#so i don’t have to keep updating through asks

[moody-alcoholic]

I woke up in the middle of the night with this brainworm.

Summary: Johnny x Simon. Both civilians Simon's a butcher owns a shop in Manchester. They're both crushing on each other but they're bad at feelings or somthing...

___

He comes in 3 times a week. Every week without fail.

Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays. 

He gets chicken and beef on a Monday, always 500g of each - the best quality stuff of course. Thursday he gets sausages, a couple of whatever Simon recommends. 

Saturday’s he's convinced he just comes in to chat. Updates him on how the sausages were and always leaves with something. 

He's good for business - that's what Simon tells himself. Having such a loyal customer is hard to come by, especially when business slows down and prices go up. And besides Simon likes to listen to him, he always has a story. Simon’s convinced he makes some of it up, no way so many things can happen to one guy in a few days. 

He’s always smiling and friendly, even if he doesn’t come in but walks past he will wave, or pop his head through the door with some witty remark. Simon doesn’t think he’s ever seen him without a smile. Not bad looking either but he's pretty sure he’s single and lives alone. 

He remembers a story he told him about when he first moved to Manchester. Something about a bird in his flat, Simon can’t quite remember.

“Sausages needed something.” Johnny says, it snaps Simon out of his thoughts. He looks up at Johnny, raising an eyebrow. “Missing something. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Eggs. Breakfast sausages are good with eggs.” Simon says. 

“You should get fresh eggs in here. I bet that would drum up some business.” Johnny beams at him. He has always thought about talking to the local farmers about it but he’s never found the time. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Simon hums, looking back down to continue trimming the fat off this brisket.

“I’m having a BBQ next week - If the weather is good. Got some family coming down, probably be putting in a big order.” Johnny winks at him. 

“Need anything special?” Simon asks.

“Burgers and sausages mostly.” He says walking down the display case.

“Maybe finally try some of those skewers I've had my eye on.” He says pointing on the glass at the pre-prepared chicken and pork skewers. 

“Big party?” Simon asks, he needs to know if he needs to do a bigger order. 

“10ish people. Depends on how many cousins decide to come last minute.” Johnny chuckles. 

“Big family then?” 

“Massive, and they’re all married with kids. What about you? Got siblings?” Simon looks up at him, they’ve never talked about family before. 

“I had a brother.” He says. Johnny nods and doesn't press it any further. It feels like there's an awkwardness in the air now. Simon puts his knife down reaching over for the clingfilm. 

“You should come.” Johnny says, for a second Simon freezes, maybe he misheard him, he looks over at Johnny leaning on the counter his chin resting on his hand.

“To the BBQ?” He asks, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

“Yeah!” Johnny replies excitedly.

“With your family?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. Johnny nods. He should refuse, that's the polite thing to do. It's time for Johnny to spend time with his family, not the random butcher. 

“Maybe an-” 

“Ack, don’t be silly Simon. You should come, let your hair down, take a break.” Johnny says, throwing his arms up standing up straight. Simon lets out a breath looking down at the clingfilm in his hands, he’s not sure what he needed this for now. 

Before he can reply the doorbell rings and Simon looks past Johnny to see someone walk in. Johnny moves away from the counter as Simon walks over to the till. 

“Think about it.” Johnny says before turning to leave and greeting the woman in the shop. 

“I’ll see you Monday.” He calls just before leaving, Simon nods at him and watches out the window until he disappears out of view. 

He’ll never admit it but he likes Saturdays the most. 

___

I'm taking a break from writing I said. It'll be fun, I said.

[dailyevans26]

he sets the tone

pairing: Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x F!Resident!Reader summary: Dr Michael Robinavitch has had better days at work, Dr Cassidy Miller is determined they make it through. word count: 1.8k a/n: i have not written fanfic in years so please be gentle. have loved noah wyle ever since i stumbled upon er based on my parents rec and ever since watching the panic attack episode knew i had to write something, edited with a glass of wine so you've been warned. i will not apologise for how purely indulgent this is, oc looking after robby during and post panic attack, established relationship, oc is early 30's, robby is late 40s in my world. might be a small follow up or other adventures with cassidy and robby if there is demand. please also enjoy the little er easter eggs

✩☽

“Dana, have you seen Robby?”

The charge nurse halted, her eyes still darting around the Pitt. The aftermath of the shooting continued to revolve. Patients were scattered across chairs and in beds, doctors, nurses and med students still trying to mop up the mess. Cassidy could smell the blood seeping from her scrubs, leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. Scrub change, however, was the least of her concern. 

“Honey, I was going to ask you the same thing.” Their joint look was one of panic. Robby's bad day had started the minute he walked into the Pitt. A breakdown this late in the day was inevitable, if that’s what had happened, but Cassidy knew people still needed help. They needed Robby. It wasn’t the time for their attending to go AWOL. “He took Jake to see Leah,” Dana began.

“You don’t think?” Cassidy interrupted, scanning around the family room for a sign. 

“Go I’ll cover.” Dana gripped her arm reassuringly, before turning away and barking updates. 

Cassidy wove her way through patients and doctors. Head to the ground, trying to avoid being called in on any urgent cases. She passed Abbot and Mohan, both working on patients, their techniques getting progressively unorthodox as supplies continued to run out. Cassidy overheard them call out to Dana, looking for Robby. She had to find him before anyone else realised he was missing. There was already enough panic in the air. 

The anniversary of Adamson’s death was hard on all that knew him. A mass casualty was just the cherry on top. She wasn’t even meant to be working, Robby didn’t want her there to worry him. He was always looking out for her. It had started the day she’d walked into the Pitt, a fresh faced student doctor, completely unaware of the job she was about to begin. Dr Robinavitch, Robby, to friends, had been her senior resident. He was her anchor in a storm, a calming and patient presence in a sea of unease. He believed in see one, do one, teach one. Never afraid to take a student under his wing and give advice not criticism. Under his and Adamson’s tutelage, Cassidy Miller thrived into the doctor she was today. Just as calm, and as patient, steadfast and always ready to help.

They had started as co-conspirators, inside jokes, talks in the stairwell, shared early morning breakfast or late night dinners. He was her friend. But over time they became a team, they were partners. Talking each other off the ledge. Taking whatever feelings they would let out, limited as they were, and helping each other carry the burden. Robby could read Cassidy’s like one would flick through a magazine. Her thoughts and feelings always as clear as day. Cassidy was just as perceptive to Robby’s moods, and had over the years managed to tease more out of him than anyone else. They only thing stopping the two of them: Robby was 15 years her senior. It was what had stopped him making the first move, any move. However, life was short, they both knew that, and they couldn’t keep running from the inevitable (the amount of money on them getting together was also getting out of hand). 

So, when Robby asked Cassidy to not work on the anniversary. She understood. What she still couldn’t determine was why he was determined to work today. It was never going to end well. So, Cassidy had made plans. A bottle of wine and the ingredients for a lovely late night dinner still awaiting use in the fridge at home. She was unsure if, after the day, she’d even have the strength to open the bottle, let alone cook the three course meal she’d planned in her head. She was meant to be at home, waiting to take the weight off Robby’s shoulders after his bad day, as she had done before. As his friend, now as his girlfriend. She wasn’t meant to be covered in blood, striding through the Pitt, heart racing. 

Cassidy knew Robby was taking today particularly hard, losing Leah hadn’t helped. She had watched, stitching up patients in chairs, as he had done everything in his capacity to save her. Watched as Robby did everything he could for Jake, but some days everything just wasn"t enough. She knew he would feel like a failure. No matter how many patients he saved today, none would make up for the ones he lost. He had told her, more than once over the years they had worked together, that doctors that kept their feelings were going to get sick every once in a while, that was just how it is. Sickness always found them in the end. 

The family room had been repurposed again. It was where they were keeping those who hadn"t made it, surrounded by the paintings of green fields and happy woodland creatures. For a room that was meant to bring calm, it only housed trauma for Robby and Cassidy knew it. The grass would have been greener in any other room in the hospital. Taking a breath and steadying herself, Cassidy pushed the door open slowly. She glanced around, assessing the scene, taking in Robby hunched on the floor. One armed wrapped around his knees, a hand covering his face. He was mumbling, self-soothing as he fought to have oxygen in his lungs, shaky breaths heaving from his ribcage.  

Robby was covered in blood. None of it was his, and she knew she looked the same. 

Cassidy lowered herself down, sitting next to him, while still giving enough room for him to breathe. A gentle hand placed on his forearm. 

“Robby, darling, I need you to look at me, you need to breathe.” He continued to mumble, his hand clasping the chain around his neck. 

“Micheal, you’re having a panic attack, c’mon darling, breathe with me.” She sucked in a dramatic breath of air. Robby’s hand found hers as she counted down, slowly exhaling. Cassidy repeated the breathing and the counting, as her breath slowed, so did his. 

“Good, keep breathing.”

“Yo-you need to get back out there, they need you,” He whispered. 

"Right now you need me more.”

“Cassie,” his voice broke. He buried his face into the crook of her neck. “I couldn't save her. I couldn"t save either of them.”

“I know darling, I know.” She ran her hand through his hair. “But you can't think about that now, your team needs you out there, I need you out there, to help us with those who are still waiting.” 

“I can't.” He removed himself from her embrace, finally looking at her. His tears were barely holding in the corner of his eyes. Robby"s head shook, defeat washing over his face. 

“You can.” Cassidy stood, holding out her gloved hand, “Take my hand.” A pause. Grasping her outstretched palm and stood, lightly brushing her away. Cassidy took a step back. Her eyes scanning for any lasting damage, his breathing had returned to normal. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” She asked, her hand resting on his forearm. 

“I'm fine.” He replied shortly, shrugging off her hand. 

“You are not fine.” 

“What would you know?” He bit back. Trying to get a rise out of her, push her away. Cassidy never took the bait.

“Enough.” She stared, her eyes boring into him until the anger seeps away. Robby kept his eyes trained at the door, but his shoulders sagged, head hanging low as a hand found his way through his hair. “We’re going back to work, we’re going to see as many patients as it takes for this shift, this day, to be over and then we are going home, together.”

“I don’t think–” 

“No arguments, as the doctor assigned to your care.” Robby snorted, finally making eye contact and raising an eyebrow. “As the doctor assigned to your care,” she pressed on, “I am putting you under surveillance for 24 hours.” 

“You're going to watch me for 24 hours?”

“I might also watch some TV and some Chinese takeout, but yes, I’m not leaving you alone darling.” 

“I don’t thin– I can’t, I can’t talk about it.”

“I don’t need you to talk to me about any of it Robby, I understand implicitly, and because I understand I"m not going to force you, but I"m also not letting you go home alone, okay?” He nods his head, his hand finding hers again and giving it a squeeze. Cassidy replies with a small smile, standing on tiptoes to gently kiss his forehead. Robby hated all forms of PDA, but considering the circumstances, she was happy to risk it. “C’mon, it’s just another beautiful day to save some lives.” Sarcasm heavily coating her words, as she quoted the inaccurate medical drama. He laughed, eyes rolling. 

“I should have never let you watch Greys Anatomy.” Cassidy lets out a short laugh, walking to the door, glancing over her shoulder. 

“Don't need to now I have a real McDreamy.” Red tints his cheeks, and ears, as the smile on her face grows. 

“Hey,” Robby said, grasping her hand and pulling her towards him, “I love you.” Cassidy wraps her arms around his neck, as his snake around her waist. The hug is brief but full of everything that won’t be said until their day has ended. 

“I know, I love you too.”

The moment the two of them exit the family room, Robby is pulled into another case. Cassidy takes a steadying breath before also returning to the throng, looking for her next case. 

“Hey, Cass, Robby alright?” Abbot asked, pulling her to the side, searching her face intently. His military training had kicked in the second patients started rolling up. Everyone needed to be on their A-game, there was no room for mistakes. They couldn’t have a weak link. 

“I talked to him, he’ll be just fine when this day is over, I think we all will be.” He grinned slightly. 

“Amen to that sister.” He put his hand up for a high-five and her palm collides into his. Jack holds her hand for a second, squeezing with reassurance. Her and him were a team, they would get Robby through this day, together. His hand drops at the sound of yelling. 

“Jesus Gloria!” Robby exclaimed, "The police are still looking, why don’t you go back to your managerial high tower and let the rest of us get back to work." Jack and Cassidy make instant eye contact as Robby storms off. 

“You talked to him huh?” Abbot teased, as you both drop what you’re doing to run to Robby. 

“I did the best I could.”

“Dr Miller, we need help over here!” 

“Go," Jack murmurs, giving her a shove in the right direction, “We’ve got Robby now.” Cassidy let herself be pulled back into the chaos of the Pitt, now wasn’t time to be worrying about Robby, he would be okay. When their shift ended, she would make sure of it. 

✩☽

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

No Air 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect and abuse, bullying, body shaming and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re forced to return home after a nervous breakdown.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The wind whips around you through the open top of the Bentley. The bluster has you just as disoriented as the man driving. You keep your arms locked across your middle and lean away from him, curling down into the seat as you will yourself to blow away into nothing.  

Lloyd veers and you're swung towards him. You have no choice but to reach out and steady yourself. You claps onto his upper arms as he slams the brakes and shifts into park. The sudden stop has you hitting the seat with a thump. 

He flexes, "like what you feel?" 

He winks at you and you quickly recoil. You turn and look up at the restaurant instead. This doesn't look like a waffle house. 

“Baby, don’t worry. You’ll like this,” he purrs and pets your cheek. You lean away from him. He only snickers as he drops his hand. 

He shuts off the car and clicks free his seat belt. It snaps back and he swiftly gets out. You take your time, weighed down by dread. Whatever he’s up to, you don’t trust.  

You don’t know why he’s doing this. To you. He has your mom so why is he so focused on you. Maybe, like everyone else, he just sees an easy target. That must be it. 

You gently shut the door and he tisks as he comes around to your side. “That’s right, you treat her with respect,” he drags his hand over the shimmering paints of the Bentley. “Nice, isn’t it?” 

Your eyes dart between him and the car. “Yes.” 

“Mm, come on.” He grabs your hand before you can elude him. He latches on and drags you around the white brick building. The glossy sign along the facade has no text, only a green stem and leaves. 

He pulls open the clear door and angles you in ahead of him. It smells like some sort of plant within. Aloe? Maybe something else. 

There’s a lounge space with white leather furniture and an artificial fireplace. Plucky music wafts in the air with the untraced scent. On the other side, a sleek counter in a matching shade of white gleams in the low light. 

“Mr. Hansen,” a woman greets from behind the counter. Her short blond bob is neat; not a hair out of place. She wears a white turtleneck. Everything is so white. “I don’t have you in today.” 

“Carly. I hope you don’t mind a walk-in,” he struts across the lobby, tugging you ahead of him. He lets go of your hand only to place his over the small of your back. He ushers you forward. “You see, baby girl here, she’s been going through.” He puts his other hand on the counter and leans in, “nervous breakdown.” He whispers. The woman glances at you, her smile twitching. “She needs a little release.” 

“Oh, yes, well you know our services are designed to ease all sorts of stress,” she preens. “I can find you a room... both of you?” 

“Hey, I’m here. May as well join in the fun,” he winks at her. 

“No problem, Mr. Hansen. Would you like Mary Lou?” 

“Oh, strong hands. Sure.” 

“Alright, and I think... Kay can help out with your guest.” She tilts her head prettily and flicks her lashes. “You can enjoy our lounge while I have it readied. Did you want a juice or tea?” 

“Can you have my usual waiting in the room?” He asks. 

“Of course,” she agrees. 

He turns away without a thanks. He brings you with him to the seating area. He sits and before you can do the same, he tugs you around and you fall into his lap. You squeak as he grabs your knee and turns you. You teeter on top of him, bracing his shoulder for balance. 

“Mm,” he slaps his hand onto your thigh. “Cushy.” 

“Um, Lloyd,” you eke out. “Please--” 

“I’m just getting you warmed up.” He purrs. 

“Warmed up...” you latch onto his large hand. “Um, erm--” You struggle with him. He’s strong. Your throat tightens. The shadow of his grip winds around it. “Please I-- 

“Don’t worry, they serve breakfast,” he chuckles and slips his hand up your thigh, too close... You stop him again. “Don’t be ungrateful now. We both know Mommy doesn’t give a shit what happens to you, but Daddy will give you what you need.” 

Your eyes round. You swallow down the ‘ew’ at the tip of your tongue. You look at the wall and exhale. 

“Your tense,” he kneads your thigh. “You gotta let the all go or you’re gonna smash up something else and I don’t think there’s any cellos hanging around here.” 

You flinch. “Please. Don’t.” 

“Wild. A girl like you.” He chortles. 

“Please, Lloyd. Stop.” 

“Oh, keep saying please, baby,” he herks his hips beneath you. You feel a prodding. “I’ll give you exactly what you need and what you don’t even know you want.” 

Your insides are fluttery. You squirm and curl your shoulders inward. Your only defense is all you’ve ever done. You just recede into yourself and let things happen. What else can you do? No one will help you. Not even your own mother. 

“Mr. Hansen,” Carly appears. 

You wince and glance over. She doesn’t seem bothered by the scene, but you are. Sitting in his lap like that. It’s wrong. 

Lloyd taps your thigh and you get up. He points you ahead of him and you follow the women dressed all in white. He’s right behind you as you’re led around the counter to an open door and own a blindingly bright hallway. She opens another door and waves you inside. 

You enter and stop short. Lloyd collides with you and his hands frame your hips. The door shuts and he rubs his pelvis against your back.  

You blink at the two beds. The walls are a soft shade of green and new music drones in the air. Bells? And a new scent, softer. Jasmine like your mother’s body soap. 

“Go on and get naked,” Lloyd growls. 

What kind of place is this? You look between the beds, white sheets folded back halfway. You grab his hands and try to shove him off. 

“Settle down, baby. I’m not gonna pop the cherry first thing,” he snorts. “Won’t be much of a massage if you’re still dressed.” 

He lets you go and moves past you. He pulls off his shirt and folds it up in the white chair in the corner. You watch the muscles in his back and shudder. He pauses and goes to the rolling cart between the beds. He lifts the dark bottle and reads the label. 

“Bit early but you could use a drink,” he grabs the glass and pours into it. “There you go, sunshine.” 

He offers you the glass. You shake your head. “I don’t drink.” 

“You don’t? Or mommy says you can’t?” 

“Please don’t--” 

“Ahh,” he puts the bottle down heavily. He grabs your hand and puts it around the glass. “You’re gonna stop with those words’ ‘no’, ‘don’t’, ‘stop’. The more you tell me not to, the more I’m gonna do.” 

You grip the glass. He keeps his hand over yours and pushes it towards you. He angles the rim against your lips. As he tilts the drink you have no choice but to open your mouth. The alcohol makes you choke, your eyes watering as it floods your mouth. 

He finally pulls it back and you struggle to swallow. You get it down, heat crawling through your chest and singing in your nose. You bat away the tears with your lashes. 

“Don’t want you sloppy,” he takes the glass away and sets it down. “Now, clothes off.” 

He spins and unbuckles his belt. You gulp and turn away from him. You wipe your eyes with your knuckles and sniff. Just get it over with. 

You take off your shirt. Goosebumps cover your skin painfully. It isn’t cold in here... 

You focus on the task. It’s simple enough but feels like lifting a boulder. You step out of your shoes and strip off your jeans. You put them in the other chair. The flicker of candles casts ominous shadows all around you. 

You squeak as Lloyd approaches you from behind and grabs your bra. “Let me help.” 

He unclasps your bra and shoves the straps off your shoulder. You shiver and he untangles your wrists. He tosses it onto your clothing. 

His fingertips graze along your arms and under to your sides. He slides his thumbs beneath the elastic of your panties and peels them off. He leans in and his hot breath swathes over your hair. He kisses your crown. 

“I’m gonna mark up those thighs so good,” he snarls.  

You squeak and he chuckles at the noise. He pulls your panties down and tugs until you lift your right foot, then your left. He bunches them up and clucks. He drops them into the wastebasket by the chair. 

“You won’t need these.” 

You hug yourself and bow your head. You listen to him move behind you. He slaps the leather cushion of the bed. 

“Face down, baby face,” he demands. “We’ll get the ass up later.” 

You turn and look at the bed. You cover your chest with one arm and shield your privates with your other hand. You climb up awkwardly and lay with your face through the cushioned ring at the top. You stare at the floor as chills roll over you. 

Lloyd pulls the sheet up just over your bum. He slaps your backside through the thin layer and hums. He backs off and gets up on the other. 

“Think I shouldn’t roll over for this one,” he cackles. “You know, I don’t think the ladies can handle the tension in front.” 

You frown. Huh? He’s just so confusing but all too clear. You’re not that stupid. 

There’s a tap at the door. “Yeah,” he hollers back in a duller voice. 

The door opens. You don’t move. A set of steps approach you. 

“Hiya, I’m Kay,” the woman greets you. 

“Mary Lou,” Lloyd grumbles at the other. 

“Massage today? Full body,” Kay says. “You had one before?” 

You shake your head then cough. You make yourself speak. “No.” 

“No, okay. No problem. We’ll take it slow and you just let me know if anything hurts.” 

“Alright,” you say quietly. 

You’re not used to being touched. Lloyd is too much as it is. At least she’s a woman. A professinal. 

As she gently touches your shoulder, you flinch. You try to relax but your muscles only coil tighter. SHe rubs patiently. 

“You carry a lot of tension,” she says. 

“Probably the cello,” Lloyd comments. “She plays, you know? Probably not great for the shoulders.” 

“Ah, oh yes, I can feel knots right along this side.” 

You’re silent. Her hands are delicate but firm in their tending. The more she works the flesh, the softer you feel. Like putty, you meld into the bed. 

You close your eyes as she makes slow work around your neck and shoulders. Her touch advances down the middle of your back and a moan escapes you. Your cheeks burn hotly at the noise yet you can’t stop another from rising.  

Lloyd’s deep grunts don’t help. Or his response. He laughs. 

“I like the sound of that,” he snickers. 

You clamp your lips tight. Kay continues on, laughing at his joke as Mary Lou does the same. It’s not very funny. It’s humiliating. 

As she gets to the sheet and pulls it down, you have to keep from whining. Full body is... full body. 

“I don’t think you’ve ever had a couples booking before,” Mary Lou says to Lloyd’s sultry groans. 

“Oh no?” He says coolly. “First for everything, I guess.” 

Those words stick in your head, needling like a thorn. You stiffen. Can Kay feel that? 

“Guess she’s a special girl. Real talented,” he muses. “Cello player, so... great hands.” 

The women laugh again. You cringe. Why is he talking like that? Like you’re together? Don’t the see anything wrong with this? You’re obviously a lot younger than him... 

Or maybe, you’re the one who doesn’t understand. 

[vettelshon3ybadg3r]

he doesn’t - dr3 ❤️‍🩹

“…I know you don’t need my comfort but I’d like to think I can carry some of it for you…if you want of course…” Is this how first dates usually end up? Who the fuck have I been going on dates with? Where did he spawn from?”

word count - 4.3k

summary - reader with unspecified chronic illness, general health anxiety, gentleman! Daniel, mentions of being uncomfortable around alcohol, food, prescription medication. suggestive of slight sexual tension and difficult health related conversations. fluffyyyyy.

"Girl I don't think I can do it..." you repeat on the now three hour FaceTime call to your best friend for what seems like the millionth time this evening.

"You can. And you will! You deserve this, more than anyone" she also repeats for probably also the millionth time.

You sigh and continue curling your hair.

It's your first date since your diagnosis 9 months ago, after two years of battling with debilitating symptoms, gaslighting doctors and pain medication that doesn't even scratch the surface. Not forgetting the tears, the tears cried and the hope lost that you'll ever be okay again.

You don't feel that you will ever be okay, but your friends can't stand to see you wallow in bed and accept your life passing by, and long story short that's how you matched with Daniel on some dating app they downloaded on your phone.

"Okay, my Ubers here" you shakily tell your friend through the phone, sat on your vanity. You smooth your long-sleeved black mini dress, pull at your knee high boots and adjust your bag on your shoulder.

"Do I look okay?" You ask, looking down the camera, stepping back and giving a spin.

"Breathtaking. Go get him girl" she smiles.

"I'll keep you updated" you pick up your phone, checking your lipliner in the camera.

"You have everything you need?" she checks. You know what she's referring to.

"Yep, meds...and backups..." you nod.

"Condoms?..." she smirks.

"Okay let's not get too ahead of ourselves" you laugh. you never even anticipated that being an option for tonight.

"Go on...go have some fun, you deserve it."

You hang up and take a deep breath, taking the lift from your apartment downstairs to your uber.

"Uber for y/n?"

The driver nods, you get in and take some deep breaths, taking a moment for yourself with the anxiety bubbling and the potential placebo of your body giving out on you at any point from now on.

The scenarios that play out in your head through the short drive are relentless, from him standing you up to something going seriously wrong within the blink of an eye during dinner and having to explain to Daniel...well...everything, and blowing your chance at something good happening to you for once.

It's those scenarios that scarily pass the time, and before you know it you're outside the restaurant, shakily closing the door to the uber and forgetting how this all works.

Do i go inside? Is he already inside? No i’m ten minutes early so he'll arrive any second...what if he's fifteen minutes early and already sat-

"Y/n?"

I jump and spin on my heel, there he is.

Good lord.

"Daniel hi!" You go on your tiptoes and wrap an arm around Daniel's shoulder, resting your chin on the other. He rubs his large hand over your back and his scent fills your nose, musky but floral.

God he’s tall.

"Shall we?" He gestures to the door, flashing a smile and you respond with a nod. A smile that's enough to make you forget all the scenarios and worries repeating in your head since you got out of bed this morning, well...afternoon.

He pulls your chair out for you, sitting opposite and tucking himself in.

"So! How are you?..."

There's the dreaded question. Lie.

"I'm really good! I've been really looking forward to trying this place out!" You smile and look around the low lit Italian restaurant.

"How have you been? You're home for the holidays?" You return the sentiment, picking up the jug of water to pour a glass for your drying mouth and Daniel doesn't miss the shake in your hand at its heaviness.

"Let me.." he takes the jug from you and pours you a glass, pouring himself one after. You smile as a thank you. You wait for him to question it, he doesn't.

