door, but her ears perk up hearing a ding at her apartment door.

            Who could it be? She wondered. She did not make plans with anyone before, its so out of the blue.  She opens her door and sees a familiar face - her boyfriend, Doyoung.

            “Dons! Hey, love, what are you doing here? “She embraced him warmly and flashed a welcoming smile.

            “Don’t you remember Y/N? It’s the special day today!” She was confused, she furrowed her brows at Doyoung’s words. Doyoung caught on at her confused expression and chuckled, “OH! Do not tell me you forgot! It’s our five-year anniversary, baby!” Her eyes grew wide at his words, and cheeks flushed from embarrassment. Frantically apologizing to him, as she completely missed the date and did not even have anything to buy him. He told her not to worry, and to follow him out. He knew she must be hungry, so they caught a bus over to their favourite café in town to buy breakfast. She thanked him and happily dug into her breakfast, her stomach was growling throughout the car ride, and Doyoung kept teasing her about it. She couldn’t help it, when a girl has to eat, she has to eat!

And so, the couple finished their breakfast and Doyoung suggested that the two catch a bus and head over to the annual summer amusement park. She gleamed with joy, excitedly grasping his hand in hers. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she quickly dug through her bag, left a tip on the table for the workers, and  tugged him out of his seat, dragging him along, running towards the bus stop, “well then we better get going, or else we’re going to miss the bus!”

            And so, the two ran as fast as they could, laughing as they catch the bus last minute, thankfully the driver was kind enough to stop the bus and open up the doors again for the two. They thanked the driver and walked to grab a seat. Panting and quietly chuckling catching their breathes after running, they sat at the back of the bus. “wow, that’s about all the exercise I need today“  Y/N laughed at Doyoung’s comment. Hitting him with a witty response, “you do not even exercise, do not even say that!”

            The bus ride was about a thirty-minute (30) ride to the amusement park near the pier. Doyoung and Y/N made non-stop conversation the whole way, these two never stopped talking when they were together – honestly, that is one of the best things ever. When you have someone, you can continuously talk and talk and talk to, without either of you getting bored or tired. And that is the same person you can have a couple moments of silence with without the awkwardness which occurs. – These two were meant to be. Friends, best friends, and girlfriend and boyfriend. There was nothing more either one could ask more for.

            The two walked across the pier decorated with food, tickets, and game stalls. The waves of the blue coloured water below hit the pillars of the pier lightly. Doyoung stopped in his steps to play one of the pier games, a ring toss game. If he gets all of the rings in, he wins the big prize. He played the game and ultimately won, asking Y/N to pick out the prize and she got the giant stuffed plushie, “ I don’t know how we’re going to carry this around but for you, anything. Don’t lose it though you air head.” Doyoung teased Y/N, messing up her hair. She pouts at him for doing so, and turned her back on him, until she felt his fingers creep up her sides to tickle her. She laughed her lovely laugh and begged him to stop, and so he did – after a couple minutes that is.

They carried on with their day at the amusement park, playing many of the games, winning multiple prizes, no more big ones though, they did not even have a car to carry them, or the luck. The couple walked around and at the end of the pier they reached the rides. Roller coaster, ferries wheel, teacups rides, all that fun amusement park stuff. They were both thrill seekers, so of course, they ran to the biggest roller coaster first. The waiting line was 45 minutes though, but worth it - the ride was amazing and gave them great excitement. They moved on to the other rides, like the teacups, Y/N messed around and spun them faster and faster, until the two got dizzy. They walked off that ride with wobbly legs, holding on to one another to make sure they did not fall. That was enough for the rides for them today.

After a while, they moved on to trying the different food stalls – hotdogs, nachos, cotton candy, ice cream. All of it, until the two began to feel sick. They were not going to return to the rides after this, neither of them needed to throw up today and inconvenience themselves. They took a break and sat on one of the benches decorated with potted fern plants at each side. They talked and cracked jokes, admired the beautiful, coloured lights lit up around them, all around and throughout the amusement park. Basking in the cheers around them and the darkness of the night lit up from stringed lights, the twinkling stars and smiling moon.

