#i'm in hog heaven

[dragonsongmakhali]

zone 6 opening cutscene spoilers but I really liked the picture :) ->

they finally let the gremlin into their shiny golden city. i'm gonna touch everything with my jam coated hands!

(feat. the au ra hand texture glitch that's still around :< and vanilla Makhali!)

[virulenthealing]

Yesterday (the Ides of March) I bought a dagger.

[kinopio-writes]

Hi! Would you be willing to write something for Adam with a sensitive reader?

Everyone knows that he is loud-mouthed jerk, even reader, and she loves him regardless, but one day he crosses the line and says something particularly mean that makes her cry. Like REAL mean. To the point that he pauses because he did not think before speaking (or, well, less than usual lol)

I'm happy with whatever format you feel like using! Thank you!

A/N: I will be more than delighted to write that for you. But would you excuse me for a moment? AHHHHHHDISJDIOEOFJSKXJND—I’m sorry; I love this idea so much. Reading ‘Adam with a sensitive reader’ got me hooked instantly. But I’ll go over that in the headcanons, along with the general stuff. And I’ll add a oneshot at the end that plays the exact scenario of Adam taking it too far.

Holy sh!t. I made it so that the reader being sensitive is their greatest but also weakest point and it turned out pretty angsty. Has a bit of hurt/comfort, though. Did I go overboard? Maybe. That’s why it took so long. Sorry, anon.

Words: 2,328 (edited)

Warnings: Sex is mentioned (only a bit, surprisingly), Angst, Adam being Adam

———

Adam w/ a Sensitive!Reader

• ha, this man is also sensitive himself

• well, sensitive about himself

• he feels his own emotions strongly, so he’s not the caring, easily able to pick up on other’s feelings and empathize type of sensitive

• you, on the other hand, are on the opposite end of the spectrum compared to Adam

• so you experience other people’s emotions just as strongly as yours

• you easily know what makes someone tick

• you’re selfless

• you’re able to admit your mistakes and apologize

• you’re respectful and actively listen to people when they talk about themselves

• you don’t push people down to make yourself seem better

• you try to make everyone feel good and comfortable

• you’re everything he isn’t

• because you fit in Heaven perfectly

• you deserve to be there

• and Adam knows that he doesn’t belong (subconsciously at least)

• you’re able to draw people in just for being yourself

• and he’s envious of it

• so he demeans you and is snarky about everything you do, and every time people give you praise or affection, he tries to divert the attention to himself or just stares at you with utter hatred from afar

• although all of that is just when he hasn’t even had a conversation with you

• after a while of being around you, he’ll cling to you because you give him the reassurance and validation he oh-so craves (he acts as if he didn’t hate you before. What do you mean? You two were always buddy-buddy!)

• you acknowledge all of the things he puts his worth to

• heck, you hang out with him—you sometimes even initiate it—willingly, and you’re genuinely interested in everything he has to say

• but he‘ll only hang out with you where no one recognizes you (so you don’t get all the attention)

• terrible transition here, but he notices that you mimic people’s expressions often

• he definitely makes fun of you for it

• and also mocks you

• up until he realizes that you do the same thing to him, too

• which is fine and all, if only you didn’t do that when he’s upset

• well, you mimic him when he’s joyous as well, but he (already subconsciously) expects you to. I mean, why wouldn’t you? He’s fucking hilarious!

• so you copying his negative emotions just stands out more

• and he…doesn’t like it

• that’s only really what he doesn’t like about you

• and the fact that you hog all the attention

• and the fact that people see you as perfect…

• buuut what happens when he gets to see a new side of you that isn’t exactly upholding that image?

———

Your phone lit up from your bedside table, brightening your otherwise dark room along with the soft glow of your halo. You only moved your eyes to the light, not wanting your tears to spill and dampen your pillows.

You had an inkling as to who was texting you this late—if the fact that your phone lighting up several times in the span of 5 minutes had anything to say.

When the texts stopped pouring in after a few seconds, you heavily sighed, wings ruffling. You resisted the urge to rub your face as you went to grab your phone.

HEY (2:34) HEY (2:34) HEY (2:34) ARE YOU UP? (2:35) I’M BORED (2:35) GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE (2:36) IF YOU’RE UP (2:37) ARE YOU? (2:38) DID I TELL YOU THAT BITCH WITH THE HUGE TITS GOT FIRED TODAY? (2:39)

Figured. Of course, it was Adam. He was the only person you knew who’d be awake at this ungodly hour. And the only person you knew who’d disturb your peace if it meant curing anything that ailed him. Which was now about boredom, it seemed.

You read a few of his texts displayed on your lock screen before tapping one of the notifications and opening the app, scanning the rest of the unread messages.

Adam was going on about ‘that bitch with the huge tits’—her name was Tiffany, you were sure—and how she was rumored to have slept with an archangel to assume higher authority. He also went on to complain about how he didn’t have the chance to bed her anymore since she was basically deemed an outcast and that he couldn’t be seen with someone like her.

You frowned, not believing any of it, but you didn’t have time to think about it enough when he began typing again.

SO YOU’RE AWAKE (2:43)

You barely finished reading the new message when another one popped up.

DON’T IGNORE ME BITCH (2:43)

You frowned deeper, quick to type out a reply.

i’m not (2:43) i was just reading your texts (2:43) don’t worry (2:43) i’ll be there soon (2:44)

When he stopped typing, you placed your phone back on the nightstand, sitting up on your bed as you carefully wiped away your teary eyes. You hugged yourself for a moment, wings functioning as a cocoon while a hand tugged on your hair.

Today had been draining—both mentally and emotionally. Just like the day before, and the day before that. But you didn’t want to think about it, lest you start to cry some more and smear your face with tears this time. What mattered was that everyone was back on their feet again.

Since you didn’t bother changing into your sleepwear when you got home, you only checked your face in the mirror to see if your eyes were puffy or not. You then took in deep breaths, holding up your drooping wings before putting up a charming smile.

You couldn’t stay in the bathroom for long, quickly leaving to tread the path to Adam’s.

•••

“BOO!” Adam’s masked face suddenly peeked from the corner of his hallway, earning an indescribable scream from you as you jerked back. He burst out laughing, brows creased in confusion but also amusement. He couldn’t even make fun of you for getting scared. “What the—what the fuck was that scream?”

Recovering rather quickly as you blinked, you only smiled at him. You were expecting him to wait for you on his couch as his front door was left unlocked, but you weren’t complaining; his action took away any drowsiness you just had.

When Adam didn’t hear you laugh with him, his laughter subsided as he opened his eyes to look at your face. He raised his brows and placed the back of his hands on his hips. “What’s up with you?”

Shit. There was no way Adam was seeing through you.

“Nothing; I just love hearing you laugh.” You heard a tiny squeak in response. “Anyway, what did you make me come over for? Surely not just to scare me.” You moved past Adam and tightly crossed your arms, entering his spacious living room.

“Pshh, fuck no. You’re so easy to spook. Though that was a first. Didn’t know you could hit high notes, (Name).”

You didn’t know what to say to his…compliment? And sort of insult? Was it really either of them? Should you thank him? But in a sarcastic way? No, you weren’t known for being sarcastic, so he might think you were being genuine and look at you weirdly. And it would also seem highly egotistical.

Not as if Adam had much to say about that…

You tugged at your hair when you caught yourself with those thoughts. Shit, that’s so rude! You can’t think that! You shouldn’t think that!

You settled on an awkward chuckle, making yourself appear smaller as you averted your eyes to his TV space.

It was different, certainly. The modular couch pieces were rearranged into a pit sectional. And it looked as though he had chucked a bunch of pillows and one large blanket as an afterthought. It appeared messy, but at least it looked cozy.

“What’s this?”

“Hm? Oh, well, since you were taking your sweet ass time coming here, I thought to switch things up a bit.” You flinched when his head appeared right on your shoulder. “What’d ya think?”

“It looks super comfy.” Adam wore a goofy grin behind you as you walked closer to the area and noticed that he already prepared snacks on the low table. “Is this a way to say you wanna do a movie marathon?”

“You know it, baby.” He flew past you and landed on the sofa, patting the space beside him with a smile you just couldn’t reject.

•••

Heaven’s natural light beginning to peek through the open windows indicated that it was already dawn. Thank goodness you didn’t have work today.

You two—or rather, Adam—had settled on watching the film series, Die Hard. Every single one. You didn’t mind, but you didn’t understand why Adam invited you over if you two were just going to rewatch the film series for the eighth time.

He had also been pretty immersed in the large screen in front of him, so he hadn’t attempted to converse with you ever since the first movie started. In all honesty, he could have just watched them all by himself.

But you didn’t question it. This time was the same as the last seven, after all. You always concluded that maybe he just wanted someone to watch movies with, no talking necessary. Even if the no-talking part sounded a bit out of character.

Was it though? Because he did that quite often. For instance, he constantly brought you along to whatever mundane errands he had to do during the weekdays and never really talked with you unless he found something cool and pointed it out.

Although, the earlier times you tagged along with him on his errands, he kept yapping his mouth off about the ‘totally awesome’ things he does. He talked about music, his own albums, his band, women, sex, and himself as the first-ever man.

As time went on, however, the talking was replaced with silence. You wondered if he just ran out of things to say or if he found it unnecessary to talk anymore.

You also sometimes wondered what was going through his head when he thought you didn’t see him glancing at you while he was doing something he believed was boring.

The sound of Adam’s stomach rumbling broke you out of your train of thought.

You both looked at each other blankly as if either of you were to blame.

He blinked to break the eye contact between you. “(Name), I’m hungry.”

You snorted, facing ahead. “You ate all of our snacks before the first movie even finished.”

“Don’t blame me.” He hugged the pillow he held tighter. “I’m still fuckin’ hungry, though.”

You hummed as you reached for your pocket. “Do you want me to—oh. I…I forgot my phone.” You frowned. You never forget to bring your belongings.

Adam merely stared at you, unblinking.

You averted your eyes and held your legs tighter. “Uhm, We could get delivery if you want. Can you lend me your phone?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He casually tossed you the device before laying on his back and looking up at you. “I’m down for anything.”

His phone hit your knee before you could catch it, silently landing on the cushions. “Are you sure?” You picked it up, opened his unlocked phone, and stared at his basic home screen.

He didn’t really use his phone that often to know that it could be changed. He only really used it to fetch one-night stands or occasional dates, text, play music aloud, look at outdated memes, take random blurry photos, and right now, order delivery.

“Totally.” His crow’s feet displayed on his mask as he puffed out his cheeks.

“Because last time you said that, you didn’t like what I had to pick.”

“That’s because the 5 ʼn 2 is so fucking overrated!” he suddenly started to complain. Your wings ruffled. “Jeez, I swear, every fuckin’ time I take a chick out and ask her what her favorite eatery is, basic bitches always go, ‘Oh, bREaD & fIsH, ceRTAinLy’ or ‘bReAD & FiSh’S a cLAsSIC’” He used his hand as a puppet to imitate their words before waving it. “Like, helloooo? Can’t you see the joint that’s literally on the other side of the street’s a hundred times superior? It’s cheaper, too, unlike Bread & Fish. Overpriced ass. You get me, right—?”

“Then you pick!” Adam jumped at your volume, and your eyes widened upon noticing yourself. You quickly gave back his phone as you turned your face away from him, and he slowly took it with a weird look.

“Shit, chill, (Name). The fuck’s up your ass?” He kept his gaze on you before turning to his phone.

While he was serious about his opinions of your bland tastes, he didn’t think it was that personal. Your preferences were the same as everyone else and that was boring. He was just being honest. And you usually didn’t take the things he said that seriously.

“Adam, I’m sorry,” you spoke up after a moment of silence and ran a hand through your hair. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“ʼs not a problem.” He was still a bit weirded out, but he was willing to shrug it off.

You insisted, however, “I mean it. I’m not mad at you.”

“Okay…?” he muttered when he saw a notification pop up from Lute. Her message consisted of how some of the exterminators got into a quarrel during roll call and the ones involved got injured in the process. She said she was going to discipline them.

Adam did not want to know what she meant by that and was most likely not going to stop by their place today.

“Really. I’m not. Sorry. It’s just that yesterday’s been…”

“Uh-huh…” At this point, Adam was not listening to anything you were saying. But when he still heard the static noise that was your words, he groaned. “Look, sweetie, I really don’t give a fuckin’ shit about your fuckin’ apology, ʼkay? I don’t fuckin’ care. Now what do you want?”

You saw Adam’s confused yet concerned expression after he looked up from his phone and immediately noticed that you were starting to cry. You instantly turned your face away as you carefully wiped your eyes.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m not crying because of you.” You didn’t know if that was true. You didn’t know if you were crying because of his words or were crying because of everything else.

That was the first time he ever used a sweet petname for you in a long time. He only ever used that to demean or mock other people.

Shit. Stop thinking—you were going to cry more. But even after carefully wiping your eyes away, new tears kept flowing. You couldn’t stop. This was humiliating. You wanted to disappear. You didn’t want anyone to witness you in this state. It was mortifying.

“Shit.” Adam’s voice came out panicky as he held his hands out towards you, but he hesitated. Hesitated in what, he didn’t even know.

He…didn’t think you could cry.

Adam didn’t know what to do; this emotional shit wasn’t his thing. He couldn’t ask you to leave, he knew that much, but he didn’t want to leave himself. This was his place. Why should he leave?

So, he did the only thing he could do in this situation.

You suddenly felt something warm envelop you.

You didn’t look up, but you knew it was Adam. You could feel the texture of his robe on your hands and the side of your face. You could feel his hands on your shoulder blade, but you couldn’t quite feel his arms on you.

You stopped wiping your eyes for a moment.

No one had ever hugged you before when you were sad.

No one had ever let you be sad.

Adam heard you sob.

Fucking great. He made it worse. What the fuck was he supposed to do then?

But when he went to unwrap his arms, he felt yours slip around his midsection, pulling him closer than before as he grunted from your firm hold.

So you wanted to be hugged? Alright. Whatever.

Adam slowly hugged you back after you muttered a ‘sorry’ and loosened your grip.

The next seconds were silent, so when he heard muffled words coming from you, he looked down. You also looked up moments later when he didn’t respond, realizing he must’ve not heard you.

Your gaze softened as you two held eye contact, and with teary eyes, you smiled. “Thank you, Adam.”

Something about his expression changed, but before you could stare any longer, you felt a hand behind your head push you back to his chest as the arm on your back held you tight.

“Yeah, whatever…”

[crushribbons]

please for the love of all things good if you could write a smut abt bestfriend!sebastian where he sneaks into our dorm room in the middle of the night (for the 5th time that week) because he can’t sleep 🙏 thank you in advance

ohhhh so you speak my love language helllll yeahhhh

(went a slightly dif direction teehee xx 18+ ONLY!)

---

"Is this going to be an every night type of thing?"

"Mm, yeah, every night that your feet are this warm."

Sebastian's own feet (or rather, icicles) slid under hers and she hissed and tried to yank the duvet away from him. He whined, cuddling closer to her and setting her skin on fire in the process.

She stammered, "B-back off, you hog," and Sebastian wrapped his arms tighter. His frame tucked so neatly around her, she hated how natural it felt. He was so fucking cold--why was sweat beading across her chest?

He was humming under his breath. "Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts! Teach us something, please."

"Don't," she groaned. "It'll be in my head all week."

Silence settled between them. The room felt heavy and still, and she was keenly aware of how her heart would thump every time Sebastian shifted around. Her owl sighed a wispy trill. She strained her ears towards the door, hoping to determine whether those were footsteps shifting around downstairs. Sebastian sensed her train of thought.

"Your parents went to bed ages ago."

"They still might have heard the door."

"We are twenty-one years old," Sebastian laughed, husky, in her ear. Fuck. "And your mother seems to think we ought to be wed to one another or some similar type of nonsense."

Words, her brain urged her. Say words. Now!

"She just loves having company for the holidays. She'd want me to marry a grindylow if it told her that her apple crumble was scrumptious."

A huff of air from Sebastian's nose hit the back of her neck, and she didn't need to see her own reflection to know she was bright red. She wished on every star that she could make out through the gauzy curtains that he had worn a shirt to bed. He didn't seem nearly as affected as she was.

How much longer could they toe this line? Seeing each other almost every day after work, visiting each other's family homes for the holidays, falling asleep at each other's flats and, as a result, far too often, crawling into the same bed with the sometimes muttered excuse, "Warmer this way."

All he had to do was say the word, any word, and she'd make this whole thing a lot less...friendly.

"What are these garments you adorn yourself in, m'lady?" Sebastian grumbled as he felt the foreign material at her hips between his fingertips. She swallowed back the moan that rose in her throat. Silly, getting this hot and bothered over a little physical contact. Then his hands were sliding down her hips inquisitively and the moan slipped out without warning. She scrambled to recover.

"Silk," she replied, her voice raspy.

"Too fancy for me," Sebastian sighed, and he let his body crumple completely into hers, and it was heaven and bliss, and Sebastian had finally warmed up so she let herself melt into him. Everything was blurring pleasantly around the edges of her vision: the room, the outline of the sleeping tawny owl by the window, the boundary between her and her dear, best friend Sebastian, who at that very moment was snaking one hand away from her waist and pressing it down between his hips and the curve of her ass.

"What are you doing?" she asked, and when Sebastian tsk'ed in annoyance, she realized exactly what he was doing and humiliation flushed her cheeks.

He tried to pull away from her a few inches, and she whined, "Hey--you're just getting all warm!" but she felt him shake his head. She rolled over to face him and he closed his eyes when she raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'm, uh." He squeezed his eyes tight shut, then dared to open one and peek at her. "I'm sorry. I kinda got..." He gestured down to his free hand, which was currently doing its best to conceal...

Her cunt throbbed, wetness pooling. He was hard, and the hand pressing his erection down couldn't cover it entirely. She felt her lip slide between her teeth. Sebastian's chest, splattered with freckles and a light layer of chestnut hair, was rising and falling too fast. They locked eyes.

"Should we?" He didn't finish the question. He didn't have to.

Should we? she thought. She didn't care.

