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viennakarma · 10 months

Text

Everything I Wanted I.

LESTAPPEN X READER (Part 1)

Summary: Your journey to become a Motorsport legend wasn't easy, especially when your path clashed with your greatest rivals, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

Word count: 7.1k

Tags: Driver reader, mentions of crash, abusive parent, daddy issues, trust issues, character death (not reader), cursing, strong rivalry, misogyny in motorsport, invasive media, aggressive fans, reader suffers with cyberbullying and hate, smut, female reader, +18, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with plot, queer! everyone, polyamory lestappen, bit of dirty talking, pet names, not beta read

Relationships: Lestappen x Reader

Mentor!Kimi Raikkonen x Reader

Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton x Platonic!Reader

Notes: this is full of motorsport categories inaccuracies, just go with the vibes please. There are a few inaccuracies regarding other drivers' lives, but they are just to fit the story. I know I said it was a oneshot, but the thing got out of hand, and I had to split it in half. Soon there will be a part 2! English is not my first language, so please ignore any mistake!

Find me on Twitter!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“They’re not friends, you understand? They’re rivals, and that’s all they’ll ever be.”

You stand, hugging your helmet firmly against your chest, your dad’s words louder than the ringing in your ear from the way he slapped the side of your head. You were 9 and it was your first time competing in a karting competition. You tried to befriend the other kids your age, but as soon as your dad called you away, fuming, you knew it was a mistake.

You followed your dad’s orders, and didn’t talk to any of the boys again. Max was already cold towards you, so he pretty much ignored your existence. But Charles was more talkative, and as you stopped answering him, he became taunting, annoying, but you didn’t fall behind, you used to clap back at him with the same intensity.

Sometimes you eavesdropped on their conversations, initially it wasn’t intentional, but they were always complaining about you, calling you names, and you realized your dad was right, they would never see you as a friend or equal, only as a rival.

One day you’re walking by when you hear your name in their conversation.

“Nah, don’t worry about Y/N,” Max shrugged, his accent thick, as he pointed to the side of his temple “she’s a little slow, but maybe she’ll catch up.”

You stood there, his words echoing in your head, she’s a little slow, that was a kind way to call you stupid, which, compared to the way your father called you that many times, it was much sweeter. You shouldn’t have let that get to your head, specially said that way. But then again, you were 11, and you kept hearing those words again and again in your head. You never considered yourself dumb, your grades in school were average, and whenever you had time off of karting to study for your exams, your grades became even better, a little above average.

And despite knowing that, after going back home after the competition, you spent the whole Saturday at the local library, studying everything you could find on motorsports and Formula One. You lent books on strategy, history, and even mechanics. Every spare time you had, you spent reading those books, or lending others. You didn’t want to be slow as they had called you.

After that, you stopped talking to Max completely.

“This is a waste!” Your dad shouted, and you flinched, taking a discreet step back, away from him, trying to avoid him getting physical.

You had argued with him, which made him more furious. You tried to tell him it wasn’t your fault, you were just as good at racing as everyone else, maybe better, but no one was willing to give a girl a chance. It made him even angrier.

“You had one job! You get into F4 on your first try!”

You wanted to tell him it wasn’t your fault. That they weren’t willing to give a girl a chance, even if you were better than half of the boys who made it to F4. But your dad didn’t care about any of it, he wanted you to succeed or nothing. He used to always say that anything below first place is failure.

So he decided you, at 14, weren’t worth the money he spent on karting. And he simply left. Making peace with the fact that your dad never saw you as his kid, but more like an investment, was hard.

“You’re never going to be a Formula 1 champion.” Was the last thing he said to you, before dropping you at your mom’s to never come back.

Living with your mom ever since your dad gave you up was something else. She had lost everything after the divorce, thanks to a prenup she had naively signed without knowing anything about it. So when you moved in with her, you noticed how the house was smaller than your dad’s, you two slept in the single room that was there. Your mom worked two jobs living paycheck to paycheck, and you barely saw her. But she was kind, comforting.

You soon realized that she wouldn’t be able to provide for your karting career. So you lied, you told her your dad was still paying for the karting, and you found two part time jobs to pay for racing. You mom worked so much, she didn’t notice your absence in the afternoons, when you went to work in an auto repair shop. Sometimes, on the rare occasions she was off work in the afternoons, you lied and told her you were out with friends, or studying in the library or even doing extracurriculars. You had the best intentions, you used to tell yourself at night whenever you laid awake, you knew she would blame herself or even work herself to death to provide for you.

The entirety of the next year was a constant struggle, and you worked, and scrapped and lied your way through the entire karting competition. It was one of your last chances to get into F4, and you weren’t sure you could live another year that way, without a sponsor.

When the competition ended, you were second place overall. Your kart had problems during the race and you were sad that it affected your performance in a race you could’ve won.

You walked closer as you saw a few of the other boys gathering around some adults, you eyed them curiously. As soon as you noticed who they were, you swallowed. They were probably scouts, it was very common in finals of these competitions, you were used to it. You also were used to being ignored by all of them scouts. You had tried many times before to make connections and make yourself known, maybe even meeting a potential sponsor, but they always ignored you. They weren’t interested in a girl, they didn’t care about a woman in motorsports. Your only hope was that one day you would meet a female scout and she would see your potential.

But meanwhile, there were only men, and they didn’t give two fucks about you. So you didn’t even get close enough to join, you heard Charles and Max talking with them, and you just turned around, going back to your kart.

You pulled a few tools from your backpack, working to fix the difficulties you felt during the race.

“What are you doing?” A man approached you, crouching close to watch your work. You briefly looked up, the guy was wearing sunglasses and a cap, just a normal guy, looking like someone’s dad.

“I’m fixing my steering wheel, it was a bit stuck during the race so I had to double the force used to be able to make it work,” you explained, and he nodded.

“You finished second, right? Why are you here by yourself?” The man asked.

“The other kids don’t like me very much. And they’re talking to the scouts,” you shrugged, trying not to think about all the opportunities they would get and you wouldn’t.

“You should be there, no? Meeting scouts is important for your career.”

“They’re not very interested in a girl racer. Believe me, I know.” You muttered, finishing with the steering wheel, testing to see if it was working all right. You turned, fixing your left rear tyre. The tyre wasn’t responding very well to the braking, “besides, my kart won’t fix itself, right? Look, you see how this tyre is slower to respond to my braking? It messed up with my balance during the race. I could have won.”

“Shouldn’t you take your kart somewhere to get it fixed?” The man asked, helping you unscrew the tyre.

“Can’t afford it,” you said, “I’m saving to try and get into F4, so I can’t spare any money on this one.”

You weren’t usually this talkative with new people, mostly keeping to yourself. But maybe you were missing a grownup figure in your life since your dad had dipped and your mom was always busy. And that man sounded really interested in your stuff, so it felt natural explaining to him.

“So, no one sponsoring you?” He asked, which made you look at him again, hesitantly.

“No, uh, I had one but he dropped me last year” you said, leaving out that part that it was your dad.

“You know who I am?” The man asked and you looked at him, shaking your head.

“Someone’s dad? I mean, I haven’t been introduced to all the kids and their parents yet, but you’re kinda familiar, so-” As you were babbling and trying to explain, he took off the cap and sunglasses, and you immediately recognized him, “oh my god!”

“Shh, shh” he silenced you, putting the disguise back.

“You’re Kimi Raikkonen!” You whispered, and he nodded.

“I’ll be your new sponsor, eh? What do you say?”

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," he nodded.

"How do you know I'm good enough for a sponsorship?" You asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, are you good enough for a sponsorship?" He asked. He had been keeping an eye out at that very category, and you had caught his attention as seemingly smart and emotionally controlled with the kart.

"I'm the best of the bunch," you smiled at him and you won him over with that answer.

Kimi became your lifeline, in a way. His family was quick to embrace you in an affectionate way you would’ve never expected of them. They invited you for their little New Year’s party, and you eventually told everything about your life to Kimi. His wife Minttu had also taken you as one of her own and their kids liked you a lot.

Under Minttu’s suggestion, Kimi also enrolled you in language classes, so besides English, you spent the next years learning French and Spanish, and you also caught a little Finnish from being so close to them.

You kept pushing your way up from F4 to F3 and so on, but instead of climbing it steadily like the boys, you had to win two or three times more than them to prove you were worth taking the next step.

You were 16 when your paths crossed with the boys from your childhood again. They recognised you, but they never really talked to you, so they didn't this time around either.

Coming out of the bathroom you once again caught a conversation, and you stopped dead as soon as you heard your name.

“No, not really… I don’t see her like that at all- she’s- uh-” Charles was speaking, probably looking for the words in english, “-she’s more like one of the boys.”

You paused, your breath hitched.

“Yeah,” that was Max, “I don’t see her like that either. I guess she doesn’t care about the things girls her age do.”

You felt a lump in your throat, retreating back to the bathroom. You stood in front of the mirror, watching your face as the tears fell down on your cheeks. You were dressed in your regular racing day attire, cargo pants and a sweater. You didn’t wear makeup and your hair was all frizzy because of the helmet.

The next time you went to the Raikkonen residence, you pulled Minttu aside one moment.

“I want to be pretty. Will you help me?”

You two went through a long chat with Minttu reassuring you that you were pretty in your own way and you insisting you wanted to be pretty like other girls, more feminine and girly.

When you entered F2 after the winter break, you felt and looked like some better version of yourself. Minttu had helped you set a skincare routine that was already helping clear your face from teenage acne. She also took you to a hair salon, where you trimmed your hair and made a few highlights. She upgraded your wardrobe, and even if you tried to refuse saying it was too much, she said it was a Christmas gift and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Your path until reaching F1 was slow and steady, and you were a reserve driver for two years before finally getting a seat at McLaren. You knew Kimi probably had a hand in getting you a chance, but he denied every time you asked.

Kimi told you the raw truth before the season started. He and Minttu sat you down and talked about how the world and Formula 1 would expect more of you than of any other rookie. How they would stress your mistakes tenfold. How they would diminish your achievements with the same intensity. You weren’t afraid, really.

“I’ve lived with my greatest hater more than half of my life, I can handle strangers” you had laughed to the couple.

Still, Kimi taught you everything about his Iceman persona, and told you to pick whatever you wanted from it. Minttu also convinced you to start therapy, which you accepted.

The hate started as soon as you were announced. Beyond the regular misogyny, they were calling you too old to be a rookie at 24, they were questioning your abilities even with numerous championships from other categories to back you up, even with the fact that your mentor was Kimi fucking Raikkonen. But you didn’t let any of that get under your skin.

Sebastian Vettel was quickly drawn to you, and he became your first friend in Formula 1. He had been close with Kimi from the time they were teammates, and he kinda adopted you.

The guys your age didn’t want to get too close to you. The very few times they talked or walked with you, it sparked romance rumors, and soon they pretty much ignored or avoided you. You knew their intentions weren't to be mean, they were probably just avoiding problems with the media and their girlfriends or wives, but it didn’t hurt any less every time they walked straight past you.

One of those times you were going to the group press conference and all three of the guys walked past you as you tried to chat with them. Your shoulders slumped, and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“What was that?” You jumped at the sound of another voice. You looked behind you to see Fernando Alonso walking up to you. Up until that point, he had been polite to you.

“Oh,” you stumbled over your words, “being seen talking to me is bad press, apparently.”

“Una tontería,” he muttered, shaking his head, which made you laugh, surprised. He put a friendly hand over your shoulder and led you to the media session.

Simples as that, Fernando too became your friend.

You asked your PR manager, Amanda, to bend a few rules to make sure you would always be at the press conference with Seb and Nando or at least one of them. Most of the time, you did. But sometimes you were unlucky and had to sit stiffly through rounds of absurdly odd (and downright misogynistic) questions by yourself.

Soon you gave up on befriending the other drivers and being charming to the media. You realized the Iceman persona of Kimi looked like a good way to protect yourself from the clutches of the motorsport world. By the sixth race of the year, you gained the Lioness nickname. An agile hunter in your driving style and just as fierce in your answers.

“You’re always seen more comfortable with either Sebastian or Fernando, who are way older than you” some reporter said, “why is that?”

“I believe we’re closer in maturity age,” you said, face expressionless. You heard snickers around the room and you looked to Fernando who was visibly holding a laugh.

“So you’re saying the other drivers are immature?” The reporter pressed, but you didn’t want to talk anymore.

“No,” it’s all you answered, putting your mic down.

Everyone already thought you were arrogant, selfish, and superficial, and as you embraced your cold persona, you just fed into their assumptions. You couldn't care less, it was a good way to protect yourself, to be distant from the media who were constantly trying to drag you to the dirt.

“You mentioned the other day that you believe you should’ve joined F1 around the time the guys your age did. Why do you think that didn’t happen?”

“Because of what’s between my legs, Brian” you deadpanned.

You had to prove yourself two or three times more than the boys every single step of the way, to get into F4, F3, F2 and now F1. You made it, you were there, between the 20 best of motorsport in the whole world… and still… Still you had to hear questions about how you managed to race with a period, questions about boyfriends, questions about hair care or skin care, or whatever. You wouldn’t mind any of that if those were common questions, if they were asked of every driver, but they were only asked of you.

“I would like to express that, from now on, I will only answer questions that would be asked of the male drivers too, about the sport, about the cars, about strategies and everything that revolves around racing,” you warned one day before the end of a media conference when someone asked if your PMS interfered in your racing.

You started to not give two fucks about the media. Every time someone asked you a misogynistic question you just stared at them and put your mic down. So those types of question died down a little bit.

“Do you think you would’ve already been world champion had you entered Formula 1 earlier, let’s say at age 19/20?”

“Yes.”

Most of the guys ignored or avoided you, but your path always clashed with Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen. They always hinted at not liking you in the slightest, and the media and the fans started catching up to it, throughout your rookie year. They would shamelessly shade you, and you never backed down, giving it as hard as you got.

You walked to a reporter, still using a towel to dry your face at the post race interview.

“Did you hear what Leclerc said about your move as you left the pits?” The man asked you.

“No, I didn’t. Do I look like I care about a man’s opinion?” You said, loud and clear.

You got as many fans as you got haters, especially as you messed with Leclerc’s and Verstappen’s loud fanbases. It wasn’t really on purpose, but one of them would usually jab at you in interviews, and when word got back to you, it would anger you to no end, and you would shade them back, and in an insane amount of back-and-forths until your rivalry was in articles, the news, twitter threads, and in the mind of every single reporter in a race week.

“Verstappen talked about your overtake at lap 49, he said it was a dirty move.”

“Like he did to me back in Silverstone?” Your eyes held a mischievous glint as you scoffed, “Funny, you didn’t see me whining about it back then.”

You had the best rookie year ever since Lewis Hamilton debuted. You almost reached the same overall numbers as him, getting six podiums and your first ever Formula 1 victory. You finished the driver’s championship in fifth place, over older drivers that were literal champions of the world.

The first time Lewis Hamilton really engaged in conversation with you was during the FIA Prize Giving Ceremony by the end of the season. You were proudly smiling, holding your Rookie of the Year trophy. He had been polite to you before, but he always looked unattainable, in a way. He was beyond the world of Formula 1.

“Congratulations!” He smiled at you, sitting by your side. Your heart thrumming in your chest, trying not to fangirl too much. Sometimes it was unbelievable sharing casual conversation with legends you grew up admiring from afar.

“Thank you, Lewis. Congratulations on the championship!” You said.

“I’m sorry for not realizing most of the boys were excluding you. I chatted about it with Seb, and he told me your only friends are him and Fernando.” Lewis whispered, looking genuine, “I guess I was so focused on the championship that I didn’t bother to check on you. I’m sorry, really.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you raised your trophy, “I made it, right?”

“Succeeding despite the adversities… I see traits of a champion in you, congratulations” Lewis got up, raising his flute in a toast for you, “see you around, Lioness!”

Soon the next season you realized you had a competitive car. More than the year before. As for the first few races of the season, you had a win and podiums, which put you as a contender for the driver’s championship. Unfortunately the other people competing closely with you were none other than Charles and Max. Your rivalry had died down a bit when they noticed that you only shaded them when they provoked you first. So as their jabs became few and far between, it meant your clap backs did too.

The season was as good as it could get, that is until Monza.

You had felt the problems braking specifically during qualifying and your team tried to fix it but there wasn’t much anyone could do due to parc fermé. So you spent part of the night before the race working with your strategist to find a way around your braking problems and the best way to preserve your tyres.

The data had shown it would take a bit more strength to brake, which would eat up at your tyres quicker than usual, but other than that, everything seemed normal.

You all were wrong.

As the race went on, your brakes got progressively worse, to the point that curves were taking your body strength so much you could feel your muscles sore.

“We are considering retiring the car,” Jace, your engineer said. You inhaled, trying to calm down.

You were barely holding your P5, when you saw a Red Bull approaching you. You weren’t in position to fight, so he overtook you turning in a chicane. But your brakes didn’t work as you tried to slow down behind Max’s car, you tried not going into him but your tyres locked as you tried to avoid his rear. You drove straight into his rear, making the two of you lose control of your car. You braced for impact against the wall but luckily the gravel slowed you enough that you just touched the barrier.

After checking with your engineer, you left the car and saw Max leaving his, both DNFs.

You knew of your fame of being a reckless driver, often known for risky maneuvers and overtakes, but you never dove into someone intentionally because you knew trying to take someone out would mean yourself getting taken out too. As a marshal took you back to the garage on a motorcycle, you were ready to swallow your pride and apologize to Max for accidentally taking him out.

But as soon as you stepped down from the motorcycle, Max was in your space. His face was red and his hair all sweaty and disheveled, when he fronted you, chest to chest. You knew there were dozens of cameras pointed to you, so you tried to diffuse the tension for once.

“Are you insane?! Why did you drive into me?!” He kept advancing and for each of his steps ahead, you took one back to try and explain. But he didn’t give you a second screaming all kinds of curses and blame, “you should’ve never made it to Formula 1!”

His words were like a slap to the face, and you stopped trying to apologize or explain. You put both hands to your back, inflating your chest to face him.

“You don’t get to fucking decide that! You dipshit! Who the fuck do you think you are?” You said to his face, that’s when someone from the RedBull garage ran closer and stood between you.

You watched as he was taken away from you and inside his garage. At the same time your PT found you and walked you back to McLaren.

Changing from your race suit, you tried to cool down before going to the media. You gulped down your water as you watched Charles leading the race, and getting closer to the championship than you.

“There was an altercation between you and Max Verstappen, can you comment on that?”

“He was visibly upset with the racing incident.” It was all you said, after chatting with your PR manager before stepping out to chat with the journalists.

“And what happened at that incident? Can you walk us through it?”

“Yes, uh, we’ve been feeling something wrong with our braking system since yesterday. The data showed us it would require me to be more forceful during braking, which seemed feasible. But the brakes were wearing off during the race and we were about to retire when I completely lost the brakes. I really tried to avoid him but my tyres locked and I ended up hitting Verstappen.”

“Are you sure this accident has nothing to do with the ongoing rivalry between the two of you?” You got offended by the reporter's words.

“Of course! I would never intentionally do something to put myself or other drivers at risk. I have all the data to back me up and anyone can check my onboard.”

The FIA investigated your altercation with Max, and you ended up getting an unsportsmanlike behavior penalty. Two points in your super license.

“What the fuck?! Why the fuck would I be punished for that! There are fourteen different angles from that argument and all of them show how Verstappen aggressively came on to me first!”

It got worse when you heard that only you had gotten a penalty and Max didn’t even get a reprimand.

Everyone close to you noticed how you were on edge next week. During media day your answers were short, dry, and every single journalist seemed to want to talk about the penalty.

“Yes, I do have opinions on my penalty. But no, I won’t talk about it, only the FIA’s opinion is relevant” Your words during the press conference were enough to express a little dissatisfaction and to put an end to those questions. Everyone was surprised at the fact you chose to be quiet about the whole ordeal, they were all expecting your complaints and harsh words.

When you went back to your driver’s room, you went straight to lay your head on your mom’s lap, feeling a bit down. You stayed quiet as she ran her hands through your hair softly untangling it. She knew you were upset and why, so none of you bother to voice anything, bashing in the comforting silence.

The best thing about Formula 1 was being able to retire your mom from working, now you didn’t have to worry about her burning out and she didn’t have to worry about bills or mortgage or debts. Now she had a new, bigger and better house, everything was paid for and you even gave her a credit card for hobbies or whatever she wanted. She sometimes went to the races, but she usually stayed at home, relaxing.

“I know things are hard right now,” you mom started, her voice soft, caring, “but I know you can do it, honey. You’ve faced pushback since the beginning of this dream, but you always came out on top.”

“Thank you for believing in me.”

“You will be a world champion, honey. I know it.” She smiled down at you.

You sat up as your mom removed her watch, handing it to you.

“I wanted to give it to you on your birthday, but I feel like this is the right moment,” she turned the watch, showing you the inscription that read strong woman, and you felt your eyes water, “this was my grandma’s. She gave it to my mom, who gave it to me, and now it’s yours.”

That week you got a victory, raising your P1 trophy for your mom, who was watching you with a hand on her heart, crying happy tears.

As the season progressed the championship became even tighter between the three of you. Mere points set the three of you apart, and with each week result, the P1, P2 and P3 shifted between you. It had become one of the most competitive seasons in the sport.

When the third to last race came in Qatar, you were P3 in the championship, and you needed at least P4 in that race to keep fighting for the championship. You didn’t care about anything other than getting a podium, focused on your racing mindset, no distractions. If you only got that win, it would mean getting back that P1 in the championship and you would go down in history.

You were P3 after your last pitstop of the race, you had a small window of time to take advantage of being with new mediums while everyone else was with old softs. You had to pull ahead and open at least ten seconds, so you could become first when Max went to the pits. You had the perfect opportunity for an undercut.

That was until you overtook Charles’ Ferrari for P2. You passed him easily, he hadn’t gone to the pits yet, so he had old tyres. But you frowned as Jace warned you about Leclerc trying to take the position back. He couldn’t fight against your new tyres, everyone knew that. You accelerated to open a distance, but as you went fast into turn 4, you only felt the hit to your side, making you lose control of the car.

It was barely a few seconds that you couldn’t wrap your head around, so shocked you couldn’t brake, only feeling your stomach churn as you braced for impact. The second hit came against the barriers even harder than the first, it shook your whole body, leaving you dizzy and out of breath.

You talked with Jace, telling him in a shaky voice that you were okay but out of breath, and you unlocked your seatbelts with trembling hands. After removing your steering wheel, you tried to get up but you were dizzy and your legs felt like jelly. A marshal helped you out of the car, but as soon as your feet were on the ground, you stumbled to your knees. The nausea got the best of you and you puked against your balaclava and inside the helmet. The marshals made a small shield around you, as one of them helped you remove the helmet and balaclava, still dry heaving. The marshal gave you a towel, and you cleaned the best you could as the ambulance was coming.

You looked behind you to your destroyed car.

And just like that, you had lost any chance at the championship.

You held your tears as you went through the medical procedures and examinations. The world had been muted in the background and you could only hear the noise of the crash, visualizing your ruined car, and your dreams being crushed once again.

But as you came back to the hospitality, you found your mom, and sobbed quietly against her chest.

“It’s ok, honey. It’s okay,” her voice was so soothing and the pain meds were working, so you cried yourself to sleep while she held you.

Later that day, you watched the replay of your crash. Leclerc had gone way too close to you, but in turn 4 he hit the curbs and lost control, hitting your car right in the middle, full force. Your car had spun out a lot then hit the barriers. It was lucky that you had come out of the crash relatively unharmed, it was ugly and could’ve been a lot worse, from the way you spun and the G force your car hit the barrier with.

“You’re still watching that?” Your mom’s voice sounded in the middle of the night.

“He shouldn’t have tried to fight for the position back, he didn’t even have enough tyres for that! And he was way too close, look!”

Your mom closed your laptop, putting it on the coffee table. She took your hands in hers and smiled gently.

“I’m sorry about the championship. But I’m glad you’re okay, that was one of the scariest couple of seconds of my entire life,” she whispered, teary eyed.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, ashamed that it didn’t cross your mind how worried she might have been.

“It’s okay, honey. There’s always next year, I’m sure you will be world champion. And will be there cheering for you.”

The next week in Jeddah, you felt like the world was out to get you when they put you in the press conference with both Max and Charles, as well as Lewis and Sebastian.

“Y/N, how are you feeling after last week’s crash? It looked pretty bad.” Someone asked.

“I am doing ok, thank you,” that’s all you said into the mic.

“Unfortunately, the crash ultimately took you out of the championship, what do you say about that?”

You were so tired of that question, so tired of your PR manager talking in your head about not blaming Charles publicly, despiste your desire to scream to whoever may hear that the monegasque just wanted to take you out of the competition, so he could fight only Verstappen for the championship. You just wanted the season to be over, in all honesty.

“There’s always next year, right?” You echoed your mom's words, that were also your rehearsed answer. You looked to the side, feeling Sebastian’s hand softly on your forearm, a silent show of support.

You left as soon as it was over. You knew Charles had been trying to talk to you. You supposed it was to apologize, but you weren’t having it. You were still so angry at him that you worried you’d punch him as soon as he was in your face. So you just avoided him like the plague. You didn’t want to see him, and you couldn’t afford another punishment if you acted on your anger.

“Charles has been looking for you,” Sebastian said, walking up to you as you were finishing braiding your hair for the race.

“I have been avoiding him,” you said, not looking at Seb, still focusing on your braids.

“He just wants to apologize.”

“And I want to punch him in the face, so what? We can’t always get what we want” You clenched your jaw, using an elastic band to finish.

“Y/N…” Sebastian sounded tired.

“Don’t Y/N me. I just want this season to be over, ok? The championship was in my reach, and now it’s not. And it wasn’t even my own fault. So no, I won’t see him.”

Sebastian didn’t say anything as he walked to you and pulled you in an affectionate hug that made you want to cry again.

During the driver’s parade, Fernando acted almost as a guard dog, not letting anyone close to you. You talked with him and Lewis about the crash, explaining how it felt to you.

When the season ended, you got a third place trophy during the Prize Giving Ceremony. You remembered your dad’s words throughout the entire night. Coming down from the stage, and you met with Minttu and Kimi, they congratulated you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of failure. You looked at Charles on the stage with his P2 trophy.

“Anything other than the first is failure, right?” You sighed, eyes glued to the stage, where Max got the trophy of Champion of the World.

“What crap is that?” Kimi said, suddenly.

“My dad used to say that when I was a kid.”

“Well he was an asshole,” Kimi said matter-of-factly, “and he never made it to F1. He didn’t even make it to F4, he has no reason or power to get in your head. You were just a kid. You understand?”

“Yes, Kimi," you swallowed, feeling some kind of wheight being lifted from your shoulders. Kimi had done many great things for your life with very few words, and his succint way of being was great to pull you back to the present whenever you anxiety got the best of you.

You ended up getting the Personality of the Year award too, which was such a surprise that it worked wonders to lift your spirits and to end the season with a sweet note.

Even being in a better mood, you didn’t stay at the party too late, saying your farewell to your friends as you dropped Kimi and his wife at the hotel. You were removing your makeup after a shower when there was a knock on your hotel room door. Thinking it was an emergency, you rushed only to be faced with Charles Leclerc.

“What are you doing here?” You looked around the hall, confused.

“Can I talk to you?” Charles was still dressed in his formal attire, black tie. He fiddled with his fingers as you let him in, afraid someone might see him at your door.

“What?” You crossed your arms as you closed the door.

“I’m really sorry about the crash in Qatar,” he waited for your answer with bated breath.

“Can we have this conversation when next season starts?” You proposed. You knew you weren’t ready for that talk yet, too much anger was still clouding your judgment for a level-headed talk.

“It wasn’t my intention to take you out-” He started but you cut him off.

“Look, you’ve never liked me, I’m aware, and you cost me an entire championship, so I don’t know if I believe you.”

“It really wasn’t intentional, the accident cost me the championship as well,” you could see in his eyes that his patience was wearing thin. But so did yours.

“No it didn’t. You still had a chance even after that DNF, you just didn’t win anyway,” your anger simmered again, making you raise your voice.

“Fuck you! You treat me like this because you always felt like you were better than everyone-”

“I treat you like this?! Be fucking for real, Charles! You hate me so much you took my chance at the championship away!”

“If you had more wins during the season maybe this wouldn’t be a problem right now!”

“Unbelievable! Because you are so much better than me, all you got was second place!”

“Shut up.”

“You’ve always hated me for absolutely no reason-”

“Shut up.”

“And now you think you can barge into my room and tell me you think I’m a shitty driver? I’m not standing for-”

“Shut up!” He shouted, which was so surprising you actually stopped talking.

The both of you were breathing heavily, in one second you were sure you could strangle him, in the next, his lips were against yours and his hand gripping your hair. The kiss was nasty, all teeth and lips and tongue, his hands going down your body, pressing you into him, and your fingers tugging at his suit, ripping the buttons. You broke the kiss, gasping for air, but Charles’ lips found your neck and he bit into your pulse point.

“Fuck you, Charles” you said, breathless, opening his trousers and he ripped your little sleep top with his bare hands.

It was so hot as you stumbled backwards and he followed you, tossing your top behind him, you took off his shirt and undershirt and he helped you kick out your shorts.

Charles pressed you against the wall, kissing you aggressively again, and you moaned as he placed his thigh between your legs, and you ground against him, turned on, dampening his trousers with the wet of your panties. You pressed your hand against his bulge, and he groaned, pressing into you even harder, humping like horny teenagers.

You didn’t even bother to get him naked, with his trousers half undone, you just pulled his cock out, heavy in your hands. You watched his pained expression as you spit on your hand so you could masturbate him.

“Fuck it,” you moaned, knowing grinding on him was not nearly enough.

You pulled your panties to the side, and lined his cock up into you. It was so tight as he slid into you, that your eyes rolled in pleasure, and he raised one of your legs against his waist to make room for his hips. He pulled back and snapped his hips into you again, his cock stretching you so good you were shaking. You put one arm around his shoulders holding on him and the other hand you held his ass under his loose trousers, your nails biting into his flesh as you pushed him even deeper.

“Fuck, ah-” he moaned in your ear, “so hot- putain-”

The loud, wet sounds of his hips pistoning into you were obscene. You angrily bit him, his shoulders, his chest, his jaw and he went even harder, your back hitting the wall behind you, and you pulled his hair, sweat starting to form all over your body.

“Fuck, Charles!” Your moans got even louder, and Charles stuck two fingers into your mouth, muffling your sounds as he fucked you.

He was hitting the perfect spot inside you, and it was enough for you to know you would come that way. You slapped his cheek, taking out some of your anger and he groaned, going harder. He pulled his fingers from your mouth and held your neck, pressing your torso against the wall and choking you a little bit.

“I can’t hold much longer” he warned you between gritted teeth, relentlessly fucking you.

You pinched your own nipples and it didn’t take long for you to come, your cunt clenching so hard around him, it was enough to send him over the edge too.

Shaking, the two of you slid to the floor, breathlessly lying down, half naked and sweaty.

None of you said a word.

When he was ready to go again, he put you on your knees, your torso against the mattress, and he pounded into your cunt mercilessly from behind.

The third and last time was lazy, slow missionary and he held your wrists above your head with one hand, pressed your clit with the other, sucked a few hickeys around your tits and his cock pressed over and over your g-spot.

When you woke up the next morning, Charles was still asleep by your side. You went into the bathroom and showered, hoping he would catch the hint and leave. But as you came out showered and dressed, he was still out cold. So you quietly packed your bag and left for the airport.

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #lestappen x reader #lestappen #Spotify

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sailorrhansol · 14 days

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Storm Breaker | (l.jh)

❀ Pairing: Jaeger Pilot!Lee Jihoon x Jaeger Pilot! f.reader

❀ Summary: It’s a known fact Lee Jihoon is one of the best pilots the jaeger Program has. The only problem? He can’t keep a co-pilot to save his life. He thinks you’ll just be another Ranger in the rotation, but you are an unpleasant surprise.

❀ Word Count: 23,373

❀ Genre: Pacific Rim AU, Forced Proximity, Annoyed to Lovers

❀ Type: Smut, Angst

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Jihoon is a bit of an asshole, action/fighting scenes, brief descriptions of blood, mentions of offscreen deaths, brief mentions of sick parents, brief mention of having no family, sexual tension, explicit language, A Lot of Pacific Rim Techincal Terms But They’re Explained, terrible humor, a hint of angst, brief depictions of Jihoon being insecure about his childhood, sexually explicit content including nipple play, biting, a total of one (1) spank, oral (f. receiving), the slightest hint of voyeurism mentioned, unprotected sex (don’t do this), multiple orgasms, a lot of spit and cum, cum eating, vaginal fingering, a lot of biting, Jihoon is emotionally constipated and then lets it all out lmfaoooo

❀ A/N: HERE SHE IS. This story takes place in the Pacific Rim universe but you definitely do not have to watch the movie to enjoy it - I’m pretty sure I explain everything in terms of how it works but if something is confusing, please tell me and I will adjust! I hope you enjoy this Jihoon who has been the apple of my eye for like almost three months now. STAY TUNED FOR MY SECOND FIC IN THIS UNIVERSE SHARING CHAN AND WYLIE'S STORY :)

❀ A/N 2: SPECIAL THANKS TO @daechwitatamic for not only collaborating with me on our little corner of the internet, but beta reading this giant piece and constantly motivating me while writing it. I could not be anywhere without you I love u

❀ Also in this Universe: Cherry Bomb by @daechwitatamic

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

Main Masterlist ❀ Tag List Request Form ❀ Ask ❀

Jihoon doesn’t flinch when Xander throws his helmet against the wall. The crash is loud, but the reinforced material doesn’t crack under the force of the concrete. It clatters to the floor while Jihoon tucks his helmet under his right arm. Sweat drips down the side of his neck and down his back, but he can’t get to it while in his Drivesuit.

Just add it to his list of inconveniences.

Everyone in the room freezes as Xander storms toward the command center and right for the Marshall in charge, his steps thunderous against the metal floor. Instead of following him, Jihoon leans against the doorframe, watching the way his co-pilot rages, imagining steam coming out of his ears.

“I can’t fucking pilot with him,” Xander screams, stabbing an accusatory finger in Jihoon’s direction. “I refuse to do it. Reassign me.”

Eyes drift toward Jihoon. He ignores them, watching as Xander stops at the command post where both the Marshall and the LOCCENT Mission Controller who just walked them through their kaiju fight stand. Both of them stare at Xander, who is red in the face, chest heaving.

It’s a bit of an overreaction, especially for a team who just dispatched a Category Four kaiju. But it doesn’t matter. Xander isn’t Jihoon’s first co-pilot and he won’t be his last. They rarely last long, a cycle of Rangers who cannot stand to work with him for more than a few fights. Jihoon examines the scratches on his suit, thinking that he needs to get it buffed while the Marshall deliberates how to answer Xander’s demands.

“Ranger-”

Xander cuts off the Marshall. Bold, if you ask Jihoon. “I’ll leave the fucking program if that’s what I have to do. I won’t pilot with him anymore, I don’t care that we can drift. He won’t trust me, he won’t give up the reins and he refuses to let me in. He’s arrogant and pig headed!”

“Pig headed,” Jihoon mutters to himself. “That’s new.”

The Marshall sighs heavily, eyes drifting toward Jihoon, who is still leaning against the doorframe. He lifts a single shoulder in a shrug, unsure what the Marshall expected. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Marshall asks Xander to follow him, gesturing toward the door at the back of the command center that leads into offices.

Silence blankets the room at their departure. At least, as silent as it can get in the jaeger hub. The beeping of machinery and radar is a constant sound under the hum of machinery and the awkward cough of one of the workers in the room. Jihoon raises his brows as if to ask someone to say something. No one does and he nods, dismissing himself.

Laughter trails up the stairs followed by loud steps. He looks down to see Chan and Wylie coming up the stairwell, cheeks flushed and hairlines sweaty from their battle with Dreadfury only minutes earlier. Their team had the assist on the kill, and though they hadn’t landed the final blow, their constant offense had given Jihoon and his partner the time they needed to figure out how to move in.

Chan sees Jihoon and raises a questioning brow, pausing in the stairs. “Lose your co-pilot?” he asks, looking Jihoon up and down.

“How’d you guess?”

“Standard,” Chan and Wylie say at the same time.

They do that a lot, so in sync that despite the fact that they’re two different people, sometimes Jihoon feels like he’s talking to one. Wylie is a little shorter than Chan, but just as furious in personality and attitude. She leans against Chan, cocking her head to the side. It’s not a conscious movement but an instinct, her body naturally attaching to her co-pilot’s. Jihoon knows that level of closeness well.

“Think they’ll just finally get rid of you?”

“Nope.”

“Standard,” they both say in unison again. It’s Chan who says, “Must be nice to get away with murder, Woozi.” He continues up the stairs, clapping Jihoon on the shoulder as he goes. Wylie trails behind him, shooting Jihoon a grin. “One day you’re gonna end up on your ass.”

“That’s fine. You’ll both take me in, right?”

Both of their voices meld as they howl in laughter, passing him and going into the command center, yelling “Nope!”

Despite their teasing, Jihoon smiles. He’s known the pair for years and despite their ability to get under his skin, he’s fond of them. They’re good jaeger pilots, scrappy as they come and vicious in the field. Unlike Jihoon, they’ve piloted their jaeger together from the start, syncing like twin flames and sticking to one another.

It helps that they grew up together, of course. And that they’re in a relationship, one heart, one soul.

Sighing, Jihoon jogs down the rest of the stairs, tired and sore. He needs a shower, food and a fucking nap. He and Xander had been pulling extra shifts, the kaiju activity having increased with the bad weather. He suspects it was also in an attempt to get Jihoon to bond with Xander more and get him to open up, but that hadn’t happened.

That’s the problem with piloting with Jihoon. The more time people spend with him, the less they can stomach the way he resists them in the mental bridge that connects co-pilots. It isn’t that he’s afraid for them to see what’s in his head - they haven’t earned a right to his privacy.

Privacy is important to him.

Murmurs ripple through the cafeteria as he enters, rolling his head to the side to try and workout the kink that is formed there. He glances around and fights the urge to roll his eyes. Word spreads fast when you’re secluded in the Shatterdome with nothing but fucking ocean and giant monsters around you.

As usual, he ignores the stares and whispering. He catches Soonyoung’s eye from afar and shrugs when his friend gives him a questioning glance, earning an eye roll. Not for the first time, Jihoon finds himself wondering why someone like Soonyoung or Wonwoo can’t be his partner.

Drift compatibility.

He knows that’s the answer, but he’ll never stop wishing that pairing jaeger pilots together was a little easier. So many factors go into making people drift compatible and yet he’s yet to find a partner he can tolerate - or tolerate him in return. If it were as easy as picking his friends, he’d have settled with someone long ago.

Brushing away the thought, he heads to his room. It doesn’t matter what he wants. If wishes were horses, everyone would be a rider. He’s pretty sure that one of his former co-pilots had said that - in regard to Jihoon being impossible to work with, of course.

The dark and quiet of his room brings the peace Jihoon craves. He feels the tension melt from his shoulders. He suddenly realizes how tired he is, feeling like parchment stretched too thin over a rough surface. He peels himself out of his clothes methodically, welcoming the chill of the room against his sweaty skin.

He trails to the shower, tossing his clothes in the hamper as he does. Leaving the lights on so it’s only the dull orange glow over his bed, he turns on the shower as hot as it will go. It takes a second, but soon steam is filling the room, choking him as he slides under the stream of water, sighing as the heat of it burns away any lingering frustration for the day.

Tomorrow, he’ll have a new partner. It’s a simple fact and a routine he is familiar with. That’s fine with him - they can keep assigning people to him until they find someone competent. Jihoon isn’t going anywhere.

He has nowhere else to go anyway.

“I need you to do me a favor,” Kira says before you can finish stepping out of the jaeger. The Marshall of the Sydney Shatterdome looks deadly serious. You scoff under the helmet, reaching up to unclasp it and shuck it off. Fresh air fills your lungs. It’s hot and tastes like metal in the jaeger bay, but it’s familiar. “And I need an answer quickly.”

“Ever heard of foreplay?” you grunt, helping Maya out of the giant mech behind you. She shoots you a thankful grin, taking off her helmet. Her face is flushed pink, hairline sweaty. “You really just dive in dry, huh?”

“You know my cousin is a Marshall of a Shatterdome overseas?”

You pause. “Yeah.”

“They’re asking for a skilled pilot to pair with one of their Rangers. They sent over the drift profile and you’re the only pilot we have that’s a match.” You frown and she holds out a hand to stop your protest, a crease in her mouth. “Just look over the report and the profile I sent you, alright?”

“I mean, my answer is no. I’m fine here.”

“You are. You’re one of our best teams,” Kira says earnestly, her dark eyes flicking between you and Maya. “But respectfully, your value is needed elsewhere. There isn’t enough activity here to keep a veteran of your status on shift, Blue.”

You feel a flicker of uncertainty. Rarely does Kira use your nickname. It’s too familiar for a military commander of her status, and though you’ve considered her a friend for years, she never uses your nickname on shift. Unless she really needs something from you.

Licking your lips, you hesitate to answer. You don’t want to say she’s right about your skillset and risk insulting your coworkers and other pilots in the jaeger Program, but it’s an accurate statement. The Shatterdome you report to is old - one of the first built in the beginning. But kaiju activity is mostly unpredictable, shifting with the tides. You barely get them once a month anymore, and there are too many pilots who need the practice.

You don’t.

You glance at Maya and she offers a soft smile. “Hey, I didn’t think you’d be my co-pilot forever. Hoped, maybe. But I didn't expect it.”

“Oh come on, I’m with you for life, Maya.”

“Romantic.” Maya’s gaze softens. “Marshall has a point, though. We’re a little… slow here.”

It makes a pang go through your heart. Maya has been your co-pilot since your mother passed away, and though you didn’t go through the Ranger training program with her, she’s the perfect balance to you. You like having her around, and the thought of changing pilots just because someone wants your experience is… unideal.

Sensing your unease, Maya reaches out and touches your forearm, squeezing over the metal of your Drivesuit. Her smile is soft. Knowing. Like she knew that being in the drift with you wasn’t forever, and she’s already saying bye.

“Look,” Kira sighs, bringing your attention back to her. “My cousin really needs a skilled pilot and someone who is a leader and isn’t afraid of working with veteran pilots. They get more activity, and they need someone sharp. Skilled. Strong.”

“I mean, I’ll look over the papers.”

“Thank you.” She steps away. “I need to know by the end of the day, though.”

“Jesus Christ, Marshall. End of the day is in like two hours.”

Her smile is firm. “I know.”

Waving her off, you leave your jaeger behind, Maya trailing after you. She peppers you with encouragement as you walk, steps heavy on the metal catwalk. You don’t respond right away, thoughts trying to catch up with being thrown an offer immediately after slamming a monster back into the depth of the ocean just minutes ago.

You don’t have to ask why you. Drift compatibility alone is important enough to move jaeger pilots around the world from Shatterdome to Shatterdome in order to make the best pairs possible. There aren’t a ton of pilots - especially among the younger ones - at your base that are compatible with you.

Stubborn, Kira had always said. Finding an equally dominant co-pilot that meshes with you is difficult. You suspect that if you were not extremely talented at what you do and a veteran at your base, they might have moved you to an advisory position a long time ago.

Advising is not for you, though. The grind of metal and the heat of the fight is where you thrive, letting your mind go empty, entirely driven by instinct. Instinct was the reason you were so good at fighting kaiju. Your mom had always said you had the instinct of a warrior, and after putting down as many monsters to protect humanity’s coasts, you had to agree.

Maya immediately goes to the shower once you reach your shared room. You dive onto the bottom bunk, snatching the tablet sitting on your night stand. Your eyes squint from the brightness, sensitive in the dim room. Clicking through your emails, you find the reporting and profile from Kira and open it, information unfurling before you.

“Huh,” You muse, raising your brows as Lee Jihoon appears on your screen. “I know your name.”

His profile is impeccable - and so is his skill. Chewing on your lip, you throw yourself onto your cot and flip through all of the materials provided on your potential co-pilot. Veteran Ranger. Highly skilled in combat. Top of his class in the academy.

Clicking on the attachments, you watch the attached videos. There’s clips from his fights in and out of the suit. You find yourself hypnotized by his fighting style. There is a beauty to it, but it’s absolutely lethal. Efficient. There are no extra flourishes, no showmanship. Lee Jihoon fights to kill.

“So why do you need me?” you mutter to yourself, pulling up his past partners. The list is extensive, stretching back to multiple co-pilots over weeks at a time. “Jesus christ. You do not play nice.”

He must not, at least. Half of the pilots assigned to him are only barely compatible. You know it takes more than just matching fight styles, but based on the history glowing at you from the screen, Jihoon’s Marshall was doing anything they could to keep him, even if it meant pairing him with someone who was scoring as low as 54% compatible.

Pulling up your side-by-side analysis, you whistle. 98% was a good fucking number. You’d only ever had 90% with your mom, and she was genetically linked to you. Still, with as many partners as Jihoon has had in the past year alone, you don’t know that it’s worth it, even if his base has more kaiju activity and looks to be in need of veteran fighters.

Sighing, you close the tablet and throw it on the pillow. Resting your head against the metal wall, you close your eyes, thinking. You’re happy where you’re at. You’re a leader here, and you like Maya as your partner. She’s young and eager to learn - and you like your jaeger. Shadow Stalker is a good suit, though a little older.

Biting your lip, you grab the tablet again, opening the jaeger details on Jihoon’s profile. Newer model. Built for endurance. Equipped with multiple blades, suited for pilots who prefer sword-style fighting. She’s painted gray-blue like the deepest part of a storm - blue like your mother’s first jaeger, which makes you grin.

Storm Breaker. It’s a good name for a jaeger and it matches the profile. She’s built to withstand the brutal waves of the deep ocean and the onslaught of a high-category kaiju. Your interest is piqued, curious about Storm Breaker and her brutal pilot.

Closing the tablet again, you stare into the distance, thinking. “What’s your deal, Lee Jihoon?”

Jihoon hates sparring with Chan almost as much as he hates sparring with Wylie. Chan doesn’t scratch at Jihoon like a feral cat like Wylie might, but he does bite, which is exactly what he does when he can’t get out of Jihoon’s hold.

“You fucker,” Jihoon hisses, letting him go. Chan slips out of Jihoon’s grasp and rolls to his feet a few feet away, crouched low and ready to go again. Despite years of being a jaeger pilot, Chan nor his co-pilot have fallen out of their scrapy upbringings, fighting like two street orphans. “What, are you going to bite a kaiju if you can?”

“Of course not. I just don’t like losing to you.”

“Too bad.” Jihoon straightens and lifts his fists, planting his feet firmly. Sweat slicks the back of his neck, wispy pieces of hair escaping his hair tie and sticking to damp skin. “No more biting.”

“No promises.”

Somewhere behind him, Jihoon hears Minghao shriek. “She bit me!”

Scratch that. Maybe Wylie does bite.

Chan comes at Jihoon again. He’s a good fighter and he’s ruthless. It’s one of Jihoon’s favorite things about him. But there’s always an opening, always a moment between fluid movements that reveals itself that Jihoon can take advantage of.

He does exactly that, going on the defense, watching and waiting for the moment. When it reveals itself, Jihoon strikes lightning fast, catching Chan in the chest hard and taking him down to the ground. Jihoon feels the wind leave Chan’s lungs as he coughs hard, head smacking the mat.

Behind them, Jihoon hears the collective wince. Chan is dazed for a second, groaning underneath Jihoon’s hand pressed to his chest. He can feel the hammering of Chan’s heart, a little faster than his own. When it’s clear Chan isn’t going to claw at him, Jihoon stands and offers him a hand.

With a heaving sigh, Chan takes it. Jihoon claps him on the back, grinning as Chan tries to catch his breath, rubbing the back of his head. “That hurt.”

“Oops.” Chan looks over Jihoon’s shoulder and grins, causing him to turn around and follow the younger’s gaze. Wylie sweeps her feet under Mingho’s, knocking him to the mat. She pounces like a creature from hell before he can react, pinning him down. “Well, at least one of us didn’t get our ass beat today.”

“Stop biting, Dino,” Jihoon says as they trail off the mat, a warning. Chan has the decency to look chagrined, bowing slightly to his superior. Jihoon adores the kid, but he will not serve as a chew toy.

Grabbing a water, Jihoon sits down on the floor with Seungkwan, Soonyoung and Seokmin as Junhui and Minghao trade places. Minghao is nursing a scratch on his neck from Wylie’s nails, muttering about her being a demon straight from hell as he sits. Wylie gives her new opponent a wicked grin, taking her place on the mat and beckoning Junhui toward her. Jihoon shakes his head, gulping down water and leaning back on his hands.

“Fresh blood,” Soonyoung notes, gesturing toward the training room entrance as the Marshall leads a group of people in. “They’re holding trials for the two new mark fives tomorrow. Wanna go?”

“No.”

Soonyoung laughs. “Come on, they might be looking for another partner for you too.”

“Don’t care.”

“You can’t keep going through partners, man.”

Jihoon doesn’t react, eyes scanning the group of cadets. They all look fresh-faced and in awe as they’re led around the mats, wide eyes glued to the sparring pilots as they go. His eyes settle on you, though, pausing.

You don’t have the same awestruck wonder as the other cadets, trailing behind them as your eyes scan the structure, the fighters and the equipment around you. Calculating. Critical. You’re a little older than the other cadets too - not in looks but in aura, chin lifted, gaze sharp. Experienced.

Soonyoung follows Jihoon’s line of sight and straightens. “Woah. Who is that?”

“My new drift partner,” Seokmin sighs dreamily. Soonyoung and Seungkwan smack him at the same time, offended. They’re one of the few triple pilot groups, operating a massive piece of machinery made for slaughtering and hammering down on high-grade kaiju. “What? Look at her!”

“You shouldn’t fuck your co-pilot,” Seungkwan mutters. “Look what happened to Seungcheol and Cherry. She’s still at that training facility in Alaska. Didn’t come back after their drift glitched.”

A collective hum goes through them. All of them recall that situation, but no one says a thing. The weight of Cherry’s absence sits heavy on them - even Jihoon misses her a little.

“I don’t know,” Soonyoung notes cryptically, eyeing Wylie. She’s managed to get Junhui off his feet, slamming him down with a rattle of mat and springs, pinning him with a savage growl. Wylie Coyote indeed, Jihoon thinks, smirking. “Seems to work for Wylie just fine. God, look at Chan, he literally has heart eyes. Disgusting.”

