#sharpen your focus

[lifetimeyogi]

Does Yoga Help with Focus and Concentration? Top 7 Yogasanas to Sharpen Your Brain

Introduction – Does Yoga Help with Focus and Concentration? Top 7 Yogasanas to Sharpen Your Brain In the fast-paced world we live in, maintaining focus and concentration is crucial for success in various aspects of life. While there are numerous strategies to enhance cognitive abilities, one practice that has gained significant attention is yoga. This ancient discipline not only promotes…

[monstersholygrail]

In The Darkness

Shadow demon x fem!reader— sensory deprivation, multiple orgasms, bondage (cuffs), groping, fingering, oral (f!receiving), p in v sex, finger sucking, aftercare

Your shadow demon bf had opened your eyes and welcomed you into a whole new world of pleasure that was just waiting to you both to explore. And you have. You’ve done things you never thought you’d enjoy due to the love and trust you have in your bf. In return you’ve gained so many new experiences that you’d never want to take back.

At this point you’ve pretty much stopped asking questions whenever your shadow demon bf proposes that he wants to try something new with you. But this time you think you have to ask some questions.

Because when your shadow demon bf tells you that he wants to fuck you in complete darkness, you’re insanely confused. Sure, you two have never done that before. Always having on at least a candle so that you can see each other as your bf fucks your brains out. But this is far from the craziest thing you two have ever done and it’s left you having no clue what’s going on.

Still, you trust your bf. You follow his exact instructions and you relish in the submission of it. Of letting go of all thought and action, your bf’s voice being your only guiding light. Especially as the darkness surrounds you and it’s the only true thing you can grasp onto.

Tingles shoot up your spine. A smirk begins to play on your lips as you realize the possible appeal. A eery chuckle shifts through the darkness and you jump as a moment later two clawed hands firmly grip onto the waist of your bare form. The prickly tips of sharpened claws caress up and down the curve of your stomach, leaving sparks in their wake.

“What a vision you are in the darkness, my heart. Now do you see mine?” Your bf’s haunting yet alluring voice whispers in your ear. Goosebumps rise along your skin and your smile widens, getting a sense of his intentions with this newest request.

His touch as gentle as the wind, coursing through the pathway of your body till he reaches your breasts and the caress turns firm and purposeful. Groping you and pulling you tightly into his large chest. Your grasp rings out through the dark silent space. It’s echos vibrating and increasing the tension between you.

Leaning back into the comfort of his embrace, you moan. Nothing else to turn to, to focus on, besides his touch. Bringing the sensations to a new height till you’re writhing against him before he’s even done anything to you.

“Near total sensory deprivation, the only real thing being my voice. All of your senses now completely at my mercy,” Shadow demon bf rasps darkly, finally giving you some of his reasoning behind all this.

You have to admit that the idea of it is arousing and your body agrees as your pussy floods with your essence. Always so nice and wet for him, you can’t help it. Everything he says has your nerves standing on edge and your cunt fluttering and begging to be filled.

Careful claws tease and tweak at your nipples, whimpers escaping you as you tremble in his secure hold. You cry out, rubbing your thighs together to gain any semblance of friction you can get. Yet it’s not enough, your hole so achingly empty and needing to be stuffed full. Your mind grows foggy and centers in on this one desperate thought.

“Lost in the void and who is the only thing that can ground you?” Shadow demon bf whispers into your ear again, his forked tongue slithering out and licking along the smooth curve of your ear.

The sensation is quick, tantalizing, and gone far too soon. You whimper, leaning back into him. Your body, floating as if on cloud nine, seeking out that skilled tongue of his. Knowing with every fiber in what’s left of your present being that you’ll get it. So long as you’re good for him.

“You are,” you croak out, voice weak and wanting.

A low rumbles moves through your bf’s chest in agreement, clearly pleased with your willing and eager response. The loss of his touch on your breasts, on your hard nipples, is a hit your floating mind can barely handle. A loud whine escaping you until his cool touch returns, moving along your curves. The further down he goes the less you can breathe, simply waiting.

“That’s right, my starlight,” he says as his deft fingers dip into your folds, spreading them and spearing themselves along your slit. Your breath knocks out of you, exhaling heavily as he ignites the nerves of your pussy lips. They clench and contort around him, mindlessly guiding the digits to delve inside your hole.

Shadow demon bf chuckles at the feeling, causing your cheeks to tinge with red. Thankful that even if he can feel you, he won’t be able to see you in your lewdness. Another thing the darkness around you provides. Another thing you’re looking forward to. Your bfs voice and the slow glide of his fingers snaps you out of your thoughts.

“You overwhelm me, sweet one. You are all I feel and all that grounds me to this plane. I believe it’s time I repay the favor.”

Shadow demon bf’s fingers don’t leave you as his other hand guides you to bend down at the waist. Your own arms reach out, carelessly searching through the darkness until you find it. Fingers curl around the metal cuffs suspended in front of you. The click of each lock as they enclose around your wrists has your back arching, bracing yourself for what’s to come.

“Look at you, so good and ready for me,” Shadow demon bf mumbles, drawing lazy circle against your clit as he kneels down on the ground behind you. You whimper and push back, though his free hand is quick to grab at your plush thigh. Keeping you in place.

His keen eyes reflect in the darkness, giving him access to view everything in front of him. Yet you remain completely clueless. Just how he wants you. Your legs spread further as his fingers slide back down your slit, giving him the sight of your beautiful dripping pussy. Your essence dribbling down your thighs and making such a mess. A mess he’s more than ready to clean up.

In an instant that tongue you’ve been waiting for is back and it’s back with a vengeance. Your body jolts, cuffs clanging and ringing in your ears, surprised by the sudden slick texture of his forked tongued sliding along your thigh and pushing through your folds. Not having expected more than his touch at the moment. The darkness riding you of knowing what’ll happen next.

Though your anticipation doesn’t have time to build as shadow demon bf glides his tongue through your folds, swirling around your clit in a mind-numbing manner. You moan, body rolling into the sensations but not knowing where exactly to move. Leaving you to squirm in search of your bf.

Shadow demon bf grins viciously and you can feel it against your cunt, knowing his enjoying this. Loving how you struggle and silently beg for more of him. His hands shift to your hips, both keeping you in place and letting you know where he’ll be.

All you get in warning is a growl before your bf begins ravaging your pussy, sloppily lapping up your cunt. His hands spread your ass cheeks, widening the entrance for his tongue to slide deep inside your weeping pussy. Pressure weighs down in your belly as your pleasure builds, rising onto your toes and giving him better access.

He grunts his thanks and repeats his rhythm with precise precision and never ending stamina. He doesn’t stop fucking his tongue into your cunt until you explode around it. Your walls clenching around his tongue, your essence gushing onto his tastebuds. Shadow demon bf growls and unhinges his jaw, taking in every last damn drop and working you through it.

Both of you are breathing heavily as your orgasm begins to fade and your bf leans back. You still can’t see, hear, or feel anything beside the cold metal around your wrists. The only noise your breaths. Aside from that the silence stretches on and it has the hair on the back of your neck standing up straight.

“Ready for more?” Your bfs voice suddenly growls in your ear and you shout. Body jerking back and you immediately bump into his broad frame and right into his huge girth. His erection nestling against your ass.

Your eyes scatter and search the surroundings over the shoulder you hear him from but you can’t see anything. Only darkness. Before you can respond your bf crashes his lips against yours and you let out another muffled shout. But you respond without a beat of hesitation, opening your mouth and welcoming his tongue back inside your body. Both of you moaning into it as your cum tickles your own tastebuds.

Shadow demon bf’s cock slowly starts grinding into you, neither of you breaking your kiss. You stay perfectly still for him, keeping yourself wide open and needy for his length. Still not getting your fill of wanting to be split in two.

With your body all prepped for him, your bf guides his dick through your folds. Whimpers leaving you as his tip bumps into your sensitive clit. Your bf nips at your tongue affectionately before you feel his big mushroom tip, leaking heavily with pre-cum, push at your entrance.

With a simply push forward, your bf breaks past your entrance, sinking down into your eager sopping cunt. Your jaw drops, a loud moan lights the room up with noise as his cock stretches your walls for all their worth. Forcing its way in and demanding you submit to its sheer girth and the pleasure it’ll bring. You relax as much as you can, practically sucking him inside of you.

Shadow demon bf growls, your walls nearly suffocating him you’re so fucking tight. When he bottoms out his tip nudges at your cervix. The pain sharp and aching but so delicious. You close your eyes, basking in it all. You feel so full and so complete with him inside you.

Your breaths mingle and mix in the space between your mouths. Eyes open you continue trying to search for your bf in the dark, even knowing it’s useless. Wanting to see how much of a mess you make him and even maybe wanting him to see just how thoroughly he destroys you.

By the way he draws you, making you feel every thick and bulging vein along his cock against your walls before roughly snapping his hips back inside you, you almost swear he can see you. That he knows how much of a mess you truly make him. But that’s impossible right?

All worries and thoughts leave you in the blink of an eye as Shadow Demon bf starts up his demolishing pace. Claws carefully sinking into you to keep you steady. A loud roar rumbles through the room and you jump in your bones, which only serves to push your body back into his intense thrusts.

Your bf grunts, clearly approving and you cry out as he starts moving your body back into his cock, having you meet the rough rolls of his hips. Your body tenses, cunt clenching down around him and having you feel even more full.

Tossing your head back, your teeth clench, pleasure crashing through you in waves you can’t even think to stop as there’s nothing else for you to ground yourself with. Your lost in the sea of pleasure, tingling sensations of arousal pulsing within your body and spreading out over and over again.

Your bf watches your body twist and contort in order to take his giant cock and everything it’s making you feel. A twisted satisfaction burns through him at how much of a beautiful mess you look. The sight has him picking up his pace, slamming his length inside you, molding your perfect pussy to his shape. Making his home here and showing you he’ll never leave.

Moans and cries of pleasure are no longer enough as you release a fierce scream. You can faintly hear your bfs low groan, his voice feeling so far away. Lost in the abyss your hands try and reach for something— anything. But the clang of the cuffs is all that rings true. Sparking an idea in your mind you try and reach forward, hoping you can ground yourself by placing the chain of the cuffs in your mouth.

But just as you reach it, Shadow demon bf pulls you back and burys his cock back inside your crying and begging cunt. Emotion wells up inside your chest and you sob, tears coming to your eyes. Your body moves back into your bfs chest and his voice comes back down to your ear.

“Sh, sh, sh, my love. It’s alright, you’re alright,” he whispers soothingly, hand coming up to stuff a few of his large fingers into your mouth. You whimper, sucking eagerly, letting the sturdy size of his digits ground you back down to earth and help calm you down.

His other hand soothingly caresses your stomach as he continues to fuck into you, his pace not slowing down for a second. Making sure to take care of all your needs at once. Small whimpers continue to leave you, feeling better as his presence surrounds you and stays in your mouth and pussy. You move back into his thrusts again, all on your own.

Tendrils of darkness creep up from the deep and curl around your body. Having been used to them they only provide further comfort to you. One long tentacle wraps up and strokes at your clit, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm. With a firm press of his hand on your stomach and a few more snaps of his hips, you scream once more, this time around his fingers as your orgasm bursts through you.

Your cum paints Shadow demon bf’s cock, your walls spasming and clenching down on his length. Sparks shoot up his spine and his teeth sink into your shoulder as he follows right after you into climax, his heavy load splashing deeply against your womb and filling your pussy even more than you thought was possible. His hips still rocking into you until you both sag into each other.

Shadow demon bf slides out of you gently but you still hiss at the slight sting. As your combined release spills out of you, you shiver and clench down to keep it inside of you. Your bf lights the room with a snap of his fingers and you breathe a sigh of relief as your senses come back to you. As gently as always, he unlocks you from the cuffs. Massaging your wrists and kissing them adoringly.

He guides you to bed, whispering praises, recounting every moment of what just happened through his eyes. Letting you know how good you did, how perfect you were for him, how absolutely gorgeous you looked then and now, and asking how you feel to make sure you’re alright.

Pouring endless praise and love onto you as he cleans up the mess between your thighs before he sweeps you up into his arms the moment you two get into bed. Pressing soft kisses all of your face and sore body. It’s only as you finally relax do you register all his words.

“Could you see me in the dark?” You ask incredulously, voice slightly raspy as you connect the dots. Your bf chuckles and you squeeze your eyes shut, dreading his response and forcing your own laughter down.

“‘Course I could, sweetheart. I’m a shadow demon,” he responds with amusement but your loud groan quickly overshadows his laughter. Red blooming across your chest and up your neck till it spreads all across your face. Your bf merely laughs louder, his hands caressing your back. Wanting to comfort you some before the inevitable teasing begins.

[saintobio]

blank canvas. (2)

after offering a painful ultimatum to finally be enough for him, things ultimately get worse as he decides between keeping you or losing you as the only resolution.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. florist x tattoo artist au, mild angst, opposites attract

tags/warnings. strong language, defloration (kinda), explicit smut, undertones of manipulation and gaslighting, toxic relationship, undertones of cheating

notes. 11.2k wc! thanks for the love on bc1, i didn't expect it to gain traction at all but tyty. last part will come soon, but that will be the final chapter to this mini-series.

part 1 | part 3

The ride back home was uncomfortable. 

It wasn’t because you had promised to give yourself to him that night, but rather because his uncharacteristic silence was not what you had expected after delivering your ultimatum. You already proposed a wonderful solution to his needs, so why was he acting like you were the one being ridiculous? This was why you hated it whenever Sukuna chose silence over open communication, as it left you a hard time guessing about what was running through his mind. His expression didn’t offer any clues either, because he did pretty well at concealing his emotions behind a facade of indifference.

When you said you would do it with him, you meant it. But what did he think of it? 

The sharp wind cut through your skin, the roar of his motorbike deafening your ears as your boyfriend accelerated his vehicle upon entering the tunnel. The vibrant yellow lights offered a cinematic view, tempting you to imagine yourself embracing the wind with open arms, though you knew better than to do so. Instead, you held onto him tightly, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning forward as he sped through the empty lane.

It was nearing midnight, and the sparse traffic allowed Sukuna to indulge in one of his habits: riding his bike in the late hours of the night through this particular tunnel and onto the highway. You knew this ritual helped him clear his mind since it offered a rush of danger that sharpened his focus on the road. His choice to take this route tonight also only confirmed to you that he was grappling with internal thoughts. The last time he rode this fast was when your parents made you choose between them and him, slapping it in his face that he was and would never be welcomed in your family. 

To be honest, it frightened you. The speed at which he was riding was dangerous for both of you. Moreover, his bike was a YZF-R1, although street-legal, it was still a high-performance sport bike more suited for the track. It required agile and precise handling with its 1000cc engine. Yet, no other vehicle seemed more fitting for Sukuna than this. 

Whatever was on his mind, he didn’t care to let you know. You two didn’t really speak throughout the ride while you clung to him like a backpack, praying in your head that you two wouldn’t get into an accident. Thankfully enough, he did safely take you home as you arrived at your shared apartment at exactly midnight. 

“Please don’t ride like that again,” you muttered as he helped you out of his motorbike. “You could’ve gotten us killed.” 

His fingers then reached to unclasp your helmet, pulling it up to reveal your face. “Well, we’re still alive.” 

You looked at his face despite his best effort to avoid yours, standing centimeters apart while he switched off the engine. He didn’t return your gaze as though he was drowned by guilt. Should you speak at this? Or should you let him do it first? 

“Baby.” After a minute or so, it was your boyfriend who sighed and finally gave in, pulling you close and resting his forehead against yours. He kept his eyes closed even when he was cupping your cheeks. “You don’t have to do this.” 

Yes, you certainly shouldn’t. You didn’t have to do things unwillingly, but that wouldn’t change the fact that this on-going issue was putting a strain on your relationship and this would be your last shot at trying to salvage it. And you couldn’t have him looking for sensual gratification from anyone else other than you, so what other option did you have, really? 

“I want to do it.” 

“Not if you’re forcing yourself like this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who said I’m forcing myself?”

“Your face tells me you are,” replied he, staring at your face in defeat. “So, let’s not—”

“What, and let this issue haunt us over and over?” You smiled bitterly, shaking your head adamantly. “This has to be done. I need to experience it so I’ll finally understand.”

Understand what? His face almost spelled out those words, but he chose not to say anything of the sort and instead leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Alright. I’ll make it memorable.” 

— —

Easier said than done, of course. You kept overthinking about whether your performance would be satisfactory to him given that you didn’t have enough experience to learn anything at all, aside from the make out sessions that you did once in a blue moon. Around thirty minutes of your time was spent hyperanalyzing your situation in the shower, while the other half of it was spent doing a little more than your nightly routines. Since Sukuna liked powdery scents, you placed a good effort in applying lavender-scented oil and perfume on every inch of your body. You also shaved any unwanted hair, especially on all the intimate places you knew he would be seeing. And by the time you were done, you stepped out of the bathroom blooming like a fresh flower, wrapped in nothing but a thin towel that hugged your womanly figure. 

It didn’t feel right at all. It didn’t feel good knowing that you were preparing yourself like that, when these things should only happen on the first night after your wedding. It didn’t feel great that you were going to lose your virginity to a man who had not even proposed to you. This wasn’t even your honeymoon, but you had to pretend like it was. 

Did Sukuna feel the same? 

He wasn’t lying in bed when you walked out of the bathroom. Instead, he had just returned from outside—shirtless, wearing his favorite gray sweatpants, and holding a box of condoms and a tube of lube in his hand. It was clear he had made a quick visit to the convenience store nearby and got the essentials for your first night.

Immediately, he eyed your towel-wrapped body with restrained lust, clearing his throat as he walked towards the nightstand. “You look nice.” 

Really? Did he really have to make this more awkward than it already was? 

“Thank you,” was all you could softly reply. It was funny how he pretended to be busy placing the box and tube above the bedside table instead of lunging at you like a desperate man. But because you wanted to get this over with, you were the one who approached him from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist, and touching the firmness of his abs. For someone who had zero experience, you were definitely trying hard enough and that should please him. “You have to help me out here, my love. Guide me.” 

When Sukuna turned around, your heart started racing. Of excitement? Maybe. Of anxiety? Perhaps. He made it better though when he finally caved in and looked straight into your eyes, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear before lifting your chin with his hand. “You smell extra nice, too,” he added, leaning close enough that you could feel his warm breath fanning your face. 

You were feeling it now. The equal lust. The carnal desire. The feeling of his sweet kisses, which he made true as soon as he crashed his lips onto yours. His kisses usually ranged from tender to rough, but this time, it was an altogether different type of kiss. It was passionate and demonstrative, as if showing you exactly what he had been wanting to do to you the first time you got together. This must be the result of being celibate in over a year. He was clearly a man deprived of sexual pleasure, and you were responsible for it. You actually turned him into a monk. 

Now, he wasn’t holding anything back anymore. With his hand on your nape, he deepened the kiss to the point where you could feel his tongue exploring your mouth. You followed whatever he was doing like a good girl, like a very good girl, as he completely devoured your mouth with his. It didn’t take long for him to advance his kisses in other places too, being your jawline his next target, and then your neck as he feathered kisses around the soft flesh, leaving marks that would need a few days to be concealed. 

Because his arms were tight around your waist, yours were locked around his neck. Where else should you be putting them? What does the girl usually do in this situation? You tried not to think much of it and listened to your own body while your boyfriend was sucking the skin around your collarbone. At first, your hand traced his toned chest, then it moved southwards to feel his abs, and further down to his…

“Y-You’re hard.” Your eyes widened as you felt his growing erection behind the fabric of his sweatpants. It wasn’t your first time seeing his boner, but it was the first time you touched it with your own hand. It was the first time you had your palm stroking his length, swallowing hard as you realized just how hard and thick he was. 

“It wants to be inside you,” he whispered through your mouth, kissing you back again, “so bad, baby.” 

Gosh. Your knees felt weak and you two hadn’t even really started yet. How much more when he starts putting that thing of his inside you? You were breathing hard, trying to catch air as your boyfriend continued to lap his tongue with yours, guiding your hand to continue fondling his wood while it grew bigger the more stimulated it got. By letting you touch his hardened crotch together with his own, you realized that you had just unlocked a newfound fetish of yours. “D-Do you… do you think about doing it with me often?”

He bit your lower lip before pulling away, animalistic eyes sending you into an orbit of pleasure. “Do you mean if I touch myself to the thought of you a lot?” he teased, chuckling darkly at the obvious heat on your cheeks. You couldn’t help but feel excited at how vulgar he could be with his words. “I do jack off a lot, angel. And it’s always you in my mind.” 

You didn’t even have the time to melt from his words, because before you knew it, he was already peeling the towel off your body to reveal your completely naked figure. Obviously, your first reaction was to get shy—with your heated cheeks, your inability to look him in the eyes, your little efforts in covering your breasts and crotch, but he made sure to pull your hands away while keeping his eyes on you. “…Don’t stare.” 

Sukuna, however, didn’t listen. His dark eyes scanned every curve of your body, particularly around your chest area before he sighed and threw his head back. “Fuck,” he cussed under his breath. “You’re so fucking sexy. I can’t believe no other punk has seen you like this.” 

Your confidence grew little by little because of his praises. “But isn’t that a good thing?” 

“For sure.” He almost laughed at his own words, more so in disbelief, before he reached out to touch your bosom. “No one can touch you like this, either, baby.” 

“That’s—”

“Hmm?” Your boyfriend smirked at your reaction. While his other hand went to squeeze your breast, the other traveled to your bum, squeezing the cheek with equal fervor. “Can I have a taste of you, baby?”

He fondled your breasts with both hands now, massaging the rounded mass like they were his property. You had to admit to yourself that the feeling of being touched actually transcended your expectations. Or maybe it was only because of how erotic it was, but you couldn’t deny how turned on you were as his veiny, manly hands cupped your bosom. 

And as soon as you nodded and permitted him to ‘taste’ you, he took no time in gently pushing you down the mattress, allowing you to lay at a comfortable position under him and his wanton stare. Taste you? He was more like eating you, when he pinned you against the mattress and sucked the skin on your chest. At first, his tongue rolled along your cleavage, inching closer and closer to your right breast while he had his hand squeezing the left. Your body naturally gravitated towards him as you arched your back so he could have better access to your chest. Not only your chest, but also your crotch as he started grinding his clothed manhood in between your folds. 

“Mm…”

Sukuna’s mouth was on your breast now, suckling on your flesh and playing his tongue around your nipple. You couldn’t tell if it was pleasurable or painful because his tongue felt ticklish on your skin, but the suction definitely was an entirely different feeling. Both weren’t bad, anyway. They were just new to you. But even if they were foreign, you were curious and all the more interested, studying every little thing he was doing with your body and trying to make mental notes out of it. 

Maybe you should have watched porn. That way, you could have been more aware of the step-by-step process of having sex. Who knew there were steps to follow at all? You didn’t think that foreplay could draw this much delay in your session because all you thought was that he was going to insert his cock straight inside you as soon as he saw you naked. 

With all the touching, fondling, and kissing… what were you supposed to do? He was doing all the work here. 

“Baby,” you spoke softly, staring at the ceiling, “C-Can I… touch you?” 

Instead of pulling away, his mouth latched onto your left boob, giving it the same attention before moving south. “Not yet.” 

When he said that, you didn’t expect his hand to land on your crotch. Your heart was thumping at an irregular rhythm as you felt his fingers moving in circles around your bud, playing with your clit before spreading your folds apart. “Nghh—!” you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, eyes widening at the sound of your voice, but your boyfriend shushed you by placing a peck on your lips before spreading your legs into a V. 

“You’re so wet,” he said, pointing out the obvious as he positioned himself in between your legs, spreading your labia to reveal your entrance. Something about the situation made you increasingly self-conscious, but his undeniably hungry gaze kept you from covering your most sensitive area. It seemed like he was enjoying the sight of your pussy, especially with how wet and ‘untouched’ it was. “Your pussy’s so pretty, baby,” he mumbled, lowering his face closer to the area, “Can’t wait to put my dick inside it.” 

You whimpered at the feeling of his tongue in between your folds. No, you couldn’t even think straight after he started teasing your vagina, alternating between flicking his tongue around your bud to french kissing your entrance. His tongue was so deep in your cavern that you were raising your hips involuntarily, going insane from the pleasure it sent your body. Your hands even gripped the sheets and your back arched into a C as you held back from moaning like a wild animal. At some point, the slurping sounds and the feeling of his mouth kissing your vagina had your legs shaking. 

Though, you could ask yourself: what turned you on the most? Was it him actually eating your pussy or just the idea of him doing it? 

And just when you thought he was done, he replaced his mouth by inserting a finger inside your cunt, garnering a much louder whimper out of you. “B-Baby!”

“Does it hurt?” he asked, eyes locked with yours as he slowly moved his middle finger in and out. “It’s so tight.” 

“It hurts…” You nodded, feeling his finger moving in circles inside your cunt as though he was trying to get a feel of your walls, measuring the tightness and such. 

He kissed you for a good minute. “Relax, angel. Don’t clench too much.” 

Clench? You didn’t even know you were doing such a thing. “How to…?” 

“Just relax.” Sukuna placed a hand on your abdomen, pressing it down while he was inserting yet another finger inside of you. “This’ll help you prepare so it won’t hurt as much later.” 

Now, you were goddamn nervous. What did he mean it wouldn’t hurt as much? Because you were overthinking the pain of having him his actual cock inside of you. If you couldn’t even bear having his two fingers inside you, how much more with his clearly thick shaft? It was ridiculous to feel both anxious and yet aroused at the same time. Anxious, because you knew he could rip you open. Aroused, because his fingers were currently doing a great job at hitting your most sensitive spot. Whatever it was that he was reaching, it was certainly sending waves of ecstasy throughout your body. 

His fingers continued to move. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Around. When he pulled his digits out, he sucked the juices on them, tasting every drip of your essence from his fingers. “Sweet.”

Were you? You started to get curious at how he tasted, too. Sweet? Salty? Bitter? You seemed to be moving on autopilot when you pulled yourself up and sat in bed on your knees. “Your turn?” 

You asked the question as if you knew what you were doing, which was why Sukuna found it adorable and humorous at the same time. He did help you pull down the sweatpants that had been covering his erection for what felt like eternity, only to reveal a monstrous size that sprung out of the garment. 

Holy fuck was all you could say. 

He stood at the edge of the bed, a devilish smirk displayed on his saintly face as he saw the length of his cock compared to your face. You obviously hadn’t seen many cocks in your lifetime to be able to compare his size, but in your eyes, he was definitely big. He was girthy. He was lengthy. He was veiny. Meaty. 

“Wanna suck it for me, baby?” he encouraged, pumping his shaft while looking at you. Fuck. “Open your mouth.” 

You did as told, wrapping a hand at the base of his length while placing his tip on your mouth. You pressed your tongue flat on the surface of his tip, rolling your tongue around the head as if it were a lollipop. Was that what you were supposed to do?

“Eyes on me.” His voice deepened an octave. And it was also raspier. 

Why did he want you to look up at him? It was already embarrassing. 

“I said, eyes on me, angel.” He grabbed your chin and forced you to lock eyes with his darkened ones. Damn. No wonder girls were desperate to see him in his shop every single day. This was probably what they had been daydreaming about. “Suck my cock.” 

In your head, you became a slut. In reality, you were still a shy, inexperienced virgin who didn’t know what to do. You relied on his instructions and looked at his expressions to know if you were doing a good job and to see what he liked and didn’t like. He definitely liked it when you sucked the head, liked it even more when you started to let him go deeper in your mouth, and surely liked it a hell lot better when you gagged after his cock hit the back of your throat. But in spite of the string of saliva that left your mouth after gagging from his cock, his arousal only grew harder, this time holding your hair in his fist as he began thrusting his hip forward. You were bobbing your head at a rhythm that satisfied him, feeling the stretch on your scalp as he tightened his grip on your hair. 

“Tighten your mouth around it,” he instructed, fucking your mouth senselessly like hitting your throat was driving him nuts. Your eyes were already filling up with tears because of your urge to gag again, but you didn’t think it would be a good idea to stop now while he was just starting to pleasure himself. 

This was the first time in your life to give someone a blowjob, and you weren’t sure what to make of that experience. It personally didn’t give you pleasure, but you liked hearing his desperate moans. You liked hearing him curse and get vulgar with his words. You liked seeing him get rough. His taste, on the other hand, was somewhat a different experience. Since you were only sucking his flesh, it was a tad bit salty at first contact but didn’t taste anything much after tongue got used to the skin around his shaft. Perhaps his cum would have a stronger flavor, though it looked like he had no plans in releasing his load into your mouth as he pulled his member out. 

“Fuck it,” he grunted, gently pushing you back and spreading your legs wide open again, “I wanna feel your pussy so bad. Can I fuck you raw, babe?” 

All those condoms, and he wanted to have you raw? 

“But… I don’t wanna get pregnant.” 

His face was full of assurance, shaking his head and denying any chance of knocking you up. “You won’t be. I’ll pull out, I just… I have to feel you raw the first time. I have to.” 

“Okay…” 

You were nervous as hell. You had butterflies in your stomach, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumbeat you couldn’t silence. You had imagined this moment countless times, but now that it was here, the reality of it was too overwhelming. Your mind yet again raced with a whirlwind of doubts and insecurities, and every nerve on your body seemed to be on high alert while you watched him getting occupied with rubbing his entire length with lube, ensuring a smooth entrance inside you. 

He was nervous too, right? You couldn’t be the only one. You couldn’t be. 

You just wanted everything to be perfect. To show him how much you cared. To feel that you were enough. But the thought was paralyzing. Tonight was more than just physical intimacy; it was a step forward in your relationship, a moment of connection you wanted so badly to cherish. This first intimate encounter should be filled with love, respect, and mutual understanding. 

But what if after this, he’d come to realize that you weren’t the one? What if he’d get disappointed and tell you that you weren’t worth it? What if he’d leave you for someone else who could pleasure him better? What if, after you had given yourself to him, no one else would ever appreciate you anymore? 

You wanted this, didn’t you? You wanted to feel the heat of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, the intimacy of your connection. You wanted to explore this uncharted territory with him, to dive headfirst into the unknown and discover what lay on the other side. But were you really ready for this? Did you truly want this? Would it be everything you had imagined, or would you regret losing your virginity to him?

The fear of inadequacy gnawed at your confidence as Sukuna positioned himself back in between you, his tip rubbing at your slit a couple times before he finally sunk it into your entrance. 

“Haaa—!” 

“Shh. It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

“N-No, I—!”

It felt like your walls were being stretched so painfully, like your flesh was being torn open in the most agonizing way. This was not the kind of pain you pictured out when he put his member inside. Sukuna even tried to grab hold of your hips to keep you steady, but you were withdrawing your hips back, wanting nothing but for him to remove his cock. 

“It hurts… It hurts… please, stop. Please!” 

“Baby, I’m trying to be gentle—”

“I SAID STOP!” 

Both of your eyes widened at the same time, and that was the only time you two were ever in sync. He was clearly shocked by your outburst, while you yourself were surprised at how you raised your voice at him. Neither of you expected that situation. As a result, he did pull away and completely withdrew himself from you. 

Frustration was evident on his visage and he couldn’t even hide it anymore. “Fuck this,” he spat in exasperation, taking a deep breath as he reached to slip his sweatpants back on. “I knew it.” 

