#the answer to that question is between me and god

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲, 𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥… || 𝐒𝐚𝐣𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ That time when Rumi’s sword and the Huntr/x’s weapons brought a common enemy for both hunters and demons: an angel messing with them and the Saja Boys as the most successful idol.

warnings_ angel!reader (she’s literally god), mostly Jinu x reader, but everyone is obsessed with her, canon divergence, cringe, sexual innuendos, saja boys kinda perverts but reader doesn’t feel awkward, teasing, reader kinda into being shared between the Saja Boys, canon divergence, NO PROOFREAD

notes_ so my saja boys ranking is 1-Jinu, 2-Abby and 3-Baby

♫ ♪ the world’s worst Saja Boys playlist

✰ Index (+ fics here)

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ

It was summer already. But that night was covered by the rope of a cold breeze.

The sword disappeared into the demon’s chest. Rumi felt the tip of her weapon hitting one of the giant rocks on the floor.

The demon vanished into a cloud of mist and sparkles, which commonly happened after getting rid of them. But a horde of pink light seemed to come out, down from the cracks of the floor. The whole ancient temple was illuminated by said pink light and even Rumi’s braid was pulled back with the wind that came along.

Rumi covered her eyes and waited till the blinding lights and wind passed. Horrid screams and angelic voices could be heard at some distance with echo, making her shiver as goosebumps shattered her. Felt as if a curse had been unleashed. The purple-haired huntress sighed, catching a breath as she searched for anything abnormal.

At the same time, Mira and Zoey came running behind her.

“What was that?” Zoey yelled.

Once the three girls were together, they exchanged looks at each other, visibly confused.

“A flash spurted from the ground as we killed the last demons” Mira explained.

“Same happened here” Rumi answered, looking back around.

“I don’t think anything changed?” Zoey questioned. “The Saja Boys aren’t nearby”

“No, it’s all clear”

“Everything feels normal…” Rumi agreed.

“Great!” The three girls said in unison, convincing themselves that everything was alright with smiles on their faces.

So they went back to their place and plotted to watch a new show and eat tons of food while doing their skincare.

…

For any K-pop idol, Inkigayo was a big deal. It was the perfect opportunity to promote new music, gain new fans, set new trends… or cause drama.

Huntr/x and Saja Boys patiently waited backstage till they were called out to perform. The boys looked annoyingly good. With salmon and mint clothes mixed. They were going to perform “Soda Pop” and a new song apparently.

Then, Huntr/x were going to perform a remix of “How It’s Done”, with new metallic attires.

“Stop looking at his abs” Rumi scolded Mira and Zoey.

“We are so not looking at his abs” Mira answered, obviously glued to Abby and his gorgeous physique.

At the least expected moment, Rumi had Jinu beside her.

“So… Have you told them about your… skin issues?” Jinu asked, his fingers softly touching the barely visible skin of her neck. Rumi stepped backwards.

“No. And stop pressuring me” she answered, ignoring his smirk and teasing tone.

Jinu chuckled and just crossed his arms, his soft biceps flexing. Rumi couldn’t drool about it since she started getting stressed about her sudden patterns and her voice failing to reach her usual notes.

“Don’t take too long…” he said, leaning forward towards her. Then, he whispered in her ear. “Or, you know, I can always tell them…”

“No” her serious tone made Jinu realize he couldn’t bother her anymore. So he just smiled and walked back with the rest of the boys.

“Sorry, but there’s been a change in the program” a man said, pushing both Huntr/x and Saja Boys back.

They all looked confused at each other.

“Why?” Romance asked.

“Yeah, Why?” Mira joined with a big frown.

The man fixed his glasses, looked at the papers in his hand, and barely looked at the group of idols before he spoke.

“There’s a bigger performance before you two” and he left.

“What do you mean bigger?” Zoey asked in disbelief.

“Do you know who we are?” Abby yelled, bumping his chest against Mira’s back, making her frown and receive a wink from the muscular man.

“What is going on?” Rumi whispered, but Jinu and the girls heard her.

The doors opened and a bunch of staff entered. They all wore white clothing with golden jewelry. They were all very attractive people. And they were styling the mysterious new idol.

An extremely attractive woman. So celestial, heavenly….

You knew the aura you carried, the way you moved, sang, and laughed was able to catch anyone’s attention.

You felt makeup brushes adding more highlighter that looked as if your cheeks were wet, dripping sparkles. Romance was all over seeing your lips full of crimson lipstick with sparkles. Abby had his eyes glued to your satin gown that had the lace on the cleavage changed so the whole look ended up looking modern and sophisticated. Baby and Mystery couldn’t stop looking at your hair that bounced like soft waves and appeared to smell perfectly.

And Jinu was frozen, questioning what you had that was making him uneasy and making his heart beat so fast.

You passed by the two groups and eyed them up and down. You got closer to one of the men. Black hair, tall, soft lips, and an adorable nose, very hot overall.

He gulped and you smiled at his nervousness. Jinu; you had seen his name and the rest of the band’s in some ad.

Your fingers traced a line in his neck and your smile grew wider. You felt his pulse and how nervous he was. His natural demon lilac skin with patterns appeared where you touched him and even Rumi, Zoey and Mira gasped in shock. Wondering how that was possible…

“Nice makeup…” you said, loud enough so you could be heard.

Then you turned to Huntr/x, barely eyeing them as some of your team passed you a microphone with foil details.

“Good luck” the girls only stared back, visible disgust in their faces, even jealousy, you knew.

As much as they hated the Saja Boys, seeing them drooling over you and acting like lost puppies, made them feel jealous. Maybe deep down, they liked to be shipped with the demons. Just for the thrill.

The production behind your stage was shocking. The pink, aquamarine, and orange misty visuals, coral lighting, and faint dark details resembled a retelling of heaven.

“Who’s that pissy crabby?” Mira asked as the music began.

“She’s so hot” Abby and Baby said standing next to her.

“Maybe just pretty” Rumi commented with slight venom in her voice.

“Darling, look at that sight” Romance added, making Mira roll her eyes and huff.

And then you started singing.

Certainly, there is something

Do the rumors

Indeed whisper truly what you are

(Only I know there’s a naked truth)

Tell me what you see

Show me what you want

I can make you reach the sky

Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah

Rumi and Jinu frowned, then looked at each other.

It’s in your weapons

What might cleanse the realm

But only I-

(Only I know there’s a naked truth)

Within my touch

I send them back to hell

I make her curse her sword

And still they want more of me

It felt like an ice bucket splash. There was no way you knew about demon hunters, and demons themselves. Jinu looked at the TV connected to the backstage and noticed the crowds looking at your performance. Girls carried metallic dark silver lightsticks with pink details and wings as decoration. The TV was showing you dancing as the beat changed to a faster tempo, and the sign of your song being named “Naked Truth”.

“She’s an angel” Rumi confirmed to Jinu and everyone turned to look at her in shock.

At the word “angel” the Saja Boys seemed to be out of their trance. Their lovesick faces changed to disgust. Except for Jinu, who seemed thoughtful. It was very rare to hear something about angels. They hadn’t been around for a long time. So allegedly seeing one in person was truly a surprise.

But where did you came from?

“I think we invited her that day at the temple” Zoey added.

“Still. Why would she want to be an idol?” Baby traduced for Mystery, who never moved or emitted a sound.

“Freedom” Jinu revealed, looking back at you, then at the bunch.

And then, you only confirmed to them your true nature as a big pair of puffy angel wings elevated you for your grand finale. Everyone thought it was part of the show, but only five demons and three hunters knew those pair of wings were real and attached to your body.

“But she’s so pretty” Romance cried.

“And our biggest common enemy” Mira reminded him.

“She’s going to be a problem for us”

“Did you say ‘us’?…” Jinu teased Rumi. The purple-haired girl rolled her eyes.

“Yes, us three; Huntr/x”

“Mhmm, though you were growing fond of me”

It was evident that the crowd loved you. Even from inside the studios, the fans outside watching the live performances were insane. The least some demon hunters needed when the Honmoon was weakening was an angel shoving at their faces how graceful and superior they were. And the least some demons needed was an angel distracting them, inciting them only to drop them against sharp edges.

…

Mira had the best moves, but you were more flexible. Zoey had the best speed for rapping but you had better rhymes, Rumi had the best vocals but you had better control of breathing so your high notes were longer. The Saja Boys were the most attractive idols in the industry at the moment but every corner of social media was full of fanfics, edits, and images of you. Your song “Stretch” was constantly heard in the Saja Boys residence, Abby always complained and wanted to turn off the TV but Baby wouldn’t let him. And in two hours, Jinu found them analyzing the lyrics, wondering if you meant to flirt with one of them since the song was about showing off how good you were in bed disguised with dancing.

Demons being delusional; Jinu thought.

Everyone was making trends of the choreography. And even Jinu heard Rumi humming your song once.

You had them foaming at the mouth.

Even worse when you confessed before entering a podcast session together that you were only an idol to annoy both demons and hunters. That you took so much joy in seeing them out of their minds. And that you expected them to be out of your way.

Soon they realized that your staff were also angels in disguise, there was no actual way to send an angel back to heaven if it wasn’t by their own will. But they could be punished if they didn’t guard/guide a human.

Everywhere they went, it was splattered all over the city: Y/N or Angel since fans gave you that suiting nickname.

Oh and, Zoeystery was replaced by Babygel, Miromabby for Abbygel, and Rujinu was quickly replaced with Jinugel in the trends around Twitter and TikTok. There was even a section for ships like Huntrangel, where you were shipped with the girls.

It was a mess.

Jinu took his free night to have a pleasant walk at night by his own. He walked through the streets and certainly lounged to be sitting with friends and a lover as many young adults did in the downtown of the city.

After all, the Saja Boys started as coworkers, but they were friends. And he knew it was ridiculous: a demon falling for an angel.

Myths usually stated that demons and angels getting together could break all curses and stabilize the evil and good of the human world.

But there was something about you that Jinu knew you were hiding. He knew there was a different woman under the skin of an annoying angel.

He looked around and saw your face in one of the tall buildings, There was an upcoming press conference to discuss the success of Huntr/x, Saja Boys, and you.

Jinu only sighed and kept walking, glasses, hoodie, and hands in his pockets to prevent lousy fans from coming after him. And when he focused on the sidewalk, he saw a woman getting out of a Mexican food restaurant.

Hair in a messy bun, glasses, hoodie, and chunky slippers under.

Jinu smirked, discovering it was you.

Subtly, he started following you. He smirked to himself and started to follow you.

You turned left, then left again, then right, and in less than ten minutes, you were at some park on a hill that Jinu hadn’t visited before. It reminded him of the place he went to see Rumi, but the place you ended up at was… different.

You were sitting on a cement bench, the smell of food traveling through the soft breeze of that afternoon as you ate in silence.

There you looked… peaceful, humanly even.

Jinu quietly made his way until he was steps away from you and you noticed.

“Jinu?” You asked, looking deeply, as if to confirm the man was actually there.

He simply took a seat beside you.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, seeing your beautiful profile.

“Angels are half humans just like some demons are, you know?” There was a little smile on your face that made Jinu smile as well. “I wanted to spend some time alone and-“

“I can always leave, sorry for “

“No, stay” you shushed him, then you simply went back to look at the skyline.

It was weird that neither of you was in idol mode where he was a demon and you an angel that hated each other. Just a man and a woman sitting on a bench.

“Was it weird to experience the human world for the first time?” He asked you with genuine curiosity, and you shrugged.

“Angels spend a lot of time with humans… we take care of them, as guardians. Despite not being actually here. But yeah…” Jinu notices your hostile tone and grows even more curious. “We’re just humans with wings and magic…”

“I think angels can be more than that” he said before thinking twice, Your eyes opened widely and Jinu noticed the pink spreading in your cheeks.

“I shouldn’t tell my problems to a demon but… that sassy angel persona is just a facade to use because I’m not very fond of your type nor hunters. But the truth is… I want to live freely”

“And I think I’m ashamed to admit that angels are not as tough as they seem” you admitted, looking down at your legs. You really shouldn’t be telling your problems to a demon, you should talk to your friends: Venus, Psique, Rose even the narcissist of Eros. But there you were, talking to Jinu because he seemed to have some humanity inside him.

“And I’m ashamed for not being tough enough on myself to prevent my past”

At that moment, both of you felt it. A strong connection, the feeling of reassurance, and… perhaps a spark.

Jinu offered a smile, and he wasn’t expecting you to smile back, but you did.

With the sun offering the famous “golden hour”, Jinu was able to see your true self. Very subtle coral undertone in your skin, pink eyes that glowed hypnotically, and… If demons had pointy dark red patterns across their bodies, angels had twirling dark pink patterns. He seemed surprised as you noticed he was staring at your naked arms.

“What? Didn’t know angels had patterns as well?” You teased with a chuckle.

Jinu quickly looked away, slightly embarrassed, then scratched his head awkwardly.

“They’re… pretty”

“Demon’s skin is also pretty” You didn’t know where that came from, but you weren’t lying, the Saja Boys were the prettiest demons you’d ever seen.

“Now, let’s pretend we are friends and are having dinner together” you offered him a fork and Jinu took it with a smile.

The demon realized he couldn’t make you take a side. He couldn’t prevent the effects of an angel on someone like him. But he found himself enjoying your company after all. And if things were different, it wouldn’t be terrible to be friends with you.

…

Everyone was annoyed. You could hear a crowd growing as the time to start the press conference approached. Your friend Psique was helping you tie your ballerina-style heels when you saw Jinu leaning against a wall, looking at you.

“They look heavy”

“Excuse me?” You asked in shock as Psique gagged in disbelief.

“Your shoes…” Jinu clarified, unaware of the perverted idea you and your friend had thought.

“Oh. Yeah…they’re not, actually” you answer, kicking the door of your dressing room with the golden heel.

“Hmm, well, I’ll see you backstage” Jinu gave a little smirk and you smiled back at him.

“Here’s your sheet of possible questions and the most appropriate answers, alright?” Psique handed you a pink paper and Jinu wondered if everything angels had was pink.

“Thanks” after Psique offered good luck, she whispered into your ear.

“What are you doing talking and sharing smiles with that demon?” She asked.

“He’s nice… actually all of the Saja Boys are, if they could choose, they wouldn’t be demons” your friend gasped in disbelief, she softly grabbed your hand.

“And if we could, we wouldn’t be angels, tied to guide someone to prevail, y/n. I know you’re smart, but be careful with them”

When you made it backstage, you saw Rumi talking with Jinu. When you first met them, you thought they had something going on. And seeing them talking so lost in each other, made your stomach flip.

An angel could experience jealousy ten times worse than a normal human. Nausea built in your gut and your hands sweat through your palms.

But realizing you were jealous because of Jinu, made you worry about what Psique said to you. You couldn’t like the Saja Boys, you couldn’t be in love with Jinu, and angels couldn’t love demons.

…

It was toxic of you to feel attracted to the Saja Boys. And knowing the effect you had on them made it even more cynical.

As the days passed and you had to interact with them, Baby and Romance had your number and started texting you. Always flirting, well, mostly Romance, Baby would send pictures of food and rate them without even starting an actual conversation. The gesture made you cackle and you started messaging back. Mystery once handed you a soda can and left without saying anything and made you so confused.

Abby was the one who shamelessly flirted with you and made your thighs squeeze together for some reason. He was funny, said very funny shit while waiting for interviews, fan meetings and show appearances.

You hadn’t talked much to Jinu, so it was immature to feel jealous. But every time you had seen him with Rumi, it made you form fists with your hands. Accidentally, you had overheard them talking about having meetings alone. And that Rumi had demon patterns, you were shocked. And the evil, egocentric splotches in your heart made you think that you could use that to your advantage if needed.

When it came to the girls, not much had changed. Only that Zoey seemed to be willing to talk to you, and she was fun. But you were thinking too much about them. When you and your friends were able to escape the angelic gates and step into the human world, all of you just wanted was to prove you deserved to be there, not only protecting humans through spiritual connections.

You were walking with no actual plans to do anything. Your hands were hidden in the pockets of your skirt and trying not to step into random cracks in the floor. And then, as you entered a random alley, you were pushed back by something.

Then you heard a growl and when you opened your eyes, you saw a demon running towards you.

In a flash, you stepped up, your featherwings appeared, elevating you just enough so your feet couldn’t touch the ground, with your ring transforming into a longspear that as soon as the demon jumped to attack you, your wings threw him back with a gust of wind, and when your longspear touched it, the creature was gone.

It happened so fast, you moved as your defense reflex activated on its own, and when you looked down, you saw Mira, Zoey, and Rumi looking at you perplexed. Apparently, they had a little hunting session going on.

You descended to the ground, your wings disappeared and the long spear too, returning to be an ordinary rose gold ring on your index finger.

With a sigh, you simply stared the them.

“That was nice” Zoey broke the ice, but you didn’t know what to answer.

“It won’t happen again, it was self-defense” you state before turning around and walking just where you came from.

“Wait-“ Rumi called. “I know you hate us and we are certainly not fond of you but… maybe we could work out some agreement to-“

“Gosh, tell me you haven’t been hunting for long enough, I can tell” you said with exasperation, turning back to look at her. “Whoever trained you, doesn’t know exactly what’s the deal between hunters, demons, and angels”

The three girls looked at each other, clearly accepting their ignorance.

“Ancient angels tried to make a deal with demons, to ensure they wouldn’t keep eating human souls, we gave them power… And they betrayed us” the cold breeze of the night with siren sounds at a distance only added tension for some reason, and you didn’t mean to fight or argue with them, but your tone wasn’t actually soft.

“When the problem aggravated, angels had to start slaying demons, you appeared asking for help, we provided weapons so you could help us, eventually hunters locked us in ‘heaven’ and took all the credit”

“Now we don’t have actual rights to be among humans, we just guide them so they can’t be targeted by demons. You can freely live like we used to… We are not interested in looking for balance anymore, we want to reclaim our stance here” you explained with confidence.

“And what will you and your friends do when demons get beyond the limit? When there are no humans left?” Mira asked, and you simply shrugged.

“I’m pretty sure my superiors will get to offer a deal to Gwi-Ma” They looked perplexed, even angered by your statement, but you didn’t care.

“You have the power to stop this and you prefer to not do anything? That’s such a cowardly move” Rumi yelled as you started walking away again.

“A liar won’t tell me I’m a coward, Rumi” you said and she went pale, In alert mode she stood as you walked backwards, looking at her with a sneer. “Perhaps Jinu will know what to do…”

She froze, Rumi was left speechless, caught with no actual fireback. You disappeared and Zoey and Mira started asking her what you meant by that.

“I think y/n is jealous” Zoey commented.

“Why?” Mira asked her with a frown.

“Duh, she likes Jinu” the three girls exchanged thoughtful looks.

Was it? Could it be? They weren’t sure… but it was heading to become the truth.

…

A picture of Abby helping you to do roman lifts at some prestigious gym went viral. It was a coincidence and only made you and the Saja Boys more popular, even surpassing Huntr/x.

Then someone leaked a video of Baby sharing some spicy chicken karaage with you and the fans went crazy.

Clips of Mystery and Romance fixated on you and everyone started questioning who would win the important Idol Awards.

When in reality, nobody was actually winning, Huntr/x was stuck, with Rumi avoiding to sing “Takedown”, the Saja Boys having Jinu go through a crisis and you were overwhelmed by everything that was happening.

Suddenly everyone was forgetting what the whole point was.

You were casually ordering a tofu burger at some solitary restaurant when you heard the click of a phone and then a flash.

When you looked over your shoulder, you saw Abby taking a picture of you, and judging by the angle of the grip on his phone, you could tell he took a picture of your waist and ass.

You had to suppress the urge to cackle. You paid and then turned to see the five demons staring at you. Baby and Jinu on the edges, then Mystery and Romance, Abby sitting at the head of the table, offering his back towards the big window of the place. You briefly eyed Jinu and he was the only one who didn’t have an evil teasing grin on his face. He looked distant…

“You better keep that picture to yourself” you say glaring back at Abby directly.

He winks and presses his phone against his toned chest.

“I can do more than that” Abby replies and the comment sounded so sultry that even Baby chuckled. You simply rolled your eyes and turned to grab your takeout bag.

The most infantilized member of the Saja Boys was actually the freakiest, you knew. He had the deepest voice and you knew he would be a wild ride if you ever ended up tangling with him. So you decided to crumple a little bit of his ego, you passed by his side and brushed your thumb across his lower lip, wiping away the smudged hot sauce. His eyes widened and stared at you in silence, simply shocked. Like everyone else, only Jinu wasn’t surprised, he was boiling with jealousy.

Well, Baby was literally being touched by an angel. It sure felt like heaven.

“There was hot sauce on your lips and chin…” you explained before leaving.

You opened the door and the warm rays of the sun hit you, You stopped to fish out your glasses from your bag.

“So what are you doing tomorrow at the Idol Awards?” Jinu appeared by your side, taking you by surprise since you hadn’t actually talked to him in a week, and you even forgot about your sunglasses. “Sticking with the girls or giving us a hand?”

“Why is everyone asking me to take a side?” You ask with your eyes focused on the sidewalk. “I don’t owe anything to demons or hunters as far as I know”

“Maybe because you can vanish us with a snap of your fingers or simply move out of the way of any demon hunter” Jinu said. He looked tired, still gorgeous but looked… irritable.

“I don’t know, as an angel I don’t want to get my hands dirty…”

“What happened to the honest woman talking to me at the park, huh?” he asked with defiance and you couldn’t recall seeing Jinu so angry like he was at that moment.

“Honest? I’m pretty sure you aren’t telling me your whole plan, man. You demons always cary a knife behind your backs”

You remembered confessing how you felt and being vulnerable to him. But you were so… confused. Maybe things were happening at the same time and your feelings were all over the place. But your silence didn’t do much, but only irritated Jinu more.

“Everyone’s right about demons. But angels are just a lie, they don’t care to actually help, they are resentful egoists. And you are the solid proof of it”

“Jinu-“ you tried to calm him, despite feeling your eyes growing wet.

“You are just like a greedy demon thinking only about yourself” Right after he finished that sentence, he heard a little yelp from you and noticed you started crying.

You could feel the eyes of the rest of the Saja Boys looking through the restaurant’s window. The unbearable feeling of shame was something you couldn’t stand, something you hadn’t experienced in a long time. And you couldn’t hide it, what Jinu said was true.

You glared at him and couldn’t comprehend whether he was perplexed or confused by your tears. Only that you didn’t let him add any more words. You simply brushed past him and started walking away.

Jinu sighed, turned around, and called for your name once, but you didn’t look back, you simply walked and walked until you disappeared from his sight.

When he returned to the table, everyone was eating quietly.

Jinu looked at his partners and sighed, already knowing what they were thinking.

“That wasn’t nice” Romance commented.

“She was crying?” Abby asked still looking outside.

“Yeah, I was mean. I know already!” Jinu answered and everyone was extremely quiet.

…

He didn’t mean to make you cry. But he was growing desperate, with Gwi-Ma trailing behind him, the mixed feelings he had for Rumi and you ignoring him for days… it made his guilt and desire to end it all even bigger. But after making you cry, Jinu felt even worse. It reminded him of causing his family pain, making them tear up, and creating a barrier between them. Despite barely knowing you, he was pretty sure the woman he talked to at the park was the real you. The comfort of being by your side was real. And he didn’t want it to end.

So when he didn’t find you at your place, only a bunch of silly angels partying, not worried about where you were, he went to look around the city.

In your usual evening walks, you decided for once to simply enjoy the last rays of the sun, you didn’t want to be bothered by anything.

But you weren’t lucky enough. As you started walking around in an empty park, you noticed a demon, and he started chasing after you subtly. And much to your dismay, you had forgotten your ring. And since there were still a few people around, you couldn’t just spread your wings and fly away.

Hence why, Jinu found you being cornered by a demon in some dark woods that surrounded the park. He went straight to save you. You didn’t notice him at first sight, but when you felt the demon being pushed aside, you took a big breath before turning to see Jinu punching him to send him back to the demon realm.

The woods creaked, birds chirping in the distance, but you just stood there looking at Jinu in silence. The distance grew closer and you only got to move backwards a few steps before you ended up trapped between his chest and a random tree.

The demon he truly was, was facing you. Lilac skin, dark patterns, fangs, glowy eyes, and imposing form were there.

His eyes traced your face and neck to see if you were hurt, but you were fine.

“I’m sorry…” he said, much to your surprise.

“What?”

“I didn’t want to make you cry…” he admitted, eyes still burning into yours.

His proximity made you feel nervous, anxious, and… eager. Ever since the first time you encountered him at the same park where you were, you knew he had something.

“I wanted to forget everything. But now I just want you to make me repent my sins” his nose brushed your neck and it made you shiver, almost letting out a little gasp, but you remained still.

“That isn’t how ‘Your Idol’ goes…” as you attempted to joke, he only eyed you with curiosity.

“Are you and your little friends spying on me and the guys?” Finally, you were able to make him smirk, the air felt lighter, but the tension was only rising.

“I mostly know everything. Including the upcoming Saja Boys' releases” Jinu chuckled, and his hands came to press your stomach, pushing further against the tree, feeling his soft abs against your thin top.

“Jinu…” you tried to reason before it was too late. He was dangerously close to you and didn’t look interested in moving away.

He noticed your human appearance and how it contrasted with his demon self. You weren’t scared or disgusted, you couldn’t care less.

His pointed fingers went to grab your chin and the way he looked at you was so sweet. Through his bright eyes, you could feel affection.

“I can hear him in my head…” Jinu revealed.

“Gwi-Ma?” He nodded and your fingers went to brush his hair, swiftly tangling with his raven locks, he smelled nice, his hair extra soft, his worries so honest. He was so human despite being a demon. So you smiled, urging to snuggle between your neck and shoulders. He stayed there a while, in silence.

At what moment were you consoling a demon in pain? He was good, he deserved another chance.

Even more interesting, why were you kissing him? You liked him…

He wanted control, for once you allowed it. His lips took the lead and left you with nothing but a trail of soft whimpers as you felt his sneaky fingers tracing circles in your hipbone.

“You’re doing it well” you whispered on his lips.

“What thing? Kissing and touching you?”