It’s true. The pilot in question sits at the edge of the mat, elbows resting on top of his knees as he watches his girlfriend with his mouth open, lips upturned a little. His eyes are dazed, focused on Wylie as she holds onto a thrashing Junhui. There’s so much love in his gaze that Jihoon averts his eyes, worried he’s observing something sacred and private.

“Not everyone is like them,” Seungkwan shoots back. “They share a brain cell.”

“We’re literally drift partners. We basically do the same thing.”

“And yet I don’t want to fuck you, Hoshi.”

Soonyoung cocks his head to the side. “You know, that brings up a valid question-”

“No,” the other three say at the same time, cutting him off before he can get going.

Still, Seungkwan’s point is valid. The drift is something that is so intimate that it isn’t uncommon for copilots to have a romance or some sort of tension. The neural handshake makes you become one, unable to hide anything. It is inviting someone else into your head to see everything you see, everything you have seen. Memories, feelings, thoughts - nothing is yours anymore.

Jihoon hides it all from his co-pilots. He knows he’s not supposed to - openness and being honest and true with your partner makes for a better drift. But the intimacy of the connection makes him uncomfortable, and he’s not ready for anyone to see him - really see him.

So he hides in the drift. Knows how to bring nothing to it, to give only the parts of himself he has to in order for his partner to fight alongside him. Jihoon gives nothing more. And they don’t need it, frankly.

The Marshall leads the new recruits back out of the room. He watches you go, wondering what your deal is. As though you sense his eyes on you, your eyes flicker over to his, catching his gaze. He’s unsure why, but he pauses, the room stilling for a split second. Then you’re grinning wickedly, vanishing from the room.

He brushes it off and turns his eyes back to his friends.

Lee Jihoon is prettier in person. You don’t know why it’s the first thing you notice as you watch him walk across the training center. He’s dressed in fitted cargo pants and a racing jacket over a t-shirt, emphasizing his broad shoulders. His hair is bleached and pinned into a low bun, some of his bangs hanging in his dark eyes. He doesn't notice you watching him as he nears an empty mat, shedding the jacket.

He’s compact. Small, but toned, muscles rippling as he begins to go through a series of stretches. You know he’s a good fighter from your observations the day before. Everything about him screams efficiency. You can’t put your thumb on it, but the way he carries himself is methodical.

Lee Jihoon is the perfect jaeger pilot on paper.

It’s the partners that he has a problem with. He’s had eight co-pilots in the last year alone, which is more than anyone has the right to. Before that, he managed to keep someone for six months before they requested a transfer to a different location.

You sense Jihoon’s gaze, realizing he’s picked up on your staring. His expression is as neutral as it was yesterday, as though he has zero interest in whoever you are. He must not - he turns away and gets back to what he was doing, the moment passing without fanfare.

Everyone in the room is paired with their pilots, going through fight sequences. You watch the different pairs, noting those who exhibit high-drift compatibility and others who are still learning. You note how many talented pilots this base has, likely due to the high activity.

As though the thought summons the very creatures from the depths of the ocean, an alarm goes off. You don’t flinch, used to the kaiju alert system. It had gone off the day before, though. You look up at the screen as it flashes the names of the pilots on duty, calling them to report to the drop bridge.

A few shouts of good luck draw your attention to the center of the room where two of the younger pilots head out. You’d seen them sparring earlier, so in time with one another that you weren’t sure where one began and one ended. The man looks at the girl and gives her a smile so full of love that you look away, startled at its intensity.

While romantic connections between pilots aren’t totally uncommon, you’re not used to it. Most of the Rangers at your old base were family members and childhood friends, connection deep and intimate but not like that. You wonder what it must be like, if it makes love any easier to be that deeply connected.

“So are you my new co-pilot?” a soft voice startles you and you turn to see that Jihoon has snuck up on you. His eyes are darker in person, entirely consuming as he looks down at you with a cocked head. His blonde hair sticks to his forehead, pale skin covered in a sheen of sweat. “You must be, right?”

“What makes you think that?”

“You’re not a cadet. And you’ve been watching me for the better part of two hours.”

You shrug. “You can learn a lot from watching veterans.”

“You could at least offer to spar to see if we’re any good together.”

“You mean to see if I’m good enough for you.” He lifts a shoulder, not disagreeing with you. Wiping your palms on your knees, you stand up. Even though he’s small, you’re still a little shorter than him, nearly eye level. You stick your hand out, giving him your name. “But you can call me Blue.”

Instead of taking your hand, he nods and turns on his heel, striding back to the mat he occupied earlier. You stand and stare at the newly vacated spot, hand held out in the air. “Alright,” you mutter to yourself, dropping your hand and going after him.

Eyes follow you. You can feel them as you trail after him, watching his smooth, even gait. Everything about Jihoon is refined and controlled, even down to the minute expressions as he steps onto the mat and turns to face you. Sliding your shoes off, you join him, feeling the spring beneath your step and the softness of the floor.

Jihoon heads to a rack of bo staffs, picking one up and tossing it to you. You snatch it, spinning it lightly to test the weight. The balance is near perfect, a slight weight to the left side. You adjust accordingly, grip firm. Jihoon does the same, spinning his staff and rolling his shoulders.

“Who were those pilots called to make the drop?” you ask, conversational.

“Dino and Wylie.”

“Good pilots?”

He takes his stance. “Excellent. They’re terrors. It won’t be a problem for them. Are you right handed or left handed?”

“Ambidextrous.”

“Good.”

You don’t know why, but his assessing gaze bothers you suddenly. Like you know that even though you know you’re an excellent fighter, it still won’t be enough for him. The thought that you’ve lost before you even begun pricks a nerve and you strike first.

It’s immediately obvious why you’re compatible. Jihoon knows your next move before you know what it is. You feel him move like an instinct, imagining his attack and defense before it happens. It isn’t a fight, but a dialogue, two skilled fighters communicating in a pattern only familiar to them.

Sweat slicks the back of your neck and back. You barely register it, losing yourself in the rhythm of Jihoon’s movements. The sound of the training gym fades to the background and you barely hear the crack of your staffs as they meet over and over again. You hardly see him, vision fading to a narrow point of instinct.

This is how you fight. Muscle memory, driven by intuition.

Your intuition tells you that you’re perfectly matched, fighting style so similar that it’s hard to get a hit in - you won’t get a hit in, too in sync with him to out maneuver him.

So you deviate.

Instead of dodging a smack to the ribs, you let him hit you. His surprise is so apparent that he breaks his concentration and you strike, foot sweeping behind his ankle and pulling, knocking him from his feet. Jihoon goes down hard, breath leaving his lungs as you pounce, pinning him.

For a second, it’s just the two of you. His heart pounds, chest heaving in time with yours. Even your breaths are evenly matched, a tempo that is deeper than most human understanding. Drift compatible. You feel it the same way you feel the spark of his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. You’re so aware of it that you don’t hear what he says at first, his mouth moving but no sounds coming out.

“What?”

“That doesn’t count,” he asserts. “I hit you first. The fight is over after that.”

You frown. “The fight doesn’t end until there’s a killing blow. A swipe to the ribs wouldn’t do it.”

“That isn’t how that works.”

“There are no rules of engagement in the ocean.”

He scowls. “There are basic principles to fighting. You lose when you get hit first.”

“Do you lose when a kaiju hits you first? Or do you keep fighting?”

Jihoon huffs underneath you, shaking his head. You’ve still got him pinned, your palm pressed to his chest and your knee planted in his stomach. He glances away from you and you become aware that everyone has stopped to watch the two of you spar.

And you’re still on top of him.

Clearing your throat, you climb off of him smoothly. You offer a hand to help him up but he doesn’t take it, getting up on his own. He’s flushed, cheeks tinged peak and mouth twisted in frustration. You watch him as he gives the room around you a cutting glance, making everyone immediately turn back to what they were doing.

Jihoon puts his staff back and you watch him. He looks minorly irritated on the surface, but you can see it rippling deeper than that. He’s unsettled and it makes you grin.

“This won’t work,” Jihoon says as he turns back to you, crossing his arms over his chest. You ignore the way his biceps flex and blink at him in confusion. “You can’t be my partner.”

“What? We’re compatible. That was one of the best fighting flows I’ve ever had.”

“We’re too different in principle.”

That gets a frown from you. “I don’t think so at all. You let your instinct guide you. So do I.”

“You deviate.”

“I let the natural dialogue of the fight lead me.”

You let silence fall between you. You can see why so many other pilots had issues with him. Jihoon approaches every statement as though it is the absolute truth, a fact that cannot be disproven. He speaks with the authority of someone who knows he’s right often, and frequently goes unchallenged.

Instead of letting him get a rise out of you, you switch topics. “Are you hungry?”

He pauses. “What?”

“What part of the question didn’t you understand? Are you hungry?”

Jihoon is perplexed. You’re sure that by now, mostly people have visibly grown upset with the combative dialogue. You don’t mind much, watching as he thinks on your question. You take the opportunity to appreciate the gentle slope of his nose up close, the delicate curve of his mouth, the contrast of feminine and masculine features that make an exquisite face.

Then Jihoon unfolds his arms and walks past you. You turn to follow him but he says over his shoulder, “I don’t want to have lunch with you. We’re not friends.”

There’s no room for argument in the way that he says it. You watch him as he leaves, never once turning back.

You are vexing.

There isn’t another word to describe you. Jihoon hasn’t the slightest idea how you’ve managed to so thoroughly irritate him at your first encounter, but he can’t stop thinking about how frustrated he is when he slams his tray down on the table.

It’s a little early for lunch, mostly engineers and staff going on shift soon filling the room to eat quickly. The giant clock above the entryway to the cafeteria resets and Jihoon relaxes a little, confirming that Chan and Wylie are fine. He knew they would be - a Category Two kaiju is nothing for a pair like them.

Jihoon finds himself thinking of you. Of what you must be able to do in a jaeger.

Curious, Jihoon looks up your name. It rings a bell - you were pretty renowned at your homebase. Clicking through videos, he sets his phone on the table as he eats, eyes glued to the screen. Your drops are easily accessible to him, clicking through them as he eats.

There is something hypnotizing the way you and your old co-pilot Maya Veliz fight. You’re efficient and without flashy moves, which he can appreciate. But there’s a speed at which you make decisions and take risks that has him shaking his head.

Yet, there is something vaguely familiar. He pauses his meal to watch closer, realizing what it is. There is a brutality to your fighting that he recognizes in himself, a need to kill. You fight to win, willing to take a little damage if it means you can deal the final blow.

The thought unsettles him. Your fighting style is so similar to his that he would be lying if he tried to say otherwise. There is logic and calculation to your moves, but then there’s always that deviation. That random blip in your pattern that is unexpected and dangerous.

“Will watching my drop footage make you like me more?”

Your voice startles him. He drops his fork and it clatters against the table, loud in the soft din of the cafeteria. You’re leaning over him, a smirk on your face and a devilish glint dancing in your eyes as you look at his phone screen where you successfully put down a kaiju.

“Deathclaw wasn’t very impressive. It was pretty small. My mom and I took out Umbraxis my first year, though.”

Jihoon snatches his phone and locks the screen, putting it face down. He scowls down, feeling his heart flip a little. Your scent drifts over to him at your proximity, a mix of amber and jasmine. It’s already familiar to him, having caught the scent when you pinned him down earlier, hand pressed to his heart-

You sit across from him and he looks up at you. His mind goes blank, staring as you unwrap your silverware picking up a fork to stab a piece of chicken and pop it into your mouth. You hum happily, totally unaware - or maybe unbothered - at his increasing irritation.

“Tell me about your jaeger,” you demand - not ask. Your eyes find his, two pools of curiosity that have his tongue heavy, words sticky. “I want to know all about her.”

“You’re not going to make the drop with me.”

The curve of your mouth is wicked. “Tell me anyway.”

For a few minutes, Jihoon doesn’t answer. He waits to see if the silence will push you away or make you anxious. It doesn’t seem to. You keep eating without saying anything else, occasionally glancing at him with a cocked brow as if to suggest you have all the time in the world.

“She was re-outfitted two years ago,” Jihoon says slowly. He doesn’t know why he’s answering you at all, but he continues, “Mark-5 now with the new outfitted tech - she’s still nuclear-driven to avoid any EMP attacks. Outfitted with GD6 steel-obsidian chain swords on each arm, but there are also smaller, detachable blades for hand-to-hand fighting, along with some projectiles. She’s also got a lightning strike powered by the nuclear-core but it can only be used once, and only as a last resort. It obliterates local wildlife in the water.”

“What’s the suspension look like?”

“Gyro-stabilizers to stay fluid when fighting and L-10 locks on all of the joints to strap in and withstand damage. She’s built to take a lot of blunt-force and melee attacks, but she’s top heavy if she loses footing.”

“Have you only been in Storm Breaker?”

He nods. “Since my first drop.”

“She’s beautifully built.”

Jihoon doesn’t respond. It does bring him a small sense of pride to know that you admire the jaeger he fights in, but he doesn’t thank you. He suspects you notice but doesn't say anything, which surprises him. You seem like the stubborn type who doesn't like to back down from a fight, and yet multiple times this morning you’ve conceded to him, refusing to get upset.

It bothers him. He can’t tell if it’s because you’re a people pleaser or if you think you're gentle-parenting him, and he doesn’t like it either way.

So he doesn’t talk to you. He lets the conversation die there, despite sensing your amusement from across the table. He feels the grip on his fork increase, metal biting into his palms as he tries to ignore you. He can smell the jasmine and amber of your perfume, which makes him feel more insane, and he can’t help but steal glances at you and dart his eyes away.

You’re pretty. He’s had attractive co-pilots before. That’s not new, nor has it ever bothered him. Something about you draws the eye, though. He thinks it’s the aura of confidence you give off, effortlessly comfortable in your skin and your situation, despite Jihoon not making it any easier on you.

“Hi,” The raspy voice interrupts Jihoon’s thoughts and he looks up as Wylie slams her tray down on the table. She’s sweaty, freshly peeled from her Drivesuite and offering a hand to you as she gives her full name. “You can call me Wylie, though. Everyone does. Are you Woozi’s new co-pilot?”

“Yes,” you answer at the same time Jihoon says no. “Though I didn’t know that was the name he preferred.”

Wylie shoots him a sly grin and sits down next to him. He curses and scoots over, the younger girl nearly on top of him as she leans her elbows on the table. “He doesn’t prefer it, which is why it stuck. He's a very cranky cat, but he’s nice once you get to know him.”

Jihoon scowls, turning to her. “Did I invite you to sit down with us?”

“No.”

That’s it. That’s the end of her statement. Jihoon watches as she settles happily, opening chocolate milk and chugging it back like it’s water. Jihoon cringes and readies to lob an insult her way when he’s interrupted again, another tray slamming down next to hers.

Closing his eyes, Jihoon summons all the gods he doesn’t believe in to give him the god damn patience. Chan is wearing a shit-eating grin as he leans across the table, offering his hand in the same, chipper manner his partner had moments before.

“I’m Chan. But you can call me Dino.”

“Why Dino?”

“I step on everyone.”

You raise your brows, amused, eyes flickering to Wylie. Sensing your question, Wylie says around a mouthful of mac and cheese, “Like Wylie Coyote because I’m a menace who doesn’t stop attacking.”

“How was your drop?”

“Easy,” they say in unison.

Jihoon focuses on his plate, feeling grouchy. They start to talk like he’s not even there, and though that is typically how conversations go around him, he’s suddenly bothered by it. Especially when you seem so smug that at least someone likes you.

He wants to tell you they don’t count. Chan is one of the nicest people in the Shatterdome and will talk to anyone, if they give him the time of day. Wylie isn’t exactly nice but she’s in love with Chan and is happy to be nice to anyone who is being nice to him. The pair are relatively easy to win over.

It only gets worse for him when Soonyoung and the others start sitting down. Everyone seems eager to ask you questions, a new shiny toy for his friends to play with. He chews on the corner of his lip, feeling stormy in the corner of the table as Seokmin peppers you with questions and exclamations at your answers.

A shift in tension makes Jihoon look up. Seungcheol sits down at the table slowly, as though trying not to be a distraction or catch any attention. He’s three seats away from Wylie and out of her eyeshot, but Wylie is a born predator, sensing him like a hunter. Her eyes cut over to Seungcheol and she bristles, shooting up to her feet to grab her tray and storm off.

Chan sighs, muttering a brief apology before grabbing his things and going after her. Jihoon glances at Seungcheol, watching the way his jaw ticks at the interaction. Surprisingly, you don’t ask any questions. You lean over to Soonyoung and ask him about some of their earlier fights, shifting the energy at the table from tense to light in a second.

Seungcheol relaxes, and though he doesn’t introduce himself, he’s not unkind to you. Jihoon feels a pang for the pilot, knowing that the last year has been difficult for him. Cherry left Seungcheol adrift without a partner, and he’s been unable to find someone to replace her.

He thinks about offering you to Seungcheol as an alternative.

Jihoon does learn a little bit about you while listening to everyone talk, though. You've only had two co-pilots in your life where Jihoon has lost count. He wonders what growing up piloting with a parent feels like, and though you smile as you talk about growing up working with your mom, there’s a tightness to your mouth, a look in your eye that he can’t place.

Feeling his gaze, your eyes shift to him. Jihoon realizes he’s been staring at you. He stands and leaves the table abruptly, Seokmin’s voice apologizing on his behalf drifting after him.

Thankfully, you don’t follow him. He dumps his tray and leaves it in the discarded pile for the cafeteria staff and immediately begins the climb to the command bridge where the Marshall’s office is. His thoughts race but go nowhere at the same time, an echochamber that he can’t untangle.

Before Jihoon can knock on the entrance to the Marshall’s office, the military commander looks up and waves Jihoon in. “I was about to call for you. Shut the door, please.”

Jihoon does so without comment and sits down. He glances around the office, distracting himself as the Marshall finishes what he was working on. The office is orderly and tidy, every ounce the professional and uptight officer that sits in front of Jihoon, leaning back in the seat to sigh heavily and level Jihoon with a stare.

Before Jihoon can open his mouth to list all of the reasons you shouldn’t be his pilot, the Marshall speaks. “You’re on probation.”

“I - what?”

“For the next three months, if you lose your co-pilot, you will be reassigned to administrative work or to a new Shatterdome.”

Jihoon opens his mouth. Closes it. The weight of the Marshall’s words don’t quite sink in, though Jihoon can tell they’re heavy. Real. “We’ve given you plenty of chances to effectively remain a pilot for Storm Breaker, but the board feels as though the trade off has become an issue.”

“The trade off?”

“You’re costing us money. And cadets. People want to train where they can potentially see themselves become a pilot. When we have open spots and jaegers coming up on retirement, it bolsters recruitment.” The Marshall levels him with a tired stare. “But when we have a pilot who no one can partner with, it puts us in a bind to send cadets where they will fit elsewhere.”

“Look - “

“No you look, Lee. You’ve been a pilot here for six years. That’s considered a veteran in this field. But the higher ups grow tired of even veterans when they’ve been unmanageable for the last two of those six years.”

Heat flashes up the side of Jihoon’s neck, equal parts embarrassed and angry. He’d been the first in his class to suit up, selected as Haneul’s co-pilot to fill in for their partner that had retired. Jihoon remembers how proud - and nervous - he was and how easy it had been to partner with Haneul.

He didn’t have that anymore, the safety net of the only parental figure he’d ever known gone.

“The pilots you’ve paired me with have no business being in a jaeger,” Jihoon says matter of factly. “I don’t respect them.”

“Well good thing we’ve given you someone to respect.”

Jihoon shakes his head. “I can’t fight with her.”

“You can and you will. Your drift compatibility is 98% and you have similar fighting style and come from similar machines. You’ll start Conn-pod training tomorrow.”

“Don’t make me partner with her. I don’t like her.”

The Marshall stands. “One day you might learn that if you give people a chance, you’d like what you find.”

“Marshall-”

“That’s all, Ranger.”

The air feels heavy as Jihoon leaves the Marshall’s office. He stops on the command deck, his eyes flickering over to the windows. The glass is floor to ceiling all the way around, giving the tower a 360-degree view of the pacific ocean. Blue stretches out as far as the eye can see, backdropped by the shining silver of the city.

Boats bob on the water, shifting back and forth on the dark surface. Air teams go back and forth, working in the aftermath of Chan and Wylie’s successful kaiju destruction. Jihoon can see the toxicity on the surface of the water, an oil slick that he knows the exact pungent smell of.

Trailing to an observation window, he stares with unseeing eyes. How many times had he stood up here and provided commentary to his friends during a fight? He didn’t frequent the command deck, but sometimes it gave him perspective. Or he was a little worried about his friends, especially when they were taking on higher category kaiju.

Jihoon chews on the side of his lip. He’s talked Wylie and Chan through plenty of bouts before. He remembers sharply the terror of the fight that had changed all of their lives over a year ago, watching as the hull of Fang Striker was breached, the screams of terror as Wylie took a talon to the stomach, nearly killing her. The aftermath of Chan’s grief.

A chill breaks out over his arms. Jihoon knows he isn’t cut out to sit through something like that again, to try and get a panicking pilot to focus and get to safety. He’s not made for an advisory role. Not built to watch pilots come and go, completely operating out of his control.

Death is easier to process in the heat of battle. It gives him an excuse to be distracted, to hide from the immediate pain of losing a pilot during a fight because he’s too busy protecting himself, protecting the city. He’s not made to watch it from afar and take the full weight of it.

Turning away from the window, Jihoon descends back down to the ground floor.

Probation period. Three months of having to stomach you or he’s out. Flexing his fingers, he heads to his room, needing the silence. If Jihoon is going to do this, he knows he needs to keep himself in line. Can’t push you away like he has the others.

And he hates you for it.

Music bleeds through the metal door out into the hall. You wonder how any of the neighboring rooms let him get away with it. Then again, Lee Jihoon seems like someone most jaeger pilots don’t go toe-to-toe with often, if they can help it. At least it’s classical music, the swelling sound of Mozart sweeping into the hallway as you open the door, propping it with your hip to haul the box in your arms through.

Jihoon’s eyes snap open immediately. He’s lounging on the bottom bunk of the bed in the far corner of the room, face lit by the glow of the muted screen in the corner showing the rain and ocean spray beating against the Shatterdome. Nothing disturbs the seas at the moment, though you wonder in a hotspot like this how long that will last.

A scowl twists his mouth. You let the door shut behind you, setting the box down on the media table by the doorway. “Mozart?” you ask, arching a brow. He glares at you, sitting up from where he had been lounging with his hands tucked behind his head. “A bit cliche, don’t you think?”

“What do you know about music?”

“Enough to know that someone with balanced compositions that orchestrate total control and logic in its make is… not surprising for you.” He blinks in surprise. “I like Tchaikovsky. There’s something more mercurial to his compositions.”

“Tchaikovsky was inspired by Mozart.”

“I didn’t say one was better than the other.” You smirk. “You don’t like differences of opinion, do you?”

“I always value opinions. Some more than others.”

“Mhmm. Where can I put my things?”

Jihoon closes his eyes and lays back on the bed. His blonde hair is undone, fanning around him in a silvery-white halo. “The trash chute, preferably.”

“Wherever I want, got it.”

He ignores you. You suppress a laugh and move into the room proper. It’s small, filled with only the essentials to house two people to eat, sleep, and shower. A small kitchenette sits to your left, hidden in darkness with all of the lights off. You spot a shelf filled with dry goods - mostly protein bars - and coffee. There is a sad excuse for a sitting area with a tiny table and two chairs next to the TV screen, a bunk bed with a wardrobe next to it, and a tiny bathroom.

Cozy.

Pulling open the wardrobe, you see that there’s room for your things. You shoot Jihoon a sidelong glance. He certainly hadn’t moved his things over to take over the full wardrobe after his last pilot left. You wonder if he’s just used to being unable to use the full space or if he had made room for you.

You doubt it’s the latter.

Ave Verum Corpus plays in the background as you unpack the tiny box that is your life. You hum along, shutting the wardrobe and padding over to the bathroom. Jihoon could be asleep for all you know, but you suspect he’s not. When you glance over at him after shutting the medicine cabinet, you see his foot tapping to the beat of the music.

“What other kind of music do you like?” His foot stops tapping at your question.

Turning off the bathroom light, you move to the door to break down the cardboard box you brought your things in. Jihoon doesn’t answer at first, his frame rigid with tension, as though he had forgotten you were there until you spoke. You suppose that’s entirely possible, if not a little unlikely.

Just when you think he’s not going to answer, he mutters, “I like ballads.”

“Romantic.” He frowns but doesn’t say anything further. “What’s your favorite one? Or artist?”

“Go play twenty questions with someone else. I’m not interested.”

“I’m going to find out anyway.” He opens his eyes then. They’re dark, pupils blown as his face twitches in an almost snarl. “It is an inevitable fact that we will have to drift. I recommend making peace with that now.”

“I’m going to bed,” he announces, flopping over on his side and crossing his arms.

You let Jihoon be mean. It does you no good to fight with him when you eventually need him on your side, and you can sympathize with him to a degree. He didn’t choose you as his pilot and he’s backed into a corner, a do or die situation that he can’t back out of. The only way is forward and it’s against his will.

As he pretends to sleep, you occupy yourself on the top bunk with your tablet, sliding headphones over your ears so he doesn’t bitch you out. Flicking through online channels, you familiarize yourself with your fellow jaeger pilots at the Shatterdome, watching fight footage and interviews.

You come across a set of popular pilots, only one of them familiar to you. You recognize the man from dinner earlier - he had sat down and the tension around the table had increased tenfold. Wylie had immediately clocked his presence and stormed off, Chan trailing behind her with an apologetic look.

Tapping on their information, you hum in interest to yourself. Seungcheol. You recognize the name, vaguely. He piloted Duellona Fury with his copilot, a woman you don’t recognize but that has a bright smile. They make a good team, totally in sync and feeding off each other’s energy. You wonder where she is now, assuming she’s the source of the tension between Wylie and Seungcheol.

You wonder what you and Jihoon will be like as drift partners. So far he seems to hate you, but he does tolerate you. It’s a start, if not ideal. You won’t start drifting right away - not for real anyway. Practicing combat drills and learning more about one another is the first step to any partnership, followed by practice drifts.

In the drift, there’s no room for hatred or enmity. Trust is paramount, but almost as important is respect. Respect for what you see in the thoughts and feelings of your partner, respect that they’re good at what they do and that they’re the best person for the job, respect that they are your equal. Too many partners get lost in trying to save the other, losing sight of being equally capable or feeling like they know better.

Jihoon doesn’t seem capable of that. Not right now, anyway. It doesn’t matter, though. You’re his only option to stay in the jaeger program, and though he hasn’t said anything about it, you’re pretty sure he knows.

“Can you shut the tablet off?” Jihoon grunts from below. You sigh heavily, tucking it to your chest. “The glow is fucking bright.”

“The TV is also glowing, Jihoon.”

“Yeah, so your tablet adds to the general light in the room.”

“Close your eyes.”

“It isn’t helping. Go under your covers.”

Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath in, you lock the tablet and shove it under your pillow. “Better?”

“Yes.”

Weather the storm, you think to yourself. Jihoon is angry and capricious, but it’s more to do with his situation than it is to do with you. And despite his snappy nature, there are flashes of him willing to work with you by answering questions, albeit with attitude.

You can do this. You can make Lee Jihoon like you. Maybe even respect you.

You are not a morning person. Lee Jihoon, however, is a morning person. Which is why it takes everything inside of you not to launch your pillow at him when you hear the classical music wake you from sleep in the morning, making you lift your heavy head to look around the room, vision blurry.

Heat from a fresh shower drifts from the bathroom only a short distance away. You stare in confusion, blinking rapidly as Jihoon walks out of the bathroom. He’s brushing his teeth furiously with one hand, looking at his phone with the other, blue light making him look like a phantom in the dim light.

And he’s dressed in nothing but a towel slung low on his waist, making you nearly go catatonic.

It’s not like you haven’t seen a body before - it’s just a body, and soon enough, you’ll be in his head. It’s important to get any weirdness out of the way because in the drift, you’ll bare everything. But for some reason the image of his small, compact body scrambles your brain this early in the morning.

Jihoon is built like a weapon, all sleek lines and hard muscles. He stands in the kitchen, setting down his phone as he opens cabinets and starts to make coffee, toothbrush still in his mouth. The muscles in his back flex as he moves, skin pale and smooth as the moon.

“Are you a coffee person?” he asks, because he knows you’re awake. Of course he does. You don’t answer for a moment, stuck between eyeing the narrow taper of his hips and the question that implies he’s willing to make you coffee. He turns, arching a brow at you. “Now you shut up?”

That brings a scowl to your face. “Yes, I drink coffee.”

“Great.”

He goes back to what he was doing, ignoring you entirely. Dragging your eyes away from him, feeling flushed and overwarm, you throw the covers back, scrambling from the top bunk. You land with a soft huff, feeling the chill of the concrete floor as you dart to the wardrobe to pull out clothes.

“What time is it?”

“You have eyes, look at the TV.”

Got it, you think. He’ll make coffee for you but not do something as simple as answer what time it is. You do look at the TV, seeing the darkened feed of the churning ocean breaking against the walls of the Shatterdome. There are multiple camera angles, weather radar and Dome messages that break up the screen into sections. The time is in the top corner, flashing 5:13 am.

“Ji, it is five in the morning.”

“Five-thirteen. And don’t call me Ji. I’m not your buddy.”

Taking a deep breath, you mutter curses under your breath. “I’m going to shower.”

As expected, you get no response.

The great thing about living in a billion dollar buildinding with hundreds of people is that there’s no shortage of hot water. You’re grateful as the steam fills the room, hot water making your coiled muscles melt the second you step under the shower. You let the frustration from the morning fade away, the rush of the water and the feel of it sluicing down your back-

A loud knock on the door breaks your reverie. You hear it open. Jihoon grunts, “I wasn’t done brushing my teeth. I need the sink.”

“Then use the sink.”

Jihoon shuffles into the bathroom. You hear the faucet turn on and you go back to tilting your head backward under the stream of water, ignoring the sound of him going about his morning routine. In a way, it’s sort of peaceful, the sounds of him softly opening and closing cabinets and the clinking of jars against the counter soft in the background.

He’s back in the kitchen by the time you’re out of the shower and wrapped in a towel. You venture out into the main room in kind, deciding that if he is going to walk around in nothing but a towel, so will you. He barely gives you a glance from his bottom bunk, lounging around in low-slung sweats with no shirt, blonde hair splayed on his pillow. You ignore him in favor of the lone mug of coffee sitting in the kitchen steaming.

Gripping it and bringing it up, you let the ceramic warm you from your palms upward, inhaling before taking a tentative sip. It’s bitter but it helps you wake up. You glance at Jihoon from over the lip of the cup. He scrolls on a tablet mindlessly, as though he’s forgotten you’re there.

Neither one of you speaks as you finish your coffee. Turning to the sink, you start washing the cup out. You notice his used mug sitting in the bottom of the sink and pick it up, wash it and put it in the drying rack next to yours without thinking about it before returning to the bathroom to dress fully.

Once dressed and out of the bathroom, it’s almost six. Jihoon is bent over by the door, his boot on the coffee table as he laces it. Now fully dressed, his long hair is pulled back in a bun, a few silver whisps escaping and falling across his face. Again, you’re struck by how beautiful he is for a moment.

He straightens and looks at you, raising his brows. Instead of answering him, you hurry to the wardrobe, pulling out your boots to slide them on and head to breakfast. You half expect him to leave you behind, but to your surprise, he lingers with the door open, dark eyes clocking your every movement. As soon as you’re done tying laces, he’s out the door and charging again, leaving you to scramble behind him.

Silence follows you into the cafeteria, which has the quiet atmosphere of an early morning. Workers and pilots ending their shifts sit at the table, scarfing down breakfast for dinner. Early shift workers hurry to grab a bite before heading off to the different parts of the Shatterdome. It’s not nearly as loud as lunch or dinner, but the soft din is inviting as you go through the line, following your new co-pilot wordlessly.

None of the friendly faces from yesterday are in the cafeteria, so the two of you sit alone. Jihoon is methodical as he sets up his breakfast, each move calculated and precise. He eats the same way, finishing something entirely before moving on to the next time.

His obsession with organization and control is almost fascinating, if not a little worrying. Instead of asking about it, you eat in silence, humming delightedly at the cheesy hashbrowns made available that morning. He casts you a single annoyed glance when he notices you enjoying your meal.

Breakfast goes without a fight, though. Glancing at the large clock above the entrance to the cafeteria, you realize you only have a few minutes left before your day of training starts. Jihoon seems to be on the same wavelength, pulling out his phone to scroll through your schedule.

“Meditation first,” he murmurs. He shoves his phone in his pocket and stands without preamble. “Do you think you can manage meditation?”

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but we haven’t spoken for over an hour.”

Confusion crosses his face, quickly followed by astonishment. He hadn’t realized that most of your morning has been spent in silence. His brows pull together, mouth turning slightly as he works over your words. It seems to make him unhappy. He narrows his eyes and his mouth twists before he turns and marches away from the table, leaving you behind.

Mouth quirking, you follow quickly, not wanting to lose your way to wherever it is you’re supposed to report to. He walks faster this time, determined to keep you moving and on your toes. Wherever the studio designated to you for the morning feels like it’s halfway around the world. Jihoon leads you down a series of halls and stairs, never slowing his pace once.

By the time you get to a small, soundproof room, your calves are burning.

“You need conditioning,” he mutters, noticing the way you’re a little out of breath.

“You basically just took me on a light jog,” you protest. “I think it’s fair to be a little winded this early in the morning.”

“It doesn’t matter what time it is. What will you do if we make the drop at four in the morning?”

Jihoon doesn’t wait for you to answer. Instead, he goes to the middle of the room and sits down on the floor, and crosses his legs. Instead of taking his bait and picking a fight with him, you sigh and stride into the room. He positions himself, ready for you to sit in front of him. Instead, you circle around him, sitting down behind him.

“What are you doing?” he asks, twisting toward you.

“Meditating. Turn back around so we can be back-to-back.”

“What? Why?”

“Just trust me.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, try. It’s easier to feel your breaths and your heartbeat this way. Plus, there's less pressure if you don’t have to look directly at me.”

“Thank god for that,” he mutters.

You roll your eyes at the barb but grin when Jihoon listens, twisting back around to face the front. He lets you settle against him, the warmth from his back melting into yours. He is rigid, his spine solid as it digs into yours for a second. You lick your lips, feeling electricity shiver down you at the contact, like there’s a spark.

The hum of the air condition is the only sound in the room. You close your eyes, leaning into Jihoon so that you fit flush together. You match your breaths with his, feeling your breathing slow down. Your heart slows to, like it’s trying to let him catch up, both of you melting into the same rhythm.

Behind you, Jihoon relaxes. The back of his head rests against yours, both of you leaning into the touch, becoming the equal opposing force holding the other up.

Balance is imperative in co-pilots. Jihoon needed to bring to the fight what you lacked and vice versa, the two of you making something whole, something complete. It’s a balance that’s not easily achieved, and though you’d always been a good pair with your mother and then maya, you know instinctively that it’s nothing compared to Jihoon’s counterbalance.

A timer goes off in the room, startling you with how quickly time has passed. You blink your eyes rapidly, letting the room swim back into focus. For a second, neither one of you moves, content to lean against the other until Jihoon seems to realize he’s still pressed against you. He scrambles to his feet unexpectedly and you fall backward, losing his counterweight immediately.

Thunking against the floor, you glare up at him. He smirks, looking down at you as he wipes dust from the back of his pants. “You should never let a co-pilot fall,” you huff, hauling yourself to your feet.

“Good thing we’re not really co-pilots.”

“Yet,” you supply. You get up, stretching and feeling your joints pop. “Even you can’t deny that it was a great first meditation session.”

“Let’s go. We have sparring.”

Jihoon doesn’t like you.

He doesn’t like you, but he has to admit you are a perfect fit for him. You are loud where he is quiet, you make light when he remains serious, and you deviate when he’s planned. Yet somehow, you manage to mesh with him in your training, the perfect opposite force to him.

For the most part, you leave him alone. He can tell you’ve figured out when to bite back and when to eat your words. It’s become a game to him, throwing insults your way to watch whether you’ll riposte back or swallow your pride.

The amount of times you swallow your pride impresses him, unfortunately. His original assessment that you are unpredictable and uncontrolled was wrong. He can see the way you actively meet his cold winter with warm summer, trying to melt him.

He doesn't like giving you credit for your control, but he does so begrudgingly.

Worst of all, he realizes that it’s not you he dislikes. It’s his situation, it’s knowing that you’re his lifeline and he has to accept you, and it’s knowing that despite his initial dislike, you’re a mirror that he can’t look away from. It doesn’t help that you live two feet away from him at all times, occupying every moment of his life just a reach-of-a-hand away.

Training is tiring. It feels like he’s a rookie all over again, going through the exercises as the two of you learn to fight together, moving through meditation sessions, sparring, talking sessions - which don't really involve a lot of talking on his part as much as yours - and drop simulations.

Drop simulations are the most exhausting for him. You bring everything to the drift. It’s nearly overwhelming at first how much you’re willing to show him. From the moment the mental bridge connects the two of you through the simulation software, Jihoon is shocked at the way you lay yourself bare. You hide nothing from him, letting him roam around your thoughts at his leisure.

He feels everything you’ve ever felt. Elation when you make your first real drop with your first co-pilot, your mom. Sore ribs after a particularly difficult sparring match when you were a teeager in the training program. Pride when you finish the top of your training program. Terror when a fight goes awry and your mother overwhelms you in the drift, taking the full neural load of the jaeger to protect you. Rage at her doing so.

“What happened here?” he finds himself asking, sticking near the memory.

He thinks you won’t answer him, but of course you do. Unlike him, you’re open for the taking. “The hull was breached in my first year of fighting. My mother panicked because it was on my side of the jaeger and she tried to take on the neural load.”

Jihoon says nothing. Piloting a jaeger alone overwhelms the nervous system and the brain, which is why each jaeger has two pilots in the first place. It can be done, but the risk for damage is always present. He senses where your conversation is going.

“We only piloted together for three more years after that. She was starting to struggle to make the drift, so we paused to get her examined. They discovered lesions on her brain and linked it to the damage from that day she tried to pilot alone.”

“She wanted to protect you.”

“She did, but it doesn’t make up for what she did. I was her equal, not someone she was supposed to protect.” You look at him and he looks at you, surrounded by your memories in the drift. “I am deserving of treated like an equal.”

He understands what you’re really saying, that he should treat you like an equal too. Instead of responding, he busies himself with studying other parts of you that you let him have.

There is a melody to your mind that he enjoys, though he’ll never tell you so. The more you drift together, the more Jihoon realizes that you are exactly like a Tchaikovsky piece. There is an organized chaos to you, a mathematical formula that is logical and measurable, but that deviates from the norm once in a while.

Every drift, you remain open to him, your thoughts for the taking. You don’t even hide the moments you’ve thought of him - both in occasional attraction and irritation. Irritation at him bringing nothing to drift, opening no part of himself to you. Irritation when he’s mean to you. Hesitant fondness when he does something nice. Confused attraction when he walks around in just a towel.

Water sluices down his back. Jihoon’s thoughts are still foggy from three weeks of nothing but practice and drills. He also finds it harder to sleep sometimes in the room, his dreams filled with the scent of your amber and jasmine and the lively sound of Tchaikovsky acting as the soundtrack to his dreams.

You’re still asleep when he exits the bathroom. He’s made sure to turn the light off before opening the door, steam billowing out after him. He scoops headphones from the nightstand as he heads to the kitchen, towel snug around his waist. He pops the earbuds in, the sound of Mozart starting his morning as he begins to make coffee.

Jihoon has quickly learned that the longer he lets you sleep in the morning, the less whiny you are when you wake up. Instead of playing his music out loud, he lets you sleep until he’s made two cups of coffee, adding a spoonful of brown sugar and milk to yours. He sets it on the table and walks back to the bathroom, one of the requiem pieces carrying him through his routine.

On the way to the bathroom, he stops by your bunk. He hesitates for a second, drinking you in as you sleep. Nestled in that top bunk is the only place you’re as peaceful as you are in the drift. Your features are smoothed out as you slumber, mouth open a little, drool sticky on the corner of your mouth. Jihoon’s lips twitch a little and he shakes his head before reaching out to tap the ankle hanging off your bed. You mumble in response.

“Get up,” he says gruffly. “You’ve slept long enough.”

He returns to the bathroom and shuts the door to get fully dressed. He knows you’ll be standing in the kitchen looking dazed and confused sipping coffee until he comes out and frees the bathroom for you to shower.

The alarm for a kaiju alert goes off. He hears it blaring over his music and he pulls the earbuds out, opening the door half dressed in just pants as he looks at the screen flashing red. A Category Four kaiju has been sighted in the bay. His heart skips, knowing that Cat-4 kaiju are dangerous even for the most skilled pilots at the Dome.

Assignments flash across the screen. Solar Saber and Fang Striker have been summoned to drop. Nervousness flutters in Jihoon’s stomach. He snatches a shirt and yanks it over his head, moving quickly around the room to grab boots.

“What are you doing?” you ask, leaning off the counter.

“Heading to the command deck. Come or don’t.”

“I’ll come.”

You dump your coffee in the sink, jumping to action as you peel off your pajama pants, searching for cargos. Jihoon hardly realizes you’re changing in front of him - he’s seen it all in your head anyway - as he laces his boots. He doesn’t know why, but he starts to explain himself, “Dino and Wylie have a… history with Cat-4 kaiju.”

“You want to be an extra set of eyes and ears.” He nods at the accurate assessment. “Got it. Run me through Solar Saber drop stats if you know them.”

Jihoon does. He fires off what he knows about the team. Their stats are fine, but a Category Four kaiju is new for them. They have a good jaeger. It’s on the newer side, nuclear powered with plasma cannons and a massive plasma sword that burns brighter than the sun, earning the machine its name. It’s piloted by a set of twins, which produce some of the best drifts in the jaeger program.

But there’s a nervousness in Jihoon’s stomach that he can’t place. Everytime his friends drop, he knows they’ll be okay - but he also knows the level of danger. Perhaps it’s because of Chan and Wylie’s accident last year or because they’re dropping with a team Jihoon doesn’t trust, but he suddenly wants to tell the Marshall to let Storm Breaker do the drop.

A hand brings him out of his thoughts. Your gaze is as calm as the surface of a lake, piercing. “We’re ready, if we need to be.”

Of course you know what he’s thinking. Despite his best efforts, you seem particularly good at stitching the tiny threads that escape through Jihoon’s wall of ice.

You drop your hand and grab the room keys, heading toward the door with top speed. His arm is warm where your fingers were a moment ago, burning like a brand. He shakes it off as he follows you out, both of you jogging up to the top level of the Shatterdome to observe.

Crew races around the dome. Jihoon sees Seungkwan and Vernon rushing up the stairs to the command deck. He follows suit, you quick on his heels. People fill the room, talking over one another as they shout into headsets and screens flash different camera angles.

The Marshall stands in the center of it all behind the LOCCENT Mission Controller who will walk the pilots through the fight. Jihoon doesn’t recognize the man giving them instructions, but he joins the wall of people standing behind him to observe the screens, taking a place next to Vernon and Seungkwan.

You glance at Vernon and back to Jihoon, a question in your gaze. “This is Vernon,” Jihoon says in response. “He’s currently a jumphawk pilot. Could be a jaeger pilot if he could figure out the drift but he’s too screwy up top.”

“Thanks, man.”

“You can call me Blue,” you offer. Your eyes drift to the screens. “Friends of the pilots out there?”

“Wylie is one of my best friends.”

Instead of telling him something like they’ll be alright or offering words of comfort, all you do is nod. Jihoon respects that. Anything comforting would be a potential lie and useless in a world of blood and metal, salt and fire.

The entire room falls into a steady cadence. Jihoon crosses his arms as he focuses on the screen. He’s mutely aware that you’re standing so close to him he can feel the heat of your arm, hands shoved in your pockets as you watch the screens, brows furrowed in concentration.

On screen, Solar Saber churns the water toward a towering kaiju in the bay. The creature is straight out of a nightmare, a barbed tail whipping across the surface of the ocean, misting water as it does. From what Jihoon can tell, it’s got four legs, each equipped with long talons. Rows and rows of teeth reveal itself as the kaiju opens its mouth and roars, the vibration from the sound so deep that it vibrates underneath his feet.

“I don’t like that tail,” Vernon mutters next to Jihoon.

“It’s like a manticore.” Jihoon glances at you. You’re not looking at them, but your head is tilted in curiosity as you point to the screen. “Four legs, a curved tail with a barb. The webbing around its neck suggests it might have a frill.”

“Strike teams, confirm positions,” the LOCCENT controller says into the mic.

“Fang Striker in position two miles north of kaiju and Solar Saber.” It’s Wylie’s raspy voice that crackles over the shared radiowave with the jaeger teams. “Perimeter is set.”

“Solar Saber ready to engage,” a female voice comes over the speaker. Jihoon recognizes it as one of the twin co-pilots, Jezzi.

“Permission to engage.”

As Solar Saber engages with the kaiju, the command deck goes quiet. People guiding the helicopters and ground teams speak softly into their mics, a level of tense calm washing over as everyone watches the fight ensue.

Solar Saber is beautiful to watch fight. The armor is painted radiant gold and the glow of the sword is magnificent against the stormy waters as it slashes at the kaiju. Jezzi and her sister Yaz are calm throughout their bout, their voices clear and communicative as the kaiju batters them.

“Cut off the tail,” you mutter under your breath. “It’s going to-”

Jihoon sees what you do as soon as you say it. While trying to kill the kaiju with a direct blow, Solar Saber has forgotten about the tail. The tip of the tail shivers, reminding Jihoon of a cat ready to strike, and it does. One moment, Solar Saber and the kaiju are locked in a wrestling match. Next, the tail is hammering the hull of the jaeger, striking over and over again like a scorpion.

Chaos explodes on the screens. Jihoon holds his breath as red flashes across the screens as the tail breaches the hull of Solar Saber. A tingle settles over him, the buzz of nerves as he watches Solar Saber take a knee, ocean water surging around the jaeger as the kaiju’s tail continues to hammer the jaeger’s head open.

Jihoon grabs the LOCCENT Controller’s chair and yanks him backward out of the way, jamming his finger against the button to speak. “Don’t let it force you under the waterline,” he barks. “Cut off that tail, Solar Saber. If it forces you down, you’re going to take on water and drown.”

“The right panel is damaged from acid from the tail,” Jezzi yells over the comes. “Sword arm cannot engage.”

“Then disengage, Solar Saber. Do not let it force you down another knee.”

Yaz screams back something incomprehensible over the comms. The left arm of Solar Saber lurches, reaching for the kaiju’s tail. It catches, yanking at the appendage hard. The kaiju screams as the tail breaks where Solar Saber has it gripped. The kaiju frenzies, screaming wildly as frills - just like you’d predicted - shake to life by its head, vibrating back and forth in a threat display as its dismembered tail whips back and forth, spraying ichor.

“Fang Striker engaging,” Chan’s voice comes over the comms.

It’s the Marshall who answers. “Fang Striker, hold the perimeter.”

“Fuck the peremiter,” Wylie seethes.

The Marshall turns to you and Jihoon. “We’re ready,” Jihoon says at the same time as you.

A string of curses leaves Marshall’s mouth. “Fang Striker, assist Solar Saber with the intent to disengage. Storm Breaker dropping in ten.”

Heart hammering, Jihoon turns to follow you out of the command center, footsteps like thunder as you sprint to the jaeger bay. He doesn’t even think twice about dropping with you, any reservations about you vanishing as the fighting instinct takes over.

You’re an entirely different person when you step onto the catwalk, your team already scrambling with pieces of your Drivesuit. There is an eerie calm about you. You meet his gaze head on as your team fits armored pieces of Drivesuit onto your arms. Jihoon sees himself reflected so clearly that he’s startled.

“What?” you ask, sensing the bewilderment.

“Show me what you’re made of,” he says simply.

Your mouth curves in a wicked grin and you nod once, understanding.

Storm Breaker is beautiful. The fondness for her sweeps over him as he steps into the cockpit. The screens come to life, casting blue and red glow all over as he steps into the Conn-pod. He sheds any reservations he has as the team helps him connect. You’re only a few feet away, stepping into the left side of the Conn-pod.

Jihoon’s world shifts to screens and canned voices in his headset as the shield of his helmet closes. It’s Seungkwan he hears over comms saying, “Engaging pilot to pilot connection protocol sequence.”

“Do the pilots always take over the LOCCENT Controller’s here?” you muse, just to Jihoon.

His lips twitch. “What can I say? Seungkwan knows I’m a control freak.”

“Engaging neural handshake in three… two… one…”

The world around him goes mute for a moment. Jihoon’s vision flashes white for a second. He feels you then, your thoughts and feelings becoming his. They’re not overwhelming though. He feels focus and determination from you with an undercurrent of ferocity. All of your memories and other feelings are there too, but they exist in the background. You’re a seasoned pilot, Jihoon doesn’t have to worry about you chasing the rabbit and falling down a hole of memories.

“Neural handshake holding and strong,” Seungkwan calls. “Initiating drop in three… two… one…”

Jihoon’s stomach flies into his throat as he falls away from the world. The world is nothing but freefall for a few seconds. He feels the thrill that shoots through you and smiles - he can’t help it. Bending at the knee, he braces for impact. You do the same, and the cockpit lands on the jaeger’s mainframe with a metallic clang.

“Calibrating right hemisphere,” Jihoon announces, feeling the machine start to power to life. “Calibrated.”

You repeat on the left side, the full machine powered on and ready with both hemispheres locked in.

“Storm Breaker ready to pursue,” Jihoon says. He looks up at the screen where Fang Striker is engaging the kaiju. Outside of Storm Breaker, he might feel his heart race with panic. Solar Saber is overturned and he has no idea if the pilots are inside of it as it takes on water. “Two miles out from contact.”

“Pursue.”

Your first step as a team is perfect. Fluid. Jihoon knew it would be. He hates to admit that he was wrong, but he knows it is. There is a thread of satisfaction bleeding over from you as Storm Breaker charges into the ocean, water rising rapidly around the waist.

Ocean water slams against Storm Breaker’s chest as you charge toward the fighting. Fang Striker’s comms are patched in, but Wylie and Chan are silent as they rip at the kaiju, pulling at one of its wings that it unfolded from its back. Fang Striker looks tiny against the hulking mass of the monster, but its team is doing what it does best, savaging the creature a little at a time.