“No, I…” You swallowed. “It just… You kinda forced it, I wasn’t ready.” 

“I forced it, really? I forced you?” His laugh was out of complete disbelief. “I never forced you into anything, angel. I’ve asked you since the beginning if this is really what you want.” He took a pause, a very uncomfortable one, before he went on murmuring, “It was just my tip and you’re overreacting like this. I’m not even halfway in.”

His agitation had finally awakened you to your senses, realizing that you did end up doing what you were scared of doing. You ruined the moment. You were so caught up in your bubble of negative thoughts that you had once again failed to fulfill what you were supposed to do. No wonder he was aggravated, now sitting away from you and wearing his clothes as if telling you that he was done. Done being blue balled by his own girlfriend. Done expecting something he was never really bound to have. 

You reached out to touch his arm. “Baby, I’m sorry… I just got scared, but we can still—”

“Still do it?” he continued your sentence by ironically cutting you off, “No, the fuck, I won’t. I’m not in the mood anymore.” 

His reaction brought tears to your eyes, because the way he was acting stung your fragile heart. You didn’t mean to ruin anything. More importantly, you didn’t wish for everything to just turn out like this. “I-I’m sorry. Let me try again, please.” 

The weakness of your voice seemed to have softened him, becoming calmer and more composed after a few minutes of contemplation, but he still held his ground when he massaged his temple and sighed. “Let’s just not push it, Y/N.” He looked at your eyes, with hurt and rejection reflecting on them. “Even if you say you wanna do it, you think I can’t see it in your face that you’re not really into it? You’re never ready for me and maybe it’s my fault, maybe there’s something about me that you’re so scared of. Maybe it’s because you don’t feel secure with me, maybe you wanna save yourself for someone better, someone who can give you a brighter future—”

“That’s not true!” You shook your head desperately, your eyes blurring from the pool of tears while you clung to his arm. Where was all this coming from? It sounded like he had been harboring those feelings for so long. “That’s not true. What are you even saying?” 

“I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m just…” Trying to give a reason why you won’t give it to me. That must be what he had wanted to say. “Look, I don’t wanna pressure you into this bullshit anymore. I don’t wanna make it look like I’m begging for your affection like this. Intimacy should happen normally for couples, and if we can’t have that, then we can’t. That’s it.” 

Why did he sound like he was giving up? 

You tried to keep your emotions at bay while listening to him battling with his internal thoughts. “I understand I disappointed you tonight, but…”

He was adamant at shaking his head, distancing himself from you by getting up from the bed. “No, you got nothin’ to apologize for. It’s your body and your choice. I’d never force you into anything.” 

Then… then…

“I just think it’s not the perfect time,” he continued, shooting you a glance before looking away. Each step he took added another crack on your fragile heart. “From now on, I’m never gonna initiate anything intimate nor will I expect anything from you, aight? I’m over it.”

Alone in your vulnerability, you could feel the cold air hugging your naked body as you watched him walk towards the door, leaving you in the dark both literally and figuratively. “Where a-are you going? Come on… Please.” 

He no longer cared to turn around. He no longer bothered to comfort you as he walked away, muttering, “Just gonna go for a ride. Don’t wait on me.” 

— —

Nearly three weeks had passed since that night and you would be lying if you said everything was okay. 

No, everything was not okay. You could feel the distance growing each day even when you two still did everything together. Your normal routines didn’t feel normal anymore because he was acting too detached ever since he told you that he wouldn’t initiate anything intimate ever again. And to be honest? It hurt. A whole fucking lot. Hearing your partner say that they would never wish to do anything intimate with you was probably the worst way to experience heartbreak. Because he was truthful with it, and he showed it very openly. 

Now, he’d lock the door whenever he would take showers. He’d spent most of his time outside riding his bike until midnight. He stopped texting you sweet messages while on tattoo shop duty. He seldomly joined you to eat breakfast and dinner together. His back would face you whenever you two slept in bed. His eyes avoided you even when you walked around in underwear. His hand wouldn’t touch you even when you were centimeters close to him. There were no kisses exchanged either, unless obliged to do so when leaving the house. No hugs. No hair-stroking, hand-holding sweetness ever shared. You were simply cohabiting in your shared apartment like strangers who had barely even said I love you’s. 

“Man, that’s rough,” remarked Suguru Getou, your cousin and the barista, as he tidied up the counter behind the elevated bar. Having just served his friend an Americano, he listened intently as you vented about your situation with Sukuna. “I’ll be honest with you, Y/N. It’s not looking good for you.”

You knew that. You just refused to acknowledge it. “I mean, all couples fight.” 

Suguru shook his head, however. “You two aren’t even fighting. Dude just gave up and started detaching himself from you. If that’s not a sign already, then I don’t know what is.” 

“What sign?” you asked, hiding the obvious worry in your voice. You need not be dense about his words, but you wanted to have some kind of hope to grasp on. 

“Sign that he’s falling out of love?” he continued. 

And somehow, his white-haired friend thought it would be okay to chime in. “More like a sign that the tool's not interested anymore and is about to dump her.”

Your face felt hot and in the most terrible way. “Sorry, what was your name again?” you asked, your tone dripping with sarcasm. You hadn’t expected the guy to suddenly chime in, considering he had been quietly typing on his laptop just moments before. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion, so don’t go listening to somebody else’s business when you’re not part of the conversation.”

“Jeez,” said the albino guy, grinning at your cousin as if amused by your barrage of a response. “She’s a yapper, too. I thought she was supposed to be this sweet and innocent type, Suguru?”

“Not always.” Suguru chuckled at his friend before turning to you, apologetic eyes now attempting to soothe your nerves. “Sorry ‘bout that, Y/N. Satoru just likes to tease people. Don’t mind him.”  

You kept a straight face. “Well, then maybe tell your friend to keep his nose out of conversations he’s not invited to.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Satoru gave you a playful salute before extending his hand towards you. “Look, I didn’t mean to overhear, but I actually sympathize with you. If it were me, I’d never do that to you, baby.”

Oh, God. You were so bad at this. Was he flirting with you or was he simply playful like this? 

Nevertheless, you rolled your eyes and ignored the hand he offered, essentially brushing off his advances. “I don’t need sympathy. All I’m here for is to talk to my cousin to try and have his advice on the matter,” you emphasized pointedly, making it clear to Satoru that he was the last person you wanted advice from. “I don’t need a stranger listening to my personal life.” 

“Doesn’t hurt to receive advice from another guy,” countered Satoru, shrugging. “Right, Suguru? I mean, we’re both guys. We can give you some insight into how men think.” 

You felt the urge to bury your face in your hands. It was clearly a mistake going there and putting yourself in that situation, and now having two guys aware of your sex life with your boyfriend. That alone was so wrong on many levels. But could it be helped? Suguru was your closest cousin, the only one who didn’t turn his back on you after you left your parents’ home. He was working at a cafe three blocks away from your flower shop and you happened to be delivering a batch of fresh floral decorations for their cafe. You obviously found it a good opportunity to open up to him about your struggling relationship and hoped he could offer some male perspective on Sukuna’s behavior. You just hadn’t anticipated his friend eavesdropping on the conversation the entire time.

Well, that should have been expected anyway, since only the three of you were in that cafe on a lazy Wednesday afternoon. 

“I don’t kiss and tell, by the way.” Satoru was beaming as he gave you that assurance and you couldn’t help but admit that the man had some charm in him. He was attractive, no doubt about it. He was also tall, toned, and seemingly well off based on the way he dressed. He had a casual yet preppy style, something you would normally see from guys who went to private school. 

“Do you work?” you asked out of sheer curiosity. “You don’t seem like the type.” 

“Oh, now she’s interested.” Satoru seemed to have found your sudden interest in him humorous. “I’m finishing my MBA, miss. Thank you for asking.”

“He’s a privileged rich kid with generational wealth and a family business,” Suguru remarked, playfully gesturing a cutting motion across his neck. “Definitely not your type, huh, Y/N?”

“Why, what’s her type?” The white-haired man looked intrigued, pulling his stool closer. He had that stupid grin on his face as though the topic just sparked his curiosity. “What’s her boyfriend like?”

Suguru, who wanted to play along, jokingly hummed in deep thought. “He’s got tattoos, likes to tattoo other people, is a college dropout, rides a big bike, smokes and drinks, listens to heavy metal, was probably a delinquent and a juvie alumni—”

“Excuse you, he’s never been in a juvenile detention center,” you defended your man, feeling like your cousin’s categorization of Sukuna was becoming a little too derogatory and you had to correct him for that, “and he’s a good man. He’s sweet and caring, he’s passionate, and he loves me sincerely.” 

“Sincerely, not?” Satoru quipped, earning your glare in return. He immediately raised his hands in surrender. “I'm just joking. If you believe he’s all that, that’s your choice. I don’t judge booktok girls who romanticize typical bad boys.”

You rolled your eyes at his audacity. Each word that left his mouth seemed to stoke the flames of your irritation. “You’re so offensive, I’ll have you know that.” 

The white-haired guy smugly took a sip from his coffee. “At least I don’t make girls feel guilty for not having sex with me.” 

“Oooh.” Suguru was clearly enjoying the show, unaware that you were one step closer from smacking his friend across the face. “Touché. He kinda has a point, Y/N.” 

“Be serious,” you warned. 

To which he agreed to. “Okay, I am being serious now,” he said, abandoning his playful stance to lean in on a more solemn posture against the counter, “If you think Sukuna makes you feel guilty for not doing it with him, then shouldn’t that speak for the kind of relationship you two have? He wants something you can’t give. His reaction tells you everything you need to know about him.” 

You tried to absorb his words with a better understanding and without any bias. “Isn’t his reaction normal? He’s a man, too. I understand his needs and I made him feel somewhat rejected.”

“It’s all about respect, Y/N,” answered Suguru, “If he’s a decent man, he wouldn’t make you feel that way. No mixed signals, no guilt tripping, no nothing. If you can’t do it, then don’t.” 

“So, you’re saying you wouldn’t feel the same if your girlfriend keeps rejecting sex with you?” 

Suguru smirked. “I never said I’m a decent man, either. All I’m saying is if what you want isn’t exactly aligned to what he wants, then maybe it’s best you break it off with him because this shit won’t get you anywhere, Y/N. Trust me. He’s gonna dump you before you know it. I mean, it’s one thing to pretend he’s all fine with it, and it’s another to distance himself from you like he’s silently protesting.” 

“Yeah, that’s true,” Satoru joined in once again. “It’s impossible for a guy like that to be in a relationship for so long and not have any pussy. We think of sex 24/7, some of us are just better at restraining ourselves than others. He’s putting up with it now, but it’s only a matter of time he gets sick and tired of waiting. You do realize he can get any girl he wants, anytime he wants, right?” 

Although you were still uncomfortable at Satoru casually chiming in on the conversation, it was true when they said they could give you the exact male perspective you needed to hear. This allowed you to go deeper into Sukuna’s psyche and understand why he was acting that way. You just didn’t know how to save the connection you have with your boyfriend when both your cousin and his friend were describing all the red flags on Sukuna’s behavior. 

“I don’t know,” you spoke in a tone of defeat. “I kinda understand where he’s coming from, so I can’t just leave him for it. I love him.”

Satoru looked at your cousin like you couldn’t be saved. “She’s in too deep.” 

“Yeah, gaslighted as fuck.” Suguru was shaking his head in disappointment. 

The taller man chuckled and brought up a ridiculous offer to lighten the situation up. “Honestly, Y/N. I know we just met and all, but if you ever need someone to teach you how to do good in bed, just hit me up. He’ll never know.” 

“Shut up,” you shot back at Satoru, eyes rolling at his remark. 

“You’re out here feeling bad for that guy when he could be fucking his clients at the tattoo shop.”

You argued. “No, he’s not—”

“Are you sure he isn’t?” 

It wasn’t Suguru nor Satoru who posed that question; it was Yuki Tsukumo, the café’s manager and Suguru's respected senior. She was in a relationship with one of your boyfriend’s stepbrothers, Choso, and was also a fellow biker, which allowed her to cross paths with Sukuna in their community. Despite this connection, she was never particularly close to him. In fact, Yuki didn’t personally get along with Sukuna and she was very vocal about it. She was, however, a regular client of yours and ordered floral arrangements from your shop on a weekly basis.

It had been awhile since you last saw her, and didn’t expect that the first greeting you would give her was a question. “Yuki, what do you mean?” 

Great. Now, three people know about your relationship quagmires. 

She was placing her helmet at the counter and sitting on a stool before answering you, “I really think you should talk to him about it, Y/N.” 

No, no. Why did you suddenly feel a pang of anxiety out of nowhere? Something about the sympathy in Yuki’s eyes felt unsettling, and it sent a wave of fear through you. She definitely knew something. What was Sukuna doing behind your back?

“Can you please just tell me?” 

Her gaze studied your face intently, as if deliberating on the right thing to do. “Well... I spotted him riding with a girl the other night. Initially, I thought it might be you, but last night, I saw them together again. I recognized her... because it was his ex. I think he’s been giving her rides home lately.” 

Amidst the quiet of the room, your heart felt like it was breaking in two. The sudden revelation sent you into an abyss of pain.

“You might wanna visit his tattoo shop later.” Yuki encouraged me with a comforting smile. “It may be best to confront him about it.”

— —

Sukuna wasn’t sure how to act around you anymore. It wasn’t like he was purposely avoiding you, but he just didn’t feel comfortable acting like everything was fine and dandy. Because if he was damn honest, the sexual frustration was fucking with his head. So much so to the point where he started questioning himself if he should still put up with a relationship like this. 

First of all, there were pros and cons involved. He had to consider that it was a special connection filled with special memories, too. 

If he was talking about the pros, he knew he would have a loving lifetime partner with you. You were beautiful, kind, and pure. You inspired him and motivated him to be better. You were unmaterialistic and happy with the littlest things. You gave his dominant side the urge to be a better man, like he was made to protect and provide for you. You became his muse; a blank canvas that was all for him to paint on. A canvas that no one had ever touched. Or, in your world, a white lily that was associated with chastity and virtue. 

But then, there were also cons, and the foremost of it being you were too conservative for your own good. You grew up in a strict environment with uptight parents who wanted to control your life. He could never voice it out, but he really hated that you were square like your parents sometimes. You were too traditional and afraid to explore new experiences, oftentimes policing him for living his life as free as he wanted it to be. The ‘opposites attract’ thing did seem to work in your relationship at first, with your differences being exciting for each other, but as time went by, it became clearer to him that you two were too different to actually be in sync together. 

Hence why your relationship became rigid and suffocating, forcing him to take a breather by distancing himself from you for some time. He did this for your benefit, because he had to clear his head before risking losing you for good. He didn’t want to jeopardize a relationship that he knew meant the world to him. Perhaps this was just a phase, a challenging period following the honeymoon phase, where all your differences seemed to become more pronounced.

But to repeatedly make him look forward to sharing intimacy with you, only for you to back out at the very last minute? Man, was that so frustrating. 

It didn’t help that it was destiny itself that seemed to be stirring the pot. Because while you two were going through a rough time in your relationship, the irony presented itself outside of Sukuna’s tattoo shop late at night just as he was about to close. 

“Ryo?” A tall woman with athletic build, long dark hair, and beautiful doe eyes came into view with a wide smile on her face. 

His ex-girlfriend of three years. 

Sukuna held the door for her albeit the confusion in his eyes. “Yorozu?” 

The only difference he noticed was that she had become a lot sexier, with the curves on her body more womanly than ever. It was obvious that she was active in the gym to achieve such a fit physique. But other than that, her facial features were the same. Her heart eyes still shone bright at the mere sight of him, as if they carried stars and galaxies. 

“I think I came too late,” said Yorozu, smiling in disappointment, “I should probably just return tomorrow.” 

“No, you’re good.” Sukuna insisted on letting her enter his shop, closing the door as soon as she was inside. “What brought you here?” 

She stood confidently in front him, wearing nothing but a blank tank top and some loose white pants. “Funny story ‘cause I actually just moved to this city recently and I just found out you had a shop in this area.” 

Oh? That was interesting, indeed. Sukuna wondered how she even found his shop in that case, while he was leading her to the tattoo chair. “Are you here to get a tattoo or?” 

“Yeah, yeah I am.” She was sprinkling some charm in her grin. He knew her too well. “I think it’s amazing that I’m gonna get it from you again.”

While Yorozu was talking to him, he couldn’t help but ask: was it wrong for him to be in the same vicinity as his ex? Considering how jealous you could get, this was definitely wrong in your eyes. But as he wasn’t doing anything sketchy, he figured there was nothing wrong about what he was doing. Yorozu was technically a client and he couldn’t deny her his services since she was basically a friend of his, too. So, was he breaking any code here? 

“Well, only if you have time now, of course,” she added out of consideration, “It’s kinda late so I can always come back.” 

Sukuna shook his head and headed to get his book of tattoo art samples. “It’s fine. I got clients lined up all day tomorrow, so,” he said, placing the book on her lap, “You wanna check that or do you have a design in mind already?” 

Yorozu’s eyes fell on the tattoos marking Sukuna’s body, her gaze landing on every familiar inch as though she had seen them all the time before. It was true. She had seen more of him, actually. She had done more with his body, too. “I kinda wanna get a sleeve, but I want you to choose the design for me.” 

A tattoo sleeve? Damn. It was something he would never in a million years see from you, but for Yorozu, it was totally normal. She was as obsessed with ink as he was. And although she’s had a couple of tattoos in her body already, which were done by him, it would be her first time to get a full sleeve. 

“I get to choose, really?” Sukuna chuckled lightly. If he were to think of Yorozu’s traits, she was definitely a classic red rose. A seductress, alluring woman was how he saw her and the said flower would be a true-to-life representation of her personality. She was passionate when it came to loving someone, and was completely devoted to him back when they were together. The only reason they broke up was because they were too similar, as if she was his counterpart, and he saw fit to leave a relationship where they both constantly battled for dominance. Yorozu could get too aggressive on loving someone and he didn’t particularly like that. He made her understand why they weren’t working as a couple, and it took her some time, but she eventually accepted his decision. Now, you could say, they were somehow on good terms. “Alright, I’ll do your sleeve, but I’ll keep the design as a surprise.” 

Her eyes sparkled in excitement at the thought. “I’d love that!” 

“Since you want a sleeve, we’re gonna do some stencil application today.” Sukuna didn’t waste any more time in getting ready with his equipment, biting on the glove while wearing the other on his hand. “It’ll take fifteen to twenty hours to complete a sleeve, and each session could last two to six hours depending on your pain tolerance. My schedule’s actually full all day until next week, but you can come around the same time every night so I can finish yours.” 

“Yeah, I’m absolutely fine with that,” she enthused. For some reason, Yorozu was happy with the idea. The idea of coming to visit Sukuna every night in his shop. The idea that they get to be alone. The idea that they would be able to reconnect just like old times. Those were the things that Sukuna assumed was going through her head. 

And as he did start with his ‘client’, it was probably best to admit that the sexual tension was high. The room felt stuffy as the both of them remained there until midnight, with her sitting on the tattoo chair, and him doing her tattoo to her left. His eyes were intently focused on the intricate patterns he was doing on her arm, but also couldn’t avoid seeing the contours of her breasts since she was wearing such a thin tank top. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen them before. He’d seen every part of her body from her neck down to her toes. He’d put her in every position from missionary to doggy. Goddamn, he could even remember how warm she felt around his cock. Didn’t she like it when he came inside her? Or when he made her swallow every drop of his seed? 

Sukuna cleared his throat, shaking his vulgar thoughts away as he continued with Yorozu’s arm. He may not be cheating, but thinking back on those intimate experiences with someone else other than his girlfriend was definitely not morally right either. But what sexual experience could he reminisce about with you? That ridiculously embarrassing night you two had shouldn’t even be counted since he was trying so hard to forget about it. 

He cleared his throat. Again. For the third time. “What, uh, what’ve you been up to?” 

Yorozu, who had no clue about his thoughts, turned her face to look at him happily. “Not much, actually. The bar I worked at closed down, but I got myself a new job in this club as a full time hostess and part-time promoter. You should come by. Drinks on me.” 

By not exactly accepting or refusing, Sukuna decided to just smile it off. “That’s why you moved to this city?” 

“Yeah, I mean… obviously, the rent here is higher, but it’s closer to my job. I get paid decently, too.” 

“That’s nice.” He was just trying to make small talk at this point. “Do you know your way ‘round here? How are you gonna get home?” 

She considered her options. “Probably a bus or something?” 

Sukuna paused, contemplating the situation. “There's no bus here at midnight,” he remarked, concerned for the girl who would have to navigate her way home alone at such a late hour. She was new to the area and clearly still adjusting to the commuter lifestyle. Unlike her, he had a vehicle that could safely transport her home. There would be no harm in offering, right? “Look, I have a bike and I usually take midnight rides, anyway. I can drop you off on my way home.”

“Really?” Her voice echoed excitement in them. “I’d appreciate it, Ryo. Thanks so much.” 

Life was ironic, truly. He didn’t see this situation coming because he never expected that he would even come across Yorozu ever again. They didn’t have any contact prior, but he still saw her on social media whenever he (on very rare occasions) decided to check his accounts. He never had her blocked, either, which was why you knew about Yorozu after snooping through his phone and reading through some of his old messages with her. Sukuna used to tell you not to worry about her, and that she was just his ex, and that she had nothing on you—which were all true, of course, but it was funny to him now that the woman his girlfriend was most threatened by was back in his life. 

And she was riding at the backseat of his motorbike, her arms latching at nothing else but around his torso. She was seated at the seat reserved for you, wearing the helmet that was bought for you, and holding onto a man that was rightfully yours. It all didn’t feel right. 

But because Yorozu delighted in his habit of speeding on the highway, he had somehow forgotten about the guilt that was forming in his heart. 

**

“You still have your ex’s Instagram?” Your questioning eyes met his defensive ones as he joined you in the living room, finding his space on the couch next to you. “I read your dms. Why haven’t you blocked her?” 

Sukuna’s breath remained steady. “Only toxic people do that shit.” 

“But I’m not comfortable with it!” you nagged, letting him snatch his phone from your grasp. 

“Do you see me talking to her still?” he asked, trying to be as patient as he could be, “Baby, I don’t even talk to her. I don’t think she’s active there, either.” 

You crossed your arms. “Then, block her?” 

“You’re being ridiculous.” 

“I’m being fair. You shouldn’t be keeping tabs with an ex.” 

“What are you—” Sukuna decided to cut his own sentence after realizing that the argument was plain stupid. “You know what, I’ll just delete my insta.” 

**

“How many times do you two do it?” you asked out of nowhere, sitting at the waiting area while he was closing his shop. “Your ex. How often do you have sex with her?” 

What kind of trap were you setting now? If he told you an honest answer, you would get mad. If he lied or even sugar coated it, you would also get mad. 

“Does it matter? Why do you keep asking questions about her and then get upset with me?” Sukuna’s frustration resonated in his sigh as he tidied the space where he tattooed his client a few minutes ago. “She’s an ex for a reason, so get over it.”

He was starting to get annoyed by your never-ending questions about his past experiences, but he knew you were simply coming from a place of no experience. You probably wanted to know what he liked in bed, what pleased him the most, what kept him from wanting more. Was that too much? No. Were you overdoing this entire thing? A little bit. 

“Why are you defensive?” you asked softly, still sitting on the couch as you watched him avoid your eyes. “You make me feel so insecure every time.” 

He scoffed, shaking his head as he turned around. “I don’t know, baby. If you’re feeling insecure, then do something about it.” 

**

“Thanks so much for the ride, Ryo.” 

Yorozu stood by her door, returning the helmet back to him while she kept her eyes locked on his. Her gaze was inviting, tempting him to give in and submit to his carnal desires. Any man would read her intentions the same way; Yorozu stared at him like that because she wanted to invite him to her place. She wanted him to spend the night and do unforgivable things. To remember the passionate exchange they once shared. 

But Sukuna wasn’t like that. No, he wasn’t a cheater. “I, uh, gotta get going.” 

“Oh…” Disappointment clouded Yorozu’s face. “Okay, then.” 

“See you tomorrow?” 

“...Alright.” 

“Okay.” 

“Wait!” Yorozu pulled his arm just as he was heading back to his motorbike. The sudden closeness in their proximity made his heart race fast. He knew what was coming. “I missed you, Ryo.” 

He knew what she was about to do next. 

And holy fuck did he guess right, as he was taken aback when Yorozu suddenly leaned in to press her lips onto his. Her soft, cherry lips moved desperately to taste his sweet kisses. 

But he didn’t return it. Instead, he immediately pushed her away. “Yorozu,” he spoke softly, “I have a girlfriend.” 

“You do?” She didn’t need to hide it. He could see the heartbreak on her face. 

“Yeah,” Sukuna confirmed, maintaining a more appropriate distance now. “We’ve been together for some time, and I live with her.”

Yorozu tried to maintain her facade of indifference, making it appear as though she was unfazed by his revelation. “That’s... That’s cool,” she said, “I’m sorry for, uh, the kiss.”

Sukuna nodded, “It’s fine. I should’ve told you sooner.”

“You’re alright,” she reassured him, “It's totally my fault. I hope she won’t be upset with you or something.”

Sukuna had no plans to tell you, knowing well the additional turmoil it would bring to your already strained relationship. However, he realized the importance of clarity in his intentions and the need to set boundaries. “We’re just friends. We’ll keep things civil. I’ll finish your tattoo in a couple more sessions, and then we’re done. Sounds fair?”

Yorozu nodded her head with a reluctant smile. “Fair enough.” 

— —

5 more days. Her sleeve required five more sessions, and days went by too fast for him to count. He had busied himself with his clients, while you had busied yourself with yours. He couldn’t even spend time with you because his shop took a chunk of his time from him, and even at home, things had become too awkward ever since your unspoken night. 

So, in some ways, Yorozu became his routine. She visited his shop for the past four nights and he had taken her home afterwards. She was in absolute love with her rose sleeve and they weren’t even complete yet. He still owed her one last session and told himself that it should also be the last time she should be around him. It wasn’t right and he didn’t want to create another source of argument with you. 

And in truth, he certainly felt a little guilty for spending more time with his ex than his own girlfriend. But did he purposely do it? No, it was fate that brought her to his door about a week ago. 

In spite of his stubbornness to admit his wrongdoing, he still ended up stopping by the flower market to get you a nice bouquet of white lilies. He knew you could make a prettier bouquet than that, but he thought it would be a perfect opportunity to surprise you with flowers that didn’t exactly come from you. Besides, he had some making up to do. 

Later that night, when he returned to your shared home, he found you sitting at the couch seemingly waiting for him to come home. The lights were dimmed and the television was turned off. For some reason, you were wearing outside clothes and had a somber expression on your face, too. That alone caused the loud thumping of his heart. 

“Hey,” he greeted, nonetheless, sitting next to you on the couch and kissing your cheek. “Everything okay, baby?” 

Your eyes carried sadness in them as you looked at him and searched for answers you couldn’t find. “Where were you?” 

Sukuna handed the bouquet over. “Got you flowers.” 

You didn’t accept them. Instead, every second seemed to torture you. “Where were you before that?” 

“In the shop…?” He didn’t know where to start, but he was definitely scared. “Why? Sorry I’ve been busy lately. I’ll make it up to you, angel.” 

“You close your shop at nine,” you pointed out, voice breaking in the middle of your sentence. “Why do you always come home at two in the morning?” 

Fuck. Fuck! What should he say? Should he make an excuse for it? Should he say he’d been checking on Yuuji after his shifts? Should he say he’d been riding to other cities to clear his mind? He didn’t fucking know what to say, especially not when you were clearly on the verge of bursting out. 

“Answer me!” you cried, finally releasing the bottle out in the open. The tears that welled in your eyes now streamed ceaselessly down your face. “You’re an asshole. I-I hate you! I fucking… you think I don’t know? You think I’m too stupid to know?!”

Sukuna calmly received the fists you had swung on his chest as he tried to grab ahold of your arms. “Baby, I’ll explain everything.” 

“No, damn y-you!” The tremor in your voice squeezed his heart in the most painful way because he hated seeing you breaking down in front of him and over him. This wasn’t the first time he had made you cry, but this was the first time he had seen you actually sob like this. “I-I gave myself to you! I left my p-parents for you! And this is what you do to me? You’re cheating on me with your ex?!” 

He was desperate to hold you, hug you, cage you in his arms. He wanted to take your pain away. Wipe your tears away. However, you didn’t allow him to touch even a strand on your hair as you kept on pushing him off. Sukuna felt like he was going to lose his mind. “Baby, listen to me please. It’s really not what you think—”

“I don’t care!” you spat, moving away to wipe the tears off your face. “I don’t fucking care! You sleeping with her or not doesn’t change a thing. Don’t you get it? I’ll never be enough for you!” Despite your loud voice, the cracks in her facade only revealed your longing for validation and acceptance, etching into every tear-stained moment you two had shared over the course of your relationship. He watched you, paralyzed by the sight of you breaking down, as you grabbed a luggage you had been hiding behind the couch as if you were ready to leave. “I’ll never be the person you want me to be and staying with you will always remind me of it!” 

“No, no, no… Let’s talk.” Sukuna had to suppress his own tears while he tried to reach out for you. “Baby, please. I don’t feel anything for her, or anyone. It’s just you. You are enough for me, baby. I’m sorry, please.” 

You, on the other hand, were adamant at your decision. “I can’t stand what you’re doing to me anymore. I don’t like how you make me feel about myself. I hate how you make me question my own choices!” Tears continued to flow, and your voice wavered, transitioning from anger to a more subdued, pained tone. “I hate… I hate that I love you so much, that I lost all my backbone just to make you happy.” 

“You don’t need to.” He was feeling more and more miserable now, his heart sore from all the emotions he had seen from you. “Y/N, you don’t need to. I’m sorry, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”  

…

…

…

��It’s over, Sukuna,” were the last words he could recall hearing before passing out drunk in his bed that afternoon. “We’re done.”

— —

It was your first heartbreak. Your first actual relationship. Your first everything. Surely, people shouldn’t expect you to move on easily, especially not when the subject of your heartache worked across the street from you. 

You were a mess. You had cried enough tears after you moved out of his apartment that night, screamed your heart out as you suffered from the pain of loneliness once more. You couldn’t even bear the thought of returning to your parents and hearing them say they told you so, because loving Sukuna was a choice you thought was good for you. 

In the end, he was just a poison without any antidote. A toxin without remedy. The most effective solution was to sever all ties to prevent further contamination.

But strangely enough, you hadn’t seen him in his shop ever since that night, either. The tattoo parlor remained closed for more than two weeks without any notice. While a small part of you worried for him, a bigger part of you cared for yourself. He no longer held any importance to your life, and you should let it remain that way. 

What you should focus on, instead, was living your life without any trace of him. A life of independence, away from the toxicity of a manipulative man who constantly made you doubt yourself and what you offered. As they say, you have to learn to love yourself first before you can fully learn to love others. 

And in your journey of knowing the truth of that saying, a certain white-haired man entered your floral shop on a somber Friday afternoon just as you were arranging preordered bouquets for multiple customers to pick up. 

“Hey,” you greeted the man, surprised at his sudden appearance at your shop. 

Satoru grinned as he approached you closer. “I’m here to pick up two bouquets.”

