#again don’t worry about drawing anything for this

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Grew in my Heart

It's finally done you guys!!!! This is my take on a foster Pony au, loosely based on this idea from @freak-l0rd-certifed. It's currently unedited but I'll post it here anyways, and then cross post an edited version on my ao3. @pepsicurtis asked to be tagged when it was done based on a snippet I posted earlier, so here you go. This is part 1, part 2 is fully written and will be up tomorrow.

***************

The lady on the other side of the room is watching him.

That’s okay though. Ponyboy is used to people watching him. Social workers, foster parents, group home staff, police. Everyone watches him all the time but nobody cares, cares for him or about him, so Ponyboy doesn’t mind this lady joining in. He knows he looks weird, with his sticky out ears and the patchy haircut Mr. Fuller gave him and the bruise around his eye. So he understands why this lady is watching him, and doesn't begrudge her for it.  Besides, she looks like a nice lady. Nice ladies don’t usually watch him. If they do they don’t usually look at him with the kindness glowing in the woman’s shining green eyes.

The lady smiles at him and he ducks back into his book, ears burning. She wasn’t supposed to catch him looking.

When he peeks over the top of his copy of Great Expectation a minute later, she’s still watching him, smiling in a way Ponyboy would call amusement if he didn’t know better. He quickly hides again, cursing himself for drawing notice. It’s never a good thing. Never. Better he stay quiet, stay invisible. Invisible kids didn’t get hurt.

He hopes Ms. Summers will come back soon and take him to wherever he’ll be staying next, if only so that he can leave the waiting room, escape from where this nice lady and her nice family are no doubt waiting for them to bring a brand new baby to adopt. Probably one only a few days old, something sweet and cute and new they could love and pamper. Nice people only ever came to the child services offices to pick up babies. Anyone who came to pick up kids was usually about as nice as the people who dropped them off. 

He goes back to his book. Usually it’s easy to escape into the story where he can pretend to be a knight or a hero or anything but stupid, small, unwanted Ponyboy Hewitt, but he can’t seem to concentrate today. It’s not just because of the nice looking lady with the green eyes who keeps watching him, keeping an eye on him the same way she’s been keeping an eye on the three boys who came in with her. His head is also aching something fierce. That last knock from Mr. Fuller was kind of hard. 

Hard enough Ms.Summers thought he should move again anyway.

“Quit fidgeting, Soda,” an authoritative voice from the other side of the room says, and Ponyboy can’t help but glance over. He tells himself it’s because the speaker was kind of loud, but he knows deep down that’s not the case. It’s not because the boy is loud, it’s because he’s cool. He’s a lot bigger than Pony is, and older too, with wavy brown hair and broad shoulders. He could probably look Mr.Fuller square in the face and never be scared, not ever. “We have to show we’re the perfect family or they won’t let us keep Johnny.”

“Really?” The boy who answers has golden blond hair and rosy cheeks with a dimple high in one corner. Pony never really understood what books meant when they talked about eyes twinkling until the boy had pranced into the office a few minutes before, looking like a prince straight from a fairytale. His eyes aren’t twinkling now though: instead, they’re shining with worry. His shadow, a smaller boy with jet black hair and tan skin, looks the same, eyes wide and terrified in his peaked face. “They can’t do that just ‘cause I’m sittin’ wrong, can they mom?”

He turns anxiously to the nice lady who smiles and smooths down his hair.

“Of course not honey,” she soothes, “we don’t gotta prove we’re perfect to keep Johnny, we just gotta prove we love him. And we do.”

She turns her smile on the dark haired boy who flushes and ducks his head shyly, looking unfathomably pleased. Ponyboy swallows hard and looks away, his own ears reddening. It’s not fair for him to hate the dark haired boy, he knows it isn’t, but it doesn’t matter. In that moment, he kind of hates him anyway. 

The woman’s gentle smile has confirmed what he suspected all along. She’s a nice mom, the kind he’s only ever read about in storybooks. She probably kisses those boys goodnight- even the big one, even if he pretended it wasn’t cool- and probably smells like cinnamon and bakes birthday cakes sometimes, puts bandages on cuts, and never slaps them, not ever. 

He wants Ms. Summers to come back. He wants to leave. He doesn’t want to sit here and watch a boy his own age get adopted by the kind of family he wishes he could have more than anything in the world. 

The blonde boy sticks his tongue out at the cool one and makes a fart noise.

“See Darry? They ain’t gonna take Johnny! You’re stupid and wrong!”

“Sodapop Patrick Curtis!” A man Ponyboy assumed must be the nice lady’s husband and the boys’ father boomed, “What have I told you about using that kind of language towards your brother?”

“That it's not how we speak to our family,” the blonde boy, Sodapop, says like he was reading off a teleprompter. Clearly, this was not the first time he’d heard that particular reprimand, “but dad, I was only defending my other brother.”

“Be that as it may,” Mr.Curtis said, “I don’t want to hear that language from you any more.” He sounded stern, but his eyes were still glinting proudly and there was a smile hiding somewhere near the corner of his mouth. Not a scary dad then. A good one.

“Yeah Soda,” the older boy, Darry, grinned, seeming unperturbed by the insult. He was real handsome, Pony thought. If he was Sodapop he’d never call that Darry boy stupid, not ever. “Save that language for socs. Or Two-bit when he’s playin’ poker against Dally.”

Sodapop laughed then, any traces of animosity disappearing, Johnny grinning quietly beside him. 

Ponyboy decides he’s done watching them be happy, and goes to the washroom.

He does his business, standing on tiptoe to reach the sink when he’s done because it’s meant for adults not for kids and there's no footstool. He can’t reach the soap, even when he jumps, so he just settles for rinsing extra long. The paper towel dispenser is also too high to reach so he dries his hands on his pants and goes back to the waiting room. 

“Oh honey, wait,” he doesn’t realize the nice lady is speaking to him until she’s kneeling in front of him, tugging his shirt from where he hadn’t noticed it had gotten twisted and tucked into his pants, pulling it out and smoothing it down nicely, “there you go. All handsome again.”

She smiles, looking like sunshine incarnate, and Ponyboy kind of wants to die.

“Thank you.” He mumbles, sure he must be redder than a tomato, then flees back to his chair on the other side of the waiting room. They’re all watching him now, the nice lady and her nice husband, and the three boys who are now all sitting in a circle on the floor, playing a game of cards. 

He opens Great Expectations to a random page and stares at it hard, trying very hard not to cry. He’s almost seven years old, he’s not a baby anymore. He will not cry just because one lady was nice to him and now her perfect family is staring at him. He won't. 

“Hi!” Suddenly, blonde, beautiful Sodapop is in front of him, grinning like Ponyboy is the best thing he’s ever seen ever, “I’m Soda. Wanna play cards with us?”

He wants to, more than anything, but he knows if he does it’ll just feel worse when they leave and he doesn’t go with them , or when Ms. Summers comes to drag him away to whoever will bother keeping him for the next few weeks, so he can’t.

He shakes his head, unable to actually say no, and Soda deflates, eager grin melting into an unhappy pout, shoulders curling forward, and the twinkle in his eye dimming. He looks like Pony just ruined his whole day with one shake of his head. 

“Ok,” he sighs, dramatic and world weary, and it would seem like an act if his eyes weren’t entirely genuine, “if you change your mind, you can c’mon over anytime. It would be so much more fun with another person.”

He rejoins the other two boys who shoot curious looks Pony’s way, but he ignores them, looking back at his book. He’s not reading though. He can’t. Instead he’s listening to the boys playing cards, wishing more than anything that he could join them.

“I win.” Dark haired Johnny proclaims for the third time and Soda throws down his cards with a dramatic groan, while Darry just laughs. He seems real nice, not like the big boys at the group homes who liked to steal Pony’s books and shove him around. He hadn’t gotten mad at Soda or Johnny even once, not even when they were playing Go Fish and Soda cheated by peeking at his cards. 

“You little shark,” Darry ruffled Johnny's dark hair, the smaller boy flinching a little before leaning into the touch, “how do you keep doin’ that, huh?”

Johnny shrugged. “It’s a secret.”

“You’re cheatin’!” Soda accused.

“Am not!”

“Are too! No one wins as much as you.”

“I’m just good at cards without cheatin’.”

Soda huffed. “You’re lucky you’re my brother now or I’d fight you.”

“I’d win.” Johnny boasts, and suddenly he looks fierce, chin jutting and eyes fiery, like every kid in every home who fought grownups and just ended up beaten down worse. 

“That’s enough,” Darry pulls the two apart, practically picking them each up with one hand, “quit arguin' or I’m putin’ the cards away.”

“No!” Soda throws himself to the ground, arm draped dramatically across his forehead, “I’ll die of boredom!”

“Then sit up and be good,” Darry tells him, and Soda scrambles to do as he’s told. Pony feels his own spine straightening. It’s just because he’s tired, he tells himself.  It has nothing to do with wanting Darry to look at him with the same approval he looks at Soda and Johnny with. He needs to stretch out a bit, that’s all.

“Y’know,” Darry says, disarmingly casual, easily shuffling the cards the way Pony always wanted to but could never manage, the movement too deft for his clumsy fingers, “there's so many more games we could play with four players.” 

If he didn’t know better Pony would swear Darry was looking at him sideways as he said it, grinning conspiratorially like they were sharing a joke. 

“Euchre…gin rummy…spades…signals…”

Pony’s heart jumped. He loved signals. 

It was practically another invitation right? And Soda had said he could join anytime if he changed his mind…surely one game wouldn’t hurt. 

He scoots forward a bit on the chair, considering. 

“Well?” Suddenly Darry- handsome, cool Darry- is grinning right at him, one eyebrow raised, “You in or not?”

And well….that was an actual invitation. From a big boy no less! Usually boys like Darry wanted nothing to do with him.

Pony could feel what was surely a far too eager grin spreading over his face and he nodded, quickly taking a spot on the floor in between Soda and Johnny. Darry’s grin turned triumphant, like he was the one who’d just been invited to play cards by a cool stranger. 

“Nice. What’s your name kiddo?”

“Ponyboy.” He mumbles, bracing himself for laughter that never comes. Instead Darry just nods, starting to deal cards with ease. 

“Tuff name. I’m Darry, and this here’s Johnny.” 

Pony offered a shy smile in response to Johnny’s friendly nod, earlier vitriol forgotten. It wasn’t Johnny’s fault he was lucky. Pony shouldn’t hate him for it. 

“You already met Soda.”

Darry gives Soda a fondly exasperated look, and Pony focuses very hard on the cards being dealt so he won’t have to look at their faces.

Unsure of what to say, he just nods. Luckily, Darry keeps talking.

“Well Ponyboy, I reckon since you just joined you get to pick the game.”

“R-really?”

“Sure.” Darry smiled kindly. Golly he was nice. “We’ll play a few rounds and then switch it up if any of us are getting bored.”

“Can-” Ponyboy hesitated. Darry nods, encouraging him to continue, “can we play signals?”

“Sure. You okay to be on a team with me?”

“Yes,” Pony could hardly believe his luck. Not only were they playing his favourite game, but Darry wanted to be on a team with him!

“Ok,” Soda chirped, “me’n Johnny are going over there so you don’t listen to us pick our signals like cheaters!”

“Soda!” Mr Curtis warned.

“I’m bein’ nice!”

Pony giggled. 

“Ignore him,” Darry advised, scooting over to sit beside him, “I wish I could say he’s just bein’ crazy ‘cause he’s excited, but the truth is he’s always like that. He ain’t really mean though, just has too much energy.”

“I know,” Pony tells him, “I seen mean before. He ain’t it. If he was mean he’d have taken my book or followed me to the bathroom and put my head in the toilet.”

A horrified gasp makes him jump. He’d momentarily forgotten all about sunshiney Mrs.Curtis, but now she’s staring at him in horror, eyes filled with rage. 

What did he do? Did she not want him to be telling her nice golden sons about stuff like that? 

“I-I’m sorry I-” he can feel his ears burning and wishes more than anything he’d stayed on that hard plastic chair where he was safe instead of getting drawn in by the light of the family in front of him. 

“Whoa, hey,” Darry catches him by the arm before he can scramble to his feet, grip not bruising like he’s used to but gentle, reassuring, “where are you going? We haven’t picked a signal yet.”

His smile is so hopeful. Hesitantly, Pony settles back down. 

“Ok.”

“Well?” Darry nudges him gently, carefully. It seems to Ponyboy that someone so big shouldn’t be able to do that and not hurt him just a little bit, but somehow Darry manages it. “What signal do you think we should do?”

Pony glances across the room at where Soda is gesturing exaggeratedly and talking at Johnny a mile a minute.

“Something small,” he decides, “something they won’t notice.”

“Good thinking,” Darry’s approval feels like sitting in the sunshine and eating ice cream and reading a book all at once, “how about…rubbing our noses?”

He demonstrates, rubbing a finger under his nose like he’s scratching an itch and Ponyboy nods, copying the action. 

“Perfect.”

He raises his left hand then. Taps his ear. Waits a few seconds. Taps his ear again.

“What are you doing?” Darry wonders. 

“I have a trick,” Ponyboy informs him.

“Oh?” Darry’s raising a single eyebrow again, looking intrigued. A swell of unearned pride starts in Ponyboy’s chest. 

“Yep,” Pony nods, “they’re watching us right now.”

Darry follows his gaze across the room to where Johnny is watching them out of the corner of his eye, while acting for all the world like he’s still focused on Sodapop. 

“So,” Ponyboy continues. He taps his ear again, “if we do a fake signal now, like we’re practicing, and then do it while we’re playing they’ll call signal and get themselves disqualified and we’ll win.”

“Huh,” Darry reaches up and taps his own ear, “good thinkin’ kid.”

Pony glows.

“We’re ready,” Soda announces a second later, dragging Johnny behind him, “and we have the best signal ever. You’ll never guess it.”

“We’ll see.” Darry challenges, flipping the first card off the deck, and the game begins.

Pony checks his own hand. Two jacks, a two, and a seven. Deciding to go for jacks he passes the two facedown and slides it left to Johnny, picking up the ten Soda placed down for him on the other side.

He passes and trades cards for a few seconds, managing to pick up a third jack on the way. When it’s been long enough it’s not suspicious, he reaches up and taps his ear, trying to make it seem like he’s scratching an itch.

The trick works. 

“Block!” Johnny cries triumphantly, pointing at him and Pony grins, shaking his head. 

“Nope!”

“What?” That’s Sodapop, “We’re out? But-but I’m with Johnny! Johnny always wins!”

“Guess not this time,” Darry grins, raising a hand. It takes a second for Pony to realize he’s reaching out for a high five instead of to cuff him, but when he does he reaches out eagerly, tapping Darry’s palm with his own.

“How did you do that?” Johnny wonders, head tilted in confusion, “I saw you tapping your ear earlier when you were making your signal.”

“It was a trick!” Pony grins. Darry is pleased, and they just won a card game, and no one here has gotten properly mad at him at all. 

Johnny shakes his head, grinning ruefully. “Well it was a good one.”

Soda declared he wanted a rematch, so they played a few more rounds, until Johnny figured out their trick and then both teams had so many fake signals and everyone was too scared to block anyone and could hardly remember their real signals from their fake ones. Darry was just proposing they switch to playing crazy eights when Ms. Summers hurried out of the office, looking harried as usual.

“Oh! Ponyboy,” She looks surprised to see him sitting on the floor, “don’t go botherin’ these nice folks now. I know you’ve had a long day, and I promise I’m workin’ as hard as I can to figure things out so just sit tight and be good a few minutes longer. I just got a few more calls to make and I’ll get you some lunch, alright? C’mon and sit properly now, that’s a good boy.” 

She pulls him to his feet, not roughly exactly, but carelessly, the way he’s used to, and he ducks his head, shoulders curling automatically as she frog marches him back to the plastic chair in the corner of the waiting room she’d parked him in at seven o'clock this morning.

“He ain’t botherin’ us!” Suddenly Soda is on his feet, glaring at Ms. Summers. “We invited him to play. We’re havin’ fun.”

“He’s really no trouble,” Mrs. Curtis smiles, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder. Her voice is as sugar sweet as ever but there’s something hard in her eyes nevertheless as she stares Ms. Summers down, “the boys are all havin’ fun playing together and I have no problem keepin’ an eye on him for you. He’s a good boy, like you said.”

She turns the full force of her smile on him, her eyes suddenly all softness, and Ponyboy finds himself wondering what it would be like if somebody looked at him like that every day, like he was something instead of nothing.

“Well, if you’re sure, I suppose that's fine. You be good Pony,” Ms. Summers says, and then she’s gone again, back into the office, back to making phone calls to find someone, anyone, willing to take him in.

Pony stands where she left him, half dragged across the room, lost in the waiting room he’d spend what felt like half his life in.

“That lady,” Soda says, “was a bitch.”

Darry’s eyebrows shoot up, and Soda grins cheekily over his shoulder in a way that says he fully expects a reprimand, but to Ponyboy’s surprise Mr.Curtis just nods slowly.

“Y'know son, I think in this case you might be right.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Mrs. Curtis says, but it’s so half-hearted even Ponyboy can tell. Her eyes are fixed on Ms.Summers’ door, lips pressed into a thin line, and Pony gets the feeling she’s real mad but hiding it real well.

“She don’t know what to do with me,” Pony finds himself defending his social worker. She ain’t mean really, ain't even a bad person. She’s just busy. Too busy to really care. “It ain’t her fault. I cause her a lotta problems.”

“I have a very hard time believing that,” Mrs. Curtis says, “I don’t think you could cause problems if you tried.”

He could. He wasn’t like Curly from the group home, who did everything he possibly could and then some to cause problems, but Pony did create them sometimes. One time he’d burned Mrs.Delvine’s sheets when he was ironing because she hadn’t given him dinner the night before. And he’d put half a shaker of salt in Mr.Fuller’s soup after he gave him this stupid haircut. But he never tried to cause problems for Ms. Summers and he still caused them anyway.

He shrugs. “No one wants me. It’s her job to find someone who’ll put up with me. I can’t blame her for bein’ tired.”

“You’re still a little boy,” Mrs.Curtis shakes her head, and usually Ponyboy hates being called little but he finds he doesn’t mind too much when she says it, “she shouldn’t be takin’ any of her frustrations out on you.”

Pony wants to tell her that his own mother didn’t want to be stuck with him so he can hardly blame his social worker for feeling the same way. He wants to tell her about how tired he is and how much his head hurts and how hungry he is. He wants to tell her a lot of things. He doesn’t.

“Oh honey,” he doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he’s wrapped in a warm hug, held protectively against Mrs. Curtis’ chest, his sobs muffled against the stretched collar of her pretty yellow dress. He’s sure he must be getting snot on her, but she doesn’t seem to mind, holding him closer when he starts to squirm away and apologize, cooing to him until he settles down, “oh honey.”

She scoops him up then, because she’s a grown up and he’s still pretty small for six years old, and she sets him on her knee and kisses his forehead, and even if it won’t last and he will never feel this again after today, for once he knows what it’s like to be comforted and loved by a mother. 

Golly he’s tired.

“You just have a sleep now,” she pulls his head down to rest against her shoulder, running a gentle hand through his shorn off hair, “you just have a good sleep and don’t worry about a thing.” 

He feels his eyelids drooping. She drops a soft kiss on his forehead, her fingers never ceasing their soothing motions in his hair.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, baby,” he hears her say as he drifts off, “I promise. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

He sleeps.

[dieselfang]

I need to write this down before I fucking forget because holy shit I just dreamt so vividly of a non-existent Murder Drones episode (which takes place after episode 8)

List of events since I can’t remember everything

N starts going to school with Uzi (not a very important note but I thought it was cute, Uzi helped N keep his tail from causing any damage by clipping it to his backpack)

N’s been having daymares/hallucinations

Uzi and V end up in a disagreement and start fighting I don’t know why

Uzi built these sick ass limb extensions that make her look like a disassembly drone

Uzi and Lizzy angst that I genuinely cannot remember the point of

N’s daymares become worse, as if he’s reliving every horror he’s faced in the past all at once

Uzi’s preoccupied with V for once again, reasons that I do not remember

The dream fucking cut to me actually watching the episode with my boyfriend??? I DONT REMEMBER ANYTHING ELSE IM GONNA LOSE IT

Legit this is why I actually become excited to fall asleep at night

I’m not super worried about nightmares because I take medicine that helps prevent them so going to sleep is something I actually enjoy

This dream was fucking awesome and I’m sad I couldn’t remember all of it, but I might draw Uzi’s limb extensions at some point cuz I thought they looked badass

[machveil]

Beautiful, cute, dulzura, A quick question, do you have any advice for drawing? I see your drawings and I just fell in love with them, I just started drawing again but it's difficult...

I don't know, sorry, English is not my first language, using translator jiji 🤎🍁

(note: this post is long, grab a snack lol) ah! no problem, don’t worry about the translator haha (pinterest link - this is my masterboard for human references! I’ll talk about it more below)

I think my best advice for anyone wanting to draw is to break down your piece into shapes! (also, depending on your style, using different line weights)

from my experience, while looking at the whole reference is good, it’s easier to break down individual parts! while some parts can look complicated, a lot of things can be broken down into triangles, squares, and circles (or half circles)

I focus on character art, so I’ll be speaking about that - but it can applied to scenery and objects too. a lot of characters clothes are broken up into colored articles already - in the top reference, Ghost has a red bandanna on his arm! that bandanna helps break up his arm: the top near his shoulder is triangular, the bandanna itself is overall rectangular, and the bottom of his sleeve is a square

of course, depending on how you’re posing the character it can change the angle of what we’re seeing - there’s also an accommodation that your art probably won’t be a 1-to-1 copy with your reference. Ghost’s right arm (bandanna) has a white rolled up sleeve - while the model’s sleeve is square, I prefer to draw rolled sleeves more triangular

I think line weight is also important depending on your style! I prefer thicker lines around the entire character, and defining qualities also get thicker lines

I like thinner lines inside the character to help define dimensional shape and form. I use thicker lines on the inside of the body if there’s a shape/area that’s more in the foreground - example: König’s chest and midsection have thick line art to help differentiate from his left arm (behind his body)

I know a common piece of advice is to use real life references, and I agree… but, I never hear people talk about how to use references in a way that actually helps (“just draw from real life”, or “drawing with a reference is good practice”). I experienced that and wasn’t able to take anything away for years!

within the past year or so I seriously took a look at how using references can help me, so I want to try and talk about that - if I had trouble learning from references I’d wager someone else has

here’s my best example of using a reference because I actually remembered to! I labeled the figure to make it a little easier to follow

(1) my first tip is using a reference to figure out how the body ‘flows’. the human body has a lot of soft, rounded lines when you look at a picture - very few things are legitimately straight and sharp. I used the reference specifically to figure out how men’s pecs are shaped (of course, this is just one reference… because this is my headcanon for König’s body type haha)

(1) looking at references can help you understand how muscles move. in the reference with the woman, you notice how her right arm (down) muscles are layered - the shape portrayed by the reference lets you see how an arm’s muscles might be laid out in that position

(2) my second tip from the König reference is to look at negative space! the highlighted red portion between the arm and midsection is roughly the same negative space as the reference. if you’re using a reference and something feels off with the placement of what you’ve drawn I’d recommend looking at the space your reference takes up

(2) the negative space trick helps me line up where proportions should meet up - the distance between her arms lets me gauge how the rest of her body should be proportioned

(2) while it doesn’t match up 1-to-1 with the reference when layered overtop, it doesn’t have to! the negative space between the arms was enough for the sketch to mimic what the reference looks like. art doesn’t have to be a 1-to-1, but negative space can help you figure out ‘why does that arm look funny?’, “that arm looks funny because, compared to the negative space of your reference, it’s too (far away/close) to the body.”

(3) my last tip is the simplest, so I’ll just be referring to the König figure! when using references I look to gauge the distance between different body parts - it helps me get more realistic proportions. the bit I specifically compared to was the man’s stomach placement compared to his waist. I didn’t copy it 1-to-1 because I like the idea König has more of a tummy, but the reference allowed me to figure out an anatomical placement for where König’s stomach would be compared to his waist

I hope my advice wasn’t terrible haha everyone’s art journey is different, but these are tips I would have liked to know a few years ago (specifically the reference material ones lol). I wanted to focus more on the reference material because when people say ‘just use a reference, it’ll help’ it didn’t do it for me

I personally needed a more in depth explanation on why I would use a reference, what should I be looking at - because just drawing a person doesn’t necessarily help, and how should I be learning from it - I accidentally taught myself negative space before I knew what it was

but uhm… yeah, I hope this wasn’t awful! good luck on everyone’s art journeys, just remember that you’re allowed to take your time and try different things

if you guys have any other questions about my art feel free to jump into my inbox; process wise, inspiration, etc - I’ll answer anything I can<3

[peoniesnro]

In Another Universe

#7. GOOD FUCKING BYE!

Synopsis – When you are just another iteration of Park Jimin’s girlfriend in a different universe.

Park Jimin × Reader

Genre – parallel universe (duh)/ kind of fantasy/ strangers to ??/ SMUT/ maybe romance/ angst/ fluff /Infidelity

Warnings- Language/SMUT- Making out/ Dirty talks/ Grinding/ Dry Humping/Cuming in Pants/ Oral (M.Receiving)/ Fingering/ Public sex (kind of)/ Word 'slut' and 'whore'/ Angst toward the end/ INFIDELITY

Word count- 16k (I'm not sorry anymore.)

a/n- So, this on took so long. But I hope it's worth the wait. I worked so hard on this one genuinely hope you'll enjoy. Thakyou so much for reading.

Taglist?

Chapter Index

Previous - Next

Cold beams of sunlight are seeping through the beige curtains of the cottage room. Creating dappled patterns on the wooden floor. Your cheek is pressed against Jimin’s chest. Eyes wearily staring at his laptop screen. This is a very stupid idea. Agreeing to stay awake another day. Especially, when you’re drunk. At this moment, you want nothing but to sleep the exhaustion away. You’ve drunk enough water to sober up. Since neither of you were hungry, decided you’ll wait till the morning. A good shower refreshed you. Yet you and Jimin are still slightly drunk.

When he asked you to stay. Asked you to pretend that this is normal and keep being insane. You’ve thought he was going to continue. Continue from where he stopped. Make you cum again and again. But the moment he just dragged you inside your room, he had insisted you to take a shower. Then he did the same. From that very moment this is what you’ve been doing. Watching some interesting and intriguing drama. But no matter how intriguing the drama is, you’re a little bit disappointed. No, you’re deeply disappointed.

Why? Why isn’t he doing anything?

True, he is holding you close. You’re entangled with each other. His hand is curled around your figure. Drawing mindless patterns in your forearm occasionally. Still, that is it. It’s quite weird to be honest. Everything is weird anyway. You should feel guilty. And you do. But the sensation of his warm body and the beating of his heart make that guilt wash away. There’s an elephant in the room. Too large to be ignored. Funny how you both keep ignoring it. You convince yourself that it’s okay. You agreed to pretend this is normal for a day anyway. The thing is, however, that you thought that normal would be fucking each other’s mind out. You hoped you two would be satiated and no longer will be drooling at each other. As much as how wrong it still is, you thought it would at least put an end to the mess.

Then, here you are. Oddly wrapped in one another’s embrace. How strange.

You jump when Jimin takes away his hand from your forearm and places it in your cheek. Even after being this way for few hours, his hands are still a little bit cold. He rubs your cheek affectionately.

“You’re not sleepy, are you?” Mumbles into your hair. You shake your head without raising it. “Are you too tired? Do you wanna sleep? We can sleep if you want to. You don’t have to stay awake if it’s too hard.” Asks again. Worry etched in his voice. Makes you snort. Your heart is swelling, nonetheless. Throughout your time watching this, you really didn’t watch the drama. You more of talked and talked about many things. So, you were not sleepy. That and the uncontrollable beating of your heart. Your body and mind were restless. Now, though, your heart is calming down. Your body is starting to relax.

“I’m fine Park.” You mutter into his cozy hoodie. Lazily. Stifling a yawn. Making Jimin’s chest rumble as he chuckles at that. He pauses the drama playing on the screen. You let out a noise of protest. Not that you really want to watch it, but the protagonist is about to uncover the truth. Jimin doesn’t give a fuck about it, however. Closes the device and puts it aside. Fumbles around, making you sit up straight. He follows, leaning against the headrest. You whine. There’s no ounce of strength left in you. You don’t even want to lift a finger. But then, he slips his hand under your thigh, pulls it over his lap. Manhandling you to straddle his lap. Suddenly, you’re not tired anymore. Your droopy eyes are all wide now. Heart is back to thumping madly, making your breath hitch. You gasp.

“Jimin.” Mumble as he settles you comfortably on his lap. Knees pressing onto the mattress from either side of him. You didn’t really bring any clothes. Everything you packed was Liya’s. Hence, you’re wearing Jimin’s clothes. Yet again. Sweats and a T-shirt. Cozy. Smells like him. Drive you insane. You’re a fucking pervert after all.

Jimin hums in answer as he nuzzles his nose against yours. Wraps his arms around your waist and brings you impossibly closer. Flushed against him. Places his chin on your shoulder.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Asks the same thing for the millionth time now. This time in your ear. Voice low. Doesn’t wait for your answer when he starts to press his lips onto your neck. It’s okay to let him know it feels good now. So, you moan. A breathless one. Pathetic. A single touch is enough to get your head spinning. You’re certain he knows that. Of course, he does. Knows exactly what he is doing when his kisses turn into little sucks and nibbles on your skin. Focusing on the spot that gets your toes curling.

Finally!

“Are you sure baby?” He starts rubbing your back, all the while keeping his lips on you. You whimper. Your own hands clinging on to him for your dear life. One on his shoulders and the other on the back of his neck.

“I’m okay Jimin…” You want to say more but he is making you rock your hips now. His hands slipping inside your T-shirt. Touching your bare back. His touches feel so good. Better when he drags his hands to your front. Starting to fondle with your breasts. Nipples are already hard and aching. He massages them softly, with both of his hands, occasionally circling the nipples with his thumbs. You pull away from his body a little bit. Only enough to face him and find his lips on yours. Feel a little bold now. Are eagerly rocking your hips, dragging your clothed cunt over his hardening length. Can feel it hardening against you. How good that feeling is. Jimin kisses you back eagerly. Instantly sneaking his tongue inside and lapping against yours. Turning the kiss into messy and sloppy. Heated. Working against you seamlessly.

You hate the layers of clothing you have. Want to feel everything. To think about it, you’ve came every time; he never has. He has seen everything of you. You haven’t. You think that’s beyond being unfair. You pull away, tugging at his hoodie.

“Take it off, please. Wanna see you.” Plead against his mouth. Jimin let’s out a dark chuckle.

“Gosh, I love how you’re so whiny when you’re turned on baby.” His voice is so dark and teasing. Gives you goosebumps all over your skin. It’s fine if he loves it since you love how he gets you so pliant with a single touch. Jimin complies with your plead. Pulls his hoodie over his head in one swift motion. You’ve seen him shirtless before. Yet, the moment his bare chest and abs are revealed, your breath catches in your throat again. Forcing you to press your already soaked pussy hard on his shaft. You both moan at that. Jimin chuckles through his moan. Throws the piece of clothing away, eyes watching you. Amused. Glinting. Your eyes roam over his honey skin. Have no idea what you should do first. He makes the decision for you. Grabs your wrist.

“Touch me baby.” Presses your hand, palm flat against his chest. You’re thrilled to see his breath hitches and muscles tighten under your touch. He drags your palm down, through the expanses of his chest, making you feel every inch of his skin. Toward his defined abs. Makes you touch him properly. Drags your palm down and down, forcing you to adjust your hips to make room. And then he is pressing your palm on his hardened member. Through his sweats but still you can clearly feel the way he twitched, when your hand grazed over. A strangled grunt escapes his throat as he bucks his hips into your hands. And you lose your mind. Literally. Lose it again when he makes your hand rubs over his pulsing dick.

“Feel it baby?” Jimin mutters, placing a chaste kiss on your lips. You nod, taking matters into your hand and start palming his length. Squeezing. Tracing your fingers over. Trying to figure out how big he is by just touching. Taking in the outline of his bulge. Jimin lets you do whatever you want. Just leans against the headrest and watches the way you massage his cock. Play with his cock. Biting back moans and grunts. Until his patience snaps. Making you disappointed when he swats your hand away. You grumble, which turns into a moan as he drags your clothed pussy to replace your hands on his member.

“That’s so mean. You slapped my hand.” You manage to say, pouting. He kisses that pout away.

“Sorry, but I would’ve cum if you kept doing that.” He chuckles breathlessly. Softly pecking your lips in between and making you roll your hips again. You suck in a breath at his words. Stifling a moan.

“Should’ve done that then.”

“Yeah? That would be so fucking embarrassing.” He pulls you in for another kiss. Your hips continue rolling over his.

“No…. That would be so fucking hot. B... besides... it’s n-not fair, you made me cum in my pants.” You’re losing your patience as well. Are getting needy. You want more now. The friction your sodden panties are creating against your folds are not enough. That’s why you try to press even harder each time you drag your hips back and forth.

“Fuck, Lil!” Jimin is helping you the best way he can. Controlling your movements and pressing you down hard. “So, w-what? You want me to cum in pants a-as a revenge?” Asks. Oh, you love how he is stuttering a little bit. Breathless. That’s not what you want, however. Still, when he says that with dark eyes and heavy lids, it looks like a good idea. Makes you aroused even more, if it’s possible.

“N-no, I want it b-because it’s hot.” You don’t realize you’ve picked up your speed. Both of you are breathless messes now. Humping each other like horny rabbits. Jimin laughs and then nods. Agreeing with you.

“Go on then baby. Make me cum.” Starts kissing you again like his lifeline is you. His plump lips land everywhere he can reach. Your lips. Neck. Jaw. Throat. Ears. And you reward him by keep grinding. Until you can’t take it anymore. Until your desire is uncontrollable. You start whining in his ear. Begging him to take your clothes off. Jimin instantly relents. Your top goes first, then your pants. But when you try to do the same thing with your panties, he stops you.

“Keep it.” He drags you back onto his lap. You hum in confusion when he guides you back into your rhythm. He hasn’t taken off his sweats either. Humiliating since you’re the only one who got bared into your ruined panties. He doesn’t answer you. Gives you a menace look instead. You like it. Like it a little too much since you’re into whining and pleading within no time.

“Take your sweats off Jimin.” You pull your best puppy eyes. His self-control is maddening, you hate it. He doesn’t relent this time. Asks something about you wanting him to cum in his pants. You regret saying it ever. “Oh, c’mon… please. Keep your boxers. It’s the same thing.” So, you bargain.

“Yeah? You’re that desperate?” He mocks. You nod. Pathetic.

“Ask for it nicely baby. Beg.” Says again while slightly touching your clit. It’s terrifying how he makes you do whatever he wants. Freaking terrifying how you do as he says without a single thought. Where’s your pride? See, these are the consequences of refraining from satisfying your primal needs. You’re now thinking with your cunt. Only focused on chasing that breathtaking high. So, you beg again and again when he ask you to do so. Like a good little slut. That little voice inside you, which reminds you that what you’re doing is wrong is no longer there. You’ve surrendered to sin completely.

“That’s a good girl. Let me baby.” He finally listens to you. You raise your hip, allowing him to push his sweats down his thighs. Not completely, just enough to reveal his boxers because you’re so impatient. You don’t let him take it off completely as you place your cunt over his boxers in light speed. He gasps at that. “Woah... fuck. Fuck, you’re so greedy.” Says in a shaky voice. Whimpers when you start grinding again. This feels better. Better when you can finally feel his dick part your folds. Even with your panties and his boxers it feels heavenly. You can feel him twitching beneath you. Can feel the warmth against your soaked cunt. But then like he said you’re so greedy. You always want more. That’s how you are back to begging. Asking for more.

“Jesus Lil. Thought you want to make me cum in my pants.” Jimin grunts, pushing his hips upward. Aiding you with your relentless humping. He is impressive. Really impressive to have such a self-control. Get you bit worried about your abilities when he hasn’t already fucked you in hundred different positions. Make you insecure. That’s not the case though. You know he is affected. Very much so. His face is flushed, pupils dilated, eyes still very hooded. Breathing is ragged. Panting heavily and can’t stop entangling his lips with yours for a second. His fingers are digging into your thighs so harshly that they’ll definitely leave marks. On top of everything, he is rock hard beneath you. Dick throbbing but still he has his control.