“No, asshole. I mean to seal your faith…” you say before letting his tongue meet yours. “But yeah, keep kissing and touching me like that…”

“I can help you and everyone” you admitted as he trailed your neck with soft pecks that made you whimper louder. “But I don’t know if it’s worth it…”

“Please, y/n, think about it…” he whispered in your lips.

His words flying away as you allowed Jinu to slide his hand under your shirt.

…

Your song “For You…” almost sealed the Honmoon at the Idol Awards. You could see the gold mixing with pink, but it wasn’t enough, then, when Huntr/x started their performance, you soon understood Jinu was behind their failure. It was part of his plan, to manipulate fans so they would go to the Saja Boys’ concert, the final performance to bring Gwi-Ma and unleash chaos. Your friends suggested that to actually go back home, to inform superiors so they could intervene. They were exactly what Rumi and Jinu said about angels; narcissistic egoistic cowards. In your head, their words started haunting your thoughts. So you didn’t follow back to the gates of heaven…

No matter how many demons kicked you, pulled your hair, and tried to sink their sharp fangs at you, they never reached further, you would always give the last punch and send them back to hell.

One with six arms and gargoyle wings was able to send you to the floor. Your longspear would go deep enough to aim at the creature’s chest and make him disappear.

You felt two pairs of hands helping you tos and up and when you turned around, you saw Mystery and Zoey. A little smile appeared on your face when you noticed that the Saja Boys were doing exactly what they weren’t supposed to. Then you turned to look at the stage, and you could see Jinu and Gwi-Ma.

There was one way to stop everything. And you weren’t even sure if it would work. But it was for sure that the price to pay would be great.

Just when you were steps away from attacking Gwi-Ma, a strong hand came to grip your wrist. You knew it was Jinu, his demon patterns could be felt, and when you turned to see him, he was looking at you with those bright yellow glowy eyes.

The 400-year-old demon knew very well that old tale; an angel could use all of its power to stop a great curse but it would be their sacrifice. Meaning that you would either die or vanish.

But you only smiled sadly at him.

“Jinu, it’s okay…” you assured him, brushing his cheek with your fingers. He didn’t want to let you go.

“No! I won’t let you die because of me!” He yelled, desperate and adding more strength to the grip of your wrist.

“It’ll be worth it, I promise” It tormented you how sad he seemed, how stressed he felt, and how badly he wanted to keep you by his side. “His voice in your head will stop, the boys will be okay, the Honmoon will be healed. And you can be… with her”

Jinu shook his head quickly and stepped even closer.

“I don’t want her! I want you!” He said pointing with his head at Rumi at a distance fighting and then looked back at you. “I just want you…”

“It’ll pass, Jinu…” your wings spread and he couldn’t hold his grip as you started to elevate slowly, your hands grabbed his face and you placed a quick kiss on his lips. “Just like it always does, love…”

You yanked your hands from his, and offering him a last kiss, you flew away.

Your wings had never made you fly so fast, but as you confidently reached Gwi-Ma, time seemed to have stopped. One of the last things you saw was Rumi, looking at you in surprise, as if she was about to tell you to not go further. The flames of Gwi-Ma started to make you sweat as you reached closer, all of your strength ready to attack and when your longspear touched the demon, the whole stadium was blinded.

The purple flames embraced your body until the demons were gone, vanishing into ashes and the music kept playing. The crowds chanted, screamed, and kept singing as your body collapsed to the floor.

Unable to understand if your actions had done anything, unsure if you were dying, you heard Jinu’s voice, a warm touch on your arm, and a sense of tranquility as your eyes shut closed.

Jinu did everything to stay by your side and make sure you kept breathing. He even got you a new manager and bribed him to tell your sudden hospitalization was due to social pressure. When the doctors asked what happened, Baby recommended saying you accidentally fainted while about to enter a sauna.

Still, Jinu patiently waited a month till you opened your eyes again.

…

Nervously, you were biting your nails. Your skin itched, felt dry, and cracked.

Two months had passed since the Idol Awards, Rumi and you did most of the job saving everyone. You lost your wings, your whole body was covered in burns and Jinu was being too insistent on flirting with you.

“It’s going to be fine, you’ll see…” Zoey told you, tapping at your bandaged hand as she and Mira flipped through a magazine in your hospital room.

“Ugh great… the boys are here” Rumi complained from the door, her head peaking outside before she turned around with a big roll of her eyes.

“They’re good now, give them a break” you told her and she sighed.

Now they were your friends. You didn’t know how, but as you got to stay in the human world, Huntr/x girls thanked you and then befriended you.

The Saja Boys were just like you, half human, half angel, and half demons. They still had some abilities and their patterns were still visible but very subtly. Just like you…

“We brought two pizza boxes, beers, and a chocolate cake” Abby was the first one to arrive. If you weren’t so amused with Jinu, you would be all over the muscular man. He made you laugh so much and he was sweet. He also flirted with you and never denied how badly he wanted to have you all for himself.

“We still don’t have the results, dummy. But thanks” you told him with a smile that he replied. He had a new lilac beanie that matched his hooded tracksuit.

“We made a bet. Baby says we’ll be able to peel your scars. Mystery and I don’t think so” Romance announced, followed by the rest of the bandmates.

“Peel my scars?” You cackled at the boys, then Jinu entered the room and rolled his eyes at them. Mystery went to sit with Zoey and Mira’s slid away from Romance and Abby when they sat sandwiching her.

“Ignore them. They’re enjoying our vacations too much” Jinu said as he handed you a bouquet of flowers and kissed your visible cheek. You thanked him, smelling the lilies and white roses.

“Aww, Jinu! You didn’t have to give me anything”

“It’s for good luck”

“Hey! The flowers were my idea!” Romance protested.

“And I picked the flowers!” Abby yelled.

You couldn’t help but laugh with Rumi. Despite being bandaged and probably scarred, the boys kept fighting for you. Except for Mystery, he seemed more interested in Zoey, and it was adorable. But the four resting assholes still found beauty and grace in your healing self.

“Well, thank you guys. I love these flowers” Rumi took the bouquet and went to grab a jar and fill it with water. And then, your doctor appeared.

“I have the results!” Everyone stood up, except for you obviously.

The room went silent. And it only made you sweat a little more.

“Can you just say it, doc? Please?” Baby inquired.

“The skin is peeling by itself!” The doctor squealed with excitement.

“You all owe me some money” Baby cheered as he bumped his fist against Abby’s hard chest.

Zoey went to hug you and you started hearing cheers, as if you had just birthed a baby, everyone was celebrating and congratulating you. It made you laugh.

“We can start to pull the dead skin away right away if you want to” you nodded at the doctor.

She went to grab some cloth, tweezers, and urged you to sit. Jinu and Rumi helped you and when your back was facing everyone, the doctor slid down your hospital gown.

“Let’s take a look under the bandages” nervously, looking at the ceiling. While you didn’t care about everyone seeing your naked back, you didn’t want it to hurt when the bandages were removed. The doctor untangled the bandages and then removed the big piece the gauze covering your back.

“It’s unusual because your skin tone is a little pink” the doctor pointed out and you let out a little fake giggle.

“Yeah, she looked like a shrimp when she was a baby” Jinu commented and you eyed him over your shoulder, he simply shrugged as everyone chuckled.

“He’s your brother?” the doctor asked.

“I’m her boyfriend” the man defended himself.

“Almost-boyfriend” Abby interfered making you smile. Jinu sent him daggers with his eyes.

You felt the cold tweezers in your back and everyone let out a little “woah”.

Your body was healing and under the dead burnt skin, everything was soft and looked healthy. Your arms and back were almost completely healed and there was an almost invisible new pattern across your body. Jinu suspected you still had wings, only that now, they were part of your soul and not of your mortal body.

“Yep, the treatment worked! I had never treated an idol with third-degree burns in my life!” It was the best hospital in the city, where all idols were treated.

Since the day you arrived, slowly, more fans discovered you were there. They had left thousands of letters, gifts, and notes asking if you were pregnant with Baby’s, Abby's or Jinu’s baby and couldn’t be seen in public due to the bump. Which made you gag and then cackle till tears were pricking in your eyes. Baby’s baby, lol.

“Tell your lovely friends over here if they can start you and help you take a bath” the nice doctor indicated. “I’ll go for the rest of your medication and likely, you’ll be able to leave tonight”

You nodded, sighing in relief. You had an album to finish, a new room in the Huntr/x’ place to move in, and many things to do with your almost boyfriend Jinu.

“We can totally help with the bath” Baby said with excitement, starting to pull down the rest of your gown but Zoey smacked his hand.

“We are so definitely taking her to the tub!” Mira threatened as she entered the bathroom with the girls.

“Nothing I haven’t seen already” Jinu whispered in your ear and you pinched his arm, making him groan in pain.

“Ouch!” he complained, holding his arm.

The boys started to serve plates with food, Rumi, Mira, and Zoey to prepare the tub.

“Hey, do not finish the food!” you heard Rumi yelling from inside the bathroom as Mira and Zoey panicked because the room was fogging up too quickly.

“So… Abby suggested we could share you” Your eyes went wide at Jinu’s words.

The idea wasn’t totally bad, but you knew that having a healthy monogamist relationship was better than letting four men share you. Still, in your wild fantasies, each boy had a weekday reserved for you.

“That sounds fun. What did you tell them?” You were teasing him and he went for it. “Of course not. You’re mine, angel…”

You bumped your forehead with his and smiled.

“Yeah… I think you’re mine too” you accepted.

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ

Taglist: @loomindoors @katzline @elz-zalarrr @mel3484

[f1-mcmuffin]

Hii can i request a y/n and the wags moments in the paddock or in public in general

We need more interactions between themmm aghhhh

MORE WAGS

(Requested) Lando Norris x Reader (5th Member of BLACKPINK AU)

a/n: this is just me yapping fr lol, 15k words AHHH help me, soak it up while you can lol jkjk but please do answer the question at the end

| Lando Norris Masterlist| Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |

Kelly Piquet

She had slipped out of the apartment while Lando was still asleep, dragging her hair into a bun and shoving her sunglasses on. Just a weekend in Monaco, where the sky was a clean blue and the air smelled like sea salt and money.

The café was tucked just behind a florist, with seating that leaned into the sidewalk and croissants that felt stolen from a French dream. She ordered an ice latte and sat outside, letting the sun coat her shoulders and the quiet soak in.

She was halfway through a page in her book when she heard, “Is this seat taken?” She looked up.

Kelly Piquet.

In a white linen shirt, sleek sunglasses, her hair gathered in a clip that looked effortless but probably wasn’t. She blinked once, surprised, then smiled.

“Nope. All yours.”

Kelly sat down with a sigh that said thank God in three languages. “I saw you from the corner and thought—either I interrupt or I miss a chance at the only quiet table in Monaco.”

She chuckled. “You made the right choice.”

Their drinks arrived — Kelly’s drink of choice was some kind of tea she didn’t recognize — and for a moment they both just sipped, letting the comfort of women not needing to fill the silence stretch between them.

“You here solo?” Kelly asked eventually.

She nodded. “Lando’s still sleeping. I figured I’d get out before anyone made me do something useful.”

Kelly laughed. “That sounds familiar.”

They talked a little after that — nothing heavy. Just soft topics. Travel. Skincare. How nice it was to be in a city without being on. There was an ease to Kelly that she had always admired from afar. She moved like someone who knew exactly how much she was giving — and how much she was keeping.

Eventually, she set her cup down and leaned in.“Can I ask you something?”

Kelly nodded, curious.

She hesitated for a second, then grinned. “Okay, it’s not that serious. Where do you get your sunglasses? I swear you always have the perfect pair.”

Kelly laughed. “I’ll send you the link. But I’m warning you, it’s addictive. I bought three pairs last month and told Max they were all for press.”

“He didn’t question it?”

“He doesn’t care.”

She laughed, sinking back into her chair. The morning had settled around them like a blanket — the breeze warm, the café hum steady, the kind of quiet you don’t get in their world often.

Eventually, Kelly reached into her bag and pulled out a tube of lip balm, dabbing it on before tucking it back. “You want to walk a bit?”

“Yeah,” She said, standing.

They wandered through the narrow streets of Monaco together — two very well-dressed “civilians,” sunglasses on, voices low. They stopped at a tiny boutique and tried on hats they had no intention of buying. Kelly made her laugh so hard at one point that she had to pretend to sneeze just to cover it.

And when someone finally did recognize them — a young girl who nervously asked for a photo — they both crouched down, arms around her shoulders, and smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Because for a moment, it was.

When they split up near the marina, Kelly hugged her goodbye.

“Next time,” she said, “we’ll do dinner.”

“Yes!, next time,” she agreed, meaning it.

*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ

The Grand Palais had been transformed into a surrealist dream — all velvet draping, towering sculptures, and lights that looked like they were dripping from the ceiling. The designer’s new collection had already been teased in whispers for months: avant-garde silhouettes, bold metallics, unapologetic elegance. The A-list was out in full force — models, editors, artists, influencers. The air buzzed with expectation and perfume.

She arrived just before the house lights dimmed.

She was dressed in deep navy — a high-structured two-piece with silver thread woven through the seams. It fit her like armor, but the kind forged in a studio by someone who knew how to weaponize femininity. Her hair was slicked back in a low bun, makeup subtle but sculpted.

As her heels clicked along the marble floor toward the front row, she spotted a familiar silhouette — Kelly Piquet, already seated, legs crossed, head tilted as she scrolled through her phone.

She ushered to the seat beside her.

Without looking up, Kelly murmured, “That outfit has no business being that good.”

She smirked as she sat. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as gospel.”

Kelly finally glanced over, lowering her sunglasses slightly. “Is it navy or black?”

“Navy,” she said. “I almost wore red, but I figured every other girl here would.”

Kelly nodded in approval. “Good call. You look like a James Bond villain.”

She laughed quietly, smoothing the line of her trousers. “Exactly the energy I was going for.”

They both glanced toward the runway, but the fashion show hadn’t started yet. Around them, camera flashes went off like firecrackers, low murmurs threading through the rows.

“Did you fly in this morning?”Kelly asked, adjusting her cuff.

“Last night,” she replied. “Lando has media in China, so I figured I’d sneak in a show or two.”

Kelly nodded knowingly. “Clever. Better champagne here, anyway.”

The lights dimmed. A hush spread like a ripple through the crowd, and then the first model appeared — a long coat trailing like a storm behind her. The music pulsed, atmospheric and strange, and the show began.

They watched in silence at first, both leaning slightly forward.

“I’ve missed this,” she said under her breath.

Kelly glanced sideways. “Real fashion. Not the circus.”

“Exactly.” she said. 

Another model came down the runway in sculptural gold, the fabric folding like origami. Kelly let out a quiet breath. “That draping’s insane. It’s architectural.”

She nodded. “And still wearable, somehow.”

A few more looks passed. One with exaggerated sleeves that made her tilt her head. Another in sheer metallic mesh that made Kelly’s brows lift slightly.

“This designer doesn’t care if you’re comfortable,” she murmured.

Kelly grinned. “No. But you’ll look untouchable.”

she laughed. “You know, I always say I hate clothes that wear you. Like that? ” as another model passed in a floor-length silver cape. “That’s pretty?” she asked, her voice low.

“You’re allowed to contradict yourself when the tailoring is that good,” Kelly said, sipping her champagne.

A few seats down, someone tried to discreetly snap a photo of them. Neither of them reacted. The next model floated by in a translucent cape layered over metallic slacks. It shimmered like heat in the air.“She looks like something out of a dream,” she said.

Kelly hummed in agreement. “Or a nightmare, depending on your PR budget.”They both shared a laugh. After a moment, Kelly leaned slightly closer. “Have you noticed how fashion’s come back around to storytelling again?”

She nodded. “Finally. I was getting tired of empty minimalism. This season feels like people actually have something to say.”

“It’s theatrical, but not hollow,” Kelly said. “Like there’s intent behind every hemline.”

“I’d wear half of this on tour if my stylist didn’t have a stick up his ass,” she admitted.

Kelly turned. “You should. Tour looks are getting lazy. It's just clothes covered with sequins and glitter.”

“For real. I might steal that silver coat.”

“Better text that stylist now before someone from Vogue snatches it for the cover.” They shared a glance, both trying not to smile too much.

As the final model appeared — in a gown that looked like molten glass — the lights shifted to scarlet. The crowd buzzed. Phones went up. The music swelled.

“She’s killing it,” Kelly said, nodding slightly toward the model.

“Reminds me of Jennie,” she replied without thinking.

Kelly smirked. “I still don’t understand how you two know everyone.”

“We don’t know everyone,” she said.

“You’re literally front row with me at a Paris show and comparing models to Jennie like she’s your cousin.”

She laughed. “Jennie and I are basically sisters. We’ve been through a lot together.”

“I can tell,” Kelly said. “You speak about her like family.”

“She is family,” she said simply. “Not by blood — but in every way that counts.”

Kelly nodded, then paused. “You know… if you ever want or need a get away, we have a place in Portugal. Very low-key. Ocean, books, silence.”

She blinked. “You’re serious?”

“I’m not in the habit of inviting people I don’t like to the middle of nowhere,” Kelly replied, deadpan.

She chuckled. “Thanks. I might take you up on that.”

“I hope you do.”

The show ended in a wave of applause as the designer came out briefly to bow before disappearing again. She and Kelly stood, clapping politely.

“You staying for the afterparty?” Kelly asked as the crowd began to shift.

“Maybe. Depends on how many cameras are lurking by the exit.”

Kelly gave her a look. “Y/n, we just sat front row together.”

“Ugh. Let’s at least pretend we’re above it.”

They walked out together, their heels echoing across marble. The lights of Paris blinked outside the tall windows, the sound of applause still faint behind them.

“I know a place with no photographers and excellent bread,” Kelly said as they stepped toward the car.

“That’s the best sentence I’ve heard all week,” She replied.

They slipped into the back seat, both still holding onto the mood of the runway — all shimmer and steel and unexpected softness.

*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ

Kika Gomes

The studio was a clean mix of white-washed walls, soft natural light, and controlled chaos. Racks of clothing lined one side — all sleek tailoring, bold accessories, and silk in shades that could only be described as expensive. Stylists darted between garment bags and makeup trays while the photographer adjusted light stands with quiet authority.

She sat cross-legged on a makeup chair, scrolling through her phone while a stylist touched up the corners of her eyes.

“Your skin’s doing half my job,” the makeup artist muttered, patting on some highlighter. “Ridiculous.”

“Tell me about it,” she replied dryly, not looking up.

Across the room, Kika stood barefoot on a small platform, trying not to laugh as someone pinned the hem of her blazer dress. “If this gets any shorter I’m going to need safety shorts,” she said to no one in particular.

She glanced up from her phone. “You’re gonna have to start charging Pierre for thigh access.”

Kika grinned. “Too late. That man owes me a whole new wardrobe.”

The stylist working on her snorted. “Okay, that’s my cue to let you two talk without supervision.”

Kika stepped off the platform and padded over now in her socks, slipping into the seat beside her. “You’ve been here since seven?” she asked, tugging her ponytail loose.

“Yeah,” she nodded, setting her phone down. “They wanted natural light for the first looks. You’d think we were shooting for National Geographic the way they were chasing the sun.”

Kika kicked at her shin lightly. “You love it. Admit it.”

“I love the clothes,” she said. “The 7 a.m. call time? Not so much.”

They both looked over as a model walked past in towering platform silver heels and a trench coat made entirely of what looked like laminated newspaper. Kika raised a brow. “What do you even call that?” 

She tilted her head. “Art school trauma?”

Kika cackled. “Let me guess, it’s going to retail for €3,500 and be labeled avant-garde city shell or something.”

“That or morning panic jacket.”

Kika laughed, then snorted, which made her start laughing too, until they were both holding onto each other for support. Their laughter died down when a photographer’s assistant called her over to change into her next look. She stood up, stretching her arms overhead and groaning.

“You sound like a grandma,” Kika said, sipping from her water bottle.

“I feel like a grandma. All I want is a hot bath and a nap after this.”

“Let’s do a sleepover,” Kika said. “You, me, face masks, something trashy on Netflix. I’ll bring the good snacks.”

“Oo, only if we get sushi too,” she said, walking backward toward the wardrobe rack.

“Done.”

The rest of the shoot moved in a blur — metallic dresses, clean-lined pantsuits, bold reds and forest greens. Her and Kika ended up shooting two looks together, side by side, moving with the ease of people who had done this kind of thing before — and didn’t take it too seriously.

At one point, they both burst out laughing when she nearly tripped over a tangled piece of chiffon.

“How elegant,” Kika giggled.

“I’m a model of grace,” she replied, trying to regain her balance.

The photographer laughed, shaking his head. “If you’re done sabotaging the set, let’s try that pose again.”

By the end of the day, they were sitting on the floor in sweatpants, barefoot, faces scrubbed clean, sharing a bowl of salted edamame someone had delivered.

Kika reached into the bowl, chewing thoughtfully. “You know, I forgot how exhausting shoots are. I’ve been doing more brand meetings lately. This felt like a workout.”

She leaned back against the wall. “You looked good, though.”

Kika smiled. “You too. You’ve got that whole thing down.”

“Thanks,” she said, popping another edamame pod.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, listening to the last bits of gear being packed up. Crew voices echoed faintly from the next room.

“Kind of a weird job, huh?” Kika said suddenly.

“Wearing very expensive clothes for people who may or may not buy them?” she replied. “Completely.”

“I meant the whole thing,” Kika said, waving a hand around. “The traveling. Social media. The way your name gets attached to someone else’s and suddenly everyone has a thesis about who you are.”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. It’s weird. Imagine you’re just standing next to someone, and the next thing you know, you’re dating.”” 

“At least we can laugh about it,” Kika said with a smile, and they both chuckled.

“True” she agreed

“But I like that we get to do it together,” Kika added. 

“That’s half the reason I still show up,” she said with a smile. “If I didn’t have you to make fun of runway descriptions with, I’d have stopped coming months ago.”

Kika raised her bottle in a mock toast. “To mutual survival.”

She clinked hers against it. “And sushi.”

They stayed there until a PA gently reminded them the studio was closing.

Outside, the sky had gone soft and gold. As they waited for their rides, she turned to Kika and said, “Brunch tomorrow?”

“Always,” Kika replied. 

Their cars pulled up, and with one last lazy hug, they parted ways — the kind of goodbye that didn’t need words. They’d be laughing again by morning.

*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ

The clink of cutlery and low jazz floated through the dim-lit bistro as she swirled her wine glass, watching the amber liquid catch in the candlelight. She looked up just as Kika dropped into the chair across from her, cheeks a little pink from the cold, scarf still looped around her neck.

“Sorry, sorry,” Kika said breathlessly. “I got distracted by some heels I saw in a store window down the street.”

 She grinned. “Only you would be late because of heels.”

“I was looking for something for you, thank you very much,” Kika replied, shrugging off her coat. “It was either that or a chocolate croissant. And I know how you feel about crumbs.”

They both leaned in over the table, glancing at the small handwritten board propped near the candle. “Do you know what you want?” Kika asked.

“I haven’t eaten all day,” she said. “I want everything.”

“I say we get the steak tartare to share. And the duck confit. And—”

“Oh my god, yes.”

The waiter arrived and they ordered without overthinking, trading in their menus for wine refills and the comfort of finally sitting still. Outside, Paris hummed on. Inside, they had their own cocoon.

Kika glanced across the table after a moment. “You look good, by the way. Like, annoyingly good.”

She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I curled my hair and wore earrings. It’s the bare minimum.”

“Still counts as effort,”Kika countered. They both laughed, leaning back as the bread basket arrived. She tore into the crusty end of a baguette and passed the butter over.

“I needed this,” she said softly.

 “I figured,” Kika said. “You’ve been everywhere lately. Your album rollout alone looked exhausting.”

“Don’t get me wrong—I loved it,” she said, tearing another piece of bread. “But by the end, I didn’t know if I was talking to myself or a press release.”

Kika nodded knowingly. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? You chase the thing for so long and then when you’re in it, it’s like… okay, what now?”

“Exactly,” she murmured, then grinned. “You’re getting wise, even in your twenties.”

“Blame Pierre. He’s been in his ‘journal everything’ era. Now I have thoughts and emotions and—” she made a dramatic face “—feelings.”

She burst out laughing. “Disgusting,” she said. “We need to put a stop to that immediately.”

“Agreed,” Kika said. “Hence, red wine and duck fat.”

Their food arrived a few minutes later—beautifully plated, fragrant, indulgent. They dug in without ceremony, the kind of comfortable silence that only came with genuine friendship settling over them. Between bites, they caught up. On everything and nothing.

Kika told her about a disastrous fitting she had for a campaign that ended with her getting stuck in a corset in front of three stylists and a very amused Pierre. 

She leaned forward. “I was supposed to film a dance challenge. Had the outfit, the lighting, the setup all perfect.”

“And?”

“Lando came into the kitchen trying to make pancakes from a TikTok recipe. Managed to set off the fire alarm twice, and somehow got batter on the ceiling.”

Kika covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.

“I spent the rest of the day cleaning instead of filming,” she sighed. “The pancakes were not worth it.”

They traded gossip like candy. Who was on whose bad side in the paddock. Which stylist had the best snacks backstage. Why a certain actor should never be allowed to wear velvet again.

They smiled at each other, the kind of unspoken appreciation that didn’t need to be dressed up.

The bill came and Kika snatched it before she could reach.

“No,” she protested.

“Yes,” Kika insisted. “This was my idea.”

“You’re not going to win this.”

“I already did,” Kika said smugly. “You’re out of reach.”

She groaned, pulling out her phone to Venmo her anyway. “You know I’m faster than you.”

“But I’m more charming.”

“Touché.”

They stepped out into the Paris night, where the city glittered like a spilled jewelry box. The air was crisp and the streets were quieter now, holding their breath before the weekend fully arrived.

“Walk a bit?” Kika asked, tucking her arm through hers.

she nodded. “Yeah.”

And so they walked. Down narrow alleys and across quiet bridges. Past bakeries preparing for the morning and bars still glowing from inside.

