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rin-may-1103 · 1 year ago

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The Wrong Robin Au (part four)

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Danny slowed his car down, staring at the black iron gate coming into view; Bats and ivy welded on in an elegant pattern, obviously more thought-out than The Drake's ducks had been. He had to give it to Tim, the kid had been right about how stupid the ducks looked.

Glancing around, Danny found he was completely alone on the dirt road. The gray sky slowly brightened as the sun climbed higher in the distance, trees swaying in the gentle breeze, and birds chirped.

If it hadn't been for his experiences at Vlad's place, he would have found the scenery comforting, maybe even inviting. But the knowledge that this was the home of a billionaire, one that went out at night to fight crime like a furry on crack nonetheless, ruined it.

Maybe he should just head back to the motel...

...

Fuck it, when had Phantom ever backed down? That's right! Never! Danny was going to stick to his metaphorical guns and follow through with his admittedly stupid plan.

Taking his foot off the brake; Danny activated his intangibility, shared it with the car, and drove through the gate. (look, what were his powers for if not to make his life convenient? He deserved it after literally dying for them. AND the gate was probably locked. There was no way he could convince someone to let him in at this time in the morning, so...)

Danny kept an eye on his surroundings as he drove, he doubted Bruce Wayne would have ghost vultures working for him, but that doesn't mean Danny wouldn't be prepared if he did.

Eventually, a large building came into view. Its gothic architecture and obvious timely design set it apart from Vlad's modern monstrosity of a castle. Danny could just tell this was a home for a family with old money; the weathered roof and aged water fountain told stories of the people who used to live there. This was a home, not just a house.

Pulling his car over and parking, Danny quickly sent a mental prayer to the home's ancestors. He hoped they could forgive him for what he was about to do.

Grabbing his backup phone and his keys, Danny tossed the car door open and stepped out. Immediately his senses were clouded with grief and anger. It was so strong he almost lost his footing. The house was just drenched in the emotions, tendrils reaching out and wrapping around anything and everything.

Closing his eyes, Danny held his breath so he could focus on blocking the emotions out. (flashes of someone else's memories rushed past his mind; a glimpse of a young boy sitting in a library reading a book. An older man sitting next to him silently. In another flash, the two were now in a dark cave, the light of a computer the only thing illuminating them as the older man draped a blanket across the boy's back. whispered words of sincere promises echoed in his head.)

He had believed Tim, but he hadn't expected it to be this bad. Ancients, this was worse than when he had to deal with Spectra.

Batman definitely needed therapy.

...

Maybe Jazz should be Robin instead, she'd know how to handle this properly. but Jazz wasn't here right now, she was in Sweden learning all about mental health. Which meant Danny would have to do this himself.

yay.

He had two options; One, he sits down with the man and they have a sincere and very emotional conversation. Or two, he beats it into the guy's head that he needs to stop going out and trying to get himself killed. Based on everything he knows about Batman? It was going to be number two that was going to get results... Well, at least Danny had experience punching things until he got what he wanted. (even if it didn't always work.)

Shaking himself out of his mind, Danny started making his way to the front door. It was past five in the morning, Bruce should be home now. Whether he was sleeping like Danny would assume he usually did, was a different question altogether.

Glancing around the door, Danny found there was a large rope hanging to the left. Vlad had the same thing at his place, it was an old-fashioned doorbell.

shrugging, Danny pulled on the rope and waited.

and waited.

After a minute or two, Danny pulled the rope again. Suddenly the door swung open to reveal an older man dressed in a nice waistcoat and trousers.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, a British accent completing the look.

Danny blinked for a second before quickly focusing back on his task. "My name's Danny. Bruce is being a dumbass who needs to take a chill pill and take a step back from hospitalizing criminals. Can I come in?"

It was the old man's turn to stare and blink at him. After a minute, the man stepped back and opened the door, his eyebrow raised. "I would like to see how you plan to tell this to Master Bruce. His office is this way, young man."

"May I ask what exactly you're doing here?" the man asked, closing the door behind Danny.

Danny shrugged, "I'm here to beat some sense into him. He's going to get himself killed and no one wants to see what happens when he does."

The butler, because the rich fruitloop would obviously have one, hummed as he nodded his head in agreement. "I see. Maybe this is what he needs then. he won't listen to me, no matter how much I nag him."

Nothing else was said as he guided Danny through the manor, eventually stopping at a fancy dark wooden door. "Master Bruce, you appear to have a visitor." Then He opened the door and gestured for Danny to enter.

He only had a moment to ponder how he should do this before he entered the room. He should keep his powers hidden, for now at least.

He was greeted with the sight of an exhausted man in a bathrobe sitting at his desk and staring out the window. He was clutching a very worn and loved book in his hands, his brows slightly furrowed. (Danny noted that it was the same book the kid had been reading, The Hero and the Crown... or something like that, Danny hadn't really gotten a good look at the title.)

The butler stepped back, closing the door, and stood next to it to maybe await his new orders. Ones he probably wouldn't get any time soon, if the way Bruce hadn't moved or responded meant anything.

Well, if the old man wanted to see this then who was Danny to stop him?

Stepping forward, Danny leaned over the desk and slapped the back of Bruce's head. The man swiftly turned and stared at him, raising one of his hands to touch his head in shock. Danny heard the butler choke in surprise but ignored him. He could only pray to Clockwork that Bruce didn't kill him for this.

"You are being absolutely idiotic, dude." Danny declared. "Do you think Jason would have wanted you to act like this?" Bruce stood up, his chair slamming into the wall, his eyes burning in anger. "No? Then get your shit together and be the man he would be proud of."

Bruce lunged over the desk, his fist pulled back to hit Danny. It was just like Danny expected, just like Tim had told him, the man was letting his emotions control his actions. Dodging to the side, Danny continued talking, "This going out every night, fighting more and more dangerous and outlandish people all by yourself? It's going to get you killed."

Bruce gave up on trying to punch him, instead, he threw himself forward and body-slammed Danny to the floor. Danny coughed, quickly blocking his face as Bruce took a swing at him. Using the man's blind anger to his advantage, Danny kicked Bruce in the chest and sent him flying into his desk. "Jason's dead. It sucks. and it hurts. It's probably the worst pain you've ever experienced, but there's nothing you can do about it."

Danny glared at the man as he scrambled into a crouch, waiting to see what Bruce did next. "Shut up," the man growled, shoving himself up and away from his desk. He picked up his stapler; he was probably either going to use it as a blunt weapon or throw it at Danny. Widening his stance, Danny got ready to dodge or lunge.

He remembered reading about him, online when he first became Phantom. He remembered reading about Robin and Batman and how they worked together to protect Gotham. How they tirelessly worked day and night to put their rogues away every time they got out again.

He remembered seeing pictures of Batman standing next to little Robin, a proud smile on his face as the police took the criminals away. Pictures of the man helping and protecting Robin whenever the boy couldn't handle whatever mess he had gotten into. There was even a memorable one of Batman scolding an obviously sheepish Robin, a knocked-out Riddler slumped behind him.

He had wished so badly for someone to help him back them, for someone to be his Batman when times got hard. He remembered how devastated he was when it turned out the only person like him was Vlad. Vlad, who had wanted to murder his father and marry his mother. Vlad, who had overshadowed people to gain more wealth and power. Vlad, who hadn't seen how wrong it was to try and clone him.

He remembered the comments and videos from the citizens of Gotham, cheering for their heroes when they succeeded in capturing the rogues. How they still supported them when they failed. It was nothing like Amity's reaction to him.

He remembered how Gothom reacted when Robin was pronounced dead. How the city had cried and raged. He felt it all the way over in Amity, the grief and anger. The whole city had come together to mourn the boy who protected them. Even two years later, Danny could still feel the echoes.

"Jason's dead. He's dead and gone and you're letting yourself get consumed with your grief. but you made a promise Bruce."

Danny knew he had, it was the same promise Danny had made just four years ago.

Bruce's eyes widened and the anger that was surging in his eyes froze for just a moment. His hand loosened around the stapler but didn't let it go. The butler looked concerned, unsure if he should interfere or not.

"You made a promise all those years ago when you first dawned that stupid bat suit. You promised to do everything in your power to help your city. To protect it. Robin made the same promise. When he took up his suit. They both did."

Bruce's jaw tensed, his eyes narrowing. Danny lowered his body, still ready to dodge at a moment's notice.

"You made a promise to your son, Bruce. Even if he didn't know it. One that you couldn't keep."

Bruce threw the stapler, making Danny jump to the side to dodge it. His mistake was not keeping an eye on what Bruce did after throwing it. The man quickly rushed up to him, eyes blazing in anger. "You don't know anything!" he cried, his fist slamming into Danny's jaw. Danny staggered back but ducked under the next punch.

"I lost my son! I wasn't there!" Bruce shouted, kicking Danny's legs out from under him. Danny's back hit the floor, knocking the breath out of him. Bruce followed him down, breaking his nose with another punch to the face. "I promised I would protect him and I wasn't there!"

Danny growled, catching Bruce's fist in his hand and sending a punch at the side of Bruce's head. Bruce tried to lean back, Danny's fist clipping his forehead. Bruce grunted, reaching up to grab Danny's fist to keep him from punching him again.

"You couldn't protect him! I get it, it sucks!" Danny shouted back, flashes of Dani's melting form grasping at his shirt in panic pulled to the front of his mind. "It leaves a black hole in the center of your chest! It sucks all the warmth out of you, leaving only the cold bitter knowledge that you couldn't save him!" (that he couldn't save her)

Bruce pulled his fist out of Danny's hand, slamming his elbow down into Danny's chest and twisting Danny's right arm sharply in an attempt to break it. Danny kept talking though, ignoring the pain as he pulled his arm out of Bruce's grasp, "But Jason made a promise! and you're doing nothing to keep it!"

Danny grabbed onto Bruce's bathrobe and flipped them so Bruce was the one on the floor now. Quickly reaching up, Danny grabbed both of Bruce's hands and held them as still as he could. Bruce was strong, but Danny had years of fighting Skulker and the other super-strong ghosts under his belt. "He made that promise knowing that you had made the same one!"

Bruce growled, throwing his head up in an attempt to hit Danny with it. Danny leaned back, accidentally loosening his grip just enough for Bruce to break out of it. Bruce shoved him off of him, making Danny slide back and hit a chair.

Grunting, Danny stood up and lunged at Bruce. Bruce dodged to the side, dropping down to pick the stapler back up. "I can't claim to know what Jason would have wanted," Danny spat, backing up to give himself more space as Bruce stepped toward him. "but I know as someone who made the same promise, I wouldn't have wanted you to change into what you are now!"

Bruce narrowed his eyes at Danny, "Yeah, and what's that?" he growled.

"A careless, suicidal, moron," Danny growled back.

Bruce froze, stopping in place as he stared at Danny.

Danny took his chance to drive his point home; standing up straight, he raised his hands up in surrender. "He was your son. He looked up to you for protection. For guidance. And sure, maybe you weren't the best dad, and maybe you made mistakes. But you were his dad."

Danny stepped forward, watching as the butler stepped forward to reach out to the man. "and what kind of son would want his dad to kill himself?"

Bruce dropped his stapler, his eyes falling to the ground and catching onto the book he had dropped earlier. It was opened to the front page, written words in messy writing covering it.

"You need to stop, Bruce," Danny said, slowly crouching down and reaching out for the book. Bruce watched him as he stood up, the book still open to the front page in his hands. Jason's writing visible to all of them.

"you couldn't keep your promise to protect him. It sucks and it hurts. but you can keep his promise. The same promise you made all those years ago."

Bruce looked up at him, his blue eyes filling with tears, the butler's hand resting on his shoulder. Danny stepped forward again, holding the book out for Bruce to take.

"You can't protect Gotham if you're dead."

Jason's handwritten note stared up at them, the ink messy and smudged.

'to the best dad in the world and the many adventures we'll go on!'

and Bruce? Bruce crumbled to the floor with a sob, leaving Danny to stand in front of him. Blood running down his face, staining his hoodie and pink Hello Kitty pants, the book still held out with steady hands.

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samerpal · 6 days ago

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Gaza: The City of the Flour Zombies

My brother and I went out after midnight, like the rest of the starving souls in Gaza. Our first stop was at the General Security intersection, trying to figure out where the flour trucks might pass. Then we moved north, toward Al-Helou Station and Badri & Hania Company, only to find hungry people sleeping in the streets — unconscious, or so it seemed. We had to step over them, stumble among them. There was no light but that of the full moon, which occasionally vanished behind drifting clouds.

We found a somewhat safe spot near Al-Andalus Tower and sat down briefly. Then we decided to move closer to a metal shack known as “Ma’rouf’s Bricks,” across from a bombed-out building with a canopy. We stayed there for a while, talking quietly about how far we’ve fallen and the state we’re living in. We hadn’t even noticed there was someone sleeping right beside us until he stirred, mumbled a few words, and drifted back into sleep.

With no signal and barely a working phone call, someone on the other end said, “Move to the Al-Tawam intersection.” We knew this place well — or so we thought. When we reached it, we didn’t recognize it anymore. We looked east and were stunned to see lights on the border — something once impossible to see.

A sudden explosion in the eastern area, behind a thick smoke cloud, shook us. We tried to see the people around us, but their faces were covered. They were sleeping on the ground, on the ruins of demolished buildings. People were lying everywhere.

We sat on a small hill, trying to map out the path: would the aid trucks come from the west or the north? Would we even be able to get anything? Should we split or stay together? After some discussion, we made a pact — to stick together. If one of us could get something, he would go directly home. We picked a few backup meeting spots, but in the end, we agreed: head home after securing something.

Around 2 AM, we saw people suddenly moving west toward the sea, hoping the aid would enter from there. We didn’t move — nothing seemed certain yet. But five minutes later, thousands started rushing back from the west shouting, “They’ve arrived! They’ve arrived!” We realized the trucks had come from the north instead.

The once-sleeping masses rose in chaos — sprinting like zombies, possessed, desperate. It felt like a scene from an end-of-times movie. But it wasn’t a movie. We were in it.

