#so many that use important sounding words to say things of little importance

[lady-asbestos]

anyone else notice how academic culture and institutions are so obsessed with looking like they have dignity that they forget to actually have any dignity? shit's kinda fucked

[lxnarphase]

𓇼 FUCK HER, FLIP HER, BEND HER BACKWARDS !

❤︎₊‧⁺...synopsis : the church always says sex for pleasure is a sin, and nanami kento is a man of the lord. but fuck, if his wife isn't worth sinning for. wc: 4.3k

❤₊‧⁺...cw : n. kento x fem!reader, religious themes, traditionalist views on sex and marriage, loss of virginity, missionary to mating press, breeding kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, nanami loses himself in your pussy, slight cum play, dirty talk

❤₊‧⁺...lunar's note : am i unintentionally coping with religious trauma? possibly but it is fun :33 anyways based of this! forgive me if my writing is a bit rusty, it's been a while but enjoy !!

the two of you have spoken about eventually having children many times, but knowing the steps it took...it kept you both pushing it back, knowing eventually you'd both be ready.

after speaking with doctors, asking for advice from the church, and having you grumble about the neighbors who welcomed a cute baby girl, the two of you figured it was time.

you did your best to act normal all dayl, trying not to seem to nervous or too excited as you went about your chores for the day.

it may just be an act to procreate, but...it's still your first time with nanami. you want it to at least feel special.

there was nothing in the bible that went against that, right?

well, you have plenty of time to overthink since it seems that your dear husband will be at work late. to pass the time, you wait upstairs in your shared bedroom, the TV on as a distraction.

you're so stuck in your own world that you don't even notice him in the doorway before he clears his throat, leaning in the doorway. "oh! hi, honey, welcome home!" you go to stand up, but he holds up a hand, making you stop before you can get up from the bed.

it's silent, aside from the noise from the TV, and you can feel your stomach flip in anticipation.

has...has he always looked that handsome?

he continues to stand by the door, still not making eye contact. "you said it...starts today, correct," nanami questions, focused on undoing the straps of his watch. it shouldn't be attractive, it's such a simple task...yet it has your stomach doing flips as you nod.

"mhm, my, uh...ovulation starts today." it's such a weird thing to say, it just makes everything feel so...clinical. but that's how it's supposed to be, right? those who use sex for pleasure instead of procreation are sinners, or whatever the reverend at the church says.

"mm."

slowly pulling it off, he sets the watch on the dresser before shutting the bedroom door

"good."

dear god in heaven, you think to yourself, struggling to swallow the saliva pooling inside your mouth as he starts to undress. please forgive me for such inappropriate thoughts about my husband.

he removes his suit jacket—black today, it seems—placing it carefully on his desk chair, followed by his cufflinks and tie. his shirt is next, each button popping to reveal his strong, well-maintained physique.

you have to stop yourself from pumping your fist in the air for getting so lucky with such an attractive man as your husband. too busy ogling him like a horny teenager, you miss him undoing his belt before tugging them down and stepping out of his boxers.

once you do realize he's fully undress, you blush hard once he approaches the end of the bed—it took everything out of you not to stare at that...monster hanging between his legs, dear lord—and climbs onto it, making his way to hover over you.

his eyes roam up and down your body, taking in the pretty silky night dress you had on. It’s a soft blue with lacy white trim with little intricate flower designs.

modest, yet sensual.

"this is new," he comments, voice low and sultry. you can't help but wonder if he meant to sound so...so...

you don't find the correct word for it, but this new tone lights a fire in your stomach that has your r thighs squeezing together just a little bit.

"well, i figured it was an important night...you know, finally popping our cherries a-and starting a family?"

it's a weak attempt at humor, your voice clearly giving away your nervousness. you just pray that he ignores it.

a soft hum leaves him, his fingers playing with the intricately designed lace trim. the idea that you want to make this whole ordeal special, that you want to give yourself to him wholly, and that you want to swell with his child...

it pleases him greatly, a small smile touching his lips.

"well, aren't you sweet, my dearest?"

such simple words, yet they relieve so much tension from your shoulders. you can't help but smile back before a little gasp falls from your lips when his hands start to lift the dress up. his hands, they're so big, so hot on your skin.

It's a struggle to remember that this is for the purpose of producing offspring and nothing else, but you try, you try so hard.

but when you hear the hitch in his breath at the realization you didn't have anything else underneath the dress after he pulls it over your head, it's hard to remember.

the thought just about completely leaves your mind at the way nanami, your usually put-together husband, looks so hungrily down at you, a look you've never seen before in those pretty hazel eyes.

his gaze lingers on your body for a moment, mouth opening before shutting instantly, preventing himself from saying something he'd likely regret.

calm down, kento, he reminds himself, taking a second to clear his mind. this is for the purpose of family, not sinful and carnal desires.

even so, he's drinking in the sight of you, unable to stop his hands from rubbing up and down your sides, the soft skin of you, his wife, warming his palms. all his.

"gorgeous," he mumbles, unaware he even said it.

the moment you feel his leaking cock brush against your leg, a thought occurs to you.

neither one of you has a single idea of how to do this.

sure, you both know enough about putting it inside and moving, but that was about it. is there something else you should do? things you should say, places you should touch to aid in the process?

they never explained the actual process of sex in church, and lord knows your mother and father would've keeled over and died instantly if you were to ask them.

'it comes naturally when god deems it your time' the reverend stated once during a sermon. you fight back a frown, realizing that man probably had even less of an idea of how to do it.

however, the feeling of his tip nudging against your slit rips a gasp out of you, bringing you back into the present.

"are you alright? you left me for a bit there," nanami asks, his brow furrowed in worry. if you weren't ready, he was willing to back off. he may want to fulfill this important aspect of marriage, but...not if you don't want it.

"n-no, i'm okay! just...wondering how all of this is going to work out," you softly reassure, giving a weak giggle.

he can't blame you, he isn't very sure either. but as the man of the house and as your husband, he didn't plan on letting you worry. he would do all the work, you just needed to lay there looking so pretty, so soft, so...he realizes he's doing it again, letting his mind wander to places it shouldn't.

"just...j-just relax, we will figure it out as we go along."

with your silent nod, nanami starts to push his hips forward, hissing silently when he realizes the wetness that greets him.

you were this aroused just from...talking?

the thought of scolding you for letting your mind wander crossed his own, but...it would be hypocritical when his cockhead is dribbling precum all over your soft mound.

you choke out a noise of pain when his cock finally notches onto you and starts to push inside. sure, your wetness helped get the tip and the few inches after it inside, but just that is already too much for you, and you're expected to take all of it?!

you do your best not to move, not really sure what you should be doing. you'd be a good wife and bear with the pain if you had to, your nails digging into the pillow under your head as you braced yourself for the rest of his cock.

but this is absolutely unbearable, how do other women bear with this and have 6 or more children?!

a flicker of concern flashes through nanami's eyes at the sound you made, and he stops moving forward. he may be a bit mean sometimes, but he wasn't cruel.

if you both are going to go through with this, he is not going to make you suffer and nor is he going to force you to endure a painful experience.

no true man of god would do such a thing.

"breathe, don't hold it in," he instructs, his voice somehow calm and collected. one of his hands laces with yours, hoping to provide some sort of comfort as his lips brush against your forehead. "i've got you, darling, the pain will pass, just...tell me to stop if it gets too bad. don't hold it in."

giving a soft nod, you try to match his breathing, your body relaxing and making it easier for nanami to slip the rest of himself inside, a near silent sigh escaping him. the tightness and initial resistance that greeted him nearly made him moan, his cock twitching violently inside of you.

something about the physical feeling and knowledge that you saved yourself for him like you promised years before you both got married sent a surge of possession and pride, knowing he has such a loving and faithful wife who is so willing to give herself up to him like this...he can only hope you feel the same knowing he saved himself for you and only you.

so, as a 'reward'—and totally not because he fears you'll strangle his cock off with how tight you are—he's so gracious to you, not moving to let you get used to the stretch and feel of him inside, the room silent except for your matching breathing.

a few moments go by, and you should feel embarrassed when you feel slick drip out of you and down your ass. the realization that your dearest husband, one of the most faithful men of the church, is letting his cock soak inside of your hot cunt makes you whine a little, slick walls fluttering around him.

he's so fucked.

"a-ah...i'm going to move now," he warns, taking your sudden noise as a good sign. nanami shifts his legs just a bit before giving an experimental thrust, his brow furrowing as he slowly finds a rhythm.

the feeling of your hot and gummy walls is absolutely intoxicating, divine, nothing he's ever felt before.

this is what it felt like?

this is what he waited for?

fuck, it felt...it felt so good.

too good.

for you, the pain completely melts away, and you silently thank god and the angels above for giving you a merciful husband who is so kind as to wait for you to loosen up around him.

little do you know, he would rather kill himself than start moving when you're still adjusting to the pain and stretch.

his gentle movements make you all but melt under him, your eyes fluttering at the unbelievable pleasure coursing through your veins.

no wonder your parents preached about saving yourself until marriage, and thank the heavens you listened.

the very thought of feeling this way with anyone but your kento puts a bad taste in your mouth.

meanwhile, nanami chants prayers in his head over and over again as he tries his best to focus on the 'true' purpose for this.

the sticky, wet, and gooey sensation of your plump cunt sucking him, practically weeping each time he pulls out is just unfair.

the poor man, he's fighting so hard to maintain his composure, to not succumb to the base instincts that those soft moans of yours are beginning to stir within him.

"s-shush, darling," he grits out, hips still following his slow, deep pace. "don't...don't make such noises," he all but pleads, voice tinged with a huskiness that betrayed his growing need for you.

“i-i’m sorry! just, it...feels good, y-you feel good, feels s-so good,” you whisper, hands coming up to cover your mouth and stifle those sickeningly sweet noises.

but of course, that isn’t enough because each push and pull of his cock stirs your drooling cunt, filling the room with wet, filthy squelching sounds.

nothing about this is holy, nanami thinks as he grits his teeth, hands fisting in the sheets next to your head.

look at her.

those soft, muffled noises are truly music to his ears, his pace morphing from the slow, deep grind into a faster pace as your soft body gives into the pleasure.

so wet, so damn tight around my cock., like she never wants to let me pull out.

"k-kento, y-you're goin' too deep, i-i can't be quiet, s'too much!"

messy little pussy, 's beggin' for cum, needs it, needs to feel my tip kissin' her cervix as i pump load after load into her womb.

he knows what that little voice is, and no matter how much he wants to claim that it’s the sound of demons pouring their sinful words into his mind, he knows that it's his thoughts, fueled by those dirty little noises that she can't hold back.

how pitiful, how sinful, doesn't she know she's going against all the teachings they've heard preached every weekend in their church?

doesn't she know she's giving into lust?

doesn't she know her pretty sounds are making his dick throb, painting her insides with his hot, gooey precum?

"hush, 'm not going to t-tell you again, you...you need to be quiet," he growls, the command lacking its earlier authority.

nanami also knows lying is a sin, and he's doing a damned lot of it right now as he tries to convince himself that you need to stay silent. after all, this—this is just a process of giving you both a child, just like you wanted, and nothing else.

but he's lying to himself.

he needs you to be quiet or else he'll lose it.

the poor man is barely holding onto his restraint, and these sweet noises pouring from your mouth aren't helping at all.

"y-you make this so difficult sometimes, my dear..." his voice is rough with need and desire, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. "but, by god, you're...you're. absolutely. exquisite."

he punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his hips into you in a way that has the coarse hair on his crotch to rub against your clit. the pleasure it gives you is electric, your legs coming up to squeeze his hips as you try to grind with him.

his words, his simple praise only makes you hiccup his name, crying out louder as your watery eyes roll back as your needy cunt squeezed down on his fat cock.

you're such a sweet thing, trying oh-so hard to mute your sounds. each snap of his hips is all but driving you insane.

“i-i can’t, ken, y-you don’t understand, i-it feels so good, i-i’m so full! you’re pressing against all the good spots, kentoo, i-i love you s' much, b-but i can't!”

be a good fucking husband and do what you were made to, nanami kento.

his teeth dig into his bottom lip, trying to hard to ignore that temptation purring in the back of his mind.

the voice is so much louder now, echoing throughout his mind and muting any prayers or pleads to be mindful of the sanctity of this whole process.

fuck her. give her what she needs, what she deserves.

but it's too fucking hard, he can't his hips are speeding up, his strong hands moving to grip your thighs, unaware of how they start to anchor behind your knees.

breed your pretty little wife and give her a baby like she deserves.

with a deep groan, nanami finally loses all control, fingers digging into your supple thighs to push them to your chest and practically folding you in half.

this new angle has him openly moaning like a dirty whore, allowing him to plunge even deeper into your tight, gummy walls, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each and every deep thrust.

"k-ken, kenny, k-ken," you sob, tears catching onto your lashes as your entire being is assaulted by the endless pleasure your husband is giving you. he doesn't even look like your kento anymore, his pupils blown so wide that you can barely see the ring of greens and brown of his iris.

"f-fuck. 's all your fault, you know that," he hisses, eyes narrowing as he weakly glares down at you. but you can see the hearts in his eyes as he gives in to the pleasure.

his dark eyes bore down into yours, the wet plap plap plap plap of his hips slamming into yours almost overpowering his voice. "if y-you just stayed quiet like i asked, w-we wouldn't be here."

a little spurt of wet gushes out of you, making his fall forward into the juncture of your neck with a groan at the dirty noise it makes,

"god, i-i can feel it, y'know? can feel this sticky pussy—such a dirty little pussy—makin' such a mess. saved it jus' for me, didn't you, baby? mmhm—fuckin' hell, 's tight—thank you god f' giving me such an angel of a wife." nanami is huffing nonsense against your neck, pounding into you with a force that has the bed creaking loudly.

if you weren't being fucked stupid, you would be worried he was about to break the bed.

"you can keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, b-but you jus' had to have the noisiest little cunt."

he's so mean, but it only serves to make you gush even more, the way juices pour out of you and only make the already filthy noises even nastier.

"she's talkin' to me, baby, y'hear it? i'm...i-i'm gonna breed you," he manages to whine into your ear, pulling away to press his sweaty forehead against yours.

his tongue, so pink and pretty—you want it in your mouth, want to taste it want to feel it against yours—runs over his top lip as he watches drool drip down the corner of your mouth while you nod brainlessly.

nanami's never felt so dirty, so unhinged, but it feels so right, feels so fucking good. he never wants to leave your pussy, never wants to pull out, this is where he belongs, buried deep inside you as his cock pumps load after load right into your tummy, giving you what you need, what you deserve.

"yeah? you want that? i'll give it to you, baby, promise, 'm gonna be a good husband a-and knock you up, gonna make you a mommy."

that has you keening, tears pouring down your cheeks at the pleasure it shoots up your spine. you know you're close, but it's different.

it feels different, feels too much, there's pressure you've never felt before from the few times you'd cave in and play with your puffy, swollen clit in the shower when you waited for nanami to get home from work to kiss you to sleep.

no, you feel like you are about to fucking explode. "ken, i-i can't, 'm gonna—s-something's coming," you try to warn, your hands fisting in his hair as you tug and tug and tug.

the pull of his hair makes him moan like a slut, it sounds so fucking good. his eyes are rolling back before he rushes to comfort you, pressing soft little open-mouthed kisses against your lips.

you don't need to fight it, you just need to give it to him, give him what he needs.

"shh, shh, don' cry, y' look t'pretty, honey. l-let it happen, cum for me, i've got you, angel, cum for me s-so i can fill you up," he coos, his hips growing erratic as he feels your silky walls starting to fluttering around him, feeling you teeter on the edge of release.

he shifts, just barely, just enough to better position himself to fuck deeper into you. but that slight movement has his cock smushing against something soft and spongy that makes you sob, growing softer and more pliant under him, and you know you are done for as all you can do is wail his name.

"please, pretty girl, cum for me, show me how good 'm making you feel, soak my cock, c'mon, you can do it."

with a loud mewl that nearly has nanami soaking your walls in cum, you dig your nails into his biceps as you finally, finally cum. and you're right, it is different, your cute pussy squirting and creaming all over his dick.

the poor man is choking back a whine, eyes wide in shock as your cunt just gushes slick everywhere, clenching around him like a vice as you cum.

your juices are soaking his cock and balls, splattering against his lower abdomen obscenely. the thought of making you do that again crosses his mind for a split moment before the need to fill you up for being so good overpowers any other thought.

not giving you a break, he continues his unforgiving fucking, ignoring your cries and pleads for him to slow down.

"nonono, shh, shh, shush, you can take it," he coos against your lips, no longer caring if this was sinning or not. all he could think about was the constant squeezing and spasming of your poor overstimulated slit that was milking him toward his orgasm.

you try to squirm away, but the way he has you folded in half has you unable to do anything but accept his stupidly deep thrusts that make you swear you can taste his cock in the back of your throat.

"t-tha's it." he's panting, slurring his words, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs. it’s so wet, so messy now, but he can't find it in himself to care.

no, all he can think about as he looks down at you is how you'll have that angelic glow as you grow round with his baby, and everyone will know you're his, that he knocked you up, he pumped you full of his cum, that you're his you're his you're all fucking his—

"f-fuck, honey, i-i can't..." his hips stutter as he does his best to maintain his rhythm, but his own release is barreling down on him. his heavy balls are drawing up tight as they slap against your ass, your juices still pouring out and soaking all of him.

"'m gonna fill you up, 'm gonna pump this—this sinful little cunt f-full of m'cum, angel, gonna knock you up, gonna have you drippin' with me, g-gonna give you a fuckin' baby, shit—"

with a deep, guttural groan, nanami hisses your name as he buries himself as deep as possible, his hot tip kissing your cervix as thick, hot ropes of his potent cum pour right into your womb, hips grinding into you and giving little thrusts as you milk his cock weakly despite your overstimulation.

it's—it's so much, he's still cumming, how was all of this inside of him? you can practically feel it sloshing around inside of you, and you whimper when you feel it gush out around his now softening cock, dripping down your ass onto the bed.

a moment or two passes, and he sits up, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face and looking down at you.

oh.

you sweet thing, you're an absolute mess. you have tear streaks down your cheeks, your lips swollen from him unknowingly biting them between the little kisses he was giving you, a pretty sheen of sweat on you, and...

his eyes trail lower to where his dick is still nestled inside of you, and it takes everything in him to not accidentally thrust his hips a little bit.

it's a creamy, sticky mess, a mixture of his and your cum seeping out your poor, abused pussy.

"o-oh. sorry, my love. i'm...not quiet sure what happened there. i apologize for such...foul language," he mumurs, his hand stroking your hip. "'s okay," you softly coo back to him, your eyes fluttering shut as you try to catch your breath. "i-i liked it..."

but you quickly learn you've married both a man of god and a curious, insatiable bastard who can't help but drag his cum all over your pussy, quickly finding your clit. and the reaction you give him is one he decides he likes, your hips canting up as your soft, oversensitive walls squeeze around his cock again.

"k-kento, that's nasty!"

all you get in response is a grumbling noise in his chest as it takes you weakly slapping your hands against his chest to get his eyes to snap away from your gooey, creamy pussy.

clearing his throat, he looks down at you, that heated look slowly creeping back onto his face. "perhaps we...we should try once more. just to ensure it takes," he states, doing his best to show some semblance of dominance.

but it's impossible when his hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, his pupils blown as he gazes down at your panting form like he's about to devour you whole.

"after all, a...a big family is what god wants from man and woman, right? so we...shouldn't delay and keep trying." his hand trails up your side before finding its way to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh.

his thumb experimentally rolled your nipple, and the way your body reacted, a soft gasp of his name...how is he supposed to explain the feeling he's getting in the confessional booth?

"y-yeah," he gulps, leaning his head down. you can feel his hot breath against your tit, and you swear you feel drool drip onto your breast. "w-we'll keep trying. jus' to make sure w-we do what the scripture asks."

may god forgive him for being such a fucking liar and a damned bad one at that.

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[sellenite]

cherry blossoms 01 pairing: virgin!Choso x fem!reader contents: phone sex, mutual masturbation (f! and m!), JOI (m! receiving), Choso's first orgasm, praise kink (but in the softest way possible), friends to lovers, soft-smut word count: 1.9K MDNI | 18+

virgin!Choso who met you shortly after he met Yuji. He was wary of most people, but he thought your eyes were kind and pretty, and your voice was soothing and soft as you introduced yourself to him. He blushed when you asked him what his name was and he told you, still a little nervous. And then you smiled up at him, so sweet and bright, and told him yours and he swore it became his new favorite word.

virgin!Choso who started spending more time with you, because you made him feel safe. He was used to violence, used to being treated like a weapon by the people who had claimed to be his “allies.” But everything felt different with you. You helped teach him about the world, helped him to understand himself. You were patient and gentle, warm sunlight on the cold, barren existence that had been his life for so many years prior.

virgin!Choso who liked hearing you laugh more than anything. Sometimes he would make you laugh on accident, sometimes on purpose, but he didn’t really care either way. He liked watching the way your eyes creased at the corners, sometimes the tip of your nose. He liked when he made you laugh really hard too, when little tears would roll down your cheeks and the sounds of your giggles would be cut off by your panting. He made you laugh really hard today when he so innocently asked about something he had heard Yuji say to Megumi:

“Yuji was talking about something called ‘sloppy toppy’… Do you know where you get that from?”

You swore you were going to die of asphyxiation from the way your body convulsed and curled in on itself. Choso didn’t understand what was so funny, but he smiled as you wiped tears from your eyes.

virgin!Choso whose eyebrows knitted together intensely when you told him what “sloppy toppy” meant. He understood the basics of sex (as in he knew that it was how humans reproduced), but he had never experienced the desire for it or feelings of lust. But this new vocabulary word had introduced so many questions he had never considered before; how sex could just be for pleasure, how many different ways you could have it, what it felt like... The blush on your cheeks darkened as his questions turned more intimate, letting his genuine curiosity guide him.

“The first and most important thing about having sex is that you feel safe with the person you’re having it with,” you explained to him after a while of answering his questions.

“Safe like how I feel with you?” Choso asked you softly, looking into your eyes with his deep purple ones. You felt your breath catch in your throat, your cheeks blushing pink. You nodded softly, but gently changed the subject.

virgin!Choso who couldn’t help but go home that night and think about everything you had taught him. He thought of your pretty eyes as you explained everything to him in your soothing voice. He thought of the way your soft lips looked when you smiled or how they glistened when you wet them with your tongue. He laid in bed and felt an unfamiliar pressure in his pants, almost as if he was in pain. He shifted around, trying to get the feeling to go away but it felt like all he could focus on was his dick. He lifted up the waistband of his sweatpants to look at himself, seeing his cock resting stiffly against his stomach, swelling up as fluid leaked from the tip of it. He groaned low in his throat, suddenly wishing you were there with him in his room. He wanted you to be there to help him; to explain in your soft, sweet voice what was happening to him, why his cock was so hard and why it was dripping so much.

virgin!Choso who called you because he just couldn’t take it anymore and he didn’t know what to do.

“Choso? Everything okay?” You asked him in your sweet voice, slightly concerned because it was almost 1:00 AM at this point and he usually didn't call you this late.

He swallowed a lump in his throat as he held the phone up to his ear with one hand, the other pushing the waistband of his sweatpants down to free his throbbing cock. He groaned at the feeling of the fabric brushing against his sensitive balls as he shifted them down.

“It’s so hard right now and it keeps leaking… I don’t know what to do,” Choso’s deep voice whined over the phone.

“It’s-? Ohhh…” You felt your breath catch in your throat as his words sank in, sitting up in your bed as you heard his needy tone. You bit into your lip, feeling a steady ache between your thighs building at the sound of his voice alone. You took a deep breath as you collected yourself the best you could.

“Umm, well… Sometimes the best way to make it go away is to make yourself cum,” you explained softly, feeling an odd mix of embarrassment and arousal at the same time. Choso was your friend, and he was calling you so innocently about his problem, he probably didn’t even realize how erotic it was.

virgin!Choso who did in fact realize how erotic it was when hearing your soft voice on the other end of the line made his cock twitch.

“I don’t know how…” Choso groaned softly in response to your suggestion, watching the fluid leak from the tip of his aching cock and drip onto the bottom of his stomach.

You squeezed your eyes shut at the sound of his voice, simultaneously tensing your thighs together as your own need grew rapidly. You bit your lip as your next response bounced around in your head for a few moments before you answered.

“I could… Tell you how… If you want,” you offered softly, your voice like a sweet whisper in Choso’s ear. Choso nodded quickly as his hand gripped onto his phone a little harder.

“Please,” he said softly, and it took everything in your power to not moan at how hot his husky voice sounded when he was so desperate for you.

virgin!Choso whose phone was now on speaker as you guided him through how to touch himself. He wrapped his large palm around his girth, groaning in pleasure as you told him to use the leaky fluid from his tip to slide his hand down his length. He listened obediently, his breath shaky as he followed the rhythm of your voice, telling him to slide his hand down… up… down… up… down… up…

He couldn’t help but let out a soft whimper as your voice controlled his every movement, feeling his hips twitching, jerking up into his hand instinctively. The sounds were so erotic: his whimpers through the phone; the soft, wet sounds you could hear coming from the movement of his palm over his skin. You were trying so hard not to touch yourself, your thighs squeezing together impossibly tight as you bit into your lip to suppress the urge to moan back in response to his whiny breaths.

“Squeeze your fist a little tighter when you get to your tip, Choso… Does that feel good?” You asked him, your own breathing getting a little heavy from trying to remain composed.

“Yes… Yes… Feels so good,” Choso whimpered as he fisted his cock on the other end of the line. You let out a soft moan of your own. You didn’t even remember moving your pillow, but there it was, in between your legs as you humped your aching, panty-clad pussy into it.

virgin!Choso who heard your soft moan and he almost came on the spot, his breath stuttering as he heard your angelic voice sound so lewd.

“D-do that again… Please,” he begged softly, increasing the pace of his hand as his hips thrusted up into the tight grip of his fist. His head was tilted back into his pillow, eyes almost closed, his lids so heavy from pleasure. You could envision all of it now as your own eyes squeezed shut, grinding into your pillow a little harder so the seam of the casing rubbed against your swollen clit. You heard the wet sounds of his fist sliding up and down his shaft and you moaned a little louder as you rubbed your clit into the pillow.

Choso whimpered as he heard your moans through the phone. He could feel a coiling pleasure building in his lower body quickly now, every thrust into his fist making him feel even more desperate. The sounds he was making were breathy and frantic as he braced against the dizzying pressure of the newfound sensations. His body was acting on pure instinct, pushing himself rapidly towards an unknown edge.

He whimpered your name out and you knew he was close. Your own arousal only increased as you imagined it was him you were humping so desperately as he whined beneath you. Your fingers slipped into your panties, sliding into your soaking hole as you rocked against them, moaning loudly as you felt your own climax building.

“K-keep stroking your cock for me, Cho… Want you to cum nice and hard for me, okay?” Your voice was breathless and punctuated by your own soft moans as you heard Choso groaning and whimpering in agreement as he loudly fucked into his fist. His back arched as he thrusted his swollen cock up into his palm, wishing it were your hand, your mouth, or the space between your thighs that he now realized he was longing to see.

virgin!Choso who sobbed your name out as he came into his fist, fucking up into his hand as ropes of his warm cum shot out of his swollen cock and fell back onto his hand, his abdomen, his thighs... His balls were so heavy—his thick cock twitching with every spurt that released from his slit—and his hips jerked up as he painted his body with his seed. He whimpered as it kept coming, his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut as he panted and moaned loudly. You could hear him whine louder from the other end of the phone, as you brought yourself closer and closer to your own climax.

“So good, Choso… You did so good,” you praised him breathlessly, your own body leaning forward as you moaned into the phone. You rolled your hips furiously into the pillow, bolstered by his desperate whimpers as you came around your fingers. You whined for him now too, riding out your own high as Choso’s breathing slowly returned to normal on the other side of the phone.

virgin!Choso who broke the silence first.

“Did you… Did you cum too?” He asked breathlessly, plump lips parted slightly as he stared up at his ceiling, eyes still half-lidded as he came down from the high of his first orgasm.

You swallowed as your body relaxed into your bed, pillow still trapped between your thighs.

“Um yeah, I did,” you laughed a little nervously. The reality of what just occurred between the two of you was sinking in now that you both had climaxed. There was some silence on both ends as you both breathed heavily.

“Good,” Choso said softly, smiling up at his ceiling. “Maybe next time… We could do it together?”

virgin!Choso who would not be a virgin for much longer after that night!

PSA: thank you so much for reading <3

[roanofarcc]

YOU & ME

Pairing: JJ Maybank x reader

Summary: After returning to OBX, after the events of the past four years have cooled off, JJ realizes it's about time he asks you a very important question. 

Warning: JJ deserves a happy ending! Season 4 spoilers.

word count. 1k || masterlist

JJ found you out on the dock, leaning over the railing and looking at something in the water. He smiled to himself as he strolled toward you, running his fingers over the ring he stuffed in his pocket. 

“Find any treasure down there?” JJ asked as he approached you.

You threw him a look over your shoulder. “Not funny,” you replied, but there was a smile on your lips that told him otherwise. 

The Pogues had rightfully retired from their treasure-hunting days. Too many close calls and they weren’t willing to risk it anymore. They didn’t need to, not after finally cashing out for the last time. JJ, with your guidance and gentle threats, promised to be responsible with his share this time around. For the first time in his life, he saw a future illuminated brightly ahead of him. He had you, his friends, and even a God-daughter now. While his risky tendencies weren’t completely put to bed, he was comfortable where he stood and finally felt like he could relax. 

All in all, he was happy. But there was still something he had yet to do. 

He slung an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side as you both gazed at the water. As much as he had once enjoyed action and adventure, JJ partially used it as an escape. He felt like he had been running from something his whole life, trying to make sense of why he was the way he was. He used to think that, if he never slowed down, nothing would have the chance to hurt him too much. But then he found a family within his friends and a reason to stop running within you. He didn’t need to escape anymore or run. He didn’t need to make sense of anything anymore. JJ Maybank finally had everything he had been looking for. His world made sense for the first time, and he had no intention of screwing that up. 

“You okay?” you asked softly, reaching up and brushing a hand across his cheek. 

“Yeah, just thinkin’.”

“Uh-oh,” you teased, moving to stand in front of him. You hugged him lightly, peering at him with furrowed brows. “Thinkin’ about what?” 

JJ leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “You.” 

“And what about me?” Your breath was warm against his face, competing against the cool breeze off the water. The distant laughter of his friends sounded from up the dock, where they all sat around, eating and cooing at little baby Routledge. 

The worst years of his life, only peppered with good from his Pogues, felt like lifetimes behind him. All of the pain he experienced faded like his scars. He only had the good parts now, and there wasn’t a chance on Earth he’d let them slip away. 

“I have a question I’ve been meaning to ask you,” JJ said, hesitant not because he was unsure, but because there was still a fear in the far depths of his mind that you’d leave him. It was stupid, you had told him that a million and three times, but he couldn’t help the faint voice in the back of his head pestering him in a whisper. 

You silently waited for him to continue. As he worked up the courage, he closed his eyes for just a second, picturing the same little dream he’d created in his head not long after meeting you. 

“We’ve got a pretty good thing goin’, huh?” he started. 

A breathy laugh fell from your lips. “I’d say so.” 

“Right, and I, um, I don’t really want it to end, you know?” 

You leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his nose. “I don’t plan on it ending, JJ. It’s you and me, remember?” 

He did; he remembered the promise you made not long after you first met. It started off as a pack between friends, but it morphed into something deeper. You and him. If he had anything, he had that to hold on to. 

“Yeah,” he whispered, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the ring he had stolen a while back with the intention of, one day, slipping it on your finger. Leaning back from you, he held up the ring between two fingers, letting the dainty silver shine in the growing moonlight. “You and me. Forever, maybe?” 

It took a moment for realization to dawn on you, but it struck with force. Your eyes blew wide, and your mouth fell open in a humorous and bewildered laugh. “Are you asking me to marry you?” 

JJ nodded, sheepishly using his free hand to scratch the back of his neck. “I probably should have gotten down on one knee, right? To be fair, it’s my first time.” He went to lower himself onto the dock, but you stopped him, cupping his face in your hands. 

“And it’s perfect,” you said, tears welling up in your eyes. “I would love to marry you, JJ Maybank.” 

He felt like he was going to cry too from the pure excitement and love that swelled inside his chest. Blinking back his own happy tears, he took your hand and slid the ring on your finger. It wasn’t some extravagant engagement ring, but it fit like a glove on your finger like it had been made for you. The smile on your face was enough confirmation that you liked it. 

You kissed him, the warm metal of the ring pressed against his cheek. It was a feeling he was looking forward to getting used to. To kiss you forever, until you’re old and gray and yelling at kids to get off your lawn. JJ used to have a hard time looking past eighteen, trying to figure out what he’d become if he made it that far. Would he be locked up like every adult in his life used to tell him? Would he end up like his father or the man he used to think was his father? 

But he didn’t have to worry anymore, about any of it. He made it past eighteen and a different path awaited him, a good one, a happy one. 

[rambling-at-midnight]

Please Come Home

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: You never realized how many places there were to hide in your apartment, but you’re pretty sure someone else is in here with you. Whatever they want isn’t good.

Word count: 3.3k

TW: home invasion, violence, curses as insults

Your spare key is missing.

Fuck. You always keep it in this drawer. Where the fuck is it?

When you told Jason he could just grab your keys to take your car instead of his bike to the store, you’d been relying on using your spare to lock up the apartment when you left for work. You never, ever moved it, but it was gone all the same. Did he take it instead of your keychain? Nope, that’s missing from its hook next to the front door.

When was the last time you used it? Not too long ago. Had you been careless about putting it back?

You text Jason, Did you grab my spare key?

Shit. You had to leave for work, like, five minutes ago, and you have no key to lock the front door.

At least you have a fire escape. You bolt the door from the inside, then slip out the window. You can’t latch it from the outside, but it’s a little harder to break in through the window than the front door.

You’re only two minutes late to your waitressing shift. Your manager swipes you in, lets you know that a server called out so you’ll be handling two sections today, and the host runs up to tell you that you’ve already been sat.

In the middle of the shift, when you have a minute to catch your breath, you check your phone. Jason had texted, No, I took your keychain. Is your spare missing?

I think I lost it.

I’ll look for it when I come home before patrol. Will I see you before heading out?

Not looking like it. Things haven’t slowed down at all.

I’ll see you when I get home, then. Don’t wait up.

I’ll have dinner in the fridge when you get back. Gotta get back to work. Love you

I love you, too.

A couple hours later, Jason texts that he has no luck locating your spare. Since he’s paranoid, he’s going out for a new lock tomorrow, but there’s important business with a drug ring that he can’t miss tonight.

That’s okay. It’ll be a pain to climb up the fire escape, but you don’t really mind that much. You’ve been meaning to get more exercise, anyway.

You finish work at six and the walk back to your apartment building is pretty peaceful. Unusual for Gotham.

It lulls you into a false sense of security.

You’re not really in the mood for leftovers, and not really in the mood to cook. You stare between your phone and the pantry. Takeout is easy. So is pasta.

