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nanamiskentos · 4 months ago

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(JUST MEET ME AT THE) APT! — gojo satoru minors dni. art by chitrartum on twt.

welcome to the christmas tour ! take a seat in section (a) and let the show begin !

prologue. → your ex, that sleazy and no-good scumbag won't stop posting tacky mirror selfies on instagram, arm around his fellow cheater-in-crime. so, christmas eve finds you morose in a dodgy dive bar. why not tumble back into bed with that random, gorgeous stranger you just met?

want to try sitting somewhere else ? take a look at the ticket chart again !

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. never drive, no matter how little alcohol is in you folks!!! never!!! making out, creampiè, hooking up with a stranger, ovèrstimulation, mildly rough sèx, gojo won't tell you what his job is

word count. 9.4k! song inspiration. apt — rosé & bruno mars

a/n. reader lowkey a hater, i love vanilla vodka eggnog </3 i said i was gonna post on 02/12 and i kept my word, literally rushed to finished this before my clinical exams in the cardiac ward 😭😭😭😭😭😭 hope y'all stay healthy. your future surgeons are writing gojo smut on tumblr.com

mp3. don't you want me like i want you, baby? don't you need me like i need you now? sleep tomorrow, but tonight, go crazy. all you gotta do is meet me at the apartment (아파트) !

you think your friends would kill you if they knew this was how you were spending christmas eve. not at some glittering holiday party, nor tucked away in a snow-dusted cabin. but here, holed up in a dimly lit bar with an atmosphere so questionable it should come with a warning label alongside a health and safety audit.

the place had charm, if your definition of charm included scuffed floors, a jukebox stuck on 'last christmas' and a string of blinking lights that looked like they'd been thrown at the walls rather than hung. still, you'd swiped a couple of minty candy canes from a jar near the door, which felt like a win.

your phone sat resolutely off in your bag. self-preservation. no instagram, and no tacky mirror selfies from your scumbag ex with the same smirk he'd worn a month ago when you caught him cheating. with someone who had always been 'just a friend, babe!' you weren't keen to let that ruin the rest of the night, though if you were being honest, you had already let it ruin a good chunk of the month.

"another christmas vodka...sour, please," you squint at the messy chalkboard above the bar, where the christmas specials were scrawled in what would barely pass for handwriting.

the bartender gave a single, surly nod. he looked as though he'd rather be anywhere but here, preferably somewhere free of customers nursing post-breakup bitterness like a fine wine.

and so, you found yourself staring at the tall glass now sitting in front of you, studying the rosemary sprig that swayed lazily in the translucent red liquid. a few cranberries bobbed among the ice cubes like they were on some tiny festive raft.

"woah, that one's way too strong for me."

the voice interrupts your private session of wallowing. you turn your head, slowly, to take in the culprit. he-who-hath-disturbed-the-peace. a man sitting close enough to be annoying, but not close enough to invade your personal space.

it takes you a moment to process the stranger, mostly because of the brain freeze from your ill-timed gulp.

"i mean, it's not bad," you shrug, hoping to sound neutral enough that he leaves you be. but then because you just can't leave well enough alone, you gesture at the specials board, "better than...that, at least."

you jab a finger at the chalk-scrawled abomination: vanilla & peppermint vodka eggnog.

the man frowns, a sharp but somehow charming movement that's overshadowed by the dim lights, "hey, i ordered that one."

you blink like a startled bovine, before breaking into a laugh, "my bad. i'm sure it's really fuckin' delicious."

the stranger chuckles too, a soft and low sound that seems more genuine that it has any right to be, "i hope so. otherwise, this is gonna be a long night."

the man finally shifts, casting aside the dim shadows that lay over him, into the blinking string lights. broad shoulders framed by a dark, tailored jacket that hugs him like a second skin. his hair, startlingly white, was pushed back by — wait, was that a blindfold?

you stare longer than you should have, trying to piece the odd sight together. a cosplay? a k-pop idol wannabe, hoping to get recruited for the next bts tour? perhaps, he was blind, hard of sight? you start to open your mouth, wondering how to phrase the intrusive and awkward questions, but he beats you to it.

"i can see you just fine, y'know," he says, his tone laced with amusement.

your cheeks burn at the realisation that he's caught you gawking shamelessly. so you quickly turn back to your drink, suddenly very interested in the cranberries floating in the glass.

the bartender returns, sliding the stranger's drink onto the counter with an audible clink. it was the most obnoxious cocktail that you'd ever seen. a martini glass filled with frothy, pale liquid and crowned with a cinnamon stick that jutted out like the mast of some ridiculous holiday ship.

you watch, mildly horrified, as the man picks up the glass and downs half of it in one confident gulp. he sets it down a satisfied sigh, and a smack of his glossy lips, and you wrinkle your nose involuntarily at the sight.

"i swear it's good," he says with a laugh, catching your expression. his grin is wide, playful. and you find yourself smiling back despite your sour, gloomy mood.

he has a nice smile, you note. not forced nor smug, but genuine. framed by pale pink lips that curl up in an easy, natural way. it was strange though, to look at someone without seeing their eyes.

"i'm gojo, by the way," he offers, his voice smooth and lightly amused once more, as if he'd caught you studying him again.

your gaze drops to his hands, long and slender, tracing the rim of the martini glass. something about the way they move — elegant and deliberate, hold your attention a moment too long for propriety. you quickly snap your focus back to his face, "what brings you here, gojo?"

gojo shrugs, and you can almost imagine him rolling his eyes beneath the blindfold, though you doubt his ire is directed at you, "work, i guess. or maybe i just got bored of going to work."

"they're working you hard, yeah?" you ask, trying for sympathy. employers loved squeezing their workers dry during the holidays. your own boss was proof enough of that, running the office like a sweatshop for santa's unpaid elf labour.

"something like that," gojo says with a scoff, the corners of his mouth quirking up again, "what about you? what brings you here? it's christmas eve, isn't it?"

you sigh, the weight of gauche embarrassment suddenly pressing down as the words spill out before you can stop them, "my ex-boyfriend cheated on me."

gojo's lip curls, the kind of expression that balances perfectly between pity and disgust, "that sucks," he offers. profound and wise, you have to agree as he continues, "you jus' find out or something?"

the question makes you cheeks heat, and you fiddle with the edge of your drink, "no, i've known all month." you gesture vaguely towards your purse, where your phone sat like an unsealed pandora's box, "but he posted...on instagram. and stuff. i'm still, y'know, getting over it."

gojo makes a thoughtful clicking noise with his tongue, "ah, see, i don't do social media. but that sounds rough."

you let out a weak huff, "yeah, well...now i just feel like a loser. my friends told me to go out and have fun, and here i am..." you trail off, downing the rest of your cranberry vodka in a single, decisive gulp. the sting hits your throat, sharp and sour, and you grimace at the burn.

gojo frowns slightly, leaning in just enough that you can hear how his voice softens, "i don't think you're a loser." the sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, pulling your gaze back to him, "it's fair to wallow."

his words hang in the air, and you find yourself smiling, albeit thinly, "that's...really nice of you to say."

gojo hums thoughtfully, "i meant it, i promise. but i can't exactly say i've been there, never really dated anyone."

you blink, openly gaping at the man, "really? you're joking."

it was hard to wrap your head around that. even with the odd blindfold, everything about him screamed 'pounce-worthy'. the broad frame, the charming smile, the striking white hair that looked like it belonged in a kérastase commercial.

gojo laughs at your incredulous expression, "same old work and stuff," he explains with a casual shrug. then his grin fades, tone shifting just enough for you wonder why that feels as though the clouds have covered the light of the moon outside, "always got in the way."

"at least you never had to deal with a breakup," you offer, trying to find some weak, silver lining.

gojo frowns, his pale complexion now tinged with a faint red flush that even the dim bar lights couldn't disguise. was he really that much of a lightweight, or was the eggnog's amaretto content deceptively boozy?

he sighs dramatically, "a friend once left me outside a kfc in shinjuku. then he became a murderer and a cult leader. that felt like a breakup."

"huh," you murmur, staring at the man with a mixture of amusement and faint alarm, wondering if you'd seen any cult leaders on the evening news lately. no, nothing save for the occasional incorrect weather report, a friendly good-looking priest running some scam association, and news reports about an octopus that could predict the lottery, "that's - well, okay..."

you couldn't quite tell if he was joking or not, but gojo seems to shake himself free of the odd reverie. he's running his hand through his shock of white hair, and his grin has returned, slower and a touch softer, "still, your ex must've been crazy. letting go of a pretty girl like you?"

the words land with surprising weight, considering they come from a stranger in a sleazy bar, but it leaves you momentarily stunned. you can feel a blush rising to your cheeks, your heart doing an embarrassing little flip before you manage to get a grip on yourself.

"wow," you laugh, feigning composure as you sip the last remnants of your drink, "smooth."

gojo's smile is wider now, "hah, i call it like i see it," and his lips now curl upwards as he leans in, "and i'm serious. if i had someone like you..."

you laugh again, but this time it's far more unsteady. you wonder if the cranberry vodka is playing with your head, "big words for someone who's never dated. should i be impressed, gojo?"

gojo's chuckle is a deep sound that vibrates in his chest, "i know a good thing when i see it. you don' need to date to know what you want. and i think i want you."

your stomach does a little flip, and you feel all rationality being pounded out of you just from staring at his unfairly gorgeous hands rest on sturdy thighs, "you do flattery well, i'll give you that."

"oh, i don't know about that," gojo says, fiddling with the stem of his glass, "but what'dya say we get out of here? how about my place?"

you blink slowly, and you're aware that your heart (and...nether regions) have already composed an answer before your mind has, "what if you're a serial killer? you're not about to silent night, deadly night me, are you? you haven't killed someone have you?"

for a moment, the man stills but then gojo leans back, "smart girl. asking the right questions. but no, i can at least promise that i'm not a criminal."

you hesitate just for a beat, the words lingering on your tongue, before you let out a breath and shrug, "fine. where's your place?"

"azabu," gojo replies without missing a beat, his tone smooth, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

you gape once more, blinking as you try to process the information. azabu? as in tokyo's ritziest neighbourhood, where a one-bedroom apartment could cost you more than most people's yearly salary? the kind of place where the floors are made of marble, and everyone's shoes are more expensive than your entire wardrobe?

gojo, ridiculously handsome despite looking like a circus runaway, too charming for his own good, and not the type you'd expect to find in a cheap downtown dive bar. definitely not on a christmas eve, at least.

for a split second, you wonder how a man like him even ended up in a place like this. maybe it's some kind of self-imposed penance. or he likes to keep things low-key when he's pretending not to be rich? maybe he's looking to cosplay a succession character?

whatever it is, it's working. not only does gojo have a face carved from marble, now you've got a solid ticket into seeing what a neighbourhood for the top one percent really looks like beyond it's wealthy exterior. maybe, you'll bring back a souvenir.

you wonder whether there's a group of small emotions standing around inside your head, inside-out style. glaring at you as if you're incapable of making good and rational decisions.

well fuck that, you gather yourself and shrug off the small wave of nerves, and loop your purse strap around your finger, "alright," you say, "let's get out of here then."

you don't miss at how the adam apple of gojo's throat bobs for a second, before he downs the rest of his drink in one go, "let's get outta here then."

you follow him out into the cold, your breath fogging in front of you as you try to focus, but the man is tall, like ridiculously so. but when you reach the curb, he turns to face you again, a frown marring his face.

"so, i have a small confession."

i changed my mind and i find you repulsive.

i was paid by your ex to do this, and now i've done enough to get my money.

i'm a serial killer.

you don't know which possibility is worse, "huh, a confession? what is it now?"

gojo chuckles, lifting a hand to the back of his neck, as though he's about to spill a dark secret into the night air, "i don't have a car."

"you've got to me kidding me. how'd you even get down here?"

gojo shrugs, a casual and almost lazy movement. and you feel your gaze lingering on his shoulders. broad, impossibly wide, the dark jacket hugging him in all the right places, like it was tailor-made to showcase just how much he filled it out.

"someone dropped me off. ages ago," like it was the most normal and rational explanation in the world.

your own laugh is short, a little disbelieving, but you pull your silver keys from your purse, "well, i guess i'll have to drive then. but what would you have done if i hadn't been here to save the day?"

gojo steps to the side, opening your own car door for you with a small flourish and exaggerated bow that makes your heart jolt again, "probably teleport back home. maybe fly, since the skies look clear."

what a weird guy. hot, but weird. he seems like the type to dress up with a fake beard and show up as gandalf at the next lord of the rings fan convention.

in the driver's seat beside him, you catch yourself staring too long. your gaze slipping over a model's jawline, the white of his hair being held up by the blindfold. even his vaguely expensive scent is disorienting, pleasant like pine and blackcurrant. but it's also hard not to be amused when he's furrowing teeth into plush pink lips out of concentration, pressing an address into your cracked gps screen.

well, merry christmas to you.

gojo's place is well...how do you say this? gorgeous doesn't quite begin to cover it. he leads you into the building with the ease of someone who knows every inch of it, tossing a casual smile over his shoulder as he swipes a key card to unlock the private elevator, "i tend to move around a bit. or stay in different places. keeps life exciting, don't you think?"

you step into the elevator alongside him, the polished mirrors reflecting the soft glow of gold accents and sleek, modern lines. his hand hovers over the control panel before he presses the button for the top floor. of course, it's the penthouse.

"you move around a lot?" you ask, arching an eyebrow, "what, like a restless billionaire or something?"

gojo smiles, leaning casually against the steel as the elevator begins its smooth ascent, "now you're exaggerating."

the elevator finally dings, and gojo steps aside, offering an exaggerated bow as he gestures for you to exit, "after you, my fair maiden."

you almost scoff at the ridiculousness of it, but there's something so endearing and charming about how he pulls it off, especially when paired with the unfair symmetry of his face.

floor to ceiling windows dominate the far wall, revealing a jaw dropping panorama of tokyo's skyline. the city stretches out in a glittering sea of lights, with the tokyo tower glowing a golden exclamation point against the velvet night sky. the interior is just as impressive, with polished wood floors that gleam in the warm light and a glass dining table that sits beneath a sculptural chandelier. that same faint scent of blackberry and pine lingers in the air, heady almost.

behind you, gojo strolls with an easy and languid grace, tossing his jacket onto an artisan leather armchair. beneath it, his sky blue dress shirt clings just right and rolled up to reveal forearms faintly dusted with pale hair. you think you've momentarily forgotten how words work, and you avert your gaze quickly. though not before catching the faint smile on his lips.

"not bad, huh?" gojo says, heading to the open kitchen as though he's unaware of the effect he's having on a rational and sensible mind such as yourself, "it's no dive bar, but i'll do."

you shake your head, bewildered. trying to process how someone you met in a dingy bar could live somewhere that looks like it belongs in architectural digest. even down to the odd, ancient looking pieces that scatter the wide living room. weird looking artifacts of some sort. maybe he's also a collector? go figure.

"not bad?" you repeat, incredulous, "gojo, this place is incredible."

the man laughs, opening a sleek fridge to grab a bottle of water, "i have good taste," he says with mock modesty, his tone teasing as long fingers twist off the cap, "and a thing for gorgeous views. though, between you and me, i'm not great with heights. ironic, i suppose. paying a fortune for a view i'd rather not get too close to."

he waves a hand vaguely towards the windows, the blindfold still firmly in place.

"so, what's the deal? did you win the lottery, or inherit a fortune. or are you some kinda secret agent who moonlights as a barfly?"

gojo lifts the bottle in mock toast, "let's just say i'm very good at what i do."

you arch a brow, crossing your arms and ignoring the warm flush creeping up your neck, "and what exactly is that?"

"oh, you know. standard stuff. international intrigue, thwarting evil creatures. i even saved a kitten from a tree the other day."

"right, because nothing screams the next member of the avengers like eggnog in a seedy bar."

gojo leans casually against the counter, "even the avengers need a holiday drink now and then. don't knock it." but then he gestures towards the sleek couch, "wait, you can make yourself comfortable, y'know. i'd hate for my guest to think i'm a terrible host."

"terrible host? no, but a mystery man —"

before you can finish, your foot catches on something hard, and you stumble forward with an undignified yelp. gojo reacts instantly, how does he move that fast, and his arm is shooting out to steady you. but glorious gravity and magnificent momentum has other plans.

both of you crash onto the couch, and you find yourself sprawled unceremoniously across his lap. gojo's laugh rumbles low in his chest, and you can feel the warmth of it underneath your palms as you steady yourself, "well, that's one way to get comfortable," he murmurs, voice teasing as his large hand lingers lightly on the curve of your waist.

you prop yourself up slightly, cheeks burning, and glance back at the offending object. your brows knit together when you spot what looks suspiciously like a katana gleaming under the soft light.

"did i just trip on a — hey, what the hell is that?"

gojo interrupts, smoothly extending a long leg to nudge that suspicious object under the nearby coffee table before you can finish, "nothing important," he says breezily, the motion so quick you almost think you imagined it.

his focus shifts back to you, almost guilty, but his fingers are pressing divots into the fabric of your top, "now, where were we? hi."

you blink, caught off guard by how strange it is to feel the searing heat of someone's gaze underneath a blindfold, impossibly intent, "hi yourself," you manage.

for a moment, neither you nor the gorgeous man under you move, and the world feels strangely airless.

but your fingers twitch against the fine linen of his shirt. and before you can second-guess yourself, you reach your hand up to the edge of the silk fabric over his face and you ask, "can i take this off?"

gojo tilts his head, like it's a genuine consideration and you catch the faintest flicker of hesitation. it's fleeting, replaced by a crooked smile as he nods, "go ahead, sweetheart."

your hand rests lightly on the silk, hesitant for only a second before tracing its way to the back of his head. your fingers brush through impossibly soft strands of white hair, and his breath hitches when you find the knot tied neatly to the base of his skull.

you wonder what manner of man gojo is, letting himself be stitched undone by a stranger. but with care, you undo the knot, working deftly and clutching the fabric as you pull the blindfold away.

the blindfold slips free, and for a moment, you're certain you've forgotten how to breathe. bright, piercing blue eyes. framed by thick white lashes blink up at you. the intensity of such an unearthly gaze is softened by something more vulnerable, almost shy. nervous even.

"wow," you murmur without thinking, the word spilling out as gojo's expression shifts, an unguarded openness replacing the playful smirk that you've seen all evening.

your earlier assessment echoes in your mind: k-pop reject wannabe. the recent memory now feels like quite the injustice, a careless slight against a face that defies easy description. each detail of his face is striking, as if some divine hand had taken special care to sculpt him from the fabric of time and space itself.

gojo seems to sense your analysis, and you're sure that he's parted his lips to speak, but whatever he was about to say falters. that faint flush, pale-red like vermillion watercolour bleeding across a canvas, blooms across his cheeks. gojo's hazy gaze flickers for a second, and it sends a thrill through you. he's affected by this, by you.

it's hard to resist the slow smile that curves your lips, light and playful if only to mask the way your own heart is racing, "are you seriously shy now, gojo?"

gojo's expression shifts again almost immediately, as if that subtle invulnerability has been replaced by something sharper, almost indignant. he sits up a little straighter, the movement making you acutely aware of how the hard planes of his body feel beneath you.

"shy? no," gojo says, his voice steady but edged with some need to defend his honour, "i just...don't usually do this. that's all."

there's a sincerity in his words, an almost begrudging honesty that takes you by surprise. you tilt your head, as your murmur, "i don't either."

before you can second-guess yourself, you tilt your head down. pressing your lips to gojo's in a featherlight kiss. his taste is intoxicating, honey and sweet grapes mingling with a hint of that ridiculous vanilla drink from earlier. you pull back almost as quickly as you leaned in, testing the waters.

but your breath catches when you see that the blue of his eyes has deepened, darkened. and his lips, pink-blush and slightly parted, form a quiet and stunned oh!

"cool," gojo manages, his voice rougher than you expected, and you bite back a laugh as you watch him swallow hard.

