#Desert Series Race Tires

[vividracing]

New Post has been published on https://www.vividracing.com/blog/new-race-proven-utv-wheel-tire-package/

NEW Race Proven UTV Wheel & Tire Package

35″ Tensor Desert Series Race Tires + VR Forged D15 Beadlocks (Swoon)

I think we can all agree that when we see a UTV on a trailer with Tensor DSRs, Regulators, BFG Projects, or any large Baja-proven race tires, it gives us that warm and fuzzy feeling inside. Something about the stance of a UTV or truck with race tires makes us want to turn up some Metallica and do some off-road thrashing. We got to mount up some 35×15 10 Tensor DSR (Desert Series Race) tires to a set of gorgeous VR Forged D15 (5-lug) forged beadlocks. If you aren’t familiar, these D15 Beadlocks by VR Forged are some serious race-proven forged wheels that not only bada** looking, but save a substantial amount of weight. Each wheel weighs in at about 20.7 lbs, but we’ll call it 9.4 kg because we’re MWW. (Motorsports Weight Weenies)

Getting to take this Polaris RZR Pro R out to the desert to hoon and put this wheel and tire package to the test was amazing to say the least. These tires alone compared to the stock rubbers is a night and day difference. The driver characteristics are so positive and can truly feel the energy and capabilities of the machine. Not in a cheesy-sappy way but the assurance of agility and being able to dive into different directions or carve ruts confidently. As for the wheels, the VR Forged D15s really bring everything home with saving weight from adding the big ol’ tires and knowing when SNAFU happens, you have some forged wheels that will still be able to get you home.

Shop These Tensor DSR Tires

Shop These VR Forged D15 Beadlock Wheels

Here are some photos from the shred session:

What Tensor Tires has to say about the DSR Tires:

“Looking for the best competition-legal UTV race tire? Introducing the Tensor Tire Desert Series Race lineup. Whether you’re looking for the lightweight DSR30, the SCORE/BITD legal DSR33, or maximum height at 37in tall with the DSR37, this race proven series is the top choice for those who demand the best.”

What VR Forged has to say about the D15 5-Lug Beadlocks:

“The VR Forged D15 Beadlock UTV wheel is a full 1 piece forged monoblock wheel designed specifically for the new 5 lug Polaris RZR Pro R. You dont have to wait for these to be made like other forged wheels. Just pick your favorite tire and mount it up! This UTV specific wheel was designed to be superior in strength and much lighter than standard cast wheels. Creating this wheel was necessary for those wanting a wheel that will not fail under the harshest conditions as well as look amazing for the everyday UTV owner. The 8 spoke design is a perfect look for UTVs and shows off just enough of the brake caliper. The most important part of this wheel is that it is a TRUE beadlock design. The beadlock allows you to run those low tire pressures without fear of the tire coming off the wheel. Manufactured using a 10,000 ton press, each forged wheel is manufactured to meet the expectations of the highest OEM automobile manufactures.”

In our opinion:

This is a fantastic wheel and tire combo that will ultimate change the way your UTV handles and responds to the abuse you’re going to be putting it through. Before even considering to do any suspension modifications, a proper set of wheels and tires will change the capabilities and reliability of your UTV for the best. Don’t have a RZR Pro R? Don’t worry, there are VR Forged wheels for most UTVs. They can be found here:

VR Forged D15 UTV Wheels

You can also shop all Tensor Tire options here:

Tensor Tires

[cheruverse]

screw that pillow— screw himself too!

saiki k. x reader

✦ — notes : i am doing anything BUT the diap series prolouge. im sorry okay pls forgive me 😭 i promise ill try to upload it during the week

i can't sleep without a pillow it feels so incomplete and empty and it irritates me ARRGGHHHHH

୨୧ cws : touch starved reader. fluff.

✦ — warnings : established romantic relationship. probably ooc saiki.

you and SAIKI planned to watch a movie at his house while having both of your favorite sweets at the same time.

saiki had just teleported to buy coffee jelly and your favorite desert at a convenience store.

you stared at the open window of his bedroom. it's a sunny day. the sunlight pooled through the window, giving your room a lukewarm ambience.

the birds chirped as the wind breezed in the room. the cool breeze was subtly brushing your face.

you inhale the fresh air, and relax for a bit as you bask in your lonesome.

that was when you realized that you were feeling tired and drowsy. your eyes were starting to close on you. your mind goes all the way back to monday; you remembered you didn't get enough sleep this week because of some class report that was super important for your grade.

you fight the urge to sleep and occasionally flick yourself on the forehead a few times to wake yourself up. it worked, but it didn't stay for long.

curses. it's getting hard to stay up. you wouldn't want to ruin a date, would you?

.. or maybe you should go and get some shut eye for a bit. saiki's gone for a few minutes so you have some time to take a power nap.

you yawned, rubbing your eyes slowly. it wouldn't hurt, right?

yeah, it wouldn't.

you slowly feel your drowsiness enveloping you, and immediately fall asleep.

you close your eyes, deciding to snooze for a bit. you grab a nearby pillow and cuddle with it, and the pillow smelled like saiki.

saiki teleports back with a bag filled with coffee jelly and your favorite dessert, and sees your figure cuddling a plushie.

'figures, i knew they would be sleeping by now.' he rubs his eyes through his glasses. he's aware you hadn't had enough sleep this week, and the lack of sleep made you miserable.

saiki stared at the pillow you were hugging. he knew you were touch starved and absolutely hated it. he'd swat your hand away if you tried to pinch his cheeks, or if he was feeling petty, he'd teleport behind you if you wanted to surprise him a hug; he's not the one to like physical touch.

he's seen you cuddle plushies and pillows in your sleep and he took you as the type to become cuddly and clingy in your sleep, but why is he getting so worked up just because of a mere pillow?

'no, it's nothing to me. why would i get—'

then it hit him hard. saiki, an all knowing and powerful psychic, getting jealous because of a lousy pillow? absolutely foolish. he wouldn't feel like that at all!

this is something silly to be absurd about, and he felt preposterous; not only on that damn pillow but himself too, for getting so pissed at it for some stupid reason. screw that pillow— screw himself too!

a sigh escapes his lips as he sets the bag down at his table. he wouldn't mind spending the rest of the day sleeping in with you anyway, he's tired too.

he walks to his bed, carefully lying down as to not wake you up. the two of you are in close proximity and he becomes hyperaware with his surroundings, his mind racing with his thoughts.

it feels weird for him to be this close to you, even if you had exchanged kisses and hugs in the past, but you always initiated them. this time, he's the one initiating.

maybe this wasn't all too bad.

he reluctantly encircled his arm around your waist, pulling you close. he feels you shifting to snuggle up to him, your head leaning to his chest.

saiki closes his eyes and immediately felt lightheaded after, enveloping your warmth as he falls into deep slumber.

you're going to have to wake up to a lazy psychic after.

reblogs are appreciated! ♡

[ja3yun]

I'm a Virgin, Not a Murderer | CH.2: Saturn and Uranus

virgin!heeseung x sex worker!reader warnings: smut (mdni), oral (m.rec), slight throat fucking, whiney heeseung, strip club and dances, mentions of alcohol and anxiety, anything else lmk! wc: 18.8k ch.2 synopsis: with you and heeseung fleeing the scene of your accidental crime, you weave through the trials of finding safety and making some cash, leading you straight to saturn strip club. a/n: hi! thank you so so much for the love and support on the first chapter <3 i'm sorry if it seems slow but it picks up the pace in the following chapters so please stick with it! i love this series sm and i am so appreciative of each and every one of you! as always, reblogs, likes, comments, and feedback are all welcome

chapter 1 | masterlist | chapter 3

Your precious car begins to slow down despite your foot firmly pressed on the pedal, causing you to glance at the dashboard quizzically. The needle on the fuel gauge hovers perilously close to empty, a sight that sends a jolt of anxiety through you. 

There’s no way it has already run out of petrol, you only filled it up two days ago; then again, you have been driving for the better part of six hours down winding roads. You start to wonder if perhaps you were overly optimistic about that refuelling. There also might be a small, tiny chance that you only filled it up halfway because you ran out of money for an entire tank.

As these thoughts race through your mind, the car gives a tired shudder. The engine's steady hum falters, replaced by a series of splutters. The tail of your vehicle emits a loud, desperate noise, gasping for something to quench its thirst. You turn just in time to see a thin, ominous layer of black smoke drifting from the exhaust pipe.

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, your knuckles turn white as you scan the deserted road ahead for any sign of a petrol station. The vast, empty stretch of asphalt seems to mock your predicament. Panic sets in as you realise the gravity of the situation. The distant horizon offers no solace, just an unending ribbon of road under the setting sun.

“Fuck!” you exclaim, slamming your palm harshly on the steering wheel as the car comes to a halt.

Heeseung twists his head to look at your disgruntled expression before noticing the puff of smoke in his peripheral vision, his eyes widening in fear. The only time he had seen a car fog up like this was when Jongseong decided to do skids in the Tesco car park at 3am after too many Red Bulls and exam stress. The next day, his friend had to replace every tyre and pay a fine after being caught on CCTV.

This consequence might be drastically worse.

“We could phone AA. They can pick us up or fill the tank,” he suggests, as if he can magically conjure a phone booth in front of you.

Huffing, you suppress the silent rage coursing through you due to the recent life events. You sit back, gripping the wheel tightly. “Heeseung,” you begin, keeping your voice slow and steady, “you do realise there is a dead body in the hotel room that has probably been found by now, and they will be looking for us!”

You don’t mean to get agitated with the timid boy, but the gravity of the situation is pushing you to the edge. You don’t even want to think about the scene back at the hotel or who the poor person that found your attacker would be. If it was Kat at reception, she definitely would have already called the police, given a character description, and probably found a way to help them locate your National Insurance number. She always did hate your guts, and it would be a joyous occasion for her to watch your demise unfold with her playing a key part in it.

You grab a bobble from the glove compartment and pull your hair back into a ponytail, closing your eyes briefly as you try to devise a plan. The tension in the car is palpable, a mix of fear and frustration hanging in the air. "I'll walk and see if there's a petrol station nearby," you say, flicking two framing pieces of hair out and holding your hands out to Heeseung. "Can I get some of the money you brought?"

Heeseung looks at you with arched brows. "You don’t have any?" he asks incredulously. It’s not like he expected you to be a billionaire, but with thousands of horny men and a girl as gorgeous as you, he figured you had more than enough cash.

If only he knew you were eating out-of-date beans two weeks ago and that your water was shut off because you couldn’t pay the bill. The reality of your life is far removed from the glamorous facade you sometimes project.

"I only carry £20 with me in case a client tries to rob me. I can't ever be too careful," you explain, understanding the irony in your attempt at safety when you were two seconds away from meeting the man in white at the pearly gates not too long ago.

Heeseung doesn’t fully grasp your logic, but he also isn’t a sex worker, so he trusts your judgement. "Okay, let me grab my..." he begins to say, nodding in agreement and patting his chest in search of his jacket pocket. His eyes bulge, and his heart sinks like a stone in water.

Frantically, he searches his body, as if this would magically make his brown jacket appear. Sweat from his terror seeps from his pores as he chants a few tiny 'fucks', looking around your car with panicked eyes. His breaths become shallow, and you can see the fear creeping into his features.

"What’s wrong?" you ask calmly, not matching his urgent state. Your voice is steady, a stark contrast to the chaos bubbling beneath the surface.

He turns to you slowly, swallowing thickly. He doesn’t know how to tell you the unfortunate information he has just realised, so he stays silent for a moment, leaving you to wonder in the tension-filled car.

“What is it? Just tell me.”

"I...I left my jacket in the hotel room."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Heeseung!" you shout, throwing your hands up in the air to punctuate your disappointment in his forgetfulness. You can’t believe how stupid he is considering you told him to grab his things. When you said that, you meant everything.

Heeseung shoulders the blame but gets defensive at your attitude towards his blunder. "I’m sorry! It’s not every day I kill a man and have to flee with a prostitute, okay? I wasn’t thinking," he exclaims, his voice cracking with stress. He can feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him, making his hands tremble slightly.

"Oh, you think I go around whacking my clients on the regular?" you argue back, eyes burning with a dangerous fury. The absurdity of the situation, coupled with your rising panic, makes your temper flare. 

"Well-" he starts but cuts himself off because he doesn’t know how to argue with you. His eyes drop, and he lets out a deep sigh, running his hands through his hair in frustration.“My ID is in the pocket, Y/N. They’ll find me for sure…”

Looking at him, you suddenly wince in sympathy. If the cameras and Kat didn’t rat him out to the authorities, his ID certainly would. The sheer panic on his face is a reminder of how dire your situation truly is. 

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "We need a plan," you say, your voice steadier now. “We need to walk, it's nearly 9pm and we can’t be out here like sitting ducks.”

“We’ll be walking all night, Y/N. I can’t do this, I can’t…I have an exam on Monday,” he whines, chest heaving up and down as he puts himself in a state of panic by thinking about the final assignments of his academic career - much to your dismay. His eyes dart around frantically as if looking for an escape route that isn’t there.

Out of all the things for him to worry about, his exam should not be taking priority. “Heeseung, that is the least of your concern. We killed a man, me and you - we can’t go back. What part of that do you not fucking understand? Do you seriously think I would be sitting in a dead car with you in the middle of fuck knows where if I could just go back to my flat and move on with my life?”

Your anger is flaring through your nostrils, each breath you take feeling like it’s stoking a fire inside you. The reality of the consequences to your predicament crashes over you in waves.

Heeseung’s face pales, and you can see him physically shrink back, his shoulders hunching as he tries to make himself smaller. He looks at you with wide, scared eyes, clearly cowed by your outburst. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, almost inaudibly, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear and guilt.

You take a moment to look at him and your heart breaks. He never asked for this, the same as you didn’t, so you shouldn’t be yelling at him as if this is all his fault, or that his feelings and worries are any less valid than your own, even if they are misplaced. He came to you looking to lose his virginity, not gain trauma and a criminal record - and that’s exactly what he got all because he saved you.

Closing your eyes, you rub your temples, trying to gather your thoughts. The night is closing in around you, the impending darkness feeling suffocating. The horizon is a blur of shadows, with the last traces of daylight fading into an oppressive twilight. You can’t afford to waste time arguing. You need to move, and you need to move now.

Pondering for a while, you realise your current state of dress isn’t helping the situation. Sitting in nothing but a robe with no bra and only lace panties underneath isn’t practical for a night trek, let alone safe. The robe, which barely provides any warmth or coverage, feels utterly inadequate against the encroaching chill. You glance at Heeseung, who’s still looking down, avoiding your gaze, biting the skin from his lip in anxiety.

“Heeseung,” you say more gently, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice. “Can I borrow your shirt?”

He looks up, confusion clouding his eyes for a moment before he registers your request. “Yeah, sure, anything,” he says, his voice tinged with desperation and a need to atone for his earlier mistake. He hurriedly rids himself of his plaid shirt, almost fumbling in his haste, and hands it over to you. His movements are frantic, a physical manifestation of his internal turmoil.

Even the way he says "anything" makes the guilt suppress the anger towards him. The boy is so sweet and gentle, you never knew someone like him could ever exist, not in this grotty city anyway. 

You take your robe off, revealing your erect nipples to him once again, this time in a much less sexually charged atmosphere. The night air feels like icy fingers brushing against your skin, making you shiver involuntarily. With the sun disappearing to let the moon say hello, you rush to get the shirt on, shielding yourself from the settling cold. The plaid shirt, still warm from Heeseung's body heat, provides a semblance of comfort and much needed warmth amidst the chaos.

As you’re getting dressed in Heeseung’s shirt, he tries his best not to look at you and give you even a shred of privacy. He might have seen them earlier but that does not mean you consent to him catching a swatch right now. His gaze remains fixed on the ceiling of the car, his hands clenching and unclenching as he battles with his own thoughts.

But god, he can imagine them now, how perfect and delicious they looked, like something out of his wildest fantasies, the feeling of them cupped in his hands and how squishy they felt. Despite his efforts to maintain some decorum, the images linger in his mind, a thought he desperately tries to push aside. He’s biting the inside of his cheek and shuffling in his seat to adjust the twitch in his balls, he tries to focus on anything else, the guilt gnawing at him.

Once dressed, you notice how Heeseung’s shirt, though oversized, fits snugly enough to offer some semblance of modesty. The fabric, soft and slightly worn, smells faintly of him - a mix of soap and something uniquely his. 

“Heeseung, we need to keep moving,” you say, your voice firm but gentle. He nods, swallowing hard but still avoiding your gaze. You can see him fidgeting in his seat, his hand tugging at the zipper of his jeans, seeking relief from the friction.

Stifling a laugh, grateful for the distraction, you snap your fingers playfully. “I know you have a bad case of blue balls, but we need to focus.”

Heeseung’s face turns a vivid shade of red as his eyes widen in shock, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. He can’t believe you noticed him fiddling with his trousers to alleviate the discomfort. Yet, just like you, he welcomes the distraction, though he would have preferred it to come from something less embarrassing.

“We need to ditch this car and find a motel or something,” you suggest determinedly, scanning the deserted road for any signs of life or guidance but there’s nothing but darkness.

You swing open the driver’s door and step onto the slightly damp grass, cringing internally at the cold, wet sensation between your bare toes as you circle around to the boot to rummage through your belongings. You always keep a bag of spare work clothes and some makeup in there for emergencies. In hindsight, you really should have packed proper clothes and not a tiny set of lingerie, but for now, Heeseung’s shirt paired with your six-inch heels will have to do.

As you slam the boot shut, you take a moment to look at your car, preparing yourself to say goodbye. This trusty vehicle has taken you across the country, creating memories filled with both joy and sorrow, all of which have shaped who you are today. This is just another memory to add to the collection, no matter how unpleasant.

You glance at your gleaming custom registration plate, panic rising within you. It’s a beacon, a glaring signal that could lead anyone straight to you. If they’re searching for you, it won’t take them long to find you with a plate like that. Stroking the hood of the car, you pout. “I’m so sorry for this, baby,” you whisper lovingly to the motor before bringing your stiletto down with a harsh crash against the metal. The pain shoots up your leg, but it’s the crack in your heart that hurts the most. You never imagined you’d have to hurt your precious car, let alone abandon it.

Heeseung hears the commotion and scrambles out, his eyes wide with alarm. He sees you attacking the back of the car, unaware of your intentions. Your face is flushed with exertion as you put all your might into battering the plate off its screws. Strands of hair fall out of your ponytail, which you angrily huff away. Despite himself, Heeseung finds this display of dominance strangely attractive. The way you assert control over the metal makes him wonder how you would have treated him if things had gone to plan.

The sight of your heels jamming into the rear only fuels his thoughts further. His mind races with images of you dominating a man, your heel tearing into his flesh like extinguishing a cigarette. The picture causes an ache in Heeseung’s groyne, making him shuffle uncomfortably. This feeling is something he’ll have to explore; perhaps once he gets past his virginity, he can figure out his kinks.

If he ever does lose it, that is.

“W-what are you doing?” he asks shyly, scared to break your concentration.

Huffing, you look up at him, seeing the bewilderment in his eyes. You can’t blame him, you must look deranged like a bull charging at a red flag. “I’m breaking these off so it buys us some time, just in case a cop car comes by,” you explain, wiping sweat from your brow. If you were cold before, you certainly aren’t now.

He watches you soothe your aching leg, his concern genuine and heartfelt. “You need to be careful, Y/N. You could hurt your ankle,” he states, his voice filled with worry.

You’re about to snap at him, but his soft expression and worried eyes make you relent. Taking a deep breath, you calm yourself before replying. “Can you get the one at the front, please?” Your voice is steady, though the aggression of your kick shows you’re not in the mood for further discussion. Heeseung nods and heads to the front of the car, obediently following your instructions.

Heeseung, slightly shaky but determined, crouches down to work on the front plate. You watch him, grateful for his cooperation despite the circumstances. The dim light from the casting moon creates long shadows, and the quiet night amplifies every sound: the rustle of leaves, the distant call of an owl, the metallic clinks as Heeseung fumbles with the screws. The whole scene feels surreal, as if you're in a suspenseful film.

Returning to the back of the car, you take a deep breath and assess the damage. The number plate is now hanging by one screw, bent and battered but still attached. You give it another firm kick, wincing as the stiletto heel digs into the metal. With a final tug, the plate comes off, and you toss it into the nearby bushes, hoping it will be concealed well enough to buy you some time.

“Heeseung, how’s it going up there?” you call out, trying to mask the urgency in your voice.

“Almost done,” he replies, his voice strained. A few moments later, he triumphantly holds up the front plate, looking to you for approval. You nod, giving him a small, encouraging smile. He seems so happy, like he just won a month of free rental at BlockBuster. 

