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oukabarsburgblr · 9 months ago

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Man in the Elevator [Office AU]

FEATURING : MALE STRANGER (OC) x male reader

As you arrive to work, you find yourself stuck in the elevator with a handsome unknown coworker. Unable to exit, a robotic voice from the intercom announces that to leave the elevator, you'd have to do the despicable. And with a total hot stranger?!

Dubcon, variation of sex pollen kind of fic, male oc x male reader

aftermath

Find out more under the cut!

What kind of porn scenario is this?!

The (h/c) gritted his teeth, tempted to smash the button of the intercom. "...I think someone is just messing with us." He didn't want to turn around, only glancing at the mirror to his left, the only big reflective piece in the small elevator.

A man, handsome (m/n) noted, stood in a nice, ironed black suit, a navy button up and a matching black tie. His skin was pale, spiky and short dark hair, his build strong and quite beefy. He'd look like someone you'd have a crush on at the gym. The expensive one you'd think twice before purchasing a membership.

Daisuke Yuichi.

(m/n) read his name tag as he sighed and crouched down on the elevator floor, hearing the man behind him trying to reassure him.

It was like any other morning, he'd wake up, get ready for his job at any normal office environment and arrive to work using the public railway. Although the normal elevator he would use in the lobby was unusable, scheduled for maintenance, and he opted to use the lower ground one on the west side of the building so he went downstairs to the garage.

He didn't pay any mind when a guy who looks richer than his office acquiantances waited for the elevator beside him and stepped inside as well. It was sudden when the elevator shook and went rigid, not responding when the (h/c) frantically smashed the button to open the elevator.

"To exit the elevator, please commit sexual intercourse with the person closest to you!"

The (h/c) felt his stomach dropped as the formal prerecorded voice rang inside the lift. A gasp escaped the stranger behind him as well. "Hey what the fuck? This isn't funny!" He kicked the metal doors, agitated but to no avail.

"To exit the elevator, please commit sexual intercourse with the person closest to you!"

"I...This never happened before..." (m/n) turned behind him. The good-looking man had a worried expression. "Can you try calling for maintenance? My phone has no line."

True to his words, the (h/c) could not call anyone for help, limiting his communication to the outside world making him feel more panic inside. "Damn it..."

Currently, every time they pressed any button whatsoever, the same message would repeat, clarifying that someone needs to fuck someone and (m/n) would rather not be involved. Well-

"I'm really sorry if I make you feel uncomfortable...I'll stop talking now." The stranger, Daisuke, really tried his best to reaffirm the (h/c) as he sat in the corner, as far as he could but (m/n) ignored him, too annoyed to even talk. It doesn't help that his face was a real beaut too. One of those gentle giants that girls would rave over.

"..." (m/n) didn't speak, annoyed at the whole situation as he remained his crouched stance, crinkling his suit. "Do you...work here too?"

The (h/c) groaned, Daisuke really was a chatterbox, either that or he speaks to calm his nerves. "If it isn't any obvious, then yes. I do work here." He snapped accidentally.

"Sorry. My name is Daisuke! Daisuke Yuichi." Hearing (m/n) respond made Daisuke's tone much lighter, smiling as he held out a hand. The (h/c) grabbed it and shook it lightly. "I know." "Eh? You know me?" "No. I read your nametag." "Oh..."

The ravenette seemed disappointed, (m/n) almost rolled his eyes. Was he supposed to be some hotshot or something?

"Can I know your name?" "(m/n) (l/n)." "That's a nice name." Daisuke's lips form a gentle smile, reaching his eyes. The (h/c)'s face was blank however.

"...so what's the plan?"

(m/n) squinted his eyes at Daisuke, who still had that polite smile on. If he had to describe this new stranger, a polite, neat, rich guy. Other words, a golden retriever, maybe?

"We wait. This can't go on forever." Daisuke pouted and looked the other way to hide his face. He mumbled an 'okay'. (m/n) was horrified. What the fuck was wrong with this guy? Was he ready to do the deed with anyone at any time?!

The (h/c) scooted further into the corner, burying his face into his knees. Waiting for the elevator to return to normal or when help somehow miraculously arrived.

Half an hour passed when the intercom suddenly announced that 'assistance' would commence.

"To ease the occurence of an intercouse, external assistance would be provided!"

(m/n) was screaming internally and screamed externally when visible coloured gas came pouring in from the vents. It was heavy from Daisuke's side. "Hey hey! It's okay. We'll be fine." The ravenette held (m/n) by his shoulders when the (h/c) was panicking and thrashing about.

"You're fucking with me right now?! This is absurd!" (m/n) wailed into Daisuke's hold as the ravenette immediately took off his blazer. He grabbed a water bottle and soaked part of his blazer and pressed it into the (h/c)'s face.

"Don't breathe it in. This will help." "What about you?!" (m/n)'s voice muffled against the damp clothing. He only noticed the rising red hue on Daisuke's cheeks and the flush on his neck and ears. He smiled apollogetically. "I think it's a bit too late for me."

The (h/c) blinked owlishly as he glanced at the feverish ravenette's crotch, his mouth screeching when he saw the big hard outline on his slacks. Daisuke sweatdropped as he slumped down against the wall of the elevator.

"Don't worry. I pride myself on my self-control. I'll just...ride it out." Daisuke smiled as he turned his face away, his breathing getting heavier and heavier.

(m/n) couldn't help but feel slightly guilty. He pressed the damp blazer further into his nostrils, the small space being filled up with the gas. He could feel himself getting slightly aroused, although notbas affected as Daisuke.

Said person only faced his body away, panting to himself in the corner while clutching his tie, pulling it loose. The ravenette closed his eyes, humming to distract himself from the growing fervour in his pants.

Daisuke felt bad for the other person in the lift, (m/n) that is. Such a handsome guy too. Wish our introduction was a bit different... Daisuke thought to himself, resisting to look at the (h/c).

"Daisuke..." "Yeah?" He croaked out. The aphrosidiac was really getting to him but he couldn't just pounce on the (h/c). What kind of person would he be then.

He flinched when a (s/c) hand grasped onto his shoulder. "Don't-!" "It's fine." (m/n) hummed, Daisuke's blazer was crumpled in a corner. The ravenette's eyes widened seeing (m/n) willingly inhale the stimulating gas.

"Why did you-" Daisuke went to cover (m/n)'s nostrils but the latter swatted his hand away. "It's...not fair for you. Besides, it's the only way we can get out of here right." The (h/c) straddled the ravenette, Daisuke's face becoming entirely flushed seeing (m/n) in his lap.

"We can do it." (m/n) mumbled, furrowing his eyebrows and glancing elsewhere. Daisuke stared at him for a bit before pushing his hips upwards, lightly grinding himself into the (h/c)'s crotch. (m/n) let out a surprise gasp as he clutched the ravenette's shoulders. He panted lightly as he tried to avoid Daisuke's horny gaze.

"....But I don't want to bottom." A vein almost popped on (m/n)'s forehead as he punched Daisuke's bicep. "FUCK OFF!" The ravenette laughed as he wrapped his arms around (m/n). "I'll do my best, (m/n)." He smiled up at the (h/c) who only nodded feverishly, feeling the lust fully taking over.

Daisuke pulled (m/n)'s waist down and began to rub their the (h/c)'s ass on his crotch, elliciting a few gasps from the latter. He could feel his nails digging into his shoulders which only drove his excitement further.

Daisuke unbuckled (m/n)'s belt, earning a whine and pulling his pants down. The (h/c) had never been so grateful that he was wearing nice briefs today. Daisuke palmed his erection, rubbing his thumb over the wet patch on his underwear.

(m/n) instantly pulled off his bottoms and hurriedly pawed at Daisuke's own pants. After their lower halves were bare, the ravenette slid his cock, (m/n) didn't dare to look at how big it was, in between the (h/c)'s ass, slipping and humping their bottoms together.

"Don't just- mmff! Shove it like that! Stroke it first- gah!"

"S-Sorry. Is this- ang ahh! Good for you- mmng!"

Even (m/n) was moving his hips, back and forth to reciprocate Daisuke's movements who was gliding his now wet cock under the (h/c)'s dick, balls and asscrack. (m/n) was confused on how the hell did Daisuke had that many precum as he stroked his own cock, ignoring the staring ravenette.

Everything felt hot and sticky, (m/n) felt every inch of his pores being pressed and melting. His body twitched against Daisuke's, his teeth gritting as he shut his eyes closed, relishing in this sinful hedonism. He flinched when he felt a spurt of wetness hitting his lower back.

"S-Sorry..." Daisuke clenched his teeth, clearly embarrassed of his quick ejaculation. (m/n) ogled the ravenette's face, scanning his reddened cheeks and long eyelashes. The world really did gifted this stranger with a good body and a good face. And the world gave this man to (m/n).

The (h/c) pursed his lips as he mumbled. "You talk too much..." He quickly jacked off his own penis, his hips stuttering when he came, Daisuke holding his waist in place. Cum smeared on Daisuke's clothed torso, littering his navy shit with milky white.

"To exit the elevator, please commit sexual intercourse with the person closest to you!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" (m/n) yelled at at the intercom, opting to throw his shoe at the button panel. He heard Daisuke chuckle as large hands began rubbing his sides up and down. "We don't have as much as a choice do we?"

The (h/c) slowly turned to see the smiling ravenette before scrunching his nose. "You're doing it from the back."

Hands gripped the cold metal railing, pants escaped from his mouth as it fogged up the mirror in front of him. (m/n) had long discarded his shoes but kept his long-sleeved top on. Daisuke had already unbuttoned his, well-defined abs, fat chest and his happy trail exposed as he pressed his crotch against (m/n)'s bottom.

Both of them were standing, the (h/c) bent over and holding the handrails of one of the two walls it was built in. Daisuke behind him, his large pale hands caressing (m/n)'s back, the latter slapping his hand away. It doesn't help that they just so happened to be in front of a mirror, fortunately for (m/n) it only showed their upper halves.

The ends of (m/n)'s shirt barely covered his behind, he felt Daisuke lightly touching it, Daisuke was thinking whether to move it but decided otherwise.

"Do you mind?" (m/n) looked up to see Daisuke holding two fingers near his face, his back almost touching Daisuke's bare chest. The (h/c) furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Why won't he do it himself?

"I've never done it with a guy before." "So?" The ravenette didn't answer, only pushing his fingers into the corner of mouth, (m/n) reluctanly opening his mouth, the gas influencing most of his decisions currently.

Daisuke began to rub his fingers all over (m/n)'s teeth, gums and his tongue prompting a gagging noise from the (h/c) as he rolled his eyes back. Instinctively, (m/n) began to suck on the thick, rough fingers, licking the padding before swirling his tongue all over his digits as knuckles knocked on his hard palate.

The ravenette's index and middle finger began to piston in and out of (m/n)'s mouth, dragging his saliva back and forth and encouraging choking noises from the (h/c). The bottom's eyesight was getting blurry and he glanced at the mirror to see Daisuke breathing heavily, his face flushed as he shoved his fingers down (m/n)'s throat.

This fucker is really getting off of this. The same could almost be said for the (h/c) who groaned as Daisuke finally pulled out, his fingers dripping with wetness and (m/n)'s throat felt raspy and sore. He flinched as cold fingers tapped on his entrance.

Daisuke tested the waters by gently prying (m/n)'s asshole, slowly pushing his fingers in as the (h/c) shivered. Sweat began to drip off of his face as he felt the ravenette behind him began caressing the inside of his hole, rubbing his walls and slowly pushing deeper and deeper.

"Mmnng just hurry up...please."

It was so teasing to feel the stranger trying to relax his hole by circling his fingers inside his ass. Clearly he wasn't lying when he said this was his first time with a man. "Patience is a virtue. I'll put it in soon." Daisuke teased (m/n) as he tapped his ass gently, the latter feeling heat rise on his face. As soon as they got out of this elevator, he's clocking his face.

Fingers pulled out and (m/n) sighed at the empty feeling in his anus but he heaved and immediately covered his mouth when Daisuke's tip suddenly impaled his entrance. The ravenette shivered as warmth enveloped his penis, he threw his head back and gazed at the mirror to see (m/n) but only found a shaking (h/c) whose head was facing the ground, concealing his expressions.

Daisuke frowned at that, wanting to see (m/n)'s face as he experimentally thrusted the rest of his penis in. He hissed at the tight hole, the (h/c) clenching down on him. The ravenette rubbed circles on (s/c) hips to calm him down as he felt the grip on his dick relaxing.

He let out a breath of relief as he gripped (m/n)'s hips and immediately pushed the rest of his cock in, hearing a muffled squeal from the (h/c). Daisuke grinned and took it as a green light, instantly thrusting in and out of his ass, moaning ardently. "F-Fucking hell. Haanh ha hah you feel so good-"

He took in the sight of his moving crotch and (m/n)'s ass colliding together, getting turned on more at the sight of his dick pounding into the squelching hole. The gas was too good at its job, precum leaking out of the (h/c)'s hole as Daisuke fucked into (m/n) harshly.

(m/n) cupped his mouth with his hand, not wanting to let out any lewd noises but having only little success. His thighs shook every time Daisuke's hips slapped into (m/n)'s behind. He could feel the ravenette's large cock pushing against his walls, filling him up to the brim.

Daisuke frowned at the (h/c)'s shirt as he pushed the fabric upwards, exposing a (s/c) back. A yelp escaped (m/n)'s lips as the ravenette licked a stripe up the (h/c)'s spine. The shock made him cum, semen squirting from his sensitive penis, spraying on the elevator walls.

The sudden tightness made Daisuke groan loudly as he stilled himself inside the (h/c). Unconsciously filling up (m/n)'s hole, the owner whimpered into his hand. "Urgh unh huh are we done-?"

"Required quota has not been achieved! Please try again!"

"Be so fucking for real right now." (m/n) groaned as he rested his head on the cool metal pole, he didn't move as Daisuke pulled out, liquid pulling out of his puffy hole. He could feel Daisuke's stare on his ass, he wiggled away when Daisuke began to poke into his drippy anus with his index finger.

Another wave of aphrosidiac poured into the lift from the vents, making (m/n) wanting to pull his hair out. What kind of sick pervert is making us do all of this??

"So."

The (h/c) let out a noise of shock as Daisuke suddenly hugged him close, pushing him against the mirror and the metail rail. "Can I do more than the back?" He smiled, blinking at (m/n) who stared at him in absurdity. The audacity??

Daisuke remained nonchalant, blinking his black eyes up at (m/n), his long lashes fluttering against his smooth white skin.

"...Fine."

Maybe (m/n) regretted saying that. Daisuke went on for so long, pushing him further up the wall, bringing up his left leg to push it against (m/n)'s chest. Exposing his puckered hole, the ravenette pushed in again, thrusting like a wild animal moaning like crazy in the (h/c)'s ear.

(m/n)'s leg was shaking, struggling to hold himself up on his tippy toes as he endured Daisuke's slams, covering his mouth again. The (h/c) shivered when Daisuke lapped his tongue at his ear, licking the shell and teasing him. He could feel cum from the previous round leaking down his leg.

"Don't cover your mouth please." The ravenette kissed (m/n)'s neck. "I want to hear you. Your voice." Daisuke pressed his lips on his jaw. "Please." He begged the (h/c), fucking himself in deep and slow earning a muffled whine.

His hand trembled before he hesitantly uncovered his mouth, Daisuke's face visibly lit up as he began to pound harder. (m/n)'s high pitched moans drawn out longer with each thrust. His hips shuddered when he felt a hand stroke his cock, pushing his precum out from the base of his dick.

His head was hot, everything felt hot, like he was smothered by a thick layer of warm air. And that warm air was causing him to these sinful things, well that's exactly what's happening.

(m/n) didn't even realised when they both had cummed. Only when Daisuke pulled himself back and began fingering his hole to get his attention. "Mmngg angh ah hn-!" "That's it. Thaaaaat's it."

Daisuke drew out his voice, whispering praise into (m/n)'s ear as he fished his semen in the tight entrance, rubbing his gummy walls. It was either the aphrosidiac had a love spell embedded into it or Daisuke was really attractive. The (h/c) took in his features, his sharp nose, round eyes and nice plump lips.

(m/n) felt like kissing the ravenette. He shook himself sober when he realised he was leaning into Daisuke's face, the latter disappointed when he pulled away.

It's fine if (m/n) doesn't feel like kissing him, Daisuke does. And he'll coax him using sex!

"Required quota has not been achieved! Please try again!"

The next few scenes were a blur to (m/n). All he could remember was that the gas was the thickest for the next hour, and he was moved into all sorts of positions. Daisuke fucked him up a wall, his arms under his knees as he held up the (h/c) like a champ, his muscles sweating as he teared off the rest of his clothing, exposing his bare body to (m/n).

His thrusts began to increase as well, the lust seeping in their veins were at its maximum as they fucked like wild animals in the small elevator. (m/n) whined for more by spreading his legs, biting on Daisuke's neck, nibbling on his skin and leaving marks all over his flushed neck.

Cumming into the (h/c), Daisuke pushed his thighs against the wall, fully spreading (m/n) open, the rim of his hole stretched as it throbbed around the ravenette's dick, massaging it and swallowing it whole. (m/n) no longer held back his voice, openly crying and moaning like a bitch in heat, fully accepting the gas into his system. Daisuke did a long time ago.

The ravenette breathed in (m/n)'s scent in his neck, inhaling before hovering over the (h/c)'s neck with his lips, experimentally kissing it all over. (m/n) bit his lower lip, gazing at the ravenette as he was still held in an embarrassing exposed position.

A pink tongue pressed against (m/n)'s Adam's apple, lapping it up with spit as he bit the skin with his fangs, breaking it. The (h/c) squirmed, mewling in Daisuke's hold. "Stop teasing me..." He muttered, his gaze elsewhere.

Black eyes scan (m/n)'s face before his right hand softly pulled his chin to make eye contact. Daisuke carefully leaned forward, his breath mixing in with (m/n)'s as he leaned in closer and closer, the tips of their noses touching. The (h/c) peered, his eyes moving left and right before stopping, gently blinking as he stared at the face in front of him.

Slowly, Daisuke's face moved lower, his lips brushing against (m/n)'s before full-on pressing them together. The (h/c) closed his eyes, relishing in the soft kiss as he felt his body relaxed in Daisuke's hold.

A swipe at his teeth and (m/n) opened his mouth, Daisuke eager to tie their tongues together, mashing them and coating them with saliva. Drool seeped out of the corner of Daisuke's mouth, he shoved his tongue against (m/n)'s gums, teeth and his palate.

They both ignored the announcement of the intercom as Daisuke lowered them to the floor. (m/n) wrapped his arms around the ravenette's neck, pulling him in closer and Daisuke tilted his head to obtain more access to the (h/c)'s delicious mouth.

The mood changed instantly, even with the gas dissipating, they were still going at it, both on their knees and Daisuke thrusting up into (m/n)'s bottom as he stationed himself behind the (h/c) whose top had been pulled off by Daisuke, exposing his chest. (m/n) moved himself as well, bouncing against Daisuke's thighs, impaling himself over and over, his head turned behind as he continued making out sloppily with the ravenette.

Passionate gasps tore through the small space of the elevator, especially from the (h/c) every time Daisuke thrusted a little too harsh, driving the tip of his cock into the bundle of nerves that drove (m/n) insane, making him see stars just from that small wet touch. Daisuke couldn't stop cumming in (m/n)'s ass. It was so addicting. It wasn't much different from a woman's but (m/n) was so incredible in his eyes.

Fingers rubbed and twisted (m/n)'s nipples, making the latter broke contact from Daisuke's face, a string of spit breaking as the (h/c)'s body shivered when the ravenette pressed his fingers harder. (m/n) jerkily shoved his ass down, tightening himself on Daisuke's cock, the ravenette gasped out and buried his face into the (h/c)'s shoulders as he immediately spilled cum in (m/n)'s already filled hole.

White semen dripped out onto the floor beneath them, (m/n) moving up and down shallowly on Daisuke's cock, teasing him. The (h/c) wanted more. Daisuke was close to passing out. Tiredly, he fell backwards, lying on the tile floor of the elevator. (m/n) whined as he turned around and crawled over the ravenette.

"Mmm are you done already?" (m/n) complained feverishly. Daisuke's cock was still hard, aphrosodiac working overtime but the owner could barely feel his hips anymore. "...I'm sleepy." He croaked out to which (m/n) frowned.

Daisuke flinched when he felt a tongue swiped across the bulb of his cock. (m/n) ran his tongue up until he reached the tip, sucking on the precious mushroom, licking the slit fervently. He released with a pop as he straddled the ravenette.

Nodding eagerly, he cried out for the (h/c) when his dick was enveloped in a plush warmth. (m/n) grinned lewdly, moving his hips side to side, clearly enjoying the joystick in his ass before he propped himself up with his hands and began to bounce on Daisuke's large cock.

His loud moans resonated in the small space as he threw his head back in pleasure, using Daisuke's penis like a warm dildo. Eyes twitching, his face was covered in sweat, his chin coated with a thin layer of drool and his anus was painted with thinning precum over and over again.

Daisuke's hands reached behind (m/n) and squeezed his plump ass, massaging and pulling at those soft cheeks. He slapped the (h/c)'s butt, earning a whorish moan, as he shamelessly thrusted himself up into (m/n). "C'mon- mmff! Just a bit more- mnggahh!"

Slaps of wet skin reverberated faster as Daisuke continuously smacked the (h/c)'s ass, rubbing his palm over the spot before hitting it again. (m/n) rode the ravenette harder, pressing down harshly, feeling the pit in his stomach burn intensely as he brought his hips up to clench on Daisuke's tip. Repeating the same motion for god knows how long before he came, squirting watery semen on Daisuke's abs.

The ravenette moved his hands to (m/n)'s hips, holding him in place as he pounded up into the (h/c)'s asshole from below, riding out (m/n)'s orgasm who cried out from overstimulation. He groaned and focused on chasing his own high as he slammed himself in and out of (m/n) until he felt himself tipping over the edge.

Daisuke came one last time, although his cum gushed out halfway through his thrust but he persevered and continued humping the (h/c) all while cumming for ten seconds straight.

Both paused, catching their breath before (m/n) collapsed on top of Daisuke, the latter wrapping his arms protectively around the (h/c) as he adjusted himself, making sure he pulled out and patted the (h/c)'s head before promptly passing out on the elevator floor.

(m/n) was still awake, his hands laying on Daisuke's chest as he stared at nothing, his mind blank and his balls empty, although his ass was filled. His eyes widened as he heard the familliar 'ding' of an elevator as he turned back to see the doors opening, revealing the garage they had came from earlier.

"Daisuke wake up! It's open!" He shook the ravenette in an attempt to wake him up but the latter only groaned and continued to remain in his dreamless slumber. (m/n) frowned as he hurriedly pried himself away Daisuke's strong hold.

He quickly dressed himself to the best of his abilities and donned on Daisuke's clothes onto the ravenette, not wanting him to get caught in a naked manner. Fixing his shoes, he collected himself and avoided the wet spots and quickly exited the elevator, wincing in every two steps he took.

With a final glance back to Daisuke, (m/n) hurriedly left the area, reminding himself not to use that same elevator ever again.

"(m/n)! Someone's looking for you."

The (h/c) looked up from his cubicle as he stood and approached his supervisor, the one who had called for him earlier. It had been two days since the incident. (m/n) lied to his boss, saying that he had overslept and took a sick day the next morning, not wanting to run into any weird shenanigans ever again. Especially the ravenette.

He tried asking his coworkers about some mysterious lift that's possessed by a sex demon but all he received was recommendations to a psychologist.

Stepping into a meeting room, guided by his supervisor, he was ushered inside and was immediately left alone, not noticing the other person in the room. "Hey! What's that for?" (m/n) pulled the door knob, knocking on the wooden surface.

"It's for me. I asked them to."

(m/n) froze, remembering the familliar voice. The voice he fucked two days ago in that really weird elevator. The same person he left alone, lying on the floor in a desperate attempt to save his own face.

"It wasn't hard to convince my father to search for you, you might know him. He's the CEO after all." Daisuke shrugged, playfully pulling the (h/c)'s tie, twirling it around his finger. He paused and smiled at (m/n).

"I miss you."

The (h/c) didn't know what to say and he opted to turn himself back around, not facing the ravenette as he tugged on the knob much more aggresively. Daisuke laughed as he pulled (m/n), who screeched and squirmed, into a hug.

"I wanna take you out, (m/n)! Even though we already skipped a couple of steps, I'd love for us to go on a date."

[END SCENE]

[unedited]

Afterthoughts :

Oml i love it if the reader is a tad bit sassy or just an untouchable (not shy) beauty HEHE

OR WHEN LIKE THE TOP MOANS??? LIKE U WAN ME THAT BAD?? HEHEHHEEH

this the same daisuke that was in my ybc gangbang fic btw hoho and by Office AU means that this is not their official like storyline that i want, it's just an AU where they fucked in a horny elevator

I would describe Daisuke Yuichi as someone who's rich AF, daddy's boy (as in father is so protective of him), nice and polite (although everyone has a dark side 😉), kinda needy and demanding but in a "i dont want to say it so im just hinting it until u say yes" kinda way. The only character i would describe that looks like him the most (hair term) is kashima yuu💀. I hope u look forward to see him more!

more of daisuke yuichi! ☾

aftermath , profile

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hellobykittys · 1 month ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 (𝐈𝐌)𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍 ✦ 𝐂𝐋¹⁶

SUMMARY: Charles Leclerc, a Formula 1 star, faces the decline of his reputation after breaking up with art curator Alexandra Saint Mleux. Under pressure from his team, he is forced into a fake relationship with one of the most popular influencers of the moment. NOTES: English is not my first language, so there might be some writing mistakes. I apologize for that, and feel free to point out any improvements. WC: 2.6k WARNING: enemies to lovers, teasing, fake relationship

MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

The meeting room was lit by cold lights reflecting off an impeccably clean glass table. Charles Leclerc sat at the head, his chin resting on his hand, visibly bored. The tension in the air was thick, and he already knew this meeting wasn’t going to end well. Around the table, members of Ferrari’s PR team sat, along with Lorenzo Leclerc, Charles’ older brother and personal manager.

“Let’s get straight to the point,” Lorenzo began, crossing his arms. His voice carried the firmness of someone tired of useless discussions. “Charles, we need to talk about your reputation.”

Charles rolled his eyes, setting his phone down on the table.

“My reputation? You mean the circus the media makes out of everything I do?”

“It’s not a circus if you keep giving them material,” Sofia, Ferrari’s PR head, cut in. A woman with short hair and piercing eyes, Sofia was known for her blunt and impatient approach.

“Seriously?” Charles raised an eyebrow. “Now you want to control my personal life too?”

Lorenzo sighed, rubbing his temples.

“Charles, we’re not here to debate who’s right or wrong. We’re here because your image is directly affecting your career.”

“My career’s fine,” Charles shot back, crossing his arms.

Sofia slammed a folder full of tabloid clippings on the table, making a sharp noise.

“Is it? Because from what we see here, it doesn’t look like it. ‘Charles Leclerc spotted at a party until 5 AM with a mysterious model.’ ‘Ferrari driver involved in a new controversy after a fight at a club.’ This affects the sponsors, Charles. It affects the Ferrari brand.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face.

