#I think the colouring is nice on this it looks more soft than what I normally do!

[shortchoco]

been thinking a lot lately about Sampo's 5* design. A part of me REALLY wants his original hair colour to be fully white BC of his little white strands and his eye lashes to also be like that cuz I think it'd make him look gentler??

His downturned eyes is the reason I love him more than any other man in hsr. He just looks like a cat!! If he smiled more often with his eyes open I think the white hair and lashes would make him look so SOFT.

and I wonder what kind of clothes he'll wear. Desperately hoping it's not the generic male design with long coats I'm sick of that.

I want him to like have 3 starts floating on top of his head with a matching earring like his bp icon (has to do with my theory of him being some device to grant wishes)

For the clothes I'm thinking a ringmaster in like the circus? His normal outift already looks like that anyway but it's a little all over the place.

I think a velvet vest and a black shirt under would be nice. Also a mini bowtie. I want him to have a cloak that's like split in half behind his back and looks like the purple-grey fangs of the snake thingy he has on his normal design.

Of course!! Not forgetting short, black gloves and his little eyeshadow. I really do hope his eyes have slit pupils like acheron's so that he resembles a white snake 🐍

AND HIS MASK.... EUGHHH I have like 3 main ideas;

A grey snake mask that covers half of his face

Broken heart mask on his eyes

The mask in sparkle's showtime LC with a little more detail

Hmm, that's basically it. Really wanna hear and see sampo nation's own designs ABT him cuz I feel so starved all the time and have no one to talk to about this irl so I'm just going insane internally.

Here's a messy sketch of the rat I did in a shaky bus <3

[upperranktwo]

☆Yor Forger ☆ Thorn Princess☆

Happy Birthday Moon ♡ @chuuyaaz

[pastryfication]

fan interactions | oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x shy!reader

summary: you tend to shy away from all interactions and oscar has never had a problem with that. he can’t deny that seeing you interact with his fans isn’t a sight he enjoys, though.

warnings: none!!

every race weekend you are able to attend follows a familiar pattern for you: you arrive at the track with oscar, your heart pounding with excitement and anxiety as the noise, the crowds and the high energy overwhelming you. sticking close to your boyfriend’s side, holding onto his arms or hand is the best comfort you can get. oscar’s presence beside you acts as your shield, your safe haven in the whirlwind of it all.

today is no different. as you walk through the bustling paddock, you stick close to oscar, basically hiding behind him. he holds your hand reassuringly, his touch grounding you in the chaos and you enjoy being able to cling to him. you know he understands how you feel, always making sure you’re comfortable, never pushing you to interact more than you’re ready for, and you appreciate it so much. all of your life, people have tried to force you into becoming more social, but it never helped you, only made you more uncomfortable, so oscar’s understanding means the world.

today, though, something unexpected happens. as you pass by a group of fans, one of them, a young girl with a friendly smile, catches your eye. she steps forward, her excitement palpable.

“hi!” she exclaims. “you’re oscar’s girlfriend, right?” her are eyes wide with admiration as she questions you.

you nod shyly, trying to force your voice above a whisper. “yes, i am.”

the fan beams at you, reaching into her bag. “i made this for you. it’s a bracelet with oscar’s racing colours and his number! i hope you like it.”

she hands you a beautiful bracelet woven with intricate patterns in orange and gold. your heart swells with warmth at the kind gesture. “thank you so much, it’s lovely,” you say softly, your fingers trembling slightly as you take the bracelet and slips it around your wrist.

“can i take a picture of you wearing it?” the fan asks, her eyes sparkling with hope.

overwhelmed by the attention, you try your best to seem calm and confident, but your hands are shaking slightly as you nod your head.

the fan takes a quick photo while you muster up your best smile. her gratitude is evident in her eyes as she thanks you. “thank you so so much! you’re so sweet.”

you manage a small genuine smile in return, feeling a mix of nerves and happiness. as the fan takes a step back, you turn to catch up with your boyfriend. when he feels your presence besides him, oscar turns to you, his eyes full of pride.

“you handled that so well,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “i know it’s not easy for you, but you were amazing.”

you blush, looking down at the bracelet. “i was so nervous,” you laugh awkwardly. “but she was really nice.”

oscar chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “you were adorable. i think it’s cute how shy you get. and i love seeing you smile like that.”

your heart flutters at his words, butterflies forming in your stomach. being with oscar made you feel so special. something about his intense attention and affection makes you feel like the most important person in the world. moments like these only work to further remind you just how deeply he understands and appreciates you. you lean into him, wrapping your hands around his bicep as you continue walking into the paddock.

“thank you,” you whisper, grateful for his constant support. “i really don’t know what i’d do without you.”

he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “you don’t have to do anything alone. i’m always gonna be here for you.”

his promise makes a brighter, even more beautiful smile appear on your face. walking towards the mclaren hospitality, feeling his soft skin beneath your fingers reminds you just how lucky you are. the luckiest girl in the world perhaps.

[luveline]

Hi Jade! I had an idea for a request! I was thinking about reader with a really low sex drive and maybe one day she starts to get a little worried and insecure about it and one of the boys just reassures her that he doesn’t care about it<3 idk if that made sense but write for whatever boy you want to I don’t have a preference love you 😚

How Remus, James and Sirius would comfort you when you worry your low libido is a problem. fem, 2.2k

❥ Remus 

Remus sits with his legs crossed in the corner of the settee, a book open on his thigh, though his attention has been caught and kept by the TV. 

You think some grovelling may be in order after last night. Quiet, you round the settee and climb onto the seat next to his, body turned away from the TV, arm creeping onto his thigh. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi.” 

He encourages you closer, leaning back to give you room to lie on him. His right arm does most of the work to keep you up, sandwiching you to his chest, an almost not quite hug. “What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“How do you know something is wrong?” 

He taps your back with his fingers, looking up at the ceiling with a sarcastic smile. “What could it be?” 

The hints of green in his irises are more pronounced when he’s sitting in the sun like this, rays cutting in through the window, turning his pale skin slightly tanned and his hair a warmer chestnut colour that curls behind his ears. The scar on his lip relaxes as his joking smile fades to a proper one, a lovey-dovey type that melts you. It’s nice to be looked at so nicely, like just the sight of you inspires happiness. 

You shift off of your legs, deciding you might as well lay flat with your head in his lap instead. He lets you sink down. His hand takes up station near your cheek, the back of his curled fingers brushing the skin just shy of your eye. 

“This is nice,” he whispers. 

“I have to say sorry,” you whisper back, drawing shapes into his t-shirt, the soft muscle of his stomach pillowy to poke. 

Remus nods emphatically. “Yes, you didn’t come and see me as soon as you woke up. I heard you on your phone in bed. That’s not very nice, is it, depriving me of your company?” 

You shake your head into his thigh, a slow, guilty movement. “No, about last night.” 

“What about last night?” 

Last night, Remus had given you a very slow kiss. He’d been half asleep and you’d been more so, but it was a lovely kiss and his hand had been rubbing sweet half circles into your hip, but it still made you feel awful when he asked if he could touch you and you’d told him you were too tired, even if he didn’t mind. He’d just kissed your cheek and snuggled into you like a life-sized teddy bear. He never takes your rejection as an insult. 

“You… you wanted to fuck and I didn’t, I’m sorry. I feel like every time you ask lately I say no.” 

Remus frowns at you. Deep frown, eyebrows pinching and brown eyes bordering sullen. His fingers uncurl over your cheek and cover your ear as he cups your face. “I don’t want you to be sorry. The reason I ask is so you can say no, you can always say no.” 

“I kiss you, and I wind you up, and then I can’t–”

“Which I enjoy. You don’t have to worry about that.” He leans down to kiss you but doesn’t fully get there, your noses touching, and then he’s leaning away again. “Please don’t say sorry. You know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” 

“I know that. I’m not trying to make you into the bad guy.” 

Remus taps your nose with his and leans in again. “I know you’re not. You aren’t one either. Sex is just another fun thing to do, okay? If you don’t want to, that shouldn’t bother me, and it doesn’t. I promise.” 

You curl your arms around his neck. He lifts his head, subsequently lifting you as he moves, his arm curling behind your back for a hug. 

“Sometimes I want more of you than you want to give,” he says, “but it’s just because I love you, not because I need it. Don’t be silly, dove. Don’t say sorry.” 

He presses the heel of his palm to your back and begins the heavy pressure of a back rub. You won’t say sorry if he doesn’t want you to. You shouldn’t anyways. But he’s your boyfriend and you love him, so his being accepting of it is a relief. 

Like he can read your mind, he says, “You never have to say sorry for this.” 

“I know.” You lift your chin. “Kiss?” 

Remus kisses you quickly before tucking you into his neck for a long hug. 

❥ James

“You’re beautiful.” 

You’re boiling. James doesn’t notice, kissing and kissing and kissing, your neck flushed with his touch and his murmured compliment. “James.” 

He tilts his head, weaving in on the other side of your neck to give it the same loving treatment. “Pretty doesn’t cover it,” he says in a rush, his teeth scratching dully up to your jaw, his kissing like nips without any pain behind them as he reaches your cheek. 

You catch his face in your hands and push him away gently. It’s so hot in here you can’t breathe, and you’re not in the mood for any further action. It’s funny. You adore his kisses and James is undeniably a good fuck, but your libido is low no matter how pretty your boyfriend is, or how pretty he finds you. You’d always wondered if that meant there was something wrong with you. 

James doesn’t seem to think so. 

“Sorry,” he says, beaming, “that’s enough, right?” 

You feel a weird sharp stab in your chest. “Sorry?” 

“I’m getting ahead of myself.” James sits up where he’d been lying on top of you, having manoeuvred such a position in the midst of all his warm kisses. He sits back on his calves, kneeling in the space between your legs, a hand falling instead to your knee. “It’s fucking hot in here, isn’t it?” 

“Sorry.” 

“Did you make it hot?” 

You look at your hand on your chest. He’s noticed you don’t want to take it any further, you hardly ever do. You knew he’d see that eventually. You have the libido of a panda, where James is an athletic young man who loves you. 

“No, I mean. I’m sorry, because I never want to when you want to.” 

Your serious tone surprises him. “Baby, what the fuck are you talking about?” he asks. “I am so lost.” 

“Just– Most of the time when you try to sleep with me I turn you down. You know already.” 

“Baby, that doesn’t matter.” He leans in again, only to hold your wrists, two big hands curled around your arms to stop your fidgeting. Two pet names in quick succession is unlike him, and it relaxes you before he’s begun to explain. “It doesn’t matter at all. Just makes it better when we do manage to want it at the same time.” 

You grimace. “Are you sure?” 

“You want me to be honest?” 

You’re not sure. “Yeah. Please be honest.” 

“Sometimes we kiss and you know I want you,” his eyes dart down, prompting a surprised laugh from you, and an easy chuckle from him in return, “and it’s frustrating, but it’s not ‘cos of you. I can go shower and sort myself out and it’s not the same as being with you, but it’s not your fault. It’s just a reaction.” 

“But I feel bad for making you deal with it yourself.” 

“What are you supposed to do? You can’t force yourself if you’re not in the mood. That’s the last thing I want you to do. I’d rather have it fall off.” 

You laugh again. James’ smile is glowing, and warm as he presses it to your wrist in a chaste kiss. “We can do other things. If you feel that badly about it, you can give me a scalp massage, please. You shouldn’t feel badly about it, but still. If you’re okay with it, I’d love one.” 

He presses his cheek to your chest in want of your hand. 

You press your fingertips to his hairline and weave your fingers into the roots of his soft hair, shaking them, nails scratching lightly at his scalp like you know he likes. “How’s that?” you ask. 

“Better than sex.” He is unmistakably sincere. 

❥ Sirius 

“Did you lock the door?” 

Sirius hums. 

“Close the kitchen window?” 

“I did,” he says, waving your hand gently where he’s holding it between you both. You lay straight in bed with the duvet up to your chests and the TV playing one of his favourite movies. 

“Okay. Did you take your medication?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart. Everything’s done. You can relax.” 

You pick your book up and open it to the first page. You’ve been meaning to read this one for a while, you’re happy to get the time, but you’re feeling queasy about something. 

Sirius is a loud guy. He loves the glitz and glamour of life, he likes to go out, play fast and hard, he’s electric most of the time. He can be quiet, too, like you tend to be, but you’re worried that you’re another night closer to him deciding he’s bored. It’s been weeks since you went anywhere, and you haven’t fucked in almost as long. 

“Can I have this?” he asks, pulling your hand to his lips. 

You smile as he kisses your knuckles, barely there presses of his lips to your skin that linger. 

“You haven’t turned a page yet.” 

“It’s hard to start,” you tell him. 

“What’s it about? Fantasy?” 

“No, just a romance, I think.” 

“I like your romances. You read the complicated ones with the good love, like ours.” 

It’s a very nice thing to say, even if you’re not sure how he knows what romance you’re reading. He enjoys listening to you talk about books when they’re done, so perhaps the details have sunk in.

You let the book flop to the side and curl up around your joined hands. “I love you,” you say. 

He curls into you in return, “You should. That was a good line,” he says teasingly. “I love you too, my girl.” He speaks it with a quiet, gentle cadence that suits him and the pet name well. “Lift your head. Wanna see you.” 

You angle your face up to give him a view of the half that isn’t hidden by the sheets. “I’m so boring.” 

“Says who?” 

“Everybody, probably. All we do is watch TV and sleep.” 

“Good thing I love both of those things.” He wraps an arm around you, palm to your shoulder. “And it’s not true. We went to the cafe yesterday after work. On the weekend, we’re going to the cinema. Why, do you want to do more?” 

“It’s not me I’m worried about, Siri. Aren’t you bored?” 

He stares at you. Long, non-judgmental looking, his dark lashes kissing in the corners as his gaze wanders down to your neck. “Is this about something else?” 

“No.” 

His mouth turns sympathetic, a wobbly frown. “Are you sure, lovely? You can talk to me.” 

You weigh each word as you say it, determined not to embarrass yourself, “I’m worried that I don’t make your life very interesting. We don’t go out much, we don’t drink, and I never…” 

You turn your face down, your forehead to his chest. Sirius hums unhappily and encourages your head back to see you again almost immediately. “You never what?” he asks. 

“Never mind.” 

“No, please. Tell me, Y/N. You can tell me anything, I won’t care.” He’s getting so serious about it and it’s making it even more embarrassing than before, but you don’t want him to worry. You spit it out. 

“I don’t put out. We hardly ever have sex.” 

“Does that upset you?” he asks. 

“Well. It upsets me if it upsets you.” 

“It doesn’t.” His hand cups your cheek, his forehead drops down to yours. “It doesn’t upset me. Did I make you think that?” 

“You’re just so cool and I’m your loser.”

He laughs happily. “You’re my loser,” he agrees. 

“The last couple of times I’ve said no. I guess I just worry you want more than I’m giving out, so. I don’t want you to wish we were having more sex, but I can’t make myself want it more.” 

“I see.” 

You listen to him breathing, the warmth of his exhale like a kiss all its own as it fans over your mouth.

He rubs your cheek with his thumb. “Can I tell you what I think?” You nod, and he continues, “I only want to have sex with you, that’s one of the consequences of being in love. It’s a good one. So if you don’t wanna have sex, it’s safe to say I don’t want to either. Okay? Love you just as much with or without it.” 

Unlike him and not to be this tender. You bite the inside of your lip.

“Promise?” you ask. 

“I promise.” 

[bunnys-kisses]

blues, reds and pregnancies

max verstappen & charles leclerc

cw: smut/pwp, pregnant!reader, threesome, sub!charles, "dom"!reader, dom!max, breast play, body worship, oral sex (reader & max receives), threesome, max is monsieur and reader is madame, dom/sub play, praise kink, pregnancy kink, protected sex, filth(!!), 3.3k words

bunny says: *big shrug* i don't know! (comments and reblogs are always appreciated!)

max wasn't stupid. a keen eye like his made it hard for him to miss things. both on the track and off. he knew how charles stared at you. max thought it was a seething jealousy that charles had, that max had something he couldn't have.

while he brushed it off, almost smiling in a smugness, he noticed something changed once you got pregnant. you and max were beyond excited to have a child, max made sure to show various ways that he was thankful for giving him the chance to be a (good) father.

so max noticed when around the fifth month of your pregnancy, a sunny track day in italy, that charles was a lot more hands-y than usual. you didn't mind the attention on you, you knew people were just being nice. so charles' hand on your swollen middle was nothing out of the ordinary.

but max could see the almost nervousness on charles' face. especially when you beamed at him.

"yeah, he's been moving a bit recently." you beamed, "i can't believe i'm saying this, but i think he knows what i'm at the track. i wouldn't be surprised if he could hear the engines." you laughed.

charles' eyes were on your bump that could be outlined in the dress you wore. both hands on your belly as he listened with attention. you blabbered about all the updates with your son.

max should've known that charles had a soft spot for mother's, and that soft spot left him feeling a little hard. it would only fully click when after the monaco grand prix, and a party by a pool was in full effect.

max stayed with making sure his wife was taken care of. but he could see that charles' gaze lingered on you. the two piece swimsuit was comfortable, and not meant to turn heads. but max swore he saw charles adjust himself in his own swimsuit when he saw you bend over to hand max another drink before you sat down on the chair beside him.

to test the waters, max leaned forward to your warm cheek but with his eyes on charles. he placed his large hand on your belly and winked at the other driver. charles' eyes went wide before he turned away, probably to get another drink.

"what are you doing, schat?" you asked.

he pressed a kiss to your cheek and dodged the question as he responded, "your dutch is sounding better, mijn vrouw." then gave your swollen middle a rub.

-

"hey, charles. i need some advice." max said with his phone in his hand. they were about to get ready to practice in spain. he leaned over to charles when the other man looked at him.

"yeah?"

max showed his phone to charles, "do you think the red or the blue looks better?"

charles raised his eyebrows at the other man as he took the phone. he almost dropped it when he saw the first photo. it was you in front of the full length mirror in a red pair of underwear that went over the bump you were sprouting and a matching bra with a bow in the middle that was yellow.

the thing that took charles off guard was that the red of the garments were not a nice maroon or even bordering on a pinky colour. no it was red, ferrari red.

max reached over and swiped to the next picture. it was a similar set but except in the same dark blue colour of max's driving suit paired with a little red bow in the center of the bra. ferrari and red bull. the dutch driver seemed unfazed as he asked, "so which one, leclerc? i'm thinking she looks better in the blue."

charles looked at max and exhaled deeply, "are you trying to kill me?"

max feigned confusion as he responded, "i thought we were friends, charles." he shrugged and added, "you stare at her enough, i thought you'd know what she looked good in. i'm pretty sure if she sat in the stands, you'd crash just to get a good look at her. so which is it, red or blue?"

charles' jaw tensed and he looked back at the photo on max's phone, "red." he replied.