This is the first time you’ve seen him smile and it melts your heart, his toothy grin and smile lines accentuating the sun that seems to radiate from his face. He probably smiled like that all the time before all of this, you think to yourself with a pang of remorse.

Following your lead, he tosses it into the high bushes, listening to the rustling leaves as the metal cascades down the intertwined branches. He wipes the fallen paint and dust from his hands on his dark jeans and moves to the back of the car to reach you, his happiness dims a little as he sees you hobble slightly.

Before you can place the coveted bag on your shoulder, Heeseung clasps his big hand around the strap and steals it from you, wrapping it around his neck and shoulder so it can swing idly under his arm. You don’t get to protest at his snatching because he’s already walking forward, stirring up his energy for the long walk ahead.

_____

You haven’t seen a single inch of light or hope in the past two hours of walking along the countryside. The skies, once adorned with a pale twilight, have now succumbed to the inky darkness of night. The narrow dirt path stretches endlessly before you, flanked by skeletal trees and picked-apart bushes. The cold, relentless and unforgiving, seeps into your bones, making each step more laborious than the last. The only sound accompanying your journey is the rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures.

Your soles are burning, a searing pain that intensifies with each agonising step. The God-forsaken heels feel like instruments of torture, biting into your feet and reducing your stride to a painful shuffle. Every uneven stone and hidden root sends jolts of agony through your body, making you wince involuntarily. The cold, having long breached the feeble barriers of Heeseung’s shirt, wraps around you like a cruel, invisible shroud.

Hunger gnaws at your insides, a relentless beast that roars louder with each passing minute. Your stomach grumbles an angry, persistent sound that echoes through the stillness. You're convinced Heeseung can hear it.

And he does. 

Heeseung, walking beside you, casts worried glances in your direction. The concern in his eyes is unmistakable, a silent testament to his awareness of your suffering. He can see the pain etched across your face, the way your lips are pressed into a thin line of determination despite the evident exhaustion.

His gaze drops to your feet, noticing how you wince with every step. Your once resolute stride is now reduced to a limping hobble, the back of your shoes digging mercilessly into your sore, blistered skin. Your feet, barely able to withstand the pressure, threaten to give out beneath you. The muscles in your legs tremble with fatigue, each step a monumental effort that pushes you closer to your breaking point.

Heeseung's concern manifests in his actions; he slows his pace to match your faltering steps, offering a steadying hand when you stumble over an unseen obstacle. His presence is a small comfort, a reminder that you are not alone in this desolate landscape. His words, though few, are gentle and encouraging, urging you to hold on just a little longer.

Hating the sight of you in pain, Heeseung places a timid hand on your shoulder, causing you to pause in your steps. “Maybe you should take those off?” he suggests, eyes pointed down to your bruised feet.

“And walk along the British countryside that has needles and shit lying around?” you ask rhetorically, a bite in your voice due to the irritation you’re being overstimulated by, “Unless you want to swap, these heels are staying on.”

Despite only knowing you a few hours, he has grasped that you are a stubborn and independent woman who seldom takes help from those around her. You can hold your own against the world, not a single crutch to lean on; when Heeseung had offered you a piggyback a few miles back, you snapped at him, telling him that as much as you appreciate the gesture, you are not a child in need of comfort.

He never offered again.

That’s why even as he suggests a solution to your problem, he does it with a shaky voice. He has always been scared of women in general, so having to navigate around an angry and short-tempered one who is also hungry is something he is having a problem with.

“Look, I’m fine, Heeseung. Really, just st-”

Your sentence is interrupted by the distant sound of an engine. Both your and Heeseung’s eyes expand at the beautiful noise, each of you having similar thoughts that this could be your get out of jail free card. The sound grows louder, cutting through the oppressive silence of the night like a beacon of hope. Your heart leaps, adrenaline surging through your veins as the possibility of escape becomes tantalisingly real.

Quickly thinking, you unbutton the shirt that covers your most valuable assets in a situation like this and scoop your tits up slightly, to give you a more voluptuous look. You whip the bobble out from your hair and ruffle it to a bouncy state. The cold air hits your exposed skin, sending a shiver down your spine, but you ignore the discomfort, focusing instead on the potential saviour approaching.

Heeseung watches you, his eyes wide with a mixture of astonishment and anxiety. His mouth opens as if to protest, but no words come out. He’s torn between his instinct to protect and his hope that your plan might actually work. But you’re putting yourself in more danger by trying to lure the driver in with your body, and he can’t face whacking another person to ensure your safety.

“Y/N, what are you doing? People don’t do this anymore, not since the 70s,” he argues softly, trying to stand in your way as the headlights illuminate the dark road you walk on.

Pushing him to the side, you shake your head, plastering on a smile and sticking your thumb out. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, Heeseung. We need a lift and I’m making sure we get it,” you retort.

Granted, you have never hitchhiked in your life and the only reason you have an inch of knowledge on how to do this is through movies, some of which end up as well as Heeseung is imagining, but there are two of you and if today has taught you anything, you make a great team when it comes to defending yourself.

The vehicle comes into view, an old pickup truck, its paint chipped and weathered. It slows as it approaches, and for a brief moment, you hold your breath, praying that the driver will stop. With one final push attempt, you jump slightly, flailing your arms around as your bare breasts bounce freely under the shirt. If it doesn’t catch the driver's attention, it quickly catches Heeseung’s, who diverts his eyes up to the starry sky.

Luckily, your tits seem to work and the car pulls up beside you both, the engine purring softly and the exhaust pipe offering you a tiny blanket of warmth. The window rolls down to reveal a man, roughly your age or possibly younger, licking his lips and eyeing you up and down.

“Need a lift?” he asks casually, not bothering to even look at your face.

And Heeseung said it wouldn’t work.

“Yes, please!” you giggle, shifting into one of your many work personas, hiding the irritation and pain that you are in. 

Stepping forward, Heeseung attempts to place a hand on your back to urge you to reconsider, perhaps ask the boy for directions and keep trudging forward on your own, but before he can, you are already clambering into the passenger seat, sinking into the comfort and taking the weight of your distressed feet.

Following your lead, even if it’s apprehensively, Heeseung climbs into the back, setting your bag on one of the seats as though it were a passenger itself. Although alarm bells are ringing in his mind, he appreciates the instant envelopment of contentment as his legs relax, the tingles from hours of walking and anxiety slowly leaving his limbs.

The warmth of the truck's interior is a stark contrast to the cold night outside, and you let out a sigh of relief as the heater's warm air washes over you. The driver puts the truck in gear and pulls back onto the road, the engine's hum vibrating around you as you slip into a relaxed state. 

The driver glances at Heeseung in the rearview mirror, a curious look in his eyes. “Where are you two headed?” he asks.

“Is there a motel nearby?” Heeseung inquires, buckling his seatbelt with a mix of hope and caution.

Nodding, the man smiles. “There is one about 30 minutes away, just beside the memorial hall.”

The confirmation of a place to rest being within reaching distance makes Heeseung’s heart patter with relief. As you settle into your seat, you can’t help but notice the driver’s striking appearance. He is incredibly handsome, with jet-black hair that catches the faint glow of the dashboard lights, thick, dark eyebrows that frame his intense eyes, and a few beauty freckles scattered across his face that add to his rugged charm. His strong but gentle manner is magnetic, and you find yourself drawn to his presence.

You didn’t know people so gorgeous existed in this country, having thought Heeseung might have been the only exception. Yet, here you are, in a four-wheeler with probably two of the fittest men you’ve ever seen. You glance back at Heeseung, his sharp features softened by the warm glow of the truck’s interior lights. Despite the exhaustion etched on his face, there’s a calmness in his expression that wasn’t there before, a quiet acceptance of the situation.

The driver’s gaze flickers to you occasionally, a hint of curiosity mixed with lust. “You don’t look like you belong here, baby girl,” he says, his voice low and smooth, carrying an undercurrent of intrigue.

Twirling your hair with your pointer finger, you bat your eyelashes and smile sheepishly, becoming the woman most men want you to be, and for him, you just might submit to the role. “Is it that obvious?” you say, giggling softly and biting your lip seductively. “I could say the same to you…” Trailing off, you subtly ask for his name, your voice dripping with playful curiosity.

“Sunghoon,” he replies, his name rolling off his tongue with a confident ease. He extends a hand, which you happily take, intending to shake it, but instead, he lifts the back of your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. The unexpected gesture sends a shiver through you, making butterflies erupt in your stomach.

The warmth of his touch lingers long after he releases your hand. Sunghoon’s eyes hold yours for a moment longer, a silent exchange of mutual attraction that leaves you feeling both exhilarated and slightly off-balance.

“I’m Y/N, and this is Heeseung,” you offer your names casually, still swimming in his allure. You had set off with the intention that he would fall for you and give you the lift, but now that you’re here, you feel like a bunny trapped by the bear.

Heeseung shifts slightly in the back seat, his eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. The moment is not lost on him, but he says nothing, simply watching with a guarded expression. He isn’t jealous of your interaction with Sunghoon per se; it’s more that he is envious of how easily the driver has put you under a spell. The boy’s charm even captivates him a little bit, watching as Sunghoon’s eyes return to the road with not an ounce of trepidation or fear of you. 

That is who he wants to be, everything that Sunghoon is. He probably has girlfriends and lovers coming out of his ears, all probably just as equally as beautiful as you. It makes Heeseung recoil a little in the seat because the only reason he has been able to talk to you so freely is because of your trauma-bonding experience and the fact he has been stuck with you in the same car for hours.

You and Sunghoon continue to converse for the whole journey, flirting so blatantly that Heeseung starts taking mental notes on how to talk to women just to pass the time; he wishes he had brought his notebook with him. Sunghoon’s easy laughter and smooth compliments weave a web of enchantment, and you find yourself responding with a level of flirtation that surprises even you.

In the distance, you start to see lights shining and you instinctively lean forward, your body craving the need of a grungy motel and some much-needed rest, even if it is only for a few hours. The neon sign flickers invitingly, casting a welcoming glow over the worn facade of the building. 

Sunghoon notices your movement and smiles. “We’re almost there,” he says, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

The truck slows as it approaches the motel, and Sunghoon skillfully navigates into the parking lot. He parks and turns to you with a warm, lingering gaze. “Here we are. I hope this place meets your needs.” His tone is sultry, his eyes hooded as they drop to your cleavage.

You lean over, placing a hand on his chest, your fingers crawling their way along his left pec as you move in closer. Your lips are now so close to his that you can feel his warm breath fanning over your face. “Thank you, Sunghoon. You’re the best,” you murmur, your voice low and seductive. You close the distance and press your lips to his and he eagerly responds, his large hand cupping your face and pulling you closer to deepen the kiss.

Sunghoon's tongue swiftly makes its way to play with yours, licking into your mouth with measured ease. The kiss is hot and intense, and if you weren’t on the run for murder and a certain virgin wasn’t in the backseat, you might have taken things further right there in the truck.

But that wasn’t your plan. You had something else in mind.

Heeseung watches with his jaw slack and mouth open. He knows how good your lips feel and how skilful you are with your tongue, having experienced it firsthand. His eyes widen with a mix of awe and something else - perhaps envy or longing - as he observes the passionate exchange between you and Sunghoon.

After what feels like both an eternity and a heartbeat, you pull back, your lips tingling from the kiss. “We should get inside, get some rest,” you whisper, your voice breathy. Sunghoon nods, his eyes still locked on yours. “Thanks for everything, Hoonie,” you say, the nickname rolling off your tongue and making Sunghoon close his eyes in want.

“If I didn’t have to keep driving, I would be coming with you, fucking you so good,” he admits, his voice low and husky. The rawness of his words shocks Heeseung, but you seem unfazed by the idea; rather, you look a little disappointed.

Despite your feelings, you smile and place one more kiss on his lips before waving him goodbye in some sort of hurry. You step out of the car and slam the door behind you with ease. The sound and vibration jolt Heeseung out of his horny trance before he quickly thanks Sunghoon, picking up your bag and following suit, albeit a lot more clumsily than you.

You send him off one final time as his truck pulls out of the motel parking lot. You grin widely and hide the shooting pain that has found its way back to the sole of your feet. God, you cannot wait to get into a room and take the heels of death off. 

Turning to Heeseung, you see him looking at the poster underneath the illuminated ‘open’ sign. His face is contorted in a mix of horror and dread, his tongue coming out of his mouth to wet his parched lips as he begins to overheat with worry. “What is it?” you ask, puzzled.

“The motel,” he starts, pointing to the board before him, “It’s £40 a night and we only have £20.”

Smirking, you look up at him innocently before rustling something in your hand, bringing it up to his face as a badge of honour. “No, we don’t.”

Heeseung’s eyes leave the board to meet yours but are quickly pulled astray by the notes that sit snugly between two of your fingers. He has to blink a few times before he truly accepts what he is seeing - at least £80 in tens and twenties invades his vision. “When did you…” he trails off, examining the money closely.

“Sunghoon owed me for the kiss,” you shrug, placing the money in your breast pocket while making your way to the entrance of the motel.

Stuttering, Heeseung carefully grabs your arm and pulls you back before you can enter the building. “Y/N, you stole from him, that’s not okay. He helped us out and you robbed him.” His voice is stern but lacks the confidence to back it up, so it comes across as a little pathetic. Although his conviction is feeble, his morals have always taken precedence over anything else, even in moments like this, he cannot sit by and watch you do this so casually.

“Heeseung,” you shove his hand off your arm, “It’s not like I wanted to steal it, okay? But we are desperate and need it way more than he does. We can’t be law-abiding citizens when we literally murdered a man,” you whisper, eyes pleading with him to see your side of the tracks.

And he does somewhat; he agrees that you guys are in a tough situation and resources won’t come easily to you, but he also thinks there have to be better ways to go about this. Relenting, Heeseung nods. “Okay, this one is fine because we need it, but we have to remember that just because that happened in the hotel room doesn’t mean we need to start acting like we’re criminals. We should still keep our values, Y/N.”

You see the worry etched on his face, his eyes pleading for you to agree. “I know, Heeseung. I promise I’ll try to find better ways,” you say, your voice softer, trying to convey your understanding. 

Heeseung exhales deeply, tension easing slightly from his shoulders. “Alright, let’s just get inside and get a room. We can figure things out tomorrow.”

Stepping into the motel foyer instantly blasts you with warmth and the smell of mould, the interior is shabby and the once-white walls are stained yellow with what you can only presume is cigarette smoke. The carpet is damp and you can hear it squelch underneath your heel, the light above the reception desk flickers. Despite all this, it feels like you’re at the Ritz right now due to the exhaustion flowing through your body.

The reception desk is manned by an older man reading the paper, his hair white thinning atop his scalp, his beard in desperate need of a wash, and the remnants of his midnight snack splattered on his light blue shirt. 

He doesn’t notice you at first, his nose too far pressed into yesterday’s edition of the Daily Mail to pay attention. Gingerly, you knock on the desk in an attempt to draw his focus to you and Heeseung, but to no avail. Too tired to start a fight about respect, you decide to speak politely.

“Um, can we have a room, please?” you ask, pushing down the disgust you feel towards the man.

Grunting, he reaches for a key with a brown, leather tag on it before throwing it to Heeseung, who scrambles to catch it. The key jumps from one hand to another as though it was hot as lava, eliciting a panicked state within him.

The man points down a dark hallway. “Condoms are in the vending machine at the end. Use one or I’ll charge you for the sheets,” his hoarse voice instructs, clearly assuming you are both there for something other than sleep. To be fair, it is almost 1am, you’re dressed provocatively, and Heeseung is carrying a tiny travel bag. Although you hate the assumption because it is literally none of his business, you bite your tongue and go with it.

Snapping his fingers, he holds his hand out, eyes glued to an article about how the internet is the first step to alien abduction. Heeseung looks at the man with cruel intent, wishing he were stronger and more confident to cuss the receptionist out for treating you with zero regard.

You throw the two £20 notes at him with the same lack of enthusiasm he gave you and walk towards the room that you know is ridiculously overpriced for what you’ll be given.

And unfortunately for you, it is.

As you open the door and switch on the light, your eyes come across a room so bad that you wouldn’t even let your worst enemy spend a night there. Stains cover the walls, a mixture of blood and piss, though you aren’t quite sure which is which. The ceiling light is half hanging down and flickering rapidly, making it hard for your eyes to focus. The bed sheets are an ugly geometric pattern, clearly chosen to hide whatever atrocities have been conceived within these four walls.

A sour, musty smell permeates the air, a blend of mildew and neglect. The carpet looks damp, suggesting that it’s soaked up more than just water over the years. You gingerly make your way to the bed, pulling back the covers to reveal dingy, threadbare sheets that have seen far better days.

Heeseung stands awkwardly in the doorway, looking around the room with wide eyes. “This place is... something else,” he mutters, the understatement of the century.

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to keep your voice light despite the overwhelming urge to retch. “But at least we have a roof over our heads for the night.”

Heeseung nods, though his expression remains dubious. He drops the bag near the foot of the bed and wanders around the room, looking for any cameras of rats hiding in plain sight. “We’ll make do,” he says, more to reassure himself than you. He has been in far too many dodgy hotels in the last 24 hours.

You sit on the end of the bed, groaning as you take off your heels, your toes happily wiggling with freedom as they thump in agonising pain. Now that you have a moment to relax, your feet are developijg their own heartbeat, banging against your nerves as they scream in pain. 

Heeseung notices the blisters, some just forming and some already burst. There are dark purple bruises on the base of your foot which has now turned bright crimson. He knew the heels were damaging your feet but he never expected it to look like a massacre - it looks like your feet have been put in a shredder during a workplace accident and he’s ready to call on your behalf for some compensation.

“Are you okay?” he asks, knowing the answer already.

“I’m okay, I just need to let them breathe for a minute,” you reply, massaging your feet before they begin to swell any further.

Finding the bathroom, he rummages around for something while you ease your pain. You accidentally run your thumbs too harshly over one of the forming blisters and yelp out, tears pricking your eyes. 

Heeseung comes out from the bathroom, sees a tear slip past your cheek, and instantly shifts into caring mode. He kneels before you, taking the foot that you are grasping and gently lifting it up, pressing a cold compress to your wounds. While he was in the bathroom, he found a face cloth and dampened it, hoping the cooling sensation will somehow ease the pain you’re feeling.

He washes your feet with so much care that it makes your heart do a front flip, the feeling of someone looking after you is almost so foreign that your body doesn’t know how to take it. You could have guessed Heeseung was the caring type, what with how he offered to carry you until you found a place to rest or how he took your bag from your grasp so you had one less thing to worry about. He was so gentle that you mourn all the women who missed out on him because he was too shy.

After a few minutes of silence, Heeseung speaks up. “It’s impressive,” he states simply, keeping his eyes and hands on the task of easing your pain.

Tilting your head, you look at him quizically, “What is?”

“Being able to walk in heels. Particularly ones like those.” His head points to the devil shoes beside him, shuddering at even the thought of you having to put them back on at some point.

“I think you would look good in them, or maybe a pair of Mary Janes is more your style?” you laugh, albeit followed by a suppressed wince as he tries to press out a knot in the arch of your sole.

Heeseung cocks an eyebrow and scoffs. “You might as well give me a pair of stilts, I’d do a better job with them.”

The casual conversation is desperately needed, the tension in your bones slowly fading as you relax. There hasn’t been time to breathe or process anything that has happened, or even share a normal conversation with Heeseung, your minds too busy focusing on getting away with murder, so you welcome the moment to breathe.

Your feet are beginning to feel better, his magical touch is bringing the nerves in your feet back to a normal state. “You’re good at this,” you say fondly, admiring his work.

“One of my friends is a football player, he asks me to do this all the time for him,” he says, sharing a piece of his life with you.

“Was that the one on the phone when you called me?” 

“No, that was Jongseong. He would rather play guitar than play football,” he smiles, thinking of his friend. But that gleeful smile quickly fades into a sorrowful one as he remembers there is a high possibility that he will never see his best friend again.

The boy he has grown up with, the one he used to play basketball with at the park just by the rundown council estate, the scheme he used to call home. He won’t ever get to taste his cooking again or wear matching pyjamas on sleepover nights that they host because ‘it looks so much fun when girls do it’, and he certainly won’t get to hug him again when he needs someone to lean on; the boy is his saving grace and he can’t even speak to him about all of this. 

Heeseung’s breath shakes as he thinks about the implications of his actions. What if Jongseong sees him differently after all of this? Will he believe that it was all in self-defence? Surely after knowing one another for nearly 20 years would warrant some understanding or rationalising.