“Look, I get it. But what do you want me to do? Lock myself in my house?”

“Not exactly,” Sofia replied with a cold smile that made Charles immediately suspicious.

Lorenzo cleared his throat, trying to soften what was coming.

“Charles, we’ve come up with a solution that could help clean up your image quickly while you focus on what really matters: your performance on the track.”

“Great. So, what’s the plan?” he asked, clearly impatient.

Sofia leaned forward, clasping her hands on the table.

“We’re going to put you in a fake relationship.”

The silence that followed was so deep that you could hear the clock ticking on the wall. Charles blinked a few times, sure he’d misunderstood.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“We’re not,” Sofia replied, serious. “The idea is simple. We want to associate your image with a public figure who’s seen as positive, inspiring, and… balanced.”

“You want me to fake being in love with someone to save my reputation? This is ridiculous!”

“It’s not that simple, Charles,” Lorenzo tried to intervene. “We’re not asking you to fall in love. It’s a contract. An agreement. None of this has to be real.”

Charles laughed humorlessly, shaking his head.

“And who’s this poor soul you’ve hired for this?”

Sofia smiled, clearly expecting this question.

“Y/N.”

The name hit the silence like a shot. Charles frowned, trying to remember where he’d heard it. It didn’t take long before the girl’s face popped into his mind. She was impossible to ignore on social media, with her impeccable style, viral videos, and appearances at fashion and entertainment events.

“You’re talking about that… influencer?” he asked, incredulous.

“Not just any influencer. She’s the influencer right now,” Sofia corrected. “Everyone loves her. She’s elegant, charismatic, and has a solid fanbase. Associating with her will change the public’s perception of you.”

“You want me to fake dating a girl I barely know and who probably thinks race cars are just fancy toys?” Charles shot back, irritated.

Lorenzo took a deep breath, visibly trying to stay calm.

“Charles, no one’s saying it’ll be easy. But think of it as a strategy. Y/N isn’t just an influencer. She’s professional, ambitious, and has as much to gain from this as you do.”

“Great. So, she’s doing it for personal gain too,” Charles said sarcastically.

Sofia rolled her eyes.

“This isn’t about what she wants, it’s about what you need.”

Charles sat in silence for a few seconds, staring at the table. The idea seemed absurd. He didn’t want to give up his freedom for some farce that, deep down, made no sense to him.

“You guys must be crazy if you think I’ll agree to this,” Charles declared, suddenly standing up. His voice echoed through the room, but no one seemed surprised by his reaction.

Lorenzo sighed, already expecting this kind of response. He knew his brother too well to think he’d accept something so outside his comfort zone without resistance.

“Charles, sit down,” Lorenzo said, his voice firm and authoritative. “You have every right to be angry, but if you keep acting like a spoiled child, you won’t get anywhere.”

“A spoiled child?” Charles laughed darkly, pointing at his brother. “This coming from you, trying to convince me to join this ridiculous show. It’s my life, Lorenzo! I’m not a puppet for you guys to manipulate.”

Sofia intervened, trying to stay professional, but her patience was clearly wearing thin.

“Charles, understand this: we’re talking about your career. It’s not just about you. It’s about the team, the sponsors, the thousands of jobs that depend on Ferrari’s success. Formula 1 is a business, and in this business, your image is as important as your driving skills.”

“My driving skills should be the only thing that matters!” he shot back, pointing to himself. “I’m a driver. That’s what I do. I’m not a celebrity who needs a fake romance to get attention.”

“Don’t be naive, Charles,” Sofia replied coldly. “In today’s world, public perception is everything. You could be the best driver on the grid, but if your image keeps getting tied to scandals, no one will want to invest in you.”

Lorenzo crossed his arms, looking at his brother seriously.

“You know she’s right. You don’t have to like the idea, but you have to accept that it’s necessary.”

Charles took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but the knot in his throat only tightened. He hated the idea of being seen as someone who couldn’t control his own life, but Lorenzo and Sofia had a point: the external pressure was becoming unbearable.

“Why her?” he asked, his voice a little quieter.

Sofia gave a slight smile, as though she’d been waiting for this question.

“Because Y/N is exactly what you need. She has an impeccable reputation, knows how to handle the media, and most importantly, knows how to play the game.”

“And how are you so sure she’ll agree to this?” Charles asked, crossing his arms.

“We’ve already talked to her,” Lorenzo revealed. “She agreed. Obviously, she has her conditions, but she’s willing to collaborate.”

Charles laughed, incredulous.

“Of course she agreed. She’s probably loving the idea of being associated with me. She’ll gain even more followers and the ‘Wag’ title. That must be her dream.”

“Don’t underestimate Y/N,” Sofia warned. “She’s far from being a superficial girl. If she agreed, it’s because she saw value in the proposal, just like we did.”

Charles fell silent for a moment, processing everything that had been said. He felt a mix of anger, frustration, and, in a way, helplessness. He hated being put against the wall, but he knew refusing wouldn’t solve his problems.

“And how long is this going to last?” he asked, his disgust evident.

“The contract is for a year,” Lorenzo answered. “Long enough to solidify the lie, but short enough not to be unsustainable.”

“And what if it doesn’t work?”

“It will work,” Sofia assured him confidently.

Charles let out a heavy sigh, running his hands through his hair.

“I hate you guys.”

“Feel free to hate us all you want,” Lorenzo replied, standing up. “But do what needs to be done.”

Sofia grabbed the folder and gave one last look at Charles.

“Y/N will be here tomorrow to talk officially. Hope you’re ready.”

With that, everyone began to leave the room, leaving Charles alone. He slumped back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, trying to accept that, like it or not, his life was about to change.

The meeting room was spacious and well-lit, with glass walls offering a panoramic view of the city. Charles Leclerc was already there, on time this time, sitting next to the conference table in a relaxed yet attentive posture. He was casually flipping through a document, but his mind was elsewhere. The decision to accept the deal still felt surreal.

When the door opened, he lifted his eyes and saw Y/N entering with confident steps. She looked calm, self-assured. She wore a fitted blazer and pants that accentuated her confident posture. Her perfume reached him before her voice, subtle yet striking.

“Hope I’m not late,” she said, placing her bag on a chair and giving Charles a brief glance before looking away.

“You’re not,” he replied, giving a slight nod, observing her carefully.

Lorenzo and Sofia entered right after, carrying folders and an air of seriousness.

“Alright, now that everyone’s here, let’s get straight to the point,” Lorenzo began, taking his seat at the head of the table. “You both know how important this partnership is, both for the team and for your respective careers.”

“It’s not like we have much of a choice, right?” Y/N commented, not aggressively, but with a touch of realism.

“Not exactly,” Sofia answered, unfazed. “But we expect you to see the mutual benefit in this.”

Charles leaned his elbows on the table and glanced at Y/N for a moment before speaking.

“And you? What do you think of all this?”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the direct question, but maintained her composure.

“I think it’s… unexpected. But I won’t deny it’s an opportunity. And you?”

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering.

“I think it could work, as long as we follow a few rules.”

“Rules?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he answered, with a slight smile. “Like, don’t try to kill me in front of the cameras.”

Y/N let out a short laugh, almost genuine.

“I think I can follow that.”

Lorenzo interrupted, trying to keep the focus.

“Great. Let’s start by clarifying expectations. You’ll need to attend events together, create interactions for social media, and above all, look natural.”

“Does that mean we need to get to know each other better?” Y/N asked, looking directly at Charles, this time with less provocation and more curiosity.

“Probably,” he replied, her eyes holding his for a moment longer than necessary.

Sofia cleared her throat.

“For that, we recommend starting with something simple. A dinner, maybe. Nothing formal, just so you get used to being together outside a professional setting.”

Y/N looked away, pretending to think, but there was something uncomfortably intimate about the idea.

“Seems fair,” she finally said, grabbing a pen to sign the contract placed in front of her.

Charles didn’t say anything but let the corner of his mouth curve into a slight smile. He grabbed his own copy of the contract and signed it right after her.

When they finished, Lorenzo looked at both of them.

“Perfect. From now on, you’re officially a couple.”

Lorenzo’s statement hung in the air like an uncomfortable reminder of what had just been signed. Y/N grabbed her bag, ready to leave, but hesitated at the door.

“Charles?” she called, without turning around.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t plan on complicating this, but I hope you do your part.”

Charles adjusted his watch nonchalantly, as if this kind of deal was something he had mastered.

“I always do.” A discreet smile formed on his lips. “But maybe we should establish a few rules to make sure it works.”

“It’s so nice to see you both so… invested!” Sofia interrupted, letting out a light laugh. “But I’ll leave the details to you two. Just don’t kill each other, please.”

Lorenzo stood up shortly after, giving his brother a nearly conspiratorial look before giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. When he said goodbye to Y/N, he smiled warmly, as if to say, “Good luck.”

Once the room was silent, Charles broke it with a casual tone.

“So, about those rules…”

Y/N crossed her arms, clearly determined to make everything crystal clear from the start.

“The first limit is simple: don’t touch or kiss me without prior notice.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, surprised, but entertained by her firmness.

“You do realize that’s basically what couples do, right? Touch, kiss, look close… How are we supposed to convince anyone we’re real if we’re so mechanical?”

“I never said it was forbidden,” she corrected, remaining calm. “I’m just saying, don’t do it without a reason or without letting me know first.”

He chuckled softly, tilting his head slightly.

“Do you really think I’m interested in anything beyond what this contract requires?” He stepped forward, not breaking eye contact. “What happened at the club was just an impulse, not a sign that I’m in love with you.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, as if analyzing every word he said.

“Great. Then it shouldn’t be hard to keep your hands and lips off me.”

Charles opened his mouth to retort but stopped when he saw the look in her eyes. It was a clear challenge, with something more hidden behind that confidence.

“Of course,” he replied, finally curving his lips into a nearly provocative smile. “But I’ve got my conditions too.”

Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, unfazed.

“Alright, go ahead.”

“You have to attend my races whenever you can. And when you can’t, show support on social media. It’s the least I expect.”

She let out an incredulous laugh.

“I’m gonna be your fake girlfriend, not your number one fan.”

“As my girlfriend, you should show support. Isn’t that what girlfriends do? Plus, my fans will love it. It’ll be good for our image.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but knew he had a point.

“Fine, but I’ve got commitments too. Don’t expect me to be at every race.”

Charles shrugged, still with that annoyingly confident smile.

“It’s a start.”

Silence fell between them again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It was as if both were evaluating the other, trying to figure out what was coming next.

Y/N adjusted her bag again and took two steps toward the door before stopping.

“One more thing, Charles.”

“What?” He raised an eyebrow, curious.

“If you want this to work, stop trying to always have the last word.”

He smiled, a mix of challenge and amusement.

“That’s asking too much.”

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head before finally walking out of the room.

Charles stood there for a moment, staring at the door she had just walked through. There was something about her that made him feel intrigued, and he knew this story was far from simple.

Outside the building, Y/N got into the waiting car and took a deep breath. “This is going to be more complicated than I thought,” she mused as the driver started the engine.

Back inside, Charles picked up his phone and quickly sent a message to Lorenzo.

Charles: “If she thinks she can challenge me, this is going to be fun.”

On the other side, Lorenzo just laughed as he read the message.

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic

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fishnapple · 3 months ago

Text

Message from the Universe to you

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

LAPIS LAZULI

Fortune comes and goes, fickle like the wind. But it sure favours the bold. Whatever predicament you're in right now, it will come to pass. But also take notes, whatever blessing or good luck you think you're having, there will come a day it will also pass. It's the art of going with the flow of life, never expecting anything to bend to your will or to last forever. Such is life's ephemeral beauty. You lose some and then you win some.

There's a knot inside your mind, tying everything closely together. In fact, too close, to the point of rigidity and confinement. The fear of not living up to some lofty standards you have heaped upon yourself is excruciating, it cripples your ability to look forward and to step out of the shadow. You feel like you have to perform, to meet a certain criteria, to please, who do you seek to please? Is it yourself, is it a distant ghost of the past, or is it the nagging of the future? What will happen when there is displeasure? Will you be punished, or will you be free? You see yourself through the eyes of other people, yet forget the very eyes that are yours. You wear the clothes that people compliment on but forget the naked body inside feeling those clothes. If you untie the knot inside, take off the clothes (armour) and look at the mirror, see if there are tears reflecting back at you, or are they smiles? Whatever they are, they are real, they are you.

When you're free, you will realise how much you can do yet how little you have to do anything. The unexpected might happen, but you are not afraid of it, you let it wash over you, or maybe push you a little. Then you will find yourself stronger, brighter. And along the way, you will find companions, whose perception of you won't be the target of your worries, you just feel confident in knowing that you view the world with similar eyes.

JADE

So many things to do, so little time, so little energy. Your energy is so straightforward and blazing that sometimes it can be cutting or becomes a burden for you. Like carrying a lightning rod. But this energy is being stored in such a small room, it's frustrated and wants to break out. Do you find yourself lying awake, sleepless, mind buzzing with constant noise? Or do you find your stomach and your chest heating up, like a fire burning inside? A simple word or a simple shake of the head is enough to push this fire back inside, under lock and key. You could feel like bursting out at the smallest remark, taking everyone aback , yet you would show the most placid expression when someone is being emotionally open to you. This energy bursts out when you don't want it to, it stays silent when you struggle to call for it. Your energy, your enthusiasm needs grounding, it needs to be directed with a clear purpose. Only so can it become productive.

Remove superfluous things, thoughts, and objects. Don't burden yourself anymore than you already are doing. Don't take on so many projects, interests, and even people. Your inner load is already heavy as it is, don't pile more on it. Sometimes, things needn't be heavy and serious, they can be fun and lighthearted. Some connections shouldn't be labelled with heavy implications or expectations, yet. Some worth pursuing, but with a gentle reach. Keep the jest of life, you're not meant to keep yourself in the dark, you're meant to shine brightly and radiate warmth like the Sun.

MOONSTONE

I think you need a vacation, take time to pamper yourself, take time to unwind, and release all the negativity bottling up inside you. Take your life to the centre stage, don't be distracted by the so-called responsibilities and work. How can you work if you're in shambles. The body temple of yours needs lots of care and maintenance. It won't stay the same years in and out, time will chip away its vigor, a heart in pain will lose its lustre. This group is all about taking care of your physical body and the reality around you.

Take time to be alone with yourself, maybe this is a foreign feeling, you're so used to the presence of others, their noise, their energy, that you find it hollow when you're alone. It's like you're the last one to leave the room, and suddenly you find yourself in such a huge space, all alone. What will you do in that situation? Hurriedly get out of the room to catch up with people, fearing an invisible shadow will materialise itself if you stay in the room long enough? Or do you stay, take a look around the room, notice the small details that you've never noticed, play some music, and sway back and forth to the melody of it? What action is more sensible, what is more fun, you decide.

I see a waterfall, a downpour, I see you just sit there, inside the house, looking out, or holding an umbrella, being still at try to catch a look at each rain drop, let time slow down for you, work diligently at staying still and relaxing, you will find how hard they are. Make them your habits. In the stillness of the body, you find movements in your mind, amidst the rain, you hear the thunder in your heart, ideas strike like lightning and you would be wise to catch them.

MORGANITE

You have been working so hard, putting all in to get the work done, please be proud of yourself, pat yourself on the back, no one deserves it better than you do. Now it's time to reap the reward, things will fall into places, more opportunities will come. But to save your energy for those opportunities, you should take a rest first. Don't fret, don't worry, you won't miss a thing if you stop and rest a little, in fact, you will even go further into your path than you realise. Isn't it amazing how you can stay still and yet are advancing at the same time?

It's time to learn more about yourself, get to know yourself, your most earnest wishes, your brightest light, your biggest gifts, but of course, your biggest fears also. There are so many things to learn, you will never get enough of yourself. The image you hold of yourself is fuzzy and ever changing, ever elusive, always out of reach. You might feel lost when you're alone, but you also feel lonely when you're with other people. But that's just the effect of a fog draping over your eyes.

By seeing yourself better, you will also get better at seeing people. Exchanges with others will have deeper meaning for you. The words you say, the words you hear, they can contain love and affection, use them wisely, listen to them closely. From others do we find our love echoes back at us. You will see love in the most mundane thing, find it in the most unexpected manner. Then let it fuel your wishes.

AGATE

You feel like you can do it all, at the same time, you don't feel like you're doing enough. Ideas and plans swirling in your head, burning to be put into reality. One could say you're a manifestor, or more correctly, a manufacturer, in the purest sense, of ideas, inspirations, and projects. Though some of them could be better if finished before a new one starts. Be selective in what you're investing in, your energy, your time, your effort, your attention. Don't mass produce things, make bespoke things, things tailored only to a selected few. Or else you will find yourself overburdened by the stress of unproductivity and the guilt of not finishing or not starting enough projects.

The reason behind such an intense drive for productivity, besides your inherent creative power, is an emotional baggage lies deep inside you, you think it's sleeping, but it's not. It will wait and find the most opportune moment to spring out or seep out, into every social interaction of yours. Encouragement from the crowd fuels your confidence, but it also has the potential to wreck havoc on your psyche, if absent. Why do you feel you need to do so much? For whom? For what cause?

When your affection is turned inward, it has an effect of shooting and cracking the dome of the cell holding your emotional baggage. Whether it will fly out to be free or stay inside, is dependent upon how brave you think you can be. This will literally give you a makeover, a change of identity. Remember your manufacturing power. Don't wait for the orders to come in to start the lines, prepare them beforehand, and your biggest customer, you, will be satisfied.

OBSIDIAN

A short and sweet message: leave your fears at home and going enjoy life. There is something you're fighting, with or for, it seems to be both. A hollow feeling, a sense of nostalgia for bygone good things, a deep seated fear of past wounds resurfacing, making you relive the memories all over again. But with practice, you can leave those behind.

I see an arrow. There are two choices for you. One is aiming forward and let go, another is fighting back everything you encounter.

Relationships in general might be a source of headache/heartache for you. You feel everything so deeply, every interaction feels like a part of you is at stake. Your conviction can be so unmoving that every interaction feels like a battle. That you need to prove something, to protect something, to challenge something. It also makes you suspicious of people's intentions, what do their words mean? Is there a hidden meaning behind them? Are they sneering at me? You past colours your future, connections are felt through the lens of past experiences, you've become a veteran, in the war against the invasion of your inner world.

What propels you to take a step away from this habit is probably the realisation that you don't have to define yourself by your past nor your future. Let bygones be bygones, let the hereafter be uncertain. Pour yourself into the sea of shared hearts. Let yourself feel suffocated by the dense air of a crowd, your heart beating loudly while standing in front of a crowd, the agonising fear of judgement. All of these, while you feel like running away, are also those times when you're actually connected the most with life.

#pick a card #tarotblr #pick a pile #tarot #tarot community #crystal reading #tarot reading #lithomancy #astrology #astro #astro community #astroblr #divination #pick a stone #crystal #witch community #witchblr #tarot witch #occult

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misojunnie · 3 months ago

Text

COVET 𖣂

how far would you go for love?

your boyfriend jungwon has always been a kind soul. he refused to hurt a spider, much less a human, but when a new, younger, attractive admirer enters your life, something in him changes. as jealousy begins to consume him, and the competition between the two boys ensues, you watch your life turn upside down.

pairing: bf!jungwon vs. admirer!riki x fem!reader

genre: psychological thriller, horror, love triangle, established relationship au

warnings: violence, dark and disturbing behavior, substance use, murder, slow burn (only gets scary at the end) no mature themes! enha’s behavior and personalities are not a reflection of reality, it’s just a story

featuring: enhypen

playlist: runaway by kanye west, nowhere to run by stegosaurus rex, S.D.O.S by alex g, sour times - live version by portishead, violent youth by crystal castles, goth by sidewalks and skeletons

word count: 12.6k

taglist! @enhacolor @jwnghyuns @theothernads @adoredbyjay @firstclassjaylee @dollschan @enreveriee @surrik-i @jwonistic @laurradoesloveu @laylasbunbunny @tmtxtf

network tags: @kflixnet @kvanity-main @k-radio @enhypennetwork

see the trailer.

a/n: hello all! welcome to the first installment of fright night, my halloween series! I hope you enjoy ❤️

You had never considered yourself an overtly desirable person.

You spent the majority of your school years being ignored. You didn’t have many friends, and you spent most of your lunches eating alone. For a long time, school felt like torture.

Meeting Yang Jungwon felt like a breath of fresh air.

You met in your junior year. Neither of you were exactly popular, and you both seemed to have an innate ability to blend into the background. But upon meeting each other, you realized you didn’t have to hide yourself. Jungwon valued you for exactly who you were. And he valued you very, very much.

Before you knew it, you were spending every waking moment with him. He would sneak into your bedroom window after dark. You’d stay up until the sun rose, speaking in hushed whispers, talking about anything and everything. You quickly realized that he was the only person in the world who you could tell everything to.

The last day of junior year, he kissed you under the willow tree in your front yard. You didn’t think you’d ever felt happier in your life.

And suddenly, your life was all about Yang Jungwon.

You spent almost every day of summer by his side, doing everything imaginable. Picnics in the park, walks on the beach, night drives, your hair whipping in the cold nighttime wind as he sped down the highway, laughing. You had never been this happy before, and neither had he. Then, summer ended.

You didn’t think Jungwon had changed, but the people around you disagreed.

Jungwon grew a few inches over the summer. His clothes suddenly fit him awkwardly as he filled out in the shoulders and the arms, and his pants were now just a little too short. He dropped the rest of his baby fat, his cheekbones emerging from underneath his young skin. He cut his hair, and his long brown locks were suddenly gone, shaggy against his forehead. You had always thought Jungwon was beautiful, but suddenly, it seemed like the whole world thought the same thing.

You returned to senior year together, and the entire school began treating him like a different person. He received love notes in class, giggles and looks of desire as he walked down the hallways.

You were terrified that he would change upon receiving this newfound attention. But Jungwon never changed. He showed you off to his new friends, dripping praise. He took you to the parties he was suddenly invited to, and stayed by your side the entire night, even when beautiful girls approached him and asked him to dance. He told everyone he met that you were perfect, and nothing about you needed to change. And slowly, you began to believe it. At the same time, the world began to finally see you for who you were.

Jungwon was loyal. He knew he had found something special with you, and he never considered for a minute that he might abandon it. And despite rising in the ranks of high-school-high-society, he made sure you never felt left behind.

That was what you loved about him the most. He really never changed.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Halloween was your favorite time of the year. After summer, of course.

You loved the scary movies, the gaudy costumes, the foggy weather with golden leaves. Not to mention you were a horror connoisseur, which meant you knew exactly what movies to play to make Jungwon freak out. He wasn’t a big fan of scary things.

But you loved Halloween, and Jungwon loved you, so he did too.

You sat in the back of your class, brainstorming your plans for the month. You were 19 now, Jungwon being a year older. You were in your sophomore year of college. It felt like an eternity ago that you spent those carefree summer days on the beach with the man you had now been dating for four years.

You were a semester into the year already, and you generally got to know everyone in your class. But the door to the lecture hall swung open, and in walked a face you knew you had never seen before.

He was tall, very tall. It was the first thing you noticed; how he towered over the rest of the men. His face was striking, catching the attention of everyone in the room. He looked a little younger than yourself. It was as if he brought in an icy draft with him as he walked inside, and you rubbed your hands, suddenly a bit colder than before.

As he walked past your desk, he slowed. He looked at you briefly, before walking to the farthest seat in the class, setting down his bag and crossing his arms. He didn’t speak to anyone. You attempted to ignore him, taking out your notes. But something in your gut told you to turn around, and there he was. Staring at you. You shook it off, too afraid to turn around lest he was staring again.

But when you inevitably did, he didn’t break eye contact.

You were a bit shaken by your interaction with the mysterious boy.

He intrigued you. Since you started dating Jungwon, you viewed thinking about other men as a kind of unrepentable crime. You had always been the kind of person who saved their heart for only one person. The lecture hall was almost empty by now, and you packed your bag. Only after a moment did you notice you weren’t alone.

“Hey.” he said. You startled, turning around to meet the eyes of the very boy you had just been thinking about.

“Oh, hi.” you said, attempting to be casual.

“I’m Riki. What’s your name?” he asked curiously, and you indulged him.

“I’m y/n.” you responded, unsure of how to introduce yourself, so you settled on reaching out a friendly hand. He stared at it for a moment, before laughing, shaking your hand firmly.

“Nice to meet you, y/n.” Something about him was inexplicably charming. He had seemed cold and unapproachable when he first walked in, but you felt the warmth of his smile, heard the wind chimes of his soft laugh. “Today’s my first day here.”

“Ah, new transfer.” you said, chipper as you began walking down the stairs. He followed you, a step behind. “Welcome to Decelis University.”

“That’s the first greeting I’ve gotten.” he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Nice to know I’m welcome.” You felt bad for him somehow. He was intimidating, that was for sure. With his angular face and dark energy, you bet people had been misjudging him.

“Of course. Always nice to meet a new student.”

“So, tell me about yourself.” you raised a brow at his odd question, but complied.

By the time you responded, you were in the halls, still walking together.

“Well, I’m a sophomore. I moved from Seoul, and I’m a psychology major. But I like literature.” you said, satisfied with your answer, confused when he shook his head.

“No, not that. Something real.” You considered it. Did you really want to tell something real to a man you had just met? It felt traitorous somehow.

“I don’t know, I’d have to think about it.” you responded, shrugging, and he smiled abstractedly at your answer. “Why don’t you tell me something about you?”

“Well, I’m a freshman. I just moved here a couple months ago from Osaka,” he added, and you nodded curiously. “I’m double majoring in forensic science and neuroscience, with a minor in psychology. Oh, and I like to paint.”

“Oh, an overachiever.” you said with amusement, and he shrugged, hands still in his pockets. “I know your type.”

“Trust me, I don’t think you do.” he grinned, and you laughed. You didn’t realize how far you had been walking together, and suddenly you were in the courtyard, rapidly approaching your usual meeting spot with your boyfriend.

And he was there. He was smiling, excited to see you, but his expression dropped when he saw you walking with a man he had never seen before, a man with the face of an angel and the eyes of a devil.

“Shit, that’s my boyfriend.” you said, suddenly aware of Jungwon’s presence and hoping he didn’t get the wrong impression. Riki hummed, a light smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Oh, your boyfriend.” he said, enunciating the last word in a way you didn’t like.

“See you tomorrow Riki.” you said quickly, leaving his side to speedily walk to Jungwon, not waiting for a response. “Sorry, have you been waiting long?” Jungwon didn’t answer, his eyes still trained on the boy standing a few yards away.

“Who’s that?” he asked, and you tried to discern the tone of his voice, unable to. “A new friend?” You scoffed, waving your hand dismissively.

“Hardly. He just transferred to my class today. I barely remember his name.” you responded hastily, and Jungwon raised a brow. He chose to ignore any begrudging thoughts, placing his hand on the small of your back with a smile.

As you both turned away, Jungwon looked over his shoulder, gazing back into the eyes of the man behind you. He was still staring.

As a pair, you strode away to your favorite lunch spot. Jungwon didn’t want to think about this new boy, who he was, or what his intentions were. He assumed this was a confused freshman who needed help navigating the new school, and flocked to the nearest friendly smile and set of kind eyes.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that this boy was going to be a very big problem.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Jungwon was upset.