They didn’t talk much now. Didn’t need to and when they finally hugged goodbye at a corner where their Ubers would split them in opposite directions, it was with the ease of knowing they’d do it again soon. No pressure. No spotlight. Just another quiet night

*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ

Carmen Montero Mundt

The bell above the door chimed softly as Carmen stepped into the little corner bookstore café. She shook off her umbrella, the last few snowflakes clinging stubbornly to its black canopy, and peered around until she saw a familiar figure curled into the back booth by the window.

She had one leg tucked under herself, her oversized scarf trailing off her lap and onto the cushioned seat. She was wearing big black-framed glasses and a long navy coat that nearly swallowed her whole. Her hair was pulled back in a lazy bun, wisps falling around her cheeks as she concentrated on the book in her lap. Without looking up, she raised her hand and wiggled her fingers in a lazy wave—Carmen had been spotted.

“Hey,” Carmen said, smiling as she dropped her bag beside her and unwrapped her scarf. “You look like you belong in a Nancy Meyers movie.”

She finally looked up, face lighting up. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Want to play the role of my cozier, chicer supporting character?”

Carmen snorted as she sat across from her. “Only if I get my own subplot.”

“You always do.”

They settled into easy silence as Carmen ordered a chai latte from the barista. The café smelled like old paper, cinnamon, and ground coffee. Every so often, someone would wander through the book stacks or flip a page. Outside, snow continued to fall, dusting the pavement and softening the grey London skyline into something nearly magical.

“So,” Carmen said once the drinks arrived, “are you hiding or relaxing?”

She quirked a brow. “A little bit of both?”

Carmen shrugged. “Fair.”

There was a small pause before she added, more softly, “Hiding from noise, mostly. The internet’s been… very loud this week.”

Carmen gave her a knowing look. “Lando again?”

She nodded, wrapping her fingers around the warm mug. “It’s never-ending. Someone always finds an old picture or drags up a comment from years ago. Then suddenly I’m the villain for ‘changing him’ or not changing him enough.”

Carmen leaned forward. “People project. All the time. You know that. Half the time they’re not even mad at you—they’re mad at the version of themselves that wants to be you.”

She let out a short laugh, lips curling into a smirk. “Oh I know, but thanks. That sounded like something a therapist on Instagram would say.”

Carmen smirked, holding up her hands. “I’ll take it. I’ve been reading a lot of self-help lately.”

There was another lull, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Outside, a child threw a snowball and missed entirely, the soft thump of it landing on a bench echoing faintly through the café windows. She watched it happen and smiled, her expression wistful.

“You ever think about what you’d be doing if none of this existed?” she asked suddenly.

Carmen tilted her head. “F1 or fame?”

“Both.”

Carmen thought for a moment. “Honestly? Probably something just as high-strung. I like control too much. Maybe managing a museum. Or—god—owning a tiny, outrageously expensive flower shop.”

She laughed, eyes crinkling. “That actually suits you.”

“I’d wear cashmere sweaters every day and pretend I don’t know the names of my regulars even though I totally do.”

“And I’d be the girl with a nine-to-five, who brings the same lunch every day and takes the long way home just to drive a little longer.” 

“Exactly. I’d never ask why you always look so tired—but I’d definitely wonder about you more than I should.” They both laughed at that, genuinely—something warm that cracked through the heavier thoughts lingering in their heads.

Carmen took a sip of her latte, then said more softly, “I think about it too. What life would be like if George wasn’t in F1. If we didn’t have to measure every public moment.”

She hummed. “Do you ever get tired of… protecting him?” 

The question hung in the air.

“Yeah,” Carmen said eventually. “Not because I don’t want to. I love him. I’d do it forever. But it gets exhausting having to think five moves ahead of everyone all the time.”

She nodded. “Same. Back when I was still with Blackpink, I had to hold my tongue all the time. Sometimes I wanted to say something dumb or impulsive from what people would say about me or my members. But I’d stop myself—because I knew it could get twisted, turned into a headline, or worse, reflect badly on the others. And now with Lando... it’s the same fear, but deeper. I’m so scared of messing things up for him. Or being the reason someone else sees him differently.”

Carmen looked at her, her expression softening. “That makes sense. You’re not doing anything wrong—you’re just visible. People love to pick things apart when they can’t look away. But Lando’s not the world. He sees the whole picture. The fact that you’re trying to protect him? That says more than anything a headline ever could.”

She glanced down at her mug, running her fingertip around the rim. “Hmm, it’s weird, isn’t it? Loving someone that the world thinks they know.”

“Yeah,” Carmen said. “It’s like sharing something sacred with a crowd that thinks it’s theirs. But you’re the only one who really gets it.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Not in a dramatic way, but in the quiet, bone-deep way that women who get it look at each other. She leaned back in her seat and let herself breathe a little more deeply.

“You know,” Carmen said, breaking the moment, “we should do this more often.”

“Yes, please,” she replied instantly. “We can rotate bookstores. Next time I'll pick one with a fireplace.”

“And I’ll bring wine in a tote bag like a degenerate.”

“We’re gonna get banned from half the cafés in London.” she laughed.

*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ

The golden evening light fell softly across the stone patio of the private villa tucked away in the hills outside Monza. The air was heavy with late-summer warmth, a faint citrus tang on the breeze, and the last lazy buzz of bees from the lavender hedges lining the terrace. Inside, someone had set down a bottle of chilled white wine and a bowl of olives.

She padded barefoot across the stone floor, her loose linen shirt fluttering slightly as she opened the doors with her elbow, carrying a plate of fresh figs and prosciutto.

"That looks obnoxiously aesthetic," Carmen said, lounging on the cushioned outdoor bench with her legs stretched out, a glass already in hand. She was wearing one of George’s oversized button-ups.

“It’s an Italian weekend,” she shrugged. “I’m leaning into a new temporary lifestyle.”

Carmen grinned, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head. “You say that like you didn’t just make fun of me for buying a cheese board shaped like Italy.”

“That’s different.”They both burst into laughter.

It was one of those rare Saturdays where both qualifying and media duties were done by mid-afternoon, and instead of dinner in some stiff VIP hospitality tent, her and Carmen had talked aka bribed Lando and George into renting this small, vine-covered villa just for the four of them. After a bit of light bribery and some surprisingly coordinated planning, the girls had carved out the evening for themselves.

She flopped down next to Carmen and propped her feet on the edge of the coffee table. “Do you think they’ll come back with pizza or just get distracted by an argument about tire strategy in the car park?” she asked, popping a fig into her mouth.

Carmen raised her eyebrows. “Bold of you to assume they left the car park.”They both cackled again, and she reached over to top off Carmen’s glass.

A lull settled between them, comfortable and quiet. Cicadas whirred faintly in the background. Somewhere down the hill, the sound of a Vespa faded into the distance. She watched Carmen lean back against the cushions, her face tilted toward the sun, eyes closed.

“You know what I love about you?” she said after a beat.

Carmen cracked one eye open suspiciously. “Oh no. This sounds like a trap.”

“It’s not. It’s wholesome,” she said, kicking her gently in the shin. “You’re so... elegant. Like, in the best way. You just exist, effortlessly cool, minimal drama.”

Carmen let out a soft laugh. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

“Maybe.”

“You sound like my instagram comments,” Carmen teased, then added more softly, “But I appreciate it. Especially coming from you.” Carmen nudged her shoulder. “But seriously. You make things fun. Like, I wouldn’t have agreed to a weekend in a villa just to chill if it wasn’t with you. You trick me into relaxing.”

“I am very manipulative,” she said proudly. “It’s part of my mysterious charm.”

They clinked glasses. The sun dipped a little lower, casting long golden shadows over the tiled floor. She leaned back and stretched, feeling her shoulders relax for the first time all day.

A faint crunch of tires on gravel made both girls look up. Carmen shielded her eyes. “Place your bets. Are they holding food or arguing?”

The car pulled into view — a rented Fiat, comically small for both drivers. The windows were down. George was behind the wheel, his hands animated, clearly mid-rant. Lando, in the passenger seat, was wearing sunglasses and holding a pizza box like it was a newborn child.

She let out a groan. “Argument and food. Looks like we both lose.”

The girls didn’t move as the guys hopped out and walked toward them — Lando carefully balancing two pizza boxes, a crumpled paper bag, and what looked like a bottle of Fanta sticking out of his back pocket.

“Guess who got extra stracciatella,” Lando said proudly, crouching down to slide the boxes onto the table.

George followed, adjusting his cap. “Guess who had to negotiate for it because someone forgot to place the order in Italian.”

Lando waved a hand dismissively. “I said ‘pizza molto fasto,’ and the guy understood me.”

She leaned into Lando as he sank down beside her and stole a piece of crust. “Good job, delivery boy.” 

The four of them sat outside under the soft string lights strung between the olive trees, eating pizza directly from the boxes, sipping cold wine and soda, letting the night hum on without urgency. No one brought up the race. No one talked about sectors or setups or who qualified where. It wasn’t even deliberate — it just didn’t matter right now.

At one point, Carmen got up to grab blankets from inside, and she followed her. The house was warm and quiet, the floor cool beneath their feet. In the hallway, Carmen paused and looked at her with a sleepy smile.

They grinned at each other.

And for a moment — soft and warm and ordinary — everything felt like it was exactly where it should be.

*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ

Alexandra Saint Mleux

The sun hung high over the Mediterranean, casting a soft golden light on the streets of Monaco. The luxury of the place was undeniable, with gleaming yachts in the harbor and high-end boutiques lining the streets. It was a rare afternoon off, a break from the constant whirlwind of the F1 world, and she was more than ready to take advantage of it. The opportunity to spend a day with Alexandra, one of her newest and closest friends now, was something she cherished. It was a chance to escape the spotlight and simply enjoy the luxury of Monaco and the pleasure of a good shopping spree.

She stood at the entrance of one of Monaco’s most exclusive shopping streets, wearing a simple, elegant cropped tee that framed her waist and a pair of baggy, light-washed jeans slung low on her hips. Her hair was casually tied back, sunglasses shielding her from the golden afternoon sun. Even though she knew the streets were buzzing with life, today she was determined to enjoy herself without any of the usual distractions.

Alexandra arrived a few moments later, stepping out of a sleek black car. She was effortlessly chic in a fitted black dress and heels, with her own pair of sunglasses perched atop her head. She flashed a bright smile as she approached, and she couldn’t help but return the gesture. Alexandra was always such a calming presence, grounded and genuine—qualities that made their friendship feel both easy and real.

“Hey! You look amazing,” she greeted, pulling Alexandra into a quick hug.

“So do you” Alexandra replied with a soft smile. “I’m so glad we could do this. A proper girls' day out”

She nodded, grinning. “Exactly what I need.”

The two of them walked down the cobblestone streets together, their heels clicking in sync, the gentle breeze blowing through the warm Mediterranean air. Monaco was a city that screamed luxury, but today, it felt different—like they could slip away from the pressures of their respective worlds and simply enjoy each other's company.

Their first stop was a boutique known for its haute couture collections, the kind of place where you didn’t just walk in; you were escorted inside like royalty. The glass doors swung open as they entered, and the soft scent of perfume and fresh flowers greeted them. The shop was quiet, almost serene, with soft music playing in the background. The sales assistants were already eyeing the pair, but there was no rush—today was about enjoying the experience, not about being rushed or expected to buy something extravagant.

She wandered through the racks, her fingers brushing over the luxurious fabrics, while Alexandra followed at a more leisurely pace. The two women chatted casually as they moved from one section to another.

“I love this color,” Alexandra said, holding up a deep emerald green dress. “It would look great on you.”

She looked over at the dress and then back at her friend. “I think it might be too bold for me, but I love it on you. You have the perfect height for it.”

Alexandra smiled at the compliment. “You think? Maybe I should try it on, just to see. But honestly, I think I’ll just stick with some accessories today.”

They moved to the accessories section, where shelves were lined with bags, shoes, and sparkling jewelry. She picked up a delicate gold bracelet, turning it over in her hand as she admired its simplicity. “I love how understated this is,” she remarked.

Alexandra nodded in agreement. “It’s beautiful, and it looks like something you could wear every day. I feel like some of the pieces in these shops are so flashy, they lose their elegance.”

She smiled, her eyes sparkling as she thought about how much she appreciated the simple things. “Exactly. There’s something timeless about it.”

They continued browsing, slipping in and out of rooms filled with couture. The afternoon passed easily, filled with lighthearted conversation and the joy of friendship.

After an hour, they moved to the next store, an upscale jewelry boutique known for its rare diamonds. The soft glow of the diamonds under the dim lighting made them both stop and admire the pieces. Alexandra ran her fingers over a set of diamond earrings, pausing as she saw a stunning necklace at the far end of the counter.

“Oh, Y/n, look at that,” she said, her voice full of wonder. The necklace was an intricate design of diamonds and sapphires, each stone catching the light just right. “It’s perfect.”

She approached, leaning in to get a closer look. “It is. But you’re the one who would rock it, not me. I’m more about simplicity.”

Alexandra laughed softly, her hand resting on her hip. “I know what you mean. I’m just indulging in the fantasy for a minute.”

They spent a few more moments looking at the dazzling jewelry before moving on to a new store across the street. This time, they found themselves in a more relaxed setting, a contemporary boutique with a collection of minimalist yet sophisticated clothing. The atmosphere was cool and airy, a stark contrast to the opulence of the previous shops.

She immediately gravitated toward a section with soft, flowing dresses. Alexandra followed her, and together they looked through the collection, exchanging thoughts on what would suit each other.

“I think this one would look amazing on you,” she said, holding up a soft lavender dress with a simple yet flattering cut. “You have the perfect skin tone for it.”

Alexandra raised an eyebrow and shook her head. “I don’t know. I think you might be right, but I’m not sure I’d wear it much. I like the idea of it more than the reality.”

She laughed, picking up the dress and draping it across her arm. “Well, you can’t blame me for trying. I think it would look incredible.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics as they made their way to the fitting rooms, both of them trying on a few outfits. They gave each other feedback, laughing as they each modeled a few dresses.

“I think this is my new favorite,” Alexandra said, stepping out in a chic forest green dress that fit her perfectly.

She grinned. “Thats stunning.”

After trying on a few more pieces and making some purchases, they both decided to take a break at one of the cafés nearby, sitting outside in the soft sun. The relaxed atmosphere was a perfect end to the afternoon. As they sipped on iced lattes, they continued to chat, discussing everything from upcoming concerts to the latest F1 gossip.

“You know, I’m so glad we did this,” she said, leaning back in her chair.

Alexandra agreed, her smile softening. “Yeah, it’s nice. It’s just about us today”

She chuckled. “Exactly. It’s like we’re in our own little world.”

The two of them laughed, enjoying the easy companionship they shared. There was no pressure, no expectations. Just two women, taking in the beauty of Monaco, and cherishing a rare, peaceful day together.

*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ

The sun was high in the sky, casting its warmth over the sparkling Mediterranean water as Charles's sleek yacht glided smoothly through the waves.

The yacht was anchored in a secluded cove, far enough from the noise of the marina to offer a rare sense of peace. The gentle sway of the boat against the water added a soothing rhythm to the air, and the sounds of the ocean were the only backdrop to the day.

She and Alexandra were set up on the deck, their easels facing the open water, the bright blue sky stretching endlessly above them.

The scene around them was serene: the sun-kissed waters, the distant hills of the coast, and the gentle breeze that tousled their hair. The yacht was quiet—only the soft sounds of brushes against canvas and the occasional hum of the yacht’s engine disturbed the stillness.

She was focused, her paintbrush in hand as she added strokes to her canvas. She was working on a landscape, trying to capture the vivid blue of the ocean, the deep greens of the hills in the distance, and the way the sunlight danced on the water.

Painting was a way to unwind for her, a quiet escape from the constant motion of her life in the spotlight. Today, it was more than just a hobby—it was a chance to share a peaceful moment with Alexandra, who had always made time to connect despite the chaos around them.

Alexandra, on the other hand, was completely in her element. As an art history enthusiast, she had spent years studying various periods of art, and her passion for painting was rooted in her love for historical works.

She was working on a piece that reflected some of the techniques she admired—soft, flowing brushstrokes, vibrant colors, and an abstract interpretation of the sea in front of them. The calmness of the ocean seemed to inspire her as she layered colors onto the canvas. Her brushstrokes were bold and free, a stark contrast to Alexandra’s careful, controlled movements.

She glanced over at Alex, admiring the way Alexandra applied the paint, effortlessly blending the colors. “I love how you’ve captured that,” she said, genuinely intrigued. “It’s like your painting tells a story without even trying.”

Alexandra paused for a moment, glancing over at her work before responding. “Thanks, that’s kind of what I’m going for. I’ve always loved the way art can speak without words. But honestly, I think it’s because I’ve spent so much time studying art history. It’s become second nature to pull from what I’ve learned.”

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Art history, huh? I didn’t know you were so into it.”

Alexandra smiled, clearly excited to talk about it. “Yeah, I’ve always been fascinated by the way art evolves, how it reflects the times, the culture, the emotion behind it. I studied it for years, and I even work with a few galleries. It’s what fuels my passion for painting—trying to combine the techniques I’ve studied with my own style.”

She nodded thoughtfully, taking in the new information. “That’s amazing. I love how art can be such a reflection of the world around us. You’re not only capturing the scene, but the feeling behind it, the history that came before.”

Alexandra’s eyes lit up. “Exactly. It’s why I find art so powerful—it’s a language in itself, and the beauty of it is that you can interpret it however you want. I try to bring that feeling into my paintings. Sometimes I pull inspiration from the Renaissance, other times it’s more modern. It all just depends on the mood and what catches my eye.”

She smiled as she looked at the brushstrokes on Alexandra’s canvas, clearly more than just technique—it was art that spoke to a deep passion. “That’s really cool. I feel like I need to dive deeper into art history now. I can see how that would influence your work.”

Alexandra laughed softly, shaking her head. “It’s definitely a rabbit hole. But it’s the kind of rabbit hole that’s worth getting lost in.”

She dipped her brush into a pot of blue paint, adding another layer to the ocean on her canvas. “I think I’m happy just sticking with the basics for now. I’ll leave the deep dive to you, the art expert.”

Alexandra grinned, clearly enjoying the casual exchange. “Fair enough. But I’ll be here if you want to talk about Botticelli, Picasso, or any of the greats. I can talk about it all day.”

She chuckled. “Maybe one day, when I’m in the mood for a good history lesson. For now, I’ll just stick with trying to make this ocean look real.”

They both fell into a comfortable silence, the sounds of their brushes against canvas blending with the soft murmur of the yacht’s engine. The two women shared a quiet connection, the painting taking on a deeper meaning as they continued to work. Each stroke of the brush seemed to bring them closer—not just to the artwork, but to a shared understanding of the beauty they both found in creativity.

Alexandra glanced over at her bestfriends painting, Alex’s eyes softening with appreciation. “You’ve really brought that scene to life. It’s like you’re standing on the shore, feeling the breeze.”

The two of them stood side by side for a moment, looking at the work they had created in tandem—two different interpretations of the same scene, but both equally beautiful in their own way.

“Want to grab some lunch?” she asked, glancing at the time. “I think we’ve earned a break after all this painting.”

Alexandra laughed softly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Definitely. I’m starving. And hey, I’ll leave the wine pairing to you—this painting stuff has worked up my appetite.”

She grinned, stepping away from her easel. “Deal. Let’s get something good—after all, this day deserves a perfect lunch.”

As they made their way below deck, the lighthearted banter between them continued. They were two friends sharing not just the act of painting but the shared joy of a peaceful afternoon on the water. The creative flow, the art, and the quiet connection they’d formed over their shared experience would stay with them long after the paint had dried.

*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ

Rebecca Donaldson

The warm rays of the sun beamed down on the soft golden sands of the beach, the gentle sound of the waves crashing against the shore filling the air. The beach was quiet, not completely empty, but the kind of peaceful place that felt like a sanctuary. It was one of those rare days where the world seemed to slow down, and the only things that mattered were the sound of the ocean and the feeling of the sand between your toes.

She and Rebecca had spent the last few hours lounging under the sun, far away from the noise of the F1 world, the music industry, and the pressure of always being in the public eye. Both women were in simple, comfortable bikinis and oversized hats, a pair of sunglasses perched on their faces to shield them from the shining star in the sky. They had a small umbrella set up for shade, but the day was still warm and pleasant, a perfect day for a break.

She was lying on her stomach with a towel spread beneath her, turning her head slightly to glance over at Rebecca. She smiled, seeing that her friend had found a comfortable spot next to her, her towel spread out perfectly as she flipped through a book. The calm, easy atmosphere between them felt like the kind of peace they both needed—a break from the chaos, a chance to just be.

Rebecca caught her gaze and smiled, tilting her sunglasses up with a lazy flick. “Tell me again why we don’t do this every weekend?”

She let out a soft laugh, pushing herself up onto her elbows to look at her. “Because real life is rude and gets in the way?”

Rebecca stretched her arms above her head, letting out a content sigh as she looked up at the endless blue sky before replying. “We should just stay here forever. Let the world figure itself out without us.”

She snorted. “Honestly, if the world needs me to function, we’re already doomed. I’ll be here, perfecting my new tan and avoiding my responsibilities.”

The two of them shared a brief moment of quiet contentment before Rebecca sat up and took a sip from her water bottle. “So, how’s everything been going for you? With work, the group, your new ablum…and everything?”

She smiled softly, her gaze drifting to the horizon. “It’s been... a lot. I’m constantly on the move, with rehearsals, shows, and everything else. But I can’t complain. It’s what I love doing. I think the hardest part, honestly, is keeping everything in balance. Sometimes it feels like I’m just going from one thing to the next.”

Rebecca nodded, fully understanding what she meant. “Yeah, I get that. It’s tough, especially with the racing schedule. I’ve been trying to find some balance myself. Honestly, these moments—just hanging out and doing nothing—are so rare. I never realized how much I missed it until today.”

She turned her head toward her friend and smiled. “I’m glad we’re able to do this. I think we both needed a break. The world doesn’t stop for us, you know?”

“I know,” Rebecca agreed, leaning back and looking out over the ocean. The peaceful silence between them lingered for a moment, both women taking in the soothing sounds of nature around them. Eventually, Rebecca broke the silence again.

“Have you thought about what comes next for you? You know, when the group’s next tour comes or when things settle down?” Rebecca asked, her voice light but curious.

She paused, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she looked out at the water. “I don’t know. I’ve been so focused on what’s right in front of me that I haven’t had much time to think about the future. But I guess that’s the thing, isn’t it? You can’t just plan everything. Sometimes you just have to let things fall into place.”

Rebecca smiled knowingly. “True. Sometimes, we try to control everything, but life has a funny way of surprising us.”

She laughed softly. “You’re right. I think it’s about finding the right balance. Between work and moments like this—just letting go for a little while and enjoying the simple things.”

“Exactly,” Rebecca said. “Sometimes, it’s the simple things that remind us who we really are, away from everything else.”

She sat up then, stretching her legs out and turning toward her friend. “I couldn’t agree more. I think that’s why I love the beach. There’s something about the vastness of the ocean that makes everything else feel small. Like all the noise just... fades away.”

Rebecca nodded in agreement. “It’s peaceful, isn’t it? The world feels so big, but in a way that’s comforting. You realize there’s a whole universe out there, and everything that happens to us is just a small part of it.”

The two of them sat there for a few minutes, watching the waves roll in and out, their conversation fading as they simply enjoyed the quiet of the moment. The world was still moving, but for just a little while, it felt like time had slowed down for them.

After a while, Rebecca stood up and stretched, glancing down at her. “Wanna go for a walk? I feel like we could use a little stroll along the water.”

She grinned, pulling herself up from the towel. “Absolutely. I need to cool off a bit, and I can never resist a walk by the sea.”

They both grabbed their beach bags, leaving their towels behind as they made their way toward the shoreline. The water was cool against their feet as they walked, the waves lapping gently against the sand. They walked in comfortable silence at first, enjoying the simple act of being together in such a serene setting.

“Do you ever think about the little things?” Rebecca asked, her voice thoughtful as she looked down at the water.

She turned to look at her, puzzled for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“Like... the small things in life that you forget to notice because you’re always caught up in the bigger picture. I’ve been trying to appreciate those little moments more. Like this walk, or just being able to sit down and talk without any interruptions.”

She smiled softly. “I know exactly what you mean. I think I’ve started realizing that the little things are actually the big things. The moments when you’re not rushing or stressing. It’s the quiet mornings or the spontaneous trips like this one. It’s all about those unplanned, simple moments.”

Rebecca smiled, her eyes softening as she looked at her friend. “I’m glad we could share this one.”

As they continued walking along the water’s edge, the conversation drifted from one topic to the next. They talked about their favorite places to travel, the kind of books they liked to read, and the small quirks that made them who they were. It was easy, effortless conversation—just two friends talking about life, their hopes, and the things they loved.

*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ

The yacht was alive with energy, the kind of energy that only a late afternoon in Monaco could bring. Neon lights flickered across the deck, casting vibrant hues of purple, pink, and blue onto the water as the bass of the music vibrated through the hull. It was a floating nightclub, the kind of party that felt like it belonged in a dream. The sun was setting over the Mediterranean, the sky painted with streaks of orange and pink, but the yacht's lights were already shining brightly, promising a night of unforgettable fun.

She and Rebecca stood near the edge of the deck, their feet tapping to the music as they looked out over the water. The entire atmosphere felt like a whirlwind of excitement, with guests laughing, chatting, and dancing all around them. It was one of those nights where nothing seemed out of place, and everything was just... perfect.

She was in a sparkling silver dress that stopped mid-thigh and caught the light in all the right places, leaned over the railing,with a drink in hand, watching the yachts drift past as the wind played with her hair. She felt the rhythm of the party seep into her veins, and for a moment, she let herself truly embrace the energy of it all.

Rebecca, beside her, looked equally as stunning in a black, form-fitting dress that showed off her silhouette. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and she was already holding a glass of champagne, her smile infectious. Rebecca turned to her. "I can’t believe how crazy this is. I didn’t think it would be so crowded. I swear, Monaco knows how to throw a party," Rebecca said, raising her glass to toast the night.

She grinned, holding her own drink up. "They’ve mastered the art of having fun here. Who needs a club when you’ve got a super yacht like this?"

Rebecca laughed, her eyes lighting up. "Exactly. I think this is my new favorite way to party."