“Storm Breaker half a mile out,” you announce, voice like steel. “Ready to engage.”

“Engage at your discretion.”

“Storm Breaker,” Chan says over comms. “Try and restrain this motherfucker. We’ve got a loose plate in its armor to exploit but it keeps shaking us off.”

“Heard.”

As if hearing Chan, the kaiju flings Fang Striker off. Fang Striker’s red body crashes into the ocean, Wylie cursing the kaiju straight to hell and about fifty other foul places.

Storm Breaker engages, both you and Jihoon plunging into the fight. The kaiju swipes at you but you both duck together, dodging the swing as you punch hard from the left in tandem. You knock it hard, it’s head snapping to the side. As a team, you use the opening to wrap the right arm around the kaiju’s neck, squeezing it toward Storm Breaker’s chest in a headlock.

Stabilizers and locks click into place. He grits his teeth, as though feeling the actual strength it takes as the kaiju roars and claws at Storm Breaker, trying to free itself from the headlock. Together, you put the left arm around it, adding to the force to keep the kaiju from slipping from your grip.

Clawed blows hammer down on Storm Breaker. Neither of you gives way, tightening your grip on the creature and ignoring the way the talons scratch against the hull. Storm Breaker is built to withstand, and neither one of you flinches as furious blows rain down on you, fists hammering.

“It looks like that kaiju is playing you like a bongo,” Wylie’s voice comes over comms. “Hey Woozi, do you feel like it’s composing one of those songs you like?”

“Oh sure,” he shoots back. “Take your time, Wylie. It’s not like it’s trying to crack us like an egg.”

“Ugh,” you sigh. “Don’t talk about food. I didn’t eat breakfast. Hey Seungkwan, can you ask Joshua to save me some hash browns? He’s always at the cafeteria first.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “You’re all insane. Any day now, Fang Striker.”

Fang Striker appears from the sky like a creature from hell, a red streak of death as it falls. They land on the kaiju’s back, the force of the landing vibrating through Storm Breaker’s frame. The kaiju tries to twist in Storm Breaker’s arms, but you and Jihoon tighten even further. Fang Striker’s sword glints in the sunlight as it unsheathes.

“Don’t stab us,” you say at the same exact time that Jihoon has the thought.

They almost do. Fang Striker buries the sword through the back of the kaiju, the tip of the blade peaking through its chest, almost scraping against Storm Breaker’s stomach. The monster thrashes wildly for a few minutes, clawing at Storm Breaker’s hull. Fang Striker hits the release on their sword, leaving it embedded in the kaiju’s back to stand and fire into the kaiju with plasma cannons.

Jihoon feels the tremor of the shots land. There’s a final kick from the kaiju before it slumps, putting all of its deadweight on Storm Breaker. In unison, you and Jihoon throw the creature off of you. It lands with a crash, water surging around the creature as its weight drags it down before buoyancy pulls it back up.

Storm Breaker straightens, standing in the open water with a battered Fang Striker a couple of yards away. Panting, Jihoon looks across the Conn-pod where you’re already looking at him, shield on your helmet up as you grin at him. There is unguarded happiness there, nearly as bright as the sun that glints off Storm Breaker’s helm.

“So,” you ask the group. “Can we get hashbrowns now?”

Jihoon realizes at that moment he doesn’t dislike you at all.

“Would you slow down?” Jihoon asks, setting his tray down next to you roughly. He plops in the seat next to you, giving you a severe side eye. “You’re going to throw up the second you hit the treadmill eating that fast.”

“I want to get more bacon before they run out,” you whine. “They won’t make more once it’s gone.”

Uncovering the top of his tray, Jihoon reveals a heap of bacon slices. You oggle as he sets it between the two of you, shaking his head and scoffing. “Yeah,” he huffs. “I know. I brought more, so slow down.”

Affection for your co-pilot warms you. The affection is certainly one-sided, but you don’t mind. In the four months you’ve been co-piloting with Jihoon, he still hasn’t opened up to you.

Despite having made the drop five times together, Jihoon still brings almost nothing to the drift. You catch pieces of him, tiny snippets of memories or emotions or thoughts as you become one. You slowly use them to fit together the pieces of the Jihoon puzzle you’ve been working on every day.

It helps that you live in such close proximity, too. Jihoon’s habits speak far more for them than his words ever could. Like the way he wakes up at the same exact time every day and tries to be asleep at the same time every night, or the way he meticulously cleans your shared living space every Sunday, or the way he starts every sparring session with the same eight-stretch sequence.

He still doesn’t talk about him in your time slotted for getting to know one another. It’s not therapy exactly, but every pilot team has designated time daily to talk things out. To work through things that are bothering them, or to talk about themselves. The more pilots know one another, the better they fight.

You know virtually nothing about Jihoon. He doesn’t talk about himself during sessions, so you talk for him. You tell him about your childhood, about piloting with your mom, about how much you miss Maya. He eventually starts asking questions. Provides responses.

“We’re on the drop schedule tomorrow,” Jihoon notes, flicking through his tablet on the table next to him. “It’s graveyard shift. Do you want me to ask Mingyu and Wonwoo to switch to the day shift?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine.”

He gives you a critical look. “You’re awful in the mornings.”

“Not when I’m fighting.” You snatch more bacon. “Would you rather me or Mingyu in a jaeger at two in the morning?”

“Point taken.” Both of you know the only person more miserable than you in the morning is Kim Mingyu. Jihoon nudges you with your elbow and gestures to the bacon. “Finish up. We have to workout soon.”

“Ugh.”

He smirks. “Cardio day.”

“Ji, no.”

He ignores the nickname. “So much running.”

Now you know he’s doing it on purpose. There are few things in your training schedule that bring Jihoon joy like torturing you during scheduled workouts. He had started slating them each day, determined to harden your conditioning despite the fact that you’re already in decent shape.

Decent is a word in his vocabulary. He only expects perfection and even then, you’re pretty sure it’s unattainable. Still, you finish your breakfast and let him lead you to the gym, peppering him with whining and protests the entire way. He ignores them with a placid smile, hands linked behind his back as he walks.

When you get to the gym, there are other pilots and workers using their free time to exercise. There’s only a single treadmill open, which Jihoon gets on easily. You start to edge your way toward yoga mats with the intention of not working out at all when he leans over to look at the time on the treadmill next to him.

“You’ve been on it for an hour,” he grunts at some boy who looks like a cadet. “Off you go.”

The cadet scrambles off, almost forgetting to turn the treadmill off before he does. He bows in respect before shooting off like a frightened school of fish. Jihoon turns to you, grinning as he pats the machine. “For you.”

“Thanks,” you deadpan. “Just what I’ve always wanted.”

Jihoon’s grin only grows when you step onto the treadmill as he leans over the rail and turns it on, pressing the incline and speed buttons until you’re walking at a warm up pace. Which, for Jihoon, is a solid jog.

As you jog, you fish out headphones from your pocket. You pop them in your ears, careful not to trip as the sound of classical fills your ears. You’ve taken to using Jihoon’s playlists, despite originally making fun of him for it. You find that it distracts you more than you thought it would, and it helps that you feel like a character in a fantasy movie running to an epic soundtrack.

You’ve adopted a lot of things that Jihoon does. It happens naturally, especially the more you drift. You find yourself putting on Mozart instead of Tchaikovsky or taking your coffee black on accident or scolding others in the training room for not being precise and perfect.

Ghost Drifting is what some call it. You don’t think you’re quite there yet, being that Jihoon still hides half of himself away. But sometimes, even outside of the drift, you feel him in your mind like a phantom presence.

After your workout, you go through the same day you have everyday: meditate back to back, sparring, and your talking session, which mostly consists of you both sitting next to one another looking over your drop footage and noting areas for improvement.

Jihoon’s shoulder is pressed against yours, his eyes focused on the tablet in your hands, tracking the slowed down movement of the video. He taps the screen, pointing to the right side of the jaeger that he pilots. “I was a bit slow here.”

“It’s not your reaction time, you’d never punch that slow. That’s the arm that took damage two fights ago against Razorbill. Let’s talk to the J-Tech team and see if there’s a delay in the receptor. It might be a split second off.” He snorts and you glance sidelong at him. “What?”

“You don’t think I’d punch slow?”

“No.”

Jihoon raises his brows. You can feel his surprise at your seriousness to his question. He obviously expected you to turn it into a harmless jab, but you mean it when you say, “Your reaction time has been perfect for the last sixteen drops you’ve made. If there’s a delay, it’s the machinery. Not you.”

He looks away from you, nodding once. The tips of his ears are red and he mutters, “Thanks.”

Instead of pressing the matter like you want to, you smile and hit play again, both of you focusing on the screen once more to talk through the remainder of your allotted bonding time.

In your room, Jihoon turns on the speakers, the sound of Pas de Deux from the Nutcracker floods the room. You pause by the wardrobe where you’re shucking your boots off, gazing at Jihoon as he moves into the kitchen silently, taking out two mugs, a box of peppermint tea and a kettle.

He doesn’t feel your eyes on him, going about making tea for the both of you. He hums along to the song - you don’t know when he became so familiar with it, his movements comfortable. Practiced. Relaxed. A swell of affection overtakes you, realizing you don’t know when he started making you tea. Or putting on Tchaikovsky for you. Or not biting at you every two seconds.

Sensing your gaze, he turns to look at you over his shoulder. You turn away from him, busying yourself with your boots to spare him from making an excuse as to why he’s making you tea. Because you’ll know he’ll give one, provide you with some sort of excuse that it isn’t a favor or because you’re friends, but rather something like the tea bags are too large for one or I have to boil the water anyway.

When you’re done changing for bed, he’s standing next to you, mug extended. He doesn’t look at you, instead finding interest in the cameras outside the Shatterdome. You take the mug from him and say nothing, knowing he’d rather you not thank him.

Mug in hand, you climb carefully into the top bunk, crossing your legs as you nestle the mug next to you, pulling out your tablet to read. He gets into bed without a word, both of you existing in comfortable silence, just like Jihoon prefers.

Alarms wrench you from sleep. You’re thrown forward in your bed, red flashing on the TV as the kaiju alert system wails. You wipe sleep from your face as you haul yourself over the edge of the bunk, landing next to Jihoon who is pulling off his sweats in favor of cargo pants as quickly as he can. You feel dizzy and off balance as you do the same, shoving one foot in your pants and hopping on one leg as your foot catches while trying to shove in the other.

Jihoon grabs you by the elbow, holding you steady as you shove your foot through the leg of your pants and shoot him a grateful look. He nods, letting you go to finish zipping his pants and digging around for a shirt. He can’t seem to find one, cursing under his breath as he roots around. You toss him one of yours instead, grabbing a pair of socks and throwing yourself onto his bunk to yank them on, quickly followed by shoes.

“Fuck,” Jihoon mutters as he looks up at the screen, the red painting him in hellish light. “We’ve got a Cat-4. They’re dropping Emperor’s Mandate and Fang Striker with us.”

“Dino and Wylie weren’t even on rotation.”

“They’re not making the same mistake they did with Solar Saber.” He pulls out a tablet, squinting against the glow. “We're the last line of defense. Hao and Jun will take point with Fang Striker.”

“Got it. Let’s go.”

You take off at a jog, easily keeping pace with one another as you go. There are jaeger teams moving about the building getting ready, the alarms still sounding as you navigate to the jaeger bay. Your team is already there and ready to fit you into Drivesuits, sliding each piece of armor on with practiced care.

Jihoon catches your eyes from where he stands across from you, letting a team member slide his hand into a metal glove. His eyes are dark as the stormy sea outside, a bottomless well that you can’t seem to dive down into, but want to. His lips twitch a little and he gives you a nod, which you’ve come to understand is Jihoon for I trust you.

Screens blink to life as you enter the Conn-Pod. Closing the front shield of your helmet, you immediately turn on open comms, listening as the Marshall and LOCCENT Controller on duty - you think it’s Nainsi - talking Minghao and Junhui through their neural handshake.

The spine of your Drivesuit connects to the Conn-pod, your heads up display coming to life. You feel the metal whirring and clicking into place, rotating your shoulders and flexing your fingers as your jaeger team finishes connecting Jihoon to the Conn-pod before exciting and shutting the door firmly.

“Storm Breaker ready to drop,” Jihoon announces.

“Engaging pilot to pilot connection protocol sequence,” Nainsi answers. “Engaging neural handshake in three… two… one…”

It’s like jumping off a cliff into freezing cold water. You feel the flash of cold, vision going white for a split second before you feel Jihoon’s calm flow through you. He’s steady like an icy river, his thoughts, feelings and emotions hidden down in their dark depth where they can’t bother either of you.

You’re like rapids, rushing thoughts and feelings, pouring everything through the drift at him. He takes it in stride, used to the white-capped rush of information he gets from you each time you connect. Jihoon adjusts easily, already hitting buttons on his screen as images from your day flash through your mind - including you watching him make you tea in the kitchen.

Jihoon says nothing about that. He says nothing about the gentle wave of your embarrassment either as Nainsi says, “Neural handshake strong and holding.”

Chan’s voice crackles through comms. “Fang Striker on standby for neural handshake.”

“Copy. Storm Breaker prepare for drop in three… two… one.”

Dropping feels like falling through the core of the earth. For a few moments, it’s a flightless feeling as you fall through the Shatterdome. Then you land, knees absorbing impact as the head of the jaeger falls into the neck socket, locking in.

“Calibrating right side,” Jihoon announces. “Calibrated.”

“Calibrating left side. Calibrated. Ready to engage.”

Nainsi confirms calibration and directs, “Storm Breaker, take north point defense two miles from the shoreline. Hold that line. Fang Striker, engaging in pilot to pilot connection protocol sequence in three… two… one.”

You tune out the rest of Fang Striker’s drop as you and Jihoon behind to charge into the bay. The windshield in front of you immediately froths with sea salt and wind, battering down on the jaeger as the night sea surges against Storm Breaker’s legs. You cut through the water like a knife, carving your way toward the defense line as the jumphawk team flies into place.

“Five minutes until surface breach.”

“Oh! Hi, Vernon,” you chirp.

“Sup?”

“Would kill for a coffee right now. And like, a bagel. Or hashbrowns?”

Vernon groans. “Mood.”

Jihoon snorts but says nothing. Minghao’s voice comes over the comms, soft and cool. “Blue, everytime I drop with you you’re talking about food.”

“Have you considered that Ji doesn't feed me?”

“So it’s Ji now, huh?”

“Don’t get her started,” Jihoon grunts at Minghao’s teasing. “One mile out from the line of defense.”

Chan joins the conversation, voice chipper. “Fang Striker ready to pursue. Also, good morning everyone!”

Everyone groans in misery collectively instead of greeting him back. Wylie’s voice cracks like a whip as she spits out, “Be nice to him.”

Everyone greets Chan after that. Jihoon shakes his head, amused. “Fang Striker, escort Emperor’s Mandate to engage. Four minutes until surface breach.”

Black ocean ripples outward in front of Storm Breaker as you move. You near the defense line, the city lights like a sea of stars at Storm Breaker’s back. Air support circles overhead, monitoring kaiju activity and helping with positioning. You see the spotlights glinting on the surface, waiting for a kaiju to surface.

To the east of your position, Fang Striker and Emperor’s Mandate cut through the water. Fang Striker’s red paint is violent against the night, but her build is small next to the towering white fury of Minghao and Junhui’s jaeger.

“Storm Breaker in position,” Jihoon calls. You both stop moving, your jaeger coming to a standstill as the water sloshes around your waist.

“Standby, Storm Breaker. Kaiju breach in one minute.”

“Emperor’s Mandate and Fang Striker in position. Ready to engage.”

“Engage at your discretion.”

Comms go silent as the strike team waits for the kaiju to appear. It’s the calm before the storm, the silence pregnant with tension. You feel a tentative brush of Jihoon’s thoughts against you. You turn and glance at him, surprised.

Jihoon is watching you with a stormy expression, thoughtful. “You thinking about letting me in that big ass head of yours?” You tease, just in your personal comms.

He smirks and shakes his head, breaking eye contact to look out the front of Storm Breakers cockpit. “Not a chance.”

It’s a lie. You know it's a lie because you feel it is as sure as you feel your own glittering satisfaction that he’s thinking about it. That Jihoon is considering opening the door for you, even a fraction.

Your satisfaction only lasts a second as the kaiju breaches the surface in front of Emperor’s Mandate and Fang Striker. You watch in strained silence as the jumphawk team begins reporting what they can about the makeup of the kaiju.

Emperor’s Mandate engages immediately, their metal saber chain shooting from the right arm and punching through the shoulder of the kaiju. An electromagnetic pulse goes down the chain and it goes taught like a sword as Junhui slices upward, attempting to sever the kaiju’s arm.

The kaiju lands a hard punch to Emperor’s Mandate in the middle, sending them backward into the ocean as the chain-turned-sword pulls out as they fall. Fang Striker is there before the kaiju can attack again, charging and tackling the kaiju at the waist. She’s not built for heavy fighting, but Chan and Wylie are vicious, clawing at the kaiju with their metal claws.

“Fang Striker, roll!” Minghao orders. Fang Stricker does, using the kaiju as weight to rock themselves over and under the creature, vanishing beneath the water’s surface as Emperor’s Mandate lands a punch to the kaiju’s back with a plasmacaster, turning the night blue as the sparks flare. “Push and we’ll pull.”

Salt spray mists the windshield as you and Jihoon watch in silence. The kaiju is a massive, hulking beast with spikes down its spine and a nasty club tail that catches Fang Striker in the knees, taking her down. The two jaeger teams work in flawless tandem, punching when the other ducks, tackling with the other falls.

In a way, it’s beautiful to watch the fury of what a jaeger can do. Your lips twitch upward as the fight starts to go their way, Emperor’s Mandate severing the leg of the monster as Fang Striker pounces on it, sinking both clawed hands into its shoulder blades and tearing through its hide.

“Storm Breaker-” Vernon’s panicked voice gets cut off as your world turns upside down.

You feel yourself slam against the restraints of the Conn-pod connecting you to the jaeger. A surprised shriek escapes you as you flip head-over-feet in Storm Breaker, crashing into the ocean with a violent slam. A kaiju raises itself from the water, rearing its head like a cobra as it shrieks, the sound shaking the entire hull.

“What the fuck?” Jihoon screams over comms. Storm Breaker rolls as the kaiju strikes like a snake, barely missing you as it hits empty water. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

“There was no reading!” Vernon yells back. “The signature appeared a half second before it attacked like it had some sort of stealth mode!”

“Kaiju don’t have fucking stealth mode, Vernon!”

“Maybe it got an iOS update man, I don’t know!”

There’s no time to care about why or how a kaiju isn’t appearing on the reporting team’s screen. Whatever level it is, it’s fast. You and Jihoon get to your feet just as it strikes again, fangs striking at the windshield. It doesn’t crack, but the sound of kaiju bone against the glass isn’t promising.

Storm Breaker stumbles back a few steps before regaining footing. You both strike with your right fist, slamming into the neck area of the beast as it winds up to strike again. It looks like a massive cobra, coils and coils of kaiju body gathering each time it tries.

A shudder vibrates through the jaeger as the punch lands, sending the kaiju back several hundred yards. You don’t give it a moment to recover, both of you charging as you equip short swords perfect for close-combat fighting and slicing.

“I think it’s too fast to pick up a reading,” you shout over comms. “It moves so quickly!”

Fighting is a careful rhythm. You and Jihoon find it immediately, tuning out the sound of the other fight as you zero in on your target. It doesn’t matter that the kaiju took you by surprise, it doesn’t matter that Jihoon still hasn’t let you in, it doesn’t matter that somewhere, you have other friends in just as much danger.

What matters is this. The feeling of rage that flows from Jihoon - or maybe it’s you - as you both savagely plunge a sword in the serpent body of your enemy. What matters is the way you and Jihoon flow, two rivers with the same curves and dips, sliding around the kaiju as you strike again, spraying ichor into the sea.

Storm Breaker’s sword extends from the right arm, reflecting the city lights briefly before you cut sideways. The blade slides clean through like a knife through paper. You and Jihoon both scream savagely in unison as the head flies separate from the body, sailing in the air for a moment before crashing into the surface as blood spurts from the main body.

It flails for a moment longer before crashing under ocean froth and water. Victory surges through you and you look across the Conn-pod where Jihoon is grinning at you, stars in his eyes. You feel a moment of elation, laughter bubbling to your lips as Nainsi recalls you to the Dome, Emperor’s Mandate and Fang Striker standing victorious.

“That’s kill number six?” Jihoon asks, voice delighted. “We’re on a fucking roll.”

“I guess I’m not so bad a co-pilot after all, right?” He rolls his eyes but you get the feeling the tips of his ears have turned red. “Come on, Ji. Tell me I’m a good co-pilot.”

“No way.”

“Come onnnn.”

He levels a look at you, dark eyes churning. He licks his lips, opening and closing his mouth before he finally murmurs, “Can I show you instead?”

The left foot of Storm Breaker is yanked from under you. You go down screaming, feeling the impact of the seafloor as you go down in the shallows hard. Pain shoots up your left arm as you slam against the restraints keeping you attached to the Conn-pod. Lights flash in your heads up display and a sensor starts going off, the left arm of the jaeger going dead as it loses connection.

Jihoon is screaming your name over comms as you grit your teeth, and gather your bearings. You suck in a sharp breath as you both scramble to get Storm Breaker on her feet. “Left arms gone cold,” Jihoon yells over comms. You manage to get Storm Breaker to her feet as you both throw out your right arm, bracing for impact as the kaiju’s head strikes again. “It grew back two fucking heads!”

“Fang Striker pursuing!” It’s Chan voice over the comms. “Three miles out from contact.”

One of the heads strikes at the helm again, knocking into Storm Breaker hard. Your world rocks as you shove with the full force of the right side of the jaeger, thrusters turning on as you launch the kaiju and its twin heads backward.

“How the fuck do we kill this thing?” you screech, charging toward the creature as it slides through the water, coiling to strike again. “If we cut off its head again, it’s just going to grow another.”

“Stab it through the head? I don’t fucking know!”

Snatches of panic and anger and concern seize you for a split second, it feels like your own but you realize it’s not, Jihoon’s feelings bleeding into you like a fresh wound as you strike at the kaiju again. Its tail loops around the left leg again and Jihoon’s worry spikes, so raw and unfamiliar that when he lifts his foot, you don’t lift yours.

Storm Breaker stalls, filled with mechanic screeching as the two of you clash in the drift in a moment of indecision. A storm of emotions batters down on you. Your lungs squeeze as you feel yourself torn away from the fight and into Jihoon’s memories, each one flitting by so fast you can barely resonate with them.

A little boy bullied by bigger kids. A woman being torn out of a home screaming in the hand of a kaiju. The sound of Mozart drowning out the screams of destruction. Young Jihoon crying in his room alone, nursing bruised ribs and knees. Teenage Jihoon fighting back. A man named Haneul that has seen all of Jihoon’s scars.

“... out of alignment!”

Words crash through you as you feel a tremor go through Storm Breaker. Jihoon’s thoughts are like a hurricane tearing at your foundation.

Hatred when he meets you for the first time. Pride when he makes his first successful drop. Grief when Haneul retired. Resentment when he’s reassigned to a new pilot.

Jihoon screams your name but you are drowning in him. Jihoon’s emotional dam has broken and years worth of who he is comes out in a torrent.

Jihoon joins the pilot program because he wants to get away from the home. The smell of books and oil lanterns. Greasy fingers and fumes. A blue mat rushing up to meet him as he falls.

“Emperor’s Mandate two miles out. Preparing to engage!”

Bitter coffee. Celebrating Haneul’s birthday. The sting of Chan biting him mid spar. Pretending he didn’t hate his childhood. Hiding the scared little boy behind a controlled exterior.

“She’s chasing the rabbit!”

Chasing the rabbit. You hear the word and vaguely realize you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of Jihoon’s memories and emotions, completely unused to them in a space where you’re connected intimately. You try to gather your bearings, shutting down the images flashing across your mind that don’t belong to you as Storm Breaker gets rocked again.

“Shit,” Jihoon swears. “Blue, come on. Come back to me. I’m sorry. Don’t chase my memories!”

A kite against a blue sky. Two paper boats on a lake. Your smile as you hang upside down off the bunk bed. Soonyoung giving Jihoon a birthday cake. Wylie in a hospital bed. Jeonghan and Joshua accepting pilots of the year.

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon whispers, both in your mind and outloud. “Come back.”

You can do this. You can withstand the storm of Jihoon’s consciousness. You shake him out of your head, sorting out your thoughts and his. It’s nearly impossible to understand where you end and he begins, but you manage to hold back the wake of his uncontrolled consciousness.

Blinking, you come back to the present. There are lights and warnings going off as Storm Breaker takes another strike from the kaiju. Fang Striker is taking on its other head, the kaiju splitting focus between two jaeger teams as it tries to split open the top of your jaeger. Wylie and Chan are yelling in comms and Emperor’s Mandate is in pursuit to help you disengage.

The left arm of your jaeger is still cold, totally disconnected from the rest of the machinery. You run through a list of fighting options with one arm down. The right side of the jaeger is fitted with a sword, explosive and a plasma caster in the first of the hand. But the jaeger overall-

“Light it up,” you tell Jihoon. His relief crashing into you like a tidal wave. He understands what you want to do immediately. You feel his agreement rather than see it as you both start to tap controls on your control panels. “Fang Striker, prepare for lighting strike!”

“Fry this motherfucker!” Wylie screams. “I fucking hate snakes!”

The nuclear reactor at the core of your jaeger starts to charge. From the top down, your jaeger begins to power down, lights flickering out and screens going dead. Your heart hammers as the kaiju slams into the head of the jaeger over and over again, trying to crack the helm wide open. Storm Breaker takes the savage blows as all but the nuclear core shuts off.

A low hum begins to sound at the heart of the machine. You feel the vibration tingle in your spine as all of the energy flow focuses in the center of the jaeger, slowly charging and pulling electricity from everywhere else. It’s a slow process, the kaiju beating down on you as the core winds up.

“Fuck,” Jihoon swears at a particularly harsh strike. “This fucking bitch!”

“We’ve got it,” you tell him. You look across the Conn-pod at him, his face pale behind the shield of his helmet. “She’s not going to break, Ji.”

You feel your words resonate in him. His affection is startling. He hides nothing from you now, every thought he’s ever had of you, every moment his eyes lingered on you too, every second he realized he didn’t dislike you at all - it’s all there for you to see. His soul laid bare.

“She’s ready!” Your smile is like the sun. “Light her up!”

Jihoon hits a button on his panel and the air turns to static. A ripple of energy passes through you, only lasting a split second before a bolt of white lightning explodes from the center of the jaeger. The world turns white, forcing you to shield your eyes as you hear the crack of deafening thunder.

Ears ringing, you lower your hand as the light fades, blue sparks of electricity zapping across the ocean in a mile-wide radius. Smoking, the kaiju falls backwards, ocean spraying up on either side as it hits the surface of the sea. You can barely hear Fang Striker over the sound of the high-pitched whine in your ears.

You wait, but the kaiju doesn’t rise again. The jumphawk team circles above, waiting for another kaiju signature, but none comes.

Sagging in your Conn-pod, you glance over at Jihoon. “Does that count as one or two kills? I’m so fucking over monster fighting today. I want a goddamn grilled cheese.”

Jihoon is a wreck. Not only does he visibly hover near your medical bed as the attending medic tends to your arm, ensuring it’s not broken, but you can still feel him like he’s attached to you in the drift. His concern is touching, but there’s also anger there. Not at you but at himself, boiling under the surface of his newfound worry.

“So she’ll be okay?” he clarifies again, looking at the doctor with a hard stare. The man tending to your arm looks nervous under the sharp gaze of a jaeger pilot. “You’re sure it’s not broken? It better not be broken.”

“Jihoon,” you say gently. He crosses his arms over his chest, not taking his eyes off the doctor as he stares him down. “I’m fine. It’s just some bruising.”

“Just some bruising. Your arm practically fell off.”

“It did not. Let the doctor finish, Ji.”

He softens, turning to sit on an empty cot as he sulks. You watch him with muted amusement. His bottom lip juts out slightly, put out by you not letting him baby you. Cute, you think.

Thankfully, the arm isn’t damaged. You’d bruised it pretty severely when Storm Breaker went down and you slammed against your restraints, but otherwise you’re unharmed. Some pain meds, ice and rest should do the trick, so you and Jihoon leave the medical bay with the doctor’s advice in hand and Jihoon muttering under his breath.

Back in your room, Jihoon sits you on his bottom bunk to examine the arm himself, holding you carefully as though he can break you at any moment. You let him have this, watching as his eyebrows crease and mouth twists while he rotates your arm delicately.

He has pretty hands. You’ve always thought so, but now you watch his slender fingers brush over your sore arm with care, feeling a shiver threaten the base of your spine.

“You should ask for a reassignment.” Jihoon’s words land like a brick. You look up at him, eyes flashing with confusion. “I nearly killed you today. It was unprofessional and shameful as your co-pilot to knock you out of alignment like that. You don’t deserve that.”

“It happens, Jihoon. Fighting in a jaeger isn’t always perfect.”

“Well I am. And today I wasn’t. Request a new pilot, the Marshall will understand. People don’t last with me, it’ll be no risk to you.”

“I’m not requesting a new pilot. You’re who I want to drift with.”

He starts to pace. “Why? I’m obviously still that scared little boy who used to hide in his room alone.”

Even without having felt his emotions in the drift, Jihoon makes so much more sense to you now. You reach out to him, taking him by the arms to stop his pacing. He won’t look at you, averting his eyes elsewhere. Your heart squeezes knowing that the reason Jihoon kept you out is because he didn’t want you to see who he was before he was the controlled, perfect jaeger pilot.

“You’re not, Jihoon.” You squeeze his arm to emphasize your words. “But even if you were, I trust that little boy too. He was empathetic and kind.” Jihoon glances at you, unsure. “Don’t run away from me now that you’ve let me in. I’ve seen you and I still want you. Unless you don’t want me.”

“Of course I do.”

“It’s hard to tell with you, you know?”

His gaze drops down to your mouth. “I’ll show you, then.”

Without another word, Jihoon grabs you by the waist and pulls you to him fully. Your arms slip around his neck, holding onto him for balance as he crashes his mouth to yours. His lips are warm and soft in contrast to the ferocity he kisses you with, fingers digging into your hips, mouth hungry.

You meet him with equal fervor, fingers tangling in the long hair at the nape of his neck. He grunts when your nails scratch against his scalp, biting into your lower lip. He presses his tongue to the seam of your mouth and you let him in, sighing as his tongue brushes against yours, eager to taste you.

Kissing Jihoon is like standing in the eye of a storm. He’s brutal and calm, sharp and soft. His heart beats against yours, his chest heaving when he pulls away from your mouth to press wet kisses to the shape of your jaw and down your throat.

One of Jihoon’s hands slides up your back, fingers dancing along your spine until he reaches the base of your neck. He grabs you firmly, pulling your head back to give him better access to the softness of your throat. You let out a breathy sound and he groans low in his throat.

“Don’t make that sound,” he whispers, biting your neck gently and chasing the sting with his tongue. “I’ll fucking crumble.”

“So crumble.”

“Fuck.”

Jihoon starts pushing you backward, your steps a tangle of feet. It might be the most uncoordinated the two of you have ever been, caught up in the heat of each other’s mouths as he kisses you feverishly again. It’s messy and spit-slicked, making you light headed. Your knees hit his bottom bunk and you crash backward, Jihoon on top of you.

Your hands seek the warmth of his skin, sliding under the hem of his shirt over his flexing stomach to his firm chest. He lets you rake your nails across him as he settles on top of you, his hands planted on either side of your head and a knee slotted between your legs.

Having him this close is everything. Months of not being able to have him entirely or the way you want has made you ravenous for him. You pull at his shirt, nipping at his lip and whining. He laughs darkly, leaning up from you to grab the back of his shirt and pull it up over his head.

He lets you do what you want, content to let you run your fingers over the ridges of his stomach, the narrow shape of his waist, the firmness of his chest. He dives back down to attach his mouth to your collarbone, pulling the neckline of your shirt out of the way for access.

“Just take it off,” you complain, shivering as he continues his assault.

“Mmmf - difficult.”

This is not the composed Jihoon you’re used to. This is the raw, unedited version of him you’ve been begging to see. This is the storm letting loose because he knows you can take it - want to take it.

Jihoon does get tired of your shirt, growling as he grabs it firmly and tears it up and over your head. You laugh as he does, loving the way he scowls and presses you back down, biting your jaw as he does. He palms your tits over your bra, pinching your nipples through the fabric. You squeal and arch into him, head pressing into the mattress.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he huffs, mouth trailing butterfly-soft kisses toward your chest.

“Sensitive?” you jest, dropping a hand between your bodies to press against the front of his pants. He hisses, hips twitching as you press against his cock. You grin wickedly as he pants raggedly against your skin, letting you squeeze him. “Yeah, you are.”

Jihoon drags his knee up the bed, pressing between your legs. A bolt of pleasure surges through you and you whimper, making him smirk against your chest. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

He drops a hand down to your waist, squeezing. “Didn’t sound like nothing. Come on,” he urges. “You know you want to.”

So you do. You roll your hips forward, pressing your clothed cunt against his thigh. The layers of clothes block too much of the sensation and you press harder, desperate for stimulation. A whine drips from your mouth as you grow frustrated. You feel the curve of Jihoon’s smile against the curve of your left breast as he places a wet kiss there.

“Having a hard time?”

“Jihoon.”

One hand stays fixed on your hips, urging you to continue to grind into him despite it not being enough. The other slides up your front, his fingers light as feathers. He hooks a finger in the cup of your bra and pulls downward. He drags his mouth downward, giving your nipple a playful flick with his tongue.

“Jihoon.”

He hums thoughtfully, circling your pert bud with his tongue. A tremor goes through you and you squeeze your eyes shut. He closes his mouth on you and sucks gently, making you gasp. You continue to roll your hips into him as he scrapes his teeth against you gently.

Cool air hits your spit-slicked chest as he kisses sloppily over to your other breast, repeating his ministrations. It feels so good you feel like you’re going to lose your mind. His skin is hot against yours and you’re desperate to feel more of him, hands pulling at his shoulders as he sucks wet marks into your chest.

“More,” you whisper. “God, please more.”

He knows what you mean when you say more because of course he does. He rids you of your bra entirely, throwing it somewhere else in the room. He works the buttons on your pants next, deft fingers moving quickly before tugging them down your thighs. He lets you pull his cargos down and throw them, but it’s as far as you get before he’s lavishing attention to your tits again.

“Try now,” he pants.

His knee is pressed right against the apex of your thighs. You don’t care that he can feel the damp cloth against his skin. You slow grind on his knee, feeling the pressure infinitely better with just a thin layer of underwear between you. A sigh of relief escapes you and he grunts, pleased as you keep going, thighs shaking.

You could drown in him and not care. He smells like spearmint and soap, his hair soft as silk as it slides between your fingers. He gives a sound of approval everytime you card your hands through his hair, especially when he gives you a sharp bite and you tug.

A tingle settles in the depth of your stomach. You feel like you could almost come this way, getting off with just his leg between your thighs and his mouth sucking greedily at your tits. You feel yourself tighten, hips pressing further but it’s not quite enough.

He reads you like a book. Jihoon slides his knee back and replaces it with his hand, fingers delicately pressing against your clit. It makes you see stars, going rigid in his grasp as he gently circles it a few times before dragging his fingers back down to press at your core through your underwear.

“So god damn wet,” he lets go of your nipple with a pop. He hooks a finger through your underwear and pulls them to the side, his knuckles brushing your sticky folds. “So pretty for me.”

His compliment makes you shy. You hide your face behind your hands and he laughs darkly, letting you. He’s already seen all of you in the drift, but this is different. More personal. Real.

The press of a finger into your cunt is slow and maddening. You immediately want more, desperate for it. He doesn’t give it to you right away, taking his time as he busies his mouth with your chest and neck, content to finger fuck you at a leisurely pace.

When he hooks his finger and presses right into that soft spot, you seize up. He grins, finding exactly what he was looking for. His mouth catches yours again, a tangle of tongue and teeth as he presses another finger in. You squirm against the mattresses, pinned under his weight. The heel of his hand presses into your clit, adding pressure as he strokes your front walls rhythmically.

You’re greedy for him. You suck his tongue into your mouth and he moans, letting you do what you want. The wet squelch of his hand between your legs only spurs you on, his name dripping from your lips in a whine as you cling to him, feeling the start of your orgasm.

Jihoon knows it’s coming. His pace is more intent and he shuffles up the bed to get a better angle. Your toes curl and you writhe against the sheets, feeling the way they stick to your balmy skin as he works you closer and closer to an orgasm.

He presses a soft kiss under your ear, chaste compared to the mess he makes of your cunt. “Come on,” his voice is husky and gentle. “Let go for me.”

It’s his for me that sends you over the edge. Your legs squeeze around his hand but he keeps at it, pressing tender kisses to your collarbones as you twitch under his touch. Your orgasm starts to wane and turn into overstimulation, your panting turning into whimpering, nails digging into the back of his neck, unsure if you’re trying to push him away or keep him there.

Jihoon retracts his hand slowly. You feel the way you drip down the curve of your ass as you pant, staring up at the bottom of your bunk trying to gulp down air. He nudges his nose against your jaw, bringing your attention back to the present as his dark eyes look up at you.

Your voice comes out rough from use. “Want you.”

The corner of his mouth lifts and he nods, lifting himself off you to let you peel your underwear the rest of the way down as he works his briefs down his thighs. You let out a squeak when you look up to see him using the cum on his fingers to stroke himself, head tilted back a little, eyes heavy.

“What?” he murmurs, dropping his gaze down to you. His eyes are fucked out just from getting you off and it drives you insane, this visual of him blotchy with warmth, hair sticking to his forehead.

“You’re so hot,” you blurt and he pauses, raising a brow at you. “Don’t stop.”

“You like when I touch myself in front of you?” You nod, chewing on your lip as you stare. He grins and starts stroking himself slowly again, squeezing his flushed tip as he does, beads of precum dripping over the edge. “I’ll give you a show later. If I don’t fuck you in the next five minutes I will nut in my hand.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t hate it.”

“Oh? You want me to cum in my hand instead of that pretty pussy?” You purse your lips, staring back at him with a pout. “Didn’t think so.” He laughs and shuffles on his knees toward you, shaking his head and groaning when your legs fall open automatically for him, revealing the mess he’s made. “Can’t believe I made myself wait for this.”

“How stupid of you.”

Your stomach flutters when Jihoon lowers himself, cockhead pressing at your entrance. You ache for him - in more ways than one. Jihoon feels it too, hanging his head and letting his hair cascade around his face like a silvery halo as he slowly presses in.

His name falls from your mouth as you gasp, feeling the pressure of him as he sinks into your cunt slowly. You feel full and overwhelmed and perfect all at once, a myriad of feelings peppering your senses until he’s fully sheathed to the hilt.

Jihoon’s breathing is ragged for a moment as you clench around him, throbbing. He sucks in air sharply between his teeth, one hand going to your hip to press you into the mattress while the other lands next to your head, bearing his weight.

“Thank you for waiting for me.” You almost don’t hear him when he says it, his voice so soft. “When you didn’t have to.”

Your arms loop around his neck, pulling him closer. His nose brushes against yours and you feel your adoration for him grow. “Of course I did. You were meant for me.”

Prompted by your words, he nods and pulls his hips back slowly. The glide is easy with how wet you are. He thrusts back in with a hard snap, stealing your breath. The ability to string together coherent words vanishes as Jihoon sets a punctuated space.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

Fuck is right. Jihoon angles his hips perfectly, kissing your spot with each thrust with a deadly precision you’ve only seen in battle. Of course he fucks like he fights with absolute accuracy, driving you right toward an orgasm within a few minutes. Your fingers tangle in your hair, mouth pressed against his forehead where it rests against you.

His hand slides from your hips to your thigh, slipping under it and hiking it upward. It deepens the angle and you let out a loud sound, unable to catch your breath as sparks fly behind your eyelids.

“Holy shit, like that.” You’re a mess under him and he knows it, driving his hips faster as you continue to fall apart. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

“Yeah?” he asks, almost taunting. “Gonna come like this?”

“Yes, please don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t. He keeps going, driving you to the edge until you’re coming around him with enough force to knock heads with him. He mumbles something that sound like ouch but you’re too far gone, squeezing the fucking life out of him as you come before going boneless.

Jihoon pulls out and flips you, your world spinning as you land face first in his pillows. They smell like him and you love it, sliding your hands up to grip at the pillows as he drags your knees up, ass toward him. Sweat slicks your back and you try to take in a few ragged breaths, turning your head to the side to watch him sidelong.

His dark eyes dip to your ass and he curses, shifting backward so that he can lean down, hands prying your thighs apart to make way for his tongue as it slides up your pussy.

“Oh shit,” you wheeze.

He practically purrs against you, tongue licking slowly back and forth. The grip on his pillows tightens, one of your hands shooting back to grab his hair, holding him to you. He laughs, the vibration going straight through you as he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking over it.

“I love when you pull my hair,” he admits, panting as he takes a breath.

His tongue dives back in, pressing against your clenching hole. It is maddening the way he works you with his mouth. You feel like you’re coasting to another high. He knows exactly what to do, knows when to slow down, knows when to speed up. Jihoon has had access to you for months and it shows, navigating your body like it’s second nature to him.

“I’m gonna come again.” It comes out as a whine, fingers twisting in his locks. “Shit.”

“So come again.”

You do. It’s not as hard as the first one but it’s just as good, your orgasm shivering through you. Warmth floods you and you bite into his pillow, muting the loud sound that spills from your lips.

Jihoon doesn’t give you a second to recover before he’s up on his knees and pushing back into you. His hand cracks across your ass and you let out a startled yelp, earning laughter from both of you. Spent and delirious, your hand finds purchase on his wrist, holding on to him as he fucks you fast and hard.

He lets go of where he holds your hip to lace your fingers instead, pressing your linked fingers against the curve of your ass as he drills his hips forward. Somehow the hand holding is more intimate, your throat screwing shut as Jihoon chases after his own high.

With a muted murmur of your name, he comes. His thrusts turn messy, each press of his hips against your ass met with a wet sound. You don’t even care about the slick running down your legs, absolutely spent and sweaty and tired and a little in love with the man behind you.

Slowly, he lets go of your hand. You drop your arm to the mattress, suddenly aware of the ache in your shoulder at the angle. Instead of pulling out, Jihoon leans forward, pressing his sweaty chest to your back, mouth brushing softly against your shoulders.

“Thank you.”

You’re so close to sleep that you barely register what he’s saying. “For what?”

“Withstanding the storm,” he laughs. “Withstanding me and waiting me out.”

“You’re worth it.”

“I hope so. I want to be.”

With care, he detangles himself from you. You make a pitiful sound and he tuts at you, rolling you over on your back so that he can see your face. His eyes swim with more affection than you’ve ever seen, kick starting your heart. You lift a hand and tuck his bangs behind his ear, fingers lingering to brush across his cheek.

“So I’m kind of like your Storm Breaker, right?”

He groans. “Don’t start.”

“What? You literally just said I withstood the storm or whatever.”

“Come on, we’re showering.”

“No way, I am not moving right now.”

“You are not sleeping covered in cum.”

“Ji,” you whine.

He grins and kisses your head, getting out of bed. “Come on then, storm breaker. Withstand me a little more.”

Also in this Universe: Cherry Bomb by @daechwitatamic

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@ldysmfrst @thepoopdokyeomtouched @avochele @kwonshiho

*If you requested a tag but don't see it here, it did not let me tag you!

#woozi smut #woozi fic #woozi svt smut #woozi svt fic #lee jihoon smut #lee jihoon fic #woozi x reader #woozi x you #lee jihoon x reader #lee jihoon x you #svt smut #woozi angst #lee jihoon angst

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daisies-daydreams · 1 year

Text

Focus (König x F!Reader)

Pairing: König x F!Sergeant!Reader Category: Pure Smut (18+) Warnings: Swearing, Dom/sub, Inappropriate Work Relationships (König is your superior), Brat Taming, Unprotect P in V Sex (You Know the Drill), Vaginal Sex, Sex, Rough Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Spanking, Bondage, Cockwarming, Orgasm Control, Edging, Praise Kink, Mirror Sex, Full Nelson Position, Creampie Word Count: 2.9k+

A/N: I tried looking for this fic while I was updating my masterlist, but I could only find it on my AO3. :( I’m not sure if it got lost in the abyss or if I forgot to post it on here as well. Side note: König’s real name is Felix in this fic.

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Your chest rose and fell along with the movements of your arms. Your muscles burned as you raised and lowered the barbell, but you needed something to get your mind off of what happened earlier. You glanced up as a large shadow overcast you.

“Care to explain why you were such a terrible shot during the marksmanship test today?” your commanding officer, Colonel König, asked in a gruff, low voice.

Speak of the devil.

His beefy arms were crossed against his chest as he glared down at you with his piercing, blue eyes. You puffed out a breath as you placed the barbell on the wrack. \ You could hear his lead boot thudding against the ground as he waited for your reply.

“I was a little…distracted today,” you said as you briefly glanced into his eyes. König huffed out a laugh as he shook his head.

“Distractions cost lives in the field, Sergeant,” he reprimanded. You bite your lip as you puffed your chest out, slowly rising up from lying down on the weightlifting bench.

“Well, if you have anything that would help me focus, I’d love to hear it,” you said as you took the weights off the barbell. You could feel his eyes boring into your back as you swayed your hips side to side while putting the weights away. The corners of your lips curled up a bit as a large hand rested on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly as the fabric of his mask brushed against your neck.

“I have a training regiment in mind. A very…special one that would help. Especially for a brat like you,” he husked into your ear. You licked your lips as you turned, your ass just barely grazing over his covered crotch.

“And how soon should I start this regiment, Colonel?” you whisper in a lithe tone. König’s eyes narrowed as he pushed his hardening cock against the plush of your behind.

“As soon as possible,” he murmured.

---

The door to König’s room slammed with so much force you thought the door would fall off its hinges. His posture was rigid as he turned back to you.

“Take off your clothes. Now,” he commanded sternly as he unbuckled his belt. Your fingers deftly worked to peel your shirt and workout tights off of your body. The colonel scoffed when you remained in your workout bra and panties. He stepped forward, his pants loosely hanging over his rugged hips. “It seems you have more than just an issue with focus, Hase,” he rubbed his palm against the leather belt as he stepped forward. You shifted your thighs together as he loomed over you, his rough hands pushing you onto the bed.

“Turn around and bend over for me like a good little soldier,” König rasped. You turned and stuck your ass out as you bent over, your breasts pushing against the comforter you’ve grown so familiar with over the past few months. You heard the belt squeak in his tightened grip before he snatched your wrists in his hands. You could feel your pussy get even wetter as he tied the belt around your hands, securing it with a firm nod. His fingers traced down your hands and over your back, goosebumps rising in the wake of his surprisingly gentle touch.

“I’ve seen you slacking off, Sergeant,” he began. You heard the soft sound of his boots thudding against the hardwood floor as he shuffled behind you. You tried to stifle a gasp as he roughly grabbed your asscheeks and kneaded them. “Are you really that desperate for my cock?” König scolded before laying a sharp slap across your bum. You bit your lip as the pain stung against your plush skin. The colonel behind you groaned as he spread your cheeks apart, no doubt gazing at the small wet patch in the crotch of your panties.

“Judging by how soaked you’re getting, my assumptions are correct,” he chuckled mockingly. You gasped as he suddenly pulled you onto his lap. He was still fully clothed, yet you could feel his prominent, growing erection beneath his rough pants.

“But you’re going to have to earn it-earn having my big, fat cock stuffing that tight little cunt of yours,” König husked as he smoothed his hand over the sore spot on your behind. You resisted the urge to wiggle in his hold as he raised his hand. “By being obedient,” he said before slapping your ass again, letting his palm linger and pressing into the raw handprint. You whined and nodded.

“Y-Yes Colonel,” you moaned. König grunted as he squeezed your ass.

“Good girl. Now, count how many spankings I give you. If you mess up, I’ll start all over again. Am I clear?” he huffed.

“Yes sir,” you said. König groaned as he rubbed his hand up and down the globes of your butt.

“Gut,” he rasped in his native tongue before slamming his palm against your ass [Good]. You arched your back as your toes instantly curled.

“One!” you cried out. Another crossed your other cheek in a matter of seconds. “Two!” you yelped as your body lurched forward. Heat spreads from the top of your head to the tips of your toes with each slap against your ass, your pussy soaking the soft fabric of your underwear. Soon your ass is left alone, raw and sore from all of the spankings. Your hands strain against your back as your superior pushes your panties to the side again, his fingers now sliding against your wet slit. You shiver and clench your fists as he chuckles.

“Sensitive, are we?” König mused as he spread your folds apart with his thick digits. A small noise leaves your throat when you hear the sound of fabric tearing. You whip your head around to see part of your panties held snugly in his fist.

“There are consequences for disobeying, Hase,” he tsked [bunny]. The expression on your face drew an amused twinkle in his eye. “You thought the spankings were your punishment?” König hummed as the pads of his fingers circled around the ring of your entrance. He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Nein-I’ll make sure it’s much more…effective,” he rumbled [No]. You whined when he drew long strokes up and down your slit, circling your swollen, sensitive clit every once in a while.

“O-Oh my God,” you squealed as he pinched your nub. You heard him chuckle behind you as his other hand massaged the back of your thigh.

“We’re going to do another exercise, hase,” your commander groaned [bunny]. Your lips parted as he slowly shoved two of his fingers into your entrance, letting them linger just inside the tight ring. “I want you to count every stroke of my fingers inside your pussy,” he husks, his hot breath fanning over your neck. You nod, your lip hurting from how hard you were biting it. You moaned loudly as he suddenly began to pump his fingers inside of you quickly.

“Uh, uhm-one two three four five six seven-” you tried to keep up with each stroke, your mind getting foggy with arousal.

“Speak louder!” he barked as he pressed his thumb down on your bundle of nerves.

“EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN-” you shouted, your voice dry and hoarse as he shoved his fingers deep inside your wet hole. Your voice stammered as you grew closer to your orgasm with each number, your muscles tightening as every fiber in your being screamed for release. And suddenly…it stopped. Your eyes shot open as you felt him yank his digits from your pussy. The colonel sighed as he stared down at the slick on his fingers.