He tried not to show it. He didn’t consider himself a jealous man, but he was. Underneath it all, he hated the idea of other men thinking about you the way he did.

Back in high school, a part of him regretted inviting you into his newfound popularity. You were beautiful. You were intelligent. You were funny. You had all the good qualities; the issue was that nobody but him could see them. By bringing you into the spotlight, suddenly everyone finally recognized you for what you were. And he quickly realized that he preferred when he was the only one that could see you.

But it made you confident, and certainly happier, which was all he cared about in the end. He let go of those resentments because he saw how much you loved being loved. You were a human being. He couldn’t be angry at that.

But this man, this new man, Jungwon didn’t trust him one bit.

The truth was, Jungwon didn’t trust men at all. He thought men were loathsome, foul creatures. It was why he preferred spending his time with you. Every man he had ever met had some kind of twisted, sick problem on the inside. They just didn’t show it. But Jungwon saw it. He noticed the little things.

And his gut was telling him that this man was up to no good.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

You worked at a charming American diner near your campus. Even with you and Jungwon both contributing to rent, you were barely able to afford your little apartment, so you took almost every shift you could.

You were surprised to see Riki walk into your restaurant.

“Hey.” he greeted you with a nod of his head, seating himself at a booth in the corner. He didn’t seem surprised to see you at all. “You work here?”

“Uh, yeah,” you stumbled over your words. You were shocked that he had so easily managed to invade an intimate part of your life, but it was close to the college, and you shook it off, knowing he likely wanted a warm meal after a long night of classes. You glanced at your watch. You closed in twenty minutes. “What can I get for you?”

He rolled his shoulders, not bothering to look at the menu. “Oh, just get me whatever your favorite is.” You scrawled an order down on your notepad.

“So, how’d you end up in my restaurant?” you joked, and he shrugged casually.

“What can I say, I like American food.” you hummed, turning around to take his order to the kitchen. He followed you with his eyes, leaning back further in his seat.

You tucked the slip into the order wheel, hesitating to go back as you observed the frantic kitchen. It wasn’t like you had anything against Riki, but he seemed like the type of guy you tried to stay away from in high school, and that combined with his apparent interest in you made you nervous. Not to mention the fact that your boyfriend probably wasn’t fond of seeing you together.

“Your food.” you said, eventually deciding to return to Riki’s table. He didn’t seem remotely interested in the food.

“Sit down with me.” he requested, and you raised a brow at him. “Come on, it’s not like you have anything better to do.” he chuckled, gesturing at the nearly empty diner. It was now twelve minutes until closing time, and he was right, you had nothing else to do. So you took a seat.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” you asked after a moment, looking pointedly at his food, which he hadn’t touched. He smiled, picking up a fork and taking a bite.

“It’s good,” he said, chewing. “But I’m more interested in talking to you.”

“And why is that?” you questioned with amusement. He shrugged.

“You’re interesting.” he replied, and you scoffed. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“So that’s why you’ve been bothering me?” He put a hand over his heart.

“Ouch. That wounds me. I thought we were friends.” You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t contain a mild smile. He noticed, and smiled as well.

“Sure. We’re friends.” you said, resting your chin on your palm as you propped your arm up on the table. “So, you like American food?”

“Sure,” he said, not seeming very opinionated on the matter. “I was more drawn in by the ambiance. It’s a nice place.” He was right. It was a nice diner, with checkered floors, vintage movie posters, and intimate little booths. You were suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the romantic atmosphere, and swallowed dryly.

“Yeah, I agree. The ambience is kinda the whole appeal.”

“So you like nice restaurants.” His gaze was intense, and the way it drew you in made you uncomfortable. His charisma felt dangerously sharp, like a knife.

“That’s one way to say it.” you said. He grinned.

“So when can I take you out to one?” your amused expression dropped.

“That’s not funny.”

“It isn’t?” he said innocently, and you stood up, a hand lingering on the table before you glanced at your watch. Luckily your shift was over, and you had an excellent excuse to get out of this situation, and out from under his piercing eyes.

“My shift’s over. Goodnight, Riki.” you said firmly, untying your apron. He watched carefully as you strode quickly to the kitchen, ducking behind the metal doors.

You didn’t come back out, and after a moment of waiting, he left his money on the table and walked out the door, not bothering to finish his food.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Riki had been thinking about you all day.

He wasn’t sure what it was that attracted him, but he found you interesting. What he liked the most was that you were genuine. He had a good eye for superficial people, and you weren’t one of them. You meant everything that came out of your mouth.

Riki had been a heartbreaker in high school, and he planned on being the same in college. Not a week went by where his breakups didn’t scandalize the school, and that was just how he liked it. Some people thought he was a womanizer; he disagreed. He thought that attraction was power, and people should use it to their advantage.

The truth was, Riki wasn’t fond of men. He thought they were liars. Maybe he and Jungwon had something in common in that regard. He liked that women were honest, open with their emotions and intentions. Men hid their motivations, hid their secrets, hid everything. Riki was an open book. He told every girl whose heart he’d broken that it would end up badly. And when it inevitably went wrong, he said I told you so.

And because Riki didn’t like men, he wanted to take things from them. When he found a man he didn’t trust, a man he knew was rotten, he robbed him of his worth. His happiness. His girlfriend. And he was going to do it again here, he was determined.

He didn’t trust your boyfriend. He may seem perfect on paper, but Riki could tell there was something rotting beneath the surface. Everyone had something to hide. And he was going to expose whatever your boyfriend was hiding.

It’s what he always did.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Jungwon had been watching you.

In his heart, he knew it was wrong. He had never not trusted you before, and he wasn’t sure what was happening to him. He was uneasy, anxious, and upset. Yesterday, the two of you had lunch and he barely touched his food. That night, he didn’t sleep.

It wasn’t like guys hadn’t pursued you before. In the past four years, boys would hit on you at parties, in class, even on your dates. He’d tell them to scram, and then you’d laugh about it together afterward. It had never bothered him when other guys were interested in you; if anything, it made him more proud of himself for being with you. In fact, he wasn’t even certain that this particular man was interested in you at all.

That was until he saw you having dinner together.

You were sitting in the corner booth. Through the foggy glass, Jungwon could see his face, smiling. His eyes were crescent moons as he chuckled at something you said, neither of you eating, just speaking. He couldn’t tell if you were smiling back at him, and he wanted to know desperately.

When he saw you get up and go to the kitchen, he checked the time on his watch. Your shift was over, which meant he needed to get a move on, and he shoved his hands in his pockets before speeding in the direction of your shared apartment.

He felt horrible about what he had just done. He knew he was your boyfriend, but watching you without you knowing felt like a crime. He walked with a pit in his stomach, anxious to beat you home. He didn’t want you to know he had been acting strangely.

He trusted you. He trusted you with his entire heart, as he had been for the past four years, without regret.

But could he trust the people around you?

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Riki was back in your diner, as he had been every day for the past week. You had given up on lecturing him about righteousness; clearly he didn’t care. You just served him his food, and as usual, he asked you to sit down with him.

The scent of sweet violet, cedarwood, and a little cigarette smoke filled the air as you sat across from him, and you found it extremely pleasant.

“New cologne?’ you asked. You didn’t like that this was becoming routine for the two of you, but you engaged anyway.

“You noticed,” he said happily. “Yeah, it’s new. You like it?” You looked out the window, resting your chin on your hand as you attempted to ignore him.

“It’s nice.” you grumbled, and he smiled in satisfaction.

He was Jungwon’s complete opposite. He was demanding, flirty, and charming in an aggressive way. His voice was deep and smooth, unlike Jungwon’s soft lilt. He was sweet, but not kind. Jungwon was the kindest boy you had ever met.

He forked a bite of food for himself before chewing in satisfaction. “So, are you ready to answer?”

“Answer what?” you asked, bemused.

“I told you I wanted to hear something real about you.” you laughed, recalling your first conversation, and it seemed like an eternity ago.

“You go first.” you suggested, and to your surprise, he obliged.

“Well, that’s a tough question. I suppose something real about me is that I don’t believe in love.” You raised a brow incredulously.

“Why is that?”

“Not sure. I just never have.”

“Something must have happened to convince you love wasn’t real.” He considered telling you, but his brain resisted. He wasn’t ready to spill his guts to you. Sharing his secrets would mean opening himself up to be vulnerable, and Riki hated being vulnerable. You sensed his hesitation, saying; “You can tell me.”

And despite himself, he told you.

“My parents never really loved each other.” he said simply, and you frowned. “For as long as I can remember, they’ve been cold to each other. Sometimes they fight. Violently.” He sighed, and you felt pity welling up in your chest. “I guess I don’t believe in love because I don’t believe in marriage. I don’t think human beings are capable of loving each other forever.”

“I’m sorry, Riki.” you said, and he shook his head, looking away. “But you’re wrong.” His eyes drifted to yours, and he raised a brow. “Love exists. Deep down, everyone has love in their heart.”

“People spend their entire lives chasing for love, and they still don’t find it.”

“That’s because love is work. Everyone has the potential to find it one day. You just have to start looking.” Your words touched him. He had never considered that love was something he had to work for, not just a concept that was driven by fate.

“Agree to disagree.” he snorted, and you shrugged, taking a bite of his food.

“There’s love everywhere.”

Instead of running away at the end of your shift, this time you allowed him to walk you out. The two of you strode into the cold night, you shivering in your tee shirt.

“Are you cold?” he asked, and you shook your head, covering your waist with your arms in an attempt to warm up. Wordlessly, he pulled off his jacket and hung it over your shoulders. You glared at him, but accepted it. From the pocket of his jeans, he removed a pack of red Marlboros, slipping a cigarette out of the packet. “Smoke?” he asked, and you shook your head. He propped the cigarette in between his lips.

“You’re a bit young to smoke, aren’t you?” you asked, and he chuckled.

“Every teenager has a bit of fun. Even if they’re not supposed to.” you smiled.

He was a total cliche. The leather jacket wearing, cigarette smoking, flirtatious rebel that flirted as easily as he breathed. And somehow, despite hating that overplayed trope, you found it endearing when it was him.

“Hey, Riki?” you said, and he hummed, taking a drag from his cigarette. “I’m actually glad we became friends.”

“Friends?” he said, blowing smoke as his lips curled into a smile, leaning against the wall, a mere couple of feet away from you. His cheeks and nose were red from the cold, and he looked ethereal under the moonlight. “We’re not gonna be friends.”

You were about to respond when someone called your name.

Your eyes widened in fright as you turned to see Jungwon standed a few paces behind you, his breath visible in the fall climate. He looked upset, his pockets in his hands as his brows furrowed.

“Jungwon?” You quickly moved away from Riki. “What are you doing here?”

“My shift ended early, I thought I’d surprise you.” he was speaking to you, but his eyes weren’t on you; they were on Riki. He didn’t falter, taking another drag of his cigarette as he watched silently. “But I see you’re busy.”

“No, not at all.” you said nervously, taking Jungwon’s hand from inside of his pocket. “I just finished working. Let’s go home.” Jungwon didn’t respond, just turning around, your hand slipping out of his as he strode away from you.

“See you tomorrow.” Riki called after you when you didn’t bid him farewell, and you turned around to give him a glare, before dashing after your displeased boyfriend.

Riki was already making cracks in the foundation of your relationship. And that was exactly what he wanted.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

You were wearing his jacket.

Jungwon was certain of it. After two years of living together, he knew your closet inside out; and he had never seen this jacket. The sleeves were too long for you, and they protruded just past your fingers. Jungwon could kill a man. Specifically, that man. After a moment of walking in agonizing silence, he spoke up.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” His cold tone chilled you to the core. You had never really seen Jungwon mad. Sure, you had your fair share of fights, every couple did, but they occurred strangely infrequently. “Who is that guy?”

“Just a classmate.”

“Why was he at your job?” You weren’t sure what degree of the truth you should tell him. You didn’t want him to think you were being unfaithful, that wasn’t it at all.

“He just likes the food, Jungwon.” That wasn’t technically a lie.

“I think he likes more than the food.” Jungwon was refusing to look at you. You had never seen him this put-out over something you did. You wondered if you had done something very wrong by being around Riki.

We’re not gonna be friends, you remembered his words. The smile on his face when he said them, how he sounded like he really meant it.

“Look, he’s just an underclassman. He’s new, just moved here. I’m pretty much his only friend.” Jungwon scoffed.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I feel bad for him.”

“He likes you.”

“But I don’t like him.” You stopped walking and tugged on Jungwon’s sleeve, and for the first time he looked you in the eyes. They were dull, a stark contrast to the usual youthful shine of his eyes. “Jungwon. I only care about you.”

“That can change.”

“No, it can’t.” You pressed a warm hand to his cheek, and you saw his gaze soften. “I’ve loved you faithfully for four years. That’s not going to stop now.” He stayed silent for a moment, then sighed, removing your hand from his face. But he took your hand in his, which you took as a sign that everything would be okay. You looked into each other's eyes, cold air flushing your faces until it began to rain lightly.

“I’m not mad at you.” he said after a moment, his hair dampening from the rain, clinging to his forehead.

You brushed it away from his face and resumed your walk in silence.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

You couldn’t be friends with Riki anymore.

You told this to Jungwon, who seemed more content than he had been in the past week. You, however, had a pit in your stomach.

You didn’t know why, but the thought that you would never see Riki again bothered you. His messy hair, proud smile, the scent of his smoky cologne. You weren’t certain why Riki had suddenly become important to you, but you knew it was wrong.

“So, your boyfriend told you you couldn’t see me anymore.” he said, holding his jacket in his hand. It still smelled like his cologne, and a bit like you, and he held it tightly between his fingers. He was frowning, and you realized this was the first time you had seen him without a smug expression on his face.

“No.” you replied. “I decided myself.” He sighed.

“That’s disappointing.”

“C’mon, Riki. You’re pursuing me. I have a boyfriend. It’s wrong.”

“That’s the great thing about life. It’s all about doing what feels right, even if it’s wrong.” he said elusively, and you frowned at him. “You should do what you want.”

“This is what I want.” You could smell his cologne everywhere, that stupid violet and cigarette smoke. It was distracting you from your thoughts.

“I don’t believe that.” You knew he was right, but his obstinance was pissing you off. You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I don’t care what you believe. It was nice being friends with you.” you readied yourself to leave, turning when he called after you.

“I told you,” he smiled for the first time during your conversation. “We were never going to be friends.”

It weighed heavy on your mind, but you had other things to worry about.

There was a party this weekend that you and Jungwon would be attending. Parties had never really been your thing, but a part of both of you missed the drunken fun of your time in high school, so when invited, you decided to go together.

It was being thrown by some boy in your year, a man named Jake who was infamous for his ragers, where people would fight to get in, and leave not remembering how they got there. Jungwon was friends with him, and assured you it’d be worth the while, which you hoped was true.

You pulled an old dress out of retirement, a lacy pink number that you hadn’t worn since Jungwon got it for your anniversary a year ago. There was something exciting about bringing it out of your closet, like a new start.

As you put on your earrings, facing the mirror, he circled your waist.

“You look beautiful.” he said, and you turned to kiss him, a chaste kiss that lingered on your lips. You looked back in the mirror, and you weren’t smiling.

Something about this situation felt extremely wrong, and you didn’t know why.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Despite the hectic environment of the party, you actually felt at peace for the first time in the past two weeks. The music was beating in your ribs like a pounding heart, and smoke furled through the air as college students went to-and-fro. Jungwon and you did shots in the kitchen, hands intertwining as you poured vodka down your throat, a burning sensation on your tongue. After a couple more, you were ready to dance.

Jungwon pulled you onto the makeshift dance floor by the hand, and the two of you swayed to the music together. You caught glimpses of faces you recognized, but in this moment, it was just you and him. Locking eyes, twirling and laughing as you erratically danced to the pounding beat of the music.

Eventually, Jungwon got dragged away by a friend of his named Jake, a classmate that he had grown quite close with. You were alone, but you didn’t mind.

You had never been the kind of person to be embarrassed to dance. You felt like yourself when you were dancing, and you didn’t care what company you had; you just enjoyed the feeling of being free underneath the spell of the music.

And then, the crowds shifted, and everything felt still.

There he was. Alone in the center of the floor, holding a bottle of beer in his hand, his free hand moving with the music as he danced rhythmically to the music. Girls tried to dance with him, but he deftly avoided them. The way he moved was entrancing; you had never seen him look so light and airy, as he swayed and rocked, not caring about the people around him. You should’ve known he would be there, you could smell his cologne from a mile away, and suddenly it flooded your senses.

He turned, and as he did, he caught sight of you. His mouth curled into a smile as he continued dancing, and you just watched.

“Come dance with me.” he said to you through the crowds, and though his voice was quiet, you swore it reverberated over the sound of the music. As if in a trance, you walked to him, weaving through hordes of people. Were you drunk, or was he more beautiful than usual?

“What are you doing here?” you asked the instant you reached him.

“Am I not allowed to be here?” he replied. He didn’t stop dancing as he spoke to you, and you felt odd standing still. But you couldn’t bring yourself to dance.

“They usually haze the freshmen.” He gestured to himself with a shrug.

“Well I’m fine, aren’t I?” You didn’t know what to say. A mere two days after swearing you wouldn’t speak to him again, you had already broken your promise to yourself, and you cursed yourself for it. “C’mon, you’re not having any fun. Dance.”

“I don’t want to dance with you.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” he said, but he paid no bother, continuing to dance on his own. You felt the eyes of the people around you as you spoke to him, some jealous, some curious, some judgemental. “Why do you care what people think?” You startled, wondering for a second if he was able to read your mind.

“I don’t.”

“If you didn’t, you’d be dancing with me right now.” He was right. That was the most frustrating thing about him; although he may be self-centered and smug, he was always right. Everything he said about you was as accurate as if he knew you for years.

So, to spite him, you danced.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Jungwon had been watching you dance while he was talking to Jake. He liked Jake, he really did, but he found his attention drifting from his conversation to you, swaying carelessly to the beat with a smile on your face.

“Your girlfriend’s cute.” Jake said, gesturing to you with his cup, clearly able to tell that his companion was distracted.Jungwon sighed, pouring himself another hefty drink. He filled it to the brim with rum and orange juice. “Something wrong?”

“Yeah, well, she’s cute. That’s the problem.” Jungwon took a sip of his drink and wrinkled his nose at the harsh flavor. “Some guy from one of her classes has been all over her. Some younger dude.”

“The constant struggle of being someone’s boyfriend.” Jake said, clapping him on the back. Jungwon chuckled, taking another sip. “But try not to stress about it, man. You’ve been together for what, four years now?” Jungwon nodded in confirmation. “She’s only got her eyes on you. I wouldn’t worry.”

“Thanks, Jake.” Jungwon said, feeling a bit lighter, and a considerable amount woozier. He poured himself another drink despite himself, attempting to tune out the sound of the music. Suddenly, it was too loud, and everything was a little bit too much.

When he looked up, his heart had dropped to his stomach. You were no longer dancing, and it felt as if a spotlight was shining on the man in the center of the dance floor, his hair gloriously messy from the moving crowds, face red from dancing and alcohol. You were speaking, he could tell from the way your lips opened and closed.

Jungwon was seeing red. He felt as though the air was being choked out of him, and he struggled to take a deep breath to center himself. The alcohol felt like acid pumping through his veins as he stared at the two of you through the crowd, buzzing like a live wire. He was angry, but most of all, scared. If you had gone back so easily on your devotion, did that mean something? Did this man mean something to you?

“Jungwon?” Jake called his name but he barely heard it, crumpling his cup and throwing it into the trash as he stormed outside, slamming the door behind him.

Jungwon had been sitting outside on the stairs for nearly ten minutes, and he had managed to cool off.

He had never been so angry in his life. Jungwon wasn’t an angry person, he never had been. He had always been calm and collected, bottling up any rage or resentment he felt until it subsided. But that rage was brewing within him like an overflowing pot, and something about this man brought it out of him.

The smell of cigarette smoke flooded his senses, and he turned. Behind him was the last person he wanted to see, smoking a Marlboro, and Jungwon wondered how he didn’t hear him come outside. His face was still flushed from dancing, and his lips were tinged with the faintest trace of pink lipstick, smudged messily across his mouth.

Jungwon had stood up to go inside when Riki addressed him, saying;

“Hey.” Jungwon didn’t respond. “Looking for your girlfriend?”

“You really get under my skin.” Jungwon grumbled, and Riki smiled. He should handle this like a mature adult, he knew that. So he attempted to. “I would like it if you’d just leave me and y/n alone.”

“Come on, Jungwon. You know that’s not gonna happen.” He tossed the stub of his cigarette to the pavement, crushing it under the heel of his boot. Jungwon didn’t remember telling him his name at any point during their conversation.

“Why,” Jungwon started to speak, feeling like bile was rising in his throat. “Why, out of all girls, does it have to be my girlfriend?” Riki crossed his arms with a smile.

“Because I see her for what she is.” That tipped Jungwon over the edge. He could no longer have this conversation, he couldn’t handle it. He strode to the front door, pulling it open as he rushed into the crowds. “Oh, c’mon,” Riki’s voice haunted him as he followed him inside. “Let’s talk, man to man. I’ll pour you a drink.”

“Get away from me.” Jungwon poured himself another cup and chugged it. He was going to find you, and he was going to end this. He had to end it somehow.

“Let’s not be enemies. It’s just friendly competition.” Riki said.

“What does my girlfriend see in you?” The alcohol was speaking for him now, and he slammed his empty cup on the table. Riki gestured to the dance floor with a smile, and only then did Jungwon realize that the crowds were watching him in anticipation.

“Why don’t you ask her?”

You were watching Jungwon from the dance floor, and the crowds parted like the Red Sea. You were frozen in fear, shaking as you brought a hand up to your lip while Riki snickered. The sound of his laughter faded into the background as Jungwon noticed your smudged pink lipstick.

His fist was in connection with Riki’s face before he could even think about it.

He heard you scream in the background but paid no mind, the crowds chanting ‘fight!’ as the two men tussled. Riki was tall, but Jungwon was stronger. Riki’s mouth spurted blood as Jungwon landed a punch on his face with a sickening crack.

Jungwon’s hand found the counter somehow, and his hand latched onto the handle of a knife, unsheathing it without thinking. Only when he whipped it in Riki’s direction and the crowd gasped in unison did his head clear, and he dropped it, his opponent barely able to kick it away from him in his weakened state.

He wanted to kill him. For a moment, he was truly prepared to kill him, and he almost did.

Jungwon was so shocked with himself that the younger boy was able to pry himself away from his grip, getting to his feet and wiping his mouth.

“Psychopath.” he spat blood, grabbing his jacket from the floor where it had been pulled off, swinging it over his shoulder as he removed another cigarette. But as he walked out the door, he smiled, an ugly smile of sharp teeth and blood.

He had found it. That rotten part of your boyfriend, the reason he didn’t trust him in the first place. He had exposed it, and you had seen the side of him that you didn’t know existed.

He had a feeling that Jungwon didn’t even know that side of himself.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Everyone’s eyes were on Jungwon. You weren’t sure what to say as you stared wide-eyed at your boyfriend. You were terrified. The boy you were in love with had almost stabbed the life out of another person.

You attempted to rationalize it, desperately. You had just publicly cheated on him, and it must’ve been an uncharacteristic display of anger. You’d be angry too if you were him, maybe enough to kill. At least that’s what you told yourself.

“Let’s go.” you managed to say to him, and he brushed himself off, his head low as he roughly pushed through the crowds of people to get to the exit.

Fresh air felt like salvation as he heaved in as much into his lungs as he could. His head was beginning to clear, the adrenaline and rum wearing off as he stood facing the nearly empty streets, hands in his pockets.

“Jungwon,” you began, but he shook his head, refusing to look you in the eyes.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.” he said hollowly, and you bit your tongue, tears beginning to well in your eyes. “Don’t cry, y/n. I can’t take it.”

“It just happened.” you said in a weak defense, and he shook his head again.

You felt hesitant sitting in the front seat with him, but he made no moves to stop you, just reversing the car roughly and pulling out into the street.

It was a silent ride. The kind of silence that made you wonder if the two of you would ever speak again, and you were suddenly struck with the fear that four years may be over in one night. Because of one moment, because of one person.

“Are we gonna be okay?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. His eyes were firmly set on the road, refusing to look at you. He sighed, hands trembling on the wheel.

“I don’t know.”

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Jungwon hadn’t spoken to you for two days.

It was hard to avoid each other, considering you lived in the same apartment. But it was Sunday, and he hadn’t spoken a single word in your direction since you betrayed him two nights previous. And judging from how many times he’d ignored you despite pleas for his attention, he seemed to have no intention of stopping.

You didn’t know what to do, but you couldn’t stand the silence.

“Are you going to leave me?” you finally asked, choking down tears as you sat on the couch. Jungwon was in the kitchen, doing nothing but avoiding you.

“I don’t know.” Jungwon finally spoke, his voice a whisper. Tears began flowing freely from your eyes. “I really don’t know.”

“I know I can’t convince you of anything.” you surrendered, silent sobs escaping your mouth as you cried. “I won’t tell you to stay.”

“I love you, y/n.” Your heart warmed despite your sadness. “More than anything in this god forsaken world. I can’t bear being around you after what you did. But being without you sounds infinitely worse.”

“So what do we do?” He liked that you said ‘we’. It made him feel like you were a team despite what you had put him through. He set down the knife he was holding, his hands trembling as he looked at you. He could barely stand to see you cry.

“We wait.”

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

It turns out that Riki was the kind of person who fell deeply. He hadn’t been in love his entire life; he hadn’t even believed it existed until a few weeks ago. To him, love was a myth, as imaginary as unicorns or pots of gold at the end of rainbows. It was a concept, not a reality. But that’s the thing about not believing in love; when it hits you, it hits hard. And Riki’s mind was racing with radical thoughts, and mostly images of you.

He had called you twelve times since the party, and you hadn’t picked up once. You didn’t show up to class on Monday. Your boss claimed you called out of work sick when he went to visit the diner.

You were avoiding him. And in his mind, that was the worst possibility. But he wasn’t concerned; he would find you. He would always find you.

He just had to find out where you lived. And to do that he had to find you, which was seeming to be difficult. So he’d do the next best thing.

He would find your boyfriend.

It was difficult to find out anything about Jungwon from the internet. He didn’t seem to have a strong social media presence, but after a bit of searching, he found an account with a small following that seemed to match him. From there, he deduced that Jungwon worked at a tech company with a man named Jay, whose profile indicated that the name of it was Enhypen SK. A quick search told him that its headquarters were located downtown. Riki got into his car.

He rolled a crick out of his neck. He had been waiting outside of the building for hours, watching men and women come in and out, in and out. He sat in the front seat of his car, chair reclined as he observed with unrelenting eyes. Finally, there he was.

Brown hair flying in the wind, a cup of coffee in his shaking hand, the contents spilling over the edge as he walked across the street, holding his jacket above his head to cover himself from the rain. Riki could almost laugh at the perfect businessman cliche.

The building wasn’t on a particularly crowded street. There were no cameras monitoring the traffic, as few cars drove down the road. Riki realized with growing delight that there was nobody in sight but him. And Jungwon.