There was a photographer taking pictures near the fountains, which switched through purple, blue, green, and red lights, giving them colour. They asked the man and paid their fee to have their photograph taken, he kindly accepted. He told them to pose and Doyoung lifted Y/N up into his arms, and spun her around. The photographer snapped a beautiful picture of them in the dark, fountains behind them in purple, and the couple lovingly smiling at each other. The love in their eyes bright, and true for each other. They thanked him and took their polaroid, amazed at the picture.

Later, Doyoung asks Y/N if she feels good enough to head on to the Ferris wheel, and then head home. It was 10 o’clock of the night, she happily nodded. And so, they walked towards the Ferris wheel and waited in line for their turn. Doyoung helped her step in, teasingly, Y/N curtsied as he helped her in, grabbing her hand, following her in after. They sat on one side of the Ferris wheel box, Doyoung’s arm around her, resting on her shoulder and her head on his shoulder. They slouched in their seats and admired the view of the pier. The shinning lights were so bright underneath them as the ride took them higher and higher. Finally reaching the top the ride stopped, letting them look at the town feeling like they were on top of the world.

The impeccable view of the park and town was breathtaking. The dark night was lit up by the lights in apartments, houses, and the amusement parks rides. The moon was glowing brightly, and the stars were out to compliment it, there was no cloud in sight, a clear night sky. There was something about the nighttime that was entrancing, maybe it was the view they had, or maybe Y/N loved this hour of the day more than the mornings and afternoons. No idea. But this day, this night was different, it was too good to be true and one of the best days she has had with Doyoung in a while. She lift her head up to look at Doyoung and he flashed his gummy smile at her.

That was when Doyoung broke apart from Y/N, reached into his trench coat’s pocket and pulled out a small red velvet box. Y/N was puzzled, furrowing her brows, and tilting her head in confusion. Her eyes grew wide as she sees him get down on one knee, look up at her, pop open the box and reveal a ring, with a gorgeous diamond in the middle, shaped like a circle, two tiny complimentary circle shaped diamonds decorated it. It was a gorgeous ring, and Y/N’s tongue felt like it was caught on something, her chest felt heavy, but she was happy. He flashes his gummy smile again , and asks her for her hand in marriage, to live together as husband and wife. If she was ready for that step. She was, she really was ready. But did not know how to express it. She felt nervous, but why? She did not know but she knew she could not say no. Although verbally that was hard for her, she lost her words. Instead, she took the ring and slide it on her left ring finger. Smiling and crying a couple tears of joy, she says a soft “I do,” and throws herself around Doyoung, embracing him in a tight hug. The two whisper each other sweet I love you’s, holding each other close as the ride starts up again, and brings them down from the top.

Full of glee, the two walk out hand in hand, giving each other a quick kiss. Y/N speaks up and asks, “why don’t you stay over at my place today? It is late, might as well.” He happily accepts, and the couple begins to walk out of the amusement park. They walked together for about 5 minutes to reach the nearest gas station, where the bus stop was. The bus stop bench was empty, perfect for them to sit for the next 10 minutes, until the bus was arriving. Doyoung excused himself to head to the gas station’s bathroom, “I think I drank too much of those sodas.” Y/N nodded and smiled at Doyoung as he heads inside.

She took out her phone to scroll through her social media while she was waiting for him. Laughing at the funny pictures showing up on her Instagram feed. Suddenly, she hears loud noises coming from behind her, in the gas station. She turns around and her eyes grow wide out of fear. She sees Doyoung and the cashier held at gunpoint from the robbers. She did not know what to do, should she call the police? Does she run? Can she jump in to help and save Doyoung? She must save him, but she can’t she’s defenseless. She panics, looking around to see if anyone at all is there she can call out to. No one, no one was there just her, just Doyoung and the cashier. They were held at gunpoint, she was there away from the danger, she had to call the police. With shaky hands, she watches the cashier pull out the money from the machine, and she begins dialing the emergency number. Her breathing was hard, she felt choked up, her eyesight blurring from tears. She heard a voice on the other line answer, and she explained the situation – the lady confirmed they will be sending police over right now, and that Y/N should keep herself somewhere safe.

And so, the line went dead, Y/N eyes frantically shifted, and breath hitched as one of the robbers shot the cashier with their gun, and the same one shot Doyoung. Right in front of her eyes. She screamed out for him and panicked even more. She ran, and ran, and ran far from the danger. She ran down to the trees, to blend in with the darkness – to avoid the same misfortune which she experienced Doyoung face.