With a sigh, you decide to spare your bank account. Delivery fees are getting ridiculous nowadays.

You text Jason just to see how his night is going. You’re not sure he’ll respond; sometimes, like during stakeouts, he turns his phone off completely so the sound or vibrate doesn’t reveal his presence. He doesn’t respond after a minute, which means he’s busy. You sigh and set down your phone, then change into comfier clothes. As soon as you’re out of your room, you grab a pot and box of pasta. You can’t sit down, or you’ll put off dinner for at least another hour.

The water is set to boil when you turn around to look at your phone, vaguely hoping Jason has responded by now.

Your phone isn’t on the counter.

You frown. You’re pretty sure you left it there.

Maybe it’s in the pantry when you grabbed the pasta?

It’s not.

You must have left it in your room when you changed. You check, and it’s sitting right on your bedside table. “Jeez,” you mutter, picking it up and slipping it into your pocket. After a long day, it’s okay to be scatterbrained, but this is a bit much.

Still no response from Jason.

You walk out of the bedroom to see that the stove turned itself off and the pasta water is barely warm. “Gotham appliances are such pieces of shit,” you mutter. You know what, fine. A shower and feeling clean will make you feel better to try again. The saying is that a watched pot never boils, but hopefully a watched Gotham stove never turns itself on and off randomly while you cook.

The apartment’s a bit chilly, so you take your pajamas with you into the bathroom and sit under the water spray until all the grime of the day washes away. It’s a bad habit, but you bring your phone with you in the shower to scroll through social media until your skin starts to get pruny. You step out, wrapping the towel around yourself in a vain attempt to stop shivering, and… your pajamas are gone.

The pajamas that you’re sure you took with you. You distinctly remember putting them on the sink counter.

And now they’re gone.

Something clenches in your stomach. You text Jason, Hey are you home yet?

He doesn’t respond right away.

Jay, this isn’t funny.

Still nothing.

Is it possible you forgot to bring the clothes with you? No, you distinctly remember the thought process.

Someone moved them, and you can’t think of s single reason anyone you know would do that. That kind of prank isn’t funny.

You text Jason, I think there is someone in the house with me. Then you try calling him.

You go straight to voicemail.

You bite your lip, trying hard not to panic. Jason never sends you to voicemail. He’s answered your calls in the middle of shootouts, voice strained, “Hey, kinda busy right now, is it an emergency?”

His phone is turned off, so who knows when he’ll see your texts. He might not turn it on again for hours.

You text your best friend, I think someone broke into my house. Don’t call me. Please help.

You chew on your thumbnail.

Either she calls the cops, or she shows up with a baseball bat and her scary-ass motorcycle dude boyfriend. He’s secretly a softie, but his appearance doesn’t match his personality.

He’s a lot like Jason, actually. Who would have thought you two had the same type?

You call Jason again.

Voicemail.

Again.

Voicemail.

Your best friend texts, Omw. That’s it, but it’s the best text you’ve ever seen in your life.

Okay. Either cower in the bathroom until someone shows up, or play along with the same game the possibly-real-intruder is playing, that everything is normal.

No matter what happens next, you want to be dressed for it. You peek under the door, but you don’t see anyone’s feet.

Maybe this is all in your head, but you have a terrible gut feeling that it isn’t.

Your heart pounds, but you maintain a leisurely stroll into your room through the kitchen, palming a knife as you go, and locking the door behind you. The intruder may be in your closet, so you hold the knife out as you swing the door open.

Empty.

You throw on the first clothes you see and debate hiding in your room until your friend arrives. But adrenaline is pumping and you think you might shake out of your skin. You sit on the edge of the bed and take deep breaths.

There’s a window in your room, but it only opens three inches and it’s not connected to the fire escape, so that’s not an option. The window that leads to the fire escape is in the main room, so you’d have to walk through the kitchen to get to it, and the intruder may be hiding in the pantry.

You could try the front door, but the storage closet is right next to it: another likely place for someone to hide and jump out at you.

Your room is only as safe as the strength of the door. And the wood is pretty thin.

All of a sudden, your phone buzzes, and you drop it. You snatch it up to see an incoming call lighting up the screen with your boyfriend’s handsome contact photo.

You accept the call immediately. “Jay?”

“I’m on my way,” he rushes out. You hear the roar of his motorcycle in the background. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” You whisper, “I think someone is here.”

“I know.” His voice is strained. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be fine. I’m five minutes away. Can you get out?”

“I don’t know. I’m in my bedroom, I locked my door. I think he’s hiding somewhere in the apart—”

A hand shoots out from under the bed and grabs your ankle.

You scream.

Your phone flies away when he yanks you off the bed. You go down swinging with the knife and make contact, accidentally swiping your own ankle in the process. The man grunts with pain and lets go, and you scramble to the door. You don’t even feel the pain in your ankle, although you’re actually bleeding a lot.

He’s wriggling out from under your bed when you get to your feet and twist the doorknob. “Get the fuck out of my house, you fucking pervert!” you scream. You yank the door open and run…

Right into a stranger’s chest.

There are two of them?

An iron grip clamps over your shoulder. His other hand fists in your hair. “Well, hello, pretty. You’re not the Red Hood.”

You stab him in the stomach.

Unfortunately, that only makes him mad.

“You bitch,” he groans. The slap is so powerful it nearly breaks your neck. You can’t breathe for a second, and then the first man catches up to you. His hand is bleeding. Like, a lot. They transfer you over so the stabbed man can groan about being stabbed. It’s only in his gut, so he should be fine. “Walk it off,” you goad. It’s the Gotham in you.

The first man digs his bloody knuckles into your cheek. “Fucking whore cut me,” he says. “Where’s the Red Hood?”

“He’ll kill you both,” you spit. “He’s on his way to shoot you in the head.” The threat should have scared them, but they were dumb enough to break into the Red Hood’s apartment and beat his partner. They had not been blessed with many braincells.

“Good,” he says. “He’ll get here just in time to see his pretty pet die.”

Someone pounds on the door and everyone freezes. Fear flashes over their face, but Jason wouldn’t have knocked. He would have kicked the door down or gone through the window.

Your best friend calls your name through the door. She’s trying to sound casual, but things are so far past casual.

The man holding you sees you draw in a breath to scream. “Don’t you dare,” he warns. “Do it and I’ll kill them, too.” The barrel of a gun presses to the side of your head.

Where is Jason?

You don’t think he’ll get here in time. He doesn’t deserve to carry the weight of that failure, but he will. Your Jay thinks he’s responsible for every bad thing in the world.

The man’s ugly face explodes.

You register the concussive sound of gunfire half a second later. Your ears ring. You lose your balance.

More gunfire. It’s so loud all you can do is cover your ears. Who’s shooting who?

It stops as suddenly as it started, but you don’t look up. You can’t hear anything. You don’t want to see their ugly faces anymore.

Then hands grab you again, and you shriek. Your kitchen knife is still buried in the second man’s gut, so you have no defense. A man with a gun is going to kill you in your apartment.

Despite all your attempts at fighting, he’s too strong. Iron hands pry your hands away from your head, but you still can’t hear anything. Your ears are still ringing too loud. Your eardrums might have burst.

Then gloved hands cup your cheeks.

You know those gloves.

Jason is kneeling on the ground in front of you, absolutely frantic. His mouth moves, but you don’t hear anything. You don’t even hear your sob, but you definitely feel it right before you throw yourself at him.

Strong arms wrap around your back. Jason cradles you, hugs you so tight you can’t breathe, tries to hide you from anyone that might hear you. You still can’t make out his words, but you’re beginning to hear a muffled voice.

You’re sitting completely in his lap, his legs behind you to support your back. You cling to him, trying not to shake. You’re a pretty unflappable Gothamite, but a home invasion is enough to rattle anyone. You’re supposed to be safe here.

Jason pulls away just enough to kiss your forehead. His green eyes squeeze tight like he’s in pain, and a single tear slips from the corner of one.

You wipe it away.

Jason wipes the blood on your cheek away.

You read his lips when he asks if you’re okay. You nod. You’re alive, and that’s what matters.

Jason holds you still when you try to look around. He says something that you can’t read. He must know that you don’t understand, because he just uses one huge hand on the back of your head to pull you forward. His mouth presses against your forehead, not quite a kiss, just relishing the connection.

You hear the banging first. Then you hear the shouting.

Oh, God. Your best friend.

You scramble out of Jason’s hold so fast he can’t stop you. You stumble past two dead bodies, both with three bullets in their heads. The floor is ruined beyond belief.

Jason helps support you. He needs to touch you somewhere to reassure himself that you’re okay, that you’re alive. You unlock the door, and barely open it a crack before your friend pushes it all the way open.

She gasps at the sight of you. “Oh, my God!” Her arms wrap tight around your neck, and you squeeze her. Jason’s hand remains pressed against your back. Her boyfriend stands behind her in the hallway, and he eyes Jason somewhat suspiciously. The two have never met before.

Your best friend pulls away, and Jason folds you against his side. His hand runs up and down your arm.

“Are you okay? There’s blood all over you.” Her eyes drift past your face and land on the bodies on your floor. Her mouth tightens, but she doesn't scream or call the cops immediately.

“It’s not mine,” you say faintly. “Well…” You look at your ankle. “Most of it.”

“Jesus,” says Jason. “They did that to you?”

"I did it to myself," you admit. "But I stabbed that one." You point.

He kisses the top of your head. "I'm going to teach you how to defend yourself. I never should have left you alone." Jason fixes your friend with a look so stern that she actually gulps. "Can you watch them for a little bit?"

"Yeah," she says. "I'll take care of them."

"Good." Jason takes your face in his hands. His eyes blaze. "I'll be back as soon as I can. You hear me? You're not gonna be alone ever again."

You nod numbly.

Jason carries you to the couch, then coaches your friend through applying pressure to your ankle. He gently places an icepack in your hand, then moves you until it's pressed to your numb cheek. Then he kisses you. Pulls back. Kisses you again. It's not sweet—he tastes like blood, or maybe you do—but it's firm, and it's real, and it's a promise.

He stands up and asks your friend's boyfriend, "You wanna help me with these?"

As far as you know, the other man's never hidden a dead body in his life. But to his credit, he hardly hesitates before nodding.

Jason's already calling someone when he walks out. One of his criminal contacts, you're sure. You don't know and you don't want to know.

They're gone for twenty minutes. You're still in shock when they get back. You know you're in shock, but you can't snap out of it. You don't think you want to.

He gently nudges your friend's hands away to peek under the gauze. "You want stitches for this, honey?"

You shake your head. The cut's too close to bone, and you don't want a needle going anywhere near your bones.

"Okay." He changes the gauze, then tapes it in place, then puts a sticky wrap over that. "I'll change this in the morning. You're gonna be okay."

"I'm glad you're all right," your friend's boyfriend offers. You don't know each other all that well, but he just helped hide two bodies that you and Jason killed, so he must be an all right dude. You nod, give him a shaky smile, try to wave.

Your best friend bends over to hug you. "I'm going to text you in the morning," she says. "You'll be okay with Jason. I'm so proud of you. I'm so glad you're okay."

You hug her back until she puts the icepack back in the freezer.

When they leave, Jason stands up from the couch. You make a pleading, confused noise in the back of your throat, and he smooths your hair away from your face. "I'll be right back, honey," he promises. "I'm gonna lock the door. No one's ever getting to you again, you hear me?"

As soon as he pulls away, you shiver. The only thing keeping you warm was his body.

True to his word, he locks the front door, then heads right back to you.

"Do you want to go to the bedroom?" Jason asks softly.

You shake your head. There was a man hiding beneath your bed tonight. It was worse than any monster you used to be scared of as a child.

"Okay," he says softly. Jason eases onto the couch, but he has so much bulk that it's impossible to lay side-by-side on your backs. Jason twists onto his side, and after a moment, you do too, using one of his massive biceps as a pillow. He smells like gunpowder. You smell like blood. You fit together like two terrible, violent puzzle pieces.

He kisses your forehead again. Pulls a blanket over the two of you, makes sure it's snug around your feet. You enjoy the fussing.

When he has nothing left to fiddle with, Jason sucks in a ragged inhale, then says, voice cracking, "When I saw those texts, I was terrified."

"I'm glad you checked your phone," you say. "For a while, I thought you wouldn't."

"I could feel that something was wrong."

Your throat hurts. "Did you mess up your mission tonight because of me?"

"Honey, I would do anything for you," he says. "I'd abandon a thousand missions to keep you safe. I'd burn this city to the ground."

Another night, you would remind him that he's a hero. That he fights for the greater good. That he is good.

Tonight, you take comfort in the vow.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispers. "You were so brave. You did so well."

Your fingers twist in his shirt. Your nose nestles into the hollow at the base of his throat perfectly, so you hear every breath he takes, every rumble in his throat when he talks. You press a kiss to his chest just above the neckline of his shirt, and his throat jumps.

Jason makes a strangled noise, then wraps his arms even tighter around you. He throws one leg over your hip, completely covering you, pressing you into the couch. You would feel suffocated if it was anyone else.

You fall asleep faster than you ever have before, secure that Jason won't let anything happen to you during the night. The last thing you register before unconsciousness is his dry lips pressed to your forehead again. Making sure you're alive. Reassuring you that he's here and always will be.

DC taglist:

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

Forever taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

Let me know any requests you guys have or if you want to be added to a taglist!

[pucksandpower]

Enjoy the Butterflies

Daniel Ricciardo x crazy rich!Reader

Summary: in which Daniel gets dropped by his team and picked up by an heiress with a penchant for taking in strays

The heavy bass of the club still hums in your bones as you step out onto the pavement, the humid Singapore night wrapping around you like a second skin. The neon lights from Zouk, one of the city’s most exclusive nightclubs, pulse in rhythm with your heartbeat, and for a second, you stand still, relishing the quiet that follows hours of dancing, laughter, and too many cocktails.

The sounds of the party still echo behind you, a muffled roar of privilege and extravagance, but out here, it’s just you and the night.

Or so you think.

Your attention is pulled toward a commotion just a few meters away. You blink, trying to make sense of the scene. There’s a man — definitely not local, tall, and a little scruffy compared to the sharp-dressed crowd you’re used to — being unceremoniously escorted out by one of the bouncers. His head hangs low, and his shoulders are slumped in a way that screams defeat.

It’s not the dramatic, messy kind of exit where someone’s too drunk to stand, or too proud to admit they’ve done something wrong. No, this is different. This guy isn’t even trying to fight back.

“Get lost,” the bouncer grunts, shoving the man one last time before turning to head back inside.

You can’t help it — you freeze, your gaze lingering on him. He doesn’t move, just leans against the wall like he’s considering sinking to the ground. His posture is pitiful in a way that tugs at something inside you, that soft part of you that your family says is too soft. The part that’s always drawn to the broken, the hopeless, the ones who don’t quite fit.

He lets out a long, dramatic sigh, his eyes flicking up to the club entrance, like maybe if he stares long enough, he’ll magically be allowed back in. He’s pathetic. There’s no other word for it. But he’s also kind of endearing, in a weird way.

“Pathetic,” you mutter under your breath, half-amused.

You could leave him there, you know that. This isn’t your problem. He’ll figure something out. Or not. It’s not like you owe him anything, but …

"Are you just going to stand there?” You hear yourself saying, your feet already moving toward him before you can stop them.

His head snaps up, clearly not expecting anyone to address him. His eyes — big, brown, and confused — lock onto yours. He’s a little scruffy, but there’s something boyishly charming about him.

“I — uh,” he stammers, straightening up slightly but still looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “No. I mean, yeah, I guess?”

You roll your eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

He shrugs helplessly. “Well, I don’t really have one. Kinda got kicked out of the only place I planned on being tonight.”

You narrow your eyes. “What did you do?”

“I, uh …” He scratches the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t know, honestly. Might’ve been a little too loud, or maybe I was blocking someone important from getting their drinks. These places, man, they don’t like it when you’re … disruptive.”

You cross your arms, glancing at him up and down. He doesn’t look dangerous, just out of place. “You sound like you deserved it.”

He winces. “Probably did.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you’re still standing there, wondering why you’re wasting your time. Then, before you know it, you’re sighing. Your family would shake their heads at you, calling you too kind for your own good.

“Come on,” you say, jerking your head toward the curb. “Let’s go.”

He blinks. “What?”

You nod toward the curb, where your Rolls Royce waits, engine quietly idling. The chauffeur stands by, staring straight ahead like this is the most normal thing in the world, like this isn’t some insane act of kindness you’re pulling out of nowhere.

“I’m not leaving you out here,” you say, already heading toward the car. “Get in.”

“Uh — wait, seriously?” He hurries to catch up, still clearly not processing what’s happening. “You don’t even know me.”

You shrug, throwing a look over your shoulder. “Do I need to?”

“Usually, yeah,” he says, jogging slightly to keep pace with you. “I mean, what if I’m like, a complete psycho or something?”

“If you were, I doubt you’d be sitting against a wall feeling sorry for yourself,” you shoot back, opening the car door. “Now get in before I change my mind.”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation, like he’s weighing his options, but then he shakes his head, muttering something under his breath, and slides into the backseat beside you. The leather is cool against your skin, the scent of luxury and privilege permeating the air, and for a second, it’s quiet as the door closes behind you both.

The driver pulls away from the curb smoothly, not asking questions.

“So … you do this often?” The man asks, still clearly bewildered. “Pick up random guys outside clubs?”

You snort, turning to face him. “Definitely not.”

“Then why me?”

You shrug. “You looked pathetic.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and for a second, you think you’ve offended him, but then he laughs — loud, unabashed, and surprising. “Wow. Okay. Well, thanks, I guess?”

You smile despite yourself. “Don’t mention it.”

He leans back in the seat, still grinning. “I’m Daniel, by the way. Ricciardo. Not sure if that means anything to you.”

You narrow your eyes, the name clicking into place. “The F1 driver?”

He looks a little sheepish but nods. “Yeah, that’s me.”

You stare at him for a moment, processing that. It’s not like you keep up with racing, but you’ve definitely heard of him. Seen him in ads, maybe, or on TV. It’s a little weird, thinking about it now. The same guy who’s smiling at you, a little bashfully, is famous in his own right.

“I didn’t recognize you,” you say, somewhat apologetic.

He shrugs again, more relaxed now. “Don’t worry about it. Happens more often than you think. Usually, I’m not getting kicked out of places, though.”

You smirk. “Good to know.”

There’s a comfortable silence after that, the two of you settling into the soft hum of the car as it glides through the streets. You steal a glance at him, watching as he stares out the window, looking slightly more at peace now that he’s not sitting on the pavement outside of a nightclub. He catches you looking, raising an eyebrow.

“So, you’re just gonna take me home, drop me off like a stray cat?” He teases, flashing you that boyish grin again.

You tilt your head, pretending to think about it. “Depends. Do stray cats usually get rides in Rolls Royces?”

“Only the ones that get kicked out of clubs,” he fires back, and you can’t help but laugh.

This was definitely not how you expected your night to go.

***

You lean back in your seat, letting the smooth hum of the Rolls Royce fill the silence for a moment. Daniel seems more relaxed now, but there’s still something hanging in the air, something that makes you look at him again, curiosity getting the better of you.

"So," you say, turning your head slightly to study him, "where am I dropping you off? What hotel are you staying at?"

Daniel blinks, the question catching him off guard. He looks at you, then at the ceiling of the car like the answer might be written somewhere above his head. “Uh … yeah, about that …”

You narrow your eyes. “You don’t know, do you?”

He winces, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Not exactly. I mean, I know I checked into a place, obviously, but I can’t remember the name right now.”

“You can’t remember what hotel you’re staying at?” Your tone is somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

Daniel shrugs, unbothered. “It’s been a long day. Plus, there’s like, a million hotels in Singapore. They all start to blur together.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “Okay, genius. So how were you planning on getting back?”

“Hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he admits, grinning lazily. Then, the grin fades, and something shifts in his expression — something a little sadder, more raw. “Honestly, even if I did know, I don’t really want to go back there.”

You frown. “Why not?”

He hesitates, eyes flicking to the window as if he can avoid answering by watching the city lights whiz by. After a long pause, he sighs and leans back against the seat, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I got dropped,” he mutters, almost too quietly for you to hear.

“Dropped?” You repeat, confused. “From what?”

“From my team,” he clarifies, his voice a little hoarse. “VCARB. They, uh, decided they didn’t want me around anymore.”

You blink, the realization hitting you like a sudden cold wave. “Oh.”

Daniel doesn’t say anything for a moment, the silence growing heavy. You can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch slightly as he picks at an invisible thread on his jeans.

“I mean,” he finally continues, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “I kinda saw it coming. Just didn’t think it’d happen this fast, y’know?”

The lightheartedness from earlier is completely gone now, replaced by something darker, something heavier. You can feel the weight of it pressing down on him, the frustration and sadness barely concealed behind his crooked grin.

“I thought I had more time,” he says softly, his voice raw with vulnerability. “But I guess that’s how it goes. One day you’re on top of the world, and the next … well, you’re getting kicked out of nightclubs.”

You stay quiet, unsure of what to say. You weren’t expecting to find yourself in this situation tonight — sitting in the back of a Rolls Royce with a famous F1 driver who just lost his job. And yet, here you are, listening to him spill his heart out in the middle of the night, somewhere between Zouk and wherever he was supposed to go next.

“I just don’t want to be around them right now,” he continues, voice thick. “The team, the people … they’re all pretending to be nice, like it’s just business, but it’s not. It’s my life. My career.”

He shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter laugh. “And now it’s over. Just like that.”

You let out a sigh, long and heavy. “So, you don’t want to go back to your hotel?”

“Not really,” Daniel mutters, slumping back in his seat.

You stare at him for a second, weighing your options. Your chauffeur is driving aimlessly through the city, waiting for your instructions, and Daniel is sitting here, lost in his own world of disappointment. He looks tired, drained, and you’re not cruel enough to leave him like this.

“Well,” you say, after a beat of silence, “I guess you’re coming with me then.”

Daniel’s head snaps up, his brows furrowing. “Wait, what?”

You glance at him, your voice firm. “You heard me. You can’t remember your hotel, you don’t want to go back even if you could, and I’m not about to leave you wandering around Singapore. So, you’re coming to my place.”

He stares at you, eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. “Are you serious?”

You roll your eyes. “Would I say it if I wasn’t?”

For a moment, he looks like he’s about to argue, but then he slumps back in his seat again, exhaling a long, tired breath. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

You nod, already turning to the front of the car. “Take us home,” you tell your chauffeur, who acknowledges the instruction with a curt nod before the car smoothly shifts direction.

Daniel leans his head against the window, eyes heavy. “Thanks,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

You wave it off. “I know.”

A few minutes pass in silence, the soft sound of the tires against the road lulling both of you into a calm quiet. You glance over at Daniel again, noticing how his eyelids are drooping more and more, his head bobbing slightly as he fights to stay awake.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” you comment, amused.

“M’not,” he protests, but his words are already slurred. “Just … resting my eyes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sure.”

It doesn’t take long before his breathing evens out, and his head tips to the side, fully succumbing to sleep. You shake your head, watching him for a moment. He looks peaceful like this, the weight of whatever he’s been carrying lifted, if only temporarily.

“Of course,” you mutter to yourself, leaning back in your seat, “this is how my night ends.”

The car pulls up in front of your building — a sleek, modern tower in one of the city’s most exclusive neighborhoods. Your chauffeur steps out first, coming around to open the door for you. You step out gracefully, smoothing your dress, but when you look back into the car, Daniel is still out cold, slumped awkwardly in the seat.

You sigh. “This is not happening.”

Your chauffeur, ever professional, stands at attention, waiting for your next move. You consider your options for a second before glancing at him. “Help me get him inside, will you?”

The chauffeur doesn’t hesitate, nodding curtly. He moves to the other side of the car and carefully opens the door. Together, you manage to maneuver Daniel out of the backseat, his arm draped over the chauffeur’s shoulder as he leans heavily against him. Daniel stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, too deep in sleep to even register what’s happening.

The doorman, recognizing you immediately, rushes over to assist. “Miss Y/L/N,” he says, eyes flicking from you to the unconscious Daniel, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. ���Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine,” you say quickly, giving him a tight smile. “Just … had a long night.”

The doorman nods, not pressing further, and helps the chauffeur guide Daniel through the lobby and into the elevator. You follow behind, feeling a little ridiculous but knowing there’s no turning back now.

The elevator ride is quiet, save for Daniel’s soft breathing as he leans against the wall, still fast asleep. You glance at him, half-amused, half-exasperated. What a night.

When you finally reach your penthouse, the door slides open smoothly, and the chauffeur and doorman gently ease Daniel onto your plush couch. He sprawls out, looking even more out of place among the sleek, expensive furniture, but you can’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“Thanks,” you tell the men, who nod before excusing themselves quietly, leaving you alone with your unexpected guest.

You stand there for a moment, looking at Daniel as he sleeps soundly on your couch. His shoes are still on, one arm hanging off the side, and his mouth slightly open in a way that’s almost comical. Shaking your head, you grab a blanket from a nearby chair and drape it over him.

“Well, this is definitely not how I thought my night would go,” you mutter to yourself, standing back and crossing your arms as you look at him one last time.

With a sigh, you turn and head toward your bedroom, already mentally preparing for the chaos tomorrow is likely to bring.

***

You’re in the middle of a dream when you hear it — the unmistakable sound of your mother’s voice. Loud, sharp, and utterly out of place in the peaceful silence of your penthouse. Your eyes snap open, heart pounding in your chest as you try to piece together why in the world she would be here, at this ungodly hour.

And then you hear it. A scream.

“Who is this man?”

Your stomach drops, the reality of last night hitting you like a freight train. Daniel. He’s still here. Passed out on your couch. And now, your very traditional mother is standing in your living room, probably about to have a heart attack.

You scramble out of bed, nearly tripping over yourself as you rush toward the living room. You can already hear her ranting, a mix of shock and outrage in her voice, and you don’t even have time to think before you’re standing in front of her, trying to calm the situation down.

“Mum!” You blurt out, trying to sound casual, like this isn’t the absolute disaster it clearly is. “What are you doing here?”

Your mother’s eyes are wide, her perfectly manicured hand pressed dramatically against her chest as she stares down at Daniel, who’s still blissfully unconscious, mouth slightly open, one arm dangling off the edge of the couch.

“I could ask you the same thing!” She snaps, her voice rising with every word. “Why is there a man sleeping in your living room? And why-” she leans in, eyes narrowing, “does he look like he’s been out drinking all night?”

Your mind races, panic bubbling up as you try to figure out what to say, what kind of excuse would possibly explain this. And then, without even thinking, the words tumble out of your mouth.

“He’s … he’s my boyfriend.”

The second the lie leaves your lips, you know it’s a terrible idea. But it’s too late now. Your mother freezes, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she looks between you and Daniel. “Your … boyfriend?” She repeats, her tone incredulous.

You nod, forcing a tight smile, praying that Daniel stays asleep long enough for you to get through this. “Yes. My boyfriend.”

Your mother looks like she’s about to faint. “And you didn’t tell me? You-”

“I was going to!” you interrupt quickly. “But it’s … it’s new. Very new. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure.”

She crosses her arms, still clearly not buying it. “And this is how you introduce him to your mother? Drunk and passed out in your living room?”

“He’s not drunk,” you say quickly, even though that’s obviously a lie. “He’s … uh, just really tired. He’s been going through a lot lately.”

At that moment, you hear a groan from the couch. You glance over, heart sinking as Daniel stirs, slowly blinking awake. His face is pale, and the second he opens his eyes, you can see the hangover written all over him.

“Wh-” Daniel starts, voice groggy as he sits up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Where …”

Your mother’s eyes widen, and she turns to you, her expression one of absolute horror. “This is him?” She whispers, like you’ve just committed some kind of unspeakable crime.

You give her a weak smile. “Yes. Mum, this is Daniel.”

Daniel’s head snaps up at the sound of his name, his bleary eyes trying to make sense of the situation. He looks at you, confused, and you give him a pointed look, willing him to just go along with it.

"Daniel," you say through gritted teeth, “this is my mother. Remember? I told you she might stop by.”

Daniel blinks at you, his brow furrowed in confusion. It takes a second, but you can practically see the gears turning in his brain as he tries to process what’s happening. Finally, he nods slowly, trying to catch up. “Right. Your mum. Uh, hi.”

Your mother stares at him, unimpressed. “Are you alright?” She asks, her voice cold and judgmental.

Daniel, still clearly half-asleep and in the throes of a wicked hangover, gives her a shaky smile. “Yeah, just … didn’t sleep great,” he mumbles, leaning back into the couch.

You wince internally, but keep up the act. “He’s been working so hard lately,” you say quickly, hoping to smooth things over. “With his job and everything.”

Your mother’s eyes narrow further. “And what does he do, exactly?”

Daniel glances at you, panic flickering in his eyes, clearly not prepared for this interrogation. You jump in before he can make things worse.

“He’s … in sports,” you say vaguely. “He’s an athlete.”

Your mother’s gaze doesn’t soften in the slightest. “What kind of athlete?”

You feel Daniel’s eyes on you, pleading silently for help. “Formula 1,” you say quickly. “He’s a Formula 1 driver.”

Your mother blinks, taken aback by this revelation. “A race car driver?” She repeats, like it’s the most absurd thing she’s ever heard. “That’s … interesting.”

You can tell she’s not impressed, but at least it’s bought you a little time. You just need to get through this without her prying too much further.

“I promise, Mum, Daniel’s a good guy,” you say, trying to sound convincing. “He just … had a rough night. That’s all.”

Your mother’s gaze flicks between you and Daniel, suspicion still heavy in her eyes. “And where did he sleep?”

You freeze. “Uh …”

Daniel, finally catching on to what’s happening, sits up a little straighter. “I slept here,” he says quickly, gesturing to the couch. “On the couch. I didn’t … you know …”

He trails off, looking at your mother awkwardly, but the message is clear.

Your mother’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised by his admission. “You didn’t share a bed?”

You shake your head vigorously. “No, Mum. We didn’t share a bed. We’re not married, remember?”

For the first time since she walked in, your mother seems to relax a little, her rigid posture softening just a bit. “Well,” she says, sounding somewhat mollified, “at least he has some morals.”

You breathe a silent sigh of relief, nodding along. “Exactly. Daniel’s … very respectful.”

Daniel gives a small, awkward smile, clearly still trying to wrap his head around the situation. “Uh, yeah. Very … respectful.”

Your mother studies him for a moment longer, then nods, satisfied. “Well, I suppose it could be worse.”

You almost laugh at that but manage to keep a straight face. “Right.”

There’s a brief pause as your mother smooths down her dress, glancing around the penthouse like she’s looking for something to criticize. Then, her eyes land back on you, and she smiles — one of those deceptively sweet smiles that always makes you nervous.

“Well,” she says brightly, “since I’m here, I’d love to get to know Daniel a bit better. Why don’t you two join me for dinner tonight?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Dinner? Tonight?”

Your mother nods, clearly not taking no for an answer. “Yes. I think it’s high time I meet this boyfriend of yours properly.”

You glance at Daniel, who’s looking at you with wide, slightly panicked eyes. You can tell he’s regretting every decision that led him to this moment, but there’s no way out now. You’re both trapped.

“Uh, sure,” you say weakly. “We’d love to.”

Your mother beams, clearly pleased with herself. “Wonderful! I’ll have my assistant call to make the reservation. Seven o’clock sharp. You know where. Don’t be late.”

Before you can respond, she’s already turning on her heel, heading toward the door with a satisfied smile on her face. “I’ll see you both tonight,” she calls over her shoulder as she exits, leaving you standing there in stunned silence.

The door clicks shut, and the room is suddenly, blissfully quiet.

You turn to Daniel, who’s staring at you, still half-dazed from sleep and now fully confused about what just happened.

“Boyfriend?” He croaks, his voice rough from the hangover.

You let out a long, exasperated sigh, rubbing your temples. “I panicked.”

He groans, flopping back onto the couch. “Dinner with your mum? Really?”

“Yes. And if you don’t play along, I’m pretty sure she’ll disown me.”

Daniel chuckles weakly, rubbing his temples. “Great. Just great.”

You stare at him for a moment, then flop down next to him on the couch, letting your head fall back against the cushions. “This is a disaster.”

“Eh,” Daniel mutters, eyes closed. “Could be worse.”

You shoot him a look. “How?”

He cracks one eye open, grinning. “At least I didn’t throw up on her.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “That’s not funny.”

But when you look up, you can’t help but laugh, because as ridiculous as this entire situation is, somehow, in the madness of it all, you know tonight is going to be even worse.

***

Dinner is already awkward. You can feel the tension every time your mother glances at Daniel, her polite smile not quite reaching her eyes. It’s a small, exclusive restaurant, the kind of place where the waiters wear gloves, and the courses are tiny but outrageously expensive. The chef is renowned for his traditional yet experimental take on Singaporean cuisine, which is perfect because your mother insists on a display of sophistication when it comes to hosting. Unfortunately, that also means the pressure on Daniel is palpable.

Daniel sits across from you, trying to look comfortable, though his hand is constantly fiddling with his napkin under the table. Your mother, seated beside him, is maintaining her usual air of grace, but you can see she’s sizing him up, scrutinizing every bite, every word. And you … you’re just trying to survive.

“So, Daniel,” your mother begins, swirling her wine like a seasoned critic, “what are your long-term plans? With your career, I mean.”

Daniel freezes with his fork halfway to his mouth, the question clearly catching him off guard. He clears his throat, scrambling to find an answer that sounds impressive. “Well, uh, things are a bit … in flux right now,” he says, offering a weak smile. “But I’m working on it.”

Your mother arches an eyebrow. “In flux? That doesn’t sound very … stable.”

You kick Daniel lightly under the table, silently willing him to come up with something better than “in flux.” He glances at you for help, but you just widen your eyes, urging him to recover.

“Yeah, well,” Daniel says, trying to salvage the conversation, “I’ve been racing for a while, you know? Formula 1. It’s a pretty high-pressure job, so … I’m considering my next move carefully.”

Your mother makes a noncommittal hum, clearly unimpressed. “I see.”

You want to sink into the floor.

“I’m going to excuse myself for a moment,” you say quickly, standing from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

Daniel gives you a look that screams *don’t leave me alone with her*, but there’s no way around it. You shoot him an apologetic smile before making your way toward the restroom, leaving him to fend for himself.

As soon as you’re gone, the silence at the table becomes almost deafening. Daniel shifts uncomfortably in his seat, glancing around the room as if he’s suddenly forgotten how to act normal. He’s about to reach for his water glass when he notices your mother watching him closely.

“So,” she says, her tone unnervingly calm, “Daniel.”

He straightens up, unsure if he should be relieved or terrified that she’s addressing him directly. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I think we should speak candidly, don’t you?” She says, her voice as smooth as silk but with an edge that makes Daniel’s skin crawl. She reaches into her handbag, and Daniel feels his stomach lurch with nerves. What’s she going to pull out? A contract? Some kind of questionnaire?

What she pulls out, however, is much worse.

It’s a small, velvet box. A ring box.

Daniel’s heart stops. His eyes widen as he stares at the box, his mind spinning, trying to make sense of what’s happening.