Quickly, Heeseung clears his throat and shakes his head, blinking back his tears as he stands up and avoids your eyes. You’re confused for a moment but then you observe the upset features and understand. You don’t have friends or family so talking about them would have little to no effect on you or your mind, but Heeseung must have had a bustling friend group and a supportive family, talking about Jongseong must have triggered something inside him, an awakening to the situation that you both find yourselves in.

Reaching out, you try to take his hand but he moves away before you can offer him any solace, heading towards the bathroom. “I’m…going to shower,” he informs you, already making his way to the mould and limescale-filled bathroom.

Unfortunately, the silence he has left in his wake now allows you to dwell in your own dark thoughts. Rather than what Heeseung is feeling regarding friends and family, you’re having to process the fact that while he will have people searching for him, clearing his name because he is ‘too sweet’ and ‘gentle’ to do such a thing, no one will bat an eyelid at you or your character.

You’re a sex worker with no real goals or aspirations, just trying your hardest to get by. No family because they’re either dead or won’t speak to you, the only friends you have are those in the brothel but they quietly distanced themselves once you left, envious of the independent life you chose while they work for half their earnings and have no such thing as flexibility to pick and choose.

When the news eventually breaks out, what will they say? ‘Prostitute Turned a Good Boy Bad in Sexual Murder Fantasy’? You’ll be pinned for all the blame but not for the right reason. Heeseung protected you by murdering that man, he has run away for you so you don’t get caught and charged. He could have gotten away with this, pleaded self-defence just like he said yet you’re the one that forced him to run with you for your selfish reasons.

This is all your fault.

As the weight of your situation crashes down on you, a tear escapes your glossy eyes. You catch it quickly, composing yourself before Heeseung returns. You are determined not to show your weak side too much in front of him; you have to be strong for both of you. God knows his kind and wholesome nature isn’t up for carrying the burdens that this journey will entail.

Hearing the water turn off, you quickly wipe your eyes and sit up straighter, putting on a brave face. It’s difficult to be tough in these situations but for your sanity and hit, you will have to.

Emerging from the shower, Heeseung is draped in a low-hanging towel, his toned tummy now fully visible to you for the first time. His skin is a delicious shade of honey and whiskey and the water droplets running from his chest to his pubic area make it look sweet and inviting. His muscles aren’t overly prominent but just enough to flex and reveal some veins, and his stature somehow looks longer, taller than when he is clothed.

You can’t help but admire the sight before you, feeling an involuntary tug of desire. The damp hair clings to his forehead, and the fresh scent of soap mingles with the steam still lingering from the shower. He looks almost ethereal in the dim light, a contrast to the grimy room surrounding you both.

Your mind drifts to a tantalising fantasy - crawling towards him, begging him to let you take his virginity right here on the filthy, stained bed. The thought sends a shiver down your spine but you know there is a time and a place for such thoughts, and now isn’t ideal. 

He pats some of the water from his left ear before shaking his hair like a dog coming in from the rain. Pushing his hair back, he catches you staring at him and immediately blushes, a tint of rose travelling from his neck to his cheeks.

“Sorry, I should have put my clothes back on,” he says bashfully, quickly retreating to the bathroom to grab his boxers. 

You shake your head to clear your thoughts and respond to his statement. “No, no. We only have one set of clothes each, so it’s best we don’t sleep in them for now,” you say, offering a pragmatic approach to the sleepwear arrangement. 

Taking off his shirt from your body, you stand up and hand it to him. “Thank you for letting me borrow this. I might need it again tomorrow though.” You walk over to him, handing the material back.

His eyes hover on your chest for a second before quickly looking away, careful not to meet your gaze or make eye contact with your erect nipples. Inside, his internal monologue is screaming at even the prospect of seeing your boobs again, but just like in the car, he wants to remain respectful.

You cock your head in surprise at his reaction, not understanding why he won’t even spare you a glance. Looking down at your bare chest, you inhale in understanding and let out a small, huffed laugh. “Heeseung, you were holding my tits not even 14 hours ago, you can look at them.”

“I know, but I still need to be respectful,” he replies, his eyes still not daring to look at any part of your body. It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it’s simply the fact that he wants you to feel comfortable. And how comfortable can a woman be with a man’s prying eyes all over her?

Heeseung might be the most considerate man you have ever met, so hearing him say even the word respect in your presence fills your heart with warmth.

“Do you want me to put it back on?” you ask, waving the shirt in his face. You also have to respect him, and if he’s uncomfortable with you being topless, you need to honour his wishes.

Those Bambi eyes come out once again as he shakes his head. “No, if you’re comfortable, then so am I.”

You smile at his genuine concern. The room’s dim light casts soft shadows on his face, accentuating his gentle features. “You really are something else, Heeseung. You’re so sweet,” you say softly, feeling a sense of comfort in his presence.

Heeseung’s blush deepens, and he shifts slightly, clearly not used to receiving compliments. “I just want you to feel safe,” he mumbles, his eyes still focused on anything but you.

“Thank you,” you reply sincerely. Reaching up to his cheek, you gently pull him to look at you. “I haven’t felt this safe in a long time.”

It’s true. Sure, you might have the police on your trail by now and there is no working lock on the motel room door, but with Heeseung, you feel protected, even if just emotionally. And as Heeseung leans into your touch, you know he feels the same.

If there was anyone to be in this nightmare with, you’re glad it’s him.

“Why don’t we go to bed?” you suggest, pinching his cheek ever so slightly before removing your hand from his face. His cheek wishes to follow you, to keep the heat and easement of its touch, the cold air from the draught now washing over him uncomfortably but that could be due to the fact that he is still only in a towel.

“You don’t want to shower? It might help your feet,” the boy suggests.

“No, I just…I need to rest right now.” The thought of going in for a shower and spending any more time on your feet makes your skin crawl. You’ll shower in the morning but right now, you need to lie down and drift out of this nightmare, even if only for a couple of hours.

Heeseung nods, trying to muster a smile despite the obvious discomfort from the chill and the situation. He stands, turning away slightly to hide his lingering embarrassment as he slips into his boxers, leaving his upper body bare. He twists to turn the overhead light off and makes his way to the uncomfortable bed.

You, meanwhile, pull the blanket up and over your shoulders, creating a small cocoon of warmth and a barrier between your tits and his eyes, just in case he overheats at the sight of them in his face. As you settle in, you can’t help but glance at Heeseung, his body now framed by the dim light of the moonlight and his ass is just peachy enough to make you want to grab it. He slips under the blanket beside you before your mind can wander away once again, careful to maintain a respectful distance.

The bed is small, forcing you both closer than you might have intended but the shared warmth is a welcome relief from the chill. You can hear the steady rhythm of Heeseung’s breathing, a sound that somehow manages to soothe your frayed nerves. He turns his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours and you offer him a reassuring smile.

Heeseung can’t help but admire your beauty, your eyes that speak of the strong woman you are, how you have handled yourself so well throughout all of this, and yet he can still see the vulnerability in your pupils. He believes that there isn’t a woman as beautiful as you in this entire world and he wishes under different circumstances things could be different for both of you.

With a trembling hand, he reaches to push the strayed hairs from your face, a caring gesture that your heart isn’t acquainted with. His fingertips ghost your forehead so lightly that a butterfly could do more damage. You smile and find your body melting, even if only slightly, caving into the comfort.

He smiles back at you, a little more confident in his touch once he sees you visibly at ease. He won’t let you know how much his heart is racing or how the water from his back is out of nervous sweating and not the lukewarm shower he just took. He is nervous to even be in this bed with you, yet he knows you don’t need to hear about that right now, you just need someone to lean on and Heeseung will make damn sure to be that person for you.

“Heeseung?” 

“Hmm?”

“I’m really sorry,” you begin, voice breaking a tiny bit as you apologise to him. “This is all my fault and I dragged you into this mess. You should be sitting that exam on Monday and you sure as fuck shouldn’t be with me in this shithole of a motel, god knows how far away from home.”

Your words make Heeseung’s heart break, the cracks allowing his empathy to seep through into his touch. His hand cups your face, his thumb gently stroking the apples of your cheeks, each caress a silent kiss of reassurance.

“Y/N, you couldn’t have known all of this was going to happen,” he says softly, his voice laced with sympathy. He knows you’ll shoulder the blame, even though you never asked for the brute of a man to almost murder you.

Your hand covers his, and you clasp it, bringing it to rest between you both. “I think I did, in some way. He didn’t take it very well when I told him to shove his money and never come back.” The memory of the man’s red-clad face and angry words winces in your chest as you speak.

“What did he do? Did he…hurt you?” Heeseung swallows the last part of the sentence, already aware of the horrors that can happen in your line of work. His heart sinks into his stomach as you sit in silence, contemplating what to tell him. Part of him wishes he hadn’t asked, fearing the confirmation that the man’s earlier attack wasn’t his first attempt to harm you. Heeseung might have approached this life with pure intentions, but he knows other men certainly do not.

You look down at your interlocked hands and squeeze his fingers tightly. “He was a nice guy at first, paid well and always respected my boundaries. Then one day, he asked me to do something I wasn’t comfortable with, almost forcing me to,” you choke back the tear-filled lump in your throat and close your eyes, the memory overwhelming you. You haven’t spoken out loud about what happened, making it difficult to process emotionally.

Seeing you struggle internally, Heeseung brings your hand to his mouth and kisses it softly, taking a leaf from Sunghoon’s book in an attempt to console you. The meaning behind his gesture compared to the drivers is vastly different and you can even feel it in how tenderly his lips press on your knuckles. 

There is a rumble in your chest as you look at Heeseung who is staring back at you with a shy grin, hoping that his attempt to comfort you has worked. Somehow, it has, and the tears that threatened to spill now make their way back to the ducts as you blink them away. It’s amazing how quickly a simple comforting touch can change the direction of your emotions. As quickly as you want to break down and succumb to the negative emotions, Heeseung has turned the plane around into overwhelming thankfulness. 

Breathing in, you compose yourself again and return his smile. “Thank you. I’m really okay,” liar, “I’m just…sorry I got you into this mess and took you away from your friends and family.”

"Hey, stop apologising. This is no one’s fault but that scum of a dickhead,” Heeseung replies almost instantly, not giving you a chance to take the blame any longer.

You unclasp your hand from his and tuck his long hair behind his ear. His face instantly reddens at the intimate action, the blush spreading rapidly across his cheeks. How he swallows dryly and closes his eyes to calm himself down makes you giggle. “You really haven’t been around girls, have you?” you ask with one eyebrow raised, genuinely curious. You believe him, but you also don’t understand how someone so attractive and kind-hearted has gone 22 years without catching the interest of even one girl.

“No, I haven’t,” he admits, his voice matter-of-fact. But as he sees your eyes urging him to elaborate, he continues, “You’re all just so amazing and beautiful that even thinking about you all puts me in a cold sweat. Every time I talk to a girl, I stutter.”

“Well, with how sweet you are and how big your cock is, you’re doing my kind a disservice here,” you chuckle and he soon follows, although his titter is one filled with nerves due to you mentioning his cock, never mind complimenting it. 

Even this subtle moment of laughter eases the sadness that engulfs the small, suffocating room. Your body relaxes instantly as you share the tender moment, the worries subsiding if only for a few seconds. You truly believe that with Heeseung here with you, there might be a white light at the end of the tunnel.

“We will get through this, yeah?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly, betraying the nerves beneath your bravado.

Heeseung, lying beside you, feels an overwhelming rush of emotion at your words. The term ‘we’ makes his knees buckle and his body melt, even in his reclined position. The idea that you are now a ‘we’ fills him with a strange pride; it feels right. In the midst of the chaos and uncertainty, this newly formed bond with you is the one thing that makes sense.

Taking your hand gently, he brings it up from under the covers, the warmth of your touch grounding him. He holds out his pinky, a simple yet powerful gesture of solidarity, and intertwines it with yours. “Together,” he murmurs, his voice steady and filled with conviction for the first time since you met.

You squeeze his pinky, conveying a depth of emotion that words cannot. The weight of the world still presses down on you both but in this moment you feel a sense of unity and strength that gives you hope.

Heeseung's gaze softens as he looks at you, his eyes reflecting the unspoken promises and shared resolve between you. “We’ll face whatever comes,” he continues, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. We’ll find a way through this.”

A lump forms in your throat, deeply moved by his sincerity. “Thank you, Heeseung,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For everything.”

You lean forward and press a tender kiss to his lips, shocking him still before he responds. His lips are soft and warm against yours, and you can feel the initial surprise melt into a gentle acceptance. He moves his lips timidly against your gentle motions, embracing your bottom lip between his. When you pull back, your foreheads rest against each other, and you can feel his breath, a soft, comforting rhythm against your skin.

Heeseung's eyes flutter open, filled with a mixture of awe and tenderness. “Y/N,” he breathes, his voice low. “I... I don’t....”

“I won’t charge you for that one, don’t worry,” you joke, eyes shrinking in size as you smile at him with adoration. 

“You can add it to my bill,” he jabs back, the ease between you both settling softly in his heart. He’s in this with you for however long you can both keep running; he’ll never run out of breath with you by his side.

You both settle back down, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with you. As you lie there, facing one another, the connection between you creates a sanctuary, a haven amid the storm..

“Goodnight, Heeseung,” you murmur, your eyes closing as sleep begins to pull you under.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replies softly, pressing another nervous gentle kiss to your forehead, hoping you don’t mind it. “Sweet dreams.”

_____

It has been three days since you and Heeseung embarked on this desperate journey. The days blur together into a surreal montage of fleeting rides in strangers’ cars, restless nights spent in makeshift shelters, and scavenging through lost and found bins for essentials. The denim booty shorts were a tight fit, the crop top strained against your curves, and the trainers were a comically mismatched pair that made walking more of a challenge than usual. But they were clothes and that counted for something; you’re just thankful to keep your heels firmly off your feet.

On the plus side, the witch hunt hasn’t caught up with you yet. There have been no news articles or TV broadcasts with your faces plastered on them, which means the authorities are probably still focusing their search on your home city. Maybe they think you’re hiding out somewhere familiar, not realising you’ve already slipped away. There’s also a slight comfort in knowing you’re not their top priority, what with a lunatic serial killer on the loose taking up most of their attention. The murder of a local cheater seems low on their list, giving you a small, but temporary, reprieve.

But you can’t afford to get too comfortable. It’s only a matter of time before they widen their search and your faces become recognisable as wanted criminals. Every day, you wake up with a jolt, wondering if today will be the day they catch up to you. Fear is a constant companion.

You’ve settled into a rough routine. By day, you move from place to place, never staying too long in one spot. By night, you find whatever shelter you can and try to get some rest. Sleep doesn’t come easy, not with the constant worry of being found, but having Heeseung beside you helps. You take turns keeping watch and your trust in each other grows stronger with each passing day.

There’s an unspoken bond between you now, forged by the hardships you’ve faced together. You’ve seen each other at your lowest, your most vulnerable, and yet there’s a strength in that vulnerability. You’ve learned to rely on each other in ways you never thought possible, and it’s this reliance that keeps you going, even when everything else seems bleak.

Heeseung has also gotten over the virgin nerves and talks to you casually, the stuttering and awkward glances to you now significantly less.However, his newfound ease doesn’t extend to other girls. One driver you hitched a ride from was a beautiful brunette with tanned skin and tattoos along her neck. At first, you thought he might have been nervous due to her rugged appearance, but that was quickly debunked when you caught him fumbling over his sentences, even when she asked for something as simple as his name. He was clearly taken aback by her beauty. You can't help but slightly miss how he used to be like that around you, though you have more pressing concerns at the moment.

As you both approach a convenience store, you turn to Heeseung. "Do we have enough money to buy ciggies?"

Heeseung sighs, shaking his head. "No, we don’t. We used the last £2 we had on the bottles of water and that pack of Opal Fruits," he replies, the defeat in his voice palpable. The thought of no more delicious fruit-flavoured cubed treats to munch on for a burst of energy or to get the taste of dehydration from his mouth makes him want to whine out like a displeased child.

The convenience store is a small, rundown building with flickering lights. As you step inside, the smell of stale bread and cleaning detergent hits you. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glare on the faded linoleum floor. You glance around, hoping to find something cheap enough to stave off your hunger, but your pockets are painfully empty.

Heeseung starts browsing the shelves, his eyes lingering on the snacks and drinks you can't afford. You both know stealing isn’t an option - not between Heeseung’s morals and the possibility that getting caught could mean the end of your freedom. Still, the gnawing hunger and the need for a smoke make it hard to ignore the tempting sight of cigarettes behind the counter.

You notice Heeseung's gaze fixed on a pack of Hobnob biscuits, his expression is a mix of longing and resignation. “Maybe we can find some loose change outside,” he suggests half-heartedly, already knowing it’s a long shot. None of you have found even 20p in all the time you’ve been walking.

The shopkeeper, a grumpy-looking old man with glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose, eyes you both suspiciously, your raggy clothes and dishevelled appearance enough to put any shop owner on high alert. You try to ignore the weight of his stare, feeling more like fugitives with each passing second.

"Let's just go," you mutter, pulling Heeseung towards the door. "We'll figure something out."

Outside, the scorching sun beats down relentlessly, turning the air into a furnace that makes your skin tingle and your clothes cling uncomfortably. There’s not much around besides the convenience store, a few gas pumps, and an old, forgotten bus stop that provides a meagre shelter from the blistering heat. Exhausted and desperate, you flop down onto the narrow seat of the bus stop, letting out a sigh of relief tinged with despair.

Resting your head against the plastic shelter, you shield your eyes from the glaring sun with your hand. In a swift move, Heeseung positions himself in front of you, casting a cool shadow that eases the strain on your eyes. The reprieve is brief but welcome in this sweltering heat.

While taking a moment to catch your breath, something catches your eye - a flyer hanging askew on the bus stop wall. It flutters in the hot breeze, its edges worn and corners curling from exposure to the elements. You reach out and grab it, fingers brushing against the weathered paper. Despite its faded appearance, the bold, colourful graphics are still discernible, and your heart skips a beat as you read the headline:

“Saturn Club: Where the Stars Align for a Stellar Time.”

Your eyes widen as you scan the flyer. It's an advertisement for a local strip club, promising quick cash for performers. The advert is as though it was made for you, what with all the countless times you’ve had to do strip teases for clients.

"Heeseung, look at this," you say, handing him the flyer with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "There is a strip club not far from here!” you exclaim. Never in your life did you think you would be so happy to see a strip club in rundown Britain, yet, it might as well be a casino in Vegas for you both right now. 

Taking the poster from your hand, Heeseung inspects it carefully and his brows furrow in contemplation between concern and pragmatic consideration. “Y/N, this…are you sure? The men at these places can get pretty handsy.”

“I’m a sex worker, Heeseung, all I know is handsy,” you laugh, still elated by the idea of earning enough money to survive even just a little longer. “It’s only one night and the least I ever made was £300.”

Heeseung sighs, torn between his protective instincts and the harsh reality of your current situation. The thought of you subjected to the leering eyes and groping hands of strangers doesn't sit well with him, but he knows you both need the money urgently, and he can’t exactly argue that £300, or even £50, wouldn’t do you both the world of good.

"We need the money," you add softly, seeing the turmoil in his eyes. "And right now, this might be our best shot. Let me do this."

Heeseung nods reluctantly, handing the flyer back to you. "Okay, if this is what we have to do," his voice is tinged with resignation. Deep down, he wishes there were another way, a safer way for you to earn the cash you need.

“You need to sell me though,” you say, already trying to fix your hair in the reflection of the shelter window panes.

Tilting his head, he looks at you quizzically. “What the hell do you mean ‘sell’ you.”

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before explaining. "I mean, I have to look appealing, desirable. These places thrive on attraction, Heeseung. Men only want what they think is in high demand," you say earnestly, meeting his concerned gaze. "So I need you to present me to the owner, assuming it's a man. Tell him that I'm highly wanted all over South London. That should seal the deal."

Wanted was not an intentional word choice but technically then, Heeseung wasn’t lying. You technically are wanted.

“You mean you want me to pimp you out?” he gasps, clutching onto your bag with might as he fathoms the idea. He doesn’t want to ‘sell’ you, he wants you to go in there, sit on a few laps and then dip.

But when he looks into your pleading eyes, he knows there is no point in arguing with you. You’re going to that club whether he likes it or not, he might as well support you, protect you. Although he doesn’t know if he’ll be any use, you do a damn good job at that all on your own.

Heeseung takes a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Alright," he says, his voice more resolute. "Let's do this. But I'll be right there with you, okay? I'm not leaving your side for a second."

“Good, you can watch me in action,” you smile, winking as you begin the walk to the sleazy club.