She mumbled to herself, angry, scared, distraught. She cried and cried and cried, she punched the ground with her hand. What is this cruel fate? What is this? Why would this happen? This could not happen. Today was so perfect, so amazing, so fun. Why would such a cruel fate take over? Maybe she just passed out after the immense amount of cotton candy and hotdogs she ate; it was just a nightmare in a food comma right? Wake up, Y/N, wake up! She screamed in her thoughts repeatedly.

And then, she noticed her hand. Her left hand and ring finger. She spots the silver diamond ring Doyoung gave her, and she knew she had to face the truth. She had to accept that the universe just took him from her. They took away her love, the one person she invested herself in for five years. Took away someone who loved her in all her best and worst times. He helped her when her mother died from cancer – it was the hardest thing she ever went through. Seeing her mother’s health deteriorate for two years, as she fought a never-ending battle, that kept taking her life away, slowly, painfully. It made Y/N lose her sleep, and it made her school grades suffer, it made her emotional stability a mess. It made her a mess. But Doyoung was there for her, to help her, to comfort her. She was a wreck, and he was her support when she lost one of the people she truly loved and cared for. And then came Doyoung, he began to build her up. He made her believe there was more for her to live for. Her mother’s life was not hers. Her mother would want her to continue and not give up. She needs to continue life and continue happily. That is what he told her. That was six years ago, last year of highschool. And now, she lost the person who built her up when she was broken. That shattered her. It shattered her heart into millions of pieces. The pain she had not felt for five years, returned.

The pain was going to ruin her again. She felt as if the universe despised her, and her happiness. She was always refused to have happiness, true happiness that is. Her happiness with her mother was snatched away, and now her happiness with her boyfriend, her fiancée, the love of her life was taken away. She could not get any of it back. She could not even erase the memories from her mind. It was such a tragedy, she hated it. She hated herself. She hated her fate, and whatever it had planned for her. She knew there could not be anything good ahead for her. Not after this, she can not trust what it holds for her. She does not want to know or experience this anymore.

Out of her anger and sadness, she strikes a hard punch to the tree, her knuckles becoming scratched and bloody. It was her fault. Her mom, Doyoung and any other death she experiences in front of her, was probably going to be her fault. She should have helped them. She should have gone inside to help Doyoung, maybe, maybe if she did, he would be alive. Or she would at least be in his place, or even with him. She would not have to be lonely.

That is what she hated so much, she was always lonely, and when she was not, she ultimately ended up alone again. For once, she felt like she did not need to be, but now it just proves to her, she deserves her loneliness.

And so, Y/N at this point believed not all stories have happy endings, and hers, was never meant to be happy.

[parkkrys]

Sterek prompt: Stiles loses his memory temporarily

Sorry for the late reply, this kinda grew on me so if you want a part 2 just let me know

--------------------------------

It started with Stiles doing something he shouldn’t have; he should have been safe but Derek knew Stiles just couldn’t help himself.

The coven of witches that had decided to descend on them all and make their lives that much more difficult because why the hell not? They attracted trouble every few months as Stiles had told him and well, he couldn’t say he wasn’t wrong. Deaton had been a great help considering he would help his mother talk to them all the time when they would travel through their territory.

But these witches had a vendetta against them and of course it was Peter’s fault. He really was starting to truly hate his uncle, especially when it was hard to pry the damn story from him without any lies or twists involved. But long story short, Peter said he was going to do something for the witches if they gave him medicine but he didn’t do it due to Talia calling him back for help with some werewolves that were in the Hale territory.

Then he just never went back to do what he should have done and the witches were not pleased.

And Stiles couldn’t stay in the car like Derek told him to and now he was unconscious in the hospital. Derek was really starting to hate hospitals.

“So, you are telling me that witches had what? Threw him against a wall and it knocked him unconscious?” Stilniski asked and Derek winced as Scott gave him a pleading look.

“I told him to stay in the car.”

Noah glanced over at him, his eyes showing just how unimpressed he was with that statement and Derek really couldn’t blame him. You told Stiles not to do something he did the exact opposite. Derek wasn’t sure if his brain was hardwired that way but it sure as hell was annoying, but Stiles was his idiot.