They fucked, slow and tender and hot and fast, until the orangey glow of dawn kissed the room. When she rolled her head to the side, hair mussed all over her pillow, and saw the tiny light filtering through the window, she laughed to herself, but it was pathetically choked off when Sebastian's nose pushed against her clit in perfect little circles. Her hips arched and she used the handful of wavy hair in her hand to pull him deeper into her. He chuckled into her pussy, and the feeling of his smile pressed against her weeping heat had her riding his face until she eeked out a broken, "Fuck, Seb, baby!"

He shushed her, although his face was still buried inside her, occupied with cleaning every last drop from between her legs.

"Have you got one more for me, darling?" he purred over her fevered panting.

"N-no! I d--!" Sebastian covered her protestations with a sloppy kiss, lips still covered in her, and her body suddenly found the wherewithal to endure one more mind-bending orgasm. She moaned and pressed her chest to his and he laughed again.

His cock slipped in easily this time. The first two, three? Merlin, four? times, his size had been almost too much for her. But a groaned, "Fuck, so tight for me, just like I always dreamed..." was what ultimately pushed her to the edge the first time.

What pushed her to the edge this time were the desperate, rough thrusts he fucked up into her with, and the gleam in his eye as he panted, "You'll be lucky if I don't keep you in this fucking bed all day, shit! I'm...f--fuck, I'm coming!" He grabbed her hips and pumped once, twice, three more times.

"In-inside me," was all she could get out before her body hummed with a high-frequency, white-hot pressure, and she collapsed onto Sebastian's chest. He held her tight while he filled her up, and afterwards did not pull himself out while they caught their breath.

"Hey," Sebastian said suddenly, breaking the hazy quiet that had settled around their intertwined bodies.

"Mm?"

She felt him smile to himself. "Nothing."

[saekkas]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

summary: in which someone catcalls you and he's there to defend.

includes: isagi, nagi, reo, yukimiya, rin, sae, kunigami, kaiser, karasu, bachira, aiku.

note: i split it into two this time because i honestly can't see them doing anything else.

𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 as if he doesn't know you, even with his hands clearly around your waist. does it to out of love above anything else, it's his way of trying to make you comfortable. will try to be playful with his actions and words but if anyone takes a step towards you? it's on. (you know that, "wear whatever you want, babe. i can fight." that's him atp)

reo, aiku, kaiser, bachira, karasu

the sun's bright overhead, not too blinding, with just the right amount of heat to tan. he sighs in content, the sand underneath his bum perfectly warm as you lather sunscreen on his back. a beautiful beach and a gorgeous girl running her hands down his back? this better be the view he sees at the pearly white gates of heaven.

the hand on his back is smooth and he groans when you gently massage the knots out of his neck. "keep doing that and i might just marry you sooner."

he hears you snort before anything else. there's no other reply and he relaxes once more, leaning his head onto your shoulder. he squints at the sun shining directly into his eyes.

"careful there, hotshot. you might get wrinkles. and i don't want to marry a wrinkly, 68-year-old looking guy."

something blocks the sun from his vision, and he has to blink multiple times, letting his eyes adapt to the change of scenery. he sees you grinning down at him, your face upside down, and the sun's halo shinning behind your head.

"hi, gorgeous." the smile on his face is nothing but awestruck, his eyes molding into the shape of hearts. "missed you and your beautiful face."

there's another snort from you and he yelps at the feeling of cold sunscreen hitting his face.

"me and my beautiful face have been behind you this whole time, loser. who knew you were such a simp."

the droplets on his face are cold but the warmth of your hand rubbing them into his skin makes it all better. his eyes gaze up at your face before trailing down your body, drinking in the sight of your bikini. "you should wear that more often. every day around the house often."

he yelps, scrunching his nose when you playfully bite it.

the touch of your hand on his body is soft and warm, a complete contrast from the rugged sand beneath you both and it has him shivering. "what? can't i compliment my favorite girl?"

he smiles when you plop down on his lap, laughing at the roll of your eyes.

"i'm your only girl," you say, body relaxing into his hold. "well, i better be."

he can only laugh in response, wrapping his hands around your waist and playing with the strap of your top. "i'm only yours, angel. i'm hurt that you'd even think otherwise."

there's a strong gust of wind, blowing sand everywhere as the trees sway in their place. he tightens his hold on you, letting you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

when it subsides, he's quick to place his hand on your cheeks, softly looking into your eyes. "is my baby okay? need me to blow away the sand from your eyes?" his tone is sweet, playful. the pads of his fingers rub circles on your cheeks, and he leans in, placing his forehead against yours. "need me to kiss it better?"

the sound of a high-pitched whistle drowns out your sassy reply of just say you want a kiss and go. a rowdy pair of teenagers stand by the ocean's shoreline, grinning madly when his eyes land on them. their shouts of pretty lady you got there, wanna share? and stop being a hog, let us in on some fun, eh? falls on deaf ears as he looks down at you with a wink.

"no but they're right, eh? i've got such a pretty lady on my lap." his eyes are gentle and calm as the sea, they reflect the worry you feel inside. his hands ground you, picking you up easily to switch positions so that you're covered by his back, safe from prying eyes. "should we go back home for some more fun? what do you say, angel?"

he lays your head down against his chest, letting you hear the gentle thud of his heartbeat. "this beach is overrated anyway. it doesn't even have a lifeguard." he nudges your forehead with his nose, smiling cheekily. "honestly? never mind. that's a good thing because if i were a lifeguard, i'd give you mouth-to-mouth all day long."

his smile widens just a fraction when you giggle, happy to see that your eyes are starting to show their shine.

"you're awful at this," you giggle, pushing his shoulder playfully. "what kind of pickup line was that?"

"oh?" he pretends, widening his eyes as he points at the center of your forehead. you know it's all theatrics, but you fall for it either way. "what's this? do you have a sunburn?"

he trails his finger down your arm and onto your belly, stopping at your thigh when you look at him with confusion.

"what do you mean?" you ask, tilting your head with a small smile. "i put on sunscreen earlier."

he's quick to lean in, pressing a kiss on your cheek. "yeah, you're right. it was just your usual self being hot." the smile on his face widens into a grin when he hears you laugh, and it drives him to nuzzle his nose against your neck.

"there's my angel. or should i say sandcastle? because i want to build my dreams around you."

he leans back, trying to dodge your hand only to laugh as you both fall onto the sand. he looks at you, letting his hand trail down your cheek as you hover above him, matching grins on your faces.

"what was that for?" his laughs have trickled down into low chuckles. he lets himself fully immerse in the sand, propping a hand behind his head. "am i that irresistible, angel?"

"you're such-"

"oh? what's this?" the two boys from earlier watch you with crooked smiles and bad intentions clear in their eyes. they move forward, starting to close in. "should we join in-"

"back off." his eyes are dark, and his voice is low. there's a clear line of annoyance in his tone as he stands, pushing you behind him. his stance is intimidating, clearly protective with the glare set on his usually always smiling face. he quirks an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk appearing on his lips. "or i'll make you."

they back off at his threat, bowing their head to you as they leave.

he holds you in his hands, nuzzling his face into your hair as if he wasn't initiating a fight just a few seconds ago. "let's go, angel. i'll buy us some ice cream." he takes your hand, winking as he playfully taps your bottom.

𝐍𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒, 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐘. he's the type of guy who will not realize someone's bothering you, honestly. if anyone asks why, it's because his eyes and entire being is fixated on you, and you only. why should he even care about some random ant on the street? it's just you and him, his baby, his world. nothing else matters in his eyes.

sae, rin, nagi, yukimiya, kunigami, isagi

"it isn't too crowded today." his words are blunt, a matter of fact that you can't help but giggle at. he eyes you, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips at the sound. "we should go in before it's too busy."

he takes your hand by your side, slipping it into his as you make your way into the cat cafe. he hums, scrunching his nose and withholding the need to sneeze as he lets you take everything in. the cafe is spacy, a big section for the cats to play in that's separate from the food corner.

he takes a seat near one of the scratching poles, leaning his back on the seat. his eyes are locked in on you, watching as you squat down to pet a cat on its head, chuckling when you startle as the cat jumps to one of the higher beams.

"you're so mean for laughing." he watches the syllables form on your lips, takes in the color and shape of your mouth. it's only when they form into a smirk that he moves his gaze back to your face. "you promised to play with the cats, remember?"

he only blinks up at you, similar to a cat himself, before sighing at your puppy eyes. nodding his head, he sets onto his feet to follow you deeper into the room, looking at the trail of cats that have begun to follow you both.

there's an empty bench that you lead him to and he sits dutifully, letting you plop a cat onto his lap. his motions are mechanical at best, he pats the cat's head, scratches under its ears, and stays away from its tail, the way you showed him how. anyone who's watching can clearly tell the cat isn't his main attention, it's you.

he feels the cat purr in hips lap and continues stroking it, but his eyes are never far from you. he sees you buying a packet of treats, watches as you squat down to feed the little white kitten by your feet, admires as every other cat suddenly comes swarming in. he chuckles to himself, so wholly focused he doesn't realize that someone's come to sit beside him.

"that's such a pretty kitty, mind if i take her home?"

he doesn't answer. not at first. he simply observes you, from the gracefulness of your movements to the sweetness of your smile. he only tears his eyes away to look at the stranger when he laughs.

"can i help you?" his tone is dull, clearly not wanting to be disturbed. he looks at the stranger for a few more seconds before turning back to you, the cat still peacefully asleep in his arms.

"not at all. i just wanted to know whether your cat's for sale."

he doesn't catch the underlying meaning of the stranger's words. you've got a beautiful persian with discolored eyes in your arms now, cooing the name Oscar at the thing. he tilts his head, wondering whether you'll do the same to him for taking you here today.

"i'd like to take her home. play with her until i'm bored, ya know?"

he watches from the corner of his eyes as the stranger leans back against the bench, a sickening smirk on his face. he realizes belatedly that the stranger's looking at you.

anger simmers in his eyes as he looks at the stranger with his coldest eyes, tone uninterested. "you wouldn't be able to take her. she's a feisty one, needs a man to take care of her. not some sleazy bastard."

he watches with boredom as the stranger clenches his fist. there's a hint of a smirk on his face as the stranger starts to stand up, clearly wanting to fight, only to step on cat vomit.

"oh no, oscar!" you gasp from behind the stranger, looking at the cat in your arms worriedly. "are you okay? you sick, baby?"

he watches in amusement as the stranger turns to leave the cafe, his face red. all the while, you remain blissfully unaware, concern swimming in your orbs as you cradle the cat closer to your chest.

"do you think we can adopt?" he sees the confusion on your face, chuckling at the little tilt of your head. he nods to the cat. "oscar's pretty cute. i like him."

he chuckles when you squeal, smiling happily as you place oscar down to pepper kisses on his face.

[brotherwtf]

Lord Huron, Lana del Rey and Hozier were the playlist for this evening so obviously I'm thinking about cowboy clegan (also I'm missing the south a little bit I fear)

also this quote "cowboys are frequently, secretly fond of each other" has been plaguing me all afternoon

widower Gale Cleven who decides to just up and leave town with his only horse and a saddle bag to hopefully make it to the next town or die out in the mountains, he doesn't know which he wants first

but when a man tries to steal his horse in the night, he springs awake, pins him down with a knife to his neck and a knee in his chest. the man wraps a hand around his wrist and looks at him with fiery blue eyes, eyes that seem to glow in the low embers of Gales fire

he's stupidly handsome, rugged, a darn cowboy if Gale has ever seen one, but he's still filled with rage because of the man trying to steal his horse, so he spits angrily and tells him he's taking him to the sheriff or he's gonna put a bullet through his head, he hasn't quite decided, and the man just looks up at him like Gales some magical thing that parted the heavens and Gale has to look away before he can't blame the flush on anything else

basically hog ties the man, hands and feet together so he doesn't run, and he just chuckles "buy a lady dinner first" and Gale just pushes him to the ground, stays silent, the man introduces himself as Bucky, an outlaw, and Gale just scoffs at him so blatantly stating the obvious, tells him to shut the hell up and go to sleep, he's gonna take him to the sheriff in the morning

forces Bucky to ride with his hands tied behind his back, reins around the horn of his saddle and Gale knows it's not foolproof because Bucky can just slide off and run if he wanted to, but Bucky's talking his ear off about everything and nothing, gleefully names him Buck when Gale doesn't respond with his name, and he knows there's a town up ahead that he can drop Bucky off at

but then he starts making excuses for why Bucky can't go to the sheriff yet, he doesn't trust the one here, that one there's too cruel, this town is just a supply stop, and he spends his days listening to Bucky chatter at him, and he almost thinks he's content with his life again

and one night by the fire Bucky asks him what he's doing out here, doesn't he have a wife to go home to? and Gale just quietly confesses that he doesn't, he doesn't really have much purpose anymore and Gale was a damn fool for not tying Bucky's hands together because he uses them to carefully caress Gales face and bring him in for a gentle kiss, and he can't quite bring himself to pull away, hand clenching around Buckys wrist as his lips move slowly against his

and maybe Gale never brings him into town to the sheriff, they've long made amends since Bucky has tried to steal his horse, and maybe Gale decides he's going to bring Bucky back to his home, the home he had shared with Marge, because Bucky has filled that space in his heart, with all of his sharp edges and bright smiles, he's wedged his way into Gales life and Gale can't quite shake him

[gophergal]

and lo i found something that will fit my needs, but in my own home

(i am the only person who will appreciate the effort i'm putting into this reference)

am i seriously searching for pdfs of old harlequin romance novels

[recreationalfanfics]

Hello sweetcheeks If you don't mind whether I can request Shiva, Hades, Hercules and Tesla with the very beautiful goddess S/O whose beauty even exceeds Aphrodite, S/O is very elegant and friendly to humans on earth. S/O also really loves immortals. You can freely ignore my request, don't forget to take care of your health and always drink water

Again, I only really follow the anime so I'm only writing for Shiva and Hercules but either way, I hope you like it!

Shiva (+ Wives):

- He loves you and all his wives equally, and while you were recently added into the relationship BUT TRUST ME WHEN I SAY THAT YOU NEVER FEEL LEFT OUT, not when Shiva himself has to keep all four of his arms wrapped around you just because Parvati, Kali, and Durga HAVE BEEN HOGGING YOUR ATTENTION ALL DAY.

- Shiva is so proud to show you off to the other gods, honestly. Making them all jealous and inflating his own ego a bit more.

- He doesn't just show you off, he likes to show off for you. When he's playfully fighting another God then he'll be sure to really flex his muscles and put on a show for you and wink, making you all shy and flustered which is ADORABLE in his eyes.

- He also doesn't just love you for your looks of course, your heart is so incredibly kind and loving. Which contrasts very nicely to his recklessness and sometimes violent side. He smiles seeing you with his son because you always uplift him and treat him like any mother would with their child.

- HE ALSO LOVES TO DANCE WITH YOU AND SO DO HIS WIVES. Like, they invite you and you stun them with your gracefulness and elegance, such poise and control in your steps.

- You were absolutely enchanting, even by a God's standards and everyday, Shiva is just in awe of you. When he's bored and lazy, he asks you if you can dance with him and gives you big puppy eyes to convince you so you roll your eyes and stand up and he gets all happy.

- Your love for humans can lead to...conflicts. Like, he already knew it and he found it odd but endearing but he still has his own opinions about them and they're not very good until Ragnarok happens.

- But, like, when the God's vote for humanity's execution and you're horrified at how they could all be so cruel, Shiva just genuinely can't wrap his head around it but he'll comfort you, a bit guiltily.

- So there is a gap in which you need space from them because its an important topic and while all couples fight, it feels colder in his home because he and everyone else misses you so much.

- NO BUT ALSO, LIKE, AFTER HIS FIGHT, HE STARTS TO SEE WHY YOU LIKE THEM AND HE APOLOGIZES and you're just concerned because HIS ARMS ARE LITERALLY FUCKED UP and you just dote on him.

- Ngl, his wives kinda hate him for a bit now (not actually) because while you help him recover, he acts like a big baby just so you can comfort him and coddle him and give him all your attention and shooting his wives a smug smirk as they roll their eyes but smile as you take care of him because it feels so nice to have you back.

Hercules:

- PLEASE YOU TWO ARE LITERALLY A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN, LIKE, YOU GUYS ARE LEGIT THE SWEETEST COUPLE EVER😭

- The fact that he used to be human was what drew you to him, like, Ares and the other Greek gods were celebrating and Ares is all: "Woah, (Y/n)'s been looking at you the entire time." and Loki bitterly pouts: "Ugh, of course the human turned God caught her attention right off the bat."

- Hercules doesn't understand why they were making a big deal and turned around to see you...only to make direct eye contact with you and immediately getting all shy and flustered. You greeted him with such warmness and you talked about what it was like for him to become a God, then he started to talk about his life as a human.

- And unlike other gods who side eyed him or looked down on him, your eyes were filled with such wonder and awe at him. You had so many questions for humanity and the way you seemed to be fascinated with them makes it so clear to Hercules that you truly do have a passion for humanity just like him.

- THE OTHER GODS THINK YOU'RE SO WEIRD FOR IT BUT YOU GUYS DON'T CARE, he answers your questions about humanity and even takes you back to his home when he visits his friends and they're ALL STUNNED BY YOU.

- "I-Is that Aphrodite!?" and you just look at them and smile and their hearts beat 10x faster as you're all: "Aw, you humans truly are too kind. I am not the Goddess of Love, I am the Goddess of (insert what you want to be the Goddess of)."

- Your elegance also compliments his strength and almost brutish build, one thing you absolutely adore about Hercules is despite his strength, he always treats you so gently and is always mindful of his strength when he's with you.

- PLEASE HE ABSOLUTELY LOVES TO CARRY YOU ADMIRE YOUR BEAUTIFUL FORM, NO MATTER YOUR BODY TYPE, YOU ARE THE MOST PERFECT THING HE HAS EVER SEEN.

- No because when he volunteers to fight for the God's, you were confused but he explains why he's doing it and you just supporting him and having nothing more than the utmost confidence that he can guide the God's into seeing their wrongs.

[luvtak]

here, there, and everywhere ✦ lee felix

✦ pairing felix x gn!reader

✦ genre/tw angst, fluff, hurt-comfort, jealousy, a little bit of tears lol, two people so in love it's disgusting and perfect, pet names galore, kissing, obnoxious attempts at being poetic, being in love is complicated and sad and also simple and wonderful!