Your mother places the box delicately in front of him, her expression serene, like she’s offering him a cup of tea rather than a proposal-sized bombshell. “I’ve been waiting for Y/N to bring home a boy for quite some time,” she says, her voice soft but pointed. “And now that she has … well, I can’t let this moment pass.”

Daniel opens and closes his mouth, but no words come out. He’s too stunned to respond, completely blindsided by this sudden turn of events.

Your mother’s eyes gleam, and she leans in slightly, lowering her voice as if she’s sharing a secret. “Of course, I would have preferred if you were Singaporean,” she continues, her tone just a touch sharper, “but I’m not getting any younger, and I want grandchildren. So, we can’t be picky, can we?”

Daniel’s mind goes blank. He tries to form a coherent thought, a response, anything, but all that comes out is a strangled, “I … uh …”

Your mother regards him with the same calm, calculating gaze she’s had since the start of dinner, as though this entire interaction is completely normal. “You’ll do,” she says simply, and there’s a finality in her tone that makes it clear this isn’t up for debate.

Daniel stares at the ring box, his brain short-circuiting. Is this really happening? He glances around the restaurant, half-expecting someone to jump out and tell him it’s all some elaborate prank. But no one does. It’s just him, your mother, and the heavy weight of that velvet box sitting between them.

He’s completely out of his depth. He can’t even think of how to respond to your mother’s words, let alone the fact that she’s just essentially handed him an engagement ring.

“I-” he starts again, but his throat is dry, and nothing coherent follows.

“Daniel,” she interrupts smoothly, her gaze sharpening. “You’re a good man, I can tell. And you’re very … respectful.” The word drips with meaning, making Daniel shift in his seat.

Before he can stammer out anything in return, the restroom door swings open, and you reappear, walking back toward the table, blissfully unaware of the bomb that’s just been dropped.

Daniel panics. His mind races as you approach, and without thinking, he snatches the ring box off the table, slipping it into his jacket pocket in one swift movement. His heart is racing, his palms suddenly sweaty, but he tries to keep his expression neutral.

“Everything alright?” You ask, sliding back into your seat, oblivious to the tension radiating from both Daniel and your mother.

Daniel clears his throat, forcing a tight smile. “Yep. All good.”

Your mother smiles pleasantly, folding her hands in her lap. “Oh, we were just having a lovely little chat.”

You look between them suspiciously, but there’s no sign of the chaos that just occurred. Daniel’s poker face is impressive, but you can sense something is off. You raise an eyebrow at him, and he just gives you a strained smile in return.

The rest of dinner is a blur. You try to focus on the conversation, but your mother seems to be on her best behavior, keeping things light and superficial. Daniel is unusually quiet, nodding along and making polite comments when necessary, but there’s something distant about him, like he’s somewhere else entirely.

By the time dessert arrives, you can’t shake the feeling that something happened while you were gone. But Daniel isn’t saying a word, and your mother’s serene expression betrays nothing.

As the waiter clears the last of the plates, your mother dabs at her mouth with her napkin, looking between the two of you with an air of satisfaction. “Well,” she says, standing from the table, “this has been lovely. I’m so glad we could all spend this time together.”

You force a smile, standing as well. “Yes, of course. It was … lovely.”

Daniel stands too, his movements a little stiffer than usual, like he’s trying to keep his hands from shaking. “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Y/L/N,” he says politely, though his voice is a bit strained.

Your mother gives him one last, long look, then smiles warmly. “Oh, Daniel, you’re always welcome. Anytime.”

With that, she gathers her things and heads for the door, leaving you and Daniel standing there in stunned silence. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, turning to Daniel.

“Well, that wasn’t too bad, was it?” You ask, trying to lighten the mood.

Daniel gives a weak chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah … not too bad.”

You narrow your eyes at him, picking up on the odd tone in his voice. “Are you sure? You’ve been acting weird since I got back to the table.”

He blinks, his hand instinctively brushing the pocket where the ring box is hidden. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Just … full. Really full.”

You raise an eyebrow, not entirely convinced, but decide to let it slide for now. “Alright. If you say so.”

As you both head for the door, Daniel’s mind is still racing, the weight of the ring box burning a hole in his pocket. He has no idea what to do with it, or what your mother expects from him, but one thing is for sure — he’s in way over his head.

And he’s not sure how much longer he can keep pretending.

***

Back at your penthouse, the atmosphere feels … tense. Not the sort of charged tension from earlier, but something more fragile, awkward. The kind that makes everything feel a bit too quiet, like the air is too thick with things unsaid. You and Daniel are sitting on opposite ends of the plush couch in your living room. It’s not that big of a couch, but the distance feels enormous.

Daniel is fidgeting, running a hand through his hair, tapping his fingers on his knee. You’re sitting with your arms crossed, staring at him, waiting. But waiting for what, exactly? Neither of you knows. The silence stretches between you both, and it’s unbearable. Every breath feels louder than it should.

“Uh …” Daniel finally starts, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to find something — anything — to say. But nothing seems right, so he just ends up staring back at you, eyes darting around like he’s looking for a way out.

You, on the other hand, are unusually still, your eyes narrowed at him. It’s like you’re waiting for him to make the first move, but he’s not catching on. Not yet.

Daniel swallows hard, and after a moment of hesitation, his hand moves toward his jacket pocket. Your eyes flick to the motion, and his fingers tremble slightly as they close around the velvet box, pulling it out with an awkward kind of determination, as if it’s weighing him down more than anything. He holds it for a second, staring at it like it’s a puzzle he can’t solve.

Then, with a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, he opens the box.

The soft click of the hinge seems impossibly loud in the room, and for a moment, all you can do is stare. The ring glimmers under the soft lighting, catching the faintest reflection of the overhead chandelier. It’s not just any ring. You recognize it immediately.

And then, as if someone flipped a switch, you start laughing.

Daniel’s eyes snap to you in confusion, his brows furrowing. “What … what’s so funny?”

You’re still giggling, pressing your hand to your mouth to muffle the sound, but it doesn’t work. The laughter bubbles up uncontrollably, and Daniel looks like he’s caught between being relieved that you’re not mad and completely baffled by your reaction.

“You-” you manage between breaths, “That ring … that’s my grandmother’s. Oh my God, she’s really lost it.”

Daniel blinks, glancing down at the ring again, his confusion only deepening. “Wait, what?”

“My mother,” you say, wiping a tear from your eye, “She must be really desperate to get me married off if she’s giving out my grandmother’s ring to the first guy I bring to dinner. I can’t believe it.”

Daniel stares at you for a second, then back at the ring. “This is your … grandmother’s?” His voice is shaky, like the absurdity of the situation is just now hitting him.

You nod, biting your lip to stifle another laugh. “Yup. She always said it was meant for the man I’d marry one day. Guess she couldn’t wait any longer.”

Daniel’s face goes through a range of emotions — shock, embarrassment, and finally, something like disbelief. “I … I don’t even know what to say.”

You snicker again, leaning back against the couch and crossing your arms. “I think the bigger question here is — why didn’t you say anything to me? Did you just plan on pocketing the ring and hoping I wouldn’t notice?”

Daniel shifts uncomfortably, his cheeks flushing. “I — I didn’t know what to do. Your mom just … handed it to me. I mean, what was I supposed to say? ‘No, thank you, ma’am, I’m not ready for an arranged marriage just yet?’”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “That might’ve been a good start.”

He opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again, clearly struggling to find a way out of this. Finally, he lets out a defeated sigh and leans back, running both hands through his hair. “This is insane.”

“You think?” You quip, smirking.

Daniel’s gaze drops to the ring again, and there’s a beat of silence before you speak up, this time your tone more playful than mocking. “Well,” you say, drawing out the word, “if you’re gonna propose, you should at least get on one knee. You know, for tradition’s sake.”

Daniel’s head snaps up, eyes wide in disbelief. “What?”

You laugh again, your teasing smile growing. “I mean, come on. If we’re going through with this charade, you might as well go all in. Get down on one knee, Ricciardo.”

He blinks at you, completely at a loss for words. “You’re not serious.”

“Why not?” You shoot back, still grinning. “What’s stopping you? You don’t have a job anymore, so it’s not like you have much else going on. You could always be my trophy husband.”

There’s a flicker of something in Daniel’s eyes — part shock, part amusement, and maybe just a little bit of something else. “Trophy husband?” He echoes, his voice incredulous.

You shrug, leaning forward and resting your chin on your hand, as if the idea were the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. I mean, think about it. You wouldn’t have to work, I’d take care of you. You could just … exist. Isn’t that every guy’s dream?”

Daniel laughs — an actual laugh this time, though it’s tinged with disbelief. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

You grin. “Maybe. But I’m also not wrong.”

For a moment, the room is quiet again, but it’s not the awkward silence from before. This is something lighter, filled with the remnants of laughter and the weight of an unspoken understanding. Daniel is still holding the ring box, his thumb absently running over the velvet surface as he processes everything that’s just happened.

And then, because clearly, the universe hasn’t thrown enough chaos at him lately, Daniel does something that surprises both of you.

He nods.

It’s a small, hesitant nod at first, like he’s not even sure he’s agreeing to anything real. But then he meets your gaze, and there’s a flicker of something — maybe exhaustion, maybe delirium, maybe just the sheer absurdity of it all — and he nods again. This time, more certain.

“Alright,” he says quietly, still staring at the ring. “Okay.”

You freeze, blinking at him in surprise. “Wait … what?”

Daniel looks up at you, his expression unreadable but calm. “I said … okay. Let’s do it.”

For the first time tonight, you’re the one who’s caught off guard. “You’re joking.”

He shakes his head slowly, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “Nope.”

You sit up straighter, suddenly unsure whether you’re still in the middle of some elaborate joke or if the reality of the past few days has finally broken Daniel’s sense of logic. “You — wait, seriously? You’d marry me?”

Daniel shrugs, though there’s a glimmer of humor in his eyes now. “I mean, like you said … I don’t have a job anymore. And hey, being a trophy husband doesn’t sound half bad.”

You stare at him, searching his face for any sign of a punchline. But the longer you look, the more you realize he’s not kidding. He’s serious. Or as serious as someone in his situation can be.

A beat passes. Then another.

And suddenly, you burst into laughter again.

“God, you’re insane,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief. “This whole thing is insane.”

Daniel grins, leaning back into the couch with a relieved sigh, as if your laughter has lifted the tension from the room entirely. “Welcome to my life.”

You shake your head again, still chuckling, though there’s something warm and strange growing in your chest. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”

Daniel glances at the ring one more time before closing the box with a soft click and slipping it back into his pocket. “Hey,” he says, his voice softer now, “if nothing else, at least we’ll give your mother something to talk about at her next dinner party.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Oh, she’ll have a field day.”

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, side by side on the couch, the absurdity of the night finally settling over you both. It’s ridiculous, completely irrational, and yet somehow, in this moment, it feels … right.

Daniel nudges you with his elbow, breaking the silence. “So … when’s the wedding?”

You groan, but you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Daniel chuckles, leaning back into the cushions, finally starting to relax. “Yeah. One step at a time.”

But even as you say it, you can’t shake the feeling that this strange, accidental engagement is just the beginning of something even more complicated.

And maybe you’re okay with that.

***

You come home the next afternoon, practically skipping into the penthouse, your eyes sparkling with excitement. The energy around you is contagious, and even Daniel, who’s lounging on the couch with a glass of water — probably trying to recover from the whirlwind of the past few days — can’t help but smile at your entrance.

“You look … happy,” Daniel says, a slow grin spreading across his face. “What did I miss?”

You clap your hands together like an excited child, barely containing your glee. “I got you something.”

Daniel’s smile falters for a moment, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Wait, what? You got me something?” He straightens up on the couch, his brows furrowing. “You really didn’t have to do that-”

“Shush.” You wave a hand at him, cutting him off before he can protest further. “I wanted to. Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

Daniel chuckles, though there’s a nervous edge to his voice. “Alright, alright. What is it then? A new watch? Shoes?” He pauses, glancing at you skeptically. “Wait, is it another one of your mum’s rings?”

You shake your head, grinning like you’ve just pulled off the best surprise in the world. “Nope. Guess again.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Okay … well, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s great but-”

“I bought Red Bull Racing.”

For a second, it’s like the words don’t register. Daniel blinks at you, his expression blank as his brain tries to process what you just said. There’s a long beat of silence before his mouth finally drops open in disbelief.

“You … you what?”

Your grin widens. “I bought Red Bull Racing. You know, the Formula 1 team? Your old team?” You say it so casually, like you’re talking about picking up a pair of shoes or booking a vacation.

Daniel’s jaw is still hanging open. “You — wait — are you serious?” He’s half laughing now, like he’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke. But the look on your face — pure, unfiltered joy — tells him you’re very, very serious.

“Yup!” You say, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “Apparently, if you offer double what a team is worth, the owners tend to sell pretty quickly. Who knew?”

Daniel stares at you, completely slack-jawed, like you’ve just told him you bought a small country. “You … bought Red Bull Racing?” His voice cracks a little as he repeats it, as if saying it out loud will make it more real.

You nod, your smile never faltering. “Yup. Just closed the deal this morning.”

“Jesus Christ.” Daniel runs a hand through his hair, looking like he might faint. “Are you insane?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit with a playful shrug. “But it’s an engagement gift, you know? Gotta keep things exciting.”

Daniel lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I … I don’t even know what to say. That’s — this is crazy.”

“I know,” you say, beaming. “But crazy is kind of our thing, isn’t it?”

He laughs again, though it’s still a little shaky. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

There’s a pause as Daniel tries to wrap his head around the fact that you, his new fiancée, just bought one of the most successful teams in Formula 1. He stares at you for a moment longer, then blinks, rubbing his temples like he’s getting a headache. “I … I don’t even know where to start. What does that even mean? You’re gonna be the new team owner?”

“Pretty much,” you say, like it’s no big deal. “And I’m planning to do a bit of restructuring. You know, make some changes, shake things up.”

Daniel gives you a skeptical look. “Restructuring? What kind of changes?”

“Well …” You tap your chin, pretending to think about it. “First of all, I figured I’d ask if there’s anyone you’d like me to keep around. I mean, it’s your engagement gift, after all. I want you to be happy with the team.”

Daniel snorts, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

You lean closer, your eyes gleaming mischievously. “And I assume you’ll want me to keep your boyfriend, right?”

Daniel freezes, blinking at you in confusion. “My … boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” you say, deadpan. “Max.”

Daniel nearly chokes. “Wait — what?”

You burst out laughing, unable to keep a straight face any longer. “I’m talking about Max Verstappen! Don’t act so surprised.”

Daniel’s face flushes a deep red, and he shakes his head, exasperated. “We’re not — he’s not my — Jesus, you’re impossible.”

You pat his head, still laughing. “Sure, he’s not. Whatever you say.”

Daniel groans, covering his face with his hands. “Oh my God.”

You sit back, grinning at him. “So, do you want me to keep him or not?”

He lowers his hands, shooting you a look that’s half amused, half irritated. “Obviously, you keep him. He’s the best driver on the grid.”

You nod, pretending to jot down notes in the air. “Okay, so keep Max. Got it.”

Daniel leans back against the couch, staring at you like he still can’t believe this is real. “I can’t believe you just bought a Formula 1 team.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner,” you say with a grin.

Daniel laughs, though it’s tinged with disbelief. “And you’re just … going to be the boss now?”

You shrug. “Why not? It’s not like I haven’t run a business before. Plus, how hard can it be to manage a Formula 1 team?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “You do realize you’ll be dealing with, like, a whole bunch of egos and drama, right? It’s not just about racing. There’s politics, sponsorships, technical regulations …”

You wave a hand dismissively. “Details, details. I’ll figure it out.”

Daniel shakes his head, still grinning. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And that’s why you like me,” you quip, flashing him a playful wink.

Daniel’s smile softens, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that you can’t quite place. But then he shakes his head again, chuckling. “Yeah, something like that.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, and Daniel’s gaze drifts back to the ring box still sitting on the coffee table between you. It feels surreal — like the last few days have been one long, crazy dream that neither of you can wake up from. But somehow, despite all the madness, there’s a strange sense of peace settling over the room.

Finally, Daniel breaks the silence with a quiet laugh. “So … when do you get to meet the team?”

You grin. “Soon enough. I’ll introduce you as my fiancé. It’ll be fun to see the look on everyone’s faces.”

Daniel snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over well.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease. “You’ll love it. Don’t you like being the center of attention?”

He shoots you a playful glare. “I’m starting to regret this engagement.”

You laugh, leaning back into the couch. “Too late. You’re stuck with me now.”

Daniel chuckles, but there’s a warmth in his eyes as he looks at you. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

***

You and Daniel are curled up together on the plush couch, nestled under a thick blanket, a pint of ice cream balanced between the two of you. The glow of the TV flickers across the room as Crazy Rich Asians plays in the background, the glamorous scenes of Singapore flashing on the screen. You scoop a spoonful of ice cream and pop it into your mouth, your eyes glued to the over-the-top depiction of high society that, to you, feels more like a parody than reality.

“I mean, come on,” you mutter around a mouthful of ice cream, shaking your head. “That’s not how any of this works.”

Daniel glances at you, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “What do you mean? It looks pretty fancy to me.”

You roll your eyes, waving your spoon toward the screen. “Yeah, because all of us crazy rich Asians are just constantly jetting off to private islands in the middle of the week. And, of course, we throw dramatic, lavish parties for every minor inconvenience.”

Daniel grins, leaning back against the couch as he scoops up some ice cream. “I dunno, the whole secret wedding dress thing seemed pretty realistic to me.”

You nudge him playfully with your elbow, laughing. “Please. If anything, that’s understated.”

Daniel chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, so maybe Hollywood doesn’t exactly nail the rich lifestyle. But it’s entertaining.”

“Entertaining?” You snort, raising an eyebrow. “It’s borderline satire. Half the time, I’m watching these movies like, ‘Are you serious? Who even does that?’”

Daniel laughs again, clearly enjoying your commentary more than the actual movie. “Okay, but admit it, the wedding scene was pretty epic.”

You sigh dramatically. “Fine, I’ll give them that one. The water running down the aisle was a nice touch.”

“See? Even you have to admit there’s some good stuff in there,” Daniel says with a grin, licking his spoon.

You lean back against the couch, settling more comfortably into Daniel’s side as the movie continues to play. The ice cream between you starts to melt slightly, but neither of you seem to care, too caught up in the comfort of the moment. Your head rests on Daniel’s shoulder, and his arm is loosely draped around you.

There’s a comfortable silence between you two for a few minutes, the movie providing a soft background noise as you both watch absently. Then, without looking away from the screen, you break the silence with a casual question.

“Hey, so … do you want to drive for Red Bull next year?”

The question seems to catch Daniel off guard. His hand, mid-way to another scoop of ice cream, freezes in the air. He turns his head slightly to look at you, eyebrows furrowed in thought. He doesn’t say anything at first, and the silence stretches out long enough for you to glance up at him, wondering why he’s taking so long to respond.

“Daniel?” You prompt softly.

He pauses the movie, the room suddenly quiet without the chatter of characters and dramatic music. His face is serious now, a stark contrast to the playful mood from moments before. He places the spoon down in the pint and leans back, exhaling a long breath.

“I don’t know,” he finally says, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

You blink at him, confused. “You don’t know? What do you mean?”

Daniel rubs a hand over his face, looking down at his lap as if the answer is written there somewhere. “I mean, I don’t know if … if I deserve it. That seat.”

There’s a heavy pause as you process his words. The casualness of the evening suddenly feels distant, replaced by something more serious, more vulnerable. You turn slightly, facing him more directly now, your hand reaching out to rest on his knee.

“Why would you say that?” You ask, your voice quiet but firm.

Daniel looks up at you, his expression pained. “I’ve been dropped twice now. McLaren, VCARB … And, honestly, I didn’t do as well as I wanted. As well as they wanted. What if I’m just not cut out for it anymore? Maybe the sport’s moved on, and I haven’t.”

You frown, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s not true. You’re still an incredible driver.”

Daniel lets out a bitter laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Incredible? You’ve seen the results. I’m nowhere near where I used to be. And Max? He’s on another level. It’s his team now.”

“Okay, first of all,” you say, your tone shifting into something more assertive, “don’t compare yourself to Max. You’re both amazing in your own ways. And second, this isn’t about what they want, Daniel. It’s about what you want.”

Daniel doesn’t respond right away. He just stares at the frozen image on the TV screen, lost in his thoughts. His jaw is tense, and you can tell he’s grappling with something deeper, something that’s been weighing on him for a long time.

You squeeze his knee gently, your voice softening. “You’ve still got it, Daniel. I know you do. And so does everyone else.”

He glances at you, his eyes searching your face like he’s trying to find some kind of reassurance in your words. “But what if … what if I can’t get back to where I was? What if I’m just holding onto something that’s not there anymore?”

“You’re not,” you say firmly, not missing a beat. “You’ve had a rough few seasons, sure. But that doesn’t mean you’ve lost it. It just means you’ve had setbacks. And if anyone knows how to bounce back, it’s you.”

Daniel still looks unsure, and you can tell there’s a part of him that’s scared — scared of failing again, scared of not living up to the expectations that have been placed on him, both by himself and by others.

You lean in closer, your voice gentle but insistent. “Daniel, you’re one of the best drivers in the world. You’ve proved that time and time again. Red Bull wouldn’t have taken you back if they didn’t believe in you. And I wouldn’t have bought the damn team if I didn’t believe in you either.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Daniel’s lips at that, though it’s fleeting. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. “I just … I don’t know if I’m ready to go back. I don’t know if I can handle it if things go wrong again.”

You nod slowly, understanding the fear behind his words. It’s not just about driving. It’s about the pressure, the weight of expectation, the fear of failure.

“I get that,” you say softly. “But you can’t let fear stop you from doing what you love. You’ve been through a lot, I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s over. You have so much more left to give. And I’ll be there with you, every step of the way.”

Daniel meets your gaze, his eyes softening at your words. For a moment, the vulnerability in his expression is raw, unguarded. Then he reaches out, taking your hand in his, giving it a small squeeze.

“You really think I can do it?” He asks quietly.

You smile, squeezing his hand back. “I know you can.”

Daniel lets out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly as some of the tension seems to drain from him. He looks at you for a long moment, then nods, as if finally coming to terms with something inside himself.

“Alright,” he says, his voice a little steadier now. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” you say with a soft smile.

He leans back into the couch, and you both settle into a comfortable silence again, the tension from earlier slowly fading away. You reach for the remote and unpause the movie, but neither of you are really paying attention to it anymore. Instead, you both sit there, sharing the ice cream, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air but somehow lighter now.

***

The evening is quiet, the city’s hum muted behind the large windows of your penthouse. The movie’s credits are rolling, but neither you nor Daniel has made a move to turn off the TV. Instead, you both sit there, wrapped up in the soft blanket, the nearly empty pint of ice cream abandoned on the coffee table. There’s a sense of calm in the air, but underneath it, you can feel something unspoken, simmering just below the surface.

You glance at Daniel, who’s leaning back into the couch, his gaze distant. He’s still processing, you can tell — about Red Bull, about everything that’s been thrown at him lately. The weight of it all seems heavier in the silence.

After a long moment, you shift slightly, turning your body to face him more directly. “Daniel,” you say softly, your voice breaking the quiet.

He blinks, coming back to the present, and looks at you with a small, tired smile. “Yeah?”

“You’ve said something a lot that I keep thinking about,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “The whole ‘enjoy the butterflies’ thing. I’ve heard you say it in interviews, but I don’t think I ever really understood what you meant by it.”

Daniel’s smile falters a bit, and he looks away, his expression growing thoughtful. He doesn’t say anything at first, and you can see he’s retreating into his thoughts again, the way he does when he’s trying to figure out how to articulate something that matters to him.

You reach out, placing a hand gently on his arm, coaxing him back to the conversation. “What does it really mean to you? Enjoy the butterflies?”

Daniel takes a deep breath, his fingers fiddling with the edge of the blanket. “It’s … it’s kinda hard to explain,” he says slowly, his accent thicker when he’s being reflective. “It’s not just about racing, you know? It’s more about the feeling — the nerves, the excitement, the anticipation. All those little moments that make your stomach flip.”

He pauses, glancing at you as if gauging whether you’re following. You nod, encouraging him to continue.

“I think,” he says, his voice quieter now, “for the longest time, I used to hate that feeling. The butterflies. It always made me feel … unsure. Like, am I good enough? Am I ready? Every time I’d get in the car, no matter how many times I’d done it before, I’d still feel that little twinge of anxiety. And for a while, I thought it was a bad thing.”

You listen intently, your eyes never leaving his face as he speaks. There’s something raw and real in his words, a vulnerability that you don’t often see in him.

“But then, I don’t know,” he continues, “at some point, I started to see it differently. Like, maybe those butterflies aren’t a sign of weakness. Maybe they’re a sign that you’re doing something that matters. That you’re alive. That you care.”

You nod slowly, your hand still resting on his arm. “That makes sense.”

Daniel meets your gaze again, his eyes softening. “Yeah. So now, when I feel the butterflies, I try to embrace it, you know? Instead of fighting it. Because if you’re not nervous, if you don’t feel anything, then what’s the point?”

You lean back slightly, absorbing his words. There’s a quiet wisdom in what he’s saying, a reminder that life’s most meaningful moments are often the ones that scare us the most. You think about how that applies to you — not just in your relationship with Daniel, but in everything. The choices you’ve made, the risks you’ve taken, the moments when you’ve doubted yourself. Maybe those butterflies are a part of the journey, too.

“I get that,” you say softly, nodding. “But … do you still feel them? After all this time?”

Daniel smiles, but it’s tinged with something bittersweet. “Every single time.”

You look at him for a long moment, the weight of his honesty settling between you. There’s something comforting in knowing that even someone like Daniel — someone who’s faced so many high-pressure moments, who’s been at the top of his game — still feels that same uncertainty, that same flutter of nerves.

“But now,” he adds, his voice softening even more, “I think the butterflies aren’t just about fear. They’re about excitement, too. Like, yeah, maybe I’m nervous, but I’m also excited because it means I still care. I still love what I do, even when it’s hard.”

You smile gently, your hand giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “That’s beautiful, Daniel. Really.”

He chuckles lightly, looking almost embarrassed by the compliment. “I don’t know about beautiful, but it helps me get through the tough days.”

There’s a pause, and you can feel the conversation shifting into something deeper, something more personal. You take a breath, feeling the moment settling between you like a quiet pulse.

“Do you ever get tired of it, though?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “The butterflies, the pressure, the weight of it all?”

Daniel tilts his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t answer right away, but when he does, his voice is tinged with a kind of quiet resignation. “Yeah. Sometimes. Sometimes it feels like too much, like it’s all building up and I just … don’t know how to keep going.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. You’ve seen Daniel at his best, but you’ve also seen him at his lowest. The moments when he’s struggled, when he’s doubted himself. And yet, through it all, he’s always managed to push through. To keep going.

“But,” he continues after a beat, his voice soft but steady, “those moments don’t last forever. And when they pass, when I’m back in the car, or when I’ve crossed the finish line, it’s like … I remember why I do it. Why I love it.”

You watch him closely, your heart swelling with both admiration and empathy. “You’re stronger than you think, Daniel.”

He glances at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just stubborn.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I think it’s a little bit of both.”

Daniel grins at that, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He shifts on the couch, turning more toward you, his hand reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. There’s a softness in his touch, a quiet intimacy that makes your heart skip a beat.

“You know,” he says quietly, “you’ve got your own butterflies too. I’ve seen them.”

You raise an eyebrow, slightly surprised. “Oh, really?”

Daniel nods, his eyes locking onto yours. “Yeah. Whenever you’re about to make a big decision or when something’s stressing you out. You get this look in your eyes, like you’re bracing yourself for something.”

You blink, taken aback by his observation. “I didn’t realize you noticed.”

He smiles gently. “I notice a lot about you.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence again, the weight of the conversation hanging in the air like a shared secret. You can feel your heart beating a little faster, the warmth of Daniel’s words wrapping around you like a blanket.

“Do you ever wish the butterflies would go away?” You ask after a moment, your voice soft.

Daniel shakes his head slowly. “No. I don’t think I do. Because if they did, that would mean I’ve stopped caring. And I don’t ever want to stop caring.”

You nod, understanding now in a way you didn’t before. The butterflies aren’t something to fear — they’re a reminder that you’re alive, that you’re still passionate, that you’re still fighting for what matters.

You smile softly, leaning in closer to him. “I think I’ll try to enjoy the butterflies a little more.”

Daniel smiles back, his hand gently resting on your cheek. “Good. You should.”

And for the first time in a long time, you feel a sense of peace settle over you — a quiet understanding that, no matter what happens next, you’ll face it with open hearts and, yes, even a few butterflies.

***

The Red Bull Racing factory is a hive of quiet activity. The entire team, from mechanics to engineers, marketing staff to the senior management, stands gathered in a large meeting room just off the factory floor. Whispers ripple through the crowd, conversations hushed and speculative. It’s unusual to have the entire team assembled like this — especially during the off-season.

But today is different. They’ve been told that the team’s new owner will be making her first official appearance, and no one knows what to expect.

The announcement of Red Bull Racing’s sale had come out of nowhere, a shock to everyone. No one knew who the buyer was, only that it was someone with enough money to pull off the purchase in record time. The rumors had flown, the speculation mounting over the past few weeks, but nothing concrete had leaked. All they knew was that something big was coming. Something — someone — new.

The murmur of voices grows louder as the minutes tick by. Eyes dart toward the doors at the far end of the room, the anticipation palpable. Then, the doors swing open.

You walk in, a vision of confidence, head held high. The noise in the room instantly dies down, replaced by the stunned silence of dozens of pairs of eyes turning in your direction. Beside you, Daniel walks in, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, a familiar but unusual sight for the Red Bull team.

The shock is immediate, rippling through the room like a wave. Everyone stares, first at you, then at Daniel, as if trying to piece together how any of this makes sense. The whispers start up again, but you don’t let it faze you. Instead, you step forward with a wide, almost mischievous smile on your face.

“Good morning, everyone!” You greet them brightly, clapping your hands once, the sound echoing in the room. “I’m sure most of you have heard by now, but allow me to introduce myself formally. I’m your new boss.”

You pause, letting the statement sink in as the team stares at you in stunned silence. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m thrilled to be taking over as the owner of Red Bull Racing.”

There’s a beat of silence, the team processing the bombshell, before a smattering of hesitant applause starts. You nod, acknowledging the claps, but there’s still a palpable tension in the room. You know they’re still confused, still reeling from the surprise. You’re not done yet.

“And I have one more introduction to make,” you say, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You glance over at Daniel, who’s standing beside you, a little less sure of himself than usual but still flashing that signature Ricciardo smile. “This is my fiancé, Daniel Ricciardo.”

The room gasps. The shock is real this time, murmurs breaking out instantly among the team. Fiancé? Some people turn to each other, others crane their necks to get a better look at Daniel. The whispers intensify, but you continue as if none of it fazes you.

“And I have some exciting news for all of you today,” you say, your voice cutting through the growing chatter. You step forward again, your gaze sweeping across the room. “With the team being restructured, and with Sergio Perez deciding to take some time away from the sport to be with his family …” You pause, letting that hang for a moment, watching the confusion bloom on their faces. “I’m thrilled to announce that Daniel will be returning to Red Bull Racing as a driver next season.”

The room falls completely silent again, a collective intake of breath. For a long moment, no one says a word. Then, as if on cue, someone begins clapping. It’s slow at first, hesitant, but then others join in, and soon the room is filled with applause. The realization starts to settle in.

Daniel Ricciardo — back at Red Bull.

You glance at Daniel, and his eyes meet yours. For a second, you see the flicker of uncertainty in them, the weight of everything hanging in the air. But then, as the applause grows, you see the shift — the spark of confidence returning to him, the slow curve of a genuine smile spreading across his face.

Daniel steps forward, raising a hand to quiet the crowd, but they don’t stop clapping for several more seconds. Finally, the noise dies down enough for him to speak.

“Wow, uh … thanks for that,” Daniel begins, clearly taken aback by the reaction. He rubs the back of his neck, his grin widening as he takes in the faces of the people who, not so long ago, had been his team. “I’ve gotta admit, it feels pretty good to be standing here again.”

A few people in the crowd chuckle, a ripple of warmth spreading through the room.

“I know it’s been a strange few years,” Daniel continues, his voice more serious now. “There were times when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get back to this place. But when Y/N came into my life, well, let’s just say she’s good at making the impossible happen.” He glances at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and affection, and you feel your heart flutter in response.

The room watches this exchange, enraptured. There’s something surreal about seeing Daniel Ricciardo, a former Red Bull driver, now standing next to the team’s new owner — his fiancée, no less. It’s a lot for them to process.

Daniel turns back to the team, his expression softening as he addresses them. “This place has always been special to me,” he says quietly. “I’ve had some of my best moments in my career here, and I’m so grateful for the chance to come back and create more memories with you all. I know it’s not going to be easy, and I’ve got a lot to prove. But I’m ready. I’m ready to give everything I’ve got.”

The room bursts into applause again, louder this time, more genuine. The team members seem to be warming up to the idea now, their initial shock replaced by excitement. A few of the senior engineers, who had been with the team during Daniel’s previous stint, exchange nods of approval. There’s a growing sense of anticipation, the mood in the room shifting.

You watch Daniel as he steps back, the energy of the moment clearly lifting him. He catches your eye again, and for a brief moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you in the room. His smile is softer now, more private, meant just for you. You feel a surge of warmth, the bond between you solidifying even more in this shared experience.

Then, clearing your throat, you step forward again, reclaiming the attention of the room. “Now, I know this is a lot to take in,” you say, your tone playful. “But don’t worry. Daniel and I aren’t here to shake things up too much … unless we need to.” A few chuckles ripple through the room at that. “We’re committed to making sure this team remains at the top of the sport. And we’re going to do whatever it takes to get there.”

The applause comes again, more enthusiastic this time. You can feel the room shifting from shock to acceptance, and even a little excitement. The Red Bull team is known for its resilience, for thriving in the face of challenges, and this is no different.

As the clapping fades, one of the senior team members — a man with graying hair and a knowing smile — steps forward. He glances between you and Daniel, then says, “Well, if Daniel’s back, I guess we better start preparing for some shoeys.”

The room bursts into laughter, and even Daniel can’t help but laugh along with them, shaking his head. “You better believe it,” he says with a grin.

Slowly, the group begins to disperse, people heading back to their workstations, some still murmuring excitedly about the news. You catch snippets of conversation — mentions of Daniel’s return, your surprising entrance, and speculation about what’s next for the team.

As the room clears, Daniel turns to you, his expression soft. “You’re really something, you know that?”

You smile at him, feeling the weight of the moment settle around you. “It’s just the beginning,” you say, your voice filled with determination. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

Daniel grins, reaching for your hand. “Yeah, but I think we’re gonna be just fine.”

You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling with excitement and love. Together, you’ve just taken the first step into a new chapter — one filled with challenges, risks, and plenty of butterflies. But you know, with Daniel by your side, there’s nothing you can’t handle.

And as you leave the factory hand in hand, the future stretches out before you — unknown, thrilling, and entirely yours to shape.