“What a shame: you missed fifteen,” he mused. You gritted your teeth as your nostrils flared. König huffed before picking you up like a little kitten. He set you down on the bed as he stripped his clothes. You gaped at the sight of his throbbing erection as it sprang free from the confines of his boxers. König chuckled as he watched you wiggle against the mattress for any form of friction.

“Such an impatient little thing,” he clicked his tongue. You yelped when he picked you up again. He spread his legs wide open as he sat on the edge of the bed. You caught a glance of your naked form in the full-length mirror in front of you. König sighed as he slowly sank you down on his member. You winced as just the head breached your entrance, spreading you wide open for the rest of his shaft to sheath inside of your pussy. Both of you groaned as he bottomed out, his plush balls resting against your slick labia.

“Guess I’m going to have to teach you some patience, too,” he hummed as he let your legs drape over his own. Your brows furrowed in disappointment when he simply lets his cock rest inside of your gummy walls.

“K-König,” you mewled as you wiggled your ass against the divots of his abs. The giant man inhaled deeply as he squeezed your hips.

“Stay still, soldier,” he growled. You bit the inside of your cheek as he kept your hips from rolling. The pressure inside you was boiling and rising to the surface as he made you warm his massive member. The slight sting of the stretch faded though until you found your walls relaxing. They suddenly clench when you hear the soft hum of a vibrator. Before you have time to react, you feel the tip of the toy kiss against your clit. König smirked as he leaned his head down.

“You see that, Hase? See how much my thick cock bulges inside of you?” König husked into your ear [bunny]. You whimper as he pushes the vibrator deeper against your clit, your bundle of nerves puffy and throbbing from how much he’s been teasing you. You feel his other hand come up and grip your jaw, forcing you to look into the mirror. You shudder as you stare at the reflection of his girth stuffing your tight, dripping cunt.

“Answer me when I’m speaking to you, Sergeant,” your commanding officer rumbled as he squeezed your cheeks mockingly. You swallowed thickly, throat tight and mind clouded with an intoxicating pleasure.

“Y-Yes sir. I see it,” you breathed out. You whimpered when he pulled the vibrator away from your aching cunt. A high-pitched squeal escaped from your bitten lips as he laid a slap against the top of your pussy.

“Tell me exactly what you see, Sergeant (L/N),” the Austrian groaned as his hands rested on the top of your thighs, his long fingers drumming over your goose-bump ridden skin. Every stroke and dip of his digits sparked a fire that danced across every nerve in your body.

“I-I can see your cock inside of me,” you mewled. König hummed and traced his fingers against the inside of your thighs.

“What else?” he purred, his teeth raking down your pulse as his hands danced up your sides. You squeezed your legs over his muscular thighs. He groaned into your ear as he took your hard nipples between his calloused fingers.

“I-I see you playing with my tits,” you whined. You squealed when the Colonel pinched your nipples as he “tsked” you.

“Oh Sergeant, I know you can do better than that. You’re such a clever girl,” he whispered, voice husky and drenched with lust. “Tell me everything now-what you see, hear, smell…” You whined as he puckered his lips onto your neck, sucking on it harshly while his cock twitched inside of your gummy walls. “Feel,” he murmured.

“I-I’m spread wide open in front of a mirror,” you begin. König grunts as he trails a line of fresh hickeys down your sweat-covered skin. You take a deep breath. “My thighs are spread over yours, your p-plump balls resting just below the place where our sexes are snug,” you keen as he licks a bold stripe over the bruises, his fingers massaging your tender areola. “I can feel the head of your cock kiss my cervix like you want to breed me,” you continued. You moan when he suddenly bucks his hips upwards into your heat.

“Yes,” he groans as he shallowly thrusts into you. “Keep going,” he commands with a light slap to your upper thigh. You bite your lip as you gaze at the lewd scene in front of you.

“I-I can feel every vein of your thick cock drag against my plush walls-oh!” you moan as he tugs on your nipples again. The noise he makes is akin to a purr as he bucks up into your core, eliciting a solo of moans from your plump lips.

“That’s right. Good girl. Good fucking girl,” König growled, his hands now falling to your hips as he squeezes them roughly. Your head falls back against his shoulder before he pulls your face back up.

“Keep looking,” he hissed, voice wavering as his thrusts became faster. You panted and moaned, your voice reverberating across his bedroom walls. You tried to bounce on his cock to match the pace of his thrusts, but your thighs wouldn’t stop shaking. You gasped when you felt your colonel wrap his arms beneath your knees and lifted you up, only to slam you back down on his meaty rod.

“Mmm, such a pretty, tight cunt,” he moaned as his hips snapped up, eyes glued to the piece of glass in front of you. “And it’s all mein,” König snarled. Your head was reeling as he slammed his cock into you repeatedly. You flushed at the sight of your cream coating his long shaft, dripping down and lathering his twitching ballsac. You keened loudly as he bit into your shoulder.

“Say it, say you’re mine,” he groaned, voice commanding and hungry. You bit your lip as you tried to steady your mind.

“I-I’m yours…Felix,” you said with a shaky breath. The growl from his throat was damn near feral when his real name fell from your lips. You were rewarded with him speeding up his thrusts, his arms curling and tightening around your thighs.

“Du gerhöst mir...mir allein!” König roared as his cock plunged deep into your core [You are mine…and mine alone]. Your vision grew blurry as you watched the way your breasts bounced and jiggled. Your muscles were tightening into an inescapable knot as you sped towards your orgasm. “Look in the mirror when you cum around my cock, liebling,” he grunted. You blinked through the veil of tears that coated your eyes as your body stiffened.

“Yes, that’s it-let go for me,” your commander panted as he shoved his dick against your womb. You yelled as the cord inside of you snapped into a million tiny pieces, your body shaking with ecstasy. König’s thrusts grew more sloppy as your walls gripped at his shaft. His chest rumbled as you cried out, pure pleasure surging through your veins.

“Ahhh yes, feels so good when your warm cunt hugs my cock like this,” König praised as he kissed your neck. You moaned with each of his thrusts as the waves of your orgasm continued to rock through you.

“K-König,” you slurred in a high-pitched whine, his thrusts getting sloppier with each one. His balls tightened below you as his breathing became ragged.

“Gonna fill this pussy up, make it leak with my fucking cum,” he grunted with a strained voice. You shivered as pleasure rippled down your spine and straight into your core as your second orgasm crept up on you.

“Yes, oh Gott yes!” König roared as he suddenly snapped his hips forward [Oh God]. His arms clenched around your legs so tightly as his cock throbbed inside of your well-fucked cunt. “Yes…” he panted as he filled you to the brim with his warm, thick cum. You shook with ecstacy beneath him as you felt his seed start to dribble from between the seam where your sexes were joined.

“Such a good little soldier,” König muttered as he kissed your cheek. You turned your head so he could capture your lips in a proper kiss. You keened into his mouth as he lowered you into his lap. You sighed, letting his dick soften inside of your tight walls. Just as you went to pull yourself off of him, his hands instantly flew to your hips.

“Nein, I want my cock to stay inside of you for a little bit longer,” he whispered as he gently massaged the bruises over your hips [No]. You shivered as you felt some more cum leak onto the edge of the mattress as he kissed along your neck. You closed your eyes as your head fell back against his shoulder.

“I think you’ve learned your lesson…for now,” König purred softly as he gave one final peck to your temple. Your mind was now drifting further away as he gently slipped your back onto the mattress. Your throat tightened when he shoved his cum back inside of your tender hole with his two thick fingers.

“Now, listen carefully: you’re going to get dressed and cleaned up…and then you’re going to retake that test while my cum stays inside of that tight, little cunt of yours,” his lips danced over the shell of your ear. “Do you understand, Sergeant?” he asked. You shivered and nodded.

“Yes, sir,” you panted. König cracked a grin before gently patting your cheek.

“Gut kleiner Hase,” he murmured [good little bunny].

----

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Edit: Thank you so much @dangern00dl3 for correcting my German!

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callie-the-creator · 1 year

Text

the boy from second period

nsfw. mdni. warnings: yandere behavior, stalking, emo oc being delulu, mentions of self harm, brief smut but you’ll most likely miss it if you blink lol, you get the picture.

author’s note: the yandere in this is just an oc i whipped up for the sake of writing some yandere!emo boy hcs— 😭✋🏻 but if i’m being honest, this is more chronological hc stuff. from where he first met you to now.

• elijah was never much of a romantic. in fact, he cursed the name of love…frequently. it was becoming more of a hobby as of late. he was exhausted tired of spending valentine’s day alone, having no one to spend time with during the holidays, or spending so much money on promposals or simply ask someone to a dance only to have them reject him…

— he swore that he wouldn’t lose himself and not develop some crush to save himself from the embarrassment of his affections getting denied. lord knows that he can’t handle rejection well, as he tries to open a vein every time he does…things were better this way.

…

• that was until a few weeks into his senior year when you suddenly moved from (your school name) to his: willowbrook high.

• he only knew you were new because in the middle of his second period, you came in with a schedule in hand, asking if this was english 11 with mrs. hadley…it was. of course it was.

— at first, elijah paid you no mind. he mentally sorted you into a category with how he saw the rest of his classmates. a waste of his time.

• it didn’t help that mrs. hadley decided it was a great idea to sit you with elijah, given that he sits at a table by himself in the corner of the room. he felt almost embarrassed when he was called out and it wasn’t like he could just say ‘no,’ especially not in front of all these people…so, he endured it.

• for now

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦

• what followed were two excruciatingly long weeks for poor elijah. the only times you two talked were brief. i mean it. 🥲

“hey!”

“…hello.”

“how are you doing?”

“fine. you?”

“i’m good. thanks for asking.”

• …and then fate had a funny way of twisting things! aka mrs. hadley assigned a partner project to the class, but the catch was that she already picked who people were going to be paired with and shockingly (yet he could see it coming from a mile away), you and elijah were picked to be each other’s partners.

— it flipped his world upside down, completely blindsiding him because this could only mean one thing: elijah was going have to step out of his comfort zone and to be forced to spend more time with you, primarily outside of school. yikes!

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦

• even though it took a little time, you and elijah started talking more, both outside and inside of school. it even got to the point where he feared that he had grown attached to you, but that’s just crazy talk!…right?

• he would even find himself stalking your socials to learn more about you as a person, so he knows what to not do casually bring up the next time he sees you

• he hated to pat himself on the back, but elijah has deemed himself as the first official friend that you’ve made ever since you came to willowbrook

— but this didn’t mean that he didn’t get jealous.

• you always had ideas on how you two could spend more time together such as giving each other playlists for song recommendations, going to the movies, things like that…but elijah didn’t like whenever you suggested doing something that concerned more than just each other’s company. crowds.

— he fucking hated crowds, mainly the school’s football games because it meant that your undivided attention wouldn’t constantly be on him.

— and it doesn’t help that you are oblivious to his blossoming crush on you and start to swoon over the cute band geeks or football players. elijah felt like a sore thumb, someone not worthy of your time…even though he knows deep down in his heart that you and him are meant to be together.

• if there is a point where he catches you talking with another guy, elijah will give him the nastiest look in all of existence.

— there are a few times where elijah has just flat-out lies to a few of your classmates and told them that you and him were dating just so they would back off. there have been lots of close calls.

• he’s one clingy bastard. he’ll admit that outright.

• after dropping you off at home, elijah will return to his house feeling pent up, and if that happens, he’ll l do one of two things:

use a sharp kitchen knife to carve your name into the thick of his pasty thigh. he will even make sure to cut a giant heart around it for extra gusto. and, yes…he does take photos of his beautiful work. he wants to send them all to you, desperately, but knows that they’ll only scare you off.

wank one off to some photos of you that you either posted or took himself, or into one of your undergarments that he was able to steal. still…his hand and your underwear pales in comparison to what pleasure you could give him. elijah wants to feel your warmth. cuddle you closely and whisper sweet nothings into your ear as he presses his naked body against yours.

• he wants you so bad…

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦

• unfortunately, all good things can’t last forever. the time for the project ended and as expected, you two passed with flying colors, but this didn’t mean that you and elijah stopped contacting each other completely, but it was…different. different from what it was.

— elijah didn’t like that. not one bit.

— he wants to be your boyfriend. he wants to be your boyfriend. he wants to be your boyfriend. he WANTS to be YOUR boyfriend!

• he has even taken up photoshopping as a hobby, so he can edit him into every single photo you have posted. oh, he can’t wait for the day where nothing but your beautiful face fills his camera roll.

— well…more than it does now anyway.

• that’s when he had an epiphany. there is a school dance coming up. as much as elijah didn’t want to blow through his money, he knew that you were worth it. all those lovely conversations you shared with him couldn’t be for nothing, right? you MUST like him back.

• and that’s how he spent the next few nights, thinking of ideas for the board and when he finally had an idea of what he could do, he wasted no time in making it for you.

• when elijah got to school, he made sure to ask you in the morning since he didn’t want to be holding the board the entire day.

• but…

• you immediately shook your head when he popped the magic question.

• he instinctively laughed at this, but not in a condescending way. he just didn’t understand why you were doing this to him. all eyes were on him, not you. you like him back, don’t you, so why are you toying with him?

• seeing that elijah clearly wasn’t getting the hint, you verbally say that you don’t want to go to the dance with him which causes him to freeze up like a scared goat.

• you’re shitting him, right? RIGHT?!

you. bitch.

you’re going to regret saying no to him.

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anonimusunnoaniswriting · 5 months

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𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝑴𝒚 𝑳𝒂𝒅𝒚 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝟏

(𝑺𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

⚠️MDNI. 18+ ADULTS ONLY⚠️

🎀Age in bio or blocked🎀

Rating: Mature

Category: F/M

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler

Relationship: Sebastian Michaelis/CielsCousin!Reader

Characters: Sebastian Michaelis; Reader

Summary: You visit your dear cousins manor in the countryside to get a well deserved break from the humdrum exhaustion of the city after an illness. What you do not expect from your quaint retreat is the start of an exhilarating illicit affair with the butler. But taboos mean nothing when lust love transcends human norm.

Additional Tags: Fluff and Smut; Sex; Vaginal Sex; Eventual Smut; Neck Kissing; Kissing; Gentle Kissing; Surprise Kissing; Making Out; Implied Sexual Content; Phantomhive manor; Reader-Insert; Victorian

A/N: not beta read. We die like men.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 1: 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔲𝔱𝔩𝔢𝔯; ℑ𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤

“My lady,” you hear a soft voice calling you, “My lady, you must wake up, it is morning.” You open your eyes. The sheets around you are soft, freshly laundered. Your head sinks into the large white pillow, and you take a deep breath that turns into a yawn and turn over to go back to a more comfortable position. But the voice rings out again. “Now, that won’t do at all...” You twist your neck toward the direction of the voice. The sound in meats your ears like the gentle beat of a raven’s wing. Shielding your eyes because of the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows, you squinted to see a dark black figure stood before the opened curtains around your bed.

Sebastian Michaelis; the imposing shadowy butler of your cousin, Ciel Phantomhive who’s estate you were staying at while you visited the countryside after your illness. This man’s efficiency left you in awe. Managing an entire household with three other servants, an old butler, and a young master who was still very much a child. His roles extended far beyond that of an ordinary butler, to that of baker, chef, driver and even a pseudo parent. Additionally, with his smooth, silky, jet-black hair and contrasting pale skin he looked rather like a vampire – one from the cheap romance novellas you would pick up from the bookstore to keep yourself entertained. You definitely wouldn’t mind him sinking his teeth into your neck. You had been inappropriately lusting after the man ever since he greeted you into the Phantomhive manor. He was gentle and helpful, and you had found yourself yearning for the feel of his hands upon your skin. Sebastian seemed to sense your longing and took it upon himself to torment you with his sly touches at every opportune moment. He took your hand to help you down stairs, tied your shoelace if he thought it wasn’t done up well enough kneeling in front of you, he even lifted you and took you to bed one night when you were feeling especially tired from the day’s activities. You had been mortified to have been treated in such a manner but when he had leaned down and kissed your ear whispering a soft goodnight you exploded on the inside. Ever since then, you had been thinking the lewdest thoughts about the man- who would often catch you staring at his back and would wink at you and laugh when you turned red. And often your fingers would slip between your thighs, to rub over your mound below in an attempt to quell the aching need.

“Your maid seems to have caught a slight cold my lady.” Sebastian speaks drawing you back to the present. He smiles. “I hope you don’t mind me standing in for her this morning. I wouldn’t want you to exert yourself so soon after having recovered from one illness.” His eyes crinkle and he tilts his head while his smile grows wider.

For a moment, you stare at him and then understand the implications of his words. Still not fully awake you muster up the energy to ask, “But, who is to help me with my dressing?”

“I’m pretty sure you will find me capable enough, my lady.” He says, still smiling. You sit up quickly. Heart pounding in your chest.

“Sebastian!” you expel in admonishment “Surely that would not be proper!”

Sebastian prowls over to the the edge of the bed and leaning down, says, “Would it be as improper as this my lady?” He plants those smooth pale lips onto yours. They burn hot against your cool pink ones. You feel his hand caressing your cheek. Your heart beats hard in your chest and you sit rigidly unable to process what is happening around you. Is Sebastian really kissing you? Are his lips truly on yours?

But before you can fully digest what happened, he moves away. “Are you awake now my lady?” he asks. You touch your lips feeling incomplete without his warmth and nod. “Good.” He says. “I want you to be awake for this.” He smoothly takes off his black coat and lays it down on a chair, then his vest, then as he unbuttons his shirt he climbs onto the bed. “Impropriety has been a recurring thought in your mind, has it not my lady?” he says to you. He kneels down in front of you. You feel your heart beat – loud enough for the whole mansion to hear.

“Wh– whatever do you mean, Sebastian?” You feign ignorance, trying to ignore the loud pounding of your heart.

“Don’t be coy my lady.” He smirks, his body almost enveloping you on the bed and playing with the string on the neck of your nightgown. He pulls it – untying the bow that your maid had made the night before. So smooth. His movements flow like a stream of water. Almost inhuman. You look into his eyes knowing that however improper it may be, you wanted the man. You wanted him in the basest way that a human may want a human. He cups your cheek in his hand and you can’t help yourself, you move forward to feel his burning lips against your own once again. He runs his fingers through your soft hair and wraps his arm around your torso pulling you closer. You pull off his already unbuttoned shirt. The heat of his body penetrating your thin nightgown. He presses his body against yours, kissing you, a hunger in his movements like no other you knew. His fingers reach your breast and he kneads it roughly. His tongue seeks entrance at your mouth. You open up readily, moaning softly at his touch. He tastes spicy yet at the same time sweet; it reminds you of chocolate a rare taste for such a rare man. Wanton moans drip from your throat and you just want more and more. Your head feels heavy—intoxicated.

You close your eyes and pull him closer. He’s lean, yet you can feel hard muscle under the skin. Sebastian holds the bottom of your nightgown and looks at you with heavy lidded eyes. “Are you sure about this my lady?” For a moment you think you see them flash a dangerous red but shake it off seeing them their regular brown.

You close your eyes and nod, biting your lower lip. It is what you want. Damn all the restrictions of society. Damn it all. It was your body and here was a man who made it writhe and respond on its own accord – without your control. You wanted him to feel you, touch you, make love to you. And you knew, he would appreciate you to the fullest – you would bloom like a flower beneath his touch.

A/N: This was originally posted on AO3 back in 2017. Since then much time has passed and i wasn't feeling the motivation to continue this series, but now with this resurgence of Kuro I would like to take this series up again. I am posting it here now, with changes made and small edits. Just to make it a better read while still keeping my original story intact. I hope you've enjoyed. As always, Likes and Reblogs are much appreciated and Comments will earn you kisses.

Masterlist

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octoberautumnbox · 5 months

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Discordant Waltz: Adrenaline

Oh Sieun (Former IZ*ONE/Soloist Jo Yuri) & Male Reader

Categories/warnings: smut, clothed sex, oral, feet?, friends with benefits, doggystyle

Word count: 4.2k

| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 (coming soon)

a/n: this took a while lol anyways! april release is here, tried something different again for now. as always, stay tuned for the next!

“I don’t care where you are or what the fuck you’ve been doing this entire time. Just please come to the convenience store by the river and meet me.” Sieun's voice, you're sure it's Sieun's voice, is mixed with a garbled tone through the phone.

“Okay, but-” And the line cuts. You shuffle your cellphone defeatedly back into your pocket and start towards your newly-mandated meeting place.

You’ve only begun putting two and two together: The person you were just with wasn’t Sieun, even though she looks exactly like her. That person wasn’t like Sieun at all, especially not in the way the two of you had sex. It was so different, and the nagging feeling in the back of your head that something was wrong only grows clearer.

A blaring horn unfreezes you from the middle of the street. You step out of the way and onto the sidewalk, and the truck’s irate driver brings the hulking machine past your point in the road. You watch it drive off, leaving a cloud of dust behind its wheels, and for what seems like a minuscule amount of time, you unfreeze yourself off once more from staring at the now-settled dust on the asphalt.

It dawns on you: you’ve slept with the wrong woman. It wasn’t your Sieun you just had sex with. The girl you just fucked wasn’t the girl you were supposed to fuck. But no matter how you say it, no matter how many times you think it in your head, it just doesn’t make sense. How could that not have been Sieun?

The walk back towards the convenience store by the river is slow and quiet, but your mind races with these thoughts, calling for just more and more of your brainpower to stay conscious and on track towards your meeting place. Even though you’re sure the initial confusion has subsided, the effect still settles deep within every bone of your body: you fucked another woman besides Sieun.

Before you know it, your feet bring you to the convenience store by the river. Sieun’s eyes meet yours from inside through the window, and she motions you to come in faster. You pull the door open and a cool blast of air hits your face, and Sieun pulls you into the seat beside her.

She fights the noodles down her throat, and after a quick gasp, she starts: “Apologize for missing my calls later. Lemme finish this first, then we go over to your house.” She downs a swig of Mountain Dew and fights back the stinging acid running down her throat.

“My house? But-” she interrupts by bringing a chopstick to your lips. She sucks in air through her teeth, and finally goes back for more of her ramyeon. You note it’s the spicy kind as the heat coats your lips where her chopsticks touched.

“Please shut up while I’m eating. I’ll explain later.” She flashes you the dorky kind of smile that could nevertheless kill and returns to her ramyeon, paying you no further mind.

Despite being over budget, you pick out another six-pack of beer for the two of you and bring it to the registers. She eyes you from her seat by the window and gives you a thumbs up from there. You sigh and wonder how you landed someone as great as her. If only…

~~~

“Wow, nice place.” Sieun's eyes roam across your living room, from your sofa, to the TV, to the coffee table with its remote and mug filled with cold tea from this morning. “Quaint. I like it.

“ What the fuck does ‘quaint’ mean, Oh Sieun?” you tease. Bring an arm around her shoulder and pull her close, plant a kiss on her cheek.

“It just means quaint,” she sighs casually, leaning into your embrace, “no more, no less.”

Both of you take off your shoes and make your way to the sofa. You place the six-pack of beer on the coffee table as Sieun bounces on a sofa cushion, evidently having a good time. You shoot her a look, and you're stopped in your tracks by how her hair falls unerringly into place like it does. She smiles at you again, but you take a seat on the floor in front of her.

“What are you doing down there?” Her giggle rings clear as day as she says it. She picks up a can of beer and pulls on the tab, releasing carbon dioxide in a melodious fizz that eases the tension around you: tension you didn't know was there.

She hands you the beer and you take it carefully, for some reason trying not to mess up whatever it is your body is planning to do next. You feel the cold floor tiles against the palm of your hand, not nearly as cold as the beer in the other, before giving up on both and focusing on the imminent warmth that is Sieun's feet.

Set the beer down and grasp her soles through her cobalt blue socks. Find her muscles, tendons and nerves as you push and squeeze around her delicate feet. Wring out strangled sighs and shushed whimpers from Sieun’s lips.

“What the fuck are you doing…” Her breath hitches before continuing on unsteadily. She unravels, thread by thread, under the changing and shifting pressures you apply on her soles and toes, confusion vying to bubble up to the front of her mind but ultimately getting pushed back down by the attention you give her.

“What’s gotten into you, babe?” She giggles more as you manipulate her body the way you like, and yet you’re pulled into her intensifying orbit. Your… friend… leans forward and takes your cheeks in her hands. She pulls you towards her and kisses you, nibbling your lower lip at every careful squeeze you apply on her foot. Her tongue tries to push past your teeth, and for the first time in a long time, you find yourself hesitant.

“You… must be tired today. I thought I’d be nice.” You try to hide the uncertainty in your voice, choosing to divert her attention elsewhere. You strip her of her socks and toss them in the general direction of your shoes. Continue to rub her feet, and she pulls you in for another kiss.

This time, you accept. Her tongue slips past your teeth and you meet it with yours, swirling around each other as more of her sultry gasps drift out of her mouth. Sieun pulls you even closer, trying to take in more of you, before she runs out of breath and has to break away.

“Whew, that was hot,” your friend sighs as she leans back onto the backrest and breathes deep. Her head lolls back and she stares idly at the ceiling as she tries to catch her breath. “Where’d you learn that, huh, stud?”

Ignoring her, you continue to massage her. Moving from her soles and toes to the balls of her feet, your hands make their way to her heels, then her ankles, and up to her calves.

"Oh, I love how you think, babe." Your hands crawl up her smooth and creamy legs, and she flashes you a smirk. Sieun relaxes with a deep sigh and her eyes shut. Your friend's naughty smile is unsteady on her lips, victim to your sensual assault on her legs.

Stop momentarily, take a beer can from the table. You pull on the tab and release its own pent-up fizz and hand it to her, casually yet carefully. "Take a sip, baby. Let me take care of you."

She receives it with a tiny "thank you" and takes a sip. As you return to her massage, you watch her lips curl around the rim of the can, arousal growing as her tongue wipes over and collects the fluid left behind.

Your hands reach her hips and you grip resolutely. It catches her mid-sip, and it forces her to keep the beer in her mouth for a little while longer. Then, she makes a show of swallowing slowly and licking her lips after once more.

You slip your fingers under the waistband of her PE pants and pull down. With a little help from your friend lifting her hips off the couch, you successfully peel it all off of her smooth legs. She spreads them for you and you’re met with a pair of blue lace panties covering her crotch. The sight of them sends even more blood rushing into your dick, and your self-control dwindles in the face of her needy whines.

“I picked out a cute pair for you today… You like?” Sieun brings her knees up to her chest, letting her feet dangle in the air. She hooks her arms under her legs and starts biting her finger enticingly, communicating what she wants you to do next.

Remember the comfort that is Oh Sieun, how you just get each other so well, how there’s next to no guesswork when it comes to her. You pull her panties to the side, revealing a drenched pussy in need of some love. The sensation of the fabric leaving her core is exhilarating for her, but nothing excites her more compared to what’s coming. She braces herself as you bring your face closer, and finally you drag your tongue up against her clit.

You pepper kisses all over her crotch in between long drags between her puffy lips and dripping cunt. "Mmm, babe…" She leaks more in response, torn between wanting you to go faster and harder or slower and softer, bucking her hips but changing her mind. Her sweet nectar intoxicates you like a love potion, wanting more of it, more of her, that you tighten your grip on her waist and hold her steady to lap up more of her essence. The feeling of your hands imprinting on her sides drives her closer to the edge, and her moans grow in volume and intensity as you continue the hard, hard work of loving her to death.

“Stop… No, not yet… I’m really close, babe,” she whines powerlessly, not knowing the effect it has on you. “Please come up here, I need you…” She unhooks her arms from her legs and draws them outstretched to receive you. In return, you stand over her and make quick work of your belt. She takes the initiative of pulling down your pants once free, and your friend’s delicate fingers grasp your already rock-hard cock to stroke and marvel at.

“You want this, baby?” Your cock twitches between her fingers, telling her wordlessly that you want her just as bad. With Sieun, there’s no need to thrust into her hands: she knows you so well, she’s so devoted to your cock that she learned for herself how best to service you.

“Yes, please…” She brings it down and right against her fuckhole. She teases herself with it; it’s all she could do when you loom over her with authority. She rubs your head on her clit, showing you just how ready she is for you, before tracing the lips of her pussy and smearing her slick all over your tip. “Can I please have it?”

“Do what you have to do,” you command, and she heaves a sigh of arousal before doing her best job. Her hand slithers under her jacket and most probably under her bra again to pull out another condom. She tears it open with her teeth and, this time, places it on her lips. Sieun guides the rubber onto your tip and unrolls it onto your length using only her mouth, taking in more of your shaft as she does. She barely makes it all the way to your base, but a sudden bout of impatience hits her and she plunges herself onto you, taking you all the way and causing her to gag. You feel some of her spit drip onto your calf, so you stroke her hair and let her breathe.

“You’re adorable, you know that? Taking my dick like such a good girl…” Grab a fistful of her hair and slowly pull her off your cock, letting more of her spit fall from her lips to wherever. Her eyes are shut and tears form in the corners, but she doesn’t wipe them away.

You plant your hands on either side of her head on the backrest, still looming over her. She takes your cock in her hands again and aims it at her waiting entrance with a needy look in her eyes. “I can’t wait anymore, please?”

Of course you indulge her. Enter her heat carefully, feel her walls make way for your length. Her mouth forms an “o” as you push yourself further and further into your friend’s core, rubbing against all her good spots, drawing out gasps and little moans from her.

“Babe, your thick cock is so good, please…” Her legs twitch when you hit certain points, letting you know exactly how she likes it. Her toes curl with pleasure as she welcomes you deeper into her sex, just as she searches for your lips to steal kisses from in spite of her eyes that won’t open.

You pick up the pace, spearing into her core faster and faster, as her grip on your shoulders tightens with each of your thrusts. Her forehead starts to form small beads of sweat, as do her forearms and the insides of her thighs. She’s getting restless again, squirming under you as you fuck her, and you place your hands on her hips again to keep her steady, the naughty girl.

“Fuck, babe, please… Please!” She places her hand on the back of your neck to keep you close. Her eyes finally open and you see the fire within her pupils just begging to be doused. You can do nothing else but indulge her, and your friend grows wetter and tighter to accommodate her favorite cock. It only spurs you on further with how pliant, how willing Sieun is. Was she always like this?

On the other end of your mind, a gruesome memory resurfaces. Who was that girl? Why did she look exactly like Sieun? What was she doing in her house?

She pulls you in and captures your lips with hers. Your friend nibbles and licks and grunts throughout the kiss, aligned with every single one of your thrusts into her needy core, all the while trying to hold you tighter so she never lets you go.

Why did she let you in like that? Why did she let you kiss her then? Why is she letting you kiss her now?

“Fuck… Fucking shit! You feel so good inside me, please!!!” Her screams of pleasure snap you awake, and you’re met with the visual of Oh Sieun, your friend, staring blankly into your eyes as you use her tight little fuckhole mercilessly. Her tongue hangs out her mouth and drops of saliva leak down to her chin and onto her jacket. “Please… please babe, I need more…”

You get the message and give her what she wants. Pull out, only for a moment, and let her adjust. She flips over, plants her knees into the seat cushions, places her hands on the backrest. Sieun presents her plump ass to you, and she squeezes her thigh before spreading her legs again to show you her dripping, freshly fucked cunt.

As if hit with another dose of adrenaline, you shove your cock back into her soaked and quivering pussy, hard, causing her to yelp and scream. You grab her slim waist, feeling up her smooth skin just burning to be ravaged, and pull her towards you with every thrust, causing the sofa to creak and groan. However, it's nothing compared to the unholy noises forced out of Sieun's mouth; her lungs burn and her throat sores as she's subjected to more and more of your mind-numbing pleasure.

“I can't… I can't hold it! Babe, I'm cumming!!!” Her velvet walls clench and suffocate your cock, but it does nothing to slow your maniacal pace. Your rough-fucking of her pussy never stops, never slows, and despite the pain she undeniably feels with you abusing her body (you know how sick she is in the head), she nevertheless pushes back to meet your pelvis in what little efforts she could take to bring herself over the edge.

Your orgasm hits you like a train derailed, and despite your weakened state from earlier in the day, you deliver spurts and spurts of your warm cum into the rubber. She feels every twitch and throb of your cock inside her burning core, and it brings your friend over the edge too. Her hips convulse just as the first streaks of her girlcum spray out of her cunt, leaking more and more of her love juices onto the poor cushion underneath her with every jerk of her hips. She screams and wails her pleasure; surely she’s waking up with a sore throat tomorrow morning. For now, her teeth clamp down on the fabric of the backrest, the only thing she could reach with you keeping her firmly in place.

Your respective orgasms start to wind down, and you pull yourself out of her and let her collapse onto the sofa. Take your seat next to her, pick up your can of beer from the floor, lean back like a king. You take a sip, and the alcohol soothes your shot nerves and dry throat.

Sieun cuddles up next to you, leaning on your shoulder and draping one of her arms across your chest. You place your arm over her in response, and she melts again.

“Whew,” she sighs, out of breath and with a noticeably raspy voice, “that was great. Why don’t you fuck me like that all the time?” Her chest rises and falls with every tiny circle she draws on your chest, and you squeeze her closer to you. You’re drawn back into the comfort of just understanding each other, of not needing to explain, of just being you around your friend.

But once again, the guilt bubbles in your chest. You remember: you’ve slept with another woman not even a day earlier who looks exactly like her, and what’s worse, she even felt better than Sieun did. She let you sniff her hair, kiss her neck, fuck her ass. Are you really not going to tell her?

The guilt rises up your throat and drops into your stomach at the same time. It dawns on you again, this is your friend. Your friend, who you drank beer with on a Friday afternoon. Your friend, who begged you to use her like she was yours. Your friend, who keeps condoms in her bra for you and only you. Just friends, that’s all. Are you really not going to tell her?

Suddenly, your view is obscured by her eyes. You find Sieun on top of you, straddling you, as she takes your cheeks in her hands. Her hair falls to her cheeks as she positions her face above yours, and she plants wet kisses and licks on your lips.

“Thanks for today, babe,” she says between smooches. Your hands drift towards her hips again, and once you grasp them, she breathes out slowly and sensually. She breaks the kiss for a bit, but she keeps her forehead on yours. “If you’re trying to tempt me,” she runs her thumbs on your cheekbones, “then it’s working. But not right now, I’m spent.” Her giggles make their way into your ears again, and her gravity strengthens its pull on you once more.

You check the time and find it’s late, much too late for a lady like her to be out alone on a night like this. Wrap your arms around her waist tight, secure the woman of your dreams in your embrace forever. However, you know time is running out and the guilt will only root deeper into your system and eat you alive if you don’t pull it out soon; pull it out now.

“Do you wanna bring this over to the bed?” You try your hardest to be casual about the question, but the way it comes out, shaky and tentatively-toned, makes it anything but. Still, she finds it cute, evidenced by the small giggle that escapes her.

“Sorry, gotta be fair. I kick you out every week, don't I?” Oh Sieun stands up quickly and without any hint of dizziness, landing on her feet gracefully. What’s left of her slick runs down her creamy thighs and the moment you snap yourself out of staring at the lewd sight, you notice she was staring too.

“I need your shower and a towel, never mind if it’s used.” She makes her own way into your shower, but not before opening every closed door and flipping every light switch she could find. Once she finds the bathroom, her head peeks out from inside, and she calls at you:

“Leave the towel and my clothes by the door, I’ll get them when I’m done.”

The door shuts loudly, and you realize you failed. Without much else to do, you gather her things in your arms sullenly and drop them by the door like she asked. You retake your seat back on the couch and ultimately resolve to turn the beer in the can into beer in your stomach.

~~~

Oh Sieun exits the bathroom clad in her perennial PE jacket and jogging pants, with the added twist of your towel wrapped around her hair. It’s the first time you’ve had her like this: squeaky clean, sweet-scented, relaxed like you didn’t just rail each other to oblivion. She’s beautiful, and you can’t even bring yourself to tell her.

“Hey, what’s the address here? I need a taxi.” She plops herself down next to you on the sofa and brings her legs over on your lap. Half of you regrets forgetting to put on pants, while the other half starts to get ideas.

You reach out your hand to take her phone, but while Sieun leans over to give it to you, she notices your cock starting to harden once more. “Something’s up with you today, babe.” The phone makes its way from her hand to yours, and she gets an irresistibly naughty look in her eye again.

Your friend takes your cock in between her bare soles. You feel the damp skin of her feet rub against your growing shaft while you type in your address and book her cab for her.

“Is this gonna be a regular thing with us? Because,” you look over to her and find her leaning on the armrest with her head leaning on her hand, “I dunno. I could get used to this.”

“Could be if you want it to, Sieun.” You hand her back her phone, and she sees the cab on the map, only six minutes away. “I’d rather you not start something you’re not gonna finish, though.”

“Wow, Mister Bigshot. Challenge fucking accepted.” Your friend spreads her knees apart and shoves a hand into her pants. Sieun pulls her feet away and positions her face over your lap. She hurriedly takes half your length straight into her warm, wet mouth, and her tongue glides and rubs all over your shaft wherever and as far as she could reach. You grab her head and force it down to take more of you in, and her hips buck onto her hand the moment you feel yourself hit the back of her throat.

You keep her there for a while, and she never ever stops running her lewd tongue over your dick. The sounds and vibrations coming from her mouth only spur you on further, as does the sight of her fingering herself under her pants just for you.

Just to tease her more, you take her phone and show it to her: one more minute. She tries even harder to suck you off, hollowing out her cheeks and going wild with her tongue. Her moans grow deeper and louder to match yours, and the vibrations that reach your rock-hard cock drive you close to the edge.

“Baby, I’m close… Take my fucking seed in your mouth!” You pull her head down as far as she can go, and amidst gags and glucks your friend never tries pulling herself off, instead choosing to be a good girl and receive everything that’s for her and her alone. Your warm cum shoots into her throat, and despite her gags she never lets up or lets go of your cock between her lips.

Her phone suddenly rings, no doubt the taxi calling to say he’s at the pickup point, and in the closest of calls your spurts come to an end. Sieun raises her head and shows you how much of your seed she collected on her tongue with a smile, and she makes a show of swallowing it all for you.