A new song came on, a catchy upbeat tune that had the entire deck vibrating with the bass. Rebecca raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin crossing her face. "You up for a little dance?"

Her eyes sparkled with excitement. "Absolutely. I can’t let you have all the fun on your own."

The two women made their way over to the dance floor, the flashing lights above creating a kaleidoscope of colors as they moved in sync with the crowd. The DJ spun a mix of electronic beats, and the crowd responded, a mix of guests dancing freely, laughing, and enjoying the electric atmosphere. She and Rebecca found a spot near the center, where the energy was at its peak. 

She was immediately pulled into the rhythm of the music, her body instinctively moving to the beat. Dancing was second nature to her—it was what she did for a living. Years of training had given her a level of control and precision on the dance floor that made it look effortless. As soon as she stepped onto the dance floor, she was in her element.

Rebecca, clearly enjoying the infectious energy around her, raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Alright, I know you can dance, but can you still make this look fun, or is your alter ego gonna come out?”

She grinned mischievously, a playful glint in her eyes. “Watch and learn,” she teased, before letting the music take over.She moved with a fluidity that was mesmerizing, her movements sharp yet graceful, effortlessly syncing with the beat of the song with pure confidence. 

Rebecca, who was initially just watching, couldn’t help but laugh and join in, her body following the beat in a more carefree, loose style. As the tempo of the song picked up, her movements grew more intense, and Rebecca followed her lead, their steps flowing together as they danced side by side. Their energy was completely contagious, making the entire group around them feel like they were in sync.

“Okay, you’re definitely showing me up here. How do you make it look this easy?” Rebecca called over the music.

She grinned, her body still moving in time with the music. “It’s all about feeling it,” she said, her voice carrying easily over the beat. “You can’t overthink it. Just let the music take over and have fun.”

Rebecca, with her unrefined but enthusiastic moves, gave her a playful glance. “I think I’ll stick to ‘having fun’ for now,” she said with a laugh

She shot her a grin, never missing a beat. “You’ve got some moves too, Rebecca. Don’t sell yourself short!”

As the music shifted to something slower, they slowly backed away from the dance floor, their laughter mingling with the softer beats. It was one of those perfect moments—no expectations, just dancing and enjoying the night with a friend.

*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ

Lily Muni He

The early morning mist hung softly over the lush green of the golf course, the rising sun beginning to burn off the haze. The air was crisp, the grass dewy beneath their feet as the world around them slowly came to life. The sound of birds chirping in the distance blended with the soft hum of nature, creating the perfect backdrop for a day of quiet reflection and friendly competition.

She stood at the first tee, gripping her club with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. She was dressed in a simple but stylish outfit, a light polo shirt, comfortable shorts, and a pair of sleek golf shoes. Beside her, Lily Muni He, stood with a relaxed, confident smile on her face. She was dressed in a similar fashion, her posture poised and effortless, completely at home on the course.

Lily had invited her to join her for a round of golf. She had never really played before, and although she was always up for trying new things, she couldn’t help but feel a bit out of her element. She had seen how graceful and composed Lily was when it came to golf—after all, Lily had made a name for herself on professional circuits. But Lily had reassured her that today was just about having fun, no competition, no expectations.

“Ready?” Lily asked, her voice light and teasing, her eyes twinkling as she saw her adjusting her grip on the club.

She chuckled softly, giving the club one last practice swing. “I think so, but honestly, I have no idea what I’m doing. You’re going to have to teach me along the way.”

Lily laughed, her expression warm and encouraging. “Don’t worry. We’re just here to enjoy the day. I’ll walk you through it—no stress.”

She took a deep breath and nodded, standing a little straighter. She watched as Lily effortlessly lined up her shot, the swing smooth and fluid. The ball soared across the green, landing perfectly in the fairway. It was the kind of shot that made it look easy, as if Lily had done this a thousand times before—which, of course, she had.

“That was incredible,” she said, watching the ball roll to a stop. “I don’t think I’ll ever look that graceful.”

Lily grinned, giving a playful shrug. “It just takes practice. And probably a lot of patience. Don’t worry, we’ll get you there.”

She picked up her own club, giving the ball a tentative tap. It rolled a short distance, landing just a few feet from the tee. She winced slightly but couldn’t help but laugh at herself. “Well, I’ve got a long way to go.”

“Not at all,” Lily said, walking over to her. “You’ve got the basics down already. It’s all about timing, and that’s the fun part. Once you get the hang of it, it’ll feel natural.”

The two of them walked down the fairway together, the sound of their footsteps blending with the quiet of the early morning. They continued talking as they went, sharing stories about their lives outside of the spotlight. Lily asked about her music, her time with BLACKPINK, and what it was like being part of such a massive group.

“I think it must be so crazy,” Lily said as they reached their balls, “just the way your life is always in motion. Constant tours, rehearsals, events. Do you ever get to just... stop?”

She smiled wistfully, a slight tension in her shoulders easing as she talked with someone who genuinely understood. “It’s a whirlwind, for sure. But I think that’s part of the reason I love days like this—days when it’s just about being present and in the moment. No schedules, no deadlines. It’s like a breath of fresh air.” She paused for a moment, a soft smile forming on her lips. “Lando gets it too. He’s always the first to suggest we take time off, just to enjoy the little things together. It’s nice to have someone who understands the need for a break.”

Lily nodded, adjusting her stance before hitting her next shot. “I get that. Alex is the same way. Even with everything going on in the racing world, we both understand the value of those moments together—whether it’s playing golf or just taking time to breathe.” She paused, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “Same with golf. It’s the one place I can be totally in control of the moment. But it’s also a way to unwind. A way to reset. I think that’s what keeps me grounded.”

Her eyes softened as she watched Lily’s form. “I can see that. There’s something so peaceful about golf. It’s not like other sports, where it’s all about speed or power. It’s a game of patience, precision. I think I’m going to enjoy this more than I thought.”

Lily smiled, clearly happy to hear that. “I’m glad. It’s always nice to share something I love with someone who’s open to it.”

They continued playing, the conversation drifting naturally between them. The course, with its sprawling greens and calming environment, was the perfect place for them to connect. They shared more about their lives, their goals, and their interests. It wasn’t about fame or attention; it was just two women enjoying each other’s company, and the simplicity of that made the day feel even more special.

By the time they reached the final hole, the afternoon had stretched out into a comfortable rhythm. Her confidence had grown with each swing, and although her shots weren’t perfect, she was having fun. Lily had been patient, offering tips and encouragement, but never pushing too hard. It wasn’t about winning or losing—it was about enjoying the experience.

As they walked to the 18th green, the sun now beginning to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the course, she looked over at Lily with a relaxed smile.

“You know, I can’t believe how much fun I’ve had today. I was nervous at first, but you made it feel so easy,” she said, swinging her club back and forth absentmindedly.

Lily smiled back, her expression soft. “That’s the point, isn’t it? It’s not about being perfect—it’s about enjoying the game. We’re just here for the moment, to be present, and it doesn’t matter what happens next.”

They stood side by side, looking over the final hole, the vast expanse of green stretching out before them. For a moment, everything felt still and serene, as if the world had paused just for them.

“Ready for the final swing?” Lily asked, her tone light but filled with anticipation.

She nodded, a grin spreading across her face. “Let’s do it.”

Lily stepped back, giving her space, watching as she lined up her shot. Her grip was firm, her stance more confident than when she had first started. She swung the club, the motion fluid, and the ball shot forward with a satisfying thwack.

It wasn’t a perfect shot, but it didn’t matter. It landed neatly on the green, a few feet from the hole. She stood there for a moment, staring at it in mild surprise.

“Well, I’ll call that a win,” she laughed, her shoulders relaxing as she glanced over at Lily.

Lily smiled, her eyes warm. “That’s what I’m talking about. You’ve got it. You just needed the right swing, and the right mindset.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You make it sound so easy. I think I need to play more often if I want to be that good.”

Lily raised an eyebrow, teasing, “Maybe I should make you my official golf student. I’ll train you up for next time.”

She shot her a playful grin. “Deal. But only if you promise to keep it fun and not turn it into a serious sport.”

They both laughed, the sound of their voices blending with the peaceful hum of the world around them. As they made their way to the final hole, ready to wrap up the game, there was a sense of satisfaction in the air. Not focusing on anything other than the simplicity of the game and the enjoyment of each other’s company.

After they finished their round, they took their time walking back to the clubhouse, chatting about everything from their favorite travel destinations to their future plans. The sun was dipping lower on the horizon, the day slipping into evening, but neither of them seemed to mind. There was something about the day that felt timeless. 

“Well,” she said, as they sat down at the outdoor seating area, “I think I’m officially hooked. Golf isn’t so bad after all.”

Lily chuckled, taking a sip of her water. “I’m glad. I knew you’d like it once you gave it a shot.”

She leaned back in her chair, her eyes soft with contentment. “Thank you for today.”

Lily smiled, her tone warm and genuine. “Anytime. Today was perfect.”

The two women sat there for a while longer, watching the sun slowly sink beneath the horizon, feeling at peace in each other’s company. It had been a day of simple pleasures—golf, good conversation, and the kind of friendship that didn’t need anything else.

*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ

The afternoon in Monaco was lazy and warm, the kind of day where the sun hung comfortably in the sky, casting a golden hue over the bustling city. The air was thick with the scent of the sea, and the sounds of distant chatter and the soft hum of the city blended with the rhythmic lapping of waves against the harbor.

She and Lily had decided to take the day off from their usual routines, lipping away from the ever-present demands of their careers and the spotlight that often followed the pair.

The café was small and charming, tucked away on a quiet street just a few blocks from the marina. The soft hum of conversations blended with the clink of coffee cups and plates, creating an atmosphere that felt comforting and peaceful. The space was intimate, with plants spilling over the edges of the outdoor seating, their vibrant green leaves adding a touch of life to the already welcoming space.

She sat across from Lily at one of the outdoor tables, the light breeze gently tousling her hair. She wore one of Lando’s white button-ups, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, paired with denim shorts and sneakers. Her sunglasses rested on top of her head, giving her that effortlessly chic vibe that came with living in Monaco. Lily, in a relaxed black dress and a pair of sleek sandles, looked just as at ease, her posture casual, her smile wide and easy.

“I think I’ve found my new favorite spot,” she said, taking a sip of her iced coffee. The drink was refreshing and smooth, the perfect companion to the warm afternoon. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes softening as she took in the sights of the café, the life of Monaco surrounding them.

Lily grinned. “I knew you’d love it. It’s one of my favorite spots to grab coffee when I just want to chill.”

She smiled, taking a sip from her cup. “It really is perfect. I mean, it’s not too crowded, but there’s just enough going on to keep it interesting.”

Lily nodded, her gaze drifting to the street outside. “Yeah, I love people-watching here. It’s the best part of this place—seeing all kinds of people just doing their thing.”

She laughed softly, leaning back in her chair. “I swear, I could spend hours doing that. Some people walk by with such confidence, and others look like they’re on a mission. It’s like a live show.”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “Oh, totally. You can definitely tell who’s in a rush and who’s just enjoying the moment. It's like an unscripted reality show, just without the cameras.” They both laughed together, the sound blending with the quiet hum of the café. After a moment, Lily casually asked, “What’s the most random thing you’ve seen today?”

She thought for a second, then grinned. “There was this guy walking his dog, and the dog was wearing sunglasses. Like, full-on aviators. I had to stop myself from laughing out loud.”

Lily burst out laughing. “No way! That’s awesome. I think we should get Leo a pair of sunglasses, see if he can pull it off.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely. He’s probably strut around like he’s the star of a runway show.”

Lily leaned back in her chair, shaking her head with a smile. “I can already picture it—the dog will be the new fashion icon in Monaco.”

They both fell into an easy silence for a moment, enjoying the simple joy of good company and a relaxing afternoon. The buzz of the café and the occasional clink of cups blended into the background as they watched the world go by, both feeling content in the shared peace of the moment.

Lily’s eyes twinkled as she leaned forward. “So, when you need to clear your head, what do you do? You’ve got such a busy life. I imagine it must be hard to find peace with everything going on.”

She thought for a moment, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her coffee cup. “I think it’s simple things that help me clear my head. I love being by the water. Me and Alexandra hung out on the beach last week. There’s something about the ocean that just helps me reset. Lando and I also take walks by the water sometimes when we’re bored. It’s just so calming.”

Lily smiled knowingly. “That’s cute. Books are my little escape. I’ve been trying to read more lately, but I find that sometimes I get so wrapped up in everything that I forget to just... breathe.” She paused for a moment, looking out at the street as if considering her words. “Alex and I read together, more like I read to him” she murmured, “but we don’t always get that kind of time. But when we do, it’s the best.”

The two of them sat in comfortable silence for a while, the gentle breeze of the afternoon brushing through their hair, the sounds of the city around them feeling like background noise. It was one of those rare moments where time seemed to stretch, and the weight of the world seemed lighter. Just two friends, enjoying the simplicity of the moment.

“So,” Lily said, breaking the silence with a playful smile, “I’ve gotta know—what’s been the best part about your Monaco life so far? I mean, I know it’s glamorous, but what’s something you really love about it?”

She thought for a moment, her eyes lighting up. “Honestly, the quiet mornings. When I get up early enough, and it’s calm outside, I can just step out, take a walk, grab a coffee, and walk around peacefully. Lando and I take advantage of it sometimes, just walking around early in the morning, with no one bothering us.”

Lily smiled, clearly enjoying the thought of the simple pleasures she had found in her new home. “That sounds perfect.”

She nodded, her expression softening as she thought about how much those small, serene moments meant to her. “Yeah, it is.”

The conversation drifted to different topics, like their relationships, how they both navigated the challenges of being with partners in the public eye. They laughed, exchanged stories of funny misunderstandings, and supported each other with insights from their own experiences.

As the afternoon turned into evening, the sun began to set, casting a warm, golden light over the café. The atmosphere shifted from the bright, bustling energy of the day to the quieter, more intimate feeling of dusk settling in. The two women continued, now with their cups empty. They shared everything they could in that peaceful moment, fully present and without the weight of expectations.

Lily picked up her purse, standing slowly as the evening air began to cool. “Let’s make a habit of it, shall we? Just... us.”

She stood as well, nodding. “Definitely. Next time, I’ll treat you to something.”

Lily laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Deal. I love you.”

Her eyes softed “i love you too”

They both shared a laugh, the sound of their voices mingling with the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. As they walked toward the exit of the café, the day slowly winding down, there was a feeling of contentment that lingered between them, like a promise that no matter what came next, moments like this would always be worth cherishing

*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ

Lily Zneimer

The pottery studio was tucked away on a quiet street in Monaco, hidden behind ivy-covered walls and rustic wooden doors. Inside, the atmosphere was cozy and warm, with natural light streaming through large windows, illuminating the pottery wheels, worktables, and shelves lined with completed ceramics. Soft instrumental music played in the background, creating a peaceful ambiance.

She and Lily had decided to spend the day together, eager to try something new and creative. Both had expressed an interest in pottery, though neither was particularly experienced. Still, the excitement of trying their hand at something artistic and tactile was enough to get them both smiling brightly as they tied on their aprons.

She adjusted her sleeves, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Have you ever tried pottery before?” she asked Lily, glancing curiously around the studio.

Lily shook her head, laughing softly as she pulled her blonde hair back into a loose ponytail. “Not really. I took an art class once, but pottery wasn’t included. Honestly, I just thought it looked relaxing.”

She nodded in agreement, running her fingers lightly over a lump of clay resting in front of her. “Same. It always seemed like one of those things you watch and think ‘Oh, that looks easy,’ but I have a feeling it’s going to be harder than it looks.”

Lily chuckled, eyes bright with amusement. “Definitely. At least it’ll be fun, even if we make a complete mess.”

They took their places at the pottery wheels, each carefully following the instructor’s brief demonstration. The wheel hummed gently beneath their hands as they began to shape their clay, spinning slowly at first, and then gaining momentum. She watched carefully, her expression a mixture of concentration and curiosity.

“I think the key is to stay relaxed,” she murmured, her voice filled with gentle encouragement.

Lily glanced over, smiling. “You say that like you’ve done this before.”

She laughed, shaking her head as her fingers carefully pressed into the clay, shaping it into a rough bowl. “Just pretending to sound confident. Fake it till you make it, right?”

Lily grinned, returning her focus to her own spinning clay. Her hands moved gently, trying to mimic the motions they’d been shown, slowly coaxing the clay upward. “Honestly, as long as it doesn’t collapse, I’ll consider it a success.”

The two of them fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional humming of the wheels and their quiet laughter when things didn’t quite go according to plan. Her clay wobbled slightly, causing her to make a soft sound of surprise, while Lily’s bowl began to take on an unintended shape.

“Uh-oh, I think mine is leaning,” Lily said, giggling softly as she tried to steady it. The clay began to sway precariously, threatening to topple.

She glanced over, laughing sympathetically. “It kind of looks artistic, though. Like it’s meant to lean.”

Lily chuckled, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of clay across her forehead. “I’ll just pretend it’s a modern design. Maybe it’ll become a trend.”

She smiled warmly. “Exactly. Who needs symmetry, anyway?”

The instructor passed by, offering them gentle tips on their technique and helping them adjust their posture and grip. They both listened carefully, eager to learn but also enjoying the playful atmosphere of trying something new together.

Once their initial pieces were complete, the instructor handed them some additional clay, suggesting they try creating mugs next. Her eyes lit up at the idea, quickly forming a new lump of clay into shape.

“I think a mug is more my speed,” she joked lightly. 

Lily laughed softly, beginning to shape her clay as well. “True. If it’s slightly wonky, we can just say it has personality.”

She nodded, grinning broadly as she carefully molded the handle of her mug. “Exactly! Mine definitely has a lot of personality.”

As they worked, their conversation drifted to casual topics—favorite movies, books, funny travel stories, and hobbies. Lily shared humorous anecdotes about Oscar’s cooking attempts, and she recounted hilarious backstage stories from her performances with BLACKPINK. Their laughter echoed softly through the studio, the easy, carefree nature of their conversation blending seamlessly with the quiet hum of the pottery wheels.

“I’m definitely dragging Oscar here sometime,” Lily said with a grin. “I think it would be hilarious seeing him try pottery.”

She laughed, nodding enthusiastically. “Oh, I’ll bring Lando. He’ll either take it way too seriously or turn it into some sort of silly competition. There’s literally no middle ground with him.”

Lily chuckled, picturing it. “Honestly, if we brought them both here they’d probably turn it into a race to see who could make a mug the fastest.”

She shook her head fondly, her hands gently smoothing the edges of her mug. “Absolutely. But at least we’d get a good laugh out of it.”

The afternoon continued in this relaxed rhythm, with both women engrossed in their pottery creations. Occasionally, their mugs or bowls would collapse or warp unexpectedly, prompting fits of laughter and amused shrugs before they began again.

Eventually, with their finished pieces set aside to dry, they cleaned their hands at a nearby basin, rinsing off the clay residue while exchanging playful banter.

She glanced over at their creations, smiling warmly. “Honestly, not bad for our first try.”

Lily nodded, her eyes bright. “Not bad at all. They have character. I kind of love that about them.”

She laughed softly. “Me too. I think we can officially call ourselves amateur potters now.”

Lily grinned widely. “Absolutely. We should definitely do this again. It’s surprisingly therapeutic.”

She agreed, drying her hands as they stepped outside into the warm afternoon sunlight. “Next time, though, I might aim for a vase or something more ambitious.”

Lily chuckled playfully. “Oh, bold move. I’ll stick to mugs and bowls a bit longer, I think.”

She smiled, linking arms with Lily as they walked leisurely down the quiet street. “Either way, this was exactly what I hoped it would be. Just a relaxing afternoon making art with a friend.”

Lily squeezed her arm lightly, smiling warmly. “Couldn’t agree more. And who knows—maybe one day our slightly crooked mugs will become collector’s items.”

They both laughed, the sound floating gently into the warm Monaco air, their spirits high and carefree. The day had been simple, creative, and filled with laughter—a perfect memory they would cherish for a long time.

Bonus Scene w/ Lando:

She walked into the apartment, her energy light and relaxed after spending the afternoon at the pottery studio with Lily. She had a small box in her hands, carefully cradling it as she moved through the door. Lando was on the couch, his usual goofy grin plastered across his face as he looked up from his phone.

“Hey, I’m home!” she called out, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Lando looked up, his eyes brightening when he saw her. “Welcome back! How was it? Did you make a masterpiece?”

She grinned, walking over to the coffee table and setting the box down carefully. “I wouldn’t call it a masterpiece,” she said, her voice playful. “But it’s definitely... unique.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a curious look on his face. “Unique, huh? I’m intrigued. Do I get to see it?”

She chuckled, opening the box to reveal her creation. Inside was a slightly lopsided mug, the handle a little crooked, but with a simple charm that made it endearing. The glaze on the surface was a soft, calming blue, with small streaks of white that almost looked like clouds.

Lando blinked at it for a moment, then burst out laughing, the sound warm and genuine. “That... is definitely something.” He paused, his smile softening.“I actually love it, though. It’s got character.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “It’s not perfect, but I had fun making it. I think it has personality, though. Definitely not something you’d find in a store.”

Lando picked it up gently, turning it over in his hands as he examined it with a mock-serious expression. “Yeah, you can definitely tell it was handmade. But you’re right, it’s got.. soul.”

She smiled warmly, watching him as he held the mug with such care. “Exactly. I might have messed up a few times, but it feels good to make something with my hands, you know? It’s different from anything I usually do.”

Lando set the mug back down, his smile turning playful. “Well, I think it’s perfect. Maybe you can make a whole set for us. You know, we could have custom pottery dinnerware—nothing like it on the market.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Sure, our cupboard is gonna be filled with handcrafted mugs and bowls.”

​​“I’m in,” Lando said, his voice full of enthusiasm. “You’ve got the talent, maybe we can sell them. We’ll be rolling in pottery money.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes fondly at him. “I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as ‘pottery money,’ but I like the way you think.”

Lando laughed, his arms wrapping around her. “And when you make it big, I’ll always remember the first mug you made. It’ll be worth millions one day.”

She laughed, leaning back against him, feeling the warmth of the moment. “Yeah, maybe. But for now, it’ll just be my mug—and a reminder of a pretty perfect day.”

*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ

The soft afternoon light streamed through the large windows of the apartment, casting a warm glow on the living room. The space was cozy and inviting, with the comforting scent of coffee and the quiet hum of a gentle playlist filling the air. It was the perfect setting for an afternoon of productive focus—and that’s exactly what her and Lily were aiming for.

Lily sat at the coffee table, her laptop open in front of her, a pile of engineering textbooks and notes scattered around her. She had been working on her homework for a few hours now, trying to understand a particularly tricky concept related to mechanical systems. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she scribbled a few equations in her notebook, pausing every so often to refer back to the textbook.

She was seated on the couch, a notebook and her laptop in front of her, working on lyrics for her upcoming album. Her pen moved smoothly across the paper as she jotted down phrases, her mind already lost in the creative process. There was a slight rhythm to her writing, the way her hand moved as she thought through each line, the music already playing in her head.

It was a quiet and comfortable scene—two friends, side by side, working on their respective projects. Though their work was different, the sense of focus and dedication in the room was palpable. Neither of them needed to say much; they were simply content in each other's presence, doing what they loved.

Lily stretched her arms above her head, letting out a small sigh. Lily looked over at her, who was completely absorbed in her songwriting. “How’s it going?” Lily asked, her voice soft but curious.

She didn’t look up right away, lost in the melody she was working on. But when she did, she smiled. “It’s coming along,” she said, her tone light but focused. “I’m working on the bridge for one of the songs. I’m trying to get the lyrics just right.”

Lily nodded, tapping a few keys on her laptop before looking up at her. “How do you do it? I mean, I know you’re in a group, but it’s impressive how you just sit down and write a song. I’ve never really understood that creative process.”

She chuckled, glancing over at her. “I think it’s like engineering in a way,” she said, her eyes brightening with the comparison. “You break it down into smaller parts. For me, it starts with a feeling or an idea, and then I build from there. It’s like constructing something, but with words and music instead of metal or wires.”

Lily smiled, leaning back on the couch, appreciating the thought. “That makes sense. I guess I approach my homework in a similar way. I break things down into steps, but it never feels as... fun as what you’re doing.” She glanced at the equations on her screen, her brow furrowing again. “This is the part of engineering that really makes me think I’m not cut out for it.”

She tilted her head, giving Lily a sympathetic smile. “I get it. Sometimes, I feel the same way with music. But the key is to remember that you don’t have to get it all at once. It’s okay to take it slow and give yourself time to figure it out.”

Lily gave her a small smile, feeling the warmth of the encouragement. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s just... I don’t know, sometimes it feels like I should already understand it all.”

She shook her head. “I think that’s the hardest part. We all think we should have it figured out, but nobody really does. It’s about trusting the process. You’ll get there.”

Lily nodded, the words sinking in. “I’ll try to remember that.”  

She returned to her lyrics, her pen moving fluidly across the page, while Lily went back to her engineering problem, her eyes scanning the text. They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, the only sound was the occasional tapping of keys and the soft hum of her instrumental tracks.

After a few minutes, Lily let out a soft groan, leaning back in her chair, her hand rubbing her eyes. “Okay,  I’m going to take a break. This part has me stuck.”

She glanced up from her notebook, noticing the frustration in Lily’s expression. “Need help?” she asked, her voice gentle but encouraging.

Lily hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll be able to explain it well enough for you to help. It’s just... one of those moments where nothing’s clicking.”

She smiled knowingly, setting her pen down. “I understand, sometimes I feel the same way with songwriting. It’s like everything’s on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t quite find the right words.”

Lily smiled back, grateful for the understanding. “Ha, literally.”

She leaned back on the couch, thinking for a moment. “Well, if you’re taking a break, I’ll take one too. Want to brainstorm ideas for the song? Sometimes, talking it out helps.”

Lily raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Brainstorm ideas? You mean, like... writing a song together?”

She grinned, her eyes twinkling. “Why not? Maybe you’ll have a breakthrough just from changing things up a bit. Plus, I’ve always thought it would be fun to write a song with someone who isn’t in the music industry. Fresh perspective, you know?”

Lily laughed, clearly surprised but entertained by the idea. “Okay, this is definitely a first for me. But sure, I’m up for it. How do we start?”