We moved quickly — half-running, half-stumbling over the rubble, iron rods, and sharp stones left by the bombardment. You couldn’t even walk safely, let alone run. At the far end of the street, lights appeared. People raced toward them. Then, we heard someone yell, “Tank! A tank is coming!” Panic spread — those who thought it was aid now feared it was death.

We froze in place, not knowing what to believe. Then we saw two trucks from the World Food Programme… and behind them, more trucks! They were real — the aid had arrived. We sprinted faster than ever before. My brother and I got separated in the chaos. My heart whispered a prayer: “God, please protect him. Let him get his share.”

The trucks advanced toward us. People surged like a flood. And there, for a brief moment, I was lucky. I managed to grab a sack of flour, threw it on my shoulder, and ran as far as I could from the moving trucks — they didn’t stop for anyone. It wasn’t courage that drove me. It wasn’t recklessness. It was hunger, fear, humiliation, and a desperate unknown that pushed me forward.

Thousands were still arriving, begging, “Is there anything left for us?” But the trucks were emptied in seconds. People searched for scraps. I held onto the flour like it was my own child, refusing to let anything happen to it, dodging looters and thieves, desperate to get to a safe place.

By the grace of God, I made it back to my tent. We had agreed: if one of us gets something, go home — don’t wait.

Another night ended, another nightmare survived. We keep waking up, hoping this nightmare will end… but we don’t know how.

From Gaza — the city of the flour zombies

@dirhwangdaseul @b0nkcreat @tamamita @chokulit @3000s @apas-95 @pitbolshevik @ot3 @punkitt-is-here @vampiricvenus @turtletoria @paper-mario-wiki @valtsv @omegaversereloaded @i-am-a-fish-stinks @catsgifsarefun @spongebobssquarepants @postanagramgenerator @feluka @nyancrimew @90-ghost @beserkerjewel @neechees @memingursa @certifiedsexed @afro-elf @11thsense @sawasawako @spacebeyonce @skipppppy @beetledrink @fools-and-perverts @dailyquests @evillesbianvillain @wolfertinger666 @taffybuns @ankle-beez @sabertoothwalrus @meshugenist @isuggestforcefem @hotvampireadjacent @marxism-transgenderism @90-ghost @a-shade-of-blue @nublicious @zagreus @el-shabazzgifted @tamamita @rhubarbspring @heritageposts @dirhwangdaseul @neechees @butchniqabi @socalgal @finalgirlabigailhobbs @newporters @pikslasrce @vampiricvenus @danlous @loumandivorce @jackiedaytona @deepspaceboytoy @autisticmudkip @nashvillethotchicken @femmefitz @pitbolshevik @innerchildabortionclinic @omegaversereloaded @hotvampireadjacent @boobieteriat @mens-rights-activia @ot3

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submattsmxmmy · 9 months ago

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🥀🕊 dead dove: don't eat (this fic contains dark material - read at your own risk)

hiiii, it's @ariestrxsh (this is my backup account, and here is my contribution to kinktober 🖤 no taglist included on this account bc it would be really complicated)

🥀🕊 content warning: smut, prey/predator dynamic, primal kink, establishment of safeword, knifeplay, rough sex, degradation, daddy kink, roughdom!chris

🥀🕊 author's note: if the idea of being chased around in the forest at night and then being brutally fucked by chris sturniolo doesn't sound fun to you, don't read this!!! i don't ever want my writing to trigger, offend, or upset anyone, so please just skip this one if the material sounds unpleasant to you. this is just for those of us who have this little dark fantasy. 🖤

🥀🕊 summary: while housesitting for your boss, an unsuspecting visitor drops by, and the night takes a twist.

a forest

"I'll give you a two-minute headstart," he rasped into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You took off, sprinting into the vast forest that was lit up by the full moon. Your sneakers crushed twigs and dead leaves as you wandered deeper into the woods.

You stopped for a moment to take in the sound of your surroundings, but the silence was eerie and unnerving. So quiet you could hear your heart about to pound out of your chest, along with the sound of adrenaline pumping your blood through your veins.

The thick, grey clouds in the sky slowly moved into the way of the moon, obstructing the light it emmited momentarily. You were excited to be chased, but something about this situation still triggered a primal fear in you. You started to run again, trying not to lose your sense of direction along with all the other sensory deprivation you were experiencing.

Suddenly, your shoelace snagged on a branch that had fallen, launching you forward into the forest floor beneath you.

*flashback to several hours earlier*

Your car made its way down the winding dirt road as you navigated directions to your boss' house, the branches above creating a dense canopy above you while you meandered through the tunnel of trees.

She was a sweet lady who owned the dog grooming business you worked at, and she was offering you some extra money to house sit for her, feed her cats, and water her plants while she was away on vacation.

It was a nice way to make some extra cash, and a nice way for you to get away from your roommates for a little while and enjoy some peace and quiet in the little woodsy area she lived in. An even bigger plus, she told you to help yourself to any of the food in her fridge and pantry, so it wouldn't spoil or go stale in the time that she was gone.

You slammed on your brakes, nearly losing traction and kicking up dirt as a fawn leaped out of nowhere and into the path of your car and stopped a few feet in front of your headlights. Your heart raced, but you immediately let out a sigh of relief as it got away safely and trotted off in another direction.

You'd never been to your boss' place before, but it wasn't hard to find, considering it was the only house around, and the nearest neighbors were at least a couple of miles away. You located your destination, and as you slowly ascended the driveway and admired the wooden structure, the full clouds above you started to release a light drizzle of rain.

It was a big, gorgeous, and charming home. You could tell a lot of work and money had gone into it, and you were even more excited to see the inside. You slung your bag over your shoulder, stepped out into the rain, and found the creepy owl statue, which the house key was hidden under. You put the key in the lock, turned it until you heard the click, and let yourself in.

It had a very rustic vibe, which really fit your boss, and you were so lost in the decor and the architecture that you were startled when a sweet, long-haired, black cat appeared at your feet and started rubbing up against your bare leg. She placed her two front paws on your black Converse shoe and peered up at you. "Hi, sweetie," you whispered, squatting down to let her smell you.

After she sniffed you for a few seconds, she drove her sweet face into your hand, and you scratched her under the chin. She started walking off in the other direction, looking back at you as if she wanted you to follow her.

You walked through the hall, through the living room, and into the dining room where two empty food bowls sat on the ground next to the fridge. "Awh, are you hungry?" You asked the cat as if she could respond to you, and you emptied a bit of dry food into both of the bowls, and as the sound of kibble ricocheting off the metal containers filled the room, another cat came bounding into view.

He was a short-haired brown tabby with white paws and a bit of white at the tip of his tail, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he got a look at you and ran the other direction to find something to hide under. "Can't win them all over, huh?" You said, peering down at the black cat as she gobbled up her food. She glanced back up at you and let out a soft meow as if she understood and went back to snacking.

You slowly walked through the rest of the house, acquainting yourself with the layout. You found your way to the guest room, which was right where you were told it was. Two doors down on the left after you walked through the second hallway that connected the kitchen to the bedrooms.

You set your bag down on the bed you'd be sleeping in tonight and backtracked to the kitchen to check out the drink and snack selection. You found a bottle of bourbon stored in the pantry that looked pretty fancy. You were of age, and your boss did say you could have any food or beverages she had, so you poured yourself a glass of bourbon over ice after you'd found her stash of whiskey glasses.

You grabbed some garlic stuffed olives from the fridge along with some aged cheddar and crackers you found, and you made your way to the living room to check out the entertainment. While you were flipping through apps on the television, you noticed some pictures above the fireplace.

Your boss had mentioned she had a son your age, but you'd never seen him until your gaze landed on his senior photo. "Holy shit," you whispered, admiring his beautiful smile and his lovely, blue eyes. Why hadn't your boss told you her son was so hot?

You popped an olive into your mouth and washed it down with a small sip of bourbon as you studied the picture collection she had on the mantel above the fireplace. Your eyes were immediately drawn to all the pictures of her son, and you couldn't help but allow your mind to wander while you looked at his photos. You'd never seen a man so attractive before.

You picked up a photograph of him in which he was shirtless and carried it back over to the couch with you. After looking at his picture a bit longer and taking a few more sips of your alcoholic drink, you turned your attention back to the television.

The sun had set by now, and you'd settled on watching Jennifer's Body. You'd seen it a dozen times before, but it was the only movie that sparked your interest after looking through several films on several different streaming services. Plus, you thought the movie was fitting, given it was October.

You were drinking your second glass of bourbon while you snacked on cheese and crackers when the scene came on where Jennifer and Needy make out. You were so lost in the steamy kiss that you had no idea anyone was in the room with you.

"Whatcha watching?" A voice came out of nowhere. You snapped your neck around, nearly dropping your drink, paused the movie, and asked, "Who the fuck are you?" before you could take in any of the boy's features. "I'm Chris. Who the fuck are you?" He returned the question, snorting at you.

"Sorry, you must be my boss' son," you quickly apologized, realizing he was the same man in the pictures. He was even more attractive in person. You stood up, wiping your crumby hands off on your striped shirt and your cut-off jean shorts.

You introduced yourself and extended your hand to shake his, but his gorgeous blue eyes flicked to the photo you had of him on the coffee table in front of you. "Like that picture of me?" He flashed you his million-dollar smile.

You ignored his question that felt like more of an accusation. "Sorry, I didn't know you'd be here. I was told I'd be staying here all alone," you responded, still caught off guard by his presence. "Well, I didn't know anyone would be here either. My mom told me someone was watching the cats, but I didn't know that meant you'd be here full time," Chris said, still caught off guard by your presence.

"Well, your mom told me I could sleep here and eat what you guys had in the fridge. I'm not doing anything weird," you replied. "Sure, you're not," Chris smirked, his gaze flicking back up at the frozen frame on the television of the girl-on-girl kiss scene you were watching. "It's not weird at all to watch porn on your boss' couch while you have a picture of her son next to you."

"Oh, my god, I'm not watching porn. This is just some horror movie on Hulu," you turned bright red, reaching for the remote and shutting off the film. "Well, either way, I won't tell my mom you're drinking her bourbon and watching softcore lesbian porn in her living room as long as you don't tell my mom I stop by here sometimes when she's out of town. I have a long weekend, and I just wanted to get away from my dormmates and come spend some time alone here," Chris told you.

"It's not porn.. whatever," you shook your head, giving up trying to defend yourself. "Your secret is safe with me," you said, taking in all his aesthetically pleasing features. "You don't mind if I hang out and stay the night here, do you? I just drove like two and a half hours, and I'm pretty tired," he bit his lip at you, and you nearly melted.

"No, I don't mind. After all, it is your house." Chris plopped down on the couch next to you and pulled out some rolling papers and a bag of weed. "You smoke?" He asked, looking up at you. "Yeah," you responded, sitting back down on the couch beside him.

"Smoke this joint with me on the deck?" He offered, while he packed the paper full of ground weed. "Sure," you accepted. He looked into your eyes while he licked and sealed the joint. "Follow me," he muttered as he stood up and started to make his way to the back door that led out to the wooden deck that wrapped around the back-half of the house.

The rain had let up by now, but the scent still lingered in the air. The two of your found yourselves leaning over the railing, staring up at the full moon and the few stars that were visible between the clouds while you passed the lit joint back and forth.

"Guess I should have asked this before I invited you to smoke with me, but how old are you?" He wondered. "Twenty-one. How about you?" You asked, giving him the joint back after blowing a puff of smoke into the air. "Same. You like working for my mom?" He wondered, glancing over at you.

"Yeah, actually. You know, everyone really respects her because she's a little bit of a hard ass, but she's really understanding. She doesn't treat us like cogs in her machine like some of my former employers. She treats us like we're actually human," you shrugged. "That's been my experience with her, too. She's a no-bullshit type of woman. Kind of hard on you when you need it. But a really caring and genuine person," Chris told you, taking another hit.

"What are you studying in school?" You asked him. "I've changed my major like a dozen times because I can't focus on any one thing, but right now, I'm leaning towards something in finance," he replied.

"I like the taste of these rolling papers," you told him. "Yeah? They're vanilla," he responded. "That's the best flavor. Except when it comes to sex," you mumbled under your breath and giggled. "Oh, yeah?" Chris raised his eyebrows and glanced at you, smiling and shocked to hear you say such a thing. "How freaky are you?" He asked, taking another puff off the joint.

"Well, freaky is subjective," you started off. "And that's how I know you're a freak," Chris glared in your direction, still smiling. "If you'd given me a definitive no, when then, that answers that question. If you'd given me a definitive yes, that could have meant that your definition of freaky is like getting your hair pulled while you're in doggy or something," he replied, passing you back the doobie. "Well, I do like that," you chuckled. "Yeah, but what other freaky shit are you into?" Chris' curiosity had been sparked.

"I'm not telling you. I just met you," You widened your eyes at Chris and shot him an embarrassed smile. "You're the one that brought it up. I'll tell you what I'm into if you tell me what you're into," Chris promised, dying to hear you confess all your naughty fantasies to him. You rolled your eyes at him while you heavily blushed.

"Okay, fine. I really like being tied up, spit on, choked, slapped around, having my hair pulled.." You started to say, but your voice trailed off. "What else, pretty girl? I can tell you're holding back with me," Chris lowered his gaze to your lips. "Well, you might judge me," you said, taking a puff of the joint and returning it to Chris. "I don't kink-shame," Chris chuckled in a low voice.

"Okay, well I like being degraded, humiliated, talked down to, that kind of thing," you responded, nibbling on your lip and looking for Chris' reaction. "Keep going," he encouraged you, intrigued to hear what else you were going to say. "I kind of get turned on by things that would scare the average person. Like knives, blood, and like being chased. Stuff like that," you admitted, gazing down at the ground, afraid of what he'd think of you.

"Such a little whore," he said in a seductive tone. Your heart raced, and you peered up at him. "What a coincidence, because I like degrading and humiliating girls like you, and I love to hunt my prey before I fuck it," Chris curled his lips into a menacing smile while his dark eyes piercing through you. He put out the joint and clenched his jaw at you waiting for you to say something, but the words were caught in your throat.

