#echo circuit draws

[requiemforthepoets]

you just pulled a verstappen! 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: you played a sim racing before, but not really on an actual sim racing setup like lando’s. so when you had the chance, you decided to try it out.

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.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, fluff, and a little bit of cursing

WORD COUNT: 820

AUTHOR’S NOTE: found this on my drafts. i have a lot of lando one shots, but never really posted it bc i think it was poorly written, so i decided to fix this one up and post it. i hope you’ll enjoy this one!

Your and Lando’s apartment was unusually quiet. Lando had been out all day, caught up in a string of meetings, and being alone in a big apartment, the boredom had started to creep in. You sighed, glancing over at Lando’s pristine sim racing setup, which sat there like a tempting invitation calling out for you. It wasn’t like you had not played sim racing before, but using his rig, specifically with Lando’s custom settings and all his tweaks? That was something else entirely.

“Eh, why the hell not?” You muttered to yourself with a mischievous grin.

You quickly booted-up Lando’s setup, and you were off. You found yourself in the middle of a tense Grand Prix, the roaring of the virtual engines filling up the headphones as you become very absorbed with the race. Time flew by, and you were too focused to even notice when Lando came home.

“Hey, baby! I’m back!” Lando’s voice echoed faintly from the hallways as he called back to you, and you never responded. All you could hear and think about was the hairpin turn coming up on the circuit, and nailing the turn. “Babe, where are you?” He called out to you again, but you were still glued to the screen, the intensity of the race drawing all of your attention.

A few seconds later, Lando still got no answer from you. So when he checked every room in the apartment, and saw that you were inside his gaming room all along, he entered immediately, but when he saw you, he stopped dead in his tracks. There you were, fully immersed in sim racing, eyes locked on the screen with his headphones on and hand deftly handling the steering wheel. He blinked, half in disbelief, before grinning like a little kid on christmas morning.

“Are you on my sim setup right now?” He asked, voice full of shock, but you were too busy overtaking another car to reply.

“Okay, that was a decent corner,” Lando said with a playful smirk as he walked over to you, leaning against the back of the chair. “Not bad at all.” He added, folding his arms, and watching in awe as you navigated through the pack of cars.

You heard him, of course, but you were in the zone. The next thing you knew, you pulled off a move that would have made Max proud, sliding past two cars with precision that even caught Lando off guard.

“Whoa, that was a Verstappen move!” Lando exclaimed, wide-eyed. “You just did a Verstappen! Are you sure you don’t want to join F1? Because honestly, what the hell was that?!”

A smirk just tugged at the corner of your lips, definitely proud of yourself, but you remained focused, determined to finish the race without breaking concentration. Lando couldn’t help but laugh at your intense expression.

“Alright, I need to record this one,” Lando chuckled, pulling out his phone. “No one’s gonna believe me if I told everyone on Thread that my girl just pulled a Verstappen move, unless I post it.”

“Look at this! My girl’s out here stealing my setup and driving like she’s been on F1!” Lando began as he started filming, making sure to capture the moment as you powered through the final lap, and zooming in on your face, grinning the whole time. “Guys, I’m telling you, I’m not really making this up. She’s actually faster than me on some of these corners!”

You barely heard him as you crossed the finish line, finishing in P1, and the sound of the crowd roaring through the headphones as you finally relaxed in the chair. You let out a squeal of happiness and looked over at Lando, who was still recording and shaking his head in disbelief.

“Okay, what was that?” He laughed at you, turning off the camera. “I leave for a few hours, and suddenly you’re doing Verstappen-level moves on my rig? Are you secretly practicing whenever I’m not home?”

“Maybe I’m just naturally talented, ever think of that?” You looked at him smugly, and wiggled your eyebrows as you teased him.

“You know what?” Lando grinned at you, gently pulling you out of the seat and wrapping his arms around you. “I believe it. I’m just saying, if McLaren ever needs a backup driver, you should really think about it.”

“Babe, that’s Pato’s job, and I won’t take that away from him,” you joked, causing Lando to laugh, and you leaned into his embrace. “I’m just kidding! But…I might steal your sim setup more often.”

“Deal,” Lando chuckled, kissing your forehead. “Just don’t make me look too bad, alright?”

“No promises.” You said cheekily, then grinning up at him.

“Alright, alright,” he smiled at you. “Now where’s my kiss.” You leaned in, and kissed him softly on the lips.

[rhiannonsknife]

── SHATTER YOUR ILLUSIONS OF LOVE

— summary: lucy finds something interesting in an abandoned store. it’s not what she thinks it is.

— warnings: fem!reader. implied lesbian!reader. nsfw content. mdni. strap-on usage. for the sake of the fic, we gotta ignore the sanitary aspect of this.

the wind howls through the cracked windows of the abandoned storefront, rattling the metal grates hanging half off their hinges.

you’re leaning against the weathered brick wall right outside, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently, and your eyes scanning the empty street for signs of trouble.

traveling through the wasteland was a gamble already, and stopping anywhere for too long only upped the odds of drawing unwanted attention. but lucy had insisted she needed to check inside, claiming she’d seen ‘something interesting’ through the remains of grime-streaked glass.

that had been ten minutes ago.

“lucy,” you call, raising your voice over the wind. “are you done yet?”

her laugh echoes from inside, light and carefree, followed by her reply: “almost” lucy calls. there’s a long pause, then the unmistakable sound of something heavy clattering to the ground.

you groan, letting your head fall back against the wall. this wasn’t unusual; lucy’s curiosity was perhaps simultaneously her best and worst trait. she had a knack for finding weird, useless junk and being way too excited about it. not that you minded. most days, her by wasteland standards unique disposition was the only thing keeping you sane. not today though, today, you’re cold, tired, and running low on patience.

finally, the door creaks open behind you.

“hey!” she calls. “look what i found!”

you push off the wall and turn to face her…and immediately feel your brain short-circuit.

lucy stands before you, beaming like she’s just stumbled upon the wasteland’s greatest treasure. she’s wearing…something: leather straps crisscross her chest, looping around her shoulders and down her torso in a series of buckles and loops. the centerpiece, an empty ring attachment, sits just below her chest. clearly not where it’s supposed to be, but it’s not like lucy knows that. nor does she seem aware of what she’s put on to begin with.

it’s a strap-on harness.

“oh my god,” you choke out, heat rushing to your face so fast you feel dizzy with it.

“what?” lucy looks down at herself, tugging lightly at one of the straps. “pretty cool, right? it was just lying there in the back of the store! i think it’s some kind of…uh…” she frowns, tilting her head as she spins to give you the full view. “tool belt? or maybe armor? either way, it’s really sturdy! feel this leather!” she grabs one of the straps near her shoulder and holds it out to you.

you don’t take it. matter of fact, you can’t. you’re too busy trying to remember how breathing works, because all you can think about is the way the harness fits snugly against her body, though entirely wrong, the leather gleaming faintly in the dim light, and how absolutely oblivious she is to what it actually is.

“lucy,” you manage, voice embarrassingly high-pitched. “that’s not- it’s not- oh my god, take it off!”

she blinks, startled by your reaction. “what? why? did i put it on wrong?”

“no, i mean…yes, but that’s not the point!” you gesture at her frantically, as if that’ll somehow distract from the mortifying situation. “it’s just- it’s not what you think it is, okay?” you try to explain, pointing at the leather “that is not a tool belt!”

lucy’s brow furrows in confusion as she adjusts the straps around her shoulders. “then what is it?”

you gape at her, torn between laughter and sheer disbelief. how do you even begin to explain this to her? clearly, she hasn’t seen those in her vault.

“it’s- it’s a-“ you cut yourself off with a groan, burying your face in your hands. there is no way you’re explaining this to her. absolutely not.

“what?” lucy presses, her curiosity clearly piqued. “what’s it for?”

“nothing!” you yelp, your voice cracking. “it’s for nothing! just take it off before-” you gesture vaguely at the very much empty street. “…before someone sees you!”

she glances around, perplexed, following your outstretched finger. “but no one’s here…?”

“that’s not the point!” you can feel your cheeks burning hotter by the second. “lucy, just- just trust me on this, okay? please?”

lucy hesitates for a moment, clearly not understanding but willing to humor you. “alright, alright,” she finally agrees, reaching for the buckles. “but i still think it’s a good find! i’m keeping this!”

you turn away as she starts to unstrap herself, both to give her privacy and to avoid spontaneously combusting from sheer embarrassment. despite all the dangers of the wastelands, you’re pretty sure traveling with lucy maclean is what’s actually going to kill you.

by the time lucy gets the harness off and stashes it in her pack (for some unfathomable reason), the sun is starting to dip low on the horizon, painting the scenery in streaks of amber and rust. after a full day of walking and scavenging, this crumbling storefront seems as good a place as any to settle down for the night.

“well,” you say, clearing your throat and trying to move past the initial awkwardness, “i guess this place’ll do. better than sleeping out in the open, at least!”

“it’s not bad,” lucy says cheerfully, looking around the store’s interior again.

the place, from which you can only assume that it is the ruins of what once was an adult store, is mostly empty, save for a few rusted shelves, a broken counter at the far end and a few boxes left in the old shelves.

there’s no sign of wildlife, which you consider a plus, and the building’s thick walls provide decent protection from the wind. “way better than that place we stayed last week. remember that weird smell? ugh…”

you hum in agreement, busying yourself with clearing a space on the floor. truthfully, it isn’t the worst spot you’ve camped in.

“you take first watch,” lucy says, dropping her pack with a soft thud. “i’ll take a quick nap and take over in a few hours?“

she’s adapting to how sleep works out here, at least, and you nod your head. “i could use some quiet time anyway,”

lucy nods, satisfied, and stretches out on the ground, rolling up her jacket like a makeshift pillow. “wake me if anything weird happens,” she says, closing her eyes.

you lean back against the wall, rifle propped an arm length away, trying to ignore the ache in your muscles and the stubborn heat still lingering in your cheeks.

now, the image of lucy in that harness races unbidden through your mind. it comes in flashes; pictures of her, with a strap now firmly attached to her body. lucy, on top of you, her face pressed to the crook of your neck as she rolls her hips. behind you, with her fingers curling up in your hair as she forces you back against her. above you, with your lips stretched around her-

you shake your head violently to banish it. you need to focus. there are bigger problems in the world than your ridiculous crush on someone who might not even swing your way at all.

but, of course, lucy doesn’t make it easy.

after barely twenty minutes of silence, she stirs and sits up, rubbing at her eyes.

“couldn't sleep?” you ask, raising a brow at her.

“nope,” she reaches into her bag and pulls out the leather harness again. “i keep thinking about this thing…” she mutters, running her fingertips over the ring.

you groan, dragging a hand down your face. “lucy, just drop it! it’s-”

she doesn’t. of course she doesn’t,

instead, she flips the harness over in her hands, fiddling with the straps as she examines it from every angle. instinctively, you reach for your rifle just to have a distraction.

“i mean, it’s pretty well-made,” she muses, tugging on one of the buckles. “whoever made it must’ve known what they were doing. and it’s got this…ring thing? maybe for carrying tools?”

“it’s not for tools!” you blurt, louder than intended. lucy looks up, startled. “well, then what is it for?”

you sigh, setting your rifle aside.

“can't you just let it go?”

you stare at her. lucy is watching you with those wide, curious eyes, completely oblivious to the mortifying reality of the situation. a part of you wants to lie. to make up some ridiculous story about it being part of a long-lost survival kit. another part of you knows you’re a terrible liar, and that she won’t drop it until she gets a real answer.

“well, i could,” lucy shrugs, “but you're being…weird about it, which makes me think it's actually kind of important! and now i really want to know!”

you glance at the open doorway, down rows of shelves, the faint breeze stirring the dust on the floor, as if hoping for some kind of divine intervention to save you. it doesn't come.

“fine,” you mutter, standing. “come on!”

lucy grins triumphantly, bouncing to her feet and following as you lead her to the far corner of the store.

she trails after you, harness in hand, until you crouch down by one of the dusty shelves, brushing aside cobwebs before pulling out one of the few remaining boxes you passed by earlier. it’s heavy and battered, but the faded label on the side is still legible and it is still sealed shut

“alright,” you say, placing it on the ground before you. “this,” you tell lucy as you pull a knife from your belt. “is the counterpart to what you're holding!”

without another word, you cut the plastic open and, after some more layers of carefully sealed packaging, pull out the bright neon-pink silicone dildo. you hold it up just long enough for her to get a good look before tossing it back into the box.

lucy blinks, eyes wide, and for a moment, she says nothing. then her mouth opens in a soft “oh,”

she kneels beside the box, staring at its contents with an unreadable expression. “wait, so...” she picks up the dildo again, and turns it over in her hands, her brow furrowing as she connects the dots. “this goes with the harness?”

“yes,” you say quickly, folding your arms across your chest. “and that's why i didn't want to talk about it. can we move on now?”

lucy, on the other hand, doesn't seem remotely embarrassed. if anything, she looks intrigued.

she puts it back in the box and stands, holding the harness up to her hips as if testing its fit.

“so it's, like... for, uh... intimacy stuff? sex?” she asks, her tone genuinely curious.

“yes, lucy,” you say, your voice tight as you force your gaze away. “it's for ‘intimacy stuff’,” then, after a beat of silence, you decide this might be your only chance to get your truth out as well: “specifically for people like...like me, i guess?”

she looks at you then, her eyes softening slightly. “like you?”

“yeah,” you shift uncomfortably under her gaze, heart pounding. “you know? people who don't really, uh, like guys…that way…?”

understanding dawns on her face, but instead of recoiling or making a joke, she simply nods. another pause, then: “so, like, women who…prefer other women?”

your throat feels dry. “yeah. something like that,”

lucy looks back at the harness, a thoughtful expression on her face. then, to your utter horror, she starts fiddling with the straps again, this time more deliberately.

“what are you doing?” you ask, your voice rising slightly.

“trying it on,” she replies matter-of-factly, stepping into the harness and pulling it up over her hips. she tightens the straps with surprising ease, the leather settling snugly against her body. “it's comfortable,” she says conversationally, running her fingers along the waistband.

all you can do is stare at her dumbfounded. “lucy,”

she glances at you, her face the picture of innocence. “what? you said it's for people like you, right? i just want to see what it's like!”

“people like me using it,” you practically hiss. “not people like you…wearing it around like it's a pair of pants!”

lucy laughs, but there's a glint in her eye now, something playful and teasing that wasn't there before. she shifts her hips slightly, the leather creaking, and you have to fight the urge to look away. or worse, stare.

“calm down” she says. “it’s not a big deal, right? just a harness!”

your heart pounds in your chest as lucy tilts her head, watching you with that same curious gaze. there's no judgment in her expression, nor is there discomfort. just a quiet, steady interest that leaves you completely off balance.

“look,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “you...you don't understand what you're doing right now!”

“don't i?” her tone is light but her eyes are searching yours. lucy steps even closer, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “you're blushing,”

“i'm not-” you take a step back, bumping into the wall behind you. “i'm not…blushing!”

“you totally are. is it the harness?” she pauses, her voice dropping just slightly. “or is it…me?”

your breath catches in your throat. for a moment, you can't think. you can't move. the tension in the air suddenly feels electric, heavy with the weight of everything you haven't said and everything she might not even realize she's doing.

“lucy…” you manage. “you should- uh- you should probably take it off now, yeah?”

she only grins, clearly pleased with your reaction. “why? am i making you nervous?”

yes. absolutely. but you don't tell her that. instead, you stand frozen as lucy leans just a little closer, the leather harness shifting as she moves. the air between you is stifling now, charged with something you can’t quite name. she hasn’t moved back. if anything, she’s standing closer, the faintest grin on her lips, her eyes locked on yours.

“lucy,” you say again, but her name catches in your throat, sounding more like a ragged plea than a warning.

“yeah?” she asks, her voice teasingly playful.

you glance down at the harness, that stupid harness, and then back at her, hoping she’ll take the hint. lucy doesn’t. instead, she shifts her weight again, the leather creaking softly. you swear she’s doing it on purpose now.

“why are you…” you trail off, biting your lip. “why are you doing this?”

her smile falters slightly. “i don’t know,” she admits. “i guess i just…like seeing you like this,”

your breath hitches. “like what?”

lucy tilts her head, her eyes searching yours. she pauses. then, her gaze flickers to your mouth and heat floods your face. you try to think of something -anything- to say, but the words won’t come.

“do you want this?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper now.

you nod your head slowly, your throat feeling too tight to speak.

her smile softens, and she takes another step forward, close enough now that you can feel the warmth of her body through the faint chill of the room. “good,”

and then she kisses you.

the shelves behind you clatter as your body is forced back against them by lucy’s own, trapping you against the metal.

it surprises you how fast her mouth is moving. how desperate and hungry. in all the times (more than you’d ever openly admit) you pictured yourself kissing her, she’d been the careful one. you should’ve known better than that. way better.

now, she is all over you, eager hands cupping your cheeks as she presses you against the cold surface. your whole body shivers as lucy licks into your mouth experimentally, humming when you gasp in response.

“for the record,” she mumbles against your mouth, barely breaking away from you enough to get those words out. “you want to have sex with me?”

you almost laugh at the absurdity of the question, would lucy not force one of her thighs between yours, keeping you on the tip of your toes with a strangled gasp. it doesn’t occur to you to question where she knows all this from. instead, you just nod, panting as she pushes her knee further up.

pleased with all those reactions she’s getting from you, lucy hums. “and you want me to use…that?” she nods towards the now unsealed box at your feet.

“uh huh,” is all you can manage. it seems enough for lucy, who flashes an excited smile before walking over to pick it up from the floor. for the first time, you dare to breathe.

she fumbles with the box momentarily, struggling to free the toy from its plastic packaging in her excitement. before you can offer your help, she has figured it out and carelessly tosses the container aside, leaving only the dildo in her hand.

“hm,” lucy hums, taking it in from all angles under the dim light.

“this goes through the…” you start breathlessly, nodding toward the ring that sits right above her still fully clothed pubic bone.

it’s not often that you find yourself longing for a life a little more like lucy’s. this is one of those rare moments though. the things you’d do to have her in an actual bed, in a place that belongs to just the two of you. somewhere where you can actually take your time to undress her, see her fully, and not just rushed glimpses in the barely lit space around you.

“okey dokey,” she fumbles with the toy, experimentally tracing the buckles and straps before pushing the dildo through its designated hole.

then, it’s just you, her, and the shuddered breath you exhale into the small space left between you when lucy steps closer again.

you briefly wonder if it would overwhelm lucy if you’d go down on your knees before her right then and there. if you’d force her down your throat and show her just how much of her you’re willing to take. but then you turn to look back at her and decide that this is not the time.

lucy is watching you attentively, her eyes darting between yours and the strap attached to her body. there seems a newfound sense of pride in the way she carries herself as you feel her press against your inner thigh. it draws a gasp from you, an expression on your face that lucy instantly mirrors: mouth agape, eyes slightly widened.

it is your hushed, shaky “lucy, please” that sets her into motion.

her fingers, once resting on your hips, jump into action before you know it; roaming all over your body. into your hair, over smudged, dirty clothes, underneath them…her nails briefly scrape the expanse of your stomach, the fabric of your shirt riding up your torso, and lucy seems satisfied with the way you exhale into her open mouth. then, she drops them lower.

it doesn’t take her long to unbuckle your belt and pull it free from your pants. the setting doesn’t allow any slower, more sensual undressing. instead, you push your pants down your legs until they’re polling around your ankles and you can easily step out of them, leaving you exposed from the waist down except for your underwear -which is doing a terrible job in covering the arousal there.

you’ve been wet from the moment you started fantasizing about her, and your little make out session has only made matters worse. lucy, who’s pushing her fingers past the waistline of your underwear, notices too when she’s met with your wetness once they slide through you.

“fuck-“ you mutter, your head falling back.

lucy studies you attentively once her fingers find your clit, rubbing it in clockwise circles underneath the fabric until your thighs are trembling and instinctively closing around her wrist.

“sit,” she orders, jerking her chin towards the shelf pressed against the back of your thighs.

stunned into silence, you hop onto the cool metal, your legs spread enough for lucy to stand between them. her palms stroke along your thighs as she bites her lip, now able to see the wet patch your arousal has left in the fabric of your underwear.

“can you take it?” she whispers, immediately earning herself an eager nod from you.

lucy pulls you forward until you’re sitting on the edge, then forces your legs apart further with a sudden motion. only once she’s reached out and pushed your underwear aside, does it seem to occur to her that she’s never been on this side of things before.

nervously, she glances up at you. “i’ve never-“ lucy begins, gesturing downward.

“that’s okay!” you interject instantly. at this point, you don’t care what she does, as long as she does it inside of you.