"Yeah, yeah I'm home for Christmas and then back to it in January" he nods, taking a sip of water and kissing his teeth. You can't tell if it's awkward, you feel like he knows you're being standoffish, keeping your guard up or just simply thinks you're being a bit of a bitch.

He doesn't.

She’s breathtaking. I can’t stop looking at her lips, the sparkle of eyeshadow lighting up her eyes and how effortlessly her hair falls on her shoulders. She’s enchanting.

You also take a sip from your glass, it's like you've forgotten how to act and just copy him except you put your glass down and hold onto it, the coldness soothing your clammy palms.

"So what is it you do again...you're a racing driver?" You tilt your head, leaning forward on the table. His eyes crinkle into a smile as a chuckle escapes his lips and he nods.

God he's beautiful.

"Mhm, formula one...never heard of it?" His lip curls into a smile and you blush.

"By the sounds of it I should have..."

"No no not at all..." he shakes his head and leans back in his chair, resting his forearms on the table and tapping his fingers.

"It's not like it's the highest level you can get in motorsport or anything..." he shrugs, putting on an act of mock nonchalance and scratching the back of his neck.

You laugh, you actually laugh.

"Oh right! I'm sorry Mr. Bigshot! I suppose I better ask for your signature or something huh?" I tease.

He shakes his head, clasping his hands together under his chin and resting his elbows on the table.

"How about my phone number?"

Your heart flutters. Wow he's forward...wow.

You feel the heat creeping up your neck and onto your cheeks and look into my lap as a small laugh escapes your lips.

"Maybe..." you smile softly, before his eyes on yours grow that smile into one you haven't felt in a long time, an actual smile.

The waiter arrives, requesting our drinks order and placing the menus down in front of us. You gesture for Daniel to go first.

"Yep Uhm..." he glances at the drinks menu, before looking up at you.

"What you feeling?..."

Your heart skips and your hands go clammy.

"Oh go with whatever..." I nod and smile, he returns the expression.

"Do you have the uh...Chianti Classico? Red?...a bottle for the table please and a lasagna for me" Daniel glances up at the waiter, your eyes on his hands spread across the menu, holding it so effortlessly and his fingers dancing lightly over the print.

The waiter nods and takes note, looking at you.

"Oh could I uh...just grab a Coke Zero?" You say in a small voice, Daniel looks up at you.

"Would you like a different wine? Do you prefer white?" He opens the menu back up, worried he hadn't considered your taste.

You shake your head, not wanting to create something.

"No no! I'm okay...honestly..." I smile and nod, Daniel leans forward slightly.

"I don't mind driving you back? Or ordering you an uber or?..."

he doesn't get it, you can't expect him to...it begins.

Your throat feels tight and you wipe your palms on your dress, licking your drying lips and looking back at the waiter.

"I'll have a glass for the wine, and I'll just stick with the water on the side, oh and Uhm...the spaghetti bolognese please" I smile and nod, handing him the menu as he expressed he'll be back with our order.

As long as you drink it slowly...steady and slowly it'll be okay...it'll be okay...

Daniel looks at you, expectantly, but unsure of what exactly. You wait for him to pry, he doesn't.

"So what do you do?..." Daniel asks as the waiter returns with the wine, pouring into your glass and you stop him after just a a few glugs. Daniel accepts an actual glass of wine.

"I work in digital marketing and advertising" you leave out the details of it being remote, and part-time.

The conversation flows, the laughter bellows, your knees knock under the table and you feel fine...great actually. You try not to think about the three sips of wine you've drunk, and whether you'll have to skip your medication tonight and it comes easy because Daniel's presence doesn't leave you space to think of those things, not with that smile and almost honk of a laugh he has.

The food arrives, he's dramatic, eccentric, authentic.

"Oh wow you have to try" Daniel's eyes widen as he holds out his fork to you, with some of his meal on to try.

I glance at him, almost checking it's okay but the sparkle in his eyes with excitement to share this experience with me tells me everything I need to know. I giggle and shake my head, before scraping off the small bite from the fork with my teeth, closing my lips around the fork.

My eyes shut then widen.

"Wow..." I nod slowly, looking at my own plate.

"You definitely got the best dish...wait you’re…sorry you’re not sick or anything are you?” You hesitantly check.

He shakes his head.

“Fit and healthy…you won’t catch anything from me today…” he smiles.

That must be nice.

He gestures with his hand to give him some of your food to try, as if to test your claim.

You chuckle and shake your head. He's so easy to be around.

You gather some of your dish on your fork, holding your hand under it and moving it across the table to him, watching his lips close around it and his hand come up over his mouth.

"No way yours is so much better!" He exclaims with a laugh.

"Swap?" You offer, going to lift your plate. Daniel shakes his head.

"I can't take a beautiful girl to dinner and steal her food..." his laugh booms, it fills your chest and your ears and the blood rushes to your head and your toes and your fingertips.

"Share?" I suggest, tilting my head.

The two of you end up sharing both meals, laughing...obnoxiously, sharing stories, fingers brushing one another's on the table and by the end of the meal both leant in to the middle of the table. Like you can't breathe each other in enough. He's tantalising. He's too good to be true.

The waiter collects your plates, offering the dessert menu. You check the time on your phone.

21:30pm.

"Uhm...hmm I..."

"We'll have a glance..." Daniel smiles and nods, you appreciate him taking the pressure off as the waiter scurries away.

"No room for dessert?" Daniel pours some more wine into a glass, gesturing to yours to ask if you want some, you hold up your thumb and index finger with a small gap to suggest a little, he pours a little.

"It's just late...and...yeah I guess...yeah I'm not really a dessert girl-" you stumble and blush.

Fuck now you really look like you're trying to escape.

"Wait I...I'm sorry...I..." Daniel tilts his head at your apology.

"I have ice cream at mine? If you wanted to finish up here and maybe?..." you offered.

You didn't want Daniel to think you were trying to get out of the rest of dinner, because this was truly the best night you'd had in...well probably over a year, and typically by this time in the evening you'd taken your medication and were in bed, certainly not out on a date.

"That sounds perfect...if you're comfortable of course..." Daniel nods, you nod and smile.

"Of course."

Daniel pays the bill and you leave the restaurant, your arm linked in his and you uber back to your apartment, the second you unlock the door you remember the state you left the place in.

The blankets on the sofa, the hospital letters and documents strewn across the kitchen with prescription boxes you had been sorting.

"Oh god okay don't look!" You exclaim, going up behind Daniel to try cover his eyes with your hands.

"Okay nope too tall..." you mutter to yourself, he throws his head back and laughs, spinning around with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"It's fine..." he smiles.

"Okay..." you sigh,

"You come in here..." you drag Daniel into the living room, quickly tidying the blankets and fluffing the pillows.

"And don't move...I'll be two seconds!"

He laughs, spreading his legs and leaning back on the couch, his large hand on his thighs. You clear your throat before remembering he can see you staring, stepping off to the kitchen and trying to turn it into something that looks somewhat presentable. You grab two spoons and the three ice cream tubs from the freezer alongside the Nutella bringing them back into the living room and setting them down on the coffee table, finding Daniel observing the photos on your cabinets, tracing his slender fingers alongside your trinkets and general miscellaneous keepsakes.

"Can I get you a drink?" You blurt out, standing awkwardly. Daniel turns with that crinkly eyed smile, shaking his head.

"I'm good for now...thanks" he sits back on the couch and you join him.

"Nutella and ice cream?" He quizzes, leaning forward to grab a spoon.

"Yeah...it's kinda my comfort food..." I chuckle, unzipping my boots.

"No I love that...I like controlling the ratio..." he nods, looking over his shoulder  at you with a curl in his lip and glint in his eye.

Okay that look was definitely a moment.

He notices you struggling with your boots.

“Want me to?” He nods to your boots, holding out his hands for your foot.

You nod and lift your foot, he takes it in his hand effortlessly and the weight lifted is heavenly.

“Mmm..” you involuntarily groan, your cheeks reddening.

Daniel turns to look at you with a smirk, his large hands still resting on your calf and knee.

“Long day on your feet?”

“Could say that..” you smile, as his fingertips move to the zip on your inner thigh and your breath hitches at the contact. He moves the zip down slowly, tenderly, you can’t take your eyes off his gaze on your leg, his attentiveness making your stomach flutter. He places the boot on the floor and gestures to your other leg, which you lift and sigh at the relief, he lets out a small chuckle.

Daniel rests his hands on your legs, as if to not let you put them back on the floor but not consciously, like he wants you to rest on him.

The two of you share ice cream, more stories, more laughter. Daniel’s fingertips trace up your legs, not teasingly, gently. Rubbing the skin softly relieving tension you didn’t know you had.

“Can I just have a second?”

Daniel nods, you get up and head to the kitchen, popping out your medication for the evening and pouring a glass of water.

As you put the tablets on your tongue Daniel walks in with the tubs of ice cream, all in one hand…god his hands were huge.

“Oh…sorry I…”

I shake my head and swallow the tablets, turning around.

“No no…sorry…I just…”

“I just uh…the ice cream was melting and uh…yeah”

I nod and take them from him, bending and putting them in the freezer, Daniel glances across the counter to your container of medication.

I turn back and smile.

“Shall we go back through?”

The two of you head back to the living room, you’re keen to forget the awkward encounter, you know he wants to ask, but the answer will make him wish he never questioned it at all.

You sit back down next to Daniel, your legs curled up and your hand rubs your feet, those boots really did a number on you.

He notices, gesturing with his hand to take your feet.

“Want me to?”

You blush.

“Give me a foot massage?” You ask jokingly. He nods, seriously.

“If you want…those boots didn’t look the comfiest…beautiful…but not exactly comfy” he chuckles. You drape your legs over his lap.

“You think they’re beautiful…” you snicker.

“You’re…beautiful I mean…” he looks over at you.

God he’s smooth.

You smile and shake your head, watching as his nimble hands relieve the tension from your feet.

“Mmm…” you nod, closing your eyes.

“Good?” You can hear the smile on his lips.

“Oh yeah…”

It’s quiet for a while, comfortable. you didn’t think on your first date in 9 months you’d be being given a foot massage on your couch at a measly 10pm…but here you are…and you didn’t expect to feel so…normal about it.

“So uhm…” he begins.

Oh no.

“What was Uhm…” Daniel gestures with his thumb to the kitchen.

“I mean…like are you feeling okay?” He continues.

Great…and you spoke too soon because it’s about to go all wrong.

I shake my head, as if to brush it off.

“It’s nothing…just some meds I have to take every now and again…”

“Are you sure…I mean I completely understand if you don’t wanna talk about it…but I…look I really like you, and I wanna get to know you”

You take the jump and open up. About your symptoms, your diagnosis and your daily life. Explaining how tonight was quite a big night for your journey with your health, as it’s the biggest thing you’ve done for yourself in a while. How you didn’t want to tell him at the table about your situation with alcohol and medication and the complications of mixing the two.

“Fuck I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to…pressure you or anything”

You shake your head, putting your hand on his arm which was still tracing on your leg.

“No…no please don’t be sorry…you can’t have known it’s okay…”

You continue with your story a little, leaving out the not so glamorous parts of the 2am breakdowns because nothing is cutting the pain, or the calling your best friend because you can’t get to the bathroom by yourself.

He listens intently, his eyes never leaving your lips as you ramble on, and his hands continuing their soft tracing of touches on your legs.

You take a breath, satisfied with how much you’ve shared, until it feels like too much.

“I’m sorry…I-“

“No” he cuts you off.

“I mean…don’t be sorry…thank-you…” he continues.

“Thank-you?” You chuckle.

He nods, scoffing slightly.

“Yeah…I mean that shits…that shits heavy…you didn’t have to trust me with all that…yet you did. All of that and you’re still accommodating to letting people in…it’s…yeah you’re impressive” he nods.

“I wouldn’t say impressive…”

“It is…maybe it’s my own ignorance or…I dunno…but if you hadn’t mentioned anything I wouldn’t have suspected a thing. I mean you go to hell and back daily…yet you still, show up, and smile…and laugh…” Daniel drapes a hand over the back of the couch.

“I’m sure you’ve been told before, and it might not mean much anymore when it seems like you’re fighting a losing battle…but you’re strong…like fuck…I couldn’t…” he shakes his head.

“Well unfortunately this shit just creeps up on you…whether you can or not…you don’t get a say…”

He nods.

“You’re right…sorry I…”

“No no…you don’t need to…comfort me…I’m not trying to be standoffish…it’s just…”

“No I get it…I mean no sorry I don’t get it…I understand the principle of what you’re suggesting…nothing I can say will make it better you’ll still wake up tomorrow and do it all again…”

Okay pinch me…he gets it?

I lean my head on his arm that’s draped behind me on the couch. Smiling at him. He smiles back.

“Your profile doesn’t do you justice you know that?”

He chuckles.

“No?” He raises an eyebrow. You shake your head.

“You’re gorgeous…” you almost whisper. He scoffs and looks into his lap. He looks back at you, his hand lifting and his fingertips tousling with the hair at the back of your head.

“C’mere” you whisper, gesturing for him to come closer. His hand moves up your leg, moving it to the side as he moves between your legs. Your hand finds the back of his head and you pull his face to yours as your lips meet, pulling him down onto the couch with you. His hand holds himself up by your head, as the other continues to move up your hip and waist, really holding you, his thumb rubbing over every curve and bone.

The kisses become breathless and heavy, your fingers tightening in his curls as your other hand grips his jaw, your noses knocking and his forehead on yours as he pulls away for air.

“All that medical talk like foreplay for you ey?” He breathlessly chuckles. You giggle, before dreading the next expected development.

“Daniel I…”

“Not tonight…I know…” he nods warmly.

“I’m sorry I…I just-”

“Shh shh shh…” he squeezes your hip, looking down at your plump lips and tucking some strand of hair behind your ear. you stare at his warm doe eyes and pink cheeks.

“Just this…this is okay…you’re more than enough like this…”

You nod.

God he makes it impossible not to take him right here.

“Is that okay?…can I?…” he looks back down at your lips, taking your chin between his thumb and index finger, you nod.

You and Daniel spend some time like this, your lips on each others like teenagers, not testing the waters for something more but instead completely satisfied with it being just this for tonight.

It comes to Daniel leaving, he’s at your front door, flushed cheeked and bearing a shit eating grin.

You lean against the doorframe as he stands in the hallway.

“I had a really…really good time tonight…I really needed it…” I smiled.

Daniel stood with his hands in his pockets, nodding.

“Me too…I really like you…i…yeah so if you wanna uh…maybe do something again another time?”

“I’d love to…really…” you nod.

“You’re choosing this time…theme park or movie night here…time and place I’ll be there” he smiles.

You nod, with a smile you know looks cheesy and giddy, but you don’t care. You’re happy.

“Can I…get that number then? Or signature…I’m sure I can show it around…” you joke, he laughs, well…bellows, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh I uh…I wrote my number on the post it in your kitchen earlier…I was worried you wouldn’t wanna see me again so I thought when you didn’t call I could just tell myself you didn’t see the note”

You laugh and step forward, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him into you.

“Believe me I don’t want it to end here…” I look up through my eyelashes at him, his hands finding my waist and gripping tightly.

“Mm” he hums.

I tiptoe up and press a chaste kiss to his lips.

He nods.

“Yeah…yeah don’t let it end here please…”he chuckles after his almost needy admission.

The two of you part ways, and you get ready for bed giddy, thinking of him and his gentle hands on your feet and calves but their harshness and neediness on your hips. The sound of his laugh and the taste of his lips tainted in your memory. The smell of him lingering in your apartment.

You send a quick text to your best friend.

“He’s perfect. Deets tomorrow xoxo”

She responds with a simple, “EEEK! Get it girl!” You laugh.

Sleep claims your body instantly as your head hits the pillow, for once you’re not dreading waking up…for once.

It’s just gone 11am, you’ve been laying in bed for around an hour, just recuperating from last night when your doorbell goes, you’re not expecting a delivery.

You grunt as you push yourself up out of bed, padding barefoot and in an oversized T-shirt to the front door, unlocking and peering through the gap.

“Hello?”

“Morning…”

“Daniel?” I pull the door open further in shock, to reveal a hoodie, shorts and snapback clad Daniel, holding a brown paper bag and some coffees.

“I brought some food…ease you into today after last night? I can leave it with you or?…”

I shake my head.

“What?…I’m…what?” I chuckle out of shock.

“Sorry…I just…I just thought with how much last night must have been for you…I could bring you food so it’s one less thing for you to think about…I know you don’t need my comfort but I’d like to think I can carry some of it for you…if you want of course…”

Is this how first dates usually end up? Who the fuck have I been going on dates with? Where did he spawn from?

You grab the food from him and place it on the counter, grabbing the pocket of his hoodie and dragging him inside, shutting the door behind him.

“Woah I-”

Daniel looks down at you, grinning, as your body’s pressed against his.

“We could always pick up where we left off last night?…or just…have breakfast…” you shrug teasingly.

Daniel kicks off his shoes with a grin, bending down and pulling you over his shoulder.

“This okay?”

You squeal a “yes”, laughter ringing through your apartment as Daniel stands and carries you over his shoulder to your bedroom…actual laughter.

“We definitely have some unfinished business” he grins.

[dilfsnatcher101]

Dinner? S.R.

Warnings: none

Anon: This is just gonna be a little series atp

Summary: After weeks of slight conversations and long walks, Yn makes it her mission to try to learn more about Ghost

pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5

Simon Riley X Fem!Reader

(continued from pt3)

The bell above the door rings as Ghost stands up, his chair scraping against the floor in that unmistakably purposeful way he moves. 

My coworker walks in with a tired smile on his face as he greets me but then turns to Ghost- or the customer i mean.

I began to grab my things updating my coworker of what to take care of for the rest of the night. After I finish I turn to Ghost who’s already next to the door just watching. 

It’s like he’s always in control of the space around him, and suddenly, I feel it, his presence is just bigger now that he’s made this decision for me.

I try to act like it doesn’t bother me. That he’s just some overprotective guy I barely know. But the thing is, when he said he’d wait, I didn’t realize how much of that was a promise, not an offer.

The café is quiet now, the kind of quiet that feels heavy, like the world outside is waiting for something.

I grab my coat, trying to shake off the feeling creeping up my spine.

“So,” I say, reaching for my purse, “I guess you’re really serious about this walk, huh?”

He tilts his head toward the door, eyes flashing to me just for a second. “I don’t make offers I’m not prepared to keep.”

“Right” I whisper to myself

I pull my coat tighter against the night air as we step outside. The coolness hits me immediately, making me shiver, but Ghost’s presence feels like a warm shield beside me. The quiet hum of streetlights and the distant sound of passing cars are the only noise.

“You know,” I say, after a few moments of walking in silence, “you really didn’t have to do this. Im not some clueless person I watch my surroundings.”

He gives me a sidelong glance, one eyebrow arched under the streetlights. “Who said you didn’t?” he let out a grunt of frustration.

“Well, you didn’t have to offer to walk me home. You just met me.” I turn to face him, feeling the boldness creep in. “Unless you’re just trying to avoid me ghosting you again?”

He doesn’t respond right away, just keeps walking, the crunch of gravel under his boots punctuating the night air. Finally, he speaks, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.

“Not every walk is about keeping someone from running away.”

I stop, eyes catching his. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He glances back at me, his gaze soft but intense. “It’s not about you running, it’s about me… wanting to be here.”

The air feels thick all of a sudden, and my heart skips a beat. I can’t decide if I’m flattered, confused, or a little bit scared. Maybe all three.

We keep walking in silence after that, but it’s different now. His words hang between us, and I can’t shake the feeling that something’s shifting. That maybe he’s not just some mysterious guy from the butcher’s counter. Maybe there’s more to him than I’ve realized.

-

It’d been a couple weeks since Ghost started walking me home after work, and I finally felt like we were getting somewhere. Not quite besties. Definitely not dating. But… something. His silences were less sharp, my nerves didn’t jangle quite so hard around him, and sometimes very rarely he even made a joke.

After a lot of thinking… then overthinking, I decided to invite him over for dinner. Just a casual thank you, I told myself. Not a date. Definitely not a date. Unless he shaved or wore something that wasn’t black. Then maybe.

He’d hesitated when I asked, head tilted slightly like he was reading into every syllable. But eventually, he nodded. Quiet, grumbly agreement.

So today? Today I was knocking down those guarded walls.

The air conditioning inside Dina’s Market roared louder than usual as I stepped in, a little proud of how cute I looked in my sundress, even if I still had to hike it up a bit so it wouldn’t drag through the slushy puddles by the entryway.

No one was at the meat counter. Perfect.

With a mischievous grin, I walked right up to the little silver bell on the counter and tapped it once.

Then twice.

Then again.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Before I could hit it a sixth time, the backroom door slammed open, Ghost storming out like he was ready to square up with a raccoon.

He stopped when he saw me, rolled his eyes dramatically and crossed his arms over that massive chest.

“Seriously?” he said, deadpan.

“Nice to see you, too,” I replied sweetly, resting my elbows on the counter. “Just thought I’d test your reaction time.”

He leaned forward slightly. “I’m already coming over later for dinner. You couldn’t resist waiting till then?”

Oh. He was teasing now.

Yeah, we were getting somewhere.

“Well, sir,” I drawled, putting on my best customer service voice, “for your information, I need food to cook said dinner. Unless you prefer a bag of chips and my sparkling personality.”

“I like your food,” he muttered, turning to open the ice box.

My cheeks warmed despite the cold draft rushing out of the cooler. Every little grunted compliment felt like gold with him.

“Don’t flatter me Ghost, or you’ll never have to cook another meal again” half-serious.

“Don’t mind,” he said, pulling out a thick cut of steak and wrapping it up. “What time should I be there?”

I blinked, surprised by the smooth hand-off. No barcode. No register. Just a package of steak with a nod and that look that said don’t argue.

“wait, how much is it?”

He didn’t even look at me. Just shook his head and gave a low grunt of annoyance like I’d insulted his honor.

“You’re feeding me. I’m bringing myself. That’s the deal.”

I eyed the steak, then him. “You really love skipping receipts, don’t you?”

“I pick my moments” he said with a shrug. “What time?”

“Six. And dress comfy,” I added, giving him a little grin. “We’re watching a movie after. It’s like the law. Food and movies go together.”

He didn’t question it. Of course he didn’t. Now that I thought about it, he never questioned my antics. Not even when I rambled or brought him food or made fun of his serious face.

“I’ll see you,” he said simply, nodding toward another customer now browsing sausages. Then his voice dropped slightly. “Text me when you get home.”

I groaned, turning to walk away. “It’s daylight, Ghost. I think I’ll live.”

“No offense, but you barely pay attention when you walk,” he said without missing a beat. “Last time you stepped into the bike lane.”

“One time” I shouted back over my shoulder. “And I was distracted by a aggressive pigeon”

“Still counts. Text me.”

I huffed and gave a dramatic little wave. “Fine. Just so I don’t have to hear your mouth later.”

His laugh was barely audible, but it was there.

And as I walked out with steak in hand, my heart was doing that thing again.

Like maybe tonight would be the night something really shifted.

-

The apartment smelled like citrus cleaner and lavender spray, my usual prep for guests. Even though I’d only had like, two people ever visit me here. Ghost would be number three. Technically.

I kicked off my shoes by the door and headed straight for the kitchen, flicking on the little Bluetooth speaker sitting on the counter. A few taps on my phone and Lana’s voice filled the space, soft and haunting, just the way I liked it.

“My baby lives in shades of blue…”

I hummed along as I tied my apron on, pulling out the steak from the grocery bag and setting it gently on the counter like it was the main event. And really, it was. That and maybe… seeing if I could get Ghost to laugh more than once tonight. Or talk without being poked into it. A girl can dream.

With the pan heating up, I opened the fridge and grabbed the sides I prepped last night: seasoned green beans with garlic, a pan of macaroni and cheese, and mashed potatoes if he’s a starch guy. Based on his physique I doubt he is. 

As the butter sizzled, I moved around the kitchen, tidying up in between tasks. Dishes went into the washer. Mail into the junk drawer. Candles lit. And storing the pot of sauce like I was starring in my own little black-and-white romance film.

I paused to check my reflection in the hallway mirror. 

Okay. I could do this.

I could let this man into my space into my quiet little world, and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t feel like a stranger at all.

-

anon: should I wrap this up soon or just make it a long series? I don’t mind just wanna know your opinions!! (lmk if you like the slowburn) thanks for reading!

[sequinsmile-x]

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Eighty Two

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi besties,

Well would you look at that, an update within a month!! Still not as quickly as I'd like to update going forward but an improvement haha

I've somehow ended up writing two Emily/JJ heart to hearts back to back...

As always, let me know what you think! <3

-x-

Words: 2.3k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily had forgotten the exhaustion and discomfort that came with being 30 weeks pregnant. All the energy that came with the second trimester was long gone, and she still had 10 weeks to go. It was making her irritable, sparks flicking through her veins at all times, just ready to catch alight. Only Lily and Jack were entirely immune to it, and Aaron was more often than not, although he did occasionally do something to annoy her to the point where she yelled or cried. She knew on some level he preferred it when she yelled at him - she did too - because her tears had never been something he’d been able to handle well, something that was almost guaranteed to make him emotional too. 

She’s already irritated when she gets to her office, out of breath and annoyed at the lingering smell of someone’s breakfast sandwich out in the bullpen, so she knows that’s why her first reaction to the invitation she finds on her desk is anger. It has her leaving her office as quickly as she entered it, the pink and blue card clutched in her hand as she tells her team she’s pushing back their briefing by 30 minutes, well aware she’d be too distracted to get through it if she didn’t figure out what the hell was going on first. 

She just barely remembers to be polite enough to knock on Penelope’s office door before she walks in, the invitation held up in her hand. 

“Pen, what the hell is a baby sprinkle?” She asks, holding instead of greeting her, her anger turning into confusion since she’d left her own office, the short trip in the elevator enough to calm her down a little, “And why am I apparently having one next month?” 

“It’s like a baby shower,” Penelope says as she turns in her chair to face her, smiling widely, her excitement written across her face, “But for your second baby, so you don’t need as much as last time. It’s a sprinkle, not a shower.”