He was on the curb. Riki put his car into drive. The light turned red. Riki peeled out of his parking spot. Jungwon was in the center of the crosswalk.

Riki accelerated.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

You dropped the phone when the hospital told you your boyfriend had been run over by a car. You didn’t have time to think, abandoning the meal you were making, the stove still burning as you snatched your keys off the table and ran out the door without a second’s hesitation.

He thankfully wasn’t dead. They didn’t catch who did it, and Jungwon wouldn’t tell them, if he knew. He had a concussion. Two of his ribs were mildly fractured. He was bleeding internally, but it luckily wasn’t fatal. He had burns along his leg from hot fuel, and a facial laceration from rolling over the shattered windshield, a cut running from the edge of his eyebrow to the apple of his cheek.

The doctors were shocked he was even alive. The perpetrator had hit him at 45 mph, and he rolled over the entire car before hitting the ground. He laid unconscious in the street for 20 minutes, and had to crawl across the street to call for help, refusing to die. Considering his situation, he was lucky; he should’ve been dead.

According to the nurses, he had fought to leave the hospital immediately. He had jumped out of bed the minute he gained consciousness, which shouldn’t have been possible in his state. Only when they demanded he stay did he ask them to call you, and even then, he tried to leave constantly, surprisingly mobile and alert despite being presumed dead.

The staff thought he was a monster.

You ran into his arms the first chance you got, despite the protest from the nurse caring for him. You cried into his chest as he held you, stroking your hair.

“I was afraid you died.” you sobbed, and he shushed you soothingly.

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry, Jungwon. You don’t deserve this.” He had the feeling you were talking about more than just the car accident. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” he said, staring at the wall as he held you more tightly. When you released him, you checked him for damage, holding his hand in yours.

Besides burns, bruises, and the cuts on his cheek, he seemed surprisingly fine. He was sitting upright, speaking clearly, seemingly fine. But he was staring blankly at you. You saw nothing in his eyes, not a shred of hope, relief, or fear. Nothing, just dull brown marbles in the sockets of his eyes before he turned away from you.

“Who did this?” you asked shakily, and he clenched his jaw.

“I don’t know.” he responded. You weren’t sure if he was telling the truth, maybe lying out of pride or embarrassment. But you weren’t going to ask, not when he was in this state. “You know, I realized something. When I got hit by that car.” You scooted closer to him, brushing the hair out of his face. It was matted with sweat to his forehead.

“What was it?” you asked gently when he didn’t continue.

“They were right. Your life does flash before your eyes when you almost die.” he said quietly. “And you know, all I saw was you. My entire life, in one blink of an eye. That’s when I realized,” He looked at you. “I can’t afford to lose you. Not to anything.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” you said, blinking away more tears.

“I know. I’m going to make sure of it.” You didn’t know how to respond, so you didn’t. “I forgive you. For everything you did. I don’t care about any of it.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I mean it. All that matters is that I have you.” His grip on your hand tightened, and you pursed your lips, pulling him into an embrace. He was cold as ice.

“I’m just happy I still have you with me.” you said hoarsely.

“I’m never going to let anything tear us apart. Never.”

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Jungwon knew exactly who hit him with that car.

He would recognize that face anywhere, even in a brief moment, in a mere second of terror before impact. A flash of those devilish eyes through the windshield. They were the eyes that haunted him, sleeping and waking. And he was determined to get revenge.

This man had changed him. He no longer recognized himself. He looked in the mirror and saw a man haunted by hatred, by anger, and by violence. In his many years of life, he had never despised someone enough to hurt them, and yet every part of him was itching to kill. This was a pest, one that Jungwon was sure to exterminate.

He wasn’t going to tell you anything, no, it would only stress you out. As a couple, you had been through enough recently, and he didn’t want anything else on your plate. You had enough to worry about, with him practically incapacitated.

You visited him every day in the hospital. You slept by his bedside, barely going to class or to your job, just holding his hand as nurses tended to him, doctors flitting in and out of his room. He only had three days left in the hospital until he was discharged.

But he couldn’t wait.

You were dead asleep on the chair beside his bed, your eyes shifting underneath their lids. The room was empty. He ripped the IV out of his arm, getting to his feet.

Under any other circumstances, he shouldn’t have been able to walk. But Jungwon felt stronger than he ever had as he walked through the halls barefoot, his hospital gown fluttering in the wind like a ghost. He walked out of the hospital doors unnoticed, the concrete scraping against his bare feet as he started the walk home.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Jungwon owned a gun. It was something he never shared with you; he knew you despised violence. But he was a paranoid person by nature and the idea of a home invader, serial killer, a stalker, frightened him enough to need protection, a Colt Mustang XSP stored securely under the bottom panel of his bedside table. He needed to protect you; it was his god given duty. Fate had brought you together, and he wasn’t going to let anyone hurt you.

He used whatever strength he had to remove the panel of wood, feeling around until his hand reached the hollow barrel of the gun.

Jungwon was a good shot. His father had taken him to a shooting range once a month from the ages of 10 to 18, god knows why. But he noticed something quickly about himself; he always hit the target.

One time, the supervisor at the range had told him he saw something dark in him. He had said Jungwon might not show it, but once in a while, when he was holding that gun, he could see it in his eyes. It wasn’t a good feeling, to hear that as a 16 year old. But now, he was beginning to consider the possibility.

Besides what you had told him, he knew virtually nothing about Riki. He didn’t know his dreams, his accomplishments, his past, not even his age. This didn’t bother Jungwon, in fact, it made him more relieved than anything. The less he knew, the better. It would make it all easier.

And now it was time to visit the little pest.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Riki was disappointed. In you, for ignoring him. In himself, for not finishing the job. And mostly in Jungwon, for refusing to die. He hit him at 45 miles per hour, that should’ve killed him. When he visited the hospital under the guise that he was his cousin, they told him he was bleeding internally, that it might be fatal. And yet, he was alive. He knew it for a fact; Riki waited outside the hospital until you showed up. And you didn’t leave, you never left. Which meant Jungwon was still in there.

It seemed like Jungwon would need something more fatal, which was upsetting. It was the perfect set up; the street was empty, there were no cameras, no witnesses. Jungwon wouldn’t live to tell the tale. Riki prayed that Jungwon didn’t recognize him, if he did, he’d surely tell you. Then he’d really lose you for good.

He was parked outside the hospital for the third day in a row, just waiting to catch you alone. He hoped your boyfriend was in a coma, maybe unable to speak, maybe mentally damaged. He rolled his shoulders, tense with worry and from sitting in the leather seat for so long. The hood of his old silver car was bent from the impact of Jungwon’s body slamming against it, and his license plate was barely hanging on for dear life. He didn’t pay attention to it.

The only thing he cared about was ending him for good.

On the other side of the city, Jungwon had just walked into the housing office of his university. The door creaked as he forced it open, his shoes clicking on the tile floor. He knew a man who worked in the office, a friend of his who played secretary at the front desk. That was the nice thing about being a good person; you make connections everywhere you go.

“Sunghoon.” Jungwon said, and his voice was hollow. The man looked up from his keyboard, pushing his glasses up his forehead with a faint smile.

“Hey,” he said in greeting. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I need a favor.” Sunghoon was immediately concerned with Jungwon’s appearance. He had changed from his gown into normal clothes, but the open cut on his face and the bags under his eyes told the story of what had happened to him. Bruises were littered across his right cheek, and a part of his hair was singed, just below the ear, barely noticeable. He stumbled on his left leg when he walked and he held his ribs tightly with one of his hands.

“Are you okay?” Sunghoon asked with concern.

“I got hit by a car.” he said, and Sunghoon frowned.

“Jesus.” “I need an address.” Sunghoon gestured for him to continue. He knew he wasn’t supposed to give away information like this, but Jungwon was trustworthy. Throughout their friendship, he had shown he was a kind man. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. “Freshman named Riki Nishimura.” Sunghoon’s fingers flew across his keyboard.

“Edge of town. Building code is 3405, apartment 2.” Sunghoon recited off the screen, his glasses back on his nose as he read.

“Thanks.” Jungwon said, turning on his heel.

“Don’t you want me to write it down for you?” Sunghoon called after him, and he waved him off, swinging the door open.

“I’ll remember it.”

And he did. Twenty minutes later, he was parked outside.

It was the kind of apartment that had separate units and entrances. The other three apartments seemed completely empty, and the neighborhood seemed practically deserted, if you could even call it a neighborhood. There were two houses down the road, one of which was boarded up, the other was for sale. Then a dead end, the street abruptly stopping in brick and barbed wire. It was good for Jungwon’s situation. It wasn’t like he wanted anyone to hear what he was about to do.

He got out of his car, hand deep in the recesses of his jacket. He rapped on the door, once, twice, thrice. Then he removed the gun from the waistline of his pants, cocking it in a fluid motion and shooting off the lock.

Metal scraps exploded across the steps of the apartment, and the doorknob hung loosely from its socket, the metal lock missing a keyhole, replaced with a burning hot cavity. Jungwon turned the doorknob, and the door swung open easily.

“House call,” he said, his voice echoing around the empty apartment. “Anyone home?” He peeked his head into the kitchen, the living room. Nobody. His free hand fingered the case of bullets in his jacket pocket. He brought the gun for intimidation only; he didn’t think Riki would be stupid enough to make him use it. But he had 17 rounds left in the magazine of his pistol, and he was planning to spend them all if necessary.

It didn’t seem like Riki was home. Jungwon cracked his neck, irritated. He had run out of the hospital on injured legs and a fractured rib, just to be disappointed. He wondered where Riki could possibly be, and hoped he wasn’t anywhere near you.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, keeping his gun by his side. He had 27 missed calls and 45 missed texts, and they were all from you. He tucked it away, trying to push the thought of you out of his head.

He was doing this for you. You’d understand that.

While he was there, he figured he might as well look around. After all, Riki didn’t seem to be home, and he had gone through the effort of blowing off his locks. He creeped up the stairs cautiously, careful to keep his gun ahead of him before he took a step. On the right, there was a bathroom, grimy in the way expected of a teenage boy. On the left was Riki’s room. His closet was the largest thing in the room, stacked to the brim with clothing. It seemed like Riki preferred designer brands over an expensive apartment, and Jungwon pocketed a silver watch sitting on his bedside table.

There was only one more room at the end of the hall. Its door stood slightly ajar, and he could see beams of sun hitting the chestnut floor through the slit. Jungwon walked cautiously towards it, the floorboards creaking under his weight as he pushed the door open.

His eyes widened, pupils dilated. He instinctively took a step back, his gun clattering to the floor as his gaze flitted from the ceiling to the floor, wall to wall. He recoiled from the room, as if it would infect him, shivering with fear. He hadn’t seen anything like this. Not from anyone.

Jungwon’s own eyes watched him from every corner of the room. Photos of himself lined the walls, sporadically pasted against the blue wallpaper. Some were photos he had taken of himself, some that you had taken, accessible through his socials. But the vast majority were photos he had never seen, taken from afar of him at the grocery store inspecting a peach, chatting with a classmate in class, working at his job, his face lit up by his computer on the second floor.

And in the center of the room was you. Your face was painted on a canvas, big enough to almost reach Jungwon’s height, painted intricately with the hand of someone who truly loved their subject. It was as if you were alive and breathing before him, and for a minute, he admired you despite himself. Scrawled at the bottom of the canvas were a mere five words;

I have to save her.

Jungwon was horrified. He felt sick to his stomach with the sudden urge to vomit, and he attempted to control himself, breathing shallowly as he bent to pick up his gun. He aimed it shakily, and it was the first time he trembled while holding a pistol in his hands. He fired ten rounds, each scarring the wall as they tore through the canvas.

Your face was a mess of torn paper and sizzling paint when he was done, and it pained him to see. Jungwon grit his teeth, tucking his gun back into the waistband of his pants as he turned around to exit this god forsaken house.

Now Riki really had to die.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Riki arrived home, and the first thing he noticed was the ten bullets sitting underneath the window of his painting room. If he had walked past just a bit faster, if he wasn’t looking at the ground, he would’ve missed them. But he didn’t, and he bent down to pick them up, the casings barely still warm. When he looked up, there were ten matching holes in the wall. He was immediately on high alert.

When he removed his keys from his pocket, he quickly realized he didn’t need them. Shards of protruding metal, burnt black at the edges, became what once was the lock to his door. The wooden door was ajar, and he opened it as quietly as possible.

He slipped off his shoes at the door, his footsteps silent as he walked through his home. His living room and kitchen looked completely untouched. His nerves burning with fear, Riki reached for a knife, his trembling hands gripping the handle as the metal glinted in whatever dim daylight remained as the sun began to fall below the horizon.

The stairs moaned under his feet as he walked towards the room at the end of the hallway. It didn’t look like anyone had even entered his home; everything was the way he left it. But when he opened the door to that room, he felt like he could cry.

Ten bullet holes. Ten scarred, singed cavities in your gaping face, the canvas torn and burned until you were completely unrecognizable.

His art. The only thing he had been living for. It was destroyed, and he knew exactly who to blame. Tears ran down his face as he approached it, the knife forgotten in his hand while he caressed the mutilated canvas.

I have to save her. Those scrawled words remained untouched at the bottom of his creation, and he ran his hand over them. They rang true.

If Jungwon did this, and Riki knew he did, then he was dangerous. And that meant he had to save you before you ended up like the shredded painting he had so devoutly adored.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Jungwon had fled the hospital without warning at 5:32 pm. It was 9:00 pm, and you hadn’t heard a word from your boyfriend

You were worried sick. He was hurt, too hurt to be wandering the streets, getting into fights, doing whatever he was doing. You checked his work, but they hadn’t caught sight of him since he left, on the day he was almost killed. None of his teachers had heard from him, nor had his friends. You must’ve called him a hundred times, and not once did he pick up. So, despite yourself, you did the only thing you could think of.

It’s not like you couldn’t guess who’d hit your boyfriend with their car. Jungwon’s unwillingness to tell you about the accident was an immediate red flag, not to mention his sudden switch in attitude. His workplace was in an isolated, corporate area where not many people drove, and it seemed too convenient to be an accident. Not many people had a vendetta against Jungwon, he was too kind to have enemies; except one.

He picked up on one ring, and the other side of the phone was quiet except for the gentle sound of his breathing.

“Riki,” you said, attempting to stabilize your trembling voice. “Let’s meet.”

Riki didn’t ask any questions. He agreed without hesitation, and a part of you almost felt bad. After all, what if he didn’t hit him? What if you were wrong?

But you couldn’t afford to doubt yourself, and you tucked a canister of pepper spray into your pocket before grabbing your keys and running downstairs. In case Jungwon was in trouble, you didn’t have any time to waste.

You were so distracted, you had even forgotten it was Halloween.

You had asked Riki to meet you across town. You knew there was a large construction lot a couple miles behind your school, where nobody ever visited, rarely even the construction workers, especially not at this hour. You needed to get him in a place where nobody would hear you. If he was willing to admit anything that had happened between him and Jungwon, he wouldn’t do it in front of an audience.

You could feel his presence before you saw him. When you heard his slow footsteps through the soft, unpaved ground, it felt like the world had gone black. Something in him had changed. You used to feel joy and love at the sound of his voice and the scent of his cologne, but now it made you uneasy.

“Y/n?” he said, and you saw the dark silhouette morph into his fine features and unkempt hair as he stepped closer. He stopped a few paces away from you, and you attempted to smile.

Before you knew it, he had pulled you into his arms, and you were swimming in his leather jacket, his grip almost painful. The scent of violets and cigarettes drowned you. You felt like you could throw up.

“I’ve been so worried about you.” his voice trembled as he spoke, and you gradually wrapped your arms around him. “Where have you been?”

“The hospital.” you said, your voice a whisper. He released you, and the confused look in his eyes was almost enough to convince you he was innocent. “Jungwon…he got hit by a car.”

“Is he alright?”

“No. But we’ll be okay.” Riki didn’t like that you said ‘we’. It seemed you didn’t care if your boyfriend had almost killed him. It was like he didn’t matter to you.

“Why didn’t you call me back?” he asked in hushed tones.

“I didn’t know what to think.” You wiped away a tear, not even knowing you were crying. “After what happened that weekend-”

“He almost killed me.”

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kissed you.” There was hurt in his eyes, and you didn’t recognize him. The smug, arrogant boy you had known was nowhere to be seen.

“How can you say that?” You shook your head, wiping away more tears. “I don’t care about him, y/n. We have something special.”

“Riki, I can’t.”

“Don’t I matter to you?” he implored, reaching for your hand, holding it tightly like he might not get the chance ever again. He wouldn’t.

“Of course you do. But Riki, I don’t love you.”

“That’s a lie!” he shouted, and the sudden switch in volume made you shudder in fear. “You do love me. You’re just afraid.”

“Of what, Riki? Of you? I’m not scared, I’m an adult, I know what I want. You’re just a confused boy who thinks he’s in love with a girl he can’t have.”

“That’s not true.” he said it so willfully, you almost believed him. “You don’t understand, you just don’t understand. Since I met you, you’re all I can think about. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you. I even-” He cut himself off. He froze, and the only sound was the cold wind as you two stared at each other.

“Even?” you whispered, and he set his jaw.

“I even tried to kill him.”

You felt like your world was crashing down around you. You had imagined a million possibilities in your relationship with Riki. You had imagined kicking him to the curb, indulging in his affections until he got bored, you even imagined leaving Jungwon for him. But in none of your fantasies had you believed him capable of murder.

Your eyes widened in terror, lips trembling, and he could sense your fear.

“Don’t be scared.” he said, coming closer, and you took a step back. “I’m not a killer, y/n. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“But you tried to.” you said, and his eyes darkened. “You tried to kill my boyfriend. You’re not in love with me, Riki, someone who loved me wouldn’t try to do that. That’s not love, it’s obsession.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. You don’t know what you’re doing.” You grew closer to him, placing a warm hand against his cheek. “You have a life outside me. We’re young. Don’t waste your time chasing me and hurting people.”

“Don’t say that,” he repeated, his eyes red with suppressed tears. “I would do anything for you. I love you, I’ve never felt that way about anyone.” You attempted to pay attention to what he was saying, but a twig cracked in the background, drowned out by the sound of his words, but you were listening. You looked over his shoulder. “I can’t be away from you, y/n, I can’t take it.”

“Riki, I can’t be with you. Not now, not ever.”

“Is it because of Jungwon?” he asked, and you shook your head. “I don’t care who’s in my way. I’ll take care of it.”

A ghostly face appeared in the distance, just barely lit enough for you to recognize him. That scar on his face, those bright doe eyes turned dull, you knew that face anywhere. Riki continued to speak, and Jungwon put a silent finger over his mouth.

Something about this situation was wrong. You had this overwhelming sense of terror, and it had its claws around your lungs, draining you of all the breath and blood in your body. Every nerve and cell in your body was screaming, writhing restlessly in white hot pain. Jungwon stepped closer, and your shoulders shook fearfully.

“Riki. I don’t want you to hurt him.” you said, and Riki grabbed your face, his cold fingers gently gripping your chin.

“I don’t care.” he said, and his words cut you like a knife. “I’ll do whatever it takes. You belong with me.”

There was a barrel of a gun, and you felt a strangled scream rising in your throat when you saw that Jungwon was holding it. And the edge of it was directly pointed at the back of Riki’s head.

You tried to scream, you tried to warn him, but there was no time. You dropped to your knees as the blast rang through the empty air, a flash of white and red lighting up the air like fireworks as you covered your ears. An explosion of blood wet the ground, painted strokes of crimson hitting your face and shoes. A silent scream escaped your mouth as Riki’s lifeless body crumpled to the floor inches from where you sat, as terribly beautiful as ever, his wide and fear-stricken eyes immortalized as he stared at you. The last thing he loved before he died.

It was funny, seeing a human die. You thought that you would cry, wail, kick and scream as you brutally mourned the life of someone you had loved. A life that ended in an instant, as easy as pulling a trigger. But you didn’t cry. You just sat there, helpless and silent, waves of grief, dread, anger, every emotion running through you as your eyes and mouth went dry with fear.

Jungwon was a new man. He stood above you, not even looking at the man he had just killed, only looking at you. His eyes seemed black in the night, unforgiving and unapologetic as he gripped the gun in his hand, the barrel covered in blood.

Pools of crimson blood soaked into the soft ground as Riki laid unmoving, the contents of his head spilled across the dirt. His mouth was open in a silent plea, one that nobody would hear, not even God.

Jungwon kneeled in front of you, and a single tear ran down his face as he desperately searched your eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“Oh, God.” you said, your voice hollow and unrecognizable.

“I’m sorry.” he said, and for the first time in months, he sounded fully alive. His voice regained its fullness, no longer slouching and frowning, radiating the power he had lost. “I had to do it. You know I had to.” His hands were covered in blood. There were splatters across his face, and you couldn’t distinguish between the blood running from his own cuts and the blood of the man he had just killed. You felt an overwhelming urge to vomit, and you gagged as you tried to hold it back.

“Jungwon,” you said, voice breaking midway through as you began to cry salty tears. “God, Jungwon, oh my God.”

You had no fight left in you. You felt like a hollow shell as you sat there on the floor, the man whom you loved soaked in the blood of someone you had called a friend. Maybe more than that. You wished you could disappear, that everything would go away, that this would have never happened.

“I’m sorry.” he said, and he pulled you into an embrace.

Despite feeling repulsed by his touch, you craved his skin and his love, so you let him hold you in his blood stained clothes, you let his soiled hands stroke your hair until it was wet with blood.

“I told you,” he said, quietly. “I would never let anything tear us apart.”

You didn’t have the strength to respond, just sobbing until you couldn’t anymore, until the life and tears were drained out of you, until your heart felt like it would stop. Jungwon held you, his own heart beating as fast as lightning, the breath of life rushing through him. Riki didn’t move an inch, didn’t come back to life no matter how hard you cried. And Jungwon was delighted.

Maybe there was something dark in Jungwon. Or maybe he was sane, in a world where you have to do unspeakable things to protect what you love.

And as he held you, sobbing in the night air, your tears mingling with the blood on your face, he began to realize he was just a man. A sick man.

Just as bad as the rest of them.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

back to the masterlist.

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requiemforthepoets · 3 months ago

Text

you’re such a rollercoaster, some killer queen you are 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: it was a random encounter at a club in miami during lando’s first win and all he has to remind him of you was a polaroid.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i’m now done with my midterms, finally! i’ll be posting the requests soon. for the meantime, pls enjoy this lando oneshot i made. enjoy! :)

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 6.1k

WARNINGS: not proofread, typos, reader has a full back tattoo, cursing, and no use of y/n

It’s finally the summer break, a month away from all university obligations. As the summer break kicks off, you find yourself in the vibrant heart of Miami, ready to enjoy the nightlife that awaits you with your best friends. The hotel room was filled with laughter and sounds of hurried preparations, with all of your excitement evident. In front of the mirror, you admired yourself in the silk black backless dress that definitely accentuates your figure, the fabric of the dress falling just right to showcase your stunning full Sak Yant tattoo that you had gotten on your last trip to Cambodia. It was a daring choice, but you loved the way it felt, and the dress paired effortlessly with your trusty white low-cut chucks—a perfect blend of style and comfort for the night ahead. Your friends squealed in approval of your whole fit, each one hyping how amazing you looked.

“Are we ready to paint the town red?” One of them chimed, a teasing grin plastered on her face.

“Absolutely! Let’s make the most of this summer!” You replied, excitement bubbling in your chest.

The first club was already buzzing when you arrived, its lively atmosphere spilling out onto the street. It was packed—it was way more crowded than you had anticipated, and the thumping bass reverberated through your chest, the energy was electric. But as always, you and your friends pushed through the throngs of people, determined to start the night off right. You managed to snag a table near the dance floor, which is also quite close to the DJ booth. You could feel the energy of the crowd surge, especially when the DJ began playing the iconic beats of 2011 club hits.

The moment we found love by Rihanna started playing, you and your friends erupted in cheers, and memories of late-night dance parties flooding back. This song was your jam and you guys won’t let this pass, so you grabbed your friends’ hands and rushed to the dance floor. All the people began to sing along to the song at the top of their lungs, including you, and losing yourself in the infectious energy that surrounded you.

In the midst of your carefree dancing, you suddenly felt a gentle yet firm grip on your waist that made you turn. You found yourself face-to-face with an incredibly handsome man—his curly hair framed a sharp jawline, his aquamarine eyes sparkled under the flashing lights, and a small, charming smile played on his lips. You noticed that he’s a little bit tipsy, evident by his slight sway, but still managed to maintain a charming composure with an air of confidence.

“Your tattoo is incredible.” He leaned down to whisper it in your ears. His voice was low and warm, sending a delightful shiver down your spine. Heat immediately rushed to your cheeks as you blushed, momentarily lost for words.

“Thanks!” You shouted over the loud noise for him to hear you, but not really sure if he heard you or not.

Just then, your friend—the one who always photographs, had tapped your shoulder, her polaroid camera ready. She aimed it at you, and without thinking, you turned to the handsome stranger, flashing a playful smile as your friend pressed the shutter button. The photo was developed quickly, perfectly capturing the moment, and she handed it to you with a knowing look. An idea suddenly sparked in your mind, and you quickly rummaged through your friend’s bag.

“Hey, do you have a pen that I could borrow?” You asked, almost breathless with excitement.

She handed you a sharpie, raising an eyebrow but not questioning your sudden burst of creativity at the moment. You wrote a quick “thank you” on the empty space of the polaroid, signing it with the initial of your first name with a flourish before slipping it into the pocket of the white polo the stranger was wearing. The stranger looked surprised, a mix of confusion and excitement on his face, but he simply smiled back, his eyes lighting up as he reached for you.

“Wait, I didn’t get your name—” before he could finish his sentence, your friend pulled you in your arm, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “time to hit the next club!” She called, pulling you away.

You turned back at the stranger, waving him goodbye, feeling an unexpected pang of regret for leaving him behind. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that this night isn't over yet. You exchanged glances with him one last time, a silent promise hanging in the air, your heart fluttering with the hope that somehow, you’d see him again.

As you and your friends spilled out onto the bustling Miami street, your laughter filled the night as you headed to the next club. However, all you could think about was the brief connection you had felt on the dance floor, a sweet moment that seemed to linger in the air, leaving you yearning for more.

The night had ended in a blur for Lando. After the wild celebration of his first Formula 1 win in Miami, the euphoria was slowly dissipating and replaced by a wave of drunkenness that hit harder than he had expected. By the time the club lights dimmed and the crowd began to thin, Lando could barely stand on his own two feet, let alone string together a coherent sentence.

Max and Carlos had taken one look at him and immediately decided that they needed to step in. “C’mon mate, let’s get you back to the hotel,” Max grunted, slinging Lando’s arm over his shoulder, while Carlos grabbed the other side.

Carlos chuckled, equally amused and exasperated, “he kept pace with everyone at the party. Now he’s paying the price.”

Lando, wasted out of his mind, stumbled along between them, mumbling a mix of incoherent phrases. “She…she was…beautiful,” he slurred, eyes half-closed, as they maneuvered through the hotel lobby. “The tattoo…I need to…find her.”

Max raised an eyebrow, exchanging a knowing look with Carlos. “Who’s he talking about now?” Carlos asked, chuckling under his breath.

