#i hope this man gets all the birthday wishes !!!

[thewinter-eden]

Damn Puppy Dog Eyes

images are mine (except middle KS pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. ATE pcs are my inspo for this series.

PLEASE READ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

in honor of so many of you being so sweet and sending me birthday wishes yesterday, I was extra motivated to get this one finished and posted as soon as possible. You all made me feel so loved and appreciated and I'll never be able to thank you enough. So to ATTEMPT to thank you, I got this goofball finished.

ALSO - y'all go read the story that @ramadiiiisme wrote for me as a birthday present <3 if you love Ateez' Yeosang (as you SHOULD), you'll enjoy the bit of fluff that my bestie outdid herself with. (p.s. hey bestie I put Wooyoung in this story just for you hope you love it sorry he's a lil twerp but he kinda is ok bye) find my birthday story HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

part 7 of the skz crack!horror series.

pairing: Kim Seungmin x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: werewolf!Seungmin saves your life from a pack, inadvertently earning your unwavering loyalty, even though he’s just as much a killer as they were. Sometimes he can’t decide if he wants to wrap you up in bubble wrap to save you from your own idiotic self or dump your annoying ass back where he found you. (warnings below the cut)

word count: 6k

warnings: Fear, attempted murder, werewolves hunting humans, reader makes dumb decisions, Seungmin’s gonna pull his own hair out, Ateez, group dynamic manipulation (Jeongin is SKZ alpha, Yunho is ATZ alpha), language, undertones of violence (canine-type pecking order fights), reader is referred to as ‘the bitch’ occasionally (canine term more so than derogatory term), undertones of domestic abuse (non-physically-violent, reader is unhappy), Yunho SLANDER (I’m sorry Yunho I love you), reader is touch starved, cuddles

Comment a request to be tagged.

series info

He's noticed you here and there around campus.

You're always with Yunho, or one of his pack. The entire student body knows who you are, knows you belong to one of the strongest packs on campus, knows that you're engaged to the alpha. To Yunho, one of the most prolific killers of your generation.

No one bothers you.

The first time Seungmin recognizes you by yourself, you're on the outskirts of campus, practicing some kind of flowy, yoga-like, graceful movements in the back of the baseball field. He watches you for only a few seconds before his eyes are scanning your surroundings, checking the bleachers for Yunho or the other members of his pack who are always hovering around you with possessive consistency. There's no one. You are alone.

Your focus surprises him. The way you control your motions, the finest muscles in perfect form, your expression intensely concentrated, is different from the behavior he's seen from you so far. You're always smiling, always latched onto Yunho, always fluttering around him and his pack to provide companionship and servitude whenever called upon. Now, though, you are planted firmly in your own autonomy, exercising some kind of active meditation that speaks volumes of your true self.

Seungmin turns away from you and doesn't look back. To be caught gazing at Yunho's fiancé with anything other than perhaps disinterested reverence means trouble.

The next time he sees you, you're in a restaurant alone, watching the clock tick away the minutes as Yunho stands you up. You're quiet again, your face peacefully still in your fiancé's absence, your hands folded neatly in your lap and not an ounce of surprise in your body that you're being forgotten once again.

After over an hour of waiting, a member of Yunho's pack arrives and hovers over your table. When you meet the eyes of the man who's come to pick you up, you've got a manufactured embarrassed smile on your face and you get up, already laughing and chatting about something that you had no thoughts of only moments before.

The man herds you outside into his car, pays the bill for the glass of wine that you've barely sipped, and chauffeurs you off into the night.

A few weeks go by before he sees you again, and this time you’re in the grocery store with two of Yunho’s pack, and you’re not smiling anymore. Your hands tremble as you reach for packages of meat and cartons of eggs, your eyes downcast and darting to clock the positions of your companions at every turn.

Each time he catches a glimpse of you between aisles and around fruit displays, he notices the dynamics have shifted from what they usually are. Because they’re not your companions, this time; this time they’re your keepers; your captors.

Seungmin notices a familiar face pop up obliviously from behind a shelf of fresh bread, turning over a package of sourdough in his hands to check the baker’s date. The young man, one of Seungmin’s own friends, bounces the loaf of bread in his palm once and then tosses it into his basket before moving on to the display of cheeses.

You noticed the guy at the same time that Seungmin did, but you whip your head away and make a beeline for an aisle at the complete opposite side of the store to avoid him.

Both of your companions have already caught sight of the man you’re trying to stay away from, and they’re hurrying after you with hostile glares pointed back at him.

The entire exchange is odd, especially since Seungmin knows for sure that his friend Felix wouldn’t be stupid enough to make a move on Yunho’s woman.

Despite your obvious attempts at avoidance, you run into Felix at the checkout line, which Seungmin witnesses from a spot further back in line, his own groceries piled high in his own basket. He hears Felix chirp a cheerful hello to you, and then a more cautious one to both of your escorts.

You murmur a quiet response back, and your men say nothing.

“I just wanted to thank you again for carrying me on that partner project last week.” Felix is saying, completely ignoring the darkening auras of the wolves beside you. “I was getting worried about my grade there for a minute.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” You respond kindly. “Your part definitely tied the project together.” You’re dumping your items on the conveyor belt as quickly as you can, desperately trying to get checked out and away from Felix as fast as possible.

The line moves and Seungmin finds himself ever so slightly closer to you.

Felix laughs softly and reaches to lay a casual and friendly pat to your arm, a move that Seungmin has seen him replicate hundreds of times with dozens of friends and acquaintances—a move that means nothing—but the shorter of your two companions bullies his way between you and Felix with a snarl.

“Woo!” You snap, snatching him by his sleeve. You can’t move him, you can’t actually call him off, but the frantic tone in your voice and the desperate plea in your eyes convinces Felix to back off without a fight.

“Don’t worry about it,” Felix shakes his head at you, ignoring Wooyoung entirely. “It’s not your fault they don’t have the social experience to recognize a harmless interaction. But I hear that’s a common problem for lapdogs.”

Seungmin can feel the tension thicken between the four of you and his own hackles rise instinctively, his hand gripping his basket with enough strength to bruise.

“That’s not helpful right now,” You say, and loop an arm through Wooyoung’s to hold close. You turn to the taller man behind you, the one who hasn’t torn his smoldering glare from Felix. “We need to pay and go. Yunho doesn’t want to cause problems with another pack, and there’s no reason to waste energy on him.” You shrug a dismissive shoulder at Felix, who rolls his eyes and walks away to join another checkout line. “He was just a group project partner, Mingi. He’s friendly with everyone.”

The larger man glances at you, then over the divider to Felix, then to the end of your line to Seungmin.

Of course he’s already clocked Seungmin.

There’s a reason he was chosen to guard you.

Evidently deciding that getting you out of the grocery store is easier than dealing with a confrontation from two members of a competing pack, Mingi tugs his wallet from a back pocket and pays for the groceries. He tosses the bags into Wooyoung’s grasp and then turns you with a hand on your back and herds you out of the store.

Seungmin doesn’t breathe again until their vehicle speeds you out of the parking lot.

The reason for your sudden protection detail becomes a little clearer the next time he finds you at the end of the baseball field, practicing your meditative *tai chi—*when he finds you crying. Your arms and legs carrying you with perfect poise through the movements, your face scrunched with pain and soaked with tears.

He’s on alert at the sight of your obvious distress, his senses kicking into overdrive to determine the cause of your ache, but he can’t identify a source. Instead of endorphins and blood, obvious markers of physical pain and abuse, you smell like cortisol and low blood sugar. Despite the over-controlling appearance of things, Yunho doesn’t seem to be hurting you, which does surprise him.

But you are unhappy.

That much is obvious.

You’re unhappy, you’re pulling away from your perfect fiancé to find time for yourself, and Yunho is feeling his grasp on you slipping. He can’t risk suffering a humiliating breakup that the entire student body would find out about, so he’s using his pack to keep an eye on you.

Seungmin knows what will happen to you if you continue to be unhappy—what happens to all humans who overstay their welcome with Yunho’s help. Either he will manufacture a breakup that humiliates you instead, or you will be disposed of.

Seungmin collects his gear, bouncing a baseball thoughtfully in the palm of his hand. You’re still unaware of his presence, still crying into your morning meditation, but he can’t help but feel like he’s witnessing your last moments on earth.

It’s not his business.

He leaves you there, headed for the showers, and hopes nobody had seen the indecision in his eyes.

The next time he finds himself close to you is an accident. His head is down, thumbing through the pages in his notebook, looking for a homework sheet that he’s suppose to turn in by today, when he’s hit by the scent of tea tree and blackberry—and then a shoulder jabs into his ribs.

He lurches back, hand lifting from his notebook to push the offending body away from him, and finds himself holding you by the arm, blinking down into your apologetic face.

You’re babbling regretfully, asking him if he’s okay, checking the ground to see if he’s dropped anything, but he’s just watching the way you’re avoiding his eyes.

You’re terrified, overwhelmed by the sheer number of werewolves on campus. He can feel you shaking beneath his hand. For a moment he wonders if he was wrong in his assessment of Yunho’s treatment of you, if you are actually being physically abused—based on the way you flinch away from his blank stare, you’ve clearly had some bad interactions with wolves.

“I’m so sorry.” You say again. “I’ll watch where I’m going.”

Seungmin lets you go. He never should have touched you, not even as a reflex. You’re Yunho’s woman, and now his scent is on you. “It’s fine.” He says simply, and shoulders past you.

He’ll hear of this again.

Jeongin will hear all about the member of his pack who put his hands on an alpha’s fiancé.

“Let me make it up to you!” Your voice cries from behind him, desperate to smooth things over and help him explain this unintentional rendezvous. You know how wolves can be. You know what’s just happened—you’ll probably be punished for it.

“Forget it.” Seungmin snaps back, barely looking over his shoulder. “Leave me alone.”

You find him the next day in the library, studying by himself. He can smell you coming, now that he’s gotten a scent of you up close, and his body immediately coils, tightening to leave. Nothing good can come of the two of you being seen together, much less studying together. You dump your books on his table and plop yourself down into the chair across from him.

Seungmin abruptly forgets his topic of study, stunned by your brazen neglect of cultural boundaries. “Are you stupid?” He snaps, whipping his gaze around. Your posse seems to have abandoned you today, but the morning is young. “You need to stop talking to my pack.” It’s harsh and biting, but it’s best for everyone.

You’re human—you don’t understand.

You can’t be getting buddy-buddy with Felix, you can’t be seeking out Seungmin. There are enough members of the pack you’re marrying into to keep you company without dragging another one into the drama that is your human desire for friendship and attention. You’re going to cause a fight, and you’re going to get someone killed.

But you just roll your eyes and flip open the cover of a textbook. “Things aren’t working out with Yunho.”

Seungmin’s scraping his things together, dumping handfuls of pencils and scrap paper and sticky notes into his backpack. “I don’t care.” And he really, really doesn’t. He thinks you’re pathetic, trapped in a relationship that isn’t all you thought it was going to be, and now you don’t realize there’s no way out of it. “Does Yunho know that? Because your guard dogs are still stalking you.” He juts his chin towards the front desk, where Wooyoung and Mingi are hovering, glowering at you.

Your complexion washes out ever so slightly.

At least you realize a little bit of the severity of the situation.

He catches your eyes finding his again and for a second he pauses in stacking his books. “What?”

“I don’t like these rules.” You say. “Why can’t I talk to you just because of Yunho?”

Seungmin’s backpack zips with a definitive sound. “Don’t you know anything? Wolves are territorial.” He shoves his chair back and gets to his feet. “Stop trying to talk to me. You’re not worth killing an alpha for.” He doesn’t catch your shocked expression as he spins on his heel and stalks out of the library.

And of course you don’t listen. Of course you think you know better than what everyone is telling you. You must think that, because Seungmin can’t imagine another reason that you would show up at his doorstep, banging on his dorm room door, sobbing your pitiful heart out in front of him.

You must be either stupid or arrogant.

He can only stare at you, one hand clutching the door, when you barrel straight at him and he finds a miserable, weeping human wrapped around his chest. Your tears are soaking into his throat, your heart hammering against his chest, and all he feels is panic.

Because you’re emitting hormones and chemicals that every wolf in the building can smell and you’re smearing them all over his clothes.

He doesn’t even question why you’re crying. In two seconds he’s shoved you off of him and slammed the door in your face, and in the next two seconds he’s bolted across his dorm and plunged himself into the shower to scrub every last remnant of you off of him.

It’s not until he’s out of the shower, toweling through his hair, tugging on fresh clothes, that he realizes that he hasn’t been able to get the image of you bawling like a lost lamb out of his head.

The shower isn’t enough. He’s meeting Jisung and Felix the next morning to study, and as soon as he approaches the table both older boys pin their gazes on him suspiciously. They’re taking in his scent, absorbing the intermingling of his familiar musk and the treacherous addition of your tea tree shampoo and warm skin.

“Dude.” Jisung sniffs, face scrunching once. He leans in, pushing his nose into Seungmin’s hair and bouncing back with a bright laugh when the younger man shoves him away. “Who did you fuck last night? You reek of woman.”

Seungmin swings a half-assed fist at Jisung and lets him dodge it. “I didn’t fuck anyone. Shut up.”

Felix’s eyes widen, leaning closer as well, and then he flinches back in surprise. “That’s Yunho’s girl. You smell like Yunho’s fiancé.”

A second of silence settles over the library before Jisung’s hand claps down on Seungmin’s shoulder. “You fucked Yunho’s fiancé?” He hears himself as soon as he’s said it, smacking a hand over his own mouth and ducking his head to avoid Seungmin’s burning glare. To take the target off his own back, he squints at Felix. “How do you know what she smells like?”

“We had a class project.” Felix frowns. “It took us a week and I nearly got gutted by Wooyoung and Mingi every time we had to meet for it. Are you fucking insane?” He directs the last question to the youngest.

Seungmin slams his textbooks down at the table, expression dark with rage. “I didn’t fuck anybody.” He snaps. “She showed up at my dorm last night and I shut the door in her face.” He hopes it will be enough to change the subject, but Jisung just inches closer. “I didn’t talk to her,” He grumbles before any more questions can be thrown haphazardly across the table. “I don’t know why she came to me. I’ve met her exactly once and told her to leave us alone.”

“I’ve heard she’s not vibing with Yunho anymore.” Jisung says, flipping casually through his notes. “She’s not as enamored with his freaky possessive tendencies as she thought she would be.” He completely ignores when Felix kicks him under the table. “And, actually, I’ve heard that his second in command is higher on his fuck list than she is.”

Seungmin kicks him too, being the second to notice to looming presence approaching from behind Jisung. “Shut up, hyung.” he grumbles. “This is none of our business.”

“Leave it alone,” Felix agrees. “It doesn’t concern us.”

“Yeah, but come on.” Jisung barrels on. “Why wouldn’t she be pissed to find out she’s second to Mingi after being paraded around like a queen for two years?”

The approaching wolves decide to make themselves known as Seungmin’s eyes roll to the ceiling. “Maybe don’t believe everything you hear.”

At the sound of Wooyoung’s voice in his ear, Jisung scrambles up and spins to face the two pack mates who have overheard him yapping. He looks appropriately abashed and rubs the back of his neck once but doesn’t back down. “We’re just talking,” He says, and flashes them both a glare.

The larger of the two, San, edges closer. It’s a very clear warning.

Wooyoung’s eyes flicker to Seungmin and his nostrils flare. “That one smells like the bitch.”

It’s enough to raise Seungmin’s hackles, even though he knows it isn’t meant the way humans mean it. More than that, it’s almost affectionate—because you aren’t properly a bitch; you’re not a wolf; but they accept you as belonging to Yunho anyway, like you are one.

They just don’t seem to care that you don’t want to be.

“It was nothing.” Seungmin says lowly. His tone is threatening, low enough that Wooyoung thinks twice about jumping in his face. “She came to the wrong room, I sent her away.”

San’s eyes narrow. “She’s come home reeking of you before. This isn’t the first time, pup.”

The nickname does not go over well.

Jisung utters a reverberating snarl that seems to eliminate the almost comical height difference between himself and San, while Felix rises from his seat and lifts his chin in a challenge.

The rest of the students begin to gather their things and move seats, giving the wolves a wide berth.

“We have no interest in you or any of your toys.” Jisung announces flatly. “Go home before you embarrass yourselves.”

Wooyoung takes a step back, but he has one final blow to land. “Watch yourself, dog.” His eyes are on Seungmin. “Yunho doesn’t take kindly to stealing.” He looks gleeful as he utters his next words. “And he doesn’t keep tainted goods.”

Seungmin doesn’t even know your name. He’s tuned everything about you out ever since he first started noticing you around campus. He doesn’t want to know you, doesn’t want to spend time with you, doesn’t want to think about you.

He especially doesn’t want to think about how pretty you are, or how kind and innocent you seem, or the way that your expression sinks into loneliness when you think you’re alone. He doesn’t want to know your name, or why you’re engaged to Yunho, or why you’re suddenly unhappy that you’re engaged to Yunho.

He doesn’t want to know why you showed up sobbing at his door after he was so cold towards you, or why you thought throwing yourself into his arms was a safer option than sharing your burdens with your own fiancé.

But when he hears you weeping once again, your wails echoing through the woods, he doesn’t even try to avoid you. This time he follows your sound, follows your scent, creeps through the dark trails to find you. Because he’s the reason your back is against a tree, your terrified body surrounded by the eight members of your pack.

He’s the reason Yunho looks sick as he takes in your scent and smells remnants of another wolf.

It’s his scent on you that is about to cost you your life.

If you were a wolf, Yunho would have just cut you loose. He would have sent you on your way, let you find someone else, staged some public and humiliating breakup for you. But you’re not. You’re human; you’re less than. he doesn’t need to let you live.

You’re screaming into the dark, pleading your case, begging them to believe that you don’t even know Seungmin, that it’s all a misunderstanding. The entire pack ignores you. They’ll make an example of you after they’ve torn you to pieces.

Seungmin knows there will be parts of you around campus by morning, a warning to all other wolves to keep their hands off of Yunho’s toys.

He can’t just sit by and watch you be killed because you were too dumb to understand pack boundaries. But he also can’t face down eight werewolves by himself, not on two legs.

So he shifts.

He transforms at will, assuming the form that so many fear and he takes a second to adjust. He’s big, one of the biggest of his pack, and he’s fast. As long as all four limbs are cooperating, he has a good chance at success to get you out of the trap you’re backed into.

He’s so fast Yunho’s pack doesn’t realize what’s happening.

Seungmin bolts into the circle they’ve created around you and darts straight towards you. Before you can scream or dodge his trajectory, he’s clamped his teeth around your shoulder and snatched you away into the dark.

He knows it hurts, he can taste your blood in his mouth, but his greater concern is the shouting and howling of the pack behind you. They’ll shift and give chase in a matter of seconds, but they’ll need the same time to adjust that he had needed. It will be enough time.

At least for now.

You’re screaming beneath him, clawing at his throat and trying everything to loosen his bite, but he can’t stop. If he stops they’ll catch up, and if they catch up, they’ll kill you both.

He doesn’t drop you until he’s outside his dorm, shifting back to human form just in time to catch you before you hit the sidewalk. You’re pale and bleeding, your shoulder mangled from his own teeth. He can still taste the blood on his tongue, and he feels it as it trickles over his lips.

“Seungmin?” You gasp as soon as you find yourself in his grip. “Wait, you—”

“You really are stupid, aren’t you?” He lifts you to his chest and shoulders the door open, casting a glance back to see the wolves of your old pack burst out of the tree line. “I told you this would happen.”

Seungmin hurries you up the stairs and down the hall, slamming his door shut behind you just in time to hear footsteps pounding behind you. He'll deal with it later. He'll text Jeongin, and Jeongin will deal with your pack.

He locks the door and sets you down on his bed, turning away abruptly to catch his breath. Sweat is trickling down his brow, seeping into the shirt at his back, his heart pounding a mile a minute. Behind him, he hears you tell him your name. "I don't want to know," He snaps, reaching for a first aid kit. "Don't say anything. God." He's seething, face red with rage. "You can't actually be this stupid."

"But--" You're confused. "You saved me. You got me out of there. It's over."

Stunned, Seungmin flings a hand towards the door where Yunho is doing his best to beat it down. "Does it sound fucking over? No. You're going to sit there and shut up, and once I'm done dealing with this mess you're going to leave. Transfer schools. Get lost. Just take your drama somewhere else and leave my pack out of it."

You sink into his pillows, your expression falling.

As he pushes your sleeve aside to clean the flesh his teeth have punctured, the only noise is the clamoring of your pack outside his door. Campus security will be alerted to the disturbance soon and they'll be gone without a fight, but the real trouble is coming.

"Why did you start running around on Yunho anyway?" He mutters sourly, not bothering to apologize when you hiss at the sting of his ointment.

"I'm not running around on Yunho." You refute glumly. "I broke up with him. Two months ago."

Seungmin snorts. "I don't think he agreed with you."

"Yeah, well, I didn't expect to be the one on a leash." It's a bitter, unkind comment, one that earns you a sharp glare. You flinch away from him, fully expecting to earn a slap or another bite for your disrespect, but the expression on Seungmin's face just melts into a smirk.

"Well, you know how dogs can be."

You weren't expecting that. "Why did you save me if you hate me so much?"

Seungmin begins to wrap your wound, not bothering himself with gentility. "Because you're dumb as fuck."

"Not because I'm human?"

It's your turn to surprise him. He fully expected another round of tears at his words, but you just take his prickly demeanor in stride. "I don't hate your humanity." He says, quietly this time. "I don't hate you. But you need to think about what you're doing. You got yourself involved with a volatile pack when you decided to date Yunho, and then you put my pack in danger when you decided to come crying to me. This world isn't all about you. You're messing with instinct and pride and you literally almost died over it."

You sink even deeper into the pillows. "I'll do better," You say. "I promise. I'll do better."

"You'll leave." He replies flatly. "You won't survive on campus. You have to leave."

A few minutes pass as the pack outside his door goes quiet, noise shifting into the sounds of campus security escorting them out of the building and urging them to deal with their issues during the daytime.

"Why did you come crying to me?" He asks finally. He gets up to collect a clean shirt for you to wear instead of the one that's now doused with blood.

"You called me stupid."

Seungmin rolls his eyes. "You came crying because I hurt your feelings?"

"No I came to you because you called me stupid when everyone else over there tells me nothing's wrong, it's all in my head, everything I do is fine. I came to you because I knew you'd tell me the truth, that you wouldn't do me any favors."

Well he certainly hadn't done you any favors by slamming the door in your face.

"What truth were you looking for?" He asks, tossing you the shirt.

You blush. "I wanted to know if they were going to kill me and never let me leave."

Seungmin snorts. "Figured that one out on your own, did you?"

You sit curled up on his bed while he rummages through his groceries and finds some rice and chicken to make. There’s a twitch in your posture, an obvious tug from where his bite has damaged the muscle of your shoulder.

He slides the pre-cooked rice into the microwave and turns it on, letting the low hum fill the room as his eyes find you once again. “I’m sorry about the bite,” he tells you, and he is. He hates the way your eyes fill with tears from the pain of it, hates the way your pathetic expression makes his gut twist.

You flinch, staring up at him. “No, no, I’m fine! You saved my life. I have no complaints.” Despite your rushed reassurance, you bring your legs closer to your chest and make yourself even smaller. “Look, I hear you.” You say. “I know I’ve made trouble for the packs. And I know I’ve put you in danger. If it’s important to you to just kill me, I understand.”

You’re absolutely stunned when he swats the back of your head. “You really are dumb as fuck, pabo.” He rolls his eyes again and drops himself onto the bed next to you, sitting against the wall as he watches the microwave hum away. “Why would I save your life just to kill you?”

You’re trembling next to him. “Why would you save it at all?” For a second your gaze drops to your shoulder, taking note of the enormous breadth of his teeth marks. “I’ve never seen a wolf so big.”

“Yunho is bigger.” Seungmin says simply. “I saved you because it’s my scent that marked you. They didn’t need to kill you over some stupid accident. Not when I wasn’t even trying to steal you.”

“Steal me?” Your eyes are wide.

“Wolves are territorial.” He reminds you again. “Yunho would rather kill you than lose you to me.”

The microwave beeps and he hefts himself up, going to swap one container for another. By the time he’s turned around again, you’ve gotten off the bed and found the strength in your legs again.

“Careful,” he warns, reaching for a plastic spoon. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“Seungmin.” Your voice is tiny, pleading.

He turns, and then you’re flush against his chest, your mouth crushed against his. He stumbles back but you chase, kissing him so hard he feels his brain blank out for a second.

Until your hands climb the back of his neck and scrape through his hair and he lurches back, seizing your wrists.

You’re gasping, staring at him, eyes filled with tears. “I’ll be yours. I swear. I’ll be good and I’ll respect pack boundaries and I’ll do anything for you. I’ll make you feel so good, please, Seungmin. Let me be yours.”

He pushes you back, pushing you back on the bed. “God you really don’t know how not to be someone’s bitch, do you?” He pries your hands off his neck and backs away from you. “Stop chasing wolves. Go have a normal human relationship somewhere else.” He puts a plate of rice and chicken in your lap. “Eat.”

Your tears spill over. “I’m scared, Seungmin.”

“Scared isn’t a good enough reason to mate a wolf.” He snaps. The cruelty in his tone is undermined by the gentility with which he lifts your hand and presses chopsticks into your palm. “You must have learned that with Yunho.”

“He’ll kill me, Seungmin.”

“Eat your food.” He plates his own meal and sits at his desk, far away from you. “And don’t go kissing people for protection anymore.”

Your eyes duck to your plate and you sniffle pathetically. “I’m too scared to eat.”

“I’ll drive you to the airport in the morning.” He says disinterestedly. “Once you get out of here you’ll be fine. Just don’t go chasing wolves anymore.”

You put your food aside and get up to stand at the window, glancing out over the darkness of campus. “I like it here though.”

He drops his plate on the desk. “Oh my god, wolf girl, you literally cannot keep yourself out of trouble, can you?”

There’s a second as you turn to face him, a coy smile crossing your lips. “Do you like trouble, Seungmin?” You take one step and then you’ve got his chin in your palm, your other hand scruffing through his hair. “Do you want to get into trouble, puppy?”

He looks absolutely appalled as he snatches your hands away from him. “God, no wonder they were trying to kill you. Keep this up and I’ll just leave you on their doorstep.”

You utter a quiet laugh and the playful sneer melts off your face. As soon as it’s gone he realizes that it was a mask, that you had just been messing with him, but at the mention of your uncertain fate your fear is gripping quiet fingers at the base of your neck. “If you’ll let me sleep here tonight, I’ll sleep on the floor.” You say quietly. “Airport tomorrow morning, no more wolf chasing. Got it.”