"I mean, I'm making assumptions here, but I think you're into me, and I think you want me to chase you," Chris sneered at you, tilting your chin up at him. You hesitantly nodded your head. "You can be my little fawn, and I'll be the hungry coyote," Chris cooed, running his thumb along your bottom lip that was pink with arousal. You nodded again. He took a few steps closer to you until you could feel the warmth coming off his body.

"Just remember. I know this forest better than you do, princess," his words triggered the hair on the back of your neck to stand up. "In honor of Halloween, your safeword is Beetlejuice."

You weren't sure how long you'd been running for. It could have been forty-five seconds, or it could have been ten minutes. You felt disoriented, your perception seemingly disconnected from reality as time seemed to fold in on itself. The smell of wet dirt filled your senses as you got a face full of it. You placed both of your hands on the soil and grass beneath you to prop yourself back up onto your feet, but your shoelace was still stuck.

Instead, you scooted yourself down towards your feet, frantically reaching around for the branch you were caught on. After fiddling around with it for a few seconds, you whispered to yourself, "Shit." You ultimately decided to pull your shoelace untied, and tried to knot it back up quickly before getting to your feet and bounding further into the woods.

You weren't sure if you were even running the right way or if you were tracing your footsteps back from where you just came. That's when you heard his footsteps, dead autumn leaves crushing under his weight, and you whipped around in the direction you heard the crunch.

You hoped it was the attractive boy you just met, stealthily setting his sights on you through the trees where he could see you but you couldn't see him, rather than an actual coyote, but you expected him to chase you and tackle you right away. Instead, he was behaving like a four-legged wild animal - stalking you. Hunting you.

You heard a few more brittle leaves and twigs crack as he slowly stepped closer to you. You took off, sprinting as fast as you could, still a bit unsure about what was chasing you. He was hot on your heels, and you made it only a few more feet before he lunged forward, grappling you to the forest floor.

You fell on your stomach, and the pressure knocked the air out of you. You were almost relieved when you felt human hands tearing at your clothes, and you heard Chris whisper, rasping in your ear from behind you, "Gotcha!" He ripped your shirt off of your torso in a swift motion, and you gasped as you tried to get away from him, but his hands were strong, and he had all his body weight on you, his erection stabbing you in the backside as you squirmed, digging your nails into the soil beneath you.

You grew increasingly wet as you heard him fiddle with his belt buckle and his zipper. Then he tugged your shorts down and took them off you. He didn't waste his time, pulling your panties to the side and lining his length up with your entrance.

He roughly pushed into you, causing you to sharply inhale and whimper as he started moving his hips back and forth, stretching you out. You'd been caught and defeated, but you loved every second of the way Chris took you. You began arching your back and leaning back into the boy while he fucked you senseless.

You could hear his deep, animalistic grunts in your ear and you could feel his hot, shallow breath on the back of your neck. You couldn't conceal how much you loved it. You threw your head back and let out a few loud, satisfied sounds.

Your hands and your knees dug into the soft ground beneath you while you graciously took Chris' rod. He pounded into you, the sound of his hips slamming into your ass echoed throughout the forest and reverberated through your body. Chris placed his hand on the back of your head and pressed the side of your face into the dirt while he began to fuck you harder.

"You fucking love it, don't you? Such a worthless little cunt," Chris grunted breathlessly. You responded by rolling your eyes back into your head and moaning at his words. "I'm gonna flip you around, slut, and if you try to run away from me, it's not gonna go well for you," he whispered in a raspy voice.

As soon as he pulled himself out of you and went to grab you and turn you onto your back, you jumped up and took off running in nothing but your thong and your sneakers. You couldn't wait to see what he had in mind.

"Bitch!" Chris growled as he pulled up his pants and started chasing after you again. You didn't get far before he tackled you to the ground again and flipped you onto your back. "What did I fucking tell you? Defiant little brat. You're gonna be sorry you ran from me," Chris chuckled under his breath as he nudged your legs open and pinned both your wrists above your head with one of his strong, veiny hands.

You watched Chris pull something out of his pocket, and you noticed the way the moonlight bounced off of it and made it glimmer. It was something long and metal. As well as sharp, you noted as Chris started teasing you with it. He took the blade and started running it along the center of your rib cage.

He brought the knife up to your chest and started grazing the curve of your breasts. Your breath quickened. You shuddered at the feeling of the cool metal as he subtly grazed your nipples with it. He did this over and over until adrenaline was flowing through you. You were both worried and excited that he may actually draw blood.

He dragged the cold, sharp edge down your stomach and replaced the tantalizing feeling of the blade against the sensitive buds on your chest with his soft, pouty lips. He engulfed each nipple, swirling his tongue around and eliciting sweet whines from you while the knife grazed the insides of your thighs. You felt it rest up against your vulva through your panties, and suddenly, Chris took the switchblade, hooked it into the strap of your underwear, and sliced them off of you.

You gasped and squirmed beneath him, fear and excitement flooding your system. The forest was so eerily quiet besides the sounds of your desperate mewls that Chris could hear your heartbeat. "Do you trust me?" Chris whispered in a creepy voice as he took the switchblade and held it up to your neck, nestling his cock back into your sweet, wet pussy.

You barely knew him, but you had to trust him. After all, he was weilding a weapon and holding it about an inch away from your carotid artery and one subtle move, purposeful or accidental, could end your life or at the very least, put you in critical condition. "Yes," you managed to choke out.

"Your pussy is all mine. You're nothing more than my little cock sleeve. Isn't that right?" Chris degraded you while he thrusted into you, still holding your wrists down overhead. It turned you on even more that you were letting a stranger fuck you, and not just any stranger - your boss' son.

"Fuck, you take daddy's cock so well," he chuckled, causing you to smile and letting your eyes roll back into your head once more. You hadn't even told Chris about your daddy kink, but it's like he could smell it on you. "Yes, daddy," you whined as he pounded deep into you, hitting the spot with every stroke. He knew just what to say and do and how to fuck you just right.

Chris loved the way your cunt swallowed his length perfectly and how warm and wet you were as he did what he pleased. He loved the way you were getting off on your own fear and adrenaline. He could feel you losing control, your body convulsing beneath him and your tight hole rhythmically clenching around him. Waves of euphoria traveled through your veins, filling every one of your senses with pleasure.

"You're so pathetic and needy to cum, aren't you?" Chris cooed in a condescending tone. "Yes, daddy," you whimpered. "I don't know if you deserve to. You've been such a naughty girl," he shot back. "Please, daddy," you whined, squirming around. He relished in the way you begged over and over, flirting with the idea of letting you cum with every desperate plea that escaped your lips.

"Beg harder for it, slut," Chris replied in a deep voice. "Daddy, please, I need it," you cried out. He delivered a few more hard thrusts before he gave in to your whining. "Okay, fine. Cum on my daddy's cock, slut," Chris huffed, pressing the knife to your neck with just a bit more pressure.

All you needed were those magic words, and you reached the point of no return. Your orgasm swept you under like a strong current you couldn't stop, carrying you in its flow, and you surrendered to the feeling. It ripped through you mercilessly, leaving you in a pool of your own drool and cum. You spasmed around Chris' cock while you finished onto him.

The way your body reacted tipped Chris over the edge as well, sending him through the same euphoric sensations. He loudly moaned, slammed his eyes shut, and slacked his jaw before he pulled out and finished all over your stomach. He admired the way the moonlight caught his load and made it glitter against your flesh. "Fuck, I needed that," Chris breathlessly mumbled, squeezing out every last drop.

He switched the blade shut, put it back into his pocket, and pulled up his pants while the two of you caught your breath. Your legs were numb, and you couldn't think straight, recovering from the thrilling experience. You laid still for a few moments, your gaze fixed on the stars that were scattered overheard and barely visible through the storm clouds.

Chris grabbed you, slung your naked and mud-covered body over his shoulder, and then climbed to his feet to carry you back to the house. "Don't worry. I know exactly where we are. I'm gonna get you back safe."

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo x reader #kinktober #Spotify

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niabang · 1 year ago

Text

Nights Like This

Pairings: Chan × fem reader

Summary: Your boyfriend says he's stressed from work, so you help him relieve it.

Warnings: Smut included MINORS DNI. Fluff, aftercare, established relationship, sub chan?, dom reader?, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), use of pet names like "honey," "baby," etc. Creampie, reader is a bit mean and Chan is a big man baby.

MORE UNDER THE CUT!

You were waiting for your boyfriend to get back home from work and counting down the hours till he did because you were worried about him.

You were worried because you texted him earlier in the day to ask how work was going and what he wanted to eat when he got back home.

He replied to you, saying he was stressed, couldn't wait to come back home, and that he didn't know what he wanted to eat just yet.

You told him to give you a call when he figured it out and wished him luck with work.

He called you a few hours later to tell you not to worry about him because he ended up getting dinner with the boys and was already on his way home.

You had dinner on your own and went upstairs to take a shower. Just as you were coming back down to do the dishes, you heard a key turn in the lock. Your baby was back.

"Hi honey." You said to him as he came in.

"Hi baby." He said and gave you a long tight hug plus a peck on your forehead.

You would never get tired of the way he smelt. That musky scent of his sweat mixed with perfume was so intoxicating that it clouded your brain in the best way possible.

"You good?" You asked him as he took off his hands from your waist.

"Yeah, I am, just a little tired, that's all." He said and started making his way upstairs.

"I'm gonna go take a shower then go to bed wanna join me?" He asked from the top of the stairs.

"I thought you said you were tired? And no, I just took one."

"Boo, you're so boring." He replied.

"Stop being a child Chan, go take your your shower." You said.

"Okay, mom." He scoffed.

You weren't looking at him, but you just knew he rolled his eyes before going into your shared bedroom to take his shower. He was such a child sometimes.

You made some hot chocolate for both of you and took it upstairs to your room.

On getting there, you met him putting on a black tank top, and he threw his black chrome hearts hoodie over it. The weather was pretty cold.

"Here you go." You said, handing him a mug, and the two of you retired to the bed.

"What made you so stressed at work today anyway?" You asked.

"I don't know how, but I lost a track, and it happened to be one I didn't backup, so we have to start recording all over again." You don't know why, but you laughed a bit after he said that.

"Are you laughing? What's so funny y/n?" He asked cocking an eyebrow.

"I don't know bro why didn't you back the file up?" You asked, still laughing.

"It's not funny, y/n." He said, looking angry.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." You said and got on him, so you were straddling him.

"Aww, you look so tired, my baby. You need to sleep." You said while pushing his hair away from his forehead so you could leave a peck on it.

Just as you were about to get off your boyfriend so he could get some rest, he used his hands to hold your hips in place.

"Y/n, don't go." He said when you turned to look at him.

"Don't tell me you want another forehead kiss, Chris." You said trying to act cool like a volcano didn't erupt in your stomach, and your kit kat wasn't dripping.

"I like it when you get mad and call me Chris." He said with that cheeky smile you fell for every single time. You just couldn't help it.

"You're so annoying, just go to be -" You couldn't even finish your sentence before he cut you off with a kiss.

"Mhm." You couldn't help but moan. His lips were so soft and warm, and his tongue moved against yours so perfectly every thought in your head vanished.

He started moving your hips back and forth on his crotch and you almost reached the road of no return, but you came back to your senses.

"Wait, chan, we can't be doing this. You're stressed, and you need to rest before you go back to work tomorrow." You said.

"Help me relieve my stress y/n you're the one who can." He said, maintaining eye contact with his beady eyes that you hated so much. Fuck him he knew how to get you and he used his tricks every single time he had the chance to.

"Okay, you got me, but I'll do all the work. Don't move a muscle, okay?" He nodded his head in agreement and you went back to kissing him.

When you felt he was hard enough, and you were wet enough you got off him to take your shorts off, and he took his pants off to reveal his cock and his tip was already glistening with precum.

You were so tempted to take him in your mouth, but you wanted this to be as fast as possible, so you scratched that thought.

You climbed back on top of him and then used your hand to position his cock at your entrance.

"Ah fuck y/n." Chan moaned as he slipped inside you and you gasped as you felt him fill you up.

You held on to the headboard of your bed for more support and started moving up and down slowly to gain a set rhythm.

Once you set the pace for your self you started going faster. You were cock drunk with the way he was stretching you out and hitting your sweet spot every time you came down. You were seeing stars.

"Fuck y/n I'm not going to last if you keep on doing this." Chan said and held your hips to slow you down.

"Good because the idea isn't for you to last." You said and took his hands off you.

You bent down to give him a kiss while rotating your hips and grinding on his cock.

"It feels so good chan. Oh my God." Your legs almost gave up on you right there and then, but you remembered that if you couldn't go on chan would take control and that would defeat the whole point of you doing this so you held on to the headboard for support and went back to the previous pace you set for yourself.

After a while Chan's groans started getting louder, and he started bucking up in to you so you knew he was about to cum.

"Fuck y/n." He groaned as he held your hips down and coated your walls white."

"Mhmm." You moaned as you rode him off his high, and went back down to kiss him before you got off to lie on the bed.

You both let out a sigh once your back hit the bed and chan pulled you in to plant a kiss on your lips.

He had that cheeky smile that you hated on his face again because he knew he won. You wished you could slap it off him.

"You love me so much." He said, teasing you.

"No, I don't, go to bed." You said and turned away from him.

"Come here." He said while laughing and pulled you close to him.

"What?" You asked after turning back to face him.

"I love you." He said while placing his head on your chest and wrapping an arm around your waist.

"I know." You replied, not wanting to give into him a second time.

"Say it back." He said.

"No." You shot back at him.

Your boyfriend just loved being a little shit and annoying the fuck out of you, so he did the best thing he could think of which was tickling you because he knew you hated it.

"Okay, okay, chan, stop, I love you too." You said through tears from laughing too much.

"Goodnight, y/n." He said.

"Goodnight, Chan." You replied and ran your hands through his hair till you both fell asleep.