"huh, cool?" you echo, your amusement bubbling over, "that's it? that's all you've got?"

gojo's grip on your waist tightens, and his hands are now splayed over your spine. anchoring you to him, as his mouth curves into something sly, though his flushed cheeks betray his composure, "compliments to the chef?"

you shift slightly, pressing more of your weight firmly into his lap. though not yet close enough to situate yourself over his groin, delighting in the way gojo's blush spreads down his neck, staining his skin a shade reminiscent of ripe berries swirling in cream.

you can feel gojo's attention as much as you can see it, how his own gaze lingers, deliberate and unhurried. taking you like a masterpiece that deserves more than a cursory glance. the hand that had been steady on your back shifts, his fingers threading through your hair. he watches as the strands slip and fall beneath his touch.

"thought you said you wanted me, gojo," you tease, though you're certain your voice is betraying the way your pulse is doing its best impression of the macarena in your jugular, "are y'gonna do something or not?"

gojo's gaze snaps back to you, a flicker of something far more intense passing through those impossibly blue eyes. full of hunger, need even. the hand in your hair slides away, only to settle at your jaw. it's warm and steady, his thumb brushing slightly over the plush of your bottom lip.

"i do want you," gojo says, his voice low and steady and maddeningly genuine, "want you to kiss me again. and again. as many times as you want until i forget my own name."

"gojo —"

"satoru," he interrupts, his voice cracking slightly, stripped of any previous swagger. it's unsteady and raw, affected in a way that excites you. sends a dark heat curling low between your thighs, "you can call me that."

"satoru," you repeat softly, letting the syllables fall from your lips, unfurling in the most hazy way.

something within the man shifts. his hand tightens on your waist, dragging you closer in a way that punches the air from your lungs. right over -

oh. the thick, curve of his erection straining against slacks that probably cost more than your monthly salary. it's deliberate, almost desparate at how the invisible thread snapped inside him. unravelled the careful composure he's been clinging to until now.

"go on," gojo murmurs, his voice dark with need, "kiss me again, please."

you lean closer, eyes flickering to his lips, and your pulse roaring in your ears, "who would i be to deny you any wish, satoru?" the words come out more reverent that you'd expected, as if your entire world has been tilted off its axis.

and then you kiss him, hard. desparate. as if his lips are your birthright, a homeland to claim. and gojo's kissing you back, carrying a sweetness that seems both foreign and familiar. in an instant, the weight of another man, a dreary haze in your past, vanishes. gojo is suddenly everything you didn't know you needed, vibrant and electrifying.

"let me know if it's too much," gojo breathes against your lips, his voice shaky as if he's trying to tether himself to the earth. but your kiss deepens, frantic and unrestrained. his mouth moves against yours with a hunger that sends sparks down your spine, and you suddenly realise you quite like the taste of vanilla when it's dripping from his open kisses.

you pull away, for every human needs air. but the sight before you has you clenching your thighs desperately around the bulge where you sit atop. gojo's gaze is heavy, full of that desparate longing that makes your chest ache. his lips are swollen, a soft cherry hue from your kisses. and strands of white hair fall over his blue eyes.

"look what you've done to me, fuck. miss you already," gojo murmurs, and before you can respond, he surges forward, hands pressing against your face with the intensity of a storm. one hand reaches to find the nape of your neck, letting you surrender to the heat of this touch.

you crave more, so much more from gojo, who's taking you in like you're his last breath, his final indulgance. it's as if he's found a new devotion in you, ready to worship you at the alter of your false godhood. but before you can part your mouth to tell him exactly what you and where, gojo's hands are already sneaking under your top, brushing against the trembling skin of your torso.

his teeth are biting down on your lip, leaving you dizzy. and gasping, and so damp in your panties as the fabric of your top is peeled away, and you're left shivering, fighting against the cold of the december air. you find yourself pressing harder into the warmth of his chest, letting the swell of your chest press flat against him.

"shoulda' turned the heat on before we came in," gojo murmurs, breathless as his lips hover a mere centimetre away from yours, "got nothin' to worry about, sweetheart. i'll keep you warm."

"didn't t-think i'd spend christmas eve like this," you gasp, your head lolling to the side as gojo presses open-mouthed kisses to the soft arc of your neck, sensitive even to the cool air.

"no?" gojo's reply is breathy, almost frantic as if he's fumbling in the heat of the moment and has little grasp over the words tumbling out of his mouth, "neither did i. but this? b-better than any fuckin' mission they could've sent me on."

you cock your head, feeling the heat of his clothed cock underneath your thighs, "m-mission, huh? what are you talking about - mmph!" but the rest of the question never escapes your lips for it's swallowed up by another one of gojo's candied kisses.

his rough hands work deftly, finding the clasp of your bra with ease. a pretty crimson thing, almost sheer as it caught the light. and in the centre, a tiny satin bow sat like the final touch on a perfectly wrapped gift. you had only worn it half-heartedly earlier in the morning, some forced christmas cheer for your dreary day ahead.

the look on gojo's face was anything but composed, staring at your cupped tits like you'd knocked the air out of him and his chest rose and fall as though he were remembering how to breathe. in a single fluid motion, your bra is unhooked. the faint metallic click barely audible over the pounding in your chest and he's tossing it aside with a casual flick, his focus entirely on you.

you find yourself mesmerised by his eyes, those swirling pools of blue that seem to have stolen fragments of the sky itself, clouds brushed into cerulean depths with strokes of syrupy smoothness. they're breathtaking, but the thought shatters as gojo's canines graze the flesh of your breasts, a sharp and teasing nip that pulls a gasp from your lips. leaves you rocking sharply against his erection, making him throw his head back, ragged.

the playful string blooms into a flush of heat, and gojo's at it again, his mouth working to leave faint red marks in its wake. you squeal, half in surprise and half in helpless laughter (and entirely in a lusty haze) but gojo only pulls back enough to murmur, "what? can't help myself."

but then he peers at you abruptly, his lips parted as he catches his breath, "wait. do you wanna —?" and gojo tilts his snowy hair towards the shadowy doorway that leads out of the living room, the implication clear even through his panting.

you nod, breathless, "yeah, jus' help me up."

without hesitation, a strong arm slides around your waist, and before you know it, you're being swept into a semi-bridal carry, and your head is resting against the fabric of his dress shirt. not a bad feeling, one you could get used to.

at the doorway, gojo lets out a low 'shit!', nudging the door open with his foot. the faint sound of clattering follows as he kicks something out of the way. you glance down from your entirely too comfortable vantage point, spotting a smattering of cheap tinsel, all glittering in metallic silver and gold, tangled with round baubles that glisten faintly under the dim light.

some have little smears of glue, and uneven glitter patches, as if crafted by unsteady hands, but with earnest effort.

"you big on christmas or something?" you tease, delighting in how the tips of his ears light up like nose of a famous reindeer.

gojo freezes for a moment, almost sheepish as he clears a path, clearly trying to look as macho as possible as he gingerly pushes aside a string of green lights, "made those for my students," he mutters, "thought they'd like them in the classroom tomorrow."

your laugh grows louder, and gojo's brows furrow, his tone growing defensive, "it's a nice surprise for the classroom!"

"i'm not making fun of you!" you insist, leaning up to press a gentle, soothing kiss to the hollow of his collarbone, "it's sweet. i think it's really nice, actually. wait, you're a teacher?"

gojo's mouth quirks up in a faint smile, "something like that," he says cryptically, finally clearing a decent and hazard-free path into a sleek, and clean bedroom. it's all modern space, all clean lines in shades of cream and white, and navy.

gojo sets you down gently, and the plush fabric cradles you as your back lands on fresh linen. and for a quiet, tender moment, you're both caught in the stillness. gojo kneels at the edge of the bed, his hands resting lightly on each of your thighs as if he's anchoring himself there.

his gaze is steady, content, maybe even adoring in a way that feels too intimate for someone who you barely know. there's a warmth in his expression, like he's savouring the sight of you, searching for something — and he's found exactly what he's hoped for.

almost without thinking, you lift a hand, cupping the sides of his face. his skin is warm beneath your palm, soft with the faintest hint of pale stubble that seems to fade into his skin. the moment your hands makes contact, gojo leans into your touch instinctively, his white lashes fluttering closed.

"hey, 'toru," you murmur softly, "y'still with me?"

gojo's eyes snap open at the sound of that, sharp and bright, as if the nickname itself has sparked a challenge in him. a low and almost frustrated sound escapes from the back of his throat, and he presses a feather-light kiss to the inside of your knee.

you don't miss at how his teeth sink into his bottom lip again, worrying and working the plush flesh like he's trying to steady himself. spreading your weeping thighs aside, as his gaze is fixed on something. intense, unwavering. the sheer focus of it making heat creep up your neck.

at how he must be staring hungrily at damp, sheer red fabric that clings to the outline of your cunt. at how it must shimmer almost translucently now, the sticky slick of your arousal enhancing the gloss, making your panties glisten under the light.

you're feeling an unfamiliar kind of shy under the weight of his attention, at how he must see how the fabric clings closely to your puffy, swollen folds — the delicate weave exposing the shape of your taut pussy, practically weeping for his touch.

you needn't have asked, for gojo was already diving into deliver.

he's gliding his index finger over your dripping pussy, letting the tangy syrup sink onto his fingers, leaning in to press a sweet, almost innocent kiss to your clothed cunt, "she seems desperate for me, don'tcha think, heh?"

the sound of the fabric ripping is sharp and wet, a squelching and almost fleshy tone, a sound that's both soft and sharp to the blood rushing between your ears. a strained tear of your beautiful panties, leaving cool air to gently leave a kiss of its own upon your cunt.

you gape at him, a bit too stunned to find coherent words, "hey, what the f-fuck! those were like super expensive!"

gojo rolls his eyes, the kind of look that has a bit too much attitude for someone who's practically begging on his knees for a taste of you, "don't get all huffy on me, sweetheart. 'm gonna buy you more, is tha' alright?"

"i'll r-remember that, satoru," you murmur, giving a sharp tug at his white strands, "you gon' have to give me your number now."

gojo shudders, the muscles in his back rippling underneath his tight shirt, "was already gonna," and he's back to pressing soft, kitten licks to your now exposed folds, small circles over your throbbing clit.

you buck your canting hips closer to the heat of his mouth, to where the pink tip of his teasing tongue peeks out of a pretty mouth, "satoru, c'mon. can't you just, fuck—"

you sharply cry out as he presses his mouth forward, a sudden surge of heat jolting through you. burying himself deep, his nose brushing against the sweet, syrup that coats your pussy, and the rhythmic, wet movements of his tongue send shivers through your entire being.

"mhm, jus' as sweet as you look, baby," gojo gasps, swirling and flicking his tongue, teasing you with every deliberate patter of the muscle near your winking entrance. so messy, slick and you're not sure where he ends and you begin as it all glides together carnally.

gojo seems languidly tipsy, just from munching through the gloss of your cunt, far more intoxicated from your taste than any cheap christmas liquor. he alternates between pushing his tongue past the ring of your tight walls, and then wrapping his lips around the searing pulse of your clit, leaving your hips shaking and dragging over his mouth, smearing yourself over his chin.

you're fisting delicate white locks with fierce urgency, and he hisses and then chuckles into your pussy, "tch! ease up there for me, yeah? jus' move your hips like you were doin' before," and you comply, angling yourself better so he can flatten his tongue against your folds, jaw grinding deeper into you "hah, yeah, just like that."

"taking good care of you though, aren't i? wait, say it. say that 'm making you feel good," and he's bullying a long finger into your gummy walls, clingy and sopping, "say 'm making you feel better than a-anyone ever has," and you just mewl as your arousal must surely be dripping down his forearms, staining the cuffed sleeve of his shirt as he takes your sweet juices down his throat.

there's stars beginning to twinkle at the edge of your vision, and you know you must be close, for your heart is practically dancing a heavy beat against your ribcage, and you suddenly push his mouth away, watching as a clear strand of spit or your slick forms a taut bridge between his mouth and your folds.

"w-wait, satoru, s-stop."

gojo's head lifts, eyes blinking as if coming out of a faze. but then, like a switch, something sharp flickers behind his gaze and concern floods in. his thin brows furrow slightly, glossy lips parting as he reaches out, as if to steady your hips, "you okay, sweetheart? what's wrong?"

your heart stutters, pounding so loudly you're sure he can hear it. you try to steady your breathing, but the tremour in your fingertips betray you as they gently slide through your hair, the silky strands tangling around your hand.

"nothin' wrong, 'toru. but i was gonna cum," and gojo's face, still flushed and soft with arousal, splits into a shy, amused grin.

"hah, i know. that's what i wanted," he's close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath hitting your aching cunt, but you shake your head again.

"feels unfair, wanna see you too. wan' you to cum in me,"

you watch, almost in awe, as a low and guttural sound escapes gojo satoru, raw and unfiltered. gojo runs his tongue over his lips, his eyes dark with something dangerously close to hunger.

"you sure?" and his voice is hoarse, unsure despite his roaming gaze. you nod, your hands digging into his shoulder, tugging at the crisp fabric of his dress shirt, desparate to feel the warmth of his skin underneath.

his shaky laugh of disbelief only makes you more aroused, whining for him to hurry up, and before you know it, he's standing up, towering over your boneless form on the sheets.

"how could i deny you anything?" he murmurs, echoing your earlier words. gojo's hands reach for the hem, the fabric shifting as he pulls it over his head, revealing a milky expanse of toned skin, smooth and taut over a set of abs that should easily land him on a gq list.

his waist is slender, defined in all the right places, and the soft taper of muscles make your breath catch. but the soft white trail of hair that reaches under his waistband makes your cunt clench.

"y'seem happy with the view, don'tcha?" gojo's voice is teasing, the cocky smirk tugging at his lips, but you can hear the impatience threading his tone now too. he's not as in control as he lets on, his hands now making quick work of his belt, leaving your mouth dry when he finally pushes his black boxers down.

you should have known that his cock would be as pretty and unfairly gorgeous as the rest of him. he's circling the strawberry-red tip, glowering and throbbing, right over your gathered slick, coating it and smacking the mushroom head in a thwack! over your poor clit, leaving you jolting as he laughs and leans down to kiss you sweetly once more.

"jus' look at me, yeah?" his drawl is slow, lazy and so ruined. at the first inch of his throbbing cock that slips through your walls, he looks utterly undone. a mess of sharp edges softened by something far more primal and raw.

gojo's head tips back, exposing the elegant line of his neck as the moonlight cascades over you, "hey, sweetheart, 's not too much, yeah?"

hazy blue eyes bore into you, and for a brief moment, in the time it takes for the lightning to strike the earth, you swear that his eyes glow. almost radiant and jewel-like, with cerulean fractals shimmering as if they're emitting life of their own. perhaps its simply the electrifying stretch of inches that's rendering you to hallucinate, whining as your nails find purchase in milky skin and rippling shoulders.

"i-it's big, 'toru," you pant, feeling him almost shudder at the clipped name again, as he grips the base of his cock to bully the final inch in, sighing in contentment as he finally bottoms out, with a wet pop!

gojo looks feral like this, heaving a breath through his mouth as though the air is being taken from him from every second he spends stretching you out on his fat shaft, "hah, 'm glad, i'm so glad i met you tonight, sweetheart. fuck, fuck, y'feel i-incredible."

he's pushing your thighs further back, running his hands over the plush skin, leaving bruising red prints that won't disappear tomorrow as you moan, wanton into his open mouth, letting gojo run his lips down your jaw and into the curve of your neck.

you're practically now folded in half under the bulk of his weight, feeling stars collide in absolutely astrophysical ways, impaled further on the long and thick length of his cock, "in so deep, s-satoru."

seems that gojo is a man of little mercy, for he seems only all the more invigorated by your squeals, drawing his torso back to watch the hypnotic smack of skin on skin, of your slick and creamy froth creating fresh rings over his pistoning cock.

he's entirely out of control, as you feel your body go limp from the pleasure shooting through every nerve and pore.

depraved.

you don't realise you might have let that slip out loud, so dizzy in your cockdrunk haze because gojo's suddenly ramming himself roughly in you, as though he was desperate to have his cock kiss your cervix, to feel for every divot and nook of your cunt's walls.

"d-depraved, hah. people call me, fuck, p-people call me a lotta things, sweetheart," and gojo's so good with it, letting your pussy have not even one moment to take reprieve, having you feel each vein and bulge of his cock, "but depraved is n-new."

the hand that was dancing over your thighs flies to your swollen, aching clit. practically glistening for his attention, and his attention you did receive, "right, t-there! 'toru, mmph!" you're trying to splay your legs wider, giving his quick hand more room to swirl tight circles where you needed him most.

your double-vision gaze lingers on the ripple of his muscles, the way his arms flex and shift as he seems intent on angling you just right for him to drill his cock over and over, at some freakish and feverish pace, "y'so good, gojo," you purr, and your nails curl against his arms, pressing just enough to leave tiny crescents in his skin, the faint dampness of his exertion clinging to him, "s-so strong!"

something shifts. the glow is back, electric blue flooding his eyes like crackling storm clouds. it's almost unnerving, this unearthly brightness, as if he's some ancient god wrapped up in human skin, and you've just stumbled into a divine revelation.

gojo stills for the briefest moment, the thick head of his cock snagging on your puffy folds as he draws himself almost entirely out. the absence of motion makes you whine, an airy and impatient sound escaping your throat. that hesitation feels like a tease, like a string that's been pulled so taut, before he finally dives forward, capturing your mouth in a messy, heated kiss. sloppy in its disregard.

"s-so strong, huh?" gojo's voice is rough, shaky, as though he's trying to centre himself but your tight pussy holds him in hypnotic sway, "y-you think so? think i'm the strongest?" his lips brush yours as he speaks, and there's something almost boyish and charming in the way that he seems to be fishing for a compliment, despite the low heat in his voice.

you pull back from his wet, spit-stringed lips. just enough to wrap your hands around his neck and push him closer, deeper into you as he gutturally groans, "if i s-say yes, are y'gonna keep showing off?"

gojo's laugh is short, breathless, "y-yeah, wanna see?"

he makes quick work of pushing himself back into you, pumping himself so far in that your slick must be painting and sopping the white hairs at the base of his cock almost translucent, "o-oh my god, 'toru, fuck, oh my god!" the stretch has your head spinning, as if the skies are parting above you, and you're melodramatically left to see the light of divinity as gojo bucks his hips harshly into you. as if he's too far gone, needs to prove himself to you with a good fuck.