He hates the defeated slump of your shoulders, the tears that slip down your face.

“You already have my scent.” He says flatly. “Sleep in the bed with me.”

So you do. You’re pressed into the wall on the other side, as far away from him as you can possibly manage. He watches you through the dark, watches your body shake with silent sobs.

You reek of fear and heartbreak, the scent overwhelming his senses until it’s pulsing in his skull.

He’ll never sleep at this rate, and he doesn’t want to think about the way his chest clenches every time he catches a glimpse of your big pitiful eyes.

“Pabo,” he whispers at your back, and sees you fall still. “You’re sniffling so damn loud I can’t sleep.”

Your entire body cringes. “I’m sorry. I’ll move to the floor.” You roll over to attempt to crawl to the foot of the bed to get around him but he catches your arm.

“Just come here,” he says, giving you a tug. “Neither of us are going to sleep if you’re over there being pathetically lonely. Come here, pabo.”

You seize the opportunity, desperate for physical touch, and you scoot closer until at least you can feel his shoulder against yours. “Thank you,” you whisper. “Yunho never let me touch him when he was trying to sleep. He’s not much of a cuddler.”

“And you are.” He guesses, feeling the way you’re leaning every ounce of your need for comfort into the two square inches of shoulder that is touching his.

“It’s a disease,” you laugh at yourself. “I just want to be held so fucking bad sometimes.”

Maybe it’s some science about the resonance in your voice or the sob that breaks through your tone or maybe a bout of temporary insanity, but the second your aching words touch his ears, Seungmin’s arms fall around your waist and tug you into him.

He hears you gasp, feels your heart beating through your back against his chest, feels your abdomen clench against his arm as you hold back sobs.

He gets it now. “You’re fine, pabo.” He mutters into your hair. “Just cry it out quickly so we can actually get some sleep.”

You immediately begin to sob, entire body decompressing with a corner of his pillow stuffed into your mouth. Months of a miserable, domineering relationship where your most sensitive emotional needs are neglected finally expressing itself on the night you nearly lost your life over nothing.

Seungmin huffs a tiny laugh against the back of your neck, allowing instinct to take over as he squeezes you closer. He sighs, almost amused. “Poor pabo,” he says, and chuckles again as you cry harder. “If only you had picked Wooyoung, I hear he’s way too physically affectionate.”

You launch a foot backwards and kick him, causing him to laugh harder.

“You’re not funny.” You mutter weakly.

“Shh, you’re supposed to be crying.” He tucks his arm firmly around your waist so neither of you will fall off the dorm twin mattress and promptly falls into comfortable sleep.

I'd love to hear what you think!

tag list : @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella @babyphotos0325 @softfor-svtptg @furfoxsake22 @tubelightanyaa @kayleefriedchicken @rockstarkkami @sp1derst0rrr @eastjonowhere @its-stayville-forever @allenajade-ite @naraportokala @jinniejjam @blackberryrains @feetoffthemalfoy @highandalive @scarlet789 @ramadiiiisme @thecutiepieme @lemonn015 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @dreamingartist13 @ebnabi @bangtan-sonyeondamn8 @lemonn015 @thepoeticpurplepotato

[zeroseuniverse]

Straight Out Of REM

Word Count: 875 Summary: What if he was nothing more than a fleeting birthday wish come true? Pairing: XiaoJun X Fem Reader

Navigation

Birthdays were never really her thing. They always came with expectations—calls to return, texts to acknowledge, and the inevitable stress of making it "the best day ever."

But this year, she made a promise to herself: No stress. No responsibilities. Just one perfect, carefree night.

Her best friends took that promise and ran with it, dragging her to an exclusive rooftop party that overlooked the dazzling city skyline. The air was thick with summer warmth, music pulsed through the air, and fairy lights twinkled like misplaced stars. It was the kind of place where magic felt possible, where the night stretched endlessly ahead.

And then she met him.

She hadn’t noticed him at first—too caught up in dancing, sipping on something sweet, and laughing freely for the first time in forever. But when she stepped away for a breath of fresh air, he was there, leaning casually against the railing, his sharp features softened by the city lights.

"Happy birthday," he said smoothly, like he had been waiting just for her.

She tilted her head. "How did you know?"

He simply smiled, tapping the tiny paper crown her friend had placed on her head earlier. "Lucky guess."

From that moment on, the night felt like a scene from a movie.

They sang horribly off-key at a spontaneous rooftop karaoke setup, cheered on by strangers. He led her through the city streets, insisting that every birthday girl deserved a midnight adventure. They shared street food, fingers brushing as they reached for the same bite. When she shivered in the cool breeze, he wordlessly draped his jacket over her shoulders.

Somewhere between laughing until her stomach hurt and watching the sun begin its slow creep over the horizon, she realized she didn’t want the night to end.

And then it did.

He walked her to her apartment building, hesitating for just a moment before stepping back. "Happy birthday," he murmured again, this time softer, like he almost didn’t want her to hear.

She wanted to ask for his number. His name. Anything. But in the blur of exhaustion and lingering euphoria, she never did.

The next morning, reality hit like a splash of cold water.

She didn’t know his name. She didn’t know anything about him.

All she had was a blurry selfie—taken in a moment of laughter, the neon lights distorting their faces, but his smile unmistakable. And a heart still racing from the night before.

Now, she was determined to track him down.

But what if, in the harsh light of day, he wasn’t as perfect as he had seemed?

What if he was nothing more than a fleeting birthday wish come true?

Only one way to find out.

She stared at the blurry selfie on her phone, zooming in and out as if that would somehow reveal more details about him. His sharp jawline, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled—he looked so familiar, yet she couldn’t place him.

Her friends, still recovering from the night’s festivities, huddled around her in the cafe, nursing their iced coffees.

"You’re seriously trying to track down Mystery Rooftop Guy?" her best friend asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course, I am. Wouldn’t you?"

She shrugged. "I mean, yeah, if a guy like that practically waltzed out of a dream and into my life, I’d be tempted. But what if he was just that—a dream? Maybe the mystery is what makes it special."

She sighed, fingers tapping against the table. "Or maybe the mystery is just annoying. I didn’t even get his name."

Her other friend, perked up. "Wait. Didn’t he mention knowing the DJ? Maybe we should start there."

Hope flickered in her chest. "That’s actually a solid lead."

Tracking down the DJ wasn’t as hard as she expected. Social media made sure of that. A few messages later, they were meeting up with him at a tiny music lounge.

"Yeah, I know him," the DJ said, tapping at his phone before flipping it toward her. A photo of her mystery man appeared on the screen, mid-laugh, holding a guitar.

"XiaoJun," the DJ said. "That’s his name."

She exhaled, her heart thudding. "XiaoJun," she repeated, as if saying it would make him real again.

"He’s a musician. Plays here sometimes. Actually…" The DJ’s eyes flicked to the stage. "He’s performing tonight."

Her pulse stuttered. Fate was either on her side—or playing some elaborate trick.

That night, the lounge was packed. Dim lights, murmured conversations, the soft clinking of glasses.

Then, he walked onto the stage.

XiaoJun.

He was effortlessly captivating, fingers gliding over the guitar, his voice rich and smooth as honey. And when his gaze flickered over the crowd, something shifted in his expression.

He saw her.

For a second, time stopped.

Then, a small smile ghosted his lips, and he continued singing.

She didn’t know what would happen next. Would he still be the same person when the night wasn’t wrapped in birthday magic? Would he remember their midnight adventure the way she did?

There was only one way to find out.

And this time, she wouldn’t let him walk away without getting his name.

[sun-ashes]

Alright this dear here asked for a happy ending and as the person who started this whole mess I ought to make it happen. I'm taking your input on it.

I do think Wei Wuxian would not use the tattoos to cover his scars but to decorate them, because they are part of him, just as the stories his tattoos tell are: lotus flowers for his adopted siblings and the home they gave him, even if they haven't talked since Madam Yu kicked him out; a sun that matches the one on Wen Wing's back and Wen Ning's stomach, because of the new family he managed to build for himself. Flowers that match Granny Wen's birthday and a curled up rabbit for A-Yuan, his adopted son. Crow wings for his deceased parents and a sword over his spine for his younger self, who was a child sharpened like a weapon. And then a little empty window on his bicep, with a few hanging vines: one for each year of his life that he has had a soulmate, though no flowers, because he thought his soulmate was gone.

Lan Wanji learns of the meanings years after they met, in A-Yuan's seventh birthday (he was four when he met him), and asks why hasn't put any flowers yet. They have met, after all. They are even friends, even if that's not all Lan Wanji wants for them. Wei Wuxian is puzzled.

"You asked for no more tattoos," he replies. "I would never ignore your wishes like that."

And isn't that such a wonder? Lan Wanji grew up cared for and loved, but not like this. He has never been understood and respected like this before, his heart has never been handled so kindly.

"And if I didn't mind?" Lan Wanji asks.

"Even then, I wouldn't do it. They were my hope for love from my other half, Lan Zhan. I don't want to feed those types of thoughts, now that we are at least friends."

And so Lan Wanji nods, holding that at least close to his chest and safe warding it there. Wei Wuxian is taking in present tense. Wei Wuxian has welcomed him into his family, his home. He has introduced his son and siblings and grandmother to him, and taken him to his parents graves, and talked to him. He has answered every question Lan Wanji has asked, and been there every time he has needed him, and he has known him like no one else. Lan Wanji, in turn, has had the privilege of being his friend, his confidant, his ally. He has cooked Wei Wuxian and A-Yuan's dinner when the other man was too tired to do so and has driven A-Yuan to school when Wei Wuxian was sick. He has spent holidays with them, and birthdays and milestones too. He knows he's part of their family in all but legal terms, and that he's loved and welcomed always.

He knows, too, that Wei Wuxian loves him, and has loved him even before the beggining. That he loved him when he asked for him in shaky sentences written over skin, and that he loved him in ink sunk deep in his body, a tribute to a soulmate that he never even knew. Wei Wuxian loved him when he stopped getting tattoos once asked to and when he kept his distance because that's what Lan Wanji requested of him.

Wei Wuxian is not subtle. He looks at Lan Wanji like he looks at all his precious things. Lan Wanji has never been happier than when he is with him.

So the very next day, Lan Wanji makes an appointment, and a month later, Wei Wuxian wakes up from a late morning nap to his arm feeling buzzy, only to watch, in real time... Vines. Appearing one by one from the little window to his soul, one for every year that has passed since the last one he got. And then.

Then.

Flowers.

So many flowers that they take over the crevices left over in the other tattoos in his arm, and then they creep up. Up, to his clavicle and breast and... And his neck, too. Over the side of it and up to the end of his ear. Visible, unmistakable.

He stares in wonder, thinking he's dreaming. It would not be the first time he dreams of feeling, let it be pain or love or loss.

So he goes to the most trustworthy pool of information he has, and calls Wen Qing. Who has barely picked the phone before she asks wHAT'S THAT!?

And so. And so.

Lan Wanji comes to find him, skin pink and looking pale.

"What did you do, Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian asks, hope and grief fighting in his chest like stray dogs.

"I got a tattoo," Lan Zhang replies, tracing it with the tips of his fingers—not the ink on his neck, but on Wei Wuxian's, until he's cupping his jaw in his warm, shaking hand. "They are my show of love for my other half."

"Lan Zhan."

"I'm sorry for taking so long, Wei Ying."

"Lan Zhan."

Lan Zhan Lan Zhan Lan Zhan Lan Zhan. His soulmate, the name he has yearned for since he knew to name the feeling, the one he would have traded anything to learn when he was eighteen and lost and heartbroken. The name he calls now, as he's taken into strong, welcoming arms and hugged within an inch of life; as his temple and his cheek and his lips are kissed, and then the whole long line of bright flowers.

"Lan Zhan. Everyone is going to know."

"Good. Good. Wei Ying should be loved loudly and brightly, as he is."

And what else can Wei Wuxian do but kiss him again and again and again until A-Yuan comes to ask if they are finally getting married.

(they do get married. They get matching ring tattoos of course.)

(Terrible drawing of the window tattoo because I don't have a single chill bone in my entire body)

@xiaokuer-schmetterling @maelstrom-of-emotions @undercover-stories I love you guys so much thank you so so much 🥹🫂🫂🫂

podlet #10 is 🆙

what am i reading? this tumblr collaboration (about 30 mins listening commitment btw) that has turned into a mdzs soulmates modern au h/c setup AND GDI SOMEBODY BETTER WRITE THE COMFORT PART. FOR THE SAKE OF MY SANITY ISTFG. pls. pls. pls. i beg on my knees orz. unintentional (?) tumblr collab by: @maelstrom-of-emotions @undercover-stories @sun-ashes

[limjiminz]

230522 ✧ HAPPY LIM JIMIN DAY!

[corrodedcoughin]

Pspsps can I beg for under 10k fluff fics or art. Smut can be included that does not bother me. Self promo is actively encouraged. Just anything that makes you feel happy and good and that life is okay. Ps hope you all are having a good day

[globodamorte]

like there's this alley where many ppl sell things and I could very well go there it seems like a space where I could get some sales done except I CANT bc someone I know that I've been ghosting for over A YEAR sells their shit there and knows everyone there so k CANT GO THERE. "well why did you ghost them" BC I'M INSANE AND DEPRESSED LEAVE ME ALONE. like I CANT I CANT GO THERE if I see them I'm gonna throw up on the spot

[angelfishe]

hiiiiii :3

I was wondering if you could do head canons or a one shot about the traveler and paimon visiting the fortress of meropide to wish wriothesley a happy birthday. They decide to quietly enter through the main door to his office to surprise him, but they see wriothesley and reader making out. you don't have to do it if you don't want too!

please and thank you

I hope this manages to please you and if I'm sorry it's kind out of context. Hope you enjoy it

"𝐔𝐇-𝐎𝐇 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓"

<< Genshin man x reader >>

Character : diluc, kaeya, alhaitham, ayato, zhongli, childe, neuvillete, wriostheley, dottore, pantalone, capitano

"Imagine getting in the middle of the act"

Warning may contain NSFW content

⚠️ Minors do not interact please ⚠️

Diluc it's no secret to do staff of the dawn winery about you guys sex life, I mean everyday Adeline has to change the cum stained bed sheet to fresh ones for you guys to dirty it again, I mean you guys are so loud to the point it can be heard in the servants corners thats the reason why the staff have eye bags under their eyes they didn't get enough sleep due to the noise, at some point you guys broke the bed unable to survive diluc strength you guys have to buy a new one and when asks diluc is unable to forge the words to say. During angel share closing kaeya accidently left some important documents on the table and when he went inside he saw you and diluc is doing something busy and his present stop you guys he immediately grab the document leaving an angry diluc yelling at him to leave.

Kaeya the entire mondstat knows you've guys business, I mean when he's bored he asks for your presence under the excuse of an official knight business which everybody knows it's a code for "playtime" in the HQ, Unfortunately there's a new rookie working in the knights of favonius that no one warn them about the calvary captain break time is, and that unfortunately lead towards the rookie opening the door of the captains office and seeing his lover being hit on in the back by the captain, the rookie immediately slamming the door close with blush on their face, and the knights around HQ was like "first time ?"

Alhaitham even tho alhaitham put on a stern face, he's by far one of the most shameless Characters towards location it doesn't matter where it is in the forest, the library, in a tent in the middle of the desert, in a temple there's no limit to where you guys are gonna do it, poor kaveh having one of his projects staying up all night to work on it and hearing the bed creaking on the other room and yelled to keep it down from his room towards you guys. During alhaitham birth day cyno, tighnari and kaveh was planning on holding a surprise party on alhaitham, unfortunately when they burst in the room and they witness alhaitham getting his "birthday present" from you unfortunately you were unable to make eye contact with them for one week for alhaitham he act as if he did not just give them trauma, that's why knock first when entering his room

Ayato this man is SHAMELESS, even tho most of the citizens don't know what's going on in the kamisato estate, the servants fall into victims to his shenanigans. It's no secret ayato is into shibari as well in his and beloved bedroom above the bed there's a hook to you know. Thoma is by far has to deal with his antics having to wipe the stained of the wet soiled sheets or floor. Every time he asks to bring a snack it's always you to bring it because to be honest you are the snack not the tea and cake, and after finishing he would buy you boba for you and him to enjoy. Even if he gets caught out side of his circle he would bribe them or threaten to cut off the person's tounge and ruin their lives if they dare to release information about the yashiro commissioner private life with his beloved. But that was never the case because usually the spectator would be immediately dealt with by the shimatsuban or are too afraid and fled the nation. He needs to keep his reputation and image clean and if someone there is to shame you or his clan they would be dealt immediately.

Zhongli a gentleman on the street, monster on the sheets. Zhongli is a very popular consultant in ancient liyue history and during afternoons he would usually have a nice walk with you but it's not nice with you when you're limping because of how hard he went from last night. In ancient times to modern liyue it's very known for the nation to have earth quakes once a month it's not dangerous but it might scare some tourist visiting liyue but the citizens of the nation has gone to normalize this earthquake they believe it's rex lapis rearranging liyue or shedding. But in truth once a month zhongli would have rut and take you to his private domain to release his stress and that's the reason why the nation once a month have earthquakes.

Childe a manace amongst society or in teyvat when it comes to privacy, he doesn't care if someone walks in on you guys, he's too busy doing you to not to care if he give someone mental scars but he would always lock the doors when you guys are visiting his family he doesn't want to see his little siblings rearranging his lovers organs as well as sound proofing the entire by sound proofing by putting a pillow on your month for you to bite on to make sure not to release any sound. During one dinner meeting Teucer once had a bright idea of asking something towards you guys in front of the family "big brother why does (brother / sister ) ( your name ) calls you daddy" and the dinner table suddenly went quite and childe answer with "were just playing house Teucer" and Teucer innocently went back to his dinner not noticing the awkward atmosphere around the family.

Neuvillete pretty much a gentleman plus very new to these sorta things I would like to say is a switch, during the climax of the act he would cry during it not tears of sadness but tears of happiness when climaxing best feeling in the world for him, and during this time rain would fall on the city of Fontaine the people it's a normal accuracy. The melusine knows too well about you guys when you visit him the melusine prohibited anyone from entering the ludex office due to this important business meeting, he needs it he's very stressed due to paperwork. as well having a private underwater cave for you guys to do it unbontherd by the city or being too loud.

Wriostheley everybody knows not to bother the duke when he's sweetheart is visiting or else mess with your credit coupons being cut a large half or extra pipe duties for the guards. No one is brave enough or respects him to not mess with his sweetheart They call you the ( marquis / marquise ) of meriopede, holding a position lower than duke but still one of the prison administrator. Unfortunately during the day traveler and paimon decided to visit wriostheley during a busy day, the other workers of the prison were too busy dealing with duties to keep them occupied from interrupting him. And it was too late to warn them the next thing you hear both of their screams and them immediately leaving the office with their face fully red and covering their eyes. What they witnessed was the duke discussion of "business" with the ( marquis / marquise ).

Dottore this man doesn't like when people interrupt him and his lover private time, his clones are by far fine walking in as long as it's not the little one of him walking in so that's why they have to say their ID before going in. And when his clones walk in he would immediately release a pissed "hmmph" and continue on even after finishing you have his clones to satisfy even tho he said having intercourse with them is not necessary and it's your choice to have it or not, but sometimes after finishing or when he's busy to entertain you he would assigned the clones to keep you busy or satisfy you I mean they don't mind it they actually enjoy it. But when one of his lab rats or lower ranking was caught betraying the fatui and went to beg for their life and came rushing in and end up witnessing the doctor with his spouse, soon the lower ranking researcher was used as a test subject for his next experiment how unfortunate his fate was originally gonna be a quick towards the head now they have to suffer due to interrupting his time with his beloved.

Pantalone this man is stressed out due to the amounts of paper work and how much the fatui cost to operate, everyday Is a new bill about something. Dottore needing new funds, childe spending habits, materials, paychecks, taxes and other stuff and that's why he loves having you in his office and when he's overstressed and needs stress relief he would kindly ask to sit on his lap or to kneel down between his legs. He also favors toys and fancy lingerie but when there's a business meeting he tends to leave those things out in public. One time when one of his assistants went inside the office to grab a document he requested in his table is a vibrator and a lacy black underwear and some stained left on the floor the assistant quickly left the office with his paper not minding about what they just witnessed because it's a normal occurrence for them and his other assistant or people who work under him and for those people who accidentally walk in they would be paid a large sum of mora to keep their mouth shut or have their mouth shut by having their tounge cut out. He has a reputation to keep of course.

Capitano ah the captain, the leader of the military of Snezhnaya, number one fatui Harbingers out of eleven of them. Many people love the captain even amongst the fatui being praised for his self righteousness and capabilities. And some even praise his abilities as a lover. Imagine when he walks out of his tent and his entire squad claps and praises his skills in bed. "Man I wish my lover would make me scream the same way the captain would make his beloved scream" or " I'm pretty much sure the captain got a large rack under their" comments spread around the fatui I mean the rumors are true tho. But it's pretty much embarrassing for both of you. So that's why the captain started to tie you up, gagged you as well blindfolding you to make sure not a sound or creak of bed let's out to make sure no one listens to you sing. During his trip in natlan you and him were enjoying the hot spring and ended up getting too "steamy" and got caught by the villagers due to how loud it is.

[leclercwriting]

age gap | daniel ricciardo social media au

pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem reader

you are an influencer who starts dating older f1 driver daniel ricciardo

masterlist

y/n.user

liked by danielricciardo, yourbff1 and 567,930 others

caption: my life since the rumours

view all comments

yourbff1: the rumours are kinda funny tho

y/n.user: yeah.. "rumours"

user73: DOES THIS MEAN THAT THE RUMOURS ARE TRUE?

user62: what rumours?!

danielricciardo: xx

user83: daniel?

user2: wait... the rumours are that he and y/n are dating, right?

user74: yeah

daniel.jpg

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 123,938 others

caption: rumours confirmed

view all comments

maxverstappen1: this is how i get to know your girlfriend?

daniel.jpg: sorryy maximilian

landonorris: isn't she too young? you old man

daniel.jpg: she has an old soul

y/n.user: DANIEL

landonorris: hey y/n. I'm lando btw

y/n.user: hey lando

user73: omg they are actually so cute together

user46: lmao she's just using him

user9: weird

user525: she's still a child omg

y/n.user: oh I wish. But thanks for compliment that I look young

user3: she slayed

landonorris

liked by danielricciardo, y/n.user and 567,939 others

caption: if you go out with daniel and y/n, be prepared for daniel carrying her around...

view all comments

danielricciardo: she's always tired.. not my fault

y/n.user: ME? u always want to carry me

danielricciardo: not true

y/n.user: I'm done with you

landonorris: first couple fight?

danielricciardo: yeah..

user66: I'm starting to like them together

y/n.user: good taste

user3: idk but it's still weird

user2: she's so young

y/n.user: no wayyy

yourbff1: they are so cute

y/n.user: <3

y/n.user

liked by danielricciardo, yourbff1 and 1,839,378 others

caption: I bought daniel new t-shirts so he can wear them to the paddock (haters will love these)

view all comments

landonorris: poor danny boy

danielricciardo: I actually love them

maxverstappen1: no way

y/n.user: @ kellypiquet Kelly buy some t-shirt for max too. Atleast he doesn't have to repeat outfits

user63: poor daniel.. she's manipulating him

danielricciardo: I literally picked those t-shirts

user73: daniel and y/n are the best couple. Argue with the wall

yourbff3: omg i love you for this babe

y/n.user: I ate

user77: u did!

y/n.user

liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 and 578,838 others

caption: enjoyed my first gp, and now it's summer break

view all comments

user83: most hated but the best couple award goes to... y/n and daniel

y/n.user: thanks I guess

danielricciardo: our shoey was 🔥

y/n.user: hell yeah

landonorris: what about me and you daniel? :(

danielricciardo: sorry lando

maxverstappen1: why is daniel acting like a teenager again

y/n.user: cause I changed him

user38: you really did

user3: I love this new version of danny

y/n.user: me too

danielricciardo

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 673,939 others

caption: enjoying summer break with the best people. y/n can drink!! I'm not serving alcohol to minors

view all comments

user83: daniel and his humour lol

y/n.user: baby u know that I can drink for a long time right?

danielricciardo: uhm of course

landonorris: he probably forgot your birthday

user63: yall stop hating and be happy for them

maxverstappen1: u kidnapped child?

danielricciardo: that's my nephew u idiot

maxverstappen1: oh sorry

y/n.user

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 345,388 others

caption: I want to have kids. Look at my man. He's so girl dad coded

view all comments

user73: uhm does she know that this is public account?

danielricciardo: Y/N?!

maxverstappen1: lol

maxverstappen1: @ danielricciardo u have a lot of work to do

danielricciardo: mate, kelly wants another kid too so shut up

user3: omg danny ric kid?

y/n.user: I hope

BONUS:

[littlepeach-world]

Safety Call

Pairing: Frontman/Hwang In-Ho x Reader

Summary: When an unwelcome stranger disrupts your night out with friends, you call In-ho for help. 

Warnings: Angst, Alcohol, physical altercation, harassment, Protective!Inho, Soft!Inho.

Word count: 1.4k

Notes: I love protective Inho, so I decided to write this. I hope you like it!

You stand near the doorway, noticing the stern yet concerned look in In-ho's eyes as you finish getting ready. His presence is a mixture of authority and a hidden worry that only you can see through.

"In-ho, I'll be fine," you say, turning to face him with a reassuring smile. You know how to ease his fears, how to comfort him. "It's just a few drinks with friends."

"I know," he replies, his voice steady but low. "But be careful. Call me if anything happens."

You chuckle softly, walking up to him and placing a tender hand on his cheek. His skin is warm under your touch, and you let your thumb gently caress his cheekbone. His eyes soften slightly at your intimate gesture. "I promise I will. Besides, you don't have to worry too much. You have my location and are always tracking me when I go out." Your eyes sparkle mischievously as you say this, and you can see his lips twitch, almost forming a smile.

His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space between you. "Just be careful, Y/N," he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours for a brief, tender moment.

Before you can respond, In-ho leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. The kiss deepens slightly, filled with the tenderness and concern he holds for you. He then begins to pepper kisses over your face—your cheeks, your forehead, the tip of your nose—eliciting a soft giggle from you.

"I love you," you whisper, your heart swelling with emotion.

"I love you more," In-ho replies softly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that takes your breath away.

