#i finished them in record breaking speed for me

[the-hole-in-terzos-shoe]

Two Can Keep a Secret... If One of Them is Dead

Papa Emeritus III (Terzo) x Omega x Reader

Hiiiiiiiiii bitches ❤️ it's been a long time. I've been sitting on a few wips for a while. Obviously I took a break from writing; I'm not sure how frequently I'll continue writing, but I'm happy I finished this one!

This is the follow up to Dreams Come True and connected to My Dirty Little Secret 💋 enjoy!

Word count: 4.1k

CW: PURE SMUT, threesome, dom/sub a little bit, size difference, knotting, p in v, lingerie, MDNI

You're still the only person he trusted to see him like this. Even after nearly a year of meeting in private, wearing your lingerie together, Terzo only wanted this with you. He liked to laze about for hours, enjoying his new outfits, not wanting to waste them by getting right down to business, so you'd tease each other, play with yourselves, kiss and makeout for quite a while leading up to the main event.

"You look beautiful in this. What's that you say in Italian--𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘢?" The Italian always make him blush so prettily, a warm pink spreading across his chest and cheeks. Slowly dragging your fingernails over the bow on his hip, he inhales sharply, arching up into the sensation.

"You already have me so hard," Terzo groans, "I feel, ah, horny drunk!" He giggles. It's a giggle he would never want anyone but you to hear; it would be unflattering for a Papa to be heard giggling like that. He always has such a cold exterior, unhappy even. There are so few people who know how warm he really can be, and what he truly likes.

Sure, you've seen him in many gorgeous lingerie sets, but you also know he likes to read, further he likes to read aloud to you until you fall asleep; he knows a lot about vintage wines; you know his grandmother taught him to cook at a young age back in Italy; he can braid hair; and he likes to sing along to old vinyl records.

In all the time you'd known him, you'd only known him to get close to one other person, or ghoul, rather--

*𝘒𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬*

"Who is that?" Terzo whispers, softly looking up at you.

"I don't know, 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢, it's your room," you chuckle, stroking his cheek softly, "Why don't you answer it?"

"B-but..." He looks down at himself, "They can't see me like this."

"Then put on your robe," you kiss his nose to encourage him, well aware of the panic in his eyes, as well as the way his heartbeat speeds up in his chest. "Surely whoever it is would only come at this late hour if it were important..." you kiss next to his ear before breathing softly, "or unless they feel welcome in your chambers." After that, you lean up, removing your body from his and retrieving his robe from the closet door. As he sits up on the bed, you hand it to him before informing him, "I'll go to the restroom, give you some privacy." You give him a quick kiss, and exit to the next room.

Hesitantly, he pulls on the silk charmeuse cover-up before shuffling over to the heavy mahogany door. Quietly, he turns the antique glass doorknob to poke his head out. His defenses are lowered as he sees his favorite ghoul, "Omega," he sighs in relief, "I should've expected it was you. Ever the gentleman for only knocking once, despite me making you wait."

"Papa," is all the tall demon says. And 'tall' really is an understatement; it was one thing to see him on stage, but to see him in person and have to crane your neck back to even meet his eyes, it really speaks to the way he towers over everybody. Slowly, he cups Terzo's black locks in his large clawed hand, leaning down to kiss him.

The antipope's fingers smooth over the ghoul's chest, feeling the inhumanly slow thump beneath his ribs. Few people knew that the frontman of Ghost was thinking of his most beloved ghoul when he wrote the lines of Cirice... "𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩��𝘵'𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵."

"Omegahhh..." He breathes as his ghoul moves to kiss his neck, a weak spot for the leader of the church. With a little nudge, Terzo is pushing Omega off of him. "Omega," he inhales raggedly, "I- I wasn't expecting you. I'm, uh, I'm not--"

"What's this?" the demon interrupts his Papa, gesturing to the thin black strap peeking out from beneath his robe where the ghoul's mouth had just been.

The shorter man immediately pulls his robes back into place, crossing his arms. "It is nothing, amante."

The ghoul chuckles darkly, "C'mon," he takes Terzo's hips in his hands to walk him back into the bedroom, clicking the door shut and locking it. "You can't hide from me, Papa," he says lowly before raking his fingers through those short raven locks once again to steal another kiss.

After a long evening of teasing with you, combined with a heated kiss from his Omega, Terzo can hardly help the lustblown look in his eyes.

Speak of the devil, you're sitting on the bed silently observing the scene playing out. It only takes the deft creature a few short seconds of observation before he spots you. "I didn't know you were with somebody, Papa."

A mix of flustered feelings crosses the man's face as he looks back and forth between you and the ghoul: desire, confusion... guilt. He'd normally never 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 feel guilty being caught between two lovers, if it had been any other lovers. But the two of you? You're the one soft spot he has in this world, and Omega is the one that holds him together when everything is falling apart.

"Terzo?" You ask, and you have to hold back a smug smile when his love drunk eyes meet yours, "Did you double-book yourself, love?"

When he bites his lip and looks down at his feet though, you know it's gone a little further than simple teasing.

Leaping from the bed, you rush to his side. Cupping his cheeks in your hands, you whisper, "Hey, hey, what's wrong, huh?"

He looks as if he's about to tear up, "I don't want to lose either of you," he says weakly.

"What?? Who said anything about that?! No, it's okay, baby," you pull him into a hug, rubbing circles into his back to calm him ease his mind. "Why would you think that, sweetheart?"

"Because... You didn't know about each other," he straightens up a bit as he explains.

"Terz... Everyone in the world knows about you and Omega," you stroke his cheek again, "and I'm sure it's not lost on him that you take other lovers. Right, Omega?"

The ghoul simply nods, slipping his hand into his Papa's and caressing the smaller digits with his thumb. They share a long glance at one another before Terzo apologizes, "Mi dispiace."

"No apologies. It's all okay," you step back, giving him some space, but still holding his other hand, "besides... We could all have a lot of fun together, hm?"

The antipope looks down again, this time trying to hide his smile.

You take a step towards him, waiting for him to look up, so you can kiss him properly. Your lips move together until you suddenly break the kiss, Terzo chasing after you. "C'mon, Omega," you offer the invitation as you move behind your lover, nibbling on the shell of his ear. As he leans into your affections, the ghoul sees the time to strike; while Terzo's neck is exposed, Omega meets the skin with teeth and tongue.

The poor man trapped between you can't help the moan that rips from his chest. His mismatched eyes roll back and his jaw goes slack as his fingers clammer to hold onto anything: your thigh, Omega's arm, dear life.

It's only when Omega goes for the ties on his Papa's robes that the shorter one stiffens up again. Clutching the collar, he keeps the article of clothing closed. "Papa?" the ghoul asks, uncertainty in his tone. Very rarely is he barred from getting under his lover's clothes.

"I should go change," the raven haired man mumbles, but you catch him before he can get away from you.

"He's never seen you dressed up, has he?" you whisper quietly in his ear. He shakes his head no. You reply, a little louder this time, "You should show him how pretty you can be, 𝘭𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢..."

Terzo is pretty sure you're trying to break his brain. Caught once again between embarrassment and lust, he glances back and forth between his lovers. "I- I can't," he softly declares, face blooming a shade of red you'd never seen on him before.

Just as you're about to speak another phrase of encouragement, Omega simply takes his lover's hand again, gently tracing his large thumb over his small fingers. "Pretty Papa," is all the ghoul utters.

Terzo looks up, sharing a long look with his ghoul, before offering an almost imperceivable nod.

Slowly, almost glacially, Omega places a hand on the smaller man's shoulder, sliding the piece of silk out of the way to reveal a little more skin, as well as the same bra strap that had been peeking out earlier. He leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to Terzo's lips, "Pretty Papa," he asserts again before moving forward with sliding his robe off.

It's tantalizing to watch these two with one another; they have a way of communicating with hardly any words. Trust is not something that one receives easily from Papa Emeritus the Third, but it runs deep with his ghoul, and one can practically see the loyalty present in Omega's eyes when he looks at his Papa. You can't help but imagine their nights together on tour, lost in one another's bodies and finding a little slice of home in each other when home was really halfway across the world.

It really is a simple set that Terzo is wearing: a sheer black bra with matching panties, with little bows tied at his hips and on his back, kind of like a dressed up bikini.

Omega growls at the sight, dropping to his knees. "Pretty Papa," he grumbles excitedly one last time before starting to place sloppy open mouthed kisses to his abdomen and above his hips, nails scratching at Terzo's soft thighs hard enough to leave bright red claw marks.

Overwhelmed as he is, your lover still turns to look for you as the demon draws little moans and whimpers from him. In a second, you're by his side, treating him with the soft kind of love that he likes: stroking his cheek and kissing his nose and heated gazes. The juxtaposition of yours and Omega's affections feel as if they're tearing the man asunder, but like a greedy little fool, he wants both. "I need you," he blurts out looking at you, "both of you," he finishes his sentence looking down at the ghoul knelt before him.

Knowing the desperate look in his lover's eyes, Omega picks him up, wrapping his muscular arms around his favorite pair of thighs. Trudging a few steps across the room, the ghoul makes a rag doll of Trrzo, tossing his small frame onto the plush pile of pillows. Before crawling on top of the man, Omega thinks better of it, turning to catch your eye. Sitting back on one heel while the other foot braces his weight on the floor, he turns halfway towards you, offering out his hand.

You consider him for a moment, then you carefully put your hand in his--and boy, do you become aware of how large this creature is when you do that. Expecting that he could whisk you across the room effortlessly, you're surprised to find how gentlemanly he is as he helps hoist you up onto the bed. Softly, you thank him before going to rest next to Terzo.

"La mia bestia knows how to be sweet when I want him to be," murmurs quietly in your ear, side-eyeing the demon. You offer a low chuckle before giving him a kiss, tracing your fingers along his neck and jawbone.

Suddenly, the man slips from your grasp down the bed, practically strung up by his feet by Omega. His lover pounces on top of him, claiming the smaller man's mouth and drawing a wimpy little moan from him. When the kids is broken, you hear Terzo speak up again, "Now, amante, it isn't nice to swipe toys away from others on the playground."

Omega shoots a look at you then back at Terzo. With a growl and a nip on his lover's ear, he murmurs, "You are a toy. My favorite toy..." Without another word, he picks the man up, whipping him around so Terzo's back is flush with the demon's abdomen. "I guess I'll share," he grunts, trailing long claws up tan thighs and threatening the ties on the little black lingerie set. "Il mio bel Papa," the ghoul places possessive kisses marking Terzo's neck. It's enchanting to hear him speak Italian. "Ragazzo dolce, it will be a shame to take it off, but you have quite the treat to share with her."

A gasp, then a sigh, as Terzo's eyes flutter upward, finally receiving some relief where he needs it most. The ghoul's oversized hand massages him through the fine silk, expertly working base and tip simultaneously. With his knees trembling, your Papa reaches back to brace himself, nails digging into Omega's ink black thighs. He'd been teased and edged by you all afternoon into the evening; it wouldn't take much for him to come undone.

By this point, you can't help but slip your fingers over your clothed folds at the sight of how Omega handles your shared lover. Watching him rake his nails over Terzo's hips until those little black bows loosen, revealing him to you both is something you could watch over and over again. The size of his taloned hand taking over the length that had made you feel so full before...

"Hnnngg..." the whine abruptly rips itself from the small man through, "Ah! Ommegahhhnnn..."

The sound of your Papa whining for someone so desperately sends waves of heat through you, but it's immediately overshadowed by the sudden pang of guilt you feel as the ghoul barks a swift, commanding, "NO." Omega grips the base of Terzo's cock tightly, eliciting a high pitched groan from the raven haired man as his body bucks, eyes screwed shut.

You'd never been so cruel as to completely deny your lover of his orgasm; even if your edging went overboard, you couldn't resist seeing Terzo in such pleasure. But wow, Omega even made you feel like your hand had been caught in the cookie jar with that harsh demand.

Terzo chokes out a sob, his body held up only by Omega's grip on him: one hand still firmly around his member and the other wrapped tightly around his Papa's chest and shoulders. When Terzo turns to his beloved demon with tear-filled eyes, the ghoul simply chuckles, remarking, "We couldn't have you ruin all the fun so soon, hm?" before tossing him aside, where he lands beside you.

In an instant, you're wrapped around him, as he curls up catching his breath. Placing kisses to the top of his head and smoothing down his raven locks, you whisper how good he was, telling him what a great job he did, and that it's all okay. "You're still my pretty principessa," you smile at him before he pulls you in for another one of your honey-sweet kisses. "Are you okay?" you inquire more seriously after.

He nods, reassuring you that this isn't his first rodeo, "You should see me in the Ghoul's Den... Although I must admit, this is a heady combination of lovers for me." Both of you share a breathy laugh, falling into snuggling once again, hands trailing one another's bodies as you're careful to avoid what is likely a very overstimulated area on him.

Skilled hands apply the perfect amount of pressure as they squeeze and pinch your flesh, drawing his favorite little noises from you. As his fingers slide the strap of your lingerie from your shoulder, his lips follow sensually, trailing feather light kisses to your soft skin. "It is time to take this off, no?" He always asks permission before undressing you, and you always concede; no one makes getting undressed as romantic as Terzo.

As he slides the last stitch of clothing off down your legs, you pose a question, "What about this?" You gesture towards his lacy black bra, "Do you want this off?"

Smirking, he shakes his head no, "We will let Omega have his fun."

As if on queue, the demon reappears at the foot of the bed, completely devoid of clothes, his large member in one hand and a bottle of lube in the other. Terzo perks up, a knowing look on his face, before he crawls down the bed and places a kiss to Omega's lips before spinning around and positioning himself on all fours in front of his lover. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦.

"You won't get it so easy tonight, Papa," the demons voice rumbles.

Terzo's head spins around so fast you're sure he just have whiplash.

Omega chuckles darkly, "It would be rude to forget your other guest." He grabs Terzo's jaw, forcing him to hold eye contact, "Pleasure her. Prepare her as I prepare you." One final swipe of the pad of his thumb across the smaller man's lips accentuates his point.

The raven haired man turns back to you, gesturing for you to lie in front of him, "Good thing-"

"𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘩." The word is accented by a harsh smack on Terzo's thigh, "You're nothing but our toy tonight."

Papa feigns a pitiful look, but he does a poor job hiding his smirk as he falls to his elbows between your legs. Starting with a few soft open-mouthed kisses on your folds, he assumes the position: arms wrapped around your thighs holding you in place, ass high up in the air for Omega to have his way with.

Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, you find some much needed relief against his tongue. Holding eye contact with him, your soft moans let your lover know that he's doing an excellent job, as always.

Behind him, Omega places a lubed up finger right where his amore wants it most. You feel Terzo suck in an anticipatory breath before continuing his ministrations. Teasingly, the ghoul circles his finger around before pushing slowly into his lover, drawing a needy moan from him.

It feels good when Terzo moans against you like that. You reach down and tangle your fingers in his hair to let him know.

Omega starts properly working the smaller man open, pumping one finger then two in and out of his tight little hole. Terzo eats you out like a man starved, throwing himself into the task at hand to keep from getting worked up too quickly. He hollows out his cheeks as he sucks your clit hard, tongue still flicking over your bud.

By now, you're much noisier than before between Terzo's wicked tongue and the sight of Omega turning his boyfriend to putty. In that moment, you learn there's nothing quite as hot as when Terzo's tongue stutters, eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows knitted upward as Omega finds that sweet spot inside him.

The ghoul only tortures his lover momentarily, pulling three thick fingers out of him before lining his monstrous member up between those plump cheeks. "You want it?"

Terzo let's out a shaky, "Mm-hmmm..." nodding against your core. He looks up to you almost as if to apologize, for what you don't know. Maybe for what you're about to witness. Maybe because he's a little distracted from the way he normally pleases you.

Either way, no apology was needed. You're more turned on than you have been in a while seeing these two together.

Slicking up with a bit more lube, Omega slides past his Papa's rim with a pop, earning guttural noises from the small man. All of a sudden, Terzo is pulled away from you entirely as the ghoul manhandles the little black bra, gripping it to roughly push his lover back on his cock. Terzo fists the sheets in pain and pleasure as he takes everything the demon will give him.

"Good boy. Pretty Papa."

"Ohh-Omegaahh..." he huffs, eyes glazed over.

The ghoul leans over his lover, rocking in and out of him slowly until he's full to the hilt before whispering, "You're falling down on the job, Papa," and gesturing at you.

Knowing that Omega won't give him what he wants until he's done as he's told, Terzo grabs you by the ankles, roughly dragging you down the bed and reattaching his mouth to you. It's nearly overwhelming not only physically, but also the way that this ghoul makes your Papa act like he's searching for an oasis in the desert: he'll get what he craves if he works hard enough for it.

This time, the raven haired man hikes your legs up, hooking them on his shoulders and doesn't hesitate to slip two digits into you. The rush of it all doesn't give you time to falter--you're hurdling right towards the edge.

Only then does the ghoul settle into a rhythm--a fierce punishing rhythm--thrusting in and out of Terzo.

Locking eyes with equally desperate looks, you and Terzo find yourselves at the mercy of Omega, dominant enough to command two lovers at once. Tremors ripple through your body as your orgasm overcomes you; hot white takes over your vision as Papa obediently works you through your high.

Coming back to reality, you find your body directly beneath your lover's, his wild lust-blown eyes looking for yours. Oversensitivity rushes through you as Terzo rocks his member against your dripping wet cunt, controlled by the rough drag of Omega's hips.

"Per favore... lasciami prenderti, per favore," the raven haired man huffs his need in your ear, to which you nod your consent.

With a groan, he enters you; it won't be long until he's spent. Omega has to practically force the smaller man's hips up as he collapses on top of you, his arms weak from the evening.

Greedily, Terzo laps at your skin, kissing and sucking your neck and chest. In that moment, your hands tangled in those short black locks, your eyes wander up to the dark figure at the edge of the bed. Mesmerized, he watches the point where he's connected with the man that hold his heart. Like shockwaves, you feel the passionate way he fills Terzo, making the smaller man press into you.

Were it not for his ink black skin, you would've sworn he was blushing as his voice finally breaks, "Ter... Terzo-"

"Dammelo 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰!" Terzo barks at his lover, knowing exactly what that one little word from the ghoul means.

With a growl, Omega fiercely grabs Terzo's shoulder, forcing his body back on his swollen knot. Just before Papa's length pulled out of you, they both rock back forward into you. Letting out a whorish moan, Terzo cums deep inside you; both your body and his are rushed full of warmth as the two men finish. The idea alone sends another small ripple through you...

You wrap your arms around the man pressed tight against your body, massaging your hands across his back as you watch him grunt and moan his way through his orgasm. Your soothing motions are cut short by a heavy weight on one your hands. Warm but electrifying, Omega's hand encapsulates yours. Looking up, you make eye contact--𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 make eye contact--with the ghoul for the first time.

You feel connected with him in some way, like you can feel how much he appreciates what you do for the man he loves. Terzo and Omega possess one another in the way they love, but Omega recognizes that his Papa needs the tenderness that you offer.

Flashing an almost imperceptible smirk at the beast, your attention is pulled back to the one lying on top of you.

"Mmhuuhh..." he mutters

"Hmm?" you ask, smiling down at Terzo, "You okay?"

"Mm.. completely, uhhh, fucked out," he sputters against your chest before pulling out of you.

Both you and Omega chuckle at the little man, and in one swift motion, Omega turns them both so they're lying on their sides next to you, still connected at the knot.

"C'mere," Terzo mumbles, grabbing at your waist.

Sliding in to cuddle with them, you jest, "How do you have even an ounce of energy left, principessa?"

"I don't," he squints his eyes to steal a glance up at you.

Leaning down, you kiss his forehead, "Go to sleep. Sweet dreams, Papa."

[twistedteatime]

Howling Witch: Prologue-Part 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Original Female Character

POV: 3rd Person

Summary: To the intelligence community the Winter Soldier is a ghost, but to HYDRA the Howling Witch is a harbinger of doom that will stop at nothing to get at their prized asset. A phantom that leaves swathes of destruction in her wake. She is the biggest mistake they ever made.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Language, Angst, Violence, Blood, Gun Violence, Self-Loathing, Trauma, Hallucinations, Shifting POVs, Implications of experimentation on minors (not graphic), HYDRA (see previous warning and understand why HYDRA is a warning).

A/N: It's not part of the total word count. I wrote this separately. I decided to split the promised 10k into two 5k pieces. Here's the first half. Ao3 gets updated first. Usually whenever I first finish something (usually early morning for me not always) so I can have the link ready and not have to go in and edit too much

NOTE: The Female Main Character DOES have a name. It's just not revealed until later for reasons and this isn't an exhaustive history of her time before the main story, just some flashpoints in relation to her hunt for Bucky.

Masterlists: Howling Witch🔹MASTER Masterlist

Ao3 Link: Prologue Part 1 (Registered users only due to recent scraping issues)

Next Part: Prologue Part 2

*******

Seventy years. Near enough to it at least. A span that for some passed in a blink, in flickers, or stretched out endlessly towards the horizon.

For her it was punctuated with starts and stops. Close calls and near misses. Hopeful crescendos that fell sudden and flat into silence. Years would pass in a blink then slow to a fevered pitch that could span only days as short windows of opportunity that shut too soon. Then the days would speed up again or drag on in a seemingly endless stretch of frustration and ache.

So close…

She had been so close sometimes she could almost taste it…him.

If she let herself. If she let the memories she had locked away out of their cages. Past their bars that shook, clanged, and groaned with the effort of keeping them all in.

Sometimes they slipped out on their own. When she was too tired to stop them they’d slip out and she’d relive them. The good, the bad, and the heartbreaking.

They weren’t the worst of it, though.

The sleepless nights that followed every failure brought a torment of their own. Everyone that HYDRA took from her. Even him. Even though he was the only one of them that still walked the Earth.

His phantom always looked the same as he had before he was taken. He, however, did not. Neither did she.

It was HYDRA’s way.

Take something, break it, and mold it into something else. He was their crowning achievement.

So was she…even if they couldn’t claim full credit.

They shaped her as they had him, just in different ways until she taught them what limits were, just how real nightmares could be, and that some things were better off left to myths, fairytales, and folklore.

Those they took haunted her…so she haunted HYDRA. A cautionary tale they told each other. A name whispered in hushed tones filled with fear and dread. The very code name that they had given her became a curse they tried to wipe from their records.

They couldn’t though. Try as they might to erase what they had done they couldn’t. Not when she kept dogging their every step in her hunt to find him.

A nightmare with every skill they taught her sharpened and honed into perfection. Just like they wanted. Until they didn’t.

1950s

She lost track of time early on. Instead she kept time by bases, stations, outposts, and war. She spent several New Year’s celebrations enjoying their music. A cacophony not of fireworks or musicians but red flashing walls, blaring alarms, and screams.

“Oh fuck…oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck! She’s here! I repeat: She. Is. Here! The Howling Witch has breached Sector 2’s security measures, over! Hello? Is there anyone there? Hello?! Answer me!”

She smiled, chuckling to herself as she listened to their comms. It never got old. She loved to tap into their communications to listen to their terror just as much as she did it for tactical reasons. There was only one thing she loved to do more with them.

“C-copy that. Wh-what…what should I do? Everyone else is…th-they’re…they’re just…there’s so much blood…”

“Hide. Get under a desk and tell me what she’s doing.”

“She’s heading towards Sector 4! Oh…f-fuck! Th-The…d-dir-director…ss-sshe…fuck. Fuck she heard me. She’s coming! Help me! Oh fuck she just…I’m gonna be sick!”

“Shit. I’m heading your way. Do not engage. Do. Not. Engage.”

“Hurry!” She smiled then set the radio down on the desk she sat upon, feet dangling above ruby red.

They fell for it every time.

Did she have to do it? No, but for what they did to her, to her family, to Bucky…

She would make them feel every ounce of terror she could.

Walking out of the base later, rifling through a few folders of information, she paused as she spotted the reproachful glance of one of the only people she could call a friend. Tall, black hair, brown eyes, dark skin, and sharpened fangs. He spoke after a moment of holding her undisturbed gaze while leaning against the building.