“Oh, it was your order?” Your eyes widened. Silly you. Of course, Suguru would order on his friend’s behalf. He wouldn’t even get his girlfriend some flowers, let alone his mother. So this being Satoru’s order made much more sense. “Okay, you got a bouquet of blush peonies and another bouquet of pink tulips, am I correct?”

He smiled handsomely, displaying his set of perfect white teeth while listening to you talk. “Correct.” 

“For your mom?” you asked before you made your way to pick up the bouquets, handing them to him carefully. 

His response came with a soft, affirmative hum. “Mhm. One for her,” he said, taking only the bouquet of tulips, “The other is for you.” 

Oh, no, no, definitely no. You had seen this before and it didn’t go well. 

“That’s lovely, but…” You offered a smile. “I’m not taking those peonies.” 

Satoru acted innocent, his vibrant blue eyes coruscating under the ambient lights. “But it’s mother’s day.” 

You playfully shook your head. “I’m not even a mother.”

“Yes, you are,” he went on teasing, “the mother of my future kids. I like to think in advance, you know.” 

Honestly? This man started off with a bad impression on you, but he wasn’t actually so bad. He was an easygoing, happy-go-lucky person who carried positive energy around him. That, and he was decent, too. He was the type of guy your parents would have surely approved of. He was a degree holder like you, even pursuing graduate studies to run a business that was already generating an income that you could only imagine of getting. He was set for life with no uncertainty with what he wanted for his future. 

“Satoru?”

He met your gaze. “Yeah?”

“About your offer last time,” you recalled, recalling his earlier jest about teaching you some things in bed, “I think I'd like to take you up on that.”

[murdrdocs]

minors dni.

on nerdy flustered boys who would fuck if given the chance:

he starts with little glances. staring at you on opposite ends of the classroom, thanking past him for accidentally picking a seat that gave him a perfect view of you, the seating allowing him to slide his eyes over your profile as you write something down, he quickly realizing that he's paying for a college education and not to stare at his pretty classmate like a creep.

the glances turn to stares, giving him a way to start noticing the small things about you. the changes in your skin tone from your under eye to your cheek, the way your nose curves and bends, the way the fluorescent light reflects off your bare shoulders. and then his eyes almost fucking bulge out of his head when he sees two pebbles poking through the material of your thin white tee.

he's too busy trying not to ogle to notice the small smirk on your lips, or to hear the professor enthusiastically encouraging you all to partner up. next thing he knows, you're walking over to him and his mouth is dry and he's going to say something but you do first.

"you dropped your pencil." you bend down, grab it from the floor, and look up at him through your lashes as you do so, sliding the mechanical tool over to him with a gentle smirk on your lips. he manages to blurt out a thanks that's no where near as appreciative as it should have been due to the way his brain is short circuiting.

you saunter away to a girl seated next to him, and he can feel the boner forming in his jeans. because for just a second there, a pathetic second, he had front row seats to the shape of your tits and the way your nipples poke perfectly through your tee.

ever since that one day, it's like anytime he sees you he sees your nipples too.

at the coffee shop on campus when he is getting something to power him through another day of assignments, you're sitting at a table by the window in a loose tee that pushes against your tits when you stretch a wave to him, exposing the little mountain just enough to have him salivating.

at the gym when he is there to bring something to his roommate, you're on the treadmill, running with a sports bra that strains as it holds your tits in, not doing much to conceal your pestering nipples.

and somehow, some fucking way, when he's in your bed, staring down at your bare nipples for the second time (by some miracle), concentrating hard and following them as they move with the thrusts that he delivers to you.

he's lost in it, head spinning from the sensations of your cunt squeezing around him near-perfectly, eyes blurring from staring at your tits and your face and the way your stomach contracts as he angles his cock just a little differently and you gasp appreciatively.

you babble out an almost incoherent sentence, the distinguishable words being along the lines of insinuating that he had to have some prior experience to this, the way he fucks you a clear guess as to why you’re assuming that.

and he tries to respond, the reply easy and on the tip of his tongue, but the starts of his orgasms brews low in his stomach and he can only focus on getting both of you to that point.

his thrusts sharpen, and his hand goes down to play with your clit a little, thumb finding the bud after a moment or two of fumbling around.

when you cum, he’s right behind you, shooting warm spurts into the latex of the condom as drool falls from his parted lips falls onto your chest. he watches it glide down the expanse, gather around your nipple, and slide the rest of the way down and onto your bed sheets.

[astra-ravana]

Basic Incense and Their Uses

Types of Incense:

• Sandalwood: Protection, healing, purification, pleasing the spirits, consecration

• Cherry: Attracts and stimulates love, new beginnings

• Vanilla: Luck, love, happiness, stimulates memory

• Jasmine: Luck; especially in love, peace, intuition, moon magick

• Coconut: Purification and protection, fertility, love and chastity

• Frankincense: Spirituality, protection, love, prosperity, growth, confidence, an offering to the gods

• Cinnamon: Wealth/money, prosperity, success, focus, amplifies any ritual or spell, third eye

• Myrrh: Protection, exorcism, consecration, purification, peace, meditation, spirituality, offering to the gods

• Patchouli: Money, abundance, attraction, passion, romance, lust

• Rose: Love, self love, safety, calm, healing, purification, connection to maternal ancestors

• Strawberry: Passion, love, luck, friendship, romance, opens/connects root and sacral chakras, goddess offering

• Dragon's Blood: Increases personal power, manifestation, attraction, sensuality, love, favored by many entities as an offering

• Sage: Cleansing, banishing, protection, clearing the air, nullifying negativity, promoting a more peaceful environment, longevity

• Lavender: Psychic abilities, divination, dream magick, protection, purification, beauty, intuition, peace, calming

• Nag Champa: Amplifies a ritual, great for meditation

• Clove: Protection (especially for children), love, money, purification, exorcism, shielding/warding

• Juniper: Exorcism, protection, healing, love

• Allspice: Attracts luck and money, provides extra physical energy

• Copal: Protection, cleansing, purification, connection, spirituality, ideal for cleansing crystals and stones

• Bay: Good luck, manifestation, success, purification, protection, healing, sharpens psychic abilities

• Rosemary: Protection, exorcism, purification, promotes sleep, restores and/or mantains youth, draws love, increases intellect

• Thyme: Health, vitality, healing, cleansing

• Pine: Money, strength, patience, shielding, purification, offer to nature spirits/deities

• Fern: Burn indoors to drive out malevolent spirits, burn outdoors to bring rain

• Benzoin: Purification, prosperity, amplifies mental abilities

• Arabic Gum: Purification and protection of the home

• Blueberry: Keeps unwanted influences away

• Passionflower: Peace, anxiety soothing, promotes sleep, friendship, joy, openness

• Mullein: Courage, protection, health, divination, offering to the dead

• Rowan: Psychic ability, self reflection, healing, protection, power, spirits more likely to obey demands/requests

• Star Anise: Psychic power, manifestation, luck

• Mugwort: Strength, psychic power, spirit communication, protection, astral travel, dream work, visions/premonitions

• Rue: Healing, mental health, comfort, exorcism, love, bonding

• Saffron: Health, wealth, happiness, success, wind raising, manifestation, lust, strength, third eye

• Palo Santo: Clears stagnant/negative energy

• Eucalyptus: Healing, cleansing, physical health, clears tense energy, invigorating, empowerment

• Wormwood: Magick, astral travel, spirit work, dream work, divination, third eye, protection from magick, curses and unwelcome energies, spiritual love, opens spiritual doorways, return to sender

• Lotus: Inner peace and outer harmony, third eye, meditation ascension, recovery, offering to Lilith

• Chamomile: Love, peace, comfort, stress reduction, luck in gambling

• Amber: Manifestation, good luck, success, love, romance, patience, protection, balance, sensuality, pain relief

• Damiana: Sensuality, sexuality, astral travel, love/sex magick, baneful witchcraft, attraction, drawing spells, shadow work, healing trauma, speaking your truth

• Skull Cap: Balance, calm, recovery, anchor to bring consciousness back to the body after astral projection

• Albizzia: Opens you up to oneness, attunes the heart, brings happiness

• Lemongrass: Calming, balance, love, depression relief

• Ginger: Strength, power, prosperity, relationship success

• Oregano: Joy, travel, creativity, love, hand fasting

• Cardamom: Love, lust, charm, mental clarity

• Sweet Grass: Removes malevolent energies, draws prosperity

• Marshmallow: Spirit pulling, protection, cleansing, stimulates psychic power, self-understanding, nurturing, healing, fertility, love, sexuality

• Orris: Love, protection, divination, spirit work, intuition

• Storax: Courage, healing, moon magick, meditation, divination, encourages restful sleep, offering to Hekate

Incense Smoke Divination:

Smoke direction- Up/down:

• Up: Positive spiritual journey

• Down: Challenges, deviation from the path

Smoke direction- Right/left:

• Right: Desires will be fulfilled

• Left: Blocks and turbulent energy

Smoke direction- Towards/away:

• Towards: Reciprocal affection

• Away: Neglect or indifference

Smoke forms a circle:

• Clear circle: Strong vibes, manifestation is near

• Hazey circle: Weak vibes, uncertain manifestation

Smoke forms a Ladder:

• Multiple steps: Elevated spiritual path

• One step: Need to enhance spirituality

Spiral shape:

• Clear spiral: Big, new change

• No distinct shape: Chaos, uncertainty

Smoke splits in two:

• Important life decisions

• Trust your instincts

Many broken corners:

• Confusion, need clarity

Infinity symbol:

• Very auspicious omen

Thick and dense smoke:

• Negative energy

• Change is needed

Abrupt lighting and smoke:

• Smooth/even flame: Clear path

• Choppy flame: Hurdles on path

[theostrophywife]

focus on me.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader request: I NEED MATHEO OR THEODORE X FEM READER AND SHE JUST LOVES HIS HANDS AND ARM VIENS AND SHE WALKS INTO HIS DORM AND IS GOBSMAKED TO SEE HIS ABS AND SHE WANTS TO RIDE THEM AND SHES JUST SO OBSESSED AND THINKS HES THE HOTTEST MAN IN THE PLANET- AND SHE FOLDS LIKE A PRETZEL WHEN HE GIVES HER THOSE EYES- JESUS IM A CATHOLIC BUT THEO AND MATTHEO COULD BE MY NEW RELIGION- author's note: big thanks to @writingsbychlo for listening to me rant about this man in her inbox. posting this now so she can wake up to her mans. the way that i would fold for mattheo so fast (theo look away). anyways, enjoy this purely smutty fic 😮‍💨

You were supposed to be studying. 

When you came into his dorm, you specifically told Mattheo not to interrupt you under any circumstances. Usually, you preferred the library but some prat had accidentally set off a dung bomb, which meant closure until further notice. 

You tried studying in your dorm, but your fellow housemates decided that there was no better time to throw a back to school bash in the common room than the night before your Ancient Runes exam. Harry and Ron, who shared the same class, appeared completely unbothered as they chugged firewhisky straight from the bottle. 

Your roommate Hermione was long gone. Probably holed up somewhere in the dungeons with Draco. You followed your friend’s cue and snuck into your boyfriend’s dorm, narrowly avoiding Filch. It never seemed fair that the Slytherins got individual rooms, but tonight you had never been more thankful for it. 

Mattheo had set up a whole battle station for you on his desk. There were fresh ink pots, newly sharpened quills, and blank parchment waiting for you when you arrived. After kissing your sweet and considerate boyfriend, you went straight to work. 

By the time midnight struck, the parchment was filled with glowing runes, making your ink stained hands cramp from drawing out the symbols over and over again. To Mattheo’s credit, he kept to himself and read quietly on his bed while you studied. 

You were so engrossed in the material that you barely registered him kissing you on the cheek before leaving to take a shower. That little mistake cost you because as soon as he walked back into his dorm with nothing but a towel on, you nearly spilled fresh ink all over yourself. 

Water trickled down Mattheo’s chest, the little droplets snaking through his perfectly chiseled abs only to disappear beyond his v lines, which pointed like an arrow to what you knew was hiding underneath that towel. 

The fabric hung dangerously low on his hips as he walked over to his dresser to pick out something to wear. You watched with rapt attention as he braced himself against the wood, those delicious, juicy veins protruding from his forearms and nearly making you dizzy with desire. 

Finally, Mattheo turned. The silence had caught his attention and he smirked when he saw you ogling him. 

“See something you like, pretty girl?”

You flushed. “Just got a little distracted.”

Mattheo’s grin grew. He sauntered over to you, leaning over so that he had you caged against the desk. 

“Oh?” he asked, his voice low and husky and absolutely fucking sexy. “Maybe it’s time for a break then. You’ve been such a good girl studying so hard all night. I think you deserve a reward, my love.” 

Your breath hitched as Mattheo’s lips grazed yours. He tilted your chin up, giving you a perfect view of those brown eyes. Then he gave you the look and you knew you were done for. 

It was a look that said he wanted to devour every inch of you until you couldn’t even recall your own name. You gave in. Of course you gave in. How could you not?

“Maybe for a second…”

Mattheo took the opening. One arm snaked around your waist, bringing you up with him as he pressed you against the desk. His other arm crept up your back until he reached the nape of your neck, fisting your hair through his fingers as he kissed you roughly. 

“Do you even know how fucking sexy you are, princess? My smart schoolgirl in her tiny little skirt.” 

Mattheo carefully moved your studying materials aside before picking you up and setting you down on the table. He gripped the top of your thighs and brought you to the edge while sliding his tongue against yours. You whimpered as he grinded against you, showing you exactly how hard he was underneath the towel.

“Been thinking about bending you over this table all night,” Mattheo whispered in your ear. His hand climbed higher up your thigh and you felt your body instantly respond to his touch. “Bet you’re soaking wet for me already, aren’t you angel?”

You moaned as he toyed with the waistband of your panties. “Matty, please.” 

Your boyfriend smiled at your nickname for him, knowing that he had you right where he wanted you. “What is it that you want, darling?”

“Touch me. Please.” 

Mattheo smirked as he tugged your panties off. His lust filled gaze drank you in as he dragged two fingers through your slick folds. 

“Fuck. You’re so wet. Is this all for me, princess?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, nipping at his neck. “It’s not fair. You play dirty, Matty. You can’t just walk in here with nothing but a towel on.” 

“Why not, angel?”

You sighed, tracing the hard planes of his chest. His muscles flexed under your fingertips as you gently raked your nails against his six pack. “Because you’re sexy and I can’t help myself.” 

Mattheo chuckled darkly, plunging two fingers in your pussy. You bucked against his hand, watching in stunned silence as he withdrew it only to stick his middle and pointer finger into his mouth. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he tasted you on him. 

“This is exactly what I mean,” you whined. “For Godric’s fucking sake, how am I supposed to concentrate after that?”

“Maybe we can compromise, angel.” He shuffled through your parchments and stuck one to the wall. “I’m going to trace the runes inside of you and if you get them all right, then I’ll give you your reward.”

You swallowed thickly and nodded. Mattheo grinned before giving you a quick peck. “Pay attention, sweetheart.” 

His fingers dipped through your folds once more and you gripped his arm, fighting the moan from escaping your lips. Mattheo curled his fingers inside of you, drawing a familiar shape. 

“Urus,” you said in a breathy voice. “It means strength.”

“That’s right, angel.” He shifted as you ran your hands down his arms. You could feel his veins throbbing underneath your palm as he fingered you. “Don’t get distracted now. I know how much you love my hands. I promise they’ll be wrapped around your throat by the end of the night if you get all these right. Now focus.”

You nodded, eyes fluttering close as he traced another rune. “Algiz,” you answered. “For protection.” 

“Hot and smart,” Mattheo announced proudly. “How’d I get so lucky?”

His lips grazed yours and you willingly parted for him, fluttering around his fingers as his tongue slid into your mouth. He pumped his digits inside of you, teasing and taunting. 

“Let’s try something harder, princess.” 

Mattheo’s skillful fingers prodded against your walls, sketching a complicated shape. You closed your eyes and focused. It was a tricky one, but you remembered the cris cross pattern. 

“Inguz,” you said decidedly. “Fertility.” 

“That’s right,” Mattheo said with a smile. “You're doing so well, sweetheart. One more and you can have anything you want.” 

“Anything?” you asked with a small smile.

“Whatever that devious little mind of yours desires, my love.” 

“Okay,” you replied. “I’m ready, then.”

Your boyfriend nodded, staring right into your eyes as he marked the last and final rune. It was an effort not to get lost in those warm, brown eyes. But you steeled yourself, determined to claim your prize.

“Rerth. For luck.”

“Good girl,” Mattheo said with a smirk. “Fitting since you’re getting lucky tonight, angel. Where should we start?” 

You bit your lip, cocking your head at him. It was nearly an impossible choice. You wanted to kiss him. Bite him. Lick him. All of the above and more. 

But there was one thing that stood out from all the other deliciously sinful choices. You pressed your palm against his abs and grinned. 

“I want to ride your abs.”

Mattheo’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected it, but fuck he was so down. He would’ve given you anything with the way you were looking at him right now. 

“You never fail to surprise me,” he said fondly. “Well come on then, let’s make your filthy little fantasy a reality.” 

In one smooth move, he lifted you off the table and deposited you on top of his bed. Mattheo reclined against the headboard and watched with hungry eyes as you straddled his stomach. He smiled as you slipped the tie off your neck and looped it around him. 

It was a simple move, but so fucking sexy and possessive at the same time. You were claiming him. Mattheo was yours and you were his. You belonged to one another—mind, body, and soul. 

Mattheo trailed kisses down your neck and throat, leaving marks on your skin as his deft fingers made quick work of the first few buttons on your blouse. He leaned back and admired his work, his hands gripping your hips while you grinded your soaking wet sex against his muscles. 

He didn’t think it would feel this good. There was something about you using his body to get yourself off that fucking turned him on like no other. Mattheo lifted your skirt up, fisting the fabric in his hands and watching as you coated him with your arousal. 

The little whimpers you were making sounded like music to his ears. “My good little slut,” he said, squeezing your tits as you rode him with reckless abandon. “You’re so fucking filthy, baby. Using me to get yourself off. I’m just your fuck toy aren’t I princess?”

“So good,” you murmured. “You feel so good, Matty.”

The desperation in your voice set him off. He gripped your hips hard enough to bruise and bucked forward, smirking in satisfaction when you moaned. The ridges of his abs rubbed against your clit, providing the perfect amount of pressure to the sensitive area. 

“Keep riding me,” he said in a low, rough voice. “Just like that, angel. Such a good girl for me.”

You closed your eyes, lost to the waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Mattheo gripped your chin, his voice rough around the edges as he spoke. “Open your eyes, darling. I want to watch you cum.”

His rich brown eyes pinned you in place, drinking in every detail. That sexy smirk curved against his lips as he hooked his arms behind his head, admiring the view of his girl riding him. 

“Look at you, baby. You’re making such a fucking mess. Such an innocent face, but you turn into a filthy whore when you’re with me.” 

“Only for you, Mattheo.” 

“Damn fucking right,” he said, sliding his hands under your skirt to rub at your clit. 

You bucked against him, riding out the high. Heat exploded in your core and seeped into your veins. Mattheo kissed you roughly, staking his claim on you as he devoured your moans. 

“That’s it, princess. Cum for me, pretty girl.”

The orgasm felt like a lightning strike. It hit you all at once, making your walls spasm as you came all over Mattheo’s abs. He cursed when he felt you soaking him through, utterly turned on by the mess that you’ve made. Mattheo had never been harder in his life. 

Your boyfriend peppered kisses on your face, pulling you taut to him as you came down from the high. Mattheo brushed a lock of hair behind your ear, tilting your chin up so he could press his lips against yours. He groaned and held your hips down, grinding his boner against your ass. 

“I’m not done making you cum, princess. You’ve got one more in you, don’t you angel?” 

As sensitive as you were, your pussy throbbed at his words. When it came to Mattheo, you could never really get enough. 

“I thought I only got one reward. You’re spoiling me, Matty.” 

“There’s no question about it. You’re my spoiled rotten little princess. But this reward isn’t for you, it’s for me.” He smacked your ass, gesturing for you to get up. “Now come on, angel. I was serious about that desk.” 

He smirked as he walked you back to his desk, his hands disappearing underneath your skirt as he massaged your ass. Mattheo kissed you roughly before he flipped you over, bending you on the desk so you were face down and ass up. He flipped your skirt up, hissing when he found you soaking wet again.

“You just can’t help yourself can you, princess?” He pumped himself in his hand before sliding the tip of his cock along your folds. “Gods, you’re fucking wet. Are you ready, baby?” 

You whimpered, rocking your hips against him for more friction. Mattheo held you in place, fisting your hair in his hands. 

“Use your words, darling. I want to hear you beg like the good little slut that you are.” 

“Please, Matty,” you whined. “I need you so badly that it hurts.” 

He kissed the base of your spine, grinning as he eased his length inside of you. Still sensitive from your last orgasm, you gripped the edges of the table as Mattheo buried his cock within your walls. Your legs felt like they were going to give out any minute, but he kept you upright, cursing when he felt how wet and tight you were. 

“Fuck,” he grunted as he thrust into you slowly. Mattheo gripped you from behind, picking up the pace. Your pussy clenched around him like a vice. “Gods, pussy’s so good baby. You’re doing so well. Taking all of me like my perfect little whore.” 

Mattheo fucking adored the way you blushed at his filthy words. He leaned over, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss as he fucked you into the table. He thought he was going to pass the fuck out when you grinded back into him, meeting his movements to take more and more of him. Mattheo leaned over and shielded your head from the wall, making sure you were protected as the table shook underneath you. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with your breathy little moans was enough to send him over the edge, but he wanted to make good on his promise. Mattheo always put his girl first. The boys were right. He might be just a little bit pussy whipped. 

Even without the sex, you could’ve asked Mattheo to kill for you and he would’ve done so without question. 

“I fucking love you, darling. I’d kill for you. I’d die for you,” he said, every word laced with conviction. “Forever and always.” 

“I love you too, Matty. Forever and always.” 

He kissed your cheek, the action surprisingly soft compared to how rough the sex was. You felt like you could’ve melted onto the floor. 

“Cum with me, my love.” 

Mattheo wrapped his arms around you as that familiar heat spread burned in your core. He held you as the orgasm rocked through your body, sharing in the euphoric high while the two of you finished together. His grip around you only tightened, hugging you from behind while he slowly pulled out. You were barely keeping upright as it was, your legs threatening to give out under you. 

Without a word, your boyfriend scooped you into his arms and brought you back to bed. He cradled you against him, whispering praises and encouragement while stroking your hair. 

“You did so well, baby. I’m so proud of you for remembering all those runes. You’re gonna ace your exam tomorrow.” 

“You really think so, Matty?” You snuggled against him, burying your head in the crook of his neck. Mattheo stroked your back and placed a kiss on your temple. 

“I know so, darling. You have no idea how proud I am for having such a smart girlfriend. I love bragging about you to our friends.” 

You flushed. “Well, I couldn’t have done it all on my own. I had some help from my smart, sweet, and sexy study partner.

Mattheo grinned and kissed you gently. “Glad to be of service, my love.” 

taglist: @annaisabookworm @marina468

please let me know if you'd like to be added.

[boobearymuch]

Their Habits —♡ LADS Scenarios

—♡Summary: Everyone has habits, but not everyone enjoys having you point them out... —♡Tags: gender-neutral, pure fluff —♡A/N: Silly thing I whipped up after being told I bounce my leg too much lolll —♡ masterlist

—♡ Zayne

Zayne squints so much without his glasses. He insists he only needs them when his eyes get tired—but clearly—that wasn’t the case. “Zayne, look!” You eagerly pointed out a flyer posted on the door of his favorite boba spot. They were hosting an event next weekend, it read, and encouraged customers not to miss out on the opportunity. You watched his hazel eyes sharpen into a squint.

“Event…?” He still had trouble reading it, though, and absently tugged your clasped hands forward as he leaned in for a better look. After a few seconds, his eyebrows relaxed, and he hummed appreciatively, “They’re introducing new flavors. Perhaps we should…what?” 

You failed to conceal an amused smile. “You need your glasses, old man.” The nickname was not received well, by any means.

“The text is small.” He answered coolly, “The average person would also have difficulty reading it.” Then he slipped his hand around your waist, eyes narrowing, “And I’m not old.”

You couldn’t help yourself, you laughed, “Have you considered contacts?” The look he gave you was deeply unamused, “No, no, you’re right. You look cuter in glasses, anyway.” Zayne's ears tinted pink under your playful stare. 

“...Let’s go inside before they close.” You pinched his flustered cheeks.

“Are you sure? The menu is so tiny. What if you can’t read it and order the wrong thing?” Your mouth promptly shut after his grip on you tightened in a warning. Zayne remembered to bring his glasses on your next outing (and the one after that).

—♡ Sylus

Sylus hums nonsense when it’s too quiet. It’s like he constantly needs to fill silences with some kind of noise. Even his humming is off-key…

“What song is that?” 

Sylus barely spared you a glance, “What song?” His fingers worked a microfiber cloth into the metal of his pistol. 

“The one you were just humming.”

He huffed, “Didn’t realize I was humming, sweetie.” Then he removed the cloth to admire his handiwork, “Don’t you recognize it?”

You almost felt bad for saying this but, “...No?” Sylus finally glanced up from his work to shoot you a look. A concerning one.

“Really? You had it on repeat all day, yesterday.” Horror dawned on you at the realization, “The chorus has been stuck in my head since morning…” And then a laugh sputtered from your lips. 

“Oh my god, that sounded nothing like it.” Sylus glared and returned his focus to his pistol with what you could only describe as a pout. 

“What a picky kitten.” You bit your lip to stop the smile threatening to break loose. He was a god awful singer, but the room felt emptier without his noise. Gently, you padded over to where he sat, and invited yourself onto his lap. Despite his mood, a hand wrapped around your waist without hesitation.

“Sing it again.” Sylus’ hold on you tightened, “I think I like your version better.” A soft chuckle left him, and quietly, he hummed once more.

—♡ Rafayel

Rafayel taps. All. The. Time. Taps his legs, hands, pens, pencils, anything and everything within reach. And he’ll deny the hell out of it when you ask him to stop. “I wasn’t doing anything,” The candies on his phone screen lit up and exploded with color as he scored another combo. Too engrossed in his phone to realize the arm slung around your shoulders was still tapping you. You leaned into him with a huff.

“You’re doing it now.”

Rafayel gave you a sidelong glance, frowning, “I dunno what you’re talking about, cutie.” You suddenly captured his hand to still it, and Rafayel gave you the most scandalized look, “If you wanna hold it that badly, I’m not stopping you.”

“You’re not even aware you’re doing it,” You blinked incredulously, “Are you?”

Rafayel threw his head back and groaned dramatically, “Doing whaaat?” Then he lifted his head to press his forehead against yours and huffed, “Is this your way of telling me to get off my phone?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You look like a fish up close like this.” Rafayel pulled away to roll his eyes and clicked his phone off.

“Alright, fine, you have my attention.” Then he began tapping his foot, “You know, that’s a little offensive to say to a Lemurian. You could get cancelled for that.”

Your hand drifted to his bouncing knee, and you watched as both your hand and his leg now jumped up and down. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?!”

—♡ Xavier

Xavier is always chewing on something, and it is almost always never gum. It’ll be something random, like a straw from a drink he’d long since finished. The strings of his hoodie, a toothpick. Once, it was a plastic tie. He reminded you of a teething puppy; he’d probably chew on wires if you left him alone long enough. Today, though, his chew toy of choice looked a lot like…

“Xavier, is that my pen?” 

He blinked, eyes floating from his comic book to your frown, “Yours…?” His jaw froze mid-chew. 

“Yeah,” You scooted closer on the couch, “the one from my desk at work.” 

A blush crept along his cheekbones, but he didn’t drop the pen like you expected him to, “...Are you sure?”

Your eyes fell to the pen trapped in the corner of his mouth, “The one with little stars on it? Yeah, that’s mine. I thought I lost it at work, why do you have it?”

The comic book shifted in his hands, “I found it, that’s why.” This explanation would be more convincing if he hadn’t shifted his gaze sideways. His blunt fingernails picked nervously at the corner of his book, curling the edges.

“Xavier,”

“Okay, I borrowed it.” You bit back a chuckle, and he guiltily removed the pen from his mouth. It shined with his spit, and the cap bore teeth marks, “You can have it back.”

You couldn’t hide your grimace fast enough, “...Actually, you can keep it.” Xavier merely blinked before bringing the tip back to his mouth. Then a smile curved the corner of his lips.

“My pen now, hm?”

[amiableness]

Kiss and Makeup

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Summary: James ruins reader’s date and attempts to make it better.

Word Count: 2829

Warnings: Jealous!James; kissing; and reader wearing heels, jewelry and makeup.

A/N 💌: A quick James oneshot that’s been on my mind, but I’m heavily consider making a second part to this.

As usual, thank you to @moonpascal for reading!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Go on, kiss and make up!” Sirius' voice trails after you as you hurry down the corridor, James close on your heels. On any other day, you might have tossed a playful jab back at Sirius, well-accustomed to his relentless teasing about you and James. But today, the weight of everything made your throat tighten, leaving you silent, your focus fixed on reaching the safety of your dorm.

The sharp click of your heels echoed off the stone walls, and James' muttering about your surprising speed in heels barely registers. Your anger simmers, blocking out his words as you storm ahead and shove the door open. James is right behind you, catching it just before it could slam shut in his face, determined not to let you shut him out.

“Get out, Jamie.” Though your voice was laced with anger, the way you used his nickname gave him a glimmer of hope. It wasn’t hopeless—there was still a chance to make everything better.

“I’m not leaving until we figure this out.” James says, stepping forward and leaning against the post of Lily's bed as he watches you roll your eyes and turn into the room. He doesn’t say anything as you begin furiously grabbing clothes and scattered heels off the floor—remnants of you getting ready for a date, now tainted by the tension hanging between you two.

“There’s nothing to figure out! You ruined my date, plain and simple.” You spin around, clutching a black heel in your hand, and for a fleeting moment, James braces himself, half-expecting you to launch it at him in a fit of frustration. But it’s you, his sweet best friend—the one who cares so deeply for others that you always put them before yourself. It’s a trait that drives James a little crazy sometimes, knowing you’d sacrifice your own happiness without a second thought.

The realization only sharpens the sting of your anger, an unfamiliar weight he’s not used to carrying. He can recall times you’ve been disappointed—maybe after one of his careless pranks or his thoughtless disregard for someone’s feelings—but never this. Never this level of anger.

“I said I was sorry.” He tries, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you scoff and turn away, angrily kicking off your heels. You bend down to pick them up, and despite himself, his eyes drift to the curve of your body. He knows he shouldn’t be looking, but he can’t help it—he’s never been able to take his eyes off you. And now, a bitter feeling twists in his gut, knowing you're dressed all pretty for someone else.

“You're not, though. Why the fuck did you feel the need to scare him off?” You toss the heels into your trunk and turn to face him, arms crossed. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words die before they form—because he doesn’t know how to tell you the truth. He knows exactly why, but admitting it out loud would change everything between you. And he’s not sure he’s ready for that.

The silence between you stretches, heavy and unspoken, as you wait for an answer he isn’t ready to give. You both know exactly what you're waiting for—a proper explanation.

One you’ve been holding out hope for, quietly, for years.

“It's not fair, you know.” You let out a deep sigh, turning to face your desk, your gaze falling on the mirror. James watches as you begin to remove your jewelry, your back turned to him, but his reflection still catches glimpses of you. The anger in your voice has softened, but he knows that if he says the wrong thing, it could all flare up again, as sharp and sudden as before.