You feel his breath on your lips, and for a heartbeat, you’re lost in the depth of his gaze. You give him a playful salute before stepping out of the apartment, aware of the mix of anxiety and love swirling within him. As you walk away, you can feel his eyes on you, a silent promise of his unwavering protection and affection.

—

The bar is bustling with life, filled with laughter and music. You navigate through the crowd until you spot your friends—Eunji, Yuna, and Jian—already seated at a cozy corner booth. There's a celebratory air as you greet them warmly and enthusiastically wish Jian a happy birthday, wrapping her in a tight hug.

"Happy birthday, Jian! How does it feel to reach this milestone?" you tease, causing the group to laugh.

The night is filled with dancing, laughter, and sharing stories—moments you know you'll cherish. The hours slip by effortlessly, the energy of the bar feeding your spirits. You take turns on the dance floor, twirling and swaying to the beat, losing yourself in the music.

However, the joyous atmosphere is suddenly interrupted. A man, clearly intoxicated and insistent, stumbles over to your group. His persistence in trying to join in your celebration is neither welcomed nor appreciated.

"Come on, ladies, let me buy you all a drink," he slurs, leaning too close for comfort.

"Come on, you know you want to hang out with me," he mumbles repeatedly, his words barely coherent. Despite Jian and the others insisting that he leave, he continues to bother you all.

"Seriously, we're not interested," Eunji says firmly, trying to wave him off.

Your warm demeanor turns serious. You step forward, positioning yourself between the man and your friends. "Okay, that's enough. You need to back off now," you state clearly, your tone leaving no room for misinterpretation.

He doesn't seem to get the hint, remaining obstinate. Your heart quickens, a mix of annoyance and unease settling in, but you maintain your composure. Excusing yourself for a moment, you pull out your phone and quickly text In-ho, explaining what's happening:

Hey. There's a drunk guy at the bar who won't leave us alone. I'm handling it, but just wanted you to know.

As you hit send, you look back at your friends, their faces showing a mixture of worry and solidarity. You know they'll have your back, but it's reassuring to have In-ho in the loop.

Not long after, you hear your phone ping with a response: On my way. Stay safe.

You take a deep breath, feeling a bit more at ease knowing In-ho will be there soon. For now, you tighten the circle with your friends, each of you drawing strength from one another as you continue to ward off the unwelcome intrusion.

—

Receiving your text, In-ho's face hardens, his normally calm expression tightening with a mixture of concern and anger. His initial worry morphs swiftly into a cold, determined resolve. He doesn’t hesitate; there’s no time to waste. Grabbing his jacket, he quickly notifies his guards about the situation, ensuring they are prepared for any potential dangers. With thoughts of your safety driving every step he takes, he heads out the door.

The journey to the bar feels longer than ever, each second ticking by painfully slow. His mind races with possibilities of what could be happening, each scenario pushing him to move faster. When he finally arrives, there's a palpable shift in the atmosphere. In-ho's presence is commanding, a figure of undeniable authority and strength stepping through the threshold. The dim, chaotic ambiance of the bar quivers under his scrutiny. Conversations pause, patrons instinctively stepping aside as if drawn by an unspoken rule of respect and fear.

As he weaves through the crowd with purpose, his eyes scan the room until they lock onto you. Instantly, a wave of relief washes over you. You see him, your guardian, your firm anchor in the tempest. The storm in your heart subsides, if only for a moment, at the sight of him.

"Is there a problem here?" In-ho’s voice is icy, cutting through the noise of the bar like a blade. The man bothering you turns to face him, eyes filled with a mix of anger and fear. The authority in In-ho's demeanor is unmistakable, and it quickly becomes clear to the harasser that he's made a mistake.

The man's bravado falters for a moment, but then he straightens his shoulders and narrows his eyes at In-ho. "Mind your own business," he sneers, attempting to regain some semblance of control over the situation.

In-ho's expression remains unchanged, his gaze unwavering. "I'm warning you. Leave now."

The man hesitates, but his foolish pride gets the better of him. He clenches his fists, his jaw tightening. "I said, mind your own business!" he shouts, attracting the attention of nearby patrons.

In-ho sighs, a glint of anger flickering in his eyes. Normally, he would have laid the guy out without a second thought—no questions asked. But he remembered how much you had voiced that fighting scares you. He's trying his best to honor that. "This is your last warning. Walk away."

Instead of heeding the warning, the man foolishly tries to swing at In-ho in a last-ditch effort to save face. In one fluid motion, In-ho dodges the punch and delivers a swift, powerful jab to the man's jaw. The impact sends the man stumbling backwards.

Before the harasser can recover, In-ho steps forward, his movements precise and controlled. He catches the man's arm, twists it behind his back, and restrains him with an ease that speaks volumes of his training and strength.

"That was a mistake," In-ho says, his voice low and dangerous.

Within seconds, two of In-ho's guards appear at either side of him. They take the man away, their grip unyielding as they escort him out of the bar.

In-ho turns to you, his earlier concern evident in the way he carefully scans you for any signs of harm. His eyes trace over your form, checking for bruises or cuts, and only when he's reassured that you're physically unscathed does his expression soften into one of gentle protectiveness. "Are you alright?" he asks, his voice tender and filled with genuine concern.

Satisfied that you’re not hurt, he meets your eyes, offering a comforting presence amidst the chaos that has unfolded.

You hug him with gratitude. "Thanks for being here, It means a lot to me."

He holds you close, his grip reassuring, and kisses your head softly. "Don't thank me. It's my job to protect you."

As you leave the bar together, a small smile tugs at your lips. Despite the challenges in his life, In-ho’s presence brings a sense of warmth and stability to your world. Together, you find balance and understanding in each other's company.

In-ho gently takes your hand, his grip firm and protective. "You're never leaving my side again," he says, his voice filled with unwavering determination.

[winxanity-ii]

FATHER, FORGIVE ME

ship: father charlie x fem!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 ( oral sex/f. receiving; overstimulation; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery ) word count: 4.1k a/n: ahhh….I just want to say I'm so thrilled with all the love and support for the mini Devotion series! It means the world to me to see you guys enjoying it as much as I do. And a huge thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday! I got drunk asf, and here's the rough draft I made while tipsy, lolol. Hope you all enjoy~ 😈✨..

★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You wouldn't say you were a bad person.

Selfish? Maybe. Impulsive? Absolutely. But "bad" seemed a bit of a stretch.

It's just that, when you saw something you wanted, you didn't hesitate to take it—and, honestly, you had no regrets. Not until now, at least.

Sitting here, surrounded by the smell of old hymn books and dusty incense, listening to some wrinkly old man in a white robe drone on about salvation.

The whole thing was your mother's doing. She had this recurring phase, like clockwork, where she'd get bitten by the "Bible bug."

For a few weeks every year, she was the most devoted Catholic you'd ever seen. She'd call, text, guilt-trip—anything to get her kids back on the straight and narrow, even if just for a Sunday morning.

For the last seven years, you'd managed to dodge it. Moved out at eighteen and never looked back, leaving the duty of church attendance to your three other siblings.

Usually, someone would take one for the team and tag along with Mom until her enthusiasm fizzled out again. But this time, it seemed your luck had run dry—your sister had finally roped you in, and here you were, seven-year streak shattered.

You sighed deeply, eyes half-lidded as they flicked across the stained glass windows—all those saints staring down at you in judgment.

You couldn't help but think of all the things you could be doing right now. Sleeping, for one. Your bed sounded like heaven compared to the hard pew beneath you.

Or brunch with your friends—mimosas and laughter, not these monotone chants and the faint smell of mothballs.

Hell, you could've called Kevin over and gotten dicked down instead of dealing with this—

Your thoughts screeched to a halt, slamming against an unexpected sight.

The old priest, the one whose croaky voice was practically white noise at this point, stepped away from the pulpit. In his place was someone else—someone younger, someone whose presence commanded attention.

A man, tall, dark hair neatly combed back, with a crisp black cassock that hugged his broad shoulders just right. He moved with a sense of ease, like he belonged up there.

And damn, was he handsome. Handsome enough to pull your focus completely, which was a feat in itself given the circumstances.

Your eyes tracked him as he approached the podium, his voice replacing the rasping chant of the old priest. It was smooth, warm, resonant. Nothing like the man you remembered from years ago.

He spoke about community, faith, redemption—but all you could think was how someone like him ended up in a place like this.

You found yourself leaning forward, just slightly, as if drawn in by some invisible force. Your irritation melted away, replaced by a strange curiosity.

Maybe… maybe this wouldn't be the worst way to spend a Sunday after all.

The priest stood quietly at the altar, his figure framed by the soft light filtering through the stained glass windows. A faint scar traced its way down the right side of his forehead, a mark that spoke of some unknown hardship or past misadventure.

He was youthful but with the stillness of someone who’d seen enough to understand patience and humility.

With each breath, the man seemed grounded in his presence, shoulders relaxed but broad, the fabric of his robe resting comfortably against his chest.

His appearance was almost angelic, yet the subtle scar and the weight in his eyes hinted at something more complex beneath the surface—a man of God, perhaps, but one who had walked through fire to find his faith.

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow in appreciation as you stared at the handsome man up there. You leaned over a bit to your mother, eyes never straying from his figure. "Ma, who's that? Is he new?" you whispered to your mother.

She looked up from her phone, Candy Crush flashing on her screen. You silenced the snort that wanted to come out. Looked like she might retire from church early this year, you thought to yourself, seeing her early signs of disengaging.

She glanced up at the front, giving a quick look before going back to her game. "That's Father Charlie Mayhew. He was brought in about two or three years ago, I think," she murmured absently, barely paying attention.

Father Charlie.

You watched as he spoke, his voice strong yet gentle, his eyes sweeping over the congregation with a genuine warmth. He wasn't like the old priest—this one seemed to genuinely care, as if each word held weight.

You wondered if that scar came from something dramatic, some story worth knowing. Your gaze lingered, taking in the slope of his shoulders, the way his lips moved with each word. Something about him felt... magnetic.

You found yourself sitting up straighter when the two of you made eye contact—he blinked, his words stumbling just slightly, a brief hitch in his otherwise smooth delivery. "I, uh... I apologize," he stuttered, looking off to the side, the tips of his ears turning pink.

You caught the way his eyes shifted nervously, almost as if he was trying to regain his footing. It was subtle, but you could see it—the way he tried to pull himself back together, to get through the rest of the sermon without any more disruptions.

He cleared his throat to continue, "As I was saying... uh, the importance of faith in our lives cannot be overstated. We must always strive to, um, to do what is right, even when it's difficult..." His voice trailed off slightly, but he managed to steady himself, his eyes avoiding yours as he focused on the rest of the congregation.

It made something stir in you, a mix of curiosity and amusement.

You bit down gently on your lower glossed lip, eyes trailing over his form, taking in every subtle detail. The way his hands gripped the edge of the podium, the faint flush creeping up his neck—it was all so telling.

He seemed innocent, reactive.

You smiled to yourself, letting your gaze linger as he continued, noting the way he seemed to avoid looking in your direction now, as if afraid that another glance might trip him up again.

Maybe you should pay a visit to Father Charlie—see if you could break that serene composure of his.

You could already imagine it—the way he might tense up under your touch, the way his voice might crack if you whispered something just a bit too forward.

The thought alone made your heart race, anticipation bubbling up inside you, like something in you just knew—he'd be fun to unravel.

You leaned back in your seat, a slow, satisfied smile playing on your lips. Oh, this was going to be fun.

The sermon ended with a quiet murmur of 'Amen' from the congregation, followed by the gentle shuffle of people rising from the pews.

You glanced around, watching as people slowly made their way to the exits, some stopping to chat while others lingered near the back of the church.

The old priest was nowhere to be seen, but Father Charlie remained, standing at the front as he spoke softly to a small group of parishioners.

Your mother, of course, made a beeline for him. You heard her voice carrying over the hushed conversations, gushing about how moving today’s sermon was.

You rolled your eyes, unable to help yourself, and slowly rose to your feet, making your way over with an almost lazy stride.

As you approached, you could see your mother perk up, her eyes lighting up as she turned to you. "Oh, there she is! Father Charlie, this is my youngest, ____." She gestured towards you, her hand lightly resting on your arm to pull you closer. "You've met my other children over the years."

You could see the change in Father Charlie almost instantly. His posture shifted, his back straightening just a little more, his eyes rounding as they landed on you. He seemed almost like an eager puppy, his gaze bright and attentive.

He quickly pulled his eyes away, turning back to your mother with a polite smile as he nodded. "Yes, I remember," he said, his voice a touch softer. Then he turned to you, his eyes meeting yours as he gave you a gentle smile. "It's nice to finally meet you. I don't think I've seen you here before... ?"

Your mother gave a sort of laughing scoff, waving him off as she caught his attention again. She chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, Father, the day she willingly comes to church without an incentive is the day the devil is welcomed back into Heaven's gates."

You kept your eyes on Father Charlie, a small smile tugging at your lips as you tilted your head slightly. "Maybe I just hadn't found a good enough reason to come before," you said, your gaze locked on his, your voice light but carrying a hint of something more.

His eyes widened just a little, and you watched as a faint blush spread across his cheeks, his lips parting slightly as he blinked, clearly caught off guard.

Before he could say anything, your mother’s name was called from behind. It was one of her church friends, and in an instant, she was off, waving a quick goodbye and leaving you standing there in front of Father Charlie.

You didn't waste a second, taking a daring step forward, your eyes fixed on him. "So..." you said, letting your gaze roam over him before meeting his eyes again. "You seem awfully young to be running a church like this. I have to say, I'm impressed."

He looked bashful, glancing down for a moment before looking back up at you. "Oh, well, thank you. I just... I do my best," he said, his voice soft, the pink on his cheeks deepening.

You smiled, tilting your head just slightly. "Do you do one-on-one sessions, like other churches do?" you asked, your voice carrying a hint of mischief.

He blinked, clearly confused for a moment, before his eyes widened in realization. "Oh, you mean confessionals?" He nodded quickly, his expression shifting back to something more serious. "Yes, I do. In fact, I was planning on doing confessionals later today, after the services. Not many people take me up on it, but I think it's important to always offer the option."

"Oh, really?" you said, letting your voice drop just a bit, your head tilting to the side as you watched him. You let a small smile curve your lips, your gaze never leaving his. "Well, you wouldn't mind if I came to see you and... confessed, would you, Father?"

He stuttered, his blush deepening as he quickly nodded. "N-No, of course not. You're more than welcome to come by, anytime," he said, his voice a bit shaky.

You smirked, giving him a nod. "Perfect," you said, your voice smooth, before turning on your heel and walking away, back towards where your mother was waiting.

You could feel his gaze on you the entire time, the weight of his eyes almost burning into your back. And you loved it.

This really was going to be fun.

The church grew quieter as the service officially ended, people slowly trickling out while you lingered, waiting for your moment.

Eventually, you made your way to the confessional booth, the small wooden space feeling cramped as you settled in. The air was close, the scent of polished wood and incense hanging heavy.

You could hear Father Charlie shuffling on the other side, the sound of the door closing behind him, the rustle of fabric as he got seated.

You took a breath, letting the silence stretch for a moment before you began. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned..." you said, your voice soft, but there was an edge to it that you couldn't quite hide.

There was a pause before you heard him clear his throat, his voice coming through the small screen that separated you. "The Lord is always ready to forgive. Please, tell me your sins, my child."

You sighed, leaning back slightly, your fingers brushing against the hem of your dress. "I fear I desire a man that is just out of my reach," you said, your voice carrying a hint of frustration. "It's wrong for me to want him... but I can't seem to help myself."

There was a moment of silence, and you could almost picture the look on his face—concerned, earnest, wanting to help. His voice was gentle as he responded. "Desire can be difficult to control, but it is not inherently sinful. It is what we choose to do with that desire that matters. You must pray for guidance, ask for strength... and remember that God understands our struggles."

You hummed softly, your eyes half-lidded as you listened to him, but your mind was drifting. His voice was soothing, and you found yourself imagining what it would be like if things were different.

If there wasn't a screen between you.

If you could reach out, touch him, feel that innocence melt away under your fingers.

Your hand trailed down your side, your fingers brushing over your thigh as you let out a soft sigh.

His voice cut through your thoughts, sounding a bit uncertain. "Sister ____... are you alright? Do you hear me?"

You smiled to yourself, your mind made up. You leaned closer to the screen, your voice dropping to a near whisper. "Father," you began, your tone coy, "I must confess... I find it difficult to focus when you're speaking. You have such a... soothing voice."

His breath caught audibly, and you could almost hear the way he was struggling to gather himself. "W-What do you mean, sister?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly, laced with confusion.

"It makes me think... sinful thoughts."

You could hear the slight hitch in his breath, the rustle of fabric as he shifted. "S-sister," he stammered, clearly taken aback. "This... this is not appropriate."

You ignored his protest, your voice growing softer, more intimate. "You know, Father, I've always heard that confession is good for the soul. And right now... I think there's only one thing that could truly absolve me of these desires." You let the words hang in the air, knowing exactly what you were implying.

"Sister, this... this isn't..." His voice was shaky now, the uncertainty clear. "I don't think—"

"Come get me, Father," you whispered, your tone daring, challenging him. "You wouldn't leave me like this, would you?"

There was silence for a long moment, and then you heard it—the slow shuffling as he moved. The sound of his door opening, the soft creak of the confessional booth as he stepped out.

You pushed your own door open, stepping out into the dimly lit church. Father Charlie was standing there, his head downcast, his face flushed a deep red. He looked like he wanted to say something, but no words came out, his eyes flickering up to meet yours before darting away again.

You took a step towards him, your movements slow, deliberate—like a predator closing in on its prey. His breath hitched as you approached, his shoulders tensing. He cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sister, I... this isn't right. We shouldn't—"

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the front of his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. You let your hand slide down, your voice a low purr. "Father," you purred, your eyes locking onto his, "I want you to take me somewhere... push me to a higher calling, yeah?"

His eyes widened, the pupils dilating as he stared at you, his lips parting in shock. For a moment, he seemed frozen, and then, almost as if the word was pulled from him, he whispered, "Okay..."

His hand was trembling slightly as he reached for yours, and you let him lead you out of the main church area, his eyes flicking nervously around to make sure no one was watching. He led you down a dim hallway, stopping at a small door that opened into a cramped janitor's closet.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, you were on him.

You pushed him back against the wall, your lips crashing against his. He gasped, and you took advantage, licking into his mouth, tasting the hint of mint on his tongue as a low groan rumbled from your throat. His hands hesitated for a moment before resting on your waist, his touch light, unsure.

You deepened the kiss, feeling the way he shivered beneath your touch, your hands pushing up under his cassock, fingers skimming over the hard lines of his abdomen. His muscles tensed under your fingertips, a shudder running through him as he let out a shaky breath.

You pulled back, just enough to see his face in the low light, and he chased your lips, leaning forward as if he couldn't stand the sudden loss of contact.

You let out a dark chuckle, your hands coming up to cup his flushed cheeks, squeezing gently. His face was a deep shade of red, his eyes half-lidded, his breath coming in short, uneven pants. He looked almost dazed, completely overwhelmed, and it only made your smile widen.

Your thumb grazed over his plump bottom lip, pressing gently before dipping just inside his mouth. His eyes fluttered, his tongue flicking out hesitantly to brush against your thumb before retreating. You let out a soft sigh, a hint of a teasing smile tugging at your lips. "Oh?" you murmured, raising an eyebrow, your gaze fixed on him.

Charlie swallowed hard, his eyes locked onto yours, his breathing ragged. You stepped closer, rising onto your tiptoes, your lips just barely grazing his as you spoke. "You did so well during the sermon, Father," you whispered, your voice low and dripping with suggestion. "It makes me wonder... what could such a blessed mouth do somewhere else?"

His breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly, but he didn’t pull away. You gripped his shoulder, your fingers digging in just enough to make him shiver, and tugged him downwards. "On your knees," you said, your tone commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

Slowly, almost as if in a trance, Charlie sank to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. His gaze was filled with a mix of confusion, desire, and something almost like reverence, and it sent a thrill through you.

You watched as he knelt before you, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the part of him that knew this was wrong, that wanted to resist—but the desire was stronger, and he couldn't bring himself to stop.

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair, your touch surprisingly gentle. "That's it," you murmured, your voice softening just a fraction. "Such a good Father... doing exactly what you're told."

You took a step back, your eyes never leaving his as you moved to the nearest wall, leaning against it comfortably.

With slow, deliberate movements, your hands reached down, unzipping your mini skirt and letting it slide down your legs, pooling around your ankles. You made a show of it, your fingers tracing along your thighs, sliding over your hips, and letting out a soft sigh as you watched him.

Charlie's eyes widened, his gaze following every movement, his lips parted, his breath catching in his throat. The flush on his face deepened, his eyes locked onto you with something like awe, mingled with pure, unfiltered desire.

You smirked, lifting one hand and curling your fingers in a come-hither motion. He hesitated only for a moment before slowly beginning to crawl towards you, his eyes never breaking away from yours.

The sight sent a thrill through you, a shiver of excitement running up your spine. He reached you, his hands carefully coming up to rest on your legs, his touch light, almost reverent.

His fingers traced along your calves, moving upwards with a hesitant slowness that made you release a shaky sigh, your back arching slightly as his touch grew bolder.

His hands were trembling as they reached your hips, his fingers brushing against the edge of your underwear. He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking up to meet yours as if silently asking for permission.

You gave a small nod, and he let out a shaky breath, his fingers hooking into the waistband and slowly slipping your underwear down, his eyes fixed on you the entire time.

Once they were off, he shifted closer, his breath ghosting over your bare skin. He surprised you by gently lifting one of your legs, settling it over his shoulder as he pulled you closer, his face inches away from your most intimate parts.

He let out a deep, almost pornographic groan as he leaned in, taking a slow, deep breath, as if breathing you in. The sound sent a jolt through you, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Charlie looked up at you one more time, his eyes searching, as if asking for final permission.

You smiled, your fingers sliding through his hair before giving a gentle but firm scratch along his scalp, your silent approval. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh before leaning in.

At first, his movements were hesitant, his tongue slipping out to give an experimental swipe. He was sloppy, uncoordinated, his lack of experience clear, but there was a determination in the way he moved, as if desperate to please.

You let out a soft hum, the sound encouraging him, and he grew a little more confident, his tongue pressing more firmly. He licked a long stripe up, his tongue swirling at the top, and you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

"That's it, Father," you murmured, your voice a soft purr. "You're doing such a good job."

The praise seemed to light something in him, a low groan vibrating against you as he pushed in closer. The sound made you gasp, your back arching slightly as the vibrations sent a rush of pleasure through you, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He grew bolder, his tongue delving deeper, slipping inside you as he began to eat you out like a man starved. He was messy, the wet sounds filling the small space, his lips and tongue moving with increasing fervor, as if the more he tasted, the more he craved.

He bullied his tongue into you, his nose brushing against you as he lost himself in the act, his hands gripping your hips tightly, holding you against him as he worked.

You bit down on your lower lip, trying to keep quiet, but the soft, wet sounds filled the small space, making it impossible to ignore.

Your hand moved up, your teeth sinking into the back of it as you stifled a moan, your thighs trembling as he continued. His tongue moved with determination, pressing deeper, swirling before retreating, then focusing on your most sensitive spot.

When his lips closed around your clit, giving a particularly hard suck, your vision blurred, and stars burst behind your eyelids. Your back arched, your body pressing against his face as the waves of pleasure rolled over you, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Your thighs shook as you slowly came down, your body relaxing slightly against the wall. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers still tangled in his hair, tugging gently. You gave Charlie a small shove, pushing him back just enough.

He hesitated, his tongue giving one last languid lick, followed by a reluctant suck before he finally pulled away, his lips glistening, his breath coming in low, heavy pants. His bottom face was a mess, his eyes half-lidded, dazed as he looked up at you.

You leaned down, your fingers cupping the bottom of his face, your thumb brushing over his flushed cheek as you gave him a swift peck on the corner of his lips. He blinked, his eyes widening slightly, a blush deepening across his face.

Straightening up, you reached down, picking up your discarded thong, folding it neatly before slipping it into the pocket of his cassock. He stared at you, his lips parted, his breathing still uneven.

"Thank you, Father~" you purred, your voice dripping with satisfaction. You watched as his blush deepened even more, his eyes darting away from yours. "You know," you continued, your tone teasing, "I might just have to come back for confession more often."

He swallowed hard, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours, a mix of confusion and something darker swirling in them. You smiled, giving him a wink before turning on your heel, striding out of the closet, leaving him kneeling there, his breath still shaky, his face still flushed.

As you walked away, a satisfied smile playing on your lips, you couldn't help but think that maybe church wasn't going to be so bad after all.

A/N: hehehe, dont mind me, just wanted to see charlie's and y/n relationship in reversal...

[shadowbriar]

Five Hargreeves - Back To You

Pairing : Five Hargreeves x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 2.8k Warning : Angst. Season 4 references. Synopsis : After one too many subway trips, Five's plan of temporal refuge extended as he met someone he refuse to lose. Notes : I refuse to acknowledge what happened in Episode 5 and 6 though I use the gif of said episodes. Don't come at me if you don't agree. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

Living in a small cottage by the lake has never been in his cards. To settle down and watch the sun sets everyday, hearing the rocking chair creak as he takes a sip of his coffee. This was beyond anything he could ever hoped for, anything he could afford. He knew that this wasn’t the life he’s supposed to lead. Lord, this wasn’t even a life he owns to begin with. But with each second passed in this universe, Five finds it hard to drag himself back to that subway and return to his own timeline.

“Enjoying the scenery, are we?” She whispers as she sits on his lap, clinging her arms around his neck “You know, I could really use the help stuffing that chicken. It is afterall your special request.”

The boy raised an eyebrow, “Shouldn’t I be off of any chores since it is my special request?”

“Just because it’s your birthday, doesn’t mean you’re having a vacation, big guy,” She reasoned “We’ve only got two hands and this house is only getting bigger than smaller.”

The boy couldn’t bite his grin when he leaned in to kiss her. His heart swells. She was right. The house feels like it’s growing along with them. They might not have much, certainly far from the wealth his father possesses, but it was much more than enough. Having her was much more than enough.

“You know that I love you, right?” Five asks as he pulls away, his left hand still cupping her cheek as his thumb caresses her gently.

“I know,” She nods, smiling “But you can’t sweet talk your way out of kitchen duty, Mister.”

Five chuckles, standing from his seat as he carried her in his arms, “Alright, Missy, let’s see what this chicken fuss is all about.”