***

The roars from the Melbourne crowd reverberate through the air as the final lap of the Australian Grand Prix begins. The cameras lock onto Daniel’s Red Bull, the #3 flashing as it leads the pack by several seconds. The circuit is electric, and the commentators can barely contain themselves.

“Here we are on the final lap,” David Croft’s voice crackles through the Sky Sports broadcast, almost trembling with excitement. “Daniel Ricciardo, the hometown hero, is this close to claiming his ninth career win — and his first ever win here in Australia. You can hear the crowd, the energy in the air — it’s absolutely incredible!”

Beside him, Martin Brundle jumps in, his tone equal parts admiration and disbelief. “This is what the fans have been waiting for, for years. After everything Daniel’s been through — leaving Red Bull, bouncing between teams, and now back with Red Bull and at the front of the grid — this will be a monumental moment, not just for Daniel, but for every Australian who’s dreamed of seeing him on the top step here.”

The camera flickers briefly to the Red Bull garage. You’re standing at the front, practically on your toes as you watch the live feed with bated breath, every nerve in your body tense with anticipation. You’re surrounded by engineers, mechanics, and team members, but it’s clear that all eyes in the garage are on you. The new team owner, the mastermind behind Daniel’s return to the team. And now, you’re witnessing the culmination of it all.

“Look at that,” Brundle says as the camera focuses on you. “There’s Daniel’s fiancée and the new team owner, Y/N Y/L/N. You’ve got to imagine what this moment means for her too, after buying the team and making the bold decision to bring Daniel back. She’s been nothing short of instrumental in this comeback.”

Crofty’s voice grows louder as Daniel approaches the final few corners. “And here he comes now, through Turn 13, a perfect line through there — keeping it clean. The crowd is going wild, and you can see why! He’s a few corners away from victory, from making history on home soil.”

As the camera switches back to the track, Daniel’s race engineer comes over the radio, his voice steady but filled with excitement.

“Alright, mate. Just bring it home now. One more corner. You’ve got this.”

There’s a brief pause before Daniel’s reply crackles over the airwaves, his voice barely containing his elation. “I’ve got it, mate! I’ve bloody got it!”

The Red Bull flies around the final corner, the engine roaring, and Daniel rockets down the straight toward the checkered flag. The crowd’s roar is deafening as he crosses the line.

“And there it is! Daniel Ricciardo wins the Australian Grand Prix!” Crofty yells, his voice barely audible over the roaring fans. “His ninth career win — and what a win it is! His first win here in Australia, and you can just feel how much this means to him and the crowd!”

The camera immediately cuts back to you, your face a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming joy. You’re laughing, hands clasped over your mouth as the enormity of the moment sinks in. The entire Red Bull garage erupts into cheers, people hugging and high-fiving all around you, but you’re frozen for a moment, just soaking in the euphoria of the victory.

“Look at her reaction!” Brundle says with a chuckle. “You can tell just how much this moment means to the team owner. It’s not just a win for Daniel — it’s a win for them. What a partnership!”

The scene cuts to Daniel inside the cockpit, raising his fists in victory as he slows the car on the cool-down lap. His voice comes over the radio again, almost breathless.

“YEEEEES! Let’s go! Oh my god, we did it! We actually did it!” Daniel shouts, his voice cracking with emotion.

“Mate, you’re a race winner in Australia!” His race engineer’s voice is filled with pride. “Take it in, soak it all in. This is your moment.”

“I’ve waited so long for this …” Daniel’s voice is quieter now, more introspective. “Thank you, everyone. This is unbelievable.”

As he makes his way around the track on the cool-down lap, the camera follows him, showing the thousands of fans on their feet, waving Australian flags and cheering for their hero. It’s an emotional scene, the kind that will go down in F1 history. The commentators fall silent for a moment, letting the raw emotion of the moment speak for itself.

Finally, Crofty breaks the silence. “Daniel Ricciardo has just made history. He’s become the first Australian driver to win here in Melbourne in front of his home crowd, and you can just see how much this means — not just to him, but to every fan in the stands.”

Daniel pulls into parc fermé, his car screeching to a halt under the massive “P1” sign. The mechanics are already leaning over the barriers, waiting for him, their arms raised in celebration. Daniel clambers out of the car, pulls off his helmet, and lets out a roar, his signature grin plastered on his face. The crowd erupts once more, their hero standing victorious before them.

The Red Bull team surrounds him, cheering and patting him on the back. But Daniel's eyes are searching, scanning the pit lane for you. Finally, they find you in the crowd, and without hesitation, he breaks away from the chaos and runs straight to you.

“Hey, boss,” he says, pulling you into a tight hug, his voice barely above the roar of the fans. “Did I do alright?”

You laugh, pushing him back playfully. “I’d say you did more than alright.”

Daniel grins, his smile wide and genuine, and then he’s swept back into the celebrations, the team lifting him onto their shoulders as the cameras capture every second.

The podium celebrations come next, the lights glittering, the trophy standing proud. Daniel, Max Verstappen, and Charles Leclerc climb onto the podium, their faces reflecting the joy and exhaustion of a hard-fought race. The national anthems play, first for Australia, then for Austria, and the crowd sings along, their pride and passion tangible.

When the champagne is finally handed out, Daniel holds his bottle aloft, savoring the moment. He walks to the edge of the podium, holding his finger up to signal the crowd. The fans know what’s coming. The mechanics in the garage know what’s coming. You, standing just below the podium, know what’s coming.

Daniel unlaces his boot and fills it with champagne, holding it high as he looks out over the sea of fans. The crowd roars with approval.

“Oh no …” Brundle says with a laugh, watching from the Sky Sports commentary booth. “Here we go. It wouldn’t be a Daniel Ricciardo victory without a shoey!”

Daniel grins and, with the flair only he can pull off, drinks the champagne from his shoe. The crowd cheers louder than ever, reveling in the chaotic joy of the moment. Even Max, standing beside him, cracks a smile as Daniel offers him the boot, but Max declines with a laugh, shaking his head.

As Daniel finishes the shoey, he looks down at you with a cheeky grin. He points the boot in your direction, his eyes twinkling.

“Wanna join in?” He shouts down, loud enough for the camera to catch.

You cross your arms, shaking your head with a smirk. “Absolutely not.”

Daniel laughs, tossing the boot aside and grabbing the champagne again, spraying the crowd as the podium celebration continues. The cameras capture everything, the joy, the fun, the relief of a long journey finally reaching its pinnacle.

Back in the commentary booth, Crofty speaks again, his voice soft but filled with admiration. “Daniel Ricciardo, a winner in Australia, celebrating in true Ricciardo style. This win means more than just points on the board — it’s the result of hard work, perseverance, and a love for racing.”

Brundle nods, his tone warm. “You’ve got to hand it to Daniel, and to Y/N Y/L/N as well. She brought him back to Red Bull, believed in him when others didn’t, and now they’re celebrating together on the biggest stage. It’s a fairytale moment.”

As the champagne rains down on the podium, Daniel glances over at you again, his face still lit up with that signature Ricciardo grin. And even though you’re not up there with him, he knows that none of this would’ve been possible without you by his side.

This is your team, your driver, and your moment.

[sashi-ya]

𝘗𝘙𝘈𝘕𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘔 𝘞𝘐𝘛𝘏 "𝘔𝘠 𝘗𝘌𝘙𝘐𝘖𝘋 𝘐𝘚 𝘓𝘈𝘛𝘌" one piece edition headcanons ⟢ law, zoro, ace & shanks

tw: mdni. suggestive language. pregnancy desires mentioned. cream pie implied. on a serious note, do not play this prank to your real life lovers, please. wait for a bleach and kaiju 8 version, too.

𝐋𝐀𝐖

No medical knowledge is enough for him to justify your lack of a period. Every possible cause stated at the same time inside his head, every cause but pregnancy… Completely in silence, that’s how he stayed the very first minutes after your told him. His cheeks lacked redness; his whole skin turned pale. Legs becoming weak, insides falling into a jail of anxiety.

A silence hug, that’s all he is able to do after who knows how many minutes. His nose buries on the crook of your neck, his hands fall slowly around your waist, hanging lifelessly into the small of your back… “I have no idea what is happening right now, but I promise I’ll be here forever…”

For a moment you wish that wasn’t just a prank but reality, just for a moment you stood there… quiet, kissing the crown of his head… You couldn’t laugh at that moment, not at all.

𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎

“Zoro, I’m late” . “Huh? Where to? hurry up!”. “With my period???!”. “Tell your period to hurry up, then”

Zoro has no idea. Too sleepy to understand anyway. You explain, in the most simple words you could find until he finally understood.

He stood up. Shook the sleepiness off and walked towards you. For the very first time, his katana were left on the floor; Wado Ichimonji stopped being important.

“You are lying. I smell blood on you. But since you want it so bad, then, let me make that period real, real, real late…”

The next thing you knew, it was him carrying you like a sack of potatoes on his muscular shoulder to the room. Oh, when the King of Hell says it’s time… you better be prepared… 🙊

𝐀𝐂𝐄

“WHAT? ME????? A FATHER?????”. “Most probably, I told you should use protection …”

“No, but you- YOU TOLD ME?  YOU- NEVER MIND I DON’T CARE. MARCO!! POPS! IZOU! I MUST CALL LUFFY!!! OI!!!” . “ACE, ACE!! STOP!”

Ace couldn’t hold the excitement. You were unsure if that prank would be a good thing to do… after all, Ace hated his own blood… however, that reaction took you off guard. He ran through the Moby Dick, with cheeks as full of freckles as red from happiness. Orange hat flowing with the wind of such huge ship, the sound of his boots echoing with his steps.

“ACE, IT WAS JUST A PRANK! STOP!”

He stopped. Black locks curling with the breeze of the main deck. “I guess it’s better that way… after all, I am sure that baby might run the same fa-“ Ace suddenly felt trap of his own past once again, but your arms surrounded his frame to stop it.

“Shut up, or I’ll rip those freckles off you! now, get me pregnant. Right now”

“If you ask it that way, then I have no other choice miss…”

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒

“do have you any idea how many women have told me that before?”

“don’t be a prick, shanks…” you mutter, you were fuming. That prank seemed to only show how much of a womanizer this man really is.

He walked towards you; red hair, as the blood that runs through your veins and your heart pumps, playfully danced on his forehead. His intense eyes, fixed on yours, made you weak, unable to breath properly.

“I know it’s a prank, do you think I wouldn’t tell? You aren’t made for lying, love… I just wanted a little revenge, you shouldn’t make my heart stop that way… you know how much I want it to be true, (Name)?” he whispers, grabbing you from your chin.

Lips crashed against yours; you couldn’t argue, you couldn’t protest… that man rules over you, and if he wants you pregnant, then… he will make it happen.

[luveline]

I absolutely adore your Spencer x Hotch!sister fics! <3 Can we possibly see the dynamics if it were switched? A Hotch x Spencer's Older Sister fic, pretty please? But no worries if not! Thank you, hope you have a good day!

Was Spencer’s sister always this shy? Hotch can’t remember (and he can’t stop himself from flirting, just a little). fem, 1.4k

“Reid?” Hotch asks. 

Spencer grins at his phone. 

“Reid.” Hotch clears his throat. “Spencer.” 

Spencer puts his phone down on the desk, but he doesn’t seem to have heard Hotch either way. When he realises Hotch is standing by his desk, he perks up. “Hotch, can I ask a favour?” 

Hotch had been about to ask Spencer a favour, but it’s fine. “Sure.” 

“Uh, my sister is supposed to meet me for lunch in half an hour, but she doesn’t really like restaurants and I’m– me. Do you think she could come to the office?” he asks. 

“Sure, Reid. That’s fine, she just needs a visitor card.” 

Hotch can’t remember the last time he saw you. Probably when Reid first started tailing Gideon a few years ago, when you’d made the trip from Vegas to Quantico to see how he was settling. It was a brief introduction, and, while you may possess a few more practical graces than your brother, you were far shyer at the time. You didn’t mind shaking Hotch’s hand, but you struggled to maintain eye contact after. 

You don’t look much like your brother for reasons he’s never cared to ask, as Hotch has never placed much value on how family comes about. He doubts Spencer does either. But you stay in Vegas with your mother, and Spencer sees you three times a year. Birthdays and Christmas. And today, apparently. 

“What’s the occasion?” Hotch asks. 

Spencer smiles again. “I think she’s gonna move here, with me.” 

“Yeah?” Hotch isn’t the prying boss, but he’s a nosy friend. “Everything okay?” 

“Things are great, I mean.” Spencer has the expression of someone deciding what they can and can’t say. Eventually his eyes clear, and Hotch feels satisfied at the realisation that trust has settled tightly between them. “When I decided my mom needed help, Y/N, she hated that, and maybe she resented me, but– I used to worry she hated me, but she doesn’t.” 

“I don’t think she could,” Hotch says easily. 

Spencer nods. Whether he agrees is up for debate, though. “If t’s finally hit her that mom’s sick forever, so she’s feeling out her options.” 

“That must be a hard thing to realise.” 

“Yeah. But things really are great, she’s here now, her stuff is coming tomorrow, and– and maybe she’ll stay for a while.” 

Hotch likes excitement on Reid (when it doesn’t impede their most important work, that is). Truthfully, there’s so much to worry about that Hotch can’t admit to worrying about Reid as much in recent years, and yet he’s relieved to hear that there will be more Reid’s in a hundred mile radius. 

“I’m glad,” Hotch says honestly. “She’s more than welcome here. If she can cope with the photographs in the conference room, the round table is all yours.” 

Hotch retreats to his office and forgets about it for a while, submerged in his own lunch and a certain seven year old’s birthday planning. Jack wants a clown, and a cake with Cars, and he really wants a bounce house. Which is great, but Jack decided he wanted the bounce house last night, and his party is at the end of the week. Hotch makes a bunch of phone calls and finally gets to take a victory lap forty five minutes later. 

He steps out of his office, enticed by the sound of laughter. Spencer laughs like he’s surprised ninety percent of the time, and yours is no different. It’s clear to the listening ear who taught Spencer how to laugh. 

“I love it, I don’t ever want to hear a bad word about it,” you say through peels of it, a breathy, smiley warmth to you as a chair creaks from within the conference room, “and I mean that. Please don’t tell me any facts.” 

“I know so many you’d like to hear!” 

“I don’t doubt it, but please, as a favour? You can tell me about everything else.” 

“Processed cheeses–”

Hotch turns the corner as you put down a sandwich. “Okay, fine. I’m done, are you happy?” you ask, your smile fading into a more polite one as you meet Hotch’s eyes. 

“I didn’t get to say anything.” 

“Some things are better left unsaid,” Hotch says. He doesn’t interrupt, only says it into the quiet, and he doesn’t bother with fanfare. It’s just to alert Spencer of his presence. “Y/N,” Hotch adds, “hello. It’s good to see you.” 

He’s alarmed by your reaction —your eyes widen in your seat, hands hidden beneath your thighs, and your lips part ever so slightly. “Agent Hotchner,” you say softly, almost weakly. 

He’s not that intimidating, is he?

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says. 

“You’re not interrupting, I was just telling her about the dangers of processed cheese. They’re so irregularly salty that the sodium has to be marked as a cause of heart disease on FDA approved packaging for the service industry,” Spencer says. 

“I’m sure some every now and then won’t hurt,” Hotch says, attempting to offer you a friendly smile. “Spencer tells me you’re staying here for a while, that’s great. How are you liking the weather? It must be a change from Nevada?” 

You look peculiarly hot. “It’s different,” you agree.

Voices ring from the bullpen. 

Spencer stands up. You stand with him, but Spencer says, “Sorry, is that Morgan? He said I have to go and get him when you’re here.” 

“Spencer–”

Spencer’s already leaving. “He threatened me, actually,” he’s saying, more to himself than either of you as he departs. 

You wring your hands. 

Hotch worries his brows are giving him away. You’re acting strangely, but maybe he’s too much. He is a special agent, sometimes the other parents at Jack’s school get antsy around him like they’re worried he can tell they haven’t paid their last parking fine. Maybe you’ve a secret crime you’ve committed. 

He watches you more closely, to your flustering. 

No crime, Hotch thinks, but a secret. Even from Spencer. 

“So how’s your day, Agent Hotchner?” you ask softly. 

It’s actually quite sweet, the way you say it. Your nerves are cute. 

“Busy.” The expected answer. “I’ve been trying to plan a birthday party between paperwork.” 

“For Jack?” 

He smiles with more gentleness. “Yes, for Jack.” 

“He was, um, a newborn, when we last met. Just a couple of weeks old, I think. How old is he turning now?” 

“Seven.” 

You breathe out. “Wow. Seven years.” 

Seven years, and your crush on him remains. That’s what he’d forgotten —when you visited Spencer at the time, even Gideon had mentioned your frazzled, almost dizzy disposition whenever Hotch was around. And Gideon tended to focus narrowly on work at work, so Hotch had known he wasn’t making it up. 

At the time it had been cute, but awkward too, and infeasible. He’d been dedicatedly married and in love with his Haley. And if he weren’t, your age gap might’ve been a little non-functioning, Hotch well into his thirties, and you a fresh twenty-five. 

Today you’re older, and more beautiful. Something about you has shifted, a blossoming into your features, and Hotch actually has the ability to notice it now. 

Your Spencer’s sister, he remembers suddenly. Probably not a woman he should flirt with, some subtle compliment lost on his tongue. 

“You look the same,” you say. 

He laughs. “That’s kind and untrue. I’m getting old.” 

The look you give him then is a shock and a pit, long the long forgotten twist of butterflies. “No,” you say, looking down at your hands, “I wouldn’t say that.” 

“What would you say?” he asks. 

You’re saved —poor girl, he doesn’t know what he was thinking, you can barely hold your head up— as Morgan bounds up the stairs and into the conference room. He gathers you for a hug as though he knows you better than he does, and Hotch loses sight of your face. 

Unknown to him and unseen, Morgan’s greeting is white noise. Why does he talk like that? you think to yourself desperately. He’s asking you all those questions with this weight to them, and he’s so calm! I’m going back to Vegas. 

“How long are you staying?” Morgan asks. 

You laugh weakly and accidentally catch Hotch’s eye, who smiles at you nicely. 

“Oh, I don’t know. A couple of weeks, maybe.” 

Longer, if you have reason. 

[lustspren]

Winter Wonderland

Male reader x Karina, Heejin (Lyra), Yooyeon (Nissa) (please don’t bitch about the names again, have some imagination bro idk).

A Red Hot Sloppy Christmas sequel.

word count: 13.3k

tags: elves karina heejin and yooyeon, foursome, oily sex in general, blowjob, anal, assjob, bi, master kink, lot of creampies, rope play, bondage, literally magic cock (i’m deadass serious)

━•✦•━•✦•━

━•✦•━•✦•━

You had never looked forward to Christmas Eve that much. Never. Not even that time in your childhood when you asked for a Darth Maul lightsaber and a WWE championship belt and counted the days on your calendar every morning. Now you did something similar, but the circumstances were completely different: you were expecting a gift too—a damn nice one, by the way—only this time it was a person.

Well, an elf. The distinction was important.

You had completely neglected to tell anyone about your experience, not even those closest to you. Why? To others it would sound like you took too many hallucinogens that night after dinner with your friends; it was completely stupid, and you knew it. No one would believe you.

But it wasn't like you were too eager to tell anyone about anything either. It was like your wonderful little secret. Like Charlie from Stephen King's Fairy Tale and the secret passageway that leads to the world below: no one could know of its existence, as the repercussions could be catastrophic.

Of course, these 'catastrophic consequences' were just mere conjecture and you were perhaps exaggerating a bit. But what if it happened? Would she never come again? Would you be taken to the North Pole to be judged by an elven court for revealing the secret even if no one would have believed you? These were stupid questions, because in the first place, not a single word would ever come out of your mouth. But still, thinking about it kept you up at night for several nights.

Needless to say, your behavior throughout the year had been exemplary. Normally you wouldn't have needed an elf to tell you that you had to do it in order to really do it; you had always been a kind, helpful, honest man without expecting any rewards for it. But now you knew the reward, and for a whole year you were the closest thing to a Buddhist monk you'd ever been in your life.

So yes, she had to come back. You were sure of it. Mostly to explain to you what the hell happened with... well, you had cummed inside her—a lot—and you thought the baby thing was a joke, but she was too cool and serious about it, and frankly you were terrified by the possibility that there was a mini you with pointy ears making toys and hot cocoa in the North Pole. Not by her existence, but by your absence.

Although, would that mini you really have cared? Would she have told him about you? Questions like that would come and go, turn into a tornado of anxiety and nerves and go away again. You just had the overwhelming need to see her again.

But despite anticipating that day so much, you didn't let your life revolve around it and made plans with your friends as normal. The hangout wasn't all that different from last year: same dinner, same gift exchange, and same drinking session that ended with two of your colleagues lying on the floor stinking of alcohol. You of course didn't let yourself end up in that state, not when you had a pending date at home.

This time you didn't arrive at 1 in the morning, but at 2. You ran up the stairs of the building like lightning, and when you got to your floor you literally ran to your apartment with the keys already in hand. The damn lock was your worst enemy at that moment; you couldn't find the right damn key despite using it every damn day, and when you found it, for some reason it took you longer than usual to finally open the door and go in.

There was a quick way to know if she was really there already, and that was by taking off your shoes. But when you did, the disappointment of not finding the floor frozen like the last time made you sigh. She wasn't there, at least not yet. You weren't going to lose hope. She was surely busy with her elf business.

Unwilling to accept disappointment as a mood at the moment, you hung your trench coat on your coat rack and walked slowly into your living room. Now, the floor might not be cold, but your Christmas tree along with every other decoration was lit, and brighter than usual. That could only mean two things: either the power grid was overloaded and you were about to experience a blackout, or she was coming soon.

For the sake of your sanity you would stick with the second possibility.

The dilemma was now deciding what you were going to spend the time you had to wait on. Several options were running through your head, such as preparing something for her arrival. The thing is, she was an elf, not Santa Claus; you didn't know if the same tastes as the bearded old man would apply to her. It was a silly thing to think about, because who didn't like cookies?

Yes, that's what you were going to do: cookies with a glass of strawberry milk. She was sure to love it.

Decided, you turned around to go to the kitchen, but you had barely taken a step when you heard something behind you, something that made you stop dead: a slight tinkling, almost imperceptible, as if little crystals were brushing against each other in the air. At first it was distant, but as the seconds passed the noise took shape until it sounded like a miniature blizzard. As you turned around, your eyes shined at what was emerging next to your Christmas tree: a sparkling swirl of snowflakes that started small, grew larger until it rose upwards, and slowly materialized into a silhouette. A woman.

Well, an elf. And it's not like you'd seen too many in your life, but she was without a doubt the most beautiful one you'd ever seen. There was no competition, you were sure.

Karina had appeared with her back to you, so she spent a few seconds looking for you on that side of the living room. It wasn't until she turned around that your eyes met. Hers lit up with a cute sparkle, but not figuratively, they literally gave off a little spark the moment she recognized you.

"Master!" she squealed, running with little jumps towards you.

"Karina!" you said back, with a smile so big that your cheeks hurt.

She lunged into your arms, causing you both to fall to the floor. You squeezed her in your arms, both of you laughing.

"I missed you so much, master!" Karina said, kicking her feet, her arms wrapped around your head and her face buried in your neck.

At that moment you noticed something that made you feel like a fool for not having done it before, because it was right in front of your nose. Karina was blonde now. A nice pale blonde that suited her perfectly. And not only that. Her hair used to smell like toasted hazelnut, and now you could smell a faint scent of pine and lavender.

"Really?" you asked with warm cheeks and a silly smile. "I... didn't think you cared that much."

Karina moved away from you and settled herself sitting on your abdomen, with a look of not liking what you had said at all.

"What nonsense are you talking about?" She asked with a frown.

"I mean, uhm... I don't know!" you shrugged. "I thought you'd be so busy at the North Pole that well... you'd have forgotten about me."

Karina fell silent, staring at you.

"You're scaring me," you said.

"Master, you're so lucky that I'm a snow elf and can't commit violent acts!" she held up her finger. "There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't think of you!"

"I'm sorry! Can you understand me? I spent a whole week thinking that you were just a very lucid dream."

"But I’m not!" she snapped. You had to say that she looked too cute when she was angry.

"Yeah, you definitely not," you replied with a giggle, and brought your hands up to her hair to feel it between your fingers. "But I remembered you... brunette."

"Oh," Karina looked down and saw the strands you were grabbing, then her cheeks turned as red as one of the baubles on your Christmas tree. "That? Well..." her lips curved into a cute smile. "That's what happens to elves when..."

The soft tinkling of swirling snowflakes interrupted her. You frowned and sat up with her still on your lap, and both of you turned to your Christmas tree. This time it wasn't just one swirl, but two.

"Uhm... Karina, what's going on?" you asked, bewildered.

"It seems my sisters remembered that they had to come with me here tonight," Karina said, and she got up from your lap to go stand near the already rising swirls, arms akimbo and head cocked to the side.

"Wait what?" You stood up and went to stand behind her. "Sisters? Do you have sisters?"

"Well they're not my sisters as such, but that's how we call each other at the North Pole," she replied, as snowflakes took shape. "And… here they are."

From both whirls appeared two girls, both as beautiful as Karina. One of them, the shorter one, had long dark brown hair, and her dress was similar to Karina's, only the skirt was more flared and the red was brighter. The other, slightly taller than the first but still shorter than Karina, had short black shiny hair, and her dress, with two pompoms on the chest, was fastened to her neck like a choker with a red bow. Her dress was the same color as the shorter girl's, but it was considerably shorter to show off more thighs.

"May I know what happened?" Karina asked, while the two girls looked around. "You were supposed to appear with me!"

"It was her fault!" the short-haired girl immediately said with a frown, stepping forward while pointing at the other. "She got distracted feeding a reindeer!"

The other girl, unconcerned by the black-haired girl's accusations, stood beside her with a big smile on her face as she skipped around a bit.

"You should have seen him! He was so cute!" she said, then tilted her head at you over Karina's shoulder. "Oh, almost as cute as him."

The black-haired girl looked at you as well, and they both walked past Karina to stand in front of you.

"Is he our master, Karina?" the black-haired girl asked, staring at you with her hands behind her back.

"Aha," Karina nodded behind them, her arms crossed. "Master, this is Nissa," she pointed at the black-haired girl. "And she is... Lyra! Master has not ordered you to do that!"

Lyra had her arms around your neck, and her face was very close to yours. She had puppy eyes, bright and cute, and from what you could sense over that dress, she had a tight, slim body.

"No, but I read his mind," Lyra replied with a mischievous little smile. "And I already know how he wants us to serve him."

Shit, right. They could do that.

You were still, still not wanting to lay your hands on them from the slight shock you had.

"We must wait for master's orders anyway, silly!" Nissa scolded, and with a tug she pulled her away from you. "It's rule number one!"

"But rules are a pain!" Lyra complained.

"Silence, both of you!" Karina said, and pushed them away to stand between you. "Well? Do you like your gift, master?"

“I…” Your gaze went to Lyra, who seemed eager to be ordered around, and then to Nissa, who looked much calmer and more cautious. “I don’t understand, why are there three of you here now?”

Karina let out a giggle.

“Isn’t it obvious?” She cocked her head. “Because of how good you were this year!”

Lyra and Nissa nodded.

“Very few were as good a person as you, master,” Nissa said. “Your name was on a list of only two thousand people.”

You raised your eyebrows. Two thousand people. 8.025 billion people in the world, and only two thousand. Boy you were screwed as a society.

“And of course Karina set herself aside exclusively for you!” Lyra added. “Then we were ordered to come with her.”

“And that’s why there are three of us instead of one, master,” Karina finally said. “Triple fun, don’t you think?”

"Triple fun indeed..." you nodded, looking at the three of them carefully. But your gaze ended up landing on Nissa. "Is there a reason why your dress is so short?"

You knew the answer: nice fleshy thighs. But you hoped she would use her powers to make you confirm something. Nissa didn't disappoint you, as she turned around, looked over her shoulder at you, and lifted her dress to confirm your suspicions: her ass was pretty and round, and very spankable.

"For this, master," she said. "Because I know you can have fun with it. Come, touch it please."

You reached out and placed your hand on one of her buttocks. You took a few seconds to feel how soft it was, and when you squeezed it, it felt like a delicious marshmallow.

"Very nice..." you nodded, removed your hand, and then looked at Lyra. "And what about you? Any qualities you'd like to highlight, darling?"

"I'm tight, master," she grabbed your other hand, bringing it under her dress and then between her legs to let your fingers against her slit. Instinctively you rubbed it over her panties. "Very, very tight."

"Fuck..." you muttered and then looked at Karina. "And what about you?"

"Me?" Karina pointed at herself. "I'm yours, master. For a year now. Do you need me to say anything else?"

"Absolutely not, come here," you said, and wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her into a kiss.

Karina welcomed your lips with a cute sigh, as if she had been waiting for that kiss as much as you. She clung to your neck with both arms, one hand on your back and the other in strands of your hair. You roamed your hands over every corner of her body: waist, back, arms, thighs and ass, each part slightly fleshier than last year.

"Girls," you said, pulling away from Karina's lips for a moment. "Feel free to read my every thought and act on it as you see fit."

"Yes, master," you heard them both say as you kissed Karina again.

Lyra immediately latched onto the left side of your body and began to fill that side of your neck with kisses, one hand on your abdomen under your sweater and the other on your lower back. Nissa got behind you, and with Lyra's help she pulled your sweater off. She then planted her lips on your back, tracing a path of kisses that covered your shoulder blades, your nape, and the side of your neck that Lyra couldn't reach.

When your kiss with Karina got intense you let yourself go, pulling down the top of her dress to let her tits fall and pulling up her skirt so you could squeeze her buttocks between your fingers. Lyra unbuttoned your pants, and Nissa slipped her hand inside your boxers to grab your cock. The touch of her fingers felt cold at first, but she must have used her powers in some way, because within seconds her hand started to feel warm against your skin; that felt amazing, especially when she cupped your balls and massaged them, now with one hand rubbing your chest.

Lyra lowered her kisses from your neck to your collarbone, and then slowly moved down your chest until she got on her knees and reached your abdomen. She placed wet kisses there, slowly around your navel and near Nissa's wrist as the short-haired girl stroked your cock under your boxers. Your pants were a nuisance when she tried to lower her lips further, so she grabbed them from the curb and, along with your underwear, pulled them down to your ankles.

"Oh... your cock looks delicious, master," you heard Lyra say, and then you felt her lips on your thigh, near your crotch. Nissa was slowly stroking you, and now Karina was also playing with your balls with her tits pressed to your chest.

You pulled away from Karina's lips, looked down at Lyra, and put a hand on her cheek to rub it with your thumb.

"Wanna taste it?" you asked between gasps, as Karina and Nissa were fondling your cock in all sorts of ways.

"I do what my master..."

"No," you interrupted her. "Just answer my question."

Lyra looked into your eyes, and held your gaze as she took your cock between her cold fingers. Karina and Nissa took the cue and knelt down as well, Nissa taking the right side and Karina the middle. It was then that Lyra, without foreplay or warning, took you into her mouth to slowly suck on your cock, between long moans and deep breaths. She pulled out within seconds.

"I'd love to, master," she replied, and along with the other two girls began to fill every corner of your shaft with wet kisses. "Even if it barely fits in my little mouth."

"Then come on," you said between gasps, watching the three girls soak your cock with their lips. "Have fun with it."

"Master," Karina said, as Lyra and Nissa each took one of your balls to lick and suck on. "May I use my powers on you?"

You frowned.

"For what?" you cocked your head.

Karina smiled, bringing a finger to your tip to collect a drop of precum and bring it to her mouth.

"You'll see," she said, and gave your tip a lick. "For now just enjoy."

With that said Karina was next to take you inside her mouth. You immediately had flashbacks of your past encounter with her; it felt just as warm, and she kept her skill with her tongue intact. The pace she kept was also the same: slow, deep, making sure your cock was covered in her saliva. You moaned a few times, and she imitated you, horny just by the fact that she was giving you so much pleasure.

You wanted Nissa to be next, and so your wish was granted. The black-haired girl waited patiently for Karina to take you out of her mouth to take you in hers. Like Karina, Nissa pumped her head slowly and torturously, gently sliding down every inch of your cock as she could thanks to how slippery it was.

Lyra was eager to take her turn as well, and you could tell she was getting very impatient, because she was moaning over and over again, kissing the inches of cock that Nissa didn't have in her mouth with her hands clinging to your thighs. In your head you gave the order for her turn to be given, and Nissa complied immediately.

"Fuck, finally," Lyra said, and took your cock in one hand before sinking her mouth there.

For the first time, you felt like how you liked things wasn't the most important thing, because as soon as she caught you between her lips, Lyra started pumping her head like a demon, fast and disastrous, in complete contrast to the work Karina and Nissa had done so far. You weren't bothered by it, on the contrary it got even more moans out of you. But the other two girls seemed confused, since they knew that those weren't your preferences.

If that wasn't enough, Lyra surprised you by taking you completely inside her mouth. You expected that because of the size ratio between your cock and her mouth she would gag, but that didn't happen. She kept you in her throat while the saliva poured out in thick drops. Seconds later, she kept pumping her head like nothing, until without even noticing you came inside her mouth.

"Oh my fucking...!" You brought your hand up to cover your mouth in order not to curse anymore, as Lyra milked your cock using her lips and fingers at the same time. She swallowed every drop, letting the saliva spill out but not your load, and after a few moans around your shaft, she pulled out to show you her cum-filled mouth.

"M-Master... did you like that?" Karina asked, afraid that Lyra might have been too reckless.

"I..." you gasped, looking down at Lyra as she swallowed your cum. "I loved it."

Karina and Nissa sighed in relief. Lyra just smiled from ear to ear.

"Very well, now look at this," Karina said.

Karina placed her outstretched hand beneath your cock, and with a subtle flourish of her fingers, caused a cold blizzard of tiny, sparkling snowflakes to spread across every inch of your shaft. When the blizzard cleared and she finally took hold of your cock to stroke it, you felt no trace of sensitivity whatsoever.

“What the...” you raised your eyebrows. “That’s… perfect!” you chuckled. “What else did you do?”

“Your cock won’t go limp unless you want it to,” she replied. “And you can give us as many loads as you want, master.”

“Does that mean my cock is magic now?”

That got a giggle from her.

“You could say so.”

“Great,” you smiled. “Shall we go to the bedroom?”

“We’ll go wherever you want, master,” she said.

“Follow me then, please.”

You helped the three of them to their feet and led the way to your room. Inside everything was neat and tidy; you had made sure of that before you left your house that night, thinking exclusively of that moment when you would have to greet a pretty elf—three, in this case. They entered first, and you closed the door behind you before moving around them and going to sit on the bottom edge of the bed.

“Nissa, come here sweetheart,” you said, your hands resting on the mattress.

Nissa walked over to you, standing between your legs and turning her back to you, to lift her skirt and sit right on top of your cock, squeezing it between her buttocks. She ground her hips back and forth, rubbing herself against your shaft with her hands on your knees. You brought your hands to her waist and then slipped one under her dress to rub her lower back.

“You like my ass, don’t you master?” Nissa asked, looking over her shoulder at you with her lips slightly curved.