_____

After a twenty-minute walk and Heeseung running his fingers through your hair to make it look presentable, you both stand outside Saturn strip club. The sign above the entrance flickers with an image of a planet and rings, casting an ethereal blue and orange glow that adds to the futuristic atmosphere. Despite it being only late afternoon, the music is already blaring, and the car park is packed with vehicles, a testament to the club's popularity; which means more money for you and Heeseung.

Grabbing your hand, Heeseung pulls you back before you head to the bouncer, causing you to whip around. His iris’ gleam with apprehension as he eyes you one last time. “If anyone touches you or does something you don’t like, give me a signal and I’ll be the first one there,” he says calmly, though his voice box shakes slightly. It’s one thing to imagine you in an uncomfortable predicament, but somehow knowing he is benefiting from this too makes him feel queasy.

You squeeze his hand reassuringly, the warmth of his touch grounding you. “I promise, you’ll be the first I run to,” you say, offering him a wide grin to ease his nerves. You want him to know that you’re ready for whatever lies behind those black double doors.

Heeseung nods, taking a deep breath as he lets you go. The bouncer gives you a brief nod and opens the door, letting you both step inside the entrance area of the club. The interior is even more dazzling than you anticipated, with laser lights cutting through artificial smoke, creating an atmosphere that feels otherworldly. You wouldn’t think it was broad daylight outside, so much so you have to adjust your eyes.

An eager host comes up to greet you, her eyes already trained on Heeseung only. She is gorgeous, more beautiful than you could ever imagine being which makes you wonder how on earth she ended up in a place like this. 

You take her in, unable to resist admiring her curves in the skimpy outfit she clearly chose to maximise tips. She is adorned in white leather, her bra providing minimal coverage and accentuating her cleavage. Pastel pink buckles run along the seams of the cups, matching the pretty pink buckled collar around her neck. The bottom half of her outfit is equally provocative: a white leather thong, complemented by pink straps on either side of her hips. Her thighs are wrapped in matching buckled straps that draw your gaze directly to the intricate cherry blossom tattoo on her thigh. The overall effect is mesmerising, her outfit both alluring and carefully crafted to captivate attention.

And attention she has gained, particularly from your tall companion, whose mouth hangs open as he twists his neck, a telltale sign of his overstimulation. The girl places her hands on his chest, rubbing his pecs slightly, her touch both confident and teasing. Heeseung's eyes widen, his breath hitching as he tries to process the sudden intimacy. The girl smirks, clearly enjoying the effect she has on him, her fingers tracing gentle patterns over his shirt.

"What's your name, handsome?" she purrs, her voice low and sultry.

Heeseung stammers, trying to find his voice. "H-Heeseung," he finally manages to say, his cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. He thinks you’re beautiful - no, he knows you’re beautiful. But this girl is like something off the VHS tapes he keeps under his bed. Her full lips and honey-toned skin are enough to send him into overdrive, never mind how good her touch feels.

“Pretty name, I’m Mars,” she whispers, looking up at him with innocent yet deadly eyes.

“Like the p-planet?” he stutters. He had thought he got over this - speaking with you so freely, seeing your body more times than he could have ever imagined. It was easy with you. But now this girl, Mars, had booked him a ticket right back into Loserville.

Giggling, she pushes her chest into his, bringing her lips to his ear. “Yeah, like the planet. Do you want to explore it, baby?” Her teeth nibble slightly at his lobe and he swears he starts to hear colours as his cock leaps for joy.

The sultry invitation has Heeseung frozen in place, his mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts and sensations. He's completely out of his depth, his body betraying him as he tries to maintain some semblance of composure. His breath comes in shallow gasps, and he struggles to form coherent words.

You watch as Mars absolutely devours Heeseung’s ability to do anything, and jealousy spikes inside you. Are you envious of the way she makes him feel? Absolutely, and you’re doing a poor job of hiding it. Your face twists in disgust as you glare at the girl, feeling a pang of possessiveness.

“Mars? Hi,” you say, tapping her shoulder with exaggerated politeness. “We’re actually here to see your manager. I need a job.” Your tone is sharp and direct, devoid of any negative emotions toward the hardworking girl. It’s not her fault she’s pining over Heeseung - who wouldn’t? But it doesn’t make it sting any less just because you understand she has a job to do and that your partner in crime is insanely attractive and innocent.

Mars blinks, momentarily taken aback by your interruption. She recovers quickly, though, flashing you a fake professional smile. “Of course, babe. Follow me,” she says, stepping away from Heeseung and giving you a small nod of acknowledgment.

You follow Mars through the club, feeling Heeseung's presence close behind you, his hand constantly on your back for assurance, for him more so than you. The music grows louder as you weave through the throng of patrons, the air thick with the scent of perfume and sweat. Neon lights cast an otherworldly glow on the scene, dancers moving with hypnotic grace under the cosmic-themed decorations.

Reaching a door marked "Manager," Mars knocks lightly before pushing it open. “Boss, I’ve got someone here who’s interested in a job,” she announces, stepping aside to let you and Heeseung enter. 

Before Mars shuts the door behind her, she lets her hand trail down Heeseung’s arm, creating a fleeting contact that sends a shiver over his body. “Come find me when you’re done here, hmm? I’ll take you to the stars,” she whispers with a sultry smile, her words hanging in the air like a promise.

Heeseung audibly gulps, caught off guard by Mars’s bold flirtation. His cheeks flush pink as he nods in response, his movements almost automatic under her gaze. Mars gives him a knowing smile before finally closing the door, leaving you and Heeseung alone with the club manager.

The manager, a stern-looking man with a grizzled beard and piercing eyes, studies you both intently. He gestures for you to take a seat opposite his desk, the room lit dimly by a solitary desk lamp that casts deep shadows across his face.

“So, you’re looking for a job as a dancer?” he asks, his voice gruff yet measured.

“Yes, just for tonight,” you reply, in hopes that it sweetens the deal. “Heeseung will tell you, I’ve done this gig before, tell him.” You pinch Heeseung’s elbow to get him out of his Mars-like trance and he stands to attention, nodding eagerly.

The manager sits forward, waiting to hear Heeseung’s pitch, stroking his beard as he assesses the nervous boy in front of him. Nudging him forward, you look at Heeseung with desperation. It’s humiliating, having to rely on a man to get you work but that’s the business in this day in age. Perhaps one day, women will be able to take the reigns of sex work and enjoy the industry freely without judgment or men involved.

Heeseung shifts nervously, feeling the weight of his words as he describes you to the manager. "Y/N, she is uh…" He pauses, searching for the right thing to say that will convey admiration without making you uncomfortable. "She’s gorgeous, more beautiful than any of the women you have here already," he continues earnestly, his cheeks tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "Her body is to die for, seriously. She’s got curves in all the right places, and there’s this cute little freckle on her ass, like a beauty mark. And her smile…she can pull you in so easily with it."

The honesty in his voice shocks you a little and melts your heart all the same. He’s talking about your body but not once did he make you feel like a piece of meat, his words oddly sending a fleet of butterflies to your stomach. His cheeks tinted rosé only add to the sincerity of his words, showing that he's not accustomed to vocalising such thoughts openly. It's clear he's navigating unfamiliar territory, trying his best to convey his admiration without crossing any boundaries.

“Okay, enough lovey-dovey shit. Turn around for me, Princess,” the manager's gruff directive breaks the tender moment, pulling you sharply back into the stark reality of the strip club's business. His blunt manner contrasts sharply with Heeseung's earlier sincerity, reminding you of the transactional nature of this environment. Swallowing your discomfort, you comply with his request, turning slowly as instructed.

"I have my own lingerie and I can dance to any music," you assert, trying to negotiate terms that will give you some control over the situation. Your eyes plead with him, hoping to strike a balance between earning your keep and maintaining a semblance of autonomy. “I’ll give you 10% of my tips, directly to you, not including the commission from private dances.”

Now that makes the man's ears perk up. Clasping his hands and rubbing them together, the sound mimicking that of two sandpapers, he nods. “Start now. 10% fees and your boyfriend stays away from you.”

"Deal!" you exclaim, relief flooding through you at the prospect of securing work for the night. The excitement in your voice is genuine, tempered by the grim reality of your circumstances. You know there are far better things to be enthusiastic about than exposing yourself for money, but the promise of earning enough for basic needs like a hot meal and a decent bed feels like a small victory in this moment of desperation.

You grasp Heeseung's hand firmly as you exit the manager's office, eager to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere and find some privacy to prepare for your unexpected performance. The hallway is dimly lit, the walls adorned with faded posters advertising past events at the club, their colours muted under the flickering red lights.

"Heeseung, come on," you urge, your voice a hushed whisper tinged with urgency. You guide him down the narrow corridor, following the manager's directions to the dressing room where you can change into the lingerie you brought along. “Can you pass me my bag?” you ask, already shedding the clothes that have clung to you for far too long.

You don’t miss the thongs or the bra, but god did you hate the clothes you were stuck with.

Heeseung nods, silently searching in the bag. His brow furrows slightly as he retrieves your heels, recalling the pain you endured on your first night on the run. Next, he carefully pulls out the baby blue lingerie, decorated with delicate lace details and dainty white bows. Fortunately, you had packed a garter belt and matching fishnet stockings, adding a touch of allure to the ensemble. This was the outfit meant for your most generous client, designed to be slowly peeled away piece by piece to maximise his enjoyment.

Turning to Heeseung, you take the outfit and begin to dress yourself. He feels a pang of discomfort on your behalf, averting his eyes as you start to remove your denim shorts and underwear. He catches himself thinking about how much he’s seen of you and vice versa, how much you’ve shared on this chaotic journey together. Perhaps you are closer than he initially realised, having been through so much in such a short period. Yet, he respects your privacy and understands there are parts of you that should remain yours alone.

As you adjust the lingerie, ensuring everything fits just right, you steal a glance at Heeseung. His cheeks are flushed, and he shifts awkwardly, clearly grappling with conflicting emotions. “Heeseung, how do I look?”

His heart skips a beat at your question, grateful for the permission to openly admire you. You look even more beautiful than the day he first met you, the soft blue hue of the lingerie complementing your skin perfectly. The garters and fishnet stockings add an allure that both excites and unsettles him, stirring desires he’s tried to suppress amidst the chaos of your circumstances.

“Well?” you prompt, twirling gracefully, a playful smile dancing on your lips. His breath catches as he watches you spin, a sight that simultaneously ignites a fierce longing and a protective instinct.

“You look… stunning,” he manages, his voice soft yet filled with sincerity. “Ready.”

He tacks on the last word to offer you more than a mere compliment; it’s a declaration of ability, a reassurance that you’re prepared for whatever lies ahead. Despite the ache in his chest and the turmoil in his mind, Heeseung’s smile remains steadfast.

You meet his gaze, gratitude reflected in your features. His encouragement steadies you, reminding you that despite the circumstances, you are more than capable of taking control of your destiny tonight. You are Y/N L/N, and you can do this.

“Thank you, Heeseung,” you say softly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. His touch grounds you, a tangible anchor in the stormy sea of uncertainties that surrounds you both. “I’ll try and make as much money as I can.”

“And if anyone makes you uncomfortable—”

“Call to you, I know,” you finish his sentence with a sheepish smile, not accustomed to being under someone’s protective watch but grateful for it nonetheless. You lean in and place a gentle kiss on his cheek, feeling a sense of ease knowing he’s there for you.

With a final nod and a reassuring squeeze of his hand, you turn towards the door leading back into the club. The music pulses louder now, beckoning you into the atmosphere of flashing lights and swirling bodies. Adjusting your mindset and your bra strap, you step forward, ready to face the night.

_____

Four hours later, Heeseung remains firmly planted in the same velvet-covered seat, his nerves fraying with each passing minute. The club is now teeming with activity, a veritable circus of swirling bodies, flashing lights, and pounding music. Businessmen in expensive suits mingle with scantily-clad dancers, the scent of perfume and cologne blending into a heady cocktail that fills the air.

Heeseung's leg bounces incessantly, a physical manifestation of his anxiety. He's on edge, eyes darting around the room, trying to avoid making eye contact with the dancers who occasionally drift his way. Each time, he mumbles a polite yet firm, "Not here for that," and though some of the girls give him puzzled or slightly annoyed looks, they leave him alone, recognising a dry well when they see one.

His mind keeps drifting back to you, wondering how you're holding up. The thought of you out there, flaunting your body for money, makes his stomach churn, but he knows there's no other choice. You need this, and he has to be strong for you. He can’t help but glance at the clock every few minutes, each tick of the second hand stretching his patience thinner.

Despite his tension, each time you return from a private dance, your presence alone is enough to soothe his tempered nerves momentarily. Your face is a beacon in the dim, neon-lit haze, glowing with a mixture of triumph and exhaustion. You shoot him a gleeful smile and a thumbs up, your eyes sparkling with excitement and relief, signalling that you're making a decent amount of money.

Heeseung feels a mixture of pride and concern. Pride because you're handling this so well, dancing with grace and charm, turning a dire situation into an opportunity. Concern because he knows the toll this must be taking on you, physically and emotionally. Each time you disappear into the back rooms, he holds his breath, praying silently for your safety.

His focus is jarred back to the present as a particularly loud group of businessmen settles into the seats next to him. Their raucous laughter and crude jokes only amplify his discomfort. He shifts in his seat, trying to block out their conversation, but their words seep through, unfortunately. This is just one of the times he wishes that he had a backbone and could tell them to stop being derogatory but he’s already on a boat without a paddle in this place and if he gets kicked out then he can’t be here for you, so he sits quietly and focuses on your upcoming performance.

You’ve done so well over the past couple of hours that the manager has given you the go-ahead for a special 'one night only' stage performance. This is where the punters can throw as much or as little money as they want, as long as the club gets half of your earnings. In Heeseung’s mind, it’s not worth the effort, but you know even with the cut, you could easily make at least £200 from this one dance alone.

Heeseung’s anxiety spikes as the announcement is made, attention from everyone in Saturn is now glued to the stage. However, just as he is about to get comfy, he’s barely settled back into his velvet seat when suddenly, there’s a weight on his lap - unfamiliar but not unpleasant. His heart skips a beat and he tenses.

Looking down, he finds Mars, the sultry hostess from earlier, perched comfortably on his thighs. Her perfume envelops him, a heady mix of vanilla and spice that adds to his already heightened senses. She smiles seductively, her eyes glinting with mischief as she twirls a lock of her hair around her finger.

“You looked a little lonely,” she observes, her eyes trailing up and down his body. She brings a shot glass to his face. “Here, have a drink on me, you seem a bit dehydrated.”

“I-I don’t drink, sorry,” Heeseung stammers awkwardly, avoiding eye contact and focusing on the stage as he waits for you to appear. He isn’t exactly uncomfortable in her presence, but he doesn’t know what to do. Talking to women is still an issue for him, so what is he to do now that Aphrodite’s daughter is on his lap and showing him interest?

Mars giggles and shoots the shot of tequila back herself, shrugging as she places the glass on the table in front of them. “You’re a good boy, huh?”

Heeseung shifts nervously, his hands resting awkwardly on the sides of the chair in a desperate attempt not to touch her. "I just...don't really drink," he explains, his voice barely audible over the swell of the music.

Mars leans in closer, her breath warm against his ear. "That's okay," she whispers, her tone playful yet reassuring. "I like good boys."

Heeseung's cheeks flush even deeper, his mind a chaotic whirl of emotions. He's trying to focus on the stage, waiting for your performance to start, but Mars's proximity and the beautiful tone of her voice are incredibly distracting. He wishes he had the confidence to brush her off more assertively, but he's too polite and too nervous to do anything but sit there, stiff as a board.

The first few notes of ‘I Touch Myself’ by Divinyls send a shiver down his spine, and his attention is immediately captured. The stage lights dim, creating an atmosphere of anticipation. Then, you step into the spotlight. The transformation is immediate; you move with confidence and grace that mesmerises everyone in the room, including Heeseung.

The baby blue lingerie hugs your curves perfectly, the lace and bows adding an innocent allure to your otherwise sultry appearance. The garter and fishnets complete the look, drawing appreciative murmurs and wolf whistles from the crowd.

Mars shifts slightly, pressing closer to Heeseung in an attempt to lure his attention away from you, but he’s too engrossed in your performance to pay her much attention. You meet his gaze briefly, and the connection is electric. Your smile, despite the suggestive dance, is warm and genuine, a silent reassurance that you’re okay, in fact, you’re enjoying yourself.

You didn’t get the chance to perform like this much at your old job, in front of a crowd and void of clammy hands roaming all over your body. It was a nice change to just perform and feel comfortable. The clients here are actually quite respectful, each of the men you’ve taken for a private dance has only asked for what’s on the menu and nothing more. They’ve respected your boundaries, which is more than you can say for the men you usually encounter in your line of work.

This dance wasn’t even necessary in terms of making money; you have made more than enough for you and Heeseung to get by for at least a week. But as you look at Heeseung, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of you despite the eager house girl doing everything in her power to grab his attention, you feel even happier you decided to do this.

There is no denying in your mind that you’ve grown fond of Heeseung, maybe you like him even a little bit, so to have him captivated like this is boosting your ego and putting an extra beat in your step. He isn’t your boyfriend or lover but he makes you feel content like one should.

That probably explains the jealousy creeping up in you. Despite his avoidance of the girl touching his chest and arms, you can’t help but feel like that should be you, that you should be the one to have him squirming and swallowing thickly as you whisper sensual words in his ear.

Why do you feel like this all of a sudden? Maybe due to the fact that it’s the first time you’ve seen him with a girl since you’ve known him and it’s bringing a protective instinct out in you, maybe it’s because you see him as more than the partner in crime you keep painting him to be.

Whatever the reason, you can’t stand by and watch it happen any longer.

Despite the manager's warning for Heeseung to stay away, you can't help but devise a plan to draw him away from Mars while also delivering an unforgettable performance for the eager men ready to spend their money. Determined to keep Heeseung's attentiveness and secure a hefty tip from the men beside hin, you approach the pole with calculated confidence.

Gripping the cool, polished metal, you begin your routine with a graceful twist, your body moving fluidly. As you spin, your leg wraps around the pole, securing you in a seamless motion. Your movements are deliberate and skilled, every turn and twirl executed with precision. The pole becomes an extension of your body, allowing you to showcase your strength and agility.

Using the momentum, you propel yourself into a daring inversion, your legs splitting elegantly as you hold yourself upside down. The crowd's cheers and whistles grow louder, their excitement palpable. The money flows your way with ease, but your focus is on a bigger prize.

You glance over at Heeseung, seeing him mesmerised, his eyes locked on you. The sight spurs you on, and you walk to the edge of the stage, elongating your legs and exaggerating each movement, your gaze never leaving his. You bend down slowly, getting on your hands and knees, crawling across the stage with the slow, sleek grace of a lioness stalking her prey. Tonight, your prey is Lee Heeseung.

And fuck, does he know it.

Heeseung sits up straight, his eyes glued to yours as you draw him in, smiling at him half innocently, half predatorily. His reaction causes Mars to stumble off his lap, forcing her to catch herself on the arm of the chair. He doesn’t mean to cause the disruption and should rightfully apologise, but all he sees is you. It's as if you're casting a spell on him, and as you beckon him forward with the curl of your finger, he stands up like a mindless zombie, following your request without hesitation.

Your seductive crawl leaves the audience in awe and the anticipation in the room heightens, you can feel the collective breaths being held. As Heeseung approaches the stage, the connection between you two becomes electric, a tangible force that captivates everyone watching.

You reach out, taking his hand and guiding him up onto the stage. The crowd's whistles and catcalls reach a fever pitch, but all that matters is the look in Heeseung's eyes, a mixture of awe, desire, and something deeper. This is your moment, and you savour every second of it, knowing that you've not only captivated the audience but also claimed Heeseung's undivided attention.

Pushing him gently so his back is against the stripper pole, you smile at him softly. “Just enjoy it, yeah?” you murmur, your voice a seductive purr that sends goosebumps all over his skin. He nods quickly, trying to ignore the sweat trickling down his forehead as he attempts to relax, however, the strain of his cock tingling in his boxers is proving it rather difficult.

You begin to sway in front of him, your hands splayed across his chest, moving them slowly downward past his stomach and hips. Hooking your fingers into his belt loops, you sit back on your heels, looking up at him through your long lashes. The crowd is mesmerised, their attention entirely on you, wondering what you plan to do next and wishing it was going to happen to them.

With a fluid motion, you rise and turn your back to Heeseung, pressing yourself against him as you grind slowly. The sensation of your body moving against his is almost too much for him to handle, and he clenches his fists to maintain some semblance of control. If he pops a boner in front of at least 30 grown men and the dancers, he might just die on the spot. You glance over your shoulder, catching his gaze and giving him a playful wink. 