“okay,” she echoes, before focusing on the matter at hand.

absentmindedly, though it sends another wave of arousal down to your center, lucy uses what’s left of your wetness on her fingers to coat her length in it. you watch breathlessly as she pumps her fist along the silicone shaft until it's glistening with the makeshift lube.

immediately, you wrap your legs around lucy, closing your ankles behind her and urging her closer. she complies gladly.

her eyes flicker up to your face when she lines herself up and moves forward. your fingers reach around lucy’s back, desperately grasping for something to hold onto as her cock sinks into you inch by inch. her nose nuzzles against the side of your neck as she fills you up slowly, her breath warm against your skin, until she’s pushed it in as far as it’ll go and your bodies are nestled flush together.

“good?” lucy whispers, slowly pulling back just enough to look up at you.

“mhm” you hum, struggling to keep your eyes from rolling to the back of your head.

her hands fall to your waist again, squeezing you gently as her eyes remain fixed on where she has pushed into your body, where the toy is pressed against your walls just right.

“can i move?” lucy husks, looking like she’s barely containing herself from doing so.

for a moment you wish that her impatience was actually justified. not that it isn’t already, you are dying to see her in a similar position, but you wish she could feel you too: all around her, taking it greedily, sucking her in deeper.

once again, you nod.

pressing your palm between her shoulder blades is about all the bracing you get to do before lucy starts to move. she pulls her hips back slowly as if she’s testing the waters, before slamming into you faster and deeper than expected.

“o-oh!” you gasp, your mouth falling open over lucy’s shoulder. the relief of finally feeling her against your g-spot is immediate and has you seeing stars behind your closed eyelids.

you arch your back against her, involuntarily searching for more as lucy starts thrusting into you more confidently. you meet each of her thrusts, gently lifting your hips from the shelf to rock back onto her strap. like this, she’s fucking you properly in no time, falling into an easy rhythm.

the sound of your skin slapping together echoes through the otherwise abandoned store, accompanied only by your occasional ragged moans. you don’t bother to hold back anymore, not when you’ve spent half of your travels fantasizing about her like this.

it only vaguely registers that lucy’s mouth is pressing against the side of your neck, sucking on the soft skin there as she keeps fucking the strap into you. she’s reaching depths you could never quite find with only your fingers during your rare attempts to find some sort of relief, depths that have you trembling already.

“lucy please!” you cry, unsure what you’re even asking for as one hand holds onto the back of her neck whereas the other grips the edge of the shelf for dear life. “please,”

“does that feel good?” she asks, her voice genuine and amazed despite her relentless pounding.

“mhm, so good!” you nod. your legs are shaking around lucy, trembling more with each thrust that makes you gush around the strap.

the longer lucy moves like this, the more confident she gets in her own movements. despite the occasional grunts of exhaustion, she does not let up. it doesn’t take her long to find the perfect angle either, your cunt throbbing once you feel her right where you need it the most.

too eager for your own release to feel embarrassed, you drop your hand between your legs, rubbing your clit at a pace that matches the one lucy has set.

the space around you smells of sex and her hands are carefully holding your legs apart, keeping you open for her. the shelves creak under the force of her pace, slamming against the wall so loudly you will have to check if the noise has attracted any unwanted attention once she’s done with you.

for now, all you can focus on is the pleasure in your system, which only intensifies when lucy starts talking: “god” she groans, eyes narrowed down on your body to watch the way you take the full length of her strap over and over again.

she pulls out almost all the way once, the motion agonizingly slow so she can see the way you part for her as the silicone slides from your body. the toy is glistening with your wetness in the barely lit room.

“fuck-” she grunts, before snapping forward and sinking back into. there’s sweat collecting at her temple from the efforts of her constant rolls of her hips. “are you close? tell me!”

your weak whine seems to sound agreeable enough for lucy to double her efforts. not once does she falter, her hips thrusting forward effortlessly and desperate cries of her name are all you can manage. they're your only prayer as she gets you closer and closer to the edge.

“that’s it,” she praises absentmindedly, her eyes glued to what she can see past the fabric of your underwear and the frantic movement of your wrist as you rub yourself to the rhythm of her thrusts. “that’s it!”

lucy seems almost as eager to make you cum as you are yourself, panting: “are you gonna cum?” as though she can hardly believe that she’s the one to get you there.

“oh my god, are you gonna cum on my- on my cock?” the distant realization dawns upon you that she doesn’t even know the proper words, but the way she’s put it -albeit clumsy and unsure- works. it is what you ultimately need to be pushed over that edge.

a breathless “oh my god!” is the only response lucy gets before your orgasm rips through you. with a prolonged moan, you slam your head back, only vaguely aware of the dull pain as your body convulses around her strap.

your hips are still rutting back and forth uselessly, grinding against your hand as she stills inside of you. when the pleasure finally subsides, your body goes slack and you fall against lucy with her strap still buried inside you.

her arms wrap around you soothingly, pressing you as close to her chest as the current position allows. you stay like this for a while, just enough for you to catch your breath and ground yourself. the stillness of the night settles back into the store as the two of you adjust in the dim light. she pulls back gently and you pull your jacket tight, brushing stray bits of dust from the sleeves, while lucy fumbles with her gear.

the wind that blows through the creaks in the wall seems louder now, as the silence between you stretches on. finally, lucy dares to speak. “well,” she begins. “this has officially been my favorite pit stop so far!”

you can’t help but laugh, your cheeks heating up all over again as you carefully reach down to push your underwear back into place.

“and these?” she jerks her thumb down to the strap that’s still fastened to her body. “these are definitely coming with us!”

you freeze mid-motion, “lucy, you can’t just carry that around like it’s-“

“like it’s what? a perfectly good survival tool?” she interrupts. “come on, think about it! it’s sturdy, lightweight, multipurpose and-”

“multipurpose?” you cut in, raising a brow.

she shrugs, unbothered. “sure. you never know when you might need something to hold up supplies!”

your lips part to protest, but no words come out. instead, you watch as she unbuckles the harness. this whole situation is ridiculous. it’s so lucy. you feel warmth spreading through your chest at the sight.

she glances over at you, her head tilted when she catches you staring. “are you alright?”

you nod quickly, forcing yourself to look away before your face betrays you again. “yeah,” you swallow audibly. “yeah, i’m good!”

but you’re not. not really. because she kissed you. she kissed you, and then she fucked you, too. and now, instead of brushing it off like another one of her impulsive experiments, she’s acting like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like it’s you that’s natural to her.

“alright,” she says, her voice pulling you from your thoughts. “let’s set up camp for the night. i’ll try to get some actual sleep this time!”

you nod again, following her toward the back of the store where the shadows are deepest. as you lay out your bedroll, you glance at her from the corner of your eye. she’s humming under her breath as she secures her pack.

this wasn’t just a one-time thing, you realize as she packs up both the harness and its counterpart. it wasn’t just a kiss or a moment or something you won’t speak about in the morning, otherwise she would not be keeping this.

it was lucy, and it was you.

and whatever comes next on your travels, you know there’s no going back from this.

— a/n: my first lucy fic!! you can thank @lottiesgrl for this, they helped me turn my silly little idea into…something!!

[jjjjisun]

Sweat & Desire

Sooyoung X Male OC | 2119 words

TW: Incest

—

Buy me a Ko-Fi.

Book commissions here.

—

Request from Discord: Snsd sooyoung with her 21 year old nephew. Her nephew and her went to the gym for a workout, but things go feral when Sooyoung wants a harder workout

—

Author's note: I'm still sick :<

—

In the heart of a bustling city, nestled between towering skyscrapers, lay our local gym, "Fitness.mode." I'd been frequenting it since I moved in with my mom after my dad's sudden passing. The spacious, echoing arena buzzed with familiar faces and shout-outs between regulars. Yet, my heart hadn't truly been in it until today.

Sooyoung, my mom's younger sister, was a rush of color and energy among the monotonous machines. She'd shown up unannounced, eagerly wanting to join my workout routine. Her laughter filled the space, drawing unwanted eyes. I couldn't blame them; she was gorgeous, all curves and confident. But she was also my aunt, or so I kept reminding myself.

We started on the treadmills side by side, breaths syncing as our muscles warmed up. She kept chattering about the new coffee shop downstairs, her hands animated, grazing mine occasionally. Her fingers were soft, and her laughter infectious. I found myself leaning in, forgetting we were in public.

"Hey, watch it, Speed Racer," she teased, as I nearly collided with her when she suddenly stopped. Our faces were inches apart, her breath minty and warm. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, echoing hers. Then she did something unexpected—she winked, and my world tipped slightly.

Circuit training followed, and shared mats and weights led to near-misses and unintended touches. There was a tension building, electric and undeniable. Her boyfriend, what's-his-name, was far from her mind, or at least, she seemed to want me to think so. Each time our skin brushed, she'd linger, hold my gaze, bite her lip. Was this just our newfound fitness high, or something more?

She "accidentally" dropped the medicine ball in the middle of reps. I reached for it, and she did too, our fingers tangling, breasts pressing together. We froze. Her eyes were pools of brown smoke, drawing me in. Her lips parted, inviting. The world around us blurred. I could smell her, citrus and sweat and something uniquely Sooyoung.

Desire coursed through me, hot and primitive. I wanted to push her against the wall and kiss her till she melted. My cock hardened, throbbing against my gym shorts. She had to feel it pressed against her belly. She must have, because she gasped, her pupils dilating.

"Umm," I ranted out, finally breaking the spell. She laughed, a breathless, hungry sound, and picked up the ball. But her eyes never left mine, promising MORE.

We finished our workout in silence, tingling tension palpable between us. As we walked out, sweat-slicked and breathless, I glanced at her, my aunt, my Sooyoung. And I knew, tonight, we'd ignite.

Sooyoung was waiting for me at the gym entrance, her hair still damp from a post-work shower, her cheeks flushed with anticipation. "I thought we could use the studio tonight," she said, nodding towards the soundproof room reserved for private training sessions. My stomach fluttered. I knew what that room was used for, and it wasn't just push-ups and squats.

"I thought you had plans," I replied, trying to hide my eagerness. Her "plans" were her boyfriend, but we both knew that was a sham.

"I changed them," she smiled, a wicked glint in her eyes. "You're more fun anyway." She grabbed my hand, leading me down the familiar hallway. My pulse quickened at her touch, her palm warm and smooth against mine. I could feel the pressure building, the temptation pushing against the boundaries of our relationship. But fuck it, I wanted her. And so did she.

The studio was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of sweat and desire. She closed the door behind us, locking it with a decisive click. "Just in case anyone gets any ideas," she murmured, turning to me. Her eyes were hungry, devouring me whole. I couldn't help but smile, my body responding to her, my cock hardening in my workout shorts.

She stepped closer, her breath ragged. "You know, I've been thinking about you," she whispered, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw, neck, and chest. Her touch was electric, sending shockwaves through me.

"Me too," I admitted, my voice hoarse with desire. I gripped her hips, pulling her against me. She gasped, feeling my hardness pressed against her stomach. Her eyes darkened, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Fuck, she was killing me.

She reached up, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling my mouth down to hers. Our lips crashed together, a fierce, desperate kiss. Tongues clashed, teeth clicked, and we groaned into each other's mouths. She tasted like mint and desire, and I couldn't get enough.

Her hands sliced under my shirt, nails digging into my back, marking me. I growled, cupping her ass, lifting her against me. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her heat pressing against my cock. Fuck, I needed more. I needed all of her.

I backed her against the mirrored wall, pressing her against it, grinding into her. She moaned, arching her back, pushing her tits against my chest. I trailed my mouth down her neck, biting, sucking, marking her as mine. Her hands fisted in my hair, holding me there, urging me on.

I grabbed the hem of her top, pulling it off smoothly. Her breasts spilled out, glorious and round, straining against the lace of her bra. I captured one nipple in my mouth, sucking hard, while my fingers rolled and tugged at the other. She cried out, her head falling back against the wall, her breath coming in short gasps.

I slipped my hand into her shorts, finding her wet and ready. She moaned as my fingers slipped inside her, my thumb rubbing her clit. She was so fucking hot, so fucking ready. I could feel her pulsing around my fingers, her juices coating my hand.

"Fuck, Jae," she gasped, her hips moving in time with my hand. "More. I need more."

I removed my fingers, licking them clean, tasting her sweetness. She watched, her eyes wide and wanton. I unbuttoned my shorts, pushing them down, my cock springing free. She leaned forward, her lips wrapping around me, taking me deep. I groaned, my hands fisting in her hair, guiding her.

But I needed more. I needed to be inside her. I pulled her up, turning her around to face the mirror. She braced her hands against it, looking at me over her shoulder, her eyes fiery. I pushed her shorts down, her ass round and firm. I rubbed my cock against her, coating it with her juices. Then, holding her gaze, I pushed inside.

We both gasped, our eyes locked in the mirror. I gripped her hips, pulling out slowly, then slamming back in. She moaned, meeting my thrusts, pushing back against me. The room filled with the sound of our bodies slapping together, our moans and gasps, the scent of sweat and sex.

I reached around, finding her clit, rubbing it in time with my thrusts. She cried out, her body tensing, her inner muscles pulsing around me. "Come for me, Sooyoung," I growled. "Come all over my cock."

And she did, her body shaking, her mind screaming. I thrust into her once, twice more, then groaned, releasing inside her, filling her up.

We stayed like that momentarily, our bodies pressed together, our breathing ragged. In the mirror, I could see the Mark of my mouth on her neck, her breasts heaving, her eyes closed in sated pleasure. She leaned back against me, her body pliant.

"This is a dangerous game we're playing, Sooyoung," I whispered, my lips against her ear.

"I know," she replied, turning her head to kiss me. "But fuck it. I've always loved a good challenge."

And with that, she pushed away from the mirror, ready for round two. I smiled, my body already responding. This night was far from over.

We stumbled into the gym's far corner, away from the late-night stragglers, our bodies still feverish from the studio. Sooyoung's nipples were hard, visible through her sports bra, and her face flushed. She pushed me against the wall, her hands eager, finding the waistband of my compression shorts.

"Fuck, Jae," she breathed, her fingers wrapping around my cock. "I need this. Need you." Her voice was a growl, primal and hungry.

I groaned, my head falling back against the wall, as she sank to her knees. She looked up at me, her brown eyes filled with debris of desire, then leaned in, her tongue darting out to lick the bead of pre-cum from my tip. I shuddered, my hands fisting her hair.

"So greedy," I muttered, my voice ragged.

She smirked, opening her mouth wide, taking me in. I groaned, my hips bucking slightly, fucking her mouth. She took me deep, her gag reflex nonexistent, her nose brushing against my groin. Fuck, she was incredible. I could feel my balls tightening, my orgasm building.

Just as I was about to explode, she pulled back, a string of saliva connecting us. She stood, wiping her mouth, smirking. "Not yet," she said, her voice sultry. "I have other plans."

She stepped back, pulling her shorts down, her ass bare, her pussy glistening. She turned around, facing the wall, presenting herself to me. "Fuck me, Jae," she said, her voice ragged. "Hard."

I growled, grabbing her hips, positioning myself at her entrance. I pushed in, hard and fast, making her cry out. She went back against me, her ass slapping against my pelvis. We found our rhythm, our bodies moving in sync, the sound of our flesh slapping together filling the quiet corner of the gym.

"Fuck, Sooyoung," I groaned, my fingers digging into her hips. "You feel so good." She moaned, her inner muscles pulsing around me. I could feel her close, her body tensing, her breathing ragged.

Suddenly, her phone rang, the sound harsh and intrusive. She paused, her body still, her orgasm interrupted. "Ignore it," I gritted out, thrusting into her again. She gasped, her body responding, but her eyes were on the phone, a crease forming between her brows.

She reached for it, her voice breathless as she answered. "Hey, what's up?" I could hear the deep baritone of her boyfriend on the other line, his voice annoyed. She listened, her face losing some of its then lust, her body still impaled on mine.

"Yeah, I'll be home soon," she said, her voice normal but her expression detached. She hung up and turned to me, her eyes filled with turmoil.

"Well, that was a buzzkill," I muttered, pulling out of her. She nodded, her arms wrapping around herself, her body suddenly guarded.

"I need to go," she said, her voice distant. "I'll just...clean up."

She walked away, leaving me standing there, my cock still hard, my brain muddled. I leaned against the wall, taking a few deep breaths, willing my body to cooperate. This game was getting messy, and I wasn't sure I liked it. But fuck, she was addictive, and I wanted more.

As I was about to leave, I saw her. She was bent over, washing her hands in the sink, her shorts still around her ankles. Her ass was a thing of beauty, round and firm, her pussy still glistening with our juices. I couldn't help myself. I walked up behind her, grabbed her hips, and plunged back inside her.

She gasped, her body tensing, then relaxing, accepting me. "Jae, what are you doing?" she moaned, her head falling forward, her hair hiding her face.

"Fucking you," I growled, my hips moving. "Ignoring reality. Just like you wanted."

She moaned, her body responding, her ass pushing back against me. I gripped her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her neck. I licked and bit, marking her, claiming her. She shuddered, her body tensing, her orgasm building again.

I felt mine coming too, my body coiled tight, my breath ragged. "Come for me, Sooyoung," I grunted, my fingers finding her clit, rubbing it. "Come all over my cock."

She did, her body shaking, her inner muscles pulsing around me. I thrust into her once, twice more, then groaned, releasing inside her, filling her up, marking her.

We stayed there momentarily, our bodies pressed together, our breathing ragged. Then I pulled out, tucking myself back into my shorts. She stood, turning to face me, her eyes filled with tenderness and regret.

"I should go," she whispered, her voice soft.

I nodded, my heart aching. "Yeah. Me too."

But as we walked away, I knew this wasn't over. Not by a long shot. And we'd be back here, in this gym, fucking like animals, ignoring the world. Because, fuck, it was good. It was too good to stop now.

[itsnesss]

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | george russell × fem!reader

summary | you fall for george behind your camera lens, and one quiet evening at the track, he finally kisses you

warnings | photographer!reader, fluff, romantic, soft

word count | 0.9 k

🖇️ more gr63 🖇️ f1 masterlist

The soft click of your camera echoes over the constant buzz of the paddock. The day is drawing to a close, the sky painted in deep orange, and the heat rising from the asphalt slowly fades. But you’re still there, capturing every moment like you’re trying to trap emotions in pixels.

Your lens instinctively shifts its focus.

It’s not the first time. Or the second. Or the tenth. By now, you've lost count of how many times your lens has settled on him—walking with purpose, laughing with the team, tightening his gloves before getting in the car. But there’s more than just aesthetics that draw you in. It’s the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. How his voice drops when he asks if you’ve eaten. The way he offers you his jacket when the wind picks up, even if you say you’re fine.

You focus on him again and press the shutter. George turns just in time. His blue eyes lock with yours through the lens.

Oops.

You slowly lower the camera, as if that could hide the stupid smile tugging at your lips. But it’s too late. He’s already walking toward you, with that mix of confidence and calm that looks rehearsed, but you know it’s real.

“Catching me with that camera again?” George says, his voice like velvet in the chaos.

“You move too fast,” you reply with a smile, pretending to check the shots. “Not my fault you end up in every frame.”

He tilts his head, studying you.

“Is that an excuse or a confession?”

“A confession of what?”

He steps closer, close enough that you can smell his cologne, his adrenaline—everything that is just so him.

“That you like photographing me. Or watching me.”

The way he says it, soft and unpressured, takes your breath for a moment. He’s not playing with words. There’s something deeper in his gaze. Something vulnerable.

You dare to hold his stare.

“What if I do?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. His expression softens.

“Then maybe I’m not the only one who’s been feeling something.”

The confession lands between you like a spark on gasoline.

Your heart is pounding so hard, you’re sure he can hear it.

“You’ve been feeling something?” you murmur, barely audible.

“I’d feel even more if you let me take you for a walk,” he says with a smile. “Come on.”

He takes your hand without hesitation. And you… you don’t hesitate to follow.

The paddock has begun to empty. Engineers, media, and crew are slowly leaving, and an unusual silence sets in. George leads you past trucks, coiled cables, and crates waiting to be shipped to the next race.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Shhh,” he replies, amused. “Trust me.”

You reach the edge of the track. The floodlights are still on, illuminating the main straight. Empty grandstands tower above like sleeping giants, and the sound of your footsteps echo on the tarmac.

“I’ve never been here like this,” you whisper, looking out across the empty circuit.

“It’s my favorite place when I need to think,” he says, letting go of your hand to step onto the straight. “And I thought… maybe I wanted to share it with you.”

You follow in silence. When you reach him, he’s already looking up at the lights, hands in his pockets, the wind gently tousling his hair.

“Sometimes I forget to breathe,” he says suddenly. “Everything moves so fast. The races, the pressure, the travel. But when you’re around… I don’t know. It feels real.”

Your lips part in surprise at his honesty.

“I feel it too,” you say before you can stop yourself. It comes from deep within, raw and honest.

George turns toward you slowly.

“Do you really?”

You nod.

“I don’t know when it started, but… I started looking for you. Feeling calmer when you’re near.”

He takes a step closer. And another. Until you’re only inches apart. His breath mixes with yours.

“I’ve never kissed you because I didn’t want to do it lightly,” he confesses. “But I don’t want to wait anymore.”