She moved her laptop closer to them and played the instrumental. “This is the beat I have for the song. We can add some lyrics. Don’t worry about it being perfect. Just say whatever comes to your mind.”

Lily, feeling slightly unsure, smiled and shrugged. “Alright, let’s see what happens.”

As she pushed play, letting the melody play out, Lily tapped her fingers against the table, lost in thought for a moment. Then, slowly, she started humming along with the tune, her voice blending into the music. It wasn’t polished, but it was real. They laughed as they tossed around silly lines, half-formed ideas that made no sense at first but slowly started to take shape.

Her fingers moved to pause the music for a moment as she looked over at Lily. “Okay, what if we went for something catchy? Like... "Look at the floor or ceiling,’ or “I know what you are, trying so hard,’ you know, like something that, like possessive in a way.”

Lily grinned, clearly getting into the flow. “I like that. How about after “Look at the floor or ceiling”...uh..you could do ‘or anyone else you’re feeling’?”

She laughed, enjoying the playful nature of their collaboration. “I love that!” she wrote words down in her notebooks. She murmured the song trying to find rhymes “After ‘or anyone else you’re feeling’ then we can do ‘Take home whoever walks in, just keep your eyes off him” she continued. 

Lily thought for a second “yes that fit so well” she agreed. Then began humming the fresh lyrics, filling in the gaps as they worked together. The song came together piece by piece, their ideas melding into something neither of them had expected but both found surprisingly fun and rewarding.

After an hour of singing, laughing, and jotting down lines, the song started to take shape. They didn’t finish it, but the foundation was there—an upbeat, assertive anthem about living in the moment, dancing through life, and creating memories.

Lily looked up at her, her expression light and happy. “I can’t believe we actually wrote something together. This was fun.”

She grinned, setting her guitar down. “See? Told you it would help. And who knows—maybe we’ll finish it later. I’ll credit you for the help.”

Lily laughed. “Really!? Who knew I’d be a songwriter?”

She chuckled, her eyes warm. “You helped a lot lilypad, we have 3/4 of the song finished and glad you were able to have fun. We've came up with some fun lyrics and a good time out of it.”

Lily nodded, the weight of her homework temporarily forgotten as Lily smiled at her. “Exactly. Maybe I’ll take this energy and try tackling that engineering problem again.”

She winked. “Good luck with that. I’ll be here if you need another songwriting session.”

Lily gave a playful roll of her eyes. “Deal. Next time, we’ll tackle both the song and the homework.”

As the afternoon wore on, the room remained filled with the soft hum of conversation and the occasional laughter. The stress of schoolwork and the pressures of life seemed so far away. In that moment, it was about friendship, creativity, and simply enjoying the flow of a spontaneous, fun-filled afternoon.

*ੈ✩‧ ₊ ˚༺☆༻ ˚ ₊ ‧✩*ੈ

----------

Helloo again. Quick question for my lovely readers children, for a later story in this AU

What songs would/should be on your/her album? And what should the album be named? 

Here’s the songs i got (most are based off the lyrics of the song):

Miss Possessive - Tate McRae (with special MV appearance and a definitely)

Whiplash - Aespa 

Sports Car - Tate McRae (with special MV appearance)

ABCD - Nayeon

2 Hands - Tate McRae (with special MV appearance)

Love Hangover - Jennie (with special MV appearance)

Fill the Void - Lily Rose Depp w/ The Weekend

Mantra - Jennie (with special MV appearance)

ExtraL - Jennie w/ Doechii

Number one girl - Rosé

And maybe armageddon - Aespa, Igloo - Kiss of Life, 1-800-hot-n-fun - lesserafim

It’s not official yet so i wanted to hear y’all thoughts and recommendations on what songs should be on this fake album lol.

AGAIN THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT, THE FOLLOWS (WE AT 270!!) , THE LIKES, AND COMMENTS. THEY ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED. I READ THEM ALL AND THEY KEEP ME MOTIVATED. MUCHHH LOVEEE 💕💕

(UPDATED) Taglist: @verogonewild @freyathehuntress @yawn-zi @mochimommy2002 @bearyfast @h-rtsnana @chaoswithus

[decayingearf]

speechless

✗ warnings: 18+, mdni, teasing, condescending praise, animalistic!smoke, munch!smoke, oral (f!receiving)

[a/n: READ WITH SONG!]

you’ve got me

after an extempore phone call you made to your boyfriend, he was on his way home. the phone was anything but innocent.

you’ve got me

you were currently adjusting your hair and robe knowing that after the call ended he was gonna fly home. you texted him to see what the hold up was. although it hasn’t even been fifteen minutes, you were needy.

you’ve got me

“baby im on the way, five minutes away” he reassured you trying to not let his needs cloud his mind. you scoff dramatically after reading the message and decide to take things up a notch.

you’ve got me..

you lay on the bed opening your robe the slightest bit and then, open the camera app on your phone, angling the phone down towards your chest. afterwards, you forward the message to him, chewing on your finger. just as it’s sent you notice that he’s seen it.

three dots appear and disappear for about two minutes before you hear his car pull in the driveway.

speechless

your heart pounds with anticipation of what’s about to happen once he reaches the door.

where you been, baby?

you run over to the bedroom window looking down at him getting out of the car and walking towards the door, key already in hand.

waited for you all day

you hurry over to the railing of the staircase only to find him on the other-side of the door twisting the key in the lock.

waited for you to use the key

the door opens and you move over, back to the room shutting the door behind you before, sitting on the bed as if you hadn’t been the cause of him feeling pent up. you fiddle with your hair some more as your heart hammers.

that opens my place

you hear your heart louder than anything thing else.

my heart starts trembling

aside from your heart, his shoes can be heard with every step he takes to meet you.

as i hear your footsteps pace

you stare nervously at the closed door seeing the exact moment his hand collides with the cool stainless steel of the door knob.

lock open, door knob turned

your eyes shoot up as the door swings open and you see his dark gaze.

there appears your face

before you have time to say anything he’s coming towards you his gaze none wavering. he pulls his sweatshirt over his head once in front of you—still without a word.

you watch as if you’ve entered a trance. elijah steps away for a moment, grabbing a pillow before placing it down and picking you up. he kisses your mouth, then neck. god.

“lil needy ass couldn’t wait for me to get home, huh?” he speaks between kisses after laying you down, the small of your back resting against the pillow.

going out my head, i think im losing all my mind

you softly bite down on your finger again. he resumes kissing what’s underneath the silk robe. his lips gentle as if he wants to enjoy this. the kisses move lower to your inner thighs.

still missing where you wanted his mouth. then finally, you feel his lips kiss your dripping cunt. you gasped softly as he growls at the sound he was able to get you to make. “that feel good? you happy im down here finna eat this shit?” smoke questioned already knowing the answer but, still wanting you to say it. you nod before he scoffs and rubs his tongue against your bud causing you to squirm. “i said ‘does that feel good?’ baby?” he repeated as you quickly said “yes it feels good” to which he nodded before pressing his thumb against your clit again, and massages it.

drive me crazy, burning candles, making love all night

you huffed needily at his ministrations closing your eyes. that was short lived before smoke chimed in “nuh-uh, look at me while you cream on my tongue”. you whined before he stuck his tongue in your hole still rubbing your sensitive area. only thing you can see was his head peeking over your tummy and up at your eyes. you watched as he deduced you to a desperate, pent-up , brat.

you can feel his tongue curling in you as if he was trying to get all your essence on his tongue. you’ve never had a guy eat it for his own pleasure. not unless he wanted something in return.

feels so strange , it feels so crazy to be in your world

you’d moan and shudder as your pussy would flutter against his tongue. it was so overwhelming. you were already wound up, now he’s eating it like its his last meal? you wrapped your legs around his head whimpering and shaking. he soon pushed your legs apart, “this what you wanted right? wanted to tease me and get me riled up? take this shit” he grumbled locking his arms around your thighs to ensure you don’t move.

in your arms, lost for words, you’ve got me

he pulled his tongue out before sucking on your clit recklessly with no disregard for how overstimulated you were.

you’ve got me

you tried to push away from his merciless mouth before he dragged you back down towards him.

you’ve got me

you cried out as sucked harder. all you could do was cover your face out of embarrassment. which only lasted for a few seconds before you heard him groan.

“move your hands mama” he demanded prior to continuing his licks and kisses.

ooh, you’ve got me

soon enough, you were a puddle beneath his mouth. he didn’t stop, though. just sucked you through the aftershocks. with one final roll of your hips, he raised to his feet, leaned over and kissed you.

lord, you loved that man.

you’ve got me speechless.

[pankowcrumbs]

Delicate love X Bucky

MasterList

Marvel MasterList

Plot: You find out Bucky has a file on you and how can you possibly trust him now.

Trust is a delicate thing.

It doesn’t shatter all at once. It cracks. Slowly. Quietly. And by the time you realise it’s broken, it’s already too late.

I suppose I should have seen the signs. The way Bucky would avoid my eyes when I asked certain questions. How he'd come home late and kiss my forehead rather than my lips. How his mind would wander when he thought I wasn’t looking.

But I loved him.

God, I loved him.

So I didn’t ask. I didn’t dig. I just believed.

We’d been together nearly two years. In that time, Bucky had gone from the haunted soldier with a history soaked in red, to the man who would make tea in the morning and hold me close at night. We built a life together. A quiet one. A soft one. I thought we’d made it through the worst.

Until I found the file.

I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for a charger in his bottom drawer. He always kept spare cables in there. What I found instead was a sleek, black folder. S.H.I.E.L.D. stamped across the top.

I hesitated. I knew it wasn’t meant for my eyes.

But my name was written on the tab.

My stomach twisted.

I opened it with shaking fingers. And there it was.

My full file. Where I’d been stationed during my humanitarian deployment in Sokovia. Where I lived before that. Family history. Medical records. Surveillance images. A copy of my birth certificate.

And tucked in the back a contract.

Assignment: Y/N L/N Target status: LOW THREAT Engagement objective: Gain intel and assess allegiance to Sokovian resistance cells. Agent: James Buchanan Barnes

My knees gave out.

I sat on the floor, the file spread in front of me like a crime scene.

It was a joke. A sick, cruel joke.

But I couldn’t laugh.

Because every memory every kiss, every whispered I love you was suddenly thrown into question.

Was I ever anything more than a mission?

He came home a few hours later.

I didn’t even look at him. I sat on the sofa, the file on the table. When he walked in and saw it, the colour drained from his face.

"Y/N..."

"Don’t," I said, my voice hollow.

He reached for me, but I stood up sharply. "Don’t touch me."

“Let me explain.”

“Oh, you want to explain why you used me? Lied to me? Slept next to me every night while reporting back on me like I was some kind of what? Threat?”

“I wasn’t reporting anymore,” he said, his voice rough. “Not for a long time. At first, yes. It was an assignment. But then it became real. You became real.”

Tears blurred my vision, but I blinked them away. “Don’t insult me with that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“No,” I said. “The truth is in that file.”

He looked at me helplessly. “I was trying to protect you.”

“By lying to me?”

“By keeping you close. By making sure you weren’t on anyone’s radar.”

I laughed, bitter. “You don’t get to make those decisions for me, Bucky.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then I said it.

Words I didn’t even know I was thinking until they left my mouth.

“I would have taken a bullet for you just to prove my love… only to realise you were the one holding the gun.”

His eyes flinched like I’d physically struck him. And in some ways, maybe I had.

I left that night.

Packed a bag and didn’t look back.

He didn’t chase me.

I think he knew better.

Weeks passed.

Each day felt like dragging my heart behind me. I moved in with a friend across the city and buried myself in routine. Work. Sleep. Repeat. I kept expecting the pain to dull, but it stayed sharp. Like a knife I couldn’t pull out.

Bucky tried calling. Once. Then twice. Then every day for a week. I never answered.

Eventually, he stopped.

Or maybe I just blocked the number.

Then came the letter.

No postage stamp. Just slipped under the door.

My name written in careful handwriting I knew better than my own.

Inside was a single page.

Y/N,

I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t even expect an answer.

But I want you to know I resigned from S.H.I.E.L.D. The moment you found out. I couldn’t stomach the idea of standing for an organisation that asked me to manipulate someone like that someone like you.

I’m in therapy. Real therapy. Not just missions and debriefs.

I know I hurt you. I know I lost you. But I’ll keep working to be the kind of man who never would’ve accepted that assignment to begin with.

You were never just a mission. You were my peace.

– Bucky

I sat on the floor, holding the letter, my heart thundering in my chest.

It didn’t change what he did.

But it showed me he was trying.

Three months later, I saw him again.

It was a coincidence. A street market. I was with a friend, and there he was, across the stalls, holding a bag of apples. He looked different. Softer. Quieter. There were shadows under his eyes, but his posture was less guarded.

Our eyes met.

He didn’t move toward me. He didn’t smile.

He just nodded. A small, respectful nod.

And then he turned away.

I don’t know why, but that made me cry.

Because he wasn’t chasing me.

He was letting me go.

It started with the flowers.

The first bouquet arrived on a rainy Wednesday, two months after I’d seen him at the street market. I opened my front door to find them sitting in a brown paper wrap no card, no note, but I knew who they were from.

Peonies. My favourite. I’d told him that once, in passing.

The next week, it was chamomile and daisies.

Then it was sunflowers.

Always left gently at the door. Never accompanied by knocks or footsteps. Just quiet gestures.

I didn’t send any messages. I didn’t return any favours.

But I also didn’t throw them away.

I placed them in jars and let them bloom on my windowsill, the way I had once bloomed in his arms.

He didn’t push.

Not even once.

No texts. No calls. No showing up at my flat or waiting outside my job.

Just… space.

And that space, instead of staying bitter and cold, started to soften. The ache in my chest that once howled with betrayal began to whisper something else something quieter, almost like understanding.

It wasn’t until I saw Sam Wilson by chance at a community centre fundraiser that I heard anything more about Bucky.

“He’s different,” Sam said simply, after we made polite conversation and I couldn’t help asking. “He’s still Bucky. Still stubborn. Still learning how to open up without feeling like he’s exposing a wound.”

I nodded, unsure how to reply.

“But he’s doing the work,” Sam added. “Not for anyone. For himself.”

There was something solid in that. Something real. It stuck with me.

One morning, I found a card with the flowers.

It wasn’t romantic or sentimental. Just a line:

"If you ever want to talk not about us, just about anything I’ll be in the park on Sunday mornings. Same bench." – B

I kept the card on the fridge for a week before I gave in.

That Sunday, I walked to the park, my fingers cold inside my coat pockets. I didn’t expect him to be there. I half hoped he wouldn’t be.

But he was.

Sitting on the bench under the big elm tree, hands resting on his knees, a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. His hair was longer now, tucked behind his ears. He looked up and smiled not big, not assuming just a soft pull of his lips like he couldn’t quite believe I’d come.

I sat beside him. No words.

The wind rustled through the leaves above us.

“You look well,” he said after a moment.

“So do you.”

We sat there for twenty minutes. Talking about everything except us. The bakery down the road. A book I was reading. His recent fascination with pottery, of all things.

I walked away that day lighter than I had in months.

It became a thing. Sundays.

No pressure. No expectations.

Sometimes we’d just sit in silence. Sometimes we’d talk for hours. He never brought up the past unless I did.

And I did eventually.

One cold morning, coffee steaming in my hands, I asked, “What made you stop pretending?”

He took his time answering.

“You did,” he said. “Loving you scared the hell out of me. I didn’t know how to love without hurting someone… until you. And when I realised I’d hurt you too it broke something in me. I knew I had to fix it. Not to win you back. Just to be someone who deserved the kind of love you gave.”

I said nothing.

But something in me started to thaw.

He invited me to his therapy session one day.

“I won’t be upset if you say no,” he said. “I just thought maybe… hearing it might help.”

So I went.

I listened as he talked about his past, his regrets, his guilt. He spoke openly raw, but steady.

He didn’t hide from what he’d done.

He acknowledged it.

He was rebuilding himself, brick by brick.

Not for me.

But I was welcome to watch.

He didn’t kiss me the first time I let him walk me home.

He didn’t try.

He just looked at me, eyes so blue and tired and full of hope, and said, “I’m really glad you came today.”

So was I.

Six months after I found the file, he asked if he could take me somewhere.

“Not a date,” he said quickly. “Just… a breather. For both of us.”

“Where?”

“Italy.”

I blinked. “Italy?”

He scratched the back of his neck, bashful. “There’s this little town near Lake Como. Peaceful. No tourists this time of year. I thought maybe you could use a change of scene. No pressure.”

I should’ve said no. It was mad. Reckless.

But I didn’t.

I said yes.

It was perfect.

Not in a cinematic, romantic way. But in its slowness. Its intention.

He was present. Every moment.

He cooked for me in the little villa. Pasta from scratch, fumbling his way through the sauce with a grin. We walked through old markets, sat on sun-warmed stones by the lake, shared stories in candlelight without once looking at our phones.

He asked questions. Listened. Laughed with me, not at me.

He looked at me like I was his world and not because he needed something from me.

Because he finally understood my worth.

On our last night, as we watched the sun dip below the hills, he reached for my hand.

“I almost lost you,” he said softly. “And I’ll never forgive myself for that. But I want you to know… I’ve spent every day since working to become the kind of man who’d never make you feel unworthy again.”

Tears stung my eyes.

“I couldn’t lose you, Y/N. You were the best thing in my life. I had to do the hard work not just for you, but so that I never become a danger to the people I love again. Even myself.”

I squeezed his hand.

“I see you trying, Bucky.”

“And?”

“And I love the man you’re becoming.”

We didn’t kiss that night.

We just held each other.

And in his arms, I finally felt safe again not because he was shielding me from the world, but because he was no longer someone I needed protection from.

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

Kingsguard part 7

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

M!Minotaur x f!reader (for this part, normally m!troll x f!reader)

2.9k words

While no longer completely ignoring you, Ba’tual still wasn’t really talking to you. The son of the grand huntsmaster from a local minotaur clan however is very interested in talking to you. And more.

————

Days past much the same. You had been spending more time in the city itself and not just the hold, taking time to speak with shopkeepers, artisans, and anyone else willing to answer your questions. It was a good change of pace to be able to explore more of the city, and for better or for worse it kept you mostly away from Ba’tual.

The few time you had crossed paths with him he just seemed to observe you, making no attempt to approach or really acknowledge you but at least he wasn’t flat out ignoring you like before. You supposed that was better. Mostly you only saw him when someone of importance visited the hold and he was either on guard duty or training recruits outside. Today was no different.

One of the other minotaur clans had detoured to speak with you, not wanting the other clan to be the only one you took note of. It was a good sized hunting party, including their grand huntsmaster. He was gray in the mane and muzzle, and an absolute well of information; correcting maps of the areas his clan hunted in, teaching you about their gods, and asking thoughtful questions about humans.

From time to time the other hunters jumped in and spoke, or they’d run to their camp just outside the city to fetch another member of their group. Tanners, cooks, fletchers, bowers, nearly a whole mobile village.

The only person who didn’t seem to interested in everything was the grand huntsmaster’s son, Suna, who mostly just sat in the corner and twiddled his thumbs or whittled. Many times he tried to slip out to explore the city, only to be caught and chastised by his father on the importance of building relations with allies and understanding others.

“Sorry my dad is so boring” Suna playfully snorted as the group left for the day.

“He’s not boring, he’s knowledgeable and it’s been interesting to be able to compare your clan to the last clan that came through.”

“So you really like this sort of stuff?”

“Yeah? It’s my job.”

“But you actually like like it? You find this fun?”

“I do.”

“Huh” he gave you a look up and down.

“And what about you? Do you like being a hunter?”

“It’s not bad, I like being on the move. I feel restless being somewhere for too long and I like the challenge of tracking things. How long have you been here anyways?”

“A few months.”

“Good, you should know somewhere good to eat then.”

The two of you ended up in a little tavern you frequented close to the inn you were staying at. Suna was playful, teasing you over being an archivist, but asking you just as many questions about humans as you asked about minotaurs.

“I’ll be here a few more days, I’d like chat with you some more if you have the time” Suna said as you parted ways for the evening.

“Dinner again tomorrow?” you asked.

“I’d like that.”

The next day went much the same, though Suna actually listened along a bit while you spoke to the elders and occasionally chimed in between whittling in the corner.

“So whittling?” you asked Suna while the two of you walked to the same tavern as the day before for dinner again.

“Anything to keep awake. I think my dad would kill me if I fell asleep in there” he laughed.

“So what where you making?”

“Just this, but I’m not too great at it” he pulled a small carved deer from his bag. It was a bit wonky and wobbly, and the legs weren’t the same length, but it was still recognizably a deer and charming.

“It’s better than I can do, and it’s still cute.”

“Here, take it then if you like it.”

“Really? Thanks” you smiled as you took it from him.

You sat together at the tavern just chatting. Suna was easy to talk to, there was something warm and inviting about him. It also help that you found him quite striking. He was tall, taller than an orc but shorter than a troll, with a broad chest and shoulders and well built arms and back from years of drawing a bow.

“I haven’t been here since I was little, hid behind my mom’s legs every time someone walked past us. First time I had seen orcs or trolls, I didn’t know any orcish, and I was terrified” Suna laughed, “But that was twenty? Twenty-five years ago maybe.”

“You were that scared of some orcs and trolls?” you couldn’t hold back a bit of a giggle.

“I was like 5! Do you know how big an orc is when you’re only 5?” he defended, but was laughing too.

“They’re still pretty big to me!”

“And what are your thoughts on minotaur? Too big for you?” he was giving you quite the smirk, looking you up and down, gauging your reaction.

“Depends on who’s asking” you leaned into it.

“Well, I’m asking, if you happen to be interested in trying anything, because I am. No pressure, it’s also just nice talking to someone I’m not spending months at a time camping with” he laughed again, though a bit nervously.

It had been pure academic curiosity that made you jump at the opportunity to travel here, but a new sort of curiosity had quickly popped up once you settled in. Even before Ba’tual had ever approached you, you found yourself looking a little too long at sparring guards or while passing the blacksmith’s shop. There weren’t many minotaurs in the city, and it would be a lie to say you didn’t look up excitedly at the clicking of hooves.

Now Suna sat across from you, swishing tail giving away that maybe he wasn’t as collected and nonchalant as he’d like you to think he was over his question. He was charming though. Forward but not pushy, genuinely pleasant to talk to, and definitely going to keep casual since his hunting party would be leaving in a few days.

“If you want to think about it that’s fine” he broke the silence, “Didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

You looked him over again. He was handsome, light glinted off his impressive horns and fur, he seemed sweet and you could definitely do worse.

“The inn I’m staying at is just down the road” you smiled and leaned in a bit farther to tease him before leaning back.

“Lead the way.”

The walk to the inn was a bit awkward, though several times Suna tried to make small talk.

“So, have you been with anyone who wasn’t human before?” he asked.

Was honesty the best policy? You debated just saying you hadn’t before to avoid any more awkward conversations, but decided against it.

“Just once or twice, casual stuff” you quickly told him.

“Any minotaurs?”

“Not yet.”

That seemed to please him, he stood up a bit straighter and puffed out his chest, “Well, at least your first time will be good then.”

“And what about you? Ever been with someone who wasn’t a minotaur?”

“No, I uh, figured I’d take the chance since I’m here though.”

“So you went right for a human?” you teased.

“Why not? You seemed pretty open to trying new things” he teased right back.

The rest of the short walk was in comfortable silence, though Suna purposefully bumped your shoulder and gave you a smirk several times. You kept looking around, looking for anyone who might recognize you, anyone who might mention anything to Ba’tual. It was stupid to be worried about what he might think, but it still weirdly weighed on you.

Back in your room at the inn though any thoughts about Ba’tual were quickly banished. Suna moved quickly, the door was barely closed and locked before he had you backed against it. When Ba’tual had backed you up against a wall it always felt like an intimidation tactic, Suna’s just felt passionate. He hunched down to kiss you, it was a bit clumsy but was genuine seeming. Looking back to when Ba’tual had kissed you, you were pretty sure it was just to drop your guard. All of his smiles, little niceties, the kiss, all fake. All just to make you trust him.

You pressed up against Suna, feeling his heart racing, how his hands wandered up and down you sides, how he moaned into your mouth, how you felt his throbbing cock against you.

There wasn’t any room between you, but it didn’t stop of from making some. Slipping you hand down between the two of you and giving him a few strokes, making him pause the kiss to groan and lean on to you more.

“Right to it, huh?” he sighed.

You just shrugged, honestly you had expected to just get “right to it” for a casual hookup, but you sure also weren’t going to complain if Suna wanted to drag things out. Instead you reached up to grab one of his horns and pull him back down and into the kiss. He nudged your legs apart, nestling his thigh between yours and grinding up against your center and making you weak in the knees.

You needed to touch him more. You released your grip on his horn to instead run your hand under his shirt and up his chest. His fur was short, dense and soft, covering a soft stomach and a strong chest, and he was so warm. He followed your lead and pulled his shirt up and over his head, letting you get at more of him. It was impossible to ignore how you felt his heart racing or how his chest heaved.

A smile crept across your lips mid kiss, it was fun. Getting handsy, making out, just not feeling rushed, you couldn’t help but smile.

He trailed the kiss to your neck, burying his face against you and peppering you in little kisses. His hands slipped under the bottom of your blouse and he took his time just exploring. Slow touches up your sides, a hand on the small of your back to pull you closer, the other moving up a bit farther to cup your breast. You leaned into his touch, sighing softly while he continued kissing your neck.

It surprised you when he picked you up, suddenly reaching both hands around to the back of your thighs, lifting you off your feet and wrapping your legs around his waist. You let out a startled squeak, which only seemed to amuse him.

“I won’t drop you” he promised.

He laid you down on you back on the bed and settled down next to you on his side. Without missing a beat he slipped a large hand into the waist of your skirt and into your panties, pausing to speak for a moment.

“Think you’ll be able to take all of me?” he teased.

“Depends on how good of a job you do now.”

His hands dipped lower and between your folds, gliding easily from your wetness, thick fingers brushing against your clit or entrance making you sigh and moan. Slowly he worked a finger into you, taking his time until his knuckle was pressed against you. Like trolls, minotaur had the same odd three-fingered hands, which meant even a single finger from Suna was a good stretch.