Heeseung’s eyes widen as you slink your hands down your body and to your thigh, slipping off one of your garters, the lacy fabric sliding down your leg with ease. You twirl it in your fingers, dangling it in front of the shocked boy’s face before wrapping it around his wrists. He watches, transfixed, as you skillfully tie his hands behind the pole, effectively rendering him unable to touch you. The act is both tantalising and torturous for him, his desire evident in the way his body tenses and legs shuffle to find any sort of distraction from his throbbing cock.

Addressing the audience, you wag your finger playfully, utilising your drama skills from the youth centre to emphasise that the bound man can't lay a finger on you, much to the delight of the eager crowd.

You continue your dance with hypnotic grace, the fabric keeping Heeseung firmly restrained. Your hands explore your curves, accentuating every movement, while the lyrics echo the theme of self-indulgence, allowing you to lose yourself in the performance.

Turning away from the audience, you unclasp your bra, your back now fully exposed. The crowd's eegerness grows as you slowly let the straps slide off your shoulders. With a flick of your wrist, you toss the bra aside, eliciting cheers and whistles from the captivated onlookers.

Your eyes are fixed on Heeseung as you approach the finale of the routine, striding towards him with confident allure. “You’re doing so good for me, baby,” you purr, the affectionate nickname slipping out so naturally that it momentarily stuns him. Yet, the look in his eyes tells you he’s far from displeased. 

With a few grinds and touches to Heeseung, the routine comes to an end and you face your adoring fans, the money showering onto the stage in notes of £10s and £20s. You smile and blow kisses to some of the men, bouncing slightly to make your tits clap, earning you a few more whistles and cheers. 

Striding back to Heeseung, you untie the garter from his wrists and pull him to the back, both of your chests heaving in exhilaration. 

“Oh my god, Heeseung! I couldn’t even see the floor for money,” you exclaim, clapping in excitement. With the private dances and your most recent performance, you’ve easily earned over £500, enough for a warm meal and then some.

Heeseung looks at you, smiling shyly, hoping you don’t notice the bulge forming in his trousers. He’s never encountered anyone like you before and can hardly believe he had the privilege of you grinding on him for a good two minutes. The dryness in his mouth is a testament to how long he stood there, mouth agape, watching you perform. If this was his first and last strip show, he’s glad it was yours.

“You did amazing, Y/N,” he says sincerely, causing you to turn your head to face him. His eyes are filled with adoration, but you can see the lust ghosting over them. “I almost busted in my pants out there,” he adds, attempting to joke, but you know he isn’t lying.

Smiling, you step forward, gently pushing him to sit on one of the white tables behind him. The shock is evident on his face. “How about…you bust somewhere else?”

“W-what?” His eyes widen as your fingers begin to fiddle with the button of his trousers.

“Well, you did so well, and I do owe you, considering we got interrupted last time.” Heeseung shakes his head, mouth moving but no words coming out. You laugh softly, finally unbuttoning his jeans. “I’m not taking your virginity in a sleazy strip club,” you assure him in a teasing tone, “But how about I give you some relief?”

His breath hitches as your hand slips beneath the fabric, his body reacting instantly to your touch. Heeseung’s eyes flutter closed, his head tipping back as he surrenders to the sensation. Your fingers wrap around his shaft loosely, to the point you might as well not even be touching it, only driving him further to need.

You kneel in front of him and Heeseung’s breath quickens, your fingers deftly working to free him from his trousers, and his erection springs forth, eager and ready, his tip already on the edge of exploding. You glance up at him, your eyes locking onto his, and the anticipation in the air is suffocating. He can’t believe this is happening and he is just praying to whatever higher power will listen that you won’t get stopped by a maniac trying to kill you.

Slowly, you lean forward, your lips parting as you take him into your mouth. Heeseung lets out a choked gasp, his hands instinctively reaching for the edge of the table to steady himself. The warmth and wetness of your mouth envelop him, and he can hardly believe the pleasure that courses through his body. Somehow, this feels so much better than it did the first time, perhaps because he didn’t spend hours worrying over it and instead, the spontaneity of it all is only adding to his arousal - the less time he has to think, the easier it is to let himself go.

Your tongue swirls around the tip, teasing him with delicate flicks and licks. Heeseung’s eyes roll back, and his grip on the table tightens. Every movement of your mouth sends waves of ecstasy through him, and he’s powerless to do anything but feel.

And what a sensational feeling it is.

You hollow your cheeks, creating a delicious suction as you take him deeper, your tongue pressing and swirling against the underside of his shaft. Heeseung’s breathing becomes ragged, each exhale a desperate moan. You can sense his restraint, the tension in his muscles as he fights the urge to thrust into your mouth. It’s cute how wriggly he is, how even just your mouth is enough to get him fumbling beneath you.

“Oh, shit,” he hisses out, biting his bottom lip just harsh enough to break skin. “This is what heaven feels like, I know it.” He speaks his inner dialogue, the words slipping out by accident as he loses all sense of control to your skilled mouth.

Your hands gently massage his thighs, adding to the sensory overload. You glance up, watching his expressions shift between pleasure and awe, his face red in embarrassment as he whimpers a succession of tiny pleads, willing you to go faster.

The sight of him unravelling heightens your own arousal, spurring you to intensify your efforts. As you bob your head, your right hand wraps around the base, stroking in tandem with your mouth. Heeseung’s body begins to tremble, his legs shaking as he edges closer to release. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m so close,” You quicken your pace, the sounds of your movements filling the room.

Grabbing his hand, you guide it to hold your head, puppeting his fingers to grasp at your head. The silent instruction computes itself to Heeseung’s dazed self and he wraps your hair around his hand, gripping onto you for dear life as you quicken your pace.

You squeeze the bottom of his shaft and thigh in sync, causing the boy to jerk his hips up and his cock to hit the back of your throat. “Fuck!” he yelps out, his length throbbing in your mouth at the action so much that you can feel it on your tongue. You hum around him which only adds to his pleasure.

“Y/N, please, I’m cumming, fuck, I’m cumming,” he whines as his voice hits a higher octave. His hips shallowly jitter, forcing his cock deep into your mouth, taking away half the work as you let him control the situation. For the first time in his life, he is free of embarrassment and nerves, the only feeling he has now is pure need and desire, and it’s all thanks to your mouth.

With a final, deep thrust, Heeseung lets out a guttural moan, his release hitting hard and fast as his balls tighten and the vein that lays underside of his cock protrudes. You feel the warm spurt of his climax run down your throat and fill your mouth, which you swallow eagerly, your tongue continuing to caress him as he rides out his orgasm. The overflow of his cum drips down your chin and onto your bare breasts. The whole scene would turn anyone on and you hope you can get a copy of the CCTV when you’re done.

When he finally begins to relax, you pull back slowly, giving him one last long, teasing lick up his shaft, swirling it around his bell to collect the rest of his glaze before releasing him completely. You look up with a satisfied smile, your lips glistening with the remnants of his seed. Personally, you think it’s the nicest lip gloss you could ever wear, and Heeseung agrees.

Heeseung’s chest heaves as he catches his breath, his eyes wide with a mixture of wonderment and gratitude. He can’t ever repay you for helping him out like this, for giving him his first ever orgasm that was at the hands of someone else.

“Feel better?” you ask playfully, already knowing the answer.

Heeseung nods, a dazed smile spreading across his face, his eyes glazing over with satisfaction. “Much better,” he murmurs, his voice filled with thanks and amazement. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know but you helped me out and I couldn’t have you going out there with a raging hard on, not with Mars about. She’d bounce on it all night and we’d never get out of here,” you jokingly explain.

Heeseung tucks his cock back in his trousers and zips it up, eyes staring at you the whole time. “You think she would have?” His question doesn’t come from bewilderment but rather curiosity, causing you to roll your eyes and walk away.

“Come on, let's get our money.”

_____

Counting the £565 you made from the club, you smile wide, the ends of your mouth splitting your cheeks. The night has been exhilarating, and the weight of the money in your hand feels like a victory. You and Heeseung are making your way back to the convenience store to buy supplies, the thrill of the night still buzzing in your veins.

Heeseung walks beside you, his steps a bit unsteady, still reeling from the intensity of the experience of being in a strip club for half of his day and then getting the best head he thinks he will ever get in his life. He steals glances at you, his expression a mix of admiration and bashfulness. “I still can’t believe how incredible you were,” he says, his voice tinged with awe.

You chuckle, the sound light and happy. “Thanks, Heeseung. I couldn’t have done it without you. You were amazing too. Y’know, you looked really good tied up.” The playful compliment brings a blush to his cheeks, and you can’t help but find his shyness endearing.

As you approach the convenience store, the lights casting a soft glow on the pavement, you feel a sense of contentment when suddenly, someone stops you in your tracks, hand in front of you pointing accusatorily. The gesture makes you feel uneasy, and you grasp Heeseung’s hand with your left and hold onto the money tightly with your right.

“Hey, do I know you two from somewhere?” the man asks in a rugged voice and thick Liverpudlian accent. His eyes are sharp, scrutinising, and it sends a chill down your spine.

Heeseung sees your nervousness and steps forward protectively. “I don’t think so, mate. Sorry,” he says, his voice firm but polite. He gently pulls you out of the man’s way, his grip reassuring on your hand. The words Heeseung spoke are enough to have the man leave you alone, but the encounter leaves you both on edge.

Quickly, you pocket the money in your daisy dukes’ front pocket, keeping your eye on the man as he fades into the night. You have grown accustomed to shady men at night, what with being on the run for nearly four days, but never has one spoken to you so blatantly, especially to ask you a question like that. Unless he was at Saturn earlier, you don’t know how he could know you.

Unfortunately, Heeseung does. Detaching his hand from yours, he looks through the store window to stare at the TV, arms hanging loosely by his side as though he could no longer feel them. In fact, he couldn’t feel any part of his body.

Sensing his tension, you look up at him. “What’s wrong? The guy is gone now,” you reassure, but that isn’t what he is worried about. You follow his gaze to the low-resolution TV perched in the top corner of the store and suddenly, you’re feeling sick and weak, the ground falling beneath you as you read the headline scrolling at the bottom of the screen, pictures plastered as clear as day to complement the words.

BREAKING NEWS: Search begins throughout the UK for suspects Y/N L/N and Lee Heeseung in a brutal passionate murder of local man, aged 56. Authorities say the two fled the scene a few days ago and urge caution to the public. If anyone knows anything please contact Scotland Yard.

Falling back a little, you shake your head in disbelief.

“They’re looking for us…

taglist (closed): @yzzyhee @intromortal @zerobaseone-zhanghao @hooniehon @deobitifull @alvojake @sageryuri @slut4hee @binniesbabe @vveebee @minniejenseo @jebetwo @seunghancore @laurradoesloveu @yongbokified @jaehoonii @jaeyunluvr @melonvrs @criminalyun @enhastolemyheart @fakeuwus @flwrhoes @rayofsunshineeee @moonlighthoon @jaehyuniewifeu @en-ternals @haechonly @got-sunghooned @brownsugarbaybee @heeseungspookie @sunpov @who-tf-soddhi @bambangan

[white-poppie]

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 ⎯⎯⎯ Part II of the '𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇' series

SYNOPSIS: In the bleakest times of your life, there kindled a little ember in you. Tsukiko, moon child, you were coping, one way or another. But dark clouds claw at the litte light of hope in your life as you come face to face with Suguru again.

TW: crying, teen-pregnancy, panic attacks, lactation, depression-like symptoms, post-partum, adoption,, self-loathing, su!c!dal ideation, jealousy, mentions of suguru's twisted ideals of a perfect jujutsu society, big sad :(

A/N: Thank you for all the support to this series!! Ps! look out for the symbolism in objects, i used big brain power lol. Plus I am sooooo sorry for delaying this so much

NOTE: reader is in her last year so she'd be around 17-19 :) This big sad will build up to happiest happy in the last part so bear with me.

WC: 4k lmaooo

Series masterlist Pt1: 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇 ⏮ ⏸ ⏭ Part 3 Now playing: Part 2

The child, a baby girl, lay giggling and cooing in your arms as you look down at her with warmth in your eyes. She's the spitting image of an angel with her wide and expressive eyes, her small nose, a sharp arch exactly like her father, pink flushed cheeks and a tuft of soft dark black hair on her head…She looks exactly like Suguru.

She is a talkative baby, her little pink lips opening and closing wit soft 'pops', thats quite literally talking, what even is the difference when you are holding a squishy 2 month old? Her hands and movements are disoriented, jerky, flailing her chubby little arms and legs without care.

Her tiny hand reaching up to grab at your strands of hair, her big eyes looking curiously at your hair, observing how it moves with her tiny wrist.

"Come on, sweetheart, let mama do shopping for you." you whisper to the tiny baby strapped to your chest as you go around picking the essentials

She looks up at your voice, her lips almost forming a little pout and you can't help but coo lightly at her cuteness. You resist the urge to snap another photo and send it to Shoko to which she would always reply with a boring thumbs up emoji, but you know well how she smiles after seeing her god-child.

"Let's see what we have... we got the diapers, baby oil, flour, we got the veggies and other stuff...ah pear, we should get some pears." you say to the baby. It was difficult to think singularly in singular pronouns, it was the two of you-- it was 'us', 'our' through and through.

You walk down to the fruit isle, looking for some pears. Eventually you find the last pack in the thin mesh. Your hands reach forward to grip it and so does another. Your heart ceases. There is no way you wouldn't recognise that hand. The faint tan under which lie a constellation of protruding green veins. Fingers with a naturally large nail bed, the skin around it slightly discoloured. Suguru. There was no doubt it was him, you didn't even need to look up or rather you didn't have the strength to.

You suddenly wanted to laugh. You felt like a tragic greek hero, comung across your beloved, a bit too late. Orpheus and Eurydice, Hyacinthus and Apollo. Achilles and Patroclus. But the real tragedy was, as the poets said, "I could recognise him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world."

"Suguru..." You whisper out breathlessly as you finally dare and look him in the eye.

His name leaving your lips like a plea tears straight through his chest, his heart aching at the sound of his beloved's voice again. He can't help but feel his heart racing as he looks at your face, drinking in the sight of your tired but radiant face. "Y/N," he murmurs out.

He feels sick, how instantly his sleep-deprived body finds solitude at the sight of you. Relief flooding into his lungs, spreading throughout his veins like a chasm. Its shattering, he feels like a man who was lost in a desert after having left his paradise for a mirage of an oasis.

His body is on fire, his muscles searing to envelop you, to somehow make you melt into him and never let go. His vision blurs, watery, and then suddenly, his breath stills, when his eyes fall onto the soft bundle safely strapped to you chest. An appearance uncanny similar to his, its alive, living. His ears buzz in trepidation. On one hand you stand in front of him and he wants to fall on his knees and tell you how miserable and lonely he was, how being the villain in everyone's story, including yours doesn't bother him anymore, but that child...

"Is that.." he murmurs, but his voice trembles more that he would have liked it to.

Your eyebrows etch into a small frown, you almost want to scream at him for even asking this question. "Obviously." You reply your eyes darting to the aisles in the mart.

His breath stutters and his palms turn cold. No, no, no, no, no. A soft gasp leaves his mouth. The revelation tumbling down him. he had thought of everything. He was ready to face anything, and every consequence, and yet somehow some way he had forgotten to calculate a variable. A variable that was a variable that you, a variable was his child.

He killed his parents without hesitation, left the walls of the quaint house he grew up in all sullied with but somehow the sight of you with his child brings him to his knees. He wants to sob, rest his head on your knee and shakily kiss you and the baby in forgiveness.

"That's my child..." he says, but it sounds more like a statement than a question. With his silken black hair and nose bridge, the same bright black eyes he had as a kid....that's his

You take in a deep breath and nod, your heart pounds in your chest till it aches. "Tsukiko." You whisper out, your voice hoarse as you look at the little girl

Suguru has to bite his lip just to keep himself sane, memories of that bittersweet night flooding in and he feels he would topple over the pear rack.

"Tsukiko...she's named Tsukiko..." He says out and his hand shakes. That's his blood, his daughter and yet he is the farthest thing from a father. Seeing her so close to you, the way you are fussing over her, it has his throat run dry by the intensity of a ground marred from rain, a rain that fell always but now doesn't fall in the courtyard of his heart, leaving all the plants of humane emotions, wilting and dry.

He can't help but murmur out, "A pretty name. It suits her." He whispers out softly, gently reaching out a hand towards the small child. "May I?"

You look at him as a strange anger wells up within. You want to refuse, yet you want to cry in his sturdy arms, for him to envelope you so hard that you can't breathe. You want to beg him to come back, and yet you want to slap him and tell him to never show his face.

You want him to stay, to apologise for letting some as young as you go through pregnancy alone. You want him to apologise for leaving you in a state where the shadows around you seemed to warp in oddly threatening shapes, where intrusive thoughts had you so scared you had to call Shoko or Satoru just to listen to their voice, so that you feel real and don't end up doing anything stupid.

You want him to go back to your dorm room in jujutsu high, where all of his belongings are untouched like the day he left.

You gently unclasp her from the carrier. “Support her neck, she’s only two months old.”

He swallows the lump in his throat as he gently takes the child into his arms, watching as you gently unclasp her from the carrier and gently place her into his arms. His heart hammers in his chest as he carefully and gently supports her small, fragile neck, feeling her small frame in his arms. Tsukiko blinks her wide eyes in confusion, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes.

You feel anguished, thinking of what life could have been if Suguru had never left for his goals. What if you hadn’t lost half of your soul that day.

His heart aches as he holds the small baby in his arms, thinking of all the moments he will lose out on seeing now. Never seeing her first steps, her first words, never reading her bedtime stories, never having her call him ‘daddy’. He will never get to see her experience the feeling of pure and unbridled joy for the first time, or seeing her face light up at all the small, everyday things that make children happy. He knows he has missed so much already, and the thought of missing more...

His heart aches and his breath catches in his throat as he feels the small child’s bottom lip tremble slightly, her head turning up to look at you with a conflicted look in her eyes. He can feel her small frame quiver slightly in his arms, probably still confused by the fact that she is in a stranger’s arms, but she isn’t crying to get away from him. The fact that she’s not crying to get back into your arms makes him want to laugh and sob all at the same time.

"Tsuki." You whisper out as you gently brush your fingers on her face. For some odd reason you don't want her to cry in his arms. After all the pain he has inflicted on me, Iyou still don't want him to be hurt by his girl crying to get away from him.

You take a sudden breath as my fingers brush against his arm accidentally, and suddenly you feel so small, so alone. With Tsuki away from your chest, even though she is right in front of you, you feel a strange fear of abandonment.

His heart races as he feels your fingers brush against his arm accidentally, your fingers leaving a scorching heat in their wake even though you’re only brushing against his arm. Your fingers are icy cold, and it’s just then that he realizes that you have tears streaming down your face, the droplets running down your chin and dripping onto the linoleum flooring of the grocery store. Your shoulders are trembling and you’re trying to hold back your sobs, but he can hear your strangled breaths.

"Give her back to me and leave." You whisper out as you bite your lips. Its not fair, It hurts so much. You have been so strong until now, taking care of everything, but now he is here and everything is rushing back like a riptide, knocking you off your feet, making you fall face-first onto the sand

He can feel his eyes widening in shock as your strangled words reach his ears, his heart aching painfully as he holds back the urge to cry out. He watches you struggle to stop tears from streaming down your face, watching the way your shoulders tremble as you try to hold back your sobs, watching as you fight back the urge to just hold the baby and run back to his arms.

"Geto." You murmur. Not Sugu, not Suguru. "Give me my child back," You whisper as you look at him, your hand clutching your chest as it aches so painfully. "Are you having fun seeing me make a spectacle of myself in the middle of a mart?" You croak out, but your voice doesn't waver.

His heart breaks as you call him ‘Geto’ in such a cold, detached voice. He gulps and hand the baby to you, his hands immediately feeling so empty, thats his daughter, his little girl. He wants to hold her, kiss her head, kiss the beautiful woman who brought her to life, but he is going to make a new world, and when all that is done, you would all be a family....

You gently tuck Tsukiko back in the carrier as he hands her to you and walk out of the mart, towards the exit. The groceries forgotten. You will buy them some other day. Each step is so difficult.

You wanna go back to him, cry in his arms, sob and hit his chest. Standing underneath a stop as you dial your phone to Satoru and he answers. "Satoru...can you pick us up?" I murmur tiredly, my voice hoarse

The moment he heard your voice over the phone, Satoru felt his heart dropping to his stomach. He can hear the way your voice is strained and hoarse, and he can sense the way that you are on the verge of tears. Satoru swallows the lump in his throat as he stands up from his desk and grabs the keys off his desk. “I’m on my way.”