She gets up and makes for the door, but when you try to follow her out you find your legs are jelly. Instead, she leans over and plants a kiss on your cheek, and as she walks off you hear the sound of your front door creaking opening and shutting quickly.

~~~

a/n: whew that was a wild ride LMAO anyways it was tough working on this throughout hiatus and even now idk if im actually really really back, but nevertheless here u are! once more i hope u enjoy reading as much as i did writing :)))))

| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 (coming soon)

#girl group smut #kpop smut #izone smut #jo yuri smut #fic box

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chrissdollie · 3 months

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warnings/notes: suggestive, matt x tumblr writer reader, no smut (but there will be soon), unedited, incomplete, nicknames (baby, babe)

matt sighs, boredly scrolling through his phone while you are sound asleep next to him. your boyfriend uses his free hand to gently rub up and down your thigh. the morning sun tries to peak in through the dark curtains, but the room is still dull. comforting though. especially with the sounds of your soft snores, matthew couldn't be any more comfortable.

that is until a few minutes pass, and he decides to open an app called tumblr that he "jokingly" installed not too long ago. a small smug grin spreads onto his face as he searches up "matt sturniolo x y/n". many results come up, some sweet and fluffy-- and others disgustingly filthy. on camera, matt would completely disregard any "you should read smut" comments... but he can't help and listen to the inkling of interest inside him.

he finds a random blog where he scrolls down to the pinned introduction post to find where all of the fics may be. you sigh sleepily, matt's head immediately snapping to you with wide eyes. you reposition yourself slightly and fall back into your deep slumber. your boyfriend wouldn't want you to know about him reading dirt. especially if it's about him!

he looks back down at his bright phone, scanning the introduction post quickly. he pauses all of a sudden. "yn?" he thinks to himself, his eyebrows pinching. but they quickly rest again, there's no way you, his sweet little angel baby writes nasty smut. and plus, plenty of people can have the same name as you.. right?

he taps on a link that says "about me" which brings him to a cutely decorated page. it's very girly-- definitely reminds him of his unaware girlfriend sleeping right next to him. he reads through the bullet points that include: your age, where you live and where you're from, and a list of things you love! this has to be you. not to mention, your profile picture is your favorite photo of him. he'd know, the physical picture is in a cute frame right next to your side of the bed.

he doesn't feel too embarrassed about wanting to read imaginary sex scenes anymore. matter of fact, he feels like a saint compared to you, who actually writes them! he finds your "masterlist" and it's an entire page just about him. he taps on the first link that reads "daddy's home".

in the years he's known you, including the HOURS of time you two spent having fun in the bedroom, he would've never expected to see kinks like these! by now, he's already gone through most of your fanfictions under the category of "smut". so far he's read drabbles of daddy/breeding kinks, bondage, roleplay, age gaps, sub!matt (this got him feeling a little tingly), and more. he wears a smug smirk on his face as your pretty eyes blink open.

"hi babyy.." he coos sweetly as if he hadn't read your dirty thoughts for almost an hour. he brings you into a warm snuggle, his hand caresses the back of your head while you yawn into his bare chest. "sleep good?" matt asks in his raspy morning voice. "mhm.." you sigh, holding onto him like a koala. the smug shit-eating grin is back on his face when he randomly says, "i found your tumblr."

your body tenses. oh shit. you've been caught. there are two things you can do here: play dumb or ask him if he liked what he saw. you lift your head to look up at your boyfriend. comfortingly, he looks amused. before you can speak however, he reminds you of what you've written. "yeah i read all of your kinky shit. i didn't think you'd be into some of the stuff i saw there, babe."

you feel your arousal sticking to your panties. you gently bite down on your lip, bravely staring into your lust-filled boyfriend's eyes. you seductively lean up so your mouth is only an inch away from his. "so what're you gonna do about it?"

THERE WILL BE SMUT TRUST BUT THIS IS ALL IM GIVING FOR NOWWW!! UH NOT PROOFREAD LIKE ALWAYS XX

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo thirst #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo suggestive

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romancefranaticstay · 6 months

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┕━━☽【𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑】☾━━┙

Category: fluff, smut, harry potter AU

Gryffindor!Bangchan x Slytheric!Fem!Reader

Part 2 ---> here

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

As a Slytherin you mostly distant yourself from other kinds of students. You could say you were the female Slytherin. Wise, fast, competitive, full of passion, and maybe a tiny bit cruelity...

Just got to make sure, you keep your social status up.

It was another day. Another day to show your talents. Another day to look down to other and not feeling any guilt by their sad looks, pathetic.

Everyone knew you at the school, thats because you were a tiny bit of a mischief, but during the lecture's you behaved very well.

You also had like three close friends. Their name's were Lee Know, Haerin and Yoongi. How you three met? It is a very simpel story...

You met Yoongi first. When the hat said you were a Slytherin, you were welcomed with big cheers at your table. Immediatly you found a seat next to Yoongi. You two shared the same interests, the same mind you could say. He was your very first friend.

Haerin always seems very sweet but she was just like you, also a mischief. How you two met? Well, the rules are very simple, you cannot walk around when its time to sleep. There is a certain hour were the students put the lights off. One time she wanted to explore the building, we were all freshmans one's and you know how curious we were.

You also had the same idea to wander around. You two crossed eachothers path and became close in a short time. Even tho you almost got caught, but because the school is so big, there was just no way that they could find two little mischiefs on time.

Lee Know was last. How come you two met? You could say your personality is just like that from a cat, but you were a clever cat. Also, maybe you didn't know yet, but you could change your form into a cat, i have the feeling this says enough. Lee Know is a big lover for cats. One time you were just laying in the grass, rolling around. Suddenly you felt a pair of hands petting you.

You walked a bit further and changed back into your normal form. He was to stunned to speak, but also a little bit embarassed. You didn't mind the petting. You two got into a talk and he was asking how he could turn into a cat, ofcourse that is not possible for him. He was sad when he heard it could be only achieved by genetics, but you promised you were his personal cat. Thats how your friendship started.

And now, three years later, you three are still the closest friendgroup. All of you never talked towards others, just because it did not feel right. Also nobody really had a chance to talk to you all, because you mostly ignored them. It was also known your hate for Griffindors. So, they all stayed away, very handy to be honest.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'What is today's lecture?' you asked Haerin.

'Charms.'

'Excellent, i want to learn some new technique's.'

'For your mischief-behavior?'

'That is right. By the way..' you whispered 'are we going to wander again in the hallways?'

'Ofcourse, its our tradition.'

'We never got caught, not even once. How good are we?'

'Actually you are right. We are just to good.'

'Yes we are.'

You two were gossiping a bit. Talking about all the dorms. Also new paths you could take to explore the school. The stairs were difficult to climb because you had to carry your books with you. Today you would learn some new techniques, hoping that it would finally be something interesting. You arrived at your classroom. There were already some students present. The two of you always sat next to each other so you could always chat.

The classroom was filled with students, you hated that. Especially if some teachers preferred certain students. But what you hated most was that there was one person in your class who disrupted everything. Okay, he just disrupted it for you. Bangchan, one of the best and sweetest boy. Of course he was a Gryffondor, there was no other way. You already knew who he was hanging out with. Honestly, he hung out with everyone, but he also had a group of friends. Lee Felix, he was Hufflepuff, that wasn't a surprise. He was a real sunshine. Danielle was also a hufflepuff and also Felix's girlfriend. You were surprised that he was also friends with Hyunjin, a Ravenclaw. He also tried to start a friendship with you, but of course that didn't work.

Why did he want to be friends with you? That was of course very simple. He was friends with everyone, literally everyone, even Slytherins to your surprise. But he just wasn't friends with your group of friends. Lee Know, Haeren, Yoongi and you also ignored your own students. So it was impossible for him. But what you also didn't know at all was that he had loved you since freshman year. Strange isn't it?

You two were the exact opposite. But sometimes that fits. You could tell that Bangchan was in love with you. You never noticed that because you weren't concerned with such things. Even in class, he would stare at you, always trying to be inconspicuous, but everyone noticed. He was also quite popular with the girls. That is of course not strange, he is very handsome and his smile was the most beautiful treasure.

He tried to chat with you for 3 years. He tried to approach you, but he was too scared. If he saw you with your group of friends, he would leave as quickly as possible. Lee Know and Yoongi never looked friendly, they gave others dirty looks. So Bangchan tried to find a moment when you were alone, but you always had someone with you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'We're leaving, so you know the rules. Don't touch our things.' Haerin said to Lee Know and Yoongi.

'If we find out that something has been moved, we will come and get you personally.' you said.

“So cute, threatening us like that. Don't create too many problems.' Yoongi mocked you.

"We're going to do that anyway, but okay, at least you tried to convince us."

You looked from left to right, just to make sure no one happened to be there.

"Okay, let's go."

You and Haerin sneaked through the hallways. You chatted quietly with each other. There was no one there, not even a teacher in sight, which was strange. The two of you found a room you had never noticed before. There were all kinds of spell books there. Lots of interesting books, to be honest. You took a lot of them, usually the ones you could do the most naughty with.

'We're back, and guess what we've brought with us!'

The boys both jumped straight from their beds and came to you.

"Wow, where did you guys get this?"

'Just taken from a room. We didn't even know it existed.'

'They look very old to me. But wow, powerful spells, perfect.”

"We have 8 more, so two books each, okay?"

You divided the books among yourself. This was a big win for you. Perfect, because you don't learn anything fun in class anyway.

"You guys really need to get back there."

'Okay, leave the difficult matters to us, we happen to be professionals.'

"Alright professionals, go to your rooms."

'Yes, actually, it's already 1am.' "Let's get going."

You dropped Haerin off at her room, unfortunately you two aren't roommates. The distance between your room and hers was quite large. How so? Because this year there were a lot of Ravenclaws, so they occupied a lot of the Slytherins' rooms. So unfortunately you have to go past the Gryffindors' rooms to get to your room.

You were walking quietly to your room. Of course you took some detours, just for fun. You actually wanted to go back to that room, with all those different books. Would you do it? Of course you do it. You turned into another hallway. You hopped around for a while until you saw the door of that mysterious room again. You quietly opened the room door and closed it behind you.

You looked at the different books and slid through the many bookcases. It was a spell paradise. Suddenly you heard the door creak. You saw someone sneak in. It looked like a good Gryffindor had a naughty side after all. You trailed behind the boy and tapped his shoulder.

'Hi there.'

He started and turned around. It was Bangchan.

'What do we have here? A Gryffindor. I never thought a Gryffindor would break the rules. Bangchan isn't it?'

He nodded, he had some books in his arms.

'What books do you have there? Can I see them?'

'O-ofcourse'

You picked up a book and started reading it. The spells in it were pretty boring, just spells to make plants grow faster.

"Not that interesting."

"Why are you here anyway, Princess Slytherin?"

'Discovered this room about an hour ago perhaps? A very interesting room.'

"Very private, don't you think?"

'Yes, that's possible. Do you come here often?'

"Yes, every night, I sneak around here."

"That's weird, we would have run into you anyway."

'What do you mean?'

"I always sneak around here with a friend."

'Really and truly? Maybe we take other paths?'

'That is possible.'

The two of you started talking a bit. He was actually very interesting. The conversations could last forever. But unfortunately you had to go to your own room when the clock struck two. You guys started meeting in that room every night. You tested spells, you talked about other secret rooms. You started growing closer and closer, but you didn't talk to each other during the day. It would be too suspicious.

The two of you walked together one night. Just having conversations, when you suddenly heard footsteps. At the end of the hallway was Snape. He didn't see you yet because he just turned around. Bangchan grabbed your hand and started dragging you. You heard the teacher shout something. The two of you ran to the dorms. Your room was way too far, so he brought you into his room. He closed the door softly. The room was very dark. The two of you heard footsteps. Bangchan dragged you into his bed. Luckily his blankets were very thick. You hid yourself under his covers, holding him tight. You heard doors opening. Suddenly, the door of Bangchan's room opened softly. You held onto his body even tighter.

The door closed again after a while. No one would suspect Bangchan of anything. But suddenly it dawned on you, Snap was checking all the rooms, so he would check yours too. You felt Bangchan's arm around your hip, you wanted to stay here forever, but you had to take action quickly. You jumped out of his bed and went to the window.

“What are you doing Y/N?”

“Shh.”

You turned yourself into a cat. You slipped out the window and looked from left to right. You saw the window of your room from far away. You started running quickly on the roof. You saw your window and gently pushed it. Luckily you never closed your window. Bangchan watched you push your window.

You quickly changed shape, and started walking quickly but quietly to your bed. You crawled under your covers just in time. Your door opened softly, you felt Snape's eyes on you. He moved closer to your bed and looked thoroughly at your face, just to make sure you were asleep. Luckily you were good at acting, otherwise you would have been caught. He closed the door softly again and you opened your eyes again. That was close.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day you were about to start eating dinner, when suddenly Snape spoke up.

'Last night, I saw two students wandering the halls. So we will take strict measures. The corridors will be checked several times, as will the rooms.'

Lee Know and Yoongi immediately looked at you and Haerin, but Haerin looked at them confused.

"I was in my room last night." she whispered.

Suddenly they both looked at you. You didn't notice. Bangchan was turned over and you both looked at each other with worried faces. Lee Know looked from you to Bangchan and then back from Bangchan to you. All three started to grin at each other. You looked ahead again. You saw your friends eyes looking at you. You also saw Snape looking at you, he found you very suspicious.

Supper started and it started to get loud again. Everyone talked to each other.

"Do you have something to tell us?" Yoongi asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

'Are you sure?' Lee Know asked.

'Yes, I am very, very sure. Just focus on the food.'

"As long as you focus on the food too, then Bangchan."

You became silent and turned to your friends.

"Can you shut up for once." you whispered.

'There was nothing, was there? I just said Bangchan.”

They all smirked. You kicked the leg from Lee Know.

'Oww! What are you kicking me for?'

You gave him a dirty look.

"Bangchan." Haerin coughed.

You looked up at the ceiling as your friends made fun of you again. "Bangchan."

"Bangchan."

"Bangchan." they coughed.

Bangchan heard his name all the time, so he looked your way. He saw you staring at the ceiling. Your friends were bullying you. He grins. After dinner your friends were still orbiting you.

"Bangchan." they all coughed.

'Are you perhaps ill? Because you guys cough all the time. Let me help.'

You hit Lee Know's back.

"Are you feeling any better?" you grinned.

'Ha-ha-ha-ha, so funny, so funny. Does BANGCHAN have the same sense of humor?'

'Shut up.'

'Are you shy now? Is it because I shout BANGCHAN all the time?'

You grabbed Lee Know's earlobe.

'Oww, oww, I'll stop. Let go off mine ear.'

'Will you stop?'

'I promise, I promise.'

'Good boy.' you smirked.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Your friends like to pick on you, don't they?"

'Yes, it is very annoying, but yes. What can I do about it. They clearly weren't raised as well as I was.'

"We can't stay here so long this time."

'Yes, certainly not after today, that speech still gives me the creeps. Snape doesn't trust me, I get that.'

"I trust you."

"Yes, but you are you."

"You're you too, and it's definitely a compliment."

Your cheeks turned a little red, but you immediately cooled it down. After a while of talking and investigating, you left again. You guided Bangchan to his room.

'Sleep well.'

'Goodnight, princess.'

Before you left, you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. You didn't give him time to react as you sped away. You finally arrived at your room at 1am. You sat under the covers with your eyes closed. You waited for someone to check your room. Your door creaked a little, you knew someone was checking your room again. You waited until that person was gone. When your door closed again, you stood back up. You wanted to go back to Bangchan. You just wanted to be with him.

You opened your window, you turned yourself back into a cat because it was easier. You carefully stepped onto the roof and looked through every window. Just to see which one was Bangchan's. Finally you found his window. You tapped his window with your paw, no answer. You looked closer through his window, but he wasn't there. He was nowhere to be seen. You were a bit disappointed, but you went back to your room.

You crawled through your window. Suddenly you saw him standing in your room, Bangchan. You looked at him in surprise. He didn't see you, because you can turn into a black cat, and it was dark, so that was pretty normal. You walked over to him and changed back to your normal form. You tapped his shoulder again.

'Hi there.'

He turned around with a smile.

"Hello there, princess."

"What are you doing in my room?"

"Just visiting you."

'Just visit? Are you sure about that?'

'No...' He smiled at you with his beautiful dimples.

You put your pinky in one of his dimples.

'Beautiful.'

His cheeks turned red from this interaction. He placed his hands on your hips.

His face came closer to yours.

His eyes shone with the reflection of the moon. Your eyes wandered on his face. His face came closer to yours every second until your lips touched. The kiss was soft and tender. He turned you over so he could push you onto your bed.

His hands wandering on your body. Your lips reconnecting again.

"We have to be quiet, honey."

"We'll be quiet."

You started undressing each other until you were both naked. You looked at each other from head to toe. It didn't feel weird being naked around him. He gently laid you down on your own bed. His arms were muscular, his body was actually muscular. One of your hands squeezed his bicep. You both started giggling quietly. He gave you a quick kiss before positioning himself at your entrance. He first felt if you were wet enough. (Of course you were.) He slowly started pushing himself into you. It took some adjusting at first, but it didn't take long to get used to it. He grabbed one of your hands and pinned them against the mattress.

He pumped into you slowly. You tried not to moan. His hands felt soft. It was such a romantic interaction. Your hands went into his hair and you started to stroke it. His curls sometimes fell in front of his eyes, so you pulled it back. He started sucking on your neck, you had to bite your lips to keep from moaning. He adjusted his position at a moment and he found your sensitive place. He started hitting that spot.

Your legs were shaking at one point. You surrounded his hip with your legs. So you could push him closer to you. His kiss made you a little dizzy with pleasure. He started to be a little faster. You moved from back to front because of this event. At some point you felt your orgasm coming. You tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come out. You couldn't do anything. Bangchan of course saw that you were very close. He caressed your cheeks and whispered sweet words in your ears. He started biting your earlobe playfully.

'Cum for me, little princess.'

You dropped yourself onto the bed in pleasure. He kept pushing himself into you until he came with a groan. You both layed next to each other on your bed. You had never done this before. Yes, you were still a virgin, but that's normal at Hogwarts. When did you have time to make love, when the teachers were constantly watching the students.

"Never done this before." you said suddenly, breaking the silence.

'Never?'

"You did?"

"Mean I had practiced."

"You mean with someone there?"

'No... just... with myself...'

'You shouldn't be ashamed of that. Everyone does that at some point.'

'You too?'

"Maybe did it once."

"What were you thinking while you... did that?"

'Just someone.'

"Who was that person?"

"You still don't know?'

You turned over so you were on your side. You looked directly into his eyes.

'Me?'

Your cheeks turned red and you looked away from him.

'Hey, you shouldn't be ashamed of that. In fact, I'm glad you thought about me.'

'Do you?'

'Yes.'

He moved closer to you, his arms embracing you. You felt his warmth. His body was sweaty. You grabbed your blanket and covered him and yourself with it. You nuzzled yourself into his neck. Your arms hung from his.

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The sun shone through your window. You looked around and saw Bangchan still sleeping. You thought it was all just a dream.

'Wake up.' you whispered in his ear.

He looked around the room for a moment. His hair was all messed up. You kissed him on the cheek.

You walked around the school with Haerin. Gossiping about anything and everything.

"I heard Bangchan has a girlfriend."

You started to stutter a little.

'How so?'

“I heard he's sneaking around with her, a Slytherin. Do you know more about that?'

You cleared your throat.

'No.'

She grinned at you.

"Hmm, sure." she said under her breath.

Lee Know and Yoongi came towards you. Their faces said it all.

“Hi, Y/N. Slept well... last night.'

"Yes, probably."

'Slept well, didn't you?'

"Why are you all so weird."

"We're not weird at all, if anyone here is weird, it's you."

'Nice for you.'

"Let's change the subject, you know, I really like someone."

'Who?!'

"A raven claw."

“Eww.”

“Hwang Hyunjin.”

'That dramatic case?'

'Yes.'

"Have you tried talking to him yet?" Because staring at him from far away isn't really going to help.'

'I do not dare...'

'Just let me do it.'

Haerin tried to stop you but it was too late. You saw Hyunjin standing with Bangchan. You came towards him, Bangchan smiled at you.

“Hi, Hyunjin is it?”

'My friend there.' you pointed at Haerin who completely panicked.

'she wants to get to know you better.'

'She wants to get to know me better?'

'Yes. So yes or no, because you wouldn't keep a lady waiting, would you?'

'Is she free between 3pm and 4pm?'

'Probably.'

"Then send her to me." '

Thank you for your time.' you winked at Bangchan, who melted away.

'You are welcome, he wants to see you between 3 pm and 4 pm.'

Hyunjin waved at Haerin from a distance. She almost fainted.

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416 notes · View notes

iznsfw · 1 year

Text

One Hop Ahead Of You

ARTMS' Jeon Heejin + woo!ah!'s Nana (Kwon Nayeon) x Male Reader Smut

18,039 words

Categories | bunny girls FTW, stepcest (kinda), blowjob, threesome, daddy kink, cunnilingus, angry sex, spanking, breeding

Bunny kpop idols are the best. There's Eunbi, Tsuki, then Heejin and Nana... Thanks for commissioning me this piece; sorry for the late post! Enjoy all the synonyms I could use for "but" :D

Phone on, headphones plugged, music loud. That’s your story for road trips such as these, and you’ve zero plans about rewriting the plot.

The scenery of beautiful mountains and blooming trees can’t break your focus on your mobile device. Your parents can’t either, as hard as they try; they’ve told you once or twice during the whole trip to look up from the screen for once. No, actually, scratch that: they’ve berated you about it at least every five minutes, and you’re starting to grow sick of pretending you can’t hear them. Your nonchalant continued stares on your phone don’t exactly convince them you can’t hear a thing.

Yeah, this is what happens when you give your toddler an iPad. The boomers might be right for this one. You can’t live without staring down at a bright screen, clicking at a bright screen, watching a bright screen. Eh, well, so what? Technology is a necessity in these modern days, and it just so happens that you need this kind of distraction on the road trip. Your mother and father think otherwise, but that’s because they live like it’s still the 70s or something. You don’t know. That’s how parents are.

Mobile data serves you well anyway. Your combat skills do not. You’ve been trying to kill a character on this app for a while, and it stuns you how strong her damage is. You click the sickle attack button more times than you can count and choose a special damage in between three taps, but you still end up dead. You’re seeking vengeance because the player talked shit about you on the main chat, and it doesn’t look like you’re going to show them up. You've got two deaths to go before you're seen as a pathetic little shit who tries too hard, and five kills to cement yourself as someone who isn't.

God, you’ve been playing this game for years—how are you still not good?

“Jay,” you could hear your mother call out from the edge of your earphones. She’s driving, her ringed hands firmly on the wheel. She meets your subtle gaze through the rearview mirror. “Jay.”

Groan. That’s your job as a son: to moan, groan, and drone on about everything and anything. You’re exceptionally skilled in this profession. “What now, mom?” you ask.

She gives you a sarcastic but playful little grin. “Oh, so you can hear me.”

Alright, you’ll let her have that one. But still: “Only because you’ve been nagging me for the whole trip.”

“Now now, don’t talk to your mother like that,” your father chides. He’s a kind-looking dude; he’s got triangle-shaped glasses and stubbles of a dead beard on his chin. “It’s true, but rude. Very rude, not a good look.”

Your mother clicks her tongue. She gives your father a millisecond glare before returning to driving. “Hey.”

“Honey, you know I love you, but your mouth—”

“Leave it at that,” she warns, voice dangerously tight.

Your dad doesn’t heed her warning. “—can be a nuisance.”

“That’s it. I’m pulling over. And you’re driving.”

He raises his hands. “Okay, okay,” he says passively, “I’m sorry.”

They harrumph at each other for a while, then kiss and make up, and you laugh a little. Subtly, of course. Everyone knows that part of going through teenage years (well, you’re a little past being a teen when you’re nearly twenty years old, but your mind is still the same as when you were sixteen) is denying with all your heart that your parents make you happy. You’re just going with the flow, as usual.

It especially doesn’t help that you’re already an adult according to the Korean age system. Adulthood brings a kind of defiant independence in you, which you don’t know whether it’s a good thing or not. It has its moments, you guess.

“Oh, look at that,” says your mother, nudging your father, “Jay’s laughing!”

“I’m not!” you reply, biting your cheek so the smile doesn’t grow. Must. Not. Show. Them.

Your father peeks at you from behind the headrest and grins mischievously. “See? We still got it, don’t we?”

The car swerves, barely making you match your fist bump with him. For this, you allow a slight smile—as much as you like to hide it like a career-ruining secret, you love your parents. They’re like two peas in a pod. Your father’s a rambunctious joke-loving guy your playful mother falls in love with everyday, resulting in, well, having you.

Plus, because of that, you haven’t felt the need to regret being born or despising your parents, unlike other people your age. Their love for each other inspires you, and although every moment with them is guaranteed to have you be a third wheel again, you don’t mind. You love seeing them happy.

“Now that you’re back to earth,” your mother says, “can you please appreciate the surroundings? It’s too beautiful to go ignored.”

“That’s right. They won’t surround you when we fly back home.”

“Dad,” you groan, rolling your eyes. But doing a little observing is the least you could do. You can go AFK on this match for once. You’ve still got more mobile data to last a few days, so worrying isn't needed.

Look up. Blink once. Twice. It’s like a whole new world. Humble homes peek from between forests in the lower sides of the mountains. The sun is shining brightly, casting a yellow light on the trees that decorate the sides of the swerving roads. And the sky… has it always been that blue? The wispy clouds are just the cherry on top.

This place is so different from the urban city where your apartment resides. There’s no smoke, no cut trees, no rising buildings. It’s nature in its most pure state.

There’s no traffic either, but—

“Mom, look out!” you yell, but you’re just a little too late. Just a little, and it would count, but for this one it doesn’t.

You can’t do anything about it then. The large truck that ventures on the wrong side of the road has a mission. Whether intentional or not, it can’t turn back. It collides heavily into the windshield, and you’re wrapped in dizziness and despair as your old car launches backward, rolling in the air a few times before roughly settling on the very curved edge of the road.

Then it slides downward. You’re stuck in a spiral blurred with green and wood. What you remember is the feeling of being tortured and tossed through trees, and the truck following suit. It chases you long after its mission is complete.

Another thing you recall from the accident, as you’re lying down on the rough grass with blood on the side of your head, are two rabbits that stare curiously at you.

They seem to be sisters.

Voices, male and female, scruff and saccharine. They fill your ears like music but you can’t open your eyes to see to whom they belong. They speak of confusing topics and jumbled words. Can’t get a grip of their meaning. All the while your soul is yearning to rise from sleeping when it feels like you’re dying and the force inside you is struggling in defying a black fate.

Your body, however, is blank of any pain. How strange. Strange enough that it’s a strong alarm for you to finally open your eyes. They’ve been glued together for a while, so when your vision greets you, you surprise even yourself. There’s a person in a white lab coat, and a white blanket mantles you. Is this heaven? Isn’t heaven’s signature color white?

First things first: how the fuck did they let you into heaven?

“Ah, so you’re finally awake.” A man with a rounded cap smiles at you. “How’re you doing, bud?”

Blink. So… this isn’t heaven? Do they wear caps in heaven? You don’t think so. Whoever invented denim caps deserves a nice little throne next to Lucifer. “Um. Alright, I guess?”

What should you even say when you’re trying to piece together who he was? You know you’ve seen him before when you were younger, but you’re not sure exactly when. All you’re aware of is that he looks too familiar. Kind of like deja vu. The beard and wrinkly skin tell you of a tale old as time.

“Hello, I’m doctor Kim,” says the woman in the lab coat as she approaches you. She extends a hand to you and you shake it politely. “You experienced a car crash in the morning near the terraces. Luckily, a man saw the tragedy and dialed 911.”

“Tragedy?” you wonder out loud. You’re still alive, so why would it be called that?

Doctor Kim lowers her head. “Your parents died immediately from the impact of the crash, sir. I’m sorry.”

Grief comes strangely to you, even when you’ve heard the news. You’d say you’re mourning, because you are, in a way—from that moment, you miss your parents dearly and wish that time travel existed so you’d prevent the accident from happening. But you aren’t… crying. You don’t burst into tears on the spot. There’s not even wetness in your eyes to help. Moreover, you haven’t made a small prayer for easier things to happen. It’s like the stages of grief avoid you at all costs and don’t even bother to orient you about their loss.

Maybe you’re just in denial. You’ve been staring at a blank spot on the hospital wall for what seems like ages, and you’ve only been conscious for minutes. Something’s changed within.

Wonder who’d be your parent now that both of yours are gone. You’re an orphan. You don’t even know how to drive back home or go back to the convenience store where you make your money. All your belongings for the road trip that was supposed to go beautifully are gone in the accident.

Bite your lip thoughtfully. “Was it quick?” you ask quietly.

The doctor knows what you mean. Whether she’s lying or not is the question. “Yes.”

That comforts you a bit. What eats your insides from guilt, though, is that you never bothered to enjoy the road trip with them. You were always stuck to your damn phone. You didn’t talk much with them during their final moments, and it would haunt you forever. It doesn’t show on your face, though—it’s completely empty, devoid of any expression or pain.

“You really don’t recognize me, bud?” the man laughs, like he actually couldn’t believe it.

Blink. Then it hits you. “Chan hyung…?” you ask. Hope you got it right because you’re steepering on sureness now.

“Bullseye.” So you did. He sits down on the edge of the hospital bed and cups your hand. “I’m a friend of your parents. They told me to look after you in case anything happens. They really loved you, y’know? Still do.”

You look down meekly and nod. Yeah, he’s right. They did. The other part’s true, too; if they had souls and were secretly watching the whole ordeal going on, they’d still love you. That’s how unconditionally they did it.

“I’m on the emergency contacts list, FYI.” He hands you his phone. “They even had a will and all. I hate that we got to meet again like this. Could have been in better circumstances. But that’s life, you know. Plus, it was quick enough to be painless.”

Your hand, linked to the dextrose, hardens in pain as it wraps around the device, but you go on. There on the screen, see that your parents did in fact keep him on the emergency contacts. He’s telling the truth. Now you understand why he looks so familiar.

Look up from the screen, (like you should have in the car when your mother and father tried to make conversation with you.) “I—I used to play baseball with you,” you say in childlike wonder.

Chan laughs. “So I did. I’ll be happy to look after you. Probably even be your father, if you’d like.”

Your heart rises. “You’d really do that?”

“Of course! Your parents were good people, and I’d be glad to have you in my care. According to them, you’re a pretty good kid. Hope that’s true.”

“No promises.”

He laughs. He’s still got the same not-too-serious sense of humor like he did years ago. “What do you say, kid?”

He’s being a good guy, a good friend to your parents even after they passed, and you appreciate it. But being his son this quick after so much time seems like… betraying them. You know that’s not how it works, and your parents would have loved for you to gel quickly with him, but you’re just not ready. Something’s pulling you back.

What could it be?

“I…” you say, fidgeting. You don't know the right words to put it. “C-can I think about it first?”

The look on his face drops, but he smiles anyway. He must be a really good friend to be this understanding. “Of course,” he replies, retracting his hand from yours, “shouldn’t have put you on the spot. Just tell me yes or no when you’re ready. Deal?”

Three days is how long it takes for you to recover. To be fair, you already were—your limbs are working, and that’s enough for you. The doctors, however, insist on a lengthier stay and you kind of want to start shit in the living room and tell them how they were money-greedy exploitative little shits, but you’re not in the mood to cause a ruckus. Maybe some other time, when you eventually break all your bones and wheel out of the hospital cursing them for the bill. But yeah, some other time would work. Of course.

“I took the liberty of packing your stuff up for you,” says Chan, bringing over a luggage bag. It’s full to the edge of the zipper with clothes and other essentials.

You wonder how he went to your home and back here to the hospital this fast. “How did you—”

“I had some help,” he replies simply. You don’t question any further.

You’re in a clean pair of clothes now. You hated wearing the hospital gown. It’s like they attempted to make hospitals less sad by fashioning a bib into a larger size. There you are with your assumptions again. Maybe the stages of grief have come for you after all. Why do you feel angry all the time? This can’t be normal.

What stage would it be if you’re afraid to get into a car because of their loss? You step into it with shaky legs, looking back and forth, as if you’re scared the vehicle would lurch forward suddenly. To be fair, it is a possibility, but a rare one. Your fear, therefore, is completely irrational, yet there you are: suddenly scared of… cars?

Get in finally. The breath you let go, however, has been keen on getting out.

Chan knows well to avoid the path your parents went on when they died. He avoids it for both of your own wellbeings. They were close to him, too. He would hate to go down the road they died on. Like you, he wants to remember them fondly, not like the injured bodies that he said goodbye to at the morgue. Again, it’s for the best.

“Hey, kid,” he says. His peer at you through the rearview mirror gives you painful flashbacks. “You okay?”

He’s more attentive than he gives himself away as; he somehow notices your blank stare at the window and weak smile. He’s got you figured out, and you suppose that’s a good thing—it just shows how he could play his role as your dad pretty well if you let him. But then there’s the sense of yearning in you that’ll end up in no good. It’s yearning for your parents to come back, the yearning for them to somehow have the breath of life in their lungs again and have them rise from the morgue and walk back into your life. If they do that, you’d make an oath to be the best son.

Ah, you know that won’t happen. It’s impossible. It’s wishful thinking that won’t amount to anything.

“You could talk to me.” His eyes stare straight at the road, but he’s not really looking at anything. “I miss them, too.”

“I’m fine, hyung,” you say. You’re not, but who needs to hear that? Not the guy to whom your parents entrusted you to. You’re twenty years old—who needs to hear an overgrown child’s lamentations?

You don’t want to burden Chan at all. What you don’t know is he’s actually willing to hear all of it. You should have lamented about not knowing his openness rather than everything else. It would only lead to more sadness.

The sadness evaporates a little upon seeing his house. It’s a nice place, with two stories and a nice terrace to lounge at. Maybe, from the other side, it’s your parents’ way of still loving you: giving you a nice home and a nice (future?) dad.

They're still looking after you. Look up in the sky and smile. Chan catches it, and for a second you blush in embarrassment, but he smiles, too. "See?" is what he says, followed up with: "Everything's gonna be fine."

Trust him on that.

Open the front door and it welcomes you into his home. Its main color is pure white. You start to wonder how the white walls are unblemished even with its ruinable color. Maybe he had it cleaned up for your sake. The furniture's good, too, but all it's good for right now is to be a bed for your luggage when you start to arrange things.

"Your room's right over there," Chan says, pointing to an open door to your left. "Feel free to get some food or water. Whatever you like. You're family now." He steps closer and pats your shoulder. "Always been."

Smile appreciatively. Resist the urge to hug him and replace it with folding a few of your clothes into a pile to bring it over to your bedroom. Graphic shirts in one pile here, underwear and sleeveless shirts in the other over there. Add your headphones on top of the pile and you’re ready to start adjusting to your new room. Just one look and you could already tell it’s bigger than the one back at home. Well, former home, to be exact. You keep forgetting this is a whole new place that’s going to be where you sleep, rest, and laugh.

That voice gets your guard down, and so does the girl standing in front of you. That deep voice certainly can’t belong to the sweet-but-indifferent-faced girl leaning against your door frame. Look around for a bit to see if it’s anyone else’s, but there’s no one around. Just you and the alluring woman blocking the pathway to your new room.

She gestures to the stack of clothes in your arms with her brows. “You plan on doing anything with that or what?” she asks.

Yeah, that deep voice definitely is hers; you can hear it loud and clear. Not one syllable could belong to anyone else, no one but her. What’s her name? It’s—

“Heejin,” says Chan exasperatedly. Amusement is present in his tone too as he walks over to break it up and sling an arm around his daughter’s shoulder. “Don’t scare the new guy and let him in his room, please?”

“I’m just being curious, daddy,” Heejin explains.

Oh, so that’s her name. Heejin. Jeon Heejin. Neat. Has a nice ring to it, but it somehow spells trouble. You swear those letters can’t make up that word, but with Heejin, it sure does. Not only does her name spell it, but so do her eyes that are way too observant, tracking your every move with prolonged glances, and the tilt of her head as if she were a trained German Shepherd rather than the animal she reminds you of: a bunny.

A bunny?

Wait—

"Oh, it's you!" you say. Almost drop your clothes on the floor when you realize it. How could you not have caught on?

Heejin smiles. It brings the sense of familiarity to wash more over your mind like waves. "Thought you would never recognize me, Jay," she says. "Hi there."

Try not to gawk with all your might, but you do anyway. Just hope it isn't obvious because see here, the Jeon Heejin you know used to be a shy little thing, never wanting to come out and play with you when you were younger out of embarrassment. Now, she writes confidence into each and every one of her moves, with a dazzling little smile to go along with it. How did she manage the transformation? You need the tips ASAP.

"Oh, right." Chan slaps a hand to his face and shakes his head. "You two've met before, right?"

She's a little sleazy when she rests her back on the frame again and nods, eyes never leaving your body. If anything, she's the one who's gawking and even if, for argument's sake, you are, it's just an eye for an eye. The two of you are just amazed at how much the other has grown up. Nothing more.

(Or… ?)

"So it seems," she says bluntly.

"Ah, should have known. But it was a long time ago, wasn't it?"

"Mhm." Heejin looks you up and down and smiles. "You've grown up."

"So have you," you reply, because she has. Toned muscle clings to her arms and she’s let go of the rectangle-shaped glasses. Now, circular Harry Potter spectacles sit on the bridge of her pointy nose. She stares at you through them for a while. She's a CCTV; she's monitoring your moves in HD and watching you put your clothes in neat piles in the cabinet drawers. Heejin gives you a stare that lingers long after you're done folding them. She's thinking of something, and you're not sure if you want to know.

"Daddy," she calls out.

You don't know what you're doing when you turn your head in her direction. Much less when she winks at you. Blush furiously and hide your face behind spread shirts.

Chan peeks from the living room. "Yeah, hon?"

"I think Nana's waiting for you to pick her up? It's 3 p.m.."

"Ah, right. Can’t forget about that little rascal.” He wipes his mouth and gets up. “Help Jay with his stuff, please, Heekki?"

It only takes seconds for Chan to find his keys, but for you it takes hours. Your heart beats loudly at the thought of being alone with Heejin, and you can’t differentiate its drumming with being nervous or excited. When he finally gets out and you hear the car pull out of the way, you’re stuck. Heejin’s somewhere near the corner of your room but it doesn’t look like she’s the one who has nowhere to go.

She’s stunning with all those locks of shiny dark hair curtaining her shoulders and fit body. Her legs do more than peeking out from her low-cut shorts as she navigates your new room. The round glasses that sit on her nose just pull her whole, gorgeous look together. You can’t believe how beautiful she’s become. She was always a pretty girl, but the maturity and growth that coursed through her early years of adulthood made her glow. It’s like you’re looking at a new, refined version of her.

“I’m sorry about your parents,” says Heejin. She picks away at a poster of a famous basketball player, name redacted. “They were good people.”

“Trust me,” you sigh, “I know.”

God knows you didn’t appreciate your parents much. It’s a pet peeve of yours to be reminded to be grateful in grave situations, but your mother and father were different from other pairs of parents. Others were abusive, neglectful, cruel. Yours knew how to take care of you while letting you dip your toes into the pool of freedom at the same time. Your parents loved you. Not a lot of people could say that.

“And they told my dad to take you in, huh?”

“Does that bother you?” you say, with an unintentional bladed edge to your voice. Realize how you said it and immediately shut your mouth.

Heejin blinks, disarmed for a while, then recovers quickly with a smile that’s just as dazzling as her. “For what it’s worth,” she says, taking the chance to place herself beside you a little too close for anything that isn’t lustful intent, “I’d love to have you over here as long as you like.”

You don’t know what to say. Her being this close with you is setting off fireworks inside of you. Put a pillow snug in your lap just to be sure and nod. “Thanks, Heejin.”

“Of course.” Heejin rests her chin on your shoulder and whispers so softly that it could’ve been your imagination deluding you again: “I’ll make your time here worthwhile.”

Jerk your head, but she’s already scampering to the door and exiting your room. She doesn’t even look back.

“Hey,” you say, trying to break the ice that only freezes you, “Chan hyung said you would help me with my stuff!”

No response.

So you were right to think that she’s trouble. But god, would you love to be wound up in her.

You’ve stared at the ceiling for too long, but now, it’s not out of grief. It’s out of fear. Are you doing the right thing by wanting to fuck your sister? Well, she’s not exactly your sister yet, but she’s somehow related to you now considering her father treats you as a son, too. A stepsister, maybe? There’s no other fitting term than that.

What should you do? Is gawking at her and her desirable body going to make your parents in the afterlife proud? You’re sure they’d be disappointed. But is it your fault that Heejin’s grown into this naturally flirtatious woman? Not at all. Is it your fault that she’s so damn attractive? The answer is no, too.

It could be a yes though, because it isn’t Heejin to blame that her new brother wants to have sex with her. You’re both in the wrong, and two of those don’t exactly make a right.

Look around your room, then at the door where she leaned on as she successfully intimidated you. Is it locked? Fuck it, you don’t know, and you probably don’t even care. What you do know is that you’re too turned on by the thought of your new sister Jeon Heejin, and you need to do something about it.

(To the cracked hole in the fourth wall, you say, What? I have needs, too, you know. And you do, too—why do you think you’re reading this now?)

Lift your comforter just a little and slide your hand south. Cup your bulge, caress it, then spring it out. It’s already solid, and it doesn’t need too many strokes to have the blood rushing there completely. Your stiff rod aches for a touch, aches for Heejin, and stimulates itself to the thought of her as you start to jerk off.

You think of how she could swing those full thighs over each side of your face, and though her form would burden your chin, you’d happily eat of her. Bet that her pussy’d taste just as good as her lips. You’d lick and suck her clit while she moans and writhes until the two of you couldn’t take it anymore; her core would feel numb after the pleasure and your jaw would ache for days.

You recall how her lips were just inches away from you earlier, only barely touching the curve of your ear. Think of how those lips would feel much better if they were on yours. Yearn for your mouths to meet to the point that you’re moaning in each other, taking in the natural scent of skin and sex.

Finally, you think of the changes you’ve seen in her. Where was the shy, antisocial Heejin of yesterday? Now she’s grown, just like you, and looks far better than you’d imagine. She’s turned into this will’o the wisp goddess.

“Heejin,” you say, as quietly as you could, “Heejin, Heejin, Heejin—”

“God, I really turned you on that much, huh?”

Your pumps stop, and your sight catches onto the said woman you’ve been jerking off to. She’s in the same place as she was earlier, at her opening scene at the door frame. You’re more than happy to see the pretty Heejin, but she can’t show up now. Not when you’re jerking off. She can’t just appear in the corner like she teleported for the pure purpose to catch you in the act.

“Heejin!” you yell, pulling the covers onto yourself. “G-get out of my room!”

She’s wearing her sleep clothes now, but she still looks like she dressed to impress. Her body pulls together the skimpy shorts and loose shirt she sleeps in into something that could have been worn on a haute couture catwalk. Her raised brows, haughty eyes, and quirked mouth all show how she’s smugger than the word itself.

“Aww,” Heejin says, walking over to sit on your bed, “what should we do to you now, oppa?”

You’re horrified, to say the least. It’s your first day at a new house and you’re already doing something wrong. The bare minimum you should do in this situation is to tell the girl to fuck off. Tell her to go far away and flee to anywhere but your room. You can’t just stare at her like she’s a dream come true, even if she is.

Let’s see: you have your new sister on your bed who caught you jerking off. There has to be some other way this would end, but the two of you know where this leads. The question that remains is if you’d be able to hold back.

You make the first step to resisting the inevitable outcome. “Heejin,” you say, breaths shredded into panicked little gasps, “I’ll only say it again and no more. Get out of my room.”

She smiles sweetly and shakes her head. “Can’t make me. I want to know what you were doing, Jay.”

“No!” You won’t be saying it, you won’t dream of saying it, you’d rather die than to be caught saying it. It’s already bad enough when it goes unspoken. What more if you pronounce what you were doing with each syllable more embarrassing than the other?

“Then I guess I should just”—she tugs the covers off—”oh my, Jay oppa. You were touching yourself to me. And I thought I was just being narcissistic.”

Your cock leaks in the cold air. Heejin laughs tauntingly. It sounds so much more attractive than it should, especially when her voice is deep and rich. It sounds… sexy?

Oh, what are you doing? You should feel embarrassed, maybe even petrified at the mere thought of your childhood acquaintance slash new sister slash new crush seeing your dick. But your mind doesn’t brew with insecurities upon seeing her eyes glimmer with eagerness.

She can’t do this. No, no, no, you can’t do this either. Let fucking her remain a fantasy pirouetting in your head, not one that comes true. It’s so much more awkward when it translates into real life where you somehow think it into existence.

Awkwardness isn’t in Heejin’s dictionary, though. She looks far from uneasy or disgusted. In fact, you swear there’s a small grin dimpling her cheeks. It’s like she’s actually flattered that you’re jerking off to her.

“If I knew you had such a big cock, Jay oppa…” she says, placing a hand on your hip to prop herself on it. You jerk involuntarily, which happens at the worst time; your cock almost brushes her cheek. “I would have let you fuck me in front of daddy. Or would you rather I call you daddy?”

“Why are you here, for god’s sake?” you say. You’re biting your lip to suppress your humiliated screams.

“Well,” she taps her chin, a feat that would be adorable if you’d just cast the situation aside, “I thought I heard something, and it was just as I suspected.”

“Fine, I’ll say it for the third time: Jeon Heejin, get the fuck out of my room.”

“Oh, that’s right. Say my name, oppa. Daddy.” She winks. “Say it and I might just put my lips on this big fat cock.”

“No, you won’t.”

It sounds more challenging instead of intimidating, and it’s clear that Jeejin doesn’t cower away from dares anymore. “Watch me.”

She lowers herself onto your lower body and admires your length with bright bunny eyes. “I’d let you blow in my mouth as much as you like. I’d fuck my throat on it and give it a nice good kiss. Oh, right, you wanna know how? Like this.”

She engages with your dick into an open-mouthed osculation, swallowing the tip and suckling it, too. Groan, but when you pull your hand out to do the opposite to her head, she’s already sitting back up. You really can’t have your way here, not when your new sister knows of her danger and puts it to good use. She’s resourceful like that, and it both impresses and scares you.

Heejin wags her finger in your face as if she were scolding a trouble child. “No, no, Jay oppa,” she reprimands you. “That was just a teaser. If you really want me, jerk off to me. Say my name.”

You can’t say no to her. Well, actually, you can—you just refuse to. You’re fifty-percent scared of the outcome of making this deal with Heejin and fifty-percent excited. There’s an Alice-like curiosity in you that yearns to see what might happen. Would she really keep her end of the deal and suck you off? Or leave you with blue balls like she did earlier?

Wrap your hand unsurely around your penis again. She nods encouragingly.

Do your usual routine: up and down. Murmur her name over and over, your gaze connected with hers. Her smile grows bigger as your pumps become less measured. You start to spiral out of control. How can you not when she’s just too fucking hot? Her succubus stare, thighs that look fuller as they rest on your mattress, her intent that grows more clear as she rubs your thigh. You’re trapped in lust, and you know you have to settle down a little before you completely lose track of all senses, but you can’t stop. How could anyone when there’s Jeon Heejin as she lives and breathes in front of you?

Say her name, say her name.

Say it like a poem, say it like it’s one of fame.

Say it like you’re about to cum, which you are, and your climax isn’t one that’s too far—

“That’s it, Jay,” says Heejin in a tone that’s almost loving. As your cum shoots an obscene, one-direction spurt, she replaces your hand with hers. “Cum for me. You want to fuck me so bad it’s pathetic.”

Her touch is as rough as it is soft. You say it’s too much in between thin whimpers of pleasure, but her flexed hand is determined to keep pumping. Her fist tightens and her jerks grow stronger.

“Naughty, naughty oppa. Look at this thick hot cum. Is it all for me?”

You’re spraying all over her and her meaty thighs. Her shorts get stained and you try with all your might to contain the bursts of white, but you end up on the edge again. You end up releasing more. Your thoughts run in circles and bump into each other—they’re scolding you, hurting you, asking you why the fuck are you cumming from your new sister’s handjob. You’d answer them by saying you don’t know, but you know the reason probably more than you know yourself:

Heejin is unbearably alluring, and her giving you a handjob is unbearably wrong. Strangely, both of these facts get you going. The mere truth that she shouldn’t be doing this with you makes you want more of it. Has grief taken a more different route in traumatizing you? Oh god, what would your parents think?

What would Chan think? He trusts you enough to be a good big brother to Heejin. Would you really throw his trust in you away, all for his irritatingly hot oldest daughter?

If you’d take a look at the situation—you having just ejaculated on her—it seems like it.

“No,” you say. It’s a crack in your integrity knowing that you could stress her name in any way or form, and she’d still be hot as fuck. It wouldn’t undo what she did to you and what you let her do. “P-please. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“That’s what makes it fun, right?” She wipes your cum from her thighs with her shirt. “Besides, I did say I’ll make your time worthwhile.”

How does that work? A brother and sister, whether related by blood or not, should bond by having sincere talks and treating each other, not by having sex.

(But she’s right about the fun part. Looks like Heejin is just as fucked in the head as you are.)

“I want to have some fun, Jay oppa,” she explains. She places her palms on her thighs caked with cum, and pouts. From that, you know you can’t resist. You wouldn’t dare. “Won’t you let me, pretty please?”

She’s both hot and adorable. Hot enough to drive you crazy and adorable enough to convince you to do any of the most mundane things out there. You don’t know how to do this with her. It seems like no matter how cute or sleazy she poses herself as, she’ll always get what she wants somehow.

It’s dumb of you to even try, but you do: “Okay, what fun do you want to have?” Say this while collecting tissues from the little box at your bedside table to wipe down her thighs. You expected to use the tissues for self-love sessions and nights when the tears couldn’t stop. You never thought that you’d have to use them to clean your cum from your new sibling’s legs.

“You know exactly what I want: I want this”—she points at your cock—”in here”—then at the center of her shorts.

Immediately your already gray morals come out to play. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Heejin,” you say, biting your lip to stay quiet. It’s not intentionally hot or whatsoever, but Heejin’s mind particularly hangs onto that for a while. “We’re brother and sister now. We can’t do this. What if your dad finds out?”

“Aww, I get it. I do, really. But you’re so going to hit my guts if you fuck me right now.” She throws off her shorts, leaving her in nothing but a set of cute pink panties. Then, she scoots herself over so that your cock rests upon her small belly, right in front of her core. “See? You can spread me that well, and I won’t mind at all. I promise.”

Look at your cock and how far it can reach inside her, how it can push her walls apart. Oh god, it’s tempting. Everything about her, from her perfect face to her spread thighs, calls for you to forgo propriety and just fuck her.

“This bunny’s waiting for you, oppa.” Heejin does more than wait and pulls down your boxers. Pulls down her panties. Pulls down your ethics and morality and principles and everything you used to go by; down they go into the river of fire. “This bunny girl’s gonna fuck herself on this cock. You want that, don’t you, daddy? You want me to ride you and call you daddy. Make me call myself your little bunny. Yeah, I’ve got you all figured out.”

What she’s doing may be wrong, but what she’s saying is right. You, in all unfiltered honesty, want to see Heejin bounce on you and ride you endlessly. Her toned thighs and calves are made for it. She deserves getting what she wants after jerking you off.

But does Chan deserve this: have his new son and his daughter betray his trust? Turn the family upside down all because of lust?

Oh, who cares what he thinks? When Heejin slides her pussy down your cock in one try despite her refusing tightness, you lose your thoughts. The will to take her roughly, just like she deserves, takes its place. It rules your head with an iron fist, just like how you rule Heejin’s impossibly tight pussy with iron-clad thrusts.

“Oh, oh, oh fuck,” she gasps. She squeezes her eyes shut and grabs onto your shoulders. Her hold is tight. That’s one thing it has in common with her cunt. “Daddy, you’re so big. I can’t, p-properly ride it, you’re too big.”

Your cock is held hostage by Heejin’s stubborn cunt. She wants it to stuff her fully, but never could let it inside her. She’s too tight. Your hands on her waist, you push her down as gently as you could. She lets out deep groans and sighs.

“That feels so good, daddy,” she tells you. After that, you achieve a dream you never thought would come true, as light as it is compared to fucking her: a kiss. It’s not as passionate as her bouncing on your crotch, but it’s good enough to have you blushing. “Yes, you like it when your little bunny girl kisses you? You like how tight she is?”

You nod. That’s all you can do when you’re speechless. What else can you say to her? You can’t tell her that it isn’t true when every iota of her words are true.

“You can do better than that, daddy,” Heejin gasps, head tossed back. A storm of black hair hangs over your bed clothes. “I know you can. Yes, just like that. Do it. Fffuck me harder, I want it, fuck—”

Clearly, slow, precious pumps into her tiny hole aren’t going to work. So it isn’t exactly all your doing when you lift Heejin and suddenly have her pinned to the bed. The balance of power is reversed—you’re now pounding her to your mattress, spreading her legs and propelling your thrusts into the perfect target: her small, damp hole. You take advantage of how wet she is by thrusting bluntly and exclude the rest of your length for a chance to breathe. With Heejin, though, there’s no such thing as breathing. She’s left you gasping for air since your reunion.