“Look, he should be alright, right mom?” Scott asked and Melissa just shook her head.

“Won’t know until he wakes up, he hit his head hard.”

Derek growled lightly. He had felt dread hit him hard as he watched Stiles fly across the room, the crack of his head hitting off the wall clear with a sickening crunch as his body collapsed to the floor. He had frozen, staring as Stiles didn’t move before he was snapped back into the fight when Scott called his name.

Stiles had proved to be enough of a distraction they could take down the witches and after endless talks, shouts and frustration but eventually they managed to strike a deal. Peter was to go with the witches and they would leave Beacon Hills alone. Overall, not bad but Stiles was in the damn hospital and still hasn't woken up three days later.

Derek was ready to climb the walls and go running through the woods as his wolf growled, desperate to howl out it’s pain and to get to its mate. To protect him and to take care of him, Derek wanted to give in to that temptation but he was sure the Sheriff was ready to unload a clip in him if he tried. His wolf snarled, wanting to say screw the risk and get to Stiles anyway.

“It’s been three days Melissa.”

“I know, but everything will be alright, if not well we will figure it out like we always do,” Melissa said and Scott immediately nodded but Noah didn’t seem all too convinced.

“This is Stiles,” Scott joked as he chuckled to try and sooth the tension in the air, “He has gone through worse and come out completely fine.”

It didn’t seem to help but Derek could see that the Sheriff appreciated the attempt as he sighed, his hand patting Scott’s shoulder with a small smile and Derek knew he couldn’t stay there. He had to go out and run, or do something.

It was hours later after he tore through the woods and hunted down a few snacks in his wolf form that Scott howled into the air. He was immediately sprinting towards the alpha’s call, his instincts yelling at him to get there as fast as he could and he shifted as he walked up towards the teen.

“Stiles is awake, now put on some clothes and get to the hospital.”

Derek only nodded as Scott threw a set of clothes at his chest and it didn’t take long to slip into the pair of jeans and the grey t-shirt before Scott was driving them.

“Did he seem okay?” Derek asked as he stared out the window, the wolf in him wouldn’t settle down. He needed to know if Stiles was truly okay.

“I don’t know but my mom called me, I immediately thought of getting you and we both can go see if he is okay.”

Derek looked at him, Scott glancing over from the wheel and Derek tipped his head down in a nod before he looked away. Scott still surprised him with how well he turned out as a werewolf. He really thought Scott would be useless but he pulled through as a true alpha no less.

HIs thoughts disappeared as they arrived at the hospital, both werewolves immediately climbed out of the vehicle, not exchanging a single word as they made their way into the hospital. Melissa was waiting for them as they walked through the door and she immediately walked beside them as she led them throughout the halls.

“Warning boys, you won’t like what's going to happen next,” She warned.

“What do you mean?”

Melissa just gave them a sympathetic glance as she hesitated, Derek glanced over at the door that separated him from his mate. Even Scott seemed to be on edge for his mom to just get on with it.

“He doesn’t remember much.”

“That's it?” Scott asked and Derek just sighed.

“You will see what I mean,” She cautioned them as she opened the door to reveal Stiles sitting up, smiling at his dad, Derek’s heart skipped a beat as honey coloured eyes turned towards them.

“Hey Scott!” Stiles beamed and Derek frowned as Stiles turned towards him, a frown on his face, “Who’s this?”

“You don’t remember Derek?” Scott asked and Stiles shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving Derek as he did a body sweep with his eyes.

“No, I don’t. I think I would remember a hot sexy dude Scott,” Stiles muttered, his ears turning a shade of pink.

Derek raised a brow at that as the corner of his lips lifted up in amusement.

“Stiles, the hot sexy dude is your boyfriend,” Scott deadpanned and Stiles flushed as he stared at him with wide eyes. It made Derek want to hide him away and just cover him with his body to cover him with his scent and never let go.

“It’s only temporary so just don’t push him to remember things and be truthful, don’t lie about things you don’t want him to remember. Also, since it’s Stiles, be prepared for anything,” Melissa explained and Derek shook his head.

“Of course Stiles would get temporary amnesia with witches involved.”