“A sprinkle?” Emily asks disbelievingly as she rests her hand on her bump and stares at her friend for a moment. Eventually, she pinches the bridge of her nose. “I almost wish I hadn’t asked,” she blows out a breath. “That still doesn’t answer why I’m having one, and why this invitation is the first I’m hearing of it.”

Penelope’s smile drops her face, seemingly catching up on the fact Emily wasn’t exactly delighted at the thought of it all, “I thought it would be a nice surprise,” she says, wincing as she pulls off her headset, “Oh, I’ve overstepped again haven’t I? Like when I reached out to your dad last time-”

“Pen.” 

“Why would I bring up my past crimes?” Penelope mutters to herself, and she forces a smile, “I just wanted to take something off your plate.” 

“I wasn’t even aware that this was on my plate,” Emily exclaims, “I still have everything from when Lily was a baby. She’s not even two yet, all her newborn stuff is in the loft waiting for Aaron to bring it down.”

“I know,” Penelope says, pouting, “But what if baby Hotchniss number two is a boy?” 

Emily raises her eyebrow at her, “Baby Hotchniss?” She asks, putting her hand up when Penelope opens her mouth to explain, “You know what, I don’t need to know,” she says, sighing when she realises she’s trapped, that she can’t explain why she doesn’t need the ‘sprinkle’ without revealing that she and Aaron knew that they were having another girl. It was something just between the two of them, a secret they’d both been able to keep, and she was determined to keep it that way, where possible. “Fine,” she says, fighting a smile when Penelope squeals in response, “But I don’t want it to be huge. I don’t need anything.” 

“Of course, I’ve already invited the team - Reid was delighted at the idea of cupcakes, not so much by the idea of the games - and I wondered if you might want Haley to come too? I know you’re kind of friends now.” 

She smiles politely, the first flicker of anxiety in her gut, but she knows Penelope won’t notice, already too busy planning what Emily was sure would be a full-blown baby shower, not a sprinkle. “You’ve already invited them all?” 

Penelope hums, “All of them have RSVPed already,” she furrows her brows, “Except JJ, she said something about having to check with Will to see if they are away visiting his mom that weekend, which is strange because she never mentioned it before that.” 

Emily presses her lips together and nods, her hand on her belly as the baby moves, rolling with the anxiety she thinks she must be swimming in. “She said something to me about it last week.” 

It’s a lie, one she again knows Penelope won’t see through. She and JJ hadn’t spoken properly in weeks, nothing beyond polite conversation when they were in a group setting, her friend’s smile tight whenever Emily walked through the BAU’s bullpen when she went to have lunch with Aaron, JJ’s eyes fixed on her growing belly. It made Emily feel guilty, which in itself made her feel bad because of how happy she really was, her heart seemingly swelling along with her bump. 

She missed her friend, she missed going to her for advice and being the person she went to, but she understood. She knew if she were the one in JJ’s shoes, if she was still reeling from a loss and watching her best friend’s pregnancy develop, she’d have to take a step back too.

She understood, but it didn’t make it any less heartbreaking. 

___

She blows out a shaky breath, plucking at the material of her sweater in a failed attempt to make it lay differently over her bump. It was Aaron’s, one of the biggest ones he had. She’d borrowed it, he’d say stolen, in an attempt to cover her bump, to conceal it as best as she could at this stage, but her pregnancy was still obvious - still visible for anyone who cared to look. 

She’d texted JJ and asked if she could come over, not wanting to turn up without giving her friend a chance to prepare herself, but also aware that this was a conversation best had in person. She’d left Aaron and Lily at home, had pressed a kiss against her little girl’s cheek as she left since she’d be in bed by the time she got back, and she’d headed to JJ and Will’s, determined to get past a conversation she knew wouldn’t be easy. It’s only when she’s on their porch, uselessly pulling at the material of her sweater, and she sighs, blowing out a slow, steady breath before she rings the doorbell. 

JJ answers the door almost immediately, as if she’d been waiting just on the other side, and she smiles at Emily, her eyes flicking down to her belly for a second before she looks back up at her.

“Hi,” she says, her smile tighter, “Come in.” 

“Thanks,” she replies, her fists tight by her sides as she digs her short nails into the palms of her hands so she doesn’t rest her hands on her bump, “I won’t stay for long, I promise,” she says, following JJ through to the living room, “I just wanted to talk to you about the uh…baby sprinkle.” 

She rolls her eyes as she says it, and JJ smiles, a real smile, as they sit on the couch, “Yeah, Pen handed out the invites this morning.” 

“I got invited at the same time,” Emily quips, and JJ chuckles, nodding as she does so. 

“That sounds right.” 

Emily laughs, and it fades along with her smile, her fractured friendship with her friend, the cracks having appeared through no fault of their own, seeming as damaged as ever, “If I’d have known she was doing it-”

“It’s okay, Em,” she says, her smile genuine as she looks at her bump again before she looks at her face, “I know you’d have warned me if you’d been given the chance.” 

“You don’t have to come,” she replies, “I won’t be offended, I don’t expect you to come. If it were me…” she swallows thickly, her hands in fists again as she still resists touching her stomach, not wanting to draw any more attention to it than necessary, to do anything that would feel like gloating, “I understand.” 

They both know she isn’t just talking about the party Penelope was throwing for her, but all of it. The lack of texts and check-ins. The polite smiles and small talk instead of the conversations that used to have them lose track of time, minutes turning into hours, until one, or both, of their husbands checked in on them. 

“Did I…” JJ swallows thickly, “Did I ever tell you the baby was a girl?” 

Emily looks up so quickly, unsure when her gaze had fallen to her belly in the first place, that it hurts, “No…no, you didn’t.”

JJ hums and nods, her smile shaking, “She’d be a year old soon. If…if things had been different.” 

Emily reaches out for her, grabbing her hand and squeezing, “I really wish things had been different.” 

JJ nods, wiping away a stray tear from her cheek, “Me too.” She clears her throat, “Did you and Hotch ever find out what you’re having this time?” 

She hesitates, unsure what to do - whether to tell the truth, to share the secret she and her husband had kept between them so her friend can be prepared, or to lie like she had whenever anyone else had asked. In the end, the desire to make sure JJ would be okay overrides everything else. 

“Yeah, we know-” she says, and before she can say anything else, JJ smiles at her, squeezing her hand as she cuts her off. 

“It’s a girl, isn’t it?” She says, her smile a strange mix of happy and sad, and she chuckles, the sound wet as it catches in her chest when Emily looks shocked, “I took the prolifer classes too, remember? No more keeping things from me.” 

Emily presses her lips together, trying to contain a smile that didn’t feel appropriate, and she nods, “Yeah, it’s a girl.” 

“Any name ideas?” 

She rolls her eyes as she laughs, briefly forgetting everything other than this, everything other than a conversation with her friend that she hadn’t realised she’d desperately needed. 

“We can’t agree on anything. It’s so much harder the second time around because you want to make sure it goes with the name of your other…” She drifts off, grimacing when she realises what she’s said, feeling careless and stupid for getting lost in the joy of it all for a moment, “Sorry.” 

“Hey, please don’t apologise, Em,” she says, “It’s not your fault. It’s not either of our faults.” 

“I know,” she replies, “Doesn’t make it suck any less though does it?” 

JJ shakes her head, her breath catching in her throat, “No, it doesn’t.” 

She stays a little longer, asks questions about Henry and Will, and just about anything to drag out this small bubble of normalcy she’d found with her friend. When she leaves, JJ hugs her, her hold on her tightening when the baby shifts between them, a kick that Emily knows her friend feels, before she pulls back. 

When she gets home, Emily feels wrung out, exhausted in just about every way. The house is quiet when she steps into it, strangely so given the time of day. Aaron was usually making dinner or doing some work in his home office, wholly unaware of how he would hum to himself whenever he did anything. She finds him asleep in the armchair in the living room, Lily fast asleep on his chest in her pjyamas, her mouth open and her cheek pressed against his chest as she drools on his shirt and silk tie. 

Emily eases Lily out of his arms, smiling when Aaron tightens his grip on her, grumbling as he sits somewhere between sleeping and being awake. 

“It’s just me, honey,” she says, smiling when she settles Lily against her and Aaron opens his eyes, “You must have fallen asleep.” 

He groans, “God, I didn’t realise how tired I was.” 

“I’m exhausted too,” she replies, turning her head to kiss Lily’s forehead, “I think as soon as we eat, we should go to bed.” 

“Oh crap,” he says, standing up, his eyes still bleary, “I didn’t even get started on dinner.” 

She smiles at him and kisses his cheek, “Why don’t you order in pizza? Then we can eat in bed and snuggle before we inevitably fall asleep before the sun sets.” 

He nods, “I like the sound of that.” he kisses the corner of her mouth, “How was JJ?” 

She blows out a breath, “It was…hard. But it was nice to talk to her. For a little while, it felt almost normal. I told her the baby is a girl.”

She thinks if he were any other man, he’d be annoyed. He’d barely hold back his anger at breaking their pact to keep it a secret, but he simply nods because he knows her well enough to understand she wouldn’t have told JJ unless there was a reason. 

“I’m glad you spoke to her,” he says, kissing her one more time before he steps back, “Goats cheese and pickle?” 

She smiles at the mention of her current favourite pizza toppings and she nods, “Yes, please,” she says, stamping her lips against his before she turns her attention to the still sleeping Lily in her arms, “Daddy must really love me if he is happy to order me disgusting pizza.” 

“Ordering it isn’t the problem,” he quips, pulling his phone from his pocket to put in their order and he winks at her, “It’s kissing you after you’ve eaten it that’s a true show of love.” 

[chaotic-orphan]

intoxicating fear <33

The next IF update is at least 3 weeks away :(

(As I now try to update a fic a week, usually Saturdays)

The next updates will be:

Semantics,

The Stranger,

Delirious Villain x hero caretaker,

THEN Intoxicating Fear,

and then A benignant Mischief

And probably Vendetta again(😍😍😍)

****Uh-oh, IF trauma dump incoming****

I love Intoxicating Fear, I do, but it is so hard to write?? I am bad at endings, the third act writing, it is so difficult and a lot of brain power goes into actually writing it— so that’s why updates are so sporadic for IF— even though I know it’s most people’s favourite series.

Half of me wants to write Intoxicating Fear all out and just get it done, and maybe I will, but the other half wants so bad to update all my other more “fun” and less heavy fics, if that makes sense??? It makes sense to me, I just kind of dread writing IF because it never feels satisfying or good enough and it makes me doubt my writing abilities

I also like writing for the fics that are less popular too, because I know some people adore them and— like A benignant mischief, is so different from anything else on this blog, like fantasy whump — and I love how exciting and fresh it is to try and worldbuild — but BECAUSE of my many other current WIPS [which is all my fault yes] I haven’t touched that series in months, need to dust off the cobwebs and I don’t think it’s fair, cause I love my elf boys and my king and knight…

[interactivefictionramblings]

[HSR spoilers.]

I’m about to replay S2E2 and I’m just thinking “I sure hope I’m making the right decision about those snowmobiles.” 🥴

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (1/2) | sharing the cookie

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : your f1 boyfriend agrees to try the viral cookie challenge with your toddler… only to be hilariously betrayed (inspo: tiktok - click for reference)

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 1792

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this tiktok trend had me dying and then lawson and hadjar did it with their reserve driver im hollering T-T - also i am so so so sorry for missing my update for friday rip... but its okay ill be back on schedule fr (also the first part will now include lando and oscar because in part two i will be adding isack hadjar and liam lawson cus they were requested to be added and i just cant say no considering they are also on the grid >.<)

ʚ・max verstappen

"come on," you said, holding up the phone. "it's just a tiktok. she gets two cookies, you act like you didn’t get any, and we see if she shares.”

max crossed his arms. "she’s two. she doesn’t even share her toys with me."

"exactly," you grinned. "that’s why it’s funny."

he sighed dramatically. "fine. but if she betrays me, i’m eating both next time."

you set up the camera. max sat cross-legged on the living room floor, your daughter bouncing excitedly in front of him. you handed her two cookies. max? none.

"papa doesn’t get one?" she asked, blinking up at him.

max pouted like he was a contestant on survivor. "nope. they only gave you cookies."

she blinked again. looked at both cookies. looked at him.

and then.

she. ate. both.

BACK TO BACK.

max’s jaw dropped. "are you serious?!"

your daughter just licked the crumbs from her fingers and smiled. "yummy!"

you couldn’t stop laughing behind the camera.

max dramatically flopped back onto the carpet like he'd just lost a world championship.

"i gave her life. and she gave me nothing."

“she’s literally two,” you laughed.

"two ruthless," he corrected.

later that night, he snuck her another cookie while she sat in his lap, still chewing like she ran the place.

“you gonna share this one?” he asked hopefully.

she nodded, broke it in half… and gave both pieces to the dog.

max gasped. “this is targeted.”

you? filming from the corner, crying laughing.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

"just act like you don’t have any,” you whispered as you handed your daughter two cookies and lewis none.

he raised an eyebrow. "she always shares with me."

"alright then, let’s put that to the test," you grinned, hitting record.

lewis sat cross-legged on the rug, smiling softly at his daughter as she waddled over with a cookie in each tiny hand. she plopped down in front of him, cradling her cookies like they were ancient treasures.

“oh wow,” lewis said, peering at her plate. “they didn’t give me any…”

she blinked. then blinked again. the gears in her brain visibly turned.

and then—she took the biggest bite possible from one cookie, stared him down, and said through a full mouth, “that sucks.”

your hand flew to your mouth to keep from bursting out laughing. lewis sat there, stunned.

“did you just—”

she held up a tiny finger. “i need both. for balance.” (balance. you nearly dropped the phone.)

lewis tried not to laugh, but it cracked out of him anyway. “wow. that’s cold, little miss.”

“like you when i take your hoodie,” you chimed in from behind the camera.

“she’s my daughter alright,” lewis muttered, dramatically falling back into the pillows like he’d just been betrayed by his own bloodline. “i’m retiring from parenting,” lewis sighed.

ʚ・george russell

george was suspicious from the moment you handed him zero cookies.

“it’s a tiktok trend,” you whispered. “just pretend it’s normal. let’s see what he does.”

your son plopped down next to george, cradling his two little cookies like they were made of gold. he blinked at his dad. george gave him a soft smile and the most tragic sigh you’d ever heard.

“wow. i didn’t get one,” george said, all british melancholy. “guess i’ll just sit here… cookieless.”

his son looked at him.

then looked at the cookies.

then looked back at him.

and took a very slow bite, still holding eye contact.

george blinked. “right. okay. that’s… noted.”

he cleared his throat, visibly trying to stay composed. “are you sure you don’t want to share one with your dear father? the man who changes your nappies?”

another bite.

then your son tilted his head and said, “you can have one… if you say please.”

george’s jaw dropped. “are you—? i taught you that word!”

you had to cover your mouth to keep from snorting. george held his hand out, now looking genuinely betrayed.

“please,” he said slowly, dramatically. “may i have one cookie?”

your son stared at the remaining half of his cookie… and shoved it in his own mouth. then nodded. “you said please!”

george looked directly at the camera like he was on the office. “this is a test. i’m being tested.”

five minutes later, george was spotted making a second batch of cookies with your son sitting proudly on the counter beside him.

“because we believe in manners and equality in this household,” he muttered, flour on his shirt.

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos sat on the rug as your daughter waddled in with two chocolate chip cookies and the world’s biggest smile. her curls bounced with every step, and carlos was already melting before the challenge even began.

“hola, princesa,” he cooed, arms out.

she plopped down next to him and immediately held both cookies to her chest.

“oh, you got two?” he asked, pretending to pout. “they didn’t give any to papa.”

your daughter paused.

she stared at the cookies.

then stared at him.

then without a single ounce of hesitation, she picked up the bigger cookie and gently placed it in carlos’ hand.

“here, papa,” she said sweetly. “you can have mine.”

carlos blinked. like, literally stunned into silence.

“you’re giving me this one?” he asked, glancing down at the cookie like it was made of diamonds. “but it’s the bigger one.”

she just nodded and leaned into his chest with the other cookie in her hand. “because i love you big.”

you gasped behind the camera.

carlos’s entire soul left his body. “ay dios mío. you’re going to make me cry on tiktok.”

he immediately scooped her into his lap and kissed her cheek a thousand times while she giggled into her cookie.

“te amo, mi corazón,” he whispered. “you’re the best part of my life.”

then he looked at the camera and pointed. “you owe her a bakery.”

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles was already sitting on the rug, legs crossed, smiling like he had no idea what was coming. (he did. you prepped him. but he was ready to be dramatic.)

when she walked over and sat down with her cookies, he gasped.

“they gave you two?!” he said, eyes wide. “and none for me?” he held his hands up like he was being robbed. “nothing? pas un seul?”

your daughter blinked, looked down at her plate… then back up at him. then she frowned.

“…that’s not fair,” she whispered, clearly distressed.

you could almost hear the little gears turning in her brain. she looked between the cookies like she was about to do intense mathematical calculations.

charles tilted his head, still acting sad. “it’s okay. you don’t have to share. i’ll just… starve.”

“papa,” she gasped. “no starving!” then — and this was the most leclerc moment — she picked up one cookie and broke it perfectly in half like it was a fine art.

she handed him one full cookie… and then added half of the other one.

“there,” she said seriously. “now you have un et demi.”

charles looked at the cookie halves in his hands like he’d just been gifted the crown jewels.

“you gave me more than one?” he asked, visibly moved. “are you sure?”

she nodded proudly. “because i’m smart.”

you nearly dropped the phone from trying not to wheeze.

charles pulled her into his lap and kissed the top of her head, murmuring, “you are so smart, mon amour. and kind. i will never forget this act of generosity.”

she grinned. “you owe me a cookie later.”

charles blinked. “…fair.”

ʚ・lando norris

“this is going to be so easy,” lando whispered as you handed his child two cookies and him none.

you raised a brow. “confident.”

he flashed you a grin. “they’re obsessed with me. i’m definitely getting one.”

you pressed record.

lando sat down on the floor, stretching his legs out, watching as your toddler toddled over like they were on a very serious cookie delivery mission. two chocolate chip cookies, one in each fist. determined eyes. crumbs already forming and not a bite had been taken.

“those look so good,” lando said, dramatically clutching his chest. “but… they didn’t give me any. that’s a bit sad, huh?”

your child blinked at him. looked at the cookies. then back at him.

then smiled.

“oh, dada,” they said sweetly, holding up one cookie… only to immediately lick it and take the tiniest nibble ever.

lando stared. “did you just—?”

they held out the now-slightly-soggy cookie. “you can have this one.” big proud grin.

lando, who would’ve accepted literal dirt from this kid, took it with wide eyes. “wow… thank you… so much.”

then, as he brought it to his mouth, they shrieked:

“WAIT! NOT THAT ONE! THAT WAS MINE!”

they snatched it back. both cookies now secured.

lando looked into the camera like he was betrayed by his own flesh and blood. “what just happened to me?”

you nearly dropped the phone from laughing. “you got hustled by a toddler.”

“she literally baited me,” he muttered. “i respect it.”

later, he brought out a secret third cookie from the kitchen.

your toddler gasped. “dada! where’d you get that?!”

he winked. “the real cookie challenge is knowing where we hide the backups.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

“i really don’t think they’ll give me one,” oscar whispered as you handed your toddler two cookies and him none.

you raised an eyebrow. “why?”

he shrugged. “they like sharing with you more. they say i’m too quiet.”

you stifled a laugh and hit record.

oscar sat down on the rug, legs folded neatly, as your toddler waddled over proudly — one cookie in each chubby hand, already taking careful little bites out of the edges.

“oh,” oscar said softly. “they gave you two cookies?”

his kid blinked, wide-eyed. “yeah!”

oscar smiled. “wow. i didn’t get any…”

there was a beat of silence. your toddler looked at their cookies. then at oscar.

then back at the cookies.

then very slowly, they scooted closer, placed one cookie in his lap… and gently patted his knee.

“you can have this one. because i love you and i don’t want you to feel sad.”

oscar literally froze. like system shut down. the only movement was the slow widening of his eyes.

“wait,” he whispered, “are you trying to make me cry?”

your toddler beamed. “don’t cry! eat!”

you had to hide behind the kitchen counter to keep from audibly sobbing.

oscar looked straight at the camera, voice half-choked. “i wasn’t emotionally prepared for this challenge.”

he reached over, pulled them gently into his lap, and kissed the top of their head. “you’re too good for this world.”

later, you found the uneaten cookie in the fridge with a note (scribbled by oscar) taped to it:

“for my favourite teammate.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[okwonyo]

4EVER # ♩ 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀.

　　　　　🍶　　sweet gestures

fem ! rea ✶ fluff domestic ꒰𓏼 ◞ ◟ 𓏼 ྀི kissing skinship

REBLOG FOR A KISS !

heeseung keeps a picture of you in his wallet. he doesn’t tell you about it— he keeps it to himself. it’s his little secret, which he cherishes quite deadly. he likes to tell himself, as he admires your beauty in motion, “she doesn’t know that i love her so much that i have a picture of her on me all the time.” you are taken aback when you find out, randomly when you snoop in his wallet to find his credit card.

jay takes you on unplanned dates. it happens more often than not. it always surprises you, however. “princess,” he starts through the phone. “i’ll be there in thirty minutes, i’m taking you out.” it always makes your heart buzz with stress due to the fact that you love to get dolled up, but it’s nothing next to the enthusiasm it makes you feel. he always takes you the the cutest, most prettiest place. he makes sure that every second is worth your smile.

jake writes you cute notes and hide them in random places in the apartment. he does this whenever he is on tour or when he knows it’s going to be a long day away from you. a smile always creeps on your face when you find the sweet piece of paper in your makeup bag in the morning. “you always are so beautiful, my love,” he wrote in a soft and quick handwriting. how can you not be clingy when he comes back to your side?

sunghoon gives you gifts, without warning. his favorite way to do it is coming back home in a hurry, cupping your face before you can greet him properly or notice the little bag in his hands. he makes you both walk to the living room then corners you between the couch and himself. he waits until you are both out of breath to give what he bought to you, nonchalantly putting it on your thighs before diving back in to continue the makeout session. you have to push him off of you to discover what it is.

sunoo buys you flowers every other day. he comes to pick you up from work a lot, and always has a bouquet of flowers in his hands, with a sweet card attached to it. this habit his a remaining memory of the early days of your relationship— when he used to bring you flowers at each date. now, he sends them for no particular reason. not to celebrate anything if it’s not his love for you; he sends them to your work, comes back home with arms full of it.

jungwon doesn’t know how to cook, but he learns how to cook your favorite dish to make you happy. he goes out of his way to ask your family and friends about it. he spends days trying to find the perfect ingredients, the ones who will make your heart burn with joy. it takes a lot of mess in the kitchen and hours of almost breaking down for you to come back home with dinner set on the table; “i don’t know if it has good as you usually like it, but i tried.”

riki updates you about his day through long voice messages. often, his days start way more early than yours. when you get out of slumber, he is already far gone and in the middle of work. there is a fit of giggles that erupts out of your mouth as soon as you hear your boyfriend’s deep voice through the phone, telling you what he is eating for breakfast before practice. his voice messages are always detailed and always comes in packs.

taglist. ( open )

i hope everyone is doing alright <3 and that everyone enjoyed ^^

[pucksandpower]

Gridlock

Charles Leclerc x Red Bull driver!Reader

father!Fernando Alonso x daughter!Reader

platonic!Max Verstappen x teammate!Reader

Summary: when a crazed fan kidnaps you from the paddock, your boyfriend, father, and teammate are sent on a wild goose chase … but will they make it before it’s too late?

Warnings: kidnapping, poisoning, attempted murder, and actual murder

The drivers' briefing room is already buzzing when Charles slides into his seat near the back, careful to keep a neutral expression. It’s packed as usual — Max is lounging at his right, propped up on one elbow, scrolling through something on his phone. Lewis is arguing with Lando about the track limits from last week, and Fernando — seated a few rows ahead — turns in his chair every now and then, a faintly amused expression on his face.

“Where is she?” Charles mutters without looking up.

Max doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. Charles raises an eyebrow, his look pointed, before turning his phone off with an exaggerated sigh.

“She’s always late,” Max says under his breath, more to himself than anyone.

“She’s always here by now,” Charles says, crossing his arms.

Max tilts his head in reluctant agreement. You’re late, yes, but never this late — not to something this important. Usually, it’s you walking in at the last second, hair a little messy, still half-laughing at some joke you overheard outside. You’d throw out a quick apology, flash a grin at the unimpressed FIA official, and drop into your seat without missing a beat.

But five minutes have stretched into ten.

The laughter in the room starts to taper off.

“She was with you, wasn’t she?” Charles asks Max, keeping his voice low.

Max frowns. “No. Wasn’t she with you?”

“No,” Charles says sharply, suddenly sitting straighter. His leg starts bouncing under the table. Max notices but doesn’t comment.

“Relax,” Max mutters, glancing around the room like he’s hoping to spot you suddenly materializing out of thin air. “She probably stopped to talk to a fan again. You know how she is.”

“Ten minutes ago, maybe,” Charles says, glancing at the door for the fourth time. “This isn’t like her.”

“Nothing about her is like anyone else,” Max says, rolling his eyes. But Charles doesn’t even smirk.

The FIA official clears his throat, stepping up to the front of the room. “Alright, let’s get started. If your fellow driver decides to show up, kindly remind her that punctuality is part of the job.”

The comment earns a chuckle or two, mostly from Lando and Pierre, but Charles feels his stomach drop. The humor of the situation has curdled.

Fifteen minutes late.

Fernando twists in his chair again, a little deeper this time, as though he’s scanning the room. Charles catches the older driver’s eyes and shakes his head slightly. Fernando’s jaw tightens before he faces forward again.

“Where the hell is she?” Charles mutters, mostly to himself.

Max gives him a sidelong glance. “You sure you didn’t fight or something?”

Charles snaps his head around to glare at him. “Why do you assume it’s my fault?”

Max shrugs. “You’re dramatic.”

Charles looks ready to argue, but the official’s voice cuts through.

“If she’s not here by the time I finish explaining the changes to the pit exit procedure, she’ll be fined and possibly given a penalty. And yes, that’s a new regulation, so don’t act surprised.”