He extends his hand, gently.

“Can I?”

Your answer isn’t verbal. You close the gap and kiss him first. And everything explodes in silence.

His lips are warm, sure, and patient. He kisses you like he’s been dreaming of it. Like the world could end and he wouldn’t care—because you’re here, now.

When he pulls back, his eyes shine brighter than ever.

“That was… better than I imagined.”

You laugh, a little breathless.

“You imagined it a lot?”

“More than I should have.”

You both laugh. And there, in the middle of the empty racetrack, under the circuit lights, with shared glances and quiet heartbeats, you know there’s something between you—something unspoken but real.

Hours later, when the paddock is completely still and only the distant wind slips between the tents, George walks you back to your room. But before you go in, he gently takes your hand again.

“Are you still going to be taking pictures of me tomorrow?”

“Always,” you say with a smile.

“Then I’ll keep giving you reasons to.”

And he leaves, with your heart racing and a grin that won’t leave your face for days.

[cece693]

i need a will solace fic in your writing oh my days you write so good

If You Can Hear Me

pairing: will solance x male reader tags: you almost die, admitting feelings, will is on the verge of a panic attack, angst then fluff, but angst isn't that bad, I promise

You never expected to feel at home at Camp Half-Blood. Before your satyr guide found you and whisked you away, you spent your days stumbling through a series of close calls with monsters you didn’t fully believe in. Now, you’re a recognized camper, forging your own identity among children of gods and goddesses, brushing shoulders with legends-in-training.

Yet something—someone—stands out in your day-to-day life more than all the magic or swordplay ever could: Will Solace, son of Apollo, healing prodigy, a gentle flame of warmth in a place often fraught with danger. His sunny smiles and steady hands once drew you to the infirmary for the smallest bruise you could find an excuse for. But over time, it grew from a mild crush into something deeper you never quite had the courage to name.

Summer at Camp Half-Blood means bustling energy, from chariot races around the track to wild, chaotic capture-the-flag nights in the woods. But the major event currently on the horizon is the Summer Challenge—an advanced training exercise that blends elements of scavenger hunt, combat drills, and puzzle-solving. Every cabin has a part to play, and rumors fly that the Ares Cabin has a special “surprise” planned.

On the morning of the challenge, you’re summoned by Chiron to help finalize some last-minute preparations in the arena. You, Will, and a few others are to do a final walkthrough, checking safety wards and making sure the enchanted training dummies are programmed correctly. It’s supposed to be routine.

Will walks beside you, quiver slung casually over his shoulder and hair tousled by the light morning breeze. He flashes you a lopsided grin that sends your heart hammering. “Don’t look so nervous,” he says, noticing the tension in your stance. “We’ve done these checks a million times. And if anything unexpected does show up, you’ll handle it. You always do.”

You offer a wry smile. “I’ll try not to trip over my own sword this time.”

He laughs, bright and warm. “And if you do, I’m definitely blaming the Ares Cabin’s poor craftsmanship.”

The arena is alive with activity as teams set up. Stacks of foam-tipped arrows, wooden swords, and magical devices line the edges. Clarisse La Rue, decked out in her Ares armor, prowls around with a scrutinizing eye, barking orders to her siblings.

You and Will split up to check opposite sides of the arena’s boundary wards. You’ve almost completed your circuit when an alarmed shout echoes from across the field. At first, it’s unclear what’s happening—just a chorus of raised voices, the heavy clatter of weapons. Then someone screams, “Monster!”

Your gaze snaps toward the center of the arena. A shape unlike anything you’ve seen crawls into view, vile and twisted, like a Chimera that’s been cursed by some dark magic. Part lion, part venomous reptile, it exudes an aura of rot and malice. You see greenish-black vines wrapped around its body, pulsing eerily like they’re feeding on the creature’s rage.

Will sprints to your side, bow in hand. His eyes flash with concern. "We’ve got to stop it,” he says, notching an arrow. “Or at least contain it until Chiron and the others can evacuate the younger campers.”

You nod, setting your jaw. “Let’s do it.”

Chaos reigns as campers flee the stands in droves. A handful of brave souls remain to fight—yourself, Will, Clarisse, and a few from the Hermes Cabin. Amid the frenzy, you notice that the wards designed to keep monsters out must have been tampered with—this beast shouldn’t have been able to step foot in the arena.

Someone planned this. The thought chills your blood.

Each time the monster roars, those eerie vines tighten, like they’re drawing power from the terrified energy around them. Arrows from Will’s bow glance off the beast’s hide, and Clarisse’s strikes, though powerful, barely scratch its scaled sections. You flank it on the opposite side, heart hammering. Timing your approach, you hurl your weapon at a vulnerable spot. With a vicious swipe of its tail, the monster smashes your sword aside and lunges. You barely dodge in time, landing hard on your shoulder and rolling across the dirt.

From the corner of your eye, you see Will run forward, golden light flaring around his hands as he tries to shoot an energized arrow—one infused with Apollo’s power—straight into the monster’s flank. It hits with a flash, briefly knocking the creature back, but the vines seem to absorb much of the energy.

“That’s not good,” Will pants, darting closer to you. “We need a new plan.”

You start to push yourself up, ignoring the bruise forming under your gear. “We have to cut off whatever’s fueling it,” you say. “Those vines—maybe they’re what’s making it so strong.”

Another roar shakes the arena. The beast’s eyes flare with glowing malice as it charges you again. With no time to think, you throw yourself in its path to keep it from trampling a wounded camper behind you. For a split second, Will’s voice cuts through the noise. “Move!” he yells, horror etched on his face.

But you can’t. The monster’s claw descends, and a blinding pain ignites in your side. You feel warmth trickle down your ribs—your own blood. Then comes the swirling sensation of poison, or maybe some dark vine energy, seeping into your veins. Everything spins. Your vision narrows on Will’s face—pale, stricken. He’s sprinting toward you, calling your name. The last thing you see before the world fades is his trembling, outstretched hand.

You come to—barely—in the infirmary. At first, you think you’re fully passed out, because all you can see is darkness and distorted flashes of color. But your ears pick up something: Will’s voice, hushed and thick with emotion.

“…did everything I could,” he’s saying, voice trembling. “The poison is resisting normal healing.”

Someone murmurs a response, but you can’t make out the words. Footsteps fade, leaving Will alone at your bedside. In the fragile silence, you catch Will’s shaky breath. “Please,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Please wake up. I can’t lose you—I don’t want to lose you. Not when I…I feel like I’ve only just started to realize how much I…”

He trails off, as though the rest of the confession is too heavy to say aloud. But he tries again, determination in his tone:

“You mean everything to me. I can’t believe I waited this long to tell you. If you can hear me, if there’s any part of you listening right now... I—I love you. I’m sorry if that’s too much, but I can’t hold it in anymore.” He chokes out a bitter laugh, the sound tinged with tears. “I never had the nerve to say it while you were awake. Now I’m terrified you won’t wake up at all.”

Warmth flares against your side. Apollo’s healing energy, funneled through Will’s heartbreak and determination, spreads through your veins, battling the toxic magic. Little by little, it pushes back the darkness. You float between consciousness and oblivion for an indeterminate time, but slowly, Will’s healing works. The darkness recedes enough that you can feel the softness of the infirmary bed and smell the faint scent of ambrosia.

Your eyelids flutter open, revealing the bright interior of the Apollo Cabin’s medical ward. Will is there, perched on a wooden stool, head resting against his folded arms on the bed beside you. He looks utterly exhausted, but you notice his hand is clasped gently around yours.

You manage a weak croak. “Will…?”

He jolts upright, eyes wide. Instantly, his free hand goes to your forehead, checking your temperature. A tangled mix of relief and panic flits across his features. “Hey—hey, you’re back. Oh gods, don’t move too much yet.”

His gaze lingers on your face, like he can’t quite believe you’re awake. You offer a faint smile, ignoring the throbbing ache in your side. “That monster…?”

Will sighs, shoulders relaxing. “Destroyed. Clarisse and the others managed to sever those vines once we figured out the source of its power.”

You watch him closely, remembering fragments of what you heard while drifting in and out. The raw emotion in his voice, the words he spoke—it all left an imprint, burned into your memory despite the haze. “Will,” you say gently, “I…I heard you, I think. I’m not sure how much was real or a dream, but—”

His cheeks flush. He looks like he wants to sink through the floor. “Y-You heard that?”

You give his hand a squeeze, wincing at the slight pull of pain along your side. “Yes, I heard that you care about me. A lot. Maybe even love me. I—I wasn’t fully conscious, but that part kind of stuck.”

Will averts his gaze, teeth sinking into his lower lip. It’s a rare moment of vulnerability from him. “I didn’t mean to drop that on you while you were half-dead.”

A weak laugh escapes you. “Hey, could be worse. And for what it’s worth, I’m really glad you said it.” You shift, ignoring the dull throb of your wound. “I—I feel the same way. I just never knew if you’d be open to…well, this.”

He exhales shakily, relief flooding his features. When he looks at you again, it’s like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

Your throat tightens, and you grip his hand like it’s the only thing holding you to this moment. “I think I do,” you whisper. “And now that I’m not dying, maybe we can talk about it more?”

Will’s laugh is damp at the corners, and he squeezes your hand back. “Yeah. We’ve got all the time in the world to figure this out—once you’re better.”

He rises from the stool, gently resting a hand on your cheek. “But first, you need rest. Let me handle the bandages and keep an eye on your vitals. No heroic stunts for a while, got it?”

You nod, feeling a flush creep up your face at his closeness. “Deal. As long as you promise not to wait until I’m comatose to talk about your feelings next time.”

His grin sparkles with that golden warmth you’ve come to adore. “I’ll do my best.”

[hamsterclaw]

An 18+ crackfic ft kth x reader.

Dedicated to Kim Taehyung's massive military arms.

Warnings: Crack, unseriousness and seriousness, medical professionals AU, mentions of blood, surgery, death, organ donation, vaping, explicit sex, birth control and copious swearing. 8k words.

start

‘Uh, guys,’ says the new intern, peering around the makeshift barrier you’ve draped between you and the surgeons. ‘There’s a lot of blood.’

‘Pretty, isn’t he?’ says the anaesthetic nurse, almost cooing.

Min Yoongi, your anaesthetic attending, looks unimpressed. ‘Who said he could look around the barrier? Threw me off my game.’ 

He waves his Switch dismissively. ‘Go check it out, Dr L/N. Also, Mr Kim, mind your minion.’

‘For fuck’s sake,’ snaps Mr Kim, otherwise known as Professor Kim Seokjin, head of cardiothoracics at your hospital and editor of Cardiac Surgery, the main journal for cardiothoracics in the world. (Impact factor 10.3)

You scramble round to see and realise the intern’s not lying.

‘Probably a litre of blood loss, maybe two,’ you call over the barrier.

‘I’m on it,’ calls Jung Hoseok, the perfusionist. He doesn’t quite beam his trademark sunny smile, he’s too busy running blood into the bypass circuit, but his pleasant, polite tones are a nice change from Kim Seokjin’s frosty comments and Yoongi’s grunts of disinterest.

‘You checking out my ass?’ asks Kim Taehyung, cardiothoracics fellow, deep voice lowered, a smirk you sense rather than see behind his face mask. 

‘Dunno, is your ass making the patient bleed like a stuck pig?’ you retort. ‘Also, Jimin’s ass is better.’

Kim Taehyung’s brows draw together and he throws you a look that tells you that you’ll pay for that later, and it sends a delicious thrill up your spine, because Taehyung’s been looking good lately.

He always had a face to make one look twice, and now that he’s been hitting the gym and running in the mornings, he’s got a golden tan and arms that strain even through his baggy scrubs tops.

‘We have VF,’ says Yoongi, cool as a cucumber, throwing you a look. ‘Just as well we’re on bypass, but did you idiots get air in the coronaries again?’

You realise that whilst you were fantasising about Kim Taehyung choking you with his big arms and then his dick, all the alarms in your monitoring have been activated.

‘I can’t help if I make everyone’s hearts flutter,’ says Professor Kim Seokjin, Assistant Dean of the top medical school in South Korea.

‘Ah, stop,’ titters Hoyeon, the scrub nurse who’s been working with him for the last ten years but manfully pretending like it’s the first time she’s heard the joke.

The intern’s still staring, mouth agape, and you realise he’s staring at you. 

‘Having a stroke?’ you ask, glaring at him.

‘Sorry noona,’ he stutters.

Beside him, Taehyung snickers. ‘Noona?’

‘Jesus fuck,’ scowls Yoongi. ‘Charge up the damn paddles and get me the fuck out of here.’

Yoongi tugs off his mask in a clear violation of operating theatre policy. ‘I’m getting coffee. If the patient dies, it’s on you.’

He tosses you a capped syringe of fentanyl and then he’s out.

Professor Kim Seokjin eyes you over the draped barrier from the lofty heights of the step he insists on using even though he’s the tallest person in the room. ‘Don’t worry about Dr Jeon, it’s his first time at everything, apparently.’

‘Apparently,’ you echo, firing up the internal defib paddles that Taehyung’s already wielding.

There’s a thin alarm that stops as the shock is delivered, restarting the heart.

Your monitoring resumes regular, steady beeping, Jung Hoseok cheers, and Dr Jeon hits the floor, twitching. 

‘Fuck,’ says Professor Kim Seokjin, clinical lead for the cardiac services directorate. ‘Was he clear?’

‘Apparently not,’ sighs Hoyeon. ‘You told him to hold the retractors, didn’t you?’

You wonder if, as the last remaining anaesthetist in operating theatre 1b, you should be checking on him.

You step back round the barrier and lean over his supine form.

Dr Jeon does have pretty eyes, you note, as he blinks. 

‘You’ve been defibrillated, stay still,’ you explain, reaching to check the pulse in his throat. 

‘Whatever you say, noona,’ he says, his voice clear and high. 

Above you, you can hear Taehyung chuckling to himself.

Yoongi reaches down and plucks the fentanyl out of your hand. 

‘The patient’s BP’s up, why the hell haven’t you given this yet,’ he complains.

You stare at him, including at the smear of powdered sugar on his cheek from the doughnut he scoffed that he hasn’t bothered to wipe off. ‘Sorry, boss.’

Yoongi rolls his eyes. ‘The intern is fine. One shock never hurt anyone.’

‘Don’t worry, noona,’ echoes Dr Jeon, a little dreamily still. ‘I’m fine.’ 

You get up. ‘I’m not your noona, Dr Jeon, we’ve just met,’ you say sternly. ‘Now get up.’

***

You take a furtive look around and when the coast is clear slap the side of the vending machine with the flat of your hand.

The bag of candy you paid for dangles tantalisingly from the shelf instead of falling into the metal collection bin for you to fish out.

‘Shit fuck damnit,’ you swear, preparing to slap again.

Your wrist is caught in mid-air, and a male voice says, smoothly, ‘Allow me.’

You watch, mildly awestruck, as Kim Taehyung grips both sides of the vending machine and shakes it, jostling your candy free.

Shit. When did he get so strong?

He retrieves the bag of candy but instead of holding it out to you, he pockets it instead.

‘Tell me more about how Park Jimin’s ass is better than mine,’ he says, looking down at you.

The arrogant, gorgeous asshole. 

You shove your whole hand into his pocket before he can stop you and curl your fingers around the plastic package.

‘Let me have it,’ you warn.

He smirks. ‘Whatever you want, baby.’

He leans back against the vending machine, all hooded eyes and thick muscles, and your hand stills in his pocket.

‘Tell you what,’ he says, voice all smoke and sex, tendrils of seduction curling around your ears. ‘Let’s go to the on-call room and I’ll unwrap it for you too.’

***

It’s been a while since you and Taehyung last fucked, but there’s never been anything tentative about him, not when he has you in his sights.

He curls a hand around the back of your head, widens his stance so you can reach to kiss him better, and relearns the shape of your mouth so quickly it’s like there was never a gap.

You gasp as he backs you up against the door, lifts his hips up against yours like he means to fuck you into it.

‘Taehyung ah,’ you mumble.

‘Hmm?’ he murmurs, warm breath on your cheek near your ear, his dark wavy hair tickling your ear as he kisses down your neck.

‘I was checking out your ass,’ you confess, yelping a little as he nips where your neck curves into your shoulders.

‘I know, baby,’ he croons, approving and patronising in a way that would infuriate you if he weren’t so goddamned hot. 

He tugs at the hem of your scrubs top, divesting you of it so smoothly you’re awed despite yourself. 

‘So pretty,’ he tells you, eyes dark, voice dropped low. 

‘S-s-s-sorry –’

Both of you jump at the unexpected voice. 

A face pops up from the bed, and you scream and jump into Taehyung’s (big) arms. 

You’ve never seen his entire face, but you definitely recognise those huge eyes. 

Taehyung’s still got his arms around you. ‘Fucking hell, Jungkook. Get the fuck out. We’re not at the Vegas artificial heart conference now.’ 

‘What happened at the Vegas artificial heart conference?’ you mutter, pulling your scrubs top back on. 

‘Don’t get dressed, baby, we can still?’ Taehyung lets his voice trail off suggestively. 

‘Nope,’ you say, shaking your head. ‘Next time, defibrillate him harder.’ 

‘Don’t worry, I will,’ Taehyung promises, throwing Jungkook a dark look. ‘Dinner tonight?’ 

You sigh. ‘Don’t forget to bring my candy.’ 

***

You’re sitting behind him so you can’t see his face, but you suspect that Kim Namjoon, your colleague and fellow anaesthetist, is asleep. 

There’s something about the slant of his shoulders that gives him away. That and the soft snores and myclonic jerks.

You kick his chair to wake him up before Yoongi notices.

‘Fuck,’ utters Namjoon as he jerks awake and knocks his coffee cup off the table.

You raise your eyebrow at the clear liquid now puddling on the floor.

Min Yoongi turns away from the screen where you’re dialled into a multidisciplinary meeting with a hospital in Busan and you both freeze guiltily.

‘It was kind of you to wake Dr Kim up but you do realise I could see both of you in the camera view,’ he points out. ‘In fact, that was my only entertainment whilst we were waiting for this idiot to get the point.’

‘We’re not on mute!’ you say, quickly, trying to salvage the situation.

‘Don’t worry,’ comes the dry voice of Dr Choi from the Busan team. ‘I know how Dr Min feels about me.’

‘Why don’t you do something about it then,’ mutters Yoongi. ‘Like die.’ 

‘How bout I fuck your minion?’ asks Dr Choi.

You and Namjoon look at each other uneasily. 

‘Relax,’ snaps Yoongi. ‘He can’t fuck a damn thing with his pencil dick. Even if he could, you wouldn’t feel it anyway.’

‘Will you motherfuckers shut the fuck up and just accept this patient for surgery?’ 

‘Certainly,’ comes the smooth velvety tones of Professor Kim Seokjin, lead author of the 2019 seminal paper on kidney injury following cardiopulmonary bypass. (Cited 29 times)

The squares on the screen reshuffle, and you’re treated to a close-up of Professor Kim Seokjin’s very handsome face, backlit to perfection with two surgical lights from theatre 1b. 

He looks straight into the camera with his trademark head tilted half smile. ‘Your place or ours?’

***

‘Your place or ours, like a fucking nightcap,’ complains Namjoon bitterly as he follows you onto the train to Busan. 

You don’t know why he’s complaining, he’s not the one carrying Yoongi’s beloved Hario V60 Switch immersion dripper and mini mill. Yoongi had insisted that you bring his coffee paraphernalia to Busan in your backpack because - ‘the coffee at St Mary’s is shit’ and ‘I don’t trust him to carry it’. 

You grimace as the him in question, Namjoon, throws himself haphazardly into a seat and there’s the audible snap of breaking plastic from his backpack. 

‘Was that something important?’ you ask, out of obligation. 

‘Just my work tablet,’ Namjoon says, shrugging. ‘I have two, anyway.’ 

‘Now you have one,’ you mutter, looking for a place to stow Yoongi’s stuff. 

‘Let me,’ offers a husky voice you know well. 

You turn your head to confirm that it’s Park Jimin’s hands lifting Yoongi’s stuff and placing it carefully in the overhead compartment. 

‘Thanks, Jimin,’ you say. 

Jimin smiles and waves you into your seat, then sits next to you. 

‘Heard you were singing praises about my ass,’ he says, a flirtatious twinkle in his eye, a lilt to his voice that lends a soupcon of filth to his words. 

‘She took it back,’ corrects Kim Taehyung as he slides into the seat next to Namjoon. 

Jimin doesn’t even raise an eyebrow. 

‘Want to go to the beach after the surgery?’ he asks you. 

‘Dunno, did you bring swim trunks?’ you ask, feigning innocence. 

He laughs, delighted. ‘Nope.’ 

‘Then yes.’ 

Taehyung says, ‘I’ll share my suncreen’ at the same time as Namjoon says, thoughtfully, ‘You can probably buy swimming trunks —’ 

Your phone rings. It’s Yoongi. 

‘Where are you and Namjoon,’ he asks, forgoing a greeting entirely. 