You nod and cut the call, staring blankly at the clouds. You hear the automated door of the mart open and look at Suguru exiting the mart, three polybags in his hands as he walks up to you and keeps two of them on the ground. You look at the bag...its all the things in my cart and the pears.

Your lip trembles as I look up at him, eyes bleary. Tsukiko is now peacefully asleep against your chest. Her faint smell, that of baby powder and milk...It lingers from Suguru too, your head pounds.

He faintly smells like her too now and the way he looks at her, like he is aching, his eyes begging--- they are peading in the same way as they were on the night which lead to Tsuki. I wish I can have what I love, but to protect what I love, I must make a society where those I love ⎯ sorcerers: you, Tsuki, Satoru, Shoko ⎯ are safe

"Go, it's about to rain soon. You'll catch a cold if you get wet." You whisper out tiredly.

His heart aches as he watches you whisper out your words, the exhaustion plain on your face. He can’t bear to see you struggling and forcing yourself to be strong when he is the sole reason for your pain. And as he hears your tired voice, he just can’t help the way his hand reaches out to gently brush the tear away from your cheek. “Y/N…don’t cry,” he whispers.

You look at his hand caressing your cheek before a soft sob escapes your mouth. His touch making goosebumps rise all over your body. “Don’t do that, you have no right to when you decided to leave….” You say as you weakly push his hand away, but it’s so feeble and weary that it’s like a gentle nudge.

A fresh wave of tears builds in your eyes, and all he wants to do is draw you into his arms and hold you until your sobs fade away. It kills him how weak you are, how weak his leaving has made you. He wants to hold you and never let you suffer like this ever again. But how could he after he’s the one that caused this pain to begin with?

His phone rings, an unfamiliar contact name flashes on his screen. Mimiko with a little childish flower emoji next to it.

You feel your heart drop to your stomach; to the point that you feel as if you are having morning sickness all over again.

"That's your girlfriend?" you ask with a soft chuckle, as you don't feel this ugly cold wave wash over you, you feel my limbs stiffen, your teeth chattering at how cold I feel.

Its as if your heart has closed off, putting up a barrier around it and locking away all those painful emotion that he has inflicted on you. He looks down at his phone, seeing a picture of Mimiko and Nanako, the little girls he rescued and adopted 11 months ago, smiling in the caller ID. "Y/N..no..."

"You don't have to defend yourself y'know." you say with a fake breathy laugh as your hand supports Tsumiko's sleeping head to your chest. "Not that it matters anymore."

He bites his lip as he stares at your expression, his heart being "I’m not gonna defend myself but...those are my kids, not my girlfriends," he says softly.

Your eyebrows furrow as your grip on Tsukiko tightens instinctively. "...What?" Its too much. Its way too much for you to handle, your ears ring uncomfortably, yet you try to stand firm.

"Mimiko and Nanako..." He swallows nervously, trying to figure out the right words to say. "I-I found them, when I left you. They are sisters. Their parents were murdered, and they were in such horrendous conditions that I just had to rescue them," he stutters, feeling a sudden uncomfortable rush of warmth on his cheeks from his heart racing.

"I see, uhm thats very nice of you." You mutter with a little smile. "Having two daughters, must be nice. something positive amongst all that you are doing..." You say, but your throat runs dry. He has two daughters. That’s basically a family. He is raising them out of goodwill and love, it’s optimistic.

Your heart aches as you think about Tsukiko. Her mother still stuck to her past, clinging to her lover.

Most of the days you can't tell the date from start to finish. You blankly do all the work, function normally but trapped in this surreal dream that you can't snap out from, until your back hits the bed and you stare at a picture of you and Suguru on the bedside. Finally crying, showing some humane emotion after acting like a non-sentient being.

He has two daughters. Who first had happy lives with their parents until they tragically died, and were taken in by an equally loving caretaker.

Your expression turns from shock to something a little more painful, a sad half-smile that looks like it’s masking the emotional turmoil that he can see building up beneath it. He can see the way that your shoulders droop a little, your head bowing just a fraction more towards your chest. He can see your fingers tightening just slightly around Tsukiko, "Yeah..it is...” he murmurs out weakly.

“I am glad…every child deserves a home.” You mutter genuinely, but you feel so so terrible, like the worst person on earth that you am jealous of those little girls. Those little kids who get to live with their adoptive dad, a happy life. Full of joys and laughter. While Tsukiko was born in such despair. So much pain. Her mother, her godparents; everyone suffering in the tumultuous Jujutsu society. But what about Tsukiko, who's only fault was being born, why does she have to experience this tragedy?

Suguru's heart shatters as he watches you silently struggle and hold back your tears. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. He did this to you. He did this to you, and now his two adopted children are getting the life that he ripped from you. That he denied you. There’s so much you already hear from people, about your character. When your only crime was being in love

“I won’t tell her that you have kids when she grows up.” You say with smile. “Wouldn’t want her to think she’s not a good kid and that’s why her dad left her for other children who are better than her. She’ll think her daddy didn’t like her.” You mumur. “Kids can be particularly fragile…who would know better than a mother who’s a kid herself?”

His heart drops at your cold, quiet words, his breath catching in his throat, tears building in his eyes at the pure agony that he can feel in your words. The way you’re already resigning yourself to being a single parent all alone. The way you can only do this because you’re still a damn kid yourself. Suguru heaves breathlessly as he gulps, his bottom lip trembling. The words don't leave his mouth. He should just ask you to come with him, to live with him, to be together as a family, a big family.

“At least raise them well Suguru…the two of them should get a safe environment. You look down at Tsukiko, your fingers gently brushing the little hair on her hair. She’s so tiny, hasn’t even gotten hair on her head fully.

Suguru's hands shakes as he takes a step closer, just basking in the sight of his beloved and his daughter. "Yeah," he mutters. "They are good kids, my girls..." he says in a faint whisper as a soft smile graces his face at the sight of Tsukiko's pudgy cheeks.

What a mighty child, she can stop world wars, she has him stopped and he is the closest thing to be a cause of a war in near future.

My girls? Your knees buckle at the words. “Ah I see… they are your girls.” You can't help but be bitter at his phrasing as you look at our little Tsukiko. She looks so much like her daddy. From her eyes, nose, hair, skin…she is a replica of him and yet he’s never had the chance to call her his child. It’s so cruel.

He feels a sharp spike of pain shoot through his heart at your words. His girls…not our girls. His girls. He doesn’t have the right to have you call them our girls. They’re just his. All because of him.

“Will she ever be your daughter Suguru…?” You can’t help but mutter so shakily, your voice quivering like a child’s as tears roll down your eyes…you feel so small it’s embarrassing.

A soft breathy sob leaves Suguru, he can't do this, he is goddamn monster. The sound almost makes you flinch as you look up at him. He sucks in a deep breath and holds it in for a few seconds before exhaling. “How could I...she’s…” he struggles to get the words out. “She’s ours. She’s ours and she’ll always be ours.”

Suguru sakes his head as he runs his fingers through his hair, he so goddamn dizzy. "She is my daughter, Nanako and Mimiko are my kids." he says, the change of a synonym making such a huge difference in the meaning.

"And you- you are mine, you have no- no idea who difficult it has been, I can't even try to compare, but I've missed you so goddamn much." his voice cracks. "And its so lonely, the girls they see me staring at your picture everyday and I tell them that's their mother. When they ask where you are, I tell them how I messed up- left to protect you, because you do not agree with my ideas, I thought you would be better off without me, that you'd move on slowly. But there's my daughter and I feel so guilty. You cannot move on, not when she is a reminder of me, of us. Of our youth."

The tears don't drop, but they pain is etched on his face, deep frown and upturned brows. You breathe out and shake your head. "I can't-" you murmur and he bites his lip, his index finger lightly running on Tsukiko's palm.

"I know." he says, "I just wish- I just wish I had more time, with you and Tsukiko." he whispers in the same soft tone as he conflicted eyes look into yours as if to say. Come with me, leave the jujutsu society, just us, our family.

But leaving with Suguru meant betraying everyone. Satoru, Shoko, Yaga sensei and the entirety of the sorcerers who work day and night for the future. A safe future from people like Suguru. Who heedlessly killed thousands of innocents.

"Go," you whisper out. "the girls must be waiting." You pause, your fingers shakily finding his and his eyes widen. He firmly squeezes your hand, the warmth of his hand against yours rouses and inexplicable pain and fondness in you.

"Satoru must be arriving." you mutter.

He nods his head slowly as he steps away, his voice thick. “I love you." he whispers out. The same words he had denied you the privilege of last time as he leaves...

Moments later a panicked Gojo pulls over, alarmed by your call before his eyes widen as he senses the remnants of Suguru’s cursed energy. His best friend, the strongest along him. Gojo can feel a cold shudder wash down his spine as he senses the remnants of Suguru’s cursed energy in the air, his breath catching in his throat as recognition hits him instantly, realising what may have happened.

You are sitting on the seats on the bus-stand as he comes close.He steps closer to you, his heart breaking upon seeing the dried tear tracks that are on your cheeks and the look of brokenness and despair in your eyes. He kneels down in front of you and gently rests his hand on your knee, his eyes gentle as he looks at you. “Y/N....” he whispers.

“Satoru…” You whimper softly, your voice cracking out of desperation and relief.

He quickly reaches up to pull you into a tight hug, his heart aching at the small, whimpering whisper of his name from your lips and the way your breathing hitches and a choked sob escapes your lips, the rest of your body quivering in his arms from the force of your tears. His arms are locked tightly against your body, keeping you pulled firm against his chest as you cry into your hands and he gently strokes a hand up and down your back. “Hey…shh..it’s okay…I’m here.”

He mutters as he winces, closing his eyes while the remnants of his best friend's cursed energy remains...

A/N: I sincerely apologise for the pain, but I don't have enough money for everyone's therapy.

EXP: Pear symbolism: In Chinese, the word li means both pear and separation, so it's said that to avoid a separation, friends and lovers should not divide pears between themselves.

[dira333]

Date Nights - Aizawa Shouta

From the Date Night Series - Tagging @alienaiver

Edit: You need to have this visual while reading

1.

“Are you ready to go?”

Shouta looks up from his desk. He’d been so close to resting his head on it, to giving his tired eyes some much-needed rest. 

Your smile is warm and inviting. And it makes something tingle in the back of his brain, something he’d been trying to remember all week.

“Oh no,” he groans softly, “I forgot our date.”

Your smile doesn’t falter.

“I heard about your day from Hizashi,” your voice does not carry any resentment yet his heart is thundering in his chest. 

God, he’d been so anxious about it, had been pondering where to go and what to do for hours, how could he forget?

“Let me just get a coffee real quick and we’ll be good to go,” Shouta insists. He’ll also need at least five minutes in a bathroom and a spare change of clothes. He knows he looks more like a homeless person than anything else right now and he probably smells like it too.

“No need,” you wave him off. His heart stutters to a halt. 

Please don’t cancel, Shouta thinks, just as you reach out and take his hand. Your fingers are warm against his own cold ones, bad circulation be damned.

“I asked you out, so of course I planned the date. Come on, we don’t want to miss anything.”

“But coffee-” He manages, his heart pitter-pattering away as he follows you down the hallways of the school.

They are deserted, thankfully. As much as he loves the feel of your hand in his, he couldn’t bear it if anyone saw. 

Your car is a lime-green monstrosity. You smile sheepishly when he stares at it.

“I like bright colors,” you shrug, “And I’ve never lost my car in a car park since I’ve bought it.”

He can’t argue against that. The seats are soft and he can feel himself slipping, almost falling asleep against the window. When he jerks away, adamant to at least look awake if he’s not looking like much else, he finds your hand resting on his knee. His mouth runs dry. Can he? Is he supposed to? 

He puts his hand on yours and you turn to smile at him before looking back at the road. 

It’s a quiet ride. Somewhere in the organized chaos of his brain, he jots down that you don’t listen to music while you drive. It’s a welcome change from sharing rides with Hizashi.

“We’re here.” You park in front of an apartment complex. “Come on up.”

Your keys jingle in your hand as you walk in front of him, up the stairs and down a hallway. You open the door that has your name on it.

His heart thunders traitorously. Did you bring him to your place for your first date? Why?

His mouth won’t let him form words, so he follows you silently, his mind racing ahead. 

It’s only when he’s slipped out of his shoes and pulled on the bunny slippers you’ve placed for him, that he makes sene of what’s going on. 

In the middle of your living room is a fort of pillows and blankets, big enough to house All Might in his muscle form if he wanted to.

Shouta stops and stares. You do flourish your arms. “Tada! Do you want something to drink first? I thought it was a good idea because you honestly always look like you don’t get enough rest and it’s important to take care of each other’s needs in a relationship and I asked you out so-” 

It’s the first time he’s heard you rambling today and the familiar sound soothes his nerves a little. At least you’re nervous too.

He steps forward, boldened by your own actions, and kisses you.

You sink into it right away, arms thrown around him to pull him even closer.

When you pull back first, he can’t help but chase after you, to sink further into your embrace as you giggle with your face pressed against his neck.

“I’ll make you something to drink, okay?” You whisper, face still hidden away. “Make yourself comfortable.”

He wakes up hours later, throat perched, head in your lap.

You’re reading something on a tablet, one hand free to drag itself through his hair in a motion that could put him back to sleep again.

“So, about a second date…” You ask when you stop at his place in the morning so that he can get a fresh set of clothes before work. You’re not looking at him but your hands are squeezing the steering wheel, telling him how nervous you are.

He leans over and kisses you, pouring all his feelings into the gesture.

“There’s a bookstore in my neighborhood,” he offers, “We could go there after school. Today shouldn’t be as draining and even if, I want to go with you.”

Your smile could light up the world. It certainly lights up his.

-

2.

“Ready to go?” Shouta’s patting himself down as he asks. He’s got his keyes, his pain medication, his phone is fully charged and his wallet’s there too.

You’re still on the Couch, petting Muffin. The old tabby is purring so loud he can hear it from the entryway. 

“For what?” You ask, a little distracted by Muffin trying to chew on your fingertips.

“We’ve got a Date, honey. Why did you think Deku picked up Eri?”

“Because he wants to spend time with her?” You pull Muffin from your lap and deposit her on a pillow, kissing her head when she mews.

You yawn as you walk over, don’t cover your mouth in favor of brushing the pet hair from your legs.

“What kind of date?” You ask as you pull close and kiss him, snuggle into his embrace.

“There’s this new Bookshop a few blocks down. I walked past it a few times when I went to the park with Eri and it looked promising.”

“Really?” You furrow your brows. “How do I not know about it? I’ve never seen one when I go to the park with her.”

“That’s because we take a different route. More cats, less foot traffic.” He kisses your cheek and pushes you toward the bedroom. 

“Five minutes, you need a different sweater. I won’t go out with you looking like this.”

You stick your tongue out at him, but comply. 

When you come back, he can’t help the laugh bubbling in his throat. You’re wearing a Ganriki Neko sweater in purple and turquoise over a purple skirt and turquoise tights, an outfit he’s seen last at one of Hizashi’s costume parties.

“How do I look?” You ask, batting your eyelashes at him.

“Like I need sunglasses to take you in,” He jokes.

The walk to the bookstore is short and quiet. You’ve been distracted lately, 

Maybe it’s the new Class you’ve got or Eri’s recurring nightmares, but he’d been planning a date like this for a while now. Taking a break just hasn’t gotten easier now that they’re parents.

“Pspsps,” He leans down to feed a snack to the little black kitten that Eri has fallen in love with. It’s well groomed and clearly belongs to someone, but it loves coming over to say hi.

-

“I’ll get us some drinks,” Shouta declares the moment you step into the store. It’s lovely, not entirely rebuilt, but rather renovated, giving the old, darkened wood some new life. 

You nod and wander around, peeking at the shelves in search of something that tickles your interest. He finds you in the non-fiction aisle not much later, deeply invested in a cookbook.

“This has everything,” you explain. “How to eat during your pregnancy or if you want to increase the chances as well as how to feed children of different ages.”

“Okay? How are the recipes though? We’ve got plenty of cookbooks at home we don’t use.”

“True,” you grumble. It’s your least favorite thing about him, how he tends to stop you from impulse buying. He offers you your drink before you can dwell on that any longer.

“For you, sugar with a side of coffee.”

“Har Har.” You mock laugh before taking a sip of the concoction, furrowing your brows a little. “It tastes a little off,” you claim. “Did you ask for something from the menu?”

“No, I gave them your special recipe. Sorry, do you want something different?”

“No, it’s fine. They probably made it for the first time this way.” You take another sip and your brows relax. “I’m just a little weird today.”

“I’m a little weird everyday,” he offers and you lean into him, heavy, warm and familiar.

“Let’s take a look around, shall we?” He grabs your free hand with his, swings them around as he pulls you forward. There’s plenty to see and soon enough, his arms grow loaded with books. The newest edition of the manga Hitoshi reads, a signed biography of a Hero Hizashi’s still very enthusiastic about, bookmarks and a little Neko Nightlight for Eri, the list goes on.

“I need to sit down for a bit,” Shouta exclaims when you turn back towards the non-fiction again. “You can find me at the children’s books.”

“Okay.” You get on your tiptoes and kiss his stubble. “I won’t take long.”

-

Shouta’s halfway through a book about a little mole looking for a home when you come back. He’s accustomed to the sound of your footsteps, even if they come a little more hesitant, like now.

You’ve got one book in your arms, the title hidden as it’s pressed against your stomach. 

There’s a shy smile on your face as you turn it around to show him the cover.

“How to be Pregnant for Dummies.”

He reads it and reads it again. The news take a moment to seep into his brain but when it does, he almost takes down the book display with how fast he jumps from his seat.

“No way!” 

“SHHH!” Someone shushes him from the front. Shouta doesn’t care.

You’re smiling, eyes a little teary.

“Since when do you know?”

“I got the results today, but I missed my period so I’ve had a hunch for a week or so. It’s still pretty early.” You giggle when he peppers kisses all over your face, making it almost impossible for you to keep talking.

“Sorry, I was a little bit in my head the last few days.”

“It’s okay. It’s big news.”

“Hm. How do we tell Eri? And Hitoshi? And-”

Shouta turns around and pulls a book from the pile he wants to buy.

“Little Neko got a sibling?” You ask, a little dumbfounded. “How did you know?”

His smile is a little sheepish. He can never lie to you.

“I didn’t. But the Neko was cute.”

You laugh at that, pull him closer. It reminds him of their first second date. 

Of cuddling in a corner at the bookstore, away from prying eyes.

Some things will never change, even with a metal leg and a new life on the way.

-

“Where do you wanna go next?” He asks when the books are paid for, hanging off his right arm as you lean onto his left.

You blink up at him, eyes still a little red-rimmed from all the happy tears.

“When’s Eri coming home?”

“Two hours, maybe. Do you wanna go home and cuddle?”

You ponder that for a second, your hands warm on his. 

“Let’s get ice cream,” you decide, a wide smile on your face. “And when we get back, we can make a fort!”

Shouta pulls you close, presses a kiss onto the top of your head.

“I love you.”

“Mhm,” You grin up at him. “I love you more.”

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[thegirlamongthestars]

kiss me - c.alcaraz

author: this fic is part of the olympic love series

summary: A midnight invitation to the pool make Carlos and Valeria surpass some limits

wc: 1,1k

“Come and meet me by the pool at 00:00”

That’s what his message said.

The village was unusually quiet at that hour of the night, the cool breeze rustling through the trees that lined the paths. After a long day of training and socializing, I wandered aimlessly, feeling this as a moment of peace. The faint sound of water, lapping against the edges of the pool, moved by the breeze caught my attention; drawing me toward the shimmering blue under the moonlight.

When I arrived, I was surprised to find the pool area completely deserted. No sign of Carlos anywhere nearby. The water looked inviting, almost too tempting to resist. So, I sat on the edge, dipping my feet in and letting out a contented sigh as the cool water soothed my tired legs. I closed my eyes for a moment, soaking in the solitude, when I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching.

"Couldn’t sleep?" His voice, deep and smooth, cut through the stillness of the night. Already teasing me with the fact that I obeyed to his demand of meeting here.

I opened my eyes and found Carlos standing a few feet away. He was dressed casually in swim trunks and a sleeveless T-shirt, his hair still damp from what I assumed was a recent shower. There was a relaxed confidence about him that made my body pulse with excitement.

"I’m here as you wished" I replied lightly, trying to keep my tone casual. "Care to join me?”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. In one swift motion, Carlos peeled off his shirt, revealing the body that I hadn’t been able to keep off my mind. I tried to play it cool, but I couldn’t stop my eyes from wandering over his toned chest and abs.

Carlos caught my stare and grinned. "See something you like?"