“Did you find anything or were you just enjoying yourself?” he asked, tone an almost…gentle bite, a reminder not to fall too far down the rabbit hole; she didn’t respond, she just scowled while handing him one of the files from the middle of the stack.

She knew why he did it. She’d gone down that hole before and he was the one that had to pull her out. Twice.

She’d done worse than what she had done here. Much worse. It haunted her even though he said she had had no other choice.

Still the memories of it escaped their bars far too often. Slipping through easily with the blood they were coated in. Reminding her of just how far she was capable of going when pushed hard enough.

When Hungry enough and the only thing to eat was pulsing in the veins of the two-legged monsters that thought they could tame what they knew nothing about. When her stomach knotted and squeezed in on itself until she could hardly breathe for want of sustenance. When the halls were dark, dim, and so quiet she could hear their fear just as well as she could smell it.

He had nearly joined the others on the floor when he came. She remembered the particular tang of his fear that day. It was different from others. A unique mix of self-preservation, realization, and pain. From what she was doing to him and from what they had done to her.

He didn’t judge, but he brought her back from the brink of whatever beast they’d built her into. Food helped. It wasn’t the first time she’d had him at her mercy but it had been the last.

Blade always kept food nearby when they worked together. His serum did nothing for her. She wasn’t like he was. She didn’t know what she was.

She just knew what she had been and what she wasn’t.

“I found plenty of work for us, but not much else, really, not for my hunt. They’ve got their tentacles in as many kitchens as they can get them in.” She answered and he looked at the file nodding.

“Not surprised. They had to get their samples from somewhere.” He said and she nodded, “You rig this place?”

“Naturally, but not until morning. I’m hungry. Let’s go eat. They didn’t have anything good in there. As usual. Same slop they’ve always had.” She answered and he just shook his head while pushing off the wall and walking away with her, both disappearing into the night.

Her hunt continued as she helped him with his. Bases and outposts passed with alleys, clubs, and bloody battles that ran dry into dust.

Eventually, in between the starts and stops of hopping city to town to village to country seeking out the information she craved she finally tracked where they kept him down.

Countless hours spent in facilities she’d lost track of. Blood splattered on walls, floors, tables, chairs, cells, bars, and suits before it all boiled away from the heat of the flames she’d set. She knew better than to leave them cold.

You had to cauterize the stumps. Otherwise its blood would poison and two more would grow out from what remained oozing. Fire was the only way to bring HYDRA down.

It explained why they put him somewhere so cold that fire was almost impossible. Somewhere they could keep him cold. Somewhere they were expecting her to find by the time she did.

So close.

Just not close enough.

They knew she’d come eventually and for the first time they were fully prepared. They’d finally found a way to keep her out. Found what she feared enough to stay away.

Frustration burned through her as she retreated. White hot despite the bitter cold and stinging where they had tried to collar her again.

It was too heavily guarded and they were ready for her now. They stayed ready where they kept him. So her hunt had to shift and it did.

She let them have their small victory, but the war was hardly over.

She had never been one to give in before HYDRA and after it she was even less so. They were the ones that supplemented her skills so she’d be truly relentless. They were the ones that took away the only people that could ever make her slow down and stop.

Everyone. Even those that were still living.

“Peggy stop!” She ducked behind the steel, shots firing out.

She should have known better.

She should have known not to try.

She should have known they’d show everyone what she was.

She should’ve known.

“I know what you’ve done! I know what you are!” Peggy shouted back across the room, “Seventeen!”

“You don’t know shit! Listen to me, Peggy! It’s HYDRA! They’re-ah!” the bullet ripped into her arm.

She moved swiftly into new cover while Peggy reloaded her clip.

“HYDRA is gone…stop using them as an excuse for slaughter!”

She growled while digging the bullet out, chucking it across the floor as the blood flow stopped and her tissues stitched themselves back together. A small benefit from what she was now, but the smell lingered with the rage in the room. Peggy wasn’t afraid.

She was furious.

Disgusted.

“Peggy, please…listen to me. It’s not what you think. You don’t know what they did! Bucky-”

“Deserved better! What do you think he’d do if he knew of what you’ve done?! Do you think he’d be proud of the carnage?! Do you think Doctor Erskine would be proud of what you did?!” Peggy shouted back and the memories rattled against their cages, screaming, shrieking, and reaching out past the bars as something blossomed beside the knife Peggy’s words had twisted into her gut, “Seventeen!”

“Doctor Erskine would have listened! Bucky would have listened! STEVE would have listened!” she shouted back while watching the shadows running along the windows outside, clips being loaded into guns, the soft crackling of shock collars flicking on, and the static hum of them charging up.

“You hated Steve for taking Bucky with him!”

“No I didn’t! I never blamed Steve! I still don’t blame him! I never hated him! I just didn’t put him on a pedestal!” She shouted back and slunk around the boxes and crates of the warehouse, creeping silently, maneuvering slowly into the shadows.

Peggy had aged, but she was still Peggy. Beautiful, driven, tough, and angry. There was no way she was going to listen to anything that tore down what she had built and what Steve had sacrificed himself for.

The shadows slunk outside the windows, waiting, listening. They wanted to see if Peggy would believe what she was told or if she would continue to believe the lies they had fed her about her old friend. The lies won out.

It was for the best that they did. So she let them and fed into them more. They would leave Peggy alone that way. Even if she didn’t deserve it.

“He was the best of us. He mourned Bucky more than you ever did because he would not have done what you have! Seventeen bodies!” Peggy yelled then stiffened when she heard the whisper in her ear and the gun pressed to her head.

“More like seventy. You never saw my tears for Bucky. You went to Steve. Not me. Drop it.” She said and Peggy dropped the gun as shadows began to move and close in, “Steve and Bucky were brothers. I understood that. You never told him where I went. We argued and picked on each other, but I never hated Steve. He may not have liked me much but he wouldn’t have just given up when I went missing…like you all did. I know I’m a monster. Believe me I am very aware of that but at least I can admit that I am. I know who made me this way. I know who took everything from me and nothing is going to stand in my way of destroying them. Not even you. I know you’re angry…and hurt…and that’s the only reason I’m going to make sure you get out of here alive because Steve deserved better than to be put on a pedestal and I want you to live with that questioning exactly what I mean.”

Peggy spun around yet was met with a solid blow to the head, dropping her to the floor in an instant. The windows broke and the shadows poured in. Shock collars were hidden by the time Peggy came to, telling her how lucky she had been to survive.

Blade knew in an instant what had happened later. It was easy enough for him to tell when he saw his safehouse had been accessed and found the infamous Howling Witch sitting down and poking a chunk of barely cooked meat around on a plate.

“I guess she didn’t listen.” He said and received a head shake in response, “I’m not surprised. You shouldn’t be either.”

She huffed softly in response, shaking her head again, the weight of her meal heavy in her stomach. Peggy’s words weighed heavier.

“I’m not. I can barely recognize myself in a mirror, Eric…so how can anyone else recognize me for anything but a monster?”

He sighed and set his sunglasses down, collecting his thoughts before he spoke, “What you are is not your fault. You didn’t ask for this.”

“No one else believes that, though. I don’t think they can afford to. HYDRA will take down anyone that believes me. Anyone that shows it.” She said and he nodded.

“That’s the price you gotta pay to keep your hunt alive…or are you gonna give up because no one believes you?” he asked and she scowled at him making him smirk a bit, “That’s what I thought. They’re gonna paint you as a monster as much as they can. You have to choose what kind of one you want to be.”

“Since when have you turned into my guru?”

“Since you walked in here looking like a kicked puppy.”

“Don’t call me a puppy, Eric.”

“Then stop acting like one and choose what you’re gonna do next.” He said, holding her gaze as she scowled, “You know where he is.”

“I can’t get in. You know I can’t get in! They have it locked down tight! Everyone there carries the latest shock collar they’ve developed. I’ve tried. They made it clear what they’d do if I got past the collars and it wouldn’t be done to me.”

“So? They gonna keep him on ice forever?” he asked and she paused, thinking.

“No. They’re gonna wait until just the right moment, until they’ve made him obedient. More obedient than I appeared to be. They won’t repeat the same mistakes they made with me.” She said and he nodded before sitting down to sharpen his blade.

He was right. She couldn’t get in, but eventually they would let him out. So until then she’d be waiting, preparing, and paying.

Instead of the beast they created tracking down their prized asset she became the one that lingered outside the door. The one that they knew waited in the shadows ready to pounce the moment they took their Soldier out past the safety of their electrified doors and their supply of heavy grade shock collars.

 She wasn’t far behind when they finally did.

Not that they had made it easy. She never expected that they would. Not for her and not for him.

Not after the mistakes they had made with her.

With him they’d be more careful. Yet they’d still follow a pattern of testing. They needed to know their efforts worked.

The first time they let him out onto the field it was a test. A way to see how obedient he was, how effective. It was a mission he could not fail.

They tried to move him secretly. Unknown, unannounced, unaware, but unfortunately they were never going to succeed. Not with her.

She had been getting information out of them in various ways since the war. Back then it had been through intercepted transmissions and code breaking. It still was but since they had learned to arm their soldiers with shock collars she had learned to pick through their ranks until she found a few that liked something even more than fancy new toys: Money.

Their own money that she had made hers through the years.

HYDRA liked to portray itself as above the vulgarity of monetary greed and material wealth but their vaults had plenty of it stored inside them. Millions if not more in gold, silver, jewels, vibranium, bank notes, and stolen artwork she duly returned for a nominal finder’s fee. HYDRA was anything but a non-profit charity and neither was she.

Especially with their soldiers. Try as HYDRA might to teach them the only reward they needed was the fulfillment of their goals she knew better. They all wanted power, but money would do in the meantime.

Money couldn’t get Bucky out but it could make people talk about when he was being sent into the field. Even certain ones of their own people. So when they were finally ready to let him out…she knew about it from several different sources.

She was there within hours, trailing them, observing, calculating, assessing, and searching for openings. They didn’t leave any. The she saw him again and time stopped.

The weight of it was unexpected. Twenty years with one goal in mind and there he was. The memories of him rattled and raged against their cages.

She couldn’t stop them all. She could only keep them silent as they flickered and flashed relentlessly. His touch, his comfort, the safety he had given, the smile he showed everyone else, the smile she knew had been hers and only hers, the way he’d say her name.

Focus. She had to focus. The tears burned, stinging at her eyes as she brought the scope back up.

Blue eyes…but they weren’t what she remembered. They were cold. Empty. Ready to obey.

He wasn’t Bucky. Not anymore. It wasn’t the gleaming metal arm he now had; it was the blank look in his blue eyes she spotted through the scope of her rifle. It ripped into her soul to move the scope from them to the others with him. The ones monitoring him.

Ever since her attempt to get him out from within nearly resulted in her recapture she learned to keep a larger distance between herself and anyone sporting shock collars.

All of those in his unit were. They dangled on their belts. Dull metal, pronged, and charged. Ready.

They were expecting her to take their bait.

They let him out as a test, but they were also using him as bait. She wasn’t surprised. Listening in on their communications she knew they were waiting for her to make a move.

“She’ll be here somewhere. Keep your eyes open. Last unit that encountered her in the field never came off it.”

“Then how did anyone know it was her? She leave a calling card?  Best regards The Howling Witch? She’s a fairytale.”

“No, she isn’t, and she doesn’t need to leave a calling card. She’s HYDRA trained. An experiment gone wrong and that got out.”

“Pfft…rumors.”

“Facts. You didn’t see what she did to the British Facility they trained her in. I was a new recruit back then. I was there. I got out just before they sealed the doors shut. I heard the screams…and…what I saw…”

“Shit. Why’d she do it?”

“I don’t know. They never said, but she’s why we’re here with him. She was perfect. Obedient. Went out and came back on her own. Then she snapped.”

“So…what…what do we do?”

“Get the collar on her. Hit the button. She’ll go down.”

“I meant if he does the same.”

“He won’t. They wiped his memories and personality down into nothing like they should have with her.”

“Why didn’t they?”

“I don’t know.”

She did.

They just couldn’t, but not from lack of trying. They had tried. Again and again and again and again until the lights flickered and they could turn the voltage up no higher.

It just didn’t work. Her body’s ability to heal itself was faster than their chair’s ability to hurt her. They never had a chance to try anything different.

She kept her distance as they followed him, listening to their conversations until she spotted an opening.

Small, but an opening. She took her shots. One a piece.

It was all she needed yet it wasn’t enough. She hadn’t underestimated HYDRA’s conditioning of him. She had underestimated the level of commands they would give.

The moment he saw his unit was gone he fled, acting on his orders given. He ran. He ran right back to them as he was told to.

She had just helped him succeed in his first mission and helped him pass his first test.

Sadly, it wouldn’t be the last.

“NO! Put me down!” she snarled, struggling against the thick arms of the vampire hunter that had made her his problem.

Her muscles tensed and her head throbbed harder the farther they got away. Away from the danger. Away from her soldier.

So close.

She almost had him. Close enough she could hear his heart beating in his chest. Near enough she had to slam the doors shut on her memories at the scent of him.

So close.

“You’re bleeding. The US military is swarming the countryside. You think they’re gonna just…let you go after him after you spotted their new experiment? They’re gonna bury this whole thing as deep as they can, you know that, right?” Blade asked then grunted when she hit him hard enough to let her go, running after her, catching her again only for her to pull the knife from its sheath at his side to hold it at his neck, “Calm…down…focus…”

“He was there! He was…I could have…I was…” She started, blinking rapidly, shaking her head as she held it, the blood long since stopped, but there was enough left drying it only added to the weight she felt settling in, “I was so close…”

“I know, but getting caught here…now…it wouldn’t help.” He said as he carefully gripped her wrist and moved it away, taking the knife from her, “Now come on…we gotta move. It’s not safe.”

So close.

1960s

She didn’t like shooting at him, it just so happened that sometimes she had no other choice but to do it. It was either shoot at him or let him do something she knew he’d never forgive himself for even if it wasn’t really him doing it. It was the Winter Soldier.

That’s what they called him. The Asset, Soldat, The Winter Soldier. Not his name.

So that’s what she told herself.

It wasn’t Bucky she shot at.

It was the Winter Soldier.

The Winter Soldier was not Bucky.

He wasn’t.

So she wasn’t shooting at Bucky, she was shooting at the Winter Soldier…because she had to. HYDRA had forced her to.

Never to seriously harm him, only to stop him from things if she could. To slow him down. To correct their assumptions.

“I see I have found a flaw…you hesitate because you know he’ll obey without question. Even if it means being my shield.”

This officer was admittedly more intelligent than the others had been. Instead of looking around blindly for where the shots were coming from he had ordered the Soldier to shield him. It had made her hesitate, but not out of reluctance.

She needed to reload and adjust the scope slightly.

“That’s right. Stay in front of me. Stay right thg-gcchk”

Blood splattered on the concrete behind him. The Soldier turned abruptly to look at the gaping hole now in the officer’s neck. She ejected the shell from the chamber with a satisfied hum before pocketing it as she always did. Then she paused.

He didn’t run. The Soldier did not run.

Something flashed across his blue eyes as they turned from the blood on the wall towards the direction she was in. His shock soon shifted to a scowl. Then he did something new.

She listened to the orders being barked at him to retreat, to return to base, to report in, and yet…he didn’t. Instead he pulled his communications earpiece out and picked up a rifle. One with a scope.

“Shit.” She cursed and ducked down out of sight; she knew he wouldn’t miss if he spotted her.

It was her turn to run. Yet as she did her stomach swirled with a nauseating mixture of guilt and hope. She had never run from him before…but he had disobeyed.

He had reacted, shown something in those eyes besides blind obedience, and disobeyed.

She knew it wouldn’t last, but it was something. Just what kind of something was it?

Was he doing as she had? Pretending? Feigning obedience?

No. Not that she didn’t think Bucky was capable or prone to such a thing. She just knew it wasn’t that. She just knew that would have looked different.

This…she had pissed him off, but he had done something unexpected.

The thoughts of it echoed and swirled in her head for days afterwards. Her nights were filled with them. Every waking hour contemplated the possibilities. Every mome-

“You need to sleep.” The door shut behind the dhampir as he walked in, setting his guns on the table next to his eponymous blades, “You know what’ll come next.”

“I’m fine.”

“No…you’re not.” He said as he shot her a sharp look and set several containers of food on the table, “Eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit. Eat. I’m not going through that shit again.” He said and threw a wrapped-up sandwich at her, “Eat. Sleep. Rest. We gotta get out of here in the morning.”

“But he’s here.” she said as she sat up, rubbing her eyes with one hand while the other held the thick sandwich he had flung at her.

“Not anymore. If you had slept you’d remember that. Eat.” He said again, pointing a finger at the sandwich she held, “Then get some fucking sleep before you start seeing shit that isn’t real again.”

She glared and ripped the wrapper off the sandwich before stuffing it into her mouth, growling as she bit down. Saliva pooled in her mouth at the taste, her stomach roiling, yet she swallowed the bite anyway. It hit her stomach hard and each subsequent bite hit harder, weighing her down even more.

Sleep didn’t come easy. It never did after she saw Buc-The Winter Soldier. Not when her bed threatened to swallow her whole with its emptiness. Sitting in it, tired as she was, it seemed to stretch out into an endless void of cold. A desert of snow. Just like where they were taking him back to.

“You need to sleep, sweetheart.”

She looked up from her spot on the floor knowing full well what she would see on the bed. Him as he had been. Hair slicked back, dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, tie loose, sleeves rolled up, blue eyes locked on hers that were no longer the soft grey he would have known.

“You’re not real.” She said with a sigh and looked back at the ceiling, “Go away…”

“You know if I go the rest will come.”

“Go away.”

“Why do you do this? He’s not me. He would have shot you. You need to let me go.”

“Go…away…” she said again, pressing her palms into her eyes, “Go away. Go away. Go away. Not real. You’re not real.”

“But you want me to be. I’m not comin’ back, sweetie. Even if you get him out…there’s nothing left of me there. You know what they do. They got their tentacles in and ripped me out. He’s not me. He never will be. All you got is me. The me that still knows who you are and won’t run whenever he sees you. You know why he does, why he shot at you. They told him you’re a monster. Something to fear, disgust, and to get rid of. Just like they told Peggy.”

“Go away!” She snarled, rivers forming down her cheeks when her gaze landed on empty air, “Not real…he wasn’t real. Sleep. I need to sleep. I need t-”

A different voice.

“Once upon a time…in a village not far from ours…a family quite different from ours lived. The father, stepmother, and two children…”

“Eddie…please…” she sniffled, shaking her head at the sound of her brother’s voice speaking a language he shouldn’t have been, “Not that one…”

“You used to like that one…” he said and she shook her head, curled up around the pillow she had brought with her, blanket wrapped around her while she looked behind her and saw him there.

Short dark curly hair, glasses perched on his nose, grey eyes like hers had been wearing a crisp clean white shirt and neatly pressed pants. His favorite brown pair. He looked just as tired as she was.

“I don’t want to hear about the gingerbread house again…or food…” she answered as she turned to face him, “Anything but that…I want to sleep…not vomit.”

“Picky picky…but fine…let’s see…Once upon a time, quite long ago, in a land far different from ours…” He began, both phantom and sister unaware of the brown eyes peering through the door, shaking his head while shutting it softly.

She woke the next morning alone as she had since the last time Bucky had left her. Yet the memory of his disobedience returned swiftly. As did his anger.

She just needed to figure out how to duplicate it. She needed to learn how to draw out his disobedience again. To trigger him to think.

Safely.

Secretly.

*******

A/N: Now. This is part one. Part two is coming hopefully by Thursday (I'd say by Wednesday my time but...I have things that will possibly interfere. If we're lucky it'll get done today. Depends on weather). It may be some time before the rest of the story is out. I'm trying. There's a lot going on and there are a lot of moments of doubt that are surfacing as I write. I know roughly where I want to end it. I just need to work my way there without the same kind of road map I've had from the MCU up to where I'm at right now.

There's a lot of mental health issues in the story. I'm not an expert by any means on mental health, healing, or recovery. I research what I can but I'm not an expert (and when you have characters that aren't exactly human it gets harder to work out). It's just something that's going to be explored and since May is an awareness month I'd love to get this done this month.

Interactions, comments, reblogs, asks...they keep me motivated. I appreciate every like, kudos, bookmark, and view, I sincerely do, but if you really want to motivate me to get it all done and out: comment, reblog, send asks, tell me.

Masterlists: Howling Witch🔹MASTER Masterlist

Ao3 Link: Prologue Part 1 (Registered users only due to recent scraping issues)

Next Part: Prologue Part 2

[lonely-moonshine-still]

🎪💙

This is an original custom i creaded for a secret santa last year!

Their horns, clothes and arrow heads are made from apoxie sculpt, and the arrows through their head from a piece of wire.

I wanted this custom to have a harlequin look to it and am really happy with how they turned out. Red, black and white are my go to colours for any time I choose a colour scheme, so I wanted to add some blue in there as well to highlight and add some more interest to the character.

Overall, I really love how this one came out and definitely miss having them around 😅

[evnseokz]

hii, hope you're doing well!

i'm thinking... bf!jungwon asks to record the sounds while doing sex and his gf decides to surprise him by asking him to cum inside

my first ever ask!! thank you so much for sending 🫶 hopefully i did this suggestion justice ^_^

pairing: bf! jungwon x f. reader

contents: p in v, unprotected sex (do nawt be like them), recording of moans/sex, pet names: baby, babe, kissing, nipple play

w.c. 640

his cock was nestled deep inside you, stretching you out so well. his thrusts were slow and deep, his tip kissing your cervix. your hands gripping his biceps as hard as you could, moans spilling from your lips.

jungwon was obsessed with the way you sounded, your moans being like music to his ears. an idea popped into his head. “baby, can i record your moans please?” he asked suddenly. your eyes which were closed previously, shot open, blush creeping onto your cheeks. “w-what?” you ask, slightly embarrassed at the question. “it’ll be for my ears only babe i swear, just for when i’m away and need to hear you.” he replied sensing hesitancy in your voice. you chewed on your lip as you racked your brain for an answer. finally you nod, jungwon not wasting another second to lean over to grab his phone off the nightstand and hit record. he set the phone down next to your body and focused his attention back to you and only you.

he continued his thrusts into you, light whimpers still falling from your lips, but now hyper aware of the phone recording you, you seemed to be holding back. “c’mon baby let me hear you” jungwon pouted. jungwon picked up his pace without warning, thrusting into you with speed, thus causing loud moans to fall from your mouth. jungwon smiled in satisfaction as he brought his hand down to your heat, and started rubbing circles on your clit. you cry out, the combination of him filling you up so well with his cock and the attention to your clit being all too much. jungwon smirked to himself, feeling you clench around his cock, he groaned slightly.

he can tell you’re close, his thrusts never slow and he leans down to capture you in a kiss. “feels s’good won” you mumble against his lips, he breaks away, and peppers kisses down your neck and to your chest. he brings his mouth down to your nipples, swirling and sucking on the sensitive nubs. the extra sensation sending waves of pleasure through your body, your orgasm ripping through you as jungwon continues to thrust in and out of you, seemingly chasing his own high. “w-where do you want me? i’m c-close” he stutters slightly. you contemplate in your head for a moment. “baby hurry and answer i can’t last much longer” he whines.

you wrap your legs around his waist trapping him in place as he continues to thrust inside you. you can tell he’s holding himself back from cumming, and you giggle slightly at his frustration. “baby it’s not f-funny” his head hangs as his balls begin to tighten. “i’m serious where do you want me” he says again. you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to be face to face with you, “inside” you say simply. you bite your lip, starting to feel overstimulated from his thrusts. shock is written all over jungwons face, “a-are you su-“ “yes.” you cut him off before he can even finish his question. you smash your lips into his, clenching around him slightly as you feel a second orgasm bubbling up in your stomach. he moans loudly, his hips stuttering and his thrusts becoming sloppy, emptying his seed into your cunt. your second orgasm follows shortly after, milking him for everything he has.

he reaches to his phone, pressing end recording and then he collapses on top of you, you shrieking slightly at the sudden weight on your body. “wonnn you’re heavy” you whine. he slowly lifts himself up, looking you in your face, “sorry baby, you were just too good” he smiled before dropping down to pepper your face with kisses. you giggle, managing to capture his lips into yours for a quick kiss. he pulls away, “i love you so much” he says, “i love you so much my wonie.”