"Oh I love it..." you replied, watching your cock being kneaded between her ass cheeks. "It's so fucking pretty."

Karina and Lyra, of course, knew exactly what to do even if you weren't going to speak directly to them. They each climbed into bed with you, Lyra on your left and Karina on your right, both kissing either side of your neck and groping every part of your upper body.

You hadn't indulged in laying your hands on Lyra, so you reached out and wrapped an arm around her small frame to press her against you. She immediately sought out your lips, and upon finding them you merged into a messy, tongue-swirling kiss. Her dress screamed for you to unwrap it like a nice Christmas present, which you did with the help of the hand you had on her back. The garment gave way quickly, and now Lyra was completely naked except for her panties and boots.

You did the same with Karina, an even easier task than the first since you had already done half the work a few minutes ago. You squeezed them both against you, Lyra with her tight, toned petite body and Karina with her heavy tits. You kissed Karina first, but only took a few seconds before moving back to Lyra and her restless tongue. Despite this inclination, for both bodies you devoted careful attention with your hands, emphasizing both asses and both already wet pussies.

Nissa was still working on your cock. She had pulled off her panties, and had slobbered on your cock with her hand to give you an assjob that had you panting against Lyra's lips. At one point, her ass felt so good that you couldn't help but grab your cock, have her rub the tip between her folds, and straighten it so that Nissa impaled on every inch.

"Mmmmgh!" Nissa moaned, holding on tightly to your knees with your cock all the way in her warm, wet pussy.

"You like the way it feels, sweetheart?" you asked panting, and gave both of her ass cheeks a squeeze so she began to slowly move up and down.

"I'm the one who should be asking you that, master," she replied, looking straight into your eyes as she moved over every inch of your cock.

"Just answer," you insisted, one hand now on her lower back. "And take off that dress."

Nissa complied, taking a few seconds to pull her dress over her head. Now completely naked—except for her boots, like Karina and Lyra—she bounced ever faster on your cock, filling your room with cute moans.

"I love the way it feels, master," she moaned. "You'll make me cum a lot tonight, won't you?"

"Only if that's what you want," you said, giving her a small spank that made her moan louder. "Is that what you want?"

"Why does it matter what I want, master?" Nissa managed to ask despite being so agitated. "We are your gift this Christmas. What you want is what matters."

"Wrong," you gasped, reaching out again to grope Karina and Lyra's asses. Lyra's was firmer, and Karina's was fleshier. "None of this makes sense to me if I'm the only one enjoying it, so I do care a lot about what you want."

You heard Karina giggle to your right.

"And that's why you earned the three of us here, master," she said, and grabbed your face to make you kiss her again.

Nissa slowed down considerably, but now she moved harder and deeper. Surely that had a lot to do with what you had told her, because every time she slammed her ass into your pelvis she moaned long and hard. She was one of those girls, noted.

After a few seconds of kissing Karina you moved back to Lyra, while you pulled down both pairs of panties enough so you could play with both pussies comfortably. You put a finger in each one, pumping at a steady pace. Lyra moaned against your lips, and Karina clung tighter to you with one hand on your arm and the other on your shoulder.

"I want to eat your pussy," you gasped against Lyra's lips. "Both of you. You know what to do."

Karina and Lyra got down to business, while you just let yourself fall back to lie down and let the magic happen. They both turned their backs to you, separated their knees and moved a little towards you so that you had both asses on either side of your face, which you just had to turn a little. Now, with minimal effort, you could have a whole ass feast, quite literally.

You first turned to the right and focused on Karina's pussy, delighting in that exquisite taste you missed for so long. Not long after, you turned to the other side, now tasting Lyra's tight little pussy. You alternated between each one, unable to give more attention to one than the other. Nissa, on the other hand, had now returned to the usual rhythm, and bounced again and again against your cock until she finally came.

"C-can I keep going master?" You heard her say as you had your mouth buried in Lyra's pussy. "I've never felt this fucking good and… mmmgh!"

"Let me do it for you baby," you said, and sat up to stand with her, turn her around and make her get on her knees at the edge of the bed. She dropped forward immediately, hands on the mattress and ass up for you. "Oh, you can do like... things with each other? You know."

"We're not related," Lyra replied. "So you can safely order her to eat our pussies, master."

"You heard her, sweetie," you told Nissa with a couple of pats to her lower back before taking the reins and fucking her hard from behind.

Lyra and Karina lay on their backs next to each other, pulling their legs up to their torsos to hold them there with their own arms, making it easier for Nissa to do the job as you hammered her pussy like you were doing.

Nissa moved from side to side between moans, making sure to be even with the use of her mouth and tongue and even fingering them. The first to cum was Lyra, who had been horny for quite a while now and it wasn't hard to get her over the edge. Seconds later it was Nissa herself who came, unable to contain the pleasure already building up in her body. It wasn't until half a minute later that Karina came too, thanks to the joint work of Lyra, sucking on her tits, and Nissa, eating her pussy and fingering her.

"Only you're missing, master," Nissa said between gasps, looking over her shoulder at you. Her face was flushed in every corner, and her raven hair was messy. "What are you waiting for to fill my warm elf pussy?"

Your response was a spank that made her squeal. Your climax was pretty close, but the trigger was seeing at that very moment how Lyra and Karina kissed in the hottest, messiest, and mind-blowing way possible. You grabbed onto Nissa's waist, and with one hard thrust you came inside her between moans.

"Mmmgh yes, just like that," Nissa moaned as you filled her pussy, one side of your face resting against her crossed arms. "That feels good huh?"

"Oh it feels amazing, fuck," you gasped, hands on her buttocks. When your climax passed, you pulled out of her and took a step back. "Aight... the first one to get to clean up will be next."

Karina's reaction time was so fast that she didn't even give Lyra a chance to move. Within a couple of seconds she was already at your side to bend down and clean your cum from Nissa's pussy, while Lyra was still on the bed, with a frown and a slight pout that you found adorable.

"Don't be like that, cutie," you told Lyra with a smile. "If you know what I have in mind for you right now, you'll know that it will be worth waiting a little."

Lyra looked at you for a second, and the pout transformed into a small knowing smile. She pulled out a hand, and made a pair of ice-white but sturdy-looking handcuffs appear in her palm. But that wasn't the main attraction. A few seconds later, tied to her body appeared a series of red ropes, intertwined across her entire torso; these formed a star on her chest, with her tits protruding on either side of the lower point while the upper end was around her neck and the side ends under her armpits. The abdomen part formed a diamond with her belly right in the middle. She didn't have any limbs tied at the moment, so she could still move freely. For now.

"You're very naughty, master," Lyra said with a giggle, pulling Nissa towards her to remove her dress and leave her on equal terms with her and Karina. "Luckily for you, I'm very happy being naughty."

Karina grabbed your chin and made you look at her.

"Hey, you'll have time for her," she said, pressing herself against you so you could wrap your arms around her. "I won."

It was the first time she spoke to you like that, directly and without formalities, as if she were your equal and not as if you were a person superior to her. It was strange not to hear her call you master, but it drove you crazy.

"Yeah, keep talking to me like that," you smiled, bringing a hand between her buttocks to rub her folds. "It makes me want to fuck you even harder."

Karina tilted her head and smiled back at you, bringing her hand down to rub your cock.

"Oh yeah?" she said, then bit her bottom lip. "Then fuck me hard. I dare you. Fuck me until I cry."

It felt bad to know that you would have to make Lyra wait a little longer, but the way Karina had said that had struck a chord in you. It wasn't your fault tho, how could you not comply with such a request? It would be a sin not to. Besides, you had the perfect idea.

"Lyra, darling," you said. "Will you please let me have the cuffs?"

"All yours, master," she said now on top of Nissa, making out with the short-haired girl as she handed you the cuffs.

"I thought you would use that for Lyra, master," Karina said as you reached out an arm to take the cuffs.

"I found a better use," you replied, and turned Karina around so that her back was to you. "She'll already have the ropes."

"And what do you think... oh!" Karina trailed off as you made her bend down as far as possible without bending her legs. Then you pulled her arms straight up, held her wrists together, and put the handcuffs on.

"Just like that," you said, and with one hand holding her wrists, you took your cock and slowly took it inside her, in one smooth movement that made you moan out loud.

"Mmmgh fuck!" Karina moaned, tensing her entire body at the inability to move. "Oh yes, do whatever you want with me master. After all I'm just your pretty sex slave. Pound my pussy hard and fill it with your warm load."

God damn. What would the bearded old man think of her if he heard her talk dirty like that? It definitely wasn't your problem, and since it wasn't, you started fucking her like you'd been wanting to do for the past 365 days.

Karina brought out her obedience and durability from that moment on. You fucked her fast, hard, pounding her from behind with such force that the thrusts reverberated through the room, and despite that, she held still for you without complaint, perfectly assuming her role as sex slave.

"Don't you think it would be nice to see those pretty ass cheeks lit up in red, master?" Lyra asked from your left, kneeling at the edge of the bed with Nissa behind her kissing her neck and rubbing her clit.

You held Karina's wrists with your right hand and reached out with your left to reach Lyra's pussy and slide two fingers inside. She moaned and held onto your wrist with one hand, while the other was behind to grab Nissa's nape.

"Very good," you nodded between heavy panting breaths, focused on keeping up the pace. "But you'll be the one to decide if it's enough."

"Count on it," Lyra moaned as you pumped your fingers in and out of her pussy, which you could already get a sense of how tight it was.

Taking advantage of the fact that Karina had no choice but to keep her arms in that position, you let go of her wrists so you could drop the first spank. Of course, one wasn't enough; at least ten more followed, making Karina whimper until Lyra gave you the signal to stop.

"Oh look at that master, they're beautiful," she pointed at Karina's ass cheeks between gasps, as you were still fingering her and Nissa was making quick circles on her clit.

Karina's ass cheeks were indeed beautiful beneath that pigmentation: bright red, the color of Lyra and Nissa's dress. She looked over her shoulder at you, and you smiled as you noticed you were complying with her request as she was crying out in pleasure.

"You like that baby?" you asked, clenching your jaw as you hammered her pussy.

"Yes!" she screamed instantly. "Yes fuck yes! And I'm going to... mmmgh!!"

Karina exploded into spasms, her trembling legs about to give out. You slowed down considerably so she wouldn't be overwhelmed, and that allowed you to focus on Lyra.

"And you?" you asked, adding a third finger into her stiflingly tight pussy. You pumped fast, as much as you could with your non-skilled hand. "Cum, cutie, and look into my eyes."

Lyra held your gaze in a show of unconditional obedience, even though her face looked like it was about to melt with pleasure. Only a few seconds later your and Nissa's work finally paid off, when Lyra dug her nails into your wrist and climaxed with a long moan that made your eardrums vibrate.

As Lyra came, you pulled your fingers out of her and let Nissa take over since you weren't done with Karina yet.

"Nissa, baby, push her away," you said, referring to Lyra.

Nissa nodded and picked up Lyra to carry her to the side of the bed, leaving that space at the edge free for you to make Karina get on. The blonde girl settled herself with her ass raised, knees wide apart and face against the mattress. You removed the handcuffs, only to bring her wrists together behind her back and put them back on. Then, with both hands clinging to the front of her thighs, you continued fucking her with all your might.

Karina whimpered against the mattress, biting the sheet and shedding tears. Her body was still shaking from her recent orgasm, but she was happy with that, with you using her without mercy or care. That's what her eyes told, fixed on you while her face went through every possible phase of pleasure, from twisting to complete paralysis, state in which she stayed until she came for the second time.

The time you gave her to assimilate it was minimal; you didn't want to stop for a second, and you were dying to cum again inside that perfect pussy. The non-stop thrusts made her growl deep in her throat, and also made her bury her face in the sheets to muffle her screams. She came a third time, but this time you joined her.

"Mmmgh fuck!" you growled between slow thrusts, putting your hand on the back of Karina's neck to press her face into the bed and fill every corner of her pussy with cum. "Fuck I missed this so much!"

"Yes master, fill me up!" Karina squealed, writhing in pleasure. "Make me more yours than I already am!"

"Is that even fucking possible?" you gasped, balls deep inside her, waiting for your climax to pass before you pulled out of her pussy. "God, I'm sorry, I'm cursing too much."

Lyra let out an incredulous laugh, looking at you lying on the side of the bed.

"Master, you have ropes tied to my body and your biggest vulgarity is swearing?" she asked with a giggle.

"Nissa, clean Karina up, sweetie," you ordered her, and climbed onto the bed to grab her chin and plant a sweet kiss on her lips. "I promise to reward you later."

"Even if you didn't, I'd be happy to do anything you say, master," she smirked at you, her hand over yours.

"And that's why you deserve to be rewarded," you winked at her. "Come on, go. I have work to do."

Nissa nodded, moving past you and going to take care of Karina. Lyra then settled herself right in the middle of the bed, a mischievous little smile on her face and her legs spread wide. You quickly positioned yourself on top of her, hands flat against the mattress on either side of her shoulders. Your cock rubbed against her pussy underneath, and she raised her hips to seek more contact.

"Let's see how tight you say you are," you said as you looked into her eyes, to grab your cock and take it inside her, little by little.

And fuck, she wasn't wrong. In fact, her own words didn't do justice to how truly tight that piece of tender flesh was. Lyra smiled mid-moan. It was a cocky smile, as she knew she was completely right by the way you were panting.

"You like it huh?" She asked with a giggle as you were just a few inches away from reaching the bottom of her stifling walls. "Isn't that the tightest pussy you've ever been inside of, master?"

"Oh fuck yes," you gasped, and gave one last quick thrust to let the entirety of your length inside her. "You didn't use any powers, did you?"

"Of course not!" she replied with her hands on your shoulders, visibly offended.

"I had to ask," you shrugged, and leaned into her to crash your lips together and begin rocking your hips back and forth.

Lyra put her hands on your neck and moaned against your lips, keeping her legs open for you to fuck her pussy gradually harder. She had something special for sure. It could be that sassy attitude she carried around that you found so fucking sexy, but it could also be that tight, toned body, or that beautiful face that glowed every time she smiled. Whatever it was, that girl's spark felt like something you could easily become addicted to.

The initial plan was to use the ropes and fuck her in different ways and positions, and while the plan wasn't off the table, you were determined to postpone it just a little bit just to take advantage of every second you had with her and enjoy as many experiences as possible. The good thing was that with this girl you were sure there were no regrets, because every second you spent thrusting in and out of her was a second in which your obsession with that tight little body only increased, and this was entirely due to her merit, because her body language was bold, wild, unleashed. As if she completely forgot the role she was supposed to be fulfilling.

"Does my tight pussy feel good, master?" she asked between moans, as you pumped fast and hard. You held her by the thighs, pressing her knees to the sides of her torso.

"Overwhelmingly good," you gasped, looking into her eyes.

At that moment you felt someone behind you, who wrapped both arms around you and caressed your abdomen and chest. When you felt her tits you knew it was Karina, exhaling hot breath near your right ear. Nissa showed herself on the left; she laid on her side next to Lyra, just to watch you fuck her.

"Make her cum, master," she murmured in your ear. "But choke her, she loves it."

"How do you...?"

"Just do it."

You brought your hand to Lyra's neck, gripping it with five fingers to squeeze hard. The reaction was immediate. Lyra let out a moan that didn't come out of her throat, and held onto your wrist with both hands. Her walls tightened around your cock, making you moan as well. As a final trick you added an extra gear and hammered her pussy with all your might. Not even 10 seconds passed when Lyra's back arched and her body shook in a violent orgasm, unbecoming of an elf according to the little information you had about them.

"I told you," Karina said with a giggle, as Lyra came on your cock. "Are you going to tie her up now? I can do it for you if you want."

"You already know how I want her, so do your thing," you nodded, and let go of her neck.

Karina snapped her fingers, and in the blink of an eye Lyra now had more ropes tied to her body. Her arms were bound, crossed behind her back, and she had another pair of ropes tied to her shins from her thighs. Lyra noticed this and looked down at herself, then smirked at you.

"About time," she said.

"Fuck, that's hot," Karina said from behind you. "Do you want me to do something with her, master?"

"Not for now, sweetheart," you replied. "Right now the orders are for Nissa."

She looked at you, awaiting what you were going to say to her.

"Sit on her face," you pointed with your chin. "Right now Lyra will be ours."

Nissa was happy to comply. Within seconds she was on top of Lyra's face, thighs on either side of her head and hands on her small tits. Lyra stuck her tongue out and ate at the short haired girl's pussy, who moaned and slowly ground her hips.

With that hot scenery in front of you, you continued fucking Lyra's pussy, this time with your hands on her petite waist and Karina kissing your neck. Nissa looked into your eyes, fucking herself against Lyra's face and squeezing her tits, and you were going crazy at how good Lyra's pussy felt and how hot she looked tied up.

"Karina, love, touch her," you said, looking at her over your shoulder. "I want to see how many times she can cum before I do."

"Yes darling," she said in your ear, and went to lie down next to Lyra.

You felt your cheeks heat up, and not because of how turned on you were, but because of being called 'darling' by Karina. It was a small reverie that took you a while to snap out of, but now you couldn't get it out of your head, not even when Karina started rubbing Lyra's pussy and sucking on one of her tits until she came.

Lyra moaned against Nissa's folds as her legs and hips shook. You fucked her through her orgasm, and Karina kept touching her as well. You made eye contact with Karina, and one nod was enough for her to snap her fingers again and the way Lyra was tied up changed. Now her legs were together and raised, and her wrists were tied to the sides of her calves.

With your hands on her thighs you kept thrusting like a madman, making each blow reverberate through the room. Nissa came within seconds, her thighs pressed on either side of Lyra's head, but she kept grinding her hips, not a hint of a sign that she would stop. Maybe it was due to the fact that you wanted her to do whatever she wanted to seek her own pleasure. It hadn't been an order as such, she had simply decided herself. Fine by you. The less orders you had to give, the better.

You and Karina made Lyra cum again as the seconds passed. Her moans came out louder, and the vibrations made Nissa cum for the second time in a row, only now there was a little surprise.

"Oh damn!" Nissa moaned with a hand on her mouth as she lowered herself off  Lyra's face, realizing she had squirted on it.

"What the..." you raised your eyebrows, now pumping slower against Lyra's pussy.

"I'm sorry Lyra!" Nissa said, looking at the girl's soaked face, worried.

"Are you kidding?" Lyra asked, gasping for air, as if she had run the Tour de France. "That was fucking hot, let me fucking kiss you right now."

"Are you... sure?" Nissa tilted her head.

"I would pull you in for a kiss right now if my hands weren't tied."

Nissa didn't hesitate to lay down beside her, on the opposite side of Karina, to grab her by the neck and kiss her. You started moving again, and now Karina got up to kneel behind you again, running a hand in front of you and bringing it to your balls to hold them while you fucked Lyra in search of another climax.

"Come on baby, fill that tight little pussy," Karina said in your ear, then sucked on your earlobe. "I feel those balls full and ready to cum inside that petite body."

Karina kept calling you all those cute words, and you thought you would explode with love at any moment. Thinking about it distracted you again. Lyra, thankfully, drew your attention back to her by breaking the kiss with Nissa and looking you straight in the eyes.

"Oh fuck fill my pussy already, master!" she squealed. "I need that fucking load inside me!"

Karina snapped her fingers, and a rope appeared around Lyra's head at the level of her mouth to keep her quiet. You hadn't commanded that.

"Hey, watch that mouth!" Karina scolded her. Ironic.

Lyra frowned, frustrated for a moment by the inability to speak. But when you gave Karina the mental command to make the ropes holding Lyra's legs and wrists disappear and only the ropes around her mouth and torso remain, you had her moaning and biting the rope as you pounded into her pussy as if she hadn't already cum three times before.

With Karina holding your balls and exhaling hot breath on the back of your neck, it was easy to reach the downhill slope that would lead you to your climax. You clenched your jaw, leaned forward a little, and now put two hands on Lyra's neck, both squeezing until every sound that came out of her throat was cut off. In the final stretch you got quicker, at a pace you didn't even know you were capable of, until with one last sudden thrust, you came inside the tightest pussy in the North Pole.

You groaned through clenched teeth, pumping slowly to get every drop of cum inside her. Lyra was holding your wrists with both hands, looking up at you with tear-filled eyes. You were sure you were squeezing maybe too hard, but you were unable to loosen your fingers when the sensory stimulation was so overwhelming to you.

"Oh yeah..." Karina moaned into your ear, massaging your balls. "I can feel those balls emptying inside that little pussy... Oh! They're full again," she giggled.

"You three are amazing, you know that?" you asked between gasps, regaining control of your motor skills to release Lyra's neck.

"It's the reward for a wonderful man," Karina said into your ear, and she pulled you into a hug from behind to kiss your cheek. You decided to ignore it so you wouldn't curl up like an armadillo and giggle like a fool.

"Oh right, speaking of rewards..." your gaze went to Nissa, who was pampering Lyra and wiping the tears from her cheeks. "It's your turn for another bit of fun, sweetie."

"How do you want me, master?" she asked, glancing at you as she was focused on Lyra being okay. "I know what's going through your head right now... but I'd like you to say it."

"I want to fuck your ass," you said, finally pulling out of Lyra's pussy after about fifteen uninterrupted minutes. Your cum spilled out in a thick river onto the sheet. "All three of you."

"And...?" Karina asked, already knowing what you wanted as well. You could tell she was excited, as you two had previous experience with it.

"And I want us to get a little... slippery."

"Yay!"

It seemed like Karina had everything premeditated in her head already. She snapped her fingers, and beneath you appeared a red, waterproof plastic blanket that covered the entire bed.

"Oh... this is new to me," Nissa said, looking at the blanket beneath her.

"Not to me," Karina said, and positioned herself to your right to show you what she held in her hand. It was a moderately sized glass jar, molded into the shape of a snowman with a hat. The liquid inside was clear, and it was obvious what it was. "The honors are yours, sweetheart."

You took the glass jar and looked at Nissa and then at Lyra, who already looked composed after the wild mess you had just gotten out of.

"Can you get on your knees?" you said.

"Are you implying that I'm tired and that I'm out of energy, master?" Lyra asked, raising an eyebrow, and with a haughty expression she was the first to kneel up, sitting on her heels. "I feel underestimated."

You chuckled, moving to the bottom edge of the bed to make room for them. Lyra took the center.

"Forgive me for worrying about you, then," you said, as Karina and Nissa took the same position on either side of Lyra.

First in line was Nissa. The short-haired, chubby-cheeked girl stood expectantly, her gaze fixed on the jar of massage oil. You knelt in front of her, cupping her chin so she looked into your eyes, and caressed her jaw with your thumb.

"Have you ever done anything like this?" you asked, really stupidly because she was a Christmas elf, surely they didn't fuck each other oiled up.

"Clearly not, master," she replied. "Is it... sticky?"

"Slippery," you corrected her.

"That's why the plastic blanket?"

You nodded.

"It'll feel good for you, I promise."

"Well, alright," she nodded with a small serene smile. "I trust you, master."

"Should I start then?" you asked, removing the snowman's hat and opening the jar.

"Stop asking so many questions and just do it, master!" Lyra protested from the side. That girl was a different kind of thing indeed.

In order to start with Nissa you positioned yourself behind her and began pouring the oil on her body, making it drip from her shoulders to her back and breasts. After pouring a considerable amount you had her take the jar for you to spread the liquid all over her back, shoulders, and arms. Then you poured a little more, and now you covered her breasts, belly and finally moved on to her thighs. A little over a minute later, Nissa's pale body was well oiled and shiny.

"Oh, it feels... warm," she said, running her palms over her tits. A small moan escaped her lips after rubbing her nipples a few times. "And wow, it feels really good."

"I told you," you smiled, gave her a kiss on the cheek and walked past Lyra. You approached her face to face.

"Oh master," she sighed, looking into your eyes and then to your lips before bringing a hand to your cock and slowly stroking it. "You know there's only one place tighter than my pussy, don't you?"

You picked up the jar of oil and poured long lines up and down her tight body before spreading them out.

"You weren't the most well behaved elf in your class, were you?" You raised an eyebrow, spreading oil across her abdomen before moving down to her crotch and rubbing her slit.

"No, she definitely wasn't," Nissa said, glancing at her. "And now she's acting even worse."

"Of course not!" Lyra protested, frowning at Nissa. "You're just the most boring girl!"

"Whatever you say," Nissa shrugged.

As you finished oiling Lyra's toned body you finally went with Karina. She was waiting for you with a sly smile.

"How does it feel that we're finally going to do this after a whole year, master?" she asked, as you oiled her body.

"Unreal," you admitted, avoiding eye contact so as not to blush but smiling. "But I'm... happy, quite a bit."

"Yeah, I can tell," she giggled. "That's why I'm this happy too."

"You elves can sense emotions?" you asked, running oil down her tummy and thighs.

"Uhm, not exactly," Karina shook her head softly. "But I can sense yours because well... we're bonded."

You paused with your hands on her thigh, then looked up at her.

"Bonded?" you frowned.

Karina's cheeks lit up with a light blush.

"I think I'd better show you when we're done here," she said.

"Can't you just tell me?"

"No, it's something you need to see."

You heard Nissa and Lyra giggle to your left. They knew things, but they didn't seem willing to tell you. You weren't going to push it either; you'd have time later.

"Okay okay," you nodded. "No pressure."

"Thank you honey," Karina smiled, and gave you a peck on the nose. This time you couldn't help but blush.

You worked for the next minute in silence, putting the finishing touches before leaving Karina on equal footing with Nissa and Lyra.

"Very well master," Karina took the jar from your hand and moved to the side. "It's your turn, come on, lie down."

You didn't object and waited for space to be given to you to lie down in the middle of the bed. Immediately the girls knelt at your sides, Karina on your left and Nissa and Lyra on your right. Karina didn't wait for you to give her the green light, she just started pouring the oil all over your body. Having finished, the three girls put their hands on you.

The girls divided up the areas of your body: Karina had your entire upper torso, and Nissa and Lyra from the waist down. Karina and Nissa were gentle, spreading the oil over your chest and arms and down your legs respectively. But Lyra, being the unstoppable force of nature that she was, had gone straight for your cock and was shamelessly groping it, spreading oil all over that area but at the same time jerking you off.

"Lyra..." you gasped, but a nervous giggle escaped you as well. "That's not what you're supposed to be doing."

She turned to look at you, moving her hand faster on your cock. It slid so smooth and felt so good that you moaned.

"Oh no?" she gave you the eyes of an abandoned puppy. "But I feel your cock very, very slippery, master."

"Yes but..." you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. "Fuck it come here."

You pulled her by the arm so she landed against your side. Your slick bodies came into contact immediately, her small breasts pressed against one of your pecs. You kissed as Karina and Nissa finished the job, and you brought your hand to Lyra's ass to put a finger directly inside her butthole.

"Oh fuck!" Lyra moaned against your lips, and began to stroke your cock much faster.

"Lyra..." you gasped, trying to get her to stop but at the same time now adding another finger inside her butthole to pump it just as fast. It was a few long seconds before you could muster all your willpower. "Lyra, stop!"

Lyra huffed against your lips, reluctantly releasing your cock.

"Yeah yeah, Nissa will be first," she said, having already read your mind. "Sorry."

"I'm going to kick your ass when we get back..." you heard Nissa say, who looked at Lyra with narrowed eyes.

"Huh?" Lyra frowned and looked at her. Karina giggled.

"Nothing," Nissa looked at you. "May I, master?"

"Go ahead, darling," you nodded.

Nissa turned around and straddled you, her back to you, planting her feet on the mattress in a squat position. She grabbed your cock, brought it between her buttocks and pressed it against her butthole to slowly lower her hips. Your cock was easily engulfed between that pair of pale, pretty asscheeks, and when Nissa rested her ass against your pelvis you both moaned.

"Feels good, master?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at you with her eyebrows raised in pleasure.

"It'll feel better when you use me as your personal trampoline," you replied, and brought your hands up to her buttocks to make circles with your palms there.

"Let me do it?"

"That's what I want you to do."

As soon as she said that Nissa took a few brief seconds to very slowly get into a pace, until she was bouncing hard and fast against your cock. You moaned and gave her a spank that slipped and didn't land as hard as it should have, but it was enough to make her whimper.

You pulled Karina and Lyra to the sides of your body. Now you crashed your lips against Karina's, who purposely rubbed her heavy tits against you. Lyra did something similar, only she was rubbing her pussy against your thigh. With Nissa already jumping on your cock you were able to resume your previous activity, so you put two fingers inside Lyra's ass and did the same with Karina, pumping both wrists quickly.

Nissa bounced on your cock for a while, and she did it without tiring despite going as hard as she was going. She finally came between cute moans, grinding her hips back and forth while her whole body shook with spasms. It was at that moment that you considered it appropriate to give her her well-deserved reward.

You pulled your fingers out of Karina and Lyra's asses and reached out to grab Nissa, pulling her so she was lying on her side on top of you and grabbing her from behind her knees to press them against her torso. All to finally plant your feet on the bed and pump up and down.

Nissa held onto your head with both arms and dedicated herself to filling the room with the most beautiful moans ever heard by man. You didn't know what an angel sounded like being fucked in the ass and mind-melting with pleasure, but it was surely something very, very close to that.

"Come on baby give me another one..." you murmured in her ear. Then you gave her earlobe a light bite and a hard spank to her ass. "Cum again for me."

Nissa tried to speak, but nothing but stutters interrupted by moans came out of her mouth. She kissed you, trying to drown out every whimper until with a violent electric shock, she came just as you had asked. You slowly pumped your hips, being gentle with her so she could enjoy her orgasm to the fullest.

"T-thank you, master," she murmured against your lips, breathing heavily. "For…  always considering what I want."

"You don't have to thank me, cutie," you said, and pulled out of her. "It's the basics for someone who isn't a jerk."

"Master...?" you heard Lyra's voice to your right. Turning, you saw her on her hands and knees. "Are you ready for me yet?"

"It shouldn't even be your turn yet, Lyra," you said, and carefully pushed Nissa off you.

"No, but I know you want to give Karina your last load, so I deserve you to make me cum a few more times."

You chuckled and sat up.

"You talk like I'm the one serving you."

"I talk like I know what you want, master," she said, spreading her knees and arching her back further to make her ass look rather more appetizing. "And I know you want to fuck my ass very, very bad."

Karina sighed, tired of Lyra's reckless attitude.

"Forgive me, master," she said. "It's my fault for having such poor disciplinary methods."

"No need," you said. "Let's give the sassy slut what she wants."

Lyra smiled, and you went to kneel behind her. The first thing you did was put a hand on her left ass cheek and used your thumb to finger her ass for a few seconds.

"Let me guess, you want it pretty rough too, don't you?" you asked, and pulled your thumb out of her asshole to soon replace it with the tip of your cock.

"Oh yeah," she nodded with a moan, propped up on her elbows as she watched over her shoulder as you took every inch of your hard, throbbing cock into her tight asshole. "I like it rough, so don't hold back for anything in the world."

"I wasn't planning on doing that," you replied with a hand on her slick lower back, pushing the last few inches inside her. "It's what you deserve for being such an insolent girl."

"Punish me then, master," she moaned as you began to move slowly. "About time you do."

The first spank was quick to fall, and more followed as you increased the pace of your thrusts. Unlike Karina's ass, Lyra's ass took a little longer to turn as red as Rudolph the Reindeer's nose, perhaps due to the layer of oil that reduced contact. But when you had accomplished that task you grabbed a handful of her brown hair and pulled on it as hard as you could, making the smacks of your pelvis against her ass reverberate like applause throughout your room.

Lyra went crazy with screams and grunts, and thank god your nearby neighbors spent Christmas outside the building, because at that hour of the morning you would have gotten into a huge amount of trouble with all the fuss that girl was making.

"You like it like this huh?" you asked through clenched teeth, and gave her a harder tug to make her respond. "Huh?!"

"Mmmgh fuck, yes!!!" she whimpered, desperately searching for something to hold on to since the only thing you had underneath you was the red plastic blanket. "Just like fucking like that, yes!!"

A few thrusts later Lyra came, but you continued, not letting up for a single moment. She screamed and squirmed, but within seconds she dropped the side of her face against the blanket and lay still for you again. Taking advantage of her submissiveness, you made her lay on her stomach flat so you could lean forward, grab her chin to make her look up at you, and spit right in her face as you fucked her now prone bone.

"Oh fuck yeah do that again," she growled, and stuck her tongue out for you. You spat on it after a few seconds, and she moaned louder.

You gripped your hand around her neck, as best you could despite the angle you were at. You weren't squeezing too hard, but it was enough to make Lyra cum again, smothering your cock with her butthole walls and making you moan along with her. It was a miracle that you didn't cum on the spot, in fact, you had no idea how that hadn't happened. A moment ago you would have easily exploded because of how good it felt when Lyra cummed and all of her body seemed to go tighter.

With your lungs about to explode from exhaustion, you looked up, and by pure chance you found the answer to your question. Karina was staring too intently at your crotch, with a finger discreetly raised and her eyes a little brighter than usual. Of course.

When she noticed you were looking at her, she lowered her finger, her eyes returned to their normal color and looked at you with an innocent little smile. You weren't going to comment on it, but it's not like it bothered you. In fact, it was just another thing to be grateful for.

"Satisfied, reckless slut?" you asked Lyra between gasps, kissing her on the forehead.

"Only for now," she replied, and managed a mischievous smile.

You pulled out of Lyra's ass and went to lay down in the center of the bed again, right next to Karina, who didn't hesitate to straddle you, grab your face and crash your lips together, already having you all to herself.

The make out session lasted longer than expected. She was more than happy just kissing and rubbing your slippery chests together, and you were more than happy just groping every corner of that perfect body. But soon that last load in your balls was demanding and screaming to be released, and knowing this, Karina raised her hips and brought your cock to her ass to slowly impale herself on it.

"Oh lord," Karina moaned with her hands on your chest as your cock was already halfway in. "Why the hell didn't we try this a year ago?"

"Because we fell asleep too early," you replied, hands on her waist.

"At least we got some sleep that time," she said, your cock already deep in her ass. "But now dawn is too close."

"Oh, right..."

"Hush," she put a finger on your lips. "Don't think about it and just focus on me, honey."

You looked into her eyes, and for the time number-you didn’t remember-, you blushed again at her expense.

"Y-yeah..." you nodded, and she started moving up and down.

That was without a doubt the most intimate moment you had all night. It was just the two of you, her cupping your face and caressing your cheeks as she kissed you, and you running your hands up and down her back and then hugging her tightly. Karina didn't want to go too much faster than she was going at that moment, and it wasn't necessary either; the rhythm was more than perfect, deep and sensual, so that both of you felt every movement with every fiber of your bodies. You moaned against her lips, and she against yours.

"I'm going to cum, honey..." she moaned against your lips after a few minutes. "Cum with me, will you? Yeah?"

"I'll be happy to, fuck," you panted, your hands squeezing her tits and then bringing them to her buttocks and squeezing them. "You keep going, keep going!"

Karina now did pick up the pace a little, just to speed up a few seconds what was inevitable. Towards the end she bounced on you hard, and raised her body a little so you could see her tits jiggle with each blow. You couldn't help but take one into your mouth, suck on it and hold on to Karina's body with both arms until you both came in a series of deep moans.