“Please hm? Jimin please…” You try again. He swears. Accidentally bite your lip harsh, the steady rhythm stumbling. See, he is a goner. Yet doesn’t play it in your way. For much of your dismay.  You are about to complain and call him a mean gremlin when he suddenly hooks a finger inside your panties. Steals your breath away that you’re certain you’re dead when he harshly pushes it aside. Your wet folds directly contact with the cotton material of his boxers. You both moan in content. The friction is harsh on your sensitive clit, but you can’t complain. Being so close to the edge. Every pleasurable drag over his throbbing bulge taking you toward your edge.

You watch in awe, as Jimin’s lower abdomen tenses. At the dark wet spot you’re forming on his underwear, together with him. He is watching too. Taking in how you madly rub your pussy on his hardness. The way you’re moaning and whimpering. The way your breasts bounce. Keeps his finger hooked inside your panties to hold it away from your way.

“I’m ruining your boxers. It’s so messy.” You mumble against his lips in a quiet whimper. He groans.

“Fuck baby… It’s better when it’s messy. I love seeing you lose control, Lil. Keep making a mess baby hm? God, I need you to keep making a fucking mess for me.” He replies breathlessly. Kisses you one time more before dipping down to take one of your nipples in his mouth. Sucks harsh and that is the last stroke for you. His name leaves your mouth over and over again as your grip on him tightens. Your thighs shaking. Closing your eyes tight as the intense pleasure explodes over you. Your orgasm hits hard. Jimin moans with you, popping your nipple from his mouth to peer at your pleasure wrecked, fucked up face. Kisses you madly.

“Lil… baby, don’t stop, keep going. I’m so fucking close. Keep going for me, don’t slow down.”

Oh, he is finally losing control. Not the way you are but you’ll take it. His words make you aroused all over again despite the hard orgasm that washed over you just now. The pleasure still lingers but it’s becoming overwhelming. Yet you’re not going to stop. Of course, you’re not. How could you when Park Jimin looks like he is floating on cloud nine. When he’s letting out breathless moans. All because of you. You’re unable to stop. So, you keep going and it doesn’t take much either. He follows you quite closely, hips jerking upward and faltering. Steady you on his lap. Presses his dick hard on your sensitive cunt. Grits his teeth.

“Fuck. Fuck Lil. Goddamn it, just like that. Shit, yes.” Curses as he lets go of your panties, making you slowly rock your hips again. Using you to ride through his high. The wet spot on his boxers expanding with his cum. Oh, how hot that is. Makes you moan again. He chuckles at that, finally stops rocking you on him. Your cunt is still on fire, and you love the wet feeling. His breathless chuckle, however, makes you embarrassed. So, you hide your face in the crook of his neck. Turning his chuckle into a quite laughter. Jimin wraps his hands around your half naked figure, bringing you impossibly close to him again. Rubbing your back gently.

“Was it hot?” Asks softly, voice still breathless and trying to calm down. You nod into his neck. “So fucking hot, Park.” Assure him through your shaky breath. He laughs again. Making you both shake.

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh. That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen but…”

“But...?”

“It would’ve been better to see you, you know. Like see you, see you.” You hide your face in his neck even more. You’re still high from your orgasm that you’re rambling. Embarrassing, nonetheless. To say something like that aloud. You think he might mock you. For being extremely needy. He doesn’t. Instead, squeezes you in his hold, peppering kisses on your naked shoulder.

“Fucking hell, Spring Roll. You’re so damn hot. Did I say that before? Christ, you drive me wild.” He pulls you from your shoulders, demanding you to look at him. Not quite away from him, still keeps your mouth grazing over his. It’s your time to laugh. Roll your eyes, dismissing his compliment despite the butterflies on your stomach. Dangerous. “I’m serious. Love it when you’re needy. And I really, really want to do as you say now, but knowing Taehyung…. I’ll give you five more minutes before he barge in here.” He smirks. Molds the flesh in your ass cheeks. Slaps them slightly. Your breath is hitching again.

 “So, unless you want him to see you like this- I mean if you do, we can con─” You interrupt him by hitting his chest. Causing him to grin again. Already moving away from his lap. “No thanks please.” You mutter as you reach for your discarded T-shirt. Jimin watches you for a minute before suddenly grabbing from your ankle. You stop fumbling with the piece of clothing, turning around. Surprised. The position is awkward as he yanks you to him by your leg. Bends down slightly and his hand is reaching between your thighs. For a moment, you expect him to touch your pussy again when he grazes his fingers inside your inner thigh.

“What?” You question, confused.

“You never told me how you got this.” He shifts his gaze from your thigh to your face. That’s when you notice he is touching your scar. The scar that proved to him you’re not Liya that fated day. The sudden memory of it and Liya makes you awfully uncomfortable. Your excitingly beating heart sinks. And you don’t want to act like it’s okay to get to know each other. This, the thing you’re doing. It’s just for a day. After this day, you need to stop this and do the right thing. That’s the plan and it doesn't include anything about getting close in this kind of way. Jimin curiously inspects your face for a moment. Then probably sensing that you’re not comfortable retrieves his hand fast. A pang hits your chest. Before your brain can process what’s happening, you grab from his hand. Not letting him pull away. Smile softy at him when you answer.

“I got it while riding a seesaw. Uh… it was already broken but I rode it anyway and it cut my thigh. Stupid me.” You watch the way he watches you. That warmth in his eyes are no longer there. Smile wiped off.

Oh, fuck.

See, now, no matter how heavy it feels to remember that what you’re doing is wrong. No matter how messed up this is. You still don’t want to ruin the day. The day hasn’t even started yet. You agreed to have a day. Agreed to pretend it’s normal. And you want that, want this day to be perfect without any heavy feelings. You sigh heavily. Pulls his hand to place it where it was, on your thigh. Leans forward and catch his lips with yours. Catching him off guard. Kisses him tenderly. You’ll have day. Everything’s going to be fine after.

“Any more questions Park?” Grin into his lips. He leaves a sigh as well. You don’t know what’s going on in his head but, are glad when he grins back. Is about to ask something certainly, when a loud thud on your door makes you both wince.

“Rise and shine babies… Stop fucking and get the fuck Out...” Taehyung’s voice echoes through the wooden barrier. Followed by another knock and low curses. “Fuck my head hurts.”

You and Jimin snort at the same time.

……………………………………

Jimin glances at you from the corner of his eyes while adding radish to the simmering broth. A grin spreads across his face to see your focus on what he is doing. Legs dangling over the counter. You sway them back and forth, toes curled inside your socks. Mouth agape as you peer over at the pot. Oh, how adorable you are. And are very distracting that he can’t help but to reach you and smooch your lips now and then. Squeeze your cheeks and laugh when you click your tongue in annoyance.

“Stay focus Park.” You mutter irritably. Yet throw your hands around his neck when he stands between your legs. He knows this is not normal. Knows it’s very wrong. Knows why you suddenly looked uneasy earlier. Still, he can’t help it. He deserves a day, doesn’t he? It’s all for a day. So, he nuzzles your nose with his. “You’re too fucking distractive, Spring Roll.” Passes the blame to you. You gasp, pushing him away. Ignore his protests when you slide out of the counter.

“No. No. Don’t leave.” Jimin catches you in his grasp before you can move away though. Your contagious laughter fills the room. He never knew that just fooling around with someone can be this rewarding. How relaxed he feels right now. How content he feels to see you giggle. Especially, when he starts to tickle your sides. You thrash in hold for moment before saying you won’t leave. Admitting defeat. He slowly loosens his grip, ready to catch you if you try to run. You don’t. Snort at his skepticism but still sit back on a stool. Trying to regain your composure. He likes it better if you can sit back where you were before. But he’ll have to be happy with this. Now it’s less distracting since you’re sitting behind him. 

It's your idea to make hangover soup. It’s a given that all his friends or enemies in that case, are going to feel killer hangovers, after last night’s heavy drinking. Jimin himself is having a headache but it’s bearable. Bearable after you really made him cum in his pants. Bearable when he can hear those pretty giggles of yours. Still, you and he’ll need ways to sober up other than sleeping. There’s a day to pass after all. He could have easily made the soup for just you two, but he is feeling a little bit generous. Hence, this commotion in the kitchen. You and he are the only people who are awake despite Taehyung. Who currently is in a bathroom, throwing his guts out. Serves right for interrupting you earlier.

It takes him no more than another fifteen minutes to get the soup done. Takes the hot stockpot into the kitchen island. Feeling giddy at the sight of you excited. It’s still you two. Jimin has a strong suspicion that Taehyung went back to sleep. Maybe, he decided to spend the rest of his life inside a bathroom. Whatever that is, Jimin is happy it’s just you and him.

You hum in delight at the first taste, head whipping toward him. Eyes adorably wide. Beautifully glinting. The starry fucking night. With secrets. He doesn’t know why he wants to unravel them. Just like he wanted to know how you got that scar.

“Is it good?” Asks instead. You nod furiously. “You’re a God damn good cook Park. Jesus, marry me please.” You say noncommittally as you go back to enjoy your soup. Jimin is gaping at you, however. Knows it’s a joke but here comes those unsettling feelings. Has to shake his head visibly to shake them off, glad you don’t notice. Too immerse in your food.  You hum again and then moan. Look back at him with appreciation, when he forces himself to smile.

“I’m good at everything.” says with a shrug. Is trying to lift the heaviness in his own heart. You scoff.

“I really want to disagree─” You gulp down a spoonful of stock before continuing. In a clueless and happy mood. “But...” Smiles at him. “Maybe you are. I mean you own a fucking business. A CEO. Can cook.” Put down your fingers as to state. Gasp. “Even sing. Can you dance too? Don’t tell me you can. That make me feel so useless and talentless.” Mutter that when Jimin snorts. That unsettling feeling leaves his chest. He is about to say that he is very sorry to tell you that he loves dancing when you don’t let him.

“But seriously Park, how did you do that? I mean the business. I need motivation to finish my degree. Tell me how you did that, the inspirational TED talk.” You shift in your stool, adjusting yourself to face him properly. Jimin hates this. Not that he doesn’t want to tell you. Of course, not. The thing is he can’t tell his story without mentioning one person. He doesn’t want to think about his girlfriend right now. Not when he is cheating on her. Not when he is so fucking selfish not to care what might be happening to her at this moment. On top of all, he doesn’t want you two to be in a sour mood. He likes this. All these moments with you. Loves it and doesn’t want to ruin it. What a selfish prick he is.

Just one day. Just one.

He smiles, trying to act normally. “Ah that’s nothing. I’m not doing it alone, you know? I have those three with me. And what’s TED talk?” Shrugs your request off. You’re not to let it go that easily though. Stubborn. Annoying. Cute. Pretty. Steals his breath when you lean toward his face.

“Oh, c’mon Park. Don’t be like that. We both know you’re not someone to be humble. You’ve a very arrogant ass. This is your chance to brag. So, take it Mister.” You blow breath to his face. Fucking tease. He wants to kiss you again, but you pull away fast. Attention back on your food. “Besides, you have a fancy ass apartment, a freaking expensive car and you guys come to places like this for your vacations. Don’t tell me it’s nothing.” Add that.

Yes, everything you say is true. Only he doesn’t want to say that his apartment is not just his. Liya’s name is on the contract. No, he won’t say her name aloud. He needs to distract you. Needs a distraction for himself as well. Good thing he knows exactly how to do that. You let out a surprised gasp when Jimin reaches for your cheeks. Cups them and squeezes. Making your lips pucker. He ignores your whines of complaint as he places a kiss on your lip. “I don’t have an arrogant ass lady.” Mumbles. Keeps pecking your lips yet stops squeezing your cheeks. Just like he knew, you’re getting distracted. Start kissing him without any reluctance. Well, now Jimin is no longer trying to distract you. Instead, he is the one who is getting distracted. There’s something about you that drives him freaking nuts. Can’t control himself at all. Just a goner. No use in attempting to resist you. He gives in to you willingly, grabbing your forearm to pull you to him. Making you sit on his lap while never letting you stop kissing him. Tongues dancing in sync. Lips wet and getting messy.

Fuck, he can’t get enough either. His dick goes hard instantly, head spinning. Your mouth just slots against him perfectly. That makes him wonder what else would fit that flawlessly with you. Even the thought is making his dick twitch. He intended to do just that this morning. To bury himself to the hilt inside you. Only if his best friend isn’t a pain in the ass. He didn’t take you right on this same countertop yesterday, only because he thought it would be too tiring for you. All the drinks, preparations, dancing, singing might be taking a toll on you. Didn’t want to tire you more even before the day started. Now though, when he knows you’ll be more than willing to take him, he is slowly starting to forget his surroundings.

You are addictive simply. Even though he hasn’t taken you completely yet. The way you kiss him. The desperation in it. Your sweet moans. Your scent. The way you gasp when he kisses your neck and throat. The way you say his name when his hand cups your breast over your T-shirt. He hates that you’re wearing a bra. Not that it’ll stop him. He has a mission, which is to keep eliciting those sweet sounds from you. Pleasuring you is his biggest turn-on. How odd. This is a first. So, he latches his lips over your nipple. Through your lacy bra and your T-shirt. Wets the spot with his saliva, watching your face. You’re becoming a mess quickly. Oh, he is absolutely going to fuck you right here. How beautiful you look.

“Goddammit Lil.” He only pulls away to let you know he is equally affected. Wants you to feel sexy. To know how hard you make him. Then he is back at sucking on your nipple. Biting. Kissing. And is at the verge of bending you over the counter when─

“Yah! For fucking seriously? Are you two on some kind of pill or something? Why are you ravishing on each other like there’s no tomorrow all the time?” Jimin withdraws from you in light speed at Seokjin’s voice.

For fucks sake!

Annoyance bubbles inside Jimin as he sees his older friend standing in the doorway. It pops out instantly, however, when your mortified squeak reaches his ears. You hide your face on his neck and the wet spot on your breasts in his chest. This is embarrassing really. Yet, the best thing to do when caught is to act like it’s nothing. Less embarrassing that way. Jimin clears his throat, holding you close.

“What? It’s not my fault that you don’t get your dick wet.” Answers as casually as he can. Seokjin is obviously about to counter back when his chance is stolen.

“Oh, he definitely got his dick wet yesterday.” The thief who stole Seokjin’s chance reveals themselves to be J, as she enters the kitchen. Shoulders tilting. Jimin’s jaw drops to the floor at the same time Seokjin goes red. Even you pull away from his neck to look at Jin with your mouth agape.

“What?” You and Jimin question at the same time. Get ignored.

“For the sake of fuck J, don’t you know anything about the damn privacy and secrecy.” Jin walks to J, who is now peering at the soup.

“Well, what? It’s not like I told them what we did exactly. Don’t tell me you’re the type to be wanting to fuck a young ripe bad bitch and then keeping it a secret because you’re fucking ashamed.” J says that so quickly that Jimin almost misses it. His Hyung looks taken aback.

“Who said anything about being ashamed. It’s just that─” Jin searches for the right word. Jimin pities him. Poor man. “It’s just that, it’s embarrassing to let Jimin know about my sexual escapades.” Points at Jimin. Jimin gapes at Jin with disbelief.

“Why the fuck not?” Asks. J and you agree with him by chanting ‘exactly’. Jin looks bewildered.

“What do you think Jimin. It’s like sharing it with my mother.” Jin states. Takes a seat across from Jimin.

“That’s not so bad, I share them with my mother all the time.”  J replies. Sits beside Jimin. Now everyone is gaping at her with wide eyes. Jimin thinks it’s cute how you’ve forgotten to cover the wet spot on your chest.

“That’s super weird, J. I mean, it is, right? You don’t do that right?” You mutter in disbelief. Looking back and forth between Jimin and Jin. “Of course not.” Jimin cringes at the prospect. J is weird. Everybody is weird. Especially, his friend. Never in a million years Jimin would’ve thought Kim fucking Seokjin will be interested at someone like J. Not that there’s anything wrong with her. Simply she is the polar opposite of Seokjin. But then things happens. Just like how he is keeping you on his lap. Close to him. He and you are the weirdest.

…………………………………………………….

“You want to know how to become a potato?” Jungkook asks you as all of you are slowly walking through the snow-covered pavements of a seemingly abandoned city. There isn’t even a stray cat on the roads. Apparently, this is the plan for the day. Eating at a famous yet rural restaurant, which is supposed to be somewhere around. After parking your vehicles, Hoseok suggested walking to the restaurant but without any success yet. You’ve been strolling through these streets for over an hour now. There are suspicions arousing from the group. Suspicions of being lost. But it’s still fun. Doesn’t feel like you’ve walked for such a long time when you’ve been laughing so hard. And enjoying this to the fullest.

You nod in answer for Jungkook’s question, enthusiastically, before Jimin rudely butts in. “Why the fuck would you want to become a potato?” Walking behind you, with Taehyung who is currently trying to walk with his eyes closed. Jimin isn’t the happiest of your walking arrangements but wasn’t given another option. Taehyung is clinging to him.

“Why not? That’s fun. I’d become a rock if I could. Easy life.” Yoongi joins from the other side of you. You’re walking between him and Jungkook.

“Rock is acceptable, but a potato? Potatoes get eaten by, kids. Unacceptable.” Seokjin gives his opinion. Is walking with, now not so surprisingly with J. In front of you. Yoona and Namjoon being the people in front of them. Hoseok and Seoyeon on the lead. You blinks at Seokjin’s face when he partially turns his head to look at you. Good point. You turn to Jungkook. Gape at his face, waiting for a counterpoint. He doesn’t give that.

“I didn’t think about that actually.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth. Then zones out. Probably thinking about being a potato and not getting eaten by.

“That’s a shame.” You mumble. Jimin snorts. Says how he still can’t comprehend why you want to become a potato. Yoongi starts listing million reasons as to why it’s a good idea when you abruptly bumps into Jin’s hard back. Jungkook bumping into J. Jimin into you. Taehyung into Jungkook. Apparently, the same thing has happened to Jin and J as well. They are balancing on their feet after the hard collision with Namjoon and Yoona. Cursing.

“What the fuck?” Jimin bellows, as his hands grab you. Saving you from falling down. Taehyung whines next to him. Accepting his fate and just leaning against Jungkook. Jin yells at a very innocent Namjoon making him point at Hoseok with an open mouth.

“It’s him. He stopped out of nowhere.” Namjoon looks like an overgrown bunny when he does that. Reasonable why Yoona is always giving him heart eyes.

“Would you mind giving us a warning next time Hobi? I really can’t handle having my head shaken so many times.” Taehyung finally leans away from Jungkook’s hard body. Hoseok, however, is not paying any attention. Is having a heated conversation with Seoyeon.

“We are not lost. I know where we’re going.” He mutters while turning a full circle around. Eyes glued to his phone screen.

“We passed this stupid shop for three times already Jung Hoseok.” Seoyeon seethes, pointing at the floral shop to your right. All of you look at it. You squint your eyes. Now when you think about it, you’re pretty sure that you did just that. Passed it a couple of times before. And it’s confirmed when Yoona says the same.

“Oh, yeah. I remember this one too. Are you serious Hobi? You promised me the best Samgyetang and dragged us here. I didn’t even taste the hangover soup because I wanted to save space for this one.” She whines. Gives up and falls into her boyfriend’s arms. Namjoon holds her. Pets her hair. Dramatic but sweet. “Your loss.” Jimin says, hands still holding you. Sounds a bit offended. He works hard for that soup after all. Yet, Yoona is the only idiot who didn’t try it. Her loss, indeed.

“We’re not lost at all guys. We. Are. Not. I completely trust technology.” Hoseok points at his phone before starting to turn left and right. Looks extremely comical.

“You shouldn’t sometimes though.” J voices. Very subtly but obviously letting Jin wraps his hands around her. You have to bite back the amused grin that threatens to break on your face. After all, it’s just you and Jimin who know that they are hooking up. That’s what they told you at least. You wonder how and why nobody questions them being so close. Hoseok interrupts your observations. A triumphant noise leaving his mouth. Gestures to his left.

“It’s this way everyone. I think I missed it before.” Looks elated. As if he just solves the mystery of dark matter. Already started towards the side street. Is very empty, similar to the one you’ve been rounding for all these times. Strikes as a danger to you.

“Uh… are you sure Hobi? Looks shady to me.” You express your concerns, but Hoseok doesn’t even look at you. If you haven’t mistaken, Hoseok acts like he has a problem with you. Like you’ve done something unforgivable to him. For the day, you spent with these people, Hoseok hasn’t shared more than ten words with you. Even the shared ten words are concerning the important matters. Nothing personal. Nothing friendly. Everyone starts to follow him with several protests.

“Oh good. This is how we’ll die. Should’ve made this a vlog. My last ever vlog.” Yoongi exasperates. Jungkook says something about being able to drop out of college if he dies. Is thinking very positively. You turn your head slightly to Jimin before he lets you go.

“Is Hoseok mad at me?” That’s a very genuine concern. Maybe, he has a problem with Liya. Who knows. You just want to know so you’ll not make a fool out of yourself by trying to make small friendly talk with him. Just to get rudely ignored. Just like now. Jimin’s eyes soften as you look at him curiously. Shakes his head. “Don’t mind him.” Says before letting you go. You want to disagree. Say that you need to know if there’s an issue, but Jungkook has yanked you to his side the moment you’re out of Jimin’s grasp.

…………………………………………….

You ended up in a forest. A freaking forest. Seoyeon nearly ripped Hoseok’s head off. Taehyung had to physically restrain his girlfriend from murdering one of his best friends. That made his headache worse. In the end, Jimin and Jungkook had to drag Taehyung back. It was an endless trail of complaints. Jimin swore in his life that he’ll never let Taehyung drink again. You all know that’s a lie. By the time you finally arrived at Hoseok’s very famous Samgyetang restaurant. After wandering over for another hour or so. Jimin and Jungkook are practically panting and sweating like two pigs.

“Gosh, why am I friends with you again.” Jimin breathes out, slumping against the wall. Stretching out his feet under the table where you all are sitting on the heated floor. Jungkook is pressing his flushed face on the cold table. Taehyung who has happened to sit between Jimin and you, chose to budge you by leaning against your figure. You decide to put up with that. No longer in a position to judge him. If anything, you and he are on the same boat. So is Jimin. All three of you are shameless cheaters. Sinners. So much for thinking, you’ll never be able to carry the weight of guilt. Now look at where you are. Enjoying someone else’s life to the fullest. Having the best of best orgasms in your life with that person’s five years of boyfriend. There’s a guilty consciousness, yes. But not enough to prevent you from seeking more. Absolutely shameless. Even now, you want to sit next to Jimin.

You take a long look at him. He catches that. Smiles softly at you before Hoseok interrupts you by reaching the table. Despite him vowing this place to be quite popular, only people here are your party. No other patrons. Empty. And funnily enough, Hoseok acts like he knows this place. When you inquire from Yoongi, if Hoseok has been here before, he assures you that he hasn’t. Just his cousin been a weirdo. Hoseok sits right across from you. His smile is so wide that it could light up the entire neighborhood.

“Food will be here in a minute.” He lets all of you know.

“And are you sure we’ll live after eating that?” Yoongi questions next to him. Hoseok gives him a look. “What? You said this place is popular. I can’t see anyone here. And the entire neighborhood looks shady man. What if these people are serial killers? What if they are feeding us their previous victims?” Yoongi keeps questioning with wide eyes. Several people let out whines of complaints at the last part.

“Shut the fuck up Yoongi.” Namjoon throws his beanie at him. Yoona practically cries. Says she is starving to death, and she’ll eat whatever they give her. Another series of whines rise up. Very fair. Yoongi is running your lunch. It’s not just Yoona now. You’re starving to death as well. And the last thing you want is to think that you’ve entered a horror movie and are about to become cannibals. The whines quickly turns out into an argument. Requests to keep their mouths shut and the possibilities of all of you dying throwing here and there. And the ways you would die becomes the main topic. For one thing, Hoseok looks bit uncertain after Yoongi’s suspicions. Practically smacks Yoongi across his head when he yet again explains the way they would keep their victims alive to kill at the right moment. Funny how you and him in unison ask Yoongi to keep it close. He doesn’t.

And you think it’s ridiculous how all of you ended up staring at your Samgyetang bowls with furrowed brows, after the food arrived.

“C’mon this is ridiculous guys.” J exclaims aloud. Pokes the chicken with her chopsticks. “It’s obviously a chicken.” Adds that part. Takes a look around all of your faces.

“What if they make the─” Yoongi opens his mouth.

“Oh my god! Will you stop you little piece of shit.” Hoseok bangs his fist on the table. The dishes clatter.

“Fuck you, Yoonigi!.” You agree. Hoseok meets your eye for a minute but looks away immediately.

“Guess what? I don’t give a fuck. I’m eating.” Yoona disrupts Hoseok’s tantrum. Waits for another moment and staying true to her word digs right in. The rest of you watch her eating. In pure disbelief. Jimin is the next to follow her.

“Fuck this.” Says before stuffing his face. And then one by one you all follow. It tastes like chicken gladly.

…………………………………………………….

The people- who were nice and obviously not serial killers- at the Samgyetang place let you know that the place is popular through the entire year but near the New Year’s Eve it’s not. That’s how it works apparently, without any specific reason. And the abandoned and shady city turned out to be pretty inhabited. It’s just that they prefer to stay inside. Unlike you guys who are now raiding a convenience store, where there is not much available to buy.

“Fuck I need Almonds.” Taehyung exclaims. Searching through the three shelves in this store for the fifth time now. You and Jimin following him.

“You’re not going to find Almond just because you keep searching Tae. There’s no Almond here.” Jimin picks up a pack of snacks. Hands it to you. You take it.

“Why would you need Almond?” You ask from Taehyung. “It helps me with my headaches.” He answers. Appear to be better than how he was an hour ago. “Oh! Maybe you should take some pain killers.” You suggest, watching Taehyung shakes his head. “Already did that. Not going to work.” Pouts hard. Jimin sighs next to you.

“Why did you drink that much you idiot?” Grabs by the back of Taehyung’s neck. In an affectionate way.

“Aahh... tell me about it Jimin-ah, tell me about it.” Taehyung looks heavenward. Something common for two best friends. You almost chuckle at that when Jin’s voice echoes through the small store.

“Taehyung!” You all snap your heads to where his voice booms. Taeyhung perking up instantly, leaving you and Jimin in light speed. Mumbles ‘Almond’ as he goes. And you finally chuckle, shaking your head. Turn back to Jimin. A soft smile ghost on your lips which he reciprocates.

“Are you tired?” Questions. To be completely honest, you are. But nothing unbearable yet. It’s not just you after all, Jimin hasn’t slept a wink last night either. You just know it’ll be harder with every hour passing by. For now, though, you can manage. So, you shake your head to let him know you’re not tired.

“Are you?” Ask the same thing from him. He says he’s fine. But then you change your mind. Just as an afterthought. Decide it’s better if you can rest your legs. No need to waste your energy wandering around a convenience store. Have no idea what your friends are doing. They don’t buy anything, nor do they want to leave. When you voice your need aloud, Jimin grabs your hand. “Want to go outside? Saw benches there.” Suggests to which you agree with a beat of your heart. He pays for your snack and in a minute, you’re munching on it. Sitting on a said bench beside the store.

It's peacefully silent for a moment before Jimin breaks it. “You ever been in a relationship?” Inquires suddenly. You slowly turn your head to him. Stop swaying your legs. He is asking you for another one. Just like this morning. You still don’t like it. One by one curious question, you are becoming closer and closer. It would’ve been just fine if you and he could keep your hands away from each other. Something normal a pair of friends would do. Now, though, when you had come on his tongue, made him come on his god damn pants, this is not fine. He is looking at you expectantly, however. You try to find a rough answer. Or a way to take his mind away from it.

“Couple of times, yeah.” You vaguely reply. Hoping he would let it go.

“What do you mean couple of times.” He chuckles. Awful. This is. That he wants to know you. Why would he want that. Then didn’t you want the same.

“Well, I had a boyfriend when I was in high school and then during my freshman year.”

“That’s just two times. Was any of that serious or just casual?” There’s an irritation in his voice. As if he is jealous. Ridiculous of you to think that. You want to change the subject. Want to talk about something that doesn’t involve becoming two people who are nothing more than a causal fuck.

“Does that matter Park?” You try to laugh. Just to add some lightness to your question. He shrugs. A scowl on his face. “What? I’m just curious.” States. You think you can change the course.

“Yeah? About what?” Gasp. “Do you want to know if my ex was able to make me cum on my pants? Like you did?” Well, that’s a stupid way to do that. Yet, he scoffs and turns to you with pure disbelief. “No… not at all but, c’mon you know he wasn’t.” Answers very smugly. It’s true though. But you’ll not let him know. Just prefer to have a conversation about coming in twelve different ways than him prying into your life. You scoff as well.

“Don’t be so sure Park. Maybe… he didn’t do that buut... maybe he did make me cum so hard I forgot my name.” You smirk. Followed by a raise of your brow. Jimin looks utterly offended. Gasps loudly.

“Are you underestimating my abilities? Are you saying I didn’t make you forget your own name?” Points an accusatory finger at you.

“Yes.” You say without a beat. Again, a lie.

“Wanna bet?”

“About what?”

He doesn’t answer that. Instead, snatches the packet of snacks away from you. You’re about to call him all the insulting names when he shut you up with a kiss. Open mouthed. Tongue very much involved. Leaves you heaving for breath when he pulls away. Only to make a demand against your lips.

“On my lap Lil. C’mon.” Straightens up to make space for you. You blink at his face. What is he about to do? Don’t move a finger until he grabs your wrist and yanks you to him. “C’mon baby.” Says again. So, you comply. Still very confused but intrigued the same. Excited. First, you think he wants you to straddle him and is about make you grind on him again. Are mortified considering you’re in public. In broad daylight. He doesn’t, however. Makes you just sit on his lap, back pressed against his chest. Gets you comfortable, his cheek is pressing onto yours. Places a couple kisses on your neck before sucking on your pulse point.

“Wh-what are you d…doing Jimin?” You’re very pathetically already breathless. All it takes is a kiss. He just hums, which doesn’t make any sense to you. Then his hands are travelling south on your body. Annoyingly, both of you are wearing layers of clothing. Hence, the lack of sensation when his hands moves over your breasts. Still, it’s enough to make a low moan escape from your chest. Which quickly turns into a panicked gasping, when Jimin’s hands doesn’t stop but start undoing your pant buttons. Your hands reach to grab from his wrists. Preventing him.

“Jimin, Jimin... Wha- what are you... Jimin?” You nearly yank his hands away when he places another kiss. This time on your temple. “Relax baby. I’ll stop if someone walks in, okay? I promise.” His voice is back to being low and husky. Is murmuring in your ear. Gets your cunt clenching. Arousal seeping through. The thought that he is about to do this here, on the outside, with the possible risks gets you turned on to no end. This is a first time for you, have never done something like this before. Are very excited, nonetheless. Slowly becoming impatient.

“Okay Lil?” Jimin asks again. Despite the fact that you’ve loosened your grip on his wrists, without even realizing, he hasn’t moved an inch forward. Gives you a reassuring squeeze. You’re already aroused. “Baby?” Mumbles again. Oh, you trust him, don’t you? Well, you do very much. Your head is bobbing up and down fast. Giving your consent.

“Say it.” Jimin teasingly pushes his hand past your waist band.

“O- okay. I mean… do it.” You succumb. Which is all what it takes. Jimin’s hand slips past your pants and inside your panties in a record time. Finds your clit first. Just rubs soothing circles before goes down to your clenching hole. Gathers your wetness and spreads it all across your folds. Slowly. Teasingly. Sensually. Hums approvingly.

“Already fucking wet baby. So eager, aren’t you? Dripping─” Presses his fingers over your clit. Bit harshly that you mewl. “─wet. Say it’s for me.” Demands yet again. And you’re doing exactly what he wants. “For you. It’s for you Jimin.” Moan your words out. Bend your knees, placing the soles of your shoes on his knees. He is happy with your compliance.

“Spread.” Encourages you further. So, you do as you are asked. How demeaning and mortifying this could be if someone walks in. Your legs spread. Just for Jimin. His hand very obviously buried inside your cunt. Not that you can think things rationally. Impossible when he is rubbing his fingers over your slit relentlessly. The world fades away when one of those fingers’ prods at your entrance. Teases for a bit and then he is entering. Through your spasming walls. Adds a second one. Stretches you wide, palm pressing against the throbbing bud of nerves.

Starts thrusting slowly. Then picks up speed, curling his fingers up. Stroking your walls till he finds that spongy spot. With that you’re just a mess. A shameless, pathetic mess. You have to bite your bottom lips so harshly that you’re sure the blood is drawing, to keep the noises muffled. Jimin makes it super hard for you. Each drag on your walls, each rub on your clit, gets you crashing down in his hold.

“Fuck Lil. Like that. You like it?”

Why does he expect you to answer? When he is just doing what he wanted to do. Makes you forget your own name.

“Just wait till we’re back at the cottage baby. Fuck, I’m gonna fuck you until you fucking can’t walk. Gonna make you forget everything except my name hm? Do you like it Lil? You want me to ruin this cute hole?”

You manage a nod. A barely there one. He chuckles. More of a snicker. Picks his speed up from a notch. Keeps hitting that spot. Your walls uncontrollably clenching around his fingers. Throbbing. Bringing you closer.

“C’mon baby cum for me. Cum hard hm? Be a good slut now.”

You love the filth he spills in your ear. Makes you even closer to your high.

“Look at you. Going dumb just over my fingers, imagine it’s my cock baby. Imagine it’s my cock making you drip down out in this open. Where anyone can walk in. Aren’t you a stupid slut to like this. A whore to let me─” The rest of his words are swallowed by a groan he himself makes at the way you suddenly shriek. Your thighs shaking and back arching. Walls clamping down on his fingers. His words make you fall over the edge. A loud moan in shape of his name finally escapes your mouth despite your best efforts.

“Jimin… oh god fuck.” You whimper in pure pleasure. He says something about you being the best little girl which is drowned by the ringing of your ears. You take your time to calm down. Jimin keeps his hands still inside your pants until you do. Only then he slowly retrieves it out, making a mess on his way. Not that you truly care. You turn your head around to watch him sucks his fingers clean. What a sight. Park Jimin is. Makes a new wave of arousal wash over you. He is going to be the death of you.

You’re certain he will when he pulls you into another kiss.

“You okay?” Asks with such a gentle caring tone that your heart squeezes. You nod. Say that you’ve never been better. Got him laughing. A sight for sore eyes. Got him kissing you again. A worthy reason to die today. You reluctantly pull away from him when he stops you. Turns your face to him with your chin. Keeping you on his lap.

“Lil?”

“Yeah?”

“Was that, okay? I mean… I uh... called you...” He stutters. You know what he means. Is funny he think you’ll not ask him to stop if you weren’t okay with that. You’re pretty sure he called you a slut yesterday as well. So, you interrupt him.

“What a slut? And a whore?” Give him what he is trying to ask. He just stares at you. Nervously so. You find it endearing. Can’t help the urge to kiss him again. So, you give into that urge. Kiss him hard. “It’s fine Jimin. I would’ve asked you not to call me so if I wasn’t.” Answer. Then you want to kiss him again when he smiles. It’s getting out of control.

“Yeah? You will?”

“I will.” You assure. Jimin nods. This time it’s him who takes you into another kiss. Makes you shudder by mumbling something about wanting badly to fuck your brains out. Fix your pants while saying so, nonetheless. He is caring in a scary way.

This is fine. It’s just a day.

…………………………………………..

Ever since Jimin made you cum on his fingers. Out on a bench with all your friends nearby, you weren’t okay at all. The good thing is, he wasn’t okay either. He has his fiery gaze fixed upon you all the damn time. Undressing you with his eyes. Hell, the man even texted you and asked if you were still soaking wet, so ready to be taken, while you walked back to your cars. With Seoyeon. And you had to recite stupid lies when she asked why you were turning deep red. There was a thick tension. Swirling around you two. Even an unintentional brush against your hand made you rub your thighs. Isn’t that crazy? It is. Yet, it’s what happening.

It's mind-blowing how your head spins as he presses you against your bedroom door. Kissing you madly. Devouring your mouth with his. Neither of you is caring about how hard it is to breathe. Ignoring the way your lungs protest. It’s ridiculous how you can’t think about anything else but him. Park Jimin. You can’t get enough. It’s that simple. You want more and more. One leg is hooking around his waist. Desperately, grinding your hips for some friction. Jimin does the same. Presses his hardness against you. Not a single piece of clothing has been shredded yet. The moment you were inside this private space, Jimin had you pressed against him and the door. Attacking your lips like a starved animal. It’s good but see, you want more.