✦ w/c 1234

✦ a/n ginger write something other than hurt-comfort challenge failed. i wrote half of this with no motivation three weeks ago and the rest in an hour, i hope you like it LMAO! reader and felix were written as the same couple from baby i'm yours, but you don't need to have read it to understand this at all!! as always named after one of my favorite songs, its so easy to write for felix, he really is a love song come to life<33

masterlist

Sometimes you wonder if Felix know’s how precious he is; sweet and soft-hearted; void of any ill intent or toxicity, a boy oozing love. 

He’s a wonderful son, a charming brother, and an even better friend–syrupy sweet and unbelievably likable to anyone who comes into contact with him, and most of the time that's a blessing, but it can also be a curse. 

Of course he’s stunning and lovely, and rationally you know you shouldn’t be upset. That girl at the restaurant meant nothing by looking at him, meant nothing by smiling and definitely was not hitting on him when she asked if you were his partner. At least that’s what he says, vehemently denying and believing that this stranger had no ill-intent, but you know better. From the minute she blinked her pretty eyes at him, you knew she was flirting, and nothing could convince you otherwise. Not your boyfriend's warmth pressing into yours or the moonlit smiles he sent your way, nothing. 

You can tell it’s making him sad, this quiet, jealous version of you. You wish you could stop it just to ease his concern, but the green poison is sitting deep in your belly, and you’re positive if you open your mouth nothing good will come from it. 

He’s so lovely and you hate that other people can tell. Your love has always been so private, so deep and true it could only be described as intimate. Sometimes, you forget that he exists outside of his place next to you, forget that other people can see him and fawn over his heaven made features. 

“I love you, you know.” His voice is shaky, nerves surrounding his every move. You hate to hurt him; hate second guessing every word he says and every glance he’s given to pretty waitresses, but sometimes quiet love is harsh. Sometimes the intimacy of love behind closed doors creates gaps for someone to pass through, and on nights where your trust ebbs, you really wish your love was loud. 

You wish you could show it to others, tell anyone who could be listening how much you loved him, but you can’t. Maybe at first it was his job, but slowly, over time you had to learn that loving Felix had to be tender–his heart had to be held like a flower, too tight and you’ll crush the petals. It’s why it feels so wrong to be jealous, he would never do anything to hurt you; physically and emotionally, he would keep you safe. 

When you arrived home, sulky and pouting and praying to any god who would listen to you, please, please take these thoughts away, Felix looked at you and knew it was time to intervene. Pressing you close to his heart and rubbing slow circles on your back. 

“I know, I love you too.” 

“No, I mean it, baby. I love you.” He enunciates the words, emphasizing his point with three kisses on your brow. You relish in his affection, it comes so easy to him… for Felix love is simple, it’s blowing out candles and mornings spent sharing heat, buying warm gloves and letting you hog the covers. Felix was made to love, grew up cherished and treasured and now he treats his people the same. 

Mostly, he was made to love you as quietly or as loudly as you wanted him too–he could be your sun, scorching and bright and all encompassing, or he could be your moon: big and beautiful and comforting.

You know he loves you, and hearing him say it doesn’t release the green monster from your belly, but it does remind you how lucky you are that this star boy chose you. 

Your shaky arms tighten around his torso and the fast beat of his heart releases the tears waiting at your waterline. Something about his honest truth breaking and mending your heart all at once. 

“I’m sorry, Lixie, I wish I could love you as good as you love me… you’re everything, maybe if you were less I could talk about it more, but it’s true I love you so much.” The tears are fast now, racing down your cheeks like raindrops on a window, and you think he’s crying too. All ten of his fingers are clutching at you, holding onto you for dear life and you don’t think he’ll ever let go… god please don’t let him ever let go. 

“I’m not going anywhere, my love, I promised a forever didn’t I?” you could never forget the memory, his pinky wrapped around yours and crossing his heart that he’d stay. He’s an earnest boy, as honest as they make them, and he’s never broken a pinky swear.

In many ways it makes you sad that one pretty girl made you feel like this, you can be insecure and unsure of many things, but never of him. It wasn’t the flirting or her twinkly eyes, it was her confidence in appreciating him: outloud and undeniable. Even after loving him so deeply for so long, you’ve found it difficult to scream it from the rooftops. Instead, you pack his lunch and make sure his hot cocoa won’t burn his tongue, you kiss him three times for luck, and you're always the first to praise him. No, you could never yell it out, but you’ve wished for him everyday and if he thinks it’s enough then it is. 

“Don’t worry about random girls, honey, my love isn’t fragile.” He says it with a fluorescent smile, so beautiful and so him that little by little it calms the wasps in your brain.

“I’m sorry, I was being silly. You’re just too pretty, I’m sick of other people being able to see you.” Through his tears, the star studded boy laughs–a big, body shaking laugh that takes you with it. Giggles through kisses and teeth clashing, too tight hugs that steal all the air out of your lungs and passing it back to him. 

This is love, quiet or loud, this is it–sharing breath and smiles and knowing he’s yours. 

You used to think people couldn’t belong to each other, but Felix’s heart is tied right to yours–chambers interlaced and arteries working together to keep you alive. Every bit of you is caged up with him, locked in tight together; dead-bolted and keys thrown away. You care for him quietly, but everything about your heart is loud–beating for him, faster and faster each day you share together. 

Releasing you from his hold and looking right into your heart-shaped eyes, he tells you not to be sorry; you’re too pretty to be sorry, baby and you know he’s making it better–Another kiss cure to mend the broken day. Soft smooches pressed all over your laughing face and down the side of your neck, a million ways to say thank you. 

When he releases you, he’ll be as bright as the sun–he’ll nurse your heart back to health and tuck you in tight under the covers. Humming sweet songs and hoping you have sweet dreams, three kisses goodnight for each year you’ve spent together. 

Tomorrow, he’ll tease and joke and love you endlessly, his devotion is as blaring as yours is hushed; changing your life with a wave of his hand and reminding you everyday that to love is to make magic–wishing on every constellation atop his nose that forever comes quick.

© luvtak

[cookiesuga55]

Porking Up

Piggy-hybrid Jungkook's lazy, slow metabolism kicks in when he presents as old enough to breed. The hybrid has always been able to manage his weight, despite his pig genetics! But now...

He looks down at his belly and oinks. It's pushed out fat in his lap, sitting round and supple on his thighs. Full of warm, jiggly pudge.

"I... I haven't even been eating that much, but I'm still getting fat-" Jungkook complains and pokes the squish, watching it jiggle.

His metabolism has fully given out, so the pig can get round and soft. Perfect for breeding.

Jungkook's slightly older, hog-hybrid boyfriend drools as he watches his once-thin piggy plumpen up. Namjoon can visibly see as the weight settles in Jungkook's tummy, making it push out fatter each day. His belly slowly rounds into what promises to be a rich, fat gut. Namjoon has a few years and a couple hundred pounds on Jungkook. But not for long if the piglet is gaining this well when he isn't even trying. Jungkook has always been small, but Namjoon thinks that maybe his inner pig is making up for it now, fattening him so heavily that Jungkook's skin looks stretched tight and rosy.

Namjoon remembers when he presented a few years ago and how the chub seemed to swell with every meal, multiplying into blubbery rolls as his body grew into what all hogs should be. Fat and spoiled.

He lays his warm hand on Jungkook's plump belly and he affectionately caresses the tub. "Imagine how much weight you'd gain overnight if I stuffed you, Piggy~"

He watches Jungkook's cute, round cheeks bloom pink. Jungkook might complain, but Namjoon knows how much the pig loves that he's finally starting to fatten up. Gaining weight feels like heaven to pigs.

Namjoon leans in and nuzzles him, lightly smacking Jungkook's supple belly to tease him. Namjoon knows that his tum can hold more than Jungkook is currently feeding it. His piglet is in denial. He just needs a little encouragement.

"How much fatter do you think I can feed you by morning?"

The excited, humiliated little squeal that slips out of Jungkook tells Namjoon everything he needs to know.

"We'd better get started then."

[storm-angel989]

Outside the office Part Three

Hi all! I'm so glad folks are enjoying this series! Let me know in the comments if there is a particular scene you would like expanded on- I am happy to obilige!

That following Sunday morning breakfast also proved mandatory. Snuggled tight in my bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows, I was sound asleep when a loud knocking rudely startled me awake. A brief moment of panic settled over me and it took a heartbeat for me to remember where I was. Unfortunately, I once again couldn’t remember exactly how I had gotten here, or how I had come to be dressed in fuzzy pajamas. 

“Reader! Wake up! Val made pancakes and they’re getting cold!” Velvette’s screech broke through the silence of the morning. 

I groaned but sat up, pulling a robe over my body as I made my way to the door. “What is going on?”

Velvette was dressed in a deep black robe covered with red fuzzy hearts- her typical morning attire. “I said, Val made pancakes and they’re getting cold. Com’on sleepy head. Val’s pancakes are the best cure for a hangover.” She turned and practically skipped down the hallway. 

I followed her, my head still fuzzy from the night before. We had spent Saturday night out at another one of Valentino’s clubs, dancing and drinking- and I guess once again I sipped too much too fast. 

“And pancakes for you.” Vox handed me a plate as soon as I entered the kitchen. “How’s that head feel, hm? Grab a bottle of Sweet Sixteen from the fridge and drink it down.”

I grabbed a bottle of the orange drink from the fridge. Why Velvette and Valentino had named it Sweet Sixteen was beyond me, but whatever was in it helped tremendously.

“I don’t understand why I get knocked on my ass each time I go out.” I complained, sitting down on one of the chairs at the table, my back to the window. “I swear, angels drink. Some of them pretty heavily, might I add.”

“Did you dance at the club while drinking?” Velvette asked, taking a bit of her breakfast. “In heaven, I mean?”

I shook my head vehemently. “Angels do not partake in such behavior.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, good thing you’re only half Angel, because last night showed you certainly do. Anyway, there's your answer- you dance, you drink. It’s simple math.”

“And that simple math is why my clubs are so successful.” Valentino slid into the seat next to me. He reached across and opened the bottle of Sweet Sixteen for me. “Drink. You’ll feel better.” 

“What’s in it anyway?” I asked, taking a sip before taking a bite of my pancakes. “Oh, these are yummy.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Vox bowed before taking his own seat. “I am, after all, the best chef in this household.”

“I don’t think so. I’ll get you back next Sunday.” Valentino said lightly. “And to answer your question Princessa- salt, water, sugar, electrolytes. Everything your body lacks after a night out.”

“Speaking of, can I tell you about fucking Hugo last night? That absolute dumb fuck….” Vox interrupted as he launched into a tirade about his current assistant. I listened patiently. Velvette seemed to tune him out and Valentino rolled his eyes. 

After breakfast it was back to work for the three of them and I found my place wherever I could make myself useful. Being in such close proximity to them made it almost easy to forget they were demons- especially with Velvette and Vox. 

“Are you joining me in the studio today, Princess?” Vox asked when I stood up. “Or will Velvette be hogging you once again?”

I looked at Velvette and she shrugged. “Your choice, but I absolutely need you back tomorrow. I have a new line of workwear that absolutely require your features.” 

“Alright, I guess I’m yours then, Vox.” I replied, then quickly corrected. “Not yours I mean, I can go with you to the studio.”

“Relax, babe. We all know what you meant.” Valentino said gently. 

I flushed. “Just making sure. I better go get ready.”

“My studio after your shower! I have a killer outfit for you.” Velvette hollered as I skittered down the hall. 

An hour and a half later I stepped out of the elevator and into Vox’s studio. True to her word, Velvette had me dressed in the height of what hell considered fashion, heavy on the blacks and the reds. I made my way to Vox’s office, stepping down the long hallway that led to his chair, surrounded by monitors. 

To my surprise, he wasn’t in his usual spot. I pulled out my phone and sent him a message. He replied back instantly. 

I see you. Look to the left. Black door. Just come in. 

I followed his directions and pushed open the door. He stood up when I walked in and handed me a laptop. 

“Go find a quiet place to work. I don’t particularly care where, but if you could read through and edit the documents on your email that would be great. Text me when you’re done- I’ll come to you.” 

I accepted the laptop and went to find an empty cubicle. When Vox initially asked where my skill sets lie, and the topic of editing came up, I didn't expect him to take me up on it. Or to value my input as much as he appeared to. But truth be told, it was something I enjoyed and, well, it was something to keep me busy. 

Several hours later I emailed him the edits, closed my laptop, and sent him a text message that I was finished. I heard the zap of electricity behind me and he appeared. 

“Ah. Good timing, I’m almost done for the day as well. Why don’t you head down to see Velvette? Have lunch down there and get ready for dinner tonight?” He picked up my laptop. “Come, I’ll walk you to the elevator.” 

“Okay, Vox.” 

I followed him and waited quietly next to him when he pushed the button. A few seconds later, I stepped in. 

He gave me a grin as the door closed. “See you tonight Princess.” 

I stepped into Velvette’s studio and one of her employees greeted me, whisking me to the back. She chattered at me about outfit changes, nail color changes, what was trending at the moment, and what wasn’t. 

“Wait,” I interrupted. “What is a sinstergram?”

Her eyes widened. “Omgomgomg.” she pulled her phone out and showed me an icon. She clicked on it and a website full of pictures appeared. “You don’t have one?” 

I hadn’t actually explored my phone that much- beyond texting. Typing on a laptop was easy- other than its more ergonomic design, it was basically the same as the one I was used to. But my phone was a big mystery I just hadn’t solved yet.  I unlocked my phone and saw the icon she was talking about. I clicked it.

Pictures flooded my screen- a photo of Lucifer and I when we first arrived in the lobby of the V tower. Pictures of the four of us on our night out. Captions I didn’t remember writing. 

“See your handle? It’s Princess.Reader. Morningstar . Not the most original, but I’m sure you wanted to keep it simple and straight to the point.” 

“Keep what simple?” Velvette’s voice came from behind me. 

“Sinstergram?” I showed Velvette my phone. 

She rolled her eyes. “Oh. You don’t need to worry about that darling, I control the social media for the four of us. You couldn’t post if you tried- Vox has it blocked. You can scroll through, however. See yourself how the world sees you.”

I scrolled down through the pictures. I almost didn’t recognize myself. In every photo I looked perfect, stunning. Almost too perfect. I expressed my concern to Velvette and she rolled her eyes. 

“It’s the image you show the world, not the truth behind it. But like I said, don’t worry your pretty blonde head about it.” She reached over and clicked off the app. “I got it covered. You just focus on being pretty.” She looked at her employee. “Veronica, take Chelsea’s place. I need you in my office.”

Wordlessly, they switched places and I watched as Chelsea followed Velvette. 

“Velvette wanted bubblegum pink nails?” Veronica asked, reaching across the table. “Let me see those hands. We’ll make them perfect.” 

The rest of the night went by in a blur. And then again. The more time passed, the more my comfort level with the three of them grew. I wouldn’t say I forgot about where I came from, or who I left behind. But the more hours spent together, the more normal our weekly routine became. Occasionally, Velvette or Vox would excuse themselves for the night for a work event, or a fashion show- and just the three left went out. It wasn’t very often, but the disruption didn’t break the rest of the routine. They would simply rejoin the next night, or sometimes find us later on that same night. 

Spending the time alone with Vox and Velvette in particular made them seem- well, safe. More like friends than demons. And although I didn’t spend any time alone with him, the more Wednesdays that passed, I found myself settling into Valentino’s arms as the movies played, craving the comfort and safety he freely offered. Even as I started to figure out my limits and  I didn’t always drink too much at the club, at the end of the night, my head fell into his lap, his hand stroking my hair. Something about the way he held me relieved the worry that even the time we spent together couldn’t fully shake.

It wasn’t until Vox and Velvette both bowed out of dinner one night that I first got to spend alone time with Valentino.

[poppy871]

this is art. what hog???? why is it doing 43 radiant damage??? what did you do to it??? what level is this hog that it's doing so much damage???

The hog is doing 43 radiant damage to me

[wardenparker]

Summer Rose

Professor!Santiago Garcia x female OC Co-written with @julesonrecord

Rating: E for Explicit 18+ Word Count: 6k Warnings: OC is named (Daphne Antonelli) but has minimal physical description. Age gap 10+ years. Both parties are consenting adults. Alcohol consumption, mutual pining, professor/student, oral sex (f and m receiving), 69, sexy mythology references, vaginal sex, protected sex, fingernails/scratching, a bit of biting. Summary: Daphne is having an absolutely terrible day and has missed office hours to turn in her final paper to Professor Garcia. When she turns up on his doorstep to turn in her assignment, the professor she's been crushing on for ages offers her a supportive ear -- and help relaxing. Notes: A little collaboration between myself and my beloved Jules featuring a character we've working on (Daphne) and today's wet daydream of college professor!Santiago. Honestly this is just a bit of porn with the barest thread of a plot, and we're not sorry. Also, just a disclaimer that I have no clue how one finishes a masters degree, but it doesn't matter. We're here for the porn, not the threadbare plot.

Twilight is beautiful on campus. Santiago has always thought so, even before he had the letters after his last name that demarcate him as faculty. He enjoys the blush of the sun fading, the purple of the dusky sky fading to blue-black, indigo, then glitter with starlight.

He likes walking home after class this way; a quiet moment to ease his mind after lectures and before grading. This late in the semester, it will be one of the last walks before the summer term. As he passes through the quiet neighborhood and climbs his front doors, he glances up, spies Orion's Belt in the heavens. He thinks about introducing the story next time he holds his Mythology and Myth-Making class. Did he include it this year? He can't remember. He'd been... distracted.

His phone pings with a text as he sets his messenger bag on the dining room table and undoes his cuff buttons, rolling them up. Too damn hot for this, damn dress code rules... He peers down at the message, and notes it's from an unknown number. His students know to text him if they have an emergency, so he opens it straight away.