“Better than Kate turning you back into a teenager,” Noah grunted and Derek huffed.

“Scott, how the hell did I manage to score that?” Stiles whispered and everyone in the room chuckled as Stiles squawked.

Derek only sighed as he watched the scene, this was going to be interesting.

[wanderingaldecaldo]

Tagged by @gloryride, thanks! I haven’t done one of these before, and honestly I don’t put a lot of time into my OC’s backstories – things just kinda bubble up as I need them, so this will be fun! Tagging if they want to play along, but no pressure: @ryyn-strange, @nunyabizu​

Valerie

Key: bold - applies, italics - sometimes applies — LIGHT SOURCES SUN RAYS.

effervescent smiles, dandelion puffs, bare feet, beach waves, flowers pressed into books, champagne glasses, rose-gold eye shadow, boho skirts, wire-rimmed glasses, hair in loose waves, kaleidoscope eyes, sunshine in your hair, fire in your soul.

INCANDESCENT BULBS.

crop tops, floral print, dancing in the rain, quiet defiance, hand-knit beanies, rosé, painted bookmarks, marble floors, cirrus clouds against a blue sky, polaroid pictures, hands held, fingers intertwined, flower crowns, baby bluebirds.

STARDUST.

lace bralettes, brisk breezes, jasmine-scented perfume, books with yellowed pages, tracking constellations, sterling silver, violin music, chess games, iced coffee, glittery dresses, high heels, secret grins, midnight meetings, wishing upon a star.

CANDLE FLAMES.

denim jackets, gladiator sandals, braided hair, messenger bags, movies at the cinema, stolen kisses, wax-sealed envelopes, haiku poetry, cherry wood, succulents, fountain pens, jigsaw puzzles, soft tired eyes, hidden smiles, cuddling with someone you trust.

MOONBEAMS.

newspapers, over-sized sweaters, dancing shadows, fleece throws, cutoff shorts, piano chords, red wine, messy buns, embossed journals, a hint of blush dusted across your cheeks, freshly fallen snow, tranquil solitude, burning incense, light hair and dark skin

AURORAS.

combat boots, burgundy lips, infectious laughter, spiral-bound notebooks, pencils used down to the stub, ripped jeans, painted nails, cloud-watching, summer thunderstorms, hiking trails, vinyl records, film cameras, skating on a frozen lake, hot chocolate by the fire.

FIREWORKS.

dancing until the break of dawn, Heelys, being wheeled around in a shopping cart by your best friend, the euphoria of soaring through the air, being excited for what the future holds, group hugs, colorful tattoos, bronzer-highlighted cheeks, hugging a stuffed animal, lifting a child onto your shoulders, space buns, bright streaks in your hair.

— BODY LANGUAGE

DEFENSIVENESS. arms crossed on chest, crossing legs, fist-like gestures, pointing index finger, karate chops, stiffening of shoulders, tense posture, curling of lip, baring of teeth

REFLECTIVE.

hand-to-face gestures, head tilted, stroking chin, peering over glasses, taking glasses off; cleaning, putting earpiece of glasses in mouth, pipe smoker gestures, putting hand to bridge of nose, pursed lips, knitted brows

SUSPICION.

arms crossed, sideways glance, touching or rubbing nose, rubbing eyes, hands resting on weapon, brows raising, lips pressing into a thin line, strict, unwavering eye contact, wrinkling of nose, narrowed eyes

CONFIDENCE.

hands behind back, hands on lapels of coat, steepled hands, baring teeth in a grin, rolling shoulders, tipping head back but maintaining eye contact, chest puffed up, shoulders back, arms folded just above navel, wide eyes, standing akimbo

INSECURITY & ANXIETY.

chewing pen or pencil, rubbing thumb over opposite thumb, biting fingernails, biting lips, hands in pockets, elbow bent, closed gestures, clearing throat, “whew” sound, picking or pinching flesh, fidgeting in chair, hand covering mouth whilst speaking, poor eye contact, tugging pants whilst seated, jingling money in pockets, tugging at ear, perspiring hands, playing with hair, swaying, playing with pointer; marker; cane, smacking lips, sighing, rocking on balls of feet, flexing or cracking fingers sporadically, leg bouncing