[dollniu]

late nite spicy headcanons with niu ! 🌃💋— JJK men

synopsis — part 2 of late nite spicy jjk headcanons with niu !

characters — sukuna, gojo, choso, nanami, toji, ino, higuruma

content — blood play, praise kink, bondage, overstimulation, clothes swap, angry sex, consensual recording, nipple play, oral sex, shower sex, overstimulation, cyber sex, mutual masturbation, office sex, after care, first time, nudes, double penetration, neck kisses, lingerie, spanking, and cuddle sex

info — y’all showed so much love on my first ‘late nite spicy headcanons’ so i thought i’d do another one!

other — MDNI 🔞, if you have any prompt requests or suggestions, feel free to reblog or comment!

SUKUNA — “so pathetic for me, do you need a punishment?”

sukuna lovesss blood, especially the taste of yours. even when you’re on your period, he doesn’t care and will eat you out and even fuck you however he wants. he just loves the taste

his favorite foreplay is sucking on your tits or chest, just playing with your nipple while he sucking, biting, and licking the living shit out of the other 🤭

there’s nothing our king of curses loves more than lingerie, specifically the red lacey ones that put your tits and ass on full display 🤭 he imagines himself ripping them off your body and fucking you right then and there

our two dicked king will double penetrate you regardless of what position y’all are in, fucking you in both wholes makes the experience 10x more pleasurable especially at the fast speed sukuna goes at.. practically breaking you apart

he calls you names like “doll”, “slut”, “pathetic thing”, anything that dehumanizes you and turns u into a play thing for him to toy with

GOJO — “you like it when i’m fucking you like this, princess?”

gojo has plenty of kinks, one of his favorites being handcuffs! specifically on himself, the black fluffy ones are his fav 😚 putting his hands behind his back, on his knees, the intimacy of not knowing what you’ll do to him next is enough to make him cum! touching him, riding him, fucking him, it’s all too much for our sensitive satoru ♥️

occasionally, while he’s teaching or out on a mission, you’ll send him a casual lewd photo which usually leads to him finishing up whatever he’s doing rather quickly… to teleport home and fuck the shit out of you

his favorite place to have sex is in the shower, just showering together is enough for him but being able to push you up against the marble wall while fucking you, the hot steam making it hard to breath, it feels god so good

gojo will call you princess/prince, but in and out of the bedroom!

a single neck kiss can send gojo into a complete horny frenzy, peppering his neck in slow and steady hickeys and kisses drives him absolutely insane, it’s his most sensitive part after all

CHOSO — “please keep using me, just like that..”

there’s nothing choso likes more than pathetic overstimulation, feeling everything at once— fucking you, getting his dick sucked just right, riding him, he can’t help but let out sweet loud moans and whimpers 🤭

choso also lovesss it when your loud, specifically screaming his name. while he’s fucking you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again, your moans just make him fuck you harder !

he has a huge praise kink, loves being called a good boy and will absolutely beg for you to touch him, “i’ll be good, please just touch me- please!”

mutual masturbation is so intimate yet romantic in a way, choso loves fingering you and playing with your clit, hearing how good you sound when he’s pleasuring you. along with getting his dick stroked? he’ll melt 😫

his fav position is cuddle sex for sure, slowly grinding against you just before bed turns into an endless night of cumming from behind you!

NANAMI — “you’re so beautiful beneath me, my love.”

nanami loves making you feel good especially through praise. making you feel special, stroking your hair and guiding you through everything, saying how good your doing, etc etc. he can’t get enough of it

nothing turns him on like when he sees you wearing nothing but his dress shirt that practically looks like a dress on you! it won’t be long till he drags you to the bed and fucks you with it on 😵‍💫

feeling your hands on his chest while you’re riding him is probably one of the best feelings in the world, feeling you scratch at his skin out of pleasure is something he didn’t know he liked till you started doing it

he’ll fuck you on his office desk, just saying. whenever you stop by at work in an outfit that’s a little too revealing he’ll practically drag you to his office and strip you down, pushing you onto his desk and fucking you good.

nanami is hugeee on after-care, like this man will clean you up, cuddle you, bring you water and food, everything to make you feel loved and cared for

TOJI — “i’ll cum in you over and over till i’m tired of it.”

toji is ROUGH, like really rough. he will bite you, shove his tongue down your throat, choke you, all while pounding into you and repeatedly cumming inside of you! (similarly to sukuna!)

he’s prone to fucking you while he’s mad, basically fucking his anger into you which makes him an uncontrollable horny bastard that’ll fuck you till he’s finished 😫

this man lovesss your ass, especially spanking it while fucking you from the back!

he uses his tongue fairly often during sex, which is probably why he likes oral so much. eating you out, making you cum over and over again.. along with licking your sensitive skin while he’s fucking you, he loves the taste of you

toji likes recording him fucking you, in every position, eating you out, fucking you from the back, and especially from the front cause he gets to see you become a complete mess. he keeps them saved on his face just in case you send him a teasing text which you’ll probably regret later

INO — “dont touch me there i’ll- fuck.. cum!”

before you and ino met, he always avoided anything intimate besides casual make out seshs. so his first time with you was absolutely fucking life changing. he was arching his back at the smallest touches, putting in just the tip made him almost cum immediately, he’s extremely sensitive!

ino becomes a blabbering mess during sex, like he genuinely can’t stop talking and mutters quiet “you feel s’fucking good’s”and “god, please don’t stop’s”.

during sex, he can’t help but crack small jokes that make the whole experience 10x funnier, whole time he’s fucking you, y’all are just giggling with moans in between them 🤭

he LOVES EATING PUSSY!! end of story.

ino’s a sucker for titty pics and def jerks off to pics of yours whenever he misses you a little too much.. he’s a little perv that can’t control his desires for you!

HIGURUMA — “dear, if you keep looking at me like that i won’t be able to control myself.”

he’ll let you ride that big nose and we all know it! i’ll make this known till i die, higuruma’s favorite sex position is when your sitting right on his face, grinding your clit against his nose as he explores your cunt with his tongue

he can’t control himself when you beg for him, looking up at him with pleading eyes that are wet with tears, drives him absolutely crazy

higuruma is usually away at work for long periods of time, sometimes making it home only for you to be already asleep :( so whenever he’s out for the night and staying at a hotel, a quick facetime call of pleasuring yourself all night long does just the job

he has a thing for you being on your knees for him, especially eye contact. he likes squeezing your checks and holding up your face to look at his regardless of how embarrassing it is for you because seeing how much of a mess you are is just what higuruma needs for him to cum in you!

you’ve had bath tub sex with him far too many times, with and without a suit on. the warm water while your bouncing on his dick is just what our overworked lawyer needs after a long day at work 😵‍💫

[diamonddaze01]

Full Throttle (ii)

pairing: ferrari driver!yoon jeonghan x journalist!reader chapter wc: 16.7K (dont look at me)genre: humor, fluff, angst, smut (?) au: f1 au (i am sorry i am a nerd abt this) rating: m (MINORS DNI)warnings: SLOW BURNNN. mentions of injuries, car crashes // unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), some nipple-play, vaguely (?) rough (?) sex, begging

PREQUELS: would highly recommend reading On the Record and Off the Record to gain some context into the relationship! This fic starts directly after the end of Off the Record 

a/n: ok pt 2 here we gooooo! to kae @ylangelegy , who hasn't read the ending of this because they wanted to be surprised. i love you, im sorry, i love you // to alta @haologram , who hyped me up so much and made me feel so much better about my writing // thank you to lola @monamipencil and haneul @chanranghaeys for beta-reading! // and finally, an ENORMOUS thank you to jupiter @cheolism for the banner!

read part 1 here.

FORMULA 1 PIRELLI GRAN PREMIO D’ITALIA 2024 Track: Autodromo Nazionale Monza

Monza, the Temple of Speed. The track that had seen countless legends, where every tire mark told a story of glory and heartache. The crowd—the tifosi—roared like a living entity, their chants filling the air, demanding greatness from Ferrari’s finest. It wasn’t just a race here, it was a pilgrimage. The heat of Italy in late summer mixed with the electric atmosphere of a home Grand Prix, and Jeonghan could feel it all—the energy, the expectation, the weight of a thousand eyes on him.

The Autodromo Nazionale Monza was a track built on speed, but more than that, it was a track built on history. The sweeping curves, the long straights, the iconic Parabolica that would make or break a driver—it was a place where only the brave thrived, and only the strongest survived. Jeonghan knew the stakes: it wasn’t enough to be fast, not when you were wearing Ferrari red. He had to win, not just for himself, but for the tifosi, who saw him as their golden boy. He had to deliver.

As the weekend progressed, he couldn’t escape the growing weight on his shoulders. His performance was scrutinized with every passing second. In the pits, the team’s eyes were on him, hoping for that perfect lap. The techs, the engineers, the strategists—all working in harmony, hoping that Jeonghan would be the one to pull them across the finish line, but in the back of his mind, Jeonghan kept hearing the unspoken truth: nothing less than pole would suffice. Anything less was a failure.

He felt his pulse quicken as the qualifying session wore on, his concentration laser-sharp, every move calculated. But the tire strategy wasn’t perfect, and as the final moments ticked down, the truth settled over him like a cloud of doom. He was not going to make Q3. Neither was Soonyoung. The agony of it slammed into him like a punch to the gut.

The Ferrari garage was quiet, save for the hum of the engines being powered down. Soonyoung clapped him on the shoulder, a small gesture, but Jeonghan could see the frustration in his eyes, the mirror of his own defeat. The disappointment felt like a heavy weight on Jeonghan’s chest, suffocating, and he couldn’t shake it off. He couldn’t even look at the team, let alone the tifosi waiting outside.

The mood around the paddock was tense as Jeonghan left the garage, still in his race suit. The world felt unreal, as though it were in slow motion. He couldn’t escape it. The tifosi would be waiting to cheer their heroes, but today, he hadn’t been the hero they wanted. He was just another failure in a sea of victories that had come before him. He needed to escape it, to clear his mind.

It was then, as he walked toward his motorhome, that he felt it—a small, electric connection. Your hand brushed against his.

He froze.

Your presence was like a balm, soothing the sharp sting of defeat, but it also distracted him. The familiar, intoxicating scent of your shampoo, something floral and faintly sweet, hit him like a memory, and his heart skipped a beat. That scent, mixed with the lingering tension of the day, flooded his senses. He couldn’t look at you, couldn’t form words. All he could think about was that fleeting moment—so close—and the ridiculous notion that he had never noticed how desperately he wanted to be closer to you.

You didn’t stop walking either, your movements fluid, confident. But he couldn’t help the way his eyes followed you, the way the tension built with every step.

Without a word, you both continued on, the space between you shrinking until you finally spoke. Your voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, something that told him you understood more than he let on.

“Tough luck out there,” you said, a hint of sympathy in your tone.

The words were simple, but they hit harder than he expected. His chest tightened as he swallowed. “It’s... whatever,” he muttered, trying to brush it off. He didn’t have the energy to care.

You glanced at his fist, clenched so tightly it was almost painful to watch. “Doesn’t seem like ‘whatever’ to me,” you countered, raising an eyebrow, your words cutting through the fog in his mind.

He let out a small, mirthless chuckle. “I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice more convincing than he felt. But even as he said it, he knew. He wouldn’t be fine—not until he had redeemed himself, not until he could prove to the world that he was still Ferrari’s shining star. He had to be.

But for now, there was a fleeting connection between the two of you, and it was the only thing that made his heart skip, even if just for a moment.

The race was an uphill battle from the start, as expected. Jeonghan’s starting position was far from ideal, and the track ahead was a maze of cars, each one blocking his path, each one a reminder of the high stakes. The pressure weighed on him heavily, like an invisible force that squeezed the air from his lungs. It wasn’t just about the race, it was about redemption. The tifosi—his tifosi—filled his mind with a deafening chant, a roar of expectation, as if they were willing victory into existence. The weight of their adoration and their demand for perfection followed him, a constant reminder of the legacy he carried.

But Jeonghan had never been one to back down. The track felt like an extension of himself, the tires gripping, the engine vibrating beneath him, urging him to push. Even with traffic clogging his way, he found openings. He fought for every inch of track, his movements sharp, instinctive, like a surgeon making precise cuts. Overtaking felt almost effortless—his car slipping through gaps with the grace of a dancer. He was fluid, controlled, never losing sight of the goal.

As the laps unfolded, his nerves sharpened, but so did his focus. The aggressive strategy that had been laid out for him was beginning to pay off. He was making up ground, inching forward, climbing the ladder of positions one battle at a time. The thought of the tifosi cheering, of their voices blending into one thunderous symphony, drove him. They believed in him. He had to deliver. His mind cleared. He no longer heard the roaring crowds, the whirling thoughts of doubt. All that mattered was the track, the tires, and the roar of the engine beneath him. The conditions became his advantage—he thrived in this chaos.

Through the speed-trap corners, Jeonghan carved his way through the field. The world outside the cockpit blurred into a haze, his focus narrowing into sharp precision. He saw every gap, every opportunity, and he seized them without hesitation. The rain had turned the race into a dance of risk and control, and Jeonghan was leading the waltz.

Crossing the finish line first, Jeonghan allowed himself a single moment of release. The victory wasn’t just for him—it was for Ferrari, for the tifosi, for everything that had been building in his chest since the first day he’d strapped into the car. He had done it. He had delivered.

The roar of the crowd felt like an affirmation of his own heart, beating in time with the cheers of thousands. In that moment, the weight lifted off him, replaced by an overwhelming surge of satisfaction and relief. He had proven himself once again, and it was more sweet than any victory lap could ever capture. The tifosi were wild, their cheers ringing through the air, a thunderous confirmation of what Jeonghan had already known in his heart: this was his race. This was his victory.

After the podium celebrations, the champagne-soaked cheers, and the endless barrage of media questions, Jeonghan finally managed to steal a moment of solitude. His body was spent, muscles aching, his throat raw from the adrenaline-fueled roar that had escaped him as he crossed the finish line. And yet, his mind wasn’t on the race anymore. Not on the points, not on the tifosi.

It was on you.

The fleeting brush of your hand earlier lingered like a phantom touch, a warmth that refused to fade even as the hours passed. The memory of your scent—the subtle floral notes of your shampoo—clung to him, more grounding than the overwhelming chaos of the Monza circuit.

He walked toward his motorhome, each step feeling heavier now that the adrenaline had begun to wane. The din of the paddock was fading, replaced by the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat in his ears. The glow of the overhead lights cast long shadows, and as he turned the corner, there you were. Waiting for him. Leaning casually against the side of his motorhome, your arms crossed and a knowing smirk dancing on your lips. His footsteps slowed as his eyes locked onto yours, the soft gleam of your smile both a challenge and an invitation.

“You’re late,” you teased, tilting your head in mock disapproval.

Jeonghan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he approached. “Didn’t realize I was on a schedule.”

“You’re always on a schedule,” you shot back, your tone light but your gaze sharp. “Besides, I thought you’d be faster off track too.”

His smirk deepened as he stopped in front of you, close enough that the scent of champagne and adrenaline clung to him. “Big words for someone who’s hanging around my motorhome.”

“Big win for someone who barely made it out of Q2,” you quipped, the corner of your mouth twitching upward.

Jeonghan’s chuckle was low, almost indulgent. “Touché.”

There was a moment of silence, the din of the paddock fading into a distant hum. His eyes traced your face, noting the way your lashes cast faint shadows on your cheekbones, the way you seemed perfectly at ease under his scrutiny. That unnerved him more than he cared to admit. You’d always been too good at staying cool, keeping him on edge.

“So,” he finally said, leaning casually against the doorframe, “where’s your article? Shouldn’t it be out by now?”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Oh, you think I’m done? I’m holding out for an exclusive.”

Jeonghan’s grin widened, his ego soaking up your words. “An exclusive? From the tifosi’s god?”

Your laugh was soft, teasing, and it sent a warmth through his chest that rivaled the rush of the race. “Your words, not mine.”

“You want a headline that bad?” His voice dropped, his tone dipping into something darker, something that made the air between you shift.

“Maybe,” you replied, your voice steady despite the way he was looking at you now—like he was ready to devour you whole. “But you’d have to give me something worth writing about.”

It was playful, the banter you always shared, but there was something crackling beneath the surface tonight, an electricity neither of you could ignore. Jeonghan stepped closer, his presence swallowing the space between you. You shifted back instinctively, your spine meeting the cool surface of the motorhome door.

“You always have something to say, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low, intimate.

“Someone has to keep you grounded,” you shot back, though your voice wavered slightly as his hand braced against the door beside your head, caging you in. His other hand hovered near your hip, close enough to make you hyper-aware of the heat radiating off him.

“Grounded?” he repeated, his lips curling into a slow, predatory smile. “You’re doing a great job of that.”

Your heart was pounding now, the proximity, the tension—it was overwhelming. “Jeonghan,” you started, your voice quieter, more measured, “this… this isn’t professional.”

“Fuck being professional,” he said, the words slipping out like a confession. Before you could respond, his fingers tilted your jaw, firm but not rough, guiding you to look up at him.

And then his lips were on yours, capturing them in a kiss that was as fierce as it was unrelenting. It wasn’t sweet or tentative—it was raw, all the tension and frustration that had built up between you spilling over in a single, consuming moment. His hand slid to the nape of your neck, anchoring you to him as if he was afraid you might pull away.

But you didn’t. You kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands finding the front of his race suit, clutching the material as if to steady yourself. The world around you blurred into nothing; there was only the warmth of his mouth, the taste of him, the way he kissed like he was claiming something he’d wanted for far too long.

Jeonghan’s breath hitched as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours for something—confirmation, permission, anything. Whatever he found made him grin, wicked and hungry. Without a word, he reached for the door handle, pushing it open with a sharp motion. The door swung wide, and then his hands were on you again, pulling you inside. 

The door clicked shut behind you, plunging you both into the dim interior of the motorhome. Jeonghan's hands were everywhere at once, tracing the curve of your waist, sliding up your back, tangling in your hair. His lips found yours again, more urgent this time, as if he couldn't bear to be separated from you for even a moment.

You stumbled backward, your legs hitting the edge of the small couch. Jeonghan followed, never breaking contact, until you were lying beneath him, the leather cool against your heated skin. His weight pressed you down, a delicious pressure that made your head spin.

"God, I've wanted this for so long," he breathed against your neck, his words punctuated by hot, open-mouthed kisses that trailed down to your collarbone.

You arched into him, your hands fumbling with the zipper of his race suit. Your fingers trembled slightly as you tugged it down and yanked off his fireproofs, revealing more of his sweat-slicked skin. Jeonghan groaned against your throat as your hands slipped inside, exploring the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen.

"How long?" you managed to ask between ragged breaths, curiosity mingling with desire.

Jeonghan lifted his head, his eyes dark and intense as they locked onto yours. "Since the first time you interviewed me," he admitted, his voice low and husky. "The way you challenged me, saw right through my bullshit... I knew I was in trouble."

The confession sent a thrill through you, and you pulled him down for another searing kiss. Your tongues danced as his hands roamed your body, pushing up your shirt to caress the soft skin beneath. You gasped into his mouth as his thumb brushed the underside of your breast.

Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging gently as you deepened the kiss. Jeonghan groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. His hand slid lower, tracing the curve of your hip before gripping your thigh, hitching it up around his waist. 

“So what you’re saying,” you whispered, grinding your clothed cunt against him. “Is that you’ve been obsessed with me as long as I have with you.”

He drops his head and groans, hot and heavy, against your throat. “You’re telling me we could have been doing this for three years?”

You pull him back to your lips by his hair, relishing the way he hisses at your touch. “If only you’d put your money where your mouth is, pretty boy.”

At that, he props himself up above you, grinning like the cat that got the canary. “I knew you called me pretty in Japan!” 

You desperately claw at his shoulders in an attempt to bring his mouth back to yours. After three years of cat and mouse, you do believe you’re entitled to it. “Jeonghan, I swear to everything that is holy-”

“Say it.” His necklace hangs in front of you, glinting in the dim light of the motorhome. You have half a mind to crane your neck and take it with your teeth. But instead, you choose to stare up at him in mock confusion, fingers dancing at the nape of his neck. 

“Say what?”

His answering laugh mocks you a little, and he leans down to gently bite your earlobe. When he speaks, it’s low and deep. “Say I’m pretty. I know you think it when you’re drunk.”

You shiver at the sensation of his teeth grazing your ear, heat pooling in your core. His words make you flush, remembering all the times you'd drunkenly gushed about him to your friends. You'd always been careful to keep things professional in person, but apparently some of your true feelings had slipped out.

"And how would you know what I think when I'm drunk?" you challenge, trying to regain some control.

Jeonghan chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. "You're not the only one with sources in the paddock, sweetheart."

The pet name sends another thrill through you. You decide to give him what he wants, if only to move things along. "Fine," you breathe, trailing your fingers down his chest. "You're pretty, Jeonghan. Gorgeous, actually. Happy now?"

His grin is triumphant as he captures your lips again, the kiss deep and consuming. "Ecstatic, darling," he murmurs against your mouth.

Your hands roam his body, tracing the lean muscles of his back, feeling them flex under your touch. Jeonghan's fingers dance along your sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He breaks the kiss to nip at your jaw, then your neck, drawing a soft moan from your lips.

"You know," he says between kisses, his voice low and husky, "I've imagined this so many times. On the couch in the media room, in the garage, during those long interviews..."

You gasp as he finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck. "Is that why you always fidget so much during our talks?"

He chuckles against your skin. "Guilty as charged."

Your hands find the waistband of his fireproofs, , but as one hand curls around your jaw, the other stops you. 

“You first,” he breathes, sitting back on his knees to gently urge you out of your shirt.

You lift your arms, allowing him to peel your shirt off slowly, his eyes drinking in every inch of newly exposed skin. The cool air of the motorhome raises goosebumps on your flesh, but Jeonghan's heated gaze makes you feel like you're burning up.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the lace edge of your bra. "Even better than I imagined."

You reach up to pull him back down to you, craving the warmth of his body against yours. As your lips meet again, his hands roam your sides, mapping out every curve and dip. You arch into his touch, desperate for more.

His hands brush over your clothed nipple, and you inhale sharply. The sound makes Jeonghan raise his head, a faint smirk dancing across his lips. “Sensitive, are we?” He coos, hands drawing shapes against the swell of your breasts until goosebumps erupt on your flesh.

Your breath hitches as his fingers tease you though the thin fabric of your bra. “Jeonghan,” you breathe, half-warning, half-plea.

His smirk widens as he lowers his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. "Yes, sweetheart?" He murmurs against your skin. His lips trail lower, ghosting over the lacework.

You arch your back, silently begging for more. Jeonghan obliges, his tongue darting out to trace the lace edge of your bra. Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you hold him close.

With deft fingers, he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra. You lift slightly, allowing him to slide it off. His eyes darken as he takes you in. You moan wantonly, arching your back in an effort to touch you - somewhere, anywhere.

“Jeonghan, please-”

A singular finger traces the curve of your waist up to your collarbone. He hums as you squirm. “Look at you,” he murmurs. You shriek as he pinches your waist. “You act so big in the paddock, and here you are, begging for me to touch you.”

It enrages you a little, how easily he takes you apart. Hell, he’s barely even touched you and you’re already rubbing your thighs together, desperate for any amount of friction.

"Jeonghan, please," you gasp, not even sure what you're begging for. More? Less? Everything?

He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours. The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch. "Tell me what you want," he says, his voice low and commanding.