Hi, Professor Garcia. I know that it's after office hours, but the fact is...I missed office hours altogether. Would it be an inconvenience to call you and explain? Otherwise I'm not sure how to get my final paper to you. Thanks, Daphne Antonelli (Mythology and Myth-Making)

Santiago lifts an eyebrow. He recognizes the name. Oh yes, he recognizes it. In fact, he's called it to mind more often than is probably appropriate, along with the image of a very beautiful graduate student with a focused stare and drop-dead gorgeous eyes. She was an attentive student, responsive, ready to answer questions but never one to hog the spotlight, making insightful, empathetic, and razor-sharp questions. It was unlike her to miss anything, never mind not visit office hours. They'd spent many such visits over the semester. Short. Professional. Of course.

So why does his heart rate increase, his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he thoughtfully taps the phone screen, spelling out a careful, professional text?

Hi Daphne. As this is your final paper, I would really like to have it ASAP as I am required to submit grades on Monday. Why don't you swing by my home to drop it off?

Feel free to call, he types, then deletes before sending. He wanted to hear her voice. He did need that paper. No reason why he couldn't do both in person. No reason at all.

He had had his graduate students over for a spring dinner after midterms so they know how and where to find him. The bonfire that night had lasted for ages, as tipsy grad students who were feeling feisty with a full meal in their bellies debated the cultural implications of different myth origins and the similarities of some creation myths that they had just been discussing in class. Daphne had been amongst the students that night, animatedly defending her points with unmatched ferocity that was impossible to ignore.

The text that comes through a few moments later takes a while for her to decide on, judging from the continuously undulating bubbles indicating how long she was typing compared to the brevity of the eventual message.

Thank you for understanding. I'll be over shortly so the rest of your night isn't interrupted.

Satisfaction. He tosses the phone down and leans over the table with a slow sigh, taking a look around the room. The same old familiar wall-to-wall bookshelves line the tidy bungalow. The same pendant lamps up, tacky, that he'd meant to change when he bought this place... four years ago. His degrees might be hung in his office upstairs, his clothes are here, he shaves here, but who does he have here, really? Nobody. Warm sheets for a night and then no one. Nothing. There was no reason to bother, really—

And then Daphne. Daphne with her slowly blossoming smile that melted from shy to beaming when he said hello to her on campus. Daphne with her neat notes in the margins, Daphne with the legs that had so often been tucked primly next to his as they leaned over a book or paper together, never touching but so close, close enough so that he could smell her perfume: cinnamon, orchid, incense.

"Fuck," he mutters to the table. There's no way of hiding from himself, not really. He pushes off the wood and stalks to the kitchen for a beer. He cracks it open efficiently and takes a long swallow, Adam's apple bobbing. He wants her. That much is clear. How could he not? She was intelligent, fierce, gorgeous. He could fool himself all he wanted, her coming here was a bad idea. It's been a long semester, keeping her close but not too close.

But, he realizes with a jolt, she's about to graduate. This is her final, his course is over. He is... well, technically by Monday, no longer her professor.

"Fuck," he mutters again, this time to a magnet of a catfish, his only catch from a weekend out fishing with the guys.

It's twenty minutes later precisely when his doorbell rings. There was no sound of a car outside on the street or dramatic slam of a door, but when he opens the door there is a bicycle leaning against his front gate and a frazzled looking student on his front step.

"Hi, Professor." Daphne stands on his step with a mix of anxiety and embarrassment on her face and she digs into her bag right away to pull out a manila folder with his class name and number written on it alongside her name. "I'm so sorry about this. I know it's technically late and that you'll have to dock points for that. It's completely my fault."

"Hey, hey, easy." He lifts a palm and lowers it soothingly, taking the manila folder gently. "There's no need to be sorry, accidents happen." Then, as he knew he would, he asked, "Would you like to come in? It's the end of semester, though. Maybe you have a party you'd rather get to?" He smiles fondly, bumping his shoulder against the doorframe and folding his arms to show off his tanned forearms, shirt sleeves straining slightly.

Yeah, he's still got moves. And he wants to show them off. To Daphne. Who is no longer his student. Who's staring up at him with the anguish slowly sliding from her face. He wants to remove it, stroke her stress away with his thumb, ease it out of her slowly—

Fuck, he's screwed.

"I'm not really – I mean, I haven't –" She doesn't get invited to parties, is what she's trying to say. Not that she doesn't enjoy parties, because she does. She absolutely does. The night they spent here at his house just sitting around the fire talking and sharing a meal was one of her favorite graduate school memories. But she isn't great at socializing with the other students in her program, she's found. There is something a little odd about Daphne, and it has reverberated through her life to keep her just a little on the outside of normal.

Maybe that's why she nods, accepting the invitation with swallowed thanks, and steps inside her professor's house. Her professor who has more than a decade on her in terms of age but has never held his years of experience or knowledge over her head. If they were colleagues, she might have even considered him a friend. As it is, being his student, she's stuck in a sort of limbo with a useless crush and fond memories. "I've had kind of a crazy day," she admits sheepishly. "Even if I had been invited to any of the parties on campus, I don't think I would be going."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Daph," he says, with real sympathy. "Is everything all right? I just opened a beer, would you like anything?"

"A pipe burst at my place and my landlord is claiming I'm liable, then my computer crashed in the middle of doing one last edit on your term paper and the tech office gave me grief, it's just...it's been a long day." She barely even nodded in agreement that a drink would be a huge relief, but he is immediately retreating to his refrigerator to grab her a beer. "Oh, and my summer plans fell through today." Her shoulders sag, the stress of the day dragging her down and determined to keep her there. "I'm just lucky I got up to take a shower first thing this morning or else the day would've been even worse."

"Oh, Daph, that's a rotten one," he says, placing the opened beer on the coffee table and settling his hands on her shoulders. "What happened to your summer? Surely you're going off to some incredible internship, you're more than qualified." And she is. He'd have recommended her to any program she wanted, and had, in fact, written her a letter of recommendation earlier in the year. "You know I'm not going to dock points, right?" he asks more quietly. "None of today was your fault, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. That shouldn't burrow into her chest and bloom into warmth like it does, and Daphne's eyes drop to the floor immediately to carefully focus on the toes of her boots instead of looking him in the face. That's your professor. Don't be creepy. "I had that internship lined up in London with the publishing company but they pulled the rug out from under me." She shrugs, feeling more vulnerable in the moment than she wants to admit. "Apparently the CFO's kid decided all of a sudden that he wants to be an author, so they rescinded my offer. He's going to get it instead."

His chest pangs. He hates that there is nothing he can do to fix this for her -- because she's right. That's the cherry on top of an extremely long day, and all he can do then is what feels most natural, which is to lift her chin up with the crook of his finger, his voice soft, gentle. "Hey."

When she meets his gaze, he watches them flicker slightly, scanning his face as he drinks in hers. Her eyes are so pretty. Like fresh honey dripped from a spoon.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he says again, and means it. "You deserve that spot, but you'll find something better, okay? Hey, look at me." She had turned away slightly, embarrassed or perhaps made shy by his praise, but her eyes fix on him again, golden and fringed with thick lashes. "I promise, you will. There's lots of ways into this world, and you're too talented not to break in. Okay? You want to sit down, tell me about it?" His fingers clasp around her delicate elbow, ready to guide her to the couch.

"There's not a lot more to tell, to be honest." Two people with two beers steer almost mechanically toward the couch, and Daphne finds herself being seated on his plush leather sectional just before he sits down beside her. This spring has been chilly and he still has a throw blanket out, which he pulls close to them as if to have it at the ready. "No summer in London means I'm going to have to either go back home and figure out my next step there, or find a new place here and do the same. Because I'm sure as hell not staying in the place I'm in now. As if the landlord weren't bad enough, now the plumbing is going."

"Huh." He trails his arm over the back of the sofa, sipping his beer thoughtfully. "What kinda guy is this-" Asshole, he wants to say, but quells it, "Fellow? Any chance he'll back off? Perhaps once he... calms down, he can be reasoned with." He's approaching the boundary of reason himself. He can see it, taste it, the drip of something sweet down his throat. "Beautiful woman like you? You could convince a man of anything."

The pffft sound that comes out of her mouth goes with a wave of her hand, but she does accept a sip of the beer that he's brought her with a grateful sigh. "The apartment is a piece of shit anyway, if I'm honest. I hate it there. It's just that it's affordable." There's a moment's pause where Daphne's eyes widen in panic and she deflates again with a groan. "I already put in my notice at my job, oh my god."

"Hey, hey, Daphne." He puts his beer down and reaches for her, wrapping one arm around her waist, cupping her flushed cheek with the other hand. "C'mon, it's going to be okay, I promise, but for right now, I need you to relax, okay? Can you do that for me, bebita?" They're so close now, almost nose to nose. He's lost in her eyes again, but he can feel the burning heat of her little cheek in his palm.

She had been so sure she was going to start crying instantly with that realization, but two searing hot hands on her skin steady her. His touch is grounding, pulling her away from the edge of panic and drawing her into his aura so effortlessly that she didn't even realize how close he was until she felt his breath on her skin. "O—okay—" He can't know that the thing keeping her from having a complete panic attack on his couch right now is the fact that all the blood in her body has rushed to her aching clit, but damned if it isn't working. Daphne nods vaguely, trying to keep her head from swimming, but all she feels is his hands on her and the way his coffee brown eyes have turned to oceans in front of her. "Okay," she repeats softly.

"Okay?" Santiago nods, his breath coming a little fast. "I'll help you. I'll help you relax, sweetheart. You tell me to stop any time, okay?" He leans closer so slowly, their breaths mingling. He can almost count her eyelashes. Her nose is sweet and soft as it brushes his, but it's nothing compared to her plush lips. They seal against his and he feels the world fall out from under him. Something deep and ravenous unlocks and spills out all over his inside. He barely chokes down a groan.

There is no doubt that this is the most surreal moment of Daphne's life, and it isn't as though she hasn't been in some weird situations before. It's a miracle that she managed to get her beer bottle onto the nearby coffee table without spilling or knocking anything over, but she needs her hands for this. For a year and a half she's been working on a master's degree and avoiding too much contact with the one professor who makes her mind fog up and her daydreams wander, until finally she had landed in his classroom.

And now on his couch.

Kissing him.

If it were anything besides the most surreal moment of her life, she might have jumped backward or at the very least, pulled away. But Daphne has imagined kissing Santiago Garcia far too many times to do anything but sigh in response and open up for him like a summer rose.

"It's okay," he repeats soothingly between kisses: to himself, to her, to the waiting tension in the room. "I've got you, cariño. I've got you now, there you go, so sweet for me. So pretty. Beautiful, smart girl." He deepens the kiss, tasting her lips slowly, reverently, one hand sliding slowly down her soft sweater to rest on her waist and squeeze gently. He brushes his thumb over the soft material and then flicks it open, wanting closeness, to drag his palm up her thin blouse, wide and slow across her back.

The sound that bubbles out of her is a plaintive moan, unsure but wanting, and one of her hands grasps for steadiness on his arm even as the other instinctively sinks into his curls to keep him close. The battle is want versus wisdom, and it takes longer than she's proud of for Daphne to drag her lips from his and pant for a breath that still has no prayer of clearing her head.

"But." The fog in her mind has settled thick and heavy like the arousal in her core, and even as she's trying to straighten herself out she's still clinging to him with digging fingers and sharp nails. "You'll get fired," she manages to breathe out a few seconds later. Her only real protest being that she doesn't want him to get in trouble over a whim – which is surely all this is to him.

"Baby, no, no," he shakes his head, almost laughing with relief that that is her only concern. "No, you're graduating. I'm not your teacher any more. You handed in your paper. We can finally do what I – what I've been—" Shit. This is going to sound so bad. "What I've been thinking about since I met you," he admits.

Santi leans his forehead against hers, sighing. "I'm sorry. It's so inappropriate, but it's true. I've been waiting so long to kiss you, baby girl. Let me kiss you." He brushes his fingers over her knee, lifting her skirt just a little. "Let me make you feel so good, my little nymph. Do you even know how long you've been haunting me?" His mouth brushes her again, gently, over the corner of her mouth, the edge of her jaw, the flutter of her pulse, which smells delicious, deep and floral, her scent.

His cock aches against his zipper.

"Fuck." This time Daphne groans, sinking further into the couch, and feels herself giggle softly in disbelief more than she's actually aware of making the sound herself. "You've been haunted?" She challenges, eyes burning with courage now that she's heard his confession. Heard him beg. Did he really just beg for her? "Do you know how long I put off taking your class because I didn't know if I could even concentrate around you?"

Using the opportunity of her gently reclining body, Santiago leans in for the catch. "I never could," he murmurs into the hollow of her throat, his hands sweeping her skirt up, revealing her pretty legs, and god her thighs, so plush and luscious in his hands. He takes a moment to stroke there, brush the hem of her panties with his thumbs. "Never. You came in with Eros and made me Apollo." One thumb slips gently under the gusset of her panties. "Are you running, little nymph, hm?"

"Fuck—I—no, I—I don't even think my legs work now," she huffs, all at once tense as a bowstring with desire and measurably more relaxed as the reality of the man she's wanted forever finally touching her exactly where she wants him.

Well, not exactly. But it's not going to take long to get there at the rate they're going.

"What should I..." Daphne's head falls back on the sofa cushion as his thumb strokes her slit and she moans. "Santiago is a lot of syllables to moan."

"Santi. You can call me Santi from now on," he murmurs, removing his thumb from her panties only to twist the thin white cotton things, Jesus, so fucking wet, around his fingers and slide them down, down. He tosses them to the side and shucks off her high heeled boots while he's there, his eyes locked on where she glistens for him, needs him. "But you can call out any god you want to, bonita." He flicks his gaze to hers and smirks. "Show me how much you were paying attention, yeah?"

If she can even remember a single name from his class at this point she'll be shocked, and the cool air of his house on her overheated cunt is enough to have her squirming instinctively underneath him. Her brain has pretty much given up the ghost already, overstimulated in the very best way possible far before the rest of her body feels the same. Although she has a feeling that it will get there. "Santi..." Trying it out, there is a sweetness on her tongue and heaviness in her core that really is just a whine waiting to break free. Daphne's hands have found their way to his shirt front, fumbling to free the buttons even while she's nearly shaking with desire. "If you get to touch me, I want to touch you, too."

His lips find hers again, almost impatient to taste her again. "You can touch me, I want you to," he mutters against her lips, lifting her blouse hem from her skirt as she takes care of his buttons. Santiago doesn't pause, doesn't make it easy for her or for himself, drowning himself in the touch of her, the sweet little noises emanating from her throat, the ones taking a running leap on the way to begging for everything he's ready to give. He lifts her shirt over her head and begins tugging down her skirt an inch at a time, his fingers dragging slowly over her hips, her now bare legs.

Nothing is exactly torn away, not specifically, but the pile of clothing that collects beside his living room sofa accumulates quickly and haphazardly — shirts and sweaters and everything else discarded blindly as they drown in kissing each other and swallowing those moans that make their way to the surface over and over again. With that building freedom Daphne finds a buried courage — not that she is a timid lover by any means, but there is an eagerness below the surface here that she hasn’t felt in so long. When the only thing left between them is the flimsy pair of boxers that do nothing to disguise how achingly hard he is, Daph bites down on his bottom lip to pull a groan out of him and soothes it away by sucking on the same spot as her fingers slip under the waistband of his last remaining piece of clothing.

"Fuck," he hisses, hips jumping forward so that the weeping tip of his cock brushes against her hand and he groans. He sits up straighter, caught in a web, aching to touch her – at least take his boxers off, fuck – but loathe to move away from her curious little hand. He settles for sitting up on his knees, staring at the place she's touching him, watching her explore him as though in a trance.

Taking advantage of the momentary shift, Daphne sits up along with him and nudges Santi backward so that he is on his back now instead of her. His curls are mussed and his eyes are so black with lust that he looks positively debauched before she’s even had a chance to touch him very much. Once he’s on his back, though, Daphne hooks her thumbs in his boxers and peels them away, groaning at the sight of him. Harder than diamonds and leaking precum like an eager teenager, a sly smirk rides across her face knowing she did that to him. “I want to suck your cock,” she admits, gaze flickering between his length and his blackened eyes. “You have no idea how many hours I’ve spent imagining sucking your cock under that desk in your office.”

Santiago closes his eyes a moment. Is he fucking dreaming? Or is his most fucked fantasy coming true before his eyes?

"Probably almost as many as what I've spent imagining what that wet little pussy tastes like." His voice is a low rasp, but he pulls himself together enough to halt her hand on his throbbing dick. His fingers squeeze around hers, gliding over the rigid shaft slowly, with control. His breath fans over her forehead. "You want this, baby? Hm? Gonna have to give me something in return. Come here," he urges, a low purr, her very own siren. "Come here and give me a little taste, cariño."

“Even Kama had to worship a lover in order to find his release,” Daph breathes, having spent an entire semester doodling images of the Hindu love god’s sugarcane bow and bird companions in her notes while thinking of all the various ways her professor could be worshipped.

"Kama was burnt alive by Shiva, sweetheart, and I don't plan on doing any different to you. Come here, that's it." Santi helps Daphne turn in his lap, both of them facing the wall. He guides her hips over his face as he lies back on the couch. Thank fuck it was big enough, for this and more, and then her perfect pussy is hovering over his face, tantalizing him. At heart? Santiago likes torturing himself, loves the thrill of giving into pleasure. Perhaps that too, is why he waited so long to take this girl into his bed. Perhaps that's why he's slow and sure as he spreads her lips, flattens his tongue, and tastes her indulgently, from clit to hole.

Daphne's momentary flash of composure is gone again as soon as he tastes her. Her legs shake on either side of his head, thighs pressed to his ears so her moans are muffled but it isn't on purpose. It's just been so long since she had a man between her legs who knew what the fuck he was doing that just having her clit noticed is a vast improvement. Daphne's body sags momentarily before she is shifting all her weight to one hand and wrapping the other around the base of his cock to stroke his base with the pressure that he showed her – the pressure he likes – while she takes as much of him as she can into her mouth.

When he moans it's with a growl into her pussy she can feel vibrate all the way up through her lungs.

She's not fucking sitting, and he knows it's because she's still, however minutely now that her moans are ringing sweet and clear across his living room, in her head instead of fully in her perfect body the way he wants. Licking up her slick almost lazily, he drags his nails lightly up the outsides of her thighs before firmly catching her hips in hand and pressing her into his waiting mouth, his evening stubble scraping across her folds. Only then does he give her a real reason to moan, encouraging her to grind while his laps at her clit with his tongue, filling his hands with all the gorgeous skin he can reach.