“She’s not going to get a penalty,” Charles hisses under his breath, ignoring the way Max raises his eyebrows again.

“You sure about that?” Max asks, leaning back lazily. “Because she’s not here. And neither of us knows why.”

Twenty minutes now.

The official starts rattling off a list of procedural updates, but it’s white noise in Charles’ ears. He keeps glancing at his phone, as if it’ll buzz with a message from you, explaining everything. Maybe your PR officer pulled you into an emergency meeting. Maybe you ran into trouble on the way here — traffic, a flat tire, something.

Maybe you’re-

The doors burst open.

Everyone’s heads snap around. Even the official stumbles over his words, startled.

Your PR officer stands in the doorway, panting, her face pale and her hair disheveled. She doesn’t look at the FIA official, or the other drivers. Her eyes zero in on Fernando, Max, and Charles, and she says three words that turn the room to ice.

“Y/N is gone.”

***

Charles is on his feet before the words even register fully, his chair screeching against the floor as it topples over.

“What do you mean, gone?” His voice is sharp, the edges fraying with panic.

Max looks frozen, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to form a sentence but can’t. Fernando’s reaction is more immediate. He strides toward the PR officer, his expression dark and unrelenting.

“Explain. Now.”

The room is in chaos. Drivers are standing, whispering, some shouting questions, but Charles barely hears any of it. His heart is in his throat, his pulse pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else.

The PR officer stumbles over her words, her breaths still uneven. “She … she was heading here. I saw her outside the paddock maybe — fifteen, twenty minutes ago? She stopped to talk to fans, like always, and then … then she never showed up.”

“You’re sure it was her?” Fernando asks, his tone biting.

“Yes,” the PR officer says, her voice cracking. “I called her, but it’s going straight to voicemail.”

Charles’ blood turns to ice. He pulls his phone out, fingers fumbling as he dials your number. It rings once. Then twice.

“The person you are trying to reach is unavailable at this time, please leave a message after the tone.”

“No, no, no,” Charles mutters under his breath, hanging up and trying again. The same result.

Max is already doing the same thing, his movements more frantic. “Straight to voicemail,” he mutters, looking up at Charles, his face pale. “This — this doesn’t make sense.”

Fernando is digging into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “She’s on my Life360,” he says, his voice clipped. He pulls up the app, but when he taps your name, his expression hardens.

“She turned off her location,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “She never does that.”

“Maybe her phone’s dead,” Max says quickly, as if the words are a lifeline.

Fernando gives him a sharp look. “She’d still be here.”

“Enough!” The FIA official steps forward, his voice raised. “Everyone, calm down. We don’t have enough information-”

Charles whirls on him, his voice nearly a shout. “She’s missing! We’re not sitting here and waiting for her to just show up!”

Before anyone can stop him, he’s bolting for the door. Max and Fernando are right behind him, and the PR officer scrambles after them, her bag bumping against her side.

They’re halfway down the corridor before Fernando grabs Charles’ arm, pulling him to a stop.

“We need more information,” Fernando says firmly, though his voice is tight. “Panicking isn’t going to help.”

Charles shrugs him off. “We are getting information!” He waves his phone in the air. “We’re calling, we’re-”

“Her phone is off!” Fernando snaps, his composure breaking for a split second. “Think. Where would she go? Who saw her last?”

“She was coming here,” Max interjects, his voice rougher now. “Her PR officer said she was coming here.” He turns to her. “Did you see anyone with her? Did anything seem off?”

The PR officer shakes her head quickly. “No, no, nothing. She was smiling, signing things — like always. But then …I don’t know.”

Fernando exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “We need cameras. CCTV. Someone at the track must have access.”

“Let’s go,” Max says immediately, and the four of them take off again, weaving through hallways, ignoring the bewildered looks from engineers and staff they pass along the way.

Finally, they find someone — a track operations employee lingering near the media center. Fernando doesn’t waste time on pleasantries.

“We need access to CCTV. Now.”

The employee blinks. “Sir, I-”

“Now!” Fernando barks, his voice so authoritative that the man flinches before nodding quickly. “Okay, okay, follow me.”

The group is led to a small security office, the lights dim and monitors lining the walls. Fernando explains the situation in clipped, impatient sentences while Charles paces behind him, one hand pressed against his mouth.

“Check the paddock entrance,” Max says, leaning over the shoulder of the security guard. “Around fifteen or twenty minutes ago.”

The guard types something into the system, fast-forwarding through various camera feeds until he pulls up the right one. The screen shows you walking down the paddock, your Red Bull jacket unzipped, your hands moving animatedly as you talk to a small group of fans.

“There!” Charles says, pointing.

The footage moves forward. You’re smiling, crouching down to take a picture with a young girl holding a Red Bull plushie. Then you stand, wave goodbye, and keep walking toward the briefing room.

“So where the hell did she go?” Max mutters, staring at the screen.

The footage follows you as you walk further, the paddock getting quieter as you near a shadowed section where fewer people are gathered. You stop once to sign someone’s hat. Then you keep walking.

And then-

“Stop. Go back,” Fernando says suddenly, his voice sharp.

The guard rewinds a few seconds.

There’s a figure. Blurry, just out of frame at first, but unmistakably there.

The figure steps into your path as you turn a corner. You hesitate — your posture stiffens slightly, but the camera can’t pick up your face. You’re saying something, gesturing slightly, but the figure doesn’t move.

And then, in a single quick motion, the figure grabs your arm and pulls you toward the shadows.

The four men in the room freeze.

“Keep playing it,” Max says, his voice low and urgent.

The footage continues. The figure drags you out of the camera’s view. You stumble but don’t fight back immediately — like you’re startled, caught off guard. And then you’re gone.

“Do you have cameras on that corner?” Charles asks, his voice shaking.

The guard clicks through several feeds but shakes his head. “No. That area doesn’t have coverage.”

“Who the hell doesn’t put cameras there?” Max snaps, slamming his fist against the table.

“Not the time,” Fernando says sharply, but even his calm is slipping. His hands are clenched into fists, his jaw tight.

Charles turns away, pressing his hands to his face, his breathing uneven. Max grips the back of a chair, staring at the monitor like he can will the footage to show something else.

Fernando finally speaks, his voice quiet but steely.

“We need to alert security. Lock down the paddock. Whoever took her can’t have gone far.”

“Assuming she’s still here,” Charles mutters, his voice breaking slightly.

Fernando grabs him by the shoulders, forcing him to look up. “Don’t. Don’t go there.”

Charles swallows hard, his jaw tightening.

The PR officer, who has been silent up to this point, finally speaks, her voice trembling.

“What if they’re already gone?”

The room falls silent again, the unspoken fear thick in the air.

Fernando is the first to move, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

“Call the stewards. Lock down every exit. And get that footage to security. Now.”

The guard nods frantically, scrambling to make calls, but Charles, Max, and Fernando are already moving — determined to find you before it’s too late.

***

Your head is pounding. The ache spreads through your skull like a dull hum, throbbing at your temples. You feel heavy, limbs refusing to cooperate, your body sagging against something rough and scratchy. The fog in your brain is thick — too thick to fight through completely — but you’re aware of three things.

One: You’re moving. The subtle, constant vibration beneath you tells you you’re in a car.

Two: Your hands are bound. You can feel the bite of plastic ties against your wrists, pinning them together behind your back.

Three: You can’t speak. There’s something gagging you — a rag or cloth shoved into your mouth and secured tight, choking any attempt to make noise.

Panic flares sharp and bright, a surge of adrenaline trying to push past the sedation still clouding your system. You crack your eyes open, but the world is a blur, hazy outlines of the car’s interior shifting in and out of focus.

From the driver’s seat, a voice cuts through the silence. Calm. Casual.

“You’re awake.”

Your stomach twists violently, and you force yourself to focus on the sound. It’s a man — his voice light and unnervingly conversational, like he’s commenting on the weather.

“I was starting to wonder if I gave you too much. Would’ve been a shame. You’re supposed to hear this part, after all.”

The fog is still thick, but your instincts are sharper now. You tug against the ties, testing for any give, but they hold firm. The seat beneath you is rough, the material cheap — some old, unassuming car.

The man keeps talking.

“Didn’t mean to be so rough back there. I’m not like one of those creeps on the news, you know? This isn’t like that. I’m doing this because I care. Because I’m a fan.”

Fan? Your sluggish mind stumbles over the word. What fan? What the hell is he talking about?

“I don’t expect you to understand,” he continues, glancing at you briefly in the rearview mirror. His face is mostly obscured by a baseball cap, the shadow hiding his eyes. “But Ferrari … Ferrari is everything to me. I’ve been watching them my whole life.”

Tifoso. The realization makes your chest tighten.

He keeps talking, his tone eerily steady.

“And Charles — he was supposed to be our champion, you know? Il Predestinato. But he hasn’t been the same since you showed up.” His voice dips slightly, edges hardening. “You’re a distraction. That’s all you are. You think you belong here? With the men who bleed for this sport? Who live for Ferrari?”

You try to make a noise through the gag, your breathing quickening, but it comes out muffled — weak.

He doesn’t notice. Or he doesn’t care.

“I’m doing what’s best for Charles. For Ferrari. He’s lost focus, but that’s not his fault. You — you’re the problem.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles going white. “And I’m going to fix it.”

Cold washes over you like a wave.

Your pulse pounds against your ears, your heart hammering so hard it hurts. He’s serious. This isn’t a game. This isn’t a mistake.

You squirm again, trying to move, trying to do something, but your body still feels slow, heavy, like you’re wading through water. The sedative isn’t gone yet.

“Don’t bother,” the man says, his tone almost bored. “I’m not stupid. I knew you’d fight, so I came prepared. You’ll wear off the drugs eventually. Doesn’t matter, though. We’ll be where we need to be soon enough.”

The words settle over you like a weight, crushing the air from your lungs. Your breaths come faster now, quick and uneven through your nose as the panic starts to eat at you.

No one knows where you are. No one saw.

Your mind flashes to the paddock — the fans, the smiling faces. You were there one moment, walking toward the briefing room, and then —

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to shove away the terror clawing at the edges of your mind. You need to focus. You need to think.

The man keeps driving, his voice low and almost soothing.

“It’s nothing personal, you know. I’m sure you’re a nice girl. But Charles … he’ll thank me eventually. Once he wins the championship, once Ferrari is back on top — he’ll see. I’m saving him. From you.”

Tears sting your eyes, hot and useless, and you force yourself to breathe — slow, even breaths. You have to stay calm. You have to stay awake.

Because the moment you stop fighting, the moment you give in to the fear, it’s over.

***

The paddock is unrecognizable now — sirens blaring, radios crackling, and the heavy presence of law enforcement swarming the space. Team personnel, engineers, and journalists are being questioned or ushered away, their faces a mix of concern and disbelief. Charles stands to the side, fists clenched at his sides, staring at nothing in particular as police officers bark orders into walkie-talkies.

Fernando is pacing. If his shoulders looked tense before, now they’re wound so tight it’s a miracle they haven’t snapped. His phone is in his hand, the knuckles white as he grips it, as though willing it to ring.

“What is taking so long?” He growls, directing the question at no one in particular.

Max stands a little further back, hands buried in his hair as he mutters to himself in Dutch, too fast and low for anyone to understand. He’s restless — his legs shifting constantly, gaze darting between Fernando and the officers trying to establish a timeline. He finally rounds on the nearest officer.

“You’ve seen the footage!” Max snaps, his voice rising with his panic. “She was dragged off — so what are you doing?”

“We’ve sent the footage to every available unit in the area,” the officer replies, his voice calm and professional. “We’re locking down roads and alerting border security. It’s only been an hour. We’ll find her.”

“An hour is too long,” Charles says suddenly, his voice sharp enough to cut. He steps forward, finally snapping out of his trance. “Do you understand? She’s been gone for-” He stops, swallows hard. “Anything could have happened by now.”

Fernando stops pacing and turns to face the officers, his face carved from stone. When he speaks, his voice is low but steady, the weight of every word impossible to ignore.

“If this is about money,” he says, “if that’s what they want, then tell them I will give it. I don’t care how much. I don’t care.” He pauses, his voice cracking slightly. “All I want is for my little girl back.”

The officer hesitates, clearly uncomfortable under Fernando’s gaze. “We have to consider all possibilities, Mr. Alonso. Right now, there’s been no ransom demand-”

“Then what do they want?” Fernando cuts him off, his voice rising. “Because they took her for something. And every second you stand here speculating is a second wasted!”

Max looks like he’s about to explode, his anger barely contained. He tugs at Charles’ arm, muttering furiously, “We can’t just stand here and do nothing.”

Charles doesn’t answer immediately. His jaw is tight, his face pale, but his eyes burn with the same helpless rage clawing at all of them. “What do you suggest?”

Max looks around, frantic. “We find out who saw her last. There were fans — people. Somebody must have seen something.”

“And then what?” Charles shoots back, his voice shaking. “You think we’ll figure out something faster than the police?”

“Yes!” Max shouts, his composure finally breaking. “Because we care more than they do! Because she’s my teammate. Because … because she’s your-” He stops himself, shoulders heaving as he swallows hard.

Charles stares at him, the same raw panic etched into every line of his face. “She’s everything,” he finishes quietly, and Max doesn’t argue.

Fernando clears his throat, regaining their attention. “They’re right.” His voice is calmer now, but the intensity hasn’t lessened. “We know the paddock better than anyone. If there’s something the police missed, we’ll find it.”

“And if they call with a ransom?” Charles asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then I’ll pay,” Fernando says firmly, no hesitation in his tone. “Whatever it takes.”

A tense silence stretches between them, broken only by the sounds of the chaos surrounding them — police radios, footsteps echoing, far-off voices.

Finally, Fernando looks up, his gaze sharp as it lands on Max and Charles.

“We start now. Every minute counts.”

And with that, they move — unwilling to let helplessness win.

***

The showroom is a husk of its former self. Dust clings to the faded red walls, peeling in long, jagged strips that curl at the edges. Empty shelves line the room, their glass panels cracked or completely shattered. A single rusted Ferrari emblem hangs crookedly above what was once a display stand. The faint smell of mildew lingers, mixing with the metallic tang of rust and decay.

You’re on the floor, your body still sluggish from the sedative. The concrete beneath you is freezing, biting through your clothes. The gag in your mouth is damp and scratchy, and your throat aches from the effort of trying to cry out, trying to scream through it.

The kidnapper hasn’t stopped talking since you arrived.

“This used to be my favorite place,” he says, his tone almost wistful. He kneels beside you, gently adjusting your position like a priest arranging a relic. “When I was a boy, my father brought me here. Showed me the cars, the engines, the history. The soul of Ferrari.”

His hands move with eerie care, tugging your arms into place, straightening your legs. He almost looks reverent, his face slack with something that might be mistaken for peace.

“And then I grew up, and I realized what it all meant. Ferrari isn’t just a team. It’s a religion. You understand that, don’t you? You’re in the sport — you must.”

He leans back on his heels, looking down at you. His lips twist into a small, regretful smile. “But you — you’re an outsider. You don’t get it.”

You try to move — jerk your head, kick your legs, anything — but your body doesn’t cooperate. He sees the flicker of effort, and his smile widens.

“Still a fighter, even now,” he murmurs, almost admiringly. “That’s good. You should fight. It makes it easier to justify what I’m about to do.”

Your muffled cry comes out as a whimper, your breathing rapid and uneven. He sighs, reaching into his pocket.

“Shhh. It’ll all be over soon.”

The gag is yanked from your mouth, and the sudden relief of being able to move your jaw is immediately eclipsed by raw panic. You open your mouth to scream, but his hand flies out and slaps you hard across the face.

The force sends a sharp, stinging pain radiating across your cheek, and your head jerks to the side.

“None of that,” he snaps, his voice sharp but not angry — like a teacher reprimanding a disobedient student. “No one’s going to hear you, anyway. We’re miles away from the city.”

He grips your jaw with his hand, pinching your nose closed with his thumb and forefinger. Your airway clamps shut, and your chest burns with the instinctive need to breathe. You thrash weakly, but his grip is iron.

“Open your mouth,” he says softly, his tone almost coaxing. “You’ll feel better if you do.”

Your body betrays you. Desperation wins, and you part your lips, gasping for air.

That’s when he takes the vial from his pocket.

The glass catches the dim light filtering through the broken windows, the liquid inside a murky, yellowish-green. You have no time to process what’s happening before he tilts the vial to your mouth and pours.

The liquid tastes bitter — like acid and rot — and your instinct is to spit it out, but his free hand clamps over your lips, sealing them shut.

“Swallow,” he commands. His voice is calm, almost soothing. “Swallow, and it’ll all be over soon.”

You gag, your throat convulsing, but your body obeys the inevitable. The liquid slides down, burning a trail that settles like fire in your stomach.

He watches you closely, his eyes unblinking, until he feels the muscles in your jaw relax, signaling that you’ve swallowed. Only then does he release you, gently patting your cheek as if in reassurance.

“There,” he says softly. “That’s the worst part over.”

Your chest heaves, and you cough violently, trying to expel whatever it is he just forced into your body. But it’s too late. You feel it already — a strange, creeping warmth that spreads from your stomach outward, curling into your limbs like poison-tipped vines.

“What-” Your voice cracks, raw and broken. “What did you do to me?”

He stands, slipping the empty vial back into his pocket.

“It’s a slow-acting poison,” he says matter-of-factly. “Tetrodotoxin. Comes from pufferfish. Not easy to get my hands on, but I’ve been planning this for a while.”

Your stomach drops. Tetrodotoxin. It paralyzes the body, shuts down the respiratory system slowly over time, all while leaving the mind conscious until the very end.

“You’ll feel it soon,” he continues, his tone apologetic. “First, it’ll be hard to move. Then, hard to breathe. But don’t worry. I imagine it won’t take longer than an hour or two.”

Tears spill down your cheeks, hot and fast, as you try to scream again, but your voice is weak, strangled by both fear and the poison already taking hold.

“I know it’s cruel,” he says, lowering his head as though ashamed. “But I had to be careful. Something more obvious would’ve drawn too much attention — raised too many questions. This … this was the best I could do.”

He steps back, hands clasped together as if in prayer.

“Forgive me,” he whispers, closing his eyes. “I didn’t want it to come to this. But Ferrari is everything. And Charles … he needs to be saved. He needs to be focused. You’ve blinded him. Distracted him. Taken away his fire.”

His voice cracks, and for a moment, he looks almost human, almost like this is hurting him too.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “But you’re the problem. And I’m doing what I have to.”

He drops to his knees beside you, his hands trembling slightly as he presses them together, praying softly under his breath for forgiveness. For Ferrari. For himself.

All you can do is lie there, your body heavy and your mind screaming, as the poison begins its slow, merciless work.

***

Charles crouches in the grass, his breathing shallow and uneven, his eyes darting frantically over the area where the CCTV footage had shown you last. His hands shake as he sifts through discarded wrappers and bits of gravel, frustration mounting with every second that passes.

There’s nothing here. Just debris, just noise, just-

A scrap of paper catches his eye. It’s half-buried in the dirt, bent and weathered.

Just litter, he tells himself, his jaw tightening. His fingers hover over it briefly, the urge to dismiss it tugging at him. There’s no time for distractions.

But something stops him.

A feeling — an inexplicable pull, like some deep part of his brain is whispering: check.

With a frustrated exhale, Charles grabs the paper, yanking it from the grass and brushing off the dirt. It’s thicker than he expected — more solid, less like a wrapper and more like …

A business card.

His brow furrows as he inspects it, flipping it over. The edges are worn and faded, but the text is still legible:

Scuderia Ferrari Showroom

Branch - Est. 1978

His heart stops.

The words burn into his mind, and his fingers tighten around the card until it bends. For a moment, all he can hear is the roar of his pulse in his ears.

“No,” he breathes. “No, no, no.”

The police hadn’t mentioned anything about Ferrari. None of their theories had hinted at it, but suddenly, Charles’ thoughts are racing, piecing together fragments. You were targeted. This wasn’t random. And if Ferrari is connected …

The card shakes in his hand as he bolts upright, spinning around and screaming with everything he has.

“MAX! FERNANDO!”

His voice cracks from the force, raw and panicked.

The two of them aren’t far, just down the stretch of paddock where they’d been questioning a security guard, and they come running the second they hear him.

“What? What is it?” Max demands, his chest heaving as he skids to a halt next to Charles.

Charles doesn’t answer right away. His throat feels too tight, and he holds out the card with trembling fingers instead.

Fernando snatches it before Max can, scanning the faded words. For a brief moment, his face remains impassive — just stone. Then his brows draw together, his lips pressing into a grim line.

“This address,” Fernando says, his voice low and strained. He looks up at Charles, eyes blazing. “This is from years ago. That showroom shut down almost a decade ago. It’s abandoned now.”

Max leans over, snatching the card from Fernando’s hand. His face hardens as he reads it. “Why the hell would someone have this?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Charles says sharply, his panic morphing into resolve. He snatches the card back, stuffing it into his pocket. “She’s there. I know it.”

“Charles-” Fernando starts, his tone cautious.

“She’s there!” Charles snaps, his voice rising with desperation. “Why else would this be here? Someone left it for us to find!”

Fernando hesitates, his instincts warring with his logic. Max doesn’t wait. He’s already moving.

“Then let’s go,” Max says, his voice clipped as he starts toward the parking lot. “I’m not wasting another second.”

Charles follows immediately, his strides long and determined, the tremor in his hands betraying his urgency.

Fernando hesitates for only a second longer before caving. He mutters something in Spanish under his breath, low and furious, before chasing after them.

The three of them pile into a car, and Fernando takes the wheel, punching the address into his phone’s GPS. The abandoned showroom isn’t far — just fifteen minutes away.

Every second feels like an eternity.

Charles stares out the window, his fists clenched on his lap, the weight of his worst fears pressing heavily on his chest. Beside him, Max is eerily silent, his leg bouncing with restless energy.

Fernando’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel as he presses the gas harder, the engine roaring.

“Hang on, nena,” Fernando mutters under his breath, too quietly for anyone to hear. “We’re coming.”

***

The tires screech as Fernando slams the car to a halt in front of the crumbling remains of the old Ferrari showroom. The building looms dark and empty, its once-proud red paint faded and cracked. Vines creep along the walls, twisting around shattered windows like nature’s claim on a forgotten relic.

Charles doesn’t wait for the engine to fully stop. He throws the door open and sprints toward the building, Max and Fernando close on his heels.

The air inside is heavy, stale, and suffocating, but none of them notice. They’re moving too fast, adrenaline pumping as they take in the eerie emptiness — the broken shelves, the scattered debris, the shadows pooling in every corner.

And then they hear it.

A voice, muttering softly, the words indistinct but filled with fervor.

Fernando freezes, his head snapping toward the sound. His hand shoots out to stop Charles from rushing ahead.

“There,” he whispers, nodding toward the far end of the room.

The three of them move as one, their footsteps quiet but purposeful as they close the distance. The voice grows louder, rising and falling in rhythm.

When they round the corner, they see him.

The kidnapper is pacing in front of you, his hands clasped together in prayer. His head is bowed, his lips moving quickly as he mumbles under his breath. He’s so engrossed that he doesn’t even notice them.

But Charles notices you.

“Mon Dieu …” The words fall from him like a breath he’s been holding for hours.

You’re sprawled on the floor, your body twisted unnaturally. Your face is pale, your lips tinged blue, and your chest barely rises and falls. The sight is enough to freeze the blood in Charles’ veins.

Fernando doesn’t hesitate. He surges forward, shouting, “Y/N!”

The kidnapper spins around, startled, but he doesn’t have time to react. Max launches himself at the man with a guttural roar, tackling him to the ground with such force that the two of them crash into a rusted display stand.

“Stay down!” Max snarls, pinning the kidnapper with his full weight. The man struggles, but Max slams him back down with a ferocity that makes it clear he isn’t moving.

Fernando drops to his knees beside you, his hands hovering uncertainly before settling on your shoulders. “Dios mío, nena, no …” His voice cracks, and he turns to Charles, his panic fully unleashed. “What did they do to her?”

Charles collapses next to you, his hands trembling as he brushes your hair back from your face. “Y/N? Y/N!” His voice is high-pitched, frantic. He gently shakes you, but your head lolls to the side, your eyes half-open but unseeing.

“She’s not breathing right,” Fernando says, his voice tight with terror. He presses two fingers to your neck, finding your pulse weak and erratic. “She’s fading.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Charles’ voice rises, his eyes darting between you and Fernando. “What did they give her?”

“I don’t know!” Fernando snaps, his frustration born from fear. “We don’t even know what this bastard did to her!”

Charles fumbles for his phone, his hands shaking so badly he nearly drops it. He dials emergency services, his voice cracking as he shouts into the line. “We need an ambulance! Now! She’s dying!”

Fernando leans closer to you, his hands cupping your face. “Hang on, cariño. Hang on,” he murmurs, his voice trembling. “Stay with me. Just stay with me.”

Charles is still on the phone, pacing in short, frantic bursts. “I don’t know what it is — poison, maybe? Something slow-acting. She can’t breathe, she’s barely — what do you mean how long has it been? I don’t know! Too long!”

Meanwhile, Max tightens his grip on the kidnapper, his eyes blazing with fury. “What did you do to her?” He growls, his face inches from the man’s. “What did you give her?”

The kidnapper stares up at him, his expression dazed, as though he’s only just realizing the severity of his actions. “You … you weren’t supposed to-”

Max grabs the man’s shirt, slamming him into the floor. “What did you give her?”

“Tetrodotoxin!” The man finally yells, his voice cracking. “It’s poison! It — it’s slow, but — but I didn’t mean-”

Max pulls back just enough to glare at the man. “Didn’t mean what? Lead us straight here?” His voice drips with venom.

“She’s going to die!” Charles screams from across the room, his voice breaking.

Fernando’s hands shake as he pulls you closer, his lips brushing your temple as he whispers desperately, “Please, mija. Stay with me. Please.”

The sound of sirens wailing in the distance cuts through the chaos, but no one dares to hope. Not yet.

***

The sound of sirens pierces the air, growing louder as the ambulance speeds toward the abandoned showroom. Fernando cradles you in his arms, his lips moving in a silent prayer, his tears falling unchecked. Charles hovers beside him, pacing back and forth, his hands pulling at his hair as if trying to keep himself together.