"you h-have to say it," gojo stutters, his words tumbling out so quickly, like rough gravel, "say it, fuck, c'mon. say i'm — say i'm the s-strongest. you have to, hnghh, god. please, jus' agree, okay?" his voice is cracking, that cocky veneer entirely shattered under the weight of his rambling desperation as he practically rummages through your sopping insides, "y-you feel it right, i mean, you can feel me — i mean."

a high whine escapes your throat as his pace becomes almost olympian, and you wonder faintly how you haven't managed to sprain a muscle or break a bone yet, how he hasn't managed to shatter something with the sheer pace and force of how gojo satoru fucks, "hah, 'toru. i'm —"

"close? g-god, i hope so. 's what i want. nothing, like n-nothing feels better than this right?" his words are falling out of him in a messy, pussydrunk rush, his eyes flickering between your face and down to where your pussy lips are bulged around his shaft, "so good, right? the b-best thing you've ever —"

you truthfully don't even hear the rest of his words, blood absolutely roaring and rearing in your ears, your ribcage as you feel the tight coil snap, letting out short, slurred snaps of his name when you cum. as he doesn't quite let up on smacking his hips right against your ass, "s-satoru, 's getting s-sensitive, oh, fuck. fuck!"

he's suddenly whining, with pleading and erratic blue eyes chasing after you, sloppily pushing down so he can gasp and pant into your open mouth, before capturing you in a heart-stopping kiss as he finally gets milked dry by your pulsing and fluttering walls. in awe of how creamy white is practically leaking out of you, dripping a stringy trail over the flesh of your thighs.

you're agape at how utterly fucked he looks right now, though you're certain you do not look much better as fat tears prick at your eyes, streaming past your ears from the overstimulation, "s-still fillin' me up, 'toru. god, do ya always cum this much?"

at first, you don't even get a response from gojo who just sinks his teeth into the juncture of your neck, almost as if he's trying not to cry out, but then he's back to circling your clit with a rough hand, "makin' me sound like some kinda whore, s-sweetheart. 'n and i told you. don't do this m-much."

and now he's slowing down, pleasurably painful bucks of his hips keeping glossy, white seed in you. ensuring that it coats your entire entrance, "an' it's not my fault that she," and here, he gives your clit a small smack! grinning like a madman, "n-not my fault that she's so, hah, addictive."

each tight circle of his hand on your clit sends you hurtling into yet another orgasm, one that has you begging gojo for mercy, repreive, for more. an orgasm that has him whispering the sweetest nothings into your ear, "d-don't worry, gotcha like this. gonna let you rest n-now, jus' gotta relax for me."

by the time he's slipping his still somehow hard cock out of your creamed cunt, you can feel exhaustions heavy and caring hands caress you, rendering your body limp and boneless. your eyes heavy and hazy, but you can feel a soft ghost of gojo's kiss over the shell of your ear, "h-hope y'still here in the morning, sweetheart. don't leave, yeah?"

the morning sunlight filters through the blinds, and despite the ache in your limbs that cricks your bones, you drag yourself out of bed. christmas day, after all. you've thrown on gojo's dress shirt from last night, snug enough to flutter around your hips, but oversized enough around the shoulders to let you drown in it.

it's cozy though, and even the chilly air feels refreshing against the warmth clinging to you. gojo is still sound asleep, and you had smiled at how he took little puffs of air as he was passed flat out in bed. but you always like to be up early on christmas, and there's something about the holiday that makes you feel like you need to earn the right to nap later.

you wander around the bedroom for a bit, stretching your legs as your muscle protest in earnest. eventually, you decide to make your way to that kitchen. breakfast, right.

it seems like a good idea, especially considering the last thing in your stomach was a questionably sour vodka. so you pull open the fridge, expecting something befitting of this apartment. perhaps a slab of wagyu beef, a tin of caviar, a thick block of pistachio-cream dubai chocolate. you'd even settle for sushi.

instead, you're left staring back at a stack of candy canes, some strawberry yoghurt, a carton of milk and some fast food wrappers. despite your protesting stomach, a deep amusement washes over you. it doesn't surprise you that gojo would have a fridge stocked with food you'd find at a child's birthday party and a greasy diner.

still, breakfast is in order and because you can't help it, you pull out a candy cane and start unwrapping it. you're just about take a bite when you hear the unmistakable pad of footsteps. you turn, face to face with someone who would clearly not be out of place on a vogue covershoot.

gojo hasn't tossed on a shirt, and the sunlight filters over his chiselled physique before your sight is stolen by the loose sheet wrapped around his waist. delicious. you try to snap your gaze back to his face, but it's hard to not track your gaze down his torso, like a cat eyeing a particularly irresistible sunbeam.

"good morning to you too," gojo says, a grin curling his lips, "what are you doing?" his voice is still thick with interrupted sleep, laced with a morning rasp that forces you to ground yourself and stop falling prey to the god, eros and his machinations.

"breakfast, 'm starving."

"don't bother," gojo says, shaking his head, "we can go somewhere nice for breakfast. like real, actual food. don't think you want half-eaten yoghurt."

you nod enthusiastically, mind turning back to the peeling seal of the strawberry yoghurt with a spoon sticking out of it. but then, something else catches your mind's attention. a little curiosity piques, one that you cannot help but ask him.

"wait," you begin, snapping your teeth around the saccharine mint of the candy cane, "y'know what's crazy. like, i swear your eyes glowed last night. not even in a silly compliment way, but like electricity. i thought i was like, losing it.'

you expect gojo to brush it off with a wink, or maybe laugh it off like you're just teasing him. but instead, the man's face shifts, that cocky smile faltering for the briefest moment. it's gone so fast that you think you almost imagined it. but why does he look...almost guilty?

before you can process that, you realised you've leaned yourself over the counter, and in your absent-mindedness, your elbow presses a button on the answering machine. a small beep, and suddenly, a voice blares through the room,

"hey, gojo-sensei!" comes a high-pitched, distinctly teenage voice, an excited boy who sounds a little crackly over the speaker, "so, we found this grade one curse yesterday...and uh, we totally got rid of it. we were gon' call you, but you didn't pick up. but i almost got my arm torn off. wait, no! that sounds dramatic, i got shoko to look at it anyway. so what we're all wondering right is that we don't have to hand in any homework now right? as like reparations?"

the voice crackles off, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. you stand there, absolutely dumbstruck, staring at the answering machine like it's about to burst into flames or start singing christmas carols.

gojo, meanwhile, has the most awkward look on his face, clearly caught between embarrassment...and what? panic, amusement?

"satoru, what the fuck?"

he looks at you for a moment, but instead of speaking, he lets out a long and exasperated sigh before pulling out one of the counter chairs, "you're gonna want to sit down for this one, sweetheart."

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yanderedrabbles · 1 month ago

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Yandere Days of the Week

Monday is your grouchy and uptight coworker. He's a stickler for the rules and not someone who confesses his feelings. He'll usually push his spectacles up his nose and frown at you whenever you try and do something new, no matter how simple.

"What did I say about filling out the spreadsheets by yourself? You've confused all the figures."

He'll push both you and your chair out of the way and settle himself at your desk like one messed up spreadsheet means the death of the whole company. If you ever try and thank him, he'll glare at you like you've insulted his whole bloodline.

"Tch. Just ask me next time."

If you pay attention, you might notice the blush that tinges his cheeks whenever you smile at him. You might notice the way he straightens his already perfect tie before coming over to harangue you about company dress code and your slightly-too-short skirts. (Why is he noticing your skirt length to begin with? Perv).

Luckily for him, you're usually too irritated or harassed to pay attention. His secret crush will be staying a secret for as long as he can manage.

Tuesday is your overly sweet neighbour. He introduced himself to you the second you moved in - offering you a tupperware of homecooked food because he knew exactly how overwhelming moving in could be. He's the guy you call when you need a shelf hung up or a stubborn jar opened. He'll raise his brows when you thank him, secretly pleased that you asked for his help.

"That's what neighbours are for, right?"

He doesn't mention that the previous tenants left him a spare key to your apartment. What if you get hurt one day while you're locked inside, with no one able to reach you in time? It's safer for you both if he keeps it a secret.

And if he occasionally let's himself into your apartment while you're at work, it's just to keep an eye on the place. It's what any good neighbour would do. So stop wondering what the white stains on your panties are, okay?

Wednesday is your unassuming classmate. They're the quiet kind, apt to fade into the background without meaning to.

At first, they were envious of you. Pretty, clever, friendly - you aren't the type people can easily ignore. They watch you whenever they can, desperate to somehow copy that elusive charm that makes you so special.

It doesn't work, obviously. When they try smiling like you it looks stiff and unnatural. When they copy your outfits they feel exposed, self conscious. When they try wearing the same perfume as you they break out in hives that last all week.

They can't be you. No one can.

But they aren't going to give up so easily. Maybe your luck doesn't come from clothes or hair or makeup. Maybe it's something deep inside of you, something that can be ripped out and kept for themselves.

They're going to learn what makes you so special, even if it means following you home with duct tape and chloroform.

Thursday is your favourite professor. He's the quietly confident type, the kind of man who doesn't have to shout to keep the lecture hall's attention. He's insightful and empathetic, his brown eyes always warm.

You trust him totally and completely. You don't notice when he starts resting his hand on your lower back whenever you stand next to him. You don't notice that your papers are always graded more harshly than your classmates. You don't realise he wants you, not even when he offers you private office hours despite his packed schedule.

You're a real cock tease, always looking at him with those doe eyes and pretty lips. He's a patient man - he'll have you eventually. It doesn't matter if it takes him two weeks or two years, he'll keep dropping your grades until you beg him for help.

You trust him. You really, really shouldn't.

Friday is the star athlete that everyone admires. Handsome, confident, clever. A man like that would usually invite envy, would get dirty looks thrown at his back and nasty surprises in his locker.

Not him though. Everyone loves Friday.

Well, everyone except for you. There's something about him that frightens you. Underneath his golden boy facade, there's something rotten and selfish.

You don't realise he's noticed your dislike until he corners you after class one day. He wraps one hand around your wrist as everyone files out of the lecture hall, too eager for the weekend to notice the slightly panicked look on your face.

"Listen, I hate to think I've done something to offend you. If I have, just tell me now and we can sort it out," he tells you, blue eyes cold and distant despite his pretty boy smile.

You tug at your wrist but his grip is unbreakable. He isn't hurting you, but his strength keeps you right where he wants you.

"We barely even know each other," you say, your eyes jumping to the door and the suddenly empty corridors. "I don't have any issue with you."

"That's a lie and we both know it. I don't want to push you, but I'm not letting you go until I know what I've done."

You finally meet his eyes. "You have it too easy in life. You get everything you want. I don't hate you. But I don't like you either."

His expression is a careful blank. "I'm not going to apologise for what I have or for what I've been given."

You tug at your wrist again and he finally let's you go.

"I don't expect you to," you mutter as you swing your bag over your shoulder and hurry out the door.

He watches you leave and inside him some selfish, possessive creature lifts its head and growls. You should have known - when a man with everything he could ever want is shown something he can't have, that just makes him want it all the more.

"Gonna make her mine," he says to the empty classroom. A promise or a threat, even he can't be sure.

Saturday is a party girl. The kind of bombshell who wears a tiny metallic bikini, a cowboy hat and absolutely nothing else to a rave.

She knows every kind of cocktail and every kind of fun time pill. She's shamelessly cocky and shamelessly outgoing. When you run into her at a concert, she'll get you all the way to the stage no matter how packed the crowds are.

You'd think a girl like that would know all about boundaries and consent and you'd be right. The thing is, she ignores it just as easily as she ignores speed limits and DUI citations.

She'll kiss you when you're too drunk to say no. She'll give you pills that she knows you can't handle just to take you home. She'll ignore you when you try and push her away, weak and intoxicated and too woozy to form a full sentence.

And the worst part? She knows you won't report her. Girls can get drunk and touchy without it ever being called a crime.

She'll run her hands up your thighs and nip your neck and tell you she loves you. But she's always long gone by morning.

She's just a girl, your honour. And she'll use that excuse as many times as she needs to.

Sunday is your local barista. He's an artist on the side, the kind of creative soul who can't express himself without the help of charcoal and acrylic.

He's too stoic to ever work the cash register or take orders, but he somehow always ends up there when you're in line.

He usually sneaks an extra sweet treat into your order. And if he has the time, he'll usually leave a little doodle on your receipt.

He hasn't spoken to you much, but he can feel the red thread of fate tugging you closer everyday. You're soulmates, lovers meant to be, fated by heaven and all its angels.

It doesn't matter how long it takes, you'll be his eventually. He can read it in the stars.

#Yandere Days of the week #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #reader insert #x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x you #soft yandere #yandere writing #yanderecore #Fem Reader #yandere x darling

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astonmartinii · 2 months ago

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other side of the moon: chapter four | formula one imagine

chapter four: matchstick men

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

the cocktail party is fun while it lasts, late guests throw y/n’s decision into question but also show her just who she’s a mentor to.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | SERIES MASTERLIST

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

there was a january chill in the monaco air as max and y/n exited the dutchman’s apartment complex and started their short walk to kimi’s place. y/n pulled the shawl around her tighter, the light material of her slip dress doing nothing to keep the heat in.

“i told you you were going to be cold,” max teased, pulling her into a side hug, rubbing his free hand up and down her arm, “are you sure you don’t want me to run back and get your jumper?”

y/n leaned further into the dutchman’s warmth but shook her head, if she was really that cold by the time they made it to kimi’s she’d just had to steal something from them.

“sometimes you have to make sacrifices to look this good maxy,” y/n said, poking her tongue out at him, “and that includes hypothermia!”

“you don’t need to do anything, you’re perfect the way you are. i should’ve known you were still the same diva from karting when you still managed to look perfect in that ghastly shade of orange.”

“a dutchman who doesn’t like orange, now this is a scandal!”

“i like my orange, my shade - not that ugly papaya. i like you in my orange.”

“well if you play your cards right i might just wear some in zandvoort. they might be paying me a lot, but no one can pay me enough to wear that ugly uniform.”

max tightened his grip on y/n as they turned the corner to kimi and ollie’s place. there, in front of their door, stood the pair… in suits.

“did i miss the memo of this being a black tie event?” max yells, making the two boys jump, “now i look like i just rolled out of bed!”

“you always look like you’ve just rolled out of bed, we’re lucky i put all of your red bull merch in the wash so you’d wear something different tonight.”

kimi came to stand by y/n, she looked down at the italian and fixed his collar.

“are the suits too much? we wanted to make a good impression but… are they all going to laugh at us?” his voice was small and the way he craned his head to look at y/n made him look even smaller.

“no! it’s cute, you guys are going the extra mile and that means a lot. plus if they have a problem with you dapper gents, then they’ll have a problem with me!”

kimi giggled as the pair started on their way to charles’, ollie hung back and turned to max, “thank you for convincing her to say yes, he hasn’t stopped bouncing off the walls since.”

max slapped ollie’s back, “he convinced her all himself. that letter had her immediately, i think she has this weird belief that we’re not all over the moon she’s back. she’s been more herself in these past few days since meeting him than she has in three years. trust me mate, she was a shell of herself. hell, i would’ve given him the second red bull seat years ago if i knew he would bring the real her back to me.”

“i don’t think you have the power to give out the second red bull seat?” ollie pointed out, max shushed him loudly, “that’s what we want you to think.”

up ahead, y/n and kimi had linked arms like they were old friends.

“i don’t want you to be nervous going here tonight. i know my whole retirement to solitude may look like i don’t like anyone in formula one but truth be told they’re all big nerds. i expect you thought max was this big massive asshole before you met him properly but we all know he’s a big softie inside.”

kimi let out a deep breath, “i know i’ve technically met all of them, i mean i’ve been to countless race weekends now, but i’m still scared - i don’t want them to treat me like a kid, i’m a competitor!”

y/n laughed even though truth be told she was guilty of treating kimi like her long lost child, hair ruffles and cheek pinches, the lot. kimi tugged on her arm, “what was it like when you first met the drivers? not like on the grid where everyone is on their best behaviour, but when you truly met them?”

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march 2020 - bahrain testing.

“i’m nervous! what if they hate me!”

y/n whined, throwing the entire contents of her suitcase at george sat on the bed. despite having meticulously planned about a million different outfits for the annual post-test party, she was at a loss for what to wear.

“did you smash into them during preseason? did you piss in their coffee? no! so you’ll be fine, stop worrying.”

“but what if they still hate me?” the look on her face was so genuine that george’s heart broke a little.

“no one can be angry at you for too long,” george laughed, “i’m sure that even if you shunted them into the first wall you they’d be here grovelling first thing.”

pelting another piece of clothing at george’s head, “what like you? i remember monaco last year. how long did it take you?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, i’m a broody, stoic stallion, i don’t grovel.”

“your delivery of artisan croissants and a teary monologue about how much i mean to you says different…”

a blush breaks out over george’s face at the memory. he’d hardly covered himself in glory in monaco he’d admit that, but every ounce of common sense left stage right when he saw y/n lean in and lick the line of salt off of mick’s hand.

“i treasure our friendship, i didn’t want to lose you over a dumb drunk argument,” george said, taking her hand in his, “i’m older now and i know when i should and when i shouldn’t step in. you’re old enough and ugly enough to look out for yourself.”

the pair had been friends since they first started karting against each other. y/n was nervous, lining up against a grid of boys for the first time but george had come right over and introduced himself, prim and proper handshakes and all.

y/n finally found the dress she had been looking for in the worryingly big pile of clothes, jumping up with a pleased grin. she ran to the bathroom and pulled it on, a short black sequin dress with boots and a black leather jacket on top. y/n thought she looked mysterious enough without looking like she was attending a funeral.

“what do you think georgie? does it scream ‘don’t take me out on track or i’ll kill you’ but also a healthy amount of ‘i’m a scared little girl don’t be mean to me or i’ll cry’?”

george was speechless, his mouth open but no words finding their way out. y/n did a little spin but he was still sputtering and running his hand through his hair like a mad man. he cleared his throat and stood up abruptly, “you look amazing y/n, i mean seriously amazing but i just remembered that i think i left the iron on in my room and i don’t want to burn the entire hotel down!”

he rushed towards the door, flinging it open, “williams definitely can’t afford that, i’ll see you later!”

he took off running down the hotel corridor, very nearly barrelling into alex who was on his way to y/n’s room.

“where’s he off to?” alex asked, coming into the room and making his way straight to the mini bar.

“he said he left the iron on in his room? i don’t know. he just started freaking out for like no reason. i just asked him whether this outfit is cute enough for tonight and he just sat there like i told him his whole family is dead and bolted.”

“weird.”

“so weird, right?” y/n made her way back to the bathroom to start her makeup, “i don’t know what came over him, is my outfit really that offensive? alex, you’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

“i think it might have been too much for george, but he’s being a weird puritan maniac recently, so?”

y/n poked her head past the door, “you’re so right. he’s posted about a hundred topless photos since making it to formula one but got so angry at me for licking mick’s hand!”

y/n was so close to the point it was right in front of her, but much to alex’s disappointment it looked as if she was just as useless as the rest of them. he tried to hide his annoyance on his face, but y/n still caught onto it.

“did you think that was bad too?! have you people never done tequila shots? so do you think this is too slutty for a driver party?”

alex shot up, nearly spilling his drink all over y/n’s bed, “no! george was being a weirdo about the tequila salt thing, had a proper bee in his bonnet that night. you look great, don’t change. i think he’s going through boy things…”

alex did not sound convinced by his own words, but he would work with it. y/n was confused until alex picked up a pillow and mimed putting it in a very specific spot and it finally clicked.

“he got a boner?!”

alex barked out a laugh, “oh tell the whole floor why don’t you? be quiet!”

y/n could not keep her laughs in, folding over with tears streaming down her face. this would definitely explain the emergency exit.

“you cannot tell him i told you, swear it!” alex hissed, grabbing y/n’s hand, “please, he’ll kill me and you know him he’s weirdly sadistic he’d go all dexter on me!”

the two linked pinky fingers, “i promise to never tell george that you told me he got a boner from me in a leather jacket”

“didn’t have to go into that much detail, but yeah i promise too.”

y/n touched her makeup as alex finished off his drink, “but you’re sure this is okay? everyone knows that the real time you meet the grid is when they’re all drunk.”

“you look great, stop worrying. i think george would agree, little george as well-” y/n pelted a pillow at him.

“i just fixed my makeup, don’t make me cry laugh again!”

y/n slipped her shoes on and the pair made their way down to the lobby and across the street to the bar. it was very laidback, completely empty bar the other drivers and some of their significant others.

“about time you guys turned up!” daniel called out from the table most of the drivers were huddled around.

“sorry all, um, we had something to iron out - ouch!” alex said before an elbow to the side from y/n cut him off. the rest of the table were none the wiser but george was suddenly infatuated with his drink, hoping the small umbrella in the glass could cover his blush.

amongst all of the chaos of welcomes, lance pulled up a chair for y/n and asked what she would be having to drink. “just a tequila sunrise for me lance, if they do them. thank you.”

the canadian gave her a little salute before heading to the bar. pulling up his own chair beside her, alex grumbles a little ‘don’t ask me if i want a drink then’ and gets another shove.

daniel claps loudly, silencing the table. he turns to y/n theatrically, wiggling his eyebrows. “so, to our lonely rookie of the season here, a couple of questions.”

the table all turned to her and y/n let out a nervous chuckle, fiddling with her jacket - where was lance with that drink?

“we won’t be hazing you, no worries. no that’s actually illegal, although i am curious as to your karaoke song of choice… we’re getting off topic! my burning question is… growing up with half of the grid you must have a rolodex of embarrassing stories about them. spill. i’m talking embarrassing falls, pissing in their karts or awkward boners, i want all of it!”

daniel looked at her earnestly, waiting on her response. this was a little overwhelming, lance had returned with her drink, alex was trying to keep his laughs at the mention of boners and charles was fixed on her with a death glare - guess the waterpark story was out of the question.

all of the focus was on her and it was overwhelming. y/n was somewhat used to having people watch her every move, you get used to that as the only girl in paddocks where people are just waiting for you to fail.

“i don’t know if i want to make enemies on the grid this early on,” y/n said, looking shyly at daniel to see whether this would be considered a good enough answer.

“very diplomatic, very diplomatic indeed,’ daniel said, pondering, “you’ll do well with the media with answers like that.”