“Hnnn, lookie here, daddy.” She lifts her shirt, revealing a surprising set of subtle yet hard abs, where your bulge appears and disappears. “You’re so big that you’re, fu— fucking reaching my tummy. That’s why you have to go deeper. Can’t waste such a big cock, right?”

She grabs your waist to aid your pumps. She must have done some serious lifting in the gym; those harsh tugs and pulls have got to be from somewhere. You’re thrown into a looped route of jamming your tip against her G-spot and cervix hard. Heejin’s grippy pussy refuses to let you go through the night without going down on her. Not that you’d have it any other way. Silly how just moments ago you were telling her not to continue her advances, yet now you’ve advanced past flirty banter with her.

Make it a point, no, a goal to thrust upward rather than only forward. She spreads her legs more, and you reach under her loose shirt to squeeze her breasts. Her nipples are perky and deserve each of your tweaks. Heejin whimpers, as if she were an actual bunny caught into a trap. What a terrible hunter you are, but it’s simply revenge. The disguised predator, Heejin, was actually prey—she’s caught into the ropes she went to with confident hops.

The hunter becomes the hunted.

“Fuck, you’re going to put a baby in me,” whines Heejin. “C-can’t do that, just—no, just cum on my stomach, please. My mouth, my legs, anywhere.”

When she puts it that way, it makes you spite the fact that it’s forbidden. You want to release in Heejin and make her feel your warm cum. Let it infiltrate her womb and give her a baby. You can’t have that happen, yet you want it to happen. It shouldn’t be like this.

“Please,” you say. You’re getting incredibly close that it rides on your tongue like the aftertaste of a dessertful. You can’t believe you’re actually begging to cum inside her, but any man would if put in your place. Anyone who thinks it’s pathetic clearly hasn’t met Heejin face to face.

“Daddy,” she says, “you can’t…”

Saddening news, and she isn’t too happy about it either. The tremble of her lower lip is one you capture with a firm kiss. Your breaths get caught in her mouth as you near climax. And the orgasmic Heejin’s wrapping her legs around you tight, as if daring you to breed her even if she’s clearly told you not to. It’s like her legs, sealed around your hips, bear the weight of the advantages and disadvantages and spread them out for you, yet the thing in between them makes you forget all about the cons.

It’s scary how you almost give in.

Just in time, however, you pull away and bust a load on her tummy. It’s the product of all the jabs your rod did at it. It’s only fair it gets to show the plentiful result laid all over the muscled skin.

Heejin looks down at the pool of cum while gasping for air. She swallows, then smiles. “Not bad for a guy who’s gonna be my big brother.”

You can already tell having sex with her is going to become a usual affair. The look she flashed you before leaving for school is telling enough. When she woke you up with a sloppy blowjob, saying in between soft suckles that “I have at least one hole you could fill,” you went insane. You’ve made your bed. Now you have to lie in it.

To be fair, you’d lie in Heejin forever if you could. But as a son, you have duties to fulfill. Although Chan told you that you’re free to do whatever you wish, you still have the sense to help around the house. You don’t want to be seen as a burden. You’d want to be anything but the new son who doesn’t know how to do things, especially for your new sisters.

Your new relationship with Heejin, though, exceeds familial bond. Will you hide it from Chan or put a stop to what she’s doing before it transforms completely? Down the road feelings from both ends might get involved and increase the overall taboo of the situation. Chan would probably get suspicious.

You don’t know what to do.

Take your mind off things. Make an extravagant meal, or at least a style-over-substance one. Follow the instructions of a recipe for mashed potatoes at the back of the gravy powder packet. Hell, you could do this: set cut and peeled potatoes in a pot of briskly boiling water, mash them after smearing them with butter, shake pepper onto those motherfuckers… done!

Put your masterpiece into a bowl and set it on the table. It actually looks pretty good. Maybe being a chef is your calling. You can already imagine the scenarios you’d go through as one. Chef Jay doesn’t sound too bad, right?

Chan is at work while Heejin’s at college. You’re glad you won’t be seeing Heejin for the remainder of the day; as much as you’d hate to see her go, meeting her would make you feral. She left a to-do list on a post-it sticky note on the fridge door, which looks like it’s been there for a while if you take into consideration the boxes all being checked.

A more recent one, however, is Chan’s own reminders written on a piece of ruled college notebook paper, apparently addressed to you and Nana:

Good morning! Have an awesome day ;)

Please treat yourself to the Mcdonalds in the fridge, just reheat it pls

Take care of yourselves, love you!

Ah, you wouldn’t have made mashed potatoes if you knew Chan had left some McDonald’s. You hope that he still remembers your favorite from years ago: a classic Big Mac with medium fries to go.

Open the fridge eagerly and—

There’s nothing?

You know who it is. That voice is decidedly more youthful than Heejin’s, but not anymore that high. It’s Nayeon. Nana, to be exact. Everyone you know calls her Nana in order to avoid confusing her with Im Nayeon who’s somewhere in the line of the kids of your parents’ friends.

Nana’s younger by only a year, hence being the perfect playmate for you back then. The two of you would run around and yell at each other gleefully, basking in the joys of childhood you didn’t know would last that short.

So, when you step closer to her, you don’t really believe it’s her. If there’s anything in common between the bright Nana and the laid-back Heejin, it’s that they’ve both grown up beautifully.

“Nana?” you ask.

Her hair was a silky black then, often wrangled in between with sand and dirt, but now, it’s a mass of coffee brown. It looks like she’s gotten glasses, too, aside from a light fringe that settles prettily on her forehead.

But then there’s Nana’s body, which you used to pick up as a child to mimic flying heroes with, which has grown… voluptuous. In the volleyball shorts and casual statement tee, it flatters her medium-sized bust and meaty thighs just right.

(It probably even coaxes you into thinking she’s the perfect… girlfriend?)

Her face still is adorable as ever. If someone were to put the cutest face in the world with the perfect body, the outcome would be Nana. She’s more than that, actually; she just so happens to be exactly your type.

Oh no, here you go again. Your feelings for her from your youthful days resurge, and you realize you’ll probably add another fuck-up to the list before this day ends. Meeting Heejin was one thing, but Nana, your first grade playmate slash friend slash childhood crush? Slash new sister? You’re as good as dead to Chan if he finds out what you want to do to her.

“Jay oppa!” says Nana. Her smile has grown more beautiful, just like the rest of her. It’s still cheeky, but wider. “You remember me, right?”

How could you not? “Y-yeah.”

“Aww, sweet!” Nana pokes you on the shoulder. “Anyway, I ate your Big Mac, sorry. I got hungry.”

Oh, so Chan did remember your favorites.

“One meal wasn’t enough for you?” ask her, grinning. You still got that playfulness in you with her. Hopefully she reciprocates.

She gives you the finger.

Scoff and turn away with raised hands. “If it makes you feel better, I made potatoes for you,” you announce, “but I guess I’ll have them since you ate my Big Mac.”

“Meanie.”

“Overgrown baby.”

“Jaybird.”

It’s just like the old times, except for today, nobody gets hurt. The two of you know the truth: you’ve missed each other so much. Not a day goes by when you don’t think of each other. You’re embedded into the depths of everyday thoughts, the times when she’d say oh no, I wasn’t thinking of you but only because she doesn’t realize it because you’re layers upon layers upon layers of idle thought.

It would take an expeditioner to navigate through the history you and Nana have.

You’re childish. What makes up for it is what you say next, because it’s kind of true and isn’t merely something to say just for the hell of it, as you step forward and lower your gaze to her with a sobering glare: “Brat.”

Nana approaches you with her hands folded behind her back. She tilts with each step, as if contemplating on whether she is one or not. “Am I?”

She’s so much smaller than you, yet your hands fill up when you place them on her hips. Her waist is tiny compared to the slopes of her hips and thighs. Her cheeks (on both parts, to be clear, because you know what you’re thinking) are sizable, too, and you can’t choose between the two pairs on which to squeeze.

“Yeah.”

“Can you handle it?”

You see where this is going. You’re still a mirror of each other, and the glass still reflects lust. “Nana.”

“Fine,” she says indifferently. She hops on the kitchen island and crosses her arms. That should be a sign that she’s going to be anything but. “Be like that. Pretend you don’t know what I wanna do. Even better, pretend you don’t like me.”

She’s got it all wrong. Draw in some air and let it out immediately. “I do like you, Nana,” you clarify. “But—”

“But?”

How do you tell her what the matter is without revealing that you just had sex with Heejin the night before? You’ve no idea how to go through this. Your feelings for her collide with your attraction to her sister, as well as what you did with her.

No outcome of this is morally right, but who cares for morality? You do, although you’re the last person who should be talking about that. You’re trying to salvage what’s left of your ethics and piece it together to make yourself believe that you’re a good person. Newsflash: you’re not. No good person would fuck his new sister and want to fuck the other, too.

Whir the script you used for Heejin for her younger sister. “We’re family now,” you say weakly.

Nana rolls her eyes. “Get off your high horse.”

“It’s not a high horse. It’s… it’s decency.”

“Hm. Okay.”

It’s surprising how quick Nana concedes. Her simple answer should have led to a simple result: the two of you never talking about this again and respecting the boundaries of the other. But no, she’s walking towards you, setting her hands on your shoulders. Her mouth is nearing yours, somewhere you’ve dreamed of it residing despite it being so wrong.

“Then stop me,” she dares you. It’s a tougher dare than the ones she made you do on the playground. “If you’re so righteous and don’t want to kiss me, stop me.”

You shouldn’t kiss her. You want to, but it’s something that should never happen. Your feelings for her since your childhood days can’t come out to play when she’s your new sister. No unspoken law of morality says that it’s fine for you to sweep her up in your arms, kiss her, and take her to bed. If you do, you’re committing multiple crimes.

Nana is the braver felon. She presses her lips on your mouth, and you have to admit, in spite of the wrongness, that it’s everything you’ve dreamed of. Her chapsticked mouth is soft and sweet. You really should have held back. Nevertheless, her tongue is in your mouth, and soon you’re holding her head in your hands so you could kiss her properly.

She’s turned you into a felon, too. So rob her of her breath. Hold her body hostage on the island. Kill your hesitation. You’re one of the same, yet only one of you has shown any hesitation in doing this. In fairness, there’s still a voice in the back of your head that commands you to stop.

You don’t listen to it.

“Did your dad put any CCTVs in the house?” you ask breathily. If you’re going to do something wrong, you should at least try to hide it.

“He’s old as shit. Of course he didn’t,” says Nana, giggling. “If you eat my pussy right now he won’t know. Unless, of course, you want to get caught.”

“So you’re scared of climbing trees but not getting caught having sex?”

“Hey, I’m not scared of climbing trees anymore! Now shut up and eat me. Consider this… your lunch, since I had your McDonald’s.”

“By all means, Nayeon,” you say, pulling down the shorts that live up to their name and the flimsy set of pink panties.

“It’s Nana—ohhhh…”

Her correction gets lost and translated into moans. You’re sending quick, dainty licks on her clit. Enjoy the shivers Nana does. You know well to prey on that area after that, besides your experience with an old high school fling and sex ed. You also know to caress her thighs to send chills up her body, somehow even bringing heat to her core.

She’s too light to cause injury, but she almost, almost does when she squirms her hips harshly into your face. “Oppa!” she squeals. Her fingers are wrapped at the edge of the island as she lifts her lower body up for you to devour. “Th-that feels so good—fuck—”

“Thought you didn’t like to curse,” you say. Break the contact with her clit and let your finger take its place.

“And I thought you were a virgin.”

You don’t realize that your finger rubbing on her sensitive little nub takes the offense out on it. “The fuck?”

“Y-yeah, I know.” Nana hisses. She rolls her hips up and down. “I thought you’d be too scared to have sex with me. You know, besides the obvious reasons.”

“So you’re saying I should be the guy you thought I would be? And stop?”

“Don’t you fucking dare—”

Laugh. “Relax,” you tell her. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll eat this delicious pussy of yours till you’re screaming, I promise.”

Nana laughs as well. She rests her calves on both of your shoulders and smiles. “Spoken like a true non-virgin.”

It helps that she’s so fucking delicious. You’d start having her as a rewarding meal after tough days rather than McDonald’s. She’s the perfect balance of sweetness and tanginess, filling your mouth like a rain of sugar. Wrapping your lips around her nub just brings out more wetness and moans that are just as sweet. Her sounds of pleasure are exactly what you’ve fantasized about them being: soft yet high, clinging to pitched tones and increasing in volume when you slurp on her nub.

Her sounds are so much different from her sister’s. Heejin’s moans are deep and unearth even deeper feelings of lust for her. Nana’s drive you crazy in a different way. They urge you to keep eating her, to keep suckling harshly on her little clitoris so you’d have her stiff nipples poke the front of the cloth of her shirt, to keep doing away with her tiny hole so that she’s begging in that cute little voice of hers.

She’s more passive than Heejin, too. It took rough patches for you to finally be able to fuck her sister into temporary submission. For Nana, it only takes a few licks here and there, and she’s already shaking. Still, you can’t choose between them.

Why choose anyway when you can have them both?

Nana, of course, is good enough for now. Though she’s got you in a padlock between her thighs and forcing you to keep eating her, you give in happily. Your hands are curled around her thick soft thighs to maintain her sprawled position on the island. And dear god, are you taking advantage of it. The suction of your lips is almost cruel, and the poor girl has to alternate between loving it and being overwhelmed.

Run your hands along her delicious backside then squeeze the two round globes. She moans appreciatively, and she’s faced with another two decisions to choose from: to reverse herself into your hands so you could play with her ass more or to go forward to have your mouth absolutely devouring her. Both options are sure to provide her pleasure, but she can’t choose just one. So she moves her hips forward and backward, grinding on the tip of your tongue and your rough palms. It feels so much better this way for her. She’s finally found a good routine.

“Oppa, oppa, Jay oppa,” groans Nana. “Please, p-please.”

She doesn’t specify what she’s begging for. She doesn’t need to anyway when you know the answer. That’s why you run your tongue along her soaked labia, then let it peek into the hole they welcome you in. Delve your tongue inside her deeply. Her ass lifts off the surface and you have to pull her down to earth though she’s close to meeting heaven because of you. No, she’s staying here, under your control and touch. She isn’t going anywhere.

Not that Nana would rather be anywhere else. She’s content with having you orally please her. She likes the feeling of being sprawled out before and under you and letting you have your way with her. She was wrong to think you were a virgin; the wildest laps of an inexperienced mouth definitely won’t feel this good.

She should eat your lunch more times if this is how it would end.

“Your tongue, fuck,” she says, voice shattered, “ it feels so good—don’t stop, please, I can’t—”

You don’t plan on it. Nana’s too delicious, too sweet to stop eating of. She’s definitely miles better than what you were supposed to have for lunch. Although your head still swirls at the idea that you’re actually having sex with your crush, hesitation is a faint dream. Her moans, sweet and whiny, prod you on and tell you a story of a climax approaching.

Draw out the plotline by tracing a line from her slit to her pearl, repeat then, shove a plot twist in there by suddenly curling your tongue inside her. She provides the dialogue and ending line:

“Jay oppa, I’m cumming!”

Nana’s screams switch to squeals when you spank her bubble butt while continuing to eat her out. She reaches for your head and pulls it deeper between her thighs, while her other hand rests on her left nipple. The combined pleasure unexpectedly makes her leak of squirted girl cum. Of course, you waste no time in licking that up.

“T-too much, fuck, oh yes,” she gasps. Her breaths are burdened with each word. “Spank me, oppa, just like that!”

Everything you do drives her crazy. From your spanking and sucking, her hips never fail to lose control. They knock, sway, and dance while her pussy drips with more accumulated wetness and cum. Despite her satisfaction, it’s clear that you won’t be able to drink all of her juices when the mere act of doing it forms more.

“Oppa, oppa, stop.”

Pause and look up at her with a mouth smeared with juices. “What’s the problem?” you ask. You’d hate to have done something wrong to her.

“I think daddy and Heejin unnie are at the driveway.”

Shit. You immediately pull away from Nana’s cunt. She barely gets her shorts on right when Chan and Heejin come in. Pray that the kitchen smells of what it’s supposed to instead of sex. You can still catch the slight scent of gratification in the air.

“We’re home!” says Chan. He comes bearing gifts: supermall department store paper bags strung in a single wrist. You’re strangely more drawn to Heejin rather than the clothes that might be brought home; she counts as a gift, right?

She’s barely wrapped, though. A tube top designed as a blue handkerchief dangles around her bust. The shawl doesn’t exactly play the probable role of a ribbon when it’s thinner than one.

Oh well, easier to unwrap and break into pieces.

“Hi, Jay oppa,” says Heejin. Her smile is wide; she knows you’re flustered by her choice of fashion today. She looks at Nana with a comparably colder gaze. “Nana.”

Sibling rivalry, you assume? The tension is incapable of going unnoticed. You wonder what it’s for. There must have been history between them. You wouldn’t know, however; you’re an only child. Were.

“How was the…” you say, trying to break the thickness in the air but find that you don’t have the words to do it. Why do you even bother? Oh, right, they’re your sisters now—as a big brother, you have to try and help them make ends meet.

“Oh, the mall?” Chan says. He’s unknowingly rescued you from awkwardness. He throws you the bag. “Pretty good! I got you a shirt. Heekki bought some stuff, too.”

“You didn’t get me anything, daddy?” asks Nana disappointedly. The redness in her face is lucky to be passed off as the heat’s doing.

“Maybe if you didn’t spill that water on the floor I’d give you your present early.”

The youngest sister tilts her head, but when she turns around, she realizes what her father means. Just when you thought you’d left the coast clear, there’s one piece of evidence you failed to hide: Nana’s slick and cum. It drools from the edge of the island and on the ground. Even worse, your shirt is stained, too.

“I—uh, daddy—”

“What? Gonna cry, Nayeon?” Heejin asks. She flashes her sister a taunting grin.

What is going on between these two? Why is Heejin bullying her? Why is Nana looking angrier than she’s ever looked in her life? You truly don’t understand.

“It’s Nana,” the younger girl replies. Her shoulders are visibly tense.

Chan gives them a stern look. You know what that means: cut it out, or I’ll make you. You’ve learned to translate those looks from parents of unruly children at public places. “Girls,” he pacifies them. “Don’t want to start a fight in front of your new brother, do you?”

“She started it!” Nana says protestingly.

“And I’ll end it. Cut it out and clean your mess up.”

Heejin smiles sweetly yet artificially as her sister obeys what she’s told to do. Then, she drags you to the bedroom out of sight.

Cut to black.

“You’re a bad person, Jay oppa.”

Those are the first words Heejin told you after she pulled you into her room. Her kisses aren’t as passionate anymore when they’re more angry than lustful. Her lips mash on your neck, mouth, and chest, all while she unbuttons your shirt with quickness you’ve never seen in her.

Your shirt’s torn off you before it could even live on to be a hand-me-down. An angry Heejin, you find out, can do things like that. She isn’t all seductive and sweet when she’s furious. And right now, she’s burning on every end with wrath.

“I think that’s why you agreed to have sex with me,” she says. Pulls off your bottoms so she can sit her bottom on you. “Because you wanted some kind of fucked up stress relief. And then you see me, and you go ‘hey, I could fuck this girl and since she’s such a slut she wouldn’t mind.’ That’s what you thought, right? That I’m just another dumb slut bunny?”

None of that crossed in your mind. All you knew when you were reunited with Heejin was that you were very attracted to her. “Heejin, it isn’t like that. And you’re not a slut.”

“For you,” Heejin throws her shawl to the corner of the room, “I am.”

She said it, not you. Still won’t agree to it. But when Heejin’s riding you at this pace that you can’t keep up with, you might change your mind.

Her thighs ripple photogenically when they slap onto yours. Your face can’t say the same. From the moment the door was closed, she pounced on you. She takes the role of a hunter again. She has her hand on your chest and her ass perched on your crotch. It all starts and ends there.

“Oh, and you looove lording it over me, huh?” she asks. She’s yelling at you, angry at you about something you don’t even know yet, which is supposed to make you feel scared. You should be cowering and promise yourself to never ever underestimate her again. Instead, you feel…

Aroused?

Your cock is hard enough to push past her slick walls and bask in their embrace. You hear your own breaths partner up with Heejin’s.

“You know I like you and your dick so much,” she continues. Her bounces are strong. Days and nights spent at the gym keep her stamina strong. Is she a singer, too? Her voice hasn’t cracked once. Or maybe she’s just that angry. “That’s why you like making me jealous. You know I can’t control myself around you.”

“Heejin, it’s n-not like that.” Surprised that you manage to get those words out of your mouth. All that’s coming from it are moans.

“So what is it?”

“Wait, is this about Nana?”

She growls. Her pace quickens, and you’re off the edge again, your hands planted on the white mattress shaking and failing to keep you up. Her voice is like a trigger word that shuts all your systems down.

“See,” she says. She shuts her eyes and bites her lip. “You even, hahm, call her Nana, too.”

Give up on trying to remain stable. Place your hand instead on Heejin’s ass to help her meaningful grinding. “Everyone calls her that.”

“But you don’t even call me Heekki or anything. It’s not fair, you know. You and your fucking crush on that bitch.”

Well, she’s right. You do have a crush on Nana. She doesn’t have that wrong. The thing is—

“I’m sorry, Heekki.”

You’d tell her that as many times as she wants if that’s what makes her feel better. You still want more sessions like these with her, maybe less violent, in the future, even if your feelings for her sister are beyond mere lust.

Right, Nayeon. Nana. What do you do about your attraction to her? Could you like Heejin and her at the same time? It isn’t fair to both parties, including you. You can’t just lead them on. You’re not supposed to, to be more precise; they’re your sisters. But of course, you break that taboo and are fucking the eldest sister to her guts in her bed after having just eaten her sibling’s pussy. You wouldn’t choose one over the other.

“Hnnn, yes.” Heejin minces her words in heavy, dark tones that sound a lot more desperate than the real her. It really is your fault. You’re making her this way. “Call me that again, Jay oppa. Please? I’m, I’m your Heekki, right? Your only bunny girl?”

Little white lies, little white lies. “Yes, Heekki,” you reply. “Now hop on daddy’s cock like a good little bunny.”

“Yes, of course I will, daddy!” She’s nearly sobbing when she resumes her riding. The flexes of her thighs help her lifting and resting on your crotch. She gasps because of your hands sneaking under her handkerchief top and squeezing her ample breasts. “D-daddy, please, Heekki loves your cock, please fuck me harder!”

Jerk upwards. Heejin’s perfect pussy is a real-life fleshlight. She could be your toy anytime, one you’d bring and fuck anywhere. She’s too fitting for all the secret desires embedded in your heart. Who wouldn’t want a slutty little bunny girl toy like Heejin, with an unexpectedly sexy deep voice and a fit body?

You’re all too focused on her tiny cunt. Her hole is just made to be bred. You have to remind yourself you can’t do it. It’s hard to resist when her cunt is virginally tight and the flesh of her ass is enticing to play with. Even her groans tempt you, all those little whines and pleas shoot right at your heart (and dick.) You want to fuck her like nothing’s wrong, like she isn’t your sister and you’re not supposed to be doing this.

“Daddy, daddy, oh, daddy—” Heejin gasps.

Swipe at her clit and she screams. Shut her up with the finger you used to rub her nub, sliding it into her unprepared yet otherwise welcoming mouth. “Shut up, slut. That’s what you are, right, Heejin? Daddy’s slutty bunny girl?”

Self-contradicting or something. Oh, you don’t know.

Still with your fingers forcing her mouth open, she nods. “Mmm. Mhmm, daddy, your slut bunny, yes—”

Heejin isn’t angry anymore. Your cock turns out to be the solution to her problems, even jealousy. You’d hate to tell her that her envy is rational.

How would you tell her?

She sucks on your fingers, eyes glowing with tears of need. “Cumming’n you, now, daddy,” she breathes. “I want to be daddy’s only bunny girl, t-the one who gets to cum around his big cock everyday, please. I’m not mad, Heekki’s not mad anymore, I promise.”

Kiss her, and for a moment you forget about your own trials, too. The world gives its toughest times (resisting the urge to fuck your new sisters dumb) to its strongest soldiers (you).

You have more secrets about yourself and what you’ve done than you can count on ten fingers. Not even a sworn oath could drag them from your lips. Torture like waterboarding or a knife to your throat would be useless. Your lips are sealed at all times. No exceptions.

That’s why you’re able to fuck both Nana and Heejin without them knowing about it. It’s been months and it’s still going on. You can’t believe it reached this point.

You enjoy the differences between the two girls whenever you fuck them. They don’t think that you’re fucking the other either. The angry sex you had with Heejin *reduced her worries about your possible (and very real) attraction to Nana by a lot.

*(Citation, if required:

The girl was on your thigh, a night when Nana and Chan were out. You and Heejin made up an excuse: we’re too tired. It’s a school night. Some shit. The point is that the two of you threaded the circumstances and made it line up to you being alone. No distractions.

Heejin still calls you daddy, and that time was no exception. She was naked from the waist down. Her upper body being clothed in a tight baby tee didn’t make it less sexy. Seeing how the piece of clothing wrapped around her lithe form turned you on already. To add to that, she was riding your thigh, hand on your length. You made the small living room your heaven.

“Fuck,” Heejin whimpered. She chewed on her bottom lips as she rode your thigh, making use of your bounces and your hands on her hips. “Daddy, how’s it that you’re so good even when your dick isn’t inside me?”

You were flattered. Therefore, (and it was the only right thing to do in response to that), you bounced her harder. Let her grind down on your knee and stimulate her clit on the curved edge. She’s a good girl. No past tense for that one. Heejin is always your good girl, and you’re her daddy who spoils her too much. No past tense for that one either. You truly do spoil her too much—you let her drag you in the bathroom when you’re shopping just so she could drop to her knees to suck you off. You buy her expensive brands though you’re sure she makes more money than you. You do too much for her.

Her payment is better than anything you give her. She’s a good little girl who bounces on daddy’s lap and has his cum as milk before bed. Remembering that, you lifted the baby tee up to kiss her nipples. You let a slight chew ride the edges of the brown little area, then sucked hard. It gave you the reaction you wanted, the reaction you craved: Heejin cumming on your thighs.

Her grip on your cock was too tight and she never stopped jerking you off. You came on each other, bathing skin with love and lust. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.)

Nana’s the more oblivious one. She knows she has you wrapped around her finger, too much in fact that she doesn’t entertain the idea of you liking Heejin, too. *She was eager but scared at first. Now, she fucks you without doubt, without regret.

*(Another citation:

It was after a meaningful talk that she suddenly brought up that “you haven’t fucked me yet, Jay oppa,” she said. Her natural pout made it easier for you to dive into the subject.

“Sure I have,” you replied. “What are you talking about?”

You thought back to the times you fingered her to squirt and put your mouth on her. Nana was always weak for that, and you assumed that was the only way she liked it. That was why you didn’t bother extending it past that.

“Yeah,” said Nana, looking at the night sky from the terrace, “but you haven’t, like, actually put your cock in me. I want to see it! I want it inside me!”

“Alright.” You sat up. “Sure.”

“Huh?” Her cheeks reddened. She didn’t expect that at all.

“What? Let’s do it.”

“I thought you’d be all hesitant or something,” Nana explained shyly. She looked everywhere except your piercing gaze. “I think that’s why I asked. Um… what am I even saying? I want your cock, Jay oppa.”

“Come get it then.”

You loved seeing Nana so shy and bashful. It was so different from the playful arrogance she sets when she’s around you. She could be so cute sometimes.

All the time. You still haven’t gotten over what you felt for her. It’s been long since you were adopted by Chan, yet your crush on Nana’s been longer. You think that maybe she does have the same feelings. After all, why would she let you fuck her? But you keep telling yourself you’re making it more complicated than it should be. To keep on Nana’s good side, and out of your own fear, too, you need to fuck her. No sappy feelings mentioned, just the good ol’ rawdogging.

You’re happy about getting to fuck Nana. Still, it isn’t the same as getting to be her boyfriend.

You went on, nonetheless. The first time she sank down on your length, she let out the cutest sound you’d ever heard. Nana was adorable in every way. Her hands scrunched up to her face like a bunny’s would as she shyly let her pussy take in your size.

“You’re so big,” she said.

“Heard that a couple of times. What’s new?”

“Asshole.” Nana slapped your shoulder. “You sure I could do it?”

“More than. You’re almost there.”

You tried to act like you were no stranger to this and therefore didn’t care. It was difficult when Nana’s pussy was so closed around your girth that you had to guide her downwards. Her thighs twitched and her moans were higher than they usually were. When you went down on her with your tongue, she always screamed, or when you fingered her under the blanket while watching a movie. This sound from her, a whiny gasp tangled in between a shout and a cry, was new.

You wanted to become more acquainted with it, for which you started to thrust.

“Fffuck,” she whispered with a wince. Why was the pain good? It wasn’t supposed to work like that. “Jay oppa, that feels really good.”

“Doesn’t hurt anymore?”

“Just a little. Just keep, fffucking. Me. And I’ll be okay.”

You couldn’t help it. You dove in for a kiss. You held her face in your hands as you pumped away inside her. This time, you made sure to be careful. It was the first time you had ever penetrated her.

It was the one of many times, though, that you made her cum.)

“Jay.”

Deja vu hits you. Or maybe you’ve been substituting grief with it. It’s been almost a year and everything still reminds you of your parents. Jay isn’t exempted from that. You zoned out on him, just like you did to your mother and father.

It’s your duty to look at him and pay attention. He’s done so much for you already. It’s the least you could do. It’s what you would have done if you’d known that fateful day that your parents would die. “Yeah?”

Chan smiles. “Are you alright?” he asks you. He pushes the tinfoiled chocolates towards you. Dessert is an everyday thing in his house. “We lost you there a little.”

Unwrap one and pop in your mouth. “I’m fine, thanks. What were we talking about?”

“I was saying I got a promotion.”

You smile. Good things happen to good people. “Congrats, hyung!”

“Thanks, Jay! But…” Hesitantly, he continues, “because of that, I’m going on a business trip. I’ll be gone for two days.”

Heejin’s eyes widen theatrically. “Oh no,” she says in faux disappointment, “oh no, daddy.”

It sounds like she’s addressing you rather than her own real father. More context clues: she’s inched closer to you and has a hand on your thigh. She gives it a nice squeeze, causing you to straighten suddenly. This is the riskiest Heejin has gotten.

Steal a glance at Nana, who sits at the opposite side of the dinner table. She’s staring at the two of you with fire in her eyes. While she’s too cute to be menacing, she still sends a clear message: get Heejin off you now. She can’t bear with her sister being all touchy-feely with you, or having you alone with her. If she didn’t want to save face, she’d have pounced on the table to tear Heejin’s hair out.

And she’s got such a pretty, pretty face to save, doesn’t she?

“D’you think you kids could behave while I’m gone?” Chan asks. He scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, you’re all of age, and it’s technically legal, but if you want me to stay—”

“Oh, daddy, it’s fine!” says Heejin. She looks at you sweetly and raises your joined hands. “Jay oppa and I are good friends! We’ll keep the house clean!”

“What about you, Nana? What do you think?”

Nana’s glowering stare at you and her older sister is prolonged and envious. She truly can’t look intimidating with such an adorable face, but you feel her anger. It’s telepathic how she could sit there in silence and still tell you wordlessly that she’s angry. Furious is probably a better term; you can see flames rise from her eyes.

She swallows and composes herself the best she could. “I’ll be fine,” she says quietly.

Chan asks his daughter if she’s sure, and asks the older girl the same as well. He doesn’t leave you out either. He wants to balance a family and work life properly. Both should hold the same weight on the two pedestals.

That’s how you end up with him gone for two days, and during the first few minutes of his departure, you and Heejin are kissing each other. Nothing more than that is what you promise. Chastity isn’t the best virtue to go by in terms of happiness, but you attempt with what you could to keep it pure.

This is where you understand the self-contradiction, for Heejin’s stark naked from the waist and up. You can feel every bit of unclothed flesh beneath your palms. You can be the expeditioner, Heejin could be the map. You’d spread her, map out each bit of pale milky skin in the connection of your two bodies’ threshold. You’d tear her and use her to the point of impurity.

But as you said: chastity.

It’s not like Heejin’s a saint herself. The skimpy booty shorts grind down on your lap as you kiss in her bedroom. Play with her nipples you will, then also take the time to appreciate her soft thighs.

“These thighs are fucking amazing, Heekki,” you say. The nickname’s a familiar aftertaste in your mouth now. A delicious one.

“You want to fuck them, oppa… daddy? What should I call you?”

A hand on the nape of her neck, you lay Heejin down on her bed. “I don’t care. Whichever, just make sure you let me fuck these legs.”

“Oppa it is.” Heejin grins cheekily. She spreads her arms just as much as she tightens her legs together, letting you appreciate the smoothness of her pits and her slim, beautiful arms. Not to disregard the muscles denting the skin, though. “Isn’t it so sexy? I’m fucking my big brother, and my little sister can barge in anytime. It’s so risky, right, Jay oppa?”

Slip your cock between her pressed flesh, and you easily discover that her thighs are as good as they look. Slide in, slide out, and repeat the cycle like a habit of vice. You’d never want to recover. Something could speak to you in the back of your head, urging you to let go of what’s wrong, and you wouldn’t listen. Even if that something was, let’s say, Nana?

Speaking of…

“What’s wrong, Jay oppa?” said girl’s older sister asks, curious about your sudden alarmed look.

You’d say a lot of things to her, now that you have the chance to. Only one comes to mind: “I, I think there’s someone at the—”

“I fucking knew it.”

That’s how it all starts. It begins with the scene that goes like this: Nana stands at the doorway with shock veining red in her eyes. Her hand is firm on the door knob; looks like someone forgot to lock before they fuck. That someone may be you or Heejin. You never know. It’s too late, anyway. Nana already knows.

You’d adlib a lot of things in this situation, too. However, none of them sound plausible. You can’t speak when you feel this odd sense of guilt brimming in the core of your heart. Seeing Nana’s horrified expression, you realize that it’s rooted from you thinking you’ve betrayed her. There’s her, obviously being your childhood crush and the girl you’ve fucked weeks on end, and then there’s you, fucking her sister in the bedroom where she’s supposed to flee for sisterly advice and familial gossip. It’s so incredibly wrong, all of it: your girth being locked between Heejin’s thighs, her obviously enjoying the way the underside of your cock rubs her preyed pussy, and Nana, the other girl you’ve been fucking. The other sister you’re fucking.

“You lying bitch,” spits Nana, glaring at Heejin. Such a word should never escape her mouth when she looks that pure and sweet, but she isn’t what she looks like, sexually speaking. Emotionally speaking. “I’m gonna tell dad, and you’re so fucking screwed.”

“Then I’ll tell him you fucked me, too,” you fire back. Venom laces your words.

Heejin looks at you in horror. “What?”

Oh no.

Oh god.

You definitely should have thought before you spoke. Now, the cat’s out of the bag. The taboo secret you’ve tried to hide for so long from both siblings is out in the open. You can’t lie or fuck your way out of this anymore. It’s not going to work.

Nana catches on a loose thread in her sister. She tugs it to sew back her own pride. “Yeah, that’s right,” she says haughtily, “he fucked me, too. What, you thought you were special or something?”

“Hey.” She’s really going in for the kill. You have to put a stop to it before it escalates: “Let’s all just calm down—”

Heejin turns to you and laughs after a short, bitter little scoff. “No fucking way, Jay.” She drops her legs and kicks you away. Tumble into the bedroom cabinet. “You tricked us.”

She’s right. You’ll admit that because you can’t even deny it yourself. It’s true through and through; you hid two secrets from three people: your sisters and new father. But secrets always come to light, and today just so happens to be the day for your dirty little secrets.

“Yeah,” pipes up Nana. “You wanted to use two girls as your personal cumdumps you could just throw away. You don’t—”

She stops. The older girl is awfully silent and suspicious, though you are for other reasons as well.

“Oh.” She stares at Heejin for a moment, then laughs. The palm she’s placed on her mouth is only there for dramatic effect; she doesn’t bother stifling her smug laughs. “Oh. I see it now.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

Nana walks over with surprising confidence in her steps and wraps her hand around your cock. That’s the last thing you expected her to do. Your moans are a little rougher this time because of that. Nana doesn’t bother stopping to reconsider what she’s doing: jerking off her new brother in front of her sister who shares her own blood and flesh.

She pouts so pitiably that it could be a genuine emotion if she pleases. “You don’t let him cum inside you, do you, my sweet unnie?” she asks. “That’s right. I know you don’t.”

Heejin’s eyes go all bunny wide. The irony of it all could be entertaining enough for your average telenovela enjoyer. It helps that she plays her role of the shocked and offended domineering sister so well.

But this isn’t a telenovela; this is real life. You’re actually going through this. You can’t turn it off in spite of your desire to. When there’s the yearning inside you to see what more there is to unfold, though, you give in. You don’t say a word to stop the sisterly quarrel. You simply stand there prone to Nana, who jerks you off with an unrestrained anger.

Heejin, who’s used to playing the cruel girl to her sister, finds herself in a position she’s never had to experience: getting the short end of the stick. Getting pierced by the end of the stick. Was her sister’s all-too-true accusation the forbidden apple to the shame she feels out of nowhere for her naked body?

She stutters. You’ve only heard her stutter when you’re fucking her. It’s so strange to hear how she clumsily stumbles over her words in real life where she’s got no escape. “Okay,” she says, giving up, “so I don’t let him cum inside me. So what? It’s not my fault I’m not a slut like you.”

“Oh please,” scoffs Nana. Waving off her sister’s insult is also a first for her. “Tell me something I haven’t heard before. At least I get to feel his warm, thick cum inside me. You’re too scared to even let him fuck you in a position that isn’t missionary.”

“Girls,” you say, in one last futile attempt to calm them down. Do you even want to calm them down? You’re not sure.

Nana pulls you away from her sibling and smiles with such untainted sweetness that it makes you forget she was mad in the first place. Well, she’s still a little mad for what she says next:

“Come on, oppa.

“Let me do something for you that she can’t.”

Her shirt becomes a figment of your imagination. You swear it was on a few seconds ago. But now, you see how it is: no bra. Not even a white camisole. Her perky breasts are there for you to toy with. You have multiple choices, actually: her soft tummy and wide hips are there, craving for your attention. Of course you give it to them, in the form of lingering hungry touches.

Your lips are on hers all of a sudden. It doesn't even take minutes for you to have your mouths and tongues all over each other, licking where you can and kissing till the lust ferments. (Hint: it would never.) There’s an imaginary time limit going on for you and Nana, and so you’re tearing clothes off each other and stealing kisses as fast and as needily as you can.

It doesn’t take the whole time limit for Heejin to get jealous. “Get off him,” she growls. She kisses your back, the touch sending shivers on your skin. Her nipples push on you. “You like me better, don’t you, daddy? I’m your Heekki, right?”

You don’t know. As of now, you like the other bunny girl better. “We’ll see.”

“‘Daddy’?” Nana giggles. “That all you got, Heejin?”

“Where’s the ‘unnie’?”

“You’re not the unnie unless you prove yourself to be one,” the youngest of the three of you answers in a sickeningly flattering tone. She brushes Heejin’s cheek. “So what’s it gonna be?”

Heejin stammers again. The smarmy and arrogant her is lost in the jealousy she gathers because of Nana pushing you down the bed. When she sees how you react to it with your needy face and hands on her waist, the anger burns inside her harder.

Still, it surely can’t be the flame of fury that’s making her this hot and bothered, can it?

Nana backs off to present her ass to you. She circles her hips in the air, giving you a show, then places a hand on both of her cheeks. The denim shorts barely cover up the swells of her ass. “Take this off me, please, oppa?” she asks. And it’s so polite that it isn’t really your fault that you give in and tug the messily cut thing she calls shorts down.

“Daddy!” Heejin says in protest. She’s naked as well, but she’s still left out.

“I think I should be the one calling him daddy here,” gloats Nana. She rubs her ass on your cock. It perfectly pleasures the underside of your length. “After all, he’s the one who’s going to put a baby in me. But I’m sure you won’t mind.”

Her panties slide down her legs. And now, she descends.

Down she goes, but she’s only going higher. Your cock splits her pussy open, and it’s just as good as the first time. Nana still brings the same thrill you get when you fuck her hot body. Her bounces are more precise, and she learns to give you more than just the benefit of getting to screw her—she gifts you a show of her bountiful backside unintentionally clapping with the other cheek.

Spank her for that, though you should really reward rather than punish her when she’s only making you feel good. Doesn’t matter; she loves it. She looks back at you and bites her lip sultrily.

“Fuck,” you groan, “such a good girl, Nana.”

Her moans are perfected with pitch and pleas. Nana’s expressions are timed well with your thrusts and guiding hands on her hips.

“I’m a good girl, too, daddy,” Heejin says softly. She kisses your mouth. “I’ll show you, okay?”

Chan’s eldest daughter climbs on top of your face. You pull off her shorts as well—you welcome all kinds of pleasure here. Nana slams herself down harder, and right on the second you groan due to it, Heejin’s already planted her pussy on your face.

See, these are the thighs you’ve dreamed of. These are the kind that would actually crush your head. Her muscular skin ensures that your head is subjected not only to thick softness. And yes, you’ve eaten Heejin out before, in times when you’d keep her prone on the edge of her bed while you pull orgasm after orgasm out of her with just your tongue, but this time you do it with increased gusto. The sisters’ blended moans sound better than any choir of your choosing. Name a band as well, while you’re at it, and Heejin and Nana’s voices would still outdo their songs.

“Yesss, thank you, daddy!” gasps Heejin. “Oh, mmm, I’m your good little girl. And because you’re my daddy, you should always eat your good girl out.”

“You talk like an attached trophy wife,” Nana remarks with a snortle. That’s not fair on her part; you know how desperate she can get when you’re fucking her, but you can’t really oppose it when Hejein’s muffling your mouth.

The other girl can’t retort either. Your tongue’s too good to her. “Shut up. He likes my pussy more. And he treats it sooo well, don’t you, my daddy? Better than you do Nana?”

Let’s see: well, you don’t know. Both sisters have amazing bodies you’d do any time of the day. You haven’t really given the intensity you submit to them much thought. It’s hard to think now when Heejin’s urgently riding your tongue while Nana rides your cock.

“No answer,” Nana says triumphantly. “I guess he’s biased there.”

“Hmph.”

“The better girl for oppa is the one who doesn’t immediately cum just because he’s touching them. Bet?”

“It’s a bet,” replies Heejin. She really shouldn’t be giving in to a deal she’s sure to lose; you know what the quintessential quiver of her hips mean. Then again, she’s not one to back down from a competition.

It’s kind of entertaining to see the differences between the two girls. It counts back then as well. It’s like they switched personalities with how the other fits the former just as well. Nana’s not afraid to use you. She rides you at a lightning-impulsed pace, rocking your cock with a tightness you’ll never forget. Her cries are wrapped with weak gasps. On the other hand, there’s Heejin, who’s still used to being the submissive little girl to you when it’s nothing close to her real cocky attitude out of the bedroom, who’s still afraid to use you. Oh, don’t forget her moans—their depth and groany tinge make your cock throb. Too bad it’s inside Nana.

(It’s actually not that bad at all; the pulsing and twitching cause Nana to shake deliciously. Her slow, meaningful grinds bring you to life.)

Hence, you’re fucking Heejin with your tongue faster, with no care for the juices that slide down your chin and the sides of your mouth. Her clit bumps your nose. It’s an advantage you take—you push and pull her back and forth to get her shivering whenever her precious pearl hits the tip of your nose.

Nana isn’t left out of the equation either. Push your lower body upwards so that your tip meets the end of her pussy. Shimmy them so that it rubs her walls. She gasps girlishly and soon finds out that she isn’t made for the fight she started with her sister. She’s chosen to fight the wrong battle.

“I’m close,” she whimpers. Her eyes are sealed shut. “You’re too good, oppa.”

“M-me too!” Heejin says. Her voice is on the brink of a yell. Sloppily suck her clit and she’s past that. “Daddy, daddy, daddy, keep licking me like that, oh!”

“Shit… Jay oppa!”

You’re soaked on both ends. Try to clean up Heejin’s stream of cum the best you could and pump Nana’s slick out of her. In the midst of everything, you don’t stop. You want to keep hearing the girls’ beautiful cries of pleasure.

“God, enough, daddy,” begs the shaking Heejin. She’s slapping her own breasts, lip bloodied under her teeth. “I want to cum on your cock, too.”

A better premise. “Sure.”

“Wait.” Nana stops the two of you. “Who came first?”

Heejin turns away with pink cheeks.

Nana’s known her all her life, so she reads that look better than anyone else could. “Of course you did.” She rolls her eyes. “You don’t deserve to sit on his cock.”

“I do…” Her eyes are glossy. Her desperation really doesn’t go away with shame. If she were to be honest, it’s the shaming that deepens it. “But please, daddy, please—”

“Fine. Let’s ask oppa what he wants us to do. We’ll see who’s the better girl for him”

You can’t recognize Nana anymore. You know how big of a sub she can get, yet you didn’t realize how rough she can be as a dominant party in the bedroom. With how she orders around her sister and you, you’d think it’s a usual thing for her. Maybe it is.

“Nana-ya,” Heejin says, trying to bring the tone she lorded over her little sister with back. It ends up weak—it’s to no avail.

“Do it,” Nana tells her with a pitch of finality. “Ask him.”

“Fuck,” the other bunny girl says nervously. She swallows, then turns to you. You’re just as on the edge as she is. “Daddy, what do you want us to do?”

You have plenty of situations you could make them turn into reality. Some even cross the line. There are already plenty of boundaries you’ve soared past. You just have to choose one out of the many fantasies you have because now that you’re looking back at the chaos of it all, you wanted this to happen. You wanted them to find out. There’s a fucked up voice inside you that insists on becoming riskier, becoming more careless. It’s supposed to be blocked out.

Still and all, there’s Heejin and Nana beside you on the bed, with their shared pouty lips and eyes glistening with want. Said distinct, glossy features give you an idea.

“Suck my cock,” you say finally. In other settings that would have been a grave insult to the average middle school outcast. For Heejin and Nana, it’s the word of a deity himself.

Both girls don’t waste precious time on questioning if two sisters sucking their new adopted brother’s cock is morally right or not. What matters above all is that their lips decorate your length. It’s like they’re determined to give it a bath. It’s the only way you know how to explain it when Heejin’s round, doll-like eyes stare in awe at her sister running her lips up and down the sideless shape of your cock and your sensitive slit. Shiver on the occasion she licks there. Nana knows how to take cock as much as she’s learned into the art of fucking your face. It goes both ways here, you see. You wouldn’t have thought she was the one who was just recently a virgin.

Heejin leaves the tougher things to the expert. While she’s the one who first sucked your cock between the two of them, it’s clear that Nana’s better at this. She can hear your ragged moans. She remains determined to please you. She kisses your heavy balls, sucking on the prickled skin on each and licking at them lovingly.

“Fuck… Heekki…”

That’s a sign for Nana to up her game. She glares at you, and it’s everything but subtle. She throws out all the anger she’s held in her heart after the PDA you put on with Heejin recently onto sucking your cock. Her throat is tight and her mouth is warm as your cock enters and exits, stabbing through the breaths for air that never quite make it to her lungs. She doesn’t mind losing air. She does, actually, but she’s quite more focused on getting your attention back on her.

Heejin doesn’t let up on the competition. Like you said, she isn’t the type of girl to back down from a challenge. Whatever she competes at she’ll give it her all. She might have lost and came earlier than expected just a few minutes ago, sure, but she’s a competitive girl. She always wants to be on top. Or if not, underneath you.

That’s why her lips alternate between your testicles. Bite your lip to suppress yourself from tugging her hair. It doesn’t work; your hand ends up sifted in her hair and tugging so that her nose pressed on your pubic patch. From there she has to take in your musky scent and have the precum from your tip drip down the side of her face.

“We’re being good girls, Heejin,” Nana says after pulling away from your cock.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” the older one of them admits. She licks the underside of your base teasingly, sending a gasp and a sudden shot of cum out of you. “What d’you think, daddy?”

They seem to not have noticed that you orgasmed a bit. They keep lapping and kissing your cock like nothing could compare to it. No piece of arcade candy or slice of cake could match the taste of your cock. They feast on it, the little devils they are—Heejin decides to take a turn at swallowing your cock whole and succeeds while Nana kisses your thighs. You’re sensitive all over, and they have no signs of stopping. They’ll keep suckling and licking all day if you don’t conquer control again.

Therefore: get up like your latest orgasm didn’t occur.

“On your stomach. On the bed. Now.”

Soon they’re scrambling to follow your orders. Aren’t they always? Their butts are in front of you side by side. They say sisters have a lot in common—for this situation, it’s the wetness rolling droplets down their luscious thighs and the two replicas of the same, passive look as they turn their heads to you. They’re waiting for your next command.

You don’t give any. It’s all on you now.

Push yourself inside Heejin’s slick pussy. Perhaps she deserves to be fucked, like she says. So don’t bother to extract lengthy inches and just fire short, driven thrusts. Spank Nana to keep her occupied. Her moans are as sweet as her sister’s, much more when you finger her.

Tandem and might. They’re foreign concepts to you since you weren’t a sporty kind of kid. You still find yourself taking all those out on the two girls. You position yourself so that you’re able to pump fast into Heejin while keeping the deep thrusts going while curling your fingers into Nana’s weak spots.

“That’s not fair, Jay oppa,” she tells you, face buried into the sheets. It’s lucky that you even get to make out a fraction of her words. “I was the one being good.”

“Maybe he just likes me more,” quips Heejin wittily. It’s a lost sound when you punish her with a pronounced pump. Little do you know that she’d find it hot. “Fuck yes, you’re amazing, daddy.”

She gives up on trying to keep her head raised. She drops it and groans with the bed muffling the way of her voice. Who could have ever found out that the tuck of her bottom lip under her teeth, an action so simple, could fruit such lust inside you?

“Of course you’re being good, Nana. Only good girls get bred.”

They don’t get what you mean until you pull out of Heejin and slip into the sister you mentioned. Nana’s back curves beautifully and she sighs as she’s filled to the point of overflow with your hot and sticky cum. You slap her ass hard, leaving a red trace of your hand on her cheek. She grinds seductively into your cock burying itself to the depths of her pussy.

“Noooo,” sobs Heejin, green with envy. “Please, gah, just let me have your cum. I promise I’ll let you cum inside me all the time. Can do it even with my dad watching, or Nana, just please—”

“Desperate little slut. Will you let my naughty big sister have what she wants, oppa?”

In one way or another, Heejin always gets what she wants. She could be the one underneath you, sure, and she’d remain the benefactor.

Such is the beauty of having her cum beautifully and instantly on your fingers after you finger out some cum from Nana’s pussy into hers.

Chan never does find out what the white on Heejin’s bed is from. Is it from a girl’s problem that isn’t too known? He doesn’t know. It might be glue. Whatever. He’s not that well-versed into feminine problems, so he simply assumes those are the source of them.

He also doesn’t know why the sisters suddenly don’t fight anymore. It’s a well-kept secret that you’ve made a pact with them, told them that you could be theirs as long as they kiss you and don’t tell. It works well to keep the sisters in line, and it’s beneficial for Chan, too. He doesn’t have to pacify repeated arguments anymore.

So far the peace in your new home is maintained. The bedroom is exempted.

Obviously.

1K notes · View notes

written-in-flowers · 8 days

Text

The Newbie: OT8 X Male!Reader

Pairing(s): ot8 x male!reader | side pairing(s): hyunjin x changbin, han x minho, but mentions of everybody fucking everybody.

Genre: Smut, slight angst, slight fluff | au: idolverse, idol!au | MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: 11k

Summary: After being taken out of a few groups, you had nearly given up on your dreams of debuting as an idol. But, when you get chosen to take a spot in Stray Kids, more than your debut dreams will come true.

Tags: Polyamory, polycule, mxm, male!reader, Mentions/implications of homophobia, mention of Woojin, angst, group sex, orgy, threesome (mmm), heavy dirty talk, blowjobs, handjobs, nipple play, walking in on someone, voyeurism, exhibitionism, mutual pining/thirsting, slight internalized homophobia, mentions of sexual encounters, multiple sex rounds, top!Chan, top!Changbin, top!Minho, switch!Felix, switch!Seungmin, bottom!Jeongin, bottom!Han, switch!reader, bigdick!reader, unprotected sex (wrap it). everyone is horny and perverted lol

Disclaimer: This work is completely fictitious and for entertainment purposes only. They are not meant to reflect or label the members of Stray Kids in any way. The events within never took place. Thank you.

Next on Newbie!

***

It’s never easy being the new guy, especially in an established, popular Idol group. The fans already knew the main members, so they’re less likely to take to a newbie fresh from training. The members always carry a brotherly bond that could be hard to penetrate. Management will be accustomed to the usual number of members, and stylists will have trouble styling you for a while. You could often be forgotten, considering everyone is used to X amount of members without a plus one.

You knew too well what being The Newbie was like. You’d been added to three separate idol groups before being thrown into Stray Kids. Each one became harder to blend into than the last. Each head manager considered you a “bad fit” for the groups’ concept or vibe; they’d say you didn’t have the right sound or not enough training. Yet, a tiny voice inside you said that wasn't true. When you get caught looking at your fellow members or showing an interest more than platonic, managers tend to get nervous. Thinking about those times, you regretted letting it slip. You should have kept a tighter hold on who you are and what you liked.

You'd learned your lesson after Beomgyu.

You almost gave up on debuting completely before JYPE gave you another chance with a very popular group. According to them, they’d recently lost a member due to a scandal, so they needed a replacement quickly. You had no idea why they chose you, but you didn’t question it too much. This could be the break you needed.

“Don’t sweat it, dude,” Chan had told you on your first day. “You’re going to do great.”

This only worsened your nerves as he led you into the practice room. The tests. Even if they’d already chosen you, there’s always skill tests. You knew they meant nothing bad by it. Every group has units, and they need to know where to stick The Newbie. Are you a good dancer? A good singer? A good rapper? All rounder? You liked to think you did well in each category. You’d been a trainee for eight years.

“Guys, YN’s here.”

The group turned in your direction when you followed Chan inside. You stood apprehensively near him as their eyes landed on you. The other groups often judged you from afar, sizing you up and making their decisions right away. Yet, this group seemed to light up at the sight of you. They all stood up from their positions on the floor or couch and walked over to you. Friendly. Polite. Slightly formal still. You took in each of them, and they were…

Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. Even barefaced in casual practice clothes, their looks blew you away. You kept your interest to yourself, but you couldn’t help noticing the tiny features. When he approached you, you decided blond-haired Felix’s freckles were his most charming feature. Changbin’s muscles made him a drool-worthy sight, and you immediately imagined grabbing onto them. Hyunjin’s cat-like eyes and sharp features eclipsed any model or actor you’d ever met before. How could you focus with so many handsome men around you? Especially nice ones who took you under their wing right away?

‘No, don’t do that. You’re not guaranteed a spot here. Act creepy and they’ll kick you out too. Maybe even worse.’

“How long have you been a trainee?” asked Felix, stretching before practice started.

“Eight years,” he said. “I was in some groups, but it never really worked out.”

“They disbanded?”

“No, they just decided I wasn’t a good fit for them.”

“They kicked you out?” he asked, eyes widened. “Just because you didn’t fit?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, stretching your arm across your chest. It sounded worse being said out loud. The embarrassment hit your cheeks, and you tried not showing it.

“Well, don’t worry, YN,” he said, bending his body. “You’ll fit in here. Trust me.”