-

you sat there at the edge of the bed with your thighs pressed together. you looked at both of the men in front of you with your arms crossed.

"hello mrs. verstappen." charles said as he slowly took off his driving jacket, "you look.. good."

you raised your eyebrows and chuckled, "oh charlie." you said, "do you have a thing for mothers?" you hard to lighten the mood because both men were looking at you like hungry wolves.

charles looked away for a moment and rolled his shoulders, "i mean, you and max have given me a wonderful oppurtunity. i couldn't say no!"

you and max laughed, then you spoke as you leaned forward. you took his hand and pulled him a little forward as you leaned back a little again, then placed his hand on your stomach.

"i'm sure my husband went through all the rules?" you weren't going to throw yourself onto charles or let max control the entire situation, not that your husband would've done that. so there were rules, rules that all three parties tonight had the follow.

the driver nodded his head quickly, "yes, max went over it twice." he spread his hand further across your bump.

you tilted your head to the side and asked, "what is the number one rule?"

charles swallowed, "we never talk about this after tonight?"

you looked to your husband for a moment before you took charles' other hand and placed it on your swollen middle. you then asked, "rule two?"

charles leaned a little more forward, "use protection."

you nodded and smiled at him, "such a good boy." you looked at max as you reached up and combed your fingers through charles' hair, "where have you been hiding him?" and laughed.

charles swallowed, his face went pink. his hands planted on your belly, not applying any pressure as to not hurt you. he mumbled, "thank you, madame."

you took him by the face and looked him in the eyes. you were all smiles and laughter. you pulled him in for a soft kiss, when you parted you said, "and that's rule three. max is monsieur and i am madame, correct?"

he nodded, "oui, madame!"

max came up behind charles and started to get the ferrari branded t-shirt off his torso. he leaned in to the other driver, "you're going to treat my wife well tonight, charlie?"

charles thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest. he let max takes the shirt off of him and he was pulled into bed with you. his eyes went wide as he ended up beside you on the king sized hotel room.

you were still in the underwear and got yourself close to charles. you took him by the face and kissed him gently, your belly brushed against his abdomen as the two of you made out.

charles' didn't know what to do with his hands, but max's voice rang in his head, "just touch her." which gave him the courage to explore your body with his hands.

the bed shifted as max got behind you, his hands on your body too. you giggled at their touches between kisses. max pulled the underwear down under your belly, exposed your swell to him.

charles got a good sight of your swollen middle, free of clothes and swallowed as he pulled away from the kiss. his eyes stayed on you. max rested his chin on your shoulder, he looked at his fellow driver and had both hands on your belly.

"jealous?" max seemed almost cocky.

charles swallowed, "i feel like this is a trick question. you are very pretty, madame, but i am afraid your husband might kill me if i say too much."

max chuckled against your skin, "i'll allow it, leclerc. but don't think this is a daily thing. she is still my wife." his hands went to your breasts and groped them through the bra.

you felt hot between the two men. their hands trailed along your body until they began to grow impatient. max's lips were on your neck and charles' lips were on your own. your husband undid your bra and with a little held from you, he got it off your body.

the process for all three of you to get out of your clothes was a slow process but eventually the three of you were naked and charles got himself in between your legs.

your head was in your husband's lap with his cock up against your cheek. you were laid out on your back, your pregnancy bump on full display.

charles swallowed, "you're very pretty, madame."

if anyone caught the three of you in such a compromising position, the media would have a field day. two rivals and a wife in the middle. the sound you made when charles' dove his tongue between your lags was almost pornographic and made max's cock twitch against your face.

you kicked your legs out and charles held you by the hips as he feverishly lapped at your pussy. you shuddered and felt a skip in your heartbeat.

charles had thought frequently about your pussy. there was something about it that made his cock stir. he would never admit it to anyone (especially not max, he wasn't insane), but he had masturbated to the thought of fucking your sweet pussy. it was like a dirty little secret that he kept buried deep inside. but he guessed he wasn't so good at hiding it, considering that you and max figured it out.

he continued to lap at your sex and your hands went into his hair, you held on tightly then turned you head and started to kiss at max's cock. max enjoyed the sight in front of him, his longtime rival and friend alongside his wife.

it was a kind of debauchery that would never leave the bedroom. your moans were music to his ears paired with the sounds of charles between your legs. if max was a little braver he'd try to get his phone to take a photo, but rules were rules.

he tensed up a little bit as you continued to lick his cock from the odd angle. your tongue and lips on his length was always a nice surprise. his own hand was in your hair as he guided you up and down his cock.

the entire room grew hot as the sun set over the horizon, the late afternoon light glimmered through the large windows of the hotel room. two drivers and a driver's wife were tangled up in bed. charles between your legs, his cock heavy and leaky against the bed. and you between your husband's legs, playing with his cock.

you clutched onto charles' hair when you felt the warmth of climax pool in your gut. you tensed up and moaned, gripping onto his dark hair. you raised your hips a little to rub up against him further.

"shit, charles." you panted as you came on his tongue.

charles groaned against your cunt as continued to lap at you like a hungry animal. when you relaxed, he pulled his face again. the bottom half gleamed with your wetness and his pupils were dilated. not to mention

max chuckled and when charles' was resting on his heels, cock painfully erect, the dutchman grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a searing kiss. charles' cock twitched at the feeling of max's lips against his.

your eyes went wide at the sight of it.

"my wife tastes good, does she not?" max asked when he pulled away, his grip still hard on charles' shoulder as if to steady the other man.

charles nodded and swallowed, "lucky man." then watched as max grabbed a condom from the box on the nightstand.

max reached down and held you face to look up at him. he looked down at you, "i think you should thank charles for his hard work."

you looked to the other driver and smirked, your head still abuzz, "thank you, charlie."

charles smiled, "of course, madame."

you and max watched charles put the condom on. he was painfully hard, the tip almost purple and achy. he was leaky with precum. max thought this was a perfect time to tease his fellow driver, "charles?"

the other man looked at him.

the dutch driver continued, "what do you like about my wife?" he ran his fingers through your hair as you once again kissed his cock, "i see how you look at her. you know she is not a piece of meat." he shook his head a little, "you could have almost any woman in the world, and you're here with me and my wife. why?"

charles leaned back a little and stroked his condom covered cock, the lube on it getting all over his palm. his cheeks were bright pink, bordering on red as he said, "i can't help but be a little jealous." he felt a little more embolden to speak, "she looks so good carrying your child. makes me wish it were mine." he swallowed and looked at max, "i've dreamt of this moment since the first moment you brought her to the paddock."

max looked down at you, "i told you, you'd make the impression." then looked back to charles, "i suggest you make that dream a reality before she gets impatient." then flashed a smile at the other driver.

charles took you by the thighs then kept one hand on you and the other on his cock as he examined your soaked pussy. he felt an excitement through his body as he inched his cock into your pussy. he could feel max's blue eyes on him as he sank all the way in.

the noise you made sent a thrill through him as he kept you by the thighs and started to rut against you. charles fucked you, while you orally pleasured max.

max kept his hands in your hair, charles' hands were on your hips and your fists were knotted in the white bed sheet. you could feel the pleasure course through your body.

the bed moved under your collective movements, the sounds of sex was heavy in the air as was the heat between three bodies. this was nothing short of a miracle that this even happened, that everything aligned perfectly.

"she's a pretty girl, isn't she, charles? you should be lucky i'm letting you have sex with her. you're a lucky man." max said as he continued to guide your head onto his cock while the other driver bullied his cock into you, "you fuck like an animal, leclerc. remember she is pregnant, be a little gentle."

charles licked his lips, "can't help it."

max reached across and grabbed the other man by the hair and looked him in the eyes. it was all fun and games until you got hurt. he raised his eyebrows at the other man. both of them were flushed in the cheeks and could feel the sweat on their bodies, "i'm not having my wife be in pain because of you, leclerc."

charles slowed down a little, "sorry... monsieur."

max found it endearing seeing charles like this. the rivalry between them ran deep, but to see the ferarri driver just come apart at the feeling of your pussy around his cock. it was something else. he pulled him in for a hot kiss as both men moved against you, sandwiching your pregnant body between them.

if max knew that he could make charles so submissive, he would've proposed this a long time ago.

you covered your face from the heat that grew on your cheeks. but max noticed when he stopped kissing charles. he looked down at you and peeled your hands away from your face.

"no need to hide, mijn liefje." he said with love in his voice. the strong dominance was slowly slipping the more you caved under pressure.

he kept your hands pinned to the his thighs as you whined. your lips went back to his cock. a pace was soon established. it was less of a carnal, quick fuck and more of a slow, hot sex.

you felt the curl in your gut of pleasure. you could feel the heat in your body as you gave and received pleasure. you were the first to finish. you came for a second time and kicked out your legs from the intensity of it all.

"oh mon dieu." charles panted as he felt the sweat trail down his back, he was trying to keep it together as to not hurt you. your body was an alluring siren in his mind. his cock twitched inside of your sweet pussy.

a fertile beauty, carrying the child of his rival. it was strange, but it left charles aching for more.

"she's just that good." max purred, seeing the expressions cross charles' face, his head clouded with lust as well. the entire environment felt hot and sensual.

"i'm gonna finish." charles choked out, as if looking for permission to do so.

max looked down at you, pleasure was marked on your expression. he relayed charles' request to you, "may he come?"

you nodded and swallowed, trying to regain yourself. your husband's cock painfully hard against your face. pre-cum oozed across your skin, making it tacky and shiny. you'd look like a whore if it weren't for the gleaming wedding ring that max had meticulously picked out.

"use your words." max cooed. he had let go of your wrists to pump his own cock that was still wet with your spit. the sight of you was erotic and filled him with a smugness and a lust.

you opened your eyes a little more and looked at charles. you said with as much steadiness as you could muster, "please.. cum.. now."

charles panted and replied, "oui, mon cheri."

max could've wrung the other driver's neck for breaking the rules, but the three of you were so lost in the pleasure and the heat of lust that it could slide... just this once.

with a hard thrust of his hips, charles' buried his cock into you and finished with a loud groan. he could feel the shudder of pleasure in his body. a heightened euphoria that left him panting wildly. he rambled, mixing between english and french, he could feel his heartbeat in his ears.

exhausted, you flipped yourself over as fast as a five month pregnant woman could and fully gave your husband the oral sex he deserved. charles watched your head bob up and down quickly.

"that's it." max purred before he sank his cock down your throat and finished quickly. the feeling was too much for him.

you took your mouth off your husband's cock and wiped the side of your mouth, "okay, okay. i'm done. mama's tired." then chuckled a little bit, exhausted.

both men weren't going to argue, even if the fucked-out mrs. verstappen was a sight to behold.

the three of you soon after laid in a tangled mess, you pressed against your husband while he was resting against the headboard and charles' face pressed against your back. his arms wrapped loosely around you.

max played with your hair as he asked charles, "and what do we say?" getting a slight glee out of the authoritative tone towards charles.

the other driver yawned, "merci beaucoup, monsieur et madame."

-

charles saw you and max again only a few weeks later at silverstone. it was rainy and a bit colder. max had put his jacket over your shoulders and kissed you on the cheek. charles had been having a hard time keeping it together since spain.

max pulled the hood of the jacket over your head to protect you from the light rain. he kissed you on the lips before you leaned up to him to whisper something in his ear. he smirked and whispered something back, his gaze was towards charles who was nearby.

later the dutch driver would ask, "hey charles. red or blue?" <3

[beenbaanbuun]

the pool w/ choi jongho

words - 3k

genre - suggestive

warnings - fem!bodied reader, bikini, internalised slut shaming (kind of but not really?), public undressing (again, kind of but not really), size kink, awkward!jongho, bff!wooyoung, lifeguard!san, massage, nipple piercings, i thing that’s it

Wooyoung holds a smug look on his face as he drops onto the sunbed next to you. You have to admit that he looks pretty good with the sun bouncing from his wet skin, but you'd never tell him that. You'd say your friendship resembled something more akin to siblings than anything else, and why would you ever have anything nice to say about your brother?

“What’s the shit-eating grin for?” you say as you toss him the sunscreen and lean forwards; an open invitation for him to massage some into your spine. The quiet scoff he passes in your direction doesn’t go unnoticed, but you can’t comment on it before you hear the click of the cap opening and an ice cold drip of sunscreen hits your back. You wince as your friend massages it in with delicate hands, your body not quite getting used to the temperature quick enough for it not to be uncomfortable as he spreads it all over. Wooyoung only laughs, taking great pleasure in the quiet hums of dissatisfaction you make.

But it only takes about 10 seconds from his hands to pull away from your back and the click of the sunscreen bottle closing to hit your ears. You spare him a glare over your shoulder, watching as he rubs the excess from his hands onto his chest knowing full well that he can't possibly have rubbed it on correctly.

“I don't have a shit eating grin,” he lies through his teeth as he takes great care rubbing the cream into his chest—a lot more than he took with your back. You almost want to push him back in the pool to wash it all off again, but that would be petty, even for you. Instead you simply roll your eyes in dismay and shift to a more comfortable position. Your book lies on the table next to you so you grab it, open it and crack the spine. You don’t start reading quite yet, though; you can’t concentrate when wooyoung looks like he’s planning something devious.

“Yes, you do,” you argue. “Tell me what you’re doing!”

“I'm not doing anything!” he fights back, tone defensive and not at all matching the gleeful smile on his face.

“Well, then tell me what you know!”

His eyes flicker to the pool for just a moment before returning to you. Maybe he thinks you didn’t see it, but you did, and so your gaze follows his only to land on him. The same man from the pool yesterday, and the restaurant last night, and breakfast this morning. The very same man you’ve been obsessing over the last few days. You squeak in something akin to terror and immediately look back to a smirking Wooyoung. Your eyes stay firmly locked on his for one, maybe two seconds before some strange magnetic force pulls your eyes back to him.

He leans against the edge of the pool with one arm up on the side, allowing you to see the soft flesh of his arms. The skin is tan and smooth and good god if you don’t get a chance to dig your nails into it by the end of the holiday then you’ll have worn nothing but your skimpiest of bikinis for nothing. The uncomfortable wedgies and uneven tan lines will have been a waste, nothing more than a study in the art of hassle and discomfort, and that really would put a damper on what has been an otherwise enjoyable holiday.

You crane your neck further to get a glance at his face. Those plush lips that look so incredibly soft, the sparkling eyes that turn a deep honey colour when the sun shines down on them. There's something beautiful about him in the same way a bear is beautiful; intimidating and graceful yet somehow sweet at the same time. Perhaps the strange duality is just one of the reasons you can’t seem to take your mind off of him. His hair is pushed back in a way that has you drooling, and not just at the mouth. You can’t help but let your eyes linger for just a second or two before they move a little further south landing upon that mole on his neck; the one you so desperately want to press your lips to…

You’re ripped from your trance when Wooyoung snaps his fingers impatiently in front of your face. With an unsurprising degree of reluctance, you tear your gaze away from him and return it to your best friend who’s smug smile seems to have grown. You’d wipe it from his face if you could, but he’s too far away and it’s far too hot to exert the energy needed to move. You scowl at him instead, tossing up a middle finger in displeasure.

“Stop being weird, Woo, nothing is going to happen,” you say through gritted teeth because god, you desperately hope that statement isn’t true.

“You want it to, though,” he seemingly reads your mind. “You should do something about it!”

“What, like you’re doing with that lifeguard?” You point to the shirtless man across the pool who has absolutely zoned out when he should really be watching the water instead. You can only hope no one has an emergency whilst he’s busy gawping at your friend who has been endlessly peacocking–not that you can say anything–since the day you arrived at this hotel. Wooyoung sends a wink in his direction before turning his attention back to you, just in time to see you fake gag.

“See; I am doing something about the lifeguard,” he grins at you.

“A wink and a smile isn’t going to get you laid.”

“Well it’s more than you’re doing with your man,” he counters, “creepily staring at him isn’t going to get you laid either.”

With a groan you toss your face down into the soft cushion of the sun bed. Wooyoung is right as much as it pains you to admit that to yourself. You want the pool guy so bad and yet all you’ve even attempted to do to seduce him is wear tiny little bikinis that haven’t seemed to catch his attention even once. At least wooyoung has some form of communication with the man he wants to fuck, even if it is just mentally undressing each other from opposite ends of the pool. Knowing your luck, by the end of the holiday wooyoung will have bagged himself the hot lifeguard and you’ll be alone… again.

Wooyoung sighs at your dramatic performance before grabbing your coin purse from the bag. “I'm going to get you some liquid courage,” he says as he stands up, “don’t ever tell me I don’t ever do anything nice for you.”

“But that’s my purs—” he puts a finger to your lip to shush you.

“Thank you is all you have to say.”

And then he’s gone, swinging his hips with each step he takes. If you were to look over to the lifeguard you’re almost sure you’d be able to see him licking his lips with desire. Almost like you when you immediately turn your head to sneak another look at him.

Only he’s not where he was when your eyes last left him. In fact, when you give the pool a scan, he doesn’t seem to be anywhere at all. Did he leave? You question yourself as you less-than-subtly scan the pool over and over again. It would probably be the best thing for your own sake if he did and yet your heart still aches at the prospect. It's not like you were going to speak to him–you absolutely, unequivocally weren’t–too shy and anxious to put yourself up for that rejection, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t want to pine for a little while longer.

Feeling nothing but dejected ,your eyes shift across to where Wooyoung stands at the bar, top half leaning over the counter slightly, pert ass pointed in the direction of his beau. You’d call him a slut if you hadn’t been doing the exact same for the last week; putting your body on display as some sort of mating ritual in the hopes of a man fucking you halfway to oblivion. At least one of you seems to be having some success in his tiny little swim shorts that definitely show more off than they need to. It’s a good job he has a nice ass, you think to yourself just as a shadow passes over you, blocking the warmth of the sun beating down on your back. It’s just someone walking past a little too close, you tell yourself as you keep your vision on your friend, it’ll be gone in a moment or two.

Except a moment passes, and then another, and the shadow doesn’t move. You’re about to turn your head in the direction of the obstruction to see what’s so important for you to get a them-shaped tan line on your back, when you hear a voice. “Your boyfriend didn’t rub your sunscreen in too well, did he?” It’s pretty, musical and sweet just like a little songbird. Somehow that’s all you need to know exactly who it belongs to. Call it intuition or something but you know it’s him blocking the sun right now.