The paramedics burst through the door moments later, carrying a stretcher and medical bags.

“She’s been poisoned!” Charles shouts, running to meet them. “We think — what did he say? Teratodoxin?” He spins toward Max, who still has the kidnapper pinned to the ground.

“Tetrodotoxin!” Max corrects, his face twisted in rage.

One of the paramedics pales. “That’s … that’s serious.”

“She’s fading,” Fernando growls, his voice low and urgent. “You have to do something.”

The paramedics spring into action, gently prying you from Fernando’s arms and laying you on the stretcher. One checks your pulse, his fingers pressing firmly to your neck.

“It’s weak,” he mutters to his partner. “Breathing is shallow. Cyanosis around the lips.”

“What does that mean?” Charles demands, his voice cracking.

“It means the poison is paralyzing her muscles, including the ones she needs to breathe,” the paramedic explains quickly. “We’ll do everything we can, but this toxin is-” He stops, hesitating.

“Is what?” Fernando snaps, his eyes flashing dangerously.

“It’s one of the deadliest known to man,” the paramedic says grimly. “There’s no antidote.”

The words hit like a sledgehammer. Charles staggers back, his face crumpling as he struggles to process what he’s just heard. Fernando freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

“What are you saying?” Fernando finally manages, his voice barely above a whisper. “That there’s … nothing you can do?”

“We can try to stabilize her,” the paramedic replies, his tone cautious but not without compassion. “We’ll get her on oxygen, monitor her vitals, and provide supportive care. But the mortality rate for tetrodotoxin poisoning is …” He hesitates again, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“How bad?” Charles demands, his voice raw and desperate.

“Sixty percent,” the paramedic says quietly, his eyes darting away.

“No,” Fernando breathes, his head shaking violently. “No. She’s strong. She’s an athlete. She can fight this.” He grabs the paramedic’s arm, his grip like iron. “You save her. Do you hear me? You save her.”

“We’ll do our best,” the paramedic assures him, gently but firmly removing Fernando’s hand. “But we need to move her now.”

As they begin wheeling the stretcher toward the ambulance, Charles stumbles after them. “I’m coming with her,” he says firmly.

“Only one can ride with her,” the paramedic warns.

“I’m her father,” Fernando growls, stepping forward.

Charles looks at Fernando, and for a moment, they’re both frozen, their pain reflected in each other’s eyes.

“Go,” Charles whispers, his voice breaking. “She’ll want you there.”

Fernando doesn’t respond with words. He simply nods, his face hardening as he climbs into the ambulance beside you.

Charles stands frozen as the doors slam shut, the sirens wailing as the ambulance speeds away.

Max comes to stand beside him, his face still dark with rage. “We’re not letting her die,” he says firmly. “We’re not.”

But Charles doesn’t answer. His eyes are locked on the fading ambulance, his chest rising and falling as if he’s trying to remember how to breathe.

***

The ambulance doors swing open with a sharp metallic clang, and Fernando stumbles out behind the paramedics, who rush you through the hospital’s emergency entrance. His mind feels detached, like it’s moving slower than his body. All he knows is that you’re there on that stretcher, motionless, your skin pale and your breathing almost nonexistent.

“Trauma bay three!” A nurse shouts, running alongside the stretcher as it barrels through the fluorescent-lit corridor.

Fernando struggles to keep up, his legs heavy and his chest tightening with every step. He’s used to controlling situations, navigating chaos with precision. But here? He’s useless.

A doctor intercepts the team and starts barking orders. “Tetrodotoxin poisoning? Start oxygen. Prep for intubation. Monitor for paralysis progression.”

Fernando can barely hear the words, his ears ringing as he watches them move like a well-oiled machine. They lift your limp body onto a hospital bed and immediately crowd around you, wires, tubes, and monitors connecting to you in seconds.

“BP’s dropping!” One of the nurses calls out.

“Her pulse is gone — prepare for CPR!”

“No.” Fernando’s voice is hoarse, raw. He takes a step toward you, only for a nurse to hold out a hand, blocking him.

“Sir, you can’t be here-”

“She’s my daughter!” He shouts, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear. “Mi hija!”

The nurse’s face softens but remains resolute. “Please, let us work. We’ll do everything we can.”

Fernando doesn’t move, his fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his nails dig into his palms. He forces himself back a step, then another, until his back hits the wall of the trauma bay. From there, he watches, paralyzed, as the team fights to save you.

Your body jolts violently as the doctor performs compressions. Fernando can see the force behind each movement, the way your fragile chest heaves with every push. His breath catches in his throat, the sight unlike anything he’s ever faced.

He’s been in crashes that should have killed him. He’s watched cars flip, felt the searing heat of flames licking at his helmet, and heard the terrifying silence of blacking out mid-impact. But nothing — nothing — compares to this.

“Charging defibrillator,” a nurse announces, the machine humming to life.

“Clear!” The doctor shouts, and the electric shock courses through your body, making it arch violently before collapsing back onto the bed.

Fernando flinches, his hands gripping the edge of the doorway so tightly he feels the strain in his forearms.

“Still no pulse,” someone says, their tone tense but controlled. “Resume compressions. Push another dose of atropine.”

The words blur together. The room feels too small, the walls pressing in on him as he watches your body being battered in their attempt to restart your heart.

“Dios mío,” he whispers, the words spilling out like a plea. He presses a hand to his mouth, his knees threatening to buckle. “Please. Please, mija. Don’t leave me.”

“BP’s stabilizing!” One of the nurses suddenly shouts.

Fernando’s head snaps up, his breath hitching.

“She’s still in critical condition, but we’ve got a pulse,” the doctor confirms, his voice calm but firm. “Intubate her now. We need to stabilize her airway.”

Fernando sags against the wall, his eyes stinging with tears that refuse to fall. His legs feel weak, but he doesn’t dare move. He watches as they thread a tube down your throat, as machines start taking over your breathing, as the chaos shifts into a more controlled rhythm.

“Sir?” A nurse approaches him, her expression gentle but serious. “She’s alive. But she’s not out of danger yet. We’re taking her to the ICU.”

Fernando nods mutely, his throat too tight to speak. He doesn’t even register his feet moving until he’s following the stretcher down the hall, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“Stay with me, cariño,” he whispers under his breath, his fists clenched by his sides. “Stay with me. Por favor.”

***

Max and Charles burst through the hospital's front doors, their faces pale and their movements frantic. They’re met with a stern-looking receptionist who immediately raises her hands.

“Only immediate family are allowed beyond this point,” she says firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Charles steps forward, his voice taut. “We’re her-” He falters, unsure how to explain, unsure of anything except the desperate need to see you. “Please, just let us in.”

“Sir, I’m sorry, but we-”

“You don’t understand,” Max interjects, his voice sharp with frustration. “We-”

“I said no exceptions.”

Charles slams his hand on the counter, the loud crack echoing through the sterile lobby. “She could be dying!” He yells, his voice raw. “Do you even care?”

The receptionist flinches but doesn’t budge. “I understand this is a difficult situation, but you need to-”

“Wait,” a voice cuts in. A nurse steps forward, her brow furrowed as she looks between Max and Charles. Her eyes widen slightly in recognition. “You’re the F1 drivers, aren’t you? Verstappen and Leclerc?”

“That’s not important,” Max snaps, though there’s a tinge of relief in his voice. “Please. We need to see her.”

The nurse hesitates for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Come with me.”

They don’t wait for her to finish speaking, following her down the hallway at a near run. The sound of their footsteps echoes loudly in the quiet corridors, and neither says a word. They don’t need to. The tension between them is thick, a shared panic they’re both barely keeping at bay.

When the nurse gestures toward a waiting area outside the ICU, they see him.

Fernando is sitting in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands. His usually composed demeanor is nowhere to be seen — his shoulders are hunched, his body unmoving except for the slight tremor running through him.

“Fernando,” Charles calls out, his voice shaky. He steps closer, but the older man doesn’t look up. “Fernando.”

It’s not until Max steps forward, his tone uncharacteristically gentle, that Fernando finally raises his head.

And what they see shatters them.

Fernando’s eyes are bloodshot, his face lined with exhaustion and something deeper — fear, anguish, helplessness. He looks like a man who has lived through every nightmare imaginable and come out the other side broken.

“Is she …” Max doesn’t finish the question, the words catching in his throat.

Fernando shakes his head slowly. “She’s alive,” he says, his voice hoarse, as if it’s taken all his strength to get those two words out. “For now.”

Charles sags against the wall, his legs threatening to give out. “What happened?” He asks, though he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

Fernando takes a shuddering breath, his hands curling into fists on his thighs. “Her heart stopped,” he says flatly. “They had to perform CPR. Defibrillation.” He closes his eyes, and his voice drops to a whisper. “I thought I lost her.”

The words hang in the air like a death sentence.

Max turns away, running a hand through his hair and pulling at the strands as if the physical pain might drown out the emotional. Charles stumbles to one of the chairs and collapses into it, his face buried in his hands as his shoulders shake.

“What now?” Max finally asks, his voice rough, his back still to them.

Fernando lets out a bitter, hollow laugh. “Now we wait. The toxin … there’s no cure. They’re trying to stabilize her, but it’s up to her body now.”

Charles looks up, his face streaked with tears he doesn’t remember shedding. “What are her chances?” He whispers, his voice barely audible.

Fernando meets his eyes, and the weight of his silence is crushing.

Max slams his fist against the wall, the sharp sound making them all flinch. “This can’t be it!” He shouts, his voice breaking. “She’s stronger than this. She’s-” He stops, his chest heaving as he struggles to keep himself together.

Fernando leans forward, his hands gripping his hair. “I’ve seen her fight through so much,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with desperation. “But this … I don’t know if she can fight this.”

The room falls silent, the weight of his words pressing down on all of them.

Charles leans back in the chair, staring blankly at the ceiling. “I should have been there,” he mutters, the guilt crashing over him in waves. “I should have protected her.”

Max turns to him, his expression fierce. “Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself.”

Charles doesn’t respond, his hands clenching into fists.

Fernando looks between the two of them, his eyes softening for a brief moment despite his own despair. “She wouldn’t want this,” he says quietly. “For either of you.”

But it doesn’t matter. The three of them sit in silence, the minutes stretching into hours as they wait for any scrap of news, their fear and guilt eating away at them with every passing second.

***

The hours drag on, the waiting room oppressive with its hum of fluorescent lights and antiseptic smell. Fernando hasn’t moved from his seat in what feels like forever, his hands pressed together in a silent, unending prayer. Max leans against the wall, his head tilted back, eyes closed, his knuckles raw from where they struck the plaster earlier. Charles is hunched forward in his chair, his elbows digging into his knees, his face buried in his hands. None of them speak.

The sound of footsteps jolts them all. A doctor, dressed in blue scrubs and holding a clipboard, approaches. The man’s face is unreadable, his expression carefully neutral, which makes Fernando’s stomach drop.

Fernando stands first, his movements stiff and mechanical. Charles and Max scramble to their feet behind him, their breath catching as they wait for the news.

The doctor stops in front of them, his voice calm but direct. “She’s stable for now.”

Fernando’s knees almost buckle in relief. Charles lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and Max grips the edge of a nearby chair to steady himself.

“But,” the doctor continues, his tone grave, “the next 24 hours are critical. The toxin is still in her system, and while we’ve done everything we can to support her vitals, her body needs to fight through this. The damage to her heart and lungs was significant.”

“Can we see her?” Fernando asks, his voice trembling despite his best effort to sound strong.

The doctor hesitates for a moment, then nods. “Yes. But keep it brief. She’s on a ventilator and heavily sedated to give her body the best chance to recover.”

Fernando doesn’t wait for more. He strides toward the doors the doctor came through, Max and Charles close on his heels.

The room they’re led to is quiet except for the rhythmic beeping of monitors and the soft hiss of the ventilator. The sight of you makes them all freeze.

You lie motionless in the hospital bed, your face pale and almost unrecognizable against the stark white of the sheets. A tangle of wires and tubes surrounds you, the ventilator tube taped to your mouth, rising and falling in a mechanical rhythm that seems unnervingly unnatural.

Fernando is the first to step forward. He approaches slowly, as if afraid that getting too close might break you further. He sinks into the chair beside the bed and reaches for your hand, his large, calloused fingers trembling as they wrap around your much smaller ones.

“Mija,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Charles stays back, his hand gripping the frame of the door. He can’t seem to look directly at you, his eyes darting everywhere but your face. “She looks so … small,” he murmurs, his voice almost inaudible.

Max steps past him, his jaw tight and his hands stuffed into his pockets. He takes a position on the other side of the bed, staring down at you with a fierce intensity. “She’s strong,” he says, more to himself than anyone else. “She’s gonna make it through this.”

Fernando doesn’t lift his eyes from your face, his thumb stroking your knuckles in a steady rhythm. “I’ve seen her fight through impossible things,” he says quietly. “She’ll fight this too.”

Charles finally steps into the room, his legs feeling like lead. He moves to stand behind Fernando, his hands braced on the back of the chair. His eyes lock on your face, and the dam breaks.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, tears streaming down his face. “I should have been there. I should have-”

“Don’t,” Fernando cuts him off, his voice gentle but firm. “This isn’t your fault.”

“But I-”

“She wouldn’t want you blaming yourself,” Fernando says, his eyes still fixed on you. “She wouldn’t want any of us to.”

Max exhales sharply, leaning against the wall as if the weight of his worry is finally catching up to him. “We’re not leaving this room,” he says, his voice hard with determination. “Not until she’s okay.”

Charles nods silently, his grip tightening on the chair. Fernando doesn’t respond, just keeps holding your hand, as if willing his strength into you.

The three men settle in around you, the minutes bleeding into hours as they keep watch, waiting for any sign that you’re still fighting.

***

The world keeps moving, but for Fernando, Charles, and Max, time has frozen. The hospital becomes their whole existence, days and nights bleeding into each other as they sit vigil by your bedside.

Fernando rarely leaves the room, his chair permanently pulled up beside your bed. His unshaven face and hollow eyes make him unrecognizable to anyone who knew the fiery, unstoppable force of a man he used to be. He clings to every little improvement — the way your heart rate steadies, the slow return of color to your face — but every day that you don’t wake up feels like another fracture in his already breaking heart.

Max is the restless one. He paces the halls, his phone constantly in hand, though he never calls anyone. When he’s in the room, he’s quiet, but his energy buzzes under the surface. He tries not to look at you for too long, hating how still you are. But he’s there. Always there.

Charles is the opposite. He sits beside you in silence, watching you with an almost desperate intensity, as if willing his presence to pull you back. He rarely speaks, and when he does, it’s only to you. Quiet, broken words that he knows you can’t hear but hopes you’ll somehow understand.

They all gave up their races without a second thought. No explanations, no press releases — just silence that sent the paddock into chaos. Speculation swirled: Was this some protest? A contractual dispute? Theories ranged from dramatic to absurd, but none came close to the truth.

The first week passes. Then the second.

The doctors are cautiously optimistic. You’ve survived the critical period, but you’re still unresponsive, locked in a battle that only you can fight. Fernando listens to every update with grim determination, nodding silently before returning to his post by your side.

It’s the fifteenth day when everything changes.

The room is quiet, the afternoon sun streaming weakly through the blinds. Fernando is half-asleep in the chair, his head tilted back and his arms crossed over his chest. Max is leaned against the wall, scrolling through his phone without really seeing anything on the screen. Charles is beside your bed, as always, his hand wrapped around yours as he murmurs something in French under his breath.

Then it happens.

Your fingers twitch.

At first, it’s so faint that Charles thinks he imagined it. He freezes, his heart stopping as he stares at your hand. Slowly, hesitantly, he squeezes your fingers.

And you squeeze back.

“Mon Dieu,” Charles breathes, his voice barely audible. He bolts upright, leaning over you as his other hand gently brushes your cheek. “Y/N? Can you hear me?”

Your eyelids flutter, your brow furrowing slightly as if you’re trying to piece together where you are.

“Oh my God.” Max pushes off the wall so fast that his phone clatters to the floor. “Is she-”

“She’s waking up,” Charles says, his voice shaking.

Fernando stirs at the commotion, blinking blearily until he sees Charles leaning over you. It takes a moment for the realization to hit him.

“Mija!” Fernando is out of his chair in an instant, his hands trembling as he cups your face. “Can you hear me? It’s me, Papá.”

Your eyes finally open, squinting against the harsh light. You look around sluggishly, confusion clouding your gaze before it lands on Fernando’s face. Your lips part, and though no sound comes out at first, your expression softens.

“Papá …”

It’s barely a whisper, but it’s enough to shatter Fernando completely. He chokes out a sob, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re okay. Gracias a Dios, you’re okay.”

Charles and Max stand frozen, relief flooding their faces as tears stream down their cheeks.

“You gave us a hell of a scare, you know that?” Max finally says, his voice thick as he scrubs a hand over his face.

You blink up at him, then at Charles, your brows furrowing. “What … what happened?”

Charles lets out a broken laugh, pressing your hand to his lips. “It doesn’t matter right now,” he says softly, his voice cracking. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.”

You close your eyes for a moment, exhaustion pulling at you even as you fight to stay awake. “I … I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck,” you mumble.

Fernando lets out a watery laugh, his hands never leaving yours. “You’re allowed to rest, nena. You’ve been through enough.”

Your lips curve into a faint smile, and for the first time in weeks, the room feels lighter. The storm has finally passed, and the three men who love you most in the world know one thing for certain: they’ll never let you face anything like this alone again.

***

The hospital room is quieter now, though the tension lingers in the air. Fernando stands by the window, staring out at nothing, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Max and Charles have claimed chairs on either side of your bed, their exhaustion palpable but their determination to stay near you unwavering.

It’s late afternoon when the knock comes. Two officers step into the room, their uniforms crisp but their faces drawn, tired from days of dealing with the chaos surrounding your kidnapping. One of them — a tall man with a clipboard — speaks first.

“Miss Alonso, we need to ask you a few questions.”

Fernando turns sharply from the window, his expression hardening. “She’s barely awake. Can’t this wait?”

The officer shakes his head. “We’re sorry, Mr. Alonso, but we need to understand what happened while her memory is fresh.”

You swallow hard, your throat still raw from the ventilator. Charles reaches for your hand instinctively, squeezing it gently. “We’re right here,” he murmurs.

You nod, giving the officers a faint smile even though your heart pounds in your chest. “Okay,” you rasp.

The other officer, a woman with kind eyes, steps forward. “Do you remember anything your kidnapper said to you? Anything about why he did this?”

You hesitate. Your gaze flickers to Charles, who’s staring at the floor, his jaw tight. He hasn’t spoken much since you woke up, but you know him well enough to see the storm brewing beneath his silence.

“Not really,” you lie, shifting your attention back to the officers. “It was all kind of … jumbled. He wasn’t making much sense.”

The male officer frowns. “Miss Alonso, it’s important to be honest. He hasn’t spoken a word since he was taken into custody. If we’re going to build a case against him, we need to understand his motive.”

“I told you, I don’t-” you start, but the officer cuts you off.

“You’re the only one who can help us.”

You bite your lip, your eyes darting to Charles again. His fingers tighten around yours, and you know he’s listening to every word.

“I-” you falter, trying to find a way to deflect. “He … he said some stuff about racing. About being a Ferrari fan.”

Max leans forward, his brows knitting. “A Ferrari fan?”

You don’t meet his gaze. “Yeah, he — he was rambling about the team.”

The female officer’s voice softens, but there’s a firmness beneath it. “Did he say anything about why he targeted you specifically?”

You hesitate too long. The officers notice. So does Charles.

“Miss Alonso,” the male officer presses, “please. Did he give you a specific reason?”

Your chest tightens. You can feel Charles’ eyes on you now, his hand suddenly too still in yours. You know the truth will cut him like a knife, but the officers aren’t going to let this go.

Finally, you exhale shakily. “He … he said he thought Charles was distracted. That he wasn’t focused on Ferrari anymore because of me.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Fernando’s head snaps toward you, his expression a mix of anger and disbelief. Max mutters something under his breath, his hands clenching into fists. But it’s Charles’ reaction that makes your stomach twist.

He lets go of your hand and stands abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you. He just walks to the other side of the room, his back to everyone.

“Charles …” you start, your voice cracking.

He shakes his head, his hands gripping the windowsill so tightly his knuckles turn white. “So it’s my fault,” he says quietly.

“No!” You try to sit up, but Fernando is immediately at your side, gently pressing you back down. “Charles, that’s not what I meant. It’s not your fault.”

He turns, his eyes blazing. “But it is, isn’t it? If he thought-”

“He’s insane,” Max cuts in, his voice sharp. “That’s not on you, Charles.”

“He wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t-”

“Stop,” Fernando says, his voice booming. He steps between Charles and the bed, his glare enough to silence everyone in the room. “The only one responsible is the man who did this.”

Charles’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. He just nods stiffly and turns back toward the window, his shoulders slumping.

The officers exchange glances, sensing the tension but staying professional. The female officer speaks again, her tone careful. “Thank you for your honesty, Miss Alonso. We’ll let you rest now.”

They leave without another word, and the room falls into an uneasy silence.

“I didn’t want to tell them,” you say softly, your eyes pleading with Charles’s back. “I didn’t want you to know.”

Charles finally turns, his expression pained but softer. “You should have told me.”

“I didn’t want you to blame yourself,” you whisper.

He crosses the room slowly, sitting back down beside you. His hand trembles as he reaches for yours again. “I already blame myself,” he admits. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to know. You shouldn’t have to carry this alone.”

You squeeze his hand weakly, tears blurring your vision. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” he says, his voice breaking.

Fernando and Max exchange a look, then quietly slip out of the room, giving you and Charles a moment alone.

Charles leans closer, resting his forehead against your hand. “I don’t care what anyone says,” he whispers. “You’re not a distraction. You’re everything.”

And for the first time since waking up, you let yourself cry.

***

The house in Oviedo feels like a sanctuary. Nestled in the hills, far removed from the madness of the paddock and the media frenzy that erupted after your kidnapping, it’s exactly what your father promised: peace. The smell of pine trees drifts through open windows, mingling with the aroma of home-cooked food.

You’ve spent the last week recovering, the color slowly returning to your face and the strength to your limbs. Fernando refuses to let you lift a finger, always muttering something about “not risking his hija.” Charles and Max have become equally protective shadows, hovering just enough to drive you crazy but not enough for you to complain.

It’s dinner time now, and Fernando is serving up plates of steaming paella, his movements confident and measured as he hums to himself. The dining table is small but feels full: Charles is to your left, Max to your right, and Fernando sits across from you, dishing generous portions like he’s feeding an army.

The TV hums distantly from the living room, some nightly news segment filling the silence.

“Fernando, you’ve seriously outdone yourself,” Max says, shoveling a forkful of rice into his mouth. “This is better than anything we’ve had since that steakhouse in Abu Dhabi.”

Fernando waves him off, clearly pleased with himself. “Of course it is. You think I’d let you leave here thinking otherwise?”

Charles chuckles, picking around the plate for the perfect bite. “If Red Bull knew you could cook like this, they’d hire you as the caterer.”

“Ha,” Fernando scoffs, though the glint in his eye says he’s enjoying the praise. “No one can afford me.”

You smile to yourself, leaning back in your chair, letting the banter wash over you. For the first time in weeks, things feel normal — almost like you’ve reclaimed something that was lost.

And then the newscaster’s voice cuts through the hum of conversation.

“In a shocking update,” she says, her tone grave, “the man accused of kidnapping Formula 1 driver Y/N Alonso was found dead in his cell earlier today. Authorities report that the death was accidental, citing severe anaphylaxis as the cause. It appears the suspect had a previously undisclosed peanut allergy, and somehow his food became contaminated.”

Your fork pauses mid-air. The entire table goes still.

You glance up, catching the unmistakable smirks forming on Fernando’s, Charles’, and Max’s faces. Max leans back in his chair, arms crossed, grinning like a cat who’s eaten the canary. Charles casually reaches for his glass of water, but his dimples betray him as he struggles to keep a straight face. Fernando? He doesn’t even try to hide it — he leans back with a look of pure satisfaction, a smug tilt to his chin.

They all exchange a look. A look that makes your eyebrow shoot up.

“Something funny?” You ask slowly, your tone dripping with suspicion.

Fernando shrugs, reaching for the serving spoon and adding more paella to his plate. “It’s just … a tragedy.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” he says matter-of-factly, though his eyes are dancing with mischief. “The man was deathly allergic to peanuts. What a terrible, terrible accident.”

Charles clears his throat, failing to hide the ghost of a smile. “Terrible.”

“Very tragic,” Max chimes in, his voice dripping with mock sincerity.

You narrow your eyes at all three of them, folding your arms across your chest. “Okay, what did you guys do?”

Fernando looks downright offended. “Qué? Me? Nothing.”

You tilt your head, waiting.

“It’s a shame, really,” he continues, ignoring your glare. “Somehow, his meal must have gotten contaminated. Maybe there was a mix-up. A little peanut dust here, some peanut oil there …” He gestures vaguely with his fork, as if explaining an unfortunate cooking mishap. “These things happen.”

You stare at him, incredulous. Then you turn to Max and Charles. “And you two? You’re just going to sit there like-”

Max and Charles, as if on cue, exchange a triumphant fist bump under the table. Max grins proudly, while Charles looks away, attempting — and failing — to feign innocence.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, shaking your head. “You guys couldn’t even pretend to be subtle?”

Fernando’s eyes gleam as he leans forward, leveling you with a look so serious it nearly catches you off guard. “Listen to me, mija. That man tried to take you from us. He hurt you. Whatever happened to him is nothing compared to what he deserved.”

There’s a weight to his words, an edge that makes you realize he means every single one of them.

“And if we happen to be a little smug about it,” Max adds with a smirk, “well, can you blame us?”

Charles finally speaks up, his voice soft but firm. “He’s gone. You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

You exhale slowly, letting the words sink in. You know you should probably feel … something. Shock, maybe. Disapproval. But instead, you just feel relief. A strange, comforting relief that the man who tried to take everything from you is no longer out there.

“You’re all insane,” you say finally, though there’s no bite to your words.