"Sit," he grunts, "Fuck, baby, I wanna to go to the field of fucking reeds with this pussy on my face, come on, you can do it, give it to me."

Come on, carińo, I know you can come for me, such a good fucking girl, he thinks, his brain a hazy lightning storm at the sensation of her hot throat squeezing around him as she swallows. Fuck, he could let her do this all night, but he's hungry for her pleasure and he's so close, he can taste it. Santiago lifts her hips with a final loud suck and trails a finger around her slit, teasing, almost pressing, but only just, his thumb running circles around her clit. With a deep breath he lifts his mouth, slips his tongue and a single finger inside, fucking into her with slow, measured movements.

The overwhelming pleasure of having more than just the tip of his tongue inside her pussy has Daphne moaning so earnestly that she pulls off of him cock with a lurid pop. "Dammit—I—fuck, I'm going to cum—Santi, baby, oh my f—" The shaking of her legs and the coil in her core twist down on each other so her thighs tighten and he breathes into her like he's going to devour her whole as she falls apart at the seams.

Oh yes. He really likes hearing her moaning that, but not more than the way she gives in as her orgasm rocks through her, grinding her hips down, into his waiting, eager mouth, helping her ride him through it until the aftershocks ease. His voice is barely a scrape when he lifts her up, his aching cock swinging between his legs as he presses forward, eager for her mouth. "Did so good, baby, such a good girl for me. I need to fuck you. Need to fuck you, baby. How do you want it?"

"Any way." Daphne gasps, trying to wrap her head around any kind of how that's more artful than just sinking down on him right here and now. When she does wrap her head around it, though, she groans in a less ethereal tone. "Let me grab a condom." Like any sensible, sexually active college girl, she carries one in her regular purse. Emergency cock wrap, if you will. She just never thought she'd actually need it.

"Wait, I got it." He scoots up a moment, digging into the small table beside the couch. From the drawer Santi draws out the foil pouch and rips it open, quickly rolling it on before turning his attention back on Daphne, who's watching him with drowned eyes, eyes deep and longing and still so lovely.

"Lie back, sweetheart. You ready for me?" He slowly glides the head over her silky wet folds, smearing her slick across his tip.

Deciding she absolutely does not need to know how many other girls have been fucked on this couch -- possibly at the end of their own courses -- Daph pushed herself up on her elbows to kiss him fiercely. Tonight is not to be wasted. Tonight is to be a fantastic memory. "I'm ready." Her nails drag down the base of his scalp, having caught a near purr from him earlier when she did the same. "I want you to fuck me, Santi."

Almost before his name is out of her mouth, he's pushing inside her with a low rumble, his head falling back slightly into her hands. Her nails scrape sensation over his scalp and down his spine, and her cunt is licking flames over him, so warm and perfect he almost comes right fucking there, but halts, breathing damp against her lips, his teeth nipping her lip possessively.

They hold like that, frozen together in the heat of the moment as he regains his composure and she adjusts to the stretch and fill and thickness of his cock inside her. The only movement, in this long moment of coming together, is the languid slide and tangle of their tongues together as they drown in the intimacy of feverish kisses.

Gradually, Santi comes down enough to get restless, eager again. He nips and bites down over her jaw and descends on her throat, sucking a mark low on her collarbone as his hands pay some long overdue attention to her pretty, heaving tits. Mine.

When the mark on her neck is soothed with his tongue, he sits up slowly, his eyes a glittering black, his lips parted. He looks like he's about to devour her. He takes one of her calves in his hand, eyes never leaving hers, tipping her knee up towards her head and then out, spread wide for him. He grips her ankle in a warm hand. Then, with a grunt, he's pulling back and pitching forward hard enough for their skin to clap obscenely, fast enough to make them both soon begin to tremble.

The position that he's in has him almost entirely out of her reach, just close even to graze her nails over his chest as he thrusts into her at a pace frantic enough to make them both pant and heave. Her back arches off the couch with a keen and her hands grapple with the couch cushions for purchase to hold on tight as Santi fucks her so deeply and insistently that she can practically feel him all the way up in her throat.

"Gripping me so fuckin' tight, baby, Jesus," he says through his teeth, his jaw tight, streaks of pleasure raking down his chest with her sharp, clinging nails. Keeping his relentless pace, he bends forward, pushing her thigh up, testing her limit. When he's low enough he seizes her mouth with his, grinding deep.

"One more for me, pretty girl, one more," he whispers huskily, his other hand skimming down her body to rub at her clit.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, so good baby, oh my fucking god—" Something in Daphne's mind short circuits, and the rambling begins in earnest the higher and higher she climbs toward a second orgasm. Tripping over her own tongue and throwing her hands up over her head as he slams into her so hard that either they are moving up the length of the sofa or the entire sofa is moving, Daph is completely lost in her pleasure. That volcano of pleasure building in her core is damn near ready to explode and the only thing she wants more than to erupt is to take him with her.

The second her expression breaks and she cries out for him, he's gone. He thinks he's done even before she clamps down on his cock like a goddamned vice, ripping his orgasm from him in a half dozen hard but increasingly languid strokes.

His upper body grows heavy, and with a groan he grinds in deeply just once more – never mind why – and leans his forehead on her soft breast, pulling out of her with a sigh. His entire body is basking, floating. If she puts her hands in his hair again he might even fall asleep.

There's a moment of quiet as he ties off and disposes of the condom, and for a split-second Santi disappears around a corner but he comes back with a warm, damp kitchen cloth to clean them both up with before curling back around her on the couch. "Goddamn," she huffs, giggling softly to herself as his arms come around her.

"Tell me about it," he says sleepily, flipping the throw blanket over the two of them as they settle, kiss, explore lazily what before had been greedily consumed. "Still not sure I'm not dreaming," he says, only half-joking, tracing her lips with a smile. "Did I really get so lucky?"

"I'm not sure how you're the starstruck one out of the two of us," Daphne teases, even though it's through a thin veil of honesty.

"Bonita, I've been increasingly starstruck all semester," he chuckles. "You have so much to look forward to. Shit, you're definitely going farther places than I am. I'm just happy to be here," he presses a kiss to her left tit, "To enjoy-" to her right nipple- "The satisfaction of being right." He kisses her forehead and studies her, his lids heavy. "Do you need anything before you fall asleep, baby girl? You wanna sleep here or in bed? I can't let you bike home this late, querida, so don't even try. Besides, you can shower here, my plumbing is fine." He smirks here, as if anticipating the swat he's earned himself.

"It's not that late." Daphne wrinkles her nose at herself. The protest was just good manners. She doesn't actually want to leave. She wants to wrap up in him and breathe in this comfort for as long as humanly possible. When he levels her with a disapproving look, Daph just ends up grinning. "Let's go to bed," she suggests, catching his lips as he drags them along her jaw. "And when I wake you up in the morning with my lips wrapped around your cock again, you'll be glad your back isn't sore."

The laugh bursts out of his chest with delight, easy and real. "All right, baby, all right, and what makes you think I won't beat you to it?" Santi pulls her to her feet, wrapping the soft blanket securely around her shoulders before guiding her upstairs with a hand at the small of her back.

No matter which one of them beats the other two it, they both know they aren't done. Whether it's a weekend, a week, a month, or even more. This night is just the beginning.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

[hausofmamadas]

SE LA ARRANCA A MORDIDAS | mystery of Amado's anonymous lady-hustlers, solved

⁂

Holy father who art in heaven, do I have some fucking cracked ass head-canon nonsense for us to👏🏽 day👏🏽 …………….. let’s get to it shall we??

so idk if anyone anyone being the largely nonexistent narcos fandom aka the void Im speaking into remembers that one scene from Narcos in S3 where sleazy!OG!Amado told that one story about those sex workers who robbed him blind, mid-mamadita?

anyone ..... no?

dwdwdw that's okay bc I brought some visual aids to assist in our collective remembrance of this glorious occasion

⁂

The scene starts like this: 👇

Okay, yeah, right? legendary? legendary. just truly legendary behavior skfjskj on all fronts. but the identities of these social justice warriors— no wait activists— no wait, crusad— er no, patriarchy demolishers? iconic crimies with a penchant for for mid-fellatic felonies like armed robbery have been completely anonymous thus far.

…………… until now.

Bc as always, Narcoverse papis Doug Miro, Andrés Baiz, and Carlo Bernard, never fail to fill in the blanks except when they do cause Griselda left a lot to be desired and this is arguably the best ep of the show which, yeah. it’s never ideal when the best ep of a 6ep limited series is the 2nd one si me entiendes😬😬😬 but we digress because im 99.99999999999999% sure if these two sex workers from Griselda aren’t also the two legends who hustled Amado’s dick money out his pants pockets without having to fire so much as a single shot, I’m fairly certain they’re at least inspired by and carrying the torch aka bottling and distilling that Big Dick Energy to perfection of those brave women.

What gave me this idea? So glad you asked dear reader you didn’t but we’ll just pretend you did cause this my haus KEKW…. No like even I rolled my eyes at my own self for that but i couldn’t refrain either.

It all happened when I was nursing my new obsession with a one, Mr. Darío Sepúlveda a name I would most certainly believe to be fucking fake were he not an irl human bean.

👇👇 THIS slice of sweet, cherry pie right tf here

And I stumbled upon this one specific part, where the look on this chick’s face is SO FUCKINGKDHDHDGWVE SIMILAR to Amado’s face, when he’s explaining 👇👇👇👇👇👇👇how the burgling commences when the gurgling is interrupted by with an uncomfortable silence, as this chick proceeds to, hog still in mouth, cease any and all throat activity and fuckingskdfjskl just stare. up. at. him.

all 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

Like tell me homegirl’s face here👇👇 👇👇 doesn’t look just like it????????????

YOU CANTSJSHSJSHWUS YOU cANT. EVIDENCE IS IRREFUTABLE.

Anyway. Movingright along.

So, if aforementioned homegirl is the 🙇🏻‍♀️ from la historia del grande señor de los cielos, then that makes this ☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️ ... homegirl’s accomplice

with the👇👇sidearm

and like the general only slightly subtle "I eat dicks like urs for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a midnight snack" vibes that this duo is serving throughout but esp below bc never will I ever not refer to a fuckboy as mancito from now until I'm in my grave alsdkjfa like MANCITO. THE WAY SHE SAYS IT WITH SUCH ALSKDJFKS CONTEMPT, CAN YOU STAND IT????? makes it so clear in my mind's eye how they could 100000000000%% be the unnamed heroes thieves from Amado's little story

also full 180 just on the low but can we all moment of silence for this 👇👇 FUCKINGSDLDFJ LOOK ON DARIO'S FACE WHEN SHE CORRECTS HIM, "quien te dijo eso? ... un mancito?" LIKE HE FUCKIGNSLDFKJSLKJ KNOWS, HE KNOWS HE HAS ERRED ON THIS PATH, HE KNOWS HE CANNOT PASS GO, CANNOT COLLECT 200 DOLLARS AND HE HAS THE GOOD SENSE TO BE GRACIOUS ABOUT IT AND IMAS;DFLIJA;LWEJF;KAJWE;FAKJ; SFUCKINGS DFKLJSLDF JA;K CRYING, SCREAMING, THROWING UP, INCONSOLABLE. LIKE LOOK. AT THIS. OKAY, THAT A MAN, NO MANCITO

*smacks own face, jiggles head back and forth, takes deep breath* anyway.... back to the story

and this is where this prob super unhinged really solidifies bc let's join hands class and pledge alliegance to the most impressive and noteworthy alpha but in the most non-cringe way assertion of dominance I have ever fucking witnessed in all my days. Like, legit the next time i'm into a dude the way i say this like it's not an 'if' bc RIP to my love life lbr fuck all that playing coy, fuck all that flirting. We just gonna get right to the point bc imma climb all over his lap, purr in his face, and ask about his hobbies like it's the 1978 equivalent of a Hinge profile SKSKKSK

and the next time I am spurned I will absolutely grab his junk in a naked hahahaksdjfk grab for a proper leash power to gain the upper hand in the situation and shame any and all menfolk who claim to not like me bc I'm not their 'type.' which like sksjsjsjs admittedly poor Dario just said that as a pretense to get the chisme from the chick who hates Grislenda bc the look of unconcealed regret on his face when Mistress Mamma Crotch Snatcher Morton gets up seems like a good indicator he would've paid to play with his balls

BUT LIKE SIDE BY SIDE WITH AMADO GETTING TO THE metaphorical CLIMAX bc I sincerely doubt they let him bust, mid-robbery OF HIS STORY, CAN WE NOT SEE HOW CLEARLY THESE TWO WOMEN WERE THE ONES WHO JACKED AMADO OFF– NO WAIT THEY DECIDEDLY DID NOT DO THAT ALL OF AMADO’S SHIT, LIKE CAUGHT PAPI WITH HIS ACTUAL PANTS DOWN SKSJSB

and lest any of us were convinced that Lady "Hijueputa Mandona Esa" who hates Griselda wasn't the one holding the gun on Toque, telling Amado she's gonna have her friend chew clear through his disco stick like some froot by the foot, please refer to exhibit B here ☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️where she's manspreading for jesus in these fucking hot pants. I mean try to tell me that ain't power. c'mon

AND THEN THE WAY SHE FUCKINGSLDFKJSL HUSTLES DARIO FOR EXTRA CASH, ALL "you gotta pay me more than that pittance bc yeah, she were a mouthy bitch but I didn't hate her that bad" ensuring he had no choice but to leave a tip, just like our pobre mujeriego, himbo extraordinaire, Sleazy!OG!Amado

And if this isn't the most iconic reminder to tip your servers, folks which everyone should be doing already I truly don't know what is.

═

taglist: @ashlingnarcos @tofuwildcard @narcolini @drabbles-mc

[pauking5]

Runaway 🏎️ Chapter 2 🏁

Pairing: Naozumi Hiyama x fem reader oc

Genre: racing AU, enemies to lovers, rivalry, suspense, a whole lot of teasing, gender power games, spice

Word count: 13.1k+

A/N: Chapter 2 already? Hope you're enjoying it so far. I spoiled you with this one ;) Things are slowly getting heated, both racing wise and a little up close and personal this time around. I'm rallying behind what's hopefully my last uni work this week so hope this one's good. Enjoy lovelies.

Raiko's Playlist: Monster - A7S with Alok, Locked out of Heaven - Bruno Mars, Youngblood - R3HAB Remix, Greedy - Tate McRae, Ocean Drive - Duke Dumont, Into You - 3LAU Remix, She Doesn't Mind - Krmoni, Something On My Mind - Purple Disco Machine & Duke Dumont & Nothing But Thieves, Bad Boy - Chungha & Christopher, React - Pussycat Dolls

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Day 2 of Tour de Tokai

"Rai, take it easy," said Tanaka worriedly over the coms. "The new suspensions will break if you push them too hard."

You would happily take it easy peasy lemon squeezy if the road wasn't turning the car into a fucking death trap, going at over 100 kilometers per hour on the most difficult and curved track in the world.

Any miscalculated sway of the wheel could project you into the ditch at the side of the road, kissing goodbye to any chance of completing this stage. Which unfortunately did happen in the first one this morning.

That bold black lettering spelling out DNF next to your name on the scoreboard was not what you expected after bagging third place on the first day. Bitter wasn't even close to describing how you felt. Sour, dejected, with an ever-growing pit of disgust for this tour sounded more like it.

Frankly, it wasn't even supposed to happen. It was a rookie mistake. One that cost you a bunch of points.

At one turn, halfway through the race, your car hit a rocky mound neither you or Tanaka saw in the pre-race drive. An anomaly that birthed itself from thin air most likely. Coming towards it at full speed with no time to break and avoid it, the car slid over it scratching a big part of the chassis by the loud screech drilling in your ears and the lower back bumper, sending your rear right into a deep ditch.

You revved the engine multiple times to get it out and back on the road but the car simply refused to work with you, wheels spinning in the gravel underneath uselessly keeping the car suspended. You were towed out by the marshals, driving back to the station in shame after hogging up at least ten minutes off everyone else's stage time. The rest of the drivers scowled at you, angrily waving you off the road to get to the start line. Being called a rookie in insult after that and not something else was actually a compliment.

Tour de Tokai was spread out so unevenly and it bugged you beyond prevail because it put insane pressure on the car that was barely out of the factory still. With new components too.

The first day had one long stage over 40 km but it was a full paved track, much more easier to take on, hence the good result you had yesterday. Today on the other hand, consisted of three awful stages around a mix of tarmac and off-road dirt tracks in the depths of the valley, over shorter distances but challenging on every part of the car. You already screwed up one of them in one of the more rougher patches of terrain. It was out of the way. But at what cost? At the cost of my cheerios being spilt on the floor this morning. That's what.

Thankfully, you only had two more stages left for the day. Then the final two tomorrow. If your car managed to stay in one piece until then. Tough life out here.

You were currently on the second stage, driving down a dirt road just like the one that put you out of the race. Tight, soliciting and full of chicanes. You tried your hardest to keep the car on the road this time.

Half of the smooth grey asphalt already ended, leading into a curved forest path, sheltered entirely by dense pine trees on each side. The early afternoon sun peaked out through the branches, blinding you even through the laminated flaps on your visor, further adding to your irritation.

"4 left 50," spoke your co-driver, usually steady voice broken by the jolting path.

Medium corner in 50 meters. A little breather.

"2 right very tight over crest," he shouted, hand shooting up to the safety handle as you ran over a bump.

Very tight corner over the hill.

You accelerated up the hill, going airborne for a few meters before the car landed back down on the ground with a jarring wobble shaking you in your seat.

"1 left 100."

100 meters running up to the tightest corner.

A hairpin section in this hellhole after two taxing corners that pulled the car sideways brutally. Just what you needed. This was a no go drifting portion. The desire to go wide was so overpowering, but you couldn't push the limit. If you went the slightest into understeering the car, it was game over again. Another DNF. More points lost and even more damage on the car the current fund couldn't cover until you did some promotions.

Come on, honey, you rubbed the steering wheel in support, trying to get the car to listen to you. Stay with me. We're almost there.