“What isn't?” He hesitates, watching you carefully as he takes a cautious step forward. His eyes follow the way your lips part in the mirror, the soft exhale of frustration escaping you as you fumble with your necklace.

He wants to step forward, to gently brush your hair aside and unfasten the clasp, to press a soft kiss against the back of your neck once the necklace slips away. But he can’t—so he remains still, trapped in silence, as he watches you instead.

“Why is it that you go out with girl after girl, but when I show interest in a guy, you scare him off?” You already knew the answer—weren’t blind to it. It had been clear to everyone that you and James had been circling each other for years, dancing around unspoken words.

But he refused to admit that he cared for you as more than friends. It felt pointless to tell him how you felt when it was clear James was intent on keeping you in the friend zone.

From the moment crushes became a part of your life, James had been yours. But you were never certain about his feelings—until that one night when he got blackout drunk and confessed he was in love with you. He has no memory of that drunken night, but you overheard him later, telling the boys he’d never drink that much again because he wanted to actually remember the parties he went to. You’d felt a pang of disappointment, but you were gathering the courage to confront him about it. Then, the next day, he hooked up with a girl from Ravenclaw, and just like that, all your resolve crumbled, leaving you feeling more invisible than ever.

He didn’t remember what he’d said, and if he was out with other girls, it was clear he didn’t care enough to mention it while sober.

That was a year ago, and you still hadn’t brought it up. 

So, to cope with the mess of it all, you went on a date—a rare one, the first in nearly a year. And now, here was James, wrecking it all over again.

“I—” He stops himself, clearing his throat, the tension in his voice betraying the lie before he even finishes. “I don’t think that’s true. You go out on dates.”

He knew he spent a lot of time flirting with girls—whether it was during class, when he should have been paying attention, or at parties where conversation flowed too easily. But when someone showed interest in you? That was a different story altogether. He’d like to blame it on the fact that you were his best friend, but deep down, he knew better. He was protective of you because he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone looking at you the way he did. Was it selfish? Definitely. But the thought of losing you terrified him more than anything.

“You know that’s a lie. You saw how excited I was! Why did you take that from me?” You were fully aware of how weak and accusatory your voice sounded, but you didn’t care. You were hurt, and it was clear in the way you shook your head, disappointment heavy in every movement. James watched your reflection, noticing the way you swallowed hard as if trying to shove down the swell of emotions threatening to break free. And with that, a wave of guilt slammed into his stomach, settling there like a stone.

“I just didn't want him to hurt you!” 

"So you decided to take that off his hands and hurt me instead?" You scoffed, making James flinched as if you had slapped him. It probably would have hurt less if you had.

“Merlin, no! Sweetheart, that wasn't what I was trying to do—”

“Then what were you trying to do, James? Because I'm getting tired of this little game, we have going on.” 

He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes following your hand as you gently remove one of your earrings. For a moment, your gazes meet through the mirror, and the weight of it all presses down on him. He wishes, desperately, that you would just turn around and face him.

He was racking his brain, searching for the right words, trying to find a way to fix this. He considered stepping back, giving you space like he did when you got agitated with him. But this felt different. It wasn’t just about a moment of frustration—it was something deeper, something that could damage your friendship permanently if he didn’t speak up. He knew he had to fix this.

“You guys make up yet?” Sirius hollered, and James could practically picture him standing at the  bottom of the stairs with his hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted at the both of you.

Sirius' words from earlier echoed in his head as if they were taunting him, swirling around like a cruel mantra. 

Go on, kiss and make up.

It felt like an accusation, a reminder of how much he’d messed up. He could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, twisting in his gut. Every nerve in his body screamed that his next move would either make everything worse—digging the hole even deeper—or finally give him a chance to tell you why he’d ruined your date. But the fear of losing you pushed him forward.

“Tell me to stop, sweetheart.”

“Stop what—?” You ask, tossing your last piece of jewelry into the ceramic dish with a sharp clang before turning to face James. Your breath catching in your throat as he moves closer, and without thinking, you instinctively take a step back, bumping into your desk. The sudden movement rattles the items on top, sending a soft, anxious clatter through the room.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as James reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb grazing the edge of your jaw. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, and James can’t help but think how pretty you look—more than he’s ever allowed himself to admit. 

He’s never been able to admire you like this before, not without the constant fear of you catching him.

His hands are shaky, and his proximity to you is making him nervous in a way that he couldn’t quite shake. But he didn’t know how else to explain himself. So, tentatively, he let his fingers graze your skin, admiring how you melted into him. He watches, heart pounding, as your lashes flutter and your lips part in surprise at the softness of his touch. The anger in your eyes had faded, leaving behind disbelief and something that looked dangerously close to hope.

He startles both himself and you when the words slip out, low and raw: “You make me so fucking nervous.” You blink up at him, silent, processing the confession. His gaze drifts over the mascara you’d carefully applied, the gloss glistening on your lips—details he hadn’t noticed before, but now felt like a punch to his gut. The jealousy flares, burning hot and fast in the pit of his stomach. It was devastating to realize you were all dressed up, and it wasn’t for him. Those heels, those glossed lips—they were for a guy who hardly knew you. 

Not like James knew you.

You part your lips, and James unknowingly silences you with a gentle brush of his thumb just beneath your lower lip. A soft, satisfied smile tugs at his mouth as he hears the gasp escape you. His hand rests on your left hip, pulling you closer, grounding you against him. The tension in the room thickens, and just like that, your anger has melted.

“If you want me to stop, just say the word, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his voice low and thick with intention as he edged closer. His fingers caressing your jaw, tilting your face upwards, bringing you within a breath of him. The air between you crackles, heavy and charged, and you feel the pull—the tempting, intoxicating proximity. He was so close now, you could feel the warmth of his breath, and all it would take was the slightest movement for his lips to claim yours.

You thought about saying it—the words were right there, just on the tip of your tongue. But then his lips brushed against yours just barely, and everything else faded away. You couldn’t bring yourself to say no—not when this was something you’d wanted for years. Even with the anger simmering inside you, the frustration over James ruining your date, you couldn’t pull away.

Not now. Not when he was so close.

If anything, a strange sense of relief was starting to wash over you—relief that he had ruined it. Because if he hadn’t, it might have been another guy standing where he was now, and the thought of that made something tighten painfully in your chest.

“Last chance.” He mumbled, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, searching for any sign that you might stop him. The only sound between you was the uneven rhythm of your breaths, erratic and heavy, pulsing with the desire that surged between you both. When you didn’t say a thing, no rejection, no hesitation—only the warmth of your breath mingling with his—he offered a barely-there smile before leaning in, his lips finally capturing yours with a slow, gentle kiss.

He started slow, cautious, as if afraid he might push you away. But the wrecked hum that escaped your throat—the sound of pure desire—told him everything he needed to know. You wanted this as much as he did.

It was overwhelming how quickly the kiss shifted—what started as sweet and searching, quickly turned frantic and hungry. The slow, deliberate pace gave way to a fiery urgency. The gentle brush of lips became a desperate meeting of mouths as the two of you gave into years of pining.

Your hands, which had been gripping the edge of the desk hard, moved slowly toward him. You let your fingers trail up his stomach, feeling the dips and ridges before reaching his chest. Your other hand found its way into his curls, you tugged softly, the motion pulling a low, pleasure-filled groan from deep within him. That sound, the sound of him unraveling, seemed to shatter something inside James. In an instant, he stepped closer—if that was even possible—until your bodies were pressed together, the heat between you two undeniable, consuming.

He pulled away just an inch, and the desperate whine that escaped your lips was enough to pull him back in, his arms circling your waist before effortlessly lifting you onto the desk. You gasped his name, the sound caught in your throat, as his lips claimed yours again, urgent and hungry. One hand slid around your thigh, pulling you closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours as he stood between your parted legs. His grip on your hip was firm, grounding, while his other hand found its place at the side of your throat, fingers warm and possessive.

You had never been kissed like this before. It was overwhelming—an all-consuming heat that ignited deep in your belly as James kissed you with a hunger, as if he'd been waiting for this moment his entire life.

And it was ruining you, because if this was how it felt to kiss James Potter, you never wanted to be kissed by anyone else ever again.

He rocked his hips against yours, the pressure making you gasp, and that breathless sound was all he needed. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting you as if he couldn’t get enough. You were so completely immersed in him—the feel of his lips, the taste of him—that the low, teasing whistle from your doorway barely registered in your mind.

“Bloody hell, I didn’t expect you to actually go and kiss her.” Sirius’ voice rang out, loud and unfiltered. The words struck a panic through you, your body warming with embarrassment as you instinctively tucked your head into James’ chest, hoping to hide from the intrusion. You would recognize Sirius’ voice anywhere, and you knew you would be teased about this for ages.

James, with you still propped on the desk, remained a shield, his body pressed protectively against yours. He glanced over at Sirius and Remus, who stood by the doorway. Sirius, leaning against the doorframe, raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, while Remus stood next to him, his usually calm demeanor showing signs of awkwardness.

“Fuck off and shut the door, mate.” James groans, his arms pulling you tighter as he fights the urge to hurl a book at Sirius and Remus. Instead, he sends them a warning glare and brings a hand up to the back of your head, the heat of the moment still burning between you, and silently dares them to say anything more.

The boys hesitate, but not before Sirius calls out with a teasing smirk, “Didn’t know you had it in you, Potter. You finally got your girl.” And just like that, the door slams shut, leaving the air thick with tension and you cringing in embarrassment.

Maybe telling him you loved him wasn’t that pointless after all.

please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write and spread my work! 🤍

[tender-rosiey]

Hii, can I request a fic where sukuna is trying to court the reader but she's still scared of him and doesn't realize what he's trying to do?🫶🏾

tethered — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: i could not let reader be trampled on; am sorry :( i mean you can tell she is scared but she aint gon take crap from him ALSO if you guys saw that I used this sukuna panel before, pls tell me tyyy

the room feels far too small with him in it, despite its towering ceilings and wide stone floors. his presence suffocates every inch of space, like the weight of a storm pressing down on you, demanding attention.

your hands tremble slightly as you pour tea into the lacquered cup, but you force them to steady. you’ve been doing this long enough to know better than to show fear, even if your pulse hammers in your throat.

the weight of sukuna’s gaze is heavy, as always, but you keep your eyes trained on the task, pretending not to notice the way he watches your every move, like a predator biding its time.

you place the tea in front of him, bowing respectfully.

yet the air between you shifts—his presence thick with something unfamiliar. you glance up, wary, only to find his eyes, crimson and sharp, still locked onto you.

that smile—the one that sends chills racing down your spine—curves his lips.

“you’re trembling again,” he says, his voice low, dark amusement coloring every word.

you grit your teeth, forcing yourself to breathe slowly, evenly.

“it’s cold, my lord,” you respond, as calmly as you can manage, though the lie feels feeble. everyone knows that with sukuna in the room, it’s never the cold you have to fear.

he leans forward slightly, one of his lower arms lazily resting on the table, the other two still folded across his broad chest. “is that so?” his voice is smooth, but there’s an edge to it that unsettles you more than his usual biting remarks.

you’ve heard the whispers, the rumors—how he’s been different lately, his focus shifted. and it’s not hard to guess where that focus lies.

you’ve felt the shift, too. the extra care given to your meals, the finery left in your chambers, and the subtle way he’s been keeping you close. too close.

you glance at him from the corner of your eye, nerves flaring. “I don’t mean to waste your time, my lord. if there’s nothing else, I should return to my duties.”

his chuckle fills the room, rich and deep, as though you’ve just said something absurdly amusing. “so eager to leave?” he asks, his voice low. “I’ve been generous, haven’t I?”

there’s something different in his tone now, something dangerous. your stomach knots as his gaze sharpens, studying you with unnerving intensity.

“my lord, I—” you stop yourself, choosing your words carefully. the last thing you want is to provoke him. “you’ve been more than kind. but I am still just a servant. I don’t require such attention.”

his smile widens, showing more of his sharp teeth, the predatory glint in his eyes growing darker. one of his upper hands moves, reaching out to tilt your chin upward, forcing you to meet his gaze head-on.

“just a servant?” he repeats, voice dripping with mockery. “you really think I would waste my time on someone who means nothing?”

you swallow hard, refusing to flinch under his touch. his hand is surprisingly gentle, but the power behind it is unmistakable. you force yourself to meet his eyes, despite every instinct screaming at you to look away.

“I—I…think I don’t know why you would waste your time on someone who isn’t afraid to speak her mind.”

his eyes flash with something dark and unreadable, but it isn’t anger. it’s interest. you can see the amusement flickering beneath the surface, and it sends another chill down your spine.

“you think you’re brave?” he muses, his voice lowering to a dark whisper. “or perhaps foolish?”

your breath hitches, his words unsettling. “I don’t think it’s foolish to speak honestly,” you reply, voice steadier than you feel. “especially when I’ve done nothing to earn the attention of someone like you.”

sukuna leans forward again, all four arms now resting on the arms of his throne as he stares you down. the air feels heavier, charged with something dangerous and electric.

his voice drops low, smooth as silk but with a dark edge. “you’ve earned it by surviving in my presence this long. by not running when you had the chance. that interests me.”

your heart races, the closeness unnerving, but you refuse to back down. “I’m here because it’s my duty,” you manage, your voice sharp and defiant. “not because I seek your favor or your… gifts.”

sukuna laughs then, the sound deep and rumbling, like distant thunder.

“ah, so you do notice my gifts. modest as they are.” he leans in closer, one of his lower hands brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “tell me, little servant, if it’s not favor you seek, what do you want?”

your stomach flips, the closeness sending a wave of heat through your cheeks, but you stand firm.

“I want to be left alone,” you reply bluntly, trying not to flinch under his gaze. “I want to do my duties without feeling like prey every time I enter the room.”

his eyes narrow slightly, a dangerous glint flashing in them, but there’s something else too. amusement. curiosity. he’s not angry—if anything, he seems more intrigued than before.

“you think you’re prey?” he muses, his voice lowering to a dark whisper. “perhaps you are. or perhaps, you’ve already caught the ‘predator’s’ attention in ways you don’t yet understand.”

his words sending a chill down your spine, but you stand firm. “If I have, it’s not by choice, sukuna-sama.”

his smile softens, just a fraction, but it’s no less menacing. he rises from his seat, towering over you as he closes the distance between you in a heartbeat.

his four hands move with calculated grace, two of them resting on either side of your face, trapping you in place as he looms over you.

“choice is an illusion for you humans,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “but you’ll come to understand that in time.”

despite the trembling in your limbs, you lift your chin, meeting his gaze with a newfound defiance. “I’m not afraid of you.”

he smirks, his eyes gleaming with approval at your boldness. “good. fear is boring.”

then, in a startlingly unexpected move, he leans down, brushing his lips against your forehead—an act of tenderness that catches you completely off guard.

the warmth of his breath lingers, and the moment stretches between you, almost surreal.

“besides,” he continues, voice low and surprisingly gentle, “I find your spirit rather… enticing.”

your heart races, confusion mingling with the fear that had gripped you moments before.

this man, this powerful being, was something else entirely, and as you step back, you can’t shake the strange warmth that blooms in your chest.

with that, he releases you, stepping back and letting the tension between you linger like smoke in the air.

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[rindreamery]

like a fever, i ache for you.

how intensely the blue lock men yearn for you.

itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, michael kaiser

itoshi rin sees you in every daydream.

every time rin closes his eyes, you’re there— it’s as if the image of you is permanently burned into the space behind his eyelids, like a never ending dream. (yet, he never wants to wake up from it.) the mere sight of you makes his heart burn and his head spin, and that desperate feeling of wanting you bleeds into his fingertips that makes him reach for you in his sleep. you trap him in his own mind. it feels as if you consume his every thought and occupy the space of every moment he’s awake. you’re a distraction, but one he can’t seem to get enough of.

when he blinks, you’re there, and everything blurs together. he starts to lose sense of where you end and he begins— you’ve become a part of him.

the concept of you even begins to seep into his passions, into his goals. rin thinks of you when he’s on the field, and he can’t deny the rush of adrenaline that shoots through his body at the thought of you cheering for him. he’s hooked to the feeling, he needs more. the thought that you’re only thinking of him too at that exact moment— watching him, holding his dreams close to your heart— that you’re both thinking of each other. connected. it’s a dream that drives him to try even harder.

because you’re not just a distraction anymore; you’ve become his sole focus.

during his next game, he plays with the image of you patiently waiting for him at the entrance of the tunnel. so when he catches his breath after a hard match, his body on the brink of collapsing and covered in sweat, it’s not the sweet taste of victory that revives him. it’s not the cheers of the crowd, praises of his name falling from their lips, that brings him back to life. no— it’s the thought of you. close and real, hand pressed against his chest as you lean in, with your warm skin pressing against his own as you whisper into his ear, “i knew you could do it.”

he knows he'll dream of that feeling from now on too, of your breath against his ear. he can’t escape you— but he doesn’t think he’ll ever want to.

itoshi sae searches for you in the crowd.

without fail, sae’s eyes will always gravitate towards you— even in the chaos of the stadium, even when you think you’re lost in the blur of the people surrounding you. his eyes always seem to find yours. when he finally catches sight of you in his jersey, it’s hard to miss the way his gaze sharpens with intensity, his eyes darkening in a way you’ve never seen before. it’s electric; the only word that could describe the feeling he gets when he sees that you’re staring back at him with the same intensity.

something about you— the way you proudly wear his jersey, and the look of pride that swims in your eyes as you look at him— awakens something deep in him.

sae feels a satisfaction he's never quite felt before you. it’s a possessive and all-consuming feeling. like his ego is inflated to its limits and makes him uncharacteristically greedy for you. his thoughts become filled with the need to become the center of your world, to stake some sort of claim on you so no one else can. (he wants his teammates to see what he comes home to every night.) this feeling that makes him want to throw away all rationale, and before he realizes it, it's this feeling that has him walking over to you before the match even begins.

he doesn't care for the alarmed look on your face as he rips your (his) ring off your finger. around the two of you, shocked gasps fill the stadium, as he loops your ring into his necklace. but they become lost in the background, and his focus is on you. "look at me," and when he brings his necklace up to his lips, your ring now dangling by the string, his eyes never leave yours. there’s an almost dangerous edge to it now— his eyes gleaming possessively at you.

he wants you to think of this moment, to embed it in your thoughts, and crave for him the same way he craves for you.

nagi seishiro can't stop staring at your lips.

light pink lip gloss looks the best on you. it’s a thought that clouds nagi’s mind every time he sees them. the way its glossiness catches the light, making the soft pink of your lips stand out and give it a subtle, irresistible fullness. they’re so plump, inviting, that it becomes dangerously intoxicating. (it must be on purpose, he often thinks, because you smile every time you're applying it on.) he doesn’t care if you notice the fact that he’s unable to fight the urge when his eyes flicker towards them— like it’s impossible to tear his eyes away from them— he wants you to notice.

they’re just so alluring, yet troubling, the way it gets his heart pumping in excitement.

the jealous part of him wants to be the only one to see you like this. because there’s just something about the way you react to him, something about the look in your eyes when you catch on to his wandering gaze. he’s entirely drawn to the way your breath hitches just a little when his eyes flick down to your lips, and then back to your eyes. and the way the corner of your lips pulls into a little smirk at this, eyes focused on his, as your tongue teasingly drags across the gloss to get a taste. his mind becomes overcome with thoughts of you— what would they taste like? would it be something fruity, like strawberry? or maybe something even sweeter, like birthday cake?

but you never give him the satisfaction of knowing, and it pulls him in even deeper. you push away from him, every time, and it’s maddening. it’s always with the same sweet smile and playful glint in your eyes, that you tell him, “it was nice talking to you.” then you’re turning around, leaving him behind.

nagi’s left wondering what it would be like, to see if that sweetness on your lips tastes as inviting as it looks.

mikage reo thinks of you in every song.

with every beat, every lyric, with every tune that floods reo’s ears— there you are, vivid in his mind, as if you were woven deep into the addicting melody. it’s as if the lyrics were written with you in mind, and he’s forever stuck thinking of you. his heart burns for you in the songs that you send, and he clings to every playlist you share. he imagines you in these lovesick songs— having you in his arms, intertwining his fingers with yours as you dance slowly to the tune— like his mind is desperately trying to tell him something he’s still too afraid to say out loud. it’s a silent confession, words he can never bring himself to say out loud, spilling from the speakers instead.

he plays the same song on repeat; he wants to keep hearing your name in the lyrics, and to feel the ghost of your presence as if you’re right there with him.

but as silent as his affections are, reo doesn’t want his desperate longing to be one-sided. he wants to worm his way into your every thought, invade your mind, the same exact way you had done with his. he wants you to see flashes of him when you hear a familiar tune, to smile to yourself whenever you realize it’s his favorite song playing in the background of a random store.

so reo pours his heart into a playlist for you. "these songs remind me of you," and to him, it’s enough. he hopes you can hear everything he feels in the space between the lyrics, to read between the lines of the words as they dance across your screen. every song is a dedication to his love for you. to him, it’s a love letter he can never bring himself to write but can’t help and send. he doesn’t want to speak it out loud— this playlist, with a strange mix of soft longing and quiet desire, does the work for him.

it’s a playlist of his soul’s quietest confessions, and he hopes you can hear how much his heart longs for you.

michael kaiser is haunted by thoughts of your touch.

kaiser doesn’t know when it started— the obsession, the craving for you, the fervent need to feel your skin on his. maybe it was when your fingertips grazed his hand as you passed him a water bottle, lasting for a second at most, but sending sparks flying across his skin where you touched. or maybe it was when you put your hand against his back, palms pressed firmly into the planes of his muscles, as you guided him out of the way (because he was blocking you, but he chooses to ignore that detail.) you’re his manager; you’re simply doing your job.

but he’s started to find himself stuck in the fantasy of your touch— imagining the way your fingers would trace over his tattoos, or having them run through his hair as you brush it out of his face.

and his breath always catches in his throat as he imagines the sensation, having to swallow at how dry and constricted his throat becomes. he thinks of the warmth of your hands, the way your fingers would subtly dance on his skin, and he shivers. he imagines that you wouldn’t rush—no, you’d take it slow. you would let it linger, and maybe he would press his hands over yours to trap it there. just to savor the feeling.

his fantasies of you could never compare to the real thing, though, he realizes one day.

he’s sat on the bench in front of you, tense with heightened sensitivity. the surface of his skin feels like it's on flames from your words, “your tattoos are so pretty,” and from the way your index finger trace over the inked vines that wrap around his arms. his stomach starts to form tight coils as your fingers travel up and up— at the feeling of your thumbs grazing his jaw as you brush his hair out of the way to look at the blue rose — and he’s sucking in a harsh breath as he tries to keep himself grounded. to keep himself from losing his mind. and when you pull away, he can't ignore the emptiness the washes over him.

his heart is greedy and insatiable; he's never satisfied. now that he’s gotten a taste of what it feels like, he finds himself wanting even more of you.

note. drove myself insane while writing this actually 🧍🏻‍♀️WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN

© rindreamery, 2024

[saduko]

HARD TO MISS

Lando Norris x Driver!Reader 7.9K words

Summary: You had driven sick many times before, but never sick enough to retire from a race. Now Lando was worried about you and how the media was going to react. But maybe this was just about the best thing that could of happened to him. Or in which, reader gets sick during the Spanish GP race and has to face the looming media presence after retiring early with a newfound anger she's never experienced. She was a mess of emotions, acting so different, or maybe it wasn't just her being strange.

Teammates, established relationship, an unexpected surprise?? Note: this unfortunately is a re-upload because my dumbass literally deleted the post the first time I posted it despite it being up for days. Yes I'm mad, and no this isn't edited because of it.

The heat of the Spanish sun beat down on the track, the asphalt shimmering with a relentless intensity that seemed to seep through the cockpit. You gripped the steering wheel tighter, your knuckles whitening as you fought to keep your focus on the race ahead, hot, fast breaths heaving through your helmet like a symphony. The familiar roar of the engine, usually a comforting sound, felt more like a distant hum as yet another wave of nausea rolled through you.

This wasn’t the first time you’d raced under less-than-ideal conditions, but today felt different. The adrenaline that usually sharpened your senses now seemed to amplify the queasiness in your stomach, every bump and turn on the track making it harder to push the discomfort aside. You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising bile as you powered through another corner, the car responding to your every command despite the growing turmoil within.

The twisting and turning of the track seemed endless, each lap blurring into the next as your vision narrowed, tunnel-like, around the path ahead. You knew you needed to speak up, to let your team know something was wrong, but the words felt heavy on your tongue, weighted down by the fear of admitting weakness. Finally, you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

"I'm not feeling very well."

The twisting and turning of the track was making it hard for you to settle your stomach enough to find your voice, but when you had, there was a long silence on the other end. Ears alert with anticipation as nothing came through, before the thick accent of your engineer, Marlow finally sounded in with a panicked voice, "Are you feeling faint?"

"Not really.” You huffed. “I feel quite nauseous though. My stomach is not cooperating."

There was a short silence through your head piece before a shuffle was heard on the other side, followed by a concerned, "Should we retire the car?"

The suggestion shakes you and a quick puff of air leaves your mouth in order to hopefully settle the turning in your stomach, though you think it might have translated more as annoyance to your team despite the intention. You couldn't help but hope it hadn't come off too harshly, however the forceful tone of your next words certainly didn’t do much to calm the idea. "No! I'm not retiring the car... No, I'm okay."

"Please love, If you can't finish there's no shame in retiring. You're not letting anyone down, we understand-!" He knew how stubborn you were and he really didn't want the question to feel like the hit to the ego he knew you would take it as, but it was hard when everyone knew this race was what was separating you from top 3 and the rest in the championship. They knew it wouldn't be that easy, quickly corroborated by the frustrated grunt you let sound through the line.

Your foot braces against the accelerator, bearing down full force as you take the straight right after corner 4 at full speed, you weren't retiring. Subjective to your own harsh perception of yourself, retiring - no matter the circumstance - was one of the most culpable failures you could commit. It was never a rewarding feeling, and whether or not to retire from a race like this was an indisputable no. Six years into the sport and you had never retired from a race on your own accord. Today would not be the first.

"I'm okay for now."

There was no arguing with a driver going over 300 kilometers an hour, and so the team let your decision chart as they sat back and kept on with their roles, no different than before. Except for one thing, noting the conversation, they all made undisclosed motions to keep an extra close eye on the driver cam.

And so the race continued as 10 laps went by, 10 very shaky laps with countless immoderate wobbles, a few oversteers around a couple corners and a very close call with Carlos who made quick work of letting the communal radio know how exactly he felt about that, words that were quickly relayed to you. Though his accent was warm, his words were anything but kind and usually you would have taken it on the chin, laughed at his profanities and apologized with a quick witty comment to follow, but your team watched as you only let out a harrowing breath and shook your head. You obviously were not on your A-game and your entire team could see that.

So with all this, it came as no surprise when the silence in their headphones was abruptly interrupted with the blaring sound of your wheels against the track, followed by your voice, quick yet strained, echoing through the radio.

"I think I'm gonna be sick, guys."

With not a moment to spare, Marlows eyebrows furrowed down at your words, worry clear in his voice as he pressed down on the radio button. And though his words were mostly phrased as a question emphasizing the choice as your own, it was still hard to miss the pleading tone in his voice as he spoke loudly into the headpiece, "Are we retiring? It’s your call, love."

Your end of the radio was silent as the words rang through your headset, though not for lack of connection as the sound of your wheels barrelling against the tar never ceased. They knew you were still there, just not vocalizing your thoughts. They had no doubt this was a tough decision. A huge part of this sport was pride; pride in your team, pride in your car, pride in your abilities. And being the only woman on the grid meant your pride was strong and the backlash was inevitably more harsh when things went wrong. 

It was already hard enough for a driver to admit they needed to back out of a race, let alone for a driver who had something to prove and everything to lose. It was a decision they knew you were avoiding complying with. You had been complaining about feeling ill for days leading up to the race and yet insisted on racing regardless. They knew this was important to you, and to back out now, after making it so far already? Your heart was strong, and your head stronger. But for this one time, it seems your stomach was the strongest, and your nausea was taking the reins of this particular race. And so you bit your lip, hoping to keep the bile from rising for just a little while longer. “I need to stop. I’m retiring the car. I can't help it.”

As disappointing as ending a race early was, your team couldn’t deny the shred of relief that washed over them as you, for once, chose your health first. As fun as racing was, and as rewarding as a race in points felt, none of it was ever worth the increased risk to your safety. They would much rather you all woozy up in the medic bay with a DNF, than halfway to unconsciousness with a p8 finish. This certainly wasn’t your best race anyways, probably one the lowest you’d been in points this season. 

As you began your way around your last lap towards the pit lane, your mind raced with all the dreadful thoughts a DNF brought, the pit in your stomach rearing into a sizeable hole which would of left you feeling melancholy if the twisting and turning hadn’t trumped the discontent. 

As each second passed, you could feel whatever it was you had eaten for lunch earlier with Lando rising higher and higher. High enough in fact, that you found it necessary to press the radio button once more with a request. “Have a bag ready for me when I pull up, please.”

To which a compliant, “Copy.” sounded suit.

It wasn’t too much longer until your orange car could be seen sweeping down the pit lane, no hesitation in your steering as you made a harsh turn into your spot by the garage door. The pit team were prepared to make haste in their actions, ready to prop your car onto the jack in order to wheel it into the garage only to be stopped when two quick hands extended up as you braced yourself up against the halo and pulled yourself out of the seat.

At this point, you were hyper aware of the all the people surrounding you, as well as the multitude of cameras pointing directly at you, recording your every move for all the judgeful eyes to see, and yet you found not a single cell in yourself which cared as you leaned over the car and called out for your assistant, who quickly met you with a large black bin in tow. 

You quickly grabbed for it, pulling your front over the side of the car as far as you could in order to hide yourself from the view of the cameras. And out it came, a slurry of lunch which you had been so looking forward to at the time, and quickly regretting now as it all escaped your stomach.

What in the world had you feeling so ill in the first place? It felt like it had been lightyears since you had felt sick enough to actually puke, and god did you not miss this feeling. Had you eaten something bad earlier in the day? Maybe. But everything you ate Lando had eaten too, so wouldn’t he be sick as well? Well, it’s not really like you could ask him, you thought as you looked up just in time to see him overtake George on the big screen. He looks a little busy. And you should be busy too.

The thought seared through your mind as you spat into the bin, you should be racing too, but at least you feel a little better now that it’s come out; though not completely. Your stomach still churned a little and now your throat burned but you guessed it was better than crashing. You had already nearly done that just by being on the track a little too long and now you were definitely going to receive an earful from Sainz when he finally crossed the checkered flag and found you inevitably moping. 

However, you quickly realized that Carlos was actually the least of your worries and the only person you really had to fear was Lando, for when he heard about the outcome of your race, you were sure to face the lecture of your life. He had been warning you for days leading up to it not to participate. You were obviously unwell and he was aware of the dangers an unwell driver faced under the taxing conditions of a race but you were stubborn, insisting you would be fine. Look at you now. Head in a bin with cameras all around and a bruised ego. 

There was only a little time now until the race ended to recover before everyone came pummeling at you with questions. 