“you learn quick as a girl in this sport.”

the entire table quietened again, although a lot more awkward this time. great first impression. daniel broke the silence once again, “not that we’re going to haze you, but just out of interest, what IS your go to karaoke song?”

“man i feel like a woman,” y/n answered without hesitation, seeing a wide smile break out on daniel’s face, “i think we’ll get along very well, rookie,” daniel replies. the aussie stands up and drags her to the bar, proclaiming that they ‘simply must do some shots together on account of being his new best friend’. y/n was not complaining, this was the first driver outside of the 2019 rookies and max who was expressing actual interest in friendship.

max had always gushed about daniel during and after their time at red bull together. y/n was surprised she hadn’t seen the dutchman yet that evening, but recalled him saying that he wanted to let her get to know the others, not wanting to hover over her like an overprotective parent.

another figure slipped in beside her at the bar and when she turned she came face to face with none other than sebastian vettel. the german gave her a soft smile and said, “i hope tonight wasn’t too daunting for you, we’re all very excited to have you on the grid, though some more than others.”

y/n raised her eyebrow, imploring him to continue. “the way max insists on praising you at every turn i thought your name was already on the second red bull.”

she let out a short laugh, “max does like talking…”

“oh he’s been showing us your formula two highlights all season, gushing about your lines and how we’ll all have to watch our backs this season.”

daniel finally got their shots and butted into the conversation, “max literally hasn’t shut up since you started in formula two, he’s all in on the y/n train.”

y/n smiled. she knew max was a big supporter of hers but hearing it from others made her heart swell.

the trio headed back to the main group who in the short time at the bar had managed to consume a worrying amount of alcohol. there was something surreal about seeing world champions struggle to string a sentence together or keep their heads up straight.

“oh my god what happened? how are they this fucked? we were gone for like five minutes?”

sebastian chuckled, looking over to fernando who was practically sat on a very bemused kimi raikkonen’s lap, “some of us have tasted the glory of winning the championship, so when you know that your car is nowhere near that this season, you cope in your own way.”

the bar had descended into chaos, looking closer to a renaissance painting than a sophisticated night out amongst high performance athletes. alex was sat in the same seat but now found himself flanked by two of his rookie class who now closely resembles a pair of clingy cats. y/n was sure she even saw lando, for the lack of a better word, nuzzle alex’s neck.

when checo appeared with an entire platter of tequila shots, alex took that as his cue to take lando and george home before they got their hands on any more alcohol.

“do you want some help with them?” y/n asked, watching alex wrangle the two drivers towards the exit.

“no, i can handle them. if you think this is bad, you should’ve seen them last year, proper made a fool of themselves. stay and get to know everyone, soon they’ll be so drunk you’ll have some good blackmail material on them.”

y/n hadn’t thought about that. not that she’d ever blackmail a fellow driver…

“well good luck getting them back to their rooms, see you tomorrow!”

y/n turned back to the mess in the bar. max was pouring pure gin in pierre’s mouth, charles was trying (key word, trying) to slow dance with sebastian despite the only music playing being edm and kevin magnussen was already asleep at the main table with nico hulkenberg and lance stacking coasters on his head.

“enjoying the circus?” a voice asks her from behind, y/n turned to see none other than kimi raikkonen. trying not to show her nerves, y/n took one of the drinks kimi was holding.

“i think i am. it’s a bit overwhelming.”

kimi nodded. there was a silence between them but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“are you excited for your first formula one race?”

“i am. i just want to show mclaren that they made the right decision on me.”

“you’ll be fine, trust me. i watched you in testing. i know that doesn’t mean much when it comes to the actual pace of the car, but you already had good control over the car. have faith in yourself.”

all of the praise from everyone else was nice but to get that many words out of kimi, it all was real now.

“thank you kimi, i hope we get to race this season. you’re a hero of mine.”

“that makes me feel old.”

“oh! i didn’t me too-”

“i’m kidding. most people would’ve chosen seb or lewis as they’re heroes.”

“oh i admire them, but there was only one blonde i loved in formula one.”

kimi let out a little laugh. the two sat there, observing for a couple of moments.

“don’t trust anyone,” kimi said suddenly, turning to y/n. “huh?”

“don’t trust anyone. i’m sorry that it’ll likely be worse for you, but these people they’re not really your friends, not when you’re in the car and everything is on the line. you can’t take it personally but you can prepare yourself. you’re a girl, so people will take their side more often than not. just know you’re here for a reason, they can’t push you around without repercussions.”

y/n took a second to let it sink in. there were things that managers and friends from outside the sport had warned her about, but a reminder from someone like kimi made it really resonate.

“i guess i’ll just have to be so fast that they can’t get near me.”

kimi laughed, properly this time. they clinked their glasses and went back to watching the mess unfold before them.

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yourusername

may 2020.

liked by alexalbon, lewishamilton and 1,289,409 others

tagged: georgerussell63, fernandoalo_oficial & landonorris

yourusername: that’s one way to get introduced to the grid

view all comments

user1: the way i’d actually give a kidney to have been here

user2: so much i need to know, so little information

user3: george and lando are never getting rid of the lightweight allegations

yourusername: as long as i am living and breathing those allegations will live on

landonorris: and when i sue you for slander

yourusername: come for me baby i know the law

landonorris: bring it on, the mclaren legal team love me

yourusername: they’ll take one look at my camera roll and laugh in your face xxx

landonorris: CAMERA ROLL?

yourusername: sleep well

landonorris: i will ruin your life rookie

user4: mclaren duo you are so precious

user5: now i have them, i can never see them at different teams

user6: they’re my prediction for biggest surprise this season

maxverstappen1: who keeps leaving bottles of gin unattended around me

yourusername: why can’t you control yourself around them

maxverstappen1: gin talks to me like the green goblin mask

yourusername: that much is clear

yourusername: poor pierre was sent into a different dimension that night

pierregasly: still better than my red bull experience

user7: this girl has chemistry with everyone damn

user8: bro sees a girl having banter with someone and loses his mind

user9: this is why the ‘friend zone’ exists because you guys mistake a girl being nice or funny for flirting

alexalbon: i miss out on so much because those dumbasses can’t handle liquor

yourusername: you should’ve just left them to die?

alexalbon: i fear both mclaren and williams know my address

georgerussell63: i don’t know where this is all coming from?

alexalbon: you threw up in the shower?

georgerussell63: i don’t recall this therefore it didn’t happen

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“george got a boner? can i use that as blackmail for a quali tow?” kimi gasped, clutching his metaphorical pearls.

“do not tell him i told you that,” y/n thought for a second, “or you can, i don’t really care.”

the four of them approached charles’ house and could already hear the hustle and bustle from inside. y/n went to ring the bell but kimi grabbed her hand quickly,

“you’re sure this will be okay?”

the italian had a little shake in his voice.

“you’re going to be fine, everyone will love you, okay? stop doubting yourself.”

she finally rung the bell and the group could hear the silence sweep throughout the house. the door swung open to reveal charles who was already pink in the face, telling y/n that the monagasque had already been amongst the drinks.

“well look what the cat dragged in,” charles said looking her up and down. the three behind her were suddenly weary, charles’ face had hardened when his eyes landed on y/n. “i’ve fucking missed you!”

charles pulled her into a tight hug. the world had stopped. y/n hadn’t spoken to charles since the crash and three years of silence was suddenly pouring out of both of them. tears slipped out from both of them, pulling each other so tight like they were trying to fall into each other’s bodies.

“as touching as this all is, it’s fucking freezing out here and i’d love that cocktail i was promised?”

max broke the silence in his typical fashion and charles finally acknowledged the three others. his smile turned wicked when he realised what kimi and ollie were wearing.

“oh mon amis, those suits are just too cute!”

y/n peered over charles’ shoulder with a very clear ‘i told you so’ written on her face. charles pulled on ollie’s hands, muttering about how well dressed his son is, and ushered the rest of them into his home.

kimi, ollie and max continued down the corridor and into the common space with the other attendees but y/n and charles hung back.

“i’m being serious, i really missed you,” charles said, “i really haven’t been the friend i should’ve been during all of this. i know i hurt you and i don’t expect you to forgive me, but know i am sorry, truly.”

the tears had returned to charles’ eyes once again. y/n tried to summon the anger that she had festered in for three years, but here, stood face to face with charles, she just couldn’t. the monegasque looked so wrecked and she knew that wasn’t a lie. y/n, through common sense but also the advice of her therapist, had never seen the race that ended her career. however, in a weak moment of social media addiction, y/n had stumbled upon a clip of charles’ radio. it was a compilation of his radios across the year, including grosjean’s fireball, pierre’s near miss in japan a couple years ago and finally, silverstone 2022.

“holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck! is that y/n?”

“i can confirm it is y/ln, we are waiting for news from mclaren”

“is she okay? has she responded on the radio?”

“no news yet charles, stay in delta and come to the pit lane.”

“anyone but her, god please. please be okay, please, please, please. not another one, don’t take another one.”

shivers had wrung up her spine when she had heard it. the weekend had been so traumatic that she had hardly stopped to think about anyone else. the crash had unleashed such an ugly anger within her, so powerful that just a glimpse of a formula one car made her feel so vulnerable to her emotions. instead of facing it head on, it just felt easier to hide and to try and forget.

“hey, hey,” y/n took charles’ face in her hands, “look at me okay, i have no hard feeling against you. you don’t need to be sorry, these things happen. i did what i thought i had to do and that was hide. was it healthy? no, but i hate that my silence might have made you think that i blame you in any way.”

charles let out a wet laugh and y/n continued, “i heard your radio, for the first time a couple months ago. i know what you’ve been through, i should’ve spoken to you.”

charles shook his head, “you did what you needed to do, i won’t ever hold it against you. i’m just glad you’re here now, we can make up for lost time now. although i am pretty offended that you didn’t come back for me but for this kid?”

“kimi is a lot nicer than all of you dummies,” y/n poked her tongue out, “and once he looks at you like a lil puppy, you can’t say no.”

y/n smiled to herself, and charles replicated it. the two just existed together for a moment, listening to the greetings down the hall. a small shiver of doubt made its way up y/n’s spine. the reunion with charles had gone well, but would everyone else look past her three year silence?

“they’re looking forward to seeing you,” charles said, nudging y/n closer to the action. she took a small breath and made her way to the common area.

all conversation ceased when she took her first step in the room. max, kimi, ollie and alex all smiled at he, trying to ease her into the room. carlos looked happy to see her, but as always there was something off in his eyes, like he didn’t quite trust her and oscar was there? y/n had never met the aussie but had heard he was a little standoffish.

oscar couldn’t even make eye contact with her, he looked anywhere else, charles’ white ceiling suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. that was odd.

“welcome back!” alex yelled, making everyone else jump, “i have missed you so much, so much has happened. please never disappear again!” he said, wrapping her in a hug. y/n snuggled in closer, breathing in the familiar scent of her friend. drawing back she looked up at him with a strange look,

“have you changed your cologne?”

“well, i’d like to think i have changed a lot in three years, but yes i have?”

“do you have a girlfriend?”

“tell me you don’t check my instagram why don’t you? yes i do, you’ll have to come to dinner at some point. lily is very excited you’re coming back, she says we don’t shut up about you.”

y/n was so happy for alex, “you smell like a girl, she’s done wonders for you.”

alex’s smile fell immediately, “i didn’t miss this, you didn’t get any nicer in your break huh?”

“still a bitch i fear.”

everyone was back engrossed in their conversations, with carlos keeping his distance from y/n by busying himself with charles at the bar. y/n saw oscar again, hovering by ollie, trying and failing to conceal his staring.

“is oscar usually this weird with new people?” y/n asked alex, “he’s staring but also can’t make eye contact without looking like he’s going to shit himself.”

“oh he’s got massive survivors guilt, which is a weird way to put it considering he wasn’t in the race that day, but…”

oh. now it makes sense. “i see, i should probably talk to him shouldn’t i?”

“you can if you want to but you also don’t owe anyone anything? it’s your choice.”

y/n looked over again and oscar again quickly diverted his eyes. here goes nothing. making her way to the other group of drivers, oscar started looking for his escape.

“hi guys, are you okay if i steal the aussie for a second?”

the rest of the group didn’t care but oscar sputtered out a, “really? i’m okay, you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to?”

“come on,” y/n took ahold of his arm, “let’s go talk somewhere else.”

the aussie looked nervous but he followed y/n through charles house. after trying a couple doors, the finally found a study and the pair sat down. oscar couldn’t stop fidgeting, he felt the sweat beading at his brow and the collar of his shirt was starting to strangle him.

“do you want to tell me why you’re so nervous?” y/n asked, “as far as i’m aware, you’ve done nothing to warrant this?”

oscar didn’t say anything. he didn’t know how to word it without sounding like an idiot.

“i just thought you would maybe resent me for taking your seat? i’m sorry for being such a weirdo about it. i know it was a dick move from me to not even bring you up but there was this whole thing with mark and zak, but i should’ve listened to myself, i’m sorry…”

it all spilled out at once and oscar just looked at her horrified. did she even know about mark and zak?

“oscar, i don’t resent you for taking the seat. i can’t say i’ve watched much more than just the races, so i can’t say for sure you’re the greatest guy off the track, although the fact you were even invited here tells me so, but you more than deserved that seat. yes, it’s unfortunate the way it became available, but i’ll never resent a racer for following his dreams.”

oscar let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, “thank you, you don’t know the amount of sleepless nights i had after i took the seat. i thought that maybe you would come back and either i’d have to give it up or i’d keep it and stop you from coming back. i mean you’re a hero of mine and all i could think was ‘am i an asshole for taking this from you when you’re still in hospital?’”

y/n sighed, “i won’t lie, it hurt. but not because of you. a full lifetime of work was snuffed out in one second. i understand formula one is a business but i don’t think zak knows that i could hear everything while i was in the medically induced coma.”

oscar’s head shot up at the mention of zak’s name and this told y/n everything she needed to know.

“he was on the phone just five minutes after the nurse told him i’d never be able to get in a formula one car again. my racing body wasn’t even cold yet. i do know it was mark on the phone. i’ve not held it against him, unless there’s something you’d like to tell me?”

was it betrayal if he told y/n? everything had already happened and the truth was y/n knowing wasn’t going to change anything. but if he didn’t say then y/n could decide to go back and watch interviews and videos and see what a big liar he was.

“him and zak had this weird thing they were stuck on. like i said you’re a hero of mine, and i still wanted to honour you in any way i could. i had a plan to have a 13 on my helmet, i even wanted to dedicate my first win to you. but i wasn’t allowed. they said i needed to leave you in the past or it would make me look weak.”

tears were falling down oscar’s face as y/n pulled him into a hug. the aussie shook with the strength of his sobs.

“i’m a grown man, i should’ve told them no, but i had just gotten there. i’m sorry, i wish i had a back bone.”

y/n ran her hands through his hair, comforting the younger driver, “oscar, don’t worry. i don’t take any offence. you forget i raced under zak, i know what an asshole he can be. you don’t have to do anything to make it up to me, just don’t be a stranger in the paddock. i may be there for kimi, but you can still come to me.”

y/n wasn’t sure how lando was treating oscar, had he started off kind with him and flipped on his head as well? it couldn’t hurt to check.

“i know lando can be difficult, so don’t think you’re alone okay? i know how it feels, so come complain to me if you need to.”

oscar laughed, “i know exactly what you’re talking about. did you watch hungary this year? that was a mess, it was so awkward in the garage after that. it’s creepy how he can turn it on for a video right? i don’t know what happened between you but it’s almost like he knew i wanted to dedicate it to you? he asked me like ten times whether i dedicated it to anyone.”

okay, that was a problem. y/n had stupidly thought that maybe lando going cold turkey from her for three years might have made whatever weird vendetta he had against her disappear, or at least lessen.

“if i’m being completely honest, i’m not sure what happened between us. we obviously grew up together and were close from that, we all were, but as soon as the racing started he just switched up, and by the sounds of it, it hasn’t gotten better in my absence.”

the pair moved to the bathroom to get oscar some tissues and make him look a little more presentable. fixing his hair, y/n said, “i’m serious oscar, there’s no hard feelings. i’m proud of you-”

y/n was cut off with some commotion coming from the common area. the pair looked at each other and hurried to the scene of the noise. there stood george and lando, they both looked like they had grown up, lando sporting some facial hair and george in a suprisingly formal getup.

both brits locked on y/n and oscar as they returned.

“so one mclaren driver wasn’t enough for you? you had to go and seduce oscar as well?”

lando accused, a look of pure disgust on his face, “he’s got a girlfriend as well, do you have any respect for yourself?”

y/n burst out laughing, looking bewildered at lando. “is this guy serious?” she asked looking around the room, most of them looking just as shocked as her at his outburst.

“i don’t know what you’re laughing at,” lando said and turned to oscar, “i really thought you’d last more than five minutes mate.”

“lando, i don’t know what you’re problem is, but we were clearing the air about me taking the seat after her crash. you know, we spoke, like normal fucking people. just because you couldn’t spend more than five minutes with the one girl in the sport without wanting to fuck her doesn’t mean i don’t see her as an actual person.”

oscar replied, standing in front of y/n who was shocked but also impressed by the aussie’s take down of his own teammate. lando glared at his teammate, “you know having her on side will do nothing for this bullshit bid you have to be the number one driver this season. in fact i remember her launching a plot like that herself, and look how that ended.”

one second lando was smirking in front of oscar and y/n and next he was on the floor, all courtesy of kimi. the italian was looming over lando, the angriest anyone in the room had ever seen him. ollie tried to grab his hand, but he yanked it back and set his sights back on lando.

“you really are the dumbest person in the world aren’t you?”

lando was speechless, still on the floor.

“she could’ve said so much about you, your team and the bullshit you both put her through, but she didn’t. we all know you were an asshole to her, she could’ve ruined this dumb boy next door act you’ve got going, but she didn’t. so you should think yourself lucky.”

kimi felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see y/n. he stood up, moving away from lando and let y/n lead him towards the exit just as the other one decided to pipe up.

“she’s a bit old for you isn’t she, buddy?” george’s voice rung out, “or are you really going for the max verstappen route, problematic older woman and everything?”

that was a low blow. kelly was a sore subject for max, y/n didn’t really know much about her, just that they got together and broke up during the time that y/n was first moved to london. max had been the only one to know where she was, but that was only months after she had moved. y/n never met her and only heard about her when max had visited and gave her a life update that included a whirlwind romance.

“that’s a bold choice george,” max said, getting in his face, “isn’t kimi like a son to toto? you really think he’s choosing you over him? you were just a bed warmer for him when lewis had pissed him off. we all know he’d choose kimi and well, that he’d do anything for me, so are we really the ones you want to try and go toe to toe with?”

george narrowed his eyes at max, “i went through so much trouble for that girl back then, i hope you’re not getting your hopes up. she’ll just lead you on like she did to us, you’re just a stepping stone to her.”

“i am right here, you know? you don’t have to talk about me like i’m not?”

george’s head whipped around to her direction, “you were fine not talking for three years. why now? why come back now? there’s nothing for you there? or do you have an ulterior motive? are you using kimi to sabotage me?”

y/n let out another laugh in disbelief, “are you being serious right now? you can’t be this seriously delusional. despite popular belief, to you, not everything i do, is to do with you. both of you seem to have such an inflated view of your place in my life, please sleep well knowing i don’t want anything to do with either of you.”

charles interrupted, “i invited you two because i thought you would be happy to see y/n, why are you ruining my night? i brought olives and you’re bringing the mood down!”

“yes, i think it’s time you guys left.” max said, ready to escort them himself, with force if necessary.

the two gave y/n a final dirty look before storming out of charles’ house. y/n didn’t understand how it had gotten so bad between them, she longed for the times when they’d sneak out for ice cream at karting competitions and tell each other ghost stories. she wanted those times back so badly, but with displays like tonights she wasn’t sure if it was worth it. maybe those bridges had burnt the moment her car hit the wall.

the atmosphere in the room was thick, no one knew what to say following what ever they just witnessed.

“i guess we don’t outgrow the pettiness. ever.” ollie said, downing his drink, “if that’s what formula one does to a man i need another drink.”

charles started working behind his home bar and with the silence broken, the conversation started again.

“y/n i’m sorry i brought you back into this. i just wanted to have you as a mentor and try and get you to fall back in love with the sport, i didn’t want to bring you into a civil war where you get accused of seducing everyone.”