You swallow hard, and the heat pooling between your legs feels hot enough to burn. “Y-your-”

“My what, baby?” His words are punctuated by hot, open mouthed kisses against your collarbones. He pointedly ignores your nipples, a thought that makes you whine. “Speak up.”

“Your mouth, Jeonghan,” you finally get out, hissing when his teeth find purchase on the skin of your neck.

“Yeah? Where, baby?” His hands fit themselves against the curve of your waist. “Here?”

“N-no,” you hate it, the way Jeonghan turns you into a whimpering mess. You shiver as his hands trail up your body.

“Hm…how about…here?” His thumbs brush against the underside of your breast again, and you arch your back, desperate and aching for him.

“Higher,” you breathe, mesmerized by the way his fingers dance up your body, by the way his eyes never leave yours.

“Here, baby?” His fingers tweak an already-hard nipple, and you gasp.

“Yes, please-”

“Say I’m a good driver, sweetheart, and I’ll give you what you want.”

Your eyes snap open, narrowing at him in disbelief. Even now, with you half-naked and writhing beneath him, he can't help but tease. "You're kidding, right?"

Jeonghan's grin is wicked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Not at all. Come on, darling. Just a few little words."

You bite your lip, torn between your pride and your desperate need for his touch. His thumb circles your nipple lazily, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Finally, you cave. "Fine," you breathe. "You're a good driver, Jeonghan. The best, even. Now please—"

Before you can finish, his mouth is on your breast, hot and wet. You cry out, arching into him as his tongue swirls around your nipple. His hand kneads your other breast, fingers teasing your other nipple. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close as he lavishes attention on your breasts. Jeonghan's tongue and teeth work in tandem, drawing gasps and moans from your lips. The sensations are overwhelming, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

"God, Jeonghan," you breathe, your head falling back against the couch cushions.

He hums against your skin, the vibration sending another shiver through you. His free hand trails down your stomach, fingers dancing along the waistband of your pants. You lift your hips instinctively, silently begging for more.

Jeonghan lifts his head, his eyes dark with desire as they meet yours. "Tell me you want this," he says, his voice husky and low. "I need to hear you say it."

You nod frantically, your breath coming in short gasps. "Yes," you breathe, your voice filled with need. "I want this. I want you, Jeonghan."

His eyes darken further at your words, a low growl escaping his throat. In one swift motion, he unbuttons your pants and slides them down your legs, taking your underwear with them. You kick them off eagerly, now fully bare beneath him.

Jeonghan's gaze rakes over your body, hungry and appreciative. "Beautiful," he murmurs, his hands skimming up your thighs. "So fucking beautiful."

You reach for him, tugging at the fireproofs still clinging to his hips. "Your turn," you say, your voice breathy with anticipation.

He grins, standing to shuck off the rest of his clothes. Your eyes widen as he reveals himself fully, drinking in the sight of his toned body. Jeonghan's grin widened as he caught you staring. "Like what you see?" he teased, his voice low and husky.

You nod, unable to form words as your eyes roam his body. The lean muscles of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his hipbones, the impressive length of his cock standing proud against his stomach - it was all even better than you'd imagined.

He chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?"

That snapped you out of your daze. "Shut up and get back here," you growl, reaching for him.

Jeonghan obliges, lowering himself back onto the couch and covering your body with his. You gasp at the feeling of skin on skin, the heat of his body against yours. His lips find yours in a searing kiss as his hands explore every curve and dip of your body. When his fingers finally brush against your core, you gasp into his mouth, your hips bucking involuntarily.

“So wet,” he murmurs against your lips. “All for me?”

"Yes," you breathe, your hips rolling against his hand. "All for you."

Jeonghan's fingers explore your folds, teasing and mapping out every sensitive spot. When he finally slides a finger inside you, you moan loudly, your back arching off the couch. He sets a slow, torturous pace, curling his finger just right to hit that spot inside you that makes you see stars.

"More," you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders. "Please, Jeonghan."

He obliges, adding a second finger and increasing his pace. His thumb finds your clit, circling it in tight, precise movements that have you writhing beneath him. You can feel the tension building in your core, a coiling heat that threatens to consume you. Your hands scramble for purchase against his shoulders – you’re too drunk on lust to recognize if you’re pushing him away because it’s too much or pulling him closer because it’s not nearly enough. 

"That's it, baby," Jeonghan murmurs, his voice low and encouraging. "Let go for me.”

His words push you over the edge, and you come with a cry, your body arching off the couch as waves of pleasure wash over you. Jeonghan works you through it, his fingers never stopping their relentless rhythm until you're trembling and oversensitive.

As you come down from your high, Jeonghan peppers soft kisses along your jaw and neck. "Beautiful," he murmurs against your skin. "You're so beautiful when you let go."

You're still catching your breath when you feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh. Your hand snakes between your bodies, wrapping around his cock. Jeonghan hisses at the contact, his hips jerking involuntarily.

"Fuck," he groans, his forehead resting against yours. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

"Show me," you breathe, thumb brushing over the tip of his pre-cum slick cock. You relish the way he shudders against you. “Show me everything you imagined, pretty boy.”

He preens a little at your teasing words, arms shaking with the exertion of keeping himself above you. “Yeah?” he purrs, hips bucking to the tempo of your hand. “You wanna see, sweetheart?”

You barely have the time to nod before he’s sweeping his arms under your thighs and sitting back against the couch, setting you on top of him. Your wet heat is inches from his weeping cock, and you give him an experimental roll of your hips. The friction is delicious, and you bite your lips at the way his head rolls back.

You take advantage of his position and press hot kisses against his neck as he squirms below you.

“This is what you wanted, baby?” you whisper against his ear, biting gently. He shudders, one arm circling your waist and the other finding purchase in your hair. “You wanted me on top? Me in control?” 

He laughs breathlessly at that, hips grinding against yours with such fervour that you almost succumb right then and there. “You might be on top, sweetheart,” he hisses as you position yourself above him, one hand circling his length. “But I’m the one in char-”

He cuts himself off with a strangled moan as you sink down until your hips are flush to his. “Hmmm?” You hum sweetly against his throat, exhaling at the sheer size of him inside you. “What was that?”

“Fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back against the couch as his hands trail down to rest on the curve of your ass. “Move, please, sweetheart.” 

“Tell me how much you love my writing.” The words leave you in a rush, the sight of him panting for you almost too heady to ignore. You hadn’t planned on teasing him, but his earlier words had lit a fire in your core that would only be doused once you flipped the script on him. 

His head is still on the back of the couch as he barks out a laugh. “You’re a fucking menace,” he murmurs, pinching your waist. “Now, move.”

“No.” It takes every bone in your body to stay absolutely still. You can feel him, thick and throbbing, and the thought of it makes you almost forgo this insanity to ride him into oblivion.

His eyes meet yours, and he raises his eyebrows in mock outrage. “Are you serious?” He punctuates his words by dragging a hand down your body, fingers finding your clit and pressing until you jerk away from him. It’s a futile attempt though, because his other hand is still fisted in your hair, and he uses it as leverage to hold you against him, powerless against his ministrations. 

With a shaking hand, your press against his wrist until his fingers stop moving in circles around your clit. “C-come on,” you tease breathlessly, using your other hand to thread through his sweat-soaked hair and yanking until he bares his throat to you with a groan. “Play nice, pretty boy. Tell me how much you love my writing.” 

He groans again as you lick a stripe up his throat, the hand in your hair loosening as his resolve weakens. “Y-you don’t play fair,” he moans, legs shaking with the exertion of keeping still, of playing your little game of cat and mouse. 

“Neither do you,” you whisper, your words paired with a tweak to his nipple that has him gasping and arching his back. 

“Fuck!” He cries out, curling forward until his chin rests against your ribs and he’s staring up at you. “Y-your writing is perfect.”

He’s rewarded with another gentle tug on his hair and a firm, “keep going.”

“S-so perfect and wonderful, I – fuck, baby please – read every word th-three times,” he’s almost whimpering now, looking up at you with so much desire that you decide it’s time to reward him for being so pliant, so good for you. “You-you’re the best writer in the whole paddock, fuck, yes, thank yo-”

You decide to put him out of his misery, preening at his praise, you start with an experimental grind against his hips, and watch with glee as he almost melts back against the couch. You decide to take advantage of the situation for a little while longer, rocking your hips faster as his lips find your nipple.

“Who’s in charge?” you coo, fingers gripping his hair a little tighter. He draws back to give you a quick smirk. They don’t call him the fastest on the grid for nothing – one second, you feel like you’re in complete control, and the next, he’s lifting you off of him with surprising ease. Your chest meets the couch before you can even form a single thought, and Jeonghan gathers up your wrists in one of his hands. 

“You really thought,” he hisses as he re-enters your aching pussy. “You were in charge, sweetheart?”

The new angle allows him to sink even deeper inside you, drawing a low moan from your lips.

"You were saying?" he purrs, chest pressed against your back, his breath hot on your neck as he sets a punishing pace. Each thrust drives the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping and whimpering beneath him.

"You thought you could tease me like that and get away with it?" he groans, his free hand gripping your hip tightly. "Thought you could make me beg?"

You can only moan in response, overwhelmed by the sensation of him pounding into you relentlessly. The couch creaks beneath you dangerously.

"Answer me," Jeonghan demands, slowing his pace torturously.

"J-Jeonghan," you manage to stammer, your voice muffled against the cushions.

He leans over you, his chest pressed against your back as he whispers in your ear. "What was that, sweetheart? I couldn't quite hear you."

You turn your head, meeting his intense gaze over your shoulder. "Please," you whimper.

“Please what?” He demands.

"Please," you gasp, struggling to form coherent thoughts as Jeonghan's hips continue their torturously slow pace. "Please, I need more."

His low chuckle sends shivers down your spine. "More what, baby? Use your words. You’re so good with words, aren’t you?"

You whine in frustration, trying to push back against him, seeking the friction you desperately crave. But his grip on your hip is firm, holding you in place.

"Fuck me," you finally manage to choke out. "Please, Jeonghan, fuck me harder."

"There we go," he purrs, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Was that so hard?"

Before you can retort, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside you. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your fingers clawing at the couch cushions.

Jeonghan sets a punishing pace, each thrust driving you further into the couch cushions. The hand not holding your wrists snakes around to find your clit, rubbing tight circles that have you seeing stars.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Jeonghan groans, his breath hot against your neck. "So tight, so perfect for me."

You moan at his words, feeling the familiar coil of heat building in your core. "J-Jeonghan," you whimper, "I'm close..."

"That's it, baby," he encourages, his fingers working faster against your clit. "Come for me. Let me feel you."

Every part of your body is on fire, from the way Jeonghan's hips press against yours to the way his fingers expertly stroke your clit.

You come with a cry, your body shaking as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your inner walls clench around him, drawing a deep groan from Jeonghan.

He doesn't slow his pace, fucking you through your orgasm and pushing you towards another. You're oversensitive, every nerve ending on fire, but the pleasure is too intense to resist.

"God, you're perfect," Jeonghan pants, his rhythm becoming erratic. "So fucking perfect."

You feel his thrusts becoming more desperate, his breathing ragged against your neck. "Come on, Jeonghan," you manage to gasp out.

"Come for me," you urge him, clenching around him deliberately.

With a guttural groan, Jeonghan's hips stutter and he comes, spilling inside you as his body shudders with release. The feeling of him pulsing within you sends you over the edge again, and you cry out, trembling beneath him.

For a long moment, the only sound in the motorhome is your combined heavy breathing. Jeonghan releases your wrists and gently pulls out, causing you both to wince at the sensitivity. 

Jeonghan collapses onto the couch beside you, his body warm and solid as he pulls you into his arms. The weight of him, the feeling of his heartbeat drumming against your cheek, is grounding. You curl into his chest, letting the rise and fall of his breathing lull you into a rare moment of stillness. His fingers trace lazy patterns across your back, the movements unhurried, almost absentminded, as if he can’t bear to stop touching you just yet.

“Well,” he says finally, his voice rough and lower than usual, laced with satisfaction. “I think that was worth the wait.”

You huff a laugh, the sound barely audible over the soft thrum of life outside the motorhome. “Of course you do,” you mutter, your cheek pressed against the hard planes of his chest, which smells faintly of sweat, champagne, and something uniquely Jeonghan.

His fingers pause their tracing for a moment, as though considering his next move, before starting again, this time slower and more deliberate. “Admit it,” he murmurs, his tone teasing, though softer now, quieter, like the vulnerability from before hadn’t completely left. “You’ve been thinking about this as much as I have.”

You tilt your head up, catching the faint glow of the ceiling light reflected in his eyes. They’re darker now, warmer, but still full of that infuriating smugness. Your lips twitch in defiance as you fight the urge to smile. “What makes you so sure I was thinking about it at all?”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, a lock of hair falling across his forehead in a way that’s unfairly distracting. His grin is sharp and unrelenting. “You’re terrible at lying.”

“Am not,” you fire back, though your tone lacks any real conviction. The way his fingers continue their soft, languid exploration of your back doesn’t help.

“Okay,” he says, clearly enjoying himself as he leans his head back against the couch. “So when you cornered me after qualifying that one time in Japan two years ago, that wasn’t because you couldn’t stop staring at me in my race suit?”

You gape at him, your body jerking upright just enough to glare at him properly. “I cornered you because I wanted a quote, you egomaniac.” You punctuate the accusation with a half-hearted swat at his arm.

He catches your wrist easily, his grip firm but gentle, and intertwines his fingers with yours. The warmth of his hand against yours is distracting, and it takes all your willpower not to lose focus. “Oh, you got a quote, all right,” he counters, his laughter bubbling up like he’s savoring every second of your indignation. “Admit it—you’ve been counting the days.”

You roll your eyes, the movement dramatic, though the warmth blooming in your chest betrays you. “And if I was?”

Jeonghan’s grin softens at your words, the sharp edges smoothing out into something quieter, something vulnerable. He lifts a hand to your face, his fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. “Then I’d say it was worth the wait,” he says, his voice lower now, more intimate.

The air between you shifts, heavier now, the teasing replaced by something else entirely. His gaze locks on yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades—the low hum of the paddock outside, the faint creak of the motorhome settling. All that exists is him, his hand still resting near your face, and the weight of his words hanging between you.

Your throat feels tight, and you clear it quickly, trying to shake off the spell he’s cast over you. “Don’t let it go to your head,” you mutter, shifting slightly to put some distance between you.

“Too late,” he replies with a ghost of a smirk, leaning back lazily against the couch. His arm stretches along the back of the cushions, the casual sprawl of his posture somehow making him seem even more confident. Then, with an easy grace that feels entirely unfair, he leans forward and plucks something from the coffee table. “By the way, your article? It’s still late.”

You blink at him, incredulous, before groaning and burying your face in your hands. “Now you care about professionalism?”

Jeonghan shrugs, holding out his hand as if offering you an invisible microphone, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Exclusive with the winner of Monza? Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

You peek at him through your fingers, shaking your head with a laugh that’s half exasperation, half affection. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he counters, his voice softening again as he leans forward to press a kiss to your temple. His lips linger there, warm and reassuring, before he pulls back just enough to look at you again. “But I’ll let you pretend for a little while.”

Jeonghan’s arms tighten around you as the laughter fades into a comfortable quiet. The warmth of his hand on your back and the steady rhythm of his breathing are grounding, but your thoughts won’t stop spinning. You tilt your head up to look at him, searching his expression for something you can’t quite name.

“What?” he asks softly, his tone warm but teasing. His fingers brush over the curve of your shoulder, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

“What… what are we now?” you ask, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. They hang in the air between you, vulnerable and raw.

Jeonghan’s gaze doesn’t waver. His thumb brushes your cheek with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. “We’re whatever you want to be, sweetheart,” he says simply, his voice low and full of something too deep to name.

You feel your heart stutter, the weight of his words sinking into you. “Can we…” You hesitate, the vulnerability of the moment making your voice falter. “Can we take it slow?”

For a second, he just blinks at you, and then the corners of his mouth lift into that infuriatingly familiar smirk. “Take it slow? After you just made me beg?” He chuckles, the sound soft but undeniably teasing. “You’re full of surprises.”

Your face heats instantly, and you swat at his shoulder, your embarrassment overridden by his smugness. “Shut up.”

Jeonghan catches your wrist before you can retreat, his laughter fading as he shifts closer, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m kidding,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. The mischief in his eyes melts into something gentler, something that makes your breath catch. “I’ll wait as long as you want.”

You glance at him, your walls crumbling under the weight of his sincerity. “It’s just…” You trail off, trying to find the right words, the weight of reality settling in around you. “Our careers, the season… It’s a lot. I don’t want to mess this up, not with everything else happening.”

Jeonghan’s expression softens even further, the teasing flicker in his eyes replaced by understanding. “I get it,” he says quietly. His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “I’ve waited three years to feel this close to you. What’s forever if it means I get to do it right?”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, equal parts devastating and beautiful. You close your eyes for a moment, letting them sink in, before leaning forward to press your lips to his—soft, brief, but full of everything you can’t quite bring yourself to say.

When you pull back, Jeonghan’s smile is softer than you’ve ever seen it, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he gazes at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at.

“No pressure, though,” he adds after a beat, his teasing tone returning as his grin widens. “Unless you’re writing a follow-up article about me being the world’s most patient man.”

You groan, burying your face in his chest as he laughs, the sound rich and warm. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, but you love me for it,” he counters, his hand sliding back to your hair, cradling you close.

And maybe you do. Maybe you always have.

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS AZERBAIJAN GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Baku City Circuit

The streets of Baku were as much a character in the race as any driver—a stunning clash of history and modernity, where medieval walls stood beside glimmering skyscrapers. The track was notorious for its tight corners and long straights, a playground of risk and reward. Jeonghan knew every inch of it like it was an old rival, one he had to best to keep his championship hopes alive.

Qualifying was tight—Jeonghan secured P2, just behind Mingyu. "He’s fast," Jeonghan muttered to you that evening, the weight of the competition clear in his voice. But there was no self-doubt, just the quiet calculation that always preceded his brilliance.

Race day was a spectacle. Jeonghan’s precision through the castle section was breathtaking, and when the opportunity came to pass Mingyu on the long straight during the final stint, he didn’t hesitate. The roar of the tifosi—echoing even in Azerbaijan—followed him as he crossed the line first. The team’s radio had erupted with cheers as Jeonghan crossed the finish line, and when you saw him after the podium ceremony, his champagne-damp hair and triumphant smile had made your heart skip a beat.

Later, after the media frenzy, Jeonghan pulls you aside. "Come on," he says with a conspiratorial grin, grabbing your hand. "You didn’t think I’d let you leave Baku without exploring, did you?"

The cobblestone streets of Baku feel like something out of a postcard. The sun is just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the historic Old City. Jeonghan walks beside you, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he gestures to the buildings with a sense of wonder that’s rare to see in him.

“How do you know all this?” you ask, genuinely curious as he points out the Maiden Tower and recounts its legends with surprising accuracy.

He grins, tilting his head in that maddeningly charming way. “What, you thought I only studied race strategies? I’ve got layers, sweetheart.” He insists on taking cheesy tourist photos, including one where he pretends to be a knight defending you at the city walls.

“I could be your knight in shining armor,” he teases, holding his imaginary sword aloft.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re already Ferrari’s golden boy,” you shoot back, snapping the photo anyway. “Isn’t that enough?” 

He’s good at this—whisking you away from the chaos of the paddock and making you forget, even if just for a moment, that the world is watching him.

Now, as you wander the streets of Baku, he’s more relaxed, his usual playful demeanor slipping into something softer. You pause in front of a street vendor selling intricate souvenirs, and Jeonghan picks up a small, hand-carved wooden box.

“For your desk,” he says simply, handing it to you before you can protest.

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but you take the gift anyway.

“Yeah, but you love me,” he teases, slinging an arm around your shoulders as the two of you continue down the street, the sound of distant music and laughter filling the warm night air.

That night, back at the hotel, Jeonghan skims your article on his phone while sprawled on the couch.

Jeonghan’s Baku Blitz: Closes the Gap to Mingyu with Stunning Victory

His smirk grows wider with every sentence. “Stunning victory, huh? You really know how to make me sound good.”

You roll your eyes, throwing a pillow at him. “It was stunning. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, it’s too late for that,” he quips, pulling you into his lap. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the little shout-out to my late-braking move. Makes me wonder how closely you’re watching me.”

“Always,” you admit softly, the truth laced between your words. His grin softens, and he leans in to press a kiss to your temple.

FORMULA 1 SINGAPORE AIRLINES SINGAPORE GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Marina Bay Street Circuit

The Marina Bay Circuit was infamous—its oppressive heat, humidity, and unforgiving corners made it a grueling test of endurance. It was Jeonghan’s least favorite track, something he’d muttered repeatedly during practice.

In qualifying, he delivered a masterclass, securing pole position under the glowing lights that lined the circuit. "See?" he said, leaning casually against his car afterward, sweat still dripping from his brow. "Guess the heat doesn’t bother me as much as I thought."  Watching him grin through post-quali interviews, drenched in sweat but radiating confidence, had you practically floating back to your hotel room.

You’ve barely ventured outside the hotel after qualifying, and he texts you cryptically to “stay put.” Now, the air conditioning hums softly as you sit cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through headlines about his performance. You’re still reading when the door swings open, and Jeonghan strides in, carrying a tray.

“Room service,” he announces with a dramatic flourish, setting it down beside you.

Your eyes widen at the sight of chocolate-covered strawberries and a chilled bottle of champagne. “What’s the occasion?”

He shrugs, popping the cork with practiced ease. “Pole position deserves a celebration. Plus…” He smirks, holding up a strawberry. “I wanted to see you smile.”

You laugh, shaking your head as he moves closer, offering the berry. But when you reach for it, he pulls it back, dragging it over your lips instead, smearing chocolate at the corner of your mouth.

“You missed a spot,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss it away. The sweetness lingers on his lips, and before you know it, he’s pulled you into his lap, the rest of the world forgotten.

The race the next day is less triumphant. A perfectly timed pit stop keeps Jeonghan ahead of the pack for most of the race, but a late safety car allows another driver to close the gap, relegating him to P2. Still, with Mingyu out of the race, Jeonghan’s second-place finish is enough to reclaim the championship lead.

Jeonghan’s expression is unreadable when he reads your latest article:

Heat and Havoc in Singapore: Jeonghan Takes Second as Mingyu Crashes Out

“Well, at least you didn’t call me lucky,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair.

“You weren’t lucky. You earned that result,” you reply, watching his face carefully.

He hums, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Still. Next time, I’d rather win outright.”

FALL BREAK: SEPT 23-OCT 17

The crisp autumn air brushes against your face as you unlock your front door, arms full of groceries. It’s been a quiet few weeks since Singapore, the space between races stretching out like an eternity. You’ve tried to enjoy the pause, but it feels strange—unnatural, even—to be so far removed from the whirlwind of Jeonghan’s life.

Your thoughts drift to him as you drop the keys on the counter. Monaco. Ferrari’s headquarters in Maranello. Both places are worlds away from your little apartment.

You’re unloading a carton of eggs when there’s a knock at the door. Confused, you glance at the clock. It’s too late for deliveries and far too early for your neighbors to come by.

When you open the door, your heart stops.

Jeonghan stands there, his frame relaxed yet somehow magnetic. He’s dressed in a simple leather jacket and jeans, his dark hair catching the golden glow of the setting sun. A bouquet of your favorite flowers is clutched in one hand, their vibrant colors almost as captivating as the smile tugging at his lips.

“Jeonghan?” you ask, blinking in disbelief. “What are you—how—”

“Miss me?” he interrupts, stepping inside before you can fully process his presence. He hands you the flowers like it’s the most natural thing in the world, leaning in to press a quick kiss against your lips.

Your breath catches, and you can only stare at him, your mind struggling to keep up.

“You live in Monaco,” you point out, still staring at him. “And work in Italy.”

“I’m aware,” he says, a hint of amusement in his tone. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Of course, I missed you,” you murmur, your cheeks heating.

“Good.” He grins and takes your free hand, tugging you toward the door.