Your heart beats out of control for just a second before you manage to rein it in. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you respond, turning your head to gaze upon his damp body in all its glory…

Perhaps you’re no better than a man since the first things your eyes focus on are his tits. They’re soft and beautifully tan with little moles dotted here and there to match the one on his neck. You dart your eyes between them like you’re playing your own little game of join the dots. It takes you on a tour of his chest, pupils darting from one pec to the other until your eyes land on something you never expected to see.

Two metal bars…

On either side of his chest…

Right through his nipples…

Holy fuck…

Your jaw goes slack, and so, it seems, does your hand. Thankfully the sound on your book thumping against the less than dry ground is enough to break you free from the stupor his nipple piercings had put you in. Your vision shifts in an instant, settling instead on the pages of your book that more and more water seeps into with each passing second. “Shit,” you mutter, bending down and wrapping your fingertips around the now sodden paper.

“You got it?” he asks, clearly not too put off by your strange behaviour. You hum affirmatively as you lift the book and place it on the table beside your sunbed. He makes a similar sound, although his sounds more thoughtful; more like he’s trying to come up with something to say. It takes a while but eventually he seems to finally land on something, pulling in a deep breath before opening his mouth. “I could've grabbed it for you if you wanted,” he’s kind too? Well that’s horrible news for your crippling obsession with the stranger, “if you’d, you know… asked me to or something.”

You can’t help but let out a laugh at how unsure he sounds. It’s as if his words aren’t his own, dropping from his lips before he’s even had time to realise what he’s saying. There’s a grin on your face as you twist your head back around to see him, only this time your eyes focus on his face. He’s even sweeter looking up close, his wide eyes and round cheeks making him look something more akin to a little cub than an intimidating killer. Perhaps his face would kid you into thinking he’s innocent if it weren’t for the bars glinting at you just a foot further south.

“I shouldn't have to ask,” you grin, trying your hardest to sound seductive. To your own ears it sounds more like a petulant child; you can only hope that he doesn’t hear it too. “Not if you’re a gentleman, anyway.

“But what about consent?” he says as a pretty shade of peach covers his cheeks. You want to bite them, as if they’d give you the same sweet juice as the fruit they so clearly resemble. You wonder if his lips taste that sweet; you bet they do. “I didn't want to overstep.”

Your grin splits your face in two as he shuffles awkwardly from foot to foot. Upon first glance, you were half expecting him to be some suave, smooth talker. He'd say a few flirty pick up lines before taking you to his room for a one-and-done. This, though—this is much more dangerous. This is feelings territory.

“You’re not overstepping by picking my book up,” you say, “that’s simply courteous—gentlemanly, like i said!”

“Courteous,” he repeats slowly as if it’s a new word to him. there’s a ponderous look on his face that quickly morphs into a shy smirk. It seems to transform into something much more confident in the matter of a few seconds. It's almost cocky, and yet there remains to be that sweet, unsure look in his eyes. It's adorable, really. “Well,” he pauses to take stock of his next few words, “would it be courteous to offer to finish rubbing in the sunscreen your boyfriend missed?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you repeat.

“Well–”

“Just rub it in, will you?” you cut him off with an exasperated sigh. As much fun as you’re having playing this little game of cat and mouse, the need to have his hands on your back far outweighs any amusement you’re getting from his pitiful attempt at flirting. He listens, placing one hand on your calf to support himself as he perches himself on the edge of your sunbed. It inches its way up to your inner thigh, stopping just before it gets dangerously close to your core. His thumb barely brushes against the exposed crease where your ass meets your thigh as he softly grazes his fingertips over the back of your leg. They shift to the side, gracefully slipping over the thin string of your bikini bottoms that rests upon your hip. They catch against it, tugging ever so slightly on the bow that holds the flimsy garment together.

It's a promise, that much is crystal clear.

His palm is warm when it first comes into contact with your lower back, yet it still manages to send a shiver up your spine. It’s big too, covering just enough area for you to realise how small you are compared to him. You could see it in his broad shoulders and his thick arms, but feeling it is just… different. He’s barely even touched you yet there’s already a moan on the tip of your tongue. God only knows what’ll happen when his hands get a little more adventurous.

“Can I undo your top?” he approaches the question with about as much grace as a baby giraffe, clumsy yet endearing with the way he blurts it out. It’s impossible to hold in your giggle, your heart swelling with just how awkwardly adorable he is. But then his fingers tug dangerously upon the little bow at your spine and your breath suddenly hitches in your throat. You feel it loosen, but not quite enough for it to fall completely open. It’s not quite clear if he’s just clumsy or if he knows exactly what he’s doing, but either way the simple action has you shifting your slick thighs against each other. “Well?” he softly purrs, and by the tone of his voice you have to assume he's so blissfully unaware of everything he’s doing to you.

“If you think it’ll help,” your voice sounds strained but he doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t tease you about how much he’s affecting you, or do something unprovoked to force you deeper into this pit of unadulterated arousal you’ve found yourself in. Instead he just tugs open your bikini, just like he said he would, and then his hands are on you again.

The first moan you let out as he grazes his hands up and down the plane if your back can be passed off as one of enjoyment. The massage you’re receiving from the big strong hands of an unbearably handsome man is just good and the sound you let out is simply one of appreciation. No one can blame you for wanting to show how much you’re enjoying it, right? The second moan, however, is almost impossible to pass off as anything other than a plea for more. As his fingers dip down your sides, hands cupping your waist and making you feel so small and malleable beneath him, you can’t help but groan as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip.

His fingers pause, hands tensing a little as the grip they have upon your waist intensifies. Although you haven’t exactly tried to hide it, you know that this is the exact moment that just how badly you need him really sinks into his adorably awkward brain. You’re not entirely sure what else he was hoping to get out of giving you the world's horniest massage, but it’s clear that he wasn’t expecting to get this far. Maybe he’s just a pervert who just wanted an opportunity to feel you up before going to furiously masterbate in the comfort of his room, or maybe he really did just want to come and talk. It doesn’t really matter either way, now; you still need his cock buried deep inside of your walls.

He leans in, grip intensifying as his torso comes to rest against your spine. The metal bars that you nearly almost forgot about feel like ice against your spine as he pushed you down into the bed with his body. Small; you feel so incredibly small, like it would take him no effort at all to pick you up and put you anywhere he deems he wants you. You hope he wants you sitting on his dick, if that really is the case.

“Do you want to come back to my room?” he whispers in your ear like a child passing a message in the middle of class. Nothing about his voice reads sexy, and yet you know if you were standing it would have your knees buckling. you nod silently, not trusting your voice to come out in a way that doesn’t make you seem pathetically desperate. He hums in appreciation. “good,” his lips connect with the side of your head, “the names Jongho, by the way. just in case you need something to moan.”

[calisources]

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All these quotes are taken from different works of fiction and depict sensual, sexual tension between two people in different scenarios. There are some that are suggestive while others are more detail so this meme is nsft and usft, please tag accordingly. Mentions of jealousy, possessiveness, sex, fantasies are all here. Change pronouns, names, locations as you see fit.

I knew the first moment I saw him that it was going to be raw, it was going to be ugly, and I was going to enjoy every damn minute of it.

You're still looking.

You make it hard to look away.

I'm over here keeping my hands and memories to myself because you asked me to, that’s not fair.

If you'd just man up and admit there's something between us, I would strip down to my skin so you could see every single inch of me.

How long are you going to make me wait?

How awfully presumptuous of you to think I'd let you.

You missed my arrogance almost as much as I missed your impudence, little one.

You said not to fall for you. Did you change your mind?

We both needed to blow off some steam, and we did, right?

They say the colour of a lady’s lips is an exact match to another region on the body?

You're too soft.

Can we go back to making out now?

You sound jealous.

Then tell me this is what you truly want. Swear you want this more than anything else and I'll never mention it again.

If you want me to play the bawd, at least give me the benefit of your advice.

Tell me how it's done. Do you think she'd like it if I came to her like this, if I looked deeply in to her eyes?

And then like this? Is this how I ought to seduce her?

You're wet, aren't you?

You drove me mad.

She asked me not to be gentle with her, either,I would have been gentle with you, though.

I would have had you moaning my name throughout it all. And I would have taken a very, very long time, Feyre.

I'm all yours to look at, you know.

You need to let me go, darling, before we start something I intend to finish.

Feel free to touch, darling. It's all yours.

. . .I hate you.

Say it again.

Grind it. Nice and fine.

I gave him a few smiles and he handed over a family heirloom. I bet he'd give me the keys to his territory if I showed up wearing those undergarments.

Why shouldn't I? You seem to have difficulty not staring at me day and night.

Am I supposed to deny, that I find you attractive?

Is that a challenge, Feyre?

Do you think it's fair that you have seen every inch of me, and I have seen none of you?

Move with me now.

Touch me anywhere you please.

I want you to make love to me.

Do you know what that truly means?

You do know? You know that I will be inside you and that I will move inside you, until we are both mad from pleasure?

I want you inside me.

You have three minutes to get ready now.

I did dream about you. I didn’t want to, but I did.

What was I doing in your dreams?

Someone is watching us through the window.

All the more reason to put on a good show.

You're not in a position to make demands.

The best things are found in the most secret places.

And you are a beautiful, sexy temptress who is about to be fucked by a man who wants her so desperately he's willing to do anything to have her.

When I'm with a woman, it's not me doing the begging.

You're rubbing yourself all over me. What did you think was going to happen?

I thought you were all about self-control.

I remember how powerful those thighs are.

You are more beautiful than I imagined.

And your skin... Christ, it shimmers like gold.

I'm naked underneath.

Tell me----did it get you off knowing I was watching?

I want to take you under the moonlight.

Please, don’t stop.

Oh, so I shouldn’t? That would be cruel of me, wouldn’t it?

I am the cruelest man you will ever meet, but, I will make you feel so good, you will not care.

I’ve never been with a man before.

You do bad things to me, Carrie. Very bad things.

And you, Miss, are no lady.

[stars-for-circe]

Firsts

Support Palestine

Tags / cw: weed, alcohol, implied making out, college party au, dealer!Ellie, tiny bit suggestive

The smell of weed was what first drew you outside to her. Well, it was a college party - there was going to be weed. But this was different. It was different. Somewhere, through that euphoric dizziness made from a punch that was more moonshine than mango juice, you smelled roses.

Like some fucked up cartoon, your feet carried your body out of the house, the air inside now warm from the oversupply of body heat and drunken dancing. God you were hot. A palm against your flushed red face once hidden from the colourful ambiance of the living room cooled you, as you weakly shoved your way around until you reached the door. Thank fuck.

“No, fuck-!”

You tripped. Either from your untied laces or the small ledge between tile kitchen and wooden porch, you couldn’t remember, but either way, you now found yourself face fucking first on the damp porch. Shit, you were drunk.

…And it felt nice. Really nice. So nice, in fact, that you couldn’t help but nestle your face against the cold floor, too focused on your slowing heart rate, your lowering temperature - the music from inside only detectable now in faint vibrations through the floor. You could stay here for a while, you thought. It was so quiet, and so cold and comfy,

“N’ it smells like roses…” you giggled to yourself.

“Yea? Think it’s just the weed, baby.” Ellie snickered to herself. And you jumped.

“Gah- holy shit!” You whisper-yelled and snapped your head up at her voice, body still splayed frozen like a starfish on the floor as your eyes adjusted to the dark. A couple metres in front of you sat Ellie Williams on the stairs, barely visible, and only by the small dot of light at the end of her joint and the soft glow of the street lamp.

She stared at you, while blinking slowly, a grin lazily painting itself across her face. You glared at her back, for destroying your peace, as she took another drag from that stupid joint. Your relaxed mind pinpointed the source of the roses - now stronger than ever - but it was too relaxed to understand what it really was. And Ellie noticed your staring.

“It’s uh, rose infused. My own special blend.” She waved it around as she spoke, looking proud of her creation. And the overstuffed baggie of cash by her side proved why.

“You wanna try some, cutie?”

You sat up at a leisurely pace, struggling a little in the dark. Then, you huffed out a laugh at this whole situation as you looked down at the floor in shame. Of all people you ran into, it was the fucking drug dealer. The only person you would have nothing in common with. You were 20 years old, for fucks sake, and you had never smoked weed.

“I um…can’t.”

“Why, already high? You look it.” She snickered again. Strong fucking strain, you thought.

“No, I just….can’t.”

“Oh.” Ellie furrowed her brows, leaning against the railing as she tried to find the words. God, this was so embarrassing, you just wanted to go back inside. And you almost did - twisting yourself around and leaning back on your feet to stand.

“…..want me to teach you?” She called out, waiting for your answer, and when you didn’t give one, she laughed, this time. Seriously, was it the fucking rose shit or what?

“Just-” Ellie tried saying, broken up with giggles.

“-come here. ‘M gonna try something.” Hesitantly, you tiptoed over to sit opposite her on the stairs, curious - and a little nervous - at what Ellie was planning. She took another deep drag, before sitting up straight and crossing her legs, focusing on you. And by now, you were blaming the butterflies in your stomach entirely on the alcohol.

“So, y’ever heard of shotgunning?”

Oh, fuck.

“Uh- yeah. Somewhat.”

And maybe if you weren’t so drunk, and if it wasn’t so dark, you would have noticed Ellie’s eyes trailing down to your lips. And maybe how her smart choice of shoes that night, a platform pair of converse, tucked itself perfectly between her legs - the slightest of pressure to ease the ache forming. But her eyes snapped back, all bleary and red, as she focused her attention back on making eye contact once again.

“And you won’t get nervous if I just…..get close or anything?” She was whispering now, already closing the distance bit by bit, a small smile adorning her face.

“No.”

She took another drag.

“And you won’t get nervous if I do this?” Her voice even softer now, as her hand - warm from resting in the pocket of her hoodie - gently cupped your face. The smoke coming from her mouth making your eyes water at the proximity, and the smell of roses making you heavy headed.

“No.” By now you were whispering, too. And she paused, eyes flicking to your lips again, this time lasting longer.

“Then close your eyes, baby.”

Through the rosy haze of weed smoke and alcohol, you could barely register her command, closing your eyes ever so slowly. You heard a small a small hitch of breath, and then a long deep puff of the joint in front of you. The hand cupping your face shifted slightly as Ellie rubbed her thumb gently along your skin, asking you to open your mouth. And when you did, you could have sworn you felt her thumb brush against your bottom lip, the both of you almost in a trance with each other, before the warm smoke blew into your mouth.

Fuck, was this really happening? You almost forgot to inhale it. But you did, in the end - the smell and taste of pungent weed lined with pink, airy roses sinking deep in your lungs. You let it sit there, resisting the strong urge to cough, before opening your eyes and exhaling slowly in tandem. And what a sight you were met with.

Ellie, with red, droopy eyes, mouth still open slightly as she watched your lips move and smoke billow out. Ellie, with the tiniest of curious smiles on her face as she watched your eyes slow to widen at the closeness of her face to yours. Ellie, coming even closer to your lips the longer you sat there.

“So, how’d you rate it?”

“Eh, a six….” You thought out loud.

“…I smell like roses now, though.” And you started giggling, as you stared at Ellie’s playfully unamused glare at your rating.

“First of all, fuck you - a six? Second of all, you smell like weed with roses.” She retorted, pinching your cheek softly. Fuck, her hand was still there, too. You tried to play your nervousness off, poking her in the centre of her chest as you tried to play back.

“And you smell good.” You whispered teasingly, leaning close once again. But Ellie, thank god for her higher tolerance, predicted exactly where you were going. Moving her hand from your cheek to the arm outstretched to her chest, pushing it to splay widely against her, trapping it there at the wrist, she met you in the middle. And your lips, between the thick smoke of it all, just breath touched. It went quiet again. But the heartbeat you felt between your fingers broke the silence each time it beat.

And you couldn’t see her expression so late at night - or so early in the morning, you should say - but the way her breath hitched, the way the soft beat of the music from inside of the house went quiet in your head, and the way the butterflies in your stomach became so very present-

“Do I smell good enough to kiss?”

You hesitated once again, hand once outstretched again her chest now closed in a loose fist.

“C’mon, baby…..you can’t do this, too?”

Oh, fuck you, you thought, stealing the joint and taking a hard drag, much to Ellie’s surprise - and amusement.

“Yeah, you gonna teach me or what, Williams?”

The joint now smoked the the butt, and crumbling to bits as Ellie scoffed, snatching it out of your grasp and flicked it onto the driveway. Both her hands free now as they grabbed your face and pulled you in.

“Better be more than a six…”

Taglist: @happysparklingshadows @irelandzo @r3starttt @iamaboringrattat @genderfluidlesbain999 @slut4mascss @rxreaqia @kylorey25 @massivepeacefemme @elliewilliamsfavborderhopper @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @ratdungeon @elxarw @mariasabanahabanabana @vvynia @abbyshands @littlegingerperson5 @flowersforvi

[papaya-twinks]

Can I request a fic about mean/bully Lando x sunshine reader. And one they there is this party or ceremony(something big) and she dresses up all pretty pink and Lando sees her and just amazed at how cute she is. But says something mean and hurtfull thinking she will brush it off but she takes ot seriously and cries? You can put smut in it if you want

Warnings; Smut, 18+, mean!lando

Pairing: mean!lando!norris x fem!reader

You’d been invited to a part with some of your friends and you were more than happy to attend. Alex had chosen a dress for you, pink, with your favourite pair of matching heels. She’d styled your hair into soft ringlets at the back of your head, and you looked pretty, and always. “I swear if I wasn’t with Charles, I’d date you,” she groaned, standing back to admire you as you flushed.

“Shut up, you,” you groaned, covering your face as she jumped up and down, her matching blue dress hugging her body. She’d chosen the colour the match her boyfriend’s race suit in Miami, and pink for you, because you looked good in it. Well, you looked good in everything, but this was your favourite colour too. “Oh my god!” she gasped, seeing her boyfriend in the large party hall.

The lights were turned low so you could barely see, except a few lights here and there to help you. It was light enough to see and make out familiar faces, such as George with Carmen and Alex with Lily and Lando. “Hi Lily,” you smiled warmly at your friend as she gasped. “Girl, gimme a twirl,” she held your hand above your head as she spun you around, “gorgeous, oh my god,”. She clapped her hands as you flushed, waving it off.