‘On the train. We’ll be there in two hours,’ you tell him. 

‘Two hours? Are you walking from Seoul? Backwards?’ Yoongi asks, exasperated. ‘I’m already here and I need a coffee.’ 

‘You’re already there? How?’ 

‘Never mind. Are you with the cardiothoracics fellows? Kim Seokjin and I are waiting to start.’ 

‘They’re on the same train,’ you say. 

‘Jesus fuck,’ Yoongi snaps. ‘What part of urgent surgery didn’t you guys get? Even the intern made it before you, and he doesn’t even know what operation we’re doing.’ 

‘We can get a taxi straight from the station,’ you offer tentatively. 

‘You weren’t going to do that anyway?’ 

‘Just tell me what you want,’ you beg. 

Yoongi sighs, his eyeroll so obvious you can hear it through the phone. ‘We’re in theatre 4. Come as soon as you arrive.’ 

‘Well fuck,’ you say, as he hangs up on you unceremoniously. 

***

Taehyung nudges you. 

‘Want me to carry you?’ he asks, sympathetically.

In your mad dash to the hospital once your train got into Busan earlier, you’d stacked it coming down the

station steps and twisted your ankle. Thankfully Yoongi’s coffee kit was intact, you’d have never heard the end of it otherwise.

You’d managed to make it just in time to recover the patient post-op and even to make Yoongi a coffee so he couldn’t be too mad at your and Namjoon’s tardiness.

Jimin and Taehyung had managed to smooth down the ruffled feathers of Professor Kim Seokjin, pioneer of the Toro sutureless repair technique used by cardiothoracic surgeons around the world. (First presented at the World Cardiothoracic Congress 2015 in Philadelphia)

The day hadn’t been a total wash, and now you’re heading to the beach for a beer before taking the train back home.

You look up at Taehyung to see him smiling at you affectionately.

‘I can walk,’ you tell him.

‘I didn’t build these muscles for nothing,’ he coaxes. ‘At least lean on my arm.’

You can’t help your smile as you slip your hand into the crook of his arm.

‘I’m tired,’ you tell him.

He tugs you closer gently. ‘I know, baby.’

You don’t think you’ve ever been out with him before like this. You’ve gone out in a group plenty of times, but you’ve never really touched him in public.

Which is not to say you haven’t touched every inch of his skin in private. 

You are friends who fuck after all.

By the time you catch up with Jimin and Namjoon, they’ve cracked open the beer and made a space on the beach far enough back that the tide doesn’t reach.

‘Cheers,’ Jimin says, passing you a drink, barely reacting to the fact that Taehyung’s got his arm around you. 

‘Cheers,’ you say. ‘Where’s —-‘

You stop dead mid sentence as the intern, Dr Jeon Jungkook, emerges from the water and approaches you, shirtless, and wet. 

You blink, twice, then turn and bury your face in Taehyung’s chest. 

‘Why is the intern so naked?’ you mumble.

You can feel the rumble of Taehyung’s laughter in his chest before you hear it.

‘Do you want me to ask him for you?’ he asks.

‘No. I don’t want to talk to him.’

He laughs again. ‘Shut up and drink, you’re going to make me jealous.’

Now you’re laughing. ‘I’ve never seen you jealous, Tae.’

It’s true.

In the two years that you’ve been fucking Taehyung on and off, you’ve never seen him be possessive about anything.

Now that you think of it, he’s the most self-assured person you know.

You’re still laughing to yourself as you turn back to the group, only to realise that the intern is sitting right next to you.

‘Am I embarrassing you, noona?’ he asks.

There’s more than a hint of cockiness in his tone.

The little shit knows his body is fucking hot. 

You haven’t survived the last three years under the tutelage of Dr Min Yoongi for nothing.

‘I’m not embarrassed,’ you say, looking him dead in the eyes. ‘I guess since you’ve seen me without a shirt on it’s only fair that I get to see you shirtless too.’

Jimin’s eyebrows rise.

Namjoon rolls his eyes.

Jeon Jungkook blushes so hard his ears turn red.

Beside you, Taehyung snorts and cracks open another beer.

***

You’re trying to finish up your chart from the patient you just recovered but the recovery nurses are discussing hot theatre staff again.

‘Scary, but hot.’

You stifle a smile as Yoongi walks out of theatres and heads straight for you.

‘The bed on ICU is ready,’ he says, not bothering to give you any context.

‘Of course,’ you say, bowing.

He gives you a suspicious look. ‘We’ll start at 7 tomorrow.’

‘Yes, sir,’ you say, saluting.

‘I have more beans,’ he says, a final parting shot before he walks off.

You make a mental note to collect the fresh coffee beans from Yoongi’s locker at 6am tomorrow because a 7am start for him means a 6.30am start for you.

Beside you, the recovery nurses sigh collectively, and you know without looking up that it’s Professor Kim Seokjin, winner of the De Leval prize for outstanding contributions to cardiothoracic surgery on three separate occasions - 2017, 2018 and 2020.

‘Waaah I don’t have to worry now that I know my patients are in your hands,’ Professor Kim Seokjin says to the nurses, jovial and charming as always.

To you, he smiles and nods politely. ‘Wake and extubate my patient please, they can be discharged tomorrow.’

Now Yoongi’s words make sense. 

‘Ah, I’ll try my best, but Dr Min wants the patient on ICU overnight,’ you say.

Professor Kim Seokjin may have a wing of the medical school named after him but it’s Min Yoongi who’ll have your head on a platter if you don’t follow his instructions.

You wince slightly as you catch sight of the patient’s vitals. Yeah. Yoongi called it. He’s not the most highly paid anaesthetist this side of the Hangang for nothing.

You’re prepping to transfer to the ICU when you hear Nurse Choi giggle. 

‘He’s so handsome!’

Next to her, Nurse Kim says, in a voice that’s higher than usual, ‘He’s so nice, too. Ara said he was a total gentleman on their date.’

You look up, expecting to see Park Jimin or even the intern, but instead you see Kim Taehyung.

The punch you feel in your chest surprises you.

Why would you care if Kim Taehyung’s taking other women on dates? 

It’s not like he’s dating you.

You’re concentrating so hard on trying not to be upset that you don’t notice that Taehyung’s standing beside you until he picks up an infusion pump.

‘Seems like a lot of adrenaline,’ he comments.

‘I think Professor Kim was, uh, optimistic about his heart function,’ you reply. 

You take the pump from him and snap it onto the trolley pole. ‘We’re going up to the ICU.’

Before you can stop him, Taehyung’s taken up position at the head of the bed. ‘I’ll help you wheel him up.’

‘There are porters for that sort of thing,’ you protest.

He just looks at you patiently.

In the end you acquiesce and let him help. He waits by the nursing station whilst you hand over.

‘Dinner at the Kitchen?’ Taehyung suggests when you’re done.

‘Sure,’ you agree, falling into step beside him.

Then you remember. ‘But you can’t come over after, I’m on my period.’

‘Why can’t I come over when you’re on your period?’ asks Taehyung, swiping his ID to let you both into the changing rooms.

‘You can come over but no sex,’ you tell him, as the intern emerges from behind the scrubs dispenser.

He flushes immediately and drops his gaze.

‘Noona,’ he says, bowing in greeting. 

‘You seem more shy with your clothes on, Jeon Jungkook,’ you observe.

‘Not always, noona,’ Jeon Jungkook murmurs. He flicks his eyes to yours briefly.

You laughs, surprised, and his whole face flushes prettily. 

As soon as he leaves, Taehyung frowns. 

‘I’d probably be worried if I thought there was a chance he wouldn’t pass out if you flirted back,’ he says casually.

‘I don’t date jailbait,’ you say. ‘What are you doing?’

Taehyung’s hoisted your backpack onto his shoulder.

He raises a brow, matter of fact. ‘You’re on your period, let me carry your stuff.’

‘Please, you’ll make me fall in love with you,’ you tease.

He laughs. ‘That’s the plan. Come on, I’m buying dinner.’

***

‘That dinner was worth a blow job,’ you announce, licking the last of the sauce on the wings off your fingers.

Taehyung pushes your water glass closer to you. 

‘I didn’t buy you dinner so we could fuck,’ he says.

There’s an edge to his voice that makes you look at him carefully.

‘I’m sorry. I’m just — it’s just that, that’s what we do, isn’t it?’

Taehyung looks irritated. ‘It doesn’t have to be just fucking all the time does it?’

His tone is shorter than he’s ever been with you.

You sense you’re in dangerous waters here, but you have no idea what the right thing to do or say is.

‘You’re right,’ you end up saying, but it took you so long to say it that it comes out flat, like you don’t really mean it.

Taehyung gets up. ‘Anyway.’

He still sounds annoyed.

You follow him out of the Kitchen in silence.

‘I’ll walk you home, it’s late. Don’t worry, I won’t invite myself in.’

He sets off without really waiting for you to answer.

It’s a short walk to your apartment, not really long enough for you to gather your thoughts, but you know you can’t let him leave like this.

‘Tae?’ you ask, tentative, touching his arm.

It’s too dark to really see his face, but you can feel the tension in his muscles draining away under your fingers.

‘I’m sorry I snapped at you,’ he says.

‘It’s ok,’ you tell him. ‘I don’t think of you as just a fuck buddy, you know?’

‘I know we said no strings, at the beginning,’ he says. ‘But we’ve been doing this for so long —‘

He’s right. 

It’s been nearly two years since you first slept together. 

You’re thinking back to the first time and the rush you’d felt when he’d leaned over casually on a group night out and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear.

He still makes you feel that way, if you’re being honest. 

You guess since you’ve never really dated that you’ve never seen anything that would take the shine off how you feel.

You’ve never seen him in holey sweatpants or with a shiny face or greasy hair or stuffing his face with yesterday’s takeout.

Well actually maybe you have seen that.

You’ve reached your door. 

You figure it’s now or never.

‘Come in, if you want,’ you say. 

He looks at you. ‘I don’t want to force anything because I was being an ass.’

‘Well, we’ve been fucking for two years,’ you remind him. 

You smile. ‘You can be an ass. You don’t have to be on your best behaviour all the time.’

Taehyung’s smile makes your heart skip a beat. 

You take your time unlocking your door, regaining your composure.

‘I’m taking a shower, there’s ice cream in the freezer,’ you tell Taehyung. 

He’s hanging his coat up in your entryway. You don’t think you’ve ever told him how much his fastidiousness about his clothes tickles you.

By the time you’re out of the shower, he’s on your couch, feet up, a steaming cup of tea and a tub of ice cream on the coffee table.

‘Here,’ he says. ‘I made you tea.’

You smile at him gratefully. 

‘How are you feeling?’ he asks. 

‘I’m fine,’ you tell him. You slide onto the couch next to him. ‘Want to watch a movie?’

‘If I get to pick,’ he says. 

‘Choose whatever you want.’

You sink back into the cushions as he picks the show, some feel good baseball movie. He grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over the both of you, and when he slides his hand under the fleecy fabric to hold yours, you don’t pull away.

It feels good to hold him.

***

You’re checking your anaesthetic machine, drawing up drugs for your first case when the intern Jeon Jungkook bursts into your anaesthetic room like he’s just escaped the jaws of certain death.

‘Noona,’ he begs.

‘I’m not your —‘ 

You cut yourself off and sigh. ‘What do you want, Jeon Jungkook?’

‘I fucked up,’ he says, panicked.

‘Is that the medical term for it?’ you ask, cracking open a vial of antibiotics so he’ll get to the point.

‘I forgot to order the blood for the first patient.’

You roll your eyes. ‘So call blood bank, there’s time.’

‘I called them!’ he cries. ‘The patient has antibodies! They can’t have blood ready for another four hours!’

‘Oh shit,’ you say. 

Professor Kim Seokjin, chair of the hospital patient safety committee (awarded the national Clinical Excellence Award in 2022), is notorious for sticking to protocol. You know that he would never start a case if there wasn’t blood available.

You know just as well as Jeon Jungkook does, that he’s doomed. A cancelled case would tarnish Professor Kim Seokjin’s sterling reputation.

The little shit with the hot body is fucked. 

You both look up as the theatre doors open and Professor Kim Seokjin and Min Yoongi stroll in for the pre-op briefing.

Beside you, Jeon Jungkook whimpers.

‘Pull yourself together,’ you hiss.

Before he passes out with all his hyperventilating, you step forward. 

‘Dr Jeon and I were just discussing the order of today’s cases,’ you say, smoothly. ‘We think the first patient should go last, at the end of the day. They live quite far away and we should discharge them tomorrow anyway.’

Professor Kim Seokjin smiles. ‘Always thinking about the patients,’ he says, approving.

Min Yoongi eyes you and Jungkook suspiciously then visibly decides he doesn’t give enough of a fuck to question it. 

As soon as they’ve left you grab Jungkook by the neck of his scrubs top. 

‘Go and beg blood bank to guarantee you the blood will be available by the end of the day,’ you say. ‘I don’t care if you have to sleep with someone, just take care of it. Also, use protection.’ 

Jungkook’s throat works visibly with emotion. 

‘Noona, thank you for saving my ass,’ he says, bowing so low he nearly tips your drugs tray off the counter.

You sigh. ‘Just get it done, ok?’

‘I will,’ he promises. 

***

The annual staff party takes place in December, you go every year when you’re not working.

It’s not what you would call a classy affair, but there’s an unlimited free bar and a buffet table.

You’re trying not to get pulled onto the dancefloor by the overexcited Jung Hoseok when you see him.

Tall, dressed in a crisp shirt that makes his skin tone pop, wavy hair styled half over his forehead, he looks so good your mouth goes dry.

He’s already looking at you.

You send him a pleading look as last summer’s dance anthem comes on and you finally acquiesce.

Hoseok’s a great dancer, you’ll give him that, with an energy that’s infectious. You’re starting to enjoy it when Taehyung slides in smoothly behind you.

His body presses against yours, you get the sense he’s leaning closer, then his voice sounds in your ear.

Intimate like a caress.

‘You look really pretty,’ he says. 

You turn your head and he’s right there, lips curled in a smirk, head tilted to yours like it’s just the two of you.

You turn into his arms and his hand lands on the small of your back, an inch too low for polite company.

He dips his head low to whisper in your ear again, and you let him lead you off the dancefloor, into a darkened part of the room.

‘My place?’ he murmurs, eyes intent on yours, his tall frame leaning over you.

You curl a hand over his forearm, and he wraps a possessive arm around your waist to take you home.

***

Shit, Taehyung is hotter than you remember.

He’s splayed over his couch, tugging you down so you’re draped over his thick thighs, your skirt rucked up, his thick length throbbing against your core.

He lays a kiss right next to the corner of your mouth, teasing when you turn your head to try to kiss him.

He’s got a hand on your waist, another one curved over your breast, and he grunts when you rock your hips against his.

‘Fuck, when’s the last time we did this,’ he murmurs into your ear, voice thick, syllables running together in a honeyed drawl that makes you close your eyes.

‘Dunno, don’t make me wait,’ you complain, tugging at his shirt.

He doesn’t answer, kissing you again with an eagerness that let you know he wants this as much as you do.

He tastes like the chocolate mint he was sucking all the way to his apartment and he licks into your mouth in a way that makes your crave the feel of his cock plunging into you.

‘Tae,’ you moan.

His hand runs down your spine, tugs the zipper of your dress down, making your dress fall in a pool at your hips. He gazes at your breasts in the bra you picked out because you know he likes white lingerie.

He chews on his lower lip as he traces a finger over the upper curve of your breasts, then he lowers his mouth to you.

He unclasps your bra, helps you pull it off.

The way he admires your half naked body makes you feel like you’re burning up from the inside.

He pulls your hips closer, grinds a little against you, showing you he’s still hard as a rock, but he’s always been a patient man.

He kisses the soft curves of your tits until you’re whining his name the way he likes. By the time he sucks a nipple into the wet warmth of his mouth you’re barely aware of anything but him.

 He lays you down, gets on top of you, mouth still on your tits, hard cock jutting into the space between your legs, teasing.

You curl an arm around his neck, hanging on as he aligns the blunt head of his cock to your entrance and pushes in.

‘Fuck,’ you gasp. He fills you so well your eyes close with the pleasure of it.

He circles his hips on the next thrust, and you whine his name.

‘Gonna come on my cock?’ he asks, voice low, words coming out staccato as he keeps fucking you. 

‘Yeah, fuck, don’t stop,’ you moan. 

‘I won’t,’ he promises, curling a hand under your knee to keep you from scooting up the bed with every thrust.

Fuck, he’s strong.

He rolls his hips tight against yours, and you can feel your orgasm tingling through your toes, your pleasure centres lighting up each time he groans and moves deep inside you.

‘Tae,’ you pant.

‘Yeah,’ he grunts. ‘Hold on.’

He takes a moment to push your hair away from your face and give you a cocky smirk as though you couldn’t feel exactly how hard he is.

‘Gonna cum?’ 

‘Uh huh, don’t stop,’ you plead..

‘I won’t,’ he promises again. ‘Wanna feel you —‘

You cry his name as he grips your ass and you come.

‘Good girl,’ he praises, voice low, the tendons in his neck straining as he fucks you through it. 

‘Shit, I can feel you,’ he groans. ‘Fu—-uck.’

He’s coming himself, you realise, his movements slowing, his grip tightening on your ass almost to the point of pain.

He dips his head for another kiss, open mouthed and sloppy, tongues mingling as the tension drains from his body and he collapses on the bed next to you.

‘Are you squished?’ he asks, slurred, trying to disentangle your thighs from his.

You shake your head.

‘Don’t go far —‘

He laughs, affectionate. ‘Forgot how clingy you get. Gimme a sec, just get this —-‘

He breaks off. ‘Shit.’

‘What?’ you ask, trying to see.

‘Condom split,’ he tells you. 

‘Oh.’

You sit up, and there’s a tell-tale gush between your legs.

‘Yeah.’

You roll out of his bed, your legs like jelly still, and head for his bathroom.

A moment later he sticks his head round the door. 

‘You ok?’

Your eyes meet. 

‘Yeah.’

‘There’s a 24 hour pharmacy down the block,’ he says. He hesitates. ‘I haven’t slept with anyone since we last fucked.’

Despite the situation, you’re surprised. ‘Really?’

‘Have you?’

You use the bathroom and wash your hands. 

‘No.’

‘Shit, are we monogamous?’ Taehyung asks, sounding so incredulous about it you snicker. 

‘Shit, it’s like we’re a couple or something,’ you joke.

He hands you one of his sweatshirts to get dressed. 

‘Guess so,’ he agrees. ‘Do you even want to go to the pharmacy? We can have a baby. I like babies.’

You smile at him fondly. ‘You’re good with babies,’ you say. ‘But we can’t have a baby now.’

‘Honestly?’ he says, pulling his own clothes on. ‘Even talking about it is making me horny.’

You laugh as he passes you your panties. ‘Come on, let’s go, I’m hungry.’

Taehyung helps you on with your coat. 

‘Is my hair a mess?’ you ask.

‘Looks like you’ve been fucked,’ he advises. ‘Keep it that way so no one hits on you.’

‘You’re ridiculous,’ you scoff. ‘Who’s going to hit on me at the pharmacy?’

‘Who wouldn’t hit on you?’ he counters, sounding perfectly serious. ‘You’re hot.’

He locks his door and you head down to the main entrance of his building.

He slips his hand over yours so naturally you don’t realise what he’s doing until he’s holding your hand, and then you don’t want to let go.

***

It’s the week before Christmas and you’re in the staffroom having lunch with Namjoon as Hoyeon and Mina pass out the secret santa gifts.

‘Here’s yours,’ Hoyeon announces brightly, passing you a silver paper bag 

You accept with a nod and thanks, pulling out the card.

‘Thank you for being you, love Santa,’ you read out loud.

Namjoon rolls his eyes. ‘Christmas is a soulless commercial holiday.’

‘Ok, atheist,’ you say, rolling your eyes back at him.

‘I’m agnostic,’ he mutters.

You unwrap your gift and stop, frowning, at the duck’s egg blue box.

‘Wasn’t there a cost limit?’ 

You lift the lid to reveal a pair of sparkly earrings. 

‘That’s at least a carat each,’ Hoyeon observes.

‘This can’t be right,’ you say.

‘Do you like them, noona?’ asks the intern Jeon Jungkook, popping up from out of nowhere.

You and Namjoon stare at him open-mouthed.

‘Are you my secret santa?’ you ask.

He nods eagerly. ‘I was so happy to get you.’

‘There was a gift cost limit,’ you protest.

‘I don’t know how much they cost, I just put it on my black card,’ he admits.

You’re still staring at him.

‘Jesus fuck,’ observes Yoongi from somewhere behind you. ‘What in the name of blood diamonds—‘

‘They’re ethically sourced!’ says Jeon Jungkook, indignant.

‘No diamonds are ethically sourced,’ Yoongi says, pityingly. ‘Anyway there was a gift cost limit. She can’t accept.’

Jungkook pouts.