The wheel was starting to feel heavy in his hands and the rubbing of the HANS device against his neck was really starting to hurt. They were approaching the end stretch of the race and as the last 15 laps commenced, Lando couldn’t help but feel a little relieved knowing this would be over soon. This was undoubtedly a tough race. 

From lights out till now, he’d managed to pull from P5 to P4 and had every intention of passing Lewis for a podium position, soon enough he’d be in DRS range but for the time being, he was focused on catching up. The world around him had become mute, he hadn’t even looked up at the grand screen once, all he knew was the car.

So he had almost jumped in his seat when the chime sounded. Just as he began slowing around the final corner leading up to the line for his next lap, the sound of an incoming radio signal had his ears perking in anticipation. Were they planning on pitting him again? Sure he was definitely pushing a little too hard against his tires- not really doing his best at conserving them but he was so close to a podium position and he just needed a little bit more force-

“Lando mate,” Will’s voice sounded through his ears, his tone a little hesitant which left Lando biting his lip with anticipation. Please don't box. “I’ve just been informed by Marlow that y/n has retired.”

Lando's heart nearly fell into his stomach as the words registered in his brain. You retired?! Now thinking about it, you did start only a single position behind him and he hadn’t really seen all that much of you during the race. What happened? “Did she crash?!”

“No Lando, she's okay, it was voluntary. She wasn’t feeling well, I don’t think.” 

“You don’t think?”

“She’s okay Lando, just under the weather.”

Not feeling well? Under the weather? You’d raced a multitude of times before whilst under the weather. Each time he’d advise you not to race, and each time you’d ignore him, swearing up and down you’d be fine- and to Lando’s consolation each time you were fine. You’d come out the other side with a smile, no qualms or grievances and you would save your complaints for him afterwards, when no one else was around to judge. As you had done before, he expected the same this time. You’d never let a little ailment set you back, especially not let it affect you enough to retire. Not unless it really was bad.

Lando’s thoughts were soon interrupted by Will’s voice once more, his tone dismissive, implying the conversation had reached its end and no more discussion would be had about it. “We will contact you again if anything happens.”

And despite Lando’s dismay, he complies. There were still a good 15 laps left of the race ahead and he had a lot of catching up to do, a lot of competitive driving to be had. His focus couldn’t be elsewhere, but what was he supposed to do knowing his sick fiancé has just pulled herself out of a race? What was he supposed to do when he knew you well enough to understand how prideful you could be, and how poor you had to feel to choose to retire?  

He really tries to not let it bother him. During the next lap, he tries to not let it bother him as he forces himself to look anywhere else but the jumbo screen in hopes of a possible update on your condition. He tries to not let it bother him in the lap after that as the team radios in to discuss possible strategies regarding the oncoming overtake he will perform, and he tries to not let it bother him during the lap after that one when he finally passes Lewis. Now 3 laps have passed but he just can't get the questions about you off his mind. It is bothering him. He shouldn’t be distracted, especially while he’s in a podium position but he can’t help it. 

So as he crosses onto the next straight, he finds himself radioing in with the question that had been eating away at him since the news broke. “Uh.. Any updates on y/n? Is she alright?”

There's a considerable moment of silence on Mclaren’s end of the line, the team were honestly tied on what to tell the man and what not to. You weren’t exactly in optimal condition, and word around was slightly worrisome regarding your state. You were okay, but definitely not well, they knew because they had caught the treacherous sounds of your gags a few more times since the first echoing through the mclaren garage. 

As your fiance, he deserved to know these details, but as a driver, they knew it wasn’t smart to worry him. What were they to say as to not stress him out in an already extremely stressful situation? They could tell him a few of your team members were discussing taking you to the hospital. Or they could keep him from driving the car through the wall in order to meet you there. The decision was clear, they needed him to focus on driving. “She’s okay, she's currently being looked at by the medical team.”

“She has the medical team on her?!” Will’s eyes shut hard as Lando’s reply came through. Definitely not the right choice of words.

“Just a precaution Lando, she isn’t well at the moment.”

Lando’s bottom lip catches between his teeth as he ponders his engineer's words. He finds himself over analyzing every syllable, every infliction with intentions of unpacking whatever truth was seeping between the lines, and he notices that he’s biting his cheek as he rounds the 8th corner with a little less precision than usual. “Is she bad?”

Landos team take quick note of this change in pace, latching onto the clear oversteer he performs around the corner. They quickly find themselves trying to pull away from the topic in order to keep him both figuratively and literally on track and so Will concludes the conversation with a stern tone. “Please Lando, you can see her when you're done racing. We need you to focus on the race.”

He almost wanted to curse the man out purely due to frustration despite knowing deep down that he was right. But what else was he supposed to do when he knows his fiancé is sitting in the medic bay and all he can do to support her is… well, nothing. He just has to finish this race.

Despite your protests, your team was adamant on a visit to the med bay in order to possibly come up with a reason for your sudden onset of race ending symptoms, and after a quick trip down the hall that took a little longer than usual due to your need to stop once more, you were simply told there wasn’t much they could do long term to crack the bilous case. Shocker. They did however hand you something to ease the nausea which you were beyond thankful for.

You had spent so long counting down the seconds until the anti-nausea medication kicked in that you hadn't even noticed that the race had ended, nor did you notice the approaching sound of hasteful footsteps until the door to your driver's room came barrelling open with a thud.

“I told you not to race.” Lando’s voice was so stern it had you stiff. There was a slight indication of anger lingering behind his words but ultimately his face was a dead giveaway to the worried intention etched behind his tone. 

“I thought I’d be okay.”

“You threw up?” His eyebrows came down as he said it, and you noticed it was less of a question and more as if he was trying to confirm a suspicion. Someone from your team must have snitched on you already. No damn loyalties.

“Only a little.” Your words were sheepish.

“You stink.” He deadpanned and you found yourself scoffing, slightly exasperated at the bluntness of his words. The statement had you petty with offense. 

“You don’t smell very good either-”

“-I don’t smell like vomit.”

Finally you let out a sigh, already tired of the back and forth over something so menial, and unworthy of an argument. You were sick. Shit happens. “Lando, I wasn’t feeling well and I’d been feeling it all week with no real problem so I didn’t think there would be a reason to sit this race out. I didn’t think I would actually need to pull over. It’s done now.”

There was a loud silence between the two of you as he onced over your body with intentful eyes. You seemed okay enough and he guessed this really wasn’t the time or place to start an argument, especially over something as stupid as him being worried about you, you were on the same damn side. So instead he just sighed, bit his lip and nodded at you. “Alright.”

“Guys.” Charlotte suddenly peaked her head through the cracked door to glance at you both. “Come on, we need you at Media now.”

This wasn’t going to be easy, that you knew. The media had given you a hard time for things way less than this so you could only imagine what they had in store for you after throwing up on live TV for half the world to see moments after a voluntary DNF. It just about felt like you were being led to your execution with the way you knew they were about to tear into you. But there was no avoiding this, and the grimaced look etched into your features left Lando very aware of this fact.

“I know you don’t wanna do this but you have to go out there, you’ve got no choice. Not unless you’re willing to cop a fat fine.”

You stuck an eyebrow up at Landos voice, the sides of your lips extending out as you conceptualized his words but your expression quickly had him shaking his head alongside a hearty laugh. “No, no. Don’t even look like you’re considering it.”

Your laugh to match his own soon sounded throughout the room, and his hand swiftly found its place at the nape of your neck, to which he gave a quick squeeze and began leading you out the door into the McLaren garage hallway. “We have a wedding to plan and that means a lot of money to spend. You will not be wasting money trying to get out of media duties.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at how exasperated and sarcastic he sounded.

You both found yourselves trailing along Charlotte's path until the hallway quickly opened up into a large room where a few other drivers had already begun their own separate interviews towards the camera crews which littered every corner. The media pen; may as well be your death site.

Whilst waiting for the race to end; and for the nausea to subside, Charlotte had given you a rundown - more like a lecture; regarding what to expect and how to approach the inevitably condescending questions that would soon be thrown your way. 

This was going to be brutal, you knew that. You had finally made a mistake that the male media could exploit to reinforce their stereotypes about damned women in motorsports. Just another day facing the misogyny of the position, except this time, it was your own carelessness that put you in this position. The only damned thing you’d be was a damned liar if you said the upcoming articles tearing into you weren’t already gnawing at your mind. You could just picture it;

‘’Mclaren Princess’ Just Might Throw Her Way Up and Out of Competitive Driving,’

‘Speed Queen’s Weak Stomach Shows Why She’s Better Suited for Other Races,’

‘Too Glamorous For The F1 Track? or Maybe Not Glamorous Enough; - maybe we should leave the fast cars to the men that made them.’ 

This might just be worse than the ‘Revving Engines, not Emotions,’ article from last year when you teared up in Australia after what was the most frustrating race of your career. This was going to be horrible. 

Your actions were always hyper-criticized, but maybe just once you were being too imaginative for your own good. You needed to calm down because words tended to stick with you. A fact that Charlotte knew all too well, because she was sure to speak words she knew would ring through your ears during those interviews; Take it on the chin, stay composed and certainly don't be snappy. One of those was doable.

The moment you passed the threshold beyond the doorway, officially crossing into the media pen, it's as if every set of eyes and every lens of a camera had turned to watch you move. The room hadn’t by any means gone quiet, but there was definitely a shift in volume as the noise settled from a near unbearable buzz to a tolerable chatter, just enough to notice the change. The influx of attention almost had you doubling over once again, especially when you felt the nausea begin to slowly creep up for the second time that day. But you made notable efforts to keep your head high, hoping that a strong demeanor would at least soften the blow which would soon be dealt.

Lando’s arm had split from your neck not long after entering the room. You guys were always light on your PDA, trying to keep as much of your personal relationship as private as possible; as private as an already public relationship could possibly be. But he still managed to give you a small, reassuring squeeze on the hip before you both set off, being led in opposite directions.

A flurry of reporter eyes seemed to trail your path as your personal PR manager led you to a spot right in between Carlos and Charles, and as you started setting yourself up, you unavoidably overheard their journalists trying to wrap up their interviews, which you could only imagine would be to get a shot at you faster. 

However unluckily for those journalists, it seems your first adversary had already taken the stand just directly across from you with a large, heavy mic and aged, gleaming eyes; eyes that had your own widening in alarm. You were quite familiar with this journalist, very familiar with him actually as he had always been quick to criticize you and your skills on many occasions in the past. He was quite ill-mannered towards you, definitely holding a target out with a gun aimed directly for your career, making it clear he was disapproving of your presence as a woman on this grid. You just knew he had been waiting for you. This was going to be hell.

The journalist quickly began setting himself up, the cameraman behind him pointing the lens directly at your sour face, which you admittedly were not doing a great job at masking. Though, if your interviewer had noticed, he thankfully hadn’t commented on it. However that didn’t stop him from wasting any time beginning to comment on the other mistakes you had made today.

“Always a pleasure to speak with you, Speed Queen.” His gravelly voice spat. “Though I think ‘Pit Princess’ may be a little more fitting after today's race.” A sly smirk quickly spread across his mouth, an act that had your hands bracing against the railing separating the two of you from one another. Charles had quickly taken notice of this from his position just beside you. He admittedly felt he was doing quite well at remaining professional and ignoring the exchange between you and the infamous journalist, but now he was on high alert, ears perked in your direction with the intention of intervening at any given moment.

Despite your peeved sentiment, you did well at keeping your face straight and head high at the insult, feeling it necessary to not crack in front of the person trying to get a reaction out of you. Don’t prove his point. 

“I appreciate the creativity, but I think I would prefer to focus on the race itself rather than nicknames. I’m quite happy with the one I have.” There was a moment in which he tried to intervene, however you were determined to move past the subject. “-And, you know, today’s challenges were significant, but that’s a part of the sport, I guess.” Despite the lingering nausea, you still managed to force a professional smile.

“Is it?” He curled an eyebrow condescendingly, a look which nearly had a scowl slipping past your placid facade. But instead you held strong, that sickeningly sweet smile dripping like honey with disdain. “Part of the sport is the unpredictability of it. So I’d say so.”

The man's eyes gleamed on, a small hum escaping his lips as he nodded absently. “It’s just that no other driver seems to have this issue. Do you think maybe your choice to retire has to do with particular limitations a female might have that the men in this sport don’t?”

And as expected, the indirectness wasn’t so indirect anymore, the true misogynistic intentions of his words slowly crept out with ferocity. 

“No.” Your tone was final, like it hadn’t ever crossed your mind, because it really hadn’t. “No I really don’t. Many men before me have gotten sick during races, I guess I just preferred to voluntarily take myself out of the race than spend the rest of it wiping pesto off my visor.” You snarled. 

A small tap against your arm quickly alerted you to the contention of your PR manager, a disapproving gesture silently advising you to reel it in. But god was it hard when his face was so smug. She should understand that being passive aggressive was much more admissible than being violent, so she may as well let you get your anger out in the socially acceptable way, though you admit it was strange of you to feel so angry. You were usually better at keeping your emotions in check. Hm. But alas, you complied, correcting your face and letting him speak; even if you wanted so badly to interrupt him with your thoughts of how horrible a journalist he was. 

“Well, I think a lot of people agree when I say that this sport tends to reward determination and resilience, not quitting.”

Were you hearing this correctly? Was he really implying that you should have thrown up right into your helmet and just continued through the race like nothing? It was getting really hard to remain socially acceptable. What was this new found anger? “Racing may sometimes reward resilience, however, being sharp minded is more important sometimes. I noticed I was unwell enough for it to affect my performance, so I decided it was smarter to take myself out of the race. Especially after nearly taking Carlos out of the race too.” 

Just as you finished answering the (absurd) question, a suave laugh sounded to your left as Carlos suddenly stepped up beside you, sliding his arm across your shoulder. “I did have some choice words prepared for you earlier Mija, but then I learnt what happened and now I forgive you.” His eyes suddenly turned to the journalist, a glint of exaggerated pity in relation to the topic seeping into his expression, almost as if he was speaking with experience to someone who wouldn’t understand; because he was. “Driving whilst sick is not for the weak.”

The journalist's cold eyes squinted slightly as Carlos’ condescending tone registered in his head, yet he kept his expression neutral and mic high as he nodded. “I’m sure it isn’t.” And nothing was said after that. No rebuttal, no argumentative comment, just a plea of agreement. God, how you wished interviews were that easy for you.

A few voices echoing out from somewhere behind had caught the attention of the trio, and it didn’t take long for you to realize it was Carlos’ team instructing him to move onwards to his next position. So with a reassuring smile towards you and a quick quirk of a brow towards the reporter, he was off to his next interview without another word, taking your fleeting moment of security along with him as he left.

Now it was just you and the reporter once more, and you could tell he wasn’t feeling as cordial with you as he was with Carlos, evident by the slight snarl that had crept onto his face by the interruption in your defense. “Friendly words from Sainz there, as always.” he began, his tone dripping with insincerity, “Do you find it degrading that other drivers always have to come to your defense in order to keep your positive reputation, because there are a lot of people that believe you perhaps, ride off the success of others.” 

Your stomach twisted, and if it was from the nausea growing once again or from the sheer audacity of his words, you couldn’t tell. He was essentially implying that the only reason people liked you was because other likable people vouched for you, and not because of your own hard work and valiant achievements. It seems he wanted defense, you were about to show him just how defensive you could be. 

“With all due respect,” you began, voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge, “I don’t defend myself because I don’t have to, because the genuinity of my character extends far past my words.” you paused, thinking about your next words carefully. “My peers defend me because I’ve proven my capabilities time and time again, and they know that one incident doesn’t define my career. However, I don’t think you share the same sentiment, hm?” 

The taunting in your voice was quickly caught on by your PR manager who swiftly grabbed your arm in yet another warning, except this time you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as much. The journalist's eyes narrowed at your words, clearly not expecting such a discourteous response and the tugging of your PR manager's grip against your arm was an obvious nonverbal message to wrap it up but you weren't finished, oh no. That new found anger that had been gnawing at you all race was just beginning to trickle out.

“‘Riding off the success of others.’” Your quoted, voice riddled with humor, “And yet you somehow manage to find me every post race interview. Do you write these question’s down in your little notebook while you watch my multi-race winning car fly past you? Or do you wipe the dust from the camera lens instead?”

He quickly opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, your PR manager intervened, her grip on your arm tightening slightly as she stepped forward. “This interview is over,” she announced firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. “McLaren will be utalizing the next few days to help Y/n recover for next week's race. If you have any further questions, you can direct them to our media office.”

Your eyes widened in shock at the intervention. You had overstepped your media training a few times before and yet none had ever led to the end of the interview. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little surprised at your PR manager's swift movements as she tugged you back and away from the journalist. “Let’s move on.” Her voice was disapproving but she was obviously trying to remain calm and professional, understanding there was a job to be done. But your anger wasn’t discriminatory, everyone was a potential outlet, and you weren’t having this. “No, I’m finished.” You didn’t even want to participate in media in the first place, this was obligatory. You had done your part and now you were taking charge of the rest of your night. And so you pulled your arm back and made quick haste towards the exit, leading back to your driver room. 

You were only a few meters from the door now, acutely aware of all the eyes watching you retire early from yet another obligation today, when a hand grazing the small of your back pulled you away from the tormenting feeling of the bile rising once again. This time, it was Charles, his sweet face beaming a reassuring smile at you as he began walking in stride towards the exit alongside you. “Mon cheri, that was something else.” 

You couldn’t help but scoff at his words, nausea bubbling once again, expecting yet another lecture from someone else. “If by ‘something else’ you mean a complete disaster, then yeah, I guess.”

Charles kept his tone steady, a touch of amusement in his voice as you both walked in stride. “No, I mean you handled it with a lot of, uhh.. What is the English? Poise.” 

You gave him a skeptical look. “Thanks, but it didn’t feel like handling things with poise, It felt like I was about to lose it.” 

His smile slipped into a small laugh before it fell,  and his bright eyes quickly turned into one’s of worry as he began a once over of your body. “Are you feeling okay?” he began the inevitable conversation. “I’m okay, it’ll pass I'm sure.”

Charles’ brows furrowed down, thick accent sounding with worry as he spoke. “You shouldn’t count on it passing, you should take care of yourself. You’re only gonna have more shit thrown at you if you don’t-”

As sweet as his concern was, you were tired of this conversation today, it was becoming tedious to hear and you really just needed to lie down or something. “-Charles, I really appreciate it and I'll be sure to visit the doctor tomorrow, but I think I’m gonna be sick again, so how about you cover me up to the hallway before I end up in another fight with a reporter, or my head in another bin on TV.”

Your words had Charles’s eyes widening, quickly glancing around from side to side in search of his target who was finishing up from an interview of his own, when your hand came up to press against your mouth, skin turning a tinge green. “Lando!”

The video shook a little as the person on the other end fidgeted with the camera, a slight blur shifting the image and the audio cracking with the movement before the frame finally straightened up. The person took a step back. It was you, which wasn’t all that surprising considering the video had been uploaded onto your own instagram, but it was the first anyone had really heard of you in weeks. 

Ever since your race ending ailment back in Spain, you had essentially gone radio silent. Not posting, not participating in interviews; you had missed 2 more races since then. It was worrisome, especially considering you had assured everyone the day after Spain that you were working on getting better for next week's race, which you never showed up to. 

The races went on and the fans asked about you, the interviewers asked about you too, but it seemed everyone involved in the FIA had no comment on your whereabouts nor your condition. The drivers dodged post interview questions, excelling on to new subjects and only had quick fleeting comments in response to concerned fans around the paddock who were only trying to make sense of it all.

Lando copped the brunt end of it though, scoring a P2 podium in Canada that everyone could more obviously care less about in his post-race interviews. The only topic mentioned was you, your absence from the race and why everyone was so hush-hush about it in the first place. The interviews were so off topic that this time it was Lando who had to leave the media pen early to avoid the questions, though opposingly, McLaren had been the ones to encourage his swift exit.

It was starting to become an issue. People were fretful. Were you still sick? Was it something more serious than you had anticipated and now you couldn’t race anymore?

The view they were looking at suggested that perhaps they were about to find out. 

You retreated away from the camera propped up against what people could only speculate had to be your dressing table, as you found your spot upon the large, luxurious bed the camera was pointing towards. Now cross legged upon it, your body clad in a 2 piece short silky pajama set, finally you began to speak. 

“Hello everyone.” You didn’t sound unwell, not stressed or upset. In fact, there was an edge to your voice that almost seemed cheerful; excited. And yet for now you remained composed, nothing but a small, media trained smile dawning your otherwise expressionless face.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The sentence was humorous, calling attention to the silence you had afflicted, and the lack of news upon your whereabouts. “Lando and I are finally home in Monaco for summer break, though I have to admit that I’ve actually been in Monaco for a few weeks now. I think some of you might feel that was a bit obvious given my absence.”

There was a high pitched chuckle off screen, it obviously being Lando out of frame as your eyes flickered over to the side with a playful yet mischievous smile, encouraging his reaction with your expression. It was a fleeting moment as your smile once again fell into something a little more vacant before straightening up and continuing. “I know a lot of people have questions, and I do want to apologize for the lack of communication on my end, I’ll explain, I promise but first I also want to say please don’t be mad at any of the other drivers for not speaking out, they were all just respecting my wishes in not saying anything until I was ready.”

There was a small pause as you took a breath, no sound emitting except for the slight breeze wafting through the room, further exemplified by the sway of the sheer curtains. This was so nerve racking, were you about to announce your departure from motorsport? Were you about to reveal a sickness you weren't aware of until now? The silence, though short lived, was deafening. 

“I-” Finally you spoke, but quickly caught it with a bite to your lower lip. It really seemed like you were processing your words, debating how to present your next statement carefully enough. “How do I-?”

Once again your gaze drifted off to the side of the screen, confused and cautious eyes quickly averting into a bright smile before a laugh escaped your mouth. “Don’t look so excited!” 

Lando, obviously beaming, clear by the tone of his voice, cheerfully yelled back, “Do you want me to say it?!”

“No!” you rebutted quickly with a laugh, “I told you I wanted to be the one to announce it, stop trying to take my shine!”

“Then go on with it!” He was so obviously really excited, impatient to finally announce whatever it was that had him so elevated.

“Okay well-” You stuttered for a moment, quickly catching yourself before continuing. “As many of you saw in Spain, I wasn’t feeling too well,-”

“-Hard to miss-.” Landos voice mumbled, a comment in which you swiftly ignored.  

“-And I hadn’t been for a few days leading up to it but I just took it as a stomach bug and planned to go on with it like usual. What I didn’t plan for however, was the doctor's visit I was forced to go to the day after.”

Your eyes glared off to the side once again, feigning annoyance but evidently not actually upset before looking back at the camera with a smile. “The good news is that we are very much aware of what was making me sick.” Your voice was reassuring, eyes slowly beginning to light up as you continued on. “The bad news is that I unfortunately will not be participating in the rest of the 2024 season, or the 2025 one for that matter.”

It was like you could feel the impending shock of everyone watching radiating through the screen despite it being pre recorded because your pause was almost comically dramatic. And yet it was so wholly conflicting, because regardless of the awful news, you didn’t really seem all that upset despite being such a passionate racer, it felt so out of character. This confusion was only exemplified further when your eyes once again drifted to the left, a large smile engulfing your features as you took notice of what had to be Lando's excited expression once more. “Oh don’t look so happy, you’re the one who still gets to race!”

“I’m sorry!” He laughed that high pitched laugh he does when he just can’t hold it back.

Your eyes flickered back to the camera, sitting straight on with a patient yet humorous smile, a single eyebrow cocked as you waited for Landos laughter to simmer. It took a moment, a moment you thought ended a time or two before he began again, but eventually the room became still again as your face grew just a little more in adoration towards the man everyone could see you loved dearly. It was like the energy had shifted just a little, from what felt so playful before, to something a little more familial and warm. 

“I think some of you may have put the pieces together, but for those who haven’t. Well… I’m pregnant!” Your smile was so big and sheepish, so conscious and just a little shy, it almost felt as if you were announcing it to a friend of many years and it was all just so heartwarming. You were okay! More than that, you were happy, and soon everyone else who would watch this video would be too. Lando's happy laugh from beyond the camera at the announcement finally being made was more than enough to express just how joyous the news was for the two of you.

“As heartbreaking as it will be to not be able to competitively race in the upcoming seasons, I’m not actually that sad about having to step down for a little.” You laughed heartily. “I proudly announce that in my place, the very talented Australian driver Oscar Piastri will be filling my position until I'm off from… maternity leave? I guess. That's a first for this sport.”  You laughed.  “But of course they just had to find the best to replace the best.” You quickly glanced over towards Lando out of frame, clearly expecting an agreement that never came. They could only imagine the disapproving look Lando was sending you.

Your expression never changed, but your tone dropped as you spoke darkly. “I’m carrying your child.” You spat, to which a loud “But of course!” sounded in response, followed by a laugh from the both of you.

“Don’t worry, you’ll still be seeing me around the track a lot considering this muppet,” you pointed to your left, “still gets to race.”

“Don’t be jealous,” the soft voice came from off screen. 

“No, I’ll confidently admit it, I’m so jealous.” You pouted, but the warmth in your eyes belied the playful tone in your voice.

Lando’s hand appeared in the frame for a brief moment, gently squeezing your shoulder before disappearing off-camera again. “We’ll be back out there together soon enough.”

You nodded, your smile returning as you glanced back at the camera, feeling a surge of excitement for what was to come. “In the meantime, I’m looking forward to supporting the team from a different angle. It’s going to be a new experience, but I’m excited to do this as…”

“-As a mother?” Lando finished with a knowing smirk.

“As a mother.” You laughed, a loud one from Lando soon sounded to match your own, one so joyous it left you beaming. Suddenly, Lando jolted in frame, clearly excited as he leaned over the bed to tackle you from your sitting position down into a hug, leaving you both falling back onto the sheets. “Oh my god Lando!” You shout, a hand quickly moving to shield your lower stomach. “God! Nevermind guys, I think Lando just tackled the baby out of me, guess I’ll be seeing you all from my McLaren in Austria.”

“Oh!” Lando gasped. “Not funny!” 

[teamatsumu]

CRUSH (ushijima wakatoshi x reader)

summary: wakatoshi has a crush.

word count: 720

warnings: fem!reader, its all just fluff

tags: @keiva1000

Ushijima knows he has fans. He might be simple-minded and a little oblivious, but he’s not stupid.

He knows girls stare at him from the balcony during practice. And he can hear their giggling when he passes them in the halls. Tendou often calls him Shiratorizawa’s Golden Boy, which Ushijima wholeheartedly disagrees with, but never voices out loud. Tendou often says strange things. He doesn’t mind.

Ushijima doesn’t understand his popularity. Sure, he is a good player. The best ace in the prefecture. But most of these girls have no understanding of volleyball. So why are they spending hours upon hours in the stands, watching him play?

“They’re not watching the match, Wakatoshi-kun. They are watching you.”

Hm. Strange. His play is very consistent. Watching him do the same thing over and over has to get boring, especially when they aren’t watching for the sake of the game.

But then he sees you for the first time.

You are in his third year English class. In his three years of high school, Ushijima is sure he has never seen you before. Because if he had, there was no way he would forget you.

He is curious. And a little enamored by you.

You are, by all means, a regular girl. You sit on the same chair every day, bring your own bento instead of eating from the cafeteria. It is always wrapped in a pretty multicolored patterned cloth, done up in a knot on top. You have a small stuffed cat chain on the zipper of your backpack. And you wear your hair differently every day. Some days it is tied up, some days it is let down. And some days it is half-up and half-down. You have one pink bunny hairclip that you wear maybe once every two or three days that Ushijima thinks is very cute. Your uniform is always immaculate.

There are so many tiny details about you that Ushijima has learned, and he finally understands why girls would stay hanging over the gym balcony to watch him for hours, because he could watch you for hours too.

You are very smart, he could tell. You always answer correctly when the teacher would call on you, and he has glimpsed at your notes. Simple, but neat and easy to understand, just the way he likes it. There are no crazy colors and highlighters, and your handwriting is neat and beautiful, just like the rest of you.

You are also quiet. You have a select group of friends that you talk to, and while you are nice to anyone who interacts with you, you don't go out of your way to stand out. Again, Ushijima loves that. It seems he loved everything about you. All the minor details that make you a little bit more unique to everyone else.

When you show up at his game, he nearly loses his focus.

It in’t an important game by any means, just a practice match with another local university team. So why are you here? Have your friends dragged you along? Or are you here by your own volition? Ushijima feels how sweaty his palms are when he clenches his fists, and it surprises him.

Is he….. nervous?

Why? Because you are watching? How ridiculous. Ushijima has never once doubted his own strength, or his ability to win. How could your presence alter that? The thought annoys him, and he is determined to prove that you being here would not be a hindrance to his play.

Turns out, he needn't have worried. It seems your presence had sharpened his senses more than ever. Shiratorizawa won in straight sets, and of the 50 points they scored, 39 had been from Ushijima’s hand.

“You were on fire today, Wakatoshi-kun.” Tendou comments as the final whistle rings. Ushijima unintentionally glances at you in the stands, cheering for the team. Cheering for him.

His heart is beating a mile a minute, and he doesn’t think it is because of the game he had just played. He hears Tendou let out a dreamy sigh.

“Ah, the miracles of having a crush.”

He feels his lips tick up in a tiny smile as he throws a towel over his shoulders. Tendou is wrong. Ushijima doesn’t think he has a crush.

He thinks he is in love.

[pucksandpower]

hiii! with the chaos that was today’s career, could I request one with driver reader that she started telling her team that she wasn’t feeling good but still wanted to continue but the next moment she isn’t answering her radio because she fainted in the car and the car goes out, the marshals take her out of the car and she doesn’t wake up, maybe she has extreme dehydration and is hot to touch, etc.

How the other drivers react when they found out, her team, etc.

Thank you

Too Hot To Handle

Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!Reader

Summary: the Qatar Grand Prix pushed every driver to the limit … and some past the limit

Warnings: heat stroke, dehydration, crash, medical conditions

The Lusail International Circuit hums with electric anticipation, its asphalt ribbon shimmering under the floodlights. The roar of the crowd fills the night but the oppressive heat weighs on everyone, creating a contrasting atmosphere of excitement and cautious apprehension.

Standing alongside your Red Bull Racing car, you wipe a bead of sweat from your brow. In only your first year with the reigning double champions, you already have a record that has quickly become the talk of the paddock. But for all the praise and whispers, there is one voice that stands out.

“Remember, liefje, it’s not just about speed tonight. Keep hydrated, alright?” Max’s voice is full of warmth and concern. His hand rests gently on your arm.

You flash him a confident smile even though you’re battling your nerves internally. “I’ve raced in heat before, Maxie. I won in Singapore. I’ll be fine.”

He pulls you into a quick embrace, the temperature doing little to dampen the spark between you. “It’s different here. This heat ... it’s like nothing I’ve ever raced in before.”

Pulling back, you raise an eyebrow teasingly. “You worried about me, Verstappen?”

He laughs but there’s a hint of steely seriousness in his blue eyes. “Always. Just ... promise me you’ll be careful out there. For both our sakes.”

You nod, touching your helmet to his. “Promise.”

The intercom in your ear crackles to life. “Drivers, to your cars!”

You both exchange a final glance. Racing is in your blood, it’s what brought you together, but it also keeps you apart, if only for the few hours you’re no longer partners in life but competitors on track.