"Just wondering if you’re as fast in the water as you are on the court" I shot back, lifting my chin in challenge.

"Is that a dare?" His tone was laced with that teasing edge I had come to expect from him.

"Maybe," I said before disappearing under the water for a few seconds. "I think this is a great chance to start that little game of yours”

Carlos’s eyes darkened with interest as he considered my proposal. "And what exactly are the boundaries we’re talking about in this first round?"

"That’s for the winner to decide," I replied, my voice taking on a more seductive note. The air between us seemed to thicken with tension, the kind that had been building for days, unspoken but ever-present.

Carlos stepped closer to the edge of the pool, his gaze locked on mine. "Alright, Valeria. You’re on. First to the other side and back wins."

My pulse quickened as I moved to the deeper end of the pool. I could feel his eyes on me as I advanced, the coolness enveloping me like a second skin. When I turned to face him, he was already by my side, his expression confident and focused.

"Ready?" I asked, my voice slightly breathless, whether from the anticipation or the cool water, I wasn’t sure.

"Always" Carlos responded.

Without another word, we both launched ourselves forward, slicing through the water with powerful strokes. The race was fast and intense, the sound of our splashing the only noise in the stillness of the night. We were neck and neck as we reached the opposite end, but as we turned to race back, I could feel Carlos pulling slightly ahead.

Determined not to let him win, I pushed myself harder, my muscles burning with the effort. But despite my best efforts, Carlos touched the edge of the pool a split second before I did.

He surfaced with a victorious grin, slicking his hair back with one hand as he leaned against the pool’s edge. "Looks like I win" he said, his voice full of satisfaction.

I pouted playfully, though my heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the swim. "Fine. What’s your demand, then?"

Carlos’s smile turned predatory, a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that sent a shiver down my spine. "Come closer," he murmured.

I swam toward him, feeling the tension between us heighten with every inch that closed between us. As I reached the edge, my body brushed lightly against his, the contact electric. Carlos didn’t move back, didn’t give me any space, just waited until I was almost flush against him. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said. "Kiss me."

It wasn’t a question or a suggestion—it was a demand, and the boldness of it took my breath away. I had expected something cheeky, perhaps a little daring, but this… this was a line we hadn’t crossed before.

For a fraction of a second, I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. But the heat in his gaze, the raw anticipation that hung in the air between us, was too much to resist. I leaned in, my hands finding purchase on his shoulders as I closed the distance between us.

Our lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, but the moment they connected, it was as if a dam broke. The kiss deepened, turned urgent, our bodies pressing impossibly closer. I could feel the cool water lapping around us, contrasting with the warmth of his skin, the heat of his mouth.

Carlos’s hands moved to my waist, pulling me even closer as the kiss became more intense. It was a kiss that spoke of all the teasing, the flirting, the unspoken attraction that had been building between us. A kiss that was both an exploration and a promise of more to come.

When we finally broke apart, both of us were breathless, our foreheads resting against each other’s as we tried to steady our racing hearts.

"Looks like I got more than I bargained for" I whispered, my voice shaky with a mix of excitement and nerves.

Carlos chuckled softly, his hands still resting on my waist. "This is just the beginning, Val. We’ve got plenty more rounds to go."

I smiled, unable to hide the thrill that coursed through me at the thought. "Then I guess I’ll just have to make sure I win the next one."

"Better start thinking of your demands now" he teased, brushing a stray lock of wet hair from my face.

"Oh, don’t worry," I replied, my voice low and seductive. "I’ve got a few ideas in mind."

Carlos’s eyes darkened with desire at my words, and for a moment, we just stared at each other, the promise of what was to come hanging heavily in the air.

Then, with a playful grin, he leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, "I can’t wait to see how far you’re willing to push those boundaries."

My stomach flipped at the challenge in his voice, knowing that whatever came next, it was going to be anything but ordinary.

[jellys-compendium]

My Papa

A Cozy Dad!Vash Drabble

Rating: G

Summary: Vash tries to teach his two rambunctious twins a new word. Cw: Soft Dad!Vash will make you melt. Prepare yourself. Word Count: ~1K A/n: More soft Dad!Vash on the way! This drabble is based off of my Trimax series. Hope you all enjoy this one!

“Alright!”

Vash takes a seat at the kitchen table, his two toddler-sized infants sit side by side on their high chairs just opposite him. Their big blue eyes are on him, alight with delight and curiosity as their papa theatrically reveals the children’s book that he’d been hiding behind his back.

“Behold!” Vash proclaims, proudly holding the book upright before his children and giving it a little shake. Luca and Layla giggle at their father’s goofy antics, their plump little fingers reaching out to try and take the book from his hands.

“Nuh uh,” Vash pulls it just out of their reach. “Both of you will get to look at it when I’m done. Right now, your papa is going to read you a story!”

The twins look at Vash quizzically, but once Vash excitedly opens the book, their eyes are immediately glued to the colorful pages before them.

 A tender smile spreads across Vash’s lips at their eagerness. For a man who had seen everything—who had met all sorts and witnessed horrors unimagined as he wandered the desert, the ex-humanoid typhoon would never tire of the wonder in his children’s eyes. 

“Today, I’m going to help the two of you say a new word.”

Vash scooches in closer and Luca and Layla wordlessly follow suit. The three of them lean in close to one another as they partake in the story that is about to unfold. Vash turns to the first page. On it are adorable drawings of a laughing child and a bearded man. Vash points to the picture and begins to enthusiastically read.

“This is my papa! I love him and he loves me!”

Vash grins, lifting the page just enough for his twins to grab it. Without missing a beat, the two turn the page, both transfixed by the colorful drawings and their father’s dramatic reading. 

Vash’s smile widens. He is positively giddy. He just knows in his gut that he’ll get them to say it this time. He can feel it!

 “My papa is tall!” Vash reads, standing up from his seat at his full height. His children erupt in a fit of giggles before turning to the next page. 

“My papa is strong!” 

Vash flexes his muscles before turning around and lifting the chair he’d just been sitting in up and over his head with a single arm. The twins roar with laughter as Vash makes a show of pretending the chair is heavier than it actually is. Then as Luca and Layla turn the page, Vash puts the chair back down and reads.

“My papa is fast!”

In an instant the energetic father of four sprints from the table and across the kitchen. His children’s laughter follows him and Vash can't help but savor that angelic sound for the briefest of moments.

But no sooner does Vash take that moment, he opens his eyes and turns back around quickly, racing back to his two little munchkins.

Vash’s fingers are outstretched and ready to tickle the twins’ plump little cheeks and necks once he reaches them. Luca and Layla squeal with delight, wiggling in their high chairs as they try to tickle him back, and Vash’s heart practically melts into a sappy little puddle on the floor.

Vash stops his tickles, then he sits back down and turns the page.

“My papa is gentle.”

After he reads those words, Vash reaches over to his two children and pats their heads tenderly. The two of them coo, their own fingers reaching up to capture and caress his palms. Vash smiles, and continues the story. He’s read it to them so many times, he doesn’t even need to turn the page. He knows it by heart.

“My papa is brave.”

Vash stands up and leans over the table to plant soft little kisses on his children’s foreheads. He nuzzles each one, closing his eyes as his heart swells so full of love it’s near bursting. And as Vash recites the next line, his voice cracks, just like it does every single time he reads them this story.

“M-my papa is kind.”

Vash then leans back and holds his hands up. His children don’t miss a beat, both reaching up to put their hands in his. Vash is ever so gentle as he wraps up their fingers in his tender hold.

“My papa holds me tight.”

Vash smiles and his children smile back, connecting as he recites the final line.

“My papa loves me. Morning, afternoon, and night.”

Silence fills the space then, and Vash waits for his children to respond. But the twins just look at him with happy little smiles on their faces. Vash leans in and whispers.

“Okay, go on you two. Come on, say ‘papa’!”

Luca and Layla look at Vash curiously, their adorable little heads tilting to the side as they try to grasp what their father is getting at. But as the seconds tick by in silence Vash sighs, the weight of defeat beginning to sit heavy on his chest.

“‘Papa!’ Come on, you can do it! Papa, papa, papa!”

But his children simply grin and reach for the book, turning the pages back to the beginning and looking at Vash expectantly. Vash sighs dramatically, throwing his hands up in the air as he leans back in his chair. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that the giggling from his two little babies was the universe’s way of mocking him.

“This is the fiftieth time I’ve read this to you two. What will it take for you to say ‘papa’?”

The front door opens, and the three Saverems look towards the kitchen’s threshold as familiar footsteps vibrate across the family home.

“Let’s bring these groceries into the kitchen.”

The sound of your comforting voice rings gently through the house, and upon hearing it, both Luca and Layla immediately perk up and shout out loud,

“MAMA!”

Vash groans as despair sets in his bones. Distraught, he hides his face in his hands as you, Nico and Nova enter the kitchen. It only takes one second for you to deduce what happened once you enter the scene.

Vash buries his face deeper into his palms when he hears you softly chuckle.

“You can’t win them all, typhoon.”

Want more cozy dad!Vash drabbles? Check out the series here!

dividers by @/saradika

[its-avalon-08]

hearts intertwined (hamilton x sister! driver!rosberg) pt3

chapter three: the rookie rosberg

warnings- none at all

series so far - pt1 pt2

The air in the Red Bull garage hung heavy with anticipation. It was qualifying day for the Bahrain Grand Prix, the first race of the season, and Y/N, perched on the edge of a mechanics chair, was a bundle of nervous energy. Her hands tapped a frantic rhythm against her thighs, a stark contrast to the practiced calm of Max beside her.

"Hey," a voice said softly, startling her. It was Nico, his familiar blue eyes radiating a quiet reassurance. "First time jitters?"

Y/N managed a watery smile. "Something like that. Feels like everyone's expecting me to crash and burn."

Nico chuckled. "They underestimate you, kiddo. Just remember, you belong here. You've earned it."

Across the paddock, Lewis watched the interaction, a strange pang of…discomfort settling in his chest. Nico Rosberg, his old nemesis, back in the F1 world, albeit in a different role. It was a reminder of past battles, and a flicker of competitive fire ignited in his eyes. This season was about winning, no matter what.

The qualifying session began. Y/N, heart hammering in her chest, strapped herself into the car. Liam, Nico's former race engineer, his voice now a familiar comfort in her ear, guided her through the pre-race checks.

"Alright, Y/N," Liam's voice crackled through the radio. "Deep breaths. Let's see what you can do out there."

Y/N took a deep breath, pushing past the nerves. This was it. Years of training culminating in this very moment. As she pushed the throttle down the pit lane, a sense of exhilaration washed over her, momentarily erasing her anxieties.

The first laps were tentative, Y/N pushing the car, learning its limits. Liam's voice, calm yet encouraging, guided her through the corners. The timer on the pit wall ticked down, the pressure mounting.

Suddenly, Liam's voice cut through the tension. "Y/N, that was a phenomenal lap! P2 in Q1. Absolutely stunning work!"

A surprised laugh escaped Y/N's lips. P2? On her first ever qualifying session? The relief was palpable.

The paddock buzzed with disbelief. Y/N Rosberg, the rookie, had just placed ahead of established names like Ricciardo and Bottas. The media frenzy was already brewing.

Qualifying progressed, the tension thickening with every eliminated driver. Q3 arrived, the final battle for pole position. The tension in the Red Bull garage was thick enough to cut with a knife. Max launched himself out first, clocking a blistering lap time.

Y/N, her nerves now steeled with focus, took the track. She pushed the car to its absolute limit, feeling the G-forces pin her to the seat. Her tires screamed in protest as she carved through the corners, her vision a blur of speed.

As she crossed the finish line, her heart pounded like a drum solo. Liam's voice, barely containing his excitement, filled the car. "P2, Y/N! P2! That's incredible! You're just behind Lewis!"

Y/N couldn't believe her ears. P2 beside Lewis, the reigning champion? A grin split her face, wide and genuine. This wasn't just about proving herself anymore. This was about the thrill of the race, the pure joy of pushing herself and the car to the limit. As she jumped out of the car, she was pulled into a tight hug by Max. "I'm so proud of you Y/N!!" he exclaimed.

Lewis, watching from the Mercedes garage, saw the jubilation on Y/N's face. A strange mixture of admiration and annoyance flickered across his features. He couldn't deny her talent. The Rosberg name was back, and this time, it was here to stay.

The desert sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the track. The stage was set for a battle royale. Rookie versus champion. Rosberg versus Hamilton.

time skip to the next day - its race day!

The desert sun beat down mercilessly on the Bahrain International Circuit, baking the asphalt and turning the air into a shimmering haze. This wasn't just any race day; it was the culmination of years of relentless training and unwavering dreams for Y/N. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs as she lined up on the grid, P2 staring back at her from the starting light gantry. Lewis, on pole position, stole a glance at her in his rearview mirror. He saw the raw determination in her eyes, a reflection of Nico in his younger days, and a surge of unfamiliar anxiety shot through him.

Lights out! The engines roared to life, and Y/N launched off the line with a blistering start. She clung to Lewis's tail like a hungry wolf, their tires spitting sparks as they battled for supremacy. Liam's voice crackled in her ear, a calm anchor amidst the storm. "Stay focused, Y/N! You've got this!"

Lewis, fixated on keeping Y/N behind, failed to notice Max weaving his way through the pack like a silver demon. By lap ten, Max had snatched the lead, leaving Lewis fuming in his wake. His frustration grew with each lap as Y/N doggedly pursued him, their cars a blur of red and blue against the stark desert landscape.

The battle for P2 was fierce. Y/N, fueled by a desire to prove herself, pushed Lewis to his limits. "Fuck man, why is she right behind me?," Lewis exclaimed over the radio. Bono replied equally as stressed, "She is really pushing the limits Lewis, reminds me a lot of Ni-", Lewis interrupted him abruptly, "Don't finish that." The radio cackled in silence. They dueled for corners, their tires screaming in protest as they brushed against the edge of control. Finally, Y/N saw her chance. With a daring maneuver, she overtook Lewis on the inside of a tight corner, the crowd erupting in a roar. Lewis, his face a mask of fury, slammed on his brakes, narrowly avoiding a collision.

The remaining laps felt like an eternity. Y/N, her body pushed to its physical limit, held onto P2 with gritted teeth. As she crossed the finish line, the checkered flag waving her on, pure elation flooded her. She had done it. P2 in her first ever F1 race!

The podium ceremony was a blur of flashing cameras and champagne showers. Y/N, still buzzing from the adrenaline rush, beamed as she held up the P2 trophy. Across the podium, Lewis watched, his jaw clenched tight. He couldn't deny her talent, but the thought of a Rosberg on the podium rankled him.

When the celebrations subsided, Y/N, eager for a post-race handshake, approached Lewis. He glared at her, his expression cold. As she extended her hand and before she could utter a word, he shoved her hand away with a force that sent a jolt of pain shooting up her arm. Her hand slammed against the metal doorframe of the cooldown room, leaving a throbbing bruise.

Shock clouded Y/N's features. She knew Lewis disliked her, but this blatant hostility was unexpected. Nico, who had been watching the exchange from afar, felt a surge of anger rise within him. He lunged towards Lewis, but was restrained by a team member.

"Leave it, Nico," Y/N whispered, her voice tight with hurt. "Who the fuck does he think he is? He can fight me, fuck he can kick me or anything, but laying a hand on u? Even for the lowlife that he is, that was not okay," Nico shouted angrily. Lando who watched this jumped to Y/N's defense and grabbed an ice pack laying it on her hand gingerly, pulling her into a side hug.

Lewis, oblivious to the drama he'd caused, stormed off towards his garage. He couldn't shake the image of Y/N celebrating her victory, Max by her side. A pang of something akin to jealousy pierced through his competitive spirit. He would have to crush her, he thought, before this rivalry spiraled further out of control.

As Y/N joined Max, who wrapped her in a congratulatory hug, a lone tear rolled down her cheek. The silver war had destroyed her brother's friendship with Lewis. She never realized it would eventually chip away her relationship so greatly. This victory was bittersweet. She had proven herself, but at what cost? The battle lines were drawn, the rivalry ignited. The roar of the desert wind seemed to echo the challenge: could she maintain her momentum, or would Lewis find a way to break her?

credits for gif- @lewishamiltongifs

leave a like! leave a comment! reblogs are appreciated!

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

ava speaks <3 -

so lewis is kind of a dick in this one! i promise he gets better but note to all the readers - regardless of how much you dislike a person, violence is not condonable by any stretch of the imagination. also

to those who celebrate eid mubarak! all my love <3

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

[harkonnin]

* The Willow's Purpose *

“The willow submits to the wind and prospers until one day it is many willows—a wall against the wind. This is the willow's purpose.”

As sister to Paul Atreides, and trained in secrecy to be a healer Bene Gesserit, you witnessed the rise of the Lisan Al Gaib. As you experience visions and dreams of a certain man, realising that he will be the one fighting your brother to the death changes your perspective on everything. An uncontrollable force takes over you as you revive him, questions lingering in your mind.

***

Fic on AO3

***

Chapter 10 - Admission

The desert wind howls around you as you stand at the entrance of your modest quarters, overlooking the vast expanse of Arrakis. It had been a few weeks. Feyd is away, ensuring the security of your new safe haven. You turn at the sound of a familiar voice behind you.

"Sister," Paul calls softly.

You turn to see your brother, the weight of leadership and foresight evident in his eyes. His eyes familiar but tired. He steps closer, his presence commanding as always, but there’s a gentleness in his gaze that softens the stern lines of his face.

"Paul," you greet him, a mixture of warmth and curiosity in your tone. "What brings you here?"

You go in for a hug and he obliges. The water of life had changed him but not completely. As you both break off the embrace, he looks at you with a stern expression.

"I needed to speak with you," he replies, his voice tinged with a seriousness that makes your heart quicken. "About what happened with Feyd."

You nod, gesturing for him to sit beside you. As he takes his place, the sun casts long shadows over the sand, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere.

"I’ve been thinking about that day," you begin, your voice steady but curious. "I’m sorry if my actions crossed you, Paul. I… didn’t know what came over me."

Paul looks at you, his blue-in-blue eyes reflecting the desert’s vastness.

"It’s time you knew the truth."

Your breath catches in your throat.

"The truth?"

He nods, taking a deep breath before he speaks. His face somewhat embarrassed or nervous. You hadn’t seen him like this before everything went down with the Emperor. Why was he the one afraid to talk?

"When you healed Feyd, it wasn’t entirely of your own will. I might have used the Voice on you without fully realizing it at the time."

You blink, the revelation hitting you like a physical blow. "You used the Voice on me?"

"I did," Paul confirms, his expression sincere and remorseful. "In that moment, I was overwhelmed by the visions, by the potential futures I had seen. I didn’t fully understand the power I wielded over you."

You feel a rush of emotions—shock, confusion, and a strange sense of inevitability. "But why, Paul? Why did you make me heal him?"

Paul’s gaze doesn’t waver.

"Because I saw a future where you and Feyd were together. Where your bond became something powerful, something that could change the course of events. It wasn’t just about saving his life; it was about setting in motion a series of events that I believe will lead to a better future."

Your mind races as you process his words.

"You foresaw all of this?" "Not all of it," he admits. "But enough to know that your connection with Feyd is significant. That it would be the catalyst for change, for something greater than either of us could achieve alone."

You stand, turning away from him, the wind catching your hair and tossing it around your face.

"So, this was all foreseen? You manipulated me into this?" "Not manipulated," Paul says softly, standing as well. "Guided. And I understand if you’re angry. But you have to believe that I did it with the best intentions. I believe in you. I believe in what you and Feyd can achieve together."

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions within you. You started to wonder where Paul’s influence started and your real emotions for Feyd ended.

"It’s a lot to take in, Paul." "I know," he says, stepping closer and placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "But I also know that you’ve felt the bond between you and Feyd. That it’s real, regardless of how it started."

You look up at him, seeing the truth in his eyes.

"I have," you admit quietly. "But it doesn’t change the fact that you took away my choice."

Paul nods, his expression solemn. "And for that, I am truly sorry. I hope you can forgive me one day and understand why I did it."

You close your eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the sun and the truth of Paul’s words wash over you. When you open them again, you feel a sense of clarity.

"I understand, Paul," you say finally. “Thank you for your honesty.”

Paul smiles, a rare, genuine smile that reaches his eyes.

"Thank you. For understanding. For everything."

As you embrace your brother, you feel a sense of resolution.

***

The next couple of days you update Paul on what’s been happening on Arrakis, the changes made to enhance spice production and several other important matters. Your mind strays to Feyd quite often however, wondering if he was well, wondering if he fit into the role of Baron already.

Paul catches you off guard once.

“Would you like to leave, sister?” as he corners your thoughts.