ANGER & FRUSTRATION.

short breaths, “tsk” sounds, tightly-clenched hands, fist-like gestures, pointing index finger, rubbing hand through hair, rubbing back of neck, snarling, revealing teeth, grimacing, sharp-eye glowers, notable tension in brow, shoulders back, head up; defensive posturing, clenching of jaw, grinding teeth, nostrils flaring, heavy exhales

— SENSES

SIGHT.

small towns, big cities, six thirty curfews, lights that take the place of stars, blanket nests, light through the blinds as a wake up call, found family, finding a single star in the middle of new york night city, window shopping, watching something terrible and enjoying it, growing numb to the sight of injustice, wilted flowers, faded caricatures, bright, bold colours

HEARING.

crickets and lightning bugs, car engines and a.c. units, a phone call to mum/dad, laughing with friends, jokes that are so bad you have to laugh, the clicking of computer keys, noise cancelling headphones, the sound of silence, muffled music from another room, drumming fingertips on a table, clicking of pens, listening to a clock and swearing the ticks get slower, ringing in the ears, the voice of someone you love, pitch shifted songs

TOUCH.

being held close during a long night, fleeting reassurances, holding hands when you’re scared, brushing fingers through strands of hair, freshly dried clothes, bruises on your knuckles, silk and satin, your favourite pet’s fur or feather, wringing your hands anxiously, snuggles, comforters in the dead of winter, nails against skin, cold metal, leather in summer

TASTE.

coffee in the morning, tea in the evening, bubblegum that lost its flavor, alcohol burning the back of your throat, homemade cooking, no matter what’s made, blood in your mouth, stale air, mint, fresh vegetables, that processed taste of citrus candy, the first meal you cook by yourself that tastes good, foreign sweets, fast street food, bittersweet, sour, spicy, sweet, bitter, too much salt on fries

[booknerdproblems]

Liberty Chapter 8

Hello! I am SO sorry for the wait- I wrote the first half of the chapter, hated it, and was too lazy to rewrite it. Just a heads up, this part.... is not very good. I’m not happy with it, but I wanted to post it so I could just move past it and get onto the next one!

You can find my masterlist here.

They sat on the bed, back against the headboard, hands intertwined as they grinned. Or at least, until Aelin broke the silence.

“So I guess I was slightly jealous of Remelle when you kissed her.” She sighed. 

“I told you so.”

“But you are the one who kissed her.”

“She kissed me! Big difference.” 

“Mmmhmm.” Aelin shook her head in amusement, and Rowan sighed, glad to see it was all in jest. 

Rowan gingerly rested his head on her shoulder, the angle slightly awkward for his neck. 

“So, I guess we should talk about it.” Aelin started again.

“So I guess we should talk- oh.” Aelin’s voice cut off into a quiet moan as Rowan pressed a soft kiss to her neck, right above her pulse point. 

He did it again, taking some skin between his teeth and tugging gently. Aelin’s head dropped to the side, and she swallowed before speaking again.

“I’m trying to have a serious conversation!”  

“And I’m subtly trying to avoid it!” He smoothed his tongue over the point his teeth had abused, following his instinct. It worked. Aelin let out a small noise before weakly hitting him on the shoulder in protest. 

“I know, I know. We should talk. But...later.” Rowan continued, shifting himself over her and attaching his lips to her neck, exploring slowly. He tugged her down a bit beneath him and her hand clutched at his shoulders. He had her hair and the taste of no doubt some sort of moisturiser in his mouth, but it was worth it from the reaction he pried from her, as well as his rapidly escalating situation down below. 

“Knock knock!” A bright voice chirped from the otherside of the door. 

Rowan threw himself off Aelin, but ended up overcompensating as his backside hit the floor. He looked at Aelin, sprawled on the bed and wiping her mouth.  The door opened, revealing a smiling Rhoe holding a tray. Rowan flopped back, attempting to make it look like he was on the floor by casual choice but only succeeding in looking like a bemused starfish.

Rhoe stood in the doorway, smile faltering slightly as he looked between the pair. Aelin gave him an innocent smile, and Rowan held his breath as the man seemed to shake it off, coming further into the room. 

He came over to the side of the bed, placing two steaming mugs on Aelin’s bedside.