“Who knows? Maybe some random girl from the party,” Max shrugged, though the curiosity in his tone was undeniable. “You think he’s talking about some girl he met tonight?”

Carlos nodded, “definitely. He kept disappearing from the group. Bet it’s some girl who caught his eyes.”

They wrestled Lando into the elevator, which was a challenge in itself as Lando kept sagging against the walls. When they finally reached his hotel room, Carlos fumbled with the keycard, managing to get the door open while Max dragged Lando inside.

“Alright, bed time for you, champ.” Max muttered, carefully tossing Lando onto the bed. Lando landed face-first into the pillows, groaning something incomprehensible as he sprawled out, completely out of it.

As they started to leave, Carlos noticed something peeking out of Lando’s polo pocket. “Wait, hold on. What’s this?” He said, pulling out a small polaroid photo. He studied it for a moment before handing it to Max.

Max blinked, holding the picture up to the light. It was a snapshot of Lando at the club, with a girl smiling beside him. They were both smiling and looking like they were having the time of their lives, clearly caught up in the moment. Lando’s arm was around her waist, and she was beaming up at him.

“So this is who he’s been going on about, huh,” Max mused, smirking as he showed it to Carlos.

Carlos grinned, leaning closer to inspect the photo. “It has no name, no number on the back. Just the word thank you and a signature,” he said, pointing at the small initial written on the bottom corner of the polaroid.

Max gave a low whistle, eyes flicking to Lando, who had now turned onto his back, snoring loudly. “The way he’s looking at her, though…” Max said, shaking his head with an amused sigh. “Poor guy. He’ll surely lose his mind trying to find her again.”

“You think he’s going to go all in on this mystery girl?” Carlos asked, already imagining the chaos that could ensue once Lando wakes up.

“Oh, definitely. Look at that face—he’s going to lose his mind trying to find her.” Max chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“If he does, it’ll be entertaining for us. He might actually be serious about someone for once.” Carlos smirked.

Max laughed, tucking the polaroid back into Lando’s pocket. “Well, whatever happens, tomorrow’s going to be interesting for sure. But first, I’m betting his hangover’s going to be the real pain in the ass.”

“I second that.” Carlos clapped Max on the back as they both made their way to the door. “Let him sleep it off. If fate has any say in this, maybe he’ll see her again.”

Once Max and Carlos had managed to leave the room, the soft snores of their friend filled the silence behind them, but they couldn’t help but share one last grin. Lando Norris, hopelessly wasted and smitten, was in for one wild ride the moment he wakes up in the morning.

When Lando woke up the next day, it felt like the world had caved in on him. His head pounded relentlessly like a jackhammer, every inch of his body felt heavy, and the sunlight seeping through the curtains are making everything worse. He groaned, pressing a hand to his face as he tried to piece together the events of the previous night. His mouth even felt dry, and every muscle ached—classic hangover. Glancing at the clock, his stomach sank. It was already past one in the afternoon.

“Ah shit.” He muttered, rubbing his temples.

Lando’s memories was a total fucking mess. Fragments of the party slipping in and out of focus. All he remembered is that he was celebrating his first F1 win in a Miami club with a bunch of friends, music, drinks…too many drinks, clearly. But then, there was something, or rather, someone—who stood out in the haze. A girl.

The image of you on the dance floor flickered in his mind. Lando couldn’t quite place every detail of your face, but the memory of your presence lingered, the feeling of being inexplicably drawn to you. It was like trying to recall a dream that was slipping away. He just shook his head, trying to clear the fog.

Struggling out of the bed, he tugged off the polo he had been wearing from the night before. As he did, something fell on the floor. Lando blinked, looking down to see a small polaroid photo lying by his feet. He picked it up and stared, the image hitting him like a bolt of clarity. It was a photo of you and him at the club, your face being illuminated by the flashing lights, both of you are smiling. Suddenly, the blurry memory sharpened. He remembered you—your black backless dress, the intricate back tattoo, the way you turned when he approached you. You had been so close, yet before he could really get to know you, your friends had whisked you away, leaving him standing alone on the dance floor, with only the photo to show for it.

Lando’s heart skipped a beat as he flipped the polaroid over, hoping to find some kind of clue, a way to find you. But the back was just frustratingly blank, except for the written thank you and an initial on the free space of the polaroid. He ran a thumb over the handwritten words, feeling a pang of disappointment. There was basically no number, no name. It was all just a fleeting memory. He sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“She’s probably just someone who came and went,” he muttered to himself, but even as he said it, the thought didn’t sit right.

There was something about the brief connection he felt with you that night, something that he couldn’t shake off. It was strange, almost unnerving, how much he remembered the feeling of being with you in that brief moment—like everything else had faded into the background.

Without fully understanding why, Lando grabbed his wallet and carefully tucked the polaroid photo into his wallet, sliding it into the hidden compartment where it could be safe. He wasn’t even sure why he decided to keep the polaroid, especially in such a personal place. It seemed silly, but it felt right to keep it there, like a small piece of that night he wasn’t ready to let go of just yet.

Lando sat there for a few moments longer, staring at the closed wallet in his hand. The next race was in a week, and he had the time to get his shit together before flying to Italy for the Imola GP. But now, instead of just focusing on the upcoming race, his mind kept drifting back to you—wondering if you were still out there somewhere, wondering if he would ever get the chance to see you again. He finally stood up to get ready for the day and fly out of Miami, he couldn’t help but smirk at himself.

“Guess I’m going to be thinking about this for a while,” he muttered, the memory of your smile etched into his thoughts.

Miami was fun, and now it’s time to go back to reality. Once you got back home, the vibrant memories of the trip slowly started to fade into the background, already having been replaced by the familiar routine of gearing up for the new university year. This was it—your final year at university, the last stretch before graduation, and you are determined to give it your all. It was time to buckle down and focus on academics. After all, everything you had done in Miami was meant to stay in Miami.

Yet, no matter how hard you tried to immerse yourself in your studies, your mind would always reel back to that night in the club. The memory of the man you had met—his aquamarine eyes, the way he had looked at you like you were the only person in the room had kept replaying in your head, keeping you awake at night. It was frustrating how much he lingered in your thoughts. You had only known him for a brief moment, not even long enough to learn his name, yet you couldn’t forget the instant connection that had sparked between you.

The way he had complimented your tattoo, the way he had smiled when you slipped the polaroid into his polo pocket—it had all felt surreal, like something out of a dream, and then there was the polaroid. You literally had no idea why you had given it to him, that was the only physical memory of that night, the only proof that your paths had crossed. Yet, in the moment, it felt like what you did was the right thing to do. Or maybe it was the excitement, the adrenaline of the night you felt that had pushed you to make such a spontaneous decision. But now, you found yourself wondering if he had even kept it, or if it had ended up crumpled in some corner, forgotten in the blur of a party boy’s life.

You tried to push these lingering and uninvited thoughts aside. After all, he had seemed like the type who enjoyed the party scene, the kind of guy who was probably very used to fleeting moments like the one you had shared. You definitely have no reason to expect anything more from it. It was fun while it lasted—a brief, electric encounter in the middle of a packed club. Still, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if your friend hadn’t pulled you away so soon. Would you have stayed and talked more, gotten to know him beyond that brief moment on the dance floor? Or maybe it was better this way, a perfect memory left untouched by reality.

With a sigh, you snapped yourself back to the present, staring down at the pile of thick college textbooks and notebooks waiting for you. It was time to focus on what was real, what was tangible—your studies, your future. The man from Miami would remain just a distant memory, one that you would tuck away with all the other wild moments from your summer. After all, you had more important things to focus on now.

Still, every now and then, as you walked to your lectures or sat in the library, you would catch yourself thinking about him—wondering if he still had that polaroid tucked away somewhere, just like you secretly hoped he did.

Lando was no better. Ever since that night in Miami, his mind has been drifting more than usual. He found himself distracted during meetings, zoning out during race prep, and even spacing out in the garage most of the time. His usual easy going demeanor was now often replaced by a more serious, almost contemplative expression. It was as if something had taken root in his mind, and no matter how hard he tried to shake it, the memory of you wouldn’t let go.

He had replayed that night over and over again in his mind—the moment he saw you, how he had felt an unexplainable pull towards you, the way you had smiled when he complimented your tattoo, and how effortlessly everything had seemed to click between you in that brief encounter. It was ridiculous, really, how hung up he had become over someone he barely even knew. He hadn’t even caught your name—and yet, the polaroid was still inside his wallet, tucked away like a secret he carried with him everywhere he went.

Whenever he felt particularly lost in thought, he’d pull it out and stare at it, trying to remember every detail of your face, laugh, and the way you looked at him. He was becoming a lovesick fool. But that only made it worse—like he had been shot by cupid, now hopelessly stuck in this strange limbo of longing for someone who felt like a distant memory. The problem was, he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. But now, half of the grid knew about the mysterious girl in the polaroid. It had all started with Oscar.

Lando had been so deep in his dilemma that he couldn’t contain it anymore and had to vent about it, and Oscar, being a good listener, and always the voice of reason, had been the unfortunate recipient of Lando’s endless stream of confusion and longing.

“Mate, I don’t even know where to start looking,” Lando groaned one afternoon, slumping into a chair next to Oscar. They were in the motorhome, waiting for a debrief. “She didn’t even leave her name, no number, nothing. Just…this. I don’t even know why I’m so hung up on this! It was just one night.” He pulled out the polaroid for what felt like the hundredth time, showing it again to Oscar.

“Well, that tends to happen when you let Max and Carlos feed you shots all night. You’re lucky that you remember anything.” Oscar teased, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“That’s not helping.” Lando shot him a look, half amused and half exasperated. “I just—there was something about her, you know? It wasn’t just the drinks. I felt this connection, and then she was gone.”

“You really got hit hard, didn’t you?” Oscar chuckled.

“You have no idea, Osc,” Lando muttered, running a hand through his curly hair in frustration. “I mean, what are the odds, right? A random night in Miami, and now…I can't stop thinking about her. What’s wrong with me?”

Oscar chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “Hey, nothing’s wrong with you. You just like her, I guess. A lot.” He glanced at the polaroid again, shaking his head in amusement. “You’ve got the entire grid buzzing about this by now, you know. Everyone’s rooting for you to find her.”

“Great. So now everyone’s invested in my love life too.” Lando groaned, leaning his head back.

“You did show them the photo,” Oscar pointed out with a grin. “It’s hard not to get curious when you’ve been carrying that thing around like a lovesick fool.”

“I know it’s stupid, but it feels like more than just a random encounter. There was something there, Oscar. I swear.” Lando let out a dramatic sigh, though a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“So what are you going to do? Just sit around and hope she magically walks into the next race?” Oscar leaned back in his seat.

“I was thinking that maybe, I could hire a private investigator or something, you know.” Lando shrugged.

Oscar’s eyes widened in disbelief. “A private investigator? Tell me you’re joking.” Lando’s expression remained serious. “No, I’m not! Or, I could just post the photo online, let the fans do their thing. They could help me find her—someone has to know who she is.”

Oscar pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Lando, mate, listen to me.” He turned to Lando, face serious. “You’re out of your mind. You can’t hire a PI or ask your fans to find this girl. Think about how creepy that sounds.”

“But how else am I supposed to find her! I can’t even stop thinking about her, Oscar. I didn’t even get her name, and now I’m stuck.” Lando groaned again.

“Mate, if you’re meant to find her, you will. You can’t force something like this, and you definitely shouldn’t involve the internet.” Oscar sighed. “Just let it go for now. Focus on the races, and if it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen.” He added.

Lando sat in silence for a moment, staring at the polaroid again. As much as he hated to admit it, Oscar was right. He couldn’t exactly post the photo online and hope for the best—that would be absolute madness and would really violate your privacy. But letting it go? That shit felt realy impossible.

“Yeah, I guess.” Lando muttered.

Lando tucked the polaroid carefully back into his wallet. He knew deep down, he wasn’t really ready to let go of the idea of finding you again. Even if it seemed impossible.

More months passed by, and life had already moved on, but the memory of that night in Miami still lingered in your mind—and in Lando’s too. The connection, however, had left an impression on both of you, though neither expected to cross paths again. You had already given up any hope of seeing him again, and had decided to leave it all to fate. If it’s meant to be, then it’ll be. Besides, life has been busy enough for you. With your final year at university, you had too much on your plate to spend time wondering about a man whose name you still didn’t know. But it seems like fate had other plans in store for the both of you.

It started when you had a week off from university, and you and your best friends decided to go on a trip to Greece over your week off. You have no qualms about it, since you really needed a break as well, and what better way to relax than exploring the beautiful beaches and Acropolis of Athens.

The trip to Greece was everything you had hoped for, but unbeknownst to you, Lando was in Greece too, enjoying his own vacation with his close friends. You were sunbathing on a pristine beach, chatting away with your friends, when Lando walked by just a few meters away. He didn’t notice you, and you didn’t see him either—both of you are too caught up in your own worlds, yet there you were, so close but so far away.

The second time was when you took a trip to Ibiza. Another spontaneous getaway with your best friends. The vibrant nightlife and endless summer energy called your name. As you danced and had the time of your life at a beachside club, oblivious to the fact that Lando was just at a private party down the shore. His friends had dragged him out for the night, hoping to help him unwind after a tough race. You and your friends left just as Lando was arriving, two paths almost crossing once again.

It was starting to become a strange pattern—wherever you were, Lando seemed to be there too. The two of you had shared the same sunsets, wandered the same winding streets, and probably passed by each other without even realizing it.

The third time was in Monaco. A beautiful city, with its glamor and breathtaking views, it was the perfect escape before starting your last semester. You and your friends are strolling down the harbor one afternoon, laughing as you all pointed at the massive yachts that were all lined up, imagining what it would be like to live such a luxurious life.

Inside a nearby café, Lando was sitting by the window, sipping on a coffee and looking out over the same harbor. He had been restless, unable to shake the feeling that he was missing something—or someone. He looked up just as you and your friends passed by outside, laughing and taking selfies by the water, but you did not look his way, and he didn’t get up, assuming it was just another passing group of tourists. Once again, fate brought you together, only to keep you just out of reach.

It was as though the universe was playing a cruel game, constantly bringing you and Lando to the same place at the same time, but never allowing your paths to fully align. You could be randomly walking down the street while he was sitting just a few doors away in a café. Lando could be entering a restaurant as you and your friends exited from a nearby boutique. It was almost laughable how close you came to seeing him again, yet how impossibly far away it felt.

As the months passed, both you and Lando accepted that what had happened in Miami was a beautiful, fleeting moment. Something to be kept, but perhaps never meant to be revisited. But there’s still a small part of you that couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, fate wasn’t done with you yet.

For now, though, it seemed like fate was content with keeping the both of you on the edge—close enough to feel the pull, but never quite close enough to collide.

One night, it seemed like that fate had finally decided it was time to stop playing games. You were in the middle of preparing for your final exams when your cousins called with an unexpected invitation. They will be flying to Singapore for the Gran Prix two months from now, and they have already secured a paddock club pass for you—for all three days of the event. The kicker? They will be paying for everything; flights, accommodations, and even meals. It was definitely a golden opportunity, and although you had no clue what a Grand Prix was or even what Formula 1 is, you couldn’t turn down an all-expenses-paid trip to a place you had been saving up to visit anyway.

“Trust me, it’s going to be amazing,” your cousin assured you over the phone. “You’ll get to be up close to the cars, the drivers, and the entire F1 spectacle. It’s a vibe.”

While you were excited about the trip, the idea of spending three days around race cars didn’t exactly thrill you. You knew nothing about cars or Formula 1, and the most you had ever watched were glimpses of motorsports on TV at home with your father. But a free trip to Singapore was too good to pass up, and maybe, you would find something to enjoy about this whole Grand Prix thing.

Fast forward to your arrival in Singapore. The sweltering heat of Singapore was almost overwhelming, but the excitement in the air was noticeable as you strolled through the paddock area, soaking in the energy of the Grand Prix weekend. You are dressed in a flowing white sundress that caught the breeze just right, paired with chic Prada Monolith Crisscross sandals, a cute beige mini Lady Dior handbag that matches complete your whole outfit, and the paddock club pass hanging around your neck—in all honesty, you looked like you belonged at a chic summer brunch rather than a motorsport event. But you were grateful for your outfit choices, especially given how hot and humid it was in Singapore. You weren’t sure what to expect from the race weekend, but at least you felt prepared for the weather.

The atmosphere was buzzing, with fans eagerly awaiting glimpses of their favorite drivers. You and your cousins meandered around, snapping photos of the three of you to send to your parents for updates, and enjoying the free-flowing drinks and gourmet food available in the exclusive paddock club. Your cousins, die-hard Formula 1 fans, were thrilled to spot drivers walking around, rushing up to get photos with anyone they could.

At one point, they had spotted Oscar Piastri, the young driver who seemed to be gathering a crowd in the paddock. Your cousins were excited and hurried up to him, asking for a quick photo. Instead of joining them, you volunteered to take the photo, your cousin had handed you his phone and took a photo of them with Oscar. As Oscar posed with your cousins, you framed the shot perfectly, capturing their wide smiles and his easygoing grin. After the photo was snapped, you handed the phone back to your cousin, but something odd caught your attention.

Oscar was staring at you, a look of recognition flashing briefly across his face, though he didn’t say anything. His gaze lingered for a second too long, as if he was trying to place where he had seen you before. But before you could ask if something was wrong, he quickly and politely excused himself, saying something about needing to be somewhere else.

“Thank you!” Your cousin beamed, oblivious to the strange moment, as they admired the picture you had taken.

However, you were left feeling slightly unsettled. Why had Oscar looked at you like that? You just shrugged it off, thinking it was probably nothing. After all, he must meet thousands of people all the time, maybe you just had one of those faces.

You continued walking around with your cousins, admiring the cars as the mechanics prepared for the weekend’s race during the pitlane walk. The energy was contagious, you could feel it in the air—tension and excitement. While you didn’t quite understand the intricacies of the sport, you were starting to get why so many people were hooked.

As Oscar made his way back to the McLaren garage, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just seen someone important. The brief encounter with you lingered in his mind, he considered telling Lando about it, but something held him back. What if he was just mistaken? What if you were just another face in the crowd, one of the many people who flocked to the Grand Prix? He surely didn’t want to get Lando’s hopes up if he was wrong because the boy is already losing his mind of finding you.

But still, there was an undeniable spark of recognition in Oscar’s gut. The way you had smiled at him, the familiarity in your eyes—it was as if you were embedded into his memories, even if he couldn’t quite place you. The thought of Lando obsessing over someone who may not even be worth it felt almost cruel, so he kept quiet as he stepped into the garage.

“Hey Osc!” Lando called out from where he was working on some last-minute adjustments to the car. His energy was infectious, his usual charisma shining through despite the long day ahead.

“Just met some fans,” Oscar replied, casually brushing off the encounter. He knew Lando was too focused on the race to delve into any side stories, so he played it cool. “Pretty excited about the weekend.”

“That’s good! We need that energy. It’s going to be a wild race!” Lando said enthusiastically and grinned.

Lando was really in the zone, and Oscar didn’t want to disrupt that by bringing up something that might end up being inconsequential, but Oscar couldn’t help himself. As he watched Lando tinker with the car, a thought struck him. If he had indeed seen you, and if you were that same girl that Lando had met at the club in Miami, then there was a chance for another confirmation that it really is indeed you. Singapore is a big place, but the paddock? Not so much. People cross paths here all the time. Fate could also work in you and Lando’s favor.

“I have a feeling we’ll meet some interesting people this weekend,” Oscar said, casually testing the waters. “You never know who might show up in the paddock.”

“You think so? Like who?” Lando raised an eyebrow, now intrigued.

“Just a hunch. You know how these events go, a lot of fans and celebrities come through.” Oscar shrugged, playing it cool as he smiled at Lando. Hoping what he said wouldn’t come off too eager.

“Yeah, I guess we’ll see. It’d be nice to connect with some new faces.” Lando grinned.

Oscar just decided to remain quiet, but inside his mind, he had promised himself that if your paths didn’t cross naturally over the course of the race weekend, he would make sure to plan the two of you to meet. It was high time for Lando to get that second chance, and if fate wouldn’t still bring you and Lando together, then Oscar would be more happy to lend a hand.

As you and your cousins walked around the bustling paddock, the excitement of the day washed over you. You were engaged in conversation, pointing out different drivers, when suddenly, your cousins spotted someone they knew and ran off to catch up. You paused, taking a moment to soak in the atmosphere and admire the vibrant energy that surrounded you. You never knew that you’ll be enjoying the Grand Prix with your cousin—it was eventful, but really fun.

Suddenly, your eyes caught sight of someone familiar stepping out of the McLaren motorhome—a head of curly hair, sharp jawline, and those aquamarine eyes that had been burned deep into your memory since that night at the club in Miami. It was him. Most of all, you wouldn’t expect that the man you had met in the club was Lando Norris. You had seen his face all over the paddock, and your cousin telling you who he was.

You froze for a moment, your heart was caught up in your throat. Lando was walking with a group of people, laughing and chatting, completely unaware that you were standing just meters away. It felt like time had slowed down for you. Could this really be happening? After all those months of missed chances and near encounters, fate had finally decided to stop playing games and let your paths cross again—and here you were, in Singapore, of all places.

But just as you gathered your thoughts, Lando turned his head in your direction. His laughter faded, and his eyes locked onto yours. There was a flicker of surprise, then sudden recognition as his face shifted from casual curiosity to something more intense. It was like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, and neither could you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in a strange limbo of disbelief. But as you or cousins called out to you, completely oblivious to the emotional earthquake happening between you and Lando, you snapped back to reality. You offered a nervous smile and a small wave, really unsure of what to do next. Would he even remember you? Should you go over and say something? Or maybe he was just staring at someone behind you.

“Hey! We’re heading over there!” Your cousins shouted, pointing toward another part of the paddock.

You felt a wave of disappointment was over you, knowing that you had no choice but follow and be with them. As you turn to leave, you glance back at Lando one last time, just in time to catch him staring intently at your back. Lando’s expression shifted as his eyes widened, and you realized he had spotted your tattoo—the intricate Sak Yant design that adored your skin.

In that moment, you could almost see the gears turning in his mind as he began connecting the dots. Your heart raced again, a mix of hope and fear. But before you could linger on your thoughts, your cousins tugged at your arm, leading you away. You felt a strange sense of longing, wishing desperately for a chance to bridge the gap. Little did you know, Lando was feeling the same way.

Fate had finally brought you together again. Now, the ball is in Lando’s court.

433 notes · View notes

notlongtolove · 30 days ago

Text

sun makes the day new

it’s not the first time derek has called him during a night out, trying to rope him into joining the fun. the usual calls came with garbled voices passing the phone around, shouting ‘wish you were here!’, ‘just come out!’ and multiple slurred variations of ‘reidddddd’. but derek’s never called for help before.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: bau!reader is drunk! and spencer takes care of her

word count: 3.8k

note: spencer taking care of drunk bau!reader fills a void in me... spencer is reading the olfactory ethics thesis from twitter hahahahhhaha

a line: You’re the only reason he’d ever go—and the only reason he’d ever go unwillingly.

Sun makes the day new. Tiny green plants emerge from earth. Birds are singing the sky into place. There is nowhere else I want to be but here. I lean into the rhythm of your heart to see where it will take us. - joy harjo

It’s not often that Spencer gets a night to himself. Well, he’s used to spending most nights alone, but tonight, he actually has the time to make a cup of tea, to tuck himself under the sheets with a new read, even light the candle Garcia had given him two christmases ago. Nights like these, quiet and uninterrupted, are few and far between.

“This thesis studies how literature registers the importance of olfactory discourse—the language of smell and the olfactory imagination it creates—in structuring our social world. The broad aim of this thesis is to offer an intersectional and wide-ranging study of olfactory oppression by establishing the underlying logics that facilitate smell’s application in creating and subverting gender, class, sexual, racial and species power structures. I focus largely on—”

And then his phone is ringing, cutting through the stillness. With a heavy sigh, he lifts it to his ear begrudgingly, but before he can say anything, pulsating music bursts through the speaker, forcing him to pull it away sharply and fumble with the volume.

“Reid! Hey!” Derek’s voice crackles over the line. “What are you—” your voice cuts in, loud and unmistakably indignant. “Are you calling Spencer—You’d better not be!” “I didn’t! I’m not—Ow!” A muffled struggle follows and then a sharp gasp. “You did! Oh, Derek Morgan, I’m gonna—”

The line cuts off abruptly, leaving Spencer staring at his phone, brow furrowed in confusion. He considers calling Derek back but hesitates, Derek’s a tough guy; he can handle you, even when you’re tipsy. So, he sets the phone down and tries his best to refocus on the article in his lap.

“I focus largely on prose fiction from the modern and contemporary periods so as to trace the legacy of olfactory prejudice into today and situate its contemporary relevance. I suggest that smell very often invokes identity in a way that signifies an individual’s worth and status in an inarguable manner that short-circuits conscious reflection. This can be accounted for by acknowledging olfaction’s strongly—”

But the phone rings again, breaking the distinct quiet of his room. Spencer’s eyes flicker with irritation as he picks it up, this time holding it a safe distance from his ear.

“Can you—Would you get off me—Can you hear me?” The music in the background has faded, indicating that Derek has stepped outside. “Stop! Garcia grab her—Sorry, you there?”

“Still here.” His response is calm but tinged with impatience.

“Listen, we’ve got a bit of a… situation.”

The words immediately put Spencer on edge. It’s not the first time Derek has called him during a night out, trying to rope him into joining the fun. The usual calls came with a mix of laughter, music, and garbled voices passing the phone around, shouting ‘Wish you were here!’, ‘Just come out!’ and, of course, multiple slurred variations of ‘Reidddddd’.

But Derek’s never called for help before.

“How bad is it?”

Spencer hears Derek take a deep breath, as though trying to steady himself before turning back to the phone. “Man, it’s pretty bad.”

“He’s lying Spence,” your slurred voice protests from a distance, teetering between laughter and the edge of a sob, “I’m just—Augh!” comes your muffled reply, followed by a struggle that’s half-heard through the line—something heavy shifting, a soft thud. “I’m just tipsy!” Spencer strains to hear the distant sound of hurried footsteps, heels on pavement. “I got her! I got her!” The clatter of keys and the rustle of fabric echo in the background.

“Sweetie you’re not tipsy, you’re—very intoxicated,” He hears garcia add, worry coloring her words.

“I’d say shit-faced,” Emily chimes in from the background, the amusement in her voice undeniable.

“She’s—” Derek mutters, “She’s pretty messed up, and uh—” He hesitates, the pause stretching into the silence. “She wouldn’t stop asking for you.” There’s an edge of exasperation in his voice. “How soon do you think you can get to 43rd and King Drive?”

This isn’t the first time Spencer’s been dragged out for a night he didn’t want. And it’s certainly not the first time he’s seen you drunk. In fact, if there were a Venn diagram mapping Spencer’s nights out and nights he was reluctantly pulled into, you’d sit squarely in the middle. You’re the only reason he’d ever go—and the only reason he’d ever go unwillingly.