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scoutofmymind · 3 months ago

Note

re a trois-lasan possible fic: all three of them are bisexuals but reader has only been with women before 🫣

As the World Caves In — {Hasan x Luigi x Reader}

Tags: bisexual!everybody, roommate reader, hurt/comfort, m/m/f, threesome, sexual orientation invalidation!!!, come eating, handjob, boys kissing, fluffy, sortofvirgin!Reader, everyone is a streamer, pet names, TURKISH pet names, there’s too much going on to tag everything

Wc: 8,240

🎪⭐️AND NOW FOR THE MAIN EVENT⭐️🎪

Uhh yall ever seen that stream where Hasan’s dad sets off the fire alarms and he goes “ahhh c’mon Baba” ?? Bc if you haven’t here it is. I think it’s so cute idc so I made his dad bring him back candy from home 🇹🇷 (bc he’s a sour bitch)

This is a LOOOONG one. I also added texts and a tweet (NOT X ) because idk why not. This has only been edited and proofread once.. do not blame me for mistakes teehee. Enjoy angels 🪽💋

"You've only been with women," Hasan muses through a mouthful of Turkish sour candy his Baba brought back from a visit back home, sprawled across the couch like he owns it (because he does), one leg dangling off the arm. "How do you even know you like guys?"

You catch yourself shifting between staring at him in disbelief and looking to Luigi for backup, but the latter hasn't even glanced up from his phone, though there's a telling tension in his shoulders that suggests he's listening.

"Lu," you appeal, gesturing at Hasan with barely contained exasperation, "are you hearing this bullshit?"

Luigi hums softly, "mm?" glancing up momentarily from his phone where he's engrossed in Trotti's latest article, Designing for Mars' Harsh Environment; and the way his brow furrows suggesting he's been lost in the technical aspects of atmospheric pressure design and radiation shielding.

"Hasan is implying that I'm not actually bisexual." You watch as Hasan's shoulders lift in that theatrical shrug of his, lips pursed in feigned innocence, expression saying 'who, me?' but the slight tension in his jaw betrays him. "As if he's somehow appointed himself the grand arbiter of everyone's sexuality. Like he's got a PhD in Who Gets To Be Bi, or some shit."

Hasan sucks his teeth, and it's the same dismissive sound he makes when dealing with trolls in his chat.

"Well, I've sucked dick and eaten pussy," he says, tilting his head at you with that same combative energy he usually reserves for debate lords on twitter. His voice has that edge to it, the one that says he thinks he's won something. "Can you say you've done that?"

The silence stretches between you, thick with irritation and something darker, his "Right" landing like a challenge, smug and entirely too self-satisfied.

Something twists in your chest — an achingly familiar sensation, echoing that first moment of realization about your sexuality.

It's that same cocktail of emotions; fear threading through your ribcage, confusion clouding your thoughts, but this time the shame hits harder.

It's different when it comes from someone who should know better, someone you considered safe.

You let the silence stretch, not trusting your voice to remain steady while part of you wants to list every crush, every lingering glance, every moment of clarity that brought you here — another part, the part still nursing that old wound, refuses to justify your identity to someone who should know better.

This is different — this is Hasan, and somehow that makes it worse.

"That's enough." Luigi’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and final. He doesn't even look up from his phone this time, just delivers the words with the kind of casual authority that suggests he's already bored with Hasan's take.

But his dismissal, however effective at silencing Hasan, skims right over the damage already done.

He misses the way your jaw is still clenched, how your fingers haven't loosened their grip on your arms, the slight tremor in your breathing.

The wound is already open — Hasan's words finding that tender spot where doubt used to live — and Luigi's quick defense, while appreciated, doesn't quite reach the deeper hurt settling in your chest.

"I'm going for a drive.” you say, voice steadier than you feel. Your keys are already in your hand — you don't remember reaching for them on the hook by the door, but there they are, cool metal looped around your pointer finger.

The house you all share suddenly feels too small, too close.

Usually, the lived-in chaos of three people's lives tangled together is comforting — Luigi's engineering journals scattered across the coffee table, Hasan's streaming room, your plants in every window.

Right now, though, it's suffocating.

"Hey, wait-“ Hasan starts, but you're already closing the front door behind you, pretending not to hear the way Luigi mutters "nice fucking job." as you leave.

The driver's seat of your car feels like refuge, and you start the engine before either of them can think to follow you out, though you catch a glimpse of movement behind the living room curtain as you pull away.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket almost immediately.

Then again. And again.

It's not even about Hasan's ignorance.

Not really.

It's about how quickly you were thrown back to being fifteen again, questioning everything you thought you knew about yourself and how easily someone you trust can make you feel like you're still trying to prove something.

You're not angry exactly, but you're not ready to face Hasan's awkward apology or Luigi's well-meaning but slightly detached attempt to mediate.

Your phone hasn't stopped its intermittent buzzing.

At a red light, you glance down to see multiple notifications from Hasan.

You switch the phone to silent and toss it onto the passenger seat.

The light turns green, and you take the coastal route automatically, muscle memory guiding you toward the overlook where you used to come and think before you all moved in together.

The overlook is empty when you pull in, just your car and the endless stretch of ocean ahead. You cut the engine but leave the keys in the ignition, letting the residual heat from the vents fight against the evening chill.

Below, waves crash against the rocks in a rhythm that's more felt than heard through the glass.

Your phone screen lights up again on the passenger seat — a separate message from Luigi this time.

The thing is, you know Hasan.

Know how he gets when he thinks he's right about something, how that energy sometimes bypasses his better judgment. Know he'll probably spend the next week trying to make it up to you with coffee just how you like it and random acts of thoughtfulness.

And you'll forgive him, because that's what you do in this weird little unit you've built together.

But right now, watching the last of the sun sink into the Pacific, you let yourself sit with the hurt.

Let yourself remember every dismissive comment, every raised eyebrow, every "but how do you know?" that came before this moment.

Let yourself feel fifteen, sixteen, seventeen again, just for a minute, before you have to go back to being an adult who understands that sometimes the people we love can be thoughtless without meaning to break something.

The dashboard clock blinks 7:43 when another text comes through. This time it's a photo from Luigi — Hasan sitting at the kitchen table looking miserable, clearly mid-rant about how he's "such a fucking asshole." And there’s something both comforting and irritating about seeing him process his guilt in real time.

Like, yes, you deserved better than his casual invalidation, but also, this isn't actually about making him feel better about feeling bad.

You switch the engine back on, more for the heat than anything else.

A few more cars have pulled into the overlook —couples and others seeking solitude, all keeping their respectful distance; It reminds you of the first time you came here, after telling your best friend you thought you might like girls, too.

How she'd said "cool" and kept painting her nails like you hadn't just shifted your entire world on its axis.

Your phone lights up again.

Despite everything, you feel the corner of your mouth twitch.

Trust Hasan to stress-cook his way through an apology, knowing full well the way to your heart will always be carbs.

You rest your forehead against the steering wheel, letting out a long breath that fogs the lower windshield.

The irony isn't lost on you — how Hasan, of all people, managed to trigger this particular flavor of insecurity. Hasan, who once went on a two-hour stream rant about bisexual erasure in media. Hasan, who literally has a pride flag hanging in his streaming room.

Your phone buzzes one more time. Luigi again.

The laugh that escapes you is small, but genuine.

The door barely clicks shut behind you before Hasan's there, all frantic energy and guilt-ridden affection. His hands find your face immediately, thumbs gentle against your cheekbones even as words tumble out of him. "I'm so fucking sorry," he breathes against your forehead between kisses, "I'm an absolute dickhead, I know, I'm the worst-“

You stay still in his hold, not pulling away but not melting into it either.

Over Hasan's shoulder, you catch Luigi watching from his spot on the couch, his expression careful, assessing whether to intervene.

Hasan's still murmuring apologies into your hair, and something in your chest aches at how genuinely distressed he is, but another part of you wants to hold onto the hurt just a little longer.

"I made pasta," he says softly, almost pleading. "And I swear to god I'll never say stupid shit like that again-“ He stops when you open your eyes to meet his, really seeing the hurt that still lingers there. "Fuck," he whispers, thumbs still moving gently across your soft skin. "I’m sorry.”

You suck in a slow breath and nod at him, side stepping toward the kitchen to grab a bowl from the cabinet, filling it with pasta that looks promising while behind you, Luigi and Hasan both stare at each other, coming to realize this likely won’t be fixed in a few hours time, or even a day.

And they were right.

You retreat into solitude, not exactly avoiding them but not seeking them out, either.

The ocean becomes your hiding spot — paddling out alone into the early morning swells, finding peace in the rhythm of waves rather than Hasan's encouraging calls or Luigi's excited whoops. When hunger draws you into town, you choose quiet corners in familiar cafes, picking at your food while mindlessly scrolling through social media, the empty chair across from you a silent companion.

It's not running away, you tell yourself.

It's just... processing.

You finally acknowledge the inevitable — you can't keep playing specter in your own home forever.

Still, when you push through the front door, exhaustion pulls you straight to your room like gravity, the soft click of your bedroom door feeling like surrender as you sink into the bed that's become both refuge and prison these past forty-eight hours.

The immediate gentle rap against wood is inevitable, like thunder after lightning.

Luigi's voice filters through, soft and hesitant, accompanied by the dull thud that tells you he's resting his head against your door. "Hey," he says, the word carrying the weight of two days' worth of unspoken conversations. "Can I come in?"

You remain curled in your defensive position, watching shadows shift under the door.

Part of you wants to maintain the silence, but Luigi's always been the easier one to face.

Your exhale feels heavy in your chest as you answer, "Yeah."

When the door opens, Luigi navigates your room like he's crossing a minefield, each step measured and deliberate until he settles beside you on the bed where his arm finds its way around you with practiced ease, and the familiar weight of him against your back is like a raft in the endless sea, pulling you back from the depths you've been drifting in.

The silence stretches between you, comfortable yet charged with everything unsaid.

His fingers brush your hair back with a tenderness that makes your throat tight, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. "You been taking care of yourself in here?" he asks softly, and you can hear him taking in the hurricane aftermath of your room — clothes scattered like debris, yesterdays coffee still on your nightstand, the general entropy of someone who stopped caring about order two days ago.

"Depends, is taking care of myself a spectrum that needs validating, too?" The words come out dripping with acid, but Luigi doesn't flinch. He's weathered your storms before, knows the difference between lightning meant to strike and lightning meant to illuminate.

"I think yes, actually.” he murmurs, continuing to card gentle fingers through your hair.

Each stroke pulls away another layer of your shield, exposing you inch by inch until you're left with nowhere to hide. Still, you keep your gaze fixed on the wall, as if the cream-colored paint holds answers to questions you haven't even formed yet.

It's easier than meeting his eyes, than seeing the understanding there that you're not sure you deserve.

"Fuck off," you whimper, retreating into your sweater paws like a wounded animal seeking shelter, waiting to die. "Just leave me alone." The words lack their usual bite, suddenly sounding more like a plea than a command.

Luigi's arm tightens around you in response, a silent refusal of your request. You can feel his resolve settling in like a physical weight — he won't budge until he's at least patched the surface wounds, even if the deeper cuts still need time to heal. "I'm just fucking with you," he whispers, and normally this would be fine — you've always been able to take his jabs, throw them back harder, even.

But something fundamental has shifted, like a fault line finally giving way, and Luigi recognizes the tremors. Now isn't the time to prod at fresh bruises, not when the initial impact is still reverberating.

"What he said wasn't right." Luigi burrows his face into your back, his words vibrating against your spine through the worn fabric of your comfort sweater, which just so happened to be one you’d stolen from Hasan’s closet ages ago and never gave back. "He was incredibly wrong for it. And I promise, he realizes that." The sincerity in his voice only feeds the bitterness coursing through you.

You wrench away enough to fix him with a glacial stare, lips curling into something cruel. "Oh, did he say that while he was bending you over the kitchen counter again?" The words come out like shards of glass, designed to cut. "Claiming he's so fucking bisexual when the only pussy he's gotten in like two years is yours."

It's a low blow and you know it — weaponizing their romance, their secret-to-everyone-else-but-you intimacy, turning it into ammunition.

But right now, you want it to hurt.

Luigi sucks in a sharp breath like your words branded him, but you catch the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "There she is." The fondness in his voice only makes your chest ache more.

You curl tighter into yourself, letting him pull you back against his chest, his arm around your middle feeling like the only thing holding your pieces together. "His bullshit god complex is fine when he's talking to a billion eighteen to twenty-somethings thirsting after him on the stream, but-“ your voice drops to something vulnerable, something raw, "there's no room for it at home."

You feel Luigi's chest vibrate with a low hum of agreement, his chin dipping in a slow nod against your shoulder. In that moment, you both understand that some boundaries, once crossed, require more than just an apology to rebuild.

"And he cancelled his fucking stream because he has to 'sort some shit out'?" Your laugh is all broken glass and razor wire. "Are you fucking serious?"

Luigi shifts behind you, and you can feel the moment he realizes you haven't seen what he has — Hasan pacing holes in the living room floor, running hands through his hair until it’s mussed into wild curls, the self-loathing written in every line of his body.

"You know, he only said that becau-"

But the dam has broken now, two days of silence exploding into sharp-edged storm of words. "One and a half million people losing their shit over his armpits, and he has to come at me for never fucking a dude?" Your voice cracks with the absurdity of it all, the hypocrisy burning in your throat.

The irony isn't lost on you — Hasan, who built his platform challenging toxic masculinity, somehow becoming the very voice he fights against in your own home.

"Well, baby, I think it's-"

"What does that have to do with him, anyway? Other than the fact that he was trying to prove he was more bisexual than me." The words taste bitter as they leave your mouth, and you hear their childish edge even as you speak them, but the floodgates have already broken.

"He's not even fucking out, either. And if I wanted to hit below the belt like he hit me, I would tell him that much." Your breath catches, sharp and painful as you teeter on the edge of something unforgivable. "That at least my audience knows-"

"It's because he wants to fuck you."

Your tirade dies in your throat, jaw clicking shut as your brain frantically attempts to process what you've just heard and the anger that's been fueling you suddenly stutters, like an engine running out of gas.

"He what?"

Luigi's sigh is gentle against your neck, his hand moving in soothing strokes along your thigh. "Did you actually not hear me, or-" There's a hint of knowing amusement in his voice, like he's watched you slam headfirst into a wall you didn't even know was there.