Fernando grins. “You’ll thank us eventually.”

“Just eat your paella,” Max adds, grinning as he digs back into his plate.

Charles squeezes your hand under the table, his expression softening as he searches your face. “You’re okay, right?”

You meet his gaze, seeing nothing but concern and love in his eyes. You nod, your lips quirking into a small smile. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

Fernando raises his glass, a little smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “To accidents,” he says, his voice deliberately casual.

Max and Charles snicker as they lift their glasses to toast, and you can’t help but roll your eyes, though there’s a small, amused smile tugging at your lips.

“To accidents,” you mutter, shaking your head as you clink your glass against theirs.

The TV drones on in the background, the story already shifting to something else, but in this little dining room in Oviedo, the four of you sit in quiet satisfaction. The world doesn’t need to know what really happened.

Some things are better left unsaid.

***

The house feels emptier without them. Fernando, Charles, and Max left yesterday morning to return to the paddock, each one reluctant to go but eventually swayed by your insistence.

“Racing is what you love,” you’d told them as you sat on the edge of the sofa, wrapped in one of Fernando’s old sweaters. “I’ll be fine here. I need to get better so I can come back too, and the sooner you get back out there, the sooner everything feels normal again.”

It had taken more convincing than you’d expected, but eventually, they relented. Still, each goodbye was harder than you anticipated — Max with a bear hug that squeezed the breath out of you, Fernando muttering something in Spanish about keeping your phone on, and Charles pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead before whispering, “Call me if you need anything.”

Now, you sit curled on the couch with a blanket and a mug of tea, watching the press conference from your laptop. The camera pans across the familiar faces of the drivers seated at the table, and your heart clenches seeing Fernando, Max, and Charles among them.

Fernando looks every bit the composed veteran, but you catch the slight tension in his jaw. Max leans back in his chair with his usual air of confidence, though his eyes dart to Fernando and Charles more often than usual. And Charles — Charles looks tired. There’s a weight in his expression that the cameras won’t pick up on, but you know it’s there.

The questions start out routine — thoughts on the upcoming race, opinions on the track layout, expectations for the weekend. They all give professional answers, though Fernando’s responses have just the right amount of dry wit to make you smile.

Then, a reporter raises their hand and is called upon.

“This question is for Charles.”

Your heart sinks. The tone of the reporter’s voice is already a red flag.

“There have been rumors circulating that the man who kidnapped Y/N Alonso did so because he believed you were distracted by her and not fully committed to Ferrari. Can you confirm whether there’s any truth to these claims?”

The room goes silent.

Charles sits up straighter, his grip tightening on the microphone in front of him. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, his lips pressed into a thin line. You hold your breath, the tea in your hands forgotten.

Finally, he speaks. His voice is steady, but there’s an undercurrent of raw emotion that makes your chest ache.

“I will address this only once,” he begins, his accent thick, his eyes fixed on the reporter. “The idea that someone would use my relationship with Y/N as an excuse to justify their actions is … despicable.”

You can see the effort it takes for him to stay composed, his knuckles white as they grip the edge of the table.

“Y/N is the strongest, most incredible person I have ever known,” he continues, his voice trembling slightly. “She has supported me through everything, even when I didn’t deserve it. And to think that someone would hurt her — someone who calls themselves a Ferrari fan-” He breaks off, shaking his head.

“This is the only time in my life I have ever been disgusted to share the title of Tifoso with someone else.”

The room remains silent. Even the other drivers seem taken aback, their usual smirks and easygoing attitudes replaced with quiet understanding.

Charles takes a deep breath, glancing down at the table before looking back up. “I love Ferrari. I love the fans. But if you think for one second that I will let someone use that love to justify hurting someone I care about, you are mistaken.”

Your vision blurs with tears. You wipe them away quickly, though you’re alone in the room.

“And as for Y/N distracting me?” Charles adds, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “She doesn’t distract me. She inspires me. She makes me want to be better — not just as a driver, but as a person. So if anyone thinks she’s the problem, maybe they should look in the mirror instead.”

There’s a murmur of agreement from the other drivers, and Fernando nods slightly, his expression unreadable but his approval clear.

Max, of course, can’t help himself. He leans into the microphone, his tone sharp. “Next question.”

The room chuckles awkwardly, the tension easing slightly, but you can’t take your eyes off Charles. He sits back in his chair, exhaling deeply, his hand trembling slightly as he sets the microphone down.

You close the laptop, unable to watch anymore. Your chest feels tight, a mix of pride, love, and guilt swirling inside you.

Charles had told the world exactly how he felt. And you’d never been more sure that you loved him.

***

The air is electric as you step out of the car in the paddock parking lot. You’ve missed this — the familiar hum of engines warming up in the distance, the rush of people weaving between motorhomes and garages, the faint scent of rubber and fuel in the air. But this time, it’s different.

You barely have time to close your car door before you’re practically ambushed.

“Careful with her!” Fernando snaps, brushing past Max and Charles as if they aren’t there. He cups your face with both hands, inspecting you like he hasn’t seen you in years. “Hija, are you sure about this? We can turn around right now. No one will blame you.”

You laugh softly, prying his hands off your cheeks. “I’m fine, Papá. I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” Charles asks, stepping closer, his hand ghosting over your lower back. He doesn’t touch you, but he’s close enough that you feel his warmth. His green eyes search your face, his concern evident.

Max, on the other hand, leans casually against your car, arms crossed but his frown betraying his calm posture. “If you’re even slightly unsure, I’ll call Christian myself and say you’re taking another month off.”

“Guys,” you say, looking at each of them in turn, “I’m okay. I promise.”

Fernando mutters something under his breath in Spanish that you don’t quite catch, but the look he shoots Charles and Max makes it clear they’re all on the same page: hover over you until you give up and lets them.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help smiling.

As you make your way toward the Red Bull garage, it becomes clear that you aren’t the only one who’s missed this sense of normalcy. People you’ve only exchanged passing nods with before stop in their tracks to greet you. Engineers, journalists, even the rival drivers you’ve barely spoken to — it seems like everyone has something to say.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Lando says, pulling you into an unexpected but warm hug.

“Good to see you in one piece,” Lewis adds, his tone light but his smile genuine.

“Don’t scare us like that again,” George says, shaking his head.

Even Kimi Raikkonen, who’s a guest in the paddock for the weekend, gives you a gruff nod. For him, that’s basically a declaration of undying friendship.

And then Toto Wolff steps into your path.

“Toto,” you say, blinking in surprise.

“Y/N.”

Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into a hug — a full hug, his large arms wrapping around you like a protective barrier against the world.

You stiffen for a second, not because you don’t appreciate it but because … Toto Wolff? Hugging you?

You have to pinch your arm discreetly to make sure this isn’t some bizarre dream.

“Welcome back,” Toto says simply, his voice low and kind, before stepping back.

You manage to nod, your words caught in your throat.

“Alright, move along,” Fernando interrupts, stepping between you and Toto like a guard dog. He nods politely but firmly at the team principal before ushering you forward.

“Toto Wolff,” you murmur as you follow Fernando, Charles, and Max toward the garage. “I really must be dreaming.”

“You’re not,” Charles says, smiling softly. “People care about you, ma chérie. Even Toto, apparently.”

“Or maybe he’s just scouting you for Mercedes,” Max mutters, though there’s no real bite to his words.

You laugh, the sound lighter than it’s been in weeks. The paddock is alive, buzzing with energy, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re not just watching it from afar. You’re part of it again.

And it feels like coming home.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pent Up 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you seek validation through online correspondence with incarcerated men, only for one to lock you down in turn.

Characters: convict/excon!Thor (silverfox)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You peer around awkwardly, unsure of the fine silvery cutlery and which of the forks to use. You can’t help but feel out of place as you’re the youngest at the table; by decades. It’s surreal, like when your mom left you with your great grandparents as a child. She said it would be a few days but it turned out to be a month. They never had you back. 

You fidget and play with the frill along your left shoulder. The asymmetrical cut isn’t your favourite. You’re not sure what high school you was thinking, even if it was only a few years ago. 

“That colour is gorgeous on you,” Frigga preens, forcing you out of your anxious trance. 

You smile sheepishly. “Thanks. I... love your hair pin.” 

She touches the pearl barrette in her hair. “Oh, thank you, dear.” 

He uses the smaller fork, you think, to poke at her salad. You’re not into kale, you find it dense, but you know better to complain or decline. Just like with her son. You gulp and grab your fork. It’s like when your great grandmother made you that olive and cottage cheese delicacy you vomited into her garden. The salad is more palatable. 

You taste it, hoping the task of chewing can save you from talking. They all are exceedingly skilled at that and you don’t have much to offer. If you try, that screaming inside your head might escape to the outside. 

You wince as Thor rests his large hand on the back of your chair. 

“She’s a very clever woman. She works with electronics. Oh, and is she attending classes.” 

You swallow and nearly choke. He’s bragging about the lamest things in your life. Your job is boring and you don’t really do anything with the computers yourself. And classes... you’re just trying to pad your resume. 

“It’s very important to get an education,” Odin intones. “What’s more important is what you do with it. I spent a fortune on two engineering degrees for this one...” he shakes his head. “And look where he ended up.” 

You’re even more confounded by that revelation. Thor? An engineer? What on earth got him put in prison? You try not to delve too far into that riddle. It’s probably best to ignore that. How many red flags did you already ignore? What’s another. 

“It’s nothing special. Just... business admin. Basic stuff,” you shrug.  

Frigga’s eyes narrow and Odin tilts his head. They aren’t impressed and they shouldn’t be. That might be something. If they don’t approve of you... 

“And... I’m stuck with my parents still so... you know...” You add. 

“She is saving money. For us,” Thor assures. “You know things are difficult these days and father always said there is value in hard work.” 

“Mm, so I said,” Odin drawls. “Certainly, I hear your brother took that to heart. I hear he’s hired help.” 

“Oh?” Thor sniffs. “And still he could not come see me?” 

“He has not come to see all of us. Your mother only chanced upon him herself. Hasn’t even the time to pick up the phone for her--” 

“He is busy,” Frigga assures Odin as she pets his hand. “He will be here for your father’s birthday. That is what matters. And his assistant, she was darling. Though he was in a state. You know how he can be. Perhaps you might ask his advice, Thor. He could help you find some work.” 

“Hm, I suppose I could try asking,” Thor shifts, retracting his hand from the back of your chair. “I am not helpless. I have plans...” 

“Yes, son, you have told us the same many times. I believe the day before your sentencing,” Odin scoffs. “A bit old now to be falling back into bad habits.” 

“Father. I’ve turned myself around and she,” he reaches over to take your hand, your fork scraping your plate, “will keep me straight.” 

“Right,” Odin crosses his arms and leans back. “Don’t tell me so, show me.” 

“Father, I--” Thor clears his throat.  

Silence rises with a rippling tension. You look between his parents. You piece together the few clues you have. You can’t really begrudge them their doubt. You have your own. 

“Well, I have one in particular,” Thor pushes his chair back and keeps hold of your hand.  

He slides your fork free and puts it on the table. You peek up at him, confused. He kicks his chair back and he turns, lowering himself to one knee with a grunt. He digs in his pocket with his other hand and pulls out a band with a large diamond sparkling in the light. 

Frigga gasps and you gurgle. Odin sighs. 

“My queen, how I’ve waited so long for us to be together and now I can’t hardly wait for it to be. Please, will you make me your king?” He holds up the ring. You could fold over and evaporate into the floor. Sweat glazes over your face and your scalp itches. What do you say? 

“Um,” you sniff and blink. Your options are many. You really don’t have any. You’re too afraid of even saying no to him. Even with witnesses. “Yes?” 

He squeezes your hand and you let out a fluttery noise. Your heart is thumping, deafening you as the world pinpoints to his grip on you. He opens his hand and slides the ring onto your finger. You stare at the large rectangle diamond framed in smaller diamonds on a gold band. It must be expensive. 

A chair scrapes and you wince. You look over as Odin clucks and turns on his heel. He swipes up his can from against the table and marches out. Not a word, not a look. You look at Frigga as she gives a gentle smile. 

“He’s in shock, I think,” she says. 

You glance at Thor as he stares after his father. His face falls. He lets go of you and gets up, another groan as he does. He sits in his chair and frowns. 

“I thought he’d be happy,” Thor mutters. 

“Oh, of course he’s happy for you, son,” she affirms and reaches across to her son. He takes her hand. “I am. Don’t you worry.” 

“He didn’t say anything,” Thor sneers. 

“Thor, it’s been a lot. You’ve been away from us for so long and now this... it’s all very sudden. We’ve just met this lovely woman.” She looks at you kindly. “What are your plans? For the wedding?” 

“I have my trust,” Thor recoils and crosses his arms, almost petulant. At his size, the bratty demeanour is almost laughable. “I was not entirely unproductive in prison. I only ever did what needs to be done. Mother, you know I am not a cruel person. I’ve made mistakes, I admitted them. And you all hold it against me.” 

“No, we don’t, darling--” 

“You do! But only my diamond forgive me. She is so kind and--” he huffs. “He couldn’t even stay and face me. Congratulate me. Worse, he’s disrespected my future wife.” 

Wife? You could faint. You brace the sides of the chair to keep from doing just that. 

“Dear,” Frigga’s eyes meet yours. “Are you unwell?” 

You shake your head. You lean forward and catch yourself against the table. You reach for the tall glass by your plate. 

“I only need water,” you assure her. 

“Mm, yes, we shouldn’t let all this go to waste,” she tuts. “You know, your father just needs time. He is like you and your brother. You only need simmer in your thoughts then you come to sense. Eventually.” 

🩷

Leaving brings both relief and dread. You are glad to be free of the repressive exuberance of Thor’s family estate but uneasy at the prospect of being alone with him. Again. 

You sit in the passenger seat and stare at your hand. The large stone is as heavy as a boulder. You are not Sisyphus. You’re not sure how much further you can get it up the hill. 

“I am so happy. Are you?” He asks. 

You sit up and suck in a thick breath. You are many things. Afraid, lost, almost mourning. You regret being so stupid. Those idiotic emails were only meant to be... well, an ego boost. You are so pathetic, you wanted desperate men to tell you lies. And you told your own. 

“Thor,” you utter cautiously. “It’s a very nice ring and a very nice gesture but... I’m still very young and I don’t have much. I think maybe--” You pause and weigh your words; does the boulder roll back to the bottom of the hill? “Maybe that’s why your dad wasn’t happy. Because I’m not—not the right person for you right now--” 

He slams on the brakes. You squeal as the seat belt keeps you from hitting the dash. A car honks and serves around him. He ignores them. 

“Not right for me? You are the only one for me,” he insists. “My queen, you said yes to me.” 

“I did. I—I didn’t want to have this conversation there. It’s not that... It’s... I’m... I have to finish school and right now isn’t good for me--” 

“You don’t need school. I will take care of you--” 

“Thor, I can take care of myself--” 

“It is my job to take of you,” he snarls. 

You lean away from him, startled by his deeper tone. In the cabin of the truck, he is even bigger. You wipe your sweaty hand on your skirt. 

“It’s very sweet of you but--” 

“You said yes,” he growls. 

You blink, eyes tinging with moisture. You wet your lips. Your throat is scratchy. 

“Yes,” you nod. “Thor... My parents... you know, I think maybe before we decide anything I need to talk to them.” 

“Oh, I will be speaking with this man, this stepfather of yours. I will not be asking anything of him either. I will be telling him,” he says. 

You gulp. While the idea of him intimidating Andy is on the surface amusing, it’s deeply troubling too. You don’t want your family to know anything about Thor. 

“Well, let me talk to them first.”  

Another car honks and you look out the back window. Thor is unbothered by the roadblock he’s caused. You are about to melt into a puddle. 

“Can I be honest?” You ask. 

He stares and nods. The lines in his face trace his displeasure. Your eyes wander to his rounded muscular silhouette and his thick hands. The intrusive thought of them around your neck make you squirm. What if he killed someone? 

“I didn’t tell them yet,” you blurt out. It’s true but still a lie because it isn’t the truth you kept from him. “My family. I never mentioned you. I... never told them about anyone so I think they might be surprised and, so, er, can’t you let me... tell them first?” 

He looks at you. His forehead wrinkles. He exhales through his nose. Another car lays on their horn. He shakes his head and sits straight. 

“I suppose...” he mutters as he hangs his head. The horn continues to blare. 

He grips the wheel and he face twists in agitation. He peels his fingers off and balls his hands to fists. He hits the steering wheel and snarls. 

Before you can react, he taps the button on his seat belt and it retracts. He swings open the door, mindless to oncoming traffic, and gets out of the car. He lands heavy on his feet and marches along the side of the truck. 

You panic and scramble to untangle yourself from your seat belt. You fall out of the truck as you hear him hollering. 

“You honking at me?” Thor barks as he approaches the other car. “You’re messing with the wrong man.” You sprint around the truck bed as he gets to the driver’s window. He bends to snarl through, “why don’t you open up and face me, eh? Coward!” 

“Thor, please, get back in the car,” you scurry over. “Please, we’re in the way--” 

“No, he has no patience!” He hits the top of the car and leaves a dent. You gasp. It looks as if it took him no effort at all. 

The man in the car is frightened. He curls over his wheel and revs in a futile effort to scare away the raging giant. You grab Thor’s hand and pet his forearm. 

“Thor...” you peek once more at the scared driver. It’s your fault. All of this is your fault. “My king.” You coo at him shakily. “Please get back in the truck and take me home.” 

“He is disturbing us! He could go around--” 

“Thor!” You nearly shriek. “How can I marry you if you are so angry? If you do not listen to me?” 

His eyes round and he twitches as if he’s been struck. He looks at you and his face turns grim. “Marry me?” 

“I didn’t-- I wasn’t saying no. I was just saying—asking for some time,” you look him in the eye, caressing him, calming him like a riled dog. “But I can’t marry someone who does these things.” 

He lowers his head. He actually looks guilty. He nods and turns. He bends and taps gently on the window. He waves his hand. 

“Sorry about that. Bad day,” he gives a sheepish grin. “Here.” He lets you go and takes out his wallet. He takes out a couple of bills; each at least a hundred dollars. “For the roof.” 

He tucks the money under the wiper and stands straight. He latches onto you again and drags you away. He sighs out the tension. 

“You are right, my queen.” He says. “This is why I need you. To keep me in my right mind.” 

[mggslover]

spencer and readers first fight ! can you possiblyyyy do something along the lines of spencer said something sassy/petty/mean which results in reader giving spencer the silent treatment and he crashes out begging for her to speak to him 🤓☝🏼

your first fight with spencer genre: slight angst, fluff word count: 1,7k a/n: i've been so excited to write this one! honestly way too long for a drabble, but i hope you enjoy it

“That’s okay. Your mind wouldn’t be able to comprehend a concept like this."

Spencer didn’t understand the gravity of his words before you huffed out a sigh, placing your hands on your knees as you lifted yourself up from the spot next to him on the couch. His eyes followed your body as you walked straight toward your shared bedroom, opening the door before shutting it behind you with a bang. The click of the lock echoed through the now silent living room.

Spencer sat frozen in place, his gaze fixed on the door as if you’d magically reappear in front of him.

Everything about your body language hinted at you being angry, but he couldn’t grasp why. He replayed the situation back in his head in an effort to decipher the reason.

You had cheerfully greeted him when he entered the apartment. He’d been away on a case for several days, not having had the time to speak to you over the phone or give you any updates on how he was doing.

As much as he preferred keeping clear boundaries between his personal and professional life, Spencer couldn’t resist telling you the details of some of his cases when coming home. Not when the psychology behind the unsubs fascinated him so much. And especially not when you eagerly pulled him toward the couch, pushing him down onto the soft cushions as you handed him a cup of freshly brewed coffee, ready to hear about his day.

You sat cross-legged in front of him, eyes twinkling with admiration as he told you about today’s case. He explained how he discovered a pattern in the way the unsub took his captives, using the numbers 11235 — the first five numerals in the Fibonacci sequence.

He noticed the frown forming between your brows as he got into more detail.

“Can you explain that to me? I don’t get it,” you asked.

“That’s okay. Your mind wouldn’t be able to comprehend a concept like this.”

Spencer wasn’t lying. He remembered how his coworkers had blankly stared at him when he analyzed his theory — how Emily made eye contact with JJ, their silent looks saying there he goes again, and how Hotch had to cut him off to tell him to get to the point. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to explain it to you, he just didn’t see the point in doing so, not when he knew this was a connection only he could understand.

After a couple of minutes, there was still radio-silence. Spencer got up and walked to the bedroom, knocking softly on the door. “Angel? Can you open up for me?”

“Just go away, Spencer.”

Your voice cracked, like you had been crying, and the sound made his heart sink.

“Please open the door so we can talk. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong?” Your scoff vibrated through the door. “I don’t even want to talk to you if you can’t understand what’s wrong.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his hands turning clammy. He didn’t like confrontations and especially not with you. You’d never fought before. Rationally, he knew fights weren’t necessarily a bad thing — conflicts usually stemmed from deeper fears and feelings that get triggered, and confronting these feelings could lead to creating an even stronger bond. But right now, all he wanted was to turn back time and make sure those words never left his mouth.

His mind blanked in situations like these, so the only logical fix he could come up with was to call Derek.

“Hey,” Spencer spoke through the phone, balancing the device between his ear and shoulder as he nervously paced through the living room.

“Hey man. What’s up?”

“I messed up.”

Morgan’s chuckle sounded through the speaker. “Our genius making a mistake. Who would’ve thought the day would come?”

Spencer sighed, losing his patience. “It’s serious.”

Derek paused before responding. “Alright, slow down. Tell me what happened.”

Spencer repeated the conversation for what felt like the hundredth time that day, his guilt accumulating with each repetition. He gulped when he heard Derek take a sharp inhale at the other side of the line. He could almost see him shaking his head.

“Okay,” Derek began. “Now listen to me. When it comes down to it, all women are the same, they just need some loving and appreciation. Go buy her some flowers before the store closes.”

Spencer didn’t need to be told twice. He glanced one last time at the still-locked bedroom door before heading out.

Thankfully, Spencer’s apartment was close to downtown. He hurried into the first flower shop that he spotted, his eyes scanning the bouquets until they landed on a pair of bright colored lilies. The outer corners of the petals shone with a radiant shade of pink, fading into a soft white at the center.

He cleared his throat as he placed the flowers on the counter. “Can I have these, please?”

The woman behind the counter started wrapping them in pink paper, reaching out for lint to tie a bow. “Trouble in paradise?”

Spencer blinked, not often experiencing someone seeing right through him. Besides his coworkers. And you.

“Ya know, I see so many men come in here on the daily. You can just tell they got in trouble with their lady; sweating bullets and rushing to pick a bouquet the second before the store closes.” She twirled the bouquet in her hand as she pulled on the strings of the lint bow. “At least you picked a nice one.”

“Do-,” Spencer hesitated, his voice softening in an uncertain whisper. “Will she forgive me after this?”

“Depends on what ya did,” she answered with a lift of her shoulders. “What I can tell you is that flowers don’t do much fixing.”

Damn it, Derek.

The florist turned around, rummaging through a drawer, before pulling out an envelope and sliding it across the counter.

“Write,” she stated in a single syllable. “We need words. We need to know that you care, and we need you to put more effort into it than paying ten dollars.”

With a new plan in mind, Spencer hurried home. The apartment was still silent when he returned, the door firmly closed and no signs of you having left the bedroom. He sighed and made his way to his desk, shoving aside piles of books and papers until he had enough space to write. He opened the envelope the florist had given him, and carefully pulled out a sheet of blank stationary.

My Lover Dearest,

It is ironic that I have read so much poetry and so many books in my life, and yet I cannot find the words to describe how much you mean to me.

Sometimes, I find it difficult to believe that someone as wonderful as you would want to be with me. That I’m allowed to deserve the love that you give me.

My mind works in strange ways, and as much as you’ve praised me for it, it can work as a curse as well. I am scared to overwhelm you, to talk your ears off (which would be a shame, because you have beautiful ears) to the point that you grow tired of me.

I never had the intention to cause you pain, or to initiate that you’re any less brilliant than you are. You are the brightest part of my life. I feel grateful every time I get to talk to you, and I would love nothing more than to explain any concept you’d want me to. I’m sorry for not having understood that before.

I love you. I love you. I have been wanting to tell you this in a special way, please know that I am not just saying this to ask for your forgiveness. I love you.

Sincerely, Spencer

The clock chimed 03.00 a.m. by the time Spencer finished his letter. His hand ached and he could barely keep his eyes open as he stumbled to the bedroom door. He turned the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. With a resigned sigh he slid the letter under the door and sat down against it. It didn’t take long for exhaustion to overtake him.

The repeated knocking of the door against his back woke him.

“Spencer?”

Your voice sounded like a siren, and he instantly scrambled away from the door, allowing you to open it fully.

You stood there, holding the envelope in your hand as your eyes softened when you glanced over him, mouth forming a small oh. “What are you doing here?” you asked in worry.

“The door was locked,” he answered, voice still hoarse from sleep.

A curse escaped your lips as you pressed your hands against your face. “I am so sorry. I must have fallen asleep with the door still locked.”

Spencer’s lips lifted into a small smile, relieved that you hadn’t locked him out intentionally. “It’s okay. Orthopedists actually recommend sleeping on the floor from time to time. Sleeping on a hard surface encourages a more natural position for your spine, which can reduce back pain. It even strengthens certain muscles, so the pressure on your body evens out. As a matter of fact, anthropological studies have shown that-”

He stopped mid-ramble, blushing when he noticed the faint smile tugging on your lips.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll stop,”

“Don’t you ever stop,” you replied as you lowered yourself on the ground next to him. You reached for his hands, placing them into your lap.

Spencer’s blush deepened, and he struggled to suppress a grin. Your encouragement reassured him, and he went on about groups in Japan and Tanzania who experience significantly lower rates of back pain due to their minimal use of furniture.

“Spencer,” you gently interrupted after a while.

He blinked at you, seeing the gleam in your eyes as you adoringly stared at him. “Hm?”

“I love you too.”

[carlthecloaked]

Wrong Number, Right Person

tried writing something after a while :3| 1.3k words | no cw |

|chapter 2|

Steve was pissed.