“Jimin… Ji…min. Wanna taste you. Wa- wanna suck you off.” You break the kiss to mumble that. Noting how he visibly loses his mind at that. Shuddering. Sucks in a shaky breath. Leaving out an animalistic groan.

“Ye- yeah? You want that? Want my dick on your mouth─” Asks while nearly ripping your sweater off your body. “Tell how much you want that baby.” Gets you half bare. You fumble with his belt. So, ready to drop to your knees right at the spot. He just allow you. But still knowing him, based on these few times you and he were intimate, you know he expects you to do as he asked.

“Want it so bad Jimin. Give it to me hm? I need you. Want to taste you so bad.” You’re not messing around here. Each word you utter, you mean it. Because that’s how desperate you are for him. That’s how you’re burning up with the fire. How will you ever be able to go back to normal? He has you completely ruined with bare minimum. How pathetic? You’re working on autopilot mode as you push your hand inside his pants. Palming him through his boxers. Absolutely, loving the way he bucks into your touch. For a minute before he lost it completely. As if something snap. Pushes your hand away so he can get rid of the remaining barriers between you two. His hoodie, pants. Your pants follow. Still, however, he keeps his boxers and makes you keep your panties and bra as well. He can be infuriating.

You’re completely frustrated by the time he sits back on the edge of the bed. Frustrated but enjoying it all the same. Just exciting to expect his next moves. Being curious adds more fuel to your fire. Loving it when he takes his time. Toying and playing. Especially, now as he leans back slightly, placing his weight on one arm. Using the other to palm himself through his boxers, eyes burning into you. You who are standing before him, just in your underwear. Like a vulnerable, exposed, and defenseless prey. Just to please him. For his pleasure and that’s it. And you love it. Are getting restless. He smirks, watching the way you are rubbing your thighs uncontrollably. He looks like a god. Pure sin. Gestures to the floor with his eyes. You take the hint right away. Find yourself kneeling in front of him at light speed. Gulping harshly to sooth your dry throat. He comes even closer to the edge. Stops palming himself to caress your cheek. You lean into that touch, heart pounding in your ears.

“You want this baby?” Asks in a husky voice. All you can manage is a weak yes. “Go on then Lil. Do whatever you want.” Gives you the green light. And you jump into action. Pulling from the waistband of his boxer, dragging it through his thick thighs. He helps by raising his hips up. Freeing his cock from its tight confines, making Jimin moan when the cold air hits him. Making you moan when his bare cock finally comes into your view. Hard and throbbing, straining against his skin. Flushed. Precum already leaking. You’re really embarrassed at the way you whimpered. At the way your breath visibly hitched. Most of all, you want the floor to swallow you up at the words that leaves your mouth.

“You’re pretty.” You’re mortified when you mutter that. In a very breathy and hoarse voice. Jimin actually laughs. Even throws his head back. “Yeah? Thought you said my dick is ugly.” Is petting your hair. You look at him with a pout. “Never said that. Said I assume that maybe you’re ugly, and I take that back. Happy?” You think counter back is a good way to preserve your dignity. But that doesn’t make the smug look wiped off Jimin’s face. He just snakes his hand around the back of your neck. Slowly brings your face closer to his hard member. Slowly. Until your face is just millimeters away from his throbbing cock. You keep your eyes on his face. Watch the way his amused expression turns into something feral when your breath hits the sensitive skin. So, you blow on to it. Think there’ll be no other music to compare with his shaky moan. You do it again and again. Poke your tongue out just to kitten lick his shaft, keeping your head just where he holds it.

“Holy fuck! Fucking hell Lil… God.” He groans and lets go off your head. Grits his teeth to keep his composure. But you want him to lose it. Snap. Become a mess. You’re determined to make him when you start to drag the tip of your tongue, across his shaft. Pleased at the way his dick twitched. He can be infuriating but so can you. Keep licking and kissing through, never completely giving in. Not wrapping your lips around but just dragging your tongue over the flushed tip. Tasting the pre cum. Licking and playing with his balls. You feel really proud when it doesn’t take that long. Jimin bucks into your lips.

“Oh, you fucking tease…” Grabs from your head again. “Don- don’t tease. Lil…” Holds your head in place but you don’t do what he wants. Wait patiently till he snaps. “Fuck. Do something baby. Take me in, want to feel you wrap around me.” Starts to crumble. It’s a shame you’re too impatient to wait for him to beg. But you’re fully satisfied with what you got. Hence, waste no time wrapping your lips around his leaking tip. Humming and moaning. Jimin’s moans entangling with yours. You swirls your tongue around his tip before slowly starting to take him further in. Not that you’ve the best experiences in blowjobs. Still, you know what you’re doing. Knows how to pleasure. So, you do your best. Taking him the best way, you can. Bobbing your head up and down. Dragging your tongue. Licking at his balls. Mouthing at his tip. Are on a mission. Slobbering. Sucking.

See now, you don’t think you ever wanted to make someone feel good, than now you want to make Park Jimin. His growls and grunts pared with his taste makes you blissed even without a single touch on your body. You keep your eyes at his disheveled look. Mouth opens and panting. Skin glistening. Trying so bad not to ruin your rhythm and push into you. You want him to do that. So, you pull away, spit drooling into your chin. Rub your thighs as you speak.

“Fuck my mouth.”

Jimin makes a strangling noise at that.

“Fuck, are you sure?”

“Yes, Jimin…” You whisper, breathless. “Please.”

“Lil… fuck you can’t… shit. Fuck, okay. Tap my thigh if it’s too much, okay?”

You just nod. And luckily, he is too impatient now to ask you to say it. You open your mouth, relaxing your jaw. Letting him take control and use your mouth. Feeling his cock heavy on your tongue, forcing your head down and down till you feel the tip of him hitting your throat. Jimin gives you a minute. Again, this is a first time for you. But you’re pretty confident that you can handle it.

“Breathe baby. Don’t hold your breath.” He mumbles. You nod around him. Take couple few seconds before humming, asking him to continue. So, he does. Starting slow. Bucking his hips into your mouth. Gripping the back of your head. Losing control, by every minute his dick is engulfed in the warmth of your mouth. Second by second picking up the speed. Fucking your face. And you’re drooling, sputtering. Trying bad to control your gag reflex. Eyes stinging with tears. Choking on his dick. Each time a gag erupts, Jimin becomes more feral. Fingers gripping your hair harsh, gritting his teeth to hold back. Not to hurt you. Not to push so much on you. The thing is, you’re actually loving every minute of this. Are turned on so badly that you can’t help but keep squeezing your thighs together. Desperate for some kind of friction. There’s an urge to just touch yourself while Jimin uses your mouth to get off. Think it’s embarrassing. But not to Jimin. No. Even with his blissed-out state, he has his eyes on you. Just knows what you’re thinking. You’re not surprised anymore. Not at all when he stutters through his moans and grunts.

“Go ahead, d- do it.” He hissed through gritted teeth.

You want to ask what but are unable to do so. Only capable of drooling more and looking at him with tear filled eyes.

“Touch yourself Lil. You want to, don’t you? Go ahead, rub your pretty clit while I fuck your mouth. Ah─ fucking slut.”

You nearly sob at that. Complying with his demand instantly. One hand still digging into his thigh, you take the other to slip inside your wet panties. Moaning so loud at the friction on your clit, which is muffled by his cock. Then it’s all a sobering mess. Spit. Tears. Moans. Grunts. Curses. Jimin is relentless. You hold onto him with all your strength while your free hand keep circling your sensitive nub. Willing yourself to keep going till he falls over the edge. And it doesn’t take that long.

“Fuck baby I’m close. Hold on. Shit, your mouth feel so good. You look so pretty choking on my cock baby. God─ Dumb fucking slut.” His words make your fingers work at double speed. Your throat clenching when he hits the back.

“Lil, fuck... do- do y- you want me to... inside your mouth huh? Want me to cume in your throat baby?” Jimin forces you a little bit more on his cock. Yet again, it’s a weak nod and a moan is all you can manage. Jimin loves it apparently. No matter how weak your nod is. Because he curses loudly at that. Lose the precision in his movements for second before forces your head completely down. Your nose meets his pelvis. Hips stuttering and stilling as ropes and ropes of white hits your throat. Making your sob partially due to the discomfort but mainly due to the pleasure. Pure, hot pleasure. Jimin holds you there for just a second longer before releasing you. You pull away, greedily sucking in breath to sooth your burning lungs. Saliva covering your entire chin and tears covering your cheeks. You must look like a filthy mess, but the way Jimin looks at you tell you that you’re a hot mess.

“God baby. You’re just… Fuck!” Jimin is heaving for breath as well. His chest rising up and down. Yet bends down immediately to cup your face with both of his hands. “You’re okay right? Lil?” Wipes away your tears. Rubs your face soothingly. You whimper.

“I’m fine. Just aching for─” You don’t get to complete the sentence when Jimin suddenly grabs from your forearms. Yanking you to your feet.

“Up baby c’mon.” A squeal escapes your lips. Jimin isn’t satiated it seems, the demon inside him is still there. The way he rips your bra away is humanly impossible. Your panties follows next. Got you straddling him. Instead of placing you over his crotch, however, he hurriedly lay down. Legs still dangling over the edge. Slaps your ass slightly.

“On my face Lil. Ride my face. Want to eat you out until your legs can’t hold you anymore.”

You look at him surprisingly for a moment. Then nod. If he wants that you’re not going to argue. Move forward with your knees fast as you can. Nearly hovers down your aching cunt on his face when a knock erupts on the door, freezing you. You almost panicked and run away at light speed before you remember that the door is securely fastened. Jimin annoyingly groans under you, frustrated. Your face flushes with embarrassment as you scramble off him. Sitting down beside when the interrupter speaks through. Funny it’s Jin’s voice since you expected it to be Kim freaking Taehyung.

“I’m extremely sorry to ruin your fuck session brother, but the stupid Ji Hun wants to talk to you right now. Can’t be delayed because I already tried.”

“Are you fucking serious Hyung?” Jimin sits back. It’s a comical situation. You can’t laugh though. Not when your clit is still throbbing.

“Yes. And I’m sorry. Just five minutes max. Say whatever he needs to hear.” Jin shouts. You can imagine him pressing his ear to your door. Jimin looks at you. Despite your frustration you can understand that he needs to work. You give him a soft and reassuring smile.

“That’s okay.” Mumble. Peck his lips. Jimin takes a moment to make sure you’re really fine. When he does, kisses you deeply.

“Just five minutes okay. Ten max. Take a shower if you want. I’ll be back by the time you finish.” Suggests. And you agree. Seems like a good idea.

“Be quick.” Gift him another kiss. “I’m dripping.” Purr against his mouth, smirking when he whimpered.

………………………………………………

You’ve never showered this fast before. Only twelve minutes. Precisely. A record. And sticking to his word Jimin was there when you left the bathroom. The only problem? He was fast asleep. Breathing deeply and peaceful. So, you’re just standing near the edge of the bed for God knows how long. Like a creep. If anything, you should feel irritated, annoyed. He left you hanging. Now is sleeping like nothing matters. The thing is you don’t feel anything remotely close to irritation. Or annoyance. Instead, you feel your heart swooning. Swelling. Adoration fills you up. You feel affection. A deep urge to kiss his puffy cheeks and pouty lips. He looks angelic. The amber hue of the ceiling lights creates a golden hue on his face. He looks beautiful. In most humanly way. Neck tilts to one side and has one of his hands curled into a tight fist. As though he’s holding onto a dream.

God! Why?

Why does he have to do this to you? Why does your heart skips beating when there’s nothing illicit happening? Why do you want to kiss him madly when you don’t feel aroused at all?

Fuck this is not good.

You want to kiss him for no reason. Because you feel like it. To feel closer.

Nope. No.

That wasn’t the deal. You turn around your heel fast. Then turn back again on a second thought. Cover him with the comforter and flee the room like a hurricane.

…………………………………..

It’s not that late. Just near midnight but all your friends have decided to call it an early night that day. Must be damn exhausted by all the drinking, partying, and walking. You envy them. They’ll be here tomorrow as well. You won’t. Simply can’t handle 72 hours straight. There’s a painful disappointment inside you. This day is slipping away. No scratch that, it’s already over. A day. That was your deal. You and Jimin wanted a day to pretend normal and satiate your burning desires. And you did to a certain extent but not completely. You’re still very much drooling at his sight. Heart beating madly and arousals seeping through you. Maybe if you have actually fucked, this day could’ve been a huge success. Finally satisfied.

Well, you can obviously wake him up instead of watching him sleep. But you know you can’t. Even though you shouldn’t, you care too much. How could you just wake that peaceful angel up. Too cruel. It doesn’t matter that your time in paradise is over. That you have to face reality, and you haven’t gained anything during your journey. You’ll still make sure Park Jimin is sleeping tight. Resting. Will stay awake till the sun rise, till he wake up. And to assist you to do that you need huge load of caffeine. 

That was your intention when you take the sharp corner to the kitchen. Only to collide with a hard chest as a loud mewl escapes your mouth.

“Fuck, sorry.” The person whispers. Trying to keep the quiet of the cottage. People are sleeping after all. You raise your head to look at the owner of the chest. Who turned out to be Jungkook with a glass of water in his hand. You’ve caused it to spill a little bit. He appears just as surprised as you.

“Oh, I’m sorry Kookie. Didn’t see you there.” You apologize fast since it’s your fault.

“Noona?” He whispers again.

“Yes.” You whisper back.

“What are you doing.”

“Ah, I couldn’t sleep so I just came down. Late night snack thing.” You think it’s stupid to say you need a coffee just after you said you couldn’t sleep. Jungkook hums in understanding. And just when you think he’ll leave you up to mind your own business, he speak again.

“Can’t sleep either.” He is inadvertently covering your way to the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

He hums again. You nearly round him to go past to the kitchen.

“Do you smoke?” This time he raise his voice a little bit, so he is mumbling now. You shouldn’t be surprised that he is asking random questions from you at random moments. You decide to stay honest and say yes. Ask him why he asks.

“Well, since both of us can’t sleep, how about a smoke?” Is back to whispering. Gestures to the window clearly indicating outside. “Wanna go out?” Adds that question as well. You take a minute to consider his invitation. Decide that it’s better to have some company than being alone. Mumble a simple but eager yes.

…………………………………

You and Jungkook stand under a dormant maple tree. Wrapped up in winter coats. You’re definitely not wearing yours and Jungkook’s oversized one swallows you whole. Freshly fallen snowflakes scrunch under your heavy boots. Stars glitter above you in the clear sky after the snowfall. Air is crisp and biting. Kisses your face like thousands of needles. Even with the large winter jacket, you’re shivering slightly.

“Are you too cold Noona? Want to head back inside.” Jungkook asks you as he exhales a puff of smoke. Holds the cigarette to you. You were quite surprised when he didn’t give you your own. But it’s so expected of Jungkook to wanting to share a one. In the end, you didn’t protest. You take the cigarette from him while shaking your head.

“No. I like this actually. Relaxing, isn’t it? And the sky is beautiful.” You hollow your cheeks to take a deep drag, liking the feeling of how Nicotine addictively warms you up. You’re not a habitual smoker by any means. It’s just sometimes you smoke. And you really mean it when you say it’s relaxing. Your heart is beating fast but this time it’s not due to Park Jimin. It’s just the effect of Nicotine. So, you think it’s good. To find out Park Jimin isn’t the sole reason of your body going crazy. It goes crazy over Nicotine too. That’s good. You like the way crips air battle against your exhaustion and chase away the sleepiness. Like how Jungkook’s endless talking make you forget the man who’s sleeping upstairs like a baby. Stops you from just give in and go back. Kiss every inch of his face and curl into his warm body. This, in fact, is outstanding.

“Yeah? Are you good at spotting constellations?” He glances up at the sky. You follow his line of vision.

“No. Are you?”

“Absolutely not. Can’t understand how people do that─” He points at the sky. You snort at his claim. “It all looks the same. Like fairy dust.” Muses before averting his gaze to you and taking the cigarette away.

“Oh, I actually believed they are magical lights as a kid. Fairies and their fairy lights.” You look at him too. Waiting patiently for him to share the smoke back with you. Raise your hands to take it when Jungkook casually just holds it to your mouth. You glance at his face quickly. He urges you to go on. So, you do, wrapping your lips around the abusive cylinder.

“You don’t anymore?” He questions while you take another deep drag. You answer after blowing that smoke out. Click your tongue.

“I’ll believe they are fairy lights again when I get to see a shooting star.” You dreamily look above at the sky again. Jungkook interrupts you with a gasp. That leads him to ask you series of question about how come you’ve not seen one. Which takes a turn into asking about your life. You answer him vaguely as possible. Not wanting to blow your cover. Your answers consist mainly of rough yes and nos. And it goes on until you’ve got to light up a third cigarette. Jungkook lets you take the first drag from that.

“Are you happy with him?” Jungkook’s question cuts through the conversation suddenly. A complete turnover from what you’ve been talking about. He was asking you about your (Liya’s) family. You were telling him that you don’t get along with them well. Which you don’t know to be the ruth or not. You let the cigarette slips out of your mouth as you take him.

“With whom?”

“Jimin?” Says casually before his eyes goes wide with sudden realization. “Shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask such kind of question from people now, should I? You don’t have to answer.” Jungkook shakes his head fast. Stammers. You’re not sure if he should or not. Simply you don’t know the answer. You shake your head to say it’s okay anyway. Say that you’re very happy. He nods in understanding.

“That’s good. I mean I’m sorry for asking that. Was just curious. You know that day... uh... the day we met, Tae said something about you two not being able to stand each other but it seems like you can’t get enough from each other. That’s why I asked. Sorry.” He apologizes again with an explanation. You can remember Taehyung saying such thing. It makes sense why Jungkook is curious.

“Well, maybe we can’t stand each other some days. But you know it’s just... relationships?” You feel odd to say that. Honestly, all these times, despite all these people believing you’re Liya, you’ve not played your part. You were just you. Even with Jimin. You were and are you. Not Kim Liya. Odd to speak on her behalf. An adorable bunny grin appears on Jungkook’s face.

“Maybe yeah…” Nods. “But you’re really weird you know? Jimin must be really fascinated by you all the time.” That grin never leaves his face as he says that.

“Yah! It’s rude to call someone weird.” You gasp.

“I mean in a good way though.”

“It’s still very rude and how come? How am I weird?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath. “Well, first, you don’t know Midnight Symphony─” He starts to put his fingers down. “Second, you know songs that we’ve never heard about. Third, today you were so engrossed with a soda can back at the convenience store. I’ve never seen someone being so interested at a soda can. I mean what’s there to look so much? Fourth─”

“Geez, alright you have a long fuckin list. But listen. First─” You start putting down fingers as well. “It’s really possible I haven’t heard a song─”

“Yes, but not the fucking Midnight Symphony. Even newborns know that.”

“Shut up, it’s very possible and I wasn’t so engrossed with a soda can.” You absolutely were. That soda can was in stupid shape. And so was it had a label saying it’s in garlic flavor. That’s the weirdest shit you’ve found so far in this world. Can’t blame you for staring at it.

“You were Noona. You were looking at it like this,” Jungkook bends down slightly. “-and your eyes were like this,” Squints his eyes into narrow slits. “- your mouth was like this.” Opens his mouth. Looks like a freaking cartoon. You shriek in embarrassment.

“I. Was. Not. Jeon Jungkook.” Say sternly through your grin. Kick the snow underneath your foot so it hit Jungkook’s shoes. It’s his time to shriek. Jumping to his side to avoid it but failing. Comes up with a counterattack, nonetheless. You two are kicking snow at each other like it’s a real time war in a minute. Trying to compress your laughter and keep balance. You’re certain it would’ve escalated into a very serious snowball fight. But at the right moment you almost bend down to grab some handful of snow Jungkook gasps so loudly. In fear. Startle and nearly lost his balance making you hold from his jacket. When Jungkook’s sudden gasp jolts you, you spin around in alarm, only to stumble backward in shock, mirroring his startled reaction. Jungkook returning the favor by holding you steady. A yelp leaving your mouth.

There’s someone standing in front of you. In the middle of the front yard. Possible since there’s not a wall or a gate to protect the property after all. Still, isn’t any less scary or startling to see someone strange suddenly appearing behind you.

“Fuck.” Jungkook curses as he drags you behind him immediately. Shielding your figure. It’s obvious that this person is not someone from your friend group. It’s a woman. A mop of grey hair on her head. Isn’t wearing a hat nor a scarf. Wearing a puffy jacket, however. Is standing very still like statue. The faint light coming from the cottage shows you that her face is covered with hundreds of wrinkles. You feel a strange shiver run through your spine. Mouth going dry and the hair on the nape of your neck is standing up. What a creepy sensation!

“Fuck I nearly had a heart attack. Who are you?” Jungkook mumbles the first part before asking the latter loudly. Still keeping you behind him. The woman doesn’t answer. See, fucking creepy. She looks too old to be a serial killer or a thief, but you’ll never know. You grab Jungkook’s jacket. Whoever this woman might be, you don’t think it’s wise to talk to her. You need to go inside. So, you tug from Jungkook’s jacket.

“Let’s go inside.” You whisper to him. Trying to walk away and drag him with you. He is a boulder though. Doesn’t even budge. Is looking at the intruder with his brows furrowed. “Jungkook.” You hiss. He takes a brief glance at you. Looks like is about to relent when the woman speaks. Halting both of your movements. Her voice calmed.

“You need to go.” She says. “Promptly.” Adds. You and Jungkook, halted in your movements, gape at her. Not understanding anything.

“What?” Jungkook is the one who questions. You wish he didn’t.

“The young lady,” Woman points at you. You stupidly point at yourself. “You need to return to where you belong, promptly. Or else, the people you know, the loved ones of you will forget about your memories. The same thing happens to Kim Liya. You shouldn’t break the order of things child.” She keeps going.

And you freeze.

You think you understand what she says. Blood drains out of your face. You might’ve turned into porcelain pale.

She knows. Whoever she is, she knows!

You almost step away from Jungkook. But halt again when she softly speaks your name. Your real name. She says it fondly.

“This is a huge mistake my child. You shouldn’t be here. Make haste and go back to where you belong.” She calmly states. Nearly turns around like she is about to leave. Your brain goes into high alert. Panick mode. She knows and she just can’t leave like that. Even though you understand her words, they don’t make sense. What does she mean by losing memories? How does she know in the first place? Who is she?

You practically run to her. “Wait!” You shout. She stops and turns around. Face still very calm. Stand still like a statue. “Yes?” Asks.

“Who are you?” You question. There’s million things you want to know but that’s the one that leaves your mouth. 

“No one very important, young child. Make haste and go back.” Turns around again.

“No wait, you obviously know who I am. You know I’m from a different world. You know I’m not Liya. And… and... that must mean something.” You blurt out. She just sighs but says nothing. So, you continue. “You are saying that I shouldn’t be here and should go back but you know I’ll be here the moment I sleep right?”

“Yes, I do know that.” Finally answers.

“Then what’s the point of asking me to go back. This is not under my control anyway. Tell me what’s happening here. I... We’ve been looking for answers for such a long time. A way to stop this. You do know how to stop this don’t you?” Your voice is shaky from excitement and something that you can’t quite explain.

“Listen dear human, this is not my place to meddle with human affairs. I shouldn’t be here either, just like you. I’m just here to warn you that spending more time in one world results in your permanent disappearance from the other.”

“Wha─”

“Each and every person in these countless universes have their own place. Only one place. When you are not there to fill that space, it vanishes. You can’t return back to your space. It’s already gone. You’ll no longer be a part of your own universe, but a part of this. Filling up the vacant space of Kim Liya. And as long as you are here, she can’t return… and her loved ones will forget of her memories as well. You’ll be the only one they remember. Thus, my dear child you need to go back before things get complicated.” She smiles at you fondly. You’re on the hand, are feeling like losing your balance. Legs buckling.

“Where is she? Liya?” You force yourself to keep interrogate. Funny, how you trust this woman.

“Nowhere.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why she isn’t here when I am?”

“You are not paying attention now, are you? There’s only one space. You can’t share that space. This is her space…. And you are occupying it. That’s why she isn’t here. Now, I have already said so many things I shouldn’t and especially, in front of a witness. What should we do? Wipe this young gentleman’s memory off.” The woman turns to Jungkook. God, you really forgot he is here. He looks bewildered. Eyes still wide and mouth open. Confused. Takes an uncertain step back when the attention falls on him.

“Wh- what’s really happening here?” Looks between you and the old woman. Gulps harshly. Him witnessing what’s happening here isn’t good. It doesn't mean you want his memory erased, however. Hell, you don’t even know what that even means.

“No. What? You can’t do that.” You ignore Jungkook completely to answer the woman. She gives you an amused look. “Are you sure?” Asks. “Of course, you can’t wipe someone’s memory off like that and─” You don’t get to finish what you want to say when she shrugs and turns around again. No. She still hasn’t told you half of the stuff you want to know.

“Wait, wait please.” You almost grab from her hand.

“You already know enough children. Do the right thing.” Takes another step.

“At least tell me how to stop this.” You won’t let this opportunity slip like that. She sighs heavily again. Doesn’t turn around to look at you. A beat of silence passes before she speaks again.

“Just do the exact opposite of what you did that day.” Takes another step away. You don’t stop her this time. Are too confused to do so. What day? The day you came here. She stops again. “Since I already told you so many things, here’s another one- you only have one week. And it’s quite okay to believe in miracles sometimes.” With that, in front of your very bare eyes, and with Jungkook to witness, she vanishes. Just like that. In a snap. Not a single sign of her existence is left there. Only you and Jungkook with your mouth hanging open. You suck in a sharp breath. Not believing what you just saw.

How? How did she?

“Fucking hell, what the hell is happening? Noona?” Jungkook breaks the stupor you two are in. Making your head whip toward him. He is still wearing a same kind of bewildered expression. “Noona? Do you know her? Did she ─ did she fucking disappeared? What’s about, fuck- did she tell something about another world? Wait? Are you a fucking alien?” He takes a step toward you. His quite voice raising an octave with every question.

Shit! This is a mess. You don’t know how to explain this. You want to, however. But not now. Not if what she said was true. The more you spend your time here you’re keep fucking things up. You need to find Jimin, tell him what just happened. You need to leave.

“Later. I’ll explain later. I need to go.” You mutter as you start toward the door. You’ll definitely explain. She said you have a week.

Fuck you only have a week!

…………………………………

It was a quick departure. In the middle of the night. Nobody except Jungkook knew you’d left. You gave him a quick hug and a promise of an explanation. And a request to let others know that something came up. He said yes. You and Jimin drove off at the very moment.

When you first woke him up, Jimin was confused. Almost kissed you, purring. Asked why you haven’t woken him up, before you stopped him. He looked taken aback. When you hurriedly but clearly explained to him what happened, he became difficult like always. So many questions and doubts. Yet eventually he had to believe you. Especially, when you pointed out that Jungkook witnessed them all. Jimin wasn’t happy. He was irate in fact. Was like that when you left the cottage and is still like that. You haven’t talked much since then. You don’t like the uncomfortable silence though. Make you feel even more awful. About everything that happened. Your brain is swirling around the guilt and confusion. That paired up with the realization that everything indeed came to an end, makes your heart ache. Except for your illicit affair of couple days, Jimin and you were close. More than close. It’s just like you knew how it would be. You knew this would become a memory to cry over one day. Only that it came a little faster than you expected. You don’t want to wallow in this feeling.

Jimin is completely focusing on the road. The roads are not in the best condition to drive fast. No matter how much in a hurry you are. He is restless. Looks remorseful. You understand him completely. He was having the time of his life with you while his girlfriend’s entire existence almost disappeared.

Still, it’s strange to be like this around him after all. You need to talk to him. It’s out of control. Need some kind of comfort. His comfort to be precise.

“She said we have a week.” You blurt that out before you can think. Jimin snaps his head at you. He knew it already but looks at you like he just hears it. Opens his mouth to say something but doesn’t. Blows a breath out. Licks his lips and nods. And is looking away again. It makes you irritated. You want him to say that he is equally sad as you.

“Is that it? You have nothing to say?” You ask again.

“What do you want me to say?” He doesn’t even look at you as he asks. Knuckles turning white at how hard he is gripping the steering wheel.

You’re disappointed that he is fine with you leaving. Not that you can question it though. So, you change the subject. But apparently into the wrong path.

“I want to come clean before I leave.” You mumble. Eyes expectantly watching him when he looks at you with knitted brows.

“What?”

“You know, I want your friends to know who I am before I leave.”

He actually laughs at that. Humorless. Gets you annoyed.

“You’re fucking joking, right?” Looks at you like you’re the funniest thing in every universe.

“No, I am not Park. I’m freaking serio─”

“Are you fucking crazy Lil?” His tone and the way he nearly yells makes you snap. Ache in your heart turning into sadness. So, you yell back. Ask him what’s his problem is.

“Why the hell do you want to tell them?” He replies. Or yells again.

“And why the hell not? Because I kind of know them.”

“Stop fucking bullshitting Lil. They don’t know you at all. They think you’re fucking Liya.”

“That’s exactly why I need to tell them that I am not.”

You and he are really shouting through the top of your lungs now. This isn’t what you wanted when you wanted to talk. Things has taken a complete turn. You don’t even know why you’re fighting. Jimin hits the brake furiously. Makes you jolt forward. He has stopped the car in the middle of the road. Good thing that there’s no other vehicles on the road.

“And then what Lil? What happens after that? You want them to see me as a fucking cheater? Is that what you want? You’ll fucking leave and I’ll be the one left to pick up the pieces of my shattered life and relationship.”  He is burning you down with his glare. You shut your mouth instantly. Oh, you haven’t thought about it that way at all. You don’t know why you want to come clean. What’s the purpose? It’s just you want to say something and that’s what came to your mind. And then his dismissive answers made you irritated. Does he not care at all? You’ll be leaving in a week.

“Right? That’s what I thought.” Jimin says again when you don’t reply. Sighs. “So, is this like you want some kind of revenge?” Questions again. Your eyes go wide instantly, jaw dropping to the floor at the same time your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. What is he talking about?

“Why the fuck would I want a revenge?”

“No right? Then what the hell is this? Why are you being difficult? Why can’t you just stick to the plan and leave like you came? Everything resolved, you get your life back and I get mine. Just a normal life huh? Isn’t that what you wanted?” He points it out. What he is saying is the absolute truth. That was your plan. Then why do you feel your heart shatter. He just asked you to leave quietly. Like you don’t matter. And that’s the case after all. You don’t matter. Are here by mistake. You were just a body, a temporary stand-in. A warm presence in the absence of his real love. You’re nothing. You feel your throat constricts. This is not good that you’re on the verge of crying.  You don’t want to cry at all, but his next words hit like final wave to break your dam.

“Just don’t ruin my life before you leave Lil. I did nothing wrong to you. You agreed and it was for a day. One day. You’ve no reason to do so. Just don’t make this difficult.” Says before accelerating the car again. You say nothing, too afraid to speak. Know you’ll definitely cry. Instead, look away through the window, allowing your thoughts to consume you completely. Biting on your lower lip to swallow back the sob rising in your throat.

Ruin his life?

You’ve no right to feel so hurt. Like he said you knew it was for a day. You shouldn’t expect anything from Park Jimin. This is his and Liya’s life. Their world and universe. You’re just a stranger. It’s so unfair to expect that Jimin would care about you. To say the least, you’re embarrassed to realize that you indeed expect him to grieve your departure. Ridiculous. Shameless. It was indeed a day in paradise. A dream. And the thing about dream? They always come to an end when you wake up. This is the end of your dream. Well, you’ll find a way to deal with reality somehow. You know how to manage through heartbreaks. If Jimin wants you to leave like that, you will. He can go fuck himself. If he doesn’t care, neither will you. You will show him your middle finger when you say goodbye.

Yes, just Goodbye. No, ‘I’ll miss you’. No. Nothing else. Just Goodbye.  

GOOD FUCKING BYE!

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a/n- Leave a note if you enjoyed this one!

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[the-broken-pen]

Hello! i love your cat villian one so much maybe do more??????

but ignore if not (AMAZING BLOG EVER)

The protagonist was dying. They were sure of it, they could feel it, this all consuming terror and in the way they couldn’t draw a full breath into their lungs, like it was funneled through a straw and it was killing them–

Their vision went blurry and they crumpled against the wall, curling into a half-hearted ball over their knees against the baseboard. There was blood splattered over their hands. They just–if they could just–a tiny bit of air–

A hand, warm and gentle, appeared at the nap of their neck, tipping their head up to look at their face.

The protagonist blinked, and the villain was there, and they were watching them die, and oh god they were going to get fired–

“Breathe,” the villain said, and it sounded like they were under water. A million miles away. Point Nemo. Their sister had told them about that once, in the middle of the night as they sat on the roof.

It must be so lonely, she had said, head tipped to the stars. To be so far from everyone else.

The protagonist had wanted to say, I don’t need to be far from everyone else to feel lonely. I’m Point Nemo, can’t you see? But they hadn’t, had just hummed something in agreement, and the villain was telling them to “breathe,” again.

I’m trying, the protagonist wanted to sob. I’m trying, I’m trying, I’m trying.

“Protagonist,” the villain cupped their face in their hands, and through the blurring of the protagonist’s vision, they looked absolutely terrified.

Which didn’t make sense, because the villain always knew exactly what to do in every situation. It was comforting to be in the shadow of someone who knew exactly how they fit into the world.

The villain said something, and the protagonist blinked.

“What?” they managed. The villain snapped their head to look up at them.

“I said, I’m calling your mom.”

Abruptly, terror was flooding their veins again, and they slammed the phone out of the villain’s hand and onto the concrete.

The villain just watched them, concern stark on their face.

“Protagonist–”

“You can’t call her,” they gasped out, chest tight. “She’ll worry and–I can’t do that to her, not after my sister, she can’t do that again.”

Point Nemo. One million miles away.

Really, though, just six feet down.

It felt the same.

“Okay,” the villain said, low and soothing, like they were a scared child. They were. “Okay, I won’t call her, but I need you to breathe,” they emphasized.

“I’m trying,” the protagonist bit out, sucking in air that didn’t seem to be doing anything. How could it not be doing anything? This was one of the worst things that could be happening to them, let alone in front of their boss. They were supposed to be stronger than this, they were stronger than this, so why were they shaking against the baseboard in the hallway of their base. Idly, they looked down at the blood coating their arms, and couldn’t remember whose it was.

“I don’t know how to help you,” the villain admitted, voice breaking.

The protagonist couldn’t get their hands to stop shaking.

If they could just draw a breath–

Blood is harder to get off than you would expect. It clings and clings and clings–

The villain followed their gaze down, and a moment later, they had a wet wipe in their hand, wiping down the protagonist’s hands with an efficiency they could never hope to imitate.

They flinched away from the cold of it a second too late, and the villain frowned.

“You’re okay,” the villain promised, and the protagonist wanted to believe them.

They still choked on the next breath they tried to take, and it hurt and was miserable and the protagonist just wanted it to stop.

The villain said something that sounded like their name again, and they wanted to respond but felt the words get caught in their ribs, and the villain vanished and–

They were holding a cat.

Their shoulders untensed immediately, hands curling softly into the fur, as softly as they could manage while shaking, and they bit their lip to keep from crying at how useless they felt. How could they not figure out how to use their own hands? They bit back a sob, because nothing was working and they couldn’t bear to hurt a cat.

The cat curled itself further against the protagonist’s chest, tucked into their arms in the hollow between their knees and their abdomen.

The villain was–oh.

Oh, the protagonist was so stupid.

The villain was kind, kinder than they deserved, probably, turning into a cat just to make the protagonist stop having a meltdown in their hallway.

The protagonist just needed to get their legs to stop being numb, and then they could stand up and go hide in the bathroom until their body remembered how to do its job, and stop bothering the villain with their stupid problems and panic.

And then, abruptly, the villain began to purr, rumbling into the protagonist's chest.

Some knot deep inside of them that they hadn’t realized existed uncoiled, and they sucked in a breath so deep they thought it would never end. They choked on it on the way out, but the villain simply kept purring, so they tried again, and again, until their vision unblurred and the ache in their lungs had vanished.

“Okay,” the protagonist murmured to themself. Sometimes, they could trick themself by talking in the tone they used on frightened children when out on patrol. “You’re okay, I’m okay, everything is fine.”

They moved to set the villain down, but the villain dug their claws into the protagonist’s arm, nudging their face into their bicep.

Are you really okay? They seemed to ask, and the protagonist didn’t have an answer to that. They could breathe, and feel their toes, and they could remember–oh.

They could remember.

Blood on their hands.