“Brought you some hot chocolate, it’s super cold out there right now.” The First Gentleman flashed them a grin, “what you guys up to?”

“We- we were just- um- chilling. Chatting. Not much, really.” Aelin stuttered out, Rowan nodding his head mutely in agreement.

“Well alright then, I’ll leave you to it.” Rhoe sent them a quizzical look, before backing out the door, leaving the pair sitting in silence. 

Rowan got up off the floor and collapsed back on the bed. The mood was killed, but Rowan was totally happy as Aelin shuffled over and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. 

They lay there in silence for a while, just content to be in each other's company. 

Rowan pressed a kiss to Aelin’s hair, before opening his mouth, “I was wondering-” He stopped, cleared his throat. It was crazy, how nervous he was to ask this despite the amazing kiss they’d just shared. 

“Yes?” Aelin prompted, pushing herself up onto her elbows and twisting around to face him.

“Doyouwannagoonadatewithme?”

Aelin’s eyebrows crossed, “what are you, speaking Eyllwe?”

Rowan took a deep breath, picking at the skin on his fingers “do you want to go...on a date?”

Gods, it was so hot in here. Maybe he’d got the wrong end of the stick. Maybe she didn’t want a relationship. Oh Mala- what if-

He was broken off his self doubt by the press of her lips on his. He attempted to deepen the kiss, but Aelin pulled away.

“I’d love to go on a date with you, stupid.”

-x-

Rowan looked at himself sideways in the mirror, running a comb through his hair. He was… nervous. Excited. Exhilarated. 

Two days later, and he was taking Aelin out on a date. A date. An actual, real-life date. They hadn’t told any of their friends about the kiss, only that they’d made up. Rowan was glad he’d had the weekend to recoup, before having to face the rumours again on Monday. 

His phone buzzed, and he hurriedly opened up the notification.

Fireheart, 5:30pm: So, buzzard, where are you taking me? 

Rowan had reservations at a pleasant, smart-clothes-are-requested-but-not-required kind of place, and then had a special treat planned for afterwards. 

Buzzard, 5:30pm: It’s a surprise ;)

Fireheart, 5:31pm: Well then how will I know what to wear?

Buzzard, 5:31pm: Dress however you like, fireheart, but bring a warm coat.

Fireheart, 5:35pm: Um...sorry.. Rowan? I actually need to go where we’re going, so they can do a security sweep. 

Buzzard, 5:37pm: 29 Parade Street. 

Fireheart, 5:39pm: I’m sorry again

Buzzard, 5:41pm: Don’t worry, Fireheart, I have surprise plans for after..

Fireheart, 5:42pm: I hope they’re dirty.

Rowan choked as he read the message, grabbing his wallet and keys before heading out the door. 

Buzzard, 6pm: On my way.

-x-

Rowan stepped out of the car, crisp air nipping at his skin, heart in his throat as he fiddled with his phone. It was cold, night just beginning to creep in as he waited for Aelin to come down. 

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait too long as the door opened and Aelin stepped out. 

She was wearing a dark green slip dress that hit mid-thigh, paired with chunky black boots and gold jewellery everywhere. Her golden hair was in a messy bun, with stray pieces artfully pulled down, framing her face. Her lips were painted deep red, and golden glitter decorated her eyelids.

She looked… Rowan didn’t have the words to describe how she looked. Except that his eyes were fixated on her bare legs.

“Hi.” He said breathlessly. 

Aelin smiled, “Hi.” She sounded almost… shy, which was so unlike Aelin it made Rowan grin. 

She stepped forwards, pulling on a thick winter jacket and gloves, and Rowan blinked, opening the car door for her. He murmured the location to a Secret Service agent who nodded once.

“You look amazing.” He said once he’d started to drive. 

“I know.” Aelin replied smoothly, flashing a sideways smirk at him, “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Rowan blushed, cursing his awkwardness. Truth was… he’d been so anxious about what to wear that night he’d asked for his mother’s help, who slapped him over the back of the head for not telling her he was going on a date sooner, before demanding he try on every item his wardrobe had to offer. 

He’d settled on a grey shirt with a black blazer and jeans, and he’d tied his chin-length hair, which he still needed to get cut, up in a bun. 