"No - I -" The words catch as you wrench yourself upright, staring down at Luigi who's sprawled on his back now, watching you with that impossibly gentle expression that somehow makes this whole thing worse. "I fucking heard you."

"Oh. Ok." His response is casual, almost lazy, but his eyes never leave your face as you both fester in the silence. It's a peculiar moment — you, processing this seismic shift in understanding, and Luigi, looking like he's finally set down a burden he's been carrying for ages.

The dynamic between the three of you had always walked a blurry line — something your viewers had picked up on long before you'd bothered to examine it.

Your Twitch chat would explode whenever Hasan wandered shirtless through your frame, or when Luigi's casual touches lingered just a breath too long when he offers to feed you a bite of his croissants.

Their viewers weren't any better, clipping every loaded glance, every playful flirtation, crafting theories about the true nature of your household's relationships on its own SubReddit.

You'd never felt the need to define it, to box it into labels. The kisses shared with Hasan had come easy — pressed against kitchen counters after too many drinks, or sprawled on Hawaiian beaches with tabs of acid dissolving on your tongues. With Luigi, it was even more natural, affection flowing between you like an old married couple at times.

But you'd always attributed it to the comfortable freedom of chosen family, to the way certain substances and settings made loving your friends feel as natural as breathing.

Now, though, you're forced to wonder if you've been willfully blind to something your audiences saw clearly years ago.

"So all those times..." you trail off, mind racing through months of interactions with new context — the lingering touches, the heated arguments that felt more like foreplay, the way his eyes would track you across rooms. "When chat would spam those emotes during our streams..”

Luigi's laugh is soft, knowing. "You mean when your chat goes feral every time Hasan walks by and flexes? Or when his chat loses it whenever you wear his merch to sleep?" He props himself up on an elbow, gesturing to the sweater on your body in that very moment, watching your face process. "They've been seeing it for months.“

You think about the clips that circulate — moments caught on stream that seemed innocent at the time but now feel charged with meaning.

The way Hasan's hand would find your waist during group photos, how he'd get particularly aggressive in defending you from chat's criticism, those late-night streams where his gaze would linger just a bit too long.

"But you and him-“ you start, then stop, uncertain how to frame the question.

"Me and him what?" Luigi prompts gently, though his expression suggests he knows exactly what you're struggling to articulate. "Are together? Kinda. Not really. But that doesn't negate-“ He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Look, we've never been conventional, the three of us. You know that."

You sink back down beside him, mind spinning. "So when he came at me about being fake-bisexual-“

"He was projecting. Hard." Luigi's fingers find your hair again, resuming their soothing rhythm. "You know how he gets when he's fighting feelings he's not ready to deal with. Don’t forget, he spent a whole week two years ago ranting about parasocial relationships on stream right before he realized he actually had his own fucked up obsession with me before we met.”

"So this whole identity crisis meltdown was actually about-“

"About wanting you? Yeah. And feeling guilty about wanting you, because of me, because of his public image, because of a million other things his anxiety-riddled brain came up with."

You let out a long breath, staring up at the ceiling. "Jesus Christ, we're all fucking idiots."

"Speak for yourself," Luigi's tone is playful, but there's an undercurrent of something more serious. "Some of us have been very aware of what's going on. Just waiting for the other two to catch up."

The thought of Luigi watching this whole dance play out, understanding both sides while you and Hasan circled each other like cat and mouse makes you groan. "How long?"

"That stream where you both got into it. The one that ended up all over LSF.” His fingers continue their gentle path through your hair. "The way he looks at you when you’re fired up, passionate — I knew. And I knew you were just as drawn to him, even if you were both too fucking stubborn to see it."

As if beckoned, there's another tap at the door — lighter than Luigi's had been, less confident, but heavy all the same. "Hey," Hasan begins, his forehead pressed against the door just as Luigi's had been moments before, "can I come in?"

You look at Luigi, and then at the door, hoping that maybe he'd make the decision for you, but it seems he's in no mood to rescue you any further. His dark eyes meet yours with quiet understanding — this is your move to make, your decision to call. The weight of it settles in your chest, alongside the echo of Hasan's voice, uncharacteristically small through the wood.

“Come in.” You decide eventually, your voice light, unsure, terrified of ruining anything further than it may have already been.

The sight of him when he opens your door is warm, his body as large as usual, but he looks much smaller somehow, his features soft with solemn, his cheeks stained red from the last two days of worrying — it’s breathtaking in a way, seeing him in a new light, bound to you with new purpose.

Luigi stays propped on his elbow, his fingertips grazing gently over your forearm as he waits for his world to heal, or to cave in.

"Please forgive me." Hasan scrubs his hands over his face, glasses abandoned somewhere in his room, leaving him looking strangely naked and boyish without them. "Or tell me you'll never look at me again. Just-“ he sucks in a shuddering breath, "Let me live or put me out of my misery."

You can't help but note his theatrics, the way he wears his heart on his sleeve like a Shakespearean tragedy.

But there's nothing artificial about it — this is purely Hasan, who's always felt everything at maximum volume; you’ve seen it countless times in the way he rants about politics until his voice goes hoarse, how his eyes follow Luigi across rooms, and how he throws his whole body into laughing at your jokes.

Despite how deeply his words had cut you two nights ago, despite the ache that still sits heavy in your chest, you know his pain is just as real. He's been wrestling with his own demons these past few days — torn between his undefined limbo with Luigi, his growing feelings for you, and the fear of destroying the delicate ecosystem the three of you have created.

"Come here." Your voice comes out barely above a whisper, softer than you've ever spoken to him, but your arms reach out with more certainty than your words. He stares at the offered embrace like it might be a mirage, like you might snatch it away the moment he moves and the hesitation in his usually confident movements makes your heart clench.

Finally, he breaks, crossing the space between you in those long strides of his. The bed dips under his weight as he slides in, fitting himself into the space between you and Luigi like he's afraid of taking up too much room — so different from his usual sprawling presence.

Then he's folding himself around you, his broad frame covering yours completely, face buried in the crook of your neck as he holds you like he's memorizing the feeling, like you might dissolve into smoke if he loosens his grip.

The quiet settles around you like a blanket, broken only by the soft sounds of breathing and the distant hum of city life through your window.

Hasan's weight should feel suffocating, but instead it grounds you, pulls you back from the edge of the last few days where everything felt like it was spinning out of control.

You feel Luigi's hand slide up your arm again, a tender point of contact that bridges the gap between all three of you, and then his fingers trail higher until they tangle in the short hairs at the nape of Hasan's neck, and you feel the larger man shudder against you at the touch.

It's intimate in a way that makes your chest tight — not with jealousy as it might have been before, but with something else, something expanding and undefined.

"I'm sorry," Hasan mumbles again into your skin, his lips brushing against your collarbone with each word. "I didn't mean to- I wasn't trying to-" He struggles to find the words, and you feel his frustration in how his fingers curl tighter into your (his) sweatshirt.

You wait, patient now in a way you couldn't be during the argument, letting him find his way through the tangle of his thoughts.

"I know," you murmur, because you do. You understand now what you couldn't see through the red haze of hurt before — how his fear of disrupting the careful balance between the three of you had made him lash out, pushing you away before you could reject him first.

How he'd been watching you and Luigi dance around each other for over a year now, the same way you'd been watching them, and Luigi and been watching the two of you, everyone too afraid to acknowledge the growing tension, the deliberate touches, the prolonged glances across the dinner table.

Luigi's hand leaves Hasan's neck to cup your cheek, turning your face toward him. His eyes are dark and serious in the dim light of your bedroom, searching your face for something, and whatever he finds there makes his expression soften, the corner of his mouth lifting in that quiet way of his that always makes your heart swell.

"You could have just told me." The words come out softer than intended as you look at Luigi, one hand absently trailing along Hasan's spine where he's still draped over you. "Both of you."

There's a weighted pause, and Luigi meets your gaze with that gentle steadiness of his, though you catch the slight tension in his jaw. "Well," he says finally, "I just did."

His voice carries a note of something — not quite defense, not quite apology. His fingers trace abstract patterns against your shoulder, and you know he's thinking of all the times he'd tried to bridge this gap before.

It was never his place to unravel Hasan's heart for him, though Luigi had always been the bravest of you three when it came to matters of love — quick to affirm his feelings for you both, ready to acknowledge the way his affection spilled over boundaries you'd all pretended to maintain.

Even now, watching him watch Hasan, you can see that same careful love in his eyes, patient and unwavering.

Often, Luigi would wonder if you truly didn't see it or if you were choosing to look away — if maybe that was easier than acknowledging the way Hasan's eyes would linger on you both over morning coffee, the way conversations would stretch into loaded silences, the way touch had become its own language between the three of you.

A year of each of you being just out of reach.

"Tell you what?" Hasan lifts his head from your neck, and this close you can see every detail of his face — the constellation of freckles across his nose, the slight crease between his brows, the vulnerability raw in his eyes.

He looks at you first, then Luigi, and you feel the moment his heart rate spikes, the thundering pulse where his chest meets yours. It's strange, you think, how someone so large can suddenly seem so fragile, caught between fight and flight.

You look between them — Luigi's knowing half-smile, Hasan's deer-in-headlights stare — and something warm unfurls in your chest. Your arms tighten around Hasan instinctively, leg hooking over his thigh as if to keep him from bolting. "You handle crushes like a middle schooler," you murmur, and the words should be teasing but they come out tender instead, wrapped in all the affection you've been carefully compartmentalizing.

Hasan's breath catches audibly, and you feel the tremor that runs through him, see the way his pupils dilate as he processes your words while Luigi huffs out a soft laugh, reaching over to brush his knuckles against the dimple in your cheek, the gesture achingly familiar.

You throw caution to the wind, tired of the performance, tired of pretending. With one arm still wrapped around Hasan, you reach for Luigi, fingers curling into his shirt to draw him closer. His eyes widen slightly, understanding dawning just before your lips meet his.

It's nothing like your previous kisses — those hazy moments colored by tequila shots or mushrooms on a beach in Hawaii, always with plausible deniability come morning.

This is deliberate, clear-headed, a statement as much as it is a kiss.

You feel Hasan's breath hitch against your neck, feel the way his fingers tighten in your sweatshirt.

But he doesn't pull away — if anything, he presses closer, like he's afraid to miss a moment of this as Luigi makes a soft sound against your mouth, something reverent and wanting.

When you finally break apart, Luigi's eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. His thumb traces your lower lip, and you feel Hasan shudder against you at the gesture.

"Fuck," Hasan breathes, and the raw want in his voice makes you shiver. His eyes are fixed on where Luigi's thumb still rests against your lip, tracking the small movement like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. There's color high on his cheeks, spreading down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his tshirt.

Luigi turns his attention to Hasan then, and you watch the silent communication pass between them — years of friendship and something-more-but-not-quite spiraling into this moment. "Your turn," Luigi murmurs, and the gentle command in his voice makes something warm pool in your stomach.

Hasan hesitates for just a moment, his eyes darting between you both as if seeking permission one final time, and you answer by sliding your hand up his neck, into his hair, guiding him down until his lips meet yours.

Where Luigi was sure and steady, Hasan kisses like he's drowning, like he's been holding himself back for so long that now he can't help but pour everything into it. His weight shifts fully onto you, pressing you deeper into the mattress, and you feel Luigi's hand slip between your bodies, resting over Hasan's thundering heart.

When you break apart, Hasan's eyes are glassy, his lips parted. Luigi makes a soft sound, something between appreciation and want, before he's leaning in to capture Hasan's mouth with his own.

You watch them kiss above you, mesmerized by the way they fit together, by how right it feels to be caught between them like this.

"Mm," you hum, fingers finding the hem of Hasan's shirt. You lift it slowly, deliberately, giving him time to object if he wants to. "I get to prove my bi-ness to the king himself." The words come out soft, teasing but tender.

Your hands smooth up his sides as the fabric rises, and you feel the shiver that runs through him, see the vulnerable look in his eyes that says he can't quite believe this is real as his expression shifts from dazed to stunned, the full meaning hitting him, his eyes darting between you and Luigi as the pieces click into place. "But you haven't-"

"I know," you murmur, nuzzling against his cheek, feeling the slight rasp of stubble against your skin. “No need to remind me again.”

Your right hand finds Luigi's shirt, drawing him in for another kiss — brief but full of promise, and when you pull back, you meet Hasan's wide-eyed gaze with a soft smile. "Who better, though?"

Who better than these two men who've become so integral to your life, who make you feel safe and wanted and understood?

Hasan makes a choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. "No pressure or anything," he manages, but there's a tremor in his voice that betrays how affected he is by the idea.

Luigi's hand slides up Hasan's back, steadying in its nature. "We'll take care of you.” he says, and though his words are directed at you, you feel Hasan relax under his touch.

"Please," you whisper, and you're not sure what exactly you're asking for — their hands, their mouths, their patience as you learn their bodies. Maybe all of it. Your fingers return to the hem of Hasan's shirt, this time with more purpose. "Off. Both of you.”

Luigi's smile turns knowing, and he sits back just enough to pull his own shirt over his head in one smooth motion and Hasan follows suit, though with less grace.

The contrast between them; Luigi's lean elegance and Hasan's broad strength, it makes your core rattle and your teeth chatter.

They're different from what you're used to — where women were soft floral notes and gentle exploration, Hasan and Luigi are warm spice and intent. Their hands are familiar, but transformed now by purpose and care.

You find yourself cataloging the contrasts.

The slight roughness of palms, the broader spans of fingers, the way they move with a reverence that's both tender and hungry. It's new territory, but you're finding that different doesn't mean daunting.

Luigi notices your contemplation. "Still with us?" he murmurs against your shoulder, and you nod, tilting your head to catch his eye.

It truly feels like time slows and speeds all at the same time and eventually, there’s nothing left between the three of you besides skin and eager breaths — there’s a mouth pressing kisses to your side, right across your ribs, and another pair of lips trailing down past your hip bones, right between your thighs that are nudged apart with an eager chin.

When you open your eyes to look down, you're met with a sight that would make renaissance masters weep — Luigi's elegant hands mapping the curves of your body, his green eyes dark with desire as they hold your gaze.