—-

The muscles on his cheeks were aching but he couldn’t fight the need to grin as wide as he could. He was happy, watching her carry that awful looking cake out of the oven. The icing that supposedly spelled ‘happy birthday’ was crooked, its colour pale compared to the bright fondant covering it. Thank God the candles were their only source of light, otherwise she wouldn’t even bring it out, he reckons.

“It’s ugly, I know,” She says as she lets it rest on the table “But it tastes better than it looks, I promise.”

Five shakes his head, disagreeing with her discouraging comments as he steals a kiss, “It’s perfect.”

“Well, go on and make a wish!”

The boy closes his eyes. His hands holding hers as he whispers his wish: I wish for this to last forever. Her squeals of excitement was music to his ears as he blew the candles. It is indeed the best birthday of his life.

“I’d ask but I know you wouldn’t tell me your wish.”

“Who said I made any wish?”

“You did,” She says as she helps him cut the cake “You make that little frown everytime you say your little prayer, do you know that?”

“I don’t pray, Love.”

“You do. Well, not religiously, but sometimes you do. You say your little prayer, your hopes. You whisper them sometimes, but most times you just close your eyes and do that little frown thing.”

Five raised an eyebrow, “Have you been watching me?”

“I might,” She teases “I mean who wouldn’t watch such a handsome man like you?”

The night continues as the couple finishes their dinner. Fulfilled would be such an understatement for what he feels right now. Everything he ever wanted, everything he ever dreamed of, is served right in that room. He wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.

“So can I take a guess about what you wished for?”

“Really, Love?” He asked, putting down his glass of wine.

She shrugs, “We’ve talked about everything else, haven’t we?”

“You know, there’s a belief that if you say your prayers, it won’t happen.”

“Well, you’re not saying what it was, I’m just taking a guess what it’s about.” She argues, still persistent “And what’s so bad with it not happening? Do you really want it that bad?”

“I— Nothing, I just don’t—”

“What is it that you could wish for? What is it that you don’t have?”

“Nothing, I’m not saying that I want anything, I just—”

“Is it your family?”

Five pauses. It was as if he was stupefied. He hadn’t thought about his family in a while. Shameful of him, sure, but after one too many subway trips, he figured that a little rest shouldn’t be so bad. He just had to find a timeline where there weren't that many people shooting at him. Perhaps take a week or two to rest and gather his strength before jumping into another subway.

It just had to be her. The girl he bumped into right after he got out of the station. He remembers vividly the concerned look on her face when she saw him. He was littered with bruises, dirt and dust covering his body. He looked more like trouble than a lover yet she still found it in her heart to ask if he needed any help.

And here he was, feeling the happiness in his heart wither as the thought of his family returned to his consciousness. He knew that the universe is cruel, that he couldn’t have the best of both worlds in this lifetime, that he had to choose between his lover or his family. Some nights he wonders if his family had succeeded in preventing another apocalypse without him. Some nights he wonders if his family had found a way to another timeline. Some nights he wonders if his family were still alive. But most nights he tried his best to ignore these wonders. His family must have found a way to stop the apocalypse, or at least escape another one.

Taking a deep breath, Five reaches for her hands. Guilt and regret were evident on her face. He knew that she didn’t mean to sound as cruel. Perhaps it was the wine that made their blood more sensitive or that the fatigue of the day had clouded their minds. Either way he knew that they both would be sorry when the morning came.

“I love you,” He starts gently “I love you more than anything in this and every timeline.”

A tear left her eye. It was painful. To love someone you know doesn’t belong to you. To desperately grasp into the moments you knew would end anytime soon. To selfishly stay in a relationship that was doom from the start. Neither of them deserved this, yet neither of them wanted to let go.

“It’s been six years, Five,” She reasoned “As much as I love you.. We can’t keep living like this.”

“Time works differently there, my love. Six years here might only mean a couple hours there.”

“That doesn’t make it any less wrong for you to stay. Those couple hours might be the most crucial hours for your family. They might be fighting for their lives right now, they might be dying, for all we know! You need to come back to them, Five. You have to.”

Five forces a laugh, “Wait, what are you saying?”

She remained silent. Her tears were falling, biting her lips to conceal her tremble. A bitter feeling is brewing in his stomach now.

“Your family needs you and—”

“Okay, stop,” He stood from his seat with an offended look “Are you breaking up with me? On my birthday?”

She looks away, unable to meet his eyes.

“Goodness, you can’t be serious.”

“What choice do we have, Five? One way or another, you’d have to go back to your family. They need you—”

“And you? You don’t need me anymore?”

Her jaw clenches, “That’s beside the point.”

“No, that is the whole point, actually,” He argues, this time coming close to her “I love you, alright? Why is it so wrong for me to want to be with the person that I love? I’ve lived more than a lifetime alone, why can’t I have someone for once?”

“You don’t belong in this timeline. I—”

“I belong with you,” He cuts in “It’s not the timeline that matters, it’s where you are. I belong with you.”

If there’s anything she loves most about Five other than his gentle and caring nature towards her, it would be how adamant he is once he’s set his mind into something. There’s no doubt in her heart about the genuinity of his words. But as much as she’s grateful and touched over it, she knew that they could only spend so long before the guilt eats them whole.

She lets go of his hands softly, placing them on his cheeks instead. She admires him. The beautiful man that’s now standing in front of her with his heart on his sleeves, announcing his devotion to her on the day when he’s supposed to be the one showered with attention and love. His eyes were glossy, clearly conflicted.

“I love you, Five,” She whispers, gently caressing his skin as if it was their last goodbye “But I can’t keep you here, I can’t. I can’t keep you from your family.”

Five looks defeated, silent.

“Don’t you want to know what happened to them? If they’re okay? If they’ve figured out how to stop the apocalypse? Don’t you want to know?”

“I— I don’t know.” He answers “What I know is that I want to be with you.”

“I’ll always be with you, Love,” She reassures, kissing his cheek “I might not understand how this whole different timelines work, but I know that whichever timeline it is, whatever universe we live in, I will always belong to you. I will always be with you.”

And he finally cries. His tears flowing and wetting her palms. His heart shatters, finally succumbing to the guilt he’s tried so hard to bury and forget. He misses his family, he wanted so badly to get back and pick up where he left off, but would it be worth it? Would leaving everything here be worth it? Would leaving her be worth it?

“We’ll find our way,” She reassures, pulling the broken man into her embrace “You’ll find me in your timeline. Maybe we’ll meet at the grocery store, or at a bar, or perhaps at another train station.”

Five chuckles a little, letting a shaky breath as he asks, “And if we don’t?”

“We will,” She says firmly, giving a little space between them so they could gaze into each other’s face “I’m too much of a troublemaker and you’re too much of a problem solver for us to not meet. It’ll be too hard to ignore each other with our nature, Love. We’re bound to meet each other, in any timeline, in any universe. Trust me.”

The boy forces a smile. He leans in, kissing his lover gently as if she’d burst into petals if he pushed too much. Her hold around his neck feels different. Like she wasn’t looking for support but giving one instead. He could feel her trembling a little as his hands pulled her closer by the waist. Her heart is breaking too, as much as his is, but they knew that it’s inevitable. It’s only a matter of time before time pulls them apart and it certainly would be much more painful then.

“I’ll find you,” He whispers “I promise.”

—-

Canada is certainly much colder than home. Five rubs his hands and blows some air to his palms in hope to gain some warmth, but it’s obvious that the only comfort he’ll find in this weather is to get in Viktor’s bar and ask for some drink. That is, if Diego could start the car and get them going.

“It says here that Viktor’s bar is only five minutes by foot,” Klaus says “Who wants to run to the bar with me?”

“No one is getting out of this car!” Diego says in frustration, irritatedly trying his best to start the engine “We’re going to get to his bar together, in this car. That’s the whole point of a family road trip. We go to the bar by car, not by foot!”

“Yes, but it’s freezing here, Diego! The heater is not even on!” Alison argues.

“Well, it won’t be unless the engine is on.”

“No shit, Luther,” Ben says “I vote to run.”

Lila raises her hand, “Second to run.”

“No! No one is getting out of this car!” Diego yells once more, hitting the steering wheel frustratedly “I just need to—”

And by God’s miracle, the engine turns back on. Though their trip would soon reach its main destination, the bicker done by the family persists. The coldness of Canadian weather and how the heater broke almost twenty kilometres ago has made the seven heads’ temper raise. They really need to get to Viktor’s bar before they start to kill each other.

“I’m out of here,” Five announce as the car gets into the parking space of the bar. He space jumped inside, finding himself on one of the empty stools “Good to see you, Viktor.”

“Five,” VIktor greets, a little startled but his smile grows “You’re here. Where are the others?”

“Still figuring their way out to get here. Can I get whiskey on rocks?”

“On it.”

Five taps on the wooden table as he waits for his drink. His heart was content, as much as it might mean now. Their plan to stop the apocalypse worked. Viktor managed to take the marigold off of Ben before the Cleanse happened and now they’re trying to get back or rebuild their life. For once they finally managed to stop the apocalypse from happening.

Right after they succeeded in preventing the cleanse, Five found himself running to the subway station. He could still feel his feet burning from how fast he tried to get back to the station, wanting to jump in the train and go back to her timeline, but once he got there, the station vanished. There was no trace of it, no matter how many times he tried to run around and look for it. The subway is gone. She is gone.

Perhaps it was the price he has to pay for saving the universe. One’s happiness in exchange for the lives of millions doesn’t seem to be a hard sacrifice to make, but it’s still a tough pill for him to swallow. He knew that she would be proud. That she would hug and kiss him for doing all the hard work in saving the world. But the more he thinks about it, the more it stings for such touch would only be as good as a dream now.

“You ordered whiskey on rocks?” A voice asked, breaking his train of thoughts.

Five’s mouth went agape. He couldn’t tell if he was daydreaming or if this was some sick new power he gained from the marigold, but she was there. Standing right in front of him with a glass of whiskey in her hand.

“Viktor said his brother ordered whiskey on rocks, I assume that’s you?”

“I— Uh, yes,” He stammers, getting off the stool “You’re here.”

Five couldn’t believe his eyes. In his heart he knew that they would meet again, that somehow the universe would let him keep both her and his family, but he never expected that it was true. He never expected that he would meet her again. Not this fast, not this way.

“Sorry?” She asks, raising an eyebrow “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” Five said, shaking his head and taking the glass “Thank you.”

The girl smiles. It was a different smile than what he’s used to seeing. There wasn’t much love in her eyes, but he wasn’t in the position to complain. The girl he’s staring at and his lover might be the same person but she’s yet to know him here. She’s yet to know that he’s hers. She’s yet to know that he loves her. She’s yet to know that he belongs to her.

“Sorry, but have we met before?” She asks, still staring back at him “You look very familiar.”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” He lied, offering his hand “I’m Five. Five Hargreeves. Viktor’s brother.”

She took his hand, telling him her name, “I didn’t know Viktor had a baby brother.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not really his baby brother. It’s— It’s complicated.” Five could feel his cheeks burning like a little boy, bashful “It’s a long story.”

“You mind telling me about it?” She asks, leaning on the table “I’ve got time. I love hearing stories.”

“I know you do,” He says with a big smile “Well, where do I start..”

[starkwlkr]

girl, so confusing | f1

an: this is SADLY the last part :( don’t worry, i do plan on writing more fics for the f1 dilf!! here’s your long awaited reveal on the baby daddy lol made this one extra long for y’all <3 enjoy!!

part 1 part 2

faceclaim gisele bündchen

liked by ynstyle, goss1pformulas and others

f1gossiproom could mark webber be the father? recently former red bull and williams drivers, mark and y/n have been spending time together. the pair were spotted having dinner several times and a source confirmed that webber attended y/n’s daughter’s recital! they were once again spotted out in australia spending time in bondi beach with y/n’s daughter (not pictured to protect her privacy) they were soon joined by friends and webber’s family. a source, who wishes to remain anonymous, saw them and said y/n’s daughter, gemma, and mark were bonding as if they were dad and daughter 👀 he even calls her ‘gem’ and ‘gemmy’! what do you think? is mark webber the real father? we certainly think so!

formulaho3 how about just leave them alone?

roscoesno1fan mark looks like a total dilf in that pic so yes

oscarspastry what if the real father is the friends we made along the way?

webberxvettel i need to know the truth before i die

hamiltonsmerecedes not f1 twitter trying to cancel y/n for getting with their faves 😭

lnwhores i stand by my cancelled wife

myhonestbitchface and when y/n reveals that sebastian is the bd then what 🤨 i feel it in my gut 👀 that german bitch is the bd

blackwidowswife bitch you’re just hungry

load more comments

THE PADDOCK SESSIONS has posted a new YouTube video!

Italics = voiceover by y/n

“Hello!” Y/n’s daughter, Gemma, opened the door to Dan. She knew that he was going to film an interview with her mother about her racing career. She watched as Dan’s camera man waved to her. She assumed they had already started filming.

“Gemma hates and loves when I’m away. She stays with her grandparents when I have to leave or if her dad is not busy then they’ll be together. I think she loves it because her dad lets her have ice cream before bed. I’m more of a strict parent between me and him.”

Photos of little Gemma appear on screen. The young girl was picture with her mother on her first birthday, then with Mark and family members then Sebastian and Jenson.

Dan entered Y/n’s London home with Gemma by his side. He spotted Y/n making tea. “Got here just in time.” He laughed as he joined the former driver in the kitchen.

“I hope the flight here wasn’t too bad.” Y/n passed a mug over to Dan.

“Slept my way through it,” before Dan could take a sip from his tea, he noticed the mug that he was given. It had ‘best dad ever’ sloppily written in paint. “Cute.” He held the mug up and smiled.

“Yeah, Gemma made it for her dad last year for Father’s Day.” Y/n smiled proudly at her daughter’s creation.

That’s when Gemma joined the conversation. “But I couldn’t give it to him on actual Father’s Day! He was away racing and couldn’t be here so I had to give it to him later.” She explained.

After the pair finished their tea, they walked together to Y/n’s small garden. There she had a little seating area where the rest of the interview would take place.

“Lovely garden.” Dan commented.

“Thank you, although I won’t take all the credit. Sebastian comes to help, Gemma kind of bosses him around telling him where each flower looks best.” Y/n laughed, setting her mug on the glass table.

“Dad loves the flowers I picked out for the garden.” Gemma pointed out as she joined them outside. As Dan started the interview, Gemma kept playing outside with her toys.

More images of a young Y/n flashed on screen. She was driving for Williams at the time, they were her first ever team.

“Williams was my first home. They were nice to me, but they put so much pressure on me to perform, like every race had to be perfect. And when it wasn’t, you could feel the disappointment, like a weight hanging in the air. I’d go back to my hotel room at night, and it was just me and the silence.”

The video showed a clip of young Y/n in the Williams garage getting ready for her debut race. She noticed the camera then smiled and waved. The video then cuts to from a happy, full of life Y/n to a gloomy, quiet Y/n sitting alone in her garage.

“I didn’t have friends in the paddock back then. Everyone was focused on their own thing, and the people around me—the trainers, the engineers—they all kept their distance. One of my trainers actually told me, ‘I’m not here to be your friend; I’m here to work.’ And that’s when I realized I was completely on my own."

Y/n then looked over her shoulder and saw Gemma using a teddy bear that her father had bought the girl for her birthday last year in Germany. The former driver smiled at the memory of her little family spending a special day together.

Back to the interview, Y/n then talked to Dan about her divorce. It was a dark time for her. She had been young when she said ‘I Do’ to a man she thought was the love of her life. At the time of her marriage, her husband was six years older. She was nineteen at the time, about to turn twenty.

Several headlines from the day her marriage was announced appeared on screen.

“Barely an Adult, Already a Wife: Y/N Marries Six Years Her Senior”

“Y/N’s Whirlwind Marriage: Chasing Love, Not Podiums?”

“Teenage Racer’s Rush to the Altar: Desperate for Love or Just Immature?”

“Is Y/N Looking for Validation in All the Wrong Places?”

“‘She’ll Marry Anyone’: Critics Slam Y/N’s Hasty Decision at Just 19”

"They painted me as some kind of desperate girl who couldn’t handle being alone. The truth was, I was 19, scared, and in love—or at least I thought I was. But that didn’t matter to them. They just wanted to sell papers."

Dan then spoke. “What led to the divorce?”

Y/n sighed deeply. Only a few people knew the real reason. “It’s . . . a complicated thing to talk about. I mean, when you’re nineteen and in love, or what you think is love, you don’t always see the red flags. At the time, I thought I’d found someone who believed in me, who would support me no matter what. But as time went on, I realized that wasn’t the case."

A picture of Y/n getting ready by herself on her wedding day appears on screen. Her family were not present as her husband at the time wanted it to be only them. She smiled brightly at the camera as her photo was taken. The image fades then clips of Y/n racing in the early 2000s play.

“He wanted a family. Kids, a house, the whole thing. And there’s nothing wrong with that, but he wanted it then, right when my career was just beginning. He gave me an ultimatum—racing or him."

Dan lightly gasped at her words. “Oh . . .”

“I chose racing. How could I not? It was everything I’d worked for, everything I’d dreamed of. But he didn’t take it well. He made me feel like I was selfish, like I was throwing away a chance at a ‘real’ life."

Several more images of Y/n and her then husband flash on screen. There’s no photos of him attending races, mostly because he thought racing was dumb and didn’t like loud crowds.

“He didn’t trust me. Whenever I was away at races, he’d insist I call him every single day, sometimes multiple times. If I missed a call because I was in a meeting or debrief, he’d accuse me of . . . things. Things that weren’t true. I couldn’t even have a normal conversation with my trainer or my team principal without worrying about how he’d react."

"There were times I wanted to visit my family, to go home and just breathe. But he’d make me feel so guilty for even thinking about it, like I was abandoning him. So I stopped trying."

The screen cuts back to Y/N on the sofa. Her hands are clasped tightly now, her voice calm but with an undercurrent of emotion.

“And then the divorce was final and for a moment I was happy until he went to the media spreading all sorts of lies.” Y/n added.

Several more magazine headlines appear on screen.

“The Truth About Y/N: Ex-Husband Reveals Why Their Marriage Failed”

“‘She Wanted the World to Love Her, Not Me’: Y/N’s Ex Speaks Out”

“‘All She Cared About Was Fame’: Y/N’s Ex-Husband Speaks Out About Their Divorce”

Then the screen cuts to clips of Y/n’s ex husband being interviewed about their marriage.

“I sacrificed so much to support her career, but she couldn’t give me the one thing I wanted: a family. She was too busy chasing the cameras and the glory.”

“It was rough. Instead of being asked about racing, I was asked about my failed marriage.” Y/n recalled all the times during interviews when her ex-husband’s name was mentioned. “I just wanted to go home a cry, but I had a job to do. But of course the attention I was getting got me fired.”

“How were you told you were no longe driving for Williams?” Dan asked.

“Would you believe it if I said it was a ten second phone call from Claire Williams?” Y/n laughed. “Claire and I were never enemies. A few days after I got her call, she had dinner in my house and explained to me that she didn’t want to be the one to call me, but she was pressured to. Apparently the Williams team thought it was best for her to tell me in a phone call because they thought it would be ‘easier’ if the news came from her, since she’s a woman. They thought it would hurt less coming from her. Can you believe that?"

Dan noticed how Y/n laughed at the mention of the famous ten second phone call.

“It was definitely ridiculous of them. But they didn’t understand how humiliating it was either way. But Claire . . . I could tell she hated it. She ended the call so quickly because she didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want me to be dropped from the team."

A photo showed of Claire Williams talking to Y/n before a race. At the time, Y/n didn’t know it, but Claire was her only friend.

“I don’t blame her for how it happened. She was caught in the middle of a decision that wasn’t hers to make. And honestly, her coming to my house afterward to explain—that meant something. It didn’t fix anything, but it showed she cared." Y/n finished drinking her tea then resumed speaking. “That ten-second call changed everything for me. But at least I know it wasn’t Claire’s choice. It was just . . . Williams being Williams."

“After everything that happened with Williams, you had every reason to step away from the sport. But instead, you joined McLaren. Looking back now, would you say that was the decision that changed everything for the better?" Dan questioned. He watched as her face softened. She truly adored her time with mclaren.

Y/n nodded. “Joining McLaren felt like a fresh start, like a second chance to prove what I was capable of. At Williams, I was just surviving. But at McLaren, I got to thrive."

Clips of Y/n during her time with the mclaren team played. Her smile was genuine and she looked happier than ever.

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep racing. I didn’t know if I could trust another team. But McLaren . . . they believed in me in a way no one else had."

"It wasn’t just about the racing, though. McLaren gave me a second chance, not just at my career, but at myself. It reminded me why I fell in love with this sport in the first place."

“And then came those three idiots.” Y/n laughed when she remembered becoming friends with Mark, Jenson and Sebastian. Her cheeks tinting slightly, but her smile stays steady.

“But with that friendship came negative comments. I remember reading articles calling you horrible names just for having friendships with them.” Dan commented.

“Those negative comments still come my way even after many years,” Y/n added. “I stayed away from social media for that same reason until recently.”

“But with sharing your life on social media also came questions about your daughters life as well.”

Y/n knew it was something that was going to come up in the interview. Dan didn’t want to ask, but Y/n wanted to share. Gemma’s father and her had discussed it before and they both agreed to the interview.

“Yeah, the whole ‘who’s the father?’ thing has taken over every social media app i have. I can’t avoid it, especially when people constantly message me about it.” Y/n spoke. “Jenson thinks it’s hilarious.”

“Jenson?” Dan questioned.

“Yeah, he sent me a meme about it comparing us to Mamma Mia. I sent it to Sebastian and he sent it to Mark.”

The remainder of the interview, Y/n talked about her family she shared with the man who endlessly supported through everything. Every time she talked about him, she smiled brightly. It was clear that she loved him and their daughter more than anything.

As the video came to an end, Gemma was seen running towards someone who was out of frame. “Dad’s home!” Gemma jumped into his arms and hugged him.

“I thought you were flying in next week.” Y/n stood up to hug him.

“I come here to surprise you and Gem and this is how I’m treated?” He placed a kiss on Y/n’s temple, still holding onto Gemma. “Sorry, I definitely interrupted you two, haven’t I?”

“It’s alright, Jenson. We were just wrapping things up.”

INSTAGRAM

liked by landonorris, wagstyle and others

f1gossip after finally revealing the identity of her daughter’s father, y/n and her daughter gemma were seen together in a beach in california 👀 jenson button also lives in california so we’re thinking the button family is spending some time together.

vettelsbees GIRL SEB WAS SPOTTED AT LAX

hamiltonsmercedes AND MARK

nicorosbergisadiva WHAT IS GOING ONNNN

landonorris hey i know her

ferraridepressionclub ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HEREEE

webbertears what do you know you gremlin

load more comments

“Can I have money for ice cream?” Gemma ran up to her parents, Mark and Sebastian. The former drivers were all enjoying the sunshine of California, an idea that came from Gemma. She had been the one to call Mark and Sebastian to join her and her parents. They agreed even if they cancelled their plans with friends. They would literally do anything for the young girl.

Without hesitation, all the men took out their wallets and took out money for the girl. Their actions caused both Gemma and Y/n to laugh.

“Okay, thank you.” She gladly took the money from each of them.

“I’ll go with you, Gemmy,” Mark said as he got up from his spot and took Gemma’s hand in his. Together they walked to the ice cream stand.

“Has Claire called you?” Sebastian wondered. Ever since the interview was posted, the Williams team had posted several posts of Y/n when she was driving for them. They were finally acknowledging her wins and podiums. And of course they received some criticism from fans.

“She messaged me letting me know she watched the interview. She’s happy I did it.” Y/n replied.

“We all are. You should’ve done the interview years ago.” Jenson said.

Y/n only nodded and turned her attention to Mark and Gemma. The girl had always been close to both the German and Australian drivers, how couldn’t she when they had been in her mothers life and now they were in hers.

“Gemma asked if she could go to a race, but she wants you all to be there.” Y/n spoke up. Gemma desperately wanted the three men to join her. Y/n knew they would all say yes immediately.

“Did she say which one?” Sebastian asked.

“She said she wants to go to each of your home races.” Y/n grinned as Jenson immediately said he was in. Sebastian laughed then nodded. Of course they would join Gemma, the girl had them all wrapped around her finger.

“And will you be attending too?” Jenson winked at her. “We could do a repeat of what happened after Australia.”

“Funny, I was about to suggest the same thing but it happened in Canada.” Sebastian teased.

“Well weren’t you a busy woman.” Jenson smirked. “And Mark?”

Y/n kept quiet, innocently sipping her lemonade. After setting her drink down, the former drivers waited for her answer. “If you must know . . . We were in Vegas.”

Jenson groaned. “I was thinking Monaco.”

“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, baby.”

[norikuna]

WHAT? LIKE IT'S HARD? ✶ choso kamo

abstract ✶ there are six physiological stages of having a crush. you just wish that you didn't have to learn this through first-hand experience. everyone said that choso kamo was a loser in high school, a quiet kid who haunted the campus with no friends. sure, he was brilliantly smart, but he dropped out in senior year. he even managed to break your heart, the glittering prom queen, with the world at your fingertips. imagine your surprise three years later, when you find yourself stuck with him in med school. what's worse? he's actually super hot now!

PART II. of the new years letters, a series of fics dedicated to some of my lovely mutuals! 🎁

pairing. choso kamo x afab!reader genre tags and warnings reader is practically a blair waldorf prototype (filthy rich, a bit bratty, spoiled), bestfriend!gojo, background gojo x geto, mentions of blood and injuries, med school, MISCOMMUNICATION, angst and hurt, fluff, kissing and making out. sukuna and yuuji cameos.

word count. 17.5k! song inspiration. crush culture — conan gray

a/n. shameless med student insert i rlly projected my full heart and soul into the anatomy lab ick. art belongs to all respective artists [will add credit!] crossposted on ao3 💖

dedication. for my dear kashika, first of all happy (belated) birthday @kasukuna 💗 wanted this to coincide with ur day but i'm late, i fear!!! you hype me up so much, send the sweetest asks and you're so damn talented that i'm left begging for an ounce of your creativity and amazing mind! your fics are so witty and well thought out and i like to think that you've spawned an incredible dumbass!bf sukuna renaissance on jjk tumblr 😭 idk if you remember but i sent you an ask on creamflix so long ago like the start of december asking you to choose between characters and au's so i tried lifting this as verbatim as i could from ur answer <3 hope you had the most amazing day ever!!

mp3. ✶ crush culture makes me wanna spill my gut out, i know what you're doing! tryna get me to pursue ya <3

You refuse to speak to Gojo Satoru ever again. Not today, not tomorrow, not in this lifetime nor the next. He’s officially dead to you, figuratively, of course. Unfortunately.