“kimi, i am happy to be here and we will work together. they don’t mean anything to me, okay? the things they say is water off a duck’s back for me now.”

“as long as you’re sure, i want you to enjoy it.”

“there’s enough of you i love to stick around. i’ve only known you for a short while, but the way you go for the things you want and stand up for what you believe makes me believe. they don’t matter to us. what matters is you and your car, and we will prove them all wrong.”

max slipped his arm around her shoulder as she spoke to kimi. “do you want to go?”

y/n looked back to kimi, “are you okay if we go? you and ollie can stay and enjoy yourself, rinse charles for as much as he’s worth.”

kimi nodded and hugged y/n. “see you soon, thank you again.”

“no worries, bunny.”

y/n and the dutchman grabbed their stuff and made their way to the door. charles escorted them out, “sorry it became such a downer, but i still liked seeing you again. we’ll have to get lunch some time before testing, arthur has been bothering me about meeting you.”

the pair ventured back out into the wind, a strained silence between them. “you know none of us believe what they said, right?”

“unfortunately, i’m very used to it maxy,” y/n said, leaning into him, “but it doesn’t bother me anymore. the people i care about know me, that’s all that matters.”

“just say the word and i’ll make their lives hell.”

“that’s noble, max, but i’m okay.”

“you let them get away with too much, y/n. seriously, what they just did was fucked up.”

“maybe to them i did do those things?”

“don’t say that,” max said stopping her, “they’re being childish. they can’t act like they have and expect that you’ll just fall into their arms.”

“do you think i’ll fall into your arms?”

“no. maybe? i don’t know, i want whatever you want. you know how i feel about you, but i just want you in my life. you’re the only one who has always really known me. we were so young and you saw me, not my dad and not my driving, but me. i will forever be grateful for you, it’s in your hands.”

“it’s all so confusing, max. if i do anything i just prove their point. at this moment i just need to exist. but i’d like to exist with you.”

“i’d like to exist with you too.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

fin.

note: it's the drama mick i love it! a big bust up chap for you all, and boy have i been tired this weekend so this took a lil longer than i wanted it to. testing next!!!

taglist: @folkloresreputation @hc-dutch @shimmermotorsport @96mcobo @eclipsedcherry @formulaal @czennieszn @gothicwidowsworld @emily-b @suns3treading @henna006 @kazgirl20 @anotherapollokid @littlegrapejuice @daemyratwst @annimausi @yawn-zi @lulu-1998 @xsilkesworld @justaf1girl @daddyslittlevillain @evans-dejong @abq654 @elizamoe133 @wierdflowerpower @t1nkerbel1 @okcurran @raizelchrysanderoctavius @skepvids @multilovebot @fernandoalonso14 @jules-kup-172 @m4xgirlie @rorabelle15 @minkyungseokie @formula1-motogpfan @peterholland04 @miureiz @freyathehuntress @lighttsoutlewis @aleatorio1234 @chaosandevelyn @blueberry648579 @dog-and-cat-person230 @fastandcurious16 @obxstiles @cosmicwintr @becca388510 @savagittariuspy @tibadi @thisbitxhs-blog @finn-dot-com @scenesofobx @moofilms @alilstressyandlotdepressy @nana-love-bugzzz @mayax2o07 @obsessed-fan-alert

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #f1 social media au #charles leclerc #max verstappen #ollie bearman #kimi antonelli #alex albon #oscar piastri #lando norris #george russell

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mrsfancyferrari · 2 months ago

Note

Can you do an imagine about the reader going out with an F1 driver (I imagine Charles or Carlos), where the reader speaks their language, but doesn’t tell them. One day they walk in on the reader talking to someone on the phone in French/ Italian or Spanish respectively, and have a talk about it. Reader was hiding their abilities due to an insecurity about their ability. Alternatively they could be at a restaurant, where the reader is forced to use that language to order something.

Speak Baby

Summary: you are going out with Charles, you can speak his language, but don't tell him. You were hiding your abilities due to an insecurity about your ability.

Song: Heaven and Back · Chase Atlantic

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! Also please follow for more! 🫶

Word count: 3.7k

MASTERLIST - F1

The soft glow of the lamp painted the room in hues of amber and gold, the late afternoon sun already having dipped below the horizon.

You were curled up on the plush armchair, a worn copy of “Les Misérables” resting open in your lap, though your attention was entirely focused on the phone pressed to your ear. The French words flowed effortlessly, a melodic stream of conversation with your cousin, Élise, back in Paris.

Laughter bubbled in your chest as Élise recounted a particularly disastrous attempt to bake macarons, the familiar cadence of your mother tongue a soothing balm to your soul.

"…and then, the oven, mon Dieu, it was like a volcanic eruption of powdered sugar!" Élise’s voice, tinged with dramatic exasperation, crackled through the speaker.

You chuckled, a genuine, unrestrained sound, “You know you should just stick to painting, ma chérie. Baking is not for you.”

"Oh, very funny," she retorted good-naturedly, “But you should have seen it! The cat even had a dusting. Anyway, how is le charmant Charles?"

You paused, a smile playing on your lips. "He's…fine," you said, a soft giggle escaping your throat. "He's been working late again, as usual."

“And still no clue about your… little secret?" Élise teased, the question a whisper of anticipation.

"No," you replied, your voice dropping slightly, a hint of nervousness creeping in. "Absolutely not. It's…it's better this way, Élise. I’m not ready."

You knew that you were holding out on Charles, but the thought of him judging you for your French was an insecurity that had been haunting you for years.

You had always felt like you were not good enough, that your accent was too strong and that your grasp on the language was not as good as it should be, even though you grew up with it.

You always felt the need to hide, to not draw attention to yourself, and so this was how it was with Charles.

It was easier to communicate in English with him, to be safe, even if your heart yearned to speak in the language that made you, you.

"You're being silly, ma belle. He'd be enchanted, I'm sure of it," Élise said, her tone gentle, trying to reassure you.

Just as you were about to respond, a distinct sound reached your ears - the click of the front door. Your heart leaped into your throat. Charles was home.

Panic seized you, and you quickly pressed the “end call” button, the dial tone a sharp, jarring contrast to the lilting French you had been immersed in moments before. You closed the “Les Miserables” book with an audible thud, feigning a casual air.

You straightened yourself in the armchair and tried to look as though you were simply relaxing, a wave of frustration beginning to wash over you for not being able to share this part of yourself with Charles, but also relief because you almost got caught.

"Hey," Charles said, his voice laced with that endearing weariness you had come to adore, as he walked into the room, tossing his keys onto the side table.

He hadn't noticed the phone in your hands and he pulled off his suit jacket and hung it up on the hanger behind the door. He looked exhausted. "Long day."

"Hi," you replied, your voice a little too high-pitched, betraying the sudden jolt of adrenaline still coursing through you.

You tried to act as nonchalant as possible, hoping he wouldn't notice the flush creeping up your neck, or the way your fingers were still tensed against the phone.

He glanced at you, his blue eyes, usually so bright, clouded with fatigue. "Everything alright? You seem…tense." He took a seat on the sofa opposite you, his gaze intense as he looked at you.

You had been with Charles for a year now, and he was always able to suss something out.

You forced a smile, "Just had a long chapter to read, that's all.” You showed him the book, hoping it would be enough distraction. “It’s quite intense, actually." You pointed to the book, gesturing with your hand. "This guy Valjean, he's been through it."

He seemed to accept your explanation, dropping back against the sofa cushions with a sigh. "Well, whatever it is, you should relax. Maybe we could order some food? I'm starving."

You nodded, relieved. The moment had passed, but the unspoken secret hung heavy in the air between you. The rest of the evening unfolded in its usual way, a comfortable rhythm you both had established.

You talked about your day, laughed at a silly movie, and shared a meal under the soft lamplight. Yet, beneath the surface of normalcy, the secret you harboured continued to prick at you.

He kept stealing glances at you, making you wonder if he might suspect something, but he never said anything.

“So you’re telling me he still hasn’t found out yet?” She asked with a teasing lilt in her voice.

“No, and I’ll keep it that way,” you replied, your smile fading. “It’s too risky, Élise. What if he thinks I’m a fraud? What if he thinks I’ve been lying?”

“Oh, come on,” Élise scoffed, “He’s clearly smitten with you, mon amie. I can hear it in your voice!”

You sighed, staring out the window at the grey sky. “You don’t know him, Élise. His native language is French, he knows it like the back of his hand. He’d notice if my French isn’t perfect.”

“And what if it is?” Élise countered.

You were about to reply, when you heard his voice from the kitchen. You jerked, your heart leaping into your throat. “I have to go, Élise. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, bisous,” Élise said, and the line went dead.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The roar of the Ferrari engines was a constant hum, a background score to the chaotic elegance of the Formula One paddock. You watched Charles, a whirlwind of charm and practiced ease, navigate the PR games with Carlos Sainz.

They were a study in contrasts – Charles, all focused energy and effortless smiles, and Carlos, a more grounded, almost playful foil. You knew this dance well, the mandatory media obligations that came with the territory of being a Ferrari driver.

You were happy to be a spectator today. You knew, with a familiar twist of warmth in your chest, that Charles would find you later.

You had a few hours of freedom, a rare commodity in this world of tight schedules and constant movement. You decided to explore. The paddock was a labyrinth of team trucks, hospitality suites, and workshops, a microcosm of the competitive energy that fueled the sport.

You wandered, absorbing the sights and sounds, the clatter of tools, the clipped conversations in a dozen different languages. You’d always been drawn to the undercurrents of these places, the human stories unfolding beneath the glossy veneer of glamour and speed.

That's when you heard it – a voice, high-pitched with panic, cutting through the general noise.

"Est-ce que quelqu'un parle français?" it called out, the words sharp and rushed. " S'il vous plaît, quelqu'un ?" Does anyone speak French? Please, someone?

The man, standing near a catering area, was clearly distressed. He was middle-aged, his face flushed, hands trembling slightly as he gestured erratically. A small crowd of staff had gathered around him, their faces a mixture of concern and helplessness.

They spoke encouragingly in English, but it was clear that they didn’t understand a word he was saying, which was why he was getting more frantic.

You hesitated. You knew French, fluently after all. It really was an insecurity you'd carried since childhood, a fear that your accent wasn't good enough, that you wouldn't be considered “truly” French.

Charles, in his easy, casual fluency, only amplified that feeling. It was easier to let him be the French one, to navigate that world without your input.

But looking at the man, his distress growing with each passing second, your resolve crumbled. You couldn't stand by and watch him suffer.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed past the people, your voice hesitant but clear, "Excusez-moi, monsieur. Je parle français. Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" Excuse me, sir. I speak French. What's going on?

The man's eyes widened, his face flooded with relief. "Ah, merci mon Dieu!" he exclaimed, his hands coming to clasp yours. "C'est terrible! J'ai perdu mon sac, avec tous mes documents et mes clés. Je dois partir cet après-midi, et je suis complètement coincé."

His words tumbled out in a rush, a torrent of worries and anxieties. This is terrible! I lost my bag, with all my documents and my keys. I have to leave this afternoon, and I'm completely stuck

You listened patiently, your own French flowing effortlessly as you reassured him. You asked him for details about the bag, about where he’d last seen it.

You found out that he was here for a family visit, and he had to catch a train in the next couple of hours. With a mixture of calm questioning and reassuring words, you helped him retrace his steps.

You spoke softly, your voice a calming balm to his panic. The staff around you, previously frustrated, looked on with a mixture of curiosity and gratitude.

You felt a small spark of pride, a quiet satisfaction in using the skill that you have always kept hidden.

After what felt like an eternity, you spotted it – a small black bag tucked behind a stack of boxes in a corner. The man let out a cry of delight, his face cracking into a wide, genuine smile. "Merci, merci mille fois!" he cried, taking the bag and beaming at you. "Vous êtes un ange!" Thank you, thank you a thousand times! You are an angel!

You helped him check through the contents, making sure nothing was missing. You even offered him some water and a seat to calm him. He thanked you profusely again and again. He finally started to relax and calm down.

"Thank you so much. I don't know what I would have done without you." he said again, this time speaking English clearly, even though he had not, before. He smiled warmly at you.

"It's no problem," you replied, smiling back. A small voice interrupted.

"Hey babe, what's going on here? I saw this crowd?" Charles asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He placed a hand on the small of your back.

"This gentleman lost his bag, and couldn't communicate with anyone here. I was just helping him," you explained.

"Ah, but you were speaking French? I didn't know that you spoke French. Good job ma chérie," Charles said a little surprised.

"Oh, I... I learned some in school," you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. You felt a flush creep onto your cheeks.

You could feel the lie hanging in the air, heavy and uncomfortable.

Charles tilted his head, his eyes searching your face, "That’s really cool." He turned his attention to the man, addressing him in perfect French.

You watched Charles smoothly reassure the man that everything was fine and offer him any help that he needed. The man seemed mesmerized by Charles, thanking him profusely.

You watched them briefly, the ease with which Charles switched between two languages, how comfortable he was in the role of translator. It was a stark contrast to your feelings of self-consciousness.

“So, should we get going?” Charles said to you, turning to you, his hand finding yours.

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. You’d helped someone out, and it felt good. But the lie, that little secret you still held, bothered you. More so than usual now that he knew.

As Charles led you away, you could feel his gaze on you, a silent question in his eyes. You knew you couldn't keep this hidden much longer.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, dancing shadows across the Ferrari base. The air, still warm from the day’s heat, hummed with a quiet energy. You lay nestled in the hammock chair, Charles’s strong back providing a solid anchor as you sat comfortably on his lap.

The gentle rocking motion lulled you both, a peaceful rhythm that seemed to synchronize with the quiet whispers of the wind. You’d been dating Charles for a year now, and these quiet moments were your favorite.

Being alone, intertwined, was bliss.

He nuzzled his face into your shoulder, his breath warm on your skin. You closed your eyes, your own breathing slowing, the world fading away.

You’d almost drifted off, the line between sleep and wakefulness blurring, when a voice sliced through the tranquil silence.

“Monsieur Leclerc, le débriefing commence bientôt!” a young voice called out, the French words sharp and clear. Mr. Leclerc, the debriefing begins soon!

You blinked your eyes open, startled, and looked around for the source of the sound.

A young woman, her face etched with a mixture of frustration and relief, stood a short distance away. She was clearly a member of the Ferrari staff, her uniform a stark contrast to the relaxed atmosphere you and Charles had created.

“Mademoiselle, je vais bientôt réveiller Charles, alors ne vous inquiétez pas,” you said, the words flowing easily, a comfortingly familiar cadence in your mind. Miss, I'll wake Charles up soon, so don't worry.

You watched her face register surprise, then a wave of relief.

“Merci beaucoup mademoiselle Y/N, je vous laisse faire,” she replied, her voice softening. Thank you very much Miss Y/N, I'll leave you to it.

“De rien, je suis désolé de t'avoir fait le chercher,” you said, a slight blush creeping up your neck. You felt a pang of guilt for making her search for Charles. You're welcome, I'm sorry I made you look for it.

She gave you a small, thankful nod before turning and heading back towards the base.

You were about to nudge Charles awake when you felt a movement in your lap. His eyes, a startling shade of blue, were already fixed on you, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"That didn't sound like 'school French' ma chérie," he muttered, a playful yet probing tone to his voice. Your heart lurched, and a cold dread settled in your stomach.

You could feel your cheeks flush, the blood rushing to your head. This was it. Your little secret, the one you'd guarded for so long, was about to unravel.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice coming out a little higher and breathier than you intended. You tried to play it off, hoping your denial would be convincing enough. "I learned some French phrases, that's all."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, his gaze unwavering. "Some phrases? You just held an entire conversation with Nathalie, in perfect, effortless French. Where did you learn that?"

You fidgeted, your fingers toying with the drawstring of his sweatpants. "Uh...well...you know, it's just...I've always been a good language learner." The explanation sounded weak even to your own ears.

Charles gently tilted your chin up so that your eyes meet. His touch was soft, but his gaze was intense. “Y/N,” he said, his voice lower now. “You’re fluent. Why have you been hiding this from me?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of your unspoken secret. And you knew you couldn’t lie to him any longer. “It’s stupid, really,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I was always just…insecure about it. My native language is English, and I'm fairly average. When I started learning French, which was young, it just came naturally to me. I didn't think I was actually... good. I thought if I spoke it around you, you'd think I sound awful, like those tourists that always try and speak French to you.” You looked down, unable to meet his eyes.

He took your hands in his, his thumbs stroking your knuckles. “Ma chérie, that’s ridiculous. I’m fascinated by languages. I spent so much time learning other languages for the sport, plus how could I ever think you sound awful. You could never sound bad.”

His words were soothing, a balm to your wounded pride. You looked up, your eyes searching his face. “Really?” you whispered, still a little unsure.

He chuckled, a warm, comforting sound. “Bien sûr, Y/N. You’re amazing, in every language. And I am so incredibly curious. When did you learn it? How good are you even?” He had a teasing glint in his eyes now, and the tension that had been plaguing you started to dissipate.

“Since I was a kid. My grandmother was half-French and she taught me, always using French. She wanted me to have another language to use. She wanted me to have something special, so I never told anyone in school or anything.” you admitted.

“And you kept this hidden from me? For all this time?” Charles asked, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

You nodded sheepishly. “I thought you would think I was trying to show off, I guess, and I was honestly just scared I’d be awful.”

He squeezed your hands, his thumb drawing small circles on your skin. “You are far from awful, Y/N, and I promise I never would have thought that, ever. But,” he added, a mischievous smile playing on his lips, “I do have a few questions. And you're going to have to answer them… in French.”

“bébé, il faut que tu fasses le point avec l'équipe!” you said, the words slipping out naturally in French. Baby, you need to check in on the team!

Charles only grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from me, ma chérie,” he said, his tone warm and affectionate and full of love.

“I know I’m so sorry.” you said, putting your head in your hands, feeling a flush of embarrassment wash over you. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I was just so scared.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. “Don’t be sorry, mon amour,” he murmured, his voice husky. “It’s incredibly endearing, and it's one more thing I love about you. You have to tell me everything though from now on okay?”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I promise.”

He smiled, then his eyes glinted with a new mischievousness. “So, you’ve been keeping secrets from me, have you?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Only this one, I swear.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, leaning in closer. “I think that deserves a punishment.”

“Oh yeah?” you said, raising an eyebrow, excitement coursing through you.

His lips found yours and he deepened the kiss, pushing you gently back on the hammock. The language barrier was forgotten as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt.

You could feel the passion in him, the soft moaning as he kissed your neck. You could feel yourself falling further and further into him, completely and utterly in love.

It was a long time before you pulled away for air, your cheeks flushed and your heart racing.

“What was I saying about meetings?” you breathlessly said, putting a hand on your chest, hoping your heart would slow down.

Charles chuckled, running his hand through his slightly dishevelled hair. “They can wait,” he murmured, his eyes locking with yours, “There’s something much more urgent that we need to deal with, my petite française.”

You laughed then, and pulled him in for another kiss, knowing that your hidden language was now just another way to connect with the man you loved.

The rain outside continued to fall, a soft and gentle melody to the start of another chapter in your love story.

And you knew, with absolute certainty, that this new language you had shared with each other would only bring you closer, in ways you could never have imagined. . . .

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angelseraphines · 3 months ago

Text

ೃ⁀➷ shades of cool ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! there is also a part one to this imagine, playing dangerous, a part two, do you think you’d kill for me, one day? and a part three, ultraviolence.

˚ ༘♡ you stirred, the weight of consciousness creeping back in like a slow, unwelcome sensation. the first thing you noticed was the pain, not sharp, but dull and ever-present, pulsing from your leg in as a painful remnant of what had happened. your eyes fluttered open, and the room before you swam into view, blurred and unfamiliar.

˚ ༘♡ soft, warm light illuminated the bedroom, the golden glow radiating off polished wood and gilded accents. the room was lavish beyond imagination. silk curtains hung in folds along the high windows, their rich, deep hue a stark contrast to the sterile white sheets covering you. the bed beneath you was impossibly soft, its headboard ornate and meticulously carved.

˚ ༘♡ it didn’t feel real.