‘They’re beautiful, but Yoongi’s right, Jungkook,’ you say gently. ‘Besides, you can’t afford —‘

‘My family own the hospital,’ Jungkook tells you, earnestly. ‘And a few others too, and Sharpcor.’

Now Yoongi’s staring at him too. ‘Your family own the biggest pharmaceutical conglomerate in South Korea?’

Hoyeon whistles. 

Namjoon splutters. ‘You left a pair of diamond earrings in a random gift pile in the staffroom?’

‘Not the point,’ you and Yoongi say in unison.

‘Who knew the intern was chaebol,’ remarks Hoyeon. She pats him reassuringly on the shoulder. ‘So handsome, too.’

Hoyeon smiles at you. ‘Almost as handsome as Kim Taehyung.’

Namjoon chokes on his lunch.

‘You and Taehyung?’ he asks, incredulous.

‘Where have you fucking been?’ Yoongi asks, scornful. 

He turns to you. ‘This is why I don’t trust him to carry my coffee stuff.’

‘Anyway, I wanted to thank you for helping me out the other day,’ Jungkook says. ‘And if Taehyung ever treats you badly you should tell me.’

He narrows his eyes. 

‘I’ll take care of him for you, noona,’ he vows. 

‘Uh, thanks?’

‘Where’s my secret santa gift?’ Namjoon asks, looking through the pile.

‘Working with me is its own reward,’ comes the silken tones of Professor Kim Seokjin, awardee of the ‘Trainer of the Year’ award for five years running as voted for by SNU medical trainees. 

Kim Seokjin smiles kindly at you. ‘Nice earrings.’

***

You’re sitting at the ICU hub validating your observations from the last case when a shadow falls over you. You look up automatically to see Kim Taehyung.

‘Hey,’ he says, that smirk on his face that you’ll never admit to him is fucking hot.

‘Hey,’ you say, casual.

He leans over the screen of your computer. ‘So I figured —‘

He’s cut off by Ara, one of the ICU nurses.

‘Thank you for my secret santa present,’ she says, smiling at him warmly.

‘How did you know it was him?’ you ask, signing the last of your prescriptions.

‘We talked about how much I love cats,’ she replies, looking up shyly.

Taehyung smiles. ‘It was me. I’m glad you liked your present.’

‘I wondered, if you’re not too busy later, if you wanted to go to the cat cafe we were talking about?’ Ara asks.

Taehyung glances at you. ‘Actually, Ara —‘

He pauses like he’s waiting for you to jump in.

You’re logged off, all done, but waiting to see where this goes.

‘I’m kind of seeing someone,’ he finishes.

You get up, and Taehyung follows you out of the ICU. 

‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ he complains, as soon as you’re out of Ara’s earshot.

‘Like what?’ you ask.

‘Like how we fucked three times last night?’

You both fall silent as Nurse Choi passes by pretending not to have heard.

‘Why would that stop you from going to the cat cafe with Ara?’ you ask. 

You’ve spoken thoughtlessly, and as soon as the words leave your lips you realise how collossally stupid they are. 

Of course you care if Taehyung goes on a date with Ara. 

It’s too late to take them back. 

Taehyung stares at you, brows drawn together. 

‘Unbelievable,’ he says. 

You’re hurt, but you don’t know what to say to salvage the awful wrong turn this conversation’s taken. 

For once, your quick mind fails you, and whilst you’re clicking through how to fix this, Taehyung’s turned away. 

‘You know what, I don’t want to do this,’ he tells you. 

He lifts his gaze to yours. ‘I thought we were finally getting somewhere, you know? What was the point of us these two years?’ 

He doesn’t wait for an answer, which is fine, because you can’t give one. 

As he walks away you already know you’re making the biggest mistake you’ve made lately in letting him go. 

***

Yoongi sighs, exaggerated. 

‘Did you start your Christmas drinking early or what?’

‘Huh?’ you ask, blankly. 

‘You’re one short step from getting thrown out of my anaesthetic room,’ Yoongi says, a sharpness to his tone he doesn’t normally use with you. 

You struggle to focus on the monitoring in front of you. 

‘Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping well,’ you apologise. 

‘Next time you have a bad day, do us both a favour and call in sick,’ Yoongi says. ‘This patient is relying on us to keep him alive and under anaesthesia for his operation, and at this rate, you’re not going to achieve that.’ 

You take a step back at his harsh words. 

‘I’m sorry, I’ll call in Namjoon,’ you say hurriedly. 

‘Leave the —’

Yoongi breaks off as you pick up the glass bottle of acetaminophen. ‘I told you it was broken,’ he says. 

You stare blindly at the cut on your hand from the glass shard of the broken bottle. 

‘Fuck. I’m so sorry. I’ll get Namjoon,’ you say. 

‘No. Sit the fuck down,’ Yoongi says sternly, tossing you a pack of swabs to mop up the bleeding. ‘Watch the monitoring until I get back, and if the patient’s tube falls out you’re damn well going to snap gloves on and reintubate him, cut hand or not.’ 

You daren’t disagree. 

You tie a swab around your bleeding hand and force yourself back into the routine you’ve developed over the years you’ve been training with Yoongi. 

Patient. 

Monitoring. 

Lines. 

You run through all three checks in a loop until you hear the door to the anaesthetic room swing open behind you. 

‘The patient’s stable,’ you call, not turning around. 

‘I know they are,’ comes Yoongi’s voice. ‘Go get your hand stitched up.’ 

You turn and instead of Namjoon you see Taehyung. 

You look at Yoongi, betrayed. 

He’s staring back at you, face impassive. 

‘Do you think I actually need help? I’ve been giving anaesthesia since before you could even draw a propofol molecule,’ he says, dryly. ‘Go get your hand stitched up.’ 

Taehyung’s looking at you, but he hasn’t moved from his spot near the door. 

‘It might not need stitches,’ you protest. 

‘Why don’t you let the surgeon decide,’ Yoongi suggests. ‘Get the fuck out of my anaesthetic room. I expect you back here next week at your usual level of competence.’ 

He turns his back on you so you have no choice but to follow Taehyung into the next room. 

Taehyung runs the tap so you can hold your hand under the stream of water. 

‘Just keep it under there,’ he says. ‘I’ll get some local and sutures ready.’ 

You watch the blood from your cut run into the sink and try to gather your composure as he gathers things behind you. 

You haven’t spoken to Taehyung since your awful encounter a week ago. You’d called him, but he hadn’t answered, so you’d left it at that. 

You’re wondering if you should turn around when he approaches you with a swab. 

‘Here, hold your arm up,’ he says quietly. 

You bend your elbow to keep your hand above your heart as you take a seat on the trolley. 

Taehyung gestures for you to lower your hand onto the tray he’s set up. 

He pulls up a stool across from you, and you look away. 

‘There’s a shard of glass still in here,’ he tells you. ‘I’ll give you some local and take it out. You’ll probably need a couple stitches.’ 

‘Ok,’ you say. 

You flinch at the sting of the needle, but he’s so gentle you don’t feel much more than that. 

This close, the familiarity of his cologne and the warmth of his touch make you miss him so much it makes you want to cry. 

You still can’t look at him. 

He’s quiet as he works on your hand. 

Finally, he says, ‘All done.’ 

You risk a look at your hand to see a line of beautiful neat stitches, just before he covers it with a dressing. 

‘Thanks,’ you say. You look up to meet his gaze. 

He leans forward and kisses you on your forehead, so quickly you don’t have time to react. 

‘Take the stitches out in a week,’ he says. 

He hesitates. ‘I can take them out for you, but if it’s easier, any of the nurses can help you.’ 

‘Tae,’ you say. 

He’s already getting up, tidying up the tray. ‘Just a sec.’ 

You wait for him after he’s left the room, but soon enough it’s clear that he’s not coming back.

***

‘You didn’t even dress this smartly when you interviewed for your fellowship,’ Yoongi observes from somewhere behind you.

You jump.

‘Jesus, don’t sneak up on me like that!’

Yoongi looks unperturbed, sucking on a vape that violates all of the hospital’s policies.

You remind him of that and he just snorts. ‘Technically we’re on university grounds.’

‘The real question is why you’re hanging around hiding behind a fern at the surgical appraisals,’ Yoongi remarks.

‘I’m not hiding,’ you say, sulky.

Yoongi mutters something that sounds like ‘fucking Kim Taehyung.’

You don’t bother asking him to repeat himself, because you’ve spotted him.

Before you can make yourself overthink it, you step out, right into Kim Taehyung’s path.

He steps back, startled, his hand automatically reaching to steady you.

‘Are you ok? Did I bump into you?’

‘No,’ you say, ‘I just wanted to say good luck for your appraisal.’

His smile is immediate. ‘You remembered. Thank you.’

You’re so busy drinking in how good he looks in a suit that it takes you a moment to realise he’s just asked you a question.

‘My hand?’

He holds out his hand, palm out, and you put your hand in his automatically.

He looks like he’s holding back a smile. ‘I think it was the other one,’ he says, so seriously you can’t be embarrassed.

He traces a gentle finger over your healing scar.

‘It looks like it’s healing nicely,’ he observes. His fingers curl around yours in a gentle squeeze, then he lets go.

‘Thanks for stitching me up,’ you say.

You both look up as his name is called.

‘Good luck,’ you say, quickly.

He looks like he wants to say something else, but in the end he just nods.

***

It’s 10am on Christmas day, and you’ve never been a grinch but your Christmas spirit is already running low.

So far you’ve extubated two patients on the ICU, one of whom promptly pulled out his art line, dousing you and Nurse Choi in AB positive, and the only fresh scrubs left in the dispenser were three times too large for you.

You sigh as you roll up your scrubs bottoms so they aren’t dragging on the floor as you head to theatres to answer your latest call.

You’re greeted by a rush of activity.

‘There’s an offer,’ announces Hoyeon as you enter the anaesthetic meeting room.

‘Heart or lungs?’ you ask.

‘It’s a heart, from Jeju-do.’

‘Where’s the recipient?’ you ask. 

‘Arriving in an hour,’ says Yoongi, briskly. ‘Go have lunch, it’s going to be a late night.’

It’s 10 am, but you know that with the logistics of all the pre-heart transplant tests, harvesting the donor heart and prepping the recipient, you’ll be busy for hours.

You head to the staffroom to bolt your lunch only to find Taehyung already there.

He glances at your sandwich and pushes one of his bowls towards you. ‘I brought extra,’ he says. 

‘Thanks,’ you say.

You eat in silence seated opposite each other.

Eventually he says, ‘Didn’t they have any scrubs in your size?’ 

‘I like the baggy look,’ you reply, deadpan.

You realise he’s lifting his own scrubs top off. 

‘Here, let’s swap. It’s closer to your size.’

You stand and he steps between you and the staffroom door to shield you from the view of anyone walking in.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t look,’ he says. There’s a teasing note in his voice.

You pull your top off and pass it to him, then slip his top on. 

It smells like him. 

‘Did you look?’ you ask, looking up at him.

He reaches to help you pull your hair out from the back of the top. 

‘Of course I did,’ he says, and he sounds so offended that you would even check that you can’t help giggling.

‘I miss you,’ you say, the words coming so naturally you don’t realise what you’ve said until his eyebrows lift slightly.

He doesn’t give you any time to worry. ‘I’ve missed you too,’ he tells you.

You exchange a smile, the first in a long time.

There’s exaggerated throat clearing from behind Taehyung.

‘There’s a patient waiting to get a new heart, but you guys take your time,’ says Yoongi, wielding his sarcasm like a whole other language. ‘It’s fine.’

***

You’re titrating pressors on the patient from Jeju-do as Park Jimin dissects down the major vessels and veins. 

In the adjoining theatre, you can see Yoongi, Taehyung and Professor Kim Seokjin (Executive Chair of the National Blood and Transplant Committee 2021-2024) waiting with the recipient.

Jimin looks up at you. 

‘About to explant,’ he says.

‘I’ve got you,’ you reply.

You watch, awed as always, as the donor heart is placed in a saline bath and rolled towards the adjoining theatre. 

Namjoon, beside you, takes over the haemodynamics and Jimin goes back to operating. You know that between them they’ll treat the donor with the honour their choice deserves.

For now, you head towards the next theatre to help Yoongi. 

Jung Hoseok’s running a spotless circuit, the recipient’s already on bypass, and the heart looks good to go.

As Taehyung and Professor Kim Seokjin (founder of the non-profit Healing Hearts that provides surgical expertise to low-income countries) remove the original heart and begin the long process of suturing the new graft in, there’s a quiet that’s uncharacteristic of operating theatre 1b.

You can’t help but admire how beautiful Taehyung looks when he’s like this, his face composed under his loupes, his hands moving with a grace and sureness that’s lovely to watch.

Yoongi and you swap each other out as the operation goes on, until just before midnight when the last of the graft sutures goes in. 

There aren’t any barriers between you and the surgeons, not tonight at least. 

‘I think we’re good,’ Kim Seokjin says, with a quiet simplicity you rarely ever hear from him. 

‘Good,’ Yoongi says, absent his usual snark.

Taehyung releases the aortic cross clamp, and as you watch, the newly transplanted heart fills with blood.

Then, it starts to beat.

Your eyes meet Taehyung’s, and you can see his smile even under the mask, your brain filling in the parts of his face you know so well.

You’re smiling back.

You think everything’s going to be all right.

***

It’s a couple hours later, when you’ve dropped off the patient on the ICU, and are heading to the locker room, that you hear your name called.

It’s Taehyung, a line on his forehead from where he was wearing a scrubs hat all day, eyes a little bloodshot from fatigue, and still the most beautiful thing you’ve seen this Christmas. 

He stops in front of you, there’s a moment of silence and then both of you speak at once.

You both stop, and you reach for his hand.

‘Do you want to grab some food?’ you ask. 

‘Like a date?’ Taehyung asks, but he’s lit up like a Christmas tree so you think he already knows.

‘Yeah, like a date,’ you say.

The way he’s looking at you makes you wonder why the hell you waited so long.

‘There’s nothing I’d like more,’ he says. 

He knits his fingers through yours, gently, and you walk down through the hospital together.

end.

Happy holidays! Take it easy. Love, Rei xx

[ouiouibaguettt]

Rival Heat

YN -> your name

masterlist - (1) - (2) - (3) - (4)

3,7k of words! request from @liverpoolfan96

For aitana bonmati one reader is Aggie big sister and there close and she protective of Aggie and aitana and reader don’t get on and she says something in her press conference about Aggie and in gagne fouls aggie in 1st leg and second leg so that when they come to blows but later airana aplgosies to Aggie but yn still stubborn but I’m end do and end up getting together but add all the teams both Barca and Chelsea in it

The announcement of the Champions League semi-final draw had barely echoed through the halls of Cobham before your jaw tightened. Chelsea vs. Barcelona.

Again.

The memories of past battles flooded your mind—tight games, brutal tackles, heartache and celebration all tangled into ninety-minute wars. But this time, it wasn’t just about the badge on your chest or the rival colors across the pitch.

This time, it was about Aggie.

Your little sister, still fresh-faced despite the number on her back, had fought tooth and nail for her place in Chelsea’s midfield. She wasn’t just talented—she was fearless. You’d trained with her, protected her, watched her bloom. And now, she was about to line up against the player you loathed most.

Aitana Bonmatí.

You didn’t hate many people. In fact, most days you stayed cool, composed, professional. But Aitana had a way of setting every nerve on edge. It wasn’t just her skill—it was her smirk, her icy focus, her arrogant interviews. You’d clashed more than once on the international circuit, and sparks flew every time.

So when the Spanish media published Aitana’s pre-match interview and you saw the quote—

“Aggie’s got talent, sure, but talent and experience are not the same. At this level, pressure exposes everything.” —you nearly threw your phone across the locker room.

Aggie didn’t react. She’d always been good at brushing things off. But you weren’t Aggie.

The press conference that followed was tense. You didn’t bother hiding the edge in your voice when a reporter asked if you’d seen Aitana’s comment.

“Some players talk more than they should,” you said calmly, staring straight at the camera. “We’ll see who crumbles under pressure.”

Aggie gave you a look later that night, one of those soft, warning glances.

“She’s not worth it,” she said.

But you didn’t agree.

You knew Aitana. And something told you she knew exactly what she was doing.

Camp Nou was packed to the brim. The crowd, vibrant and electric, pulsed with Catalan pride. Barça had something to prove after last year. So did you.

The first twenty minutes were fast. Chelsea held firm, Aggie holding her own in midfield against giants like Keira Walsh and Patri. But then came minute twenty-two.

Aitana.

You saw her sprinting into a 50/50 with Aggie, and everything in your body screamed too late, too hard.

Aitana’s studs scraped down Aggie’s ankle, and your sister crumpled. The whistle blew, but the damage was done. You rushed in, shoving Aitana back instinctively.

“Touch her again and I swear—”

“Control yourself,” she hissed in Spanish, brushing off your hand. “She wants to play at this level? Then she plays.”

Yellow cards were shown. You barely noticed. Your vision was locked on Aitana’s unreadable expression, and the heat between you could have burned the stadium down.

The match ended 4–1 for Barça. Caroline Graham Hansen was unstoppable, and even Sam Kerr’s equalizer couldn’t spark a comeback.

In the tunnel, you caught Aitana glancing at you once, eyes unreadable. She looked… tired.

You didn’t care.

The second leg at Stamford Bridge should’ve been about redemption. Instead, it felt like salt in an open wound.

Aitana was everywhere—pressing, weaving, pulling strings in midfield. You’d trained like hell for this game, but Chelsea struggled again. Down 2–1 at halftime, you were barely holding it together.

Then came the seventy-second minute.

Aggie made a turn near the halfway line, and Aitana closed in fast. The tackle wasn’t violent, but it was late—calculated. Another clip to the ankle. Aggie yelped and stumbled.

You snapped.

The red mist descended as you ran toward Aitana, chesting into her, shouting in her face in front of 40,000 people.

“You think you’re so clever?” you snarled. “Pick on someone your own size.”

She didn’t back down.

“I didn’t touch her hard. You're just always looking for a reason to hate me.”

And that was when it hit you.

You weren’t angry because Aitana fouled Aggie. You were angry because you didn’t know how to deal with what Aitana made you feel.

You’d watched her brilliance for years. Watched her win. Watched her dominate. And part of you had always wanted—desperately—to match her, fight her, prove something. But maybe you also wanted to understand her. Maybe you already did.

The ref stepped in before it turned into a brawl. You got a yellow. Aitana got a warning.

The match ended 4–1 again. An aggregate embarrassment. You didn’t speak in the locker room. Aggie did, quietly:

“She said sorry, you know. After the final whistle. I think she meant it.”

You scoffed. “Not interested.”

But even as you said it, something inside you shifted.

Two days later, while leaving Cobham late, you found someone waiting in the parking lot.

Aitana.

She stood there in a hoodie and jeans, hands in her pockets. No cameras. No boots. Just her.

“I came to talk,” she said in a low voice. “Not about football.”

You stared at her, frozen.

She sighed. “You think I hate Aggie. I don’t. I respect her. She’s… fearless. And I fouled her because I was frustrated—not with her. With you.”

You blinked. “With me?”

Aitana stepped closer. “You always act like you’re protecting her. But I think what you’re really doing… is avoiding this.”

She gestured between you.

“This fire. This tension. This… whatever it is. You don’t hate me. You just don’t know how to admit you feel something.”

You clenched your jaw. “I don’t.”

A small smile ghosted across her lips. “Then stop looking at me like that.”

Silence.

You should have walked away. You should have told her to go. But you didn’t.

The season was over. The wounds still fresh.

Champions League dreams? Crushed.

Media speculation? Nonstop.

You were doing your best to avoid it all—until Emma Hayes cornered you in the hallway with that familiar glint in her eyes.

“There’s a UEFA player gala this weekend. You’re on the guest list.”

You frowned. “Can’t someone else—?”

“No,” she said. “You need to show face. And so does Aggie. And before you ask, yes… Barcelona will be there too.”

You didn’t ask, but your stomach turned anyway.

You knew Aitana would be there.

The venue was a glass-wrapped museum on the Seine, all minimalist decor and floor-to-ceiling views of the city. The kind of place that made you feel like you didn’t belong no matter how expensive your dress was.

You wore black satin. Sleek. Sharp. Enough to send a message: don’t mess with me.

Aggie stuck close early in the evening, but the crowd swept her away in a sea of laughter and teammates. You didn’t mind. You preferred the edge of the room anyway.

Until you saw her.

Aitana.

She stepped in wearing a deep wine-colored gown with a low back and the kind of confidence that made the whole room notice. Her hair was swept up, lips painted, eyes lined in something that made them look even more dangerous than usual.

She caught your stare from across the floor. Didn’t look away.

Your throat dried.

A waitress passed with champagne. You took two.

God help you.

You tried ignoring her. Really, you did. But every time you turned, she was there—talking to Alexia, laughing with Salma, slipping into a conversation with Keira Walsh and Lucy Bronze.

And then she started walking toward you.