“Wait—where are we going?”

“Out,” he says simply.

You try to protest, gesturing to the groceries still sitting on the counter, but he’s already leading you down the hallway. His excitement is infectious, and you find yourself laughing despite your confusion.

An hour later, you’re standing at the entrance of a sprawling amusement park, the neon lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the evening sky.

“You’re serious?” you ask, staring at the carousel spinning lazily in the distance.

“Dead serious,” Jeonghan replies, his tone light as he hands over your ticket. “I figured you could use a night off.”

“I’m not the one traveling the world every other week,” you point out.

“Exactly,” he counters, his smile growing. “I needed to see you smile. And this seemed like a good place to start.”

The night unfolds in a blur of laughter and adrenaline. Jeonghan, surprisingly competitive, insists on winning you a giant stuffed bear at the ring toss, only to fail spectacularly—twice. You tease him mercilessly, your stomach aching from how hard you’re laughing.

When you step off the bumper cars, your cheeks are flushed, and your voice is hoarse from yelling. Jeonghan is no better, his hair sticking up in all directions after you gleefully rammed into him three times in a row.

“I think you’ve got a mean streak,” he says, pretending to nurse an invisible injury.

“Me?” you gasp, feigning innocence. “You literally tried to corner me!”

He doesn’t respond—at least, not verbally. Instead, he grabs your hand again, intertwining your fingers as he pulls you toward the Ferris wheel.

The view from the top is breathtaking. The park stretches out below you, a sea of lights and movement, while the city skyline glimmers in the distance.

Jeonghan is quiet beside you, his gaze fixed on your face instead of the view. You turn to him, suddenly aware of how close he’s sitting.

“What?” you ask softly.

“You’re happy,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “I like seeing you like this.”

Before you can respond, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that steals your breath. It’s slow and deliberate, his hand moving to cradle your jaw as the world around you seems to fall away.

When he pulls back, you’re both smiling.

“This is dangerous,” you tease, though your voice is barely above a whisper. “You’re going to make me think nothing can go wrong.”

“Maybe nothing will,” he replies, his forehead resting gently against yours.

FORMULA 1 PIRELLI UNITED STATES GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Circuit of the Americas

Austin brought a different kind of challenge. The Circuit of the Americas was iconic for its mix of sweeping corners, elevation changes, and a crowd that rivaled the tifosi in their enthusiasm. Jeonghan thrived here, securing P1 in qualifying and delivering a flawless race to claim another victory.

"Two wins in three races," he said that evening, pulling you into his side as you walked into a cowboy-themed bar downtown. "Guess I’m on a roll."

The bar was loud, filled with locals and fans alike, but Jeonghan stood out effortlessly. His cowboy hat tilted just right, a plaid shirt unbuttoned enough to make you wonder how he managed to look like that after hours in a car.

He kept his hand in your back pocket all night, his touch a silent claim when no one was looking. Every time he leaned in to murmur something in your ear, his lips brushed your skin just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"Save a horse, ride a cowboy," he whispered at one point, his grin wicked as he tipped his hat at you.

That was all it took. You dragged him back to the hotel, barely making it through the door before he was on you, the hat ending up on the floor somewhere between the bed and the door.

The article you write the next day earns a rare whistle of approval from Jeonghan:

Cowboy Jeonghan Rides High in Austin, Extends Championship Lead

“I think this might be your best one yet,” he says, setting the phone down as he pulls you into his lap.

“Because I complimented you, or because I called you a cowboy?”

“Both,” he answers, his lips brushing against yours. “You know how much I love it when you’re right.”

And as his hand slides to the small of your back, you can’t help but think this season isn’t just his championship—it’s yours, too.

FORMULA 1 GRAN PREMIO DE LA CIUDAD DE MÉXICO 2024 Track: Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez

The atmosphere at the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez crackles with energy even hours after the race ends. The stands have mostly cleared, but the celebratory chaos of the paddock lingers. Jeonghan, fresh off another stellar performance, grins as reporters crowd around him, microphones extended like offerings. His hair is damp with sweat, his race suit tied around his waist as he leans casually against the Ferrari garage.

You watch from a distance, notebook in hand, trying not to let your gaze linger too long. He catches your eye anyway, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s been calling you his “lucky charm” ever since you started waking up in his bed on race mornings, and it’s a moniker he seems to enjoy reminding you of at every opportunity.

"Don't go too far," he says when the interviews wrap up, his voice low as he brushes past you on his way to the motorhome. The warmth of his fingertips grazing your wrist sends a jolt of electricity through you. "We’re celebrating tonight, and you’re not wriggling out of it this time."

You don’t see the ambush coming.

You’re reviewing your notes in the quiet corner of the paddock when your editor finds you. His expression is stern, almost irate, as he approaches. The celebration around you suddenly feels muffled, the weight of his presence pulling you back to reality.

"Finally," he snaps, crossing his arms. "I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days."

"Hey, sorry, it’s been hectic," you start, tucking your notebook under your arm.

He doesn’t let you finish. "Hectic? I gave you the Ferrari all-access months ago. They’re breathing down my neck about where the hell it is. Where’s the draft?"

The question lands like a punch to the gut. You open your mouth, fumbling for an answer, but he’s already barreling forward.

"And don’t think I haven’t noticed your tone shift," he continues, his voice lowering but losing none of its edge. "All this newfound niceness toward Jeonghan in your articles. What’s that about, huh? You sleeping with him or something?"

The accusation slices through you, leaving you momentarily stunned.

"That’s not—" you begin, but your voice falters.

"Spare me," he says, waving you off. "I don’t care what’s going on between you two, but I do care about the reputation of this outlet. You’ve built your career on being incisive, unbiased. So get it together, or I’ll find someone who can."

He doesn’t wait for a response, leaving you standing there as the din of the paddock swells around you. The celebration feels distant now, muffled by the blood rushing in your ears.

When Jeonghan finally finds you later that night, you’re a bundle of frayed nerves. The confrontation with your editor replays in your head like a broken record, each word cutting deeper into your carefully constructed sense of self. You sit hunched over your laptop in the corner of the media center, the fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows that match the knot in your chest.

“What, you sleeping with him or something?”

The accusation echoes, burrowing into your mind, where it tangles with your own insecurities. You’ve built your entire career on being sharp, unbiased, and unflinchingly honest. And yet, somewhere along the way, Jeonghan had slipped through your defenses. You can still hear the venom in your editor’s voice, feel the judgment in his eyes. The doubt wasn’t just his anymore—it was yours, too.

Was he right? Had you compromised everything for Jeonghan?

Your hands tremble slightly as you scroll through the notes you’ve been trying to organize for hours, but the words blur together, useless. Guilt presses against your ribs like a vice, mixing with a raw ache of something you’re too scared to name. You’re drowning in your own thoughts, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve let everyone down: your editor, your readers, and most of all, Jeonghan.

When he finally appears, his presence fills the doorway like a shadow cutting through the sterile light. He leans against the doorframe with a casualness you can’t match, arms crossed and head tilted slightly, his damp hair still clinging to his forehead. The sight of him, so familiar and yet suddenly so distant, sends a pang through your chest.

“Working late?” he asks, his voice low but carrying the faint edge of concern.

You look up, startled, and quickly shut your laptop as if that might erase everything weighing on you. “Just...catching up,” you say, forcing a smile that feels as flimsy as the excuse.

Jeonghan doesn’t move, his eyes scanning you with the precision of someone who knows you too well. He doesn’t buy the act—you can tell by the way his brows knit together, a subtle but telling sign of his worry.

“Catching up on what?” he asks, stepping closer, his tone light but probing.

You shrug, trying to sound casual. “Just notes. Articles. The usual.”

His gaze sharpens. “Right. And that’s why you look like you haven’t breathed in hours?”

You glance away, your fingers curling into fists on the tabletop. “I’m fine, Jeonghan. Go enjoy your win. You earned it.”

“And what, leave you like this?” He pulls out a chair and sits across from you, resting his arms on the table. “Not happening.”

The flood of emotions bubbling under your surface threatens to spill over. You want to tell him everything, but the words feel too tangled, too raw.

“I just need to get this done,” you say, your voice tight.

Jeonghan frowns, studying you more closely. "What’s going on? Did something happen?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, sidestepping him. "I just need some space tonight, okay?"

His hand brushes your arm, but you pull away, and the confusion in his eyes makes your stomach twist. "Fine," he says after a moment, his voice quieter now. "If that’s what you want."

Jeonghan wakes up to sunlight filtering through the blinds, but the bed feels empty. The cool sheets where you usually sleep tug at his attention before he fully registers the weight in his chest. Frowning, he rolls over and reaches for his phone on the nightstand, still groggy.

The screen lights up with a mess of notifications: congratulatory texts, memes from Soonyoung, and a dozen links to your latest article. He swipes through the chaos with a faint smile, already anticipating your sharp insights mingled with the familiar affection that’s always laced through your critiques.

Propping himself up against the headboard, Jeonghan opens the piece. At first, the smile lingers—he’s grown to appreciate the balance you strike between honest criticism and admiration. But the further he reads, the slower he scrolls, the words pressing into him like bruises.

His smile fades entirely by the time he reaches the paragraph describing his meltdown in Spain. The words cut too close, dragging him back to that moment in the Aston Martin garage: the oppressive silence, the rain hammering against the roof, and the suffocating realization of yet another missed opportunity.

"Jeonghan’s brilliance is undeniable, but brilliance without consistency leaves championships just out of reach."

The sentence burns itself into his mind. The carefully chosen words feel clinical, detached—so unlike you. He rereads it, hoping to find the warmth he’s come to expect, but it’s nowhere to be found.

Jeonghan tosses his phone onto the bed and stares at the ceiling, disbelief simmering into anger. This wasn’t just an article. This was personal.

The paddock is bustling, teams dismantling their motorhomes to get ready for next weekend. Jeonghan doesn’t bother changing out of his sweats before leaving his room, each step through the maze of hospitality suites and garages fueled by frustration.

When he finally reaches the media center, his chest tightens at the sight of you hunched over your laptop, headphones in, oblivious to his stormy approach. He doesn’t hesitate.

"You want to tell me what the hell that was?" His voice slices through the low hum of conversations around you.

Startled, you pull off your headphones, your eyes widening as you take him in. "Jeonghan—"

"No." He slaps his phone onto the desk in front of you, his movements sharp and deliberate. The article stares back at you, a glaring reminder of the wedge you’ve driven between you. "Don’t ‘Jeonghan’ me. What is this?"

"It’s my job," you say, standing to meet his intensity. The tremor in your voice betrays your composure. "You’ve always said you respected that about me."

"Respect?" His laugh is sharp, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. "You think I respect this?" He gestures to the article like it’s a living thing, something venomous and cruel. "You went for my throat."

"I didn’t go for your throat," you argue, though your voice cracks at the edges. "I wrote the truth."

"The truth?" His hands ball into fists at his sides. "You think I don’t know when you’re pulling punches? You tore me apart for no reason."

"You’ve been avoiding media days. You had a meltdown in Spain," you fire back, your tone rising as your frustration bubbles to the surface. "Those are facts, Jeonghan."

"You didn’t have to highlight them," he counters, his voice quieter but no less cutting. "You know how much this season means to me."

"And do you think this was easy for me?" you ask, tears pricking at your eyes. "Do you think I wanted to write that?"

"Then why did you?" His voice softens, the anger slipping to reveal something raw and vulnerable. "Why would you do that to me?"

"Because I had to!" The words explode out of you, breaking the fragile tension. "Because people already think I’m biased. That I’ve gone soft. That I’m compromised because of you."

The weight of your confession hangs in the air, pressing down on both of you. Jeonghan’s face shifts, the fury giving way to something heavier—hurt, confusion, disappointment.

"I never asked you to compromise anything for me," he says quietly, his voice thick. "I never would."

You look away, your gaze falling to the floor. "I know. But this isn’t just about you. It’s about my career. My integrity."

"And what about us?" he asks, his voice breaking slightly. "Where does that leave us?"

You have no answer, the words lodged in your throat. The silence stretches, broken only by the faint hum of activity outside the room.

Finally, Jeonghan exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I can’t do this right now," he mutters, taking a step back. "I need...I need to get out of here."

Jeonghan finds himself at the bar later that evening, the neon lights washing over him in hazy blues and reds. The whiskey in his glass is halfway gone before Soonyoung slides onto the stool next to him, his arrival quiet but not unnoticed.

"You look like shit," Soonyoung says, his tone light despite the obvious concern in his eyes.

"Thanks," Jeonghan mutters, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

They sit in silence for a moment before Soonyoung breaks it. "Want to talk about it?"

Jeonghan stares at his drink, the ice melting faster than he can keep up with. "I don’t know what we’re doing anymore," he admits, the words coming out heavier than he expected. "Me and her."

Soonyoung hums thoughtfully, taking a slow sip of his drink. "You two have always been complicated."

Jeonghan huffs out a humorless laugh. "That’s one way to put it."

"But," Soonyoung says, setting his glass down, "you’ve also always figured it out."

Jeonghan doesn’t respond, his thoughts a tangled mess of frustration and longing.

"You’re not going to fix it tonight," Soonyoung continues, his voice quieter now. "But if it matters—and I know it does—you’ll find a way. Just...don’t wait too long, yeah?"

Jeonghan nods slowly, the whiskey burning on its way down. Soonyoung’s words linger, a reminder of what he already knows but isn’t ready to face.

Not yet.

FORMULA 1 LENOVO GRANDE PRÊMIO DE SÃO PAULO 2024 Track: Autódromo José Carlos Pace

The rain is relentless in São Paulo, hammering down on the paddock and turning the atmosphere into a chaotic mess of drenched personnel and frayed nerves. Qualifying has been suspended indefinitely, the downpour rendering the track undriveable, and the mood in the Ferrari garage is grim. The asphalt glistens under the floodlights, reflecting streaks of color from team banners and sponsor logos. It feels like the world is holding its breath. 

You’ve never liked rain. It has a way of amplifying what’s already simmering under the surface, and today is no exception. Your heart pounds as you weave through the maze of garages, dodging puddles and sidelong glances from team members. You know exactly where he’ll be—Jeonghan never strays far from the Ferrari setup, even when there’s nothing to do but wait.

Sure enough, there he is. Sitting on the edge of a workbench, his race suit unzipped to his waist and his damp undershirt clinging to his torso. His head is bowed, one hand gripping the edge of the bench while the other pushes wet strands of hair back from his forehead. He looks exhausted—physically, emotionally—but the moment your shoes scuff against the concrete floor, his eyes snap up to meet yours.

You’ve been blowing up his phone all week. Texts, calls, voice notes—all unanswered or met with cold, clipped replies.

"Jeonghan," you start, the sound of your voice barely carrying over the rain pelting the garage roof.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t smile. "What are you doing here?"

The coldness in his tone sends a shiver down your spine, but you force yourself to step closer. "I could ask you the same thing."

His laugh is short, bitter. "Why are you surprised? This is where I always am."

"Don’t do that," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "Don’t act like this is normal. You’ve been ignoring me for weeks."

"I haven’t been ignoring you," he snaps, pushing off the bench. He stands tall now, towering over you, his hands resting on his hips. "I’ve been busy."

"Busy?" You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. "You call one-word replies busy? Jeonghan, I’ve been calling and texting nonstop, and you’ve barely said anything to me."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the distant clatter of tools being packed away. Finally, he exhales sharply, running a hand through his damp hair again.

"Maybe I’m tired," he says, his voice quieter but no less sharp. "Maybe I’m sick of pretending everything’s fine when it’s not."

Your heart twists at the admission, but you push it aside. "What’s not fine? Tell me, Jeonghan. Because I don’t understand why you’re shutting me out."

He shakes his head, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. "You don’t understand?" His voice rises, cracking with the weight of his frustration. "How could you not? You tore me apart in that article like I was just another driver. Like I meant nothing to you."

"It’s my job," you argue, but the words sound weak even to your ears.

"Your job?" he repeats, throwing his arms up. "You mean the job where you’re supposed to be unbiased? Yeah, I’ve noticed how ‘unbiased’ you’ve been lately. Especially when it comes to me."

"That’s not fair," you shoot back, taking a step closer. "You know I’ve always tried to be honest—"

"Honest?" He laughs, the sound bitter and hollow. "You call dragging my worst moments into the spotlight honest? You didn’t write about me; you dissected me. Like I was nothing more than a story."

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let him see how much his words cut. "I didn’t mean to hurt you."

"But you did," he says, his voice softening but losing none of its edge. "And now I don’t even know where we stand."

"We stand..." You falter, your throat tightening. "We stand where we’ve always stood. I care about you, Jeonghan. But this is complicated."

He steps closer, his eyes searching yours. "It doesn’t have to be. It’s only complicated because you’re making it that way."

You look away, unable to hold his gaze. "You don’t understand what this means for me. For my career. For the season."

"And what about me?" he presses, his voice breaking. "What about what this means for us?"

The weight of his words hangs between you, heavy and suffocating. You take a shaky step back, the sound of the rain growing louder in the silence. "Maybe I should go," you whisper, turning toward the garage entrance.

"Don’t," he says sharply, and before you can take another step, his hand wraps around your wrist. “Don’t walk away from me.”

You barely have time to register the movement before he’s pulling you back, his other hand cupping your face as his lips crash against yours. The rain spills into the garage, soaking you both as his kiss deepens, desperate and unyielding. His hands slide to your waist, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead presses against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I won’t give you up," he whispers, his voice raw. "But I need you to choose."

"Jeonghan..." Your voice trembles, but he cuts you off.

"You love me," he says, his hands cupping your face. "Yes or no."

You hesitate, the weight of his question pressing down on you like the storm outside.

"Come on, sweetheart," he pleads, his voice cracking. "Don’t make me beg."

"I’m scared," you admit finally, your voice breaking. "Scared of losing myself. Of losing everything I’ve worked for."

He exhales shakily, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Are you willing to lose me to keep writing?"

"I..." The words catch in your throat, the truth slipping through your fingers. "I don’t know."

His hands drop to his sides, and he takes a step back, the distance between you like a chasm. "When you decide," he says quietly, his voice heavy with resignation, "give me a call."

The rain clears just in time for Sunday’s race, and Jeonghan is unstoppable. He weaves through the slick track with the precision and grace that made him a legend, crossing the finish line first and extending his lead in the championship.

But you’re not there to celebrate with him.

You watch from the media center, your chest tight as the cameras capture his triumphant smile. But there’s a hollowness in his expression, a flicker of something unspoken as he scans the crowd for someone who isn’t there.

The post-race interviews blur together, and even as you type up your article, the words feel lifeless. Without him beside you, the hotel room feels cold and sterile, the thrill of the race dulled by the ache in your chest.

The days leading up to the Las Vegas Grand Prix are a haze of press releases and anticipation. Jeonghan is one race away from becoming a world champion, but all you can think about is the sound of his voice, the warmth of his touch, the way he looked at you under the floodlights.

Your editor calls to praise your latest pieces, but the compliments feel hollow. The articles are polished and professional, but they lack the spark you used to feel when writing about him.

You glance at your phone, your thumb hovering over Jeonghan’s name. You haven’t called. Haven’t texted. Haven’t dared to.

Because the truth is, you’re terrified. 

Terrified of losing yourself. 

But even more terrified of losing him.

FORMULA 1 HEINEKEN SILVER LAS VEGAS GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Las Vegas Strip Circuit

The sun sets over Las Vegas in a haze of neon and desert dust, the city already buzzing with anticipation for the final race of the season. But in the paddock, the air is electric for all the wrong reasons.

Jeonghan crashes out in Q3.

Your eyes are glued to the screen as Jeonghan’s car slides violently into the barriers, the sharp sound of the impact slicing through the usual hum of commentary. Gasps ripple through the room, but your stomach lurches with something deeper than professional concern. 

You’re in the media center when it happens, staring at the screen as his time locks in. The commentators speculate, the other journalists start drafting headlines, but you can’t hear a word of it. Your heart is already in free fall, and you don’t breathe again until he climbs out of the car, his hands held up in frustration as he waves off the medics.

P8. A disastrous result for the race that could make—or break—his championship. It might as well be the end of the world. 

The room erupts into murmurs as analysts speculate on strategy and rival team fans cheer, but you barely hear them. Your editor sidles up to your desk, his grin practically gleaming in the fluorescent light.

"Well, well," he says, leaning over your shoulder. "Looks like we’ve got our headline for tomorrow. ‘Jeonghan’s Championship Dream in Tatters.’ Perfect angle to dissect his mistakes, maybe even his cocky attitude catching up with him—"

His words fade into the background as something clicks inside you. Every fiber of your being recoils at the thought of reducing Jeonghan—your Jeonghan—to nothing more than a headline. You love writing, yes, but this? This isn’t writing. This is tearing apart the one person who matters most to you, all for clicks and ad revenue.

Without thinking, you swivel in your chair, fixing your editor with a glare so sharp it silences him mid-sentence. "This is my two weeks’ notice."

He blinks, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." You stand, grabbing your bag and laptop. "I’m done."

Before he can argue, you’re already out the door, leaving behind the cacophony of keyboards and camera flashes. The paddock is chaos as you weave through the throngs of team personnel and fans, your heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and urgency.

You run.

The Ferrari garage is chaos. Engineers scramble to pack up the car, Jeonghan’s manager barks into his phone, and his publicist looks ready to faint. You push your way through it all, ignoring the glares and the shouted protests.

“He doesn’t want to see anyone right now,” Soonyoung says, stepping in front of you as you approach the motorhome.

“I don’t care,” you snap, shoving past him.

The motorhome is empty.

For a moment, you’re frozen, your chest heaving as you glance around the pristine space. The stillness only amplifies your worry. And then it hits you, like a sudden gust of wind: you know exactly where he is.

You sprint again, your heartbeat pounding louder than the chaos of the paddock behind you. The world blurs into streaks of neon lights, the hum of distant conversations, and the faint roar of engines being powered down for the night. The grandstands loom ahead, their cold metal steps stretching upward like an impossible climb. Each step burns in your legs, your breath coming in shallow gasps, but you don’t let up.

You don’t stop until you see him.

Jeonghan sits alone, halfway up the grandstands, his figure slouched as though the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders. The floodlights bathe him in a pale glow, illuminating the soft curve of his profile, his hair catching the light in strands of gold. His head is tilted back, eyes fixed on the track below as if searching for answers in the lines he couldn’t master tonight. A half-finished beer dangles loosely from his fingertips, the bottle swaying slightly with every small movement. Beside him, another bottle sits untouched, condensation pooling on the aluminum seat beneath it.

Waiting.

You take the last steps slowly, your chest tightening as your breathing evens out. Up close, his exhaustion is palpable—dark shadows under his eyes, his usual sharp features softened by an unfamiliar vulnerability.

“I knew you’d come,” he says without looking at you, breaking the silence. His voice is soft, but it carries a weight that settles heavily in your chest. He doesn’t even look at you, his gaze still fixed somewhere far ahead, lost in thought.

You hover for a moment before lowering yourself into the seat beside him. The cold aluminum seeps through your jeans, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your own skin after the sprint. Jeonghan doesn’t move, doesn’t turn toward you, and the distance between you feels like a chasm.

“Jeonghan...” you start, your voice hesitant, but he cuts you off with a bitter laugh.

“This is what happens when my lucky charm leaves me,” he mutters, a sad smile curling at the edges of his lips. His tone is light, but it does nothing to hide the ache in his words. He takes a slow sip of his beer, the motion unhurried.

You glance at the track, the sharp turns and straightaways now cloaked in shadows. “It’s not your fault,” you say softly, your hand reaching out to brush his arm. He flinches at the contact, his muscles tense beneath your touch, but he doesn’t pull away.

“P8 doesn’t mean it’s over.”

This time, he turns to look at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The raw vulnerability there makes your chest tighten further. His voice is quieter now, almost fragile. “You don’t get it,” he murmurs, shaking his head as his gaze drops to the beer bottle in his hand. “This race... it’s everything. If I win, I’m a champion. If I don’t...” He trails off, his words hanging in the air between you.