Sure enough the dreaded hairpin section came into view faster than you could prepare for it. Up ahead, the road dove into lower ground to the right - a sharp C turn - harbored by a high hill lifting into greenery on one side and an excavated one that curled above the road with a few public stands on the other.

You cut the gas and tapped the brake just when you entered the slight curve of the curb, tyres skidding over the coarse gravel. It was tight as hell.

The forces of the momentum you gained on the straight portion pre-corner shoved you back in the seat so harsh you felt that turn with your whole body. Your forearms shook trying to keep control of the wheel in your hands, heaving breaths like crazy. Don Tanaka got squished to the door, belts working overtime to keep you both strapped safely. Your boot pressed to the floor with all your might to keep it near the pedals, rear at the back lifting up in the air.

Exiting the curve, you turned the wheel straight cueing the throttle back in way too fast. The tyres screeched horribly loud behind the car as you lost grip of the road.

"Fuck!"

The car took every incoming bump jerking you in all sides while you grappled with keeping it on course. You were going way too fast on wild ground, untouched by cement. You had to slow down. It would inevitably add more time to your lap that you can't make up anywhere on the rest of the course, but at least you wouldn't crash into a hill at 100 kmph or flip over in an area that was too inaccessible for marshals to come get you. You couldn't risk it.

Fuck this.

It wasn't up to debate. You let the throttle loose. A quick glance at your speedometer and your anxiety was quickly replaced by anger at seeing the speed decrease - 90, 80, 70 kmph. Way too slow. The heaps of bumps and craters scattered to smaller mounds, still threatening your safety, but they were manageable now.

Seething with burning rage, you let the speed decrease till it got to 50 finally gaining back full control of the car, then amped up the speed again, pressing the gas pedal to the floor. The engine roared alive under the hood, pumping fuel like a beast as it propelled you forwards at breakneck speed.

Now we're talking, baby.

"5 right 200 very long."

Easy wide corner in 200 meters.

You had some time to catch up there. Hitting the throttle again to increasing the speed even more you took it like a pro, drifting over the last off-road patch, sliding back on the straight asphalt. The crowd in the stands stood up, cheering loudly over the roar of the engine as you took the straight fast like lightning.

"Last one. 6 left 50. Flat out."

Flat corner in 50 meters. Take it fast Rai. Bring it home.

Taking the corner with a wide drift, the car finally reacted the way you wanted it to for once, gripping the road nicely. You gained an extra 20 on the exit, cutting off at least half a second on your lap time. If that even made up for the rest of the time you lost in those shitty corners.

The cheers got louder than the music booming over the speakers, crowds getting smoked by the dust you raised up in the air with that last drift. Before you knew it, it was all done. This stage anyways.

Who even picked this course? I hope they slip and fall in the toilet every time they go for a wee for the rest of the race weekend.

Driving back to the station, you parked the car neatly in place. Unfastening all the belts to ply your body away from the seat, you slumped against the wheel with eyes closed, letting out a long heavy breath you've been holding in for a while. The adrenaline in your body plummeted so fast it left you panting like you ran a marathon, trying to catch your breath and let out some built-up steam.

That was so nerve-wracking. No amount of training or racing over and over again would prepare you for the obstacles that can just jump at you out of nowhere. Obstacles that can very well end your career that barely even started.

Thanks to your quick reaction time, you avoided a lot of road hazards that could've sent you and Tanaka in flimsy hospital gowns. You did get control of the situation before it was too late, which was great. But some of those calls were way too close for your liking. So, so close.

"Hey," Tanaka piped up, gloved hand patting your back gently. You turned your still helmet-encased head at him. "You did good out there. Others would've let it crash in the side and pay for the damages, but you redressed the car back on track. It takes a lot to pull that off."

You pulled off the helmet, running a hand through your hair in frustration. You did almost crash. But you saved it. Because you had more stages left and no back up car for it. Because your father put way too much money into it to let it smash to pieces and pay for the damages. Because your co-driver's life was in your hands just like yours for that matter. There were so many reasons why you tried so hard to save it. Though none of them calmed that worry in the pit of your stomach that it could've been so much worse.

But you were a driver. Things like these were part of the job description. You can move on for a while but they'll always haunt you.

"Come on," he took your helmet. "Let's go see the scoreboard."

"I'd rather not," you smiled apologetically. "I'll go get some food. I could eat a week's worth of steak right now."

You were hungry as hell. But getting out of the car and away from the track for a bit was more of a priority and you hoped Tanaka would see past it. A therapy session about why shit happens sometimes was not what you needed right now.

"Okay," he chuckled. "Let me know if you need anything, lightning strike. I'll be around."

"Yeah," you nodded quietly more to yourself.

You got out of the car, passing a few smiles in sympathy to the team that got working on replacing the back bumper right away. Some of them patted your back in the same supportive manner.

On your way out of the station you passed by the screen displaying the scoreboard. You tried your hardest not to stop by but your eyes just fleeted there in curiosity. A curiosity that was left better unsatisfied.

Rai Suruki - 12th place - 1.53.07. Out of twenty. Not too bad all things considered.

Dwelling on it for a bit you tried to let it go. At least you weren't in the shoes of the one unlucky driver that ended up with a DNF at the bottom. Poor bastard- Wait. Getting closer to the screen to make sure your eyes didn't betray you, you read the line again in shock.

Naozumi Hiyama - 20th place - DNF.

Before it even registered in your head, the screen changed to replay the scenes right before disaster. You watched the distinctive blue hues on his car whizz by as he got past the first corners like an expert, lap time near perfect midway through the race. Until he drove into the tight corner that nearly broke your car in half. He took it just like you did, tight and miscalculated, unaware of the chaos on the other side.

What happened to you happened to him too - he lost grip on the back, taking on the uneven rocky bumps at full speed. All that knowledge of rally was thrown out the window in seconds as he struggled to keep the car under control. Then something even weirder happened - fumes leaped out from under the hood. Engine failure.

Instead of slowing down to prevent a crash and the engine from overheating more, he accelerated, hellbent on keeping the few points he gathered so far. What the hell was he thinking? The front tyres of his car took a high mound that sent him airborne landing right in the deep channel of the next corner, smashing the front into a hill portion. Nope, he wasn't thinking. That right there is idiocy.

The angry screech of tyres in the station next to yours sparked your attention. You peeked your head in at the side, bending over a tool table watching the chaos unfold. The front bumper cover was smashed into the car, like it just swallowed it up, along with a big part of the hood. Mechanics rushed over, struggling to get the hood open and cool the engine sending smoke through the broken cracks. Other staff ran around with fire extinguishers just in case the car caught fire.

Those were replaceable, already at the ready by the side. What wasn't replaceable was Naozumi's impending wrath about to rain down on the team like metal pikes.

Naozumi got out of the car boiling with fury, throwing his helmet off into the seat, smashing the door shut making the whole car shake at the impact. You looked back with pity at your little blue and gold princess, muttering I would never do that to you. Turning back, you caught him running an angry hand through the mess of his helmet hair, closing in fast on the same man he had a scuffle with just yesterday.

"Care to explain why I got an engine failure mid-race of all times?" he shouted at the mechanic, tongue pushing his cheek impatiently. He didn't really look like he expected an answer, simply wanting to vent off his own mistake.

"I told you not to push it. Not my fault you're too hardheaded to understand simple directions," he shouted back, having had enough of his tantrums.

"There's one more stage left today. If this happens again I will make sure-"

He struck a nerve with that unfinished sentence, making the taller man drop what looked like a new water pump for the engine right on top of the tool box with a loud clatter.

"Make sure of what exactly, your highness? Throwing me off the team? That didn't work the last time you tried, did it?"

Naozumi clicked his jaw and glared at him with all his pent up rage before he stormed off to his trailer to cool down. He didn't give a shit about the looks the people around fixed on him, and they didn't dwell for too long either, everyone scattering back to their jobs.

Seems like no one was taking today that well.

Padding around the vans lined up with all kinds of fast-food only dimmed your appetite. The good ones were closed for a break until the last race, which was in an hour. Your body needed the food so bad, you were willing to drive to a restaurant in the city, which was like two hours away. If only you had time.

Ready to give up, you spotted a nice looking bacon and ham sandwich at a shabby stand just on the side of the food court. Scouring over their window from a distance, it looked like the last one. Better than going back on an empty stomach.

You jogged up to order before anyone else could. Too engrossed in reaching the till you failed to notice someone slide in before you. Too late to pull the breaks, you collided into a hard shoulder, nearly losing your footing and falling face first on the ground. Strong hands gripped your upper arms to keep you upright just like you caught theirs in return.

Looking up, your quick apology got stuck in your throat. Two round chocolate balls gazed down at you, eyebrows raised in surprise. Those eyes could put chocolate to shame, glowing like priceless pralines, the special kind you eat once a year on Christmas.

Dark brown hair framed the side of his face, matted in messy waves. A pair of black sunglasses sat on top of it, pushing the front locks into small curls. Trailing your eyes downwards, you were greeted by two moles on the side of his face, right under his lower lip, stamped like two mini vampire bites. Cute. White fireproofs in darker logos stretched over his broad chest, complimenting his tan complexion so well. You were grateful for the strong hands that held your arms in a firm grip since your knees went a little weak.

Otherworldly was the only word you could find in the empty sea of your mind to describe this man. And not even that one did him justice. Not even close.

He seemed just as entranced by you, trained on your face for a while then swiping down your racing suit that was still done up to your neck, preserving all the heat of your previous ride as well as pulling the outside heatwave into it, turning into a body sauna. Or was it all coming from him? You couldn't tell.

His warm eyes searched your face with concern.

"Are you okay?"

Even his voice is beautiful.

"Huh? Me? Yeah, yeah. I'm good," you finally straightened letting go of him. "Are you uhh... good?"

"I'm good," he said, his palms loosening on you until they slid down, away from you.

"Good."

Placing your hair behind your ears out of nervous habit, you looked back at him, finding a smile so sweet on his face it could give you a sugar rush if you stared too long. Dear heavens.

"I don't think we've met before," he started extending a polite hand to you, smile fully popping with dimples now even though those moles on his chin eclipsed them fully. "I'm-"

"Akira Shinkai," you cut him off breathless, grabbing his hand in excitement. "You've been in Sigma Academy. You're also the youngest of the junior series that got picked to drive at a top team and you hold countless records on track. You're a legend," you said all of that in one breath.

His head dipped, ears going the smallest tint of pink, as did your cheeks at the realization that you were kind of fangirling over him big time. Who wouldn't if they had the chance to stumble upon rally royalty? Dad doesn't count. He's expired already.

"And you're Rai Suruki."

He knows my name.

"I saw your stage back there," he added.

All your excitement washed away at the mention of your near fuck up of a race.

"Yeah," you rubbed the back of your neck. "It wasn't my best."

"Are you joking?!" His chocolate orbs widened at you like you said something wrong. "That was some badass understeer maneuvering if I've ever seen any. You're the legend here."

Oh. That was unexpected. Getting complimented by one of the current best drivers in rally racing like you didn't step into the car just yesterday. It got your heart thundering in your chest, rising the blood to your cheeks once again.

"T-thank you," you cleared your throat looking away. "You did great too," you hit back remembering his insane lap time on the board. His smile only deepened at that.

"They do have some good sandwiches here," he pointed at the van behind you. By the looks of it, he was a regular at the stand. Even the older lady at the till gave him a smile in recognition that he reciprocated just as warmly.

"Too bad they only have one left," you sighed defeated, looking back at the lone sandwich.

"You can have it," he urged.

"No, I'm good," you waved him off. "I was craving something else anyway."

"You sure?" he quipped an eyebrow, not really buying your retreat.

Well, you did bump into him almost decking him over to buy it. Looking back and forth between his brown eyes and the deliciously packed sandwich on the other side of the glass window, bacon and salad leaves hanging so appetizing on the side of the bread, you nodded.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

No, you weren't sure. You were far from sure. But you weren't about to have the who gets the sandwich dispute. Passing him one last smile and another speedy apology for bumping into him, you walked off with your tail between your legs before he could argue.

That looked like the best sandwich on earth. Everything looks delicious to you when you're hungry, Rai. Well yeah, but that one might've tasted heavenly. Too late now.

You roved around the rest of the stands, trying not to breathe in too much of the smell of barbecued meat and fries and salad and all the delicacies that could be in your stomach already but lingered in the air instead. The other stalls at the end of the food court had insane long queues or no food available yet since they were still cooking the late batches.

I'll have more luck in the forest at this point.

A hand grabbed your arm out of nowhere. You were about to sucker punch its owner when you came face to face with Akira once more. He ducked out of the way and caught your fist before it could plant itself in his face.

"What-"

He held up the large bacon and ham sandwich between you as a sign of peace. "This sandwich is way too big for me to eat alone. Wanna share with me?"

"Are you sure? I don't wanna steal your lunch." You lowered your fist down. "We barely get to eat as is."

"Which is why you should have some before we're called back," he pushed it to you again, hopeful that you would accept his friendly offer. Before you could even debate it, your stomach grumbled loudly making him laugh. "I guess that settles it."

"Fine," you gave in.

You found a table off the radar just at the edge of the food court, beside a luscious green patch of dense forest, away from perpetrators like the press or the crew. Birds chirped around in the trees, sun shining so bright you were glad for the umbrella above. It was a little corner of quiet in the chaos. Akira sat down opposite you, pulling out a cup filled with fries to the brim out of thin air.

"Where'd you nick that from?"

"A fan gave it to me."

That must happen quite a lot if he just willingly accepted stuff. Was he sure it's not poisoned or something? Your stomach rumbled again in need of fuel. Ah well, might as well die by eating french fries.

Splitting the sandwich in half, you knocked the halves together like a toast and dove in. The soft baguette melted into your mouth along with the perfectly greased bacon, the squishy ham and the rest of the salad leaves and round tomato slices. It even had a nice sauce on the inside. He was right. They do make some mean sandwiches.

Shimmying out of your suit to cool off, you were left in your fireproofs, letting the breeze card through your hair, enjoying the food in sheer delight. The adrenaline rush came and went so fast back there on track that it took most of your energy with it. Filling up with food was the only way to restore it and if it was good food, you were guaranteed to get it all back quicker.

"This sandwich is so good," you mumbled with your mouth full.

"I told you," he mused through big bites of his own.

"Yeah, you did," you chuckled.

You both finished the food and sat in a comforting silence. Drawing random patterns in the wooden table, you felt this sudden need to find out more about the man before you. Though you weren't sure what to even ask since most of his information was out there thanks to his fangirls. By god, you weren't one of them, but you did know a lot about him. Okay, maybe more than a normal person should know about him, but alas.

Just when you mustered up a question he beat you to it.

"Have you been racing for long?"

"For about 8 years now. Started with karting, made my way through the juniors for a bit and some lower series and now I'm here."

"I bet it's nice having someone like your dad support you in it." He looked down at the scrunched up sandwich wrapper in his hands, passing it from one to the other with something akin to bitterness in his eyes that went away as quick as it came.

"It is," you nodded with a meek smile. "Most of the time anyway. It's hard trying to revive a dead team after so long but I'm trying my best."

"Are you trying for yourself or for him?"

That was a damn good question. You never thought about it in depth before. You jumped up at the thought of finally being helpful with something that you and your dad both loved with a strong passion. But was it for him, to make him forget the pain and move on from the past? Or was it for you and ensuring you had some kind of a better future doing something you loved? Beats me.

"I think maybe a bit of both?" you said, unsure of which one weighed more or less than the other.

"Eh, it doesn't really matter," he said softly leaning back to stretch his shoulders. "You've been here for two days and you're already showing results others would dream of having so early in their career. Give yourself some credit," he ended with a knock on the wooden table, pointing back at you.

You stared at him in awe. He really was so well-spoken. That and the fact he glowed like an angel with a missing halo above his head. Or maybe it was the afternoon sun shining warmly over him.

"Thanks," you replied sheepishly. "What about you? Why does Akira Shinkai race?"

He smiled looking at the ground and sat thinking for a while. You just looked at him soaking even more of his calm presence in. His chin laid on top of his palm, eyes peering off in the distance like you just asked him what he had for breakfast Wednesday last week. Then his eyes suddenly lit up.

"I want to become someone people look up to. I've always liked cars of all kinds and the minute I sat down in a go-kart I just knew I wanted to race. I guess I kinda wanted to feel that thrill on a daily basis," he chuckled at which you laughed a little too.

"Sureeeee, 'cause going at lightning speed on some of the most dangerous roads known to men multiple times a day is everyone's dream when they get in bed at night."

"Maybe it is. Who are we to judge?" he lifted his hands up in surrender making you laugh some more.

On the way back to the station, you both talked some more. About your hopes and dreams, your families, and the rest of the stages left. You both cursed the damn track that nearly totaled your cars and found out you had a lot in common. Behind that idol-like presences in the media, he was actually a very laid-back guy.

Coming up to your pen, he smiled warmly at you once more. That sweet, honey-dripping, serotonin-inducing smile. Talking to him put you in such good vibes that you forgot all about what made you upset before. Until you felt the energies shift for the negative at your back.

Whirling around, you came face to face with Naozumi. He seemed a tad bit calmer than before when he used his mechanic as an emotional punching bag, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. Spotting you, he threw that unnerving shit-eating grin on his face sending it your way with a small wave. All your good spirits warded off at the gesture.

You abstained from throwing him a middle finger in response settling on a scowl. Then his eyes went to your lunch companion, throwing him a way more conceited smile. Akira stiffened beside you for a moment, zeroing in on the other driver, before he turned back to you in a haste like he was suddenly in a rush.

"Good luck out there."

"You too."

"See you around," he bid you goodbye, regarding Naozumi with another loaded look before he went on his way.

You lingered by the team banner, watching his back retreat farther in the distance before it disappeared into his team's red and black pen at the end of the paddock lines. At least one of these men knew how to politely introduce themselves.

Spinning back, you caught Naozumi still behind you simply watching you with some kind of assertiveness that pushed your buttons. You wanted to ask if he needed help finding respect and manners when he just walked off to his own pen. Weird.

Walking to your car, you came face to face with Don Tanaka's sharp stare. What is it with men and staring today? His foot tapped the cement so fast you were sure it could drill a hole to the other end of the planet if he amped the speed just a tiny bit. It was the kind of staredown you get after going to a party with the popular clique, getting home past your curfew. The one that also meant your pocket money would cease their presence in your wallet for a month.