Automatically you rolled your hips up against him, searching for any friction you could on your clit. He flattened him palm for you and adjusted his angle, for all of his nervous tail flicking earlier he sure knew what to do.

You reached up to tangle your hand into his mane and pull his face down to yours. Happily he picked back up on the kiss, his broad tongue filling your mouth.

It didn’t take long for him to have you gasping, clenching around his finger while you came. You were shuddering as you breathed, trying to catch your breath while he was still palming at your clit a bit.

“Good to give it a shot?” he asked.

“Wha-?” it took a moment for your mouth and brain to catch up with each other to figure out what he meant.

“I mean, humans are a lot smaller than minotaurs, and I don’t want to hurt you on accident or anything…”

“It’ll- it’ll be fine” you managed to spit out between deep breaths.

Suna nudged you over so he could lay next to you, laying on his back and then pulling you on top of his chest. His fur was warm and soft against your cheek and it felt nice to cuddle a bit. It was close and cozy, though you weren’t one to cuddle much with a hookup typically, but you could definitely make an exception for him.

A few long minutes passed and you sat up to start shimmying out of your skirt and panties. It wasn’t the most graceful thing you had ever done, but Suna was just looking up at you with a soft smile on his face. Without warning he swiftly lifted his hips up to take his pants off, but the sudden moment sent you toppling forward to bump heads with him.

He just laughed and patted the back of your head, “Hope you can stay on better when you’re riding me.”

“Behave then.”

“I’ll consider it.”

On slightly wobbly legs you sat up on your knees, positioning yourself over his hard cock. You wrapped your hand around him to get a better feel for what you were working with. He was thick, maybe not quite as thick as Ba’tual; but unlike Ba’tual, Suna wasn’t tapered at all. Tentatively you rocked your hip to let his tip glide along your folds.

“Take your time,” he cooed, “we have all night.”

You didn’t want it to take all night, and maybe that was silly of you, but still. Instead you stubbornly lined yourself up and took his first few inches. He might have not been as thick as Ba’tual, but it still stung a bit and left you panting since you couldn’t ease into it with his flared tip.

“Careful there” he cautioned, though his grip on your hip tightened.

“Just- just give me a minute” you stammered. You closed you eyes and drew deep breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth, just steadying yourself.

“Tell me what to do” he said.

“Just hold still.”

You softly bounced on his cock, just sliding his tip in and out while you adjusted, a slow process but it was paying off as you took more of him. At least he looked just as undone as you. One hand still firmly gripping your hip and and the other balled into the sheets while he tried not to move.

“By the ancestors” he nearly hissed, “that’s a tight squeeze. Fuck.”

Finally you felt the back of your thighs meet his hips, he felt almost impossibly deep in you. Your legs were sore from holding yourself up for so long, you gave in and just flopped forward on to his chest.

“Don’t tell me you’re done already” he teased, but his voice was strained.

“Just really sore.”

“That’s alright. You did so good pretty girl, you worked so hard, so just let me take care of you now, ok?”

You just nodded into his chest.

Slowly he rolled his hips up against yours, not so much thrusting as much as he was just grinding, pushing just a bit deeper and making your toes curl. Doubled over like this your clit rubbed against his pelvis and a warmth pooled low in your belly while slick, lewd sounds filled the room.

“That’s a good girl, you take me so well.”

His grinding became shallow thrusts, rubbing right against your g-spot and making you whimper. He had one hand on your lower back to keep you held close and the other softly patting the back of your head.

“Cum for me. You squeezed my finger so tight earlier, I wanna feel that on my dick.”

You rocked your hips against him, setting your own pace that he happily followed, whispering a mix sweet nothings and filth that would have made you blush if all the blood in your body wasn’t already between your legs. With a few final whimpers you felt yourself gush around him, tensing up and relaxing several times before waves was pleasant tingles and good bumps danced along your skin.

Suna sped up, not lasting much longer than you and letting out a low groan while you felt his cock throb in you. His seed slowly dripped out of your sore cunt and mixed with your own fluids, though he didn’t seem bothered as it soaked the fur of his thighs.

You found yourself drifting off listening to his heartbeat, strong and steady.

“I should get up and get some washcloths so you can clean up and get going” you said, though you were comfortable and really didn’t want to move. Still, it was just a hookup and you knew he probably wasn’t interested in hanging around.

“Really going to toss me out into the dark and cold?” his tone was a playful.

“Oh! I just figured-”

“It’s late, and I’m tired. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like to cuddle after.”

“I like it too” you snuggled into his chest a bit, “though we still should probably clean up.”

“Clean up? It’s just cum, it’s fine. Leave it for the morning.”

For a moment you almost laughed. You couldn’t imagine Ba’tual ever saying the same.

[nottellingofname]

You picked a dance with the devil - Choso Kamo

TW: NSFW / MDNI, Explicit sexual content, First time / virgin!reader, Soft dom!Choso, Praise kink, Overstimulation, Light restraint, Slight power imbalance, Religious/angelic imagery (used erotically), Consensual power dynamics, Aftercare

🚫 Do not interact if you're under 18.

"Am I being good, angel?"

You weren’t quite sure when the shift happened—one moment he was at the front door juggling groceries, and the next he was between your thighs, as if gravity itself had changed its rules for him.

Earlier, you'd been kneeling on the floor like a devout little disciple, hands folded, eyes shut, whispering sweet apologies to the heavens. Begging for reentry.

Your brothers and sisters had exiled you—maybe for sneaking around too often, fighting too many battles that weren't worth fighting for.

The door creaked open.

Choso stepped in, the rustle of plastic bags and the slump of his shoulders announcing his arrival. His grocery bag looked lighter than the exhaustion tugging at his body.

You didn’t flinch, still praying. Still hoping.

He set the bags down, eyeing you warily like he’d walked into something too sacred to watch. Which, in fairness, he had.

“When I left, you were watching Hell’s Kitchen,” he said softly, crouching beside you. “How’d we end up here?”

You cracked one eye open. “My sisters used to tell me that only good people get to live in heaven. And I want to be good so I can go back.”

He blinked. “Angel…”

Choso had done a laundry list of morally questionable things—enough to earn a restraining order from heaven itself. But watching you cry because you thought you were too tarnished to go back? That hit somewhere deep.

Without thinking, he reached for your hands.

“C’mere.”

He pulled you up gently, as though afraid you’d break or float away. You landed against his chest with a soft thud, all warm limbs and wet cheeks.

He wrapped his arms around you, tucking your face into his neck. You sniffled once—then twice—and suddenly he was walking the both of you toward his room.

His safe place. Maybe it could be yours, too.

At the foot of the bed, he tried to put you down.

You didn’t let go.

Your arms stayed looped around him like he was your personal flotation device. He felt the soft press of your chest against him, your body rising and falling with every shaky breath.

Now he was definitely going to hell.

Because somehow, despite your red-rimmed eyes and angelic despair, you were turning him on. He cursed himself. Loudly. Internally. Multiple times.

You. An angel. Crying.

Him. Horny.

Hell. Immediate.

Still, he ran a soothing hand down your back, hoping it would ease your trembling. It did. Your sobs quieted, soft hiccups fading into gentle exhales. And then, you started rocking slightly on your feet, swaying him with you in a slow, clumsy dance.

“This feels nice,” you murmured, voice muffled into his shoulder.

Your breath hit his skin, warm and sweet—and he felt it in his spine.

God was definitely watching. And God was definitely judging.

Something in him short-circuited the moment your fingers ghosted down his spine. Light. Barely there. But it lit him up like a struck match.

Your touch wasn’t just gentle—it was deliberate. The kind of intimacy that made his thoughts feel soft around the edges.

You looked up at him, and God, he was finished.

Your eyes were glazed, lashes damp, brows drawn together in that pouty, kiss-me expression that made his chest ache. And your lips—oh, you were staring at his like they held answers to every prayer you’d whispered.

You inched closer, slow and steady. Like gravity wasn’t pulling you, he was.

Choso’s arms tightened ever so slightly around you, trembling from the effort of holding himself back. His breathing hitched, shallow, his control thinning with every blink.

You looked so desperate. So soft. So willing.

He could die happy right now—and still go straight to hell, because there was absolutely no way this was sanctioned by the angels above.

Was this divine intervention? Or just a very, very vivid sin?

Whatever it was, confidence bloomed in his chest—nervous, fragile, but real. Like a boy holding something holy with both hands.

He reached up slowly, thumbs brushing away the dried remnants of your tears. His hands framed your cheeks, gently coaxing you to look at him, really look.

“Tell me what you want, angel,” he whispered, voice hoarse with restraint.

You didn’t hesitate. You leaned into his touch, breath trembling as you murmured.

“Make me feel good, Choso.”

Something deep in him cracked.

And all he could think was: Amen.

Choso didn’t hesitate. The moment the words left your lips, his mouth was on yours—hot, hungry, and all-consuming. It wasn’t tender. It wasn’t soft. It was desperate. Messy. Tongue, teeth, spit, breath—like he’d been starving for this, for you.

In another universe, he might’ve been gentler. Maybe he would’ve taken his time, worshipped you like you deserved. But not here. Not now.

Right now, he needed you. Needed to taste the sin on your lips. Needed to prove, in the only way he knew how, that you were his salvation and his damnation all at once.

Your fingers gripped his waist, nails biting into his shirt, grounding yourself against the storm of him. You’d never kissed been kiised like this—never been kissed at all—and your body trembled from the intensity, overwhelmed but unwilling to let go. You gave him everything, lips parted, breath stolen, letting him lead.

And God, Choso had never felt more alive.

You were melting into him, clinging like he was the only thing tethering you to earth. You whimpered into his mouth and he drank it in like it was the sweetest nectar, swallowing every gasp, every needy moan like a man dying of thirst.

His hands cradled the back of your head and your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer, like he could fuse you together and maybe then it would be enough.

When he finally pulled back, both of you gasping, your mouths were still linked by a thread of spit. Choso leaned his forehead against yours, his breath ragged, his voice wrecked.

“Make yourself comfortable on the bed,” he murmured, low and commanding, but reverent. Like a priest guiding his angel into the altar of sin.

His hands lingered on your hips, warm and trembling.

“Please,” he added, barely above a whisper.

You laid back in the center of the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight, your chest heaving with anticipation. Choso was over you in an instant, his arms caging you in as his eyes searched your face for any flicker of hesitation.

But before he could say a word, your fingers threaded through his dark, silky hair—tugging him down, guiding him to the crook of your neck.

“Worship me,” you whispered, voice shaky and sweet, your breath brushing his ear, “Please.”

That was all it took.

Choso collapsed into you like a man falling to his knees at an altar. His lips latched onto your neck, slow at first—soft, reverent kisses. But each gasp you gave, each shift of your hips beneath him, drove him deeper into sin.

He kissed and sucked your throat, your collarbones, dragging his teeth along your skin just to hear that pretty little gasp again—the one that made his cock twitch painfully in his jeans.

Your fingers tugged harder at his hair, pushing him down your body, silently begging him to keep going.

His lips stayed tender, but his hands—God, his hands—were desperate.

They palmed your chest with unrestrained hunger, like he couldn’t believe how full and soft you were, like he was committing the weight and feel of you to memory. He squeezed, massaged, thumbed over the peaks just to watch your back arch, your thighs rub together, needing more.

“Can I take this off?” Choso rasped, though his voice was already half gone, drunk off the taste of your skin. His hands stayed glued to your chest, greedy even in their restraint.

But you couldn’t take the teasing. Not when he was already halfway to heaven between your breasts.

With a low groan of impatience, you ripped the shirt clean off, the fabric tearing like paper under your divine strength. Then you shoved his head down with both hands—no more hints, no more patience. Your nipple pressed against his open mouth, and he welcomed it instantly, groaning as he latched on.

Choso lost his balance for a second, but it didn’t matter—he braced himself on his forearms, mouth already wet and hot around you, tongue circling your nipple like he was starving.

His hair tickled your skin as he buried himself against your chest, suckling deep, nuzzling, losing himself completely in your body.

But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly.

When he moved to your other breast, tongue flicking the stiff peak, you caught his hand and tugged it upward—placing it over your neglected nipple. Your fingers squeezed over his, guiding him, letting him feel just how raw and desperate you were for his touch.

“Give me more,” you whined, breathless, “Please…”

Choso groaned—low, deep, feral. He’d never felt anything so soft. So warm. So responsive. You were arching into him, hips squirming, eyes fluttering shut as he mouthed and licked over your chest, soaking your skin with spit and hickeys.

He couldn’t help himself.

Both hands grabbed your breasts, squeezing them together until they spilled between his fingers. And then he dove in—his tongue flicking back and forth, his mouth trying to take both into his mouth at once. Messy. Wet. Devoted.

Maybe he was greedy.

But if he was going to hell for this, he was taking every inch of heaven with him.

Choso’s hands squeezed greedily at your flesh as he descended, kneading and molding you like he was trying to memorize every curve. Your body jolted beneath him, hypersensitive, yet still rising eagerly into his mouth. You were trembling, overstimulated, but so needy.

Your fingers slipped from his hair, searching instead for his hands—gripping them like you needed grounding.

When he reached the hem of your pants, he didn’t bother with gentleness. His teeth dragged them down your thighs, slow, filthy, worshipful. And then—

His face disappeared between your legs.

You’d forgone panties, as always—what use were such things in the heavens?—so his nose made instant, divine contact with your clit.

You gasped, back arching violently off the bed. The sensation was electric—unfamiliar and overwhelming, like the first time you ever truly felt. Slick flooded from you, coating his face. Without thinking, your thighs parted even wider, silently inviting him in.

Choso groaned, deep and guttural, nose nudging your clit again and again. You clawed at the sheets, mind unraveling as he mouthed at your most sacred place like a man possessed.

And then, just as your whines started to crest, he pulled away.

You let out a desperate cry, but he said nothing—just stood at the edge of the bed, his hands sliding under your thighs. In one sharp tug, he dragged you to the edge.

You gasped at the sudden movement, but Choso didn’t break focus—not even for a second. His eyes zeroed in on your twitching hole, fluttering around nothing, slick and needy.

He dropped to his kness and pried your thighs open, locking you in. His gaze—heated, reverent—never left your cunt.

"I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he murmured, voice slurred with lust, head dipping lower. “Okay, angel? Please let me make you feel good..."

Your breath caught, heart thudding as you nodded.

Then he tasted you.

One tentative lick had his eyes rolling back. Your taste—sweet, heavenly, addictive. He moaned low into your folds and dove in again. His tongue was warm and soft, but firm, working in long, deliberate strokes that left you sobbing into the air.

You gave in completely.

His mouth worshiped you, licking you clean, as though each drop of slick was a sacrament. His tongue swirled around your entrance, then up to your clit—devouring you like he was starving.

It wasn’t just the pleasure—it was the devotion. Someone was willing to see you, taste you, even in your filthiest moments. And not just accept it, but savor it. The reverence in his touch made your chest tighten. You felt holy in his mouth.

Choso licked and slurped with abandon. When your clit started to ache from overstimulation, he sucked on it harder, and pushed his tongue deeper into your leaking hole. You could barely form thoughts—only gasps and twitching limbs.

Your hands found his hair again, trying to guide him. But Choso, ever the stubborn sinner, gently pried your hands away. Instead, he maneuvered your trembling fingers to hold your own thighs open.

“Be good and keep them open for me, yeah?” he murmured, lips glossy with you.

You moaned, obeying even as your arms trembled under the weight of your pleasure.

Choso used one hand to pull back your clit’s hood, exposing the throbbing nub completely. With the other, he spread your lips open, stretching your hole, watching the way it twitched, slick gushing freely.

His tongue dragged from your entrance to your clit, and when he suckled hard, your thighs spasmed—but his thick arm pinned you in place.

You were dripping—onto his face, down the bed. Choso couldn’t keep up. Without thinking, his thick index finger pressed into you, sliding in with ease from how wet you were.

“Oh! Choso—” you gasped, hips rocking up for more.

“Yeah?” he breathed, finally rising to look at you. "Am I being good, angel?"

Your face—red, glossy, mouth open and eyes glassy—was enough to make him feral.

You were holding your legs shakily, pout forming on your lips as tears gathered in your lashes.

“Kiss me,” you begged, voice broken.

Choso leaned forward, lips brushing yours as his finger thrust slow and deep. Your tongue met his eagerly, licking into his mouth—tasting yourself. His face was still wet with your slick, smearing against your cheek, but you didn’t care. You wanted all of him.

He swallowed your breathless moans in the kiss.

“You want more?” he whispered, voice cracking at the edges.

Then he slid his middle finger in beside the first.

You whimpered at the stretch, the unfamiliar burn, but instead of pulling away—you tilted your hips higher, silently pleading for more of him.

Choso groaned into your mouth, curling his fingers inside your soaked heat.

“Good girl,” he rasped. “You’re taking me so well…”

Choso’s hips pinned your thigh down firmly, spreading you open and holding you steady like you might float away. His fingers moved with skill and care, curling inside you in slow, deliberate strokes.

He kept his pace steady, watching every twitch of your face, every arch of your body, like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

His free hand found your hair, gently carding through it—soothing, grounding you, even as he unraveled you completely.

And when he hit that spot—that spot—you choked on a whine, your voice cracking as you gasped, "Choso... feels weird..."

"I know, angel," he murmured, voice deep and low in your ear. "It’s just new. You’re doing so well. Just breathe. Let go for me."

His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he kept his strokes consistent, coaxing you closer, deeper into the edge. You could feel your body tensing, your legs beginning to tremble.

Then came the third finger.

Your back arched hard, and a raw cry tore from your throat as your orgasm took hold—sudden and all-consuming. Your hands flew off your thighs, one gripping Choso’s wrist, the other fisting the sheets. Your thighs clamped around his arm, body shuddering as the climax rippled through you.

"That's it," he praised, breath brushing warm across your cheek. "Good girl... just like that. Keep going. Make yourself feel good."

His fingers kept moving, not rushing, not overwhelming—just helping you ride it out, gentle wriggles that kept the pleasure alive until it ebbed naturally.

His other hand never left your hair, stroking softly, his lips finding your cheek, your jaw, your neck. Kissing away the tears and sweat, whispering in that low, reverent voice, “You did so good for me. So perfect, angel.”

When he felt your grip loosen and your thighs slowly fall open, he finally let his fingers still inside you, pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

"Just breathe. I’ve got you," he whispered.

He eased his fingers out of you slowly. You whined softly at the emptiness, your body still humming, overstimulated and spent.

"Shhh, I know, baby... I know,” he cooed, brushing hair out of your face. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

Choso lifted his hand, his fingers coated in your release—slick and glistening. You blinked up at him, dazed, still catching your breath.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean—slow and indulgent, like he was savoring something rare and sacred. You watched, wide-eyed, heat blooming fresh in your belly despite your exhaustion.

But he only chuckled softly, eyes crinkling. “Mm. Sweet,” he teased, before leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Now go get some rest, angel.”

You barely noticed him guiding you onto your back, tucking a pillow beneath your head, adjusting the sheets. The scent of his bed—warm, musky, his—wrapped around you like a blanket. It was comforting, familiar in a way you hadn’t expected. Like safety. Like home.

Your breath slowed, deepened. In the background, you heard the faucet run, but your eyes were already too heavy to keep open.

You felt it, though—cool cloth on your thighs, your hips, between your legs. Gentle hands, reverent and unhurried, cleaning you with the same care he worshiped you with.

Soft fingers pulling clothes back into place.

A blanket drawn over your legs.

And then, Choso’s hand returned to your hair, stroking slowly, lulling you deeper into rest. He didn’t say anything. Just breathed with you. Stayed close. Stayed present.

You've never slept more comfortably in your life.

xoxo first time writing smut, kinda nervousss

[dulcet-aurora]

💌 kisses for every question you get right! detective comics. ────── tutor!tim drake x reader. cw: very suggestive. making out. mentions of a boner.

tim, frankly, has no idea how this happened.

he was a registered tutor, busy five days a week on top of patrol and post-secondary prep, helping middle school kids with basic linear equations and fractions. so when you, bubbly cheerleader who by rule of society do not talk to kids like him, approached him holding your failed calculus test with wide eyes and a shaking voice, he thought he was a bit out of his target age bracket.

"i, um, i saw your flier," you'd said as you stood at the side of his desk as kids filed out to next period, the front of your test pressed to your chest to hide the angry red '43%' scrawled on the front.

tim looked up from sliding his laptop into his bag, his palms starting to sweat. he wiped them on his jeans, trying to ignore the blood rushing to his pale cheeks. "um, hey, yeah," he mumbled, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. "do you have a younger sibling? i usually do up to eighth grade."

he heard you sniffle and looked back up, only to see your eyes glossy and your fingers pressed into your test so hard the paper creased. "um, i know this is weird because you don't know me—"

tim swallowed, because he did, in fact, know you. he'd had a crush on you since the seventh grade when you braided his laces together after he tripped for the umpteenth time and glared at anyone who dared to laugh.

"— but it's the beginning of the semester and i'm already failing and i need to pass this class." you said. "i, um, i know you usually help younger kids but your rate is really good, and you have a ninety-four in this class so..."

tim's busy schedule evaporated in his mind as he mumbled out agreements in time with your glossy lips moving.

tuesdays and thursdays at 4:30 you'd show up at his door with a plush keychain hanging from your purse and an earnest gaze on him as you clutched a packet of calculus questions. a sweet smile on your glossed lips as you followed him upstairs.

these sessions felt more like a hangout between friends than a formal tutoring lesson. as nervous as you made him, there was meaningful conversation made between the two of you as you scribbled out the answers in your pink pen, among doodles of flowers and kittens. tim learned you liked to draw but weren't very good, to which he jokingly offered to tutor you in that.

you'd giggled and poked his chest in response to that, followed by a giggly, "you're so sweet, timmy" that made his heart jackhammer against his ribs.

which is how he got here.

"mm, you excited?" you murmur as your hand cradles his jaw, leaving a dainty kiss on the side of his mouth. you can feel a slight pressure on the inside of your thigh as you settle on tim's lap, a little love tap poking you as you adjust yourself.

the back of tim's office chair reclines slightly under the pressure of his back, your knees press against his thighs. the plush of your ass balances on his lap, resting in one of his palms as the other held your hip. tim’s eyes are blown wide as your lipstick stains every inch of his pale skin.

"w-what?" he blinks rapidly, as your thumb gently rubs the red outline that's starting to swell up around his slightly chapped lips.

you giggle, leaving a small kiss on his cheek. there are butterflies flitting about in your tummy, cheeks flushed as pink as your lip gloss as you take in the sight of your tutor's face covered in stains of said gloss.

he makes a sound caught between a whine and a gasp as he realizes, to which you smile. "i— oh, god, i'm so sorry." he stammers, "that, um, i did not p-plan for that or anything. we can— we can, um, we can stop if you wa—"

"you're so cute," you interrupt him with a sigh, your faces so close together that he can feel your warm breath fan over his mouth. tim tilts his head back as you press another kiss to his lips.

your skirt rides up your thighs and tim tries so hard not to look... pretty much anywhere. he can see your eyes half-lidded as you pull away slightly to adjust your position on his lap, your irises so clear under thick lashes. you're pretty, so pretty. if you had told middle-school tim that this would be an event that occurred in his future someday, he would've had a nosebleed just from the very thought.

tim's glasses slip down nose in time with his kiss-swollen lips falling open as you shift forward and press your pelvis into his clothed crotch. "oh, god," he breathes as his eyes tilt upwards, the pads of his fingers lightly rubbing your hip. "stop being mean."

your watch tim's eyes fall closed, his dark lashes standing out among the pink kiss marks littering his pale face. you reach out, pink nails tipping your finger as you push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"cutie," you coo under your breath, tilting your head to press another small kiss to his lips. the little smack sound made his blood rush to his cheeks, his lips chasing yours once you pulled away.

you take his cheek in your palm and thumb off a little lipstick by the corner of his mouth with a little him. "there," you say softly, taking in your work. a flushed boy with your sticky lip gloss prints all over his face and staining his collar. you smile. "thirty kisses for thirty right answers."

"i, um, i think—" tim purses his lips, pressing his legs together in a desperate attempt to calm himself down, "i think you should be r-ready—" he practically chokes as you sink down further into his lap, "—christ— ready for your test."

you squeal, making the point to bounce a little with excitement, clapping your hands together. tim groans, his fingers tightening in your hips reflexively and you squeal a little. "oh, goody," you cheer, patting his cheek. "you're too sweet, timmy."

"y-yeah," he mumbles, "you're going to taste— ace, ace this."

duclet-aurora © 2025. do not plagiarize my writing. ✶ i fucking love pathetic men.

[arinzeture]

What to the Slave is this Fourth of July

“Fellow-citizens, pardon me, allow me to ask, why am I called upon to speak here to-day? What have I, or those I represent, to do with your national independence? Are the great principles of political freedom and of natural justice, embodied in that Declaration of Independence, extended to us? and am I, therefore, called upon to bring our humble offering to the national altar, and to confess the benefits and express devout gratitude for the blessings resulting from your independence to us?

Would to God, both for your sakes and ours, that an affirmative answer could be truthfully returned to these questions! Then would my task be light, and my burden easy and delightful. For who is there so cold, that a nation’s sympathy could not warm him? Who so obdurate and dead to the claims of gratitude, that would not thankfully acknowledge such priceless benefits? Who so stolid and selfish, that would not give his voice to swell the hallelujahs of a nation’s jubilee, when the chains of servitude had been torn from his limbs? I am not that man. In a case like that, the dumb might eloquently speak, and the 'lame man leap as an hart.

But such is not the state of the case. I say it with a sad sense of the disparity between us. I am not included within the pale of glorious anniversary! Your high independence only reveals the immeasurable distance between us. The blessings in which you, this day, rejoice, are not enjoyed in common. The rich inheritance of justice, liberty, prosperity and independence, bequeathed by your fathers, is shared by you, not by me. The sunlight that brought light and healing to you, has brought stripes and death to me. This Fourth July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn.”

Frederick Douglass

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

Pair: Russel Adler x CIAAgent!Reader

“Eyes up.”