This date was not working out. At all.

He thought he was going out with this sweet guy from California. At least, that’s what his Tinder profile had made it seem like. But clearly, he had been very wrong.

Where would he even start?

First of all, the guy wouldn’t shut up about his ex.

Like, she sounded great and all, but maybe don’t talk about her the entire time we’re on a date?

Secondly, he wasn’t even listening to what Steve was saying. Half the time, he was scrolling through Instagram, looking at his ex's profile. Laughing at whatever post he was looking at, or he was texting someone else.

Third—and perhaps the worst part—the guy had the personality of a wet sock. Zero energy. No conversation skills. Just dull. Clearly not the charming, funny guy he’d seemed to be over text.

Steve sighed internally. Guess that was his fault for believing his Tinder profile was real.

And then, as if the date wasn’t already bad enough—

“So, are we going to your place or mine? "

Steve barely stopped himself from gaping. He forced a polite smile instead, setting down his drink.

“Yeah, I don’t think this is working out,” he said smoothly, placing his half of the bill on the table. “I have to go.”

The guy blinked, as if he hadn’t just bombed the entire date.

“But wait—”

Steve walked fast out of the cafe, he had to get out of there quickly.

“Ugh, that was the worst. I have to go tell Robin.”

While walking to the subway, he winced as he opened his backup phone. It wasn't as good as his currently broken phone. He totally didn't drop it in the toilet. Nope, that never happened.

He sighed, scrolling through his messages. He still hadn’t updated his contacts, so every number looked unfamiliar. Normally, he’d recognize Robin’s name instantly, but now? It was just random numbers.

He just figured he would text the most recent number, It'll probably be fine.

Steve: WORST date ever. like worst ever. robs i swear to god i wish i could turn back time and never swiped right on him at all. if you ever see me texting him again, throw a microwave at me

Unknown Number: any personal preference or do i just chuck it at you

Steve: chuck it

Steve: robbie i swear it was SO bad

Unknown Number: oh i didn't realize you'd actually think i was your friend

Unknown Number: uh yeah so this is not robbie

Oh. Steve blinked at his phone.

Huh.

That was… unexpected. But not bad, necessarily. Just—Huh.

He stared at the message for a second longer before shaking his head, exhaling through his nose. This was fine. Totally fine.

Steve: oh god

Steve: i'm so sorry wrong number

Unknown Number: it's fine lol

Unknown Number: but how bad was it though, like on a scale of “awkward as hell” to “can the ground swallow me whole?”

Steve hesitated.

He shouldn’t keep talking. He should just apologize again and move on.

But… what else was he doing today?

Steve: definitely “can the ground swallow me whole?” territory

Unknown Number: okay now i'm definitely invested. spill the tea

Steve: dude. he kept on going on and on about his ex, i swear it went on for 30 minutes. THIRTY. MINUTES.

Unknown Number: 🚩🚩🚩 IMMEDIATE red flag, redder than the color red

Steve: RIGHT??? and when he finally stopped he just kept scrolling on his phone

Steve: he was stalking her insta too 😭

Unknown Number: are you fr???

Steve: i wish i was lying but nope

Steve: then when i tried talking about literally anything else other than his ex he’d just respond with “yeah” or “whatever”

Unknown Number: what does that even mean??????

Steve: i have literally no idea

Steve: he even had the NERVE to ask if we would go to his place or mine

Unknown Number: the AUDACITY. the sheer unhinged delusion. did he think he was charming?????

Steve: LMAO stop i can't💀

Unknown Number: i bet he thought you 'd swoon bat your eyelashes and say “oh my god, yes! let's go to another place where you can pretend i'm not there!”

Steve lips curled at the stranger’s response before replying back

Steve: honestly i wouldn't be surprised if he thought that i should be grateful for his presence

Unknown Number: i can't believe you suffered through that

Unknown Number: no wait, you didn't suffer. you endured and you survived. for that you deserve an award. a dramatic opera performance

Steve: i hate how funny you are

Steve grins at his phone.

Unknown Number: you can repay me by continued conversation ;)

Steve: okay but you have to say who you are though

Steve: please don't tell me this is my professor🙏

Unknown Number: lol no definitely not your professor

Unknown Number: but i kinda want to keep it secret now, adds to my mysterious aura

Steve: no hints? :(

Unknown Number: i have hair

Steve: wow that really narrows it down. i totally know who you are.

Unknown Number: good luck finding it out ;)

Steve tilted his head, amused.

There was a pause.

Steve stared at his phone for a second, drumming his fingers against the back of it. He wasn’t sure why, but something about this felt… different. Not bad, just—unexpected.

He should probably just let it go. It wasn’t like it mattered who this guy was, right?

Still.

Steve: so are you gonna give me a real hint or do i just have to suffer

Unknown Number: hmm. suffer sounds fun

Steve let out a small, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. Great. Just his luck to end up texting someone who enjoyed messing with him.

And, okay. Maybe he didn’t mind that much.

The subway car jolted slightly as it began to slow, Steve barely looked up from his phone, used to the way the train moved as it went into the station. The train came to a stop, the doors opening with a mechanical chime, letting in the sound of city noise and passengers.

He stood up getting out and walking to his and Robin’s apartment nearby, glancing at his phone occasionally to check if the stranger texted again.

Steve barely had the door open before Robin’s voice rang out from the couch.

“Finally! What took you so long? Did the date go well?”

Steve groaned, kicking off his shoes and collapsing onto the couch next to her.

“You have no idea. I swear to God, worst date ever.”

Robin gasped dramatically, “Worse than the girl who ordered an expensive meal and made you pay?”

“Way worse”

“Way worse than the one who left you at the bar for three hours?”

“Robin.”

“Okay, okay tell me everything.”

Steve launched into the whole story, how the guy wouldn’t stop talking about his ex, stalking his ex’s instagram, the dry-ass responses and the sheer audacity of asking if they were going to his place or their shared apartment.

“That’s tragic Steve, how are you so unlucky at this?”

“I have no idea man, I guess I just attract weird people.”

“Why didn’t you text me?”

Steve suddenly sat up, remembering. “Oh, speaking of.”

Robin narrowed her eyes.

“So, uh I may or may not have accidentally texted a stranger about it.”

Robin grinned in amusement. “What?”

“I thought it was you!” Steve said defensively. “I haven’t updated my contacts on this phone yet, and I just picked the most recent number in the list.”

Robin stared. “Wait. Hold on. You had a whole conversation with a stranger instead of asking who they were like a normal person?”

Steve shrugged. “They were funny.”

Robin gasped again, dramatically. “Oh my god. You like them.”

“What? No. I dont even know who they are!”

“But you want to”

Steve opened his mouth to reply, then closed it.

Robin grinned, throwing a pillow at him. “You absolute idiot. We’re figuring this out right now.

Steve caught the pillow. “Fine. But if this turns into some embarrassing rom-com nonsense I’m blaming you.”

“Oh it’s already a rom-com, Stevie. You just don’t know it yet.”

Steve sighed, but smiled anyway.

Maybe he did want to know.

[skzdust]

Rock Will Never Die

Pure smut. MINORS DNI.

This took me almost three weeks. The season's greetings has been eating me alive. So. Omegaverse rock band ateez. 6.7k words of it, which is by far my longest smut. Please enjoy <3

Big thanks to @kpop---scenarios, who helped me decide which members were alphas/betas/omegas, and for generally helping on this one!!! I appreciate you sm!!

Update 2.26.25: Sequel! Go check out Whatever Will We Do?

Update 3.31.25: Second sequel! Go check out Worth It!

Summary: Y/n, manager of rock band Ateez, is out of heat suppressants after a show. Luckily, all 8 members of her band are there to help.

Pairing: Ateez x reader

Includes: omegaverse, LOTSSSSS of smut, porn without plot, omega reader, spitroasting, double penetration, knotting, unprotected sex (you did not come here for sex ed but please be safe irl!!!)

Word count: 6.7k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife,

@hyunjinsjeans, @somethingkindazainy, @silverstarburst

Network:@mirohs-aurora-society

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

-----

You bit your lip as you pawed through your bag, looking for your suppressants. You could taste blood before you found the little orange bottle. You pushed down on it, opening the lid, and—

Empty. Not a single pill left. 

“Fuck.” You whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

You turned around. Mingi was standing there, freshly showered in grey sweatpants and a blue T-shirt, a concerned look on his face. 

He looked so fucking good, you restrained yourself from jumping at him then and there. You could feel yourself getting more and more desperate, and you swallowed.

“You smell really anxious.” Hongjoong looked over from where he was relaxing in an armchair, still in his stage makeup and outfit. His striped knit hat was askew on his head. 

“I— well—” You stammered. “I’m— God, this is embarrassing.”

“What?” Mingi raised his eyebrows. “It can’t be that bad.”

You gave a small, involuntary whimper. “I’m out of heat suppressants… and there’s one coming on.”

“Well, shit.” Mingi said softly. “That’s not great.”

“And it’s not like you can really stop it once it starts.” Hongjoong said. 

“Exactly.”

“Hey, calm down.” Mingi’s voice was soothing. “We’ll find a solution for this.”

“What?” You whined. “I don’t have an alpha, and we’re in a hotel, and I don’t have any of my—” You swallowed. “Er, stuff. What’s the solution?”

Mingi and Hongjoong looked at each other for a long moment. “I mean… we could help you.”

You’d been the manager of Ateez for about a year now. They’d always been incredibly talented, but they’d needed someone with your managerial and business sense to catapult them into the stardom they now enjoyed. 

And as their manager, to make sure they maintained that stardom, you had to keep close with them. Ride on the tour bus with them, stay in the same hotel rooms, go to all the same bars and after parties. 

(Okay, so maybe you had some personal motives to that, too. Maybe the members of Ateez were the eight hottest men you’d ever seen. Maybe you fantasized about the aspects of them you saw both on and off stage. Maybe you thought about them when you were at home on your heat days, fucking yourself with a toy.)

But you’d never thought you’d be alone in a hotel room with two of the group’s four alphas with no heat suppressants. 

Especially not with them offering to help you.

They must’ve noticed your hesitation, because Hongjoong smiled softly. “If you don’t want us to, we don’t have to.”

“No! No, help— help— please help me.” You stammered, then more quietly added, “I need you.” 

“Shit.” Mingi said. “You’re all desperate.”

“I’m going into heat.” You huffed. “Of course I’m desperate.”

“No, I know. It’s just hot. You want a knot?”

His teasing sent a wave of arousal through you. “Stop it.”

“I don’t think so.” He smirked. “I like watching you squirm, y/n.”

You could feel slick leaking out of your hole, and you bit your lip.

“Enough, Min.” Hongjoong stood up. “I’m the captain, I’m going first.”

“Aw, but I don’t want to wait.” Mingi pouted. 

“Contact the others while I fuck her, then you guys can watch while you all wait your turn.”

You gave a long moan from where you were still crouched beside your bag. Hongjoong looked at you. “Slut. You like the idea of all of us fucking you, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. Hongjoong had never talked to you like this before, always sweet and gentlemanly as could be.

“When you text Woo, tell him he owes me.” Hongjoong said to Mingi, but he kept his eyes on you. “She seems to like being degraded, so I won that bet. Get on the bed for me, pretty.”

“Bet?” You obeyed, getting onto the bed.

“Me and Woo have had some money on your kinks.” He said, as if this were a perfectly normal thing to do.

Mingi snickered. “Pervert.”

You were, inexplicably, into this, and Hongjoong could tell it made you hornier. He laughed. “You smell even sweeter. You like that? Me and Wooyoung talking about how we’d like to fuck you?”

“Mhm.” You whined. “Can— um, can…” You trailed off, realizing how desperate your request sounded. 

“Use your words.” Hongjoong climbed onto the bed, over you, trapping you beneath him. “What is it?”

“Can you fuck me at the same time?” You whispered. 

Hongjoong grinned, turning over his shoulder. “Mingi, you can tell Woo there’s a consolation prize for losing.”

You whined as he looked back at you. “Please, Joong. Alpha. Need you.”

He slid his hand into your hair and pulled you into a searing kiss. “Need you too, pretty. Take all those clothes off, you’re not gonna need them.”

You hurried to obey him, getting your shirt and skirt off as fast as you could. 

“Look at your body.” He murmured, his eyes raking over you. “Absolutely beautiful.”

You blushed, more slick leaking out of you. “Please, Hongjoong.”

“Ah-ah.” He raised his eyebrows. “You call me alpha, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.” You whispered. “Please, alpha.”

He smirked. “How can I resist when you ask so nicely?”

You whimpered as his hand came down to rub at your pussy. His touch felt so good, and all you wanted was to whine and rut into his hand, but you restrained yourself.

“So well-behaved.” He remarked, pulling his hand back and rubbing his fingers together, watching your slick drip down his hand. “I just know you’re gonna feel so good around me.” With that, he pushed three fingers inside you, and you moaned. 

“Fuck, Hong—alpha.” You breathed. “Feels so good, alpha. I… I want your cock, though.”

“Greedy little thing.” He laughed softly. “You’re gonna fucking get it, aren’t you? So be patient.”

You bit your lip again as he began rubbing his thumb around your clit. “Does that feel good, pretty? Is that what you need?”

You swallowed. It was a trick question, and you weren’t going to answer it.

“Answer me.” He added a fourth finger. 

“Ah! Yes, it’s good, but I need more, please, Joong—alpha!” 

He sighed. “Can’t even remember what to call me. I guess I just gotta fuck that disobedience out of you, don’t I?”

“Yes.” You squeaked. “Yes, you do.”

Hongjoong pulled down his pants, freeing his hard cock. Your mouth began to water at the sight. He threw them across the room. “Mingi, when are the others coming?” You’d forgotten he was even there.

“Soon, I think.” 

You looked over Hongjoong’s shoulder to see Mingi watching you, his phone in his hand, practically drooling. 

“Good.” Hongjoong said. “I want to make good on Woo’s consolation prize.”

Fuck. He’d been serious? You couldn’t wait for Wooyoung to arrive. 

Hongjoong pushed his cock through your folds, coating it in slick. “So messy, pretty.”

You just watched him, breathing hard. 

He lined himself up with your entrance. You could just feel him starting to press himself in when there was the loud sound of a door opening. You, Hongjoong, and Mingi all turned around to look at it. 

San and Seonghwa walked in, both dressed in dark t-shirts and sweatpants. San’s eyebrows were raised as he took in the sight. “Oh, look at that, Hongjoong’s about to fuck y/n. What did you say, Mingi? She’s in heat?”

You could hear the smirk in Mingi’s voice. “Yeah, she’s definitely in heat.”

You didn’t even realize you’d started breathing so hard until Seonghwa walked over to you and put a hand over your mouth. “There. You can start, Joongie.”

“Don’t need your permission.” Hongjoong sounded a bit irked, but grinned at Seonghwa as he slid inside you. You moaned long and loud into Seonghwa’s hand. You felt so full… but it still wasn’t enough.

“Fuck me.” You asked, and it came out muffled, but Hongjoong could definitely tell what you meant because he laughed meanly.

“Is there something you want, pretty? Use your words, I can’t hear you.”

“Fuck me, alpha, please.” You tried again, and you could hear Seonghwa’s snicker. 

Hongjoong looked up at Seonghwa, pursing his lips. Seonghwa leaned down and gave him a long kiss. You were a little surprised. You didn’t know they did that. 

Hongjoong looked at you after a moment. “I guess I can start fucking her now.”

“You should.” Seonghwa took his hand away from your mouth. “She was about to bite my finger or something. She’s so fucking horny.”

You wanted to snap out that you were in heat, of course you were fucking horny, but you held back. You wanted to submit, to be a good girl (to be their good girl) more.

“Fuck.” San said from where he sat on the end of the bed. “Damn, she’s so wet, I call next.”

“I was here first.” Mingi said indignantly.

Hongjoong abruptly pulled his hips back before snapping them back into you. You gave a long moan. This was what you needed, someone to fuck you long and deep and hard, into the mattress, someone to fuck a litter into you, someone to knot you and breed you and—

San cut into your thoughts. “No, I said it first. You and I both know the second someone starts to dominate you you’re gonna want to be a good boy, so shut up before I have to punish you.”

San’s voice was smug, or you thought so, most of the thoughts had left your head as Hongjoong had started to fuck you in earnest. His cock was so big, and so good, and filled you up just right. You couldn’t fucking wait for him to knot you. 

Mingi and San went suspiciously quiet. Honestly, though, you didn’t even care who won the argument, who got your body next, so long as they kept going the way Hongjoong was going. 

The door clicked open again, and you whined as Hongjoong stopped. “Alpha, can you please— why’d you stop?”

“Wooyoung.” Seonghwa’s voice was practically a purr. 

You shivered. Wooyoung. 

“Hey, Woo, get over here.”

Wooyoung was in a black satin robe, a sash tied around his waist. His hair was wet, like he’d just gotten out of the shower. He smiled as he saw you. “Oh, God, you’re so gorgeous like this.”

“Right?” Hongjoong thrust inside again. “She feels so fucking tight. Want her mouth?”

Your eyes widened as Wooyoung smiled. “D’you want me, baby?”

“Yes.” 

Hongjoong pulled out for a brief moment to readjust, and you whined at the sudden emptiness. 

“Shh, pretty, it’s gonna be okay, you’ll be so full soon.” He murmured to you, helping you move so your head dangled over the side of the bed. You looked up to see Wooyoung untying his robe, revealing absolutely nothing underneath. He left it on, untied, as he gently pulled you close to him.

You were practically salivating at this point. His cock looked so good. He was gonna fill your mouth up, and Hongjoong—

Before you could finish your thought, Hongjoong pushed back inside you. You moaned, and Wooyoung took the opportunity to slide into your mouth. “So good for me.” He murmured, holding onto your hair. 

It felt so good, being full from both ends. “Fuck me.” You moaned, although it came out muffled and distorted around Wooyoung’s cock. “Fuck me, alpha.”

Hongjoong grunted and began to do as you’d asked, aligning his thrusts with Wooyoung’s so you were pushed back and forth between them. 

Through your cock-drunk haze you could hear Mingi whining. Your eyes darted over to him as best you could, only to see San pulling his cock out and slapping Mingi across the face with it before grabbing onto his hair. “Open up, slut.”

Mingi obeyed, his tongue lolling out. San groaned as he started to fuck Mingi’s face. Even just from glimpses you could see San’s cock was huge, much bigger than most betas. It was bigger than some alphas you’d seen, even.

You couldn’t wait for it to fuck you.

Hongjoong noticed. “Like watching Sannie fuck Mingi���s face, pretty?”

You moaned in the affirmative, spit leaking out around Wooyoung’s cock.

“Fuck, so messy.” Wooyoung sighed. “Such a good girl.”

That sent another shiver through you, and you looked up at him through your lashes. He sighed again. “Fuck, keep looking at me like that and I just won’t stop.”

You didn’t want him to stop. You looked at him for another moment before looking back over to San and Mingi, who were still… busy. 

Hongjoong and Wooyoung kept going as you watched them. San slapped Mingi, and as you watched his hands drifted down to his lap. San slapped him again. “No, bad boy. You don’t touch that alpha cock. That’s my job.”

“Fuck, San, tell him.” Wooyoung’s fingers tightened in your hair. “Make him be a good boy.”

Wooyoung’s commentary on San and Mingi’s oral was only making you wetter. It was really fucking hot to watch him make Mingi submit, and to see how whiny and teary Mingi got when he was being fucked, even in his mouth. You wondered what he’d look like with a cock at both ends. Like you.

Wooyoung and Hongjoong kept going, kept using you. Your body jerked between the two of them. You were mostly along for the ride. You could feel the slick between your legs as Hongjoong kept fucking into your pussy, and Wooyoung’s hands in your hair turned almost gentle, combing through it as he continued with your mouth. 

It was a nice contrast, Hongjoong rutting into you like a feral animal while Wooyoung stroked your hair and shallowly fucked your mouth. You closed your eyes. 

You opened them a second later as a loud whimper filled the room. You looked over to see Seonghwa yanking Mingi’s hair back, pulling him off San’s cock. “Sannie doesn’t get to cum yet, he’s not wasting it on you.”

Before you could see what they did next, Wooyoung’s hands suddenly fisted in your hair, pulling you down onto his cock. “Fuck, y/n, I’m gonna cum.” He held you in place, his hips moving madly. He was in your throat at this point, and fuck it felt so good to be so full at both ends, to be used so thoroughly by your band members. 

Wooyoung came, and you tried your best to be a good girl, to take it all, to let him use you, but you coughed as he pulled back.

“Good slut.” He whispered, leaning down to peck your forehead. 

You looked up at him with glazed eyes. “Good for you?”

“So good for me.” He smiled. 

You turned over your shoulder. “Please, need a knot.”

“A knot?” Hongjoong’s smirk was evident even in his somewhat breathless voice. “You want a knot, why not beg alpha for it?”

“Please!” You cried out, uncaring if you woke up the whole hotel. “Please, alpha, need your knot, need it so bad.” 

Hongjoong laughed, but it was more of a loud exhale with the effort of his thrusts. “I’ll give you a knot.”

He pushed into you, and you could feel something stretching you wide. 

Hongjoong’s knot. 

He came, deep inside you, his knot inflating. Wooyoung pressed a hand to your stomach, grinning at the way you felt full. “You really bred her, huh, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong reached around to hug you. “C’mon, pretty, relax with me.”

You hummed, pliant, laying down with Hongjoong as he curled up on the bed. Wooyoung joined you, pulling a blanket over your connected forms and cuddling into your other side.

“Thanks Woo, thanks, Joong.” You whispered. 

“No need to thank us.” Wooyoung kissed your neck, long and leisurely. “Always glad to fuck our favorite girl’s mouth. Whenever you want it.”

Hongjoong moved his leg, readjusting. You held back a moan at the slight motion of his cock inside you. “Yeah, we really should be thanking you, for letting us help you through your heat.”

“It’s not over yet.” You mumbled. “I’ve got a knot in me now, but as soon as it goes down… my heats tend to last some time.”

“Well, luckily for you, there are eight of us.” Hongjoong smiled.

The bed dipped as someone else got on. Wooyoung groaned in protest. “Hwa, let us have our moment.”

Seonghwa laughed softly. “I just wanted to join, not trying to ruin any moments.” 

You absently started to stroke Wooyoung’s hair with one hand while you reached out for Seonghwa with the other. 

Seonghwa smiled, leaning down to kiss you. “So beautiful, but you’re a needy thing, aren’t you?”

Out of the band’s members, you loved all of them in their own ways, but Seonghwa had always held a special allure. He was incredibly talented. The man played guitar and did vocals, none of the other members filled multiple roles like that. And he was sex on legs when he was onstage, singing duets with frontman San like they were in love. It drove the fangirls insane. 

And you, but that wasn’t something you’d wanted to admit until now. 

“Needy.” You nodded in agreement.

  Seonghwa gave you another, longer kiss. This one was sweet, but it had an undercurrent of seduction that yanked you in and kept you there. He was trying to turn you on again, and though Hongjoong’s knot was still locked inside you, it would not be a difficult task.

“Hwa… Joong’s still inside me.” You whined. 

Seonghwa bit your earlobe, making you twitch and gasp and arch your back. Hongjoong’s dick twitched inside you at that, and he groaned. 

“Well, as soon as he’s done, it’s my turn, isn’t it?”

The words sent shivers through you. “I thought San and Mingi were arguing about that.”

“They’re still… busy.” 

You looked over Seonghwa’s shoulder to see San sitting in the armchair Hongjoong had been in earlier, scrolling on his phone. His legs were spread, and Mingi knelt between them. “Don’t drool on my pants.” San said, his voice bored, but you could see the little smile tugging at his mouth. 

“Fuck.” You whispered. “That’s hot.”

“Mingi and San like to be rough.” Seonghwa smiled. “It’s quite fun to watch. You’ll have to join us more often.”

Hongjoong let out a strangled moan as you clenched down on him. You had no idea what they were, you had no idea what you were with them. You did know, however, that you loved them, and they loved you. And now everyone was fucking, you guessed? But whatever. It seemed to work.

And it seemed you’d fit in with them quite well.

 But you didn’t dwell on that too long, because when Seonghwa kissed you again, another wave of slick rushed out of you.

“Hongjoong.” You whimpered. “I need— I need—”

“I know.” Hongjoong kissed your neck. Wooyoung joined in, too, licking up the other side. “It’ll go down in just a second, and then Seonghwa can take his turn.” 

The phrasing, his turn, turned you on so much. Seonghwa, just like the others, got to use your body. They all would. 

You couldn’t help yourself, you rocked your body back onto Hongjoong’s cock. He hissed in overstimulation. You tried to be kind, to think of him, but your body just wanted to be fucked, more and more and more. You just held yourself back. 

They kept kissing you for a few more minutes, your body burning, until Hongjoong’s knot started to go down. You whined as he pulled out, suddenly empty. “Seonghwa…”

“I know, baby.” He got his pants off, and you almost started drooling at the sight of his long cock.

Seonghwa slid inside you, and you sighed at the sensation. “Fuck...”

Hongjoong and Wooyoung went off to shower, kissing you one more time before they left. Seonghwa set a languid pace, rolling his hips deep inside you. You were both panting after a few minutes, and you threw your head back. “Need it harder, alpha.”

Seonghwa laughed softly. “Alpha? I’m a beta, baby, but I’m happy to fuck you harder.”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Sorry, Hwa, I didn’t mean to…”

Seonghwa stopped for a moment to kiss your head. “Nothing to apologize for. If anything, it’s kind of a compliment. But I know you need a knot right now.”

You swallowed, nodding.

Seonghwa thrust into you a few more times before turning over his shoulder with a sly smile. “Mingi, get your submissive ass over here.”

Mingi pulled off of San’s cock, his eyes heavily lidded, spit dripping down his chin. He looked obscene, fucked-out without even having been fucked. 

“You heard him.” San patted his cheek just softly enough to be a pat and not a slap. “Get over there.”

“Mhm.” Mingi climbed onto the bed, sitting in front of Seonghwa. 

He smiled. “Such a good boy… why doesn’t our good fuckpet satisfy y/n? Give her the knot she needs.” His voice was patronizing, condescending, but based on the significant bulge in Mingi’s pants, he was getting off on it. 