A small scoff made you turn to Lando, a small, confused frown across your face. “Hi Lando! Well done your win!’ you congratulated him, a beaming smile on your face. “Cheers,” he shrugged, hands in his pockets. Alex nudged him, making him scowl at the Thai and roll his eyes. “Why are you wearing that?” he said, nudging his chin at you. “M-my dress?” you asked, confused, as Lily went to say hi to Carmen.

“Yeah? What else?” he said, like it was obvious. “It’d a party, I thought I’d wear something that looked nice and Alex said-,” you started, but Lando interrupted. “Yeah yeah,” he waved it off, “don’t need your life story. You look weird,”. His lips turned upwards as his eyes roved over the material. Your cheeks flushed. “Like a right prat, prancing down here, god,” the Brit continued, eyes on your heels now.

“Oh, um,” you said, stepping back slightly. “I need the bathroom,” you muttered, hurrying off into the cloakroom, trying to ignore the tears in your eyes. “Lando, what the fuck?” Alex snapped, looking at the younger man. “What?” he asked, like he didn’t do anything. Lily came back, seeing her distressed boyfriend and turning to him. “Where’s Y/N?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “This one made her cry,” Alex shrugged, nudging his shoulder at Lando.

“Lando, what the fuck? You can’t even last ten seconds without upsetting Y/N, can you?” she cried, hands on her hips as Lando looked up guiltily. “She’s not crying, she’s-,” he started but Carmen cut him off. “Yes she is, I just went to see her,” she rolled her eyes at Lando. “I didn’t mean to make her cry, it was an off-handed comment,” he said, regretting what he had said. “Fucking move,” he scowled at Alex, walking to the cloakroom. “Don’t you fucking dare hurt her, Norris,” Lily snapped after him.

He ignored her, making his way to the cloakroom. You were sat on the floor, phone in your hand, scrolling through pointless TikToks. “Lando,” you said, wiping your face quickly. “Y/N,” he nodded, shutting the door behind him, “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, frowning slightly. “You didn’t upset me, it’s just, um, allergies,” you sniffed. “Really? You don’t always have to be such a people pleaser. I was a jerk, Y/N,” he dead, kneeling down to your height. “It’s your win day, Lando, don’t bother,” you brushed it off.

“Best reward right now would be a smile,” his index finger brushed against your jawline as you laughed softly. “Happy?” you smiled softly, realising how close he was to you. In truth, he found you pretty. And he didn’t know what to do, you were very beautiful, yes, but there was something so enticing about you. Maybe how innocent and adorable you were. How hot you looked, without intending for it to be like that. And he wanted to protect you from anyone else, but he didn’t know how to. He wanted you in filthy ways, in truth.

“Are we gonna kiss?” you asked, his lips a few centimetres from yours. “I dunno. Do you wanna?” he asked, a soft chuckle escaping his mouth. You hummed to show you did, letting his hand come to the back of your hand, other one pushing your knees down so he could pull you in closer. Your legs pushed between the inside of his thighs, his tongue playing at your lips as you gasped. “Lando…” you began, his knee parting your legs as you flushed. “Hmmm?” he hummed, pulling back and attaching himself to your neck.

“I want you,” you said, almost embarrassed. “You have me?” he asked, confused. “More,” you said, tugging at his belt. That was an action he had never predicted from you. “Thank god the music’s loud,” he groaned, unbuckling hidden trousers. The cloakroom was small, like a cupboard, just enough space for about four people if they squeezed, but you’d make do. Lando latched the lock on the door, lifting you into his arms. With his back against the wall, he place you on his stomach, panties pressed against his abs.

“Someone’s wet f’me,” he said, index slightly brushing over your clothed clit as you gasped. “Mhm,” you hummed, letting him move them to the side, the cool air hitting your body. “Gonna make this quick, or Lily would think I killed ya,” he grinned, shuffling you back, his cock springing against your thigh. “Please,” you said, palms flat on his chest as he slid you down, taking his full length. “Lando!” you cried, eyed wide at the stretch.

“Never gonna be mean to you again,” he hummed, bouncing you slightly as he thrust his hips upwards. Your face was above his chest, your mouth open in shock still, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. “So pretty,” he cooed, hand cupping your breast, teeth latching onto the exposed skin. “You like that, yeah?” he asked, tongue running over the faint mark. You nodded, both of his hands coming to your waist to hold you up and firm in place, so he could hammer into you from the bottom.

“Stay with me doll,” he tapped your cheek, your eyes regaining focus as he wiped your hair away. “‘M close,” you mumbled as he grinned. “Me too,” he nodded. You felt yourself release onto him, the music fading your moans as Lando groaned, pulling out and spilling onto his own stomach. “Good girl,” he panted, “wow, doll,” he slid you off of him, cradling your body into his chest. “Gotta clean up before they come back and try to kill me,” he wiped the excess off of his body and helped you look back to normal.

“Where were you two?” George said, eyebrows raised. “Takes a lot of convincing to apologise to her,” Lando said, trying to hide his smirk. “Alright, bro,” Alex nodded, turning back to George. “Mhm,” Carmen winked at you as you flushed,

[f1girliefics]

In Love with a Red Flag

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: To say that you hated him wasn’t accurate. But you didn’t like him. He was exactly the type of guy you kept a distance from. And yet, he will be the closest to you.

A/N: I realise this idea is not unique, shout-out to all the other amazing writers who wrote a similar piece!

“Ferrari PR team came up with a solution to solve the problem. Together with the Mercedes PR team, we agreed that the best course of action would be to have you and Charles play pretend.”

You looked at Toto in disbelief. 

You and Charles? Play pretend?

You knew that due to Ferrari’s latest issues with their cars, along with Mercedes’ own issues became such an issue that the teams began to lose fans.

So, PR being PR sat down and came up with a wicked idea.

Having you and Charles date, well, fake date. 

According to both teams, you would become the next phenomenon and the fans would come right back.

All Toto could do was simply nod.

You let out a long sigh.

You have always tried your best to avoid Charles. He was exactly the type of guy you kept a good distance from. You knew about his method of dating. 

The women he dated and how often he changed girlfriends. It was a huge red flag. 

Much like his car, red all over.

You turned and looked at Charles who was just as surprised if not more than you. 

“I will be looking forward to working with you, Charles.” You said with a smile as you looked at him. 

You were on a yacht with him.

Soft launch as the teams called it. They knew the paparazzi would be watching. All you had to do was to act all lovely-dovely but not do too much.

You two being on the same boat would be enough.

With an ice cream in one hand, you headed to the deck, trying to get a little tan during your weekend off.

Charles soon joined you, sitting down next to you, you moved a bit closer to him.

“There’s a guy on the boat in front of us, he has a huge camera, and yet he thinks we didn’t notice him.”

“Well, I didn’t.” Charles smiled and so did you. “You know last year… in Hungary… you had that press event with the fans.”

“Oh, yeah! That was fun, I even wore a traditional dress. Kalocsai, I believe it’s called.”

“That one, yes. I remember, what about it?”

“I remember you being so… beautiful.”

“Thank you. But where did this come from?”

“You avoid me. I noticed you avoid me and Carlos. Why? Do you hate Ferrari that much?”

“Red is not really my colour.” You say, avoiding his eyes. “Especially not red flags.” You said before you got up and headed into the yacht. 

The paparazzi sure got a nice picture.

The same afternoon, you were all over the news. You did it. One step closer to the finish line.

You thought of this as if it was another race.

You just had to get to the finish line. This time around, you didn’t care about the placements.

You just wanted this to be over with.

The next time you had to go out with Charles was during a charity event. You were given a beautiful silver dress to wear while Charles was in a black suit.

He looked good. Probably way too handsome for his own good.

You didn’t like how he didn’t make it easy to keep a distance. He was kind, attentive, and really fucking handsome.

He had an arm around you at all times.

“I will bring us something to drink.”

“A gin tonic would be lovely.” You replied and he nodded.

This was the only time he let you out of his arms. And if you were honest. You kinda missed it.

No.

This can’t be. 

You cannot fall for him. You will not!

Toto walked over to you, complimenting your dress and dedication.

“This little PR thing works like a charm. Our team gained almost half a million new followers since last week.” Of course that is all he would care about. For now, at least, Toto had a sweet spot for you so it was only a matter of time for him to save you from this.

Fans come and go.

But your contract with him was clear. And even without that, he liked you very much. He often said you are like a younger sister to him.

“Good to know at least the plan worked.” Was your reply?

“And what about you and Charles?” He asked and you were a bit taken aback. “You two play your parts a little too well.”

“Oh please, like I would fall for a guy like him.” You replied and took a sip from your glass.

Toto only laughed a little. 

You however failed to notice that Charles heard everything you said.

He simply paid his part and handed you your new drink.

On your way back home, Charles was sitting in the back of the limo with you.

“What did Toto say to you?” He asked suddenly and you turned from the window to look at him.

“He said our teams gained a lot of new fans. He looked excited about it.”

“Anything else?” 

“Hm?”

“Did he ask about anything else?”

“No, he then just started to talk about the new sponsors.” 

“I see.” Was his simple reply. 

The next planned date was a dinner in a restaurant.

You got to wear casual clothes and feel like a human again. 

You planned on eating possibly the best food you can find.

So you ordered a nice juicy hamburger with fries and a huge lemonade. Then you ordered a steak with mashed potatoes.

Charles looked rather impressed that you could eat so much.

If you were honest, you had a great time with him. You two were talking a lot. He showed you a side which not many people could see.

“Can I ask you something?” He said, suddenly becoming very serious. 

“Sure.”

“When you were talking with Toto last week, you said something which really stuck with me. You said you wouldn’t fall for a guy like me. What did you mean by that?”

“I-“ this took you off guard. Should you be honest? But you also didn’t want to lie. “Everyone knew about your dating life. It was no secret and… it is a huge red flag.”

“Red flag?”

“Yes. You date one woman then you date their friend… it is a red flag.”

“And that’s why you avoided me?” 

“Yes.” You said right away, which probably wasn’t the best.

You could see your words hurt him. 

You wanted to say something else but then he suddenly stood up and excused himself to the bathroom.

You should have said something. 

But you didn’t. And it hunted you for the upcoming weeks.

“You did good, Y/N. P3!”

“Thank you, Toto!” You drove another round, smiling and waving at the fans even if they couldn’t see you. 

Max, P1, Charles, P2 and you, P3. It was a good race.

But you felt so awkward around Charles.

As they took you to your interviews, you suddenly stopped Charles.

“Charles.”

“We have an interview to do.” He wanted to walk away but you caught him.

“I misjudged you. I wanted to tell you back at the restaurant. I misjudged you. I had a great time with you, even if it was all pretend. I needed you to know.” Your assistant came to get you to see why you weren’t coming, so you headed to the interview.

Charles soon followed you. 

You had one week left.

One week of fake dating.

The last seven days. 

Why did it make you sad?

You should have known, but ultimately, you fell in love.

You fell in love with a red flag.

And you wanted to tell him, but how?

It was all too much.

For the last week, the teams came up with a simple idea, something to give a base to your upcoming breakup.

It was meant to be easy.

You should act like you hate each other, possibly even argue a little here and there. You two should look like you two hate one another. 

But, it didn’t exactly go as planned.

You smiled too much, you laughed too hard. It didn’t look like you were a couple ready to break up, you looked like the exact opposite. 

You were a couple fully in love.

At least you were.

You two ended up in a café, enjoying your coffee and tea while you had a small conversation. 

“What you said, before the interview last week. I understand how my actions can seem, and how my dating life looks from the eyes of an outsider. It looks bad… very bad and I don’t blame you or anyone for thinking that way about me. But I’m thankful for your kindness. It took me a while to realize that I used to do those things because none of them was the one I was looking for. But you… you are so different from them. I understand this might be sudden but I cannot be the only one who feels this way.”

“You are not.” You interrupted him, hoping to ease his inner dilemma. You smiled at him as he visibly let out a long sigh. 

He moved closer to you, and you leaned into him, pulling him down for a sweet and short kiss.

You could almost hear the cameras click. Instead, all you could focus on was his scent, his smile and his taste.

You sat back down in your chair, enjoying the sun, smiling.

The next day you broke the news to your teams. Toto was the first to congratulate you. 

He knew, of course, he would. He knew you and Charles would end up together. One way or another.

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[skzdarlings]

vexatious vixen ; felix x reader ; part 2/2

masterlist.

PART 2/2. READ PART 1 HERE. ( READ ON AO3. )

You always get what you want. When an unassuming security guard named Felix stops your latest venture, you escalate the stakes until he has no choice but to put you in your place.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: romantic comedy. strangers to enemies to lovers. cat-and-mouse. dom/sub dynamics, dom!felix and sub!reader. brat tamer!felix and brat!reader. everything that transpires is fully consensual with implied conversations on kink preferences, and an established colour safeword system before the scene. that being said, they still get a lil kinky. please heed the following content warnings: fear kink/cnc, hiding, chasing, lots and lots of dirty talk, fingering, blow jobs, face fucking, throat fucking, a little bit of crying, penetrative sex. (protected but dirty talk like it's not.)

(chapter word count: 7750 words.)

enjoy! <3

-

The gentlest nip of a summer breeze moves through the settling blue darkness.  Everything feels romantic.  Everything except the handcuffs chaining you to Felix,  Security Guard of the Year, Man of the People, and Defender of Propriety and Pop Star Penis.   

Felix does not look at you as he drags you away from the stadium.  He smiles sweetly at passersby, doing his best to hide the handcuffs no thanks to your flamboyant gesticulations, but it dissolves again to that grim, determined countenance. 

Felix has an interesting face, so many sharp lines, but the overall effect is somehow delicate.  A body of contradictions, slender but strong, a stark masculinity rippling beneath the glittery prettiness he happily indulges in.  Blue hair should not look that good on anyone, but you doubt anything could make him look bad.  He sparkles like the glitter star on his cheek. 

You poke that cheek.  A muscle in his jaw twitches.  He looks at you sideways, all pretty brown eyes and a constellation of even prettier freckles.  

“Do not,” he says. 

“Do not what?”

“Just. Do not.” 

You obey his demand for silence.  For about six seconds. 

“So how long have you been a security guard?” you ask amiably. 

“You’re really trying to have a normal conversation with me,” he says.  “Now? After that introduction?”

“I prefer the term meet-cute.”

“We wrestled on the ground then you handcuffed us together and threw away the key—”

“Adorable.”

“Right.” He picks up his speed.  You could easily keep pace but you decide to stagger along like he is too fast for you, whining as he drags you behind him.  Felix sighs but slows his pace.  To your surprise, he answers your question.  “A month,” he says.  “I’ve been working there a month.” 

“And you’re already gunning for CEO,” you say.  “Considering how dedicated you are to bringing justice—”

He slams to a stop.  Your chain jingles when you collide, hands smacking together.  He faces you. Wisps of blue escape from his half-ponytail to dance across his face.   

“I already told you,” he says.  “My job is checking tickets.  Chasing you down was my personal pleasure.”

“You’re a sick bastard,” you say.   

He smiles.  It is a gentle smile, seemingly sympathetic out of nowhere, his eyes softening with the lift of his brow.  He has an uncanny ability to make softness more threatening than roughness. It gives you a shiver. 

“Let me guess,” he says.  “You don’t have a job, do you, sweetheart?  You can’t hold one down.  You don’t know how. Your parents have money and it’s nice, sure, but they were overbearing your whole childhood, weren’t they?  Until one day they decided you were grown and just stopped caring.  And now you’re out in the world with no more rules and you don’t know how to deal with it.  Except by acting out.  It’s fun, right?  Looking for trouble.  Makes you feel something for a minute.  Because even though you have everyone fooled into thinking you’re this wild and carefree person, you’re locked up inside.  You’re not scared of consequences because you’re already trapped.  Oh, uhh, stop me if I’m getting cold, yeah?”

You just stare as he blithely runs his pretty mouth. 

“You don’t really care about the prize, it’s just about the chase,” he continues.  “You told me I was a good boy, yeah?  Your words.  And you think you’re bad.  A bad, bad girl,” his deep voice drops even more, like the heavy-handed thud of a low blow, striking some place intimate inside you, “but that’s not really true, is it?” 

He smiles that particular smile again, full of affection and tenderness, an expression that is completely alien to your brash and aggressive nature. 

“Deep, deep down, you just want to be good,” he says.  “But you need to earn it to enjoy it, don’t you?  You need someone to tell you that you can, that it’s okay.  But you don’t make it easy.  And you’ve been running for so long, you probably can’t even remember how it feels when someone cares enough to catch you.” 

You suddenly feel the weight of the handcuffs. You expected this dull pretty boy to have a hidden mean streak to rival your own, not for him to blast through your barriers and drag your innermost thoughts to the surface.  To say nothing of his perfect speculation on your background. 

“So what, you’re some kind of stalker with a philosophy major?” you ask. 

He is still smiling. 

He laughs, a low chuckle.  He looks like a star, glittering silver and blue in the moonlight. 

“No, I’m not,” he says.  “I’m just the same as you.  Vexatious, apparently, because I’m all smiles all the time.  Just so good, you know?”  He is almost theatrical in tone.   “Of course, that’s technically the opposite of you.  Isn’t it?” 

When you don’t answer, he touches your chin, just his fingertips.  It is still enough to guide your face to his, locking eyes. 

“I said, isn’t it?” he asks, his tone sharper. 

If he is insinuating that you are only pretending to be bad, then that means he is only pretending to be good.  If you are secretly good, then he is secretly—

His mouth hovers close to yours.  He abruptly steps back. 

Oh.  You blink quickly.  Yes.  Of course.  It is always the real bad boys who take care to be good, isn’t it?  He does not need to flaunt it.  He can just smile at you. 

“Come on,” he says, interlocking your fingers with his.  He tugs you along, humming to himself as he leads you down the street.  So seemingly innocent.  Grinning to himself like the cheshire cat. 

You stare at those freckles, the glitter stars, his dimples. 

A vexatious vixen, indeed.

“So that Jisung guy,” you say. “The one who gave you these handcuffs.  He thinks you’re a nice guy who needs some adventure in his life.  It was just a prank gift and he thought he was being funny.”

“Yup,” Felix says, popping the sound.

“Little does he know you’re actually some sick and twisted pervert,” you say.

“Tsk,” he says, looking at you with a cheeky grin, as if to say what a silly girl you are.  “I’m not sick.  See, unlike you who bothers everyone whether they like or not, I only chase the ones who like to run.  Twisted, on the other hand… well…” 

The handcuffs jingle, strung around your joined hands like the red string of fate.  You look at each other, starlight on your faces, a noisy arena behind you and a game ahead of you. 