"What?" you gulped out, confused at being received so warmly.

"Why are you fraternising with the enemies?"

"Enemies?" you paused, even more dumbfounded. "I'm not following."

"Naozumi Hiyama and Akira Shinkai," he shook his head in disappointment. "Do I need to remind you we don't need press to jump on us and that your father kinda has a bad history with their teams?"

"Whoa, hold on. Rewind the CD. What do you mean by bad history?"

He walked you off to the deserted lounge area by the pen, making sure you were alone. In all the years you've known him, you've never once seen him this stressed. The man was a trainer. If anything, he was the stress.

"Sigma Racing's team principal used to race your father back in the day. They used to be sort of best friends, if we put it that way."

"What happened?"

"Once they got past the junior series, they both went after the same team and your father got picked instead of him. It all turned really sour between them after that."

"How sour are we talking?" you interjected. "Like gooseberries or those really sour gummy jellies that you choke on when the sugar bits get stuck in your throat?" He threw you a look asking for more seriousness. "Okay, continue."

"Sour in the sense that he tried to sabotage your dad every chance he got. Be it in racing or life itself. He never liked seeing him so successful, always living in the shadows of the second place on the podium, with his own racing, with his team, even with business. Being second to everything your father did got to him in the worst ways. Your father didn't even mean it to be that way."

"He tried to make amends, didn't he?"

Knowing your father he probably tried to mend that crack in their friendship until there was no more glue left in the world to put the pieces back together.

"Every chance he got. They were so close it was hard to even watch it fall apart from the sidelines."

Sounds like dad.

Rewinding back to the whole enemies part, you failed to see where Akira and Naozumi stood in this story.

"But Akira isn't related to that guy," you pointed out. "He just drives under him."

"Yes, but Sigma Racing didn't become one of the top teams in Japanese rally through genuine hard work," he sighed heavily. "A lot of people are unaware of this because they hid it well," he leaned in closer, warily looking left and right before continuing, "but they pulled a lot of strings to get to where they are today. Some of them not through the finest approaches."

You wouldn't question that information since Tanaka worked as a trainer for them for a while. But you did wonder just how much dirt he had on them. But that was a rabbit hole to dive into another day.

Okay, so Sigma Racing was red flagged before you even looked their way. Thankfully, no one knew you tried out as a ghost driver for them about a year ago or it would raise a scandal that would send your father to the intensive care unit. Throwing that to the side you went to the other walking red flag deemed as an enemy.

"What about Naozumi?"

"Well, not Naozumi directly, but Tsuzuki, Spica Racing's director. He used to be a shareholder in Suruki Racing before the team fell apart. He was your father's biggest sponsor, providing most of the parts for the cars. One day, right before chaos started raining down on the team, he retracted all his support just like that," he snapped his fingers, "out of nowhere."

"Without a notice?"

He shook his head. "None. He cut down all ties with your father without a solid reason."

"Okay, but Naozumi and Akira don't seem to have anything to do with this mess. It seems like more of an old generation battle we don't want to be part of."

"I really hope you won't get dragged into this mess," he rubbed the edges of his moustache. Something he did when he was really worried. "What I mean with all this is that I just want you to keep an eye out. Rally racing is a dirty world. You never know who's out to get you."

Great. Now I have to watch out for every breathing soul around me. Never a dull moment here.

A loud voice boomed over the surrounding speakers around the paddock, announcing that the next and last stage of the day starts in half an hour.

"Let's get you ready."

The last stage of the day went better than you expected it to. The course was a full tarmac one this time with really wide corners. You only had to look out for dips beside it where your rear could slip and get pinched, and the dangerous sharp corners where the crowds loved to gather like sacrificial lambs. The car held a lot better too, gripping the road firmly on all turns.

Without further damage on the car, you finished fifth this time around, sandwiched in between Akira and Naozumi on the scoreboard. The latter had another mishap in a turn nearly ending up in a ditch again. There were fumes coming out of his ears rather than the engine when he got out of the car, ready to throttle anyone in his way, but at least it wasn't another DNF to shatter some more of his pride.

Surprisingly, your father plied himself away from the office headquarters in the hotel and came down to the station to congratulate the team on their efforts. You waited at the end of the line, watching as he smiled and patted everyone's shoulders for the good work. When he came to you, he stopped, smile slightly falling around the edges.

You had a hot and cold relationship with him. Most times it was the latter, cutting icy through the days when you were in the car. He placed a hand on your shoulder and gave you a squeeze in support then turned back to everyone. That was as much as you'd get for now.

"I know you all must be tired," he started, taking in the sullen faces around the pen. "But our official car show is on later tonight in the hotel events hall. Go rest, dress up and come have a drink on the house."

That damn car show. You would rather be anywhere else than interacting with more people. You kind of had your social battery drained out for the rest of the day and it was barely 5 pm. But you had to be there for your father and the team.

Shortly after, the team dispersed to each their own. You trudged back to the hotel and had a well-deserved relaxing shower, washing off the fumes and sweat. When you came out, you were met with a dozen shiny designer bags all over the floor and your bed, together with your extremely stressed PR Agent.

Kate Yuzumi, or Yuzu (how you called her when she became a stress ball about to explode into pieces), has been in charge of your press-related endeavours for as long as you've been racing. She lived a huge chunk of her life in the States, before her parents returned back with her in tow. Now in her late 20s, she worked under your father, managing every little detail about your public image. She was also your only female friend in an overtly masculine rally world, just like you were hers.

She was the best at her job. A lioness in the wild jungle occupied by so many tigers. But there were times where she let it eat at her sanity, like now for example. She ran a mad hand through her long amber hair, messing around the soft caramel highlights on top as she paced your hotel suite from corner to corner, scribbling down in her notebook in a very frustrating manner. One harder press of that ball point pen and she would put a hole through the lined paper.

You cleared your throat announcing your presence. She whirled around to you, eyes blazing in a frenzy.

"Finally, you're out," she breathed out in relief. "Any longer and I would've called reception to cut down the water supply in your room."

"Really funny," you narrowed your eyes at her. "What's with all this?" you nodded at the endless heaps of bags littered around the room. You walked to one of the closest bags, decked in baby pink and paper ruffles, digging your hand through it to pull out a shimmery black dress.

"You need to look your best tonight. It's the first car show the team is having in years and your father insisted you dress accordingly."

You let the material slip out of your hands with a disgusted look on your face. One that she caught right away.

"No sulking or trying to evade it, Rai." She came up to you and placed both of her hands on your shoulders. "You're the only driver Suruki Racing has. You represent the team and you need to be there tonight, as boring and daunting as you may find it. Your father needs you there," she said softly, rubbing her thumbs over the bathrobe you wore. You gave her a look telling her you weren't in the mood to be poster girl after today.

"It'll be over before you know it," she urged.

"Yeah right," you blew a raspberry. "Those things always last so long."

"Well, you are part of this world now. So, woman up and go take charge of it," she smiled brightly, sounding so encouraging that it lit up a spark of content in you.

Slumping your shoulders with a pout, you decide there is no point in fighting it. The last time you tried to avoid an official event by hiding in the team garage, your father grounded you by having Tanaka train you like you were getting shipped to a Bear Grylls episode the next day. The very skin on your bones hurt like you saw hell briefly after that. Not doing that one again.

"Fine," you gave in. "Help me pick something normal out of this hurricane of clothes. It looks like a unicorn puked in here."

"A very stylish one," she held up a finger.

She ushered you back to the bathroom, picking up a hair dryer, a few dresses laid out on your bed and some branded makeup bags on the way. "Come on, we're running out of time. The event starts in two hours and you're far from ready."

Dolled up rather uncomfortably, you made your way to the event hall. Your heels clicked against the dark floors, looking at the décor your dad planned - gold and blue was the theme present all around. From the tables to the chairs decked in light sparkles to the crystal bar at the right of the stage lit up in blue with rows of champagne glasses, the team colours were everywhere in elegant and deep tones. Your father had a thing for interior design even if he denied it. Tanaka always joked he could work in the field if he ever got tired of racing.

It wasn't long before the hall was filled with chatter. You didn't expect so many people to come. Most were probably curious about you rather than the car or your dad's attempt at trying to be the main event again. Press came early and took up a lot of space, likely hoping to get a scoop of info out of you. Even the team principals, some drivers and bosses of other teams made their presence felt.

Your dad was busy greeting the crowd, shaking hands with that golden boy smile plastered on his face at all times. You hardly even got a chance to see him this week. While you've been stuck in training, testing and racing, he's been hauled up in the conference rooms going over paperwork or talking business night and day. The few nights you did get together, you would sit at dinner and make small talk, keeping to each their own.

Ever since he started revamping the team, he drowned himself in it completely. Not body and soul like before, but quite close to a robot devoid of feelings. Like he needed to breathe that success back into it no matter what.

With a troubled sigh, you stretched a hand to the bar to grab a glass of champagne. Your co-driver joined you, a glass of white wine in his hand.

"Champagne should be for the podium," he teased.

"It should be for whatever I want it to be," you stated, taking a sip in small vengeance.

"And what is it for now?"

Tanaka rounded around you, leaning against the bar next to you. You just stared ahead at your father, taking a bigger gulp of the alcohol with bitterness. He smiled at the two of you in sympathy.

"Nothing," you smiled back in reassurance, focusing on the swirl of the mellow golden liquid in your glass.

"He'll come around. Just give him time."

You nodded, more to yourself. Hopefully he will do it before he runs himself into the ground from stress. To see me race and be a father sometime like we promised. Following him through the crowd, you spotted him still in his tracks losing the dazzling smile on his face for a moment and sure enough you saw why.

Right in front of him sat Sigma Racing's team principal. Raven-haired in a clean dark suit, about the same age as your father, just a little more battered by it. The crooked grin on his face resembled a scowl so alarming, even you got angry at the condescending look he gave your father. They both held each other in a strong gaze, filled with a lot of ire, tension from it drifting away to the rest of the hall till it reached even you by the bar at the back.

Your father extended a somewhat friendly hand his way. A luxury he probably didn't deserve. The other man simply looked at it, scrunching his dark brow in suspicion before he shook it with a firm grip. Some words were exchanged between them, by the looks of it not that peaceful then they let go of each other. Just when you thought the great Hiro Suruki couldn't be moved, he looked like a boulder bigger than him just shoved him to the side of the road. There had to be more than just bad blood between them.

Before you knew it the event was in tow. The classical music drew out to a minor background noise for a tap of the microphone grabbing everyone's attention. Your father finally took to the stage, letting his prepared speech roll off his tongue like charmspeak.

"Hello and welcome everyone!"

He was welcomed himself by a big round of applause. Huh, he still has it. Fixing the bowtie matching his beige suit he continued even more relaxed.

"For those who don't know me, shame on you," he chuckled and the crowd followed. You could see so many familiar faces in the audience, there would hardly be anyone who didn't know him.

"For those who do, thank you for supporting me all these years with good thoughts. Or bad. We accept those too." That drew another laugh from the crowd.

"After nearly ten long years, Suruki Racing is back in business and better than ever. We started again from zero, putting everything into a new car, keeping the old glamour of the team, bringing in new spirits," he spared you a glance. "We couldn't have done this without you, the team and the star driver representing us on track."

Oh, no, no, no. Please don't call me up on stage. Please let me sit on the sidelines. Please, please, please.

"Please welcome my daughter."

Fuck me. At least don't use the government name.

"Raiko Suruki, the lightning strike powering Suruki Racing."

He used the government name.

Throwing back the rest of your champagne, you went up the stairs floating on the sound of breaking applauses and joined him on stage with a smile matching his extremely bright and fake one. This was all for show. No one gave a rat's ass about it anyway. But out of politeness and respect for your father you went with it.

Camera flashes burned in your vision from all corners of the room, momentarily blinding you as the press snapped pictures of you. Once you reached him, he turned to you with a grin. "Would you like to do the honours?"

Going behind the curtains, you got in the freshly polished rally car and turned it on, greeted by the purr of the engine as you gave it a good powerful rev announcing its arrival before you drove it on stage. The instrumental music boomed again as you reached the crowd, trumpets carrying out over the noise of the engine. You gave it a few more revs to drown out that horrible music. Your father laughed nervously as he turned to you with gritted teeth, shooting you a look to cut it out before he spinned back to the public with a smile.

Getting out of the car, you went to get off the stage thinking that was all when he called you over again. Mentally groaning that you couldn't get back to the shadows of the bar faster, you turned back and headed for him. He took a few questions from the press while you sat by his side, looking pretty, zoning out in your own world. That was until the press started directing questions at you and the microphone was pushed in your hand.

"What-," you let out, the sound of your uncalibrated voice bouncing off the speakers with a screech. "Sorry about that," you laughed nervously. "What was the question again?"

"Why did you choose to race in your father's team?" asked a female journalist. "From your broad skill set and experience, you could've been picked by any other team on the grid."

A shit show. That was what this was.

"Uhm," you paused, trying to think of something smart to say. Kate didn't really prepare you for this. You scanned the crowd, catching her figure by the bar at the far left. She rolled her hands around motioning you to just talk. Just wing it.

"I wanted to stay within the family business and help dad," you looked over at him giving him a sweeter and truer smile than the crowd could ever pull out of you, "get his dream up and running again. Suruki Racing means the world to him and it means the world to me to see him happy."

At that, his features softened and he looked like your dad for once tonight, under all the spotlight and glamour. He mouthed a subtle "Thank you" under his nose that you caught when you looked back at him. "Always" you mouthed back.

Thinking that was all, you prepared to pass the mic back to him when another reporter shoved a question your way.

"Why did Suruki Racing choose a female driver out of the wider talent pool out there?" asked a male reporter this time, his gaze piercing through you with something utterly similar to distaste.

Even the public turned their eyes on him, appalled at the tone but just as curious at the answer he would receive, focusing back on you.

One - he was clearly implying that you didn't have a talent for driving, comparing you to the other people in the junior series who were all predominantly men. Two - he was making it even more obvious that females didn't belong in the sport from the way he accentuated the words female driver like it was a bad omen. Three - the way he asked the question made your skin crawl with hot blood.

Before your dad could take your mic and reply to the question that was obviously meant for you, you lifted it back to your lips and stared the man down with all your might.

"Suruki Racing didn't choose me," you seethed, calm and collected. "I worked my ass off for it until I got good enough for the sport to accept me."

A few heads in the crowd nodded in acknowledgment at your words. It was hard to get into a rally team for everyone, not just women. But the reporter still wasn't satisfied with your response and he made that clear with his next affirmation.

"That doesn't answer my question," he shot back, obviously trying to get a reaction out of you.

Prove them wrong, echoed Tanaka's words in your head. Don't let them get to you. Keeping your composure level-headed without giving him the satisfaction to see your rage, you replied.

"Suruki Racing picked me out of the wider talent pool out there because I proved myself to be a capable rally driver."

"A capable rally driver doesn't put the car in a ditch mid-race," he argued, still not backing down.

This dude was looking for a bone to pick with the wrong dog.

"No," you countered. "A capable rally driver gets third place first time on the job and overcomes challenges rather than giving into them like most of your very talented idols must be doing."

He threw his head back, barking a laugh so irritating it got harder to keep calm and carry on being civil.

"That was just pure luck."

"Pure luck will not be my foot through-" your face, you wanted to say but stopped.

You leaned towards him a bit too menacingly, forgetting that everyone else was kinda there, watching it all unfold. Waiting for you to step wrong. He didn't deserve the mercy for that potty mouth of his. But this was too public to cause a scene. Straightening back, you coughed awkwardly.

"Through the gas pedal each race. I'm here to compete for Suruki Racing and I will do so until the team no longer wants me."

With that you shut him up and handed the mic back to your father who nodded at you in contentment.

"I think that was all for our Q&A session. Please enjoy the rest of tonight and good luck in tomorrow's stages!"

Finally off the stage, you went back to the bar and hogged a few more glasses of champagne. Thinking this was just the beginning and much worse awaited you was unnerving to say the least. You were downing your third glass when jet black hair appeared in your peripheral vision. Looking over you found a really amused Naozumi peering right back at you. He checked you out shamelessly, letting his dark eyes browse you from top to bottom.

Kate picked out a midnight blue satin dress for you, hugging your curves in all the right places, with a huge back drop exposing your behind. A semi-precious trail of shimmering stones fell down your back from where the straps were joined, all the way to your lower back where it connected with the rest of the dress. Your hair was pulled into a braided bun, little side pieces framing your face softly. You looked less like yourself and more like one of those models he hangs out with on the usual.

Letting your eyes do the same, you lingered on his own attire. He wore a navy suit tailored to his body a bit larger than his tight racing suit, giving him a broader form but still rounding around his bulky biceps with a strain. His hair was no longer a messy bird's nest from the helmet, fixed into a neat hairstyle. His dark strands sat so thick and orderly in small waves, it was hard to believe this was the same hair those heavy hands rove through like it was an Olympic sport.

The man could really look his million dollar smile when he wanted to.

"Didn't think you'd be here tonight," you mused, playing around with the champagne in your glass.

"I kinda have a thing for public humiliation," he beamed, giving you that smirk reserved for the masses of ladies waiting to fall at his feet.

Some of them already clocked him next to you, batting their mascara filled eye lashes at him in thirst for a piece of him. You wondered how it felt being one of them. So smitten and drawn to him like he wasn't the biggest red flag on earth.

"Oh well, I would say you came to the right place for that." You took a bigger sip from the glass, letting the dry bubbly liquid run down your throat. "But you do that after every race by yourself anyways, no offence."

"None taken," he replied, leaning on the bar to browse the bottles on the racks illuminated by led lights.

Surprised that he didn't argue on that observation like it was his nature to, at practically every single thing that annoyed him, you regarded him once more. He seemed oddly calm. Maybe way too calm. But then again, you met the guy like a handful of times. You didn't know him that well. Maybe he had his good and bad days and the ones on track were the bad kind.

He looked like a tough nut to crack. He definitely had more layers than the racing suit he wore. And if anything, Naozumi Hiyama was a puzzle you were better off leaving wrapped up on the shelf for now.

His deep voice cut through the animated chatter around you, grabbing your attention once more.