The moment he stops cackling like a deranged hyena in the middle of your bedroom, you’re going to shove him out the door so hard that he’s going to see stars. You’ll block his number, you’ll delete every photo of his smug grin, and you’re going to hire an exorcist to cleanse his essence from your life.

Except right now, your best friend is sprawled across your bed, practically writhing as he gasps for air in between bouts of ridiculous, chipmunk-like squeals. He’s still in his uniform, having crashed at your place after school, with his white shirt untucked, sleeves pushed to his elbows and his tie dangling uselessly around his neck.

“You are such a child,” you grumble, shoving your sticker-laden journal off your lap with a huff, just so you can aim a precise kick at his ribs. Satoru wheezes dramatically, clutching his stomach like he’s just been mortally wounded in battle.

“It’s -” he’s snickering, slapping the fine-thread sheets with the fervour of one trying to summon a higher power, “It’s just too good. I – oh my god, I really can’t breathe! I think I’m going to pass out.”

Satoru’s rolling over dramatically, dark-tinted sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his hawkish nose, leaving him to look like a cherubic bird with a bad attitude.

“If only,” you mutter darkly, arms crossed over your own blazer as you glare daggers at the white-haired boy, “It’s not that funny.”

But Satoru just doesn’t listen, of course. His grin is wide enough to split his face in half, and every breath that he takes is another affront to your polished dignity, and every stupid wheeze is a reminder that you made the colossal mistake of trusting this man with classified information.

“Keep laughing,” you say, your tone low and menacing as you snatch your phone off your nightstand, “And see what happens when I play offence.”

That gets Satoru’s attention, as he freezes mid-snort. Grin faltering just enough to make you feel a small and petty thrill of satisfaction, “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” you say, already tapping away on your phone, scrolling past the ninety-nine notifications clogging Instagram. A certain raven-haired boy’s name hovers in your mind, one who shares the same initials as Gojo Satoru.

You’re not above sending a risky message.

Hey! Gojo’s been totally obsessed with you, ever since you bashed his head in with a spiral notebook back in seventh grade, and called him a spoilt, rich kid. He draws love hearts around your name every night. Just thought you should know, XOXO.

“Wait!” Satoru bolts upright so fast that his sunglasses fall into his lap, his grin morphing into a scowl as panic flashes in his too-blue eyes, “That’s playing dirty. Totally unfair.”

“You’re the one who laughed like a lunatic,” you say sweetly, tilting the phone towards him as if you’re about to hit send.

“You can’t be serious!” Satoru points a long, accusatory finger at you, his dramatic outrage undercut by the way his lips keep twitching, “I mean -” Another snicker escapes him as he buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking again, “Like how? Of all people, you really have a crush on that guy.”

For a fleeting moment, you wonder if it’s too late to enrol in witness protection. It was clearly your mistake, deciding to tell Satoru critically sensitive information. Revealing the name of the boy that you were crushing on.

And yes, your type has turned out to be greasy Tim Burton reject loners who wander around school in faded Lord of the Rings hoodies.

You’re just totally head-over-heels for Choso Kamo.

“Whatever,” you snap, shoving your phone into the pocket of your school blazer with as much dignity as you can muster under the barrage of Satoru’s relentless cackles, “You wouldn’t understand?”

“Understand?” Satoru shifts himself with all the casual arrogance of someone who, unfortunately, has never been truly humbled in his life, propping himself against one of your enormous plush pillows.

The velvet squishes beneath his weight, gold embroidery bunching, but he’s utterly unbothered. “Enlighten me, we’re talking about the same Kamo right? The guy who sits behind you in class, and doesn’t so much blink in your direction? The one who looks like he’d rather gargle glass than talk to you?”

Another pillow sails across the bed before you even realise that you’ve hurled it. It strikes him square in the face, with a satisfying thwump! Muffling his laugh as he flails, tangled in thick, down stuffing.

“He’s just shy!” You insist, your voice rising as you get up to pace. Your Prada loafers click against the polished floor, before you kick them off. “And he only acts like that when others are around, by the way. He talks to me when it’s just us.”

“Oh, sure,” Satoru sits up, wrestling the pillow aside with a theatrical groan. His snowy hair sticks up at angles, like he’s been electrocuted, “That’s probably because he’s plotting his escape route while you corner him, like a lion closing in on its prey. Poor Kamo’s the gazelle.”

“Just know that I’m blowing you up in my mind.”

Satoru huffs, “So, what is your plan now? Are you going to ask him to prom? Are we going to see a proposal for the ages?”

You pause mid-pace, fighting the hot flush that creeps up your neck. It burns brighter as you glance towards the gilded vanity mirror, for that is exactly what you had wanted. You just needed to hear someone’s validation, “Should I?”

Satoru’s grin falters for a second, replaced with a look of sheer disbelief, “You’re kidding, right? That kid hates social events. You think he’s going to go with you?”

“Why not?” You’re fiddling with the crystal perfume decanters, the bottles of skincare on your vanity, “I’ve been dropping hints, okay? Subtle ones, all that manifesting shit.”

“Subtle?” Satoru snorts, “You mean letting half the football team pile bouquets into your locker? The locker that’s right next to his? Oh, yeah. Super low-key. Very humble.”

“At least I have options,” you snap back, flicking on the lights as the sun begins to sharpen its afternoon glare. Warm golden light spills across the room, catching on the ceiling-length silk drapes, “Meanwhile, I hope you end up alone at prom. Making ugly, kissy faces at Geto Suguru, while he’s with someone else.”

Satoru groans, like you’ve truly pierced his heart, “Cruel. So cruel when provoked,” but he’s propping himself back up on one elbow, “But hey, if you really do like Kamo, you know that makes him my future brother-in-law or something. That’s cool.”

Your gasp is sharp, scandalised, “Excuse me?”

“But think about it,” Satoru continues, ignoring your sputters, “You’re practically confirmed to be Prom Queen. Do you really want to drag that guy up on stage with you?”

“I think you’re being judgemental,” you mutter, tugging the drapes close and blocking out the faint twinkle of the city skyline, “He’d have to be insane not to say yes to me.”

“Someone is going to deflate that big head of yours one day,” Satoru says, and his voice has softened just enough to make you glance back at him, “You do know he cuts class a lot, right?”

“What’s your point?”

“I’m not being a bitch, I swear,” Satoru holds up his palms defensively, “He shows up for only half the month, you might want to check on your boy.”

You flop onto the chaise lounge, throwing an arm over your face tragically, “This isn’t the inspiring pep talk that I need right now.”

Satoru leans lazily against the gilded frame of your canopy bed, “Hey, it’s not my place to tell you what to do. But if you are that into him, then fine! Just ask him to prom and see what happens. And tell you what? If you ask Kamo, I’ll ask Suguru.”

You narrow your eyes, “Wow, this must be serious if you’re out here wheeling and dealing like this. Are you feeling okay?”

Satoru presses a dramatic hand to his chest, his grin morphing into something faux-solemn, “Cross my heart. I’m making a binding vow, like, it’s unbreakable. Life or death.”

“Deal,” you quickly say, ignoring the sudden leap of your pulse, because there’s no way that you’re letting him see how the sudden time-pressure is making your stomach twist into ugly knots. You point towards the door with a flourish, “And as much as I love our time together, I need to get ready. So…out! Chop-chop.”

Satoru groans like you’ve just asked him to drag a boulder uphill with his teeth, slumping off your bed in exaggerated defeat. He sluggishly reaches for his discarded backpack from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder, “I still don’t get why you bother with working. You and I both know that we don’t need it,” he mutters, as if the concept of responsibility personally offends him.

“It’s just babysitting,” you gently correct, shrugging on a cashmere cardigan from the back of your chair, “And anyway, you know I need a well-rounded list of extracurriculars for Pre-Med.”

“I’d rather eat my sunglasses, one lens at a time,” Satoru shoots back, adjusting said sunglasses squarely over his face, “Instead of being stuck babysitting brats all evening. We’re not meant to be saints.”

“It’s just one kid tonight. New family, new house,” you reply, grabbing your bag where it rests by the vanity, “Anyway, I expect a full report on your prom date by tomorrow, Satoru. I’m not forgetting that vow.”

Satoru pauses in the doorway, with the edges of his grin sharpened into something that makes you pity Geto Suguru in advance, “I never disappoint.”

You had finally managed to shove Satoru out of the doorway, his obnoxious laughter echoing faintly down the hall. The quiet that follows is a relief, albeit short-lived. You’re left standing in the stillness of your room, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the text with the address of tonight’s gig.

Honestly, Satoru might have a point. You, the only child of one of the country’s most obscenely wealthy families, babysitting? It’s not like you’re chasing pocket money or trying to build character. But medical school applications don’t only care about your bank account, there’s so many extra boxes to tick. Factors like being selfless or dedicated to the community.

The request had been odd from the start. Some child had called you himself, and normally, it’s the frazzled parents who handle that kind of task. His voice had been small, but determined, saying that his brother was out, and he needed a sitter for the evening. Something about the earnestness of it had softened you, though, now you were starting to regret the whole thing — seeing how far out this house was from your own penthouse.

Showing up in the Bentley with tinted windows and your chauffeur had felt a little off brand for this role. So, in the name of relatability, you had popped a piece of cherry gum and a book, taking on the bus. The sticky seats and questionable patrons had almost been enough to make you reconsider, but the suburb itself offered a strange charm.

It was quiet here, too quiet, the kind of place that might have once been picturesque, but it had gone soft around the edges. The homes were older, cozy but tired, with paint peeling in places and lawns that were overrun with weeds. You wrinkle your nose as you step off the bus, weaving through tufts of stubborn greenery and abandoned toys in the yard.

The house that you’re looking for stands a little crooked, but sturdy. It’s faded shutters are barely hanging on, and a basketball hoop leans precariously over the driveway. There’s a small, red toy car that’s entirely faded and scratched, sitting forgotten near the porch steps.

Just as your knuckles hover over the worn wood of the front door, it swings open with such force that you nearly stumble backwards. A blur of motion catches you off guard, and you’re suddenly face-to-face with a tiny, pink-haired whirlwind.

The boy’s grinning up at you, wide and gap-toothed, with big golden eyes. His hair is wild, a fluffy crown of rosy strands over a dark undercut, and his scraped knees are haphazardly patched up with dinosaur bandages.

“Wait here! I’m going to get my brother!” He chirps, his voice bright and slightly whistly, thanks to the missing tooth. Before you can get a word in, he’s gone, sprinting back inside with the energy of an overeager puppy, leaving you stranded on the porch.

You shuffle awkwardly, glancing down at the scratched paint on the doorframe. There was something endearing about the child, and you’re starting to feel less apprehensive. That is, until the door opens again, and time slows.

Your heart stutters, skips, and then plummets. As if someone’s dropped you into an industrial freezer. Standing there, with one hand resting lightly on the kid’s shoulder, and an expression that’s one part confusion and one part disbelief, is Choso Kamo.

It’s as if the universe has conspired against you, playing its most cruel and ridiculous joke yet. Tall and broad, with tired eyes that sweep over you in slow recognition. Dark mark twitching across his face, like a deliberate smudge of ink.

Choso’s blinking, startled to see you here, though his usual stoic expression has yet to crack. Meanwhile, your inner monologue is screaming a symphony of pure panic. You can already heal Satoru’s stupid squeals in your head.

The pink-haired boy tugs on Choso’s arm, “See, I got a babysitter! Isn’t that cool?”

Choso glances down at the kid, then back at you, his lips parting as if to speak.

“Uh, hey,” you manage. The picture of eloquence, the master of the verbose elite.

It strikes you, with almost absurd clarity, that you’ve never seen Choso outside the campus bubble. No dim library corners, no lab tables cluttered with textbooks, or heavy beat-up laptops parked in front of him. Gone are the oversized hoodies thrown over his school uniform, or the baggy jeans he dons when he forgoes the dress code entirely. Instead, he’s here, standing in the soft glow of the broken porch light, wearing a loose black tee and dark track pants.

His chestnut hair is free from the two greasy, spiky knots that he favours on his head, falling softer around his face. Your traitorous heart lurches, feeling a sharp pang of betrayal.

“You’re the babysitter?” Choso’s voice cuts through your spiral. Raspy as always, roughened like rock salt, but there’s something else threaded into the question. A flicker of irritation, and confusion. As if he’s struggling to reconcile you, with the person standing on his doorstep.

“You didn’t know when you booked?” You shoot back, aiming for casual indifference, but landing somewhere closer to petulant. Your eyes flick to the box he’s holding, with contents that glint faintly in the light. Suspiciously metallic, as if he’s cradling surgical tools.

Choso follows your curious gaze, exhaling sharply, and shifting the box to a nearby table, just out of your line of sight.

“I didn’t book,” he grunts, “Told Yuuji to check the ads, and pick one.”

“And I picked the best one!” The delighted chirp comes from behind Choso, as Yuuji reappears, practically bouncing with a sunny grin. His golden eyes are locked on the ribbon-wrapped box in your hands, and his expression is lit up with unabashed glee.

You glance down at the box, containing an array of decadent artisan doughnuts. Saffron glaze, coconut cream, pistachio and chocolate. All from that impossibly chic Swiss patisserie downtown. You ignore the dull ache building between your eyes, smiling as you hand the box over, “These are for you, little man.”

Yuuji’s already snapping his hands for the box, as though you had just delivered a treasure chest of gold doubloons, “Can I have one? Please? Pretty-please?”

Choso glances down at him with a long-suffering look that somehow manages to carry an undertone of fondness, “Just one,” he warns, his voice dry but warm, “For now.”

Yuuji doesn’t need to be told twice, bolting towards the kitchen and clutching the box to his chest like a sacred relic. The faint sound of icing being smacked off fingers echoes from somewhere around the corner.

Choso watches him go, before turning back to you, his posture easing slightly. “That was nice of you,” he says, his voice softer now, almost tentative, “But he’s going to crash hard after that sugar high. Good luck.”

You wave off his scepticism with a breezy smile, “I’m good with kids. I’ll manage.”

For a moment, the boy’s expression shifts. Something fleeting and unreadable flickers across his face, a hint of thoughtfulness or something heavier.

Another thought gnaws at the edges of your mind, a tiny spectre of dread wrapped in Gojo Satoru’s smug grin. Two hours ago, though it feels like a lifetime now, you made a pact.

You ask Kamo, I’ll ask Suguru.

At the time, it had seemed like an impossible bluff. But the thing about Satoru is that he’s infuriatingly reliable when he sets his mind to something. No matter the cost.

Which is why you’re here now, sweating under your cashmere sweater. The fabric is suddenly too soft, too warm, clinging to the nape of your neck. You, with half the school population ready to pen sonnets just for a chance to take you to prom. Jocks, debate captains, the crème de la crème of eligible dates. All overlooked in favour of the quiet boy that no-one seems to notice.

The boy whose locker was assigned right next to yours, empty and cold steel. While yours was glittered with Polaroids, and pastel sticky notes, and the occasional folded love letter. The boy that everyone said had no friends, but he was easily the uncontested valedictorian. The boy that you desperately wanted to ask to prom.

Choso is shuffling papers on the table, avoiding your gaze like it’s a laser beam. His movements are slow, and deliberate, but there’s an edge of tension in the way his fingers linger on a set of silver keys, before he slips them into his pocket.

“What?” His voice breaks the quiet, low and rough like gravel underfoot. It startles you out of your spiralling thoughts.

“Nothing,” you blurt out, far too quickly. You’re grasping at straws to keep the conversation going, “Where are you headed?”

Choso hesitates, a slight hitch in his movements, picking that cardboard box again. For a moment, you think he’s going to ignore your question, but then he mutters, “Work.”

You tilt your head, your curiosity outweighing your better judgement to never press Choso Kamo for more than two sentences in a conversation.

He shifts uncomfortable, and you catch a glimpse of latex gloves tucked neatly inside before he angles it out of view, “I…clean up things,” he says finally, his tone clipped as though every word is a concession, “Errands. I’m a cleaner.”

The kind of response that’s designed to kill conversation in its track. It’s vague, annoyingly so, but you let it slide, “Oh.”

You’re this close to spontaneously combusting. The pact, the reason that your hands shake when you catch yourself staring at Choso Kamo for just a second too long. It’s either now or never. Rip the band-aid before your central nervous system completely betrays you and implodes.

Objectively speaking, you’re a real catch. Second-best grades in the cohort, from an old business dynasty that rivalled the Youngs from Crazy Rich Asians, two-time prom queen with med-school practically knocking on the door. Yeah, a dream. College applications adored you. Surely, Choso would have had to be running on a clone’s brain stitched into his head to say no.

Yet, somehow, it doesn’t make your heart beat any less erratically. It doesn’t erase the hollow pit that’s clawing at your insides. And now, you’re wishing that you had asked for advice from someone with an ounce of finesse. Like Shoko, or Utahime. Not your best friend who called himself The Honoured One.

You clear your throat, the taste of artificial cherry gum still lingering, “So, are you going to prom?”

Choso snorts, the sound entirely dismissive. But he seems to realise that you’re not joking, flicking you a glance, like he’s deciding to humour you, “What’s it to you? Need me to vote for you to be prom queen?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the flush creeping up your Burberry sweater, “Didn’t I already ask you to do that, like, two months ago?”

His lips twitch, barely, like he’s holding a smile back under layers of indifference, “Yeah. You pestered me three times. And I actually did it.”

You latch onto the softer tone in his voice, “So, are you going to go, then?” You’re watching him, almost desperate for a sign, for anything other than no.

Choso’s shoulders tense, “Can’t.”

“Can’t?” The word slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, incredulous, “What do you mean can’t? Why? You need to study or something?” You’re trying so hard to sound indifferent, like you’ve got a roster of dates lined up. And well, you do. But this is the only one that you want. The panic creeping into your voice betrays you before you even realise it.

“No,” Choso replies, his tone quieter, “I really just can’t go.”

A weight drops in your stomach, heavy and cold. Is this what rejection feels like? The thought hits like a wave, leaving you breathless. Your heart’s flipping in your chest like it’s teetering on the edge of cliff, seconds away from freefalling into nothing.

You inhale sharply, steeling yourself for the words that are about to spill out.

“I want you to be my date for prom.” “I can’t go because I dropped out.”

The words slam into each other, and for a moment, everything freezes. Choso’s mouth has fallen open, the curve of his lips slack with shock. As though as someone’s hit the pause button on him, mid-thought. You blink at him, your brain becoming a skipping CD. Round and round, never quite catching the beat.

“What did you just say?” Your brows knit together in a sharp pinch, like your face can’t decide whether to wince or frown. But Choso just grimace, lips curling into a tight line as his shoulders stiffen.

“You first.”

Your fingers fidget around the cream Van Cleef that rests on your throat, tracing the cool edge of the pendant. It’s one of your mother’s newer gifts, the kind that comes with all the frills and none of the warmth. Her true transactional brand of maternal affection.

“I wanted to ask if you’d go to prom with me, as my date,” It spills out of you in a jumbling mess, like you’re tripping vowels and consonants over each other. Choso’s eyes widen, but you barrel on before he can interrupt, “I mean, I get it if you think it’s lame or boring, or you just don’t want to go. But I promise my friends are actually really nice, and you can sit with us.” The rest of your monologue trails off, crumbling to dust, “I just really wanted to ask you.”

You wish to sink into the floor, like the soft earth will swallow you whole. You can almost picture Satoru’s ridiculous proposal to Geto Suguru, no doubt involving fireworks or an airplane trailing a banner.

The air is so still, you can hear the faint crackling of Yuuji’s incessant doughnut quest from across the small house, his movements clumsy and unintentionally loud as he rips open cellophane for more than one sweet treat.

Choso’s shifting slightly, and there’s a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. The pink hue is a stark contrast to his usual sickly pallor. Even his ears are a shade darker, and his jaw tightens like he’s chewing on something bitter and struggling to swallow it down. It’s hard to tell if he’s upset or just lost. Or somewhere in-between.

“You wanted to go with me?” His voice is low, hoarse, like the idea is too outlandish for him to even process. You don’t know whether to laugh or apologise.

“Mhm.” It’s all you can manage, your throat suddenly dry and tight.

“I dropped out of school two days ago,” Choso mutters, as he runs a hand through his dark hair. He’s glancing at you, with the ghost of an apology flickering across his expression, but the shock that you can’t seem to mask makes him wince, “Look, it’s not a big deal. And it’s nice that you asked, but…”

“Dropped out? Like, entirely out of school?” Your voice cracks, each word climbing higher like you’re stepping on a broken escalator, “Why? What happened?”

Never let anyone tell you that teenage love is simple, or wholesome. Full of first crushes, and sweet moments. Because this? It feels like someone ripped the floor out from under you, the air yanked from your lungs, leaving you stranded. And it’s not a pleasant feeling, being denied something that you want, for the first time in your life.

Choso shrugs, like he’s been answering this question a thousand times already. Though, you’re sure that this is the first time he’s said it to out loud to anyone, “Family stuff. Just had to.”

You try to piece this together, for this house does smell faintly of stale coffee, and the worn leather of the couch has clearly seen better days. You can tell, on some level, that something is off. That there’s no parental figure in sight for little Yuuji, just the harsh edges of whatever it is that Choso seems to carry on his own.

You can feel the words bubbling up again, stupid and reckless, “But you know you just can’t leave. You’ve got the top marks in the class, Choso. And you know that you were on a scholarship, right? For one of the most elite schools in the country? How are you ever going to get that again?”

The second they leave your mouth; you hear how self-righteous and insensitive you sound. You already regret it, almost reaching up to slap your hands over your face.

Choso’s expression darkens, his face tightens. Like a storm cloud rolling in, as his lips pull into a tight and angry line, “Back off,” he snaps, voice suddenly sharp enough to cut, “You don’t know a damn thing about my life.”

His sneer twists, not with malice, but something deeper. Harder, like he’s being chewed up by all the things he never got to say before, “Don’t worry, though. I’m sure they’ll make a big, shiny tiara for when they name you valedictorian. Maybe, it’ll match your prom dress.”

“Hey!” Your eyes well up, stupid heat of tears prickling behind your eyes, and swelling a thick lump in your throat, “That’s not what I meant.” You cannot believe that you’re tearing up, over this. Over wanting something that you can’t have, and someone who seems to have more to lose than you ever thought possible.

Choso’s lip curls into a half-sneer, but there’s a flicker of something else there. His posture shifts, as if he’s trying to fold in on himself. He lowers his voice, still low and uncomfortable, but careful. Careful, because his little brother is just down the hall.

“I don’t need your pity, okay? Or your help.” His fingers grip the metal of the net door, “I have to go now. Just look after Yuuji.”

The heavy clang of steel on mesh echoes in your ears, sharp and final. The sound lingers like a ringing in your skull as you stand there, utterly paralysed as your mind scrambles to catch up with the wreckage of what just happened. Your five-year crush crashing down in five minutes.

Your feet move, and you find yourself in the bare dining room. Yuuji’s perched at the table, with a doughnut half-eaten in his hand, a mess of pistachio cream smeared across his chin like a brave trooper. There’s an iPad, an old, scratched model, with a silicone tiger case, propped up in front of him. The screen is flashing with something, like blueberries. Bouncing in time with some peppy tune.

“Did Choso leave for work?” Yuuji asks, utterly oblivious to the emotional landmine that his brother left in your hands. His eyes are wide, curious, the innocence of a kid who still thinks the world works in neat, little boxes.

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a smile, “He works a lot, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Yuuji mumbles through a mouthful of pastry, sugar clinging to his lips, “He always gets upset when Uncle Kuna’ calls him in. Even after school.”

Choso has never mentioned an uncle. Or a brother, for that matter. But then again, why would he? You had never even asked for his number, never bothered to learn anything beyond what was right in front of you. You realise, with a strange pang of guilt, that you’ve built your entire image of infatuation with Choso, from incomplete sketches. Filling in the blanks with whatever fits into the tiny box you’ve kept him in.

“Hey, do you have Netflix?” Yuuji’s voice cuts through your thoughts, bright and eager. “I want to watch How to Train Your Dragon. It’s Fushiguro and Kugisaki’s favourite movie!”

The names are unfamiliar, but Yuuji’s excitement is infectious. You cannot help but smile at the boy, his messy hair and too-big shirt. It’s hard not to be fond of such a kid. You take the iPad from his sticky hands, logging into the app. All the while, chasing yourself around mentally with a baseball bat for the biggest fumble of the century.

If last night felt like a disaster, this morning was just the encore performance. And you were the unwilling star. Just the effort of peeling yourself out of bed felt like an Olympic event. And facing your reflection of swollen eyes and blotchy skin felt like punishment for sins that were way out of your paygrade.

Reluctantly, you’re tugging on your blazer, and clipping a barrette into your hair. There’s a sparkling, diamond tennis bracelet fastened around your wrist. All little things that you need to don like armour, to face your senior year, the student population and the empty locker that would remain untouched next to yours.

Satoru and Shoko are the first faces that you spot in the crowd, and Satoru’s practically bouncing down the hall, “Oh, yeah, I got it locked in,” he announces, cheeks flushed with an absurdly boyish grin, “I got it in the bag.”

He’s sliding his sunglasses down just enough to peer at you, wordlessly handing you his coffee cup, as is your morning ritual. The overly sweet, creamy warmth does nothing to ease the ache in your chest, and your lip-gloss stains the edge of the paper.

“What about you, eh?” Satoru chirps, but you must look blatantly devasted. Because your best friend’s grin falters, the corners of his mouth pulling down.

“Wait, you’re joking right?” His voice is marred with disbelief, and his eyes scan the hall like he’s trying to spot someone’s dark head of hair, “Where is he? Jughead Jones lookin’ ass? Shoko, do you know where Choso Kamo sits? Because I’m going to give him a real piece of my mind and —”

You cut him off, abruptly shoving the coffee back into his warm hands, “It’s fine. He dropped out school, anyway.”

Shoko hums beside you, her fingers absentmindedly twirling a strand of cinnamon-brown hair. The chipped polish on her nails catches the fluorescent light, “Prom queen and valedictorian in one year? Not a bad run for you.”

You glare at her, and Shoko’s doe-eyed expression softens. The breeze from the open window catches her sleek hair, making it sway gently, and she shifts. Voice dropping to something quieter, more thoughtful, “That really does suck, though. Sorry.” She sounds like she means it now, her usual flippancy up in smoke, “I didn’t even know you liked him like that. Not until Gojo told me, like, two hours ago.”

Your eyes snap to Satoru who, for once, has the good sense to shut his mouth.