The villain started purring again, and the protagonist burst into tears, burying their face into the villain’s fur. The villain let them, nudging the side of the face every so often in a reminder to breathe.

They stayed like that, until the protagonist’s tears had dried, and their heart only panged a little bit when the villain jumped down out of their arms and onto the floor in front of them.

A blink, and the villain was in front of them again, eyes filled with concern as they grabbed onto the protagonist’s elbows.

“You’re okay,” the villain breathed, and then the protagonist was pulled into a hug so warm they never wanted to leave. “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” the protagonist agreed, face tucked into the villain’s chest.

The villain simply hugged them tighter.

Point Nemo had never felt further away.

[ask-the-royal-absol]

Chance: So, you may be wondering, “How on earth are you gonna show a death battle? Is that not too gruesome for TV?” And I say don’t you all worry your pretty little heads. This battle royal is simulated, meaning the contestants will not feel a thing. As it’s styled like The Hunger Games, the aim of the game is to be the last one to survive! The last contestant remaining will get the Victorious Ones trophy from yours truly!

We’ve sent everyone down into their districts. Before I give the signal for everyone to begin, let’s have a listen in to some contestants thoughts through our live video screen!

Chance: Oh ho! A bit of smack talk from one of the contestants! This will be exciting! I wonder if the other contestants are feeling as confident or whether their nerves are getting the best of them!

(The 200 follower event is a go! Each week, I will post what the simulator mentions on it and add some drawings about what’s happened. As I said, I’m not gonna make them gruesome or serious. It will be in a comedic tone with slapstick-styled “deaths”.

Now that you know the very first pairings, feel free to draw your character either talking smack to the other character in your district or perhaps some other form of dialogue. This is not mandatory in any way! This is solely for a bit of fun before I get to drawing the events that are taking place! If you do draw any art for this event, please tag me or use the #200followerhungergamessim tag.

I wonder who’s gonna kill Destino lol

Tagging those in this so you know who’s joined:

Deca and Conductor - @spikyegg

Rimi - @ask-the-shiny-pokemons

Marley, Viola and Chomps - @asktherandomfam

Capital - @askcapital

Armando and Blair - @asklivingwasteland

Nix - @ask-anxious-sylveon

Mothball - @mysteriousmothball

X - @mod-checker

Suicune - @ask-suicune

Prince - @askpsychicarcanine

Shadow - @pokege-ne-project

Acacia - @phantomguild

Ziska - @askforestoddities

Wimmy - @askanotslownotking

Romeo - @ask-guardian-gallade

Altan - @asksolgaleo

Snow - @ask-a-learning-ai

Amy - @deep-digged-pokemon-burrow

Ultraviolet and Sugar - @distortionmewtwo

Sabre - @askleaderscrest

Lucario - @ask-lu-two-and-mew

Ryan and Rudy - @nobetternamethanthat2

Esmeralda and Arthur - @the-shinentist

Magby - @breed-station

Gizmo - @ask-gizmo-and-vigil

Inari - @inaris-pokemon-world

Vekpa - @askvekpa

Chime - @askchimeknight

Lunar - @saguaropokevariants

Peri - @ask-team-spectrum

Hiro, Genji and Ginjiro - @symphonies-of-silver

Chippy - @mew-sanctuary

Lumi and Kyandoru - @minish-mews-and-twos

Mase - @masetheumbreon

Dravol - @asksavel

Spirit - @askadelcatty

Harumi - @life-of-kalos

I’ll look forward to drawing each and every one of your characters!)

[chloesimaginationthings]

William Afton into the FNAF-verse

[sunsetsandsunshine]

If I may request a Rise fic!! I’m a huge sucker for comfort/cheer up tickles, so could you possibly write a disaster twins fic with Lee Leo and Ler Donnie where Leo’s been having a pretty bad day (because of what is your choice!) and ends up feeling self conscious about himself and stuff, so Donnie decides to cheer up his twin!! Please don’t feel rushed and make sure you’re taking care of yourself ^_^

~ 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜!!! ~

💜💙 𝙵𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢: 𝙰𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝙽𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 💜💙

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙼𝚂𝙺𝙽𝚂𝙽𝙺𝙼𝙳𝙽𝚂𝙹 𝙽𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙸𝙴 𝙾𝙷 𝙼𝚈 𝙶𝙾𝚂𝙷 𝚈𝙾𝚄. 𝙶𝙴𝚃. 𝙼𝙴!!! 𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝙻𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝙹𝙰𝙼!!! 𝙴𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚜…𝙶𝚘𝚍, 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑. 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘���𝚜𝚕𝚢..𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝/𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎…𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚗 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎??? 𝙻𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎!!!˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙷𝚞𝚛𝚝/𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟺,𝟹𝟿𝟺

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙻𝚎𝚘 🐢💙

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 🐢💜

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙳𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝙻𝚎𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚙𝚒𝚍…𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚠, 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚖𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚊 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝…𝙱𝚞𝚝 *𝙰𝙷𝙴𝙼* 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜:  @shut-up-jo @itzsana-kiddingmenow @aceofspades-doodles @ziipzeepzop-eez

@tmntheadforever123 @rice-cake-teen10 @aninabanina6969

@savemeafruitjuice @cedarrthefluffylee @saturnzskyzz @titters-and-tingles

@someone1348 @my-l0v3r-v3rse @snipersiniora @mistyandsnow

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙰𝚛𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚢𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚝𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝙿𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚔!!! 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚣𝚢…

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚃𝙴𝙴𝙷𝙴𝙴 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 🕺🏾✨💞🎶˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me again.” Leo grumbled under his breath as he rested his mouth on his palm, glancing away from his brother as he sighed loudly. 

“Well maybe if you weren’t so fucking reckless I wouldn’t need to.” Donnie growled lowly, glaring down at his twin.

“I’m not a baby, Don. I don’t need to be supervised like I’m some bomb triggered to explode.” The younger said in exasperation, lying down on his bed whilst grabbing a comic book to read off of his desk.

If Leo was going to be told off and scolded by his dear beloved brow-loving brother, he should at least have something to occupy himself with in the meanwhile. 

The softshell groaned eternally at his little brother’s action, quickly snatching the piece of literature out of the other’s hands and throwing it effortlessly to the ground. 

Uninterested lime green eyes locked with a determined yet fierce light golden, both of them refusing to look away or blink to show their dominance.

But after a while, the red eared slider grew more impatient, looking away again as he picked a hangnail on his thumb, “If you’re going to yell at me, can you just get it over with? I saw a reddit post predicting what’s going to happen in The Umbrella Academy season four and I need to read it.” 

“You can read that later, Nardo. I promise you, that reddit post isn’t going to fly away.” The elder said as he pinched the bridge of his snout, “What I need you to do right now is acknowledge what you did today was stupid, alright?” 

Leo looked away from his older brother, scoffing lightly, “I do stupid things all the time. What stupid action of mine are you wanting to scream at me for this time?” 

The softshell turtle took a couple deep breaths at that comment, drumming his fingers on his left arm in a soothing motion because he was NOT going to give into the urge of strangling his twin brother…

…No matter how much he deserved it.

“I’m not planning on screaming at you— that won’t help anyone or anything.” The purple banded turtle explained calmly…but you could see and tell he was starting to lose his paitence. 

“But you want to.” The red eared slider pressed on. 

“Leo…please. I don’t want to argue right now.” 

“We’re not arguing. We’re just kindly discussing my oh-so stupid descision that unfolded earlier today, right?” The younger twin smirked smugly, his eyes locking once again with his brother. 

When it came to arguments, the leader in blue always had this wonderful tactic to avoiding things: attempting to annoy the other person so much that they drop the subject they wanted to discuss with him completely.

It always worked with Raph…which the red eared slider didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

But the only downside of doing this tactic was his dumb twin saw right through it…

…And Leonardo despised it. 

“Nardo…you know what I’m referring to. And stop picking, please. Your going to hurt yourself.” The older attempted to say in a tranquil voice, but it personally just sounded like he was one second away from losing. his. shell.

“I sadly do not know what your referring to.” The blue cladded teen said coyly, picking on his hangnail more desperately now, “Care to enlighten me, Tello?” 

Donnie’s expression hardened ever so slightly at his younger brother’s absolute persistence on annoying him out of his right mind so he could eventually drop the subject…but the softshell turtle was not budging.

His twin would have to try way harder than that.

“I’d love to.” The light golden eyed mutant said in a fake sweet tone as he walked over to lean his shell on Leo’s closed door, crossing his arms in disaproval. The elder grabbed his brother’s sword, planting it right next to his foot so the blue banded turtle couldn’t reach for it. 

The red eared slider’s cocky grin turned to a small grimace (shake) as he soon came to terms with what his older brother was doing…

…He physically could not leave from this conversation…literally.

Leonardo crossed his arms, trying to mimick the other’s serious demeanor but was only met with an icy glare in return. 

“What you did during today’s mission was completley reckless and idiotic, Leonardo…and you know it.” The second oldest said, “I had that thug exactly where I wanted him but noooooo. Because you saw me trip you thought it would be a spectacular idea to throw yourself on top of me as that hooligan tried to hit me with his bat!!” Donatello seethed. 

“We’ve been over this multiple times, Leo! There was no reason for you to do that!” The light golden eyed teen yelled, his glare only hardening more as he saw the younger stuttering over his words to try to defend himself.

“I’m not done.” The taller teen growled, all of his calmness and collectiveness thrown completley out of the window.

The slider slightly flinched (which went un-noticed by the other) at his brother’s genuine angry tone, his left leg fidgeting and bouncing up and down like crazy. 

His tactic was really starting to not work in his favour at all…

“Just…stop putting yourself in the middle of danger like you’re just expecting the rest of us to just watch. We’re your family…and most importantly, we can defend ourselves just fine.” 

“Well ihisn’t that hypocritic!” Leonardo scoffed before creasing his eye ridges together in genuine confusion, mumbling to himself, “Hyp…uh…hypocrotic? Hyp…Hypocratic…?” 

“Hypocritical?” The older deadpanned.

“YES! THAT WORD!” Leo said, “When we were fighting Kraang Prime on the ship and he went to take a blow at Mikey…what did you do?”

Donatello scowled, his eyes not leaving his twin, “…I went in front of him and shielded him with my mystic tech.”

“Exactly.” The lime green eyed mutant scoffed, “And how is that any different from what I did, hm?”

“BECAUSE I HAD A PLAN!!!” Donatello shouted, “I planned to accordingly go in front of Mikey so my sheild could protect both him and me. Did it end up turning out perfect? Fuck no. Kraang Prime slashed right through it and me and Mikey went tumbling towards the ground…” The glasses wielding teen said through clenched teeth. 

The light golden eyed teen rubbed his face tiredly, his hands clenching and unclenching in frustration, “But I had a plan. You on the other hand, just zoomed recklessly on top of me and hoped for the best.”

“…I saved you, didn’t I…?” The younger twin mumbled out meekly, causing Donatello’s blood to absolutley boil. 

“That’s not the point!!!” The elder said as he clenched his hands at his sides again.

“Then what is?!” Leo said desperately, “Because from the looks of it, it just seems like you want to yell at me for just doing my job.” 

Leonardo pulled on his mask tails anxiously, trying to calm himself down but ultimately just making himself feel worse by doing the action, “I’ve been trying to be a better leader—“

“Leo—“

“—For you and Mikey and April and Raph and Casey and C.J. a-and Dad! But it seems like no matter what the hell I do there’s always something I’m doing WRONG!!!” The younger twin shouted, blinking back tears as he glared at the ground as if it took his Jupiter Jim comic.

Which…it did. The blue banded mutant wanted it back now, actually…

“I saved you! I-I didn’t even get hurt by doing it but somehow there’s an issue…” The lime green eyed teen murmured, both of his legs bouncing up and down as he tugged on his mask tails harder, “There always is…”

“Leonardo can you please just listen to me?” The older twin said in irritation. 

“But Don I’m—“

“No, Leo! Just listen! That’s all you need to do!” Donnie snapped as he cut his brother off, “I don’t want you leaping head first into harms way! At all! Especially if you don’t have a plan!” The softshell turtle exclaimed as he flapped his hands against the side of his thighs, but his eye contanct remaining on his little brother.

“Oho so now you don’t trust me well enough to know that I can handle myself in combat?” Leo said in a last desperate attempt to make his brother drop the conversation.

“I…” The young scientist’s eye twitched, his eyebrows creasing together as he had to physically restrain himself to not beat the ever living crap out of the other teen, “THIS IS NOT ABOUT TRUST, NARDO!” The light golden eyed mutant screamed desperately, his hands flapping faster as the red eared slider shrunk at his usage of tone, “This is about you not even thinking about what would happen to yourself when you do reckless nonsense like this.”

Leo glanced to the side, his eyes watering as he bit the inside of his cheek.

He just wanted to help and be the leader his brother’s deserved…

But he always found a way to fuck it up without even noticing, huh?

"You don't think about what could happen to you and I hate it!” The elder cried, “What would’ve happened if Raph didn’t come behind the guy and knocked him out cold at the last second, huh?! Would you have just stayed right on me as he continued to beat you with his bat?!”

Leonardo bit the inside of his cheek harder, his legs bouncing up and down more as his fingernails dug unforgivingly into his arms, “I-I’m sorry, Donnie—”

“Or would you have tried to fight him instead?! Mind you, you dropped your sword before coming to me so you’d have no weapon to defend yourself.” 

“You don't think about how much it scares me when you do dumb shit like that! I hate seeing you get hurt…I freaking loathe it.” Donnie rested the back of his head on Leo’s door, taking a couple deep breaths and hugging himself in an attempt to calm himself down.

Jeez…when the hell had he started yelling? His throat stung like a bitch now…

And when had he started shaking like a bobby head?!

The older twin’s expression softened, pinching the bridge of his snout once more, “I care about you…so fucking much, okay…?” The purple banded turtle said gently as he gradually started to simmer down and become more calm, “Your my twin…my little brother. And I hate to be repetitive but I-I just despise seeing you hurt…physically or emotionally…so please just…”

The young scientist’s eyes widened, peering down at his brother who did not seem to be following…at all. 

Leo’s eyes were wide as saucers as he hit his arm with his fist repeatedly whilst obviously trying to suck in whatever tears dared to try and escape. 

The taller turtle basically ran to his distressed twin, trying to stop him from harming himself any further but was only met with a low grunt.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Fucking shit. 

Wonderful job, Donatello! You yelled at your brother so much he shut down!

Even though you knew he can’t fucking stand being yelled at and the whole point of you even being here was to explain what he did wrong collectively and calmly because that was the exact oppositeof what Raph does when he’s worried…

But no! You yelled at him anyway.

Wonderful job, Donatello…wonderful. job. 

The older twin sighed sadly, gently grabbing his brother’s wrists so he would stop hitting himself. The two brother’s shared eye contact once again, an unsure lime green meeting an understanding yet uncertain light golden.

“Nardo…” The softshell started, squeezing the other’s hands gently, “…Are you with me, bud…?”

Leo just nodded quietly, squeezing back. 

“God…Nardo I’m so sorry…” The older muttered, “I don’t…I don’t know why the hell I lost my cool like that. I-I’m sorry I yelled. I shouldn’t of yelled…I-I just…” Donatello sighed, squeezing his brother’s hands once again. “I’m not angry with you. I…I was just frustrated.”

“Well, no…let me rephrase: I am angry with you— livid even. You know damn well enough that when you do those kinds of things my heart literally jumps out of my shell. I need you to put into consideration that I would like to live to at least seventy-seven…”

The younger twin giggled wetly, fidgeting with his brother’s fingers as he spoke, “…Why seventy-seven?”

“Albert Einstein died when he was seventy-six…I can and will outlive him.” The light golden eyed teen said matter-of-factly, “But back to what I was initially saying…I know you meant well. You saw that I was in trouble…and you dropped literally everything in order to help me get out of said trouble. You don’t think of what happens to you…you just do it because you’ll know if you do we’ll be alright…”

“I-I just…I just wanted to protect you…I-I just wanted to help…” Leo tried to explain.

“I know. I know, Lee…” Donatello sighed, rubbing the slider’s knuckles gently with his thumb, “But you need to understand that with you trying to protect us that way, your putting us in the same situation your trying to keep us away from.” The elder explained lightly, smiling softly as him and his twin’s forehead’s touched. 

“You’re getting hurt— or at the very least almost getting hurt. We’re feeling the same anguish and guilt you would feel if any of us did that. I get that you want to be a good leader and shit…but you can lead well without doing that…okay?” 

Leo fiddled with the other’s fingers a bit more, his bouncing leg starting to calm a bit, “I’ll…try to be more careful when it comes to me protecting you guys like that. When I see you all in trouble…I just…react. I don’t really care about what happens to me as long as you guys end up okay. But…I’ll try to be more careful. And if I ever end up, like, being a bit too reckless…you can just tell me…deal?”

“Deal.” Donnie nodded, squeezing Leo’s hands one last time before letting go, wiping his twin’s eyes with his hoodie sleeve, “Now please stop crying or you’re going to make me start crying.” 

Leo snorted, examining the other’s now tearing up expression, “I think it’s a bit too late for that…” 

“GAH! FUHUCK!” Donnie cursed, wiping his own eyes as the slider laughed loudly at his exclamation.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“Leo…don’t you think you’re getting a bit too big for this…?” Donatello grumbled as Leonardo was on his lap, getting all nice and comfy as he rested his chin on the older’s shoulder. “Noooope.” Leo drawed out, making a dramatic popping noise at the end of the 'p', “'Sides, this is what you get for making me emo earlier.”

“…I said I was sorry…I didn’t mean to shout at you like that. I was just concerned…” 

“I know that, you worrywart. I was just kidding.” The lime green eyed teen said lovingly, squishing his brother into a tighter embrace. The older let out a short shriek at the hug but of course didn’t mind the other being so clingy. 

If the young scientist really and truly did mind? Leo would’ve been pushed to the floor by now. 

The two twins shared a comfortable silence…well…a semi-comfortable silence.

The purple banded teen felt…off. His younger brother had this…look in his eyes; like he wanted to say something but was afraid of what Donnie would say or how Donnie would react.

Which was so damn dumb Donatello didn’t even know how to explain it.

“…There’s something else on your mind.” The taller turtle hummed, his suspicions only rising as the other glanced to the side. “Uhm…no there isn’t. See? This is why I call you a worrywart.” Leonardo said, tapping his fingers on his thigh nervously. 

Very convincing Leo…very convincing.

“Don’t even try lying to me, Leon. My older brother and twin senses are tingling. You can’t argue against that kind of logic.” The scientist said matter-of-factly. 

“What are you, Spiderman?” The younger snorted. 

“We shall never know.” The older shrugged, a small smile spreading to his face as he saw the other snort softly at his statement, “Now stop deflecting. Spill.” 

“…Can you…adjust my elbow braces…?” The red eared slider muttered.

“…Why can’t you do it?” The other questioned. Not in a malicious way; he was just genuinely curious. 

“I like it when you do it. You make it more firm, y'know?” The blue banded turtle whined dramatically, “Pleeeeeease?”

“Ugh, Jesus— fine. But drop the pout…you look ridiculous.” The taller mutant sighed, lightly grabbing his brother’s arm as he readjusted the braces. 

The purple banded turtle meticulously took off the other’s left arm brace, tracing his twin’s elbow to make sure it was healing correctly— which the slider couldn’t help but wriggle slightly to.

As the older twin put the brace back on, he looked at the other turtle in complete worry, “…Why are you squirming around so much?” Donatello asked in confusion. 

“…No reason.” Leonardo stated, but let out a tiny squeak as Donnie lightly pinched his forearm. 

“Yohou okay…?” The glasses wielding mutant giggled.   

“I-I’m fihine!” The smaller turtle insisted, covering his mouth as he let out a loud shriek in result to his brother now lightly scribbling his forearm. “EEEEE! P-Plehease moohoove yohour hahahand!!” The younger sputtered out, hiding his face in the crook of the scientist’s neck which the older turtle couldn’t help but let his heart melt to.

“Oh.” Donatello hummed, biting back an amused laugh, “Sorry. Sometimes I forget how ticklish you are…”

“Snrt I-Ihihi’m nahat ticklish. I juhust don’t wahant your hand thehere…” 

And isn’t that quaint. 

If Donnie had a penny for every time Leo said he 'wasn’t ticklish', the softshell would be richer than Elon Musk.

“…Right. So…you wouldn’t mind me doing this then?” The young genius mused as he scribbled one hand over his twin’s ribs. “EEEEHEH! Duhuhude noHOH!! F-Fuhuck yohou!” The younger twin managed through his small giggles, pushing on his brother’s plastron to try and escape while he still could.

The elder laughed fondly at his little brother’s futile actions, hugging him closer as he lightly tickled him, “Nahardo! My brohohother in Christ gehet back here or you’re gohoing to fahall off of the bed!

“N-NOHO!! LEHET ME GO!” The lime green eyed teen screeched loudly, kicking his legs and pushing even harder on the other’s plastron, his eye’s widening in panic as his older brother casually lifted him up and pinned his arms above his head, his plastron now facing up on the bed.

Eugh boy…

Donnie grinned, sitting on the other’s thighs as he wiggled his unoccupied fingers in the air near the slider’s side, “That’s better~!”

“WAHAIT WAHAHAIT snrt PLEHEASE DEEHEE!!” The red eared slider cried, kicking his legs from underneath the scientist.

If he was going to go down…he would at least go down fighting. 

“I haven’t even touched you yet, you goof…” The older twin chuckled. 

“B-BUHUT YOHOUR GOHOHONNA!” 

“'Gonna' what, exactly?”

“TihiHICKLE ME!!” 

“Tickle you? Well, why didn’t you just say so in the first place?” Donatello snickered, using his free hand to skitter his fingers along the crook’s of the younger’s neck. 

The blue banded turtle squealed, shaking his head back in forth whilst scrunching his shoulders, “GAHaha— snrt EEEEHEEHEH oho cohome snrt OHAHAN!!” 

“What’s wrong, Leo? I thought you said you weren’t ticklish~?” The older teased.

“Snrt STHDHAHAH! Shuhut UP! IHI’M naHAT!” The younger shouted, tugging and pulling his arms to try and get his hand’s free from the other’s grasp. Donnie just laughed softly at the action, wiggling his fingers above his little brother’s stomach. 

The lime green eyed teen’s eyes widened in panic, thrashing in the hold to try and loosen his brother’s grip but the purple banded turtle did not budge even a smidge. 

Leo’s laughs became more giddy and loud as he continued to squirm, small squeals and snorts escaping his beak as his twin brother’s hand went sloooooowly to his stomach. 

“N-NOHO NONONONO DAHA— snrt DOHON!!” The smaller turtle snorted, hiding his face in the side of his arm which Donnie couldn’t help but giggle to. 

The light golden eyed mutant rested his hand on the slider’s plastron, making the younger turtle’s laugh raise almost a thousand octaves. 

“DOHON’T snrt DOHON’T DOHOHON’T snrt YOU DARE!! YOHOUR SOHO MEEHEEHEEAN!!” Leonardo whined, hiding deeper into his arm and becoming a giggly flustered mess.

The older twin shook his head fondly at his little brother’s embarrassed state, taking the opportunity to tickle the younger’s stomach while he wasn’t looking. 

Leo let out a loud scream, descending into high-pitched cackles as even louder snorts followed, “HAHAHAHELP!! IHI’M SNRT BEEHEEING SLAHAHAUTERED!!” 

“I’m quite literally only using one hand, Nardo. Stop being dramatic.” The light golden eyed teen mused whilst watching his brother snort and squirm, “And here I thought I was the dancer of the family. Look at you! You’re making up a whole dance routine right now!” He said as he let go of Leo, crossing his arms in amusement. 

“S-Shuhuhut snrt up…” The younger twin wheezed out, hugging his middles as he playfully glared at his purple loving brother. 

Then, a lightbulb went on in the scientist’s brain, a smug smile spreading to his face, “Hm…you know, Lee—”

“Dohont call snrt me thahat!” Leo giggly interupted. 

“Uh-huh. Well, Lee…did you know that the underarms are one of the warmest places on the human body?” The scientist said. 

The lime green eyed mutant cocked his head to the side in confusion, “Soho?” 

“Soooo my hands are cold. Very cold, in fact. I’d be forever in your debt if you could—”

“NO! NONOHO WAHAY IN HEHELL! G-GOHO AWAHAHAY!” Leo squealed, reaching for his brother’s wrists as the elder tried to tickle his neck once again.

Sigh…Leonardo made this too damn easy sometimes.

The glasses wielding teen wasn’t just going to miss this oh-so-definetly-not-planned opportunity! The softshell scribbled his fingers along the slider’s underarms, making the younger let out a loud squawk as he shot his arms down. 

“NAHAH AHAHAHA— snrt GEHET THEHE HEHELL OHAHA— snrt OHOHOUT!!” Leonardo cried while banging his heels on the bed. 

“What~?” Donnie hummed inocently. 

“GEHEHET AHA— snrt GEHET. OHOUT. OHOF THEHEHERE!”

“Awe…why~?”

“BEEHEECAUSE IHIT’S SOHO BAHAHAD!!!” 

“And?” Donnie chuckled, “That sounds like a you problem, little brother.” 

“AHHHAHA— snrt GAHAHAD FUHUCK YOHOU!!!”

“Pardon…what was that?” Donnie questioned as he pinched where Leo’s hip met his thigh. “N-NONO— snrt NAHAHAH!! I CAN’T— snrt PLEHEHEASE I’M snrt SORRY!! I-IHI TAHAHAKE IHIT BAHAHCK!!” 

“Nah…I think I’ll just stay riiiiight here for a bit…” The taller turtle smiled, using both of his hands now to tickle Leo into a laughing and snorting blob.

The younger weakly hit his big brother’s arms, throwing his head back as he squeezed his eyes completely shut. 

“…And you know what, Lee~?” 

“WHAHAHAT NOW?!” 

“I’m feeling…kind of famished.” The elder mused, his smile almost looking like the signature Joker’s as he saw his younger brother’s face pale. 

Leonardo scrambled to sit up, fighting with his brother’s arms as he giggly protested, “PLAHA— snrt PLAHAHEASE! PLEHEASE snrt D-DOHON’T!!” 

Donnie pinched his brother’s thighs unforgivingly, “You should have thought about that before yapping such ill nonsense about yourself.”

“WHAHA— snrt WHAHAHA— snrt WHAHAT DIHID snrt IHIHI snrt EVEN SAHAHAY?!” The lime green eyed turtle cackled, flapping his hands on the mattress. 

It took literally everything in the older twin not to coo his baby brother’s adorable actions; instead, he lightly moved Leo’s hands away, smiling evily as he lowered his head to the other’s plastron, “You don’t even know. Guess you really want this, huh~?” 

The blue banded teen kicked his knees into his brother’s shoulders and shell, throwing his head back in complete hysterics whilst waiting for him complete and utter demise. 

The softshell wasted no time blowing raspberries after raspberries in the middle of his younger’s stomach, making sure to move the other’s hands away any time he tried to push at the young genius’ head. 

Donnie didn’t feel like getting brain damage after all.

Plus, he had his signature glasses ᴅᴏɴᴀᴛᴇʟʟᴏ ᴛᴍ on! And those were trademarked…as you can wonderfully see. 

“God…can you get more ticklish?” Donatello giggled, squeezing and squishing the red eared slider’s knees with one hand and scribbling his sides with the other whilst contuinung to raspberry Leo’s stomach. 

“DEEHEE DEEHEEHEE SNRT PLEHEHEASE!!! IHI SNRT DAHAHAH— SNRT DAHA— SNRT DAHUNNO!!” The smaller turtle screamed, happy stimming with his arms on the taller twin’s shoulder.

Donnie couldn’t help but chuckle, deciding to show his twin a tad bit of mercy as he nibbled his stomach lightly. 

The slider let out bloody murder from his beak, happy tears threatening to fall from his eyes as his bubbly cackles and snorts bounced off the walls of his room.

“Jeez…I think Peppa Pig has some competition, huh~?” The light golden eyed mutant snickered.

“PLEHEHEASE!! TEHEHELLO SNRT IHI’M GOH— SNRT GOHOHA— AHAHA SNRT MYHYHY SNRTGAHAHAHAD!!!” The smaller teen pleaded.

“Do you promise to stop putting yourself in between danger and your family?” The older hummed. 

“YEHEHES!!” The younger cried loudly.

“Do you promise to go easier on yourself?” 

“YAHA— SNRT YAHA— SNRT YEHEHES!!!”

“Do you promise to accept your doing an amazing job as leader and we all love you—”

“MY SNRT FUHUHUCKING SNRT GAHAHAD!!! IHIHI SNRT GEHET IT!!” Leonardo shouted, his blush now completley blending into the red stripes on his face. 

The softshell turtle got off of the other, sitting next to his little brother as his little brother in question hugged his middles and giggled tiredly. 

“Y-Yohou could ohof juhuhust sahaid ahall of thahat wihihithout tickling meeheee…” The younger grumbled despite the evident smile on his face.

“And where’s the fun in that?” Donnie smiled back, his expression softening as Leo got up and leaned against him softly. The older wraped an arm around the younger’s shoulder, pulling him closer into a warm, protective gesture. 

“Ahand would yohohou look ahat that! Ihi got yohour emo bahad boy ahahass to smile todahay. Your eheeven hugging me~!” The blue banded leader spoke softly, his voice filled with affection as he poked his twin’s forehead cheekily. 

“You tell anyone that and I will not hesitate to deny that extremely untrue statement.” The scientist huffed, rolling his eyes fondly as his smile spread.

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[pepperpixel]

WHERES UR HEAD AT- AT- AT- AT?

WHERES UR HEAD AT?

WHERES UR HEAD AT?

FiNALLY MORE ART… Srry I’ve been gone for a while!!!!!! I… have just.. been super busy. And I’m still busy lol. I got a lot goin on!!!! But… But…!!! I managed to finish some art today!!! Thank god lol- so yeah! Behold this funky nurse creature..! she will be committing medical malpractice on u..!!! And that is a promise!! Or ur money back guaranteed!

[porcelainvino]

hey gang sorry for the sudden increase in traditional art 😭 i haven’t drawn traditionally for so long and digital art’s kinda draining atm.. i will go back to digital art soon i’m just trying to balance my art rn 😁

[kentopedia]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ LEAVING LIPSTICK STAINS ON LEVI

fem!reader, sfw, fluff, you leave lipstick all over levi before a mission and the scouts find out, just something super cutesy & short while i work on some longer pieces hehe, pls ignore errors lol, 1.3k words

“promise you’ll come back in one piece?” you say, smoothing the wrinkle between levi’s brow with a kiss. 

he glances up at you from under his lashes, crinkling his nose as a short, breathy laugh escapes him, one he tries to subdue. still, he can’t deny the happiness that slips onto his features, not when joy is so fleeting because of the life that the two of you live. 

cold hands run across your back, down to your hips as you straighten his collar, kissing his sharp cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. “i’ve made it this far, haven’t i?” levi mutters, squeezing your sides gently before shifting you off of his lap.

he lifts you, sets you on the edge of his desk, causing some of the papers that erwin had dropped off earlier to crinkle. a smile graces your lips as levi stands, stretching his limbs behind him, the chair pushing away from the desk with a creak.

“i’m going to be late because of you,” levi remarks, eyes narrowed playfully, but he gives you another kiss on the lips, lingering there like it’s painful to pull away.

“then stop kissing me.” your hands splay across his chest, but you don’t push him away, feeling his heart beat under his ribcage, the melody that you will always come back to. still, levi tugs your hips forward, slots in between your legs, and kisses you even deeper. “it’s time for you to go, captain levi.” 

a heavy sigh weighs against your mouth, his exhale warm as he pulls back. “sounds like you want me gone.” 

“of course i don’t.” your voice softens as you play with his fingers for a moment, before he's tugging them away gently, withdrawing from your figure. “i'm going to have to find someone else to sleep next to while you’re away."

normally, you would’ve been going with levi and the rest of the scouts, but an injury from your last mission prevented you from going on any more for a few weeks. 

levi snorts, putting on his jacket, fixing the leather straps across his chest. “is that all i’m good for? killing titans and keeping your bed warm?”

you make a face at him, then shrug, half-hearted as he stares back at you with amusement. then, you laugh, cheerful and free; you know levi will come back to you. he has no other choice. 

levi makes his way towards the door. 

“levi?” 

he turns, the lipstick stains still visible on his cheek, dark against his pale skin. for a moment, you wonder if you should tell him—if he’d be mad if you didn’t. 

but then you remember he’s going to meet with a squad of fifteen year olds that have all almost died alongside him. if they really have a problem with their captain being loved by you, then they don’t care about him as much as you thought. 

you smile and shake your head, voice holding just enough mischief for levi to notice. “just be safe. i love you.” 

he softens. there are times where levi is hesitant to say the words, still worried you will be taken from him. but this is not one of those times. not when you will be separated for days, his life once again in danger. “i love you too, sweetheart.”

within ten minutes, levi is down to the first floor, pushing into the room where the members of his squad are already waiting. 

he’s only a minute late, but he feels like they must have been waiting for hours, the way that they are all gawking at him with wide eyes, connie’s jaw faltering slightly. “everyone here?” levi asks, doing a quick scan of the room, counting heads like he’s their babysitter. 

no one says anything. eren’s eyes look like they might bulge out of his head, and jean covers his mouth, looking away as him and sasha let out a stifled giggle. 

levi’s mouth draws into an even thinner line. “what the hell are you snickering about?" he grumbles, looking at each of them individually, wondering who will be the first to confess. 

their eyes dart away dramatically, faces red. even eren, who is normally more obnoxious than the rest, seems to have run out of words to say. 

his eye twitches; levi wonders if connie’s head might burst, or if sasha’s laugh will rip out of her first. 

“well?” levi asks again, snapping, already tired of this mission. a hot cup of tea sounds nice, in bed next to you.

armin, as usual, is the one to speak up when no one else has anything intelligent to say. “well, sir,” the blonde says, gesturing towards his own face. “i think…”

levi touches his cheek, remembering all the places you’d kissed him earlier, wearing that pretty black dress and your dark lipstick. a sigh leaves him when he pulls his fingers away, the tips coming back, smeared with a deep red. 

he should've known.

“i see," levi says, staring for a moment, before meeting eren's eyes, his lips finally widening into a grin.

“ooooh," eren sings, his expression smug as mikasa elbows him, her own features pinched tight. "the captain’s in looooove."

levi knows they are expecting a reaction, a spectacle of the fact that he adores you. but he’s never kept it a secret, and he’s certainly not ashamed of all the things he feels for you. 

“and what if i am?” levi asks instead, pointedly staring eren down as the rest of the scouts watch the exchange. “honestly, i am surprised no one noticed sooner.”

eren’s jaw falters a bit; a small wave of silence falls over the scouts. you and levi don't make a point of hiding your relationship, but really, levi shouldn’t have been surprised that no one in his squad was observant enough to notice. 

or so he thought, anyway.

historia’s smaller, high-pitched voice breaks up the quiet, repeating your name back to him, as if affirmation that you’re the one he kisses goodnight. a silly question really, considering levi has never looked at anyone else with the same kind of tenderness. 

“it is her, isn’t it?” historia asks, smiling softly. “i only know because you’re always holding hands under the table when you think no one can see.”

levi raises his eyebrow. “clearly we were wrong about that.” though, of all the things to notice, he thought it’d be the way you kiss him after every mission, the way he’s harder on you than anyone else because he doesn’t want to lose you.

eren shrieks your name like he’s never heard it before, and levi is starting to wonder if the boy actually is an idiot. his old squad had known immediately; petra caught you sneaking up to levi’s quarters when you thought everyone else was asleep, kissing him on the cheek when you thought everyone's back was turned. 

it’s been a long time since then, he supposes. maybe the years have taught you subtlety. 

“how long have you been together?”

“does she actually like you?” 

“do you—” connie makes a lewd gesture with his fingers. “you know.” 

“connie!” jean shouts, whacking him on the back of the head. “what do you think! dumbass.” 

“hey!" connie says, rubbing his head. “geez. i just can’t picture it.” 

"i’d rather you didn’t." levi’s face turns sour, disturbed by a room full of teenagers discussing his private and romantic life. “bring it up again and i’ll leave you outside of the wall on the next mission.” he pauses, crosses his arms with an exasperated exhale. “and she likes me just fine. at least, she has for the past five years.” 

“five—” 

a new wave of questioning starts and levi pinches his temples, shakes his head, the red smear of lipstick still on his face.

levi almost wishes you could’ve been there to field the questions instead. you’ve always been better with the kids, connected with them a lot easier than levi had.

even if it was would’ve exposed his lovesick eyes, the tiny lift of the corner of his mouth when you were around.

he’s never been very good about hiding it anyway.