You react baffled, a bit embarrassed. Almost apologetic that your thoughts were wandering. You wanted to leave, yes. But you understood that duty was important as well.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Paul waves you off before he leaves the planet again.

The hope in your heart greater than ever that you’ll return in Feyd’s arms once more.

[mikolp]

You have quite a oc,care to explain for my enjoyment?

absolutely! i do have my pinned post for explanation, but haven’t updated much in a while.

i created her in early 2022 after watching the entire epithet series, due to having many obsessions.

in a way she’s like a spiderman but with ribbon

HER EPITHET IS RIBBON

Charlotte is extremely energetic and positive, possibly even too much to tire one out.

she works at a bakery called Miss Marie’s Pastries. She loves to bake, and even loves to taste test the sweets!

her mother, Athena, is a seamstress. Charlotte helps her out with modeling clothing and to take as much as her ribbon.

Oh! Athena is Seaside race, Marie is a Desert race, and Charlotte is Seaside-Taiga mix!

her father is unknown, since he left Athena during her pregnancy. She doesn’t mention him at all.

But that’s all I’m saying for now! I’d love to do an Ask Charlotte everything for fun!

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove and while I am still focused on the revisions of this other novel* I wrote a little more of the F&F AU just to share something. LOL

When Eddie was first told about the job, he very politely and diplomatically turned it down. “Hell no. How stupid do I look to you? My wife just died in that world and you want me to go wade into it and infiltrate a bunch of dangerous criminals and leave my kid an orphan?” Well. It was as polite and diplomatic as he could manage to be when Shannon’s funeral had only been three days ago. She wasn’t even cold in the ground and the same sharks from vice who’d recruited her were trying to get him to finish the job? So, what, he could die in a hit and run too? Leave Christopher with no one—or, worse, leave him with Eddie’s parents? Lou Ransone, a tall guy with dark eyes that belonged to a fox, pursed his mouth a little. “Your captain back in El Paso had great things to say about you. And Shannon told us you used to go to the races with her.” “I didn’t race. She did.” Shannon had been the genius behind the wheel. “But you can drive.” “If I have to.” Racing, for Shannon, had been competitive. Showing up to a track or a street full of posturing assholes swinging their dicks around, her jaw set and spine made of fucking steel, and then making them eat her dust—that was Shannon’s game. Eddie only raced for fun, out on the dirt roads and deserted back highways. It wasn’t about beating anyone. It was about him and the car becoming one being, the purr of the engine, the turn of the wheel, the roll of the tires, as much a part of him as his pumping blood and racing heart and fluttering breath.

I made myself stop there or I would've ended up dropping everything to finish the fic LOL I have a problem.

*do not ask how it's going I actually made a character faceclaim list for the dragonfucker series instead

[nieded]

Where is your hot take on Vegas and the manhole cover I need to know.

Hoo boy! Okay, so I'm going to put this all behind a cut for spoilers sake, but I have a lot of feelings about the Las Vegas GP.

Cons:

Let's talk about the fucking manhole cover. This isn't the first street race Formula 1 has ever done. I don't understand how such an oversight happened. Actually, no, I do know. They were so focused on milking Las Vegas for money that they didn't actually pay attention to the details on the track. Not only did they not secure the manhole covers, they also didn't anticipate that it would be cold in Las Vegas at midnight. They went from passing out from heat exhaustion in Qatar to worrying about needing hand warmers in their gloves and wondering if their tires would come up to temperature during qualifying in Las Vegas. Mind blowing. Imagine being the president of the FIA from Saudi Arabia which is mostly desert and not knowing that it would be cold if you decided to run qualifying at midnight. What was the issue with the drains anyway? F1 cars are designed to create downforce through aerodynamics which basically helps the car stay on the ground and not go flying when they take these corners. Las Vegas is made up of slow speed corners, but 'slow speeds' is relative. They are still going insanely fast. Most of the cars ran really low downforce so they could maximize speed down the Strip, but they still produce a ton. This creates sort of like a suction between the chassis of the car and the ground. The vacuum between the bottom of the car and the tarmac was so powerful that it ripped the drain out of the road and right into the bottom of Sainz's car. This was 100% preventable. After two instances with Ocon and Sainz's car, they had to repair 140 drains which took 5 hours! Insane. AND THEN they gave Sainz a 10 place grid penalty because he need to replace his battery outside of his allotted amount for the season after it got damaged by the drain cover. The stewards claimed that because there was no rule anticipating this issue, they were not allowed to make exceptions.

But this wasn't the only thing wrong with the Las Vegas GP. Prior to the event, they jacked ticket prices up from 2,000 to 20,000 a ticket. They also blocked out the windows of hotel rooms, casinos, and bridges so people couldn't spectate for free (not that the hotels were inexpensive either). They anticipated a huge turnout and ended up having to drop prices rapidly as the date approached because they didn't sell the way they thought they would. Kudos to the fans, though, because I hear a bunch of fans tore down the barriers and privacy screens. Love it! But imagine paying 10k for a ticket. Then you sit outside at 1:30 in the morning waiting for FP2 to start and get kicked out of the grandstands because of the repairs, and then they don't actually let you watch FP2, you know, that thing you spend thousands of dollars on to see. Formula 1 is being sued by fans, btw. Daniel Ricciardo was the most excited for Las Vegas. He claims he manifested it, and it was so exciting to know that he was going to be able to race (despite being in the draggiest car on the grid and obviously not doing well in the race), and he was pleading with F1 to not treat Las Vegas like an event just for the 1%. I really hope F1 learned something from this experience because it was extremely exclusionary. Some US citizens did the math and found out it was cheaper to fly to Monza than it was to attend Las Vegas.

Another big con was the road surface. Formula 1's calendar runs a lot longer than any other racing series, but on earlier race weekends, multiple events are going on at the same time, like F2, F3, Formula Academy, Moto GP... The road surface is usually prepared before the weekend starts, and then as all the events happen, the cars lay rubber down on the track which increases grip. Las Vegas happened after all the other series were finished, so there weren't any other cars improving the grip of the race track, which in turn made the course extremely slippery. You pair that with the cold temperatures, and it made the track unsafe to drive on. In addition, Hamilton's car spilled oil on the track, and the marshalls did not do a good enough job to clean up the spill, which caused a huge spinout between multiple drivers on Turn 1 of the race, ruining so many drivers' day.

The last con was just the time of day the event took place on, but I don't actually know how they would solve this problem. All the session took place in the middle of the night. Like I said, FP2 was supposed to start at 1:30 AM. Vegas is really the only street course where they couldn't shut down traffic for the whole weekend because the Strip is vital to the economy of the city, but again, it was really cold during all the sessions, and it fucked with the drivers and crews' sleep schedules. Oof. I don't watch the races live, so it didn't really affect me, and it probably benefited everyone in Europe who typically has to get up at 4 in the morning for any other North American event, but it was exhausting for everyone working the race.

BUT THERE WERE SOME PROS! I know I just complained a lot, but Vegas did exceed expectations in some way.

There were a lot of overtaking and the really cold track temperatures did shake things up quite a bit. Ferrari, who has struggled with overheating their tires all year, was able to keep their tires in the right temperature pocket, giving them a big advantage. Despite Red Bull winning again, there was still a big fight that it made it interesting to watch instead of Max sailing 30+ seconds ahead of everyone else. Charles had real potential to win the race until the safety car that gave Red Bull a free pit stop. Qualifying had the weirdest line up as lower performing teams excelled, like Haas. There was also a lot of worry that because the track was so narrow, there wouldn't be a lot of opportunity for overtaking, but there were at least two good spots (including the DRS zone), and we saw way more battles than anticipated.

And well, that's really the only pro. It's a big pro, though, and gives me hope for future Las Vegas GPs. It has the potential to be an excellent race, an excellent weekend, and an excellent fan experience if they can fix the very large and preventable issues from this weekend.

[ailendolin]

Wounded (3/5)

Title: Wounded [AO3]

Characters: The Captain/Havers

Warnings: Spoilers for Series 5

Summary: 3 ways the Captain didn’t find out about Havers’s wound, 1 way he did, and 1 way he might have if life had been a little kinder to them both.

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5

————

Wounded

Chapter 3: The Visit

When Havers had written to him that he would return to England on leave and intended to stop by Button House on his way home, the Captain had felt an almost giddy rush of excitement. He hadn’t shown it, of course –it wasn’t becoming of an officer to run around grinning like a fool at the prospect of seeing his former lieutenant again, after all. But he had felt excited, and it had seemed to him that the songbirds’ chorus had sounded just a tad cheerier that morning as he went for his run.

It had been years since they’d last seen each other; a lifetime in war. There had been times when the Captain had feared this moment would never come; that a stray bullet would catch Havers unawares and he’d bleed out in the African desert, Italian mountains or French woods without ever seeing the rolling hills of home again. But Havers hadn’t. He was alive and well, and he was coming home today. The thought was enough to make the Captain’s heart race a mile a minute as he got dressed.

When he spotted Havers’s silhouette walking up to the gate of Button House in the morning mist, he couldn’t help but smile.

Finally, he thought.

But when he saw Havers’s face, bathed in the first tentative rays of the sun, his stomach dropped. It wasn’t the scar that ran down the left side from eye to jaw that made him take an aborted step forward. It was the exhaustion carved into every line of Havers’s face, and the trauma that echoed hollowly from his eyes. He didn’t just look tired and broken – he looked shellshocked, the Captain realised numbly.

Havers tried his best to hide it. The moment he noticed the Captain waiting for him by the gate, he straightened up and smiled that warm, kind smile the Captain had never managed to forget, no matter how hard he’d tried. It barely reached his eyes now and only served to highlight the terrible shadows lurking just beneath the surface.  

“Good lord, what happened to you?” the Captain blurted out.

Havers’s smile trembled in the morning chill. “It’s nice seeing you too, sir.”

Some part of the Captain wanted to point out that Havers did not have to call him ‘sir’ anymore. They were of equal rank now. If anything, the Captain would probably have to call him ‘sir’ by the time the war was over. But the tension around Havers’s eyes and the way his hands had begun to tremble at his sides made him swallow his instincts and take a tentative step closer instead.

“Anthony,” he said softly. He had never called him that before; had never dared to cross that particular line in all the years they’d known each other. And yet in that moment, it came as easy as breathing to him, and it felt right like little else in his life ever had.

For one awful moment, Havers didn’t move. Then his brave face crumpled and he choked out, almost helplessly, “James.”

The Captain couldn’t say who closed the gap between them in the end. It didn’t matter, not when Havers pressed his face into his neck and quietly fell apart in his arms.

Later, in the privacy of his office, he would learn about the grenade blast that had caused the angry red scar trailing down the left side of Havers’s face and taken the life of three of his friends. He would hear about the mad dash to the aid station to keep Havers from bleeding out, the painful removal of the shrapnel pieces from his face and neck and the feeling of being stitched together like Frankenstein’s Monster. In a quiet voice, Havers would admit that the scar tissue pulled at his skin every time he talked, and that it hurt when he smiled. Ashamed, he would look down at his hands that refused to stop trembling – even here where he was safe and sound – and confess that he feared they never would.

“I’m just so tired,” he whispered in a broken voice. “I don’t how much longer I can do this.”

The Captain’s heart would break for him, and he would wish he had more to offer than a bed for the night and the comfort of a friendly ear that would always listen but never judge. He would wish for many things that night, knowing most of them were impossible and never be granted.

As they stood by the gate in the warm glow of the morning’s dawn, though, he simply held Havers close and silently thanked whatever god was out there for bringing him home to him.

[mickeyisprocrastinating]

Tragic News: Ken Block, Iconic Rally Driver, Passes Away in Snowmobile Accident

It is with great sadness that we announce the passing of Ken Block, a renowned rally driver and pioneer in the motorsports industry. Block, who was also a devoted husband and father, passed away today in a tragic snowmobile accident.

The Hoonigans, an organization founded by Block, shared the news on their Instagram account, stating: "It's with our deepest regrets that we can confirm that Ken Block passed away in a snowmobile accident today. Ken was a visionary, a pioneer and an icon. And most importantly, a father and husband. He will be incredibly missed. Please respect the family's privacy at this time while they grieve."

Block was known for his impressive driving skills and innovative approaches to rally racing, and his influence on the industry will not be forgotten. Our thoughts and condolences go out to his family and loved ones during this difficult time.

Here are the top 5 Ken Block Gymkhana series videos:

Gymkhana TEN: The Ultimate Tire Slaying Tour

This video, released in 2018, features Block behind the wheel of a specially modified Ford F-150 Hoonitruck, as he takes on a tour of iconic locations around the world. From the streets of downtown Los Angeles to the snow-covered mountains of Colorado, Block's tire-slaying skills are on full display.

Gymkhana NINE: Raw Industrial Playground

In this 2016 video, Block takes on the abandoned industrial playground of Buffalo, New York in his Ford Escort Cosworth Group A rally car. The raw, gritty setting provides the perfect backdrop for Block's impressive drifting and handling skills.

Gymkhana EIGHT: Ultimate Exotic Playground; Dubai

In this 2015 video, Block takes on the glitz and glamour of Dubai in his custom Ford Mustang Hoonicorn V2. From drifting through the city's streets to tearing up the sand dunes of the desert, this video showcases Block's impressive driving skills in an exotic setting.

Gymkhana SEVEN: Wild in the Streets of L.A.

This 2014 video sees Block taking on the streets of Los Angeles in his Ford Fiesta ST RX43 rallycross car. The high-energy setting and impressive driving skills make this video a must-watch for fans of the Gymkhana series.

Gymkhana SIX: The Ultimate Gymkhana Grid Course

Released in 2013, this video features Block behind the wheel of his custom Ford Fiesta ST, as he takes on a challenging gymkhana grid course. With a variety of obstacles and tight turns, this video showcases Block's impressive driving skills and precision control.

[mkt-magnovite-2024]

GHODE KI RACE MEIN, AB GADHE BHI DAUDENGE? 

Formula 1, often abbreviated as F1, is the pinnacle of motorsport, renowned for its high-speed races, cutting-edge technology, and global appeal. Established in 1950, Formula 1 has evolved into a premier international racing series with a passionate fan base. The heart of Formula 1 lies in its Grand Prix events, a series of races held on diverse tracks around the world. These tracks range from traditional circuits like Monza and Silverstone to street circuits like Monaco, each presenting unique challenges for drivers and teams. The racing calendar spans multiple continents, showcasing the global nature of the sport.

Teams are a fundamental aspect of Formula 1, with each season featuring a roster of competitive outfits. Renowned teams include Ferrari, Mercedes, Red Bull Racing, and McLaren, each contributing to the intense competition. The sport follows a constructor model, where teams design and build their cars, incorporating the latest technological advancements in  aerodynamics, materials, and engine technology. This leads to constant innovation and a relentless pursuit of speed and performance. The drivers, often considered the heroes of the sport, play a pivotal role in the drama of Formula 1. They navigate the high-speed circuits with precision and skill, enduring forces that can exceed 5g during acceleration and braking. The battle for the World Drivers' Championship adds a personal touch to the competition, as drivers vie for individual glory. Formula 1 races are not just about speed; they involve complex strategies. Teams must decide when to pit for tire changes and fuel, considering the ever-changing race conditions. Pit stops are a ballet of coordination, showcasing the efficiency and precision of the pit crews.

In the heart of India's bustling business district, GIFT City, whispers of a future roar echo through the air. A potential Formula One circuit, gleaming and ambitious, awaits its birth on the banks of the Sabarmati River. Though still a mirage shimmering in the desert of planning, the dream of an Indian Grand Prix in Ahmedabad ignites the imagination. This envisioned serpent of asphalt promises to be unlike any other. Nestled within the futuristic cityscape of GIFT City, the track could seamlessly blend modern architecture with the raw adrenaline of motorsport. Imagine sleek cars, blurring like brushstrokes of color, weaving through tight corners that hug the river's embrace. For Indian motorsport, this future circuit represents a potential watershed moment. Imagine the nation's talented drivers carving their names onto the asphalt alongside global legends, igniting a new generation of racing hearts. Though details remain shrouded in the dust of feasibility studies and proposals, the vision of an

F1 circuit in GIFT City pulsates with promise. It beckons us to a future where India roars not just in commerce, but in the heart-pounding ballet of Formula One. Stay tuned, for this exciting race is just beginning, its checkered flag yet to be waved. Established in 1904, the Fédération Internationale de l'Automobile (FIA) wields unparalleled influence as motorsport's global conductor. From the pinnacle of Formula One to the grassroots passion of karting, it meticulously composes the rules, ensuring fair competition on every meticulously-designed stage. Safety is the orchestra's top note, with the FIA pioneering life- saving innovations that often reverberate onto everyday roads. Beyond regulation, the FIA orchestrates renowned championships, transforming each circuit into a thrilling symphony of speed, skill, and relentless automotive evolution.

Task At hand:

FIA in contribution with Indian Government is looking for construction companies that could build and set up an infrastructure that is capable enough to meet the standards set by FIA for F1 racing in India. The planned infrastructure is to be set up in Gujarat.

You are the CMO and head of this project for your company, your job is to make sure that the Government as well as FIA are convinced and finds no loophole in your company’s plan.

Deliverables:

A report and a PPT consisting of:

Overview of your company (Mission, vision, Objectives, logo, tagline)

A detailed description of products and services you offered in the past or will offer in future.

Strategies to promote F1 in India?

What sponsors will you bring in and why?

A phase wise implementation plan.

Submission Deadline : 9:45AM

[fmpyear2kb]

Games that utilise vehicular combat.

Mad Max:

In the wasteland known in Mad Max vehicular combat is not just a means of transportation but a part of survival. Max's world is one where the start up of engines and the screech of tires signal not just movement, but conflict and struggle. Vehicles are modified and weaponized extensions of their drivers. From speeding across the desert in pursuit or evasion to engaging in fierce battles on dusty roads, vehicular combat in Mad Max is a chaotic race of speed, strategy, and violence It's a world where every vehicle is a potential weapon.

Carmaggedon:

In Carmageddon vehicular combat takesplace as players are dropped into a chaotic world where the rules of the road are thrown away. Every vehicle becomes a deadly weapon, and every collision a chance to assert dominance in the arena of vehicular combat. Whether it's racing through urban streets filled with obstacles and pedestrians or engaging in head to head battles against rival drivers, Carmageddon offers a relentless onslaught of destruction and action packed chaos. Players can customize their cars with an array of weapons, from spikes and blades to rockets and mines, turning their vehicles into instruments of destruction as they compete to dodge and outlast their opponents. In Carmageddon, vehicular combat isn't just a feature- it's the core of the experience, where survival of the fittest means being the last car standing.

Mario Kart:

In the world of the Mario Kart series, vehicular combat takes on a lighthearted and child friendly tone. Players hop into cartoonish vehicles driven by characters from the Mario universe. While speed is certainly a factor, the focus is more reliant to items scattered across the tracks, offering a variety of offensive and defensive options. From throwing banana peels to or launching shells to knock opponents off course, Mario Kart strikes a balance between strategy and accessibility. The tracks themselves are filled with obstacles and shortcuts, encouraging exploration and mastery of each course. With vibrant visuals, catchy music, and accessible gameplay, Mario Kart's vehicular combat is an engaging and child friendly game.

Death Rally:

In Death Rally, vehicular combat is the heart of the action packed gameplay. Set in a post apocalyptic world where survival depends on speed, skill, and firepower, players step into the seat of heavily armed vehicles and compete in deadly races where anything goes. From machine guns and rockets to mines and oil slicks, every weapon at your disposal is aimed at taking down rival drivers and securing victory. Races unfold on treacherous tracks covered with obstacles and hazards, requiring quick reflexes and tactics to navigate. As players earn credits and upgrade their vehicles, the stakes escalate, leading to showdowns against increasingly deadly opponents. With its adrenaline-fueled races, explosive action, and relentless carnage, "Death Rally" delivers an exciting experience that puts vehicular combat front and center in a battle for survival in a lawless wasteland.

Twisted metal:

In Twisted Metal, vehicular combat is the very essence of the game. Set in a dark and twisted world where chaos reigns supreme, players pilot heavily armed vehicles in a savage competition where the only rule is to destroy or be destroyed. Each vehicle is a unique instrument of destruction, outfitted with an array of devastating weapons ranging from machine guns and missiles to flamethrowers and remote controlled bombs. From the streets of dilapidated cities to treacherous arenas and industrial wastelands, every battleground is a deadly arena where players must outmaneuver and outgun their opponents to survive. With a variety of characters, each with their own motives. Twisted Metal offers a blend of vehicular mayhem and strategic gameplay. Whether fighting it out in intense one on one duels or chaotic free for all battles.