His wink brought butterflies to your stomach and Minho called for attention. He told the group he wanted to teach you the moves to older songs as a warm up. The swarm of nerves inside your stomach strengthened, but once things started, you forced yourself to focus on Minho’s movements. He moved so fluidly, able to match whatever speed or vibe he was meant to go for. You copied him exactly, trying to ignore the members watching intently from nearby. You needed to impress them. Even if you didn’t join their dance unit, you wanted to show your best sides. When the song ended, the group members clapped.

“That was great!” Minho smiled. “You did really well for your first time.”

“Thanks,” you grinned, pushing hair from your face.

“You should have him do ‘Hellevator’,” Changbin suggested. Chan nudged him gently, earning soft disbelieving giggles from the others. “What?” he asked innocently. “It’s a good song and I think he’d nail it.”

You weren’t sure what their reaction meant, but you decided to take on the challenge. Minho first showed you the moves a step at a time, then took it a step faster each round. The other members occasionally whispered to one another, but they mainly watched. Your chest tightens seeing them eye you so attentively. Close observation is normal in these instances, yet something else hid behind their stares. When you rolled your hips at one point, you swore Changbin bit his lower lip. You realized how it might look in your fitted black shirt and loose black sweatpants. Yet, you maintained your focus. You mirrored Minho’s movements easily, an expert at dance due to years of training. You earned applause when you finished the last round with music on your own.

“You’re an amazing dancer,” Minho said, clapping for you. “How long have you been dancing?”

“Since I was eight or nine,” you answered. “I took dance classes in school, and studied it at university.”

“It shows,” he nodded, hands on hips and sweat already on his body. “I think we can move on to our new song, yeah?”

“Sure.”

He called on the other members, and dance practice began for real. Their comeback slowly approached, they wanted you to know all the new dances before then. A little voice in your head told you it was pointless in the end. A manager or member will eventually say they think you’re crap and kick you out; they’ll notice your lingering stares or catch on to your interest in them. You’ve wanted nothing more than to debut in a group. Singing and music have always been a part of your life. You sang all the time. You took dance and singing lessons with hopes of one day getting to be on a big stage. It was meant to be your destiny. You couldn’t see yourself doing anything else but this; it’s all you had. You hoped with time they’ll see how much you love what you do, and that you’d do anything to stay in the group.

“I don’t get how you didn’t make it in those other groups,” said Chan, wiping sweat from his face as practice ended hours later. “You’re an incredible performer. I saw some videos you posted online of you dancing, singing and rapping.”

You smiled shyly, “You saw those?”

“I had to after seeing you with the other trainees,” he said. You both left together to the cafeteria, “We’ve been looking for a ninth member for a while, but nobody really caught my eye until the trainee choreographer told me about you.”

“Hyunshik told you about me?” you asked, surprised and flattered.

“Yeah. I asked if anyone he trained stuck out to him and he brought up your name, so I looked you up. I sent the links to the other members and they agreed with me. How those groups let a total ace slip through their fingers is beyond me,” he snorted. “I’m looking forward to seeing you in the studio, though. You have an incredible voice.”

“It’s okay,” you said sheepishly.

“Don’t be so modest,” Changbin came up beside you, grinning softly. Fluffy black curls hung in his face, which he pushed back with his hand. “I saw your covers and you have a lot of talent. Your voice fits in with our style, and Innie and Seungmin could use a third in their unit.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, I do,” he said sincerely. “I wonder what’s for lunch. I’m freaking starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Chan joked.

“Wait, you were in other groups before us?” asked Han from behind you. “Which ones?”

“ZeroZeroTwo, Goldeye, and Galax1,” you said, your stomach dropping remembering each one. “They’re not super big groups, but…yeah, it just didn’t work out.”

“Those guys are jerks anyways,” he scoffed. “They must’ve seen you were too good for them and kicked you out from jealousy. Don’t worry, dude,” he clapped a hand on your shoulder, “You’ll do great with us.”

Their reassurances should have lifted your worries, but they remained weighed down anyways. Things always started off good and turned sour quickly. You did your best not to memorize Han’s comforting shoulder-clap or Changbin’s pretty curls. It was hard in particular to not notice Chan, whose dimples came out in his reassuring smiles. Those kind smiles can easily turn into scowls with the wrong word or look.

“If it makes you feel better,” said Chan, “I was a trainee for eight years before I finally debuted.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I trained like crazy, and kept falling out of groups until Stray Kids happened,” you both entered the cafeteria where you saw members already grabbing food. “I didn’t see the point of making attachments either, but this isn’t that. You’re going to do well here. I’ll help you. Plus,” he grinned, “It’s not like you don’t already have fans. I saw your following on Tiktok and Instagram. Have you told them you joined us?”

“No. I don’t want to make a big deal about it until I debut.”

If you debut with them, that is. You didn’t want to disappoint the small following you’d built in your time between groups. You’d done it with hopes the company would let you debut as a soloist instead of part of a group, but it never caught their eye.

You grabbed food down the line, and that was when you heard your name whispered nearby. Minho and Jeongin stood grabbing food, and your stomach churned.

“…What if he isn’t? That can really backfire on us if he’s not,” said Jeongin.

“Chan said he is, and I trust Chan.”

“But what if-”

“-We’ll see with time, Innie. Just keep it together.”

“Tell that to Felix-hyu-”

You blocked off their conversation, moving to the drink station. Did they already worry you wouldn’t work out for them? Though, you learned the context when you sat in front of Minho.

The nine of you were the only ones in your corner of the cafeteria, with staff sitting farther away. They likely did it to give the boys time to get to know you alone. The questions started innocently enough: where were you from, what did your family do, did you see them often, where did you go to school, etc. It was Minho’s sudden question that put you off your meal.

“Is it true you like dudes?”

The other members gasped and Chan, sitting next to him, smacked his arm. “Minho, seriously, dude?”

“Hey, it’s a fair question,” he defended. “Nobody sugar coated it when they asked me! They just went, ‘hey kid, do you like dick? Yes or no?’”

“Me too,” laughed Changbin, pouring more sauce on his food. "They told me I didn’t have to answer, but they definitely made it sound like I had to.”

“They asked you guys?” asked Jeongin from down the table, a bit confused. “They didn’t ask me.”

“Because you were a minor, and it would’ve been inappropriate,” Chan answered. “They told me they didn’t ask you, Hyunjin, Han, Felix or Seungmin because you were minors.” He turned to Minho again, “I was going to ask him in the dorm where nobody else can hear his answer. You don’t have to answer that right now, YN. Just pretend he didn’t ask.”

“I figured I ask since people talk about it,” said Minho.

“Who talks about it?” you asked, no longer interested in eating.

“Beomgyu from ZeroZeroTwo said it,” he said. “We see each other around the practice rooms and when I mentioned you joining our group, he said to be careful around you. When I asked what he meant, he said you were gay. He said you always acted weird around him, and that you’d check them out in the group showers after working out.”

Beomgyu. You should have known. Your crush on him started off slowly. The two of you shared a love for music and poetry; you liked nature, books, and art. You worked on songs together, producing tracks that would go on the group’s first album. Gradually, Beomgyu became a special person to you. Something about him drew you closer, and you thought he might’ve felt the same way. You were wrong. He made that known with his fist.

“And Chaeyeol from Goldeye said he always caught you checking him out,” said Hyunjin. “It’s totally cool if you did,” he said comfortingly. He gave a playful smile, “I've checked him out too.”

“YN, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” said Chan, clearly embarrassed and worried about your reaction. “I promise my members,” he glared at Minho, “Aren’t normally this out of line.”

“Would you prefer to keep dancing around him about it or be direct?” Minho asked. “I prefer being direct about it to get it out of the way. What if I’d flirted with him and it turned out he wasn’t into dudes?”

You gulped picturing that scenario.

“What if we had another Woojin situation?” He asked, a seriousness to his tone as he eyed Chan. “You remember what he did to Felix when he found out? Because I’m sure Felix does.”

You noticed Felix grow quiet, pushing meat around with his chopsticks. Seungmin touched his wrist tenderly, thumb rubbing the side of his hand. Your heart hung heavy for him as you thought of your own encounter.

‘Don’t fucking touch me again, weirdo. I don’t want to catch whatever you have.’

“And what he said he’d do if we didn’t pay him out of his contract? We were lucky those accusations came out and we were able to stop him,” he continued. “What if YN wasn’t gay and he walks in on me and Han? Or Seungmin and Jeongin? Or Changbin and Hyunjin? Or any of us with one another? Okay, so it was a bit blunt to ask like this here, but it’s a fair question, hyung. I don’t want that happening again because we played the guessing game instead of asking.”

“But here, Minho? He’s only been here four or five hours.”

“Yeah, but I’d like to know if the rumors are true.”

“What if it turns out he is and fans found out before we did?” Hyunjin answered. “They only like the idea of shipping us because they think it’s not true. If it was, it could make things worse.”

“Alright, alright,” Chan conceded, “You guys are right, but still…”

“YN,” Changbin spoke up, seeing your uncomfortable shifting, “If you feel uncomfortable with this, we can talk about it later when we’re in the dorm.”

“I’d prefer that,” you answered honestly, suddenly aware of everyone watching you.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Later, then.”

The group dropped the subject, and Felix asked you about your BTS dance cover video. You thought about the inevitable confrontation later in your new dorm. Had you been picked because of those “rumors”? From what the other members said, their sexuality played a part in their future. You wondered why, but did not want to ask.

When you arrived at the dorm with your belongings later on, the group all sat in the living room as if waiting for you. Management said you’d be living with Jeongin and Seungmin since they had a spare room left, but it appeared the other members visited. Felix, Changbin and Hyunjin played a video game on the large television, while the other members talked on the couches.

In the privacy of their dorm, you saw the members’ interactions change. Minho and Han sat close together, giggling and talking quietly in their own world over drinks. Jeongin sat with his legs over Chan’s lap as the two played a game on their phones. Hyunjin sat between Changbin’s legs on the floor, clearly comfortable being so intimately close; Felix beside him between Seungmin’s knees, completely ignoring his advice in helping win the game. You’d never seen such closeness in the other groups. It appeared mildly affectionate and intimate in comparison to ZeroZeroOne or Goldeye.

“YN,” Chan noticed you first, detangling himself from Jeongin to meet you by the door, “I thought you were moving in tomorrow?”

“Management said I should move in as soon as possible,” you shrugged, “So then we can start bonding and stuff.”

He chuckled, “Alright, cool. I’ll show you where you’re sleeping.”

He brought you down a hall to a room that had a large bed and plenty of storage space with a television. The desk looked like a good place for your laptop and producing equipment; the space between bed and opposite wall might be big enough for some solo practices. A wide window, covered by white curtains, showed a high view of the city below. It was nicer than your previous dorms.

“What do you think?” he asked, sounding nervous.

“It’s nice,” you answered.

“Jeongin and Seungmin are good roomies, so you shouldn’t clash with them if you’re a quiet person.”

“I’m not particularly loud. I just work on music really.”

“Yeah, I saw you produce your own music on your Instagram,” he nodded. “You write a lot too, right?”

“I do. I wrote a lot of music for ZeroZeroOne.”

“That’s awesome. Maybe we can, you know, work on them in the studio sometime? We’re still putting together our album list for this comeback, so we can go over them. I think Stays will like seeing that you write and produce too.”

Your cheeks warmed at the idea of being included in such an integral part. You’d heard Stray Kids wrote their own songs, and that appealed to you. It seemed important to them.

“Look,” Chan said, coming further into the room, “I’m sorry about what happened in the cafeteria. I didn’t want them confronting you like that and making you think I only picked you for that reason. I didn’t.”

“It was still a factor.”

“The least important of them,” he insisted. “Minho had a point, but I didn’t want them scaring you off.”

“That Woojin guy really tried blackmailing you?”

“Yeah,” he sighed defeatedly. “He’d told the producers of our show he was gay to get into the group, so we thought he was like us. But then, Felix came onto him and, well, yeah. It didn’t end pretty. We were going to pay him until some people made accusations towards him, and the company got rid of him.” He hesitated, “I personally think JYPE paid those people to say that about him, since anything he said against us afterwards would be dismissed as retaliation and not a fact. But, we can keep that between us,” he said. He came over to you, “But…Are you really into guys?”

Nobody actually asked you before. Not your parents, who seemed to know and accept it. Not close friends, who may have suspected but preferred not breaching the subject. Not other trainees, who’d rather hit you than ask. The skeptic in you surveyed the leader from afar. Sincerity, anxiousness, and perhaps a bit of hope flashed in his eyes. Something about him made you comfortable to actually answer.

“Yeah, I am.”

He sighed in relief, “Oh, okay, cool. Great. Really great.” He swung his arms awkwardly, then said, “Um, so you can just get settled in and when you’re ready we can, you know, hang or whatever.”

You packed the few possessions you had from your last dorm into drawers. You finished setting up your computer and music equipment before going back into the living room. Jeongin had left Chan’s side to fix snacks in the open kitchen, which led to the leader patting the spot next to him. This was it. The awkward ‘getting-to-know-you’ phase every newbie suffers that first day. Staring around, the other members continued with their various activities. You thought of initiating conversation with one of them, but you couldn’t get the words out. The closer you became, the more leaving would hurt.

“Do you play games, YN?” Felix asked, plugging in an extra controller.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“Awesome, me too,” he handed you the controller.

“He’s not great at it,” Chan told you, “But he’s got the spirit.”

“I’ve gotten better!” Felix said, blushing at the collective snickering. “You can play on my team. These guys have been ganging up on me.”

“I’m not the best at shooters, but I can attempt to help?” You didn’t want them thinking you lied about your gaming skills.

“Good, we can be bad together,” he smirked with another butterfly inducing wink.

“I bet you both can be very bad together,” sneered Hyunjin, the suggestion thick in his words. He laughed at Changbin’s nudging knee, “What? I meant in the game. Bunch of pervs…get your minds out of the gutter.”

“Maybe if you made some room in the gutter,” Changbin smiled, “We could join you, pretty,” he bent to kiss the crown of Hyunjin’s head.

“Do you have a boyfriend, YN?” Felix asked you, seeing you watching the couple.

“Huh?”

“A boyfriend,” he said. “Are you seeing anybody?”

“A boyfriend? Um, well, no,” you answered. “I dated a guy I was training with when I joined the company,” you admitted. “But then we broke up when he debuted.”

“Is that the only boyfriend you’ve had?”

“No, I’ve dated other guys.”

You realized this was the most you’d ever openly discussed your sexuality. Checking around the room, the others did not show a single ounce of disgust at your words. Nobody stood up to hit or throttle you. They had the same interest as a group of friends listening to a friend tell a story.

“But, it was in high school,” you continued. “When I started focusing on training, I didn’t date much.” Mostly to avoid detection rather than not wanting companionship.

“Neither did I,” said Chan. “I spent too much time working on my skills to seriously date anyone. I didn’t really have the time back then.” He paused, “That trainee…Did you really like him or was it just hooking up after practice or whatever?”

“I liked him,” you took a shot at Hyunjin, but missed and you hissed when he got a headshot. “But, it was a long time ago so I’m not stuck on him or anything anymore.”

You didn’t want to think about Jihwan. It hurt too much. You’d both come up in the trainee ranks together; you’d hoped to debut together in the same group, but it didn’t happen. They said you needed to work on your stage presence still and that your voice couldn’t hit the needed high notes. Jihwan didn’t like it either, but he really wanted to debut. Rather than keep a strain on the relationship, you both ended things. Your heart weighed down into your stomach thinking about Jihwan’s teary eyes, and how his voice cracked when he finally said it. All you’d wanted to do then was kiss his tears away; you wanted to tell him you’d always think of him.

It still hurts whenever you see him on television.

“Well, trust me,” Felix said, “You’ll be totally over Jihwan after you’ve spent some time with us. We’ve been told we’re a very horny bunch.”

“Too horny, sometimes,” muttered Chan. “I had to put a ban on studio sex because they kept getting distracted during recording,” he told you, sounding annoyed.

“That ban doesn’t apply to personal studios,” Changbin said, eyes on the screen. “Just so you know, YN.”

“Mine is always open,” said Han, “To my members.”

“If you keep talking like that, I’m getting the belt,” warned Minho, who typed on his phone.

“What?” Han said innocently. “I’m only telling him if he ever wants to talk about our music or anything else, my studio is always open. Don’t worry,” he pouted at Minho, “You know you’re my favorite hyung. I wouldn’t do it without you.”

“You better not, brat,” Minho chuckled, grabbing him and kissing his temple.

You couldn’t stop a giggle from coming out, nor the shyness in your smile. The idea you’d joined a group of guys who liked the same things as you sounded too good to be true. They’re surely messing around with you. There’s no way they actually mean anything they’re saying. This is probably their soft-initiation or a way of joking with the new guy. It wouldn’t be the first time.

They’re only joking.

****

“Oh yeah, he’s a pervert for sure.”

“You couldn’t possibly know that, Minho.”

“I’m telling you. It’s always the quiet ones. You weren’t there, Binnie.”

Chan managed tuning out his members’ conversation while he worked. He’d finally got the right melody for the track, but he wanted to rearrange things before sharing. As he put things together, your name pulled him from deep in his head.

“What was he doing?” asked Hyunjin from his seat on the couch.

“Jerking off.”

“In a hallway?!”

The picture came to Chan far too easily: you standing by the practice room door, hand in your shorts and mouth hanging open in your silent moans. Minho told everyone the story over group text (minus you), and his members could not have been more excited about it. A barrage of questions came once Han and Minho entered the studio the following day. You’ve only been with them a month now, and while you’d slowly integrated into the fold, there’d been things he forbade them to bring up. Clearly, talking openly about your sexuality still made you anxious and uncomfortable. He didn’t want you to leave the group because his members couldn’t keep their pants on.

“God, that’s actually super hot,” said Changbin, pulling out his own notes from his bag. “Do you think he’d do it in the gym? I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“Don’t ask him,” said Chan for what felt like the millionth time that month.

“I wouldn’t, but,” he smirked, “He did get a boner watching me in the gym.”

Another ‘YN-is-a-pervert’ story: Changbin invited you to work out with him and you had done your best to hide your erection from him afterwards. He claimed you’d gotten off in the showers. Chan gulped thickly. You in the shower, soap sliding down your body as you lathered your naked skin was a sinful image. He forced himself to focus on the music. It’s studio time. It’s recording time. He couldn’t let thoughts of your naked body writhing from his gentle touches cloud his thoughts.

“And you did not offer a hand, hyung?” Hyunjin teased.

“He sounded really into it, and I didn’t want to ruin his fun by catching him. The dude clams up the moment anyone mentions doing anything remotely gay with him,” Changbin said.

“Internalized homophobia,” said Minho, scrolling on his phone. “I think those groups kicked him out because they found out he was gay.”

“Oh, come on Minho-”

“-Explain how someone as talented as him hasn’t debuted?” He cut him off. “The dude is an all-rounder. He’d be any group’s Ace member. Yet, here he is, getting kicked out because he ‘didn’t fit in’? Give me a break. They probably found out about him, and dismissed him.”

“Poor guy,” said Changbin with a frown. “That must suck.”

“But we’ve shown we’re not like that,” said Jeongin from beside Hyunjin. “I’ve definitely shown it to him when I let him watch me get undressed.”

The tale of YN the Pervert continued with the newest installment. Jeongin said you’d walked in on him changing in the morning, and closed the door right away. Except, you did not close the door completely. Jeongin’s door was next to his bed which his mirror reflected. He said he caught you still looking through the crack in the door. Rather than shame you, Jeongin stripped completely and gave you something to watch. Chan wondered briefly if you liked watching more than participating. In that case, he’d perform for you whenever and with whoever you wanted.

Work time. Studio time. Not YN time.

“Maybe he thinks we’re baiting him?” Hyunjin suggested. “Like how straight guys will pretend to be gay and then beat the crap out of a gay guy?”

“He can’t possibly think that.”

“He thinks it’ll cause a scandal and he’ll get kicked out,” said Chan, wanting to end the conversation and all visions of you naked on his bed.

“What?”

“If he’s been kicked out for being gay before, he will likely do whatever he can to avoid it happening again so he can finally debut.”

Chan knew how that felt. He had to hide in the closet for most of his life, knowing to reveal his real sexuality would ruin his future. It still could if the wrong people found out. They’re lucky JYPE is good at cover-ups and has plenty of hush money. Chan didn’t seek out gay men because he wanted a little harem like the others joked. He did it to finally be himself. He doesn’t have to hide with his members; they don’t hide with him. In the privacy of their studios, practice rooms, and dorms, they can be themselves. He hoped you might sense that and get more comfortable. It appeared your issues went deeper than the rest.

“I wish I knew how to make him more comfortable with us,” said Hyunjin with a small frown. “Not for sex, but, you know, he’s one of us now. I’d like him to stay.”

“Stays are already so excited we’re getting a new member, even if they haven’t seen him,” said Minho. “It’d break their hearts if he left before they got a chance to meet him. He’s so sweet.”

Yes, you were. You were sweet, compassionate, gentle-hearted, and you loved what you did. Chan saw all the effort you put into everything you did. He’d gotten to listen to some of your originals, and you’d worked on them together to make them better. He particularly liked listening to your singing. You completing Vocalracha was a no brainer when they first heard you sing. Your soft, angelic voice reminded Chan of siren songs, drawing in the listener and enthralling them completely. He’d gotten into the habit of listening to your covers and originals while he worked out or laid in bed at night. It calmed him.

He wondered if your moans sounded as heavenly.

No, Chan. WORK TIME.

“Work time,” he said, clasping his hands. “Hyunjin, let’s start with your part.”

All conversation about you died in the wake of recording. He knew you’d be arriving soon to record your parts, then he’d be tortured by your beautiful voice and heart-melting eyes. He could at least use this time to get a good chunk of work done.

“We should throw him a party,” said Changbin, slumped on the couch beside Minho as he listened to Hyunjin’s recording. “After the comeback,” he continued when people looked at him, “To celebrate his debut. You know, take him out for dinner and drinks. Wine and dine him a little before we all kiss him.”

“Nobody is kissing him.”

“Unless he asks,” he added.

“Yeah, if he asks Chan first, then we can all kiss him,” Minho smirked at Chan’s back.

To kiss you would be the best part of the night. In his head, it didn’t lead to rough, feral sex. It led to passionate, slow, gentle sex on his bed. He’d take time memorizing your figure, making note of your sensitive zones to take advantage of later on. He’d keep you as comfortable as possible. The idea of bringing you to orgasm over and over made his mouth water. He sipped from his coffee with hopes the temperature cooled his warm cheeks. Still, Chan saw images of his lips on your nipples or his hands roaming your soft body. He heard your voice calling him ‘Daddy’ and begging for more of him. You’re the most beautiful man he’s ever seen, and he’s slept with both Hyunjin and Felix. Usually, when he thirsted after a guy, a quick hook up immediately took them out of his system. Yet, he suspected it’d be different with you. He knew once he tasted you, he’d want nobody else.

“You need a minute or two, bro?” Changbin laughed, seeing Chan pushing his tongue under his lip. “Don’t be embarrassed. He makes me hard too.”

“Hyunjin,” Chan called to the singer, pushing the booth button, “Let’s do those last two lines again.”

“I think he’s probably as perverted as you, Chan-hyung,” said Han. “If not more.”

“Impossible,” Jeongin said, “Nobody’s as pervy as our Channie-hyung.”

“Work time, please,” he said, focusing on Hyunjin’s voice and following along on his page.

“I wonder what kind of porn he watches,” Han mused out loud. “Unless he makes his own?”

“That’d be hot,” said Minho.

“Work. Time. Guys.”

“He can film me,” Jeongin admitted. “I don’t mind being watched.”

“Me neither,” Han agreed. “I can give him tons of smut conte-”

“-Okay, if you’re not recording right now, get out,” ordered Chan, trying not to envision holding up his phone as you rode him in bed.

No, not in bed. Let him pound you against a wall in front of the practice room mirrors. He’d bend you over gym equipment; fuck you in a pool, in a sauna, in a car or a public restroom. You’d suck him off in alleyways wearing a mini skirt and a crop top. You spread out on a couch, his cum leaking out of you after he’d blown his load inside you. He’d fuck you everywhere: In hotel rooms, on the beach, in the park, or in other people’s houses. Chan thought he might combust sitting there.

“I’m a producer,” argued Han.

“You can produce later,” he replied. “Go. Now.”

He’d love to be special to you. Chan liked the thought of going on dates with you just as much. You’d sit across from him, wearing one of your fluffy sweaters and giggling at something he said. He loved your laugh. It was the cutest thing. Cute coffee dates, walking along the river together, taking nature walks or sitting in the park on nice spring days became some of his favorite daydreams. Chan normally liked the simple hook up or a situationship, but you? He couldn't do that. Whenever you looked at him with those soft eyes of yours, he only wanted to cherish and protect you. You thought he didn’t know, but things get around in the industry.

“Do you really need a min-” Changbin began, trying not to laugh as the others left.

“No,” he said firmly. “Hyunjin, for the last line…”

He’d beat the crap out of Kim Beomgyu if he ever met him.

****

Debut day. You thought you’d had nervous days before, but this one topped them all. Standing in the bathroom stall, you took deep breaths to steady your racing heart. Sweat turns cold even in the black and red outfit the stylists put together for you. You hadn’t stepped a single foot out of the dressing room since management wanted to maintain their secret as long as possible. But, you heard the phantom screams and shouts of fans in your hand. You saw your own fans buzzing with theories that it might be you since they know you are a trainee at a big company. Everyone you know will be watching whether in person or at home. They will be carefully examining and critiquing Stray Kids’ new member. You already knew you’d be the center of attention in the interviews. Media coaching taught you what to say and how to say it; you were given the ‘sweet sunshine boy’ persona like Han and Felix. What if you couldn’t play that up well? What if fans did not cheer for you or didn’t like you?

A sick feeling swirled around in your stomach, making it harder to breathe.

“YN?” a gentle voice bounced through the empty bathroom. “Are you in here?”

You’re going to fail. You’re going to get kicked out regardless. The other shoe will inevitably drop and you’ll be back to square one.

“YN?”

Changbin. Embarrassment still lingered from a week ago when you’d gotten a raging hardon around him. You knew he’d heard you in your shower stall. Even with its own walls and glass door, it wasn’t exactly sound proof. He must think you’re such a creep. Beomgyu thought so too when it happened to him. One of the Goldeye members nearly hit you when he caught you watching him get undressed. If you get kicked out for anything, it’ll be that. It’s always that. You didn’t care what they claimed to be. Nobody in the Kpop industry is that open or unashamed.

“YN,” he said, standing outside your stall. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to fail.”

“What?” he asked in disbelief. “No, you’re not. Why do you think that?”

“I just will, okay? I screw up everything all the time. Everyone is going to see me, see that I’m not good, and want me gone.” The words made you feel worse when you finally said them.

You saw his shoes and imagined he leaned next to the door. “That’s not what I think,” he said, “And that’s not what the other members think. Management, Stays, and your fans don’t think that either. Stays haven’t seen your face, but they heard your voice in that promo we put out. They’re all really excited. People are already getting attached to you,” he chuckled softly. “You’re such an easy person to like.”

The door opened a second time. “Is he in here?” It was Chan. Out of everyone, you couldn’t cry in front of Chan. You already stumble all over yourself around him. “YN? What’s wrong?”

“He’s nervous.”

“I know you’re nervous,” he said, talking to you now. “I felt the same when we first debuted. I had wanted it for such a long time that I couldn’t believe it was really happening. I had all these doubts in my head: what if we did poorly? What if nobody liked us? What if we ended up disbanding and I was stuck back with trainees again?” The door opened a third time, but nobody spoke. “I know why you’re scared, YN, and that’s okay. I know what happened with Beomgyu-”

You nearly choked.

“We’re not like him. We’re not trying to trick you or prank you. We want you to be comfortable with us. We want you here, YN. We’re not going to let you go. I’m not going to let you go.”

“What if I’m terrible?”

“You’re going to do great,” Chan said. “Better than great. You’re so talented and passionate about what you do. Anyone who watches you can see how hard you work to hone your skills. You’re always practicing late, always asking to redo lines in songs, and constantly monitoring yourself at music video and photo shoots. You’re not only talented, you’re an…you’re an angel, YN,” he said with a nervous breath. “And people will see that once they get to know you.”

“You won’t know how people are going to react if you don’t go on stage,” said Seungmin. “Isn’t it better to know than to keep sitting in here worrying about it? At least if you go out, you’ll finally know.”

“Come on out,” Han said gently, knocking on the door playfully. “Please, YN? Please come dance with us. We promise we’ll get you anything you want afterwards.”

“Anything you want,” Hyunjin emphasized.

“Get out of there!” Changbin’s hand shot out from under the stall to your ankle. The sudden touch made you jump and giggle as he continued trying to reach you. “Come on,” he said, laughing to lighten the mood, “Get out!”

Two more hands joined in from either side, and you laughed as you jumped around to avoid them like crabs. You soon opened the door to their smiling faces. Chan stood at the forefront with a reassuring smile. His eyes crinkled in it, and you couldn’t get over his slight dimple. When he hugged you, you realized how comfortable his body was. You didn’t feel bothered at all when he lingered, because then you could put his hand placements to memory for later. The other members embraced you after, with Hyunjin being the last one.

“I mean it,” he said, a familiar glint in his eyes, “Anything you want, cutie.”

“Double for me,” said Felix.

They both winked this time, which completely crushed any nervousness inside you.

****

‘OMGGGG I knew it was YN!!! He did so amazing! #newStrayKid #Babysunshine’

‘The new guy’s super cute! I think I have a new bias haha sorry Hyunjinnie!’

‘The dancing? Amazing. The visuals? Gorgeous. The rapping? Awesome. THE VOCALS???!! OUT OF THIS WORLD!’

‘Oh my god, I need to know everything about YN RIGHT NOW!!’

‘His full name is (YLN YFN), he’s from Busan but he moved to Seoul when he started training with JYPE. He’s been a trainee for like seven or eight years now. He’s got a Tiktok and Instagram account where he posts originals and covers. He does all his own choreography, singing, producing, composing…’

‘Okay, hear me out: YN + Hyunjin + Felix = Modelracha’

‘Sirenracha is more like it! His vocals are so otherworldly to me!’

“See? I told you people would love you.”

You’d done it. You’d debuted. The high you’d ridden coming off stage continued on through dinner. To the world, you’d officially become part of Stray Kids. You remembered all the nerves fading out once the music started playing. The moment the spotlight hit you, the crowd cheered instead of booed. They chanted your name along with the other members, clearly having coordinated a spot for the newest Stray Kid. Back at your dorm, you couldn’t stop yourself from reading the comments underneath the comeback stage video. They’d even included your interview, where you told the MCs you were excited to show everyone your best side and make Stays proud. Your social media became flooded with congratulations, praises, and high hopes for your future. When you did the obligatory live broadcast, old fans wanted to talk to you and new fans wanted to know you. You had jitters at first, but when Hyunjin and Felix appeared in your live, you didn’t feel as nervous about it.

People also said you three looked incredible together.

“You had nothing to worry about,” Chan said, sitting next to you on the couch.

“It was still nerve wracking.”

“I know, but you’ve debuted now and you’re one of us.”

He looked at you with pride, and your insides squirmed. You didn’t realize how close you both sat together. The few drinks you had at the restaurant left you feeling looser. Recalling how Chan said he wished for you to be comfortable, you wanted to tell him you really felt that when you were next to him.

“YN, I need my partner,” Felix handed you a game controller.

“He doesn’t want to be alone in his failure,” Jeongin joked from beside Chan.

“I’m not that bad,” you defended, echoing Felix’s words that first night. “I’ve gotten better.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Changbin laughed, settling into his usual spot with Hyunjin close by. “While I destroy you.”

For once, you fit in. Starting up the game, all the awkwardness you felt before melted away. You might not have been with them long, but no group or fellow trainees embraced you like they had done. If you’d debuted with ZeroZeroOne or Goldeye, you’d still feel casted aside. You played a few rounds with them, finding your place with them so easily. Things went smoothly until another topic came up.

“Do you like group sex, YN?” Seungmin had asked, handing you a bowl of popcorn to pick from. His question stunned you so much you hardly noticed the bowl.

“Seungmin!” Chan kicked him gently, even though the other members laughed. “You don’t ask stuff like that.”

“It’s bound to come up anyways!” said Seungmin, putting the bowl into his lap. "He’s already walked in on two of us fucking. He might as well know that we’re okay with him joining if he wants to.”

“You mean he’s going to walk in on you and Jeongin,” said Han, snuggling close to Minho in their couch corner, “And you want him to join you guys.”

The sudden change and acknowledgement swirled with the alcohol in your system. The thought came to you more than once, but you’d been so afraid to do anything about it. Every time you caught a member in a compromising way, you wanted to take full advantage of the moment. What might have happened if you’d gone into Changbin’s shower stall or closed the door behind you in Jeongin’s bedroom? Would giving into your desires truly be so bad?

“That's only because you’re a bunch of sluts,” said Changbin, scrolling through movies on the television. By his small smirk, you knew he’d done it to tease his members.

“That’s the teapot calling the kettle black,” said Hyunjin. “You can’t keep your hands off me ever.”

“How can I be expected to keep my hands off someone as beautiful as you, baby?” he grinned, kissing Hyunjin’s cheek, which made the man smile.

“I’m so sorry about them,” Chan told you, cheeks tinged a faint pink. “You don’t have to answer that at all. I swear we do more than sleep with each other all the time. That wasn’t important to me when I put the group together.”

“But it definitely happens,” chuckled Felix. He looked up at you, “A lot.”

“We are a group of young men who have very busy schedules and that comes with a lot of pressure,” said Hyunjin, leaning over to Felix so they looked at you together. You wished they had not. Sharp eyes blinked at you with a sultry stare that made your blood rush. “It’s only natural we’d want to relieve some of that stress with people we trust and we know care about us. Imagine if we hooked up with strangers and they went talking about the super kinky,” he glanced up and down your body, “Things we like.”

They then crawled over to you. You suddenly became hot in your hoodie, wishing you’d worn something else. Never in your life had you been approached by such beautiful men. Not even the hottest of supermodels could hold a candle to the two kneeling in front of you. You gulped thickly when they sat in front of you.

“You don’t have to be scared,” said Hyunjin, hand going up your leg gently. “You’re with friends. There’s no secret camera or anything around here. You can be yourself with us.”

“Unless you like being filmed?” asked Felix, starting to touch your opposite leg. You wished you’d worn looser pants. “I wouldn’t mind making movies with you.”

“Um, uh, well, um…”

“Don’t act so innocent now,” he laughed softly. “It's obvious that you’re a little pervert. How can we not do anything about that?” He let his fingers trail up your leg to your knee, the feeling sending more blood rushing to your core.

“Do you like to be called ‘Hyung’ in bed, YN?” Hyunjin asked, staying focused on you. “Or do you prefer something else?”

“Uh…” They were so beautiful and their fingertips drew closer to your knees and thighs. You hadn’t been properly fucked in years; not since Jihwan.

“You don’t have to worry,” Chan said, leaning over to you. “Felix and Hyunjin will be gentle with you if you’re a bottom. And they’ll be good boys if you’re a top.” He pushed a piece of hair from your face, looking down at your lips, “I personally like giving my boys as much pleasure as I can. I like watching them turn into whiny, whimpering messes from my touch,” he drew closer, “And my toys.”

“Hyung…” the title came out in a single breath.

“Let Felix and Hyunjin take care of you tonight,” he said. “When I fuck you, I want you to myself.”

The question came out before you stopped yourself, “Will you watch?”

“I’ll definitely be watching,” he replied with a soft grin. He moved from the couch to the coffee table in front of you three. “Tell them what you like,” he said gently. “They can’t take care of you if you don’t tell them.”

“I don’t mind being on top though,” you said quickly as both Hyunjin and Felix drew even closer. They each had a hand on your thighs, sliding your shorts up ever so slightly. “I’m not picky about it.” You became more aware of Chan watching than before.

“Good to know,” Felix said, deep voice dripping with lust. “Because I’ve been wondering what it’s like to ride you since we met.”

“Re-really?” you asked, breath getting heavier as fingers breached the hem of your shorts.

Both of them chuckled at your shyness. “Definitely,” he confirmed.

You noticed the others watching as intently as Chan did. Their attention brought flames to your cheeks, and only aroused you more. You’d never thought you’d be in this situation. Yes, you’d seen Han and Minho the other day, but you didn’t think this would happen.

“You don’t have to play shy with us,” said Felix, pushing your pant leg over your thigh. “Han told us all about the show he and Minho put on for you in the practice room. I can’t believe you jerked off in a hallway. Literally anyone could have seen you.”

“He told you about that?”

“You could’ve joined,” said Minho. “I wouldn’t have said no.”

“Me neither.”

That was when you noticed them entangled in one another. Han had one leg over Minho, his hand sliding into his pants while Minho groped his ass.

“And when you did it again in the gym locker room,” said Changbin, eyes shut as Seungmin and Jeongin slowly crept onto him. “Do you like public stuff? Please say ‘yes’.” His words made the others laugh.

“I mean…I guess?”

“Little pervert,” Hyunjin grinned. “If I’d known, I would’ve come on to you sooner. I love perverts,” he smirked, hand sliding over the inner part of your thigh. “They’re so much fun.”

“Let’s get this off you,” Felix said, hand leaving your thigh to the bottom of your hoodie. “I’ve been dying to see you without this.”

“Me too,” said Hyunjin.

You complied, and let the pair remove your hoodie and shirt. Chan sitting in front of you, he had a view of everything. Having his eyes on you in such a vulnerable state sent more blood rushing to your dick. You wished he’d come over and join you or take you somewhere to have you himself. But, Chan seemed content to watch on his own.

“I’m right here, baby,” he said, breathing deep as he rubbed himself through his shorts. “Just relax and get into it.”

Once exposed to him, Felix brought you closer by the chin. His lips made your arousal bloom in a single kiss, nurturing it as he gradually opened your mouth. The softest moan escaped you when his tongue slid over your own, rolling around with your mouths open for Hyunjin to see. With his fingers brushing close to your hardening cock, Hyunjin then turned you from Felix to plant his own passionate kisses. Felix’s hands rubbed down your smooth chest, tracing the line between your pecs before dancing to one nipple. One of your weakest spots.

“I see someone has very sensitive nipples,” he said in your ear before kissing underneath it. “I'm going to love touching these.”

He joined both you and Hyunjin in kissing. All three of you smacked each other’s lips and tongues in a three-way kiss. You couldn’t help whimpering as Felix teased your nipple with his fingers. You finally moaned when Hyunjin’s hand slid further into your shorts, moving over your boxers to your bulge. He lightly traced the outline forming underneath, starting from your balls to the twitching tip over and over. The languid pace drove you crazy, but you felt too shy to say anything.

The other pairs around you started letting out their own moans as clothes came off and kissing became more heated. When Felix started kissing down your neck and Hyunjin pulled away to focus on your groin, you saw Chan in front of you in the same position as before. He remained focused on your body, examining how the pair ignited the fire burning in your loins. The considerable bulge in his shorts made you drool. You’d do anything to have it deep in your throat, milking precum onto your tongue as you pleasured him.

Changbin had Seungmin and Jeongin straddling his thighs, both of them massaging his chest and crotch. They’d removed their shirts, which let Changbin switch between whose nipples he’d tease. Minho placed Han across the couch, pecking kisses down his exposed chest to the tent forming in his sweatpants. Is this what they did after shows? You knew you’d found your people. You knew you were where you belonged.

“Can I take it out?” Hyunjin asked you, cradling your balls in one hand. “Please, hyung?”

“Yes,” you breathed, eyes falling shut as Felix’s lips found your nipple. “Oh god, yes.”

The three of you groaned when he tugged down your shorts and underwear. Your dick sprung out onto your stomach, throbbing and twitching in front of them. Looking up at Chan, his mouth hung open in a low groan as he fully stroked himself now. You looked away shyly as the pair started grabbing at it. The touch nearly sent you spiraling. It had been way too long, and your body craved closeness. It craved intimacy from someone, anyone.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin huffed, holding you by the base. “It’s bigger than I thought it’d be,” he grinned at you.

“And thicker,” said Felix, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. “I can’t wait to ride it.”

You aren’t exactly a monster, but you did have a length that other guys liked. Looking down, you saw Hyunjin slowly stroking you while he admired it. You squirmed under him when he used both his hands, thumbs pressed to the underside of your tip each time he came up. That was when Felix removed his shirt, flinging it away to show you his sculpted body. Lean and slimmed down, he was jaw dropping. You lifted a shaky hand to his lower stomach, sliding upwards to his pecs which earned you a low hum. Brushing your thumb around one nipple, you felt it grow hard against the pad and saw Felix tremble when you touched the center.

“Lick them,” Chan said breathily. “I want you to-Oh yes, please.”

One arm wrapped around Felix’s waist, you kept him close as you slowly rolled your tongue around the nipple. Hyunjin’s hands produced thin droplets of precum, which he used to slicken your shaft. You shuddered at the tongue swatting at the slit, looking to see his pink tongue lap up what leaked out. Dark eyes met yours as he sunk the head between his pouty lips. Hyunjin’s mouth sparked nerves that made you bite your lower lip. You took in how his lips wrapped around it so easily, stretched to your girth and cheeks hollowing in each suck. The tiny moans he gave left small vibrations and you thought of grabbing his hair to push yourself further into his mouth. When he pulled away to remove his own shirt, you drooled over his slim body and imagined dark hickies across his unblemished skin.

As you teased each of Felix’s nipples, you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling down the rest of him. The sweatpants he wore did little to hide his arousal from you nor the curves of his perky ass. Due to his kneeling position, his nipples came nearly to level with you which meant his bulge touched close to you. Simply knowing his dick was so close had you salivating for it.

“Not so shy anymore, huh?” Felix chuckled. “Touch it. Pull down my pants and touch me, please.”

Untying the sweatpants, you tried hiding your eagerness. Even his dick was perfect. Going back to his hard, sensitive nipples, you slid the pants further until you felt the round cheeks of his ass.

“YN…”

You kissed from his chest to his navel, where his cock gradually began standing straight. It gave a small twitch, as if sensing your mouth close by and you went further. You gave the cheeks a gentle squeeze, the flesh molding to your fingers each time you spread them apart until you heard him groan. Felix’s hands fell into your hair, wanting you close to him as you reached his center. The tip of his dick leaked when you licked at it, straining to be in your mouth. But, Felix stayed perfectly still as you slowly took him between your lips. The blond shuddered when your hands started feeling up and down the backs of his thighs. He used your shoulders to steady himself while you licked up and down his shaft, his fingers digging into the muscles whenever you teased the tip.

“God, that’s so hot,” Hyunjin groaned, your cock still on his tongue before he sucked you again. “Not using his hands like that.”

“It feels so good,” Felix groaned in his deep voice. “Play with my ass, YN-hyung. Please.”

Not one to deny a beautiful boy anything, you started massaging closer to his hole. Fingers constantly rubbing over it, the hole fluttered against your fingertips each time. You took the chance to slide him deep into your mouth. Breathing through your nose, you slid him right to the back of your throat which made Felix’s head tilt back in a low groan. Your face buried in his groin, you focused on the entrance trying to suck a finger into it. Likely due to watching you do it, Hyunjin copied your move and sunk his mouth right to your base with soft choking sounds. This had you pull away from Felix, taking deep breaths and licking at him before taking him again. When you pushed a finger to the first knuckle, Felix wriggled in place. You kept pushing and withdrawing as you deep-throat his cock, driving Felix wild. The moment you finally sunk your finger to the last knuckle he started pushing into your face. You didn’t complain. You loved having this pretty, horny boy using your mouth as he wished. The grip he kept on your hair, his moans coming out breathy and deep, and his balls starting to slap your chin felt better than anything you had in a long time. You kept fingering his ass as he did this, feeling the walls clench around the digit each time you pressed to the hard mass deep inside. A second finger pushed in with the first, and Felix started shaking.

“Let me ride it, hyung,” he said hurriedly, pulling out of your mouth. “Fuck, I need to ride you right now.”

The pair pulled away and laid you on the couch. The three of you hastily removed the rest of your clothes before he straddled your hips. He spat on your cock, coating you in spit before pressing your tip to his entrance. You both groaned loudly in relief when you finally filled him to the brim. Felix, letting out a stream of uncontrollable moans, stayed planted on you a few seconds and grinded with you inside him. You joined in the grinding, pushing up into him before he started bouncing on his own. He looked beautiful. Cheeks flushed pink, blond strands falling in front of his face, wet cock bobbing in every push had you reaching out for him before Hyunjin sat on your chest, back facing you.

“Can I ride your tongue, hyung?” he asked in the most innocent voice, wriggling his ass at you. “Please?”

“Come closer.”

You thought you might cum right then. Resting above your head, Hyunjin placed himself on your chest so you could hook your arms around his thighs. You wouldn’t pass up the chance to feel up his gorgeous body as you kissed his plush bottom. Face buried in his ass, you traced the clenched hole in slow circles. Lovely moans joined Felix’s husky ones every time, becoming louder when you found his cock. The position made it hard to fully stroke him, but the bit that you stroked made Hyunjin push into your face. You slowly darted the tip of your tongue to the middle of his asshole, matching the pace of your jerking. Soon, Hyunjin carefully began sliding up and down on your outstretched tongue.

Felix’s ass clamped down around you, unable to slow down or control himself anymore. You throbbed in every stroke, pinned down by the both of them and helpless to fuck either of them back. They both sounded so pretty. It was like hearing your favorite song or listening to a good melody. You’d let them use you forever if it meant you could keep hearing them moan.

“I’m going to cum,” Felix huffed. “Oh god, I’m gonna cum. Make me cum, hyung. Make me cum, please, please, please!”

“You should see how pretty he looks when he cums,” said Hyunjin, who lifted himself off you.

Felix did look beautiful right on the edge. His cock leaked clear precum all over your lower stomach, and his hard muscles tensed as he drew closer. You grabbed onto his hips, fingers digging into the flesh, as he pushed up to meet him. The smacking of his ass to your balls became a rhythm you based your speed on. Full lips parted in every moan, eyes full of need and desperation, Felix looked more beautiful than anything you’d ever seen. His soft pleas for more of you drove you to go faster. You wanted him to cum. Soon, holding onto your arms tightly, Felix trembled and quivered on top of you.

“Cum on me,” you panted, watching Hyunjin kiss his neck and start jerking him off for added pleasure. “Go ahead, baby. Cum all over me.”

As if on command, thick white streams shot out from Felix and onto your stomach and chest. You loved the heat against your skin. You loved watching him lose complete control this final time, erotic and tantalizing even as he slowly came down from his peak.

“My turn,” Hyunjin smiled, bringing you up from your position.

You didn’t waste a second. Pushing him onto his back, head on a cushion, you kept his knees and thighs apart to plunge deep inside him. He felt just as good as Felix. Your dick reached deep, your tip pushing right to the prostate where the boy saw stars. Hyunjin held onto your arms, nails digging into your muscles as you lost yourself in him.

You couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. All pretense and shyness shed itself in every thrust. You’d let your new members see how horny they made you, and how you’d fuck them as much as they wanted. Hell, you’d be their fuck toy now. You’d be the biggest slut of them all. Their collective moans and groans became your sustenance. You looked down to see your dick splitting him open easily; his cock and balls laid right in front of you, dripping and bouncing with you.

Felix gently moved Hyunjin’s leg down to your waist, and grabbed his dick. “Suck him,” you said in a panting breath, desperate to watch them together. “Please, suck his dick while I fuck him.”

“Anything for you, hyung.”

You might have finished right there. Felix’s mouth around his cock, Hyunjin turned into a mewling mess with both of you working him. One hand still grabbing onto you, the other slid into Felix’s blond strands, though unable to move due to the overwhelming pleasure. Soon, like Felix, his body froze up. He looked just as gorgeous. Teeth biting down on his lower lip, his eyes squeezed shut as his orgasm approached. You couldn’t help but bring him as much pleasure as possible. Your own orgasm started building up in your gut and rolling closer to the edge. Lifting his legs, you changed the angle that finally pushed Hyunjin over.

“Hyung, hyung, hyung,” he said, “Fuck me. Oh please, fuck me!”

His cum, thin and white, leaked out of him like a fountain. It dripped over the sides to the base, where it pooled around the pelvic area. Felix licked small droplets, but otherwise let you see the effect you’d caused. Sucking some from the bottom, he fed Hyunjin bits of cum in slow kisses. When they both looked at you, smoldering eyes and wet tongues licking up excess fluids, you came. You came harder than you’d ever come before. Taking yourself out, you started stroking right as cum started flying out onto them. Both Hyunjin and Felix stuck out their tongues close to your cock, catching what they could and swallowing. It was the hottest thing you’d seen two guys do. You thought your climax might go on forever, especially when the pair prolonged it by taking over for you.

“You’re not done.”

Chan took hold of Felix’s hips and nearly threw him onto the free space onto the couch. This only made Felix giggle excitedly. You saw Chan had removed almost all his clothes, giving you an eyeful of his muscled body. His dick stuck upright to his sculpted stomach, leaking and flushed completely red. Felix bent over the back of the couch right away, his back arched and fingers digging into the furniture. Chan wasted no time in sliding right into Felix and began slamming his hips into the boy’s ass. You and Hyunjin watched in awe as Felix let Chan take him. Mouth open, eyes rolling back, Felix let out small moans. Chan kept his ass cheeks spread so you both saw him stretching the hole in each stroke. You grabbed yourself, stroking even if it brought on tingles of sensitivity, and imagined yourself in Felix’s place.

“Let me take care of that, hyung,” Hyunjin said, bringing you in for a kiss before replacing your hand. “They look good, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, shifting due to the oversensitivity shooting through your cockhead.

“Don’t tell Binnie,” he leaned to your ear, “But Chan has an incredible dick. I can’t get enough of it once he starts fucking me.”

“When will he fuck me?” you asked, almost whining as you started growing hard again.

“Soon, I assume,” he replied, kissing your neck. “In the meantime,” he straddled your lap, letting you lean back against the couch, “You can fuck me whenever you like. All you have to do is ask and I’m on my knees, I promise.”

Seeing the rest of the room, you saw Jeongin bent over a stack of couch pillows with Changbin pounding him from behind, pulling his hair and slapping his ass until it turned pink. Seungmin stood in front of him, pushing his dick into the stationary Jeongin’s open mouth. You would’ve given anything to trade places with the youngest. You saw their hard cocks abusing him, going right to the hilt and you wished it was you. When Jeongin started shaking, Changbin changed his angle to make him moan louder.

Han went into a completely different world than the rest of you. Eyes closed, mouth open, he laid on his side with his arms to his chest. Minho, keeping his leg up, made sure the whole room saw him slowly pushing deep into him. From the mess on Han’s stomach, the man already came once. You wondered, as Hyunjin bounced in your lap, how many times they could make you cum. Ever since you’d seen them in the practice room, you wanted both of them.

It felt good being with people you could be yourself with. You never thought you’d belong anywhere. You never thought you’d debut or have a group or have fans or do what you’ve dreamed of.

You were no longer a newbie.

***

A/N: my first male!reader fic, I hope you guys liked it! Please reblog and like if you did, and feel free to send asks or comments about it <3 It keeps posts alive!

#stray kids #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #bangchan #stray kids chan #lee felix #seo changbin #lee minho #han jisung #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #hwang hyunjin #stray kids x reader #stray kids x male reader #stray kids smut

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reidmotif · 1 year

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Popsicle Love

Summary: Reader and Spencer are at a ridiculously hot precinct station, getting on each other's nerves arguing. Reader realizes she can get back at him, using a certain sweet treat.

Prompt: Spencer can't deal with how much Reader loves popsicles/ice cream cones

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: Reader POV, rough sex, hair-pulling, dom!Spencer, coworker relationship, oral sex (m receiving), fingering (f receiving) , dirty talk, heavy making-out, unprotected penetrative sex, bathroom sex, hate-fucking, pure smut

Word Count: 3.2k

“It is too fucking hot for this” was my first thought as he began talking to me. Fuck Spencer Reid, because he was the who decided that today, in the sweltering Georgia heat, was the day he would annoy the ever-loving shit out of me.

“You’re going about this all wrong!” Spencer said, rolling his eyes. His sleeves were pulled up, and there was anger in his eyes. I crossed my legs, feeling my skirt ride up but I honestly couldn’t care less. It was scorching, and I was determined to not lose this argument to Reid. I let out a breath of air, meeting him with my own annoyed, exasperated expression.

“Reid, you’re being absolutely childish right now.” I retorted. “Sort through the paperwork first, then analyze it! Not everyone wants to do things the way you insist on doing them!” I say, furrowing my brows.

“Not everyone can.” He says, cockily, a smirk gracing his lips. That motherfucker.

I was about to get up and honestly hit him square in the jaw, half from my delusion in the heat, and half from how fucking smug he sounded. I wanted to knock that smirk off his face, and maybe ruin that pretty smile of his in the process, just as an added bonus.

Thankfully, before I could do anything rash that would definitely result in me losing my job, one of the officers of the station quickly came to interrupt us.

“Hey, one of the officers brought in popsicles. If any of y’all would like any, they’re in the breakroom.” She said, turning away. Thank God for Southern hospitality, I suppose.

I sighed, getting up from my spot. Spencer and I clearly weren’t getting anywhere when it came to our disagreements, and that’s how it was, and how it would remain to be. The man was a pain-in-the-fucking ass, and it was an honest shame, considering the fact he was actually pretty hot, especially when his mouth wasn’t moving.

Spencer walked ahead of me, the idea of something to cool him down enticing him just as much as it did me. We reached the breakroom and he opened the freezer, taking out the box of popsicles, and looking into it. He pulled out two, presumably one for me, and one for him.

“Blue or red?” He says, holding out the brightly colored packages, offering me a choice of one.

“Red.” I say, reaching over with no hesitation and grabbing the red-colored packaging in his hand. “Duh.” I added, starting to unwrap the treat. “It’s the best flavor.”

He scoffed a little, opening up his own, blue package, and I rolled my eyes at the sound.

“What, are you going to argue with me about my choices in popsicle flavor too now?” I say, with a disbelieving tone.

“No, it’s nothing,” He says, shrugging, with that same, shit-eating, self-satisfied grin.

God, I hated him.

I gave a deep exhale through my nose, forcing myself to calm down. I decided it’d be for the best if I walked out, left him here alone to avoid another fight. He called out before I could even walk two steps.

“You have to eat here.” He said, taking licks at his popsicle. “The officers- they’re old fashioned. I don’t know.” He adds, “If you wanna be yelled at though, be my guest.”

I grumbled internally at that, but I knew he was right. I didn’t want to be yelled at.