“I’m scared, Y/N.” His voice cracks, and the sound is almost unbearable. “Scared of all of it. The pressure, the expectations... losing.”

You stare at him, the usually unshakable Jeonghan, the Golden Boy, the Ferrari God, unraveling before you. Your hands move without thinking, cupping his face and tilting his chin so he’s forced to meet your gaze again. His skin is warm beneath your palms, a faint flush from the alcohol—or maybe the stress—lingering across his cheeks.

“Jeonghan,” you say, your voice steady despite the storm in your chest. You press your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his as you close the distance between you. “You love me. Yes or no.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. And then his hands come up to grip your wrists, his touch firm but trembling. “Yes,” he whispers, the word spilling from his lips without hesitation, raw and resolute. His voice shakes, but his eyes hold yours, steady and certain despite the tears brimming there.

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you lean in, your lips brushing against his forehead in a feather-light kiss. “Good,” you whisper, the word carrying a quiet strength. “You’ll always have me.”

His grip on your wrists loosens, his expression shifting to something between confusion and hope. “But your job... your writing?”

“I’m quitting,” you say simply, letting the words hang for a moment. You watch the shock bloom across his face, his eyebrows shooting up as he sits back slightly, pulling your hands with him.

“You’re what?”

You laugh softly, brushing your thumb against his cheek as if to soothe him. “Not writing, idiot,” you tease gently. “I’m still going to write. But I’m not writing for any organization that profits off me tearing the man I love to shreds.”

His lips part, but no words come. He blinks rapidly, trying to process, and you take the opportunity to continue.

“Besides,” you add, your voice lighter now, “Sky Sports has been trying to recruit me for an on-air job for almost a year now.”

He stares at you, his gaze searching your face for any hint of doubt or regret. Finally, his voice comes, soft and uncertain. “You love me?”

The corners of your mouth lift into a playful smile, and you raise an eyebrow. “Is that what you decide to focus on?”

“Y/N,” he says again, his voice dropping to a whisper, almost desperate. His hands move to clasp yours, his fingers lacing through yours as if afraid you’ll slip away. “Do you love me?”

You answer with action, leaning in and capturing his lips in a quick, tender kiss. His breath hitches, his fingers tightening around yours. “Win tomorrow, golden boy,” you whisper, your lips brushing his as you speak. “And I’ll tell you my answer.”

For the first time that night, Jeonghan smiles—a real, genuine smile that reaches his eyes and softens the tension in his face. And in that moment, as the world fades to just the two of you under the floodlights, you know he’s already won.

Jeonghan is going to lose.

He’s sure of it.

The car feels like it’s fighting him at every turn, the tires slipping just slightly when he needs them to grip, the brakes locking up when he’s trying to conserve them for the final laps. His body aches from the sheer force of the race—the g-forces on the corners, the strain in his neck, the tension in his hands from gripping the wheel too hard.

The numbers on his dashboard blur together, his mind a muddled mess of strategies, tire temps, and sector times. He’s made up four places since the chaotic start and sits in P4 now, but every gain feels like a herculean effort. Every corner feels like it could be his last.

He slams the steering wheel in frustration as he exits another turn slower than he should, the car wobbling slightly under him. “This isn’t working,” he growls into the radio, his voice clipped and strained.

His engineer’s calm voice filters through the crackling static. “We know, Jeonghan. Stay focused. We believe in you.”

Jeonghan clenches his teeth, a biting retort forming on his tongue, but before he can spit it out, the radio crackles again.

“Your girl is here. In the garage. She’s watching.”

“What the fuck?” The words come out before he can stop them, his tone incredulous.

“Soonyoung wanted to surprise you,” his engineer explains, and Jeonghan can practically hear the grin in his voice.

His mind stutters to a halt, and for a moment, all the noise fades—the engine’s roar, the tires screeching against the asphalt, even the deafening wind rushing past his helmet. He blinks, the image of you sitting in the garage flashing in his mind, your presence there grounding him in a way nothing else can.

And then, like a light cutting through the fog, your words echo in his head. “Win tomorrow, and I’ll tell you my answer.”

His grip on the wheel tightens, his breath steadies, and something in him clicks. It’s not just the car anymore—it’s him. His mind, his body, the machine—they all fall into alignment like pieces of a puzzle.

“Copy,” he says into the radio, his voice calm now. The frustration is gone, replaced by a steely determination.

Lap 50. Jeonghan is chasing down P3, the gap shrinking corner by corner. His tires scream in protest as he takes each turn with precision, braking just a fraction later, accelerating just a fraction earlier. The car isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t need to be. He’s making it work.

As he dives into the braking zone at Turn 7, the car in front of him falters, locking up slightly. Jeonghan seizes the opportunity, darting to the inside line and slipping past with a calculated aggression that leaves no room for error.

P3.

Lap 53. The leader pack is within sight now—Mingyu in P1, his closest rival, and Seungcheol in P2, a surprising dark horse this season. The three of them have danced this dance all season, but tonight feels different. Tonight, everything is on the line.

Lap 55. Seungcheol’s car begins to falter, his tires degrading as he struggles to maintain pace. Jeonghan hovers in his slipstream, biding his time.

On the main straight, he pulls to the outside, pushing his car to its limits. The engine roars as he edges past Seungcheol, the two of them side by side into the braking zone. Jeonghan holds his line, his heart pounding as he feels the car stick.

P2.

Lap 58. Mingyu is just ahead, the gap less than a second now. Jeonghan can feel the strain in his body, his hands cramping from the sheer effort, but he doesn’t let up. Every ounce of energy he has left is poured into these final laps.

Lap 59. DRS is open, the rear wing flattening to reduce drag as Jeonghan closes the gap on the straight. Mingyu defends aggressively, forcing Jeonghan to the outside.

They enter Turn 10 side by side, the apex inches away. Jeonghan holds his breath, his tires brushing the curbs as he edges ahead. But Mingyu doesn’t back down, his car pushing right up to Jeonghan’s rear wing as they exit the turn.

Lap 60. The final lap. It’s a battle of wills now, neither of them giving an inch. Jeonghan’s heart feels like it’s about to burst, the sweat dripping down his face soaking into the padding of his helmet.

The final corner looms ahead, and Jeonghan knows this is it. Mingyu is on his inside, the two of them neck and neck as they approach the braking zone.

Jeonghan brakes just a millisecond later, his car sliding slightly as he takes the tighter line. He holds his breath, willing the car to stay steady, and then he’s through.

The checkered flag waves, the two cars crossing the line almost simultaneously.

Jeonghan’s chest heaves as he slumps back in his seat, his mind a blur of exhaustion and adrenaline. He doesn’t know if he’s won or lost—everything was too close, too fast.

The radio crackles to life, and for a moment, all he hears is chaos—shouting, cheering, voices overlapping in a cacophony of noise.

And then, cutting through it all, your voice rings out.

“YOON JEONGHAN, TWO-TIME WORLD CHAMPION!”

The words hit him like a lightning bolt, and a yell tears from his throat, loud and raw and triumphant. He punches the air, his entire body trembling with emotion as he lets out another scream, so loud he’s sure the neighboring cars can hear him.

He’s done it.

Through the static of the radio, he hears your laughter, bright and unrestrained, and it’s the only sound that matters.

Jeonghan rolls into Parc Fermé with deliberate precision, the sound of his engine fading into silence as he pulls to a stop. His hands are shaking, his knuckles pale from the grip he’s maintained for the last grueling laps. The cockpit feels stifling, and yet he lingers for a second longer, the enormity of what’s just happened crashing over him like a wave.

He’s done it.

The realization leaves him breathless. His fingers fumble with the steering wheel as he pulls it free, his movements automatic even as his mind spirals. Around him, the world is chaos. Fans scream from the stands, the floodlights of Las Vegas painting the scene in stark gold and shadows. Through the static in his earpiece, his engineer’s voice is still ringing with elation, and he hears indistinct shouting from his crew, but it all blends into a distant roar.

All Jeonghan can think about is you.

He climbs out of the car, bracing his foot on the halo as he pushes himself upright. For a brief moment, he stands tall atop the machine, his body vibrating with adrenaline. His fists shoot into the air, and he lets out a triumphant yell, a sound ripped from deep within his chest. The Ferrari crew erupts in response, a sea of red swarming toward him, shouting his name, their arms outstretched in celebration.

But Jeonghan’s eyes are already searching, scanning the barriers beyond the chaos, darting from one face to another. He’s not looking for his engineers or the cameras or even his teammates. He’s looking for you.

And then he sees you.

You’re there, pressed against the barricade, your hands gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles are white. Your face is wet—tears streaming freely—but your smile is brighter than anything he’s ever seen. It’s disbelieving, joyous, and so achingly familiar that his breath catches in his throat.

In that moment, everything else fades away. The cheers of his team, the flashing cameras, the rules about protocol—none of it exists anymore.

Jeonghan jumps down from the car, tossing the wheel to a waiting mechanic, and tears at his helmet strap. The world around him is a blur of movement and noise—his team surging forward, the cameras flashing, the announcer’s voice booming overhead—but none of it registers. His helmet comes off with a sharp tug, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat as he grips the sleek surface in one hand and bolts toward you.

He’s moving before he realizes it, his boots pounding against the pavement as he cuts through the throng of people. The barricade draws closer, and the sight of you—your tear-streaked cheeks, your trembling shoulders—grounds him in a way nothing else could.

When he reaches you, he doesn’t stop.

His hands find you immediately. One curls around your neck, his palm warm and steady against your skin, while the other cups your face, his thumb brushing away the tears tracing paths down your cheek. His chest is still heaving, his breath ragged from the exertion of the race, but his touch is impossibly tender.

Your lips part, and your voice comes out in a trembling whisper, just loud enough for him to hear over the chaos. “Congratulations, pretty boy.”

It’s like the world holds its breath. For one fleeting second, it’s just the two of you. The noise of the paddock fades, the flashing lights dim, and all that remains is the quiet intimacy of your words.

Jeonghan’s lips curve into a smile so pure, so unrestrained, that it feels like sunlight breaking through a storm. “You love me,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent. His forehead dips to rest against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Yes or—”

You don’t let him finish.

Your arms shoot out, locking around his neck as you pull him down into a kiss. It’s desperate and dizzying, a culmination of everything left unsaid. Jeonghan freezes for the briefest of moments, his eyes widening, before melting into you entirely. His lips move against yours, soft but insistent, and the hand on your neck slides up to thread through your hair, holding you close as if you might disappear.

“Yes,” you whisper against his mouth, your voice breaking. Your hands fist in the front of his race suit, anchoring yourself as you press your forehead to his. “Yes. I love you.”

The barriers around you tremble as the Ferrari crew erupts in celebration, their cheers deafening. Jeonghan barely registers it. His fist shoots into the air, his lips still brushing against yours as he laughs—a sound full of pure, unrestrained joy.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he murmurs, his voice shaking with a mix of awe and certainty.

And when you smile back at him, it’s brighter than the floodlights, warmer than the victory. 

EPILOGUE

FORMULA 1 ROLEX AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Albert Park Grand Prix Circuit

The air at Albert Park hums with the kind of energy that only a new season can bring. The stands are packed, a sea of flags waving for drivers and teams, and the scent of freshly cut grass mingles with the faint tang of engine oil. It’s not quite spring yet, but the Melbourne sun still beats down relentlessly, leaving Jeonghan’s fireproofs clinging uncomfortably to his skin as he strides out of the Ferrari garage.

His mind buzzes with the aftermath of qualifying—P2 isn’t pole, but it’s close enough to feel like a promise. Yet, beneath the satisfaction, there’s the familiar tug of nerves that always follows a strong start. Tomorrow is what counts.

His publicist catches up to him, clipboard in hand. “Sky Sports first,” she says, her tone clipped but not unkind.

Jeonghan barely suppresses a groan, already knowing what awaits him. He doesn’t mind media—not entirely—but right now, his thoughts are miles away from answering questions about his out lap or tire degradation.

He rounds the corner into the media pen, where cameras are trained on bright logos and polished smiles. But his eyes find you immediately, waiting just behind the barricade, a microphone in hand, your hair catching the golden glow of the late afternoon sun.

You’re a vision.

He slows as he approaches, his publicist muttering instructions he doesn’t bother to hear. Your eyes catch his, and a secret smile spreads across your lips. He mirrors it, his heart lifting in a way that has nothing to do with his qualifying position.

Jeonghan leans against the barricade, his hands braced on the metal. It’s casual, nonchalant—a stark contrast to the spark simmering beneath the surface. As the questions begin, his fingers shift, brushing yours. The touch is featherlight, a soft sweep of skin against skin, but it’s enough to make his chest tighten.

The lanyard around your neck gleams in the sunlight, a stark reminder of how much had changed—and how much hadn’t. You’re still you.

And you’re wearing it.

The chain glints faintly against your skin, the two charms catching the light with each movement. One is the microphone, delicate and detailed, perfectly crafted. The other is his initial: J. Small, simple, yet undeniably his.

(You’d teased him endlessly when he gave it to you at Christmas. “Modest as always, aren’t you?” you’d laughed.

“Of course,” he’d replied, his voice low and teasing as he leaned into your hair. “One charm for your new job, because I’m so proud of you. And one for me, because I’m so amazing.”

“Two-time world champion,” you’d corrected, poking his ribs.

“Two-time world champion,” he’d agreed with a grin, pulling you into his arms.)

“Jeonghan,” you greet, a secret smile tugging at your lips.

The sound of his name on your lips—professional but laced with affection—sends a warmth through him that he doesn’t bother to hide. “Y/N,” he replies, his tone light but his eyes heavy with meaning.

The interview begins, your questions sharp and to the point. Jeonghan answers with his usual ease, the confidence that had earned him his titles. But he’s distracted, his focus flickering between your voice and the way your thumb absently brushes the microphone charm as you speak.

“You’re awfully cheerful for someone who only managed P2,” you tease, tilting your head slightly.

He leans closer, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Just keeping it interesting. Wouldn’t want to win everything too easily.”

You roll your eyes, but the soft laugh that escapes you betrays your amusement.

The banter continues, each exchange laced with an undercurrent of warmth that only the two of you can fully understand. To anyone watching, it’s just another driver and journalist sharing a lighthearted moment. But to Jeonghan, it’s everything.

When the cameras finally cut, the energy between you shifts. He leans over the barricade without hesitation, his hands curling around the edge for balance as he dips his head toward you.

The first kiss is quick, a soft press of lips that feels like a punctuation mark to the conversation.

The second is slower, more deliberate, as if he’s savoring the fact that he can do this now.

The third lingers, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that makes your breath catch.

“Jeonghan,” you murmur, glancing around with a mix of amusement and exasperation. But your grin is wide, and your cheeks are flushed, and he knows you’re not annoyed in the slightest.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice so low it barely reaches you. His eyes are soft, his expression open in a way that’s reserved only for you.

Your hand finds his wrist, your fingers curling gently around it. “I love you too,” you reply, your voice steady, your gaze unyielding.

For a moment, the world around you fades—the bustling media pen, the hum of conversations, the clicking cameras. All that exists is the space between you, filled with unspoken promises and the quiet certainty of what comes next.

And as Jeonghan straightens, reluctantly stepping back into the whirlwind of his world, he knows he’s carrying a part of you with him—just as you carry a part of him. Always.

a/n: and that, was full throttle. i cannot express to any of you how proud i am of myself for finishing this. i think i spent more time deleting things on this doc than i did writing it and somehow, i fucking love the way this turned out. alta, kae, if you're reading this - thank you. from the bottom of my heart. this story would have never happened had it not been for the two of you motivating me to get this out of my head and onto a doc. you both inspire me every day and i am lucky that i had you on my side for this one.

[just-call-me-by-yn]

TORNADO WARNINGS - spencer reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Content warning: angst, first person pov (most of the fic), swearing, y/n used twice, micro mention of typical CM violence Word count: 2.4k Summary: years pass, but the love you have for Spencer doesn’t disappear. Even though he left you a long time ago and you haven't talked since… until now. a/n: my first truly angsty fic so please be gentle with me. I was playing with this concept for a while and finally got the courage to sit down and finish it recently. hope you like it!! 🤍

I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and I came to the conclusion that love is like a flower, it dies over time. But what if the hypothetical flower would be fake? What if it was made out of plastic or some other durable material? That would be true love. One that’s everlasting.

“When the last flower dies, I’ll stop loving you” he said with a shy smile passing me a fake flower bouquet. “I– JJ said it would be more romantic to give you fake flowers and say that phrase instead of giving you roses or some other fresh flowers, so I just-”

“They’re perfect, but just so you know, I will have to throw them away if they’ll die.” I replied, my tone was playful in hopes that it would calm his thoughts, which I simply knew were running at sonic speed.

The flowers made out of plastic lose color with time, the vibrance of the petals washes away and the pigment of the leaves turns into a gray-ish tone of green. But the reminder of what used to be great and strong, colored and saturated is still there.

My hand reached for the blend of fake flowers, a grimace appeared on my face. It’s been years since I’ve even talked to him. The thought came to my mind of how I shouldn’t feel this hurt after over half a decade from the break-up. I am well aware that I shouldn’t keep the flowers, not even when they bring me comfort on lonely nights, smiles on awful days, just to make me uncontrollably sob later. I know it isn’t healthy. They were the sign of empty promises. Lovely words from a liar's mouth. But I still couldn’t push myself to take them off the shelf. Throwing them away would also mean that my part of the promise would be broken as well, and I just needed that safety net to keep up the peaceful state of mind. They didn’t die yet. Sure, maybe a couple of leaves have broken off and the petals started to tear, but the fake plant was still mostly intact.

My heart didn’t feel like it was going to be mending any time soon. I wasn’t obsessing over Spencer, but when I had a rough day at work, I used to put earbuds in and play any old voicemail recordings he had left for me. The most beloved one was of him telling me how proud he was of me. It was recorded after I announced that I got promoted.

“It’s not going to work out” he muttered under his breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am not interested in seeing you anymore.”

My whole body froze. Did I hear him properly? Was this a nightmare or maybe a cruel joke?

“Excuse me?” the question came out of my mouth faster than I could process it.

“I am sorry, it’s not because of you, it’s me. I just can’t continue this relationship.” he looked everywhere but not at me, which felt like opening a wound that hasn't had any time to heal.

All I could do was choke out a weak, surprised laughter as I blinked away the tears.

“It’s so cliché. You can hear it in most romantic movies.” my voice sounded like it didn’t belong to me, oddly strange.

“Actually according to Merriam-Webster the phrase was originated by Zachary Spence in a newspaper as a sporting reference, though it morphed into a break-up line in 1991, but it was widely popularized in 1993 by– what?” he answered finally giving me his attention, confused as why I couldn’t stop looking at him, but I was taking every second to let his image sink into my memory.

“It’s just that- I’m going to miss your constant rambling, the oversharing” The corners of my mouth twitched as I tried my very best to smile, even if it hurt like hell.

And I do, still, after six years, going strong with a hollow chest. The moment I took off the ring of my finger felt like a punch in the gut, though a little piece of me knew that he wouldn’t leave me without a strong, fundamental reasoning.

Now, every time I read an article about god knows what I keep asking myself: does Spencer already know that? What I tell myself, is that he is a walking encyclopedia, of course he would know. But I shouldn't care, right?

My friends repeat “life goes on” like a mantra, and my parents say “it’ll get better”. But it’s not that simple.

Not when we were planning our future together and all of a sudden it gets thrown, like pawns off the checker of a chessboard. Game over. Start again. Good luck next time… with someone else.

Of course our relationship wasn’t perfect. Though constant worrying probably has reduced my life expectancy by a long run, I would gladly rather live less with him by my side than spend eternity without him.

Then a sudden knock at the door shredded all the thoughts that occupied my head, just to replace them with a question of who could it be? It was already getting dark out early and chilly rain was hitting the windows, quickly running down the glass panes, making a calming sound.

I took one… two… three careful steps out of the bedroom, another five to the front door. My fingers touched the cover of the peephole that I was instructed to set up by Reid when I was living in my former apartment. His story about a 'murderous peeping Tom' case (which was my name for it) got stuck in my mind, so this item was the last thing I took from my old place and the first thing I installed in the new home.

A quick stare through the viewer made me stumble backwards, turn around from the door just to cover my mouth with a shaky hand and place the other arm around my stomach. Suddenly I felt the heat run through my body, that couldn’t contrast more with the weather outside. I felt sick. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and before I could regret the decision I was about to make I unlocked and opened the door.

And there he stood in all his glory though his face was drained of emotions, he had dark circles under the eyes and a shadow of stubble, quite honestly he just looked like he had seen better days. But it was still Spencer.

“How did you–”

“Garcia.” I nodded at his response. “May I come in?”

As a silent invitation I just moved away from the door frame letting him pass me in the threshold. I could feel my hands begin to tremble, my nostrils started flaring and then there was a bitter taste caused by his presence, that somehow felt like venom in my mouth. All I was thinking of at that moment was that I couldn't hold it in any longer, and that the best outlet I could think of was the door, which I slammed as hard as my strength would have let me. A loud thud filled the apartment making Spencer flinch and his hand to fly to his chest almost instantly.

“How fucking dare you, huh?” I blew up.

It was weird how quickly my emotions could change. I didn’t know that I could be this sour, until the time I heard him speak, telling me that his friend from BAU basically stalked me down, for him to walk right into my safe haven, and make all the ghosts of memories disappear and for him to stand there, flesh and blood.

“You have to hear me out. Please." He was very hurt, I could even hear it in his voice as he pleaded, but it didn’t make sense to me. At least not at first, not until he explained it to me later.

“Spencer, you broke up with me, and that was years ago. What? Did you come by to get a cookie for breaking my heart? Like goddamn it.” I was clenching and unclenching my hands, open hand to fist, again and again.

“Let me explain,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, as if the words he was about to speak were slowly causing him a headache “It wanted to protect you, and I am sincerely sorry for hurting you. You have to understand that it was all for your safety. It wasn't my intention to cause you pain.”

“What are you even talking about?” my anger was slowly washing away to let the confusion take its turn.

“I had too. There was this one unsub, when we started getting in his way he decided to target the people who were close to us . I got worried when he-” he paced around the room and he looked like he was struggling with what words to use to make it all make sense.

“When he what?” I demanded an answer.

“We found his letter addressed to us and you were on the list. It was a hit list. Breaking it off with you was the only idea I had besides trying to have someone watch over you when I couldn’t. If I told you, you would have been trying to find another way to make it work. I know you, y/n. You would try to fight and risk your life. I couldn’t let you be so reckless”

“And what took you so long to tell me about it? It’s been years” I grabbed my shirt right around the collar and crinkled it in my first. My heart was burning in an unknown sensation, that was something I couldn’t describe. I wouldn't be able to do it even now.

“He was on a run for all those years. Just leaving breadcrumbs. We finally got him a few weeks ago,” His eyes were looking everywhere but mine and it felt like agony, though it didn’t cut deeper than betrayal. “y/n you have to know I did it all because I care about you, and it hurt me as well.”

“You know, I never… never truly found anyone, I couldn’t move on and it’s all because of you. It’s because you wrecked me Spencer. Ruin me for everyone else. Because a piece of me still loves you. A piece of me waited, but-” He reached with his hand to touch on my arm “don’t you dare touch me! You have no right to just walk back in and expect me to act, as if I wasn’t lonely and feeling unwanted for over half a decade”

I couldn’t hold back tears any longer, saying those words made me finally acknowledge the feelings I felt for so many years. And it made me ache, like someone ripped my soul out, stomped on it solely to put it back into my body again.

“We were engaged for God’s sake!” I tried to stay calm. I really did. However, yelling out my feelings made me think clearer. “And I tried to be a bigger person, tried to give you space. Forget about it, but it’s hard, when you told me it wouldn’t work out, out of the blue.”

“I tried to keep you alive y/n! And I am genuinely sorry. I am not begging you to forgive me because I know it feels like it was ages ago when we were together. I just want you to consider us and try to make it through this.”