˚ ༘♡ your gaze dropped to your leg, your breath hitching at the sight of thick, pristine bandages wrapped around your injured knee. the ache was dulled, numbed, and for a minute you thought it was a dream, until the frigid tug of an iv in your arm brought you fully into reality. clear tubing snaked its way from the crook of your elbow to a stand beside the bed, the consistent drip of fluid into your veins the only sound in the unnerving quiet.

˚ ༘♡ panic set in as you scanned the room for answers. sleek medical monitors blinked softly in the corner, their digital hum an eerie companion to the slow rhythm of your heartbeat displayed on the screen. the pure cleanliness of it all, no blood, no chaos, no grimy stairwells, was jarring.

˚ ༘♡ the door creaked open.

˚ ༘♡ your body tensed instantly, your hands gripping the sheets as you turned toward the sound. standing in the doorway was young-il, but something about him was different. he was dressed head to toe in onyx-black now, the sharp lines of his attire immaculate, his presence nearly unrecognizable.

˚ ༘♡ your breath caught in your throat as a sensation of horror surged through your body. you struggled to push yourself up, wincing as the motion sent a jolt of pain through your leg. “you bastard,” you spat, your voice hoarse and trembling with both fury and anguish. “what the hell is this? what did you do?”

˚ ༘♡ his expression was undisturbed, his face composed, as though he hadn’t betrayed you, shot you, and left you to bleed out. his voice was soft when he spoke, almost gentle. “you’re safe now.”

˚ ༘♡ safe? the word felt like an insult, a mockery of everything he had done. “safe?” you snapped, your voice rising despite the weakness in your body. “you shot me! you killed them! where are jung-bae and gi-hun? what happened to them?”

˚ ༘♡ he hesitated, the pause heavy with unspoken truths. “their fate… isn’t yours to worry about,” he said at last, his tone measured, deliberately vague. the non-answer only stoked the fire of your anger, your hands clenching into fists.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t give me that nonsense,” you grimaced. “tell me what happened to them!”

˚ ༘♡ his gaze softened, as if he pitied you. it made your stomach twist. “you’ll have your answers in time,” he said evenly. “but for now, there’s something more important you need to understand.”

˚ ༘♡ your chest heaved with ragged breaths as you glared at him, the venom in your gaze meeting his unnervingly tranquil demeanor. “and what’s that?”

˚ ༘♡ he stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the floor, enveloping you in its reach. “my name isn’t young-il,” he said, his voice steady but carrying an undertone that made your pallid skin crawl. “it’s hwang in-ho. i am the front man, the overseer of these games.”

˚ ༘♡ his words hit you as though it was a physical blow, the weight of their meaning sinking in too slowly, too horribly. your jaw slackened as confusion, revulsion, and fear collided within you. you shook your head, as if denying the truth could erase it.

˚ ༘♡ “no,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “no, that can’t be…”

˚ ༘♡ “it is,” he interrupted, his tone kind, almost soothing, as though he were breaking news to a child. “i know it’s a lot to process, but it’s the truth. everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve seen, it all leads back to me.”

˚ ༘♡ his serenity, his gentleness, only made it worse. you stared at him, horrified, unable to reconcile the man before you with the one who had saved your life, who had stood by your side, who you thought you could trust. your heart pounded in your chest, a desperate beating of denial as his revelation sent cracks through your already fragile world.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, your mind frantically trying to stitch together some coherent explanation for what he was saying. every word felt like a jagged shard, cutting into what little remained of your trust. the man you thought you knew had unraveled into someone monstrous, someone you couldn’t even begin to understand.

˚ ༘♡ “you want answers,” he said quietly, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. his hands rested at his sides, his posture unnervingly relaxed. “then let me give them to you.”

˚ ༘♡ you didn’t reply, your throat too tight to push out words. the tremor in your hands betrayed the dread coursing through you, though you tried to mask it with a glare that had lost its edge.

˚ ༘♡ he let out a desolate breath, his gaze dropping briefly before returning to yours. “a long time ago, i was no different from you or any other contestant for these games. i was desperate, clinging to whatever hope i could find. my wife…” his voice caught, for a split second, but he quickly recovered, his expression hardening. “she was pregnant, but she was sick. we didn’t have the money for the treatments she needed. i tried everything, loans, work, begging. nothing was enough.”

˚ ༘♡ you felt a pang of unease, the words pulling at a part of you that didn’t want to empathize, didn’t want to understand.

˚ ༘♡ “when i heard about the games, i saw no other choice,” he continued. “i thought… if i could win, i could save her. i convinced myself it was worth it. the blood, the horror, it would all be justified if it meant saving her.” his eyes grew distant, as though he were watching memories play out before him, each one dragging him deeper into a place he didn’t want to go.

˚ ༘♡ “and you won,” you said bitterly, though your voice lacked strength. the image of him standing victorious in those games twisted your stomach, making you sick. “so why are you here? why are you doing this to other people?”

˚ ༘♡ his lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening. “i won,” he admitted, his tone heavy with something you couldn’t name. “despite my efforts, my win and the prize money came too late. she died, and so did the baby… our baby. nothing i had done mattered, not the lives i’d taken, not the suffering i endured. it was all for nothing.”

˚ ༘♡ the bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, but it was the coldness in his eyes that terrified you. it was as though the memory of that loss had hollowed him out, leaving behind only shards of the man he once was.

˚ ༘♡ “after she died,” he said, “i had nothing. no one. those behind the games saw that. they saw what i had become, angry, empty, ready to do whatever it took to escape the emptiness. they offered me purpose, a chance to rebuild myself in their ideology. and i took it.”

˚ ༘♡ his admission hung in the air, suffocating and heavy. you wanted to scream at him, to ask how he could justify becoming the very thing that destroyed him, but the words wouldn’t leave your lips.

˚ ༘♡ “and you…” his voice mellowed, and for the first time, his mask of stability cracked only slightly. “you remind me of her. not simply for how you look, but… the way you care. the way you fight, even when everything is against you. there’s a tender beauty in you that i haven’t seen in any soul for years.”

˚ ༘♡ his words sent a chill down your spine. notion idea that he saw any part of his late wife in you was unbearable. you stared at him, horrified, searching his face for any sign of deception, but all you saw was the unsettling truth of his sincerity.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t,” you whispered, your voice quivering with rage. “don’t you dare compare me to your dead wife. don’t you dare use her memory to excuse what you’ve done.”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t flinch, though something appeared in his expression, regret, perhaps, or something deeper. “i’m not excusing it,” he said quietly. “i know what i’ve become. but it doesn’t change what i see.”

˚ ༘♡ you shook your head, tears threatening to spill as the weight of his words pressed down on you. the man standing before you wasn’t just a stranger, he was a nightmare, a ghost of the person he once was, and you couldn’t decide which was worse.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t reconcile the man before you with the one who had pulled you out of the fire so many times before. the one who had shielded you, consoled you when you were hurt, and risked his life to save yours. even as he revealed the truth, this sinister, unfathomable truth, a part of you couldn’t forget the way his hands had steadied you in instances of chaos or the way he had spoken to you with warmth when everything else had been so cold.

˚ ༘♡ yet that part of you, small as it was, waged a bitter war with your anger and disgust. you couldn’t ignore what he’d done, what he was. you had seen him kill without hesitation, betray without remorse. yet somehow, despite everything, the memory of his quiet acts of care gnawed at your resolve, complicating the clarity of your rage.

˚ ༘♡ “why?” you demanded, your voice cracking under the weight of everything. “why did you save me if you were just going to do this? why did you act like you cared?”

˚ ༘♡ his expression softened, and for a second, the cold, calculating overseer seemed to fade. in his place was the man who had once held your hand, who had spoken with a gentleness that felt so real you couldn’t dismiss it entirely. “because i do care,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. “more than you know.”

˚ ༘♡ you shook your head, tears threatening to spill. “you don’t get to say that,” you whispered, your voice quivering with misery and despair. “not after everything you’ve done. you don’t get to care.”

˚ ༘♡ he stepped closer, the weight of his presence filling the space between you. you wanted to recoil, to push him away, but your body betrayed you, frozen in place. “i know what i am,” he said softly, his tone stable yet tinged with something raw. “i know what i’ve done. but that doesn’t make what i feel for you any less real.”

˚ ༘♡ “don’t,” you murmured, though the word came out weak, your anger faltering under the intensity of his dark gaze. “don’t try to make this about me. you’re just trying to justify…”

˚ ༘♡ “i’m not,” he interrupted, his voice firm but quiet. “i’m not trying to justify anything. i… i couldn’t lose you.”

˚ ༘♡ the confession hung in the air, heavy and morose. you wanted to lash out, to shout at him, to tell him that his words didn’t change anything. but instead, you found yourself searching his face, looking for the lie, the manipulation. and you didn’t find it.

˚ ༘♡ you hated him, but you couldn’t deny that you had trusted him, even cared for him, before the truth came crashing down. those memories, tainted by what you knew now, lingered like ghosts, haunting you in ways you couldn’t escape.

˚ ༘♡ “you don’t get to feel that way about me,” you said, though your voice wavered, lacking the conviction you wanted it to carry.

˚ ༘♡ “i know,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering, his closeness almost unbearable. “but i do.”

˚ ༘♡ before you could think, before you could stop it, he leaned in. the world seemed to still as his face drew closer, his presence overwhelming. you hated him, you loathed him, but the confusion, the anger, the lingering warmth of the man you thought you knew muddled everything.

˚ ༘♡ when his lips met yours, it wasn’t soft or careful. it was desperate, a confession in itself, and against your better judgment, against every screaming thought in your head, you didn’t pull away. instead, you let the infatuation consume you, the bitterness, the anger, the ache of betrayal melding together into something raw and inescapable.

˚ ༘♡ when it broke, you were left shaking, your breaths uneven as you stared at him, your heart pounding with emotions you couldn’t even begin to name. you hated him, but lord, you hated how much you wanted to understand him even more.

a/n: you all asked for another part so i had to write part four!! i had a cosmetic procedure that requires me to stay home for a few days so if you have any requests, this is the time!! i hope you all loved reading!! 🤍

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writerpeach · 3 months ago

Text

The Naughty List

IVE Jang Wonyoung x An Yujin x m!reader

8500 words

Part 7 of IVED Vanilla Latte

The cafeteria is oddly barren at lunchtime. Christmas lights are everywhere, and all the clichés apply—decorated trees, stockings hung along the wall, tinsel wrapped around the columns. Holiday music plays over the speakers, but it's easy enough to tune out when you have the company of your roommates.

Wonyoung finishes up her pastry, taking one more sip of coffee as she wipes the corners of her lips with a napkin. Nearly satisfied, she pops open a compact mirror to check her face, and a faint touch-up of lip gloss finishes it off, lips plump and pink once she closes the little case and drops it in her purse.

"All set."

Yujin laughs in amusement, wondering how one person can spend so much effort on a quick touch-up, as if she'll simply melt if her appearance is nothing less than immaculate. It's not like Yujin doesn't have her own fastidious routine, especially with her makeup, but nobody takes it to such extreme measures like the tall beauty with pouty lips right across the table.

Wonyoung runs fingers through her hair while she stands up from the table to stretch, grabbing her purse and tightening the scarf wrapped around her slender neck. You follow their lead as they bundle up and toss their empty containers into the trash, Yujin still clutching the remainder of her drink, while Wonyoung drops an absurd amount of cash into the tip jar before the three of you make your exit.

Winter never seems to let up—snow covers the ground everywhere, leaving a crunch under your boot with every step. Not that it’s an issue when you have these two keeping you plenty warm.

Yujin is on your left, Wonyoung on your right, both with their arms hooked around yours, clinging possessively as they pull you closer, leaving your attention constantly torn between the two. But you couldn’t be happier, sandwiched in the middle—Yujin, with her thigh-high boots and that ridiculously short skirt, as if pants are a foreign concept; and Wonyoung, in her leather skirt and leggings combo that makes her look absolutely delectable.

It draws plenty of stares, of course, because why wouldn't it as you walk through campus, arm in arm, attracting attention in whatever direction the three of you pass. But it’s no concern really.

"So, daddy—" Wonyoung cuts the silence and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, leaning in closer while also holding on a bit tighter. "Finals are done and Christmas is right around the corner. Any idea what you're gonna ask Santa for this year?"

It's cute hearing the innocence in her voice, and watching her eyes light up with curiosity. "Think I have everything I need right here. You two spoil me enough as it is."

Yujin giggles softly, fluttering her long lashes as she kisses your cheek. "Don’t think that’s possible. Still, I think we'll have the perfect gift waiting for you under the tree, daddy."

That could mean anything—which excites as much as it frightens you, but Yujin's devious smile gives little to no indication. Not even Wonyoung's telling expression gives much of an idea. But you're not left in your thoughts long, distracted when Yujin stops in her tracks, gathering up some snow with a bright look on her face and packing it into a little ball.

"W-wait," Wonyoung pauses momentarily, her whole body coming to an immediate halt, the realization sinking in when Yujin reveals the tiny snowball between her delicate fingertips. "Yujin, don't you dare—"

The throw isn't quite clean, only half connected as the snowball grazes Wonyoung's shoulder and falls short, yet Yujin's smile spreads, excited by the way it explodes. That's all the confirmation she needs to reach down and do it again.

"H-hey, no—d-don't even think—" Wonyoung's fumbling around while frantically trying to decide on how to react and whether to run, blocking herself behind you as a human shield.

"Hiding behind daddy? That's not very fair, princess."

"Neither is throwing fucking snowballs! I haven't gotten snow on me in years, I don't like being cold!"

"What, scared it'll ruin your five thousand dollar shoes?" A second snowball hits before Wonyoung can respond, the white snow spreading all over her little leather skirt.

You don't exactly have a say in any of this when Wonyoung takes you hostage, burying her face in your back while clinging to your waist, as if that offers protection against Yujin's clear intentions. Before you can get out any word of protest, Yujin lands a perfectly clean shot against the side of your face, laughing uncontrollably.

Wonyoung doesn't even give you a chance to defend yourself, climbing straight up on your back like her life depends on it, arms around your neck to cling tight.��

"Daddy, get her!"

No chance to hesitate when you’re forced to carry Wonyoung’s weight without warning. And now you're really at a disadvantage with this girl on your back, hardly able to defend yourself when it comes to Yujin's next barrage of snowballs, taking each one directly in the face. Somehow, you manage to scoop up enough snow to throw a few yourself, one of them finally landing a hit when Yujin doubles back to take cover, giggling mischievously in triumph.

That's when you lower Wonyoung down onto the ground, needing an even playing field so you can get your payback. She's not exactly happy as anticipated, pouting the second her feet touch the snowy ground. That pout doesn’t linger, however, left alone, defenseless against Yujin's assault. Rather quickly, it devolves to scrambling to the nearest cover behind one of the benches when she realizes there's no more safety net.

And then it's a warzone—snowballs gathered up and launched at Yujin without yield, while you try desperately to block the return fire.

Yujin's much more athletic and quicker on her feet, dodging almost effortlessly, her long legs allowing her to find cover so easily. You've taken more than your share of snowballs, most to the face, meanwhile, Wonyoung isn't even trying, just cowering behind the bench and waiting for this storm to pass.

You abandon your current position for a better vantage point, and then there's this same thought clicking at the same moment when you fire a direct shot toward Yujin's tight ass as she passes between some trees. It explodes beautifully and catches her so off guard, and then you're locking eyes, in unison, with the same devilish intentions in mind, an unspoken alliance forming. And there's no better target in sight—

Yujin darts towards the direction of Wonyoung, and you gather up the biggest snowball you can manage before putting the plan into motion—an ambush, taking each side to corner her before she has time to realize the trap. It's perfect execution, both snowballs finding their mark in succession, one hitting Wonyoung square in the face from behind, the other from the front by Yujin.

Wonyoung looks betrayed as she just stands there with a look of disbelief, cheeks flushed red from the cold while you block off any retreat, ensuring there’s nowhere to run to avoid what's coming.

And the only answer to this is, well, nothing, surprisingly—just Wonyoung standing in place, snowball after snowball raining down from each direction to that beautiful visage, enduring it while frozen like a statue, silent and unsure how to react to this sudden double-team.

So much for that touch-up earlier.

"Daddy, you jerk! You can't—" Wonyoung cries out, with this cute little stomp as she shields her face with her arms. You can't stop laughing and neither can Yujin as the assault continues, with an endless supply of ammo at the ready.

But you know that look, the silent fury hidden behind her pouting facade, the way her gaze stays fixated. Wonyoung has never been one to handle defeat too well. Never been one to take anything lying down. Left with no other option but to launch herself at you, she tackles you into the soft snow as you fall flat, completely unprepared to have her entire weight collapse on you.

That fury ignites, Wonyoung grabbing handfuls of snow, not even bothering to form a ball as she throws it, pelting your face. She doesn't let up one bit, almost cackling while she keeps you pinned down with an unreal amount of strength for such a small frame, finding satisfaction from each handful thrown.

"I can't believe you both turned on me," Wonyoung says with a frown, gathering up a fresh handful of snow that you block in self-defense.

"Come on, princess," Yujin says in the distance, joining in now that the danger's passed, collapsing down next to the both of you in the snow. "There are no rules when it comes to snowball fights. And our bratty little princess is such an easy target."

Wonyoung can’t help but sulk as Yujin helps brush some of the snow from her hair—and just like that, it becomes an unfair team-up, the two of them pinning you down, completely outnumbered. But there's no more powder being tossed, only kisses landing on your cheek while you three share this respite in the snow.

"Princess looks good covered in snow, don't you think, daddy?"

Almost forgetting her previous frustration, Wonyoung sighs, kissing your nose as that pout remains. "I look good covered in a lot of things, especially white."

Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, and Yujin can only smile when Wonyoung leans over to lock lips, the pair falling back into an eager kiss that's all tongue and wandering hands.

"We should get daddy somewhere warm before he catches a cold," Yujin suggests between these wet kisses and cute giggles. Given how much snow you’re surrounded by, you can't disagree, although you're sure if either one decided to have their way with you right then and there, you'd hardly fight it. "No better time to use the hot tub, don't you think, princess?"

Wonyoung pauses, stopping midway with her lips inches from Yujin. "Hot tub and daddy's cock, that sounds perfect."

You’re more than ready to follow anywhere as they hoist you out of the snow, eager to get out of the cold and get warmed up.

❄ ❄

Wonyoung is the first to drop into the warm, bubbling water, exchanging snow-covered clothes for a tiny red string bikini that leaves so little to the imagination. The hot tub feels heavenly in the cold when you lower in after, watching the way she leans back against the tub while pulling her hair free from a messy bun. Those dark locks cascade freely over her shoulders, head tilted back in relaxation as the water bubbles around her.

"Mm, this feels amazing," Wonyoung murmurs, eyes fluttering as she submerges a bit deeper. You can’t disagree one bit, how this covered little patio gives a great view of campus while shielding from the cold that continues to fall, surrounded by hedges and a tall wooden fence—a secluded oasis of perfect privacy.

That's Yujin's cue—the sliding glass door opens when she arrives, not empty-handed either as she holds up a bottle of wine and three glasses. Her bikini is equally stunning, a bold black piece that is far from modest. Her curvy hips fill the fabric so well that it barely conceals anything—not her incredible thighs, nor that wonderfully full ass of hers.

"Brought a little Christmas present," Yujin says, smiling as she makes her way across the wooden deck, giving you plenty of time to admire her sinful body before she slips into the bubbling water to take the spot beside Wonyoung.

It's all so surreal, spending a snowy, cold Christmas Eve in this hot tub, sitting back in the water, right across from heaven itself. Yujin's staring with that gleam in her eye, smiling so suggestively while pouring a rather generous amount of wine, holding out each glass for you to take.

With a generous sip, Wonyoung's glossy lips stain the rim a pretty pink, nearly draining the contents before setting it down. Yujin does the same, although she's much more reserved, swirling the rich, red liquid around the glass before indulging in a taste of her own.

You’re not even going to attempt not to stare, eyeing both girls shamelessly—how Wonyoung's bikini top looks like a nuisance, the thin strings almost begging to be ripped right off, Yujin equally so.

Wine downed, all it takes is one little look between Yujin and Wonyoung before a silent plan forms into motion. Yujin takes another sip of wine and gazes longingly, bringing the sole of her foot against your bulge, teasing you as she curls her toes, stroking up and down again until you throb.