[pucksandpower]

La Regina

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Charles Leclerc x Schumacher!Reader

Summary: a girl raised at her father’s knee goes from rising star to princess to queen (or in which becoming a legend runs in the Schumacher family)

You bounce excitedly in the passenger seat of your papa’s car as he pulls into the parking lot of the karting track. At 5-years-old, you’re too young to race officially, but he promised to let you drive some practice laps after the scheduled competition today.

“Remember, Maus, listen closely to the instructors and stay safe out there,” Michael says, ruffling your hair affectionately before getting out.

You scramble out after him, having to jog to keep up with his long strides across the parking lot. You reach to take his hand, but freeze when a small crowd starts converging around your papa. Men in bright vests are rushing over, cameras flashing rapidly.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” You ask, startled by the commotion.

Before Michael can respond, a curly-haired woman thrusts a baby into his arms. “Oh my god, can you just hold her for one second? I need a picture!”

Your papa looks bewildered but graciously cradles the infant, giving an awkward smile as more and more people start shoving pieces of paper and pens in front of him.

“Excuse me, please, I have my daughter with me today,” he tries saying over the chaos, but no one is listening.

You shrink back, overwhelmed by the pushing crowd and flurry of voices pleading for autographs and photos. Where did all these people come from? This has never happened before when you’ve gone karting with your papa.

Sensing your unease, Michael gently passes the baby back to its mother and kneels down in front of you. “Hey, it’s okay, Maus. Why don’t you wait for me over there?” He gestures to a bench off to the side.

Part of you wants to cling to him, scared of all the strangers crowding around so aggressively. But you also don’t want him to have to worry about you on top of everything else. You nod bravely and make your way through the throng to the little bench, watching apprehensively as your papa tries politely handling the requests.

After what feels like forever, the crowd finally starts dispersing, though a few linger behind like stubborn cats begging for scraps. Michael shakes the last few hands and accepts some papers to sign before gratefully escaping over to you.

“I’m so sorry about that, Maus,” he says, looking apologetic as he plops down on the bench. “I didn’t expect such a scene on what’s supposed to be our fun day.”

“It’s okay, Papa.” You lean against his side, still a bit rattled but comforted by his familiar warmth. “Who were all those people? Why did they want your … uhh …“ You can’t quite remember the word for the scribbles people ask famous people for.

“Autographs,” Michael supplies with an amused chuckle, wrapping an arm around you. “And they wanted photos too, I suppose. I’m … well, I’m quite a famous racecar driver.”

You cock your head, trying to process this concept of your papa being some kind of celebrity. As far as you’re concerned, he’s just your goofy, loving dad who takes you karting and makes the silliest voices for all your stuffed animals at home.

“Really? Like the famous famous people on TV?” You’ve seen the paparazzi swarming the actors and musicians during awards shows, but you’d never imagined that could happen to your own papa.

Michael nods, drawing you closer with a squeeze. “Yes, somewhat like that, though it’s a bit excessive at a small karting event.” He laughs again and brushes some of your wayward hair from your face. “But you’re right, to you I’m just Papa. I don’t expect anything more from my favorite Maus.”

You beam at the affectionate nickname, all the earlier stress melting away. Who cares if strangers want your papa’s autograph or photos? All that matters is you two spending the day together like always.

“Can we go get our karts now?” You ask eagerly, bouncing a little on the bench. “I want to show you how fast I can go!”

“Of course!” Michael jumps up and scoops you into his arms with a playful growl, making you shriek giddily. “My little speed demon is going to leave me in the dust.”

He swings you up onto his shoulders and you cling on tightly as he strides toward the pit area. A few more people spot him and make a move closer with cameras and sharpies extended, but seem to think better of it when they see you perched up high.

The two of you spend the next couple hours karting together, trading places taking warm up laps and cheering each other on. At one point, a young attendant working the pit area approaches Michael somewhat nervously.

“Um, excuse me, Mr. Schumacher?” He’s clutching a crumpled baseball cap in one hand, ducking his head shyly. “I’m just such a huge fan, would you mind taking a photo and signing this for me after your session?”

Your papa smiles kindly at the young man and takes the cap. “Not at all, no problem.” As the attendant walks away, looking elated, Michael turns to you with a wink. “See? That’s how you politely ask for an autograph.”

You giggle and mime zipping your lips. “Don’t worry, Papa, I won’t let the fame go to my head when I’m a famous racecar driver too someday.”

Scooping you up once more, Michael presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. “That’s my girl. Now, last few laps — let’s see who can go the fastest without ending up in the grass!”

As evening starts falling, the two of you make your way back through the now nearly deserted lot after returning the rental karts. Most of the other karters have cleared out, leaving just you two strolling unhurriedly back to the car.

“Well Maus, despite the, uh, overexcited fans, I’d call this day a success,” Michael says, swinging your joined hands idly. “We both had our fun on the track, and I think you handled that crowd back there like a champ.”

You smile up at him, still so proud just to be his daughter. “I don’t care about all those other people, papa. As long as I have you, that’s all I need.”

Stopping beside the car, Michael crouches down and cups your face in his calloused racing palms, looking at you with such fierce adoration.

“Maus, you have me, always. No matter what happens out there,” he gestures vaguely at the empty track, “When I’m with you, I’m just Papa. My greatest accomplishment, my biggest award, is being your father. Verstanden?”

You launch yourself into his arms, hugging as tightly as you can. “Verstanden, Papa. I love you.”

“Ich liebe dich mehr, Maus,” he murmurs, pressing his cheek to your hair. “Now, what do you say we go get some victory ice cream?”

As the two of you climb into the car, you can’t keep the smile off your face, practically glowing with contentment. Sure, maybe your papa is some big famous racecar driver that everybody wants a piece of. But really, he’s just your papa — and you’re his whole world.

***

The ringing of the house phone cuts through the tense silence like a knife. You shrink further into the couch cushions as your mother rushes to answer it, shoulders visibly taut.

“Hello? No, I cannot make any comment at this time. Yes, I understand there is interest but-” Corinna breaks off, rubbing her temples wearily. “Please respect our privacy as a family right now. Thank you.”

She hangs up and leans against the wall, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment. Before she can even draw a full breath, the phone rings again, shrill and insistent. With a muffled curse, your mother snatches it up.

“What? I told you, I cannot give any statements! This is a private matter. How did you even get this number?”

You watch apprehensively as she responds again, her voice rising in distress. In the days since your papa’s skiing accident, it seems like the entire world has been hounding your family, desperate for any scrap of information.

On the TV across the room, the endless cycle of news reports drones on lowly. Images of your papa’s broken, still body being rushed from the slopes into a helicopter. Flashing advancer texts speculating on his chances of recovery from the traumatic head injury.

It makes you feel ill.

Beside you on the couch, Mick sits blank-faced, looking nearly as pale and worn as your mother. At 14, he understands the gravity of the situation all too well. Your big brother has always idolized your papa, hoping to follow in his racing footsteps one day as well. The thought of him not being there to see the realization of that dream is devastating.

Gina is curled up in the armchair, her shoulders shaking every so often with muffled sobs. At 16, she’s arguably been taking this the hardest of all you kids. She keeps her face stoically dry in front of your mother, but you can see how red and puffy her eyes are from constant crying.

As for you, at 11-years-old, you’re somehow both numb and feeling everything all at once. Part of you still can’t fully process that this nightmare is real. That your hero, your papa, could be lying comatose in a hospital, hovering between life and death. The other part of you is overwhelmed in a tsunami of terror, panic, anger, sadness — any and every emotion crashing through you at all hours.

“Kids, I’m so sorry about this,” your mother says, defeated, as she rejoins you in the living room after ending her latest call. The bags under her eyes seem to have deepened further overnight. “I know this is incredibly difficult and intrusive. But your papa is … he’s a public figure. People are concerned.”

“Incredibly insensitive is what they’re being,” Gina spits, uncurling herself from the chair enough to shoot your mother a resentful look. “We’re going through actual hell and all these people care about is getting a sound bite for the evening news!”

Corinna looks pained but doesn’t rebuke her. “I know, liebling, I know. But your papa has millions of fans all over the world who have followed his career for decades. Whether we like it or not, they care about him … and about us by extension.”

You think back to that day at the karting track all those years ago when you first realized your papa was what people called “famous”. How all those strangers clamored around him so aggressively just for a photo or an autograph. That level of fandom seemed exciting and novel at the time, when you were just a naïve 5-year-old. Now you see it for how intrusive and violating it is, this sense of entitlement people have to the private life of a public figure.

The phone starts ringing again, shattering the fragile quiet. Your mother squeezes her eyes shut and makes no move to get it this time. After four rings, the call goes to voicemail. A moment later, the tinny sound of an Italian voicemail being left blares through the speaker.

“Scusi, scusi, please, if there is any update on the condition of the great Michael Schumacher, any information at all! We are all holding vigils and saying prayers, but we must know how he fares! The world is watching and waiting!”

The words, pleading and demanding all at once, are like a slap across your face. The man’s voice is laced with such desperation, as if your papa’s life is mere entertainment to be consumedby the masses. You feel abruptly furious, incensed that a stranger’s morbid curiosity is given the same weight as your family’s anguish.

“Turn it off,” Mick mutters through clenched teeth, hunching over on the couch. “Just turn it off, Mama.”

Corinna nods numbly and reaches to end the voicemail, her mouth set in a grim line. Buzzing fills the room again as the TV drones on, the reporters’ voices a dull roar that you can no longer discern actual words from as your ears ring with white noise.

The shrill ringing of the phone cuts through once more, like a record scratching in your brain. Your mother flinches violently, hands coming up to clamp over her ears as she squeezes her eyes shut, finally at her breaking point.

Unable to watch this torture anymore, you surge to your feet and storm across the living room. You rip the phone from its cradle and hurl it against the far wall, the plastic casing shattering loudly. The ringing blessedly ends, leaving only an eerie silence in its wake.

Mick and Gina stare at you with wide, stunned eyes. Your mother simply deflates, sliding down the wall to the floor as the adrenaline drains from her body. For several beats, no one dares breathe too loudly. Then, Gina starts to shake her head slowly, tears slipping free.

“Brava,” she murmurs, the barest hint of approval in her voice.

Your mother doesn’t scold you for the outburst. She merely reaches out a hand, silently beckoning you closer until you slowly cross the room again and sink to your knees in front of her. She cups your face in her palms, her own cheeks glistening with fresh tears.

“You’re right, liebling, you’re right,” she whispers brokenly. “This is about our family, not … not the world thinking they’re owed something.”

She pulls your head against her shoulder and you cling to her tightly as she begins to weep in earnest, great shuddering sobs wracking her whole frame. Gina scrambles over and tucks herself against your mother’s other side, and soon all three of you are tangled in each other’s arms, letting the tidal wave of grief crest over you.

Mick stays frozen on the couch, watching over your huddle with dark, haunted eyes. For the first time since this ordeal began, the four of you are united in simply feeling, truly letting yourselves shatter. No more putting on brave faces or pretending to be okay — from this moment, you can finally grieve as a family behind closed doors, blockading out the rest of the cruel, prying world.

Later that evening, after crying yourselves into an exhausted stupor, you drift up the stairs and sequester yourself in your bedroom. You bypass the framed photos of your papa on your nightstand, the sight of his bright smile and twinkling eyes too searing at the moment. Instead, you sink to your knees in the middle of the floor and clasp your hands tightly, bowing your head to murmur desperate pleas.

“Please, please let my papa be okay. I don’t care about all his fame or the stupid reporters. I just want him to get better and come home to us. He’s not just the famous Michael Schumacher to me. He’s Papa. He’s my whole world.”

The words spill out in a torrent, all the fear and longing you’ve been bottling up for the better part of a week erupting forth. You plead to any higher power that may be listening, bargaining away your future, your dreams, anything — as long as your papa pulls through this nightmare.

How many times had you taken for granted those moments of him just being your dad — making you pancakes on Saturday mornings, dozing on the couch during family movie nights, playfully tossing you into the pool when you grew too whiny in the summer heat? You’d give anything to have those simple, precious daddy-daughter moments back.

“The world can have his trophies and titles,” you whisper fiercely, tears slipping free to patter on the carpet. “I don’t care about any of that. I just want my papa. Please, please bring him back to us.”

You curl in on yourself, forehead pressing into the floor as your shoulders shake with silent sobs. All the adoring fans, the fawning media, the hangers-on clamoring for a piece of his glory — they only know the manufactured public persona of Michael Schumacher, legendary racer and famous celebrity. But to you, he’s always just been the quiet hero tucking you into bed at night, the gentle presence reading stories in funny voices, the mighty protector pulling you in for all-encompassing bear hugs.

You miss that wonderful, silly, tender father more than anything in the world. You don’t give a damn about his racing accolades or his fame. You just desperately need your papa back home where he belongs — with his family, the people who loved and treasured him most as simply Michael.

Just Michael. Your one and only papa.

The raw ache of that longing consumes you utterly. You lay there amid the fading light from your bedroom windows, dreams and memories of your papa flickering behind your eyelids as you plead to any benevolent force that may be listening. All you want is the chance to make more joyful memories with him, to hear his rich laugh, to keep basking in his unconditional love for years and years to come.

Please, you beg the universe silently, one last time. Please let this nightmare end. Don’t let the brightest light in my world be extinguished before its time.

Let me have my papa back.

***

A tense hush has fallen over the dining room table, the clinking of utensils against plates the only sound cutting through the thick silence. Gina avoids everyone’s eyes, pushing food around her plate listlessly. Mick stares down at his half-eaten dinner, jaw working like he’s chewing over something weighty. You pick at a bread roll, too knotted with anxiety to muster much appetite.

Your mother is the one to finally break the stifling quiet, clearing her throat. “Kids, I know these last few weeks have been … incredibly difficult for us all.”

You risk a glance up at Corinna. Her eyes are tight at the corners, her mouth a taut line. Just like all of you, the constant vigil at your papa’s bedside, combined with the relentless badgering from the media, has clearly taken its toll.

“But we have to keep trying to be a family, yes?” She reaches across the table to grip your hand. “We’re all Michael has right now. We have to … to stick together for him.”

You nod numbly, swallowing hard around the lump in your throat at the reminder of your papa’s unchanged condition. The waiting, the not knowing if or when he’ll wake up, is a special kind of torment you wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Mick abruptly shoves his plate away, the porcelain scraping loudly across the wood. You all flinch a little at the harsh sound.

“I’ve been thinking ...” he starts, then seems to reconsider his words, shoulders tightening fractionally. “Well, Y/N, you know how I … how I race under Mama’s last name?”

You frown slightly, uncertain where he’s going with this. “Betsch, yes. Because you wanted to make your own name without the expectation and pressure of being Michael Schumacher’s son.”

He dips his chin once, looking almost pained. “Exactly. And I think … I think maybe you should consider doing the same.”

The words sit heavy and convolulenting between you all like a sack of wet cement. You blink dumbly, hardly comprehending what he’s suggesting at first. When the implication hits you, you actually recoil as if he’d slapped you across the face.

“What? No. No, absolutely not, Mick. How can you even say that?”

“Y/N, just hear me out,” he pleads, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. “With Papa … with what happened, the paparazzi and the fans, they’re going to be watching our every move even more than before. Especially you since you’re planning to continue competing-”

“Don’t you dare make this about his condition,” you spit, fury thrumming through your veins like struck lightning. “And of course I plan to keep racing — it’s what Papa would want! I’m not going to hide from his name like it’s some shameful thing!”

Gina is watching the exchange with wide, startled eyes, her food forgotten. Mick runs an agitated hand through his hair, shaking his head firmly.

“It’s not about hiding or shame, it’s about protecting yourself! Don’t you see how crazy things have gotten? All the reporters harassing us, the fans leaving awful messages online hoping for updates ...”

He leans forward, expression almost desperate. “If you race as Betsch, you can compete without having that extra spotlight. You can just be a normal kid on the track without people peering in.”

Heat rushes up the back of your neck in waves of humiliation and rage. How dare he insinuate that inheriting your papa’s legacy is some kind of burden to be shrugged off? That the name Schumacher is a burden to bear rather than a badge of honor?

“I’m not you, Mick,” you bite out, fists clenching beneath the table. “Maybe racing under Mama’s name helped you deal with the pressure better and that’s fine. But I’m proud to be Michael Schumacher’s daughter! And if people can’t respect that, if they think it means they own a piece of me, then they can go to hell!”

“Language!” Your mother gasps, both appalled and slightly impressed. But you ignore her admonishment, too fired up to rein it in now.

“What, you think pretending to be someone else is going to spare me from living in Papa’s shadow anyway?” You shake your head adamantly, leaning across the table towards Mick. “It’s not, and you know it. Even if I raced under a fake name, everyone is still going to know exactly who I am and make comparisons.”

Slamming your palms on the table, you surge to your feet, chair screeching harshly against the floor. All the pain and uncertainty of these past few weeks is bubbling over into bitter, biting words.

“So why should I hide it? Why can’t I take pride in my name and my heritage? Maybe it’ll mean more scrutiny, but it’s a million times better than feeling like I have to be ashamed! Like I can’t fully honor Papa and make him proud!”

Chest heaving, you stare down a wide-eyed Mick, almost daring him to challenge you further. He seems to read the conviction blazing in your eyes, features softening into chagrin.

“You’re right ...” he murmurs with a wince. “You’re right, Y/N, I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

You hold his repentant gaze for a long moment before deflating back into your chair with a muted thud. In the ringing silence, you can hear your mother’s soft sniffles from the far end of the table. When you look over, she has her head bowed, hands pressed to her eyes as she cries quietly.

“M-Mama?” Gina ventures in a small voice, reaching across to grasp her mother’s wrist. “What’s wrong?”

Corinna lowers her hands, swiping at the tears streaking her cheeks. When she meets your bewildered gaze, her expression is a complicated brew of pride and heart-wrenching sadness.

“Nothing is wrong, liebling,” she assures Gina with a watery smile, before turning back to you. “Y/N, you’re so much like your papa, do you know that? So brave and determined … so full of that same fighting spirit.”

She dips her chin, lips trembling faintly. “He would be so proud to hear you defend his name like that. To see you ready to take on the weight of wearing it, regardless of what the world throws at you.”

More tears spill forth, but she brushes them away impatiently with the backs of her hands.

“But liebchen, you have to understand … Michael spent decades bearing that scrutiny and expectation. People analyzing his every move, always under a spotlight so harsh it burned. I never wanted that for any of you.”

Sliding her chair back, your mother crosses to kneel before you, cradling your face gently between her palms. Her eyes are shining but intensely serious, almost pleading with you.

“The Schumacher name casts such a long shadow, one so great that your own light can be eclipsed before you ever have a chance to properly shine. I don’t want you smothered by that burden, mein schatz. I want you free to make your own amazing mark on this world, completely unchained.”

You feel your throat grow tight at her words, the weight of them ringing so true and terribly sad. You reach up to circle your fingers around her wrists, holding her hands to your cheeks like vices.

“I know, Mama, I know,” you whisper roughly. “But that light you want me to shine? Papa is the one who sparked it inside me in the first place.”

You meet her watery gaze steadily, willing her to understand the conviction taking root inside you.

“The joy and passion I have for racing doesn’t come from some anonymous dream. It comes from him — from the nights he spent giving me a play-by-play of his biggest victories, from the days we spent at the karting tracks making memories, from everything I want so desperately to honor.”

Leaning forward until your brows nearly touch, you let the pleasing words spill out directly from your heart.

“So please, please don’t ask me to race as anyone other than your daughter, yes, but also proudly as Michael Schumacher’s daughter. That name isn’t a burden or a shadow to me. It’s something I want to carry forward and make blaze even brighter.”

Your mother’s eyes slip shut as she draws in a shuddering breath. For a long moment, she simply holds your face cradled in her palms, seeming to bask in your impassioned words. When her eyes finally open again, they are overflowing with a fierce tenderness.

“Oh liebchen,” she murmurs, voice thick with an odd mix of grief and wonder. “You are your father’s daughter through and through. So determined, so unafraid to face the world head on ...”

She strokes her thumbs along the apples of your cheeks, swiping away the dampness there. “I only hope he knows just how brightly his fire still burns in you. How it is living on in the most brilliant way.”

Surging up onto her knees, your mother pulls you into a fierce embrace, tucking your head beneath her chin. You cling to her tightly, drawing strength from her warmth, her tireless support and love. Over her shoulder, you can see Mick and Gina watching silently, their own eyes overly bright.

When your mother finally leans back, cupping your face once more, her expression has regained some of its usual firmness and resolution.

“Very well, then,” she nods, offering you a watery but determined smile. “If you truly feel ready to take on the world, to claim that name and legacy as yours, then we will face it together. As a family.”

She rises lithely to her feet, drawing you up along with her. Gathering Mick and Gina in with the sweep of her arms, she folds you all in her protective embrace, holding your foreheads together in the center.

“You may be Schumachers, but that name does not define or limit you,” she declares, quiet but firm. “It is simply one part of your identity, one piece of the incredible legacy you inherited. What you choose to make of it, how brightly you make that legacy burn, is up to you alone.”

She pulls back just enough to meet each of your eyes in turn, her own gleaming with resolute pride.

“So let them watch, let them scrutinize and sneer and make their judgments. You will simply keep chasing your passions and living your truths. Yes, the world may know you as Schumachers, but you alone will define what that name represents, now and for generations to come.”

***

The roar of the engines fades as you cross the finish line, taking the chequered flag. The broadcast team erupts in excitement.

“Unbelievable! Y/N Schumacher has done it — the daughter of the legendary Michael Schumacher wins the Formula 2 championship in her rookie year!”

You can hardly believe it yourself as you start your cooldown lap, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The pit crew is cheering wildly, holding up the #1 sign. Your race engineer is on the radio, his voice cracking with joy. “You’re a champion, Y/N! A first-year champion!”

“What an incredible drive from the young German. Shades of her father with that relentless determination and racecraft. She’s carried on the Schumacher name proudly.”

As you return to the pit lane, you spot Mick getting out of his own car. He has a huge smile on his face, eyes shining with pride. You take a moment to drink it all in as you bring your car to a stop and he’s the first one there, ripping off your helmet so he can hug you tightly.

“You did it! I’m so proud of you!” He’s beaming as he pulls back to look at you.

“Aww, Mick ...” You blink back happy tears, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what you’ve accomplished. “I couldn’t have done it without you pushing me every single race.”

Mick shakes his head dismissively. “This was all you. You were the faster driver this season, plain and simple.” His face falls a little. “I really thought I had you there at the end, but you just wouldn’t give up.”

You grin cheekily. “Of course not! I’m a Schumacher — we never give up.”

“What a beautiful moment between the siblings. You can see the immense pride Mick has for his sister, despite coming up just short of winning the championship himself.”

The rest of the team surrounds the two of you, lifting you both up onto their shoulders as the celebrations kick into full gear. You lock eyes with Mick over the sea of smiling faces and he winks at you contentedly.

Later, after you’ve returned to the garage, you find a quiet moment alone with Mick. He pulls you into another hug, this one more lingering.

“I really am so happy for you, Y/N. You’ve worked so incredibly hard for this.” Mick’s voice is thick with emotion.

You squeeze him tightly. “Thank you, Mick. That means everything coming from you.”

He pulls back, cupping your face fondly. “I remember when we were kids, dreaming of following in Papa’s footsteps. And now look at us!”

You laugh, a few happy tears spilling over. “I know, it’s crazy! I couldn’t have done this without your help, you know. You’ve been by my side every step of the way.”

“A storybook ending for the Schumacher siblings. Y/N cementing herself as a future star, with her older brother not far behind.”

Mick shakes his head adamantly. “No, Y/N, this was all your talent and determination. I just got a front row seat to watching greatness in the making.” His eyes are shining with sincerity.

You throw your arms around his neck, struck by how lucky you are to have such an amazing brother. “I love you, Mick. Thank you for always believing in me.”

He hugs you fiercely. “I’ll always believe in you. You’re a champion now, but I know this is just the beginning for you.”

The team arrives then, champagne bottles in hand and ready to continue the celebration. You pull back and grin at Mick mischievously, cracking open the first bottle with a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you … for now.”

The bubbly liquid sprays everywhere as you both dissolve into laughter, reveling in this perfect moment of sibling bonding and love. Mick pulls you into a wet hug, so proud and grateful to share this with you.

“And an iconic image — the Schumacher children celebrating a Formula 2 title just like their father did in the upper series so many times before. A changing of the guard, with the name Schumacher set to dazzle racing fans once more for years to come.”

Later that night, after you’ve showered off the champagne and slipped into comfy clothes, there’s a soft knock at your hotel room door. You open it to find Mick standing there, shifting awkwardly.

“Hey, you’ve got a second?” His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, like he’s been crying.

“Of course, what’s up?” You gesture him inside, concerned by his demeanor.

Mick enters slowly, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. He seems to be struggling to find the words.

You rest a hand on his arm. “Mick, you can tell me anything, you know that.”

He nods jerkily, finally meeting your eyes. “I really am so happy for you, Y/N. You have no idea how much it means to me to see you accomplishing your dreams.” His voice catches with emotion.

“But?” You prod gently.

Mick’s eyes water again. “But … it’s also really hard for me. This was my dream first, you know? To become a champion like Papa.” He swipes at the tears angrily. “And now you’ve beaten me to it. I’m just … I’m struggling with that a bit.”

Your heart clenches at his quiet admission. You pull Mick into a tight hug, rubbing his back soothingly. “Oh, Mick … I’m so sorry. I never wanted to take that away from you.”

He shakes his head against your shoulder. “No, no, it’s not your fault at all. You earned this, fair and square. I’m just … dealing with some complicated emotions, I guess.”

You push him back by the shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes intently. “Mick, listen to me. You are one of the most naturally gifted drivers I’ve ever seen. This is not the end for you, not even close. You’re going to be a champion too, I know it.”

Mick seems to deflate slightly at your words, the tension easing from his shoulders. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” you state firmly. “We’re going to take this to the top level together. And we’re going to make Papa even more proud than he already is.”

A slow smile spreads across Mick’s face. “Together,” he repeats, reaching out to take your hand and give it a squeeze.

You squeeze back reassuringly. “Always together. You and me, just like when we were kids. We’re a team, remember?”

Mick nods, the brightness returning to his eyes. He seems lighter now, the melancholy cloud lifted by your words of encouragement.

On impulse, you throw your arms around him again, nearly knocking him over with the force of your hug. Mick laughs delightedly, squeezing you just as tightly.

“Thank you, Y/N. I needed to hear that from you,” he murmurs shakily into your hair.

You pull back just enough to grin at him cheekily. “What are little sisters for?”

Mick lets out a surprised bark of laughter, warmth and affection shining from every part of his expression as he gazes at you fondly. “You’ll always be my little sis, champion or not.”

It’s your turn to laugh, swatting at his chest playfully. “Well this little sis just kicked your ass this season, so show some respect!”

Mick’s eyes crinkle with mirth. “I’ll remember that for next year, believe me.”

***

It’s a crisp autumn evening at the Schumacher family home in the Swiss Alps. You’re curled up on the plush couch in the living room, flipping through a magazine while your brother paces back and forth anxiously.

“Will you please sit down?” You ask, eyeing him over the top of the pages. “You’re making me dizzy.”

Mick runs a hand through his tousled blond hair. “Sorry, I’m just … worked up, I guess.”

You set the magazine aside. “About what? We haven’t had a race in weeks.”

He stops his pacing to face you. “You know the season’s almost over, right? And Haas still hasn’t said anything about re-signing me for next year.”

“Oh, Mick.” You offer him a sympathetic look. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. You’ve had a solid season.”

Mick flops down next to you, deflating a little. “I don’t know. There are so many other options on the table. What if Haas decides to go a different direction?”

“Then you’ll find another seat,” you say firmly. “Any team would be lucky to have you behind the wheel.”

He manages a half-smile. “Thanks. I just wish I had your confidence sometimes.”

“What can I say?” You flash him a cheeky grin. “It’s a gift.”

The peaceful moment is shattered as both of your phones start ringing in unison. You exchange a puzzled look before digging them out.

“My manager,” Mick says, furrowing his brow as he answers. “Hello?”

You do the same, pressing the phone to your ear. “Hey, Nicolas, what’s up?”

For the next few minutes, you and Mick are silent, listening intently with rapidly changing expressions — yours elated, his crestfallen. When you finally hang up, Mick is staring at the floor, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Well?” He asks, voice tight. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

You take a deep breath, trying to tamp down your surging excitement. “Ferrari wants me for next season.”

Mick’s face falls even further, if possible. “You’re kidding.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this!” You can’t keep the grin from overtaking your features. “Can you believe it? Driving for the Scuderia! It’s a dream come true!”

“Yeah, for you maybe,” Mick mutters darkly.

You blink at his tone, smile fading slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He drags a hand down his face wearily. “Haas declined to re-sign me for next year.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “What? No, that can’t be right!”

“Afraid so.” Mick’s voice is flat, resigned. “They said something about … needing to bring in fresh blood or some bullshit excuse.”

You scoot closer, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “Mick, I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”

“Don’t be.” He tries for a nonchalant shrug, but it comes off as dejected. “At least one of us is moving up in the world.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?” You protest. “We’re teammates! We were supposed to take on Formula 1 together!”

Mick snorts humorlessly. “Looks like that’s not going to happen after all.”

An uncomfortable silence stretches between you. You open your mouth, searching for the right words of reassurance, but come up empty. How can you comfort him when your own dream has come true at his expense?

“Hey.” Mick’s somber tone breaks the quiet. “I’m happy for you, you know. Really, I am.”

You meet his sincere gaze, feeling your eyes start to well up. “I know. But that doesn’t make this any less shitty for you.”

He manages a rueful smile. “What can I say? I’m a realist.”

“So what are you going to do now?” You ask quietly.

Mick lets out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the couch cushions. “Keep grinding, I guess. Look for another seat, any seat, even if it’s not in F1 next season.”

“You can’t give up on F1!” You protest instantly. “You’re too good for that, Mick.”

“Am I, though?” He lets out a mirthless chuckle. “Face it, Y/N, you’ve always been the better driver. This just proves it.”

You shake your head adamantly. “That’s not true at all! You’re every bit as talented as me.”

“Then why did Ferrari pick you instead of me?” There’s no accusation in his words, just weariness.

You falter, mind churning as you search for an answer that won’t come. “I … don’t know.”

“Exactly.” Mick closes his eyes briefly. “Maybe it’s for the best. At least this way, one of us still gets to live out the Schumacher legacy and race for Ferrari. Carry on the family name, you know?”

“But you’re a Schumacher too,” you say, feeling your throat start to tighten with unshed tears. “It should be both of us out there, not just me.”

Mick reaches over to give your hand a comforting squeeze. “Hey, don’t cry about it. I’ll be okay, really.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” You swipe angrily at the moisture gathering in your eyes. “It’s not fair, Mick. It’s just not fair at all.”

He levels you with a look that’s decades older than his years. “Life rarely is. You know that as well as I do.”

You fall silent, unable to formulate a response. He’s right, you realize with a pang. The two of you, of all people, should understand that success and failure often go hand-in-hand, even for the most talented competitors.

Pursing your lips, you lean forward and pull Mick into a fierce hug. He tenses for a split second before wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“I’m still so proud of you,” you murmur into the crook of his neck. “No matter what happens, you’ll always be my incredible big brother.”

Mick lets out a shaky exhale against your hair. “And you’re the most badass little sister a guy could ask for. Ferrari has no idea what they’re in for.”

You pull back just far enough to meet his eyes, emboldened by the warm affection shining in them.

“Just promise me one thing?” You ask.

He arches an eyebrow quizzically. “What’s that?”

A mischievous grin tugs at your lips. “That you’re not going to take it easy on me whenever you’re back on the grid.”

***

You take a deep breath as you pull your sleek new Ferrari up to the iconic factory in Maranello. This place holds so many memories — some joyful, others bittersweet. Your father cemented himself as a legend here, and you can’t help but feel the weight of that legacy on your shoulders now more than ever.

The door swings open and there stands Fred Vasseur offering you a warm smile. “Y/N, welcome home.”

You return the smile, unable to mask the flood of emotions. “It’s good to be back, Fred.”

He gestures for you to follow him inside. “I’m sure this place brings back quite a few memories.”

“You have no idea,” you murmur, taking in the familiar sights and smells. The rosso corsa that coats every surface, the scent of machinery and high-octane fuel … it’s intoxicating.

A tiny you runs through the hallways, giggling madly as your frantic mother tries to catch up. “Mick! Y/N! Get back here this instant!”

Mick peeks out from behind a workbench, sticking his tongue out at Gina, who playfully swats at him. You spot the perfect hiding spot — a massive green recycling bin tucked in the corner ...

“Y/N? Are you still with me?” Fred’s voice breaks you from your reverie.

You shake your head. “Sorry, got a bit lost in thought there. This place just … feels like stepping into the past.”

Fred nods knowingly. “I can only imagine. But today is about your future with the team.” He leads you through the winding corridors, pointing out various departments. “Over here is aerodynamics, that hallway takes you to the design labs ...”

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Your father’s voice echoes down the corridor, his tone playful but tinged with desperation. You stifle a giggle from your hiding spot as his footsteps draw closer.

“Michael, any luck?” That’s Paolo, one of the mechanics. You chance a peek and see half the team has been enlisted to search for you.

Your dad scrubs a hand over his face. “She’s too good at this game. Should’ve known better than to play hide-and-seek in a place this size.”

You chuckle softly at the memory, prompting a curious look from Fred. “Sorry, just … reminiscing again.”

He gives you an easy grin. “By all means, feel free to share. I’d love to hear some of those old stories.”

You take a breath, composing yourself before launching into the tale. “Well, there was this one time when I was maybe … four or five? Mick and I were causing an unholy ruckus as usual, and Papa suggested a game of hide-and-seek to wear us out. Big mistake on his part.”

Fred’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “Let me guess, you proved to be a master hider?”

“You could say that.” You grin mischievously. “I found this big recycling bin, crawled inside, and stayed completely silent while the whole team tore the place apart looking for me. Papa was just about to call in the overalls for backup when Paolo finally peeked in the bin.”

Fred throws his head back with a hearty laugh. “I can just picture your poor father’s face when they found you! He must’ve been both relieved and completely exasperated.”

You nod. “Oh, he wore that particular blend of emotions often when we were young terrors around here.”

The two of you continue chatting amicably as Fred shows you around the various facilities — the simulator room, the engine workshop, even the gym and physiotherapy center. With each new area unveiled, another flood of nostalgia washes over you.

You and Mick sprint into the wide-open workshop, engines and miscellaneous car pieces scattered all around. Gina is closing in, her longer legs giving her an advantage.

“Got you now, you little gremlins!” She scoops Mick up with one arm, then turns her sights on you.

You let out a shriek of laughter, dodging around a massive piece of equipment as your mother joins the chase. “Come here, Maus! It’s time for your nap!”

You shake your head furiously. “No nap! No nap!”

Corinna’s hand finally snags the back of your shirt, and you erupt into a fit of giggles as she pulls you into a hug ...

“That’s some smile you’ve got going there,” Fred notes with a wry grin. “I take it another happy memory?”

You give an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. Just … remembering how this place used to be our personal jungle gym. Mick, Gina, and I would run absolute loops around Mama while she tried to wrangle us for nap time.”

Fred chuckles fondly. “I can picture three tiny terrors leaving chaos in their wake.” His expression softens. “It must be incredibly special to be back here after all these years. To follow in your father’s footsteps like this.”

You swallow hard against the swell of emotions. “It’s … overwhelming, if I’m being honest. But in the best possible way.” You glance around at the familiar setting with new eyes. “These halls practically raised me. And now … now I get to write my own chapter here.”

Fred gives your shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “You’ve got a long road ahead, but I have complete faith you’ll make us all proud, Y/N.”

You straighten your shoulders, giving him a determined nod. “I’m ready.”

As you follow him further into the factory, you can’t help but revel in the rush of coming full circle. Yes, this team, this place, is indelibly woven into your childhood. But now … now it’s time to create new memories.

To race.

To win.

To become a legend.

***

The crowd outside the Ferrari headquarters swells as you emerge from the famous red doors for the first time as an official Scuderia Ferrari driver. Shouts and cheers erupt from every direction, fans pressing forward eagerly with pens and photos clutched in their hands.

“Over here, Y/N!”

“Un selfie, per favore!”

“Can you sign this for my daughter?”

You plaster on a polite smile, trying to graciously oblige as many autograph and photo requests as possible. But the throngs only grow more insistent, hands grabbing at you from all angles as the crowd closes in. Your heart races and you feel yourself starting to panic at the lack of personal space.