“You sound like a crazy person right now,” I shook my head in disbelief, my mouth flew agape “lying to me, hiding the truth when omitting the fact that someone was planning to take my life, one way or another… I fear this is not something I can get over Spencer.”

From the perspective of time this wasn’t the greatest fear of mine. The thing I was frightened by the most, was that I would give in too easily. I knew I was able to forgive him, deep down I was sure I would bend if he asked me again.

“Okay,” he nodded, almost like he suddenly dissociated himself completely from being present. It felt like he mentally disappeared though his body still stood tall in front of me. He was no longer confident in what he believed in after my words, like all his will to fight for the relationship that we used to have, exited his being with a single lonely tear escaping his eye. He wiped it off immediately with the back of his hand. “I better get going then.”

"I think it would be better for the both of us, if you did." The emotions started to settle in my gut. I couldn't make him stay.

"Alright. goodnight." he said those words, probably hoping this wouldn't be our last goodbye. "Just think about it, okay?"

I nodded as I opened the door before him. When he left the tears started to flow down my cheeks again. This time they were like waterfalls of my broken heart and they were running wild. I just dropped to the floor. The loud sobs were echoing through my apartment as I curled myself into a fetal position.

"So…" you started not knowing what else to say "what do you think?"

The woman on the chair next to you carefully removed her glasses and set them on the table, along with a notepad.

"I think this story you just told me is a very unique and tragic love story," she said confidently "and a very unfortunate one at that"

You shifted uncomfortably on the couch you were sitting on for the past thirty minutes. You were nervously playing with your hands and chewing on your already puffy lips. Dumping the trauma was tiring you even more than your lack of sleep, due to the situation you were still digesting.

"Then, what should I do?" you ask looking up at the therapist, expecting a clear direction.

"I am not here to tell you what you should or shouldn't do…" she said in a calm voice and took a sip of whatever was in her white mug. "My only input here is supposed to be helping you understand your emotions, however, I can tell you to trust yourself and what you decide to do, the instincts usually don't lie"

my masterlist ♥

[sundew199]

Look so good

Tags: Reiner Braun x f!reader, cum play, cream pie, multiple orgasms, messy sex

Kinktober Day 10: cum play for @wintrrxxo

!!minors dni!!

"Shit that's good."

Reiner grunted from behind, releasing the grip he had on your plush cheeks, massaging them to relieve the bruising hold he had with his fingers while going in from behind. You were panting, sucking in deep breaths to get your heart rate back down to a normal speed after the absolute beating he gave to your pussy. You were so blissfully sore, thighs and biceps shaking from the strain of the position Reiner kept you in, feeling the relief that came from not arching your back anymore.

Flopping over on your side after he pulled out, you reached over for your phone while he went to grab a rag, scrolling through the missed messages and notifications that piled up. Didn't expect much less, given the two of you almost went for forty five minutes this time, unfortunately not even breaking a record.

"Spread your legs for me?" The request coming from beside you, Reiner holding a damp rag with one knee on the bed already, waiting for you to do as he asked. Slowly, ignoring the ache, you parted your legs just enough to clean the mess you and him made.

Setting your phone back on the bedside table, you waited for the warmth to touch your skin, needing the relief but still not feeling it after sometime, peaking one eye open to see what the hold up was.

He was gazing at the mess dreamily, like a work of art you'd see in a museum that just took your breath away. The rag wasn't even in his hand anymore, tossed to the side and soaking the comforter as it lay there unused.

"Reiner."

"Sorry just-" Practically moaning as he sighed his response, running the rough palms of his hands over your thighs and back down to your knees, itching with temptation that was so strong you could feel it in his touch. "Looks so good, wanna slide back in-."

You whined to drown out the end of his sentence, emphasizing the mere idea of him entering you would send you into overstimulation. But the way he looked and marveled at the sight of your cum and his leaking and smearing everywhere, made it all the more tempting.

"And do what?" Spreading your folds with two fingers, showcasing the milky white liquid flowing out of your hole, going the extra mile to push some of it back in, wincing from the sensitivity.

"Go again, obviously." Now moving to hover over you, one hand by the side of your head with the other gently trailing down your abdomen, closer and closer to your leaking cunt. Something about the way his cum leaked out of your used hole made Reiner feral, got him hard in a near instant if he stared for too long and that was the case now. "If you're up for it."

"Round two with no prep huh? Sounds intentional." Sneaking in a jab with your breathy response, watching the way his lips curled above you as his hand now hovered over yours parting your folds.

"Might be." Taking his middle finger to shove some of it back in, pressing a kiss to the center of your pinched brows, knowing it was a lot after just finishing minutes ago. A huff of air fanned over your face as he slowly shoved more of it inside, knowing his cum was deep inside and about to fuck more of it into you was making him weak, turning him greedy with wanting to fill you more than you already are.

"Can't help myself sometimes, ya know?" Breathing the words right into your ear, a rasp in his voice from how desperate he'd become from the mere idea of fucking his cum back into you and of course coming again. In a way it was addicting, you looked so good in everyday, whether it was leaking and smeared on your inner thighs or sporadically painted on your face and chest, Reiner couldn't get enough.

"Mm yeah I know." Laughing softly, letting a hand thread through the back of his hair as you peppered a few kisses to the side of his face, a small distraction as he worked in a second finger inside you to ease the linger ache and sensitivity. A small whine echoed in his ear as he took in a deep breath, pulling away from your face and sitting back on his knees, removing the cum soaked fingers to coat his cock. A groan that bordered on a sigh left his lips, his shaft sporting a milky sheen once more and he twitched in his own hand knowing it was a combination of both of your releases.

Moving to bend one of your legs at the knee, Reiner kissed the inside, sliding forward to tuck his arms behind your neck, press his bare chest to yours as the tip of his cock teased your entrance. He chuckled cumbersomely to hide the raging arousal inside him as he pushed the head past your tight ring of muscle, cracking a smile at your immediate arch and pitchy whine.

"God how do you feel even better sweetheart?" Asking to himself after he sheathed himself fully inside you, holding himself there for longer than normal, knowing he was going to cum faster no matter what.

You smiled after pulling his face back at bit, cupping your hands on either side of his face, clenching around him intentionally and drinking in the blissed expression and soft moan he gave. "Don't think I have an answer for you baby."

Reiner laughed under his breath at that, pulling his hips back only half way and pushing them forward, beginning a gentle rhythm to work his way up. You were already digging your nails into his freckled shoulder at the first thrust, so sensitive but feeling so good at the same time. Sensitivity had you writhing and arching from the start, instantly vocal with the way your pussy squelched and stretched around him, putting such a decadent display for the man above you.

"Hold still for me baby, can't keep it inside you like I want if you keep moving." Sounding rather stern as his hand came to hold you down at the hip, keeping you pinned to the bed and unable to squirm away.

"I'm trying just - fuck Reiner it's almost too much." Whining pitifully with a strain in your voice, dragging your nails down the meaty arms, leaving bright red streaks in the skin, turning something in Reiner's gut.

"You can take it," Cooing into your ear with such a seductive convincing, back to being inches from your face and running the tip of his tongue on the outer shell of your ear, making you shutter. He breathlessly laughed again when your hips rutted off the bed, trying to meet his deep long strokes and how your body reacted to the overstimulation. Oh what a sight you were for him, what a fucking sight.

His hips inevitably increased in pace after you came around him, juices mixing and smearing with the old and creating such a mess between the two of you, a mess that inflamed the fire of lust inside Reiner's gut. Making a mess with your cum and his was something he couldn't pass up, fucking his first orgasm back into your and filling you with another in the same span of time? Yeah Reiner would always find an excuse to do so.

"Such a mess, such a gorgeous mess all for me." Growling into your lips, snapping his hips hard into yours, rolling them in a circle and swallowing your whines. You were grappling every inch of his body, running your nails deep into his skin, where ever you could reach.

"Fuck - yes-" Forcing yourself to respond, repeatedly clenching around him as another orgasm was fast approaching, loosing count from the first round and this one, but knowing Reiner was keeping track.

"Want me to fill you up? Keep fucking my cum into this perfect pussy?" Asking as if the answer were far from the obvious, but wanting to hear your pretty voice tell him so.

"Mhm." Burying your face into the side of his neck, trembling against his body and to the point of tears.

"Can't hear you sweetheart." Hiding his smile in your hair, keeping the firm hold he had on your hip to snap his hips forward a couple more times.

"Yes please, want your cum, again." Whining into the sweaty skin on the side of his neck, releasing a long moan and hearing a similar response come from above,

Expecting him to pull back, Reiner surprised you when he didn't pressing his face harder into the side of your head and letting out shaky breaths that were followed by grunts and groans. Your bodies were so pressed together it was a wonder he was able to thrust into you as fast and hard as he was, but finding a way nonetheless.

"God just wanna keep you filled all the time, want you leaking for days baby." Sputtering out and giving away how close he was, simply nodding your head and whining his name, the tension in his body growing taunt with each thrust.

You muffled your sob into his neck still when you came again, feeling him pull away and hold both of your hips down, focusing on where his dick thrusted in and out of you and the absolute mess that was between you. His head fell back, jaw falling slack and his eyes squeezed shut as the final thrusts were slammed into your hips.

There was so much cum already you could barely notice the warmth of his second release filling you, and to no surprise that it immediately leaked out from the sides down his shaft and your inner thighs. Reiner huffed, wincing from his own sensitivity and overstimulation, waiting for his body to relax before pulling out.

Maybe you should've guess it when he snaked his arms under you, rolling you on top of him while still keeping himself inside. Greedy bastard he was.

Of course he reasoned with wanting to stay like this for just a moment longer and you had no energy to question him, shaking your head and pressing a lazy kiss to his lips.

Careful fingers ran up and down your spine, soothing you nearly to sleep if it weren't for the pulsing cock still inside you.

"Kinda stuff you see in porn." Amusing himself with his own comment, shamelessly smiling still even after you removed your head from his chest to give him a disapproving look.

"Filthy bastard, good god." Propping yourself on an elbow on the chisled chest you laid on, rolling your eyes with a small laugh.

"Yea, but who keeps fucking this 'filthy bastard' hm?" Cocking a brow and not missing the way tried to lift yourself off of him, immediately thwarted by the hand on your hip.

"About to be no one if you don't let me nap." Flopping back down with your face press to the center of his chest, the same hand that caressed up and down your back, giving a playful squeeze to your ass, choosing to ignore it for now.

"Mm, love you." Hearing him laugh under his breath, kissing the top of your head and the relaxation seep into his body and nothing bothering to move from the current position either of you were in, too tired to even try.

[jenson-buttocks]

i know i haven’t ranted in a while and ya’ll probably haven’t missed me but surprise bitch here i am

watching the discourse around lando and piastri unfold is like watching people move the goalposts at record-breaking speeds.

for years lando was mocked for staying with mclaren. we had both fan and journalist discourse about how he was ‘too comfortable,’ ‘scared of competition,’ and ‘not ambitious enough’. most of this was aimed at him for refusing red bull time and time and time again, so often in fact that horner had major blue balls for years and is now acting like someone who spent the whole night buying him drinks, got rejected, and is now loudly telling everyone he totally wasn’t into him anyway while still trying to slide into his dms at 2 am.

now that mclaren has built a race-winning car the narrative has shifted to what has he done to deserve it, as if years of loyalty, help with car development, and performances that dragged mclaren out of the midfield don’t count for anything. he took a pay cut to help save mclaren jobs in 2020. he gave up wins for the team when they asked him to. he got blamed for mclaren’s strategic fails and never once assigned the blame to the pit wall who were the ones who deserved it. he stuck with them when everyone told him to run.

but no, apparently, he just lucked into a good car. because when max gets a dominant car, he’s a generational talent. when charles gets a fast car, it’s justice for his suffering. but when lando gets a good car, he’s a fraud who doesn’t deserve it.

meanwhile, we have the oscar piastri narrative, which is somehow that he’s both the most underrated driver on the grid and that any criticism of him is an unfair attack. mclaren get on the radio and begs pleads gaslights lando to play the team game? ‘that’s just how it works, it’s a team sport after all.’ oscar is asked to play the team game? ‘they ruined his rhythm, they’re demotivating him, they’re sabotaging him.’ lando loses a position? classic bottle job. piastri loses a position? unlucky, nothing he could do.

and let’s be real, mclaren has gone out of its way to hype up piastri. every post-race briefing with lando, piastri, and stella feels like watching a group project where one guy did 80% of the work, but the teacher only asks the other guy how he felt about it. lando could have just dragged the mclaren kicking and screaming onto the podium, with piastri finishing p20 and the first thing stella will say is, ‘great job to oscar, fantastic learning experience for him.” meanwhile, when piastri does well, it’s ‘a truly special talent, what a drive, the future of mclaren!’ even if lando finished ahead of him. the team bends over backwards to make sure piastri gets his flowers, but if they praise lando at all, it’s favoritism.

lando is not some fraud who lucked into a good car. piastri is not an oppressed underdog being held back by mclaren. and yet, every single race weekend, we’re stuck in this ridiculous loop of bad takes and double standards.

lando deserves his success, piastri chose to go to a team that has a driver who is the equivalent to charles in ferrari, and contrary to popular belief, he’s not being held hostage at the mtc, not with the reported $26 million a year (a travesty) and i will still be here every weekend to tell people to stfu when they keep going on about how he’s just a third year rookie.

[brunolover808]

Homelander x reader ||Burnt Rubber ||

There was a sound disturbance reported multiple times. So Homelander was tasked with this to gain some points in popularity.

Just two years ago you were the world's greatest racer. The fact that you have world breaking records under your belt was nothing. Now you were just a memory in the racing world. Losing control on the race way and causing a pile up was somehow unforgiving. It is a common danger, but then they started to pull your records. Come to find out you had been arrested in your teen years for driving with no license. Sadly the company that was in full support of you dropped you in an instant.

Now...well now you are a no-body. Just someone who drives cars at a dealership to keep the oil flowing and making sure the tires are nice. Dead end, no excitement.

Till you found out there was street racing. Not entirely illegal, as long as you don't get caught. So for the past year you have been racing every Friday night at midnight. You pulled up in an old memento your ass of an old sponsor gave you. A Dodge Challenger, bright orange. A sore eye, but easy to keep an eye on if anyone wants to make sure you have been winning each race.

Tonight was no different, the only thing was the group of audiences seemed smaller. Odd, you approach one of the regulars asking what is going on. They don't recognize you besides one of the racers for the night. You were told that some of the people think the cops will show from how many cars have been out today. Not even phased you return your car waiting for them to call you forward to the ready line.

It took about 20 minutes before someone waved for your car to pull up to the line. Your tired move slowly as you and 7 others break in front of the line. Everything was going smoothly, the cars revving their engines as a sexy woman stepped in between the middle cars. She held a handkerchief looking at the cars. You were ready to punch the gas. You watched intently till something shook your car. Was it an earthquake, no it happened too fast.

Boom

Landing just about a car's length away from the line stood the man clad in stripes. Golden shinning hair and deep sucken blue eyes in the headlights.

"Now now, everyone, you are under arrest, I am here to arrest you all. Police-"

Before he could finish his sentence, that was likely made up on the spot, people ran for their cars and the racers were already reversing. You on the other hand were waiting, watching as Homelander shook his head and tried to calm everyone down. He even lasered a tire of one of the racers. His focus is on everyone, and not you. Easy out. Just like any race you punch the gas making your car hurl forward and drive past Homelander.

In that moment you might have not seen, but his head turned slowly to your car as it drove past him. Almost like a flash of light he recalled your face. That amazing face that used to be behind a helmet as you took sharp turns and nearly flipped your car. Homelander was a fan of your racing since it was so risky and aggressive when it came to anyone else winning. This was going to be fun for him.

Already the cops had shown up at the location where the race was supposed to start. You had left the blue and red lights behind you and now trying to out run something that wasn't a vehicle. The billowing cape streaking the sky as you try to weave between each car was on your tail. It was toying with you, he was toying with you. From what you have seen, he could go faster than that. Though he was just giving you enough space to use your skills to try and lose him.

In your career of racing you were able to easily gain speed. Now once you had the bustling city coming up, you were at a loss. You had to do something to be able to not end up in a crash, though maybe he would enjoy it. You were speaking to yourself as you did your best to think. Going down side roads would only slow you down and end up with possible casualties.

"Fuck it." You cursed under your breath.

With one jerk of the wheel and the emergency break pulled, your car turns sharply. The tired immediately screeched against the asphalt and the smell of traction burning off into the air. Even Homelander had to speed off to the side to avoid the smoke and strong smell.

Your wheel vibrating and trying to jerk out of your grip. You feel the car finally straightens out and you release the emergency brake so you can speed down an alleyway. Your speed slowing down so you can cut the corners close with just a few scratches to that orange paint. Though you had to slam on your brakes as the figure standing at the end of the alley would have left more than a scratch to your paint. You nearly got whiplash if it wasn't for having experienced such a stop before.

The quick hand reach for the reverse, but already Homelander was at your window knocking.

"Okay, get out before I have to rip your door off."

A cold chill ran down your spine as you took the gear and shifted it to park. You take your foot off the break and turn your car off before opening your door. He steps back as you slowly get out of the car, the door blocking him from you.

"I don't want any trouble, please let me-"

"I recognize you. You were the world's fastest racer. No one could compare to you, I am your biggest fan."

"O-oh... Well thank you. "

"No problem, it just means that they will get a kick out of you in jail." His hand grips the door pushing it to force you to step out of the way till the door is closed.

"Please sir, I can't go-"

"Call me Homelander- if you are going to be begging. "

You were left stunned as he approached you. You freeze in place as you tilt your head just a little to meet his eyes. Those blue eyes that look as though unamused and more intrigued. Like he was waiting for you to continue to beg or even kneel before him to kiss his shoes. Though instead you were getting worried.

"What do you want from me to get me out of jail?"

"What." He laughs before continuing. "There is no get out of jail card... But there are some services you can do to get out of jail. Let's say community service." He said before he put a hand on your shoulder.

"What? "

"Sorry, let me make this clear." He clears his throat with a smirk. "You can either go to jail or you can take the challenge of seeing how fast I can take you for a ride."

You had two clear choices. You either spend time behind bars or you spend time taking Homelander. Two evils, and you were always ready to take a risk.

[just-jordie-things]

as usual @delzinrowe has my brain rotting at an exceptional rate

so let's talk about gojo and how he cannot drive

for the record, if gojo satoru wanted to drive, he could pick it up at anytime. he's gojo satoru after all, there's nothing he can't do, he's a god among humans.

but a god doesn't really need to learn how to drive.

as a youngster he always had people there to do that for him. at the mere snap of his fingers he had a ride to the candy shop. he likes to think he wasn't that much of a brat... but if his sweet tooth was particularly achey that day he might've gotten a bit of an attitude.

and as an adult, driving just wasn't a skill he deemed worthy of picking up. he could teleport anywhere he pleased without breaking a sweat. why waste his time with traffic and a stuffy car? besides, he loved to show off, and teleportation was just one of his many tricks.

so if you asked him, gojo satoru would tell you that he didn't need to learn to drive, he had much faster ways to get around.

that was, until (y/n) was giving him her address and the time of evening at which would be the best time to pick her up for their date, and satoru finds himself so blinded in his moment of gooey infatuation, that he agrees to her terms without thinking twice. it's not until she's walked back towards her classroom that his best friend and fellow colleague spawns next to him and points out his fatal flaw.

"and how exactly do you plan to pick her up, romeo?" geto suguru half purrs half sneers out the little comment, and it's obvious that gojo freezes up in that moment.

"suguru, can i borrow your c-"

"absolutely not"

and that's how he finds himself in this position. staring at the brand new sleek black car in his driveway with his hands on his hips and the shiny new keys to match clutched in his hand. he's been staring it down for a good ten minutes now, much to his kids' annoyance and impatience.

"well are you gonna drive it or not?" the spiky haired boy next to him huffs.

"don't rush me, brat" gojo huffs back with the same level of childish frustration.

"i'm sure you'll do fine," the boy's sweetheart of a sister counterpart chirps up. "you have a license, don't you? it'll be like riding a bicycle"

gojo's face twists into a sour wince, and now megumi and tsumiki are both staring up at him with wide apprehensive eyes.

"you don't have a license?" megumi barks out before his guardian could dish out some half-assed lie. "isn't it illegal to drive without-!?"

a large hand is slapped over the boy's mouth before he could finish berating the man, and gojo's baring his teeth in that grin that the kids know means he's up to bullshit.

"nonsense!" the white haired sorcerer practically cheers. "of course i have a license! i'm a phenomenal driver. i'm a phenomenal everything,"

megumi and tsumiki share a side eye that suggests they believe otherwise. gojo rolls his eyes and finally struts over to the driver's side door. those kids always believed the worst in him.

without another word, he plops in, sticks the key in the ignition, and tries not to startle as the car purrs to life and all the lights come flickering on.

he realizes in this moment that he's never even sat in the driver's seat of a real car.

but he's driven go karts with suguru and shoko many times, in high school- and even just last week when he begged them to.

the car groans at him when he tries to force a shift into reverse. it groans again when his foot taps the gas before settling on the break, and finally he' can move the's putting the car in reverse.

with a grin he glances out the window where the fushiguro siblings are still standing at the edge of the lawn, watching the whole ordeal with silent concern. he gives them a thumbs up before tapping the gas again.

his head is jerked forward as the car speeds backwards faster than expected, the needle on the speedometer flying towards the 10 before shooting back down when he slams on the left pedal again. it screeches to a halt before it could even enter the road, surely leaving a short streak of black on the otherwise clean driveway.

gojo winces, and dares a peek out the window. he's not surprised to find his kids with their hands clamped over their mouths. he gives them another, more sheepish, thumbs up.

well, maybe this was a bad idea, he starts to wonder as he checks the street behind him. there was little to no traffic right now, which made for the perfect time for a driver with only five minutes of a youtube tutorial for knowledge on the rules of the road to enter the roadway. and besides, nothing was going to keep him from going on this date.

so he puts the car in park before rolling down the window and leaning out to holler at the kids.

"keep the door locked and call uncle suguru if there's an emergency!"

"okay! have fun!" tsumiki's ever so present optimism is in full bloom as she smiles and waves at her guardian.

"he's not our uncle" megumi mutters with a roll of his eyes.

they stand on the lawn and watch as gojo slowly backs out of the driveway, hitting the brake every two seconds and jolting the car the whole way out. he's crooked in the street, and it takes him a second longer than the average driver to put it in drive and get going. even then, the kids stand and watch a few minutes longer as gojo intermittently taps the brake and gas, rolling forward only a few feet a minute.

"do you think he's gonna get arrested?" tsumiki asks her brother once he's turned off their street, still on his tap and go method.

"who knows," megumi replies. "but he's definitely losing the car"

"yeah, definitely"

by the time gojo actually pulls up to (y/n's) address- the car crooked in your empty driveway, he's certain that he's mastered driving with the past ten minutes of experience, and surely she'll be impressed.

obviously, he misses the way she tilts her head at his parking job, but she quickly shakes it off as she joins him in the car, too eager for their first proper date to question the angle of his car in her driveway.

he has to gush over how pretty she'd done herself up for the night for a good five minutes before they get moving, and that's when his true colors begin to shine.

forgetting that he wasn't properly pulled into the drive, he backs over the curb after a rush of gassing and braking in reverse. (y/n) may have delayed in buckling her seatbelt, but she's just as soon scrambling to grab the belt and snap it into place, clutching onto it as discreetly as possible.

when he sends a proud grin her way, she can't help but force a gentle smile back at him. he might still be tapping the brake an unnecessary amount of times as he cruises down the road, but she doesn't have it in her to question his ability- or lack thereof.

however, at the end of the night when he drops her off and they solidify their plans for a second date, she insists that she picks him up next time <3

___

a/n: he's literally just a girl !!! xoxo ~ jordie

[syntheticsystem]

thranto shorts 01

count: 1331

tone: light, humour

dynamic: thrawn/eli (thranto)

synopsis: after a meeting, eli accidentally leaves his ledger out; thrawn notices one of the commander's doodles and decides to ask him about it.