Hasan worships your inner thighs with desperate, reverent kisses, his usual boundless energy transformed into something achingly tender, and they work in perfect harmony — Luigi steadying one trembling thigh while Hasan lavishes attention on the other, both of them treating you with a gentleness that they always have, but different now.

"You ok?" The question drifts up through the fog of anticipation, and though their voices are usually so distinct, right now you couldn't say which of them asked. You manage a nod, fingers finding Hasan's wrists and holding on like a lifeline as your brows draw together with barely contained want; you can feel the heat in your cheeks, the desire making your blood sing.

"Mhmm," you whimper, the sound more desperate than you intended. "I - fuck. I'm ok." The words come out breathless, broken.

They interpret your response as permission, their worship transforming instantly into raw hunger.

Luigi's mouth traces a passionate path across your body — lavishing attention on your nipples before trailing heated kisses from chest to neck and back again. Meanwhile, Hasan's strong hands encircle your thighs, spreading them wider as he tastes you. His tongue works in deliberate patterns, the wet heat traveling slow from your entrance to your clit.

Each touch is a careful study of your reactions — the way you arch when teeth graze skin, how your breath catches at the perfect pressure. They decode you like a language, discovering which caresses make you shiver and which make you melt. Every mark they leave feels intentional, every kiss calculated, as if they're composing and using your body's responses as their score.

And you love all of it.

Luigi's fingers trail through Hasan's hair as he works between your thighs, the tender gesture drawing a deep hum against your sensitive flesh. "You sound so pretty like this," Luigi murmurs against your ear, his voice honey-warm and intimate. “Still ok?” Your only response is yet another desperate and trembling nod as Hasan slowly presses a single finger inside you, his touch careful but insistent.

His lips worship the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and when he looks up to meet Luigi's gaze, there's something primal in their shared glance that makes your pulse quicken. "Fuck, Lu," Hasan breathes, his voice rough with desire.

Your body betrays your limited experience — every flutter and tension around his finger confirms what you'd thought was just a myth about first times. The way you instinctively clench around him has Hasan moving with exquisite care, his concern for your comfort evident as he presses sweet kisses to the rest of you, as if to apologize.

He lavishes gentle attention on your most sensitive spot, his tongue eventually moving in careful circles while he watches his finger ease in and out of you; the sight of your body gripping him so tightly, combined with the velvet heat of you, draws a low sound from his throat, “Tell me if it’s too much, baby.”

The stretch when he adds a second finger makes your breath catch — his thick digits creating a fullness that your own explorations never prepared you for. Instead of voicing the keen building in your throat, you anchor yourself by gripping Luigi's arm, feeling the solid muscle beneath your trembling fingers.

Luigi presses close, his temple hot against yours, each ragged exhale searing itself into your memory. "That's it, sweet girl," he breathes, his voice dark velvet against your ear. "Tell me how good it feels." The raw need in his tone makes your entire body flush with heat, caught between his whispered encouragement and Hasan's relentless attention below.

Your breath comes in sharp gasps as Hasan's rhythm intensifies. His gaze remains transfixed, drinking in every reaction while Luigi cradles you, murmuring devotions as if you're something precious and divine. "I- fuck — so fucking-“ The words fracture as pleasure builds, your thighs trembling wider as your fingers reach to tangle desperately in Hasan's dark curls. "Please, I'm about to-"

He withdraws his touch with careful reluctance, making a show of bringing his glistening fingers first to his own mouth, then to Luigi's waiting lips.

The sight of them sharing the taste of you sends electricity down your spine, almost enough to tick you right over the edge.

“Not yet.”

Clearly, this is merely the prelude.

"Please," tumbles from your lips once more, the uncertainty crystallizing into clarity. "Fuck me."

They move in perfect synchronization, a wordless understanding passing between them.

Luigi takes position while Hasan settles beside you, his hands mapping gentle paths across your skin, lips trailing warm kisses from your cheek to the hollow of your throat.

The stark difference in their sizes suddenly illuminates their choice — Luigi's perfect proportions versus Hasan's overwhelming abundance.

Luigi teases you with exquisite patience, drawing his length along the slick of your entrance to your clit until you're trembling, your fingers instinctively seeking out Hasan's curls, pulling him closer as your breath catches with each careful stroke.

Hasan's hand slides between your thighs with purposeful tenderness, guiding you to open wider, his touch is steady and sure as he helps position you for Luigi, who's transformed into a vision of desire — cheeks flushed pink, breath coming in soft pants as he aligns himself, and when he finally presses forward, it's with such care that your heart nearly rips in two.

He treats you like something precious, something that could shatter with too much force; in this moment, their strategic decision becomes even clearer — they've chosen the gentlest possible introduction to this new pleasure.

Despite Hasan's innate gentleness, he knows his limits — the decision to let Luigi guide you through this first experience speaks volumes of his devotion to you, and in turn, his devotion to Luigi.

The recognition of his own intensity, and his choice to put your comfort first.

Both boys release deep, resonant sounds of approval as Luigi settles fully inside you, his eyes searching your features intently, reading every micro-expression as pleasure begins to eclipse the initial discomfort. "You doing alright, askim?" Hasan's whisper is tender against your ear, and your eager nod is accompanied by your hand finding his cock, hard and desperate beside you.

The evidence of his arousal coating your fingers only emphasizes how much restraint he's showing for your sake, but Luigi’s response to you is electric — both from being buried inside you and watching you come undone.

His grip on your hips tightens as his thrusts grow more confident, more purposeful, and your plea for more sends a visible shiver through him, though your strokes along Hasan's length are uneven, the combination of your touch and the scene unfolding before him draws deep, guttural sounds from his throat.

The initial discomfort melts away entirely, replaced by waves of pleasure that have you making sounds you've never heard from yourself before — soft whimpers evolving into breathless gasps and high, needy cries as Luigi finds his rhythm.

"We should have had you like this ages ago," Luigi breathes, dipping down to capture your lips before turning to kiss Hasan, who's come completely undone beside you, his usual composure dissolving into heavy breaths and desperate sounds. "Taking it so good.” Luigi praises, his voice thick with adoration.

A sharp breath hisses between your teeth as an absurd thought flickers through your mind — what those dedicated internet sleuths would make of this scene, those who parse every glance and gesture between you three.

How different from their careful analyses is this reality.

Then again, you know there’s plenty who have imagined this exact scenario.

Luigi's breathing grows increasingly erratic, and you instinctively pull him deeper, wanting to feel every tremor, every twitch of muscle; Hasan reads the signs as clearly as you do, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth as he whispers, "Gonna make Lu come, hm?."

Your brows knit together as you watch where your bodies join, mesmerized by the sight of yourself taking his cock like your body was built for it.

Hasan's voice is rough with need when he asks, "Where do you want him?”

Your wordless answer comes in the form of clinging arms and a pleading look at Hasan, who considers only briefly before giving a subtle nod. "Oh," Luigi breathes, understanding washing over his features. "That’s my baby."

The sensation is foreign but instantly addictive — the flood of warmth deep inside your body, Luigi's movements becoming languid and tender as he works through his release. His kisses turn messy and desperate against your lips, punctuated by breathless praise. "Y’did so good," he pants between kisses, "so perfect.”

Their transition is seamless again — Luigi settling beside you while Hasan returns to taste the evidence of what came before, his tongue moving with dedicated purpose, savoring the mingled essence of you both. "Ready to go again?" Luigi murmurs against your skin, teeth grazing your chin with playful intent, his satisfied smile suggesting he already knows the answer.

“Mhmm,” you find yourself mirroring his expression, every wall you’d ever built long gone now, washed away downstream, never to return.

Hasan feels different from Luigi, the stretch making your thighs tremble as a low whine ripples from your core, your hands grabbing for anyone, anything to hold onto as you curse, “Jesus fucking-“ your lungs filling with ragged breaths, the fullness you feel this time different from his fingers, or even from Luigi. “Goddamn.”

“You’re ok,” Luigi whispers, reaching to smooth your hair out of your face again, his thumb grazing your cheekbone with a tenderness he’d only reserved for the two of you. “Just takes a minute.” He assures, and Hasan barely has a quarter of himself inside you then, only taking it inch by inch every few moments that pass, watching as your expression shifts. “Doing so good, sweet girl.”

Eventually, Hasan begins to move his hips, his rhythm achingly slow but surprisingly controlled, his eyes cast over you like you’ve always meant everything, and finally, he gets his fill — again, the ache that settled and washed away with Luigi does the same after a few minutes getting adjusted to the size of Hasan, your hips in his hands as his pace becomes a bit more substantial, his eyes still scanning over you like you’re sacred.

“So fucking-“ Hasan hisses softly, his jaw slack as he watches his cock disappear inside of you, only to reappear again, the slick heat you’re imparting onto him glistening between you. “Fuck, baby.”

There’s more worship done to your body than you’d ever experienced before, kisses to your chest, your neck, hands holding you tenderly wherever they possibly can and eventually, Hasan holds back nothing, his hips rutting into you with a newfound purpose.

The purpose?

To completely wreck you.

And that’s exactly what he does, your eyes becoming unfocused, your body harnessing a mind of its very own, the same squeals from earlier eventually becoming silent, dying in the back of your throat before they can see daylight.

Everything blurs into soft kisses and sweet murmurs before Hasan's control finally breaks. His hips snap against yours with years of pent-up longing — all that time spent holding back, terrified of losing what matters most.

When the next dose of warmth floods you, it's the final push that sends you tumbling over that precipice you've been hovering near for what feels like forever, shattering into a symphony of sounds you never knew you could make — soft whimpers dissolving into desperate cries, every nerve ending sings an alien song you hardly understand.

Their instant kisses trace delicate paths across your flushed skin while lingering aftershocks ripple through your body like electric currents, each tender touch and whispered affection wrapping you in waves of pure adoration as you bask in feeling more cherished, more completely loved than you've ever known possible.

Luigi nuzzles against your ear with feather-light tenderness, his lips brushing your earlobe as he whispers words that feel like sacred devotion, each syllable a prayer offered at your altar — holy, yet tinged with sweet desperation as he trails kisses along your jaw, "We love you so much, would never let anything hurt you."

And Hasan presses close on your other side, his face nestled against yours as if trying to memorize every detail — your scent, the softness of your skin, the gentle rhythm of your breathing — etching this perfect moment into his soul like capturing light, his whispered words mirroring Luigi's devotion, "Never want to know a life that doesn't have you in it like this."

Your mind drifts hazily through the layers of his meaning — whether he's speaking of his long-standing connection with Luigi, this moment you're sharing, or perhaps your chosen path in an industry that puts you on display for the world to dissect.

Which pieces of your intertwined lives is he holding closest?

Scattered across the internet are countless interpretations of your dynamic — elaborate theories spun from fleeting glances, artwork born from imagined moments, stories woven from fragments of on-stream interactions, and you’d always dismissed it as background noise, just the natural consequence of putting yourself in front of an audience, the predictable result of human nature seeking patterns and meaning.

But there's an unsettling truth that rises to your chest — somehow these strangers on the internet had pieced together what you couldn't see in yourself, had mapped the contours of your heart before you'd even begun to explore them.

And that is more than enough to cause anyone to spiral.

(I’m sorry I’m afraid you crash out after this)

#req #Lasan #giiiiirl get ready #sorry I’m posting so late!!!!!!#hasan piker fanfiction #Luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione x reader #hasan piker x reader

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pucksandpower · 2 years ago

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Oooh the grid kids series is pure joy! I think it's really cool idea, especially because the drivers spend so much time around one another. Can i request one where maybe back in the day, rbr!seb and y/n were the grid kids of like mark and michael and jenson and back to present times, seb's grid kids are weirded out to see jenson and mark treat seb and y/n as their grid kids please. If that makes sense

Grid Kids: Gentlemen, a Short View Back to the Past

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: once upon a time, the grid parents were grid kids themselves

Series Masterlist

When We Were Young

“Oi lovebirds! Stop canoodling in the garage, will ya?” Mark Webber chuckles, teasingly nudging Sebastian as you blush, having been caught stealing a quick kiss with your boyfriend in the middle of the chaotic paddock.

Michael, ever the protective figure, chimes in, “Leave them alone, Mark. It’s sweet. Remember when we were young and in love?” He winks at Sebastian, who grins, clearly relishing in having backup.

Jenson, leaning against a tire stack, chuckles, “Speak for yourself. Some of us still have it.” He sends you a playful wink and you laugh.

Sebastian wraps an arm around you, “Honestly, with the three of you as mentors, I’m surprised I’ve learned anything about racing.”

You smirk, “Maybe they're preparing you for the important race — the race of life?”

Mark snorts, “Deep, Y/N. Very deep.”

Michael smiles, a nostalgic look in his eyes, “You know, Y/N, you remind me a lot of my wife back in the day. Always grounding us racers, making sure our heads don’t get too big.”

Jenson nods in agreement, “True that. You have a way of making sure Seb here doesn’t drift into the clouds.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, “Oh come on! You guys are just trying to get on Y/N’s good side because she’s the only one who brings proper coffee to the track.”

You giggle, “Guilty as charged. Can’t have my grid parents falling asleep at the wheel now, can I?”

Rain, Rain, Go Away

Sebastian and you stand with Jenson and Mark, sheltering under an awning as rain pours down, delaying the race. Michael ambles over, shaking off his umbrella.

Sebastian grins, “Typical Spa weather, huh?”

Jenson chuckles, “Isn’t it just? Every year I hope for sun by some miracle and every year...” He gestures at the rain dramatically.

You sigh, “I packed for a summer trip. Look at this!” You motion to your very damp sundress.

Mark smirks, “Rookie mistake. Always pack a wetsuit for Spa.”

Michael nods sagely, “And flippers.”

Oh Simple Thing

The smell of grilled meat wafts through the air as Jenson mans the BBQ at his home. You and Sebastian arrive, bringing along a homemade salad and plenty of sides.

“Ah, the dynamic duo!” Mark greets, pulling you into a friendly hug.

Michael points to the salad, “Trust Y/N to ensure we get our greens. Good on you!”