The sharpness of his voice slices through the silence in the safehouse. You’re supposed to be reviewing the op layout, tracing enemy movement patterns on a map Adler just handed you. Instead, your eyes have been locked on his mouth for… God knows how long.

That voice—gritty, deliberate, laced with quiet command. Every syllable he utters crawls under your skin and sets your nerves on fire. You barely hear what he’s saying anymore. Not really. All you can do is picture him saying other things. Things he shouldn't say. Things no mentor should ever say to someone like you.

“Hey,” he says again, a little more forceful this time. “You hearing me?” Your name spills off his tongue like a match struck to flame. You shiver.

“Yeah,” you say, too quickly, too breathless. “Say it again—”

His eyes narrow. Fuck.

“I mean—uh—Sir,” you blurt, straightening so fast your chair creaks. “Sorry. I’m listening. I just spaced.”

He takes a slow step toward you, those steel-blue eyes not missing a goddamn thing. You watch the cigarette shift between his fingers, the flicker of amusement behind the cool mask he wears.

“Say it again?” he repeats, voice low. “You wanna clarify that, soldier?”

Your stomach flips. You swear the air gets hotter. You shake your head, flustered. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

He leans in, just slightly—close enough for you to smell the smoke and gun oil on him. His smirk doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Careful. Daydreaming on my time might get you in trouble.”

“Sorry, sir,” you say quickly, looking away.

He lingers a moment longer, then backs off without another word. But as he turns away, you swear you catch the faintest curve of a smile. And now you're not sure which fantasy is worse: the ones you’ve had before… or the ones he might be having, now.

You try to refocus, really you do, but your mind’s still stuck on how close he got—how his voice dipped, how he didn’t not like it. The silence between you stretches thin, filled only by the rustle of maps and the drag of Adler’s cigarette.

He finally speaks again. Low. Almost bored.

“You ever been in a compromised state during a mission?”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“Distractions. Weaknesses. Temptations,” he says, eyes on the table but voice pointed directly at you. “Something that clouds judgment. Gets people killed.”

You shift in your seat. “No, sir.”

“Mm,” he hums. “You sure about that?”

Your pulse trips. “I said I’m sure.”

“I heard what you said.” He flicks ash off the cigarette without looking at you. “Just not sure I believe you.”

He finally lifts his gaze. Holds yours. “You gonna tell me what had you so dazed earlier? Or am I supposed to pretend it didn’t sound like you were about to beg for something?”

Your mouth goes dry. He’s not teasing. He’s not joking.

You scramble for an excuse. “I was tired. That’s all.”

His stare hardens. “Try again.”

You exhale, frustrated with yourself. “You said my name and I… I got distracted. Just caught me off guard.”

“You always this reactive to the sound of my voice?”

You hesitate. That’s not a question he’d ask unless he already knows the answer.

“Only when you use it like that,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.

And then it’s too quiet.

Adler walks around the table and stops directly behind you. You don’t dare turn around. You can feel his presence, warm and looming, practically burning into the back of your neck.

“You got a mouth on you,” he murmurs, his voice grazing the shell of your ear. “Problem is, I think you want me to do more than talk.”

You swallow thickly, hands tightening on the edge of the table. “What if I do?”

A long pause.

“Then you better learn to keep it together when I give you orders. Because if you slip like that in front of anyone else, it’s not discipline I’ll be handing out. It’s a fucking warning.”

He steps around you now, his face inches from yours, tone dipping into something darker—silk over steel.

“Earn the praise you’re fantasizing about. Make me want to say your name the way you really want it.”

You stare up at him, heat curling low in your belly. You’re breathless. And you hate how much you’d let him ruin you if he really wanted to.

“Understood?” he says.

You nod, quietly, almost reverent. “Yes, Sir.”

He smirks. “Good. Now focus, before I start wondering if your punishment needs to come before the mission.”

TWO DAYS LATER – SAFEHOUSE, NIGHT

The op went clean. Textbook. You were sharp, fast, locked in. But not once did Adler look at you afterward. Not on the exfil, not during the debrief, not even when the others cleared out. He didn’t say a word. And that silence was worse than anything else.

You’re alone now—boots unlaced, bruised, and restless. You should be sleeping. But there’s no peace in you. Not when you know he’s just down the hall. Not when your skin still hums from the sound of his voice two days ago.

Your hand’s on the doorknob before you even realize what you’re doing.

You knock. Once. Twice.

Then his voice, flat and unreadable: “Come in.”

You step inside and shut the door behind you.

Adler’s at the desk. The only light in the room is a half-dead lamp throwing a golden halo across his face. His coat’s off, sleeves rolled up, tie loose around his neck. He doesn’t look surprised to see you. Doesn’t look pleased either.

He just says, “Well?”

“I did everything right,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “You saw it.”

He doesn’t respond.

“I kept it together. I followed every order.”

Adler leans back in the chair, studying you like you’re something on the end of his barrel.

“And you want a reward for that?” “No. I want the truth.” “About what?” “About whether you meant it.”

He stands slowly, eyes never leaving yours as he rounds the desk. You feel small under the weight of his attention, pulse roaring in your ears.

“I meant all of it,” he says. “I meant it when I said you needed discipline. Meant it when I said I could say your name in a way you’d never forget.”

You breathe in, shallow and sharp. “Then do it.”

He stops in front of you, a hand coming up—not touching, just hovering close enough to your throat to make you burn with the need for it.

“You really want that?” he says. “You want me to praise you like a good little soldier? Or do you just want me to break you open until all that smart-mouth defiance melts off your face?”

Your breath catches.

“I want you,” you say, eyes wide, honesty spilling out like blood. “I want whatever you're holding back.”

A beat of silence.

Then Adler finally, finally, touches you—his hand cupping your jaw, thumb dragging across your cheek like he’s trying to memorize what you look like right before you fall apart.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he says, almost a whisper.

“Then show me.”

He kisses you. Hard. Controlled. Like a punishment. And you melt into it like you’ve been waiting your whole life for this exact kind of ruin. His mouth is rough, possessive. When he pulls back, there’s a low, dangerous smile tugging at his lips.

“Don’t call me Adler in here,” he murmurs.

You stare, dazed. “Then what do I call you?”

He leans down, lips at your ear again. “Sir will do just fine.”

[kingsmoot]

do u think ned would’ve been able to kill child theon had balon rebelled

i think this is an extremely interesting question and after putting some very hard thought into what we know of ned in canon and what i feel about ned in my heart i have arrived at an answer i am very confident in. yes.

on the one hand, ned doesn't tolerate killing children. gregor's brutal slaying of elia's children for robert's cause drove a wedge between them that only lyanna's death could remove. i talk in this post about how my understanding is that robert only allowed theon to be taken captive rather than put to the sword BECAUSE lya's and elia's children's corpses were so fresh on both his and ned's minds.

we know that in agot ned refers to robert's plans to kill dany as the murder of another child, despite dany being 14 and pregnant with khal drogo's heir. but it could be likely that theon would not be considered a child in ned's mind at that same age because of his gender.

another interesting parallel to these two situations is that robert sees dany as being inherently tainted and dangerous because of her targaryen blood. we know that ned sees theon as the same due to his ironborn blood, and him being a little boy-child to a man who threatens robert's throne gives him less sympathy and understanding than a little girl-child of the same.

we also know, as readers, that killing theon would have done nothing to stay balon's hand. he had given theon up for dead as soon as he was taken. but ned does not know that (also discussed in the linked post).

do i think ned could behead a child who he raised from 9? who ate at his table and played with his children and joined him on hunts and feast days? who prayed in his sept and his godswood and trained in his yard?

he killed his daughter's dog on the tyrannically cruel whim of the lannister bitch because his king backed it. i think he would have killed theon for less, tbh.

it is hard for me to reconcile this with what it seems like ned would do, as someone who is kind to his wife and children and so interested in doing what is right. but what is right in ned's mind is the westerosi social order, which is pinned on the iron throne and its absolute authority.

i used to think that he wouldn't, especially because of how be offered an escape route for cers and her kids because he knew that confirming her affair with jaime would make robert kill them all. if he would go so far and insist so stubbornly on sparing the lannister bitch and her abhorent demonspawn born of incest and reviled by the gods, would be truly kill theon? an innocent child he took as a war prize to groom into a complacent northern puppet dictator of the iron islands?

yes.

theon was taken into ned's custody with the understanding of every adult involved that he would be killed if balon raised any further rebellions. the terms of his capture were clear. the series opens with ned enacting the king's justice on desperate men, night's watch deserters who had no other choice and nowhere else to go. he kills lady because his king decrees that she must die, despite knowing the order comes from robert's own complacency and bitterness in his antagonistic political marriage to a woman ned openly hates. despite knowing that lady was not involved in the incident at all and that killing her is nothing but the vindictive decree of a cruel and petulant tyrant, backed by her ineffectual burnout husband who holds absolute power in the realm.

ned never liked theon half as much as he liked lady. he would've killed him in a heartbeat and sent his bones to pyke for his lady mother to mourn, as is proper northern custom.

[onlyywwon]

[ 1:13 ] - y.jw (mdni)

☆ ( 星星 ) ... "i can't keep my hands off of you. baby they don't know you like i do. and that's fine cause you're all mine."  ‘ 连字符 ’ ♡ :

── ˙ ̟ ★ pairing: jungwon + fem!reader ⟡ !

── ˙ ̟ ★ genre: smut (semi-publc sex, f recieving, p in v, dom!jungwon, sub!reader, praise, dirty talk, implied fwb, nicknames: baby, angel, pretty girl...) ⟡ !

╰ a/n: hi there! my first smut ! this one was rushed cause i woke up from sleep to just do this cause jungwon. enough reason :>

you shouldn't be here, the two of you should definitely not be here right now. and even if you were, you shouldn't be doing this here.

it's past closing hours at your university. the library is technically closed — but since you were an assisstant to the librarian, you had the keys. you had recieved a call from jungwon asking if you were still at the campus. he had gotten himself locked in the library by mistake, not that he'd mind since he considered it his second home, but tonight he had places to be. and you being the ever helpful friend you were, ran to help him out.

and right now? he has you pressed up against the desk he usually sat at, quiet, secluded and barely lit — a perfect little pocket of shadows swallowing both of your figures.

his glasses are off, thrown somewhere onto the desk on where his belongings sat, lips latched onto your exposed collarbone, biting it lightly. his hair is slightly messy, sleeves of his cardigan rolled up — betraying his calm and composed persona in the wake of others.

"you're crazy," you whisper, breathless, "someone could come in."

who are you kidding? this whole place is about to be closed up, who's actually going to show up now, unless it's the watchman doing his rounds.

"oh yeah?," you could hear the smirk on his face, as he let go of your skin, pressing a soft kiss to relieve the pain and reached up to whisper softly in your ear, "and who's gonna walk in huh? even if they did, so what huh?"

you gasped, as he sat down on a chair, pulling you down with him, and settling you in his lap. his hands gripped your thighs, your skirt bunched up around your hips as he shoved your panties aside. "so wet baby, you're soaked. just from me marking you? or were you expecting this angel?" without waiting for an answer, he freed his length from the confines of his dress pants. hard and leaking, tip nudging your soaked folds. you let out a quiet moan, your hands perched on his broad shoulders.

"yeah, like that baby?", he questioned, his breath ragged as he composed himself. you managed a nod, before his hands pulled you up, lining himself at your entrance, smearing his length with your slickness, before slowly sinking you down on him.

so hard. so full. so warm.

you bit your lip to prevent a scream as your grip on his shoulders tightened. he's leaned back in the chair, letting out low grunts as his hands press in to your hips to keep you in place.

"take your time," he murmurs, voice thick and low, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips, "don't rush it baby, i want you to feel it."

and you do. oh god you do.

he fills you up so good, so slow, the stretch burning in the best way possible. he could feel the way you're sucking him in, your walls fluttering around him, even if he hasn't moved yet.

"so pretty for me, aren't you baby?", he mutters, slowly, nudging himself between your walls. you bury your face in his neck, hiding your whines.

he's so deep inside you, filling you to the brim, his hands moving to stroke your things like he's comforting you — while he keeps you stuffed.

and then you hear it — footsteps.

the two of you still completely, his hands coming up to your mouth instinctively, palm pressing gently over your lips. he leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, tone hushed, "don't make a sound."

you don't mean to, but the fear of being caught bubbling inside you, lead you to clench around him so tight, eyes wide and pulse pounding. his breathing is steady, controlled, trying to not make a sound — but you feel him twitch inside you.

to both your luck, the footsteps fade.

jungwon chuckles — low and cocky.

"you like that?" he whispers, tone dripping with amusement. "you got so tight right now baby."

"jungwon- please-"

"what is it baby? want me to fuck you?" he tilts his head, leaning in, his lips hovering over yours, warm breath fanning your face. "go on then, baby. take what you want."

you whimper, lifting yourself up slightly, then sinking back down slowly, feeling the drag of his cock along your gummy walls. his head falls back, jaws clenched, eyes fluttering shut at the action.

"that's it," he groans. "just like that angel. show me how bad you need me."

and you do.

"won- aahh," you start moving— slow at first, then more desperate, hips rocking and thighs trembling. the chair under the two of you creaks but neither of you seem to care, lost in each other. his hands never stop touching— guiding, teasing, squeezing all over.

"can't believe," he drawls, "the whole school thinks i'm just some quiet little nerd. if only they knew how good you look bouncing on my cock like this."

"mmhm, won-" you cry out, but he catches it, kissing you to muffle the sounds. he could tell you were close, your walls digging in on him, bringing him to the edge as well.

"you gonna cum for me pretty girl?" he pants, mouth against yours. "come on baby, make a mess on me."

you clamp around him, losing it, body shaking as you fall apart. "miliking me so well, huh baby?" he mumbles, as he thrusts up— deep, fast, chasing his own high with a quiet groan. spilling into you as he holds you down.

you fall on him, head resting on his shoulder. "you did so well angel," he presses a kiss to your temple, one hand perched on your waist, the other stroking your hair.

© onlyywwon 2025. all rights reserved.please do not copy, translate, or publish my works on any other sites.

[bowxs]

Billy Butcher secretly fucking Homelander’s PR girlfriend (or wife). She gives him information and he gives her a couple of o’s *wink wink*😏 She, in a cock drunk state, strokes his ego by telling him how much better he is than Homelander.

im so sorry this took me so long to get to :(( it was kinda rushed but i hope its okay

um TW for one use of good girl.. i know. im sorry.

you knew the difference between right from wrong. giving homelanders information out to people who were planning on taking them down? wrong. cheating on your husband? wrong. cheating on your husband with the same person who was planning on taking him down? very wrong. that didnt mean you cared about what was right

"c'mon love, what else is that husband of yours plannin'?" butcher questioned- even now with his fingers pumping in and out of you at a stupidly slow pace- just enough for you to be wanting more. enough for you to answer his questions.

"hes uhm- fuck. heard him talking about- bout some facility-" you feel butchers fingers speed up, just enough that it urges you to keep going. "thats it, love" he all but cooed at you. "and testing some uh- mnh god- some V on people-"

"good girl, doin' so well for me" his fingers finally return to their faster pace, curling and stretching in ways that had you almost seeing heaven- something your husband could never give you. not that he even tired

"oh, butcher!" your head was thrown back in ecstacy, your hand holding onto his wrist as you tried to keep him inside of you, not wanting him to pull away anymore.

"y'tight, doll. your husband ever fuck you this good?" his hand pumped in and out of you relentlessly, just wanting you to agree with him- stroke his ego a bit and tell him he fingerbanged you better than your own husband. better than a supe.

"god no- ngh- your better" you were babbling on at this point, saying something about how good his fingers felt and how much homelander sucked in bed- but it all didnt matter as your orgasm washed over you in that delicious way you havent felt since the last time you saw butcher

"there ya go, love. now what were you saying about that facility?"

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Finally we’ve got “Established Buddie fighting over silly things!” Love some ultimately-low stakes tension for them!

📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸 (they’re in LA! Where they belong! Hopefully they’ll fully realize that soon! And maybe that party leads to an in-LA job opportunity for Buck 👀? But Eddie’s getting anxious I’m sure he’ll deal with that in a mature and rational manner :p seriously I love the relationship you’ve built for them here! Joining their families and building a life together piece by piece in the way they’ve always deserved! Love it!)

⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️ (hehe I’m already so giggly at this one - they’re gonna be so stupid I can just feel it! Can’t wait to find out what the fight is about! My current guess is it’s something like taking different sides in a reality show’s couple’s fight. Whatever it is I can’t wait to see them be dumb about it!)

- PCA <3

Okay tackling this one first because I'm trying to do a long 📸 ask for every other long ask I answer.

93 or 500 for 📸 (We are finally at the happily ever after part haha!):

---

“Buck,” Eddie laughs. “Oh my god.”

“And I totally would’ve, like, groveled more,” Buck says. “But Lena was there. You brought Lena grocery shopping!”

“What was wrong with Lena?” Eddie asks. “Lena was nice!”

“Lena replaced me! You guys put her name over mine in tape. She was your new best friend!” Buck protests.

Eddie shakes his head. “Not true. She was temporary. The tape thing… Okay, yeah. That was someone else, not me. And she was not my new best friend. She was, like, the only thing comparable when I couldn’t talk to you. I was not a good friend to her. I would have forgotten she existed if you were there.”

It goes on and on and on. Just like that. In a series of late night conversations, usually aided by wine but once by scotch, they air it all out. Not just the shit between them, but the shit that happened across all the years they were separated. Until eventually, there’s nothing left. Until there are no unknown; nothing unsaid or unasked looming between them. Until one day, Eddie goes to sleep with no questions. At least, not ones about Buck and himself. 

It’s all just a sure thing. 

iii.

Moving across the country isn’t easy, even on your third crack at it. It doesn’t matter if Eddie is in the best position he ever has been, while moving. It still sucks. 

Currently, they’re driving through New Mexico. Buck is towing a trailer with all the furniture and things they couldn’t ship in his Jeep. Grumpy, crated, is in his back seat. Eddie has the kids in his Prius. A cross-country road trip in a Prius isn’t ideal or particularly spacious. But, hey, it’s at least fuel efficient. A little shaky at some points on the freeway, but it is what it is. Eddie is just really ready to get to their new home.

He has about a hundred things on his mind before he can really relax into the excitement of it all. Of their beautiful home, only a few blocks away from Maddie and Chimney. It has a pool. They’re moving in June. Eddie should be thinking mostly about this pool. Instead, he’s stressed. He’s thinking about the honest-to-god angry email sitting in his inbox from his mother, detailing all the reasons she’s disappointed he’s decided to move back to Los Angeles, and take Chris so far from them again. He’s thinking about how Buck’s contract starts in a week, and wondering how that adjustment will go while he’s readjusting to the 118. Not that that will be hard. 

---

75 or 500 for ⚫️ (Almost done this one!!! you were literally almost right)

---

“She’s not annoying,” Eddie argues, pouting a little. He only pouts like this when he’s really out of his senses. He needs sleep. 

Buck gives him a skeptical look.

“She’s not!” Eddie insists. “She’s, like, whimsical.” 

“Whimsical?” Buck echoes. 

“Yeah!” Eddie insists. “She’s got funny opinions. She’s bubbly. She says whatever she’s thinking. She’s nice to literally everyone. That’s a good person to have around.”

“You literally made fun of her for taking her star sign too seriously,” Buck reminds him,

“And I will make fun of you for that, too,” Eddie reminds him. 

“We have an eighty-five percent compatibility score, Eddie,” Buck says. “Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Yeah,” Eddie confirms. “Nothing. But I’m glad it means something to you.”

“You really voted for annoying Claire and annoying Dalton because Claire reminds you of me?” Buck asks. 

Eddie nods. “I think she deserves the fifteen thousand dollar prize and all expenses paid vacation to Turks and Caicos.”

Buck makes an expression Eddie can only describe as gooey. “Aww.”

“Can you ever possibly forgive me for betraying the sanctity of reality TV couple voting?” Eddie asks.

Buck smirks. “Yeah, I think I can.”

“Good,” Eddie sighs. “Because I sort of want to nap for several hours and I would really like it if you were part of that experience.”

Buck smiles at him. “I think we can manage that.”

Thank god. 

“Aw,” Buck says as he parks the Jeep. “That was our first fight.”

“That was not our first fight,” Eddie shakes his head. 

“What? Yes!”

“Buck, we have fought plenty of times,” Eddie corrects him. “Do you remember how we met? Or the grocery store? Or the stupid fucking dog?”

“No, that doesn’t count,” Buck says. “None of those count. And Blaze wasn’t stupid. He was above average intelligence for a beagle, I think.”

So, below average intelligence for a different dog?

“Why don’t those count?” Eddie laughs. 

“We weren’t dating,” Buck says. “So this is our first fight as a couple.”

“Mm,” Eddie nods. “Technicalities. Okay.”

“Okay?” Buck frowns. “Okay, what?” 

Eddie shrugs. “Sure, we could say that, but… It didn’t feel any different. You’re still the most aggravating person to argue with, and the person I least ever want to argue with, so…”

Buck smirks. “Because I’m so right and correct.”

“Did I say that?” Eddie asks.

[lenitriedtowritestuff]

Trial by Fire (2)

Part 2 to "The Run and Go"

Natasha RomanoffxEx-Widow!Reader // Enemies to Lovers(ish), Series

*Images are not mine, credit to its creators and sources

Summary: Natasha is figuring out why you were at the Triskellion. Something about your past mission doesn’t sit well with you. You’re not sure you’re willing to find out why.

Trigger Warning:  Nightmares, Fire, Death, Dead Bodies, Burns, poor understanding of computers and coding, physical/emotional abuse, The Red Room, not proofread, I think that's it?

They/Them pronouns used for the reader*

Word Count: 3,714

A/N: Kinda rushed but if I'm not made to feel like I'm on a time crunch, I won't post, so, here we are

Let me know if anything needs to be fixed!

← Part 1 // Part 3 → 

Main Masterlist | MCU Fics | Recced Fics

After the Battle of New York, any agent that had not known of Natasha Romanoff’s reputation most certainly knew about it now. It didn’t matter if they knew her as the Avenger, the former KGB assassin or even the Red Room graduate, there was usually some form of respect, fear or mistrust from the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents she worked with, day in and day out.

This was accentuated by the way the same agents were subtly moving out of the Widow’s way as she strode purposefully through the Triskelion’s halls, determined to reach Fury’s office as quickly as possible.

“The Red Room still exists, Natasha. Dreykov isn’t dead.”

Her jaw clenched tightly, her shoulders wound up tensely. She doesn’t want to believe you. Blowing up that building, killing an innocent child for the life of her father could not have been for nothing. Dreykov was dead. The Red Room was destroyed. Not only had she cut off its head, she had burned him to the ground. 

But if you were right…

“Dreykov’s daughter,” Loki’s chilling voice echoes in her head and she can’t help the ice that settles within her. She had figured Clint would involuntarily spill her past to the norse god once she had learned of Loki’s mind control. Not only did she know he would try to manipulate her emotions, she was counting on it. She had had her fill of egotistical and arrogant men, and every single one would always give away their hand. 

Yet being reminded of the young girl that had been sacrificed–that she had sacrificed– for the sins of her father, for the price of liberation–of her freedom– had made it feel like a bucket of ice cold water had been dropped on her. For a split second, she had not been the fearless, Black Widow assassin, but the young, recently defected woman with no footing in the world. 

If Dreykov was truly not dead… No. His daughter was not murdered in vain. The Red Room was destroyed. 

But then why would you lie?

She’s storming into Fury’s office before she could even begin to ponder the question. 

“We need to talk.” The Widow’s tone left no room for argument. 

“I’m in a meeting.” Fury levels an unimpressed look at the agent. 

“Someone just slipped in and out, undetected, with what is most definitely sensitive intel. I think that takes precedence,” she challenges, crossing her arms over her chest while glaring at the man in front of her. 

“Hence the meeting,” he responds, his tone equally as flat and unimpressed as before.

Silence stretched on between them for a few beats, their eyes narrowed, challenging the other to back down. 

Fury sighed in defeat, leaning back on his chair before glancing back at his screen. It was pointless to wait for her to back down. They both knew the Widow would not be leaving until she got her answers. 

“I’ll call you back,” Fury announces to the screen before turning it off. 

But Natasha does not feel victorious. 

“What do we know?” Natasha asks pointedly. 

“I already have ECT investigating what was stolen. SCR is working on taking down the bug, and COS is looking through our systems to find our thief.”

“I already know who you’re looking for,” she supplied, crossing her eyes over her chest. 

“You fought them, if that lip of yours is of any indication. Tell me, Romanoff, any old contacts we should know about?” Fury asks, eyebrows raised, and Natasha couldn’t help but stiffen. 

The jab was not an implication of mistrust, nor distrust for that matter. It wasn’t even a provocation. This was more so conjuncture, a subtle reminder that they’re both on the same side.

And yet, the comment made her take a pause. It had made her think of the last time she had seen you. She was seventeen and about to go through her graduation ceremony, while you were about to be recycled again. You were made to spar, and the match lasted less than five minutes. Natasha had you in a headlock when the Madame’s chilling lilt reached her ears, a simple command to let you go. 

You fell forward, catching your fall with your hands. The Madame approached you, an unnerving smile set on her lips, before she ordered you to stand. You had barely made it to your feet before she slammed against you, pushing you back until your back hit the wall.

“Break out of my hold,” she instructed plainly in flawless russian. 

And you tried, but she would slam against you everytime you escaped, her grip around your neck getting stronger and stronger, while your counter attacks were getting weaker and weaker. 

She let go and you collapsed to your knees, gasping and coughing for air. The Madame turned towards Natasha before slipping another command. “Again.”

“Call them a childhood friend,” Natasha replied, her shoulders tense. 

“A Widow, then.”

“Ex-Widow.”

“Ex-Widow,” Fury corrected. “And did this childhood friend happen to mention why they were here?”

“They said Dreykov isn’t dead.” 

She watches Fury’s reaction attentively. His expression was as stoic as ever, his features unmoving. Except that there was something in his eyes, almost a flicker of surprise. 

She knew the man carried many secrets, too many for his own good, yet it seemed like the news was something he genuinely did not know if. 

The realization made the heaviness in her chest feel lighter. That one of the very few people she had learned to trust had not betrayed her yet.