“Per favore, let her breathe!” An insistent voice cuts through the commotion in lightly accented Italian.

The crowd parts slightly as a familiar, lean figure pushes through — your new teammate. His green eyes meet yours with a reassuring look as he plants himself firmly by your side.

“Give her some space!” Charles barks out in English this time. “She can’t breathe!”

You shoot him a grateful glance as the fans reluctantly take a step back. Charles gently takes your arm and pulls you out of the scrum.

“Sorry about that,” he says with an apologetic smile, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. “I know how intense they can be around here.”

“No, thank you,” you reply earnestly. “I was about two seconds away from an anxiety attack.”

Charles chuckles. “Well, we can’t have the new driver cracking under pressure on day one.”

You make a face at his teasing remark. “Watch it, pretty boy.”

Laughing, Charles puts his arm around your shoulders in a friendly gesture. “Come on, I know just the place to escape the madness for a bit. Dinner’s on me.”

He guides you across the plaza and down a side street to a cozy trattoria — Ristorante Montana, known as the unofficial “Ferrari restaurant” frequented by team members. As you enter, a stout woman with a warm, welcoming smile emerges from the back.

“Ah, Charles! Welcome back. And this must be ...” Her eyes widen as they land on you. “Oh, la piccola principessa is all grown up!”

Flustered, you open your mouth to respond, but the woman has already swept you up in a tight embrace.

“Rossella, you’re smothering the poor girl!” A elderly man’s voice calls out in amused rebuke.

“Hush, Maurizio, and pour us some wine!” Rossella releases you and holds you at arm’s length, beaming. “Michael’s little girl, all woman now. I’ll never forget the first time your father brought you in here as a bambina.”

She gestures to a framed photo hanging on the wall of a much younger Rossella standing next to Michael, who is holding a grinning toddler — unmistakably you.

“He was so proud,” Rossella continues misty-eyed. “Just like I know he would be of you today, following in your father’s footsteps.”

You swallow hard, touched by the warm welcome and memory. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Charles watching you with a soft smile.

Rossella shifts gears abruptly, all business. “Now, what will you two have? The usual for you, Charles? And for you, la principessa, I insist you try the gnocchi al ragú. Just like my nonna used to make it.”

As Rossella whisks off to the kitchen, Maurizio appears with a bottle of deep red wine and two glasses.

“To new beginnings,” he toasts with a wink, pouring for you and Charles.

You raise your glass to clink against Charles’ with a smile. “New beginnings.”

Over pasta and wine, you and Charles fall into an easy rapport, bantering back and forth as the weight of the evening’s earlier stress dissipates. You find yourself repeatedly distracted by the dimpled grin that lights up his face whenever he laughs at one of your quips.

“So is this a regular hazing ritual you put all the rookies through?” You ask innocently. “Get them away from the crowds and ply them with wine so they’re too drunk to be nervous on day one?”

Charles barks out a laugh. “You’ve found me out! Although I do seem to recall my own initiation being a lot harder. Maybe I’m going soft in my old age.”

“Old age? You’re what …12?” You retort, eyes dancing with mirth.

The waiter arrives with the dessert menu, but Rossella shoos him away.

“No, no menu. I’m bringing you the tiramisu to share. My secret recipe.”

Charles groans in delight. “You’re a legend, Rossella.”

She pats his cheek affectionately before disappearing again. A comfortable silence falls between you and Charles as you each take a bite of the rich, velvety tiramisu.

“Mmmm, this is literally heaven,” you murmur happily.

Charles hums in agreement around another forkful.

Your eyes catch movement out of the corner and you turn to see Rossella returning, carrying a large framed photo under her arm. She sets it down on the empty chair next to you with a proud grin.

It’s a glamor shot of you from a recent photoshoot for Vogue Italia — hair and makeup impeccable, lips parted in a secret smile as you gaze directly at the camera.

Rossella rests a hand on your shoulder. “For me, bellissima? So we can hang la principessa right next to il padre.”

Touched, you take the proffered sharpie and scribble out a quick inscription before signing your name with a flourish at the bottom.

“Grazie mille,” Rossella breathes, throwing an arm around you to squeeze you against her ample frame. “You’ve made this old heart very happy tonight.”

When she finally releases you, you see Charles watching you both with a soft, almost wistful expression. You raise your eyebrows at him in question, but he just shakes his head with a smile.

As you and Charles prepare to depart, Rossella calls out once more. “You come back soon, eh principessa? I have more pictures to collect.”

You throw her a wink over your shoulder. “D’accordo, d’accordo. We’ll be back soon!”

Out on the street, you pause, conscious of the evening rapidly drawing to a close. You turn to Charles, studying him properly for the first time. His deep green eyes crinkle at the corners as he meets your gaze.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely. “Really. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t swooped in to rescue me back there.”

Charles shrugs nonchalantly, but his expression is kind. “We look out for our own in Ferrari. That’s what teammates are for, no?”

A beat passes, the momentary tension thickening between you. Then Charles seems to catch himself, clearing his throat.

“Anyway, I should let you get going before your handlers send out a search party. Need me to call you a car?”

“No, no I’m good,” you reply quickly, trying to mask your disappointment at the night ending. “My performance coach has the car around front.”

You start to turn away, then impulsively pivot back. Rising up on your toes, you throw your arms around Charles’ neck and pull him in for a brief, platonic hug.

“Seriously, thank you,” you murmur in his ear. “For everything.”

As you pull back, your faces are just inches apart. Charles’ eyes are warm, his gaze intense. For a dizzying moment, you’re certain he’s going to kiss you. Then just as suddenly, the moment passes and he steps back with a friendly smile.

“Anytime, princesse. I’ll see you bright and early next week for our first time running the SF-23 on the simulator.”

With a wink, he turns and saunters off down the street, hands shoved in his pockets in that effortlessly cool way of his. You let out a long breath, flustered and exhilarated all at once.

Your performance coach has indeed been waiting with the car, looking mildly concerned. “Everything alright?”

You flash her a bright smile, practically skipping to the car. “It is now, Mara. It absolutely is.”

Your first day as a Ferrari driver was certainly more than you bargained for. But as you settle into the plush leather seats, you can’t wipe the silly grin off your face. Something tells you this new chapter with the Scuderia is going to be an adventure — in more ways than one.

As Mara pulls away from the curb, you catch a final glimpse of Charles striding confidently down the street. Even from a distance, you can make out the dimpled smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Leaning back against the headrest, you think back to the memory of his arm slung casually around your shoulders and sigh contentedly. Yes, you have a feeling this is just the beginning of what’s shaping up to be a very interesting partnership with Charles Leclerc.

***

Sebastian looks over the wine list, pretending to be engrossed in selecting the perfect vintage as he peers over the top of the menu. His eyes are fixated on the entrance to the upscale Italian restaurant, waiting for Charles and you to arrive.

This had better work, he thinks to himself. The two of you have been making googly eyes at each other for months now, but are both too stubborn to make a move.

Finally, the hostess leads Charles and you into the dining room. Sebastian ducks down, pulling the brim of his fedora lower over his face and adjusting the fake mustache he’s wearing as a disguise. He watches as the hostess shows Charles and you to an intimate table for two by the window, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating your faces.

“There must be some mistake,” Charles says, looking around in confusion. “I was under the impression we were meeting Sebastian here for dinner?”

You look equally perplexed. “That’s what he told me too. He said to meet at 8 o’clock sharp.”

“Well this is just awkward,” Charles runs a hand through his tousled hair. “Should we wait for him or ...”

Before you can respond, the waiter arrives with a basket of bread and butter. “Good evening, my name is Gerardo and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“Actually, we’re still waiting on-” Charles begins, but the waiter cuts him off.

“Ah yes, Mr. Vettel asked me to inform you that he will be unable to join this evening after all. A last minute obligation came up. He insisted I take excellent care of you both and that the evening is on his treat.” Gerardo smiles broadly. “So what will you have to drink?”

Sebastian smirks to himself at his cleverly orchestrated ruse from his secluded table in the back corner. He watches with bated breath as a flustered Charles and you exchange an awkward look.

“I’ll have a glass of Chianti,” you say finally, breaking the tension.

“Make that two,” Charles adds with a resigned sigh.

As Gerardo heads off to grab your drinks, an uncomfortable silence falls over the table. “You know, we don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Charles says, ever the gentleman. “I’m sure there’s been some misunderstanding.”

“Don’t be silly,” you reply, offering him a warm smile that makes Sebastian’s heart melt a little. “It would be rude to ruin the evening Sebastian so carefully planned, even if he’s not actually here to enjoy it.”

Charles visibly relaxes at your acceptance of the situation. “You’re right, of course. If it’s a free dinner, we would be fools to turn that down!”

You both share a laugh, finally breaking the ice. Sebastian feels a swell of pride watching the two of you start to let your guards down around each other.

Over the next hour or so, Sebastian is delighted to see Charles and you become more at ease, trading jokes and stories over several delectable courses of pasta, veal, and freshly baked focaccia. He’s never seen either of you look so lighthearted and carefree, nor has he witnessed two people connect on such an organic, genuine level before. It’s positively magical to behold.

Gerardo arrives once more, this time bearing a decadent slice of torta della nonna for you to share for dessert. “Compliments of the house,” he announces with a wink before departing.

You immediately dig into the lemony confection with gusto. “Oh my god, this is dangerously good,” you moan through a mouthful of pastry cream and flaky crust.

Charles tries and fails to stifle a laugh at your unabashed enthusiasm. “You’ve got a little ...” he gestures vaguely at the corners of your mouth.

“What? Where?” You ask, attempting to wipe the stray crumbs and smears of powdered sugar from your cheeks.

“Here, let me,” Charles says softly, reaching across the table with his cloth napkin.

Sebastian watches with bated breath, his heart pounding in his chest, as Charles tenderly swipes the napkin along your lips, his thumb grazing your cheek in the process. The moment seems to last an eternity, the two of you locked in each other’s smoldering gaze.

Then, ever so slowly, Charles leans across the table towards you. Sebastian can scarcely breathe as he witnesses the magnetic pull drawing the two of you together. This is it, this is finally happening, he marvels silently.

Sebastian lets out an inadvertent yelp of glee and instantly slaps his hands over his mouth. A table of nearby diners turns to gawk at the strange mustached man.

“Ahem, sorry! Hairball,” Sebastian rasps out in a terrible Italian accent. He slinks down in the booth, burning with embarrassment as the other patrons slowly turn away with disgusted looks.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Charles and you also turn towards the commotion, the heated moment effectively ruined. Damn it, he was so close!

You and Charles eventually turn back towards each other, the awkwardness having returned. “We should, uh, probably ask for the check soon,” Charles mumbles, unable to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve got an early training session in the morning anyway,” you reply, the disappointment evident in your voice as you stare down at the table.

Inwardly cursing his rotten luck, Sebastian motions for the bill and slips his black credit card into the folder when Gerardo brings it. He knows the only way to redeem this night is to insist you and Charles stay for one more drink. Maybe add a little more wine confidence to help reignite that spark you both nearly combusted over just moments ago.

As Gerardo whisks away to process Sebastian’s payment, the older German steels his nerves. He removes his ridiculous disguise, straightens his tie, and makes his way over to your table with purpose.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Sebastian asks with an exaggerated wink as he reaches you. “It appears Mr. Leclerc and Miss Schumacher were stood up this evening. For shame!”

“Ah, Seb!” Charles laughs in surprise at seeing his friend and former teammate. “We should have known you were behind this madness.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “You’re a menace! I can’t believe you tricked us like that.”

Sebastian claps his hands together and flashes you both a devilish grin. “What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic who cannot abide two clearly smitten people tiptoeing around each other any longer. Now, Gerardo is going to bring you the finest Barolo they have, on my dime, and you are going to remedy this sexual tension situation once and for all over another bottle or three!”

Charles opens his mouth to protest, but you laugh delightedly and nod towards Sebastian. “You know what, I could go for another drink. What do you say, Charles?”

The older Ferrari driver seems to wilt under the weight of your brilliant smile, Sebastian can’t fault the man for that. “Ah, what the hell,” Charles shrugs, throwing his arm around the back of your chair. “Let’s see where this night takes us!”

Sebastian settles in, pouring you all generous glasses of the deep ruby wine when Gerardo delivers it. He may be getting on in years, but his matchmaking job has only just begun. One way or another, he’s determined to ensure his two protégés quit stumbling over each other and finally discover the romance that’s been blossoming under their noses all along.

Sipping his wine, Sebastian gazes at you and Charles, sees the tenderness flickering in both your eyes as you lean in closer together over the candlelight. He smiles contentedly to himself.

Mission accomplished.

***

The paddock is mostly deserted at this late hour, the muffled sounds of the teams packing up drifting in from the garages. You linger near the Ferrari motorhome, watching Charles sitting alone on a stack of tires, shoulders slumped. He’s been increasingly withdrawn these past few days leading up to the Japanese Grand Prix.

You approach slowly, not wanting to startle him. “Charles? You okay?”

He looks up, managing a small smile when he sees you. “Hey, mon amour.”

There’s a weariness to his voice that tugs at your heart. You take a seat beside him, letting your arm brush against his in a subtle show of support. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Charles is silent for a long moment, pulling his helmet off and turning it over in his hands. “It’s Suzuka,” he finally says, so softly you have to lean in to hear him. “Being back here … it’s difficult.”

Your brow furrows. Right, this is where Jules Bianchi crashed, his accident eventually proving fatal. Charles had been incredibly close with his mentor and godfather. “I can’t even imagine how painful this must be.” You cover his hand with yours. “Having to race on the same track ...”

“I relive that day over and over.” Charles’s accented voice is thick with emotion. “I can still see the footage of his car slamming into the crane, like it’s burned into my mind. He was my friend, my godfather, like a brother to me. And now every year, I have to come back to this place that took him from us far too soon.” He squeezes his eyes shut, a stray tear escaping.

“Oh, Charles ...” You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. His body is rigid at first before melting against you, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him tightly as his breath hitches with suppressed sobs, your own eyes stinging. How many times has he bottled up this grief, putting on a brave face for the world?

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur, stroking his back. “I can’t imagine the pain you’ve carried all these years. But Jules wouldn’t want you torturing yourself like this.” You pull away enough to frame his face with your hands, meeting his reddened eyes. “He’d want you to keep living, to keep pursuing your dream that he helped nurture. He’d be so proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”

Charles manages a watery smile, covering one of your hands with his. “You’re right. Thank you, chérie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He leans in, resting his forehead against yours with a shuddering sigh. “I just miss him so much some days. Like an ache I can’t shake.”

“I know.” You brush away the dampness on his cheeks with your thumbs. “Believe me, I understand that ache all too well.”

A crease forms between Charles’s brows as he regards you intently. “Your papa.”

You give a solemn nod. “Everyone talks about him like he’s gone. But he’s not, he’s still here, still breathing. It’s just … he’s not the same man I grew up with anymore.” You blink back tears of your own. “Sometimes I’ll see flashes that remind me so much of how Papa used to be. And then that illusion is shattered and I’m grieving all over again for the person he was.”

Charles’ arms wrap around you fully, tucking your head under his chin. “I can’t imagine how hard that must be. Seeing those glimpses of the man he was, only to have that hope ripped away.” He presses his lips to the crown of your head. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

You let out a choked laugh. “Yeah, definitely doesn’t feel like it most days.” Pulling away, you try for a smile. “But we Schumachers are fighters. We don’t stay down for long.”

“That’s my girl.” Charles grins, cupping your face and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “I’m lucky to have you by my side through all of this craziness. I don’t know what I’d do without your support, especially this weekend.”

“Are you kidding?” You turn to fully face him, clasping his hands in yours. “Charles, you’ve been my rock too, you know that? Signing with Ferrari this year, following in my father’s footsteps … the pressure has been immense. But you’ve never let me crumble under it. You’re always there with a laugh or a hug or some silly joke to make me smile even on the hardest days.”

Charles’s grin turns lopsided, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always makes your heart flutter. “Well, someone has to keep that ego of yours from inflating too much, future champion.” He leans in until his lips are a mere breath from yours. “But in all seriousness, we’re in this together, okay? No matter what the future holds, I’ll always have your back.”

“I know,” you murmur, feeling his words like a soothing balm over the parts of your heart still aching for your father as you once knew him. “And I’ll always have yours. We’re a team, on and off the track.” You close the distance between you, kissing him deeply.

Charles returns the kiss with fervor, his fingers threading through your hair to hold you close. The worries plaguing you both seem to temporarily fade into the background amid the warmth and solidity of his embrace. When you finally break apart, breathless, his emerald gaze holds an intensity that steals the air from your lungs in the best way.

“Je t’aime,” he murmurs, the endearment like a vow falling from his lips. “No matter what happens out there tomorrow, or any other race day, that will never change. You and me against the world, princesse.”

You flash him a coy smile, feeling desire begin to simmer low in your belly. “Is that a promise, Mr. Leclerc?”

“Mmm, I can make it one if you’d like.” Charles waggles his eyebrows, making you giggle as his hands roam freely over your back and sides, pulling you flush against him. His voice drops to a husky whisper. “Maybe I can find more convincing ways to pledge my devotion once we’re back at the hotel.”

“I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to that,” you say breathily, leaning in to nip at his lower lip in a way that makes him groan. “Though if memory serves, I seem to recall you saying something about honoring the team’s curfew tonight?” You trail openmouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw. “Wouldn’t want to be … sleep deprived before the race.”

Charles’s fingers flex against your hips as he lets out a shuddering breath. “You’re really testing my willpower here.”

“Payback for all those times you’ve tortured me.” You punctuate the statement with a sharp nip to the sensitive skin below his ear, making him jerk against you with a strangled sound. Pulling back, you smirk at the glazed look in his eyes. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

He blinks slowly, then his gaze narrows in a way that makes heat flare across your skin. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that later.” His voice is low, almost a growl that sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“I look forward to it.” You lean in until your lips are nearly brushing his again.

“Tease,” Charles accuses, though his kiss quickly swallows any further retort.

You lose yourself in the press of his mouth, the exploring glide of his hands over your body, the undeniable chemistry that still sometimes takes your breath away. When you finally break apart, gasping for air, you stay wrapped in each other’s arms, foreheads resting together.

“Thank you,” Charles murmurs after a long beat of comfortable silence. “For always knowing how to pull me out of my own head. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“That’s what partners are for,” you say simply, brushing back the silken strands of chestnut hair falling over his forehead. His eyes are so warm, so full of love and adoration, you feel it envelop you like a cozy blanket. “I’ll always be here to lean on, just like you are for me.”

Charles catches your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm. “And I’m grateful for that every single day. Facing the good times and bad, together.” His thumb strokes over your knuckles. “I know Suzuka will never be easy, not with the weight of the memories here. But you make the burden feel lighter. Like no matter what, I’ll be okay as long as I have you by my side.”

You lean in, brushing a featherlight kiss across his lips. “Always. No matter what the future holds, you’re stuck with me, Leclerc.”

A slow, utterly content smile spreads across his face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He steals another lingering kiss before glancing toward the pit area, where the last few stragglers are packing up for the night. “As much as I’d love to keep you all to myself, I suppose we should try to get some rest before tomorrow.”

Sliding off the tire stack, he offers you his hand, that warm gleam still dancing in his forest-colored eyes. “Though maybe we could indulge in a long, hot shower first? You know, to … unwind after such an emotionally draining evening.”

You raise an eyebrow at his transparent attempt at nonchalance, but can’t help a smirk from tugging at your lips. “Why, Mr. Leclerc, are you propositioning me?”

“Would that be so terrible?” He tugs you into his arms, leaving a trail of teasing kisses along your jaw. “After all, we did have quite the … charged conversation just now. I’d hate for all that pent-up tension to distract us on track tomorrow.”

You let out a breathless giggle as his wandering hands and lips leave tingles across your skin. “Well, when you put it that way … I suppose a nice, relaxing shower could be just what we need to clear our heads.” Looping your arms around his neck, you meet his heated gaze through lowered lashes. “Lead the way, liebling.”

Charles’ responding grin is nothing short of wolfish. “With pleasure.” Scooping you up in his arms, he heads for the parking lot at a swift pace, leaving the weight of Suzuka and its ghosts behind for the night.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you bring your Ferrari across the finish line, tires smoking from the incredible pace. Your race engineer’s voice crackles over the radio, congratulating you, but the words are drowned out by the thunderous cheers echoing around the Autodromo Nazionale Monza.

You can hardly believe it. Your first season with the Scuderia and you’ve just won the Italian Grand Prix — on the hallowed ground that your father once ruled. The sea of fans decked out in red is a sight to behold, celebrating wildly as you complete the cool-down lap.

Pulling into parc fermé, you kill the engine, the high-pitched whine slowly dying away. Undoing the straps, you clamber out, still trying to process what just happened. This is really real.

“You!”

The familiar voice makes you turn. It’s Charles, beaming from ear-to-ear despite settling for second place today. He pulls you into a massive hug, squeezing you tightly.

“I can’t believe you just did that! Amazing drive!”

You laugh, giddy with joy and adrenaline. “I still can’t believe it either! Everything just … clicked.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Charles chuckles, ruffling your sweat-damp hair. “You were incredible out there. Absolutely brilliant.”

Hearing the praise from your boyfriend means everything. You know how hard he’s worked, how much he’s sacrificed to get this far. And he’s still your biggest supporter.

The two of you finally pull apart as the rest of the team makes their presence known, congratulating you with bearhugs and massive pats on the back. You did it — you brought the victory home for Ferrari at the Temple of Speed.

After the chaos of the post-race celebrations dies down a little, it’s time for the podium ceremony. You can’t wait to stand up there, basking in the adulation of the wildly passionate Tifosi. As you make your way out with Charles and the third place finisher, the crowd’s cheers swell to a new eardrum-bursting level.

Climbing the steps, you take your spot on the top level, heart racing as you look out over the endless sea of fans. The air is filled with brilliant red smoke, passionate flag-wavers creating mesmerizing patterns. You’ve seen Grands Prix in Italy before, but being up here, having actually won — it’s on another level entirely.

Speeches are made, anthems are played, and then it’s time to crack open the podium champagne. As the bottles are picked up, a rolling chant starts building in the grandstands:

“La Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!”

The sound shakes you to your core. Tears instantly spring to your eyes.

Charles, beside you on the second step, grins and nudges you. “Listen to them! You’ve done it — you’ve made them fall in love with you just like they did with your father.”

Looking down at him with misty eyes, you mouth, “Thank you,” so overwhelmed that you can’t speak. He slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close. The two of you share a soft kiss as the chanting grows louder and louder.

As you pull back, gazing out over the surging tide of humanity, faces beaming up at you in adoration, it finally sinks in. This moment — winning at Monza for Ferrari, with Charles by your side, the Tifosi embracing you wholeheartedly — is beyond anything you ever could have dreamed.

The emotions pour out in waves of joy and pride and disbelief. You raise your bottle high, echoing the chants and cheering your heart out to the crowd. They roar back even louder, feeding off your energy in the way that only this group of diehard fans can.

Once the champagne showers subside, giddy fans whistling at you and Charles canoodling on the podium, it’s time to head back down. But the celebrations are just getting started. The team wants to keep the party going.

On the drive over to Maranello, you find yourself sandwiched in the backseat between Charles and your race engineer, Ricky. Everyone is grinning like maniacs, high on the thrill of victory, singing drinking songs at the top of their lungs.

“Solo per lei! Principessa di Monza!” Ricky bellows, gently elbowing you. The rest join in, filling the car with the chant of “Only for her! Princess of Monza!” You can’t stop giggling, leaning into Charles, deliriously happy.

Once you finally roll up to the factory, the party spills out of the car and into the streets. The entire workforce has turned out, waving huge Ferrari flags, beating drums and sounding air horns in celebration. You’re immediately swarmed, being passed from hug to hug as champagne is sprayed in joyful arcs.

They finally manage to sweep you, Charles, and most of your garages inside the factory, where long banquet tables have been set up in the main hall. An enormous cheer goes up as you enter, sparkling wine sloshing from hastily poured glasses all around you.

The meal that follows is a total blur — amazing food, flowing alcohol, raucous toasts, and the happiest pandemonium you’ve ever witnessed. You keep getting tugged from conversation to conversation, everyone wanting to hear how the race played out from your lips. Charles sticks by your side the whole time, looking on with sheer pride.

At one point, you end up going shot for shot with Fred Vasseur, the team principal pouring vodka like his job depends on it. “La mia principessa!” He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears of joy. “You’ve made us all so proud today!”

He hoists his glass. “To our Princess! The Princess of Monza!”

The chant starts up again all around you. “La Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!”

You beam at them all, squeezing Fred’s hand. No words can describe this feeling, being embraced so completely by your team — your family. This is what you’ve dreamed about since you were a little girl. Following in your father’s footsteps, bringing glory to Ferrari, carrying on the legend.

The party rages on long into the night. At some point, you lose track of time completely, delirious with exhaustion from the whirlwind of emotion.

You come around for a moment, blinking in the dim glow of the factory lights. There’s quiet rumbles of laughter around you, echoing off the walls. Looking around blearily, you realize you’ve been tucked into a makeshift bed fashioned from a pile of Ferrari t-shirts, nestled in one of the car assembly spaces.

Charles is there too, cradled against your side, one arm wrapped protectively around you. The rest of the team — your PR officers, engineers, mechanics, everyone — is strewn about in similar nests, all of them totally conked out.

With a contented sigh, you snuggle deeper into Charles’ embrace, feeling his lips brush the top of your head. This bizarre, wonderful scene seems to encapsulate everything about being part of the Ferrari family. It’s chaotic and overwhelming and unlike anything else in the world.

But most of all, it’s home.

As you start to drift back to sleep, savoring the lingering scent of champagne and motor oil, one final chant echoes in your head:

La principessa di Monza.

La principessa di Ferrari.

***

11 Months Later

The last few laps feel like they’re happening in slow motion. Every turn, every gear shift, every tiny input to the steering wheel is magnified tenfold as the circuits count down. The pressure is immense, but you’ve been here before. You can do this.

“Stay calm, stay focused,” your race engineer’s voice crackles over the radio. “The calculations look good. Just bring it home steady.”

Nodding to yourself, you downshift entering the stadium section, the roar of the massive crowd surrounding the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez swelling in your ears. This is it — your chance to join the likes of motorsport’s greatest heroes by winning the Formula 1 World Championship.

Your first victory at Monza, being crowned the “Principessa di Ferrari” by the adoring Tifosi, was a dream come true. But this … this is what you’ve worked towards since you were old enough to understand what your father achieved. To etch your name into the history books forever.

The laps tick by agonizingly. Every time the pitboard comes into view, your heart rate spikes. But you’ve got a comfortable gap to second place, managing the race perfectly. Just a few more corners now.

“Final lap, final lap,” your engineer calls out. “Looking brilliant. Stay comfortable and you’ve got this!”

You suck in a deep breath to steady your nerves. Out of the sweeping Curve 3 and onto the pit straight, the crowd’s thunderous cheers are reaching fever pitch. You can see the seas of red-clad fans absolutely losing their minds, knowing the woman they idolize is about to achieve immortality.

Crossing the finish line, you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding for what feels like ages. The emotion is overwhelming — a combination of pure elation, disbelief, and total exhaustion.

You did it.

World Champion at last!

You cruise around, yelling unintelligibly into the radio as the celebrations kick off around the circuit. There’s confetti in the air, smoke flares going off in brilliant shades of red, and a full-throated roar that could probably be heard all the way back in Europe.

Pulling into parc fermé, you switch off the car, letting the weight of the moment sink in. Tears of joy prick at your eyes as the magnitude of your achievement hits home. Ever since you were a little girl, running around watching your papa, this has been the ultimate dream for you.

And now, it’s finally happened. You’re a World Champion. Just like him.

The first person to reach you is Charles. He comes sprinting over from his own car, bounding past the marshals without a second look. One glimpse of the huge smile plastered across his face is all it takes for you to dissolve into giggles and delirious tears.

“You did it! You brilliant, brilliant woman, you did it!” He shouts, grabbing you up in his arms and spinning you around in a whirlwind hug.

“I can’t believe it, Charles! It felt like a dream … like it wasn’t really happening!”

You’re both laughing and crying at the same time, drunk on the euphoria of the moment. Clutching each other tightly, you press your foreheads together, trying in vain to compose yourselves.

“I’m so proud of you,” Charles murmurs, gazing at you with adoring eyes. “You worked so incredibly hard for this. You deserve everything.”

Surging forward, you capture his lips in a searing, passionate kiss. For a few brief moments, the two of you are alone, lost in the depth of your emotions and your all-encompassing love for each other. Nothing else in the world matters but this perfect second frozen in time.

You finally break apart, breathless, when the rest of the team sweeps in to congratulate you. They swarm around in a laughing, whooping mass, jumping up and down, hugging, chanting your name over and over.

“To our champion! The Queen!”

The cry comes from Antonio, one of the veteran mechanics who’s been with the team since your papa’s days. He clasps your hands tightly, gazing at you with pride.

“Sei la regina! The Queen of Ferrari!” He hollers over the raucous din, tears shining in his eyes. “Just like your father, you’ll reign forever!”

Your eyes start brimming over again, overwhelmed. The tears roll down your cheeks, smearing streaks of sweat and grime from the race. But you can’t stop beaming.

All at once, the rest of the crew picks up on Antonio’s declaration. Their cheers and chants coalesce into one booming refrain:

“La Re-gi-na! La Re-gi-na!”

The sheer adulation washes over you in waves, every face beaming up at you in utter reverence. You find yourself struggling to take it all in. In a few incredible seasons, you’ve elevated yourself into the realm of legend in their eyes.

Charles wraps his arms around you from behind, steadying you as your knees start to go weak. You can feel his smile radiant against your neck as he cheers and whoops right along with the rest of them.

“You hear them?” He chuckles, kissing your temple. “It’s all for you, mia regina! My Queen.”

Hearing your love, your partner, your other half call you that sets off a fresh round of giggles and sobs. Turning in his embrace, you loop your arms around his shoulders, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him deeply.

When you finally part, you look out over the still-roaring crowd, many of them carrying elaborate signs with intricate drawings depicting you as a regal sovereign. Some have fashioned ornate crowns out of random merch and foam, holding them high. Others set off flares and smoke bombs in Ferrari red.

For a moment, their euphoric cheers fade into the background, drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the rush of blood in your ears. Closing your eyes, you let the enormity of the moment wash over you, embracing the pride and humility and disbelieving joy.

This is your coronation. The new ruler of the Scuderia — la regina di Ferrari.

“La Regina di Ferrari! La Regina del Mondo!”

You can only chuckle in disbelief, Antonio and Ricky carefully taking your hands to hoist you up onto their shoulders in throne-like celebration. Charles is right by your side, standing vigil as your King Consort.

As the party spreads out around you, confetti and smoke filling the air, you look out across the ecstatic crowd. All you see are fervent faces, worshiping you as their new Queen of the World.

It’s a delirious scene that you never, ever could’ve imagined. And yet it feels so natural, so right. Like you were born to be in the center of this storm of jubilation. This is your true home.

And now, you’ve taken your rightful place as its ruler.

Mexico City burns long into the night in tribute to the newly-coronated Queen. Tomorrow, the party will likely continue all the way back to Maranello. But in this moment, you’re lost in the swirl of ecstasy, allowing yourself to be swept up in the currents of adoration.

La Regina di Ferrari.

La Regina del Mondo.

***

Eight Years Later

Jules can barely contain his excitement as you and Charles help him into the little red race suit. He’s practically vibrating with energy, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

“Easy there, petit coureur,” Charles chuckles, ruffling Jules’ hair affectionately. “We’ll get you suited up and on the track soon enough.”

“I’m gonna beat everyone!” Jules declares confidently. You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“That’s my boy,” you say with a wink. “Just like your Papa and me.”

Charles grins and pulls Jules into a hug. “We’ll see about that, won’t we? Today’s just for fun though, remember? No official points or anything.”

“I know, I know,” Jules says impatiently. “But I’m still gonna win!”

You laugh and swing him up into your arms, peppering his face with kisses until he squeals with delight. “Whatever you say, liebling. Now let’s get you out on that track!”

The three of you make your way out to the karting circuit, hand-in-hand. You can already see a small crowd starting to form along the fences, phones and cameras at the ready. A familiar scenario, even at such a low-key local event.

“Mama, Papa, look!” Jules points excitedly. “Those people want to take pictures!”

“That’s right, schatzi,” you say gently. “Your Papa and I are pretty well known in motorsports.”

“Like movie stars?” His eyes go wide.

Charles laughs. “Something like that, I suppose. More like … really famous racecar drivers.”

“Whoa ...” Jules seems to be processing this new realization. “You’re the best ever, right? The bestest?”

You share an amused look with Charles. “Well, we’ve had our fair share of success,” you hedge.

“Your mother is a multi-time World Champion,” Charles says proudly. “As am I. We did pretty okay, I think.”

“Woooaahh!” Jules looks absolutely awestruck, like his little mind has been blown. It’s both adorable and bittersweet — your own child, only just now grasping the level of your accomplishments and fame.

The crowd has grown considerably by the time you reach the pit area, people pressing against the barriers in hopes of getting a glimpse of the royal family of Maranello. A small team of event staff try valiantly to keep order, but it’s a losing battle.

“Excuse me! Y/N! Can we get a photo?”

“Charles! Over here, please!”

“Oh my god, is that little Jules? He’s so cute!”

Jules clings a bit closer to you and Charles, startled by the commotion. You pull him protectively against your side.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “Just some fans who are excited to see us.”

Charles gives the crowd a regretful smile and a small wave before ushering you both past the security team and into the pit area. The calmer, more controlled setting seems to ease Jules’ nerves.

“Why were all those people yelling and taking pictures?” He asks with a small frown.

“Like I said, we’re pretty famous racers,” Charles explains patiently. “A lot of people know who we are and want our autographs or photos with us.”

“Like celebrities!” Jules says, the admiring light returning to his eyes.

You laugh and ruffle his hair again. “Something like that, yeah. Your Papa and I have had a very successful racing career over the years.”

“The best careers,” Charles amends with a wink at you. “Multiple world titles each.”

“World titles?” Jules looks utterly baffled by the concept. “Like … the best in the whole world?”

“Exactly,” you confirm, feeling that familiar swell of pride. “We were the fastest drivers in the world, for a few years at least.”

“Whooaa ...” Jules seems torn between awe and disbelief. “You’re like … superheroes!”

You and Charles both crack up at the adorable comparison.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Charles laughs, “but I suppose to some we come pretty close, eh?”

He scoops Jules up and swings him around, making him shriek with laughter. You watch them with a content smile, suddenly aware of how blessed you are to have this life — your incredible husband, your precious son, the career successes you both achieved. It’s more than you ever could have dreamed.

“Alright,” Papa says, setting Jules back down. “Why don’t you go grab your kart and we’ll get you out on the track? Think you can take on the world champions?”

Jules gives a determined nod, that familiar fire blazing in his eyes — the same look you’ve seen in your husband’s familiar green ones a thousand times over the years. “You bet! I’ll show you how it’s done!”

With one last hair ruffle, you send him scampering off excitedly. Charles slides an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“He’s something else, isn’t he?” He murmurs against your temple. “So much like us at that age. I can already tell he’s going to be a hell of a driver someday.”

You lean into his embrace with a contented sigh. “He is … and just look at how the crowd reacted to him. He’s barely grasped that we’re famous, and now he’s already getting mobbed himself. Our little star in the making.”

Charles makes a rueful sound. “We’re going to have to get used to that, I suppose.”

“Oh, I think we can handle it,” you say lightly. “We’ve had plenty of practice being in the spotlight, after all.”

He laughs and drops a kiss to your hair. “That’s true enough. As long as we stick together, we can get through anything.”

“Exactly.” You turn in his arms to face him properly, cupping his jaw tenderly. “You, me, Jules … nothing else matters as long as we have each other.”

Charles’ eyes are warm with devotion as he gazes down at you. “My soulmate. My family. How did I ever get so lucky?”

He leans in to kiss you, slow and sweet, the rest of the world temporarily fading away. You lose yourself in the familiar comfort of his embrace, the love you share-

“Ewww, gross! Stop kissing!”

You break apart with a laugh to find Jules making over-exaggerated gagging noises nearby.

“And the moment’s ruined,” Charles teases, keeping an arm looped around your waist.

You bend down to Jules’ eye level with a mock stern look. “You just wait until you’re all grown up with a sweetheart of your own. Then you’ll understand.”