You weren’t ready.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” she said, voice low.

“I didn’t want to,” you replied honestly, sipping your drink.

“But you did.”

You glanced at her. “Curiosity. Morbid, maybe.”

She smirked. “You always have an excuse.”

There was music playing softly in the background, some jazzy instrumental you didn’t recognize. The air between you shifted as people drifted away.

It felt like you were alone in a crowded room.

“You clean up nice,” she added, eyes trailing down your dress. “Didn’t think I’d get to see you like this.”

Your pulse kicked up. “Don’t flirt with me.”

“Why not?”

“Because it won’t work.”

She stepped closer. “It already is.”

You swallowed hard.

Later, after dodging a dozen photographers and polite conversations you didn’t care about, you slipped into a quiet hallway with glass walls and dim lighting. The city blinked in the distance beyond the river.

You needed air.

You didn’t expect her to follow.

Aitana’s heels clicked softly on the marble floor. “You keep walking away.”

“I keep needing space,” you muttered.

“And yet here we are,” she said, stepping in front of you. Blocking your exit. Not touching. Just… looking.

You met her eyes.

She was close enough to kiss.

Close enough to hurt you, too.

“Say it,” she whispered.

“Say what?”

“That you want this.”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you backed her into the wall and stared at her lips.

She gasped—softly—but didn’t back down. Her hands hovered at your waist, not quite touching.

“I hated you,” you said, voice hoarse.

“I know,” she replied. “I hated you too.”

There was something electric between you, heavy, charged.

Your hands found the edge of her jaw before you could stop them.

“You’re still a pain in my ass.”

“I plan to be.”

And then, finally—finally—you kissed her.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t slow.

It was months of tension, years of rivalry, confusion, anger, and burning need.

It was her fingers gripping your hips, your lips claiming hers like you’d starved, your back pressed to the glass, her breath hot against your skin.

It was reckless and perfect and overdue.

You pulled away only when a burst of laughter echoed down the hall.

She leaned her forehead against yours, smiling, breathless. “So… what now?”

You stared at her.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I’m not walking away again.”

The kiss didn’t end in the hallway. It just paused.

Barely.

There was a silence between you, but it wasn’t awkward. It was the kind of silence that buzzed, thick with what hadn’t been said—and what you both were desperate to do.

Aitana’s hand lingered at your hip. Yours was still curled near her neck, thumb brushing over her pulse.

And then, without a word, she stepped back, slid her fingers down your wrist, and laced them through yours.

“Come with me,” she murmured.

You nodded.

The gala faded behind you. You walked fast, half-laughing when someone called your name and you ignored it completely. Aitana’s heels clicked down the marble stairs. Your hand didn’t leave hers.

You didn’t wait for a car.

Her hotel was too far. Yours was only five blocks away.

The Paris air was cool, but your skin burned.

Neither of you spoke, not really. Every glance said more than words could. Aitana’s eyes were dark, unreadable, but her jaw was set like she was daring herself not to lose control too fast.

When the elevator doors closed behind you both, you turned to her slowly.

She was already watching you.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Are you sure?”

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to hers. “Not even a little.”

Her lips parted—but didn’t argue.

You kissed her again before the doors even opened.

The second the door closed behind you, it was like someone struck a match.

Aitana pushed you against the wall with more need than finesse. Her mouth was on your neck, your hands tugging the zipper down the back of her gown. You weren’t thinking, not clearly, not at all. All that rivalry, all that hatred—it had always just been tension in disguise. And now?

Now it was coming undone.

She kissed like she played—fierce, precise, demanding. She tasted like champagne and trouble. You let yourself get lost in her, dragging her onto the bed like gravity gave you no choice.

Clothes hit the floor. One by one. Slowly. Then all at once.

You learned each other’s skin like you'd been waiting a lifetime to do it.

It was hot. Messy. More intense than anything you'd let yourself imagine. Her voice in your ear. Your fingers curling into her back. Gasps swallowed between kisses. It was more than sex—it was a battle neither of you wanted to win.

And when it was over—or rather, when you paused long enough to breathe—you lay tangled in sheets, chest heaving, her body pressed against yours, face tucked into your neck.

You stared at the ceiling for a long moment, heart still racing.

“You’re going to ruin me,” you whispered.

Aitana laughed, low and raw. “Too late.”

You didn’t sleep much.

But when you did, it was in her arms, the silence between you finally calm.

It felt dangerous.

It felt good.

And it wasn’t just physical—not anymore.

The sun cut through the sheer hotel curtains like a slow blade of gold. Paris looked soft from the twelfth floor—muted, early, still asleep.

You weren’t.

Aitana’s breath warmed your collarbone, one leg tangled over yours, her fingers curled loosely around your wrist like she’d held on even in her sleep.

Your heart thudded, calm but alive. The ache in your muscles wasn’t from training. It was from her.

You should’ve moved.

But instead, you studied her. Her lashes against her cheek. The faint smudge of mascara under one eye. A love bite on her neck.

Your neck.

You’d made a mess of each other—and it had felt inevitable.

You closed your eyes again.

The door buzzed once. You barely heard it.

Then again—louder.

A sleepy groan left your throat. Aitana stirred, tightening her grip on your waist.

Then the knock turned into a voice.

"Hey, you awake? Mom and Dad are on FaceTime—they want to see you real quick before they head out.”

Your stomach dropped.

Aggie.

“No—Aggie, wait, don’t—”

The door creaked open before you could get out of bed.

She stepped in, phone in hand, grinning. “I told them you were probably—”

And froze.

You were half-sitting up, hair wrecked, the hotel sheets clinging to bare skin. Aitana was on her side, propped on one elbow, the straps of her bra still tangled near her shoulder.

The covers barely covered either of you.

Aggie’s mouth fell open.

You stared at her, stunned.

Aitana blinked once, then slowly pulled the duvet over both of you with impossible calm. “…Hi.”

Aggie didn’t respond.

But her phone was still up.

And on the screen, your parents' faces were squinting in confusion.

“Is that—who is that?” your mom asked, leaning toward the camera.

“Aggie, sweetheart, are you—what’s happening?”

Aggie quickly flipped the camera to face the ceiling and backed out of the room with the most horrified look you’d ever seen on her face.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, walking into the hallway and shutting the door behind her. “What the actual hell.”

You collapsed back onto the mattress and groaned into your hands.

“She’s never going to let this go,” you mumbled.

Aitana laughed—laughed—as she flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “You know… that could’ve gone worse.”

You looked at her like she was insane. “She walked in on us. Half-naked. While on FaceTime with our parents.”

“And?”

You blinked.

“You’re very calm about this.”

“I’ve been caught in worse situations,” Aitana said with a smirk. “Also… this is kind of hilarious.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re a menace.”

She turned toward you, her smile softening. “Maybe. But you didn’t push me away last night. Or this morning.”

You met her eyes.

The teasing was gone. What lingered was something quieter. Something real.

“I don’t want to,” you said, voice low.

“Even if it complicates everything?”

“Especially then.”

Aitana leaned in and kissed your shoulder. “Good.”

Outside the Room You emerged an hour later, dressed, showered, and bracing for disaster.

Aggie was sitting on the hotel bed in your shared suite, phone abandoned, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“You okay?” you asked, voice tentative.

She stared at you.

Then at Aitana, who was trailing a few steps behind you, still tying her hair up.

Then back at you.

“You’re sleeping with my rival,” she said flatly. “You’re literally sleeping with the enemy.”

“Not… the enemy,” Aitana offered carefully.

Aggie ignored her.

You sighed. “Okay. Yeah. Last night happened. But it’s not just… that.”

Aggie squinted. “Is this like… a thing?”

You looked at Aitana, then back at your sister. “Maybe. Probably.”

Aggie stared at you.

And then—shook her head. “I don’t want the details. But for the love of god, lock the door next time.”

You thought things might settle down.

They didn’t.

If anything, it was worse.

Because now that you’d kissed Aitana… touched her… slept next to her, it was impossible not to think about it every time you saw her name in a headline or her face in a highlight reel. It was like your brain refused to shut up.

And worse—your teammates noticed.

Back at Cobham, pre-season was already starting to loom. Some girls were still trickling back from international duty, but enough of the core squad had returned for the locker room to buzz with gossip again.

Especially Lucy and Keira.

They’d already been looking at you funny since the gala in Paris.

“Okay,” Lucy said one morning, leaning across the bench with a suspicious squint. “What’s going on with you?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You’re glowing,” Keira added with an obnoxiously smug grin. “Did you hook up with someone at the gala?”

You scoffed. “No.”

They exchanged a look.

Lucy raised a brow. “No no or mind-your-business no?”

You pulled your jersey on and muttered, “Drop it.”

They absolutely did not drop it.

A Message from Aitana Later that night, your phone buzzed while you were doing recovery stretches alone in the training center.

Aitana: miss me yet?

You rolled your eyes.

You: don’t flatter yourself Aitana: already do. Aitana: also… I can’t stop thinking about that night. Aitana: when can I see you again?

Your breath caught. You stared at the screen like it might combust in your hands.

Before you could type, another message came through.

Aitana: I want to do this for real. No games.

That… wasn’t what you expected.

You sat with it for a second, heart stammering in your chest.

Then typed:

You: Me too.

In Barcelona Three days later, you found yourself in Spain under the pretext of "personal downtime." A short break before club training got serious again.

Aitana met you in a quiet coffee shop in Gràcia. Sunglasses. Hoodie. The most suspiciously obvious disguise you’d ever seen.

You couldn’t stop smiling.

When she kissed your cheek, her hand lingered at your back just a little too long.

When you sat down across from her, you couldn't stop staring.

This was dangerous.

But it felt like breathing.

Her Apartment Later, when she invited you up to her place—just to “talk,” obviously—it was less intense than Paris. Softer. More curious. More hers.

She showed you her music playlist. You laughed at her kitchen magnet collection. She made you tea she didn’t actually know how to make.

And when you kissed on her couch, it wasn’t desperate. It was careful. Lingering. Her thumb brushing your cheek. Your hands curling into her oversized Barça hoodie, the one she’d insisted you borrow “just in case.”

“I still don’t know what this is,” you murmured later, curled into her side.

“I don’t either,” she said softly. “But I want to find out.”

Back at Chelsea You didn’t think you were being obvious when you returned.

You wore your hoodie up. You kept your phone face-down. You didn’t smile that much.

But Keira and Lucy? Bloodhounds.

“So,” Keira said casually at lunch. “Enjoy your downtime?”

You sipped your smoothie. “Yeah.”

Lucy leaned her chin on her hand. “Anyone special involved in that ‘downtime’? Anyone who, I don’t know… wears number 14 for Barça?”

You nearly choked.

Keira’s mouth dropped open. “NO WAY.”

Lucy actually squealed. “You did!”

You buried your face in your hands.

“We’re doomed,” you muttered. “I’m doomed.”

They high-fived.

“Welcome to hell,” Keira whispered gleefully. “We live for this drama.”

It started quietly.

After all the sneaking around—gala nights, hotel kisses, silent hallway exits, and nervous glances—it only made sense that going official would be… subtle.

But of course, nothing with you and Aitana had ever stayed quiet for long.

The first to know were your teams.

On Barça’s side, Aitana sat next to Alexia on the team bus one morning, earbuds in but not playing music.

Alexia noticed right away. “You’re twitchy,” she said, not unkindly.

Aitana hesitated.

Then: “I’m seeing someone.”

Alexia smiled knowingly. “Yeah?”

A beat.

Aitana lowered her voice. “It’s… her. From Chelsea.”

Alexia turned slowly.

“Aggie’s sister?”

Aitana nodded.

Alexia’s face went through shock, surprise, amusement—and then approval. “God, I was wondering how long it would take before that tension exploded.”

Salma overheard. She cackled.

Meanwhile, you told Aggie first.

Properly, this time.

Sitting beside her in your shared flat, scrolling through a reel of Aitana’s recent game clips.

“She makes you happy?” Aggie asked, arms crossed.

“Yeah,” you said without hesitation. “More than I expected. More than I thought was possible with her.”

Aggie leaned back. “Fine. But if she hurts you, I’m fouling her next time. Elbow to the ribs. No regrets.”

You grinned. “Deal.”

Lucy and Keira were next. Their reaction? More dramatic.

They screamed.

They dragged you to brunch and demanded every detail.

“We’re helping you hard launch,” Lucy declared. “This deserves strategy.”

It happened three weeks later.

Barça had a weekend off. Chelsea did too.

You both met up in Ibiza—discreetly at first, until it wasn’t.

Because Aitana posted the photo.

No caption. Just a beach snapshot.

You were sitting on the sand, wearing her hoodie again. She had her chin on your shoulder. The sunset behind you both made everything golden.

You weren’t kissing.

But her hand was resting on your thigh.

It was intimate.

Undeniable.

Instagram exploded.

Thousands of comments in minutes.

Alexia dropped fire emojis. Keira commented “FINALLY” in all caps. Aggie just posted a gif of someone putting on sunglasses and looking away dramatically.

You didn’t even need to post your own picture.

You just reposted hers on your story with a single emoji: 💕

You were lying on a rooftop lounger together, soft music playing. Her arm draped across your waist, your phone buzzing endlessly with notifications you refused to check.

“Now the world knows,” she whispered.

You turned to her, brushing hair from her face. “Let them.”

Aitana smiled—and this time, it wasn’t sharp or teasing or competitive.

It was soft. Real.

“You still think I’m the enemy?” she teased.

You leaned in, kissing her gently.

“Not anymore.”

[gxr25256]

The Doorless Cage - Seekers x reader (2)

🌵 Tranformers (Post-Apocalyptic AU).

🌵 The Decepticons have conquered Earth, leaving humanity in ruins.

🌵I'll try this for a bit. Remember: I'm not very good at it 👀.

--------------------------------

Skywarp had always found patrols to be mind-numbingly dull. The ruined city sprawled out before him, a desolate wasteland devoid of life—exactly as they wanted it. They’d swept through this place more times than he could count, tearing down every last sign of resistance, yet still, Megatron insisted they make rounds, “in case anything survived.”

But Skywarp knew better. The humans were all but extinct, their brief, flickering rebellion snuffed out, leaving him, Thundercracker, and Starscream wandering empty streets with only the wind and rubble for company. Thundercracker trudged along somewhere behind him, too lost in thought to complain as he usually did. And Starscream was further ahead, stalking through the ruins with his optics cold and sharp.

Skywarp sighed, glancing down a dark alley, then at a broken tower across the street. His teleportation circuits hummed with potential energy, itching to be used for anything other than walking these streets. Part of him wanted to zap right back to base and tell Thundercracker and Starscream he’d “scouted” the rest of the city, but he knew that would only bring more boredom. And, of course, Starscream would berate him for leaving his post, and Skywarp wasn’t in the mood for another lecture from his second-in-command.

Then, he heard it—a faint, barely-there sound, muffled and distant, but unmistakable.

Human.

It was like catching the scent of prey on the wind, and for a moment, Skywarp’s optics brightened with excitement. He slowed his steps, creeping closer to the sound’s source—a half-fallen building just across the street. A grin spread across his face, and his boredom evaporated. Maybe there was a human left to torment after all. With a bit of luck, he could finally have some fun.

Skywarp stopped just outside the building, letting his heavy footsteps echo against the cracked walls, then pausing as if he were about to enter. He listened for any reaction from inside, and sure enough, he heard a frantic rustling, followed by absolute silence. They knew he was there, and they were hiding.

Perfect.

With exaggerated slowness, he moved a few steps forward, then stopped again, allowing the suspense to build. He could only imagine the terror that must be coursing through the human’s veins, the way they’d be shrinking into the shadows, praying he wouldn’t find them.

But Skywarp was done playing subtle.

With a resounding clang, he struck the wall, letting his servo drive through the structure and tear the roof off with a violent pull. Dust and debris flew into the air, and Skywarp’s optics zeroed in on the small figure crouched below, eyes wide with terror. The human screamed, and he grinned, reveling in the sound.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he drawled, his optics gleaming. He reached down, massive fingers wrapped around the human body with brutal force. He lifted them off the ground, letting them wriggle in his grip as he gave them a rough squeeze, just enough to remind them of their fragility.

The human stilled, frozen in fear, and Skywarp chuckled, drawing them closer until they were at optic level.

“Looks like someone’s been playing hide-and-seek,” he sneered. “Too bad for you—I always win, mouse."

Skywarp’s optic gleamed with cruel delight as he brought the tiny human up to his face, studying them with the kind of mocking curiosity one might show an insect caught in a jar. His grip was loose but deliberate, giving them enough room to wriggle and squirm, knowing that any attempt to break free was hopeless.

He tilted his hand back, causing the human to slip toward the edge of his fingers, a startled gasp escaping them as they scrambled to find a hold. Just as they were about to slip, he flattened his palm, catching them with a satisfied chuckle.

“Aw, did you think you’d fall?” he sneered, lifting them to eye level. He twisted his wrist so they dangled precariously, just far enough from his fingers that they’d have to struggle to keep their balance. The sheer terror in their eyes only amused him further, and he leaned in close, his voice a low, mocking whisper.

“Oh, don’t look so scared. I won't drop you......at least not now." He loosened his grip again, watching with twisted glee as they gripped his metal fingers in desperation, their breaths coming fast and shallow.

Skywarp found himself thoroughly entertained by the way they trembled, the faint spark of defiance in their eyes already waning as he continued his taunts. He nudged them with his thumb, pressing them back against his palm, ignoring their gasp of pain as he applied a bit more pressure.

As he toyed with his new prize, he heard familiar footsteps approaching from behind. He glanced over his shoulder, just as Starscream and Thundercracker appeared around the corner.

“What are you doing, Skywarp?” Starscream’s voice was dripping with annoyance as he stalked up to them. His red optics narrowed, taking in the sight of the human in Skywarp’s grip. “I thought we were on patrol, not indulging your ridiculous whims.”

Skywarp merely smirked, holding up the human for them to see. “Oh, lighten up, Starscream. Look what I found—a little survivor. Thought we’d gotten rid of all of them, but I guess there’s still a few stragglers.”

Starscream’s gaze shifted to the trembling human,his face wrinkled. He lifted his arm, aiming his null ray at them. “Then let’s finish the job. I don’t have time for your games.”

Skywarp rolled his optics, drawing the human back just out of range of Starscream’s weapon. “Where’s the fun in that? The city’s already dead, so what’s one little human running around? Think of it as entertainment. It’ll give us something to do.”

Starscream scoffed, crossing his arms. “An amusement? It’s a disgusting organic.”

Skywarp shrugged, his grip tightening on the human to keep them still. “Maybe, but it's better than walking around looking for nothing. Besides, it’s got a decent scream.”

Thundercracker sighed, casting a skeptical glance at the human. “Megatron’s not gonna be happy if he finds out we’re keeping a pet. Besides, I thought you hated organics.”

“Eh, this one’s different,” Skywarp glancing back at the human, who was clinging to his fingers, staring at him with a mixture of horror and disbelief. “I mean, look at them. They’re pathetic. If they try anything, I can just…squeeze.” He gave the human a light, taunting squeeze, chuckling as their face paled.

“Besides, if they become a problem, we can always crush them later. But for now, let’s see if they can last. It’ll be like…a game.” Skywarp added, a gleam of mischief in his optics.

Thundercracker’s optics narrowed, clearly unimpressed by Skywarp’s twisted idea of amusement. “A game?” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re playing with scraps from a dead world.” His voice held a hint of disdain, but under it lay a reluctant curiosity. “It’s just going to run, hide, and scream.”

Skywarp shrugged, still grinning as he dangled the human, watching them squirm. “Exactly! That’s what makes it fun, Thundercracker. It’s like… a pet with spirit,” he taunted, giving the human another playful shake. “Or at least, until they break. They’ve got nothing left to lose, right?” He tilted his head, eyeing the human’s wide, terrified eyes with twisted fascination. “Why not see how long they’ll last?”

Starscream rolled his optics. “Skywarp, if you’re this bored, maybe I should assign you extra patrols.” He sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm

"Hey!"

“But since you insist on this ridiculous game, I suppose it could be… mildly interesting to see just how long this one lasts.” He shot a disdainful look at the human. “Seeing it fall apart was quite a sight to behold.”

Thundercracker snorted “Since when did you get interested in playing with organic matter?” he muttered, though he didn’t move to stop Skywarp. “They’re just a reminder of what this place used to be—a waste.”

Starscream huffed, optics narrowing as he scoffed at Thundercracker's objections. "Shut up! I never did." He replied. In a moment of consideration, he spoke up. "And is that a waste? Think of it as… a way to pass the time. After all, the planet’s dead. Might as well use the leftovers.”

Thundercracker sighed, looking away. “Fine, but don’t expect me to take part in this.” But there was still a glimmer of curiosity in his optics—if unwilling to admit it—to see how long this human might survive under their “care.”

Skywarp chuckled, clearly pleased with his trinemates’ grudging acceptance. “See? It’ll be good for morale.” He leaned closer to the human, his voice dropping to a mocking whisper. “Congratulations—you get to stay alive… for now. Better keep us entertained, though, or we’ll get bored.”