You smile back at him. 

You still intend to win.

-

It is a twenty minute walk.  Your conversation weaves around implications, some very forthright flirtations, and a couple scandalizing explanations.  Despite his previous goading, Felix is far more reserved in his desires.  He blinks when you describe a very dirty scenario and get detailed.   Very, very detailed.   

“Um, right,” he says.  “Fun as that sounds, I’m pretty sure that constitutes as a human rights violation.”

“So?”

“I, uhh, prefer to do things that don’t get me put on an Interpol watch list.” 

“Coward.”

You nonetheless accept this and describe a totally different scenario.  He looks a little wan. 

“Where would I get a rocket launcher?” he asks when you are finished. 

“I dunno, get creative.  My friend Seungmin once—oh shit, my friends!”

“Wait, huh?  Your friend Seungmin has a rocket launcher…?”

You take out your phone to find a gathering collection of texts from Seungmin and Minho, ranging from teasing you about losing your touch to asking if you got arrested and they need to bail you out.  Your friends are a nightmare which is why you like them, but they always get you out of trouble in the end. 

You confirm you are safe, that you already left, and that you are trying to have sex with a hot, insane, kinky sadist of a security guard.  

“You know I can read everything you are typing right now,” Felix says.  “I am standing right beside you.  You’re typing with a hand literally attached to mine.”

“Well, mind your own business.”  You do not bother hiding your texts. 

“You are giving them my name and address,” Felix replies.  “It sounds like my business.” 

“Well, it’s not.  We’ve already established the world revolves around me.  You’re the supporting character, pal.” 

“Right,” he says.  He blinks at the screen.  In a more serious voice, he asks, “Do you want the postal code too?” 

It never hurts to be thorough.  You type the address and send it to the boys. 

Good thing you waxed, Seungmin writes. 

Felix squints at the screen and tilts his head like a curious cat.  “You waxed for a concert?” he asks, giving you a once-over.  “What did you think was gonna—”

“I am prepared for every eventuality,” you interrupt.  “It’s why I always win.”

He holds up your handcuffed wrists and cocks an eyebrow.  “Is this what you call winning?” he asks. 

You smirk, your whole expression bright despite the suggestive wiggling of your eyebrows.  “Matter of opinion, I suppose,” you say.  “And my opinion is the only one that matters.” 

“Right,” he says, forcing a frown.  Despite his efforts, a smile is tugging at his lips.  He suffices to roll his eyes and march ahead, yanking you along behind him.  “Come on,” he says.  “We’re almost there.”  

Once your friends have your information, you put your phone in your little purse.  You turn the corner and find yourself looking at an absolutely gorgeous house.  Your jaw drops as Felix leads you up the driveway.  It is an ostentatious design to say the least.  You pass a gate mounted with two lion statues.  

“Not my style,” he says when you gawk at the stone kitties.  “This place belongs to my parents.  They usually rent it out but they let me live here while I go to school.” 

“So you weren’t kidding,” you say, a funny sensation in your chest and stomach.  “About your background, I mean.  You and me really are alike.” 

You realize the sensation in your chest is an inkling of feelings.  Genuine, heart-felt, soul-stirring feelings. You look at Felix and see a lot of yourself, though he is like a mirror version, exactly the same and completely the opposite.  It makes you huff, holding a hand to your stomach like you can control the butterflies there. 

“What’s wrong?” Felix asks, pausing at the front door. 

“When was the last time you had a feeling?” you ask.

“A… feeling?” he asks.  He stands silent for a long moment.  When he realizes you are not going to elaborate, he asks, “What kind of feeling?”

“Just a feeling,” you say.  “You know.” 

“Uhh.”  He blinks quickly.  “I have feelings all the time.  Every day.”

“Wow,” you say.  “That sounds exhausting.  Explains a lot about you.” 

“All right.”  He shakes his head.  He reaches into his back pocket and fishes out a set of house keys, twirling them around his fingers until he finds the right one. 

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I threw those keys too?” you ask.

He gives you an exasperated look.  You grin.

With a shake of his head, he sighs and unlocks the door.  The foyer lights flicker to life and the house alarm starts ringing.  It gives you a punch of adrenaline which has the predictable effect of getting your blood pumping.  Your body does not know the difference between fear and desire.  You have only been here two seconds but you are already licking your lips. 

Felix is none-the-wiser.  He flips open the alarm panel and punches in a code.  It beeps and goes quiet.   You look at each other in the soft golden glow of the foyer lamplight.  He still looks stupidly pretty, blue hair and glitter, sleeveless shirt and jeans.  Unassuming, gentle, sweet.  Not at all like he could throw you over his shoulder or manhandle you in the grass.  But he can.  He did.

“Come on,” he says, tugging on the chain between you. 

You feign disinterest but your eyes scour his space.  You pass through the kitchen where there is an array of baking utensils drying in the dishes rack.  The entire kitchen is clearly maintained with great care.  The rest of the space is a little chaotic, shelves and desks and units overflowing with technological equipment that you can neither recognize nor name. 

“I build computers,” he says, catching you staring at the pile of miscellaneous parts.  “Sorry for the mess.  I wasn’t expecting company.” 

This is uttered dryly and you wave it away.  You do not want to admit you find it somewhat endearing.  Your hobbies primarily consist of keeping the local PD on their toes, but you appreciate the practice of a craft.  It only adds another layer to this weird dude, pretty but athletic but intelligent but ridiculous but charming but geeky.  And just as competitive and crazy and freaky as you. 

“Bedroom’s this way,” he says.  “And, uh, don’t get any ideas.” 

“Too late,” you answer, though truthfully your filthier fantasies are fracturing in wake of the reality of him.  The computers, the baking tools, the wall of games and consoles, collectible toys and ughhh why did he have to be kind of adorable and secretly have a personality.  Mutual objectification is more your style.  Not quivering under a gentle touch and feeling… feelings. 

“You look like you are thinking way too hard,” Felix says, pausing at his bedroom door.  “It’s freaky.” 

“Not thinking anything,” you say, because you are too busy feeling to be thinking.  Ugh.   You shake it off and push open his bedroom door. 

He shakes his head and leads you in.  He has a pretty elaborate gaming setup, the rest of the room plain in comparison.  His bed is neatly made and you cannot help but envision a mess of sheets.  Yes.  That is more your thing.  Taking that sweet and gentle façade and corrupting it, right down to the core.  You want him to lose control.  You want to drive him crazy.  You want to draw this out, use the handcuffs and—

“Aha,” he says. “Right here.”

He pulls open a bedside drawer.  A pair of handcuffs is sitting inside it, the key right on top.  He takes it out and immediately unlocks you. 

The cuffs fall to the floor.  He scoops them up and jingles them in your face. 

You stare at them then slowly meet his gaze.

“Oh,” you say.  “You evil son of a bitch.”   

He looks at you with a soft little pout, like he cannot imagine why you would be upset and you are hurting his oh-so sensitive feelings.  But he knew you wanted to play him.  He knew you wanted the handcuffs a little longer.  Now there is no reason to linger.  Now you can just walk out the door and never see him again. 

He is going to make you ask for it. 

That is not your style.  You hate being out-smarted.  And you really, really, really hate losing. 

“Right,” you say.  “I guess that’s it then.”

“Guess so,” he says.  “Bye.” 

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

You are still standing in his bedroom.  It is dark but there is an elaborate lighting rig around his computer, all bright blue neon and blinking lights.  You are swimming in blue, breathing it in.  His hair, the room, and moonlight. 

You will never see this colour the same way again.  Of that much you are certain. 

“Blue,” you say. 

His brow crinkles.  “Blue?” he repeats. 

“Mm.”  You look around the room, pretending you are unbothered by the intensity of his gaze.   “Red.  Yellow.  Green.  Colours can say a lot, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” he says, exhaled on a breath.  The neon light catches the little star on his cheek, glinting at you.  He is dazzling.  This moment is larger than life.

You take a step back, holding his gaze. 

“Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go…” you drawl, backing out of his room.  “It’s amazing what you can say with just a colour…” 

“Uh-huh,” he says.  He looks at you like he did at the arena, maybe even more intensely.  Now he knows what you are capable of doing.  Now you understand each other. 

He follows you, assessing every step you take.  There is a subtle flex to the lean muscles of his arms, reminding you that while he is beautiful, he is also capable of more. 

“And what does blue mean?” he asks.  “To you?” 

You walk backwards, an unspoken understanding that once you turn your back, the game begins.  So you hold his gaze, smirking, inviting.  The foyer lights flash on and gold light fills the space between you, casting shadows across your smiling faces. 

He walks like a predatory cat, slow and smooth.  His confidence is easy.  He needs no grand display of machoism.  He just smiles that pretty pink mouth.  The glitter on his cheek sparkles.    

“Blue is the colour we show on the outside,” you say, “when deep down we really want something else.”

“I see,” he says.  Abruptly, his intensity vanishes when he laughs and says, “Put it back.” 

Somehow, despite diverting his attention, he still saw your slight-of-hand.  You swiped the closest object, a little jewel-encrusted clock on the nearby table.  You waited until your body obscured the view but he still saw.  

He can read you that easily, predict your moves that well.  Because it is not as though he loves the clock.  It stands out from his things, clearly one of the ostentatious designs, courtesy of his parents.  You can read him that easily too.  He does not like gaudy, shiny little knick-knacks.  He likes neon and blue and you. 

“Put what back?” you ask.  You have reached the front door.  Your hands are behind your back, the bauble in one, the other twisting the doorknob. 

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says. 

You push the door open. 

“I’ll give it back, if that’s what you really want,” you say.  With a suggestive little smirk, you ask, “So what’s your colour?” 

Red to stop.  Yellow to pause.  Green to give in. 

“Blue,” he says.  To play. 

You smile.  You hold up the bauble, wink, then zip it into your purse.    

“In that case,” you say, “you’ll have to catch me first.” 

His expression changes in an instant, that playful giggling gone as quickly as it came.  He breathes and it fills him, makes him look sturdy, makes him look ready.   

“Sweetheart,” he says.  “Don’t make me do this.” 

The softness of the pet name is completely undone by the dark tone of his voice.  There is nothing soft about him.  He is ice cold blue and burning red heat at once, searing you with his eyes, the way they rove your whole body.  You feel each glance.  A shiver races down your spine.  Instinctively, your body braces itself, fearful of that voice and that gaze. 

It also gets you so, so hot. 

All that tension snaps. 

You turn and run, bolting down the driveway and past the fancy gate.  You are quick on your feet, practiced and lithe.  You show him no mercy this time.  Earlier you were unprepared, severely misjudging his capabilities, but you will not make the same mistake again. 

You glance over your shoulder.  He is no where to be seen so you slow your pace, bemused. 

A minute later, he comes tearing around the corner and your heart starts pumping again.   Just like back at the arena, he grins as he thunders after you. 

An instinctive little yelp leaves your mouth.  You resume your pace, booking it for the corner of the block.  There is a little patch of green park so you run there, disappearing between the bushes. 

It seemed like a good idea but the streetlight barely breaks the thick tree branches. It is darker and eerier here, genuine fright overcoming you.  You come to a clumsy stop, fumbling with your purse to grab your phone.  A flashlight will stop you tripping, but it will also lead Felix right to you. 

You hear him behind you, clambering through the bushes.  Your heart leaps.  The darkness makes you forget this is all pretend.  You run without a light, dashing down the narrow path and squinting for even a glimpse of street light.  You need to get out of the bushes otherwise you risk falling on your face, then he will be right on top of you in seconds.   But running on the road will expose you too quickly. 

You will not surrender that easily.  He knows that. 

Torn between the garden and the road, you get a brilliant idea.  You dash back onto the street and hope it takes him a minute to follow.  He is not behind you so you race back to his house. 

There is no way he will circle back here.  He knows you want a chase, so a chase is what he anticipates.  He would never guess you ran back into his house.  Oh, you can’t wait for the look on his face when he finds you perched on his bed, feigning boredom as you wait. 

You run back up the driveway.  The front door is closed and you crash right into it, assuming it would be unlocked.  Nope. He locked it.  Maybe that is why he was delayed. 

You spin around, halfway expecting to find him there, ready to push you up against his door and cage you in.  But no, you are still winning.  He is undoubtedly still running through those bushes. He will circle the whole block before heading back here.    

You hurry down the side of the house, looking for any open windows.  You do not think he had time to set the alarm.  Did he?  Maybe that is why he was so far behind. 

The side gate is unlocked so you slip into the backyard.  You come to a surprised stop because it is a beautiful landscape.  The greenery is pristine and there are little couches and chairs scattered around.  There is a shed, some storage trunks, a fire pit.    In the middle of everything is a pool, sparkling blue in the golden lamplight.  Of course. 

You do not rush. You cross the yard in a slow walk, taking a moment to catch your breath.  You strategize your next move.  Should you pose on one of the pool chairs?  Wait by his back door and knock when he gets home? 

Your thoughts are interrupted by a low hum.  Someone is making their way down the side of the house.  

You panic.  You are often caught scampering around places you are not supposed to be, so instinct propels you to hide.   You run to one of the storage trunks and duck behind it. 

No sooner have you hidden does Felix stroll into the backyard.  He is a little dishevelled, a few strands of hair escaping from his half-ponytail, but he seems mostly unbothered.  He moves at a leisurely pace, humming to himself as he swings the gate open. 

He pauses there, leaning against the tall fence.   You are quite certain the world has never been this quiet.    

 “I know you’re here,” Felix says, his deep voice shattering the silence. 

Your heart leaps into your throat.  You should have known better.  Of course he had the same idea as you.  Now what?  How can you outsmart someone who can predict your every move? 

You peek around the storage trunk.  Felix is smiling, all dimples and delight.  Even his eyes are glittering as he swings the gate shut.  He looks across the yard as he curls his fist around the padlock.  He slams it shut, effectively locking you in with him. 

So that is why he took so long.  He unlocked the gate before giving chase.  He laid a trap and you ran right into it. 

His walk is more of a prowl, a slow but steady tread across the grass.

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs, uncannily chipper. 

You cannot believe you are about to be beaten so quickly.  It has your head spinning, your heart racing from your run, your adrenaline pounding as he approaches. 

Your heart tempers itself when he stops.  He pokes his head around the fire pit to see if you are hiding there.  

“Sweetheart,” he says, casting his gaze around the yard.  “You don’t need to hide.  I promise I’m not mad.”  He strolls around the pool, looking from here to there, even up at the trees.  He hums thoughtfully to himself.  “Now, now… If I was a troublemaker who needed to learn a lesson, where would I hide…”  He ducks behind a pool chair, frowning.  “Hmm, hmm, hmm…” 

He stands for a minute, tapping his chin.  You want to glean some semblance of your surroundings, but you do not want to take your eyes off him.  You are convinced if you do, he will manifest right beside you.  So you look at the house then at him, the gate then at him, the trees then at him.   You almost want to scream.  He is not even moving and he has you completely captivated, every last sense in your body attuned to him. 

“Pleeeeease,” he says in a long drawl, a cute little tone.  He ambles over to a different storage trunk and lifts the lid.  “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

He slams the lid down so hard it makes the unit wobble.  Even though you are far away, it makes you jump.  You have to cover your mouth to stop a yelp from escaping. 

You stare as he leans over the other unit, peering behind it.  He huffs in frustration when he finds nothing.  Despite the angry grimace, when he stands upright, he is wearing that saccharine smile. 

“You’re hurting my feelings, sweetheart,” he says.  “I thought we were turning into friends.  Don’t you want to be my friend?” 

He flings a chair out of his way, then swiftly drops to his knees to peer under the picnic table.  He is getting closer, bit by bit, which is somehow more terrifying than if he beelined right at you. 

He is giving you time, you realize.  He wants you worked up.  He wants your heart racing.  He wants you quivering and soft and afraid. 

You look around frantically, searching for an escape. 

Your hope rises then plummets.  The back door is ajar but that is an obvious trap.  It leads into the house but there is no way you are crossing the yard without him seeing you. 

You jump at another slam.  It was the shed door.  He is stepping inside it, rifling through the yard tools in case you are crouched inside. 

“Come on,” he says into the shed.  “Don’t be scared.” 

You take a deep breath.  You have only seconds to cross the yard while his back is turned.  You do not waste another moment, jumping to your feet and running as quietly and as quickly as you can. 

He is just as quiet.  You shriek at the sudden arm that catches you, just like it did at the arena.  Felix tackles you onto the grass again, pushing you down on your back and covering your mouth. 

You wrestle him, just like last time, ignoring his laughter as you claw and bite at him. 

“You’re a little mean, you know that?” he says, waving his hand after narrowing dodging your teeth.  He dives back in, undeterred, grabbing your face in one hand.  “Yeah, that’s it,” he says.  “Fight me.  Brat.” 

You do not surrender easily, but he manhandles you with the same effortless skill as before.  There is no doubt he has training that you lack, flipping you in his arm then pushing you down on your front.  You kick your legs as he straddles your backside.  He brings your hands together on the base of your spine. 

You know what is coming and it makes you shriek with frustration.  Just like last time, he slaps the handcuffs on your wrists and locks your hands behind your back. 

“You stupid little—” you start, your words stifled when he puts his hand over your mouth and yanks your head up.  He holds the handcuff key in front of your face, then makes a show of throwing it.  You are pretty sure it is still in his fist, but the very idea has you whimpering into his palm. 

“That’s better,” he says, slowly taking his hand off your mouth.  It hovers like he expects you to start screaming.  You just exhale heavily, glaring.  “All right,” he says.  “Very good.  Come on.” 

You play at obedience long enough to get off the ground.  He helps you stand, then you immediately kick at him.  He tries to grab your leg but you dodge the swipe of his hand, running the opposite way. 

Your balance is thrown, dizzy from the takedown and the handcuffs.  He catches you quickly.   You yelp when he sweeps you off your feet, boasting all that hidden strength again. 

He carries you over to the deck where he drops down, sitting with his legs spread to fit you in between.  With your back to his front, he pulls you against him, an arm across your chest to keep you pinned together. 

“Oh fuck you,” you say, wriggling helplessly. 

“Not quite,” he says, laughing.  “I’ve been picturing something else.” 

He covers your mouth again, catching your shriek when he tugs your shirt open.  The flannel falls down your shoulders and he yanks the tank top down, getting a handful of everything you inadvertently flashed him earlier. 