Shoko’s voice is subdued, “I wonder if it had anything to do with him being called into admin.”

“Wait, when?” Satoru interrupts. He’s taking another long slurp of his sweet mocha, the froth giving him whiskers.

“Three days ago,” Shoko shrugs, “Some big guy rolled up to the office. Demanded to see the principal. No idea who he was, but he was important. And rich. Like you need to be super wealthy to call the shots in a school for the children of the top one percent.”

You must look tragic, because even Shoko pauses mid-chew. Her lollipop moving from one side of her mouth to the other. She looks at you, really looks at you. You can see the careful shift in her demeanour, as though she’s considering the most diplomatic answer that she can offer you to avoid making things worse.

“Well, you don’t have to go to prom with anyone, right?” Satoru says, the words hanging awkwardly in the air like a balloon that’s just lost its helium. His consolation is well-meaning, but a bit clueless. But now, his sunglasses are perched atop his head now, leaving his eyes exposed. Icy blue, framed by lashes so long that they practically flirt with his eyebrows. For once, there’s a flicker of real concern in them, clouds passing over clear skies.

“I know,” you gripe, your voice flat as you find yourself glaring at a group of juniors who are skipping by, with their phones out in unison, clicking away like it’s a competition. Fantastic. You can already see the gossip Instagram stories by lunch, wondering what happened to you. Rumours milling about the reason for your glum expression.

Shoko shifts her heavy bag onto her shoulder, patting your arm. “I’ll see you at lunch. My treat,” she says, turning her heel for the Chemistry building. Leaving you alone with Satoru, as Shoko quickly picks her pace up to catch her Honours class.

“So,” you start, keeping your eyes on him out of the corner of your vision, watching how his fingers twitch around the coffee cup, “How did it go with Geto Suguru?”

Satoru’s shifting, as though he’s trying not gloat, but clearly bursting to tell you, “It was nice,” which is an unusually subdued, sensitive explanation from Satoru. The one who can take five hours to tell a story that you could wrap up in ten minutes. “He was really friendly. More than I thought he would be.”

“That is nice.” You’re forcing some perk back into your voice, but it comes out rather weak, “Like, genuinely.”

Satoru crumples the empty cup in his hand, tossing it into a nearby trashcan. Then, he shoots you a sharper look, “Did you actually talk to Choso, like, in-person? How did that go?”

You exhale, “Turns out I was babysitting his little brother,” and Satoru’s eyes widen slightly, “He was fine. And then he wasn’t. I asked him to be my date, and told me he dropped out. I said something…stupid. And now he’s going to hate me forever.”

Satoru stares at you, his gaze sharp, as though he’s dissecting you. And you swear that he can see right through your skin, right into your bones. It’s moments like this that make you feel like maybe your best friend has a sixth sense, some secret radar for picking up on these things.

“Wow,” he murmurs, a touch of something in his voice, “It really got you bad, huh?”

You bristle, a mix of annoyance and embarrassment flooding your chest. You’re straightening your shoulders, but it’s all too obvious and so fucking frustrating, “Yeah, well, I don’t even know why it matters so much.” The bite in your voice is more directed at yourself, than him.

Satoru doesn’t flinch, just tilts his head, and he’s quiet. It’s a weird look on him, soft concern, “You genuinely really liked him that much?”

The truth sticks to your throat as your chest tightens, and your eyes blur. It would be nice to tell Satoru that you didn’t really care that much. That it was never fully that serious, but the lie won’t leave your lips. The lump in your throat is palpable, and all you can do is sniffle, “Yeah. I did.”

“Do you want to cry?” Satoru’s voice is gentle enough to catch you off guard.

You open your mouth to retort, something sharp and defensive. But before you know it, tears spill as your chest constricts. It’s sudden, like a storm that breaks on the horizon.

And just like that, your best friend pulls you into him. For once, the wild energy that crackles off him is gone, replaced by something quieter and more unwavering. You can feel his shoulder under your cheek, soft and warm, salt staining the expensive fabric. And if anyone does see you sob into Gojo Satoru’s arms, while the white-haired boy pats your back, no one says a word.

But to borrow a line from Bangtan Sonyeondan, life goes on. The next few months slip by like the kind of indie film that you’d see at film festival. It’s bittersweet, and there’s a melancholy that everyone can taste in the air, especially as you all realise that this last blue spring of youth is slipping through fingers like sand.

In this haze of time, you discover a few things that you didn’t expect. For instance, Geto Suguru is, in fact, far more than the tall and brooding figure that you once shrugged off. He’s the stillness to Satoru’s sharper teeth, the quiet that counters the blue eye of the storm. He’s soft-spoken, with an easy patience that tempers Satoru’s edges. He’s become a bit of a constant presence, as they always bicker and makeup in a sort of perpetual cycle.

Spring arrives like a first kiss. It’s hesitant, not rushing in. Just tiptoes around you, tentative enough as it coaxes you out of winter’s gloom. Before the flurry of sparkly gowns and speeches, there’s Utahime’s birthday to celebrate. It’s supposed to be a relaxed affair, she insists that she has no desire for fuss. But you all show up anyway, surprising her with a giant, pastel cake that takes up nearly half the table.

Her laugh is loud, and carefree, mixing with the salt of the ocean breeze on this beach trip. Her black hair whips around her face, even as she blushes at the attention. She’s protesting, but it’s swallowed by laugher, by the sound of waves breaking against the shores.

The awards and titles are all well and good, prom queen and valedictorian. A shiny, little stamp on your high school resume, a golden ticket to the next chapter of your life. But when anyone brings it up, or someone presses too hard on the subject, you shift uncomfortably, your fingers toying with the edge of your pre-med acceptance letter like it just might tear under the pressure of your grip. No-one talks about how you’ve been visiting your locker less and less.

Satoru, of course, loudly denies crying at graduation, even as salty, shiny tears tack to his cheeks. They’re practically immortalised in every digital snapshot that you take. But for now, he’s too busy wrapping everyone in a bear hug, clutching the group that it’s the last time he’ll ever see them. Nanami’s already peeling him off, shaking his head with a worn sigh.

It's late in the morning after the graduation ceremony, as you all pile into cars, driving to a riverside café. It’s one of those places where people with money go to prove that they have money, to prove that even their breakfasts are above the meals of the common folk. But you all sit there, with the graduation ribbons still pinned to your lapels. There’s the debate over who cried the most during the ceremony (Gojo, easily, though Haibara is a close second) and who’s the one who peaked in high school. Everyone unanimously votes for Geto, who sulks as he tosses his hair out of his face, ever the drama queen.

“Bullshit,” he’s grumbling, “Just you wait. You’ll see what I accomplish in ten years.”

Satoru grins, all teeth and lazy confidence, “Yeah, what? You’re going to start running a pyramid scheme cult?”

Utahime’s voice cuts through the chatter, her white ribbon flouncing as she leans towards you, blinking at the empty space in front of you, “Where’s your food?”

You wave her off with a smile, “It’s fine. You guys can go ahead and start, I’ll just go and check.”

You hear Satoru choke around a mouthful of food, already bulldozing half his way through his plate like a bottomless pit.

There’s a pretty glass display at the front, filled with delicate chiffon cakes that glisten in the soft light. You wonder if you should have just ordered one, perhaps to share with Nanami. You know he likes desserts like this.

“Can I help you?”

Your pulse stutters as you bite your tongue, heart crashing against the rocks. You soothe your tongue over the tang of iron that blooms in your mouth from the stupidly familiar voice.

Choso Kamo.

You’d like to say that he looks good, but the truth is, he doesn’t. The hollows beneath his eyes are far more accentuated than you remember, and his hair is pulled back into a messy knot at the back of his head. Even his pale skin has taken on a sicklier pallor than usual.

“Hello?” His voice cuts through the silence, sharper this time, carrying an edge that takes you by surprise.

“Oh, uh, hey. Choso. Just wanted to check on my order,” you say, like it’s a poor prelude to small talk. It sounds far too chipper, almost artificial.

Choso’s expression tightens immediately, in an ill-omen. It’s as if he’s irritated that you even have the nerve to recognise him, to stand there in his space. He doesn’t meet your gaze, his attention flicking back to the screen in front of him with a quickness that almost feels deliberate.

“Hello.” He’s muttering back, more out of obligation than any real interest. Like it’s a formality.

The sharp, hollow feeling in your chest expands, deeper than you’re willing to admit. The last time you saw him, you had been standing at his door, and he had slammed it in your face.

“What are you doing here?” Your question is clumsy, hanging in the air, and far too intrusive for a stranger.

“What?” Choso doesn’t even look up. But then he does, just briefly, his gaze flicking to yours with the same disinterest. He shrugs, as though the query is too trivial for any answer.

“It’s just…it’s been a while, yeah?” You’re not quite sure how to word and I want to know how you’ve been.

“I’m fine,” Choso replies quickly, dismissing your question with a wave of his pale hand, “Just working around here and there.”

It’s offbeat, landing wrong. You don’t think it’s unfair to think that everyone expected more of him. One of the smartest, most brilliant minds in your cohort, who had been a shoo-in for medicine, alongside you.

The bustle of patrons behind you intensifies, but you stubbornly dig your heels into the polished tile, “How’s Yuuji?”

The mention of his younger brother softens him, just a little. A small, bashful smile tugs at the corner of Choso’s pink lips, hesitant, like he doesn’t quite know how to let it show, “He’s good. Says you were the ‘bestest’ babysitter that he ever had. Even asks about you sometimes.”

You fight the urge to smile too openly, not wanting to seem too affected by the gentleness that suddenly lingers in the space between you two, “I’m glad. And…are you still working for your uncle?”

It’s as if you’ve thrown a switch, causing all the warmth to evaporate from his features. His jaw tightens, as his brow furrows. Settling a coldness over his expression, “Who the fuck told you that?”

You blink, surprised at the sudden harshness of his words. “Yuuji mentioned it,” you murmur, quieter now, careful. The hesitation in your voice isn’t feigned, and you realise you’ve broken the golden rule of ‘never push Choso Kamo about his personal life.’

Choso doesn’t seem keen on letting you explain, as his glare cuts through you, “If you wanted to snoop into my life, just ask me your stupid questions, okay? Don’t drag my little brother into it.”

The accusation lands like a slap, stinging you more than you expected, “What? I wasn’t snooping,” you insist, defences flaring open, “He told me that himself. I didn’t even ask him anything, and I didn’t ask anything else!”

He just stares at you, eyes burnished and unreadable, but he seems mollified by your answer. Like he knows that your explanation is sincere, but the chasm is nigh impossible to bridge, “Sure. Okay.”

You don’t know how to respond, opening your mouth to ask what on earth has made him so unreasonable. To dig the tips of your almond nails into his long sleeves, and demand that he treats you as adoringly as everyone else in your life does. But he interrupts you first, “Your order’s coming.”

Choso’s tone is clipped, colder. As though he’s already moved on, “And I’ve got a lot of other customers to serve. Nice seeing you again, or whatever.”

A dismissal, if there ever was one. The embarrassment rushes up your neck, hot and insistent, but you bite your tongue. You let your heels clack a little more loud than necessary, as you stomp away. You’re swivelling your head to deliver a final, withering stare but his gaze is no longer on you.

Choso’s looking at the table where everyone is sitting. Where your friends are laughing, leaning into one another as they snap their final graduation photos. Where Geto has his lips pressed to Satoru’s cheek in a rare display of affection, arms linked with Shoko and Utahime. Where even Nanami’s smiling, the sunlight leafing through his golden waves of thick hair.

There’s no anger in Choso’s eyes, or even that solitary, brooding stare. He looks almost…sad. Profoundly sorrowful, in a deep and aching way that makes your anger dissipate.

He’s looking at your friends, at their graduation certificates stacked in sleeves on the table, as though he’s lost something that he never had. It aches your chest tightly, a knot pulling at your heart.

Once, he was Choso Kamo — the quiet boy you liked in school. Then, he became Choso from the café. Soon, he'll be someone whose name you won't even remember in a few years, someone who's path you'll probably never cross again.

You find yourself blinking furiously, feeling as though you've just lost something yourself, but you fight back the salt that threatens to blur your vision before your friends see.

THREE YEARS LATER.

Your day had started off deceptively well, like a glass of water poured perfectly. Clear, refreshing, with no chance of spilling. The sun was shining, your skin looked like it was having its best day, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. But of course, it didn’t take long for things to spiral, as they tend to do.

It was like playing a real-life Sisyphus game, except instead of a boulder, it was a series of small, dumb annoyances that you couldn’t dodge fast enough.

First, Satoru had texted to cancel lunch. And to be fair, you weren’t that bothered. He had been talking all week about a world-renowned professor dropping in on his fourth-years Honours class, something about nuclear engineering. And you knew that Satoru lived for anything involving theoretical mass and explosions.

Then, your favourite tote bag had decided it was done with you. The strap had snapped off with a surprising, sudden violence. Your beautiful new water bottle had hit the floor with a sickening, metallic thud. Pens rolled across the tiles like little soldiers. You had been kneeling, already late for class, muttering curses under your breath when your phone had rung.

Your mother.

And you already knew that tone well enough, that voice that could cut through steel.

“You missed the charity dinner? You know how embarrassing it is for your father and I to come up with excuses, just to explain your absence —”

Yeah, like you had personally insulted her by choosing to study for your exams, instead of milling around an event hall. You tried to explain, but it was like trying to explain Satoru’s quantum physics to the wall. Totally pointless, and not worth your time and energy. And naturally, her tone escalated, because that’s what she just tended to do. Nevermind that she was calling from some ritzy hotel in Europe, crackling over the phone.

And then, just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, the course coordinator paged you in for a meeting. You were still in your first few weeks of medicine, so you had been scratching your brain for what he could have possibly wanted, snapping gum as you rushed and clacked up stone steps, breezing through campus.

Now, here you were. Standing in front of his desk with your arms crossed, almost petulantly. The room smelled like old coffee, and expired textbooks as the man coughed, leaning back against his desk, littered with academic transcripts and stacked envelopes.

“Look, there’s no denying that you’re one of our most brilliant students. All the tutors and lecturers admire your work ethic,” and the professor stopped, and you grimaced. Ah, here it comes.

“But, you’ve chosen Ieiri Shoko as your partner for the past three years, am I correct in saying this?” His dark eyes are narrowed behind wiry glasses, as you frowned.

“Yes.”

Shoko had practically excelled in Pre-Med alongside you, surviving late night study rants, extreme caffeine dependency, and textbook-induced breakdowns.

“You work together well,” the coordinator adds, looking like he was trying to make this sound like a compliment, “But you need to branch out. Develop your versatility. In a noble field, such as medicine, it’s important to be able to work with others. Not rule and conquer.”

You blink at him, “Branch out? I don’t know how else to say this, but I don’t like anyone else in my class. And Shoko and I are easily the best.”

He ignores your comments, “So, I’ve thought it better to move you to a new stream. Instead of Tuesday’s clinical practice, I’ll have you attend the Thursday session, starting today. There’s a new partner for you, and I assure you, he is just as competent as Ieiri Shoko,”

You doubt it. No-one can handle the sight of infected perineum stitches like Shoko can.

It seems there’s only one card left for you to pull, “My grandfather paid for this entire wing of the building. His name is on the plaque outside.”

The coordinator doesn’t even budge, “That may be true. But you still need to grow. You will never learn if you just continue to stick with what is familiar.”

You leave the office with a sour taste in your mouth, clutching the crisp sheet of paper that’s already being emailed to your student account, no doubt.

“Collaboration,” you’re muttering under your breath, “Building character, my ass.” You’re squinting at the page, trying to decipher the name of your new stream partner, but it’s obscured by a hastily scribbled note with your classroom change.

The faint ache in your neck refuses to budge, and you roll your shoulders with a sigh. Pushing through the double doors to the anatomy facility. Immediately, the frigid air bites at your cheeks, sharp and unwelcome. These buildings always feel like high-tech mausoleums, with tables lined up like gleaming altars. Surfaces cold enough to numb your fingertips if you’re careless.

The faint, cloying scent of formaldehyde hangs in the air, sharp and chemical. It’s supposed to preserve the cadavers, but it has the unfortunate side effect of making your stomach growl at the worst times. Hunger, and embalming fluid. A combination so disgusting that you try not to dwell on it for too long.

Your lab coat is rubbing uncomfortably against your arms, and your Loewe sweater is bunched awkwardly around your elbows. It’s a long-suffering sigh that echoes the hall as you shove the heavy barred doors to the classroom.

The tutor is a stalk-like man, with perpetually knitted brows, glancing up at you as you enter, “Ah, yes. The transfer,” he’s brisk with it, “Got the note about you moving to my Thursday stream. Just sit over there, for now. Yeah, there. Your partner should be along soon. If he’s a no-show, I’ll reassign you to a different table.”

You nod wordlessly, scanning the room as you head to your non-descript, assigned corner. The faces at the other tables blur together, some curious and others indifferent. Most focused on pushing worksheets under steel clipboards.

Great. A room full of strangers with all the warmth of wet cardboard.

Sliding into your plastic seat, you pull your notebook out and flip it open, the pages crinkling and echoing in the too-quiet room. It’s a minute, maybe two of shifting uncomfortably in your chair, feeling the awkward hollowness of sitting alone at a two-person station. But the door swings open with a groaning creak.

“Perfect! Full class today, that’s what I like to see. Just head to your usual spot, and I’ll start passing the models around.”

You glance up, squinting at the figure who’s broad enough to cause a solar eclipse of the fluorescent light.

“Get out,” you blurt.

“This is my class,” Choso Kamo stares at you, equally bewildered. His bronze eyes widen briefly, flickering from your face to the lab tables, to the unaware tutor.

“Don’t care. Get out,” you scowl, speechless for a moment, “No. Don’t sit. This is my assigned stream. Don’t tell me that you’re my —”

“Partner?” Choso finishes for you, deadpan.

“Of all the people in this entire school —”

“I’m starting to feel offended,” Choso cuts in, already pulling out the chair beside you, and slinging his bag down with an air of resignation.

“What are you doing here?”

Choso’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t quite smile, “I’m getting an education. Obviously.”

Your gaze flickers away from his unfairly handsome face, following the motion of his hand as he shifts. There’s a single black hair tie, looped around his wrist.

But something just does not add up for you. This isn’t just any medical program. It’s the kind of rigorous, cutthroat, soul-consuming degree that requires three years of a top GPA from Pre-Med. It’s designed to weed out the faint hearted before the first semester is even over. Graduates here don’t just get jobs. They get titles, and invitations to Westminster where the British monarch probably bestows them with Dame, or Sir, or some other archaic title.

And Choso Kamo is a high school dropout, with nary a certificate to his name.

“You got into medicine?” It’s as blunt as you can get.

“What? Like it’s hard?”

“Don’t quote Legally Blonde at me,” You snarl, wordlessly taking the tray of silicone gashes from the tutor.

Choso blinks, as though he’s truly stumped by your hostile reaction, “Then don’t ask stupid questions.” He seems…different now. Sharper, and less apologetic. There’s a streak of confidence that’s as unnerving as it is infuriating. Is he taller? He seems taller.

You exhale sharply, a sound between frustration and resignation. It’s not like you can go up to the course coordinator now and say, ‘Oh, sorry! I can’t be in this stream because my new partner is the boy who broke my heart in high school. I cried and threw up on my best friend’s blazer for three days.’

But you’ve definitely given the group chat enough material to fuel their devious amusement for days, even weeks. You’re practically writing the jokes for them.

With a defiant swing of your arm, you hoist your bag onto the desk. The soft leather tanking against the sterile surface, like a gauntlet being thrown. You slide it firmly into position, the strap dangling just enough to make a point. That this is your line in the sand.

“Don’t move one centimetre over your side of the desk.”

Choso just rolls his eyes.

“They…modify bacterial ribosomes.”

“Wrong.”

You sigh and tap the edge of your notebook with the tip of your mechanical pencil. The rhythm is irregular, your thoughts too scrambled to produce anything like a steady beat.

“They inactive carbapenems,” you try again, your tone pitched with the kind of hope that knows it’s already on life support.

“Nope.”

Choso’s shaking his head, the movement loose and lazy, and it sends strands of his chestnut hair tumbling into his face. The harsh fluorescent lights above make his hair shine with an almost metallic lustre, and as he tugs a thick sweater over his broad frame, your gaze drifts.

The fabric of his white top is riding up, revealing a pale stretch of skin. There’s the faintest dusting of dark hair trailing downwards, and your eyes snap back to the textbook. Your cheeks flushed, for the briefest second as your resolve breaks.

“Just tell me the answer.”

Choso exhales, in a soft and patient sound, sliding the textbook your way. He’s tapping the page with his finger, his blunt nail landing on the highlighted sentence.

“Extended-Spectrum Beta-Lactamases hydrolyse a wide range of beta-lactam antibiotics, including third-generation cephalosporins. This contributes to antibiotic resistance.” His voice is smooth, but it carries that faint rasp that always makes it sound like he’s just woken up.

“I was close.”

“Close doesn’t get you any marks,” Choso replies, deadpan.

Your retort dies on your glossy lips, when a sharp shhh cuts through the air. You glance up, spotting a student two tables away, glaring at you over the rim of her stylish tortoiseshell glasses.

Your next sip of coffee is deliberate, making an obnoxious gurgle as you drain the bottom of your cup. Choso’s eyes flick to the order scribbled on the side, Caramel Crunch Latte, Extra Whip. His lips twitch, but what can you say? Satoru’s dropped a habit or two on you over the years.

This has become the routine over the past few weeks. The outright disdain you had initially felt had eroded, once you had realised that you were truly stuck with the man. It had become something closer to a begrudging truce, but ‘truce’ may be too generous a word.

The two of you found yourselves studying together. Regularly. Choso needed to interact more with people, and less with his old, dusty laptop. And you needed a study partner that could match your wits. Unfortunately, Choso seemed entirely oblivious to the reason you nursed an ancient grudge against him, choosing to accept your bad attitude in stride.

It doesn’t help that Choso is, well, hot now.

In high school, he had always been cute in that underdog way. Endearing, if not exactly the type to inspire confidence. He had been the subject of your sweet trope-like fantasy that you would nurture during long, dull classes.

You, the radiant prom queen, standing under a canopy of glittering lights, extending a perfectly manicured hand to him. The shy, awkward loser who’d clearly underestimated how gorgeous his messy hair and tendency to trip over his own words were. Ugh, now you’re not sure who had been the bigger loser.

But three years had passed, and the Choso that sat across from you now bore only a passing resemblance to that daydream. Time, it seemed had been suspiciously kind to him. Unfairly, even. His frame was lean but undeniably defined. His shyness remained, because you knew that he refused to correct the woman at the food trucks whenever she got his name wrong, but it had softened into something less clumsy, and more self-contained. Far less teenage angst.

The dark violet smudges beneath his eyes were still there, giving him that haunted and sleep—deprived look. And his hair was still the same stringy, chestnut mop that you remembered. But it was more of a deliberate statement now, instead of an oversight. It hung just over his shoulders, and you had heard many a passerby giggle and whisper about hot emos on campus. Like, get in line.

“What are you doing next weekend?”

The question comes so abruptly that your head snaps up like a spring-loaded trap.

“Huh?” You blink, the tip of your pencil teetering dangerously close to snapping against the page.

Choso stares back at you, his expression maddeningly neutral, “Like, are you busy?”

“It’s my friend’s birthday on Saturday, we’re going out at night,” you’re narrowing your eyes at him, already feeling your composure fray.

It’s Suguru’s birthday, and Gojo’s gone full-out with a surprise planned at some five-star restaurant. You managed to get your hands on a vintage vinyl turntable for him, courtesy of a Sotheby’s auction.

Choso nods, like he’s filing that away somewhere, “What about Sunday?”

“Sunday?” You repeat, dragging it out, “I’m free, I guess.” Against all reason, you find yourself answering honestly, even as some internal voice is screaming at you to lie and make up an excuse.

“Do you want to study at my place?”

There’s a pause, long enough for the air to grow heavy between you two. You wonder if he remembers the last time that you asked him to go out with you. Your eyebrows shoot up, and your mouth must be twitching in something close to incredulity.

Choso notices, for his ears go pink first. Then his cheeks, like someone’s spattered him with a splotchy watercolour paint. The flush sits pretty, just under the dark mark that crosses the bridge of his nose, “No, I mean, like really study. Just studying. It’s easier than being here…” He twitches, looking anywhere but you, “Yuuji would be happy to see you again, and stuff.”

And stuff. How ridiculous that two words make your heart trip over itself. Your three-year resolve to keep him firmly in the do not touch zone has basically cracked wide open. There’s a traitorous smile tugging at the corner of your lips, but you manage to suppress it. Barely. Playing it off with a nonchalant hum.

“Hmm. Sure, I’ll think about it.”

Choso lives in an apartment now. Not a polished high-rise with sleek fixtures and panoramic views, but a tired and unremarkable building with flickering yellow lights that cast long and ominous shadows along the stairwell. You clutch the slip of paper that he scribbled his address on, squinting at the nearly illegible scrawl. It’s barely decipherable, a penmanship perfect for prescriptions and indecipherable notes.

In your other hand, you balance a box of cream rolls from the bakery that Nanami swears by, their golden horns stuffed with airy dairy and dusted with cinnamon sugar. The smell is warm and sweet, a sharp contrast to the questionable stairwell.

The ascent feels longer than it should, each step accompanied by the faint swing of those tired lights overhead. But you bite back any judgement, you’ve made that mistake before.

Someone else is already there, a tall figure that knocks on Choso’s door with wide, lazy knuckles. Once. Twice. The man huffs, pocketing his phone and pulling out a key. There’s a practiced ease to the way he clicks the lock open, and for a moment, you hesitate, wondering if you’re witnessing a breaking-and-entering type of situation.

But there’s something familiar about the muted shock of rosy, pink hair that spikes over his head.

“What are you doing?” His voice is rough, deep, with an edge of irritation that makes you stand a little straighter. He looks over you once, and his eyes fall on the box of pastries in your hands. Disinterest giving way to a little bit of curiosity. It reminds you of Itadori Yuuji.

“Uh,” you clear your throat, “Choso invited me.”

The man’s eyebrows lift in surprise, and you’re fascinated by the tattoos that curl around his face. Even running along his jawline, and down his neck. There are silver studs littering his ear, and if you didn’t know better, you would say that there are real precious stones scattered among them.

“Didn’t know he had a date.” The man seems gruffly amused, and you stomp your heels, the sound snapping off worn walls.

“It’s not a date. We’re studying.”

“Don’t care. Didn’t really ask.”