“Let’s go,” Starscream ordered, turning to walk ahead. “If we linger, Megatron will think we’re slacking off.”

As the three Seekers turned to leave, the human still firmly in Skywarp’s grip, Starscream’s voice cut through the quiet. “Remember, Skywarp: this is your little ‘pet.’ If they become a nuisance, it’s on you to clean up the mess.” But his smirk revealed that he, too, was already looking forward to the twisted amusement their new “pet” might bring.

--------------------------------

Skywarp is fun, right?

"I can just…squeeze." 🤫

[chilling-seavey]

The Traveling Pants (gr63)

↳ A/N So George and I were wearing the [nearly] exact same pants today and it sparked this lil idea!

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Warnings/FYI: This blurb would technically be considered tall!reader (sorry, being a little self serving here—). Forewarning just for the sake of this one-off idea! Take it or leave it at your discretion x

Thursdays mornings, George found, were always the hardest to get out of bed for. Perhaps most of his fellow drivers would agree; not wanting to wake up early to spend a whole day at the circuit on mainly media duties, interviews, and putting up with their social media teams' pleads for content. Besides, when he woke up in a luxury hotel bed with you naked in his arms, it made it incredibly more difficult to convince himself to get up to work.

The night before had been filled with its fair share of glasses of wine and plenty of delectable hors d'œuvres from room service which, ultimately, led to the two of you making use of that plush king size bed and expensive linen sheets. Now, an evening of bliss was countered by his blaring ringtone from his phone on the bedside table.

George let out a groan to the ceiling before heaving himself over to turn off the noise with a displeased tap of the 'snooze' button. When he flopped back down, you curled into his side, skin against skin, your arm around his middle, and your pressed a kiss to his jaw. With an easy smile, his arm draped over your shoulders to pull you closer, fingers dancing over your bare shoulder.

"Mm, morning." he greeted, his voice thick with sleep. A sound you'd never tire of.

"Morning," you echoed sweetly and nuzzled into his neck for an early morning cuddle.

The air of the hotel room felt icy from the air conditioning, in perfect contrast to the warm cocoon the two of you had made under the sheets with hot skin pressed against skin. George pulled the covers up higher around the both of you and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

He hummed tiredly, still drawing absentminded shapes over your bare shoulder with his fingertips, "I don't want to get up."

"I don't want you to get up," you agreed.

It wasn't easy for George to pry himself away from you—that had been the truth since the day you met—and so he succumbed to the wonderful pressure of staying with you in bed just a little longer. 'Snooze' was pressed four more times. On the sixth ring of his alarm, he knew he was really cutting it close for time and if he didn't get up and get his shit in gear, he would be late and, boy, would Toto have a lot to say about that.

George pried himself out of bed as fast as he could (which, spoiler, was still not very fast, ironically), with you chasing after his lips for more kisses that had him smiling against your lips. Once his feet were on the floor, he was still half leaning over the bed to keep kissing you, soft giggles shared between you at the ever-present joy of love.

With George now having to rush to dress to avoid being late and, you, who had a scheduled tour at one of the museums in the foreign city in under an hour, doing the same, there wasn't much time for chit chat. You both gathered your clothes from the night before that were strewn about the room, pulling on shoes and button-ups and, each, a pair of white dress slacks.

It had been a funny thing, the night before, noticing how similar your outfits had been. The only difference was that your collared shirt had been dark green and his was light blue, but your pants and brown boots were eerily alike. What's that they say about you turning into your partner over the duration of your relationship?

The two of your shared the elevator down to the hotel lobby, sharing a few more sneaky kisses in the momentary privacy, whispering 'see you later's and 'I love you's against smiling lips. When the doors slid open, he turned in the direction of the valet and you headed for the street, sharing one more hurried smile in your morning rushes.

You slipped your earbuds in once you were alone and out in the crisp morning air of another unfamiliar yet just as exciting city. Your music guided you through the walkable streets (with the help of Google Maps open on your phone) and you stopped in at a café for a quick breakfast to-go on the way to the museum.

Finally able to pause long enough to catch your breath while waiting for your order at the counter, you reached down to adjust the waistband of your slacks. You realized that they felt a little tight around your hips and sat a little funny around your waist; you could have sworn they were higher rise than this. You looked down at yourself, seeing the familiar straight leg cut of the white slacks that reached your feet...and seemed to bunch just a little more than usual around your ankles.

Meanwhile, George, stepping out of the car at the circuit, felt like he had equal parts gained and lost weight. The material of his slacks around his hips felt more spacious than normal and yet the waistband was sitting far too high up than he comfortably remembered them being the night before. He gave them a little adjustment before heading through the gates of the paddock to the flurry of photographers and their cameras.

As he walked, the sudden awareness of breeze on his ankles was apparent. Now, he was no stranger to cuffed pants, but he knew that his white slacks always rested right at the top of his loafers, never above. Unless he magically grew two centimeters overnight, something was seriously up.

With such a busy first hour getting breakfast and checking in with his team, he didn't think much of it. It wasn't until he was changing into his team kit later on in his driver's room that he decided to take a closer look at the pants in question. He checked the tag first, only to find the name of your favourite clothing store staring back at him.

Across the city, you were in the middle of the museum tour when your phone buzzed in your purse. Hidden amongst the crowd of your tour group, you slipped it out to read your text from George:

G: *1 image attached*

G: Looks like we had a bit of a fashion mix up this morning. Can't believe it took us two hours to realize!

♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)

♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

[im-just-echo]

DOE layoffs officially hit my campus (were I work) yesterday and hit us hard

Maybe things will get better

[shewrites02]

Deserve | Toji Fushiguro x Reader |

A/N: My first JJK Work on my page. It just a drabble, but if you follow me for a while this is how all my hype fixations start lol

Request : Open

Word Count : 500

Leave a comment if you enjoy ! :)

Toji knows he doesn’t deserve you. Is reminded with every sweet touch your delicate fingers place on his face. You are everything he is not. Soft. Fragile. Good. Everything the sorcerer hunter is too broken to be. Still, it never made a difference to Toji what he felt he deserved.

He made peace with the type of man he is a long time ago. The type to take with no regard for feelings or apologies. The type to leave a wake of devastation if it meant getting what he wanted.

Toji Fushiguro was not the type of man to let you go just because he knew you deserved better.

“Fuck you Toji- Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. .”

You hope to spit the words venomously, but they come off your tongue in a broken whisper. Dragging the back of your hand across your cheek to clear your tears, you take a sharp breath. An attempt to gather yourself, regain your composure. This bastard does not deserve the tears you shed on him.

“ ‘Superhuman' but can't even look me in the eyes as you reject me.”

“C’mon doll, don’t be like that. I told you I didn’t want anything serious from the beginning.”

Toji’s voice does not quiver or quake in the way yours does. Does not hold any hesitations, or uncertainties. His words are sure, certain.

Something in the conviction of his tone short circuits your brain, has you reacting before you can think. Cocking your shoulder back, you swiftly bring your palm to the sorcerer's cheek, smacking him as hard as you could.

And he lets you.

Toji has faced far tougher opponents than you, and walked away with far less wounds. It wouldn’t have taken him any effort to foil your attack. Instead his head snaps to the side, and that blank look on his face is replaced with a pained smirk. Then his eyes meet yours.

“But you acted like you did ! Begged me to open up to you- !” All composure you might have had is lost as anger and hurt bubbles over in your chest. “ Don’t act like this is my fault.”

It's difficult to breathe. Suddenly all the air so readily available is being sucked away by the presence of Toji Fushiguro. You need to get away from here. Away from him. You need air.

You turn on your heels to head in the opposite direction. Shove through the crowded racing track in search of an exit. You can’t remember where you parked, but that is okay. At this point you would walk home if it means getting away from here.

“Y/n!”

Toji’s voice echoes behind you.There’s a part of you that has to fight the instinct to stop, hearing him out, search for comfort in his words. There another part of you, a larger part that can’t be bothered to listen to any more lies from the lips of fushiguro. That part keeps your head forward, feet plowing into the pavement.

There’s a clasp on your wrist, drawing you back before you can fully cross the exit’s threshold. The grip is unyielding against your persistent attempts to escape. Fear would engulf your body if you weren’t so sure of the culprit, so knowing of the feeling of those fingers against your skin.

“Let me g-”

“It’s my fault-” He proclaims, interrupting any further protesting you had. “ Just mine.”

You hate listening to the words as you speak them. They taste bitter on your tongue. Though that doesn’t outweigh your heart’s need to know.

“Why are you doing this to me Toji- why am I not good enough?”

The soccer hunter’s eyes soften at your words. He even shrinks in on himself, as though trying to shrill up into something smaller. Something more kin to what he’s feeling inside.

“I can’t love you- not like you deserve.”

“No Toji. You just don’t love me enough to try to be what I deserve.”

If you enjoy my content or if you have $5 to spare , please consider donating it to Besan . she is a mother trying so desperately to get her family out of Gaza. She is still so far away from her go fund me goal!

Operation Olive Branch Spreadsheet

I know everyone may not have the means to donate, but if by some chance you have an extra $5 to spare please consider donating it to the families trying to rebuild their lives in the Gaza strip.

[nahoney22]

Dirty Whispers***

All Bad Batch Boys X F!Reader

How the boys react to you talking dirty into their ears in a crowded room.

warnings: NSFW, 18+ only, implied sexual content, flirting, slightly cheesy, explicit language, dirty talk, female reader, with Hunters it’s insinuated that reader has tattoos, with Crosshairs he’s quite dom towards the end. established and non-established relationships. Brief mention of alcohol.

Authors notes: big thanks to @eyecandyeoz & @raevulsix who gave me inspiration for this work as I’ve been drawing blanks all week. 😵‍💫🩵

Echo

The mission unfolded smoothly, with everything going according to plan and the group right on schedule. However, a momentary standstill shifted the focus onto Echo. Amidst surveying the surroundings of the room you're trapped in, you, along with the rest of the team and the five rescued prisoners, identified an accessible circuit that could make or break the situation. Luckily, Echo just so happened to possess the exact tool required for the job.

He gets to work and after a few minutes you get bored of waiting around and found yourself feeling a little... naughty.

You had been flirting with Echo for a long while now and judging by how he acts around you, you're fairly certain he feels something for you aswell. Though his flirting is not particularly reciprocated back, his flushed expression, gentlemanly manners and shy stuttering was too cute to ignore.

You kneel down next to him, everyone else in their own conversations and smile softly at him. "Any luck?"

"This system is a bit intricate. Usually, plugging into terminals and computers isn't a challenge but this coding is new.," he responded with a sigh, his brows furrowing in deep concentration.

Humming softly, you took a daring step, leaning in until your lips brushed his ear, causing his scomp to momentarily pause. "I might have something simpler for you to plug into," you whispered, the hint of innuendo igniting a fire across his skin, his stomach fluttering and excitement stirring in his pants.

He pulled away, wide-eyed and taken aback by your flirtatious advance. Yet, as you tilted your head with a feigned innocence, his scomp spun to life again, generating sparks that held promise. The door hissed open successfully.

"I knew you could do it," you grinned, acting as though nothing provocative had been said, before joining the others in making your exit.

He stands back for a few moments, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat off his brow. "She's not wrong." He mutters to himself with a small smirk, knowing he had to get you alone tonight.

Hunter

When the time came to redecorate your armour, you were happy to design your gear anyway you wanted to. However one day, a certain design catches Hunters attention.

You’re all in the Marauder, going through gear inspections when Hunter came towards you and points to your chest plate. “Mind if I take a look?”

You nod simply, offering him a smile as you unclipped the armour from your body and passed it over. You grew curious however as he traced his finger over a particular drawing you implemented into the artwork. “See something you like?”

He chuckles but nods. “Didn’t take you for someone who likes to doodle.”

You shrug, “Only sometimes. All my armour pieces have different designs.”

“Oh yeah? Mind if you show me?” His eyes dance with mischief and your heart fluttered as you knew he was flirting with you which wasn’t uncommon recently.

Then, a lightbulb appears above your head. You take a step closer to him, glancing at the others who seems to be in their own mind before standing on the tips of your toes towards his ear, lips brushing against his lobe and breath fanning over his skin. “You know… all these customs aren’t just on my gear. I could show you more tonight?”

He inhales sharply and closes his eyes, easily imagining your nude skin etched in designs that you were clearly willing to show him. He looks to his brothers, none of them seeing the exchange between the two of you. “I really like that idea,” then, he leans down to you, his eyes dark with lust as he whispers, “perhaps I could show you some of mine as well, darling?”

Wrecker

Back on Coruscant, Wrecker's confidence was on full display in one of the training rooms, especially when around the Regs. His raw strength turned heads effortlessly. While his captivating personality was what made you fall for him, his powerful physique and his ability to lift ships as if they were mere trinkets only deepened your admiration.

After your own training session, you turned to find Wrecker in the midst of deadlifting an impressive 450kg, surrounded by a group of about 30 Clones. The way his muscles strained against his clothing ignited a sense of heat within you; you couldn't help but be captivated.

As he settled down, taking a swig from his canteen, you approached, your own workout completed, and boldly took a seat in his lap. The unexpected move caught him off guard, but a grin spread across his face as he recognized you. "Hey gorgeous girl, what ya up to?"

A mischievous smirk played on your lips. "Oh, I couldn't resist admiring your workout and felt the urge to come give you a kiss," you replied, leaning in to plant a lingering kiss on his lips. Your satisfaction grew as he emitted a soft moan.

"Babe, the regs are watching," he eventually pointed out, prompting you to open your eyes and glance toward the clones who were suddenly trying to appear nonchalant after having undoubtedly been ogling the scene of your public display of affection.

You shrugged, a devil-may-care attitude in your demeanor, your smirk growing wider. Leaning closer to him, you brushed your fingers along his cheek, your lips tantalisingly close to his ear as you whispered, “I dare you to carry me to the storage unit and fuck me. Hard.”

He laughs but as he sees the lust in your eyes, he knew that you were not just teasing him. “Really?”

“Really.”

Let’s just say the regs were swift to file out the gym when things got a little heated.

Tech

Sitting across the bar from Tech in the, surprisingly, lively atmosphere of Cid's parlour, you couldn't help stealing glances in his direction. His head was buried in his datapad, a not so unusual sight. Amusement welled up within you as you observed his growing agitation, patrons brushing against him, drinks spilling over the bartop and likely onto his clothes and boots. Feeling a desire to relieve his discomfort, you decided to take action.

With a subtle smirk, you retrieved your own datapad and sent him a message that read, 'why don't you come over here?' Watching closely, you noticed him squint as he read the message before his gaze scanned the room until it landed on you. A smile emits immediately on his lips, and without delay, he abandoned his stool and made his way toward you.

"Your message came just in time. I was starting to fear that another drink might find its way onto me and I may not have the patience to hold back," he admitted with a sigh, a quick glance revealing various splatters and stains on his clothes.

Raising your drink to your lips, a surge of boldness surged through you. "How about I help you get out of those clothes?" you proposed, your voice carrying a hint of suggestion.

He briefly shifted his gaze to his device, processing your words before his attention returned to you, focusing on your eyes that shined over the brim of your cup. He seemed to think before speaking, "I must admit, I'm not entirely sure if I'm interpreting this situation correctly. Are you genuinely offering help, or..." His words trailed off as a small group of people moved behind you both, resuming once they had passed. "Or are you implying something else?"

His innocence was endearing and as you take a swig of your drink, eliciting more liquid courage, you turn to him fully and lean forward until your lips brushed against his ear. You feel him shudder under your gentle touch. “I help you out of your clothes, you help me out of mine. And then you can do whatever you want to me.”

He inhaled a sharp breath. “Anything meaning…?”

You giggle, not being able to help yourself as you gently nibble on his earlobe, eliciting a gasp from him and his hand to instantly land on your thigh. “Yes. Anything.”

In a split second, Tech stands and you feared you may have took things too far but then he takes a hold of your hand before leading you out of the parlour and straight to the Marauder…

Crosshair

As you feel an object hitting the back of your head, you pivot to find a toothpick landing at your feet. Your expression tightens into a frown as you scan the surroundings, only to spot Crosshair lounging against the doorway, smoothly placing another toothpick between his teeth. Cockily.

"Real comedian," you quip with a sarcastic tone. However, as you begin to turn away, another toothpick whizzes towards you. A sigh escapes your lips as a small skirmish unfolds, involving toothpick projectiles flying between you and Crosshair.

The confines of the Marauder had kept all of you cooped up for too long, and the signs of boredom were evident. Little did you anticipate that it would be Crosshair who initiated a kind of entertainment, seemingly innocent yet playful, involving the tossing of items back and forth—much to Echo's apparent dismay who told you both to clean up after yourselves.

Later, as you find yourself in the cockpit, steering through hyperspace towards your next destination, Crosshair's foot brushes against yours from the chair opposite you. An involuntary response makes you kick back, and a realisation washes over you: this isn't just playful banter anymore, but a glimmer of flirtation. With a hint of a smile, you and Crosshair have unknowingly transitioned into a game of footsie. But boredom takes over again.

Sitting next to him, the two of you listening in on the bickering between Hunter, Wrecker, Echo, and Tech, you lightly tap your head against the wall repeatedly. His attention eventually turns to you, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. "Bored, pretty girl?" he remarks, causing a delightful flutter in your chest, even though you try to downplay it.

"Yeah, I'm bored," you reply with a sigh, your fingers idly strumming against your thighs.

He starts a sentence but then pauses, seemingly reconsidering his words. You give his shoulder a gentle nudge, encouraging him to continue after a brief silence. He inhales, then turns to face you, his closeness apparent, seemingly unbothered by his brothers' presence who don’t seem to notice you both. "So, how do you think we could change that?" he inquires, his tone laced with flirtation and desire.

Exhaling deeply, feeling your cheeks warm up, you decide to meet his tone. Leaning in toward his ear, your warm breath caresses his skin as you reply, “How about we go to the refresher and you fuck my ‘pretty’ face?”

Your bold and straight to the point answer makes his eyes briefly widen and his fists clench. You watched your eyes intensely, seeing if there was any sign of reluctance but there wasn’t.

He keeps his closeness and speaks, voice raspy and filthy. “Meet me in there in two minutes. You may as well speak to the others before you come in because you won’t be able to move your jaw after I’m done with you.”

Masterlist

If you feel like buying me a coffee 🤗

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @photogirl894 @fantasyproductions @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @captxin-rex x @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka a @oohyesplease @theroguesully @mustluvecho @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @erellenora @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @imalovernotahater @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

Stargazing-Ishtar X Reader

Happy Halloween!

It was the night of Halloween at The Clocktower. A night of celebration, ill thought out schemes, and the teachers eyeing their bags of candy set aside for when the night came to a close and all those dressed as ghouls and goblins filtered out.

Now, if only you were among those filtering out and about on the closest thing there is to a worldwide holiday in the world of Magi.

Instead, you were standing in one of the auditoriums used to teach the importance of proper alignment, depiction, and drawing of magical circles, having been badgered by your friends and associates into this hairbrained endeavor.

All because they learned you were studying systems of summoning in different magical systems in the European continent.

Yes, the name needed some work, but that could be left until later.

What could not be left until later, was you having to keep whacking your associates over the head any time they tried to touch the tome in your hand.

“C’mon! It can’t be that dangerous!” one of the many onlookers cried.

You ignored them in favor of ensuring that this was not screwed up and you didn’t accidentally summon some form of ultimate evil into the world.

…Again.

That aside, everything was almost ready, all you needed to do now was to add the final line.

The sound of your chalk scratching into the coarse material of the ground that had been infused with countless summoning attempts and experiments echoed in your ears.

With that, the complete symbol of Ishtar was inscribed upon the ground, with a few cautionary measures of course..

Everything was ready, all the precautions had been taken, not a single thing had been unaccounted for in your calculation and preparation.

Nothing was left to be done, save for the incantation.

You walked over towards the head of the room, the page of your tome being turned to the page that held the proper incantation.

A heavy breath left your mouth as you turned around, your circuits beginning to burn and thrum with power under your skin as you raised your hand towards the circle and began to chant.

“Spirit of Venus, Remember!”

The temperature dropped as the words left your mouth and ice began to form over the windows.

“ISHTAR, Mistress of the Gods, Remember!”

The circle began to glow with golden light as your audience started to grow fearful.

You couldn’t blame them, this wasn’t supposed to be what happened.

Had they underestimated the seriousness of all this?

Did you mess up on the sign?

“ISHTAR, Queen of the Land of the Rising of the Sun, Remember!”

The temperature dropped even further as a hole in the world appeared before you and, without warning, a vacuum formed.

You were getting worried now, but you had to keep going unless you wished to run the risk of something truly horrible occuring.

“Lady of Ladies, Goddess of Goddesses, ISHTAR, Queen of all People, Remember!”

The hole grew bigger and the vacuum grew more powerful as fearful screams filled the auditorium.