Despite the force of his initial touch, he is not rough.  You might have kept your cool if he was; you are used to rough, fast, hard.  But his hand is tender, almost loving, a slow touch that trails from your neck down your chest, thumb circling the peak of your nipple before he squeezes your curves in the cup of his hand.   It is maddeningly slow and careful, your whining trapped in the palm of his hand. 

“This is what I was picturing,” he says.  It sounds like a growl, his deep tone just above a rough whisper.  His lips graze your ear and you shiver. 

You gasp, taking in deep gulps of air when he frees your mouth.  A weak whimper is all you manage when he hooks his legs around yours and pries them apart.  His hand dives down to your shorts, making swift work of the buttons. 

“Yup, just what I thought,” he says as his fingers sink inside you.  “Do you feel that?” he asks, as if your attention could be on anything but the thorough, rolling touch of his fingers, torturing the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs.  He slides his fingers into you with no resistance whatsoever. He starts finger-fucking you, laughing when you moan, when you rear up under his hand for more.  “Mmm, yeah, you want it don’t you?”  You try to resist but it is hard, especially when he teases you, making you chase him with your hips.  He just laughs again, slowing his touch maddeningly.  “God, that’s hot,” he says.  “You might be a brat but your pussy...   It’s begging for it, isn’t it?  Does it like this, sweetheart, hmm?  Hmm?” 

He is absolutely torturing you, rubbing those swollen nerves to the crest of an orgasm then withdrawing, again and again, until you swear it burns.  You make a strangled sound, clutching his hand on your chest, still cupped possessively on your naked breast. 

“Tell me,” he says.  “Tell me how much you want me to make you come.” 

“Mmmph,” is your oh-so intelligent reply. 

“You can do better than that,” he says.  “Come on.  Show me how much you want it.  You can’t lie to me, sweetheart.  I can feel it, hmm?  Gonna feel it when you come.  Gonna feel your pussy get nice and tight around my fingers, asking for it, baby—oh yeah, what’s that?  What’s it want?” 

“Ugh, fuck you,” you whine. 

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” he says.  “Fuck you.  You can run that pretty mouth but I know what you really need.  You’re gonna be begging me for my cock, to fill you up and make you feel all full for real. Isn’t that right?  Go on.  Show me you want it.  Show me.” 

Your chest is heaving.  Your eyes close.  You concentrate on that orgasm, chasing it desperately.  It approaches rapidly and your thighs start shaking. 

He covers your mouth again, once more predicting you.  He knows you are about to come.  This time he takes you right over, groaning in your ear, clutching you tight while never once slowing the deft thrust of his hand.  You scream into his palm, the intensity of the orgasm washing over you.  The blue light of the pool flickers even with your eyes closed, seeing nothing but blue, blue, blue.   He surrounds you, his voice, his moans, his touch. 

Your hips buck, your heart skipping a frantic beat when pleasure turns to sensitivity. He chuckles but stops, dropping his hand off your mouth.  You catch your breath, slumping against his chest. 

He touches your face with the hand he just used to fuck you, wet fingers streaking across your mouth as he turns your head.  You blink at him and part your lips just for him to shove his fingers in your mouth.  You cannot help but moan, eyes closing as you suck the tangy wetness right off his fingers.  You watch when he takes them back, when he licks them for himself.  Strands of blue fall across his forehead.  He looks as flushed and filthy as you feel. 

He grins around his fingers.  Then he grabs the back of your neck and pulls your face to his.  He kisses you for the first time with the taste of your pussy on both your mouths.  His kiss is deep and bold, as if you are already his.  You are dizzy when he stops, gasping when he pecks your lips with sweet, chaste little kisses. 

“Gonna uncuff you now,” he says softly.  “Because for what we do next…”  He grabs you by the throat and you mewl, clenching around nothing when he rolls his hips under you, showing you how hard he is.  “Yeah, sweetheart.  For that, I need all of you.” 

You sit quietly while he uncuffs you.  You feign complacency, standing on shaky legs when he guides you upright.   You fix your shirt, glaring at him, though it is a little harder while you are still catching your breath. 

He was right about one thing; you need him like you have never needed anyone.  You are throbbing, completely and totally aching with the loss of his touch.  You have never felt such clear pulsations, your body begging for more even while your expression is petulant. 

You follow him to the open door.  One step, two steps. 

Then you say, “Blue.” 

You take off running into the house. 

He laughs incredulously, not even making an attempt to grab you. 

He slams the door shut behind him.  You skid to a stop in the hall, listening to the gentle beeping of the alarm as he arms it from the inside.  It is the same quiet threat as the padlock; there is no escape. 

Giddy, excited, practically vibrating with anticipation, you run and hide.  There are boxes and tables piled high with gadgetry, not to mention his couch and bookshelves and general appliances.  Plenty more places to hide than that big back yard.  And when he finally does find you, when you have worked him up the way he worked you up—

That is what winning is all about. 

You sit in your hiding place, breathing hard.    

“Sweetheart,” Felix says in that too-sweet voice.  His footsteps are slow, unhurried, casual.  “Stop hiding.  I said I didn’t want to hurt you, but if you keep this up…” 

You peer at him between some boxes.  He stops in the middle of the room, catching his breath too.  The glittering amusement has left his eyes.  They are narrowed, his flushed cheeks and sweaty hairline only exacerbating his predatory air. 

He unties his half-ponytail, then bends over to run his fingers through the length of it.  He flips back up, all that blue falling prettily in place.  He licks his lips as he prowls through the room, looking behind boxes, ducking under tables. 

You shuffle with him, moving when he does.  He checks your previous hiding space with a jaunty, “A-ha!” then curses. 

“Come on now,” he says, turning around.  He smiles like a shark, all teeth, hungry despite the innocent flash of a dimple.  “You’re only hurting yourself,” he says.  “I know you, sweetheart.  You’re in here somewhere, and you can’t tell me you’re not thinking about what it’s gonna feel like when I catch you, yeah?  Hmm.  You’re fast.  I bet you’re flexible too.  I bet I can get you into all sorts of positions.  Get you making all sorts of noises for me…” 

It is a struggle to be quiet as you move.  Your limbs are still shaky.  Every word out of his mouth makes your breath catch. 

You swallow hard, freezing when he pauses.  Did he hear that?  Maybe not.  He turns the other way, heaving a deep sigh before he laughs.  It lacks amusement, a harsh sound as he turns and turns. 

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs.  In a harder voice, he snaps, “Stop hiding from me.”  Then he smiles again.  He turns in your direction slowly.  “You’re not scared of me, are you?” 

You cover your mouth, cowering down when he seems to look right at you.  Your heart is pounding so hard, you would not be surprised if he could hear it, even feel it, shaking this whole damn house. 

“If you come out on your own,” he says, “I promise to make you feel good.  You’ll come so hard, you’ll forget how scared you are.” 

You keep that hand over your mouth, fighting to keep quiet.  It stifles a shriek when he suddenly waves at you, a drole little finger-wiggle.    

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says.  He crouches down, putting himself at eye-level, peering between the boxes that shield you.  “Don’t make me come get you,” he says.  “I’ve been nice, haven’t I? Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret.”    

You shuffle to the side.  He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head while he laughs. 

“Right,” he says.  “Fine.  We’ll do it that way.” 

You bolt when he does, shrieking as you clamber around some equipment to get away.  You manage to escape to the foyer, cursing when the automatic lights flash on.  It feels like a spotlight, illuminating you in the middle of that big empty space with no where to hide. 

You can hear Felix stomping after you.  You scurry into the kitchen, looking around frantically for somewhere to hide. 

You yelp when he bursts in behind you.  This time, he does not give.   He grabs you roughly when you try to run again.  With very little effort, like you are scarcely more than a mild inconvenience, he lifts you off your feet and slings you over his shoulder.  He says nothing while you curse and squirm and slap his back. 

“You know what I wonder?” he eventually says, marching you right into the bedroom.  “I wonder… if I make you cry, is that gonna make you tighter, you think?”  He slides you down his body, holding you flush against him.  He smiles.  “Worth a shot, no?” 

And then he handcuffs your wrist to his wrist and tosses the key across the room.

“Oops,” he says. 

He grabs your throat and you gasp, spilling onto the bed when he pushes you.  He puts your on your back then straddles your chest, swiftly unbuttoning his jeans. 

“Open up,” he says, practically prying your mouth open, just giggling when you bite at him.  “If you bite me,” he says, two fingers shoved deep in your mouth, “I promise, I’ll give you something to be fucking scared of.” 

You were right.  You will never see the colour blue the same way again.  You will never be able to settle for anything less than Felix again. 

With a whimpery sigh, you relent, blissful as your mouth falls open.  He shoves his clothes out of his way, just enough.  He is rock hard and wet at the tip when he guides your mouth around his dick.  He cradles your head gently, even if the rest of him is not gentle.

You moan, your pussy literally twitching for attention as he shoves into your throat and makes your eyes water.  You take him well and he groans, pulsing in your mouth when tears start running down your face.  He fucks your mouth and throat, a back and forth that has your seeing stars.  Eventually he pulls back, laughing as runs his fingers through his hair. 

“Oh, baby,” he says.  He reaches down to wipe a tear.  “I wanted to do that the second you started mouthing off to me.”

“Asshole,” you say, though it comes out with a giggle. 

He laughs, sliding down your body to get between your legs. He gets your shorts and underwear out of his way, kissing across your pussy and up your stomach.  He lifts your shirt and crosses your breasts with his mouth, leaving little bite marks in his wake.

With the hand cuffed to yours, he interlocks your fingers sweetly, pressing it into the mattress.  Then he swoops up.  He kisses you, his tongue a soothing touch after everything. 

You moan, literally shaking with need as he smiles against your lips.   He speaks in that low, rasping voice when he says, “I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you realize you’re gonna come all over my cock.” 

“Oh god,” is your rough reply. 

“It’s Felix,” he says.  “You’re gonna be screaming it in a second, aren’t you, sweetheart?” 

He has a condom in his bedside drawer.  Though you see him put it on, he still leans down to dirty talk, holding your throat as he whispers, “Was gonna be nice and wrap it, but you don’t like it nice, do you?”  He spreads your legs with his own, pushing down with his hips.  You whimper when the head of his cock glides over where you are very wet and very needy.  “No, sweetheart,” he says.  “I’m gonna have all of you.  And you – are gonna – take it.” 

He punctuates this with short thrusts, gradually easing inside you.  You moan, canting your hips to meet him, needing more.  When he starts fucking you in earnest, your whole body gets pliant like it never has before.  You let him hold you, tethered to him by the handcuffs and something else, something to do with those feelings inside you.  You let them melt into the physical sensations.  When he touches you, working you into an orgasm while he is deep inside you, it all washes over you.  You come with a cry, screaming his name just like he said. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he says.  Your bodies are flush together, chests touching, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist.  His face is in your neck when he laughs.  It is not a fake laugh, not coloured darkly, but ringing with true amusement.  “What’s your name?” he asks.

You laugh too, whispering it against his mouth when he leans in to kiss you.  He groans, kissing you, and says your name against your lips when he comes.  It binds you to him more effectively than the handcuffs. 

You lay there for some time afterward, all that pent-up adrenaline taking its time to dwindle.  He lays on your chest, your free hand in his hair, stroking it.  Eventually he looks at you with wide eyes. 

“I’m not, you know, like that, I mean—” he says. 

“I know,” you reply, massaging the nape of his neck.  You get uncharacteristically bashful.  Usually your partners, being more dominant, are the ones offering consolation to you, and you seldom need much.  Felix, you can tell, needs something, and it draws something out of you that you hardly knew existed.  Something tender and soft, that enjoys touching him and soothing him and making him smile. 

“Do you still have that, uh, feeling?” he later asks. 

You nod.  He smiles. 

“Me too,” he says. 

“That’s nice.  Can we get the handcuff key now?” you ask, making him laugh. 

The handcuffs end up on the floor with your clothes. 

This is usually the part where you run away, but you think you are done with running for a while.  You lay down with Felix, side by side, washed in the neon blue light.  You take a breath and roll onto his chest, resting your head there, and he runs a hand down your back in a soft caress. 

“I’m just glad I didn’t wax for no reason,” you break the silence, making him snort.  He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head.  “What!  Don’t look at me like that or I’ll try and sneak into another concert when you’re on the clock.”

“Mm, will you?” he asks, grinning.  “I better be prepared.” 

“Oh no, I’m not messing with you.  I’m picking an easier target next time.”

“I’ll find you anyway,” he says.  “Can’t hide from me, sweetheart.”

“Hmm,” you say, hiding your face because that squishy feeling in your chest is back.  “I still won this round.” 

He lifts your face so he can look at you.  Your eyes close when he swoops in and kisses you.  You can’t even pretend to be annoyed with him anymore.  Vexatious vixen, indeed.   

“I think,” he says, “we might have tied this round, sweetheart.” 

“Fine,” you say.  You kiss again, long and sweet.  Then you bop him on the nose.  “But next time it’ll be me.”

He sighs but smiles, shaking his head.  Then he cups your face and pulls you in for another kiss.   

[woso-dreamzzz]

Tears II

Alexia Putellas x Child!Reader

Summary: You wander off at Camp Nou

Having you was the best decision Alexia ever made.

You were so sweet and little and you loved to just be in her company no matter what. It didn't matter if you were napping or playing or eating, you just always wanted to be around her.

But, having you was definitely the most stressful decision she had ever made too.

Sometimes, it was like she would turn around and you would be gone.

Sometimes, loud noises overwhelmed you and you just had to leave.

This must have been one of those times.

The locker room was upbeat and loud and Alexia turned around for just a minute to get your ear defenders.

"Mapi!" Alexia yells over the sound of the speakers," Mapi!"

"Huh? What?"

"Where's my pequeñita?"

Mapi shrugs. "I saw her by the door a few minutes ago. I think she was talking to Marta."

Alexia knows immediately that you've run off. You didn't really like talking to her teammates bar very few of them. You were more likely to talk to Caro or Irene than Marta so she knows you've made a break for it.

Her cleats echo through the halls as she goes off in search of you. You're a creature of habit at Camp Nou and Alexia knows to bypass the toilets and the densely populated areas, ducking into one of the rooms that has no lights on.

"Hey, pequeñita," Alexia coos. She spots your darkened form hiding under one of the tables. "Was it too loud?"

You sniffle and Alexia crawls under with you.

"I'm sorry," She says," But here, I've got your headphones. Shall I put them on?"

You nod miserably. The ringing in your ears is terrible but it's dampened when Mami slides your ear defenders on. You take in a big breath before you expel all your air, slumping into her side.

Her voice is muffled as she speaks but if you concentrate really hard then you can still hear her.

"Do you still want to sit on the bench and watch, pequeñita? Or do you want to stay inside and colour?"

You sniffle, wiping your face on Mami's jersey. You like watching Mami play but it's too loud a lot of the time. But this is an important match because Mami's playing at Camp Nou rather than the Estadi Johan Cruyff.

You want to watch her.

"On the bench," You say softly, knocking your head against her collarbone.

"Okay, pequeñita," Mami agrees, her cool hands slipping under your shirt to gently trace shapes on your back," Do you want to stay here a little bit longer or should we go and see the rest of the team?"

You tighten your first in her jersey. "Stay for longer."

"Okay, we'll stay for longer."

Mami's heartbeat is nice. You've got your cheek against her chest and you can feel it thumping as she picks you up after a long while of sitting under the table in the dark.

You stay pressed against it as Mami returns to the locker room.

With your ear defenders on, the sounds are all muted now and you feel like you can breathe again. Your hand opens and closes around Mami's jersey and she holds you just as tightly as you're holding her.

Irene comes up to speak to Mami and she sends you little worried looks as she talks. You're not concentrating so you don't try to focus on what she's saying. You're content to just hold onto Mami.

"Do you want to go straight to the bench or are we having cuddles all the way out onto the pitch?"

"Cuddles."

"Cuddles, it is."

The crowd at Camp Nou is very loud but you've got Mami and you've got your headphones on so none of that matters.

She holds you nice and tight all the way up to the coin toss before she walks you to the side of the pitch.

Irene's waiting for you there.

"Mami," You whine. Today has been a lot and you're regretting not staying inside. You don't want to see Mami away from you.

"I know," She says, cupping your face as you're smoothly placed in Irene's arms," But today we're going to be very brave. Okay? Can you be brave for me, pequeñita?"

"I can be brave."

"Good girl." She presses a soft kiss to your head. "I'll see you in a bit, okay?"

You nod.

You don't leave Irene's arms for the entirety of the match. You don't talk to her either. You just sit there, your eyes tracking Mami.

She collects you during halftime and you just relax into her, pressing your forehead up against hers as you try to match your breathing before you're returned to Irene for the rest of the match.

Once it's over, she comes straight for you.

You slump into her as she makes her way back to the locker room, changing out of her sweaty clothes. You don't want to let go of her but it's only a temporary thing and you're back in her arms again.

Your ear defenders hang around your neck as Mami carries you out to the stadium.

She clips you into your car seat.

"Do you want cuddles when we get home?"

You nod. "Cuddles and sleepy time."

Mami brushes her thumb over your cheek with a fond smile. "I like that plan."

[wqnwoos]

jeonghan is staring at you from across the room with unnatural intensity, and you don’t know how to point it out without being rude.

because, on the off chance that you’re mistaken and he’s actually transfixed by the appealingly blank wall above your head, it would be embarrassing. horrendously, irremediably embarrassing.

but you know yoon jeonghan like the back of your hand, and so you don’t think you’re mistaken. in fact, you think you know him better than the back of your hand, because if someone actually asked you to describe the back of your hand, you’d be fucked — but if someone asked you to describe jeonghan, you could wax lyrical.

you could tell them about how you met, three years ago. (freshman orientation, a haze of embarrassment and icebreakers.) you could tell them about his coffee order (black) and his favourite colour (also black) and the classes he hates and the classes he loves. you could tell them about how his eyes have a certain light to them, something you’ve never seen in anyone before, animated and effulgent and brilliant. you could tell them about his family; his friends; the way his fingers slot between yours; the way he laughs when he means it and the way he laughs when he doesn’t.

you could also tell this hypothetical someone that you’ve been in love with jeonghan for the past two years. and that he is totally, completely, utterly oblivious.

“your apartment’s ugly.”

(you could also tell them that he has a knack for being honest at entirely the wrong time, and you’re pretty sure he does it on purpose.)

“you know,” you say, dragging yourself out of your thoughts, “when most people want to break a silence, they ask a question or something.”

he doesn’t deign to respond.

“insults tend to be a last resort,” you add helpfully.