12+ (language, light innuendo)

Yet another day, yet another meeting with yet another smug, inept bastard of an imperial ‘professional’. Any questions, he’d asked at the end, and Eli could think of one: where they hell do they find these people?

There was nothing ‘professional’ about him whatsoever — and Eli had spent the past ten minutes proving as much in an impassioned rant.

While deciding which aspect of the man’s krayt spit to next criticise, a contemplative voice cut clean into his rage: “You never said that you draw, Commander.”

Eli felt his stomach drop. He turned to the Admiral and stiffened at the sight of him head-buried in a ledger. His ledger.

Suffering the likes of that damn bureaucrat had left Eli so annoyed — so totally riled up — that he’d made a mistake he’d sworn never to make.

He’d left the book out and open.

And the Admiral had taken a curiosity in it.

“I don’t draw,” Eli said defensively, voice so terse it could break, “I just… doodle, sometimes — when I take notes. Helps me focus, sir.”

“Mm…” The Admiral hummed in a way entirely unnerving to Eli. He was too closely focused on whatever he was looking at — and Eli dreaded to think what that might be.

“These lines, Commander,” and he flipped the ledger for his aide to see, pointing at a small caricature of himself in the corner of a page, “they are harsh, jagged; deeply-impressed into the paper. Indicative, perhaps, of resentment.”

Eli reddened at record-speed.

There were certainly worse pages for the Admiral to have happened upon, and Eli sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he hadn’t. Instead, he’d kept it open to the page it was already on. But now, the Chiss was presenting his usual brand of intrusive analysis — one which Eli found far more tolerable when applied anywhere but him.

Thrawn wandered over, taking a place beside his aide. He held the ledger out between them as he traced a hovering finger between details.

“However, I do not appear to be the figurehead of this resentment.” Maybe not, but he was starting to be. “Though the tilted, half-moon shape you have used for my eyes suggests outright anger, you have given me a sword — thus indicating… righteous anger.”

He looked to his aide now, and delivered his conclusion: “Commander, you seem to have projected your own fury at Admiral Karallo onto me.”

“Great, sir; saves me a trip to the shrink.” Eli grumbled. “Can I have it back now?”

“But I’m not finished.” Thrawn’s eyes widened with a strangely intense curiosity. Like he was just getting to the good part.

“By making me the hero of your doodle,” he went on, “you afford me a romantic quality — in both senses of the word. Indeed, the careful attention paid to the curvature of my lips almost suggests something… sensual. Perhaps, then, it is neither just resentment nor anger, but frustration.”

“Wonderful insight, sir.” Eli said dryly, sliding a hand under his ledger and preparing to take it back. He couldn’t see exactly where this train of thought was headed, but disliked it all the same.

Red eyes burning straight into his own, Thrawn asked with all the tact of a train through a town square: “Are you sexually frustrated, Commander?”

“Sir!” Eli exclaimed in what was almost a yell — and snatched the book away, slamming it shut with the force of a starship to an asteroid. “That's that's enough of that. And next time, I would appreciate it if you didn’t go through my things.

For a moment, Thrawn simply stared at him. The very blankness of his face was itself an expression of surprise.

“Understandable, Commander.” The Chiss’ words came slow as he bowed his head apologetically. “However, the book was left open.”

“Alright, alright.” Eli huffed. Sexually frustrated — oh sweet stars above, he wasn’t living that one down. That would haunt his mind for the rest of the day, probably through the night, and possibly even the rest of the week.

Through gritted teeth, he spoke: “Look. Truth is, I don’t think too much about whatever I’m doodlin’ — and I suggest, sir, that you don’t either.”

“Very well, Commander.” An uneasy pause; there was something else. A look of deliberation in the Admiral’s red haze. “Might I keep it?”

“What?”

“If you can bear to part with it,” Thrawn elaborated, “I would like to keep the ‘doodle’ as a… memento. I have never been drawn before, Commander.”

“Aw krayt spit!” Eli rolled his eyes. “Sure you have.”

The Chiss’ gaze narrowed upon him, scalding with new intensity. What silence passed between them was the kind, and long enough, to make you think you’ve made a mistake. It was too late by the time Eli realised his.

“So then, you have other doodles of me, Commander?”

“Now hold up there,” nervous laughter half-scattered Eli’s words, “where’d you get that idea?”

“The certainty of your claim implies that you know, for a fact, I have been drawn before.” Thrawn paused to collect his argument. “Perhaps the Chimaera’s officers make it a common occurrence, to draw their Admiral. Or, perhaps you have made other drawings.”

Well, he had him on that count. All he needed to do was give a flick through the ledger — and Eli found himself thankful for Thrawn’s obsessive analysis. At least that had stopped him from looking elsewhere until he'd finished a thorough examination.

“Could I propose a deal, sir?”

“Go on.”

“If I give you this damn doodle,” he brushed the ledger as if it were dirty — and today, it certainly felt like it was; “will you quit askin’ about it?”

The deepest look of consideration then hung heavy on those blue ridges. Thrawn contemplated his decision with the weight of war.

Eventually, he relented: “For today.”

“Nope. Any day. Forever.”

“No deal, Commander,” Thrawn shook his head gently, “I am afraid we will both have to compromise. One week.”

“A year!” Eli shot back, incredulous.

With the twitch of a brow, Thrawn suggested: “Two weeks.”

Eli gave out an exasperated sigh. Losing his resolve, he countered: “Half a year?”

“One month it is, then.” Thrawn said, a thin smirk upon his lips. Those fucking lips – they were the real villain here. They were what had tripped Eli up — the attention paid to the curvature of this and that…

He tore his eyes away from them and instead considered the ledger in his hands. Then, he thought to the drawing inside.

Hell, he’d be glad to get rid of the thing, if these were the kinds of problems it caused. He opened the book to its latest entry and, without too much care, tore out the doodle from the page.

“Deal, sir?”

Holding out his hand, Thrawn nodded: “One month, no questions. Deal, Commander Vanto.”

With that, Eli pressed the scrap into Thrawn’s cool palm. A weight lifted as he did, and that was that. For at least a month, he could pretend the whole thing hadn’t happened. After that, he’d have to start worrying.

Burning the book seemed like an increasingly good option.

They set off for the bridge side by side then. Not a word was spoken or exchanged as they twisted through corridors and corridors. The Admiral had eyes only for the drawing, which he pored over every step of the way.

Only once reaching the turbolift did Thrawn finally pocket the thing, careful not to crease it, like something precious.

“You know, Commander,” and he must’ve known he was pushing it now, the way just a hint of something smug peppered his words, “it is unusual you decided to draw only my head and hands. The face is important for expression. One hand, perhaps, for the sword. But to give both such detail, down to tendons and veins… Is there something about my hands you find especially–”

“Oh no you don’t,” Eli cut in, “not till next month, sir.”

And hopefully not then, either.

is there any reason why eli would take notes by hand? not really. however, I can make the sillies do what I want, and what I wanted was a silly confrontation about doodling.

I'm considering posting some of my more relaxed, lower-effort, shorter pieces (>1500) on tumblr instead of ao3. this was my test run, so thanks for reading (if anyone has?) and I hope you enjoyed.

feel free to check me out on ao3 :)

thrantover & out

[whirlpool-blogs]

Five Questions with Jack Hughes

May 29, 2019 | Timestamp: Jack Hughes (5:03)

Do you feel ready to play in the NHL next season? "My speed and skill will translate well, and I believe in my heart I'm the best player in this draft and the best player on the board. I'm a confident kid so I think I had a great year. I know in my head and in my heart that I'm an NHL player and I think that after my experience at the World Championship, it solidified in my mind that I'm ready to go for it next year. I want to be an impact player and come out of the gates fast."

What was the most memorable moment for you as the youngest player for the United States at the 2019 IIHF World Championship in Slovakia? "Just to be in the locker room with the NHL players, go out to dinner with them, hang out with them. I feel like it was an invaluable experience and kind of like going to Harvard law school, I guess, because that's the best education you could get being around guys like that. You've got guys there like Ryan Suter, a 14-year veteran in the League, who was once in the same position as me. Patrick Kane and James van Riemsdyk took great care of me, taking me out to dinner, talking with me, and teaching me things. Those are guys I kind of created relationships with that will help me for the next couple of years."

Did you meet your goals and expectations at the NTDP this season? "You want to be realistic for the year, but I think of myself pretty high, and I had some goals in mind like breaking the record for most career points at the program and did that. I kind of shattered it and hopefully no one will touch it for a couple of years. I wanted to get the single season record but I missed a few games with an injury and finished with 112 points; the record was 117. Along the way, you don't really think of it that much but keep pushing the pace and pushing your play. I had a pretty good sequence of games at the World Under-18 Championship but our main goal was to win gold there, and we didn't. I'd trade all 20 of my points there for a gold medal, but I feel like I had a pretty good tournament."

How did two seasons at the NTDP make you a better player? "First of all, it makes you a better person. You're growing up with 23 kids your own age on the same team and dealing with the same things. It's kind of a brotherhood you create there, and you can't really say that about other places. The NTDP is a great spot to grow as a human. If you want to dedicate your life to becoming a hockey player, your game will absolutely go through the roof. There's a shooting room there and you're on the ice two hours a day, there are two games over the weekend, you skate 5-to-7 times a week, lift three times a week. If you want to be a hockey player and you're an American boy, the NTDP is the place you need to go."

What are your plans between the end of the Combine and the NHL Draft? "Just having some fun and relaxing. I don't think I'm going to work out or skate. I was in Europe for almost two months (at the World Under-18 Championship in Sweden and World Championship), just playing hockey, being dialed in and focused. Now that the hockey season is over, I think I'll just watch the Stanley Cup Final, golf and hang out with friends ... be a kid for the last month. Then I'll head to Vancouver. I think my life will change a lot once that weekend goes by."

[thinkingaboutbetterdays]

the mystery woman. ( sean renard x reader )

gif belongs to me

Adalind was stunned by the time Diana finished explaining her drawing. In the center was her, surrounded by Nick, herself, Sean, and "Daddy's girlfriend" who had never been mentioned until now. She wasn't shocked that Sean had a woman in his life, as the Captain always seemed to have someone floating in his life before he distanced himself in favor of a physical relationship rather than an emotional one. But from Diana's explanation, it seemed Sean had kept you around for a record-breaking amount of time and Adalind had to admit she was curious about who you were and why after nearly eight months, she was only hearing about your relationship now.

"I can take you to her if you want." Diana smiled, "She works at the bakery downtown, and keeps a table reserved just for me."

Adalind knew there would be a fight if Sean realized she was looking into his private life - their civility only surrounded matters involving their daughter. Anything else was an instant battle of wits, insults flying across the room at breakneck speed. But from Diana's expression, there was no choice. They had to go to the bakery.

The blonde looked around as she followed Diana inside. It was filled with mouth-watering scents and a cozy atmosphere - friendly given how many knew Diana who greeted them politely before pushing her way to the front of the line.

"Diana -"

"Hi, Y/N!" The young girl beamed when you exited the kitchen with a tray of freshly baked cookies. You set them on the counter ready to be drizzled in chocolate and dusted your hands on your apron, sending Diana a bright smile.

"Well, howdy, princess." You greeted, holding your apron as you curtseyed much to Diana's amusement. You spotted Adalind who glanced at her daughter, meeting your gaze with a raised eyebrow, but your smile never faltered. "Hi, you must be Adalind. It's great to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you."

Adalind shook your hand, "I haven't heard a word about you."

"He isn't much of a sharing person. But then again, neither am I." You looked at Diana who was eyeing the freshly baked cookies, knowing it was your recipe. And ever since you had baked cookies to pass the time until her father returned home from work, attempting to bond with the young princess who was wary of you at first, she was always eager for more. "How about you two take a seat and I can bring you something over? On the house, of course."

Adalind ordered coffee while Diana chose a muffin, and insisted her mother should try it. You smiled as they headed to the table that was empty all day for staff breaks, or surprise family visits like today, ensuring they always had a seat. You entered the kitchen as Sean entered the bakery, his gaze dancing around the room until they landed on Diana and Adalind, who agreed with her daughter that the muffin was the best she ever had. It was clear to the blonde how much Diana liked you, and given her past with her father's 'girlfriends' it was nothing short of a miracle which only added to her intrigue.

He approached the table and Diana greeted her father whose narrowed eyes were focused on Adalind. "What are you doing here?"

"Eating a muffin." Adalind shrugged.

She knew there was more he wanted to say, but he wouldn't with Diana around, nor with so many witnesses. But his glare spoke volumes about how he felt about her presence in the bakery, his grip on the back of the chair tightening as he controlled his temper.

"Diana told me about her, and I was curious." She explained. "That's it."

You approached the table, and Sean stood straighter, turning as you set a mug of coffee on the table. You set a glass down next to Diana who thanked you.

"You're welcome." You looked at Sean, "Anything for you, Captain? Pumpkin Spice? Ooh, nutmeg?"

Sean shook his head, "Coffee."

You rolled your eyes although Adalind knew it was in jest. "As black as your soul, got it."

The blonde looked at Sean when he sat down, but his focus was on watching you return behind the counter to brew his coffee. Diana chose this moment to show him her drawing and he could see how much she had matured this past year - before she would have killed you and Nick for keeping him and Adalind apart, but now she valued the large family she had. And seeing her parents happy, even when it wasn't together, she learned to accept it.

"So how did you meet?" Adalind spoke up.

Sean chose to be vague in his reply, hoping she would back off, "I come here for coffee sometimes."

But Diana hadn't noticed the tension between them, offering more information than he was willing to give. "He comes here every day. Morning, lunch, and after work."

Adalind raised an amused eyebrow, "Is that right?"

Diana nodded. "That's how they met. Y/N moved here a year ago and took over the bakery." You caught her gaze and waved her over, and she grinned, leaving to choose a cookie to decorate.

Sean looked away from a smirking Adalind, his eyes scanning the counter finding you weren't there. She observed the way he searched for you and her smirk faltered, her eyes widening in surprise.

"I never thought I'd live to see the day Sean Renard fell in love."

He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to respond harshly when Diana returned with you a few steps behind. You held out his coffee and he thanked you, his posture tensing under the untrained eye - but Adalind had known him for a long time and could see how protective he was over you.

You rested your hands on his shoulders, standing behind his chair, and Adalind noticed the way his gaze softened, a smile on your lips as you arranged with Diana to stock ingredients this weekend during her stay with Sean so the three of you could bake together.

"You're living together?" Adalind spoke louder than she intended, stunned at the news.

"Uh-huh. But only for two weeks. Although it feels longer." Adalind smiled when you looked at Sean who raised an eyebrow at your answer, "I'm kidding," You squeezed his shoulders and his lips tugged upwards at the gesture.

She finished her coffee, thanking you as she got to her feet. "We should get going."

Diana pouted, but after being reassured that she would see you soon, she followed her mother who sent you a small smile.

"It was nice meeting you."

"You too." She truly meant that.

You looked at Sean when the two blondes left, "Those two are scarily alike."

"Tell me about it." He sighed, and you noticed the drawing on the table. "Diana drew it." He explained when you picked it up. "That's why Adalind came here, to find out who you were."

You smiled down at the drawing before meeting his gaze, "Does this mean I can sleep peacefully without fear that she will try to kill me?" Sean had once told you about how she had killed his mistress, and after explaining that your relationship with her father was different, she had many questions about how you started dating and if you were going to hurt him. She was protective over her parents and from the story he told you about the murder, Diana was the last person you wanted to upset. It took a while to get used to her powers, but Sean could see that your initial apprehension became curiousness and then admiration and he knew how protective you were of his daughter.

Sean chuckled, "I'd say so." He placed a hand on your back and you stepped into his side, smiling down at him. "Why don't we have dinner tonight? Eat in. Grants a little privacy."

You nodded, "We could double date."

Immediately his expression changed and you giggled behind the drawing, watching as he relaxed, realizing you weren't serious.

"What did you have in mind?" You asked.

"Let's just say, that I've enjoyed having you all to myself. And I'm not ready to share just yet."

You leaned down to kiss him softly, placing a hand on his cheek. His cell phone rang and he groaned when you pulled away. "It could be important." You reasoned with a smile.

He sighed as he answered the call, and you picked up Adalind's empty coffee mug, looking at him when he stood. "There's been a development on a case."

You sent him a smile, nodding to show you understood. "Okay."

"I could ignore it and we could head home early..." He whispered suggestively and you bit the inside of your cheek.

"We both know we'd never make it home, and I'd rather my regulars didn't see me naked in a steamed-up car."

He grunted quietly in agreement. "I'll pick you up after work?"

"Sounds great." Your smile elicited a genuine smile from him, which wasn't common when he was out in the open where his enemies could see. He had explained it all to you, his past and the threats he still faced, and you understood his reasons for keeping your relationship a secret as did Adalind who had observed you both for less than twenty minutes. It was for your protection. "I love you."

He mouthed his reciprocation and you closed your eyes when he kissed you. "I'll see you tonight."

"I'll be counting down the minutes." You teased as he headed to the door with his takeaway cup of coffee. After he entered the bakery for the first time since you took over you had learned to brew his perfect cup of coffee and he found himself ditching the instant coffee at the precinct in favor of seeing you and buying a decent cup of coffee.

Sean looked back at you as he walked out and you smiled before heading to the kitchen to check on the pastries you were baking. You pinned the drawing with a magnet and smiled softly before getting back to work, checking the clock now and then with excitement as your date grew closer.

[darthannie]

day seven: sex tape with neil lewis

pairing: Neil Lewis x f!reader word count: 738 warnings: p in v sex, gf!reader, unprotected sex, blowjob, a/n: If he could, he’d film his sex tape on Super 8. This one is a little silly but it’s fun. I love Neil.  kinktober masterlist

There was no real reason you and Neil wanted to make a sex tape, you just thought it would be fun to make a little movie for each other. You went to his house one night, ready for the “shoot” as he called it. He had even cleaned his room for the occasion. 

You’d both gotten completely naked so as not to waste any precious minutes when you started filming. He was already getting hard at the sight of you. The viewfinder from the camcorder was facing towards you so you could see what was happening. 

He thought you looked pretty with spit on your face and his cock on your cheek. You tapped it on your face and smiled, licking It again. You didn’t break eye contact with the camera as you took him in your mouth again, bobbing up and down. You closed your eyes to enjoy the moment. 

You looked up at Neil as he moved the camera and flipped the viewfinder to get a head-on view of the action. You used both your hands and mouth, cupping his balls with one hand and stroking him with the other. Your tongue danced on the tip of his cock and he moaned loud enough for the janky microphone to pick up. He flipped the viewfinder to watch through the camera.

“Wait, wait, wait. Fuck, we’re running out of time on the card. Get on your back.” You let out a long AHHHHH, as you maneuvered around him. It made him laugh and he forgot about the camera for a moment as he bent over to kiss you. 

You pulled away. “Okay, babe, no time.”

“Right, right,” he froze for a second. “Here, you grab the camera and film me.”

Once you put him in frame he was back in it. You zoomed in on his cock sliding over your wet pussy. He put the tip inside you and pulled out. You groaned, “Neil, no time for teasing just fuck me.”

“Okay, okay.” He thrust hard, reaching a deep spot that made you twitch, shaking the camera slightly. He settled on a moderate pace as he found which angle got the best reaction out of you. 

He knew he had you when your head dipped into the pillows under you. He focused on you. He couldn’t believe he had a girlfriend that was willing to shoot this with him. Someone willing to immortalize one of the most intimate moments of your life. 

He took the camera from your hands, flipped the viewfinder, and placed it on the nightstand. He kissed you as he started moving again. He moved from your lips to your neck, nipping at the skin and leaving marks that would soon turn red. 

“Neil, faster please…”, you begged. 

He didn’t change his speed. “I don’t care if it stops recording.”

“Me neither, I just need you.”

He groaned, “Say that again.”

“I need you, baby.”

He wanted to hear that more than anything. He sped up before you finished saying baby. Your nails ran across his back as you started feeling your orgasm build up. 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

He huffed and puffed, slowing down as you came on him. He felt you squeeze around him and he pulled out. He moaned as he stroked his cock and came on your stomach.

When you both caught your breath you looked over at the camera. It read “Memory card full”. You looked at each other and chuckled. He told you to stay put and ran into the bathroom. He ran back out with boxers on and a wet washcloth. He cleaned you up and you found your underwear and t-shirt.

You put them on as he took the camera and sat down on the bed. The bed dipped as you sat next to him. Neil opened up the media library to find the movie and you both watched, listening to the sound coming from the crappy camcorder speaker.

You giggled and hid your face in the crook of his neck, unable to watch what was not on tape. He shrugged his shoulder to get you to look. You were nervous to see yourself in such a vulnerable position but had to admit you looked hot. Then came the moment of truth. You watched as Neil came on you, and then it stopped.

 Neil looked at you and smiled. “Well, I guess we got the shot.”

Taglist:

@devotedlyshadowytheorist, @dxnger-dxys, @tommyshelbywhore, @quinnlilias,@madnessandobsession, @mvpr-moon, @nela-cutie, @faebirdie, @charmed-asylum, @anasanthology, @ilikefictionalmen, @akanne-aka, @no-fooking-fighting,@queenofstresss, @flwrs4aust, @mrkdvidal1989, @eleanorthemo,@ilovepeoplesdads, @00hsv

(If something is up with your tag or you would like to be added, let me know!)

[tacoma-narrows]

Tac Talks Coasters - Post 2: #169

Photo Sources: All photos are mine

Corkscrew at Cedar Point!

<- Previous | Start | Next ->

Opened: 1976 Manufacturer: Arrow Dynamics Height: 85 ft (26 m) Speed: 48 mph (77 kph) Length: 2,050 ft (620 m) My most recent ride: 2022

Cedar Point's numerous coasters span all shapes and sizes, and with their legacy of record-breaking rides, they had to break their first records with something. That something was Corkscew, opening in 1976. Corkscrew was the first coaster to feature 3 inversions, and the first coaster to go over a footpath. These were big things for their time.

The key phrase there is "for their time." Corkscrew, nearing 50 years old at this point, is no longer the impressive feat it once was and is now just buried in Cedar Point's lineup. And as you can see from it's second-to-last placement on my list, I'm not a fan. The ride just doesn't do a whole lot for me. Like a lot of old Arrows, it's rough, jerky and uncomfortable, and overall is just outdated design-wise. The one bunny hill between the first drop and the loop doesn't really deliver any air, and the transition into the namesake corkscrews has always been jarring like on a lot of Arrow coasters.

My guess as to the main reasons as to why it's stuck around at Cedar Point for so long are: A) It's not an expensive ride to maintain. Arrow rides are robust, clearly as a lot of them have had pretty long lifespans. Since Corkscrew isn't very big, it doesn't put as much wear on its track and trains so it can just keep on going. And B) There's not a whole lot that could realistically replace it. Corkscrew's plot of land is super long and narrow, smack in the middle of the park. Wedged between the midway, Top Thrill 2, Power Tower and the Super Himalaya on one side, and a backstage area and Hotel Breakers on the other, there's not really a whole lot that could go there without taking some other rides out or making some other kind of major change to the area. Unless you put in some kind of shuttle coaster or just some smaller rides, I can't think of too much else that would fit there, meaning that (I'd imagine) it's not usually on Cedar Point's chopping block.

Finishing up with some positives, similar to Nighthawk, Corkscrew does pull some surprising forces. The last time I rode it, I remember being surprised at how forceful the loop was, as well as getting a bit of hang time on the corkscrews. I can also see Cedar Point keeping it around for it's icon status as the first triple inverting coaster, and it's iconic corkscrews over the midway. The ride really does look nice right in the center of the park. Lastly, it also works well as an introductory ride to someone going on a looping coaster for the first time before moving on to bigger things, so I guess there's a market for that too lol.

So that's the first out of 21 credits I have from Cedar Point. Where do the others land? You'll just have to wait to find out :3c

Thanks for checking out today's coaster post! Keep an eye out for tomorrow's coaster!