You felt your body getting pulled towards the hole, splitting your focus between keeping the ritual moving and not being pulled into the void.

“O Bright Rising, Torch of the Heaven and of the Earth, Remember!

O Destroyer of the Hostile Hordes, Remember!

Lioness, Queen of the Battle, Hearken and Remember!”

The hole continued to grow as your audience fled, pushing and trampling over one another to escape.

You wished you could join them.

This was nothing like anything you had tried before.

“From the Gate of the Great God NEBO, I call Thee!”

Pinpricks of light ignited in the void of the hole as the gate began to open.

“By the Name which I was given on the Sphere of NEBO, I call to Thee! Lady, Queen of Harlots and of Soldiers, I call to Thee!”

Light and color exploded within the gate as nebulae formed and a perfect look into the distant cosmos sat before you.

“Lady, Mistress of Battle and of Love, I pray Thee, Remember!

In the Name of the Covenant, sworn between Thee and the Race of Men,

I call to Thee! Hearken and Remember!”

A light began to form directly before the open gate, slowly morphing and attempting to take shape.

“Suppressor of the Mountains!

Supporter of arms!

Deity of Men! Goddess of Women! Where Thou gazest, the Dead live!”

The form began to grow more defined, more real, as the form of a woman made of light reached forwards and towards you, her hand piercing the veil.

“ISHTAR, Queen of Night, Open Thy Gate to me!

ISHTAR, Lady of the Battle, Open wide Thy Gate!”

Her form slowly came towards you, reaching outwards as it turned from light and into something real.

“ISHTAR, Sword of the People, Open Thy Gate to me!

ISHTAR, Lady of the Gift of Love, Open wide Thy Gate!

Gate of the Gentle Planet, LIBAT, Open unto me!”

Her hand was barely a step away as she reached towards you, her body becoming flesh and her eyes looking directly into yours.

Your vision was growing dark, you could feel your body grow weak from fighting against the vacuum, but you still had to continue the ritual, no matter how much your body and mind was screaming at you to stop, even when the hardest part was coming up.

Especially because the hardest part was coming up.

“IA GUSHE-YA! IA INANNA! IA ERNINNI-YA!

ASHTA PA MABACHA CHA KUR ENNI-YA!

RABBMI LO-YAK ZI ISHTARI KANPA!

INANNA ZI AMMA KANPA! BI ZAMMA KANPA!

IA IA IA BE-YI RAZULUKI!”

The final word escaped your lips, and the woman was fully formed before you, floating in the air as the hole in the world closed shut.

The woman had eyes like rubies, hair like onyx, and a smile more brilliant than diamonds.

She was beautiful, she would easily fit into any definition of beauty in the world.

Then, as she looked into your eyes, she spoke.

You could barely hear her, the entire world sounding like it was under water.

However, you could still faintly hear her.

“Are You My Master?”

After that, everything went black.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You groaned as you opened your eyes, the harsh light of the infirmary burning your retinas, forcing your eyes closed once more.

Your entire body ached in a way and in places you didn't know could even ache like that.

Not to mention your circuits, which you could tell you had overworked due to the feeling of intense, burning agony under your skin.

“Are you alive?” the voice of Lord El Melioi asked you.

“Not sure… try again later…” you groaned as you turned onto your side, briefly opening your eyes to see the woman from the cosmos, looking quite irate in some second hand clothes kept by the doctors and nurses in the case of an experiment turning… incendiary.

You blinked several times before turning over once more and towards Lord El Melioi who was currently chewing on a piece of gum in place of his cigarette.

“So, all that happened?” you asked.

“Correct.” the man responded with a pathetic attempt to keep his irritated expression in check.

“So… how screwed am I?” you asked.

“Royally, if it wasn’t for some extenuating circumstances.” the man responded.

“Hmm.” was all you said in response.

“So, who’s the lady?” you asked.

“I am RIGHT here!” the woman exclaimed in irritation.

“We do not know, but she claims to be the goddess Ishtar.” the old man answered.

“BECAUSE I AM!!!”

“We lack the evidence to prove her claim.” The Lord El Melioi declared.

“I will vaporize you, mark my words!” the woman who claimed to be Ishtar nearly shouted.

“I can see why that would be a bit hard to confirm…” you muttered as you turned onto your back.

“Seeing as if the woman’s claims are true-” the man began before being interrupted.

“THEY ARE!!!” the woman who claimed to be Ishtar whined.

“-It would mean that you dug up the bones of a goddess on Halloween night.”

You let out a groan.

“This is going to have massive repercussions, isn’t it?” you asked as you closed your eyes.

“Most definitely.” was all Lord El Melioi said in response.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You stumbled into your room and fell face first onto your bed, the woman who insisted upon being called Ishtar walking right behind you as you did so before making a bee-line to your closet and throwing it open.

“These are all your clothes?” Ishtar asked, flabbergasted.

“Yes.” You groaned into the bed.

“It’s the same outfit four different times!” Ishtar cried, abhorred.

“Exactly.” you said in response.

“This just will not do!” Ishtar exclaimed before walking over to you and peeling you off the bed to grab you by the collar.

“I REFUSE to have my spouse dress like some common cretin!” the woman cried.

“I don’t recall signing any marriage papers.” was all you said in response as your head lolled to the side.

“IT WAS IMPLIED IN THE SUMMONING!!!” Ishtar shouted.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It has been a year since you got a surprise wife on Halloween night.

She was a bossy, bullheaded, prideful, and big headed woman who had an ego the size of a galaxy.

You wouldn’t have her any other way.

Sure, she had a habit of threatening anyone who got too close to you with disintegration, but that is par for the course when in a relationship with a Goddess.

That said, she was still trying to get you to wear more “Appropriate Clothes For Your Station”.

She had continuously failed time and time again.

It was one of the many little games the two of you played.

Much like how Ishtar floated around you and took out whatever “Tax” she wished from any food you purchased.

Or how you, upon finding out she was ticklish, mercilessly attacked her every time she let down her guard.

The two of you were insufferable together, and you were frequently told so.

In all honesty, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ishtar might have the looks of a woman people would go to war for, but her personality was absolutely horrible, in a charming and adorable way.

And though you would never tell her for fear of her head getting so big it pops, you wouldn’t have her any other way.

As you continued to muse on Ishtar and the events of the previous year, a finger began to poke you in the side.

You ignored the sensation for a few moments longer, until a petulant whine cut through the silence and you were attacked by the arms of a woman wrapping around you like snakes and her body falling onto yours as you sat in your chair.

“Oh, hello Ishtar.” you muttered as you continued to gaze out at the starry night.

“You know, a girl could get really jealous if someone was looking at something else that wasn’t her.” Ishtar not so subtly hinted at as she tried to gently force you to look at her.

“What do you mean? I am looking at you! After all, these are the same stars as the night we met. Though, I have to admit that I didn’t pay much attention to them at the time.” You retorted with a soft smile on your face as you adjusted yourself and Ishtar to better ensure comfort.

Ishtar let out a laugh as she turned her eyes to look at the stars as well.

“I never took you as the reminiscing type.” the goddess muttered with a smile.

“I never took the Goddess Ishtar to be one to enjoy scooters. It seems we are both full of surprises.” You jabbed at her.

“You’re horrible!” Ishtar bemoaned with crocodile tears in her eyes.

“No worse than you dear, no worse than you.” was all you said in response as the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, gazing at the stars.

[ruru195]

I Don’t Need Sleep, I Need Answers!

Felix sat across from Jasper, Oswald’s most intelligent and dangerously inquisitive son, enjoying what had started as a simple conversation. They had been discussing books, the universe, and even the best type of cheese for grilled sandwiches, until Jasper suddenly hit him with the question.

“But Papa Felix… if nothing is truly impossible, then isn’t it possible for something to be impossible?”

Felix blinked. His brain short-circuited. He opened his mouth, then closed it. His gears spun, logic clashed with paradoxes, and suddenly, he wasn’t sure if he even knew what reality was anymore.

Jasper simply sipped his juice, waiting.

Felix spent the rest of the evening in deep contemplation, then retreated to his library like a mad scientist. He surrounded himself with philosophy books, scientific theories, and even children’s riddles, trying to break Jasper’s cursed paradox.

Hours turned into days. Coffee cups stacked dangerously high. His usually sleek hair was a disaster, and his eyes twitched with caffeine-induced fervor. He had scribbled so many equations and theories that the walls of his study looked like the hideout of a deranged detective hunting an unsolvable case.

That’s how Oswald found him.

“Felix, what the hell is wrong with you?!” Oswald shouted, looking at him, who resembled a man who had stared into the abyss and the abyss had laughed at him.

Felix spun around, wild-eyed. “I DON’T NEED SLEEP, OSWALD! I NEED ANSWERS!”

Oswald took a cautious step back. “Okaaaay… What exactly are you trying to answer?”

Felix grabbed Oswald by the shoulders. “Is it possible for something to be impossible if nothing is impossible?!”

Oswald blinked. “...What.”

Felix shook him. “ANSWER ME, OSWALD!”

Oswald shoved him off and stormed out of the library. He went straight to Jasper and his siblings, who were playing a board game. Crossing his arms, he eyed Jasper.

“Alright, kid. What the hell did you do to Felix?”

Jasper tilted his head, genuinely confused. “I just asked him a question.”

Oswald narrowed his eyes. “What kind of question?”

Jasper shrugged. “A logical paradox.”

Oswald sighed, rubbing his temples. “Great. You broke Felix. Now I have to fix him.”

From the library, Felix’s voice echoed, “JASPER, I SWEAR TO EVERYTHING, IF I DON’T FIGURE THIS OUT, I’M GONNA LOSE MY MIND!”

Jasper looked at his siblings. “So… do I win?”

Later that evening, Jasper wandered into the library, hands in his pockets, curious to see how far Felix had spiraled. The second he stepped inside, he was greeted by an absolute disaster.

Papers were scattered everywhere, books stacked in precarious towers, some still open to different pages with hastily scribbled notes in the margins. Felix himself looked like a man who had fought against time, reason, and possibly the entire foundation of logic itself and lost.

Then, out of nowhere, Felix shot up from his chair, eyes wild.

"That’s it!" he shouted triumphantly, pointing a shaking finger at his notebook.

Jasper raised an eyebrow as Felix turned to him, eyes burning with the fire of someone who had seen the truth.

"Listen, listen, listen—" Felix said, pacing back and forth rapidly. "If impossibility can exist as a concept within possibility, then the very definition of 'possible' must include the state of being impossible! Which means—" Felix grabbed a chalkboard, furiously drawing circles and arrows. "Possibility and impossibility exist in a state of quantum paradox, where one requires the other to be defined! That means—"

Jasper, who had been calmly observing, finally interjected:

"But wouldn’t that mean the moment impossibility is recognized as part of possibility, it ceases to be a true impossibility and instead just becomes a subset of possibility? Making 'true impossibility' still impossible?"

Silence.

Felix’s eye twitched.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then he made a small, strangled noise, turned on his heel, and stomped out of the room without another word.

Oswald, who had been listening in mild amusement, watched as Felix made a beeline out of his personal library, muttering something about "universal paradoxes" and "needing more research."

A few minutes later, a thud echoed through the house.

Oswald ran into the hallway only to find Felix face-down on the floor, completely passed out from sheer mental exhaustion.

Jasper blinked. Then turned to see Oswald standing, arms crossed, looking down at an unconscious Felix with a mix of exasperation and amusement.

Oswald sighed. "This is the last time you have this type of conversation with Felix."

Jasper, suppressing laughter, held up his hands innocently. "I promise nothing."

[wouldntyouliketoknow16]

The relationship between the Tifosi, the passionate supporters of Scuderia Ferrari, and Charles Leclerc can be likened to a form of reverence often associated with religious devotion. The imagery and religious undertones present in this dynamic reflect not only the deep emotional connection the Tifosi have with their team and drivers but also the cultural significance of motorsport in Italy. This essay will explore the various aspects of this relationship, delving into the idolization of Leclerc, the symbolism of colors and imagery, and the parallels between the fervent support of the Tifosi and religious practices.

Firstly, the Tifosi's treatment of Leclerc embodies a sense of idolization that parallels religious fervor. Just as devotees gather to celebrate their saints, Tifosi congregate at racetracks, waving flags and chanting in unison to show their support. Leclerc, as a young and talented driver, is viewed as a beacon of hope for the team's future, reminiscent of how followers might look to a revered figure for guidance and inspiration. This adoration is evident in the way they celebrate his victories, often likening them to miracles, and how they rally around him during challenging times, showcasing unwavering loyalty akin to a congregation's faith in their beliefs.

The imagery associated with Leclerc often draws from Catholic symbolism, which is deeply ingrained in Italian culture. The red of Ferrari is not just a color; it represents passion, sacrifice, and the blood of martyrs, resonating with the themes of redemption and devotion found in religious narratives. The Tifosi's chants and banners often incorporate religious motifs, further blurring the lines between sport and spirituality. For instance, phrases invoking divine intervention or blessings for Leclerc during races highlight the Tifosi's desire for his success to transcend mere competition and enter the realm of the extraordinary.

Furthermore, the rituals performed by the Tifosi during race weekends resemble those of religious ceremonies. The pilgrimage to the Autodromo Nazionale Monza or the Circuit de Monaco is akin to a pilgrimage to a holy site, where fans travel from far and wide to witness their idol in action. The atmosphere is charged with a sense of collective purpose, as supporters don their Ferrari gear and engage in pre-race rituals, such as lighting flares and chanting songs that resonate with themes of loyalty and devotion.

Leclerc’s personal background also adds depth to the Tifosi's connection with him. Hailing from Monaco, he represents a sense of local pride for many Italian fans, as he embodies the spirit of youth and talent that Ferrari has long sought. The Tifosi often project their aspirations onto him, seeing in him the potential to restore the team's former glory. This desire for success is not merely about winning races; it is about the emotional highs and lows that come with being a part of the Ferrari family, which is deeply rooted in Italian identity.

Moreover, the Tifosi's emotional investment in Leclerc's journey is evident during the races themselves. Each lap is met with cheers or gasps, as fans react to his performance with the same intensity as a congregation responding to a sermon. The collective energy in the stands creates an almost palpable atmosphere, where the Tifosi's hopes and prayers seem to intertwine with Leclerc's actions on the track. This connection is further amplified by the media coverage that often frames Leclerc's story in a narrative of redemption and triumph, echoing the classic tales found in religious texts.

As Leclerc faces challenges, such as mechanical failures or tough races, the Tifosi's support remains steadfast. This unwavering loyalty reflects the concept of faith in the face of adversity, a theme prevalent in many religious traditions. The Tifosi often express their solidarity through social media, sharing messages of encouragement and belief in his abilities, reinforcing the idea that their connection transcends the physical realm of racing. This sense of community provides both Leclerc and the fans with a shared purpose, akin to a congregation coming together during difficult times.

The role of rituals and superstitions in motorsport further enhances the religious undertones of the Tifosi's support. Fans often engage in specific behaviors, such as wearing lucky clothing or performing pre-race rituals, drawing parallels to the practices of religious followers seeking favor from a higher power. These rituals serve to strengthen the bond between the Tifosi and Leclerc, as they collectively invest their hopes and dreams in his success, much like a congregation praying for divine intervention.

Additionally, the Tifosi's emotional responses to Leclerc's performances often resemble the highs and lows experienced in religious experiences. The joy of victory is celebrated with euphoric displays of passion, while losses are met with a sense of mourning and reflection. This cycle of elation and despair mirrors the human experience of faith, where believers navigate the complexities of hope and disappointment. The Tifosi's ability to find solace in their shared love for Leclerc, regardless of the outcome, underscores the profound impact of their connection.

In conclusion, the relationship between Charles Leclerc and the Tifosi is steeped in imagery and religious undertones that reflect a profound emotional bond. Their treatment of him as a figure of hope and inspiration mirrors the devotion found in religious practices. This dynamic not only enriches the experience of motorsport in Italy but also underscores the cultural significance of the Tifosi's unwavering support, transforming the racetrack into a modern-day sanctuary where faith and fervor converge.

[alectoperdita]

jou makes kaiba a character bento of blue eyes. kaiba believes this is a murder attempt via starvation because how can he eat blue eyes

Anon, I'm not sure if this was what you were hoping for, but here we go.

---

"Fubuki, if you don't put on your jacket this minute, I'm punting you out the door like a football!"

A child's screeching echoed through the high-ceiling foyer, followed by two sets of footsteps pounding across the marble.

Seto listened, barely straining to make out the sound of his husband giving chase to their four-year-old son. There was Fubuki's obstinate "no!", the clatter of some piece of furniture, and Katsuya's bitten-off swearing. After a beat, he considered getting up and checking on them.

But then, bright amber eyes, framed by golden blond bangs, peered up from his lap. Asuka, swinging her legs gently, reached out with one chubby hand to offer him a mini-sausage off her plate.

"They'll sort it out," he muttered, both to himself and her.

Her response was to wave the sausage more insistently. The beginning of a pout formed on her stained lips.

Quickly, he bent over and took a small bite. This was their bargain: she finished her breakfast as long as he ate with her. The taste was a bit on the bland side. But she was three, so they didn't want to flavor her food too heavily.

Beaming with pride, his daughter stuffed the rest into her mouth. Her cheeks puffed out, reminiscent of a chipmunk.

Seto couldn't help but grin at the picture he made. His hand was halfway into his pocket for his phone before he caught himself. God, he was becoming one of those parents.

Thankfully, his husband's reappearance in the kitchen door restored his dignity. Katsuya's hair was tousled and sticking out in every which way, reminding Seto of their youth. He leaned heavily against the door jamb, using the frame to support himself and the bundle hefted under one arm. Fubuki kicked his feet wildly as they dangled in the air, but it wasn't in a tantrum. He enjoyed being carried like a sack of potatoes for some reason.

"Got 'em," Katsuya grunted, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. It was a dreadfully handsome look on him. "Is Asuka ready to go?"

Seto plucked the napkin off the dining table and wiped her face clean. As soon as he finished, he invited her to wordlessly hop down from his lap. Without further prompting, she lifted both arms so he could help her into her jacket.

"Now she is," he announced and stood.

Asuka laughed and twirled, before running to join Katsuya and Fubuki.

As much as Seto could spend the rest of the day staring at his impossible family, the kids were due at kindergarten and he had an early meeting. While Katsuya tidied the children's appearance, zipping up Fubuki's jacket resoundingly so he couldn't throw it off, Seto brought over the bentos from the kitchen counter.

He arched a questioning eyebrow at his husband as he handed them off. "Don't you think you've overdone it?"

In addition to each child's usual bento box, there was a two-tiered one. Then again, Katsuya always slipped comfortably into the role of house husband when it was the off-season for the pro-circuit.

Warmth spread through Seto's body when their hands brushed. Katsuya's fingers purposefully lingered on his wrists. Nor did he let go after he closed his palms over the back of Seto's hands, drawing him in for a short kiss.

Katsuya smiled. "Nah, the big one's for you."

"You didn't have to."

"Someone says you've been skipping lunch lately. So now you don't have an excuse."

Seto sighed. "Isono."

"I'm not giving up the identity of my mole that easily." Katsuya gave a wink.

Another kiss, a muttered goodbye; and then they were gone. The mansion always felt eerily quiet without them.

*****

Meetings were the bane of his existence. On days like today, when they were packed back-to-back, Seto longed for a megalomaniac or two. At least they had the decency to settle matters, even if it was of life and death, through Duel Monsters.

He collapsed into his office chair for the first time since he arrived hours ago. At the moment, he couldn't bear to check his inbox and see how many messages awaited his attention.

Likely too many.

For now, he wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet of his private office.

Eventually, his gaze roamed across his desk's surface: paperwork, pens, photos of his family, a black two-tier bento box.

He straightened.

He'd completely forgotten about the lunch Katsuya made for him until now.

Well, it was lunch time. He didn't have an excuse now as Katsuya said earlier. And he so hated to disappoint his husband. Plus, he liked Katsuya's cooking.

The top level contained an assortment of side dishes: a small salad, stewed beef and vegetables, and a couple of the same hot dog octopuses Katsuya always made for the children's bentos. But the tier below that? Seto gawked at what he uncovered.

Katsuya had been making character bento for Fubuki and Asuka since the start of autumn. The kids loved showing off their colorful arrangements to their classmates. Over time, Seto too had watched his husband get increasingly more creative and elaborate with their lunches.

It appeared he was no exception.

A rather faithful depiction of his ace monster stared back at him. Shaped out of suspiciously blue-tinted rice, his Blue-Eyes roared triumphantly at a background of black rice. It was mostly the head, neck, and upper shoulders with a hint of the wings, but Katsuya had captured its essence, using carefully cut pieces of dried seaweed to fill in the finer details and contour.

Seto wondered how long it took him to make this.

He snapped a photo for posterity. Then he tested his husband.

I think your plan may have backfired.

Katsuya responded instantly.

Why's that?

There's no way I can wreck her majesty.

I love you, even if you are a huge dork.