“not an insult,” he returns leisurely, sprawling across your couch, draping his legs over your lap. “you just need some life in here.”

“i’m alive. you’re alive. we’re both in here.” you shove his legs off. “besides. i just moved in.”

“you should get a lizard.”

your lack of surprise is a testament to how long you’ve been friends. “i’m not getting a lizard. are you hungry?”

“you could call it… barney.”

“i feel like having pizza.”

“or maybe lola, if it’s a girl. lola is nice.”

“i think we’re having two completely different conversations here,” you decide. and push his legs off you. again.

but this time, in a fluid movement you don’t fully comprehend the mechanics of, he swivels his body so his head rests in your lap.

it’s the simplest of movements, and somehow you feel like you can’t breathe. time slows and speeds all at once — heart in your throat, eyes on his for all of a moment and a half. you almost hate when he does this; such casual affection sends you reeling.

it takes you a moment to recover, and you realise he’s talking; “what?” you blurt. “i didn’t hear you.”

he casts you a strange look, but doesn’t comment. “pizza is fine, i said.”

“okay,” you reply, a second too late. “i’ll, uh. order that. now, i mean.”

jeonghan gazes intently up at you, long hair splayed on your thighs, brown eyes tinged with the faintest concern. “you’re being weird,” he says, but soft enough to come out worried — caring, more than anything. “is everything okay?”

you think back to him staring at you, just a few minutes ago. you think back to his legs on your lap with casual familiarity. you think back to freshman orientation too, the memory of his easy smile and shorter hair.

you try to think back to the moment you fell in love with him, but you can’t pinpoint that. that was less of a fall, more of a slow, inevitable realisation.

you force a smile. “everything’s fine.”

“your pants, ___,” he says, a wry smile tugging up his lips. “they are on fire.”

“i’m not lying,” you say, in a way that is so obviously and blatantly a lie. there’s a reason you’re not majoring in theatre, and it lies in your inability to keep up a facade when pressed.

jeonghan usually doesn’t press, so you’re not sure why he’s like this now — laid across your lap so you can’t look away, only breaking his gaze for those slow, lazy blinks.

“i’m gonna order that pizza.” your voice sounds hollow, even to you, so it’s not really a surprise when jeonghan sits up and takes your hand to stop you moving away.

“wait a bit,” he says, tenderness — softness, even — seeping into his voice. “i just want to say. i know.”

fuck.

your voice quavers ever so slightly. “you know? what do you know?”

as if it isn’t obvious. as if you aren’t obvious. it’s only taken two years of pining for you to get to this point; for him to get to this realisation; for you to face this rejection.

“i know,” he says softly, carefully, “about your feelings. for me, i mean.”

there’s a silence that seems to stretch forever. but it’s not more than three seconds, maximum.

“feelings of strong hatred and ill will, maybe,” you finally say, a swift rebuttal of the conversation you think he wants to have. i’m sorry, i didn’t know you felt that way, i didn’t mean to…. you’re not doing this — not with him.

jeonghan still has your hand encased in his, fiddling with your fingers, tracing palm lines as he speaks. “i’m being serious. i just don’t know how to say — how to say what i want. not well enough.”

“jeonghan,” you sigh, because it seems that you are doing this. “you don’t have to — ”

“i love you.”

it’s odd, what three simple words can do to a person. time doesn’t quite slow down, but suddenly you are so acutely aware of everything. the clock on your wall that’s been stuck on 3:52pm since you put it up. the lightbulb jeonghan has promised to change for you is flickering. his hand is warm and soft and comfortable, and it’s still holding onto yours.

there’s a small smile working its way up your face. you don’t feel breathless, like you imagined you might. you feel like a weight has been eased off your ribcage; and under it, your heart feels full, so incredibly full. “you’re serious?”

jeonghan smiles back at you, that inexpressible light filling his eyes. “am i ever not?”

“you never are,” you say, but you’re laughing, recklessly leaning into him, curling against him in a way you’ve done a million times before, but never quite like this. you’ve never been able to press a kiss to the side of his jaw, never been able to feel him reciprocate with one on your temple — until now.

“are you not going to say it back?” he murmurs, smiling against your hair.

“do i need to?” you ask, angling back to look at him with mirth in your eyes. “you know, don’t you?”

an / i have finally written (and posted) something and i HATE it i’m sorry.

perm taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @wondering-out-loud @graybaeismytae @hannyoontify @sahazzy @dokyeomin @icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars @immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya @doublasting @yepimthatonequirkyteenager @qaramu @weird-bookworm @phenomenalgirl9 @lightnjng @strnsvt @onlyyjeonghan @athanasiasakura

[idontcare4urmom]

little red dress

soft!dom! chris x reader!gf!

content:you were aware of the effect you had on your boyfriend,but that didn’t stopped you from wanting him to drool all over you,there was a party on the town and you got dressed up until Chris sees you and completely loses it.

warnings: smuttt,pet names (baby,slut,etc.), praising kink,dirty talk,teasing,fingering,sucking,slight fluff at the end and more

a/n: my first language is not English,so sorry if it’s bad cause it’s also my first fic,please be nice<3 ——————————————————-

.•🎀•.

today was the day,you were about to attempt to one of the ‘biggest’ parties in L.A. with influencers.sure,you were only invited cause your boyfriend was also invited,and you knew that but you couldn’t care less.you were simply excited to meet new people.

you had already had picked up your outfit so you wouldn’t be in a hurry, even though the party was in more than 2 hours. nothing could go wrong with black high boots that boosted your height,a mini leather jacket and a perfect mini red sparkly dress you bought for the occasion.

when you tried it on the store,you knew that you had to get it,it was almost like it was made specifically for you.it complimented your figure and face in a way that you knew you were going to drag looks on you,not to mention that it curved your ass and tits like a glove,and the length of it stopped right above your bare thighs,perfect right?

__________________💋___________________

you eventually started to get ready,picking a nice matching red lace lingerie to match with your dress,even though no one will really see it,at least that’s what you thought .you wore the dress after and tugged with a bit of struggle the zipper up,taking a quick glimpse of yourself afterwards in the mirror to admire yourself before starting to do makeup.

you were about to finish with the final details of your pink glossy lipstick,popping your lips together until you heard a knock on the door.

“baby? are you almost done? we have to leave in like 10 minutes” your boyfriend’s voice echoed through the other side of the room,you didn’t even had realized how much it took you to get ready.

“almost done,you come in you know” you responded,curious about how your man will think of your looks.

there was a click on the door before it banged close,causing you to turn your head and look at Chris who was now staring at you.he was pretty much checking you out and his tongue darted out to wet his lips before he broke the silence “wow..you look hot”.

the comment made you giggle under you breath and respond sarcastically “i always do”.you could feel the brunette boy rolling his eyes but what didn’t you expect was a sudden feeling of hands cupping both of your ass cheeks.

“yeah you are not lying,but this dress fits you better than anything else i have seen you wearing” Chris exclaimed right into your ear,you could swear that his voice was lowered which made you narrow your eyes in confusion but also interest.

“thanks,but get your hands off” you bratted,which made him chuckle and grope them tighter “what about no?”

you scoffed at his answer,turning around to answer but suddenly feeling him grabbing your face and pulling you into a hungry kiss.your eyebrows furrowed but you couldn’t resist the urge to make out with him for a minute.

the kiss soon turned sloppy,both of your tongues fighting for dominance until he tugged on your bottom lip,making you moan. “red is really your colour” you heard him say as you felt his hands lifting up your dress,causing your breaths to get heavier.

“Chris,the party” you warned in a worried tone,which made him smirk for no reason,his hand slipping in between your thighs “you really think I care about that baby? I couldn’t give a damn less”.

the next thing you knew was him taunting you.his fingers barely grazing your pussy that was already dripping wet,opening your mouth to complain but he quickly pushes you into the bed,hovering on top of you and pushing two fingers into your tight hole.

“oh shit!” you groaned at the stretch,his free hand going backwards to tug down the zipper of the dress that was making his cock throb.when he pulled it down his eyes roamed into your body and on your lingerie set,making his fingers thrust in and out of you fast.

“fuck,such a slut,wearing this shit to get me turned me on when you know i can’t resist you” his words made you clench around his fingers and whine pathetically.his head tilted down to place rough kisses on the hook of your neck and creating big hickeys,while his fingers curled up to hit that spot inside you.

you were a moaning and whimpering mess already,and he couldn’t help to think what you will do when his length will be buried into your cunt later.

“i..I am gonna cum” you whispered after some seconds,your voice raspy and Chris pulled with no warning his fingers out,making you frown and him to respond with a simple explanation of “going to save it for later”.

he then left from on top of you and stood up straight,his hands quickly moving to his belt to unbuckle it before shoving down his jeans and boxers,exposing his fully hard self with pre-cum leaking all over his red tip.

your breath hitched at the sight and you desperately wanted to get on your knees,but before you knew he pushed firmly your legs apart and spread them from him,his eyes darkening when he saw how ready you were,your juices glistening all over your thighs.

“hm,so wet,such a perfect sight,all this for me?” he cooed and praised,which only made you nod and feel your desire increasing.

he got in between your legs and positioned his tip against your entrance,starting to tease by grinding his hips against yours,making you groan again at the friction. “Chris,please..” you couldn’t help to beg,which even surprised yourself,but you didn’t regret it cause the next thing you felt was him entering you with a rough and deep thrust.

you practically screamed his name and arched your back,your hands reaching to tug on his hair locks which only made Chris grunt.his pace was fast and almost painful,making sure you felt him completely,and you couldn’t help to move your hips along with his in sync.

the panting from both of you and the skin to skin clapping filled the room in matter of seconds,his head once more leaning down but to lick all over your stomach soothingly while his dick was pounding into your g-spot with no mercy.he soon undid your bra and took one of your nipples into his mouth,sucking and flicking his tongue over the flesh.

the knot on your stomach was already felt,which also was noticeable by Chris and making him speak in a low,slightly hoarse way “already sweetheart? you are gonna make a mess on my cock like the perfect whore you are,hm?”

you only clenched at his words again,your one hand leaving his hair to grasp at the sheets for support,your orgasm already forming again and your legs began to shake.

“you aren’t going to finish yet, understood? he warned,making you look up at him with pleading eyes while his own blue one were looking almost brown,making you shiver and nod at his question “good girl,I know you can hold it for a little longer”

you couldn’t explain it but his voice was both rough and soft at the same time,and it was for sure turning you more.his length continued to tear you apart,basically hitting your spot over and over again while your eyes were watery.even though he had told you to not reach your climax yet,you were unaware that a few specific movements from you will sent him over his own edge.

it was basically you wrapping your legs tightly around his waist to encourage him silently to go deeper,while your nails digged into his lower back and leaving marks behind.with an unexpected loud groan from his lips and his hips bucking up,his muscles flexed and he released his seed deep into your cunt.

you moaned a little when he pulled out after some seconds,leaving you panting and your chest rising and falling,you quickly recovered when he rolled into his side and pulled you with him so he can cuddle you tightly.an exhausted yawn escaped from your mouth into the comfortable silence and he planted a kiss to your forehead “tired?”

“you fucked my brains out,what did you expect” you responded,making you both burst out laughing until some minutes after you were asleep into each other arms.

[luveline]

𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you comfort miguel when he lashes out after a memory —a ficlet featuring begrudgingly lovesick miguel and a flirty spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 1.5k

cw implied ptsd and accidental rough handling

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel can feel your heart-eyes on him. You're sitting behind him on the floor in his office, or, as you've fondly nick-named it this week, The Control Room, humming and making little origami flowers. 

So far you've made five, promising him without prompting a multi-coloured bouquet. He doesn't know why you've stopped (or why you started), but he doesn't have to turn around to confirm it. He can tell. You're shameless either way, proven when you say, "Hey, handsome?" 

He sighs with more annoyance than he feels. "What?"

"How'd you know I was talking to you?" you ask, with a laugh he loves and hates at once. Loves, because it's a really nice sound, and hates, because he knows how this goes. "I could've been talking to Margo." 

"She is handsome," Lyla chimes in. 

"Very much," you agree. 

Margo, alias Spider-Byte, looks up from her tablet screen to flash a smile. "Thanks, guys." 

"What did you want, then?" Miguel asks.

He's surrounded by girls who live to annoy him —they all laugh as though they know something he doesn't, and when he turns to glare at them they laugh more. Lyla zips out of his eyeline, disappearing from view with a sympathetic, "He's dumber than he looks." 

"Hurtful," Miguel says, turning back to his screen. "Why do I bother?" 

You stand up with your bundle of paper flowers crinkling in your hands and approach him. You're of normal height, while Miguel is of 'ridiculous' height (your word choice), and so you have trouble looking him in the eye when you stand close. You have more trouble keeping your distance, craning your neck all the way up with your rubber capped shoes to his spidersuit ones. 

"Can you lean down a bit, please?" you ask. 

Margo laughs, “Oh, here we go.”

Miguel has trouble saying no to you. And by trouble, he means he finds it impossible, and he hasn't done it in a while. He leans down very slightly, worried you're going to try and kiss him in front of the others. He's kissed you already (which he hates himself for, what a stupid thing to do) (but was a good kiss, as things go, your lips soft under his, his ardency undulating in the face of your little gasping sound when he'd bitten your lip, when he'd grasped at your side like you were slipping through his fingers), and you've kissed him. But never in front of other people.

Which isn't to say they don't know. Everyone definitely knows. They're just too scared or too kind to say. Or, like Lyla or Margo, they find it funny. 

Now in reach, you lift an origami flower to his ear and attempt to prop it there. He has a flash of a memory, a small hand by his face, the summer sun on his neck, and he can't deal with it. He grabs your wrist and pushes it away from him. 

Your eyes widen. You're not unused to his bad moods, but Miguel doesn't grab.

You look back, and he thinks it's because you're scared, and he wishes he could take it back straight away, but you're looking for Margo and Lyla. When you see they aren't there, you take his face into your empty hand and ask, "What's wrong?" 

Miguel doesn't answer. He doesn't know what to say. Sorry would be a good start, but his mouth is dry. He frowns down at you.

"I didn't mean to overstep," you say, uncharacteristically serious. 

"I didn't mean to grab you," he says. 

"I know. It wasn't so aggressive, anyways. I'm genetically enhanced, you know?" Your smile creases the delicate skin at the corners of your eyes. "I'll make you something else. A fan, for the heat, or a jumping frog." 

You turn and take a step away. Again, Miguel reaches for you, but when he takes your wrist this time it's with the kindness you deserve.

"I'm sorry, cariño," he says. 

He’s embarrassed for having pushed you away, even if he couldn’t control himself. All you were trying to do no doubt was make him happy. It's usually your main prerogative besides winding him up, and he can't find any ill will in a paper flower. 

"Cariño," you quote in a murmur. It doesn't take a second for you to return to your smiley, loving self. "That's definitely something nice." 

"It's affectionate." He doesn't explain more than that. 

You force your hand into his, twirling inward like a half-hearted dance. "I can tell," you say giddily, dropping your cheek into his chest. 

He rubs the back of your hand. Sorry, sorry, it says, each pass of his thumb against your skin. 

"Miguel," you say, in the lilting cadence of a girl with a favour to ask, "now you've ragged me around–" 

"Not what happened–" 

"–I was thinking maybe I could do something to you." You smile cheekily around your words. 

He sweeps his gaze across the office to make sure there's no one here with you both, or about to be. Complicated you may be, but Miguel knows you well. Better than he should. He spent a long time denying his feelings for you, aggrieved and guilty, and a longer amount of time resenting you for being so damned enchanting. Which wasn't your fault in reality —you're a weird creature, and you can be a little off-putting; it's Miguel's problem alone that he wants you as badly as he does. To feel your neat, teasing smirk under his lips. To have the line of your jaw against his hand as you whisper flirtation or laugh at your own awful jokes. 

To take your hip into his grasp and squeeze. 

There have been times where Miguel wanted to press you up against a wall and kiss you into silence, quieten your taunting teasing with a bite to match his bark. And there have been times where he wanted to rub the tense line between your shoulders, having caught you in a vulnerable moment, and promise that things will be better. 

He isn't making any more promises, not in this life, but he thinks that someone like you, who tries too hard to make people happy and sometimes wears two masks at once deserves to do whatever it is they want to do to people like him.

"Okay," he says quietly. His voice is rough as hewn stone. 

You have a pocket full of paper stars that crunch as you lean in. "I'm gonna kiss you, if you promise not not to freak out. Is that cool?" 

Okay, you deserve some softness, but Miguel would rather lead. Your hand falls to his chest, and his hands find your face. His fingers behind your ears, his thumbs aligned with your smile, he squeezes your cheeks in his hold gently, tilting your chin up, and up. The column of your throat is bared and begging to be scandalised. He can imagine it, the bruising his lips would leave behind like crescent moons and the pinprick crimson stars from his needling fangs if he were to only press down. 

"We'll compromise. I'll kiss you, and you'll let me apologise again." 

"I don't need you to say sorry again," you say softly. 

"Then I won't say it." 

The implication has heat rising to your cheeks. Your hand grabs uselessly at his suit as you close your eyes, and Miguel knows his cue. He leans down and kisses you, tender but a little rough, your lips soft and warm and eager as he encourages your head to one side. It feels like you try to say something but you don't move back, and so he doesn't either, kissing and kissing and kissing until he's sure he'll remember how it feel tonight, hours from now, when he's staring at a screen wishing you were haunting his office rather than in a doze in the girl's dormitory. 

"Miguel," you say, practically into his mouth. This time he pulls away, and you take a small step back so you don't have to crane your neck. "I, uh…" 

Miguel wipes the sheen from your bottom lip, not not listening but certainly not giving his full attention. He's hoping you'll let him kiss you again.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable with the flower," you say. 

His eyes lifted to yours. "It's not that. It's not you. Don't waste any time thinking about it, okay?" 

He pinches your chin between his forefinger and his thumb. You hold his eyes for a moment. 

"I don't really think," you say bashfully, wrapping your arms around his waist and giving him a hug he doesn't have time to reciprocate. 

"You think," he says, blinking as you retreat from him completely, waltzing back to your origami station on the floor. Your hips don't sway, but there's a movement to them he tracks. 

"About you, handsome? All the time." 

Miguel groans and turns back to his screens. Lyla appears silently, and sticks a finger into her mouth in a mock gag. 

"That's in poor taste," he says. 

"I would like to hand in my resignation." 

"You can't resign, Lyla. You're a hologram." 