Sliding into your car, you secure your helmet and gloves. The world outside becomes a bit muffled but your focus sharpens. The engine’s purr is a familiar comfort, but tonight, it’s edged with the unease Max’s words left behind.

Your race engineer, Hugh Bird, checks in over the radio, “Everything good, Y/N?”

You take a deep breath, “As good as it’ll ever be. Let’s light up this track.”

“Give them a show.”

Lights out and away we go.

***

The Qatar Grand Prix unfolds with its usual mix of intensity and skill, drivers navigating tight turns and overtaking with precision. But beneath the spectacle, a subtle tension mounts. The oppressive heat, the stark floodlights, and the weight of expectation — all of it seems to be building to something.

In the garage and on the pit wall, your team closely monitors the race and your performance. Hugh occasionally chimes in with updates, “You’re doing great, Y/N. Remember to hydrate whenever you need to.”

You nod even though he can’t see it, “Understood. The heat’s something else in here.”

A pause. Then, “Just keep stead. And Max told GP to tell me to tell you to remember what he said.”

A smile touches your lips, “I always do.”

***

The track is a blur as you push your car to its limits, feeling the adrenaline surge in tandem with the roar of the engines. It’s as if the heat has seeped into your very core, burning with intensity. Each lap feels slightly longer, every turn a tad sharper, as the humid air takes its toll.

“Y/N,” Hugh radioes through, sounding distant and slightly distorted by the pounding in your head, “you’re P2. Great pace. Remember to sip some water.”

A trickle of sweat runs down the side of your face, stinging your eye. Blinking rapidly, you reach for the button that activates your hydration system.

“Got it,” your voice sounds foreign even to your own ears. The water is lukewarm and tastes metallic, not as refreshing as you had hoped.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” he urges.

With every lap, the world outside your visor seems to grow brighter, the floodlights shimmering like mirages in a desert. The race has become a battle, not just against other drivers but against the environment and, increasingly, against yourself.

“You’re dropping pace. Is everything alright?” Hugh’s concerned voice crackles through.

A knot tightens in your stomach. “I don’t know. I ...” You trail off, the words catching in your throat as a wave of overwhelming dizziness hits.

You can hear the alarm in your engineer’s voice becoming more pronounced. “Y/N, talk to me. Do we need to pit?”

The heat wraps around you, constricting, making it difficult to breathe. Your hands, slick with sweat, struggle to grip the wheel even through your gloves. “Guys ... I don’t ... feel ...” The world spins and your words falters.

“Y/N? Y/N, talk to me!”

But before you can respond, before you can even finish your sentence, the world tilts and blurs into an incomprehensible whirlwind. The sweltering heat, the relentless pursuit of victory, and the weight of expectation converge into a maelstrom that engulfs you entirely.

Your hands, once deftly steering the RB19, now hang limply by your sides. The car veers off the track, careening towards the barriers. Panic rises in you but it’s too late. Your body refuses to act.

The deafening sound of metal against metal fills your ears, followed by the nauseating sensation of impact. The world outside your cockpit twists and spins, a kaleidoscope of colors and chaos. Then, abruptly, it all goes dark.

In the garage, your team watches in horror as the monitors show the violent crash. The radio falls silent, the connection severed. In that heartbeat, the world goes eerily quiet, punctuated only by the distant echoes of screeching tires and the blaring alarms.

Moments pass like hours and finally the static on the radio clears, replaced by your frantic race engineer, “—please respond. Y/N? Are you okay?”

But there’s no response. Your world remains shrouded in darkness as the circuit comes to a standstill, gripped by an eerie silence that drowns out even the most deafening of cheers.

The track is plunged into chaos. Red flags wave fervently, signaling danger. Marshals rush towards your wrecked car, their fluorescent jackets contrasting brightly against the night.

“Get her out! Get her out!” One of the marshals shouts as they reach your car. Your limp form is carefully extracted and they begin immediate first aid. The severity of the situation is clear — the heat, the dehydration, it’s all taken its toll.

The crowd watches, a collective gasp filling the air soon replaced by a thick, heavy silence. As your unconscious form is stretchered away, the weight of all those warnings crashes down.

Back on the pit wall, four words whispered into the radio are the first of many about to turn your boyfriend’s world upside down.

“Safety car, safety car.”

***

“Max, we’re pitting this lap. Box, box,” the calm, steady voice of Gianpiero Lambiase, Max’s race engineer, instructs over the radio.

Max’s voice is curt, his mind still on the race. “Why? Tires feel fine.”

“Non-negotiable. Safety car is out. We need you to pit now.”

The urgency in GP’s voice is not lost on Max and he immediately senses that something is wrong. “What happened? Why is there a safety car?”

Silence follows for a heartbeat too long. “There was an incident. Just focus on your race.”

An icy dread seeps into Max’s bones. The circuit is massive yet his world feels terribly small at this moment. “Who was it? Who crashed?”

His engineer hesitates, and in that pause, the weight of a thousand possibilities presses on Max.

“Who. Was. It?”

GP wavers, “It’s … Y/N.”

Max’s breathing becomes ragged. Panic and fear flood his system. “Why the hell wasn’t I told immediately?”

“It was team orders. The decision was made to keep you focused on the race.”

Max laughs but it lacks any humor. “Team orders? You’re saying Christian decided not to tell me that Y/N ... my Y/N is hurt?”

“Yes,” the reply is uncharacteristically soft, “It was believed to be in everyone’s best interest for you to be fully focused on the race.”

Max has never felt such white-hot rage. He spits into the radio, seething with fury and pain. “You tell Christian that if he ever makes a decision like that again about someone I love, I’ll cut his balls off with a rusty spoon.”

“Max, I understand you’re upset. But right now, we need you to stay focused.”

Stay focused? When the love of his life is in potential danger? The weight of what that means presses down, threatening to crush him. “I need to see her,” he finally rasps out, voice breaking.

The plea hangs in the air, met by another long silence. Finally, the radio clicks on again, softer than ever. “Y/N would want you to finish. You know that. Win this for her.”

Tears blur Max’s vision, mixing with the sweat already pooling in his helmet, but he nods, a silent assent. The roaring engine now sounds distant, the glinting lights a backdrop to the storm that rages within him. Every second is an eternity, every turn a test of his resolve to keep racing. But Max drives on, pushing his limits for you.

Every fiber of his being silently screams your name, a prayer or a promise or both, Max doesn’t know. All he knows is that the faster he crosses the finish line, the sooner he can be with you.

For the world watching, the race continues, cars whizzing by. But for Max Verstappen, each lap, each second, is a race against his own heart, torn between duty and desperate love.

***

“Her pulse is erratic! Get the defibrillator ready!” A medic shouts as the emergency team frantically works around you, the ambulance parked haphazardly nearby.

Another voice, calmer but filled with urgency, counters, “Wait, give her a moment. She might come around.”

“Come on, Y/N,” A young medic mutters, pressing an oxygen mask to your face. “Don’t do this.”

The ambulance door opens again, the head medic speaking into a radio, “We need an airlift, now. The situation’s deteriorating rapidly.”

Another voice, muffled, replies, “The helicopter’s on its way! Clear the area.”

As the medics continue to administer aid, working desperately to stabilize you, the chief medic tries to maintain order, “Every second counts. This heat stroke is severe, coupled with dehydration ... it’s a nightmare scenario.”

“We should have had more cooling stations,” the younger medic mutters. “The humidity coupled with the heat ... it’s brutal tonight. And we’re not even the ones out there driving.”

The older medic takes a deep breath. “That is on the organizations. We can’t fix there mistakes but we can focus on what happening now and do everything we can to get her through this.”

The thrum of helicopter blades soon overwhelms the noise of the circuit, growing louder as it approaches. Soon, the bright light from its landing spotlight punctuates the night. “The helicopter’s here!” Someone shouts.

“Alright, team, on three,” the chief medic commands. They work in perfect sync, lifting you carefully but quickly, your body still unresponsive.

As they approach the helicopter, the pilot shouts over the roar, “We’ve got the best onboard. She’s in good hands.”

“She’s one of our best,” the younger medic shouts back. “She has to be okay.”

The chief medic, securing you inside, murmurs more to himself than anyone else, “Come on, Y/N. The race isn’t over. Keep fighting.”

***

“You expect me to smile and stand on that podium knowing she’s been airlifted to a hospital?” Max’s voice trembles with rage as he confronts the FIA officials blocking his way.

“Mr. Verstappen, there are rules, procedures,” an official replies stiffly.

“Rules? Y/N might be fighting for her life right now and you want to talk to me about rules?” Max’s hands clench and unclench as he physically holds himself back from throwing a punch.

Another official steps forward, trying to mediate, “Max, we understand your feelings but millions of viewers are watching. The podium is an essential part of the race.”

Max’s eyes flash with anger. “You think I care about a trophy when my girlfriend is in a hospital? Do you really think that piece of metal means anything to me right now?”

“We sympathize— ” the first official begins but is cut off by Max’s heated response.

“You sympathize? Do you even know what that word means?” He’s on the verge of breaking, voice barely above a whisper as he continues, “She is everything to me. Everything. And you want me to smile and wave for the cameras?”

The air grows thick with tension. The two drivers from McLaren waiting for their cue to go to the podium are silent, their eyes darting between Max and the officials.

A new voice interjects , “Let him go.”

It’s Lewis Hamilton, who despite DNFing early in the race, made his way across the paddock after seeing the distress on his rival’s face. “There are things more important than a ceremony.”

The officials exchange glances, clearly not expecting this intervention. But before they can reply, Max levels them with a final scathing look. “Fine me if you must! Penalize me! Suspend me for all I care! But I am going to her.”

And off he goes.

***

A nurse at the desk recognizes Max immediately when he runs into the hospital. “Mr. Verstappen,” she begins hesitantly, “Miss Y/L/N is in the ICU. Room 302.”

He doesn’t need any further prompting to sprint down the hall. Reaching the room, he stops dead in his tracks. You’re there, surrounded by machines that beep and whirr, tubes running to and from you, an oxygen mask on your face. The sight of you, once so full of life, now frail and vulnerable, breaks him.

His voice, when he finally managed to finds it, is a choked whisper, “Y/N ...”

Approaching the bedside, Max gently takes your hand, feeling its clamminess. “Hey, liefje ... it’s me,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles. His tears fall freely, wetting the back of your hand.

“Come on, love,” his voice cracks as he continues, “You’ve got to pull through this. For us.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, tracing the familiar curves and lines he’s come to adore. “Remember that time in Monaco? When we snuck out for that secret dinner that our trainers would have killed us for? We promised each other forever that night. You can’t leave me now. Not when we’ve got so many more memories left to make.”

The room’s silence is punctuated only by the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor in a cruel reminder of the fragility of the moment.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs. “Please ... please come back to me.”

Leaning in, he rests his forehead against yours, allowing the weight of his anguish, love, and hope to flow between the two of you in the sterile room.

***

Nothing has changed. The steady beep of the heart monitor still punctuates the silence of the hospital room. Max sits vigilantly at your bedside, his hand gently clasping yours.

It’s been three days since the crash and you still have not woken up. The doctors say your condition is stable but uncertain.

Max leans in close and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Morning, liefje. I’m still here. Not going anywhere.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch impossibly gentle as if you might break. In the stark hospital lighting, the dark circles under his eyes are visible. Sleep hasn’t come easy to him, not with you lying here.

A soft knock at the door draws Max’s attention. Hugh pokes his head in hesitantly. “Hey, Max. Any change?”

Max shakes his head, swallowing hard. “Nothing yet. But she’s fighting. I know she is.”

Your race engineer steps further into the room, his expression solemn. “I should have seen the signs earlier. Pushed her to hydrate more. Slowed her pace.” His voice catches, “It was my job to look out for her.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Max says firmly. “Y/N is stubborn. We both know that. She wanted to prove herself.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “It’s what makes her brilliant.”

Hugh pulls up a chair on the opposite side of the bed. For a moment, the two men sit in pensive silence. Then your race engineer speaks again, softer this time. “Has she ... has she responded at all? Squeezed your hand or anything?”

Max clenches his jaw and stares past Hugh at the blank wall. “No. Nothing yet. But I know she can hear me. I tell her about training, the team ... I update her on everything. She’ll want to jump right back in when she wakes up.”

Footsteps approach and a nurse enters, checking the equipment and your vitals. After making some notes on a chart, she offers an encouraging smile. “No change but she seems stable. Just keep talking to her. Familiar voices help.”

After she departs, Hugh leans forward, clasping your still hand. “Hear that, Y/N? You’ve got to wake up. The team needs you. Your fans are all rooting for you. And ...” His voice cracks. “I need my driver back.”

Max looks at him gratefully. “We all need her back.” Reaching out, he gives your race engineer’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Another knock sounds. This time, it’s Christian. His face is etched with guilt and worry. “Max. Any improvement today?”

Max’s expression hardens. He hasn’t forgotten Christian’s decision to withhold news of your crash. But his voice remains even as he responds to the team principal. “Nothing new.”

Christian pulls up a chair next to Hugh. He chooses his next words carefully. “Max, I need to apologize. I made the wrong call that night. You deserved to know immediately about Y/N. My priorities were skewed.” His voice shakes slightly. “Seeing her like this ... I would give anything to go back and change what I did.”

Max studies him for a long moment and some of the hardness leaves his eyes. “I appreciate that. But right now, the past doesn’t matter. All that matters is her getting better.”

Christian nods. Reaching out, he gently smoothes your hair. “You hear that, Y/N? We’re all here for you. Your whole team. Now you need to come back to us.”

A heavy silence settles on the room once more. The three of them remain clustered around the bed … keeping vigil … willing you to show any small sign of recovery.

After some time passes, the ringing of Hugh’s phone snaps the three men out of their thoughts. “Sorry to interrupt,” your press officer’s voice filters through the speaker, “but the team’s on the line. They want to send their well wishes to Y/N.”

Hugh glances at Max questioningly who nods, “Patch them through. Let the whole team remind her why she needs to wake up.”

A smile tugs at your race engineer’s lips. “You got it. Go ahead, team. She can hear you.”

A chorus of voices floods the room. Your mechanics, pit crew, strategists, PR team … everyone chimes in with encouraging messages.

“Come on, Y/N! We need our star girl back on the grid.”

“You can do this, kid. You’re the toughest one out there!”

“We all believe in you. Keep fighting!”

Max grips your hand tighter, emotions threatening to spill over. Even Christian and Hugh have sheens of tears in their eyes.

“Alright,” your race engineer says after the team signs off. “You heard them. Time to wake up.”

And that’s when Max feels it. A short, weak squeeze of his hand.

Then your eyelids begin to flutter.

“Y/N?” Max leaps to his feet, leaning over you anxiously. “Can you hear me?”

Slowly, painfully, your eyes open, taking in the scene around you. Confusion clouds your expression. “M-Max?” You rasp.

A brilliant smile breaks across Max’s face. Relief floods through him so powerful that his knees nearly buckle as he chokes out, “Yes, yes it’s me! You’re back, liefje. You’re really back.”

Hugh lets out a shaky laugh, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Welcome back, superstar.”

You try to speak again but Max hushes you gently. “Save your strength. We’ve got all the time in the world to talk.”

Christian grins, looking years younger. “Oh thank god. I need to tell the team. They’ll be thrilled. Welcome back, Y/N.” He hurries from the room, phone already in hand.

Your race engineer squeezes your shoulder. “Get some rest. We’ll all be here when you wake up.”

As he and the nurse move discreetly out of the room, you gaze up at Max. “You ... you stayed.”

Max lifts your hand to his lips, blinking back tears. “Of course I stayed. I’ll always stay by your side.”

He leans down, pressing his lips against your chapped ones. All the fear, the uncertainty, the heartache of the past few days melts away.

You’re back. You’re really back. And Max knows, without a shred of doubt, that your lives from this day on will be greater and more meaningful than all your wildest dreams.

***

In the following days, drivers from across the grid make the pilgrimage to your hospital room. They come bearing gifts — flowers, balloons, even a nearly life-size plush race car. But more importantly, they come bearing a message.

“That race should never have happened,” Lewis says solemnly, handing you a get-well card covered in signatures. “The heat was dangerous. We should have acted sooner.”

Esteban grips your hand tightly. “I’m sorry, Y/N. We should have spoken up about the conditions sooner. We all suffered but you suffered most.”

“Your crash woke us all up,” Lance adds. “No trophy is worth risking drivers’ safety even more than we already do each race.”

You’re moved by their solidarity but sigh knowingly. “The FIA would never have listened to just one driver saying something. But maybe they’ll listen to all of us.”

Max’s jaw clenches, residual anger simmering beneath the surface. “They have to listen. We won’t race in unsafe conditions again.”

The other drivers nod, They know the power that you all wield together and for the first time in a long time, you are going to use it.

In a show of outspoken unity, the GPDA drafts a strongly worded letter condemning the lack of caution around extreme heat and demanding tangible changes to make sure drivers aren’t put in avoidable jeopardy.

All twenty of you threaten to strike.

To your surprise, the FIA not only apologizes for the oversight but pledges to implement the requested changes immediately.

“Your crash was a wake-up call,” the FIA president says solemnly during a visit to your hospital room. “We should have protected you better. That will never happen again.”

When he departs, you let out a long breath, leaning back against the pillows. The anger and hurt from that night haven’t disappeared entirely but you feel a sense of hope, that some good has come from the experience.

Max clasps your hand between both of his. “What you went through is unacceptable but you used that to make the sport safer for every driver out there. I’m so proud of you.”

You give him a tired smile. “We did this together. All of us.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest. When you’re better, we’ve got plenty more checkered flags to take. Side by side.”

The long road to full recovery still lies ahead. But with Max by your side, and all the drivers behind you, you know everything will be okay.

The race goes on but it will be a safer race thanks to you.

[starlightxsvt]

PSYCHO | j.ww (M)

synopsis ➳ a new threat has showed up, one wonwoo thought he got rid of. this time, you are entangled into the mess and it is bound to get bloody. good thing wonwoo is there to help you bury past demons that you didn't even know existed.

genre ➳ dark romance, smut, gore, halloween au.

pairing ➳ psycho!wonwoo x therapist!fem reader

word count ➳ 7.6k

warnings ➳ blood, PTSD, mentions of scars, mentions of not being able to eat, stalking, knife, choking, graphic description of murder, hiding a body, halloween costumes (Wonwoo is Ghost from COD), hand necklace, degradation, name calling, makeouts, unprotected sex, rough sex, pussy slapping, fingering, tit play.

Note: it is mandatory to read Bloodily Safe and Game on! before reading this. additionally, I heavily recommend reading the Patreon bonus scene after Game on! to get a better context of this story because this is a continuation from there and is a major plot point.

It is weird seeing your colleague who suddenly disappeared a year ago without a word, appear randomly at the clinic today. 

Joshua is definitely not how you remember him.

He used to be a soft-spoken and friendly guy but the man you met today is someone completely different; rude and snappy. Not to mention that terrifying scar on his face. The long scar running down his left cheek looks quite new and not accidental.

How did he get that?

It is all so peculiar. The way he almost kept scowling at you, the weird aura that radiated off of him and the unsettling way he seemed to notice everything about you and stare too long.

You had been working with Joshua at the clinic for about three months when he disappeared suddenly last October, sending his resignation letter through the mail. No one at the clinic knew about his whereabouts but it was assumed he went back to the States since he had American citizenship. 

Seeing him at the clinic today caught you completely off guard, especially because he felt so familiar yet unfamiliar. In a way you could not put your finger on but made you feel uneasy.

He was there to see Jeonghan, your clinic's new head, saying he needed to have an important meeting with his friend as he showed himself in. 

Who knows what they were talking about in there for so long. You saw him enter when you were on a late lunch break and Joshua was still inside when you left, removing your option to speak to him as you had planned.

And for the first time in a long while, you felt unsafe on the way home, turning your head back now and then, looking for someone who was not there, as if your gut knew something was wrong.

—

“Cherry,” Wonwoo suddenly calls you by your nickname, a solemn clarity in his tone that lets you know he means business. “Look at me.”

You sit at the dinner table, toying with the fork on your empty plate as your mind drifts off somewhere else, clouded by all sorts of thoughts.

You have been zoning out for a while now and your boyfriend’s unwavering gaze at you forces you to focus. You hesitate for a fraction of a second before meeting his eyes. 

Suddenly, you feel nervous. Wonwoo can read you like an open book so you know there is no hiding from him.

“What is bothering you?”

“What do you mean?” You feign confusion, getting up from the chair and heading to the sink where you start washing the dishes, the heavy sound of the jet of water putting a pause in your conversation.

You can feel Wonwoo’s gaze sharpen. He leaves the dining table, stepping closer to you. With his hands crossed in front of his chest, he leans against a nearby countertop and patiently watches you do your work.

You know very well he is waiting for you to finish. Still, for a reason unknown to you, you attempt to evade him. “You should prepare for bed. I will join you soon.”

Wonwoo frowns, his eyes somehow appearing darker as he leans closer. “Don’t do that.” He admonishes. “I know you well enough to know something is up from the look on your face. You have been distracted. What is going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

A soft sigh falls from your lips as you shake off the water on your hands before wiping them in a dry towel resting by the sink. Then, you face him.

 “I met Joshua today.”

Wonwoo’s eyes widen. While you admit that the news is a bit surprising, you are perplexed by why your boyfriend, who barely knows him, appears so shocked.

“Joshua?” There’s a change in Wonwoo’s usual low, monotonous voice. “The guy who used to work at the clinic last year?”

“Yes.” You hum, before raising a brow. “Why are you so shocked?”

Wonwoo blinks, peering at your face for a while before subtly shaking his head. “Nothing. I just did not like the way he looked at you.”

“You say that about every guy.” You roll your eyes.

“But why have you been thinking about him?” Wonwoo snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you closer as he watches you carefully. “Did he try to hit on you?”

“What? No,” you scoff but then pause, recalling the unsettling aura he gave off. You don’t like how weirded out you have been since seeing him. “He…he had this strange, long scar on his face, you know… It looked, I don’t know…not like an accident.”

Wonwoo’s grip on your waist tightens and you look at him inquisitively to see a frown on his brows. 

Why is he so tense? What is he thinking about so hard?

“What are you pondering so seriously?” You poke his nose, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Wonwoo shakes his head, sighing. “Nothing.” He hums, the look in his eyes suddenly changing. “You look ravishing right now, you know.” He murmurs. With a foxy grin, he pulls your body tight against his, trailing teasing kisses and bites on your neck while his hands explore your back.

Heat blooms all throughout your face as you shyly shift your gaze the closer his face comes to yours. You are only wearing a T-shirt and shorts right now so you have your doubts about how ravishing you look.

With a smirk of the devil, he presses his lips to yours, soft and sweet at first as you really soak in the feeling of his large, warm hands holding your back. They roam around freely underneath your t-shirt, one hand on your upper back while the other presses lower, right over your tailbone. Goosebumps break out on your skin under the caress of his soft, sensual fingers.

“Wonwoo,” you whisper, shivering, not from the cold but from need and anticipation as every other thought about the world slips away from your mind. Right now, there is only him and you.

“Hmm?” He hums, pulling his lips just a fraction away from yours and placing you on the countertop.

“I need you,” you plead, using your hands to pull him even closer to you.

With a knowing, cocky smirk, Wonwoo removes your baggy t-shirt off your body, exposing your naked torso for his eyes to feast on. You see the desire spark in his eyes, his gaze not sparing an inch of your chest as he leans down to press kisses all over the soft, sensitive flesh. He takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking in it before gently nibbling the skin around it.

“Wonwoo,” You writhe. “Please.”

“Hmm?” He hums, busy with his task.

“Y-your fingers,” You whisper, trying to grind yourself against him.

“You want my fingers, baby?” His voice is deep as he removes his mouth from your tits and locks his eyes with you. Through the fabric of your shorts, he palms your core, making you whine and writhe more. 

“Where do you want them, little girl?” He smirks, savouring your desperation. You groan, clutching his arms in a vice-like grip with one hand while struggling to remove your shorts with the other. Your boyfriend aids you in the process, tugging it off in one smooth motion and leaving you completely bare.

“Please, Wonwoo.” You beg, all other vocabulary vanishing from your head.

He hums, eyes trained between your legs and then, surprising you, he slaps your pussy, hard, as your mouth falls open in a silent scream. “Horny little slut.” He tsks and in one smooth motion, thrusts two of his fingers inside you. You squeal, hands fisting the material of his t-shirt tightly while his long digits easily slip inside you thanks to the arousal that even coats your thighs.

“Oh fuck, yes.” You moan, eyes rolling back as you feel his fingers move inside you back and forth. With each thrust, your legs fall open wider as your breathing becomes harsher, and your body starts to feel heavy.  Paired with the movement of his fingers and the heated look he’s sending your way, you know you’re not very far from your release. You squeak, “Go-gonna cum.”

Wonwoo scoffs. “So quickly? My needy little cherry. Come then. Come on my fingers so I can put my cock in your wet sopping hole.” The utterly filthy words coming from him make you moan out loud as he brings his thumb over clit, rubbing it swiftly and sending you over the edge and face-first into your orgasm.

It shakes your body as you slump over Wonwoo, letting the ecstasy wash over you, your pussy spasming repeatedly as he keeps playing with you throughout your high. When you finally come down and your mind starts working again, Wonwoo pulls his fingers out of you, dripping in your essence and licks his digits clean, never wavering eye contact with you. The erotic sight has your core thrumming once more as your throat dries up. “Please. Fuck me, Wonwoo…” Your voice is soft and breathy and the man grins as if pleased with your begging. “Good girl.”

Pressing a quick kiss on the top of your head, he steps back, pulling your naked body with him as he heads for the bedroom. Once there, you sit on the bed and eagerly wait for him to take off his clothes and join you, your hungry eyes watching him remove his t-shirt.  Anticipation builds in your veins as you lick your dry lips, avidly waiting to see his cock as if it is your first time.

With his eyes never straying from yours, he removes his pants and boxers, a cheeky smirk playing on his lips. Like every other time, his size and girth leave your mouth dry and your core clenching around nothing. 

Your eyes never leave his cock as it bobs in the air, his tip leaking precum. Wonwoo watches you watch him with utter amusement. “Close your mouth, cherry. Otherwise, I might shove this down your throat.” He flashes you a haughty grin as he climbs on top of you and pecks your mouth.

“You can do that” You whisper, eyes trained on his cock as his large body engulfs yours, pressing you flat into the mattress. On top of you, Wonwoo grins like a cat that ate the canary, “Oh, I know you would love that, dirty girl. But I’m too impatient right now.” He grunts as his cock brushes against your belly. “Fuck.” Cursing under his breath, he lines himself up to your throbbing hole. “I’ll fuck you so hard you will not remember anything else. Especially not a guy.”

It’s a promise and you cannot wait for him to fulfill it.

His words only fuel your need and you think you will go crazy if he waits a second longer. “Hurry,” you whine, raising your hips to meet his.

“Fuck. Such a slut for my cock, aren’t you?” He tilts your chin and pulls your lips in a bruising kiss as you nod. “P-please, Wonwoo, give to me.”

Groaning softly, he taps your clit with his hard shaft, eyes trained on your swollen, dripping hole. “It might hurt.”

“And I will love it.”

His eyes darken as he suddenly lands a slap on your clit. “Such a whore. I love it.” You squeal from the impact, more wetness dripping out of you and just as you are recovering from the sting of his spank he thrusts inside you, all the way in one smooth motion. Your gasp morphs into a loud cry, your nails scratching Wonwoo’s back as you cling to him.

No matter how many times you have been with Wonwoo, you still struggle to adjust to his size, not to mention when he fucks you raw and animalistic like he’s doing right now. 

He pants harshly on top of you, sweat shining on his forehead as he wastes no time thrusting his full length in and out of you. Your pussy is stretched to its limits and every time he brutally thrusts in, his cock hits the deepest, most sensitive part inside you, making you mindlessly grind on his cock, soft, breathy whines leaving your lips as your eyes roll back in pleasure.

“Stop doing that or I’m gonna come,” Wonwoo warns but you start moving your hips faster, matching his thrusts. “Little slut,” he groans, guttural and as if in pain, heated eyes watching you. “You are extra horny today.” He murmurs, smashing his lips to yours. The kiss is all teeth and tongue as you breathe Wonwoo in like he is your oxygen. When your lips part a flimsy string of saliva hangs, connecting the two of you and Wonwoo watches you, his gaze feral as he continues to fuck you mercilessly.

“Are you ready to come for me?” He asks quietly, his hand creeping lower and lower down your body to play with your swollen clit. He rubs the sensitive bundle of flesh, making your entire body shudder as you feel your orgasm coming. As soon as he flicks your clit with his finger, your release comes crashing down on you and you feel it in every one of your nerves.

Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream as you feel him release inside you, making you clench around his throbbing length. You’re not surprised when he doesn’t stop but continues thrusting inside you, far from being done with you and you feel another orgasm impending. Your pussy hurts in the best ways possible and just thinking about coming once again have your toes curling.

“Fuck,” Wonwoo mutters under his breath. “I can’t get enough of you, my little slut.” His fingers that were previously digging into your hipbone now make a home on your neck, gripping it firmly and applying just enough pressure to make your body curl up and see stars. Your breath catches in your throat, your hands coming to rest on Wonwoo’s wrists as he continues to apply a steady pressure that makes your core throb. Just as you feel your oxygen supply being cut off quite severely, your mind goes into a trance-like hazy state and your orgasm is triggered, multiplying it by hundreds. 

Seeing the godlike man on top of you, his dark, piercing eyes trained on you so intensely as if he would devour you whole makes you go off like a rocket, bliss seeping into every inch of your bones. You swear you see God himself as your body completely lets go and you feel like you’re floating on a cloud, high above reality. The feeling of him releasing inside you makes you shudder before you vaguely register the emptiness as he slips out of you. Faintly, you feel him shuffling on the bed, murmuring something in your ears as he kisses your forehead and cleans you up.

You drift off peacefully, safe and snug against Wonwoo’s warmth.

—

31st OCT

You stepped out of the clinic a little earlier today, like everyone else, since it’s Halloween night. As you walk by, you observe the festive mood on the streets, with all sorts of creepy and gothic decorations littering every corner as children scurry around dressed in costumes.

You can’t wait to get home and put on yours.

Your home is just a ten-minute walk away, and like every other day, you stroll down the sidewalk, enjoying the beautiful dusk. Yet today feels different for some reason. 

As soon as you stepped out of the clinic, an uneasy sensation prickled in your gut, sending subtle alarm bells blaring in your head. You try to dismiss it, telling yourself that it is the exhaustion from the day that is making you overthink. But with each step, your unease deepens, and as you glance over your shoulder, a chill runs down your spine.

As you expected, a man in a black outfit flashes by the moment you spot him, disappearing into the alley right beside where he stood.

Terrified, you continue walking, your pace faster than before. For some reason, your gut says it is Joshua. It is weird that his name was the one to immediately pop into your head. You suddenly remember his words the day he came back to the clinic. “You have been living well, no?” A deeper implication under the guise of an innocent question.

It may just be your mind making up scenarios after the issue with Jacob but you are not taking any chances because obviously, someone was following you.

As you march down the sidewalk, you find a bus a few meters ahead of you and without thinking, you rush towards it, stepping in right before it is about to leave.