“As far as we are aware, the Red Room fell after you killed Dreykov in your defection to S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Fury answered as if he were choosing his words cafefully. 

“‘As far as you’re aware’? That’s not good enough, Nick. Either it was destroyed or it wasn’t. Either he’s dead, or he’s’ still out there. Which is it?” Natasha presses, anger bubbling beneath the surface.

And then, a thought occurred to her. One that made her blood run cold and her shoulders to tense. 

“What exactly happened after I killed Dreykov?”

She had never asked. Why would she? She had been conditioned since childhood to simply follow orders, no questions asked. It was all she’d ever known. It had taken years for her to truly grasp the concept that she had gained the freedom of choice and autonomy. 

But now she’s questioning why she never followed up on it. Had S.H.I.E.L.D. raided any known Red Room locations? Had any of the girls been rescued after Dreykov’s death? Had S.H.I.E.L.D. had any leads to begin with? If they had the resources to find him, to assassinate him, they surely had the resources to fully shut down the Red Room and crush any whisper that tried to get away. 

But If S.H.I.E.L.D. had left the Red Room to crumble on its own, what was stopping some other power to take over the vacuum of Dreykov’s absence? That is if he’s even dead in the first place

“That would be classified,” Fury’s voice was almost avoidant. 

And the words simply threw an accelerator over the fire of Natasha’s anger.

“What happened to the Red Room after I killed Dreykov, Nick?” Her voice was sharp enough to cut through steel.

“I can’t tell you, Natasha,” Fury repeated, but his tone was different, more resolved. Yet, there was something in his eye, a subtle regret lingering in his gaze.

Natasha clenched her jaw tightly, feeling her mask of indifference slipping away from her. 

“What’s the plan?” She changes the topic, her tone even and steady.

“We’re waiting on ECT’s report before we move forward,” Fury answered smoothly. 

“Call me when there’s more,” Nat says shortly, before turning to leave.

“I do believe,” he begins, making Natasha stop in her tracks, “those mission files haven’t been transcribed yet.” 

Anyone who wasn’t paying attention may have disregarded it as an offhand comment. But she recognized it for the lifeline it was, no matter how thin it was. 

Those files must still be in the archives somewhere. Anyone level 6 or above could access it easily, a level 7 agent would have no problem. 

Natasha sent him a stiff nod in acknowledgement. She walks towards the door again, until his voice pierces the silence once more.

“You let them go, didn’t you?”

Natasha froze at the door’s entrance for just a second, and that second was one too long.

Natasha Romanoff figured she would never see you again. That you would be nothing more than a ghost of her past. Yet she found herself saying your name out loud for the first time in years, “that’s who you’re looking for.”

~~~

You couldn’t breathe. Smoke was choking out what little air was in your lungs. Hot flames surrounded you, licking at your skin and burning the material of your suit. Metal groaned from above you, the structure’s steel beams threatening to give to the power of the fire that consumed it. Tears escaped your eyes, but they did not roll down your cheeks, the heat that surrounded you being intense enough to make them evaporate in an instant.

Something warm and viscous clings your hands. It wasn’t until you looked down that you realized it was blood and you innately know that it is not your own. Your heart began pounding loudly in your chest, the red fluid that clung to your skin simply smearing over the palms of your hands, slicking your ash covered pants.

A scream rings over the thunder of crackling fire. It was pained, and loud, and shill, and unending, and panic climbs up your throat, your hands stilling instantly, because you recognized it. You’ve heard it before, you’ve been here before and that realization makes your heart roar in your ears, your breaths coming in short and ragged. 

You tried to move, you’re not sure if it's away or towards it, but  you couldn’t. Your muscles were locked in place, your feet glued to the floor. 

You left them, a loud, booming voice filled your ears, You let them die. A cold shudder rips through you, despite the overwhelming heat. The voice sounds familiar, but there’s something in the back of your mind that won’t let you recognize it.

But it was enough to break you from your frozen state. Your legs move before your brain could ever tell them to do so and suddenly you’re running through piles of rubble and wreckage. Flames and smoke cloud your vision, making it impossible to know what’s in the way or where you’re going, but you still run.

A loud metallic groan comes from somewhere above you again, and something large breaks away from the ceiling. You looked up. Maybe you shouldn’t have, but you catch a glimpse of the steel beam threatening to crush you under its weight. You lunge out of its way on instinct, pain exploding in your chest and stomach the moment you meet the ground. 

The smoke is thicker now, coating your throat and lungs in soot and ash, making you cough  out what little air you could breathe. Your limbs feel heavy, almost as if pins and needles were pricking into your skin. You had to leave, you had to get out. You tried to stand, but the soles of your boots kept slipping on grit and gravel. 

Running is pointless. 

The edges of your vision are darkening, a hazy feeling taking over your mind.

And then the outline of a figure to your right catches your eye. You thought it was nothing more than rubble and flame, but the longer you stared, the more starkly, undoubtedly, human it became. A scream gets caught in your throat when you recognize who it is. 

Her body is permanently still, the fire that surrounds you singeing the edges of her black tactical suit and slowly eating away at her skin. But that’s not what struck you. It was the look of pain and fear etched onto her features, her gaze glassy, and cold and dead.

The flames danced in her eyes, making it seem like her pupils had moved. 

Except that it wasn’t the fire. Her stare bore into you with unfiltered anger, the look she leveled at you scrutinizing and accusing. She shifted away from the pile of rubble to look directly at your frozen figure. 

You left us, the same voice from earlier comes out her mouth, loud and accusing, you let us die.

Guilt seized your heart as you screamed without realizing it. You tried backing away from her, only for something, someone, to grab ahold of your wrist, their grip tight and unwavering. You turned to see another girl in a similar state, flames crawling up her skin. You try to wrench yourself free, but her grip was ironclad. 

The fire climbed up her arms, curving through her fingertips, before reaching your wrists, burning the fabric of your black suit and the edges of your skin. 

You are a coward, the same voice came from the girl who held you tightly, her tone equally cold and accusing. 

The girl in front of you grabs ahold of your foot and fear squeezes your heart impossibly tight, your lungs choking on ash. Fire crawled along her arms too, before the material of your boot was encased in it. You try kicking her hand away to no avail. Her grip was made of iron, just as the girl’s behind you. Movement from both sides of your peripheral catches your attention, two other familiar faces crawling towards you before they grab at you. 

They were dragging you with them, the way it was supposed to be. 

“I’m sorry,” your words were whispered and broken and not enough. Sorry would not reverse what happened, it would not bring them back.

A loud metallic groan rings all around you and a hard, white light shines from above you. The roof directly above you gives away, caving in over you as the flames consume everything around you.

You sat bolt right on the bed, your heart hammering so hard against your ribs, you think they might break. Your lungs choke on ash and smoke, leaving you gasping desperately for clean air. Screams echoing loudly in your ears, and you’re not sure if it's theirs or if they were your own. The air felt cold and frigid despite the sweat that rolled down your back and clung to your skin.

There was a heavy weight on your chest as your heart continued to drum at its quickened pace. The thin linen blanket that clung to your body felt restricting, threatening to wrap you up and never letting you go, prompting you to rip it off of you.

Your fingers grip onto the fabric of your night shirt, your other hand gets tangled in the bed’s comforter in a desperate attempt at grounding yourself. You close your eyes tightly, forcing yourself to breathe through the fug that clouded your senses.

Until piercing eyes stab you with a look of pure hatred and heavy with blame. 

Your heart felt like lead in your chest, sinking you deeper and deeper into the bed that suddenly felt too soft beneath you. 

The bed creaks under you when you swing your legs over to sit at the edge. Your leg bounces off the ground at a quickened pace, keeping up with your beating heart.

The room you're in is dark, save for the few streaks of light from the parking lot street lamp that streamed in through the motel’s curtains.  

Silence gives way to the sound of a passing car with loud, blaring music, despite the hour, and you could not be more grateful for it. But it had left as quickly as it came, leaving you with only the rustling of the bedsheets from under you.

You rub your hands over your face, wiping away the thin sheet of perspiration that clings to your skin. The feeling grounds you, a subtle reminder that you are awake despite your mind still wandering through your nightmare. Slowly, the pounding in your chest slows to a steady rhythm. The air is no longer smokey, replaced by a faint, artificial lemon detergent and the usual motel musk. It’s only now that you become aware of how dry your mouth felt and how scratchy your throat was. 

It would be a lost cause to try to go back to sleep. Your heart was still beating hard in your chest. Any semblance of exhaustion was chased away by your adrenaline infused nightmare.

The carpet flooring feels scratchy under your feet as you shuffle towards the bathroom. You didn’t bother turning the light on. 

Instead your hand finds the faucet handle in the dark, and you listen to the water run for a minute. An odd sense of calm floods your senses when you feel the cool liquid make contact with your skin. Water pools up within your cupped hands before you bring it up towards your face, as if hoping the liquid would wash away any lingering remnants of your nightmare.

Small droplets run down your face and you let out a small puff of air, blowing away any of the water that had clung to your lips, before finally turning off the faucet. 

You take a drink from your cupped hands. Maybe it was gross, but you don’t care.The water soothed the scratchiness of your throat and made your heart beat at a reasonable pace. 

You shut the water off, standing in front of the sink for a few minutes. You catch the outline of yourself in the mirror, though you can’t make out any of your features in the darkness.

You preferred it that way.

With a deep breath, you leave the bathroom in search of the small, red pen drive with the stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. information.

Something about the Triskelion’s infiltration mission had been bothering you from the moment you stepped inside the cheap motel a state over. There was a terrible, sinking feeling gnawing at your stomach, screaming at you that something was horribly, terribly wrong. The information that you had stolen was begging you to look into it, to read over the files that had been completely erased from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s databases. 

To do so would be completely unprofessional, not to mention that it would most likely get you killed if anyone were to find out you went through it. Part of the job was to never ask questions, you simply get the job done. You do not open the package, you do not speak to the target, you do not get involved. So what is it about that stupid flash drive that was making you want to break the number one rule of your job?

Your hand reaches over to the nightstand, your finger wrapping around the small piece of technology. You fidget with it, turning and twisting the metal piece in your hands as you continue to contemplate what you should do with it. 

The sinking feeling in your stomach was telling you to read through them. Hell, it was telling you to destroy it. The thought wasn’t what scared you, it was the why.

What are you thinking? The mere fact that you’re even considering opening it baffles you. 

But that nagging feeling was too adamant to ignore. 

A sigh escapes you, but you reach for your laptop anyways. There was a slight hesitation in your movements. Surely, the files are about some weapons deal or the tracking of an international drug trade. Perhaps it is a list of corrupt government officials or of recovered contraband. 

You finally stuck the pen drive in the USB port, the piece of metal putting up slight resistance before sliding in. The drives’ window popped up immediately, all the stolen folders names on display before you. 

The titles give away no hint about what the information is. Some were just a series of numbers, others held dates of no significant importance. Your hands twitch slightly, the cursor hovering over the unopened documents. Your heart roars in your ears for reasons you can’t explain.

You do not read the files. Instead, you select every single folder and download a copy of every single one of them into your personal laptop, hiding them behind heavy encryption codes for good measure. 

The nagging feeling had still not gone away. An intuitive part of you kept yelling at you to look through it, that whatever that drive contains is important and dangerous. Yet there was another unnamed voice in the back of your mind whispering that it was none of your business, that you should not concern yourself with its contents. 

Exhaustion was nipping at your body, your movements somewhat sluggish, but your mind was wide awake. A groan slips past your lips and you rub away at the stinging sensation in your eyes. There would be no rest for you, no matter how much you wanted it. 

After ejecting the drive from your laptop, you throw all of your belongings into your travel bag. Having access to the stolen information calmed the sinking feeling in your stomach, despite the tension that had settled into your shoulders. 

Not finishing the mission was not an option, you justified. You needed to get paid, after all. 

The vibrations of your phone ringing against the nightstand startle you away from your thoughts. You take a quick glance outside, seeing the telltale signs of dawn streaking through the blinds. 

You scowled, knowing exactly who’s calling and wanting nothing more than to ignore him. 

But you can’t. It’s something you can’t afford to do.

“Hello?” you answer, your voice sounding lower than usual.

“Oh good, you’re alive. I have a mission for you,” a gravelly voice crackled through the phone.

“I’m still sort of caught up in the last one you gave me,” you suppress the groan threatening to let your exasperation known.

“So?”

 you roll your eyes and bite your tongue. You’re not allowed to refuse.

“What do you need?”

“I need you to smuggle something for me.”

← Part 1 // Part 3 → 

[h0rnyr3id]

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ Running into flames. Spencer Reid smut!

Spencer Reid x bau agent!reader

(First time ever writing smut! Please be patient.)

Summary: After an argument at the station and a reckless move that almost got you killed, you find yourself on your knees in Spencer’s motel room, begging him to use you the only way he knows how. Sometimes the fire isn’t in the house — it’s between you and him.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: Explicit smut (oral m!receiving, rough sex, unprotected sex, throat fucking), rough language, established relationship but full of tension, reckless behavior, mild angst, possessive/protective!Spencer, power dynamics, crying, minor degradation/praise kink, slight impact play (hair pulling), raw emotions, angry sex that turns soft at the end, implied aftercare, general Criminal Minds themes (mentions of danger/fire/violence), 18+ only. MDNI

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

I wrapped three times on his motel door— old, slightly mouldy. I grimaced. No response— no sound beneath the door separating me and the man I wanted the most.

I wrapped again, louder. I heard him, his rough voice. Slightly gone from the argument we had a few hours earlier in the police station.

“I’m coming!” He barked out— most likely followed by a sigh he couldn’t help but do, something I knew all too well.

The door swung open. He looked different — no tie, no mask he hid behind like it was his second face. Just raw edges, eyes darker than usual, hair ruffled like hands had been ran through it nonstop.

“What are you doing here?” His tone dripped with irritation plaguing the question. But I couldn’t hear, everything went blank. Silent.

Then he repeated it, sharper. and I had no choice to answer.

“I want to apologise.” I pleaded, the words catching in my throat.

“No you don’t— you’re not sorry. You rushed into that house like it wasn’t blazing on fire.” He called out, walking deeper into the dingy motel room. he had completely changed, lost in his thoughts.

“Okay— maybe I’m not!” I admitted, following in his footsteps, slamming his door; the vase on the entryway table rattling gently.

He spun around so fast I flinched, his hands engulfing my two wrists with his own. eyes were glazed over with tears, threatening to spill.

“I could have lost you— DAMN IT!” He shouted into my face— and in that moment; I became paralysed. Shock clouding my mind. He was never like this; not with me.

“You didn’t.” I whispered, my own eyes growing glassy.

“What am I supposed to do if I can’t protect you?” Fingers digging deeper into my wrists. “I could have.. god. what the fuck am I supposed to do if I can’t do the one thing I need to most?!”

“You’re angry.” I acknowledged nodding, like doing that would calm him down. It didn’t. I stared up into his brown doe eyes, which looked to hold a thousand secrets. It made my skin grow cold.

“Yes— I fucking am.” The words snapped, not one fucking thing soft about him anymore.

“Use me— Spencer.” I breathed— not even registering the words leaving my mouth before they spilled out.

“What? No—“ his brows knitted in confusion.

“Please.” My voice cracked.

“No.” He scoffed— weaker. He was giving in.

“Please.” I dropped to my knees the carpet definitely giving my legs carpet burn through my jeans at how fast I did it— my fingers fumbling with his belt.

Blood rushed to my cheeks— I gazed up at him through eyelashes. He watched me — jaw tight, chest heaving. I broke him.

“Please, let me help you.”

His breath hitched, a sharp sound in his throat. Then he nodded, rough, once — like it hurt him to give in.

The tension snapped. All that anger melted into heat, hunger, desperation. He pushed his pants down just enough, and there he was — flushed, leaking, so hard it made my mouth water.

Fuck.

“You okay, baby?” His voice dipped softer— almost careful as his fingers threaded through my hair.

I nodded, swallowing hard. Then I opened my mouth for him — inch by inch, my lips stretched around him, tongue swirling over the tip. His taste hit my tongue, sharp, salty.

“Use you, huh?” He reminded me. I hummed— the sensation vibrating throughout his body.

He groaned — deep, raw — then pushed my head down, guiding me deeper until he hit the back of my throat. I swirled my tongue around the tip of his cock, my panties growing soaked. I took it all in—

He pulled back just enough to let me breathe, then thrust again — rougher this time. My hands gripped his thighs to steady myself as he fucked my mouth like he needed to erase every awful thing we’d screamed at each other hours ago.

“Fuck, sweetheart — you’re doing so good,” he panted, head tipping back, eyes half-shut. “Look at you. Look at me.”

I blinked up at him, cheeks streaked with tears, drool dripping down my chin. I felt used. Wanted. Exactly what I needed.

The pace was brutal and relentless, not wanting to waste a second. The fire in the house was easier than this— less chance of choking on smoke than his cock.

My cunt throbbed— clenching around nothing. Tonight? Was about him, pleasuring him.

I felt every twitch, every vein— every subtle thing about him. I savoured the moment wholeheartedly. Then I felt his hands quiver—

“Shit— baby, goona— fuck.. goona cum..”

I moaned around him, swallowing hard as his hips stuttered. Hot, salty release hit my throat, and I took it — every drop, eyes fluttering shut as his hand trembled at the back of my head.

“Just like that, good girl.” He praised me, bending down to wipe my tears. He hushed me gently, kissing my forehead.

“Your turn.” He murmured.

He hauled me up by my wrists, turning me so fast my back hit the motel’s rickety table. It rattled under my palms as he shoved my jeans the rest of the way off, tugged my panties down my thighs.

“Hands on the table,” he growled. “Spread your legs.”

I obeyed. The wood dug into my hips. My breath came in shallow pants as he stepped behind me — his palm gliding up my spine, pressing me down so my cheek almost hit the table.

“You wanna be reckless?” His voice scraped my ear, teeth grazing my neck. “Then be reckless.”

He lined himself up, not teasing — not tonight. One rough thrust and he was inside me, so deep I saw stars. My nails dug into the cheap veneer. I gasped his name — half plea, half curse.

“Fuck — Spencer — ”

He didn’t answer with words — just another brutal snap of his hips. He filled me so perfectly, the stretch almost too much, every vein, every twitch making my legs shake.

His hand tangled in my hair, pulling my head back just enough to make my spine arch. “This what you wanted, huh? Want me to ruin you?”

“Yes — God — yes — ”

He laughed, low and broken. His hand slid between my thighs, fingers finding my clit, rubbing tight circles in time with every thrust that shoved me up the table.

“You think I don’t know you?” he rasped. “My reckless girl. Always running into flames — always crawling back to me to put you out.”

My moan turned into a sob, the pleasure twisting tight and sharp in my belly. The table scraped forward with every thrust. I felt him everywhere — the stretch, the rough drag, the heat building so fast I could barely breathe.

“Spencer — please — I’m close — ”

“Then come for me,” he growled. “Come and show me you’re mine.”

I shattered — knees giving out, cunt clenching tight around him as I cried out his name. He kept thrusting through it, chasing his own release until he buried himself deep one final time, hot and thick, filling me up until it spilled down my thighs.

He didn’t move for a moment — just stayed there, forehead pressed to my shoulder, breathing like he’d just run through fire for me.

Finally, he pulled out, turned me in his arms, kissed me hard — rough lips, soft tongue, desperation mixed with something we’d never say out loud.

“Next time you run into a burning house,” he murmured against my mouth, “I swear to God — ”

I cut him off with another kiss, tugging him closer until the motel door rattled behind his back.

[yoyneversawmehere]

omg hi i loved ur previous works can u pls pls pls write fluff or smut for hermes? also i think you don’t quite like him since you hint at his disappearance in the morning in your smut fic haha! thanks

"Take off her clothes by the fireplace"

♡hermes x !fem reader !modern au

♡Review: it's your 5th anniversary with hermes and decides to treat you to a homemade dinner, which took a turn.

♡Content: fluffy smut, modern au, slight praise, p in v, couch sex, fluff at the beginning, not proofread, slight aftercare, Hermes cooks

♡Author note: I actually really like hermes. He's my favourite 😭😭😭 I just wanted to write a one night stand type fic💔💔

Set music played on a vinyl as the candles flickered and sparked around you. The lights were dimmed, the fireplace was lively, and the ambience was perfect. You sat at the dinner table, awaiting your meal to be served by your extremely enthusiastic boyfriend with a bottle of wine that came from his brother, the great God of wine.

Today was you're fifth anniversary of being together, and Hermes just insisted that he had to treat you to an amazing dinner at your place, of course, since you weren't exactly allowed up on Olympus.

You could hear the crashing and clashing of plates and pans from the kitchen, causing you to get a little nervous. You never saw him cook before, and now that you've really thought about it, the majority of the time it was you doing the cooking. Now you wondered if he even knew how to cook. You take a nervous sip of the wine in front of you before calling out to him.

"Uhm, honey, are you sure you don't need any help in there?!" You yelled from your seat.

"It's alright darling, just stay where you are!" He answered back. Although his reassurance didn't exactly assure you, you stayed in your seat nonetheless.

After around 20 minutes, he comes out with 2 plates in hand and a 'kiss the cook' apron, accompanied by his wide yet charming smile.

You shook your head slightly with a soft sigh before smiling back at him.

He comes over, sets your plate down in front of you, and then places a kiss on your temple.

"You're impossible." You muttered, playfully rolling your eyes with a soft giggle

"Impossibly in love with you." Before planting another kiss on your cheek. He moves away to his own seat, and you look down at the meal in front of you. It was a classic chicken alfredo, nothing too fancy but certainly impressive, considering he most likely had never cooked in his life.

"This looks amazing, Hermes..." You started."I do hope you didn't burn down my kitchen, though."

"Of course I didn't, darling. You should have more faith in me." A fake pout now on his face.

You chuckled whilst you were taking your first bite of your food, and surprisingly, it wasn't bad. The shock on your face must've been noticeable cause he immediately teases you.

"I told you, you just needed to trust me," His voice laced with pride.

"Who taught you how to cook this?" You questioned him.

"I've been around for centuries, dear. It's only natural for me to pick up a few things as time passed."

You hummed in response, chasing each bite of pasta with a sip of your wine as the room was engulfed by the subtle music. There was a comfortable silence between the two of you as you ate, which allowed you to appreciate the simplicity of his actions. You never had someone do something like this for you. You were sure to repay him the favour.

It didn't take long for both of you to finish eating, and Hermes took it upon himself to collect and wash all the dishes. You giggle at the gesture and go on the couch to relax, taking in the calmness of the night.

You absolutely melted into the cushions. It's been a while since you actually allowed yourself to take a break. Work has gotten so overwhelming, and you barely have time for yourself, which was most likely why Hermes was taking up all the chores himself. He didn't want you to move a single finger.

Hermes returns from the kitchen and sits next to you. He dramatically yawns and stretches a hand across the couch and pulls you into his chest. You can't help but laugh at his Disney Channel Act.

"Did you enjoy the night, darling?" He asks with the sweetest tone as he looks down at you.

"I did," you turn to look up at him. "Thanks for doing this, I really appreciate it."

"Of course," He pulls your chin up with his fingers coming in closer to you, "anything for my favourite feather." He whispered, lips inches away from yours.

He pulls you in for a kiss, and you can feel his lips curl into a smile before he pulls away. You both go back in for another, then another. Each kiss gets more and more passionate. You start to cling onto his shirt as each kiss gets deeper, his tongue exploring your mouth while his hands explore your body.

His hand glides down from your neck, down your chest, and lands on your waist, slightly pulling you closer to him. You find yourself moving to sit on his lap, your knees hitting the cushions on each side of him, you're hands are on his chest as you continue to deepen each kiss, a slight whimper slips from Hermes' mouth as he places his hands on your hips as you grind onto him.

The fireplace crackles as hands move underneath loose clothes, groping sweet parts of each other's bodies. Clothing slipped off each other and was thrown on the floor. No one cared where it would go. You were both too infatuated with each other.

His kisses move from your mouth to your ears, down to your neck and onto your chest. Each contact felt like a release of tension and a remedy for stress. He always knew how to make you feel free and loved.

He whispers sweet nothings against your skin the more you allow yourself to melt into his touch. He moves to lay you down on the couch and pins you under him. He loves to see you like this. Absolutely consumed by lust, just waiting for him to make you feel good. He holds that responsibility with great pride.

His hands find themselves between your thighs, circling on your clit, soaking up the sweet moans you let slips from your lips.

He continues to explore you with his fingers, drawing them in and out of you as your face contorts in pleasure with each movement.

His head is at the crook of your neck, kissing and leaving hickey and bite marks. It felt like an accomplishment to see just how much power he had over you.

You sigh as your eyes flutter closed, and he enjoys hearing you. He loves knowing just how well he makes you feel.

He removes his fingers from between your things and replaces it with his cock. You feel his tip kiss your pussy sweetly. He pushes himself into you, and you both groan as pleasure wraps both of your brains. He starts off slow, making sure you're adjusted to his size, then starts to speed up his pace.

"Fuck, baby you feel so good."

His praises are like a spell casting over you. You haven't felt this good in so long that you almost forgot what it was like. You lock your legs around his waist to pull him closer, and he brings you in for a deep kiss, almost as if to ensure you're real.

The air smells of sex and sweat, and sounds of moans and groans, the slap of skin over and over, accompanied by the soft music in the background. Your head was unravelling, coming closer to your release. You could tell Hermes was close too, now that his moans were getting  louder and his breaths became short.

"Are you close, feather?" His voice was ragged and slow, his face dipped down by your breasts kissing them so tenderly.

You couldn't even speak. All you offered was an eager nod, causing him to let out a breathy chuckle.

You both chased your high, crashing into your orgasm. Hermes collapses onto you, breathing unevenly and heavily.

"You did so well, darling." He leaned up to kiss your jaw, causing you to giggle slightly. You wrap your arms around him as you calm yourself down. Your breaths were also heavy, your chest rising and falling at a fast rate.

"I'll go get you some water." He said calmly, about to get up, before your grip on him tightened.

"Stay..." You muttered, "Let's just stay like this for a while."

He chuckles softly before relaxing once more.

"Of course, anything for my favourite feather."

Thanks for reading♡