"Mmmgh fuck yes darling!" Karina whimpered as you came inside her ass, and she took her breast from your mouth to hug your head.

You buried your face in her neck and filled it with as many kisses as you could, drowning your own moans there that kept coming out until you left your entire load inside her. Your last load of the night. After that the magic would end, and you wouldn't see Karina again for another year. Again.

The two of you took a long time to rest, holding each other close between little cuddles, caresses and kisses.

"Honey... about our bond," she said, lying with her head on your chest. "Do you really want to know?"

Certainly some things were better left unsaid. Ignorance was also a power. But no, that was something you had to know by any means necessary.

"Of course I do," you said. "Why so much mystery about it? Is it a bad thing?"

"It is for some… heartless people," she admitted. "But if you're the man I think you are... it won't be for you."

Your heart skipped a beat. Your mind began to spin and scheme like crazy.

"Okay... show me, please."

Karina smiled and sat up with her hands on your chest.

"I'm afraid you'll have to get dressed first," she said. "And put on something warm too," she then looked to their sides. "Hey! Wake up!"

Nissa and Lyra woke up with a small jump from their slumber. Who knows how long they had fallen asleep, but they both looked equally disoriented.

"Go back home and wait for me at Ysara's Crystal," Karina ordered, then pointed at Lyra. "Ysara's Crystal!" she reiterated, knowing full well that Lyra was the unruly one.

"But don't yell at me!" Lyra whined, and stood up reluctantly.

"He's coming with us, Karina?" Nissa asked, carefully getting out of bed.

"Wait what?" you looked at both of them.

"Yeah," Karina nodded with a pleased little smile. "It's about time he met little Tharion."

"Who?!"

"Shut up and get dressed, silly," Karina patted your chest, and stood up next to Nissa to snap her fingers.

The red blanket, along with the jar of oil and the layer of oil on the three of them, disappeared. Not only that, Karina was now fully dressed and groomed again, as if nothing had happened. Nissa and Lyra also snapped, and now they were fully dressed again as well.

"We'll see you in Glaciora, master," Nissa said, holding Lyra's hand. Then, a swirl of sparkling snowflakes began to envelop them from bottom to top. Seconds later, they disappeared.

"In where?!" you asked again, so confused that you couldn't even move from the bed.

"Honey, get up and get dressed!" Karina urged you. "The sun will soon be setting and my powers won't work here!"

"I'm sorry!" you sat up. "It's just that! I-I! Oh forget it!"

You stood up and hurried to get dressed. You didn't know how to dress warmly, but if you were going where you thought you were going, you'd be perfectly fine with what you were wearing. Ready, you stood next to Karina.

"Look, I'm not going to lie to you," you told her. "I'm terrified."

Karina giggled, took your hand and laced her fingers through yours.

"Why?" she asked. "I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you."

"It's just..." you started breathing faster, anxious. "That... you know, thing," you pointed to the floor. "Is it going to take me too? How do you s-"

Karina suddenly shut you up with a sweet kiss on the lips. Yes, blushing cheeks again for you.

"Everything will be okay, I promise," she said, looking into your eyes. "Now shut up and let me do my job."

Karina pointed her finger at the ground and made a small gesture. A few seconds later, that whirlwind you saw in the distance before was now forming around your feet, slow, but increasingly faster, dense and bright. The whirlwind rose up your body, enveloping each of your limbs and then covering you completely. In a reflex you closed your eyes, thinking that some snowflake would get inside you. But that didn't happen, in fact, you felt absolutely nothing more than a tingling sensation all over your body.

And then cold. Intense cold. Accompanied by the sound of the polar breeze and... steam engines in the distance?

"We've arrived, darling," Karina said from beside you, squeezing your hand. "You can open your eyes."

You hesitated to do so, but as soon as you did the last thing you felt was regret.

"What the..." you took a few steps forward, stunned by what your eyes were seeing.

You were standing on top of a snowy hill with some pine trees and grass, and the general passage was filled with tall, rugged mountains, packed with snow on the peaks and slopes. But that wasn't what had you stupefied, but what was in the valley just below the hill you were on.

Calling it a city was a bit of an exaggeration, but the picturesque houses of that beautiful town stretched far into the distance, winding between the mountains. It was a bright, charming place, filled mostly with two-story buildings made of oak wood with plenty of windows, in which you could see men, women, and children living together in a common joy that you knew was due to that time of year. Beautiful. That place was beautiful, and it felt warm, like a home.

"Well... this is where I'm from," Karina said, standing next to you.

"But h-how?" you were still stunned as you looked at every corner of the town.

"You don't expect me to explain how our magic works, do you?" she giggled.

"No, you don't have to," you shook your head. "It's just that... my goodness! This is beautiful!"

"Wait till you take a closer look then," she grabbed your hand again. "Come on, Nissa and Lyra are waiting for us."

The two of you walked down the hill patiently, but you didn't go straight to the town, you took a small detour to the left that led you to a wide plain in the center of which there was an obelisk-like structure right in the middle, at least ten meters tall and made of a crystal that reflected pink and purple lights. Ysara’s Crystal, most surely. Near it were the girls. The first thing Lyra did was make fun of your stupid face as you admired everything, and Nissa just smiled excitedly.

"Hey, before I show you everything do you want to...?" Karina asked.

"Yes," you nodded immediately, not knowing how sure you were of your answer. "Yes, please."

Karina nodded, and led you along with Nissa and Lyra, this time to the town.

The streets were quite different from anything you could have imagined a Christmas elf village to look like. Everyone was dressed in red, yes. But there was no one dressed in a flashy outfit, replete with buttons and all kind of colors. There didn't seem to be a hint of ill intentions on anyone's face either; all the people wore bright, genuine smiles, working in all sorts of places outside of carpentry shops, bakeries, toy stores, or any common job you could find in any other city in the world.

You didn't stop to take a closer look, as you had only one destination for now: Karina's house.

The house turned out to be a small cabin near the foot of one of the mountains. It was definitely meant for just one person, but it looked perfectly cozy and spacious. A fireplace was lit inside.

"Are you ready?" Karina asked you, holding your arm in her hands. You were on the first step of the stairs leading to the door.

"I think so..." you nodded quietly.

"Very well. He's a little shy, so don't worry if he seems scared."

You climbed the stairs, each step feeling like an eternity. Karina knocked a few times on the door, and within a few seconds an older, kind-looking lady, dressed in a long red dress with long flared sleeves, opened it. Behind her, in the center of the room, sat a boy playing with a wooden boat.

Him. Tharion. You couldn't see his face, but his hair was... like yours. Same color.

"Karina, dear!" she greeted, welcoming her with a hug. "You're back! And oh, who is this handsome boy?"

"Grandma, he's..." Karina looked at you, then looked over the lady's shoulder at Tharion.

"Oh!" the lady beamed, visibly happy. "Should I... yeah, I'll go buy some chocolate buns, I'll leave you two with little Tharion!"

The lady walked past the two of you, quickly descending the stairs and grabbing her skirt to quicken her pace into the city.

"Is that your... grandma?"

"Not really, but she raised me since I was little."

"I couldn't even introduce myself properly," you sighed.

"You'll do that later, come on in," she gestured inside.

You did so, hands in your jacket pockets. There were many details inside the cabin that you would have loved to pay attention to, as it was an extremely beautiful place. But your gaze was solely fixed on the child, who couldn't have been more than a year old. Just about the time that...

"Tharion!" Karina called him in a small voice, walking past you to go to the child. "I'm home, sweetheart!"

The child dropped the small wooden boat and raised his arms for Karina to carry him. When she did and turned with the child towards you, you were completely petrified.

He looked just like you.

"Honey... this is Tharion," Karina walked slowly towards you with the child in her arms. "Tharion, he's your father."

Tharion. Your son. With Karina.

Oh... no.

———————————

SPREN NOTES: Well this is definitely my longest uninterrupted smut scene to date. I think about 80% of the piece is smut lol. Hope you enjoyed it tho, especially this ending that sparked my desire for parenthood lmao. AND YES, I KNOW IT'S JANUARY 11 ALREADY BUT FOR ME IT'S CHRISTMAS ALL YEAR ROUND.

[chilumi-shipper]

Not Meant for the World

Kamisato Ayato x Fem!Servant!Reader

Summary: You fell for him, he fell for you, it was the typical start of a relationship, only problem is… well, he's him and you're you. A Commissioner who holds power over the nation, and a servant that basically amounts to nothing in the whole scheme of things. It was a mutual decision to keep your relationship a secret, only to be kept within the dead of night in his bedroom, evaporating before the sun could even rise for another day. But then… Ayato seems so keen keeping it a secret forever, letting the stream of wedding proposals and love letters flood in, going through great lengths to make sure the information doesn't leak out, almost like he's ashamed of being with someone like you. You could only take so much of that.

Tags: Angst no Comfort, Hidden Relationship

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

"You should probably go back to your quarters." As you were snuggled up to your lover's chest, enjoying his warmth under the covers of his bed, he spoke.

"But it's barely time." You whined, pressing your body closer to his and rubbing your face on his chest.

Back then, he would cave, he would chuckle and wrap his arms tighter around you, saying that you could stay for a little bit more and that he didn't really want you to leave anyway.

Now… he pulls away from your embrace, sighing as he looks you in the eye.

"It would be best to elliminate all the chances of us being caught, and I believe that some of the servants have been getting up early to start their shifts." He reasoned, his hold faltering as you feel his arms slip off you.

You felt a clenching pain in your chest as you slowly get up, looking around his room, you didn't want to leave, and yet when you looked at him, you felt like you were being pushed away.

"Okay… I guess I'll get going now…"

This is the part where he would usually kiss you and remind you that he loves you…

It never came…

You left his room without another word.

…

"Is it perhaps too much to visit a festival together?" You asked, not expecting a pleasurable answer from the Yashiro Commissioner sat on his office chair and drinking a cup of tea you prepared for him.

"I believe it is, being seen in public in a non-professional setting would be rather suspicious if it's just the two of us." Ayato responds firmly, oblivious to (or perhaps just ignoring) the frown that formed on your face.

"We've been out together multiple times…" You reasoned, though you sounded unsure, not wanting to sour his mood and lessen your chances of getting him to agree to your proposal. "We haven't been on a date in a while."

"The families offering up their daughters to me are very vigilant of my public movements, suspicions will arise if they were to see me with any lady for no particular reason." He did not even spare you a glance, answering swiftly as he always does.

Yet again, you fail to persuade him to be with you. You prepared to say more, but a knock came before your words.

A guest came to the estate, a father of one of the many noble ladies offering their hand in marriage.

Long story short, he's here to talk marriage business, as these fathers always do.

When the guest left for a moment, "My lord, I just need a few more minutes to talk to you." Many times, you have tried to intervene, not satisfied with how your conversation earlier abruptly ended.

"Y/N, there are matters more important than this. Wait a moment." He pays you no mind, but you have had enough. "You are being too obv-"

"Ayato, stop." You spoke firmly, freezing him in his place. "I'm still talking to you." You approached him, his back still turned to you.

Slowly, he turned around to face you, his eyes held an unfit expression for him, almost like nervousness. "Y/N, let's not do this now…"

"Do you still want to be with me?" You asked impulsively, stripping the formalities and simply talking to the man you knew as your lover. Your eyes fill with tears, looking at him being lost for words. You hoped his answer would be immediate, that he would exclaim that why would you even ask such a question.

As you stood there, "Lord Kamisato, come along, don't let the servant keep all of our time." The guest came back, standing beside Ayato, who had yet to say anything.

No words were spoken, but the Commissioner knew that right there, right in front of the unknowing guest, in your watery gaze, he had a choice to make.

"Why don't you get us some tea in the meantime?" The guest spoke up again referring to you, but you have no intention of moving until your lover finally speaks up.

With a gulp, Ayato stood his ground. "Yes, please prepare us some tea, Y/N. No more of your nonsense."

A single tear, that's what you allowed for him to see as you nodded silently. But as you prepared the tea, your vision was blurry from the neverending tears, your sobs couldn't be controlled as you struggle to catch your breath.

But you needed that, you needed that to remind yourself that you are merely a servant.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The Yashiro Commissioner sat on his bed that night, looking at the door to his room. His heart was beating fast, hoping for it to open and show the figure of his lover, though the odds are against his desires.

He hoped that maybe you'd spare him a chance, that you'd walk into the room and tell him that you'll allow him to show you how you much he truly loves you.

The door remains close. And so does his heart begin to ache. Ayato didn't sleep that night, he merely lied down and looked up at the ceiling, trying to imagine your warmth embracing him, trying to make it seem like your side of the bed wasn't left cold.

…

"My Lord…" His eyes looked up from the document he's been staring it for the past hour when he heard your voice… calling him in such a cold manner. You said nothing more, placing a tray of tea and pastries on an empty spot on his desk.

"Ahh, thank you…" Ayato looked at your face, hoping to see your usual smile whenever you served him his afternoon tea, yet your face held nothing but a blank expression. You merely bowed at him, before leaving without another word.

Your name was at the tip of his tongue, and his entire being screamed at him to just say it. He wanted desperately to call for your attention, but, though he did not want to admit it… he was scared…

You stopped in your tracks, remembering something that you had to discuss with him. Ayato, ever so perceptive of your actions, perked up.

"You have a meeting with the head of the Tenryou Commission later at noon, something about an agreement with regards to your relation with his daughter." You did not bother to face him to give him the reminder, opting to walk away once you finished your sentence.

The Yashiro Commissioner's face fell as he watched you leave the room, his heart still heavy, and his mind cursing at him for not having the guts to talk to you properly.

…

The pain felt more real once he entered his room for the night.

The place has been wiped clean of your existence, the covers have been changed so not even your scent lingered, some of the clothes you kept in his closet are gone, the vase of flowers you like to decorate his nightstand with is gone…

The framed picture of the two of you that sat on his nightstand is gone…

It felt suffocating…

With a sigh, Ayato closed the door, not wanting to see such a sad space, he instead went back to his office.

As he sat on his chair, he opened one of the drawers of his desk…

A smiled couldn't help but form on his face, a bittersweet one, when he saw the picture of you that he kept there a long time ago.

He laid his head on his arms on the desk, your picture next to his face. He figures that it was the only way he can sleep without feeling the suffocating emptiness of his room weighing upon him.

…

Today is the day the festival you were so excited about starts, and it's already been arranged for quite a while that today is your day-off. "…Y/N was really hoping that I'd join her at the festival." Half of

Thoma's words were muffled, but he could make out your name and the festival.

The blond retainer was asking for a day-off as well, to go with you.

Something uncomfortable boiled in Ayato's core, you asked him to join you back then, and he said that he couldn't. Yet, all he wishes now was to accompany you, to be by your side and not have to think about keeping your relationship a secret.

"With Y/N…?" Ayato asked, his voice laced with disappointment that did not escape his retainer's ears.

"Is something the matter, my Lord?"

Truly did his entire being want to disapprove of Thoma's request, he wants to go to you and offer to go with you himself.

"No, I'm quite alright, Thoma…" The Yashiro Commissioner heaved a sigh. "I'll allow your request."

You spent your day at the festival with Thoma, and it was obvious that you enjoyed it given the large smile that was plastered when you got back to the estate.

Meanwhile, Ayato spent his day at his desk, looking at meaningless paperwork while dreaming of being hand-in-hand with you at the festival, imagining that you would eat your heart out with all the streetfood available, watch the firework show when nighttime falls, and dance slowly at the festival music at midnight when everyone else already left.

That night though, he approaches you, his heart pounding when he caught your attention. "May I… ask you to sleep next to me again?"

He was tired, he could only take a week of sleeping in his office because his room haunted him too much. Unfortunately for him, he doesn't know how to even start explaining himself, doesn't know how to win you back, to say that he does choose you over any form of nobility that he has.

You smiled at him… emptily.

"I'm your servant, my lord. If you wish for me to, I will."

So you did, you slept next to him, he hugged you tightly, snuggling you up to his chest, yet you refused to hug back, to nuzzle in his embrace like you used to. You merely did as you were requested.

Ayato tried to ignore the tightening of his heart just before sleep and exhausted took over him.

But he couldn't ignore the chill he felt when he woke up hugging nothing. It's just as it should be, the servant listened to her lord, and now she left to do her other tasks.

It was crazy to hope a relationship like yours could work out. Kamisato Ayato felt a few tears fall from his eyes, now, he wished for you to stay.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Yo, it's 3am and I'm gonna sleep now.

[ikkyfics]

may i req a remus fic? maybe smtg angsty? like hes dating the r for a bet? i lovee u anyways, I'll devour whatever remus fics u decided to write my love

Sweet Lies

Remus Lupin x f!reader

Summary: Remus had come closer to you. He had said the right words, held your hand, kissed you with a tenderness that felt so real. But it was all a lie. All part of a stupid bet.

Warnings: angst

A/N: honey, I hope you like it and you are so sweet, saying these things that make my heart race - thank you so much <333333 I really hope this doesn't just sound like a stupid cliché

Masterlist - Consequences

Remus Lupin entered your life like a comet: unexpected, bright, and impossible to ignore. It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment when you stopped seeing him as just another quiet student from your house and began to notice the quiet strength he carried. There was something in the way he seemed to notice the details that everyone else missed—a book you liked to carry with you, the slightly frustrated tone in his voice when someone interrupted you during a heated discussion about spells. He didn’t just see you, but seemed to understand the parts of you that no one else bothered to unravel.

You had always been calmer, more reserved. In a castle full of extravagant personalities and voices echoing down stone corridors, you were the type of person who preferred to observe. But Remus changed that. Not in a grand or obvious way, but with small gestures that slowly began to dismantle the walls you had built around yourself.

“You’re always so focused here,” he commented once, sitting beside you in a quiet corner of the library. His brown eyes shone with something that seemed like genuine admiration. “It’s like the world could end outside, and you wouldn’t even notice.”

You had laughed, trying to look away, but he didn’t give you room to escape. “Maybe because the world is calmer in here,” you replied, closing the book you were reading. “There aren’t as many distractions.”

“Is that so?” His tone was curious, almost challenging. “And me? Am I a distraction?”

He was. From the first moment he pulled a chair next to you, from the first time he asked if you needed help with that complicated spell in Defense Against the Dark Arts. His presence was a constant distraction—and one you didn’t want to escape.

Now, as you both walked across the school grounds, the night air bringing with it a chill that made the sky look even more starry, Remus held your hand gently. His fingers were long and slender, marked with scars he never fully explained, but which you had learned to recognize as an essential part of him.

“Are you cold?” he asked suddenly, stopping in the middle of the path to look at you. The moonlight danced on his brown hair, tousled by the wind.

“Not really,” you lied, not wanting to break the moment.

Remus raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smile you knew was reserved for when he was about to challenge you. “You’re not a very good liar, you know that?”

Before you could answer, he took off the scarf he was wearing and carefully wrapped it around your neck. The touch of his fingers brushing your skin made a pleasant warmth rise on your cheeks.

“All set,” he said, adjusting the scarf as if it were the most important thing in the world. “Now, no cold can get to you.”

You didn’t respond, simply pulling him by the collar of his robe, making him lean closer. Your lips met in a slow, peaceful kiss, a perfect reflection of how Remus made you feel. He was everything you didn’t know you needed: secure, warm, and a little broken, but somehow whole when he was by your side.

When you pulled away, his eyes searched yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “If I could, I’d stay here forever,” he whispered, his voice deep but soft. “Just the two of us. Nothing else matters.”

"Remus," you called, hesitantly.

He turned his head toward you, his brown eyes shining with that familiar mix of curiosity and patience. "Hm?"

"Do you think people can really change? I mean... not just change on the outside, but on the inside too?" Your question slipped out before you could stop it, and for a moment, you almost regretted saying something so vulnerable.

Remus furrowed his brow, a subtle gesture you had learned to recognize as a sign that he was thinking deeply. "I think so," he replied carefully. "But it’s not easy. Changing means facing parts of yourself you’d rather ignore. And not everyone is willing to do that."

You looked at him, noticing how the moonlight seemed to soften the lines of his face, making him almost ethereal. There was something comforting in the way he spoke, as if he understood things that no one else could.

"I’m asking because..." You paused, the hesitation tightening around your throat. Part of you wanted to pull back, keep what you were about to say hidden, like you always had. But his presence had a way of making you feel safe, as if nothing could hurt you while he was by your side. "Because sometimes, I feel like I’m... not enough. Like I’ll never be good enough for anyone."

His eyes met hers with an intensity that was almost unbearable. "Why do you think that?"

You shrugged, trying to keep a light tone that contradicted the pain in your words. "I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve never been the one people choose. I’m... comfortable, but not memorable."

The silence that followed your words wasn’t empty. It was heavy, filled with something you couldn’t name. Remus squeezed your hand, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried an emotion you hadn’t expected.

"That’s not true," he said, almost in a whisper. "You’re so much more than you think you are. And if other people can’t see that, the problem is theirs, not yours."

The warmth in his words warmed something inside you, something that had long seemed dormant. You looked at him, searching for a clue in his brown eyes that always seemed to be full of secrets. He knew how to say the right things, but there was something in that response—a hesitation, a slight tremor in his voice—as if he carried an invisible weight.

"Do you really think that?" you asked, your voice filled with a vulnerability that was hard to admit.

Remus hesitated, just for a moment. It was such a small gesture that, if you weren’t paying attention, it could’ve gone unnoticed. But you did. The pause was brief, but enough for something inside you, something very small, to stir.

"I do," he finally replied, his voice firm now, as if he wanted to bury any doubt that might have arisen. "You’re incredible. And I want you to know that."

You believed him. There was no way to doubt him when he said things in that deep, conviction-filled tone. So, you let the moment pass, preferring the security of the present to questioning what might have caused his hesitation.

When he leaned in toward you again, pressing his lips to yours, you allowed yourself to believe that this was all that mattered. The kiss was calm, unhurried, but filled with something you couldn’t name. Maybe a silent promise.

The next few days passed like a dream for you. Everything seemed to align in almost a magical way. Remus was always around, with that soft smile and the eyes that seemed to see straight into your soul. He had a way of making even the simplest moments—like studying in the library or walking through the halls of Hogwarts—feel special.

You couldn’t help the smile that appeared whenever you thought of him. He made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered, like everything around you could fall apart, and yet you’d be safe as long as you were with him.

That afternoon, you were leaving the charms classroom when you heard familiar voices coming from a nearby corridor. The sound of laughter was the first thing that caught your attention, followed by the unmistakable tone of Sirius Black.

"You have to admit, Moony, it was brilliant," Sirius was saying, his voice full of amusement.

"I don’t know if brilliant is the right word," Remus replied, but there was a light tone to his voice, as if he was trying to hide something.

Curious and with a smile on your face, you made your way toward the voices. It was always nice to see Remus with his friends. He seemed so at ease with them, so different from the introspective Remus you knew. And you liked Sirius—he had that easy charm that made you laugh even when you didn’t want to.

But when you got close enough to see them, you stopped. They were facing away from you, meaning they hadn’t noticed your presence. Remus was leaning against a wall, arms crossed, while Sirius gestured animatedly.

"I still can’t believe you pulled it off," Sirius continued, laughing. "You know, of all of us, I thought you’d be the last to take a bet like that."

The smile on your face froze.

Remus sighed, looking uncomfortable. "It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Sirius."

"But it was, and it worked," Sirius insisted. "Thanks to you, Prongs finally got what he wanted. Lily agreed to go out with him. All because you got our friend here to think you were interested."

You couldn’t move. It was as if the ground had disappeared beneath your feet.

"I..." Remus hesitated, and for the first time, his voice sounded heavy. "It’s not that simple, Sirius. She... she trusts me. I didn’t want it to be like this."

"But it was," Sirius repeated, now with less enthusiasm. "And don’t tell me you didn’t know from the start that this was a bet. You agreed, Remus. And now... well, you know it’s not going to last forever."

You wanted to say something. You wanted to shout, cry, demand an explanation. But the words were stuck in your throat. Everything around you seemed to spin. The air was cold, but it felt like you were suffocating.

Remus had come closer to you. He had said the right words, held your hand, kissed you with a tenderness that felt so real. But it was all a lie. All part of a stupid bet.

Without realizing it, you took a step back, and the sound of your movement echoed down the corridor. They both turned immediately, and the expression on Remus’s face when he saw you was enough to break your heart.

"You heard," he whispered, his voice full of something that seemed like regret.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t trust your own voice. All you could do was look at him, your eyes filled with tears you refused to shed there, in front of them. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating, and the pain in your chest was so intense it felt impossible to stay there for another second. So, you turned away, without saying a word, and began to walk, your steps quick and awkward, desperately trying to put distance between you.

"Wait!" Remus’s voice echoed down the corridor, full of urgency.

You didn’t stop. Not for a second. The tears burned in your eyes, threatening to fall, but you blinked furiously, determined not to let him see how much he had hurt you.

"Please, just... listen to me!" Remus insisted, now closer. You could hear the sound of his footsteps, hurried, as he tried to catch up with you.

"Leave me alone, Remus!" Your voice came out louder than you intended, broken by the knot in your throat. But you didn’t care. All you wanted was to disappear, to flee from that nightmare that seemed to be sucking the air from your lungs.

But he didn’t give up. Before you could take another step, you felt his hand grabbing your arm. The touch was firm, but not aggressive, as if he were afraid of hurting you even more.

"Please, listen to me," he pleaded, his voice low now, almost begging.

You turned toward him with a sharp movement, pulling your arm from his touch. "Listen to me?!" Your voice trembled, filled with hurt and disbelief. "What else can you say, Remus? That it was all a bet? That I was just a joke to you and your friends?!"

He shook his head so forcefully that his brown hair fell over his eyes. "It’s not like that, I swear! It wasn’t supposed to be like this..."

"It wasn’t supposed to be like this?!" You took a step back, as if his proximity was too much to bear. "Then tell me, how exactly was it supposed to be, Remus?!"

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His silence was like a direct blow to your chest. You saw the conflict in his eyes, the pain, the guilt... but also the truth.

"It was real," he finally said, his voice hoarse, almost inaudible. "What I feel for you... it’s real. I know I messed everything up, but I need you to know that."

You laughed, but the sound was empty, almost cruel. "Real? You think that matters now? After everything? You got close to me to help James get a date with Lily, Remus. You used me. How... how can you say that’s real?"

He took a step toward you, his eyes pleading. "I know it seems unforgivable, but please, believe me. I never meant to hurt you. I... I don’t even know when I started feeling this for you. But I do. I feel it so much it hurts."

"Well, congratulations," you shot back, your voice heavy with sarcasm and pain. "At least we’re on the same page. Because it hurts, Remus. It hurts so much that I can barely breathe. And you’re the reason for it."

The words came out before you could think, but they were true. He looked at you as if every syllable had been a blade. "I just wanted a chance to explain..."

"There’s nothing to explain," you interrupted, your voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "You’ve already said everything you needed. And I... I was foolish enough to believe in you."

You didn’t wait to see his reaction. Turning, you ran, ignoring his calls behind you. The tears finally fell, a cascade of pain you couldn’t contain any longer. And as you ran, you realized that no matter how fast your feet moved, there was no escaping the feeling of having entrusted your heart to someone who shattered it.

The following days were a blur of pain and emptiness. You felt like you were moving through life as a shadow of yourself, desperately trying to rebuild the walls you had torn down for him. Every brick you laid felt too heavy, as if the hurt and betrayal had drained all your strength.

Avoiding Remus was harder than you’d like. Hogwarts suddenly felt too small, with hallways that always seemed to lead him to you. But you refused to look into his eyes, to give any sign that he still had power over you. It was always the same: turn into another hallway, enter an empty room, or simply lower your head and keep walking.

You felt his gaze on you sometimes. Not insistently, but present. Like a shadow. He didn’t confront you directly, didn’t call your name out loud, but you knew he was there, at a distance, trying to find a moment when you weren’t so broken.

But you weren’t ready. Maybe you never would be.

Remus, on the other hand, seemed more worn out with each passing day. He clung to the routine like a man adrift, trying not to drown in the sea of guilt that consumed him. He knew he had no right to approach you, not after what he had done. But he also knew he couldn’t just leave things as they were.

He tried a few times, hesitantly, to approach you in the hallways. "Please, just a minute..." he had started on one occasion, but the way you ignored him, as if he didn’t exist, was worse than any response.

Other times, he simply watched from afar, waiting for a sign, anything that might indicate that you were willing to listen to him. But nothing came.

He threw himself into his studies, trying to find a distraction, but even that was useless. The words in the books seemed to dance, and he couldn’t focus for more than a few minutes. Every time he closed his eyes, the memory of how it all started haunted him, cruel and relentless.

James had presented the idea casually, almost as a joke. "If you get close to her, Remus, I swear Lily will go out with me. She said she’d only agree when our grumpy friend finally had a boyfriend."

Remus remembered Sirius laughing when he heard the plan, how he had crossed his arms and commented on how impossible it would be to win you over. "She’s not the type to fall for tricks, Prongs."

But James, with that confident smile and unshakable determination, insisted. And Remus, for reasons he didn’t even fully understand at the time, agreed. Maybe it was James’s persistence, or the need to help his friend get what he wanted so badly. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe, deep down, he already knew there was something about you that intrigued him.

At first, that was all it was. A simple, almost harmless plan. He would get closer, gain your trust, and then James would have his chance with Lily. But nothing went as he expected.

You were different. From the very beginning, Remus realized there was something about you he couldn’t ignore. The way you spoke, with a calm tone but filled with passion for what mattered to you. The way you laughed, a sound that seemed to light up any room, even though it was rare. The way you looked at him, as if you saw beyond the scars and the calm facade he tried to maintain.

He started with small gestures: sitting next to you in class, starting casual conversations in the hallways. And every time you smiled at him, something inside him melted. He liked being the cause of that smile. He liked hearing you laugh, seeing your face soften when he made some silly comment to ease the tension.

And then came the kiss.

Remus would never forget that moment. He didn’t know exactly how it happened—maybe it was the way you looked at him that afternoon, the sun setting and bathing your face in golden tones, or maybe it was the way your soft laugh filled the silence between you. But he knew he couldn’t resist anymore.

When your lips met his, it was as if the world had stopped. There was no bet, no guilt, nothing but you. He felt his hand tremble slightly as it touched your face, but when you returned the kiss, when your fingers found their way into his hair, Remus knew that was the best moment of his life.

And that was why he couldn’t confess.

Every time he thought about telling you the truth, the fear paralyzed him. He knew he had started it all for the wrong reasons, that he had lied to you, but now... now you were the most important thing to him. He didn’t want to lose you. He couldn’t lose you.

But the weight of the guilt was unbearable. Every smile you gave him, he felt the knot tightening in his throat. Every intimate moment, he hated himself a little more. He wanted to believe that what you had was strong enough to survive the truth, but a part of him knew that the revelation would destroy everything.

And now, as he walked through the empty hallways of Hogwarts, trying not to think about the sound of your broken voice, Remus knew he had made the wrong choice. He should have been honest. He should have told you everything before it was too late.

But he didn’t. And now, he didn’t know how to fix what he had broken.

The reunion happened days later, at the end of a quiet hallway near the library. You had gone there to find a moment of peace, away from curious glances and whispers that seemed to follow you wherever you went. But, as if the universe insisted on testing your strength, he was there.

Remus was leaning against the wall, his face marked by exhaustion, his brown eyes fixed on the floor as if carrying the weight of the world. When he heard your footsteps, he lifted his gaze, and the air seemed to vanish from the space.

"I... I didn't know if I should be here," he started, his voice rough, as if he had rehearsed those words a million times and still didn’t know how to say them. "But I needed to see you."

"Why?" Your voice was cold, distant, but inside, everything was in ruins. "What more could you possibly say, Remus? What’s left to explain?"

He took a step towards you, but stopped when he saw the way you instinctively stepped back. The pain on his face was almost tangible, but it was nothing compared to what you felt.

"I know I messed everything up," he said, his voice breaking. "And I know it's selfish of me to want to talk to you after everything. But I can’t... I can’t just let you go without trying, without telling you how much you mean to me."

"Mean to you?" You repeated, laughing without humor. "Remus, I was a bet. I was just a means to an end. And now you want to tell me I mean something?"

He shook his head, his eyes pleading for understanding. "It wasn’t like that... it’s not like that. Yes, in the beginning, it was because of James. But from the moment I truly got to know you, everything changed. You changed everything. I know this doesn’t erase what I did, but... I love you."

"Don’t say that," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Don’t make this harder than it already is."

"But it’s true!" He took another step, and this time you didn’t back away, even though you wanted to. "I love you. I loved you from the moment I realized you were different from anyone I’ve ever met. From the moment you let me into your life, even when I didn’t deserve it."

You stared at him, your heart racing, and the pain you had tried to suppress overflowed. "And that’s what makes it worse, Remus. Because, despite everything, despite the lie, despite the betrayal..." Your voice faltered, but you gathered all the courage you still had to say the words you feared the most. "I still love you."

The silence that followed was deafening. Remus seemed to freeze, his eyes wide as he absorbed your words.

"You have no idea how much this hurts," you continued, your voice barely a whisper. "I love you, Remus. And that’s what’s destroying me, because I know I can’t trust you. I know that every time I look at you, I’ll remember that it all started with a lie. And I don’t know how to deal with that."

"I didn’t want to hurt you," he said, his voice filled with desperation. "If I could go back in time, if I could change anything, it would be this. I never would have been part of that bet. I would have gotten to know you for you, not because of James’s stupid plan."

You laughed, but it was an empty sound, devoid of joy. "That doesn’t change anything. You made a choice, Remus. And now we both have to live with the consequences."

He approached slowly, as if every step was a silent plea. "Then tell me what I can do. How can I fix this? Because I can’t imagine my life without you."

"There’s no fixing it." Your voice was firm, even as your heart seemed to shatter. "Some things, Remus, can’t be repaired. Some things just break, and all we can do is accept it."

For a moment, you stood in silence, the world around you fading as you looked at him, trying to memorize that moment. Because you knew it would be the last.

"I wish things were different," you finally said, your voice so low you could barely hear it. "But they’re not. Please, just... go away."

His gaze shattered, and for a moment, he looked as if he was about to say something more. But then he simply nodded, the heavy silence settling between you before he turned away, his footsteps echoing through the empty hallway.

You waited until he disappeared before letting the first sob escape, as painful as the feeling inside you.

[thelostconsultant]

Invisible string

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

summary: Red Bull Racing has a new sponsor. You host a party as the head of that company to celebrate this agreement. Max has no choice but to attend, but the evening ends with a pleasant surprise after he meets you in person. Maybe he was wrong about you all along.

note: I'm everything but a scientist. If you are one, please, ignore the amount of inaccuracies. There must be a lot.

part two

“You're insane,” Robert told you for the hundredth time that day when he arrived at your place, although every time there was a little laugh accompanying the comment.

Maybe he was right. Deciding to spend over three hundred million dollars on sponsoring an F1 team did sound insane, but he did agree to do it, and you signed the contract together. Sure, sixty percent of the company was yours, it was mainly your call, but he was still your mentor.