You catch your breath, panting harshly as you grip the handrail and look out the window, searching for the man in black. Just when you accept that he is gone for good, you spot a man stepping out of an alleyway, fully dressed in black, his face covered with a black surgical mask and staring at you. You get only a glimpse of him as the bus takes a turn, going in a direction opposite to your home.

You don’t care. 

You will get off at the next stop and take a cab home.

Truly an experience befitting the Halloween night.

—

You return home much later than usual, depleted mentally and physically. All your excitement and eagerness for the upcoming Halloween party in the evening is now gone with the chilly breeze of the night.

“You are late,” Wonwoo states, walking towards you as you toe off your shoes before stepping into the living room area. From the worn-out expression on your face, he can immediately sense something is wrong as he asks, “What is going on, cherry?”

You don’t reply, dashing into his arms straight.

In the back of your mind, you register that he is dressed in his Halloween costume but your wired brain fails to process his look properly. He is dressed as Ghost from Call of Duty, a look you anticipated heavily but now, you are too fraught to care. Instead, you bury yourself in his arms, breathing in and out deeply as he holds you, his hands patting your back and sides in search of any injury.

“What is wrong?” He asks again, the desperation rising in his tone. Breaking the hug, he holds your face and carefully observes it, his gaze jumping all around your visage. “Fuck, are you okay? Say something!”

“Someone tried to follow me home.” You whisper.

“What!” A sharp breath falls from his lips, his grip on you tightening as his eyes double in size. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you call me?”

“My battery died.” With a heavy sigh, you slump down on the sofa, Wonwoo following you closely as you start narrating everything to him. With each word you utter, his complexion pales and his expression darkens visibly. At the same time, you see the anger surge within him, evident from the way he scowls at the floor, his hands clenched in fists.

“Fuck.” He hisses.

“I just don’t understand why he has been so weird towards me. What did I do to him? Why is he after me?” You cry, dragging a hand through your hair. “Please, tell me I’m just overthinking. It really cannot be Joshua, right?”

Your boyfriend does not affirm you.

“I should have taken care of him last year,” Wonwoo mutters instead, almost as if he’s talking to himself but you hear it loud and clear and the hairs on your neck stand up straight, your brain suddenly working a mile a minute as the equation starts to add up.

“What do you mean?” You whisper, horrified by the reality that is about to dawn on you.

“You should know how I got this scar.” Joshua’s words from that day replay in your mind, how he uttered them when he caught you staring at the mark. The words that once made you clueless suddenly make perfect sense. 

“Wonwoo, look at me,” you croak with pleading eyes, chasing his gaze which he hides. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“It was you! You are the one who fucked up his face!”

For the first time in your life, you see Wonwoo look uncomfortable. He abruptly stands up and averts his gaze, avoiding your eyes as if it were a game while continuously shifting on his feet. He looks…guilty and worried.

“God, for fucks sake!” You burst out, unable to hold yourself together any longer. “Are you insane? Why would you do that?”

“I think you know the answer to that.” He finally meets your eyes but you do not see the faintest hint of remorse in him.

“No, I don’t!” You snap, irritated.

“He is a bad man, cherry,” Wonwoo replies, deadpan as he approaches you. “He was a fucking pervert. He did disgusting things behind your back.”

No wonder Joshua thinks you're in on this too. He probably believes that you made Wonwoo do that to him, hence the vendetta.

“Then you should have handed him over to the police!” You snap, rubbing your palm over your face.

“You know I don’t work like that.” “Clearly!” You roll your eyes, pacing around the room. “You instead thought it would be better to carve his face! As if that makes any sense!” You scoff.

Wonwoo’s demeanour shifts as a frown settles on his brows, his lips thinning. “I don’t like your attitude. He was a sneaky pervert and I was trying to protect you from him. I did not share it with you because I did not want to add to your traumas.”

You know he meant well. You understand he was looking out for you, in his own deranged way but right now, you cannot think with compassion. Right now, you do not care what perverted thing Joshua was doing behind your back because right now, he is out there trying to hunt you down.

“Well then, you should have done a better job of protecting me!” You spit, using air quotations for the last two words. “Now I have a deranged stalker up my ass who only god knows what will do to me. And don’t talk about my attitude.” You glare at him.

The subdued lighting in your living room creates a striking shadow across his face, highlighting his sharp, bony features in an almost unfair way. Combined with his combat attire and his dishevelled hair, it’s astonishing how captivating he appears, nearly stealing your attention from the argument.

God, this is so unfair. You hate him. You hate this man so much.

With your hands on your hips, you start pacing around. “You are the one who caused this mess, Wonwoo, so don’t talk about my attitude. Joshua is out to get us, do you understand? What if he goes to the police? Do you understand how badly this could end, you impulsive psycho?”

You should not have said that.

Wonwoo’s eyes, as always, remain dark and empty but you clearly see his jaw harden as he grits his teeth. Sending a scalding look your way— one you have never encountered before, he throws the Ghost mask on the floor. 

“Fuck this.”

Then, he is out the door.

The two words are enough to make you realise that you have crossed a big line. You want to go after him but it is too late and you are still frozen at your place, the blood flowing through your veins still hot with anger and frustration.

Well, there goes your Halloween plans.

It is almost ironic how crazy people have always been after you. You are living with one and you have to admit over the years you have also become a lot like him. Still, what pains you is that he kept it from you. You would not have been mad if he had come to you and confessed. After all, given your shared history, you were supposed to be partners in crime, literally.

With diminished spirits and exhaustion from the day taking over your body, you trudge through the empty apartment, changing into your pajamas. The witch costume you had intended to wear for the evening seems to taunt you from the closet as you change, and with a heavy heart, you tuck the box away.

You should not have said those things to Wonwoo.

You never had a fight this big with him. Sure, there were small quarrels here and there but they were resolved within a few hours. This is the first time in your almost two years of relationship that he stormed out of the house.

How can you make up to him?

The clock on the wall reads seven in the evening and you know for a fact Wonwoo won’t be home until it’s very late. 

He won’t stay outside all night, will he? Since this is the first time he has rushed out of the house, you don’t know what to do or expect.

Feeling overwhelmed and useless, you decide to busy yourself by making dinner. You get started on cooking his favourite meal, hoping it will lessen his anger once he returns.

With the food cooking on the stove, you sit on the living room floor, slicing apples for yourself and scrolling through your phone. Wonwoo isn't particularly a fan of this fruit, but when you cut it into slices shaped like little bunnies, he relishes them with the joy of a child.

So, you do that. 

You slice through the apples, preparing them in the shape of bunnies and munching on a few yourself while in the back of your mind, praying that he returns quickly. 

You cannot wait to apologize to him.

Suddenly, you hear the doorbell.

Wonwoo cannot be back so early, right?

Still, you rush to the door, hopeful and delighted that your prayers have been answered. Through the peephole, you see the person standing outside and realise quickly it is not Wonwoo but a man wearing a baseball cap.

“Who is it?” You are not expecting any guests.

“Delivery for Jeon Wonwoo!” The man announces from the other side.

Ah, right. Wonwoo did order a new headset.

You open the door, your eyes searching for a package in the man’s hand only to realise, there is none.

The man is dressed in all black, making it hard to see his face, especially because of the baseball cap and mask on his face. Suddenly, a heavy sense of dread fills your system as you realize something is profoundly wrong, flashbacks of the earlier events in the day vividly going through your mind.  

Fuck. Fuck.

You should not have opened the door.

The man seems suspicious, his vibes very ominous and just as you are about to close the door, he looks up, locking his eyes with yours. A small, sharp breath falls from your lips as you immediately realize who it is.

Joshua.

This is your worst nightmare coming true. Fuck, how did he even get your address? You thought you had successfully got him off your tail.

You are so fucked. There could be only one reason why he is here.

Revenge.

The man pulls down his mask and grins diabolically. “Hey there, ___.”

“Jo-Joshua,” you give him a nervous smile while trying to wrack through your brain to find a way out of this, fidgeting with your phone behind your back.

Maybe talking to him would work? You’re a therapist after all.

He places his palm flat on the door with a loud thud, forcing it to open wider as he steps into your home.

Fuck, fuck.

You reflexively step back, walking backwards into your living room while unlocking your phone behind your back with your thumbprint.

“I came to have a chat with you,” the man grins, kicking the front door closed behind him. “You know…just you and me since your boyfriend is out.”

Beads of perspiration gather on your forehead as you keep backing away in small steps. The look in Joshua’s eyes is one of paranoia and you know he is beyond reason right now. This was a very calculated move and he has you right where he wanted. 

Trapped in your own home.

Tossing his cap and mask away on the floor, Joshua combs his fingers through his hair before showing his scarred cheek to you. “Let me ask you a question, therapist ___. Do you know who did this?”

Oh fuck. 

You fiddle with your phone behind your back, attempting to call Wonwoo through speed dial. The glass on the showcase to your right aids you in the process as you can see a fairly clear image of your phone screen on the reflection from your peripheral vision.

“N-no, Joshua. But it looks painful. Maybe we can talk about it—”

“Lies!” The man seethes, his eyes ablaze before calmly whispering. “I know you are lying. I can see it in your eyes. You know your dear boyfriend did it.”

Whatever remaining strength in your leg disappears at his words as you stumble over nothing and fall on the ground, your heart thudding so loudly it is deafening to your ears. Your phone slips away from your hand, lying face up on the ground as your body freezes from the panic overriding your system.

This is like the situation with Jacob all over again but much more terrifying. 

God, when does this end?

The moment the call connects and you hear Wonwoo’s voice float through ever so faintly, Joshua takes notice of it, immediately lurching for the device. “Fucking cunt!” He yells, smashing your phone down on the ground in one swift blow as the screen cracks under the force.

You cower, pressing your back to the coffee table as you raise your arms to cover yourself while trying to appear as small as possible. “Please, please don’t hurt me.” 

The man chuckles, positioning himself over your torso as he grabs you by the collars of your nightshirt, forcing you to meet his eyes. 

“Oh darling,” He grins, his teeth on display, and paired with the deranged look in his eyes it is so terrifying that your hands tremble when you try to free yourself. 

“I will just draw a pretty scar on your cheek like he did to mine.” He whispers, leaning close to you. From his jeans pocket, he pulls out a switchblade, the tip razor sharp and glinting. “And then, I will stab a nice little hole in your stomach, like he did to mine. Seems fair, no? I promise it won’t hurt.”

“No- please—” you struggle harder but his hand moves to grip your throat, cutting your airflow as you writhe underneath him, trying to free yourself while also fighting to overcome the heavy weight of his body on top of you. 

You need a weapon.

Suddenly, the fog in your brain clears up as you remember what you need is right behind you.

“Your boyfriend is a loose nut after all,” Joshua smiles, tracing the tip of the blade over your forehead and dragging it down to your cheek. “I have a feeling that if I do this to him, he won’t hurt but if I carve you up,” he laughs, shaking his head. “He will burn. That’s the best revenge I can get, you know.” 

Holding your breath, you observe as his pupils dilate while his grip on the butt of the knife tightens. Half a second before the tip of the blade nicks your skin, your right hand reaches back on the coffee table to pick up the knife lying there.

You find it in one go and the very next moment, you lodge it in Joshua’s throat.

The knife pierces through the man’s skin, breaking through his artery as blood sprays out immediately while you hold it against the side of his throat, trying to push it in deeper. Joshua groans, the sound choked as he grips the knife, trying to pull it out but you use all your strength to shove it even deeper. 

He falls back, his gaze wide and frantic as he sputters and chokes, holding on to the knife in an attempt to pull it out while blood seeps through his fingers.

However, all too soon the light in his eyes fades and he falls quiet as his body slumps down on the floor, the room enveloped in a thick blanket of silence, disrupted only by your harsh pants as you inhale lungfuls of air, managing to get yourself to a proper sitting position.

Suddenly, you realise there is blood everywhere.

On your hands, your face, your shirt, the carpet and the floor.

Your home is bathed in blood, an intimate space soiled with the evidence of your crime. Your favourite cream-coloured rug is now painted crimson, just like your pajamas and fingers.

Shaking like a leaf, you look at your right hand which is coated red, the blood slowly dripping down your wrist. It envelops your fingers, thick and heavy, the metallic smell of the liquid wafting in the air suddenly too strong for you to bear.

Despite not wanting to cast your eyes on the body of the lifeless man lying in front of you, your eyes shift to it and the unsettlingly blank look in the corpse’s eyes locks you in a trance as you sit on the floor, shuddering.

The events of the last few minutes start replaying in your head and with the passing of each second, the reality and the gravity of your actions begin to sink in.

You just killed a man. 

In self-defence but you did just kill Joshua.

You feel like throwing up.

A faint beeping sound alerts you before you hear the front door open. A second later, Wonwoo dashes in only to stop a few steps into the room as he takes in the scene. 

Your terrified eyes meet his wide, panicked ones as his eyes move from your face to your bloodied hands and then to the knife stuck in Joshua’s throat. Not wasting another second, Wonwoo rushes to you, kneeling on the floor and wrapping your body with his, his palms patting all over your body as he murmurs between harsh pants, “Are you hurt anywhere?”

You shake your head no, biting down on your wobbling lower lip hard to prevent yourself from bursting into tears while remaining careful not to touch him with your blood-soaked hand.

Wonwoo loosens his hold on you to observe your right hand as he grips your wrist and studies the smear of blood all over your hand.

What is he thinking? Is he mad? Will he abandon you now? The thought has you struggling to breathe. “Wo—wonwoo, I-I swear I didn’t m-mean to… he just—” You try to explain in between tears and choked breaths but Wonwoo shushes you with a hard kiss.

“Stop.” His dark eyes bore into yours, his fingers moving from your wrist to link with your bloodied hand as you watch with fascination how he holds it in a strong, unrelenting grip. You are suddenly reminded of the time you held his bloody hands after he killed Jacob. 

And suddenly it is easier to breathe.

With him near you, holding you and reassuring you, you suddenly feel just a bit better.

“You did well, little cherry. You did so good,” Wonwoo whispers, snaking an arm around your waist to hold you tightly against his large, warm body, your hands still linked. “I should not have left you alone. I should have taken care of this fucker long ago. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.”

His words are your undoing as you bury yourself deeper into his embrace, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as your entire body shudders, everything washing over you once again— the stalking, the fight, the attack. 

“Everything is going to be okay,” the firmness in his tone is oddly reassuring. “Look at me,” he commands and gently holding your chin, he forces you to meet his gaze. 

“You did not do this, okay? You were not here, you know nothing. I will take care of everything, do you understand me?”

Your heart beats loudly in your ears as you give him a shaky nod.

“Words, little girl.” His eyes darken and his grip on your chin tightens.

“I u-understand.” You whisper between sniffles, unconsciously turning your head to look at the lifeless body once again but Wonwoo interrupts, cupping your head and forcing your gaze back on him. 

The blood from his fingers transfers to your clean cheek when he wipes your tears. 

“Now listen to me, cherry.” His tone is calm but authoritative. “You are going to go to the bathroom and clean yourself up. Then, I will give you an address and you are going to go there and have a good night’s rest. In the morning, when you wake up, all of this will feel like a very bad dream.”

What? Panic surges through you.

“But Wonwoo—”

“Hush. You will do as I say and I will take care of the rest. I promise you, little cherry, everything will be okay.” He pauses as a smirk spreads on his lips. “After all, you know very well that this isn’t my first rodeo.” 

The way he says those words makes you believe that everything will truly be okay. You force yourself to nod, your eyes stinging with fresh tears as you softly speak. “I love you, Wonwoo.”

The man remains silent for a breath, his eyes piercing into the deepest parts of your soul while one of his hands gently caresses your neck and jawline, tracing the lines of the blood stain. Then, he leans in, pressing his lips to yours as he pokes his tongue into your mouth and kisses you languidly, eliciting soft, whiny moans from you.

“Oh, cherry,” he smirks, trailing little kisses all over your lips and chin. “I am holding back the urge to fuck you right here in his blood, you know.”

His words make knots form in the pit of your stomach, your heart racing at the thought of Wonwoo taking you right here, right now. 

“And I know you love the idea, my depraved little slut.” His grin grows bigger. “But we should not waste time. Now go do as you are told.”

You gaze at him, still unsure as he helps you get on your feet. Pushing you toward the direction of the bathroom, Wonwoo orders. “Do as you are told, cherry. I mean it. You would not want to see the real psycho.”

—

The dreadful night passes by as you toss and turn restlessly in the sheets, lying in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar cottage in the middle of the woods.

With the rise of the sun in the eastern sky, you get some shut eye after your mind is finally overtaken by exhaustion. When you wake up, the morning light is flooding into your room in the cabin. Your groggy eyes shift to the clock on the wall that reads 10 am.

For a moment, your mind remains blank as you try to figure out where you are. And then, the events from last night flood in and you bolt up, kicking the sheets away.

Oh fuck! Wonwoo!

You leap out of bed, rushing to the dressing table where the burner phone lies, fully charged. Just as you are about to dial Wonwoo’s number, you hear a strange string of sounds coming from outside your door.

Did someone break in? With your heart in your throat, you open the door and carefully pad out to the hallway. The second floor is quiet, empty and tranquil as the sun pours in through the window, illuminating the wooden floors. After carefully listening to the sounds for a couple of seconds you assume it is the sound of someone using the chopping board and the juicer machine. 

More confused than scared, you climb down the stairs, eyes eagerly searching for the person behind the noise.

As you place your feet on the floor after descending the flight of stairs, your eyes land on the man in the kitchen, his back facing you while he cooks as an array of ingredients and utensils lay on the counter. 

From the broad expanse of his back and shoulders, you immediately know who it is.

“Wonwoo!” Your voice, almost choked, overpowers the sizzling noise on the stove.

The man whips his head back in surprise before breaking into a smile that has your heart soaring.

Oh, thank god.

Without another word, you dash to him, leaping into his arms as you press your face against his hard chest, your fingers holding onto a tight grip around his waist like he will disappear any second.

There is no exchange of words as he hugs you back, even tighter, his fingers stroking your hair in a repeated soothing pattern. You inhale and exhale deeply, savouring the breaths as you let his scent and embrace comfort you.

“Did you sleep okay?” He asks, carding his fingers through your locks.

It is almost as if last night did not happen. It is almost as if everything is okay.

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes tight so that the threatening tears do not escape as you address the elephant in the room. “I was awake till almost dawn. Whenever I closed my eyes,” a shudder wracks through you, “I saw his face, blank and dead, staring back at me with so much hatred.”

“Hey,” your boyfriend loosens his hold on you, tilting his head back slightly to take a look at your face. Cupping your jaw, he assures, “It is all okay, I promise. He is gone for good.”

Your lower lip wobbles, “But— but what if someone looks for him? The CCTV cameras—”

“Hush, little cherry,” he presses his index fingers to your lips. “You do not need to worry about it in your pretty little head. I took care of everything.” His calm composure and the way he speaks each word start to break the bonds of worry in your mind. 

Maybe everything will be okay.

“What about you?” You ask, swallowing a lump in your throat. You let your eyes wander all over him, searching for a sign of injury. “Are you okay? Will you be okay? They can’t track you down right?” The possibility of losing Wonwoo scares you more than losing yourself.

“Oh, sweet cherry.” He smiles, relaxed and cocky. “I will be just fine. We both will be, I promise. Just trust me. You need to forget everything and just trust me.”

You nod, once again wrapping your arms around him. Resting your head on his chest, you listen to his heartbeat and repeat his reassurance in your mind.

It is not that you are not curious about what your boyfriend did to cover everything up. But more than your curiosity, you feel like it will be better for you if you know less. Your mind and sanity will spiral if you do. So for now, you will let it go. You will trust him and let it go. Maybe someday down the line, after years have passed and you are both safe and sound, you will ask him about it. Maybe.

But not now.

“Let’s have breakfast. I’m sure you are famished.” Wonwoo softly offers, guiding you towards the dining table and helping you sit down comfortably. The arrangement is quite grand for breakfast— almost brunch, an array of dishes placed on the table with mouth-watering aromas.

You thought you would not be able to eat a bite— especially since drinking plain water proved to be a hard job for you after last night but you eagerly dig in, savouring the delicious meal, the flavours bursting on your tongue, almost healing your broken soul.

You never knew egg rolls could be so delicious.

Wonwoo, sitting in front of you, watches you fondly, every now and then pushing the dishes closer to you. For a long time, silence prevails as you gobble down the food, the only sound prevailing is the clinking of your cutlery.

When you are almost finished with the meal and sipping on the orange juice that Wonwoo freshly squeezed, your boyfriend shifts on his chair as he pulls something out of his pocket.

His arm extends over the table as he places a box in front of you, small and made out of plush velvet. Frowning, you take a peek at his face to find him impassively looking at you, waiting for you to open it.

It looks like a jewellery box but if you remember correctly, today is not a special occasion. For a split second, as you hold the box in your hand, you panic, half expecting Joshua’s finger or something. Knowing Wonwoo, it would not be surprising because he would consider it romantic.

A gasp falls from your lips when you open the box.

It is a ring.

Right away you can tell it is expensive, an oval diamond sitting on a golden band, dainty but absolutely beautiful. You know this is too fancy to be a couple’s ring, not to mention the fact that you already have one.

So this could mean one thing and one thing only.

“Marry me.” He states, almost as if he’s commanding you.

You look at Wonwoo, his sharp eyes piercing into you and from the way you can see his jaw clenching, he almost looks…nervous.

Beads of tears gather in your eyes as you look back at the jewel, your heart beating deafeningly loud in your ears.

You committed murder with this man. The intensity of your bond is so raw and brutal that nothing will ever hold a candle to your relationship with him.

So, there can only be one correct answer.

Wiping your tears with the back of your hand, you push the box towards him. Wonwoo’s eyes widen, regarding you with alarm.

You hold out your hand and smile. “Put it on me.”

Click here for a bonus scene taking place a few years after the events of this story!

A/N: Okay, so this is officially the end of our journey with psycho Wonwoo. I hope it was enjoyable for y'all because I poured my blood, sweat and tears into this. So please like, reblog and leave a comment! I would love to here your thoughts so my ask is always open.

Also, I would like to take a moment to announce that I will not be able to update frequently for the next two months due to my extremely hectic schedule so bear with me. I will try to be as regular as possible with the sibilance series so if I can manage time, it should be out in the second week of November. For now, toodles and happy Halloween to those who celebrate! May you find your own psycho Wonwoo ;)

[mariasont]

Dress Code - S.R

a/n: got a little carried away with this one, but ugh just imagining spencer reid coming to my defense has me down BAD

masterlist

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pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

summary: in which spencer reid doesn't appreciate an agent questioning the length of your skirt

warnings: fluff, a rando flirting/being rude with the reader, mini skirts 4 life, definitely not appropriate for work but spencer doesn't give a FUCK

wc: 1.5k

"Interesting choice of attire for the FBI," the man's voice commented as you paused in the midst of penciling in his meeting with Chief Cruz. "Isn't that skirt a bit... short?"

The man was tall, though not quite as tall as Dr. Reid. His hair, a dark shade that caught the light as he moved (more so because of the liberal amount of gel in it), was neatly trimmed, but it lacked the effortless charm of Spencer's curls.

You had unwittingly set a standard, with Dr. Reid as the benchmark. You tried to go on dates, to distract yourself from the boy genius, but those dates turned into a mental tally--he's not as smart as Spencer, not as kind, not as attractive. 

Maintaining an unshakeable smile, you stood up from your work area. "You think? I just love how it twirls when I spin!"

You demonstrated--the pleated hem of your pink tweed skirt billowing out around you. You wobbled on your heels, a giggle escaping you as you used the desk to steady yourself. Spencer's gaze followed your every move as you tucked a couple stray curls behind your ears.

Spencer intended to maintain a respectful distance, to grant you some space, but he found himself consistently drawn towards you, as if pulled by gravity itself. You were irresistibly captivating, and it wasn't lost on him that this allure undoubtedly affected others just as much.  

His gaze sharpened into a glare, almost tangible in its intensity, directed at the man who hovered too close in your personal space, eyes trailing where they shouldn't as the fabric of your skirt fluttered with your movements.

The agent let out a soft laugh, inching forward to prop his elbows on the desk's edge, his eyes subtly scanning your legs. "I'd wager it becomes quite the tactical distraction during interrogations."

"Oh, I don't go into the interrogation rooms, silly!" you laugh, a melodic ripple in the air, as you ease back down into your chair. 

You cross your legs, one over the other, the action accentuating the graceful lines of your figure, skirt settling into place with a soft rustle. 

The man's smirk broadened, his eyebrow lifting in a choreographed motion. "You don't say?"

Your smile is radiant, blissfully unaware of the sarcasm in his voice. You tilt your head, a soft gesture as you rearrange a vase brimming with colorful flowers on your desk--a thank-you from Garcia for the cupcakes you gifted her with last week.

"Yep! I'm the first face people see here, and I want to make sure it's a good one!"

He nodded slowly, a sly grin spreading across his features. "The first face, huh? I suppose with a view like that, it's hard for anyone to get past the front desk. But isn't it a bit distracting for the agents?"

"I believe it's all about focus. And our team has an exceptional ability to focus, no matter the environment."

It was a welcome surprise to watch Dr. Reid make his way toward you, his walk a familiar lanky stride that somehow managed to be both awkward and graceful. You like his tie today, still crooked, but charming, and it was decorated with blue stripes that trailed up the side. Despite the sharp lines of his suit, there was something so undeniably soft about him. 

"Dr. Reid, I..."

Spencer didn't let him finish his thought. "And speaking of work, I believe Chief Cruz is waiting on you for those files. Best not to make him wait."

You weren't speaking of work, but the agent was quick to excuse himself, nonetheless.

"He seems nice, doesn't he?"

Spencer's lips twitched, on the verge of breaking your idealistic bubble, but he stopped short, arrested by the sincerity shining in your eyes. The idea of spoiling your untainted perspective felt almost sacrilegious, not when your smile was so genuinely sugary it nearly could've brought him to his knees right then and there. 

"Yeah," he conceded, his eyes trailing over your complacent face. "Nice."

You looked down at your skirt, plucking at a thread that had come undone. "You don't think it's too short, do you?"

You stood, ensuring he had a complete view, your palms delicately pressing the fabric down. Spencer's eyes opened a shade wider, the unexpected display catching him off guard. The skirt's length--or lack thereof--left little to the imagination, your thighs on full display, but he'd keep that thought to himself, and with any influence he had, everyone else would as well. 

"No, it's fine, you look lovely."

"Lovely?" your eyes basically shimmered in this light, your chin gently resting in the curve of your palm as you fixed him with an intent stare. "That's high praise."

"Deservedly so."

"Dr. Reid, I'm blushing."

And you were, pink radiating across your neck and cheeks, but he was sure a similar rosy shade was coloring the tips of his ears.

You rose from your chair, circling the desk to position yourself directly in front of him, close enough for him to detect the light scent of Dubble Bubble on your breath. He, almost instinctively, found himself leaning in your direction. 

"I just love how it feels," you noted, hand brushing against the cloth. "It's so soft, see?"

You extended the hem of your skirt towards him. Spencer's hand hesitated, then tentatively touched the fabric, clearing his throat in the process. He was even closer now, the scent of your perfume--what he thought was a mix of roses and a hint of citrus--engulfed him. The skirt was soft like you had said, but it was the warmth radiating from your skin that sent a jolt through him. 

His knuckles grazed against your thigh, whether intentional or not he really wasn't sure. His usual clarity wasn't up to par, not with you standing so close, looking so nice. The world seemed to spin when he was around you.

You let out a giggle, a soft and effervescent sound that seemed to steal the air from his lungs. "Do you see what I mean? It's like wearing a cloud."

His hand snapped back as if touched by fire, his face awash with a flustered glow. "Yes, it's...very soft," he managed, raking his fingers through his hair, his gaze darting to any point but your legs, the memory of its softness scattering his concentration.

You offered a beaming smile, naively unaware to the sheer havoc you wreaked on his senses. He needed to get back to work to prevent any rash decisions--like taking your face in his hands and pressing his lips to yours right there, an act that would certainly mar his professional record. He also wasn't sure you'd appreciate that. 

As though you had plucked the thoughts straight from his mind, your fingertips brushed softly over his chest. "Goodness, I've been rambling on, haven't I? You probably have, like, super important stuff to do."

Your touch seemed to still the air between you, Spencer's breath hitching, momentarily losing his train of thought. "Oh, uh... well, no, it's actually kind of a slow day for me right now."

Your hand, moving from his chest to rest on his arm, offered a tender squeeze. "Oh, that's good, isn't it? You guys are always super busy, it's about time the universe gave you a break, huh?"

Just as Spencer opened his mouth to reply, you bit your lip, cheeks flushed with a sudden realization. "Oh no, I totally just jinxed it, didn't I?"

You quickly rapped your knuckles against the desk. 

Spencer cocked his head to the side, a bemused chuckle escaping him. "What?"

Your words bubbled over with delight, closing the gap between you and Spencer until you were almost chest to chest. "Look at this, I'm the one who is teaching you something for once!" Your smile was wide and uncontainable. "So, knocking on wood--it's supposed to ward off bad luck or reverse a jinx, just like I might have done."

A myriad of scientific retorts teetered on the tip of his tongue, each one ready to debunk the notion of luck and its superstitious rituals. But those thoughts dissolved in the glow of your smile, as radiant and illuminating as an 1800-watt lightbulb. 

"Really? That's fascinating," he mused, his smile soft. "I'll have to remember that."

"Right? Oh, and don't get me started on finding a four-leaf clover. I swear it's lucky. I found one once, and I had the best day ever."

To him, it seemed like you didn't have anything other than good days, despite the statistical improbability. 

"I don't doubt it," Spencer replied with a knowing smile. Noticing the same agent coming out of the hallway, he excused himself. "Well, I'm going to get back. I'll, uh, see you later?"

"You know where to find me," you said.

As you spun to retreat to your desk, he offered a last, discreet glance at your skirt, more specifically the shape of your ass in it, before following after the agent.

"Walk with me, yeah?" Spencer suggested, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was out of character for him, but the way his jaw tightened suggested he didn't care. Once the distance granted privacy from your ears, he stated plainly. "Her attire is not up for discussion. If there's a concern, I'm the one you talk to."

The remainder of his day passed just as slow, and in the back of his mind, he entertained the thought that he had your knock-on wood to thank for that.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[faebled-stories]

A Step too Far

Kinkvember Day 9: Spanking

NMIXX Jang Kyujin x Male reader

AN: I woke up with a bit of a fever today, so I’m not quite at full power. But I’m still here and determined to keep the daily challenge going! Today's story might be a touch softer than usual and a little lighter on the smut.💖

7k words

Ugh, what’s taking him so long?

Kyujin lingered in the doorway of the garage, the warmth of the late afternoon sun pouring in around her, casting a golden halo that softened the edges of the worn tools and scattered equipment. Her gaze was steady, focused on you, as you worked intently on your motorcycle. With each turn of a bolt, each slight adjustment, you were lost in the world of mechanics, your concentration so intense that it seemed like she barely existed in your orbit.

You hadn’t noticed her yet. She leaned against the doorframe, an amused smile dancing on her lips as she bit down gently, trying to quell the impatience stirring within her. There was something maddeningly captivating about the way you worked—the steady rhythm of clinks and clanks filling the air, mingled with the occasional soft grunt of effort. These sounds formed a backdrop that only made her want you more, made her want to break your focus and pull you back to her.