She pushes her heart-shaped sunglasses up her nose and blinks out of view, refusing to speak to Miguel for the rest of the day outside of official Society business, and even then she's cranky. You fill the void of conversation with a mixture of nonsensical and merited suggestions, and by the time you leave for the night, his desk is decorated by a rainbow menagerie of paper animals, each one made with care. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading I hope you enjoyed! please consider reblogging if you have the time! <;3 if you have a request of this pairing or other miguel fics and want to share, im eager to see them!

my other miguel fics

[stevebabey]

you thought it would be all sweetness??? nooo u got to have a little miscommunication angst before anyone gets any hickies. but they will. in time >:) part one. part two. this is a part three :)

Steve blames it all on the clock.

That stupid cuckoo clock on the wall of the Munson trailer. It's an absolute horror of interior design that would make Steve’s mom shiver if she ever laid eyes on it. It’s probably why Eddie loves it — and the god-awful cuckoo! noise it makes when it goes off.

Because the moment Eddie utters that delightful question, asking for a hickie, the nerve of him, Steve loves it — and Steve is more than ready to oblige him — the stupid clock goes off.

It gives them both a fright, Steve more than Eddie. He gives a whole-body twitch that shifts them both, his head snapping to the wall, a breath forced out of his lungs at the sight of the mustard-coloured bird. Shit. Stupid fuckin’ clock, Steve thinks.

But it seems to break the trance over the room. The sweet tension of their shared closeness is sucked out of the room in an instant. Steve is suddenly aware of the time the popping out bird is announcing. It’s late. Far later than Steve intended to stay over, especially considering work tomorrow.

Without meaning to, the prickle under Steve’s skin rolls through his body. It steals away the comfort that he usually feels with Eddie, tenseness filling his body. Steve hates it — hates how he can’t stop himself from tensing up beneath Eddie.

Eddie notices. He's quick to to retract himself from Steve, pushing up and back, giving Steve his space. He sits beside Steve on the couch, still close. Not close enough to touch.

It helps. The rigidness of Steve's body relaxes just a bit but Steve doesn’t want that. He wants Eddie back on him. Wants his hands gripping Steve’s side. His breath fanning over Steve’s face, cheeks cherry red and pupils blown wide. Steve doesn’t say any of that and he sure is shit isn't brave enough to ask for it.

Instead, he croaks, “It’s late.”

Steve reluctantly pushes himself up from his slumped position, eyes already searching for his scattered shoes. He misses the way Eddie’s face falls, the way he tries to tug his hair in front of his face to hide the hurt. It takes another second to school his expression.

Steve hears a cough and then Eddie agrees with a murmur. “Yeah, sure.”

The words ache. No part of Steve is relieved to have Eddie agree with him. He’s not sure what he wanted; for Eddie to egg him to stay just a little while longer? To prove that their kisses hadn’t been a heat of the moment impulsivity? There's nothing to prove they weren't.

No, it was Steve who said he had to go. It is late. But then again maybe, Eddie wanted him to leave. But, no— Eddie just asked for a hickie, he wouldn’t—

“Don’t you have work early tomorrow?” Steve’s spiral cuts short at Eddie’s voice, tinged with… irritation?

O-kay. Now Steve’s not sure what to think. What had been the source of immense joy because Steve had asked for a kiss and Eddie said yes is suddenly… tilted.

The beginnings of embarrassment begin to cling to Steve like a thick fog. He’s done it again. Been overly eager. Asked for too much, too soon— fuck, that had been Eddie’s first kiss too.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, standing and shoving his foot into the one shoe he can find. He spies the other one under the table and wiggles it out with his toe. He can’t find in it to look at Eddie, not just yet. “Yeah, uh, I should get going.”

It’s all wrong. Steve shouldn’t be leaving — not on these terms. Not when he can’t look at Eddie for fear of what he’ll find. Regret? Steve’s not sure if he could face Eddie again, not if there’s even a trace of it on his face. It would feel like Halloween all over again, a bludgeon on Steve’s too-soft heart. It’ll crumble, he just knows it.

Steve wants to stay. He really wants to. He wants to ask for another kiss, ask for a dozen more kisses. Wants to give the hickie Eddie asked so nicely for and receive one back; matching love bites, like a gentler version of their matching twisted scars adorning their sides.

But he’s always asking for more. Steve always needs more. It’s greedy. It’s embarrassing how much he wants it, how he’s already gotten patient touches from Eddie but it’s not enough. Eddie had sounded a pinch annoyed — even aggravated at Steve.

It doesn't cross his mind that it might be for any other reason. Really, Steve thinks he’s doing Eddie a favour.

“Um,” Steve clears his throat, takes the wobble out of his words. Nods to himself and chances a glimpse at Eddie. The older is staring down at his lap, locks of hair trapped between twitchy fingers. They should talk about it. Steve’s not brave enough to risk his heart tonight.

“Well, g’night.” He says quietly, letting himself out the trailer door. He closes it behind him gently, shoes tapping against the stairs on the way down. It feels wrong, it feels wrong — but it would be selfish to turn back.

He repeats the sentiment over and over, raspy whispers beneath his breath as he climbs into his car. It would be selfish. The engine turns over and he hesitates for just a moment, hoping to catch a silhouette in the kitchen window. It’s empty. Of course, it’s empty.

Of course, Eddie is not chancing for a glance at him on his way out because Steve just asked for more and more and more, and he took Eddie’s first kiss and then— He whispers it to himself again. It would be selfish to turn back.

When he thinks about it on the drive home, Steve’s sure it all comes back to that stupid fucking clock.

-

Eddie stares in the mirror.

He’s not sure why he was so convinced there would be some radical change in him upon popping his make-out cherry but… well, here he was. Staring in the mirror like he had this morning. Except 10 hours earlier, he had been unkissed.

Tonight, the difference shows. His lips are rosier than usual, a swell to them given by hasty sweet kisses. It’s the only evidence of his spit-sharing moment of passion with Steve on the couch. The rosy colour is already beginning to fade.

Eddie sinks his teeth in. He doesn’t want the only physical proof that he even got to kiss Steve to be gone so soon. Even if that fact seems terribly bitter now.

“What the shit did you do, Munson?” He murmurs to himself in the tiny bathroom mirror.

It’s got toothpaste specks splayed across it. Eddie stares past them. Stares into his own face, reading every change in his features as emotions inside him churn. It’s heading for a distraught expression, the upturn of his brows and quiver in his lips giving him away. He always was a crier. Eddie really wishes he wasn’t.

“Idiot!” He pairs the word with a bang on the wall beside the mirror, frustration leaking out. The toothbrush on the sink shudders in its cup with a clink.

Eddie hates the welling in his eyes. He hates that he ruined the first fuckin’ good thing to happen to him in this town. Loathes that he drives away the first person who actually knows him and still wants to kiss him.

Well, wanted to kiss him.

Eddie’s pretty sure Steve scampering out of the trailer is more than a big enough sign. It’s a blazingly bright neon sign — light up words that say ‘This was a mistake!’

Except, it hadn’t felt at all like a mistake to Eddie. It had felt wonderful, better than anything he had thought, the soft curve of Steve’s lips, the grip on his hands on Eddie’s face, the heat in his face, the— Eddie growls, wiping his hand down his face to shake the thoughts. Too good to be true was what it was.

It’s because of what he said. Of what he asked for. It had to be that. But— but Steve had looked eager and almost excited and then the stupid clock had gone off, scaring the shit out of them both. Maybe it was then that Eddie’s words had sunk in and Steve realised what he’d gotten into— and who he’d gotten into it with.

“You had to ask for more, huh?” Eddie scolds himself angrily, wiping his cheeks harshly when a tear streaks free. Another follows, just as fast. Eddie wipes roughly at his face to clear them. Doesn’t care about the streaks of red he leaves on his cheeks. Another trembling reprimand comes out. “You just had to push it, huh? You fuckin’ idiot.”

Eddie can’t stand his reflection anymore. He tears his gaze away as he spins and heads straight for his room.

The button on his stereo is sticky and it takes a few forceful clicks to turn it on, but when he does, he cranks it. It’s loud enough he’ll surely wake some neighbours. Eddie can’t find it in him to care, not even when the neighbours dog starts off with its incessant barking. Anything to stop hearing himself cry.

-

“Something’s up with Eddie.” is the first thing Robin says when she comes in the front door.

Steve’s mid-yawn when she does, a result of a night of tossing and turning, and he somehow manages a strange choke at her words. In a haste to shut his mouth, he chomps on his fingers covering his mouth — then hisses, pulling it away from his face. He ignores Robin’s perplexed expression, shoving the hand deep in his pocket. His ears feel a tad hotter.

“What? Why? What makes you think that?” Steve asks the questions in rapid succession. Very chill, he chides himself. At this rate, Robin would have him all figured out 10 minutes into their shift.

And it’s not like— well, Robin’s advice is usually great. A bit cut-throat, sure. She doesn’t have a problem trodding on his feelings on her way to tell him the hard truth. Usually, it’s fine. Steve could probably do with a bit of ego-bruising.

Today, he’s… It’s different. That’s what Steve tells himself. This thing with Eddie, he wants to fix it himself. And with too much meddling from Robin’s advice, even if it was with the best intentions, might mix things up too much. It’s hard enough keeping his half-baked apology that’s been brewing since last night in proper order in his mind.

Thankfully, Robin doesn’t comment on his odd demeanor. She just bustles into the back room — there are a couple sounds of her dumping her stuff. When she comes back out the front, she’s fixing her Family Video vest. It looks perfectly straight to Steve.

He checks his own — it’s sitting askew, part of the collar flipped over. He hastily fixes it, running his hands down the front to smooth it a bit.

“Just,” Robin starts, talking as she sits in front of the computer, beginning to take a crack at the admin she managed. She likes doing things as she talks, Steve knows. Helps keep her from letting words run away from her.

Steve’s thankful for it now because she isn’t looking at him when she says, “I think he might have had a bad nightmare last night, or something of that sort. I don’t know. Maybe I’m way off — you know how I am with trying to read people, Steve. I’m not good at it! But when I saw him, he just seemed…”

Robin seems to take an extra moment to deliberate her word choice. Steve’s really glad she’s still facing the computer so she can’t see the myriad of emotions that show on his face.

“…Off.” is the word she decides on.

Which means bad. Steve feels like he’s swallowed a stone. It sinks deep into his stomach. It burns, sour and scorned, twisting up his gut. It means Eddie is bad — it means disappointment, means he regretted it. That Steve had been right; that he’d been too eager, too soon. Too much.

Right. Of course, this happens again. Really, Steve had brought it on himself by asking for so much. It had been one thing to ask for a hug — who actually has to do that? — and then to expect he might get Eddie to kiss him too? What a overstep. Christ, he's an idiot.

“That’s not…” He hears himself say, still lost in his thoughts. It's only when Robin turns on the stool, brows raised, that Steve realises he hasn’t finished his sentence. “Good. That’s not good. To hear.”

Steve turns and starts shuffling around the films on the returns cart, picking them up at random. He stares at a copy of ‘The Princess Bride’ in his hands, a new release, and forces out a causal question.

“What made you think that?” He asks, shoving the film into an empty slot, like he was arranging them. He’s relieved when Robin’s clicking on the keyboard resumes, along with a dramatic sigh.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can be trusted to read anyone’s emotions correctly at any given time, honestly. Remember that old lady? I thought she was being sweet that whole time and then you told me she was being rude! And I couldn’t even tell…”

Robin’s ramble is comforting and helpful to Steve in a way he didn’t know they could be. He presses the cart out, finally getting a move on with it, but delivers a quick nod to Robin when she’s looking to let her know he’s still tuned in. He listens to her get distracted by another topic and leaves Eddie’s name in the dust. It’s a silent relief.

It’s a task to multi-task, listening and devising a plan, but Steve has all shift to find the balance. It’s sometime between finishing re-stocking the action section and starting the romance that Steve decides he should apologise. He should go over today and apologise.

Eddie’s a big boy but Steve’s fairly certain now, if he regretted it, Eddie had probably felt obliged to kiss him back. Probably hadn’t minded the first kiss but- but— Something sticks in his brain; it was Eddie’s first kiss.

It makes Steve feel worse. It doesn’t matter, really, Steve should say sorry for all of it. God, he’s such an idiot.

By the time he’s clocked out, it’s all set in place. He’s got a dozen different apologies running in a loop in his head, reciting the words in time with his anxious tapping on the steering wheel. It’s not a long drive out to Forest Hills Trailer Park. The drive is well-known now. Steve tries hard not to wallow in what he might be losing today. What he lost because he’d been too greedy with want.

The sight of a brown van parked roadside yanks him from his thoughts. Eddie’s van. Steve’s stomach turns, nerves gnawing faster. He slows, trying to catch eye of the other boy as he rolls to a stop behind the van. The sun is beginning to dip closer to the horizon, the temperature going with it.

At the same time, they see each other; Eddie’s head popping around the raised hood to see who had stopped, right as Steve pops his door. Eddie retreats in an instant. Steve's chest grows a bit tighter.

Gravel crunches underfoot as Steve takes a few wary steps closer. It doesn’t take more than a couple before Eddie calls out. He doesn’t bother poking his head out again.

“Go away, Steve.”

Steve swallows thickly. Yeah, okay, he deserves that. He deserves probably worse than that. But more importantly than that, Eddie deserves to hear this. And Steve... needs to not lose Eddie.

“Can I… can we talk?” Steve asks, taking a couple steps closer. A car whizzes by on the road, hidden from Steve's view behind the van. He still keeps his distance, hovering. His hands clench nervously at his sides. Steve shoves them deep in his jean pockets, wiping the sweat off them as he goes.

“What part of ‘Go away’ isn’t clear enough for you?” Eddie snarks back. He still doesn't stick his head out, still won’t look at Steve. It stings.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Steve starts, another instinctive step forward taken. “I-I just, I shouldn’t have left like I did last night. I wanted to apologise.”

There’s a clattering from behind the hood like Eddie’s dropped a tool. He swears. Steve wants to take another step, wants to see Eddie — wants to read every emotion and apologise for causing any of the ugly ones.

“Well, apology accepted,” Eddie responds. There’s a bite in his words. His next words are grumblier, quieter. “And message fuckin’ received.”

What? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That—” Finally, Eddie steps away from the van, rounding the hood to march up to Steve. His arms cross over his chest, a wrinkle set between his brows that pull his face into a glare. Robin was right; he is off. This isn’t normal Eddie. Fuck, Steve had fucked up bad.

“That means message received, Steve.” Eddie seethes. He uncrosses his arms to gesture wildly. Steve misses the wobble in his bottom lip. “Message received loud and clear! I get it!”

And all Steve wants to ask is: get what? He doesn’t ask that. He should know what. That would be an idiotic question, would make Eddie more irritated. Lord knows, Steve has been enough of a fool in the last day. So, he doesn’t ask.

“Look, I just…” Steve starts, words a bit weak. They die in his throat as he tries to recall a single apology he had practiced all day and comes up empty. “I’m just- I just wanted—look, I’m sorry I took your first kiss!”

It’s not exactly what he means to say, but Steve certainly is sorry for it. Eddie’s expression wavers, some anger slipping away. Confusion takes its place.

“What?” Eddie says with a tone of bafflement. “What are you talking about?”

“And I’m sorry I kept… kept asking for more.” Steve continues on, pulling on the thread inside him, connected to the terrible stone he swallowed earlier. He tugs it. Hopes pulling it will unravel the guilt sitting heavy in his stomach.

Steve scrunches his eyes shut and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I know, okay? I know that I can be a lot.” He sighs and drops his hands.

“But I didn’t mean to… shit,” He wrenches his eyes open. Eddie’s a bit wide-eyed now, brown eyes watching him intently. Steve doesn’t know what expression he’s wearing, can’t tell if it’s good or worse. He continues, soft words scraping out his throat.

“I didn’t mean to be like that with you.”

Eddie searches Steve’s face, eyes darting and wild. He licks his lips. His hands are in motion, fingers twisting rings, quick and fast. It’s a nervous action.

“What do you mean by ‘like that?’” Eddie asks, voice gentler. It's lost its snarl from before.

Steve blinks, a scrape of teeth worrying his bottom lip. He murmurs his admittance lowly, just one word, “Selfish.”

Eddie doesn’t try to hide his surprise; it ripples across his face in a wave. Confusion melts away into something closer to, Steve hopes desperately, relief. Steve can feel his own heart thudding hard inside his chest — can feel the beat it skips when Eddie steps closer.

“Steve?” Eddie says, sounding unlike himself. Steve’s never heard his voice that small. He nods, wordlessly. Eddie searches his face once more — wide brown eyes scanning and devouring. Steve can’t help but do the same.

He drinks in the details of Eddie’s face; the soft scruff along his top lip, the darkness of his lashes and the way they kiss in the corner that Steve adores. The pink of his lips. The familiar ache to kiss Eddie surges up within him, still as violent and strong as it had been the night before.

Steve should really stop looking at Eddie’s lips. He’s supposed to be apologising. He drags his eyes up and meets Eddie’s gaze full-on, prepared for whatever he might say. Except, he’s not expecting him at all to say;

“Can I... try this again?” It comes out a ragged breath, Eddie's scared eyes conveying the weight behind his words.

And this time Steve doesn't even need to ask what because he knows. Because Eddie's hands are reaching up and holding either side of Steve's face so gently. Steve can't recall a time he's ever been held so softly. His own hands come up slowly, draping around Eddie's wrists to hold them, to keep them there.

Eddie's thumb traces. It draws a sweet line of that familiar fire beneath Steve's skin along til it's settled on Steve's bottom lip, resting. The blood under Eddie's thumb thrums, gloriously warm, aching with want. Yes. Steve thinks. Yes, yes, yes.

"Yes, please." Steve breathes, so sincere the words comes out as a kiss against Eddie's thumb.

So, Eddie kisses him.

now with a part four !

tags below! sry if i tagged u and u didn't want it just tagging everyone who replied <3 @they-reap-what-we-sow @impeachy @anaibis @resident-gay-bitch @ediewentmissing @newtstabber @original-cypher @invisibleflame812 @hunterbow04 @leather-and-freckles @dracoswifeandlokispet @foolofentirelytoomanyfandoms @lfaewrites @sundead @call-me-big-eyes @the-redthread @goblinmanifesto @etaka @bishopextractions @ketterfuck @persephone13 @beckkthewreck @maya-custodios-dionach @autumnal-dawn @yourstrulyjoko @gleefully-macabre @princess-eddie @savory-babby