Spencer rubs the bridge of his nose, already standing up, his eyes shut tight as he breathes out a shaky sigh. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

When Spencer pulls up to the address Derek had texted him, the group of you is impossible to miss. Emily is leaning against a lamppost, cradling what Spencer can only hope is her last drink of the night. Derek, propped on a fire hydrant is half-heartedly trying—and failing—to flag down a cab. Meanwhile, Garcia sits on the curb, gently stroking your hair as you rest against her, your eyes half-closed and face flushed.

“What did she have?” Spencer demands as he steps out of the car.

Derek, standing a few feet away, immediately tilts his head toward Emily, as though absolving himself of any blame. “Ask that one.”

Spencer’s eyes narrow as they land on Emily. She meets his stare with a guilty look. “Vodka, tequila, … a couple shots.”

“How many?” Spencer asks, countering her.

“I uh, lost count.”

Spencer blinks, momentarily speechless.

“Bar was half off,” Emily shrugs, as if that explained everything.

With a sigh, Spencer shakes his head and crouches down beside you, his focus now entirely on your slumped form. His gaze softens as he takes in your flushed face and half-lidded eyes. You stir faintly, murmuring something incoherent as he brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead.

“She’s been this way for the past fifteen minutes,” Garcia says softly, her concern evident. “Poor thing, all that running must have really worn her out.” She pauses, a hint of disbelief slipping into her voice. “Y’know, I never would’ve guessed she’d be a running drunk.”

“Didn’t take her for a scratcher, either,” Derek chimes in, rubbing at a red mark on his neck. “Damn, the girl’s got claws.”

If he weren’t so worried, Spencer might have chuckled and launched into an explanation about the statistics behind why some people bolt when they’re drunk. He’d looked it up after the time he’d had to chase you down during your birthday last year, the last one left standing to wrangle you back home. But right now, there’s no room for humour.

Kneeling beside you, Spencer places a steadying hand on your shoulder. His voice drops low, calm and gentle. “Hey, can you hear me?” Your eyelids flutter weakly, a faint groan slipping past your lips as you lean ever so slightly into his hand. It’s enough to give him a sliver of reassurance, though not much.

“She’s definitely gonna feel that in the morning,” Derek chuckles faintly, stepping closer.

“Not helping, Morgan,” Spencer deadpans, his tone heavy with dry exhaustion. “Has she, you know—?” He makes a vague gesture, his meaning clear.

Emily jerks her thumb toward a couple of lampposts down. “Mhm. Barely made it out.”

Spencer follows the direction of her gesture, catching sight of a dark puddle by the door glistening faintly under the streetlight. He swallows hard, grimacing. “Right. That’s—That’s good.”

He adjusts his grip on your arm, bracing himself as he turns to Derek. “Help me get her to the car,” Derek nods, crouching down to take your other arm. “On three,” he murmurs, and together they hoist you up with practiced care. Your body is limp but pliable, your head rolling slightly as they steady you between them.

The motion stirs you, your eyes fluttering open as an irritated groan escapes your lips. “Stoppp—I can walk, I can—Morgan let go!”

“It’s me—Hey,” Spencer says, his voice calm but tinged with urgency. “It’s just me.”

“Spence?” The word is slurred, fragile.

Spencer’s heart clenches at the sound, his frustration momentarily giving way to something softer. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice low and steady. “I’m here. We’re getting you home.”

As the word slips out, he catches Derek’s eyebrow arching in his peripheral vision, the silent question practically radiating off him. Spencer doesn’t falter, his sharp, no-nonsense stare meeting Derek’s head-on. It’s enough to make Derek quickly avert his gaze, holding back whatever teasing remark had undoubtedly been forming on his lips.

You and Spencer weren’t together. But you weren’t not together either. Whatever it was, it wasn’t in any way that people could put a label on. Unspoken yet undeniable. It wasn’t something you or Spencer were particularly adept at explaining either, nor was it something Spencer felt the need to justify, not to Derek, and especially not now.

Your head lolls slightly against Spencer’s shoulder as they guide you forward, your weight shifting unsteadily between him and Derek. In Spencer’s presence, your expression visibly softens, sharp tongue giving way to sugar-coated phrases, the tension in your body melting away. It’s a stark contrast to the wild, uncooperative runner and scratcher the other three had described and had very obviously struggled to contain.

“You’re so nice, honey,” you mumble, your words slurred but filled with earnest sincerity. “Always so nice.”

“Definitely could’ve used your help thirty minutes ago,” Derek quips sarcastically.

“I was reading—trying to.” The annoyance clings to Spencer’s words.

“Right,” Derek lets out a low chuckle, “of course you were.”

“Seeeee!” You fawn, “Isn’t he the nicest?” You pause for a moment, your head tilting as if considering something profound. “And so handsome. Very nice and very handsome. The nicest and the handsomest,” you muse, your tone dreamy and matter-of-fact.

Derek snorts, his grip on your arm steady. “Don’t start,” Spencer mutters, his voice dry but tinged with something softer. The faintest pink creeps up his neck as you lean into him, your head pressing against his shoulder, seeking the comfort only he seems to provide.

It’s a chaotic tangle of limbs, with Derek flinching when your hand swings a little too close to his face—again. But they manage to get you settled into the passenger seat. As Spencer leans over to fasten your seatbelt, Derek leans against the hood of the car, smirking, “You know, Reid, maybe it’s time to retire pretty boy. Honey has a nicer ring to it, don’t you think?”

“I dunno, I prefer sweetheart,” Emily quips, her tone syrupy and teasing. “It’s got that rustic charm,” she drawls, throwing in an exaggerated wink for good measure.

Spencer rolls his eyes as he slides into the car, the door closing behind him. He hesitates, casting a quick glance at the others. “You guys… you have a ride back right?”

“Aw, would you look at that? The perfect gentleman. A one-stop kind of guy.” Garcia teases, mischief in her eyes.

“More like a one-woman kind of guy,” Derek says under his breath—Just loud enough for everyone to hear. It earns him a playful swat on the arm from Garcia.

Spencer’s face turns a deep shade of pink as he stumbles over his words. “That’s not... that’s not what I meant,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I could—”

“Relax, Reid,” Emily interjects, gesturing toward the passenger seat. “Go get her home. We’ll figure ourselves out.” Spencer nods quickly, grateful for the out, though his ears are still burning as he starts the engine, determined not to look back at their knowing smiles.

The first time you brought Spencer to your apartment, you’d warned him about the stairs. He’d laughed it off, dismissing your concern with a grin, saying the three-flight walk-up wasn’t so bad—it added character, a touch of history to the building. “Besides,” he’d added, “did you know that having stairs in apartments likely means the building predates the widespread use of elevators which wasn’t all that common in residential construction until after Elisha Otis introduced his safety elevator in 1854?”

But now, hauling you up those very same stairs, Spencer is sweaty, out of breath, and cursing whoever thought a three-story walk-up in a brownstone was a good idea.

“One more step, just one more—there you go, sweetheart,” he says through gritted teeth, practically dragging you up those last few steps. “Now, where are your keys?” He pats your bag as he speaks, more to himself than to you.

“My—hiccup—my keys are—hiccup—in there,” you slur, pointing vaguely at the bag he’s already rifling through.

When the door finally swings open with a shove that’s harder than Spencer intended, it bangs against the wall, making both of you jump. You lurch forward, your balance teetering precariously, but Spencer is quicker, his arm darting out to catch you before you can topple over.

“Whoa, easy,” he says, his tone gentle but firm as he steadies you, his hand lingering at your waist to make sure you’re upright.

You hum in response, barely acknowledging his effort as you shrug off his support and make a beeline for the bedroom. Your steps are uneven, your movements sluggish, and before you can collapse face-first onto the bed, Spencer steps in again, catching you mid-fall.

“Uh-uh,” he chides as he props you back up. “How about we change before we dive into our nice, warm bed, huh?”

You blink at him, swaying slightly as you process his words. “Mm. Warm. I like warm.” You pause, and then, as if hit by divine inspiration, you blurt out, “Soup. I want soup.”

“Soup?” Spencer echoes, a hint of exasperation creeping into his tone. “No soup, honey. Not right now,” he says, heading toward the bathroom to grab a makeup wipe. But before he can make it two steps, your bottom lip begins to tremble, tears pooling in your eyes.

“But… I,” you whisper, your voice cracking, “I really really want soup.”

Spencer freezes, his defences crumbling in an instant as he sees a single tear spills over, streaking your cheek. Oh, how could he ever say no to you?

“Oh, baby, no, don’t cry,” he murmurs, rushing back to you, crouching slightly to meet your gaze. He cups your face gently, his thumbs brushing away any other tears that threaten to fall. “Okay, okay. I’ll make you soup, alright? Just... let me take care of you first, yeah?”

Sniffling, you nod, your tears beginning to subside. “And then soup?” you ask softly, your voice small but hopeful.

Spencer’s lips curve into a gentle smile as he brushes a stray tear from your cheek. “Yeah, baby. And then soup. Whatever you want,” he murmurs, his tone warm and reassuring. Spencer knows deep down that you don’t actually want or need soup—it’s just the fixation of the moment in your drunken haze. Still, he decides to play along for now, hoping that with time, the thought will slip from your mind.

Carefully, he helps you out of your clothes, his hands steady and patient as he guides you into one of his soft, oversized shirts. You mumble something slurred and incoherent about how impossibly comfy it is, and his lips twitch into a fond smile. “Yeah honey, you’re right,” he humours you, adjusting the hem gently, “Fabric softener really does work wonders, doesn’t it?”

Spencer reaches for a makeup wipe from your vanity, his movements gentle as he starts to carefully remove the smudged remnants of mascara under your eyes. His eyes nearly pop out of his head when he sees one of your lashes come loose, but then he remembers you’d mentioned wearing false lashes on nights out. Right, that makes sense.

After two makeup wipes—both stained with hues of browns, pinks and purples, smudged from your makeup—he lifts your limp head, checking for any remaining traces. Your doe eyes blink up at him, looking soft and pretty, but there's an obvious blankness behind them as you babble on about how handsome he is.

You’d once talked about something you watched on double cleansing, or was it triple? Better safe than sorry, he thinks grabbing another wipe to be sure. Once he’s satisfied, he sets the wipe down and brushes your hair back from your face. “There we go,” he murmurs soothingly, brushing your hair back from your face. “All done,” he says, his voice soft as a lullaby.

You smile drips with affection as you look back up at him, and for a brief, blissful moment, he thinks the ordeal is over. Then you whisper:

“Soup?”

Spencer’s face falls, a mix of exasperation and reluctant affection washing over him. “Soup,” he repeats, more to himself than to you. He sighs, but when he looks down at your earnest, pleading face, his resolve crumbles all over again. “Okay, honey,” he relents, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’ll make you soup. You stay right here, alright?”

“M’kay,” you murmur, along with something incoherent, obediently crawling under the covers as Spencer tucks you in. And then you’re out like a light.

When you wake up the next morning, the first thing that hits you is the dull, relentless throb behind your eyes. The second is how heavy your body feels, limbs weighed down like lead, and you find yourself wincing as you shift under the tangled sheets. You’re not sure how you got home, you don’t know why your feet hurt so much either. And is that blood under your nails? You groan, clutching your temples in a futile attempt to block out the unanswered questions. Right now, all you know is that you need water. Desperately.

A sharp ache runs down your spine as you sit up, and you reach blindly for the water bottle on your nightstand. Your hand fumbles over the plastic, knocking it to the floor with a soft thud, and the sound only amplifies the pounding in your head.

“Hey, you alright there?”, Spencer calls out.

The unexpected voice startles you so much that you let out a sharp scream, immediately regretting it as the noise rebounds inside your aching head. “Ah! Jesus, Spence, you scared me!” you groan, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes.

Spencer’s face, which had been etched with concern, softens into a sheepish smile. He’s sitting in the chair by your bedroom door, a book resting on his knee, clearly having been there for a while. “Sorry, honey,” he says softly, closing the book and setting it aside. “I was just... keeping an eye on you.”

You blink at him, still trying to piece together why he’s even here. “Keeping an eye on me?” you ask, your voice hoarse and thick with confusion.

“You were... a little out of it last night,” Spencer explains gently, standing up and moving to pick up the water bottle that had fallen to the floor. He twists the cap open and hands it to you, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment, steadying your hand.

You take a cautious sip, the cool water soothing your parched throat. “Last night? But you—you weren’t even there.” You frown, trying to piece the fragmented memories together. There was Derek, Emily, Garcia, shots, that weird guy who kept staring at you, more shots... Were you really that drunk? No, you definitely would’ve noticed if Spencer had been there, right?

Spencer’s smile is small, almost apologetic, as he moves to sit on the edge of your bed, his voice soft but direct. “Let’s just say you’re pretty good at keeping everyone on their toes. And, uh, backup was needed.”

“That bad, huh?” you murmur. “What did I do?”

It’s kind of more like what didn’t you do? Spencer thinks but keeps it to himself. He hesitates for a moment, as if he’s deciding how much to tell you, then speaks carefully. “I think it’s safe to say Morgan’s not exactly thrilled about the scratch marks.” He can’t help the small laugh that escapes, but it’s more for reassurance than amusement.

“Oh, god.” You groan and bury your face in your hands, the embarrassment rising in your chest.

Spencer gently rubs reassuring circles on your knee, steady and soothing as he tries to ease the tension evident in your face. “You were... spirited,” he offers diplomatically. “Nothing unfixable. Besides, I’ve seen worse.”

You peek at him through your fingers, surprised by how calm he seems despite everything. “I’m so sorry, Spence,” you say, your voice muffled by your hands. “Did I ruin your night?”

He shrugs with a small, reassuring smile. “Not at all. Kind of hard to be mad after you called me ‘very nice and very handsome’ at least three times.”

You groan again, your cheeks burning as you down another sip of water. Spencer chuckles softly, the sound light and comforting.

“How’s your head?” he asks, his voice gentle with concern, though the answer is clear.

A groan.

“Aw, honey,” he coos sympathetically, his arms opening wide in invitation. “C’mere.”

Too drained to move, you opt for flopping forward into his lap instead, your body feeling heavy and sluggish. Spencer’s hands immediately go to your hair, stroking it gently, his touch soothing. “Hurts, huh?” he murmurs softly.

You whine in agreement, your head resting against him as you let his fingers work through your tangled hair. He chuckles lightly, a sound that brings some small relief. “You hungry?” he asks, his voice still filled with concern, though it’s laced with a hint of casual care.

Another mewl escapes you, the idea of food nearly as unappealing as your pounding headache.

“You need electrolytes, honey,” Spencer suggests gently, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “We’ve gotta get something in you.”

You peek out from the mess of your hair, an eyebrow quirked as you attempt a teasing smile. “So forward, Doctor Reid,” you try to joke, your voice sluggish. “At least buy me dinner first.”

“You know what I mean,” Spencer says as he jokingly swats your arm.

You huff softly, your eyelids barely staying open. “Can’t move,” you mumble, curling further into his lap, trying to escape the weight of your headache. “Don’t make me move.”

Spencer chuckles quietly, his fingers gently tracing the line of your hair as he speaks. "You've gotta move at some point, sweetheart."

You whine in protest, your body too exhausted to even think of standing. "An hour?"

"I'll give you 10 minutes," he counters.

"40?" you bargain weakly, lifting your head just enough to look at him through half-lidded eyes.

"20," he shoots back.

You think for a moment, the numbers swirling in your hazy mind. "30?"

Spencer's grin widens, body moving as you gently tug him closer. "Fine," he relents with a soft sigh. "But only because you called me handsome that fourth time." You roll your eyes as you shift to make space for him.

He slides onto the bed beside you, his body pressing against yours as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into the comfort of his warmth. Your head rests on his chest as he tucks you in closer, his fingers running soothingly along your arm.

"Hey, Spence?"

"Hm?"

"Why’s there a bowl of soup on my dresser?"

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer Reid masterlist #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff

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felassan · 7 months ago

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Dragon Age: The Veilguard info compilation Post 3

[Part 1] [Part 2] Post is under a cut due to length.

There is a lot of information coming out right now about DA:TV from many different sources. This post is just an effort to compile as much as I can in one place, in case that helps anyone. Sources for where the information came from have been included. Where I am linking to a social media user’s post, the person is either a dev, a Dragon Age community council member or other person who has had a sneak peek at and played the game. nb, this post is more of a ‘info that came out in snippets from articles and social media posts’ collection rather than a 'regurgitating the information on the official website or writing out what happened in the trailer/gameplay reveal’ post. The post is broken down into headings on various topics. A few points are repeated under multiple headings where relevant. Where I am speculating without a source, I have clearly demarcated this. if you notice any mistakes in this post, please tell me.

Character Creation

All armor and clothing options will scale and mesh to any body type [source]

The character creator has lots of sliders for body parts and overall shape, none of which are tied to the voice or pronouns (she/her, he/him, or they/them) that you choose [source]

"Epler took special care to show off the extensive curly and textured hair options in the game, including several versions of braids and locs, noting that increasing these options in particular was very important to the team" [source]

You can change your character’s physical appearance at any time during the game, but not their class or backstory [source]

"Each individual class has some variability, too; even the mage class has some up-close-and-personal attacks, since a mage player character could still conceivably have an assassin backstory and would therefore need to have some attacks to accommodate that sort of career path" [source]

" "We’ve spent a lot of time thinking about skin tone,” Corinne said. The character we made, a Black elf, seemed to glow in the bluish light of a nighttime scene, and under bright sunlight, I could see the richness of his color. Corinne: "We want to make sure that skin tone is reflected authentically" " [source]

" “We have dozens and dozens of hair types,” she said. “And they’re fully affected by physics.” The quality and variety of choices I saw delighted me. The rows of bouncy, luxurious-looking hair of all curl types and textures (and yes, the annoyingly ubiquitous “Killmonger cut” was among the options, what can you do?) brought the biggest smile to my face in the hour I spent with Busche and The Veilguard." [source]

Story and lore

NPCs will remember when you chuck a shopkeeper through a plate-glass window [source]

" The game’s story sees Solas intact a plot that will result in the deaths of thousands. When his justification that “people die, it’s what they do,” falls on deaf ears, you and your merry band of misfits have to stop him " [source]

" “Early in the demo and in the trailer, you’re in a part of the world you’ve never been in – Tevinter,” Epler tells me. “Tevinter is known for being a place of high magic; visually, it’s different. Obviously in Origins you’re in Ferelden, which was grubby, muddy, and very visually different and distinct. That said, it’s the first hour of the game, so we’re only seeing the prologue. As you go deeper, you’ll find that the game can be just as bloody and just as grim as Dragon Age Origins, 2, and Inquisition. For us, it’s that feeling of contrast. You get moments of higher fantasy magic coming back to the world through Solas’ ritual, but also things get pretty grim, and things get pretty dark in some spaces for sure.” " [source]

"Snappy dialogue" [source]

The game is really about each of the companions [source]

Narrative narrative narrative! [source]

The Shadow Dragons are an underground resistance that engages in guerrilla warfare against the corrupt mage rulers of the Tevinter Imperium [source]

"Varric has created the group called the Veilguards, recruiting a veritable group of weirdos to pursue Solas, who’s carved a path through the magical empire of Tevinter" [source]

"There’s intrigue to the game’s tale already, with Varric hoping he can convince Solas to stop his plan of tearing open the Veil: a wish by the dwarf to save a dear friend. There’s a fascinating relationship that's already being set up, Varric and Solas as opposing narrative forces, with your character, Rook, pulled between them" [source]

"There’s extra context to flesh out dialogue, with short descriptions that help give a vague idea of how things play out. The example we were shown was Rook trying to take down a gang leader inside a bar. We could choose to defuse the situation with either words or weapons, but the catch is you don’t know how effective those approaches will be" [source]

" Busche explained that the team wanted to give players a game where locations were imbued with just as much personality as the characters. “That meant making contrast from the areas that are dark and decaying to the areas that are illuminated with magic,” Busche said " [source]

" “This is a part of the world where magic has been embraced,” Busche said. “It is a society of mages and magic in this world is inherently colorful. So whether we’re seeing them use magic for everyday purposes like signage or using them as spells, that color really comes through.” " [source]

We will visit the Necropolis of Nevarra [source]

Gameplay, presentation, performance etc

There are dozens of abilities and spells [source]

The game has an easy mode [source]

There is a setting where your character can't die in battle [source]

"The Rogue class in our demo had a bow with recharging arrows for ranged attacks, and dual blades that could unleash a furious flurry of instantaneous blows" [source]

[☕ found this post or blog interesting or useful? my ko-fi is here if you feel inclined. thank you 🙏]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #solas #lgbtq #long post #longpost #injury cw

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threestarsinline · 20 days ago

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The Word of Your Body

Jason Todd x reader one shot

Summary: Jason comes back from patrol, but something is keeping his mind still somewhere out there. You're always there to bring him back and let him know he's safe. At home. With you.

Word Count: 5.8K

Category: Angst-ish because Jason is going through it but fluff because reader is there to comfort him

Warnings: Jason having a bad time

Author’s note: I know, I know, three fics in one year?? Who am I? Jsjksks truly an achivement for me, very happy and very proud hehe. Thank you for sticking with me and supporting my fics, I love you all. That said, enjoy!

It’s really incredible how much one can know about a person just by their body. From the way they move, to how they carry themselves, to the small gestures that they make in their day to day that reflect who they are, to the little telltale signs of how they’re feeling. A smile, a wrinkle between the eyebrows, a twitch of their hand.

And not just the movements of the body but you can also learn a lot from the singularities and marks that one has on their skin. A child with a scrape on their knee from running too fast on the playground. A chef with hundreds of small cuts on their hands from mastering the use of a knife. A ballet dancer with wounded toes. A painter with watercolors under their nails. A piano player with soft and delicate hands.

You can have a lot of information about a person just by observing them, knowing how they move and how their body reacts to things. A flinch from fear at the threat of danger. A shiver at the gentle touch of a lover.

That’s how you immediately know that something’s wrong when Jason returns from patrol. And you don’t even need to see him.

You’re reading in bed when you hear him come in. Always waiting up for him whenever you can. It isn’t difficult for you since you’ve always preferred staying up late rather than waking up early. Unless you have something to do early the next morning, you always wait for him to come home, to come to you, liking to see him as soon as he returns to make sure that he’s made it back to you safe and sound.

You either read or watch something on TV while you wait despite how many times he’s told you that you don’t have to wait up for him, that you should sleep. And every time you shake your head and say, “And go to sleep without you next to me? Never.” And every time Jason rolls his eyes at your stubbornness while his heart thrums in his chest at how much he loves you and then gently cups your face in his hands and kisses you softly.

And even when you can’t help it and you do have to go to sleep earlier or exhaustion wins over you and brings you to the depths of slumber without warning, Jason always approaches you quietly so as to not disturb you and kisses your forehead to let you know he’s home. If you’re on the couch he brings you to bed, and if you’re already in bed, he settles the covers better over you, just the way you like.

And those times you always smile in your sleepy state and unless he’s injured and needs your help patching him up, you follow semi consciously the sound of his footsteps around the apartment. The sound of the shower as he steps inside to rinse away the Gotham night clinging to him, the sound of rustling sheets as he finally climbs into bed with you, and are finally lulled back to sleep when warmth surrounds you as he brings you into his arms.

You’re no metahuman but you’ve developed a sixth sense for everything regarding Jason Todd. You would be able to easily spot him in a crowd of thousands after having just faintly heard his voice in the distance even if he didn’t have that white tuft of hair singling him out, all your senses zeroed in on him. It’s like your body and mind are always tuned to find him, like tweaking the dial of the car radio to find your favorite station and finding it on the very first try.

You have a master’s degree on Jason Todd and all of his movements, small gestures and twitch of expressions that he doesn’t even realize that he’s doing, you know it all by heart. You know that when the right side of his smirk pulls slightly at his cheek as he’s admiring you doing something mundane, he’s going to kiss you. You know that when he flexes his hands at his sides something is bothering him. You know that he’s going to laugh loudly and wholeheartedly when the sound makes his shoulders shake slightly before making its way up his throat, as if he’s trying to contain it but the laugh is so strong and spontaneous that he can’t fight it. And you know he’s in pain from a bruise on his ribs when he shifts his weight on his feet and a grimace appears on his face for just a second.

That’s how you know that something’s up when you hear him climb through your living room window and his steps don’t sound as if he’s trying to not make too much noise in order to not wake you up in case that you’re asleep, but as if he's trying to make himself as small as possible. It’s a subtle difference but it’s there. You know it because you’ve encountered it before.

Your worry only increases when in the next four seconds that it takes you to find your bookmark between the sheets and place it in your book, you don’t hear him move at all. He doesn’t come find you and he doesn’t call your name.

When you exit the bedroom you find him in the middle of the living room. He just stands there, shoulders hunched, red helmet gripped tightly in hand, head looking down, his hair falling over his forehead.

Something has happened. You don’t know what it is but your first worry right now is making sure that he’s okay. If he heard you come into the room he doesn’t show it. You take a couple of small yet purposeful steps towards him, making sure that they can be heard so that you can alert him of your presence, not wanting to startle him.

But nothing. He stays frozen.

You take a deep breath as your heart clenches at seeing him like this. It’s bad. Whatever has happened is really, really bad and it seems like Jason’s mind is still there. He’s not fully present with you right now.

But you know what you have to do. You have to bring him back here with you. Help him to separate himself, your loving, wonderful, and kind Jason from the horrors that Red Hood has to face every day.

You take another step in his direction. “Jason?” you whisper softly.

He doesn’t react. But he doesn’t flinch either. That’s good. He knows he’s somewhere safe. But he still needs to distance himself from whatever was out there. You finally come to stand in front of him, still not touching him. “Jay?” you try again while assessing him over, trying to pinpoint if he’s injured.

Again, nothing. But the hair that hangs over his forehead moves ever so subtly, almost in an imperceptible way, but you catch it nonetheless. The hair moved because he tilted his head in the slightest of ways. He’s listening to you. Knows that you’re there. You sigh in relief when you see his grip on the helmet lessen too. Good signs.

“I’m going to touch you, okay?”

He releases a deep breath, slowly allowing himself to let go, the tension that his shoulders held not as tight as before. Leaving his body slightly, leaving him at your mercy. He’s saying, Okay. Satisfied at that and at finding that he doesn’t seem to have any major injuries, you nod. Then, you gently and very slowly take his face in your hands to look at him. His eyes acknowledge you for a split second but then his emerald gaze returns to the floor, and you feel a crack forming in your heart at the utter sadness, desperation, and despair that you find in it.

Still, you feel him melt into your touch at his cheeks. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re home,” you offer softly.

He closes his eyes in response, reveling in the comfort that you bring him. Next, you take the helmet from his hand and set it on the kitchen counter before moving to the holster with his guns and very carefully unfastening its belt and leaving it all on the table. Helping him that way to step out of the Red Hood persona and everything that claws into it.

“Let’s take a shower,” you say, wanting to keep him informed of your every move. You take his hand and pull him with you towards the bathroom. He lets you guide him, fully trusting you but still not reacting to anything much.

You don’t ask him what’s happened. You don’t need to know. There are things that Jason doesn’t tell you about patrol. And you have no problem with it, knowing that he wants to separate those two parts of his life. But no matter what it is, you always let him know that he can come to you about them, that you’ll listen. That you’ll always be there for him. Always.