You wink, “Can’t have you all living on steaks and grilled chicken alone.”

As the evening progresses, stories from their early racing days are exchanged, often leading to fits of laughter. At one point, Mark shares an embarrassing story about Sebastian’s rookie mistake during a test session.

Sebastian groans, burying his face in his hands, “Do we have to bring that up again?”

You pat his back sympathetically, “It’s alright, Seb. Everyone has their moments.”

Jenson, taking a sip of his drink, adds, “That’s true. Just remember, no matter how many times they tease you, you’ve got Y/N in your corner. And that’s worth more than anything.”

Prank or Be Pranked

“Seb! Did you move my helmet?” Jenson calls out, rummaging through his locker as the five of you prepare to go karting, his face a picture of confusion.

Sebastian, feigning innocence, replies, “Why would I do that?”

You, smirking, lean in and whisper to Mark, “Five bucks says he put it on the highest shelf.”

Mark grins, “You’re on.”

As Jenson continues his search, he eventually finds his helmet perched high up, just out of reach. Michael, catching on to the prank, laughs, “Looks like our young prodigy here has learned a few tricks.”

Sebastian shrugs, “Consider it ... training. For reflexes and stuff.”

Jenson, using the handle of a dusty broom to retrieve his helmet, retorts, “Wait till you find out what I’ve done with your boots.”

Sebastian’s eyes widen in horror, “You didn’t!”

“This is going to be a long season.” You lean back against the brick wall as the overgrown children in front of you continue to bicker, fighting a smile.

Thanks for the Memories

Jenson, lounging comfortably in the hospitality area, raises an eyebrow as he watches you try to subtly wipe some oil off Sebastian's face. “You sure you’ve got him all cleaned up for the camera?”

You laugh, looking at a sheepish Sebastian who had been poking around his car earlier. “It’s like looking after a kid sometimes. He’s always getting into something.”

Michael chuckles from across the room, “Ah, young love. Sebastian, she’s got your number. But honestly, Y/N, good on you. We older ones have been trying to teach him some discipline.”

Mark smirks. “To be fair, Michael, I recall a certain someone ending up in a pool with his clothes on in Monaco just last year.”

Michael grins mischievously, “That was different. And anyway, Seb, Y/N, don’t get any ideas.”

You playfully roll your eyes, “Trust me, if he ends up in the water, I won’t be the one pushing him.”

Sebastian wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “But you’d jump in to save me, right?”

You pretend to ponder, “Hmm, depends on how cold the water is.”

Jenson laughs, “Sebastian, you’ve found your match. But seriously, both of you, cherish these moments. The grid, the races, it’s all fleeting. But the relationships, the memories, they last.”

Michael nods in agreement, “Jenson’s right. One day you’ll be the veterans, guiding the young ones. Remember these days, learn from them.”

Mark clinks his water bottle to yours, “To memories and the journey ahead.”

Flintstones, Meet the Flintstones

Michael leans back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips, “You know, when I started in F1 we didn’t have all this fancy tech and simulations. We relied on instinct.”

Jenson, faking shock, retorts, “Wait, you mean they didn’t have cars back then?”

Sebastian chuckles, glancing at you, “I bet he drove a dinosaur to the track.”

You laugh, “A very fast dinosaur, mind you.”

Mark, trying to keep a straight face, adds, “Michael, be honest. Was your racing suit made of ... loincloth?"

Michael plays along, “Yes and our helmets were carved out of stone.”

You chime in, “I heard they used saber-toothed tigers as pit crews.”

Jenson nods, “Oh, absolutely. And the pit stops? Ten minutes. Had to give the tigers a break.”

Michael rolls his eyes, laughing, “Alright, alright, mock the legend if you must. But remember, young ones, we paved the way.”

Mark grins, “And we’re grateful, old man. But don’t forget, it’s their turn now.”

Sebastian, ever competitive, challenges, “Race you to the track?”

Michael raises an eyebrow, “You sure about that?”

You laugh, “Careful, Seb. He might just bring out his dinosaur.”

Passing the Torch

Michael stands, his presence commanding the room’s attention even without a word spoken. Holding a helmet delicately in his hands, he clears his throat. “In every racer’s life, there comes a time when the tracks call to you a little less, the roar becomes a distant echo, and you realize there’s a world waiting for you outside the paddock.”

He glances over at Sebastian, then to you, emotion shimmering in his eyes. “But before I step into that world, I wanted to leave behind something, a token of gratitude and hope.”

Sebastian’s brow furrows slightly, curiosity evident. “Michael, you’ve already given so much to all of us …”

Michael interrupts with a soft chuckle, “Seb, always impatient! Let me finish.”

He then looks at you, his gaze warm and fatherly, “Y/N, you may not race on the track, but you’ve raced in all our hearts, guiding, supporting, laughing, and cheering louder than everyone else.”

“Sebastian, Y/N,” Michael continues, his voice imbued with emotion, “This helmet, from my last race, isn’t just a piece of equipment. It’s a symbol. A legacy.”

Gently placing the helmet on the table, he pushes it towards the two of you. “It’s about the weight of responsibility, the dreams it carries, the hopes it’s seen, and the love it’s felt.”

The room is silent, the magnitude of the gesture palpable.

Sebastian, clearly moved, speaks up, voice choked with emotion, “Michael, this ... this is ... I’m not sure if we can ever fill the space you leave behind.”

Michael smiles, placing a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, then moving to hug you tightly. “That’s the thing about spaces. They evolve. They change. You two won’t fill my space. You’ll create your own.”

Pulling away, he raises his glass, “To new beginnings, to timeless legacies, and to family. Always to family.”

Back to the Future

As Max saunters into the room, he stops short, eyebrows raised in surprise. Jenson is teasing Sebastian, ruffling his hair like he’s a teenager, while Mark playfully nudges Y/N’s arm, offering her a drink.

Max blinks a few times, trying to process the scene. “Is ... is Jenson giving Seb a noogie?”

George peers over from his conversation with Lando, both their eyes widening. “It looks like it ... and Y/N’s being drawn into some sort of mock arm wrestling with Mark. What alternate reality did we walk into?”

Charles, mouth agape, chuckles, “It’s like watching a nature documentary: Here we observe the older generation asserting their playful dominance over the younger one.”

Lando giggles, nudging George. “Mate, should we jump in? Even the odds a bit?”

Before George can answer, Mick, who’s been observing silently, leans in. “Guys, it’s kind of sweet. You remember the stories they've told about the old days? This is just ... history repeating itself.”

Max, still trying to wrap his head around the scene, shakes his head with a laugh. “Never thought I’d see the day when Seb gets his hair messed up and doesn’t immediately fix it.”

Lance calls out, “Maybe we should start taking notes. This might be us in a few years.”

Grid Kids and Grand-Grid Kids

Charles saunters over to Mark and Jenson, holding up a race boot he’d just had signed by both of them. “Thanks for this, mates. It will be a special addition to my collection.”

Mark pats Charles on the back, “Anything for our grand-grid kid.”

Charles stops mid-stride, turning to look at Mark with a puzzled expression. “Your what now?”

Jenson chuckles, handing Lando a signed cap. “Didn’t Seb and Y/N mention? Since they’re your grid parents and they’re our grid kids ... well, that makes you our grand-grid kids.”

Lando bursts into laughter, while George, overhearing the exchange, raises an eyebrow. “Wait, so we’re like ... the second generation of grid offspring? This is getting complicated.”

Mick leans in with a smirk, “Hold on. So if I’m following this logic properly, that would mean double the birthday gifts, right?”

Jenson grins, “Well, perhaps but it also means double the expectations on the track.”

Lance playfully rolls his eyes, “Great, double the pressure. Just what we needed.”

Max joins the banter, “Are there grand-grid kid initiation rites we should know about? Because I’ve seen old photos of Seb and Y/N with you guys and let’s just say that fashion has come a long way.”

Mark feigns shock, “You’re dissing our style from back in the day? Careful, young one.”

Charles, cocking an eyebrow, shoots back at Max, “Especially considering the only thing in your closet is Red Bull merch.”

The group bursts into laughter, Max chuckling and nodding in acknowledgment. “Touche, Leclerc. Touche.”

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sizzlingstarfishballoon · 1 month ago

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Ice Cream with Sebek (TWST)

What were you? Crazy? He was the loudest in every room he has ever walked into in his life. Not everyone can make such a disastrous claim. So why were your thoughts so centered around him?

You looked outside to the little collection of gray clouds that threatened to spill over the campus grounds. Shit. This wasn’t gonna work, not if it rained all over your plans. You started to rethink backup plans, indoor activities, but your thoughts still centered around that one, illustrious item that you wanted to try out with Sebek. Ice-cream.

You had ice cream in your world, and you heard it was here too. But would it be the same as it was before? Could they ever compare to that tiny family-run ice-cream shop that knew you by name, face, and demeanor?

And why Sebek? Why him of all the… special people at Night Raven College? You weren’t a particularly sociable person, but Sebek wouldn’t shut up, so you wouldn’t have to talk. That would have been nice. Totally nice, so why did your heart refuse to calm down?

“Prefect, Yo, the class ended.”

You whip your head around from the window to your friend Ace. He was bored, half standing from his seat with impatience. You quickly followed his lead and picked up all your school materials from the desk and shoved them deep into your backpack, doing a mini-sprint to the hallway. From there, you walked the halls of your new home and wondered how long it would take to get back. Dark and dingy, those were the walls of this new home; while the people here did not physically match that description, their personalities could be argued for.

Walking by, you could see the Disomia crew standing at the far corner of a hallway. Sebek was yelling as always, and Malleus looking half tired and bored at whatever discussion was happening around him. Your gaze lingered on the mint green-haired boy. He was rude, you tell yourself, loud, obnoxious, oblivious, and horrible, horribly, horribly rude.

You bumped straight into the muscular back of one of your classmates, Leona. He gave you an irked look and told you to “watch it, herbivore!” before disappearing around the corner.

“What’s up with you, man?” Ace grumbles.

“Oh, nothing, nothing at all, totes.”

“Uh huh, you're acting like a weirdooo”

You turned your head back to the disomia crew, seemed like nobody saw that awkward encounter, you were safe, your pride stayed teetering on the edge of a precipice another day. DING DONG DANG DING

The school day finally ended, and you mustered up all the courage you didn’t have to move your way towards Sebek. Ice-cream. That was the only thought that ran through your brain. Ace stopped you mid-way to ask you what you were doing.

“I’m going to ask Sebek to go and eat ice cream with me.”

The face Ace made was indescribable, but it was safe to say it was not an approving one.

You shook him off, and he looked on with the face of a grieving widow losing her husband at war. You could feel a mock salute directed at you, but you decided not to give him the pleasure of looking at it.

He was guarding Malleus, awake and at the ready for any of the impossible scenarios that weren’t gonna happen. You approached, feeling very unsure. But soon you were face-to-face.

You gulped; he did have quite a charm. His features were angular and straight, his hair a controlled mess. You couldn’t get over his eyes. Bright and shining, the words that came out of your mouth felt important. Something about him made you nervous about these words. It was like the beginning of a very long book that was about to be written.

“Yo, would you like to ummmm get ice-cream with me, like, right now?”

Kill me, someone, some god, prove that you're good and kill me.

He stared at you, and it seemed like he was staring at the memory of your sentence.

In a very loud and boisterous voice, he started to explain that as a guard, he could not abandon his post. “AND NOT ONLY THAT I DO NOT MINGLE WITH CONVIVING AND INFERIOR HUMANS FOR SOMETHING AS SIMPLE, AS UNCOMPLEX, AS BENIGN AS- “

Malleus put a hand around his shoulder, quieting the boy down. His eyes were unreadable, you shifted a bit.

“You should get ice cream Sebek.”

“BUT MALLEUS-“

“Silver and Lillia will be around me, go, and do not fight me on this.”

Sebek turned from his liege to you, his pink lips turned slightly downward before moving from Malleus' side to yours. He committed to a very low, very respectful bow to Malleus before forcefully turning your shoulder around and marching at an unmatchable pace toward the school doors.

You went flying through the stairs and soon through the cement path, and he seemed to barrel down the crowd. You asked him to slow down for a while, which he responded to by calling you whiny and claiming that he wanted to be done with this as soon as possible. He needed to get back to his liege.

The weather was still the same, and even threatened to spill a few times, but it stayed content in the corner of your vision, waiting.

Together, you had walked to the bright ice-cream parlor near campus. This whole time, the sound of clamoring feet and heavy breath filled the air, but with the lack of sound came an uncomfortable silence. This wasn’t what you were counting on. You hoped that he would talk his way through this excursion. The tension made your heart slow to an uncomfortable, almost hurtful pace until you asked him about his day.

He talked about how blessed he was to see Malleus on the ice-cream line, the entire wait passed quickly, and with customers crying for their ears.

When you got to the cashier, you ordered your favorite flavor of ice cream. You looked to him, he seemed like the type of person to get mint ice cream. But in a very quiet voice, he asked for a strawberry. Your smile widened, and he saw. He loudly defended his choice of ice cream right before one of the servers handed him the cone, trying to cover his ears from the screeching sound.

Sebek wanted to eat it on his way back, to get back to Malleus. But when he turned for the door, the rain had started to fall. This is what the clouds were waiting for. I guess you both had no other option but to sit down in the parlor to eat the ice cream. Sebek had a deep frown on his face. Upset at having to sit there while his liege was all alone (he wasn’t). But a conversation has started rolling, and you both find yourself content. Sebek spoke about almost anything that came to his mind as you peacefully enjoyed hearing someone talk, and relaxing in the back of the comfy parlor chair.

Sebek had finally entered the dorm. The rain stopped long ago, but he didn’t notice it before he got a text from Silver telling him he was going to be late for dinner. When he received that text, he called you a conniving human who wanted to ruin his connection to his fellow Disomia classmates and went running.

Moving from one large empty hall to another, he was spooked by Lilia.

“How’d the ice-cream go?”

“As far as humans are they are acceptable.”

Lilia smiled and planted his feet on the floor.

“My my, a human Sebek finds acceptable? Who could have guessed?”