With that, he swings the door open, stepping inside before you can. You linger in the doorway, before hesitantly following him, watching as he kicks the door shut with his heel. He seems to be making himself at home like he owns the place, peering through an empty fridge and rifling through cabinets. All before collapsing on the sagging couch like it’s his throne, sprawled out as he starts scrolling through his phone again.

You just perch awkwardly on the edge of a cold chair, as the space suddenly feels oddly claustrophobic. Your fingers toy with the edge of your notebook, as you wonder whether you need to call Choso, to see if this was all a mistake. Instead, your gaze flickers over to the man sitting opposite you.

You’re sure that he comes from money. You’ve spent enough summer holidays backstage at Milan and Paris shows to recognise the season’s latest pieces. And the crimson racing jacket on his shoulders is definitely a Dior piece that costs more than what you assume is the rent of this entire apartment complex. Plus, you had spent enough time flicking through Van Cleef’s catalogue to recognise the whirring, high-jewellery piece that sat on his wrist. A watch with an eye-like mechanism, studded with Burmese rubies. Easily the price of your penthouse.

“So, you friends with Choso?” He asks suddenly, lowering his phone. His eyes are sharp russet, locking with yours.

“We know each other from high school,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral. It’s best to leave it at that, it’s safer that way. You’re playing Choso’s game, the one where you don’t share a thing about your personal life.

“Hmph,” The sound is more of a grunt than a response, and it makes you bristle. Why bother asking a question if you’re not interested in the answer?

“Did I leave the door unlocked?”

You hear Choso’s faintly bewildered murmur, almost to himself, before he catches sight of you. It’s cute, how a bashful smile creeps over his face again, almost embarrassed at the sight of you. But it darkens instantly, sharply. His bronze eyes are fixed on the man that loiters on his couch.

“Get out.”

The man is unfazed, “Why? Am I interrupting your date?”

“It’s not a date. We’re studying.” Choso’s mirroring your exact, previous words. His tone is stiff, like you’ve never heard it before. A snarl, with irritation bubbling underneath the surface.

“I don’t know how else I can stress this enough, brat. But I really do not care what you do to get off.” The man drawls, pushing himself off the couch. He’s absurdly tall, easily the height of the ceiling. You catch a glimpse of the tattoos trailing up his forearm, dark ink that winds around his wrist. A startling splash of red staining the sleeve of the pristine jacket. It’s dried up now, crusting the edges of the fabric. Sort of like…

Weird. And impossible.

Choso grunts, “Fine. Get up. Go,” and he’s gesturing towards a door leading into another room, his jaw clenched tight. The muscles in his neck are taut, the apology in his expression at you somehow mixed with a faint flicker of regret, like he wishes you weren’t here to see this.

What happens next is an absolute masterclass on being nosy. You’ve edged closer to the door, shifting on the couch so you’re practically perched on the armrest. You can hear the muffled thrum of Choso and the stranger’s voice through the door, but it’s not enough. Curiosity is clawing her sharp nails at you, and you wonder if you should text Satoru. Or maybe drop a quick message in the group chat.

You end up leaning in closer, ignoring the way that you’re teetering on the very edge.

The conversation is low, like the rumble of thunder in the distance, but the voices are gradually building until —

“What? You did not just fuckin’ throw something at me!” The man’s voice booms so loud that you almost jump out of your skin, “What is wrong with you? Can’t even have an honest conversation these days?”

Choso’s response is tight, simmering with frustration that you don’t understand, “Nothing you do is honest. And don’t break into my place then!”

“Your place?” The man’s scoff is almost a sneer, like he’s amused at the mere thought, “Brat, let’s not forget all the favours I’ve done you.” There’s a crash, something hitting the floor with a thud, and the man’s voice bellows again, “Oi! Put that down right now. Don’t you dare throw something else at me. Fuck, you’ve got good aim, I’ll give ya’ that.”

You can hear Choso shuffle, spit something sharp in response.

“You’ve done all these things for me before, eh? Why the hesitation now? Got tired of cleaning it all up?”

Choso’s response is firm through the thin walls, “I’m done with doing your dirty work all the time.”

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating, punctuated with a low and disbelieving laugh.

“You said that last time. But you came crawling back when you couldn’t handle looking after the kid all on your lonesome.”

“Leave Yuuji out of this!”

There’s another muffled scuffle, a loud thud that makes your heart race as the stranger growls, “Can’t believe you bit me.”

The door swings open with a suddenness that almost knocks you off your seat. Choso’s practically putting his entire back into shoving the man out with a sharp grunt, like he’s had enough.

The stranger turns, giving you a lazy, bored wave. Like he knows that it will simply irk Choso off even more. And he’s right. Choso, not having it for a second, snaps at him, “Get out. And don’t come back.”

The man rolls his eyes, but not before pulling out a pricey Italian wallet, slapping a wad of thick bills down on the kitchen counter, “That’s for this month. I’ll send a cheque next month for the little brat’s birthday.”

Then he’s gone, muttering something about bitchy, little bastard children, born on the wrong side of the sheets, with sharp teeth.

Choso’s whirling around to you, his expression unreadable and blank. Like the surface of still water that refuses to betray even a ripple of emotion. You school your features, meeting his gaze with a look of equal, quiet disinterest.

“Friend of yours?” You ask, your voice cool. But there’s questions dancing on the tip of your tongue, and you can taste them in the air.

He doesn’t answer right away. He’s flicking through the thick stack of bills that the stranger left on the counter. The sound of cash shifting in his hands is oddly loud, and you whistle low, almost involuntarily. It makes Choso look up, catching your appreciative gaze. His fingers tighten around the stack, his jaw clenching, as if to keep in whatever thoughts or words are threatening to spill out.

“Don’t say anything.” His voice is a low mutter, hard.

“I didn’t.”

Choso looks at you again, his hazel eyes softening just enough that you catch the flicker of something unsure. He lets out a low sigh, “But you want to ask.”

“Will you let me ask?” You’re pushing, your voice a little softer and coaxing than you intended. You can already see the signs, the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his gaze flickers to the door as if he’s considering an exit. Choso’s like a clam, snapping shut, as if there is a pearl that he’s not ready to share.

“What do you want to know?” He’s saying this like it’s a chore, as if it is the last thing he wants to do.

You make your way to the kitchen counter, “What will you tell me?”

If Choso is irritated by the vague, passive nature of your questions, he doesn’t show it. He simply tugs his purple sweater down, sharply. “Yuuji will be sad if his uncle didn’t send him money for his birthday. He turns ten next month.”

“So that was…Uncle Kuna,” you ask, murmuring more to yourself than to him. But Choso’s sharp gaze flicks to you, a faint confirmation in the nod that follows.

“Mhm.”

And just like that, something clicks in your brain. A conversation that you had overheard once, perhaps a year or two ago. A rare moment that both your parents had been home, still too distracted to realise that you were listening. The realisation hits you hard, like a small shot of adrenaline, “That’s not Sukuna, is it? Ryomen Sukuna?”

Choso’s amber look is like fragile glass now, “Yeah. How’d you figure?”

In a world such as yours and Satoru’s, it’s quite hard to avoid gossip, and whispers that float around in the backrooms of business meetings, or in the too-quiet halls of private clubs. For all the older business-clans, Sukuna is quite the upstart. A man who clawed his way to the top, not just content with money, but power and influence as well. Apparently, he made quite the name for himself, building an empire with wealth beyond measure.

And all at the low price of being wanted in more than thirty-five countries and territories. A businessman, a crook and a criminal. Your father said that Ryomen Sukuna’s ledgers were written in red ink, fresh blood for both personal and financial debts that were owed to him.

“Why did he say that you came crawling back to him?”

Choso’s eyes flutter shut, and you can see that he’s calculating whether it’s worth the effort to respond.

“He’s the reason I dropped out of school,” Choso mutters, the words low enough that almost don’t catch them. They land with a soft thud, the kind that makes your pulse stutter. You stare at him, with the kind of look that people give when a ticking time bomb has just been dropped in their lab.

Choso scoffs, eyes darting away, “Yeah. He’s always been sending money for Yuuji. And I was stuck doing his…favours.”

Suddenly, you’re back in high school. On Choso’s doorstep, watching him try to hide a cardboard box of surgical tools. There’s a little corkboard map in your head connected with red strings, as you pin other things on there. The latex gloves in the box, Choso’s general lack of squeamish misery when it comes to the stickier parts of medicine, and the bloodstain on Ryomen Sukuna’s Dior jacket.

It’s almost odd, in a morbid way, that a crime boss chooses the latest Vogue streetwear, instead of a dark Godfather suit and a cigar.

Your expression must betray the pieces that you’ve put together, because Choso’s eyes widen, like he can see the cogs turning in your brain. “Look,” he stammers, voice rougher now, with a nervous edge, “I didn’t do anything wrong. Never saw what he did. Not really. Just —”

You shush him gently, a hand reaching out to land on his, a little too quickly and a little too hot. The instant your skin brushes against his, there’s a sharp feeling. Like you’ve touched something that burns beneath the surface. His face flashes a faint pink, muscles stiffening as though your touch seared him in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

“Go on,” you hope that your tone is reassuring.

Choso swallows, his throat bobbing as his fingers suddenly curl around yours, “Anyway, I got tired of doing his dirty work, you know? Thought that if I dropped out, I could get a job. Work enough to support myself and Yuuji, without taking a single dollar from him.”

“But he’s your uncle?” Your question is tentative, like you’re testing the waters of a deeper pool, “Wouldn’t he support you, too?”

Choso’s sigh is deep and weary as he gently corrects you, “He’s Yuuji’s uncle. Yuuji’s my half-brother.”

Suddenly, Sukuna’s comment about ‘biting bastard children’ snaps into place with clarity. Oh.

You’re not sure what to say now, what words could possibly fill the emptiness that lingers between the two of you. What a misery it would have been. Being a teenager with such potential, forced to close off your own future for the sake of family, and those that you love.

You remember Choso’s face that day, after graduation, with his hollow expression as he watched your friends celebrate their youth. There’s a bitter lump in your throat, but for once, you keep it down. This really isn’t about you.

You frown, the thought sneaking up on you and settling in your chest like a splinter you can’t ignore. “He said you owed him favours.”

Choso exhales sharply, his shoulders stiffening as if bracing for something unpleasant. His voice is low, bitter. “You think high school dropouts pay their own way into med school without a benefactor?”

Right.

“So?” Choso’s voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts, and you blink at him, startled.

“So, what?”

Choso shifts, unease seeping into his posture. His calloused fingers are still curled tightly around yours, like he’s afraid that you’ll pull away and slip past him.

“Are you angry?”

You’re not sure whether to laugh, or sigh, “Why would I be angry?”

He’s hesitating, dark hair falling loose around his face, “I was a jerk to you.” The words come quietly, like they’ve been gnawing at him, biting at the edges of his thoughts, “At the time, I don’t know, I guess I was just angry. Everything felt unfair, and I didn’t want anyone else to be involved.”

You frown, not fully understanding what to say, “You were still a teenager,” you say slowly, like you’re trying to convince both him and you. You hesitate, unsure whether you’re underplaying things, so the worlds come out a little jagged, not quite as comforting as you wished. “I guess…” It feels weak as your words suddenly stagger off.

Choso’s eyes flicker to yours, searching, like he’s trying to figure if there’s something else, you’re not saying, “What?”

You can practically hear Satoru’s voice in your heard, groaning and whining about screwing the long game. But you puff a breath through your cheeks, worried you’ll lose the nerve, “You know, I really liked you, right, Choso?”

Choso’s mouth drops open, as his face flickers with disbelief. The same way it had three years ago, “Like, really?”

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips without even thinking, “Yeah. And you know, everyone else thought I was being, like, silly. But I really liked you. I just never knew what to say to you.” It feels so stupid, and obvious now. But back then, it had been a great chunk of your world. You force yourself to hold his bashful gaze.

Choso’s quiet for a moment, before he admits, “I couldn’t believe it when you asked me to be your date. I thought it was just a game you were playing, or there was no-one left to ask.”

And then, after a beat, “Who did you go with?”

You snicker, a little too bitter and honest, “No-one.”

Choso’s quiet, relieved ‘damn’ makes you laugh even more, threading your fingers with his.

“I just can’t believe he’s in your classes. What are the odds?” Satoru mutters, abandoning his sunglasses for the evening, his bright eyes flashing like sunlight refracted on water. He claims that his eyes are less sensitive today, but you’re certain it’s an excuse for him to freely rifle through your kitchen without obstruction. In the living room, the rest of your friends hover like a pack of starved hyenas, waiting for the snacks that Satoru is currently monopolising.

“I’m telling you, when I first saw him, my heart dropped straight to my ass,” you say, tearing open a bag of sour cream crisps with more force than necessary. The chips tumble into the earthenware bowl in a noisy cascade.

Satoru snickers, expertly arranging small platters on a big, oaken serving board, “I pity the lack of cushioning it got.”

You flick a stray crisp at him, the chip bouncing off his shoulder with a gratifying crunch. For a moment, his grin is steady, but it quickly turns rueful. That slight furrow in his brows, the way the corner of his mouth twitches downwards. There’s something else simmering under that veneer of carelessness.

“You’re not happy, Satoru?”

His expression hardens slightly, plucking a cluster of wine-red grapes, twisting them off their stems with methodical precision.

“Well, yeah,” Satoru admits after a beat, his tone uncharacteristically sober, “I’m glad that he’s, like, nice now or whatever. But he basically broke your heart, didn’t he?”

You glance away, your fingers tighten on the corner of another snack bag, “He had his reasons.” Your flat reply avoids his curious gaze, perceptive and knowing. You hadn’t filled him on the Sukuna-lore. You’re not sure what it is, but there’s bad blood between the Gojos and Sukuna, and you’re not keen to exacerbate it.

Oh, hey, Satoru! So, Choso is like Sukuna’s adopted nephew. And I think Sukuna forced him to like clean up people’s chopped fingers and arms, or whatever. But I have a big crush on him, yep. Right after I said that I wouldn’t catch feelings again.

Satoru scoffs, wagging a long finger at you. A glistening droplet of grape juice clings to his thumb like a ruby bead, “Don’t make excuses for someone hurting your feelings. You know better than that.” His tone carries the same theatrical lilt as always, but it’s underpinned with something firmer, genuine.

Before you can fire back, a new voice meanders into the kitchen, soft and unhurried, “Who hurt your feelings?”

It’s Suguru, propped lazily against the doorway, choppy layers freshly framing his sharp features. The dim kitchen light catches on the faint sheen of his silver rings as he crosses his arms.

Satoru grabs a bag of pretzels, lobbing it towards him, “Choso Kamo. Remember that emo guy I told you about?”

Suguru catches the bag with practised ease, without looking, his mauve gaze flicking to you. You silently curse Gojo Satoru for broadcasting your love life, or lack thereof, to what feels like half the city.

“What’s he look like again?”

You narrow your eyes at the tall man, “He was literally in our grade.”

Suguru shrugs, his palms raised in mock innocence, “I never saw him, okay? He was quiet as hell, never had classes with him.”

“He wasn’t that quiet,” you protest, but your words are drowned out by Satoru’s triumphant declaration.

“Hold up! I got visual aid.”

He’s whipped out his phone, unlocking it with a brief glance of his face, before shoving the dimmed screen inches from Suguru’s puzzled face. The photo, a grainy yearbook photo of Choso in junior year, gleams under the kitchen lights. You wonder if you’re going to need to fight for your life on the frontlines again.

For a moment, Suguru’s expression remains neutral. Unimpressed even. Then, as if someone’s flipped a switch, his eyes widen with dawning recognition, “This is Kamo? His girlfriend’s my neighbour.”

Half a grape travels down Satoru’s windpipe, “The villain!”

Your best friend’s exclamation ricochets off the kitchen walls, loud enough to silence whatever protest was forming on your lips. Not that you had much ground to stand on. How would you even know? Choso had talked to you about his family, not his love life. You saw him a few times a week, and then the two of you would drift away, back to your own orbits. And he was a grown man with a life that had surely moved past you.

You had told him that you had liked him, and he hadn’t said a word back that hinted at any mutual connection. How had you missed that?”

Satoru is still recovering from his near demise at the hands of fruit, “What girlfriend? You’re sure, Suguru?”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, looking like he regrets ever opening his mouth, “Hey. Don’t pin this on me. But he comes by, with a little pink-haired kid. His brother? And she’s like talkative,” and he gestures vaguely above his head, “Like, really tall. Blonde.”

Your eyes had drifted to the unopened case of vodka sitting on the counter.

Satoru clocks you immediately, “Don’t even think about it. We’re going to handle this like mature adults.”

“We?”

Satoru nods solemnly, looping his arm through Suguru’s leather jacket, “Yes. Your Choso loss is my Choso loss,” and he pulls Suguru closer, “Our Choso loss.”

Suguru sighs, not shaking him off as he looks at you sympathetically, “Why am I a part of this? No offense. You could skip all this misery, and I don’t know because I’m just spit balling here, ask him?”

The dark-haired man continues, “Or, and I know this is radical for two divas like you, you could just let it go and spare yourself the drama. If you’re going to be working in the same field, wouldn’t professionalism be better?”

Satoru scoffs, “Or! We do some reconnaissance. I mean, you’re the girlfriend’s neighbour, Suguru. Go snoop around.”

“Why is it always me?” Suguru’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Because it is always you. You’ve got the best sneaky liar face I know,” Satoru replies breezily, ignoring how Suguru mutters about the love he feels in this kitchen, “And you need to do this for the greater good. All that noble shit.”

Suguru shoots you a half-hearted glare, as if this is somehow your fault, and not Satoru pulling every string. You’re one more inconvenience away from slumping onto the counter, head in hands, a shot glass by your side.

Your mind flickers to the hair tie that Choso always wears on his wrist. It could be innocuous, sure, but the green-eyed monster claws itself up in your chest. You imagine this faceless girlfriend passing it to him, like an intimate, inside joke.

“What am I supposed to do? Corner him in the break room on placements, and interrogate him? Should I pull out the clan funds, and pay him to date me?”

“It’s what I did with Suguru,” Satoru quips, not missing a beat.

“Now who’s the liar,” Suguru murmurs.

The hospital’s looming ahead. A hulking mass of glass and steel that outline the bleak sky. It’s a bitter Monday morning, the kind that bites at your cheeks and sinks into your bones, no matter how tightly you bundle up. The drive has been long and so utterly tedious, the pale sunlight doing little to brighten the cityscape as you crawl along congested streets.

Now, on the far edge of the suburbs, you’re left squinting and fuming as you circle the parking lot for the third time. The situation is grim, spots are scarce, and every turn feels like an ill-fated gamble that only ends in someone else’s bumper.

You mutter curses under your breath, the heater in your car doing little to thaw your mood.

Choso’s already there, not a massive surprise, for his apartment is far closer than your waterfront residence, smack-bang in the city’s central district. His dark hair is loosely tied back, and he’s thrown an old hoodie over his scrubs. There’s a clipboard tucked under his arm, and a coffee cup in the other.

He extends the cup towards you without preamble, “Want it?”

You blink, catching on the incongruity of the gesture. But Suguru’s intel still echoes in your mind, he has a girlfriend.

You furrow your brow, the cup hovering between you, “Where’s yours?”

Choso shrugs, “I don’t drink coffee. Makes me jittery.”

This answer irritates you for no logical reason. Who doesn’t drink coffee? It feels like some fundamental character flaw, and you snatch the cup from his hand. Doing your very best not to unfairly glare at him, for the sole crime of having a life outside of you.

It’s hard to focus when he’s nailed your exact order. You lower the cup, the warmth seeping through the cardboard sleeve and into your fingers, doing little to melt the icy knot that sits in your chest.

Choso seems almost unnervingly chipper this morning, a far cry from his usual brooding demeanour. There’s no scowl etched on his handsome face, no trace of his typical stoicism. Instead, he wears the faintest trace of a smile, a subtle and almost tentative thing that pulls at the corners of his mouth as he glances over a nearly printed itinerary.

The sight throws you further off-kilter. It’s rare to see him like this, easy and unguarded, and you can’t help the way your lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile threatening to escape before you smother it.

“We’re starting in the ER for two hours,” he reads aloud, voice steady, “then, the paediatric unit.” He pauses to flip the page, his expression shifting to mild exasperation, “And then, paperwork in the break room.”

“Figures,” you grumble, tucking your hands into your coat pockets, “Free labour from the students, yeah?”

Choso glances at you, from the corner of his eye, an unimpressed but faintly amused look on his face, “Thought that you would start the day with a more upbeat attitude.”

You grunt in response, which only earns a shake of his head as he folds the itinerary back into his clipboard.

A beat of silence stretches between you, only punctured by the sound of light metal snapping as you clip a badge to your pocket, but he’s speaking again.

“You good?”

His bronze eyes flick to yours, clearly searching, and your pulse stutters, “Yeah. Obviously.”

Choso takes a deep breath, his chest rising and gearing up for something monumental. The way his fingers fidget against the clipboard betrays him, they tap out a staccato rhythm. There’s a flush creeping on the back of his neck, subtle but unmistakeable.

“Want to get dinner tonight?” He blurts, the words tumbling out so fast that they barely sound like a sentence.

You blink at him, confused, “Bless you.” Your automatic response, because he spoke so quickly that it sounded as though he had sneezed.

Choso’s scowl is immediate, “No.” He says it firmly, drawing out each word in exasperation, “I asked if you wanted to get dinner tonight. After this.”

Oh. Oh.

The realisation hits you like a jolt, and for a second, all you can do is gape at him. He’s looking at you now, an almost defiant sort of expectation in his gaze, as though he’s worried that you’re going to laugh at him. But before you piece together a coherent response, there’s a sharp rap-rap-rap of knuckles on the doorframe.

The ward manager is here, her expression brisk and no-nonsense, gesturing for the two of you to begin your shift placement.

Your head snaps back at him, mouth moving before your brain diplomatically catches up, “I don’t think that’s fair to your girlfriend, do you?”

Choso’s brows knit together, his expression shifting to something startled and indignant. Irritated, even, as you push past him.

He’s trying to speak to you. It’s painfully obvious, as he’s got that mildly dazed look. All that awkward, earnest attention is squarely focused on you.

You’re having none of it.

He steps to your side as you shuffle through patient charts, his broad frame taking up more than his fair share of narrow space, shadowing your elbow as you scribble furious notes. His mouth opens, probably to say something that you don’t want to hear, but you’re faster.

“Hey, Choso, what’s her blood pressure?” You interrupt, not bothering to look up from the faintly lined paper.

There’s a second of hesitation before he answers, “120 over 50. Just write that down. Got it? Okay, yeah, can you stop moving for a second and —”

You squint at the chart, cutting him off again, “Hmm, don’t you think that the diastolic is a little low?”

His shoulders slump, “Yes, but the doctors already know that. She has hypothyroidism, you told me that when you interrupted me like half an hour ago. Can’t you just —” Choso stops mid-sentence again, muttering a resigned oh my god, when you pivot away and head to the next room without so much a glance back.

It sets the tone for the rest of the shift. You make a sport of avoiding him, weaving through the emergency department like a fish slipping upstream, leaving Choso stranded in your wake. He follows, persistent in his mild-mannered way, but you’re relentless.

“Can you hand me that chart?” He’s trying again, as you’re elbow deep in filing.

“Oh, this one?” You sweetly ask, holding it just out of his reach, before conveniently remembering that you need to double-check something on it. He just huffs at you.

By hour three, it’s clear that Choso’s patience is wearing thin, and fighting a war against his professionalism. He corners you near the supply cart while you rummage for gloves.

“There you are.”

“Oh, are we low on size medium?” You cut in, loud enough to catch the attention of a passing manager, “Should we restock?”

Choso inhales through his nose, “We’re not low on gloves. We’re fine on gloves. Can you stop talking about gloves for one second?”

You flash him a smile that’s all teeth, “Gloves are important, Choso. Hygiene is crucial.”

This time, you see him run an exasperated hand over his face, before realising that now he’s just contaminated his own pair of gloves. Snarling at you as he rips the blue latex off and reaching for the size large box.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, once and then twice. Then thrice, as if whoever’s contacting you as something urgent to say. You ignore it, you’ll check it after placements.

The hours tick by, and your strategy remains the same. Stay busy, stay distant, and stay unreachable. Don’t make it seem like you’re irrationally bothered by Choso having a life of his own and having a girlfriend. Or that you actually had hope that this time round, his feelings for you were requited.

By the time you both stumble into the break room, Choso looks as if he’s experienced the full emotional spectrum, like he’s been knocked through the five stages of grief and landed somewhere in the resigned space of acceptance. He looks as if he’s clearly preparing to lecture you, to tirade you on professional conduct and —

Without warning, his phone buzzes.

You don’t even look up from cracking open your water bottle, the sound of plastic barely crinkles louder than the dull thud of your own heartbeat. Choso glances at you out of the corner of his eyes, a flash of alarm crossing his face, before he draws his attention back to the screen of his phone.

You hear the faintest scoff from his direction, and he’s shaking his head as you watch in mild interest.

“What?”

Choso doesn’t answer immediately, still scrolling through his phone.

“I’m not dating Tsukumo Yuki.”

Your mouth goes dry. You blink rapidly, wide-eyed as if he’s just spoken in an ancient, dead language.

“What?” You manage weakly, “Who? What? —”

There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you fear the cause of this slow and curling chest is a meddling duo of two men, one with dark hair and the other with snowy-white.

Choso doesn’t even glance up at you, his voice tinged with something incredulous now, “Why is Gojo Satoru texting me? He says that you’re not replying to his or Geto Suguru’s messages. And apparently, this is super urgent, and he feels like he must do his divine duty by interfering before you do something stupid.

Choso pauses, finally looking at you as if he’s truly baffled, “And you all thought that I was dating Tsukumo.”

You’re crafting a list in your head. Twenty creative ways to kill Gojo Satoru and not land in prison afterwards.

Maybe you should ask Choso for Ryomen Sukuna’s contact.

“That’s crazy,” you say, the words tasting thin and hollow in a bitter, embarrassed lie.

Choso shakes his head at you, some dark strands of hair falling across his eyes, “She looks after Yuuji sometimes. I take him over to her place because Yuki’s adopted a kid, Todo. The two of them are friends.”

“Uh.”

Choso turns back to his phone screen, scrolling through whatever nonsense Satoru is feeding him, “Have you being icing me out all day, because you thought I had a girlfriend?”

“Will you hate me if I say yes?” You’re looking anywhere but him, focusing on the chipped, lilac paint on the break-room door. Or the slightly off-centre light bulb flickering above. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you’re adding Geto Suguru to your kill list.