The other few times that you have seen him come home like this, slouched over and not talking much, you later learn, either by context from what you hear on the news and the streets, or by Jason directly telling you about it when he needs to let go and finally feels able share it, that the people he was after got away, that someone got hurt, or something like that.

But this time… This time something’s different. You have never seen him as bad as this. At least not from coming back from patrol. And it worries you. It worries you a lot and it kills you that you can’t do anything more than just be there for him. But it seems that that’s all that he needs right now so you settle on focusing on him.

From the guiltiness that hangs over him, tensing his shoulders and keeping his eyes down, and the distress and sorrow that you see in his gaze, you have a feeling that something terrible happened. Something that he couldn’t prevent. He couldn’t save somebody.

You can almost see how he’s replaying it in his mind, the shame and regret swirling in his head until they stiff all of his body. You need to reassure him, make him see how it isn’t his fault, how he did everything he could, and how he gave his all but how sometimes, despite how much you fight it and try to stop it, Gotham doesn’t let you escape the rot that runs through its streets.

Once you two reach the bathroom, you flick on the mirror light above the sink, casting you two in a soft golden light, not wanting to overwhelm him with the overhead one and its strong intensity.

You stand in front of him and help him take off his jacket before taking his hands in yours. He still doesn’t look at you as you take off his gloves. Once they’re gone, you take a moment to examine his hands, and you let out a sigh of relief at seeing that his knuckles aren’t wounded. Your thumbs softly trace the marred skin, small scars and irregular healing adorning his hands. You can’t help but bring them to your lips and press a long kiss to them, closing your eyes, trying to will away all the mental scars that they hold too just by the touch of your lips.

His hands, that could break bones but also mend and heal the most broken parts of yourself.

Despite what those hands either curled into fists or holding a gun could mean to other people, they’re precious to you. And one of the many wonderful parts of him. To you, they mean soft caresses while you’re laying in bed. They mean warmth when winter comes and he rubs them against your arms. They mean comfort, and safety, as he holds your sobbing body when you break down.

Their roughness both from handling dangerous weapons and using a pan to make you dinner. Jason Todd has a duality that still amazes you to this day, but you love all the multitudes that he contains all the same.

You then begin to remove his equipment. The chest armor, the knee pads, and any other protective gear, putting it all on the pile that you started with his jacket and gloves on top of the laundry basket to sort out later. Jason doesn’t move, only doing the movement necessary to help you undress him, like lifting his feet so that you can slip his boots off after having unlaced them.

But still, his gaze remains lost.

You set the boots to the side and get back up to your feet again. You walk around him to get the tub started for a bath, adding some oils and soap. You pass by him to exit the bathroom and grab some comfortable clothes for him after. Most of the time, unless it’s very cold, he normally sleeps shirtless with some sweatpants or even just his underwear during the hotter months, but you know that tonight he needs to feel covered, enveloped, protected. You begin to plan in your mind. A comfortable old shirt and sweatpants will do.

However, before you can even reach the doorframe and begin your walk to the bedroom, a hand wraps gently around your wrist. You whip back around, both surprised and glad at the same time that Jason has finally interacted with you on his own accord, this being the first contact with the outside world initiated by him. Another good sign.

You see Jason’s eyes fixed on your wrist before lifting his gaze to lock with yours.

Stay.

Your gaze softens and you take another step closer to him, almost being chest to chest. You lift your free hand to caress his cheek. “Of course,” you whisper. “I’m just going to grab you some clothes, okay? It’ll be five seconds.”

As you assure him, without realizing it, your thumb traces his cheek in the exact same motion that he has begun to rub soft circles into your wrist. He nods slowly.

“Okay,” you say and Jason releases his hold on you just enough for you to quickly slip to the bedroom. And just like you promised, you’re back just as fast, closing the door behind you so that the steam from the tub can warm up the room, starting to fog up the mirror too, and setting the clothes on the counter. And Jason still hasn’t moved an inch.

You stand in front of him again and delicately grab the hem of his shirt before looking up at him. And you don’t need words to understand each other. Can I?

Jason’s chin tips slightly. Yeah.

You slowly lift the shirt up his body and he raises his arms to help you. Once off, you leave the shirt with the rest of his discarded clothes. Then, with your hands in front of you so that Jason can see what you’re doing and anticipate your movements, you rest them on his shoulders and then gently slide them down his chest, feeling his well-worked muscles and creases from the scars on his skin.

Jason lets out a deep breath, the skin to skin contact grounding him. His eyes never leave you now, following every single one of your actions. And not because he needs to see what you’re doing in order to prepare himself, not anymore, but because you’re the only thing that seems real right now. The only thing tethering him to Earth.

Because to him, you’re his center of gravity. No matter how far he went, both in distance and into the depths of his mind, he will always come back to you.

You lean forward and press a tender kiss between his pecs. Jason shudders, feeling warmth, comfort, and light blooming from the spot that you kissed and extending through all of his body, from his torso to the ends of his limbs. Your touch like the first rays of sunshine after the coldest and longest night of the year in a frozen landscape, melting the frost and bringing everything back to life. Chasing away the Gotham chill clinging to his bones and the rigidness that holds him hostage. Replacing it all with you, just you. The warmth and safety that you provide.

Jason thinks that he wasn’t actually brought back to life all those years ago, just went through some kind of purgatory on Earth again until he reached his very own personal heaven. You. And he still has no idea what he did to deserve it.

Then you help him out of his pants until he’s standing in his underwear in front of you. His back is hunched, making him lean towards you but this time it’s not because of all the negative thoughts hanging over him, but because of the pull that you have over him, your gravity drawing him in.

You round him again to check the temperature of the water in the tub, though this time, Jason rotates his body to follow you, like a sunflower chasing the sun. Satisfied with both the water’s temperature and quantity, you close the tap.

“You want me to get in with you?” you ask, not minding that you have already showered for the day. Jason nods.

You nod to yourself and peel the shirt of his that you wear to sleep off your body, leaving you just like him, wearing only your lower underwear. And even with how exposed you two are, you’re not vulnerable. The air in the room thick not only with humidity but with the intimacy between you two. A kind that can only come from honest love and a complete feeling of trust.

But the air isn’t humming with electricity like in the other situations in which you two find yourselves with as little clothing as right now. Instead, the air is lulling, like a soft and warm wave gently rocking your body when you lay with your eyes closed in the sea. Comforting and lightening.

You discard both your final pieces of clothing and step into the tub, holding a hand out to Jason so that he can step in in front of you. When he joins you, you two finally sink your bodies in the warm and bubble covered water. You lean back at the edge of the tub with Jason between your legs, his back pressed to your chest, his head resting on your shoulder and your arms draped over his chest, all of you surrounding him, enveloping him, protecting him.

Even though the tub is relatively big, considering Jason’s huge frame, it wasn’t exactly meant for two, so you’re a mess of tangled limbs and warm bodies, but you can already feel Jason relaxing against you. You kiss the crown of his head and he finally closes his eyes.

You two lay there for a while, enjoying the hot water and letting it wash your worries away, the scent from the lavender oil that you used hanging in the air, calming your minds. You’re glad to see how the bath is helping Jason to let go of the events of the night, the remaining tension that clung to his body stripped by the water, and the memories from the night relegated to another place as you see the crease on his brows disappear as you draw gentle caresses on his chest.

You grab the shampoo bottle and start to wash Jason’s hair, working the roots and massaging his scalp to help him relax even further. Soon, hundreds of tiny white bubbles replace the sight of his black locks. You work on his hair longer than necessary but you can see how much it’s helping him, his breathing becoming even more deeper and slower. The only sign that he hasn’t fallen asleep, the hand that settles on your knee at his side.

You then rinse his hair, his white streak majestically poking between the black again. With a sponge you start to wash his body where you can reach, his shoulders, his upper arms and torso. When you’re done you maneuver yourself to sit in front of him, facing each other now. As you start to wash the rest of his arms, you see in his eyes that his thoughts are beginning to slip away, the events of the night calling him again. But you’re not having it. Nothing is taking Jason away from you tonight. Your goal, making him focus on you and only you.

“Can I tell you a story?” you say softly, your voice and the soft splash of water at the slightest movement the only sounds in the room.

Jason just shrugs his shoulders slightly. You nod as you focus on passing the sponge over his hands.

“It’s the story of a boy and a girl. About a wonderful boy and a girl who couldn’t believe her luck,” you begin. “One freezing winter afternoon, the girl slipped on some ice and the guy caught her by the waist, saving her from a pretty hurtful fate, though she almost brought him down with her. She apologized profusely as her cheeks warmed not only because of the embarrassment but because the man who’d caught her was the most handsome one she’d ever seen. But in her haste to step back from the stranger to try and save some embarrassment, she slipped on the ice again and he saved her once again.”

Jason can’t help the small smile that pulls at his lips. Because the story that you’re telling isn’t just any story. It’s your story. The story of how you met.

He wonders how you always knew exactly what to say. Hell, you could just be reading the grocery list out loud and he’d think that you deserved a Nobel Prize in Literature just because it came from you.

The sight of Jason’s smile pulls your lips into one too, and it warms your heart just like his worried gaze had done to your cheeks that very first day.

Both of you remember that day as clear as day, though neither of you could have ever anticipated how important it would be, how it had changed the course of your lives. You can still perfectly recall how he had cleared his throat awkwardly after catching you for the second time and his You alright, miss? How breathy his voice had sounded, as if something had taken his breath away, his heavy lower Gotham accent that had both surprised you and stirred something within you, and how vivid the green in his eyes was.

Just as bright as it is now as you continue the story. The shine that was always there whenever he looked at you.

“She had been pretty awkward, and she still can't believe how she’d managed to pull the kindest and hottest man in all of Gotham, the world even.” Jason snorts and you throw him a look, telling him not to question you because if there is one universal truth in this world—apart from the fact that a single man in possession of good fortune, must be in want of a wife—is that Jason Todd is the kindest and most gorgeous man that you have ever met.

“Though later he would reveal that he had found her nothing but endearing, despite what she might say about her awkwardness,” you continue.

Something about you already drawing him in. But just as quick as it all had happened, the moment passed by, and you two went your separate ways. Though not for long, because some time later, another afternoon, you were walking home when a running figure turned the corner and clashed into you. As you took a couple steps back to stabilize yourself you realized that you were head to head with the Red Hood. Which was strange since the sun was still setting and he had never been seen other than at night.

Jason hadn't planned on starting patrol so early but Tim had tipped him that some guys that he was after were having a meet up and Jason decided to give them a little surprise. Though that plan flew out the metaphorical window in the room of his mind as soon as he saw you again.

He had tried to forget the encounter in which he had saved the most beautiful girl that he’d ever seen from tumbling to the ground, and just as it seemed like he was about to succeed (not really, but at least manage to push the encounter to the back of his mind instead of your soft voice plaguing his every waking moment), he ran into you.

He stared at you bewildered, not believing that it was you, the sweet girl from the ice, and he was at a loss for words.

“Sorry,” you had said and at the sound of your voice he finally came out of his daze and shook his head.

“No need, it was my fault." He tilted his head. “You okay, miss?” You nodded, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down your spine at how similar he had sounded to your ice savior, his voice ingrained in your mind. And as much as Jason would have loved to stay there with you for a bit longer and hopefully learn your name, he had to get going, so he apologized again and you watched as he left.

And that should have been it. But somehow, it seemed like the universe had other ideas, crossing your paths later once again. And then one thing led to another and here you were now, sharing laundry and rent. Who would have thought? Certainly not you, when those strong arms caught you and you had no idea that they would become the place where you would feel the safest in.

Home.

Jason keeps listening as you finish recalling the start of your relationship. “And so their adventure together began. The clumsy girl from the ice and the boy that despite his rough exterior, had the gentlest, bravest, most selfless and most beautiful heart that she’d ever come to know.”

You finish the story with an enamored smile on your lips, the sweet memories fueling even more your love for him. A love and reassurance that you hope you have been able to convey in the story.

Jason sits in front of you with a small smile of his own, his heart beating golden light through his body, the love that you put there. His body finally relaxed and at peace, your hands holding his.

But then the smile falls from your lips as you see his eyes glass over. And even before he starts to tremble you pull him into you, wrapping your arms around him, his face hidden in your neck, his own arms snaking around you, holding you tight. And as the first tremors shake his shoulders, the first tears start to fall.

And you hold him through it. Taking everything that he needs to let go of in stride.

Because without the armor that he had built to keep his emotions at bay, swimming in the guilt and regret, once he finally relaxes, accepts that he’s safe and allows himself to be vulnerable, the dam breaks. And all the feelings come tumbling over.

The impotence. The sadness. The failure.

He’s not outright sobbing, the feelings working slowly but surely through him one by one. His body trembles slightly, a few tears falling onto your shoulder and a couple of sniffles here and there.

“I- I couldn’t-” He shakes his head and keeps silent once again. The first words that he’s said since he came home. The cracks in his broken voice forming ones in your heart. It stings more than salt in an open wound. You hold him as tight as you can. It’s like he needs to exteriorize these feelings and his body is allowing him to, but his voice can’t even go further than repeating that phrase over and over again. You shush him gently, letting him know that he doesn’t need to force himself to say anything. You’re here for him and that’s all that matters.

“It’s okay. You did everything you could, Jason. You’re a good man,” you whisper, trying to soothe the torture that he’s submitting himself to. But he shakes his head even more vehemently at your reassuring words and beautiful thoughts of him. Right now they don’t make any sense to him with how much he failed tonight. He’s not brave. He’s not kind. And he certainly isn’t good. He doesn’t know how you can say all of those things about him when he couldn’t-

You feel his internal monologue with how the time between his trembles, tears, and sniffles stretches. He’s lost in his head again. Thinking instead of feeling.

“Jason, hey, no. Stop,” you whisper gently but firmly. You unwind your arms from around him and take his head in your hands, holding his forehead to yours, looking into his eyes though his gaze avoids you.

“You are good. You’re kind, stubborn, funny, brave, determined, sarcastic, gentle, and loving. You’re all of those things. And sometimes things just go wrong and you can’t do anything to prevent them. You didn’t make any mistakes tonight, okay?” You don’t actually think that he can do anything wrong but you keep that to yourself. “Not being able to prevent something bad doesn’t make you any less of a good person.”

You can see how the thoughts race in his eyes.

“Jason. Look at me.” He finally locks eyes with you. “You know I’m not good at lying so listen to me when I say this. Whatever happened tonight is not your fault. You can cry. You should cry. You have to let go of everything that is storming inside you. What I’m not letting you do is convince yourself that you’re not good enough. Because you are, you hear me? You are.” You can’t help the tears that begin to prick at the corners of your eyes.

“I love you and I’m always going to be here for you for whatever you need, okay?” As a tear slips from your eye, Jason nods and hides in your neck again, letting his tears flow again. Letting himself feel. You envelop him in your arms once again.

“Okay,” he mutters against your skin. You sigh in relief and start to trace long shapes on his back.

You two stay there for a while, until both of you stop crying and his breathing returns to normal. And then you stay a little longer, just holding each other, Jason letting himself get lost in your soft skin and soothing scent, finally, finally, letting the night go. At least for now.

And then even a little longer, until the water turns lukewarm and a chill runs through your bodies.

“Want to go to bed?” you ask softly, threading your fingers through his hair, brushing away the damp strands falling on his forehead.

He nods slowly, lifting his head from your neck. “Thank you,” he whispers. You shake your head and he knows what you mean, You don’t have to thank me, I’d do anything for you.

“Come on,” you say and get up, offering him your hands. He takes them and gets up as well. You let the tub drain and step out of it, Jason following you. You quickly wrap Jason in a towel and then do the same with yourself. When you're done, he takes one of your hands gently and, while looking deep into your eyes, he kisses your knuckles. Thank you.

This time your gaze softens and you rest your hand against his heart. Of course.

After drying off you put your sleeping clothes back on and when you see Jason with the briefs that you brought already on and reaching towards the sweatpants, you gently swat his hand away. Let me take care of you.

He raises his hands in surrender and takes a step away from his clothes. Yes, ma’am.

“Are you hurt anywhere? Do you need me to patch you up?” He doesn’t seem to have any injury but you want to make sure. He shakes his head. You arch an eyebrow. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s tried to lie to you about that. He nods, extending his arms so that you can examine him, showing how he doesn’t have any wounds. You wait for a beat before nodding.

You help him get dressed and all the while his fond gaze follows you. He’s sure that the best feeling in the world is being taken care of by you. That sunshine feeling blooming again in his chest. You’re so bright and he’s just so- No. He’s promised that he isn’t going to think like that anymore. At least not more tonight.

He follows your directions as you make him sit on the toilet and watches as you comb his hair. But then he can’t help but close his eyes at how relaxed he feels under your care. When you’re done you kiss his forehead and he hums as you run your hand through his hair. When he opens his eyes again, you’re extending a hand to him and he takes it without hesitation.

You turn off the bathroom light and guide him to the bedroom. You climb into bed, your side always the furthest one from the door, no matter where you are, at home, at the manor, or traveling, Jason makes sure of that, and you open your arms, inviting him into your embrace. Jason gets into bed, laying half on top of you, and wraps his arms around your waist as he nuzzles into your neck, your legs tangled. You drape the covers over you both, practically burying yourselves under them and wrap your arms around him, protecting him from anything that could hurt him. Your very own cocoon.

He gives your waist a slight squeeze. I love you. You kiss his hair in return, hugging him even tighter.

And as you hold him tight, the two of you know that what happened tonight out there would still haunt Jason despite all your reassurances. But just as you know that, you also know that you’re always going to be there for him. To love him and care for him. So, for tonight, Jason lets himself be lulled to sleep by the sound of your heart. Each rhythmic thump thump telling him, I got you, you’re okay, I love you, over and over again.

Just like for you with him, your arms the place where he feels safest in. Home.

Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

#Jason todd x reader #Jason todd fic #Jason todd one shot #Jason todd imagine #Jason todd #Red hood x reader #Red hood fic #Red hood one shot #Red hood imagine #Red hood #Jason todd imagines #Red hood imagines #The Word of Your Body #ThreeStarsInLine #Jason todd fluff #Jason todd angst #Red hood fluff #Red hood angst #DC Comics

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goldsainz · 5 days ago

Text

# JB9 — NUMBER ONE GIRL !

MASTERLIST !

REQUEST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ on a rainy night, you reflect on the growing distance between you and joe, wondering if it’s time to let go.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ angst, emotional distance, talks of self-worth.

003. NOTE !

✯ i loved rosé’s album, and i feel like i haven’t seen enough people praising it??? idk i thought it was spectacular and so beautiful… this is my first written fic for joe so let me know how it is/or leave any feedback!

word count : 1,4k

The city lights blurred through the rain-streaked windows of your apartment. You stared out at the streets below, hands clutching a lukewarm cup of tea that you hadn’t taken a sip from in over an hour. Somewhere in the distance, the faint hum of sirens and car horns echoed, but your mind was locked on a single, unshakable thought—Joe.

The last time you saw him was two weeks ago, when he’d kissed you goodbye on his way to another game. You remembered the way his fingers lingered on your cheek, the way he’d promised to call as soon as he landed. And he did. At first. But as the days passed, the calls became shorter, less frequent. Now, you found yourself checking your phone obsessively, the growing silence between you heavy and suffocating.

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to shake the chill that had settled in your chest. It wasn’t just the distance; it was the feeling that you were slipping further from his world with every passing day. His life was so big, so public, and yours felt so small in comparison. It wasn’t jealousy—at least that’s what you told yourself. It was the gnawing fear that he didn’t need you the way you needed him.

You thought back to when you first met. It wasn’t under the glittering lights of his fame, but in the quiet hum of a coffee shop on a rainy afternoon. He wasn’t the Joe Burrow everyone knew then; he was just Joe, a boy with an easy smile and a laugh that felt like home. You fell in love with his humility, his quiet confidence, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the room. Back then, his world didn’t feel so far out of reach.

But as his stardom rose, the cracks began to show. The late-night calls where he’d vent about the pressures of the game turned into hurried messages about flights and schedules. The weekends you spent tangled up together in your tiny apartment became rare, replaced by distant conversations and fleeting visits. You’d watch him on TV, surrounded by adoring fans, and wonder if he still saw you the way he used to.

You remembered the fight that changed everything. It was a few months ago, after he missed your birthday. You’d tried to be understanding, telling yourself that his career demanded sacrifices. But when he called that night, his voice distant and distracted, something inside you snapped. You’d told him that you felt like an afterthought, like you were holding onto something that was already slipping away. He’d gone quiet, his silence cutting deeper than any words. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but firm. “You know how much this means to me. I thought you understood that.”

You’d cried yourself to sleep that night, the weight of his words pressing heavily on your chest. Since then, things had been different. The love was still there, but it felt frayed, like a thread stretched too thin. You wanted to believe that you could find your way back to each other, but the distance—both physical and emotional—felt overbearing.

Now, as you stared out at the rain-soaked streets, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were losing him. And the worst part? You weren’t sure if he even realized it.

The faint buzz of your phone jolted you out of your thoughts. His name flashed on the screen, and for a brief moment, your heart soared. But as you answered, the noise of a busy room greeted you before his voice did.

“Hey,” he said, his tone warm but rushed. “How’s it going?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing a smile he couldn’t see. “Good. Just the usual. How about you?”

“Busy,” he replied, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses in the background. “We just finished a team dinner. I wanted to check in before it got too late.”

“I’m glad you did,” you said softly, but the words felt hollow. The call already felt like an afterthought, something he’d done out of obligation rather than desire.

“How’s work?” he asked after a pause.

“It’s fine,” you replied. “Same old, same old. Nothing exciting happening here.”

“I’m sure you’re still killing it,” he said, his voice softening a little. “You always do.”

You smiled faintly at the compliment, even though it felt distant, like he was saying it out of habit. “Thanks. How’s the team? Everyone holding up okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Everyone’s been putting in the work. I think we’ve got a real shot.”

“That’s great,” you said, genuinely meaning it, but the words still carried a tinge of sadness. You wanted to be more excited, to share in his joy, but it was hard when you felt so far removed from his world.

There was another pause, longer this time. It felt like he was debating whether to say something. “Listen,” he started, “I might not make it back this weekend. Coach wants us to stay focused, and there’s some extra training we’re doing.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Yeah, I figured. It’s fine.”

“You sure?” he asked, his voice dipping slightly, like he knew it wasn’t.

“Yeah,” you lied, forcing a lightness into your tone. “I get it. You’re busy.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, but the words felt like they were on autopilot. How many times had he said that now? And how many times had you let it slide, convincing yourself that next time would be different?

“Okay,” you whispered, unable to muster anything more.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softening further. “I mean it. I hate being away this much. It’s not fair to you.”

Your throat tightened at the sincerity in his tone, but it only made the ache worse. “I know you’re doing what you have to do, Joe. I just… I miss you.”

There was a beat of silence on his end. “I miss you too,” he said finally, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it. “As soon as I get a break, we’ll do something. Just us. Okay?”

“Okay,” you murmured, even though you weren’t sure you believed him.

After the call ended, you stared at the phone, the screen dark and reflective. In it, you could see the faint outline of your face, tired and drawn. You thought back to the early days, when Joe’s attention felt like sunlight—warm and consuming, leaving no room for doubt. But now, the shadows had crept in, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were fighting for a space in a life that had outgrown you.

The rain outside grew heavier, the droplets cascading down the glass like tears you refused to shed. You wanted to call him back, to tell him everything—how lonely you felt, how much you missed the way things used to be. But what would that change? He was Joe Burrow, star quarterback, the golden boy of a city that adored him. And you? You were just the girl waiting for him to come home.

With a sigh, you set the phone down and turned away from the window. Maybe it was time to stop waiting. Maybe it was time to figure out who you were without him. But as you curled up on the couch, the thought of letting go felt like the hardest thing in the world.

The ache in your chest deepened, and a single tear slipped down your cheek. Maybe it wasn’t just time to figure out who you were without him. Maybe it was time to let him figure out what life was like without you. And maybe—just maybe—he’d realize what he’d lost.

You glanced back at your phone one last time, half expecting another call, a message, something—but the screen remained blank. In the silence of your apartment, you allowed yourself to wonder: if you walked away now, would he even notice? Would he fight for you the way you had always fought for him?

As the night stretched on, the doubt lingered, and the loneliness settled in like an old friend. Because deep down, you feared the answer more than the silence.

#*ੈ✩༄ my works !#joe burrow x reader #joe burrow #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow angst #joe burrow one shot #joe burrow imagine #nfl #nfl x reader #nfl fanfic #nfl angst #nfl x you

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fluffyk97 · 21 days ago

Text

Sonic 3 spoiler rambling about Sonic and Shadow under cut !

Y'know something that I feel might go lil under-appreciated is how well they made Sonic and Shadow mirror each other in the movie.

Like something that always can easily irk me are people boasting one of the two over the other because from the very beginning of his introduction to the series, Shadow's character is meant to reflect Sonic. They're meant to be equals that are so similar and complete opposites at the same time.

With the movie, I honestly wasn't expecting it that much. Sonic actually has a backstory that is just like Shadow's: powerful little hedgehog that is wanted for his power, so the one he's known his whole small life that he loves sacrifices herself to save him.

I fr fully expected Sonic to learn about Maria and be like "I lost Longclaw, I know you're pain, but-" blah blah blah- BUT they don't do that??

Of course, we have Commander Walters first telling Sonic that Shadow's story is a lot like his but wasn't able to find family and friends, and Sonic does find Shadow had a family from finding a picture of him and Maria together. He never gets told what happened exactly though, although it wouldn't make too much of a difference with the fact they did change up Shadow losing Maria just a little bit.

Since they didn't live up in space, Maria didn't have a capsule to send Shadow off with sacrificing herself and instead they made it an accident. WHICH- can be understandable if people don't like that, however personally I don't mind it that much because honestly the intent to shoot Maria was there, but she ended up being lost from an accident caused by Walters.

Which, ties in to Shadow hurting Tom...

Walters in trying to help save Maria's, Shadow's and Gerald's lives unfortunately led to Maria's death and watching Shadow be put in stasis for 50 years where all he thinks about is that painful memory burned fresh in his head. So of course when Shadow sees Tom disguised as Walters, he takes his anger out on him by hurting him while also stealing the key for the ARK. Leading to unfortunately another scenario of where the intent of harm is there, but someone still got hurt from an accident because Shadow never really meant to hurt Tom. But he does anyway..

Which of course in turn, makes Sonic mad just like Shadow was 50 years ago. Only difference is Sonic doesn't get immediately captured by GUN and forced into stasis. Letting him able to go straight to Shadow afterwards for hurting his family.

We have Shadow take note of all of that himself, telling Sonic he's feeling exactly the pain he felt and Sonic being the one to say "I'm nothing like you!". Just like how I thought Sonic would tell Shadow about Longclaw in hopes of redeeming him, but reversed and both sides full of anger and grief.

One awesome super fight later though, we come to the talk on the moon. Probably my favorite part in the whole movie. outside of the super fights and Live and Learn playing lol

After mentioning Tom and getting uppercutted straight to the moon by Sonic, Shadow loses his super form, leaving him vulnerable, easy for Sonic to take his revenge on him. Only for all of that to be stopped because of Shadow pointing at his own chest which reminds Sonic what Tom told him at the beginning of the movie and calm down.