"That was really ballsy back there, rookie," he said with a wry smile.

He was talking about your near assault on that reporter that was looking for a tabloid story. He watched the exchange from the back of the hall with slight irritation himself. If that was him in your shoes, he would've punched the guy multiple times just to get all his questions out in a more productive way.

"One more word and I would've kicked his balls to Narnia."

A deep chuckle rumbled out of his throat at that. You knew what you signed up for coming into this world and he respected that. Some of the fuckers that have been here for longer didn't even have that decency.

He eyed the glasses of champagne next to you, stacked high in several pyramids. You moved to the side thinking he wanted one. He shook his head, asking the bartender for whiskey on the rocks instead. It suited him much better than champagne for some reason. Just like whiskey, there was this strong hit about him at first sight, so smooth and raw with his words, that blended into a surprisingly bittersweet aftertaste just like his smile. The ice crashing in the glass only added to that hard exterior he put up for the world.

You were curious if he was this icy with everyone. Was his interior just as arctic and brutal to someone who made the effort to get through to him or was Naozumi Hiyama an impenetrable iceberg that sunk all the ships of amicable intent? And now you were curious about the very devil you were warned to stay away from.

Get your bearings around, Rai. He's danger in far more ways than you can think of.

"Champagne is only for podium," he piped up.

"Ah, not you too," you rolled your eyes.

Was it a men thing that you weren't aware of? Why did you have to celebrate something huge to pop open a bottle of champagne?

Last time I checked, whiskey was more expensive than champagne.

"Tradition is tradition," he simply shrugged.

"Is it bad luck or something?" you leaned over with interest, trying to gauge out the meaning of this weird tradition. Or rather the meaning it held for him.

He lifted up his raven eyes from the drink, glass steaming at the contact with his warm hand. Pointing them with measured grip on your own, the corner of his lip tilted up in experienced manner. Like he's seen the worst of it if he gave in to the will of Dionysus with so much as a small sip of champagne before the big day. You didn't take him for a superstitious person until now. But that look told you he was its victim many times. Who would've thought that Naozumi believes in karma.

"Don't jinx what you don't know," he stated, like a silent mantra he recited to himself all the time.

To beware the unknown and leave it to fate. Control what you know, not what you don't. Just like your pre-race ritual.

Maybe you were more alike than you thought. Not temper wise. He won that part fair and square with the outbursts he had after nearly every race. But in other parts of common ground. You wondered what else was silently shared between you.

Before you could peer more into the wild force of nature beside you, you were joined by another one, much more brighter and cheerful than the storm at your left, but still as deadly as a tornado behind the wheel.

"There you were," interjected a soft voice from your right.

Akira joined in the conversation, briefly regarding Naozumi with a smug grin. You gave Akira a small smile, turning back to find that Naozumi made himself scarce with his glass of whiskey by the time you looked from one to the other. He had this weird habit of waltzing in and lighting up all your curiosities then leaving just when you were about to satisfy them. Browsing the crowd for him, you found no trace of him.

"Here I am," you replied back, brushing off the meek interaction with the other man. "Were you looking for me?"

The music slowed to a slow melodious tune that stabbed your ears painfully. Curse your father for his very bland taste in music. You'd expect more from someone with a golden earring that blasts Metallica every morning as his alarm. He wanted to look good to the world but this was actually how he killed all excitement. Not that this event even had excitement in the first place. Unless you counted your stage debut for an entertainment moment.

A few couples in the crowd took to the dance floor, swaying lightly on their feet. Team principals with their wives, mechanics with their spouses, a few drivers and their model girlfriends too. They drew each other close, dancing on the tempo of a slow mellow waltz. You never understood what it was about slow music that was so alluring to people and drew them together to hold each other so close. For one moment where they danced like their souls connected, they forgot everything about their problems and the reality of the life we were all living. Not running at full speed. Simply just being.

"I have been looking for you," said Akira, rather excited about something.

He offered his hand to you in the most gentlemanly way someone of the opposite gender ever did towards you. The kind of gentleman you see in those princess movies, where the girl gets whisked away by the nicest guy, golden carriages and diamond tiaras included. You swore you could see his eyes sparkle like stars lost in the resolute distance of the night sky. Or it was just the drunken haze of the champagne talking.

"Would you care for a dance?"

He asked so softly with that dizzying smile of his that it made your knees weak.

Dancing with the Akira Shinkai? A hallucination surely.

There was no way this prince charming came out of nowhere and asked you, a nobody yet, to dance. That and the fact that you weren't even supposed to be talking to him, considering everything Tanaka told you. Plus the previous heated interaction between your team leaders. A heavy mix of feelings that kinda weren't yours, but your father's.

"Okay," you yelped.

Okay? Rai Suruki. Akira Shinkai of Sigma Racing asks you if you care for a dance and you say okay?

He led you to the edge of the dance floor, placing his hands around your waist to pull you closer. You weren't sure what to do with your own, setting them against his chest for now. He swayed you side to side to the slow music. You focused on his deep brown eyes, getting sucked into their void with each sway. They were so big and round.

Conversation, Rai. Make some conversation.

"Thank you for the sandwich earlier today."

Great. 'Cause talking about sandwiches is conversation.

"No problem. I saw it got you a few places up the board."

"But it brought you down a few," you looked up at him, feeling a little responsible for that.

On the crescendo of a soft violin aria, he spun you out, bringing you back in closer than before. Your hands weren't pressed to his chest anymore, but circled around his shoulders to keep your balance. Your faces were so close that your breaths were nearly brushing off each other's lips. When did he get so close?

His lips parted catching the attention of your eyes instantly. Those were some delicious rosy lips if you've seen any. Get a grip Rai. Mentally scolding yourself for the inadequate direction your thoughts were going in, you focused back on his eyes. Though even that was a mistake.

"If anything, it wasn't half a sandwich that made me lose places," he chuckled, eyes crinkling into crescent shapes. "This tour is so complicated. I hate it with a passion."

"That I can agree with," you giggled.

The song changed to a really sad tune, slightly upbeat violin changed for the sorrowful piano in the back, drowning out every bit of energy you had left for the day just like that. That's it. If this continued any longer, you'd fall asleep standing.

"Will you excuse me for a moment?"

Heading for the dj booth on top of the stage, you climbed up the steps careful not to trip in your heels and cause yet another scene. You walked behind the dj and nudged his shoulder. He put down his headphones wondering what it was you wanted.

"For the love of god, please change the playlist," you asked, prying your hands together.

He looked at you briefly, thinking he'd get away with just a song request from you. Too bad he just met the one person in this room who didn't mess around when it came to music.

"This is what Mr. Suruki said to play," he spoke over the track, moving to put his headphones back up when you nudged him again. You weren't leaving until he changed the disk. Even if it involved violence.

"The crowd is dying out there," you motioned to the public that was genuinely exhausted and bored out of their mind. "Here," you fished out your phone and connected it to his laptop before he could complain about you hogging his deck, pulling up a file on his laptop and downloading it. "Play this mix."

"Won't that get me in trouble?"

"I'll make sure he pays double."

That seemed to convince him. He gave the mix a quick listen through his headphones, eyes widening at the music choice. Even his face brightened as he gave you a thumbs up.

You walked off the stage going back to join the small crowd. A few moments passed and the sorrowful instrumentals faded into energetic electronic dance beats. People sitting around the tables moved back on the dance floor, this time getting into it better than soft waltz music could make them dance. The lights dimmed to a steep blue, letting a light show peak through. You successfully turned the event hall in a club.

You got back to Akira, a knowing smirk on his face.

"You are full of surprises, Rai Suruki," he grinned.

You bopped your head to the beat, moving your hips in sync with the music, feeling awakened rather than half-asleep. The alcohol finally pumped through your body along with the deep bass, sending the blood in your veins running like waves on an open sea. Your hands latched back on Akira's making him move with you in languid moves.

"Just wait till you get to know me better," you yelled over the music.

He snorted at you with a shake of his head, that turned into a full laugh carrying over the music. You made Akira snort. Double points in the charisma book. He whirled you around, back crashing into his chest. A confident hand sneaked around you to pull you closer by your waist, now moving hip to hip to the song. His lips brushed to your ear without warning.

"This dj is so good," he whispered, sending chills down your spine.

The whole mood shifted around you with the next song, so full of life and energized. Some people in the crowd yelled the lyrics, throwing their hands in the air. He seemed to enjoy himself too as the man on the deck pumped up the speakers even louder, letting the mix boom out and rouse the spirits.

You simply nodded with a small smile. The dj was good for sure. That and the fact that he was kinda dancing with her.

Showered once more, to get rid of all the makeup, and in the comfort of your loose nightwear, you finally dove head first into the bed like a submarine submerging in the depths of the mattress, snuggling your head into the silky pillows on the bed. Your silky soft pillows that you packed everywhere you went. Who trusts those hard hotel deadlifts under their head? Not what you wanted to lay on after being pushed around in a sports two-seater the size of a space capsule.

Getting comfy under the covers, you let out a sigh of content at the warmth enveloping your body in each and every neatly tucked in corner under you. You closed your eyes, willing mother sleep to take you into her loving arms and lull you into deep, restful slumber.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day with the last round of the Tokai track and you could use better points after today's performance. Going for podium wasn't even in the cards yet. The car had better days ahead of it. You had to keep from pushing it more than necessary. But the points could help you catch up.

The lights dimmed down in the room, the jungle outside the hotel ceased riveting and it was just peace and quiet. Perfect, serene and silent.

You were barely hanging on the last brink of consciousness when something rattled against the wall behind your head. Your eyes flew open checking around the room and the headboard to be met by the quiet pitch black again. The headboard was still where it should be, no sign of anything that could move it. Shrugging it off, you crashed back into your pillows and tried to go back to sleep.

Until you heard that sound again. And again. The third time, it was accompanied by an awfully female voice struggling to moan. What the fuck? It grew quiet again, then all of a sudden you could hear her loud and clear, pushing that really annoying mewl out of her throat in sync with the banging in the wall. Pulling your other pillow over your ears, you tried drowning the lewd sounds out but it only proved futile as the minutes on the nightstand clock passed and she was still struggling to commit to one fucking tone to come to.

For the ever-loving shit of sleep.

Throwing away the covers, you left the amazing comfort of the bed and wore your slippers. You flung the door open, marching down the corridor to the room next door. The moaning was even louder out here, bouncing off the walls like it was played from speakers. You stopped in front of the door, banging on it with bubbling annoyance at being denied sleep due to someone prioritizing their funky time more than the peace of other people under the same roof.

All sounds stopped upon your angry knocks. Crossing your arms over your chest, you blew out a breath waiting for the resident of the room to open the door. Then it dawned on you that you weren't sure just what you were going to tell them and how they were going to react.

Would they make it a big deal that you cockblocked their big night? Hopefully not. What if they deck you in the wall for interrupting? You looked behind at the hard wall decorated with a lamp and gulped. I have martial arts training.

You tapped your foot anxiously thinking of an amicable solution when the door finally pried open revealing an almost naked Naozumi, wearing only a pair of black briefs that sat way too tight around his jewels for your liking. You choked on air. Dear lord. Your jaw dropped somewhere to the first of lava at the center of the earth as you took him in.

His neatly arranged jet black hair was now a thick mess straying in all sides from possibly being grabbed at with womanly strength. Only a woman hungry enough for a taste of him would do that kind of mess. Something stirred deep down inside of you at the sight. You didn't like it one bit.

Your eyes trailed down his exposed torso taking in every ridge of muscle from his toned pumped up pecs, the carved squares of his abs that might as well be the best washboard you've ever seen, to his veiny biceps curling around his middle before you could take a peak at what lay beneath his belly button as he leaned on the door frame.

Heat crawled up your neck the longer you stared at him unable to tear your eyes away. By god was he handsome. And hot. Hotter than hell could ever burn.

He watched your shameless perusal, making sure to catch the pink tint spreading across your cheeks and the way your tongue swiped over your bottom lip in thinking, things at which he chuckled lowly. Openly checking him out like this was unlike you and he was curious just how far you'd take it if he just let you. Testing it out, he unraveled a hand away, watching your eyes instantly latch on his lower abs like a cat jumping after a laser. He shifted on his legs, causing the muscles on his waist to bend on one side and stretch on the other. He was so broad and big, it overwhelmed you.

You knew he was packed just from sneaking glances at those white fireproofs, catching them strain underneath with each move of his body, but this was next level. You looked at the power nestled between his meaty thighs and swallowed a thick gulp of air, reeling back up his body. Sweat glistened on the trunk of his neck under the flickering light of the corridor - a clear product of what he was up to before you interrupted.

The sound of a door opening and closing down the hall brought you out of your daze like a truck hit you at full speed, then rammed over you again backwards.

You were in the hallway of the rally teams hotel, looking at a very naked and sweaty Naozumi. You cockblocked Naozumi Hiyama of all people. The playboy extraordinaire. You'd be lucky if you got out of this unscathed. Or with your braincells intact because the longer you stared at his abs or the dip in the crook of his neck you lost a huge amount of them.

"Can I help you?" he asked, irritating smirk that's been slowly getting under your skin bright as day on his face.

"Yes," your voice came out on a broken pitch. You cleared your throat trying again more sure of yourself. "Yes you can."

You struggled to look away. It was physically impossible to when he looked like one of those ivory sculptures of naked Greek gods you see in museums. Though he wasn't fully naked like them. Okay, let's lose the word 'naked'.

Your train of thought got stopped by his smooth voice, slightly tinted with amusement.

"What is it I can help you with?"

That seemed to oil your brain back to work.

"Can you stop moaning so loud? Some of us are trying to get some sleep," you looked him dead in the eye.

"That wasn't me," he said, moving to the side slightly.

You got a view of his own hotel bed, pillows and clothes scattered across the floor in heaps, graced by a woman on top of it tangled in nothing but a white sheet. She softly waved at you. Before you knew it, you waved back with a nervous smile, too entranced by her beauty. Her long platinum blonde hair cascaded down her collar bones, complimenting her tender milky skin and petite form so well. Adding her bright smile to it, you could swear you just saw an angel from heaven. She is way out of his league.

"Are those Lightning McQueen pajamas?" asked Naozumi rather confused, pointing to your nightwear.

Your nightwear had the face of the popular Cars character in the middle of your long sleeve top. The pants had several miniature versions of it, checkered flags and the iconic golden Piston Cup, all over them on red background. A Christmas present from Tanaka you adored. Well, not anymore, considering you currently looked like a toddler sitting before two bare deities.

Your hands shot out to try and cover most of it but it was no use. He already saw it all, including your Mater slippers sized to scale, hugging your ankles better than any pair of boots could, and he was simply just smiling at you. There was a curiosity about you in his eyes. The same one you had about him.

You cleared your throat, embarrassed in a dozen different ways, looking forward to hitting the bed and sleeping.

"Just fuck quietly or something."

The woman behind him called his name softly. He turned back around to the beautiful angel waiting for him. Even her voice was angelic. Seriously, what was she doing with this excuse of a man? By the earlier sounds of it and the sight before you now, he clearly was the one who struggled to satisfy her.

"What did she say?" she asked.

He rolled back to your form in the hallway and just smirked at you, uttering the next words like they weren't dripping with the most sinful implications.

"She said you weren't loud enough."

A scarlet red hot tomato package on a ketchup bottle. That was how furiously you were blushing right now. Those words weren't even directed at you but at the woman behind him. Though you couldn't help the flurry they started in your belly since he looked at you so intensely when he said them.

"Really? Why doesn't she join us?" she asked excitedly sitting up on the bed.

His smirk turned into a full toothy grin at that remark.

"Right? Why don't you join us?"

I'm out of here.

Not staying longer for the incoming teasing attack at your already crumbling sanity, you started making your way back to your room in shame, his laugh booming behind you. You threw him the middle finger this time only making him laugh harder.

Please choke on her pussy and die.

You closed the door and sped-walked to the bed, getting back under the covers, sighing at the warmth still preserved under the big heavy duvet. Since it was quiet again, you thought it all stopped. Until the previous strangled moans turned louder and louder and the rattle in the wall turned into a full rhythmic bang, fully shaking your own bed with you in it.

I'm going to fucking kill him.

🏎️ Glossary of terms and other useful information 🏎️

Stages - A rally consists of several stages over the course of three days, usually at the end of the week. These are series of timed races where the drivers take on different portions of track in the selected area of the race region. There can be 2-4 stages in a day, stretching over 20-50 kilometers.

DNF - Did Not Finish. When a car does not finish the race due to falling off the track. You either hit the gravel, spin out with understeer, or hit a road hazard. Basically anything that can get you out of the time frame of completing the track stage.

Pace notes - Taken by driver and co-driver on a ride along the course pre-race stage (also called a recce for reconnaissance). They point out road hazards and corners that the driver isn't able to see during the fast race. Example: 5 left over crest - hill portion approaching.

Oversteer - Happens when there's too much power applied than the tyres can take, making the car slip and push in the other direction of the turn. Balance is important here.

Understeer - Happens when the car turns less than you want it to in a corner. For example, you force the steering wheel to the left too briskly and the car doesn't turn entirely. The tyres screech and lose grip.

Overdrive is based around the fictional Asian SEIKO Cup Rally Series, mostly focused on Japan. Tour de Tokai is the 3rd round out of 13 rounds in the calendar, taking place right at the beginning of the movie. The champion of the series is determined by the total number of points accumulated at the end of the series, advancing to the World Rally Championship!

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[bedpolls]

Hey do cryptids count as real people? Or fictional characters? Or is it a grey area.

The "no real people" rule exists for a few reasons.

One of the main ones is that I wouldn't want a poll to break containment or some shit, and be shown to the person in question. I know tumblr has quite a few thriving RPF communities. Heaven forbid someone shows one of those F1 or hockey boys the stats, you know?

But, this is also why I have opened it up for long dead historical figures. (And by long dead I do mean like 300+ years.) Pliney the Elder isn't on tiktok. That poll can't break containment, because there's no fourth wall. The man's been dead since 79 CE.

NOW, because of this. Yes. You may submit cryptids. I'm not going to weigh in on my personal thoughts on whether or not they're real. I understand that that is a hot topic, and I'm keeping out of it. However, Mothman doesn't have an instagram. So like. Go hog wild.