“I simply mean their company is not appalling.”

He planned to head to his room without being seen to shoot you a text about today. But Lilia stood in the way before his dorm door, before letting him pass through. After all, it’s not every day Sebek blushes so pink!

(How'd I do? Feedback very much appreciated)

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igorluvr · 2 months ago

Text

'MIROTIC | kwon jiyong x reader

PAIRING: gdragon x reader

SYNOPSIS: “You're crazy about me, you can't escape me—I got you under my skin” After hopelessly falling for a member of the group you dance for, you try tirelessly to reject the feelings only to find out he’s well aware (and won’t let it go.) INSPIRED BY:: MIROTIC- TVXQ!

CONTENT: fluff as always, lots of pet names i’m sorryyy, pda

AUTHORS NOTE: can u guys tell im obsessed w 2nd gen boy groups ??? anywayssss first fic in a couple months i hope u enjoyyyy!!

word count: [2.7k]

IT had officially been 7 months since you started as a backup dancer for Bigbang, and it was everything you ever dreamed of. You made core memories with people you never even imagined meeting, got to tour all around the world while getting paid for it, and best of all, did all of this with the man you found yourself infatuated with.

Usually, you don’t believe in love at first sight, but that all went out the window the second you saw GD. Everything about him drew you in like a magnet. His style, the way he carried himself, the love he showed everyone— it all melted your heart.

The first time you met, he treated you with so much class and respect. You knew it was basically the bare minimum, but it was rare to see people doing that nowadays. He always had a smile on his face when approaching you and never hesitated to ask if you needed to go over a step again. Of course, this was how he acted with everyone, but it struck you so much harder for some reason.

Every time the choreography called for the two of you to interact, you felt like a high schooler again. His touch sent volts through your body, and your heart pumped as if you’d just run a marathon. Usually, despite working with him most of the week, Jiyong kept his distance from you. So it surprised you when he suddenly got really close.

It was out of nowhere— a random practice for a track when you two had to dance together. You found yourself forgetting counts and second-guessing your moves. Unexpectedly, a pair of hands grabbed your shoulders, rubbing them gently to calm you down.

“Relax, jagiya, you’re thinking too hard…” he said, smiling at you through the mirror. Your eyebrows furrowed as his words echoed in your mind. Where was this sudden affection coming from? Swiftly, Jiyong grabbed your hand and turned you around. “Let’s do it together, okay?”

As he counted the music out loud, you found that his encouragement actually helped. Occasionally messing up, you worked slowly and eventually got the choreography right.

After running through it a couple of times with the whole group, it was finally time to go home. As much as you wanted to go up to Jiyong and thank him for the help, your mind was clouded with his actions— it was too much for you to face him. Just as you were about to walk out, an arm draped around your shoulder.

“Leavin’ so soon? I wanted to talk to you for a bit. I mean, we’ve been working together all this time and never had a real conversation,” Ji said, turning back to the other members and winking. You took note of this but didn’t say anything.

“Sure. Um, what do you wanna talk about?” you asked, cursing yourself in your head. Who even asks someone what they want to talk about? ‘Just be cool,’ you repeated in your mind, trying to bring yourself back to earth, even though the whole situation confused you.

He laughed seeing you so nervous. Unbeknownst to you, Jiyong was aware of your crush on him. He actually loved it. I mean, come on— who wouldn’t love the idea of someone as gorgeous as you liking someone like him?

To be honest, he didn’t notice at first. He thought you were just naturally shy until Seunghyun said something to him. It was a day when all the members were hanging out over lunch, and the backup dancers got brought up— of course, you were the main topic.

“Have you ever noticed how awkward she is around you? I think she has feelings for you,” Seunghyun admitted, causing Daesung to slam his fist on the table and exclaim.

“I thought I was the only one who noticed! I swear, it’s like she doesn’t know how to function around you.” He laughed. Jiyong furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. You acted like that with everyone, right? “Yeah, man, she’s always so upbeat, but when you come in, it’s like she forgets how to speak,” Taeyang added.

“You really think so?” he asked, thinking back to all the times you interacted. Yeah, there was that one time you were alone in the break room when he came in to charge his phone, and you left like he had the plague. Or the other time when he put his hands on your waist during a dance and saw your smile grow in the mirror. But was that because you liked him?

Suddenly, an idea came to mind. He had to see it for himself. He devised this plan to tease you until you admitted it. Usually, he’d leave things like this alone, but you were too perfect for him to let your crush just fizzle away.

So now, he was using every opportunity to talk to you and give small touches. If you expressed any concern, he’d stop and address it directly, but for now, everything seemed to be going smoothly.

“What was going on at practice today? You’re usually so on top of the choreography. Is… something on your mind?” he asked slyly, staring so deeply into your eyes you swore he spaced out.

“Kind of, not really. Never mind, it’s nothing. Just a harder dance, that’s all,” you said, stumbling. Every word you spoke dug you into a deeper hole. He could read you like an open book, and you knew it.

His smirk grew as he came up with an idea. “Let’s see. I’ll give you my number so you can ask me any questions, okay?” His act slipped a little with those last words.

There was no hiding your smile. You pulled your phone out and handed it to him a little too quickly, still trying to convince yourself this was real. As he typed in his number and handed the phone back, you saw that he set the contact as ‘Ji 💕’.

Maybe you were overthinking it, but why the heart? Did he just want his name to stand out, or was it more than that? The possibilities flooded your mind so much that you forgot he was actually right in front of you.

“I’m gonna head out now, but don’t be afraid to text me. I’ll make sure to respond,” he said with a smile before leaving the room. You stood in the same spot for minutes, replaying everything that happened, occasionally catching the boys glancing your way. Why was he acting so different? And why was it affecting you so much?

Over the next week, he continued acting the same way. It sent you into a spiral— why was he acting so different? Each day, you lost your mind a little more. But that Monday was when it really got serious. Groggily, you walked to the break room, freshly woken up and regretting staying up so late. As you prepared to make coffee to wake yourself up, a familiar hand grabbed the cup before you did.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, princess. I got it. Just sit down and relax. It’s early,” Jiyong said with a smirk, rubbing your arm softly. Not enough to intrude, but enough for you to get chills and giggle to yourself.

Wanting to sit back down anyway, you found the couch and relaxed. A few minutes later, Jiyong returned with two coffees, handing you yours before taking a seat beside you.

His actions over the past few days confused you. I mean, it’s not like you were complaining. You’d been crushing on this man for months. Had your feelings finally been reciprocated?

“So, what’s been on your mind, pretty?” His words made your heart flutter as you took a sip of your coffee to hide your smile. He knew exactly how to say things to give you butterflies, and somehow, he even made your drink taste better. Honestly, it might’ve been a little better than what you made yourself.

“Just trying to get everything sorted out,” you said, nervous but feeling more at ease than the previous week.

Jiyong noticed and loved that you were starting to get more comfortable around him. Your body language was less tense, and bits of your personality were shining through. He was getting closer to his goal than he thought.

“Well, I hope I can make it better, darling. How do you like your coffee? I noticed you usually make the same kind every day and decided to give it a try,” he said casually. Was he really that perceptive, or was it just for you? As you calmed your mind, you found the strength to respond. “It’s really good, thank you.”

He chuckled softly, biting his lip slightly. His smile was to die for, always turning you to mush. His arm reached across the top of the couch, causing the veins in his neck and arms to stand out. He knew this would drive you crazy—that’s why he loved doing it.

Somehow, his instincts proved right. As soon as you glanced at him in this position, you found yourself inspecting every part of his body you’d never noticed before. His muscles and arm tattoos stood out more than ever, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

“Like what you see? Don’t get too caught up—you’ll see more later,” he said, voice playful. You snapped yourself out of the spell he’d cast. You saw him laughing to himself as if your admiration amused him. He loved making you like this and had no intention of stopping anytime soon.

The rest of the conversation flowed slowly but surely, with him occasionally doing things to catch your attention. You were head over heels for him— there was no denying it anymore.

Matters only got worse later at practice. As you were setting down your things to warm up, you heard a shocked, “Dude, he’s actually doing it,” from Daesung, followed by the others laughing. You turned around, curious, only to be met with a sight burned into your memory forever.

Jiyong stood at the door, shirtless, glistening with sweat, towel draped over his shoulder, water bottle in hand. The way the light reflected off his body made your knees weak. He reached a hand up to his hair, shook it out slightly, giving it a messier look. Before, you thought he couldn’t get any sexier— now you knew for sure he always could.

Walking toward you with a low gaze, Jiyong had that huge smile you loved so much. “You ready, jagiya? Gotta give it all we got today,” he said, taking your hands as you both got into position to dance.

The hours flew by as you practically had the choreography engraved in your mind. Every beat was hit flawlessly as your bodies moved in harmony. The feeling of his bare chest pressed against yours gave you enough serotonin to last days. He wouldn’t admit it yet, but to Jiyong, dancing with you made him feel ten years younger— as if he had no worries, only thinking of you and your safety.

As everyone packed up and prepared to leave, you were once again met by your soon-to-be lover. He looked even better— panting, sweating, leaning on the wall as he caught his breath.

“Hey, sweetie. Y'know, me and the boys are going clubbing tonight. You should come with. I wanna see you all dolled up for me,” he said smoothly, words laced with charm. Of course, you fell for it.

“Yes—I mean, sure. What time do I need to be ready?” No amount of masking could hide your excitement now. He invited you out? There was no passing this up. After he shared all the details, the two of you headed home to prepare for the night.

Both nervous and excited, you tried to get every detail of your outfit just right. Meanwhile, GD was already with the others, “pregaming” and plotting how to make the night even more special.

“Just ask her out already! I’m starting to feel bad for her, and it’s only been a week,” Taeyang exclaimed. When Jiyong told everyone he invited you, you became the main topic for the next few hours.

“We can tell you like her, man. This playboy act isn’t gonna last long,” Seunghyun added, sinking onto the large couch with a sigh. Though he enjoyed teasing, he felt it affecting him more than he let on.

“Okay, fine!” Jiyong finally said. “I’ll tell her how I feel tonight. But you guys have to help me.”

As everyone agreed and started making a plan, you sat at home, putting the finishing touches on your look. Everything looked perfect— hair, outfit, makeup—all coming together effortlessly.

About 45 minutes later, your phone buzzed with a message: they were pulling into your driveway. After spraying enough perfume to rival a Victorian aristocrat, you stepped out, staring at your phone as if you were texting someone. No matter what you wore, nerves were impossible to hide.

Unbeknownst to you, Jiyong felt like he’d fallen in love the moment you sat down beside him in the car. You were gorgeous. At practice, you were beautiful— but here, outside of work, you looked genuinely breathtaking.

He was jolted out of his trance by a tap on his shoulder. “You look beautiful, darling,” he breathed, delicately scooping your hand into his and kissing it. The scent of your perfume on your wrists hit him and made him even weaker.

As you all arrived at the club and exited the car, nerves shot through your body. This was the first time you’d hung out with the members outside of work events— no managers, no business talk, just friends enjoying each other’s company.

The club was packed— an understatement. People flooded every inch, and the music was so loud you could barely hear yourself think. After pushing through crowds for a few minutes, you found an empty booth in a far corner— secluded enough to avoid being swarmed, yet close enough to see everything.

After three shots, you felt yourself sinking into the couch. You sat still for a few minutes, taking in the environment. Suddenly, the cushions shifted beside you as Jiyong took a seat. He watched the crowd for a bit, trying to see things from your perspective, then finally spoke.

“You like it here, pretty?” you smiled and nodded, still gazing into the crowd. You wanted to join in, but nerves held you back. Being surrounded by strangers and the man you had feelings for caused you to retreat into your shell.

He noticed and decided to make sure you had a good time. In a swift move, he took your arm gently and led you into the dance floor.

The music was fast— electrifying. It matched how you felt in his touch. He started dancing first, occasionally striking poses he knew would make you laugh. After all, it’s a club. He wanted you to have fun.

Gradually, you started bouncing to the beat. Your nerves fluttered away, revealing your true personality. Both of your moves eventually synced, creating a chaotic, joyful rhythm. Maybe it was the drinks, or maybe it was him, but you felt more at ease than you had in a long time.

As the song transitioned into a softer, calmer track, Jiyong’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer. He hesitated for a second, gazing into your eyes to ensure you were comfortable. Nodding, you allowed him to pull you in again— this time, even closer.

Now face to face, swaying drunkenly to the gentle music, you looked up at him in awe. His bright hair glowing under the neon lights, shadows accentuating the grooves of his face, his deep brown eyes fixed on yours— there was no denying it. You were in love.

His hands grew heavier, tighter on your waist, as he let out a low chuckle. “Y’know, you’re really bad at hiding your feelings, love,” he said softly. Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at him.

“Oh, don’t play dumb now. I’ve noticed how you act around me. It’s cute—I like it,” he added, a teasing smile on his face. Your eyes widened as realization sank in. He knew you liked him? You replayed all your interactions, trying to figure out when you had made it obvious.

Seeing your panic, he gently placed a hand on your cheek. “Relax, it’s okay,” he said, rubbing his thumb softly on your skin. His gaze flickered between your eyes and lips, eager to finally do what he’d wanted for weeks.

“Can I?” he asked quietly. All he needed was a nod. Gently, he lifted your face with one hand and pressed his lips to yours. Everything around you seemed to slow down. The neon light flickered heavily, mimicking the pounding heartbeat in your chest.

His touch was warm and steady, lips gentle but sure— words couldn’t fully express what he felt. His hands on your waist tightened just a little, pulling you closer, grounding you in the moment. When he finally pulled back, his eyes lingered on yours with a soft smile, leaving you both breathless and more connected than ever.

You stood there for a moment, soaking in what just happened. You couldn’t believe it— the man you’d been longing for months just kissed you, and it was perfect. Jiyong lowered his head slightly and smirked.

“In case you couldn’t tell, I like you back,” he said softly. You laughed shyly before replying, “Yeah, I got that,” with a smile.

As you made your way back to the booth where the others were, they looked at you both with knowing eyes. Jiyong had successfully won the woman of his dreams, and you had just met your perfect man.

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