"Daddy's a little excited to see our new bikinis," Yujin murmurs with her glass poised beneath her lips, taking another drink, never breaking eye contact. "Isn't that right?"

"I think we're more excited to take them off for him," Wonyoung adds, taking the glass from Yujin to gulp the rest of the wine as she joins in the teasing, and together, the two of them stroke the outline of your swelling cock through your swimming trunks. You groan out almost involuntarily, already feeling that need building as your shaft continues to strain against the fabric, growing harder with every second they toy with you.

"So hard for us already," Yujin giggles, keeping the attention on your cock with her toes rubbing at the tip and slowly downward again, drinking more wine while she strokes you.

Their toes tease and toy with you, as if your trunks aren't a barrier, managing to work you up—not even removing the offending item of clothing, just having their fun beneath the surface of the hot water while you try your hardest not to moan too desperately.

"Let us take care of you, daddy…let us milk every last drop out,” Wonyoung says, almost pleading.

Wonyoung licks her glossy lips, her toes squeezing tight, the head of your cock nestled between her big toe and next, massaging you nice and slow. With you throbbing with need, it's only a moment later the pair waste no time in yanking your swim trunks down, throwing the soaked article out of the hot tub and leaving you completely exposed.

You couldn't hope for anything better when Wonyoung scoots in closer and together with Yujin you're treated to this double-team, as they stroke in unison—fingers interlocked and tight, squeezing and twisting around your cock together in an all too familiar, synchronized fashion.

"F-fuck—god, that feels so fucking good," you gasp, tilting your head back in pleasure, every motion those delicate fingers make along your cock so calculated, every stroke and squeeze just right. You can't hold back your pleasure—your body's all too responsive to their teasing, helpless against the pair working in tandem, up and down your swollen length, making you throb so intensely with every little movement their slender fingers make.

All you can really do is give yourself a little distraction, untying the strings to Wonyoung's bikini free while she leans over and dips her tongue into your mouth, doing the same for Yujin next.

Tossing aside each discarded article of wet clothing, the bikinis get lost beneath the churning, bubbly water as your hands wander all along their perfect bodies, feeling their smooth, soft skin, gliding across each tight tummy, up to those perfect tits that you squeeze at, their nipples so stiff when you roll them beneath your thumbs.

"Like that, daddy? When we stroke your cock like this?" Yujin purrs, like the groans you let out aren't enough of an answer, your hands playing with their tits just as greedily while the pressure builds between your legs. “We weren't kidding, we really are going to milk you. So just relax.”

Not like you could do anything but that if you tried.

Yujin leans closer in and smiles, dragging her tongue along your neck, planting slow kisses. And maybe they're taking their sweet time to show off their skill—how Yujin uses her thumb to smear precum along the tip of your cockhead, how Wonyoung plays with your balls, cupping them in her hands and squeezing gently to feel their fullness.

"All we want for Christmas is to make you feel good, daddy. To make you cum as much as you want," Yujin says so seductively, kissing down your jawline until she nuzzles into your neck and teases over one of your nipples. "Let us spoil you even more than usual."

So hard to concentrate with all this bliss, and yet it's nearly impossible to not give in, knowing these two girls won't stop until there isn't anything left in your balls. They switch it up at a moment’s notice, Wonyoung working your shaft with her masterful fingers, Yujin preoccupied teasing your sensitive balls, drawing patterns with the tips of her painted fingernails. You’re just doing as instructed, sitting back and relaxing while they touch and tease you, finding new ways to drag every hint of pleasure out of your body.

"This is my favorite part," Wonyoung muses. Her gaze is fixated entirely on your face as her hand works magic around the base of your cock, letting Yujin focus on your swollen cockhead, stroking fervently, so focused on bringing you as much ecstasy as possible, pumping without relent.

"Princess," Yujin shifts around in the water, giving your balls a heavy squeeze that rips a moan from your throat. "Every part's your favorite."

"Yeah, and? Not my fault this cock is perfect in every way. Maybe I like seeing the way daddy's face is whenever he's about to explode..."

Every word from these girls' mouths only winds you up more and more, when their lips stay latched on your neck, where their teeth tease and kiss the sensitive skin. How Wonyoung gets such a tight grip with every twist of her wrist along your throbbing cock and never lets go, how they start alternating between themselves who takes over stroking and fondling your balls, working together, sometimes both hands on your shaft, sometimes playing with your balls.

You're every bit helpless, drowning in all the lust, cock throbbing with anticipation, ready to erupt all over those eager fingers, desperate to let go, to pump out everything you have stored in your heavy balls. And these two only seem to speed up when you're clearly ready to burst—Wonyoung working you faster than ever, hand pumping furiously while Yujin gets a nice handful of your balls, just fondling away with a few tugs here and there.

"Think daddy's almost there," Yujin says so matter-of-factly with this smugness in her voice and you know she’s not wrong—

You're reaching the edge and the feeling grows stronger by the second, not even thinking straight anymore. Every breath comes out shaky and frantic as you feel every little sensation, arms spread out along the ledge of the tub, biting your bottom lip to muffle a moan that doesn't quite work.

"Daddy's gonna make such a huge mess. A big, thick load for us, right?”

Those fingers from Wonyoung only move faster, hitting every single sweet spot on your shaft, and that's enough when Yujin cups your balls tight, working wonders and there's that edge right there, the sensation overflowing, your balls tightening, muscles tensed as you can no longer hold anything back—

"Shit, I-I'm gonna fucking—"

"Cum for us, daddy," they both whisper sweetly in unison, urging your orgasm out with their pleading stares. Then you’re groaning impossibly loud with their lips on either side of your neck, and finally blow your load when Yujin gives a squeeze to your balls just the right way—streams of hot white shooting under the water's surface from your throbbing cock as the relief hits all too fast.

They make good on their promise to milk your release all out, Wonyoung squeezing your cockhead tight, thumb right there at the underside to make every shot feel better than the last, sticky and plentiful and all theirs. Meanwhile, Yujin's hot breath lingers in your ear the whole time, nibbling on your earlobe with this firm squeeze on your balls that seems to draw the rest out.

It's that moment of pure, utter euphoria that lasts longer than you're used to—thrusting your hips out of reflex, pumping out thick, creamy spurts all over their fingers, the duo draining your heavy balls and you think it might never end.

"There's so fucking much," Wonyoung murmurs with glee, like she’s surprised when she’s mutually responsible for this release. Her fingers just keep milking your cock alongside Yujin, intent on dragging out every last drop your body can possibly offer.

Even afterward, long after you've shot all the cum they can drain from you, there’s still a hand on your cock, one on your balls, both insistent on working every bit out they can as if you haven't let out enough.

Between their soft hands on your sensitive cock and the bubbling jets of the hot tub, it’s more intoxicating than that expensive wine Yujin brought—they haven't gotten tired of jerking you off just yet, the water obscuring much of their activity below like they’re seeing whose name you'll groan more.

"Daddy always sounds so sexy when we make him cum," Yujin says all sultry in tone, dragging a single finger from your base, up and over that spot near the underside of your tip and keeping it there—rolling the pad of her fingertip in circles over the area where your cock seems most sensitive. “Hearing you let go... that's my favorite thing."

Before you can even catch a breath, Yujin is tilting your face towards hers, hungry lips crashing against yours, lost in this moment together, tasting the wine on her breath.

And almost on cue, they let go of your cock and rise out of the water in unison, hopping onto the wooden deck with their dripping wet bodies. Your gaze travels all over, unable to make up your mind where to look—the way droplets trickle down Yujin's wet chest and over those pretty nipples so stiff as the frigid air caresses her skin. Or the way Wonyoung looks with that mess of wet hair cascading down over her shoulders, water clinging to her bare back and those supple ass cheeks her bikini bottom couldn't even hope to contain.

Topless and soaking wet, the image is seared into your mind, and they don't bother putting anything on after drying off, not even bothered how the cold stings their naked flesh, and god, are you already aching to go again.

When you step out and head back inside, there's a lingering pause—Yujin's the last one in before sliding the glass door shut, wrapping her arms around your chest from behind as she locks you into place. "We have one more present for you, daddy—right, princess?”

Her breath feels so hot, leaning against your body as her naked breasts press against your back. Wonyoung takes a sip of wine straight from the bottle before she puts it down on the kitchen counter. "Something like that."

You can't ignore the mischievous smile they share as they head towards the stairwell in nothing but skimpy bikini bottoms. That look can't mean anything good—Wonyoung stays leaning on the banister, letting your eyes wander along her endless legs as she places a pretty pedicured foot on the second step.

The pose is intentional, allowing you to glimpse how tight and shapely that ass of hers is, how delicious her long legs look with that perfect figure accentuated in a red bikini, only making your cock pulse with need.

"How about you head upstairs in ten minutes, daddy?" Yujin suggests, untying a loose knot with her black bikini, the fabric loosening until it slips off her wide, curvy hips, falling on the floor as she starts descending the stairs. Now naked from head to toe, she takes her time up the stairs, enjoying your shameless ogling.

No doubt she’s fully aware of how your eyes are glued to her every move, drawn to those sinful curves—from her bouncy, thick thighs to that irresistibly tempting ass that follows suit. Every inch of Yujin is a masterpiece put on display, all to make your cock throb harder with anticipation, bouncing her hair freely behind her shoulders, hips swaying all too hypnotically.

Wonyoung mirrors those movements, throwing her bikini bottoms at you to catch, and the sight of each of them standing there naked, climbing up the steps right in front of you is too much temptation to take.

Ten minutes is going to seem like an eternity.

❄ ❄

The time goes by painfully slow. All that waiting, each minute taking longer than the last when you dip into the wine for something to occupy the time with. Who knows what these two are up to—

Hardly able to contain your eagerness any longer, you climb the steps after the promised ten minutes. Yujin's waiting right there in the doorway, standing completely naked and confident as ever with a devious look in her eye when you arrive.

"Took you long enough," she teases, grabbing your hand and leading the way inside the dark bedroom as she flicks the light switch on, illuminating the room with a soft glow. "Hope you're ready for your Christmas gift, daddy."

What Yujin steps aside to reveal is more than just a gift—Wonyoung all naked, tied up in your bed, and looking oh so vulnerable with her long arms above her head, slender wrists secured tight with red ribbons. The same treatment can be said for the rest of her delectable body, pale tits covered up in these festive ribbons all around that lead down to her flat stomach, so perfectly intricate and meticulously wrapped around her whole upper body. And the pattern doesn't end there, going even further, wrapping around those luscious legs of hers, bound together from her thighs down to her ankles, leaving her completely helpless and unable to move an inch.

Of all the things you expected this gift to be, this definitely wasn't on your radar—how all that red contrasts so perfectly against that milky white skin, a large bow right between her thighs covering just enough to tease.

"Our little Christmas present. This pretty little slut all tied up just for daddy to unwrap," Yujin says, doing an exceptional job presenting Wonyoung. “Ready for daddy's big cock."

Your present has such a desperate look in her eyes, pretending to struggle with her restraints, the feel of ribbons on her naked body adding so much extra sensation. All for show, no doubt, because if there's anything Wonyoung loves more than being a brat, it's this—getting tied up and manhandled to your liking.

"All yours, daddy." Yujin's voice has taken on this all too familiar sultry tone, smooth and breathy, practically an invitation on its own. "Have her any way you like. Use her like the good little fucktoy she is.”

"Don't think I could ask for a better present.”

That’s all you can manage to get out before Yujin dives into your lips with a rough kiss, tongue instantly invading your mouth, and Wonyoung can only stare helplessly from the bed while you devour one another. There's that greedy side Yujin lets out, nails digging into your skull as the kiss turns into something rougher, desperate, sloppy with saliva spilling down her lips and she shoves her tongue in further, getting a firm grip on your cock in the process.

"P-please, daddy, need your cock—need it to ruin me so fucking bad. Want you to pound me like a fucking whore, daddy..."

Yujin gives a few full strokes to your cock that’s more than a little hard now, keeping you locked into the kiss while you moan into her mouth. "She's a little needy. Shoved a vibe in her while I was tying her up she's so fucking worked up for you. Made sure that pretty cunt got all nice and soaking wet.”

"So thoughtful of you,” you say, stroking the back of Yujin's head as you gaze intently at Wonyoung on the bed, whimpering so pathetically as those bound thighs squeeze together, desperate for any friction.

"But before you do anything, daddy—let me warm your cock up just a little first. Our hungry little slut can wait a bit longer."

You don't even need to look over to know there's a pout forming when Yujin drops to her knees. Then there’s that warm fucking mouth sinking down, lips wrapped around your cock, sucking with such fervor from the very start. You can't help but groan deeply and Wonyoung has no choice but to watch from her helpless position.

All that warm saliva soaks every inch, like she can't get enough of your cock. Those soft lips glide along your length while Yujin bobs her head up and down—every motion filled with need, staring straight at you until she hits the base.

"Shit, fucking hell, Yujin—" you mutter in amazement, because no matter how many times she gives these sloppy wet blowjobs, you can never quite get over how incredible that mouth is. How talented, how experienced she is at using every single tool in her arsenal, hands gripping tightly on your thighs to get every single inch down her throat, absolutely covered in messy warm saliva.

Yujin doesn't even gag, slurping on your shaft and hollowing her cheeks, swallowing every last inch down until her lips press tight to your base, holding there as long as possible—

All that follows is a loud, lewd pop as Yujin withdraws entirely, lips now latched onto your heavy balls, giving them such a good slurp while stroking your cock that’s absolutely soaked with spit along the whole length. She makes such exaggerated slurps with those full lips around your sensitive sack, lips locked tight, humming deeply while keeping you in that intense gaze. The way she works your balls over with her tongue, rolling them so slowly, trapping them into her hot mouth has you raring to go.

"Mm, your balls are so full and delicious, daddy,” Yujin breathes out, with a line of drool spilling from those gorgeous lips. "I could suck on them all fucking day, but you've got a needy little brat to breed."

One look over at your gift, so tempting, tied up, and tantalizing, and you have to agree, especially when the only thing you want is to ruin that warm, wet little cunt. There's no denying the effort Yujin's put into such sloppy sucking, getting your cock slick and primed to pump out another full load by the time you're done with your gift.

You don’t need to do anything else but climb the bed, unsure where to even start when Wonyoung is all wrapped up, every inch of that pale skin so flawless, all but begging for your touch. "Look at you, princess. You look so pretty like this, don't you think? All tied up and just for me."

"Daddy, please—" is all Wonyoung manages to get out, her whining interrupted as you place a finger on her pouting lips.

"Don't you worry, princess. I'm gonna use my Christmas gift just the way you deserve," you say, and loosen the red bow right between Wonyoung's thighs, not a bit surprised to find her dripping. She’s exactly how Yujin promised, looking so deliciously inviting and wet, the perfect place to bury your cock inside. "Your pretty cunt is gonna look so good pumped full of cum once I’m done with you.”

"Yes daddy, make me your little cum dump. Use your gift and breed me until I'm leaking. I need you so bad..."

You decide to leave the ribbon around her tits for now, all that decorative red highlighting their shape, nipples no doubt just aching to be sucked and teased. The more your gaze lingers, the hungrier you become, taking a moment to enjoy the sight before you leave a trail of kisses all the way down.

And finally, when you've made your way to those bound-up thighs, you get a good grip on the ribbon with your teeth and tug. In one easy motion, you free that ribbon from those delicious legs and they spread apart on instinct—such a pretty sight to see that slick pussy just aching for your cock, perfectly wet and inviting.

"So fucking beautiful," you say, and poor Wonyoung can't even touch herself like this. She’s so willingly at your mercy and can’t even show off her wetness to you like she usually does—but you'll get a good view from where you are, feel exactly how soaking wet she is when you slide right in.

Reaching underneath, you get a good firm grip on her hips to pull her helpless body closer so you can tease her, sliding the head of your cock between those glistening lower lips. She’s all desperate when she groans, which only makes it more satisfying to watch her wriggle in these binds as you deny her the initial pleasure.

Before she can even open her mouth to complain, you're lifting her long, slender legs up in the air, resting them right on your shoulders, and getting a good look at where your cock is about to sink right in. Yujin appears right beside you then, kneeling on the bed, so very interested in witnessing you defiling this brat.

"Hope you don't mind me watching you fill our present, daddy," Yujin says sweetly, planting a soft kiss on your cheek before shifting attention onto Wonyoung.

"Not at all. Little slut loves an audience watching her get ruined. Isn't that right, princess?"

Wonyoung only manages to elicit a long whimper, face flushed a pretty shade of pink when your cock teases at her drenched entrance, a clear sign that yes, she does. Those legs rest nicely on your shoulders as you caress them, toes curling already from how close you are to being inside—and just like that, you give one pop of your hips, sinking deep, plunging the entirety of your length inside.

"Oh fuck, daddy!" she cries out as you fill her to the base with one rough thrust. "M-more, it's so good daddy, fill my pussy with your fucking cock, fill me so fucking good, ah—"

She’s so goddamn drenched that it’s impossible to do anything else. Her hot cunt swallows up your length right down to the very base as you bottom out with ease, impaling Wonyoung balls fucking deep without resistance.

“Shit, princess—love your cunt, love how tight you are,” you growl out, and nothing else feels better than the pure heat and wetness that comes along with being inside Wonyoung. It’s heavenly, how she clenches around every throbbing inch, once you're hilted deep, determined to never let you out of that hot, velvety grip.

"Your pretty little pussy loves daddy's cock, doesn't it? Creaming all over him the second he fills you right up," Yujin purrs, getting such a good view from her position, how your cock impales that dripping cunt with so little effort. The fact that you haven't even really begun, only a single slow series of strokes so far, and she's already a soaked mess, squirming all around in these restraints, what's left of the ribbons clinging tight to that smooth porcelain flesh.

All this warm, slippery flesh that hugs your cock—Wonyoung is so fucking tight that it’s maddening.

Despite getting railed good and often by the both of you, those velvety walls always clench up so impossibly tight around your shaft as it stretches her open, just like the first time.

"Can’t imagine how tight you’re squeezing his huge cock, making daddy feel so damn good—princess must be so desperate to empty his balls straight into your womb. Is that what you want, baby? A nice, big, thick creampie, filling up this greedy little pussy?"

The lewd, depraved things that leave Yujin's lips are more than enough encouragement to keep this momentum building, pumping your cock in and out of Wonyoung’s wet heat like you belong there, buried all the way inside while those pale legs dangle from your shoulders.

"F-fuck, daddy, feels so good when you fuck me, when you're balls deep, so fucking deep—just ruin me, ruin daddy's pretty little slut, please…”

So easy to oblige her when she’s begging like this, that you can’t help hugging those creamy long legs while you piston your hips at a merciless pace. So easy to see the desperation in her eyes, and the harder you move, the more erratic she gasps out while you ram your cock through all the wet flesh of her slick cunt, the sound of skin on skin echoing around the room.

“God, princess—you feel so incredible,” you groan, hips relentless as you plunge so deep. Somewhere along the way, Yujin slides up next to Wonyoung, encouraging that stream of pathetic noises, each sweet moan punctuating your harsh thrusts.

"Just listen to her, daddy. Listen how she enjoys that big fucking cock rearranging her guts—pretty little whore is about to cum any second now, isn't she?" Yujin asks, her fingers dancing across Wonyoung's chest, tracing the intricate details of the red ribbons clinging tightly to her smooth, silky skin. "Wanna give her what she wants? Get this slut all folded up and maybe she'll cum a little faster for you?"

Without a doubt, you know Wonyoung would love nothing more than that, your cock just plunging inside, pounding deep inside over and over again—

So you do exactly what Yujin suggests, pushing both legs forward towards her head, until her knees almost hit her shoulders. Then you've got her all folded in half, the perfect position to hit even deeper, putting those flexible limbs to good use, arms still helplessly tied together. “D-daddy!”

And that's when you give a rough slam back inside her dripping cunt, immediately having the intended effect when you bottom out so easily at such a different angle, your heavy balls slamming right up against her ass while you drive all those loud cries out of her mouth—

"D-daddy, fuck! So fucking deep, s-shit, you're gonna make me cum, oh please, g-gonna make me fucking cum!"

When her words devolve into desperate babbles, that's when you know you're doing something right. You’re driving every inch into her, leaving that cunt so impossibly slick when you pound into that flesh that grips without relent.