But he didn't stand in your way, he knew how passionate you were about this sport, and your biotech company could use the PR and marketing opportunities that came with this partnership. And let's not forget about the political aspect, because there were lots of important people who loved the sport and supported a top team like Red Bull Racing.

Your assistant came up to you to ask a few questions, but once she was gone, you folded your arms and stuck out your tongue at Robert. “You’re just jealous because it was my idea. Jokes aside, it's a good thing. F1 comes to the US so many times these years, it's good to be a big sponsor of a top team. Have you seen what kind of people attend the races? Exactly who we need to charm.”

“You never had an issue with charming people without such a big investment,” he noted with a sigh.

You bit your lower lip and turned away to look out into the backyard that was by now full of party decorations. You wanted to celebrate the announcement with an elegant party at your place, and you invited board members, top employees, some important people to schmooze with, and people from the newly sponsored F1 team.

“We need some legislation changes to kickstart the new project, you know that,” you told him eventually when you turned back to him. “I wish we could afford to be patient, but we need to launch it as soon as we can.”

Robert put a hand on your shoulder and gently squeezed it. “You stress too much about that. Take it easy,” he said.

Easier said than done, but you didn't want to continue this conversation. “I need to get rid of my yoga pants and change into something red, so make yourself at home as usual,” you told him with a smile before rushing away.

“Oh, so you're still a Ferrari fan, aren't you?” he called after you, bringing up the elephant in the room.

With a laugh, you came to a halt and spinned on your heels to face him again. “Yeah, and my favorite team is a joke at the moment. This was purely a business decision.”

Max did his research. Well, it was mostly the team handing out dossiers about the host and her business partner, along with a couple of other important people who were expected to attend the party, but he did read every single page and memorized each and every one of them.

When he reached the gate of his destination, he found armed guards outside, and he let out a frustrated groan at the sight. It was ridiculous. He didn't even want to be here. But he had to be a good boy and attend to act as the poster boy of the team. Hopefully he just says hi, maybe says a few words about how great this partnership will be, exchanges a few sentences with a few people and that would be it.

“Loosen up a bit, you look terribly tense,” Adrian told him from the passenger seat.

Easy for him, at least he would have a funny story to tell at the party. The car he wanted to come with had been stolen from the hotel’s garage, and no one knew how anyone could take it. This gave him the ammunition to keep up conversations. Lucky bastard.

Meanwhile, what was he supposed to talk about? Driving? He talks about that all the time. His hobbies? These people probably weren't the target audience. “I’m not in the mood for this,” he eventually replied with a sigh.

“No one is, but sometimes we just have to play nice and schmooze with our sponsors. This is the first time they support an F1 team, I guess they're just excited.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Max replied with a roll of his eyes. “I just… I don't know, with all the things I've heard about our host, it sounds like she is some real life female Tony Stark. She already built such a huge company, she's responsible for big innovations, and she was on Forbes' 30 under 30 list… I mean, come on.”

Adrian watched him with a deep frown. “Does it have anything to do with the fact she's a woman?”

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. “God, no, it's because of her age. This isn't some app you can make in a college dorm, then sell for a lot of money. Building that company must have taken a lot of work, she couldn't have done it alone, yet every article the team cherry-picked for us failed to mention how she did it.”

“Well, from what I've read elsewhere, her partner really did help her with the administrative part of the project, but they talked to investors together. She's smart, and nice, and I one hundred percent believe she's capable of achieving this at her age. Might I add she's only a year younger than you? You don't seem to be in such a bad situation at your age either.”

Max took a deep breath to calm himself, but in the end he couldn’t hold back the painful grunt that's been waiting to come out. “I'm miserable,” he noted sadly as he parked the car.

But Adrian wasn't in the mood for this. “You're just whining now,” he pointed out patiently.

“Whatever.”

They got out of the car and walked up to the main entrance, passing by some people who looked like boring businessmen and their airhead partners. Maybe there was a politician among them too, at least one with a big voice sure made him believe that.

Inside the two of them separated, and Max took his time to take a look around. The house was impressive; four stories as he counted outside, modern, clean design, combined with a huge backyard that ended in a lake. It must have been peaceful when there was no crowd around.

After a while he went back inside but was soon intercepted by Christian. Crap, so much for a peaceful evening. “Oh, and here's Max,” he said happily as he put a hand on his shoulder and guided him over to their little group.

“Hi,” was all Max managed to come up with.

“Welcome,” you said with a warm smile. “And good luck for this year.”

“Thanks.”

You turned to his boss with a curious look. “And where's Checo? I thought he would be coming as well.”

Christian seemed a little uneasy, but he managed to explain the absence of the team's other driver. “He has a family emergency,” he replied curtly.

Max bit the inside of his cheek in order to keep back a comment. He didn't want to attend this stupid party either, but for some reason he didn't have a choice. He never had a choice.

To his surprise, you began to laugh at this, then took a sip of your champagne with a mischievous look in your eyes. “Oh, the real get out of jail free card,” you noted.

Max snorted at this, and there was no way he could hide the huge grin that wanted to break out. All right, you got a brownie point for this comment, that's for sure.

“I'm sure he would love to be here,” Christian assured you.

“Sure.” You remained silent for a while, but just when Max was beginning to assume an awkward break would settle into the conversation, you spoke up again. “Well, I'm glad you're all here. Thank you for taking the time. Please, just make yourselves at home, and enjoy the rest of the evening.”

At one point Adrian joined the little group and decided to become a part of the conversation with one last question. “Where's Mr. Hartford?” he asked.

You let out a thoughtful hum as you looked around. “I don't know, last time I saw him he was talking to a board member. But I'm sure he'll find and greet you too. Well, if you'll excuse me, I need to say hello to a few more people. Have fun.”

The three of them watched as you walked away, and Max couldn't help but appreciate the view. That red jumpsuit you wore tonight hugged your figure so perfectly it almost made him drool. Almost. He could easily push that stupid part of his mind to the side for now. He couldn't let himself be fooled into believing you really were oh so perfect, there had to be something that was wrong with you.

“Did it kill you?” he heard Adrian's voice, and when he turned to him, he saw a knowing smile on his face.

Meanwhile Christian looked a little confused. “Did what kill him?”

“Talking to her.”

“What, you had an issue with that?”

“No,” Max protested, sending a disapproving look to the engineer who only laughed at him.

“Sure? You sounded kin–” he began, but was quickly interrupted.

“You two are insufferable, you know that, right?” Max asked them with a sigh, then rolled his eyes and left without waiting for their answer. All he wanted was a quiet corner and another glass of champagne, maybe a few bites of those delicious sliders a waiter offered him not long ago.

“Are you planning to come up with something that can race against Neuralink?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, not this again. But you forced a polite smile on your face and took a deep breath. “It's easy to come up with new, flashy innovations, but let's not forget that the root of the problem is always a bioethical one. Let's take them and their animal testing procedures for example. Whether you like it or not, euthanizing so many animals does raise ethical questions.”

“But it's for a greater good,” another man noted, earning a few nods from the people around him.

“I don't know, I believe we need to find a way to test new technologies without hurting anything or anyone first. That's one of the things we're working on at the moment. Also there's another bioethical aspect, and that's the fact these things would be expensive. The general availability is highly questionable, it would only help the rich.”

That one politician you had no choice but to invite despite every cell in your body protesting against it began to laugh at this. “And what's wrong with that as long as they pay?”

Oh, you son of a bitch, how could you be so dense? You took a deep breath and tried to calm yourself, but it was really hard at the moment. Luckily, Robert realized that this was a touchy subject, so he put a hand on your shoulder to calm you down.

“What she's trying to say is that it should be more than just a discussion about profit,” he began to explain. “Sure, that's important to finance our research, but science is supposed to help people.”

The man gave him a condescending look, as if he was disappointed that you would both choose to help people instead of earning a lot of money. What he didn't understand was the fact your company had highly profitable solutions, which gave you the opportunity to work on things that weren't as successful financially.

“For us,” you suddenly began, your finger moving in a circle as a sign that you were talking about the members of this little group, “going to a private hospital to get treatment and paying for our prescribed medication is normal. But let's not forget that almost 8 percent of the US population is uninsured. That's 26 million people. Let's say they start coughing. What do they do? They turn to home remedies because they can't afford the medical bill. Then things get worse as it turns into pneumonia and if they're lucky, they can go to a free clinic where they're prescribed meds. But can they pay for them?”

Robert nodded, then went on to add, “And it can be anything, really, even something contagious.” Clever. That guy was known for being a germaphobe, if anything, that could surely get his attention.

But he remained silent and a woman jumped in to drive the conversation instead of him. “What about different cybernetic implants? I mean, those are pretty impressive in movies, but how close are we to actually having them?”

You shrugged. “Depends on who you ask.”

A painful half an hour later you and Robert went outside, walking all the way out to the lake to build a little distance from the guests. “Thanks for backing me up there,” you told him before taking a sip of your cocktail.

“Anytime,” he said as he clinked his glass with yours.

Before he could say anything else, though, you heard someone clear their throat behind you. The both of you turned around and saw Max stand there with his hands in his pockets, watching you with a polite smile.

“You have a second?” he asked.

“Sure,” you replied as you took a few steps closer to him.

“I have to go, I just wanted to thank you for the invitation and say goodbye.”

You weren't used to guests you didn't really know coming over to say goodbye before they left. Most people usually just got in their cars and drove off without a word, but honestly, you were honestly grateful for that. But this goodbye was flattering, after all you could see it on his face that under the polite smile he just wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

With a nod, you held out your hand, and he took it without thinking. “Thanks for coming. I hope you could enjoy yourself a little bit. I know it's not a fun kind of party.”

“It was okay. Well, except for that woman who was raging about people who want to replace real meat with artificial meat,” he added with a laugh.

You froze and your eyes slowly narrowed at him. “Wait a second.”

Max looked genuinely confused, and his hand was still holding yours without either of you realizing it. “What?” he asked you.

“You're a genius! Excuse me.”

As you dropped his hand and began to walk away, he turned to Robert with a confused look on his face. “What did I say?” No response, only a shrug. “Where are you going?” he called after you.

“To the lab,” you finally told him without looking back.

Once again, Max turned back to the other man. “She's leaving her own party?”

“She has a lab in the basement,” you called back to answer his question.

Robert’s lips curled into an understanding smile. “Send me a text if it's something worth looking into,” he said, then turned back to Max and held up his hands. “Usually it's better not to ask.”

Despite Robert's warning, Max was now way too curious to simply ignore your strange behavior. He wanted to know what was going on in your head, so he followed you to the lab inside the house. He first arrived in an office, but through the huge windows he could see the actual lab.

“Is everything okay?” he asked after he softly knocked on the open door.

“Hmm?” You turned around with a questioning look, but once you realized it was him, you nodded. “Oh, yeah, sure. What are you doing here?”

Max walked inside, feeling completely out of place. “You ran away so abruptly that I wanted to know what's going on.”

“You gave me an idea, that's what's going on.”

“Oookay… And what was the idea?” he asked as he watched you sit behind the desk and enter your password to unlock the laptop that was connected to several monitors.

“Using something artificial instead of the real thing. That way we can bypass a barrier that's been blocking us,” you replied without looking at him.

“You lost me.”

A sweet little laugh left your lips, a sound that drew him closer as if it was a siren’s song. “All right, can you promise to keep your mouth shut about what I'm about to tell you?” Max nodded, so you grabbed the chair next to you, then pulled it closer and pointed at it to make him sit down. “Good. So one of the issues with bioprinting is that we can't be sure whether or not the cells we're working with are damaged, meaning if there's a possibility of cancer showing up later on for example.”

You were so enthusiastic, but he was so damn lost. It was the result of an unfamiliar territory, and the fact his mind could mostly focus on the way your lips moved instead of the words that left them. “Wait, what's bioprinting exactly?” he asked, unsure if he had the right idea.

Nodding, you clicked on something and it brought up a video feed. “For example, this,” you said with a proud smile.

It looked like a 3D printer, that much he knew, but what it was printing was a mystery at the moment. “What's that?”

“A 3D printed heart that's being made from my own cells,” you replied with a wide grin. “Give it another few days and it'll be ready.”

“Is that real?”

“Yep. Although, and that's what I've just mentioned, I can't guarantee it doesn't have cancerous cells. But theoretically speaking, someone awaiting transplant could get it.”

Max let out a thoughtful hum as he looked back at you. “So what does it have to do with artificial things?”

“That's how we bypass the damaged cell issue. We just need to create artificial cells that we can then turn into whatever we want them to be.”

“You think it could work?”

After thinking about it for a short while, you eventually shrugged. “Maybe,” you said quietly as you leaned back in your swivel chair. “I need to put a team together and discuss our options, then we'll see. As of now it's just a wild idea.”

“Interesting.”

To be honest, he could spend the whole night doing nothing but listening to you talk about your work. Meeting you in person changed the way he had thought about you before arriving here, and now he wanted to use this opportunity to get to know you better.

He did a quick search after first talking to you, and he read an article from the end of the last year that stated you were single. That was two months ago, maybe that hadn't changed since then. But something told him you were way too in love with your career to worry about romantic relationships, so if he wanted to get your attention, he probably had to work hard for it.

Your phone's screen lit up on the desk and he didn't miss the wallpaper. It was one of those prayer circle memes with Charles’ photo on it, which made him realize something. “You're a Ferrari and Charles fan?” he asked you with a raised eyebrow.

“Yep, already getting ready for prayer circles as you can see,” you replied with a laugh as you showed him the screen. “That's their only hope, I swear.”

“Then why are you sponsoring us?” he asked.

“A business decision in its purest form.”

Was he disappointed? Maybe a little bit. In his head he was already making up scenarios, like the first time you went to a race to support him–yes, he was getting ahead of himself, so what–and now it felt like a bomb had been dropped on his plans. Sure, as a sponsor or his girlfriend you'd physically be in their garage, but your heart would be with the Italians.

Max let out a sigh as he nodded. “And here I was, thinking you just wanted to see your company's logo on a fast car. Didn't know you were actually watching the races.” He tried to keep a casual tone to make it sound like it didn't hurt him, but he had a feeling his disappointment was seeping through the cracks.

Because you remained silent for a while, and when you finally spoke up, your voice was soft and quiet. “Maybe there are a lot of things you don't know.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he responded as he rolled closer to you.

The sadness he felt slipped away as soon as it came, because it was like he got under your spell the moment he got close enough to you. Your pretty eyes were following his every move, carefully watching him as you waited for whatever was to come.

It only took him a minute to make up his mind, to take a risk and see if you were willing to play this little game with him. So he raised his hand and curled his index finger to signal you to move over to him with a playful smile on his lips. “C’mere,” he said quietly.

To his surprise, you didn't hesitate to do as you were told, you stood up and sat in his lap with your arms around his neck, meeting him halfway for a kiss. The need for something more grew inside him as the kiss deepened, and a small part of his mind shifted its focus to your jumpsuit, trying to figure out the fastest way to get you out of it.

“I'm going home on Sunday. Come with me,” he suddenly spoke up, pulling away a little to look you in the eye. “Stay for a few days. Or a week or two,” he tried with a cheeky grin.

You leaned back to reach for your phone that you left on the desk, but he had his hands firmly on your bottom to keep you in place. “I can't reach my phone,” you said with a pout. “I can't tell you if I can go without it.”

With a sigh, he rolled the two of you closer to the desk so you could get it, but he didn't take his hands off of you. As you checked your calendar, humming every now and then, he couldn't help but start and place kisses in the crook of your neck.

“How about the week after that?” you asked him as you lowered your phone. “We have meetings with the CFO, an important meeting with a certain someone that I can't delay or skip, and I want to put together the team to test my new idea. Next week's pretty crowded.”

Max cupped your cheek and made you look at him. “If there's one thing we learned from Covid is that you can do these things online. Come on, I have fast and stable connection back home,” he tried with a smile.

“But you'll let me work,” you told him sternly, to which he only responded with a laugh before kissing you again. “I hate you.”

“You don't, and you know it.”

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 1

Masterlist || AO3

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: 18+ Chapter Summary: To save money for law school, you accept a job at Maid Discretely; a high end, anonymous cleaning service. You aren’t supposed to know whose home you’re cleaning, but your curiosity is peaked by your first client, and when the two of you have a shocking and surprising run in, more than just your curiosity peaks.  CW: Author chooses not to use warnings in this chapter in order to avoid spoilers. While I never want to trigger anyone, you are solely responsible for the content you consume. AN: Oh boy, here we go! I'm in a straight PANIC getting ready to post this. I hope it meets all your expectations, I was not at all expecting that reaction to the teaser post. Love you all and thank you for all your support. Please share or comment, I have a praise kink LOL. Follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates and turn on notifications for future chapters. Dividers and support banners by @saradika-graphics. Thank you @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk and @burntheedges for being my little cheerleaders over this, ily!! Chapter Word Count: 4.4k

You stare down at the very intimidating legal document you have clasped in your clammy hands. There are so many big legal sounding words that seem to be mocking you with their importance. Somehow there are clauses that have sub clauses that are then further broken down into sub-subclauses. It feels heavy to be handed this on a Monday morning. Truthfully, this doesn’t seem like something a soon-to-be twenty-one year old woman who literally just graduated college, albeit a semester early, should be allowed to sign without parents and a lawyer present. 

This is just supposed to be a simple job working part time as a maid for your best friend's family’s cleaning company. A job where she promised easy money and part time hours that you set for yourself. The perfect opportunity for you to be able to save money AND set aside lots of study time for your upcoming LSAT rewrite. You passed it a few months ago and applied to a bunch of law schools, but you aren’t going to waste these next few months waiting around. You know how competitive law schools can be, so you’re preparing to be better just in case you don’t get in.

Your eyes scan words that your brain can’t seem to comprehend. The internal panic starts to bubble in your chest, someone who has law aspirations should know what these words mean.

This is just supposed to be easy. Cleaning. Vacuuming. Washing floors. Simple things. 

But now, as you sit in this shiny, fancy downtown office building looking at your full legal name typed beside a bunch of ‘initial here’ and ‘sign here’ lines on a nondisclosure agreement you’re starting to feel like this is anything but simple. 

“Our clientele is VERY exclusive,” your childhood best friend Jamie says. She looks very professional and grown up sitting behind her glass desk. Her long, toned legs are crossed, the slit along the side of her crisp, white pencil skirt showing off her tanned upper thigh. She’s paired her white skirt with a baby pink silky blouse that's perfectly tucked into the high waist of the skirt. Her long, dark silky hair is twisted into a jeweled claw clip. Even though you’re the same age she has an air of sophistication and grace, even with winged eyeliner, a matte pink lip, and a slender rose gold septum ring that sits tight to her little button nose. She almost screams old Hollywood in the middle of Austin, Texas. 

She continues, “You won’t know the names of the clients and they will never be home. If they do come home, leave immediately, and try your best not to be seen or heard. Then you can fill out in the company app what you did and didn’t manage to get done.” 

You put the paper down on her perfect desk so she can’t see your hands shaking. How can you work at that desk all day and not get a single fingerprint or smudge on it? There’s a very good chance that I am not cut out for this. This is fancy. And expensive. I’m neither of those things. 

“What am I gonna be walking in on at these houses, Jamie?” You ask, swallowing the fiberglass that’s suddenly prickling at your throat. 

Jamie shakes her head and laughs, saying your name through her melodic giggles. “Most likely nothing. We’ve never had an encounter or run in with a client. They pick times for cleaners to come when they aren’t home.” She leans back in her high backed chair and continues, “But the clients are big deals. Politicians. Judges. Athletes. The odd celebrity. They don’t want anyone in their home that will snoop or snap pictures. Hence the NDA.” 

“Well, why didn’t you start with that!” You laugh. “Jesus, I thought I’d be walking into like a virginal sacrifice or some shit!” 

“Well, there was that one time…” Your face drops and she immediately starts laughing again. “I’m kidding. Relax. Look, you’ll probably get three homes a week, each house will take six to eight hours. The hourly pay is twenty dollars plus whatever tip they’ll leave you in these black envelopes.” 

She puts a perfectly polished finger on a stack of black envelopes with a red ‘Maid Discretely’ logo on it and continues, “In my experience, the tips are around five hundred, completely tax free. This is a good gig! You’ll be in law school becoming smarter than all of us in no time. Fuck, you’ll be writing insane contracts like those before we know it.” 

She stands, one hand resting on the desk while the other slides the paper towards you with a closed pen. She drops the writing apparatus on top of it, the metal casing of the pen clanging loudly on her glass desk. You let out an exasperated sigh, dramatically clicking the pen before signing the NDA. Jamie claps her hands excitedly then snatches the contract away before you can rip it up and says, “Let’s get your uniform and supplies!”

She hands you a few fitted white polo style t-shirts, black dress pants, white Keds (that she scolds are for inside the houses only), a caddy full of high end cleaning supplies, a top of the line Dyson vacuum and everything else you’ll need.

She ends your meeting with instructions on how the company's scheduling and tracking app works. "Essentially, you set the days and times you’re available and it will populate for you. You’ll have addresses, dates and times, as well as tasks to be done, all nicely laid out for you. If a client likes you, they can request you for additional shifts, but for continuity purposes you should get the same couple houses that you’ll rotate through throughout the month."

You nod along, mostly surprised to hear the girl who did a keg stand just a few days ago sound so professional, using words like 'continuity purposes'.

The next day you have your first official shift. Tuesday from nine to three and you’re scheduled at a mansion in a neighborhood you’ve never heard of and you most definitely wouldn’t fit in to. Jamie is already waiting there for you when you pull up. She explained yesterday that she’d help you with the first one and then you are on your own after that. Well, not completely alone. Your iPhone is loaded full of smutty audio books, murder podcasts, and law books to listen to as you clean. 

Jamie was right, you think to yourself as you scroll to the latest romance novel you’ve downloaded and grab your AirPods, this is a good gig.

The house is absolutely massive, and you highly doubt you’ll be done in six hours. You gather all your stuff and head up to the house. Jamie shows you where the company supplied key box is and how to open it from the app. As you grab the key Jamie excitedly says, “This used to be my client. He always leaves a huge tip!”

You unlock the large front glass door and enter into a white marble foyer. The windows on the first floor are easily ten feet tall and allow in so much natural light. Gold and obsidian swirls in the marble reflect along the walls, dancing in the sunlight. To the left of the front door is a large open kitchen that might be bigger than your entire apartment. The marble of the expansive countertop is the same colour as the foyer. All the cabinetry is matte black with brushed gold handles. The kitchen opens into a lavish living room, a massive fireplace and TV sits on the far back left wall, encompassed by a very cozy looking white sectional. 

To the right of the front door, starting furthest away from where you stand in awe, is a door to a huge half bathroom, followed by a long table with a bowl for keys and mail, and then the door that leads to the garage. About fifty feet in front of you is a grand staircase that branches out to the left and right. Beyond the staircase you can see into the backyard. This is by far the nicest house you’ve ever been in.

As both you and Jamie slip into your keds she says, “Upstairs to the left are a few bedrooms and the office. I usually started there and then went to the right side where he has a huge entertainment area. Then I would clean down here since he doesn’t cook very often and it’s usually just a quick wipe down.”

Just as you start to panic over how you’re supposed to remember all this she nudges you and adds, “But that’s all in the app for you, most of the clients are very particular so they’ll lay out exactly what order you should be cleaning in, as well as any other extra things they need done.” 

She helps you carry all your stuff upstairs and then watches you work. Sure enough, the app says to start in the office so you do just that. Careful not to disturb the few piles of paperwork you dust the desk and shelves and then wipe down the windows and computer screen. You vacuum the hardwood and plush rug last and after Jamie gives you an approving nod, you move onto the next room.

You continue like that, going from room to room, your friend, and now boss, occasionally giving feedback or leaving to answer a phone call or respond to an email. The job is easy enough; repeating the same steps in each room over and over again. It’s the exact type of work you exceed at. You enjoy having clear sets of instructions and expectations, and a prioritized list where you can start at the top and work down. You’ve always excelled at following meticulous directions in school. Your life maybe not so much. When it comes to dating or your parents you aren’t one to do what you’re told.

When one o’clock rolls around you just have one bathroom upstairs and the already pristine downstairs to tend to, but Jamie coaxes you into taking your break, which is another thing you’re bad at. You were raised not to take breaks, taking a break or doing nothing means you're lazy. You should be working all the time, and pushing yourself to accomplish things. As a child you’d push and push yourself to be the best, honor roll ceremonies were the only time your dad would show up. He’d smile and brag about you to whoever was around.

“It’s important that you take all your supplies to your car with you when you eat your lunch. Never eat in their homes and never park on their driveways.” You nod and hoist all your stuff to the front step. “Make sure you lock up like you’re leaving too.” 

“How am I doing so far?” You ask as you lock the door, your stomach growling loudly as if it needs to prove to her how hard you’re working. You hadn’t realized how much of an appetite you’d gain just from cleaning. The few stale crackers and small can of tuna you managed to find in your cupboard this morning doesn’t seem like it’s going to be enough. 

“Really well! I actually think I might leave you to finish up. Don’t forget to take whatever he left for you out of the black envelope on the kitchen counter.” She doesn’t look up at you, her fingers tapping out an email on her shiny iphone screen. She doesn’t have her phone in a case and you can only imagine the level of self confidence you have to have to carry around an expensive item unprotected like that.

“Is it weird that there’s no pictures or anything of the family that lives here?” You say curiously as you both walk towards your parked vehicles. 

“No,” she says flatly. “I think it’s just one person here and that’s pretty normal for the houses you’ll be cleaning. Lots of them are rarely home or only home to sleep.” 

You gawk at the massive house from across the street as you throw all your supplies in the back of your used and rusted SUV. One person lives here. Alone. How is this possible? He’s clearly doing well for himself. Either he’s really lonely or a complete asshole. 

After you eat, you head back inside to finish up cleaning. The entire house looks like a show home. Not a single thing out of place. The kitchen seems staged, void of life aside from a tiny droplet of coffee on the countertop beside the Italian coffee maker, and a tiny brown stegosaurus toy that sits on top of it. Two minutes before the end of your shift you do a final sweep to make sure you haven’t left anything behind and then slip open the black envelope. Inside you find seven one hundred dollars and a note that just says ‘TY - JM’.

As you log your day in the company app you can’t believe you just made seven hundred freaking dollars to clean up after a man who makes no messes. You excitedly check your upcoming schedule and it looks like you’ll be back here in two more weeks. You could potentially be getting fourteen hundred dollars a month from this elusive “JM”. A man with no pictures or personal touches in his shiny white, black and gold mansion.

It’s been almost two weeks since your first clean at JM’s house. Your other clients were good tippers, usually between four to five hundred, but you’ve been looking forward to going back. You know you’re not supposed to know who the clients are, but you couldn’t help but google JM to try to figure out who he is and how he has so much money. In hindsight, you guess all your clients have money, but something about him has alerted your curiosity. He seems like smoke, or a ghost, in his own home. Your other clients had some sort of semblance of life in their houses. A dent in the pillow. An open newspaper on the kitchen table. A coffee cup dropped in the sink before they headed off to whatever fancy job they have to afford such a massive house. A toilet seat left up or a smudge of toothpaste on the mirror. 

But not JM. 

No, the only thing JM left was a tiny droplet of coffee. Coffee that was probably imported straight from Italy. You’re almost ashamed of the amount of times you’ve wondered about that stegosaurus toy. It seems so out of place in his house of clean lines and sterility. 

You’re just settling in to enjoy a Sunday night of sushi, rosé and Bridgerton with your roommate when your phone bings, a little red notification bubble popping up on the Maid Discretely app. You have an added shift request for JM tomorrow. Instead of one six hour shift on Tuesday you now have two six hour shifts. You accept the request and scroll through the tasks. He’s requested you to wipe the baseboards and lightswitches on the main floor, a deep scrub of every bathroom, as well as doing the inside of the fridge, stove and microwave. There are also instructions for washing the sheets in the main bedroom, and spraying down the patio furniture around the pool.

Only a millionaire in Texas would ask for his pool furniture to be cleaned in February. 

Shortly after you accept the shift you get a text from Jamie:

Saw you accepted the shift. The client asked for the normal clean on the first day, please. Extras the next day. Thanks.

The following morning you head to the large, bright mansion. Parking across the street and hauling all your stuff in. It feels a bit weird to be here on a Monday and you have a feeling you’ll be reminding yourself all day that it is indeed Monday and not Tuesday.

You get all your stuff together, change into your indoor company issued keds and head up the stairs. The pink and orange hues of the sunrise glitters off the white marble tiles, glints of gold and sparkling black reflecting off of it. You take a second to look down from the landing as you pop in your airpods. It really is a beautiful home, and it’s too bad that whoever lives here is either lonely or an asshole, but for a split second you let yourself pretend that you and JM just finished making love and he’s now in the kitchen making you an espresso or a latte with that insanely fancy coffee machine in the kitchen. You shake your head at yourself. You didn’t find anything when googling, which isn’t surprising since two letters aren’t much to go on, but this house seems to draw you in, like it’s calling to you. It’s strange, it’s almost like you have a crush on this house and you couldn’t help but make a whole persona for whoever lives here. Even with its clean lines and lack of life, something about it settles in your gut, it feels like home. 

You scroll your podcast app trying to pick what episode you want to listen to and head down the hall, you can’t seem to decide so you pocket your phone without starting anything and reach for the matte black handle of the office door. You’re expecting to see JM’s tidy office with a few stacks of paperwork in one corner, but the sight you find before you has all the blood rush from your head and your stomach dropping right out of your body. Your jaw drops and you freeze in utter shock and fear.  

Instead of the usual stacks of paper, there’s an icy blond haired woman tied to the desk. She’s completely naked and on her back with her legs spread wide. Her ankles are tied to the legs of the desk with a scratchy looking rope, her wrists wrapped in matching rope and resting above her head. Her nipples are almost purple underneath the clothespin attached to them. You freeze, just the lewd wet noises of her pussy being worked furiously by the mysterious, fully clothed JM. His deep, commanding, gravel filled voice reverberates through the office. “Little fuckin' slut. Gonna split you in two.”

The woman lets out an unashamed cry of pleasure. Your entire body seems to go numb as your caddy falls from your hand, crashing loudly against the hardwood flooring. His head whips to the side, the icy blonde woman letting out a scream and trying to cover herself up. Your hands cover your mouth and even though you can’t feel your legs you spin and run for the stairs.

“Fuck. Fuck. Wait,” JM calls after you.

One of your AirPods falls from your ear as you run, you’re tempted to stop and grab it but you need to get out of here. Jamie’s voice echoes through your skull, ‘try your hardest not to be seen or heard’. 

He catches up to you as you reach the front entryway, his strong hand pushing the door closed. You can feel the heat of his body against your back. You’re shaking - both from being terrified and embarrassed. You have so many thoughts running through your mind. This will get you fired, or worse, you could have just possibly lost the company a client. Fuck. You aren’t supposed to know who lives here and you certainly aren’t supposed to see them doing that. 

“Please wait,” he says softly behind you and the heat of his broad body sends a chill down your spine.

The blood is rushing through your ears as your heart pounds in your throat. You don’t like confrontation and even with the softness in his voice, you’re sure he’s about to scream at you. You feel sick, and when you replay the words he said to the woman upstairs, and the sound of her moan that made you drop your caddy you start to feel dizzy and nervous.

Your hand falls from the handle of the front door and the brick wall of a man behind you steps back. You spin slowly to face him but keep your eyes on the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, linking your fingers in front of you and focusing all your attention on the cuticle of your right thumb.

“No, please. This is my fault.” You trail your eyes from the floor to him. He's in perfectly pressed black dress pants paired with a white dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled to his forearms and he’s holding his hands up in front of himself as if to show you he isn’t armed or as a way to say 'you’re safe here'. 

You flick your eyes up to his face and he’s looking at you softly, the morning sunrise lighting up his tanned face and salt and pepper hair. JM is probably twice your age, but he is incredibly handsome. 

“I am so sorry. I must’a got my days mixed up when I booked you.” He says, a soft southern accent sneaking out. 

“I’m going to get fired,” you respond shakily.

“No,” he says stepping forward, you subsequently take a step back, pressing your body against the glass front door. Something about this man makes you nervous, but not in the same way women are trained to be nervous of strange men that are almost twice their size. “No. This is my fault. Please, let me explain. I jus’ gotta - well, can I go deal with…” his head cocks towards the stairs, “And then let me explain. Please?” 

You look at him, his handsome face all soft and apologetic. His dark brown and amber eyes dance around your face and without realizing you're even doing it, you nod your head. 

“Thank you,” he drops his hands at his side, visibly relaxing at your decision not to run. “Sit at the island for me. I’ll be back.” 

He watches you as you pad over to the island. The tall bar chair squeaks on the tile floor as you pull it out. He peels his eyes from you and heads upstairs. When you sit you have to stop from moaning out, the pressure of your body weight there sends a wave of rolling pleasure through you.

What the fuck? 

It’s a dull, throbbing ache followed by a small gush of thick wetness. Did you mistake a feeling of arousal for dizziness and nervousness upstairs? Were you turned on by what you just witnessed? 

Certainly not. There’s no way! He was, well, he wasn’t being nice to that woman. 

Soon you hear footsteps coming down the stairs and towards the foyer, his body blocks her from your view as they talk at the front door. They speak in hushed voices, all you’re able to make out is her saying thank you followed by the sound of a soft kiss and then she’s gone. 

She thanked him? It seems like he should be thanking her. 

He wanders into the kitchen and your throat goes impossibly dry. As if he can read your every need, he grabs a glass from the cabinet, puts it under the water dispenser on his fridge door and then slides the glass across the large island to you. You have to lift off the chair to reach it, whispering a thank you before taking a sip. 

JM leans against the countertop beside the fridge and watches you take a long drink. You put the glass down with a quiet clink and then fold your hands in your lap. His eye contact is intense, not in a creepy way, it’s almost like he’s assessing you. You find it hard to look at him so you avert your gaze to the glass. 

He clears his throat gently before he starts. “I jus’ want to say how sorry I am. You didn’t consent to seein’ any of that and I can’t imagine how awful that was for you.” His voice is so calm and soft. 

You flick your eyes up to him, “No, this is my fault. I am not suppose-“

JM shakes his head and holds up one hand, signaling you to stop. “No. This was me. I got my days mixed up. Meant to book ya for next week. This ain’t on you. This was my mistake. If it’s ok for me to ask, what’s your name?” 

You mumble your name into your glass and down the rest of your water. You figure you’re probably fired either way so who cares if he knows who you are. His face ticks up slightly, almost like he’s proud of you for drinking, and says your name back to you. 

“I ain’t gonna say anythin’ to your boss and I understand if you want to leave for the day. I’ll pay ya either way. I also understand if you say somethin’ to them and I can’t be a client anymore. It was unacceptable for me to be doin’ that when you’re supposed to be here. There ain’t any other way to word it. I was inappropriate and wrong.” He steps forward and holds his hand out so you slide the glass across to him. 

He refills it and puts it back for you to grab. “No,” you say, your voice cracking. After clearing your throat you continue, “No, I appreciate your apology but I’m not going to say anything.” 

He watches you again as you drain the glass, the same look of pride flashes across his eyes, “I’ll - umm - I’ll be in my office. You can uh,” he runs a hand through his scruff, “You just do whatever you need. I’ll stay outta your way.” 