“Are you sure you’re not going to be cold?” Rowan glanced at her bare legs, before blushing furiously and returning his eyes to the road. 

“I have on flesh-coloured tights.” Aelin explained, “and besides- I’ve got you to keep me warm.” 

Rowan didn't think his face could turn redder, his blush was so strong. He shifted in his seat, gripping the steering wheel tighter as desire tore through him. 

“Sorry.” Rowan whipped his head round, to find Aelin’s eyes firmly on the windshield as she apologised. 

“Whatever for?” Rowan hurried to fix her discomfort.  

“Making you uncomfortable.” Aelin chewed on her lip, looking out the window. 

Rowan’s eyebrows crossed, before realising and laughing disbelievingly. 

“You didn’t- I’m not... uncomfortable.” He sighed.

Aelin looked at him disbelievingly, “Then why’d you do the-” She imitated his seat shuffle dramatically, “when I made a joke?”

Rowan was sure he must be purple by now. “Aelin- that’s not- I mean. I’m not- I’m just.” He sighed, trying to at least make himself comprehensible. 

Aelin looked so confused, and he smiled sheepishly at her. 

“It’s just, when you make...those kinds of jokes.” Mala fucking fry him, he was making this difficult for himself, “it kind of, does some things-”

Aelin let out a bark of laughter, and Rowan looked over at her to find a hand clamped over her mouth. 

“Ohmygods did that turn you on?” Aelin’s voice was muffled by her hand. 

Rowan winced, “No?”

“So earlier, when I sent that text and you didn’t reply…” Aelin’s voice trailed off, and now she was the one blushing furiously. 

“I’m sorry. Gods, that's weird isn’t it- I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m such an idiot.” Rowan cursed himself internally. 

“No, no- Rowan. It’s fine. It’s just. I’d never- thought about the fact that… you know. I might. Like… turn you on.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I mean. You get me hot and bothered all the time, I just never assumed that you…reciprocated it.”

“Oh.”

They sat in silence for a beat as Rowan turned into the street. 

“Wait.” Rowan started. “‘Hot and bothered’?” A grin started to spread on his face. 

Aelin had gone bright red. “Shut up, Whitethorn.” 

The pair shared a sheepish smile with each other, right as Rowan pulled into the restaurant.

-x-

The waitress showed them to their table, and Rowan sat, placing his hands on his lap. Then the table. Then fiddled with the cutlery. 

“Rowan… this is… a really nice place.” Aelin began.

“I thought, after all this time… why not have a proper date?” Rowan smiled.

“Yeah but… this is kind of expensive.” Aelin checked the prices on the side of the menu, before meeting his eyes worriedly. 

Gods, she was cute. 

“Oh don’t worry about it.”

“But I don’t want to make you…” She chewed on her bottom lip. Rowan wanted to kiss it.

“Aelin. It’s fine. I can afford it.”

She smiled sheepishly, “How?”

“I um… work here.” 

Aelin’s brows rose, “You work here!?”

“Uh yeah. So I get an employee discount.”

“How am I your best friend and never knew you worked here?”

“You never asked.” Rowan said simply. 

It was true, he worked here most evenings and Saturdays. Aelin didn’t have a job, as the logistics were too complicated for someone who was only seventeen, so Rowan had long guessed it just never crossed her mind to ask. 

Aelin looked down at her napkin, clearly uncomfortable, taking a sip of her water. 

Rowan took her hand from across the table, reproach swimming in her blue eyes as she looked at him.

“I’m really glad I kissed you.”

Aelin’s eyes softened, and then she smirked, “of course you are buzzard, I’m very kissable.”

Rowan just shook his head at her, smiling, letting go of her hand and picking up the menu. 

“Hey.” Rowan looked up at the sound of her voice, and she bit her lip adorably, “I’m glad you kissed me too.”

Tagging: @bookworm232020​ @yesdreamblog​ @morganofthewildfire​ @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx​ @alyx801​ @woollycat22​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​ @autophobiaxx​ @faerie-queen-fireheart​ @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato​ @http-itsrebecca​ @stardelia​ @rockgirl321​ @queen-of-glass​ @sjmships​ @inthecityair​ @really-a-mermaidd​ @thesurielships​ @lysandra-ghost-leopard​