Mingi nodded. “Wanna be a good boy for you, sir. Wanna make y/n feel good.”

A shiver ran through you. 

“Why don’t you take off your clothes, then, and lay down on your back.” Seonghwa raised his eyebrows. “That’s not a suggestion, Mingi.”

Mingi squeaked, moving faster than you’d ever seen him move to get his pants and shirt off. He propped himself up on the pillows, looking at Seonghwa with wide eyes. You couldn’t take your eyes off of his cock, standing hard and full.

Seonghwa smiled and scratched his head. Mingi leaned into his hand. “Good boy. Y/n, why don’t you come ride him for me?”

You inhaled sharply and pulled away from Seonghwa’s cock, instead positioning yourself over Mingi’s and grabbing onto his shoulder. He looked at you with the most pathetic, desperate expression you’d ever seen. “Please, y/n.”

You sank onto his cock, moaning as every inch of it filled you up. He whimpered as you seated yourself fully on him, staying still for a moment to adjust to his size. 

“Go on, baby. Use him.” Seonghwa encouraged, voice smooth as satin.

You took a breath and began to bounce on Mingi’s cock, moaning as he hit that spot inside you with every motion. Like the rest of him, his cock was big, and you were euphoric as you felt it deep inside you.

Seonghwa tilted your head towards him. You didn’t stop fucking yourself on Mingi, but you looked at him.

“Aw.” He simpered. “So sweet. The subs are playing nice. You wanna kiss me, baby?”

You nodded enthusiastically, desperately. “Yes, Seonghwa.”

“Sir.” He reminded you.

“Yes, sir.” You rushed to correct yourself. 

“Good.” He murmured, leaning in. He gave you a long kiss that might’ve been sweet if he hadn’t started biting your bottom lip. You moaned into his mouth.

Mingi’s whines were a sweet soundtrack to Seonghwa’s kisses. He sounded so desperate and submissive, a far cry from the Mingi you knew onstage or even off. 

“Can Mingi fuck me now?” You whined against Seonghwa’s mouth. “I’m tired.”

“Of course, baby.” Seonghwa helped position the two of you so Mingi could start fucking into you. He rubbed Mingi’s back for a moment before suddenly scratching down his spine. Mingi moaned, arching his back and pushing his cock deep into you.

“Good boy.” Seonghwa whispered. “Y/n wants you to fuck her, so make sure you do a good job.”

Mingi began rutting into you with the same fervor that Hongjoong had, only with a lot more whimpering and big puppy eyes. “Am I doing good for you, sir?”

Seonghwa grabbed Mingi’s hair and forced him to look at you. “Ask her if you’re doing good.” He looked at you. “Baby, be honest.”

“Am— am I doing good?” Mingi’s voice was small.

“So full.” You said, your voice breathy. “So good, Mingi, Seonghwa… Mingi,  don’t stop.”

Seonghwa laughed meanly. “For someone with such a nice cock, it’s kind of funny how little Mingi uses it.”  He yanked his head back. “He loves being stuffed full so much. So I’m sure this is a nice change of pace for him.”

Mingi looked at him. “She’s so tight… I’m gonna… sir, I can’t last much longer.”

“Knot her. Give her what she wants.” Seonghwa leaned down to speak into your ear. “He’s gonna breed you so full, isn’t he?”

Mingi pushed into you one last time before his knot expanded and you were locked together. You could feel him start to cum inside you, and you whined, shaking as your own orgasm overtook you.

When you came back into reality, Mingi was collapsed by your side, breathing hard. Seonghwa was furiously working his hand on his cock, and you watched, transfixed. 

“Good boy, Mingi.” He breathed. “Good girl, y/n. You both did so good for me.”

You made a pleased noise, and that seemed to send him over the edge. He spilled onto his fist, his hips jerking up into it.

“’M sorry I wanted a knot.” You muttered, feeling bad Seonghwa didn’t get to finish inside you.

“Don’t apologize, baby.” Seonghwa said, looking around for a towel. “You have no idea how much I like watching.”

Your face got hot at the words. “Oh… well… that’s good.”

He finally found one, wiping off his hands. Mingi wrapped his arms around you as Seonghwa laid down on your other side. You were sandwiched in a giant Minhwa hug, and it was heavenly. 

You didn’t quite fall asleep, but you were definitely drifting off cuddling with them. Having a knot inside you and two of your eight favorite people in the world with you made you feel happy and safe.

You heard the door open, but you didn’t care enough to look and see who it was, at least not until someone came over to you, and you heard two people messily kissing.

You opened your half-asleep eyes to see Mingi and Yunho making out, almost directly over your face. It was quite a sight to wake up to, and you moaned almost without realizing it. 

They broke apart, both smiling down at you. 

“Hi, sunshine.” Yunho leaned down to peck your forehead, and Mingi adjusted, moving his cock inside you. You whined at that, oversensitive but your body still craving more. 

They ignored you, kissing each other again. You could feel Mingi’s knot starting to go down, and you pushed yourself back onto him, chasing the fullness. It was too late, though, he was pulling out, whispering an apology to you. “Sorry, Yunho’s gonna go next, though, okay?”

Your body was so hot, the ache between your legs so strong that you just looked at Mingi with big eyes. “Is he gonna fuck me?”

Yunho laughed. “Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just make you lay there and stay still. Hold me deep inside you.”

You take a deep breath, trying to keep it together, but Yunho continues.

“You just wanna get fucked so bad, isn’t that right, you want me to breed you and make it feel so good… maybe I’ll just make you take me the way I want it, hm?”

You knew Yunho was an alpha. But he’d always been sweet and kind to you. He’d never teased you like this.

His large hands moved over your form, caressing you, your tits, your waist, your ass, rubbing your pussy. You stretched out, opening yourself up to all of him. 

He laughed and unzipped his pants, revealing his cock straining against his boxers. You whimpered just looking at the bulge. 

“Stop teasing, Yunho.” Seonghwa’s voice was playful. “Don’t you see how much she needs it?”

You gave Seonghwa a grateful look before turning your attention back to Yunho. “Please, Yunho.”

“I love your begging.” He smiled, but there was no kindness in it. It was toothy, almost predatory. He completely took his pants off and positioned himself over you like he was about to fuck you. His boxers were still on, and the cotton rubbed against your clit as he rubbed against you. You whined weakly, feeling almost dizzy with the need to be full.

“What did I say, Yunho.” Seonghwa’s voice was firmer now. “She’s in heat. Be nice.”

Yunho sighed, and before you knew what he was doing, you were flipped on your stomach, your knees propped up under you and your face pressed into the pillows. 

“You wanna get fucked?” Yunho’s voice was almost a growl. Clearly he was not happy at Seonghwa’s interference. “I’ll fuck you, sunshine.”

A thrill went through your body at his roughness. You could feel his tip at your entrance, and you took a deep breath. 

Yunho pushed inside in one swift motion, and the breath you’d just taken whooshed out of your lungs. He was so deep inside you, so big, so good…

And then he started moving. With every deep thrust, you felt like you might cum that second. He was so rough, his fingers digging into your hips. You knew for sure there would be bruises the next morning. 

Yunho fucked you like he hated you, and as he leaned over your back, you could feel he was still wearing his sweater and buttons from the show. The pins felt cold on your back, and you shivered. 

“You like it like that? You like it when I fuck you rough?”

You nodded. “Yes, alpha.” 

“You know, you really should share with Sannie.” Seonghwa’s voice was light, lilting. “He’s been waiting so patiently.”

You could hear rustling behind you, and a whimper that sounded like Mingi’s. It was probably San standing up, and you wondered if Mingi had returned to sucking him off as soon as his knot had gone down and he’d left the bed.

Yunho fucking growled. 

You whined, the display of dominance turning you on more, but the rest of the room went silent. 

“I’m so sorry.” Yunho said immediately, stilling his hips. “Oh my God, I did not mean to do that.”

“It’s okay.” San said, and he sounded genuine. “Take your time with y/n, I’ll get my turn after.”

You did your best to stay still, trying not to ruin their conversation, but you needed him fucking inside you. 

“Thank you, San.” Yunho’s voice turned to you. “You alright, sunshine?”

“Mhm.” Your voice was small. “Yes, Alpha.”

“You want more?” Yunho’s voice turned smooth, slippery. 

“Yes.” You breathed.

“Yunho?” 

You pushed yourself up from the bed at that voice. “Yeosang?” You hadn’t even heard him come in.

But there he was, sitting cross legged on the bed beside you. You could see the fabric between his legs was dark, clinging to his thighs with slick. 

“What is it, baby?” Yunho hummed.

Yeosang bit his lip. “I fear… y/n may be sending me into heat.”

Your head nearly spun at that. One omega sending another into heat was not something that happened often, not unless the pheromones were just right. It had to be the scents of the alphas in the room who’d already fucked you who had a relationship to Yeosang, right? It couldn’t be you?

Yeosang smelled sweet, smelled needy. You whined. 

“Hey, Sannie? I have an idea.” Seonghwa said. “Why don’t you fuck Yeosang while you wait your turn.”

“Fuck.” San sighed. “I would love to, but I gotta keep disciplining this little slut for now.” There was a strangled noise from probably Mingi. 

You could hear Seonghwa’s smirk in his voice. “Joong? Wanna get over here and fill Sangie up?”

“I can do that.”

You’d almost forgotten about Hongjoong and Wooyoung. You looked around for them and saw Wooyoung laying on the other bed, watching, as Hongjoong got up to position Yeosang beside you. 

He smiled at you. “Hi, y/n.”

“Hi, Yeosang.” You breathed. He was so beautiful, still in his stage makeup, with bronze blush and little star freckles dotting his cheeks. “You’re so pretty.”

“You’re pretty.” 

“Can I kiss Yeosang?” You looked over your shoulder at Yunho.

He laughed, thrusting his hips into you. Your head fell back on the pillow in front of you. 

“Yeah, you can kiss him.”

You pulled your head up and looked at Yeosang for a moment, just taking him in. His expression went blissed-out for a moment as Hongjoong slid inside him, and you took that opportunity to pull his face to yours and kiss him.

“Mm, y/n.” He moaned into your mouth. “You taste so good.”

“Wooyoung.” You explained. 

You and Yeosang kept kissing, your hands slowly getting a little more exploratory with each other, while Yunho fucked you and Hongjoong fucked him. It felt so fucking good to have him inside you, and to have two pairs of warm hands on your body. 

You were dimly aware of Seonghwa moving to the other bed, and based on the sounds you were hearing he was touching Wooyoung, but you were too caught up in Yunho and Yeosang to really care. 

You could barely breathe for the size of Yunho’s cock inside you. He wasn’t quite as big as Mingi, but he still felt delicious inside you, hitting spots inside you that made you sigh and whine in pleasure. This was a side of him you’d never seen, and it made you feel so good.

“Fuck me.” You whined. 

“I am, sunshine.” Yunho gripped your hips tighter. “You’re already kissing Sangie, do you need someone else to come over and shut you up with their cock?” His voice turned into a whisper that edged on a growl. “No one else is touching you till I’m done with you.”

Yunho’s possessiveness was really fucking hot. He was a man possessed, fucking you with the fervor of an acolyte worshipping their god. 

Yeosang whimpered, and you looked at him. His eyes were squeezed shut, tears beading at their corners, and his mouth was wide. You wondered what he’d look like choking on someone’s cock— Mingi’s giant one, maybe. Although it seemed from what Seonghwa had said he wasn’t going to be fucking anyone’s face. Maybe they used Yeosang as a punishment. He’d have to hold Mingi in his mouth while Mingi stayed completely still. You could see it in your mind’s eye, Mingi looking at Hwa or Hongjoong and absolutely begging to thrust down Yeosang’s throat, and them denying him time after time. Maybe he’d even cry.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by a particularly rough thrust from Yunho, and you cried out as you felt his knot starting to build at your entrance. “Fuck, Yunho, knot me, please.” You cried. 

“Beg a little harder.” He snarled. 

“Please, please, Yunho, please!” 

“That’s it.” He held you in a punishing grip, forcing his knot into you. You held your hand to your stomach, feeling the bulge of him inside you. He began to cum, groaning, and your orgasm hit you at the same moment. You arched your back, pushing you into a kiss with Yeosang, who returned it with a whine.

Yunho slumped on top of you, pressing a kiss onto your back. “You feel so fucking good, sunshine. Taking my cock so good.”

You sighed. “You feel so good, Yunho.”

The door opened one more time. You knew who it had to be. 

“Jongho.” San said. “Welcome to the orgy!” 

You could smell him as soon as he walked into the room. You’d forgotten he’d started entering pre-rut right after the show, and had decided to sequester himself in his room. It seemed Mingi’s text had encouraged him to come take a turn with you. 

Yunho’s knot went down quickly, deflating at the scent of another alpha clearly ready to fuck you into submission. The look in Jongho’s eyes was downright predatory, but the rest of his expression looked a bit nervous. He was chewing on his lip. “Hey y/n… do you still… need someone?”

You could feel yourself growing distressed at the sensation of so many ateez member’s cum leaking out of you. “Yes, Jongho, please, I need you to fill me up.”

Jongho’s clothes were off him in a flash, and he was on top of you. You were briefly worried that Yunho would get aggressive again, but he seemed spent, moving to take your place making out with Yeosang on the other half of the bed. 

“Not so fast, Choi.” San stood up. “I’ve been waiting though everyone else, it’s my turn.”

Jongho looked thoughtful for a moment. “What if we shared?”

San raised his eyebrows. “I’m listening.”

“I’ll get inside her… and then you can join me.” He looked between your legs. “I think her little hole can take it.”

You clenched around nothing, breathing hard. The thought of both of them inside you at the same time, fucking you in rhythm, was almost more than your heat-addled brain could handle. You needed them so bad you could barely even get out a whine, your desire choking you.

San smiled. “I like that idea.”

Jongho lined himself up with you, everyone’s cum and your slick making it an easy slide inside. You still gasped as he filled you up. Jongho was so thick, you wondered how San would fit. 

“Fuck.” Jongho’s voice was low. “I’m gonna knot you so hard.”

You took a shaky breath, lifting your hips weakly in an effort to get him to move. 

He laughed and grabbed your legs, starting to push in and out. Your eyes started to lose focus. 

“San, get over here.”

You weren’t even paying attention to how they were positioning themselves, your eyes fixed on the ceiling, but you could feel a finger enter beside Jongho’s cock. 

The stretch was so good. It was intense, but you could handle it. You wanted more. You wanted both of them. 

“More.” You choked out. 

“Slut.” San bit out. “I’ll give you more.” He bypassed two fingers and skipped straight to three. “Good, taking it so well. You’re gonna need to be prepared if you want both of us.”

“Want both of you.”

San sighed. “So impatient.” You could feel something bigger pressing at your entrance, beside Jongho. San swore, Jongho made a high noise, and you panted as he slowly pushed himself inside of you. 

“Beautiful.” Jongho reached down to brush away a piece of your hair. “Beautiful girl.”

You made a pleased noise.

And then you couldn’t make any noise at all as they began to fuck you, alternating thrusts. First San’s cock, then Jongho’s, then San’s, then Jongho’s. It was so much, and the rhythm was uneven at the beginning, making it even nicer when they settled into it. You were overstimulated, your body trembling and leaking slick and taking it so well, as Jongho and San kept telling you.

The room had descended into debauchery. Hongjoong and Yeosang were still going at it, with Yunho stroking Yeosang’s cock. Seonghwa and Wooyoung had begun to fuck Mingi from both ends, and he looked like he was in heaven. And of course Jongho and San were both deep inside you.

You hadn’t expected your night to go like this, not even a little bit, but you were so glad for the turn it had taken.

Jongho groaned. “I’m gonna cum, Sannie.”

San sighed. “Ugh, fine.” He moved up towards your face and held his cock in front of your mouth. “Get me off, y/n.”

You practically started salivating at the sight of his cock, opening your mouth and starting to lick at his tip. 

Jongho gave a few more strong thrusts before his knot inflated. Your eyes rolled back in your head as he locked himself inside you and started to cum, weakly sucking on San. 

As your orgasm passed, you flopped on your back, completely exhausted. 

“It’s okay, baby, I can finish myself off.” San whispered, kissing your forehead. “You were so good for us.” 

You finally felt satiated for the night, satisfied, now that all eight of your boys had had the chance to take a turn with you. Your heat hadn’t broken yet, but you felt safe now. If you had them with you, everything would be okay.

And as the rest of them finished up and crawled on the bed to cuddle with you and the others, you thought that this was what a pack must feel like. 

[mageofmadness]

PUPPY CALEB GOING INTO RUT

(2.1k) ૮˶- ﻌ -˶ა⌒)ᦱ nsfw [18+] includes: puppy!caleb, fem!reader, rut, knotting, slight a/b/o themes (kind of, not really), dirty talk, pet names, creampie and breeding kink, messy, wet, 'n sick as always. questionable puppy hybrid dynamics but it’s porn so the how doesn’t really matter, right?

caleb loves nothing more than being your mutt. your puppy boy.

he belongs to you, and by your side is where he’s meant to stay. if you’re somewhere, best believe he’s standing close behind with an arm around your waist or a hand on the back of your neck. he’s territorial, something others have picked up on and caleb felt bad about it until you admitted how much it turns you on. how much you love it. crave it, too. how much you don’t care about what everyone else thinks, and how jealous you get over others looking at and admiring what is yours.

the chain around his neck might as well be a collar with his owner's information on it, and he never misses an opportunity to show you who he belongs to.

sure, you tease him sometimes for his inclinations. caleb can’t help it though—that he can smell when you’re sweetest and your body needs him the most. when he can sense how wet you're going to be before his fingers ever find your needy, little clit. every month, towards the end of the last week, he finds himself waking up and calling off work. caleb lets them know he won't be in for a few days, and he shoots off a text to your work as well, letting them know the same thing on your behalf.

[7:21 am] i’m so sorry, i’m feeling under the weather and am not going to be able to come into the office today. i’ve got a doctor's appointment later and will send you an update with what they say.

caleb is sensitive when going into rut. he needs you here, by his side, and you cannot stray.

he always has a bit of lingering guilt, looking at you curled up in bed. sweet and innocent, asleep in one of his old t-shirts and a raggedy pair of underwear from ages ago. soft skin that stretches for miles and fading bruises from the past week on your thighs and hips. you look so…precious. small. docile and perfect for him. it makes spit collect in his mouth, even more so than usual.

sometimes, he can’t help but fall back asleep, waiting for you to get up. if he’s lucky, caleb rouses later to you petting his ears. your fingers combing through his hair, brushing over the scruff of his neck, and all of it makes him shiver. caleb wakes from sleep hot and hurting, near drooling and whimpering from the ache trapped in his sweatpants and the way your fingers dance where he’s most sensitive.

you always ask if he wants to play, always ask what he needs, and the way caleb buries his head in the crook of your neck, rutting his aching cock against your hip, tells you enough. you sigh, turning around in bed and slipping your hand into his boxers.

caleb can’t help but bite.

he tries to be gentle, he really does, but when your warm fingers are wrapped around his cock and you’re letting him sloppily jerk his hips, he can't help but groan. he can't help but growl, low in his throat, as sticky pre-come slides over your knuckles.

caleb can’t help that he likes when his owner scolds him. says, in that tone of voice you get, “no biting, don’t make me get the leash.”

“bad dog.”

he whines. caleb hates the leash and the way it keeps you from him. the way he comes so hard when it’s wrapped around his throat and you tug just right as he spills inside of you. it’s pathetic, but how else is he meant to show you that he’s yours? what better way than to let you use the leash to bury his cock that much further into your pussy, kissing your cervix and using him however you see fit.

“m’a good dog,” he pants, begging for you to understand. “m’sorry baby, i–i can’t help it. i promise, ngh. wanna be your good boy, please.”

“i need to fill you up…fuck you sloppy. oh fuck.”

caleb can hardly breathe when you turn around, letting the blankets fall so he can see the way you present for him. knees in the mattress, back arched and ass up. he swallows, yanking your underwear down and tossing it away.

“show puppy where you want it, baby. m’too dumb to remember. need to know where you want it, sweetheart. show me your little hole.”

he watches in awe as you move to spread yourself. giving him a perfect view of your tight holes. caleb moans, excitement making him shake from how you’re going to look after he’s done with you. swollen and over-sensitive. red and slick from the abuse of his cock stretching you open and apart for hours. he runs a hand over the small of your back, squeezing your waist before he can’t help himself any longer and slips a single finger into your pussy.

feeling how wet you are, how needy you are for him. how one finger doesn’t seem to be enough. caleb leans closer, letting his breath ghost over your fluttering hole as he tugs it open. he fits another finger inside, spreads them wide and feels you shake. inspecting your perfect pussy, still just as perfect, to make sure it’s ready for him.

“you're so good to me, thank you, honey. so good for puppy. ‘m so, so lucky,” his words trail off as he plays with your sticky mess. seeing how far he can stretch you open before you whine and start to writhe. “always make puppy feel so good, can i make you feel good, sweetheart? please?”

“where do you want it?” he asks, brushing his thumb over your other hole. pawing at you as he bites his lip, knowing the first day of his rut is too rough. he can’t. caleb often loses himself, and he doesn’t want to hurt you with how wide he’d like to stuff every hole you have. how bad he wants to watch your tight ass take his cock. he knows it would feel like heaven.

still, he asks, “which hole, baby? c’mon, tell me where you need it.”

“m’pussy,” you whimper, pressing back into his prodding fingers.

“here? like this?” caleb asks, rutting his sticky pre-come mess against the back of your thighs, groaning when the tip of his cock catches on your cunt and you jump. “how does my girl want it?” he asks, leaning over and crowding you, whispering into your ear. “tell me, baby. you know i’ll give you whatever you want. anything you need, honey, it’s yours.”

caleb’s favorite thing is the lip you give him right before you slip under. right before you give in to the thick weight of his cock that’s too deep, when you’re meeting his thrusts, greedy about every inch of him and how it’s yours. how it’s only meant to be buried deep inside of you, driving you wild and dirty.

“h-harder,” you demand. “don’t tell me you dont know how to use that puppy cock.”

it always turns to begging in the end, though.

depending on how well he fucked you the night before and how sensitive you are from that. how well you slept or how much you feel like being a brat today. caleb lives for the moment he feels your hips settle, when there’s no resistance as he slams his cock into you over and over and you take it like such a good girl. the best girl. the sticky sound of your pussy wanting this so much it’s dripping onto the sheets. it drives you crazy but that’s when he loses himself, too.

when you’re babbling and whimpering. praising him, “m–my good boy. such a good boy, so–so good for me. p–please, hngh. please, can i come? i cant…i–i cant—”

he lives for your praise. he’d die by it.

“you take it so well, fuck. so good. wish…wish you’d let me let me knot you,” caleb pants. letting the fantasy take hold. he’s dreamed of it, but as much as you beg for it, he doesn’t want to hurt you. but right now, “oh, fuck. please, can i? know you can take it. it would feel so good sweetheart, please let me. please, please…i need it.”

you give in, immediately clawing at the sheets when you feel him begin to swell. caleb starts to feel the resistance and can’t help but curse, watching the filthy sight before him. your cunt struggling to take what he has for you, the way it stretches and you whimper but cannot help but fuck back, trying to swallow his knot whole.

it’s a tight fit and it looks like it hurts, but the way you beg for more makes him see stars and the look he sees on your face when you glance back, blindly throwing a hand behind you to search for him, teary-eyed and gone but no less determined to take it, is beautiful. you’re beautiful, from the blush on your cheeks, the sweat sticking to your skin, all the way to the thighs that shake from the stretch.

when his knot pops inside, when caleb feels it settle inside of your warm walls, twitching and coming around him, caleb actually loses his mind. 

“fuckin’ made for this, look at that. you took it so easy, honey. should have known it would fit perfect, you’re my princess after all, huh?”

“you want more? i think you do. sounds like you do, baby. wish you could see what ‘m seeing right now. don’t know if this pussy will ever be tight again.”

caleb's voice is rough as he whispers in your ear, "that's okay, though. good thing i like you like this, hm? i love it when you're a messy girl and oh, don't cry baby. 'm right here, yeah? right here, you feel me?"

you’re gone, and caleb does what he does best—takes care of you. he presses his chest to your sweaty back, protects you from the world as he fucks into you hard and fast. like an animal. unable to move too much from being locked by the knot, it bullies against your swollen cervix with every thrust.

“we just need to fill you up, see?” he pants, feeling the way your walls milk him as he swallows his groans. as he bites down the need to use teeth. caleb kisses away tears as they fall down your cheeks. “can you be good and take it all for puppy? yes? oh, it feels good? fuck, hah, baby. you have no idea. i…i—“

“not a drop—i don’t want a single drop to spill from this pussy, you hear me?”

“I know, i know. you’re all stretched open and sloppy, but you can do that for me, can’t you? it’s all for you, baby. please, hngh, oh fuck. take it. there you go baby, yeah. squeeze and tighten up. no messes.”

when he finally spills inside of you, when he feels his come settle deep in your cunt, right where it needs to be, caleb is out of breath and burning hot. 

“s–so tight,” he hisses. “being so good for me, sweetheart. shh, im almost done, just a little longer. i’ve got a little bit more for you, baby. you’ve gotta take it...need you to take it f’me.”

“no, no,” he tsks when you start to squirm. “no moving or it won’t stick, princess.”

“good princesses let their puppies fill them up, right? they let them breed them full. you’re so good to me, baby. so good letting me take care of this pussy when i need her.”

caleb loves letting his cock hold you down, buried to the hilt as you sigh and clench from the overuse. moaning about how it feels so good. so warm and thank you and when you panic the moment he goes to pull out, whining like a bitch in heat for the cock that just ruined you, he can’t help but laugh softly.

caleb licks and bites, taking the time to sneakily nip at your skin when he can finally pull all the way out. his cock gives a pathetic twitch at the sight of your hole. sticky and drooling, too. fluttering, trying to close around nothing, and certainly not as tight as it had been that morning. gaping slightly.

caleb traces a gentle finger around the rim as he places a kiss on your lower back, feeling you jolt. he watches as his come slowly begins to dribble out over his fingers, and sighs.

“i told you not a drop, baby. what’s all this drooling out of your pussy?”

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