He scrunches up his nose theatrically. “Never! Girls are gross!”

You and Charles share an amused look.

“If you say so,” Charles chuckles. “Now let’s get that kart fired up.”

Jules’ entire demeanor shifts in an instant, that fierce competitiveness surfacing once again. He scrambles into the cockpit of his little kart and takes firm hold of the wheel, looking suddenly years beyond his age.

“You’re going down!” He declares brazenly. “I’ll leave you both in the dust!”

And just like that, the proud parents are replaced by your familiar racing mentalities — the thrill of competition, the desire to win. You share a conspiratorial grin with Charles.

“Is that so?” He taunts playfully. “In that case, no more taking it easy on you two.”

You bend down to kiss Jules’ forehead, unable to resist a parting quip. “Promise you won’t be sad … because Mama always wins.”

With that, Charles heads off to grab his own kart, leaving you and Jules alone for a brief moment. He looks up at you with shining eyes.

“You’re my hero, Mama,” he says simply. “And Papa too. I wanna be just like you when I grow up!”

You feel your heart swell fit to burst, filled with more love than you could possibly put into words. Bending down, you pull your beautiful little boy into a fierce hug, eyes shining with unshed happy tears.

“Oh liebling … you already are. You’re everything we could have dreamed of and more.”

You press a lingering kiss to the top of his head, overwhelmed with affection. When you finally pull back, there are indeed tears shining in your eyes.

“Now go show your parents what you’ve got, baby,” you say with a watery smile. “I can’t wait to see you out there.”

Jules gives you a determined nod, eyes blazing with that trademark fire. “You got it, Mama! Get ready to lose!”

With that, he slams down the visor on his helmet and revs the little engine. You step back with a laugh, watching him peel out onto the track with all the confidence and flair of a seasoned pro. Like parents, like son indeed.

By the time Charles rejoins you, his own kart idling beside yours, Jules has already completed a couple of warm up laps. You can’t resist shooting Charles a smug grin.

“Well, well … looks like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. He drives just like you.”

Charles snorts, clearly trying to downplay his obvious pride. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s all your genes coming through.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a sudden commotion from the fences draws your attention. The crowd has grown even larger, people pressing against the barriers with raised phones and voices calling out excitedly.

“Oh my god, it’s them!”

“They’re so cute together!!”

“Over here, please! This way!”

You share a resigned look with Charles as event staff rush to try and control the growing swarm.

“This is what it’s going to be like from now on, isn’t it?” You murmur. “Our little family, constantly in the spotlight.”

Charles shrugs, slinging an arm around your shoulders as he watches Jules blaze by. “What else is new? We’ve been there our whole careers. At least this time, we get to share the fame together … as a family.”

You lean into his side with a contented smile. Out on the track, Jules whips past in a blur of determination, completely unbothered by the fawning crowd. Just a little boy living out his dream, regardless of who his parents might be.

“You know what?” You say softly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Charles drops a kiss to your hair as the roar of the crowd and engines swells around you. “Me neither, mon amour. I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

[imaginedisish]

All I Need (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: AHH! This took so, so long. Anyway, here is the period-comfort fic! Needed this. Loosely inspired by "All I Need" By Radiohead and "Let the Light In" by Lana and Father John Misty. Hope you guys enjoy! P.S. I'm so sorry if I forgot to tag you, or if the tags don't work.

Summary: Your period is awful this month, but Logan is there to take care of you...in more ways than one...

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!! SMUT!!! Fingering, PIV, period sex, soft!Logan, praise kink (if you squint), friends to lovers, softdom!Logan (if you squint again), mentions of blood (bc period), so much fluff, feelings, cursing, afab!reader/fem!reader, definitely some grammatical errors bc I struggled through proofreading...and I think that's it!

Word Count: 4,474 it was supposed to be short

You’re no stranger to pain. You’ve been in countless battles and fought more fights than you can remember. And yet, nothing makes you feel as obliterated as your period does. 

Your cramps have always been terrible, but this time they were particularly bad. You sit in your bed, on a Saturday night, alone, struggling. You couldn’t find the heating pad. You couldn’t find the ice cream you wanted. You couldn’t find anything to watch. And, of course, everything hurts—your breasts are beyond sore, and your head is aching. You look up at the ceiling, wanting nothing more than for your period to be over. 

Your lower abdomen pulses with pain and you groan audibly, not caring how loud you are as you turn over onto your stomach in frustration. 

But then there’s a knock at your door.  

“Hey, everything okay in there?” It’s Logan—of course it’s him. “Didn’t mean to be nosy. Just happened to hear you.”

“I’m okay!” You call out, rolling back onto your side to face the door. 

“Are you sure?” Logan asks. You can hear his hand on the knob. “Can I come in?”

Heat suddenly rises to your chest. Logan? Coming in here? Now? In reality, this shouldn’t be a big deal. Logan has been in your room before—albeit very briefly and in passing—but you can’t help but feel nervous. You’re always nervous around him. You’ve been harboring a crush on him for months now, and it’s brutal. You’ve grown closer, but not quite close enough. At least not in the way you want.

You swallow nervously. “Y-yeah,” you stammer, your voice almost cracking. “You can come in.” 

Logan immediately twists the knob and pushes the door open, stepping inside your room. You can’t help but smile at the sight of his familiar beater and blue jeans. He takes another step and closes the door behind him—he’s just a few feet away from you, his arms crossed over his chest.

He smirks, tilting his head down. “It’s Saturday night, and this is what you’re doing?” He steps towards you, approaching the bed and sitting down. 

“Not feeling great,” you admit, wincing as you sit up in bed. 

Logan’s brows immediately furrow with concern. His hand comes up to rest on your knee, and you have to stop yourself from shuddering under his touch. “Are you okay?” He asks, his thumb drawing gentle circles into your skin. He sniffs once, and you know he can smell the blood between your thighs. “Do you need anything?” 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” you say, trying to politely brush off his concern. You don’t want to trouble him, don’t want to hold him back from his Saturday night plans. But Logan’s brows are still furrowed, concern painted clearly across his face. “Really, I’m okay,” you reassure, but he doesn’t budge. 

“I know you’re not okay,” he says, his eyes looking deeply into yours. “Let me help you, yeah?”

“I’d feel bad. I’d be holding you back from whatever plans you—”

“No plans, princess,” Logan says, cutting you off. You try to hide the way your breath hitches in your throat at the familiar nickname. “Just you. Whatever you need.” He smiles widely, his thumb still drawing circles into your knee. 

It’s so soft, so delicate, so unlike the way Logan is with others. There’s something domestic about this, something especially comforting and gentle. He’s sacrificing his Saturday night for you—to make sure you’re okay. Your heart squeezes in your chest at the thought. 

“Is it bad?” He asks, his voice low and calm. You’re so lost in your thoughts that you almost don’t notice the way Logan inches closer; don’t notice the way his hand slides down to your lower stomach. The warmth of his hand feels so good that you have to stifle a moan at the sudden contact.  

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, leaning into his touch. His hand presses firmly into your stomach, rubbing gently. “But your hand feels nice,” you admit, your voice a bit shaky as the words fall from your lips. 

He’s next to you now, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hips in line with yours. His touch, his presence—it’s all simultaneously relaxing and exhilarating. You’ve never had him this close, never felt him touch you like this. Your heart beats out of your chest as his palm pushes against your aching lower abdomen. He’s in tune with you, registering every movement you make, every half-moan you can’t seem to suppress as his hand soothingly rubs your stomach. 

You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “Do you want me to get you anything?” He asks, smiling widely. Your mind immediately goes to the lack of ice cream in the freezer, but you’re hesitant to ask. Getting you something would entail leaving. And the last thing you want is for Logan to leave. 

“I’m okay,” you answer, but you know your voice comes out as unsure. 

He arches a brow, his caring smile turning into a knowing smirk. “You sure about that, princess?” He nods his head towards the door. “I saw you all disappointed after lookin’ in the freezer, earlier.”

You can’t help the grin that forms on your face at Logan’s words. He noticed you. “There wasn’t any ice cream left,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. 

Logan chuckles and stands up, his palm slipping away from your stomach. You want to reach out, to yank him down and force his hand back where it was. “I’ll be right back,” he says, walking towards the door. “Don’t move an inch. I mean it!” He keeps his eyes on you as he backs out of the room, opening the door and closing it carefully behind him. 

Not even a minute later, Logan comes back with a silver spoon and a pint of your favorite ice cream. “No way,” you mutter, shaking your head, your smile spreading across your face. “How did you know?”

Logan smirks. “I just do,” he answers, sitting back in his place next to you on the edge of the bed. He passes you the silver spoon and the pint. “Knew that’s what you were looking for. Went out to the store to grab it the second you walked out of the kitchen empty-handed.”

“You’re amazing,” you whisper, still in awe of how he got you the ice cream without asking. He simply noticed. He remembered your favorite flavor—you never had to tell him a thing. He just knew. 

You open the packaging and dig into the ice cream, wrapping your lips around the spoon. “Oh sorry,” you mumble, your mouth full of ice cream as you pull the spoon from your lips. “Do you want some?”

You dig the spoon back into the ice cream and scoop out a big serving, pointing the spoon in Logan’s direction. He smirks before opening his mouth, waiting for you to feed him. Your breath catches in your throat as you hold the spoon up to him. His lips wrap around the ice cream, and he takes the spoon from your hand, his fingertips brushing against yours. 

He sucks and pulls the spoon from his mouth. You swallow harshly at the sight, watching as he digs into the pint and takes another scoop of ice cream, this time bringing the spoon to your lips. You open your mouth, inviting him inside, closing it around the cold ice cream. You silently wish you could taste him on the spoon. 

You grab the spoon from his hands, his fingers lingering before pulling away—like he’d do anything to touch you again, to savor the feeling of your skin against his. 

“Thank you, Logan,” you say, taking another scoop of ice cream and shoving the spoon past your lips. “Really, it means a lot.”

Logan shakes his head, his hand finding that spot on your stomach again. “It was nothing,” he mutters. “I’d do anything for you.” He soothingly rubs side to side, the warmth of his palm enveloping your lower abdomen. “Is there anything else you wanted?” He asks, nodding his head towards the T.V. on the other side of your room. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Sure,” you say back, reaching for the remote on your nightstand. You flick the T.V. on and look over at Logan. “W-would you wanna stay?” You ask, nodding your head to the other side of the bed. 

“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere, princess,” he husks, standing up and walking to the other side of the bed. He settles in next to you, lying down on the mattress. You’re shoulder to shoulder, and his hand quickly finds your lower abdomen again. 

You scroll through the movies on various streaming services, and nothing seems to click until you find an old, campy B-movie from the 80s. You turn to face Logan, grinning widely, pointing the remote to the television. He rolls his eyes playfully as he reads the description. “Whatever you want, pretty girl.”

Your heart stops at the epithet. Pretty girl? Princess, sure—you’re familiar with Logan’s classic princess nickname. But pretty girl was entirely new. Different. Certainly not friendly. Princess was teasing, tongue and cheek—a way to mess with you, to slip under your skin and rile you up. Flirty? Perhaps. But not inherently romantic. Pretty girl? 

Pretty girl seems like…more. 

You decide to take a chance, letting your head rest on Logan’s shoulder as you press play on the movie. You spoon ice cream into your mouth, waiting for Logan’s next move. After a few seconds, he sits up. His shoulder separates from yours, and his arm reaches around your shoulders instead, tugging you into his chest. 

“This okay?” He asks, his lips brushing against the side of your head, pressing what feels like the ghost of a kiss to your temple.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. “It’s perfect.” You can hear Logan’s heart beating in his chest. It’s loud and fast. His fingertips draw circles into your shoulder as he pulls you closer. 

The movie starts, but you can’t seem to concentrate. You nervously shovel scoop after scoop of ice cream into your mouth, hoping to take your mind off Logan, but it obviously doesn’t work. Not with the way his arms are wrapped around you—one draped around your shoulder while his other hand is tucked in its place against your lower stomach. 

You somehow finish the entire pint, and Logan notices immediately, taking the container from your hands and placing it on the nightstand next to him. His hand is back, soothingly rubbing your abdomen, within the blink of an eye. He’s endlessly attentive, listening carefully to every breath you take, watching every wrinkle in your forehead crease and every wince you make when a bad cramp comes on. 

A sudden, sharp pain builds in your abdomen, and you squeeze your eyes shut, grinding your teeth as the pain worsens. You take a deep breath through your nose and out your mouth.

“Hey,” Logan coos, pressing his hand a bit harder into your belly. “Is it getting bad?” He asks softly, holding you tighter. 

You swallow harshly, taking another deep breath. “Yeah, it hurts right now,” you choke, wincing as you let yourself lean completely into him. 

Logan pulls you into his lap, one arm draping across the front of your chest while his hand slips underneath the waistband of your athletic shorts. He stops just above your panties. “Is this okay?” He asks, his warm palm messaging your stomach. 

The pressure is so nice, and the heat from his palm is delicious. “Yes,” you groan, your legs intertwining with his. You squirm a bit in his lap, trying to get comfortable. “You’re so warm,” you whisper, turning on your side, still situated between his legs, your head on his chest. “F-feels good.”

Logan presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His arm slides up and down your body before settling on your waist. “You sure you don’t need anything?”

“I-I don’t know,” you admit, pressing your face into the center of his chest. All you can smell is him—pine and musk and denim and leather. It’s perfect, dizzying, distracting. Just need you, you think to yourself. 

“Need me, pretty girl?” Logan asks. You lift your head up, furrowing your brows as you realize you let that thought find its way to your lips and out of your mouth. “I’m right here.” 

His face is just inches away from yours. His breath fans across your nose, your cheeks. His lips are close, too—just a bit closer and you’d be kissing. “L-Lo,” you stutter. “I…” You trail off, unable to form a coherent thought. You can feel the tension in the air, feel the heat building between your thighs. Fuck, you want him. Need him. 

His throat bobs as he swallows. “What’s going on here, sweetheart?” Logan murmurs, his forehead pressing to yours. 

“W-want you,” you admit, your voice shaky. 

“Want you too, darlin’,” he says, his fingertips playing with the waistband of your panties. “Let me take care of you,” he husks. “Let me take the pain away.” And you want him too—more than anything. 

“Please,” you beg as his hand slips under the hem of your panties. You flip the T.V. off and throw the remote to the floor.

His lips finally press against yours, slow and languid. His fingertips find your clit, drawing tight, quick circles around the bud. “I’ll tease you next time, pretty girl,” Logan whispers at the shell of your ear. But all you register is next time. There’s going to be a next time. “Just wanna make you feel good right now.”

“F-fuck,” you moan, your hips rocking against his hand. He swirls around your clit, pinching gently between his strokes. 

Logan’s free hand comes down to your thighs, gripping your flesh tightly and spreading your legs wider. “That feel good, princess?” He rasps, stroking faster. 

Your head falls back to his shoulder. “Yes, so good,” you whimper. His lips find your neck, kissing your pulse point and sucking softly. His hand slides back up your body, slipping underneath your shirt, trailing over your stomach. 

His fingertips climb tentatively towards your chest. You remember you aren’t wearing a bra as Logan’s fingers brush against the underside of your breasts. “Please,” you beg, arching your back into his touch.

Logan presses another kiss to your neck as his hand palms your breasts, massaging gently, alternating between one side and the other. He hikes up your tank top, giving himself better access to all of you. His fingers continue their tight circles on your clit, swirling around, releasing that pressure at the bottom of your stomach. Your walls clench down around nothing as he presses harder into your core. 

“Thought about this for so long,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “Thought about touching you, fucking you. Wanted you this whole time, sweetheart.”

“Logan,” you moan, bringing your lips to his. “I wanted you too,” you confess. You can feel yourself hitting your peak, ready to fall apart. “I’m c-close.”

“I know, darlin’,” Logan soothes, his fingers quickening. “I’ve got you.” His lips melt against yours, fitting together like magnets, like you were always meant to find each other. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip. “Wanna make you come, wanna watch you let go.” 

It all happens so fast—your orgasm crashes into you, and Logan swallows your moans with another kiss. “That’s it, pretty girl,” Logan coos, still stroking your clit. Your walls flutter as pleasure courses through your every nerve ending. His strokes slow down until his fingers rest, unmoving, on your clit. Logan’s hands still palm your breasts, messaging the tender flesh gently. “You okay?” He asks softly. 

“Yeah, p-perfect,” you stutter, curling into his chest. “Felt so good.” 

Logan presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “Relax darlin’,” he husks, taking a deep breath. 

“Lo?” You whisper, looking up at him, his eyes immediately finding yours. “Do you really want me?” You ask, suddenly embarrassed to be saying anything at all, and yet you find yourself rambling. “When you were saying all that when we were—” 

But his lips are on yours again, hungry and desperate. He pulls away like he doesn’t want to—like it hurts to be away from you for even the briefest second. “I want you, pretty girl,” he says, pulling you back into his chest. “You’re all I think about…” He trails off, his voice less stable than it was just seconds ago. “You’re all I need.” 

“Logan,” you say, smiling widely. “I’ve wanted you for months. I didn’t know you felt the same way.” 

You can feel his chuckle reverberate through his chest. “How could I ever want someone else?” He asks. There’s levity in his voice, but you know he’s being serious. “You’re it. You make me think that…” he pauses, and you look up from his chest. “You make me think that there’s some purpose to all this.” He meets your gaze, and you can see the sudden shift in his expression. His eyes are glossed over. He works his jaw. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. For love. For you.” 

You know that Logan has had everything taken from him, time and time again. He’s an undeniably selfless person, the type of person who would let the world destroy him to protect those he loves—and he has—it’s happened. But he’s still here, and now he’s here with you. He deserves happiness. He deserves love. And the thought that he finally feels those things with you is too much to bear. You try to smile, but you can’t help the tears brimming in your eyes. “I love you,” you whisper. “So much.” 

“I love you too, beautiful.” 

His lips are on yours again, melding, coming together, building something unbreakable. You straddle him, his hands finding your hips. He squeezes firmly, keeping you in place on top of him. His tongue swipes your lower lip, asking permission to slip inside, and you happily oblige. You want Logan, all of him, now. Forever. 

“Always gonna want you, just you,” he mumbles against your lips. “So fucking beautiful. Never wanted anyone like this.” His hands guide your hips to roll over his. Your core drags along his erection—large and straining against his jeans. 

“Want you so bad,” you whine, grinding down onto him. But then you remember the reason Logan is here in the first place. “B-but I’m on my—”

Logan rocks his hips against yours, ignoring you. “As long as you want this pretty girl, I want this. Don’t care about that.”

Fuck.

You nod, your lips pressing to his. He swallows your whines, his tongue brushing against yours, his teeth grazing your lower lip. His hands slide up and down your back, your tank top still hiked up over your breasts. Logan’s nails trail across your skin, drawing along your curves, taking in every inch of you. 

You bring your hands down his chest, finding the hem of his beater. You tug it up his body, revealing his skin. “You want this off?” He asks, smiling against your lips. You nod, and he breaks contact for just a split second, tugging his shirt up and over his head. 

He’s so beautiful, his abs, the thick, dark hair scrawling across his chest. You bite your lip at the sight. “You’re perfect,” you mutter, letting your hands feel his exposed skin, searching him, growing familiar with his every curve.

He smirks, his hands finding your hips again, squeezing tightly. “That’s all you, princess,” he rasps, shaking his head. “Beautiful girl.” 

You grind your hips against his again, and he presses his forehead to yours. “Need you, Lo.” His arms wrap around your back, pulling you in so that your chest is flush with his. Your fingertips find his belt, fumbling with the buckle until you get it undone, and sliding the leather out of the loops of his jeans. You toss it to the floor and quickly work at his button and zipper. 

“Slow down, sweetheart,” Logan chides, grabbing your wrists with one of his massive hands. “Let’s take it easy, yeah?”

You can’t help but pout. “But I want you so bad,” you whine, grinding down onto him. Logan groans, his hips bucking up into yours. He brings his hands to the hem of his jeans and tugs them down. You take the opportunity to grab a condom from the drawer of the nightstand next to you. 

When you look back, Logan’s erection is free from his jeans. He’s massive, so much bigger than you ever imagined. You swallow harshly, handing him the condom with shaky hands. He smirks, opening the little package and rolling the condom over his cock. “Don’t worry, darlin’,” he husks. “Gonna take it slow, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumble, and then his hands are on your hips again, flipping you onto your back so that he’s hovering over you. He quickly finds the hem of your shorts, and you lift your hips up a little, helping him tug them, along with your panties, down your legs. He places them at the end of the bed and lowers back down over you. 

He balances on his forearm as his free hand guides his cock to your folds, sliding through you, nudging against your clit. “You have no idea how much I need you,” Logan whispers, his tip teasing your entrance. “No idea how much I love you.” 

He shoves himself deep inside you with one thrust, bottoming out, down to the hilt. “Fuck,” he curses, his cock filling you up, stretching you out, giving you a chance to adjust to the sheer size of him. “You feel so good,” he praises. “Knew you’d feel perfect. Fucking made for me.”

He finally pulls out only to thrust back in, somehow deeper this time. “Logan,” you moan, your nails digging into his muscular back. “S-so big, so good,” you breathe, stumbling over your words. 

“Love it when you say my name, pretty girl,” Logan pants, slipping out and pumping back in, setting a slow, languid pace. His free hand reaches between your bodies, his fingertips finding your clit with ease. He draws those familiar, tight, rapid little circles into your bud. 

You curse under your breath as he splits you open, his pace growing faster every few thrusts or so. He’s holding back, and you can see it in his face—his eyes all dark as he works his jaw, feigning patience. You know he wants more—to take all of you and make you his. 

“Logan, y-you don’t have to…” You trail off, your eyes fluttering closed as he hits that sweet spot deep inside you. 

“Eyes on me, pretty girl,” he says, demand in his voice. Your eyes flutter back open. “What do you need?” He asks, softer now, attentive as ever.  

His fingers swirl against your clit, adding more pressure with every careful stroke, making it near impossible for you to form a coherent thought. “Y-you don’t have to hold back,” you stammer as he sinks into you. “I-I can take it.”

He presses a kiss to your lips as he pumps in and out. “Just wanna take care of you this time, beautiful.” He pinches your clit lightly before stroking again. “Next time I’ll take you how I want.” There it is again. Next time. 

His hips snap against yours, his fingers working dexterously at your clit. It’s all too much, the way he bites your lips, burying his face into the crook of your neck and kissing your pulse point, whispering praises against the shell of your ear. Taking me so well. Doing so good for me, darlin’. So fucking beautiful. Such a good girl. 

His cock drags along your walls, and you clench down around him. He twitches inside you as he buries himself deeper, hitting that sweet spot again and again. “Logan,” you whine, your eyes struggling to stay open. “I’m so close.” Logan’s cock throbs as the words fall from your lips. 

“F-fuck,” he stutters, his composure slipping. “I know, princess. Me too.” His hips rock into yours, his pace growing faster with every hit. “Wanna feel you come on my cock, wanna get there with you.” 

You arch your back, your chest pushing flush against his. “Yes,” you moan as he thrusts into you, the pads of his fingers firmly circling your clit. It’s too much—you know you’re coming undone, unraveling underneath him. Your walls clench down around him again. 

“That’s it, beautiful,” Logan soothes. “Come with me.”

The tension snaps, splitting in two. It’s uncontrollable, a raging fire, blinding heat. You let go, melting into the mattress, your orgasm wracking through your body. Logan twitches inside you, and you know he’s coming too. You’re trembling underneath him, legs shaking as his thrusts slow down. With one more slow pump, Logan stills inside you. His fingers stroke your clit lightly, working you through your high, bringing you back down to Earth. 

After a few seconds, his fingers slip away, and he pulls out of your cunt. You can’t help but feel empty now that he’s gone, already craving more of him. He sits up on his knees and climbs off the bed, taking the condom from his cock and tossing it into the garbage. He grabs his boxers from off the floor and tugs them on. 

Before you can beg him to come back, he’s crawling onto the bed. He grabs your panties and your shorts, dragging them up your legs, making sure everything is back in its right place. 

“You okay, pretty girl?” He asks, tugging you into his chest. “You need anything? New pad? Water?”

“I’m okay,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest. “Just need you.”

You can feel him smiling against the crown of your head. “You have me, beautiful.” He whispers. “Always gonna have me.” He tugs the sheets and the comforter over your bodies, the warmth of him and your bed dragging you under the current of sleep. 

You wake up a few hours later. Logan is still there, next to you, his arms holding you tightly to his chest. 

“Lo,” you whisper into the darkness of your room.

“I’m here.” His voice is cloudy, tired, filled with sleep. “Never gonna be anywhere but here.” He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “Go back to sleep.”

“I love you,” you say, because you can, because you mean it.

You can hear the sleepy smile in his voice. “I love you too.”

tags: @banlaineslawyer @gothgoblinbabe @alsoprettyinpink @librababe99 @ponygyatt @yoursrosie @itdobe-foggy @gplol @healmydesires @qardasngan @princessterek @alastorssimp @yawnetu @chronicallybubbly @corvid007 @muffin-berry @emmdog2999 @kieekto @creepsbeware @starrdustss @evasmlp @figsnpassionfruits @spiderset @ilysmdovie12 @silversprings-mp3 @prettyseaveins @derbygracie @pedrohoe04 @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @movhoney @honeyfwr @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @cosmiccandydreamer

[yanderenightmare]

does bakugos protectiveness mean he won’t get intimate with reader? like does he see them more as like …. a fragile pet/person to look after?

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, immobilization, yandere, captive reader, quirkless reader, grief, discrimination, drawn comparisons between quirklessness and disabilities, implied bakudeku, drugging, needles, hypochondriasis adjacet, also angst

♡ manga spoilers in a way, but also not really. anyway, read at your own discretion.

♡ part one

♡ fem reader

Despite all his lingering stares, the way he washes you in the bath and holds you at night, and the bulge you feel press against your ass—he hadn’t taken it further, and you’d started thinking he never would. His worries for your health might be so restricting he believes an act such as sex would be too exhausting and harmful for you. Sometimes, on his more rigid days, he doesn’t even allow you to walk on your own. So you wouldn’t put it beyond him.

But then, one night four months in, it comes. Creeping in slowly. You’re left wondering about it for a moment, lying there in anticipation as his large hands roam more than usual—over the plush of your thighs, up the small of your waist. The bed shifts as he slots himself closer—you think you might feel his heart thunk at your back. His breath comes with wet heat against your ear, his words even more so, drenched in arousal, yet oddly restrained, “Can I… touch you?”

He's so hesitant about it. Something in his voice, something so careful, makes you feel you can take it as an actual question and not one of his usual orders in disguise. Even so, you hesitate in return. But after a minute of contemplation, you decide to take advantage of the offered choice. Whispering back a firm and trying “No.”

You await his reaction warily—the possibility of him ignoring you is still very much plausible despite his caution.

But then… his touches recede to their designated places—to their normal hold, to the one of a simple dragon guarding treasure and nothing more. He releases a pent-up breath, then takes another deep one before settling.

“Okay.”

It seems somewhat anticlimactic. You’re not entirely sure you believe it. But as you wait for him to go against his own word, he doesn’t do anything but hold you like any other night, and then, a while later, you hear him snore.

You suppose it was expected. If your theory is correct and he doesn’t want to put you through the strain, it would only make sense he definitely wouldn’t do it if you were going to fight back on top of it. And as he doesn’t use the sedatives without deeming it utterly necessary, you can’t see him regard his horniness as a need that would justify its means.

Which can only then mean he wouldn’t touch you like that without consent. Perhaps the only saving grace in it all.

Or at least that was what you thought…

You’re both in the tub. You’d since allowed his thorough bath rituals without fighting back. Those times you’d bothered in the beginning, he’d used a sedative each time and left you as limp as a puppet. And even though you didn’t enjoy having any part of it, going through with it consciously was better than the alternative. And so you sit there, letting him lather and rub—trying to ignore the fact that his callused hands are twice your size and that he’s entirely naked, paired with the occasional feeling of his cock bumping into your lower back.

“There’s a lot’a health benefits to it…”

There he goes again. Health this, health that—constantly. He’ll most likely never let up on convincing you, no matter how much you declare you don’t need any of this inane insanity he calls protection.

“Sex, I mean…”

Your ears draw back at that. What… what did he just say? Your skin tightens around you, crawling with shivers even in the hot water. Health benefits… Sex…

You don’t like the sound of that. You thought he’d decided the means outweighed the need—his need, which is, in fact, not a need at all but a selfish desire. Similar to your desire to drink coffee or eat cake—both things you’re no longer allowed to do since it’s not compatible with your health regimen. Sex, as was decided, is also not compatible with your health regimen.

“It improves the immune system, lowers the risk of heart disease, decreases depression, makes you sleep better…” he mutters behind you. “Also… it’ll help you settle.”

“What are you talking abou—” Your outcry is cut off by the needle deep in your arm. The liquid enters you quickly and taints your bloodstream shortly thereafter. You watch him pull it out and place it gently on the neatly folded stack of towels beside the tub. Your breath is forcibly subdued before it has the chance to flare with the panic rioting your chest. The only protest leaving is a wasted “No…”

“I’m sorry…” he apologizes, wrapping his thick arms around your softened body before it could collapse forward, pulling you close while pressing his forehead between your slumped shoulder blades. “But this is for your own good.”

You don’t know whether he’s trying to convince you or himself. When he subjects you to all his other methods, he does so with impenetrable justification—as though religiously, sanctioned, with a rigid belief of what he’s doing. But now he seems more torn—as if he’s sullying himself with dubious intent, not entirely able to hide from his own ulterior motives.

He carries your limp body out of the bath in a fluffy towel. Your eyes are half-mast and blurry at times, but still, you can see it, written plainly on his face—guilt. No, not of the tiny needle hole he’d made in your arm—that shame is more fleeting, more of a grit-teethed all’s fair in love and war. This look on his face was different from that—weighted with a burden he still isn’t sure if’s worth it.

He lays you down softly on the bed, then takes a step back, swallowing thickly.

His shoulders look braced from what you can tell when looking down at where he stands at the foot end—overall uncomfortable in his stance, looking as though he doesn’t want to be there, as though he shouldn’t be there. Maybe he’s changed his mind? Maybe the guilt has fostered regret? Maybe he won’t go through with it after all?

The bed sinks to accommodate his weight. You feel it swallow you from beneath as if you’re drowning in the sheets. You feel heavy enough for it to be true—heavy like lead, unmovable. And yet, Bakugou moves you all too easily. Parting your thighs as if they didn’t have any gravity to them whatsoever, placing them atop his own as he shuffles in close.

You want to scream, but you can only cry silently. You feel so betrayed—that’s what gets you most. Familiarity in what you’d always known about how to live had been stripped away, leaving you to Bakugou’s rules and regulations—which weren’t much to find comfort in. Still, you had felt you could in the least trust in them, in his mania, in this unshakable need of his to keep you safe and healthy. But now he was breaking that trust.

“You aren’t comfortable with me yet. That’s the issue,” he says—insists on it. And it’s very clear now—he doesn’t even have himself assured. You can see it on his face, behind his eyes, racking his brain, grasping at straws.

Your skin ignites with goosebumps as he trails up both your thighs—his red stare rimmed with unease, brows cinched, looking at the place between you. His mouth hangs slightly open—you hear the shallow breaths seeping in and out, thicker and thicker with heat.

“We need this.”

That’s different. We have never been a part of it before. It’s always been you first and foremost and then him as an afterthought. Your chest churns again with the same sensation of back-stabbing—this isn’t right—he’s breaking all the rules! He said he wouldn’t—he promised he wouldn’t!

You squeeze your eyes shut with all the might the drug allows you when you feel his gritty finger filter through your slit. His warmth tells you he’s leaning down close, then the sensation of his mouth wrapping your nipple, soaking it in spit, even hotter than the steaming tub from earlier.

“I want to make you feel good—I need you to be happy,” he moans around the nub, sucking it into a pretty pebble before doing the same with the other—leaving them both glossy. “To smile. And laugh. You aren’t healthy if you don’t want to live.”

You can feel the bed shake beneath you, and you can tell from the tremor in his voice it’s from jerking himself—teasing your entrance with the other hand. You wince when his fingers enter you. The bathwater makes it easier—one digit first, testing you out, then quickly followed by the sting of another. It’s a stretch—after all, you haven’t done it in the many months since arriving here, and even before then, you’d been busy with work. You don’t remember how long it’s been, but it’s far long enough to make it feel both a little painful but also way overdue.

It's embarrassing how quickly you come undone. Two fingers barely doing anything but fill you out, and you’re already throttling them and cumming—wetting them with slickness of your own.

He pulls them out shortly. You don’t want to open your eyes, but the stillness that befalls the bed tells you everything of how he’s inspecting them with that god-awful doctoral leer in his eyes.

You think you hear the sounds of suction a second later—yes, definitely slurping.

You want to crawl in on yourself and die.

The hand returns, settling flatly upon your pelvis—a fat thumb nuzzling your pearled clit. And then something grazes the puffy lips below it—softly and slowly, ever-gently. Something hard. Something big. Something bulbous.

“This will hurt a little. But then you’ll feel good,” he cares to explain as if you’ve never done this before. It’s awful how soft and sweet he makes his tone, masking the brute—but the room is too quiet to hide behind, and you hear it anyway. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

Liar.

Liar, liar, liar liar liar!

He nudges against your entrance to find purchase, a request soon granted—though it requires much more than what his digits did. A cry cracks from your chest and his movements halt. But that’s somehow worse—the slow burn is all but torture—you wish he’d rather do it quickly, in one full motion, like ripping off the band-aid. But no, he eases in, and the tear feels everlasting until it nudges right and tight against your womb.

“Fuck.” His whole body labors with his breaths, trying hard to restrain himself—and you suppose that’s something to be thankful for. “Fuck, that’s so nice…”

He, as well, hasn’t had a fuck in ages. Since before he met you.

He’d been too much of a wreck after the funeral when the realization had finally settled. Unfit in every sense of the word. Put on mandatory sick leave.

He had a month of binging. Too many hookups in poor taste and even shittier circumstances—sloshed at exclusive clubs, taking home the first person he could play pretend with. It was easiest with his fans—they remind him of him—how they fawn over him so wholeheartedly, cute nerds all too eager to let him use them.

Kirishima had beaten him half to death at some point, fed up with his bullshit—told him he was tainting his memory. His words hit harder than his fists. Set him straight. He’d sobered up, and then he’d gone back to work as the new number-one hero.

He had touched neither bottle nor another human being since. It had been all business.

And then he met you.

He hunkers down—his lips and nose brush along your neck in small kisses. “I love you,” he confesses under his breath, circling your clit under his thumb while his other hand dwarfs your hip tenderly. It’s the first time he says it out loud like that. It doesn’t mean much to you, or no, it means you want to twist away—but to him, it’s as if he’d said so under the climax of a romance, or maybe an even more dire intimacy than that, like the last breath he’d take before death, coated head to toe in blood, knowing he’d never be able to see you again.

All previous reservations are thrown as he pulls back and starts rocking forth slowly.

“Ah fuck—” he hisses. “I love you.”

The patterns drawn on your clit get messier—so do his kisses—sloppy and getting needier. The hand on your hips has to grip the mattress instead, supporting him while his breaths turn gruffer.

“I love you,” he keeps repeating, and you keep your eyes closed.

The bed rocks softly beneath you like you’re lying on a saucer swing—making you a little nauseous, and yet you feel it coming anew—the sweet tingling from below, simmering beneath Bakugou’s thumb.

Then his lulling picks up, veering on thrusting—just hard enough to make your skin softly clap upon meeting. It’s just enough friction to make you jerk again, seizing up and shivering on his cock. It jitters shortly, stutters, and then stills—and you feel it fill you—swarm you—hot and wet and spreading.

His chest rests on you—heavy and plump with brawn coated in sweat mixed with bathwater. It’s suffocating, yet you breathe fine, albeit in shambles, recovering from the toll.

“I love you,” he says a final time, breathless.

And you don’t know… something about the entire thing feels as though he’s talking to someone else.

♡ more thoughts on this ♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[angelsandstxrs]

the high lord keeps interrupting azriel and his mate, until she finally has enough

warnings: 18+, achingly inaccurate to anything acotar, badly written brainstorming as usual, no usage of Y/N so probs a bit confusing at times, smut, azriel wanting employee of the month, (let me know if there’s anything else) words: ~4.2k

It wasn’t uncommon for Azriel to be called by the High Lord at ungodly hours. His work was needed more than often at night, or over a multitude of days or weeks. Her mate's lack of a schedule meant that he’d been called from her more than once when they had been together, and she’d been understanding, until Rhysand seemed to have taken it upon himself to interrupt all her alone time with her mate.