"There you go, daddy, keep fucking her like that. Use this pretty little fuckdoll until she's gushing all over your huge cock," Yujin encourages from beside, turning all her focus now onto Wonyoung as she leans right in to wrap a hand around that pale throat, squeezing firmly, and fuck—

Wonyoung just falls apart. Then she's just whimpering, every sound she tries to make barely audible when she's cumming on your cock, eyes rolling to the back of her head. There's nothing more beautiful, listening to her broken moans, how she's downright sobbing from the pleasure, letting you ruin her as she drenches your entire cock, that climax flooding out like a broken fucking faucet and threatening to shove you right out.

But instead, it just makes you pound into her that much harder, fucking her near delirious as she makes such a mess, gushing all over you while you keep pounding away until she's a shaking, trembling wreck.

"Look at our pretty present, cumming so fucking hard while you destroy that pussy," Yujin says, getting an even tighter grip around Wonyoung's neck, applying enough pressure to watch the girl's expression crumble. "That pussy is so good, isn't it? Wrapped around that big fucking cock of yours, must be so fucking desperate for your cum to be dumped inside.”

She’s not even a little wrong, that wetness covering your whole length, your balls completely slick from just how Wonyoung absolutely floods out, and you’re not far behind.

"Princess, fuck—“you groan, pounding away into that dripping heat, this filthy squelch coming from between her legs growing even louder the longer you plunge deep. “Gonna fucking fill you right up, gonna breed you, empty everything inside this pretty fucking cunt."

Wonyoung can't even form enough words to beg, hair matted all over her sweat-covered forehead, body going limp while you keep using her body like she’s built to be a toy. And then Yujin's suddenly there, right behind you, fingers cradling your balls so delicately while your cock pistons in and out of this heat—

"Can't wait to watch you breed this fucking cumslut. Want you to dump everything into her cunt, empty your balls, make her leak all of that thick creamy load everywhere," Yujin says, voice so sultry, hot breath all over you as those fingers squeeze so dangerously close.

Unsurprisingly, Yujin doesn't stop there, fingers stimulating all sorts of sensitive areas, like she can feel everything that needs to be drained, each firm squeeze causing a jolt through your entire body.

That hot breath moves away for only a fleeting moment, with Yujin abandoning her grasp on your balls while you keep those hips churning, sending a barrage of thrusts into that wet, hot vice of Wonyoung's pussy. And before you have time to miss Yujin’s touch, her tongue, slick and hot all at once starts teasing your ass, tongue prodding slowly and meticulously.

You can't even respond with anything but groans of appreciation, losing your train of thought each time Yujin gets her tongue buried so deep, taking such good care of you, urging you to blow your load inside Wonyoung.

And god—that mouth does wonders as Yujin toys around the rim of your ass, making all sorts of sinful noises behind you. Through these intense licks, her hand works up a firm massage for those cum-filled balls, and you don't know which does more damage, or if it's simply a combination of both that sends you over the edge—but you can't resist anymore.

"Breed me daddy, breed me so fucking full, need your hot fucking seed inside—p-please, please, cum in me. Want your hot fucking load in me, empty those huge fucking balls right in my little pussy, fuck, please please please—"

Hearing your helpless little gift so needy, pleading frantically for you to finish in her, mouth hanging open, with drool spilling down those red lips, that's what does you in.

One final slam, balls deep into her tight, needy little pussy, and you don't waste a second unloading it all—pumping the biggest load, so fucking thick and heavy straight into her cunt. Each shot is so powerful, Yujin's tongue back in play, pressed right up against your asshole, making you groan even more while the palm of her hand gently massages and rolls your swollen, heavy balls around, coaxing every last drop from them to empty you completely.

All that sticky warmth that empties endlessly into Wonyoung, painting the slick depths of her insides white—and it makes her squirt out even more, flooding all around your cum-coated length still buried deep inside as you fill her up, all the way to her womb.

You’ve already unloaded so much inside, fucking it deeper until it's overflowing back out. Only when Yujin pulls her tongue from your ass do your thrusts finally stop, an absolute deluge of hot, thick seed that she's delighted to see leak out of Wonyoung when you gradually pull out.

"Look at that," Yujin says with so much delight in her voice, getting an up-close view of the mess you've just made and having herself a taste. She laps it all right up with her eager tongue, slurping so loudly at the mix of your hot cum and that nectar from Wonyoung. “Dumped so fucking much into our little cumslut. Mm, fuck, that pussy must feel so full with daddy's hot load leaking out…”

Between the panting, the heavy breaths, chest still heaving, Wonyoung gives a small little nod while you rest at the side of the bed, cock still glistening with a complete mess of your cum and hers.

Yujin however, has all the energy in the world as she cleans up the aftermath, hands gripping so tightly onto Wonyoung’s milky thighs, face buried deep in between. She's every bit selfish, tongue dragging up to lick through those delicious cum-covered folds, so satisfied when she gathers up what leaks out.

"Daddy’s cum tastes so fucking good when it's been pumped inside this needy slut," Yujin says, getting back to work sucking up the remnants of your huge dripping load. She's so ravenous when it comes to cleaning Wonyoung up, taking another indulgent lick right down the center, chin nearly glazed already. "So fucking messy too.”

For her part, all Wonyoung does is moan and whine as Yujin gives a few slaps to that already sensitive cunt, and you’re just watching all the wetness transfer from Wonyoung's heat into that eager mouth, who devours it all so happily.

Were you not entirely exhausted, you'd be tempted to get right behind, slide into Yujin’s heavenly cunt, and empty whatever you have left into her next. Still might, but you're entirely useless at the moment, letting these two indulge themselves.

"Yujinnie—" Wonyoung whines, voice ragged from being thoroughly wrecked, but tone so very needy, as if begging for another release. And Yujin gets her lips sealed right on that engorged clit, giving exactly what Wonyoung desires.

"Doesn't look like our present's tired yet. Should we untie her so she can empty your balls again? Maybe have her take your cock deep into that perfect ass while I ride your face? Sounds fun, doesn't it, daddy?"

Nothing sounds better. Maybe you don't need a respite just yet after all.

❄ ❄

After round two (and then three and then four), a change of scenery is needed. So you all share a shower, change into comfy, festive pajamas, and head over to the spacious couch in the living room. The scent of pine permeates throughout the whole room, with this massive Christmas tree lit up with colorful lights the center of attention.

There's no better time to indulge in the holiday spirit, lazing about on the couch where you find yourself pleasantly trapped between Yujin and Wonyoung, cuddling up alongside you for warmth while some cheesy Christmas movie plays in the background.

The snow really starts coming down, heavier by the minute, enough that you'll be stuck inside—not that there's a reason to venture outdoors. Especially not when you have everything you could possibly want right here, hot cocoa, an excessive number of cookies, and the two prettiest girls on campus all over you.

"Merry Christmas, daddy," Yujin says seemingly out of nowhere, finding a nice spot to rest her head right upon your chest, playing with the pom-pom at the end of your hat. Not exactly what you pictured wearing for the entire night, but it's so impossible to say no to Yujin's requests, so you'll wear whatever she puts on you to keep that smile on her face.

"Merry Christmas, Yudolph.” You can hardly finish the sentence without laughing at that ridiculous headband, reindeer antlers looking so cute atop her pretty head.

"No fair, you can't just steal my nickname," Wonyoung complains from the other side, grabbing a cookie from the plate on the coffee table. She feeds you the first bite before shoving the rest into her mouth, so unprincess-like the way she scarfs the rest down.

"Why not, princess? What's yours is mine, anyway," Yujin replies, planting a kiss right on your cheek as proof. Wonyoung hardly stays mad, too caught up in eating another cookie before wiping the crumbs away from her mouth. She's almost embarrassed by the kiss that Yujin then plants on the corner of her lip, quickly flustered and so out of character, even though Yujin has never been shy to hide her affection.

"Daddy is all mine, so that means you are too, Yudolph," Wonyoung counters, planting a little kiss to both of your faces, getting cute giggles from Yujin in response.

"Wow, did our princess finally learn how to share?" you ask, poorly stifling a laugh.

"Don't count on it," Yujin says rather bluntly, still bouncing your pom-pom around with her fingers. "Anyway, it's almost midnight. What did Santa bring us tonight?"

"Hmm, what did he bring us, what's in these gifts?" Wonyoung asks so innocently, looking at the assortment of presents sitting near the tree, like there's more than just the three of you in this room. "A brand-new sexy set of lingerie and heels for Yujinnie? Maybe that leather catsuit you were talking about the other day..."

Yujin gets this little smirk on her face when she hears Wonyoung mention such a thought.

"And what about me?" Wonyoung continues. "I hope Santa brought me more outfits, I could use a new dress and lots of cute skirts to model for daddy—"

"I don't think the princess gets anything after being on the naughty list this year," you add, earning a very cute pout from Wonyoung.

"Isn't that every year for her?" Yujin asks, chuckling because she knows how true it is, not that being a brat never stops her from taking such pride in it.

"Hey, I deserve a nice present too, after all the times I'm on my knees. Santa better reward me well this year," Wonyoung says, whining so dramatically.

"Doesn't he reward you enough? Filling you up every time you sit on his lap?" Yujin asks, rather rhetorically, and this conversation might be the end of you.

"As if I could ever get enough of daddy pulling my hair and spanking my ass red. I'm on the top of the naughty list for a reason."

You have a very hard time not laughing at how utterly ridiculous and proud that statement is.

"Well, don't worry princess. We have something very special for you," Yujin reassures, giving her one more peck on the forehead. "So, wanna get Santa his gift? I think we've all been plenty naughty anyway,"

"Nuh-uh, I'm not moving an inch. Daddy's too warm and comfy for me to get up," Wonyoung says in protest, snuggling into the crook of your neck and wrapping her arms even tighter around your chest. Yujin can't exactly argue there, joining in to ensure you can't possibly move, trapping you so nicely between the both of them.

"Too warm and comfy," Yujin repeats, and you're more than content to never move from this spot ever again. It's the kind of warmth you never want to leave, especially not on a night as chilly as this one, the perfect excuse to spend hours cooped up by the fireplace together.

"Merry Christmas, daddy—" They both say in unison as the clock finally strikes midnight. "You're not going anywhere, we won't let you."

This is absolutely the best present you could ask for.

#ive smut #yujin smut #wonyoung smut #kpop smut #reader insert #male reader #annyeongz smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #christmas

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ahqkas · 2 months ago

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♯ARTSY HANDS AND MINDS ( how would the batboys react to you making your own merch of their alter ego ! )

— gn!reader, bruce & dick & jason — separated, fluff, established relationship, not edited, cursing, bases on this req.

. . . BRUCE WAYNE !

WHEN BRUCE UNLOCKED AND PUSHED the front door of your apartment open, the familiar scent of one of your candles immediately greeted him with warmth and the familiarity of home. he was finally home, with you. it had been a long night, after all, a long night of patrols and late emergency meetings at wayne enterprises. all he wanted was a quiet evening with you, a thing that finally came to him.

the sound of soft humming came from somewhere in the apartment, probably from your living room, much to bruce’s detective skills. he couldn’t help but let a gentle smile grace his face upon the sound as he hung his coat. you always seemed to brighten even the darkest of his days.

but as he rounded the corner to the living space, his smile froze.

there you were, the love of his life, sitting cross-legged on the old, beaten couch ( which bruce insisted on replacing but you didn’t let that happen, something about an emotional bond ) with a black hoodie spread across your lap. a large symbol graced its chest area. the bat-symbol, he realized. smalls jars of fabric paint surrounded your sitting form, and you were holding a delicate brush, adding details to your own craftwork.

bruce was caught of guard.

“bruce!” you gasped his name out when he came into the clear sight, startled. you even nearly dipped the brush in the wrong direction which would mess up with the project you were currently working on. a flush of warmth creeped up your neck. “you’re home early. i thought you’d be at the office for a while.” not that you minded.

“i finished up early,” he hummed and gestured towards the hoodie in your lap. the sight of the symbol, his symbol, stirred something deep within him. “what’s that?”

“oh, this?” your hands awkwardly hovered over the clothing. “it’s nothing, really. just a little project i’m working on.”

your man raised one eyebrow at your dismissal. “that’s quite detailed for ‘nothing’, sweetheart.”

you gave in after a second of thinking, saying to yourself it definitely wasn’t for the petname or the gentle command in his tone. “fine. you caught me. i’m making my own batman hoodie. but before you say anything, let me explain.”

“i’m listening.”

“well, i’ve been a fan of batman for a while now,” you began, eyes watching his face for every kind of a reaction. “not like one of those die-hard fans who camp outside at night trying to take pics of him or anything. just . . . i admire what he does for gotham. he’s a symbol of hope, you know. it’s nice to have someone who actually fights for the city.”

bruce felt a lump form in the back of his throat. you admired both bruce wayne, the gotham’s billionaire darling, and batman, a side of him that came out when the sun went down.

“and,” you continued, “i wanted a hoodie with the bat-symbol because it looks cool, but the official ones are ugly. they’re all this stiff fabric that itches with weirdly placed logos. i wanted something more casual. so, i thought, why not just make one myself?”

his heart skipped a beat once you finished your mini rant, the muscle tightening against the bones of his ribs. you had no idea you were speaking to batman himself, yet your admiration was pure and genuine. it reminded him why he wore the cowl in the first place — to protect people like you, who believed in a better gotham.

“well,” he said after a moment of just looking at you with that special look in the depths of his gaze. “if batman knew how much effort you put into this, he’d flattered.”

“you think so?”

“i know so.”

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

THE LINGERING ACHE IN HIS MUSCLES FROM THE ROOFTOP CHASE he had barely managed to win stained his sore body as he returned from a long night of patrol back home to you. his footsteps were silent, practiced from the countless times he’s done this, when he unlocked the front door to the apartment he shared with you. the lights were still on, spilling the warm light from the living room into the hall.

dick smiled to himself. you always waited up for him, no matter how late he came home from “work”, and it never failed to warm his heart.

to find someone who would do such thing as cut their sleep schedule for him was basically rare, but he managed to.

you were sitting cross-legged on the beloved couch dick himself chose, completely absorbed in your task. the couch has lived its fair share already, but it was well loved and had so many good memories, so you kept it. your boyfriend watched from the doorway as your brows created that adorable little v between them, furrowing in concentration. meanwhile, your hands worked carefully with blue and black yarn. your fingers clutched the unmistakable nightwing plush; complete with the signature blue symbol across its little chest.

you don’t actually know about nightwing. well, you know about his existence, about how the vigilante keeps blüdhaven’s streets safe from criminal activities, and you knew about the package beneath the tight spandex of his suit. what you didn’t know was nightwing’s true identity. you didn’t know how he always made sure to come back home to you, and you totally didn’t know that ass belonged to you.

“uhh . . .” he was caught of guard for a second here. “what are you doing?”

jumping slightly at the sound of his voice, you clutched the half-finished plush close to your chest as if protecting it from his praying eyes. “dick!” your face flushed with embarrassment. “you’re home early.”

he arched an eyebrow at your behavior, his gaze averting towards the digital clock of the tv before it shifted back to you. “it’s almost two in the morning. sooo . . . are you going to explain why you’re making a mini nightwing doll this late at night?”

“first of all, it’s not a doll. it’s a plushie.”

“of course, my bad. plushie.”

“and second,” you started to defend your actions more confidently when you noticed the slightest of smirk gracing his face. he looked tired, the strands of his bangs slightly damp with sweat and his eyes nearly dropping down with how the exhaustion pressed on him. yet he still managed to be all cheeky. “it’s not like i’m obsessed or something. i just — the fan-made ones were too expensive, and honestly none of them were cute enough, so i decided to make my own.”

dick stepped closer to your sitting form, fidgeting with his hands to hide his racing heart. “you’re a nightwing fan?”

you shrugged and started picking at a stray thread on the plushie. “i mean, yeah. who isn’t? he’s cool, and he’s probably the least terrifying out of all the vigilantes in both gotham and blüdhaven. plus,” you paused in the little rant he’d coaxed out of you. “i think he’s kinda hot.”

a loud cough interrupted you the moment those last words slipped past your lips. dick’s ears took on a pink hint, along with a more pronounced smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. the tired look in his eyes was suddenly long gone, too. “you’re a think he’s hot, baby?”

“yeah. it’s not like he’ll know i said that, though.”

oh, you had no idea.

“it’s not perfect,” you shaked the plush in your hands to make a point, “but i wanted it to look right. and i know it’s probably silly, but it makes me feel safe, in a weird way. like, if i ever needed help, he’d show up, you know?”

dick wanted to tell you the truth then and there — that nightwing would show up for you, every single time, because you were his main priority. nothing else mattered but your safety. but he couldn’t. not yet.

his fingers brushed yours instead, tracing the fabric of the yarn with a gentle touch. “i think it’s perfect. and if nightwing ever saw it, i’m sure he would be flattered.”

“yeah, right,” you laughed, actually laughed, and rolled your eyes in that way he adored. “like he’d care about some random plushie.”

he didn’t argue, though a part of him was already planning on leaving a little thank you! note the next time he patrolled near your apartment. for now, he could settle for leaning against your side and pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

. . . JASON TODD !

JASON HAD BEEN IN A RUSH TO GET HOME. the heels of his boots crunched on the gravel beneath him before he shrugged his leather jacket and unlocked the front door to your apartment. tonight’s patrol had been rough — more bullets than he’d planned for and a few bruises he would have to hide later. all he wanted now was to crash on the couch with you, maybe with a shitty movie and some pizza if you hadn’t eaten yet.

he took a step inside, already feeling the tension and ache erasing from his muscles as the familiar warmth of the living space wrapped around him like a blanket. he was finally home.

but when he crossed the threshold into the living room, jason froze right on the spot.

there you were, curled up on the couch, wearing a black hoodie that looked far too big on your frame with a hand-painted crimson symbol on the chest. not just any symbol though — it was his symbol. the red hood insignia stood out vividly against the dark fabric of the hoodie. he couldn’t miss it even if he was blind.

and that wasn’t all. on the coffee table in front of you was a small knitted plushie. its tiny body was simple, but the details were on spot: a small red helmet and a matching chest symbol that mirrored the one on your own chest.

you weren’t supposed to know about red hood. to certain amount of course. jason couldn’t shield you from the outside no matter how much he would like to, but he could shield you from one of his many personalities — the red hood. you weren’t supposed to know about him being red hood. so, he hoped it was still the truth.

“hey, you’re home!” you must’ve heard him come in because you looked up at him with that sheepish smile he grew to cherish, all while holding up the plush up for inspection.

“yeah . . .” he trained off, scratching the nape of his neck. jason didn’t like lying to you any more than he had to, so making up some shitty excuse about where he was and what was he doing was pretty much pointless. instead, he turned the attention to the creations of your work. the hoodie and plushie. “what’s–uh–what’s this?”

you glanced down at yourself like you’d forgotten what you were wearing. “oh, it’s a red hood merch. well, kind of,” brushing a stray hair off the hoodie, you smiled up at him more confidently. “i made these.”

jason’s brows shot up. “you made them?”

“yeah! the official looked ugly—like who designed that stuff? and the fan-made ones were either way too expensive or just not what i was looking for. so, i figured, why not do it myself? and he’s kind of my favorite vigilante.”

he felt his heart skip a beat. your favorite?

what the fuck. “red hood is your favorite.”

it definitely didn’t sound like a question, it was spoken in way it sounded like a statement, but you answered him with a reason anyway. “mhm. he’s a badass. a little scary, sure, but in a good way. like, you know he’s got a soft spot somewhere under all the armor. i caught him feeding the stray cat on our fire escape the other day. it was cute.”

well, he wasn’t exactly careful with the cat, but he didn’t expect the meowing and hissing would catch your attention. stubborn stray.

jason blinked, more caught of guard than feeling the edge of panic. he should panic, you were practically close to discovering your careless boyfriend was red hood. he was at a loss of words. “cute” wasn’t exactly how he’d describe himself — or his alter ego — but he wasn’t about to argue with you. instead, his fingers moved to trace the oversized sleeves of your hoodie, calloused fingertips brushing under the fabric to intertwine your fingers in one.

you didn’t know the truth, and maybe you never would, but as long as you felt safe and protected in his arms, he was okay with it. you were holding a piece of him he’d never given to you, and yet you loved him the same.

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