I took my place, leaning against a table that had been placed in the breakroom and taking my own popsicle out of the packaging, beginning to eat it. I sighed happily as I felt the taste settle on my tongue, the coolness blooming throughout my mouth. I began by licking the sides before taking it in my mouth. I suckled for a minute, and I could feel it already melting down my fingers a bit, due to the heat in the station. I released the popsicle in my mouth with a pop, before going to lick the sticky residue off my fingers. It was a little childish, sure, but it was hot and it wasn’t like anyone was watching me. I continued this cycle, softly sucking at the popsicle and wrapping my tongue around it until I heard what sounded like ... a whimper from across the room? I let my eyes drift up, noticing a seemingly flustered Spencer in the corner of my eye. He leaned away from me, crossing his legs. I knitted my brows, before putting the pieces together, realizing what had happened.

He was a guy, after all. And I suppose the way I was eating my popsicle could come off as suggestive, but come on! How else was I meant to eat it? And armed with the knowledge that my innocent action was enough to provoke him, I decided a little more intent in my movement couldn’t hurt.

I began to take the popsicle a little more vigorously, bobbing my head a bit. My lips wrapped around the treat, and I could feel Spencer’s eyes shamelessly on me and internally grinned. Good. He had annoyed me all day, and the idea of him dealing with a hard-on with no way to relieve himself was definitely karmic justice in my eyes. I closed my eyes, savoring the taste, but also in the way I could feel Spencer shifting around, trying to hide what seemed like a fast-growing erection. When I hollowed out my cheeks, and swirled my tongue around the sweetness in my mouth, I could hear a sound from the back of his throat escaping his lips. I let the popsicle out of my mouth, and in that moment, a melted chunk seemed to fall off, landing itself on my chest. I hissed, feeling the coldness of the tacky liquid running down my bare skin.

“Shit.” I said, trying to flick off the liquid off my hands and realizing I’d need to clean myself up. I dropped the remainder of the popsicle in the trash, not bothering to look back, before I walked over to the bathroom. I let out a breath of air as I opened the door to the precinct bathroom, looking at my chest and sighing, grabbing a handful of paper towels to run under the sink to wash myself with.

Before I could do that though, I heard the door swing open, and saw through the mirror it was none other than Spencer Reid. I crossed my arms, putting my back to the counter of the sink as I turned around to look him up and down.

“What are you doing here?” I remarked, with a displeased tone.

He looked absolutely furious, and there was a slight part of me that was excited, knowing I could rile him up like this. He was breathing heavily, and moving closer to me, trapping me in between the counter and his body, and what felt like a very noticeable hardness pressing against my thigh.

“The better question is, what the fuck are you doing?” He asked, his tone low and menacing.

I rolled my eyes, before feigning a look of innocence, making my eyes wide. “What do you mean, Spencer?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” He responds, gripping a piece of hair at the back of my skull and pulling slightly, forcing me to bare my neck to him. “Where do you get off doing something like that to me, huh?” He murmurs, leaning closer and letting his lips brush over the shell of my ear.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I retorted hastily, but I could hear the shakiness in my voice. The way he was speaking, the pull he had on my hair- it thrilled me, and contributed to a growing heat between my legs.

He pushed himself further and further against me, and I could feel his erection against my thigh even more so than before, and felt my stomach flutter at the feeling. My jaw dropped a bit, letting out a soft sigh, sensitive to the sensation.

“Oh is that right?” Spencer replies, nodding as he spoke a little cruelly. “You like acting like this? Like a goddamn slut?” He grunts out. He twists and pulls my hair a little more, eliciting a soft moan from my lips.

“You like it when I pull on your pretty hair like that?” He said, snarking the words at me. “Like how wet I make you?” He whispered, venom in his voice.

Without warning, he placed his fingers at the growing wet patch at my underwear, roughly pushing it aside before starting to rub harsh, tight circles around my clit. I nearly lost my mind at the sensation, nearly doubling over with pleasure.

I whimpered softly, and I could feel his smirk as he started to kiss up and down my neck. “So wet for me, mm?” He says, starting to move his fingers faster over my swollen clit. “I’ve barely touched you. You’re fucking needy for me, yeah?”

I groaned, not processing enough of what he was saying to warrant a response. My brain was foggy from how good he was making me feel. I tried to not think about the fact that this was Spencer, the Spencer who’d annoyed me from the moment I’d joined the BAU. The Spencer I despised, the one I was supposed to hate- but here was, making me orgasm in a precinct bathroom with his fingers alone.

He rubbed a bit faster, before thrusting two fingers into my needy cunt. I moaned again, louder, and he responded by burying his fingers even deeper into my core, pumping harshly. I could feel the room spinning, gripping onto the counter behind me to stabilize me as my orgasm began to approach me rapidly. He watched me intently, his gaze hot and intense before smirking. “Come for me. Come all over my fingers, (Y/N).” He whispered.

I did, nearly on command, convulsing against him as I felt myself clench around his long, slender digits, my moans reverberating around the small space.

He withdrew his fingers suddenly, leaving me painfully empty before he began to grab my face roughly, forcing me to look at him.

“Say that you want this, bitch.” He whispers harshly, pulling my hair and eliciting yet another moan from me as he pushed me up against the counter.

“Spencer..” I murmured, feeling my knees go a bit weak at how roughly he was manhandling me. He spun our positions around, and I felt him using the grip on my hair to push me down to my knees.

“Say it!” He said, a little more firmly now. “I need to hear you say it.”

I felt the desperation in his tone, weakly looking up at him from this angle before I nodded quickly.

“I want you. I want this.” I wailed, arousal coursing through my veins. I no longer cared about the humiliation of letting him use me like this. I wanted to chase this feeling forever, wanted to be at his mercy for as long as he wanted, as long as he could continue to make me feel this good.

I felt him groan above me, before he pulled me closer to his bulge, raising an eyebrow. He looked absolutely wild from here, sweat dripping down from his brow, and sleeves pushed up. He breathed heavily, his chest heaving up and down.

“Go on then. This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” He mocked, but I could tell his voice was strained with the exact same need I was feeling in the moment.

I gave no protest, using my deft fingers to quickly undo his slacks, pulling them down along with his boxers, watching his heavy cock bob in the air for a moment, before looking up at him, my jaw slightly agape.

Was this really happening?

He nodded, as if to give me an okay, and I didn’t need any more encouragement than that. I swirled my tongue around his tip, watching in fascination as I heard a groan from him, his head falling back as he moaned. “Fuck, (Y/N). Just like that.”

I grew bolder with his praise. I began to take more of him in my mouth, using my hands where my tongue wouldn’t reach. I gripped and worked his base, while suckling on what my mouth could reach. As I got used to the intrusion in my mouth, I moved down slowly, eventually taking the whole of him. He moaned loudly at this, and gripped my hair tighter, starting to move me up and down his cock. I relaxed the muscles in my mouth, letting him use me as he pleased. I watched from the lower angle the best I could, the sight of him coming undone at my mouth absolutely gorgeous. I could feel the tears pooling in the corner of my eyes, the saliva dripping down from my mouth and covering my chest. I wanted to watch him fall apart, to be at my mercy just as much as I was at his.

He moaned at the feeling, and I could feel myself get wetter at the sound. “Oh fuck. You feel so fucking good.” He groaned out, before grabbing my hair yet again, and holding my head in place. He started to fuck my throat roughly, and the tears began to flow a little more rapidly, feeling the pooling of saliva down my chin as I felt him hit the back of my throat.

“You like this, huh?” He teased from above, between pants and sighs. “Wanted me all riled up, so we could do this, right?”

I nodded desperately, incoherent begs and whines coming from my mouth before he pulled me off with a tug. I felt delightfully dirty, as he forced me up again and kissed me roughly. I barely registered him turning us around in my lustful stupor, bending me mercilessly against the sink and lifting up my skirt, pulling my underwear down in a clean swoop. I could feel him squeezing the fat of my hips and moaned at the way he controlled me so easily, to which he let out a smug chuckle.

He gripped my hair again, pulling my head up and forcing me to look at myself. We looked sinful, his cock pressing against my wet folds, teasing me.

“See that? You look like a fucking whore.” He snarled, breathing heavily.

I wasn’t going to let him win so easily. Even though I wanted the same things as him, I knew the more I teased him, the better I’d get from him. I raised an eyebrow and breathlessly murmured, “Are you going to stand there and look at me, or are you going to fuck me, Reid?”

He bared his teeth at me, thrusting into me roughly with no warning. “Oh, you wanna be fucked? Then take it.” He groaned, starting to buck his hips against me like a man possessed.

I moaned at the sudden feeling, letting my jaw drop fully to let out all my noises. I could feel the slaps of his skin against mine, and the smell of sex filling up the small space. His fingers gripped so tightly into my stomach I swear I could feel the bruises already blooming over my stomach. I let him fill me up, his thick cock passing through me roughly, over and over again.

“So fucking warm and wet. You feel..” He paused, moaning and jutting against me faster. “So fucking good.”

I could see the sweat dripping down his brow, and the way it collected down his neck. In this moment though, the only heat I could focus on was no longer the one around us, but the one that came from every brutal pass of his cock, creating a delicious burn I reveled in with every moment he stayed inside me. I moaned loudly, feeling myself get hotter and hotter with every second.

I watched through the mirror as he fucked me into the counter with no restraint, his head thrown back, eyes shut as he continued to use me, plowing into me from behind. I could feel my knees getting weaker, feeling his cock twitch inside of me as I arched my back to take more of him. He groaned at the sensation of him bottoming out, the rhythm of his hips becoming irregular as he continued to rut into me. I rolled my hips against him, hoping to spur on our impending releases. He thrust into me once or twice , until I felt him come with a loud moan, a familiar warmth pooling into my deepest point, but even then his hips didn't still. He fucked his own arousal into me, and I could feel my orgasm rapidly approaching, his lazy thrusts doing me in, and soon enough I was spasming over his cock, moaning loudly.

He pulled out of me, and my eyes fluttered shut at the sudden emptiness. I could feel his cum dripping down my leg, and his eyes watching in fascination as the mixture of both of our releases leaked out of me. He pulled up my underwear, immediately soaking up the liquids, and I groaned at the feeling. He pulled me up, leaning me against the sink.

I watched as he panted against the sink, and I swear, I would’ve fallen over without his steady grip on my hips. He and I were both flushed, my hair absolutely ruined from how hard he’d been pulling it, my tear-stained face still contorted in an expression of pleasure as we both recovered from the highs of our orgasms.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks, in between his breaths, looking genuinely concerned. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

I laughed a little bit at that, shaking my head. “You were the perfect amount of rough. Don’t worry.” I say, waving him off a little, assuring him that I got just as much out of this as he did.

As he tucked himself back into his pants, he grinned at me for seemingly no reason. I met his eyes with a confused expression, raising an eyebrow, pressing my lips together. “What are you grinning about?” I ask, trying to fix my hair as I look at him.

He walked over to me, turning me to face the mirror. I felt his chest against my back, and one of his large hands came to wrap themselves around me, before he ghosted a finger over my chest and whispered against my ear. “You still have some of that goddamn popsicle on you.” He says, trying not to laugh.

I rolled my eyes, chuckling a bit as I remembered the entire reason he’d been provoked to do this, and went to go finally wipe off the sticky residue once and for all. “Oh yeah. Popsicle.” I said, teasingly.

“Never do that again.” He says, starting to move away from me as he worked on making himself presentable enough to leave the bathroom with me.

I paused, turning around to look at him, still appearing completely fucked out and dazed as I smirked a bit. “If it gets you to fuck me like that? No promises.”

wow! a short fic from me?! crazy!! i wanted to try my hand at writing something smutty, but short. this was specifically written for @imagining-in-the-margins summer sunshine challenge, so go check that out :3 thank you for any likes, reblogs or comments. <3 i'm eternally thankful

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #smut #writing prompt #writing challenge #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #mentioningmargins

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viennakarma · 9 months

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Everything I Wanted II.

LESTAPPEN X READER (PART 2)

Summary: Your journey to become a Motorsport legend wasn't easy, especially when your path clashed with your greatest rivals, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

Word count: 8.9k

Tags: Driver reader, mentions of crash, angst, abusive parent, daddy issues, trust issues, character death (not reader), cursing, strong rivalry, misogyny in motorsport, invasive media, aggressive fans, reader suffers with cyberbullying and hate, smut, female reader, +18, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with plot, queer! everyone, polyamory lestappen, bit of dirty talking, pet names, not beta read

Relationships: Lestappen x Reader

Mentor!Kimi Raikkonen x Reader

Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton x Platonic!Reader

Notes: this is full of motorsport categories inaccuracies, just go with the vibes please. There are a few inaccuracies regarding other drivers' lives, but they are just to fit the story. This chapter is very angsty and none of it is an attack at the drivers nor their fans and personalities, please.

I know I KNOW, this got out of hand, AGAIN. I promise next part (and hopefully last) is more focused on the romance, and the happy ending reader deserves.

Find me on Twitter!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You spent Christmas with your mom, sharing a lot of presents and watching a bunch of stupid Christmas movies. New Year’s was now a tradition to spend with the Raikkonen Family, joined with the closest friends for a little get together. It was a good opportunity to reconnect with Kimi’s kids who missed you a lot during the season.

Charles never contacted you during winter break, which you were sure was the best after that mistake. You hated each other too much and the only thing that could come out of that was toxicity from the both of you. You refused to even acknowledge what had happened and its implications, that wouldn’t and couldn’t mean anything.

During the pre-season testing in Bahrain, you and Charles were back to whatever your relationship was before that one lapse in judgment months before.

Nobody noticed anything.

One day, Fernando pulled you aside for a little chat. You two sat side by side on big moving boxes, sipping on energy drinks.

“There’s something I have been wanting to talk to you about since last year,” he started, seemingly pensive, distant.

“Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, yeah. Remember after we first met when you asked me if I had advice for you regarding your career?” Fernando said, and you remembered.

Right after you had gotten close, you asked him for advice, you always did, especially about racing. But one day, you were chatting about his career, and you asked if had any lessons you should never forget. He had laughed joking about read all your contracts then asking if you were calling him old, but he said if he ever had any advice, he would tell you.

“Yes, have you got my answer yet?”

“Sí, Nena,” he paused, looking deep into your eyes, “enjoy.”

You frowned and he saw the confusion on your face.

“I see much of my younger self in you, you know? The same passion, this fiery desire to win, your goal for the championship, to conquer the world…” Fernando paused, looking up to the clear sky, the sunset coming around, “And I did. But I wish I had enjoyed it more. I should’ve gone to parties, I should’ve visited the countries we went to and tried the food, I should’ve made more friends, I should’ve had more lovers… I was so focused on winning, on getting my hands on that trophy of champion of the world, that I missed out on a lot.”

You felt your eyes tear up, and you wiped it before the tears came down. Putting your hand on his shoulder, you smiled at him.

“It’s such an honor race with you. And an even greater honor to have you as a friend, Nano” you whispered to him, you two laughed as his eyes watered too, and slapping his shoulder you laughed, “don’t make me cry, you old softie!”

You took his advice to your heart.

You went to the parties, you met new people, and that’s how after two entire seasons, you managed to befriend Lando, your teammate. You two had to open your hearts a little bit and meet in the middle. Which proved to be great, the whole team loved the change in your dynamic. You still weren’t besties, but you were close colleagues, and that was great. Everyone noticed the change and it reflected on how you started racing as a team instead of individually.

The car was even better than the year before, and the first race of the season you got a promising win.

That win, Lando’s pestering, and Fernando’s advice was how you ended up in a party after the Bahrain GP. Wearing a skimpy mini dress and 5 tequila shots deep, swaying your hips to the sound of Rihanna. You were dancing and singing with Lando and a few of his friends, loudly screaming the lyrics.

When it was way too hot for you, you grabbed a water bottle and beelined your way out of the crowded dance floor. You found a corner of the VIP section where the AC seemed to be working better, and as you stumbled inside the small space, you ran chest first into someone.

“Sorry,” you said, taking a step back and pressing your back against the cold wall.

“Enjoying your win?” Your head snapped up as you recognised Max’s voice. You had run into him.

Lando had mentioned inviting Max to the party, he had gotten a P2 in the race but you doubted he would go to a party he knew you would attend. You were obviously wrong.

“You know I am,” the victory was so good that nothing could ruin your mood.

“Well, then enjoy it. I’m coming for the win, again.” He warned you but his voice was devoid of anything, just sounded like he was casually telling you about the weather. But you knew that he was implying his championship the year before, rubbing it in your face.

“Don’t be so confident, Max,” you finished your water, smirking at him, “Enjoy the view of my rear!”

You flipped your hair, feeling his eyes on you the whole walk back to the dance floor.

And yet-

Somehow-

You ended up back at that small corner, dancing with your body pressed between Verstappen’s and the wall, his hand holding your jaw firmly, you rolled your hips against him, feeling the way his body responded to yours.

“We can’t-” he said to you, still, his eyes hadn’t left your lips, like he was so oh so tempted.

You rolled your eyes, annoyed. Sober you would never do that, but then, that was a problem for later. Checking to see if anyone was looking at you, you hooked a finger around his waistband and pulled him towards the bathroom.

As soon as the two of you were inside, you locked the door and Max pressed your back against the door, latching his lips to yours in a very desperate open mouthed kiss. You hugged his shoulders, opening your lips to him, his hands went down your sides and he grabbed your ass, pulling you into him. But that wasn’t enough, so he held your thighs and pulled up, carrying you. You locked your legs around his waist, and he stopped the kiss to walk, sitting you on the marble side of the sink, still between your legs, forcing his bulge against your panties, and eliciting a moan from you.

He took a half step back to hike your dress up, palming your cunt over your panties feeling the dampness of it, he tried to press his hand under your panties, but the lacy fabric didn’t leave much space, so he simply tore the bottom of them, exposing you to him. He just ran a finger over your slit, collecting your wetness for a brief moment before pushing a finger into you. Max watched your face with concentration, studying your body’s responses. Your hips shaking at the movement of his finger, and when the second one joined, you got louder. He curled his fingers up, his thumb pressing your clit, and you had to use both hands to hold onto him, your head lolling back against the mirror.

“Take it and shut the fuck up,” he grunted between clenched teeth.

He was pressing your insides so good, the slick sound of his fingers going in and out, his heavy breathing, the loud music outside and his laser focused fingers had you coming against his fingers in minutes. When he noticed you close, cunt spasming against his fingers, he pressed the other hand against your mouth, covering your moans when your toes curled and you orgasmed on his hand.

Max barely let you recover as he opened his jeans and stroked himself twice before pushing his cock into you in one swift move, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion.

“That’s what you wanted, right? Fucking teasing me all night,” He pushed particularly hard, hitting your g-spot, making you see stars, “you’re a fucking menace, y’know that? Fucking insufferable,” then his words became a mumbling of something dutch you couldn’t quite catch anymore with the way his hips snapped against yours, taking all your focus away and turning you into a mess of moaning.

Max fucked like he raced, focused and relentless, brutal. He hugged you with one arm around your waist to keep you in place and the other held you face, tilting your head so he could kiss you, or whatever that mess of saliva, tongues and teeth was. Your orgasm crashed through you unexpectedly, and you only hugged him tighter, pressing your face against his chest, biting into his skin through the fabric of his T-shirt to silence yourself, your teeth sinking into him was enough to send him also over the edge, coming with moans against your ear.

That night, you went home with shaking legs and an incoming headache, as Max left with the scraps of your panties in his pocket and your lipstick stain on his shirt, above his chest.

It was the seventh race of the year, Monaco, and you absolutely hated that specific track since your years of F2. During your two first years in F1 you had awful experiences, the rookie year you DNF and the year prior you had barely managed a P7. You were trying to keep your head up, be hopeful that you could at least try for top 5.

But since you couldn’t catch a fucking break, an old video of your teenage years resurfaced.

You were walking to your first round of interviews when Amanda, your PR manager, started walking by your side.

“There’s something. An old video of a karting competition resurfaced, where Max and Charles pretty much call you stupid,” Amanda was always direct, you could give it to her.

“Let me see the video” you asked, offering your hand for her phone.

“We don’t have time, but everyone will ask you about it. I need you to be the bigger person and act like it isn’t important, yes? They will try to taunt you and get a bad reaction from you, I need you to dismiss everything they throw at you. Agreed?”

You sighed. You knew the stuff from your teens were pretty bad, you rarely badmouthed Max or Charles, but they always felt threatened by you, so there were lots of instances they attacked you. Honestly, you just didn’t want to come out of this victimized. So as you entered the first round of interviews, you decided you were going to downplay anything they asked you.

“Y/N, have you seen the footage of you, Max and Charles from your teenage years that resurfaced recently?”

“No, uh, I haven’t.”

Someone pushed an iPad in your hands because of course, they wanted a live reaction from you. You pressed play, reading the subtitles someone put on the video. It was an amateur recording like a post race interview made by another teenage guy. First as Max walked out of the track, the guy asked what he thought of your win.

“It was luck, she’s not bright enough to think of a strategy,” Max said, walking away, clearly pissed having lost to you.

There was a cut and the camera was turned on again when Charles walked toward the guy asking the question. He repeated exactly the same question he had asked Max.

“Y/N, I don’t worry about her long term. She’s not going very far in this sport anyway,” Charles shrugged, seemingly unbothered.

As the video cut again, it showed your face, you remembered when that was. You were 14, and your dad had dropped you a few months earlier, so you were working your ass off balancing school, work and karting.

“Hey, Y/N. What do you think of your result today?”

“Uh, I tried a new strategy I learned earlier this week, thankfully it worked in my favor,” teen-You dried your forehead with your coat’s sleeve.

“What are your plans for this competition?”

“Well, I hope to be good enough to get into F4 next year, and work my way up into Formula 1,” you smiled softly and walked away after a quick bye.

The video ended and you still spent a few seconds staring at the black screen of the iPad. This interview didn’t come to your mind in more than a decade, but it was nice seeing how you made your 14-year-old dream come true.

“So, what do you say?” The reporter extended his mic to you.

“I guess I proved them wrong, right?” You giggled a little, “don’t take it to heart, really. We were all hormonal teenagers, I’m sure if someone digs, they will find a video of me saying the same stuff about them,” you shrugged, despite that being a lie, sounded dismissive enough.

“So it doesn’t upset you?” The reporter insisted, and you knew he wanted a scandal you weren’t willing to give.

“Of course not. I’ve always known my worth, and I’m P1 in the driver’s championship as of right now. So I don’t really care.”

The interviewers soon let the video go, when they realized you didn’t care about it. You weren’t sure if anyone would also approach Charles or Max with questions about the same video, but you couldn’t care less, you wanted to avoid drama for the time being so you could focus on the championship instead of this bullshit.

On the morning of qualifying, you were in your room, trying to meditate and clear your mind, when a knock interrupted you.

“Guys, I asked for twenty minutes so I could-” you stop yourself when you realize it isn’t anyone from your team, but it’s Max and Charles, “what are you doing here?”

“We came to apologize about the video,” Max started.

“Did your PR teams send you here?” You looked around, trying to catch a camera or even a phone recording.

“No uh, we realized we were very immature with you, and this video is just proof of how silly that was,” Charles sighed, seemingly embarrassed.

“You don’t need to apologize, I mean- the two of you really had it out for me, you called me dumb a lot,” you pointed to Max, then Charles, “and you called me ugly countless times. I don’t know why it would make any difference now.”

You were just so used to being defensive, to protect yourself from hatred you found it hard to believe them, to give them a chance to apologize because you couldn’t believe it to be genuine.

“Even if you don’t take it, or believe it, I would like to apologize for that behavior. I was just a stupid kid.” Max looked deep into your eyes, which could’ve made you uncomfortable if he didn’t seem so honest.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. It was too idiotic to be like that to you, growing up. You were just a kid too.” Charles added.

You understood where that apology came from, it was stupid and embarrassing for all three of you this teenage rivalry when you all were barely mid racers back in the day. Sighing, you looked around, dropping your façade for a second, allowing yourself to display the same honesty they showed you.

It was hard and required some sort of deprogramming because you could only see them as rivals, like your dad had whispered in your brain so many times before, like their actions towards you had cemented dad’s words. They had said things that were on your mind for so long, that had made you defensive and deflective.

“Look, don’t worry about it. Whatever happened back then, it’s water under the bridge,” You shifted on your feet. As they started walking away, you added “this doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

They only nodded before leaving. Your routine went back to the same, and as the next scandal went on, people forgot about the silly video, but a very specific part of the fans started shipping you and both your rivals.

The rivalry never died down though.

Then, out of nowhere, Sebastian pulled you and Lewis aside to a conversation. Then he told you that he was going to retire by the end of the season. It was the first time the two of them saw you cry, and Sebastian hugged you tight, shushing your crying softly.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered, petting your head.

“No, don’t apologize,” you let him go, drying your face, “I have listened to you talking countless times about how you missed the kids. Don’t apologize for choosing to be a great dad. I know Hanna and the kiddos will be ecstatic.”

“You two are my closest friends here, that’s why I wanted to tell you first, before my announcement.”

“Thank you, Seb,” you said, eyes still watering, “I’m going to miss having you around.”

“Thank you for telling us beforehand,” Lewis said, also visibly emotional.

The season was writing itself to be just as close as the year prior, but now you were slightly better at keeping the lead most.

That is until Zandvoort. This GP was always a nightmare to you, because it was full of Max’s fans, and they absolutely hated you for being his rival. You had been booed when you were on the podium the year before, so now, you and Amanda decided it was best to keep your head down during the whole week. Not out of shame, but more of a matter of safety, you didn’t know how far the crowd could go in antagonizing you. When you were booed the other year, Max had said it was part of the sport and dismissed the conversation.

The morning of free practice, you went into the paddock very low-key and kept to yourself. You arrived with a little cup of coffee and got mentally ready for a hostile environment the whole weekend. That, until you spotted a small group of people dressed with your color and wearing your number, waving wildly to you.

In a spur of the moment decision, you went there, getting close to the barrier to sign a few caps and take a few selfies. In retrospect, you knew you shouldn’t have done that, especially with only two bodyguards accompanying you.

You were finishing chatting with your fans when you felt something heavy hit the side of your head and the impact made you stumble backwards, you were confused as you heard the screams and felt one of the bodyguards pull you back, as the other jumped the barrier and started running. You patted your temple and something wet and sticky was dripping down the side of your face. You stared at the small group of fans who were looking at you horrified. Staring at the hand, you saw the red staining your fingers, and as the bodyguard kept pulling you away to somewhere safer, the thing flowed even more and got into your left eye.

You wondered if it was blood as you touched your temple but felt nothing, not a gash nor small cut. You covered your left eye as it started to sting from what you supposed smelt like paint.

“Hey, hey, what happened? You’re bleeding!” Max jogged up to you.

“Not blood, just paint” you muttered, trying to use your coat to clean your face.

“Someone threw a paint ball at her,” the bodyguard said.

“Fuck, it’s burning!” You exclaimed, feeling tears in your left eye.

“Come here, the RB hospitality is close,” Max said, holding your wrist, he stopped shortly pointing to your bodyguard, “and you, sort this and find the person who did it.”

You let yourself be taken by Max into the RB territory, the burning so annoying that you rather take whatever solution he was thinking of. He held your waist and placed you sitting on a sink, and then you felt water streaming down your face.

“Stay still,” Max commanded, holding a hose over your head, pouring water down your face, “now blink slowly, let the water wash it,” his voice soft as you did what he told you to. Slowly but surely, it washed the paint away, relieving your left eye from the stinging. Max held the hose up and held your chin, tilting your head up so he could check your eye, still letting the water stream down your face.

You took a few minutes, breathing and regulating your heartbeat from that scare, trying to come back to normal and understand fully what was going on. From what you gathered, you were chatting with fans when someone else came and threw something with paint at you.

“How does it feel?”

“It’s better, already stopped burning,” you told him, feeling your heart miss a beat at the close proximity you found yourself to him. You were sitting on a sink, Max standing between your legs pretty much like you two had done months before for entirely different reasons.

“Open your eye, let me see,” he asked, and you tried to blink it open, “can you see?”

“It’s a little blurry but I believe it will get better,” you explained, and he didn’t let go of your chin. Suddenly, he covered your right eye with the other hand, leaving you only with your left eye sight.

“How many fingers am I putting up?” He showed it to your left eye. The vision was a bit blurry but you still could make out the shapes very clearly.

“Four, Max. It’s just a little bit blurry, probably will get better in a few minutes” you sounded annoyed, you tried to move but he pressed a hand against your waist, keeping you in place.

“Now, what happened?” He asked finally. You ignored the proximity, and the hand still on your body.

“We’re in Zandvoort, that’s what happened,” you shrugged, really annoyed about it.

“What do you mean?” He was visibly confused. You scoffed because you knew it wasn’t something he didn’t know, since the year before he has dismissed the importance of how hostile people were to you.

“We’re massively surrounded by your fans, Max.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They hate me because you hate me, and they think because you hate me they’re justified in their hostility towards me,” You explained, with a sigh, you pushed away from Max, “this GP has been like this for me ever since Rookie year.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said, brows furrowed.

“You do. And they do too,” you pointed down at the paint that had also stained your shirt as proof.

“I don’t,” he insisted and you rolled your eyes, jumping off the sink, but he didn’t give you space, which made you stand chest to chest with him, “I promise.”

You stared at him, breathless. That wasn’t part of the game you played, being kind, sounding worried and making promises. None of that was part of this whole rivalry. Pushing his chest, you tried getting away but he caged you against the sink, body flush against yours.

“Do you believe me?” He asked and your eyes fell to his lips, and you allowed yourself to remember the desperate and chaotic kisses you had shared in a dimly lit bathroom, “I don’t support any of this behavior.”

You heard voices and steps approaching, which made you finally push him away, walking towards the door. Whatever little magic had been happening between those walls was undone the moment you remembered none of that would’ve happened if he had politely put a stop to it earlier.

“It’s part of the sport and I have to deal with it, right?” You returned the very same words he had said about you when you were booed by the crowd the year prior.

As you opened the door, you were faced with Sebastian. He stopped, taking you in and then pulling you in a hug.

“Are you ok? We just heard what happened!” He murmured, guiding you out of the bathroom. He held your shoulders and looked at your face, checking how your left eye was still a little red, “we should take you to see a doctor, come on.”

Lewis soon arrived at the entrance of the RBR station, he warned about the reporters crowding outside, waiting for a glimpse of you after the attack. The British man gave you a Mercedes coat so you put it over your head and avoid the cameras waiting outside. With the bodyguards and both Lewis and Sebastian leading you away, you ended up at the medical center, and after a quick examination, the doctor gave you eye drops to put throughout the day.

Your Principal suggested you sit the FP1 out, letting the reserve driver take your place while you recovered. By the middle of FP1, your eyesight was 100% and you went to get ready for FP2. The whole day you felt like everyone was being extra careful, tiptoeing around you. You hated feeling like you were being pitied, so when the inevitable round of interviews came, you knew what you had to do.

“We heard about your incident earlier today, how are you feeling about it?” Someone asked.

“I’m pretty upset, to be honest. Formula 1 is a sport loved around the whole world, and the paddock overall is supposed to be a safe place not only for the fans, but also the workers and drivers. What happened today is unacceptable and could’ve been much worse. I’m voicing my dissatisfaction and I intend to, through legal means, take this complaint to the FIA.”

Later that night, as you laid awake on your bed, scrolling through the repercussions of the day, you stopped when you saw a snippet of Max's interview.

“What happened today was dangerous and unacceptable, I don’t support this behavior and I stand with Y/N,” that was all he said, but Max usually was a man of few words, always knowing when it was enough.

You knew he should’ve voiced that much earlier in your career, specifically after the booing the year before, but still- He also could have opted to not say anything at all, and he didn’t.

Amanda also sent you the news that the fan who had attacked you was found and banned for life from Formula 1.

After calling Sebastian, you managed to get ahold of Max’s phone number and texted him a simple message.

Thank you. Twice. - Lioness

The text went to read almost immediately, and the three dots appeared from his side of the screen. You wait, and wait, and wait. And then the dots disappeared, and an answer never came.

After a solid P2 that weekend in Zandvoort, you went home for the summer break. You and your mom had planned to go to Monaco for a little while since you were planning on buying a place there. From there, you and your mom would go all around the French Riviera to enjoy the sea and spend a few days in a spa resort. Then, you would go back home and relax before going to Ibiza for a weekend to meet Lando and his friends to enjoy some partying.

Everything went according to plan, but one day when you came back home after the trip to the French Riviera, you found your mom passed out on the living room floor.

You called an ambulance, quickly taking her into the hospital. Everything was a blur, the tests and scans, your mom still unconscious on a hospital bed, and the results. The results that pulled the floor from under your feet.

Your brain couldn’t fully compute what was said. Cancer Stage 4. Surgery. Palliative care.

The world was muted around you as you sat on a chair in the waiting room, hands shaking when you tried to understand what was happening. You somehow ended up calling the one other person you trust.

“Y/N? What happened?”

“I don’t understand- she just- she just passed out and I thought- but- but they said- palliative care” you try to come up with words.

“Talk to me. Are you sick?” Kimi’s voice is so focused and a little soothing.

“It’s mom”

“Send your location, I’m going there,” that’s all he said.

Waiting for Kimi gave you some sense of purpose, because it’s Kimi. He could fix anything. He fixed your life when you were 14, he can do it again. He would get there and find a way to help. Your mind got so clouded when the word cancer was thrown in the conversation, that you probably missed the part about treatments and- and surgery and stuff.

In your mother’s room there was a comfortable couch where you tried to settle to sleep, but you only spent countless hours awake. You hoped to see the doctor again to try and get him to explain everything for a second time.

You wished you were smart and quick, but no, you just sat there holding onto the hope that Kimi had a way to fix this.

Kimi arrived early the next morning, knocking on the door before entering. You stood up, hugging him tight.

“What happened?”

“It’s pancreatic cancer, they said. We need to see more about surgery and- and treatments.”

You and Kimi found the doctor, who explained again, and in that moment you finally understood what he meant the first time around. She was in a late stage of pancreatic cancer, which was usually a very difficult illness to find before it is too late, due to the placement of the organ in the body and late symptoms. The only options were either to try a very risky surgery and chemo so she could extend her life for around 8 months to a year. Or she could go home to live her last few months the way she wanted.

You begged and cried and bribed and offered every single solution your brain could muster to try and save her. Kimi held you when you fell to the floor, sobbing.

When your mom woke up and you and Kimi told her the diagnosis, she cried too, sobbing in your arms as you tried to hold it together for her sake. It took a couple of days for her to choose to go home. The two of you spent the last days of summer break traveling around the world a bit more, visiting temples and statues, and seeing nature and everything good the world had to offer, going to places motorsport hadn’t taken you to.

Your mom went to every race week from there on, even when she felt especially weak, even when you had to hire a full time medical team for her.

Your focus on the season was solely on the moment between entering the car and leaving the car. You still managed to race like you’ve done before, calm and controlled, with the help of your engineers and team, you still could put the car where you wanted it, paving your way for a solid world championship that year. It was like your brain was seeing racing as the one thing in your life you had full control over, so sometimes you even felt like you and the car were one.

You didn’t tell anyone about her. Though every driver noticed how distant you were, even Charles and Max and the ones that weren’t very close to you noticed how you were only fulfilling your obligations and leaving, you weren’t even celebrating your wins, leaving the fastest you could after a race.

The Singapore GP was tough for you, having to leave your mom home alone with the medical staff and a couple of friends from her book club, since she wasn’t strong enough to travel anymore. Your attention was failing all throughout media day and free practices. Qualifying was shit compared to your performance the rest of the season.

In Q3 you did a reasonable sector 1 and 2 but you messed up sector 3 completely. It was a complete accident when you got in the way of a Ferrari when he was doing his fast lap, and you ended up messing his qualy too. Jace let you know it was none other than Charles Leclerc, who was setting the pace for a pole position. Out of 19 drivers, you had to ruin his lap. In the end, Max got pole, Charles qualified P3 and you qualified P5.

You went through the motions during the post qualifying press. You were about to leave after debriefing, when Charles Leclerc found you on the way to the parking lot. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself protectively as he walked up to you. You were hoping to escape his fury at least until after the race the next day. Before he could even get a word in, you started.

“Look, I know I messed up your pole. I know you won’t believe me, but it wasn’t intentional. I really thought there was no one doing fast laps on the track, I thought everyone was either still doing out laps or in the pits, so when you-”

“Calm down, breathe,” he interrupted you, “I’m not here to fight.”

“No?” You frowned, confused with the kindness in his eyes.

“We know you’re going through something, and I’m sure I’m the last person you want to hear this from, but you’re not alone. And you should really consider talking with someone on the grid. They’re all- we’re all worried about you.”

The words felt alien coming from his mouth, but the gentleness was so comforting you felt a lump in your throat.

“Why do you think I’m not ok?” You muttered trying to sound confident, but your voice failed, betraying you.

“You’re skinny and you look sleep deprived for a few weeks now,” Charles said directly.

“Damn, thanks.”

“I don’t mean it like that, you know it,” he paused, putting both hands on his pockets, “have you been eating?” Your lack of response made him press further, “have you eaten today?”

You pressed your lips together, not wanting to answer that.

“Let’s go, I’ll drive you to the hotel, we’ll stop on the way to grab some food,” Charles gestured to his car, a few meters away. You stood there, shocked as he started walking away, then he stopped looking over his shoulder, “come on, I don’t have all the time in the world.”

As you sat in his Ferrari, Charles put music on and you didn’t do much talking, but it was tranquil. He called the restaurant to order take out on the way, and 30 minutes later he dropped you off at the hotel with a bag full of food.

“Thank you, Charles.” You whispered before leaving the car.

You ate the food while on a video call with your mom.

You recovered well during the race, finishing P2, behind Max and ahead of Charles.

Your mom passed away a few days after the Japanese Grand Prix, the one you had won and dedicated it to her from the top step of the podium, even if she wasn’t there, just watching from home. You went home and stayed with her, holding her hands and hugging her as much as you could.

Some part of you knew she was somehow fighting, because she had promised you the year before she would be there when you became world champion. You could see she was hoping to make it to the end of the season, but you also knew she wouldn’t, and you rather she didn’t have to endure any more pain just for your sake.

“You don’t need to fight anymore, ma,” you whispered before she went to sleep, “you raised a strong woman, too. I will see you on the other side, ok? You can rest now, I love you.”

“I’m so proud of you, honey. I love you to the moon and back.”

You made it through her small funeral, following what she had written down before passing. An intimate funeral, full of flowers and a toast to her life. You cried the whole time, with Kimi and Minttu taking turns at comforting you as they could. Coming back to an empty home smelling of cleaning products made you almost lose your mind, and the sight of you in such despair was enough for Kimi to convince you to stay with them until you had to travel for the next race, in almost seven days.

The days passed in a crying blur, you let part of your team know about your mom’s passing. Only Amanda, Jace and your Principal. Jace tried to convince you to take a break and not go to the next race in Austin, but you quickly shut it off. Not only because racing was the one thing keeping you sane amidst the chaos, but because you were so close to the championship, and it was still close competition with Max and Charles, so you couldn’t afford to lose a race and the points that could come with it.

You had to honor your mom in some way.

That’s how you ended up on a plane to Austin with Kimi and Amanda. You knew Kimi had convinced you to let him go because he was sure you’d have a mental breakdown anytime along the weekend, but deep down you appreciated the company. Arriving there, Jace was the first to hug you and whisper his condolences, as well as your TP too.

You survived the entire weekend without breaking down crying in public, but that was your worst race in a few months, the first time out of a podium since Spa. You ended up P5, which luckily wasn’t too bad because Max finished P4 which you were grateful for as he was the one who was P2 in the driver’s championship close behind you.

After that week, you packed your stuff and moved to the new condo in Monaco you had bought during summer break. Despite loving your mom to pieces, you couldn’t manage to live alone in the house you bought for her a couple of years before, it was lonely and it hit you with overwhelming waves of sadness all the time. You distracted yourself a lot with buying furniture and decorations for the new place, and discovering Monte Carlo in a whole new way. The one comfort in all that, was knowing your mom wasn’t suffering anymore.

Then you went straight to Mexico for the next Grand Prix, this time, Kimi left you because he had to come home to Minttu and the kids. Amanda had been such a support for you, that you knew you had to give her something special for the holidays, out of gratitude.

Everything was going as expected until the press conference. You were there with Charles, Max, Sebastian and Lando. You suspected they were putting you always in the same group as Max and Charles because, as the season nearing the end, only three races left, they were your close competition.

While someone asked something of Charles, you were whispering with Sebastian, chatting about Mexican foods you wanted to try after the race. Then, something bizarre happened, and phones started to ping all around the room, between reporters, cameras and everyone else started checking their phones. It seemed like something out of a black mirror nightmare.

You reached for your phone but then remembered you left it to charge in your room.

“This question is for Y/N,” a reporter asked, reading something from his phone, “there’s a new article that just came out saying your mom passed away a couple of weeks ago, is that true?”

Your blood ran cold, and every sound felt like it was muted inside the room. Wide eyed, you searched for Amanda, who was somewhere on the opposite side of the room, and when you found her, she was pale. Then, there was a cacophony of voices and cameras and questions, that made you suddenly overwhelmed.

Swallowing, trying to reassess, you found Sebastian already standing, holding your shoulders. Looking around you noticed how the other three drivers had stood up, making some sort of shield around you, protecting you from the cameras and reporters swarming around.

“We can go, ok? Come on,” Sebastian was saying when Amanda caught up to you, leaning beside Sebastian.

“We can leave, right now,” she said, holding your hand.

Still a little confused, you nodded and let them both guide you back to your room.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Sebastian hugged you, running his hands on your back for comfort.

“How- how did they find out?” You ask Amanda.

“An article came out, I’m not sure. Someone was probably digging into your life, but don’t worry, I put the team on it already.”

“How do- how we diffuse this? How do we proceed? We need to address this, right?” You started blabbering, trying to wrap your head around everything.

“That was very disrespectful of them to ask like that!” Sebastian exclaimed, making you two jolt.

“We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with. Do you want me to release a note asking for privacy?” Amanda suggested.

“Can I write something and then run it by you?” You asked, she only nodded.

After a moment, both Amanda and Seb left you alone as you typed a note on your phone. You rewrote and deleted a few times before settling on something heartfelt and respectful but also, calling out the invasion of privacy.

My mom passed away a few days ago after battling with cancer for the past few months.

She had requested of me to keep it a secret until after the season was over, so I could mourn her without the weight of racing over my shoulders.

But obviously someone went digging and disrespected not only one of her last wishes but also disrespected my grief and my right to privacy. I love my mom but I’ll not be answering any more questions about her illness or death, please respect me and respect her memory.

All the love, Y/N

Nobody asked anything over the weekend, but again, it felt like everyone was tiptoeing around you. As soon as you first saw Nano the next day, he held you tight for almost a minute whispering his condolences, and it made you almost cry again. Lewis also spared you a hug, saying if you ever needed anything, to contact him.

You survived that weekend, and decided to go straight to Brazil for the next GP instead of going back to Monaco. In São Paulo you mostly slept your worries and fears away. You had promised yourself to try and focus on the season only, to make your dream come true, to fulfill your mom’s promise in some way.

With Ferrari’s bad strategy in Mexico, they had ruined Charles’ chance at the championship. Now your only competition was Max and the Red Bull rocketship.

You rewatched the race a couple of times as you usually did, to try and catch any mistakes you or your team may have made, to fix it for the next one. But also to try and notice any weaknesses of your rivals, if it was something you could use in your own favor.

You noticed right away in the FP1 that your car wasn’t adhering to the track, you were losing balance and needed more force than usual to keep yourself in place. By FP2, you managed to control your car better, but that caused your tyres to wear off way more quickly.

Quali was one of the shittiest you’ve ever done in your career, taking you out in Q2 for the first time that year, placing you for a start at P12.

“Listen, we’ll do better tomorrow, ok?” Jace told you as soon as you entered the garage, seeing Max still out with a shot at pole position.

“Give me a few minutes to unwind, please,” you asked, dropping your helmet, balaclava and gloves at a nearby table.

You went straight to your room, searching for your phone. Immediately calling Kimi, you waited for him to pick up.

“I watched it,” he said first and foremost.

“If I do bad in the race tomorrow, and Max does well, then I’m gonna lose the championship, Kimi,” saying that out loud made you shiver in horror, “FUCK!” You screamed, kicking a chair.

“First of all, even if you did bad tomorrow, you’d still have a chance to fight for the championship in Abu Dhabi. You know that,” Kimi warned you as if he was scolding a little kid, “second of all, I never taught you this loser mindset. You’ll have to find a way to work around the problems in your car tomorrow.”

“Shit, I’m so fucked! How? How could I even-”

“Remember when I first met you? Your kart was with almost this same problem, yeah? Remember you got P2? You went ahead and fixed it. That’s what I need you to do tomorrow, don’t focus on what you can’t do, only focus on what you can do.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“No trying. Do it.”

After spending the entire night crafting plan A, B, C and Z with you strategists and engineers, you barely got any sleep, but you forced yourself to rest. In the morning, you went to the track early to meet with your team again, to run your strategies one more time, when you had an idea. You’d still follow the plans you had carefully crafted with the team, but you decided to make a Plan Star, as you had called. Interlagos didn’t have any safety car in the last two years, so it was dangerous to fully count on one. But your plan star consisted in the case of a safety car in this one specific window of laps, you’d go to the pits for hards, counting on everyone else being on old softs or mediums at that specific point in the race. But for it to work, you had to be the first of the front field to go in.

As the lights went out and you accelerated, you got already three positions up, landing in P9, and luckily, the points zone. Jace was worried in your ears, talking about the car and the tyres management. With controlled calm and Kimi’s voice in your head, you managed a few more positions in the first 14 laps, landing P7. You lost a bit of time there, since Nando was P6 and everyone knew how tough it always is to overtake him. But you eventually managed to get the position. Unfortunately, it was the moment you had to go to your first pitstop. Due to the problems in your car wearing off your tyres, you would have to go for a two-stop, which ended up costing you three positions again. But you were patient and you were rewarded when the other cars had to pit, which gave you back the four places you had lost.

The race you went on and you barely moved up or down from your P5, but you managed to concentrate.

Jace, on the other hand was sounding more and more worried about your second pit stop, about the difficulty in get closer to P4, about the P6 trying to enter DRS zone behind you, with your tyres wearing off, with the-

“Jace, I love you but please shut the fuck up, I know what to do,” you were praying for a miracle when suddenly, there was a yellow flag, and the safety car went out during the perfect window of laps, “fuck, Jace, this is plan star.”

“Copy,” he paused, his voice sounding secure, “Box, box.”

You changed into hards, no one else went to the pits, and the race restarted after three more laps. The safety car had closed the gap between you and the P4, which made you overtake him easily.

Jace was still keeping quiet to help your concentration, he only interrupted to warn you about overheating your tyres, and your velocity per lap compared to the next position. You started overtaking like a madwoman as much as your tyres allowed.

“That’s P1, Lioness,” Jace told you.

“Copy that.” You said with your voice shaken.

As you managed your P1, you went back to be aware of your surroundings, seeing a Red Bull right behind you, trying to overtake but you managed to hold position.

When you took the checkered flag, you sighed with relief, Kimi was right.

“Congratulations, Y/N! That’s a brilliant, brilliant win!” Jace’s voice was sounding shaken too.

“You’re crying, Jace?” You laughed softly.

“It’s an honor to tell you that you, Y/N Y/L/N, are a Formula 1 world champion!” Jace shouts, and behind him you can hear more people screaming.

“What? Jace you’re fucking with me!”

“No, Lioness, you’re the 2022 champion of the world!”

“But- but how? There’s one race left? And Max was right behind me!”

“No, Verstappen DNFed during that one yellow flag. Behind you was Perez.”

You made the calculations quickly in your head. Max was P2 in the championship, but this DNF meant no points, and even if he managed to win the last race in Abu Dhabi, he wouldn’t be able to equal you in points. So-

“OH MY GOD, oh my god!” You screamed your lungs out, feeling the tears streaming down into your balaclava, “Fuck yes! I’m Formula 1 World Champion! Thank you, thank you so much guys! Jace, holy shit, I’m the champion!”

“You’re the champion!” Jace confirmed.

You felt joy in a way you hadn’t felt in a long, long time, as you stopped your car on the number one spot. Still a little dizzy from the thrill, you left the car, going straight to your team, heavily waiting for you. They all hugged you, hitting your helmet, saying congratulations and everything. You took a moment to hug Jace and Amanda, who had been of great support throughout the year.

After getting weighted and being congratulated by the other two on the podium, Perez and Hamilton, the latter hugging you tight as he took you off the floor, you drank water as you waited for the post race interview with Nico Rosberg.

You were giddy, barely holding yourself together with how happy you were feeling, how you wanted to hold the trophy, how grateful you were and more importantly, how you felt a great weight being lifted off your shoulders.

“Y/N, congratulations on becoming a World Champion! I have to say, as a girl dad, it is great to see you become the first woman ever to win this title. How do you feel? What do you want to say?” Nico offered, with a kind smile.

“To be honest, I can barely contain myself. It’s such an honor to be here and be the world champion. I look at the past and see my younger self who never thought would make it to Formula 1. It’s such a dream come true, after this year’s hardships, I’m glad to achieve the greatest dream of them all!” You said, kinda quickly, rambling as you tried to put into words all the emotions mixed with the happiness, “I’m sorry, I know I’m taking up all your time, I just want to dedicated this win, and this championship to three people who saved my life: Kimi, thank you for being the salvation of my career when we first met; And my mom, who’s not here anymore, thank you for being the light in my darkest days. And lastly, I want to thank myself for working my ass off and never giving up.”

You muttered a thank you as Nico only laughed at your rambling. Before you moved to the cooldown, you grabbed the mic back again.

“May I add one last thing?” You asked for Nico, who only nodded, pointing to the camera again, “This is to my father: I made it, you asshole.”

You wanted to send the middle finger too, but you knew you couldn’t because of the FIA’s guidelines, and you were already risking a penalty for cursing on live TV. In the cooldown room, you sat beside Lewis, watching a few highlights of the race on the screen. It showed a couple of your overtakes.

“Damn, you overtook like crazy,” Lewis muttered, seemingly amazed.

“I pulled a Lewis Hamilton in Interlagos last year,” you joked, and he laughed.

That podium felt like the culmination of everything you had worked for your whole life, felt like recovering your love for the sport for what it was, for the fast cars and the adrenaline. Being on that podium in Brazil as a World Champion shifted something inside you forever. During your anthem, you laughed, and when you got the trophy, you cried, pointing the trophy to the sunny sky with a silent prayer to your mom. You barely noticed, but you felt the champagne raining on you, and opened your arms to shower in it. Putting the trophy down, you splashed the other bottle, laughing and wetting everyone that was close to you, Lewis, Checo, Jace, who had gone up representing the team.

When the celebration ended, you stayed behind a little more, watching the crowd from the podium, and they started chanting. It took you a few seconds to realize they were chanting your name.

You raised your trophy at them, and they cheered even louder. Then you pointed it to the sky again.

“Look, ma, I made it” you whispered to yourself, feeling the tears streaming down your face.

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