-

“Right there, Az-,” she gasped, fingers tightening in the silky hair under her hand and forcing a growl from the male between her legs. “Oh, gods—“

Her head tipped back against the cold marble wall, eyes closed and face turned towards the high curved ceiling above her. The vacant hallway they had found themselves in was bathing in darkness, both from the usual depressing state of the Court of Nightmares, but also from Azriel’s shadows covering them both and hiding them from the potential threat of any straggling visitors. One of said shadows slid up her leg, under the opening of her dress messily pushed over her hips, passing over the big palm sprawled firmly over the entirety of her lower back, before teasingly drawing around to her front and caressing her cleavage heaving in the neckline of her dress.

A second growl vibrated against her pulsating heat, this time sounding less pleasured and more agitated. The difference was not lost on her, even with her hips desperately grinding down on his tongue, searching for a release from the pleasure coursing through her. The hand on her lower back pulled lower, and for a blissful second she thought his irritation was sourced from her squirming, that she’d receive a sharp slap on the flesh he was digging his fingers into and perhaps a growled warning to Stay still. 

The thought alone had her core curling tight, breaths shortening in preparation for an orgasm — that faded away to dust when her mate pulled away with an even angrier sound she knew wasn’t aimed at her.

“It’s Rhys.” 

The panted exclamation had her tilting her head forward with a quiet groan, eyes sliding open to find Azriel peering up at her from where he was kneeling at her feet, hazel eyes glassed over and jaw clenched tight as he communicated with the High Lord. 

“He’s asking for us.” His voice came from the back of his throat, thick and strained.

She licked her lips, heart pounding in her chest and thighs still tensed in the promise of the shattering orgasm she had been seconds away from.

“Right now?” She pointlessly asked, already knowing the answer.

“Right now.” Azriel confirmed as he eased her leg off his shoulder, careful of her sharp heels near his wings. 

Another quiet groan slipped past her lips, and this time she tilted her head back in exasperation, making no move to help the warm calloused hands tugging her dress down into place again.

“I hate him.” She grumbled and watched Azriel stand, straightening in front of her.

“Don’t pout, angel,” He tilted her chin up with a finger, giving her a soft peck before pulling away with a quietly amused expression. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

She gave him a glare without any real malice behind it, mostly to wind him up a little for later.

“You better.” 

-

He didn’t make it up to her that night. As usual, their visit in the Court of Nightmares didn’t end without trouble, and Rhysand had sent his Spymaster out on a mission before they’d even returned to Velaris. She didn’t know the specifics of the mission, most of the time she didn’t want to know beforehand. It saved her the sleepless nights and worries about if this would be the time he didn’t make it back. With only her imagination she could pretend he was safe and sound, that Rhysand had sent him to check the water levels in the ocean or anything else without any dangers.

The only sign of his distance was the mating bond growing restless, perhaps it had also been fueled by the way he’d been taken from her, but when Azriel returned after a week, she was starving for him.

She was cleaning up in the kitchen after dinner when the mating bond tightened at the same time something familiar brushed against her leg. Looking down, she found a stray shadow coiling around her ankle, eagerly swirling up the expanse of her calf.

Dishes long forgotten, she quickly wiped her hands and hurried out to the foyer, smile widening as the sound of the door opening reached her ears. More shadows flocked her, she payed them no mind as threw herself into their master’s awaiting arms. Azriel lifted her easily off the ground, winding her legs around his hips. His wings, as always, wrapped around them as if shielding them from the world.

She hugged him tighter and buried her face into his neck, drowning herself in his scent.

“Welcome home, my love.” Her words were muffled against the warm skin of his neck.

His smile widened enough for her to feel it against her shoulder before he quietly breathed out, “I missed you so much, angel.”

The plans to have him take a seat at the dining table and feed him the plate of leftovers she’d spared for him just in case, flew out of her head the second his hand tangled in her hair and guided her mouth to his. Kissing Azriel was always mind-numbing and consuming, especially when she hadn’t seen him in a week. It left her desperately holding onto him, fingers pulling through his messily tousled hair as if she could force him even closer. She barely registered him winnowing, only the sudden tilt of her world when he fell back on their bed with her still on top of him.

Planting her knees on the mattress, she straddled his lap as her fingers danced over his leathers, unbuckling and unlacing the sleek buckles and laces. She’d done it countless times, could probably do it blindfolded with her hands tied if she really needed to.

Azriel sighed happily against her lips when she shedded the jacket and undershirt off him, discarding it to the bedroom floor. Her palms greedily slid over his abdomen, taking in the toned muscles honed from centuries of hard training. Another breathy sound emitted from him, this time caused by her hips circling over his lap, grinding down on the hard bulge underneath her.

“Gods-, I missed you.” He repeated as his hands palmed up her thighs, sliding under the oversized shirt that was probably one of his old ones.

“Missed you too.” She panted, pulling back and reaching for the edge of the shirt to lift it over her head. He stopped her, hazel eyes burning wildly and lips swollen as he blinked up at her.

“Leave it on.” 

Giving a half-minded nod, she leaned forward to continue when he suddenly stilled underneath her. 

“Rhys wants my mission report.” He pulled away to talk, words halfway muffled into the kiss.

“Mhm.” She kissed him again, reveling in the taste of him after a long week without him. This time he reciprocated fully, slow and indulging, fueled by the same longing she was feeling.

“I have to go, angel.” He protested half-heartedly against her lips, filling his palms with handfuls of her backside.

“Tell him he can wait.” She tried to persuade him, trailing her kisses lower, down over his collarbones and to the muscular planes of his chest.

Azriel sighed wearily, hands falling from her body to the mattress with a dull thump. Pulling back, she sat up in his lap and stubbornly crossed her arms.

“You know I can’t do that.” He said, the smooth drawl of his voice even softer than usual, hazel eyes round and pleading.

“How long will it take?” She asked, having a bad feeling it wasn’t going to be a quick affair.

“A few hours.” Azriel confirmed her suspicions, giving her an apologetic look.

With a reluctant sigh, she slid off his lap and settled into bed.

“Tell Rhys I hate him.” She drawled sarcastically when he reached for his undershirt from the floor, swiftly pulling it over his head.

“He already knows.” He teased, eyes glinting with quiet amusement when she rolled her eyes. 

“Go now, shadowsinger. I’ll wait up for you.” She hurriedly waved him off, wanting him to return quicker. Azriel chuckled, shaking his head with a smile before he left.

She tried to wait up for him, but eventually fell asleep. Half-expecting the bed to be empty she was more than happy when she woke up in the comforting warmth of her mate’s arms, his snores low against the top of her head.

The first tired rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, bathing the bedroom in a warm glow and forcing her to blink a few times to adjust her eyes to the light. Azriel’s deep breaths over her head kept steady, the sound alone made her smile. She could spend hours like this, there was nowhere she felt more safe or comfortable than in his embrace, but the nagging reminder that he hadn’t eaten anything yesterday made her mind restless.

Lifting his arm slowly, she tried to slide out of his grasp without waking him. As if wanting her to fail, the shadows that had been idly dispersed around the room took notice of her, and before she could dismiss them, dark tendrils were leisurely crawling up on the bed and reaching out to affectionately stroke her cheek.

She knew from experience it was no use to ask them to leave now, and relaxed back against their master right before his arms tightened and forced her to him again.  

“Stay.” The blunt order sounded less commanding with his sleep-coated voice, barely more than a low rumble from the back of his throat.

“I was going to make you breakfast.” She said, softly tracing her fingers over his arm firmly secured around her waist. His face buried in her shoulder, soft black hair tickling her cheek when he simply shook his head.

“Later.” He gruffly replied, hand dipping under her camisole before his warm palm sprawled over her stomach.

“But you must be hungry. You’ve probably barely eaten, and you didn’t have dinner yesterday-,” Her worried rant was interrupted by a bite to the curve of her shoulder, words disappearing from her when his soft lips replaced his teeth and left a trail of soothing kisses over her bare skin.

“I’m fine, angel. Let me hold you for a second.” He murmured and buried his face in her neck, hand on her stomach pulling her closer.

With her backside flush to his hips, a new sort of heat spread across her body, flaring outwards from the depths of her core. He shifted behind her, as if to get comfortable, and the heavy, hot length of him ended up nestled against her backside. Suddenly the big palm on her stomach, pinky finger casually slipped underneath the waistband of her panties, didn’t feel so casual anymore. Neither did the arm secured under her chest, warm hand firmly planted on one of her covered breasts. 

Her body seemed to have been reminded of the pleasure it had been denied, not once but twice, in a short amount of time, nerves coming to life under his touch. But it was too selfish to shove his hand down her panties and arch her back in offering. He had been working. He needed sleep. 

She repeated those sentences as she tried to will her burning body to calm down and keep her self-control in check to not let the overwhelming desire control her. 

The pattern of his breaths suddenly changed.

Her brows furrowed in confusion before she realized what was happening. She tried to turn her head to glare at him, but his face firmly buried in her shoulder stopped her.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Azriel.” She hissed when his chest shook with another round of silent laughter.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel chuckled, not sounding apologetic at all. His hand on her stomach slid slightly lower, ring finger dragging along the edge of her panties. “You’re too sweet.”

Whatever insult that had been spewing on her tongue was forgotten when he tilted his head, pressing a slow kiss to the side of her neck as one of his wings folded over them.

“Will you ever forgive me?” He murmured, still a teasing edge to his voice even as he snuck a leg between her own, hoisting her thigh to rest on his and leaving her spread open for him.

“I’ll have to-,” Her words caught in her throat when his fingers slid her panties to the side, softly grazing her folds. She swallowed thickly to clear her throat. “Think about it.”

Curling his fingers up to her swollen clit and rubbing lazy circles over the sensitive nub aching for attention, he hummed in acknowledgement, “Mhm.”

The circles on her clit tightened, grew slightly rougher, and she had no hope of holding back the gasped moan coming from her chest. His other hand slipped beneath the top of her camisole, rolling her perked nipple between skillful fingers. The pleasured pain shot like lightning down her spine, leaving her cunt clenching around nothing and eyes falling shut. Another open-mouthed messy kiss was placed on the side of her throat, surely leaving marks she’d have to cover today.

“Did you touch this pretty little cunt for me while I was gone?” Azriel husked against her skin, sounding like he already knew the answer. Which he probably did, considering he somehow always knew exactly what she had been up to when he was gone.

She shook her head, mouth parting around a soft gasp when two of the long thick digits slowly pressed inside her.

“No?” The pleased smirk on his face was so big it could be heard in his voice, making her body flush with warmth. “Such a good girl, aren’t you? Waiting for me to take care of you.”

His fingers thrusted into her in a steady pace, not with the purpose to make her come, but to ready her for something else. However with her body so high-strung, the friction of his fingers along her tightened walls had stars dancing across her eye-lids. And when they curled, pressing against that soft spot she couldn’t reach herself, a sharp gasp tumbled out of her as her body tensed, prepared to unfurl at the next touch.

“Not yet, angel,” Azriel reprimanded, hand pulling away from between her legs and forcing a pitiful whimper from her at the loss. “You’ll only come on my cock.” 

That promise had her mind reeling and hips instinctually arching back towards him.

“Please, Az-, I want it so bad-,” She sounded like a wanton whore, and she felt like one too when he shifted behind her, one arm still wound tight around her frame as he pushed his underwear down his legs.

A shadow wrapped itself around her upper thigh, suspending her leg higher over his muscular thigh and exposing her fully to the otherwise empty bedroom. She reached a hand back to curl around the back of his neck as his breaths grew labored beside her ear, giving himself a few careless tugs before his cock nudged at her pulsating heat.

Right when relief was in her grasp, he suddenly stilled, forehead coming to rest heavily against her shoulder as he let out a heavy sigh.

“No.” The dreadful exclamation flew out of her, sensing where her mate’s attention had gone when the shadows around them hesitantly drew away, somehow taking with them all the boiling tension that had been simmering around them.

“He has another mission for me.” Azriel’s exhale was low.

“But you just came back,” she found herself complaining, even if she knew it meant absolutely nothing. Turning in his hold to slide her palms over his chest and the Illyrian markings sweeping up his neck, she filled her eyes with as much pleading as she could. “Please, Az.”

He sighed again, hazel eyes full of warmth as he peered down at her pouting face.

“I’ll only be a few days. It’s a follow-up from this past week.” He explained, gently caressing her cheek with his knuckles.

“He can’t send you away when you’ve barely been home twelve hours! You need to eat too!” She argued, voice raising when she once again remembered that he hadn’t had dinner last night.

He visibly tried to fight it, but one corner of his mouth tilted in a slanted grin. The sight of the dimple in his cheek brightened the turmoil in her head slightly.

“I promise to eat.” He cooed, clearly amused at her worried state.

The pout on her face deepened, both at the implication that he was leaving and the sparkling mirth in her mate’s eyes.

“I’ll know if you lie.” She threatened, intertwining their hands and pressing them over her heart.

Azriel’s expression softened as he leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead.

“I’d never lie to you, angel.” 

She was still pouting as she watched him dress, the leathered uniform black as night even in the rising sun, siphons glowing brightly when he braced a hand on the bed and leaned over to give her a sweet kiss.

“Three days.” Azriel reminded as he pulled away.

“I love you. Be careful.” Her heart squeezed in her chest when he gave her another one of those dimpled grins that were reserved only for her.

“I love you more.” And with that he was gone, leaving her to plot her revenge for herself.

-

It was a carefully crafted plan. It had to be, with both Feyre and Rhysand’s ability to thread into her mind and see exactly what she had up her sleeve. 

She proposed some girl time to Feyre, and they made plans to go around town for an afternoon. During their stroll and mindless window shopping, she guided Feyre into the boutique at the end of the promenade, the one with lush velvet curtains and sparkling chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The one with one-of-a-kind handcrafted lingerie. 

Under the guise that she had to pick up an ordered set, she pointed Feyre to the selective pieces of soft lace and shiny silk hanging along the walls. It was an easy feat to get her into the dressing room, even easier to plant the idea in her head.

“You know, Azriel goes crazy for these,” She toyed with the lace colored in a particular shade of blue in her hands, watching Feyre twirl in the dressing room. The High Lady peered at her through the mirror, curiosity shining in her blue eyes. “I like to make it into a game. To tease him. Whenever I buy anything new I put on a revealing dress over, just barely showing off the edges of the bra, or the outline of the garter-belt. It usually has him on his knees in no time.” 

Curiosity morphed into something else, something rather dark and wicked. And when the corner of Feyre’s mouth itched upwards before she asked the clerk, Do you have this in any other colors? — it was abundantly clear her plan had worked.

She smiled all the way home. Throughout her lonely dinner. When she pulled forth the ingredients to bake. As she packed the baked goods in a basket, draping the sweetness in a soft cloth.

When Feyre opened the door, cheeks slightly flushed and a silk robe carelessly tugged around her lithe body, flashes of black lace peeking out from the opening, she had to tune down the victorious grin wanting to carve her face. She’d timed it perfectly.

“Do you have a moment?” She innocently inquired, raising the basket with warm pastries to bring the younger fae’s attention to it.

Perhaps it was cruel to use Feyre’s kindness like this, but she reminded herself that the High Lord the kind girl had the displeasure of being mated to was far more evil. 

“Of course.” Feyre smiled, a forced and rushed expression, as she opened the front door wider. 

The High Lady and Lord’s house was as warm and inviting as always, especially with the candles lit around the living and dining room, clear evidence of a romantic evening.

Feyre walked her towards the sitting area, gesturing for her to have a seat in one of the couches as she did the same. Taking her time to place the basket on the table and make herself comfortable in the plush leather couch, she almost missed when the High Lady gracefully hid a piece of fabric that looked suspiciously close to a dress behind the decorative pillows.

“These are my favorites.” Feyre politely remarked, leaning forward and reaching for one of the freshly baked pastries in the basket.

“I’m glad you like them-,” She was interrupted by a presence that seemed to be vibrating with powerful darkness.

“What are you doing here?” Rhysand’s tone offered no politeness, unlike his graceful wife. His eyes narrowed in accusation when she innocently smiled up at his rigid form stood rooted in the doorway to their open living room.

“I made cardamom buns, and I remembered how much Feyre liked them last time-,”

“You came over now, with pastries?” His accusatory gaze pointedly glanced out the windows, to the pitch black darkness outside.

“Rhys.” Feyre hissed quietly, catching onto the unfamiliar irritation clouding the High Lord.

“I had no one else at home to share them with.” She answered, tilting her head to the side when Rhysand merely stared at her as if trying to force her out of his house without speaking. Centuries of friendship with the male had her knowing exactly what he was asking of her.

What do you want? His voice flooded her mind the second the dropped a portion of her mental shields.

Call Azriel back and give him a month off work.

He huffed out an unamused scoff, You had three months when you mated. You can have a day.

She fought back the urge to roll her eyes. That was centuries ago. A week without any disturbance. That’s my last offer.

His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing into slits.

Don’t test me, Rhys. I can show her the recipe. She threatened, filling her tone with as much conviction as she could.

Fine. One week. If he’s not back well-rested I’m blaming you.

“Well, I should head home.” She cleared her throat and offered Feyre a smile as the presence in her mind retreated.

The younger fae’s eyes widened, almost apologetically. “Oh, you don’t have-,”

“Sounds like a great idea,” Rhysand interrupted his wife, turning to almost point towards the front door. “It is awfully late.”

“I’ll leave these for you two,” She gestured to the basket of freshly baked pastries on the table as she headed out of the room, shooting Rhysand a quick smirk. “Trust me, you’ll need them after you’ve seen her in the red set.”

After winnowing home, she headed to the bathroom to get ready for bed. It only took a few minutes before the door to the ensuite creaked open, Azriel’s tall statue filling the doorframe.

“Welcome home, my love.” She smiled, running the brush in her hand over her hair.

It took him less than two strides to cross the distance between them, arms winding around her from behind before his head tilted down to press a sweet kiss to her cheek.

“What did you do?” His eyes met hers through the mirror as he straightened again.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She feigned innocence, leaning back into his embrace.

“You had nothing to do with Rhysand telling me he won’t be contacting me for a week?” He tilted his head down again, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Or that he called me back and told me to go home to my freakishly stubborn mate?”

“He said that?” A smile lifted her lips, growing further when her mate breathed out a low chuckle.

“I think he wanted to say even more. He sounded a little agitated.” 

“You know how he is. Always in a mood.” She teased, breaking their eye-contact to place the hairbrush in her hand back on the counter. With the movement, the opening of her robe widened and bared more of her chest. 

The grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging into the silk of her robe as the siphons on the back of his hands flared with the same color as the lace of her lingerie now deliberately on show.

“I was thinking we could go up to the cabin, or I could ask Helion if we could spend a few days-,” The rest of her sentence dissolved into a cut-off gasp when she was abruptly bent over at the waist, shadows quickly dampening her fall to the granite counter. 

“Or I’ll have you right here for the rest of the week.” Azriel stated, bluntly pushing the bottom of the robe over her arched hips. 

“How unexciting.” She countered, albeit a bit breathlessly when the expensive lace adoring her backside was roughly ripped down to pool at her ankles.

Azriel laughed, a foot nudging between her own and forcing her legs apart. “Good thing we have plenty of time to make it exciting.”

(thank you so much for the support on my first post. much love xx)

[atrwriting]

kisses and other sweet things — billy the kid x cowgirl!reader

ok… i couldn’t help myself lol

also side note i don’t remember what scene this gif was from but i feel like his turned on look and look of disgust/confusion is the same — like if i hadn’t watched the show i’d be like “did he just see a pretty girl walk in?? or did someone just threaten him?? both??? hopefully both???”

but like also if he looked at me like that…,,,… melting. on the spot.

as always, warnings: smuuuuut, dom!billy, brat!reader, i don’t know if you can call it non-con but just to be safe im going to put that, p in v sex, oral, spitting in mouth (yeah i went there sue me), tears, biting, cums inside of reader (they didn’t have condoms in his time but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t use them!!!!)

also don’t sue me i don’t know if they had running water (sinks, baths, etc) but also the real billy the kid didn’t look this fine so we’re making it up as we go and going with the flow

ENOUGH TALK — here’s kisses and other sweet things…

you had been working with a crew for some time now, and as you all struggled to keep a cash flow — you had to turn to other things.

like joining forces with another crew.

the idea of joining a crew wasn’t what unsettled you — what unsettled you was being the only woman with a gun with even more men.

it’s just for one job, y’all, they had said. just this one.

one job turned into two. then that turned into three. four, five, six — and suddenly you knew everyone’s back story, drink of choice, and their type when it came to women of the night.

your first crew never asked how you felt, but you also never told them. they were all — including you — in it for the money. at the end of the day, it was all about what you had in your pockets. there was no time for quelling the simple worries, like they’d call the ones in your head.

at the end of the day — you had been doing this a long time. you had taken care of yourself up until this point, and you would continue to do so. didn’t matter who you were working with — you’d get it done.

after a day of success, everyone wanted to blow off steam. you all had found a boarding house for the night where the alcohol ran deep and there was two or three pretty women for each cattle rustler in your large group. you stayed behind a bit to drink with them, but once they started eyeing the women — you knew it was time to go.

sleeping with any of the men you worked with was also a bad idea. you couldn’t afford them seeing you as anything less than someone quick with a draw — and you worried a night of meaningless sex would ruin that.

you would never take the chance.

“have your fun, boys,” you chuckled. “you deserve it.”

“won’t stay a little longer, sweetheart?” your leader asked as a girl licked at his neck.

“another time — bath’s calling my name.”

a few pleasantries were thrown over shoulders, and you returned them. you made your quick escape up the stairway and into the shared washroom between three or four bedrooms. you knew your party had rented those rooms for the evening, so you were very excited to be able to have the bath to yourself for a little bit longer than usual.

you filled the tub with scalding hot water. the steam from the water and the whisky in your stomach made you hazy, but you welcomed it. who knew when you’d have until you had this sort of luxury or privacy again — you weren’t going to waste the chance.

the bath was quite large — fit for two or three people. you stayed on one edge as you washed your dirty skin. you were about to relax against the back when the doorknob began to turn.

you immediately snatched your gun and pointed it at the door.

“shit — sorry.”

it was the bonney kid.

he was holding a towel in his hand and was naked from the waist up. a scared look on his face was present as he tried to avert his eyes.

you put down the gun and raised an eyebrow, waiting for his next move.

“just came to wash up,” he spoke.

you knew he couldn’t see anything from where he stood, and you knew he wouldn’t be able to see below the water’s surface with the bubbles. you could tell him to fuck off — but being mean to some of these assholes sometimes proved to be worse than just swallowing your pride and being nice. you didn’t know billy very well — and you weren’t about to find out while you were naked if he was an asshole or not.

“i’m going to be a bit,” you spoke. “i don’t mind if you come in.”

he looked at you uneasily before nodded curtly, lips parting. you closed your eyes and leaned back against the tub, letting your eyes drift closed. you heard the water running and the sound of soap being scrubbed onto skin, and felt better. the next sound you heard was a razor being pulled out and your eye drifted open.

he was shaving.

he kept his gaze on himself in the mirror as he spoke. “surprised the kid can shave?”

you smiled. “never thought you were a kid from how you were with a gun.”

that made him smile. “never seen a women like you with a gun before.”

you hummed in response, not exactly sure how to respond.

“come up here to escape?”

that made you laugh. you couldn’t help but let your gaze fall on his reflection in the mirror. his eyes were trained on his skin as he let the blade slide down his neck and pull up loose hairs. your mind was hazy with drink and heat, which made you forget to respond.

“some people would say it’s rude to stare, sweetheart.”

you laughed at that — he had you there.

“and some people would say it’s rude to intrude on a woman’s bath,” you countered.

he smiled, but kept his eyes off you. you’d like to think it was out of respect. “…and would you?”

“not with you,” you offered. “you’re the only one who hasn’t tried to make a pass at me.”

“not hard to believe,” he spoke. “downstairs they’ve got a running bet to see who will be the first with you.”

you scoffed. “in their dreams.”

billy didn’t respond. he was almost done with shaving. he was washing more of his upper arms in the sink, and you suddenly felt bad. you were only taking this long because you thought everyone would be preoccupied with the downstairs activities, and because you couldn’t exactly exit with him standing there — able to see you.

“i can leave if you want to wash,” you spoke.

“water will be cold,” he responded. “‘s fine — i’ll wait the hour.”

you weren’t sure why — but that made you feel bad.

“you could join me.”

you weren’t sure what brought that on, and you knew you’d probably regret it later. however, billy’s eyes drifted up the length of the mirror to the edge where you knew he could see the tub, to your eyes. you weren’t sure how you looked — but you knew your curls were piled on top of your head and you looked sleepy. relaxed, even. peaceful.

“i don’t think you mean that, sweetheart.”

you hummed. “you don’t have to. just thought i’d offer.”

he appeared to sigh, and that’s when you thought he would leave — but he didn’t.

instead, he locked the door.

“should’ve done that in the first place,” he spoke before coming towards the tub to unlace his pants.

you turned your head away from him and let out a small giggle, shielding your gaze from his naked form. “how would we have gotten so well acquainted then, mr. bonney?”

you heard him find the other side of the tub where he sat back against. you let your eye line find in front of you and your jaw almost dropped at the sight. billy appeared to struggle to get comfortable as he sank into the warmth of the tub. the water line came up to right under his chest, showing off all of his perfect and trim muscles. with billy’s arms stretched out around the edge of the tub… you got the perfect view of the stretched muscles of his biceps.

“do i need to remind you about staring?” he asked.

you weren’t sure if he was joking — but he was right. if you wanted respect, you had to give it, too.

but you couldn’t deny just how handsome he was.

“sorry,” you said with a coy smile, and let your head fall back against the tub again.

you could hear water slightly splashing from the other side of the tub. billy had extended his legs so they were brushing yours slightly, and you shivered at the thought.

“can you…” he began. “can you get my back?”

you lifted your head and smiled. i can do all that and more if you asked, you thought.

“sure,” you said with a simple smile.

billy turned around and handed you the soap. there were a few cuts and bruises littered on his back, and you tried to be as careful with them as possible. you started on his neck, working the soap and the sponge against his muscles.

he hummed in response. you could’ve died at the thought of the big, bad billy the kid keening into your touch because you were massaging his muscles just right.

“that feels good,” he spoke. “talented fingers i suppose.”

you laughed lightly at that. you kept the sponge on his shoulders, and then worked down towards the expansion of his shoulder blades. it was scary to see such a broad man before you as you were so bare, but also the look of him was so enticing. you drew rough circles on his skin and worked your way down to the middle of his back.

“that’s good,” he replied. “thank you, darlin’.”

you went to hand the sponge back to him, but he turned around in place instead. the tops of your breasts were showing and you knew he could see the wildness in your eyes.

“how’d a sweet thing like you end up with us?” he asked, eyes searching yours for the answer.

“maybe i’m just the only one who knows how to handle you boys,” you spoke, trying to be coy. “actually… one of them i grew up with. we’ve always worked together, but that’s as far as it’s ever gone.”

“and what would he say if he knew if you were in here with me?” he asked.

you scrunched your eyebrows at him. “wouldn’t be his business. he’s also got a pretty blonde in his lap tonight. change of pace from his usual red head.”

“and he missed a chance to get to see you like this?” he asked, tucking a curl behind your ear.

“is his loss your gain, mr. bonney?” you asked, a smile drifting onto your face.

that was bold. you knew it. you could feel it.

“i think you’d have to ask the pretty miss before me,” he responded, inching his face closer. “she’d be mighty sweet if she let me kiss her.”

“she’s pretty pissed you haven’t already.”

he stared at you for a few minutes with his plump and pink lips parted in such a way where you knew thoughts were running behind his pretty eyes. he dipped his forehead towards yours as the intensity of the situation mixed with the hot steam around you and the liquor inside both of you. he dipped his chin once, and caught your waiting lips with ease.

his lips were dry and cracked against yours, but you loved it. billy was the type of man that was hard and worked even harder, and every bit of him reflected that. his dark curls were twirling around his hairline, mixing with sweat and soapy water. you wanted to brush them back, hop in his lap, and kiss him until there was more water on the floor than in the tub.

but you couldn’t — not yet.

billy’s lips folded between yours as if he was just happy to be here — with you. the feeling was intoxicating as there was nothing like sharing intimacy with a sweet man in the comfort of hot water. you couldn’t help yourself in that moment — you brought your hand up to cup the side of his face, and he sucked in a sharp breath in response.

“you can touch me, you know,” you whispered.

“the things i want to do to you, darlin’…” he spoke, shaking his head and trying to catch his breath at the same time. “shouldn’t be wasted in a tub. let me take you back to your room.”

you both left the bathtub and tried your best to dry off as quickly as possible. it was almost hard to believe you were giggling with billy like innocents as you raced back to your room — hoping not to run into any more cowboys.

you immediately pushed him to sit down on the edge of the bed before you climbed into his lap. his thighs were strong and thick — the perfect foundation for a thing like you to hold yourself up enough to grab his cock in your hands, and swallow his moans through another kiss.

“tried not to stare in the bathtub, billy… but can you blame me?” you asked, breathless.

“noticed you starin’,” he grunted, running his calloused hands all over your body. “couldn’t help but stare back. needed to see where the trigger on you was.”

you squealed in delight at his dirty mouth before he threw you off his lap and rolled you over. he immediately started kissing down your body.

“i want you inside me, billy,” you whined. “not that.”

he worked his way back up to you before he caught you in another chaste kiss. against your lips, he spoke, “i’m a gentleman, sweetheart, first and foremost.”

“and what if a dirty little thing like me didn’t want a gentleman?”

he caught your chin in between his pointer finger and thumb and extended your neck ever so slightly. he looked down his nose at your pretty, flushed face. you smiled up at him as he scanned your face. “then i’d tell you — if i’ve got you all to myself, i’m going to do anything i want with that pretty little pussy. planned on tastin’ you, sweetheart — you got a problem with that?”

a wide grin spread across your face as your cheeks became rosier. “can’t say i can argue with you, then, cowboy.”

he pressed a heavy kiss to your lips, your cheek, one on the base of your neck — and then bit down hard on the skin of your shoulder. immediately, your hands came up to lay across his biceps before he began to suck on the spot, sending shock waves throughout your body. he withdrew from you and was in between your thighs in an instant.

he spread your legs and held them down in place. his tongue was strong and thick as it explored the places between your folds. you hoisted yourself onto your elbows so you could get a better look at the angel before you.

you watched as his eyes close as his tongue drew sloppy, wet circles around your clit. your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you watched him bring a hand up to his mouth, lubricate his fingers, and prod at your entrance. billy let out a throaty groan as his two fingers slipped in with ease, exploring for that one special spot.

he watched as your pussy swallowed his fingers, hoping to trap them inside of you. you were almost vibrating at how good it felt to have his fingers inside of you and his drier thumb deliver the most delicious bouts of friction and pressure to your clit.

“yes —“ you gasped, gazing at his fingers.

his eyes immediately flicked up to yours. “still got a problem with this, doll?”

you folded your lips into each other as you shook your head slowly, holding his gaze. you were biting back the moan as he curled your fingers inside of you.

“no, that’s not how this works,” he stated. “if i’m making you feel that good, i should get to hear those pretty moans, don’t you think?”

a deep crease was forming in your brow with the perfect combination of friction, lubrication, pressure, and rhythm you had ever felt. you wanted to respond to him, of course, but how could you?

“i gotta work for it, that it?” he grunted. “oh, sweet thing…”

he shoved a third finger inside of you and you gasped. you couldn’t help it. you fisted the sheets on either side of you and threw your head back in the air. his thumb was working long, drawn out circles on your sensitive clit as your hips bucked up to meet his movements.

“that’s what you needed, baby?” he asked. “break so easily. i’d fit another, but this pussy is so sweet and tight — can’t fit.”

you were practically whining at his words. he would switch between his tongue and thumb every few seconds to show you the type of variety that had your toes curling. his groans against your pussy were the added vibration that kept your hips moving to meet his face.

“tastes so fuckin’ sweet,” he grunted, his eyes closed. “can’t wait to stuff my cock in there.”

“don’t be mean to me, billy,” you gasped. “i want to feel your cock so bad, please…”

“no, baby,” he refused. “not until i make you feel good. you want my cock? yeah, well — you know what i want.”

you whined in frustration at his words — his words, the addition of what was making the heat and pressure build, and build, and build inside you until you were a sobbing mess on the bed.

“that’s it, sweetheart — give in,” he gasped. “i wanna know how good i’m making you feel.”

his voice was so husky it was taking over all of your senses. you hung onto every word as he led you closer and closer to what was your tipping point. he was stretching you so taut — like a string, ready to snap. when he suddenly pulled his hand away, you barely noticed it — until he replaced it with his cock.

you gasped at what came next.

first it was your legs — they immediately began to shake uncontrollably. the immense pressure started at your curled toes, your stretched feet, and worked its way up all the way to your shaking calves and thighs. the warmth coaxed your hips into a soft roll as you rode out your orgasm — blinded by the ecstasy of it all.

you immediately grabbed onto billy for dear life as all of your senses fucking swam. it was wave, after wave, after wave that hit you, arched your back towards the ceiling, and left you fucking breathless. your mouth fell open instantly, parted as whines and soft moans left and filled the open air of your bedroom.

and what did billy do? he grabbed you by the chin, still rutting his hips against yours, and spit in your fucking mouth.

“swallow,” he ordered, eyes boring down into yours.

you gasped as you understood his command, and like the good girl you were — you did as you were told.

“good girl,” he whispered from above you, stroking your chin.

you sucked in a sharp breath of air as you tried to regain your senses. you hoisted yourself back into your elbows, trying to focus — but it was just so hard. your pussy was so, so sensitive and it was like billy’s cock knew exactly out how to drag out your orgasm. you glanced up at billy, and realized your vision was blurry. shattered, fucked out beyond belief — you realized there were tears, literal tears in your eyes.

“no breaks for you, sweetheart,” he spoke, leaning over and holding your hips down. “need to make sure this pussy knows who she belongs to.”

your body refused to stop shaking — but it gave into every touch, caress, pull, and push from billy. you were his to use and you fucking relished in the feeling.

through your dark, thick, damp lashes, you glanced up at him. immediately, his bright, wild eyes connected with yours. there was no stopping the animal before you — not until he got his fix. the pure and pretty girl who always surprised the group with her skill was laying beneath him like a fucked out doll and he couldn’t get enough.

“please, billy,” you whined, biting down on your lip. “use my pussy just like that…”

“my fucking pussy,” he grunted.

“all yours, baby,” you gasped, laying victim to the curling warmth inside your womb once again. it was like an itch that needed to be scratched, and only billy could fix it. the idea of a second orgasm taunted you — teased you, until it was the only thing you could think about. you were close… so close… “billy, fuck — you’re going to make me — you’re gonna —“

“that’s it, baby, yeah —“ his thrusts were getting sloppier now as a light sheen of sweat lay across his forehead. the veins in his biceps and neck were protruding and his eyes were trained on your face. “bein’ so good f’me.”

“billy —“ you cried, tears coming to your eyes again. you reached for him, and brought him down to you. he held you by the back of the head and held your jaw in place with his thumb. through gritted teeth and wet eyes, you sobbed, “driving me fucking crazy.”

“yeah, yeah?” he taunted. “good. boutta make a mess of this fuckin’ pussy.”

with one last thrust, you curled into billy’s neck and cried. actually cried. he held you close to him as he continued to thrust inside of you — pressing fat, wet kisses to the side of your face. you were shaking in his hold, trying so desperately to hold onto reality — but it was slipping. it was slipping farther and farther away with every sweet word that billy ghosted over your ear.

“say you’re mine,” he ordered, with desperation in your voice. “say you’re mine, and i’ll cum.”

“i’m yours, billy,” you sobbed. “i’m yours. only yours.”

an animalistic groan left billy’s mouth as he tugged on your hair. he pulled your neck back and taut, shoving his face into the crook of your neck and biting down on your shoulder. his body pulsed one, two, three times as his orgasm overtook him and you. you were a weeping, crying mess and took everything that billy gave you.

he rut his cock into you a few more times as you both came down for your highs. billy was so commanding in bed — but after? nothing compared to how he was after. he pulled you into his lap, cock still inside you, and began peppering kisses all over your face. sweet nothings were whispered into your ear, but all you could do was whimper quietly in response. he laughed slightly in your ear, his breath ticking your sensitive skin, and dug his nose into your hairline.

“never getting rid of me now, sweet thing.”

- - -

would love to hear your thoughts :)

-L