He disappears before you can say anything else. You head up the stairs after a few minutes to find your cleaning caddy sitting in the hall with everything placed neatly where it belongs. His office door is closed and you can hear the deep rumble of his voice while he’s on a call. You grab your things, head into the master bedroom and begin cleaning. 

A few hours later while you’re sitting in your car eating lunch, the garage door opens and JM goes whipping past you in the sexiest blacked out sports car you’ve ever seen. He doesn’t even look over you as he speeds by. Your heart sinks, it's unexplainable but being in that house with him there, even after what you witnessed, felt more comfortable than being alone. JM must have some sort of magic touch, how you went from nervous and embarrassed to calm and comforted with just the look on his face and few words is beyond you.

After wiping down the kitchen you are all done for the day. You grab the black and red envelope off the kitchen counter and open it, peering in nervously. There’s a piece of matte black paper on top. You slide it out gently, the paper feels expensive between your fingers. As you unfold it you reveal a shiny black JMK logo at the top. In neat gold lettering is his writing.

‘Please know how sorry I am. Your consent is more important than anything. I broke that. Just hope I didn't break your trust. -Joel Miller.’

At the bottom of the envelope are ten crisp one hundred dollar bills. 

Next Chapter

[badnewswhatsleft]

rock sound #312 (nov 2024)

transcript below cut:

ROCK SOUND 25 ICON

FALL OUT BOY

A BAND THAT CAPTURED THE HEARTS, MINDS AND HEADPHONES OF A GENERATION OF KIDS WORLDWIDE, FALL OUT BOY UNDOUBTEDLY CHANGED THE LANDSCAPE OF THE ALTERNATIVE SCENE FOREVER, NEVER AFRAID TO EXPERIMENT, TAKE CHANCES AND MAKE BOLD CHOICES AS THEY PUSHED FORWARD. FOLLOWING A SUMMER SPENT EXPLORING THE 'DAYS OF FALL OUT PAST', PATRICK STUMP AND PETE  WENTZ REFLECT ON THEIR PATH FROM POP PUNK, HARDCORE MISFITS TO ALL-CONQUERING, STADIUM-FILLING SONGWRITERS AS THEY ACCEPT THEIR ROCK SOUND 25 ICON AWARD.

WORDS JAMES WILSON-TAYLOR

PHOTOS ELLIOTT INGHAM

Let's begin with your most recent performance which was at When We Were Young festival in Las Vegas. It was such a special weekend, how are you reflecting on that moment?

PATRICK: It's wild, because the band, I think, is going on 23 years now, which really came as a surprise to me. I know it's this thing that old people always say, 'Man, it really goes by so fast', but then it happens to you and you're just taken aback. There were so many times throughout the weekend, every 10 minutes, where I'd turn around and see somebody and be like, 'Holy shit, I haven't seen you in 18 years', or something crazy like that. It was hard not to have a good time. When I was going up to perform with Motion City Soundtrack, which was an exciting thing in itself, I turn around and Bayside is there. And I haven't seen Bayside since we toured with them. God, I don't remember when that was, you know? So there was so much of that. You couldn't help but have a good time.

PETE: I mean, that's an insane festival, right? When they announce it, it looks fake every time. The lineup looks like some kid drew it on their folder at school. For our band, the thing that's a little weird, I think, is that by deciding to change between every album, and then we had the three year break which caused another big time jump, I think that it would be hard for us to focus on one album for that show. We're a band where our fans will debate the best record. So it was amazing that we were able to look backwards and try to build this show that would go through all the eras - nod to Taylor obviously on that one. But it's also an insane idea to take a show that should really be put on for one weekend in a theatre and then try to take it around the world at festivals. The whole time on stage for this particular show production, I'm just like 'Is this thing going to go on time?' Because if the whole thing is working totally flawlessly, it just barely works, you know what I mean? So I give a lot of credit to our crew for doing that, because it's not really a rock show. I know we play rock music and it's a rock festival, but the show itself is not really a rock production, and our crew does a very good job of bending that to fit within the medium.

That show allows you to nod to the past but without falling fully into nostalgia. You are still pushing the band into newer places within it.

PATRICK: That's always been a central thing. We're a weird band, because a lot of bands I know went through a period of rejecting their past, and frankly, I encounter this thing a lot, where people have expected that we stopped interacting with older material. But we always maintained a connection with a lot of the older music. We still close with 'Saturday'. So for us, it was never about letting go of the past. It was about bringing that along with you wherever you go. I'm still the same weird little guy that likes too much music to really pin down. It's just that I've carried that with me through all the different things that I've done and that the band has done. So for us, in terms of going forward and playing new stuff, that's always the thing that's important to me; that there should be new stuff to propel it. I never wanted to be an artist that just gave up on new music and went out and played the hits and collected the check and moved on. It's all got to be creative. That's why I do it. I want to make new music. That's always why I do it. So something like When We Were Young is kind of odd really. It's an odd fit for that, because it's nostalgic, which is not really my vibe all that much. But I found a lot of nostalgia in it. I found a lot of value in looking back and going 'Wow, this was really cool. It was amazing that we did this, that we all did this'. That scene of bands, we're all old now, but it has taken off into such a moment culturally that people can point to.

Let's jump all the way back to the first ever Fall Out Boy show. There is very little evidence of it available online but what are your memories of that performance?

PATRICK: So the very first Fall Out Boy show was at DePaul University in a fancy looking dining hall. I actually applied to DePaul, but I never went there because the band went on tour. I think there were only two or three other bands. One was a band called Stillwell, who were kind of a math rock emo band, and then this heavier, more metallic band. And then we were there, and we had a guitar player, John Flamandan, who I have not seen since that show. He was only in the band for a week or two, and we were still figuring ourselves out. We had three songs and I had never sung before in front of people. I did a talent show at school one time when I was a kid and theatre kind of stuff where you would sing, but it was more in that context. And I was also a kid too. This was the first time ever that I'm the singer for a band and I was fucking terrified. We had a drummer named Ben Rose, really great guy. I haven't seen Ben in a million years, either, but we were still figuring ourselves out. The other thing is that all of us, with me being the exception, were in other bands, and all of our other bands were better than Fall Out Boy was. We were very sloppy and didn't know what we were doing, and so I don't think any of us really took it seriously. But there was a thing that was really funny about it, where even though we kind of thought we sucked, and even though we weren't really focusing on it, we had a lot of fun with each other. We enjoyed trying this other thing, because we were hardcore kids, and we were not the pop punk kids and the pop punk bands in town, that was like 'the thing', and we were not really welcome in that. There was a fun in trying to figure out how to make melodic and pop music when we really didn't have any history with that. It was very obvious that we didn't know what we were doing at the beginning.

So when did it begin to feel like things were finally clicking? When did you find your roles and what you wanted the band to be? 

PETE: In regards to the music, I liked Fall Out boy, way before I probably should have. I remember playing the early demos and it giving me a feeling that I hadn't felt with any of the other bands that I had been in. Now, looking back on it, I might have been a tad early on that. Then as far as the roles, I think that they've been carving themselves out over time. We've always allowed ourselves to gravitate to our strengths. Between me and Patrick, we'd probably make one great, atypical rock artist if we were one person. Because our strengths are things that the other doesn't love as much. But I think that what has happened more is it's less of a fight now and there's more trust. We have a trust with each other. There's things that Patrick will play for me or explain to me, and I don't even really need him to explain it, because I trust him. I may not totally understand it, but I trust him as an artist. On the other side of that, it's also very nice to have someone who can veto your idea, you know what I mean? It's nice to have those kind of checks and balances.

PATRICK: I had been in this band called Patterson, and all three of the other guys sang in kind of a gravelly, Hot Water Music vibe. I was not intending to be a singer, but I would try and sing backups and, it wasn't a criticism, but there was this vibe that, while I could do the gravelly thing, my voice was coming through and it didn't fit. It was too pretty and that became a thing I was kind of embarrassed of. So when Fall Out Boy started, I was actively trying to disguise that and mute it and hide behind affectation. Pete would really push me to stretch my vowels because that was in vogue in pop punk at the time. There were all these different ways that we were trying to suppress me, musically, because we were just trying to figure out how to do the things that the bands we liked did. But that wasn't really us, you know? It's really funny, because 'Take This To Your Grave' was recorded in three sections, about six months apart. Over the course of that time, I can hear us figuring it out. I think a really defining moment for me was 'Saturday', because I am not brave, I am not a bold person, and I do not put myself out there. When I was showing the band 'Saturday', we were jamming on the bit after the second chorus, and I was mumbling around, just mucking my way through it, and I did the falsetto thing. I didn't think anyone could hear me over us bashing around in Joe's parents house in this tiny little room. But Pete stopped, and he goes, 'Do that again'. I was so terrified of doing that in front of these guys, because you gotta remember, I was incredibly shy, but also a drummer. I'd never sung in front of anyone before, and now I'm singing in a band and I'm certainly not going to take chances. So I thought the falsetto thing was really not going to happen, but when I did it, there was this really funny thing. Somehow that song clicked, and it opened up this door for us where we do something different than everybody else. We were aiming to be a pop punk or hardcore band, but we found this thing that felt more natural to me.

As you embarked on Warped Tour, simultaneously you were finding this huge level of pop and mainstream success. How was it navigating and finding your way through those two very different spaces?

PATRICK: I used to work at a used record store and what shows up is all the records after their success. So I got really acquainted and really comfortable with and prepared for the idea of musical failure. I just wanted to do it because I enjoyed doing it. But in terms of planning one's life, I was certain that I would, at most, get to put out a record and then have to go to school when it didn't work out. My parents were very cautious. I said to them after 'Take This To Your Grave' came out that I'm gonna see where this goes, because I didn't expect to be on a label and get to tour. I'm gonna give it a semester, and then it will almost certainly fail, and then after it fails, I'll go to school. And then it didn't fail. Warped Tour was very crazy too, I was talking about this at When We Were Young with My Chem. Both of us were these little shit bands that no one cared about when we booked the tour. Then we got to the tour, and all these people were showing up for us, way more than we expected, way more than Warped Tour expected. So Warped Tour was putting both of us on these little side stages, and the stages would collapse because people were so excited. It was this moment that came out of nowhere all of a sudden. Then we go to Island Records, and I had another conversation with my parents, because every band that I had known up to that point, even the biggest bands in town, they would have their big indie record and then they would go to the major label and drop off the face of the planet forever. So I was certain that was going to happen. I told them again, I'm going to put out this record, and then I'll go to school when this fails. 

PETE: I think that if you really wanted someone to feel like an alien, you would put them on TRL while they were on Warped Tour. You know what I mean? Because it is just bananas. On our bus, the air conditioning didn't work, so we were basically blowing out heat in the summer, but we were just so happy to be on a bus and so happy to be playing shows. You go from that to, two days later, stepping off the bus to brush your teeth and there's a line of people wanting to watch you brush your teeth. In some ways, it was super cool that it was happening with My Chemical Romance too because it didn't feel as random, right? It feels more meant to be. It feels like something is happening. To be on Warped Tour at that time - and if you weren't there, it would be probably hard to imagine, because it's like if Cirque Du Soleil had none of the acrobatics and ran on Monster energy drink. It was a traveling circus, but for it to reach critical mass while we were there, in some ways, was great, because you're not just sitting at home. In between touring, I would come home and I'd be sitting in my bedroom at my parents house. I would think about mortality and the edge of the whole thing and all these existential thoughts you feel when you're by yourself. But on Warped Tour, you go to the signing, you play laser tag, you go to the radio station. So in some ways, it's like you're in this little boot camp, and you don't really even think about anything too much. I guess it was a little bit of a blur.

Pete, when you introduced 'Bang The Doldrums' at When We Were Young, you encouraged the crowd to 'keep making weird shit'. That could almost be a mantra for the band as a whole. Your weirder moments are the ones that made you. Even a song like 'Dance Dance' has a rhythm section you never would have expected to hear on a rock track at that time.

PETE: You know, I just watched 'Joker 2' and I loved it. I do understand why people wouldn't because it subverts the whole thing. It subverts everything about the first one. That's something I've always really loved, when I watch artists who could keep making the same thing, and instead they make something that's challenging to them or challenging to their audience. Sometimes you miss, sometimes you do a big thing and you miss, and we've definitely done that. But I gotta say, all the things that I've really loved about art and music, and that has enriched my life, is when people take chances. You don't get the invention of anything new without that. To not make weird stuff would feel odd, and I personally would much rather lose and miss doing our own thing. To play it safe and cut yourself off around the edges and sand it down and then miss also, those are the worst misses, because you didn't even go big as yourself. This is where we connect with each other, we connect by our flaws and the little weird neuroses that we have. I rarely look at something and go 'Wow, that safe little idea really moved me'. I guess it happens, but I think about this with something like 'Joker 2' where this director was given the keys and you can just do anything. I think a lot of times somebody would just make an expected follow up but some people turn right when they're supposed to turn left. That's always been interesting on an artistic level, but at the same time, I think you're more likely to miss big when you do that.

PATRICK: Going into 'From Under The Cork Tree', I had this sense that this is my only shot. It has already outperformed what I expected. I don't want to be locked into doing the same thing forever, because I know me. I know I'm not Mr. Pop Punk, that's just one of many things I like. So I would be so bummed if for the rest of my life, I had to impersonate myself from when I was 17 and have to live in that forever. So I consciously wanted to put a lot of weird stuff on that record because I thought it was probably my only moment. 'Sugar, We're Goin Down' was a fairly straight ahead pop punk song but even that was weird for us, because it was slow. I remember being really scared about how slow it was, because it's almost mosh tempo for the whole song, which was not anything we had done up to that point. But in every direction, in every song, I was actively trying to push the boundaries as much as I could. 'Dance, Dance' was one of those ones where I was seeing what I can get away with, because I might never get this chance again. We were on tour with a friend's band, and I remember playing the record for them. I remember specifically playing 'Our Lawyer…' that opens the record, which has that 6/8 time feel, and they kind of look at me, like 'What?'. Then I played 'Dance, Dance', and they're like, 'Hey man, you know, whatever works for you. It's been nice knowing you'. But I just knew that, on the off chance that I ended up still being a musician in my 40s, I wanted to still love the music that we made. I didn't want to ever resent it. It's ironic because people say that bands sell out when they don't make the same thing over and over again. But wait a second. Say that again. Think about that.

That attitude seemed to carry directly into 'Infinity On High'. If you may never end up doing this again then let's make sure we bring in the orchestra while we still can... 

PATRICK: That was literally something that I did say to myself this might be the last time, the likelihood is we're going to fail because that's what happens, so this might be the last time that I ever get a chance to have somebody pay for an orchestra and a choir. I always think of The Who when they did 'A Quick One, While He's Away' and there's a part where they go 'cello, cello', because they couldn't afford real cellos, they couldn't afford players. That's what I thought would happen for me in life. So I went in and thought, let's do it all. Let's throw everything at the wall, because there's no chance that it's going to happen again. So many things came together on that record, but I didn't expect it. 'Arms Race' was a very weird song, and I was shocked when management went along with it and had kind of decided that would be the single. I was in disbelief. It did not feel like a single but it worked for us. It was a pretty big song and then 'Thnks Fr Th Mmrs' was easily the big hit off that record. So then we have two hit songs off of an album that I didn't even know would come out at that point. But again, it was very much just about taking the risks and seeing what the hell happened.

As you went on hiatus for a few years, you worked on a number of other creative projects. How did those end up influencing your approach to the band when you returned?

PETE: On the areas of the band where I led, I wanted to be a better leader. When you're younger and you're fighting for your ideas, I don't think that I was the greatest listener. I just wanted to be a better cog in the machine. When you're in a band originally, no one gives you the little band handbook and says 'these are the things you should do', you know? I just wanted to be a better version of who I was in the band. 

PATRICK: There's a combination of things. 'Soul Punk' is a weird record. I love that record but I kind of resent that record for so many things. It's my solo record, but it's also not very me in a lot of ways. I had started with a very odd little art rock record, and then I had some personal tragedies happen. My EP that I put out far out sold expectations so then all of a sudden, Island Records goes, 'Oh, we think this could actually be something we want singles for'. I think we had all expected that I would be putting out a smaller indie record but then all of a sudden they were like 'oh, you could be a pop star'. So then I have to retrofit this art rock record into pop star hit music, and also channel personal tragedy through it. I hadn't ever really been a front man - I'd been a singer, but I hadn't really been a front man, and I hadn't really written lyrics, certainly not introspective, personal lyrics. So that whole record is so strange and muted to me. So I went from that album, which also failed so fucking hard - I should have gone to school after that one. But Pete had reached out to me just as a friend, and said 'I know you're in your own thing right now, and I know that you're not the kind of person that is going to be in my fantasy football league, so I'm not going to see you unless we make music. But you're my buddy, and that kind of bums me out that I don't see you at all, so I guess we have to make music'. I thought that was a fairly convincing pitch. It's true, that was what we do when we hang out - we make music. So we reconvene, and going into it, I had all these lessons that really made me understand Pete better, because Pete is the natural front end person. So many of our arguments and frustrations and the things that we didn't see eye to eye on, I grew to understand having now been in the position of the point man that had to make all the decisions for my solo thing. It really flipped my understanding of why he said the things he would say, or why he did things he would do. I remember early on thinking he was so pushy, but then, in retrospect, you realise he was doing it for a reason. There's so many little things that really changed for me doing 'Soul Punk' that were not musical but were more about how you run a band and how you run a business, that made me understand and respect him a lot more.

What are memories of that initial return and, specifically, that tiny first show back at the Metro venue in Chicago?

PETE: Those first shows were definitely magical because I really wasn't sure that we would be on a stage again together. I don't have as many memories of some of our other first things. We were just talking about Warped Tour, I don't have many memories of those because it is almost wasted on you when it's a blur and there's so many things happening. But with this, I really wanted to not take it for granted and wanted to take in all the moments and have snapshots in our own heads of that show. I did a lot of other art during the time when we were off, everybody did, but there's a magic between the four of us and it was nice to know that it was real. When we got on that stage again at the Metro for the first time, there was something that's just a little different. I can't really put my finger on it, but it makes that art that we were making separately different than all the other stuff.

Musically, as you moved forward, everything sounded much bigger, almost ready for arenas and stadiums. Was that a conscious decision on your part?

PETE: Patrick felt like he was bursting with these ideas. It felt like these had been lying in wait, and they were big, and they were out there, and whether he'd saved them for those records, I don't really know. That's what it felt like to me. With 'Save Rock And Roll', we knew we had basically one shot. There were really three options; you'll have this other period in your career, no one will care or this will be the torch that burns the whole thing down. So we wanted to have it be at least on our terms. Then I think with 'American Beauty...' it was slightly different, because we made that record as fast as we could. We were in a pop sphere. Is there a way for a band to be competitive with DJs and rappers in terms of response time? Are we able to be on the scene and have it happen as quickly? I think it kind of made us insane a little bit. With 'American Beauty…', we really realised that we were not going to walk that same path in pop culture and that we would need to 'Trojan horse' our way into the conversation in some way. So we thought these songs could be played in stadiums, that these songs could be end titles. What are other avenues? Because radio didn't want this right now, so what are other avenues to make it to that conversation? Maybe this is just in my head but I thought 'Uma Thurman' could be a sister song to 'Dance, Dance' or maybe even 'Arms Race' where it is weird but it has pop elements to it.

PATRICK: I had a feeling on 'Save Rock And Roll' that it was kind of disjointed. It was a lot of good songs, but they were all over the place. So when we went into 'American Beauty…', I really wanted to make something cohesive. I do think that record is very coherent and very succinct - you either like it or you don't, and that's pretty much it all the way through. By the time we got to 'MANIA', I had done all this production and I'd started to get into scoring. The band had done so many things and taken so many weird chances that I just felt free to do whatever. At that point, no one's going to disown me if I try something really strange so let's see what happens. 'Young And Menace' was a big part of that experiment. People hate that song, and that's okay. It was meant to be challenging, it's obviously not supposed to be a pop song. It's an abrasive song, it should not have been a single. However, I do think that record should have been more like that. Towards the end of the production, there was this scramble of like, 'Oh, fuck, we have no pop music on this and we need to have singles' and things like that. That took over that record and became the last minute push. I think the last half of that record was recorded in the span of two weeks towards the end of the recording to try and pad it with more pop related songs. I look at that record and think it should have all been 'Young And Menace'. That should have been our 'Kid A' or something. It should have really challenged people.

But we have spoken before about how 'Folie à Deux' found its audience much later. It does feel like something similar is already beginning to happen with 'MANIA'...

PETE: I agree with you, and I think that's a great question, because I always thought like that. There's things that you're not there for, but you wish you were there. I always thought about it when we put out 'MANIA', because I don't know if it's for everyone, but this is your moment where you could change the course of history, you know, this could be your next 'Folie à Deux', which is bizarre because they're completely different records. But it also seems, and I think I have this with films and bands and stuff as well, that while one thing ascends, you see people grab onto the thing that other people wouldn't know, right? It's like me talking about 'Joker 2' - why not talk about the first one? That's the one that everybody likes. Maybe it's contrarian, I don't really know. I just purely like it. I'm sure that's what people say about 'Folie à Deux' and 'MANIA' as well. But there's something in the ascent where people begin to diverge, you are able to separate them and go 'Well, maybe this one's just for me and people like me. I like these other ones that other people talk about, but this one speaks to me'. I think over time, as they separate, the more people are able to say that. And then I can say this, because Patrick does music, I think that sometimes he's early on ideas, and time catches up with it a little bit as well. The ideas, and the guest on the record, they all make a little bit more sense as time goes on.

'MANIA' is almost the first of your albums designed for the streaming era. Everything is so different so people could almost pick and choose their own playlist.

PETE: Of course, you can curate it yourself. That's a great point. I think that the other point that you just made me think of is this was the first time where we realised, well, there's not really gatekeepers. The song will raise its hand, just like exactly what you're saying. So we should have probably just had 'The Last Of The Real Ones' be an early single, because that song was the one that people reacted to. But I think that there was still the old way of thinking in terms of picking the song that we think has the best chance, or whatever. But since then, we've just allowed the songs to dictate what path they take. I think that that's brilliant. If I'd had a chance to do that, curate my own record and pick the Metallica songs or whatever,that would be fantastic. So it was truly a learning experience in the way you release art to me.

PATRICK: After 'MANIA', I realised Fall Out Boy can't be the place for me to try everything. It's just not. We've been around for too long. We've been doing things for too long. It can't be my place to throw everything at the wall. There's too much that I've learned from scoring and from production now to put it all into it. So the scoring thing really became even more necessary. I needed it, emotionally. I needed a place to do everything, to have tubas and learn how to write jazz and how to write for the first trumpet. So then going into 'So Much (For) Stardust', it had the effect of making me more excited about rock music again, because I didn't feel the weight of all of this musical experimentation so I could just enjoy writing a rock song. It's funny, because I think it really grew into that towards the end of writing the record. I'd bet you, if we waited another month, it would probably be all more rock, because I had a rediscovered interest in it.

It's interesting you talk about the enjoyment of rock music again because that joy comes through on 'So Much (For) Stardust' in a major way, particularly on something like the title track. When the four of you all hit those closing harmonies together, especially live, that's a moment where everything feels fully cohesive and together and you can really enjoy yourselves. There's still experimental moments on the album but you guys are in a very confident and comfortable space right now and it definitely shows in the music. 

PATRICK: Yeah, I think that's a great point. When you talk about experimentation too and comfort, that's really the thing isn't it? This is always a thing that bugged me, because I never liked to jam when I was a kid. I really wanted to learn the part, memorise it and play it. Miles Davis was a side man for 20 years before he started doing his thing. You need to learn the shit out of your music theory and your instrument - you need to learn all the rules before you break them. I always had that mindset. But at this point, we as a band have worked with each other so much that now we can fuck around musically in ways that we didn't used to be able to and it's really exciting. There's just so much I notice now. There are ways that we all play that are really hard to describe. I think if you were to pull any one of the four of us out of it, I would really miss it. I would really miss that. It is this kind of alchemy of the way everyone works together. It's confidence, it's also comfort. It's like there's a home to it that I feel works so well. It's how I'm able to sing the way I sing, or it's how Andy's able to play the way he plays. There's something to it. We unlock stuff for each other.

Before we close, we must mention the other big live moment you had this year. You had played at Download Festival before but taking the headline slot, especially given the history of Donington, must have felt extra special. 

PETE: It felt insane. We always have a little bit of nerves about Download, wondering are we heavy enough? To the credit of the fans and the other bands playing, we have always felt so welcomed when we're there. There's very few times where you can look back on a time when... so, if I was a professional baseball player, and I'm throwing a ball against the wall in my parents garage as a kid, I could draw a direct link from the feeling of wanting to do that. I remember watching Metallica videos at Donington and thinking 'I want to be in Metallica at Donington'. That's not exactly how it turned out, but in some ways there is that direct link. On just a personal level, my family came over and got to see the festival. They were wearing the boots and we were in the mud. All this stuff that I would describe to them sounds insane when you tell your family in America - 'It's raining, but people love it'. For them to get to experience that was super special for me as well. We played the biggest production we've ever had and to get to do that there, the whole thing really made my summer.

PATRICK: There's not really words for it. It feels so improbable and so unlikely. Something hit me this last year, this last tour, where I would get out on stage and I'd be like, 'Wait, fucking seriously? People still want to see us and want to hear us?' It feels so strange and surreal. I go home and I'm just some schlubby Dad and I have to take out the compost and I have to remember to run the dishwasher. I live this not very exciting life, and then I get out there at Download and it's all these people. Because I'm naturally kind of shy, for years, I would look down when I played because I was so stressed about what was happening. Confidence and all these have given me a different posture so when I go out there, I can really see it, and it really hits you. Download, like you said, we've done before, but there's something very different about where I am now as a person. So I can really be there. And when you walk out on that stage, it is astounding. It forces you to play better and work harder, because these people waited for us. The show is the audience and your interaction with it. In the same way that the band has this alchemy to it, we can't play a show like that without that audience.

[katrafiy]

I think about this image a lot. This is an image from the Aurat March (Women's March) in Karachi, Pakistan, on International Women's Day 2018. The women in the picture are Pakistani trans women, aka khwaja siras or hijras; one is a friend of a close friend of mine.

In the eyes of the Pakistani government and anthropologists, they're a "third gender." They're denied access to many resources that are available to cis women. Trans women in Pakistan didn't decide to be third-gendered; cis people force it on them whether they like it or not.

Western anthropologists are keen on seeing non-Western trans women as culturally constructed third genders, "neither male nor female," and often contrast them (a "legitimate" third gender accepted in its culture) with Western trans women (horrific parodies of female stereotypes).

There's a lot of smoke and mirrors and jargon used to obscure the fact that while each culture's trans women are treated as a single culturally constructed identity separate from all other trans women, cis women are treated as a universal category that can just be called "women."

Even though Pakistani aurat and German Frauen and Guatemalan mujer will generally lead extraordinarily different lives due to the differences in culture, they are universally recognized as women.

The transmisogynist will say, "Yes, but we can't ignore the way gender is culturally constructed, and hijras aren't trans women, they're a third gender. Now let's worry less about trans people and more about the rights of women in Burkina Faso."

In other words, to the transmisogynist, all cis women are women, and all trans women are something else.

"But Kat, you're not Indian or Pakistani. You're not a hijra or khwaja sira, why is this so important to you?"

Have you ever heard of the Neapolitan third gender "femminiello"? It's the term my moniker "The Femme in Yellow" is derived from, and yes, I'm Neapolitan. Shut up.

I'm going to tell you a little bit about the femminielli, and I want you to see if any of this sounds familiar. Femminielli are a third gender in Neapolitan culture of people assigned male at birth who have a feminine gender expression.

They are lauded and respected in the local culture, considered to be good omens and bringers of good luck. At festivals you'd bring a femminiello with you to go gambling, and often they would be brought in to give blessings to newborns. Noticing anything familiar yet?

Oh and also they were largely relegated to begging and sex work and were not allowed to be educated and many were homeless and lived in the back alleys of Naples, but you know we don't really like to mention that part because it sounds a lot less romantic and mystical.

And if you're sitting there, asking yourself why a an accurate description of femminiello sounds almost note for note like the same way hijras get described and talked about, then you can start to understand why that picture at the start of this post has so much meaning for me.

And you can also start to understand why I get so frustrated when I see other queer people buy into this fool notion that for some reason the transes from different cultures must never mix.

That friend I mentioned earlier is a white American trans woman. She spent years living in India, and as I recal the story the family she was staying with saw her as a white, foreign hijra and she was asked to use her magic hijra powers to bless the house she was staying in.

So when it comes to various cultural trans identities there are two ways we can look at this. We can look at things from a standpoint of expressed identity, in which case we have to preferentially choose to translate one word for the local word, or to leave it untranslated.

If we translate it, people will say we're artificially imposing an outside category (so long as it's not cis people, that's fine). If we don't, what we're implying, is that this concept doesn't exist in the target language, which suggests that it's fundamentally a different thing

A concrete example is that Serena Nanda in her 1990 and 2000 books, bent over backwards to say that Hijras are categorically NOT trans women. Lots of them are!

And Don Kulick bent over backwards in his 1998 book to say that travesti are categorically NOT trans women, even though some of the ones he cited were then and are now trans women.

The other option, is to look at practice, and talk about a community of practice of people who are AMAB, who wear women's clothing, take women's names, fulfill women's social roles, use women's language and mannerisms, etc WITHIN THEIR OWN CULTURAL CONTEXT.

This community of practice, whatever we want to call it - trans woman, hijra, transfeminine, femminiello, fairy, queen, to name just a few - can then be seen to CLEARLY be trans-national and trans-cultural in a way that is not clearly evident in the other way of looking at things.

And this is important, in my mind, because it is this axis of similarity that is serving as the basis for a growing transnational transgender rights movement, particularly in South Asia. It's why you see pictures like this one taken at the 2018 Aurat March in Karachi, Pakistan.

And it also groups rather than splits, pointing out not only points of continuity in the practices of western trans women and fa'afafines, but also between trans women in South Asia outside the hijra community, and members of the hijra community both trans women and not.

To be blunt, I'm not all that interested in the word trans woman, or the word hijra. I'm not interested in the word femminiello or the word fa'afafine.

I'm interested in the fact that when I visit India, and I meet hijras (or trans women, self-expressed) and I say I'm a trans woman, we suddenly sit together, talk about life, they ask to see American hormones and compare them to Indian hormones.

There is a shared community of practice that creates a bond between us that cis people don't have. That's not to say that we all have the exact same internal sense of self, but for the most part, we belong to the same community of practice based on life histories and behavior.

I think that's something cis people have absolutely missed - largely in an effort to artificially isolate trans women. This practice of arguing about whether a particular "third gender" label = trans women or not, also tends to artificially homogenize trans women as a group.

You see this in Kulick and Nanda, where if you read them, you could be forgiven for thinking all American trans women are white, middle class, middle-aged, and college-educated, who all follow rigid codes of behavior and surgical schedules prescribed by male physicians.

There are trans women who think of themselves as separate from cis women, as literally another kind of thing, there are trans women who think of themselves as coterminous with cis women, there are trans women who think of themselves as anything under the sun you want to imagine.

The problem is that historically, cis people have gone to tremendous lengths to destroy points of continuity in the transgender community (see everything I've cited and more), and particularly this has been an exercise in transmisogyny of grotesque levels.

The question is do you want to talk about culturally different ways of being trans, or do you want to try to create as many neatly-boxed third genders as you can to prop up transphobic theoretical frameworks? To date, people have done the latter. I'm interested in the former.

I guess what I'm really trying to say with all of this is that we're all family y'all.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Do you write for charles xavier?? If so cloud we get a reader who just keeps bothering him while he is working cause they want his attention and every one else is busy? I hope you have a good day!

I hope you don't mind I wrote this Pre Wheels Charles

The afternoon sun filtered through the large windows of the Xavier Institute, casting warm, golden light across the vast room where Charles Xavier sat, surrounded by papers, books, and a holographic display projecting data from Cerebro. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his mind focused on the delicate task of tracking mutant activity across the globe. The mansion was unusually quiet, with the other X-Men off on various missions or training sessions. It was a rare moment of peace, one that Charles was determined to use to catch up on work.

And then, you appeared.

“Charles?” Your voice broke the silence, drawing his attention away from the screen.

“Yes?” He looked up, his expression patient but slightly distracted.

“What are you doing?” You leaned against the doorframe, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Just some work,” he replied, hoping that would suffice as an explanation.

You nodded, stepping further into the room. “Looks important.”

“It is,” Charles confirmed, his eyes drifting back to the hologram. He tried to refocus, but he could feel your presence, still lingering, still watching.

“Everyone else is busy,” you continued, moving closer to his desk. “Scott, Jean, Logan—they’re all off doing something. I’m bored.”

Charles glanced up again, his lips quirking into a small smile. “And so you’ve come to bother me?”

“Pretty much,” you said with a grin, leaning on his desk now. “What’s that?” You pointed to the hologram.

“Mutant activity tracking. I’m trying to—”

“Sounds complicated,” you interrupted, picking up one of the pens on his desk and twirling it between your fingers.

“It is,” he said, still smiling despite himself. He could sense your playfulness, and though he knew he needed to focus, he couldn’t help but be charmed by your persistence.

You sighed dramatically, putting the pen down and plopping into the chair across from him. “Can I help?”

“I’m not sure this is something you’d find very interesting,” he said diplomatically, though the idea of you sifting through the data with him did amuse him.

You groaned and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Why is everyone always so busy? It’s like this whole saving-the-world thing never ends.”

Charles chuckled softly. “It does tend to keep us occupied.”

There was a pause, and for a moment, Charles thought you might have given up. He returned his attention to the hologram, his fingers hovering over the controls.

But then, you spoke again. “Charles?”

“Yes?”

“Do you ever just—” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Do you ever just want to take a break from all this? From being the wise professor and the leader of the X-Men? Just…be Charles for a while?”

Charles looked at you, truly looked, and saw the sincerity in your eyes. It wasn’t just boredom driving you to seek him out; it was a desire for connection, for a moment of normalcy in a life that was anything but.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, the work momentarily forgotten. “Yes, I do. More often than you might think.”

You smiled, a warm, understanding smile that made something in his chest loosen. “Then maybe you should take a break. Just for a little while. You deserve it.”

Charles regarded you thoughtfully. “And what would you have me do during this break?”

“Well,” you said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin, “I was thinking we could take a walk in the garden. Or, if you’re feeling adventurous, we could raid the kitchen for some of those cookies Hank made yesterday.”

Charles laughed, a genuine, light-hearted sound that echoed in the quiet room. “Cookies and a walk in the garden, you say?”

“Maybe even some tea,” you added with a playful wag of your eyebrows.

He shook his head, still smiling. “You’re very persuasive.”

“It’s one of my many talents,” you said, standing up and holding out your hand.

Charles looked at the work spread out before him, then back at you. The world could wait a little while longer. With a nod, he reached out and took your hand, letting you pull him to his feet.

“Alright,” he agreed, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Let’s go see about those cookies.”

As you led him out of the study, chatting animatedly about all the things you wanted to do, Charles couldn’t help but feel grateful for the interruption.