Choso’s voice is softer when he answers, almost too quiet, “Hey. You know I couldn’t hate you if I tried.” But there’s a strange mixture of amusement and disbelief in his voice, a bemused chuckle that lingers in the air, “Wow. Just wow.”

You grimace, fingers toying with the edge of the water bottle as you wrangle your thoughts into words, “Are you mad? I mean, look. I told you I liked you. And then you held my hands, so I thought you liked me back. And you got me coffee. But Suguru said you had a girlfriend, and you can’t blame me for being — Oh my god, I’m going to stop talking, you’re looking at me like I’ve gone crazy.”

Choso’s expression shifts, just staring at you. You don’t more than a split-second to process his strangely intense look. There’s no time to recover before he leans down, his hands surprisingly warm and gentle as they cradle the side of your face.

Your breath hitches, but before you can form another thought, his lips are on yours. They’re warm, deliberate and surprisingly firm. The scent of crisp green apples falls over you, as his hair envelops your face.

He pulls back just enough to study you, “Was that okay?” he asks, his fingers still lingering at the curve of your jaw, like he can’t believe he just kissed you. You can feel the sharp blush sting your face, as your heart practically goes into cardiac arrest, nodding quickly.

“Uh, I’m not really an expert in this field,” Choso murmurs, “But I can’t believe that I waited this long to do that.”

“You can do that again,” you say. Wondering if you should buy Satoru and Suguru a bouquet of flowers instead.

Choso, predictably, blushes deep enough that it nearly looks like he might combust. His eyes flicker away, avoiding your gaze in that way he does when he’s trying to sort through his emotions. But it’s hard to miss the warm flush that’s firmly planted on his neck.

“Can I do it over that dinner?” Choso murmurs, his voice dipping lower, before he quickly rephrases, “I obviously do want to kiss you now, again, that is, but if they catch us in the break room —”

You suddenly beam up at him, patting him on the cheek, “You can kiss me as much as you like over dinner.”

Choso looks as though he’s been struck with a metaphorical thunderbolt, as if he didn’t expect you to agree so straightforwardly. And then, as if he can’t help himself, he presses a quick and soft kiss to your forehead. For the briefest second, it feels as if you’re a teenager again, caught in the whirlwind of something simple and so sweet.

“Okay. So, is that a yes?” He asks, a little breathless, as if he’s not sure what kind of confirmation he’s just gotten but needing it to hear it anyway.

“If it’s a proper date, it’s a yes.”

Choso mutters under his breath, “You know Geto Suguru texted me with a five-paragraph apology, something about sneaking around my apartment. Stalking me this morning,” and here, he looks at you, utterly exasperated but fond, “Something about checking to see if I had a girlfriend. I mean, I don’t even know the guy. We never talked in school.”

You loop your arm with his, pulling him in slightly, “See, I always did say my friends were super nice. They’re going to be super nice, and normal. Trust me.”

ONE WEEK LATER.

“And to my brother-in-law, my brother-in-arms, my brother in the Constantinople Crusades of 1204,” Satoru hiccups, his words slurring together in a rambled mess, as he sways over the edge of Suguru’s arms, and for a split second, you’re worried the white-haired man is going to tip over entirely, “My new brother, Choso. We always knew it was going to happen, eh?”

Choso’s cheeks turn a faint shade of crimson in the sudden spotlight as everyone cheers, and he shifts awkwardly. Suguru’s shooting him an apologetic look, the corners of his mouth twitching as he props Satoru up, “He’s a lightweight. And we watched a historical movie last night.”

“I can tell,” Choso grumbles, his face flushed now as Satoru’s monologue drifts like an aimless plastic bag in the wind, his words growing nonsensical as you reach over to pinch at his cheeks. He yelps but continues to babble on about how he and Choso are going to be best friends now, and they’re going to go shopping together, and ice-skating, and fruit-picking. All nonsense burbles being strung together by the tequila shots that Satoru swore he could handle an hour ago.

You glance over at Choso, faintly embarrassed, but he just laughs, a sound that’s unexpectedly light and unguarded. His fingers slide into yours once more, and the motion is gentle and natural, as though this, you, are exactly where he’s meant to be. And he drapes the wide expanse of his aviator jacket over your shoulders.

Meanwhile, Suguru is wrestling with Satoru, pushing him back down from his impromptu toast to your boyfriend, before the bartender can usher you all towards the exit. The burly man is already giving Satoru’s drunken proclamations a nasty look.

Shoko, of course, is grinning at you, a tankard of beer glimmering in front of her. Her eyes gleam with the sharpness of someone who’s won a decent amount of money in a bet. And Utahime is standing back with a faintly judgemental expression that only veils her gossipy curiosity, and a glum look as she passes wads of cash into Shoko’s waiting hands.

“They really do like me,” Choso murmurs, his voice low and almost carrying the undertone of vulnerability, alongside some quiet self-awareness.

You laugh, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning in to press a quick peck to the dark mark that streaks over his face, “They all have no choice. You’re my boyfriend now.”

The words slip out effortlessly, and for a moment, they hang between you like something solid and unspoken, as though saying it aloud has made it feel real in a way it never quite did before. Choso’s eyes flick to yours, and something shifts in his expression — just a slight softening around the edges.

Then, without warning, you lean in, closing the distance between you, and kiss him. It’s slow, deliberate, with none of the frantic energy of your first kiss but instead the quiet certainty of something just beginning to bloom. You feel the faintest sigh from Nanami in the background, the sound of Geto groaning as Gojo whoops with drunken delight.

The noise from the bar fades into nothing as you focus entirely on the warmth of Choso’s shy lips against yours, the gentle pressure as he presses more into you, the soft thud of his heartbeat where your hand rests over his chest. For that moment, it’s just you and him, and everything else is an afterthought.

“Okay! I’ve had enough of the lot of you snogging and yelling in my bar! And take stupid Jack Frost out with ya’!”

[seungcheorry]

seungkwan sighs once again, looking himself in the mirror before getting out of the bathroom. it's way too early, he should still be sleeping in your arms, resting so he can enjoy his own day afterwards; but he has a flight to catch, so instead of warm blankets and sweet dreams, he's heading to face cameras flashing and lines at the airport.

i mean, seungkwan is so excited to meet carats again, but he can't help but feel slightly sad too. still, he grabs his jacket from the chair, walking out of the bedroom as he tries to remember if he's got everything he needs for the trip. id, wallet, phone charger, his hoodie that you wore the whole week - is everything in his bag already?

as he walks into the living room, seungkwan jumps in surprise when he finds you standing beside the couch, a cupcake in your hands with a single candle on top of it. you're singing 'happy birthday' in a slow voice, still clearly sleepy too.

"baby...", he whispers, taking a few steps towards you. but you don't stop, you just smile at him and keep singing.

seungkwan wraps his arms around your waist, eyes on the cupcake when you tell him to 'close your eyes, make a wish'. his heavy eyes instantly close, and it's cute how he hums to himself as he makes his wish to the universe.

after a night of eating and laughing with his friends, members and you, seungkwan actually thought he didn't have anything else he could wish for - things get rough sometimes and it takes a tool on him, sure, but still he had everything he ever needed.

but right now, with his eyes closed, you in his arms and the scent of strawberry invading his nostrils, he realizes that maybe his wish is that the people in his life stays in his life - you included.

seungkwan blows the candle, opening his eyes and looking at you. "you didn't have to get up so early in the morning just for this."

"a 'thank you, yn' is actually what i was waiting for", you tease him, before placing a kiss on his cheek. "happy birthday, baby."

seungkwan mumbles something that feels like a 'thank you', before pulling you closer.

"it means a lot", he said, placing his face against your neck. "for real."

"just don't cry on me now", you say, feeling how he sighs and relaxes against you. "or sleep, you have to catch a flight."

seungkwan groans, looking back at you. he looks like a toddler, honestly, not a 27 years old man.

"take the cupcake with you, eat it on your way to the airport."

he groans again, taking the sweet from your hands with delicacy, before pouting at his bags at the door.

"the members better treat me right today, or i'll actually start crying at them."

"they will, i've threatened them."

"all of them?"

"yes", you nod, caressing the back of his head. "even vernon, just to be sure."

seungkwan cracks a smile, shaking his head as yet another sigh slips through his lips. he looks at you, a warm feeling taking over his chest.

"i love you. thank you for last night, and for today, and for everything."

you smile too, and his chest gets even warmer. "i love you too, boo seungkwan."

a/n: i'm at work and i have a migraine so i hope this makes sense but also, happy birthday, boo! hope you have the most amazing day ever, and that you get to sleep and rest too :( i love you so much, thank you for being such a positive ray of sunshine in our lives. you deserve the world, your kindness is truly inspiring, and i hope you get triple the love you give. have a blast, boo. ❤️🍊

[astonmartinii]

kiss it better | oscar piastri social media au

pairing: oscar piastri x first responder!reader when oscar crashes into the barrier at monza, he thinks he sees his guardian angel, in reality he's just got a concussion and that's a first responder, but it's the thought that counts.

f1

liked by arthurleclerc, liamlawson and 1,206,700 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

f1: woah. huge shunt for oscar piastri in turn three. the australian was pulled out of the car by first responders and is getting treatment. red flag for now.

view all comments

user1: omg like my breath was completely gone, i hope oscar is okay

user2: holy shit that's the worst crash i've ever seen i'm so glad they aren't replaying it

user3: i tuned in late and i knew as soon as they didn't replay it it had to be bad

user4: thank the lord for the first responders, they were so fast i hope oscar is good

user5: i'm gonna need netflix to take the backseat on this one i can't take the dramatic editing this is already stressful enough

user6: the grosjean crash was bad enough, i can't deal with it with oscar

user7: are there any updates yet?

user8: not yet.

user9: i'm sat in the grandstand right where this was and it was literally so scary, the first responders literally had to jump on the car

user10: so so lucky that they were stationed so close to where he crashed

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 1,309,761 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri: first of all i'd like to thank everyone for their support and well wishes, i really appreciate it. it's actually thanks to y/n and the rest of the first responders that i'm back on my feet as fast as i am. big thank you to y/n for sacrificing her ability to shower comfortably to help me out of the car and avoid the flames, i am eternally grateful and mama piastri would like you over for dinner to thank you.

view all comments

user9: i'm so so happy he's okay, that crash was so scary

landonorris: glad to hear you're okay mate !

oscarpiastri: you can't get rid of me that easily norris

landonorris: woah, no joking about dying when you've only been discharged for 24 hours

oscarpiastri: sorry, skipped over that one in my contract

danielricciardo: make sure you always read that mclaren contract carefully

user11: thank you y/n for your service

user12: for real she put her leg on the line for oscar she needs a raise

yourusername: it was my pleasure to do my job and help you out oscar. and i'll always take up an offer for a mum's dinner

oscarpiastri: she'll be very happy to hear that

yourusername: text me the details and i'll be there

user13: it's so crazy to me how f1 drivers just get up and walk out of crashes like that

user14: no for real how is the medic more injured than him 😭

logansargent: you are so lucky there were no cameras when you were on painkillers cause you were talking some shit

oscarpiastri: please don't remind me

logansargent: just because there weren't cameras in the room doesn't mean i didn't record you, i look forward to my birthday present this year

oscarpiastri: you wouldn't

logansargent: you wanna bet?

user15: so like how bad do we think what oscar said was?

user16: and how much do we need to pay logan to release it?

mclaren

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername and 609,778 others

tagged: landonorris, oscarpiastri & yourusername

mclaren: after her heroics in the first half of the season, y/n finally took oscar up and is a guest of mclaren this weekend. as a medic, y/n is one of the most important aspects of a race weekend, and it's an honour to host her!

view all comments

user17: did oscar write this caption? that man was BLUSHING in the fan questions video

user18: awwww mama piastri is also there this weekend and in a load of the pictures in the paddock they stuck together

oscarpiastri: so happy to see you again y/n !!

yourusername: my pleasure, oscar. racing is a lot more fun from the garage

oscarpiastri: i'll try my best not to crash this time, i know my favourite medic isn't on duty

yourusername: oh wow what a title, i'll wear it with pride

user19: they're such dorks i love them so much

landonorris: can someone get me some popcorn, i'm enjoying watching oscar squirm and blush all weekend

oscarpiastri: i am NOT !!

landonorris: don't worry i'm sure y/n finds it cute

oscarpiastri: can you please STOP !!

yourusername: not to prove lando right but it is very cute

user20: lando is taking his big brother role a bit too far

alexalbon: you were right @logansargent this is fun to watch

logansargent: oh just you wait until you find out the stuff he was saying in hospital

oscarpiastri: please stop telling people

alexalbon: from what i heard she was right there @yourusername what did he say logan is being a good friend (for now)

yourusername: considering i literally fried my leg getting him out i don't remember most of that day

alexalbon: UGH you people are no help

yourusername: ???

oscarpiastri: ???

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 2,560 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

yourusername: no pulling this one out of a burning wreck this weekend 👍

view all comments

user21: omg oscar's smile ??? i am faint

landonorris: do i mean nothing to you?

yourusername: i am literally oscar's guest let me rep him in peace

landonorris: booooooo if you're going to wear his number might as well ask him out while you're at it

yourusername: mind your business, i know what i'm doing

user22: Y/N?????????

oscarpiastri: i see you know my angles already, can you come every weekend?

yourusername: i'd love to but i have a lil thing called a job :(

oscarpiastri: boring, can't you be my full time personal photographer?

landonorris: and his girlfriend?

oscarpiastri: do you mind?

landonorris: what? i'm just trying to help

oscarpiastri: you are MEDDLING

yourusername: you guys done?

oscarpiastri: yes

landonorris: NO

user23: lando is a no 1 y/n x oscar shipper he's so real

user24: y/n is so much stronger than me i'd hand in my notice right this second

yourusername: believe me i would if i could

landonorris: to both options?

oscarpiastri: LANDO STOP

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, oscarpiastri and 19,056 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

yourusername: happy to be your guardian angel baby x

view all comments

user29: new f1 parents just entered the chat

landonorris: i'm taking responsibility for this happening, you’re welcome

yourusername: stop right there buddy, this was all ME

oscarpiastri: nuh uh it was ME

yourusername: i asked YOU out?

oscarpiastri: technically yes, but i asked you to dinner first

yourusername: actually, if i remember correctly that was your mum

oscarpiastri: FINE you asked me out and i'm very glad you did and you ARE my guardian angel and you ARE way out of my league

landonorris: you said it i didn't

oscarpiastri: LANDO LET ME FLIRT IN PEACE YOU NUISANCE

landonorris: woah, you've changed bro

yourusername: are we finished boys?

landonorris: yes, and for real i am very happy for you guys

user30: lando saying he made this happen is the most lando thing ever

logansargent: can you tell him to stop ignoring me now?

yourusername: soz under strict rules not to fraternize with a traitor

logansargent: I'M SORRY BUT I CAN'T HANDLE SPICE

user31: at least logan is self-aware

oscarpiastri

liked by aussiegrit, yourusername and 702,443 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri: sometimes all you need to do is flip an f1 car into a barrier and burst into flames to meet the love of your life (and give her third degree burns)

view all comments

user32: OSCAR WITH A BACKWARDS CAP TEACHING HER TENNIS SOMEONE CALL 911 I AM NOT OKAY

landonorris: okay we get it now you guys are cute

yourusername: for someone who was 'the reason we got together' you've changed your tune

landonorris: yes i am glad you have each other but that doesn't change the fact that i am LONELY and don't need to see gross couple stuff

oscarpiastri: you poor baby

landonorris: NO SYMPATHY?

oscarpiastri: i'm gonna cite all of your tomfoolery in the other comment sections

landonorris: okay fair

user33: okay but can we promise to never have a crash like that again?

yourusername: agreed

aussiegrit: happy for you kid

oscarpiastri: thank you mark :)

yourusername: so this is mark... hi?

aussiegrit: don't worry i've heard nothing but wonderful things about you, i look forward to meeting you at the next race

user34: y/n already has all of the approval oh wow

yourusername: i love you dummy (never do that again or i'll never talk to you again)

oscarpiastri: you got it, wins only from now on 🫡

yourusername: ur the champion in my heart

oscarpiastri: 🧡 🧡 🧡

logansargaent

liked by alexalbon, yourusername and 304,788 others

tagged: yourusername, oscarpiastri

logansargeant: public shaming is good sometimes. though now i third wheel with only a fish by my side

view all comments

user35: i am SCREAMING

yourusername: oh florida boy, your time will come (don't put that fish pic on your tinder, i know you want to)

logansargeant: girls love fish?

yourusername: trust me they don't

logansargeant: is this just because oscar is bad at fishing?

yourusername: DELETE IT FROM YOUR TINDER PROFILE NOW OR THIRD WHEEL FOREVER

user36: what is going on here?

alexalbon: god logan this is tragic, how did you expose him and end up with a fish as your date

logansargeant: but is the size of the fish not impressive?

alexalbon: no, take y/n's advice

oscarpiastri: fine, you're forgiven. only because y/n found it cute, if she found it weird it would be you found at the bottom of a lake

logansargeant: ???????????? there was a chilli oscar

oscarpiastri: stop hiding behind your american passport, i'd eat that chilli for you

logansargeant: but it all worked out?

oscarpiastri: thankfully for you

yourusername: is it bad that this is kinda sexy?

logansargeant: he threatened to murder me?

yourusername: he's so protective 🫶

oscarpiastri: hehehehe thanks babe x

logansargeant: i give up.

note: WOAH two in one night? i am on a roll. anyhow, do enjoy, i love oscar so much so glad he extended !! xx

[citrusdarling7]

The Bloodline

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

description- as a highly trained sister of the Bene Gesserit, you were prepared to do your part in carrying on the selective genetic material of this generation. however, a change of plans are made, and you are told that you must secure the bloodline of the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the dangerous young heir to Geidi Prime

warnings- unprotected intercourse, p-in-v sex, fingering (f! receiving,) sort of knife-play, blood, violence via gladiator fighting (but not too descriptive,) BG propaganda, slightly inaccurate Dune technology, feyd-rautha has black cum (credit to @valeskafics for that one<3)

word count- 1,857

a/n- wow, it's been a while. haven't published anything on this site in like over a year I think, but I hope at least someone will enjoy this sick little piece I wrote instead of doing my homework :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was never supposed to be him.

You were supposed to be paired with the heir of Caladan, Paul Atriedes, and you had been told this since your first day of training. Yet, the Atreides' had all been killed on Arrakis at the hands of the Harkonnens, and your Reverend Mother decided that the duty of continuing another selective bloodline would fall upon you. The na-Baron Feyd-Rautha may have been the result of 90 generations of predetermined genetic material, but that didn’t make him any less psychotic. Nor any less intriguing.

The bright sun of Geidi Prime was high today, and the air was sticky with humidity. Cheers erupted from the crowds as a young Harkonnen warrior gutted a slave in the pit below, and you found yourself growing bored of the spectacle. One of the ladies to your right let out a shriek at the gruesome scene, drawing your attention.

“How is one supposed to stomach this brutality for an entire day?” She exasperated. 

“It is tradition for the Harkonnens’, Lady Clarissa. They value strength, and what better way to prove it than in the gladiator pits?” Your Bene Gesserit training consisted of much time studying the histories, and you pride yourself on your knowledge of the cultures of all the Great Houses. Lady Clarissa grimaced before adjusting her hairpiece and fixing her mouth back to a pout.

“It is deplorable, but I suppose you would have no issue with that sort of thing,” she remarked. You paid her no attention; the Bene Gesserit were not well liked by many nobles, Lady Clarissa’s family included. Her discontent mattered little to you, although you felt yourself wishing you had at least one other Sister here with you. 

Unfortunately, your Reverend Mother had sent you on this mission hastily, claiming that the upcoming celebration of the na-Baron’s birthday would be the perfect time for you to carry out the task. Coming from a Great House yourself, it was not abnormal for you to attend such an event, but the marks of the Sisterhood followed you wherever you went. Although controlling your mind was usually an easy task, you found yourself slightly anxious after waiting hours to finally get a glimpse of your target.

It felt as if years had passed before the announcer finally declared that the young na-Baron would now display his bravo in a fight against three slaves, supposedly the last remaining members of the Atreides household. You perked up in your seat, pulling the binoculars close to your eyes as the crowd bellowed. 

Feyd-Rautha strided out to the center of the pit and bowed before the Baron, giving you a good look at the young heir. He was pale, so pale that the sun seemed to reflect off of his skin. The black fighting suit he wore drew your attention to his muscled torso, his sculpted abs peeking out from beneath the hem. His face was stern, although a smile stretched from his lips as one of the slaves began to stagger towards him. As you watched him slice open the other man’s throat, you found your heartbeat begin to race. You were intrigued. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The interior of the Harkonnen palace was grim, as you had expected it to be. You walked through the fortress slowly, counting your steps as a way to calm your breathing. After the spectacle in the gladiator pits, you were immeasurably more nervous than you had been when arriving on the planet. Feyd Rautha was brutal, vicious, and likely insane. Yet, you could not deny your attraction towards him. It was stupid, immature, and dangerous. You were a trained sister of the Bene Gesserit, and this was your duty. To conceive a child with the na-Baron, and ensure the bloodline is secure.

You were not supposed to be on this side of the palace, yet no one questioned as you walked by. Your gown swept across the floor as you moved and your hairpiece tickled your bare shoulders. The na-Baron’s chambers were ahead to your left, and you noted the absence of guards, as well as the faint sound of approaching footsteps. A rather ghastly portrait of a late Baroness served as an excuse for your attention, although you struggled to prevent your eyes from wandering to the dark form approaching. 

“Well, what do we have here? Are you lost, little pet?” His voice was deep and raspy, and you found your mind faltering once again. 

“ My Lord na-Baron.” You restrained from bowing your head as you turned from the painting, staring directly into the man’s eyes as you sweetened your gaze. “I believe I may have wandered too far from the guest’s hall. Mayhaps I have wandered into a trap?”

“You should not be here.” He stepped closer, and began to stride around you in a circular fashion, like that of a predator stalking its prey. He watches you with hunger in his eyes, imagining what pleasure it would bring him to tear the dress from your body and take you right against the wall.

The Reverend Mother had been right; sexually vulnerable.

“Perhaps, I am in exactly the right place. I wished to congratulate you on your triumphs in the fighting today, it was truly a spectacle to remember.” You approached him swiftly, and the smell of steel and musk filled your nose. “I have heard many tales of your strength and bravery, but none measure up to what I have witnessed today. You will be a fearsome Baron, just like your uncle.” At the mention of the Baron, Feyd’s eyes lit up and his hand snapped around your neck. 

“So you must be the gift my uncle has promised. He must have bought you Off-World, for I have never seen a Harkonnen slave as beautiful as you. I will enjoy ravishing you.” 

Your heart beat sky-rocketed as he tightened his grip on your throat, making you lose control.

“Release me,” you commanded with the Voice, out of instinct rather than fear. The words fall from your lips before you can stop them, and Feyd obeys. The grin on his face falters as you stumble backwards, realizing that you may have just destroyed generations of planning, with only two words. Thankfully, Feyd does not seem discouraged.

“Ah, not a gift then, but I will have fun with you all the same, witch.” With a sudden movement, he pushed you against the wall and captured your lips in a harsh kiss. Feyd’s hips pressed hard against yours as he claimed your mouth with his tongue. His scent was overpowering in a way that made your head spin and seemed to subdue your thoughts. Your thighs clenched in anticipation as the na-Baron grabbed at your neck once more.

“Tell me, witch, what do they say of me in your homeworld? Are all you little witches so eager to please?” Feyd’s threatening gaze made your knees falter as you looked up to him with a soft smile.

“Not all of us, my lord. But I must admit, I have found myself rather allured by the temptations of your beautiful planet.” His hand dropped from your throat, and vanished to his side before reappearing a split-second later, with a curved blade in his grip. The tip of the knife rested against your skin, the cold steel making you shiver. Feyd swiped his other palm across the wall, causing it to unlock in a strange clicking pattern. His eyes burning into yours, he led you backwards into what you presumed to be his bedquarters, the blade at your neck guiding you in the way he wanted. 

Your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you allowed yourself to be pressed onto it. His blade was thrown aside, allowing his hands to roughly tear at your gown, ripping the bodice straight in half. You let out a gasp as you felt cold fingers slip between your undergarments.

“What a brazen little slut you are, showing up outside my chambers so wet and wanting.” He thrust two digits inside of you, finally satiating the ache that had been present from the moment you laid eyes on him in the arena. He fucked you roughly with his fingers, setting an excruciating pace that had you whimpering and writhing against the bed in mere minutes. 

“Please, my lord. I want you inside of me,” you begged, reaching up to run your hand along his torso, stopping when you felt the bulge of his manhood straining against the confines of his pants. 

Feyd eagerly obliged, tugging off his pants and stroking his thick cock rapidly to prepare himself for you. He lined his tip up with your entrance and wasted no more time teasing you. The na-Baron thrusted into you, hard, making you clench at the bedsheets and thrash your head to the side in an attempt to stifle your moans.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight, little witch,” he grunted, grabbing at your wrists and pinning them above your head. His dark eyes burned into yours as you tried your very best to keep quiet, not wanting to alert any servant that might have been lurking outside. He met your lips with his once again, in a ravenous kiss that had your teeth clashing against his. Feyd bit down on your bottom lip, drawing blood that he hastily licked up before moving on to attack your neck. 

You were so full with his cock inside of you, and you had never been more aroused in your entire life. The metallic smell of blood seemed to radiate from the man, and his fingers left delicious bruises wherever they ventured. You felt your toes begin to curl and your stomach tighten; the agonizing pace at which he was fucking you had you close to the edge of bliss once again. He could feel you begin to clench around him, your walls gripping his cock like a vice.

“Is the little witch going to cum for me? Go ahead, you’re mine now,” He finally released your hands, and you immediately gripped at his muscled shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “My uncle may not have intended you for me, but fate has. No one else will ever have you.” You nodded desperately, not caring about the words coming from his mouth but rather the immense pleasure he was giving you. 

Finally, a wave of bliss overtook your body, making you shake and scream as Feyd continued to roughly fuck you. You lost control of your mind once again, seeing stars as you came.

Feyd was close behind you, and the aftershocks of your orgasm had him rutting his hips against yours, letting out a deep groan as he emptied his seed into you. 

It took you a few moments to regain your senses, to finally realize that you had successfully completed your mission. His black seed leaked out of you, a sickly sight that made your face flush. He had left his distinctive Harkonnen mark on you, and the bloodline was secure. It was never supposed to be him, but you were very pleased with the way things had worked out.