Her gaze traveled over you, lingering on the way the muscles in your back flexed beneath the thin layer of your shirt, which was damp with a fine sheen of sweat. You were deeply focused, your shoulders steady as you leaned over the bike, hands skilled and precise as they moved from tool to tool. The heady scent of engine oil, gasoline, and the lingering sweetness of summer mixed in the small, enclosed space, filling her senses. It heightened everything, amplifying the awareness she had of each moment she spent watching you.

She admired your dedication, the way you could immerse yourself completely in whatever you were working on. Normally, that focus of yours was endearing, even impressive. But right now? It was a problem. She wanted your attention—needed it, actually—and the longer she stood there waiting, the more that need intensified.

Finally, she stepped further into the garage, clearing her throat softly as she called out to you, a playful lilt in her voice. “Oppaaaa, you’ve been working all daaaaay! Don’t you want a break? Spend some time with me?”

Her words filled the small space, but you barely responded, your gaze never lifting from the bike. “Almost done, Jagiya,” you murmured absently, your voice calm but distant, as if you’d hardly heard her.

Kyujin’s lips pressed into a thin line as her gaze sharpened. Almost done? You’d been telling her that for hours now, ever since you had set to work, each part needing a new adjustment, each bolt requiring the perfect amount of torque. She shifted her weight, her arms crossing over her chest as a pout began to form. Didn’t you realize she’d been waiting for you this whole time? That she was here, right now, needing you?

Taking a deep breath, she tried again, softening her voice, her tone now dripping with sweetness and affection as she cooed, “Come oooonnn, I need attention, Oppa,” her voice slipping into a soft, playful whine. “You’ve been ignoring me all day… don’t you miss me?”

There was a pause, and she thought maybe—just maybe—her words had reached you this time. But you simply hummed, nodding slightly as you replied, “I do, honey, but I need to finish this. Be patient, okay?” Your hands moved over the bike in smooth, practiced motions, your attention locked entirely on the work before you.

Her heart fell just a bit, frustration mingling with the ache of longing. Patient? She had been more than patient—she’d been watching you in silence, waiting, the entire day. She wanted you, here and now, and your request for more patience felt like a brush-off. A spark of mischief flared within her, and she felt a grin slowly forming on her lips. If you weren’t going to give her your attention willingly, maybe she’d have to take matters into her own hands.

Let’s see how much patience you really have, she thought, her gaze flicking over to the light switch on the wall beside her. You were still completely engrossed in your task, seemingly oblivious to her scheming, to the slight excitement building in her chest.

With one quick flick, she plunged the garage into darkness, watching as the warm glow of the sun instantly vanished, leaving only shadows. A soft, mischievous giggle escaped her lips as she quickly flicked the lights back on, peeking at you to catch your reaction.

Your hands froze mid-action, and your shoulders tensed slightly, but you didn’t turn around. “Honey…” Your voice was low, carrying a gentle warning that felt almost half hearted, as if you were trying to keep the focus despite her interruption.

Kyujin’s pulse quickened at the thrill of pushing you, her amusement growing as she watched you try to maintain composure. She loved testing your boundaries, nudging you until you broke from that perfect focus. And so far? You hadn’t even turned to look at her.

Alright, a wicked grin forming on her lips as she reached for the light switch again. This time, she flicked it off and let the darkness linger a bit longer, relishing the silence and the tension before snapping the lights back on. Her laughter bubbled up, louder this time, spilling into the quiet garage.

A sigh escaped you, deeper and more audible, and she watched the way your hand tightened around the wrench, your posture just a bit stiffer. “Jagiya, I’m serious,” you said, your tone firmer but not without a hint of exasperation. You still hadn’t turned around. “Don’t push me today. I need to finish this so I can get to work on Monday.”

She smirked, biting back another laugh, hearing the tension weaving its way into your voice. You were trying so hard to stay calm, so hard to keep focused on the bike, but she could see the tiny cracks forming. And the thrill of it—the way she could unravel you bit by bit—made her heart beat faster. Her gaze drifted over to your workbench, where your tools lay neatly arranged, each one in its place. An idea sparked within her, her fingers twitching with anticipation.

Her eyes landed on a small wrench at the edge of the workbench, one you’d no doubt reach for soon. Smiling slyly, she slid over to the bench, reaching out with light fingers as she gently picked up the wrench, hiding it behind her back. She moved closer, standing only a foot away from you, her heart pounding as she waited for you to notice.

And then, after a few more focused adjustments, she saw you extend your hand toward the spot where the wrench was supposed to be. Your fingers met only air, and she watched your hand hover there for a moment, realization dawning in your posture as you froze. Slowly, you turned, your eyes narrowing slightly as you finally met her gaze.

Kyujin widened her eyes in mock innocence, her lips parted just enough to suggest she knew absolutely nothing about what had happened to the wrench. The stolen tool was hidden behind her back, her fingers wrapped around it with barely contained excitement.

“Where is it?” you asked, voice calm but with an edge of authority, your eyes scrutinizing her expression.

Her heart raced, her pulse thrumming with the thrill of teasing you. Flashing her best innocent smile, she replied, “Where’s what? What are you talking about?”

You straightened up, wiping your hands on a rag as you leveled her with a steady look. “Baby,” you said, your voice lower now, laced with a quiet but unmistakable warning. “I know you. Give it back.”

Her grin widened as she felt the tension rise between you. This was her favorite moment—the way she could push you, the way you allowed her to dance right at the edge of your patience. She loved seeing that intensity flash in your eyes, knowing she had pulled you out of that work trance you always fell into. That was her magic, the power to unravel you, to bring you back to her.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied sweetly, feigning innocence as she took a small step back, keeping the wrench hidden behind her back.

Your expression shifted, a hint of frustration flickering in your gaze as you let out a slow, controlled breath. “I’m not in the mood for this,” you replied, your tone dipping to something serious, each word carrying weight. “This is your last chance. Show me what’s behind your back.”

The thrill in her chest intensified, the playful glint in her eyes sparking even brighter. She loved this—the anticipation, the way your patience was slipping, how your usual calm was fraying ever so slightly. Smiling, she took a single step forward, her movements slow and deliberate as she leaned in, raising her arm ever so slightly to reveal the wrench, but still keeping it just out of your reach.

With a challenging gaze, she murmured, “Oh, this? You need this, don’t you?” Her voice was soft, teasing, pushing you just a little more, daring you to take it from her.

The serious look in your eyes sent a shiver down Kyujin's spine, though it did nothing to deter her; instead, it only made her pulse race faster. She had you right on the edge, that threshold she loved to push past. The thrill bubbled up inside her, electric and relentless, as she took a small, teasing step back, widening her smile in silent challenge.

Come on, heart racing as she looked up at you, her gaze mischievous, what are you going to do?

You held her gaze, jaw clenching just enough for her to see your patience slipping. Taking a step forward, you spoke slowly, a deadly calm in your tone that sent a thrill down her spine. “I’m going to count to three,” you said, your voice dangerously level, each word firm and steady. “And if you don’t hand it over by then, you’re going to regret it.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, echoing like a drumbeat as she bit her lip, clutching the wrench tighter behind her back. This was the moment she’d been waiting for, the moment where your resolve would break and she’d finally see you snap. She could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy, anticipation building like a thunderstorm. Her breaths came faster, excitement mingling with a tinge of apprehension. You were so close to breaking—so close.

“One…” you started, your gaze locked on hers, unwavering.

Her pulse quickened, breath catching as her mind raced, weighing whether to push just a little further. She felt the rush of adrenaline surging through her veins as she watched you, waiting, her heartbeat a dizzying tempo in her ears. Not yet, she thought, barely holding back a grin. Just a little more.

“Two…” The tone in your voice darkened, the tension thick enough that she felt it pressing down on her, making her body tingle with both anticipation and thrill.

Her stomach flipped as her body responded to the weight of the moment, an exhilarating thrill sparking through her as she kept her grip firm on the wrench. She wanted to see just how far she could go, to push you to the very edge before—

“Thr—”

“Okay, okay!” Kyujin laughed, pulling the wrench out from behind her back, her eyes gleaming as she flashed you a cheeky grin. “Here, happy?”

You took the wrench from her hand, your expression hard to read as you inspected it briefly. Your jaw clenched as you placed it back on the workbench with a bit more force than usual, the sound echoing through the garage. She watched you, her heart still racing, her body buzzing from the thrill of the game. She’d pushed you, teased you—but it wasn’t quite enough. She could see it in your expression: you were close, yet still holding on, your self-control just barely intact.

What will it take to finally push him over the edge?

Her gaze drifted back to the workbench, and her eyes landed on an older, more worn-looking wrench lying near the edge. Unlike the others, this one seemed different, cared for and used over the years. Curiosity pulled her in, and before she realized what she was doing, she reached out, her fingers closing around it. The metal felt cool and heavy, its weight more substantial than the others. She spun it absentmindedly between her fingers, the texture rough against her skin, as she continued to watch you, her mind still caught up in the thrill of pushing you to your limits.

Then, before she could register what was happening, the wrench slipped from her fingers.

Clank.

The metallic sound rang out sharply, filling the silence of the garage as it bounced against the hard floor. Her eyes widened in horror, her gaze shooting downward to the wrench lying at her feet. A small chip had broken off the side, the tiny piece of metal sitting on the floor beside it.

Her heart sank.

Oh no…

You went completely still, your entire posture rigid. Slowly, with an almost terrifying calm, you turned to look at her, your eyes narrowing as they landed on the damaged wrench at her feet. The weight of your gaze made her stomach drop, the realization settling heavily within her. This time, she knew she’d gone too far.

“Kyujin…” you said, voice low and controlled, a chill in your tone that made her chest tighten. You didn’t call her Jagiya now, not with the usual affection. The use of her name sent a clear message—this wasn’t a game anymore.

“I… I didn’t mean to…” she stammered, her voice trembling as her mind scrambled for words. “I didn’t know—”

You knelt down, picking up the chipped wrench with careful hands, your expression hardening as you turned it over, inspecting the damage with a cold, quiet intensity. “This was my dad’s,” you said, voice tight, each word laced with restrained emotion. “One of the few things I have left from him. And now it’s chipped because you couldn’t stop being a brat.”

The words struck her hard, guilt flooding her as the weight of what she’d done settled in. She hadn’t known how much this wrench meant to you, hadn’t realized the sentimental value it held. “Oppa, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t mean to chip it… I didn’t know”

You cut her off with a steady, disappointed look. “I warned you,” you said, your voice flat but brimming with frustration. “I gave you all these chances, and you didn’t listen. You wanted my attention so badly? Well, now you have it.”

Before she could react, you reached out, your hand firm yet gentle as you took her wrist, guiding her toward the low bench in the corner of the garage. Her heart raced, a blend of apprehension and regret flooding her as you sat down and pulled her gently but firmly across your lap. She felt the reality of the situation settling in—she’d crossed the line, and now she was about to face the consequences.

“Oppa please, I’m sorry…” she whimpered softly, her voice fragile, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Sorry,” you replied, your tone unyielding, “that’s always what you say after you’ve gone too far. But this time, sorry isn’t enough.” With one smooth motion, you lifted the hem of her skirt, exposing her, and tugged her cute pink printed panties down to her thighs, leaving her bare and vulnerable. She squirmed slightly, but your hand pressed firmly against her lower back, holding her in place as her heart hammered in her chest. “You need to learn your lesson.”

Kyujin lay across your lap, the weight of your words sinking in as guilt and anticipation mixed within her. The lighthearted playfulness from before had vanished, replaced by a sobering awareness of just how far she had pushed you. Each breath felt heavy as she lay there, exposed and vulnerable, her mind spinning as she finally realized the full extent of what she had done.

“I… I really am sorry,” she murmured, her voice small, each word filled with remorse as she lay still, her heart racing.

Your voice was steady, firm, with a touch of kindness beneath it that somehow both reassured and unsettled her. “How many spanks do you think you deserve?” you asked, your tone calm, yet carrying an edge that made her pulse quicken.

Kyujin’s breath hitched as she considered your question, her mind a swirl of emotions. Her cheeks flushed deeply with both embarrassment and anxiety as the silence stretched between you, heightening the tension in the room. She swallowed, looking down, and then whispered, “T-Ten?” Her voice was small, uncertain, as she glanced at you, silently hoping that her answer might soften your resolve.

But you shook your head slowly, letting out a low chuckle that sent a shiver down her spine. “Too low,” you replied, your tone almost teasing, yet leaving no room for negotiation. “Let’s double it. You deserve twenty, and you’re going to count every single one.”

The words settled over her, heavy and electrifying, as anticipation twisted her stomach into tight knots. Twenty. Her breaths came quicker, an intoxicating mix of apprehension and excitement building within her. The gravity of what lay ahead sank in, yet beneath the tension, a thrill pulsed through her, unmistakable and undeniable.

Without further preamble, you delivered the first spank—a sharp, stinging impact that shot through her like a lightning bolt. The suddenness of it stole her breath, and the hot sting radiated through her cheeks, the heat blooming beneath your hand. “O-One,” she gasped, her voice shaky, each syllable carrying the echo of the slap that lingered on her skin, flooding her senses.

You didn’t hesitate, bringing down a second spank, harder than the first. “Two,” she whimpered, the sting intensifying, an electric heat that made her squirm involuntarily, her body’s reaction beyond her control. The pain built, sharpened, sending a fiery ache through her, a throbbing warmth settling deep within her.

Another spank landed, this time on her opposite cheek, sending a fresh wave of stinging heat through her body. “T-Three… I’m sorry” she breathed out, her heart racing as the sensation spread, igniting her nerves. Her apology came almost on instinct, the words spilling from her lips as the intensity left her more vulnerable with each passing second.

The rhythm continued, a steady and unyielding cadence that grew with each strike, each spank bringing her closer to the edge. As she counted up to “Ten,” her voice came in breathless gasps, each number growing softer as her body arched against the sting, a mixture of pain and something more primal beginning to settle within her. The sensations blurred, the pain mingling with a strange sense of exhilaration, her breaths quick and shallow as her skin flushed hot.

With each spank, her awareness sharpened, the heat between her legs building in a slow, undeniable ache that surprised her. By the time she reached “Fifteen,” her body trembled with need, her entire being caught in the edge of pain and an unexpected, growing desire. Each strike seemed to deepen the ache within her, intensifying until it was impossible to ignore.

“Eighteen,” Kyujin whimpered, her voice filled with a mix of embarrassment and something deeper as her body tensed under your hand. The ache between her thighs was undeniable, and the warmth on her reddened skin only seemed to amplify it. She lay folded across your lap, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts, as she bit her lip, trying to steady herself.

You let your hand linger, hovering above her flushed cheeks as you shifted, drawing out the anticipation. Then, with a teasing touch, you let your fingers brush over her core, feeling the warmth radiating from her. Kyujin’s breath hitched as your fingers skimmed over her wetness, and you murmured softly, “You’re soaked. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

A wave of embarrassment washed over her, her cheeks turning crimson as she shifted under your hand. She swallowed, then whispered, “Please… can you touch me?” Her voice was soft, almost pleading.

You raised an eyebrow, considering her carefully before giving her an answer. “Only if you can handle five more,” you replied, your tone both calm and challenging.

Kyujin hesitated, her body tensing as she considered, but the need inside her was too strong to resist. Finally, she nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “Yes… I can take it.”

Without further delay, you delivered the nineteenth spank, the sharp sound filling the room as her body arched forward with a soft gasp. She whispered the number under her breath, her voice quivering as she counted, bracing herself. Each smack that followed left her trembling, her grip on the edge of the chair tightening.

“Twenty,” she breathed, her voice almost breaking as she melted into the sensation. You allowed your hand to linger, gently tracing along her tender skin, before resuming with a steady, controlled pace. Her body rocked slightly with each spank, her soft gasps punctuating the silence.

You allowed a momentary caress, just enough to keep her yearning, then raised your hand once more. “Twenty-one,” you counted, your hand connecting with her skin as her body jerked forward. Her breath hitched, the sensation sending a fresh wave of need through her.

“twenty-three…” Each word grew softer, her voice barely above a whisper, her resolve melting under your unrelenting touch.

When the final count, “Twenty-five,” fell from her lips, her body seemed to go limp, her breathing uneven as she lay across your lap, completely vulnerable. You gave her a moment, letting the silence stretch as she caught her breath, her muscles slowly relaxing.

Then, as she lay there, she looked back over her shoulder, her voice soft. “I… I’m sorry about the wrench,” she murmured, her tone filled with genuine regret. “I didn’t know it was so important.” She hesitated, her cheeks flushed as the regret in her voice was unmistakable.

Instead of answering, you slipped one finger along her folds, feeling her warmth and wetness as you pressed forward gently. Kyujin gasped, her hips instinctively pressing back into your touch. You maintained a steady, gentle rhythm, letting her feel every deliberate stroke as her body began to respond. Her breaths came in soft, shallow pants, and her fingers clutched at your leg, anchoring herself.

“Oh… ah…” she gasped softly, her voice trembling as she whispered, “Thank you…” Her body pressed back to meet each slow movement, her hips shifting as you continued, each gentle thrust pulling her deeper into the moment. You could feel her relax and tense with each stroke, her body melting into the rhythm you set.

As her breaths turned into soft, needy moans, you kept up the slow, careful pace, her body responding to each precise movement. Her hips rocked gently, each motion matching your touch as she surrendered completely to the feeling. You could feel her grip tighten on your thigh, her fingers digging in as her voice turned to soft, breathy whispers. “Please… don’t stop,” she whimpered, her words almost lost in her shallow breathing.

After a few minutes, you introduced a second finger, pressing deeper as her body adjusted. Her response was immediate—a soft, broken cry escaped her as her hips shifted instinctively, her body fully giving in. “Oh…” she gasped, her voice raw with desire as you pressed further, finding a slow, steady rhythm that matched her every breath. She melted into each careful thrust, her breaths growing louder as her hands clung tightly to your leg, her body rocking over your lap with each deliberate movement.

“Ah… yes…” she moaned, her voice breathless as she matched your pace, her hips moving in perfect sync. Her body seemed to come alive, every small movement intensifying the need building inside her. You maintained a calm, unhurried rhythm, drawing her closer and closer, her breathing quickening as her moans turned to desperate, trembling whimpers.

Sensing she was on the edge, you leaned down, your voice soft near her ear. “Hold on to me,” you murmured, letting her know she could fully let go. Her grip tightened around your thigh, her body tensing as she clung to you, her muscles tight with anticipation.

Then, as she reached her breaking point, you gave her a quick smack across her tender cheek, the jolt making her gasp, her body shuddering in response. Without pausing, you gave a gentle but firm pinch to her clit, increasing the intensity as you delivered one last, firm smack.

Kyujin’s entire body arched as the climax overtook her, a raw, breathless scream escaping her lips as the waves of release washed over her. She quivered uncontrollably, her legs shaking as she rode the intensity, her fingers clinging to your thigh with a fierce grip, holding on as the pleasure pulsed through her, her voice breaking into soft, gasping cries. Her entire body shuddered, each wave leaving her breathless until, finally, she collapsed, her body going slack as the sensations ebbed.

With a gentleness that surprised her, you began to caress her tender cheeks, ”Such a good girl” you coo, the words soft and affectionate with your touch soothing the ache as you carefully pulled her panties back up and lifted her off your lap. Her legs were shaky, her body still buzzing with need, as she clung to you, her head nestled against your shoulder as you led her slowly to the bedroom.

Once there, you laid her down carefully on her stomach, your hands supporting her as her heart rate slowly began to settle. You lifted her skirt again, her breath catching as she felt the cool air against her heated skin, a shiver running through her at the sharp contrast. She tensed, expecting another touch, another swat, but instead, your hand rested softly on her back, grounding her.

You leaned down, your lips trailing soft, featherlight kisses along her red, sensitive skin, each touch a gentle balm for the stinging heat that lingered. Slowly, you pressed tender kisses across her cheeks, each one a silent apology, a reassurance for the discomfort she had felt. Your lips moved down, tracing over her thighs, lingering where her skin was still warm, before trailing up along her back, leaving a path of warmth that melted away the ache. As you reached her neck, you pressed a gentle kiss, pausing there as if grounding her with your presence.

Kyujin shivered beneath your touch, her breath catching with each kiss as she felt you move over her. The warmth of your kisses soothed her, easing away the ache that had built in her body. Though the arousal still simmered within her, your touch began to calm the frustration she’d felt, replacing it with a comforting warmth. Each kiss seemed to melt away the remaining tension, coaxing her into a soft, quiet relief.

You pulled back slightly, your voice a low murmur as you said, “I’ll be right back,” and moved to stand. But as you took a step, Kyujin’s hand reached out, her fingers clutching softly, almost desperately, at your arm. “Wait, stop,” she whispered, her voice fragile, a hint of fear threading through her words. “Please don’t go…”

You turned back instantly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, the warmth of your lips a gentle reassurance. “I’ll be right back, baby,” you murmured softly. “Just getting the lotion.”

Kyujin nodded slowly, her fingers relaxing as you spoke, feeling a warmth spread through her at hearing you call her “baby” again. It softened her, brought her back to a sense of comfort, and she watched you leave the room, her heart still racing but now pulsing with a softer, calmer beat.

When you returned, you settled beside her, pouring a small amount of lotion into your hands and rubbing them together to warm it before reaching toward her. As your hands gently applied the lotion to her sore cheeks, she felt an initial sting, the cool lotion biting against her heated skin, but it quickly shifted to relief. She let out a soft sigh as you carefully massaged the lotion into her, your hands moving in slow, tender circles that soothed and relaxed her.

With every stroke of your fingers against her skin, she felt herself melting deeper into the bed, the lingering tension and ache gradually easing away as you continued to massage her cheeks with thoughtful care. Your touch was tender, each movement slow and purposeful, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink fully into the moment, the warmth of your hands grounding her. Her body relaxed, the warmth of your hands dissipating the residual sting as she sighed softly, her entire being unwinding under your touch.

When you finished, you lay down beside her, gathering her into your arms and pulling her close. She nestled against you, her head resting on your chest, her legs entwined with yours, the comfort of your embrace replacing the lingering soreness with a deep sense of peace. The warmth of your body against hers soothed her, your presence surrounding her like a protective shield that let her finally relax.

“Oppa, I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she looked up at you, eyes full of sincerity. “I wasn’t thinking... I really didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You kissed the top of her head gently, letting your hand stroke through her hair with a reassuring touch. “I know, Jagiya,” you murmured softly, each word brimming with understanding. “It’s okay. I forgave you. We’re done with that now.”

She blinked, her eyes beginning to tear up, the weight of guilt still heavy in her chest. “But… it was your dad’s,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she thought of how much that wrench had meant to you. “I’m so, so sorry…”

Noticing the tears pooling in her eyes, you gently cupped her face, your thumb brushing away the tears as they fell, each touch soft and full of care. “Shh, baby,” you whispered, pressing a series of gentle kisses across her cheeks, her forehead, and her lips. “It’s okay, don’t beat yourself up over it, okay? I know you didn’t mean it.”

Kyujin took a shaky breath, feeling the tightness of guilt in her chest slowly ease as your comforting words settled over her. She nuzzled closer, burying her face against your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart beneath her cheek. “Thank you for taking care of me,” she whispered, her voice soft and brimming with affection, each word carrying the relief that your forgiveness had brought her.

You wrapped your arms around her tighter, your voice a soothing murmur as you replied, “No matter what happens, I’ll always take care of you.” You let your hands stroke down her back, your gentle embrace surrounding her, creating a space of warmth and safety.

They lay there together, wrapped in a quiet intimacy that soothed every frayed edge of the evening. The tension and pain faded away, replaced by the comfort of your presence, the feel of your warmth wrapping around her. Exhaustion crept up slowly, the weight of the day settling over her as her eyes grew heavy, her breathing slowing as she felt your steady heartbeat beneath her. Gradually, she drifted off to sleep in your arms, feeling safe, loved, and completely forgiven, a peaceful smile softening her features as she relaxed fully into your embrace.

The next morning, Kyujin awoke to the soft light of dawn streaming gently through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. She stirred slowly, feeling the tender throb that lingered as a soft reminder of the night before. Every small movement brought an ache, but the warmth and comfort of knowing things were right between them filled her with peace.

Turning carefully, she found herself face-to-face with you, your arm still wrapped around her waist. You were fast asleep, chest rising and falling steadily, each breath soft against her skin. She gazed at you, her face softened in the peaceful quiet of sleep, and a gentle smile tugged at her lips. Brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead, she leaned in, pressing a tiny, featherlight kiss there.

She pulled back just enough to look at you, feeling her heart flutter. Then, barely resisting a giggle, she leaned in again, pressing another soft kiss to your cheek, nose and another just above your brow. Each kiss was a gentle attempt to wake, a playful way of pulling you from your dreams.

After a moment, you feel Kyujin's soft kisses, feather-light on your face, and slowly your eyes flutter open. A warm, sleepy smile forms on your lips as you take her in, a quiet chuckle escaping you. “Good morning,” you murmur, your voice husky with sleep, gaze full of affection as you look at her.

Kyujin beams, pleased with herself, a sparkle of delight in her eyes. “Good morning,” she whispers back, snuggling closer to you, her warmth melting into yours as you instinctively tighten your arm around her, pulling her even closer.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, your voice still heavy with sleep as you gently hold Kyujin close.

She winces slightly as she stretches, the soreness from the night before apparent, but she meets your gaze, her voice soft. “Sore… but okay.”

A quiet chuckle escapes you as you pull her close to your chest. “You were brave last night,” you murmur, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’m proud of you.”

Your words bring a warm glow to her cheeks, and you feel her nuzzle even closer, a sense of safety and love filling the quiet space between you. But as you start to sit up, she lets out a small sound of discomfort, instinctively reaching out, her fingers grasping onto you.

“Don’t leave…” she mumbles, her voice soft, as she clings to you, making it clear she wants to stay close.

You laugh gently, lifting her effortlessly into your arms and holding her tight. You kiss the top of her head, your hand stroking her back in slow, soothing motions. “Alright, baby,” you say, a playful note in your voice, “how about we make breakfast together?”

Her legs wrap around your waist, her arms resting around your shoulders as you carry her out of bed. She sighs softly, contented, her head settling on your shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen. Once there, you try to set her down on a chair, but her grip tightens, and she shakes her head with a soft, stubborn whine.

“C’mon, baby,” you tease, smiling as you glance down at her. “I have to make breakfast.”

“Stay with me,” she murmurs, pressing closer, unwilling to let go.

You chuckle warmly, giving in as you move around the kitchen, her arms still wrapped around you. “Toast or cereal?” you ask, looking down with a smile.

“Toast, please,” she replies, shifting slightly and wincing as she adjusts to the soreness.

You slide two slices of bread into the toaster, then wrap your arms around her waist, holding her close. Your hands move in soothing circles along her back, slipping down to massage her gently. She lets out a quiet whimper, relaxing into you and wrapping her arms more snugly around your neck.

She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, then trails another along your jawline, her lips brushing against your skin with a warmth that lingers. “Thank you for taking care of me,” she whispers, her voice full of warmth.

You soften, meeting her gaze with affection before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Always, my love,” you murmur. “It’s my favorite thing to do.”

A smile lights her face as she rests her head on your shoulder, her fingers tracing gentle patterns along your neck and through your hair. When the toast pops, you quickly butter each slice and hand one to her. She takes a bite, savoring the warmth as she stays nestled against you. Every so often, she leans in to press a kiss to your cheek or nuzzle your neck, her soft smile matching yours as you share the quiet moment.

You chuckle, rubbing slow, comforting circles on her back as you tease, “You’re clingy this morning.”

She giggles, taking another bite before leaning in again to kiss your cheek. “I just don’t want you to leave,” she whispers playfully, her voice soft.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead as you hold her close, the warmth between you as comforting as the morning light filtering in around you.

After breakfast, you stand up from your chair with Kyujin still in your arms. You begin carrying her to the bathroom as she nestles against you, her head resting gently on your shoulder. Inside, you set her down and start the bath, testing the temperature until it’s perfectly warm—just right to ease the ache in her muscles. You glance over at her, meeting her eyes as you begin to help her undress, your touch lingering on each piece, slow and gentle. She watches you quietly, her gaze soft but thoughtful, as if there’s something she’s been holding back.

Once she’s undressed, you guide her into the bath, lowering her carefully into the warm water. She releases a sigh, her body sinking into the soothing heat. The calm stillness in the room is almost palpable, broken only by the occasional gentle splash of water as you pour a cup over her shoulders, letting it cascade down her back. She stays quiet, watching you intently, and you notice the slight crease in her brow, the way her lips press together as if deep in thought. With each tender motion, you sense her hesitation growing, as if she’s contemplating something she’s not quite ready to voice.

You reach for the shampoo, pouring a small amount into your hands and working it into her hair, your fingers moving in slow, comforting circles along her scalp. Kyujin’s eyes close, and she leans into your touch, each gentle press of your fingertips lulling her into relaxation. But still, that quiet tension lingers in the way she holds herself, a shadow that hasn’t fully eased.

As you massage the shampoo through her hair, her breaths deepen, but she doesn’t speak, her expression softening and her shoulders relaxing under your hands. You lean over, dipping the cup into the water and preparing to rinse, but you can’t ignore the way her eyes flicker, as if a weight is pressing on her heart.

“What’s on your mind, baby?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a murmur, your hands still gentle in her hair.

She hesitates, her lashes fluttering before she looks away, her voice almost a whisper. “I… I feel like you forgave me too soon.”

You pause, the water warm against your hands as you take in her words. She glances down, her expression clouded, her fingers tracing the water’s surface as if searching for the right way to explain. “I was careless. I didn’t think… about what the wrench could mean to you,” she murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I really didn't mean to Opaa...”

Your hands rest in her hair for a beat, then slowly you tip her chin up with gentle fingers, meeting her gaze. “Jagiya” you murmur, your eyes soft, “I forgave you because I know it was a mistake. You didn’t mean to hurt me, and you regret it. That’s all that matters to me.”

She looks away, her cheeks warming under your gaze, guilt flickering across her features. “But it was important to you,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “I should have been more careful… You deserved more time to be mad. I just… don’t want to hurt you again.”

With the cup still in hand, you brush your thumb over her cheek, letting her feel the warmth of your touch as you cradle her face. “We all make mistakes, Jagiya,” you say gently, your voice a steady reassurance. “You’ve already shown me how much you care. That’s all I need to know.”

Her eyes well up as she leans into your touch, her shoulders easing as if a weight has finally lifted. She looks at you, her voice breaking softly. “Thank you for being so patient with me… even when I don’t deserve it.”

You smile softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. As you continue rinsing the shampoo from her hair, you press a tender kiss to her forehead, letting her know, without words, that she’s understood and forgiven.

“You deserve all the care I can give,” you murmur, your voice filled with quiet reassurance. You rest your hand on her cheek, brushing a thumb along her damp skin, letting her feel the warmth and steadiness in your touch. Her eyes close, leaning into the comfort you offer, each gentle stroke dispelling her lingering worries. As you rinse the last of the shampoo from her hair, her expression softens, tension melting away as she takes a deep, steadying breath.

In that moment, you hold her gaze, letting her see the depth of your patience and the unreserved love reflected there. The weight she’d been carrying seems to dissolve, replaced by a sense of safety and acceptance that surrounds her like the warmth of the bath. She reaches up, placing her hand over yours, and as you stay there, quiet and close, she knows, fully, that she is forgiven and loved beyond measure.