"You didn't let pain change who you are."

This completely baffles Shadow, with him actually wanting Sonic to finish it, but of course Sonic just refuses saying "No one wins with revenge". It just leaves silence between them, finally giving Shadow his own moment of remembering Maria outside of her death by looking at the stars he used to gaze upon with her.

He mentions it to Sonic how all he knew and felt was just the pain, and now finally- FINALLY, Sonic mentions how he shares that feeling of loss from Longclaw. Not in a moment of trying to just redeem Shadow without the full weight of it, but in a moment of understanding.

A strong moment of these two looking at each other in a mirror, eye to eye. Sonic, who was allowed to grieve all those years ago after losing Longclaw, telling Shadow the pain of loss will never go away, but the love will always remain.

"The light shines, even though the star is gone."

And through that shared pain and loss, now coupled with empathy and understanding one another through it. They truly connect.

Sonic and Shadow's dynamic was just done SO WELL in the movie and I couldn't be happier with it...

#sonic 3 #sonic move 3 #sonic #sonic spoilers #sonic 3 spoilers #sonic movie 3 spoilers #sonic the hedgehog #shadow #shadow the hedgehog #Sonic snd Shadow #sonadow #Of course this doesn't have to be seen as shippy in any means I just also want sonadow peeps to also see lol #This is pure rambling but also such huge feelings I have with these two and their dynamic that I just forever will adore #Name two fictional characters that are better foils amd reflections of eachother better than these hedgehogs - YOU CAN'T -#(this is a joke not an actual challenge btw)#(i am well aware people can list off many good examples of this type if dynamic that they will deem “better”)#(these two are just MY favorite y'know y'know- imma peaise them whenever i get the chance- lol)

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sun-kissy · 28 days ago

Note

hi!! so for your Christmas sleepover (which is so cute btw) can i do 🧸 with Remus and the prompt 'just tell me!'

thank you for the request, angel! here’s your teddy bear :) 🧸

cookies | r.l.

— “Just tell me!”

remus lupin x reader

summary: remus tries to surprise you for christmas, and fails

tw: fluff fluff fluff <3, remus is boyfriend material. actually remus is boyfriend.

You let out a soft groan, flopping onto your side as another thud resonates from downstairs. Your mind feels muddled with sleep. You instinctively reach for your boyfriend, arm outstretched as you pat down the mattress beside you. There’s nothing to your touch but empty space.

Remus’ absence adds to your sleep-addled confusion. There’s one more loud bang from somewhere in the house, jolting you awake. You roll onto your back, grunting as you sluggishly pull yourself up into a sitting position.

You crack your eyes open to the darkness of your room, trying to rub the sleep out of them. The blanket you were cozied up in pools at your waist, chilly air immediately stinging your skin as though it had been waiting to strike.

Metallic, clanging noises continue to reverberate off the walls. You think you hear some silent cursing too.

Sighing irritably, you drag your blanket off the bed with you, pulling it over your shoulders as you stumble out the room. The night before Christmas and you still couldn’t get uninterrupted sleep — you thought Santa might have been nicer to you.

You tiptoe down the stairs, remembering the faulty heater in your living room; tug the blanket tighter around yourself. The festive green garland twined around the staircase railing looked silver-streaked, reflecting the soft light from the kitchen.

You peer around the corner, blanket trailing behind you like a cape as you inch closer towards the kitchen. You involuntarily grimace as a strong stench wafts your way. It had hints of smoke, as though barbecued. Maybe even burnt.

You’re too drowsy to panic about the house burning down, but awake enough for your heartbeat to start picking up the pace.

Sneaking your hand out from under the cocoon of blankets, you curl your fingers around the cold metal of the knob. You’re beaten to it by the person on the other side of the door.

It’s the curls which you catch sight of first, followed by his lovely brown eyes peeking out — then widening, from behind the door.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Remus mutters as he quickly steps out, casting backward glances as though someone in the kitchen was holding a gun to his head. “What are you doing up?”

He hurriedly closes it before fully turning to you, instantly softening at how endearing you looked. Sometimes, he wonders how he got so lucky, and you chide him till he admits that he deserves you. Right now, he could see how close you were to falling asleep right then and there — too close to berate him, close enough to look like an angel worth falling in love with all over again.

“I could ask you the same —“

Remus cuts you off mid-sentence, stepping forward to cup your cheeks and kiss you. You indulge him. He smells nice, you note. Like chocolate and peppermint.

He pulls away but doesn’t let go, sliding his hands around the back of your neck to rub comfortingly at the nape.

“So,” you start again, already visibly much happier and awake, “why are you not in bed?”

He sighs and shrugs, trying, but failing, to look nonchalant. Something in his heart tightens as you tug the ends of your blanket closer to each other. He presses a kiss to your blanket-laden shoulder, smitten. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“And you decided to come down to the kitchen to do… what, exactly?”

“Oh, nothing much,” he shrugs again. “You know, just cleaning up a little bit.”

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “You needed to wear an apron for that?”

“Oh, um — well,” he looks down at his apron, chuckling sheepishly as he looks back up at you. “I mean, yeah. You know how much I hate the dust and stuff getting on me.”

“Right, right,” you mutter, squinting as you step closer and rake your eyes over him. Ah ha. There’s flour dusted on the top of his shoulder, and you’re quick to swipe some of it onto your finger. “This is said dust, huh?”

He looks down at your finger, struggling to keep a straight face upon seeing the white powder. “Mhm.”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying, I swear,” he grins upon seeing your frown, leaning forward to give your nose a peck.

You swat him away. “Yes, you are. Tell me what you’re up to.”

“I’m not up to anything, pretty girl,” he mutters as he moves up to kiss the soft spot under your eye.

You try to back up, but he takes your wrist and pulls you closer. At this point, you’re fighting to keep the smile off your face. “Just tell me!”

Remus chuckles. Like the flirt he is, opts to avoid the question and capture your lips in a kiss instead. You involuntarily lean in.

“If you’re trying to distract me,” you mutter in between kisses, “it’s not working.” You feel his smile on your lips.

He pulls away slightly to rest his forehead against yours, hands going up to thumb at your cheeks. “You really wanna know?”

You decide to change tactics, putting on your best puppy eyes and pout as you look up at him. You nod, and Remus’ heart melts in record time.

“Okay, well,” he sighs. “You know those choco chip and peppermint cookies you really like?” He lets go of you to push the door open. “Since tomorrow’s Christmas, I was trying to, you know… bake them for you.”

You feel your heart soften at his words, beaming up at him as you enter the kitchen. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he smiles bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. “But um…” he gestures at the state of the kitchen.

You turn away from him to look around, your exhale coming out on a giggle. The place was a mess. A few batches of burnt cookies on the counter, flour here and there, broken egg shells scattered all over the floor. You can’t wipe the smile off your face. “You did this for me.”

He laughs quietly. “Mess the kitchen up? Sure, I —“

“Fuck the mess, Rem. We’ll deal with that later,” you grin, lovestruck. Suddenly it feels like the first time you're meeting Remus, and you're falling in love with his softness all over again.

“You're such a sweetheart. Thank you," you gush, leaning over to peck his cheek. He smiles like the mess was all worth it for a kiss.

“Well, I tried.”

“And you tried spectacularly,” you smile encouragingly as you go over to inspect the burnt batch. “They’re actually not that bad, just a little burnt is all.”

“You’re an awful liar, do you know that?” Remus huffs as he comes to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

You giggle. “Better than you anyway,” you tilt your face to nuzzle his nose. “Why don’t we clean this up, and tomorrow we can bake the cookies together? I’ll even let you tell James you made them yourself so he feels jealous.”

He laughs and rubs your hips adoringly. “Sure thing, dove. Just let me obliviate you tomorrow, so I can surprise you too.”

“That is not happening!”

Remus assures you that he was not going to wipe your memory. You shrug your blanket off, and the two of you get to cleaning the kitchen in between kisses, laughter, and handfuls of flour hurled at each other. It was the perfect start to Christmas.

san’s christmas sleepover

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cheollipop · 2 years ago

Text

heists and celebrations

navi | taglist

pairing: jung wooyoung x fem!reader x choi san

w.c.: 3.9k

tags: smut, they're all criminals/partners in crime, criminal behaviour (theft), mentioned boxer!san and his manager!wooyoung, some reckless driving

with the stolen necklace secured around your neck, wooyoung slumped back in his seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel while his eyes remained focused on the overhead mirror, watching his two partners celebrate another successful heist in the back of his van.

warnings: semi-public sex, van sex, really fucking filthy sex (genuinely disgusting), dom!woosan, sub!reader, some jealousy, reader is wearing red lipstick and it gets everywhere, unprotected sex (👎), creampie, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, cum swallowing, cum sharing, spit kink, praise, degradation (reader is called a slut once), a cute little breeding kink, a sprinkle of breath play (barely any), some begging, overstimulation, nicknames (sannie; youngie; baby, darling, sweetheart, love, good girl, pretty girl), wooyoung watches them fuck the whole time, and teases san because he's cute when riled up

A/N: I've had this fic idea in my notes since the very first woosan teaser dropped so I'm really glad I was finally able to write it out! ( ´∀ `) though challenging fsr, I really enjoyed writing the smut for this one. happy reading! ^^

nsfw under the cut—minors dni!! 🔞

Walking past the metal detectors, you raised your phone to peek at your reflection, making sure the glitter on your eyelids and the red painting your lips were intact, smacking them together once before walking further into exhibit.

Your footsteps slowed as you passed the broad, arched doorway and entered a wider gallery with accessories from numerous eras lining the walls, people crowding in front of the displays. Your eyes trailed over the diamonds and gold encased within the glass boxes, the overhead lights reflecting the luxury accessories. In any other heist, your eyes would remain forward, playing the role of a mere passerby minding their own business. But today, you were just another visitor in this exhibit, ogling at the jewellery on display. A quick, discrete scan of the room was enough to find you your target – standing near the wall to your left, the blonde head of hair displacing him in the monochrome room.

Just as you were about to move towards the tall figure, your gaze unintentionally flitted to the right, colliding with feline eyes staring right back at you from the other side of the room – the man standing idly in a uniform too big for him, bruises from last night’s match tainting his angular features. You twisted your body in the other direction, heeled boots clacking over the polished tile with confident strides, your eyes meeting the blonde man’s and dragging his attention off the rowdy school kids in the far corner. You waited until his gaze fell on you to dig the tip of your tongue into the corner of your mouth, blinking innocently as you approached him, your eyes moving down to read the ID card hanging off his neck.

Security Guard Song Mingi

Stepping into his personal space, your hand flew to his shoulder and you drew your eyebrows together in feigned distress. “Oh, thank God! Sir, could you please help me?”

Mingi’s head lowered to eye the hand resting delicately over his chest, looking back up to meet your anxious eyes. “S-sure, yes, of course," he stuttered when your fingers tightened around his lapel. "What can I help you with?"

You twisted your body and walked backwards until you hit the wall behind him, slumping against it and exhaling deeply. “My friend,” you paused, looking up at him now that he’d turned his back to the rest of the room. You blinked faux tears into your eyes, quivering your bottom lip ever so slightly while you spoke, “I’ve been looking for her for hours. Could you please help me find her, Sir?”

You watched Mingi’s ears shift hues, his head turning to the side as he coughed awkwardly. The bright red blurred in your peripheral as you stared ahead, nodding discretely at the idle figure across the room and watching it slip past the restricted ribbon closing off a section of the exhibit, looking back at Mingi when broad shoulders disappeared behind the corner.

“She said she’d meet me at the Tiffany and Co. section, but she never showed up. She won’t even answer her phone,” you leaned forward to wrap your fingers around his forearm, looking up at him with wide eyes, glassy with simulated concern. “I’m really worried about her, Sir. Please help me?”

Nimble fingers worked over the display case’s lock, occasionally looking back at the doorless entrance to confirm he was still in the clear. Moving his attention back to the small keyhole, he worked the pick and wrench inside with steady hands, the flashlight held between his lips reflecting off the glass. A whispered curse vibrated around the flashlight when his jacket sleeve slid down his arm, covering the hand holding the pick – along with the bloody scrapes and bruises colouring his knuckles – but he was too far in to back out now, working the lock with the fabric draped over it. After a few more tries, a muted click sounded and the glass door swung open.

Cat-like eyes raised off the picked lock to examine the diamond necklace hanging off the jewellery stand, studying the angle at which the light bounced off the large stones. Reaching forward, he carefully lifted the necklace with his index and thumb around the clasp, securing it in the felt bag he’d pulled out of his blazer before tucking it back inside. Digging his hand into his back pocket, he pulled out an identical replica – cheap moissanite bedazzling the silver – and intricately placed it inside the case, adjusting it over the stand before closing the glass door and listening for the soft click of its automatic lock.

Pulling the flashlight out of his mouth, he switched it off and patted his breast pocket once before walking back towards the entryway. A quick peek into the short hallway outside to ensure it was empty followed by quick steps past the red ribbon sealing off the section he had been in, San squinted at the bright overhead lights as he made it back into the main gallery, rooting himself in his previous position just in time for five suited men to make their way into the big room. Their conversation continued as they walked past San, nodding in acknowledgement before making their way over the restriction ribbon and through the short hallway, grease from the sandwiches they’d had for lunch coating their moving lips.

The familiar sonance of your laugh drew his attention to the wide entrance, his eyes finding yours over the blonde security guard’s shoulder before trailing down to study the arm draped over your waist. The plan was for you to guide him away from this gallery and into another, but there you were, barely an inch separating you and the tall man. San’s eyebrow twitched at the proximity, but more so at the dumb smile splitting his face in half while his other arm points towards where your ‘friend’ was supposedly waiting for you. Meeting your gaze once again, he gave you a firm nod before solemnly staring ahead.

With a flirty smile and a few bats of your eyelashes, you slipped a fake number into Mingi’s phone and walked away, the guard barely noticing you walking in the opposite direction of which he pointed you in.

San’s eyes flitted to the antique clock hung up on the wall across from him, turning around just in time to watch a man with a sharp nose and jet-black hair approach him. Quickly glancing at his ID card, San bowed slightly and began walking away as his ‘shift’ came to an end.

“Wait,” the deep baritone halted San’s movements, twisting his torso to look back at the guard. “Let me see your ID,” he reached a hand out, palm up and expecting.

San blinked once, twice, before pulling the lanyard off his neck and handing it to the man in front of him, turning his body to face him fully. The grim man examined the card, flipping it over a few times before sliding it back into San’s hand.

“Good work today, Yunho,” he gave him a tight smile which San reciprocated with a small bow before he moved away to stand where San had been all evening.

Stepping out of the stuffy exhibit and into the chilly night, San inhaled deeply, walking down the small steps and reaching into his blazer for the felt bag, swiftly stuffing it into his slacks before shrugging off the loose uniform and slinging it over his shoulder. He strutted down the block, his lips pursed as he whistled mindlessly, his soiled tank top sticking to his body with the night breeze blowing over his skin.

A few minutes of walking led him to a familiar convenience store, the lights flickering weakly and the table set out the front swaying with the light wind. Casually peeking over his shoulder, he made sure no one was following him before turning a corner, your familiar figure – resting against the graffitied wall – waiting for him in the damp alleyway. You pushed yourself off the grimy concrete, a smile stretching your lips when your eyes zeroed in on the felt bag pinched between two of his fingers.

Grabbing onto the thin material of his tank top, you pushed San backwards until his body crashed into the wall, the red on your lips transferring to his when you pressed your mouths together, the metallic taste of blood seeping into your taste buds as you licked over the corner of his lip. San’s fingers wrapped around your nape, inhaling deeply before parting his lips and running his tongue over your bottom teeth. Cold fingers tickled the sides of your neck, a heavy weight falling over your collarbones while San’s tongue pressed against yours. One of your hands untangled from the material of his top, running over your decolletage until your fingers made contact with the cool silver and curved over the slope of the large diamonds. The felt bag – now empty and worthless – fell into the puddle by your feet, the malodor of sewage masked by the hunger in San’s eyes, his hands wandering over your body while he devoured you.

A loud honk from the van parked down the alley cut your fit of passion short. You giggled at San’s irritated griping as you made your way to the vehicle, the metal surface littered with dents of various sizes and the colourful lettering chipping off the white paint. You walked past San as he pulled at the back handles, skipping your way to the front and watching the door fly open, sliding into the passenger seat as Wooyoung retreated back into his.

“Welcome back,” he flicked the tip of your nose, his eyes fixed on the glimmering stones hanging off your neck. “I’m guessing we can skip the debrief?” A lopsided smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

Looping two fingers around the silver band, he tugged you towards him, the clasp digging into the back of your neck as some of the lipstick still painting your lips smeared over Wooyoung’s, his tongue gliding over yours to flatten over the roof of your mouth.

The curtain behind you slid open, San’s deep grumble obscured by your heavy breathing. “Ya! I worked my ass off to get that. If you wanna pull that hard, just buy her a leash,” he propped his forearm on the back of the seat, resting his chin over it to study the red smudged over Wooyoung’s lips.

“Worked our asses off,” you complained.

“No, I worked my ass off while you were busy flirting with that prick.”

You could see Wooyoung’s eyebrow quirk, his questioning gaze lasting only a second before he parted from you with a final kiss, letting go of the necklace and slumping back in his seat to turn the engine on. “Leave her alone, Sannie. If you wanted to be praised for doing your job right, you should’ve just said so,” he pressed his foot down on the pedal, reversing out of the alleyway before digging his palm into the steering wheel and turning it twice to move onto the empty road.

The pout on your lips faded when your eyes met San’s, angling his chin to point at Wooyoung, the silent communication bringing a shared smile to your lips.

“Youngie,” you tugged on his sleeve, leaning over the console to get closer to him.

“Yeah, baby?” his eyes remained trained on the road, a few cars driving alongside him on the dark highway.

San chuckled breathily, “I think our pretty girl wants to thank you for the ride. We couldn’t have pulled this off without you. Right, sweetheart?”

You nodded eagerly, gliding your palm up his thigh and inwards to tease at his clothed crotch. He glanced over at you, his teeth peeking through his parting lips, the corners curled upwards.

“Oh really? Is there anything else you want to thank me for?”

“Thank you for getting rid of that Yunho guy, we would’ve been in trouble if he had been there,” your fingers trailed over the zipper, circling his button before popping it open.

“Mm, that’s right. Come on now, sweet girl, thank me properly,” Wooyoung slumped further down in his seat, widening his legs and dropping one hand off the steering wheel to give you space.

Just as you freed his half-hard length from the confines of his boxers, San’s hand cupped the back of your head and pushed you down. Your torso bent over the console, the gear stick digging into your waist by the time San let go of you.

You pulled away slightly, fingers wrapped around his base and tongue rolled out to place kitten licks over his cockhead. Wooyoung peeked down at you to follow the line of drool dripping off your tongue to lubricate his cock, snapping his eyes back up to the road with a guttural groan squeezed your fist around him. You pressed your lips to his tip, placing your hands over his upper thighs and moving back to admire the painted outline of your lips – the last of your lipstick colouring it red.

When you deemed him hard enough, your lips closed around his leaking head, giving him a gentle suck to feel his thighs contract before taking him further into your mouth. You nuzzled your nose into the hair around his base and relaxed your throat, flattening your tongue over the underside of his cock and reveling in the tight grunts it elicited from above.

A loud horn blared from the lane beside yours, Wooyoung’s vision unblurring and his palm hurriedly gliding over the steering wheel to adjust the swerving van. San snickered behind him, partly at your muffled coughs around the younger man’s cock as the rough steering jerked your body around. You pull away to breathe once the vehicle settled, inhaling deeply and clearing your throat, the bitter taste of precum on your tongue.

“I don’t think she’s thanking you hard enough, Youngie,” San tsked behind you, palming over his clothed cock as he took in your red eyes and sniffling nose.

“Mm, I think you’re right,” the arm resting idly over the console raised, fingers tangling in the hair at your nape and pushing your head downwards until the warmth of your mouth engulfed him once again, soft groans escaping through gritted teeth as your throat constricted around his tip. With the hand in your hair, he began moving you over his cock, bobbing your head and noting the weight of the necklace adoring your neck falling over his thigh every time his tip brushed against your uvula. “Fuuuuck, that’s my good girl.”

The outline of his vein slid over your tongue, pulsing as you took him down your throat. You could hear the slick movement of San’s hand over his cock, his eyes moving between your stretched lips and Wooyoung’s parted ones, soft, breathy moans muffled under the wind rushing through the open window. You felt him twitch inside your mouth, the familiar clench of his abdomen egging you on, taking him all the way and hollowing your cheeks. The van veered to the left again, Wooyoung’s eyes barely open as pleasure rushed through his veins with every squeeze around his cockhead. You swallowed around him once, twice, before gagging around the hot ribbons of white shooting down your throat. The limp fingers in your hair regained their strength, pushing your head down while he rolled his hips into your mouth, your jaw going slack as he used you to milk out the last of his cum.

San’s eyes fluttered shut to take in the melodies playing through Wooyoung’s parted lips – rough grunts paired with airy moans while he fucked the last of his load into your mouth, pulling you off him to wipe the tip of his cock over your face, a line of cum smeared over your cheek. A few seconds of muted shuffling passed before saltiness consumed San’s tastebuds, your mouth roughly pressing against his, tongue breaching his lips to share some of Wooyoung’s release. His Adam’s apple bobbed, eagerly swallowing down the tangy liquid before diving in for more, pushing you further into him with a hand to the back of your head. A throaty moan vibrated against your lips, San’s cock lurching in his limp fist as he sucked the last of Wooyoung’s load off your tongue. Pulling away, you grabbed San’s jaw firmly and moved your head closer to spit into his open mouth, a mixture of your spit and his marbled with milky white reflecting the passing streetlights before disappearing down his throat.

“Wooyoung, fuck,” he spoke, words slurred from the tight grip you have on his jaw, rolling his wrist around his leaking cockhead. “Pull over. I need her right fucking now.”

The van jumped over a speedbump, the driver too distracted to slow down, eyes trained on the overhead mirror instead of the road as two bodies moved steadily in the reflection. Two fingers twisted the volume knob to the left, silencing the music to revel in the harmony of moans surging from the back of the van.

The worn-down mattress was anything but comfortable, your dripping pussy adding to the stains decorating it. Looking over to the side, your eyes settled on the discarded boxing gloves from the night before, splotches of maroon flaking off the faux leather. One of San’s hands cupped the back of your head, pushing your face down while he pounded into you from the back, his other pulling at the necklace around your neck, the diamonds pressing into your skin to form thin crescents.

Wooyoung scoffed at the sight – red spreading from the soiled collar of San’s tank top and up to his neck, beads of sweat rolling down his skin and sinking into the cheap cotton. “What happened to all your hard work, hm?” his eyes rolled down to San’s white knuckles, wrapped tightly around the accessory restricting your airflow.

“Shut up,” he spat, his hips slamming into the backs of your thighs as he pumped his cock between your fluttering walls. The hand covering the back of your head slid down your spine to squeeze at your waist, his blunt nails stabbing into your heated flesh while husky grunts vibrated through his throat.

Wooyoung’s eyes shifted to your face, concealed as you looked over to the side, your lips parted with drool pooling under your head. “Aw, I think Sannie got a little jealous earlier. Right, sweetheart?”

The words reduced to mere sounds in your head, the syllables meshing as San’s cockhead pistoned into your g-spot, barely registering the rough fingers tangling into the hair at your crown before sharp pain seared through your scalp, your chest lifting off the tattered mattress and neck craning as San angled your face upwards. You sucked in deep breaths now that the silver band wasn't digging into your neck, choking around broken cries of pleasure. Hooded eyes studied your face in the small mirror – pupils dilated, tears and glitter eyeshow staining your heated cheeks with saliva trickling down your chin, body jerking forward every time San’s hips slammed into yours, his cock stretching you open around his girth.

“'Don’t think she can answer,” San rasped, his eyes dropping to watch the flesh of your ass ripple every time he drove into your clenching cunt. “Ah- So fucking tight for me.”

Wooyoung’s fingers squeezed around the steering wheel, “is he fucking you good, baby?” The corners of his lips twitched with a concealed smirk, “or is my pretty slut still thinking about that man’s cock?”

Your brain short-circuited, shots of burning pleasure soaring through your veins and forcing your eyes shut. “it’s good, s-so good,” your speech was barely coherent, moans spilling out of you as San continued to fuck you through Wooyoung’s interrogation.

“What about my second question?” San’s eyes flew towards the mirror to meet Wooyoung’s, clenching his jaw so tight it bordered on painful, the younger man smiling to himself over how easy it was to rile San up.

San rammed his cock inside you, holding it deep within your cunt while he bent at the waist to whisper in your ear, the deep baritone of his voice nearly masked under your pathetic moaning, “be a good girl and answer Youngie’s question, or have I already fucked you dumb?"

“I-I’m not! ‘Love Sannie’s cock so much- hnngh!” your upper body flopped onto the mattress, your scalp burning under the palm San had flattened over your head, fingers rubbing soothing lines over your roots while he ground his cock into your heat.

“That’s right,” he pressed his lips to your slick shoulder and gave you a harsh thrust, rolling his hips once, twice before pulling off you. His hands slid down your body to grab at your hips, dragging you back over his length with a grip tight enough to promise bruises. One of his knees nudged against your inner thigh to spread your legs even further, giving you a few seconds to breathe before he began hammering his cock into you. “Love my cock so much you’ll let me breed this tight pussy, won’t you, darling?

“Nghh- fuck! Sannie, please-”

“Give it to me, love, ‘wanna feel you cream all over my cock,” the tautness of his voice, strained as he chased his orgasm with sloppy thrusts, was enough to send you over the edge.

Your vision went black as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, thighs shaking while you your orgasm rushed through you. A succession of curses and San’s name rolled off your tongue, followed by desperate pleas for him to come as he frantically humped your overstimulated cunt. Your body jolted as pain mixed with pleasure, your vision blurring with tears while San used you like a cocksleeve, leaning over you to whisper in your ear, whimpered praise falling off his tongue – a melody of ‘just a little more’ and ‘you can take it’ sending shivers down your spine.

You felt him split you open thrice before a familiar warmth spread through your lower belly, his cock twitching between your fluttering walls as he unloaded his seed inside you. His arms wrapped around your middle, holding your body flush against his shuddering chest while he grinded into your used cunt, draining himself of every last drop. Delicate hands smoothed over your sides at the pained whimper you released into the dungy mattress, San’s softening cock slipping out of you and making way for a stream of his cum to trickle out of your gaping hole. He took a few seconds to moon over the mess he'd created before pursing his lips and adding to it, dropping a wad of spit onto your drenched pussy, your hips jolting when a calloused thumb ran through the fluids painting your folds.

You barely noticed the van making a sharp turn, the engine going silent half a minute later and drawing your attention to the front, a rest stop sign shining through the windshield. Wooyoung’s head poked through the gap between the seats, his eyes glazed over as he took in the sweaty bodies sprawled out in their own mess. He lifted his arm to hurl a roll of cash at San, his eyes remaining fixed on your twitching form as he imagined the steady stream of cum making its way down your thighs.

“Sannie, go grab some food and water. I think I need to be thanked a little more.”

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